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mt-oe · 5 months ago

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𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧…𝐃𝐖𝐌𝐀?—soul eater au mizu!

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Hey dears!

Firstly, thank you so much for always leaving funny and kind replies on my fics, and being so nice all the time <3 All of you motivate me so much and make me enjoy writing more ////

Second, I know this isn't a request, but it's my birthday today! I have no idea how to celebrate this year and what better way than to make a crossover with the first anime I've ever loved?

Truly, I'm so happy to be making something anyone can enjoy on my birthday. Thank you so much for appreciating my writing <3

Hope all of you enjoy! Mwa mwa :*

warning/s: not proofread, mentions of weaponry, she/her he/him they/them for mizu, reader thinks mizu is a man

note/s: made mizu the weapon because of the scene where she said she was made of mixed metal

...

Ah...

It's so motherfucking hot.

Is Nevada...always like this?

Fuck.

"How much more?" you groaned out loud to yourself, collapsing on the seemingly never-ending staircase for the nth time that morning. Sweat was dripping down your forehead and back like bullets. You could feel your head pounding and spinning from the sweltering heat, too painful to even look up at the sun that was, quite literally, laughing at you.

But, you knew you couldn't give up right now. Not when the school of your dreams was just at the top, waiting for you. Your index finger hooked itself under your collar as you got up again and started making your way up again. "Ah damn it. Why the hell is the sun laughing?!" you yelled, voice hoarse from the drought in your throat. Step by step and complaint after complaint.

It took you a while—a long long loooooong while—but after a few more collapses and some prayers to Lord Shinra, you finally arrived. Wiping the sweat off of your face, you looked up and marveled at the grandeur of the building in front of you.

Death Weapon Meister Academy. DWMA for short.

The place where weapons and meisters from all-over the globe gather. A well-known institution dedicating itself to preventing the formation of another kishin through training students in combat and teaching to control their abilities as weapons. Entrusted and funded by countries all-over the globe, that's how much of a bigshot this place was.

Everyone on the goddamn planet knew about it. The school that the world's hero headed and where the world's heroes were formed. Anyone in their right mind dreamed of attending school here. Heck, this was your life long dream since you were a little kid. Luckily for you, you were born in a family with a lineage of meisters so admission was an easy process.

Thank you, dear ancestors. I hope all of you are resting well.

With a bated breath, you took a step forward, the wind cooling your body down as you looked around. This place was absolutely beautiful. Even more than what you had imagined or seen in pictures. The strong breeze blew against you, making the vastness of the place felt. Turning around, you gasp at the beautiful view of Death City.

'Guess this'll be my new home,' you thought with a small smile, taking in the scenery. The houses looked like little dollhouses from above, so cute and quaint. Despite being surrounded by the desert, the city did not look even the slightest amount of dead. In fact, it looked quite busy with all the people out on the streets.

You sighed dreamily, thinking about the life you'll be living from now own. All the lessons you'll learn, the friends you'll meet, what the dorms looked like, how the food tastes. You'd probably face a lot problems too.

But, first things first, you have to find a weapon.

That shouldn't be a problem, right? I mean, look around. Students were walking and mingling all around you and some of them were alone. There's probably lots of weapons that were in the same situation as you. Maybe you could ask them?

Stepping inside the building, you fully expected someone, maybe a student or a faculty member assisting the newcomers. But what you saw was the last thing you could have thought of. The moment you came in, by a table where some brochures were placed, you immediately found...a zombie?

You looked up at him, eyes wide open and shaken by his existence. The zombie stared—was he even staring? You couldn't even tell—back at you, a slightly serious but overall neutral expression on his purple face. 'Welcome Freshmen!' the sign above the door near him said. This was definitely a unique welcome. You opened your mouth to say something but couldn't find the words.

...

"Weapon or meister?"

HOLY SHIT IT TALKS.

Your body jolted at the sound of his voice before looking behind you to check if he was talking to you. You nodded before opening your mouth to reply, a string of stuttered incoherent words could be heard before you finally replied. "M-Meister," you replied nervously.

The figure nodded and handed you a brochure and a nameplate with the word 'meister' on it. "You can find a partner inside. If you don't, there's a dorm warming party in the evening." His blank eyes stared at you for a moment longer before he spoke again, "I'm Sid. A faculty member. Welcome to DWMA."

Attaching the tag on your shirt, you nodded at him with a slight smile. Seems like he was a good guy after all. "Thank you sir," you said, heading inside the room.

Inside, lots of students have gathered already. Some were just chatting amongst themselves and some where trying to convince others to be their partner. There were some who were arguing over who another person would choose. However, there were those who just sat somewhere, waiting for someone to approach them.

Similar to them, you sat down on a random chair, looking around at who could be your potential partner. You knew you couldn't choose just willy-nilly. The wavelength of your souls had to match and so does your personality. No one wants a partner that they couldn't get along with after all.

After a few more students entered, Sid closed the door before clearing his throat to gather everyone's attention. "I guess this should be everyone," he said, looking around and nodding. "I'll reintroduce myself. I'm Sid, a faculty member here in DWMA. All of you are gathered here to find your partner."

At the mention of 'partner', your heart began beating faster from excitement. The thought of finally finding someone whose soul matches yours, to go on adventures with and defeat bad guys with, thrilled you. "Once you're sure, head over to me to register. Registration ends a day before class starts."

With that, you pushed yourself up from your seat to begin interacting with others. Though it soon dawned on you that interacting wasn't the hard part nor was it finding someone who's personality was compatible with yours.

It was finding someone whose soul was on the same wavelength.

The first attempt you had tried was with a young woman who claimed to have lived in Nevada her whole life. Her weapon form was a baseball bat, and you would soon come to know that weapons that were incompatible with their meisters were immovable. Literally.

Upon transforming in your hands, an indescribably heavy weight suddenly pulled you down to the floor. With determination, you placed your hands on the handles and tried your best to lift her up to no avail. Both of you apologized to each other before going off to look for another person to try connecting with. In short, your souls didn't match. Incompatible.

You tried again, now with a morning star. Again. Incompatible.

Again. A 9mm pistol? Incompatible.

A butterfly knife? Incompatible.

A sabre? Incompatible.

A gauntlet? Incompatible.

A karambit? Incompatible.

A rapier? Incompatible.

Incompatible. Incompatible. Incompatible.

A sense of defeat washed over you as most people in the room soon found a partner, some even a trio. The event finally ended with you being one of the only people who wasn't able to find a partner. Your stomach twisted with disappointment though Sid tried to reassure you.

After receiving your monthly allowance, you headed to the dorms to finally get your room assignment. You knew it was childish to feel so down especially when the deadline for the registration was still a few days away, but you couldn't help yourself.

'What if I don't find one?' you thought to yourself, frowning as you watched your senior introduce the dorms to everyone. Worry was running through you, making it impossible for you to pay complete attention to what she was saying.

Going up the stairs, you were finally introduced to your room. Trying your best to cheer up, you thought maybe your roommate could be the weapon you were looking for. Or maybe you could be besties or something.

However, as soon as you reached your room, your senior suddenly stopped before you could enter. "Err...I know this is a bit difficult to understand, but as of the moment, you don't have a roommate yet," your senior, who you found out was named Tsugumi, said with a sheepish smile. "B-But don't worry! They said they already had someone in mind. Your roommate just..umm...didn't appear today."

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. What do you mean you don't have a roommate yet? Was this some sort of joke? You haven't even made a friend yet nor have you found a weapon, and now your roommate was missing.

"Are you okay?" she asked, looking a bit nervous from your reaction. You tried your best to give her a smile, but the curve of your lips just wouldn't cooperate as easy as it usually did. "Yeah. I'm okay! Just a bit worried," you replied.

Tsugumi doesn't seem to be convinced but decided to let you be anyway. "I'm sure she's fine. I heard she was penalized for dueling with another student without faculty supervision. She'll probably be here by tomorrow. For the meantime, why don't you settle in?" she tried to reassure you, to which you nodded with a small smile of your own. "I will. Thank you."

After she left, you opened the door to your room before stepping in. Closing the door behind you, you sighed and made your way to the bed. The bed squeaked slightly under your weight, echoing throughout the room. A sigh leaving your lips as you looked around.

"The dorm warming party. If I don't find a partner or a roommate there, I'm speaking to the faculty," you whispered to yourself with a push of exhausted determination. You stood up again and gave yourself a little puff of air. For the meantime, you fixed your side of the room. At least you could pick which bed was more comfy.

---

Evening soon came by and most students in your dorm had gathered to celebrate the dorm warming party, though it was obviously turned into some weapon-meister finding event again, you didn't mind. You were just as desperate as the other students.

As everyone interacted with one another, you once again tried your best to find a weapon whose soul matched with yours.

You met a man, a karambit, who hailed from the same country as you so you got along quite well immediately. Having someone to talk to about familiar experiences especially in terms of culture and tradition comforted you despite your situation. Maybe the similarities you had could tie your soul's frequencies together?

After a few more chats, the two of you decided to try and see if your souls matched. However, upon his transformation, the familiar physical and emotional weight of rejection pulled you down. You, once again, couldn't lift him up. Incompatible.

Oh death, what was going on? Why can't you find someone to be your partner?

Apologizing to the man, you mingled with the other students, determination wavering but not depleted. No, you weren't going to let the night end without a weapon.

A flail? Incompatible.

A scythe? Incompatible.

A tanto? Incompatible.

A machete? Incompatible.

An M16? Incompatible.

A musket? Incompatible.

A double-crossguard long sword?

You didn't even know those existed but still...Incompatible.

Incompatible. Incompatible. Incompatible.

A deep disappointed sigh left your lips as you stepped out of the dorm to get some air. This was unbelievable. You've been trying all day! At this point, you were starting to doubt if you were ever going to find a partner.

Dear ancestors, I'm sorry if I disappoint you.

Groaning, you made your way to the city. Maybe a bit of exploration would cheer you up. Step by step, you made your way down the stairs to the streets of Death City. The streets were a lot more quiet than it was earlier. Only a few shops were still open and it looked like they were getting ready to close too.

It didn't really matter to you though. You were just here to take a walk anyway.

As the night deepened, the streets soon grew dimmer and dimmer. Soon enough, you found yourself lost within the city's labyrinth-like streets. An eerie aura soon covered the dark streets, as if you were going to get kidnapped any mome—Hey no! Don't think like that! You're fine, you're fine! Perfectly fine haha.

Nervously, you hummed a small shaky tune to distract you from the spooky atmosphere, turning around to try and make your way back to the dorms. Suddenly, the wind blew incredibly cold, goosebumps ran down your skin. A feeling that someone was watching you suddenly loomed over you, making your stomach flip.

"N-No that can't be haha," you told yourself, rubbing your arms to try and get rid of the shakes in your system. "The city is safe. The city is safe. It's just my imagination. I'm just really upset and I'm imagi—"

crash!

"—ning..things.."

Your blood suddenly ran cold at the sudden loud sound, heartbeat echoing loudly in your ears. That was definitely not your imagination. That sounded very real and that sounded like it happened right fucking behind you.

Hesitantly, you turned around slowly to take a look, hoping it was just a cat or something. But upon looking, the only thing you saw were sharp blue orbs staring at you. Glaring at you.

Oh shit.

Immediately, you sprinted forward, hoping to find someone or something that could help you. Your lungs burned from the lack of oxygen and your legs ached as you continued to push yourself beyond the limits of your corporeal body.

This was absolutely the worst day of your life.

First, you couldn't find a weapon whose soul matched yours. Second, your roommate, who you had hoped to be friends with, didn't appear. And now, you were being chased by someone or something that you couldn't even see from how dark it was. Worse of all, you couldn't fight because you didn't have a FUCKING WEAPON!

You could hear the mysterious figure's footsteps following close behind you, chasing you down tirelessly through the dirty and smelly streets. Your knees trembled from fatigue, heartbeat echoing louder than your footsteps. But the person chasing you sounded so close, you couldn't stop now.

Suddenly, the footsteps disappeared, the sound no longer following you as you ran. A part of your brain sighed in relief at it's disappearance, but the other part felt more paranoid from its absence. The logical side of you knew that it didn't disappear. There was no way it would after chasing you for so long.

Your suspicions were confirmed as a new sound could be heard behind you from a distance. Footsteps significantly heavier than those chasing you before. Looking back as you ran, your eyes widened in fear as you saw red eyes staring at you hungrily from a distance. A big burly bald man, reaching past 6 feet, carrying a mace heading your way. To make things worse, as you ran forward, you were immediately stopped as the streets cut off into a dead end, leaving you with nowhere to go.

Turning around, you looked at the person chasing. Without a doubt, this man's soul was definitely a kishin egg. But fuck, you can't do shit. Not without a weapon.

A shaky breath left your lips as you looked up at the sky, slowly accepting that this was where you were going to die. A weaponless meister whose journey in DWMA barely began. Your eyes glazed with tears, both of frustration and fear, looking up at the moon that was...grinning?

"Oh why the hell are you smiling?" you muttered, glaring at it. Hearing the man's footsteps close to you, you turned to look at him fearfully. The man didn't smile, nor did he talk, his arms merely lifted his mace up as he approached your defeated figure.

Man...at least this dude had a weapon, you thought. Ears ringing, you closed your eyes and waited for your impeding death.

...

Why is it not hurting yet?

...

Any moment now?

"Are you going to keep standing there?" a strained voice asked. Immediately, you opened your eyes to see a tall figure, hair in a bun, blocking the mace with what seemed to be a katana. You opened your mouth to speak but before you could, the figure had already turned to look down at you with a glare.

A soft gasp leaving your lips as you saw his eyes.

Blue. Like the ones from earlier.

The hypnotizing shade shaking you to the core, but at the same time hypnotizing your soul.

Realizing that you were frozen in place, your savior let out a loud "tsk" before looking back up at the kishin egg. As the enemy lifted his mace to swing it down, Mizu parried it with great force, a loud metallic crack resonating in the air as small bits of the sword flew. Upon seeing this opening, his hands grabbed your wrist, slipping away from the enemy and dragging you along the streets.

Static went through your mind as the two of you ran. Your eyes never leaving the mysterious new person's figure. It seems that there weapon from earlier wasn't a demon weapon as you expected, so you still didn't know if he was a meister, a weapon, or a regular person. You didn't even know if he was actually a good person.

Your savior wore what seemed to be a haori, tied close with an obi at his waist. His body seemed to be lean and his grip on your wrist was firm, but not enough to hurt you. A gasp left your lips as he suddenly pulled you into a corner, holding your body close to his. His heartbeat was so loud, you could feel it against your back.

"What are you—mmph!" He immediately covered your mouth with his hand, peeking around the corner to take a look at the enemy before immediately pulling back. Pulling you closer, a shiver went down your spine as you felt him lean down close to your ear, breath tickling your skin. "I'll distract him, you run. Got it?"

Breathing deeply, you tried your best to think, but the upcoming footsteps was making your anxiety rise, fogging your mind. With no other choice, you nodded. Taking your signal, your savior released the hand covering your mouth, putting the broken blade down on the ground.

Your eyes widened as you watched his hand transform into what seemed like a blade. Blue like his eyes with wave-like patterns, sharp edge telling you that this person was definitely already used to transforming.

The moment both of you felt the enemy's footsteps stop near your hiding spot, his untransformed hand immediately pushed you away before jumping in front of the enemy. Without another thought, you ran away, feet picking up the pace immediately.

A small part of your heart ached, feeling guilty for leaving the man behind after he had helped you. You felt horrible. Like something was wrong and you should go back to help him. The uncomfortable feeling running so deep you could feel it in your...soul?

You couldn't take it anymore. Before you could go on any further, your feet slowed down until they halted. The moment you did, you heard a loud crash by the street where you had come from, and that was all it took for you to run back.

On the ground, your savior laid, trying to pick himself up, but it was clear to you that he was hurt and exhausted. Your eyes darted for anything that could help you until they landed on the broken blade from earlier. Hurriedly, you picked it up, rushing parry the upcoming attack.

Anticipating the pain of the impact, your savior gritted her teeth and clenched her jaw. But to her surprise, the sound of metal crashing against metal could be heard before metal shards flew in the air as you parried the attack with all your strength.

Her eyes widened in shock, hands immediately pushing herself up before his sharp blue eyes glared at you with such ferocity. But before he could tell you to run away once again, you threw the sword away and gripped his hand, preparing to pull him away.

The moment she felt your hand in hers, Mizu didn't know why, but her mind went blank.

The rage inside her quelled and her heart began beating faster. She was so used to fighting alone, to using her abilities as a weapon for herself, to closing herself off. But right now, it felt like she wanted to transform for you.

It felt safe. Like your souls were connected.

Before she even realized what she was doing, Mizu had transformed into a weapon in your hand. A small gasp leaving your lips as you felt her form shift into something different and her weight become lighter. You turned your head to look at her, eyes widening as you gasped.

In your hand was a katana. A beautiful one at that. The blade itself was a distinct shade of blue which reminded you of the sky before sunrise. A wave-like pattern adorned the hamon in an almost artistic sense. Despite the beauty of the blade, the cutting edge itself was extremely sharp. Almost scarily sharp.

The handle felt different to the usual Japanese swords you have seen around the school, having no cords wrapped around it. However, it appeared to be a slight cream-ish white with patterns on it, reminding you of handles made of ray skin. Around the handle, you couldn't help but smile ever so slightly at the menuki wrapped around it. It was...cute. Not something you'd expect from someone so intimidating.

"Keep your eyes on the enemy!" you heard his voice say, snapping you out of your trance. Immediately, you looked up before dodging another attack just in time. Your body shook with fear and the adrenaline rushing through it. You couldn't even feel your face with how scared you were. Before both of you could comprehend it, you were already running.

Fuck. You could feel your soul shaking.

Unbeknownst to you, Mizu could feel the fear running through you too. She could feel how erratic your wavelength was becoming as she watched you flee the scene with her in your hand. But it was no use, the enemy was close behind both of you, hot on your trail.

Your feet continued to run as fast as you could until you found a small corner to hide in. Panting softly, you looked at the blade in your hands, biting your lip in shame. "I'm sorry," you whispered to him, curling up into a ball. "I...I'm scared."

His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you. A part of her wanted to tell you off for being such a coward, but another part believed in you even if she didn't know why. Mizu sighed, looking down at her own feet, before looking off into the darkness. "I understand," he mumbled, making you look up.

He groaned to himself, unable to comprehend how compelled he felt to open up to you. Maybe she just didn't want to admit it, but deep inside her, she was scared too. "I...my soul is impure. Made by a kishin egg's and a good soul," he started, the sudden revelation making your eyes go wide.

"Not many meisters wanted to pair with a weapon whose soul was mixed with a sinners, and those who did...were incompatible." He looked up at you, before giving you a small smile. "That was until you," he chuckled, voice resembling a sigh. "It's fine if you're scared. We're both new to this after all."

You gulped thickly, looking at Mizu guiltily. His story tugging at your heart strings but at the same time calming you. No, you weren't going to let both of you die like this. You're not going to disappoint your savior who trusted you enough to let you hold him for the first time.

Gathering as much courage as you could, you shakily stood up, hand gripping the handle tighter. Her eyes widened as she watched your eyebrows knit together and your slightly swollen lips part as you took a deep breath. Her smile turned into something more genuine, more proud of you. "Look sharp, okay?" Pulse pounding loudly, you made your way out of your hiding spot, scanning the area until you made eye contact with the kishin egg.

The coward in you wanted to run, seeking the comfort of safety. But, you were a DWMA student weren't you? This was finally your chance to prove it.

The ground trembled as the enemy ran towards you, you swinging his mace aiming for your head. Dodging swiftly, you took the opportunity to stab the enemy's foot, making him keel and bend over in pain. With the new opening, you cut his hamstrings to render him unable to stand. All slashes done with ease, amazing you with how great of a weapon your savior was.

In attempt to save himself, the enemy prepared himself and parried your incoming attacks. But it was no use, with how light the katana in your hand was, you easily overwhelmed him, slashing his arm off before finally cutting his head off.

A loud thud could be heard as his body fell to the ground, head rolling to your feet, making you shudder. You watched as the enemy's remains turned to ashes, revealing a soul. A red soul. A kishin egg, as they called it.

You gasped as your savior suddenly pulled half his body out of the blade's sword and reached for the soul floating in front of you. His blue eyes narrowed at it, inspecting it before putting it into his mouth. Your eyes followed the outline of his throat as the red orb traveled down in what you could describe as an oddly smooth but very ever-so-slightly attractive manner.

But wait...

...

I think we forgot an important detail here.

"What the fuck?!" you yelled in surprise, making the man jolt back into the sword before glaring at you. You stared at him, then to the wave pattern on the flat of the blade, then to him, then to the cutting edge, then back at him.

Mizu looked visibly confused as you lifted him up and continued to stare with awe and wonder, wondering why you were acting so weird. "I'm holding...a weapon," you breathed out, grin tugging up your lips. "I'm actually holding one. I'm holding you."

You couldn't believe it. In your hands was a weapon.

An actual fucking weapon. One that didn't slam against the ground when you tried to carry it. One whose soul matched with yours.

Finally.

A katana? Compatible.

He looked at you, raising an eyebrow. Admittedly, the situation made her feel weird, but the look of amazement in your eyes told her that although she wouldn't like to admit it, your soul actually felt at peace with hers just as hers was with yours.

As if the two of you were sharing a moment more intimate than it seemed.

Taking a step back, you watched as Mizu went back to his human form. You've watched students transform before, but seeing Mizu transform made your heart soar with joy. After all, you were watching your partner transform. Your weapon They were your weapon.

Yours.

His eyes stared down at you as you continued to look up at him in amazement. Eyes tracing his features, taking in every detail, the way his mouth moved as he spoke. The sound of him clearing his throat snapped you out of your trance and to look at his expectant expression. "Mizu."

"P-Pardon?" you stuttered out sheepishly, pinching your arm lightly to make sure you weren't dreaming. "It's my name. You'll need it," he said with a nonchalant tone, turning to head back to the academy. Letting out a series of incoherent stutters, you walked right behind him. "I'll need it...?" you repeated, a smile of confusion and excitement tugging at your lips.

"Don't look so confused. You're my meister now, aren't you?"

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selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs · 8 months ago

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Some more small ideas about Self-Aware! BSD AU x Twisted Wonderland crossover

1. When BSD Cast get into Twisted Wonderland world, they appeared in Mirror Chamber. They split up and start searching for Reader. Unfortunately, NRC's students mistook Nikolai, Shibusawa,Sigma and Fyodor for RSA's students, because they are wearing (mostly) white clothes and Sigma is asking politely, if students saw Reader. So, NRC's students decided to teach "snotty princes" a lesson. It ended as good as you predicted.

Many NCR's students and almost everyone from BSD Cast got drugged into the fight.

The fight ended only when Reader, after hearing about "teleporting clown on campus", arrived. The fight ended, because BSD Cast had a more important task of "Hug Guiding Light".

Crowley tried to rope Reader into doing more work, as an apology for the damage BSD Cast cause. Good luck for him to get through Mori.

2. Akutagawa, who think, that he failed as Reader's guardian, when he didn't protect them from people of Teyvat and then let them disappeared again, won't leave Reader's side. Or let anyone from Twisted Wonderland came near them.

Literally, it will go like this:

/During Book I (Heartslabyul)/

Delinquent A: "You broke the yolk on my carbonara! Give…"

Akutagawa and Rashomon: GRRR!

Delinquent A and B: "Ah! Get your dog!"

[Y/N]: petting growling Akutagawa He doesn't bite.

Delinquent A and B: "Yes, he does!"

3. When, during Book II (Savanaclaw), Malleus refused to tell Reader his name, because they would be terrified, Reader would shrug and assure Malleus, he won't be the strangest person they have met.

With BSD Cast's help, Reader managed to refuse Crowley's request to investigate students' injures.

They decided to help on their own, after Trey was injured.

3. During Book III (Octavinelle), Azul won't be able to rope Reader into a contract. Fitzgerald would read through every contract Azul offers, and will point at everything he didn't like. Fitzgerald won't let Azul any chance to find a loophole.

Also, the moment Crowley threatened to cut Reader's allowance on meals, if they didn't deal with Azul, Yosano and Mori would throw headmaster in the nearest garbage bin.

#self-awarebsd #self-awareau #bungou stray dogs au #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd anime #bsd x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader

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m1ckeyb3rry · 3 months ago

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── PURSUIT // PROLOGUE

Series Synopsis: When your cousin goes missing right before he can challenge the Champion of your region, you must embark on a journey of your own in the hopes that one day, you might finally find him — wherever he may be.

Chapter Synopsis: Your cousin, Shoei, sets out on his journey, leaving you behind with a final gift as a farewell.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Nagi x Reader, Barou & Reader

Chapter Word Count: 2.5k

Content Warnings: pokémon au except i make the world emo and infest it with blue lockers, angst, character death, familial bonds, found families, male-female FRIENDSHIPS, a slow burn so insane the main love interest isn’t even in a solid amount of chapters, it’s my world i do what i want which means liberties are taken, near death experiences, this story is long bro literally everything happens in it the amount of arcs i have planned is insane, original characters because reader will NOT be the only girl i refuse to write in conditions like that, this is being written as if gen vi is the last generation to come out because i cba to catch up on new pokémon lore

A/N: this is SUCH a niche crossover i’m actually crying but ykw at least it’s different from the typical aus LMAOOO anyways um please be sure to read the warnings and if you enjoy this then like…reblog or comment or send me an ask or smth HAHA (only if you want though i can’t control you)

tag list (send an ask to be added): @sharkissm

The last time you saw Shoei Barou, he was pressing a Pokéball in your hand. His backpack was slung over his shoulder, his typical scowl on his face, and his Houndour sat at his feet, wagging its tail at you. The surface of the Pokéball was glimmering, ruby on top and a pearly white on the bottom, and because you could not bear to look at him, you trained your gaze on the watery sunrise it reflected.

“She’s yours,” he said. “I registered her under your name.”

“Guess that makes me a trainer, too,” you said.

“Don’t start on your journey for a while,” he said. “Or else you’ll catch up to me. Wait until I’m good enough that I’m someone you want to chase after, and begin then.”

He was embarking on his journey later than usual, but you had no doubt that he’d quickly surpass those with five or even ten years of experience on him. Shoei was like that, and so was his Houndour. What they lacked in battle prowess, they made up for with dogged tenacity, and it was impossible to imagine either of the two struggling for any amount of time.

“I won’t,” you said.

“Good,” he said. “Look, she’ll probably be better off if you just leave her in her Pokéball until you start training seriously, so don’t worry about that.”

“Won’t she get bored?” you said. He shook his head.

“Being in the Pokéball is a kind of stasis for them. She’ll know the time has passed, but it won’t be the same as if she were actually living it. It’s better that way, trust me. She’s the destructive type, and I won’t be around to help you if she acts up,” he said.

“Ah,” you said. “I see. I’ll do as you recommend, then.”

He reached out and placed a hand atop your head. You swallowed, staring at the dirt path beneath your feet, the worn toes of your old sneakers, the frayed cuffs of your too-short jeans — anything but him. You couldn’t bear it if it was him.

“You’ll be okay,” he said. “Y/N.”

“Yes,” you sniffed, though you had sworn to him so many times that you wouldn’t cry.

“You’ll be okay,” he repeated. “I promise.”

“Yes,” you said again. His hand balled into a fist, and then he knocked it lightly against your brow. Unlike you, he was smiling, and you did your best to quell the trembling of your lower lip when you made eye contact with him.

“Hey, kid,” he said. “Enough with the bawling, okay? How am I supposed to call you my cousin when you’re like this? We can’t be related if you get so upset about every little thing. That’s not how it works.”

“I can’t help it,” you said, and then he sighed, hugging you tightly. His Houndour barked, rubbing his head against your calf, which was the only method the small Pokémon had of comforting you. “I can’t help it, I know I should be happy but—”

“Be happy,” he commanded you, letting you go and placing his hands on your shoulders. “Y/N L/N. Be happy. I’m going to be Champion one day, and that’s nothing to be sad about.”

“Will you come back home once you are?” you said.

“No,” he said. “No, of course not. I’ll be busy with the duties of the role. Have you seen how many television appearances Mr. Mikage does? But I’ll bring you there with me, you and your parents and mine, and all of us can live there together. Is that enough of a consolation?”

“Okay,” you said, even though it really wasn’t. But it’d be a cruelty to stop Barou, akin to clipping the wings of a Pidgeot and telling it to fly. He was as restless as his Houndour, who even now sat and stared out at the horizon instead of the home it was leaving behind. The both of them were turbulent, impossible to cage, and if one tried to hold them back, then they were little more than a brazen fool.

“I’ll see you later, Y/N,” he said. “Try not to be to sad without me, alright?”

The Pokéball was cold and heavy in your hands as you watched him and Houndour walk off. Neither of them turned back, not for a moment, and then they were over the crest of the shallow hill in the road which led to the nearby cliffs, disappearing from your line of sight for good.

“Y/N!” It was the same boy again. He had been bothering you since you both had entered secondary school, mostly because that was around the time that Shoei had begun his league challenge. Of course, he had obtained all of the gym badges in quick succession, but conferences were only held every four years, and so he had had to wait until the next one before he could attempt to storm through it and reach the Elite Four, hence the delayed interest in his talent.

“Hello,” you said. He had never bothered introducing himself to you, and you were at the point now where it would be awkward for you to ask, so you generally pretended like you recognized him and hoped your conversations never grew to be too long.

“Did you hear the news? I mean, he’s your cousin, so of course you did, but still, still, can you believe it?” he said.

“What are you talking about?” you said.

“Barou!” he said. At the mention of Shoei, your Pokéball grew warm against your hip, and your left hand instinctively flew to the thin chain around your neck. “He’s actually done it — he beat Noel Noa!”

“Noel Noa…the last Elite Four member, right?” you said. The boy nodded at you. He was grinning as hard as if it were his own cousin who had mastered the league, or indeed as if he were the victor, but the truth was that besides you, there were very few in the entire city who could claim to know Shoei, so his pride was unwarranted.

“Yup! No one’s ever beaten him but Mr. Mikage,” he said.

“Well, Mr. Mikage is the champion,” you said. “So what’s next? Does he battle Mr. Mikage?”

“Pretty much,” the boy said. “Although he’s allowed to take his time in between and train his team. The conference win and Elite Four victories are only prerequisites, but it’s not like you have to do it all at once. In fact, hardly anyone ever does. Your team needs to rest in between battles, and besides, challenges to the Champion position are so rare that they need time to set it all up.”

“What do you mean, ‘set it all up?’” you said, sitting down at your desk at the back of the classroom. The boy didn’t usually sit with you, but today he was too excited, so he collapsed rather awkwardly in the chair at your side, leaning over with his elbows digging into his thighs.

“Didn’t you know? All Champion matches are televised!” he said. “The entire region will be able to see him battling. He’s amazing, you know.”

“Of course he is,” you said matter-of-factly. “That’s good that it’ll be filmed. It’s impossible to get tickets unless you’re a league official or have more money than you know what to do with.”

The boy coughed, his face turning red. Your eyes flicked to his belt, which was conspicuously devoid of any Pokéballs, just like the rest of your classmates, and then you curled inwards when you once again recalled that amongst your peers, it was only you who required the league-issued stipend for trainers to afford your tuition.

“Anyways,” he said, pursing his lips — a reminder to you that he had sat in the stands of the last league conference and was in fact one of those such types that you had been referring to earlier, “I’ve heard they’re thinking of moving towards broadcasting the entire conference andany Elite Four challenges instead of just the Champion matches.”

“Really?” you said, eager to change the subject. He nodded.

“Yup, it’s the case. The TV studios and news stations have been pushing for it. As long as they can throw in some advertisements and sponsorships between the battles themselves, their profits will shoot up like crazy,” he said.

“Well, that makes sense,” you said. “Why hadn’t they implemented it earlier?”

“They’ve been trying, but supposedly, there’s been a lot of pushback from some of the league officials. They think they’ll lose money if people can just watch battles online, since there’ll be less of an incentive to buy tickets to watch them in person,” he said.

“Ah. So what changed their minds? Aren’t the league officials notoriously stubborn?” you said. He snorted.

“That’s what my dad says. He’d rather deal with a Slaking than any of them,” he said. You couldn’t quite remember what his father did for a living, but if you had to guess, it was something financial-related, given the boy’s unnatural interest in the field. “Apparently, they tried it out in Johto to great effect, so they plan to give it a go here in Kalos as well.”

“Interesting,” you said. “I guess it doesn’t mean much to me now, since Shoei’s already through, but I’m sure it’ll be helpful to someone or another in the future.”

“Maybe we’ll see you onscreen next, eh, Miss Trainer?” he said. You rolled your eyes at the nickname; coming from him, it wasn’t so horrible, but it wasn’t always like that. Most of the time, you hated when the others brought up your trainer status, because it only set you further and further apart from the rest.

Of course, almost everyone had a Pokémon or two as a companion or to make the activities of their daily living that much easier, but there was a difference between a Pokémon owner and a Pokémon trainer. Trainers were the ones who were registered with the government, who were sent a monthly stipend by the league to pay for their and their Pokemon’s upkeep, and who made a career out of the sport. At least, that was what they were supposed to be, but nowadays, genuine trainers were few and far between; more often than not, those with the distinction were like you, with a single Pokémon that had never known the heat of battle and a desperate need for the extra income that their status, passive though it might’ve been, brought them.

The school-issued Gogoat that was designated to escort you home trotted along beside you, its tail bouncing with the gaiety of its pace, its ears perked against the wind as you went along. You sometimes wondered if the Pokémon you supposedly owned was anything like that, but based on Shoei’s description, you had mostly decided it wasn’t.

“Thanks for taking me back, Gogoat,” you said, patting it on the forehead when you reached your doorstep. It bleated at you, nuzzling you happily and then bounding away. You watched it go with a smile, incredibly fond of it though you knew it wasn’t actually yours — just a vehicle assigned to you because the school knew that most of its students weren’t proper trainers. The institute didn’t want to be held liable in case there was some kind of an attack, so the Gogoats had been trained to accompany students to and from their classes as well as to protect them as best as they could.

Supposedly it was a common practice, one that had been invented in Aquacorde Town, but there they used Arcanines instead of Gogoats, so privately you thought that those of you in Coumarine City got the better deal.

“Mother?” you said, peering into the kitchen, smiling when you saw her there, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. “I’m home.”

“Y/N!” she said. “How was school today?”

“It was fine,” you said, self-consciously drumming your nails against your Pokéball. “This guy told me that Shoei’s going to challenge the Champion soon. Mr. Mikage. They’re going to film it and everything. We should ask Uncle and Auntie if they want to come over and watch with us.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” she said. Shoei’s father, your uncle, was her brother, and they had remained so close throughout their adulthood that it felt at times like Shoei was less your cousin and more a genuine brother of your own who occasionally slept in another house. “Imagine if he can become Champion!”

“He will,” you said, unclipping your Pokéball from your belt and setting it on the table, where your mother’s Espurr was sleeping. At the movement, she sat up, giving the unassuming ball a disgusted look and climbing to the top of a shelf where she could continue to nap. “All everyone talks about is how strong he is. There’s no way he’s losing, especially if he beat Noel Noa.”

“It’ll be great for the family,” she said.

“Yes,” you said. “And for him.”

“Do you know when the match is scheduled for?” she said. You shook your head.

“No, I don’t. The guy said people usually take a break in between defeating the Elite Four and challenging the Champion, so that their teams can rest and all. I’m sure it’ll be announced well in advance, though. It’s not everyday that somebody fights Mr. Mikage himself,” you said.

“That’s true,” she said. “In the meantime, how’s this for dinner?”

“Looks good,” you said, though it was out of distraction, not approval. Your mind was racing as you tried to picture how the battle between Shoei and the Champion might go. Would he look different? Of course, he would have to, it had been a while since you had seen him last, and it might be a while more until you saw him next, depending on how long he took to put in the formal request to battle. Two weeks, or maybe even three.

Yet weeks turned into months, which turned into years, and still he did not appear to face Mr. Mikage. Eventually the excitement faded into a distant memory, and soon, if his name was brought up at all, it was as nothing but the Never-Champion, the one who was too frightened to fight against the undefeated head of the league and the Mikage Corporation alike.

At first you weren’t worried, but as time stretched on, you resorted to begging the police, the local Gym Leader, anyone who would listen, just for a chance at finding him. Yet one by one, they each refused. After all, what could be done? He was a top trainer, they worked in mysterious ways, everyone knew that. Any day now, he would reappear and that long-awaited battle between himself and the Champion might finally happen. Nothing about the situation was abnormal in the slightest. Maybe the cowardice was a bit uncharacteristic, but otherwise? There wasn’t any cause for stress.

And so, for that reason, nobody but you ever thought of actually looking for him — they never even knew that they had to.

#nagi x reader #nagi x y/n #nagi x you #nagi seishiro #barou shoei #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #pokémon au #pursuit #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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lodeddiperactivate · 6 months ago

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Part 2 How to survive a horror movie / OBX x Scream Crossover

Pairing: Barry x Reader

Word count: 637

Warnings: smut, drugs, alcoholism

Summary: You're the new kid in town, and simply trying to adapt to your new life in the Outer Banks when serial killer Ghostface starts their murder spree. Now, you can't really trust anyone, right?

Author’s note: This part's a bit short, decided to cut it before they got to the trailer because final part will be packed.

part 1

You walked all the way from your house to the country club, mainly because you just needed to clear your head with everything that had happened since that night. You weren't particularly close with the victims but you knew them from school and have talked to them on several occasions as well. On top of that, the entire town is crippled with fear from the news that there is a serial killer on the loose.

You were only a few minutes away from the country club when you noticed someone familiar walking towards you. Barry, who looked like he had just came back from the country club, was walking towards you counting the money he had in his hands. He didn't notice you and before you could even process what you were about to do, you called out to him.

"Hey Barry, hey!" He looked up at you and smiled.

"Well hello, Y/N, right?" You nodded as he made his way to you, putting the load of cash he had in his pocket.

"Headed to the country club right now, huh,"

"Uhmm yes, I guess I needed some kind of distraction from what's been happening and I've been at home the whole morning so I figured I'd go spent the rest of the day there," you ranted then paused. "I'm just really REALLY bored but also too scared to do anything that may attract the attention of a serial killer, ya know?" you feigned a small smile to which he replied with a light chuckle. There was something dark in the way he looked at you.

"Where are you headed to now?" you heard the desperation in your voice. You thought to yourself that this is not you, you're normally cool and indifferent but Barry's making you act like some highschooler.

"Ah just a couple of errands here and there," he replied. You smiled back at him, and waited. What were you waiting for? You wouldn't admit it out loud but despite Sarah's warnings, you were sort of hoping for an invitation from Barry to go some place else, maybe go with him to do whatever his errands were. But he didn't ask you.

"Well Y/N, it was nice seeing you but I gotta run," he smiled. He knew you were waiting for some kind of invitation but he also knew that the two of you being together is trouble, especially with your father who is one of the most powerful man in town next to Ward Cameron.

Your heart sank as you saw him walk away. He looked back at you after a few steps, and he thought you looked adorable standing there with a defeated look so he decided that maybe a couple of hours spent with you won't hurt his busy schedule.

You saw him walk away from you and stopped after a few steps. He looked back and smiled at you. You tried so hard to hide your smile when you saw him walk back towards you.

"Come on, I know some place a pretty girl like you can go and kill time."

You were so dumbfounded at how this man is so good with flirting that all you replied was, "You think I'm pretty?" To which he replied with a grin as he motioned you to follow him.

You two walked side by side for a while to where he had parked his motorcycle.

"This one's yours," he said as he handed you the one and only motorcycle helmet.

"Where's yours?"

"I only have that one," he said as he mounted the motorcycle and started the engine. "Hop on, princess."

"But all operators and passengers on motorcycles and mopeds must wear a motorcycle safety helmet of a type that complies with Federal Motor Vehicle Safety Standard 218."

He let out a heartily laugh at that very descriptive explanation before replying, "Then, I'd die happy knowing you were wearing my helmet," he said as he winked at you. "Now come on."

#obx!barry #barry obx x reader #barry obx smut #barry obx #outer banks x y/n #outer banks x you #outer banks x reader #outer banks #obx smut #barry outer banks #rafe cameron #outer banks fanfic

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novaursa · 2 months ago

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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.

- Paring: 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.

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