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🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - VI - CONSEQUENCES

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.5K

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Feyd-Rautha X Reader

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: Everyone myst face the consequences of their actions. THe Baron subjects Feyd and his na-Baroness inconcievable violence to make his point. The aftermath and fallout of his actions write the charges for his very own sentencing.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Violence & Sexual Content

MASTERLIST

VI - CONSEQUENCES

Feyd’s eyes are not his own. The set of his jaw is hard and he doesn’t speak. He pulls you into the room you entered weeks ago with contraptions, straps, harnesses and a large wooden x. There’s no time to freshen up, there’s no time for explanations, only hasty preparation. Tears prick your eyes and it breaks him. He stops pulling open his drawer. There are no words to warn you about what is to come, there’s nothing he can do to salvage what the two of you have right now. He can only protect you in small ways. Grabbing the chastity belt he comes close, clasping the heavy chains on your body. Looking at the contraption you realize he’s safeguarding you against brutality and cringe inward. It gives you pause signaling to him being incapacitated, incapable of being able to protect you. He moves efficiently attaching a breastplate made of the same hard material. It nearly crushes you under its weight. Feyd-Rautha moves quickly, fastening all the locks knowing his uncle's cruelty knows no bounds. Finishing he brings a helmet, putting it on your head and fastening the neck into all three of the contraptions. It’s a metal monstrosity, a cage of sorts placing on a shield he taps it to ensure you cannot be made vulnerable.

“Feyd” you whisper but your words come out like a croak cracking.

“I will be fine, you are not to say a word under any circumstances” he says and you panic.

“But-”

“No” he snaps, silencing you as your body trembles. The person he would have to become to withstand the impending cruelty was not the man you’d grown to love.

“What’s happened?” You ask and he goes to wipe your tears but his hand is singed by the active shield. You disable it and reach for him.

“Promise me” he says cupping your face, more tears stream. You shake your head in fear knowing his hesitation means whatever is to come will bring you an unheard of level of horror. “Promise me” he growls close to breaking already.

“Promise” you agree and he nods, stepping back. Your steps are slow as you maneuver the contraption only to be dressed by a concerned Leia. There’s no time for questions as she moves quickly.

“Put one on yourself” Feyd tells her, pointing to the contraption.

“Why do you have so many?” you ask as Feyd finishes dressing you in the Bene Gesserit regalia to conceal your garment.

“For hostages, to protect them against the men '' Feyd says plainly, the brutality of this planet knows no bounds. You want to kiss him but the steel around your mouth is solid. After experiencing Feyd’s sexual physicality you now know why.

“Feyd what’s happening” you ask, taking his hands, his hard eyes soften a touch.

“My uncle will try to break me in front of you and the men.” He sighs.

“Because of me?” You ask, feeling a wash with panic.

“No, because of him. Because he wants to show his power” Feyd snaps.

Because of me.

The voice in your head says. More tears fall and Feyd leaves without a goodbye, unable to manage your emotions with the energy required to withstand the consequence for his distraction. Time passes outside of your perception until you find Leia dressed beside you, her eyes mournful. Her hands hold yours as large brutish men await your exit. You leave the room and Leia asks what’s happened many times. Fear and exhaustion overwhelms you to the point of despondence as the pod travels through the dreadful palace of Giedi Prime. Anger mixes in with the fear and you can feel Leia’s hand in yours. You take note of the scores of men all heading where you are.

It will be a spectacle.

Leia’s eyes search yours in horror. You tell her about the heinousness of the intrusion and how they’d left the room to discuss things in private leading you to this moment here. A familiar guard pushes the Baron’s guards away from you, his eyes are human and apologetic as he places you on a throne below the Barons. The smell of him makes you want to be sick, you fight to overcome the nausea not wanting to choke under the mask and find Leia trying to do the same.

“My nephew's little pet,” the Baron mocks, desceding. You bow although you don’t have an inch of respect for him. Baron Harkonnen smiles at your submissive acceptance of his disrespect. “Do well to remember today’s events next time you think he belongs to you. Everything on this planet belongs to me and I will do with it whatever I choose” he says and his breath is flagrant, smelling like putrid fecal matter. Every part of him disgusts you and it is a great challenge to not react. You would give him no reason to further his brutality of Feyd. Drums sound and you’re startled by their vibration.the cage around you rattling against you slightly. Its weight is more than you’ve ever been made to bear. The Baron ascends to his seat and you breathe finally thankful for the reprieve. Feyd-Rautha emerges barefoot, wearing only a black loincloth that hangs to his knees. He stands tall walking in his powerful stride as people make strange noises, it’s a mixture of cheering and mocking as they hiss and shout in unison. Two poles are mounted in the center of the room and you watch as shackles are placed on his wrists. He’s strung up between them and his arms stretched apart leaving just his toes touching the sand. A tall man emerges with a whip. Your chest rises and falls as you pray against all hope it isn’t what you think of it. He pulls his hand back and it crackles against Feyd’s skin stunning you. Feyd doesn’t make a sound taking it in stride. He’d learned to love the pain after taking so much of it. Your heart races as the whippings continue, tears stream down your face hidden behind your veil.

Leia’s hand tightens against yours and you both avert your eyes, wincing every time the whip crackles, the only reprieve is Feyd’s silent indifference to the abuse. It goes on much longer, until his silence is broken and he laughs, smiling and goading the man to whip him more. It has to be a farce, you watch knowing no one could enjoy that much pain, especially as it breaks skin. Especially as it breaks your heart. It’s madness but all around everyone seems to be impressed by the strength of na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. The Baron raises a hand and horns sound the very moment Feyd-Rautha is released from his chains. The man with the whip drops a sword absconding from the pit as doors are opened and out come angry emaciated slaves. Knowing he must pace himself, Feyd takes a moment on the ground as he’s released from the contraption before standing to his feet. You sit forward as he stands his pale skin red with blood and pink welts from the abuse. Feyd-Rautha stands tall just as the men come out swarming him. Your heart races as he finds the blade, in spite of the beating he kills them all. The trumpets sound again only for more to emerge. It’s a horrific display. It repeats and Feyd refuses to go down willingly, large fighters are forced to tackle him before stringing him back up before he is made to endure other punishments. His smile is only small reassurance as the state of his body begins showing what his spirit doesn’t. It's been hours, you take account of his breath as he’s watered and given a break, hatred like no other begins burning through you as you watch the man you love, the only person aside from Leia and your parents that ever cared enough to fight for you hang bloody and beaten.

His pale skin is various shades of purple and red, his head swaying as he fights to remain standing, his black eyes remain open in defiance. Each of the trials have done well to avoid his face. His thoughts are on you, and on staying as lucid as possible to power through his punishment. To show you who he is, as a man and all he can endure, to occupy his uncle's attention so you're never made to. To show his people that he was unbreakable and worth every whisper of his legend. He’d never withstood any punishment for this long before. But his life had recently garnered a new purpose. The doors open after a considerable rest and watering. Abominations of eight feet, pale and all muscles, genetically mutated and created for the Harkonnen war machine. They hold clubs. Feyd was capable of taking them at his best and with the assistance of poison but he couldn’t move fast enough now, his shoulder feels dislocated and his leg severely injured. Feyd’s suspension between the two poles fastened by the wrists only furthers the pain in his shoulder. Still, Feyd puts on a smile trying to find pleasure in the pain. You watch in horror as the giant draws back his club before swinging it like a bat into Feyd’s abdomen. An audible hush rips through the crowd. Your heart stops, you feel the connection between you sever and before you know what you're doing you're walking up the steps to where the Baron sits. His eyes fix on yours.

“Mercy” you snap, casting off your veil as his guards go to grab you. The room falls to a hush. Your eyes catch the Baron’s as you fall to your knees. Smiling evilly, he places a hand on your shoulder. You hear Feyd groan viciously and before you can turn anger surges through you. You have a head rush, the Barons suspension tubes are ripped savagely out of his back leaving him paralyzed under his own weight, Beast Rabban is being punished by an unhappy emperor, the Baron is being laughed at. The wealth of Giedi Prime seized, his home world destroyed. Breathing heavily you shudder at the strange sensation. A voice that is not your own commands him to stop telekinetically, notifying him that this is what is to come should any further harm befall Feyd-Rautha.

Unaware of what’s transpired the Baron suspends himself raising a hand and stopping any further assaults. Rattled by the sensation of the vision he puts on a brave face smiling. He has no idea what has taken over him, perhaps too much smoke, too much pain, too much poison. There was no time to pinpoint the culprit right now he needed his heir restored. His point had been made, turning he smiles knowing you have no idea the extent of the damage you’ve done to Feyd. In spite of his suspicions of the Bene Gesserit and his relentless inquiries into the extent of their powers he’d never come across vision transference or telekinesis so there was no reason to suspect you. Still on your knees you feel weak, turning your head you see an outraged Feyd-Rautha as Leia assists you to your feet. The Baron sweats shaken from the vision in spite of his powerful appearance leaving the room before he can fully appreciate the extent of his damage.

White rages oozes from Feyd, his body trembles, breaths accelerate and nostrils flare. His anger is palpable as he manages to get back on his feet. The weight of his torture no longer burying him. His fury at your actions is anchoring him to life. The people roar and blood drains onto the sand as Feyd is released from the suspension cuffs. Leia helps you down the stairs and your eyes linger on the Mentat who seems suspicious of what’s happened. You try to go to Feyd but he shuns you.

He’d warned you already.

Heading into the cryo-chambers on a gurney Feyd rages uncontrollably. Your betrayal hurts more than anything the Baron could do to him. There had never been any love between them. He’d long stopped admiring anything other than the man's ability to control and enforce his rule. The monstrous nature of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen had never been more clear to him then and now. Feyd had learned to revel in the pain because he’d been so deprived of love. He could withstand lashes and cuts and the other consequences of combat better than most. He’d been a small boy, and unlike his brother the Beast there’d been nothing inherently terrifying about his physicality. He had to earn his place among the fearsome Harkonnen overlords. As a boy his remarkable quality was that he had no quit in him, no matter how hard he was pummeled he always got back up. It was there he got his reputation for being insane. Floating in the chamber trying to manage the stinging cold he’s brought back to childhood. It was the last time he was in one of these. The last time he was punished so severely. He had to learn to be cunning, he paid extra attention during lessons about poison. He learned to stop wiping away the blood from his nose after being hit, that laughing as he fought back did something psychologically, as did meeting anger with a smile. In addrition to dodging the strikes of a man whose only objective was to kill him. He learned that the only person he would seek to please was the Baron who seemed to have no shortage of sick and twisted punishments to dole out. He’d been privy to many of them in the years following his youth. Crossing the Baron was a mistake too costly for most to bear.

He’d known from the very moment the Baron entered the bedroom the test was not for him, it was for you. He needed strength from his na-Baroness. Strength and unwavering obedience, but no. You had allowed yourself to be broken by another man, while yours fought valiantly through unimaginable pain for you. Worse yet, you had begged on your knees for everyone to see. The punishment was stopped, of course it was the Baron knew there was no further punishment required. Baron Vladimir Harokonnen had received your submission claiming you in front of everyone. He’d sullied you in the eyes of Giedi Prime. In doing as you had you had acknowledged the Baron as the superior man. Women in Giedi Prime appreciated strength and social standing above all else.

Groaning in distress, his anger makes his pain palpable as ice forms against his body. A Mentat enters to read his vitals. Thufir Hawat commandeered by the Atreides and the personal Mentat of the Baron. Thufir bows before beginning his assessment of the damages dispensing the necessary fluids to revive the heir. Stealing glances at Feyd he somehow feels terrified still as the man who’d endured so much can still manage to be angry and not in absolute physical agony.

“Where is the na-Baroness?” He asks feeling the reprieve of Mentat's work.

“Her and he Lady’s maid are in their quarters na-Baron” Thufir responds. Exhaling Feyd allows himself to settle into the thought a little. Looking at you during the trials would have killed him. He knows your actions were born out of the love you bare him but they disgust him nonetheless. Nothing could be more disrespectful. Kneeling before another man - it was undoubtedly the only reason the Baron had spared your life. Any inclination of Bene Gesserit manipulation and the Baron would’ve had your throat cut in light of the treasonous act of manipulation. But not a drop of your blood had been spilled. The Baron's deep hatred for the witches was a deep Harkonnen secret and the biggest reason Feyd hadn’t wanted you to speak. Getting on your knees to plead was inconceivable to him.

“How is that?” The Mentat questions daring to look at the enraged Feyd-Rautha.

“Better” Feyd snarls.

“She knows nothing of the Harkonnen traditions, she was experiencing seriously high levels of distress” Thufir says, speaking out of turn. He’d known your family and met you on several occasions in your childhood. Your mother had been born on Caladan and of one of the prominent houses there. Her and Duke Leto had been close friends. Feyd’s thoughts go to his efforts. He’d been trying to breed with you, trying to conceive a child up to an hour before his torture had began. He’d been trying to continue his line, multiply his love for you and now perhaps the Baron’s viciousness had even undermined that.

“She’s strong,” Feyd dismisses.

“She wishes to see you” The Mentat says, earning a terrifying glare from Feyd. “Duke Leto was disappointed she was betrothed to you and not Paul.” The Mentat continues teaching Feyd a part of history he’d never known.

“Then she would’ve been slaughtered with the rest of the Atreides scum” Feyd spits feeling possessive.

“Curious, she’s avoided two major calamities, perhaps your betrothed is good luck” Thufir says before setting the last of the chamber's functions. Feyd-Rautha will be restored in a matter of hours, only adding to his legend. Only creating more lore around the Harkonnen heir. There’d been a thousand people in attendance who all had stories of the man being broken. Soon they would hear whispers of his resilience and quick recovery from his torture. As the pain subsides the torture of watching you fall to your knees in front of the Baron begin replaying in his mind in a loop. Plucking away at his sanity, tearing through his pride.

———————

After a morning of tears and discomfort Leia appears at your bedroom doors with the key to your chastity device on a silver platter. She helps you get out of the metal exoskeleton and you see the bruises from the weight of it on your flesh. You had tried to sleep in Feyds chambers to await him but it had been an act of futility. The usual green flashing lights were red, access denied it had said each of the ten times you tried before singing your fingers slightly. You could not be sure if it was the Baron’s doing or if it were Feyd himself but after his shunning last night it was hard to be sure. He’d been all anger and rage as his eyes met yours, disgust was in abundance too, even while broken he wouldn’t be defeated. You’d broken a promise. Not out of defiance or disregard but out of love. The emptiness you felt in your core after that club smacked against his chest. No amount of his charming smiles or goading looks could convince you against the pain he undoubtedly felt. The more they cheered the more you lost hope. Their desire for brutality, their bloodlust unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. It’s a horrible culture, a terrible way to live. Subjecting people to hours of torture because they’ve found comfort in the arms of another. There’d been no wrongdoing either he was your betrothed and the na-Baron. He had your consent. There were no dubious means associated with your connection.

Yet still he’d paid such a great cost.

Doors open and servants bring you breakfast. The table is laid quickly and efficiently.

“I would like to be brought to my Lord Feyd-Rautha” you speak and the women keep their heads down. The Mentat charged with your household's care since your arrival on Giedi Prime.

“The na-Baron is not taking visitors,” he says, bowing to you.

“He would want to see his na-baroness, you know how fond they are of one another” Leia says on your behalf.

“Is he okay?” You ask.

Nodding the Mentat sighs, “the na-Baron is well, he is making arrangements for Arrakis, he does not want any visitors” the Mentat repeats.

“Please let him know that I would like to see him” you swallow blinking through tears.

“Yes na-baroness, please enjoy your breakfast” the Mentat says leaving.

You find yourself sitting in a daze, Leia eats her plate clean before noticing your despondence. She encourages you to eat but you have no appetite. You have no desire to consume anything in your current state. Wiping your eyes you sense Feyd is upset with you. Far more upset than you ever imagined. Attendants enter in the afternoon and begin packing you up for the voyage to Arrakis. The silence is uncanny and you can’t pretend to be happy. Feyd’s wellbeing is grating on your nerves as much as your last image of him is suspended, beaten and bloody. Day turns to evening and it's more of the same, packing as your dinner is prepped and laying in front of you, you pick at your plate so Leia doesn’t worry and spend much of the night looking out on Giedi Prime. Your resentment for one place has never been so strong. Resting your head against the cool glass you consider your actions, a broken promise. Feyd could not so much as even look your way. Had he not considered your love for him and his for you. The very real possibility of an unborn child and the bonds forged since he’d declared his intention to uphold the betrothal. Those declarations hadn’t only been words. Together with his action they’d become everything to you - being with Feyd was the best part of your days and nights.

Sitting in his own room Feyd feels the pull to you. He tries to rid himself of thoughts of you. Had it been anyone else the consequences would’ve been swift and serious. A paddle, a whip, a crop against soft flesh, but he couldn’t. He was afraid in his frustration he would actually hurt you, the one thing in his life that was irreplaceable. And still, he could not bring himself to be in your presence, to look you in your beautiful eyes, to hold you to, and to forgive you for your betrayal. It was cheating and your innocence to that fact doesn’t make it any better. Whether you had pleaded for his absolution or not, he could have managed the pain. His defiance of the Baron sends a louder message than your display of vulnerability, fear and lack of faith in his resilience. It was there out in the open for everyone to see when Feyd knew you understood the dangers of that, vulnerabilities would always be exploited on this world and any other when the vulnerable have anything of perceived value or station. You’d openly defied him in front of an audience and submitted to his uncle. You could not be so easily forgiven.

A beep sounds getting his attention and he turns to see you trying to enter his chambers again. He manually denies it watching as you draw your head back looking up in the direction of the camera. He can see the sorrow in your eyes. Feyd-Rautha watches you head into your bedroom pressing the intercom. It rings incessantly, he watches you press against the button time and time again and considers punishing you may be easier. But the whispers would be a flurry. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen has killed for less disrespect than what you’ve done.

“Feyd I’m sorry, I just want to see that you’re okay. I can’t sleep without knowing and no one will let me see you” there’s desperation in your voice. He pulls the tablet closer to his face to see your emotions. The sadness is unmistakable. He’d been prepared to take his punishment; you would have to learn to take yours.

“Come to the door, do not step through it” he snaps and goosebumps pepper your skin. You stand walking quickly to the door and it opens. To your surprise Feyd-Rautha stands upright, he radiates strength and anger and is seemingly untouched. It’s as though the torture session was a figment of your imagination. Your eyes widen and mouth gapes as you look up at him overwhelmed and relieved. You want to feel his arms against yours.

“Come to bed” you whisper, needing to feel him. Feyd breathes tilting his head slightly. “I’m sorry Feyd, I couldn’t-” your apology is cut short. He moves so quickly it’s a blur. He holds your arm with one hand covering your mouth with another. His grip around is strong but unlike when he’s making love to you there’s no kindness or blind desire, there’s only rage.

“Shut your mouth” he snaps. “Your word means nothing, you dishonored me and you will sleep alone, you will remain alone thankful for my mercy, that I allow you the companionship of your lady. You will cease all attempts to contact me to end further humiliation. If you think this is a cruelty the other option is a kin to what you saw me endure - please do not push me” Feyd shouts. His eyes are fearsome and after his resilience during his torture there are several reasons to fear him. Still you don’t cower as you should. You feel protective, remorseful, overwhelmed, frustrated and confused. Your eyes search for pieces of your na-Baron, the man you’ve grown to love. His grip loosens and he withdraws his hand from your lips. He steps back and you reach for him tentatively. He raises a brow upset by your defiance. “This is not how the na-Baroness acts, she is obedient to her na-Baron” he snaps.

“So she cannot be concerned with the well being of the man she loves? If I’m to be punished should I not understand my mistake so that I may not make the same one twice?” You question inciting his temper.

“You need me to explain why you should keep your word!” Feyd shouts.

“So I must be shunned because I’ve been dishonorable by the standards of people who cheered as you were beaten and tortured?” You snap finding your voice. Feyd holds your gaze in defiance for several moments, unrelenting. His anger is still palpable after his displays of strength you know you don’t have the resilience to withstand him. Wiping the angry tears you nod accepting your station. “As you wish my Lord na-Baron” you snap bowing deeply before walking away leaving him standing there alone, as he’s requested.

————

Feyd-Rautha watches the rotating live projection of Arrakis. He’d been watching it tirelessly for days only to come across several fool options plans with contingencies to make the spice flow. His advisors had done their due diligence as had he, there was a considerable amount of secrecy he maintained in light of the Bene Gesserit whisperings and the Emperor’s jealous nature. He would restore the Harkonnen name but he would do it on his own terms to suit his own needs. Crossing the palatial ground his mind falls to you. It’d been three days since your argument and to his surprise you’ve maintained your distance. Much to his chagrin you were no longer sending longing looks at his door, or pacing through your bed chambers. You ceased sending notes or trying to be in his vicinity. Entering he pulls up the screen and finds you with a smile on your face enjoying fruits with Leia.

His resentment of your actions had begun to fade, only for the anger from seeing you on your knees in front of the Baron ignited every time he laid eyes on his uncle. He would make the Baron grovel the same way the Baron’s cruelty had forced you onto your knees. The Baron will know the agony he’s caused through a series of punishments he will need injections to withstand while conscious. Shaking the thoughts of kinslaying from his head he watches your smile. He wanted to see you in real time, to be around your softness to forget about the tensions between you two. To get back to the tandem showers and baths, and the good nights and early mornings. He needed you, it was driving him half mad to stay away and even more so now that you seemed to be settling into the distance. He cleans himself off heading to the roof to watch the striking sun rise one last time. After several moments alone he summons a guard to have you brought to him. He waits patiently until you materialize before him.

He’s calm at this moment, his muscles and veins aren’t prominent in the shadowy light of the roof. Still you hesitate until Feyd motions to the seat near him. You should be in his arms. Your breaths in sync, his hands tracing the softness of your skin, tangled in each other and covered in bed-linens. Your head near his heart listening to its steady beat. Your child is surrounded by the love of both of its parents. You move carefully sitting, the last time Feyd had brought you here had been your first disagreement. You follow his eyes to the sun of Giedi Prime. You’ve never wanted to leave a place more, even with the whispers of the dangers that abound on Arrakis.

“Are you ready for tomorrow’s voyage?” Feyd asks.

“Yes” you respond.

“I will be preoccupied for most of the day once we land but I will return in time for a late dinner,” Feyd says, standing with his hands behind his back.

“I will be ready” you respond and he feels the iciness to you instead of your usual honeyed tone.

“Have the staff been treating you well?” He asks.

“Yes Lord na-Baron” you answer.

“What is it?” Feyd asks, sensing the distance.

“Your grace and benevolence are appreciated lord na-Baron, may I retire” you ask. Feyd knows you well enough to sense emptier words have never been said.

“You flatter me in word only while you shame me in action” he comments.

“I don’t regret my actions Feyd, your mind has been twisted by rotten men with horrid customs. You said you wanted my willing submission, to be the first person I think of when I wake and the last at night before sleep takes me. You said you wanted my body, my laughter, smiles, all of my tomorrows, my arousal, my desire, trust and unconditional love.” You remind him of the words he’d said that had come to find a special place in your heart, the words you’d held onto. Feyd blinks stricken by your memory of what he’d said word for word. Somehow fighting his desire for you now is even harder than it had been then. He had tasted paradise between your legs and witnessed its full glory with you as his lady.

“You had it and you’ve shunned me for something out of my control Feyd what was I too do. Die right there? Do you know what that did to me? Can you imagine how it felt seeing you in the state? And to be made a villain for it!” You shout and Feyd watches as your hand goes to your stomach.

“If I show weakness the attacks will never end, it endangers you and our unborn and if you listened none of this would be this way” Feyd explains he’d never in all of his years had to repeat himself so incessantly.

“If you want a loveless marriage why not take the Emperor’s daughter, why be so cruel? Feyd I really am furious with you, I’ve never felt rage like this and so I’d better leave before this goes further” you confess not knowing where the extreme range had come from. Your hand goes to your stomach again and Feyd smiles knowing it could only be a trait acquired from him. Annoyed by the sight of his smirk, you head into the elevator. He doesn’t allow you to return on your own. Standing in the elevator it takes absolutely everything in your being not to walk into his arms, only they could relieve you of these complicated emotions and sadness. Only they could make it okay. If things weren’t so strained you would drag him back into your chambers and hold him tight. Your folded arms, your anger and defiance makes Feyd’s smirk grow. His love for you was so overwhelming it heightened his anger. It had been irrational he knew that but that didn’t make stomaching it easier. Especially knowing you were carrying his heir. But he’d been defying himself since childhood. He follows you into your chambers.

“You will need to learn how to perform for the crowds. Trust that I can handle any mans worst. I do not need your protection, just your love” Feyd comments saying his last piece.

His request for love in light of his distance is the last straw of the night, turning you head into your bedroom without another word. You place a manual lock on the door as you have every night since your argument. From his own chambers Feyd-Ratha watches you get back into bed, the curtains are drawn so he can see into the canopy. Swallowing his pride, Feyd-Rautha decides he will not allow pride and miscommunication to keep you from him any further. Once he brought order to the spice mines and killed the Baron he would hand you over the reigns and your lives will be yours to create.

_____________

Authors note:

Thanks for reading, this was a challenge I did my best to give the best of both worlds. With the na-baroness' reaction to what was happening around her. How do we think Feyd handled her defiance? Comment below, like and reblog if you enjoyed 🩶

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forgotten-amongs-the-stars · 3 months

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Lady Aphrodite

HOMERIC HYMNS. VI. TO APHRODITE

I will sing of stately Aphrodite, gold-crowned and beautiful, whose dominion is the walled cities of all sea-set Cyprus. There the moist breath of the western wind wafted her over the waves of the loud-moaning sea in soft foam, and there the gold-filleted Hours welcomed her joyously. They clothed her with heavenly garments: on her head they put a fine, well-wrought crown of gold, and in her pierced ears they hung ornaments of orichalc and precious gold, and adorned her with golden necklaces over her soft neck and snow-white breasts, jewels which the gold-filleted Hours wear themselves whenever they go to their father's house to join the lovely dances of the gods. And when they had fully decked her, they brought her to the gods, who welcomed her when they saw her, giving her their hands. Each one of them prayed that he might lead her home to be his wedded wife, so greatly were they amazed at the beauty of violet-crowned Cytherea.

Hail, sweetly-winning, coy-eyed goddess!

#hellenic polytheism #hellenic pagan #aphrodite deity #aphrodite #lady aphrodite #aphrodite worship #e-offiring #forgotten amongs the stars

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teyamsatan · 1 year

Text

Illicit Affairs | Chapter III: Exile

Pairing: Neteyam x Human!Reader (later Avatar!Reader)

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X

Synopsis: Your 18th birthday has finally arrived, and with it, a gift that will change your life and your relationships - forever.

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, cursing

Word Count: 3,9k words

A/N: Hi Guys! The 3rd chapter is finaaally here, and 'm happy to say that whilst so far everything's been mostly intro and world building, things will be picking up very quickly. Hope you enjoy this story of two very broken people finding each other <;3

"You were my town Now I'm in exile, seein' you out I think I've seen this film before So I'm leavin' out the side door"

You didn’t dare look back at Neteyam. No, you kept a straight face and your gaze forward as you walked towards the village, engaging in small talk with your 3 friends, who were more than willing to fill in the silence by themselves. They knew you liked to keep to yourself and knew better than to take it personally.

Your friends also knew, despite not mentioning, that this is a colossal feat, getting you out of the lab, getting you to leave your comfort bubble that you, willingly or unwillingly, built for yourself the past 18 years. Kiri fondly remembers you as a child, wild and free, running around barefoot on the grass and mud as if Pandora and her trees were just your own personal playground. She took a small gander at your feet, now safely covered with a pair of black Converse sneakers, the likes of which she’s seen other humans wear before and tried not too dwell on all the moments that lead you here.

You arrived at the village after a long, pleasant walk. You were fascinated with the Pandora flora, and wondered if you were ever going to get used to it, ever not have your breath hitch in your throat at its beauty. You hoped not. Your heart started to race as the sound of people idly chattering filled your ears. Soon enough, you began to see fire and tents, as the Na’vi were making their way back home at the dusk of another day. You saw some of them removing game from the back of their pa’li, others filleting a huge fish that you recognised as a dinicthoid, and as you walked further in, saw kids running around playing with toy ikrans and laughing amongst themselves, as their mothers lay on the ground watching them in adoration.

This place filled you with so much warmth. It was clear to you the bond these people had to each other, to the clan, to the nature surrounding them, was something you will never experience for yourself, something your mum talked incessantly about every day, and you suppressed a small cry at the sudden loss of a connection you didn’t even know you longed for until now.

You made your way to the biggest tent you could reasonably see, one that you quickly recognised as the Sully family tent. It was ornate and adorned with intricate designs and two large fire lamps framing each side of the opening. It was a sight to behold, and you realised that it hasn’t changed much since you last visited. You also started to take note of the stares boring into your side from all around you and felt grateful at how close you were to the tent’s entrance.

Almost on command, Jake Sully peered out of the tent and you watched as a wide smile replaced his previously confused expression. He was a handsome man, as much so now as he was in the still frames of your past. He was dressed in celebratory garments, a fiery red loincloth dropping from his waist and a dazzling beaded neck piece that matched. He had several arm bands circling his arms, and you took note of the way the colour palette matched that of Toruk, and how well that seemed to compliment him. He was a handsome man, you thought to yourself. Damn the Sullys and their genetics.

“Y/N, my God you’ve grown. What the hell happened??” He said, enthusiastically. He circled you curiously and eyed you intently. You tried not too blush at the sudden scrutiny and how it mirrored your own just a few moments ago. “You have time to lift weights in between experiments??”

You let out a small laugh. “Hi, Jake. It’s good to see you, it’s been a while.”

“It’s been too long. You never visit, but we’re hoping that will change soon.” He said, then eyed the kids behind him, and whatever expression he was met with made him quickly bite on his bottom lip and turn around, as if to stop himself from saying any more.

A small shriek came from behind him, one that you instantly recognise and you smile widely at the little girl, who, since you last saw her, somehow became as tall as you.

“Tuk-tuk”, you say warmly and watch the animated figure jump up and down and encircle you roughly in a bear-hug. Damn, she’s stronger than you already, you sighed.

“Y/N! I have missed you so muchhh, you have to ask mum and dad to let me come to the lab more often, I never get to see you anymore!!” She cried in your neck, still holding on to you for dear life.

“I know, dear girl. I missed you, too. I’ll make sure it will never be this long before we see each other again, how does that sound?” You speak to this child you love like your own sister in Na’vi, her English skills the least proficient. She nodded her head vigorously and with that, let go.

She took your hand in hers and made her way into the tent, and you felt relief flood your being at finally being out of people’s sights. Two majestic women, tall and mighty as the Valkyries in your mum’s Norse Mythology books stood by the fire. They were chatting softly to each other and stopped as they heard you come in.

Neytiri and Mo’at looked at you intently and you felt yourself cower under the intensity of their gaze. Neytiri slowly approached you with movements so nimble and fluid you were thinking she could have made a career as a ballerina back on Earth.

After a while, she kneeled on the ground in front of you and placed her long, toned arm on your much tinier shoulder.

“My Child, you have grown so much.” She smiled kindly at you, and you felt yourself tear up at her choice of words addressing you.My child…

Before you could stop yourself, you felt your arms cross the space between you and circle her neck. The necklace she was wearing scratched your skin painfully, but you didn’t care. “I see you. I’m sorry.”

Neytiri’s arms tightened around you and you heard a smile in her voice as she said “Oh, my sweet child, you don’t have to be sorry.”

You spent the evening catching up. You told them about your work in the lab, about how you all scrambled to find any cure or at least partial treatment to the illnesses that seem to have escalated recently among the tribes’ people. They tell you about training, Lo’ak and Neteyam’s training as well as Kiri’s, who has been spending most of her time learning the ways of the Tsahik, having a natural skill for it.

You find yourself drooling at the delectable food, and are happy when Mo’at calls everyone to the meal around the fire pit in the centre of the tent. You wait for everyone to get a portion first, and smile fondly when Neyriti passes you a leaf with all the goodies on it. You dig in, realising how famished you actually were.

“So, Y/N”, Jake starts, “how does it feel being 18? I remember turning 18, don’t remember much else about that day though”, he says, smiling proudly to himself.

“Feels just the same as being 17, I’m afraid. Was really hoping the Universe might give me some sort of sign or epiphany or, anything, really, but, in reality, I feel the same as I did yesterday, and all the days before that. The food’s much better today, though” You finish with a grin, as you dig into another piece of teylu.

“Right, well, about that.. us and the kids thought, with you spending so much time on your own, you deserve a special birthday and some special gifts. Now you can see them in the corner of the tent there, but I warn you, you’re not allowed to open them until back at the lab.”

You peered over his shoulder curiously, and were again disappointed to have to wait for a surprise you didn’t want in the first place.

“After dinner, we can all go back to the lab, and you can open them in the hub while we watch, we know how much you love being surprised!”

“Wow, going out after curfew, I actually do feel kind of special.”

“You should, kid.”

Putting all the wrapped objects on the back of a Pa’li, you watched as Jake mounted his own and motioned for you to get on, in front of him. You did as you were told quietly, and the entire family made its way towards the lab. It was a much quicker journey back, and soon enough you found yourself dismounting in front of the cold heavy walls of the hub. Before you could enter though, Lo’ak passed you a cloth of some sort, and wordlessly asked for you to tie it around your eyes.

“Oh, come oon!”, you said with a deep groan, but obliged regardless. What was the point of resisting now. You knew one thing though, you were very excited to go back to bed tonight, as the emotional toll this day was taking on you was, although not worse than expected, heavy enough for you to feel its weight for days to come.

As soon as you entered the lab and removed your mask, you put the covering over your eyes, and felt Lo’ak, you knew, pick you up from the ground and carry you bridal style through the halls of the hub. You couldn’t quite tell where you were going, but you heard snickering behind you, and soon enough, Lo’ak put you down carefully and turned you around to face him.

“Now, Y/N, you’re gonna turn around and we’re going to need you to not pass out. Deal?”

“What? This is strange, guys.”

You felt him turn you around and felt gentle hands unwrap the cloth covering your eyes. Your eyes took a minute to adjust to the bright artificial light of the lab, and then pause.

One. Two. Three.

You couldn’t quite comprehend what was clearly displayed in front of you. You recognised your surroundings quickly enough. The Morgue, the other humans called it. A room where the avatars of the dead humans, now serving no purpose, were kept in their respective incubators. Your eyes were immediately drawn, as if on instinct, to your mum’s avatar. You never came here, you couldn’t. Your gaze then shifted to the incubator to the left of your mum’s, the one that hosted Grace Augustin, Kiri’s mum. On the right of your mum, though, there was usually an empty incubator. There, now floated and twitched a body, blue, tall and strong, connected to an artificial umbilical cord. You peered at it intently, something about it making you shift uncomfortably towards it. Suddenly, you felt yourself stiffen in shock, and heard a loud thud as the mask and the connecting oxygen pack dropped to the ground. The new blue body looked like… you.

Neteyam couldn’t stop staring at his baby brother’s back as he carried you in his arms, and he couldn’t stop the twinge of jealousy that bubbled deep beneath the surface.He got to carry you, he got to touch you, he got to laugh with you every damn time he pleased, and now he gets to introduce you to your new life.

Neteyam, just like the rest of his family, has known about this for months, maybe longer. Norm, his dad’s closest friend, came to the village one day and announced to the family that him and the rest of the scientists worked tirelessly for years to figure out a way to make you an avatar, and with a lot of help from your deceased’s mother’s work and research, as well as some of her DNA, they cracked the code. The newly made Avatar was a miracle of sorts, nobody having thought it would be possible to create on Pandora, so far from all the resources normally used to make one back on Earth. But they did it, and it will be ready in time for your 18th birthday. Norm wanted to make sure, if it succeeded and you accepted it, they will in turn accept you in the village, just like they accepted Jake so many years ago. He wanted you to be able to have a life, not just a body, and be able to finally be free of the shackles you have created for yourself for years on end.

Neteyam couldn’t tell how he felt about it, partly due to the fact he’s stopped himself from thinking about it since he’s found out. Whilst his siblings and even parents were buzzing in excitement, he was scared. If you were to now be there, in the village, in his life, every day, he will be forced to deal with you, with the two of you, and the feelings he knew were buried in him for a reason. He stopped at the top of the stairs of the room where he knew the Avatar lay. Nobody cared about him at the moment, and, as a result, was relieved to figure out he doesn’t have to join you in the room and see your future body, currently inanimate and floating in liquid he didn’t know or didn’t want to know the origins of. If this was to happen anyway, he’d rather meet you properly, and see if the same flicker of curiosity and unruly smile could ever reflect in the same way it does on your current face, the one that still haunts his dreams.

You couldn’t formulate words… or thoughts, for that matter. You stared at the Avatar for what it feels like hours, and finally, Norm cleared his throat and spoke.

“I know this is a lot to take in. But we wanted your 18th to be special, Ace. We have been working in secret for years to get this done, because you deserve it. You deserve the world, and you can’t have it in this lab. This world also deserves you. So now you can go and show it what you’ve got.”

“We’re so happy for you to join us, my child.” You heard Neyriri join in.

“Do you want to see the gifts we made for you?” Tuk jumped in, enthusiastically.

With a last look at your Avatar, you turned around and faced the people you knew would be looking at you expectantly. You didn’t know what the feelings you were feeling were, but they were all fighting to take over, and you felt yourself becoming dizzy. Steading yourself, you recognised that words will have to appear on your tongue sooner or later, and you managed to get out a whisper “Sure, Tuk-tuk, let’s go!”

Everyone around you exchanged weird looks; they really thought you would be a lot happier about this than you were. You tried your best to put on a happy smile and react in the way you knew people would be wanting you to; after all, this was indeed an incredibly nice, thoughtful and attentive gift, not to mention damn fucking impressive, and whatever trauma the thought of having to pilot this Avatar brought in you, it was something you were going to have to deal with by yourself, later.

“Guys, I know I have not reacted in a way appropriate for the sheer insane size and meaning of this gift, but I promise that despite my very slow processing times, I am incredibly grateful and happy for this. I cannot believe something like this is even possible, and I can believe even less that it was done for me! But while I struggle to comprehend the magnitude of what’s going to happen to me, let’s open some presents!!”

You made your way slowly towards the recreation hub where all the packages were placed on one of the long tables. You chuckled awkwardly and took one of them in your hands. The wrapping, you realised, was the same material like the one used to make the Na’vi loincloths.

The one you held in your hands currently was blue. You unwrapped it, careful as to not damage it at all, and was shocked to see a dazzling necklace, one of the most beautiful ones you have even seen. It was a leather chocker, which adorned green and red stones, and it reminded you a lot of the bracelet you were currently wearing. You turned around and looked at Kiri, whose masterful hands you knew crafted it. She was sitting on one of the benches and you couldn’t help become emotional looking at your friend, your amazing friend, who you have known all of your life, and who always collected trinkets from the woods, trinkets that now will decorate your new body.

The next package was heavier, and upon opening it, you were shocked to discover a rider’s mask, like the one the Na’vi wear when flying an Ikran; it was brown and braided and had bones adorning it. The lenses were translucent and shone in iridescent hues as you looked at it from all angles. You were in awe at the inadvertent admission that someone thought you capable of one day passing the Iknimaya, and you felt quite confident in saying Lo’ak was the master behind this gift.

“I thought, you will definitely need it one day, and I wanted to get a jump start.” He says, as if reading your mind. “You may not know it now, but I think you were born for this, Angel.”

You had no words to say to that, but were touched at how Lo’ak always seemed to believe in you more than you believed in yourself. You took a silent oath to try to live up to the version of you Lo’ak kept with him in his heart.

The second to last package was also quite small and seemed to rattle as you picked it up. As you unwrapped it, you didn’t quite make sense of the bundle of feathers and chains, but eventually Neytiri kindly stepped in and untangled it, and you realised it was a top, a beautiful, sheer top, and you found it hard to believe this will actually cover anything. You were excited to put it on though, and felt a tingle of anticipation for tomorrow that was not there before… these were yours, for your body, for your future, a future where riding your own Ikran might be more than just a dream of an out-of-reach fantasy.

“Thank you so much.” You wanted to say more, you wanted to tell them the turmoil in your heart and how scared you truly were, and how you wish they would understand and reach over and heal the broken mess that was your mind so you could finally just go, get out of this place and make your life something actually worth living, but you couldn’t make any other words come out. So you just said thank you.

As the family and the scientists continued chatting, you managed to slip by unnoticed out of the recreation hub and made your way down the hall, looking for the missing Sully you knew would be somewhere in here, by himself. You were so mad at him, so much resentment had built up in you from the year you’ve spent apart, from the less than ideal reunion, and from his continuous attempts to avoid you at all costs. It was your birthday, for god’s sake. He could at least pretend to be happy to be here, even if only for the sake of the memories you shared.

You found him in your room, looking over the books in your makeshift library, mindlessly playing with something in his large hands. His ears twitched as you approached, an obvious sign he heard you, but made no effort to acknowledge your presence. You half smiled at the view, and tried not to remember all the other times he has been in your room, just like he was now. You sat on your bed and waited patiently for him to speak, like you once used to do. It might take some time, but he always spoke.

“I don’t think you should do it.” He says, without looking at you.

“You think I shouldn’t do what?”

“This, the Avatar thing. I think it’s a bad idea.”

You sat there, in silence for a while while his words twirled in your mind like his green bracelet was twirling in his hands. You didn’t realise your mouth was wide open until you felt it dry up and you swallowed involuntarily in response.

“Excuse me?”

He turned around to face you and you saw a hard look mark his features, the old Neteyam, your old Neteyam merely a long-forgotten dream.

“You’re not going to make it, Y/N. You haven’t spent more than a week outside in the past 3 years. You may think you got this, cause you work out in a dark stuffy room with some weights and jump a rope, but it’s not going to mean jack shit when you’re out there, in a wilderness so harsh it claims brave Na’vi men and women’s lives every day. You may think you know everything because you sit here hunched over books written by humans who couldn’t see even if it hit them in the face with a stick, but you know nothing about the real world. Nothing about what’s waiting for you starting tomorrow, if you do this. Tell Norm no.”

The rage you felt blossomed like deadly nightshade and you knew whatever it was you once felt for Neteyam was dead and buried six-feet-under in that moment. You let out a bitter chuckle and rose up from the bed, placing your body in front of him.

“You know, when I saw you standing here, in my room, after all this time, I felt some sort of sick hope. I hoped you had finally come to your senses and decided you would apologise for the way you’ve treated me. For the way you left. I’m not stupid, believe it or not. I never expected whatever we had to last. After all, it was only a matter of time before the mighty future Olo’eyktan realised his attentions are better focused on more worthwhile things, like training, or, I don’t know, finding the best future Tsahik. I always expected you to outgrow me. I just had an ounce of hope you would have enough decency to do it while looking me in the eye. I felt like I earned that, after all the blood, sweat and tears I gave you.”

“You know, I fucking hate surprises. I just never thought you’d be one of the reasons why.”

The silence felt heavy and all you could hear was your panting breath, as you were trying to reign in your tempestuous emotions and the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes.

“Get the fuck out of my room, Neteyam.”

You found yourself forcefully taking the bracelet from his much larger hand and removing yourself from his path, motioning towards the open door. He left without saying a word and you shut the door behind you with a loud thud.

So far 18 was not your favourite age.

#neteyam #neteyam x human!reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam fanfic #neteyam reader #neteyam sully #avatar #avatar twow #avatar fanfic #neteyam x avatar!reader #neteyam sully fanfiction #neteyam angst #awow #awow neteyam #loak reader #avatar loak #Youtube

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marzipanandminutiae · 2 years

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Marzi, I need both your knowledge of historical fashion & sewing expertise. You’ve stated before how the not-rich would update their clothes to the new silhouette instead of buying new ones (with images of the very obvious resulting outfits). I’m wondering if a talented (but non-professional) seamstress (ca. 1820) updated a man’s (decade old at least) redingote into her pelisse how obvious would it be? Would there be any stigma about a woman’s garment being a man’s prior (or vis-versa)? Thanx

Would depend on whether any tell-tale seam lines were left that made sense for a man's redingote but not a woman's pelisse. Since she'd be adapting a relatively shapeless garment into one with a defined bodice-section and skirt-section I kind of doubt there'd be much to give it away- under those circumstances, I personally would just cut out the bodice pieces entirely from the top part of the redingote and gather down the remaining "skirt" to fit the waistline of the bodice I'd created, if that makes sense. Take in the sleeves to match the armsceyes of the new bodice, take them up if necessary, and voila- new pelisse with nobody the wiser about how it was created.

There was no stigma about what "gender" a garment started life as, no! And I know this for a fact because I've read a letter from around that time wherein a husband tells his wife to take fabric from his old coat to commission for herself a black velvet jacket of the sort lately fashionable in Washington, D.C.

Which brings me to the point that it was not just poor people who did this! That family in the letter were EXTREMELY wealthy, and- like many westerners of the 19th century -still considered frugality a virtue. Later in the century, you get stories of Gilded Age socialites taking thair own fabrics to the House of Worth to save money on new gowns, or saving excess fabric from Parisian couturiers and having local dressmakers craft extra bodices for the gowns in question.

(I will say, though, that in the early 19th century home dress-sewing was still less common than it would later become, even for working-class people. Commercial patterns weren't widely available yet, and many aspects of "mantua-making," as it was often called, were trade secrets. A large number of even less wealthy women had their clothes professionally made back then.)

#ask #anon #dress history #fashion history #long post

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onedaughterofman · 2 years

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About me and fic masterlist <3

Hi! I can speak English and Spanish. This is a +18 blog, so please DON'T follow/interact if you're underage.

Also, PLEASE DO NOT repost my works on ANY OTHER SITE. They are exactly where I want them to be.

Fics are under #my writing tag!

Fic masterlist under the cut!

In all the fics the reader is gender neutral, unless I say otherwise.

You, forever: Papa Emeritus IV x reader. Angst, a bit of horror. Evil! Copia. Antichrist! Copia. COMPLETED

Chapter I: Life eternal

Chapter II: Maternal slave

Chapter III: If you have ghost

Chapter IV: A funeral pyre

Chapter V: Kiss the goat under the spell

Chapter VI: Your friend Death

Chapter VII: Zenith interlude

Chapter VIII: Spawn of pure malevolence

Chapter IX: Waiting for the night

Chapter X: Dance Macabre

Chapter XI: Thank you, now go, go

Evil: Papa Emeritus III x reader. Rated T, some sexual innuendos.

Admirer: Aether ghoul x reader. Fluff. PART II

Hope: Aether ghoul x reader. Fluff.

Ritual: Papa Emeritus (any of them) x reader x Nameless Ghoul (any of them). +18, adult content.

Sun: Papa Emeritus (any of them) x reader. Fluff, comfort.

Premature burial: Mary Goore x reader. Rated T, a bit of horror.

Call me: Cardinal Copia x reader. +18, adult content.

Night: Papa Emeritus (any of them) x reader. +18, adult content.

Ring: Cardinal Copia x reader. +18, adult content.

Sin: Papa Emeritus (any of them) x reader. +18, adult content.

Bless me: Papa Emeritus (any of them) x reader. +18, adult content.

Vampire Party: Young! Sister Imperator x reader. Rated T, vampirism.

Cold: Dew/Sodo/Fire Ghoul x reader. Rated T, some sexual innuendos.

Prime Mover: Papa Emeritus (any of them) x reader. +18, adult content.

For me: Papa Emeritus III x reader. +18, adult content.

Dying tonight: Resurrected! Papa Emeritus III x reader. Angst.

Garments: Cardinal Copia x reader. +18, adult content.

Dance Macabre: Young! Sister Imperator x reader x Young! Papa Nihil. +18, adult content.

Goodnight, again: Young! Papa Nihil x reader. Fluff.

Rebirth: Vampire! Papa Emeritus x reader. Rated T. Mentions of injuries and blood. Vampirism.

Feisty: Nameless Ghoul (any of them) x reader. Rated M. Light adult content.

Binding ritual: Nameless Ghoulettes x reader. Fluff.

Untitled vignette: Papa Emeritus III x Omega Ghoul. Angst.

That classic "getting sold to" fic: Papa Emeritus IV x reader. Humor, crack fic.

Dark Waltz: Vampire! Papa Emeritus (any of them) x reader. Rated T.

Another bloody Mary: Mary Goore x Young! Nihil. Angst, crack ship.

Untitled vignette #2: Rain Ghoul x reader. Humor, bit of crack fic.

Ruin me: Nameless Ghoul x reader. +18, adult content.

Untitled vignette #3: Papa Emeritus III x Omega Ghoul. Angst.

Untitled vignette #5: Papa Emeritus IV x reader. +18, adult content.

Untitled vignette #6: Mary Goore x reader. Rated T, angst and emotional hurt/comfort.

Writing Sessions #1: Papa Emeritus IV x reader. Rated M, manipulative manwhore Copia, sexual innuendos.

Terzo x Omega scenario: Rated T, angst.

Writing Sessions #2: Papa Emeritus III headcanon. Angst, self esteem issues, depersonalization, imposter syndrome.

Writing Sessions #3: Cardinal Copia x reader. Rated M. Not explicit, but sexual themes. Fluff. Copia being weird and dumb.

Writing Sessions #4: Papa Emeritus II x reader. Rated T, sexual tension, age difference, Secondo being dark and handsome.

Writing Sessions #4 PART II: Papa Emeritus II x reader. +18, adult content.

Writing Sessions #5: Papa Emeritus III x Omega Ghoul. Angst.

Writing Sessions #6: Mary Goore x reader. Rated T, mostly fluff, some sexual tension. Blood (fake)

Writing Sessions #7: Papa Emeritus I x reader. +18, adult content.

Writing Sessions #8: Papa Emeritus I x reader. +18, adult content.

Writing Sessions #9: Papa Emeritus I x reader. +18 adult content.

Sacrifice me: Papa Emeritus x reader. +18 adult content.

PD: The Devil works hard but I'm sitting next to him chugging coffee like it's water.

Feel free to share this list with your Ghesties. Spread the word of the Lord!

#ghost band fanfiction #ghost band fanfic #ghost band #the band ghost #papa emeritus x reader #cardinal copia x reader #fic masterlist #ghost fanfic #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus ii x reader #young papa nihil #young sister imperator #mary goore #mary goore x reader #omega ghoul

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fauxraven · 1 month

Text

The Time Paradigm [VI]

pairing: Dream of the Endless x fem!reader

summary: the death of a Dream, the anguish of another

warnings: gore, Dream’s endless (but hot af) anger, character death

word count: 2.9k+

Enter the Dream, weary traveller

Chapter VI: Mutually assured salvation

GaiaPrime-57, Londinium, Half the Lifetime of the Universe,

A window snaps shut.

A droplet drops.

A zipper zips shut.

Zips open.

Chipping nail polish cracks further with every slide of the zip. Zip up; zip down. Zip up; zip down.

The suitcase slams on the floorboards. A frustrated groan leaves the chipping nail polish.

‘’Yes. Yes, I understand that too, Mr. Harris.’’ Up and down and up and down again until it jams. The phone gives a groan under cheap nail polish and exhausted fingers. ‘’Pedro, come—hop on my suitcase.’’

The curly head of a child pops around a corner; small, for his age, smallest of his class, in every aspect. He holds a soft toy that’s half bunny half elephant and about 5% extinct species. He hops on the suitcase silently.

‘’No, obviously, I don’t expect you to hop on my suitcase, Mr. Harris.’’ The zipper draws back, jams again. ‘’Pedro? Remember the Chuck E. Cheese ball pit?’’

The child throws himself onto the suitcase. The zipper is still stuck.

‘’Yes, I know. But the lease said—just one really. Yes, the other intends to stay. I don’t know, a few months. Yes, just me. She’ll stay. Yes—yes! Perfect, thank you, so much!’’ The phone drops on a red faux suede beanbag. ‘’Kid, this isn’t working.’’

‘’It was zipping a bit funny when Aunty Anna tried it too.’’

‘’Anna was within a file-mile radius of my suitcase?’’

The half-elephant half-unicorn dips a head of a cotton into a nod. She pulls him up and throws the suitcase open.

‘’You have got to be kidding me!’’

A pink garment falls to the floor. Followed by a white veil and a cable knit stitch the colour of ebony. Footfalls draw closer with every piece she plucks from the intestines of the suitcase.

‘’Pizza’s ordered. What? You said healthy; veg—what the bloody hell are you doing?’’

‘’You tell me. What part of ‘going there for work’ do you not understand?’’

‘’I understood perfectly! Blimey, I even packed you nice professional clothes.’’

‘’Lingerie? That’s what you call professional?’’

‘’Pleasure and business. Precisely in that order,’’ a lacy thong drops, adding to the growing pile forming on the floor. The child has gone away, thankfully. ‘’What if you meet a hot and loaded British bugger? What then? You’ll be glad I packed the essentials, that’s what.’’

‘’It’s a job in a quiet countryside house; the closest village is eight miles. The only guy I’ll see is pushing ninety and I’ll spend my days wheeling him around—passionately.’’

‘’Just loaded then?’’

‘’Business. I’m going there for business. I’m not like you, Jo. Hell, how many did you—okay, who needs this many thongs?’’

‘’That one’s a stray, actually.’’

On cue, the top layer of the unholy pile shifts into a ginger Tabby cat.

‘’Tell me you did not keep that thing.’’ Johanna snags in a beanbag, hissing at the cat when it tries snuggling up against her leg. She plucks a magazine from the coffee table and starts thumbing through gibberish. She isn’t really paying attention to the words; she isn’t paying attention to anything.

‘’I let you keep the kid!’’ The woman fires back, sitting on her haunches.

‘’Kids aren’t strays, love. Besides, this one’s just using ya for food and free snuggles, hope you know that.’’

‘’Since you’re missing the point, I’ll just cut to the chase—where did you find a whole kid? Where are his parents?’’

Johanna spares her a coy look over the magazine. ‘’Don’t you mean when are his parents?’’

‘’No, I really just mean where are his parents, the people who are supposed to care for him and report him missing should you decide to keep him any longer than you already have.’’

Johanna opens her mouth, tongue fit with a quick retort, but a zipper zips shut and a bell tolls; and life goes on. Without her. Always without her. She ought to move on too.

A sharp snap! rescues her from grim thoughts. A luggage handle is drawn and a decision is made.

‘’Looks like I’m all set. Walk me to the door?’’

‘’Promise to visit for Bommy Night?’’

‘’Sure. Why not Christmas or Easter or any other normal holidays?’’

‘’I want you on Bommy Night.’’

A suitcase is wheeled over the threshold of a small London flat. A dream leaves through the door.

‘’Hun, it happened four hundred years ago, think you can let it go, eventually?’’

‘’Bommy Night?’’

‘’Bommy Night.’’ She sighs. ‘’And do clean up while I’m gone. This place is a mess.’’

A door shuts behind an idyllic picture, a semblance of normalcy, a modicum of love.

In all her lives, Johanna Constantine has never particularly enjoyed loneliness. But loneliness far outweighs death, grief, sorrow, work. So she lets it go. She lets love overflow. She lets her only friend forge her own path through the world. A world cleansed of any demons, ghouls or whatnots that come bump into the night.

Still, she hangs onto the knob. Still, she pauses before the door. Still, she glances at the quiet flat.

A piece of paper and a mess of clothes strewn about a dust-covered couch.

All that’s left of her.

There’s a child in there somewhere, but she doesn’t bother finding him. She knows it won’t last. She knows nothing ever lasts.

An orange cat pushes its head against her calf, purring lightly through her bones.

She might take that gig at Saint-Anne’s. She might blow up the Houses of Parliament. She might phone Rachel.

Endless possibilities.

⌛︎ ⌛︎ ⌛︎

GaiaPrime-57, Edge of the Worlds, Mytikas Peak, Two Millennia Before the End,

He isn’t sure she is breathing.

Granted, his kind do not need to breathe, but nearly all living things do.

In the beginning, breathing was surviving.

Breathing was new, invented by some higher power, meant to be the latest trend in a series of many; holy gifts bestowed upon humanity before it even became humanity.

But in humanity breathing has found meaning.

One’s breathing tells a tale of life—of life and of love and of sorrow and of pain.

In times forgotten but not forgiven, he’d relish in the steady breath of sleepers.

He’d watch the ephemeral rise and fall of a passing chest with great fascination, overcome with a strange mixture of relief and indifference when the fleeting moment inevitably ended.

He’d listen to the soft thrumming of a laboured breath fanning across his own lips, bodies tangled, hearts mingled, minds miles apart. He’d pour his heart into everything that he was and everything that he wanted and he’d breathe them all into his arms… and they would always end up drowning. He’d choke the breath right out of them.

His sorrow was great; but his love was suffocating.

To add insult to injury, evolution has made breathing mandatory; essential.

But she has defied every rule, every law, every principle and sacred promise from day one.

So he is almost certain she is not breathing at all.

And he needs her to breathe.

He isn’t sure why—perhaps because she’s got a kind smile and she’s happy and she’s wounded and she’s saved his life.

A debt he can never repay, to his dismay.

He cannot stand between a flying sword and her lovely face. He cannot mend her wounds with a flick of his wrist. He cannot call out her name so sweetly and stir something buried within the depths of a blazing nova.

But he can save her life.

The hopeful thought digs, and soft golden grains of sand guide him to Chiron’s bedchambers.

He finds the Centaur reading. He calls to him, nearly falls to his knees.

Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, Oneiros, the Shaper of Form and everything he has ever been and ever will be—is utterly devastated.

Strangely enough, nothing gives the King away.

Nothing on the hard face, the wild hair nor deep eyes, nothing in the dark billowing robes and the shining ruby; it’s a feeling in the air, a rapture through time itself that tells Chiron something dreadful has happened.

That, and the dying girl in his arms.

For his usual aloofness, Oneiros proves to be very cooperative.

He lowers her to the cushioned table, per Chiron’s orders and stands aside to let him work.

He watches, powerless, as the doctor tears through fabric and blood-marred skin and frowns.

‘’What is it?’’ His voice is cutting, demanding, that of a sovereign hanging onto his crown with one hand. In the other, lie his wants and desires. Duty warring against something barely blossoming. Something deadly. Something very nearly dead.

‘’The stitches hold still.’’

‘’Is that not a good thing?’’

‘‘Terrible. Very terrible, Milord.’’

Gilded scissors cut deeper, digging into raw flesh and crusted meat alike, dragging unintelligible pained murmurs from the victim’s throat.

‘’She’s coming to, my lord.’’

‘’Not quite. Faster.’’

Scissors chop away, blood bursts everywhere, screams rip free, golden liquid bearing the smell of spoilt milk leaks through veins.

‘’By Zeus—’’ The Centaur curses; the Dream Lord hears it—neither moves an inch.

‘’What is that?’’ Oneiros rasps, anger lacing his even tone as he stares deeper into the leaking wound.

‘’Adiona—‘’ Chiron stammers, wide eyes burning a hole into a gaping canyon. ‘’Go, find Adiona, and any servants and willing gods.’’

Oneiros does not move. His star-filled gaze has darkened; the stars are slowly dying as they gawk at the trickling drops of blood and the large puddle of liquid gold pouring from the wound.

‘’Oneiros, go!’’ Chiron calls to him, they share a glance over the woman and then his eyes sweep over her fevered form again. A pale hand he hadn’t noticed falls from a limp grasp. He is gone in a swirl of sand.

What happens in the split second of his absence is a secret kept between the doctor and the universe.

But for clarity’s sake, the scene is as follows; this tale is not for the faint of heart.

Blood pours.

As a doctor, surgeon, centaur, son of a ruthless beast, he has seen blood. Some might say he is used to the sight of it. Blood and pus and bodily fluids, all fascinating in their diversity. After its inevitable loss, the human body can produce nearly one liter per day. That's two gallons full of pungent blood. He fears she might fill up five pitchers of wine with her blood alone.

But the blood doesn't bother him. It is terrifying.

Blood pours, pours.

Vicious droplets gushing from a gaping wound—a Sunday to him.

He'd operated during the Dhorian Invasion and all that followed humanity's first brush with extraterrestrial forces. He'd served as a soldier for a time, a nurse, a brother, a friend, a gravestone. He thought he'd seen all the world had to give and take.

He hadn't.

He probably still hasn't.

Blood pours pours pours.

Red splotches dot his skin—her skin, the difference is hard to tell anymore.

He reacts mechanically, his body switching to auto-pilot. His arm lifts, a hand reaches and nibble fingers dig through shining flesh and golden remnants of bone. He knows what this is, this gilded ambrosia spreading through her veins. He knows what it is and he knows what it does, so he carries on, hands digging through her entrails as her screams overpower the wet squelching of his crass ministrations.

He digs and he digs until the voice that comes from her throat is nothing but a distant echo carried by a Roman breeze, a flutter of a butterfly's wings.

By the time the doors to his antechamber burst open, he's elbow deep into the angry flesh of her.

A flurry of gods and goddesses and servants stand arrayed about him, gawking eyes narrowing at the sight of the carnage.

''Chiron,'' a voice calls to him, and then two, and then three and a thousand and one. They pierce through the silent spell in the room and noise comes back to him at once, a moist, most disturbing noise.

He carries on; acutely aware that somewhere along his ministrations, she had stopped screaming.

''Chiron, there's too much blood.''

''Is this all from the... inside?''

‘’I could not find Adiona.’’

‘’No matter. Hold her hand.’’

Wordlessly, he gives commands. A world of gods and servants obey, gathering tools and knowledge, changing bandages and spoiling cloth after cloth with dried pungent blood. It just never stops, the flow keeps pouring, rushing over all of Mount Olympus. The rivers of blood spread like gossip on Haloa, splitting into narrow paths, designing warped veins on the pristine floors. The irony.

The servants still the traveller. It is useless. The violent writhing has subsided, only slight tremors remain, faint whimpers and an assembly of gods.

Hephaestus beats her chest repeatedly with brawny arms.

A Cherub's small rounded fingers are pressed against her pulse. With every passing second, they press harder still.

Calliope, ninth daughter of the Hecatae, is sponging up blood and gilded pus from a corpse.

A painting that will never make it to a museum.

Oneiros knows she is no longer breathing. Her hand lays slack in his palm.

Chiron perseveres. Delicate fingers pry him off the body carefully.

The stranger-traveller-lover-of-dreams is... dead?

''It's alright, Chiron. You did your best.''

''You were very admirable. As was she; she shall be remembered as such.''

''Really nothing you could do.''

''Try again.''

A death knell drops. A pipe organ is playing somewhere deep within the bowels of the palace. The eerie melody cannot reach them. Nothing can save for sorrow and grief and the Dreamlord's quiet anger.

''My Lord?''

''Try. Again.''

Chiron holds his haunted gaze. The ninth daughter of the Hecatae raises a graceful hand to the side of his face. ''Oneiros—''

''Save her.'' he repeats, rasping voice never changing in tone. ''You owe her that much.''

''Do I?'' The doctor's eyes sweep over her form again. Just a moment ago she'd been laughing, mocking his customs and reminiscing gibberish. Just a moment ago, she'd been carried in by the prince of stories for whom she obviously harbored a strong inclination. ''Do you?''

Just a moment ago, she'd been more than a cold lump of meat on a decorative table.

''I know when to admit defeat, Dreamlord. Please, forgive me.''

''No.''

''Oneiros, he did all he could.''

Cold, starless eyes barely brush against some ninth daughter. Under his stare, she feels smaller than a grain of sand.

''No,'' Chiron says before the Dream Lord can retort. ''No, I did not.''

''Chiron—‘’

His shoulders deflate, turning away from Calliope's comforting touch. ''She came to see me this morning. After the feast.''

''Well, what did she want?'' a rough, gravelly voice asks. The Cherub hops on a corner of the table, bare legs brushing over the tip of her dead sandaled feet. She is a corpse now, everything about her is dead, expect, perhaps, her heart. It shall live endlessly.

''She asked me to check the wound. I had to remove the bandage and cut her up, I'm afraid.''

The temperature drops, the air turns crisp, burning the doctor's lungs when he draws a deep breath and looks into Morpheus' eyes.

''Tell me, is this your doing?''

''I wish,'' he surrenders, summoning all the strength left in him. His hands are covered in blood, his arms reek of death and his scalp is as damp as that of the victim. The blood has gilded vein-like streaks stretching across his arms. ''This—this is something else. Something impossible.''

He orders the blood-covered servants to leave. As they fill out wordlessly, he watches, scrutinizing them one by one. The doors close on blood and fabric and a forbidden glance.

To the remaining world, he whispers one word.

''Δηλητήριο.''

''Poison?'' Calliope echoes, frowning. ''It cannot be. Zeus had all the hemlock shrubs removed after the Phaedra incident.''

''Only this isn't hemlock, Calliope. This is something else. Something new.''

''Could it be lethal to us?''

''Of course not, dimwit! Why would you even think that?''

''Look what it's done to her, Anteros! A powerful beauty, was she? I mean no disrespect my lord.''

Hephaestus considers himself a man of bravery and honor.

He isn't anywhere near as obnoxious as Plutus, or inconsiderate as Aergia, and twice the man Anteros pretends to be. But he must admit that the tendrils of pure darkness sprouting from the Master of Dreams’ shadow make him a tee tiny bit frightened.

They expand, licking across the polished floors, continuing their creeping journey toward the foot of the table, snuffing out all light and life from the closest particles of this plane. The shadows grow, shape, de-shape and reshape in a senseless and endless twirl.

Calliope has always been braver than him.

She turns and in one graceful twirl places herself between the tendrils of darkness and her half-brother. Between the god and the Endless. She stares him down. He stares right back.

The tendrils tremble around the edges.

Chiron pinches the bridge of his nose wearily. A cherub sucks a thumb into his mouth, watching the game with bright amused eyes.

A shadow stills, the air turns sour.

A gasp is breathed, a heart is released.

A stranger-traveller springs from a table, cheered on by a collective shriek. A toddler tumbles from her table. A palm is pressed to her cheek, lovely brown eyes coming into view. Shadows retreat into the darkest parts of an ancient soul.

She breathes. She lives. She cries.

''Please, please, don't send me off on a burning boat.''

A/N: yes I am alive, no, I’m not sorry (a tiny bit still).

Also… finally introducing the premise, how do we feel about that ;)

Gotta sort the rest of my drafts before I update again, but I’m currently working on a Sandman x DBD crossover so updates on this series might take a while. And since the algorithm seems to be against me, I'd recommend a follow to be sure not to miss them!

#morpheus #dream of the endless #the sandman #lord morpheus #morpheus x reader #let me know if I forgot any tags #netflix the sandman #sandman netflix #the sandman x reader #dream x fem!reader #dream x reader #the sandman au #sandman fic #the sandman netflix #the sandman comics #sandman comics #greek mythology #greek gods

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daydreaming-in-letters · 9 months

Text

Earth & Fire

Chapter VI - Orpheus

09/11/2023

Pairing: Hades (Hozier) x Anthea (OFC)

Word Count: 7,932

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, imagined character death, Hermes being a massive d*ck

Summary: An intruder makes it past the gates to the Underworld and sets forth a chain of events that finally makes Anthea and Hades realise their true feelings for each other.

A/N: Gosh, this chapter turned out to be a real beast. It got longer and longer, so decisions had to be made and I ended up splitting it into two separate chapters. I think it does not take away from the reading experience, but it means you will have to wait just a tad longer before our two sweethearts will finally make a move.

Earth & Fire - Masterpost

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Picture found on Pinterest

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

Anthea hurried to get away from the palace. It was still early in the day, at least she believed it was as there was no way to be sure in the complete absence of sunlight. But the hallways had been suspiciously quiet and she had not encountered anyone on her way outside.

Looking back over her shoulder, she found that she was a good distance from the palace now, and more importantly, that she was still alone. But just to be on the safe side, she stepped around one of the larger rocks to her left and crouched down. With a swift movement of her hand she produced the golden robin her father had given her upon their arrival from inside her garment. Even though it had travelled back and forth quite a few times by now, it looked as spotless and shiny as on the day of her arrival.

The day of her arrival, she mused, as she opened her hand to set the tiny bird free and watched it lift off. Had it already been a week? Or two? Maybe even more. Anthea had no idea. All she knew was that time seemed to pass even slower since Aidon and her had returned from the pond.

If only it had not been for that dreadful dream. She had not dared look him in the eyes when their paths had crossed the next morning. And he had not spared her a word either. It was almost as if he knew, as if her desire and the shame it caused surrounded her, like an aura, visible to no one but him. And his withdrawal only confirmed what she had been fearing all along—that their behaviour inside the cave had been untoward.

She should have known, should have realised from the way it had excited her. But she had chosen to give in to it, not knowing what it would cost her, and now she was paying the price for her lewdness.

On the day she had arrived here, Anthea had thought that she had nothing left to lose except her life. How foolish she had been. But now that she had lost him too, she knew better. The days seemed endless without his company, and the nights even more so, as they brought back images of his sweet smile, the sensation of his warm embrace and the melody of his laughter. Sometimes she was lucky though, when dreamless sleep found her and let her wake in the merciful misbelief that, even if Zeus had taken away her life as she knew it, she still had him.

But realisation always came too soon, and when it did, it hit her with full force, the violent clench inside her chest almost impossible to bear.

There was not much to do for her now that she had driven him away, except for writing to her father. Of course she had told him nothing about the recent developments. It was not so much that she feared his anger, but she knew that her unhappiness and solitude would worry him, and he had enough on his hands to worry about because of her already.

At least it seemed that his plan of leading Zeus astray was working. For now. They both knew they could not outrun the All-father for all eternity. It was only a matter of time before he would discover her hiding place. Especially with all the devoted spies and allies that were only waiting for a chance to prove their loyalty to the King of the Gods.

Hephaestus had reminded her of that in his last letter, urgently. To be careful, to trust nobody and to not let anyone see her when she released the robin. It would probably have been best not to use him at all, but she did not have the heart to give up the only silver lining she still had.

Anthea jolted as suddenly a warm, wet snout pressed into the palm of her hand. He had come out of nowhere, but now he was everywhere. Two heavy paws landing on her shoulders, her back met the rock behind her. One head licked her face eagerly, the other still nuzzling her palm in an enthusiastic appeal for her attention, as the third one barked in excitement.

“Cerberus, please,” she squealed as she tried to push the Guardian of the Underworld off of herself. “I would love to give you all the pats you deserve, but you’re making this quite impossible if you keep squashing me into this rock.”

She doubted that he had understood a word she had said, but he stilled anyway. Then he turned and it was only when a voice came from above their heads that she knew why Cerberus had chosen to stop his antics.

“It’s not hard to see why he let you pass the gates to the Underworld unharmed.”

First a pair of feet strapped in leather sandals came into view. And the set of tiny wings, fluttering excitedly at their heels, was enough to give away the identity of the intruder. He peered down at her with his signature haughty smile and she knew there was more to come.

“He adores you.” He stopped for a second to give his next remark more weight. “They all do.”

She knew he was referring to his father, and once again Anthea felt that warmth spread through her when she remembered that, even though he was the Messenger of the Gods and therefore a gossipmonger by nature, she had nothing to fear from him. Thanks to Aidon. And without knowing how he had achieved his aim, finally Hermes' words began to sting like he had intended them to.

“Aidon sure doesn’t.”

Even to her own ears, her reply sounded awfully childish and bitter. And despite averting her gaze, she could hear the god’s amusement upon her negligence in his answer.

“Oh, I am certain there is no need to fear the loss of his affection, my dear. Or do you really think he would allow you to call him Aidon if he wasn’t utterly smitten by you?”

Her bewilderment must have shown as her eyes snapped back to the intruder. At least it coaxed a frustrated sigh from his throat before he condescended to clarify his words.

“No one calls him that. They don’t dare. Not even Hecate or Thanatos, two of his closest friends.”

Anthea pondered the new information for a moment, letting her fingers sink into Cerberus’ soft fur to ground herself while she did. “I’m sure it means nothing,” she finally stated. “He just didn’t want me to feel uncomfortable, being the excellent host he is.”

“Ha! Excellent host,” Hermes sneered, tipping the brim of his winged petasos back a little. “I bet the residents of Tartarus would like to disagree.”

“If he does his job right. After all, they earned what they got, didn’t they?”

“Probably.” Hermes’ grin had fallen a little, still he was nowhere near satisfied with the torment he had caused so far. “But tell me, if he really is such an excellent host, why does he leave you on your own so much?”

“I…he…” Anthea’s fingers dug deeper into the hound’s silky fur. How dare he question the hospitality of the only being in the whole universe that had been kind enough to take her in, despite the risks standing up against Zeus might entail? “I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. Maybe he just has an awful lot of obligations to fulfil. And besides that, he owes me nothing, not even his company. He has already done more for me than anyone would have under these circumstances.”

“Oh, I am sure he has.” A wicked grin continued to spread on Hermes’ lips until two rows of pearly white teeth were revealed.

“What are you insinuating, Lord Hermes?” Anthea spat, the tone of her voice so sharp that even Cerberus felt compelled to join in with a low growl. Then suddenly he stiffened, his heads whipping around in unison, and before she knew what was happening, he dashed off.

She felt bared without his protection, completely vulnerable now in the presence of a god who had no regard for the feelings of others. A situation that was all too familiar.

“I am insinuating nothing. Nothing at all.”

His smirk told a different story.

“Aidon is not like that.”

“Like my father, you mean.”

Anthea rose to her feet. “And like you. Like all the other gods. Taking what they want, whenever they want, regardless who they hurt in the process.”

Her outbreak did not impress the god in the least. Instead he laughed at her, a deep, guttural laugh that made Anthea dizzy with rage.

“And what do you think qualifies you to be the judge of that? You have known Hades for what, a week?”

Anthea did not rise to his provocation. She would not let her guard down with him more than she already had. So instead of granting him an answer, she just glowered at him.

“Suit yourself. It’s all the same to me. But you know what they say, the higher the pedestal, the deeper the fall.”

“I don’t think he’ll ever do anything to change my high opinion of him.”

“And how could he, seeing that he spends no more time with you whatsoever?”

His remark felt like a smack to her face. It stung, reaching deep within, her gut twisting and turning as she tried with all her might to battle the rising tears back down.

“As I said, I’m sure he has good reasons for—”

“To be honest with you,” Hermes came a step closer while he cut her short, “I don’t think he has. And even if he did, it hurts, doesn’t it?” He took another step, letting his hand sink against the rock now that he was close enough, to shield her in on one side. “The rejection. The realisation that there are more important things in his life than you.”

Anthea swallowed. He was so close now that she could feel his hot breath hitting her face like the scorching fires of Tartarus.

“That’s not—” came her feeble reply and her words died away completely when all of a sudden a loud noise filled the air. Some kind of warning signal, she guessed from the alarmed look on Hermes’ face. And as he drew away, eyes scanning their surroundings frantically, she could feel a familiar panic rise inside her.

“What is happening?” she almost screamed at the god who was already lifting off the ground.

“An intruder. You should head back to the palace.”

Zeus.

He had found her.

And he was here to finally claim what he had been denied.

Hermes was right. She should head back to the palace, run as fast as her feet would carry her to the only shelter she knew. But she could not. Frozen in place she watched the Messenger of the Gods fly off, without a single look back. And the further the distance grew between them, the harder Anthea found it to simply breathe. Soon she was gasping for air, her breaths stuttering like the beat of her heart. She needed to support herself against the cold stone as the world first began to spin and then blur. Good, she thought, unconsciousness would be the only mercy she could hope for when he finally found her.

“Anthea!” The voice came from far away, still it possessed the power to stop her mind from descending into darkness. “Oh, thank the Fates.”

A pair of arms wrapped around her, just in time to stop her from sinking to the ground, and she felt herself sinking against him instead.

“It’s all right. It’s all right,” the soothing voice chanted over and over again. “It’s not him.”

She registered a faint whooshing noise, but she paid it no mind. It did not matter, not as long as his scent surrounded her and his arms kept her close. She was safe.

But then his arms were replaced by another softness, not as warm and nowhere near as comforting, but she felt that he was still there, still by her side, and as well-known hues of pink and purple welcomed her back, she knew where he had taken her.

“Aidon,” she muttered, blindly reaching for him as her lids still refused to open and allow her the sight of his beautiful face.

“I’m here, love.” His hands wrapped around hers, lifting it to his mouth to press his lips against her knuckles in a tender kiss.

“Please don’t go.”

Aidon hesitated, a mere heartbeat, but his silence finally gave her the strength to open her eyes. He looked pained, almost heartbroken as he glanced down at her from the bedside.

“I’m afraid I must. Even if it is not Zeus who has tried to sneak into the Underworld, I still have to deal with our uninvited guest.”

Anthea nodded. “Of course.” She heard herself say the words, but they were not her own. They were the words of reason, when every fibre of her being wanted to beg him to stay, or at least take her with him. But she knew that was out of the question. He would not let her get up, not in the state she was in.

“Rest now. I will come looking for you as soon as I can.”

His lips found her hand again before he gently laid it down on her stomach. A smile played on his lips, to reassure her, she knew, but it was dimmed by his worry. She hated to be the cause of that. Hated to be so weak, making it easy for panic to overwhelm her.

And this very second it was as clear to her as it could ever be. She needed to brace herself, for the moment would come when she could no longer outrun her deepest fears. And she would meet them with a brave face. She had to. For him.

Hades loathed leaving her like this. The pleading tone of her voice, still shaking with fear, had broken his heart. Even more so as he could not stay by her side to soothe her. A mortal had tried to breach the gates to the Underworld and even though Hades knew that his presence here had nothing to do with Anthea, he wanted him gone as soon as possible.

He had come in vain anyway, especially after scaring the living daylights out of Anthea with his appearance. Of course, he could not have known what torment he would cause her, but that did not change the fact that he had and thus had sparked the ardent wish to make him suffer for it in the God of the Underworld.

Hades’ mood only darkened further as he watched the young man stride through the packed throne room now. His face was a perfect display of deference, but underneath it Hades could sense the same arrogance that he had had to endure countless times on his rare visits to Mount Olympus before. The arrogance only a god could muster, and had now bequeathed unto his mortal son.

The lyre he clutched in his right hand was another hint to his divine father, at least for those who had never encountered the god Apollo and therefore could not recognise the uncanny resemblance. Especially his flowy blonde curls and eyes as blue as the sky gave irrefutable evidence of his descent.

Hades sighed as the intruder sank to one knee at the foot of his dais. Yet another disturbance of his peace Zeus was to blame for. As if Hermes was not enough of a pest already.

“Orpheus, son of Apollo, you have tried in vain to descend into the Underworld unnoticed and in doing so committed a grave crime against the laws of this realm.”

The murmur of the spectators had died away with their ruler’s first words, yet there was one individual who did not know when it was best not to break the silence.

“My lord, I—”

“Quiet! It is not your turn to speak yet, bard.” Orpheus’ eyes went wide and a few souls exchanged knowing glances. “But taking into account whose son and grandson you are, I will forgive you the lack of decorum, just this once, as you are clearly not to blame for it. So you will better not speak up again without permission. Do you understand?”

Still on one knee, Orpheus obediently lowered his head and his free hand clutched the fabric of his crimson chiton right above his chest.

“Yes, my lord. And I thank you for your lenience.”

Following the rules of a hearing like this, Hades would ask the Thracian to defend himself and state his case, but he had heard of his story already. Everyone knew of it, in the mortal realm as well as in the realm of the dead.

Orpheus was here to plead for his beloved’s life. Eurydice. He had lost her on the day of their wedding. It had been a joyous day, everyone who had witnessed the ceremony agreed, and the bride had asked her groom to play on his lyre so she could dance with the naiads in celebration. It was a skill Orpheus had been taught by his father and mastered to perfection, and so he was eager to fulfil his wife’s wish.

But as they danced, a shepherd saw her. Enchanted by her beauty, he wanted her for himself and began to chase her. In the course of her flight, she stepped onto a nest of vipers and was bitten. Orpheus, who had chased after the shepherd and his wife to protect her, could do nothing but hold her in his arms as she slowly slipped away to the other side.

Since then, Orpheus had been in mourning, pestering everyone in the Upperworld with his laments. Soon their fate was known as a tragedy that had moved many hearts—even those of the gods.

Some of them must have given him the advice to journey to the Underworld and reason with its ruler. Why they had done so, Hades could not tell for sure. A few might actually have meant well, honestly touched by his loss, others just liked to cause mischief and watch chaos unfold, eager to find out whether Orpheus would make it to the Underworld alive, which was not the common result, not even for the son of a god. Actually, most mortals who set out for the realm of the dead never even reached the Styx, lost somewhere in the dark labyrinths that led here or discovered by Cerberus, who took his assignment as guardian of the gates to the Underworld very seriously.

Strangely enough, Orpheus had made it here unharmed. Not without help, Hades suspected, and as he looked around to find Hermes amidst the crowd of spectators, the messenger’s impish grin confirmed his suspicions. It was probably his nephew’s way of paying him back for making him swear that oath to protect Anthea. He did not like to be pushed around. But neither did Hades. So hopefully Hermes was prepared to see his revenge backfire, even though it would be others who had to pay the price in his stead.

“Orpheus, as many before you, you have come to the Underworld in the hope to return to the light with your wife Eurydice. I know your story, I have heard it several times, and I cannot see how it differs from those of others I have sent back home empty handed. So that will be your fate as well, to leave the way you came, Cerberus by your side to escort you back.”

Hades could see the young man’s head shoot up, unbelieving eyes finding his in an instant. He was not prepared to accept his rejection yet, but Hades’ mind was made up. It had been, long before Orpheus had even conceived the plan to travel to the Underworld in the first place. Hades had never overruled the decisions of the Fates, not because he could not, but because death was part of life. From the day of birth, it was inevitable that life would eventually end. It was the only true equality there was. And who was he to take that away by making exceptions?

“I accept your verdict, Lord Hades. Even though it is very uncommon not to allow the petitioner to state his case.” A turmoil rose among the crowd. But it was only after a while, as the murmuring grew louder, that Hades realised it had not been started by the bard’s repeated impertinence, but because he himself had ignored the fixed procedures. And when he found Hermes’ eyes in the crowd again, he knew that he had been played. Now all he could do was wait for the humiliation, and he did not have to wait for long.

“Please,” Orpheus spoke again, raising his arms to calm the agitated audience, and to Hades’ great dismay, they listened. “Lord Hades is right. There is nothing that makes my loss greater than the loss others have suffered, or my grief any graver. It is a truth hard to bear while standing right at the centre of a storm that threatens to tear you apart. But I thank you for reminding me of that, my lord.”

“You are welcome, son of Apollo,” Hades pressed out as casually as he could. There was more to come, he was sure of it. Orpheus would not leave without at least trying to sway him, not after coming all this way.

“My lord, against the warnings of others, you have been most kind to me. Will you allow me to express my gratitude with a song before I return to the mortal realm?”

Hades would have liked to refuse, but there was no way he could. Not without angering every single soul in the Underworld and in turn losing their respect. He would have to endure what was coming. But how hard could it be? It was only a song. It would change nothing.

And so he felt himself nod and extend his hand in an invitation for the bard to proceed.

A mixture of disbelief and triumph flitted across Orpheus’ face, but it faded quickly as he was eager to use the chance he had been given. He knew he would not get another one.

And so deft fingers began to move, coaxing the first tunes from the strings. They were soft, designed to be inconspicuous, and soon Hades found them weaving their way into his ears and from there, as they were met with no resistance, reaching deeper. Not in any way did their facile nature prepare him for what was about to come.

A force so strong he had to close his eyes suddenly overcame him. And there she was. Warm eyes, the colour of fertile soil, and golden hair, always shining as if it held the light of the sun itself. The hint of a shy smile played on her lips and when her eyes found him, it erupted into something so bright he was tempted to blink before his heart would burst with joy.

It was only now that he noticed she was dressed in wedding attire. Part of her hair was braided and someone had done very well to weave in some flowers here and there. She was magnificent, even more so than she usually was, if that was possible. It was beyond him how he had managed to tear his gaze away from her, but he had, and as he looked down his own form now, he found himself matching her outfit.

How…? What was this trickery?

Until this very day he had never even given the faintest thought to marriage. It was a luxury, he had concluded early on, the God of the Underworld could never be granted. And being married to her, well, that was never going to happen anyway. He had vowed it would not, and yet somehow here they were, dressed the part, her hand reaching for his and he knew everything was just as it had always been meant to be.

Still, however real the bliss of being bound to her for eternity felt, he knew this was only a dream. It had to be. No matter how warm her body felt as it pressed into his, or how his stomach fluttered as her lips came closer, her heated breath already drifting across his own as a foretaste of the sweetness that was yet to come.

But suddenly she stilled in his arms, her grip a little tighter as her eyes drifted to the ground. To her feet, he corrected himself, staring in disbelief at the two angry red punctures on her ankle. And when she found his gaze again, the turmoil of her eyes left him in no doubt that she knew.

With mere moments left, life already leaving her body, her weakening form collapsed against him and he held her as they both sank to the ground, his heart sinking even deeper. There were no words left to speak. For what could be said in the face of inevitable loss, of forced separation from the one you vowed to spend your life with? This and every other that was yet to come.

Hades was not sure if he could have found his voice anyway, with devastation clutching his heart in a tight grip and his mind plunged into chaos. He could not lose her, not now and not ever, not without losing a part of himself that would die with her as soon as her heart would stop beating.

Please, please, he thought, not even sure who he was pleading to, not her. Anyone but her.

It did not take long for the tears to rise from deep within and find their way into his eyes. Some would have seen them as a mercy, would have welcomed them as they began to cloud the view, but Hades fought hard to force them back. not wanting to be robbed of the last moments they had together. There would be plenty of time to weep, but now all he wanted was to look at her, to take every single second to memory, so he could remember what it had felt like to be blessed with the gift of being alive at the same time she was.

Death was close now. He could feel him luring in the shadows already, but his old friend refused to turn himself visible just yet. A kindness that was greatly appreciated and would not go unnoticed.

“Anḗr,” she whispered, collecting what little remained of her strength to lift her hand and reach out for him. But she was too weak already and so he cupped her hand with his own and brought it up to his cheek for her. It was only this tiny gesture and the warmth of her touch that stopped him from breaking apart upon the way she had addressed him. It would have been easy to convince himself that he had simply misheard, but he knew that he had not. She had said it, however feeble the whisper had been. Anḗr — husband.

She was gone as soon as she had appeared before his eyes while the music slowly faded. And even though his torment was still fresh, lingering like the soul of a newly deceased that was not ready to leave the mortal realm just yet, already it was wearing thinner to make room for relief. And there was no relief he had ever felt that could compare to the alleviation that spread through him this very instant. She was alive, her heart still beating somewhere inside the walls of this palace and all he had to do was listen closely and he would hear it.

A comfort the man at the foot of the dais did not have anymore, Hades realised as his eyes found him there. What had only been a nightmare to him, was Orpheus’ living hell, day by torturous day. To wake every morning in a short moment of oblivion, just to be hit by realisation the next. Happiness and grief, side by side, shifting in the blink of an eye. Ripping his heart into shreds, over and over again.

It was only now that Hades became aware of his surroundings once more, and found the whole room in a state of distress that seemed to resemble his own inner turmoil. As they began to wander, his eyes caught souls trembling with the trauma of their own deaths renewed, nymphs were weeping as they held onto each other in their despair, even some of the gods and daimons present were wiping tears from the corners of their eyes. Strangely enough, the only one who seemed perfectly composed was the man who had stirred them all with his performance. And as an even greater surprise, the bard simply bowed, and then turned to leave.

Hades had no idea what came over him. His mind had been made up. No exceptions. Still he found himself rising to his feet as his voice echoed from the walls in a strange and unfamiliar sound.

“Wait.” Immediately Orpheus halted his steps, yet he did not dare turn and look at the ruler of the Underworld just yet. “Son of Apollo, look around. You have touched the hearts of every being in the Underworld with your mournful song.” Orpheus did as he was told and let his eyes glide over the crowd. Finally, they settled on the King of the Dead once again and he continued. “As your reward, I will not drive you away as I have done with every other mortal who came here in hope of returning to the Upperworld with their deceased loved ones. Instead, I will grant you the chance to actually regain what you have come here for—” murmur broke out among the spectators, as he had suspected it would, and so he spoke up, his voice taking on its full godly boom, an effect he almost never used. But he needed Orpheus, and everyone else, to hear the next part loud and clear. “If, and only if, you can give me one good reason why you cannot wait until the day you will be reunited with your Eurydice the natural way.”

“By death, you mean?” Orpheus asked hastily, but immediately realised the foolishness of his question. What other natural way was there to reunite him with his wife? Still the humiliation of his folly did not weigh heavily on him, as shortly after, he suddenly started to smile sweetly.

“Well, my lord, since the day my Eurydice was carried away from me on Thanatos’ large wings, life is not life anymore. It is death already, but instead of the fields of Asphodel, my forlorn soul is trapped inside this body on the wrong side of being.”

What sweet words, Hades thought. Still they were words, nothing but words. Orpheus was a bard and a poet, it was his profession to persuade with words. But words could easily deceive.

“For someone who claims to be dead already, you seem very much alive to me, Orpheus.”

A hearty sigh rose from the intruder’s chest, almost a little too dramatic to be fully convincing.

“If by alive you mean that I am breathing and my heart is beating, you are right, my lord. But living is more than being alive. It is loving and being loved, because in knowing someone else completely and being known by that person in return we live not only in ourselves but in the other and thus become immortal. In losing my Eurydice, I have lost not only her but part of me as well,” his voice was almost a whisper when he added, “the bigger part.”

Hades was quiet for a moment. He could have ridiculed him for his comment on immortality. There was no immortality, not for mortals anyway, and yet it was what they eternally seemed to chase. Still, there was a truth to Orpheus’ words that even he could not deny, a thought that had been growing inside of him for a long while as well, but had only fully ripened these past days, and he had not been able to put it into words until now. He was just about to voice his reply, when Orpheus’ growing unease upon the god’s silence made him speak first.

“Forgive me, my lord, but if you do not believe that I speak the truth, it can only be because you have never experienced the wonder of love.”

Love. What was that even? He had asked himself many times in the centuries of exile. For most, and he suspected Orpheus to be one of them, it meant not being alone. To have someone to spend their life with. But it had never been the solitude that had bothered him. The absence of someone being around. In the rare cases he had found himself longing for company, he had always had Cerberus. Hecate and Thanatos too, even Hermes from time to time.

But for him it had never been about company. Or sating his desires. He could have had that with Minthe long ago. No, it was something else. He knew that now and thanks to the bard he was at last able to lend the right words to his thoughts. It had been the being unable to communicate the things that mattered to him, the lack of understanding, the realisation that not a single soul truly knew him, and never would, that had made him feel so utterly lonely.

But things had changed. He had changed.

“As impossible as it may seem to you, son of Apollo, I do know that feeling you speak of. But mere words will not be enough. I will need you to prove that you actually know what you are speaking of and did not simply borrow those words from someone who does.”

“Anything, Lord Hades, I will do anything.”

“Careful, Orpheus. Others have made that claim before and, as you very well know, none of their stories did have a happy ending.”

He could see Orpheus gulp as the words sank in, and for a moment, he almost pitied the young man.

“You will leave this realm instantly.”

“But, my lord—“

“Quiet! Calm yourself and let me finish, or you will leave with less than you have come with. I will grant the soul of your wife to follow you. But,” now it was Hades’ turn to use the dramatic effect and pause a second, “if you turn back to look at her before the sunlight touches both of you, she will be returned here immediately and the day of your reunion will be decided by the Fates alone.”

Orpheus fell to his knees once again, his legs unable to support his weight upon the chance he had been presented with, a chance no one had ever been granted before.

“Thank you, merciful Ruler of the Underworld. I will not fail you.”

If Orpheus had even inherited the smallest ounce of his grandfather’s temperament, Hades very much doubted that this venture would end well.

“Should you fail, Orpheus, your failure will not be at my expense. Go, leave now, and be reunited with your Eurydice, before I regret my decision.”

anḗr

The whisper of her own voice still echoed through Anthea’s head as if she had just spoken the word. As if she had actually spoken it. Even the cold of the black pillar that pressed against her back could not stop her mind from repeating it over and over again, nor did it soothe her racing heart or her laboured breathing. Instead it made her wish for his warm embrace even more ardently.

But it was not only his touch she longed for, it was also that look in his eyes she wanted to feel again, so soft and full of love for her as he took her in. There had been flowers in his hair, emitting a scent so sweet that it had made her lean in until she had been fully pressed up against him, their hearts being as close as they had ever been. It had been in that very moment, a mere heartbeat before his lips would finally touch hers, that she had known. This was the way it was meant to be. The Fates had woven their threads together, entwined for eternity, never to be untangled again.

But the sweetness never came. Instead a sharp pain had spread through her and before she had even known what was going on, she found herself ripped away from the love she had just found and thrown into nothingness instead.

For a moment she had hated Orpheus for doing this to her when she had come back to her senses, had hated him for inflicting such cruelty. Even more so as her attention had soon been directed to the god she had called husband mere seconds ago, who had held her as she had slipped away from him, and who now was in a state that seemed in no way lesser than her own torment.

Aidon was talking to Orpheus, she could see his mouth moving amidst the dark hair that covered half of his face, and even though her mind was still too far gone to capture the gist of their conversation just yet, she could feel his agitation despite his controlled demeanour. And to her own surprise she felt herself stir in her hiding spot behind the pillar, her feet eager to run up the steps of his dais so that her lips might press to the creased spot between his eyebrows until the skin was smoothed out and the worry chased from his mind.

But of course she could not do any such thing. He had told her to rest and wait for him in her room, if she showed herself to him now, showed him that she had left her bed and wandered all the way through the deserted corridors regardless, it would probably only add to his worries. Because what he did not know was that she had left in search of him, every fibre in her body yearning to be in his soothing presence after that horrible scare, and that she needed to feel him close, that it was actually her who needed to press her lips to his forehead to calm her own demons.

Quickly she turned, leaning her back against the cold stone pillar once more to deprive herself of the view in front of her. It was dangerous to keep watching because she could feel the truth creeping up on her with every passing second. Anthea knew that it had always been there, she had just done well in denying its presence. But ever since that bard had been allowed to sing his lament, it was harder and harder to remember why she had been so eager to fight the obvious this whole time.

And it seemed that simply turning away from him had not been enough. It was not even anywhere near enough. Anthea should have run instead, or better yet she should have stayed in bed as she had been told to. Because she would have never heard what she heard now, would have never felt that new spark of hope deep inside her, igniting her heart as easily as if it were carved out of tinder.

“As impossible as it may seem to you, son of Apollo, I do know that feeling you speak of.”

Could it be? Did he actually… But Anthea did not get to finish that thought. What her ears picked up next was far too unbelievable to let her mind stray from the conversation at this point. Had Aidon just…had he just allowed Eurydice’s soul to return to the mortal realm? Orpheus’ stunned voice and the murmuring that broke out all around her seemed to suggest just that.

Truthfully, she did not know all too much about the Underworld, but she could not remember a single story anyone had ever told her that spoke of another case in which Aidon had ever used his powers to overrule the Fates and permitted a soul to return to the Upperworld. She understood why he had not. There were rules to life and death, and they existed for a reason. Breaking them might lead to chaos, and it was the gods’ purpose to keep the world from that fate. And unlike so many other gods, Aidon had always appeared to her as one of the few who actually took this task seriously. So why break these rules now? Why risk chaos for a grieving mortal and his wife, however beautiful of a song he had sung?

“Oh, I think you know exactly why, my dear.”

The unexpected, and even more unwanted, voice made her jump.

“You!” Anthea glared at the sneering god in front of her. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? You seemed to be rather eager to get away from me as soon as the alarm was sounded earlier.”

“Ah, you see, it wasn’t so much about getting away from you than about getting here as quickly as possible. The best seats for this kind of event are taken faster than you might think and I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this hearing for the world.” He paused, his grin growing even further during the short moment’s silence. “Besides, I would not have wanted to rob Hades of his chance to come to your rescue and thus stand in the way of young love.”

“Fuck you, Hermes.”

She pushed past him, not caring any longer whether Aidon might see her or not, as long as it would take her away from this insufferable deity. But to her great surprise, she found that the room had already been cleared out. There was no one left but her and the nuisance who called himself Messenger of the Gods, and he appeared very eager to pester her a bit longer.

Hermes was quick to follow her on his winged sandals, outpacing her with ease just to cut off her way.

“Not so fast, sunshine. I was not finished yet.”

“But I was finished talking to you.”

“Feisty.” His blue eyes sparkled with excitement. “I can see now why my father is so enamoured with you. I did not think that would float Hades’ boat too, but I guess no one truly knows what is going on inside that head of his anyway.”

“What do you want, Hermes? Are you just trying to mess with me or rile me up by mocking Aidon? Or is there an actual purpose to your existence?”

His smile wavered for a second and he took a step closer.

“Careful now, missy. I think you might be forgetting that you are talking to a god here.”

“How could I forget, my lord, when all you ever do in my presence is display the greatest of your powers, God of Mischief?”

“Huh,” one corner of his mouth slid upwards in a crooked, but not unimpressed grin, “that is rich, coming from you, my dear. But, please, keep calling me out for being a trickster when we both know the real trickster in this room is you.”

Anthea rolled her eyes upon the ambiguity of his words.

“And whatever could you mean by that?”

That was Hermes cue to move. Slowly he was circling her while his watchful eyes locked onto her face as if he could not afford to miss even the tiniest alteration of her expression.

“Oh, don’t play innocent with me, Anthea. I know exactly what you are up to. First my father, now Hades… Why not take a little trip to the seaside next? I bet it will be a mere trifle for you to ensnare the last of the big three as well.”

“What?” Anthea spat in utter bewilderment. “Do you know just how ridiculous you sound right now, Hermes? Why would I do such a thing?”

“Isn’t that obvious? Just think of the war that could ensue if the rulers of this cosmos would fall out because of a woman. It would be so convenient, wouldn’t it? I bet your father is in on it too. Fates, he probably still hates the lot of us for not standing up for him when Zeus cast him out. It would be quite easy to reclaim his place among the Olympians, maybe even reach for the throne, with the three most powerful gods out of the way.”

It did not matter to her how many insults and ludicrous assumptions about her he came up with, but by calling Hephaestus a schemer Hermes had crossed a line.

“How dare you drag my father into these fantastical conspiracy theories of yours when I am only in this place because of yours?”

“This place?” he repeated her own words to her, not even rising to her allusion in the least. “You say it as if it was a bad thing for you to be here. You know, I might be wrong, but I thought that you were beginning to finally warm to the Underworld. Or at least to its ruler…”

She could have denied it. It would have been the wise thing to do so, considering who she was with. But there was something inside of her that simply could not deny the truth in his words any longer. And her silence seemed to be answer enough for Hermes.

“So it is true then. Thanks for the affirmation.”

Anthea was silent for another moment. It would still not have been too late to contradict him, but her rage had pushed her way past that point.

“Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear? Is your curiosity finally sated?”

“It isn’t so much my own curiosity. I mean, personally, I couldn’t care less who your puny mortal heart is beating for,” he paused dramatically, “but there is someone who does care and whose heart it will break to hear the news.”

Anthea snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. As if Zeus cared whether I have feelings for anyone.”

“Not Zeus, silly girl,” Hermes tutted. “Minthe.”

“Minthe?” Anthea’s brows knitted together in confusion.

“Yes, have you forgotten about her already?”

“Of course not. I—”

“Well, but I bet you didn’t even waste a single thought on her sudden absence from the palace, did you?”

Anthea had to admit, she had not.

“I didn’t think so. But just in case you are interested now, seeing that it really is your fault, you might want to ask your beloved Hades about her whereabouts.”

“Listen, Hermes,” Anthea began, pinching the bridge of her nose, “why don’t you safe us both some time and just say what you so obviously want to get off your chest so we can go our separate ways again?”

He had just reached the blind spot behind her back during one of the many circles he had drawn around her when he stopped. And suddenly his voice was close to her ear, freezing her in place.

“And where would be the fun in that?”

Anthea spun round, ready to give him another piece of her mind, but all her fuming eyes found there was the empty room.

Chapter 7

***

taglist:

@ashesofblackroses

@lowkeysimpinloki

#hades!hozier x ofc #hades!hozier #hozier #hozier fanfiction #greek mythology au #earth and fire

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kateally · 11 months

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#Hi-Visibility Uniforms from Wallsend #Hi Vis Workwear from Wallsend #hi-visibility uniforms #hi vis polos #hi vis jumpers #hi visibility garments from Wallend #hi vis workwear #hi-visibility workwear #hi-vis flame resistant clothes #hi vis clothes #Hi-Visibility Gear

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afewfantasies · 2 months

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COMING SOON - 🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - VI

Authors note: I've been working on Feyd's Blade on and off for the past week and have written 2 different scenarios of how things play out, I think I've decided which one I want to go with and a new chapter should be out sometime this weekend. For now heres a snippet. Let me know wha you think in the comments and/or poll below 🖤

MASTERLIST

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - VI - SNIPPET

Feyd’s eyes are not his own. The set of his jaw is hard and he doesn’t speak. He pulls you into the room you entered weeks ago with contraptions and straps. There’s no time to freshen up, he doesn’t push you into the bathing chamber. Tears prick your eyes and it breaks him. He stops pulling open his drawer. There are no words to warn you about what is to come, there’s nothing he can do to salvage what the two of you have right now. There’s he can only protect you in small ways. Grabbing the chastity belt he comes close clasping the heavy chains on your body. Looking at the contraption you realize he’d safeguarding you against brutality and cringe inward. It signals to him being incapacitated, incapable of being able to protect you. He moves efficiently attaching a breastplate made of the same hard material. It nearly crushes you under its weight. Feyd-Rautha moves quickly fastening all the locks knowing his uncles cruelty knows no bounds. Finishing he brings a helmet putting it on your head and fastening the neck into all three of the contraptions. It’s a metal monstrosity, a cage of sorts placing on a shield he taps it to ensure you cannot be made vulnerable.

“Feyd” you whisper but your words come out like a croak cracking.

“I will be find, you are not to say a word under any circumstances” he says and you panic.

“But-”

“No” he snaps silencing you as your body trembles.

“What’s happened?” You ask and he goes to wipe your tears but his hand is singed by the active shield. You disable it and reach for him.

“Promise me” he says cupping your face, more tears stream. You shake your head in fear knowing his hesitation means whatever is to come will me an unheard of level of horror. “Promise me” he growls close to breaking already.

“Promise” you agree and he nods stepping back. Your steps are slow as you maneuver the contraption only to be dressed by a concerned Leia. There’s no time for questions as she moved quickly.

“Put one on yourself” Feyd tells her pointing to the contraption.

“Why do you have so many” you ask as Feyd finishes dressing you in the Bene Gesserit regalia to conceal your garment.

“For hostages, to protect them against the men” Feyd says plainly, the brutality makes you queasy. You want to kiss him but the steel around your mouth is solid.

“Feyd what’s happening” you ask taking his hands, his hard eyes soften a touch.

“My uncle will try to break me in front of you and the men.” He sighs.

“Because of me?” You ask feeling a wash with panic.

“No, because of him. Because he wants to show his power” Feyd snaps.

Because of me.

The voice in your head says. More tears fall and Feyd leaves without a goodbye unable to manage your emotions with the energy required to withstand the consequence for his distraction. Time passes outside of your perception until you find Leia dressed beside you her eyes mournful. Her hands holds yours as large brutish men await your exit. You leave the room and Leia asks what’s happened many times. Fear and exhaustion overwhelms you to the point of despondence as the pod travels through the dreadful palace of Giedi Prime. Anger mixes in with the fear and you can feel Leia’s hand in yours. You take note of the scores of men all heading where you are.

It will be a spectacle.

TAGLIST:

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune part 2 #black authors #austin butler #austin butler imagine #feyd rautha imagine #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd oneshot #house harkonnen #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you

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fuckyeahisawthat · 9 months

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what is the mysterious "fucking shit up" jacket i keep seeing in reference to crowley/good omens???

A moniker born out of fans noticing that in s1, Crowley was wearing the same hi-vis jacket in the brief shot where he’s moving the M25 markers and in a cut sequence where we see him taking down the London mobile phone network with the help of a rat army. That’s his fucking shit up jacket!

The garment now has its own tumblr and ao3 tag!

#good omens #asks answered #crowley #the fucking shit up jacket

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aliasnz · 5 months

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hi sorry i just had to post some of this le/vi acker/man x reader snz fic i'm writing. it is 3000 words of horn (not even halfway done) and i am struggling to go through this alone lol. will post the one-shot someday, but here is a significant sneak peek if you want >-<

Tags: levi ackerman x reader, allergies (pollen), light mess/spray, some stuffy talk, sexual undressing

Thank fuck you happened to pull from the kiss at that moment. As soon as you withdrew, Levi brought the back of his hand to the bottom of his nose and pressed down hard, halting the tickle at the last second before who knows what would’ve happened. You gazed upon him with adoration, but in his nerves, he mistook your expression for pity. Levi pressed his wrist down even harder, he absolutely couldn’t let loose now.

“Look at me… undressed already,” with a smirk, you continued the work he had started, pushing your sleeves down your shoulders and off your body, pulling your pants to the floor and toeing through the leg holes. “Yet, here you are, showing me nothing…”

Yes, that’s the point.

If only you knew the war being waged on him now, you would not have been so heartless as to demand more of him. Stepping between the spread of his legs and combing your fingers through his bangs, you sang, “C’mon, Levi… let me see you.”

Already, you had placed him at another impossible fork. One-handed undressing was not exactly ideal, but neither was dropping his guard and permitting the tickle to resume. While weighing his dually undesirable options, he remained still, but that would not do for his needy little thing. You hooked your fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and began to lift. With each inch of skin revealed, your thirst grew even more dire. Pair upon pair of symmetric muscles defined his abdomen, a runway to his gorgeous chest. When it came time to lift the garment up-off-over his head, he lifted his arms in both compliance and submission. Before you could sling it off of his wrists, though, his face scrunched up and he shook his head, compelling you to pause.

Arms above his head and knotted in his own threads, his hands were unavailable for covering, forcing him to turn to the side and - “Hh, hih’EHshh!”

In the wake of that sneeze, you both had moments of recognition. For him, it was the realization that this was not just one off-chance sneeze, for the burn still remained, and if anything, intensified. For you, it was the darkness that misted his gray long-sleeve. In his own words, he would have called it disgusting, and you had every reason to agree with that. In your mind, you found it inexplicably endearing, as though he could not help but reveal to you a side of himself that all others would least expect. All from one sneeze, what was that about?

His runback gave you another chance to consider it more. Futilely, he attempted to bend his elbow closer to his face, but the tautness of his shirt only let him get so far. Levi leaned into the crook and tried to catch what he could, which was still not very much. “Hah’ttchu! Ha’ah… ik’shew!!”

His slick, straight locks had been thrown astray. A thin glaze of tears washed over his eyes. Watching his misery unfold, his symptoms helped you start to make sense of your feelings. Sneezing in the middle of sex was pretty silly. His spray was objectively gross. The sounds he made were cute at best and pathetic at worst. No matter, you loved him all the same.

You loved him.

His eyes remained shut as he worked through the end of the fit, you allowed your jaw to drop. It was still early in your relationship, neither of you had said those three words, but you settled on the next best phrase. When his hitching began to still, you smiled and tucked his bangs back in place, “Hmm ~ bless you, sweetheart.”

Levi could not summon an adequate reply, too focused on his fight. For a moment, the sting cut him a break. He swiftly freed himself from the accidental cuffs and turned his top into a tissue. It felt wrong, but not quite as bad as letting his nose continue to run. Holding the makeshift Kleenex to his nose, he lifted his gaze to you. You read his silent plea and hurried to your bathroom, at first only snatching a couple, but when you heard the faded “...t’chu! nnt‘shew! nguhh…” from down the hall, you opted for the entire box.

Veins in his neck rose in rhythm with his hearty sniffs, an early hint to the stuffiness that had tainted his voice, “Takes.” After each blow, he would hide the mess inwards, fold it into a perfect square and shuck it into your trash can. That continued until he could breathe and speak clearly, “You said you washed your bedding…”

The room's temperature dropped from warm and cute to cold and harsh. His sharp and sudden transition sent shivers down your spine, you balled your fists and affirmed, “I did! Today!”

“Today?”

“Yeah!” You insisted, “Hung it all outside to dry and even ironed it after that!”

His eyes widened briefly before his angled brows cut them to narrow slits, his anger thick, “...You did what?”

After all the work you had put in today, you expected him to be thrilled, but instead, he was pissed. You felt your lips fall into a deep frown, a guilt you had not felt in some years - like the time you knocked over that vase - fell on your shoulders. “They were completely dry when I brought them in! It was a hot and windy day today.”

Hot and windy indeed, but it seemed you missed the pollen count.

“I’m… sorry…” your throat tightened with regret, heart froze with embarrassment, “I did it for you…”

If anyone but you, he would have rolled his eyes and scowled. For me? Here he was, feeling like shit, but you were the one who needed comforting. Ironically, the one responsible for his mess, he would have to console. Just as his symptoms should have turned you off, he should have been livid with you, but you made mistakes, and he loved you despite them.

His feelings for you even managed to make him turn the other cheek, a rare instance for Ackerman. Allergies fucked him up so intensely that he often forgot others could be immune to them. It wasn’t your fault that you made the assumptions you had. In fact, he was aware of how ridiculous his own contrast was: tightly wound in all other contexts, but unbound and unraveled by the most microscopic inconvenience. Levi figured he should tell you. Better late than never.

As he spoke, Levi continued to pinch his nose in his shirt, sentence completion at the cost of nasalization. “I habb allergies.”

You asked, foremost, for clarification. Habb? Have? Once the words passed out your mouth, you realized it was also hard to believe. “You have…allergies?”

His only response was a heightened shade of blush and a couple twitches of his nostrils. Evidently, that answered better than words could. Ackerman’s weakness… was pollen? You could not help the smile that warmed across your face, though you were able to hold back the compliment you longed to give. Oh, Levi… you’re so adorable.

Likewise, he was able to bite back his reaction, the first time he ever found your grin irritating. Shut up.

In lieu of words, your expressions exchanged that dialogue for you.

You sank your teeth into your lip, straining to bar the instinctual laugh, though you had known each other long enough that he was able to detect it anyways. Not long enough, though, to know one another’s allergies.

A conclusion to his argument, Levi opted to release a ferocious triple, hoping it would cement your understanding and silence the sting long enough that the intimacy could continue. His left hand clutched your bedsheets and propped himself as he leaned back to bait the trigger. His right hand kept his nose suffocated in his shirt, refusing to let any of his spray slip through. Sneezes followed one after the other, leaving both of you without time to think or breathe, “Hih-AEShuu! Hn’AHSCH! Ha’AYSH-ih!!”

Despite the thick cloth covering, his voice was still loud enough to make your ears hurt. You had only ever known him to be cool, calm, collected. Looking down upon your lover now, he was nearly unrecognizable. Though the fit had ended for now, his eyes stayed tightly shut as if he were still in the throes. His face had flushed rose-petal red, exhausted, embarrassed, or both. His gasps were labored yet fruitless, leaving him panting through his mouth. Never before had you witnessed such exertion on the man you thought so capable. If he was struggling, you felt intimidated by proxy. Your knees buckled at the thought.

“You sure it’s not a cold? You sound pretty stuffed up.”

“I’b sure.”

Though he was undone, he was not uncertain. “Suppose you’re right…” you mused, “It is the middle of summer.”

He was not immune to summer colds, but Levi bit his tongue. One confession at a time.

Without the threat of contagion, you lowered yourself to the mattress and took a seat at his side. You wrapped your arm around his shoulders then combed your fingers from the base of his neck through his undercut, “Should we take it to the couch?”

Levi’s sniff lasted for a couple seconds, you could feel his muscles tense as his lungs endeavored. That was enough to answer. The back of his hand dwelled beneath his nose as he muttered, “Too late.”

“What do you mean?”

“Once I start, I can’t - heh - I… can’t…” Levi pinched his nose again, stifling into his shirt, “Heh’NGXT!!chu…”

He had turned from you sharply, but your side-to-side contact had been maintained. You felt the sneeze rip through him and scratched his back tenderly, “Can’t stop, huh?”

“Snnnnf… exactly.”

You had worked all day for this moment, but witnessing his pathetic struggle made you feel guilty for reaping it. You leaned your head on his shoulders and glanced up to him with doe eyes. Soft kisses on his rigid jawline, “Rain check?”

“No,” Levi asserted, “I’ll be fide, I just… heh’tchu!!” His shoulders scrunched steeply, then fell upon exhale, “It’s… just…” Irritation suddenly revived, Levi snapped forward and whipped his hand to his face, barely in time. “Ha’AEsh-ih!!”

Off the cuff of the sneeze, he growled with frustration, “Fuck…” can’t even finish a sentence. Having not yet regained his breath, though, the typical cut of his curse was significantly dulled. Normally, his swears chilled you to the bone. This time, you felt warm all over.

#aliasnz's #snz kink #snz #snez kink #snez #snz fic #snez fic #snzblr

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