#imperium may be finished but it is not over.

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 3: Chapter 8

Te amo. (I love you.)

He was Pongo.

He was Pongo, and that was okay. He was okay.

Pongo was far form perfect. He would never have admitted to perfection even before Cocytios, even before Starr was brought into existence. He was something fragmented, torn asunder by trauma and a broken past, stitched back together because he willed it to be so. Starr accepted death, and Pongo - though reluctantly - accepted life. And Mira remained by his side, existing here in this body alongside him as an eternal companion. It had once felt fitting that he give himself a new name, but now, the only name was Pongo. 

He was Pongo.

He was Pongo.

…

“Wake up, Pongo.”

He wasn’t asleep. He was hiding this whole time. Sleeping and hiding were not the same. 

And yet, Pongo opened his eyes. He couldn’t hide from the sunrise, golden and orange hues dancing across a once darkened sky. He couldn’t hide from the familiar face staring down at him, her smile wider than he’d ever seen it before, a single relieved laugh leaving her lips. Oh, Elma, Pongo was so happy to see you again! He wasn’t afraid, not like he was when Starr walked the earth. He let himself smile back, revel in the joy he felt. 

“Hello, Elma,” Pongo breathed, his voice hoarse. 

Before he could react, Elma had lifted him up, and there he was in her embrace, his first hug after waking. Pongo knew Aidoneus’s transformation had left him weak, he couldn’t feel any of his usual strength in that moment. But he hugged back, after his moment of surprise had faded, and damn did it feel good. There was solace, here, a sense of peace that he had difficulty finding in most circumstances. He missed her, he missed this. But she had to pull away, as did he. There was no world where they could stay in each other’s embrace forever. There was too much that needed to be said, too much that needed to be done. 

“Friend Starr is okay?” That was Froyoyo, asking that question. He stood behind Elma, and Pongo could see him over Elma’s shoulder. If the names and roles were reversed - Froyoyo asking Starr if Pongo was okay - Starr would’ve flinched, been angry. But all Pongo felt was the exhaustion that came with accepting life once again. He grinned at the question, a sad but understanding thing. He opened his mouth to tell Froyoyo the truth, explain what and who he was, but Vanala stepped up before he could. 

“Friend not Starr anymore,” Vanala said, mesmerized, “Friend is whole again. Found peace in self.”

Her lessons rang true in Pongo’s heart, even though Starr was the one to receive them. She knew Starr was fragmented, back then, and that he’d need to heal in order to understand both aspects of using water ether. Ripples, she called them. Imperfections, flaws, ruins of the past he could never leave behind. Starr had been wary of that sentiment, believing himself too broken to heal. But Pongo…now he knew the truth. He was always going to be imperfect, he was always going to have ripples that he couldn’t stop from existing. This was a life he was going to cherish, a self that he would accept despite all of its evident flaws. 

As if to test his theory, to reassure Vanala, Pongo shifted away from Elma. He raised one of his hands, and in his palm, a ball of water formed, shaping itself into a heart. The ether came more naturally than it did before, and with wide eyes he realized that the ether wasn’t originating from Starr’s gauntlets. This was a creation he deemed into existence without the gauntlets’ help. This was Pongo’s doing, his whole and undivided doing. Vanala mimicked his widened eyes, though her gaze was full of pride.

“My name is Pongo,” He formally introduced himself to Vanala and Froyoyo, “I am the original inhabitant of this body, alongside Mira.” A pause, a softening expression. “I want to apologize to you both. I caused your caravan a great deal of pain when I -”

“Furry dragon was not Pon,” Froyoyo butted in forcefully, “Nothing to apologize for. Froyoyo confused, but know that friend wouldn’t hurt on purpose.”

“Right!” Vanala agreed, “Friend Pon doesn’t need to ask forgiveness. Vanala just happy that Pon is okay!”

And then, a little furry body snuggled up between Elma and Pongo, hugging Pongo tightly. He chuckled, hugging Sprinkle Sprinkle back after letting the water ether in his palm dissipate. The littlepon’s voice was muffled as they said, “Sprinkle Sprinkle didn’t even say goodbye to Starr. Can friend Pon tell Starr goodbye?”

That nearly broke Pongo’s heart. He could feel it splintering, the weakened thing beneath his skin, but he was Pongo. Pongo was stronger than he knew, and he used that strength to smile, just as he always had. Even with his reputation, his near-inability to lie, he did his best to ease Sprinkle Sprinkle’s worries. “I will. He loved you a lot, you know. You, and all of your brothers and sisters.”

“Sprinkle Sprinkle knows,” They leaned back, sniffling. “Will miss Starr very much. Will…Will Pon come back to caravan instead?”

…Perhaps Pongo wasn’t as strong as he thought. He felt it, then, that pathetic little heart of his shattering into porcelain fragments. It wasn’t as severe a breakage as when he was brought back to life; the pieces had been stitched back together thanks to Mira’s handiwork back then, and that had been the reason Starr was born. This was a fracture Pongo would have to fix, and this time, he would do it on his own. 

“I have to go home,” Pongo said truthfully, “Back to the city. But I promise I will visit the caravan often. Goodness knows I will miss you and your siblings too.”

Sprinkle Sprinkle took a moment to process his response. Then, he all but launched himself back into Pongo’s arms for one last hug. Gods above, he truly missed this feeling. And it ended too soon, with Sprinkle Sprinkle pulling away and giving Pongo a sad but sympathetic grin. They were young, of course, but Pongo got the feeling that they were more in tune with his mental state than all the others around him. 

Then, a rumble, almost akin to a cat’s purr, echoing through the frost-stricken air. Pongo swiveled his head and came face to face with the bowed muzzle of Telethia, the Endbringer. How patient they had been, to wait for all the others to speak their piece. In this form they could offer no words of their own, so the gentleness of their descent had to suffice. Though the memories of their time in a humanoid form were not his to claim, Pongo saw the image of Solstice smiling down at him, their blue-green eyes shining with admiration and relief. How lucky Nessa had been, to have them by her side. How lucky Aidoneus had been, to have them fight Corvhesperikon alongside it.

And how lucky Pongo was now, to be able to reach his hand up to the Telethia’s snout, to be able to whisper, “Thank you, my friend. Thank you for everything.”

The Telethia hummed, accepting Pongo’s touch and closing their eyes, His hand was so tiny in comparison to their body, yet it basked in the contact, the warmth connecting them in the frigid cold. They both pulled away simultaneously, and as the Telethia opened its eyes, it seemed to ask a silent question. Pongo knew what that question was, and he knew the answer to give. All he had to do was nod, and the Telethia backed up, turned, gave one last glance towards the group. Their wings beat heavy against the air, stirring up the snow beneath their feet, and soon they had flown off into the sunrise, light bouncing off of their etheric feathers. Pongo watched Solstice depart until there was no silhouette left to track. 

Froyoyo broke the silence left in their wake. “If friend going home, should start traveling soon. Having sun in Cocytios very good for staying warm.”

“Should go back to caravan too,” Vanala told her husband, “Caravan likely worried sick about Legendary Heropon!!”

“Worried sick about both Froyoyo and Vanala,” He corrected, his fuzzy hand reaching out to clasp Vanala’s. “And likely lots of rebuilding to be done. Corvhesperikon made big impact on caravan.”

“If there’s any resources I could have BLADE send to you to speed along the reconstruction process, let me know,” Elma offered, frowning when Froyoyo quickly shook his head. 

“Not need outside help. Would rather not have caravan well known outside Cocytios.”

Pongo immediately sensed the reasoning behind that request, and to reassure Elma, he nodded again. She maintained a frown, though that simple gesture softened her expression. “I’m sure there’s a way I can work around your involvement in this whole endeavor when I write the BLADE report. Either way, HQ will ask questions about how and why our research operations failed. I’ll have to come up with a rather convincing story, especially if I’m to omit you and Aidoneus from the record.”

“We should count our lucky numbers that Solstice was able to help, then,” Pongo said, “You can tell them that the Telethia from Noctilum appeared and destroyed Corvhesperikon - all by itself.”

“BLADE might believe it, on account of the Telethia’s involvement in subduing Pharsis last year,” She concurred, “Either way, you won’t have to worry. The caravan and Aidoneus’s involvement won’t be revealed outside of myself, Pongo, Lin and Tatsu.”

“Tatsu was Nopon that came with friend Elma before, no?” Froyoyo squinted as he tried to remember, “Froyoyo taught littlepon fighting moves while Elma, Nessa, Solstice and other friend went to find Starr. Little friend - that Lin?”

“Yes, I arrived with them both the first time we came to Cocytios. Tatsu still talks about you back home. You’re something of a role model to him.”

“Happy Froyoyo could make difference in littlepon’s life. Froyoyo give permission to speak of events here with Lin and Tatsu. Friend Elma trusts them, and Froyoyo sense that trust from Elma is important thing indeed.”

“Seemed very much like Lin and Tatsu were Elma’s family when everyone was at caravan,” Vanala agreed, “Would make Vanala uncomfortable if Vanala requested Elma to keep secrets from own family.”

“She will probably have questions about where I have been these past few months, too,” Pongo added softly, “I do not think I could lie to her.”

“It’s something we’ll discuss once we’re back in the city,” Elma stood herself up, dusting the snow off of the back of her armor. Now that the sun had risen further up into the sky, her hair shone with angelic brilliance. Something about it reminded Pongo of the first time he’d met her, that first sunrise looking out at Primordia after being awoken from the lifepod, and the sense of deja-vu only increased when she held out her hand for him to take. “For now, Froyoyo’s right. We should get moving if we want to return home. The journey here took about two days, but if we’re quick, we can set up camp on Primordia’s beach by nightfall.”

Pongo took Elma’s hand, and she hoisted him up, though it took him a moment to find his footing. The journey seemed reasonable enough, though considering just how vast the continents were, it almost seemed too quick. He had to tell himself that it was because of BLADE’s vast technological resources, something he’d been deprived of during his time in Cocytios. Honestly, it felt strange to think about. Soon he’s be on board a vessel, soon he’d be reassuming his work with BLADE. Soon he’d be wielding his weapons, familiar in the past but foreign to the present, and he’d be putting that technology towards the betterment of humanity. He’d be helping people, protecting people - just as Aidoneus wanted to do.

“Froyoyo wish friends safe travel back home,” Froyoyo said, “And Froyoyo thank friends for everything. Always welcome at Desserta Caravan.”

“Better visit!!” Sprinkle Sprinkle reiterated, jumping up and down to prove the importance of their demand, “Or Sprinkle Sprinkle find way to friend’s home and visit there!!”

Vanala rolled her eyes at that, though it was clear it wasn’t out of annoyance. Sprinkle Sprinkle had all but proven that their stubbornness would put them into any situation they wanted to be in. They’d find a way to fulfill that promise of visiting NLA, one way or another. Pongo chuckled, imagining how Lin would act to another furry friend in their midst. The food puns would only continue to grow, and it didn’t help that Sprinkle Sprinkle’s name was…well. It was ripe for jokes, to say the least.

And with all of that in mind, the time finally came to bid the Nopon goodbye. His second family, his second home. They may not have been Pongo’s memories to keep, but he walked hand in hand with Starr through it all, and that had to count for something. For his own sake and for Starr’s, he spoke for them both.

“Goodbye, everyone.”

Froyoyo gave one last bow, Vanala gave one last smile. And then they turned away, with Sprinkle Sprinkle in tow. Elma did the same, and Pongo joined her. Not once did he think of picking up Starr’s mask, set so perfectly in the snow mere yards away from his feet. 

~

The journey across Cocytios was quiet. Elma and Pongo hardly spoke a word to each other, even when they passed by the research base that BLADE had set up for the investigation of Corvhesperikon’s skeletal remains. The base was in terrible shape, the entire structure demolished and materials scattered across the snow. No humans emerged, no signs of life made themselves known. Elma and Pongo exchanged a meaningful glance. Elma did not smile, and she quickly averted her eyes to the wreckage after their eye contact. Pongo knew in that moment that none of the operatives that had joined Elma on this venture survived. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, a sour pit in his stomach. They didn’t linger, pressing on quickly past the base.

When they reached the ocean, a boat was conveniently parked by the shore. It was a massive thing, clearly made to hold lots of cargo and passengers. It felt empty even when Elma and Pongo boarded, and Elma quickly assumed the controls and turned on the engine. Pongo hadn’t hesitated in stepping on board, yet a part of him wished he’d given Cocytios a proper goodbye. He’d been trekking through snow and the frigid winter air for so long that it felt like home. He reminded himself that it wasn’t his true home; no, if anything, Cocytios belonged to Starr. NLA was Pongo’s home, NLA was where Pongo belonged. He wouldn’t miss the cold if he had the warmth of his friends and family at his side. 

And yet, he watched Cocytios disappear beyond the horizon as they sailed off deeper into the ocean. Why did Pongo remain so attached to the continent that had brought him so much pain? Maybe one day he’d be able to verbalize it, but for now, he let the sadness of farewell make itself known. This wouldn’t be the last he saw of Cocytios, he promised. After all, Starr had made a promise to Lumina to return, to find her the help she needed to recover. In Starr’s lieu, Pongo felt it was fitting to uphold that promise. 

After what felt like a lifetime, Primordia appeared in the distance. The cold had left them behind, and in its stead was saltwater and warmth. Pongo became increasingly aware that he was still wearing Starr’s clothes, and gods, did it make him uncomfortable. He shifted in his spot, beginning to wonder if it was a good idea to enter the city in Starr’s attire. Starr would’ve hated NLA, he would’ve hated the hustle and bustle and he would’ve despised people staring at him. Pongo reached for Starr’s breastplate, lifting it easily over his head. The cape came off with it, attached near the shoulders, and Pongo instantly felt a sense of relief. He wondered if he should’ve left it back in Cocytios, a memorial to the fallen. But Starr wouldn't have wanted that, either, would he? This was too complicated to process. He resorted to carrying it back home. 

The boat slowly approached the shoreline, a smooth transition thanks to Elma behind the controls. After the engine was cut, she left the helm, coming up on Pongo’s right side. She looked up at him, searching for his response, gauging his headspace. He stared ahead at the land before him. Night had long since claimed the skies, but it was young enough that his visibility hadn’t been impacted. It certainly helped that a few temporary lampposts had been constructed at the beach, the sand shifted where boxes and supply crates had once stood. And the breeze that wafted over from the land…it felt good. It was welcoming him home with open arms. Pongo melted into its embrace, emitting a soft sigh. 

Elma opened up a control panel within the ship’s wall railing, and as she held down a button, a metal ramp emerged out of the ship’s side, touching down on the shore. She closed the control panel, opened the door to the ramp, waved with one hand for Pongo to go first. Step by step, he grew closer, closer, until his foot sank into wet sand. There it was again, that welcoming breeze, a kiss to reassure him that there was nothing to fear. Pongo was home.

It didn’t take them very long to set up camp for the night. Even though the city was close, indigen activity at this time of the night wasn’t something either of them wanted to deal with, especially when Pongo felt his eyelids trying to force themselves shut. By the gods, it had been some time since he’d truly slept. Starr knew how to sleep, how to navigate the nightmares and emerge from them unscathed. Did Pongo have that strength, too?

Before he could answer his own question, footsteps approached, and Elma sat down next to him. He’d been leaning against one of the cliffs, exhaustion written on his face despite his best efforts to keep it subdued. A lamppost flickered a few yards away, not close enough to illuminate them fully. They sat like this for a while under the cover of night, simply existing beside each other. 

“I’ll keep watch,” Elma told him, and it occurred to Pongo that this was the first time either of them had spoken a word since leaving Cocytios, “Get some rest.”

Pongo fought it, that base instinct to deny needing any rest, to offer to stay up the whole night to help her. But nothing came. He closed his eyes, silent and wordless, his head heavy and tilting. He found purchase on her shoulder and never saw her surprise, her confusion, her sympathy all blending together. That night, he did not dream. That night, Pongo slept soundly. 

In the morning, there was no snow, no precipitation to speak of. The sun bore down on them like a dream come true, and with renewed energy the two reached the West Gate in no time. Elma showed no hesitance in stepping forward, continuing to lead Pongo as she always had. But Pongo stopped, staring up at the shining metal gate, the gleam of the crystals shooting out of the impact site. Did anyone ever figure out that those crystals were condensed miranium? He supposed it was something he was attuned to, but never had the appropriate reason to share. Though the sunlight caught on it in fractured mirror reflections, he could see the pulse of the planet cascading through it, blood pumping through the system, a buried heart beneath the ground. Mira had been silent for their voyage, but this was reassurance that it was alive, just resting. 

Elma looked over her shoulder, finding that Pongo had paused. “Are you okay, Pongo?”

He spoke the truth. “It feels strange, being home. There is a sense of…of day java.”

“Deja-vu,” Elma replied, “I feel it too. After all, this is the same route that I brought you on when I first found you in Starfall Basin.”

“That feels like it was so long ago,” Pongo breathed, “I could never have predicted that all of this would come to pass. To think, back then I had no idea who I even was…”

“Do you know, now?”

“Hm?”

“Do you know who you are, now?”

The question took him by surprise. But as the realization set in, Pongo found that it was easy enough to answer. There was so much he could say.

I am an Interceptor with BLADE.

I am a part of Team Elma.

I am an avatar of Mira.

I am the founder of the Free Hug Stand in the Commercial District. 

I am self-sacrificial to the point of self destruction.

I am happy even when I am hurting.

I am a broken soul on the way to repairing myself.

And in the end, he simply said, “I am Pongo.”

Elma smiled. “I’m proud of you, Pongo.”

Light flooded through his body, a warmth unparalleled. Had he ever heard someone say that to him before? Was he worthy of that pride she felt? Pongo pushed those thoughts down, instead following after Elma now that he’d been reassured. Truth be told, he was not nervous about coming home after being away for such a long time. There was the panic of falling into the same routine, that he’d fall down the same holes and make the same mistakes. He was Pongo, yes, but Pongo had his flaws. Reclaiming the name and the being meant he had to reclaim those unsavory parts of himself. But he’d be better this time, he had to be. It would take time, but he would be Pongo born anew, free from those flaws of the past.

The transition between Primordia’s wilds to the confines of NLA was a familiar one, though jarring all the same. Voices echoed from all around, the Industrial District’s hustle and bustle sweeping Pongo into its mix. Elma took everything in stride, though Pongo was all too aware of the turned heads and shocked expressions of those who saw them walk past. He swallowed hard and kept his focus on the sidewalk, on Elma’s back, clinging to ignorance like a plague.

The test hangar was busier than the district outside, but luckily Elma raised a hand to Pongo before they fully entered. She told him to wait, for Lin was likely inside performing some Skell armor resistance tests as she had been for the past few weeks. Pongo laughed, saying that sounded like Lin. They agreed the fresh air would do her some good. Then Elma dove into the chaos, her bright red armor still pinpointable through the crowd. Pongo backed up so he was leaning against the hangar entrance’s wall, putting his hands in his pockets. Some people walked by and gave him strange looks, and again he was reminded of how uncomfortable it was to wear Starr’s clothes. 

Perhaps the clothes were the reason Lin didn’t recognize him right away, following behind Elma for a time before they finally saw each other. And when she finally recognized him, she bolted across the hangar, tears in the corners of her eyes, jumping up into Pongo’s embrace as he spun her around and laughed and relished in the joy he felt. She asked many questions, and Pongo gave her many answers, though he saved the overarching and important ones for when they went back to their barracks. There, he answered everything he could, even through Lin’s heartbreak and tears. She hugged him so many times that it was almost as if she never let go. Tatsu appeared at one point, emerging from behind a wall with his head lowered in shame. He’d been eavesdropping, he admitted to it, but curiosity had gotten the better of him once he’d overheard news of the Desserta Caravan. Even now, he had a soft spot for Cocytios’s Legendary Heropon and his loving wife, a hero all her own. To think, two immortal Nopon had taught him how to fight! What luck indeed! 

And after all was said and done, Elma told him he could change into his combat vest and jeans, hanging up perfectly in the closet in his room. The moment Pongo had changed and saw himself in the mirror, everything felt right. These were his clothes, this was his body. He was home, finally home.

When he came back outside into the main area, Lin handed him two cups of hot chocolate, ones that she’d brewed herself. Pongo raised an eyebrow - why two cups? - but everything made sense when she said that the second cup was for someone he hadn’t seen yet. Someone who was, in fact, worried about him from the very start of his disappearance. He’d even filed a missing persons report, though Elma said Chausson didn’t think much of it. After all, Pongo was one of the most revered and capable fighters in BLADE. He’d be back.

So with two styrofoam cups in hand, steam pouring from the top with hints of deep dark chocolate, Pongo left the barracks and walked down Armory Alley, towards the one he missed the most. It appeared to be a day like most others for him, a profitable but busy day indeed. Jejebba and L both were teaming up to try and sell a pair of swords to a young Curator - oh goodness, it was Mia. She looked entranced by the swords, one a vibrant red with green etheric inlays, and the other gleaming a royal white and gold. She grabbed her comm device only to sink into herself. Pongo could immediately tell she didn’t have the funds. She never did. 

Deja-vu, Pongo thought as he grabbed his own comm device with one hand. A few quick taps, and the funds had been sent over. Mia’s eyes suddenly widened, and though she was still too far away for Pongo to hear her, he could see her evident excitement. He continued walking towards her until he was closer, and after swiveling back and forth, she met his gaze and her smile reached both of her ears. 

And L’Cirufe, bless his heart, found him standing there seconds later. His surprise quickly bled into his relief, his adoration, his love. 

Pongo smiled.

“I still owe you more than a hot chocolate, but hopefully it is still a good start.”

#xenoblade x #Imperium 3: Chapter 8 #thank you so much for reading. #thank you for being here. #this feels beautiful and whole and utterly real. i can't believe i'm here now. #but know this. #this...this is not the end. #imperium may be finished but it is not over. #but for now...i will sleep.

[aviawrites]

the rage of a harkonnen (dune: part two)

pairings: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Fem!Reader

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

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

warnings: blood, death, abuse

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

10191 // month 1 // 📍kaitan 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Young Harauna-“

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

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

“We absolutely do, Harauna.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hara…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t do this, Hara.”

10191 // month 3 // 📍giedi prime

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The entirety of Arrakis.” 

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

“…He promises you…Arrakis?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10191 // month 3 // 📍giedi prime

14 hours later 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10191 // month 4 // 📍starship 

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

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

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

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

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

“To my sister, Hara.” 

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

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

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

“Paul Atreides is dead.” Rabban corrects you. 

“He didn’t die in the attack-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He won’t beat me.”

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be the worst position in the highest room.

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

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

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

For some never make it to the room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10191 // month 4 // 📍arrakeen

two days later

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

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

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

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

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

“Is he worthy?”

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Where is integrity?’ You wonder. 

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

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

The rage of a Harkonnen.

#dune part two #dune movie #dune 2024 #dune part 2 #dune fanfiction #dune fandom #dune fic #dune part ii #feyd rautha #feyd rautha imagine #feyd x reader #feyd rautha fanfic #feyd rautha fic #dune part one

[fastlikealambo]

holy crowns || paul atreides x black! reader

summary: it was supposed to be your sister, your bene gesserit trained sister molded by the great houses, spy for the imperium. with no warning, paul chooses you instead and changes your life forever. some call him messiah, others an abomination, but you will call him husband.this will be a multi chapter work and 18+only. note: hello! this takes place after the events of dune part two and Paul is about to become emperor. Irulan and her father are in exile and Chani is gone. thank you for reading! if you wish to see the story continue on beyond this chapter, please comment or reblog!

@drunkennunicornn

@fanfiction-addict22

@wonderpals02

@qveendiorsworld

@turn-thy-paige

@hoyoooo

@oscarissac2099

@inesven

@blahzaiblahsheep

CHAPTER ONE

THE MUAD'DIB CHOOSES A BRIDE.

Blood and roses.

     “I told you to be careful.” Your sister chided in a motherly tone, despite being only one year older than you, handing you a small handkerchief. With a mouthful of pins, you uttered a small sound of gratitude and used your non-injured hand to finish the task of placing metal rose hair pins in her braided crown. You’d be Arrakis in less than an hour but your sister wanted her last precious moments alone to be with you.

    “There, done.  My sister, the jewel of the outer world and now Arrakis, I still can’t believe this is happening. Do you think he will be kind?” You asked, straightening up to face your sister in the mirror.

 You shared the same deep brown skin and nose of your father but that was where the similarities ended. Both of your mothers had been models of the Bene Gesserit order but only one of your mothers had been made wife of a Duke, and the other a concubine, no less loved.

Until your mother passed, leaving you alone to face rumors of her madness. As you grew so did the stories of the concubine who lost her way and denied herself spice and in turn, denied you of a mother and the protection of the order that trained her and your sister.

     “Paul Atreides is an abomination, a tainted nova and your sister will make him anew, his kindness is of no importance. You may go, your sister and I need to speak.”  Reverend Mother Mohiam said from her place in the doorway.

    “I only need a few more minutes with my sister Reverend Mother, we’re nearly ready.” Your sister said, hand in yours.

GO.

A thousand and one tiny cuts into your brain, you found yourself outside of your sister’s room frozen in place.

  You still remember the day Reverend Mother came to take your sister away to train under the sisterhood.You made the mistake asking why, why could you not go together.

    “You carry your mother’s agony. You are not sufficient, there is no bite within you, human child. My order has no need of sentient infirmity.”

The Reverend Mother was correct.

What was to be your life after your sister was gone?

Where would your path lead?

There was no place for agony among the stars.

The heat of Arrakis resembled a distraught lover, sloppy kisses of sweat covered your body, the breeze that accompanied the opening of your ship doors held no comfort. 

You stood behind your sister, poised to pick up the train of her gown the moment your house would disembark the ship but for some reason, no one could leave yet.

Over her shoulder, your sister smiled, stretching her hand behind her back for you one last time. Yet before you could take it, your sister froze, a sudden faraway look in her eyes. Through your veil you watched her eyes widen, her hands clenched into fists. 

    “He’s coming here! The Muad'Dib is boarding the ship!”  A guard whispered fiercely to another.

No one seemed to notice what was happening but before you took a step towards your sister, her gaze was fixed on you. Despite the heat, you were freezing beneath her stare, unsure if it was your sister or the Bene Gesserit acolyte looking upon you.

The sound of marching feet and chanting distracted you both and all aboard the ship including fell to their knees, the Reverend Mother the only exception. You stood with the others, eyes to the floor, hands shaking as someone made their way down the line, your father making introductions as an attempt at conversation but there was only silence in return.

 You waited for the footsteps to end at your sister but they continued on, barely masked gasps filled the now crowded ship and a pair of boots entered your line of vision.

REMOVE YOUR VEIL. 

The trembling in your fingers instantly vanished and with otherworldly precision, you removed the veil from your face, the silk sliding down the back of your braids and to the floor.

The Muad’Dib was looking at you. 

      “Her.”

One by one, every Feydakin behind him took a knee and your house got over their confusion quickly, copying the motion, your sister, eyes wet, included. 

Paul Atreides bowed before you, blue within blue eyes never leaving yours.

      “Welcome to Arrakis.”

That’s our first chapter, I hope you like it! If you would like to see chapter two, please interact with this chapter, comment or reblog! Thank you for reading. 

#paul atreides x you #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides x black!reader

[alavestineneas]

and if you are there, why do i feel alone in this room?

pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader summary: The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, mentions of sa (!), blood and other parts of body, very non-healthy relationships chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 !this work is part 2 to the i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest! word count: 7,3k

author's notes: hi beautiful people! today, I have finally finished this chapter and am thrilled to say that this fic requires part 3! be aware that this piece of literature is explicit and touches on some very heavy themes, including sa and child abuse. Please be mindful of it! As always, your opinions, suggestions, and critiques are welcome in the comments. Love you, and have a tasty read!

There are a lot of books stored in her memory, locked in the neurocytes safely. They are tucked into the cortex with love and tenderness that YN otherwise taught herself to suppress as a sign of her weaker self. But papers were non-living, so she felt like it was less dangerous for her to show warmth towards them; after all, if the objects can not acknowledge your love, does it really count as real? She read everything, mostly in an attempt to prepare herself for something she did not know the face of; she read to build the shield around herself, in desperate hope to be able to help at least her future self. YN read even now, although her foolish childhood desires were long gone, just to get a glimpse of the girl she was before the monsters escaped the pages.

The book she re-read the most was nothing special, nothing suiting the image she moulded herself into—a giant, relatively old encyclopaedia of animals inhabiting the furthest corners of Known Imperium. The letters inside, although faded a little, were left almost untouched by eyes—maybe it was what drew her in in the first place—to cherish something seen as unneeded. YN learned the small paragraphs almost by heart; she liked the idea of someone taking enough time to observe something as small as a roden to know its habits. She liked the idea of it happening to her one day. As it always is, it did not.

She chose her favourite animal without that much thought. Although even the notion of having something beloved was foolish, YN was made to choose; she and her sisters played the game of forest most often. The game was simple: pretend to be a creature you are not, forgetting the countless rules they had to follow. Pretending they have claws and teeth; pretending they can protect themselves not through intrigues and hidden motives but through open, bold force. Irulan was always a Katanga Lioness; she liked it because of the proximity to their house's symbol. YN did not; the grey pages of her beloved book described them as "observed to also scavenge on carrion of animals that were killed by other predators or died from natural causes''. What king of the animals steals the work of others simply to feed themselves? She did not tell Irulan that, of course—why would she?

YN chose a mountain lion for herself. Sure, she may have made a mistake thinking it was just another type of lion, but the game went too far to change anything, so she stuck with that. She even grew to love it—the drawing of the mountain lion on her character sheet, the way it prowled through the forest in her mind's eye. It had many names and many homes. Adaptive. Captivating.

She does not know why it came into her mind suddenly—maybe it was the dim light of the closed arena. The air circulated here freely, cooling through the complex systems of vents, even though it seemed to be deprived of any life—just a mechanical circle of the same molecules moving around her seated figure and returning to the hidden openings again and again. YN looked straight ahead; the two men were still sparring.

From her bench, they looked like one—two bodies moved so swiftly that one was unable to differentiate where the lines of their limbs ended. YN squinted her eyes; she was alone in the seating area, and still, she dared not move closer. The taller, thinner figure possessed skin so white it looked almost translucent underneath the cold light—YN wondered if she would be able to see the structures in his body through his clothed stomach. He moved well, almost too well for her not to press her lower row of teeth to the top one, hiding the tongue in a cave of pearl bones—she had hoped he was worse with his bare hands. YN had counted four hundred and five seconds before he made a mistake in his steps; it was a lot more than her own results, but for a man, he was good.

Feyd-Rautha had style; she had to give him that. He fought like a serpent would: calculated, precise. His fists knew the most effective targets, and his legs knew how to escape the blows of his opponent. If YN was to guess, he relied on muscle memory less than a usual fighter would, preferring to dwell in the moment instead. It made for a good show, sure, but it was not practical. She smiled to herself; of course, the na-Baron could not know what the real battle was like. How unfortunate for him—how delightful for her. YN still can't believe he let her watch his training every morning—was he really that stupid not to realise her motive? Was he too confident to consider having weaknesses?

Regardless, she saw what she needed to do - for three hours every day, she set unmovingly on the third bench in a small fighting ground, imprinting his every move in her mind. There are so many moves you can use and so many tricks you can do before she learns them all. YN did not care for the cold gaze thrown in her direction when Feyd-Rautha collapsed on the ground, taking a moment to rest before lurching onto his opponent again. She can wait.

Mountain lions are stealthy predators.

-

The days she spent here changed into months, their slow steps morphing into each other until time became a blur, a concept she did not grasp. Feyd-Rautha was a hard one to warm, but before she would mould him into something she wanted, YN needed to heat his DNA to a certain magnitude; otherwise, he would simply break. She would've gladly accepted this turn of fate too, but right now, keeping na-Baron alive is far more convenient for the Bene Gessarit. For her.

A concubine. A slap in the face: it seemed like life was determined to dissolve the small bits of her dignity in its endless pool of secrets. She was not a wife to Harkonnen na-Baron; no, she was to be his whore. If she was not too tired, she would've felt a pang of fear on her rising with oxygen lungs; a concubine's position is even lower here compared to one of a lawful wife's. YN remembers the words of her teacher as she prepared her for the union: Harkonnen concubines are killed after their first night in a position; if one is lucky enough to escape the fate by being with a child, she bears him until it's time for the baby to be born. One of the greatest honours for a Harkonnen is to take the life of his mother as soon as he enters the world.

She was to join na-Baron for breakfast today—a proposal YN waited long to receive, but part of her wishes she never did. It was worded like an invitation; YN knows it was not. Harkonnens rarely spoke when they did not give orders—a creature of habit, she supposed. So, she did what she had to: follow the slave to the chambers designated for the meal. The hem of her dress shone with a colour so foreign to the fort around her; YN needed to make herself stand out. Men are much like children, she learned—the more colourful the toy, the more likely they will want to play with it.

The walls were heavy here. They didn't bend in the shapes she was used to, preferring to stand tall. They didn't have to hide their strength underneath a complicated facade—quite the opposite. They paraded it, wearing it like the honour it is. Staying unremorsefully unbending. Maybe it's the air or a different measure of gravity; maybe it's her habit of soaking up the surroundings and letting them poison her insides, growing rotten in between the folds of her stomach tissue, but her legs are metal, stone-cold, pulling YN deeper and deeper into the floor. She tries so hard to ignore the three creatures in the corner.

They are hairless, much like the man in front of her, and dressed in matching black. YN would've mistaken them for Harkonnen royalty if it were not for the iron collars on their necks and the glowing black eyes that seemed to follow her every move. She would've been happy to have some company and not be forced into solitude with na-Baron if it were not for a still convulsing body on the floor. A body she did not recognise, but it could've easily been her own.

The creatures seemed to enjoy the involuntary moves of the soon-to-be corpse; they closed their eyes in delight and bared the sharp, black-coloured teeth in sheer pleasure as they lurched into the white flesh. They ripped it apart with only their hands, not bothering to use the prepared knives for more than a big incision from head to stomach. The sounds of chewing and gnawing filled the room, echoing off the walls and sending electric impulses down her body. YN was used to the metallic smell and the bright colour of arterial blood, but this was not a simple death. It was a show, and she was the long-awaited watcher.

Feyd-Rautha seemed unbothered by the sight near him. His hands, covered in thick streaks of blood, were deep to his elbows in the body. He dissected the corpse with precision, his eyes focused and his grip steady. He looked calm, even peaceful. Na-Baron was in good humour today. ''I must say, your arrival has graced us with much more than just the dowery; nothing could've made this union more auspicious—such a rare bird you are, daughter of our generous Emperor. A princess, yet treated no better than a common slave.''

Here it was: the thing she was thinking about all the way to this strange, garbage planet in the dress that pokes bleeding holes in her abdomen with each glass she downs. From his lips, it sounds even more bitter; even savages found the way the Emperor sold one of his daughters so easily strange. "Both of our houses have traditions far beyond our understanding," YN shrugs, scaring her thoughts away like annoying flies. Here, in a room so far from the comfort of her home, they moved too fast, bringing nausea to her throat.

She is here to secure the bloodline of House Harkonnen, to ensure the balance needed in the Imperium. YN does not notice how suddenly her gaze darkens or how tightly the hands that rested on the chair are now holding the pleated velvet of her ruby-red gown. Oh, the baby. The tiny creature inside her womb, the future head for the Baron's crown to be placed upon. The yet unconcieved child she could not feel love for. She was given no other choice but to risk its life before even giving it a chance to obtain its gift.

''Then you will find my present to be quite fitting.''

YN watches in silence as na-Baron reaches inside the rib cage of the corpse. He reaps out an organ with one swift motion, almost like plucking a harmful sprout from the garden. The organ is broun and rosewood, a weird mixture of shades that make it harder for her to focus on anything but the thing in his large hand. The gift he meant to give was a human heart.

She feels his walk long before she sees a figure departing from its place at the table; she guesses the end point of his manoeuvres too easily. It's almost funny—a cruel, senseless joke; how obvious the slight tremor in her hands is; how heavy her eyes become at the sight of Harkonnen black. The body positions itself near; if she squints, she can hear the hot breathing somewhere between her shoulder blades. His hand snakes around her neck quickly, positioning the organ right in front of her mouth. YN can detect the smell hitting her nostrils before she closes the receptors in them. She wants to scream, but the notes die in her throat. Who would she scream for? She hears the creatures hiss and whisper—the heart is a good part, from what she can make out. It did not need to be wasted on people like her.

''Will you not accept it?'' Feyd-Rautha's words are mocking, but his dark blue eyes stay virgin to the laughter. They drill small spots on her neck from behind with such force that YN can almost feel the burnt smell of her sweat-covered skin.

She takes a breath. Her own heart shrinks, its vessels beating with intensity twice as much as needed. Still alive, she notes absently. Still breathing. The feeling is natural and easy; the forced calmness in her body tingles the muscles, braiding her nerves into a pattern similar to the netting. Then, she opens her mouth.

"If I shall lick the blood of your hands, Feyd-Rautha, dare to make it your own."

That's it.

Maybe the Emperor was right to spare her none of the Sardaukars and a quarter of her dresses. She did not need more; she was not expected to survive long enough to use half of her clothes. YN chucked under her breath. Dead over diet preferences—how profound.

After a moment, the pale face behind her also twists, allowing the blackened teeth to escape the grip of thin lips. Like this, na-Baron looks less human and more like the evil he was said to be. He throws the heart to the creatures—they catch it greedily—and places a bloodied hand on her shoulder, the droplets of crimson going unnoticed on the brightly coloured cloth. ''Very well, then. Let us eat.''

YN nods. She looks around almost instinctively; nothing could make her eat a thing after the sight she just witnessed, but she refuses the na-Baron once; she is not about to do it again. The food is a lot, but her plate is almost empty: only a small amount of salad is here, sadly staring into the hunger in her eyes and a now featherless creature in an unnatural pose, suggesting its non-poetical death. The bird is small, almost delicate; its wings are pitifully glued to the body. YN does not want to let her mind draw the comparison, and does not allow her brain to admit a direct analogy; she dissects the bird with a dull knife and puts a piece in her dry mouth. The creature tastes good—almost too good to be expected in this brightly lit hall.

Most often deer is the mountain lion’s staple diet. However, they can survive preying on small animals as well.

-

The night covers Giedi Prime rather quickly; it never lingers, politely waiting for its masters to finish their daily affairs; it hits like a coward, from behind, trapping those not careful enough to hide before its arrival. The harsh, toxic waves of lazy winds hit the walls of the halls coldly lighted with a few sphears; they look like deep forest clearings, forming a system of endless options, ultimately leading to one, inevitable, end. His work chambers aren't big; he does not visit them often for them to be. The solitary metal desk before him is filled with letters, drafts of laws, and official documents, all waiting for his approval. It exhausts Feyd-Rautha to no end, the sheer stupidity of most of the advisers here; almost half of the documents were riddled with errors and inconsistencies. The forever present in his head dull migraine grows stronger when he opens the shortest letter; he almost busts his skull open when the pain heavies.

He ponders too much—the type of thoughts you can feel running on your tongue but never escaping. He is not used to being in the mist; all of his life is so painfully contrasted that no doubt of its nature can survive the sharp edge of his mind. There are things he can escape—forget, even—but some linger in his ribcage too long for them to vanish. Soon, they grow into his lungs with small, unbreakable threads, becoming him. He used to try to get them away from his heart, as if it held some value. Now, he is smarter, older, and more indifferent, he lets them pierce yet another piece of human flesh with no sorrow.

Of course, he remembered her face. The same face that haunted his sleep ever since she dared to appear before his eyes. Feyd-Rautha, naturally, found her little frolic that day. He spent an entire evening studying her work, analysing every move she could've made with her blade to achieve such outcomes. Sure, some things he would've done differently, but the sheer brutality of an animal he would not have guessed the girl possessed charmed him. Feyd-Rautha was a proud man, but he, too, held a love for beautiful things. For that, he hadn't told the Baron of the sight he discovered in the reading room. For that, he is now willing to pretend to believe her eyes when the fear fleshes in them.

Feyd-Rautha curses; she sickens. Like a bone stuck somewhere down his throat, not letting him live without a pang of mocking. She lurks, and whispers—Feyd-Rautha wants to smash her pretty head against the wall just to reveal the secrets she hides from him so he can finally understand the hold she retains. He is no stranger to the desire to own, or devour, but the fear in the back wall of his stomach is an alien in his body. He tries to hide it—to paint over it with anger or violence—but it remains a constant presence, gnawing at him from within. It's no use; the woman is a shark, designed to sense the fright. Maybe that's what brought him in in the first place—the steel eyes so similar to his own in a narrow hall all those years before. Maybe he was so used to the danger that he craved it subconsciously, looking for it to make him feel like himself again. A reoccurring childhood nightmare he can't escape; he doesn't want to escape.

Feyd-Rautha finds the chair to put his weight on and waits until the tingling, spinning sensation spreads from his temples down his neck, finding its way into his bloodstream and passing his organs one by one, until none are left uncorrupted. Of course, he expects it. The woman slipped into his brain and now chews her way into it like a parasite downs the rotten body. He knows he should be terrified, but instead, he feels a strange sense of relief. Feyd-Rautha can hear the whispers of his own mind fighting to remain the only owners of the secrets and desires buried within. He feels his eyelids heavy; a second later, the whites of his eyes are staring at the ceiling, the blue eye lenses dissolving in light.

Water. The first thing he feels is ice-cold water dripping onto his face, filling his lungs, and sending a shock through his arms. This body does not feel like his; it's too small, too narrow. His eyes are trying to adjust as fast as they can, jumping from one blurred spot to another until finally catching a glimpse of the surroundings. His brain does not have time to process the picture; his nose is filled with fluid again, and his open mouth is gasping for air but only taking in more liquid. He tries waving his hands around, but the stronger grip is firm on his nape, pulling him further down into the depths. The hand yanked him out just as he was about to fall into darkness again, the sound of water changing to loud screeching.

''How dare you hit me, devil child? Let the water wash away your dirt. Repent; beg for forgiveness for all of your rotten nature.''

The voice is unknown to him; it is harsh and filled with fury. The woman's face is twisted in anger; splashes of water on it match his. He can't tell if they are from his antics or tears. The woman's grip tightens, her nails digging into his skin. The black clothes on her figure make her status known - a Bene Gessarit witch. Feyd-Rautha tries to lurch forward and hit her back, but her strength is overwhelming. He feels panic coursing through his veins instead of oxygen—a sensation he did not think he could experience anymore. He wants to bark a response to show her that he is not afraid, but his voice catches in his throat.

Feyd-Rautha has no time to wonder what the woman wants; she brings his face to the bathtub again, and he opens his mouth involuntarily, frantically begging not to do it anymore. He says everything she wants to hear; he cries out and promises to wash his sins away. The voice does not sound like his at all. He is desperate to end this nightmare now, but some force holds him here. The woman is not satisfied; her ears are deaf to his pleas.

His face ends up on the water surface a moment later, his nose hitting the wall of the bathtub as the woman holds him down. He feels his body go limp with utter horror; this time, the shouting woman won't stop. Her voice grows quieter, replaced by the sound of small waves hitting the brim and spilling; from right to left, the water turns red, and his tongue tastes the iron he knows from sliding blades into his mouth.

''Echidna, what the fuck are you doing? Let her go; she is going to choke!''

''Get that spawn to me, for I will not let her ruin my life anymore! I must finish what I have started!''

Feyd-Rautha's head is filled with oxygen once again; his lungs take a desperate breath in, sending too much air to his blood system. He falls on his back, the world spinning. He does not care for the weeping woman in black or the chaos unfolding around him. His only thought is that everything is finally done and that the white floors are a magnificent place for drops of liquid to fall from his normally bald head's waterfall of hair.

He wakes up suddenly, the sensation long gone. His steps are heavy again; the body he inhibits no longer feels like a cage. The voices have left him for now, and the only thing on his forehead left is small drops of sweat and a pathetic, frightened, beating heart. The cold breeze from the darkened sands surrounding the city wishes to prove otherwise—it heavies and plants its spikes into his reddened cheeks. The horizon gleams at him, almost taunting; not a single star is to be seen under the imposing clouds. He will kill her; maybe he will even enjoy it. Feyd-Rautha can handle a lot, but not the shame of being seen. Not the guilt of being caught wanting.

There are only three ways to hunt a mountain lion: tracking, waiting in ambush, and with dogs.

-

The gliding motions of heavy fabrics across the wooden floors created a strange pattern of a song now centuries old. Here, in a room so long that the wind travelled through the hollows, her careful steps seemed to almost fall silent. Nothing was there for the preying eyes to see. YN closes her eyes; with that, even for a moment, the world stays still. She knows where the hollow staircase will lead her; she feels it in her stomach with every step she takes. YN knows nothing about the future, but the past lives deep in her memories, haunting her every move. She knows she shouldn't have done it. Travelling through one's mind is a sin she can't escape; she will pay the price for it in her blood, but the Bene Gesarit did not send her here to survive, so it's of no use to be afraid now. It makes no difference for the dead if you weep at their grave or not.

The burning sphere of light in the hall stops spinning; the doors open without any noise, although if the pounding eardrums had not stunned her hearing, she could've noticed the faint thuds. YN waits; there are no flashes of her happiest memories or the faces of her loved ones in her drained mind. No, in what seems to be her last moments, she thinks of what she could've been if the world had not given her a sword to turn into.

Feyd-Rautha appears in the hall; his steps aren't rushed, and his expression is stone-cold. She eyes him shamelessly: nothing. She sees nothing; she senses it deep in her crying bones. He drags her by the hair like a mother would with her misbehaving child; roughly, he pulls her towards the exit, his grip tightening with each step until the door behind them closes and her knees meet the cold ground with a nasty thud. The bruises will stain them soon, not that it matters now.

''You should've known better than to cross me,'' he hisses, his voice gruff. It's cold, chilling—the way his lips part to reveal a sinister smile. ''Now, you can think yourself vanished, little witch.''

YN does not answer—what fool would beg the deaf? The blade against her chin is sharp; she knows how attentive he is when it comes to inflicting pain. It pokes right into the Omehyoid muscle, a dull pain shooting through her body. If she has got to die, it may as well be from his skilled arms. How beautiful he is in the twisted pleasure he finds in her suffering. Unearthly, almost too perfect to be made of simple flesh and bone. Something was unnerving, unforgettable in the net of veins under his pearly skin; it was as if he were a work of art, meticulously crafted to bring physical pain and optical pleasure in equal measure. A silver glint under the defined cheekbones, a redness of lips filled with blood vessels. For a second, YN wonders what it would be like to bite into it, like an apple that lay too long under the golden sun; would the blood slip as generously as the sweet nectar? Handsome as poison, as a black sun on his forsaken planet, as death.

''Go on. Kill me, then; let me escape you once and for all.''

Under the deep sea of his eyes, something moved; his eyes dipped into her, part by part. Like the slow, deliberate dance of a predator stalking its prey, his gaze lingered on her, calculating and intense. YN lowered her head to push the knife a little deeper into the flesh. A strange thought lingered in her brain; she found herself on her knees in front of him, almost willingly. She has worshipped God all her life; who, if not her, can recognise his creation? The Devil. Lucifer. Satan. The man with horns so big they once touched the skies; a corrupt angel, fallen from grace so long ago he couldn't remember way back if he tried. They have warned her about him, but is it her fault that God has disowned her earlier than she could? Did it really matter to her, before whom to kneel, as long as she felt a sense of power and control in her submission?

All that mattered now was that he wanted to hurt her. He wanted her.

She sees the recognition flicker on his face. Caught. The blade slides quickly across her exposed neck, the blood sprouting out in a weak, painfully quick stream. Feyd-Rautha kissed her, biting her bottom lip till the stream of boldly coloured blood trickled down his chin. He did so like an animal would, baring his teeth and dragging them across the pulsating vein on her neck. YN's laughing cry echoes in the empty room; she is forced to admit that he felt good.

Never approach a mountain lion; most mountain lions prefer to avoid confrontations, so never approach them and make them feel cornered.

-

The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. The beautiful substance of her hair caught the light from the sun like a mirage in the desert, reflecting in his eyes with painful hits. The jewels, too, have found their way onto her clothes, but they were hidden beneath the layers of fabric. They shined brightly, impertinently, framing her figure in a glow that seemed to come from within.

To his surprise, the skills woman possessed spread out to politics as well, with her witch training proving useful in court. Feyd-Rautha did not miss how his advisors grew more uneasy when she entered the room, her careful eyes scanning their faces for even a hint of betrayal or deceit. Like a proud discoverer, he ached to share his new-found wonder with the blind audience, but something in him protested in a mare thought of showing the precious jewel of his eye to the cluster of unworthy. So, Feyd-Rautha did the only thing he knew how— all of his secret observations were done from afar, masterfully hidden behind the facade of casual indifference.

As he drags yet another blade across the surface of the whetstone, he thinks about her delicate hands on his neck, her ringed fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. It doesn't matter; YN is nothing of the sort. A concubine, a possession, a tool for pleasure and procreation—the Harkonnen way was simple.

''Are you done eye-fucking me now, or do you need more time with your blade?'' she sneers, her voice mocking. Only she could get away with such bold defiance in his presence, but she does not seem to care for the unusualness of it.

YN motions for him to come closer, her eyes studying the way his legs move. Feyd-Rautha has no control over them; the steps make themselves. She plays the game very well; the chase fuels something primal within him. Thirst. Hunger. It was the Harkonnen training talking to him—the wild, ancient sensation taking over his insides and imprisoning his mind in a cage of helpless desire. It spread its tentacles down to his fingertips, nesting in his abdomen. He positions himself in front of her, his body betraying him as he leans in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Feyd-Rautha's hands repeat the ritual almost instinctively, rolling the hem of her deep purple dress up to her waist.

''Stop for a second,'' she whispers against his ear, her breath warm and inviting. ''Can I give you a piece of advice?''

Feyd-Rautha can feel the anger creeping into his body; he does not like to be refused. ''No,'' he grumbles, turning her around forcefully. "I don't need your advice," he snaps, his grip tightening on her arm.

YN does not seem to care for it. ''Don't do it. It will only lead to trouble.''

''What?'' He stops, his eyes narrowing as he absorbs the woman's words. The doubts that had lingered in the back of his mind suddenly grew louder, echoing through his mind. He releases her arm, his expression stoic. ''You are insane, woman. What are you talking about?''

''You know what I mean.''

The unease boils in his stomach. How could she know? He was careful not to slip anything; she wasn't able to cast her spells anymore either. But her knowing gaze tells him otherwise. ''You can not know the future,'' he pronounces.

''I don't need to know the future to see the truth, Feyd-Rautha. Your judgement is clouded by rage, and your mind is not as sharp as it usually is. You are not as invincible as you think you are.''

She is bluffing, he thinks. He hopes she is. Feyd-Rautha almost wished there was no cloth covering her face, nothing to hide her expressions as she lay beneath him. He catches her flamed eyes and the way they circle his face in one swift motion before settling on the ceiling above. It unnerves him, but he refuses to show it. She is no master here; she is simply a servant. That is not what power looks like, if he ever recognised one, and Feyd-Rautha knew power.

''Get out, now.''

Nothing was portrayed on her face as she curtseyed; nothing was there when she turned and walked to her rooms, leaving nothing but the ghost of the human body's warmth.

Mountain lions are more at home in brushy areas than in open prairies.

-

And then, he disappeared. Like the sound of the morning birds falling silent in the cacophony of voices of the city on her home planet, there was no trace of na-Baron in the entire Harkonnen fortress. YN thought she was slowly but surely going mad; no one but her noticed the usual place by the window empty, and no one but her seemed to care enough to know where he went. She caught strange looks from a few, and frankly, she thought they were right. She looked like a mad woman, her hair quickly plated and her dress hurriedly laced, her eyes darting around the room in search of any sign of Feyd-Rautha's massive figure. Noon was dragged into the evening, and then night, for three, long days until she heard the long-awaited news: na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had tried to usurp his uncle and had failed.

She has told him so. A fucking brainless ram, with stubbornness bigger than his cock—why did he think he could outsmart the Baron? He will pay for his dumbness with his blood, perhaps even his limb—the thought brought nausea to YN's throat. She was lucky the Baron did not consider her important enough to be knowledgeable of such schemes; she lowered her head in the desert, hiding from the sand storms of Harkonnen politics; she waited for two long weeks until the announcement was made; Feyd-Rautha was forgiven. The celebration in honour of this news is to be today; she is to attend it. Not like his concubine, YN supposed, but more like the princess she still was.

Now, she took her time. YN chose a gown she wanted long enough to make even a tireless slave yawn, savouring each moment before their meeting. She was a victor now, in their small game of cat and mouse. He was a cat, but the mouse could still outwit him with grace and style. YN smiled at the wondering attendants; she looked good, and she was going to meet him.

The walk from her chambers to the Grand Hall wasn't too long; she would've walked a thousand more stairs if it was needed. The doors opened without a sound, revealing nothing but a mere celebration of yet another year under the reign of Harkonnens. The lines of slaves changed one another, the uneven circles of people dancing appearing and fleeing to the cheerful tone of strings. She was set somewhere between two Harkonnen lords she had no chance of knowing; she felt a sense of unease creeping up her spine as she tried to maintain a polite smile. Their gazes didn't look right; something sinister lurked inside them—hiding a secret she had no chance of knowing.

One of them turned to her, a chilling smile spreading across his face. "How are you finding the evening, lady YN? Or, what should I call you?,'' he mastered a fake confusion. ''Perhaps, darling? Concubine has a cheap wing to it; quite unworthy of a face so lovely as yours, don't you think?"

Dirt. The thing that crawled under her skin at his words was like dirt, making her feel unclean and exposed. She forced a laugh, trying to brush off his comments, the crown of her hair moving with muscles underneath her skin. "I am a princess, my Lord. Address me as such."

It would be enough every other noon, but today. The man's face twists, as if he just remembered something; he turns, the wine in his goblet splashing on the tablecloth. ''I think na-Baron wouldn't be too angry if I stole a princess for the night," he sneered, his eyes darkening with malice.

''Does it matter to you either way?''

YN watches as the smirk, so similar to Feyd-Rautha's, appears on the men's lips, although it doesn't feel the same. She fights back disgust as the man nods, biting into a hefty chunk of prey. His eyes, once focused on her, drifted away. YN chose to follow them; the string of fat streaming down the man's mouth onto the silver tablecloth made her nauseous. She looked from one unfamiliar face to another, until the cold feeling in her abdomen crept its way onto her chest.

There he was. His figure is unusually crouching as he sits on the podium reserved for members of the dynasty. The dark blue eyes are red now; the thin blood vessels in them are torn and emptied. His body seemed to suck the light out of the hall inside, casting a shadow over the room. There are no scars on his smooth face, but the sunken cheeks and hollow eyes spoke of a suffering that went beyond physical wounds. YN almost wished she saw him dead; whatever this was, it was surely much worse. He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers; something flickered in them before turning back to their empty state. Feyd-Rautha parts his dry lips to say something to her—she can't understand a word he draws with his breath.

From the place nearby, the Baron's voice booms, his low, almost whisper-like vowels mending into one. His face, covered with layers of skin and dead cells, twists into what was meant to be a welcoming smile—the corners of his paper-thin lips dance, lowering themselves only to jump higher, and his eyes travel from one corner to another, unable to be still even for a moment. He speaks of things YN knows nothing about court intrigue, power struggles, and alliances that shape the fate of their world, heavy with hidden meanings and unspoken threats. She does not listen until he gestures towards her, a scent of spice and decomposing flesh lingering.

''Sergeant Voss has served me well, and his loyalty at the right time is not to be forgotten. Here, I bestow upon him the highest honour of all; what was once mine, is now his. Do not let go of her if she screams, Sergeant; the girl is a fine one.''

No. YN almost does not recognise the hand as her own as the man drags her to the bed that appeared out of nowhere, freezing with horror as the people around her continue to watch in silence, their eyes devoid of any emotion or empathy. The tradition, she notes, is the one she learned so much about bedding in front of the entire court as a symbol of unity. She choked on her own tears as the man smiled at her pleas for help; they seemed to make him even more pleased.

YN looks, frantically, to the place she saw Feyd-Rautha sitting just a moment before. He would help; surely, he would not let them do it to her—his servant, his concubine, his. But the seat is empty. The scream echoing through the hall does not register as hers right away; he has sold her. For his own freedom, for a chance to be free from the consequences of his own stupid actions. Surely, the Harkonnens could not get rid of her openly—it would mean war—but she was not immune to the man who now owned her. His hands travelled her body with such audacity that YN wanted to cut them off—to cut her chest just so she could not feel the fingers digging into her skin. A sole reminder she was a woman first and a human second.

Mountain lions are solitary hunters.

The man undressed himself quickly; all of the soldiers were trained to do so. She should run; she should fight back, but the pair of unmoving hands pinning her wrists down was a stark reminder of her helplessness. The man lowers himself closer, his hot breath against her neck making her shudder in fear. She can feel him against her skirts; she can feel the weight of his body pressing down on her. The adrenaline is pumping through her veins; she will survive. Whatever it fucking takes, even if her body is bruised and broken, she will survive.

They prefer to ambush their prey from behind by swiftly and cleanly breaking the neck.

She bites—her teeth launch towards his cheek, feeling the warm flesh give way beneath her. She sinks them deeper, making holes big enough to draw blood. It's hot, and sickening on her tongue, but she does not have time for these thoughts; her next blow is in his stomach, with his knee jammed into his gut. She can feel his body convulse in pain, giving her a chance to throw him on the bed, his broad back facing her.

If they haven’t broken the neck, they will suffocate the animal.

There is nothing around that could serve as a knife; her captors made sure of that, and the sheets are too thin to wrap around his neck. She looks around the room, desperate for something to use, but the space around her is empty. YN curses as the man regains his composure and begins to struggle against her hold. Her elbow meets his nose with a sickening crunch, causing blood to spurt out. She takes a breath in; her hand wraps around his neck, forming a tight hold as she goes into the headlock. She chokes him, so desperately trying to live. And the man trashes against her grip, his white face turning a deep shade of purple before finally going limp in her arms.

Shame.

A thing that followed her after every life she took is now absent. Maybe the Giedi Prime's cruelty did have its effect on her; YN feels nothing but a sense of emptiness as she stands over the lifeless body.

''Do you have any more men to gift me to, Baron Vladimir? The night is still young.''

Her voice has changed. It holds a certain hiss now, a rasp that wasn't present before; it has matured and bloomed into half an octave deeper tone. It bites through the noise easily, cutting sharply.

The Baron laughs. His eyes gleam with amusement as he gestures towards the door. "Plenty more where that came from, my dear, but it's enough for today. Here,'' he throws something in her, a smirk ghosting on his lips. ''You've earned it.''

YN catches it and inspects the object in her hand. A small, golden broche catches the light, glinting in the dimly lit room. A head of the Bighorn ram stares back at her, the symbol of House Harkonnen. The taste of victory mingled with the metallic tang, leaving a bittersweet sensation in her mouth. Joy courses her veins—she isn't afraid. Finally, she is not afraid. Finally, she can look at her blood-stained hands without humiliation. Is it her fault she was born a better knife than a person?

Bighorn sheep are not a primary food source in most areas. However, when a lion does kill a sheep, they typically will continue to do so over and over again, until the herd is depleted.

tag list:

@oh-you-mean-me @juliskopf @moonsoulk @mamawiggers1980 @ashy-kit

#imagine #character x you #feyd rautha #dune movie #house harkonnen #feyd x reader #feyd rautha imagine #feyd x you #feyd rautha fanfiction #house corrino #dune fanfiction #dune 2024 #dune part two #dune part 2 #feyd oneshot #feyd rautha harkonnen #baron harkonnen #court #reader #x yn #yn #giedi prime #bene gesserit #arrakis

[flowerprose]

NAMESAKE 🌷💀🌿

a hades and persephone myth retelling

NANOWRIMO '23 WRAP-UP

When I saw these mood boards aligned on my Instagram, I knew I wanted to post them together at the end of the month.

My personal goal was to reach 30,000 words by the end of NaNo. Despite numerous days off, I achieved that. Now I strive to finish the rest of the manuscript by the end of January '24. Thank you to everyone who left kind encouragement this month! I've never felt more assured with this story than I do in its latest rendition. 😊 Someday soon I'm going to hold this book in my arms and squeeze it tight. And truthfully, I'm excited to wrap this up and move forward with something new.

With that said, this will also be the final excerpt I share of NAMESAKE! The next time I reach out, it will be to announce that the story is complete!!

EXCERPT

His brother descends upon the forest floor, blistering and sudden, much like the bolts sheathed at his side. How many mortal years have spanned since the last time the two of them stood, face to face? Zeus meets him with a weathered look, not nearly as boyish as he once was. Fucking across the countryside has clearly taken its toll on him.  “Zeus,” Hades says, his hands casually spinning the helm precariously between his palms.  “Hades, what brings you to the surface? My daughter?”  “So she’s yours,” he feigns. Zeus’s stormlike eyes shine as he nods. “She is,” he says solemnly. “Demeter… for all I know, she’s sunken into the earth. She never left Kore’s side. She cannot part from her grave-plot.” Hades nurses a condolence on his tongue, but Demeter marked him with her burning ire long ago, and such customs will not soothe her anguish. Least of all when he’s partly to blame for her suffering even now. He glosses over it instead. “Let her mourn however she needs to. I’m curious, though, how a God can perish. Have you looked into this?” “It’s all we’ve done.” He eyes the helm spinning between Hades’s hands before glancing towards the silent woods, cautious of his next words. “My children, my wife, every God within this world is investigating what caused this. Kore may only be the first of us to go.”  Hades doesn’t react to such news, though Hera seems the least likely to care about another spawn of Zeus dusted from her realm.  “Assure me that she’s safe. She belongs in your domain now.”  “She belongs to me,” Hades says, firmer than his brother-king would like.

taglist:

@mr-writes, @afoolandathief, @sapphic-story, @megarywrites, @blushroomx, @ozzie-scribe, @theskeletonprior, @muddshadow, @thepixiediaries, @nikkywrites, @bebewrites, @jhellfiregirls, @pinespittinink, @pink-prose-n-wiriters-woe, @phantomnations, @queenslayerbee, @antihell, @monstrousfreedom, @perasperaadastrawriting, @andromedaexists, @thebluesthourcommunity, @fearofahumanplanet, @bloodlessheirbyjacques, @stephwriteswords, @cljordan-imperium, @carminasolis, @kaatiba, @moondust-bard, @macabremoons, @lena-rambles, @beforethepen.

#namesake:writing #hades and persephone #myth retelling #greek gods #nanowrimo #my writing

[ohmyarda]

I read Tevinter Nights so you don’t have to [potential ramifications for Dragon Age: Dreadwolf]

So, I just finished Tevinter Nights which is part of the Dragon Age novel series but unlike the predecessors, it’s a compilation of short stories that take place after Inquisition. This will include some heavy spoilers so if you’re interested in reading the stories yourself, I’d advise against continuing forward. Also, this is just my immediate thoughts afterwards and won’t be an in-depth explanation, but I will gloss over some points established in the short stories that I think might be important to Dragon Age: Dreadwolf.    SPOILERS AHEAD ... Status of the Inquisition: At the start of Trespasser, the player is offered a choice if they’d disband the Inquisition or keep it together. Bioware tends to incorporate their own canon into their novel series so take this with a grain of salt, as it seems that the Bioware canon is that the Inquisition is disbanded. However, either way (whether you keep the Inquisition together or not), it is implied that Inquisition’s legacy has suffered upon Solas’ reveal as the Dread Wolf. One of the short stories states that it’s not a call for disbanding that ended the Inquisition, but a revelation that happened beyond an eluvian. Several characters throughout the stories also call the Inquisition directly into question, berating the organization for not knowing they were harboring an “elven god.”  Agents of the Inquisition: Whether or not the Inquisition is banded or disbanded, or potentially disgraced, there still seems to be many active Inquisition members, both outside and inside the Inquisition’s inner circle. Cassandra Pentaghast personally commissions an Inquisition investigation in one of the stories, and Varric, numerous times. Therefore, whether or not the Inquisition is in power, it is obvious it still has power and influence throughout Thedas.  Varric Tethras: Speaking of which, it’s important to note our favorite Viscount of Kirkwall has been busy. In one of the stories, he personally hires a few scholas (including Brother Genitivi, who wrote practically every codex you find in Inquisition) to seek out an elven chamber underneath the Silent Planes in Tevinter. A lot comes from this but what’s important for you to know without this being buggered down by too many details is that Varric is actively investigating Solas’ agenda, which might play more into his role in DA: Dreadwolf.  The Antaam: It’s very clear by Tevinter Nights that the Qunari will be incredibly important in DA: Dreadwolf. The Antaam, or the military branch of the Qun, seem to have either gone independent or split from the other branches and are acting on their own terms (or under Rasaan terms, a Qunari you may know being behind a lot of the actions in DA2 with Isabela and the comics). The Antaam have begun to go on the offensive, further pushing back against the Tevinter Imperium and seeking to occupy more of Northern and Southern Thedas. They also seek elven knowledge, Rasaan herself (who appears to be in command of the Antaam) seeming to want to uncover Solas’ true name to better understand him (and perhaps better deal with him - the whole ‘if you make a god bleed, they’re not a god anymore.’ If they can learn his name, then they know he’s something that can be destroyed). As she states that, Fen’Harel is a name given to him by his enemies, Dread Wolf isn’t an exact translation, and Solas is the name he gave himself, leaving his true name a mystery.  The Antivan Crows: In response, several stories also deal with the infamous Antivan assassins. What can be best said of them at the moment is that they fear the Antaam’s recent aggressions. The Antivan Crows act as assassins, but they also act as defense of Antiva, and seeing as 200 years ago, Antiva was once occupied by the Qunari, the crows are readily watching the Antaam’s movements. A deal made by one of their own Talons lead to the murder of a majority of their Talons (the Crow hierarchy), who made a deal with the Antaam that if they spared this Talon’s house, they would allow the Antaam to invade Antiva. This Talon was exposed as a double agent and killed by the others and thusly, the Antivan Crows are very pissed off at the Antaam (and also incredibly vulnerable with several of their houses leaderless - and thus it ends with the Talons summoning new Talons - me, sending out good vibes that we’ll get Zevran back as one).  Nature of Solas: It seems implied that the Dread Wolf secret is out and somewhat common knowledge. Throughout the stories, it’s obvious that there are many elves who have flocked to Solas’ banner, so much so they have garnered the title of being a ‘Fen’Harel cult.’ However, it seems that not every elf is interested in what the Dread Wolf has planned. One elf in particular comments that they were attempted to be recruited, but they rejected the notion, as also serving Fen’Harel meant death before capture and they personally thought it all madness. Many characters who know of Fen’Harel argue over his nature in the stories: is he a god? A demon? Just a very powerful mage? Something different?  Status of Solas: Direct actions taken by Solas in the novel itself mostly deal with Rivain and his attempt to use one of his agents to destroy a Qunari port. This Qunari port has remained neutral and by attacking it, Solas would be provoking direct aggression against the Qunari. He had intentions of making it look to be an assault by Tevinter forces and thus the Ben-Hassrath would have to involve themselves and all-out war would have been broken loose. Fortunately, as will be better described in the next note, this is able to be avoided.  However, by the end of Tevinter Nights, it’s revealed that Solas is in possession of the red lyrium idol that wasn’t actually destroyed but still housed within Knight-Commander Meredith in Kirkwall. It is strongly implied he needs this idol to complete his ritual to tear down the veil, and descriptions focusing on the figure cradling another seem to suggest it does have something to do with Mythal.  The Ben-Hassareth: Do you remember Gatt? Well, Gatt’s back and he is involved in the whole debacle of Solas nearly destroying a Rivain port. Fortunately, a Tevinter Altus-gone-thief was able to stop the Fen’Harel agent from acting out her plan to detonate a relic that would completely obliterate the port and make it look as if Tevinter was the aggressor. Gatt and the Altus agree that the Dread Wolf’s agenda must’ve been an attempt to force the Ben-Hassrath from their neutrality, as it is suggested that the Ben-Hassrath do not recognize the Antaam’s recent actions and showcase that the Qunari under the Qun are no longer acting completely as one. Thedas is honestly a mess right now. The Tevinter Imperium: We know it’s no secret that Tevinter will be much of the playing field for Dragon Age: Dreadwolf. So, what’s been going on? Dorian is in the Magisterium, the first Magister to enlist servants and not slaves, and he and Magister Maevaris Tilani are one of the few trying to actively push for change in the Imperium (we love to see it). War against the Qunari does not seem to be going well for Tevinter. They’ve lost several strongholds and cities to the Qunari and war in the Northern territories has left many victims. Yet, the Imperium continues to feign normalcy.  The Venatori: Inquisition was certainly only a beginning for them. Though now masterless, the Venatori are still thriving in Tevinter society. Some Magisters are known to be Venatori agents, and the Venatori themselves attempted to active a ritual that Corypheus had in store for Minrathous, had the city refused his godhood. Such seems to include waking up something very ancient and very old underneath Minrathous that has been imprisoned and needed Venatori amulets to wake it up and cause great destruction to the city. Fortunately, the Venatori are stopped, by Tevinter Templars none the less, and the ritual - for now - is paused. What could be underneath Minrathous? It isn’t said, though it is said that a “demon” is an inappropriate word. My personal running theory is that it might be the archdemon Razikale, but if you want my conspiracy theory on that, just let me know. Either way, the Venatori still have their fangs deep in the Imperium, despite “public” rejection of the cult.  The State of Nevarra: Several short stories focused on the Mortalitasi, and with the “necromancy” class having been explored in Dragon Age: Inquisition, I think there’s more importance to the death mages that have yet to be seen. However, for the most part, it should be noted that Nevarra might be on the brink of a civil war. With their king in very poor health and with half the country seeming to have claims to the throne, I can imagine a very “game of thrones” style predicament rising within the nation if the king comes to pass and everyone wants the throne for themselves. Perhaps an element of Dragon Age: Dreadwolf will be helping decide who’ll sit on the Nevarran throne.  Masters of Fortune: Several times, there has been characters belonging to what they call “Masters of Fortune,” that appear to be like Rivani treasure hunters. I make note of them because I think they might be a faction or a party we will see more of in Dragon Age: Dreadwolf, or perhaps one of our party companions will be a Master of Fortune themselves, as there is concept art of a very pirate-esque character with a lot of gold rising out of the sea as a ship burns behind them and fit very much the descriptors of the Masters of Fortune in the books.  Unmask “Those Across the Sea:” Do you remember this war table operation? Perhaps give it another look. Briefly, there is a character identified as an Executor who has come to Thedas to investigate this Dread Wolf. It seems much like with the Rift, Solas has also brought curiosity to these mysterious figures. Will we perhaps be getting to know more about them come the next game? Interesting enough, Solas directly states in Tevinter Nights not to trust them.  What is the Dread Wolf: Perhaps one of the most interesting short stories in Tevinter Nights is one called “Call Back.” In it, Skyhold is mostly abandoned (as again, perhaps Bioware’s canon is the Inquisition being disbanded, or disgrace has forced the organization elsewhere). In it, Sutherland and his party return to answer why the few who remained at the stronghold have gone quiet. Shenanigans ensue, and it seems to be due to a demon hunting them down. The demon? A terrible monstrosity in the form of both dragon and wolf that resides in the paintings done by the elven apostate in the rotunda, that declares itself “the regret of a god.” Regret hunts down Sutherland and his party, but through Sutherland’s faith in the Inquisition, he’s able to drive the Dreaded Wolf back into the mural, where it retreats into the fade and seems to “hunt” for the one who’s regret had summoned it. Personal note: In some murals leaked by Bioware, we do see a depiction of what we think is the Dread Wolf with red eyes and almost somewhat reptilian features that I think is actually this demon named “regret.” As it is different enough from the depictions of the other Dread Wolf with more normal wolfish features and green eyes.  The Grey Wardens: The Wardens still seem to be active and doing their duties across Thedas. Not much to really mention on them, though I doubt Inquisition’s option to exile them was the last we’ll see of our beloved Order. With two Blights to go, I’m hoping we’ll see them again. For the meantime, I imagine they’re still trying to regroup and regather their strength from the humiliation that was Corypheus.  The Elven Pantheon: There is a rather disturbing short story that involves Grey Wardens uncovering an elven ritual chamber in the heart of a mountain. It lies past Dwarven ruins and upon the murals, what first seems to be sick elves being transported by halla driven aravels to a place of perhaps quarantine, are instead, revealed to be elven slaves cowering as their masters force sickness into them and the hallas are mutated into monstrous creatures with many horns. Within the mountain, there seems to be a lake of lyrium, and from the lake, creatures of Frankenstein proportions are created, horrific hyprids of each other. The Wardens are forced to destroy the chamber, but the murals hinted that there are eleven other mountains hosting such horrors. What does this have to due with the Elven Pantheon? Given the murals depict an uglier truth of the age of the Arlathan, Solas’ words can be taken with some truth, that perhaps these weren’t gods to be worshiped. I can’t help but think with this humane-centipede story, the story of the goddess Ghilan’nain, who was said to have created creatures for both land, sea, and air. With the fate of them and the Forgotten Ones being imprisoned still beyond the veil that might soon come down, perhaps we’ll have better wished, those elven gods stayed locked up in their prisons.  ... For now, that is my initial thoughts on concluding Tevinter Nights and how I think the start of Thedas might be in the beginning of Dragon Age: Dreadwolf. Of course, this is mostly vague and doesn’t include complete synopsis and direct texts that made me come to my conclusions, and trust me, there’s so much more I can say. If you want more, or have your own thoughts if you’ve read the text, or think I have misunderstood something, please, comment below. However, I suggest reading Tevinter Nights for yourself as I think what has been revealed within those short stories is really going to set the stage for Dreadwolf. For now, my concluding thoughts is that: The Qunari and Tevinter war will be at the forefront, with Solas using the chaos to his advantage, but obviously, there’s so much more that’s going on beneath the surface, I don’t think any truth we will be initially presented with will be one we should trust. - Ardie. **can also be found on reddit @ lore & theories page 

#dragon age #dragon age dreadwolf #dreadwolf #dread wolf #da4 #dai #dragon age inquisition #inquisition #da #da origins #dragon age origins #da2 #dragon age 2 #tevinter nights #biowar #potential spoilers #feel free to share c: i felt like i was mad rambling but i think i might have a nugget of something here ahhh

[untilsfe]

How did Jotaro come into Leo and Usagi's lives?

Story time, because I told you how, but not actually HOW. ( Here expanding the first option I told you about in here: 千 - 2nd idea - comic )

A few months away from Usagi and Leo's couple's anniversary, the Baron found himself in quite a predicament... He still didn't have a suitable gift.

Over the decade he had been a part of the turtles' lives. Even though he had already made peace and got along quite well with most of his creatures or.... Sons. He still struggled to find any connection with Leo. He didn't blame him, I mean.... The Yokai literally dropped him off a building when he was 15....

Perhaps most of their estrangement was due to the clash of their personalities, tho. Draxum knew well that of all of them, the one in the blue bandana was the most like Lou. With his particular sense of humor, and a way of processing things that, even if he detested on many occasions because it got them into titanic trouble, he had to admit that it was one of the best qualities that the turtle boy could have inherited from his rat father.

Still, everything seemed to indicate that no matter how much they interacted, Draxum would never be able to do anything remarkable enough to cement the bond between the two. Perhaps if there was an intermediary, something else that could act as a bridge.

That's where the Baron had the most brilliant idea.

"You want to do what!?" The purple clothed turtle almost fell out of his chair as soon as he heard what he thought must be the craziest idea of the century. Leaving the circuit he was working on on the table, Donnie put the googles he always carried back on his head, and took a deep breath before turning in his chair to look at the other straight in the eye. "Barry, my dear father figure by aggregation... HAve YoU lOsT yOUr miND!?!

"Your theatrics won't change my mind, Donatello." With an imperturbable gesture to confront Von Ryan's usual outbursts, Draxum continued to collect some of the materials he would need from the laboratory they sometimes shared. "Are you with me, or against me?"

Resigned to not being able to reason with his fellow scientist, Donnie put a hand to his temple. "... You can't ask me a question like that." He was conflicted. On one hand, he could explore the possibilities that the Imperium had at a genetic level. A subject that had always interested him since he discovered the truth behind his and his brothers birth. On the other hand, Leo was his brother, and he care about him (even if he would never admit it). Also, Usagi had ranked among one of his best friends over the years.

Science or civic/sibling duty? That was the question... Rather simple answer may I say.

"mnnnn----agh!!! You know what!? Ok, I'll do it!!!!" And with a handshake and complicit smiles, they got to work.

Obtaining DNA from the rabbit was simple. The fur abounded in the sewer when they were on hot weather waves.

Leonardo's, however, was more difficult. The tortoise did not sweat unless there was an extreme temperature, and obtaining scales with his exhaustive skin care routine had been an Odyssey.

Soon both scientists realized that the genetic material was not enough, and they needed something more substantial to complete the data. Like... Blood.

However, it was obvious they couldn't go and tell the guys to give them a couple of samples without sounding suspicious. They would have to wait for the situation to play itself out.

It was a disastrous day when it finally happened.

The battle had been tougher than they had thought. The boys came back from it with burns, cuts and pronounced bruises. Leo, for his part, was bleeding from one of his arms. Usagi had a wound on his left side.

While Draxum attended them in the medical bay, he decided to take the opportunity. Using the excuse of running a couple of tests, he placed some of his son's and his partner's blood in a test tube before finish bandaging them. No one questioned him.

That same night he began his actual experiment. Donnie, of course, could not help him with the rest of the research. He was in bed with everyone else. But that would not prevent the great warrior alchemist from achieving his goal.

Those were difficult months for everyone. Gladly, they made it through without too many setbacks. But, one question lingered: Where the hell was Draxum?

No one had seen any sign of the goat Yokai anywhere in weeks. Mikey and Donnie searched for him in their lab and around Hidden City. April went to see him in the cafeteria, but was told that Barry had asked for an early vacation. For a moment they considered the possibility that the Baron had been kidnapped by Big Mama or something. The spider lady made it very clear to them that this had not been the case by kicking them out of her hotel when they burst in demanding Barry's release.

It was a great surprise for everyone when they returned to the sewer just to find Draxum right there, muttering while struggling with something in his arms. Leo was the first to call out to the Baron, not expecting that as soon as he was a few steps away from the goat, he would get something right in his hands.

"Wha-!?"

"Finally! It's all yours. He eats at 8, 2 and 5 o'clock, and takes 2 hour naps every afternoon." Without understanding, Leo looks at what he has in his hands and almost let go of it when he realized he was alive, he has fur and he was looking at him.

"Be careful!" Usagi stepped in when he noticed the turlte almost dropped the little being.

"Draxum, what does this mean?!"

"Calm down rat, you can ask Donatello for the details." Donnie, who was already somewhat prepared for this scenario, put a thumbs up with a stoic expression while he was fulminated by everyone's dumbfounded stares. Drax grabbed Leo's shoulder to get his attention again and spoke slowly, "No guarantees, no refunds." And then patted his green head.

Jotaro lore coming right up!

Not gonna lie, this could have gone better. Alsjsksk also, I published this 3 asks at the same time because they were as a combo.

#I know my writing isn't the best. I ask forgiveness for that. #Finally finished this #Let's gooooooo #saverottmnt #rottmnt #my wriitng #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #katanashipping #leosagi tmnt #leo x usagi #usagi miyamoto #leonardo hamato #Jotaro #Scenario #baron draxum #Splinter #Mad dogz #Mistyc birth?? #leosagi

[capitalisticveins]

Tumblr might have deleted my ask because it was too wordy. It is too long...my apologies, but I'm only trying to understand your POV genuinely so I'll retype. I do not mean any hostility (tho I know impact is more important than intent).

Alexis is a character that had a friends-with-benefits relationship with Sam. He ended it because she wanted more (within his right). In the midst of a fatal crash, Alexis turned him against his consent while he said 'no.' She never apologized. This is all we have without headcanons (avoiding the 'she was in a panic' or 'she did it to hurt him' headcanons on both sides). We have no backstory on her. People try to fill in this behavior with headcanons.

Cutie is a character that was in a romantic relationship with Geordi. He ended it because Cutie spent their years-long relationship canonically ignoring and going against Geordi's consent (or pressuring him). An act so egregious that Cutie's job did not use what they consistently do to a defenseless and unempowered Geordi on powerful, convicted murderer Quinn to find a victim. Cutie would apologize, but according to Geordi would still continue to ignore his consent (including proceeding to violate him in bed minutes after a tear-filled plea for them to stop). Ignoring the headcanons of social anxiety or having an abusive childhood or them having autism (because those are only headcanons), all we have is that they come from an empowered family (that's all we know). People try to fill in this behavior with headcanons.

You get upset with people liking one consent-ignoring character (that did so once (still horrible) horrifically 13 years ago and avoided the person since; valid! I don't like that), but say you don't trust people that don't like the other consent-ignoring character that spent over two years before and during their entire relationship violating their partner as well. I don't get that. Is Cutie excused because they are a self-insert? Would one line alluding to a hard childhood be enough for you to think Alexis has depth and background for her actions? Is one video of therapy is enough to think Cutie is deserving of Geordi again after that? Would one video of Alexis in therapy do the same?

Here’s the thing

I’m so damn sure

That on this blog with over 1,000 posts

Not once

Have I ever

Said that Cutie’s actions are excused

I may come off as rude here, and I apologize in advance. I just came back from a day long trip and my legs hurt and I already answered this but Tumblr ate my post before I could finish but whatever

Cutie is VERY obviously in the wrong in their situation. What they did is inexcusable and it’s incredibly evident. What my POINT is is that they have an explanation. NO this doesn’t excuse what they did, and NO, it never will, but at the very least we have a reason, which adds to depth and character

Alexis does not have this

ALEXIS, from the very moment her name was muttered, has been portrayed as an antagonist. She’s a villain in both Imperium and Prime Universe, and has never been put in a positive light, even by Erik himself.

She has no reason given for what she did, and has no character other than being villainous for the sake of being villainous.

The single reason we’re given why Alexis doesn’t try to interact with Sam is because she CAN’T invoke him

I don’t like Cutie because they’re shitty and toxic and needs help, I like Cutie because they’re INTERESTING. They’re not like almost every other listener on the channel who’s damn near perfect and never has an issue with their relationships. They have a sense of individuality, they’re different and after losing Bright Eyes and Fred, they’re probably the only troubled listener we have left.

Alexis can literally die and we’d still have other antagonists. She’s not interesting. Her Imperium counterpart is slightly more interesting than her, and that’s only because she ACTUALLY shows up.

#also that last paragraph felt very taunting #i wrote more but fucking tumblr ate my post and I forgot what I said #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted cutie #redacted alexis #redacted sam

[angelicaether]

My Year in Fics

Hey y'all! I thought it would be fun to do a fic round up of sorts and share everything I wrote this year! They're all Redacted but that's cool with me. The channel gave me the gateway to start writing again and I'm very grateful for that. Thank you to all my friends who read and reread snippets of these fics while I lamented over them and thank you to everyone who ever left kudos or commented. I feel like I've improved a lot this year and I'm really excited to keep writing fics! So here we go!

February: Pizza-Flavored Sleep Aid - This was the first fic I ever wrote publicly and it was a Guy fic no less! I'm super happy with this one and I remember being so giddy when it hit 100 kudos - https://archiveofourown.org/works/44749445 Chicken Noodle Soup for the Werewolf Soul - This was the first David fic I ever wrote and I'm honestly really proud with how I was able to keep it in character! - https://archiveofourown.org/works/44885347 March: The Unconventional Love of Telepathy - My one and only James fic. I don't think I was prepared to do a long-form fic when I started this one but I do plan on coming back to it, hopefully soon. - https://archiveofourown.org/works/45327850/chapters/114040867 April: A Pizza Guy, a Telepath's Boyfriend, and a Dreamwalker Walk into a Birthday Party - My fanon Eli/Sunshine meetcute! With the way the series is canonically connected so well I love connecting it further and this was a really fun way to do that! - https://archiveofourown.org/works/46283488 Spark and Bite: A Demon-Vamp Crossover Special - This one pushed me out of my comfort zone for sure. Still I'm proud of it and it's opened the doors for me to write more non-canon ships. - https://archiveofourown.org/works/46710772 May: New Job Posting: WFH Alpha - This was my first explicit smut fic! I was super nervous about it but I think it turned out really well. - https://archiveofourown.org/works/47501410

June: Speak Easy - A tooth rotting fluff fic that was written for myself lol. Writing fics for me and my comfort was a big thing in the second half of the year but I'm glad this one resonated with other people too. - https://archiveofourown.org/works/47660692 Playing with Fire - My first noncanon smut! Really proud of this one and it pushed my limits a bit but its great and I love it. - https://archiveofourown.org/works/48195619 August: A Blue Evening - A really fluffy fic for a friend of mine! First time writing Milo/Sweetheart as well and I'm really happy with it! - https://archiveofourown.org/works/49291093 September: Blood Spilled - My first Imperium fic! Again, pushing my limits with my writing but I cannot express how proud I am of this one. I feel like I managed to make it dark without going overboard and I think I did well with the characterization! - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50070730 October: Here comes the speed round! I made my best attempt at doing Kinktober (I didn't finish it, please forgive me) and I'm really proud of how quick I was able to churn these out. I'm not gonna say much on these other than I'm proud of them lol. "Hole"some | Kinktober Day One | Guy - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50477125 Edging | Kinktober Day Two | Sam - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50503687 Cockwarming | Kinktober Day Three | Geordi - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50546536 Body Worship | Kinktober Day Four | Regulus - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50574829 Food Play | Kinktober Day Five | Kody - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50601892 Predator/Prey | Kinktober Day Six | Vega - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50629297 Begging | Kinktober Day Seven | David - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50663233

Toys | Kinktober Day Eight | James - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50685097 Public Play | Kinktober Day Nine | Milo - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50716444 Petplay | Kinktober Day 10 | Imp!Vega - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50743285 Handjobs | Kinktober Day 11 | Lasko - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50769079 Knifeplay | Kinktober Day 12 | Adam - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50791891 Overstimulation | Kinktober Day 14 | Gavin - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50843248 Cucking | Kinktober Day 15 | Blake - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50870122 Masks | Kinktober Day 16 | Sam - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50923717 NonCon | Kinktober Day 17 | Blake - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50939581 Thigh Riding | Kinktober Day 19 | Aaron - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50965936 Spanking | Kinktober Day 20 | David - https://archiveofourown.org/works/51015925 Breeding | Kinktober Day 21 | Damien - https://archiveofourown.org/works/51208894 December: Last fic of the year! I wouldn't be who I am if it wasn't a David fic lets be honest lol Home Sweet Home - Short, sweet, just how I like my fic. David is my favorite (this is a well known fact) so I'm glad he's how I ended my year - https://archiveofourown.org/works/52071319 Thank you again for everyone who's supported me and my fics this year. I'm grateful for y'all and there's so much talent in this community that continues to inspire me. Happy New Year ^^ -Angel

#angel speaks #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted fanfic #angelic words #redactedverse #happy new year

[writingmaidenwarrior]

The Cards We Got Dealt Part 3 - Sin Eaters AU

This if for the prompt "Dare"

Warnings for attempted assassination with poison, violence in a competitive setting, implied sex,

Tagging @cljordan-imperium @jezifster @noblebs

We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be. May Sarton

It was obvious the day was too good to be true with the morning passing by without any troubles besides the knowing glances Wynthan got from Gilmyrn, Melleis and Eshfyrr. Things changed from good to bad when some ruckus happened on the other side of the gathering place.

“What is going on?” he asked one of his clan members who came running.

“One of the Cloud Tamers was found sneaking around at the camp of the Sea Dwellers clan leader cabin.”

Before he even knew what he was doing, Wynthan sprinted off to the other side of the gathering place.

“Nat, wait!” Eshfyrr called after him.

Halfway there, Eshfyrr caught up to him with a grim face.

“Don’t do something stupid.”

“I won’t,” Wynthan replied through gritted teeth.

“Like you challenging Ylvante?”

Of course, he needed to bring this up again. Wynthan already got an earful of everyone’s opinion the evening. The circumstance they reached the other clan’s camp stopped him from answering.

Talindra stood outside her cabin dressed in simple loose pants and a short tunic, her warriors holding down the intruder. She looked like the goddess of war herself how she held herself and made Wynthan stop immediately.

From the other sides, few other clan leaders appeared with some of their clan members.

“I’ll ask once again: Why have you been sneaking around the leader’s cabin?”

Wynthan recognized the woman questioning the culprit as Deiwryll, the daughter of the former clan leader. The man remained silent.

Slowly Talindra stepped forward with a predatory smile and pulled a small knife out of her belt. Why Wynthan could only stand by amazed by her, he couldn’t answer.

“See, by the law of the gathering, I am allowed to kill you here and now, but I hate to kill without a reason. Just tell me, what I want to know, and you are free to go.”

The man’s eyes grew wide, and he glanced over his shoulder back to his camp.

“She is nicer than I would be,” a female clan leader stated and stepped closer, “Talk, boy, or you will regret it. If your leader sent you, you won’t have to fear any punishment.”

Wynthan looked around. Strangely Orthenyr, Ylvante and the leader of the Mountain Callers was missing. He noted this for later.

The rite master finally arrived out of breath with a grim expression.

“I got told what happened. Did someone search him?”

“Not yet, rite master,” Deiwryll answered.

Without further ado, the rite master patted the man down and searched his belt bags. In tensed silence everyone waited for him to finish. A yelp when through the crowd when some small vial came to light. His face even darker than before, the rite master opened the vial and poured a drop of the golden liquid on his fingers for a taste. The next second, he spat in disgust and hit the man with the back of his hand.

“Poison… How dare you? This gathering had been a place of peace and cooperation since the dawn of the clans, and you defile it with your actions.”

“I got told to!” the man finally spoke up.

“Talk, boy,” the rite master pressed.

“I will take from here,” Orthenyr appeared out of the nowhere.

“You won’t, clan leader, this is a measure of the gathering and part of my function,” the rite master stopped him right there with a death stare.

“He is my clan member,” Orthenyr tried to object but the stern glance of the rite master was all it needed to silence him.

With grinding teeth, he went back to his camp. The other clan leaders exchanged knowing looks.

“Clan leader Talindra, may I borrow your two warriors to guard this man to another place?”

“Of course, rite master, whatever you need.”

She bowed slightly and signaled her warriors to follow the rite master.

Most of the people who weren’t part of Talindra’s clan also left except for the other female leader and Wynthan with Eshfyrr. An exhausted breath later, Talindra waved them to follow her inside the cabin.

“I have the feeling you have something you want to say, clan leader Ylvral?”

The other clan leader snickered and sat down.

“Indeed. I wanted to see you today to warn you something like this might happen. Orthenyr only became clan leader because he eliminated his siblings before the actual trial. He is ruthless and used to get what he wants. Yesterday’s events weren’t in his plan.”

“You mean, I wasn’t in his plan,” Wynthan stated amused.

“That is true, my friend. I have watched the two of you yesterday. Also, the fact you came first upon hearing the ruckus… I may be old, but I am not dumb. Why haven’t you two made it official yet?”

Perplexed Wynthan and Talindra looked at each other. Eshfyrr cleared his throat in a suspicious way.

“Esh?”

“Oh, come on, Gil, Mel and I knew already last time about you two. You aren’t as sneaky as you thought you are.”

“I can verify this!”

A woman who looked a lot like Talindra but got auburn hair with wild curls and a more oval face laughed in the background.

“Meri!” Talindra yelled over her shoulder.

“I told you so this morning, sis. You didn’t want to believe me.”

Ylvral laughed out loud with a deep booming voice, her hand hitting the table.

“You are cute, dumb but cute.”

“Yeah, I told her so. Leenmera, by the way.”

Talindra’s sister sat down with them and a look towards Talindra Wynthan could only describe as: I told you.

“That doesn’t help us much with Orthenyr and Ylvante now. The fact they brought poison along says they expected to run into issues,” Wynthan reminded them, “The fight won’t be until another three days, which means we have three days to look out for their tricks.”

Ylvral nodded, immediately serious again.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they pull another one. Rumors have it, they tried to gain access to two other clans through this before but pulled out of the process at some point.”

The nasty laugh of Eshfyrr and Wynthan filled the room.

“They did with my sister,” Wynthan confirmed, “When it became clear I would be the leader they stated they decided otherwise.”

“Means, there is at least one proof to it. Just be careful.”

With this, Ylvral stood up and bowed lightly before she went to leave. At the door she looked over her shoulder with a smile.

“And you should consider making it official. This isn’t just some gathering romance with you. I can see it.”

“But…,” Talindra wanted to say something in return, but Ylvral left before she could.

“But?” Leenmera picked up the thread.

Talindra’s helpless look was too cute. Snickering Wynthan reached out for her hand.

“Maybe we need to discuss more than just a trading alliance.”

“Yes, you should,” Leenmera pushed.

“Absolutely, Gil would agree,” Eshfyrr stated with a shit eating grin.

For some reason, Wynthan wanted to kick his ass that moment.

With the fights in celebration of the gods being close there was no time to talk for real and they decided to have a conversation later that day but much to Wynthan’s chagrin it didn’t stop Talindra to come with him to the fights.

Sitting next to each other they watched how the clan members of each clan fought against each other and offered their strength and youth that way to the gods. A snickered escaped Talindra as one woman launched herself at the way taller man.

“Reminds you of someone?” Wynthan teased.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“I remember a certain bundle of wrath who broke my nose last time.”

“Ah shut up and leave for the cabin,” Melleis threw at them from behind with laughter in her voice.

Talindra looked over her shoulder and winked. The whole row of their family and adviser behind them started to laugh.

The first rounds were over, and it would be the time for the couples who found each other already to fight against other couples. It wasn’t uncommon for the leaders to partake with their partners and Wynthan got up with a broad smirk. He stretched a hand out to Talindra.

“Shall we?”

“Are you sure? We will be poking a huge bear.”

“We already poke it. Time to show our teeth, don’t you think?”

The anticipatory gleam in her eyes was all he needed. She got his hand to pull herself up and stretched.

“Let’s beat some asses.”

“Mom will be so pissed she misses this,” Gilmyrn laughed at them, getting ready himself.

They made their way to the ring and took a look at the offered weapons. He waited what she would pick and found himself surprised by the choice of a double handed sword. Talindra raised her eyebrows at him. For a long moment he waged his possibilities against each other and finally decided for the spear.

“Trying to stay out of my way?”

“Giving you all the place to act.”

She patted Wynthan’s cheek with a smirk.

“Smart man.”

With a chuckle he followed her, amazed how she carried the sword easier than he expected. Both gave their weapons a few swings to get a feeling for its balance.

The outer couple also give their weapons a test and Wynthan a chance to take a glance into the crowd. As expected Orthenyr and Ylvante wore expression comparable to being in serious pain. Those clan leaders who didn’t participate shook their heads about it. Cheers and whistles from his and Talindra’s clan members reached his ears.

“Looks like we really weren’t that sneaky,” she stated amused.

“It really does. Look around. Everyone seems to know.”

“That makes Orthenyr’s request even more an affront. Now I really need to smash something.”

“Let the poor opponents live,” Wynthan teased her while taking a position two steps behind her to her non-dominant side.

Their opponents decided both for one handed sword and depending on how they would attack would have either and advantage or disadvantage. It was all up to them.

Or so Wynthan thought until the horn rang to start the fight and Talindra swung her sword upward with a war cry no one expected, leaving him and their opponents stunned for seconds. The other man could barely jump away before he would have been hit be her sword. She used the momentum of the two-handed sword being in motion now and whirled it around her body like a lethal dance, forcing the others into defense.

With an elegant maneuver the woman ducked away and attacked Wynthan, but he expected it at one point that the fight would take this turn and was ready to parry. Within minutes both opponents were down.

Breathing heavy, Talindra smiled broadly.

“That was fun.”

“At least no broken nose this time.”

“Nah, there are still some fights.”

She left the fighting area with a swing in her steps. He couldn’t help himself and watch her for a moment with a small, amused smile.

The other fights went almost similar even with the other couples now knowing how Talindra would fight. With each round Wynthan found himself more in a rhythm with her.

“Do you always use a double handed sword?” he wondered after they stepped aside from their last fight.

The broad smile of her confused him.

“No, but I needed to stretch my muscles. The whole uproar made me antsy.”

“I see.”

His snicker got lost in the cheers of the crowd as Gilmyrn and Melleis defeated their opponents in no time.

“Seems like the last round will be against your brother,” Talindra teased.

“I am more worried about Mel and you.”

As usual there was a longer break until the last fight to give the ones who fought last some time to catch their breaths. Gilmyrn seemed way too pleased with himself and Melleis winked at him. The small groan Wynthan’s made Talindra chuckle.

“Who is worse?”

“Mel…”

The horn signaled them to take their places. By traditions they were allowed to change their weapons for this fight and thankfully Talindra did so. She picked a single-handed sword with a side look to Wynthan. He simply nodded. Against his brother he would have preferred to fight with one and now he got the chance.

As expected Melleis changed the sword for a staff and Gilmyrn the battle ax for short swords. A grim smile on his lips Wynthan licked his lips in anticipation. Their clan members were torn who to cheer for and it went back and forth.

“Any tips?” Talindra whispered.

“Watch out for her. She is a storm in a body with a staff.”

“Noted.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw how Talindra also got an anticipatory grin on her face.

The signal to fight went off.

The first seconds nothing happened. All four eyed each other, made small movement as if they would attack to test the others’ reaction and self-control. Wynthan knew their games too well from their daily training and Talindra wasn’t an unexperienced warrior, therefore it didn’t work.

It was Melleis who launched the first attack with a straight blow of her staff direct at Talindra who simply plunged aside. Like a spell was broken Gilmyrn followed suit and attacked Talindra as well. Wynthan immediately got what these two were after and parried the attack two steps before Talindra.

“Playing unfair, dear brother?”

“Just testing a theory”, Gilmyrn snickered and went aside.

Wynthan followed him with a plunge attack himself and give Talindra more space to act, knowing Melleis would use this moment. His ears told him he was right when he heard both cry out frustrated.

“What theory?” Wynthan pressed with his sword pressing into the short sword Gilmyrn parried with.

“That you are fired up with love.”

Both rolled their eyes and jumped away from each other. The next moment Wynthan had to evade a couple of fast attacks he could only dodge. The second Gilmyrn stopped Wynthan threw himself against him with all his weight and threw him over.

“You could have just asked,” Wynthan snickered with his sword aimed at his brother’s throat.

“Would have been less fun,” Gilmyrn chuckled.

Grunts and yells distracted them. They turned to the women and found them beating the shit out of each other. Wynthan dropped the sword to the ground and wanted to go between them when Talindra and Melleis both used their powers at the same time. Water and fire collided and created a huge cloud of fog, throwing both across the field. Instinctively Wynthan reacted and raised up walls with his powers to catch them.

“Stubborn coal brains,” Gilmyrn swore next to him.

Both ran up to their partner to check on them. It wasn’t prohibited to use your powers but for exact those reasons usually not done. Talindra came to her feet first, coughing and a death glare ready that would have killed gods.

The horn signaled the end of the fight.

“The winners are Wynthan and Talindra!” the rite master proclaimed in a hurry.

He was most likely also afraid what Talindra and Melleis would do next.

“What?” she wondered.

“I beat my brother seconds before your little experiment,” Wynthan explained and pulled her in a hug.

Little did he care about anyone seeing it. For the moment he wanted to be sure she wouldn’t wander off.

“Oh… awesome,” she snickered and fell into his hug obviously exhausted from the fall.

“Come, we get you some food and something to drink.”

“Sounds fantastic. Will you stay with me?”

Her eyes big she looked at him pleadingly. From aside he heard Gilmyrn and Melleis laughing.

“I need to sort some things out first. I am still a clan leader, remember?”

The embarrassed smile gave him the feeling she did forget about it for a moment. With a soft kiss he sent her to her people.

Wynthan needed a moment for himself to gather the courage to face what was coming now. When he finally went over to his clan, everyone was already gathered with smirks on their faces and expecting eyes on him.

“Clan leader?” one of the warriors addressed him with at least the try to look neutral.

“Follow me. I guess everyone is here?”

“Of course, we are,” someone spoke up.

Everyone knew where he wanted to bring them and marched to the small common place every clan space had. Wynthan went into the middle and looked around.

“Before anyone starts to ask questions, or any rumors go around: Clan leader Talindra and I know each other for some time. I wasn’t aware of her being the leader of the Sea Dwellers until the gathering and less likely did I expect that she and I would be able to continue where we left off the last time we met. By the time I stand here we haven’t talked about any future plans because our duties as leaders and the nefarious actions of others kept us from this. I will remedy this as fast as possible. All that happened yesterday and today at the fights are still no clear declaration of intention. Please don’t forget this.”

“But you caught fire,” Eshfyrr spoke up laughing.

Multiple people agreed.

“That doesn’t matter in my position. You all need to be aware a partnership between clan leaders usually comes with mixing both clans. The Sea Dwellers are small but a strong and rightfully proud clan, I would never take this away from them, nor would I take this away from our clan.”

Slowly Wynthan looked around and saw how people slowly started to understand how much would be on the line and how much he needed to keep in mind.

“An unhappy leader isn’t a good leader. I am sure there will be a way to handle it.”

To his surprise one of the older warriors had spoken up. A smile crept on his face.

“We will see. Until then I need all of you to be vigilant and keep an eye on each other and be careful around the Cloud Tamers. Their leader refuses to play by the rules and has no problems ruining his clan members life for his gain. I trust you all to keep the peace at the gathering.”

Gilmyrn stepped in front of him with a naughty smirk.

“We will. Esh and I take care of everything that doesn’t necessarily need to be done by you. Now go and take care of your fire creature.”

Under the encouragement of his friends and family Wynthan went back to Talindra who waited across the gathering place for him with an exhausted expression but smiled weakly at him once she spotted him.

“All sorted out?”

“Yes, and it seems like my clan sort of kicked me out of the camp until we two sorted a few things out.”

“How dare they,” she snickered and leaned against him.

“Yeah, how dare they,” he repeated and kissed her cheek, “We should find some less public space before we end up on the wrong side of a sword.”

#writblr #writing #ockiss24 #the cards we got dealt #part 3 #fantasy #wynne writes

[frenchiefitzhere]

Scary scary WIP list

Tagged by @ejunkiet @pinksparkl @starlitangels. I've actually been meaning to do this for myself (just to check-in with what I've got and get organized so thanks!). This does NOT include the 25+ ideas I have in my project doc.

Rules: reveal the titles of the documents in your WIP folder and tag as many people as there are documents. Let others ask questions about the ones that interest them and post snippets or explain the contents as you see fit!

Let’s do this by project categories…

Audio RP-Originals:

Corollary Episode 33-36 (all are outlined or in a state of partially being written but none of them have titles yet)

33-Randi/Cricket

34-Aspen & maybe some others

35-Hays and [spoiler]

36-Carol and [spoiler]

(No Ruby WIPs bc everything planned so far is already written or too spoilery 🐉)

(New series with next-to-no lore done but like…OMG I want to write it soooooo bad)

Audio RP-Fan Audios:

Marie Reverse Comfort

Calm Morning with Marie and Aggro

Marie Fangirling Over Benoît Blanc

Music (deep breath)

Written/partially recorded, need to finish production

Blake Winter Solstice Week Fluff Song

DAMN Alma Mater (Virtual Choir Project)

Started, need to finish writing

Sofia’s Diary

Fiend is just Friend without the R

Ollie’s Lullaby

Dead Dove Do Not Eat (not Redacted-specific)

Elliott @ Aaron song

Cottagecore Anton’s Listener Song

Lasko Laundry Love Song

Song for Anathema (Good Omens)

Imperium Rap

Scorpius Song

Lullaby for Death

Fandom Meta-Operetta

Traditional, farm-to-table fics

Mister President, Your Hemoglobin is Showing (Imp!Lasko)

Bye Bye Blackbird (not meant to finish) (Imp!James v. Imp!Lasko)

The Other Man (Marie/Colm)

Sun in May, Fire in December (Imp!Sofia/Imp!Will)

Miscellaneous:

Family Feud style Redacted trivia game (I have all the survey data but… 😔

“Frenchie’s Ask Game”

“Bluey: The Drinking Game” This is 33 WIPs. I'm not tagging 33 people. I'm just not. So I'll take 3x3 people (i.e. 9) @riathepinkie @beewithknee @tepid-judas @epsi-l0n @mar-the-magician @thefablefoxart @palilious @gwenifred No pressure! 🌻

#tag games #so many wips #so little time #I'm on tonight #you know my wips don't lie #and I'm starting to feel it's right

[yetdevout]

i’d like to introduce you to another segment of “is this one of erik’s parallels?” imperium spoilers below!

vindemiator and freelancer. my beloveds. oh boy.

i strongly believe that vindemiator could’ve been the key to winning the fight against the imperium and saving humanity (because we all know this plan isn’t going to work).

why do i think this, you may be asking?

the inversion. gavin’s ward. he was the only demon within the stadium ward and saved countless lives with the help of freelancer. whatever the resistance needs, it lies within vindemiator. but, he’s soft. softer than gavin.

vin has gone through these couple years on elegy feeling nothing but pain - up until he met imp!fl. he doesn’t have that confidence gavin has, he doesn’t have years of experience on elegy to build some kind of rough exterior, and he clung onto the love his freelancer gave him like it’s the only thing that matters. he’s soft, he cares so much, he’s malleable.

gavin knows when to put his life on the line - he understands when it’s time to leave his freelancer if it means keeping them safe. he loves them all the same, but he’s able to step back and look at the bigger picture. freelancer’s love is something new to him as well, but he loves them and loves this world - he loves his friends and is determined to be more than just cog in the machine. these major differences will be vindemiator’s (and the resistance’s) undoing.

the key was vindemiator, he was right. and freelancer could’ve been the thing to hold him through it. fl could’ve been his rock, just like in the prime universe. but they feel no connection no happiness no love no care for the academy/dahlia/“this place”, and you could even argue that they don’t even see a future. how could they be steady for him when they’re crumbling themself?

something something, the imperium/cataclysm is the inversion on a worldwide scale. unbridled magic from another world seeping into elegy. vindemiator could’ve been the one to push this resistance over the finish line.

#theorizing theorizing #many thoughts #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted imperium

[void-detective]

Welcome 🌙

Hello! Welcome to my blog ヾ⁠(⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠*⁠)⁠ﾉ I decided to create a more in depth post going over things such as commissions (which are set up!) and my rules for requesting fanfics!

Some basic information including DNI can be found on my carrd! I use bunny writes tags for my writing!

If you'd like some examples of my work outside of Tumblr for reference, you can check out my AO3

All dividers made by cafekitsune! 📌

I have the right to deny request or commissions on the basis of personal reasons or because they make me uncomfortable.

Do not request anything that can be seen as non con, I will not right that!

Please be patient!! Depending on the situation and my understanding of a character it may take longer to write

I separate characters from the person who plays them (i.e wrestlers)

Most of my stories are gender neutral unless started otherwise

I will take requests from the same person more then once! But do not spam requests!

I will write wrestler x wrestler!

I mostly write one-shots out of habit

I will do gay and straight relationships along

I currently only do male wrestlers (sorry Rhea fans 💔)

Logan Paul is black listed from this (sorry to his fans)

I don't do oc x wrestler fics

I will do 18+ fics!

DM me on Tumblr or send an ask if you have a request!

There are certain wrestlers like Dominick I don't write for personal reasons 📌

🌙 will be used with the DM or ask to prove you read my rules!

Currently requests are closed!!

[0/3] slots are open! I will keep updates tabs on my username above

Currently my requests are limited

WWE

AEW

I now have a cash app! You can send to rushingbunnies on cash app

My requests are $5 a piece for each so every time you request I will cost you about $5. If you want longer stories like a chapter related fic it will be up to $10.

I won't have you pay till I am finished just so you don't have to waste cash in case something occurs!

LA Knight

The Miz

FTR

Gunther

Chris Jericho

AJ Styles

Eddie Kingston

Jon Moxely

Baron Corbin (past version)

MJF

Cm Punk

Samoa Joe

Drew McIntyre

Pete Dunne

Seth Rollins

Austin Theory

Sami Zayn

Randy Orton

Kevin Owens

Christian

Kenny Omega

Cody Rhodes

The Imperium

These aren't the only options but these are the ones I can think of off the top of my head!

Gunther x reader fics

Impending Doom

Still my Champion

Part three being planned (?)

Wrestler x wrestler fics

Voice in his Head (Punk x McIntyre)

So Obsessed with Me (Punk x McIntyre)

#pinned post #blog intro #pinned intro #pinned info #about my blog #jay speaks #darby al

[quietbluejay]

A Thousand Sons 5

Past the 50% mark! Hopefully I will not take another 4 posts to finish

-the narrative goes out of its way to talk up how cool and amazing Magnus is

Magnus brushed past, touching Lemuel’s shoulder, and the sheer joy of the contact swept any concerns away.

It went on in this vein for a bit.

Lemuel is able to notice Magnus is arrogant even through the primarch aura! wow that's some level of arrogance

-Mortarion is weird about the number seven. good for you babe, take your exactly 49 steps

-Magnus and Ahriman come off a lot more like teenagers than 200 year old sorcerers

-I also can't take seriously that they call Mortarion's scythe "his manreaper" -Mort indulges in some dramatics with his scythe, which continues to endear him to me

‘Now I do not accuse my brother of such barbarism, but no evil begins with such monstrous acts. If it did, no sane man would ever consider it. No, it begins slowly, a small step here, a small step there. By such acts is a man’s heart turned black and rotten. A man may begin with noble intentions, believing that such small trespasses are minor things compared to the good he will do at the end of his course, but every act matters, from the smallest to the greatest.

Great! Correct! Now apply that to your entire war of conquest!

I mean he's right in the abstract buuuut, what they miss is that they are none of them starting from a morally neutral position I'm trying to rally my thoughts on this speech given it's describing the entire imperium "you will become the means you employ" not to bring transformers into it i am ONCE AGAIN ASKING PEOPLE TO READ IDW 2019

Ahriman once again swoons this time from looking into Magnus' eye.

Magnus was every inch the gentleman polymath who never forgot himself, even as his enemies united against him.

[footage not found]. We. We literally just had a bit about him melting the stone around them because he was mad!

-then we get a 3 page retelling of Plato's shadows on the wall story with a changed ending, instead of an actual argument. it does kinda sell Magnus as not being able to understand other viewpoints and taking it for granted that everyone has the same value system as he does. but also. it was very annoying to read. I get that Magnus had to lose the council but. it would have been nice to for once in this book actually show that he's intelligent. -Magnus has a vision about the heresy and is like "okay we gotta go back to Prospero right now no time to explain". I see where Ahriman got his "not explaining anything" trait from

Sanguinius had ashen tears painted on his cheeks,

Given the prose I can't tell if Sanguinius just cries grey OR if he decided to go emo with his makeup

Okay. Nikaea over.

#bluejay reads warhammer #warhammer 40k

[skitariiposting]

So uhh.

What do you think of Skitarii-Eldar? I'm writing lore for my Half-Eldar Craftworld right now and finally got around to priming these guys. Unsure what to do with them.

I feel like there are a lot of members of the imperium that would have coniptions over this, but ironically the adeptus mechancius may be one of the few factions to wholeheartedly adopt the eldar without question. So long as they don't have problems with worshiping machine spirits, or at least honoring the beliefs of the admech, I believe the mechanicus doesn't really care who's on their side, just who isn't.

On top of that, the eldar have technology to be studied, and the admech was going to do it anyways, but having the eldar *willingly* teach them how it works? Oh they'd be chomping at the bit.

I like the concept! Lemme know when you finish the lore write-up, I'd love to read it!

#ask itarii #skitposting

[theimperiumchronicles]

Hi there buddy, my name is Athena. I'm coming to say hi, see how you're doing and this is a chance to ramble about your wips. Have any of your wips been influenced/inspired by podcasts or any other media?

Hi Athena :)

YES! Thank you for asking <3

All of them!! So...let's start at the beginning...take a seat...get a drink and a snack...this will...you know what, get that drink and a snack and I'll break this down so you can go potty in between WIPS. Otherwise you'll be doing the potty dance and trying to read faster and you might skip something...and no one wants that. *grins happily* We'll start with The Imperium Chronicles (@theimperiumchronicles )

Okay - the original concept started as an RP a loooooooooooooooooooooooooooong time ago with some super cool and super good friends of mine. We used Cassandra Claire's Mortal Instruments book series as kind of inspiration, but there were parts of her mythos we thought were crap and her characters were too young and we HATED the whole chalice thing....so we kept a little and threw a WHOLE LOT out...and came up with the original crew - Abriella (who was an existing char of mine that I tweaked and was known as Brie then), Cruz, Dez, Talon, Talia, Raguel, Arioch, Char (she's dead and we're gonna leave her that way), and Deacon. Some people wrote more than one. None of the characters were actually based on characters from Claire's stories, we more based it one her setup and if you saw our stories then and some of the old stories I wrote for Brie, you'd recognize it. It's been almost 20 years now...she's evolved some.

NOW...the obvious inspiration for the current arc is kind of the Bible - 4 Horsemen and all. But again, there is a twist on it. Mainly because having done some Biblical study, I am aware that what we have today is at best the English translation from the Latin from the Greek from the Aramaic...or something along those lines....there may even be a few other translations thrown in there. In some cases there were multiple meanings for one English word. For instance when Jesus is walking on the water the more accurate translation is NOT "Fear not, it is I". It IS "Fear not, I AM." Why does this matter? Because God was know as The Great I AM. He was declaring his divinity within the statement but what seems like a minor translation issue is a HUGE one in context. Sooooo....I've used this to my story's advantage. In no way is my story related to reality or religion in any way, I'm just using something that is real in my fiction.

ALSO...Leandre, Andronicus, Orpheus, and Thenasus are completely and wholely based on the BBC Musketeers series, save the last season which IMO sucked balls. They are even based on the characters that share their FC. Leandre is my blorbo baby...Tom Burke *swoons*. ANYWAY...completely inspired by...blorbos were born watching the series while writing Abriella stories. Demanded they be born and allowed to participate. So, here we are.

Thinius...yep...he is alive and kicking because Imagine Dragons seems to write songs that just inspire the fuck out of the entire The Imperium Chronicles gang. And they demanded Dan Reynolds be a FC of a character as such. Don't ask where his personality come from other than when I saw them live in NOLA, it came to me watching that man literally bounce around for over 4 hours on stage like the Engergizer Bunny.

Kellen got his FC before I saw Shadow and Bone, but he became more formed and his character changed some afterwards. The plot didn't but he absorbed some of the elements of Kirigan that Ben played, elements that I had been struggling to figure out with Kellen. It was tied into the world building for Uffern, and as soon as he grabbed onto those tiny details, everything fell into place for Uffern and all the others who live there...including Korben's curse. z

POTTY BREAK...I'll start @bendingthelaws after I finish eating my lunch

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