#birth of the imperium

[scp-xxxx]

The essay about relations in Valdor: Birth of the Imperium.

[googlyeyesonmagiccards]

For the EMPIRE!

[stlptr]

[sculptorofcrimson]

"Ophar had never been deceived – he understood why the Custodians looked the way they did. If you concealed your killers in the armour of gods, then they would be worshipped even as they raised their blades. Ophar had lived through the darkest of times, witnessing atrocity from coast to mountain, and knew murderers when he saw them. It didn’t matter what they wore, nor how politely they expressed themselves – Valdor’s soldiers had been created to kill, and kill, and kill again. They had no other function. Emotion had been knocked out of them, replaced by a horrifying sangfroid that bordered on the mechanical. They were devils. They were products of an age of nightmares." - Valdor, Birth of an Imperium, 100

Murderers? That’s calling them lightly. I prefer what that one Thunder Warrior called him:

“You’re a lying, murdering bastard, and we were all supposed to be cracking down on them.”

-That One Thunder Warrior(Whose Name I forgot)

[lunarsprincess]

beep beep.

[fastlikealambo]

holy crowns || paul atreides x black! fem reader

summary: it was supposed to be your sister, your bene gesserit trained sister molded by the great houses, spy for the imperium. with no warning, paul chooses you instead and changes your life forever. some call him messiah, others an abomination, but you will call him husband. 18+only, minors dni

Chapter One. note: hello! this takes place after the events of dune part two and Paul is about to become emperor. Irulan and her father are in exile and Chani is gone. thank you for reading chapter one! if you wish to see the story continue on beyond this chapter, please comment or reblog! tw: violence, gore, mentions of vomit

CHAPTER TWO

THE KNIFE BECOMES THE MOTHER.

TELL ME WHO YOU WORK FOR.

TELL ME WHO YOU WORK FOR.

TELL ME WHO YOU WORK FOR.

The Reverend Mother commanded you so many times in the span of five minutes that the urge to vomit disappeared and reappeared with each command.

Yet your answer remained the same.

One moment Paul was ushering your bewildered sister into a private room and the next you were on your knees in front of Mohiam, the Gom Jabbar at your neck, and your father held back by others of her order.

    “Perhaps I should have trained you with your sister, it would have at very least broken you of your squealing.” The Reverend Mother said, removing the needle from your neck, somehow bored by her own interrogation.

    “Had I not been present at your birth I would not believe that you have the blood of the sisterhood in your veins. Such everlasting weakness should have been bred out by your mother’s working but given her madness-”

   “Do not speak of my mother that way.” You said with a firmness that surprised you and caused Mohiam to raise an eyebrow.

  “So you do have a bite within you? Good. But that will not save you beyond a few hours. You are tied to Paul Atreides now, human, his doom is now yours.” 

The arrival of your sister and the muad'dib brought the reverend mother’s mockery to an end. You took a step towards your sister, apologies on your tongue but she shook her head.

Not yet, she signed.

    “Your sister and I have spoken and my decision has not changed, I chose you to be my bride.” Paul said, holding out a hand to you. You took it with some ease and stood at his side, avoiding his gaze.

      “However, the terms of the engagement have been altered.”

There was no chance to question what he meant by that as Paul pulled you behind him within seconds to witness your beloved sister embed one knife into the stomach of The Reverend Mother and another to remove her head from her shoulders.

The head of Gaius Helen Mohiam rolled at your feet.

   “Your sister concealed a weapon within herself to kill me on our wedding night. I have given her something much more valuable instead.” Paul explained, though your attention was elsewhere.

KNEEL BEFORE YOUR MOTHER SUPERIOR.

The command brings the stunned remaining Bene Gesserit in the room to bow before your blood soaked sister who handed Paul his crysknife back, eyes anywhere but your face.

You were going to be sick.

   “This was the last of the old world. Tell every house, every spy, tell them all that I hold the Great Houses with my left hand and The Bene Gesserit with my right. I am Paul Atreides and The Holy Imperium begins now!” Paul roared and the room roared back.

You swayed on your feet but Paul held you fast, hands slick with blood from the knife on either side of your face.

    “Don’t look at them, look at me. Look at me and know that nothing now will go against you.” He whispered.

Nothing would go against you.

Up until this moment you carried your mother’s agony.

It never occurred to you that you carried her ecstasy instead.

That’s chapter two! Not sure how I feel about it but thank you for reading! If you want to see chapter three, please interact with this chapter, comment or reblog! 

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[tremendum]

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Me and the Devil; i

(not my gif) .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·: Paul Atreides x fem!reader prelude next

word count: 5.3k

summary:  Destruction: the only thing you and Feyd-Rautha may have ever had in common. Unfortunately, you endured. You learned how to live with the Harkonnens, to be one of them- and with a clip of fear, you worry you may never be able to unlearn. 

warnings: blood/violence, family deaath, v brief allusions to smut/dubcon, reader is traumatized. pls lmk if i missed anything. not edited.

notes: thanks for all the love so far!!! here's the first chapter of the story - if you want to stay updated, i post on AO3 first :) just a quick first chapter to lay the scene before we jump into the engaging parts of the story. feedback is very motivating and highly valued, thank u all <33

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Penitent Crimes of Retaliation

In accordance with the legal doctrine of the 'Reprisal Accord', as sanctioned by the High Court of the Landsraad, houses are granted the right to retaliate against proven offenses committed upon them. This action shall such be labelled as "Penitent Crimes of Retaliation". Under this mandate, should sufficient evidence be presented, the aggrieved house may initiate a retaliatory strike and engage in warfare against the offending party. While reparations for damages incurred during the conflict are mandated, perpetrators shall be exempt from criminal sentences, ensuring a balanced recourse within the framework of inter-house disputes."

- From the Reprisal Accord, Office of the Padishah Emperor. Imperium, 10041. 

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There was once a time when green was your favorite color. 

You'd enjoyed a childhood of it; Peridot, Jades, the velvet green of winter dresses, the tall, mighty green the sacred Pine. The woven banner of your house, waving in the snow-whipped wind; A snarling green wolf upon the grey armor your parents wore to train you. 

When the men of one other Houses Major arrived to retrieve your older sister, she'd been shroud in that very same pine-colored satin, an elegant dress, as she waved good-bye to you for the last time. When the ice would melt off the lower glaciers for those three months every year, the lakes would thaw to a deep emerald green, and your brother, sisters and you would play in it; servants and soldiers alike yelling and pulling you out, shivering to your bones. 

Even at your sister's funeral. The green of the casket, laid to rest in the ground of a foreign planet by a man who'd never truly loved her. The women of your House, wearing a veil of mourning in that sacred pine satin as you said good-bye to her. Killed by the birth of her first; a son. Your parents had been proud - You became the oldest of your siblings that day.

You can barely stand to look at green anymore. No, instead, you mostly see black.

Black, white, and red. 

They'd sent you away to make for your house a Fortune; a son, they'd wished, for your sake - and, by whispers of your Lady Mother, a daughter - but this place... it crawls with shadows and monsters and deadly smiles; most in the form of your betrothed.

Your na-Baron. 

If Feyd-Rautha ever had a semblance of hesitancy, it was when you first met four years ago. You were at the end of your seventeenth year; he, freshly eighteen. He had been as cordial as you'd ever seen him, escorting you with an arm held out, eyes malicious but mouth less than offensive. He'd even called you Lady Bourbon those first few months on Giedi Prime. And, in fact, you can consider yourself lucky; perhaps for your bloodline, or for you yourself, Feyd-Rautha took special care of you. Maybe he did care for you -in the ways that he could. 

After that, he taught you all you needed to know about the rest of the world. In these final days together, he has admitted furiously that he waited too long to claim you as his wife - four years was much too long for you to wait, even if your purity was claimed by him long before then. 

The accusations had come from his uncle, the Baron; House Bourbon was stealing their precious refinery codes, committing treason against the trading accords along their exportation route. Perhaps, he thought, you were the one to plot it against your beloved future family.

But Feyd-Rautha knew better - knew that you'd never dare betray him. He was the one to demand a public execution of your family - but also the one to redirect your sentencing to a mere prisoner. As if you weren't one already. 

Don't look away. See what we do to scum, my pet? 

After all the sparring, each time you drew that precious blood from him, and you still haven't been able to kill him. If you'd had a blade, you would have, right there in the stands. 

You were, in some ways, relieved when their bodies had hit the sand fast; You'd never seen your brother's skin so reflective as you did this morning. The black sun couldn't hide the blood that had seeped from him, nor from your mother's throat. You'd swallowed thickly, wishing you could look away, gasp - cry; but you had to hide your pain. Your na-Baron would've loved it too much.

Why don't you leave me with them, then? You'd hissed through your teeth.

Though he was wild and psychotic, growling with hunger at the bloodsport in front of him, he heard you for what you'd said. Feyd's fingers pulled your hair hard; forcing your chin to stare up at him. A sickly glint in the black sun, his teeth shone with hunger. 

You'd have me throw you to your Wolves, and lose my prize? He'd tutted, kissing your forehead with a sickening sweetness; enough so that the servants had turned away their spider-black gazes. They didn't care much for the acts of affection you'd occasionally show one another - in a world marred by ugliness, any glimpse of beauty becomes a hauntingly grotesque show of power.

He'd snarled, slapping your cheek hard enough for you to groan. His breath hit your face, you're mine to keep - there's plenty of life left for you to serve.  

He'd held your eyes open as they'd slit your father's throat; then both of your sisters, and your brother's. Your mother had fought as much as she could in her drugged state - the Harkonnens are rutheless, and Feyd-Rautha had sat calmly behind you, your head in his hands, caressing your shaking cheek - but the neckline of her gown was too high, and too thickly inlaid with encrusted heirlooms. 

Bless their voided souls.

The emeralds that tore from her gown as she'd spilled her blood to the sand sent a ripple of pain out of your throat. Feyd had buried his face in your neck, teeth sharp as he sucked a mark just behind your ear, watching as you clenched your palms so hard, your own ruby blood beaded out, blackened in the sun's light.

If anybody would have bothered to look before burning the bodies, you know they'd find all the family diamonds sewn into the fabric of their clothing - centuries of your House, melted away.

Feyd-Rautha had drank up your agony with his lips, smiling as his hand wrapped around your throat. 

Now, alone and away from the thick industrial air, your chambers are cold and suffocating.

There are screams coming from the hall - not the kind that you've grown to associate with your na-Baron testing his new blades, but the kind that comes with danger. With change. 

As it turns out, you are not Feyd-Rautha's to keep any longer.

A loud noise outside of your quarters jolts you from your bed, whispering to yourself. They're coming for you. Pulling the sheets closer to your body, your hand finds the blade gifted to you on your nameday three years ago by your husband-to-be, still tainted with the ghost of your own blood.

Your whispers reverberate in the empty room. "I must not fear. fear is the mind-killer. fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me."

Your voice shakes. Few things remain from your early days of training, before you were sent off to become a Harkonnen; This is one is a relic.

There is a loud noise just outside; blades. 

For a moment, you imagine there is a hand on your arm. It is strong, ghost-white, and possessive. His voice rumbles in your head. Don't look so sad, my pet. I will never let them keep what is mine. I will find you again. 

You almost wish he will. 

When you look down to the weight on your arm, you do not find the hand of your once-betrothed, but the remainder of his ownership, a handprint of a bruise that will not fade even as the soldiers in Atreides armor deliver you to the next planet.

You rise from your bed, preparing your sore body for a fight that will surely end before it even starts. You don't stop your old prayer, in fact, you hardly notice that you're saying it at all. Even as the doors give in. 

"-and when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing - only I will remain-" There are soldiers that burst through.

The way one of them fights strikes a faint memory from a lost childhood, and it fills you with rage. 

Why did you wait so long to rescue me?

You lunge, snarling like the wild beast you've become in your captivity. You will fight, because that is the only thing you know how to do. It is the only thing you have left. 

Your blade falls within minutes.

You're taken by the man from your past not a minute after. 

You're on a ship, watching the black Opiuchi B disappear, in an hour. 

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"My Lady."

You don't realize the worker addresses you until you snap out of it, flushing behind your veil as you step out of the aircraft.

The dress you wear, salvaged from your family's old castle, is dusty. 

It clings to your skin, drowns you, as the rain falls. A staff of House Atreides holds an umbrella above you, shielding your elaborate dress from the water as you walk up towards where the members of the House await you. You stare down at the dress - green velvet. A texture you have not felt in years; your skin looks different not wrapped completely in black.

Your eyes strain to take in the grand entrance to the castle from the hangar which Duncan Idaho had escorted you, ignoring him as he turns to glance back at you momentarily. You can't bear the look of unfamiliarity that flickers over him when he looks at you, now.  

He looks the same - maybe less tall, but that has more to do with it having been six years since you last saw the man. You, however, are not the same girl you were when he knew you on Sabberon. Fear, panic, and wrath rage within you while your gaze smolders daggers at the back of his head. 

He walks just slightly in front of you and despite yourself, you slide just a bit closer - the only semblance of comfort you can allow yourself to feel as you take in the largess of the castle. The air is thicker here than you've ever felt; salty, windy, like you can taste the sea in the rain... it clings to your skin, but it feels clean. You'd been changing into your robes when you entered atmo - you've heard many things about the ocean, about Caladan. 

Something within you yearns to witness it yourself. Subtly, you crane your neck outwards to catch a glimpse; nothing in the near distance but the walls of the castle and high cliffs. 

You nearly trip as Duncan Idaho stops just a few paces from where the members stand at attention to greet you and your retinue.

Duke Leto Atreides, regal and composed, stands at the center of the room, his presence commanding your attention. Beside him, a woman wearing a deep cerulean gown - Lady Jessica. Easily, from behind your own veil, her gaze penetrates you; A cool sensation down your spine as you seem to feel her words in the back of your head as she watches the Reverend Mother who'd travelled with you per High Court orders.

 Hello, sister.

You purse your lips, looking on - there, next to his mother; Standing tall with an aura of quiet intensity, his eyes on you, is Paul Atreides.

The son to whom you're now destined.

Even from your obstructed vision, you can see that he's handsome - lithe, hair curled and combed back to show his eyes. They are wide, penetrating like his mother's, but Maker, they are so green. 

There is no hunger in his eyes, nor hatred, nor anything but a mild curiosity; it strikes a chord of fear in your gut, wishing briefly to return to the na-Baron's sight. It was easy to go unseen with the Harkonnens; They always made their intentions clear, and the na-Baron never wanted many to see you besides himself. You always knew what he wanted, and you could give it to him enough to control him. 

But Paul. His stare betrays no emotion but duty. If not for the boyish pout of his pink lips and his freshly-shaven jaw, you could have mistaken him for his father. A Duke. 

Your name, boomed from the voice of Leto Atreides, pulls you back to the surface of Caladan. "Welcome." Duke Leto's voice resonates through the hall with authority as he addresses you, his tone measured yet warm. Your stomach twists and turns as the man nods courteously to you. Coaxing your body to move, you bow to him.

"We are honored by your presence." His voice is surprisingly humane, exceedingly polite towards you; someone who was just come from the protection (a laughable phrase) of their sworn enemy. 

Your throat tightens at this. There is no honor to your presence, not anymore. 

Though you feel the prickling behind your eyes, you force your head to tilt in acknowledgment, schooling your expression to respectful - perhaps they can't quite make out your face, but Lady Jessica watches closely. She sees.

You take a sharp breath, swallowing away the lump of emotion in your throat. 

"Thank you, Duke Leto, my lord." Your voice carries steel beneath its polite, quiet veneer, though you try to calm your heart. You turn to Lady Jessica to greet her.

"My Lady, it is a pleasure." You say, equally even. Lady Jessica offers a tight smile, something akin to understanding swimming among her irises. It's been quite some time since you were permitted to talk to a woman; Your servants on Giedi Prime were, of course, tongue-less, as na-Baron wished. "Thank you for welcoming me to your home." 

"We understand that these are trying times for you." She says softly, her words a gesture of solidarity as your legs stagger. You feel dizzy and tired, but you force yourself to nod, bowing again. Your chained headdress overlaying your veil chimes slightly with the movement, swaying with the rain.

For such an acclaimed House, you're surprised by the gentleness of their welcome. Perhaps, they'd thought that the groaning and echoing hallways of Giedi Prime might break you, that they'd be taking in some injured little dove, wings clipped by the ferocious boy who'd gifted her with a knife plunged between her ribs on her nameday. 

The scar that lies just below your breast on your right side serves not as a reminder, but as fuel. It did not quell your spark. It ignited it, with a bloodthirsty rage for revenge.

Months of being thrown into a pit under the glaring black sun; Not the arena that assassinated your family, no - this pit was smaller, with one large seat for the na-Baron himself, and drugged concubines and servants with blades to service his na-Baroness. A place to watch his pets play. 

Destruction: the only thing you and Feyd-Rautha may have ever had in common. 

Unfortunately, you endured. You learned how to live with the Harkonnens, to be one of them- and with a clip of fear, you worry you may never be able to unlearn. 

Lady Jessica is correct, these are trying times for you. You swallow as you straighten your back. Despite everything, there's a minor comfort in the Atreides' insistence of providing you with the necessities for you to perform your traditional customary mourning traditions. Your family may be gone, but you can still have this part of them; as a way of saying good-bye. It's what they would have wanted. 

You turn to the young man who stands next to Lady Jessica.

The Harkonnens had tried to show you the dangers of house Atreides; The poison of appearance, of trust. You are not foolish enough to have believed the Baron Vladimir and his webs of deception, but you are sharp enough to know that in times like these, nobody can be trusted. 

Your betrothed watches you, as if trying to see through your mourning veil. The green of his eyes sends a warmth through your stomach as you avert your eyes. "My Lord," you bow to him, your heart thumping in your chest, remembering how you might be rewarded for looking your formerly betrothed in the eyes during ceremony. Trying not to flinch, you wait to see what Paul's hands may do. But they do not strike you, nor grasp your jaw sharply. He barely moves. 

"My Lady." His voice is softer than you expected, and it strikes your heart with a cool unease. Distrust slithers around you like a daunting snake. He bows back to you. 

It's silent for a thick moment before Duncan Idaho - the man from a distant past - speaks from beside you. "We have much to discuss." 

Cutting to the chase, as always. Your eyes fall to the Duke, who nods. "Do you need to see treatment?" He asks the Swordsman, eyes assessing the soldier. 

Duncan laughs at this, gesturing to his arm, where beads of blood still slowly peeks through his the tunic he'd slipped on after changing out of his armor.

"Harkonnen blades are sharp. So are Lady Bourbon's nails."

The prickling of four pairs of eyes strike you as he continues, turning this time to address you full-on. "Your fighting is much different than I remember, Little Bourbon." 

What he doesn't say is clear to you: Much more savage than he remembers. Something between shame and pride licks at your cheeks and you avert your eyes; It had been a force of habit - rabid hounds don't tuck tail when cornered, do they?

You clench your hand, your nails digging into your palms; you learned early on that sharper claws could keep Feyd tame for longer. 

The force of Duncan's old nickname for you, when you'd been young - it nearly knocks the air out of your chest. It's been over half a decade since you'd seen the man; too much has happened since then. Nonetheless, you smile toothless behind the veil, trying not to think of the life you'd just left behind. Of what cold life lies ahead. 

When you respond, your voice is frigid. 

"Sometimes adaptation is survival, Duncan Idaho. Threats demand evolution." 

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The rain is gone by the next day.

In the morning room, forks scrape over blue-plated China. There must be a clock somewhere near, as the seconds pass in quiet, insistent ticks. A cleared throat, a swallow of water. 

Your eyes burn from exhaustion.

Your arrival last night held no such time for small talk - you were whisked away by the service staff to make sure your quarters were comfortable; Your old clothing and that of your sisters and mother - the few things the Atreides soldiers had salvaged from the ransacked Castle at Sabberon - had been washed thrice of rubble and smoke and were hanging, waiting for you, in the wardrobes. 

Barely awake, late in the evening, you'd attended a meeting in a small conference hall. There, sat across from Lord Paul, Masters of War and Swords and Strategy, a Mentat, and the Lady Jessica, the Duke had asked you questions, ensuring you were not harmed - more importantly, trying to ensure there was no malicious intent to your presence. Your eyes could not ignore the Lady Jessica, who stood behind the Duke, her fingers twitching to the others when you responded to a question asked of you. They had some kind of language, you'd realized, as they responded in their own subtle hand gestures. 

You'd only been there for ten minutes before you were escorted by a handmaid back to your chambers, where you sat without rest through the night. 

Truthfully, you're breaking fast with Lady Jessica and Lord Paul out of courtesy; You were up far before the sun had found the horizon this morning, staring emotionless at the ghost who stood in the corner of your new chambers.

You'd sat watching, cradling your chest with wide eyes, as the ghost slid onto his knees. How he'd crawled, smirking at the foot of your mattress, whispering to you with sharp teeth and beckoning fingers. The sweet promise in his eyes laid with blood and pain, coaxing you forward despite yourself - until something in the corner of your vision moved, and you'd screamed. 

That had woken one of the servants.

She came in with her head tilted down, holding a pitcher of water, and you'd asked her to stay.

Her name is Hestia; she must barely be twenty. You insisted on sharing a pot of tea with her, sitting in the silence but sipping shortly on your teacups. You didn't talk much, but instead breathed and felt the safety and of a woman's company, even if she is a few years younger than you. 

It wasn't until she'd brought you breakfast a few minutes later that you realized the staff must have been informed of your courting customs before your arrival - she said nothing as you ate silently, staring out towards the coast of rocky cliffs and rolling moors you could just barely make out from your chamber windows. 

And now you sit similarly - in the morning dining room, your hands perched in your lap, unsure what to do with yourself.

Your future husband, no older than yourself, sits across the table from you now, pushing his omelet around on his fork. The table shakes just slightly, jilting your glass full of water - he must have a restless knee. He chews at his lip, avoiding your stare, sharing slight conversation with his Lady mother. Her attempts to bring you into the conversation are met with polite answers and more silence, your voice shaky and cold. 

After a while, a woman enters, whispers something to the Lady at the end of the table. Nodding, Lady Jessica takes her leave with a pointed look at Paul, suggesting he might escort you around the castle to settle you in.

Though your stomach coils, you nod, "-if you have time, my Lord, I'd appreciate it."

His eyes find yours from behind the veil and you clear your throat. He's quiet but chivalrous; A nod, a glance sent back to his mother as she leaves. A short gust of air through the room and suddenly you can smell him. His hair, clean and glossy - healthy - glints as he faces a window, exposing the early morning sun to his bright eyes.

It's silent for a few moments as only the two of you remain; Your food untouched and his half-eaten. 

"Are you one of them?" 

Them?

You stare at him from behind the thin pine veil that covers you. It occurs to you that Paul may assume you are just as bald and sick as each Harkonnen; years of adapting, surviving off of instinct and placation, are over. With a jolt, you realize you are not a Harkonnen. And you will not be wed to one.

You shake your head, thankful for the lack of chains upon the crown of your head today, ignoring the melancholy feeling in your gut. 

"I have hair." You state simply, looking down at the skin of your arm; The skin that boasts arm hair, none of the sickly pale skin that knew of no clean air nor healthy sunlight - your skin, glowing with real melanin like the House of Bourbon.

You'd never spoken this freely on Giedi Prime besides in the sole company of Feyd-Rautha - stars, you'd never have spoken this freely at home on Sabberon, either - but there is no home anymore. And if you've learned one thing in your years since coming of age, its that the Great and Noble Houses of the Landsraad are crawling with perjurers, fabricators. 

Paul is likely the same. 

If the Atreides boy must be wed to you, you cannot help that, just as you couldn't help with Feyd-Rautha. They can dress you, insist in your traditional customs - but you will not go down easy. No matter how cold the home, you can be colder. You are more than the bones which hold you up; Meaner than the demons that kept you in their ghostly-grip for four years. 

His cheeks flush a peculiar pink, bottom lip captured between pearly teeth. "No," he starts again, eyes searching - trying to find you, beneath the layers of green that wrap around you. "Not Harkonnen-" he quiets after he says the name, as if worried to offend you. "I meant-" his eyes swim, "Bene Gesserit." 

Your stomach chills as you meet his eyes. 

After some hesitation, you shake your head. "No, my Lord."

When he blinks at your words, you feel compelled to continue. "I suppose I was..." you move your hand to pull on the sleeve of your robes.

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"or, I was supposed to be." your unemotional tone rings through the room. Paul doesn't say anything to that, biting back the suspicion that climbs up his throat.

He stands when you rise from your seat; Your mourning dress, unlike anything he'd ever seen before, flows like the leaves of a weeping willow as you push your chair in behind you. When he offers a stiff arm to escort you out of the room, you hesitate before looping yourself loosely to him. 

She is telling the truth. 

His mother had indicated, with flicks of her hand, during the meeting the evening before; you, sat before the Atreides' council, unaware that his mother was reading your honesty. 

But that could be a trick; you've admitted to being partially trained in the ways of the Bene Gesserit, perhaps you found a way to deceive his mother. As much as he trusts Duncan and his father, he can't shake the suspicion that you're a mere pawn in the Harkonnens' game.

But his father's words burn sharply into his mind. 

Duty often requires us to navigate paths we may not have chosen for ourselves, Paul. You may not always like her, but you will treat her with the respect and care befitting of a future spouse. Love may come in other ways - but you will marry her, and together you will sire an heir when the time comes.

By decree, it was ordered you be wed to Paul, but he can't find it within himself to lose the feeling of distrust. He has spent hours learning about the Harkonnens - how they think, their strategy; and yet, from Duncan's account, the Baron and his nephew just let you go. It makes no sense to him. 

"I was supposed to be a lot of things." 

Your voice is undeniably beautiful; strong, much more resolute than he'd expected. But you are extremely cold, and evidently unwilling. Polite, yes - it seems you've been trained just as he and every other young noble of the Great Houses have - but you are calculating, aggressive.

He saw the claw marks you'd left upon Duncan; a man you've known since you were a young girl.

You walk with your chest out, back straight like a soldier; your words are cordial yet laced with steel and indifference - it only serves to deepen his unease. He guides you through the castle, murmuring quietly as he shows you along, introducing you to various members of staff who stop and bow in recognition. 

You don't say much until he escorts you to a path that winds down out of your sights; Below the castle, between jagged rocks, Paul finds himself concerned to no longer be surrounded by castle walls. Beside him, you take a deep breath, your footsteps faltering as you slow to stare at moss that sprawls across the cobblestone. 

Curiously, Paul slows to a stop beside you.

For a moment, you stare down at the dirt and fallen tree limbs, the grassy fields and rocks. Soon, as though an invisible string pulls you upwards, you snap your head, voice sheepish behind your veil. "Apologies, my Lord." You start to turn away. "I've read of plants like this, but never seen them before in person." 

Paul is suddenly struck by the realization that you may not have seen much of any flora nor fauna on Caladan. He knows what Giedi Prime is like; and your homeworld, from what he'd read last night before bed, was mostly full of Glaciers, forests, and high altitudes. Perhaps you are interested in such things; the idea surprises him. 

So instead of moving along, he finds himself bending to pull off a bit of the moss from a fallen trunk. The earthy dirt spreads between his nimble fingers, the green bright against his skin. You watch him silently.

"It absorbs up to twenty times its dry weight in water." He says it quietly, repeating what he'd learned in an ecological lesson, pushing on the spongy material with his thumb. "Banks of it grow just around the brackish tidepools outside the castle." 

Your interest, piqued, causes your head to crane slightly from your short height - he can tell, even without seeing any part of your face, that you are fascinated. "Am I allowed to see?" You ask stiffly, your arms by your sides.

An initial wave of protectiveness over his home washes over him; remembering his father's words, he forces his shoulders to relax. He lets the moss fall back to the stump, brows furrowing. 

"You are to be Lady Atreides, one day." He tries to school his voice evenly, avoiding any hint of resistance to this fact. "You do not have to ask permission to see your own land." 

The wind from the sea whips around you; his stray curls fly in his vision. There are no words from you for several very long breaths, in which you clear your throat. 

"I do not feel well, my Lord." You say moments later, voice cordial but thick with the desire to be alone, "I believe I am sick from travel. Please, if you would excuse me." 

He is unsure if he had made you uncomfortable or if you are truly feeling sick; nonetheless, Paul escorts you to your chambers silently, calling one of the handmaids - Hestia, her name is - to check on you. He insists she bring you some bread and cheese, to draw you a bath if you please. 

His jaw clenches; he's to train with his mother soon, but he needs release. His muscles clench in repressed frustration and so Paul lets his feet carry him swiftly to the training quarters.

His fingers itch for a blade; his mind itches to forget about the last day, about the cold life that lies ahead of him. 

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follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.

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[mothiir]

What shenanigans do you think lion and leman get up to when they smell their woman ovulating

i’m sorry anon did you ask me to write yet another list of ‘primarchs react to’?

yes, thought you did! here is an incomplete list of ‘primarchs reacting to their lady ovulating’. all of these, apart from roboute, are pre-heresy.

roboute guilliman - starting off strong. This man smells that you are fertile and immediately checks and triple checks that your implant is functioning and that there is no chance that you are getting pregnant. No babies. Not now. Maybe when he has a farm, in a few hundred years. But nope, not now. If things are bad in the imperium at that moment, his ‘can’t be a dad’ anxiety might spike to the point where he doesn’t even want to put his penis near you. He sticks out one knee — still encased in his holy armour — and is like okay rub on that while I finish up this paperwork, you have forty five minutes.

the lion - his sex ed came in two batches: one from observing wild animals, and two from observing some very homosexual knights. He isn’t exactly the expert on the female reproductive cycle. However, he does the best he can, extrapolating from how female lions acted in the forest of Caliban. When they were fertile, they badgered the males for sex constantly, and seemed very distressed when they weren’t being serviced. In his infinite wisdom, he decides that human woman are probably the same, and proceeds to put you on your back at least five times a day. You whinge less than normal (mostly because you are almost comatose with exhaustion) so he counts this as a success.

leman russ - unlike the lion (and indeed most of his brothers) he has had considerable experience with female humans before he met you, so he knows exactly what to do. Yes, he does buy into some stereotypes — you are a little hornier than normal, maybe, but you’re certainly not the insatiable sex goddess he starts treating you like — but his heart (and dick) are in the right place. He may even start hinting about hey do you want pups? Maybe? Just one or two? His dirty talk takes on a distinctive feral tone. Lots of talking about how pretty you’d look with his pups in you. Don’t worry, he’ll calm down eventually.

horus - will hide your birth control. Best bet is to be conveniently absent for this week of your cycle. He’s going to start whining. Ignore him — he’s a big boy, and despite his painted insistence, primarchs do not have a genetic anomaly that makes blue balls fatal.

konrad - he sniffs you more than normal, which is saying something because he sniffs you a lot. Tells you that you smell unbearably revoltingly sweet and he hates it. No, you may not leave his chambers, he wants you to stay here so he can put up with the awful-delightful fecund reek. That’s a direct quote by the way; the man has a way with words. Like Roboute, he is pretty fanatical about not wanting children, so he isn’t going to take any risks. You will end up with a very sore jaw as he makes you swallow the little Night Haunter morning noon and night to take the edge off.

lorgar — look, he knows you’re not going to go around spreading your legs for his legion, he knows that you’re a good chaste girl who only wants him, but you smell so wonderful, and you’re all rosy with health, and his sons —- well, his sons are lovely, but they’re still men. And what chance do men have against the divine? No, you stay in your rooms nice and snug, and he will tell you when you have finished that bit of the cycle and can leave. Until then, he’ll keep you occupied. Partly with sex. Mostly with reading scripture he’s written about how said sex is a divine offering to his Father.

ferrus - meat-woman smell of weak human hormones. vile. must purge woman best way iron hand know how: insertion of the iron co —

fulgrim - writes you the most gorgeous flowery poetry and presents it to you along with an eight foot picture that is designed to ‘celebrate your delightful womanhood’. It is beautiful, in the way that all his art is, but you’ll admit that you don’t quite ‘get’ this one. It’s vaguely in the shape of a uterus, in shades of purple and gold, and — is that a penis? He will then proceed to make you forget your own name, so thankfully your opinion on said art piece is never asked.

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Uriel's subtle revenge

Past =-= Next

Author's note: y'all inspired me to make a Uriel Ventris chapter with the Serf Reader. I hope y'all enjoy!

Warnings: A bit of Bully Cato, let me know if I need to add more.

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog @bleedingichorhearts @kit-williams @barn-anon @c-u-c-koo-4-40k

Tagged: @i-am-a-dragon34 @egrets-not-regrets , @gra93fruit-blog

‘Sometimes,’ Uriel Thinks to himself as he carefully tracks down one particular Serf that comes from his planet of birth from a farming community near where he'd grown up, “I think Captain Sicarius believes His own hype a little too much.’

While the Captain of the Second company is an exceptional fighter with few who could match him in sword, bolter, and tactics. His personality was something that rubbed others the wrong way, like stroking a cat's fur the wrong way far too roughly.

He spots the Serf dutifully tending to their tasks, their hair pinned up and out of the way as they diligently clean the room. They look up and around, feeling eyes on them. They look into his eyes briefly before they look down and properly Bow to him, pausing their work.

“Greetings, Lord Angel,” They say with very care pronunciation.

Uriel remembers when he had Pasinius were young Aspirants and they’d been with a whole barracks full of boys within the acceptable age range from every planet within Ultramar and the teasing and mockery he and his oldest friend had gotten for their ‘hick planet accent’.

Your particular version of their shared accent is really adorable in his opinion. Even when you are trying to hide it, which is a shame in his opinion.

“Greetings Serf,” he says, allowing his Calthian accent to come through.

Their head shot up and they stared at him wide eyed for a moment. Recognizing their shared accent.

“I hear you come from a place near where I used to live,” Uriel continued. “Have the grox-cheeses in the deep caves aged into the wine-dark musk that I remember?”

“Yes, and the festival of cheese wheels happened a few months before I left, Lord Angel,” you reply, your accent thickening back to what it was before you'd come aboard the space ship.

You knew that The Angels of Ultramar are from all over the planets under the protective Custody of the Imperial Regent. But you hadn't realized that one of the farm boys of Calth had actually managed to become an Angel, from what you can read of his Armor, he's a Captain, which is somewhat high ranking. Although at least as far as you can tell, it is.

Uriel and you talk about the various festivals and celebrations that their towns share, to mark the seasons and other important Holidays and events that are celebrated either for local planetary things, or for more important Imperium wide events.

Uriel is regaling you about one of the times he had done the Space Cooper's-hill cheese rolling and wake, one Of the few that he'd participated in before becoming an Aspirant.

You had started to smile and giggle as Uriel was describing something when a voice called out, haughty, And annoyed, “tch, must you speak in such a low way Ventris?”

Uriel's smile only faded somewhat, but his eyes sharpen at the way that you were slightly edging away from the sharp, sour tones of Captain Sicarius.

Uriel allowed himself to glance towards the older Ultramarine, noticing the way he was fuming and scowling at the pair of them.

Uriel stopped himself from smirking a little bit as he realized just how Annoyed the noble-blooded Ultramarine was.

“Ah, Lassie,” Uriel drawls, thickening his accent further, glancing down at you with an innocuous smile,“th’ Cap is fair steam'd.”

“Speak. Properly,” Cato hisses at his annoying younger brother. “You are the Fourth Captain of the Ultramarines.”

Cato clenches his fists and relaxes them a couple of times. He had been going in this direction for a purpose, but what that way flew out of his head when he had heard and seen Uriel speaking with you.

And realizing one of the things is that had bugged him about you. That deeply annoyed him, throne-Cursed Ventris is also from Calth. And the little snot likes to use that accent, which no one but him and his fellow country Bumpkins can understand.

He is ignoring the fact that part of the reason he's so angry is that Ventris got you to smile and giggle at him. He should go to an Apothecary because one of his hearts had started hurting A little to see you look at a different Space Marine like that. Then the bizarre hurt turned into welcome and familiar rage.

“If you aren't doing anything important,” Cato barks at the pair of Calthians,”stop blocking the hallways and get back to work.”

You started to curl in on yourself As a hot flush of shame has your cheeks turning red. You had continued to work, albeit At a slower pace as you spoke and listened to Captain Sicarius's word.

“I think you need to dislodge your sword from your scrotum,” Ventris snarks at Cato.

Cato feels a vein start to throb in his forehead at the younger Captain’s Words." You and I need to go to the sparring ring. Now.”

“Gladly,” Uriel says, giving you a nod before following after an angrily stomping Cato.

He was glad he was able to speak with you for a little while. There aren't many fellow Calthians that go off planet.

[scp-xxxx]

Valdor: Birth of the Imperium

The entire book.

[inkofthebrain]

Imperial masterlist || Paul Atreides x f!reader

———

Paul x F!Reader || 17,215 words ||Paul Atreides, Duke of Arakkis, takes the hand of the Emperor’s eldest daughter for the throne. They know they must learn to be civil, but what will it cost them…

(1) “It was better to have a pretty fiancé who also did not seem like she needed to be supervised all the time.”

(2) “You have been ripped from your home and presented to the Atreides estate as a hope to strengthen the now fallen apart Imperium.”

(3) “As you taught him the complex workings of the imperium and its politics, you realized his intelligence was unmatched.”

(4) “Fate is something you never believed in, yet as the wool that has been placed over your eyes starts to slip you realize—your fate has been decided centuries before your birth.”

(5) “"Perhaps that is the hardest part", he says. "The knowledge that we have no real control over our own lives. That everything we do is predestined, and the path we follow has already been laid out for us."”

(6) “Paul's gaze stills on the necklace as you turn to face him, his eyes fluttering to your throat as his fingers lightly brush the delicate chain.”

(7) “She is simply stating a fact, and it hits you like a gut punch. “Your role as a bride, especially of your stature, necessitates heirs. It is a political need.””

(8) “You have the weight of an empire on your shoulders yet you hold your head high. You refuse to falter, there is no room for weakness within this court; this you know very well. “

(9) “He had just married a woman he barely knew, all the while leaving the woman who brought him to be the person he is now behind in the dust.“

[fuckyeahisawthat]

FWIW my take is that (movie) Jessica conceiving Paul as a boy was 0% about wanting to birth the Kwisatz Haderach. It was like 87% about the fact that she loved Leto and Leto wanted a son. And the rest was about protecting her child from becoming the future Mrs. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. (Either specifically, if she knew about the planned betrothal, or generally, if she didn't.) Both of these are a rebellion against the Bene Gesserit, in favor of her partner and her child.

I don't know if she would have done it if Leto hadn't wanted a son. His wanting it protected her own designs. She could say she did it for love and it wouldn't be a lie.

It is undoubtedly better to be born a boy in the space feudalism world of the Great Houses. Her son would be the heir to the considerable power of House Atreides. Her daughter would only ever be the wife of an heir. At best, wielding power from the shadows, by controlling her husband; at worst, nothing more than a bargaining chip in the power plays between the Great Houses and the Bene Gesserit. Even the daughter of the Emperor has to rely on marriage to secure her access to power in the Imperium.

Jessica could have had the son Leto wanted and then gone on to have one or more daughters as she'd been instructed. Instead she conceives no children at all for, in the movie-verse, probably close to 20 years, not getting pregnant with an Atreides child again until almost the last moment it's possible. (And that, too, is about love I think, about having one last connection to her partner to hold onto, even as they feel the trap closing around them. Would she have allowed herself to conceive Alia in other circumstances? I don't think so.) So at some point, there must have been a conscious choice to not only not bear only daughters, but bear no daughters at all.

(How often does she think about how fucking lucky she got? She could have ended up with someone a lot worse than Leto Atreides. Plenty of her fellow sisters have, and they just have to fucking deal with it. But maybe her child doesn't.)

Maybe it's only when Paul starts growing up that it becomes clear there is something uncanny about him, and that's when she starts thinking Hmmm. Maybe she starts training him in Bene Gesserit skills that she's been taught boys can't master, except he is mastering them, and he's been having these dreams...

Of course from his perspective, it looks like she planned this from the beginning, that she wanted a chess piece in a thousands-year-long plan instead of a son. But in her mind, that's exactly what she was trying to protect him from. And in saving him from one doom she steered him straight into another.

[nyaskitten]

Hmm in My head I think the Overlord isn't the only of his kind, that there were others, and he just got lucky.

I'm gonna yap like A LOT . Be forewarned.

They were a species of parasitic spirits conjured by powerful sorcerers and brought by the Oni Warlords to corrupt Ninjago, and after Mystake killled the other two Warlords, she kinda had to help FSM hunt down and exterminate the parasites.

Unfortunately for them, one of these parasites found his way into the body of a dying Patriarch, the Patriarch of the Central Flatlands (which would one day become Ninjago City, and this specific area is quite literally the area within which Borg Tower was made, hence why the Overlord always returns to that area, it's where he's most powerful) and merged with the untouched power that lay in his weakening body.

This resulted in the birth of the Patriarch of the Eternal Shadow, who would soon be known as the Overlord. FSM felt the departure of the Patriarch of the Central Flatlands, but just as well he felt a great corruption had entered his soul, and with Mystake, he sought to find what happened.

When they arrived, they found this new Patriarch wearing the corpse of the previous Patriarch, and FSM was enraged at the sight. He instantly went for the kill, much to the dismay of Mystake.

Though FSM managed to obliterate the body, he only weakened the spirit, and worse yet, now the Patriarch of Eternal Shadow had tasted the FSM's power, he bore some of it within him, and it just made him stronger, hungrier... it made him sentient...

The spirit's energy seeped into the ground, slowly draining the surrounding life and the very power upon which Ninjago was founded upon, and using it to strengthen himself. This would have HORRIFIC consequences (the creation the Balance, a power which ties the spirit eternally to Ninjago,) Soon was born the Overlord, and he tore the world open as he rose.

Terror and panic spread across the people of Ninjago. The FSM quickly returned to the sight of his prior conflict to find things had gotten way worse. Suddenly the parasite-spirit had grown, he had grown larger than the Patriarch he once embodied, he was something New.

The something New was way too powerful for the FSM, he created a species of beasts meant specifically to hunt elemental powers (grundles,) an untouchable fortress, an army of indestructable stone warriors, and a corrupted serpent whose sole mission was to devour everything in her sight.

The FSM was at a loss, and could only retreat, he had no way to stop anything the Overlord was throwing at him. He and Mystake had no idea what to even DO about this, that is until they started to look through the information compiled of the realms, and saw a stand-out realm. They were in awe, it was said to be a realm which housed a kingdom run by dragon energy, a realm of extreme advancements and unique design, Imperium.

With no other option, FSM went to Imperium alone (as Mystake, a full-blooded oni, would no doubt rile the dragons up more than he, a half-blood.) He went to the Empress of Imperium at the time and sought her aid in creating for him a suit of great power, one which relied on dragon and elemental energy.

It was kind of awkward though, because he swore he recognized at least one or two dragons there from the war, and now he was getting them to power a weapon of war? Whoopsies. (Ofc while he was there, he found a way to implement vehicles from Imperium into his Golden Weapon which is my explanation for the random-ass Golden Weapon vehicles.)

Anyways while the Empress' top scientists were very busy at work with this mech, the FSM took the time to study fighting techniques from the dragons, and developed from them the Art of the Golden Dragon.

After a few days of trial and error, the FSM's new battle armor, the Golden Mech, charged with both his own power and the combined energies of several other dragons, was finally ready to help him take on the Overlord.

When he returned, he was bombarded with a horrific sight, his once gorgeous realm was now in ruin, darkness growing all around, where he stood was one of the few lands of sanctuary left within his world. He had to act fast. He called out to the Overlord, who near-immediately arrived through the shadows, his legions in tow.

The FSM quickly summoned the Golden Weapons and used them for one last boost on his mech, and prepared for battle. What the Overlord WASN'T ready for was the FSM grabbing him by the snout, slicing off one of his wings, dropping him to the floor, stomping on his snout, and charging up his blade in order to decapitate him.

To combat this, the Overlord quickly summoned shadows to restrain the Golden Mech, then he was able to get up and blast the FSM back so hard he probably would've felt that for a week. Or three. FSM was lucky enough to land on his mech feet and continue to clash with the Overlord. Soon, he realized the battle was getting a Bit too futile, and he came to a realization.

Too much of the land had fallen to the Overlord, he couldn't expel him from this world, but he could seal him from the land... with that, the FSM charged his blade one final time, this time with all of the energy and strength of his mech and himself. He leaped upwards and he drove his blade straight into the ground.

The resulting shockwave was so powerful, it tore the island in two and knocked the Helmet of Shadows (or the Overlord's Crown of Horns,) clean off, and into the hands of the FSM. The Overlord's spirit was torn away from his body, and his spirit was stuck on the half of the island slowly drifting away, while his army was left on the FSM's side.

In order to do a clean-up, the FSM had to seal the Overlord's destroyed physical vessel in a realm beyond and between realms, a sort of pocket-realm akin to the Grasslands or Nether-Space (which only the Golden Weapons could open.)

Then he constructed an indestructable tomb and used the Helmet of Shadows to force the Stone Warriors down there. Some were stuck submerged in the sea or FAR in the wilderness where no one would find them (well except for Misako several thousands of years later but she's an outlier and should not be counted.

Eventually, FSM did have to trek back to the Dark Island in order to seal the Golden Mech within the Temple of Light, and then submerge the island as much as possible to ensure the Overlord would not return.

Then he had one last task to perform, removing the darkness from Ninjago. It was... difficult. At one point he considered just eating the Dark Matter and their crystalline remnants, but very quickly decided against that. Eventually, he and Mystake were able to get enough gold from the Golden Peaks to erase the Dark Matter from the land forever... he also had to reseal the grounds that the Overlord tore apart which was. A pain in the ass.

Ehhh one problem after ALL of that though... the Overlord's serpent was nowhere to be found, and his element-hunting dinosaurs were still running loose somewhere in the vast lands of Ninjago... but I'm sure it'll be fine... what's the worst thing that a snake with corruptive powers could even DO psht I'm sure it's Fine. FSM will be FINE nothing bad'll happen

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

A Piece of Innocence: The Vision

Summary: Konrad Curze doesn't believe in innocence. But still he finds it in you, not noticing the madness. Because he himself is mad.

Konrad Curze/fem!Reader (Vulkan/fem!Reader background)

Warnings: yandere, obsession

Word count: 1509

Author's Note: This entire series or drabbles (hard to say) is an attempt to write a story from the perspective of an unreliable narrator. So some facts may deliberately contradict each other. Especially considering that Konrad could see several versions of the future. This means that history itself also has many paths.

Song: Avenged Sevenfold - A Little Piece of Heaven

Before the story begins Is it such a sin For me to take what's mine Until the end of time?

The foggy world Anua was pitiful. They surrendered to the Night Lords immediately. The Legion did not even need to show the recordings from the planet, which nevertheless decided to resist. For a moment it seemed to Konrad Curze that this planet would soon break out in rebellion. It is only trying to avert his gaze, to deceive.

But having descended to the surface, the primarch realized that these people would never go against the Imperium. There were catastrophically few people here for the whole planet. About a million. As the local rulers later explained, too many wars were fought on Anua and the world was engulfed in plague many times. As a result, humanity almost disappeared.

And only crumbs of the former world remained. There were strict laws here, but preaching mercy. People did not kill each other, did not steal, did not rape. There were no wars here, people did not know how to fight. Peace reigned here. Anua was the world that Konrad wanted to build on Nostramo.

Lie. Illusion. It doesn't happen that way. Wrong.

Vulkan tried to assure Konrad that he was mistaken (alas, their ships were heading in the same direction, the company was conducted together). But Konrad didn't believe it. There is no such thing as innocence (Vulkan can lie to himself as much as he wants, but Curze knows the truth; they both are monsters).

As soon as the servant of the people (as the rulers of Anua were called; hypocrites) learned about imperial technologies, he immediately beamed. And he asked whether the Imperium could heal wounded souls, peaceful people whose minds had been damaged. Vulkan assured that Terra would show them such mercy and the ruler decided to show the “unclean” irregular creatures who were like this from birth. Because of biochemicals that were once used in warfare.

About 30 people, no more. They were all kept in a special house where they were monitored. They looked after and cared for. They were useless, but mercy was dictated in Anua. Konrad only laughed to himself at this stupidity, but when he saw these unclean ones with his own eyes, he realized that he was mistaken. Fulgrim said that such a feeling could be experienced at the sight of a painting, listening to music, or in the arms of a lover.

Feeling beautiful. They were wonderful.

Men and women, even children, were walking around the garden. Some laughed like madmen, others looked at one point. One man tried to walk on all fours. Two little twin girls desperately tried to blend in in the same clothes, despite the entreaties of the peepers. There was no malice in them, there was no violence or anything wrong in them. They are...

“They are mad,” Vulkan whispered in horror.

Innocent.

“I hoped that you could help them,” whispered the servant of the people, wiping away tears. What a fake. - “Alas, our genes were damaged. Many are weak, we would die if not for our technology. But some people are born with some kind of damage to the brain. They don't understand what they are doing. They don't understand this world. And if you took them to Terra and studied them in order to save them-"

“No,” the primarch’s whisper feels more like steel. Many keepers turn their attention to them, trembling like rats. But not innocent, no. They were in their own world.

"No?" - the ruler is shaking disgustingly, sweat flows down his forehead.

"No. They are innocent. They're fine. They shouldn't change." - The primarch curls his lips and walks forward. He is not going to listen to the pleas of a mortal or the entreaties of Vulkan. This world is wonderful, Konrad did not intend to drag it into the mud.

He wandered around the garden for a long time. Even too much. In Anua the bright sun shone, unlike Nostramo. But still, it didn’t hurt his eyes so much because of the fog here. The whole valley was like a dream. Perhaps he would have continued to wander around the garden before returning to Nightfall. But he met you.

Or rather, you met him. Saw him from afar and decided to follow. You were afraid of his pale skin and the unnatural blackness of his eyes, Konrad knew this. But he felt, he heard, he saw in your every movement that you were afraid of everything. It’s as if a stranger finds herself in another world, too different from her own.

“Did you come from the sky?” - you quickly babble a question and hide behind a tree. Konrad can only see your small hand and the left side of your face. Curiosity was eating you up. - “Are there other creatures living on the stars? Are we not alone?

You didn't even consider him as a human. Konrad just chuckled at your words, but you continued to watch. You waited until he stopped laughing and answered your question. But a man could kill you right here and no one would know. But your innocence was eating you up.

And devoured him.

"Yes. Yes, I came from the skies.” - the man almost suffocates, looking at your small figure. - “From a world where only night reigns. I ruled there for many, many years. Night Haunter. That's how they called me.”

You look at him carefully, looking him up and down. Konrad did not get his name as an ordinary man or primarch, he was a ghost to his world. The Hand That Wounds. Fulgrim explained to him that it was easier for people to call him Konrad, so he must accept a “gift” from his father the Emperor...

“Beautiful name,” you whisper quietly and completely hide behind the tree. And yet you have to leave your shelter as soon as you hear the call for dinner. You're tender and sweet, weak as a bird, getting tangled up in your legs as you run up the hill. But you still manage to shout after him. - “Goodbye!”

Innocence. A wonderful naivety that the Night Haunter never dreamed of seeing. Right before his eyes, it flew away, led by alien voices, villains in sheep's clothing who dream of tearing it apart. Who wants to remake you into something “normal”.

A pale face is painted with a predatory smile, and a shrill laugh sweeps through the quiet garden. Saliva runs down his chin, which Konrad immediately licks. He shouldn't be seen in this state. He looked and behaved nobly when he became ruler of Nostramo, so why did he sometimes have seizures?

That's what Fulgrim liked to say. But the Phoenician did not see what Konrad saw. He did not see his terrifying future, which would tear him in half. You didn't see your future either. And to his surprise and delight, the Night Haunter was also unaware of how your fate would turn out.

***

“You can't do this.” - the primarch of the Night Lords hisses almost like a snake. His entire appearance evokes desperate horror among mortals. But not Vulkan.

"I can. I also participated in this campaign. I stepped on this earth with you.” - His brother’s red eyes seethe with anger, but he does his best to restrain it. If only the people dear to him would not think that he was the same monster. - “The people of Anua need help and I will give it to them. Terra has the best medicine possible, we can save them.”

“You will kill them.”

Konrad saw it. Saw what the best minds of Terra would do. They will open the brains of the unfortunate victims and conduct experiments on them. They will understand how to avoid this mutation, they will understand how to create a new weapon with a worse effect. And the dead bodies of the innocent will be thrown into the pit because they will no longer be needed. Vulkan will regret this, oh, he will suffer and blame himself.

“I made a decision. Don’t try to convince me or stop me.”

But not now. Now the primarch has turned into a dragon, ready to pounce on anyone. Konrad knew that he could leave his brother, convince him to give up this idea, preserve his innocence... but that future was so far away. It was impossible.

“You can do whatever you want with Anua. Let this world be under your protection, I don’t care. But only on one condition.” - Vulkan looks at the primarch incredulously, but Konrad doesn’t care. He didn't see you among the bodies. Didn't see your death. You will live.

“I’ll take one person. Only one. She will live, I will not harm her. I will even allow you to meet in the future so that you can be convinced of the truthfulness of my words.”

Vulkan is silent, peering intently into the primarch’s face. He doesn't want to sacrifice even one person. But he knows better than to oppose Curze. Otherwise, then he would have to pay with too many lives.

"She?"

Night Haunter smiles with all his might, hiding his growing madness.

[ghostscrown]

Someone has to say it : they knew what they were doing with Sora being so transcoded.

You can't just write all of these transcoded scenes in 2023 by "accident" – especially in a show putting random pride flags in the background to be "allies but we won't take too much risks". Intentional coding really feels like something they would do.

We have a character with pink hair who wears fake cat ears (we all remember the trans girls being obsessed with cat ears era, right ?), changed her name for one being meaningful to her, then ran away from an oppressive government and her unsupportive parents to join a found family. Also, her charadesign's color palette is pink, white and blue.

Not to mention the transcoded as heck scenes :

"Who's Ana ??? Her name is Sora !"

"That's my birth name."

"Oh... Well now I feel dumb-"

(Not the exact quote since I watch the show in french, but you get it)

The way Arin just immediately accepted she had a birth name different from her actual name ??? Just like someone who knows you're trans but didn't know what your deadname was ??? Like. Usually in shows, you would expect a big "you lied to me by using a fake name all these years" drama but here, he just couldn't care less. If this isn't Arin being an ally, then what is it ???

People knowing her from when she lived at Imperium calling her "Ana" just to annoy her ??? But even after learning her birth name, none of her friends ever called her "Ana" ???

The scene in part 2 with her parents and all ??? Hello ???

Her admitting she was still influenced by the fact she felt like disappointing her parents ? Then facing them but they didn't change. They were still thinking Imperium was right and all of the bad things they did just weren't true. Tried to convince her to go back after being horrible with her when she needed their support the most, and insisted on calling her "Ana". So she told them one last time her name was "Sora" then left ???

The whole moral being basically "be who you are" ?????

ALL OF THE SCENES. Her whole arc just feels like transcoding. I refuse to believe this wasn't on purpose.

Edit : feels like they're using a not canonically trans character to normalize trans experiences and I'm here for it

[fastlikealambo]

holy crowns || paul atreides x black! fem reader

it was supposed to be your sister, your bene gesserit trained sister molded by the great houses, spy for the imperium. with no warning, paul chooses you instead and changes your life forever. some call him messiah, others an abomination, but you will call him husband. 18+only, minors dni note: hello! this takes place after the events of dune part two and Paul is about to become emperor. Irulan and her father are in exile and Chani is gone. i'm so sorry for the wait, I've been writing and rewriting this chapter, and even now I'm not sure if I have Paul's voice right. I hope you like it!

tw: paul has some quick naughty thoughts!

if you wish to see the story continue on beyond this chapter, please comment or reblog!

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

CHAPTER THREE

THE STEEL IS THE WATER.

Paul Atreides did not dream, he augured.

What great and terrible things existed beneath his eyelids, a pocket world of hope, atrocities, and hopeful atrocities all at the command of the young emperor. 

He was still young, wasn’t he?

There were times when he looked upon his own reflection and saw a thousand Fremen faces, no eyes nor mouth, just Paradise.

 In the corner of his lips, he stole a glimpse of Chani.

At night, in the very edges of his vision, Paul stared at himself and his father stared back.

Yet now, the emperor’s visions turned to you  in bed, still adjusting to the heat, sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning.

He could hold you still to rest if he wanted to, flatten the stress crease between your brows. The sweat between your breasts would not be wasted water for Paul, the tongue of the outer world would lap quick and perhaps venture further south-

No, it was not time.

Paul's sight moved from sleeping you to hundreds of thousands of visions in a single second, your past and futures laid out before your soon to be husband. 

He saw your daughter learning to sandwalk, he heard the laughter of his grandson echoing from Caladan and through his mind’s eye. 

So much love and destruction in between then and now.

  “You give the sister absolute power over the Bene Gesserit, why?” Jessica asked, not bothering to knock before entering Paul’s rooms, ripping him back into the present.

  “So the sisterhood falls in line under me, as you have done, as Alia will do. The sister is the key but I am the door, Mother.”

“Power over the Bene Gesserit is earned, the choice of Mother Superior takes planning yet you give it like a wedding present.”

 “Why does it bother you? You created the prophecy, I led the Fremen through it, the holy war has ended. You have everything you want, and now my bride and her sister are the future of the empire you desired. Is it because you can no longer whisper in my ear?”

Paul loved Lady Jessica.

But long gone were the days of Jessica’s son and he caught the way she looked at him now.

 Reverence, amusement, and just a whiff of fear she believed to be hidden from him but there was nothing anyone, Bene Gesserit or desert mouse, could hide from him, The Water of Life had seen to that.

Lady Jessica had birthed Shai Hulud in human form and yet still wondered why he swallowed the world. 

      “You turned away the most powerful family for an alliance and have given a nameless house two seats at our table. Your new  bride has no training, no rank and you bestow upon your almost assassin the sacred sisterhood.  I’m worried for you, Paul.” Lady Jessica said, kneeling in front of Paul, her son, her product.

   Paul took his mother’s hand gently and looked her in the eye.

THERE IS NO OUR TABLE.

 I AM THE TABLE.

 I AM THE WOOD THAT CARVED IT.

 I AM THE STEEL BENEATH YOUR FEET.

WHEN YOU CRY FOR LETO I AM YOUR WATER.

THERE IS ONLY ME.

“Do we understand each other?”

Jessica was gone before Paul could blink.

He turned his sight back to you, present you, but you were not there.

Lady Jessica had not brought worry to her son, but a distraction.

You had been taken. 

Again, I’m sorry this took so long but I hope it is worth the wait! Thank you for reading!

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