#but she was very surprised i was an engineering major

[caimitos]

there has Got to be a way for review sessions to be shorter than 10 hours a day. please. cause i start off so strong in the morning but by 3 PM i keep losing focus and start spiraling and questioning all of my life choices

[takumiraine]

Once Upon A Time Chapter 2

<prev> <next>

So Danny? 100% has PTSD. I do have a vague plan for this. And most of the next chap written. The Fentons may or may not be terrible parents. You’ll have to wait and see. I do have plans to break everyone’s hearts at least once. Anyways. This is considered my like…. Audience test before Ao3. Things may change. As a reminder all I know about dc is from fandom and wiki and everything I remember about dp is prob poorly remembered.

—

Once upon a time, there had been a young boy who was happy. Once upon a time, there was a young boy who had dreams and a future. Once upon a time, there was a boy who had been alive in every sense of the word. Once upon a time, everything shattered. Once upon a time, there was a man who was filled with anger. Once upon a time, there was a man just as alive as he was dead. Once upon a time, there was a man who was haunted and hunted.

As the stabbed kid shuffled off, leaving Jason baffled, he grabbed the guy who he had slammed into the wall. His head was bleeding but his breathing was steady and Jason huffed. He knew he definitely cracked the guy’s skull, but he had survived worse.

“O, what do we know on this guy?” He asked the woman in his ear. Oracle’s answer would determine whether he took the guy in to the ER or let him roll the dice of fate.

“Rap sheet about a mile long. Pretty basic stuff. Armed robbery, possession with intent, B&Es, assault and battery, the usual.”

Jason shrugged then and dropped the guy against the wall. Rolling the dice it was. He turned away, looking towards where the kid disappeared around the corner “and what about the guy he was mugging?”

“That’s where it gets weird.” Oracle’s typing was coming through loud and clear. “It’s hard to get a clear picture of him. He has some sort of distortion on the feed. Everything else comes out clear but…. He’s a mess of pixels. Voice too. Scrambled. It’ll take time.”

“Think he’s a meta?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, considering he got knifed and just…. Walked off with it. Wonder what his issue with B is though.”

“Couldn’t tell you. Think it might be time to update my armor if I’m being lumped in with people B and the bird brains have pissed off.” Jason took an evidence kit out of his pocket and swiped at the blood on his chest. Old habits and all. “Got a sample of the kid’s blood though.”

“Good thinking. Wonder if he’s in any databases. I’ve got a cleaned up picture now. Enough that it’s pinging in GU’s database. Dan Nightingale, Mechanical engineering major. It says he’s 19, it’s his freshman year and he’s in like every remedial class he can take, high school transcripts are mediocre at best. No other information about him really. Rogue in the making that one.” Oracle reported. Jason groaned, grapneling up to the rooftops to follow where the kid went off to.

“Someone should keep an eye on him. Ugh. This’ll be a conversation for B and the birds won’t it? Kid won’t like having a bunch of birds following him.” Jason flicked through the different visual modes on his visor, finding…. Cold moving through one of the apartment buildings. It was human shaped, but where he expected to find heat…. “Weird…. You seeing this?”

“Very weird,” Barbara agreed, tapping into his visor’s feed. “And hey, you could just…. Not tell him. You wanted a Lit degree right? Go to class, befriend him. Do some recon.” Jason knew Babs always walked the fine line between what Bruce needed to know about the rest of them and what she had to keep secret to keep helping them. He didn’t envy her position. Jason still wanted Bruce to hurt sometimes. Not as much as he used to, something about the sins of the father and all that. He just wanted Bruce to be aware that everything he had ever hoped for his boy to be was… out of both of their reaches forever.

“That sounds annoying.” He was 23. He didn’t have any interest in taking on a degree on top of his full time crime fighting and criminal empire running jobs.

“Yeah, but what other choice do you have? It’s go back to school, tell B, or wait for him to become a rogue.”

“I hate you sometimes.” He muttered, unsure of what made him suddenly so interested in that angry guy.

“Feeling’s mutual Hood,” She replied with what was definitely a fond tone. He grimaced.

—-

In the apartment, Danny was less than thrilled. That was his favorite shirt! Now not only was it covered in blood, it had a huge hole in it. His core still thrummed with the urge to fight, but he tamped it down. Slowly, as he pulled the knife out, he sealed the wound with a layer of ice, pulling his shirt off and throwing it into the bathroom sink. The knife was dropped into the kitchen sink. His keys and phone in his bedroom on the battered nightstand next to the bed.

He returned to the bathroom and turned the water on cold. He let it spray full blast before working on scrubbing the blood from his shirt. He looked up to eye himself critically in the mirror before noticing the waistband of his jeans were saturated with blood too. Damn it. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his pants off, throwing them into the now overfilled sink. The bathtub would probably be a better choice. Turning off the sink and turning on the tub Danny picked up the sopping clothes and dropped them with a wet thump into the basin of the tub. Carefully he lowered himself onto the floor, wincing at the way pain clawed through him.

He would need to actually eat food to heal from this at any reasonable speed. He thought of the two dollars he had, then the emergency stash of….he racked his brain to remember how much of the emergency cash he was left with once he got to Gotham…right. Twenty bucks…. That was all he had in the wall.

He missed the days when Sam would just throw money at him whenever his parents forgot to do things like pay rent or put food in the fridge.

As if agreeing his stomach rumbled loudly, demanding actual food to sate the expense of energy healing his injury would take. He thought about calling Sam. Seeing if she could arrange a prepaid card for him. He knew she would in a heartbeat.

Even cut off from family money she seemed to be doing better than he was. Wracking his brain, Danny thought she was working in Bludhaven as some sort of personal assistant. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion that came from sustaining a human body on nothing but ecto or if he had been too distracted in the moment to pay proper attention, but he couldn’t remember if that was right. Getting the blood out of his clothes he wiped at the remaining blood on his body, getting most of it off. He grabbed the clothes and turned off the water.

Slowly, Danny pushed himself to his feet. He had survived worse, multiple times. But pain never seemed to stop being painful. It lanced through his side and he almost fell back to his knees with the way it stole his breath and doubled him over. He wished he could go back to the Zone and just… wait it out. But in order to do that without drawing attention he’d need a portal. The only ones he knew of were either destroyed or…. Compromised.

Maybe he should call Vlad. Danny shook that thought away almost immediately as he realized how silly it was. Vlad spent most of his teen years antagonizing him. Besides the GIW had probably gotten to Vlad too. If he wasn’t captured he would likely be compromised. Memories of Amity Park flooded in before Danny could stop them. Of asking for help. Over and over. Of the GIW storming in and locking everything down. Of Danny frantically telling his parents, only for their eyes to dart to the kitchen before they could stop it. Of the sound of energy. The smell of his flesh burning. Of pain.

Danny forced himself to take a breath. He focused on the wet clothes in his hands. On the tiles beneath his feet. Of the too harsh fluorescents in the bathroom that buzzed. The sounds of the people above him arguing over bills and needing better jobs.

Slowly he banished the memories back where they belonged. He’d… figure it out. He had to. Somehow. For now, sleep. Danny hung up the wet clothes over the shower bar, made sure there was a towel on the floor and shuffled into the bedroom. Double checking that his alarm was set, even though his class wasn’t until early afternoon, he didn’t want to miss it, he slid into his bed and pulled the pile of blankets up over him.

Almost instantly, he was out.

—-

“B,” Jason said in lieu of a proper greeting as he stepped into the Batcave, hood tucked under his arm.

“Jason,” Bruce looked up and turned the surprised expression into something more fond. “To what do I owe the visit?”

Jason leaned against the rock. Foot braced against the wall. “I know semester’s already started, but something came up. How hard would it be to start at GU?”

Bruce stared at him for a long moment and Jason knew it was his way of trying to figure out what buttons to press. Then he tilted his head and turned back to the computer screen. “Not too hard. It is early yet. Anything I should know?”

“Babs was lonely.” It was an out and out lie, but it seemed to soften things in Bruce further, reminding him of the two children that failed him within months of each other.

“Hm.” Bruce was silent at his computer for a long moment. Convinced that was the end of the conversation, Jason tightened his grip on the helmet he had tucked under his arm. “Either way. It is a good choice. Literature?”

The comment and question rankled Jason, the thing from the pit scratching at his carefully contained emotions. Pushing for any crack. Bruce was trying he reminded himself. Too little too late, but trying.

“Yeah. Going in in the morning.”

“Should I call ahead?”

“No. I can handle it. If not I have no business being there.”

“You will do fine.” The ‘you are a Wayne’ was left unspoken.

Jason snorted. “Right. Good talk.”

“Are you staying the night?” An olive branch. Jason wanted to burn it. He tempered the impulse to a spark.

“I have my own place.”

“Your room is still yours when you want it.”

“Yeah. The room of the worst Robin in history. Pass.” Jason turned and walked stiffly back up the steps. Hearing the soft growl of Batman behind him. The start of an argument.

He considered it a victory that he didn’t run into any of his siblings or Alfred on the way out.

[possesseddesiress]

Between us (English Version)

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes.

If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Between us (English version)

Iker and Yuki were very close, good friends. They had grown up together, being friends from a very early age, even though each one belonged to a different culture, they had gotten along well from the first minute they met. And from there, they did everything together, they never left each other's side.

Even though time would go by and they would change; by the time they reached adolescence, Iker started working out until he got a big and defined body, he was very muscular and a big hit with the girls.

On the other hand, Yuki remained small, thin, a bit effeminate, discovered a passion for fashion and identified as gay.

But despite those differences, they remained friends. They graduated, and chose the same university, Iker started studying engineering while Yuki majored in fashion, then they managed to rent an apartment in one of the dorms to be together.

Iker sometimes asked Yuki for help to dress better and surprise girls, Yuki to gain more muscle. Always helping each other.

That afternoon, they were both in a museum, it was their “afternoon together”, an occasion they set aside once a week to meet and spend time together away from everyday life and school.

— It's an interesting exhibition, isn't it? – Yuki murmured as they moved through the area of ancient cultures. Some sculptures, remains of ruins, contraptions.

— Yes, there are interesting things – Iker advanced next to him, between them there was a difference of at least 30 cm in height. Iker was almost two meters tall while Yuki was only 1.65 cm tall. And nothing to say about the difference between their musculatures or even their styles of dress, the Mexican wore more sporty styles while the Asian loved bright colors and more daring styles.

They ended up arriving at a remote area of the museum, still unfinished. Apparently there was no one watching, so Iker pushed aside a pair of curtains towards an exhibit in progress.

— I don't think we should do that – the smaller and more timid Yuki muttered.

— Come on, it's something new. Aren't you excited?

Yuki was silent for a while until she finally let out a sigh, nodding.

— Ok... Let's go.

They crossed the threshold before the bigger one dropped the cloth, the room was dimly lit, there were some pots, instruments and remains of rocks, nothing interesting or new. Until Iker seemed to notice something.

— Look at that – the brunet smiled as he saw something in the center of the room. It was some kind of mirror, its frame was made of stone, it looked quite old.

Although that wasn't the only thing special about it, it was also a kind of double mirror, but it was translucent in a very faint way. You could see your reflection and at the same time, barely see the other side.

The guys, excited by this discovery, stood in front of the mirror, each on one side. They looked at it curiously before they began to move in circles, examining.

— Wow... Where do you think it's from?

— No idea, but it looks ancient, probably one of the first cultures – Iker murmured.

— Is that so? How smart you are for studying engineering – Yuki joked with him.

— Excuse me, Mr. designer, maybe this is too much for your brain.

The guys began to joke with each other, though in a way the tone of the jokes began to rise.

—Surely you couldn't stand a day in my shoes – Yuki sentenced while looking at him with a mocking smile.

— Rather you couldn't be in mine, your manicure would be ruined by taking one of my weights.

— And your clumsy hands would ruin my designs.

— You wouldn't even know how to flirt with a girl.

— And you'd be scared to mess with another man.

Unnoticed, the mirror seemed to become charged with a very dim light.

— Surely you couldn't be in my body.

Iker whispered with narrowed eyes.

— You wouldn't last a week in mine.

Unnoticed by the boys. An energy shot out from under the mirror towards both of their feet. After that, they both walked out of the room as if nothing had happened.

And the rest of the day went on as normal, they went back to their room, had dinner, chatted for a while until they went to sleep.

In the night was when the “strange” happened. The same energy came out of their bodies and intertwined with each other, their energies were sucked and deposited into each other's body until they faded away.

The next morning, the first to wake up was Yuki. He felt strange from the first moment he opened his eyes, heavier? Had he eaten too much last night? He sat up in bed, sleepy and not seeing around him properly; he rubbed his face.

And then he felt it. He opened his eyes like plates noticing his huge brown hands, he looked around noticing that he was in Iker's room and not his own, it was filled with some sports and car posters, his weights on the floor and even the scent was totally his.

— Uh, uh... What is this?

He mumbled looking down at his pecs, weighing them, swallowing saliva. He felt huge, heavy, even silly.

Nothing compared to his old body, he was so thin and small, and overnight he went from being like this to this.

— This is wrong, this is wrong...

As he was thinking about it, he heard a familiar scream. He immediately got up to go to his room, where he saw his old body tangled in the sheets with a confused expression.

— What did you do, Yuki!? – he heard his former body say in an Asian accent. Just the way he used to talk.

He watched how he touched his body, his slender arms, her soft face, even how he took his tresses to observe them absorbed.

— Iker? – He said in her new deep voice.

— Who else would it be, silly!!!?

It was strange to see Yuki's body act like that, he was always reserved, quiet, didn't shout about almost anything. But now, it was clearly someone else who had command of his body.

The new Yuki stood up, examining himself from head to toe with a hint of disgust in his expression.

— Dude, my muscles are gone! – He could only see his thin outline. Palpating his chest to find something flat, he also touched his hips, noticing that there was the most amount of muscle there as well as on his thighs – Why does your body look like a girl's!!!?

— Shut up! Respect, I look like a Gorilla!

The New Mexican muttered.

He observed himself again in front of his friend this time, stroking his arms. He even sniffed slightly.

— Damn... Not bad.

He murmured smiling.

— Hey! Don't just take over my body like that!

— Don't you like it? Because your new body seems to say otherwise.

And indeed, it did. The new Yuki had an issue down there “down below”, he immediately covered himself with his hand, his face flushed.

— It's not my fault, it's your body!

—Well, that's weird. I don't feel like I'm lusting after some girl or something straight like that.

A smug smile appeared on her face as she stared at him.

— Get out of here!

Iker punched his former body in the arm, Yuki just let out a couple of laughs as he left the room. He returned to the room which corresponded to his body, still not believing that the two had swapped.

He had always felt comfortable being small, effeminate, very happy in his body.

But now... he felt different. Masculine, powerful, imposing. He peeked into his friend's closet, his clothes were spandex, sweatpants, compression shirts, some plaid shirts, all a far cry from his typical tops or stylish t-shirts.

He took one of the compression shirts to put it on, and strangely discovered a taste he experienced for the first time: how tight it felt.

He brought his hands back to his pecs, enjoying how wide and big they felt, he was playing with them when Iker walked in.

— Stop playing with them, they're not balls.

—They look like it.

Yuki paid attention to his old body, noticing the clothes he was wearing.

—Wow...

— Don't say anything.

The old Iker muttered a bit annoyed, now he was wearing quite “stylish” clothes, a white shirt made of what seemed to be silk, a neat pair of pants and a golden chain.

Not at all similar to what he would wear being himself, so he felt like a sort of “Barbie Girl”: with curls, nice clothes, smooth skin and perfume. He didn't even know how he ended up getting dressed up like that, it was like going into automatic mode.

— What now? – He muttered moodily.

— What do you mean, what now? – Yuki raised her eyebrow.

— Yeah. Are we going to go to our classes, lock ourselves in until we figure out how to solve this?

The opposite one was thoughtful, then he swallowed saliva as he remembered something.

— No, no... I can't skip today.

— What? Why?

— I have a very important presentation today, me lleva la chingada – he said in a perfect Mexican accent. Which stunned both of them. The silence was awkward until Yuki spoke again – It's about my dressmaking subject, I have to present my final project.

— The dress you've been working on for weeks?

— Yes, yes. It's my final project, it's 100% of the grade.

The now huge boy sat up in bed, overwhelmed. The remaining one came over to try to comfort him.

— Then I'll go in your place.

— You don't know anything about dresses, the only thing you know is how to take them off – he muttered overwhelmed.

— Hey, don't overdo it. I'm not as dumb as you think. Besides, if this happened – Iker pointed to his clothes – Don't you think I can manage to present your project?

They looked at each other for a while, to which the now dark-haired man let out a resigned sigh.

— All right, I'll trust you.

They both ended up leaving the apartment. Yuki heading to the engineering department while Iker to the design department, making a promise to try to be as similar to their new bodies as possible. Iker didn't want to see his body acting feminine, nor did Yuki want to see hers acting like a guy with no brain cells.

Iker advanced through the corridors, still getting used to feeling small, he felt that his gait had even changed, as if he now “floated”, before he felt that his steps echoed everywhere because of his musculature, but now, he was as agile as a feather.

He was turning the corner towards the living room, he had about 15 minutes to spare to get there. When he ran into a guy.

— Hi, Yuki – a muscular guy seemed to stop him in his tracks.

— Hi, Adam – it was hard for him not to be surprised when he recognized the boy's name.

— How are you? You didn't call me last night – the opposite gently closed the distance while staring at him with a flirtatious smile.

— I was... busy – he whispered as he watched him approach, but he seemed to be petrified. He wanted to move but couldn't, he just watched him getting closer and closer.

— It's a pity... – Iker felt a series of things seeing that boy flirting with him exactly as he used to do with girls – I really missed your company – he murmured, starting to caress his curls.

And when he least expected it. He kissed him.

For a second he felt disgusted to feel another man kissing him, but the more the seconds passed, it felt so natural...

He kissed him at a slow start, but he wanted more, he wanted more, he needed more. Iker turned up the intensity of the kisses, almost occupying his tongue as he held the guy against himself.

— Wow, someone looks excited. What's wrong? You look different today.

— Nothing – he mumbled with a silly grin on his face – I guess it's a new day.

They chatted for a while, kissed some more and he even liked the feeling when Adam grabbed him by the waist to hold on to him.

He ended up going into Yuki's classroom, and finally presented his project. It was as if his knowledge in engineering had been replaced by knowledge in fashion, tailoring, dressmaking, he knew exactly what fabric his friend had used, the type of closure, embossing, the falls. He had even achieved a perfect grade in that exhibition.

On the other hand, Yuki was anxiously sitting in his classroom, until a couple of Iker's friends arrived.

— What's up, bro? – the typical stereotypical brainless jock approached him, surrounded by at least 3 other guys just like him.

Yuki was silent for a microsecond before a strange outburst came from him.

— Bro! How are you?

He stood up, bumped fists with the guy and even his pectorals with each other. He never thought he would do anything so... Masculine.

And he even did it with the other three, as if it was something natural in him. He talked to them, and a series of sports knowledge, Iker's conquests, and more topics outside of him, came naturally out of his mouth, in addition to an extremely masculine personality where most of the vocabulary was based on: “Bro”.

— And today you will see Monica?

His mind immediately went into action, apparently Iker had forgotten to mention that he had a date today.

— Yep, bro – he nodded – We'll go for a coffee in an hour.

He was nervous inside himself, what would he do when he was with her? Would he feel attraction? Would he flirt with her? What if they ended up entangled in...?

No, no. He tried not to think about it. His class moved quickly. He had always been bad at math, but now he seemed to have mastered the subject from top to bottom, even complex physics topics, he knew it all.

His subject was over, and apparently the appointment he had pending was five minutes away.

— Good luck, bro! Monica certainly is a good catch, she has good “attributes” – the guys laughed to each other to leave the room and leave him alone.

Yuki felt overwhelmed, but he knew that this was something important for Iker, so he was forced to go. He ended up arriving at the cafe and saw the girl waiting for him: red-haired, slim, she was quite cute.

The boy didn't feel... anything, though. He admired her beauty, no doubt, but he didn't feel attracted.

He sat in the chair across from her and they both began to talk.

For hours.

Strangely, Yuki felt a great friendship with the girl, as if the chemistry between them flowed naturally.

— You're so funny, Iker! I thought you'd be an airhead like all your friends.

— Well, that's me, I guess – he smiled slightly. His heart was beating fast, what if she was already trying to kiss him? He wasn't feeling any heterosexual “urges” in Iker's body. That was worrying him, he had felt an automatic mode with his friends, with his subjects and knowledge? So why wasn't it happening now?

— I'm glad you're like that. But... I think we've been getting along really well and I don't want to ruin that, would you rather we stayed friends? – the girl smiled softly. And that was quite a relief for him. Yuki nodded.

— I'd love to.

They chatted for a while more until they said goodbye. Yuki thought about going back home but he felt anxious, like he will need something to be well, so he thought about going to the gym. He knew where Iker went to work out, so he immediately set off.

And again on autopilot he began to exercise, loving the way he felt his muscles pumping, how they swelled and became big as they flexed. How much he could carry!

Even how stinky his body was starting to get, how the sweat soaked into his clothes to make them damp and clingy. He felt ecstatic, lost in all those sensations.

He was powerful, big, huge, his pecs were so fat and thick! What could he say about his arms, they were fantastic without a doubt!

He smiled egocentrically, seeing himself through the reflection. There was hardly anyone in the gym, so he fearlessly lifted his armpit to start sniffing it, losing himself in his senses.

— Pff... How stinky... – he muttered. He stuck out his tongue, starting to lick himself, enjoying both the aroma and the taste of his sweat. He caressed his pectorals, he knew that partly all that acting was wrong, that was the body of Iker, his best friend.

But geez... He wasn't blind. He knew what a great catch Iker was even if he wasn't gay. But he wouldn't say it out loud in front of him, much less that he'd had more than one dream involving him.

And now he had him all to himself.

He continued with that exploration session until he was finally bored. He picked up his things and left in the direction of the apartment.

Where Iker had a “curious” moment as well. His rest of the day had been relaxed, taking classes, talking with Yuki's friends.

He discovered how interesting he now found fashion, pop music and things that although he didn't dislike, he didn't find so relevant either.

He even took a few “cute” pictures throughout the day, he was liking the feeling of being this small.

Even how other men saw him, besides the clear fact that he had made out with Adam even walking out of class.

He felt an urge that seemed born. He'd seen a few girls, even Yuki's friends, several of them he found pretty and desirable in more ways than one when he was himself, but now. He didn't pay even the slightest attention to the areas he used to look at when it came to a girl.

On the contrary, now he did that with guys: he noticed their pecs, their big muscles, their biceps. He had seen a pretty muscular guy in shorts and a tank top and almost went crazy right there.

When he got home, he found the apartment completely alone, although he didn't really care, he went into his new room right away to check his closet.

And started trying on clothes. He admired Yuki's style, some of his outfits looked cute, but he had never thought of wearing something like that.

But now he was wearing each one of his outfits, trying different tops, sweaters, tight pants, he even ventured to try Yuki's underwear, some of them were really revealing...

But he liked the silhouette what his body was adopting now, how her hips or her buttocks looked. The more he went through his closet and drawers, he ended up finding something: a toy.

It looked elongated, somewhat thick. He had never occupied something like that, if another kind of toys a little more in line with his sexuality, since he had never thought of putting something “in there”.

But now he felt an urge, too strong to ignore, it was like that urge to exercise that he had being him.

He lay back on the bed, carefully settled the toy against his entrance and gently let it go. He let out a sigh and a confused gasp at the sensation it gave; he thought it would hurt.

But it seemed like Yuki already had experience with it when he noticed how he managed to enter without any problems.

Iker almost screamed at the top of his lungs when he finally found that sensitive spot, he almost seemed to see stars. He immediately began to pound the area like crazy, pulling the tool in and out, he was anxiously moving against the bed, sweating and with a flushed face.

It was all chaos, he lost complete track of his surroundings, and that's why he didn't even notice that Yuki had come home.

Yuki was about to say hello out loud when he heard noises coming from her room, he didn't even take the moment to listen anymore, he knew exactly what was going on.

His heart pounding with excitement as he took step after step towards the open door of his room, he peeked his head out. And then he saw him:

His body moving against the sheets, tangled at his feet and no clothes on him, his hands wrapped around his manhood, the toy skewered. His white skin filled with beads of sweat, the scent alone that permeated the entire room...

It was like activating something inside him.

— Y-Yuki! – Iker opened his eyes in fright when he felt the hands of his opponent against his body and felt him on top of him.

— Shhh...

— I-it's n-it's not what it looks like, I-I...

— Save it.

Yuki muttered gravely, he grabbed his former body's hips to feel his skin, which made Iker let out a mute gasp.

— W-wait. W-what w-what are you w-what are you doing?

The former Mexican closed his eyes as he enjoyed the sensation of the huge brown hands resting on him.

— I told you... I don't feel anything straight in this body.

And with that, he stamped his now lips with his old ones, enjoying the unbridled sensation of kissing and touching between the two.

He got rid as best he could of everything that was in his way so that they were skin against skin. He kept kissing him, feeling Iker's nervous hands work their way down his pecs, which he played with like a fool, pressing the reliefs.

Yuki grabbed the toy to pull it out all at once, which caused a yelp from Iker.

— W-what do you plan to do?

—Shhh... Let yourself go.

He mused until he skewered his manhood into him all at once, this caused Iker to roll his eyes with a goofy grin, almost as if his brain cells were melting. It was a racket, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the gasps and grunts, the grinding of wood, the slender legs of Yuki's original body wrapped around Iker's thick hips.

— Ah!

— Tell me Iker.

— W-what?

— Tell me Iker, Yuki.

The Mexican hesitated a moment to answer, though his brain was fucked at that point.

— Yes, Iker! Yes!

The two of them stayed like that for almost the whole night, until they woke up hugging each other.

They didn't even think about how to solve that "problem", they both felt comfortable as they were, there was no need to go back to being who they were.

Iker settled completely into being Yuki. He became an even better designer, hung out with his friends, enjoyed his new career and all the opportunities in it.

Yuki also became completely comfortable with being Iker. He loved exercise, sports, spending time with his new friends, even if they were a bit “dorky” from what he was used to.

And even better, he enjoyed his new boyfriend. Now everything was as it should be, just between them.

———

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages.

See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

———

[arc-misadventures]

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Within the frozen tundra stood a small flag, it's red cloth gentle waved in the cool, Atllas air. Around the flag it was peace, it was silent, it was tranquility incarnate. A tranquility that ended in a plume of fire, and metal shrapnel.

The peace of the frozen tundra had ended. The peace ending with the deafening cries of war.

The gun's of, Mantle were ready.

~~~

: Direct hit!

Jaune watched through his binocs as the red flag they had planted in the frozen fields of, Atlas evaporate into a plume of fire, smoke, and snow. Jaune put down the binocs, and turned to look at the newly promoted, Colonel Kian, shouted triumphantly as the howitzers hit their intended target dead on.

Colonel Alden Kian, in charge of all the newly built artillery batteries, and weapon emplacements upon, Mantle's walls. Jaune liked to think he developed a good relationship among fellow officers, even if, Jaune really felt like one.

Col. Kian: And, with that, all weapon emplacements have been built, and properly calibrated.

Jaune: Well done, Col. Kian, and to you as well, Maj. Skender. The forces under your command managed to compete the wall, ahead of schedule at that.

Maj. Skender: Thanks, Jaune, Yeah, I'm glad we listened to your suggestions. Honestly, I'm surprised that we got this done far sooner than we expected.

Jaune: It was just a suggestion, Felix. I will tank none of the credit, it was all you, and your men's work that finished the walls ahead of schedule.

: A duty well done at that.

Jaune, Maj. Skender, and Col. Kian all turned to see, General Ironwood as well as, Specialist Schnee approaching them. The trio as well as any other soldiers on the wall saluted the, General as he walked upon the ramparts.

Ironwood: Well done, Maj. Skendor, thanks to your efforts, the new fortifications for the walls of, Mantle have finished well ahead of schedule. With that in mind, how soon can your forces return to building the new, CCTS?

Maj. Skender: Uhhh... We should be able to start in a we...?

Skender was about to answer, General Ironwood, but he saw, Jaune holding up a single finger, giving him a clear sign of what he had to say.

Maj. Skender: In a day, Sir. We just need to reorganize, and require all of the necessary equipment. This should take no longer than a day, day, and a half tops.

Ironwood: Oh, that's good! That's very good to hear, Major, I look forward to hearing your progress in the coming days.

General Ironwood then made his way to leave. As, Jaune watched him leave, his eyes locked on with, Winter's, who shot him a wink as she left. Jaune watched them until he was out of earshot where he let out a tired sigh, followed by several others. But, most noticeable, Major. Skender was cursing up a storm.

Maj. Skender: Gods fucking dammit, Jaune! It going to take me at least a week to grab all of our gear to start working on, Ironwood's pet project! Why the hell did you tell me to speed things up?!

Jaune: Because, General Ironwood wasn't her to celebrate the walls completion, he was here to make sure you got back to work on his stupid project. Besides you just need to divide your forces; half starts working on the CCTS, the other gets your gear.

Col. Kian: He's right, Felix. The generals sole focus was on his project, he doesn't give a damn about the wall. If it wasn't for, Jaune donating his winnings, it never would have been built!

Maj. Skender: I know that! I'm just blaming him for all the shit they're going to give me now!

Jaune: Wait, hold on. Why are you saying I'm the one donated the funds, the winner of that game donated the funds.

Col. Kain: Yeah, but everyone knows you're the one who managed to convince, General Ironwood, and you're the one whose been presenting, Robyn Hill as the one who really got this thing going, but everyone in the, Engineer Corp, and the Gunnery Crews know it was you.

Maj. Skender: Yeah, this was the first time, General Ironwood ever showed his face around here. He only agreed to this thing as a PR stunt. He's only focused on his stupid 'secret project.' You're the only one in the upper brass that gives a rats ass about the wall, and Mantle.

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Okay, it wasn't my idea, I got the idea from, Robyn Hill. But, how the hell did you even know I was the one who donated the funds for the wall?

Col. Klen: My wife is a secretary, and secretaries like to gossip. One of them heard the donation was from one of the, Specialist, and that, Specialist also convinced, General Ironwood to build the fortifications on the wall. And, since you're the only, Specialist who's shown to give a damn about the wall. It's gotta be you.

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Haa...

Jaune: Does everyone know it was me?!

Jaune looked around, and saw several of the gunnery, and engineers all nodding their head, and making sounds of agreement. Jaune just slapped a hand to his face as a tired groan escaped his lips.

Jaune: Gods dammit...

Jaune: If the secretaries know it was me, everyone in the whole of, Atlas, and Mantle probably know it was me.

Maj. Skender: Yeah.

Col. Klen: Pretty much.

Jaune: Haa... Do you know any of my other secrets?

Col. Klen: You, and, Specialist Schnee are a thing... of some sorts.

Maj. Skender: Rumors say, Robyn Hill has got a thing for you, since you saved her from that assassin fellow.

Jaune stared at the two officers, his face was a blank, the only thing showing any emotion was the way his eye was twitching aggressively.

Jaune: ...

Jaune: FUCKKKK!?!

SK: ...

Col. Klen: I hope he, and Specialist Schnee become a thing... They look good together.

Maj. Skender: Wife is rooting for him, and Robyn Hill. She thinks they look cute together.

Col. Klen: They do look cute together.

Jaune: Shut up!

SK: Sorry, Sir!

~~~

Robyn: Wait... Members of the, Atlas military know about your thing with, Winter Schnee, and about our thing too?

Jaune: Yes, it seems the well kept secret wasn't that well kept enough!

Robyn: It was a secret?

Jaune: Not anymore, because secretaries like to gossip! And, the blooming romances between a pair of, Specialists, and a Specialists, and a politician seems to be todays latest hot topic!

Robyn: Oh, is that so?

Robyn: ...

Robyn: Am I winning?

Jaune just stopped to stare at, Robyn, giving her a blank stare as she cheekily smiled back at him.

Jaune: I liked you better when you were this cold, politician who hated me because I was a, Specialist working for, General Ironwood. Not this cute, blushing, teasing girl from a high school romcom!

Robyn: You think I'm cute~?

Jaune: Shut up!

Jaune sighed in defeat as, Robyn was laughing at his expense. He decided it would be for the best if to change the topic back to what he had originally came here to inform her about.

Jaune: Ahem! Anyway, I am here to inform you that the wall's fortifications have been finished, and we will be going back to work on, General Ironwood's secret project. And, with that, the elections for a new council member will be held in just over a week. So, are you ready, 'Councilwoman' Robyn Hill?

Robyn: I am most looking forward to it! The polls that have been going around saying that I am a sure in to win the election! Hey, Jaune?

Jaune: Hmm?

Robyn: You'll keep your promise; you'll tell me what, General Ironwood's secret project is if I win, right?

Jaune: Unless by some miracle he tells you himself, I'll keep my word, Robyn, and I'll tell you what he's up to.

Robyn: I'll hold you to that, Jaune. Well, I still got to keep my guard up, just because their already setting up the voting booths doesn't mean I've already won.

Jaune: Voting booths? Why do they need to set them up, they're just boxes you put paper into.

Robyn: They're electronic, it takes them a few days to take them out, and set them up.

Jaune was walking about, his mind running with ideas on how, Robyn could challenge, Ironwood's authority. But, all these thoughts were brought to a screeching halt when, Robyn said that one word.

Jaune: They're electronic? The voting boots are electronic?

Robyn: Yeah, been that way for years.

Jaune: Do you know where they keep these voting booths?

Robyn: Not originally, but I do know they set them up at one of the community halls near here.

Jaune: If you'll excuse me, Miss Hill.

Jaune quickly turned, and made his way out of the, Happy Huntresses Headquarters.

Robyn: Wha...? Jaune, where are you going?

Jaune: To win you this election.

~~~

Community Hall #7. Aka, the Dust Miners Den.

Jaune had entered the community hall flashing his credentials as a, Specialist to gain entry. And, now he was, what one would call interrogate one of the technicians, grilling him on all of the operating's of the voting booths.

Jaune: Tell me, Jirina, how do this machine operate.

Jirina, a olive haired snake faunas, if one could assume so based on the scales on her forehead, and slit yellow eyes was fidgeting around nervously. It was understandable reactions, it should be expected when one of, Atlas's Specialist suddenly showed up, and demanded how to do their job.

Jirina: W-Well... The system works by simply tapping a name on the screen, thus counting this as a vote. That vote then gets sent to a datahub where the votes are all tallied up.

Jaune: The machine says, 'Yes,' and 'No.' You're not putting in the names of the electoral candidates until the day of the election?

Jirina: Yes, this prevents cheating.

Jaune: 'Prevents cheating?'

Jaune moved over, and tapped the yes button on the screen. It closed out, and a popup appeared saying, 'Thank you for voting,' then another screen appeared saying waiting for election official to reset.

Jaune: You have to reset it every time someone votes?

Jirina: Yes. After everyone votes, we, the voting regulators, have to swipe our id cards, and input a eight digit code to reset the machine.

As, Jirina did just as she said when she reset the machine, taking her no more than ten seconds.

Jaune: Interesting... Are you capable of knowing how many voted, and who they voted for on your tablet there?

Jirina: Ahh yes... See?

Jirina handed, Jaune her tablet, and he saw on the tablet a total amount of votes, five, and there was, two votes for, 'Yes,' and three for, 'No.'

Jaune: Are these numbers for each of the machines here?

Jirina: Yes, we have four voting booths here, and we 'vote' at least once on each machine to test them.

Jaune: And, all of the information of the votes is sent to a central hub that tallies up the votes, the location, and other such things?

Jirina: Yes, that is how it acts.

Jaune: So that's how he could do it...

Jirina: Do... do what?

Jaune: Nothing that you need concern yourself with, Ma'am.

Jaune was still looking at the screen on the tablet, when he heard the door open behind him. He turned to face them, as he saw someone enter the room. One, Penny Polendina to be precise.

Jaune: Ahh, Penny you made good time getting here.

Penny: It didn't take me long to get here. Now, you asked for my help?

Jaune: Yes I did; See this electronic voting booth here?

Penny: I can. But, why do you want me to do that?

Jaune: I want to see if it can be done, and if you can, what else you can do.

Penny: Okay.

Jirina: Wait, you can't hack these systems; They have been given advance firewalls, and cybersecurity to prevent such things fro...?!

Penny: I've hack the voting booth.

Jirina: W-What?

Jaune: That didn't even take you thirty seconds; Impressive. Now then can you change the text on the screen for who you can vote for?

Penny: Can I change it. Wat do you want me to make it say?

Jaune: It doesn't matter, I mostly want to see if you can.

Penny: Okay. I've changed it.

Jaune: Okay let's...

Jaune looked at the voting booth, the screen now read, 'I'm sorry for.' and 'forgetting you, Jaune.' He stared at the screen for a moment before hitting the one that said sorry, and then the reset banner appeared.

Jaune: Penny can you reset the machine?

Penny reset it in a flash, only this time it read, 'I had a virus,' and 'It was making me forget.' Jaune looked at the screen, then to the tablet in his hand.

Jaune: There are six votes in total, evenly split, can you make it five to one?

Penny: Okay.

Jaune watched as, Penny reset the votes were five to one. Jaune watch it, and as the voting was rewritten as, 'I'm sorry, Jaune,' and 'Can you please forgive me.'

Jaune watched this all happen as he handed the tablet back to, Jirina.

Jaune: Thank you for your time, Jirina. Penny, let's go. I need to have a word with, General Ironwood, and I need you there with me.

Penny: O-Okay, Jaune...

~~~

Ironwood: The voting booths can be hacked?

Jaune: Yes, Sir, very easily at that. It took, Penny her barely thirty seconds to hack the machine, and completely rewrite the system.

Ironwood: Is this true, Penny?

Penny. Yes, Sir. Specialist Arc asked me to come down to one of the voting stations, and asked me to hack the system.

Ironwood: And, why did you ask, Penny to do this, Specialist Arc?

Jaune: I heard that the election being held in, Mantle was being held in a week. I was curious about how, Atlas does things. When I went there I found out that you use electronic voting booth. I saw several posters of the people running for election, and I saw one of the posters was for, Robyn Hill. I remembered her assassination attempt, and how destabilizing her death would be for, Atlas, and Mantle. I think a similar effect would happen if she lost the election, not to the same extent, but nonetheless.

Jaune: After, Penny hacked the system, I found out she was able to manipulate the votes in several different ways; From changing the names, resetting the machines, and even alter who got the total amount of votes.

It was another partial lie, Jaune caught himself noting that he often gave, General Ironwood such answers when he asked him about anything. It got the job done in the end.

Ironwood: To what end did you do this for, Specialist Arc?

Jaune: If, Penny can manipulate the systems so easily, what can a person like, Arthur Watts do?

Ironwood: You're worried that he will rig the election in his favour?

Jaune: Yes, Sir. I recommend we replace the voting machines with paper ballots to insure, Salem, and her minions do not interfere with the elections.

Ironwood pressed his fingers together as he solemnly nodded his head.

Ironwood: This is a wise decision to make. I'll make the necessary arrangements. Well done, Specialist. You may have undermined, Arthur Watts in a way we did not expect.

Jaune: Thank you, Sir!

Ironwood: Now then, head to the meeting room, Specialist Ebi wants to discuss a mission with you. Your dismissed.

Jaune: Sir!

Jaune saluted, General Ironwood, and made his way out of his office. as soon as he was out of the room, a tired sigh escaped his lips. He stood there for a moment as he steadied his nerves. He had made a gamble to try. and get, General Ironwood to replace the voting booth with paper ballots. He knew, General Ironwood wouldn't give a damn about paper ballots considering it had nothing to do with his, CCTS project, but nonetheless.

He had to play his cards right with him.

Jaune: Okay... Let's go see what...?!

Penny: Jaune!

Jaune stopped in his place as, Penny came up to him, a nervous jitter in her stance as she looked at him.

Penny: D-Did I help you?

Jaune: Yep, you did precisely what i hoped you would do. Thank you for helping me, Penny.

Penny: Oh... t-thank you, Jaune.. I... oh?

Penny stopped talking as she felt, Jaune's hand on her head, gently ruffling her hair.

Jaune: I know you want to apologize to me for all that has happened, Penny, but you must understand: There is nothing you need to apologize for, Penny. I was never angry with you. I just felt sorry for you for all that happened to you. I was hurting because I lost, Pyrrha. And, you were hurting because she accidently killed you. She hurt us in ways we didn't expect, but neither of what happened to us was her fault. Cinder killed, Pyrrha, and she tricked her into killing you. It's, Cinder's fault, Penny. There is no one to blame, but her. Okay?

Penny was shaking as she brought her hands to her face, whipping away the tears in her eyes.

Penny: T-Thank you, Jaune.

Jaune: You're welcome, Penny. But, I just have one question for you.

Penny: W-What... (Sniff...) What is it, Jaune?

Jaune: Do you hate me, Penny?

Penny looked at, Jaune tears in the corner of her eyes as she smiled at him.

Penny: No, I don't hate you, Jaune.

Jaune smiled at her in turn as he took his hand off her head.

Jaune: You didn't hiccup.

Penny: I didn't.

Jaune: Well, I best get going, and see whatever it is, Clover wants from me. I'll see you later, Penny.

Penny: Wait!

Jaune: Hmm?

Penny: Can I... Can I come with you, Jaune?

Jaune smiled as he beckoned her with his hand to follow him.

Jaune: Come on, Penny let's get going.

Penny: Yes. Lets!

[melswifeasf]

Safest in your arms pt 2

|| series page || previous chapter || next chapter ||

Pairing: Georgia Miller x Fem!OC

Summary: the first day of class after a long summer is not what Samantha needed. at least she’d have good company at the end of her day.

Warnings: (18+) minors DNI cursing, drug use, age gap relationships.

Notes: the second chapter of my rewrite. lmk if you guys want more!

THREE HOURS LATER Samantha and the five friends were sitting at a table in Blue Farm. They were going to grab lunch on campus but the first-day rush was fully hitting. It wasn't surprising, it was like that every year. Aside from that, Oliver had an internship at the mayor's office so he needed to be in Wellsbury before noon. Samantha and Nia had all of the same classes which meant they were both done for the day and Jade and Matthew did as well. Natalie was the only one who had to drive back after their lunch break.

Oliver was studying Political science, he wanted to climb the ladder to hopefully be governor one day. Matthew was pursuing an accounting degree, he played hockey as well so he mostly focused on that. Jade was also studying accounting but unlike Matthew, she was taking extra classes for a business degree. Samantha and Nia were both working to get an engineering degree so they could get into law school after their senior year. Natalie was majoring in Biology.

High school was nothing compared to college and sometimes it was hard to keep their friendship stable. It was especially tested during their sophomore year when the excitement of being freshmen was over and they were getting settled into what would be the next three years. They had all drifted apart and two of the six friends were attending college in a different state. It wasn't until junior year that Natalie and Jade transferred to Boston and things started to go back to normal. They learned to spend any free time they had together and that day at Blue Farm was an example of that.

Everything was going great, they were all talking like usual when a certain blonde walked in and everyone went quiet. In fact, they didn't do much talking after that but Natalie commented on how obvious they were being so they tried to act as if they were making conversation. They all glanced at the blonde's table as she talked to Paul and even after he left.

"I swear you guys are staring like some kind of stalkers," Natalie said in a hushed tone leaning toward the middle of the table.

"She's hot." Matthew shrugged.

Samantha was trying to be more discreet. She sipped on her coffee and listened to Matthew and Natalie argue back and forth.

The young girl was glancing at the blonde from the corner of her eye every couple of seconds, and that's when she noticed the blonde woman stand from her table and approach them.

Samantha tried to hush them but they weren't listening, up until the woman was standing at their table. "Hello." She said a very strong country accent dripping in her voice that made the young girl feel queasy. She had on a pink dress that highlighted all her curves and pushed her breasts up. Her hair was down and she was holding a bag in one hand. Samantha's mind went blank at the sight.

"Uh hey," Jade said with a slight wave.

The woman looked around the table until her eyes landed on Samantha, "I moved in just across the street from you." She said directing her words at Samantha.

The young girl gulped before nodding, "Yeah." She said dumbly. She was never really the type to be left speechless, in fact, it was always the other way around but somehow with this unnamed woman, she couldn't come up with a single coherent thought.

"Georgia Miller." She smiled with her perfect teeth and held her hand out. They all glanced at each other and then looked at Samantha in anticipation.

The girl smiled, "Samantha Baker but I assume you already know that." She chuckled softly as she shook Georgia's hand.

"Your mom is so kind, she brought cookies over." She said happily.

"Oh, her cookies are to die for," Oliver said making everyone look at him including Georgia. He didn't seem to care that he said his thoughts out loud.

"I can second that." Georgia said, "You guys are in college I assume?" She asked looking around the table again.

"We are," Samantha said quickly, cursing at herself silently for answering so quickly.

"All of you?" The blonde asked.

They all nodded and Oliver spoke, "Boston University. Go terriers." He said holding his fist up making the girls in the group look at him confused while Matthew hid his laugh behind his hand. Oliver didn't seem to understand what he did wrong as he looked at them back with just as much confusion.

Georgia seemed amused by all of them as she nodded, "Okay well I'll be leaving you guys to it," she said, "Have a nice rest of your day." She finished glancing at them all once more. And yet again her eyes landed on Samantha for just a second longer. Soon after the blonde put on her sunglasses and walked out of the restaurant with a slight sway of her hips.

"What the fuck was that?" Samantha asked with furrowed brows.

Oliver shrugged, "What? I was being nice."

"'Go terriers'" Jade mocked making him shoot her a sharp glare.

"Give him a break. She's hot." Matthew said patting his best friend's back.

"Like smoking hot," Nia said breathily.

"How is it you check out girls more than your brother does?" Jade asked.

Nia shrugged with a smirk, "I actually have good taste." She said looking at Natalie who rolled her eyes and lifted her middle finger at her.

"Fuck off."

"My eyes are simply captivated by this beauty right here." Oliver shrugged and pecked his girlfriend's cheek.

"Gross," Samantha said with a slight smile.

If only either of them noticed the look of longing in the girl's eyes.

After Blue Farm Natalie was trying to hype her boyfriend up considering he was nervous about his first day of the internship. Unfortunately, she had to drive back which meant Nia, Samantha, and Matthew were the ones who had to hype him up instead. Jade did not partake in that, she stood back and watched with an amused smile. When it was finally time for him to go, he seemed a lot more relaxed than before. They were all going to hang out at Samantha's house but she first had to pick up Marcus from school since Maxine had skipped after lunch.

They were all outside, Samantha would have to spend the rest of the week cooped up in her room or a library doing homework so she figured she'd enjoy the summer air as much as she could. She was on the hood of her car with Jade beside her whilst the other two were standing to the side.

"There's gonna be a party Friday," Matthew said once he blew the smoke out of his mouth. Ellen didn't have much of a problem with her daughter vaping, of course, she didn't love it but she was twenty and she couldn't really control that part. Although Samantha always made sure to never do it in front of her or make it obvious that she was doing it.

"Which one?" Samantha asked with a small chuckle. There were too many to count, especially on the first week back.

Matthew lifted his leg to softly nudge the girl's leg in response, "Any," he shrugged. "We can make a lap around." He suggested.

"God no." Nia shook her head. "Last time we did that, I got lost." She said referring to the year before. Samantha had no recollection of that if she were honest, she had way too much to drink to remember anything past twelve. The brunette snatched the vape out of Matthews's hand to take a hit.

"I charge for every hit y'know." He says looking at her. Nia rolled her eyes.

"Oh yeah? How's that?"

"I wouldn't mind a kiss." He shrugged innocently making Nia snort out a laugh.

"Hilarious. Really"

Samantha laughed at them along with Jade. The shorter girl had one leg resting on top of Jades with her head on the girl's shoulder. "Natalie knows where the best ones are at. We'll just ask her." Samantha suggested to Matthew who quickly looked away from Nia and at her.

"Maybe I'll see one of Lauren's 'soror sisters'." He said in a feminine tone, very obviously making fun of the way his ex would speak.

"Oliver and Natalie are probably going so count me in. Just please don't let me do shots like last time." Nia said in a desperate tone.

The two girls chuckled at her whilst Matthews's smirk widened. "I can take care of you"

Nia laughed, "Right. Sure. Maybe I'll wake up on the bathroom floor and see you hooking up with some other girl in my room again."

Matthews's smirk twitched, "That was one time and I said I was sorry." He said and even though he was trying to sound playful it was obvious he truly felt bad about it.

Nia chuckled, "Yeah okay"

Jade glanced between them, the tension so strong it was starting to suffocate her so she turned to Samantha, "Are you going?" She asked.

Samantha shrugged, "Maybe. I'll have to finish work early. Joe probably won't care. I'll just need a ride." Ever since she was in high school her mom always had a set of rules placed for her daughter. No drugs and never drive under the influence. She wasn't stupid, she knew her daughter would start drinking once she turned eighteen so instead of telling her not to, she just advised her to be safe. Now that she was twenty-one, there weren't any rules aside from not driving under the influence. It was simply a matter of responsibility.

"I'll drive. Oliver and Natalie will probably ditch me either way." She rolled her eyes. Samantha smiled. She had been ditched by them as well, having to find a ride home from someone she'd rather not think about.

"Cool then yeah I'll go." Samantha nodded.

Matthew cheered softly knowing he wouldn't be having to venture yet another party alone. It wasn't really anyone's fault, he seemed to want to go to one every weekend and they all were busy. Considering his parents were divorced he had the benefit of their guilt on his side so he didn't have to get a job or do anything other than the bare minimum. He even got a black Mustang for his sixteenth birthday and his parents were paying for his tuition. On top of that, they offered to pay for his living situation but when everyone said they would be staying in Wellsbury, he decided he would too. His mom's basement was big enough for him anyway.

Marcus had joined them a little later as he began to clean his bike. Samantha thought it was pointless that he got one, he couldn't ride it for another couple of months and she knew their mom wouldn't be all that in favor of him riding it all that often.

They were talking calmly until a girl with curly brown hair walked out of their house. Marcus stood up from cleaning his bike and said something but Samantha wasn't entirely listening. She wondered who the girl was, though.

She saw the teen get on the bike and put on the helmet, she was slightly confused but then assumed she was just trying to show off to Marcus. She knew her brother could be an asshole and for some reason, girls really loved that. But she was wrong seeing as the teen turned the key to start the bike and soon drove off.

"Shit," Samantha muttered as she stood from her car and saw Marcus tell the teen to stop and come back but it was to no use. Matthew stopped talking to see what she was talking about and by the time he did the curly brunette was back on their driveway. She took off her helmet and got off, her body turned and she grabbed Marcus by the shoulders and leaned in to kiss him.

"Damn," Matthew said amused, all of them now forgetting whatever it was they were talking about as they watched the scene unfold before them. The kiss looked awkward and weird and it made Samantha laugh along with her friends.

Matthew couldn't cover his amusement so he held his fist up to his mouth to try and contain his laughter. Then a car pulled up making Samantha turn to it. Shit.

Padma said something to Marcus and he immediately turned around to walk to the car. Samantha knew all about them hooking up and in her opinion, Padma deserved better than an emotionally unavailable fifteen-year-old. They all watched as Ginny watched them drive off very obviously embarrassed by her previous actions.

"Bold move Maxine's friend," Matthew called out obviously having heard what Marcus had told Padma just seconds before. The brunette blushed pink and began to walk away. She saw her walk toward Georgia's house. Huh. Could she be her daughter? Georgia looked way too young to have a fifteen year old but then again she could've been a teen mom.

Once the brunette was out of sight Matthew began to laugh even louder making Samantha turn and smack his arm. "Stop being an asshole!"

"Hey!" He laughed, "You've got to admit that was funny." He said his laughter still not dying down.

A small smirk formed on Samantha's lips, maybe he was right. Nia and Jade broke into a fit of laughter too and a wave of laughter escaped her lips as much as she tried to fight it. She just hoped that girl wouldn't cause problems in Marcus's life, he had to go through enough shit already.

Once the sun had set everyone except for Jade went home. Samantha was the one who had to take her home and she didn't feel like being without the girl so she told her to stay for dinner instead. Ellen loved that. Jade was always extremely respectful toward her and seemed to be the closest to Samantha aside from Nia.

After dinner Samantha drove her home, they stayed in the car talking for an hour before she finally drove home. The girl did so, even watched a movie with her parents before saying she was going to bed. Of course she wasn't, she just had to wait until it was after one before she could sneak out and smoke. Her mom never really suspected her daughter smoked weed and she'd never been caught, even by her siblings. She made sure to keep her secrets hidden. That was the point of a secret after all.

The raven-haired girl already had a blunt rolled so she climbed down from her window and sat behind her car where no one could see her. She took her lighter out of her pocket and flicked it on. Once it was lit she inhaled deeply, leaving it for a couple of seconds then exhaled. A wave of relief hit her at the feeling. The girl laid her head back against the white car, her arm was on top of her knee whilst the blunt was held with her thumb and pointer finger.

The neighborhood was quiet to no one's surprise, she lived on a rather wealthy side of town so it made sense that there wouldn't be crime or people on the streets. It was almost depressing how boring everything around her was. Only the crickets could be heard and occasionally a vehicle or two would drive by. The only thing accompanying her was the starlit sky and the full moon.

Or so she thought. Her eyes landed on the house across the street. It was normal, just like any other house in the neighborhood. The porch light was on, Georgia's car was parked in the driveway and it seemed quiet. Just like a basic suburban home. But it wasn't just a basic suburban home because this home had a blonde woman sitting on the balcony that was on the side of the house. The woman looked to be drinking a glass of red wine and she was staring at Samantha intently.

It was dark so Samantha couldn't make out what she was wearing but she could feel her eyes on her. She wasn't expecting much so she just sent the blonde a smile, although she wasn't all that sure if she could even see her. It was hard to make out but once she narrowed her eyes she saw the blonde motioning her over. Samantha was confused, was she imagining this? She debated on whether she should go over, she reeked of weed and she was sure Georgia saw her smoking but she didn't seem like a snitch. At least that's what she hoped. Maybe going over and asking her to keep what she just saw on the low wouldn't hurt.

The raven girl put out the blunt and stood, she was a little high, just enough to feel fuzzy but not enough to feel it. She dusted her silk shorts and put her hands in her gray sweater. She was wearing black silk shorts that didn't exactly like hide much but she wasn't exactly expecting to have eyes on her, especially not her hot neighbor. She was only wearing a tank top so she decided to throw one of Marcus's sweaters on that for the record it looked like it was drowning her.

She made sure to look both sides before crossing the road, it was pointless considering it was the middle of the night but she did not want to die tonight. Once she reached the blonde's home she looked up as the blonde looked down at her. "Hey, stranger." She said with a smile.

Samantha smiled back, "Hey." She responded. The blonde looked at the shorter girl slightly amused as she looked at the girl up and down. The action alone was making the raven-haired girl grow nervous. She cleared her throat, "You didn't see anything.. right?" She asked extremely nervous now.

Georgia laughed, "Oh, you mean the weed you were just smoking?" She asked with a very cocky smirk. Samantha was shifting from one foot to another and she scratched the back of her neck nervously. The blonde woman seemed to find pity on the girl as she waved her off, "I'm kidding of course."

A sigh of relief left the girl's lips, "Cool so you like, won't tell my mom or anything?" She asked hopeful.

There was a glint in the blonde's eye that made Samantha feel even more nervous if that was even possible. "On one condition," Georgia said making Samantha raise a questioning brow. "Share." She said simply.

Samantha was confused as hell by her comment. Did she hear her correctly? She wanted her to share? "Share?" She chuckled nervously.

Georgia simply looked at the girl's right pocket that her hand was in and she was holding her blunt. The young girl finally cracked a smile, "Fine." She shrugged. If she had to share her drugs to not get in trouble then that's fine with her. The blonde motioned to the tree making the shorter girl look at her confused.

"What? Want to go through the front door instead?" She asked with a raised brow. Samantha glanced at the front of the house, contemplating if she should just go through the front door or not. Chances are she'd end up making too much noise and wake her daughter up, not something she needs. She sighed heavily and took her hands out of her pockets.

"If I fall please tell my mom you coaxed me into smoking with you," Samantha said as she began to climb the tree. A beautiful laugh echoed throughout the night making the girl's stomach fill with butterflies. It was hard to get her balance at first, her foot slipped once or twice but finally, she was able to grab onto the railing. Georgia was standing now holding her hand out in case Samantha needed help but the girl was able to do it on her own. "Fuck that was horrible." She breathed out and held her hand against her chest.

"You're so dramatic." Georgia rolled her eyes in amusement. Once the girl calmed her heart she sat down where Georgia was previously sitting and the blonde followed her actions, taking the spot beside her. Samantha wordlessly took the blunt out of her pocket and the lighter as well.

"Wanna do the honors?" She asked holding it close to the older woman. Georgia smirked and grabbed it from Samantha's hand before pulling it up to her lips. The raven girl turned the lighter on making the fire illuminate her face with an orange light. Her freckles could be seen perfectly in that instant. The young girl made eye contact with the blonde before they moved down to the blunt, she bit her lip as she carefully brought the fire toward the blunt and heard it sizzle before it began to burn.

She pulled away a second later, still a little dazed by how close she was to the blonde. She cleared her throat awkwardly and looked at her hand as it reached into her pocket to place the lighter there. Her eyes soon met Georgia's body, they started at her legs that were exposed. She was only wearing shorts and a silk shirt, both a beige color. Her skin looked so smooth and soft that Samantha had to hold herself back from reaching toward her and touching her. But she was snapped out of it pretty quickly by a cloud of smoke hitting her face slightly. Her head shot up to see Georgia already looking at her with a small smirk.

Samantha cleared her throat, "I think I met your daughter today." She said and watched as Georgia offered her the blunt. The young girl grabbed it and brought it up to her lips, she inhaled deeply letting the smoke remain in her lungs for a couple of seconds before releasing it into the night.

Georgia chuckled, "Oh, you mean the one who stole your brother's bike and then kissed him?"

Samantha smiled in amusement, "Guess so."

Georgia sighed and brought the bud up to her lips and took a long drag. "That little shit doesn't know what's coming." She said as she released the smoke from her mouth. Samantha watched in amazement. She had been around people who smoked all the time but something about the way Georgia was doing it made her mind go blank.

She quickly blinked, she did not want Georgia to see her as the hopeless lesbian in love with her hot neighbor. "Hey now," she said with a slight laugh "My brother's an asshole but.." she trailed off, where was even going with this? "Yeah no he's just an asshole." She nodded in agreement.

Georgia laughed and blew the smoke out of her mouth once more. She did the same thing once more and gave Samantha the blunt. "You're not like your siblings huh?"

Samantha furrowed her brows in slight confusion, she looked at the ground as she took a small drag out of it. She was starting to feel it a little more now and wanted to pace herself. Plus Georgia looked like she needed it more than her and she's willing to just give her the rest. "Well, I'm adopted." She tried to joke.

Georgia looked at her with a 'seriously' look that made Samantha laugh even more, "You know that's not what I mean."

The raven-haired girl turned a lot more serious suddenly "I don't know I guess we just.. we don't have the same privilege that's all." She shrugged. Georgia saw the look on Samantha's face that told her she shouldn't push on the subject so she decided to change the conversation topic instead.

"Your friends are funny," Georgia commented.

Samantha chuckled and pulled her knees up to her chest, she placed her chin on her knees for support and turned to look at the blonde. "If by funny you mean stupid then sure."

Georgia shook her head with a slight laugh. "You're a senior, right?"

"Yeah. I'm hoping to graduate in December but I'll have to see." She said.

Georgia raised a brow, "So you're polite and smart?"

Samantha did a double-take "Polite?" She asked completely confused and why she came to that conclusion. The blonde seemed to be asking completely random questions and she was starting to wonder how hard the weed was hitting.

The blonde smiled, it was one of those that made Samantha's heart beat a second time in just a second. "Well, the first conversation I had with your brother he gave me weed." She started and was interrupted from continuing

Samantha looked a bit bewildered "He.. what?" She was aware her brother smoked every once in a while but she didn't think he'd be stupid enough to do it somewhere in which he could be caught. Although she felt stupid for even thinking that considering their mother found him smoking on the side of the road a day before.

The blonde laughed softly at how concerned Samantha looked, "Okay I'll admit I might've pried it off of him but regardless and this is the second conversation I've had with you that isn't ending up with you flirting with me or checking me out."

Samantha looked even more shocked by her statement "Oh?"

Georgia laughed even harder, "I just mean.." she chuckled breathlessly "You're respectful. That's all." She explained with a slight shrug. By now she had smoked all that she could and the tiny bud was resting on the ashtray beside her.

The girl finally understood what she was trying to say, she wasn't like her brother or maybe some of the young adults she had met recently. It wasn't that she wanted to be boring or a suck up but she just always craved the validation of her mom and sometimes even other adults. It was the way she could always be trusted and she was never considered to be irresponsible that really fueled her to always be perfect. She shrugged, "Yeah well I guess that comes with being the older sibling and all."

Georgia nodded at her words and the two fell into a small silence. Most of the time it would've made Samantha's skin crawl, she wasn't a fan of awkward encounters but somehow the way Georgia was smiling like this just gave her so much comfort. But even then she felt the need to fill the silence and he did, "So Ginny is your daughter?" She asked although she already knew the answer.

The blonde could understand the intentions behind her question pretty easily, it was everyone's question. "Yeah," she nodded. "Had her when I was fifteen."

Samantha's eyebrows rose in surprise "Damn, that's.."

"Slutty?"

The girl chuckled "I was gonna say brave."

The older woman raises a brow in question, obviously not believing her words. That had never been the way she was described and she didn't think the stoned twenty-one-year-old in front of her would be any different.

Samantha chuckled at her actions, "I'm serious. You seem to have your life together, it's really impressive."

The blonde didn't seem to find a single lie behind her statement so she accepted it. "Thank you"

The smile and intensity of the woman's stare was making Samantha feel all giddy. A shy smile overtook her features "Yeah." She said lowly. She realized the conversation ended there when Georgia didn't make a move to speak again. A beat of silence passed before she spoke, finally getting the hint. "I think I should probably get going though."

"Yeah," the woman nodded, "Don't want your mom knowing you were smoking with me."

Samantha smiled and stood "Most definitely not. Have to keep up the whole 'perfect daughter' persona, y'know." She said and dusted herself off again.

"Absolutely." The blonde agreed with a slight smile. She didn't stand and Samantha assumed she was going to stay out a while longer.

She carefully climbed to the other side of the railing and held on tightly as she said one final thing to the beautiful blonde "I'll see you around bud buddy."

Georgia's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a dozen different emotions flashed by her "I-.. did you just.. you know what? I'm too high for this." She shook her head holding her hands up in defeat.

Samantha laughed at her and climbed down the tree. Once her feet were safely on the ground she turned up to look at Georgia again, she shot her one last smile that the blonde returned with ease. A second later she turned around and ran back to her house. She climbed her tree back up to her room and closed the window behind her, she didn't even bother taking off her sweater that reeked of weed and threw her body on the bed.

An uncontrollable smile overcame her features.

[malvoile]

Me and the Devil ; v

ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀᴜʟ ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇ ᴡᴀꜱᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴏɴ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴅᴇꜱᴛɪɴʏ ʙᴇɢɪɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀʀʙᴏʀ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴀᴍᴇ.

word count: 11.2k warnings: canon-typical violence, allusions to past abuse (feyd rautha warning), blood, v light allusions to smut, choking, height difference mentioned (paul is taller), more mommy & daddy issues, nothing else i can think of but always lmk if you see anything notes: okay part five!! yay!! referendum/arraignment is coming v v soon ... also i know that the beginning parts may be boring (i try hard to make them interesting!!) but they're becoming increasingly important to the plot so just letting u all know!! feedback very much appreciated :) series masterlist

Houses Prepare to Assemble for Landsraad Council:

Next week's Space Trade Referendum, set to take place on the capital planet of Kaitain, will see the great houses Major and Minor deciding on crucial galactic matters, foremost among them the future of space trade routes.

Following these decisions will be the proposals to establish standardized protocols for resource extraction and deposit of space debris; as well as the final arraignment in the trial of House Bourbon and their case against House Harkonnen. 

Expected on the agenda is the recent and surprising disruptions in Spice supply, which has forced the Spacing Guild to explore alternative fuel sources in preparation for the increased traffic of intergalactic travel for the Referendum. Nexarite and Petroleum have both arisen as proposed substitutes by Guild engineers. Although Nexarite proves to have dimensional warping implications if used at lightspeed, petroleum is still secondary and, similarly to Nexarite, less effective than Melange. 

Pressure has befallen Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, whose governance over the planet Arrakis provides House Harkonnen the most influence in Melange trade; While petroleum may serve as a stopgap measure in the absence of Spice, its inherent limitations underscore the urgent need for a sustainable, long-term solution to the galaxy's Melange consumption. 

Will there be a decision drawn up at this Referendum, or will the scarcity of Spice thrust the market power of these new fuel sources? 

– Collected Galactic News report sent to Duke Leto Atreides, 10191. Caladan. 

CASTLE CALADAN HUMS WITH LIFE IN THE EARLY MORNINGS.

Even before the sun rises over the cliffs, before the bright orange and pink haze begins to leak into the sprawling halls and tickle the high wooden beamed ceilings, there is movement. 

Coughs, whispered words, faint laughs. They ebb and flow, the foam of the sea curling along a dewy and sleepy shore; footfalls, approaching and disappearing outside the heavy doors to your chamber. 

Today you dress yourself in thick layers of gauzy Pine – slow and syrupy, mind numb with the languid whispers of memory; A strange way to wake up, gasping in fear with Paul's name turning to ash on your tongue.

A sharp gasp, a glint of crimson – Paul, slumping against you, those mossy eyes fading to gray. Your throat is tight; the scent of the drying lingonberries upon your table sends your stomach churning. 

You’ve left them for days; a favored snack, one you’ve enjoyed since childhood. Hestia brought them days ago – you’re not sure how she knew they were from Sabberon, nor why you’ve refused them – or why you protested their departure from your chambers. 

Rotten fruit, your mind hums in some amused way – and your gaze tears from the mirror before you.

Your nameday blade sits untouched upon your boudoir across the room; today you leave your chambers without it, a sick taste upon your tongue as it glints mockingly in the morning light. 

The halls hum with life, though you float through them – for the Strategy Council awaits, and you are not one to keep them as such.

You arrive in the chamber, heart thrumming, mind cast far away from the Referendum, from the arraignment. No – as you walk into the room full of House attendants and members, you think of one thing. 

One thing, one dream, one memory; of a blade plunging into flesh, of eyes turning in eerie familiarity. The gasp of recognition. You think of him.  

And his chair is absent. 

Though your face remains placid, you swallow back the biting inhale of concern that claws up your throat. Paul’s chair is absent. 

Your worries are not eased as you take your seat, nodding numbly along as Duke Leto begins the meeting, avoiding casually as Lady Jessica stares through your skin; and though there is a hushed din of murmurs, it is ceased with the caramel lilt of Duke Leto’s voice. 

“Before we begin, there is a matter of great importance to address,” Duke Leto’s eyes find your own; an intent tone, which brings memories of your own incompetent father to shame. 

“The arraignment of House Bourbon is set for the day following the Space Trade Referendum. It is imperative that we prepare for it accordingly.” 

You blink. It has all but been accepted in your mind that, come next week, you’ll be labeled a criminal in front of the Imperium; and during sleepless nights you've prepared yourself, through painstaking bitter humility, to beg the Atreides to buy your bail in front of the Landsraad Houses. 

You’d not expected to discuss it – and certainly not at a Strategy Council. 

Your hands shake; you clutch them in your lap. Ever since news of the charges levied against your house and the consecutive assassination of your family came, you’ve efficiently ignored the inevitable. But now, it is here. 

You must look it in the eyes. 

You nod, glancing to the empty seat beside Duke Leto. “Yes, my Lord,” you steel yourself with a flare of humiliation at the heavy stares around the war table. Your lips part again, heat floods your cheeks – no words come. 

But Duke Leto gracefully fills the deafening silence, curbing the unwanted attention upon you and commanding it towards himself with a flash of something warm in his eyes. Your stomach curls in something like shame. 

“The council and I have discussed it, and I am fully committed to advocating for your house’s interests during the arraignment on behalf of House Atreides.” He leans, elbows firm upon the table, “I plan to do everything in my power to convince the other houses to see reason and vote in your favor as well.” 

Your brows raise, mind swarming with the warmth of gratitude and the icy stab of fear in your stomach. Given the political complexities surrounding the case, your doubts flicker. 

Your lips puff before you find your voice. “This...could put you in a precarious situation, my lord,” you begin, swallowing around a dry throat, “I appreciate it more than you'd know, but…” 

Your throat stings; and around you, faces that were mere enemies to you weeks ago. All of them, loyal to the end of the House they serve; the House that is claiming you as one of their own, even in the looming presence of what might come. 

You clear your throat. “The Harkonnens are –” you flounder under the scrutiny of attention, and you’re struck with a sudden embarrassment. “Powerful,” you finish dumbly, cheeks hot, heart filled with dread. 

“We understand your concerns my dear,” comes a voice from down the table; Lady Jessica, with lips poised and eyes kind, “But you are a part of our House. We will protect you.” 

A surge of gratitude bursts through your chest as you concede, nodding smally, catching the gaze of Duke Leto before lowering to stare at your curled fists to hide the sting in your eyes. 

“House Bourbon has long been allies of House Atreides,” Gurney Halleck affirms from down the table, “this is a return of the favor.” 

Your voice comes, and it is warm for what might be the first time in a long time. “Thank you,” you breathe, knowing your cheeks are warm still, “Your support means more to my h– to me than I can express.”

You force a smile onto your face, hoping it comes across less as a grimace.

“I cannot speak for the other houses,” Duke Leto admits, “but I worry there may be those who seek to exploit this situation for their own gain. Whatever the outcome, you have the support of House Atreides behind you.”

He has voiced your very own concerns; The great houses are not in your good graces, and you not in theirs. And Harkonnen pockets run deep. 

As the subject is laid in preparation of the upcoming off-world travel, you try your hardest to absorb the information about the Referendum next week; though your mind gnaws at its cage. A small gnat lumbers past your vision, and you blow it off-stream with a gentle breath, watching it flutter towards Paul’s empty seat. 

The council ends after only a few hours – by now the sun has risen in the sky, and your gut has twisted from fear into a sharp, pressing anxiety.

The council is dismissed; You fight off visions of your dream as you rise and bid farewell. 

A pained voice gasps in your ear; labored breathing, a stutter of your name curdled with blood. Feyd-Rautha’s sickly skin glinting in the sharp sunlight. 

Blood spills, and it sounds like rain. 

The hallways are alive.  

You must find Paul. 

IT DOES NOT TAKE ANY SHEER FORCE OF WILL, NOR A MIRACLE, FOR YOUR LUCK TO BE STRUCK.

Duke Leto accompanies you out of the council; and to your surprise, invites you to his own quarters for another meeting.  

It is the first of what is likely many wedding planning sessions; A smaller party in number than the Strategy and War Councils, yet infinitely more intimidating. 

You were never awarded a voice in your wedding plans with Feyd-Rautha; perhaps, in some ways, that is why it never came to pass. Though you haunted the dark halls of Giedi Prime for four long cycles unwed, you are fortunate indeed that he spent those years instead behind the closed doors of war rooms, spice councils, and roaring arenas. 

He was a beast infinitely more loyal to conquest than vows – and, if the matter ever did surface, it was dismissed with the flick of a knife and an insistence that marriage meant little unless you bore him an heir.

And though the taste of power that leaked from the bite of baroness on your tongue was sweet, you knew just as well that it dripped with poison; and you learned to bite your tongue. Not that you ever dreamed of veils or vows – but here you are; and what are you to do when your future is carved by another’s blade? 

And so the pleasant enthusiasm you express, however incredibly minute, goes over well with the Duke; for perhaps he reads the lilt of your eager yes to be some girlish fantasy of gowns and handsome boys. Though truthfully, the verity of your willingness lies in the assurance that Paul could not possibly miss this meeting – lest his parents chastise him like a petulant child. 

You walk the halls to his quarters. The Duke makes for a surprisingly easy interlocutor; you find comfort within his voice, a welcome distraction from the shadows of dread. You even draw out a short huff of laughter from him – after admittance of your interest in learning to pilot a ship, Duke Leto informs you that he himself wished to be a pilot when he was young. 

The Duke’s Study is a more intimate room; a round table with five chairs, two of which are occupied – and the moment you cross the threshold behind Duke Leto, you find what you’ve searched for all morning. 

Paul stands abruptly from the table – a jolt of water spilling from the glass before him, his lips part. Though you are far more focused, dead in pace, upon the alarm swimming within his gaze. 

He must know. 

A curling horror slides through you at the thought, and you hardly blink before Paul has crossed the space towards you, drawing the surprise of both his father and the other person in the study. 

His hair falls unruly; your neck cranes as Paul steps towards you, glare stony as it slips from your visage and lower, as if searching you once more. What you search for rests far away in another wing of the castle, you wish to tell him, it is not here. 

But just then: A blink. A furrowed brow as he flicks his gaze suddenly back up to your own, then to your mouth; and Paul stares at you, nearly bewildered in the tense silence. A sickening thing grows unnamed and unknown in your stomach.

Yet he seems to remember himself; A barely visible shake of his head. “Good morning,” he greets stiffly. It comes breathless and heavy with unspoken urgency, with a gaze struck with alarm.

Your heart stamps into your throat as you greet him back. You must speak – but not now. 

And so Paul guides you tersely – eyes screaming, swimming – towards the table, pushing your chair in and accidentally brushing against the twist of your hairdo as he lowers himself into his own seat. Two pairs of eyes stare in varying degrees of observation as you and Paul settle stiffly, cheeks aflame, hearts racing. 

“Thank you both for joining us. This is our House Administrative Assistant,” he introduces the woman to you; a woman with a strong nose and an accent from the Eastern continent of Caladan. 

You wish indeed that you could be more grounded in the moment, for she draws an interest from you that the subject material cannot; but alas your mind drifts, uncooperative, shielding you from the weight of what this truly is. 

The thought of planning a wedding — your wedding — is dull, distant; for much more pressing is the threat that looms beyond silken ceremonies. 

War brews; economic or perhaps otherwise – and you know far too well who pulls the strings. Sinister, manicured hands which reach into every House, every bed, every bloodline. And you want no part in the role they’ve written for you. 

Or, if his words from last night are true – for Paul.

It’s then your gaze slips to the final empty chair. Of course — it must be for Lady Jessica, who has not attended. You find yourself regretting her absence; for her poise, her loyalty to both House and Sisterhood are, in truth, admirable.

Beside you, Paul has shifted – his fingers trace the curve of the table absently, knee bouncing restlessly underneath. There is some residual relief in your heartbeat now that you have located him; and this very thought draws stubborn hackles upon your back.

You look away from his profile, gaze slipping into the middle distance – when did you start to see yourself on Paul’s side? 

Hardly was it the lunch shared between you, nor the books of your culture kept so diligently at his bedside – you know better than to place your trust in something as futile as kindness.

Was it his candor about his mother – and about the Reverend Mother’s visit? Are you truly so simple as to forget one adversary, when a larger foe emerges more present in the distance; so foolish as to believe that the enemy of your enemy is your friend? 

No.

Perhaps, it’s the dreams.

Not those laced with heat and hunger — those, you insist to your rebellious heated cheeks, are irrelevant. Desire is a weapon, not a weakness. You are not so easily undone.

But it is the other ones that stay with you. The darker ones, that feel more like memory than fantasy.

And just as your thoughts begin to turn, you are pulled from the depths by the accented voice drifting from the table. 

The coordinator launches into plans – gliding over the surface of logistics, a blade over still water. 

You nod along with a placid enough expression as she glides from venues to guest lists to ceremonial rites. And you – a ghost at your own table, drifting just beyond the veil of the present. Beside you, Paul traces the grain of wood with his nail absently. 

An evening affair – elegant and grand, with most of the court and family in attendance. A traditional wedding.

Memories of marbled floors and echoing halls, of feasts and grandeur while flurries of snow pile high and squalls howl outside castle doors; and you are washed with a horrible bout of nostalgia. 

A traditional wedding – a mockery of an idea.

The words come before you can think twice, and they curl around a sharply vicious stare. “Shall we invite my father to walk me down the aisle as well?”

The room stills at your words. 

A horrible thing, the slow stares of three virtual strangers – uncomfortable, tense, discomfited. Duke Leto sits straighter; the woman pursing her lips as words die on her tongue. Paul’s eyes flicker in your peripheral, latching upon the pendant round your neck. And you, alone, a pine in a clearing of skeletal trunks; shivering in the dead of winter. 

Your regret comes instantly. 

In the quiet, you see it too clearly: a body crumpled in the arena, the crack of spine against sand, head flung back. The glint of a crushed signet ring, a snarling wolf coated in slick, black blood. Weak, lifeless.

A puppet with severed strings.

After a thick silence, the coordinator forges through with a hard blink and a clear of her throat as shame curls around your cheeks and flushes over your throat. 

“I would actually like to speak to you on the matter of your family’s traditions, if that is okay,” the coordinator delivers delicately. Images still cling like cobwebs as you snap your gaze to her own: a blood-slick blade, the gasp of a dying breath, brown curls soaked in crimson.

“We’ll be sure to incorporate them into the ceremony as you see fit.”

A slow shame draws your brow, for she doesn’t elaborate, which leaves you little room to feign understanding. Your hands fold tightly against the table, as if to keep yourself from unraveling. Paul’s fingers tap once more against the grain to your right. 

“I must admit,” you start, “I’m not as familiar with my house’s traditions as Paul is.” 

Paul’s gaze meets yours – steady, unreadable until he betrays some glint of amusement. A tilt of his head: I offered you the book, his eyes remind you with a boyish flicker.

Your eyes flash in reply, your embarrassment melting into some unfamiliar warmth: I know.

The corner of his mouth lifts, brief as a candle flicker — gone before it can fully become a smile, lest the idea of one. And yet still, something coils in your stomach.

You look away sharply – across the table, where the Duke’s lips twitch into a quiet, knowing smirk. He’s seen something, read something in the moment; something you didn’t intend.

“Is that right?” the Duke asks his son – and Paul nods, gazing out beyond the treeline of the window, detached and unbothered, though his cheeks have grown pink in the stormy light of morning. 

Duke Leto nods once more, the remainder of his smile bringing heat to your own cheeks. “Whatever rituals you deem appropriate will be incorporated into the ceremony,” he promises, “We're aiming for a date just before the galactic year’s end.” 

His gaze lingers on you, quietly gauging your reaction. You give him none. 

He nods in lieu of your silence. “I believe that concludes things for today. Perhaps the two of you can review Bourbon and Atreides customs and speak with our coordinators once you've agreed on what feels fitting.”

Paul nods with the practiced ease of a well-trained highborn, his eyes flicking to you like a signal. 

You meet his glance, stare unwavering – silent, urgent. You nod once, with a rush of heartbeat in your throat and a buzzing desire to talk without prying ears. 

“Do you still have the book on Bourbon customs?” you ask, voice flat as polished stone; and Paul, if he’s as perceptive as he prides himself to be, will understand what you’re really saying.

“I do,” he answers simply. Behind his stony stare, there are machinations; a strategy forming in his mind. 

“Perhaps we can reconvene after the Referendum,” he offers. “In the meantime, Lady Bourbon and I will review our house traditions and decide what feels most appropriate for the… ceremony.”

A flicker of approval touches the Duke’s features — satisfied, though glinting. Analyzing.

Dismissal follows swiftly, but Paul is already on his feet, striding toward the corridor before you’ve even begun to rise.

The required pleasantries are traded with the coordinator and the Duke, each word a small weight as you glance over your shoulder to the empty threshold; your mind whirs, buzzing to trace the disappearing footsteps out in the hall. 

You move swiftly, shadowing Paul’s retreat with a pace that’s nearly a chase; Your blood thrums, fingers itching for the familiar feel of worn leather. 

Your urgency is buried expertly beneath silk and etiquette, but it thrums below your skin.

“Paul.”

Your voice carries far down the dim hall leading to Paul’s quarters; his tunic is nearly gray in the low light.

“Paul.”

Your footsteps echo off the stone, hard and fast as you try to match his pace – mercifully, he stops, though only just enough for you to catch him.

Your name escapes his mouth edged in urgency and, without pause, he takes your wrist and pulls you with him, deeper into the shadows. 

You nearly stumble after him, off-balance, jarred by the feverish anger so suddenly radiating from him; He’s always been precise, measured – but there is a burn in his eyes now, something wild. Something familiar. 

You hardly make it into his room before he spins on you, voice low and sharp as a blade. 

“It was you.”

There’s a look in him you haven’t seen before – dark, unguarded. You don’t ask for clarification. 

Your nod is solemn, heart clenching. “Yes,” you affirm. Then, after wetting your lips, slowly turning your head, pacing around him in slowly measured steps as he turns in your radius, tracing your movements with his gaze. “And you–” you cut yourself off, wary of the fear stabbing your stomach. 

He barely inclines his head, but the gesture is enough. Your breath catches.

“It was ordinary at first,” he affirms, wide emerald gaze hooked on your own, voice thin with disbelief, and cheeks pink after the word ordinary. “But then we were standing there – and…I felt it.”

He stares you down, jaw tense. You feel sick – and then, his voice comes again. “I know it was you.” 

Before you can react, his hand grips the edge of your robe and yanks it aside – fingers searching, expecting the familiar hilt at your hip. “You used this.”

But where he expects to find the incriminating evidence, there’s nothing. No blade, no sheath, just the quiet press of your skin against fabric.

He stills in a moment of surprise, and you use it to your advantage, catching his wrist and wrenching it away – but you keep him in your grasp, tight and defensive. Charged.

Paul's lips part slightly, confusion clouding the jungled fury that lives in the outskirts of his verdant irises. Eyes roam, hungry and searching – scanning your figure as though the weapon might still be here somewhere.

It takes the moment of hesitation, the look of uncertainty in his visage, for it to hit you. Your stomach drops as you realize it – 

He dreamt that you stabbed him.

Your bewilderment must reflect upon your visage. “Paul. I didn’t–” you begin, voice tight, “I didn’t stab you.”

His eyes shift to the stone wall behind you, sharp breath leaving his nose. His wrist is heavy, warm and sharp in your grasp. His heart races in your grasp, wild and erratic. “You did.”

Your voice comes stubborn, breathless. “No, Paul. He was behind you.”

The room cracks with a strange heat, a static hum in the air between your bodies. As if awoken from a trance, Paul rips his wrist from your grasp and your hand drops to your side, fist curling tight in the absence of his weight.  

“Feyd-Rautha,” your voice is laced with the hackles upon your back, “he had my nameday blade.”

Paul’s brows draw; a devastating scowl, a pout laced with stubborn apprehension. “You stabbed me. I felt you.” He sighs sharply, tongue dipping over his lower lip. “You were with me.”

An urgent fear arises in you, and with the knowledge of fate hanging in the balance in just a week’s time, you have suddenly lost whatever control you had. “–I know I was,” you snap. “But you’re not listening.”

“–Why should I?” His voice breaks the hush of urgency, sharp and cold. 

“I—” You drag your hair from your burning eyes. “Fuck, Paul. I don’t know.”

And you don’t.

But the implications strike, a sharpened blade plunged into the soft side of your stomach.  But it felt so real – not a dream, but a memory. And if what passes between you bleeds into dreams and reality alike… your heart seizes, and a darker fear begins to fester.

Staring up at Paul – who watches you in turn with a heaving chest and wild, fearful eyes – you swallow thickly. Whispers curl in the depths of your mind, at the edges of his irises. 

The fear grows, festers. 

And you pray, silently and without hope, that Feyd-Rautha has been sleeping in dreamless silence. 

Because if he hasn’t – then something far older has already chosen your path.

After a moment, Paul’s voice comes faint, solemn. 

“We can’t trust her.” 

You blink, nodding faintly – he needs not elaborate of whom he speaks. “I know,” you breathe, licking your lips in an anxious tell. Paul’s gaze catches the movement, dropping lower for a moment over your frame. 

You are suddenly aware of the slight chill upon your bare shoulders; the tank-top you wear is breezy without your robe to cover your exposed skin. The material pools lazily around your bent elbows and yet you do not move to pull it up.

“We can’t risk telling her,” Paul murmurs, urgency threading his voice. “If she finds out about the dreams, she’ll never let us pursue Sabberon.”

It catches you off guard – that he’s already done the calculations in his own head, staked claim without needing convincing.

Again, you’re struck by the quiet insistence despite what you tell yourself: that he is not only sharp, but merciful – a future ruler shaped by something perhaps more than just ambition. And a match worthy of, perhaps, more than just circumstance.

You drag a hand down your face ungracefully. “So we just hope she can’t read us?” your voice is bitter, “Paul – that’s nearly impossible.”

He pauses, a shadow settling behind his gaze; unnamed, heavy. “She’ll stop at nothing if we stray from their orders, whatever they may be.” His voice drops low, eyes swimming. “We just…don’t know what we’re doing. Yet.”

Your spine is rigid. Steel lines your voice. “I won’t let them take my planet.” 

You don’t know if you mean the Sisterhood or the Landsraad; or if, in the end, they’re simply the same serpent with two heads. But before he can answer, footsteps fall down the stone corridor. 

The echo of them is short, distant after a moment – but it serves to startle both of your erratic dispositions. 

Paul’s hand grasps your arm swiftly, both bristling like startled hares in a disrupted burrow; Without a word, you together draw back from the doorway, further into the hush of his quarters. 

Near the bedpost, he leans in; you circle him once more. His breath is warm against your skin, your cheeks warm under the sidelong beam of sunlight. 

Paul’s curls hang loose, uncombed, and his eyes are rimmed with sleepless thought: Rumpled, real. Your throat tightens. 

His gaze flits to the table, then back to you. “I think...” he swallows thickly, “I think you need to let my mother train you.”

You blink – the shock lances through you like icewater, sharp and buried deep beneath your ribs. A bitter, disbelieving laugh escapes you.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

But somewhere quiet and traitorous within you, you know he does.

Paul’s stare does not leave your visage. “I do. And you know it.” His voice is grave, “Even if we can’t lie to her, we need to know what the Sisterhood wants with these dreams. They mean something, or they wouldn’t keep coming. She wouldn’t keep asking about them.” He whispers your name softly, sternly. “We need to be ready.”

You lift a brow, folding your arms. His gaze breaks to follow your movements before returning sharply to the uptick of your chin. “And if nothing comes of it?”

He searches your face, something flickering in his expression, some exasperation leaking through. “You really think this is all in our heads?” 

There’s a crack of vulnerability in his tone; a leak, a glimpse. Just enough to hear the boy beneath the heir – hoping the terror might be imagined. 

Your sigh is sharp; He takes it for the answer it is.

“You didn’t bring up the Harkonnen petroleum reserves for no reason,” he presses. “Or the materials on Sabberon. The threat is real — and even if it isn’t, the dreams are. That should be enough.”

Sharp, glistening fear flirts with the nerves in your chest. 

“You sound like your mother,” you snap, the words cutting out too quickly. “She clutches at every syllable that comes from the Reverend Mother like it’s gospel.”

His eyes flare, incredulous. “And you were in my dream. Or have you forgotten?” His voice: steel behind silk, boy behind heir.

“Unless we unknowingly drank Spice before bed, that was real.” His sardonic tongue needles at your temper; He’s right, though this merely carves the dread deeper.

Paul was raised under the Sisterhood’s doctrine, you remind yourself; You stare at your betrothed for a moment in the late morning light. 

The curls which hang by his temples, the pout upon his lips, the turn of nose, his sparkling, sharp stare. His chest, rising and falling with the same futile attempt to calm his heartbeat that you mimic. 

A male Bene Gesserit. 

The possibility scratches at the edges of your mind, begging a name; A prophecy. Whispers curl in your mind, but you do not understand them. The shortening of the way, they taunt.

The phrase shivers through you – Ancient, unmoored; You do not know what it means, but the words feel as though they were pressed into your bones long before you were born. 

In a moment of paranoia, you wonder if Jessica had somehow dosed your morning tea – some odd alchemical manipulation; a Spice-laced seduction of the subconscious. 

But even a drug-induced fate feels almost kinder than the truth that haunts your blood, slinking in shadows and whispering through empty, ransacked halls leagues away: that this has always been coming. 

That this path was carved before your ancestors ever drew breath.

“Paul.” You start evenly, brows knitting upward in what you know might reveal a vulnerable expression, the first of any such thing to cross your features in his presence. He drinks it in patiently, eyes boring into your own. 

“This is a bad idea,” you say plainly, grateful – truly grateful – that you can argue with your husband-to-be without threat of a palm across your cheek. That he allows you your voice and, within the last day, even seeks it; even when it cuts. And, in a bristle of defiance, you tilt your head, “why should I trust your judgment?” 

He exhales, a dry scoff. “Why should I trust yours?” His arms cross, a mirror of your own. “You try to kill me in half my dreams.”

Your glare is instant, vicious, and your huff is exasperated. “Well, I haven’t killed you yet, have I?”

His returned look is dry. “I know my house better than anyone. I know my mother better still.” Your glare is hot at the growing resolution in his tone. “So... We train with her. Together. It’s the only way to unearth what they want from us. And Mohaim can’t know.”

You sneer. “You’re naïve if you think she won’t. This is futile.”  

Paul’s jaw ticks; your eyes track the movement. “I’ve spent my life preparing to make choices like this.”

Your voice whips back. “And yet you choose wrong.”

His eyes flash, stooping down towards you. “Watch your tongue.” His voice; low, quiet – a warning laced with silk. “I will be your Duke one day.”

“And I your Duchess,” you retort swiftly, lifting your chin. “That title means little to me, my lord.”

You are close now – so close you can smell the hush of his soap, the warm edge of sweat, of citrus and the forest far across the grounds. His breath is tight, visage angled to take in your molten gaze. He’s nearly regal in his anger; sharp cheekbones, curled locks, shadowed eyes.

“That means little to me, my lady,” he returns, cruel and quick. “You’re here, so you’ll do as I say.”

His eyes are greener than the billowing grass fields outside his window. Something wild coils in you.

You’re mine to keep. There's plenty of life left for you to serve. Feyd’s voice, twisted and slick in your mind – and for a sickening moment it morphs. It becomes Paul’s.

Your hand flies without thought. 

A burn of instinct and old scars; You aim to slap him, to strike, to wound, to reclaim your breath.

But he catches you.

Faster than you imagined – his fingers wrap tight around your wrist, stilling your blow an inch from his cheek, hovering with a buzzing heat that makes your heart stop. 

Time freezes – the chimes by the window stir, whispering in the stillness, in the back of your mind. Paul’s nostrils flare, and as the energy in the room shifts, his lips barely move.

“Don’t.”

Not spoken – but threaded into you; It ripples through your spine, turns marrow into ice, turns your limbs into jelly. Not yet refined, not yet absolute – but there, unmistakably. The Voice.

You truly, stupidly fight the urge to obey.

You fight the weight that pushes your hand down, as if you could still strike the boy in front of you despite the way you cannot move your arm.

A trickle of fear rolls down your spine – a whisper.

Power: Real, ancient, terrifying. His.

You knew Jessica trained him, though perhaps you haven’t thoroughly understood what that truly means. 

You linger in limbo, thoughts warring in your mind of what it means to see patterns where others see only dust.

 The Shortening of the Way. It echoes in your blood like prophecy remembered, though you snap from your haze with a sharp inhale and a renewed fury.

You twist your wrist in an attempt to wrench yourself free – though his grasp is resolute, and your other hand comes to shove hard against his chest, sliding your thigh to pin on impact. 

Paul’s spine thuds against the wall beside his bed with a dull knock. A sharp exhale of breath, his grip iron-locked upon your wrist, your fear bubbling into rage. 

Your forearm comes to flatten against his chest, holding him to the wall as his heart thuds fast, uneven beneath your grasp. His eyes are wild, and in their reflection you seethe. 

“Do not ever use the Voice on me again.”

His breath is as wild as your own, and your lip curls. “No man holds power over me,” you spit. “And you are no different.”

His breath changes minutely, but he doesn’t let go. Neither do you. And there you remain, both sucking in air through flared nostrils, two creatures caught mid-transformation, mid-dream; mid-destruction.

His eyes are hooded with shadows you cannot find as he tilts his head to you calmly. Far too calm. 

“It’s not just men you should fear.” His gaze does not waver, though a curl comes across his brow as he shakes his head gently. “Whatever else they are – the Bene Gesserit can give us power.”

The weight of it presses on your ribs; Your fury simmers, but something more weak coils underneath it: dread. Destiny. 

In your faltering heat, Paul snuffs the flame. “After all, you should be used to living with enemies.”

Your jaw sets to snarl, to lash out; but something whispers in your mind – that he is right. You are used to this. The Sisterhood is not your friend, but neither is it wholly your enemy. 

Slowly, your arm drops from across his chest. 

Though your other hand falls, his fingers still clutch your wrist with some leaking wariness – the flicker of fear that if he lets you go, you might drive a hidden blade through his stomach. 

He’s right, you know; to walk blindly into what waits ahead without any attempt at control is a foolish fate. Independence – that stubborn thing that laces the straight line of your spines and tilts your chins high – will not be enough. 

You are not thinking clearly these days – a storm brews, and in its thunder is the promise of the upcoming arraignment. 

Paul still watches you, hackles raised, chest heaving. Eyes wild. His breath is warm against your cheek. Your lips part to speak, but just at the very moment–  

“Paul?”

 The voice is not yours.

It cleaves the silence, a blade through gauze – and you both jolt, heads whipping to the door in tandem, marionettes startled from rest. 

“I’d hoped to speak with you about my absence—” But the words wilt in Lady Jessica’s mouth as she crosses into the threshold. A Houseworker follows behind her, arms cradling a basket of linen, stopping with a short blink. 

Quite immediately, Lady Jessica’s gaze drifts – first to your flushed face, then to Paul’s, then in a horrific series of quick equations in her mind – to the bed so dreadfully close to you.

You can almost see the thoughts rolling through her surprised stare: The heat, blooming thick in the air, a rustle of bedsheets warm from the sudden absence of bodies. 

Your face burns, a wildfire of panic and embarrassment – and your stomach, knotting tight as a sailor’s rope. 

Lady Jessica’s poise is impressive, though a strange color rises to her cheeks – surprise, suspicion, and something stranger still.

Your heart freezes. How much did she hear?

Between you and Paul, a glance unfurls wordless, warlike, and quickly flashing into a shared agreement. The truth is perilous, but the lie is easy; almost comforting in its simplicity. Caught lovers. It is decided in the blink of two pairs of eyes. 

“Forgive me,” Jessica murmurs in her polished steel, “I hadn’t realized—”

Paul at once steps away from the bed with an awkwardly careful grace. “No.” 

You gather your composure like a young bird draws in a broken wing – unease, tilting on uneven feet with a slight flutter. 

A quick breath before Paul's knuckles brush your shoulder; he's adjusting the sleeve of your robe, untwisting it over your shoulder as you hide an unwanted shiver under a glance to his rouged cheeks.

Lady Jessica’s eyes follow the movement with something warm and almost approving; you let out a quiet breath. Good – better to be caught in passion rather than treason. 

“We were just... discussing,” he excuses, “the wedding.” 

The Houseworker has busied herself leaving the basket beside the door, her lips pressed in a tight line. You know how the words will wind their way back to Hestia by this evening, you’re sure of it; your cheeks heat at the thought of the inevitable lies you’ll have to sew to her. 

Jessica’s smile is soft, knowing. “I did not mean to interrupt, truly. My apologies. I can find you later.” 

She turns to leave, and you blink with a short breath, lips moving quick. “No – please, my Lady–” 

She pauses kindly and you fix her with a smile; a tender, paper-thin thing that feels rather alien still after all this time. “I was just leaving,” you assure with a small nod. 

And with your words, with your heart hammering in your chest, quaking with the worry that Lady Jessica had heard much more than she let on – you drift toward Paul soft-footed, swift. 

Your hands find purchase on his shoulders as you hoist yourself upon the tips of your toes – he stiffens, eyes flaring as if you might unsheath a blade and gift it so sweetly to the flesh between his ribs. 

And perhaps if this were another moment, another day, another life, you'd have giggled at the panic behind his calm visage, at the swirling irritation and bewilderment living behind the mossy banks of his gaze.

But you hardly give it time. 

And as your breath stirs against his cheek, he bends imperceptibly down towards you –  sharp, he is, and he has found your cover at last. 

His hands are fists, but still they come to your hips as your lips hover by his cheekbone. “Find me later,” you whisper, soft as breath.

His curls brush your face as he nods just imperceptively; and so you press a brief kiss to the sharp ridge of his cheek. 

Over his shoulder, Jessica averts her eyes.

And as you pull away, your heart thuds with the hope that the scene is convincing; shy young lovers, stealing a moment. If only it were that simple.

When you turn to leave, there is a slight blush blooming across Paul’s cheekbones. 

A convincing actor, then. 

You offer a quick bow to Jessica before you slip past them, heart in your throat, palms clammy. 

PAUL DOES FIND YOU LATER.

Out in the gardens of Castle Caladan, the season ends with the turn of the year – the plants that bloom are resilient to the less rainy months that come. Paul watches the fatter drops of dew slide from thick corded leaves beside him as he winds his way into the garden. 

Light trickles down from gaps in the clouds, spilling like thin milk over garden stones. His hair catches in a disjointed wind, warmer than cold – Paul walks past petals which close when they should bloom; in the near distance backwards birdsong echoes in the forest. The air tastes faintly of copper and cinnamon. 

He finds you drifting ahead of him, barefoot, your pale dress damp and whispering at your heels. A slow thing; so unlike you to walk with little purpose, syrupy and languid all the same but with less resolution.

He steps closer, though before he can call your name, your body snaps in reaction to his presence behind you.

A creature startled — you turn, pressing him into the hedge with the same force you’d unyieldingly used just this very morning; thorned leaves tickle his neck and Paul’s hands find your form with more instinct than intent. 

One, falling to brace at your hip – the other, sliding to cradle the winged muscle of your shoulder; as your eyes flash into his own, the pad of his thumb presses into the hollow at your throat to stabilize your wrath. 

Though where he expects anger, fear, fury – he finds none.

Your voice comes syrupy and knowing. “I dreamt of you this afternoon,” your voice trickles, thinner than rain. Paul fights a vague uncanny haze, blinking as he watches your humming frame. An odd mood he’s found you in this evening – it serves to wholly unease him. 

“Did you?” he wonders breathlessly.

You lean closer, lips grazing his; there’s no kiss, merely a whisper, and his heart beats at his throat in confusion. He swallows thick, ears humming with lapsed birdsong and an upwards roar of sinking waves in the far distance. 

“In a throne room,” you confirm. The words unfurl, soft petals in the first shy glance of spring; your breath mists upon his neck and his fingers flex just to feel the erratic beat of your heart below his palm. “Spice, glittering in the sand that trailed in through the doors.” 

There is a numb alarm in his chest, though it dissolves with the stroking of your hand. You curl further into him, eyes sharp as a reverence, hungry as a threat. Paul sinks into the thorned hedge, still holding you close despite the unnerving glint in your stare. 

“You were on the throne,” you breathe, “...and I knelt before you.”

His stomach flips; Your hands slide lower.

The alarm is a faint memory now; Paul lets you guide him. Lets you sink, a priestess before some altar, eyes flashing with gold and flicks of strange cerulean hues. 

Paul’s vision swims; velvet, static. Hands trail down his stomach, and his hands grasp a veil he cannot see. 

You speak against him, lips brushing his tunic; Paul’s warmth and confusion grown in a sick tandem. You smile; an omen. 

“I heard it, Paul.” You hum, “But it wasn’t your voice.”

Paul tries to recall what you’re saying – what you’d said before; anything, perhaps, to make sense of your uncharacteristic behavior and why he is not putting a stop to it –but your mouth is warm and you’re humming softly. The garden spins. A moan escapes him, gasping, quiet.

And when you look up, your face is beautiful and wrong, blurred around the edges; a painting submerged in oil. 

Behind you, the garden grows darker, wilder – a glint in the hedges, the glint of a blade behind thorned leaves and a faint glimpse of sickening, pale skin. Above him, the sky is bruised with clouds, and it begins to rain; though the drops seem to rise up from the ground.

Paul opens his mouth to speak, but the taste of cinnamon and copper curls in his throat, and then he’s–

Paul jolts upright, breath caught in his throat like a noose; cold sweat sticks his tunic to his chest, the breeze from the open window chilly. The room is bruised with the dusk-light of a sky about to break open – already, the rain has begun to weep.

“Shit,” he mutters, voice ragged as his head drops back against the pillow, heartbeat thudding in his ears.

Water whispers against the yard outside his open window. He must’ve slept for hours – the sun was high when he returned from his lesson with Thufir to his chambers, lying down to rest only for a moment. 

Now, the sea churns and swallows the light – the castle’s wing is quiet and bare. He’s missed supper.

Dragging himself up, Paul stumbles under his shower – frigid water to cool heated skin and a racing, betraying heart; and he stands there, unmoving, as it bites through to his bones. 

And still, the dream clings. The memory clings. 

And the dread remains. 

EVENTUALLY, PAUL RESIGNS TO SEEK YOU IN THE LAND OF THE LUCID.

He emerges from his chambers – shower-freshed and storm-eyed, steadfastly ignoring the whispers of his dream, pacing the corridors in search of any hints of you. 

It’s late; you’re likely finished with lessons by now, perhaps stowed away in your quarters with supper and your stubborn solitude. 

His footsteps carry him to your chambers with a lilt of hesitance; the dream lingers, taunting and mocking – his cheeks remain red as summerberries even when his knock echoes through the corridor.

He calls your name into the still room, when there is no response, eyes cast down in hopes of avoiding any improper sights – tracing instead over the few personal belongings scattered through the chamber. 

“Paul?” 

He rounds the corner to find Hestia, standing beside your modest table. She blinks at him as if he is some apparition, arriving before its haunting hour. 

“Oh,” he says simply, brow twitching upward. “Hi.”

Before her sit two place settings; a crumb stubbornly remaining at the corner of her mouth. She nods at him, eyeing him warily – a waver in her stance, clearly just as thrown off by his presence as he is with hers.  

There is a set for two that she gathers from the table and a flicker of interest curls in his gut. “You’ve been eating together,” he observes, “voluntarily?” 

Her lips press together, brow raising, “Perhaps I like her better than you,” her voice comes with no regard for status between them; a thing Paul quite admires about her, even when she is taking a tone of tease. “She doesn’t sulk nearly as much.” 

His expression must be incredulous – for she laughs shortly, shaking her head as she clears a jar of jam. 

“Well, I guess she just has better reasons to sulk,” Hestia mends, “–And she does it more gracefully.” 

Paul gave her a flat look, though he knows it’s true. “You’ve known her for two weeks.”

“Some people don’t need years to be tolerable.”

A short breath exits through his nose — a growl that’s halfway to a laugh, yet bristled. “Where has she gone?” He wonders, eyes flicking to her own now. 

A smirk grows on her visage, arms crossing. “Who?” 

Paul’s eyes narrow, some odd warmth spreading in his stomach. 

“My betrothed,” he levels, less than placated by the teasing glint in her gaze. 

With a hum, she glances to the lapsed rain, where night covers the misty ground. “She left for the gardens.” 

Paul’s stomach drops in surprise. 

Out your window is a distant view of the rolling sea; far and glinting in moonlight, it is swallowed by marshes and moors of darkened green and whispers of long grass in the shadows of night. Lost in thought, Paul notices after a few moments the odd look in Hestia’s stare. 

“What?” He asks, nearly defensive. 

“It’s a little uncanny, you asking after her like this.” She says bluntly, lifting a brow, “you’ve not exactly been showing her much… gallantry.” 

He fights the twitch of his lips, something shameful curling in his gut. His voice comes out the same, sharp and defensive. “I speak to her.” 

She blinks at the crossing of his arms across his chest, her lips quirking. “Barely.” 

Paul shifts. “I listen to her.” 

Her brows raise incredulously. “When?” 

A retort dies on Paul’s tongue as he scoffs – cheeks grow warm, lips flounder. The night’s sky is speckled and clotted with clouds which draw heavier and low by the minute. 

“Do you plan on pestering me all night, or will you let me leave?” 

A huff falls from her nostrils – an amusement at his exasperation that curls over the bend of her lips and the crow’s feet of her eyes. 

“Depends. Are you going to tell her you came looking?” Her accent, a thing of deep Caladan native heritage, rolls thick off her tongue just as her mother’s. 

His eyes roll to the heavens and back to her. “Why else would I look for her?”

Hestia seems to be enjoying herself. 

“Plenty of reasons,” she flashes a grin, “though, none either of you would admit.”

He lets out a bitter sound and backs toward the door with a parting glare. She’d do well to remember her place; though he’s never once chastised her for speaking her mind before. 

“Hestia,” he grumbles, instead, “do try not to gossip too much before I find her.”

“And you,” she calls sweetly after his retreating figure, cheeky grin bleeding through her lilt, “try not to look so desperate when you do.”

IT DOES NOT HIT PAUL UNTIL HE IS ALREADY TOO DEEP WITHIN THE GARDEN.

He retraces phantom of footsteps past shadows; down hedgerows, damp earth curling into the air, a flicker of lamplight beyond the sprawling walls of green – he was here not hours ago in a dream.

But Paul is awake now; and any warmth that climbs onto his cheeks is quenched with a roll of his eyes towards himself. Coincidences won’t kill him, he reminds himself, but you might. 

You repose against a bench at the center of the garden – wrapped from head to toe in piney gauzed fabric, face bare in the moonlight as you squint up towards the soft mist darkening the sky. 

He calls your name from far enough away; Your gaze finds him slowly, as an owl might watch a mouse meander over a field from her perch. “Paul,” you greet in that rich cadence – whispers of your homeplanet seeping from your tongue. 

He comes to rest beside you; wind threads through the night, a breath from the cliffs that climb higher still than the ones this ancient castle sits upon. The sky clotted with thick dark clouds that rumble gently, heavy with the remnants of rain. 

“I told your mother I will resume my training,” your eyes remain upon the clouds, “I don’t believe she heard anything today.” 

A breath unravels past Paul’s lips as he drags a toe through the moist dirt below. You’re watching him with that look of yours, eyes wide, wise beyond your years. 

“She seemed pleased,” you add, voice drifting like a solemn, faraway lyre. “Suggested I begin after the Referendum.”

Paul knows better than to say I told you so, but it sits smug on the back of his tongue.

He’s not surprised; only days remain before the Houses leave for the Referendum – and your arraignment. It would be trifling to begin training in the looming shadow of such events. 

A cold shadow brushes the back of his neck; the dulling loom of the arraignment. Your eyes catch the low light – and in them, dark and glinting, there is encroached dusk, the glow of the castle windows – a blanketed storm of flurries.

“How do you feel about it?” At his words, you exhale sharply through your nose – that familiar, clipped disdain that leaks through girlish tones of amusement; though tonight, there is none of that.

“You must know how I feel about the Bene Gesserit by now, Paul,” you whisper into the swirling mist of eve; and Paul tilts his head to catch the glossy tresses of hair that slips away from the ornamental wrappings of your clothing. 

“No,” he murmurs, cheeks warm despite the bite of an early spring chill. “The arraignment.”

You, a pine stilled in an ancient forest, shifting only in the breeze as you blink – calculated, measured. There is a ripple in the pool of your masked emotions, and Paul sees it for what it is. 

Fear. 

He knows that very phrase that echoes in your own head as much as in his own at this moment; a silence, punctuated by the whispers of women long past. I must not fear.

But the silence persists, and he does not rush to fill it.

When he does speak, he blinks ahead at the climbing green walls, at the rustle of thick brush and the distant swish of wild grass far off in the nighttime breeze. 

“The Baron is a cruel man,” Paul glances to you, studying the turn of your nose in your profile. “We’ll do everything we can to keep him from swaying the other Houses. And when the time comes…” Your throat bobs only slightly where it disappears in the swaths of fabric, but Paul continues, “We will defend your heritage.”

A slow brush of wind drags your gauzy dress skirt along his calf. A chill brings shivers down his spine. Paul’s voice is a whisper in the soft sway of hedges. 

“We will defend you.” 

And after a breath – a shift, a shake of snow from the petals of a winterbloom – your lips curl into a smile. Soft, elusive; a ghost passing through frost. 

It is a slow thing, one that suits you almost too well. It is a beautiful one. 

“You’re so much like him,” your voice comes oddly reflective; As if speaking through a door not quite open. “Your father.” 

A bloom of pride curls in his stomach – though he doesn’t know why you say it. There is that familiar haunt clouding your eyes as you watch a toad hop lazily from a pond out to the walking stones, a baby upon its back. Paul watches your lips twitch as the small toad holds on to its mother tightly. 

He doesn’t know why you say it, but Paul also doesn’t ask – and as two fingers trace the damp stone beneath him, he realizes a part of him simply doesn’t mind. 

A hush settles between you, and then, quietly: “You’ll be a good Duke.”

From you, it is not some empty praise.

Paul’s chest tightens as your words curl around the mist. There is something here, his mind whispers; perhaps, days ago, he’d think your words were some slithering trick. But for once, he doesn’t bristle or deflect.

His cheeks are warm, and he knows well that he cannot hide the twitch of his own lips. “And you,” his voice is far too soft, “will be a good Duchess.”

You laugh, breathy and laced with disbelief. You do not meet his eyes, and he does not dare push you to – but your cheeks glow even in the faint lamplight through the windows of the castle.

The silence ebbs when you take a deep inhale, voice coming once more hollow and steady. 

“I know House Bourbon holds no true claim over Sabberon anymore,” your nails pick at the loose cut of your gauzy dress absently, lips bitten between breaths, “But it still falls under our sovereignty–” you purse your lips, blinking languidly. “–My sovereignty, by decree,” you mend with a glow upon your cheeks again. His heart cinches. 

Hedges sway slowly across the way, listening as if your words are being pulled out from some cavernous place within you.

“When I lose it next week,” you continue, so sure in the future that it blends and obscures in that way that dreams have begun to, “when that decree is rewritten–” Your lips purse, though he sees the tremble beneath.  “It cannot go to the Harkonnens.”

There’s something deadened in your tone, but something burning beneath it, too, as you shake your head towards the cloud-muddled moon high above. 

“They are… unfathomably evil.”

And Paul knows; he does. But he understands, now, that he does not know like you do.

Your fingers graze absently over a faint scar on your hand, spun silky and webbed in the moonlight. 

He has seen the blade that made it; in waking, in dreams. 

He has read the histories, the customs, the barbarism hidden beneath their traditions. 

A nameday knife, meant for a bride of House Harkonnen.

You came to Caladan in a kennel; teeth bared, voice barbed, fury like a hound at your heels. Paul should never have been so childish enough as to blame you for it. 

A beast, you wanted to be seen as – but you are not a beast.

You are difficult. Frightening, often – just as storms, or change. You are frightening, he decides as your eyes meet his in the dark night of spring, but you are not unknowable.

You are just a girl, as he is just a boy; Thrust into the hands of old men and old women and older laws.

And today; the memory curls back into his mind as your toes trace idly along the damp earth in a stunted, unknowing waltz with his own – a memory of warm breath on his cheek, lips pressed against skin. 

A teasing remark over the books by his bed. A joke about Paul’s word choices. A laugh tampered down before it could turn girlish and true. 

A glimpse of someone real; Not a specter, or a strategy, or a title.

You speak before he can come to terms with the realization. “My aunt is the Lady of Ginaz,” you murmur – though it is a fact spoken more to fill space than inform; Paul watches with growing tension in his jaw as your fingers dig along the edge of the stone bench, worrying at the crumbling cracks. 

“On Giedi Prime, her letters were destroyed before I could read them.” You stop with a slight pause. “But I’ve been speaking with her again.” 

Paul says nothing; with you, silence carries more weight than answers, and his head has begun to ache from the waves of fear that tremor through his skull each passing moment. 

“They’ve long remembered their oaths to House Atreides. If we need bodies – projectiles, blades – I could write her. Ask for the Swordmasters.” Your voice carries with the wind – the word blades curls, smoke in the air; you say it far too softly, too familiar. Paul’s nerves dislodge.

You sigh then, nearly a smile – a ghost of a thing which flits across your visage like a leaf stirred by the wind. “We’ll have to invite her to the wedding, of course.”

It is a brittle joke, a poor one, but Paul huffs a quiet laugh nonetheless, lips curled like he’s chewed something bitter. His eyes catch your own. “You looking forward to choosing the flower arrangements?”

You tilt your chin; the moonlight kisses your cheekbone. “I suppose it’s a good thing our house colors are both shades of green,” you muse in that rolling tone, “one less decision to fight over.” 

He huffs smally, “more time to argue over the ribbon for the handfasting.” 

The breeze blows a spray of mist-thick air over Paul’s nose, lashes fluttering in the chill air. Your gaze is upon the hedgerow – the very same one that has swallowed both Paul’s and your stare again and again. 

Your lips purse and then puff out a small breath, “whose tradition is that, yours or mine?” 

Paul’s swallow is thick, a pang of contrition singing in his veins. “Yours.” 

You nod slowly, and Paul suddenly cannot look at you any longer. A deep churn of his stomach catches, and he lowers his gaze to the flowering shrubs along the path in the dim midnight air. 

“When you arrived,” Paul murmurs, “I was cruel to you. Because I knew you were Bene Gesserit.”

You watch him; he can feel your gaze hot upon his profile as he sets his jaw. “How did you know for certain?” You wonder.

His jaw clicks, recalling the cool drop in the back of his mind the moment he saw your veiled figure slink out of the transporter in the rain those weeks ago.

“I just...knew it. When I saw you.” 

If it is significant to you in any way other than disbelief, you do not reveal it in your expression; your stare penetrates, and Paul continues despite the slowly accelerating beat of his heart.

“And I knew what kind of power you could hold over me if it was true.”

You look at him, and it is not a kind expression. “And are you not afraid of that same power, which your mother holds over you?” 

A twitch of irritation, Paul’s jaw ticks – though he does not let you disarm him. He does not answer your question; instead shakes his head, “my mother loves me too much. If she knew we were both dreaming of death, she would not let us go to Sabberon.”

You wipe away one lone raindrop from your thigh and he continues in a slow murmur, “You don't love me. If you were Bene Gesserit, and knew what path the sisterhood intended for me - for us - you wouldn't hesitate to encourage it." He admits, and feels no particular heartbreak at the concept; after all, you hardly know each other. 

You appear similarly unaffected. “I don't know,” you sigh, “but I'll be Bene Gesserit again soon. I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.” You mutter bitterly, voice imbued with regret. 

A curl of your hair ripples in the breeze; His own lashes catch the cold dew of the coming rain.

Your resentment to the idea formulated is clear, and Paul sighs quietly. “I know you don’t think training with her is right,” he murmurs, “but what would you have us do?”

“I don’t know,” you answer sharply, “but it feels like we’re walking straight into a trap.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Paul mutters, the phrase worn; armor that no longer fits.

“I know we don’t,” you insist with crossed arms, “But... what if every good thing we try to build is just another step toward the wrong path?”

It is a thought too many times agonized in his mind; and now, out loud with you, Paul is struck with a miserable foreboding. Something is coming; it stirs in the storm clouds, lurks upon the horizon. He knows you feel it too. 

“So then... we play the hand we’ve been dealt,” he says – stiff. Empty.

Your voice, when it comes, is frost crawling over glass; icy, uncaring. Sharp.

“But that's so easy for you to say.”

Paul’s gaze snaps to yours, a curl of heat in his chest at your tone – your eyes blaze with some spitting condescension and your lips curl around the words that come next. “It’s all means to your end, isn’t it. Aren’t I?” You scoff, “You were never meant to suffer for this. You were groomed for it. Studied for it. Taught secrets that should’ve been forbidden.”

A long-awaited reaction; from the very moment Paul told you he’s trained in the ways of the Bene Gesserit, he has awaited the moment that festering seed of mistrust would bloom – yes, the accusation is not new, but it still stings. You do not truly trust him. 

He has power, he knows; and you remind him of it not because he forgets that he has it, but because you never can.

And despite how your words are received unobjected to him, despite the truth in your argument – you, too, are highborn. And you, too, speak as though in some ways, the Sisterhood has already claimed you, throat and hands and soul alike. 

Paul was meant for something. So were you. 

He wonders, suddenly, if you know more of the odd prophecy whispered behind doors shut than he does. One of two candidates, the voice whispers. You have more than one birthright, boy.

Paranoia grows; Paul can imagine your nerves are tender from the upcoming arraignment and the fear of the trade war impending. He, too, faces the silky webs of despair in the quiet moments within his mind. But there is pride laced into Paul’s heart. And where there is pride, it can be wounded.

Paul’s voice is sharp – the last knife in the drawer.

“I don’t know why you pretend to know me.”

You don’t flinch. Your voice is small, but it is ice. It cuts cleaner than any knife could.

“Me neither.”

There is nothing left to say; in three days, the House will leave for the Space Trade Referendum, and you will accompany him and the representatives to Kaitain. Only a few days after, you will be representing your own House for the final arraignment. There is nothing to do now but wait.

You don’t look at him any longer; your nails trace along the cracks in the stone, jaw set, eyes shining with wrath. 

He leaves you in the gardens, surrounded in the dark. 

THAT NIGHT, PAUL DREAMS OF YOU AGAIN.

Beneath the Great Pine that cracks and weeps resin, there is a hiss; serpentine, unseen. Below him, you tremble in his hands, buzzing and alive, breath fanning warm against his throat. 

But somewhere beyond that velvet dark, something watches. 

A flicker of silver: a knife, unfamiliar in shape but not in meaning. A pale hand wraps around the hilt. Then, in the midst of some trembling, ground-shattering distraction, your gasp comes; sharp, small, broken.

Visions crash through his mind: a reddened horizon, a warm desert wind; your face, streaked darker than water, washed away by freezing rain. And Sabberon. Always Sabberon.

And then, threaded through it all – a voice. Not yours, not his mother’s, nor the Sisterhood’s.

It coils, smoke through a keyhole: low, sweet, curling, rotted at the root.

“I will never let them keep what is mine, my pet.”

You – pressed half in agony and half in ecstasy at his throat, teeth scraping along his racing and fading heartbeat – do not hear it.

 But Paul does.

And when he wakes with your name in his mouth, the echo of it clings like ash to his teeth, dying on the dry heat of his parched tongue.

I will never let them keep what is mine.

follow @sandpoet for updates & notifs.

[little-cereal-draws]

Octonauts College AU! (Marine Biology Club)

So, I realized that I can make them do anything so have a college au. They're all in a marine biology club and go on wacky misadventures.

Barnacles: a senior studying zoology and president of the club. He's roommates with Kwazii. His real name is Akiak Nanook (inspired by @calamaroo's drawing) but everyone calls him Captain; this is a running gag that was started by Kwazii. He's an international student and regularly facetimes with his sister to stave off the homesickness.

Kwazii: a junior studying ecology. He's the vice president of the club and Barnacle's best friend and roommate. He lives with his grandfather when he's not in school and has a bit of a crazy streak. He's more of the rule breaker compared to Barnacles but still maintains decent grades and has a real passion for his major.

Peso: an incredibly ambitious pre-med freshman. He transferred in a bunch of credits from high school so he's technically a sophomore but tells everyone he's a freshman to not come off as pretentious. He's involved in an insane amount of extracurriculars and is the treasurer for the marine biology club. His family is very proud of him.

Dashi: a journalism junior and social media manager of the marine biology club. She takes her own photographs for her articles and gets really passionate about environmental news, especially when it's a local story she can report on. She isn't sure what she wants to do after school yet but keeps telling herself she has one more year to figure it out.

Shellington: a biology junior with a concentration (and special interest) in marine biology. He's definitely the club's most frequent and committed member; he never misses a meeting. Half of the members were recruited by Dashi's Instagram posts and the other half were recruited by Shellington talking their ear off until they agreed to come lol

Tweak: an engineering major with a focus on sustainability. People are always surprised when she tells them that she's part of the club because it seems so far outside her field of study. She was one of the founding members though and has turned down officer positions many times. She loves the club but doesn't have the time for the extra work that being an officer calls for.

Professor Inkling: the club's faculty mentor; he teaches ecology. He mostly sits back and lets them do their own thing but sometimes will call in favors or reach out to old colleagues to get them a guest speaker or a special fieldtrip. He loves all the members of the club and they all love him.

And that's that! Then they go on crazy adventures (think like Community). I'm probably going to do a follow up post going into more detail on that here

[spirit-lanterns]

I feel like. The majority of the Androids won’t have compatible parts of you know where I mean. There’s like. Literally nothing down there. Like a Barbie. And maybe. There’s an Android that ends up with Engineer that can get into her online stuff (computer, relevant accounts, etc) to order relevant parts. Maybe someone who can hack(?) if they know how to because it’s their original job before ending up with Engineer. But I don’t think we need to even go that far because it probably would be relatively easy to get Engineers password to her stuff from even just peaking over her shoulder (because Engineer doesn’t care enough that they’re looking, she doesn’t know this particular Android is self-aware, or both).

Cause I feel like, as an android engineer, she would have places to get parts from in cases where she needs to replace damaged ones.

And maybe she tends to always have lots of new parts coming in/ordered, she might not even notice the stuff the Androids snuck in to her next order.

Maybe a couple of Androids tend to help her sort through new shipments and put stuff away (cause there’s a lot) so they’re able to make off with their sneaky order without Engineer knowing.

It would be funny if they could figure out how to install the parts themselves (I’m sure there are online guides/how-to’s SOMEWHERE they can follow cause there’s no way there isn’t) (and maybe Engineer has an Android who’s job is also within the engineering realm so that makes things easier) but… it would be funnier if it’s harder than it looks cause Engineer makes fixing up the Androids seem easy.

Maybe they struggle with figuring out which tool would work for each one of them. Maybe there’s a specific tool/equipment that they need to use that Engineer would DEFINITELY notice them using and it’s not like. A small wrench they can make off with for a couple of hours.

It would be funny if they ordered the obvious parts but didn’t order the things that would actually make those parts attach properly (screws, etc. I’m not an engineer. I’m just yapping over here) or something. It would be funny if what they did order wouldn’t even work anyways without serious modifications to their current model (which basically means there’s better pieces that’ll go to how they already are. They don’t actually have to make huge adjustments. They ordered a size small shirt when they’re extra large, if that makes sense).

When Engineer inevitably finds them with their pants down (literally, mind you), surrounded by just a mess of parts and tools she’s like “what are you doing”

A: “Um-“

E: “Those won’t work.”

A: “What do you mean they won’t-“

E: “Those parts don’t even install correctly for your specific models.”

A: “Eh?”

Engineer isn’t even questioning about the… specifics of the part functions (right now, anyways. Once she’s out of ‘Engineer mode’, her brain will catch up to what she’s seen) but more of the installation.

Cue Engineer ordering the actually right parts and installing them herself. Face straight while doing it cause she’s in engineer mode and Not Thinking About It.

This is 100% a “and this is why we leave the installation and maintenance work to me” situation. It’s kinda like androids: no thoughts, head empty, engineer: the smart one (until the Androids get their hands on her. then it reverses).

Don’t bother figuring out who’s the girlfailure in this AU, Angey. Cause it’s all of them.

WOWIE. This is a very detailed and long ask, I’m pretty impressed :0

Anywho, it’s hilarious that the Android women want to fuck the Engineer so bad, they order additional “parts” (mechanical penises and vaginas) off the Engineer’s card and try to assemble it themself to surprise her. 😭😭

Unfortunately for many of them however, many of them lack the expertise in Android engineering, as they have no clue how to attach said parts to themselves without complicating things further. The only Android I can think of that would be pretty good at assembling their own parts, would be Serval. So now I’m imagining Android! Serval trying to teach and direct all the Android women on how to attach their new genitals, so they can surprise the Engineer when she gets home.

Well, things don’t go as planned because once the Engineer comes home, she just sees the Android HSR women sitting on the floor and various counter tops with their pants off, different mechanical parts scattered across the room with only Serval having successfully implemented her mechanical genitals on her own. The Engineer then proceeds to attach each and every woman’s parts correctly, and walk them through on how to do it if they wish to swap out in the future for something else.

She’s not even embarrassed because she’s entered “work mode” while attaching everyone’s parts, so the gravity of the situation doesn’t hit her until she gets in bed that night. And that’s when she realizes; “Oh my god. My Androids are planning to fuck me.”

I applaud the Engineer’s dedication to her craft, though 😅

[sunset-peril]

Purah somehow found herself in the role of Link's primary physician.

“Why?” The Royal Ancient Technology Lab's director had inquired, “I'm an engineer, not a physician!”

“The Sheikah created his kind in the era of the last Calamity,” the head of the royal family's medical team had responded ever so bluntly, “you are most equipped at dealing with him; being the kingdom's foremost authorities on ancient Sheikah technology.”

“That doesn't suddenly make me a doctor!” Purah had cried ever so not-bluntly. “Linky has conditions, needs medications, preventatives; what about if he's wounded in battle?!”

“The field team can handle wound care. You clearly know far more about his needs than we do.”

“If you just don't want to treat him, you could just say that!” Purah was trying not to raise her voice at the physician, seeing how his voice was calm and nearly monotonous, but the spirited researcher was having a difficult time quieting herself. Was the staff simply refusing to treat Link because of what he was? Were they sincerely concerned with their ability to provide adequate care for anyone non-Hylian? It was impossible to tell, given their insufferable monotony! “Enough people have said one thing to him and done the other, he at least deserves your honesty.”

“You have records.”

“No I don't!” She couldn't help a hand to her face. Why couldn't they just provide care to him? “Most of the records were destroyed; or stolen by the ancient Ordonians. And even if they weren't, this wasn't even considered a disease back then! Why are you making this hard!”

This time, the physician wouldn't even make eye contact with her.

“Would you at least give us the honor of allowing us to contact you should anything concerning arise?” Robbie was, in a word, more collected then Purah. He calmly stopped what he was doing and waltzed over, looking at only the physician.

“...If anything truly major happens, I suppose we could spare him a glance. I make no promises of if we could assist him.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“...Hmph. Have a pleasant day.” Gathering the little he had placed down, the man in charge of the Royal Family's medical care turned and departed from the Royal Ancient Technology Laboratory.

“Now who does he think he is, shoving Linky off like that?” She crossed her arms and pouted, casting a side eye to her research partner.

“The highest doctor in all Hyrule would be my guess.”

“I'd like to say I can't believe he'd have the nerve, …but honestly, with the way things've been since the Queen passed, I'm not terribly surprised.”

“His Majesty has way too much on his plate to be able to strong-arm the staff into being kinder to our formerly-exiled friends, I'm afraid. Not that it's the monarch's job to be a nanny either.”

Purah shook her head. “No, I don't blame King Rhoam in the slightest. If anything, I blame the nobility for finding every single reason to encourage people to keep Linky and the others as distanced as possible. So what if Her Majesty had me treat an issue of his once? Using a bit of technology on a toddler under her's and a doctor's provision is vastly different from being a young man's entire medical staff!”

“‘Young man’ might be pushing it. He's what? Fourteen?.”

“He's a boy in mind and body, I know,” Purah admitted with a deep sigh. “But the Remnants consider their children to be adults once they've hit that point in puberty where children are possible. I dare not offend their queen.”

“You would think the medical staff would think the same. Link is technically our Zelda's equivalent to a neighboring kingdom. One with a very scary queen at that.” Robbie glanced over to the man in question, who silently hovered over his counterpart under Hylia as she cataloged parts from a disassembled Guardian. “If I were them, I'd keep Link on a fluffy cloud.”

“I'm surprised my sis will go anywhere near him, after the encounter she had with his mom.”

“I'd suppose it'd be hard to advise the Princess though, if you were always avoiding her bodyguard.

“Trueee, it's not like she's approaching Link specifically…” Purah pinched her bottom lip. “Think we can get some weight on ‘im?”

“Think the Castle can afford that much food? He already eats more than the squadron he was on when he was first knighted.”

“Think we should probably try… I know we know very little about how Hylian the Wolfbred still are, but I find it very hard to believe an active fourteen-year-old boy is supposed to be that slim.”

“Should we hire an Ordonian healer, maybe?”

“If we could find one. I know their population's kinda next to nothing now. Can't imagine there'd be a ton of healers that could either move up here or routinely make the trip.”

“He is the queen's son… maybe someone'd be willing to come out here just to keep him intact.”

“It'd be easier if we had more than like, two Wolfbred.”

“You know His Majesty relocated them out of concern for their safety.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know they're probably a lot safer and happier in Zora's Domain. It would just make it more plausible to get a healer up here.”

“You'd think he'd let us give him an exam since the medical staff won't do it?”

“I've been manhandling him since he was a puppy. He'll let me do quite a bit to him.”

“How about his head?”

“Oh, absolutely not. You know Linky won't let anyone touch him there.”

“Well, for the sake of all Hyrule, he better not hit his head.”

“For the sake of Hyrule, we need a better plan for this boy.”

~~~

Hyrule's Final Stand Mastetlist

Hyrule's Final Stand on AO3

[montymollusk]

i’m relistening to gtn and i caught something interesting

during the scene where gideon goes for tea with the eighth, silas comments that she might be originally from the third house because of the color of her hair (which is always described as outrageously and unnaturally red)

that plus the fact that corona and ianthe have violet eyes makes me wonder if maybe necromancy-fueled genetic engineering is a major thing on the third? it’s already canon that necros can give themselves bigger asses via necromancy, so why Not be able to alter their DNA to change the color of their eyes or hair the same way…….. or even do necromantic plastic surgery!! the third house is already written to be very vain as a culture, so it wouldn’t surprise me if cosmetic necromancy was developed there…. many thoughts.

[flightfoot]

About Lila's lies, perhaps i'm the only one that thinks this but i feel a lot of her lies aren't as bad as a lot of people claim. Like a majority of the class (especially Marinette) have a few outlandish achievements or facts that sound like massive lies themselves, so it makes sense that they wouldn't doubt Lila when she claimed the same.

Oh, AGREED. Here's a list of her bragging-type and I-need-help-type lies.

Lila: You know I actually happen to be very close friends with Ladybug.

I mean, it's not absurd that she might be Ladybug's friend. "Close friends" might be up for interpretation, but this really isn't crazy. Especially since it's actually true for Alya.

Rose: Can you believe Lila knows Prince Ali? She even flew in his private jet with him!

Rose knows Prince Ali. I don't know why she's even impressed by this. I wouldn't even find it weird if she flew with him on his private jet.

Chloé: Why did Jagged Stone write a song about Lila when he could've written it about me?

I mean he wrote a song about Marinette unknowingly, he even wrote a song rubbing it in Anarka's face that he was ditching her and the twins. I don't actually think it'd be that weird for him to write a song about Lila, if she impressed him.

Nino: Lila knows all of the Hollywood directors. She promised she'd mention me to Steven Basielberg himself!

Lila's story is that her mom's a diplomat, and that DOES appear to be the case for one of them. So I wouldn't be surprised if she ran into a bunch of hollywood directors at some fancy party or something, like Gabriel hosts.

Lila:(stopping him from grabbing the book) Of course she's in your book. She's one of the most important superheroes. More powerful and more celebrated than Ladybug. (Marinette is angered by the comment) Between you and me Ladybug doesn't even make the top ten. (Marinette bites down on the book) My grandma gave me this necklace.

Superheroes exist in this world, and have for a long time, so it's not that ridiculous. Though it WOULD be weird that Adrien had never heard of her if she was as celebrated as she claims. And it helps that the book confirms that there were a ton of superheroes around who Adrien never heard of before.

Lila: It's absolutely amazing! Prince Ali invited me and my parents to his gorgeous palace.

One of her moms is a diplomat, so this wouldn't be too out of place.

Lila: Oh, it's nothing much! During our world travels, my diplomat parents have helped me convince the leaders of several nations to agree to reduce world pollution. (Adrien shakes his head) And I'm very optimistic that the prince will jump on board.

Again, this really isn't that crazy. One of her moms DOES appear to be a diplomat, and this is the sort of thing diplomats do.

Lila: Yes, I suffer from tinnitus, a constant ringing in my left ear. I've had it ever since the sound of an airplane engine burst my eardrum on the runaway when I was saving Jagged Stone's lost kitten.

The class has interacted with Jagged Stone several times, so it's not that weird that Lila might have as well. Heck, Marinette is his go-to designer for his album covers. And Jagged IS the type to be this careless with a kitten.

Lila: Now it is, yes. But he had a kitten until he found out he was allergic to it.

This happens to a lot of people.

Lila: I'm sorry I can't carry my own tray. It's almost impossible with this sprained wrist.

Spraining wrists is typical, and it can be hard to carry weight when this happens, especially at certain angles.

Lila: (drops napkin) Uh, ow! Once when I was in India, I witnessed someone getting their eye gouged out by the corner of a napkin. If I hadn't caught it, this napkin could've injured Max. I didn't have a choice. Ow!

This is the only lie I've seen Lila tell that isn't really feasible. No way that someone's eye got gouged out this way. That being said, it could still cause some damage if it hit the eye and the eye wasn't protected by an eyelid or glasses. Which Max's eyes are, but it makes sense that she wouldn't have had time to think about that in the half a second she had to react.

Lila: Adrien, we'll have to figure when you're gonna help me catch up on all the schoolwork I missed. I also heard you play piano, my uncle's the great pianist Chuch Boroughchuck. He wanted to teach me when I was little, but I had to stop playing because of arthritis. But when my wrist gets better, I'd love for you to give me some lessons.

I knew someone with childhood arthritis, and her having an uncle who's a great pianist isn't any more absurd than Marinette having a great-uncle who's a world-famous chef.

Lila: Oh, I'd love to test your video game, Max, but I promised Prince Ali we'd go on a charity cruise over the Seine on his yacht this afternoon. Sorry.

This just falls under the same category as Lila's earlier lies about knowing Prince Ali and helping to promote charitable causes with him. Which Rose also does, she just doesn't travel with him. Makes sense that Lila might though, since one of her moms is a diplomat.

I'm having trouble thinking of other lies Lila told of this sort of type after this, since she was able to tell the truth mostly, what with being a model for Gabriel.

So yeah. Most of these lies are very plausible, and are way less weird than the Miracuclass's general experiences. The absurd thing is that they're impressed, not that they buy it.

[poisonofmind]

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏 - 𝑴𝒂𝒗𝒖𝒊𝒌𝒂 𝒙 𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒐 𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒕

I fear the mavuitano brainrot is getting to me (Yes, I firmly believe in playable Thrain) But on another note a read is appreciated <3

The sun was already setting, so that the huge mountains of Natlan appeared in a golden glow where they were touched by the warm rays of the sun. The graffiti that the Natlanese painted on the bronze-colored walls during the day in intimate silence appeared in their play of colors with renewed vigor. The roar of an engine could be heard in the distance, a sound to which most of the Natlanese were already accustomed to and which no longer startled anyone. At most, it was to offer a gesture of respect to the woman dressed in black leather with fiery red hair that almost seemed to glow. Even though Mavuika had tried countless times to counteract the changes in the behavior of her people that occurred as soon as her presence was detected, her role as Pyro Archon made her stand out with her mere presence, even if this was rather unintentional on her part. After all, she was still a human herself, which in her eyes made her no different to the rest of the people of Natlan. She had long since become accustomed to the decorum with which she was confronted as the Pyro Archon. 

Towards the evening, most members of the various tribes are rarely out and about. The majority were with the tribe itself; with their families and friends, dining and winding down from the day. Only a few patrols were still out, treading the dusty paths through the green landscape of Natlan. The end of the war brought peace for the first time in Natlan's history. At the moment, all the tribes were busy rebuilding the country. Difficult weeks were already behind them, but Mavuika did her best to provide help where it was needed. Most of the victims had already been found and buried after their families had been traced by Kinich. Most of the superficial damage had also been repaired, as well as the repairs to the houses of the tribes, which were in the final stages of completion. What could not be repaired or renewed so quickly, however, was the internal damage caused by the seemingly endless war. In the past few days, Mavuika had made it her mission to visit as many people as possible and to offer them comfort, in addition to all the other duties she had been fulfilling. 

Although she had already achieved a great deal as the Archon and leader of Natlan, it was only human that she had reached her limit. After 500 long years of war, the time had finally come for her to also enjoy some peace and quiet. She herself still deals with the loss of her family. It was a constant companion in her very long life, to which she had already come to terms with. With her longevity, she resisted the permanence of her actual human life. She had already seen many of her loved ones go, if were family, friends or people who fought alongside her. Loss is a considerable part of her life, yet she forbade herself to never not acknowledge those who fought for Natlan, but also make new friends as well.

Natlan may have been cut off from the rest of Teyvat, but news of the traveler and their companion, as well as the encounters with the Archons of the other five nations, had reached her as well. Mavuika knew it was only a matter of time before the by now well known traveler and their companion stood before her, too. This was also accompanied by an encounter with another fraction, although this was rather less surprising. The Fatui were already known across the continent, so it wasn't a wild guess that they would eventually make their way to Natlan as well. 

Mavuika even had the honor of facing the highest ranking - The Captain, First of the Fatui Harbingers. However, it turned out during their first encounter that he had not only come to take her Gnosis. When she thought back to their fight, she felt nothing but satisfaction. They were both human, but it had fulfilled her to go into battle against someone who seemed her equal. Even though the abrupt end to their fight had initially made her suspicious, as she had not expected a member of the Masters of the Night Wind to cooperate with the Fatui. After extensive research it was clear to her that the Captain was pursuing a plan that was superior to simply taking her Gnosis and more of a personal matter. 

What she had not been able to understand, however, was The Captains tragic life story and how it ultimately ended. At least an end, if there can be one for someone punished with the curse of immortality. It gnawed at her that The Captain had willingly sacrificed himself. It was precisely for this reason that she had gone to Ochkanatlan and stood before the throne of primal fire once again, as she had done for the past few days.

Mavuika got off her motorcycle, pulled her helmet over her red hair and took off her glasses, which Xilonen had made at her request. She couldn't stop the corners of her mouth from twitching as the look on Xilonen's face flashed through her mind after she had tried to leave as quickly as possible as soon as she heard her motorcycle approaching from a distance, knowing that there would only be more work waiting for her as soon as Mavuika arrived at her door. Luckily, Mavuika already knew her longtime friend well enough to know all her escape routes like the back of her hand. Memories like these kept her alive over the curse of time.

A breeze of wind blowing through her hair finally snapped her back to reality. She turned her gaze up the many steps that led to the Throne of Primal Fire and looked at the huge chunks of ice that had erupted from the ground around the throne as Capitano surrendered to his self-determined fate. An icy chill surrounded her, and though she had never set foot beyond Natlan's borders, she could almost imagine the cold that reigned in Snezhnaya. It felt very different from the warm air that surrounded Natlan and felt like home to her. Mavuika closed her eyes for a moment, breathed in the icy but clear air and made her way up the many stairs. The climb didn't take long and she was standing at the foot of the Throne of Primal Fire. She let her gaze wander over the body that was enthroned on what was once the very place of the first Pyro Archon Xbalanque. Nothing had changed since she had left yesterday. The Captains gloved hand still clutched his sword in a firm grip, while the other rested on the armrest of the throne. His body was facing forward, as if he were holding an audience and not bound to this place for eternity. Mavuika could still feel a certain presence emanating from him, letting her gaze flow over the breathing of his body, but she knew that this was just a bleak attempt to dull the pain she felt in her chest. She had not yet been able to accept what had happened a few days ago. 

Mavuika had rethought her plan again and again, twisting and turning, looking at it from every possible angle - for 500 years. She thought of the seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, years and ultimately centuries that had passed. She always had one clear goal in mind: to establish the security of peace in Natlan, a real change at life. Being the Pyro Archon was something she had committed herself to. She had taken on this burden in disguise back then, when she was still young and full of thirst for action. A fire had burned inside her and it had not died out even after 500 years. Despite countless battles, losses and the almost unshakeable presence she tried to face her people with every day. But as she stood here and looked at the shadow of the man who had sacrificed himself for his country, his beloved comrades and now for her, she was overcome with gratitude as well as an infinite emptiness.

“You never told me your name, but I know your story by now, Thrain. You fought not only for Khaenri'ah, but also for Natlan. 500 years ago, as well as today. So much that you even gave your curse to grant us and the souls you have carried in your heart for so long the long awaited safety and peace. And although I am not the Archon you serve, you have also protected me in the process. We had our differences and clashed on those, yet you decided to be my ally and trusted me to finish what I planned. I thank you with all my heart. I can feel that your life force is not here anymore, but I know that you are somewhere. I hope that you too can finally feel the peace that you have more than earned,” said Mavuika as she stared into the mask, which, as usual, only cast a shadow. She took a step towards the throne and his figure, so that she was standing directly in front of him and held out her hand. Her palm gently touched the spot where she had created a fiery wound during their duel, directly above his heart. She could feel the slight tremble of his chest, which rose and fell with every breath.  

“I'm sorry I almost hurt them,” she said, placing the same hand with which she had touched his heart against hers. Mavuika took one last look at the mask that hid his face and turned around to go back home. She was already sitting on her motorcycle when an icy chill enveloped her for a brief moment, brushing along her cheek before the feeling of her own familiar warmth filled her once more. Mavuika glanced at the throne and Thrain again. Nothing had changed, except for the small spark of hope that sprouted within her. Mavuika pulled on her helmet and made her way back to the stadium via a soul path. She knew that her path would lead her to a certain shaman tomorrow.

[americangirlstar]

If the WellieWishers were actual mainline ‘18 dolls who were like, GotY or contemporary characters, what do you think their designs and stories (not full stories, just their hobbies, interests, agendas, family, etc.), would be like? I think Ashlyn would have Nanea facemold, Kendall with Makena mold, and Emerson with Corinne, though idk the other two..

OOOO good question.

Ashlyn is a princess event-planner so I can see her having a more girly-ified version of Blaire's stuff. The party planning sets, but with a theme that's either more elegant ("royal") or over-the-top (like a little girl who loves princess parties would want). As for a face mold, I can see Nanea, but based on illustrations I think she'd probably be a Josefina, maybe a Jess. She very much seems to me like an only child but I think a story arc of her getting a younger sibling and learning to share the attention could work, especially since she gets upset when things don't go her way and there's a LOT of surprises with baby siblings. Since her favorite animal is mice, I'd love to see pet mice as a set, especially since rodent pets are given such a bad rap in media.

Camille is giving me major Marie-Grace Mold vibes. She'd have a very beach theme. We know she has at least two older siblings, and used to live near the beach; themes of moving away from something you love but still finding joy where you can, similar to Marisol, would be cute. I can see her trying to cope by escaping into fantasy worlds, but she has to learn how to balance reality as well. A fish tank would be a cute pet set. We also know she plays piano and does ballet, so maybe she's more similar to Marisol than I thought lol... a Little Mermaid ballet set would be cute!

Emerson would probably be a modified Jess, but I can def see Corinne. We know she's a theatre kid, comedian and drum player, so a set similar to Kavi or Tenney could work. She really seems autistic to me– saying things repetitively, not realizing when other people are struggling– so having a story about her following her passions while navigating a new diagnosis would be really cute. We know she has an older sister and a pet cat, so those would be included; what kind of cat do we think she'd have? Be cute to have a calico or tortie!

Kendall would def work best with a Makena mold, though Addy and Claudie would also be adorable. She's a crafter and inventor, which would make for an interesting, new set; similar to what Lindsey might have had if she weren't the first doll released, she could have lots of art projects, crafty collages, etc. She could have mini building sets for an architecture interest, or a workbench because she wants to be an engineer! For her family, I'd love to see her with two dads. Her favorite animal is dogs, but since we have so many dog pets in the AG line, I'd love to see her with something more rare, like a lizard or chinchilla.

Willa would be either a Classic or Joss mold. She leans more on the explorer side of her nature interest than Lanie, so I can see her sets being more garden or forest-themed than Lanie's science focus. She seems very shy around anyone who's not an animal, so having her learn to speak out and communicate would be cute, OR! OR! What if she had a service or emotional support animal? It's her first service animal and she's learning to take care of it; maybe recontextualizing Carrot into that. Now, for family, IDR if they ever mention her parents, so perhaps she lives with her Aunt Miranda. Aunt Miranda gives me the vibes of a lowkey hippie, who likes living off the land, studying crystal energies and star charts, and wearing patchwork, upcycled clothing.

Bryant is a precious little angel and I love him; I think a Nanea or Kaya mold would fit him best. He's a sporty kid, and I know he plays gymnastics and kickball; I think kickball or soccer sets would work, also gym sets like McKenna and Lila. Or maybe we lean more into the dragon and give him an interest in High Fantasy, so we get LOTR-style cosplay outfits and more fantastical plushies to go with Crisella. I can see his teamwork-oriented brain having trouble with competitive gymnastics like Lila, when he's being judged against other contestants instead of them all working together; or perhaps he runs into a problem with his sports team. I love that he gets to be friends with an otherwise all-girls' group without anyone making a big deal of it, and with a story for older kids we could either keep going with it– have him just chilling with his besties– or have a Very Special Episode™ bit where he's upset his teammates are bullying him for hanging out with girls, because girls and boys are just the same and he can't see why they can't hang out. I'd prefer the former, maybe having him organizing a fantasy play for the Wellies, but either would work. I don't remember hearing much about his family, he gives me the vibes of having a teenage brother tho.

[misspancake29]

Decepticon Win Branch AU - Master List?

I've been thinking for quite a while about making a "master list" with the Major plot points and etc of the branch au. But this is not complete and is subject to changes, also some of the titles are WIP and just meant to be funny, cuz' I never said this before but I'm a bit of a cinephile. So a lot of these chapter titles are references to some of my (and my Dad's, he's the one that I took after) favourite movies, no worries I'll say the movie it's referencing.

A Spark is Born (A Star is Born): A three part special/prologue detailing Sari's birth, Optimus sending her away, her falling into a recently conquered planet, renamed Blue Light District (Shareware Orion reference), which is now housing a bunch of former autobots, and even some neutrals, for the breeding houses. But also, part of Swirl's childhood (sparkhood?), her friendship with Sketcher, training to become a breeder, the beginning of the escape plan, stealing from Requiem, the escape and arriving in Cybertron and meeting Wheelie.

Fight Pits (Fight Club): After arriving in Cybertron, and more specifically, Kaon, and Swirl, now Selestine, has to learn how to survive and thrive in the pits, because even her place as the only doctor of the gladiators doesn't protect her from everyone, in certain ways makes her more of a target. But life in the pit isn't that different from the one in the district, both being filled to the brim with atrocities, one is just deadlier. Conflicted with the fact she would've to learn how to fight, that is, hurt others and how that goes against what she learned from First Aid and the medical oath to never hurt another bot. But, one does what it takes to survive.

Imperfect Blue (Perfect Blue): The point of view of Requiem when Swirl stole his engine back in the Blue Light district, his detective work around the planet and the start of his obsession in finding the little thief.

The little Sharkticon (The Little Mermaid): Introduction of Gnaw, Quintesson invoices advocating for more trading and Wheelie's past.

Who framed Warpath (Who framed Roger Rabbit) Mid Season special, two parts: Tragedy strikes the Gladiatorial Pits, a decepticon guard is found dead and Warpath was responsible for it, now he's to be taken for tral for murder of a superior and when found guilty, death is what awaits. Sure of her surrogate sire's innocence and unwilling to see his death, Hestia, with the help of Selestine, try to find the real culprit, before it is too late.

Remembrance (Memento): A deep dive into the life of Consort Optimus and Emperor Megatron after the loss of their firstborn, Princess Sari.

The Royal Show (The Truman Show): Following the life of the Crown Prince, Soundwave, and his siblings, as they navigate through the lies and the deceptions that the life in the royal court is constructed around.

Muskrat and the real Femme (Lars and the real girl): Everyone in the gladiatorial pits is left speechless when MUSKRAT, of all bots, gets a girlfriend, she's a real looker too. But Wheelie thinks there's something more underneath the sweet looking femme's gentle demeanor.

28 Cycles Later (28 days later): A malware outbreak leaves most of the gladiators, and even some guards, in terrible conditions and even nearly dead. With Wheelie, Hestia and Warpath among some of the worst patients but unable to leave the side of her patients, Selestine makes a surprising ally, Radiumite, who is unaffected by the malware. Leaving the fate of her newly found family in the servos of the Radium Viper gang leader to find a cure for everyone, but, can she really be trusted?

Gnaw and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Cycle (Alexander and The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day): The celebration of the 40th anniversary of Cybertron's Conquering and the birth of the New Decepticon Empire forces the gladiators to participate in the event and Selestine was demanded there in case anybot's injuries got worse, leaving Gnaw practically alone in the pit, but the visit of a newcomer breaks the semblance of peace. Who is That?

City of Unicron (City of God): After being stationated in the backstages and helping the gladiators prepare for their mandatory part in being optic candy, Selestine gets lost in Darkmount Palace and ends up meeting a sad looking, blue and silver bot, who seems weirdly familiar, he presents himself as Consort Ultra and seems to take an interest in the young femme, whom he also thinks is weirdly familiar.

Alright so, not everything is here yet, the Season finale overall plot is going to remain a mystery for a while, but any questions about these plot points are very appreciated, also just a reminder that there are more "episodes" of this first season, I just haven't had very good ideas for them yet, so any suggestions are appreciated!

Some minor spoilers but with no context for the season finale:

Prince Tronus is a certified Disney Princess

Requiem suffers the consequences of his (in)actions and is forced to go through a Character Development Arc TM

@yayasvalveplay @mionkingsvibe So, my pookies what do you think?

Also @goofy-transformer-stuff I couldn’t resist the urge to add Muskrat into the mix, he's just the perfect punching bag!

[racefortheironthrone]

MAWS Episode 5

I was a little surprised at the discourse coming out of Episode 5, because I thought the episode (and also major elements of Episode 4) did a very good job of setting up a conflict in which both Lois and Clark's actions make total sense.

For Lois' part, the stairwell scene in Episode 4 did a very good job of elaborating on her main drives and motivations: Lois grew up with a father who constantly lied to her and kept secrets from her, and she has defined herself in reaction to that. She dedicated her life to an occupation that's all about exposing the truth and uncovering secrets. Not only does she have a point that someone with immense power should be held accountable to the public, but she does have a legitimate beef in that her co-worker and partner has been both withholding information about big things (his secret identity) and lying to her constantly about small things (the bagels).

Handcuffing herself to Superman and throwing herself off buildings is an extreme reaction, and she should probably talk to a therapist about her disregard for her own safety, but to be fair, it's not like she hasn't tried and failed with more normal methods, because Superman has been avoiding her and deflecting her questions.

For Clark's part, he's right that he has a right to privacy and that his secret being exposed could put the people he loves in great danger - even more so now that he knows that Task Force X is specifically coming after him as an alien threat. As we saw with his childhood, his Kryptonian heritage is something that frightens him and makes him question whether he belongs. Moreover, in her statements about publishing all of Superman's secrets and calling Superman a liar, Lois didn't give him any reason to believe that she would understand his motivations or prioritize his interests when it comes to his secret identity.

I would argue that the ending of Episode 5 only works because both sides have a point. If either Lois or Clark were completely right or completely wrong, the scene wouldn't hit as hard as it did and we wouldn't get the right emotional response.

To use a TV Tropes term, this episode is the Darkest Hour beat, as the bonds between Lois, Clark, and Jimmy have been frayed because of their conflicting drives. We're supposed to be upset about it, and we're supposed to want the band to get back together - because that's what's going to give the emotional payoff when Lois and Clark rescue Jimmy and come to a reconciliation by uncovering the reverse-engineered alien weapons program that Lois' father (a confrontation with whom Lois' arc is clearly building to) and Amanda Waller have been running on an unsuspecting public, thus recommitting the group to truth, justice, etc.

[soupgoose]

New Year's Kiss

Just some simple, sweet Captaineer fluff to start off the New Year!

Word Count: 979

:] 

A/N at the end.

The old ship was full of life for the first time in nearly a year. Colorful lights were strung across its hull, hanging limply as its former passengers cheered all around and inside it. 

The colony had long since outgrown the ship, leaving it docked in the center of their established city; And while very few still needed their old offices and work spaces, the Invincible was well taken care of. 

She hadn’t seen the majority of her passengers for months, and now, as the live-streamed feed of Earth’s New Year’s countdown filled almost every screen aboard, each and every one stood somewhere inside or around her. 

The joy and excitement surrounding the Invincible was palpable and warm. They’d have their own celebration here in a couple months, marking the colonies first full rotation around their new star on their new home.

Many years had passed on Earth throughout the Invincibles journey, including a couple more as the colony had struggled to establish solid and instant wide-spread communication with their home planet.

However, at the moment, everyone was excited to celebrate the New Year; despite having not been on Earth for decades, they knew where they came from. Where home was.

Laughter and music filled the hall, the sound flooding in as Gunther slammed open the door, Mark cringing at the abuse of its automatic opening mechanism.

“Are y'all joinin’ us or what?! Midnight’s comin’ in fast!” 

The gaggle of his lackeys chimed excitedly in agreement behind him, holding what looked to be a concerning amount of explosives.

“We’ll be there in a second! We’re just finishing up this meeting you were supposed to come to.”

Celci retorted, rolling her eyes at the man’s usual disregard for professional occasions, as Burt shook his head in similar disappointment. 

The Captain’s short laughter pulled their attention back to their end of the table. “Oh hush! it’s alright you two; we can reconvene later.” 

“Are you sure, Cap’n?” Burt asked, surprised.

“Yes! Now, get out of here! Go enjoy yourselves, get some drinks! Enjoy the holiday!” The warmth in their Captain’s voice was enough to ease any lingering hesitation; and, for better or worse, only encouraged whatever inane plans Gunther and his lackeys had in store; Their crazed laughter could be heard as they disappeared down the hall.

Celci and Burt groaned tiredly, worried for their immediate future, before bidding their Captain a Happy New Year and following the group.

The Captain watched proudly as their closest friends left, seeing a solid happiness in their eyes. 

“Well, Captain? Are we heading out too then?” Mark mussed from behind them, his hand resting against their shoulder as he approached.

Pulling the rest of his arm across their body, and leaning into his side, the Captain chuckled. 

“Nah- We’ll join them in a bit- Let Gunther get the majority of his pyromania out before I have to deal with it.”

“Before we deal with it. After all-” He gently reminded them, taking their hand in his “-We’re partners aren't we?”

They chuckled again before agreeing warmly, squeezing the engineer’s hand back comfortingly, “That’s right.”

The countdown neared closer to 0 on the deck’s console screen, the cheering both outside and in growing louder with excitement. The Captain’s eyes lit up happily, watching the scene playout outside on the deck below. The two could almost make out Gunther’s voice from the deck as he happily barked orders at the people below.

A large ring around an impressive display of explosives formed, the distance between the people and the center set by Gunther’s group. 

10! The crowd exclaimed, beginning the final countdown.

“I think,” the Captain began slowly, “Yes, this might be my first New Year’s.” they hummed. 

“Here- Like this I mean.”

9! The people prepared their party crackers and sparklers.

“Yeah? Hmm, yeah me too. I think so anyways.”

8! Gunther finished fiddling with the makeshift display. 

“Considering everything, I think everything’s finally working itself out.” Mark’s tone grew slightly sadder, a melancholy smile taking place across his lips.

7! Celci watched worriedly from a safe distance away with Burt, chewing at the inside of her lip. 

The Captain smiled, nodding into his embrace. “I think we’ve done just fine, Mark.”

6! The fuse sparked to light as the gunner dashed away, a crazed look in his eyes.

They turned in his arms, standing face to face as they wrapped their forearms around his neck.

5! The spark disappeared into the cardboard casing as Gunther dashed away.

Their eyes met, filled with adoration and pride. A smile pulling at their lips. 

4! Gunther appeared at the sides of his coworkers; Laughing happily as he shook the shoulders of the shorter woman.

“We’ve done just fine.”

3!

A soft blush dusted their cheeks as their foreheads rested against each other.

2!

After millions of attempts, countless lives, and endless searches for the other- 

1! 

They had finally done it right. This was finally it.

Happy New Year!!! 

A collection of booms and crackles erupted violently from outside, lighting the dark sky with vibrant colors. The main deck of the ship was illuminated by the display, silhouetting the forms of the Captain and their Head Engineer.

Their lips met his, soft and warm. A gentle pull to their reality. One unbothered by the USA or converging timelines. One where no one was to blame for things outside of their control. One where everyone was safe and sound on their new planet. 

One where they were in each other's arms. For good this time.

They pulled apart after a moment, laughing warmly to themselves as they did.

A hopeful sparkle shone in the Engineer’s eyes as they looked at them.

“Happy New Year. Captain.”

A soft look filled their eyes, their smile widening across their face as they returned their forehead to his.

“Happy New Year, Mark.”

Happy New Year everyone! I hope this year brings good fortune and happiness to your life.

I won't make any grand promises of posting more, but it is one of my goals to make more time for writing more often, so take that as you will!

Side note, it appears that I've gotten a few asks but I can't view them, neither on desktop or on mobile so I hope I haven't missed anyone. If I have please feel free to send me a DM! Life is pretty busy in collage but I will try my best to get to them.

That being said, Happy New Years and I wish all an amazing 2025! Thanks for reading!

-Soup :]