#dayne needs to shut up

[thefloatingwriter]

why am i in mimmer brainrot right now. like did they ever speak to each other? no but they’re in love, they told me themselves.

[novaursa]

The Hound She Loved (the princess)

- Summary: You loved him and he loved you, but he had to leave you behind. 

- Pairing: baratheon!reader/Sandor Clegane

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

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

The air is filled with the stench of ale and sweat as Sandor and Arya approach the rundown tavern. Its warped wooden sign creaks in the breeze, announcing its name—something worn and illegible. From inside, the sounds of rowdy laughter, clinking mugs, and muffled jeers spill out into the dirt road.

Sandor pulls up short, his sharp eyes narrowing as he motions for Arya to stay close. “Keep your mouth shut and your nose clean, girl. Places like this don’t take kindly to little wolves.”

Arya smirks, her hands resting on the hilt of Needle. “I can handle myself.”

He mutters a curse under his breath and pushes open the door, his broad frame filling the entrance. The tavern is low lit, the smoky air obscuring most of the faces inside. Sandor scans the room out of habit, noting the handful of patrons hunched over tables, while a group of Lannister soldiers in tarnished armor lingers near the bar. They’re loud, drunk, and jeering at a cloaked figure sitting in the far corner.

“Come on, love,” one of the soldiers drawls, leaning closer to the figure. “No need to be shy. Let us see that pretty face of yours.”

The cloaked woman says nothing, her face obscured by the shadow of her hood. Her body is still, but Sandor’s practiced eyes catch the stiffness in her shoulders, the way her hands are clenched under the table.

“Sandor,” Arya hisses from beside him, her voice low. “Something’s not right.”

Sandor grunts, his eyes still on the scene. The soldiers press closer, their laughter turning meaner. One of them, bolder than the rest, reaches out to tug at the edge of the woman’s hood. The fabric falls away, revealing her face.

The room falls into a stunned silence as the soldiers step back, their drunken bravado replaced with shock and recognition.

“It’s her,” one of them breathes, his voice tinged with awe and fear. “The princess.”

Sandor’s heart lurches in his chest. He freezes, his mind reeling. He’d recognize you anywhere—the sharpness of your eyes, the set of your jaw, the fire in your expression. You’re a ghost, a memory he thought he’d buried, now standing flesh and blood before him.

Arya notices his reaction immediately. She glances between Sandor and you, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Is that her?” she demands, her voice quiet but insistent. “Is that your princess?”

Sandor doesn’t answer, his focus locked on you. You’re already moving, your chair scraping loudly against the floor as you rise. The soldiers hesitate, their initial shock giving way to determination.

“We’ve got orders to bring you back to King’s Landing,” one of them growls, drawing his sword. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

You don’t respond. Instead, you step forward, your movements fluid and purposeful. One of the soldiers lunges, but you sidestep him with ease, grabbing his wrist and twisting until the sword clatters to the ground. With a sharp kick, you send him sprawling into a nearby table.

The tavern erupts into chaos. Chairs scrape against the floor as patrons scramble to get out of the way. Another soldier charges at you, his blade swinging wide, but you duck beneath it, driving your elbow into his gut. He staggers, and you follow up with a swift strike to his head, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Sandor finally snaps out of his stupor, his instincts kicking in. “Bloody stubborn woman,” he growls, stepping forward as if to intervene.

But you don’t need his help. You’re a whirlwind of movement, disarming and incapacitating the soldiers with ruthless efficiency. The last one standing hesitates, his sword trembling in his hand. He glances at his fallen comrades, then back at you.

“Go ahead,” you say, your voice cold and steady. “Run back to your masters. Tell them I’m not going anywhere.”

The soldier doesn’t need to be told twice. He drops his sword and bolts for the door, stumbling in his haste. You watch him go, your chest heaving as you catch your breath.

For a moment, he simply stares at you. The noise of the tavern fades into the background, the world narrowing to just the two of you. Then, without a word, you pull your hood back up and dart for the back door.

“Wait!” Arya calls after you, but you’re already gone.

Sandor curses under his breath, shoving past a toppled chair as he makes for the exit. “Come on, girl,” he snaps at Arya, his voice rough. “She’s not getting away that easy.”

Arya doesn’t hesitate, falling into step behind him. “Why is she here, Sandor?” she presses as they burst out into the night. “Shouldn't she be in the capital?”

Sandor doesn’t answer, his focus on the faint trail of footprints in the dirt leading away from the tavern. His jaw is tight, his thoughts a chaotic mess. You were here. After all this time, you were here—and you were still fighting, still defying the world that sought to control you.

“We’re catching her,” Sandor growls, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And then we’ll both get our answers.”

Arya doesn’t respond, her eyes gleaming with curiosity and determination as they set off into the darkness, following the trail of the princess who had just turned their world upside down.

The night air is cool and damp as Sandor barrels through the woods, Arya quick on his heels. The faint rustling of leaves and the crunch of dirt beneath their boots are the only sounds that fill the silence. He’s close. He can feel it in the pounding of his heart, in the way his body moves without hesitation, driven by instinct.

“There!” Arya hisses, pointing ahead. A flicker of movement, a shadow weaving between the trees.

Sandor pushes forward, his long strides eating up the distance until he sees you—a flash of your cloak, the glint of moonlight on your hair as you dart through the underbrush. You’re fast, but Sandor is relentless, and within moments, he’s upon you.

He grabs your arm, his grip firm but not rough, spinning you around to face him. “Stop running, damn it!”

The two of you freeze, the world narrowing to just the two of you. For a moment, neither of you speaks, your breaths mingling in the cold night air. Your eyes widen in recognition, and he can see the disbelief etched across your face, as raw and vivid as the moonlight illuminating your features.

“Sandor?” you breathe, your voice barely audible.

Before he can answer, your surprise twists into something else—anger. Without warning, you pull your arm free and swing your fist, catching him square in the jaw.

“Seven hells!” Sandor staggers back, his hand flying to his face. He scowls at you, half in pain, half in confusion. “What in the bloody—”

“You!” you shout, your voice trembling with fury. “You left me! You just—left!”

Arya, standing a few paces away, bursts into laughter, clutching her stomach as she watches the scene unfold. “She hit you!” she manages to choke out between giggles. “The big bad Hound, brought down by a princess!”

Sandor shoots her a glare before turning back to you, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t have a choice,” he growls, his voice low and rough. “I left to keep you safe.”

“Safe?” you snap, stepping closer. Your hands ball into fists at your sides, and your eyes flash with anger. “You call abandoning me safe? Do you have any idea what it’s been like? The lies I’ve had to tell, the people I’ve had to fight just to stay free?”

Sandor flinches at your words, though he quickly schools his expression into something harder. “And what was I supposed to do?” he bites back. “Take you with me? Drag you into the mess I was running from? You think you’d be better off with a target on your back?”

“I already had a target on my back because of Joffrey!” you shout, your voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t need you to protect me, Sandor—I needed you to stay.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and raw, as if you’d ripped them straight from your chest. Sandor stares at you, his scarred face unreadable, though his eyes betray a flicker of something—regret, guilt, longing.

Arya, still watching from the sidelines, crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. “So, this is your princess?” she asks, her tone light but curious. “The one you couldn’t stop talking about?”

“Shut your mouth, girl,” Sandor snaps, though there’s no real heat in his voice. His focus remains on you, his large frame blocking out the rest of the world.

You glare at him, your chest heaving as you try to reign in your emotions. “Why are you here, Sandor?” you demand, your voice quieter now but no less intense. “Why now?”

His shoulders slump slightly, the fight draining out of him. “Because I saw you,” he admits, his voice rough but honest. “And I couldn’t… I couldn’t just let you go again.”

Your anger wavers, your gaze softening as you search his face. For all the frustration and hurt bubbling inside you, there’s something else too—relief. After all this time, after everything, he’s here.

“I hate you,” you mutter, though the words lack conviction.

Sandor snorts, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You always were a terrible liar.”

Arya, now leaning casually against a tree, watches the exchange with keen interest. “So, are you two done, or should I go find some food while you figure out your feelings?”

You glance at her, startled as if remembering her presence for the first time. “And who’s this?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“This is Arya Stark,” Sandor says gruffly, his hand falling away from his still-sore jaw. “She’s my… traveling companion.”

“More like captor,” Arya quips with a grin.

You blink, the name sinking in. “Arya Stark? You’re supposed to be dead.”

“And you were supposed to be locked up in a castle,” Arya retorts, tilting her head. “But here we are.”

The corner of your mouth twitches, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through your tension. “Fair enough.”

Sandor clears his throat, his rough voice breaking the moment. “We can stand here all night, or we can get moving. Those Lannister bastards won’t stop looking for you.”

You nod, the weight of the situation settling back on your shoulders. “Fine. But we’re not done talking,” you warn, your eyes locking onto his.

“Didn’t think we were,” Sandor mutters, already turning to lead the way.

As the three of you set off into the woods, the tension between you and Sandor lingers, unspoken but felt. Arya walks beside you, her curiosity barely contained as she studies you with sharp eyes.

“So,” she says after a moment, her tone light but probing. “What’s it like being in love with a dog?”

Your head snaps toward her, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I am not—”

Sandor groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Seven hells, girl. Shut up.”

Arya just laughs, her amusement echoing through the trees as the three of you disappear into the night.

[kingsmoot]

hopefully all four parts sent 👍 bit rushed at the end but i'm out of medieval erotica juice lol. jb forever <3

everyone please behold the beautiful jb ficlet anon wrote, reproduced in full below:

brienne flipped him easily, reflexively, knocking the breath from him. are you alright, brienne started, but jaime laughed in a pained wheeze and went right back at her. they grappled in the bedroll for the sheer joy of it until brienne got half on top of jaime and pinned him, her long glorious thighs bracketing his, her arm an iron crossbar against his sternum, her mouth close enough to kiss. and so jaime did. it was a good thing none of those one balled wonders on Tarth had ever known the pleasure of kissing brienne, because now that jaime had tasted it he would have been obliged to go back and kill any other man who had had such sweetness and ceded it. brienne's hold on him went gentle in an instant, hands bracing unsteadily on either side of his head as he kissed her and kissed her and kissed her.

when brienne finally drew back they were both panting. the evidence of his excitement lay thick against her thigh and jaime let brienne feel it, rolled his hips sinuous up against her, made her flush a gorgeous splotchy red. jaime grinned. arthur dayne had once told him there was no such thing as advantage of position, only the advantage of moments. the rules of engagement were not so different. jaime took every moment of brienne's bashfulness to press his advance, his hand stroking up her leg, rucking her nightshirt up ever higher. it was a hideously plain thing, keeping far too much of brienne's skin obscured, and if he had both hands he would unlaced it and torn it off her in an instant. as it was he could only push it up with the stump of his wrist, until he revealed the pale thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs. (1/4)

slowly, savouring, he reached for her and found her beginning to grow slick. brienne made an unbearably lovely sound when he stroked her, hips canting, and then another when he let her grind into his touch, her stiff clit dragging against his palm. jaime put his thumb to it and watched fascinated as her thighs twitched with each circling. brienne was watching too, lips slightly parted, helplessly enthralled by his hand working into the softest part of her.

he stroked brienne's cunt again with two fingers, spreading her swollen folds, delighted at how it made her squirm, her eyes squeezing shut. the sight and sensation made his cock unbearably hard. jaime had only made love to one other woman in his entire life but he'd made an art of it, a study of it, and he studied brienne now, coaxed her into relaxing in small shuddering degrees. but he had barely begun his siege, only dipped in to the first knuckle when she said jaime, wait, (and it clearly cost her to say it) what should- what do i do? (2/4)

what? and she was looking at him again, flustered but repeating- what should i do to make it good for you?

nothing, jaime said, which brienne gave him an obstinate look for. you need do nothing. it's already good.

what if, brienne said, very quietly, what if i want to.

jaime blinked at her for a moment. then of course, he said, realizing. i've forgotten to arm you, my lady.

what? said brienne, but he was shifting underneath her, encouraging her to lie side by side with him.

take that damn nightshirt off to start, jaime said, and brienne obeyed, revealing herself to him. he immediately took the opportunity to put his hand on one of her perfect broad breasts and squeeze. fuck, he groaned, and put his tongue to the other one before she could protest. (3/4)

that's good for me, jaime said, that, and- taking her hand in his, showing her how to hold his cock. brienne's eyes went very wide but she still stroked him, tentatively, and she gasped when he twitched in her grasp.

you're usually meant to do that multiple times, jaime said, terribly fond, and she stroked him again, her calloused hands shockingly gentle, and fuck he needed to be inside her if he was meant to last at all.

well? he prompted. not frightfully big, is it?

no, she mumbled. and then, you're very warm, and jaime did laugh.

i should hope so, he said, coaxing one of brienne's thighs over his hip again, the better to align themselves. brienne gasped when the head of his cock dragged against her, so wet he slipped right off, and jaime kissed her smiling. ready? he said. brienne, blushing so hard she could not speak, nodded. he adjusted himself with his hand and thrust them together with one long beautiful motion.

and then he was sheathed inside her, his loveliest, truest brienne, burying her whimper in the crook of his neck, letting him so wonderfully into her trembling cunt at last, the only place in the world he wanted to belong. (4/4)

[agentrouka-blog]

Why are the Daynes so thankful to Ned (naming a son after him)/protective of the truth of Jon’s parentage? It boggles my mind that Ned was confident enough to leave them with at least some of the Daynes knowing the truth.

They obviously know the truth, indeed.

Ned shows up out of nowhere with a newborn and Arthur's sword, requiring a wetnurse. The man needs to offer some explanations and in any case it's kind of obvious, given Lyanna's corpse. They must have been the ones to lend him the manpower to accomplish the destruction of the Tower of Joy, the construction of the cairns, as well as the preparation of Lyanna's bones for travel. Also, said mentioned wetnurse. Wylla.

Now, what's their motivation for helping him? Lying for him? Just random loyalty to Rhaegar, whom Arthur served so loyally and senselessly?

Or possibly something else, related to Ashara's disappearance, and potentially the rescue of a different royal son, whose survival also needs to be kept quiet? A mutual pact of silence so important they will nickname their future heir after an honorable man? Why does Ned almost violently shut down any speculation about Ashara Dayne when Cat asks him about it? Why does he lie to distracted Robert, confirming the Wylla rumors, but refuses to tell that same lie to Jon and Cat, to whom this information is more relevant? What needs to be hidden about Starfall, from any potential investigation?

Lots of unanswered questions.

[evita-shelby]

Warm as Spring, Sweet as Peaches

refrences to the asoiaf song, the Dornishman's wife

cw: some smut, prostitution, false identity

asoiaf peaky gang: @cillmequick @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature @call-sign-shark @peakyswritings @hoodeddreams13 @thegreatdragonfruta

He has a thing for the more exotic sort of beauties.

Jack Blackwood had bedded every whore that took his fancy the moment he proved to be good enough with a tourney lance and the sword his grandsire had given him.

Lovely Valyrian looking girls from Essos and the crownlands, summer islanders dark and raven haired, Yi-Tish girls clad in silk and jade ornaments and Dornish women with the blood of Mother Rhoyne burning through them.

The dancer is tan, tall and covers her face in a veil even if the rest of her leaves little to the imagination. She moves with a smooth rhythm, the bells at her ankles and hanging at her skirt mixed with the music she danced to and the patterns painted on her skin made her the most intriguing thing the place could offer.

The inn had plenty of whores and dancers and yet this woman had never been seen before and not even the innkeep knew who she was.

Lady Sand, some had named her. Came with the Dornish envoy brought by Lady Dyanna Dayne.

When the intricately painted woman in red dances her way to him, the riverlord knows he will be the one to unravel the mystery beauty behind the veil.

“How much for the night?” he asks and sees a glint of mischief in her dark eyes at his question. They looked brown in the candle light but up close he could see the rich purple of it.

A Dayne, perhaps. Or a bastard Aegon the Unworthy left in a brothel at his daughter’s wedding had passed on their coloring to her.

“You may ask after you have pleased me, ser.” The whore spoke like a lady, perhaps they were right and she was a highborn bastard here with the Dornish envoy for the tourney.

The door to his rooms are scarcely shut when he unveils her. Red painted lips and freckles lightly scattered across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

“Who are you?” he asks, not that he wishes for a real answer as he uses his larger size and strength to pin her against a wall with her strong legs barely needing him to hold them at his hips.

“You will find out tomorrow, ser.” She teased, kissing him again tasting of fine wine and smelling like woodswitch beneath the perfume.

“You taste sweet as a peach, Lady Sand, I do not want to taste your husband’s steel.” The knight breaks apart before he’s dueling another man for fucking his wife.

“I have no husband; you will only taste warm spring and peaches from me.” The dancer assured him and urged him to fuck her, to see if what’s in his trousers is worth his gold.

The bells on her jingle as she helps him tear off his clothes until his manhood is exposed against the bare cunt underneath the dancing skirt. The whore had not let anyone get a hint of her sweet cunny as she had turned the men to dogs with her performance, now Jack had seen the Dornishwoman’s treasure and taste it with no need to taste the kiss of a Dornishman’s steel.

The sounds she had made as his calloused fingers readied her for his cock and played with her pearl, the way she begged for him as he feasted on her supple teats and called him by the name his mother gave him, by the time he’d sheathed his sword, Jack knew he’d use the winner’s purse to pay for a second night.

The red paint on her skin does not smudge after he’s fucked her in every position he could think of, she had come as much as he had and by the time they finished, the men below had sung the Dornishman’s wife because they stopped giving a shit who heard them fuck like beasts.

“How much would you charge for a second night, Lady Sand?” Jack asks spent and tracing the crowned skull he’d recognize if he had paid attention to the maesters when he studied the banners of Westeros.

“A crown of love and beauty.” The mysterious Lady Sand says as the moonlight turns her eyes into purple garnets shining with a mischief that will kill him surely. She will leave soon, the room paid for and his squire and horse taken care of, but Lady Sand never stays once it’s over.

She left him her favor, an orange and black ribbon edged in gold that held no hint of what house she belonged to.

He finds Lady Sand dressed in a princess’ finery seated at the royal box with the Dragons and under the banner of the Martell Speared Sun and House Manwoody’s crowned skull.

The bell wearing dancing whore he planned to fuck on top of the gold he will win wearing the flower crown was none other than Princess Aeva Martell with suns and skulls painted in red.

[coffeebooksrain18]

Matchup for @sugutoad

I match Myrielle with... Jaime Lannister!

Reason

Myrielle needs someone who can protect her but still be an idiot at times. And who is a better fit than Jaime Lannister? He is extroverted which works perfectly with her introverted tendencies while also knowing whe to shut up (unlike a certain Targaryen 👀). He would bring herout of her shell, show her the world is more than duty and sacrifice. And she would make him grow up and be the man he always swore he couldn't be. One that not only Myrielle, his Father, or his late Mother could be proud of, but also himself. Plus him being a knight only brings in hat childish crush that I just know she would have on him when they met for the first time.

House

One of if no the oldest house in Westeros, House Dayne is known for their almost godly beauty as well as their impeccable wit. They are dutiful yet know when to have a bit of fun (though Myrielle more than likely rarely partakes in this). But more than that they are a house that was broken after Robert Rebellion and it matches Myrielle perfectly. Just as the sun rises in a sea of red for House Vallici the moon and stars shine rich purples for House Dayne.

Her Father was the late Arthur Dayne, and her Mother was from house Florent. She inherited her Mother looks more than her Father's. From her soft roundish features to her auburn hair. Though she did inherit her Father's wit and undying loyalty to her friends and family. Even till death. Myrielle grew up mostly in Starfall but when her Mother was asked to he the Queen's Lady In Waiting they had to leave, much to the dispare to Myrielle and her aunts. Her Mothr always promised they would come back, but Myrielle could see that wasn't true, especially since thunder cracked each time her deat Mother said such words.

Headcanons

After the Rebellion Myrielle and her Mother left for Kingslanding. Myrielle was only a girl of four and ten at the time, young yet many would think her ready to be wedded and bedded. "It will be fun, you'll be able to meet so may new people." Her Mother would whisper all while Myrielle chewed on her lip as the air got thicker with the smell of manure and more and more crowed with people who looked like they could barely stand. "I swear we'll stay for only a year and then we'll go visit Starfall." Her Mother said for what feels like the thousandth time and just as she does a rain drop hits Myrielle's nose and the sound of thunder rumbling making her frown deepen.

When they arrived her Mother was practically dragged off to meet with the Queen, something about "urgent business" though Myrielle thinks it's more likely the Queen didn't want to greet hem and instead wanted her Mother greet her. So there Myrielle stood, her world turned upside down as the clash of steel rings through he air and the smell of shit permanently sticks to her nose. She tries to fix her dress all while making sure not to step in any puddles. Only the gods knows what they are filled of. That is when she bumped into someone. Looking up she finds the most beautiful man she's ever seen, eys of deep emerald that seem to shine with laughter. Hair looking as if I was spun from pure gold. And a smile that could rival the sun. "Well hello my Lady, if you wished for my attention you could've just asked for it." He said a teasing tone working its way through each word. "Sorry, My Lord, I was only trying not to..." Myrielle starts saying before trailing off not wanting to say something that would make her seem unladylike. "Didn't want to step in shit? I don't blame you, I wouldn't either if I was as petty as you. " He asks with a broad smile which makes her blush crimson. "I must be going." Myrielle said quickly as she practically ran up the steps towards the Keep. "Wait! Whts your name." The golden man asked. "Myrielle, Myrielle Dayne." She said before leaving not even giving the man a chance to introduce himself.

It was a month later she finally built up the courage to talk to him again. He would see her through out the Keep calling other name only for her to turn on her heels and practically run he other way. But not this time, thing time she would keep walking, perhaps ignore him though from his blining sile she doubts that is in her future this afternoon. "About time you didn't run away like a frightened mouse." He said with a smirk that made her blood grow warm for more tha one reason. "And what are you then? The big scary cat?" She retorted as she walked past him rolling her eyes at the predictability of him as he followed after her. "Well I am a Lannister so I suppose so." He said and it was in this moment Myrielle realized she never learned his name. "Jaime Lannister?" She asked though there was only two other options ad he was far to young to be his Father and far too tall to be his Brother. "The one and only." He responded taking her arm into the crook of his elbow before he took her on a tour of the Red Keep, Myrielle didn't have it in her to tell him she's already been on a tour five times bow if she inculded him.

It didn't take long for a betrothal to be set in motion after that little tour (though her feet would disagree with the words "little tour"). Her Mother happy to not only marry her to a influential House but a rich one at that. Her dress was made with he finest silks, irvroy ad gold theaded into the panel of her bodice along with pearl, diomonds, and deep ed rubies. Her har had pearls and diamonds braided in with a precision she never knew could be achieved. To say she looked regal would be an understatement, some of the ladies of the rock would whisper how she outshined the Queen on her wedding day. But when she walked down the aisle she felt like a Goddess, not because of the dress shining in the sunlight or the way ladies looked at her in envy. No she felt like a Goddess from the way Jaime looked at her, like she was the only reason he took air into his lungs, the only reason he lived. He even whispered she was his gift from the gods that night in a table of limps and heated kisses.

Myrielle and Jaime have a routine, in the morning he'll make love to her, gentle an sweet, the kind that makes your heart sing and your legs tremble. Then the get dressed, and break their fast. By noon they meet up to eat lunch, Myrielle taking about the new book she is reading and Jaime sharing all the gossip he heard so far. And finally at night, more often than not Myrielle must fight to eat her dinner but even then it is only a few bites before Jaime has picked her up and thrown her on the bed for a night of pleasure.

Though there is one time didn't bring up, their favorite time. In the Afternoon Jaime will lay his head on Myrielle's lap having her run her fingers through his hair all while she reads a book he is certain would make him either throw heron the bed or bring him to a slumber. She would hum softly as the breeze makes its way to the through the open balcony. This is his favorite time of the day, even if the rest of the world thinks it is the mornings and night. Though the are a VERY close second.

Ship Tropes

Golden Retriever x Black Cat

The Brute (Jaime) x The Brains (Myrielle)

Can't Keep Their Hands To Themselves (Jaime) x I Just Wanted To Read (Myrielle)

Ship Song(s)

The Good Ones by Gabby Barrett

Lose Control by Teddy Swims

Young And Beautiful by Lana Del Rey

How You Get The Girl by Taylor Swift

Joanna Lannister

Having all the characteristics of a Lannister from her golden curls to her sage green eyes. A girl who is bold and demanding, spoiled beyond reason and knows exactly how to get her way. She is her Mother's daughter though, following her around at all hours as a child earning her the nickname "little duckling" from her father. Her mind is filled with wit yet kindness, though just like her parents anger her and you will feel the Wrath of the gods themselves. Highly religious just like her Mother, though she often sleeps through the Septons lessons just like her Father.

Moodboard

[saggitary]

Back with a lil TTTBU meta, here is all the mando'a words and phrases I've either found or I've made up for this fic! Let me know if you want a Togruti one as well for what I've found/made up!

(FYI some of this might be made up I honestly can't remember but like 99% is found from dictionaries online)

Words

aliit - family

ade - children

alor'ad - captain

al'verde - commander

dema'golka - monster

dini'la - insane

jetii - Jedi

naak - peace

ori'vod - older sibling

tebec - ammunition

vod - sibling (gender neutral)

vode - siblings (plural)

vod'ika - younger sibling

vor'e - thanks

Now onto the swears!

bantha-osik - bantha-shit

di'kut - idiot

haar'chack - damnit

haran - hell (literal, cosmic destruction)

jagyc - dick

kriff - general swear similar to fuck (I don't think this is actually mando'a however it pops up a lot so I am putting it hear)

mir'osik - smart shit

mir'sheb - smart ass

osik - shit

osik'la - shitty

osik'ika - little shit

osik'tengaara - shitshow

shab - fuck

shaba - fucking

shaba shebs - fucking ass

shaba'osik - fucking shit

shabbed - fucked

shabuir - motherfucker

sheb/shebs - ass

shebs'palon - asshole

Now with the sayings/sentences

This is where some things get a bit odd with me trying to sort out what words we have in the mando'a dictionary as well as congregations and configuration so they might not be 100% accurate!

ni'pel - I yield

osik’serim - shit aim

Sooran bic - suck it

Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum - I’m still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal (Daily remembrance of those passed on)

ori’buyce, kih’kovid - all helmet, no head

Copaani mirshmure’cye, mir’shebs - are you looking for a smack in the face smartasses

Aalar’gar jate - you feeling good?

Kriffing jetti bal'val jaro - Kriffing Jedi and their death wish

Ja'hailir gar'joha vod - Watch your language brother

Aliit ori’shya tal’din - family is more than blood

nutenni te shab’laam - shut the fuck up

Rangi an’be vala - To hell with all of them

Vore entye - Thank you

Ba’gedet’ye - you're welcome

shab'rud bal mar'eyir dayn - fuck around and find out

Ni ori'haat bah've Maker al'verde ni'mav kyr'amur gar nearest meh'gar vurel nari'ibac tug'yc - I swear to the Maker commander I will kill you myself if you ever do that again

Ash nas'nuhoy'laam ba'te dush'eso be'te haav - Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed

-

There will def be more to come and I will likely need to make an updated one in a while but here we go for now!

tags! @snarkyfina @jarchvast-likearchvistbutthevast @bees-flowers

[waltzipow]

Would you do an insta one with deyna castellanos maybe they are in a long distance relationship

(not alot but just wanted to post something)

deynacastellanos just posted

liked by jillroord, ellieroebuck, eseme.morgan and 123,992 others deynacastellanos- signed and sealed

ellieroebuck_- so happy for you deyna <3 username1- what about y/n ^ username2- her carre is more inporment jillroord- lots of love to you username3- we will miss you username4- yes come to the us y/n.y/l/n- so proud of you baby ^ deynacastellanos- <3 ^ username5- wont work ^ username6- shut up usename7- what a signing eseme.morgan- will miss and love you, Dayna you will shine good luck

y/n.y/l/n just posted

Liked by chloekelly deynacastellanos. scarlett_camberos and 220,923 others y/n.y/l/n- date-night, flying, chloe tagged- @chloekelly, @deynacastellanos chloekelly- i do like some chlo chlo pops ^ y/n.y/l/n- yeah, we know username1- I thought Dayne was in the us ^ username2- old photos, or she wants over ^ username3- the Chloe one is old. Maybe it's just a camera roll thing deynacastellanos - need another date night ^ y/n.y/l/n- well your turn to fly username4- long distance would be a bitxh usernane5- think their old photos scarlett_camberos- why don't you move ^ y/n.y/l/n- ha, you wish

deynacastellanos just posted

liked by jbeattie91, capricedydasco, chloekelly and 203,882 others deynacastellanos- love my new home miss my old

jbeattie91- she a poet and did even know it username1- you think y/n will move???? ^ username2- nah, she doing too good a city capricedydasco- oh, i miss her as well, and I've only met her once ^ deynacastellanos- ha yeah you did love her username3- i miss them y/n.y/l/n- miss and love you to mi amor ^ deynacastellanos- <3 <3 chloekelly- mabye just come back

[long-claw]

recently finished the last 10 chapters of adwd in one day so i'd reach my reading goal for the year, here's a summary of the messages i sent to my friend that has only watched the show (spoilers ahead duh):

in reference to cersei's walk of shame: "grrm will not shut up about how saggy her tits are 😭"

"does she start crying and crawling at the end in the show i can't remember"

"also before her walk kevan came to talk to her about myrcella getting hurt and immediatly she was like: 'it was tyrion!! he did it!!'"

"kevan: 'no we know who did it-' cersei: 'it was tyrion!!'"

"meanwhile tyrion's narrowly escaping being eaten by lions in meereen she thinks way too highly of him"

found out ser barristion was in love with ashara dayne when he was like 45 and she was like 12-21 and said: "that's so ser jorah coded of him"

"i need this book to end i can't take this anymore"

"doran martell's son just tried to steal the dragons and got absolutely fried"

"oh dany's fucked off with drogon btw"

then proceeded to complain about dany fucking off for a few paragraphs

"i'm pretty sure i'm on jon's death chapter now so excuse me while i go cry"

*insert picture of me post heavy sobbing*

"'stick them with the pointy end' what if i told you i just fucking lost it"

sent a picture of a paragraph where dany is basically just shitting and said: "as if i didn't just read the most heart-breaking thing ever"

"in the same chapter as the shitting alone she also: got covered in ants while she slept and threw up 'green slime'"

"immediately followed up by a double varys homicide"

bonus from my friend:

"yeah he really thought dany shitting would keep us entertained for the next decade"

[thefloatingwriter]

I'd adore more of your wiress and beetee hcs if you had any more to share maybe

thank you so much for this ask anon i love any excuse to talk about them. i can’t tell if you want just beetee and wiress or them separately but i’ll give you both because i have lots of thoughts.

Beetee:

he was born on july 23rd, 21 ADD.

he has five siblings, two brothers and three sisters. he’s the oldest. in order they are: adeline (six years younger), roent (eight years younger), tera and ruther (ten years younger), and dayta (thirteen years younger).

he grew up really poor, his family barely making ends meet. his father died when he was fourteen and his mother kind of lost herself after that.

because of that, he became his siblings only real parental figure when he was really young.

his favorite color is blue.

he won the 40th at nineteen. it was the oldest a victor ever was at the time of their victory.

he dismantled an old computer he found in the trash and then put it back together when he was six.

he’s either still up at three in the morning or is out at nine pm. there’s no in between.

he also wakes up really early every single morning. wiress thinks he’s insane.

he’s actually pretty tall.

he knows how to ice skate.

he prefers cold weather over warm weather.

he loves the snow.

he’s a dog person.

he’s really good with kids.

Wiress:

she was born on november 6th, 29 ADD.

she has an older sister named barbara (four years older).

she’s polish and her last name is lisiecki.

she’s an acrobat and singer.

her family was richer than most residents of three. her father was a software developer until he passed (i have a lot of dead dads in my hcs). her mother ran a sort of theatre group/circus to entertain capitol and three citizens. it’s where wiress learned acrobatics.

her hair is naturally curly.

she won the 48th when she was eighteen.

she’s really good with crowds but hates one-on-one talking.

her favorite color is lilac.

she had a cat before she won named fleur. fleur went on to have three kittens named iris, leni, and luna.

she loves the smell of lavender.

she is not a morning person at all. she can barely function in the mornings.

she loves both coffee and tea.

she has a giant sweet tooth.

she cannot cook. like seriously. last time she tried she started a fire and almost burnt her house down.

she was always a naturally curious person. as a child she snuck into the woods surrounding three and took walks for hours. it scared her mother senseless every time she up and disappeared and she always sent barbara out to go find her.

her district token was a woven purple bracelet her sister made for her when she was younger.

Wiress and Beetee:

this is basically canon but they can talk with their eyes/just understand each other without saying anything. the other victors have made a game out of figuring out what they’re talking about.

beetee’s token was his glasses for both of his games, so for the 75th he took his wedding band and added two silver stripes on the sides out of the metal.

most of the victors have absolutely no idea what their relationship is. like some of them think they’re just really good friends, some of them think they’re dating casually, and some are like, “no they’ve been married for a decade.”

he was her mentor. the 48th was the only year where both tributes were from “richer families” (i.e. three’s version of merchant families). atlas, the other victor from three, came from a merchant family but beetee didn’t and there’s a lot of animosity between the poorer and richer people in three (similar to twelve but if like everyone acted like mrs. mellark) so he was really worried that wiress was going to be rude or disrespectful. and then he meets the sweetest eighteen year old he’s ever met who sings for fun and hums to herself when she’s anxious. safe to say he was surprised.

beetee really hates explaining stuff so when wiress comes along they can sometimes forget they have to explain stuff to people and they won’t get it if they give them The Look even though they both get what that means. they don’t even mean to but they can be hanging out with anyone and make them feel like they’re third-wheeling.

bonus:

Beetee adjusts his glasses as he squints at the computer in front of him. “Our brains are made of the same wires.”

Wiress looks over at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “That’s genuinely the most romantic thing you have ever said to me.”

(this is 100% going in a fic but why do i have the best ideas for random lines at one in the morning like why can’t inspiration hit at a normal time ffs)

sorry this took a minute for me to post <3 i hope you like these! anyway, again anon ilysm for this ask seriously i love love love talking about them.

[novaursa]

Of Gods and Men (destiny)

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

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

- Pairing: reader!Daenys Targaryen/Leto Atredies

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

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the path

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

- A/N: This is the last part of the book I: of gods and men. I'm not sure when I will start posting the book II: children of valyria (or if it will be posted here at all). I will be leaving this part of the schedule open for something else, for now.

Leto moved swiftly through the larger passageway, following the path Vexiae had taken. The walls were slick and uneven, but the sound of chaos ahead pushed him forward. He could hear the dragon’s deep growls and the terrified shouts of Harkonnen soldiers, followed by the unmistakable sounds of metal clashing and flesh being torn apart.

As he approached, the passage widened into a chamber where the remnants of a Harkonnen squad were scattered in pieces. Vexiae was a blur of red scales and fury, her claws slashing through the soldiers who dared to stand in her way. Blood sprayed across the rocky floor as she decimated the squad, her wrath unstoppable. Her massive form twisted and lashed out with terrifying precision, leaving none alive.

Leto stopped in his tracks, watching in awe and horror as Vexiae crawled up the walls of the chamber, disappearing into another passageway high above. Her roar echoed through the cavern, but Leto knew he couldn’t follow her any further. She was too far ahead now, and the path she had taken was one he couldn’t climb.

Breathing heavily, Leto crouched behind a large rock, listening intently. The soldiers were no longer a threat, but something caught his attention—the faint sound of voices from a nearby tunnel. His pulse quickened as he strained to hear, focusing on the muffled conversation.

"...keep the Targaryen girl down there," one soldier said, his voice anxious. "Baron’s orders. No one goes near her except Feyd-Rautha."

"She’s more trouble than she’s worth," another voice muttered. "Should’ve killed her when we had the chance."

Leto clenched his fists, anger surging through him. So, you were being held deeper in the caverns, under the watch of Feyd-Rautha himself. His teeth ground together as he thought of what they might be doing to you. The thought of you, bound and hurt, filled him with fury. He couldn’t allow this to continue any longer.

With a quiet determination, Leto moved toward the tunnel where the voices had come from. He had the information he needed now—he knew where you were. All that was left was to get to you before Feyd-Rautha carried out whatever twisted plans he had in mind.

You were close, and Leto swore to himself that he wouldn’t leave without you.

Feyd-Rautha stormed into your cell, his face twisted in fury. His footsteps echoed ominously against the cold stone floor, and the door slammed shut behind him with a metallic clang. His eyes blazed with anger, his frustration barely contained as he paced back and forth like a predator searching for a victim.

"You think this is funny?" he growled, turning to face you. "Your dragon is loose, tearing through my men, destroying everything we’ve built here."

You leaned against the rough stone wall, bruised and aching, but you couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips. "I warned you. Dragons aren’t pets. They don’t take orders from lesser men like you."

His eyes narrowed at your words, and you saw the flash of hatred cross his face. In two quick strides, he was standing over you, his hand raised. The sting of his slap landed hard across your cheek, snapping your head to the side. You tasted blood in your mouth but didn’t flinch.

"You insolent bitch," Feyd hissed. "I could have killed you before. But the Baron... he still has use for you."

You slowly turned your head to face him, your gaze defiant. "Do your worst, Feyd. You’ll never control Vexiae. Dragons don’t bow to cowards who hide behind chains and whips."

Feyd’s lip curled into a snarl, and he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back as he leaned down, his face inches from yours. "You think you’re untouchable, don’t you? You think just because that beast is out there, you’re safe?"

His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "I don’t need your dragon to break you. I’ll make you wish you’d never crossed me."

You stared into his eyes, refusing to show fear. "I’ll never obey you. And you’ll never break me."

His grip tightened painfully, and he slammed your head back against the wall. "We’ll see about that. If you don’t call off that dragon, I’ll make sure you watch as I torture her, as I burn your precious Vexiae alive, piece by piece."

You clenched your jaw, the pain sharp but nothing compared to the rage building inside you. "Vexiae will never bow to you. And neither will I."

Feyd’s face darkened with fury. He released your hair and slapped you again, harder this time, sending a sharp jolt of pain through your face. "You will learn, Daenys. One way or another, you will learn."

He stepped back, breathing heavily as he tried to regain control of himself. His hand twitched as if he was tempted to strike you again, but he held back, a cruel smile creeping onto his lips instead. "No matter. Soon enough, you’ll beg me to stop. And when you do, I’ll have everything I need."

You glared at him, hatred burning in your eyes. "You’ll never break me, Feyd. You’re a coward. Nothing more."

Feyd’s smile faded, and the cold, calculating look returned to his eyes. "We’ll see how brave you are when you have nothing left." He turned sharply and stormed out of the cell, leaving you bound and alone.

The door slammed shut behind him, the echo of his threats hanging in the air, but you weren’t afraid. Vexiae was still out there, and you could feel her presence, her rage mirroring your own. You wouldn’t give in to Feyd-Rautha’s cruelty. You would fight, just as your dragon was fighting for you. And somehow, you would survive this.

Leto was out there. You believed that. He would come for you. And together, you would make the Harkonnens pay.

Leto crouched in the shadows of a narrow passage, watching as Feyd-Rautha stormed out of one of the adjacent hallways, his face twisted in anger. The Harkonnen heir was furious, barking orders to the guards and soldiers who scrambled around him. His words were clear: recapture the dragon, by any means necessary.

"You idiots! I want that beast chained down now!" Feyd snarled, shoving one of his men aside. "Find it before it tears this place apart!"

Leto’s heart pounded in his chest as he listened. Vexiae was still out there, still causing chaos. But you were nowhere to be seen. His stomach clenched as he imagined what Feyd had done to you, what he was planning.

But there was no time to dwell on the possibilities. Leto knew that this was his moment. He needed to get closer, to find the holding cells where you were being kept. He could see the group of guards stationed near a side corridor, heavily armed and alert, likely guarding the cells Feyd had just left.

A plan quickly formed in his mind. If he wanted to get to you, he couldn’t sneak past them. He needed to cause a distraction, something that would throw them off completely. And there was only one thing that would leave these Harkonnen soldiers more stunned than anything else: the sight of the Atreides Duke walking into their base alone.

With a deep breath, Leto stepped out of the shadows, his posture casual but deliberate. His eyes flicked toward the guards, and a mocking smile tugged at his lips. He had to play this right. They needed to see him as vulnerable—alone and defeated.

"Well, well," Leto called out, his voice echoing through the corridor. "It seems I’ve wandered a bit too far, hasn’t it? Thought I’d come see what all the fuss was about."

The guards froze, their eyes widening in shock as they recognized him. One of them barked out a curse, immediately raising his weapon. "The Duke! How did you—"

Leto raised his hands in mock surrender, taking a few slow steps toward them. "Easy now. No need to get all excited. It’s just me, after all."

The confusion was clear on their faces, and that was exactly what Leto wanted. They hadn’t expected to see the Duke of Atreides here, alone, in the heart of their hidden base. They had no idea what to make of it.

"What are you doing here, Atreides?" one of the guards growled, his weapon still trained on Leto. "Where are your men?"

Leto smirked, maintaining his calm demeanor. "Oh, they’re around. But I figured I’d come alone to make things easier. You know, personal surrender and all that. Thought it’d be the polite thing to do."

The guards exchanged glances, uncertain. One of them reached for his comm device, clearly intending to call for reinforcements. Leto’s sharp gaze caught the movement, and he knew he had to act quickly before they realized this was no surrender at all.

"You want to know something interesting?" Leto said, stepping closer as if he was about to divulge a secret. "You might want to keep an eye on that comm device."

The guard paused, confused, as he glanced down at the device in his hand. That was the opening Leto needed.

In a flash, Leto lunged forward, grabbing the guard’s wrist and twisting it sharply. The weapon clattered to the ground as the guard yelped in pain. Before the others could react, Leto spun the guard around, using him as a shield, and swiftly disarmed another.

Chaos erupted as the remaining guards scrambled to respond, but Leto was faster. He took down the second guard with a swift punch to the throat, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Now armed, Leto aimed the stolen weapon at the remaining guards, his expression deadly serious. "I suggest you tell me where the holding cells are. Now."

The guards hesitated, clearly realizing they were outmatched. One of them, trembling, pointed toward the corridor Feyd had emerged from. "Down that hall... second left. That’s where she is."

Leto’s heart raced, and without another word, he knocked the guard unconscious and began his way down the corridor toward you. His mind was focused, sharp. 

Gurney adjusted the straps on his stillsuit as the desert winds kicked up the sand around him. His eyes scanned the horizon, narrowing as he noticed the sudden shift in the Harkonnen troops’ movements. They were becoming erratic, almost desperate. Something had changed.

His hand went to the comm link at his side, and he tuned it to Duncan’s frequency. "Idaho," Gurney called into the device, his voice steady despite the rising tension. "You seeing what I’m seeing?"

A crackle of static buzzed in his ear before Duncan’s voice came through. "Yeah, Gurney. Harkonnen attacks are getting sloppy, like they’re panicking. We haven’t seen this kind of behavior from them before."

Gurney nodded to himself, watching as Atreides forces managed to repel another disorganized assault from the Harkonnens. "They’re desperate. Whatever’s happening on their end, it’s big. You think it’s got something to do with Leto and the operation in the caverns?"

"Could be," Duncan replied after a moment, his tone thoughtful. "Or maybe they know something we don’t. Have you heard anything from the Duke?"

"Not yet." Gurney glanced down at his comm again, a wave of unease creeping up his spine. "I haven’t been able to raise him. He’s off comms for now."

The desert winds howled louder as another Harkonnen skirmish group charged toward them. Gurney’s hand instinctively went to the hilt of his weapon, but his mind remained focused on the bigger picture. "We need to push them back, Idaho. I’m thinking whatever’s got them so riled up, it’s connected to what’s happening in the caverns."

Duncan’s voice crackled back over the comm, decisive. "Agreed. We’ll hold our ground here, but we need to stay sharp. If they’re this frantic, they might try something reckless."

"Understood," Gurney replied, his gaze hardening. "Keep me posted. I’ll try to get through to the Duke again. Gurney out."

He cut the comm link and turned back to the Atreides troops under his command. "Form up!" he barked, his voice cutting through the desert noise. "Stay sharp and keep pushing them back! Something’s got these Harkonnens rattled, and we’re going to make sure they keep running."

The soldiers around him tightened their formation, readying themselves for the next wave. Gurney’s mind, however, remained on Leto and Daenys. Whatever was happening in the caverns was the key to this sudden change in the Harkonnen strategy, and until he knew more, he would fight like hell to protect the Duke’s interests and ensure their survival.

Leto hurried down the corridor, his pulse quickening with each step. The guard’s directions echoed in his mind—down the hall, second left. He could feel his heart pounding, not from the exertion, but from the thought of finding you, hoping you were still alive, hoping Feyd-Rautha hadn’t gone too far. His breath was ragged, the weight of his weapon steady in his hands as he rounded the corner.

The holding cells came into view, a heavy metal door reinforced with a locking mechanism controlled by a panel on the wall. Leto didn’t hesitate. His eyes quickly scanned the area for any remaining guards. There were none in sight, and the narrow hallway felt eerily quiet.

His gaze fell on the control panel beside the door. It was complicated, no doubt designed to prevent any unwanted visitors from freeing the prisoners inside. But Leto had no time for finesse. His hand reached for the hilt of his blade, and with a swift motion, he drove the weapon into the panel’s circuitry. Sparks flew as the panel sputtered, the lights flickering on the door’s control interface.

He slammed his fist against the damaged panel for good measure, and the door hissed as its internal mechanisms unlocked. The metal barrier slowly creaked open, revealing the small, dimly lit room beyond.

And there you were.

You were slumped against the wall, bound at the wrists, your head hanging low as if you were barely conscious. Bruises marred your skin, evidence of the torture Feyd-Rautha had inflicted on you, but your chest still rose and fell with shallow breaths. You were alive.

Relief washed over Leto like a tidal wave, and he rushed to your side. "Daenys..." he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

At the sound of his voice, your head lifted weakly, and your eyes fluttered open. When you saw him, there was a flash of recognition, and something else—relief, hope.

"Leto..." you rasped, your voice barely audible.

Without wasting another moment, Leto knelt beside you, his hands moving to untie the bonds that held you captive. His touch was gentle but urgent, his eyes searching your face for any sign of how badly you’d been hurt.

"Hold on," he said, his voice low but filled with determination. "I’m getting you out of here."

The ropes fell away, and as soon as your hands were free, you slumped forward, but Leto caught you, pulling you close to him. He could feel how weak you were, your body trembling from the pain and exhaustion, but there was still a fire in your eyes—a stubborn refusal to give in, the same strength that had drawn him to you in the first place.

"You came for me," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, but the gratitude in your tone was unmistakable.

Leto's grip tightened as he helped you to your feet, his arm steadying you as you swayed. "Of course I did. I told you I’d never let them take you from me."

He pulled back slightly, his gaze locking with yours for a moment, and in that shared look, a silent understanding passed between you. There would be time for more later, but now, you needed to get out of here.

"Can you walk?" Leto asked, his voice soft but urgent.

You nodded, though your legs were shaky, the weight of your injuries evident in every strained movement. "I’ll manage."

Leto looped his arm around your waist, helping you find your balance. "Good. We don’t have much time."

As the two of you moved toward the door, Leto cast one last glance around the small cell, making sure nothing had been left behind.

With you leaning on him for support, Leto led the way into the hallway, his weapon ready, his mind already calculating the best way out. He wasn’t leaving without you, and now that you were free, nothing—no one—would stop him from getting you both out of this hellhole.

Feyd-Rautha had made a grave mistake by taking you. Now, Leto would make sure he paid for it.

Leto guided you carefully through the narrow passageway, his hand firmly on your waist, supporting you as you moved through the dimly lit cavern. The adrenaline of the escape still pulsed through his veins, but now that he had found you, now that you were together again, a sense of relief washed over him. He led you into a secluded area between the cavern walls, a temporary safe space hidden from the Harkonnen troops still scouring the caves.

Once inside, he helped you sit down on a smooth rock formation, his gaze filled with concern as he crouched down next to you. The silence of the cavern surrounded you both, offering a momentary reprieve from the chaos outside.

"Are you alright?" Leto asked softly, his hand brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His touch was gentle, but his eyes searched your face for any sign of pain or discomfort. "They didn’t—hurt you too much?"

You managed a tired smile, even though your body still ached from the ordeal. "I’ve been through worse, believe me," you whispered, though the reassurance in your tone didn’t entirely mask the exhaustion in your voice.

Leto’s expression softened, and without thinking, he leaned in and kissed you gently. It was a kiss filled with relief, with the gratitude of having found you alive and whole. His lips lingered on yours for a moment longer than intended, as if savoring the fact that you were here, with him, after everything.

When he pulled back, his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. "I thought I’d lost you," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. "When I heard what they’d done—when I couldn’t find you—I was ready to tear this whole place apart to get you back."

Your heart ached at his words, and you reached up to touch his hand, grounding him with your presence. "I knew you would come for me," you whispered, your voice laced with a quiet confidence. "I never doubted it."

The corners of Leto’s mouth lifted slightly, a trace of a smile forming. He leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a brief moment of peace in this madness. "I don’t deserve you," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You shook your head, your fingers tightening around his hand. "Don’t say that. We’re in this together."

For a few stolen moments, the world outside the cavern didn’t exist. It was just the two of you, safe in each other’s arms, letting the affection and love you shared provide a balm to the horrors of the battle still raging on.

Leto’s arms encircled you, pulling you close as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You felt the weight of his exhaustion too, the toll that this war and these battles had taken on him. You stroked his hair gently, allowing him this rare vulnerability in your presence.

But as much as you wanted to stay in this moment, you both knew it couldn’t last.

Leto reluctantly pulled back, his eyes locking with yours. "We need to keep moving," he said, though his voice was laced with hesitation, not wanting to leave this brief respite. "We have to get you out of here before Feyd-Rautha or his men find us."

You nodded in agreement, though your hand lingered in his. "I’m ready when you are," you replied softly, your eyes never leaving his.

For one last moment, Leto leaned in, kissing you again—this time with a fierce, protective passion. Then, he stood and offered you his hand, helping you to your feet.

"We’ll make it out of here," he promised, his voice resolute as he took your hand firmly in his. "I swear it."

Leto led you carefully through the winding tunnels, his grip firm on your hand as you both moved toward the cavern hangars. The sounds of engines echoed faintly, and Leto’s sharp eyes spotted the last of the Harkonnen Ornithopters preparing to take off. Relief was within reach—an escape. But before either of you could make a move, a cold, mocking voice echoed through the chamber.

“Well, well,” Feyd-Rautha’s voice slithered through the darkness as he stepped out from the shadows, flanked by his men. "Look who we have here. The noble Duke of Atreides himself."

Leto’s posture stiffened, and his grip on your hand tightened. He moved slightly in front of you, shielding you from Feyd-Rautha’s predatory gaze. His expression was calm, but the tension in his muscles told you he was ready for whatever was about to unfold.

"Here I am," Leto said, his voice steady, full of quiet resolve. "Here I remain."

Feyd-Rautha chuckled darkly, circling slightly as his men fanned out around you both, cutting off any potential escape routes. His eyes glinted with malicious glee, like a predator who had finally cornered his prey. "It seems you’ve made a habit of surviving things you shouldn’t have, Duke," he said, his lips curling into a sneer. "But this time, there’s no dragon to save you. Just you and me, and a lot of pain."

Leto stood tall, his eyes locked on Feyd’s. "I’ve faced worse than you, Harkonnen."

Feyd’s sneer deepened. "Then let’s see how well you fare with me." He raised his voice, loud enough for everyone in the cavern to hear. "Kanly!" Feyd declared, invoking the ancient feud between their Houses. He was issuing an official challenge—a duel, one that would determine the fate of both men. "It’s time for you to die, Duke. This ends now."

You felt your heart drop as Feyd-Rautha called for the duel. This wasn’t just a fight; it was a death sentence if Leto lost. But the look on Leto’s face was one of calm acceptance, as if he had been expecting this confrontation all along.

Leto turned slightly toward you, his hand brushing yours gently. His eyes softened for a brief moment, a silent exchange passing between you. You knew he wouldn’t back down. Not now. Not ever.

"I’ll handle this," he said quietly to you, his voice full of conviction. "Stay back. I won’t let him touch you."

You nodded, though the fear for him twisted in your stomach. You trusted him, but Feyd-Rautha was unpredictable, dangerous. Still, you took a step back, giving Leto the space he needed, but ready to act if things went wrong.

Feyd smirked, already moving to draw his blade. "Come then, Duke. Let’s finish this once and for all."

Leto’s expression remained stoic as he unsheathed his own blade, a curved, finely made weapon gifted to him by House Targaryen—a blade forged with Valyrian steel. He took a fighting stance, and you could see the measured determination in every movement.

The two men began circling each other, their eyes locked in a battle of wills before the first strike was even thrown.

Feyd-Rautha lunged forward, his blade flashing in the dim light, but Leto was faster, sidestepping the blow and delivering a counterstrike that caught Feyd off guard. The two clashed, steel meeting steel with a sharp ring, echoing through the cavern.

Feyd was quick, vicious, but Leto was precise. Every movement was calculated, controlled, while Feyd fought with fury and aggression. Their blades danced in a deadly rhythm, neither giving ground easily. You watched, heart pounding, as Leto fought with everything he had, never faltering, never backing down.

"You’re slower than I expected," Feyd taunted, his blade scraping against Leto’s. "All that time spent chasing dragons made you soft, Duke."

Leto didn’t respond, his focus entirely on the fight, every fiber of his being centered on bringing this to an end. Feyd lunged again, but this time Leto anticipated the move, sidestepping just enough to deliver a powerful strike that sent Feyd stumbling back.

Blood trickled from a cut on Feyd’s arm, and his sneer faded into a scowl of rage. He attacked again, more erratically this time, but Leto remained calm, deflecting each strike with measured precision.

You could see the tides turning, the careful strategy Leto had employed starting to wear down his opponent. Feyd was growing desperate, his attacks more reckless, while Leto continued to fight with a quiet, deadly grace.

And then, in a swift, fluid movement, Leto disarmed Feyd, sending the Harkonnen blade clattering to the ground. Feyd staggered back, eyes wide with shock and rage, but Leto didn’t hesitate. He held his blade to Feyd’s throat, the point pressing against the skin.

"It’s over," Leto said, his voice low and firm. "Yield."

Feyd’s chest heaved with fury, but he knew he had lost. There was no escape now.

For a brief moment, it seemed as though Feyd would concede, but then his eyes flickered with something darker, more dangerous. You saw it too, and your body shivered. Something wasn’t right.

But before either of you could react, Feyd-Rautha grinned, a sick, twisted grin. "It’s never over, Atreides," he spat, his hand darting toward something hidden in his sleeve.

"Leto!" you shouted, warning him just in time.

Leto saw the movement and reacted instinctively, twisting Feyd’s arm and knocking the hidden weapon—a small, poisoned blade—out of his grasp. With one final strike, Leto incapacitated him, sending Feyd crumpling to the ground, unconscious but alive.

Leto exhaled, stepping back, his chest rising and falling with the effort of the fight. He looked back at you, and you rushed forward, relief flooding your veins as you met his gaze.

"It’s over," he said again, this time to you, his voice softer.

You nodded, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. "For now," you replied quietly.

Feyd's men hesitated, uncertainty flickering across their faces as they took in the sight of their fallen leader. They exchanged nervous glances, their hands tightening on their weapons, but none made a move toward you or Leto. 

Then, with a deafening roar, Vexiae appeared.

The massive dragon burst into the chamber from the upper passage, her enormous wings folding back as she descended, her amber eyes glowing with fury. The ground shook beneath her weight as she landed, her sharp talons digging into the rock, and her head lowered, the primal growl rumbling deep from her throat. The Harkonnen soldiers scattered in terror, retreating from the sight of the enraged beast.

With one swift motion, Vexiae lashed out, her claws tearing through the ranks of the soldiers as if they were nothing more than paper. The men screamed in panic, scrambling to get away, but it was too late. Vexiae's powerful jaws clamped down on the remaining guards, her wrath swift and brutal. The ground trembled beneath her, the very air vibrating with the ferocity of her attack.

You stepped forward, raising a hand as Vexiae let out another roar, preparing to finish off the remaining enemies. "Vexiae!" your voice rang out clear and steady, cutting through the chaos. The dragon paused, her head swiveling toward you, her eyes softening at your command. "It’s over now."

Vexiae let out a low growl, her fiery eyes locking with yours for a moment. She knew you were safe, and her protective instincts began to ebb. You stepped closer, your hand gently resting on her snout as you calmed her. "You’ve done enough," you whispered, stroking the scales along her jaw. "Go now. Leave. We’ll be fine."

The dragon huffed softly, her breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, she lingered, reluctant to leave your side. But after another reassuring glance, she spread her wings and lifted off, her massive frame rising above the ground with a grace that belied her size. The wind from her wings buffeted the cavern, sending dust and debris flying as she flew off into the open desert sky.

Leto watched in awe as Vexiae disappeared from view, the dragon’s majestic form silhouetted against the stars. "I’m starting to understand more every day why they call you dragonlords," he muttered, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

You smiled, though the weight of the moment still hung between you. "We should go before more of them arrive.

Leto nodded, his hand finding yours as you both turned toward the waiting Ornithopter at the far end of the hangar. The bulky Harkonnen craft was your only way out of this labyrinth of caverns and danger. You moved quickly, slipping into the cockpit as Leto took the pilot’s seat, the controls lighting up under his hands.

As the Ornithopter lifted off the ground, you both looked back toward the cavern. Just as you gained altitude, a low rumble echoed from deep within the tunnels. The ground shook violently, and cracks snaked up the walls of the cavern. You exchanged a glance with Leto, your heart pounding in your chest.

Vexiae’s massive frame had triggered something, perhaps weakening the already unstable structure of the caverns. The ceiling began to crumble, large chunks of rock falling into the chamber below. Within seconds, the entire Harkonnen base was collapsing in on itself, consumed by the very earth it had sought to hide within.

Leto pushed the throttle forward, the Ornithopter speeding up just as the last of the caverns caved in, sealing the base in a tomb of rock and dust. You looked down through the window as the base was swallowed whole, the remnants of Feyd’s forces buried beneath the weight of their defeat.

"That was close," Leto muttered, his grip tightening on the controls.

You leaned back in your seat, your eyes lingering on the horizon as the desert stretched out before you. "Too close," you agreed softly, your mind already turning to what would come next. But for now, you had escape

As the Ornithopter cut through the desert winds, Leto’s tense posture began to ease. His hands relaxed slightly on the controls, though his eyes remained sharp, scanning the horizon for any remaining threats. After a long moment of silence, he allowed himself a small, exhausted smile.

“We deserve a vacation after this,” he jested, turning his gaze toward you. “I promised to take you somewhere special on Caladan. It’s a hidden cove, not far from the capital. The water is the purest blue you’ve ever seen, and the cliffs are dotted with these little caves where we can hide away from the world for a while. No armies. No enemies. Just us.”

You smiled, the idea of it sounding like a dream after all you had been through. The thought of standing with Leto by the sea, with nothing but the waves to worry about, filled you with warmth. “That sounds lovely,” you replied, your voice soft in the hum of the Ornithopter. “I’ve heard much about Caladan’s beauty. I’d love to see this cove of yours.”

Leto glanced at you, his smile widening as he imagined the two of you on the cliffs, the troubles of the galaxy far behind. “We’ll make it happen,” he said. “After this is over, we’ll go. A real escape, just for us.”

You leaned back in your seat, your eyes flicking to the stars outside. “And maybe after that,” you added, “we could visit Albiron. I could show you the place where my people survived, where we rebuilt from nothing. It’s not like anything in the known universe. The jungles are thick, the air rich with minerals… and the sky, Leto. The sky burns red with life. You’d love it.”

Leto’s gaze softened, intrigued by your words. He’d heard of Albiron, of the hidden world where your House had rebuilt itself from the ashes of Valyria, but the idea of seeing it through your eyes stirred something in him. “Albiron,” he mused. “I’d like that. To see where your people found their strength again. And maybe even meet the rest of your dragons.”

You laughed softly at that, imagining Leto surrounded by the beasts you’d grown up with, and for a moment, the future felt bright again, even amidst the turmoil surrounding you both.

As the Ornithopter sailed smoothly through the air, you and Leto exchanged quiet glances, the shared promise of something beyond war and politics hanging between you like a beacon of hope. Caladan. Albiron. A future where both of your worlds could exist together, away from the Emperor, the Sisterhood, and the endless conflicts that had defined your lives.

You turned your gaze back out toward the endless desert below, knowing there were still battles to fight, but for now, there was a promise. One of peace. One of love. A future, if you could claim it together.

And that was worth fighting for.

Gurney stood on the ridge, watching as the Harkonnen Ornithopter cut through the sky, its silhouette unmistakable against the horizon. His hand tightened on the trigger of the plasma cannon, his instincts honed from years of battle urging him to take the shot. "Another one," he muttered, his jaw clenched. "They just don’t give up."

His team stood ready beside him, weapons trained on the incoming Ornithopter, their movements tense and precise. The Harkonnen forces had been relentless, and Gurney had no intention of letting another enemy vanguard slip through their defenses.

"Steady," he called to his men, preparing to give the order to fire.

Just as his finger twitched on the trigger, a crackle came over the comms. At first, it was garbled, indistinct, but then Gurney heard a voice he knew all too well.

“Gurney, hold fire! It’s us!”

Gurney’s heart skipped a beat. He blinked, his hand freezing over the controls as the realization hit him. “Leto?”

The comms crackled again, clearer this time. “It’s Leto, Gurney! It’s me and Daenys. Don’t fire!”

Gurney let out a deep breath, his relief almost palpable as he pulled his hand back from the trigger. “Damn it, Duke. I almost shot you out of the sky.”

From inside the Ornithopter, Leto allowed himself a half-amused smile despite the tension. “I figured as much when I saw you lining up for a shot.”

“Just doing my job,” Gurney replied, his tone lighter now but still edged with the heaviness of the past hours of battle. “We’ve been swatting these Harkonnen flies left and right. Didn’t expect to see you piloting one of their crafts.”

“Long story,” Leto said, his voice steady as he expertly guided the Ornithopter in for a landing, the sand kicking up in small storms beneath the wings. “But we’re alive. Daenys and me.”

Beside him, you allowed yourself a small smile, though your mind was still racing from the narrow escape. Leto glanced at you, the weight of everything they had just gone through still hanging between you. "Gurney," Leto continued over the comms, "we’re coming in for a landing. Let’s regroup."

Gurney lowered his weapon, shaking his head with a mix of relief and exasperation. “You and that lass are going to be the death of me one of these days.”

The Ornithopter touched down with a soft thud on the desert sand, and Leto and you stepped out, both still feeling the adrenaline of the close call. Gurney jogged over, his weathered face stern but relieved as he clapped a hand on Leto’s shoulder.

"You gave me a heart attack, Duke. You too, lass," he said, glancing toward you.

You managed a smirk, still feeling the pulse of battle running through your veins. "Didn’t mean to," you replied, your voice steady but with an edge of fatigue.

Gurney turned his gaze between the two of you, his expression softening for a moment. “Glad you’re both all right.”

Leto nodded, his eyes meeting Gurney’s with a depth of gratitude that words couldn’t quite capture. "Thanks to you for holding the line, Gurney. But we’re not done yet. We’ve got work to finish."

Gurney, ever the loyal soldier, nodded sharply. “Then let’s get back to it.”

As Leto, you, and Gurney walked back toward the command post, the air was filled with the aftermath of battle. The desert sun hung low on the horizon, casting a soft light over the dunes. The winds carried the distant sounds of skirmishes still echoing in the distance, but the immediate area had quieted down significantly.

Gurney walked ahead, his face set in a determined grimace. He turned to Leto, reporting in a low voice, "Duke, something strange is happening. After those last frantic Harkonnen attacks, they’ve started retreating—rapidly. We’re just dealing with a few straggler forces now."

Leto’s brow furrowed as he looked up at the sky, a familiar shadow catching his eye. High above, Vexiae flew, her wings cutting through the desert winds as she soared toward the Targaryen base in the deep desert. Her powerful form seemed to command the very air itself as she disappeared into the distance.

“They’re falling back?” Leto asked, his voice thick with suspicion. “Why? That’s not like them.”

Gurney nodded. “Aye. It's like they’re pulling out suddenly. No real strategy. Just retreating. Maybe it’s the fear of what they’ve stirred up.” He gestured toward the direction where Vexiae had flown, his meaning clear.

You looked up at the sky, watching your dragon disappear toward the base, the weight of the battle and the uncertainty of the situation still hanging over you. But there was something else on your mind, something more personal.

“Leto,” you said, your voice quieter, your gaze shifting from the sky to him. “I need to contact my father. Let him and my brothers know that I’m all right.”

Leto turned to you, his eyes filled with understanding. He placed a hand gently on your arm, the warmth of his touch comforting after the ordeal you'd just gone through. “Of course. They’ll want to know you're safe.”

Gurney, ever watchful, glanced between the two of you, sensing the personal moment but keeping his focus on the task at hand. “I’ll make sure the comms are clear for you,” he offered, moving ahead toward the communications hub to ensure you could reach your family.

You turned back to Leto, your expression softening. "I don’t want them to worry," you added quietly.

Leto gave you a small smile, nodding. “We’ll get the message to them. And once we’ve regrouped, we’ll finish this.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words, knowing that the battles ahead would be fought side by side, with both of your Houses united. But for now, you focused on the immediate task—letting your family know that you were safe.

As the Atreides Ornithopter descended toward the stronghold in Arrakeen, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the desert landscape. The Atreides stronghold stood tall and imposing, a beacon of stability in the midst of the chaos that had gripped Arrakis. The moment the craft touched down, the ramp lowered, and you and Leto stepped onto the sand.

From the entrance of the stronghold, Aenys Targaryen, your father, appeared first. His usual regal demeanor was cast aside as he rushed forward, his silver hair catching the light as he moved with a surprising speed toward you. His eyes, normally calm and controlled, were filled with uncharacteristic concern.

“Daenys!” he called, his voice betraying the worry he had been holding back. The moment he reached you, he placed his hands on your shoulders, scanning you from head to toe as if reassuring himself that you were truly there, alive and well.

"Father," you greeted, your voice soft but strong, sensing the deep relief in his eyes. The stiffness you hadn't realized you were holding in your chest finally released at his touch.

Aenys exhaled, a small, rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You had me worried, child. When the news reached me of your fall, I—" He stopped, unable to complete the sentence, but you knew what he meant.

"I'm fine, truly," you reassured him, though the weight of everything you'd been through was still fresh in your mind. "And Vexiae... she lives as well."

Aenys nodded, knowing the bond between you and your dragon was just as strong as his with Vexarion. “Good. I’ve already received word of her return to the base.”

Behind him, Hawat stood near the entrance to the stronghold, his keen eyes observing the reunion. The old Mentat gave a quick nod to Leto, a look of relief crossing his sharp features. “Duke,” he greeted Leto formally, though the tension in his shoulders eased. “I’m glad to see you’ve returned safely.”

Leto, still recovering from the weight of what had happened, returned the nod. “It wasn’t easy, but we’re here,” he said, his gaze briefly drifting back toward you.

Aenys, however, remained focused on you. “What do you need?” he asked, his voice firm but gentle.

You turned to him, your voice steady but with an unmistakable urgency. “I want to see my children,” you said, the weight of the battle and everything else momentarily replaced by a singular need—the need to hold your newborns.

Aenys nodded once, understanding completely. "They’re safe. We kept them close while you were gone. Come, I’ll take you to them."

Leto watched you as you walked alongside your father, his expression softening. He knew how much your children meant to you, and after everything you had been through, they were the only thing that could truly bring you peace.

As the three of you made your way inside, Hawat and Gurney followed closely behind, ever watchful. 

...

As you made your way toward the nursery, the long corridors of the Atreides stronghold felt strangely quieter than usual. The air still carried the weight of everything that had happened, but here, in this secluded part of the stronghold, there was an almost sacred stillness. Your heart raced in anticipation of seeing your twins—your children, who had been safe while you were away, but whom you longed to hold once again.

You reached the door to the nursery and entered softly, your steps almost silent. Inside, the room was filled with the soft, comforting sound of your children breathing peacefully in their cribs. The twins were swaddled in fine cloth, and the gentle light cast a warm glow over the room. As you approached their cribs, your heart swelled.

The boy, already showing signs of his father's strength, stirred slightly as if sensing your presence. The girl, with features that mirrored your own, remained calm, her tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. You knelt beside them, your hands brushing lightly over their delicate forms, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself a moment of true peace.

As you gently picked up your son and then your daughter, cradling them in your arms, the world outside seemed distant and irrelevant. This—this was what mattered. They were safe. You were together.

Meanwhile, back in the hall, Leto, Aenys, Gurney, and Hawat stood, the atmosphere between them tense but respectful. Aenys, standing tall and composed, cast a glance toward the door you had just disappeared through. His expression was unreadable for a moment, but then, he turned toward Leto.

“I owe you, Duke,” Aenys said quietly, his voice filled with sincerity but still carrying the weight of his authority. “You brought my daughter back to me safely, despite everything.” His eyes met Leto's, and though they were both men of great power and responsibility, in that moment, Aenys spoke not as the Dragonlord, but as a father.

Leto, still recovering from the ordeal himself, inclined his head, his voice low but steady. “It was a promise I intended to keep, no matter what. Your daughter means everything to me.”

Aenys nodded, appreciating the depth of Leto’s words. “She is Targaryen through and through—strong and stubborn. I see that much more clearly now.” There was a brief flicker of pride in his expression. “But to have a man like you by her side... I am beginning to see the wisdom in her choice.”

Hawat, ever the vigilant Mentat, studied the exchange carefully, noting the subtle shifts in tone and expression. The alliance between House Atreides and House Targaryen had always been a strategic one, but now, it had become something deeper—something more personal.

Gurney, standing nearby, broke the silence with his usual bluntness, though his tone was filled with respect. “She’s one hell of a woman, that’s for sure,” he remarked. “You’re lucky to have her, Duke.”

Leto couldn’t help but smile, his thoughts lingering on you and the children waiting for him in the nursery. “I know.”

Aenys allowed a small, rare smile to form. “As I said, I owe you, Duke. And I never leave a debt unpaid.”

Leto met Aenys’s gaze, the gravity of the situation settling over them once more. “We’ll settle that in time. But for now, I’m just grateful she’s here, and that we have a future to build together.”

Aenys nodded solemnly. “Yes, we do. And that future will be stronger than any empire built on sand.”

...

As you sat quietly in the nursery, the gentle rhythm of little Aenor and Rhaelys’s breaths filling the space, the door creaked open, and Paul stepped inside. His face, though calm as always, carried the weight of something deeper, something final. He moved toward you slowly, his eyes taking in the sight of the twins, his brother and sister, resting peacefully.

You glanced up at him, sensing the heaviness in his presence. “Paul,” you said softly, careful not to disturb the babies. “You’re leaving.”

Paul nodded, his gaze distant yet focused. “Yes... I have to go to Valyria,” he said quietly, the ancient name heavy on his tongue, as though it carried the gravity of his fate. “It’s where my path leads.”

You frowned slightly, your heart tightening at the thought of him embarking on such a journey. “Valyria,” you repeated, your voice filled with both curiosity and concern. “The Red Woman spoke of it, didn’t she?”

Paul gave a faint nod, his eyes not quite meeting yours, as though he were staring into a future only he could see. “Yes. She told me it’s where everything began... and where it must end.” He paused, glancing at the sleeping twins before finally meeting your gaze. “I have no choice. It’s my destiny.”

For a moment, silence hung between you, thick and unspoken, as you absorbed the weight of his words. Then, in a quieter voice, you said, “I’ll miss you, Paul. I’ve always wondered... in another life, on another path, who we might have been to each other.”

Paul’s expression softened, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but his eyes still carried that faraway look. “In another path... in another life, we would have been... different,” he said, his voice low and cryptic. “There would have been twins then too... but everyone else... everyone would have been gone. Dead. You... and I...” He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid, but the weight of what he implied lingered between you like an invisible thread connecting your fates.

The faintest chill ran down your spine as you pondered his words, feeling the echoes of a life unlived, a destiny untaken. But Paul quickly stepped forward, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder. “This path is different,” he added, his voice steadier. “We’re still here. The people we love... are still here.”

You nodded, offering a small smile, though the ache of saying goodbye tugged at your heart. “I will miss you.”

Paul smiled too, though his was tinged with the bittersweet acceptance of what lay ahead. “We’ll see each other again,” he said, his voice filled with quiet certainty. “Maybe not soon... but we will.”

He stepped back, his hand slowly slipping away, and with one final glance at Aenor and Rhaelys, Paul turned toward the door. Before he left, he stopped, his gaze meeting yours one last time.

“Goodbye,” he said softly, the word carrying more than just a farewell—it was a promise, a thread that stretched beyond this moment, this life.

You watched him go, the door closing softly behind him, and as the quiet returned, you couldn’t help but wonder, once again, about all the paths left untaken. But for now, this was your path—the life you had chosen, the one you had fought for. And no matter where Paul’s journey took him, you believed, deep down, that your fates would cross again.

...

As Paul approached the shuttle, its hull gleaming beneath the Arrakeen sky, the Red Woman stood silently waiting at its entrance. Her presence was as unsettling as ever, her eyes dark and knowing. Not far behind her stood Jessica, her expression stern but softened by an underlying sadness. She was preparing for a farewell she knew would change everything.

Paul’s steps were measured, as though he had already made peace with the path he had chosen. He glanced over his shoulder one last time, his eyes scanning the city he was leaving behind, the city he had grown up in, and the people he had come to know. And then, he heard his father’s voice.

“Paul!”

Leto, with Duncan and Gurney trailing behind him, was hurrying across the courtyard. His call carried with it an urgency and a grief he could barely contain. When he reached his son, he placed a firm hand on Paul’s shoulder, his grip stronger than usual, as if he were trying to hold onto something he knew he couldn’t keep.

“Take care of yourself out there,” Leto said, his voice low and thick with emotion.

Paul looked up at his father, the deep connection between them unspoken but understood. His gaze softened as he gave a small nod, the weight of the moment hanging between them like the desert’s silence.

“I will,” Paul said quietly, before offering a faint smile. “You… take care of her. Of Daenys.”

Leto’s grip on Paul’s shoulder tightened slightly at the mention of you. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—pride, love, and a deep sense of duty. He nodded, his voice softer now. “I will.”

Paul’s gaze lingered on his father for a moment longer, knowing that this goodbye wasn’t just about leaving a planet—it was about leaving behind the life he had known. The future was fluctuant, but Paul had already glimpsed fragments of it, and there was no turning back now.

With a final glance at Duncan and Gurney, Paul turned toward the shuttle, the weight of his destiny heavy on his shoulders. The Red Woman stepped aside to let him pass, her eyes following him with a knowing gaze.

Jessica, standing at the base of the ramp, gave Leto one last look, her eyes filled with a mixture of resignation and sorrow. The unspoken words between them were almost tangible, but neither said anything. Jessica knew that Leto’s heart had been irrevocably pulled toward you, and now, all that was left was the path Paul had to take. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she turned, following her son into the shuttle.

Leto stood rooted in place, watching as the shuttle door slowly closed, sealing Paul and Jessica inside. The hum of the engines grew louder, and the shuttle began to rise, lifting off from the surface of Arrakis with a smooth precision. The air around them shifted, hot and dry, as the ship took to the sky, disappearing into the horizon.

Duncan placed a hand on Leto’s shoulder. “He’ll be alright, my Lord,” he said quietly.

Leto’s gaze remained fixed on the now-empty sky where the shuttle had been moments ago. His thoughts, however, drifted back to you and the twins, and the promise he had just made to Paul.

“Daenys,” Leto murmured, almost to himself. “I’ll keep my promise.”

As the last trace of the shuttle vanished, Leto turned back toward his stronghold, his mind already on what lay ahead, not just for Paul—but for the future of your House and his.

...

In the years following Paul’s departure, the galaxy shifted. Slowly, like the sands of Arrakis under a relentless wind, the great powers that had once seemed so permanent began to wane. The Sisterhood, once whispering into the ears of emperors, began to lose their grip, as did Shaddam IV, the Emperor. They clung to power like dying stars, but the tides had changed. The Atreides-Targaryen alliance—what began as a simple partnership between two Houses, one burdened by prophecy and the other by exile—ignited a transformation no one could have predicted.

It wasn’t immediate. No revolution ever is. But over time, other Houses, ones once loyal to Corrino, started seeking favor from us. They came with veiled requests and open hands, desiring something new: Targaryen space theology. They wanted what we had discovered—our control of the Drakaon crystal that freed us from reliance on the Guild. The old ways were crumbling, and they knew it.

There was something about the way we had survived—the way we had rebuilt from ashes and thrived in the shadows of forgotten stars—that drew them in. Freedom. That was the promise. Freedom from the Guild’s stranglehold, from the reliance on spice that had enslaved the known universe for far too long. The secrets we held, born from exile and tempered by time, were now the currency of power. A power stronger than even the spice.

Leto... my Leto... He was always at my side, steadfast and unwavering. We built a future for our children together. Aenor and Rhaelys, their names born from our ancestors, carry within them both the strength of House Atreides and the fire of Valyria. One day, they will sit at the crossroads of two legacies, and they will wield the power we have cultivated over years of war and struggle.

I often watched them in the nursery, their curious eyes following the movements of their dragon eggs, cradled in warmth, waiting to hatch. Leto would smile at me, that knowing look in his eyes—he, too, understood the weight of our legacy. One day, the dragons will return what was once ours. One day, Valyria will rise again, not as it was, but reborn through us. Through our children. Through the future we’ve fought for.

But still… there are shadows on the horizon.

There was no word from Paul. The days turned into months, the months into years, and still, his absence hung over us like a storm not yet broken. Sometimes, I would close my eyes and see him—walking through a world reduced to ash and ruin, a world where both gods and men had died. I dream of him often, of the paths he may walk, of the choices he must make. And I wonder… what will he become? What will the galaxy become?

The winds of change have begun, but the storm had not yet arrived.

I stand at the precipice of what is to come, knowing full well that the dragons will lead the way. And though Paul is gone from Arrakis, though his path is uncertain, I know that we will meet again. In dreams or in reality, it does not matter. The future awaits us all.

For now, we remain vigilant. We are fire. We are blood. And the universe will know our name.

I am Daenys Targaryen, and this is only the beginning.

[kimberlyannharts]

Misc thoughts on issue #105 -

= This is the issue where pacing starts to get a little weird. Zack and Harturian Kid kind of get.....captured offscreen? Before the events of this issue? But then they also get rescued in this issue? Very weirdly plotted out

= This is also where the Zack/Trini romance starts and. I don't know. It's fine, I guess. I don't hate it like I hate Aisha/M/tt because there's at least some previous foundation to it compared to how Aisha/M/tt was out of fucking nowhere (except for that weird bit where Zack says out of nowhere that he asked Trini out in freshman year, something never brought up or even implied in GGPR) but it didn't....have to be a romance. And knowing that Melissa just pushed for it because she happens to ship it bugs me a bit. It definitely just feels like romance for the sake of having romance (which we don't need because this event is FULL OF ROMANCE)

= "the Omegas are more powerful than we are" shut up

= Billy's fall into the one who breaks the multiverse is also foreshadowed here in a case of dramatic irony (he tells Tommy he knows they can't give up hope or else they'll become monsters like the villains they fight - very clearly presented now by him doing the same thing Drakkon did.) We'll get more into that when we get to it

= I also like how Kim's presented as the leader of this little break-off group and called as such

= I also like how they bring back the "confuse him with moves he doesn't know" thing from Necessary Evil and the fight with Dayne because it's actually executed way more effectively and makes way more sense

= That Thunderzord combination with Yale's Zord is another instance of Zord designs in this event that are just bad. Why do they have to completely waste the idea of Yale having a quadruped Zord. You could make a cool centaur Zord out of that!!!!!!! I remember when this issue came out people were really complaining about this combo and yeah, it's still super bad. Why did the Thunderzords turn into pants

= I guess the Zack/Harturian Kid thing is okay too but it's hard to get too invested because I know this will be the only non-romance thing Zack gets and the ONLY thing Harturian Kid gets before he's so unimportant that the book can't even keep track if he's captured by Dark Specter or not

[myriamas]

who: @dante-uller when and where: following the tense conversation between king cedric tyrell, baashir dayne and dante uller, myriam allyrion awaits in her chambers for her usually weekly meeting with the second minister of dorne. she has already heard how it went from the viewpoint of the sword of the morning, and had been looking forward to speaking with dante to gain his perspective on the matter. context: myriam has fully accepted and fallen for the persona that dante uller puts on: that of him being understanding, more open minded and less judgemental. for this reason, knowing that baashir can sometimes be the sterner of the two, she seeks to understand how blatant the reach's threats truly were.

her kohl lined orbs remained fixed comfortably beyond the window pane, seated against the window wrapped up in her shawls; the amount of days for her specific mourning period had ceased, meaning that the silks of white adorned to mourn for her late husband had been unwrapped and discarded of. now, she was a crimson and mandarine sight; golden thread etched upon her blouse and her skirts, her shawl remaining loosely against the side of her curves with thick dark hair remaining glossy. truthfully, she had always found a great amount of confidence and respect in herself when it came to matters of her personal appearance: when she believed that she looked impeccable, she truly believed she was impeccable.

there was a vast difference in the aura she seemed to radiate when the white robes slipped from her for the final time; the heavy weight of needing to grieve for something she did not truly feel she knew what she was grieving about.

many assumed the shadows on her face came out of fear of being alone; but rather, it came out of fear for what it was to be a royal widow. the assumption that even in death, she would not be free of the bangles that had become her manacles. she was waiting for someone. not merely anyone, but rather, she was waiting for the lord of hellgate hall; the presumed heir of house uller, or so she thought. perhaps she was wrong on that account, because she did not truly understand the inheritance that were the methods of house uller - how was it matters were settled and decided upon? did a lord or lady not feeling a sense of dread in knowing their death would spark upheaval within the region?

her gaze remained upon the windows, documents remaining sprawled out against the glitter of her blood orange coloured skirts, her gaze wafting between it and between the goblet she rested close to her, careful not to spill it over the parchment. what the actual fuck was this inheritance policy of hellholt? and of hellgate hall? her brows furrowed as she rested the feather of the quill against her nose, sitting upward as though she meant business now; the master of whispers had submitted the amount of forces he and dante's households combined held. but who was whose heir? who was dante's heir?

she begun to curse beneath her breath, tasting the wine upon her own tongue; though her voice trailed when she noted a figure approaching her chambers from the courtyard. and so she slipped from her window seat, still holding parchment in her hands as she made her way over to the door; swinging it open the moment the guards were ready to announce the presence of dante uller. she remained within the doorframe, her gaze flickering over him for a moment; he looked different somehow. she could not figure out how, or why. "dante uller." she greeted, wordlessly passing over the documents into his hands. there was a light wine stain upon the corner, something she had not noticed as she passed it over the man.

"would you do me the honour of informing me who it is you leave your holdings to in the present?" she asked, stepping to the side for him to answer, before swinging the door shut behind her with a certain bang. far too loud than she had expected. "one of your cousins from your uncle, would be the assumption."

[two-white-butterflies]

the sun rises from the west | d. targaryen

Description: Daemon Targaryen didn't die during the war - though there were many nights that he wished otherwise. A story where he loses his first-wife to battle.

Pairing: daemon targaryen/dayne!reader

Rating: Mature [death, angst, smut]

Author's Note: Daenerys-Drogo inspired.

"When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When mountains blow in the wind like leaves. Then you shall return to me."

(DRAGONSTONE, 129AC)

Daemon always admired you - believed that your skills were greater than his own. A sad sigh escapes his mouth, hands reaching for a cloth and wiping the sweat on your son's sleeping body. He's lived numerous lives; warrior, husband and now healer. "- the healers are doing their best." Rhaenyra mumbles, laying a comforting hand on her husband's shoulder.

She has sired him two sons - but he always returns to Maekar. He always returns to the faint memory of you. "My aunt was taken by the same fever," he responded bitterly. He was not losing Maekar - he was not going to lose the greatest piece of you.

"I will take care of Maekar, please return to the battlefield - return to me." his niece pleaded, eyes almost brimming with tears. Maekar has been ill for the past months - and he has not left his bedside. "He is a boy of almost twenty and five summers. He will make it through this winter." Rhaenyra comforted.

"I refuse to fight knowing that he is fighting a battle in his bed." Daemon gritted his teeth, annoyed by his niece's lack of sympathy. "When Aegon and Viserys were sick - you did not show this devotion." she answered petulantly - now she could understand Alicent's hatred of her.

Daemon turns his head slowly - eyes glaring at his wife. "Rhaenyra, do not begin with this." he argued, attempting to keep his voice low - so that his son wouldn't awaken. "You love him more." she snapped. "Do not lie to yourself." he lied.

She stands up - eyes dark and filled with sorrow.

"How is it that you love her more than me? She is a dead girl - I am alive, yet I have to share you - a-and mayhaps I was fine with sharing - but not our children, Daemon. Your love should only be for them." her lips shuddered while shutting the door loudly.

(KINGSLANDING, 105AC)

You gather your gowns - fastening Maekar to your hips while you run through the halls with a smile on your face. "Daemon!" he wrapped you in a warm embrace - he smelled like fire and ash and home. "Ābrazȳrys," he cooed while taking the little boy away from you.

"Did you have fun?" you inquired, and he nodded quickly leading you towards your shared chambers. "Ēdan kirimves," (I had fun) he answered, pulling away from your fingers and opening the door. "You should've joined me," he offered, placing Maekar on the bed.

"I do not fancy riding a dragon," you responded while sitting beside your son who was sucking on his fingers. "You are my wife. You will learn." he informed firmly while removing his gloves. "Is it a profession of love or one of your whims?" you tease, unconsciously pulling Maekar closer to you. "It does not matter, riña - you will obey all the same." he breathed, body moving closer to you.

"Hen rhinka," (Of course) you hummed, staring up at him. "There is something that I need to tell you," he removed his coat before sitting on the bed. He adored everything about you - your smile, your hair, your scent and your ladyness - but there was one thing he hated; your anger. "What is it?" you inquire.

"Viserys commands me to fight a war."

(STEPSTONES, 106AC)

Daemon knew that it was a mistake to bring you here. You had an expert command with the sword - but he shouldn't have brought you here. "It's not too late to return home," he breathed, wrapping his arms around your half-asleep figure. "I could say the same, husband." you yawned, turning around to face him.

"You shouldn't even fucking be here," he cursed - smelling the faint scent of seawater on your hair. "Should be taking care of our son, like a good little wife." he added humorously. "Am I not good enough for you, ser?" you raise an eyebrow - and he silences you with a kiss.

He adored you in this way - skin tanned with fleeting spots on your shoulders, hair slightly bleached from the sun's rays - and body perfectly ready and sore for his bidding. "Too good for me," he hummed while moving his body to be hovering above you. "Daemon," you moaned feeling his fingers roam inside your nightgown.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

(STEPSTONES, 115AC)

His heart couldn't stop beating.

"Ābrazȳrys," he knelt down to your bleeding body. "Daemon," you choke on salt-water - feeling the waves gently nudge your body against the shoreline. "I'm glad to see you," you choke on air, hearing the thumping footsteps of your husband's healers.

He presses upon your wounded stomach - adding pressure to ensure that no blood would seep out of your body. "Reserve your strength," he commanded, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Daemon," you groan - seeing spots of black in your periphery. "(Your Name)" he responded firmly, helping the healers carry you away from the sand.

It has been three days since he's last seen you stand. Two days since he's last slept. He sees the way that your eyes curled in pain after every move - you were in agonizing pain, but you were enduring for him and for Maekar. "Ābrazȳrys" he cleared his throat - relieved that you were awake. "Valzȳrys," you replied with a pained smile.

"How are you?" he asks, sitting on your bedside. "I will be the same tomorrow." you answered with bitterness. The pain in your stomach has not left you since the accident. It festers like a living wound - providing you with the most torturous pains. "- and I know for certain because today feels like yesterday." you add, taking a sip of the milk of poppy. It does nothing to relieve your pain.

"What can I do about it?" he asks again, pained that you were feeling pain. "- everyday I feel like I am burned by dragonfire. My body feels like it is flayed and turned inside out. I cannot breathe at night - in the morning, my eyelids flutter." you explained, grip tightening around the teacup.

There was only one thing that you desired - but it was too cruel to ask of him. "I cannot move my legs - my arms feel like iron. Valzȳrys - to live like this is far too cruel." you cried. His eyes harden at your notion. The Maesters saved your life - but they did not release your mind of the torture that you endured in the hands of the enemy.

"No." he breathes - knowing the path that you were about to pursue.

"It is the only way - if you refuse to do so, I'll find a way."

"No."

(DRAGONSTONE, 129AC)

Daemon refused to touch you that day - he refused to speak to you, but when night came - he decided to obey your wishes. He filled your cup with one of the poisons inside your ring - he made sure to choose the one that gave you no suffering. He laid by your side - singing songs of your dialect to ease the pain of your passing.

He won the war because of the rage he felt over you. Over himself.

There was another woman after you - Laena Velaryon. The most beautiful girl that he's ever seen. A girl who had the same fire. She was skilled with a dagger - obeyed him in the same ways that you did. But she was not you. She did not fill the void that you left - not even after giving him Rhaena and Baela. He was a cruel husband - but not a cruel father.

After Laena's death came Rhaenyra - his niece.

She was rebellious - filled with fire and he worshipped her. Daemon worshipped Rhaenyra with all of his heart - they were forged from the same stone. Daemon was devoted her in way that he was never devoted to you - and that was because they shared the same blood. Daemon felt for Rhaenyra the same admiration that he felt for his brother. It was devotion. Not love.

And there he was - returning to what happened fourteen years ago.

Inside a small humid hut - hands wrapped around you, but this time it was your son. "Ivestragī nyke jemagon ao hen se ōñosa," he sung, wiping the tears that were streaming out of his irises. Maekar was cold to the touch - and his breathing was labored.

'If Lord Maekar's condition worsens, we'll be able to do nothing'

"Mother used to sing that to me," the boy mumbled. "Will I be able to see my wife again, my boys?" he asked his father - feeling a heaviness loom over his body. "When you get better," he replied.

(SHORES OF DRAGONSTONE, 129AC)

"Kekepa," his grandson opens his mouth. Daemon quickly lifts the boy and settles him on his hips. "Melara," he turned towards his good-daughter, quickly wiping the tears that were falling out of Viserys' eyes. He places a hand on her shoulder.

"He fought well." he comforted, staring at Maekar's body that was behind them. "I don't know how we'll live without him," she bit her lips - earning a chuckle from the older man. "It will be hard, but you will endure." he replied seeing Rhaenyra's figure walking towards them.

"I offer my condolences, Lady Melara - my grief extends to you and House Tyrell. Viserys and Rhaegar are free to remain here." Rhaenyra says politely, offering her hand to carry her step-grandson. "I think it will be best to do that, my queen. Father is already speaking of marriage - House Lannister he says, but I cannot marry yet. Not when I can still feel Maekar." she stared at her husband's body.

Waiting for either Rhaenyra or Daemon to say the word.

"You can say it." Daemon took a deep breath, turning to face Maekar.

"Dracarys,"

part two

@nyctophilic0vitnir @watercolorskyy @bellastwd @icarusgloom @pearlstiare @areaderinlove @hc-geralt-23 @rozendiors @immyowndefender @ammo23 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @ammo23 @immyowndefender @bitchyunknownuser

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

[ssuperficialspacecadett]

The Calm Before the Storm

Chapter Fifteen of The One Condition Series | Chapter Sixteen

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: Pretty Thing and Din spend some time together on The Crest as they head to Daiyu

Notes: I'm back from my little break !! Sorry this was posted way later than I usually do ): This is finals week for me at my university and its safe to say I'm getting my ass beat. Anywayyyy I'm happy to be back and I hope everyone enjoys this chapter (: Feel free to comment !! Happy reading <3

Gar ganar haar haal, baar, bal runi akay haar oyu’baat hettir dayn: [gahr] [GAN-ar] [har] [hahl] [BAR-oor] [bahl] [roo-NEE] [ah-KAY] [har] [oy-YOO-baht] [HAYt-eer] [dain]

Mesh'la: [MAYSH`lah]

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

You almost missed it. A small puff of air causes your hair to flutter. You stop crying and hold your breath. You could have imagined it. It could have just been the wind, but you wait for it again. You feel tiny strands of your hair dance around as another puff of air, accompanied by a heaving chest, makes itself known. 

“I’m stronger than I look, Sweetheart.”

“D-dad?”

“That’s what I’m t-told.”

Even at a time like this your father finds a way to crack a joke. He does his best to smile at you even though you are sure he is in indescribable pain. 

“I’m so sorry, baby.” You can see tears spilling from his eyes. “I should have done more to prevent this from happening. I just never thought-”

“This wasn’t something anyone could have predicted he would do.”

He closes his eyes and slowly nods his head; words getting progressively harder to articulate due to his loss of blood.

“T-the money. I hid it.”

“You what?”

“Under that tree that you two used to climb? It’s all there.”

You don’t know what to say. All you can do is stare blankly at him.

“Take it, baby…please…get far away from here.”

The clouds gathering in the night sky above the two of you finally break open. Rain begins to pour down all around. You place your forehead against your fathers and feel his last breath roll across your damp skin. You aren’t sure if it's the rain or your tears wetting your face at this point. You hold him close as you finally hear the inevitable blaster shot ring out from inside your house. You thank The Maker that your father isn’t alive to hear his wife's death be audibly confirmed. The front door slams open and shut again and you know you are the only living being in the house. Alden has fled the scene of his own horrific crime; his empty hands dripping with blood. 

When the rain threatens to drown you, you find the strength to push yourself to your feet. Your stomach still burns from where Alden rammed his foot into you. Enough logic remains in your body to know that your wound isn’t fatal, but you need to stop the bleeding. The rain makes your shirt sleeve harder to rip off, but the old fabric eventually gives to your will. You fashion it around your neck and hope that it has enough pressure to quell the bleeding for now. 

If you hadn’t lived here your whole life, finding the tree your father spoke of in this torrential downpour would have been impossible. You locate it and kneel before its protruding roots. You don’t even realize you have started digging until your fingers make contact with a wooden box. You numbly remove it from the muddy crevice it has been placed in, barely registering how raw your hands have become from clawing at the earth. 

When you open it you almost feel like laughing. Your body and brain are so exhausted from what has just transpired that nothing feels real. Staring back at you is the cause of your parents death, a.k.a. 50,000 credits. This small box is the reason you have no home to go back to, no family left, and no idea what to do next. 

You wake up feeling a bit relieved. The nightmare sequence is over…at least until it starts again. You are currently living in the next chapter of it you reckon. You made the choice to do something about the memories that plague you. You hired a bounty hunter, you traveled through space, you confronted Thuban, and now you are on your way to Alden. This is going to end. It has too. Din had set the nav for Daiyu, the second time now, late last night. You remember laughing as he hurried out of bed to get to the cockpit. He was muttering something about you ‘keeping the bed warm’ and him not needing another thruster blown out ‘on account of a simple disagreement’. 

He is sound asleep next to you now. His arms wrap around your body snuggly like ivy to a brick wall. You like being the first one awake. It gives you time to soak in this feeling; to live in the now. It also gives you time to reflect on what he said last night.

“Being with what is mine always makes me feel better.”

He called you his. Then he fucked you like you were his. He said it first with words and then with his body. A shiver of excitement rolls through you. You were his. His girl. His Cyar’ika. His sweet thing. You lift the arm that's around your waist up to your lips.

“Mine.”

You whisper and kiss his arm over and over again. Each kiss pressing the word deeper into his skin so it becomes ingrained there. All care for sounding insane and childish has flown out the window into hyperspace. You have never had anyone call you theirs before. You had never mattered that much to anyone in this way before. You were going to take full advantage of the feeling. If that means whispering your truth into his skin in the early hours of the morning, then so be it. 

“Wha’s tha’, pretty thing?” A groggy voice interrupts your personal incantation.

“It’s nothing,” you laugh nervously like a child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “I was just talking to myself.”

“You’re not getting off that easy.” His arms work in unison to bring you flush with his own body. A chin comes to rest on the top of your head and while you can’t see you know he is smiling. “I’m curious to know what was being said as my arm got kissed so ardently.”

“I was saying … ‘mine’.”

“Mine?”

“Yes.” 

“And what would you be calling yours, Cyar’ika?” His voice sounds so sultry when he asks.

“More like who would I be calling mine.”

“I’m listening.”

“You. I was calling you mine. Is that okay?”

He answers your timid question by placing his hand on your chin and tilting your face up to his. His lips engulf yours quickly. Your two bodies melt together easily as he moves his hand to cup the side of your face; as if he is afraid you will slip away. You can’t help but let a moan slip at his sudden action. You didn’t see it coming, in more ways than one. Your lips are always so pliant for him. They part like a biblical sea for his tongue. Each of you paw and pant as you drink your fill of each other.

“Gar ganar haar haal, baar, bal runi akay haar oyu’baat hettir dayn.” He says after pulling away to let you catch your breath.

“The last part of the sentence I understood, but the first part is new.”

“It roughly translates to ‘you have the breath, body, and soul until the universe burns out’.”

“Breath, body, and soul.” You whisper to yourself.

“Breath, body, and soul,” he repeats. “I want to be yours in every way possible. I never thought I would want to …give myself… to someone like this in my life. I was completely fine with it being just me and the kid. Then you decided to come along and turn everything upside down.”

“I want you in any and every way you will allow me too, Din.” 

“As long as I can have you in the same way, you’ve got a deal.”

“Until the universe burns out.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

In an attempt to keep the child entertained, you had started turning anything that wasn’t tied down to The Crest into a toy. First there was a piece of scrap metal. You figured that placing him in the middle of it and trying to spin him would be fun. You were wrong. He might still have been laughing when you stopped spinning, but you certainly weren’t. His breakfast must have decided that you were going too fast because it came back up to say ‘hi’ to you and to the hull floor. After that you found a small strip of rope. You pretended to make it move in a serpentine pattern. You both laughed as you made the faux creature slither all around his little body. You must have been doing too good of a job at mimicking the movements of a real animal because the kid decided to try to eat it. You spend a good five minutes trying to pry the rope out of his little teeth. Who knew he would have such strong jaws?

You decide to bring him over to your bed to play an invigorating game of peek-a-boo. You sit down with your back against the crate that acts as your headboard and place him in front of you. As you adjust yourself, your tote, that's propped up on your right, slouches against your body. The child coos as you move it back to an upright position. 

“I don’t think I have anything in there that would interest you, little one.”

Unphased by your statement, he reaches out his hands and makes a grabbing motion. You figure that if rummaging through your bag of clothes would keep him occupied, you should let him do it. You grab the tote and place it down in between the two of you. You flick open the clasp and lift the flap. He pushes himself up and waddles over to the wondrous new world you have just revealed to him. While you should be annoyed as he flings your clothes out left and right, you just smile down at him. With all the trouble that he is, and he definitely is, he’s worth it. 

When you spent all that time alone on Eadu, you longed for something interesting to happen. Something that would pull you from the monotony of your self induced isolation. Who knew that The Maker would finally answer your desperate pleading in the form of a tiny, green child. You obviously haven’t had the time to have your own children yet. It wasn’t even something that had entered your mind until you were face to face with those beautiful, big, brown eyes. Trust was something that was important to you when it came to family and there was clearly a lack of that in your life. Things are different now, but having one child is more than enough for you. 

The deeper into the bag he digs, the more sounds of excitement he emits. Your clothes now litter the bed. When he inevitably reaches the bottom of your bag he looks up at you in confusion. 

“I told you there wouldn’t be anything interesting.” You laugh.

He looks into the empty tote again and pulls it forward to lay it down. You watch curiously as he crawls halfway inside. The tote, from your point of view, looks alive. It is wriggling around and the spots where his ears are making the fabric protrude outward. You hear a zipping noise coming from inside and see him crawl his way back out again. Your body goes rigid when you see what he found. A small bag, the same worn leather as your tote, filled with credits. Their deceivingly joyful jingle rings out as he shakes it in his hands. A wave of guilt rolls over you. Something as pure as he is shouldn’t be playing with blood money. 

“Baby, are you sure that is what you want to play with?” 

The money itself isn’t inherently bad, it's what it stands for that is. Blood was shed to find it, and blood being shed will earn it. 

“Maybe we can find something else for you-” 

As you reach for the credits bag he pulls it away from you and shakes his head. He is clearly determined to play with it. While you are less than happy to let him play with this bag versus the first one, you know when to pick your battles. You lean back against the crate, subconsciously trying to get your body as far away from the bag as you can, while he tries to open it. He pulls at it with his claws first and when that fails he tries his teeth. Your sympathy for him overpowers your own complicated feelings and you take it from him. The knot you tied around it is absolutely covered in drool and saliva at this point. It takes you a few seconds, but you finally release the knot. You hand it back to him and return to your previous position. He wiggles his fingers inside to fully open it up and again squeals in excitement at what he finds. He mirrors his previous actions and starts pulling credits out one by one. You know that there are fifty in there, so this should keep him busy for a while.  

Soon your clothes covered bed becomes gilded. Once the last credit had been removed from the bag, the baby just looked around at all the havoc he wreaked. You think he looks quite pleased with himself. He picks up a credit and examines it closely. He tries to put it in his mouth and he even manages to get a laugh out of you with the disgruntled face he makes. 

“Well,” you sigh. “Are you going to help me clean all of this up?”

He just smiles at you and shakes around the credit he has in his hand. You manage to collect all the coins and get them in a haphazard pile in front of the kid. You teach him how to place each one in the bag they belong in before starting on your own task of refolding your clothes. It takes you all of ten minutes to get the clothes folded and sorted back into your tote. Unsurprisingly, the credit that you had placed in the bag to show the child how to do it has somehow found its way out of the bag again. 

“Alright, new plan.”

You remove the now empty bag from in front of him and place it in front of you. 

“You are going to hand me a credit and then I’m going to put it in the bag, okay?”

He nods and hands one over. You gingerly take it from him and begin what you can only assume will be a long cleaning up process. After you take the second credit from him and drop it in the bag, the coins clink together. His ears perk up at the sound and he hurriedly gives you another. Each time you drop a coin in the bag and the sound rings out, his ears twitch. It has got to be the single cutest thing you have ever seen. You try not to make a sound just in case that will cause him to stop. You can feel your heart overflowing with love for this curious little creature. 

The two of you aren’t even half way through when he decides that you aren’t moving fast enough for him. Instead of handing you the next credit, he uses the force to bypass your hand. Right above the bag he makes it fall in. It jangles as it makes contact with the others. You sit back and watch in awe of him. Even after all these months you are still amazed that something so tiny could contain something so powerful. All that power and he decides to use it to make sounds with coins.

He has maybe five more credits left to do when his father comes down the ladder from the cockpit. You look over the crate at him and give him a soft smile as he comes up behind you. The heavy pressure of his hands resting on each of your shoulders feels so relaxing that you almost forget to tell him.

“Din, watch this,” you gesture to the child. “Come on, baby. Do the magic hand thing.”

The kid looks up at the two of you and waves happily.

“Oh come on! You were just doing it to pick up the credits! Remember?” 

You pick up two coins that were previously in the bag and ding them together. The baby only laughs as you make the noise he has grown so fond of over the last half hour. 

“Using my kid for manual labor, huh?”

“Oh shut up. He was just doing it! I swear!”

“Sure.” 

“No, no really! He would use the force to lift the credits up and place them in the bag.”

The child is no help while you attempt to plead your case. He only laughs and claps his hands while you try to convince him to move a coin again. You can feel Din’s hands on your shoulders shake as he silently laughs above you. When it becomes clear that no amount of coaxing will get him to do it, you wave the white flag and scoop up the last few credits. Din has moved around to the entrance of your bed now. He picks up the child as you safely return the bagged credits to your tote. As always, a gloved hand is extended to help you up when you finish your task. 

The three of you make lunch together. It is a bit crowded with so many bodies, but you don’t mind. Not even when your ingredients seem to go missing and the only evidence of their existence are crumbs on the child’s clothes. 

“You know you're going to ruin his appetite if you keep slipping him chunks of meat.” You playfully chide to the man next to you without looking up.

“He can eat a lot more than what we think,” he bumps your shoulder. “Plus I have been meaning to give him an extra portion.”

“Oh? What did he do to deserve that?”

“For being a good judge of character.”

Eventually you manage to get the meal into bowls and disperse them to their owners. You take the baby and get him settled down to eat in your bed. Then you make your way back to the pantry to pick up your bowl. Din hasn’t moved from his spot since you handed him his food. You can feel the conflict inside him. You had felt his eyes trailing your body through the beskar as you walked away with the kid. He wants to eat with the two of you, but can’t due to the creed.

“The kid and I are going to eat in my room. We would both like you to stay down here for lunch with us if you’re comfortable. If you decide you want to, just let me know when you are done. No rush.” 

Before you go you squeeze his hand that isn’t holding his food. You don’t want to pressure him, but you want him to know that you are more than willing to accommodate his needs. As you move to release him, he squeezes your hand back and his helmet moves slightly to the side. 

“Thank you.” He says your name before letting you go back to the child. 

The kid has devoured more than half of his meal by the time you get back. Din was right, he sure can put food away. You dig into yours after getting settled in. Not long after, you hear Din making himself comfortable against the opposite side of the crates. You smile to yourself as you chew. Meal time may be unorthodox for the three of you, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Naturally, the baby finishes eating first. When he realizes that you still have some left, he crawls into your lap. He is looking up at you with such pleading eyes. You almost give in and let him have the last bit of your food. 

“Nice try, but you already had a second helping.”

From behind the crate you can hear an unmodulated laugh. 

“You better be quiet over there,” you warn with mirth. “It’s a struggle to say ‘no’ to these big brown eyes.”

“I guess it’s best that you can’t see mine then.”

And just like that, the mental image you have been secretly working on in your mind is complete. You feel like you just got the wind knocked out of you. One tiny detail has completely thrown you off your axis. Brown. He has brown eyes. You had assumed they were brown, but now that you really knew you feel like you are one of the stars you have seen zipping by the window while traveling at light speed. You don’t know where you are going, but you don’t care. Even without seeing them, you can picture them so clearly in your mind's eye. His thick brows would sit above them just so. You think that his eye shape would slope down at the ends. Maybe from the weight of all of his years or maybe from the weight of his job. They wouldn’t be stern, no, they would be soft and caring. Perhaps even a little bit sad? They would be deep pools of mahogany. Showcasing his independence, his innate caring nature, and his confidence.

“Y-your eyes are brown?”

“Unless they have changed since the last time I looked in the mirror.”

His voice is soft. He doesn’t sound nonchalant as he talks. He just sounds…comfortable. You feel your chest swell with your newfound knowledge. You didn’t think your feelings for him could grow anymore, yet here you are. Falling a little deeper than you thought possible and not even worrying about if the ground under you will provide a soft landing or be unforgiving.

A voice, modulated, cuts through your proverbial swan dive. “I’m all covered up. Send the kid out and I’ll put him down for a nap. Lunch was delicious.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“You know that I was just messing around earlier, right?”

Strong arms circle your waist from behind and pull you into cool beskar. Your mind immediately goes to his eyes. Was he just kidding? Was it just a joke? 

“About what?”

“The kid using his powers to pick up the credits. I was just messing around. He did stuff like that before you came along too. I’m sure he just got shy.”

You feel yourself relax at his explanation and wrap your arms around his.

“So you just like making me feel crazy, is that it?”

“No, but I like watching you get all worked up.”

“How would you like to see me all worked up in the shower then?”

He pulls a deep breath in through his modulator at your words. You feel a welcoming pulsing between your legs as you let your mind start to wander. 

“Lead the way, pretty thing.”

He watches you undress from outside the fresher. Your body burns as the helmet dips down and up as you remove each article of clothing. Neither of you say a word as they drop to the ground. You can feel your own need radiating off your body as you finally kick off your underwear and move them to the side. The sound of the water running drowns out your shallow breathing. You mindlessly take your band off your neck and move to cover your eyes with it. 

“Stop.”

“What’s wrong?”

“The band. Don’t wear it.”

“Din, it’s just water. It won’t hurt it.”

He lets your statement hang in the air for a minute before he corrects himself.

“I don’t want you to wear it. I don’t give a damn about the water.”

You let it fall from your hands, discarded, just like the rest of your clothes. You turn and slip into the shower before he can change his mind. As the water warms your body up and wets your hair, you hear him removing his armor. Each time a piece of beskar makes contact with the hull floor your body vibrates with anticipation. When you hear the door of the fresher close behind him, your body feels as if it's floating. 

“Just close your eyes for me.”

You had them closed the moment you stepped under the water.

“You really trust me, Din?”

You jump slightly as his hands come up to cup your face. His lips come down to meet yours. Water trickles down in between the two of you as you swallow each other. 

“If I can’t trust you, I can’t trust anyone.”

He moves behind your body so that his back is blocking the water’s spray. You shut your eyes tighter at the movement; determined to keep them glued shut. You feel his hand move your wet hair to your left side and kiss his way down your neck. He lingers only to leave sweet bruises that you know you will see tomorrow. Your head falls back as his tongue greets your skin like a lost lover. Even with the lack of hot water touching you, you have never felt warmer. 

He can’t believe he has you in his arms right now. He is flirting with excommunication. He watches as you extend your neck so he has more room to lick and suck on you. He can feel himself already hardening as your neck starts to look like a field of poppies. He wants to mark you all over. Make sure people know that you are his. He knows you would let him do anything to you; putty in his hands. That power scares him because he doesn’t know if you know that he would let you do anything to him as well. 

He keeps his eyes trained on your face as his hand moves down to your burning center. Your plush lips part slightly as he starts to rub tight circles on you. The meek whimpering sounds that spill out of your mouth threaten to make his knees buckle. This fear is made worse when you start to whisper his name out to him. 

“You sound so pretty when you say my name. Do you want this?” He makes need known to you as he pushes himself up against your ass. 

“Maker, please. I have been waiting for it all day.”

“If you want it, you have to earn it.”

He knows you know that that means. Two of his fingers slide easily into your slick folds. Your left hand comes up to dig your nails into his shoulder. He works the hand he has inside of you faster as you claw at him like an animal. Your body quickly adapts to the rhythm he has set for the two of you. You’re so beautiful, he thinks. Your brows are furrowed in concentration and the way your teeth bite your lower lip does nothing to silence your wanton moans.

“That’s it, Mesh'la. Cum for me.”

Your legs shake underneath him as he holds you steady. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear as you succumb to your climax. He carefully watches your eyes. He can see them darting around manically behind your tightly shut lids. 

“Such a good girl.” He croons. “Now you can have what you want.”

He moves the hand he was keeping you steady with up to your throat. He waits for you to say ‘no’ or ‘stop’, but you just smile as his grip tightens ever so slightly around it. He brings the fingers you soaked up to your lips. 

“Suck.”

Your mouth greedily takes them in. He has to grind into you to relieve the pressure building within himself as your tongue takes care of each finger. You don’t shy away. As you continue cleaning him off, he feels you arch your back and push up against him. When he can’t take it anymore he pops his fingers out of your mouth and uses your saliva to pump himself. He brings himself up to your entrance and chokes on a groan as you slide your way down unprompted. 

“You’re always so fucking tight, pretty thing. So tight around my cock.” 

He keeps his hand on your throat and moves the other back down to your clit. The two of you move together in unison. With each thrust into you he wills himself to hold on. You need to cum a second time. He keeps a steady pace with his hips, but his hand speeds up. 

“Y-you make me feel so good, Din.”

As the air around the two of you gets thick with steam, he feels you come undone for him a second time. The way your breath hitches and your body shakes is the strongest drug in the universe. It’s completely intoxicating to watch you fall apart for him. 

He gives you no time to recover as he keeps pounding into you. Your body is already drained from giving you two orgasms and your legs are wobbly from standing so long. You have never felt better in your life. When he wrapped his hand around your neck you expected to flinch or not feel comfortable, but all you felt was safety. You knew he would never hurt you and the pressure he applied and was still applying is thrilling. More so than you thought. You scratch your nails down from his shoulder to his bicep and feel him stutter inside you. He cums only a few pumps later. You feel what doesn’t stay inside you run down your legs and mingle with the water droplets on your skin.

When the two of you finish he turns your body back to where the water can fully reach you. He lathers you up with his soap and makes sure you’re all clean. Then he washes your hair. He’s gentle and makes sure not to pull on any knots you might have. You know your hair is past the point of completely soaped up, but you let him take as long as he wants. When it’s his turn to be washed clean, you try your best. He helps your blind self find his head and massage the soap into it. You make sure to take just as long as he did. While you scrub he periodically leans down to kiss your lips and your arms. The shudder your body makes when he touches you isn’t lost to him. 

When the water threatens to give each of you hypothermia, he shuts it off and wraps you in a towel. He dries you off completely before using the same one on himself. When he scoops you up you feel the towel securely fastened around his waist. You wish you could see the way his V tapers into the garment. He gently places you down on the edge of the bed while you hear him rummaging around in a drawer. He tells you to lift your arms up and slides one of his thick undershirts over your shivering body. 

“Do you want me to put my band on or…?”

“No.”

You leave it at that and crawl back under the covers. He follows rights after you and to your delight he has dropped the towel somewhere on the floor. He tells you that you should nap while the child does and when you insist that you aren’t tired a yawn breaks free. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

If you could roll your eyes you absolutely would. Maker, it’s so annoying when he’s right. As you huddle close to him you feel early signs of sleep creeping into your brain. You don’t want to let it take you before you can talk with him.

“Din? Do you ever have nightmares?” 

“Where is this coming from?”

“I don’t know. I guess sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who gets haunted by my past while I’m in the present.”

“I figured that’s what you dreamt about.”

“Yeah,” you scoot closer to him in the dark. “I replay what happened that night with Alden and my parents over and over again.”

“I used to get them. A lot actually.”

“What…what were they about?”

“My parents. I can see them so clearly protecting me before they die. They set me in this bunker and when they closed it an explosion went off. A droid opened the hatch and raised its blaster at me, but right before it fired a Mandalorian shot it.”

“Really?”

“The next thing I remember was being helped out and flown away by them.”

“What do you dream about now?”

“You.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

[writingsofwesteros]

two bastards are better than one

@ that anon who imagined her going to Ned and Cat's bed

It's rare for the nightmares to spoil his nightly rest, but it happens still, from time to time. Arthur Dayne's face, when Howland stabbed him, right before Ned cleaved off his head. Lyanna's pleading cries "Promise me! Promise me Ned!" These were the visions that woke him up with a start tonight. Ned shudders uner his covers, but it has nothing to do with the northern cold. In fact, he is burning. He knows he will not be able to shut his eyes till morning

He promissed Lyanna he will take care of her children, and some good did he make of his vow. Both her children, his own son and he himself with them, are probably beyond redemption at this point. The Gods see and judge all.

He lies there, looking at the vaulted ceiling of Winterfell's master bedroom. Catelyn is sleeping peacefull beside him. Then he hears it. The faintest of sounds. A patter of bare, light feet. Someone's approaching. That would be Rickon. The boy has grown much the past summer but sometimes he seeks his mother's comfort during the night still.

The door to the chamber open almost noiselessly, but it's not Rickon who emerges from the darkness. The Gods will never take mercy on him will they? No, torture is all they have in store for Ned, and rightly so, for all his sins.

His supposed bastard daughter is stark naked, her slender young body bathed in the dying warm light of the hearth's embers. Yet even in this near darkness he can see her tousseled hair, her round, wild eyes, and the unmistakable wetness glistening between her thighs.

His heart clenches. A quick look at Catelyn confirms that she's fast asleep, to Ned's relief. But there his blessings end. His daughter approaches his bedside and she looks so much like Lyanna Ned thinks he might be dreaming.

And then she enters their bed. His and Catelyn' marital bed. She crawls under his covers and over him. He feels her writhe against him until she emerges, her head near his, and starts whispering frantically.

"Please, daddy, I need you. I think I'm going mad." she whines to his ear, and nuzzles his neck. Her hand grips his cock. What kind of fresh heaven hell is that? Blast it, but he is hard already.

"Please, daddy, just the tip!" she says as she straddles him and humps her hips, giving them both some delicious friction.

She moans and Catelyn stirs, so Ned clasps his big hand over his daughter's mouth and pulls her down towards his chest, hiding her under the covers.

"If you want it, keep your mouth shut," he hisses at her and motions her down to the mattress, on her side, away from Catelyn.

The girl nods frantically, signalling that she'll be quiet, but he does not trust the vixen, so he keeps her muzzled and pressed to him. With his other hand he reaches down to free his cock.

"Open up for daddy," he whispers in her ear and she shifts, arching her back, pressing her bum and pussy against his hardness. He enters her then and pushes deep, to the hilt. "Here. Happy?" he hisses, and she is fervently nodding again.

She starts undulating her hips slowly to ride him. Nede stays motionless, shielding her body from Catelyn's sight with his broad back. It's a slow, torturous kind of lovemaking, and he feels himself slowly giving in to the sensation, and his tension melting. Her sweet, slick, tight cunt. It's just magical. No wonder his sons can't get enough of her.

He feels himself approaching his peak but then his heart freezes, when he feels a soft touch on his back.

"Going solo, Ned?" his wife groans from behind him. "Should have woken me."

Catelyn clings to his back, unaware of his daughter writhing on his cock. To his horror Ned finds that his arousal is doubled by this. Cat puts her hand on his arm and presses a kiss between his shoulder blades, and his daughter clenches her cunt around him, spooked by her mother's stirring and...

...and that's when Ned just can't hold back anymore and spills himself.

If the Gods plan to kill him, now would be the good time, please.

"Thank you, daddy," his daughter mumbles sleepily against his hand and starts licking his fingers.

one ticket straight to hell pls

!!!!!!!!!

FUCK FUCK FUCK!

You are such a blessing and this is so hot.

Cat waking up is just icing on the cake!!

"Open up for daddy," he whispers in her ear and she shifts, arching her back, pressing her bum and pussy against his hardness. He enters her then and pushes deep, to the hilt. "Here. Happy?" he hisses, and she is fervently nodding again. SO HOT

He'll have to gag her ; she's a loud girl of pleasure ;)