#I still think that the revival will be a dragon but what if it’s just a cycle of death and revival between archons?

[notthemonthbutmarch]

Small Natlan theory for your consideration

So Mavuika definitely looks like Himeko, but is also based on the Māori fire deity Mahuika. Mahuika is the little sister of a goddess named Hine-nui-te-pō, who’s the goddess of the night and receives spirits when they die.

In Natlan, there’s a place called the Night Kingdom and currently the Abyss is invading— which will negatively affect Natlan proper as well. The competition also has a thing called the Pilgrimage where contests seemingly go to the Night Kingdom and race to the exit, and if they fail to make it out in time they kinda just stay there?

Death also isn’t final in Natlan, instead they go into the Scared Flame, so it seems like for Natlan there’s something else that contributes to death. Something like a goddess… mayhaps?

What I’m saying is if Mavuika is based on Mahuika and Genshin and has all these extra elements to death, then that means a Hine-nui-te-pō is possibly also canon.

And if Mavuika looks like Himeko, then is it possible that Hine-nui-te-pō could look like Kiana Kaslana?

[maliro-t]

some game design thinky thoughts.

[tonycries]

Bad Boys Bring Roses - G.S.

Synopsis. You’ve never dealt with the yakuza - not once. So why is the future head of the Gojo clan suddenly coming up to you, demanding that you marry him for 30 days?

Pairing. Yakuza boss! Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, yakuza! au, fake marriage, annoyances to lovers, elders suck, mentioned k*lling (not reader or Satoru), Satoru is INSANE and SO down bad, one bed trope, praise, biting, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, flower language, kníves, bit dark, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 9.1k (whoopsies)

A/N. I just HAD to get this out of my mind like I wanna write an entire book series on this. Spent too long researching rose language as well so see if y’all catch that hehe.

You thought the wedding invitation was a joke when it had arrived - a delicate, lacey little card that you’ve probably read over a million times by now. It had been stuffed haphazardly into your mailbox, along with a ridiculously large bouquet of purple roses. Seemingly inconspicuous when you first tore into the thick envelope, wondering which one of your friends was getting married now. 

And it was - that is, until you saw your name at the very top - right where the blushing bride’s was supposed to be. 

We hereby formally invite you to the marriage of…

What? 

No return address. No date. No groom’s name either. Only yours, written in beautiful, golden writing - inviting you to your own wedding, exactly a week from now.

You remember perfectly the way you’d flipped it over and over in your hands, the gears turning in your head as you tried to crack down on the motive behind this invitation. A threat? A joke? Texting all of your friends about what a cute prank that was - only to get a shared confused reaction, and a few “April Fool’s has already passed, y’know.”

Hell, you’d even cornered the mailman, desperate to get to the bottom of this. But that wasn’t particularly helpful when he was only able to shake his head in protest, pale as a sheet, and trembling ever-so-slightly as he sped away from you. Weird. 

Without a clue as to who sent the letter, or even a follow-up in the days after, you stuffed the invitation somewhere deep in the back of your closet and handed the bouquet to your mother. Not bothering to tell your parents where it was from - because who’d worry over a stupid prank like this? It was probably one of the kids from down the street that’d gotten their grubby lil’ hands on a printer. 

You, however, had more important things to focus on - like trying to help your father revive his failing diner. It was a family business, a quaint, hearty little shop. One that was quickly, and dangerously, losing both customers and employees with the brand new fast food place that’d popped up right across the street. 

Which is why you found yourself here - working overtime on a Saturday night, looking over the empty chairs and stacks of boxes from behind the counter. Whatever, it was only a few weeks until relocation anyway.

You heave out a sigh, eyes flitting to the clock beside you - 11:21pm.

Nine minutes more, you drum your fingers in boredom, maybe you should just close up early. Because sure as hell no one else was-

“Oh? Still open?”

“Ah- Uh, yes, welcome!” Jolting out of your reverie, you stand up ramrod straight, taking in the customer standing at the door. He wasn’t one of the regulars - no, you think you’d remember if he was. Cloudy white hair, piercing blue eyes that twinkle from above his shades, even in the dim light of the diner. He was so very tall, taking up almost all of the doorframe, only getting more and more imposing as he walks up to you in quick, long strides. Magnetizing. 

And if you dared let your eyes wonder, you caught a few tattoos peeking out from his unfairly snug button-up, clashing with its flashy blue color. Dragons? Trees? Or were they flowers - roses?

“Roses.” the man in front of you answers your unspoken question, voice so very deep, and melodic - tinged with something playful in it that you wouldn’t have expected at first glance. At your raised brow he continues with a wink, “Could tell ya were checkin’ me out, sweetheart.”

“F-forgive my rudeness, sir.” you sputter, face burning. You look away from the way his muscled ripple as he crosses his arms, immediately turning to fumble with the menus, “Please take a seat and I’ll be there with you shortly.”

You’d expected him to take up a booth, or maybe head towards one of the good tables around the corner. What you did not expect was for him to plop down on the stool right in front of you, flashing you a playful grin before humming, “S’alright, m’just waitin’ for someone.”

Oh. Well, it made sense that someone like him would be taken. Swallowing, you hand over the menu, before giving him a close-lipped smile, “A lover?”

Resting his head on his palms, not bothering to even glance at the list of dishes before him. “My fiancée.”

“Congratulations, Mr…”

“Gojo Satoru.” he tilts his head, looking way too happy with himself. “Please, call me Satoru.” 

You nod softly, picking up your pen and notepad to get this conversation over with - and maybe to also avoid his heavy stare that made something hot and uncomfortable coil in your stomach. “Right, Mr-” at his disappointed whine, “Satoru. Congratulations, must be one heck of a thing to plan.”

“Oh I’m having fun with the wedding planning.” He waves off your words with a chuckle, missing - or pointedly ignoring - the way you were waiting for his order. “How’s it going for you?”

What?

You narrow your eyes at the way Satoru was batting those long lashes up at you, deceivingly innocent and waiting for your answer. “I’m sorry- Me? Did you mean with the diner relocation plans or-”

“No no no.” he laughs, loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say at someone interrupting you if you weren’t so mesmerized by that little dimple at the corner of his grin. One that moves as he plows on, “M’asking how wedding planning is going for you, wifey~”

There’s a beat of silence. One. Two. With you gaping at the pure audacity as Satoru quiets down to little titters, seemingly studying your reaction in amusement. Which slowly, but surely, drains from his face as you grit out a sharp, “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, sir. We’re very busy and don’t have time to entertain your pick-up lines.”

Those widened blue eyes sweep the painfully empty diner, letting out a low whisper. “I can see that.” you let out a strangled noise of embarrassment at that. “But you’re really gonna ask your husband to leave?”

Huffing in frustration, “I don’t have a husband.”

“...you do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. And who the fuck are you to tell me I do?”

“What?!” Satoru jumps out of his seat in shock, fast enough that the stool clatters to the floor with a deafening clang! Hands slamming on the counter as he leans over it - so close that you could feel his minty breath fanning your face with each hurried, shrill word that tumbles out of his lips. “What do you mean you don’t have a- I’m gonna kill those fuckin’- After I bought Canva premium just to make that invitation? Did the flowers come at least?”

And while Satoru is panicking, words spilling out of his mouth a mile a minute - only one of those rings in your mind - invitation. 

“You.” you hiss, barely audible over meltdown in front of you. Pointing a finger accusingly, “You’re the one behind that prank with the dumbass roses.”

That seems to snap Satoru out of his dramatic monologue - and you’re glad it did. Because he looks up to meet your glare, “Hey! You didn’t like the roses?” 

And for the first time, you see Satoru more serious than he’d been ever since stepping into this diner. Eyes somewhere behind you, ablaze and almost…frightening. “Didn’t you ask him?” 

You whirl around to see your father, who’d apparently rushed downstairs at the commotion. Baseball bat to fight off the intruder hanging in midair as he stands frozen, taking in the scene before him - but more importantly, that man in front of him. “You.”

---

And, well, it’s not everyday that you’re having late night tea with your parents and one of your father’s…business associates. Even rarer when said business associate is…you gulp, praying to whoever’s above that this is all some sick dream you’ll wake up any second from. 

“So, let me get this straight…” you sigh, pinching your nose in frustration. It’s been an hour or two of trying to understand whatever this was. Giving a stern look at the two men squirming across from you in the booth. “My father was conned by one of your-” you gesture your head at Satoru, which only makes his smirk grow, “-men to take a loan from your um-”

“Family, yakuza. Anything goes.” he supplies helpfully.

You wave him off, trying as quickly as possible to brush off the ‘yakuza’ bit that makes your stomach lurch. “And now he owes you a favor of…what exactly?”

Satoru leans across the table, t-shirt opening tantalizingly. Voice dropping to an almost-pleading murmur, “Look, I just need you to pretend to be my doting, loving, charming, gorgeous-” backtracking at your withering glare, “...Anyway. I just need a fake wife for a few months, convince my family to get off my back about arranged marriage n’ carrying the Gojo legacy. Then bam! you stomp all over my heart, we divorce and I’m too heartbroken to ever get married again. Easy.” 

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You bet Satoru’s disappointed groan echoed across all 23 words of Tokyo, because it was definitely ringing in your ears amongst whirlwind thoughts of marriage? To a yakuza? Completely, and utterly ridiculous. And from his talks of “carrying the family name” it seemed like he was some sort of future head as well. Though, he definitely wasn’t acting like it right now. 

“Alright. Plan B, then.” 

Oh? You couldn’t help but think that maybe he wasn’t that much of a manchild as sits up from where he’d been splayed all over the table in tragedy. Lacing his fingers together before turning to your father, continuing in a more diplomatic tone, “But I want the cash you took. In full. Now. Gonna hafta disguise my best friend as my wife, n’ dresses for a six foot man aren’t cheap.”

Your mother looked like she could faint right then and there. Choking out a noise of surprise, “B-but we’ve deposited it all for the relocation- Please, can’t we pay any other-”

At the firm shake of his head, you stammer, “Now? Aren’t you some yakuza nepo baby, can’t you just ask your parents for money?”

“No.” Satoru chuckles, in a tone which told you that he probably could but might just lose his head for it. Only further supported as he muses, “Not unless I want a finger cut off for dealin’ money on the side. Seriously, sweetheart, why did you think I sent you the invitation last week?”

“Take me instead.” you father cries, trying to negotiate above Satoru’s half-joking mutters of “Ugh, I’m not into ol’ men dumb enough to sign yakuza contracts.”

It was all too much. You couldn’t take out the relocation deposit - it was a new start, possibly the only thing to save your family. Nor do you have enough in savings to pay back the loan. And if Satoru’s warning was anything to listen to, then you knew that dealing with the yakuza could be dangerous. Why you? Why you? Why you? 

“Fine.”

The moment that word leaves your lips, it’s like the whole world freezes. Everyone in the room - including yourself - unsure of whether they heard you right. “I’ll do it.” you clarify, voice hesitant but firm. Eyeing the way Satoru’s eyes begin to sparkle, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips. Raising a finger to shush your father’s protests, “But for a month, until we leave this place. After that m’going with my family and you’re never to contact us ever again. Deal?”

And oh Satoru seemed over the moon, reaching out to grasp your hand in a handshake - so warm, and softer than you’d imagined. “Swear on m’life, wifey. You can kill me if not.”

He was so intimidating - and intimidatingly exhilarating.

Only an hour more of arguing and a quick phone call later, men - yakuza, you assume - were flooding your family’s little diner. All tattooed and burly, looking somewhat comical as they carried your few packed-up suitcases outside. Well, at least they stayed for a late dinner. 

And ended up being witnesses to a very rushed, very rushed signing of marriage agreements. Evidence to really show up your alleged marriage. It barely even lasted a few minutes before, well, that was that - you were married, to the son of a yakuza head. 

You say a quick goodbye to your teary parents, soothing them with promises of “I’ll be back before you know it. One month. That’s all.” 

“And don’t worry about a thing,” Satoru sing-songs, coming up behind you. “If there’s anyone she’s safe with, it’s me.”

“You better keep your mitts off of my baby.” your father warns, raising the baseball bat still clutched in his hand menacingly. 

“I won’t lay a hand on her, father-in-law. And anyone that even thinks about it…” he cackles, breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll kill.”

Prancing off to hold the door of that shiny black Mercedes parked outside open for you. “Ladies first.”

With another quick hug to your parents, you hastily make your way inside. Feeling extremely out of place amongst the overly luxurious interior in your slightly-stained work uniform. God, the covers on these cushions themselves probably cost more than your house. 

“Like the car? I can buy you one. Or four, as a wedding gift.” Satoru grins. 

Oh, right. You weren’t in here alone - you were here with your new…husband. The word felt so strange to even wrap your head around, instead you turn to meet his easy smile. Clenching your jaw as you grit out, “So how do we act m-married?”

You swear he brightens up impossibly, scooting closer to you on the seat. Heart lurching as he raises his eyes to meet yours, dizzy with the heat of his proximity, he promptly pulls out his Notes app. 

“Well, you see. I forgot to send this with the invitation so you better memorize this before we get home.” flashing you a long, long list of likes and dislikes, “Here’s my favorite color and my favorite Digimon and-”

That car ride could not have been longer. Because in addition to arguing with Satoru about who the best Digimon was, you had to fill out your own version of his overly extensive list. “So we can be foolproof.” he’d whined. And you’d been so engrossed in the process that you barely noticed the looming estate out the window.

“We’re here, young master and madam Gojo.”

It took a second to register that the driver was talking to you as well as Satoru, immediately pushing your face against the window to take in the scenic site before you. Heavy wooden doors - probably taller than an average house - opening to reveal sprawling gardens. Koi ponds and rose bushes lining a pathway that led to a traditional Japanese house - all power and glory. You half wondered whether you were still in Tokyo. 

“Home sweet home.” Satoru grunts. “Such a beautiful hell, huh?”

Your home, for the next month. At least. 

And if you had any doubt that Satoru was in fact the future yakuza head, that all went out the window at the welcome you got. Men lining the wooden hallway, bowing at the waist while your all-new husband wraps a hand around your shoulders, pointing out the various rooms and ornaments as he led you in. 

“-and this is going to be our room.” he brings you in front of a large tatami room, one the size of your entire diner. 

“Ours.” you repeat. Walking unhurriedly to the king-sized bed in the middle - the only bed. Heart pounding as you take it all in. 

“Ours.” Satoru echoes, happily. And if he was any bit as affected as you are, then he doesn’t show it, instead pulling out a blue yukata from the closet, a golden Gojo emblem stamped on the back. Made with such a pretty, delicate fabric that it made you shiver to think how much it cost. “Now, I had these made jus’ for you last week. You can give me a lil’ fashion show tomorrow, so make sure you get some rest, wifey.”

It’s only when he says the word “rest” that you realize exactly how tired you are. Your long shift and the entirety of this having your eyes feeling heavier than usual. 

“Um…” you start, risking a glance at the bed. 

Satoru jolts, “Ah- don’t worry, sweetheart. You take the bed.” beginning to saunter outside to meet his team. “Got some work, so I’ll be sleeping in my office. Dream of me~”

And, really, you almost felt bad splaying yourself out on the crisp navy sheets. Sinking into the heady smell of fabric softener, and something so so Satoru. Addictive. Like an expensive cologne that made your head spin, one that wafted through your mind as you dreamt of summer weddings, and blue, blue skies.

“Ichiji.”

“Yes, young master.”

“See to it that the madam is safe. Anyone try anything funny and you bring them back alive. I wanna be the one to play with them, okay~?”

“Of course, young master.”

---

Admittedly, you probably have the best sleep of your life at the Gojo estate- or, it would’ve been if your husband didn’t burst in every morning at 7am. Handing you a ridiculously big bouquet of white roses, straight from the garden, before dragging you outside. 

Milling about the estate, Satoru was never too far behind, chattering away. Letting you hold onto his strong arm crossing the bridges, occasionally having you show up to yakuza meetings as his plus one. Relishing in the rumors spreading all through the yakuza syndicates in Tokyo. Gojo Satoru, and the commoner wife he’d do anything for.

Weirdly enough, some strange little part of you thinks he puts in a lot more work than necessary for some pretend relationship…

“I think that stupid plan is really working, y’know.” you muse to him after a few days of this. Dipping your fingers into one of your favorite koi ponds with a nod at the figures watching you from a distance - Gojo clan elders, you assume. “Those old coots hate being within a five mile radius of me.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, “That so? S’probably the method acting then, huh? Taking good care of me, wifey?” he wiggles his eyebrows, nudging you from where he was holding an umbrella beside you. 

Furrowing your brows mockingly, “S’funny for you to say, they don’t even look at me. But they follow me around everywhere.”

“Do they annoy you, must I do my duty as a husband and gouge their eyes out?”

He…didn’t sound like he was joking. 

Rolling your eyes, you pointedly ignoring the way your heart lurches at the word “husband.” Still so jumpy at the idea. “Speaking of, your parents give up the marriage proposals, yet?”

At this, Satoru clenches his jaw. “Still nagging, but they’re finally considering you as my actual bride rather than some hijink.” he spits out, seemingly recalling whatever conversation they’d had before. “And they want to have some family ‘dinner’, but it’s going to be awful and you don’t-”

“Let’s go.” you interrupt, nodding determinedly. “The realer this marriage seems, the faster we can divorce, no?”

He blinks at you slowly, “That’s…true. For the divorce, then?”

“For the divorce.”

And, well, that was settled - you were to meet your new in-laws. The ever-elusive heads of the Gojo clan. Also one of the most powerful yakuza in all of Japan, but, semantics really.

You spend the evening cooped up with Satoru in the library, poring over the bloody history of the yakuza - with the Gojo’s heading them all. The only time he actually leaves your side is a few hours before the dinner. 

“For you.” he’d murmured, lips ghosting your ear, slipping something cold onto your finger. You look down to see one of the most beautiful rings you’ve ever seen - gold, with delicate blue and white diamonds encrusting it, cut in the shape of roses. “Can’t be married without a wedding ring, huh? Think of it as a good luck charm for tonight.”

And with that he’s swept away in a flurry of bodyguards and ruffled men, and you’re left standing there all alone. Cheeks burning, wondering how the hell he knew your perfect fit. 

You worry longer about the dinner than you spend actually preparing for it. Though, that’s probably because of the group of stylists that come into your room to help you dress. Wordlessly fussing around you despite your weak attempts at conversation, eyes averted. Almost like they were…scared of you. 

But there wasn’t much time to think of that - not when you’re being marched off in the direction of what you remember Satoru had called the family dining room. “More like a fuckin’ meeting room for those hardasses.” he’d snarked.

The moment you step in, all eyes turn to you - the only ones you recognize being Satoru’s, who immediately stands with a smile. “Ah, wifey! Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” pulling you into a tight hug. His voice drops into a low, raspy murmur in your ear, “Ya look fuckin’ gorgeous in my colors, y’know.”

Traitorously, jolts of electricity run down your spine. Especially at how fucking gorgeous he looked in traditional wear. Whispering back, “Playing up the doting husband bit, huh?”

“Only for you.”

Pulling away, you drink in his dangerously handsome state. Hair so effortlessly styled, tattoos winking at you from just above his yukata - blue, to match yours. So pretty.

Stammering out, “Corny.”

“Only for-”

“Now that the girl is finally here, may we begin with dinner?” A stained voice sounds from behind Satoru, old and tinged with a tone that years of customer service told you did not bode well. Craning your head, you look over his broad shoulders, meeting the eyes of several disapproving elders. 

Shit. Some of the most dangerous people in this country right now. 

Gathered here - for you. 

Automatically, you knew which ones were his parents - painfully upright, and hauntingly beautiful in a cold, calculated way. Sat right at the head of the long table. With a jolt, you realize that you two are seated right opposite them. 

“So.” his mother starts, as you take your seat with a bow. Satoru doesn’t waste any time on niceties, plopping down right next to you, scooting closer than necessary. “Congratulations on the…wedding, my son.”

My son. You ignore the way both parents pointedly avoided looking at you. Your husband, however, does not. “What~ Not gonna wish my dear wife as well?”

It’s a silent staredown - one that has the entire room on edge. You don’t realize that you’re clenching your fists in tension until Satoru untangles them, slipping his larger hands into yours. Gaze still alarmingly intense and locked on the other side of the table.

He wins.

“Congratulations. Let us begin now.” 

You breathe out a sigh of relief, the tension only slightly broken as butlers stream into the room, carrying decadent trays of food. Well, at least the food might make up for how appalling this dinner is going to be.

It’s only 15 minutes in that you realize how very, horribly wrong you are - because the elders of the Gojo estate really don’t hold back, do they? Thank God you memorized every part of that stupid likes and dislikes list.

Besides picking apart every aspect of your relationship that they could manage to squeeze out of you between the appetizer and the main course, the main scrutiny tonight seems to be you. But in that icy, subtle way that has Satoru’s jaw clenching tighter each second. 

Lips curling, Gojo senior eyes you over his wine glass. “So, dear,” voice dripping with underlying venom despite the pet name. “Is it true our Satoru missed an esteemed marriage meeting with the Zenin group to ambush you at some rundown old diner?”

You fight to keep the smile plastered onto your face, painful and cracking under the pressure. A hand squeezing under the table to stop Satoru from opening his mouth to retort, you answer instead, “Well, ambushed wouldn’t be the word. You could say we fell in love over the counter - at my family’s diner.”

“A waitress, she said?”

“Now we know why it was this rushed. Probably pregnant.”

“The scandal. How far the Gojo name has fallen.”

The few stifled gasps from the other end of the table are so dramatic that you could almost laugh. But you don’t. Breath hitching as Mrs. Gojo chuckles, “Marrying the daughter of a lowly diner owner? How... quaint.”

“Mother, be quiet or-”

“What?” she throws her hands in exasperation. “Can’t I say anything around here. Honestly, Satoru, I’m just trying to make conversation with your new wife.”

Before either you or Satoru can react, his father speaks up, apparently not done with the interrogation. “You understand that we’re just worried, right, dear? Especially with marrying into prestigious families, of course.” The emphasis on “prestigious” is not lost on you.” And it drives you insane. 

Steeling yourself, you train your eyes on the untouched food below you. “I understand.”

Plowing on as if trying to infuriate you, “And you understand that this position is dangerous? You’ll be targeted.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Don’t be swept up in our Satoru’s charm and wealth, dear, my son just wants a way out of duty.” tone dripping with disdain, Satoru’s grip becoming tighter and tighter on yours. “The Gojo syndicate owns half of this city, we could bulldoze over that little diner of yours with only one phone call”

“My wife and I are leav-”

“I said I fuckin’ understand.” Your words hang in the air like a foul stench, and you raise your head to glare. If looks could kill, all the elders in this room would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on their graves already. “Neither me, nor my husband would ever let that happen because he knows a thing or two about respect, unlike you.” Lacing your fingers tighter with Satoru’s. “So shove your mighty family up your wrinkly asses. I don’t give a flying shit.” 

Eyes wide, jaws dropped, the old couple opposite you finally seems stunned into silence. And if it was any other situation you could’ve almost laughed at how similar they looked to Satoru when he found out you thought his proposal was a prank.

His father adjusts his glasses. “Perhaps that is so.”

Ah, if only the rest of the table would be quietened just as easily. 

“Not only is she a slut she’s a-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not even sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. Because in a split-second, the knife that was at your side is suddenly embedded, deep into the wooden table - barely even an inch away from the elder that had spoken up. 

“You’re lucky I’m matching with my wife n’ didn’t want to dirty this new yukata.” a voice sounds from your side. Melodic and so so eerie that you don’t realize for a second that it’s Satoru - your Satoru. 

He loops an arm under your legs as he stands up. Easily maneuvering you into a princess carry, forcing you to cling onto his robes for dear life as your feet dangle from the floor. You look up - maybe to snap at Satoru to put you down - only for the words to die in your throat at how absolutely fucking feral your husband looked. Eyes wide, aura menacing. A grin gracing his features, not the familiar one which had your heart racing, no - something so dangerous and cold. 

“Now,” he hums. Turning his back to the room, gaze still locked with the shocked heads inside, “My lovely wife and I will be retiring. Won’t you all say goodnight to your future madam?”

You don’t know what shocks you more - the way everyone in that room mumbles out a disdainful little “Goodnight, ma’am.”, or the way Satoru cackles as he carries you to your shared bedroom. Laying you gently on the mattress with a quiet, “Be right back, sweetheart.”

What the fuck happened?

He could’ve killed that man. And looked like he wanted to. 

Your brain yells at you - run away run away run away- But you weren’t…scared? In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever been less fearful in your entire life. Especially not when Satoru stumbles back into the room, clearly rushing. Something warm spreading in your chest at the trays of food in his hands.

“Dinner’s better without a bunch of fossils on my kill list.” he grins. Settling right next to you on the bed, setting out the dinner he’d brought for you. And, well, you didn’t doubt that they really were on his kill list. 

“Hey, wifey.” Satoru speaks up after a few moments of silence, satisfied with the food laid in front of you. “M’sorry for putting you through that. No more family dinners from now.”

You inch closer to lay your head on his sculpted shoulder, a hand bringing up the food to his pretty lips. He smelled so good, faintly like pine, and clouds. It made you so dizzy. “Eat, Satoru.”

That’s all which is said, because maybe that’s all that was needed. And for a second there, you almost forget that this is all pretend.

---

“Hey, uh- mister. You alright?” you call out, voice barely audible over the rain. 

The sullen figure didn’t react at first, soaked through and eyes trained on the ground. Unmoving, even when you hesitantly drew closer, umbrella quivering in your hands. 

You should turn around - walk away like everyone else on the sidewalk was doing. But no, something about the way he sat alone, stoic to the storm around him made you inch closer. “Here.” you hold out your umbrella. “S’our diner’s, but you look like you could use this more than I do.”

He jolts, as if hearing you for the first time. A flash of blue, so quick you almost think you miss it. Still not raising his head fully, the man’s snowy hair tousles as he jerkily closes around the handle. Pretty. And so so sad.

“It’ll be alright.” you nod. 

And with that, you turn, running back in the rain to the haven of the diner, where your father was waiting impatiently - he’d just bought the boxes to start packing up for relocation. Fingers still burning ever-so-slightly where his hand had brushed against yours. How strange, you wondered his name.

---

Satoru stayed true to his word over the weeks that followed. His parents seemed well and fully intent on avoiding you. And, well, other than a few disdainful remarks, the elders mostly scurried away in fear at your very sight. 

The only thing that made your skin prickle was that the housekeepers had a penchant for peeping in on the two of you. Increasingly following you - they always did, but now…honestly, it was a bit disconcerting. 

But other than that, it was almost…peaceful. You wake up every morning to a large bouquet of burgundy roses at your bedside table - and a husband. Because Satoru had taken to sleeping on the little couch at the corner of your room every night - saying something about not wanting to rouse suspicion because if he actually had a wife he’d be “taking her to bed every night”. Somehow, you didn’t doubt it. 

“Funny how it’s getting close to a month of being married, but you haven’t even kissed me yet.” you deadpan. Looking down at where he was resting his head in your lap, sprawled across the soft grass in the garden.

Something else also happened - something different.

Because Satoru was a bit touchier, a bit closer. Like right now, preening into your fingers carding through his soft hair. “Oh~? Why, wanna take me to bed, wifey?”

“You wish.”

“Maybe I do.”

Your hands still, pulse racing as your eyes bore into Satoru’s, trying to figure out what sort of bad joke this was. Subconsciously, you find yourself leaning down closer - too closer. Close enough that you could count every shade of blue in his hungry gaze. But by the grace of whoever was above-

“Young master, please excuse the intrusion but you have-”

Sitting up abruptly, addressing the newcomer in a stone-cold tone. “How many fuckin’ times have I not told you to never bother me when I’m with my wife?”

The servant bows apologetically, sputtering out apologies as you move to get up. Flashing a smirk at Satoru’s dramatic pout, “I have to catch up on some reading anyway. See ya, Satoru.” 

“Noo~ my sweetheart don’t leave me~” 

You stifle a laugh at his little tantrum, so different from when he was serious. He was so….dizzying. “You’ll be okay, Satoru.” Glancing up nervously to meet the servant’s intense stare, studying the scene before him, how different his master was. “I’ll be at the library now.”

And Satoru notices - of course, he does. He sees that tiny flash of concern in your eyes. One that you might not have noticed yourself. He lowers his voice as you walk away, so you don’t hear him speaking behind you. Words dripping with a similar venom he always heard from his parents, “Now, tell me who you’re spying for. Names, first and last.” 

Satoru doesn’t join you in the library that day, the first time in weeks. And you find yourself missing him more than you should. It’s dark out by the time you’re raising your head from the books, joints aching from poring over them for hours. The house seems a lot quieter. Somewhat bigger. 

Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Something was wrong. 

Scratching the back of your head, you wander through the wooden hallways to your bedroom - wondering what was amiss. Your feet take you there as if on autopilot, thankful for Satoru’s meticulous tours. 

“Hey,” you smile softly at a servant making your bed, “Where are-”

Your question dies in your throat at the way she yelps at your words, hurrying down the corridor with a jerky bow. Weird. Leaving you all alone, and confused, muttering to yourself, it’s only then that you notice the flash of red by your bedside table. 

Not a bouquet. Only a single, red rose - a note tied around the stem, something you’d never gotten before. 

“The marriage proposals have been revoked, your contract is fulfilled, my ex-wife.”

Oh, reading that hurt more than it should’ve. You should be happy at being free, a few days earlier than expected at that - but it was over - just like that. You didn’t want to leave him. You didn’t want to leave him.You didn’t want to leave him.

 Were you going insane?

Clutching the flower like a lifeline, heaving out a sigh, “Maybe Satoru knows…”

“Thinking of me?”

Startled, you whirl behind to face your husband. In the dim-lighting, making out the stoney expression on his face, eyes wide and a little duller than they had been earlier today. 

“Satoru?”

His eyes light up at the mere sound of your voice - then you’re engulfed in him. Wrapping you in his arms, bowing his body into yours, so tight that it almost hurts. But you let him, fisting the fresh yukata in your hands - and that’s when you realize, he’s changed his robes since this morning. “Are you okay?” you whisper into his shoulder. Drinking in the smell of his cologne, and something faintly metallic. 

Every cell in your body is screaming at you to take the opportunity - to run away from this yakuza and his slaughter and whatever this was. But how could you? Staying rooted to the spot, not even a speck of fear.

Satoru heaves out a heavy breath, tickling the hairs at your nape as he pulls you impossibly closer. “Those nosy elders won’t be bothering you anymore, sweetheart. You’re free to go.”

A shudder runs down your spine at his words, and you didn’t want to think too hard about what they meant. Instead, you guide him to your bed - and, surprisingly, he allows you to. Letting the two of you sink into the plush mattress. With Satoru still in your arms. He repeats, “You’re free to go.”

Run away. Run away. Run away-

There it was again - that strained little manta. You stare right into his eyes, voice thick at the sinking feeling in your stomach. “My 30 days aren’t over yet.” 

“Leave. Please.” he grunts into the crook of your neck, like your hands drawing patterns down his back had broken some dam. “M’not a good man.” 

You press your lips to his forehead, searing and a desperate attempt to soothe the man. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I’m yakuza, sweetheart. Doomed to follow my parents here.” he mutters, strained and voice more unsure than you’ve ever heard. And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into your skin, “I hate it here, and you should, too. All these fuckin-”

“So go with me instead.”

“What if-”

“Toru.‘ you cut off his words, slurring and spilling out of his mouth. Gently, you pry him away from his little haven, reeling back to take a good look at the face he’s been hiding for so long. Hair mussed, curtaining his whirling eyes - all disheveled and vulnerable where he was once so suave. 

Your eyes bore into his, unwavering. “It’ll be alright, Toru.”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. Only when his lips meet yours, soft, and so so sweet, do you realize that this is everything you ever want right now - possibly these past few weeks. “Y’can kill me if you don’ want his.” he mutters into your open mouth.  

It’s so desperate - a messy clash of teeth and saliva, Satoru was drinking you in like you were the last drop of water on Earth. He tasted so sweet, like candy almost, and the gentle caress of a lover. You were addicted like you could do this forever and ever and-

And then he’s pulling away. A disappointed little whine leaves you involuntarily as he parts, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the space between you two. Satoru’s mouth drops into a soft oh! at the noise, surging forward minutely like he was about to kiss you senseless again. Only to halt with a pained grunt, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. 

“M’sorry.” Claiming your lips once again, like a man possessed. Drinking in your breathless gasps. Like he never wanted to let go. “F-fuck, sweetheart. Y’don’t know how crazy you drive me.” he pants.

“Why did you pick me?” you blurt out, a question that had been nagging at the back of your mind every time Satoru slipped his hand in yours, introducing you as his loving wife. “Was it just the debt?”

He’s kissing your pulse now, canines hovering over the erratic little cadence. Breathing you in like you were intoxicating. “No.” he’s licking a long, languid stripe up your neck. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down every inch of skin he could reach. 

“Then why?” your words come out in almost an embarrassing plea. But by the way his breath hitches, you know that Satoru loves it. 

“Because.” he breathes, “You treated me like a human.”

He’s capturing your lips with his again, nipping at your bottom lips. You squeal as he pulls, suddenly wanting him to tease you like this everywhere. To have him absolutely ruin you like you know he could - treat you like the wife he claimed you were. 

But Satoru wasn’t done yet - far from it. He chuckles, kissing down your neck, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Remember that night? You probably don’t, was rainin’ so hard I thought I’d drown out there.” Worshiping the valley between your breasts as he hastily unbuckles your bra. “That night was when the marriage proposals had come in. They said I’d either carry the legacy or be forced to leave the family. Kicked out of my own home.” 

And you’re reeling from both his words and the way Satoru was rocking his hips into yours now, something hot, and so achingly hard pressing in the damp area between your legs. “Thought I was gonna take ‘em all out that night.”

“Take them all out?” your breath hitches.

“Every. Single. One.” Fingers dancing across the hem of your panties. “Wouldn’t have felt bad about it either.” 

Satoru’s licking down your navel now, humming in confirmation into your skin. “But then…” he groans, taking in the first fucking sinful sight of your drenched panties. So flimsy and already dripping for him - and after just a few kisses, really? You were heaven on Earth. “But then along came you. So pretty and all worried f’me. The daughter of that diner owner I’d loaned money too.”

You watch, heart racing as Satoru swallows in awe. Darkened gaze locked on the way your slick beads out of your pussy, bare thighs trying to close - give yourself some semblance of dignity. But no- how could you? When Satoru’s holding them apart.

“And then I knew…” he’s sliding his index underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertip before popping it into his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut at the taste, and you’ve never seen him look so blissful. “I just had to have you.”

Rip! 

The cold air brushes against you before you even know it - only when you feel Satoru’s hot breath against your dripping cunt does it hit - this bastard just ripped your panties off. And he was dangling it like a badge of honor, breathing in your juices so animalistically. 

Your lips wobble as he just admires your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing. “Hah- please.”

“Please what?” he grins, and you can feel him licking little circles around your inner thigh. So close. “The wife of a yakuza boss has gotta know how to use her words.”

“You’re awful.”

“And yet you married me.”

With such a cute lil’ whine that makes Satoru’s cock twitch so painfully, you buck your hips closer to his hot mouth. “Wan’ your mouth on me, to eat me out. Please, Toru.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, “There’s my girl.”

You gasp when he surges forward, burying his pretty face nose-deep in your pussy. Holding your breath as he lazily licks up your folds - long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Swirling deftly around the sensitive nub. 

Drunk off your pussy with the way he’s so messy - seemingly unable to decide between sucking harshly on your poor, ravaged clit to dipping into your sloppy hole. And it’s driving you mad, keening and pulling at his soft locks. You haven’t been touched this good in ages, and Satoru was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

“Shhh, don’t worry, wifey.” words muffled into your cunt, “Your husband’s gonna take care of you.” He’s throwing your legs over his broad shoulders.

“Real good care of you.” Then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, the tips of his long fingers massaging your plushy walls. Messy enough that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Roaming for that one spot he knows will have you moaning deliciously. Pressing down, hard.  “Found it. Gonna have you screamin’ my name til’ the entire estate hears.”

You tug on his hair, urging Satoru’s mouth towards your cunt - partially because you wanted him there, partially because you really needed him to shut up right now. 

And shit how could he ever say no to his pretty wife?

Satoru is grinning, you can feel it on your throbbing clit as he wraps his pretty pink lips around it. Pumping his fingers in and out, hitting that little spot each and every time. Looking like he was absolutely in heaven as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over and-

“Sh-shit. Toru-”

“Mmm, yes- fuck, love it when you call me that.” he groans. And oh he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you - eyes half-lidded, such a pretty blush disting his cheeks - and making out with your pussy just as much. Tilting his head back, back, back so that your juices slide down his throat. “Feels good? Ya like when m’ruining your pretty pussy?”

“Yes!” you squirm. Shaking, bucking your hips into his touch so desperately. “Wanted it s’bad.” 

He’s becoming frenzied now, drinking in your cute little whimpers like he was addicted. But it wasn’t enough - it never was and fuck Satoru wanted more more more-

“Move your hips, yeah- jus’ like that.” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Letting you pull and angle him just as you please. 

“Gonna be the best fuckin’ husband you’ll ever have. N’ anyone that says otherwise, m’gonna fuckin’ kill.” The vibrations have your body jerking violently. “Make you cum harder than y’ever have. C’mon, say yes.”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and bullying his tongue through your swollen folds. Stretching you, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Jaw grinding deeper into you as he eats you out like his last meal. “Ngh- fuck, yes yes yes-”

“Beg for it, beg for your husband.”

“Wanna cum- Ah! Please, wanna cum, Toru.”

One hand so messy toying with your dripping entrance - not having the patience or the sanity to even draw circles anymore. Just quick, hurried patterns to get you off. The other digging into your hips, so hard you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. Making you drag your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. Using him. 

“Hngh- Toru! Ah- fuck fuck Toru Toru T-”  You’re shaking - crying out as you cum. A guttural, strangled moan of your husband’s name. So violent, and hard that you don’t even realize at first. Just that you’re rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears.

And he doesn’t stop - not even once. If you were in any better state of mind you’d wonder whether it hurt - whether his fingers were cramping up, and his tongue was tired. If they were, he didn’t show, only letting you chase your high as roughly as you want. 

Greedily lapping up all your juices. Even when you’re blinking your vision back, chest heaving as you try to regain our breath. “S-Satoru.” you mewl, stars behind your eyes with each flick of his tongue. 

“Jus’ a bit more. Wanna taste all of you.”

You weren’t going to make it out alive.

Big, fat tears pricking at your eyes from the overstimulation as Satoru finally rises from what you almost worried would be his favorite seat. “All done. Now, keep that pretty lil’ cunt on display f’me, my girl.”

And your cunt is clenching in- fear? Anticipation? As your husband finally unties his yukata, letting it slide off those milky, toned shoulders. And shit he was such a fucking masterpiece. The dim-lighting bouncing off every curve and dip of those carved abs. Delicate swirls of his tattoo inching from his collarbone, down, down, down, hugging Satoru in a way that made you so half-lucidly jealous. All the way till the last inky thorn meets the neat tufts of white hair peeking up from the hem of his underwear. 

“Touch me.” he groans into your ear. The words barely leave those pretty lips before your hands are everywhere. Dancing down his tattoo, groping at this pecs - too much to worship, not enough time. 

“Toru…” you trail off, hand reaching out to brush his waistband. Tugging just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, fat tip weeping down his length, already so soaked in precum. He was so intimidatingly long - longer than anyone else you’d had before. Thick enough that you wondered whether you’d hurt yourself. 

And he sees right through you.

“Now now, none of that.” he tuts, pushing your bare thighs as far apart as they’d go. He spreads your cunt so shamefully with his thumb. Spitting once, twice. Some of it splatter against your thigh as Satoru mixes his saliva with your slick. “Don’t worry, wifey, m’gonna make it feel good for ya.”

You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he drags his fat head down your folds. Wetting himself, all the preparation he was going to give you because fuck Satoru needed to be inside your pretty lil’ pussy right now. 

Then you feel like you’re being split apart - as if Satoru’s cock was pushing all the way to your lungs as he presses through the first ring of muscle.

“Ah! Ngh- Toru, s’too big!” you yelp, eyes locked on the way your lips were stretched so lewdly around his tip. Clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in, inch by fucking inch. No mercy. Absolutely none at all. 

And while he sounded like he was on cloud nine, you were having your head spin, torn between wanting to run away from his massive cock and just push yourself down for more more more. His lips claim yours - absolutely animalistic because God he needed to shut up your pretty whines or else Satoru was going to cum right here right now.

“Breathe, sweetheart, breath. Ngh- You can take it.” Satoru pants into your mouth, fucking into you in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to fit inside your snug cunt. Sounding like he was losing his sanity each time your heavenly walls milked him. “So fuckin’ tight. Jus’ relax f’me. Oh yeah, jus’ like that. You can take it you can-”

You gasp for air when he finally bottoms out inside you, tears streaming down your face and clawing at his back. 

Satoru only coos, letting you mark him up all you want. Pace increasing relentlessly, “Aww, my good lil’ wife. Taking me so well, huh?” Starting to rock his hips just a bit faster into yours, “Always knew y’would.” 

“Can y’feel me, right-.” Balls smacking against your ass, his finger tracing an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “-here?” Thumb stroking where he could feel himself bulging inside you, pressing down. Hard. 

You almost sob at the pressure, jolting - you should’ve expected that the yakuza boss would fuck so mean.

And shit you can just do nothing but take it, hips jerking wildly as Satoru pounds into you with reckless abandon. Clutching at his shoulders, the sheets, his hair - just anything. 

“C’mon~ Don’t run away from me,” he grunts, strained like he’s struggling to maintain restraint. Lacing his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper onto his cock. “Jus’ fuckin’ got you, so don’t you dare run away.”

You can only nod. Eyes glazed, cockdrunk and letting him thrust so sloppily. “Won’t run away Toru…” you babble, “Wan’ you to make me yours.”

“Mine? Gonna be all mine?”

“All yours, Toru.”

And maybe you were an idiot, maybe you were a mastermind - because with a choked out little moan of what sounded like your name, Satoru’s pulling you both to sit up. The gravity makes you bury his cock deeper and faster into your tight pussy.

With the new angle, your husband’s hitting all the right spots easily, almost as if he knew your body better than you did. Veins rubbing so deliciously against your walls, shifting around your hips to fuck up into that poor, abused spot. 

“Ya like this, huh?” he groans, fingers now toying with your ravaged clit. Rolling it around harshly between two fingers. “Always knew this cute pussy could take me s’well. Just didn’t know it would feel this fucking heavenly.”

Faster, sloppier. Bouncing you on his rock-hard cock  like he was claiming you from the inside. So, so desperate and debauched.

And exactly where you wanted to be. 

You leave delicate pink bites down this pale neck, alongside those roses - marking him in your own way as you edge closer and closer. It was too much. Everything was too much. 

“Toru-” you sob. And he already knew what that meant. With how your voice breaks so adorably and the way you’re clenching around him hard enough that it’s almost difficult to ruin that cute pussy. 

“Close?” 

“Mhm…”

“Well then.” thrusts getting sloppy, with no reason or rhythm now. Grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Cum f’me like a good lil’ wife, then.”

And that makes you throw your head back in ecstasy - it makes you cum. Thighs quivering, jolts of electricity running down all the way from your overstimulated cunt to your hazy mind. It has you chanting Satoru’s name like a lifeline while his teeth dig into your flesh. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood.

Letting out low, muffled moans into your neck while he cums as well. Hot ropes of seed filling up your poor, bloated pussy, painting your walls such a sinful white. Cumming and cumming so hard you wondered whether you’d make it out alive.

And because of the obscene position, you could feel the way it dribbled down your legs. Thick globs landing in a pool on the overpriced sheets below, smearing so lewdly between you two. Hips still fucking up into you - not even thinking about it as he pushes his seed deeper and deeper. 

You managed to raise your eyes, still dazed to meet his - exhausted, and dark with lust and something else that you really weren’t in the right mind to decipher right now. 

And then Satoru’s lips find yours again, biting and tugging lazily. Tasting so unfairly of candy and sweet, sweet trouble. Body melting into you like all the worries have been lifted from his shoulders. He’s looping his arms tighter around your waist, crushing you into an almost-painful hug against him. 

Something soft. Something new. Something that makes a little part of your heart twinge to break the kiss and pull away mere millimeters. “We better not divorce after this.”

“Of course not.” He chuckles into your lips, resting his forehead against yours like he was trying to map the constellations in your eyes. “I haven’t even given you my wedding gift yet.”

Smirking, you lock your legs tighter around Satoru’s toned waist as he lets the two of you fall back into the mattress. Sinking into it - and each other - with both exhaustion and something of a quiet, unspoken little fondness. Batting your lashes up at him, “Mhm, I remember someone talking about giving me four mercedes as a wedding gift and I’m leaving if not.”

“Well then, better get to it. Four for my in-laws to get on their good side, too,” he nuzzles the bite mark on your neck. “Because I plan to stay like this for a long, long time.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[massiveladycat]

i will never get over people laughing at octavian's death personally,,, he was SHOT INTO THE AIR!!! thats so painful. all the burns and the impact, plus being flung from a cannon and probably slamming into gaia (literal earth goddess) plus festus (gigantic metal dragon, i bet that HURT) and leo (pretty sure leo was burning)

he was a kid and he was annoying to some people and he was usually antagonized but he didnt deserve to die OR go out in that way. the gods are a thousand times worse than octavian, and apollo told him that he'd be a savior of new rome, but people still justify them. not to mind there are much worse people in the PJO universe (gabe, LUKE)

octavian ily they could never make me hate you EVER. idc what you say he could have been redeemed. did he do bad things? yes. but he was so deeply influenced and the day meeting with leo and the others, in which i remind you octavian literally was watching new rome get blown up (no wonder he was livid, his home was on FIRE).

like come on. octavian is a complex character and people aren't willing to admit that he could've been better and he was just a literal teenager in the sake of hating him because everyone else/pjo characters hate him.

he is such a tragic character imo because he grew up in new rome and all he wanted to do was protect it (and he was highly ambitious and aiming for praetor, i won't deny the fact that he was selfish but that is a quality that can be REDEEMED) and sure the way he went about it was messed up but most of his actions (except killing that one centurion) were justifiable

btw im not saying octavian's like an angel or anything im pretty sure i remember him "killing" a 5th cohort centurion once but then she was revived which . . . what was the point of that?? was it just to like make us hate him more?? huh??? and then was it even ever talked about again?? also yeah he blackmailed hazel thats not good also judging from the wikipedia it only said frank suspected octavian because.. he didn't have his spear?? what?? reminder that there is proof that a lot of pjo characters are unreliable narrators and for all we know octavian could've screwed up somehow and left his spear somewhere (just saying i'd do that too ngl)

also "I am the savior of Rome! I was promised!" i didnt know why but that quote DESTROYED me but now i know that it was because he genuinely believed he was doing the best for new rome and he'd finally have someone's praise and they'd praise him like they praised percy and reyna. pretty sure his mental state was not very good in that scene either and nico and will just let him shoot himself out of an onager on accident. also are we just going to gloss over the fact apollo told him that and encouraged him he was doing the right thing?? of COURSE octavian trusted apollo on that and believed it was the truth; apollo was his ancestor and someone he worshipped as an augur and trusted in for omens and prophecies and allat

yeah. octavian's an asshole. but he was a kid and he couldve been redeemed. then again i am a huge octavian apologist and im not saying you have to have the same opinions as i do also i will not be responding to any asks in my inbox im 2 tired to deal with that!! anyways dont go and insult people or me if you think the opposite thats fine !! i was just bored and found this in my drafts so whats the harm of posting it because im not going to get sent threats over this right,,, right??????

[cherry-pop-elf]

Detox Day

George Weasley x Reader

Summary: It had been a long day of work, and your poor Hubby needed to detox a little. So, what better way than to have his loving partner help him out? First to put your son to bed, and remind him he deserves some self care

Warnings: 18+, So much fluff, gentle sex, domestic fluff, oral (male reviving) foot massages, kinda foot fetishy? This fic is very fluffy and playful, technical fem doming? ((George is EXTRA submissive in this one. Love me a man that whimpers. Mm))

“Dad’s home-!” Little Freddy shouted, the moment he heard the door open. Poor George hardly got a foot through said door, before Junior jumped onto his leg. Holding on for dear life, as if George would fade into a mist. Just never wanting to let go.

Despite being so bone dry tried, he just couldn’t resist his baby boy. He would take his dress suit jacket off, and hang it, before yanking his son into the air. Holding him high, and making him laugh. Squeals of pure delight filled the air, before he was attacked in kisses. Being held back just as tightly, as you watched.

“How was the shop-?” You asked, as you finished up dinner. Normally you helped out, of course. But George wanted to make sure Freddy had a stable life. Even as a baby, George made sure to have him in a sling around him. With ear protection, of course, while working in the shop. Not wanting to have a strained relationship. Much like what happened with his own parents. Seven kids isn’t as stable as people think. He wanted to make sure little junior always had a parent to love him deeply. When Freddy starts Hogwarts, that’s when you’ll return. That’s a promise.

<OH THE STORIES I HAVE TO SHARE WITH YOU> He would sign, so that Freddy didn’t notice, as he was busy hugging his father. Sounded, ironically, like he had himself a very bad day. One for little ears to not bear. As much as he didn’t want Junior to be naive to the world, he still needed a childhood just as much.

“Now come on over to dinner, you two. Still warm.” You gently encouraged, as Freddy was soon climbing onto his father’s shoulders. Quick to sit on them, and rest his head on the older man’s. Oh how identical they were. The same wild hair, same little smile. You loved them so much. Couldn’t stop yourself from joining in with the grins, as you rounded them up for a much needed meal.

For once, George had actually stayed rather quiet. That concerned you, as you ate. The meal wasn’t silent, however. Junior was more than happy to fill the quiet. Talking about the day he had with you. George was smiling at each word, but you could read him like a book. He was tired. So very tired. Not a need for sleep tired. That defeated tired. Suppose the weight of Fred no longer being in the shop was weighing on him again. His other half, if you will, no longer there for support. He felt alone, and tried to drown himself in work again. Guess you’ll need to fix that, won’t you?

“And then and then-“ But a yawn was quick to cut the little boy off. Poor thing talked himself tired again. A habit he’s developed. Just so full of energy. “Georgie, can you clean up while I put Freddy to beddy?” Was asked, as you hoisted the tot in the air. He whined, with the normal complaints of not being sleepy.

“Sure thing, love. Big boys need lots of rest.” George was quick to sooth. A gentle kiss to the little boys temple, and a squeeze to his little hand. “Love you, Junior.” He added, as your little boy smooshed his cheek against George’s. Reminded you so much of when Fred and George often did that. As a mock facade of ‘cute innocent little boys that could do no wrong.’ You don’t know how he picked up the habit, but a sneaking suspicion that there was a ghost at WWW wasn’t out of your mind.

“Love you to, Daddy.” He yawned, as you would bring the little boy to your chest. Humming away, as you escorted him to his bedroom. Rich in all that he loved. Tucked into bed he went, with his favorite little toy. A dragon plush from his uncle Charlie. Still smelled like soot, and that’s what soothed your tike. Snuggled in his grandmas quilts, and listening to you read him a bedtime story.

George would happily watch, as Junior gave him a sleepy wave. Along with a waving paw from the little dragon. George returned it, and gave a little finger wave to the dragon as well. Making sure they were both greeted. Seemed seeing him at the door way was what helped sooth Freddy to sleep. Out like a light, with his father quick to kiss his head. Doing his best to still be as involved in his life as he could. Even when so horribly tired. So much as just being physically there does wonders.

The door would be closed, with his night lights set, before George finally let himself drop his facade. The age in his face there in a blink. The sag, the exhaustion, the pale cheeks, everything seemed to just scream defeat. He learned to hide his emotions very well, after the war. Broke your heart to know it. He was just so damn drained.

“Go and sit down. I’ll grab you a drink, and you can tell me about your day.” You offered, with a kiss to his cheek. Earned you a crooked smile, as that sounded delightful to him. To just take a minute to let it all soak in. Get his muscles undone.

Into the comfortable arm chair he went. Just leaning back into it, and letting himself melt for a moment. Get off his exhausted feet, and breathe. Your poor hubby. Some Fire Whiskey is needed, and many other little TLC’s.

You would return with the glass, and bottle, to be placed on the table next to him. Along came a kiss to his cheek, before you were sitting at his feet. Your head in his lap, as you hugged his legs. Showing all your attention was on him. Making sure he knew you were there.

“Where do I even start-?” He groaned, as he would take the drink in one swift swallow. The way he rubbed his temples told you it all. A rough day at the shop. Your poor hubby. Not a day where he could just be playful and himself. A bullshit day of bullshit and more bullshit.

He would soon ramble about the day, as he poured another glass. Talking on about the parents, as you would work on untying his shoes. Placing them aside, and smiling to yourself. One sock being orange with purple stripes, and the other purple with orange polka dots. Never change, George. Never change.

“Then she asked for a refund. She asked for a refund, on a love potion, because the person she gave it to didn’t fall in love with her. It made sense, until she explained that he used it as perfume. That’s not how it works, and for the love of Merlin-“ He rambled on, as you would soon massage at his aching feet.

“Damn that feels good-“ He groaned, as he leaned back. Whatever else he was trying to say was forgotten. Just the comfort of being pampered. Not something he was used to. He’s normally the one drowning you in affection. So, you pulled a sneaky. You pampered him because it made you feel better. Get rekt.

“Poor baby. I can feel the blisters already. Such a hard working man. Even with magic, you just have to keep busy.” You tsked, playfully, as you gave his foot a hug. Making him playfully push at your cheek with the socked appendage.

“Got a thing for feet or something, you freak?” He teases on, as you gave a playful bite at his foot. “Freak of nature-“ He scoffed, but you both laughed. Hypocrite he was. Have to be a weirdo to think you could become one of the richest men in the Gaelic isles from a joke shop. Then prove yourself right.

“You are to be blamed for it all.” You egged on, before you would snuggled between his legs. Your chin on his chair, and looking up at him. So much love and devotion, returned in your own gesture. Those big brown eyes. You could stare into them forever. So full of spark, even after so many years. They were still so full. Despite it all, he was alive. Both physically, and mentally.

“Gonna just stare at me all night? Not complaining-“ He would smirk, as he would sway his cup of whiskey. A satisfying buzz on his tongue, as you were happy he was relaxing. He needed it, and you were going to make sure he would get some good sleep tonight.

With a grab of your wand, you gave it a flick. Casted a silencing charm, and an alert charm as well. In case Freddy needed either of you, but also warn you so you don’t traumatize him with what you were about to do.

“I have other things in mind.” You winked, as he rose a brow. With the wand set aside, as you would kissed his thigh. Taunting him, as you would rub at his calves. Getting him to give a blissful hum, as he closed his eyes. Just enjoying being touched.

Just something slow, and gentle. That’s what he needed. He deserved it. To relax, and for you to pamper him. You both loved it. To flip the script, and enjoy each other’s company. To hear each others whispers, and blissful sighs.

“Let’s get you more comfortable.” You whispered, before starting to unzip his dress pants. The sigh of relief he gave, when you pulled them down, was just heaven to your ears. To admire the hard on forming in the orange fabric. You couldn’t help but kiss it, and appreciate it. The simple act of being aroused by someone he loved so much.

“Such a tease.” He muttered, as he enjoyed another lazy sip. Wasn’t something he normally did. Made him feel like some Head Of The House bullshit he hated. As being in a family of seven siblings, everyone played a roll. There was no real ‘boss’ of the family. Molly more so was the leader, than any boss. He hated the idea of hierarchy, but he knew you genuinely enjoyed these moments. Communication is sexy.

“Learned it from the best.” You winked, as he rolled his eyes. <SARCASTIC BITCH> He signed. Well, more so said Female Dog. Even with sign language, he was cheeky. You retaliated with a flip off. “Ah, how educated of you. I would think you were a pure blooded noble~” He fanned himself, making you snort into his thigh.

“Let me be sexy, for like two seconds-!” You begged, between your snorts. That had him laugh even more. It was hard to take things to serious, and that was wonderful. Most of the time. Just to be at a point that it’s just laughter, instead of awkward noises and averting eyes.

“Ok ok, be sexy. Go-“ He finger gunned, with a wink. That had you slap his thigh. “Gregory, please-!” Was just more laughter, as you tried to get back in the mood. Even if you couldn’t, the love of laughter was all that mattered. You loved how he found a way to make you laugh, no matter what. It was wonderful.

“Alright, I yield. Go on ahead. Be sexy.” He would fight his giggles, with another sip from his whiskey. Savoring the flavor, as to try and calm himself down. Along with not he sloshed, because he damn well wanted to enjoy the moment.

With your breathe caught, and tears wiped away, you were finally able to return to the prize. Had you biting your lip, as you admired it. After so many times, you still couldn’t help but get excited to. No matter the years.

You would tug down his underwear, and watched it spring to life. The groan of relief was sending a thrill down your spine, as he was able to get the relief of the air on his exposed cock. Chilling, but needed from the heat of the whiskey in his system.

“Now time for my drink.” You grinned, as you kissed the tip of his cock. A few gentle kisses down it, as it throbbed against your lips. Excited to be given attention. You were more than happy to give him such. Little kisses, up and down his dick. Just taking it easy, as he enjoyed the view.

“Wonder if I’ll be able to taste that whiskey….” You absentmindedly muttered, before you run your tongue up the side. That got him to shiver, as he would hold onto the chair. Just letting you take full control, as he enjoyed the buzz in his chest and groin.

He was just so cute. How his freckles looked like stars, on those roses cheeks. The way his eyelids fluttered, when you licked over his tip. How he bit his lip, when you gave attention to his balls. He had so many beautiful expressions. Who could resist a submissive man?

“Please…..” He almost whimpered, as he stayed a good boy. Keeping his hands firm on the arm rests, and letting you remain in charge. Good boys deserved rewards, and rewards were given to those good boys.

The head of his cock would slip past your lips, and he moaned in relief. The heat of his cock in your mouth was exciting, as his need for you was impossible to hide. How his heart was racing in your mouth, as you took more down.

“Fuck….Fuck that feels good-“ He moaned for you, as you looked up to him. How his face was even more flushed, and how his nose did its cute little scrunch. Oh how you loved when his nose would speak for him. Was just an adorable thing. Had you smile, as you would bob your head. Pulling out more moans of pleasure.

It was simple, like that. It didn’t always have to be complex. Nor hot and steamy. Sometimes, you just wanted to pamper your partner. Make love. Remind them how much you love them. Course, it’s also quite the bonus to hear all the sounds they made. Not distracted by the heat of the moment. All for you to enjoy.

After a while, you could feel his cock throbbing in your mouth. Had your eyes look up, and you could see the way he was trying to hold back. The way he was panting, with his pretty lips parted. His hair slightly a mess, and his eyes closed. Such beautiful lashes he had. Ever fluttering, when your rubbed your tongue over a vain.

He was close, and you wanted him to spill. Spill into your mouth, and watch him whimper your name. To breathe heavy, and drool ever so slightly. To just let all that tension leave his body, as you would take good care of him. Make sure he was cozy, and relaxed.

“Fuck fuck fuck-“ His whimpers answered your prayers, as you would take him deep down your throat. Savoring the feeling, as his cock was spurting down it. Oh his moans were just the trumpets of heaven. How his chest heaved, and his stomach clenched. The way his head rolled back, and his mouth opened wider. You didn’t need to get off. That was your reward. A whimpering man.

With his high coming down, you would pull off from his cock. Happy to have swallowed it all, and even gave the tip a little peck. As a thanks. Thanks for giving you such a beautiful sight.

“That hit the spot.” He sighed, as you stood up. A gentle hand to brush his hair aside, as he kissed his cheek. Right on the scar, from when he lost his ear. A reminder you loved all of him. Every, last, inch.

“I better return the favor-“ He said, but you poked his nose. “In the morning, hm? Time for you to get some needed sleep.” You would hush, with another kiss to his cheek. That got a whine of protest, but he knew he was a bit tipsy. Best to enjoy the buzz, instead of risking a hang over.

With his pants and underwear taken off, he would strip off the rest of his exhausted clothes. Nothing a Accio for his sleep wear couldn’t fix. Into those comfy pajamas bottoms, and old shirts that once belonged to his older siblings.

The two of you would quickly give one last check to Freddy, seeing him peacefully asleep, before returning to your own bedroom. To go through your own sleep routine, before snuggling close. Yourself in one of his stolen shirts. Nothing more comfortable than that.

“What did I do to deserve you?” He asked, as he would play with your hair. “Exist.” You smirked, before he rolled his eyes. Regardless, those words meant a lot. It’s been such a burden to be a lonely twin, but you’ve made it easier. You made him alive.

“Love you, so much, jellybean.” He would give you a gentle kiss, and you returned it. Tucked under his chin you went, as he hugged you tighter. A squeeze of reassurance, as the sounds of late night Diagon soothed you both to sleep.

A simple night, but those were cherished all the same.

[justpeaxchy]

'So My Darling'

A/n: I haven't finished my other wip's yet, so in the meantime, I decided to write this rq. Enjoy! 🐢

Warnings(?): none!

Hiccup x !fem reader!

-You realize the feelings you have for Hiccup aren't what a normal 'best friend' should have.

The day was coming to a close, the sun delicately edging the clouds in an orange tint, with a faint pink glow making itself visible amongst the remaining bright colors. You loved sunsets, to say the least; the sight brought a small sense of comfort to your mind whenever endless thoughts seemed to pour in, which was partly happening to you already.

There wasn't much of an opportunity for him to go far anymore, but your search for the past twenty minutes could've attested otherwise. Thinking you had used up all of your chances for finding him, your hopes were quickly revived as you finally spotted him a bit of a distance away, sitting comfortably on the edge of a nearby cliff side. You heaved a light sigh of relief, signaling for your dragon to land on the same area.

The very second your feet touched the ground, you spoke loud enough for him to hear: "And what do you think you're up to, Chief?" You suppressed a grin when his head turned to get a better view of your approaching form, a ghost of a smile tugging on his own lips.

"Oh, nothing.." Hiccup shrugged, "Just thought I should try a new...hideout. I'll give it to you, though, you found me in the same day I came here..!" An amused glint sparkled in his eyes, emerald iris's following you as you went to sit down next to him with a dramatic sigh. Toothless was off playing with your dragon as soon as you both arrived, the tree branch they suddenly found being the very thing that kept them entertained as they were engrossed in tug of war.

"Yeah...I think twenty minutes is a bit too long for me to discover your hideout.." You muttered, Hiccup still being able to hear every word you said above the passing breeze.

"Well, it's nice to know I'm on your mind that much." He said, sarcasm practically dripping off his voice. His words would be something he regretted, however, when you abruptly jabbed his side with your finger from where you sat. "Okay, okay, I take it back!" He raised his hands in surrender as you silently threatened to do it again, nodding in satisfaction when he admitted defeat.

"What a shame...you keep talking like that and you might be here all by yourself again.." You examined your nails as they suddenly became of more 'importance', using all the strength you had left in you not to smirk at the dramatic gasp Hiccup did.

"Oh, so it's like that now?" He straightened his posture from where he sat, his gaze not yet removing itself from you.

"Hey, you started it with your sassy attitude the moment I came up here." You shrugged.

Deciding to return the same jab you did, although it was much lighter than yours probably was, the Chief poked your shoulder, "Me? Sassy? You're the one who's been staring at your hands this whole time and not even looking at me once."

No longer hiding the playful smile that traced your lips, you spoke in a nonchalant manner: "Correction; it was my nails. Not my hand...sort of."

Hiccup faintly rolled his eyes, still pointedly keeping his fixed gaze on you, who was still not returning it. "Will you at least look at me, then..?" His voice was slightly softer than before, the action briefly taking you aback. Since you were known to give in easily when it came to him, you sedately started off with a glance in his direction before fully turning towards him.

"It's nice to know you want to look at me that much." You said, ignoring the exiguous warmth that dusted over your face. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to smile when you noticed his own lips pull upward in fulfillment.

"There. That wasn't so hard, now was it?" He spoke gently, although a hint of amusement was clearly heard by you when he noticed his own words were repeated.

You, who were so observant of Hiccup. You, who were one of the closest people he claimed to have by his side. People often assumed that the relationship you both had was one of a sibling dynamic; it was starting to rub off on you in the wrong way. Growing up on Berk, your attention would somehow always land back on the skinny teenager who tried to prove himself - over and over again. Despite that, you took it upon yourself to really know him, to know who Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the third was. You hadn't expected to get this close with him, though.

If anything, he was the first person you had gotten into a genuine friendship with. There were others your age that you would spend time with, but it was different when Stoick's son came to be around you. You witnessed his bravery, his courage, his selflessness, and his determination when he discovered Toothless. It was always there, but it seemed to be stifled out by the whole village with every attempt he gave to show it. You, however, saw all of those traits - especially when you watched him defend his tribe that always looked down on him. He lost part of his leg because of it.

You were the only other person who knew about Toothless in the beginning, mostly because you found him trying to track the Night Fury when he shot him down, and he had no other choice but to practically beg you to keep the dragon a secret. You were reluctant, not knowing what the outcome might be, but you agreed nonetheless. You became more glad with each passing day that you did; it allowed the opportunity for your friendship to grow, to blossom and sprout into what it was now. However, one burning question still remained in your mind concerning that: what was your guy's relationship?

The immediate answer would be close friends, siblings that aren't blood related, two peas in a pod, everything a friendship should be.

Was that what you wanted?

You witnessed his sarcasm, his caring side, his good-natured heart, his tenacity, and certainly his stubbornness. He was complex, more than meets the eye, and yet he was also very simple to read when inspected close enough. He was like his map; there was always something more to look at when it came to him. He expanded on those traits of his as he matured into an adult, carrying the burden of his father as he became the Chief of Berk. He always reminded you that he was thankful to have you with him through it all, and you were as well, but something in you longed to be recognized as more than a best friend.

You didn't understand why, when, or how it started; that feeling which would always pick at the back of your mind. It grew with you as you left your teenage years, leaving you clueless as to what you were going to do for it.

"Actually, it was a bit hard...considering how you were acting." You muttered, sarcasm coating each word.

Hiccup lightly shook his head, briefly rolling his eyes as he shifted more comfortably in his spot next to you. "Okay, okay, enough of both of our attitudes.." He looked out at the sky around him, the mixing colors of orange and pink creating an ethereal sight while he talked lightheartedly. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of having you come here?"

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes as you kept a subtle gaze in his direction. "No need to sound so weird about it.." Your hand almost reached out for his, but you forcefully told yourself not to carry out those actions with a faint sigh. "I only wanted to...see what you were doing is all."

Hiccup's attention flickered over to your hands that had now started fidgeting, a gentle wind greeting the two of you from where you sat. "Hm. I can tell something is on your mind, y'know... Are you sure that's it?"

You took a deep breath in, relishing in the weather that seemed to be just right; it wasn't too cold like it usually was, but there was enough warmth to make it pleasant enough to stay outside for a longer period of time. Similarly, you often reminded yourself to be that way towards him; you wouldn't allow yourself to be too close with him in that manner, as the cold was barely noticeable, leaving a clement touch to those encompassed by it. However, there was also the warmth. The warmth that provided the comforting embrace of amiability, a distant affection that was still noticeable from afar. The heat balanced out the frigid air.

Nonetheless, the main question still stood: would he let you in? Would he let you in the unspoken of area in his heart that would've made you more than a best friend? The thought always came with a certain emotion of fear; fear that your friendship will collapse into mere dust if you barely mentioned what you truly felt.

"...Trust me, it's nothing important." You mumble, trying to sound as if nothing were bothering you. What came next was a little unexpected, though.

Hiccup slowly moved closer to your hand, gently setting his own on top of it as he tenderly gazed at you. "I don't think that's entirely what you mean..but I won't force you to say anything..." He paused, glimpsing at his hand as it soothingly held yours. "...Let me know when you're ready, okay?"

The Chief: so full of compassion and empathy; dynamic and firm when he needs to be, one who leads the people with courage. He was staunch, persevering, and everything else a leader needed to be. Oftentimes, he didn't even see that in himself, the very flaw he couldn't seem to get rid of. You wanted to remind him, despite if you already did, that he is those things. He is brave, he is strong, and he will continue to become a great Chief for Berk. In that moment, you earnestly wanted to be the one to tell him that, to be by his side when he thinks he can't do it, and to be the one he could find solace in.

To be recognized as more than a best friend.

"...Yeah, I will. Don't worry.."

Much to your surprise, Hiccup didn't let go of your hand, only giving you a small smile before he started rambling on of all the duties he was now getting used to. He may not have known, but you silently acknowledged that you really did have feelings for him, ones that probably wouldn't be going away for a while.

---------

[zluty-spendlik]

WAKFU REDESIGN SERIES PART 3 - ADAMAÏ

Hiya, Im back lmaooo - took me long enough

I have been struggling with Ad's and Am's design so much. I dont know why. With Amalia, Im going to have to start over- again- 4th times the charm Im sure - but I finally finished this little guy!

ADAMAÏ IS MY FAVORITE CHARACTER GUYS IM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS I LOVE HIM SM

But anyway, here is the final (human form) design:

Im aware he has multiple forms since hes, you know, a shapeshifter, and Im going to add them i promise but im like super tired and burnt out from the rest of my mortal life rn

Anyway, to the DESIGN.

Honestly, Adamais og design kinda sucks. Im sorry (not rlly). He doesnt look similar to Yugo at all - YES I KNOW HES A DRAGON - which bothers me a lot, even his color scheme is a lot different from his literal twin...

In my version, I wanted Ad to look deer-like at first, since I gave Yugo deer features, but then I drew him over and over again until I got this fusion of a moth and a lamb or smthing..

I don't know, but I really like it!

The outfit he's wearing is actually what I plan to be an official eliatrope/dragon robe? Both Grougal and Qilby will be wearing it and - potentially - Yugo in season 3. It has some portal imagery (the spiral on the back), and I don't know I just think it's neat!

ALSO WAKFU FRECKLES-

Season 1

Ad has been raised by Grougaloragran (least complicated name ever, wtf Ankama :3) and with Eliatrope/Dragon traditions, so hes very knowledgable of the now dead culture and values it very much. He loves talking to Yugo about it (he gets almost bored sometimes, but he would never admit it to Adamaï).

He, just like Yugo, is extremely curious and loves studying the way Wakfu works and its limits.

And mainly, he loves Grougal, whom he sees as an idol and a father figure. Which is why hes so hurt when he gets killed by Nox.

It feels like the whole world is collapsing on him. His mentor, care-taker, father, LITERALLY THE ONLY OTHER "PERSON" HE EVER INTERACTED WITH AND THE ONLY OTHER DRAGON ALIVE, is gone.

Adamaï has noone. Well- almost noone. Theres this little 12 year old Eliatrope, his only hope, his only anchor.

And he asks you: "Uh, sorry, whats your name again?"

Season 2

HAHSHA LETS TRAUMATIZE THE BOY!! (Even more than he is) Like I said, Adamaï values his culture and people very much, so I assume he would get very, I mean extremely attached to Yugo. However, Yugo is not actually interested in the same things Adamaï is interested in, which makes him a little bit more avoidable of Ad than he should be, given his emotional state.

Not that we blame him. So instead Ad seeks out a new anchor, a new mentor, a new... idol. Who is that you may ask?

Well, it's Qilby of course. Now here's where the funny trauma part happens, because Adamaï starts blurring the line between Grougal and Qilby.

Qilby's mistakes suddenly don't matter as much because Adamaï cares about him as much as he cared about Grougaloragran even though they don't know each other that long (which is the core of the problem).

Anything he'll be does that is morally questionable suddenly isn't bad, because that's not the mentor that Adamaï was raised with ‐ he trust Grougal completely, so why should Qilby be aby different?

So when Qilby betrays him, Adamaï is all the more surprised and hurt. It doesn't help that he really doesn't want to hurt Qilby: Even though he finally realizes that Qilby is a bad person, Adamaï still sees him as an anchor. He might be bad, but other than Yugo he's the only other person Adamaï has.

So of course he loses the fight, of course he gets captured – he doesn't actually want Qilby to get hurt.

Season 3-4 (5?)

Okay let's make one thing clear, I'm a bit of a hater.

Like I genuinely really dislike season 3 and what it has going on with making Adamaï a villain? I really don't think it fits his character, and I would much prefer for the story to have Yugo and Ad grow closer and revive their culture despite all the horrors and terrible things that have been bestowed up on them - But the writers have decided to go the obvious evil twin route which honestly makes my blood boil..

so I don't think I will be even considering rewriting season 3? I think to make it likeable for myself - as this is a self-indulgent project - I would just have to make my own season 3?

If that makes sense?

Art dump!! (Seriously my sketchbook is filled w this lil guy, these r hand picked) And- woah, is that Cleophée redesign? Maybeee~

@saturnyukaa i was looking forward to ur reaction 👉👈

[atopvisenyashill]

i get that we hate monarchy and some targs are assholes but george explicitly sets the dragons as the defenders of life and their return as the revival of magic in a world? i really do not think supposed to see them as the 'ultimate threat' or ONLY as a threat bc there's foreshadowing for dany fighting in the long night and the others are in charge of that role? even if i think magic is gonna leave the world in the end…

“george explicitly sets the dragons as defenders of life” …..huh?

these dragons?? look what’s coming in twow, it’s not any defending of life, it’s destruction!

and yeah, I know it’s a common fan idea that Dany ~reawakens magic~ but the thing is that’s just…not true. I’m not trying to discount the insane magic Dany pulls off, or that her specific type of magic -being fire magic - starts going crazy once she wakes the dragons from stone. But the Starklings all being wargs happens before Dany wakes her dragons, as does Bran opening his third eye. I don’t think Dany nor Valyrian magic or blood in general is going to be the end all be all of magic especially a form of magic she’s not even involved with and there are several.

also “foreshadowing for fighting in the long night” while I definitely go back and forth on what some of the foreshadowing in her chapters means for her endgame, I think it’s really silly to say that passages like the ant one are concrete evidence that she’s going to be involved in the long night. i still don’t even fully buy she’s going to be involved AT ALL in the long night - i don’t think she ever goes North of the trident even if she DOES fight them. Beyond that, again, I get it’s a popular fan theory that the Others are going to be the ultimate evil that the hero’s will be allowed to uncritically massacre but a) so george LITERALLY talks about the ethical ramifications of killing orcs, why is it so ingrained in fandom that he’s just going to go full tolkien here? how does that make any sense? considering how important the isle of faces is, i think it’s much more likely a new pact is made and whatever happens with the others stops because of THAT not because of some big battle that wipes them all out. As george says himself, it’s a trope that basically legitimizes committing genocide? And it’s not one he likes!

and b) por que no los dos????? it’s not like the lannisters are the only evil people in the whole series!

[staenless]

The tonal shift in this episode isn't, as others have said, a bait and switch. It feels that way right now, but in reality everything has been building to this sombre discovery. We've had set ups for this darker tone and the bigger story sprinkled throughout the anime so far.

We've seen how death is treated in the dungeon, we've learnt the rules. The characters have discussed their first deaths, the corpse retrievers have been revealed to be corrupt and money hungry. From the get go we functioned under the understanding that we'd be digging Falins corpse out of the dragons stomach to revive. When the party eats with the Orcs we learn the dragon is active, far more active than it should be, and probably burning through it's food. The idea of Falin in the dragons stomach and possibly being digested is planted. People were commenting on how the party should be more worried about Falin being inside a dragon (although we also know they are moving as quickly as they are able, the dungeon is massive yall) and their concerns were right.

The party, like us, had all the information about Falins progress through the dragon. She's been eaten, she's being digested, the dragon is active she's being digested faster than expected. Falins skull is shocking, but it's not a surprise, not when we think back to all we've been told.

What else do we know about this world? What did we learn from Mr Tansu about the dungeon and the elves? What did we learn from Kabru about adventurers and the dungeon? What did we learn when Laios was in the living paintings?

I love the red dragon part of dungeon meshi because while reading the manga it felt like our characters are existing outside of the plot of the world. There's a story of magic and politics and our characters just aren't apart of it, they're on their own course. The red dragon is when our characters are finally introduced the the larger story of this world, of the dungeon. It's when the seeds that had been planted between meals and comradery begin to sprout. The story is emerging from its cocoon. If you're worried about everything becoming serious and dark now, don't be. The characters are still the same goofy assholes, the stakes are just shifting

[huginsmemory]

Thinking about how deliberately colour coded the touden siblings are to the winged lion. Like they have gold eyes and blond hair, directly correlating themselves to the winged lion by colour scheme... And when they both become monstrous, they BOTH are represented with feathers around their neck and chest areas; as the red dragon has no feathers but chimera Falin DOES is interesting as it points to something specific to Falin... only to be repeated when Laios shifts and has the same feathers in the exact same area suggesting it's something unique to the Toudens. I mean whether that really has merit is obtuse really, but if we're going for the winged lion representation angle it makes sense. Interestingly, Marcille also has blonde hair but she has green eyes; not so obviously tied to the winged lion, even if she ends up becoming the dungeon master.

And I wonder if it's a representation within the touden siblings at how by the end they represent/become the lion. Laios is very clear; by consuming the winged lion, he 'becomes one' with the lion, in the most base sense of what you eat you literally are made of... and also in how incredibly horny the panel is. And then quite literally his result of eating the winged lion he's doomed to forever feel hungry and never feel sated; the same thing the winged lion represents, desire without end. He becomes in a way, the winged lion, a human representative of him, after his body also quite literally becoming the human representative of the winged lion, when the winged lion walks around in his own skin. The two of them are foils; both driven by the desire to consume, one a monster and with a desire to consume chiefly humans, while for the other a human the desire to consume monsters, and they in the end swap places; the human becoming a monster and a monster becoming a human, each granting each other their forms. They become in that way instrinsically twisted, and the tables turn on the Lion as the Lion instead of feasting on Laios becomes the one feasted on instead in the same way the Lion normally feasts; again, Laios becoming the lion. Of course, the lion represents more than just un-ending desire, chiefly the portion which talks about the issue of capitalism unchecked desire and consumption. But I think in a way, perhaps that's what is also being hinted too; the way within a community people can help check other peoples desires or help people have desires as is seen in the end with both Marcille and Mithrun. A non-destructive representation of the winged lion one might say. Also, one may say he also becomes the true 'lord of the dungeon' as the winged lion ceases to exist, Laios now ruling instead, taking the winged lions place.

In regards to Falin there's perhaps less obvious or deliberate foiling in comparison, but I think she still by the end in a way represents the winged lion. Chiefly, I think, by her in the first place, being alive; the black magic that brought her back is exactly what invited the winged lion to their world in the first place; without the winged lions existence through the tapping into outside reality, Falin would not be alive. In much the same way, her flesh was created from the red dragon, a creation of the dungeon, and so winged lion. She's only alive in the beginning because of the winged lion, so she represents in a way that no other person does in the manga the winged lion; not a prey of the winged lion, but a creation, or something saved through the winged lion. It's also interesting to see that what she retains is her feathers (even if they're white, not gold) once she's again revived.... squints suspiciously.

Anyways I think there's probably also a lot more coherent things that can be pulled from this analysis but I'm just rambling on about it tbh...I need to reread the manga...

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Googles

Debut: Webkinz

What a cute silly plush duck! Right? WRONG! Goose? INCORRECT! This is no duck. This is no goose. This is no animal we have in our world. This is a Googles, and you have never seen anything like it!

Webkinz, as you likely know, is one of those 2000s Virtual Pet Worlds, with the gimmick of buying a real plush animal that would allow you to play with that animal in the game. And I mean animal! For the most part these are all actual animals, or at least variants of them, like a dog with a watermelon color scheme, or a lion with a flower petal mane. There are also some mythical creatures like dragons, which, yeah, it makes sense. Of course kids would want to have one of those as a virtual pet!

Then there are the Zingoz, original little monster guys who get whacked with bats by bigger monster guys. I guess they're a little weird considering the setting, but "shape with face and limbs" is not on its own Weird. I have no feelings on Zingoz.

It is Googles that fascinates me so much! All of these real animals, some fantasy creatures, a few minor goofy monsters, and yet, there is Googles. They have ducks and geese in the game. This is not one of them. It is the mundanity of Googles that fascinates me so! Of all the things to be an original trademark species, they decided on a Kind Of Different Duck, and I delight in that.

But there IS a reason for Googles! A point of origin! It would have been FUNNIER if there wasn't, but it's ok. It still is nice and makes me smile.

In the 1980s, GANZ, the company that would go on to make Webkinz, released a series of funny little flat plushes, including this ducky one! And that name on the tag... that's Googles! From what I can tell, this whole series was known as Googles, and included other species, like dogs and walruses, but these duck-billed bowling pins were the most popular.

So for Webkinz, they decided to revive one of their old, beloved plush creatures, bringing Googles to new generations while not telling them about its origins, making this silly fowl a strange, mundane mystery! And THAT is all you need to know about the taxonomy of Googles.

At least, that's what I thought until I found out about this official animated music video for babies, that repeatedly refers to an individual Googles as a PLATYPUS. Platypus?! Where's the TAIL? That's one of the most important features to represent! Their bills certainly are broad, but I assumed it was just a stylization thing. And if platypus, where are their forelegs?

I do not accept this answer. I do not think I will ever find a satisfactory conclusion. I admit defeat, Webkinz Animated Music Video From 2010. You have bested me.

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

what do you think about the theory that dany will revive the great empire of the dawn and become the new amethyst empress, finally marry for love and have the children she always wanted, and bring forth a new age of magic and dragon repopulation? especially if grrm envisioned bran doing his own thing in westeros it would be full circle with house targaryen making their way back to their ancestral land of essos but this time with the wheel being broken. if this is the ending we get i will never complain about anything asoiaf related ever again, i just want dany to have her happy ending.

I will say this is the first time I'm hearing about Dany and the Empire of the Dawn, but I love it!

I've always been a little unhappy with how a lot of the Dany taking the IT theories require her to abandon her antislavery campaign in Essos. Like she may finish in Salver's Bay and Volantis, but Essos is still full of slaves. Sure, the ripple effect of Dany could lead to uprisings all over Essos, but I've always liked the idea of her being involved in the entire process to some extent. Dany reestablishing the Empire of the Dawn would put her right in the center of Essos.

Plus I hate how often the trope of magic disappearing is used. So Dany reestablishing magic and bringing back dragons has always been an idea I love dearly. Magic is a very important part of ASOIAF, it's part of the balance of that universe. So it coming back definitely is important, and the fact that it's Dany doing it is awesome.

So yeah, anon, I really like this theory!

[vintagegoddess12]

To those having negative reaction with how the bad kids fought with the rat grinders, you need to look at it from their perspective too.

They don’t know how to deal with rage stars or those revived by one.

The first time they encountered it was at the Synod Mall. They didn’t win that fight. Those who were infected by the rage stars are probably dead as they float through the astral plane. They never had the chance to study how to work against it or resolve it.

As far as the Bad Kids can see, the Rat grinders and their mentors (?) have an intent to kill.

They know KLCK is hateful (?) towards Riz and the group. It later devolved into plotting to kill them, with the instruction and help of porter and jace. The rage stars enhanced the anger within their group, did it not? If you were one of TBK, how would you react if you were sent to take an exam meant to kill all of you then later find out the cleric in charge of you was not only murdered but also robbed of the gems needed to revive you? Not to mention the attempted murder on the proctor to make sure you fail. If that wasn’t enough, your house is being lifted into the sky and dragons are attacking your group and threatening to burn said house down. Would you not be vengeful or angry? These are teens just trying to prevent another world ending event to happen and somehow their direct threats are teens as well. It will always be messy.

Time isn’t on the side of TBK. Narrative is cruel to the rat grinders.

They survived the dragon ambush only to arrive in an almost destroyed Elmville. All their loved ones and citizens in danger. Rage infected individuals wreaking havoc on the different parts of town. This isn’t their first rodeo so they know what to do: cut it at the source. So they went to the gym, guns and spells ready. They know the head is Porter. They try to get to him but the rat grinders are there too. For us viewers, they are pawns by the adults who used them. For TBK, they are threats too. They don’t have the knowledge to save them nor the time to experiment ways to save them NOW. Don’t pay them attention and they might kill them too. So they had to choose: be merciful to the kids who are ready to take them down or save the town with literally everyone.

I think you know what TBK would choose.

The wellbeing of any Augefort student should never rests on TBK’s shoulders.

THEY ARE TEENS. Powerful, yes but still TEENS. They are students. Even Mazey, who is the acting principal, should never be responsible for what is happening. The blame is on Porter and Jace for cultivating hate in their students, then advocating rage for their selfish endeavors. The blame is on Augefort for, honestly, everything.

Maybe the rat grinders will get revived. Maybe they get another chance at being adventurers and teens. But don’t blame TBK for trying to deal with the cards dealt to them the way they know how. They’re good at saving the world. They’re good at killing their enemies and reviving them after to give them a second chance. So let them.

[anthurak]

Sooo… random little Yugioh thing that’s been bugging me for a little while:

I don’t think it’s appropriate for Yugi to be playing Dark Magician, Dark Magician Girl or even most of Yami’s iconic monsters post-series and after Atem/Yami passed on.

I was looking at the recently-released ‘Shining Sarcophagus’ set, which is an archetype of cards based around the cards Yugi used in both his solo duel against Yami Bakura and of course the Ceremonial Duel against Atem at the end of the series. And for the most part, it’s actually pretty cool.

Like it’s got retrains of Silent Magician and Swordsman, Marshmallon, the Gadget Trio plus Stronghold the Moving Fortress, and Gandora the Dragon of Destruction, as well as a couple of magic cards referencing Card of Sanctity and Turn Jump.

And it’s all tied together by the titular new Shining Sarcophagus, which references Yugi’s use of Golden Sarcophagus in the Ceremonial Duel. And in particular how he used it to secure the win against Atem by negating his attempt to revive Slifer the Sky Dragon.

So for the most part, this set it pretty cool…

…except for the fact that it ALSO includes its own versions of Dark Magician and Summoned Skull, plus a new Dark Magician-focused version of Mirror Force.

And like, that doesn’t seem appropriate, you know?

Obviously it REALLY doesn’t work in the context of this set being meant to represent Yugi’s deck in the Ceremonial Duel against Atem. Since, you know, Yugi didn’t USE Dark Magician in that duel and was actually DUELING AGAINST THEM.

And looking more broadly, for example at Yugi’s post-series duels in Dark Side of Dimensions, I feel like Yugi playing Dark Magician and other similar monsters kinda does a disservice to his character. When you get down to it, Dark Magician and Dark Magician Girl are intrinsically tied to ATEM. As in, they are literally the present-day incarnations of two of Atem’s closest friends from their lives back in ancient Egypt.

So when we consider how the culmination of Yugi’s character arc in the series is him stepping OUT of Atem’s shadow and standing on his own, to the point that he is even able to ultimately DEFEAT Atem himself, it makes Yugi using Atem’s iconic monsters feel just a bit regressive don’t you think?

Like it makes Yugi using Dark Magician, Dark Magician Girl and Gaia the Fierce Knight in his DSOD duels feel more like fanservice at the expense of character-development.*

Though funny enough, with that said I do actually think Yugi’s use of Atem’s monsters in the movie can work… with ONE specific change.

For one, Yugi DOES still use a number of his Ceremonial Duel monsters in his duels against Aigami and Kaiba, like new versions of Marshmellon, the Gadget monsters, a new Moving Fortress and Gandora X.

And notably when Yugi first brings out Dark Magician against Kaiba, he gets beaten pretty early by Kaiba’s new Blue-Eyes Chaos MAX Dragon, and it is Yugi’s Gandora X that takes down Kaiba’s new superboss Deep-Eyes White Dragon.

Which brings us to the ONE change that I think would make the end of this duel so much better for Yugi’s character and just be REALLY cool narratively in general:

In the movie, after Gandora X and Deep-Eyes White Dragon destroy each other, Kaiba tries to revive his Deep-Eyes (with a Monster Reborn that Yugi gave him earlier), but Yugi is able to negate this and bring back Dark Magician who is able to finish Kaiba off for good, or at least is ABOUT to when the new and improved Super Ring-Possessed EVIL-Evil Yami-Aigami (or ‘Yamigami’ as I like to call him) shows up to crash the party.

BUT! What if INSTEAD of Dark Magician, Yugi was able to bring out Silent Magician to deal the final blow to Kaiba?

I mean, how fucking PERFECT would that be symbolically? For one, it would complete the parallels to the Ceremonial Duel, with Kaiba trying to revive a powerful dragon with Monster Reborn just like Atem, only for Yugi to negate it and finish him off with Silent Magician.

But more than that, it would be a positively BRILLIANT slap-in-the-face for Kaiba. Throughout the entire duel, Kaiba has done his best to be utterly dismissive of Yugi, viewing him as nothing but a roadblock between him and his REAL goal. Kaiba doesn’t want to duel Yugi, he WANTS to duel ATEM.

So how PERFECT would it be if Kaiba winds up facing defeat NOT at the hands of Atem’s iconic magician, but instead YUGI’s? Effectively FORCING Kaiba to recognize that it is NOT Atem who is about to defeat him, but YUGI.

I just think that would be REALLY cool XD

--

*Though I will freely admit that I love that the movie introduced a proper ‘Magician Girl’ archetype for DMG. I guess I just wish the movie could have introduced them without Yugi using them? Maybe by contriving a duel for Tea to be involved in where it’s revealed that SHE’S using Dark Magician Girl now along with the new Magician Girls? I think that would be fun XD

[tea-the-not-understanding]

Saint Dragon Vanilla Cookie

So in my au, haven't got a name yet Where there are Carnaval style on Shadow milk cookie, his name is Spoiled milk cookie. And a Chimera Golden cheese cookie who I had idea where she still living in both digital world and kingdom. But mostly stay in both side that she manage grow enough power to have the digital power in the real world but not enough to revive her citizens yet. But still, even in the digital world, she still using the power to control everybody in the world. Not many cookie is free to do so much, all devoted and do what ever Goldie said. But still, all devoted and do what ever she said, unknowingly she been controlling their mind. And if someone rebel against her, she can just full on mind control them so they couldn't do what they wish but still aware that their body is being controlled. credit that this idea begin with @roseofdarkness0

Meanwhile Pure vanilla here have been a saint to everybody that he become part swan and mostly dragon. Growing his power and become stronger each days to help cookies and show them the way of being good and kind. Even with all of the goods, he also very amazing at keeping secrets and manipulate everybody to think he some sort of saint or angel. But when ever someone rebel or know the way what he does is manipulation to have cookies devoted to him to gain more power. Well... The rumors said that that cookie is never to be seen again. (Some cookies said that the cookies who are very devoted and do what ever saint vanilla said kidnap and killed them but for now NO ONE know that the one behind this is Saint dragon vanilla himself who took them, tortured to his sadistic joy and many more worst.) Spoiled milk learned that day. He thought he can destroy and took the soul jam from Saint dragon vanilla but oh boy he was wrong... It true that the past, ancient magics and everything is powerful and strong. But as the time goes, so does the magic grow stronger and everything evolves. Spoiled milk cookie not only a little lost in the new world with many thing changed but also learn that he is so very weaker when fighting alone against Saint dragon vanilla. Learning that Saint dragon vanilla using the power of healing to manipulate cookie bodies to make them weak or in pain. But also learn that Saint dragon vanilla is fucking sadistic. Spoiled milk considered himself lucky to survived and escape... Other beast left him alone and don't talk to him (probably thinking that he's too weak to defeat the healer.) But Spoiled milk know, so now he set back and find a chance to destroy or get his revenge. Showing the beast that he still strong. But the more day pass, His sanity is down rock bottom. He losing his mind, he become more crazed then before. And with the lack of sleep that he had for a long time. The rest of the beasts know that Spoiled milk is weaker and not fitting to be part of their group anymore. He is the one who made medicines for other cookies to be cured too so they don't need to rely on his power all the time as well.

the credit for giving me inspirations goes to @veresrhap and @ask-churro-cookie seriously, without their suggestion, he would look more boring then this

[novaursa]

Of Gods and Men (daybreak)

This is Dune/GOT/HOTD/FAB/ASOIAF crossover AU that you've voted for. If you always wanted to see House Targaryen in space, I got you. Please note how some of the lore of both universes is bent to blend in both worlds. This is my original idea that I've been cooking for at least two years. Be gentle with my work, and enjoy the ride.

- Summary: House Targaryen survives their ancient exile after being overthrown by House Corrino and the Bene Gesserit. Fleeing to the unknown planet Albiron, the Targaryens build a hidden civilization powered by drakaon crystals, reviving their dragons and creating advanced technology. Millennia later, whispers of their survival begin to surface as the Bene Gesserit confront a mysterious Red Woman on Arrakis, who warns of a coming Prince That Was Promised destined to challenge their control. The Targaryens secretly prepare to return, ready to reclaim their legacy.

- Pairing: reader!Daenys Targaryen/Leto Atredies

- Note: For more details about House Targaryen and their technology, please check out the masterlist.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: titans

- Next part: conventat

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Inside the low lit chambers of the Harkonnen flagship Raban Harkonnen strode through its corridors, his face set in a grim scowl as he made his way toward the command center, where his uncle, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, awaited his return. The battle had gone terribly wrong, and now, he was tasked with delivering the bitter news.

As he entered the command room, the first sound that greeted him was the harsh, mocking laughter of his younger brother, Feyd-Rautha. Sitting comfortably in one of the command chairs, Fayde grinned as soon as he saw Raban’s furious expression.

“Well, look who’s returned,” Feyd said, his voice laced with amusement. “Tell me, brother, how does it feel to be beaten so thoroughly by the Atreides... and the dragons?” His laughter echoed through the room, biting and cruel.

Raban clenched his fists, his teeth grinding together as he stormed toward the center of the room, where the Baron sat in his enormous suspensor chair, looming like a grotesque spider, watching the exchange with calculating eyes.

“This is not funny, Feyde,” Raban growled, his face flushed with anger. “The Atreides were ready for us—more than ready. And it wasn’t just them.”

He paused, his voice dropping as he looked directly at his uncle. “Aenys Targaryen arrived with his fleet, and his dragon tore through the Sardaukar like they were nothing. And their forces—” Raban’s voice faltered for a moment, the memory of the Targaryen troops tearing through their own men still fresh in his mind. “We were decimated. And the Targaryen base in the desert? Our troops never stood a chance.”

Feyde’s laughter died down, though the smirk never left his face. “Ah, so the real dragons really are as deadly as the legends say,” he remarked, leaning back in his chair. “How quaint.”

The Baron, however, was silent, his thick fingers drumming slowly against the arm of his suspensor chair as he absorbed the news. His face was a mask of cold calculation, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes.

“So,” the Baron said slowly, his voice a deep, guttural rumble. “Aenys Targaryen has finally shown his hand.” He glanced down at Raban, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve failed to eliminate the Atreides, and now, we’re faced with a far greater problem.”

Raban bristled at his uncle’s words but said nothing. He knew better than to argue when the Baron was in this mood.

Feyd, ever the opportunist, chimed in again, his grin widening. “Looks like the Emperor and his precious Sardaukar are going to have quite the mess to clean up.” He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I wonder what Shaddam is thinking right now, knowing his elite forces were torn apart by the dragons of a dead house.”

Raban shot a glare at his brother but couldn’t deny the truth in Feyd’s words. The Emperor had sent the Sardaukar to crush the Atreides, but with the Targaryens’ arrival, everything had changed.

The Baron’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “The Emperor is shaken, no doubt. As is the Sisterhood. They’ve underestimated the Targaryens, just as we have.”

He paused, his eyes gleaming with dark intent. “This Targaryen-Atreides alliance doesn’t bode well for anyone. Not for us, not for the Emperor, and certainly not for the Guild. The Targaryens’ return threatens the very balance of power in the known universe.”

Raban stepped forward, his voice low and urgent. “What do we do now, Uncle? The Targaryens are... they’re too powerful. We can’t take them head-on. Not like this.”

The Baron’s lips curled into a cold, malicious smile. “No, we cannot take them head-on. Not yet. But the game has changed. And now, we must change with it.”

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes boring into Raban’s. “We will regroup. We will rethink our strategy. The Targaryens are dangerous, but they are not invincible. They have weaknesses, just like any other house. And we will find those weaknesses.”

Feyd’s grin returned, though this time, there was a sharpness to it. “Perhaps it’s time to focus less on brute force and more on... subtlety. The Targaryens may have dragons, but even dragons can be tamed—or better yet, turned.”

Raban’s eyes widened slightly at the implication, but the Baron merely chuckled, his voice a low, menacing growl. “Patience, Raban. This is far from over. We’ve played our hand, and now the Targaryens have revealed theirs.”

He paused, his eyes gleaming with malevolent intent. “But the game... is only just beginning.”

The grand hall of the Imperial Palace on Kaitain was abuzz with murmurs of speculation and hushed conversations as representatives of the Great Houses gathered under the watchful gaze of Emperor Shaddam Corrino IV. The gilded walls and opulent surroundings of the hall seemed cold, lifeless, compared to the anxiety filling the air. Revered Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam stood at the Emperor’s side, her expression a mask of calculated calm, but beneath the surface, her mind churned with a thousand possibilities.

The hall was crowded with lords and ladies of House Carrion and other Great Houses, many of whom had allied with the Corrinos in their bid to eliminate House Atreides once and for all. The Emperor had orchestrated the attack with the precision of a Sadukar assault, confident in his forces, bolstered by the might of House Harkonnen, and the Sardaukar themselves. But now... things had gone terribly wrong.

As the latest report was read aloud by a trembling messenger, the hall erupted into chaos.

“Atreides survived!”

The words sent a shockwave through the room. Lords and ladies, once confident in their positions, now spoke in hurried whispers, their voices tinged with fear and panic. The Targaryens, long thought a dead House, had returned to the stage—dragons and all. And they had helped the Atreides repel the Sardaukar.

“The Targaryens have made an alliance with House Atreides!” one of the lords from House Carrion barked, his face pale as he stared at the Emperor. “How can this be? They were supposed to be extinct! Gone!”

Another lord stepped forward, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Dragons! They had dragons, your majesty! How are we supposed to fight that?”

Shaddam sat on his throne, his hands gripping the golden armrests so tightly his knuckles were white. His face, normally a mask of imperial composure, was etched with worry. He glanced at Revered Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam, his mind racing, struggling to comprehend how this catastrophe had unfolded so quickly. The Sardaukar, his elite forces, had failed. House Harkonnen had been routed, and now... House Atreides remained strong, bolstered by an alliance that was every bit as terrifying as it was unexpected.

“How could this happen?” Shaddam muttered under his breath, his voice filled with disbelief. “The Sardaukar were supposed to crush them. This was supposed to be the end of House Atreides, once and for all.”

The Revered Mother turned to the Emperor, her expression unreadable but her voice steady. “It seems the Targaryens have returned with power far beyond what anyone anticipated. And now, they have dragons once again at their side.”

Her words did nothing to quell the storm brewing inside the Emperor. His mind raced with the implications. The Sardaukar’s failure wasn’t just a blow to his military reputation—it was an insult that could destabilize his rule. The neutral Houses, already wary of his grip on power, would see this as yet another failed attempt at a genocide. Another failure to wipe out a powerful house. First the Targaryens, now the Atreides. And worse still, the Atreides had survived, and with Targaryen support, they would undoubtedly come for him with a vengeance.

“How do we spin this?” Shaddam asked, his voice trembling with a rare display of uncertainty. “The Atreides were supposed to be eliminated. Now, we look like... like butchers who failed at our task. Again. What will the neutral Houses think? What will the Guild think?”

“The neutral Houses will not take this lightly, your majesty,” one of his advisors warned, stepping forward. “They already question your... aggressive approach toward House Atreides. If they learn of your alliance with House Harkonnen and the Sardaukar’s involvement, they will see this as a blatant attempt at genocide. And they will not be so easily swayed back to your side.”

“And the Guild,” another advisor added, his voice low with fear, “the Guild does not like disruptions. If they sense instability in the Imperial House, they may start... shifting their allegiance elsewhere.”

Shaddam’s heart sank. The Spice Guild was the backbone of the entire Imperium. Without their support, his rule would crumble. But now, with the Targaryens and the Atreides united, he was not just facing a military threat—he was facing a political disaster.

“The Targaryen-Atreides alliance bodes ill for all of us,” Revered Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam said quietly, her eyes flicking toward the assembled lords. “The Targaryens were always... elusive. The Sisterhood has long avoided them, for they possess bloodlines that are... difficult to manipulate. Their immunity to the Bene Gesserit ways makes them dangerous. And now they've returned, and if they are indeed allied with House Atreides, then the Imperium as we know it is at risk.”

Shaddam’s gaze flickered with desperation as the weight of her words sank in. “Then what do we do?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “How do we stop them?”

The Revered Mother’s gaze darkened. “We must rethink our approach. The time for brute force has passed. Now, we must be more... strategic. The Targaryens and the Atreides may have won this battle, but the war is far from over.”

Shaddam nodded slowly, though his heart pounded in his chest. He knew that his grip on the throne was slipping, and with each failure, more cracks appeared in the foundation of his rule. The Targaryens and the Atreides were dangerous, and if he didn’t act soon, they would return with a vengeance—one that could shake the Imperium to its core.

For now, however, he would have to regroup, and hope that he could find a way to counter the growing power of these two ancient houses before it was too late.

Leto Atreides, freshly healed and now back on his feet, stood at the head of the war council chamber, his presence commanding as ever, though the toll of the battle still showed in the lines of his face. Around him were his closest advisors—Hawat, Gurney, and several others. But it was the figure who stood across from them, bound and silent, who drew all eyes.

Dr. Yueh had been delivered by Vaegor and his men, who now stood watch over the traitor with cold, impassive expressions. Vaegor, his dark, shadowed presence looming near the door, had taken a step back, allowing the Duke to handle what was to come. His men, all stone-faced, had seen enough betrayal to know what fate often followed such a man.

But it was the presence of Aenys Targaryen that made the room feel even heavier. The Dragonlord sat quietly near Leto’s side, his piercing violet eyes never leaving Yueh. His expression was unreadable, though the silence that radiated from him was unnerving. The air felt filled with the weight of his scrutiny. Aenys was not a man who needed to speak to convey his power; it was enough to know he was there, waiting, watching, and waiting to see how Leto would handle this betrayal.

Leto took a step forward, his gaze locked onto Yueh, the man he had once trusted—trusted enough to place his life and his family's lives in his care. Now, that trust was shattered, replaced by a simmering anger that Leto struggled to control.

“Why?” Leto’s voice cut through the silence, low but filled with barely contained fury. His eyes narrowed as he stared down at the traitor. “You swore loyalty to me, to my family. You were one of us, Yueh.”

Dr. Yueh remained silent, his head bowed in shame, though his body trembled with the weight of what he had done. His lips parted, and his voice, when it finally came, was weak, broken. “I... I had no choice, my lord,” he whispered. “The Harkonnens—they... they have my wife. I thought... I thought I could save her. But I was a fool.”

Leto’s eyes burned with fury. “Your wife? And in exchange for her life, you were willing to hand over mine? My son’s? You let them tear through Arrakeen, knowing full well the consequences. And still, you helped them.”

There was a pause, heavy and suffocating, as Leto struggled to keep himself from lashing out. His voice was tight when he spoke again. “How can I ever trust another after this?”

Across the room, Aenys Targaryen shifted slightly in his seat, his voice cutting into the moment like a blade. “On Albiron, we have a simple method of dealing with traitors.” His voice was calm, measured, but there was a dangerous edge to it. “We burn them alive. To betray a dragonlord is to forfeit one’s right to life.”

Leto’s gaze flickered toward Aenys for a moment, the weight of the Dragonlord’s words sinking in. The room seemed to hold its breath as the two powerful men locked eyes for a brief moment.

Then, Gurney stepped forward, his voice rough but steady. “My Lord, we don’t burn our prisoners. But there is no place for this man among us anymore. His life is forfeit, but we must be careful about the message we send.”

“Careful?” Aenys’s voice was colder now, his eyes narrowing as he watched the exchange. “Careful about what? The Targaryens have existed for millennia because we leave no room for traitors. It’s simple, Duke. Your man betrayed you. If you show weakness now, others will see it as an opportunity.”

Leto’s jaw tightened as he turned back to Yueh, the weight of his decision heavy on his shoulders. He could feel the pressure in the room, the eyes of everyone present on him. His thoughts were a storm, swirling with anger, betrayal, and the knowledge that whatever he did now would shape not only his house’s future but his own.

He took a breath, his voice low but steady. “Yueh,” Leto began, his tone colder now, more final. “You have betrayed everything we stood for. There is no room for mercy here. You sealed your fate when you chose to side with the Harkonnens.”

Yueh’s face paled further, his body trembling as the reality of his situation fully sank in.

Aenys leaned back slightly, a faint, knowing smile touching the edges of his lips. “A wise decision, Duke. But I hope you know, this is just the beginning. The Harkonnens will not stop.”

Leto nodded, his mind already moving to the greater war ahead. “No, they won’t,” he agreed. “But neither will we.”

The room remained silent as Yueh was led away by Vaegor’s men, his fate sealed by the Duke’s words. Leto’s gaze followed him for a moment longer, the weight of betrayal still hanging over him like a dark cloud.

When the doors closed behind Yueh, Aenys stood, his presence looming larger than ever. “You’ve made your decision,” he said, his voice softer now. “But there will be more. This is the nature of power, Duke. Those who seek to control it will always find new ways to betray.”

Leto nodded, his eyes hardening. “And I will be ready.”

Aenys’s eyes gleamed with something akin to approval, his voice echoing in the silent room. “Good. Because you’ll need to be.”

Leto stood silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. The weight of Aenys’s words hung in the air like a storm about to break. He had anticipated this conversation, but that did little to ease the tension that now thickened the room. The Dragonlord’s presence was as imposing as ever, his violet eyes gleaming with quiet intensity, waiting for Leto’s response.

The Duke cleared his throat, his mind flickering back to you—Daenys Targaryen—the brief moments they had shared after the attack still fresh in his memory. He remembered the kiss, the look of worry in her eyes, how she had fought fiercely by his side. And now, her father stood before him, seeking assurance that this offer of marriage alliance was more than just a desperate move.

"I haven’t seen Daenys since the attack,” Leto began carefully, his voice steady but softened with a note of concern. “She was... worried about me, and I—” He stopped, catching himself, aware of how much he was revealing. He looked up at Aenys, meeting the Dragonlord's gaze fully. “Where is she now?”

Aenys’s expression did not shift, though there was a brief pause before he spoke. “I ordered her to return to our base in the deep desert,” he said evenly, his voice calm but firm. “She is regrouping with her brothers. We had much to discuss after the events of the battle.”

Leto nodded, understanding. It was what he had expected—Daenys had her duties, just as he had his. But still, the lingering memory of her touch, the fire in her eyes, stirred something deeper in him. And now, with the offer of marriage looming between them, the stakes had risen even higher.

Aenys took a step closer, his gaze hardening slightly as the conversation shifted. “Which brings us to your offer, Duke Leto,” he said, his voice taking on a sharper edge. “The proposal you sent to me. The offer of a marriage alliance between House Targaryen and House Atreides.”

Leto felt the shift in the air, the gravity of the moment settling heavily upon his shoulders. This was the moment that would decide the future of House Atreides, and he knew there could be no missteps here. Aenys was a man of immense power, and his daughter—you, Daenys—was not just any woman. She was a Targaryen, a dragonlord, and the boon her bloodline would bring to House Atreides was beyond measure.

But Aenys was not a man to be swayed easily. The Dragonlord was no fool. He knew what his daughter was worth, and more importantly, he knew what his House would gain—or lose—by forging an alliance with the Atreides.

“What can you offer me in return?” Aenys’s voice was low, controlled, but there was an unmistakable force behind his words. “My daughter’s worth is immeasurable, Duke Leto. You must understand that. She is not just any noblewoman. With her, you gain the blood of the dragon, a power that stretches back to Valyria itself. The next generations of House Atreides will carry that blood.”

Leto remained silent, listening, knowing that Aenys wasn’t finished.

“And with that blood,” Aenys continued, his eyes narrowing, “the influence of the Bene Gesserit will be forever severed from your House. No more Sisterhood whispers in your halls, no more attempts to control your line. Instead, your children—and your children’s children—will inherit the strength of dragons, and that power will make House Atreides untouchable.”

Leto shifted slightly, feeling the weight of those words sink in. Aenys was right. The Bene Gesserit had always loomed over his House, through Jessica, through their plans for Paul. But with a marriage to Daenys, that influence would be shattered. House Atreides would finally be free of their grasp, and in its place, they would gain the might of the Targaryens.

“And not to mention,” Aenys added, his tone sharpening, “the vast resources of House Targaryen. Our technology, our dragons, our reach beyond the known universe... all of that comes with this alliance. But you must understand, Leto—House Targaryen is not a tool to be used. We will not be an escape goat for House Atreides under the Emperor’s gaze.”

Leto swallowed, feeling the full weight of the Dragonlord’s scrutiny. Aenys was testing him, testing his intentions, and Leto knew that his next words would either seal or break this alliance.

“I understand,” Leto said carefully, stepping forward and meeting Aenys’s gaze directly. “House Atreides has never been one to take alliances lightly. I value Daenys more than you know—not just as a political ally, but as... someone I’ve come to trust. Someone I care for.”

Aenys’s eyes flickered, but he said nothing, waiting.

“And I know,” Leto continued, “that this alliance would come with immense responsibility. I do not seek to use your House as a shield, nor do I seek to hide from the Emperor’s gaze. If anything, this alliance makes us both stronger. Together, we can stand against the Corrinos. We can reshape the balance of power in the Imperium.”

Aenys tilted his head slightly, his expression still unreadable. “And what of the Emperor? His gaze will be heavy upon you. Heavy upon both of us.”

Leto nodded, his resolve firm. “Let him look. We will be ready. I have no intention of bowing to Shaddam. And with House Targaryen by my side, I won’t need to.”

Aenys was silent for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied the Duke. Leto could feel the weight of the Dragonlord’s decision hanging in the balance, the fate of their alliance resting on this conversation.

Finally, Aenys spoke, his voice low but firm. “Very well, Duke Leto. You have made your case. But remember this—Daenys is not just a pawn in this game. She is Targaryen, and her loyalty to her family is unbreakable. If you fail her... if you betray her, or us...”

He let the words hang, the unspoken threat clear.

Leto nodded, his voice steady. “I won’t fail her. Or you.”

Aenys held his gaze for a moment longer before stepping back. “Then we will discuss the details soon. But for now, I must return to my family. And when the time comes, we will finalize this alliance.”

With that, the Dragonlord turned and left the room, leaving Leto standing there, his mind racing. The future of House Atreides was now bound to the Targaryens—and with it, the future of the Imperium itself.

The Targaryen base in the deep desert stood resilient, its sleek black structures gleaming under the harsh desert sun. The recent Harkonnen attack had been little more than a superficial blow, barely scratching the surface of the Targaryen defenses. Drakaopters hovered silently in the air, their presence a reminder that House Targaryen was no ordinary force, and those who sought to challenge them would meet the full wrath of dragons.

Inside the main command center, the atmosphere was strained but focused. Aelor, Maelor, and you stood around a holographic display of the base, reviewing the reports of the attack. The Harkonnen forces had been brutal, but they had broken against the Targaryens like a wave on the rock. The Fremen, swift and decisive, had joined them quickly in the defense, bolstering their numbers and ensuring the Harkonnens had no chance to breach their defenses.

You, with your lilac eyes sharp and focused, turned to Aelor, your elder brother, as he spoke. "The Fremen were quick to join us," he said, his voice calm but carrying a note of approval. "They see us as allies now, and that will be to our advantage in the battles to come."

You nodded, your mind already shifting to the next steps. The Harkonnens had underestimated you, as had the Emperor, and that mistake would cost them dearly. But there was another matter weighing on your thoughts, one that had been there since the battle.

"Is there any word about Leto's recovery?" you asked, your tone quieter, though your gaze remained steady. You had not seen the Duke since the final moments of the battle, when you had left him with the medics, your heart heavy with worry.

Maelor, your twin, looked up from the report he had been reviewing. His features softened slightly, recognizing the concern in your eyes. "I’ve heard that the Atreides Duke is back on his feet," Maelor said, his voice steady. "He’s recovering well, which is good. He’ll need his strength now, especially with our father settling into the Duke's stronghold."

You exhaled softly, relief washing over you. You had seen Leto fall, wounded in the heat of battle, and it had taken every ounce of your will not to stay by his side. But now, knowing he was recovering, you could focus on what lay ahead.

Aelor glanced at you, his expression unreadable. "You care for him," he said, though it was not a question. There was a note of curiosity in his tone, but also understanding. "I can see it."

You didn’t look away, meeting your brother’s gaze with quiet resolve. "He’s earned my trust," you replied simply, though the words carried far more weight than they appeared to. There was no need to elaborate—your brothers knew you well enough to understand the depth of your loyalty, and how rarely you gave it to anyone outside of your family.

Maelor grinned slightly, leaning back in his chair. "Our sister’s heart has finally been caught, it seems," he teased, though there was no malice in his words. "Let’s hope the Duke knows how to handle a Targaryen."

Aelor chuckled softly but nodded in agreement. "He’s a strong man, but the road ahead won’t be easy for him. The Emperor will not let this alliance go unchallenged, and the Bene Gesserit will do everything in their power to interfere."

You sighed, knowing the truth in your brothers’ words. Your enemies were powerful, and the stakes had never been higher. But with Leto by your side, and the strength of your houses united, you felt they could face whatever the Imperium threw at them.

"I don’t expect it to be easy," you admitted. "But Leto and I... we’re not facing this alone. We have each other, and we have our families. That’s more than most can say."

Aelor nodded, his gaze softening. "Then we’ll stand by you, as we always have. And when the time comes, we’ll make sure the Emperor and the Harkonnens know what it means to challenge the Targaryens."

You smiled, though there was a fierceness behind it. "They’ll learn. The entire Imperium will learn."

With the attack now behind you and your defenses stronger than ever, the Targaryens were ready for whatever came next. And as you thought of Leto, recovering in Arrakeen, you knew you were not just fighting for survival anymore—you were fighting for the future.

And it was a future that would be written in fire and blood.

It had been two weeks since Paul, Jessica, and Duncan had taken refuge among the Fremen. Their time in the sietch had proven more revealing than Paul had anticipated, and as the days passed, he found himself growing more intrigued by the Fremen culture—and their surprising adaptations.

Duncan had insisted they remain with the Fremen until Duke Leto could be certain that all threats in Arrakeen were dealt with and his family could return safely. Jessica had been tense for much of their stay, feeling like an outsider in the close-knit community, and more importantly, sensing the dominance of the Red Faith among these people. The Bene Gesserit’s influence had been diminished here, and Jessica felt the pressure of being isolated and exposed. Even her son seemed to be slipping further from her grasp.

Paul, on the other hand, had enjoyed his time more than he expected. He had noticed subtle but unmistakable influences from the Valyrian culture of House Targaryen woven into the Fremen’s way of life. The Valyrian daggers, carved from a strange metal unknown to most of the galaxy, were now revered as sacred objects, reserved only for the most skilled warriors of the Fremen. He had watched in awe as Fremen craftsmen carved dragons into stone alongside their iconic sandworms, as if the two mighty creatures had formed some kind of symbiosis in the minds of these desert people.

It fascinated Paul, this blending of cultures. The Fremen had managed to adapt and absorb elements of House Targaryen’s ancient ways, while maintaining their own unique identity. It was a curiosity that stirred deep within him, and he made a note to ask Daenys more about it when he saw her again.

He thought of her often—of her strength, her grace, and her unwavering loyalty. And more so, he wondered about the dragons and how their presence had come to shape the Fremen's beliefs. It was something you had mentioned in passing, but now he wanted to know more.

Jessica, however, had been less comfortable during their stay. She had noted with growing alarm how the Red Faith had taken root here, how its followers spoke of the Lord of Light and whispered of prophecies. The Revered Mother who had once resided in this sietch had been exiled, and now the Bene Gesserit held no sway here. The Fremen kept their distance from Jessica, treating her with the same wariness they did any outsider.

Paul was aware of his mother’s unease, but he couldn’t bring himself to share in it. There was something about the Fremen, something about their connection to the Targaryens, that felt right to him. Perhaps it was his growing disillusionment with the Bene Gesserit, or perhaps it was the dreams that had begun to plague him again—dreams of Daenys, of dragons, and of fire.

As Paul reflected, he overheard Stilgar speaking with Duncan near one of the rocky alcoves that overlooked the desert plains.

“I’m leaving for the Targaryen base,” Stilgar said in his usual quiet but firm tone. “We’ve had word that their forces are regrouping after the attack. They’ll need our support if the Harkonnens strike again.”

Duncan nodded, though there was something in his expression that suggested he was weighing his own thoughts. “Do you think it’s wise? With everything still unsettled?”

“The Targaryens are our allies now,” Stilgar replied. “They’ve earned our respect, and we’ve learned much from them. I’d say we have a duty to stand by them.”

Paul, who had been listening from a short distance, stepped forward. “I'm coming with you,” he said, his voice steady, though it was clear he had made up his mind.

Stilgar raised an eyebrow, surprised by Paul’s sudden interjection. “You want to go to the Targaryen base?”

“Yes,” Paul answered, determined. “I want to see it for myself. And… I want to speak with Daenys. There are things I need to understand.”

Before Stilgar could respond, Jessica approached, her expression tightening. She had overheard the conversation, and she was not pleased.

“Paul, you can’t just make decisions like this,” Jessica said, her voice sharp. “We’re here to stay safe until your father can secure Arrakeen. Venturing out into the desert—especially to the Targaryen base—is dangerous. You need to think about the bigger picture.”

Paul met his mother’s gaze with a calm resolve that unnerved her. “I have thought about it, mother. This is where I need to be. The Fremen and the Targaryens are linked somehow, and I need to know more. This is my choice.”

Jessica’s eyes flickered with frustration, but she knew better than to push too hard. Paul had become increasingly independent, increasingly defiant in recent weeks. And though she suspected the Targaryens’ influence had something to do with it, she could not stop him—not without risking a confrontation.

“I don’t think this is wise,” she said, her voice softer but still firm. “The Targaryens are unpredictable. They’re… uncontrollable. You have no idea what you’re walking into.”

Paul gave her a small, knowing smile. “I think I do.”

Stilgar, who had been watching the exchange with quiet interest, finally nodded. “If the boy wants to come, let him. The desert will test him. And if he is strong enough, he’ll find his way.”

Jessica’s gaze shifted between Stilgar and Paul, realizing that there was nothing more she could say to change his mind. She sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. “Very well. But be careful, Paul. The Targaryens are not like us. They live by different rules.”

Paul nodded, acknowledging her concern, but his mind was already set. He turned to Stilgar and Duncan, ready for the journey ahead.

As they prepared to leave for the Targaryen base, Paul couldn’t help but feel a surge of anticipation. The desert, the dragons, and Daenys—everything was pulling him toward something larger, something he couldn’t quite grasp yet. 

And Paul had every intention of discovering the full extent of that connection.

The Arrakeen square was packed with soldiers, nobles, and common folk alike, all gathered to witness the public judgment of Dr. Yueh and the traitors who had nearly brought ruin to House Atreides. The air carried both the dread of what was to come pressing down on the crowd like a weight. At the center of the square, Leto Atreides stood alongside his closest advisors—Hawat, Gurney, and Aenys Targaryen. Retainers of both House Atreides and House Targaryen formed a tight circle around the square, their faces hard, their eyes watchful.

Behind them, Vexarion, the enormous red dragon of Aenys, loomed like a living nightmare, its scales glowing with the hues of molten lava. The beast’s burning coal eyes surveyed the gathered crowd, sending waves of fear through the onlookers. Every step the dragon took as it moved closer seemed to make the ground tremble beneath them, a reminder of the Targaryen's ancient power and their connection to fire.

In the center of the square, Dr. Yueh was dragged forward by Targaryen soldiers, his hands bound, his face pale but resigned. Alongside him were the other apprehended traitors, men who had sold themselves to the Harkonnens and the Emperor’s Sardaukar, who had betrayed House Atreides and Targaryen in their attempt to destroy them. Some of the surviving Sardaukar—those who had not died in the battle—were forced to kneel before Leto, their faces drawn, knowing their fates were sealed.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the square as Leto stepped forward, his eyes hard as he looked down upon Yueh. The crowd fell silent, all eyes fixed on the Duke.

“Yueh,” Leto’s voice rang out, clear and cold, cutting through the stillness. “You were a trusted man of House Atreides. I placed the lives of my family and my people in your care. And in return, you betrayed us all.”

Yueh’s head remained bowed, his expression one of deep regret. “I had no choice,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “The Harkonnens... they had my wife. I thought I could save her, but I was wrong.”

Leto’s gaze never wavered. “Your wife was already lost. You knew that, and yet you allowed yourself to be used, to deliver us into the hands of our enemies. How many died because of your betrayal? How many more would have fallen, had we not been prepared?”

The crowd murmured, the weight of Leto’s words settling heavily over them. The traitors who knelt beside Yueh shifted uneasily, their eyes flicking toward Vexarion, who loomed closer, the heat from the dragon’s body already making the air around them shimmer.

Leto glanced to his side, where Aenys stood tall and silent, his hands folded behind his back. The Dragonlord said nothing, but his presence alone was enough to remind everyone present that this was not just the judgment of House Atreides—it was the judgment of House Targaryen as well.

“Justice must be done,” Leto continued, his voice steady, though there was a heaviness in his tone. He knew what was coming, but that did not make the moment any easier. “For the lives lost, for the betrayal of trust, and for the future of our Houses.”

He turned to Aenys, his expression solemn, and gave a single, slow nod. The decision had been made.

Aenys’s gaze shifted to his dragon, the great beast standing poised just behind him. “Vexarion,” he called out, his voice deep and commanding. The dragon’s head turned toward him, its eyes glowing like embers. “Dracarys.”

The word echoed through the square, and for a brief moment, all was silent. Then, with a deafening roar, Vexarion opened its massive jaws, and a torrent of molten fire erupted forth, washing over the traitors and Sardaukar in an instant. The searing heat was blinding, the flames turning the very air to ash as they consumed those who had betrayed both Houses.

The crowd gasped, some stepping back in awe and terror as the fire raged, but no one dared move too far. The dragon’s fury was a sight few had ever seen, and the power of House Targaryen was laid bare before them.

Yueh’s screams were lost in the roar of the flames, his form engulfed by the inferno that swept across the square. The other traitors and Sardaukar fell silent almost as soon as the fire touched them, their bodies turning to ash and bone in a matter of moments. It was over in seconds, the intense heat leaving only charred remains in its wake.

The fire died down, and silence fell once more. The people of Arrakeen, the soldiers of both Houses, and even the retainers of House Atreides and Targaryen were left standing in the aftermath, the weight of the dragon’s judgment hanging heavily in the air.

Leto remained where he stood, his expression hard but resolute. Justice had been served, but it had come at a cost. He turned to face Aenys, who watched him with a steady gaze, his face unreadable.

“You’ve done what needed to be done,” Aenys said quietly, though his voice carried an edge of finality. “The traitors are gone. Their ashes will serve as a reminder to all who would challenge us.”

Leto nodded, though the heaviness in his chest remained. “And now we move forward.”

Aenys stepped forward, his eyes flickering with something that might have been approval. “Indeed. But this is just the beginning, Duke Leto. Our enemies will not rest, and neither will we.”

As the crowd began to disperse, still murmuring in awe and fear, Leto cast one last glance at the smoldering ashes where Yueh and the others had once stood. The lesson had been learned—betrayal would not be tolerated, and those who crossed House Atreides and House Targaryen would face the consequences.

As the dragon roared once more behind him, Leto felt the weight of the future pressing down upon him. There was still much to be done.

The sun was setting over the vast desert as Paul and Stilgar trekked across the sands with their group of Fremen warriors. The air was dry and hot, and the constant shifting of the sands beneath their feet made the journey slow and arduous. But Paul’s mind was far from the discomfort of the desert. He was focused on where they were headed—Targaryen territory, a place both mysterious and awe-inspiring.

Stilgar had been silent for most of the journey, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon as they moved further into Targaryen lands. The Fremen were cautious, even here, though Paul knew it was not fear that drove them. It was respect. The Fremen had come to see the Targaryens as powerful allies, their ancient strength and strange technology earning them a place of honor among the desert people.

As they neared a particularly vast stretch of sand, one of the Fremen warriors stiffened, raising his hand in warning. Paul’s eyes followed the gesture, and he saw it—far in the distance, a sandworm, its enormous body shifting beneath the surface, leaving a trail of disturbed sand in its wake.

Stilgar, standing close to Paul, leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. “The shai-hulud is near. Be still.”

The ground rumbled beneath their feet as the massive creature moved, its presence undeniable, yet it did not immediately breach the surface. Paul’s heart raced, but there was also a strange calmness that settled over him. He had seen sandworms before, but this felt different, more charged, as if something else was about to happen.

Suddenly, the sky above them darkened as a shadow passed over the dunes. Paul looked up, and his breath caught in his throat. A dragon—Vexiae, unmistakable in her deep red scales—soared overhead, her wingspan casting a vast shadow across the sands. On her back, Paul could just make out you, Daenys, in the saddle.

The dragon emitted a deep, reverberating roar, the sound so powerful that it vibrated through the sands and even the stillsuits of the Fremen. The ground trembled in response, and the sandworm, now closer to the surface, shifted beneath the sands.

Stilgar, his voice barely a whisper, gestured to Paul. “Watch closely. This is a rare sight.”

Paul did as he was told, his eyes fixed on the scene before him. The sandworm—its body now visible as it prepared to breach the surface—was massive, a towering presence in the desert. But Vexiae was unafraid, circling above the worm as if waiting for something.

With a grace that seemed impossible for such a large creature, Vexiae descended from the sky, landing on a nearby dune with a thunderous impact. Her red scales shimmered in the fading light, and her amber eyes glowed with a fierce intensity. Paul could feel the heat radiating off her body, even from where he stood.

The dragon let out another hum, lower this time, and followed it with a roar that seemed almost melodic. The sound carried across the sands, vibrating through the air in a way that made Paul’s heart race. The sandworm, now fully emerged from the sand, responded with a strange, almost reverberating sound of its own, a deep rumble that seemed to echo the dragon’s call.

The two creatures, the sandworm and the dragon, stood facing each other for a long moment, and Paul realized he was holding his breath. There was no fear in Vexiae—only power and control. And the sandworm, this massive, untamable beast of the desert, seemed to recognize that power.

Without warning, the sandworm began to retreat, its massive body sliding back into the sands. It did not flee in fear but rather seemed to acknowledge the dragon’s presence, as if there was an unspoken agreement between them. The ground rumbled once more as the worm disappeared beneath the surface, leaving only the ripples of sand in its wake.

Paul stood in awe, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. This was something more than just an encounter between two powerful creatures—this was symbiosis, a mutual understanding between the Targaryens’ dragons and the Fremen’s shai-hulud.

Stilgar, his gaze still on the spot where the sandworm had vanished, whispered, “They coexist. The dragons and the sandworms. It is not something I ever thought possible, but it is the way of the desert now.”

Paul nodded, his mind racing with questions. He needed to speak with you. He needed to understand this connection, this bond between the Targaryens and the Fremen, and what it meant for the future of Arrakis.

Just then, you dismounted from Vexiae, your feet hitting the sand with a practiced grace. You turned toward Paul and the Fremen, your lilac eyes gleaming as you approached, your dragon watching from behind you, a silent sentinel.

You greeted Stilgar first with a respectful nod, and then your gaze fell on Paul. A warm smile spread across your face as you approached him.

“Paul,” you said, your voice carrying a note of familiarity. “It’s good to see you again.”

Paul returned the smile, feeling a strange sense of peace in your presence. “Daenys,” he said, stepping forward to greet you. “I’ve seen many things on Arrakis, but I’ve never seen anything like that.”

You chuckled softly, glancing back at Vexiae. “The dragons and the shai-hulud... they’ve learned to respect one another. It’s a delicate balance, but it works.”

Paul nodded, still amazed by what he had witnessed. “I have so many questions.”

You smiled warmly. “And I’ll answer them. But first, let’s get somewhere more comfortable. We have much to talk about.”

The Targaryen base stood out against the vast, golden sands of the Arrakis desert like a bastion of foreign power. Its architecture was unlike anything Paul had seen in the Imperium—sleek and sharp, yet somehow perfectly integrated into the harsh landscape, as if the Targaryens had not come to impose their will on the desert, but to work with it. Stilgar and his men followed silently, their eyes still wary but now familiar Targaryen technology around them.

You led the group through the base, explaining as you went, your voice calm and collected, but with a subtle enthusiasm that Paul hadn’t seen before. There was something in the way you spoke about your people’s projects on Arrakis that made him realize how deeply the Targaryens were committed to more than just survival here. They had a vision for the planet, one that echoed his father’s own hopes for House Atreides and its role on Arrakis.

“We’ve been working on aqueducts,” you said, as the group passed a massive holographic display of the desert landscape, lines and routes traced out in glowing blue, showing the intricate network of structures being built. “The plan is to create an expansive system that runs across this part of the desert, all the way to Arrakeen, with your father’s help.”

Paul looked at the display, his mind working quickly to take it all in. “You’re talking about moving vast amounts of water across the desert,” he said, his voice filled with cautious optimism. “If you’re successful…”

“If we’re successful,” you finished, turning to face him, “water will no longer be a luxury on Arrakis.”

The words struck Paul deeply. Water was life on Arrakis. It was the most precious resource, more valuable than spice to the people who lived in the sands. For the Targaryens and House Atreides to even attempt such a monumental feat was almost unimaginable—but you spoke of it as if it were not only possible but inevitable.

“We’ve started in phases,” you continued, leading the group toward a large chamber where the sounds of construction filled the air. “We’ve been working on building smaller aqueducts to test their durability in the extreme climate here. Once we know they can hold, we’ll expand our efforts. It will take time, but when it’s finished…”

You paused, a smile tugging at your lips. “The desert will no longer be a wasteland. Water will flow freely.”

Paul was silent for a moment, awed by the sheer scope of the project. His father had spoken of bringing life to Arrakis, but he hadn’t expected such a bold plan so soon. It was ambitious, risky, and yet… he could see the determination in your eyes. You believed in this, as did the Targaryens.

“You really think you can change the planet?” Paul asked, turning to you with a mix of admiration and curiosity.

You met his gaze, your lilac eyes gleaming with quiet confidence. “I don’t think. I know.”

There was no arrogance in your tone, only certainty. It reminded Paul of his father—of the way Leto spoke when he was certain of a cause worth fighting for. The same certainty that had brought House Atreides to Arrakis in the first place.

The group walked in silence for a little while longer, the sounds of machinery and construction filling the air. Stilgar and his men exchanged glances, clearly impressed by what they were seeing. The Fremen had long held to the belief that water was power, and what you and your people were building here was nothing short of revolutionary.

A few days later the sun was setting over Arrakeen, casting a warm, yellow glow across the stone walls of the stronghold as you arrived with a small retinue from House Targaryen. The discussions of your betrothal to Duke Leto Atreides had been long in the making, and now, the time had come for the formalities to begin.

Leto stood waiting in the courtyard, flanked by his most trusted retainers—Hawat, Gurney, and a handful of Atreides soldiers. His gaze softened as he saw you approach, but there was a weariness in his stance, a hint of pain he was trying desperately to conceal.

You took in the way he held himself, still slightly stiff from the wound he had sustained during the battle weeks ago. Despite his outward strength, the toll it had taken was still visible to you. As you approached him, you could see the way his brow furrowed, a stiffness he hadn’t quite shaken.

He greeted you with a warm, welcoming smile, though you could see the exhaustion behind his eyes. “Daenys,” he said softly, his voice low, reserved for this moment between the two of you. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You smiled in return, your eyes flickering briefly to the way he shifted his weight, trying to hide the discomfort. “You should be resting more, Leto,” you said gently, your voice filled with concern. “Your injury hasn’t fully healed.”

Leto chuckled softly, though the sound carried a hint of strain. “Targaryen medicine does wonders,” he replied, brushing off the pain as if it were nothing. “There’s no need to worry. I’ve had enough time to recover, and we have more important matters to discuss now.”

You sighed softly, though you didn’t push him further. Leto’s strength was one of the things that had drawn you to him, and you understood his need to keep moving, to be strong for his people. Still, you wished he wouldn’t try so hard to conceal his pain from you.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice as his retainers and the others watched from a distance. “Before we go inside,” he said, his tone more intimate now, “I wanted to speak with you in private.”

You nodded, allowing him to lead you away from the courtyard and into the quieter, more secluded halls of the stronghold. The air between you was charged, the weight of what was coming hanging over you both, but there was also something warmer, more personal, as Leto guided you into one of the smaller chambers.

Once inside, he turned to you, his expression softening further, the stern Duke giving way to the man who had come to care deeply for you. “I’m still not sure I deserve you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “This alliance means so much for both our Houses, but…” He hesitated, searching for the right words.

You stepped closer to him, your hand gently reaching for his. “You don’t need to worry about that, Leto,” you said, your touch light but firm. “This isn’t just about our Houses. I know you feel the weight of it, but we’re more than just a political alliance.”

Leto’s gaze locked with yours, and you could see the tension easing slightly from his posture. He took a deep breath, the closeness between you soothing his anxieties. “I’ve thought of nothing else since the day your father accepted,” he admitted. “And it’s more than I could have hoped for. But this… us… it’s new for me.”

You smiled softly, your fingers brushing lightly against his. “It’s new for both of us. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be something we both want.”

He nodded, the warmth in his expression growing. “I know. I just didn’t want you to think that I saw this as just a duty. You mean more to me than that, Daenys.”

His words touched something deep within you, and for a moment, the weight of the war, the politics, the danger, all seemed to fade. Here, in this moment, it was just the two of you, finding solace in each other.

You leaned in closer, your voice soft. “I never thought this was just duty, Leto. And I’m not marrying you just for our Houses. I’m marrying you because I want to.”

Leto’s heart seemed to stutter at your words, his breath catching as he looked at you with something akin to wonder. His hand tightened around yours, and for the first time in a long while, you could see the Duke truly relax.

He reached out, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek. “You’ve been at my side through more than most ever could have imagined,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what the future holds, but I know I want you with me.”

You smiled up at him, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a protective embrace. “Then stop worrying about deserving me, Leto,” you replied, your voice teasing but sincere. “We’ll face whatever comes as one.”

For a moment, the two of you simply stood there, the world outside forgotten as the weight of your future together settled between you. The bond between you was undeniable, and though there were still many challenges ahead, you knew that this was where you were meant to be.

Leto leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours as his breath mingled with yours. “I can’t promise that I won’t worry,” he murmured, “but I can promise that I’ll always be by your side.”

You nodded, your heart full. “And I’ll always be by yours.”

For a brief moment, the world seemed to still, and all that mattered was the two of you—two hearts, two Houses, bound together by more than just politics and duty.

But then, the distant murmur of voices reminded you both that there was more to be done. The chamber where your father and the others awaited was not far, and the formalities still had to be addressed.

Leto straightened, though his hand lingered on yours for a moment longer. “Shall we?” he asked, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You nodded, though you could see the slight wince as he adjusted his stance, his injury still not fully healed. “We shall,” you replied softly, though the concern in your voice was clear. “But promise me you’ll rest after this.”

Leto chuckled, the sound light despite the weight of what lay ahead. “I’ll rest,” he promised. “But only after we’ve made everything official.”

...

As you and Leto entered together, side by side, the room’s atmosphere seemed to heighten. Both delegations—House Targaryen and House Atreides—were assembled, their eyes focused on the couple who would be the bridge between two powerful Houses.

On one side stood the Targaryen delegation, with Dragonlord Aenys at its helm. His piercing gaze swept across the room, a figure of both intimidation and command. Next to him was Vaegor, ever the silent presence, his eyes sharp and attentive. The rest of the Targaryen retainers stood with quiet dignity, the weight of their ancient House felt in every breath they took.

Opposite them, the Atreides delegation waited, led by Thufir Hawat, Gurney Halleck, and several of Leto’s key advisors. The room buzzed with unspoken expectations, yet there was a kind of unity present—two Houses brought together by more than just the need for survival.

Leto guided you toward the center of the room, his hand brushing yours in a subtle gesture of reassurance. Despite his lingering injury, he held himself tall, exuding the strength that had always marked him as a true leader.

Once at the center, Aenys gave a small nod, acknowledging your presence before turning his attention to Leto. His voice, though calm, carried the weight of his authority.

“We have much to discuss, Duke Leto,” Aenys began, his eyes gleaming as they flicked briefly between you and the Duke. “This union, this alliance, is more than just a joining of our Houses. It is an opportunity for both Targaryen and Atreides to secure our futures—politically, militarily, and economically.”

Leto gave a respectful nod, stepping forward. “I understand, Dragonlord Aenys. We both have much to gain and much to offer. The enemies we share are powerful, and they will not rest easily. But together, we can ensure that they are kept in check.”

The Dragonlord's eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing Leto’s words. “What I wish to know,” Aenys continued, his tone cool but probing, “is how House Atreides plans to contribute to this alliance beyond the immediate needs. What will your House offer to ours in return for the bond we are forming today?”

Leto squared his shoulders, his voice firm and measured. “House Atreides will offer military support, including our knowledge of the terrain and Fremen strategies on Arrakis. Together, we will secure and protect this planet from the Harkonnens and the Emperor's forces. Beyond that, we have a wealth of resources from Caladan—water, food, and most importantly, our loyalty.”

Aenys tilted his head slightly, considering the offer. “And the political implications? You know well that once this alliance is formed, both of our Houses will face scrutiny from the Imperial Court and the Landsraad. House Targaryen has remained in the shadows for too long; we must ensure that this union strengthens us both, not weakens our standing.”

Leto nodded. “I am prepared for that. House Atreides will not waver, even under pressure from the Emperor or the Sisterhood. Our loyalty will not falter.”

At this, Vaegor stepped forward, his voice low but clear. “We have also ensured the strengthening of the water networks on Arrakis, and we will assist in expanding the aqueducts. This will bring life to the desert and solidify both our Houses’ control over the spice fields.”

Leto glanced at you, a subtle warmth in his eyes as he acknowledged the plans you had already begun. You gave him a small nod, affirming the importance of the work.

Aenys regarded the exchange in silence for a moment before he finally spoke again, his voice calm and deliberate. “Very well. The terms are agreeable. Our Houses will share the burden and the spoils of our victories. In return, House Targaryen will provide military aid as well as technological advancements—not only for the infrastructure of Arrakis but also for the future of Caladan.”

He paused, his eyes locking with Leto’s, as if measuring the Duke’s resolve. “And, of course, the blood of the dragon will join with the blood of Atreides. This is no small gift, Duke Leto.”

Leto straightened, his eyes never leaving Aenys. “I understand the significance, Dragonlord Aenys. And I do not take it lightly.”

The room was still, the tension palpable as both men regarded each other. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Aenys extended his hand, a gesture of finality.

A small table was brought forward, and on it lay the parchment—the formal alliance between House Targaryen and House Atreides, drafted with care and sealed with the agreement of both Houses.

Aenys moved first, reaching for his signet ring, the symbol of the three-headed dragon carved into the ancient metal. With a precise motion, he pressed the ring into the wax, sealing the parchment with the unmistakable mark of House Targaryen.

Leto followed suit, his heart steady but his mind racing with the gravity of what this moment meant. He too took his signet ring, the red hawk of House Atreides, and sealed the parchment beside Aenys’ mark.

The two men—Duke and Dragonlord—stood side by side, their seals now forever entwined on the document that would shape the future of both Houses.

There was a moment of stillness in the hall, the weight of the agreement settling over everyone present. Then, as if a silent understanding had passed between them, Leto and Aenys shook hands, the gesture solidifying the bond not just between two men, but between two Houses.

The alliance had been forged.

As you stood beside Leto, watching the two men seal the pact, you felt the weight of what this meant for your future. This was more than just a political agreement. It was the start of something much larger, something that would shape the future of Arrakis, Caladan, and the Targaryens.

Leto turned to you, his hand brushing yours briefly as he leaned in, his voice low. “We’re in this together now,” he whispered, his eyes warm despite the seriousness of the moment.

You nodded, your gaze meeting his. “Always.”

...

The Arakeen stronghold bustled with activity as Jessica and Duncan Idaho arrived from their extended stay with the Fremen, while Paul decided to stay in Targaryen base to assist Aelor and Maelor. The scent of spice hung thick in the air, mixing with the dry heat of the desert winds that blew through the city. Though the return was supposed to be a welcome one, there was something unspoken in the air—something Leto had been expecting since the moment Jessica had left.

Leto stood waiting near the entrance of the stronghold as the Atreides retainers hurried around him. His gaze softened slightly when he saw Jessica and Duncan approaching, but there was a weight in his chest that refused to lift. He knew that the conversation he had been avoiding would finally come to a head.

"Welcome back," Leto greeted them, his voice warm, though there was an edge of anticipation in it. Duncan returned the greeting, offering a smile, but Jessica gave him a look—subtle, yet unmistakable. It was a look that told him they needed to speak privately.

Leto’s heart tightened. He had known this conversation was inevitable, but that didn’t make him any more eager to face it. He gave a slight nod and gestured for her to follow him into one of the smaller, quieter chambers within the stronghold. Duncan stayed behind, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, watching the Duke and Jessica walk away with a look of concern.

Once inside the room, the door closed behind them, and for a moment, there was only silence. Jessica stood still, her gaze sharp, but her expression unreadable. Leto knew the look all too well—beneath the surface, Jessica was calculating her next words with precision. It was the Bene Gesserit way, after all.

"Are you really going through with this alliance?" Jessica finally asked, her voice low and controlled, though there was an edge to it. It wasn’t really a question; it was a challenge.

Leto turned to face her fully, his stance firm, though the tension in his body betrayed his unease. "You already know the answer to that," he said, his voice calm but resolute.

Jessica’s eyes narrowed. "I received a warning from Revered Mother Marissa." Her words were sharp, cutting through the air. "The Sisterhood is not pleased with the path you’ve chosen, Leto. Aligning with the Targaryens is dangerous, not just for you but for everything we’ve worked for."

Leto’s expression hardened slightly, but he kept his voice even. "This alliance is necessary. You know that better than anyone. We need their strength, their technology, their resources. It’s the only way to ensure House Atreides survives what’s coming."

Jessica’s gaze never wavered, but there was something deeper behind her eyes—something personal. "This isn’t about survival," she said, her voice quieter now, but no less cutting. "This isn’t about politics or power. You’re chasing something else, Leto."

Leto stiffened at her words, sensing the shift in the conversation. "What are you talking about?"

Jessica’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze locked onto his. "You’re chasing after something you think you lost. A youth you can’t get back." Her voice trembled ever so slightly as she spoke. "You’re doing this for her. The Targaryen girl."

At the mention of you, Daenys, Leto’s stance grew sharper, more defensive. His expression hardened, and Jessica, ever the observant Bene Gesserit, noticed the subtle change. It was enough to take her aback, but she didn’t back down.

"I gave you a son," Jessica said, her voice rising slightly with the emotion she had been trying to suppress. "I defied the Sisterhood for you, gave you the heir you wanted, the family you needed. And now you repay me like this? By throwing it all away for a girl you barely know?"

Leto took a deep breath, his heart heavy but his resolve firm. "I’m grateful to you, Jessica. Immeasurably so. You’ve given me more than I could ever repay, and I will always honor what we’ve shared."

He stepped closer to her, his gaze unwavering. "But Daenys... she’s my choice. A choice that I’ve made for myself. And that’s something that won’t be taken away from me."

Jessica’s breath caught in her throat. She had known, deep down, that this moment was coming. She had sensed Leto’s growing attachment to the Targaryen girl, but hearing him say it aloud—hearing him choose someone else—was a blow she hadn’t fully prepared herself for.

Her control slipped for just a moment, her eyes flickering with the pain of realizing that she had lost him. Not just as the Duke, but as a man, as a partner. "The Sisterhood will never allow this," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "If you marry her, they will cut you off. You know what this means for Paul. For all of us."

Leto’s expression softened, but his resolve did not falter. "I know what it means. And I’ve made my decision."

Jessica stared at him for a long moment, the weight of his words settling over her like a heavy cloak. She had always known that her relationship with Leto was built on a foundation of necessity—of politics and duty. But somewhere along the way, she had believed there was something more. Now, she saw the truth.

Leto had made his choice. And it wasn’t her.

Without another word, Jessica turned and walked toward the door, her back straight and her expression cold. But as she reached the threshold, she paused, her voice trembling with barely concealed anger. "You’re throwing away everything we’ve built for a fantasy, Leto. House Atreides is slipping through your fingers, and the Sisterhood will not forgive this."

Leto didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the ground in front of him. He knew that this was the moment when their paths truly diverged. Whatever connection they had once shared was now severed, and in its place was a quiet acceptance of the future.

Jessica’s final words echoed through the chamber as she stepped out into the corridor. "You’ve lost us, Leto. And you’ll lose everything if you continue down this path."

As she left, Leto felt the weight of the moment settle over him. He knew the consequences of his decision, but for the first time in his life, he felt that he had truly made a choice for himself. And he wasn’t going to turn back.

He straightened, knowing that this would not be the last time he faced resistance from the Sisterhood. But no matter what came next, he was ready.

The future of House Atreides now lay with the Targaryens, and with you—Daenys.