#rage against imperialism

[padawan-historian]

Ten years from now when the world has its Remembrance Day for the Victims of the Palestinian Genocide, we will remember the death politics that Israel, the US, Britain, and Germany committed to preserve their imperial impulses. They are not democracies, they are death factories.

[unitedfrontvarietyhour]

How about you, comrades? Who are some left-wing musical artists who changed your perspective?

(Artists pictured: The Coup, Manic Street Preachers, Rage Against the Machine)

[fuckyeahmarxismleninism]

By Melinda Butterfield

There are no shortcuts to building a genuine anti-war movement. And there is no shortage of anti-war sentiment among workers in the U.S. The movement must do the work of linking the fight against imperialist war with the urgent needs of people here. To be successful, it must be independent of both the Democrats and Republicans. We urge those genuine anti-war forces who have been misled by the rhetoric of Rage Against the War Machine to consider the consequences of supporting this false “left-right” alliance.

[livefromtheloam]

The reason I don't dive too deeply into fandom is because the entire landscape is littered with people who intentionally misinterpret the message and then blame the media for not fitting nicely into their absolute stinker of a take.

[darkhopping]

thoughts on vktm so far: fucking great !! grea treminder 2 think abt what one is listening to/reading/watching etc u kno . media literacy shit but also really fucking funny . microdosing on being american by reading vktm skips

[tragedygf]

ik its a bad period of my life bc im rewatching atla

[justsomeoneunordinary]

god i hate it when americans post their politics on here

may biden die this instant and may the us burn to hell with him

fuck you all

[chococolte]

Your sagau zhongli is my fave! Devotion is soooo good he's so good!! If he were offered a reward, what would he ask for? He definitely deserves good things for being such a dedicated worshipper

word count. 1.6k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, sagau + cult au shit, religious themes, g/n reader.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. hi guys......... sorry i took so long to write this, and im so happy you like my characterization of him!!!! it means so much to me!!!

Your praise.

Zhongli has rarely ever wanted. 

When he was young, still arrogant and born of war, Zhongli didn't want— he took. He had no need of envy or desire. What he could not have, he would get in time. Immortality comes with an infinite patience. 

If he was still that god, flippant and self-important, maybe he would demand some sort of compensation. Some sort of recompense for past agony.

For as long as Zhongli's lived, he has never wanted; not in the way a mortal yearns for their lover, or the way a dog longs for its owner until it whines. Never in any way that mattered, never before he met you.

Zhongli has had eons to become used to the loneliness that so often encompasses him. And now, knowing that you breathe the same air as him, he's become rather acquainted with the ever consuming desire to nestle close to you, like ink caressing every pore of canvas. 

His desire runs through him— barking and loud, rapid and frantic— but when faced with you, a whisper, whimpering in the dark crevices of his ribs. At times, he comes close to asking you to hold him, but decorum and propriety keep him in place, tight and tense.

Liyue was built knowing your gaze followed him. Its foundations set, earth molded, and its rivers bent, hoping they would be fit to your liking. His every breath spent chasing after your favor, desiring to be remade in your image, to be exactly what you want him to be. Afraid that, when finally met with you, you will not like what you see.

Zhongli has rarely ever wanted, and rarer still, has he ever feared.

It's a mortal's fear. The fear of their lord displeased with their harvest. A boyish fear, made up of desperation and the fear of disapproval; one he shouldn't feel, one he should feel no familiarity with. One he suspects many have felt when within his own presence.

When you ask him what he would like in return for all of his efforts— a reward, you say— Zhongli feels his breath seized from him.

Zhongli lived much of his early life against you. At every opportunity, he rebelled at what he thought was a cruel god. Imperious and charged with Guizhong’s death, he would have demanded answers. 

For him to have lived while those he cared for perished without a moment's repose, for him to have survived every moment of cruel war when each breath was like a whip against his lungs— he deserved to know, if you were as real as Guizhong so staunchly believed, why he had lived in her place.

Yet, despite centuries of tempered rage, Zhongli has become content to live as nothing more than your servant. 

He tells you he wants for nothing. That all he desires now is the simplicity of being beside you; the escape of your laughter, where there's no need to concern himself with anything other than you. He tells you he only wishes to know how to take care of you better, how to align himself with your tastes and desires.

"I insist," you say, and Zhongli realizes it's a command. His mouth turns dry, and every word settles on his tongue like heavy weights, dead and still.

You stare, and his breath hitches, his heart a swell in his chest. Zhongli thinks of every answer, how your reaction to any could either breathe life into him, or leave him broken. How, for a moment, he amuses himself with the idea of asking for your touch— the cusp of your palm on his cheek, your fingers against his spine; how he could ask, and how you might favor him enough to do so. 

He then thinks of asking you for reassurance. For affirmation of forgiveness for the actions in his youth. To finally have the certainty that he hasn’t failed you, and maybe, the confirmation that you may care for him.

“Forgive me for my impropriety, Your Grace,” Zhongli begins, voice light and breathy. His hand rests on his chest, fighting the urge to dig into his skin, hoping to calm the pounding of his heart. “But… if I may, I was wondering if I had done right by you?”

You sit inertly in silence for a moment, and Zhongli wonders if it’s on purpose, some sort of punishment for daring to ask such a thing. You had no reason to reward him, and he had been blessed enough to hold your attention for longer than a moment. He had no right to ask for your thoughts, not so directly.

He thought he knew that. It was why he followed you, why he made sure your every request was completed to the highest standard. If you mentioned the taste of your tea being too bitter, or sweet, or that you’d rather he prepare something else for you entirely, he would rush to follow your word. Even if he had been the one to brew it, even if it was him who cultivated the leaves, even if he thought it would be to your liking.

All he needed was to be helpful. All he needed was you. Within you, was his salvation— within you, was love itself. Without you, the once great Lord of Geo was but a fragmented elemental wisp of energy, only ever calling your name.

A spike of adrenaline rushes through him, fear and anxiety denying any sense of hope. All he hears is the solitary sound of his heart in his ears. 

“You have only ever done good by me.”

Zhongli’s heart lurches, heat rippling through his body. You say it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and his mind feels dizzy at the implication. The ground sways, and his feet feel light. 

“You deserve more than that, I think.” You step forward, and Zhongli is so lost within his own thoughts, he takes no notice of your sudden increase in proximity— but his breath still quickens, and red still coats the apples of his cheeks. 

“Kneel,” you whisper, and though you say it so softly, it's as though the sky had been torn asunder with the speed he responds. Zhongli’s mind still feels far away, but he hears your orders as if spoken directly into his ear.

He drops to his knees, no care for whether he does so elegantly enough. All he can focus on is the weight of your gaze, and the way he's the only thing under it.

“Do you want me to praise you?” You trace his jawline with your finger, still speaking in a soft, unhurried tone. “Do you want me to tell you how much of a good boy you are?”

Zhongli inhales sharply, fighting every thought that screams at him to eagerly lean into your hand. He stares up at you, russet lashes fluttering and amber eyes swallowed by adoration and worship. 

“Yes, Your Grace,” he whispers hoarsely. 

Your thumb swipes over his lower lip, and a whine rises to the back of his throat. 

“My good boy.” Zhongli’s entire body shudders, his chest heaving. A shaky breath escapes him. “You've been waiting to hear that for so long, haven't you?”

He whimpers, then nods in a way he hopes doesn’t come across as overeager— quickly bereft of any sense of propriety, or care for whether or not he’s making a fool of himself. All he can concern himself with is how close you are, how easily your scent renders him still, how quickly he borders on senseless. 

You smile at that, and he bites his tongue to stop himself from whimpering. 

“Do you want me to tell you how grateful I am?” Your fingers move across his neck, brushing against his Adam’s Apple, watching it bob as he gulps, trying to keep himself steady and not fall against you. “How you're my favorite?”

An ugly sound rips from Zhongli’s throat, and it's one he's instantly ashamed of. Every part of him feels bare in front of you, laid out messy and without decorum. The mask he’s worn for eons steadily breaks, and every one of his veins and bones scream out for your warmth. 

The Lord of Geo wouldn’t have ever allowed himself to be so vulnerable. He never would have amused himself with the thought of pleading for anything, or kneeling and falling apart because he was treated softly— least of all, of being so desperate to know that you love him; that you favor him. 

Zhongli, now without his Gnosis, is as mortal as the men he used to lord over. And perhaps it’s his newfound mortality that moves him to lean into your hand, frantically trying to meld your fingers against his skin until his flesh is like clay inlaid with your fingertips; hoping that you’ll rebuild him until he fits your desires, and tell him again that he’s proven to have done good by you. 

Every thought is a prayer, another hymn, another psalm.

“Am I? Your favorite?” 

His voice trembles, and breathes into a soft whisper. Zhongli doesn’t mean to sound so desperate— he doesn’t mean to be so greedy— but his soul has never felt so full before. His mind is so mired by your touch and voice that he doesn’t realize his lack of formality, or how he might come across as arrogant. 

He wants only to think of you, and so he does. Nothing else matters.

“Yes.” You chuckle, and his heart speeds up at the sound, fervent. “Why would I want anyone else?”

Zhongli whines, and faintly, through the blur of fanaticism and worship, thinks that no matter what you asked of him, he would do it without hesitation. 

[cassie48]

∙ 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘺 ∙

(Eventual)Dark!Paul Atreides x fem pregnant reader

• Pt 1 •

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

You and Paul grew up together on Caladan. You were born on the same day, on the same hour. Paul’s mother lady Jessica had always seen you as a daughter and for some unknown reason, insisted that you and her son always stay together.

When you and Paul grew to become teenagers, feelings became involved, and a powerful love blossomed. When the two of you heard you had to leave for Arrakis, you were both petrified. But you knew everything would be ok, as long as you stayed together.

When the two of you arrived to the planet, the local fremen called Paul the “Lisan al-Gaib” and you the “malaka”. Neither of you knew what that meant. So, walking hand in hand, you glanced at each other, both your faces full of confusion and curiosity.

When you were told that the names meant 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 and 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯, both of you were confused.

The night before the imperial Sardaukar troops invaded Arrakis, you found out you were pregnant. It was a complete shock and you and Paul were barely 20. You told Paul as soon as you found out. He comforted you, saying the baby was a blessing, and you two would get through it together.

When the troops came in, all hell broke lose. Thankfully you made it out with Paul, and met lady Jessica before running for the hills. Your hand went to your belly, complete fear consuming you. You three managed to get a plane and fly out.

After surviving a storm, and a long, dangerous journey, the three of you ended up in Fremen territory. You met Chani, who was sceptical of your boyfriend, but seemed to like you.

One man was not happy with your arrival and even challenged Jessica. Paul fought for her, killing the man, after a long brutal fight.

As soon as he had done it, he walked straight up to you, he looked full of power and confidence.

“It’s ok my love” he had told you as he hugged you close to him, his hand eventually resting on you belly. Jessica had told you she was pregnant as well, which eased up your nerves, knowing you two would get through it together.

After a good few weeks with the Fremen, Paul learned the ways of the Fremen being taught by stilgar , you tried to do what you could , which was little as you were now coming up to almost 4 months pregnant.

It all changed when Paul rode his first sand worm, you stood with the Fremen watching along with them as you saw Paul do nearly the impossible, smiling at him

All the Fremen beside you stared yelling out 𝗟𝗶𝘀𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗹-𝗚𝗮𝗶𝗯, some walking up to you before kneeling, and taking your hand yelling out 𝗠𝗮𝗹𝗮𝗸𝗮, praising you

You were confused and scared, and just wanted your boyfriend to hold you. More and more people came up to you grabbing your hand, until suddenly you began to cry. You don’t really know why, but your emotions had been all over the place with your pregnancy.

As soon as Stilgar saw you crying he yelled out at the Fremen, asking them 𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘢𝘩? 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘳𝘺!

Immediately they stopped, backing away with whispered apologies to you. When you told Paul later he was outraged.

“Do they think they can grab you like that? You are pregnant they could have hurt you or the baby!” He yelled out, pure rage in his voice.

“It’s ok Paul real-“ you started

“No. It’s not, you were crying, Chani told me. This has to stop” is all he said before pulling you into a hug, you resting your head on his shoulder, his head resting on your own.

Jessica had told you she thinks your baby’s is a boy, you believe her, as she is now the reverend mother. She had really changed, it scared you.

The Fremen and Paul continued fighting against the Sardauker troops, most were very successful. Sadly they blew up the temple, where many had been inside and where they prayed and laid their loved ones to rest.

Paul had been called down to speak with the leaders in the south of Arrakis, he took Stilgars place as he had been injured from the attack.

When you two arrived, Paul told you to go to sleep for a while, you were now seven months pregnant and your body was becoming tired more often.

After about two hours Jessica came up, yelling for you, saying Paul was in trouble. You jumped out of bed and waddled down to him as fast as you possibly could.

She told you he had drank worm blood, to gain an understanding of the prophecy and his future. She told you only your years would bring him back to life. Of course, you had already been crying, so it wasn’t so hard.

Paul gasped and sat up, coming back to reality, he glared seeing all the people surrounding them. He turned to look at you, smiling as he did, cupping your cheeks. You leant into his touch, throwing yourself into his embrace, letting many tear’s escape.

Stilgar yelled out “As it was written!” In pure shock.

“Paul why’d you do it!” You yelled, while crying into his shoulder.

“It’s ok. I understand now. This baby, it’s a miracle, 𝗛𝗲 shall rule after me” he said smiling while looking at you adoringly.

“What? I-I don’t understand! Rule?” You said still crying from the events.

“Trust me. You are the Malaka. You, are the most important woman on the planet right now. This pregnancy, it’s in the prophecy, 𝗬𝗼𝘂 were in the prophecy my love” he said properly sitting up.

“W-What?” You whispered still confused.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about any of this, you trust me don’t you” He said leaning in closer to you.

You nodded, leaning your body into his, your crying and worrying making you tired.

“Good.” Is all he said leaning into you and kissing you passionately, forgetting you two had a whole audience.

“Oh em well everybody give Lisan al-Gaib and the Malaka privacy” stilgar ordered as the Fremen left yelling out messiah words in their language.

You and Paul continued making out for around five minutes before he noticed how tired you were.

“Come my love” he said as he picked you up, holding you tightly in his arms. You leaned your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes, feeling completely safe in his embrace.

“No one will harm you, my love” he whispered as you drifted off to sleep.

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

There will be a pt2!!

[sadgirlbadpoems]

This Earth Day I grieve the ancient olive groves of Palestine, I grieve the groundwater and once unpolluted oceans of that same beautiful land. I feel an indescribable rage when I picture occupation forces burning these sacred groves to the ground and salting the earth that remains.

This Earth Day I wish for a free Palestine, Sudan, Congo, Hawai'i. For the freedom of their people and their lands. You can not fight for a cleaner healthier planet without fighting against imperialism.

[littlexdeaths]

what are friends for? - e.m.

best friend eddie munson x fem reader

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: period talk/period blood, eddie is the sweetest as always, grinding, fingering, one singular use of daddy

a/n: thank you to @callsignraver for the title idea 🤭 the eddie edit was made by me! you can use it, just please credit my side blog (strangergraphics), if you do. now enjoy xx.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can tell me,” he sounds so sincere, which is why you can’t even look at him.

Because looking at him would just open a set of floodgates that you aren’t prepared to deal with right now.

Looking at him is only going to fuel the fire that is raging in your lower abdomen— that was lit the moment you stepped foot in the trailer.

A fire that he’s been steadily stoking with each brush of his fingertips against yours as you reach for more popcorn. Or when his knee bumps casually into yours as he shifts on the small sofa.

Which for someone as fidgety as Eddie Munson— was a lot.

“I promise I’m not gonna laugh or anything, just tell me what’s wrong.”

Your best friend had been able to pick up on the shift in your mood almost immediately. But he chose not to comment on it until now, unable to handle it any longer.

But how in the hell were you supposed to tell him that it’s his fault? That he’s driving you crazy?

That you want nothing more than to have his fingers buried inside you?

“You wouldn’t get it,” you sigh, shifting your body further away from him on the sofa.

Clinging onto the arm for dear life as you pretend to watch the clash of light sabers on the tv screen.

His snort has your eyes rolling.

“Try me.”

Your hands move up to rub your temples, eyes slipping shut.

“It’s a dumb girl thing—”

He jumps up off the sofa before you can even finish your sentence, returning from the bathroom mere moments later with a bottle of Advil in tow.

Eddie doesn’t register your confused expression as he stands before you, holding out the bottle.

“Cramps, right?” he asks, a kind smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You feel embarrassed, because of course that’s what he would think. He’s heard you drone on and on about it over the years. He only wants to help, like the kind friend that is he is.

Friend, being the keyword here.

“I um…” you mumble, taking the bottle from his outstretched hand.

You attempt to ignore the heat that continues to pool in between your thighs as you stare at the veins protruding from his hand. The way his thick fingers were previously gripping onto the pill bottle.

How they would feel gripping your inner thighs….

No. Stop it.

You mentally scold yourself, chewing on your lower lip as he takes a seat on the sofa.

“I appreciate it, but that’s not the issue.”

Now he’s the one who looks confused, leaning forward as he scratches at the stubble on his jaw.

“Then what is it?” he prods.

Eddie knocks his knee into yours again, tingles shooting up your spine from the subtle touch.

“It’s just, I’m feeling…”

“Tired?”

“No.”

“Bloated?”

“No!”

“Hangry—”

“Horny!” you shout, startling you both, “I’m horny.”

Your voice has gone soft, a near whisper compared to your previous volume. The air around you is suddenly thicker, and you are once again unable to meet his gaze.

“Oh,” he says after a long pause.

“Yeah, oh.”

You feel the tips of your ears warming as you continue to stare down at your lap. The beginning chords of the imperial march are the only thing filling the uncomfortable silence between you.

“I mean, I could always help you,” he replies finally.

His words cause your eyes to shoot up in surprise, your head turning to meet his molten hues.

“That’s— I wouldn’t ask you to do that, Ed.”

His ringed hand suddenly reaches over to rest on your knee, fingers slipping beneath the rips in your jeans.

“What if I want to?”

Now you’re the one rendered speechless.

“What if I have wanted to… for a long time,” he continues, his other hand reaching up to cup your cheek.

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, determination in his eyes as he leans further into your space. You can’t help how your body gravitates towards him, your hands clutching onto the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

You can feel the way his breath mingles with yours, nicotine and movie theater butter. But it’s the flecks of honey in his eyes that break down your remaining defenses.

You answer him with a kiss, lightly pressing them to his. Testing the waters. Eddie eagerly deepens it, pulling you in closer until you’re in his lap. Your thighs bracket his hips, his hands encircling your waist.

The kiss becomes heated, faster than either of you are prepared for. You lower your hips harder onto his lap, inhaling his soft gasp as your bodies meld together. His grip tightens on your hips as you eagerly grind yourself against his crotch, welcoming the friction.

“Hold on, baby.” He groans again, his large hands stopping any further movement.

Baby.

He’s never called you that before.

Your lower lip juts out in a pout as he maneuvers you off of his lap, and back onto the soft cushions of the sofa. The male quickly sinks to his knees, his hands splaying across the tops of your thighs as he works himself between them. He chuckles at your expression, shaking his head slightly.

“Patience, pretty girl,” he hums as his hands slide further up your thighs until they reach the button on your jeans. “Let’s get these off, yeah?”

Your nerves suddenly kick back into gear, despite the flames continuing to lick your skin. Eddie has become so tuned into your emotions over the years that he can sense this new shift immediately. This was an emotion he has seen plenty of times, but it was never because of him.

The notion has his hands freezing as they hover over the closure of your jeans.

“Shit, did I do something wrong?”

You quickly shake your head, letting out a nervous laugh. “I just… don’t wanna make a mess.”

His expression softens as you gesture to the tan sofa beneath you. The male rises to his feet without another word, darting over to the laundry basket that is seated on top of their washing machine. He digs through a pile of clothes until he finds whatever he’s searching for.

A dark maroon towel.

He clutches the soft fabric in his hands as he makes his way back to you, resuming his previous position between your legs. He sets it next to you, his brown eyes nervously shifting between your thighs and your face.

“You can touch me, Eds,” you say, carefully taking his hands in yours to guide them up to the clasp on your jeans.

Eddie doesn’t need to hear anything else.

He makes quick work of removing your jeans, tugging the denim down your thighs. His eagerness has you giggling, the tops of his cheeks flushing a light pink even in the muted light.

He pauses for a moment, leaning back as he drinks in your newly exposed skin. His eyes darken even further as his calloused fingers grip the hem of your cotton panties.

“God, take them off— please,” you whine, no longer caring if you sound pathetic.

You’ve waited far too many years for this to happen, and your patience has finally run out. Eddie chuckles, sliding your panties (pad and all) down your thighs. The male carelessly tosses them over his shoulder, ignoring your small protest.

“Lift up,” he hums, motioning you to guide your hips up.

He easily slides the towel beneath you, letting your body relax against the plush material. Eddie gently rests his hands over the tops of your thighs once more, beginning to spread them even wider. Your cheeks warm as his eyes zero in on your core, whining softly as he licks his lips.

“Christ,” he breathes, inhaling deeply as he notes the way your arousal shines in the glowing light of the tv.

He leans back for a moment, dark eyes flicking up to meet your gaze as he slowly slides each of those gaudy rings off his fingers. Eddie takes his time in doing so, the clink of metal echoes in your ears as he gathers them in his palm.

“Gimme your hand,” he says softly, but the command in his voice lingers all the same.

You hold out your left hand towards him, ignoring the way it trembles as he begins to slide each of his large rings onto your fingers. His dimples indent his cheeks as he grins, carefully lifting your knuckles to his lips. He presses a soft kiss to each one, ensuring that he keeps his eyes trained on you as he does so.

“Keep those safe for me, sweetheart.”

He winks playfully, leaning forward to brush his lips over the bare skin of your shin. His hands hook under your knees, allowing you to drape your legs over his shoulders. His movements have slowed drastically, taking his time before his fingers finally dip between your thighs.

Your soft gasp spurs him on, his fingers running through your drenched folds. He gathers your arousal on his fingertips, dragging them up to encircle over your swollen bud. You let your body relax against the couch cushions, allowing your eyes to slip shut as he continues his gentle touches.

But as soon as his touch starts— it stops just as fast.

A whine spills past your lips as his large hands wrap around the meat of your thighs and squeeze.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he coos, pressing his lips to the curve of your knee.

His teeth lightly nip at the skin there, causing your eyes to flutter back open.

“Yes, sir,” you giggle as he groans.

His fingers are back on you before you have time to mention his reaction, circling your entrance before dipping inside slowly. It causes your breath to hitch, his middle finger able to stretch you out better than any of yours ever have.

Eddie curses under his breath as he adds another, your body almost greedily sucks him in. Your hand instinctively reaches forward to grip onto his bicep. The rings that adorn your hand are biting into his skin, the thought alone makes his jeans impossibly tighter.

“God, you’re so wet,” he moans, guiding his fingers even deeper inside you.

You reply with a soft whine, your thoughts entirely too jumbled to provide him with anything else. His eyes have momentarily dropped from your face to where his fingers are nestled inside you. He slides them back out, admiring the sticky pink mixture that’s coating his thick digits.

“Eddie, don’t tease,” you huff, guiding your hips back towards his awaiting hand.

Your impatient attitude has him chuckling, those dark hues flicking up to meet yours again.

“Oh, you want these back, baby?” He taunts, his other hand gripping onto your thigh as he eases three of the digits inside your entrance.

The brunette holds them there, enjoying the way your body begins to squirm beneath him. Taunting you.

“Go on, say it, sweetheart.”

He raises a brow at you, slightly pushing his fingers in deeper, before he quickly retracts them with your continued silence. Repeating the action.

“I want…” you start, but the curl of his fingers makes you lose your train of thought.

“Hmm, you want what?” he prods.

He completely removes them from your entrance, ignoring your pleading eyes as he slides them back up to dance around your clit.

Your soft mewl of his name does nothing to deter his actions, it only slows them.

“Come on, use that pretty little head of yours,” he hums as the tips of his fingers graze over your swollen bud.

“God, just— please!” your voice raises an octave, taking on a breathy quality.

The corner of his mouth pulls up in a smirk as he tilts his head at you. His fingers dip lower, circling over your puckered hole.

“Ya know, while I usually prefer something along the lines of master… or even daddy,” he muses, noting how your breath hitches.

“God, sure has a nice ring to it.”

His head falls back as he laughs, a playful pout adorning his lips as you swat at him. Those simmering embers have quickly morphed into a raging fire, ready to engulf you both in the flames.

“Eddie, I swear to God. If you don’t put those fingers back inside me, I will—“

The rest of your threat gets caught in your throat as he thrusts his fingers back in, a strangled moan takes their place.

“See, was that so hard, princess?” he teases.

You don’t answer him, instead grinding your hips down to meet his palm. Eddie pumps his fingers faster, his thumb pressing onto your clit. The wet squelch that follows has him moaning, nuzzling his face against your knee.

Your hand releases his bicep, slipping down his arm to tangle your fingers together. He holds them tightly, beginning to curl the others inside you. The calloused tips brush against your sweet spot, pulling another whine from your throat.

“Oh, right there,” you pant, chest heaving as his thumb firmly massages your clit.

That fire continues to burn brighter with each thrust of his fingers, ready to swallow you whole.

“That’s it,” he grins, watching in awe as you make a mess of his fingers, streaks of red and pink dripping down his knuckles.

“Makin’ such a mess f’me, baby.”

You barely register his words as your back arches up off the sofa. Your eyes squeeze shut as white hot pleasure bursts behind your eyelids. His rings dig into your skin from how tightly you’re grasping him, legs trembling as he coaxes you through your high.

Your ears are ringing as you finally collapse into the lumpy cushions, whining as he continues to gently thrust his fingers inside you.

“Come ‘ere,” you mumble, eyes fluttering open to meet his.

His cheek is smushed against your inner thigh, only breaking your heavy lidded stare to slide his fingers out of you. He hums, carefully lifting his fingers towards the dim light from the tv. He rubs them together, gazing in utter fascination at the sticky strings they leave behind.

You already miss his warmth, tugging playfully on his unruly curls to grab his attention. He chuckles, wiping his fingers on the towel beneath you before he’s hovering over your body. Hips pressed into yours, not caring if you make a mess on the front of his pants.

“Thank you,” you whisper, twirling one of his curls around your ringed finger.

“No need to thank me, sweetheart.” He grins down at you, his dark eyes almost sparkling.

“Besides…” he pauses, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “What are friends for?”

tagging: @xxbimbobunnyxx @undead-supernova @munsonhoneybaby @hippiegoth97 @cinemabean @strangerstilinski @corrodedcorpses @curlyjoequinn @mugloversonly @eddiesxangel @hellfirenacht @splendiferous-bitch @razzeith @aleisashortcake @ali-r3n @eddie-is-a-god (i tried tagging you i promise 😭)

[padawan-historian]

In 10 years when we have Remembrance of the Palestine Genocide and we hold conferences on cultural fascism and necropolitics, I want y'all to remember that, across the world, black, brown, and beige children always suffer and suffocate under the weight and white gaze of imperialism.

So long as imperialism reigns, none of us are free.

[chimielie]

sun seeker

summary: you are a princess, a future queen. somehow, this is still not enough.

word count: 1.5k

cw: fighting, oikawa’s an asshole (sorry), arranged marriage/royalty au, fake history stuff, angst to fluff (i guess), i’m not telling you who the love interest is but like. Guess, misogyny, ambiguous ending

a/n: if i tell you that i imagined a whole other side for oikawa will you forgive me? also this was supposed to be a short drabble related to between lightning strikes but it very much was not. my bad

Your betrothed is unexpectedly quiet.

It had only been a few days since you met the crown prince, having been sequestered in your father’s court in the country for most of your life, learning to fill the seat of someday-Empress. The capital is huge, bustling with people, always noisy—or so you surmised from within your veiled carriage. You had thought, as you bowed before the Emperor and Imperial Heir, that your life was finally beginning, finally growing beyond the narrow confines of etiquette training and religious rituals.

Instead, you felt your dreams shrivel and die as your daily routine proceeded exactly as it had for close to two decades. The only difference was time mandatorily spent with Tooru, who seemed… less than enthused by your match.

You had dreamed of someone who chafed against authority as you had, who felt as bound by propriety despite the privilege of your positions. Alas, you found him to be both sullen and arrogant, eager to rule but in denial of his own dissatisfaction with a noblewoman such as yourself. It made you want to scream. You had not chosen the circumstances of your birth, the path which you had been led to walk. It was not your fault that fate had pushed you two so forcefully together without regard for your desires, ambitions, or personalities.

“I was told you visited the temple this morning,” you say, watching your fiancé pause a long sip of tea, his brown eyes temporarily widening. Your face slips momentarily into a frown; you cannot conceal your frustration with his clear disdain for such small talk but unwillingness to bring anything more engaging to your table.

“Yes,” he says finally, setting down his cup. Light brown liquid sloshes over the rim and onto his fingers; he wipes them on his robes without care for the expensive fabric. “There are many rituals that must be done to ensure the most auspicious wedding possible.” His voice catches noticeably on the word wedding. You take a sip of your own tea to hide your grimace.

It is lukewarm. How long have you been sitting here, trying to force civility?

“Did it go well?” You ask in turn, your pitch straining. Behind you, one of the imperial guards snorts. When you try to discern which of them broke character, they have all returned to a stoic, uniform position. You straighten your posture.

“It was satisfactory,” Tooru says. You hear the snort again, and the crown prince’s lips twitch, just barely.

You shut your eyes tightly for a moment, trying to take in a deep breath. Your chest feels tight, though, bound by heavy fabrics and scarlet ribbon. There doesn’t seem to be anywhere for the air to go.

“What did you do this morning?” He asks, and you throw the cup at him.

His Imperial Highness is athletic beneath his aristocracy, and he dodges it easily. It bounces off one of the silk screens behind him and lies, cracked in two, in a puddle of lukewarm tea on the floor. You bury your face in your hands and scream through your teeth, a short, guttural noise that carves a little more space in your chest to breathe.

When you look up again, he stands over you, his perfect brows pulled into an expression of concern. You know without looking that two of the Imperial Guard are standing behind you, hands on their weapons.

“You have asked me that,” you say slowly, fighting to push the words out through the red haze of rage, “twice now. And you asked what my plans were yesterday. And the answer is always the same: wait in my rooms for you to call, because I am a painting of a woman waiting for you to walk in and criticize my form and decide that I am satisfactory.”

“I didn’t—” he says, and for a moment you become a fairytale heroine instead of a scorned princess, sitting on the floor looking up at him with despondent eyes that betray your desire to be loved. “This is what we are,” he decides finally, expression no longer concerned. “I think perhaps you need some rest.”

“You cannot be serious,” you seethe, pushing yourself to your feet. One of the guards puts a hand on you, ready to restrain you.

Tooru turns, his back facing you. He glances back as he exits, tone bored, eyes cold.

“Do not worry yourself,” he tells you, “I still find you satisfactory.”

You lunge after him, but two strong hands clamp down on your arms, hauling you back. You writhe and kick, but when you look up at your guard, his face is impassive, his eyes distant.

“I hate you,” you snarl, and watch as his eyes flicker down to your face. Seeing you. “I hate you,” you say again, but it sounds much more like a sob.

You can’t sleep that night.

The moon is full, high and bright, and every time you close your eyes, you see visions of your future. A glorified concubine, living in an expensive sanitarium, surely to be driven to insanity before your husband can ascend the throne.

You sit up, wild-eyed, and throw your door open with more force than you realize.

“Princess,” says your guard, startled.

“I can’t sleep,” you say, your heart thrumming in your chest. “Hajime, please, I can’t sleep.”

“I can’t let you out of your quarters,” Iwaizumi Hajime, head of your security detail, says.

“I don’t want—” you start, and he gives you a knowing look. “I know. Please just come and—talk with me. A little.”

He sighs, deeply, a rush of wind through cypress trees, and follows you into your room.

“Sit,” you order him, and the moonlight affords you the ability to see his green eyes flash with panic. “I am your future queen. Sit.”

He sits, trying to maintain his stern, professional face, even as you peel his helmet off and run your hands through his flattened hair.

“You lied to me,” you hum, and he jerks under your touch, façade breaking. “You told me Tooru never shut up.”

“I knew him a long time ago,” says Hajime. One of the few who had come with you to Kyoto, he had been raised here and come to your father’s court as a youth to learn to fight. “He’s not—he’s stubborn. He’ll soften eventually.”

“I don’t care,” you say bitterly. “Why did you hold me back?”

“He’s the prince,” Hajime says, his voice rasping with exasperation.

“I am the princess,” you say, and his lips press together into a straight line.

“My princess,” he murmurs. Hajime has always run warm, much more suited for Kyoto’s climate than your hometown’s. When he wraps an arm around you and pulls you against his side, you can feel his body heat through his armor.

“You let him say horrible things to me,” you say. His hold on you tightens.

“He is my oldest friend.”

“I am your—” you sigh heavily, pushing away from him, looking out at the moon. “I am nothing to you. I will live, though I am ungrateful. Many would say I am the luckiest woman in all the land.” The air is very cold without his touch.

“You are not nothing to me,” Hajime says, and you smile wistfully at his selective hearing.

“At least I am satisfactory.” You don’t see what happens, but Hajime’s helmet clatters loudly on the floor a moment later. “What—”

“He is my oldest friend,” he repeats himself, but his voice is low, so deep in his chest you can barely hear him. It does not matter; you can feel his words. “I wanted to kill him.”

Your lips part on a silent gasp, and he leans in close, so close that you can nearly taste him. You’ve always loved the way he smells, something base that relaxes you instantly. You haven’t been this close to him since you left home.

“He’s the Emperor,” he continues, “I can’t hurt him. I held us back.”

“Us?” You ask, his fingers suddenly tightly intertwined with yours.

“Ask me to help you leave,” he says, and you shut your eyes against his gaze, frightening and familiar all at once. “Ask me to take you away from here. I had—I have plans, and you will not be happy with him, Princess. You will be more than satisfactory, satisfied—you will be loved.”

Something knotted tightly unspools in you, red threads laying themselves out in perfect lines. You duck your head and nod against his shoulder, face rubbing against the metal of his armor.

You aren’t likely to succeed, you know, no matter how thoroughly Hajime has planned. Your fiancé will look for you: a stubborn man, like he had said. You do not know if his disdain for you or his love for Hajime will protect you. You could both die.

“Take me away,” you say, voice ringing out like a queen’s.

The moon, at its fullest cycle, chases its estranged wife into the day. The crown prince wakes without his betrothed. The world only spins forward.

[inkofthebrain]

Imperial

[ Paul Atreides x F!Reader ] 1307 words

Paul Atreides, Duke of Arakkis, takes the hand of the Emperor’s eldest daughter for the throne, yet neither are pleased. They know they must learn to be civil, but what will it cost them…

Tags: post-Dune 2, strays from book canon, no use of y/n, dune typical everything, Corinno!Reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers kind of? ARRAIGNED MARRIAGE TROPE EXCEPT BOTH PARTIES ARE PISSY ABOUT IT, not proofread LOL.

Warnings: Dune typical themes, motifs, and actions

A/n: I plan on writing a prequel at some point. This is most definitely going to be multi part

Next chapter

Dune masterlist

One———

Your father stood beside you as the door of our ship slowly lowered, meeting the grassy ground of Caladan with a deep thud.

The air was cold, crisp, and smelt of the sea. The same sea you could hear smashing against the cliff side with the help of the impenetrable wind.

A fog lingered in the air as you watched four guards step out forward and as you follow, the Atredies household seem to rise out of the ground as you walked towards the estate.

Standing tall, cold, still and terrified you watch as the Duke of Atreides, and soon the Imperium, limps towards your father, bloodied knife in hand.

“The life debt has been payed” Irulan, your little sister, pushes out.

Your head snaps to look at her and instantly you speak, only thinking to spare your family

“Spare our fathers life and I will be your bride. The throne will be yours” you speak, looking the young Atredies in the eyes. Anger, chaos, and rage is all you can see within them.

Hidden behind layers of metal blinds and chain mail, your eyes went to the body of Feyd-Rautha. Still and cold. This is the first time anyone has seen him so… at peace.

Your body shakes when the Duke of Atreides drives his foot into the ground in-front of the Emperor. A horrifying silence fell over the room as he slowly outstretches his hand, the only sound in the space being the hot Arakkis wind and Paul’s labored breathing.

Fear. That is all you feel as you watch your father hesitantly take the Dukes left hand and begin the decent to his knees. How could this be happening? The imperium is going to swallow this naive boy whole and take your whole family down with him.

The second your fathers lips touched the cold metal everyone dropped to their knees, including Irulian. All who stood were you, Paul, and a fremen who soon stormed out. You took a deep breath.

Once you arrived inside Paul and your father disappeared to discuss the implications of this agreement. The transfer of your ownership.

You were left standing in-front of a large window facing the cliff side, an Atreides guard standing a few feet behind you. You loathed him already, you hated his very existence. This false prophet. As the waves crashed against the jagged cliff you tried to savor your remaining moment of pseudo-freedom. Alas, women are never free in this world.

“You are requested for dinner, your highness” A member of the staff stammered out. You let out a small hum before turning around with a polite smile. From the moment you were born this is what you were made for. A political marriage. One of convenience. You stepped forward.

“Of course”

———

Paul was already there, seated at the head of the table. He did not look up on your entrance, but he did acknowledge your presence. A small nod was the only thing he offered as a greeting, his focus being on your father who was discussing trade routes.

You took a seat next to your father as you waited for the arrival of Lady Jessica. Hands in lap you picked at your nails until you could no longer, a rage burning within you.

Soon she entered before taking a seat on Paul’s right. Their blue eyes were captivating, despite their departure from the desert planet.

The wedding was to be held on the home of the Atredies, Caladan. Every and all representatives of the Great Houses and other branches of the Imperium were to be present.

“It is an event of extreme significance” Lady Jessica spoke, “we have 4 weeks before the wedding where we will then depart back to Arakkis shortly there after.”

You took a deep breath as you watched her, your eyes occasionally drifting to Paul.

“I believe it is time for a proper introduction.” Jessica said looking at Paul. She says your full name and motions to you with her hand, “Lady Corrino is the firstborn child of late-emperor Shaddam, and the heiress of the imperium.”

“My lord.” You bid him a nod of acknowledgment before averting your eyes to the table. You thought that if you stared at it long enough you would wake up from this night terror.

A nod was his response to your greeting as he looked away from you, turning back towards the window. In the distance, he could just make out the edge of the caladan sea, the endless gray waves lapping up against the estate's cliffside property.

Beside him, he could hear his mother speak to you again. "I trust your journey was not too terrible."

“It was pleasant. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Your father spoke and your gut churned. The normality of this exchange is twisting your mind in ways you cannot imagine. The politeness, the facade, it all made you sick.

"Good." A simple statement. Paul felt no motivation to continue the conversation even before it had started. His mother continued on with her own chatter with you and your father.

"But for now, I will let and paul get to know each other a bit more while I escort you back to your ship." Jessica smiled, taking the cue to step away. she gave him a pointed look before she left, however-- be polite. A trade of ownership, you have been successfully dumped at the doorstep of the Atredies and once your father left this planet you would be at their mercy.

A sickening silence fell over the room. Paul glanced away from you, not wishing to return any look. Instead, his eyes searched through the rain-soaked windows, seeking for something to do besides idle chat. This was a waste of time.

“I am as dissatisfied about this as you are my lord” You boldly state. Not caring for any reprimanding or impoliteness. You were filled with rage and nothing more. Blinded by your distasteful and undesirable future.

He raised an eyebrow in your direction, glancing back at you. Silence lingered between them for a moment before he finally spoke. "and what gave it away?"

“Political Marriages are always a fuss”

A soft chuckle. he had to give you respect for that. It was the first time in your conversation with him as of yet that you were not just spouting nonsense. "No, I have to agree with you on this point. There is nothing convenient about being wed for political purposes."

It was almost humorous, in a way. He was stuck with you just as you were with him. “Two strangers tied together by duty.” There was just a hint of a sigh at the end of his words, he sounded just a little bitter. Paul’s eyes flicked off in a random direction, finding no real distraction from you and he was stuck within the room with you.

“Tell me about yourself." His voice was flat as he asked the question, it was more out of curiosity than any deep interest.

“I’m educated in Imperium law, structure, history…” you drone on about all of your prospects. Hobbies you were forced to have as a child to prepare you for this future.

"you're a woman of talents, it seems." He says

It was better to have a pretty fiancé who also did not seem like she needed to be supervised all the time. At least it meant his duties were lessened, to a degree. He could focus on other things, rather than wasting a moment worrying after you.

“Shall I walk you to your room, my lady? it was long journey and you must be worn out." His voice held a tone of kindness only one in high society is trained to have. Superficially sincere. You wanted to vomit.

“That would be lovely thank you” you smile

———

Next chapter

[anakinskywalker97]

Rise of Skywalker

Darth Vader x Ex-Padawan Reader

Reader gets captured by her former master. Things don't go as expected as they hash out old feelings.

Warnings: not gonna lie it's really dark in the beginning, Anakin redemption, hurt comfort, good after care, CNC, Rape, Dom Vader, he thinks it's her pulling him into it but it's really the force forcing them together, it's complicated and dark, but feelings confession, part of a larger series, vaginal sex, blow jobs, orgasms, I've never written anything like this before so hopefully it's alright.

Chapter One: Revenge 

It was beyond stupid to stay on the ship when they were being boarded by Imperial soldiers. You should try to escape on one of the fighters. Deep down you knew it was too late for that. If you were in your own ship it would have been possible. Your shoulders tensed as the Imperial ship came closer, you recognized a Force signature you’d certainly wanted to avoid. It wasn’t quite the same as it had been when he was a Jedi, it was twisted but still somehow him. You handed the ship over to someone else and grabbed your bag. 

You never got the chance to go up against your former master. Something that Obi-Wan had said you should feel grateful for. He knew the two of you had more going on than what was appropriate for a Master-Padawan bond. To fight against someone you love, well, Obi-Wan still wasn't the same man. He was empty, a shell of what he once was. 

You felt disgusted with yourself. You wanted to hurt him, knowing whatever damage you did would only be a fraction of the pain he had caused you. You wondered when this life would ever leave you behind. 

His presence moved through the ship and you were sure that the plans beamed to them were going to be discovered. Another failed attempt. You hadn't been aware of their plan when you had agreed to pilot the ship. It was supposed to be a diplomatic mission. 

“Just let him take me.” You had told the rebel leader. Her face pinched in annoyance. 

“You do not understand what he’s capable of -” She started but you cut her off.

“No, you don’t understand now fuck off.” You snapped at her, she felt guilty that someone innocent would be sacrificed for her plan. You moved towards the landing bay. You turned the corner in the final hallway, smoke billowing everywhere from the blasters having been fired. He stood tall at the end of the hall. His features were masked but his presence was shaken by your gaze. 

“Take her to the detention block.” When he finally spoke his voice was metallic and dark. Storm troopers flooded towards you and you went with them gracefully. You wanted to draw them off the ship and give these idiots a chance. 

They checked you over once they got you into the cell. They took your bag, lightsaber, and blaster. You were truly a prisoner. Laying down the sleeping platform you tried to rest. 

Meditation was never your favorite thing, but you knew that whatever happened next you would need your strength. Your mind went the same way it always did when trying to mediate. Memories flooded you and your heart clenched tightly, but as it had been for so many years, there was no Obi-Wan to scold you and put you on the right path. No Anakin laughing at you. Just pain and an embarrassing amount of longing. 

The Force seemed stronger around you than normal, maybe this was the path it wanted you to take. You tried to manipulate it but it wasn't interested in letting you be in control, it was pulling you and weather you liked it or not you were on this ride. 

The silence was a welcome change, your life had become very complicated recently with trade route disputes and the rebels constantly trying to recruit you. 

You thought about the last time you saw Anakin. Rage flared through you and you wondered when that wound would ever heal. It festered inside you. You could push it down, keep busy, but if he was ever brought up you would get sick almost immediately. He’d pushed you away. Sent you away from The Order and The War only to blow himself up and take the Jedi with him. You did come across the full prophecy years later while on a side quest in the Dagobah system. Anakin didn’t choose to become a Sith, at the core of his creation he was a Sith. Your stomach twisted painfully. This information had haunted you for years. Did this excuse him? Did it mean he was evil the whole time? Did he choose this life over you or did he have a choice at all?  

You felt his darkness prodding at your mind. You kept yourself shut down tight, no way you were letting him in. A com chimed and his voice echoed in your cell. 

“It seems you have something I want.” He spoke slowly. “Go to the ship's lower quarters.” The door slid open and you sighed. You moved through the seemingly empty hallways. You followed the trail he set for you in the force. Doors sprang open and eventually, you knew you were in his quarters. The air was different and the lights were dimmed. You moved into the space and decided it felt suffocating. Artifacts were displayed throughout the room and a desk near the window was covered in the contents of your bag. He had carefully laid out every single item. Even the charm he had carved you all those years ago was lying amongst medical supplies and various books. In the center of the room was a large orb, and in the center a large throne-like chair. The rest of the room went to the right and was obscured from your view. 

Once satisfied with your observation of the room you finally dragged your attention to the masked figure sitting on his throne. 

“You called?” You said calmly. His gaze was hidden in his mask but you could feel it resting heavily against your skin. 

“How have you been?” He asked in a dead voice. The sound of it was created to frighten people, it was nothing like Anakin's voice. You cocked an eyebrow at him and moved closer. “It’s not like you to be captured so easily.” 

“You’ll have to excuse me, I never finished my training.” You said hoping it bothered him. You tried not to show him any emotion knowing it would only delight him. You looked out the window.

“I thought maybe you had come to me for that reason.” He said and you snapped your head to him. 

“I’d die first.” The words were coated in venom. You wanted to fight him. He made an exasperated noise that reminded you of who he used to be. 

“Fuck me.” You knew how the words were intended but the suite spoke them as a request rather than a whisper under his breath. 

“Maybe I will.” You snapped back. It was an overused joke, said hundreds of times all those years ago. But this wasn't your Master, this monster before you was a stranger. He looked at you for a moment longer and you hated how hard your heart was hammering. You were waiting for his attack. Your mind had half a hold on your lightsaber across the room. The force was vibrating through you while also being completely resistant to your request. 

His large gloved hands moved to the sides of his sleek black helmet. The sound of air escaping sounded and he pulled the top half off. Your hand immediately reached towards him before you dropped it at your side. The state of his skin made you want to throw up. It was badly damaged, but it looked fresh. As if he had just fallen into lava yesterday. He took the bottom half of his mask off. Then he worked on unfastening his top. 

“What are you doing?” You said in a high-pitched tone. You wanted him to cover himself, you didn't want your heart to reach out to his obvious suffering. You didn't want him to have Anakin’s features.

“Can’t fuck you in all this.” There was a collar around his neck that kept his voice the same. His eyes were red and they burned into your skin. You realize then that he’s serious. Panic washes through you, but there isn't a clear escape. Your mind is still preoccupied by the sight of his damaged flesh and prosthetic arms. They were metal, just like his hand used to be. You assumed he would have had them replaced with the new kind of prosthetics. He kept his gloves on and motioned for you to come up the steps to him. 

“Don't lie to me Padawan.” He growled. “I can feel you pulling at me in the force.” His voice made you shiver but it wasn't you pulling on the force, the force was pulling you. 

You resisted then felt his force presence grip you. Your clothes started to move off of you and you tried to fight him. 

“Come to me.” He said and you resisted now almost naked. His eyes feasted on your form and you didn't know how but you were going to make him pay for this. While your mind was frozen with rage and fear your body was more than happy to fall into him. He pulled you across the room till you were in front of him. It was hardly fair to be naked and displayed  in this way. He’d stripped you down and was now enjoying the sight of you, sitting comfortably on his throne, legs spread.  No way he would actually force you into this, but then again there was a running list of things you thought he would never do. Unfortunately, when he checked an item off of it he tended to do it with as much dramatic flare as possible. 

“I won't.” You said firmly. 

“You will.” His voice was tauntingly calm. He pulled you onto his lap and you tried to break his grasp on you. He had undone his pants and you realized this was actually happening. “You have something I want.” He whispered causing your body to shudder. To your horror he gripped your hips tightly. You felt your body coming undone in his presence. The force was useless, it was pulling you to together. You could feel it now, he could bend it but he couldn't control it entirely. It pulsed around you pushing you further towards him, preparing your body. 

The head of his cock pressed against your entrance you expected it to hurt. His goal was to hurt you, to punish you, and probably get you to spill about rebel plans. This was a torture session. But as he pulled your hips down you could feel how wet you were. Your body opened to him easily. The feeling of being stretched out for the first time in years overwhelmed you. His eyes are red so deeply clouded with rage, something inside you broke as he bottomed out. You wanted to see his brown eyes. You wanted him to be Anakin. Your face flushed at this realization and he groaned. 

“Even now you still need me” The words turned your face red with embarrassment and shame. They cut you. But there was no anger in your body, only need. 

Vader settled himself in your tight cunt. 

“Move.” His deep voice commanded. It was beyond cruel to force you down on his cock only to make you fuck yourself on it. Your hips moved as if working on muscle memory. You moved slowly and every time you bottomed out on him he moaned. The sound made you pick your hips up and do it again. You would probably do it forever if it meant feeling this again. The pleasure he gave made your mind hazy. 

He did something unexpected, his hands were large enough that he could move his grip slightly and brush your clit with is thumb. Just then he used his other hand to push your hips down. His cock reached deeper inside you and you felt it swell within your tight walls. 

“Show me how bad you’ve missed me.” He commanded and your body responded to his touch. You came, walls collapsing against his cock, you felt his seed flood inside you. Your body helped him off, just like it used to. You felt your defenses fall, as your forehead pressed against his shoulder. He moved within your mind pulling from you your worst memories. He searched for something inside you and his grip on your mind hurt. Years flashed before your eyes and he gripped your hips tighter and tighter as you relieved your worst moments. He growled as every part of you was in submission to him once again. 

He picked you up and pulled you down. He was using your body now, and you hated how easy it was for him. You did nothing while he lifted you and slammed you down on his cock. The pressure started to build inside you again. 

“Cum.” He commanded and you felt your orgasm grip you tightly. Your pussy choked on his cock, and he continued to move you through it. Once again he filled you.  You were too far gone to push back into his mind but you could feel a certain ache in his chest. One that belonged to you. Tears formed in your eyes as you felt his emotions but not his thoughts. 

You felt his force presence wrap around your body. You laid back in it like it was bathwater letting it caress you. You were fully on display and watched his eyes devour where your pussy swallowed his cock. He loved how you were on display for him, he loved pleasuring you.   His feelings for you were deep and consuming. This thumb found your clit and you bucked your hips against him. He remained seated moving in and out of you slowly, eyes focused on how his cock fit inside you. 

Eventually, he stood. He set a ruthless pace, hammering into you. But in your half conscious state, you could feel that every time his emotions peaked into rage it would quickly turn to something warmer. He hated that he couldn't hate you, that he couldn't hurt you. That as badly as you needed him, he needed you even more. While his grip and pace were rough, his force presence was soft. Touching you in the ways he missed being able to touch you. He was touch starved and wild with your body. 

You felt his need for you and choked on it as if it were a hand on your throat. You felt hot tears stream down your cheeks as those deepest needs inside of you were finally held. You finally felt at home. 

“Master.” The word rolled off your lips and then you couldn't stop saying it. You said it as if his old title could somehow bring him back to you. His voice was deep and he moaned loudly at your acceptance of him. He attacked your clit and your body was pulled under fully. Your vision was gone, and your ability to breathe was gone. You felt like you were going to die, maybe that was his desired outcome. You came for what felt like an eternity as he pumped more and more of his cum inside you. Finally, it’s grip on you ended and you felt him pull your limp body to his chest. His arms wrapped around you, the cold metal reminding you of what had been lost forever. 

He held you tightly and you realized you were still crying. He tried to soothe you but the pain was inescapable. It took you a long moment to understand what it was. You weren't grieving him, you were feeling him. The pain coursing through his body at this moment. It ran the length of his spine and radiated out to what amount of limbs he had left. 

Take this off - you demanded through the newly established force bond. You felt him hesitate before he realized he was hurting you too. 

I don’t know if I can - He tried to unclasp it, only then did you feel his fear and then acceptance. It could be the only thing keeping him breathing, and yet he undid it regardless. Even if he died he had gotten his last wish. He held his breath and took the collar off. Breathing was challenging but not impossible without it. The pain diminished and you took a deep breath. 

You took the collar from him and examined it, you quickly dropped it to the floor in horror. It had been designed to attach into his spinal column, disrupting his peripheral nervous system. The radiating pain finally stopped.  Your fingers ran across the raw skin of his neck and you shuddered at his increased pain. You could also feel his pleasure, so starved for touch that he could adore your touches even if they caused him tremendous pain. 

Take it all off - you urged him knowing it was the cause of most of his pain. He reluctantly pulled out of you and placed you on the edge of his desk. He slowly removed the rest of the suit and you felt him get lighter. You took in the full extent of the damage. The suit had been designed to dig into his flesh causing it not to heal properly. Your mind was still hazy but you reached out with the force and pulled a container of healing salve. It was so easy to feel and use the force now it felt strange to you. 

No - He realized what it was the moment it landed in your hands. He picked you up quickly and carried you to the bathroom. He placed you down on the countertop and got a warm washcloth. He cleaned you carefully, then began to wash the rest of your body. His fingers run over the bruises forming on your skin. You could feel his distaste for the new scars that had been etched into your skin since the last time he saw you naked. 

“I’m sorry.” He said, his voice thick with emotion. His voice. Anakin’s voice without that stupid collar. You squeezed your eyes shut feeling it run through you. He sighed feeling your chest split open for him. 

He carried you once again through the space into a smaller room. It had a large bed covered with black silky sheets. He set you down in it carefully. He could feel your arousal at his tenderness and he planned to fully enjoy it despite having just washed you. 

You used the force to pull him down this time. You got him on his back and straddled him. You could feel his disapproval but didn’t care. You grabbed the container of salve and started with the deep gashes in his neck. He let out a sound of relief and you covered his scalp and face before moving to his torso.  

You felt him let his guard down completely, you had free run of his thoughts as you treated him. 

“Anakin.” You had never used his first name and it felt strange in your mouth. His body tensed but you continued. “I don't blame you.” 

The words may have been more for yourself than him. His hands gripped the sheets and you could feel how much pain he was in at your words. But when you could feel someone's heart it made sense. You had known of the prophecy in it’s entirety for around three years, and only now could you feel what they actually ment.The years of slavery, The Order - you felt his last interaction with you. How he had insisted you leave The Order. Leave the war. Only now did you understand what he was trying to protect you from. The loss of your companionship only made it easier for Palpatine to pull him in. All he wanted was order and control. After being in pain his whole life it made sense. Palpatine’s warning to him that you would die in battle rang through his mind and it was your turn to grip the sheets and clench your jaw. His last fight with Obi-Wan, how much he hated himself for it. Dark memories of his surgery came in bursts and it felt as if you were experiencing it with him. Every memory after that was coated in a thick syrup of pain. Palpatine's rage and manipulation are so clear to you now, the way he regularly lashed out and tortured Anakin.

 The moment Palpatine told him you were dead. The feelings he felt in that moment hit you. He had really thought you were gone all this time. 

I didn't intend to show you that - he sounded deeply uncomfortable. 

I guess you had something I wanted as well - Before he had a chance to react and ruin all the carefully placed salve, you got down between his legs. You felt his vulnerability and knew that it was likely to snap sending him back into his cave, further into the Sith. You didn't fancy having to fight him after your muscles felt like jello. You closed your mouth around him wondering how you used to do this. It was sloppy and uncoordinated as you tried to remember how to get him down your throat. 

His mind moved back to the first time you had ever done this. You re-lived your shared memory. It was late and you had been training well passed when you should have been. After years of unresolved tension, when you had him pinned on his back, you moved into the same position you were now. You’d read your first romance novel and couldn’t stop reimagining the scenes with your master. You begged him to let you do it. You wanted to please him and feel pleasure so badly it was driving you mad. He’d let you, but only for a moment before forcing you on your back and eating you out. He hated taking from you if he wasn't also giving you pleasure. 

“Tell me I was the last.” He said before groaning deeply as you moved him passed your gag reflex. 

Last, and only - You hated yourself for it, but his abandonment had twisted you up so badly you could never trust another to get that close again. You felt him slip into ecstasy at this revelation. Quickly he pulled you hair and dragged you off his cock with a pop as his head slid from your lips. He pulled you up onto the bed with the force and you landed on the soft sheets. The salve was dry and you thanked him for waiting. 

He moved inside you quickly then stopped. The feelings vibrating through the both of you were so strong. There was still the towering darkness in him that you left untouched. You had some of Anakin back, that would have to be enough for tonight. 

Search your feelings - he gasped. You did and could feel it pulse through you. The force was moving in both of you in a way you had never felt before. It was harsh and raw, it was something bigger than the living force. Something deeper. The realization of what it was choked you. 

Love - Not something Sith did. Not like this. Not pure like what was running through the both of you. He fucked you slowly, and you felt his surprise when you kissed him. He moved in and out of you with a tenderness that brought you over the edge in a different way. Something had permanently bonded between the two of you. Separating was impossible, but which side would win out. Would you be Sith? Or Jedi? Or your preferred option of nothing. 

This orgasm left you drained. There was nothing more you could do tonight. Your mind was gone, vision blurry with sleep. Your eyelids became heavy and you felt him get up. He came back with a damp cloth and cleaned you once more. You could feel his fascination with your skin and wanted to ask him about it but couldn't. 

________

Vader had pushed you too far. Your mind collapsed from all the feelings and sleep took you. He held you tightly in his arms only drifting off for an hour at a time. He would wake up startled having to check that you were still real. Then he’d have to check your pulse, feeling it with the force until he would drift off again. The force was taking him on a different path. One he had given up on long ago. But he knew that you were stubborn, he had his way with you last night but tomorrow would be a different story. You would either go with him back into the light or leave him. The thought of losing this power crushed him, but knowing he could be loved again would be worth it. 

A feeling overtook him and he realized he would do anything to live within your love for him. The way he had treated you was unforgivable, and yet you had so carefully tended to his wounds. Even after he had just inflicted wounds on your own flesh you still cared for his. He pulled the pot of salve from his nightstand and carefully applied the last of it to the deep purple bruises he had left on your flesh. 

He felt sick. He went to the dark side to end the war and prevent your death. He had ensured that you were safely away before crossing over. Palpatine had told him you were dead. He’d believed it, unable to feel you in the force till that ship had come into range. He wanted you to be untouched by his evil and last night he had all but raped you with it. Forcing your body to betray your mind. If he could get up without waking you he would have gone to the bathroom and vomited. The pain he felt was so great he felt you jump in his arms. Your head lifted from his shoulder. Your hair was a mess and your eyes could barely open, puffy from crying. 

Does it hurt - I can put on more salve. - Your words were hazy even in the bond.

Go to sleep - he pushed away his frightening thoughts and tried to be calm to sooth you. Your head fell against his shoulder and you were out cold again.  

He didn't have to do right by The Order, Obi-Wan, or Palpatine. He just needed to do right by you with what time he had left. The force was strong with you and your choices, so he made the choice to follow

Chapter Two: Finding Obi-Wan

[moodymisty]

I have another new idea for Cato Sicarius, so we’ve been talking about how Cato Sicarius bullies the reader and sends a truckload of mixed signals with each of their interactions. Now, Sicarius can afford to take this long and painful approach to ‘romancing?’ the reader because he’s doesn’t seem to have any active competition. But what if this wasn’t the case?

Just imagine it, Cato Sicarius sulking and stewing in a corner in rage, watching as another space marine compliments the baseline human and gets her blushing. Now because Sicarius is incapable of basic emotional awareness, he can’t understand that the reason he’s furious, is not because the human woman is wasting his time with frivolously bantering with another marine, but because this space marine is flirting with his human

Now as for the other space marine in this scenario, the obvious choice would be Titus. Because of his natural charisma and being quality husband material. However, you could also have it be a space marine from another legion, someone who’s on Ultramar to meet with Guilliman. Someone who would feasibly come across Guilliman’s favourite cute diplomat. A White Scar who being fun and flirty with the lovely human he just met. Or an Imperial Fist who’s genuinely impressed by the reader’s accomplishments and makes their interest known. Basically Sicarius looks on in envy as he cucked by his cousins

I love this lmao, any opportunity to make Sicarius cope and seethe is good in my books. I wrote this at like 4 in the morning while playing WUWA and keeping an eye on a very sick bird, so forgive any errors.

Warnings: Sicarius’ shitty attitude and being jealous, a dtf Astartes gets all flirty with you, the implication that Sicarius thinks you’re a little harlot for Astartes and really is he wrong?

The Ultramarine couldn’t stop his brother fast enough, speaking to Captain Sicarius through the vox channel connecting their helmets.

“This is going quite well.”

Both Ultramarines then suddenly freeze under the deathly stare of their captain, and they see his heartrates steadily rise in their helmet HUDs.

Higher and higher and higher it goes, as Sicarius’ helmet turns from them back to the scene in front of them. They’ve been tasked to stand guard for you as you greeted the guests aboard the ship, and stand in silence. At least the younger two marines do, the way Sicarius is boiling in his armor is anything but silent.

“Well little one, if you ever find yourself on Fenris, you’re in welcome company.”

A Space Wolf captain gives a wide, toothy smirk at you, and Sicarius turns up his nose at the nonstandard protocol on display at the marine’s red mane of hair. A mess waiting to happen- braids getting caught in armor, something to be grabbed.

“I’m glad to hear that!”

You smile back at him, completely wooed by the Wolf’s obnoxious boisterousness. He’s also massive; Sicarius can see plates of terminator armor blended in with the standard make Astartes armor. The three Space Wolves behind him are smaller, around his size.

The youngest Ultramarine that had nievely commented is visibly confused by his captain’s behavior, while the others, though also confused, have dealt with it for longer and stand in silence. None of them have the command to doubt Sicarius unless there are concerns of him breaching Ultramarine protocol or committing some form of heresy, and so they keep their mouths shut.

“Ahh, but we never realized that the Ultramarines kept such funny little maidens on their ships. Maybe they aren’t as stuck up as we all thought.”

Sicarius seethes; The disrespect on display against the Ultramarines, their primarch, and you! They didn’t even say your proper title, how dare they-

You laugh more, crossing your arms and conveniently accentuating your chest. Sicarius nearly fogs his visor from the heat of his breath. You smile, and the disgusting things that enter his mind at the thought of you and this Space Wolf sicken him. You’ve never displayed the female proclivity for idle chatter so much, he thinks.

Do you, like them? You never act like this in his company. Unless it’s Titus.

“They aren’t as bad as they seem I assure you, they just are very by the rules.” The massive Space Wolf chuckles, before tapping against the bottom of your chin with a knuckle. Sicarius’ heartrate makes a jump, watching you give the wolf a smile with gentle, lazy eyes. He would call them wanton.

Are there no Astartes safe from you? Titus, Helix, half of his men, and now this Space Wolf. He would utter what he thinks you are if he wasn’t dedicated to standing here in silence.

“Alas we should return to our ship. Fenris calls. But we’ll owe you and your Ultramarines a good deal for this assistance. We will not forget this, should you ever call on us for aid.”

Your Ultramarines?

Sicarius swallows a knot in his throat. You do not own him; If anything, Primarch Guilliman owns you, though Sicarius doesn’t understand still why his primarch deems it so valuable. Have you wooed him all the same?

No; His primarch would never fall for such a cheap display of whorish charm. Never. He will not falter either, unlike Titus.

You smile warmly again, face warm at the wolf’s tender touch.

“Then we wish you all safe travels on your return to Fenris.” The space wolves leave, and you turn around to face them all, including Sicarius. You’re much more composed now, smile much smaller and contained. Proper and respectful, unlike moments before.

“That went well. I should report all of this to Guilliman.”

Sicarius doesn’t say anything more than an irritated grunt, turning away.