#in roots and legacies au

[walugus-grudenburg]

The crossover brainrot has struck me with the want for a Rogue Legacy 2 x In Stars And Time crossover. But, unfortunately, the Universe has not currently blessed me with the will to make art for it or figure out how the story would actually go.

So, instead, take these hasty, probably-not-even-canon-to-the-au edits!

HEAVY spoilers for In Stars and Time as well as end-game spoilers for Rogue Legacy 2 under the cut:

[amostfascinatingpuzzleindeed]

is that my shirt?

“I Believe So,” The Professor Chuckled As He Folded The Shirt In Question. He Decided To Help Around With The Household Chores Today, As Rosa Had A Hurt Back And Flora Couldn’t Be Left To Do Everything On Her Own, That Wouldn’t Be Very Kind Or Hospitable Towards Her. He Tasked Himself With Doing The Men’s Laundry, Which Included Himself And His Two Houseguests, Luke And Desmond.

“I Must Say, Reflecting Back On My Action, It Was Rather Inconsiderate Of Me Not To Ask You Of Your Preferences Regarding The Wash Or Not To Notify You At All Of What My Activities With Your Wear Entailed.” He Offered The Folded Garments Back, Moving One Arm Away So That He Could Grab The Brim Of His Hat And Tilt It Down To Obscure Much Of His Face, Particularly His Eyes. He Definitely Felt Ashamed For Not Asking, Forgetting His Gentlemen Code While Acting Because Of It. A Strange Set Of Circumstances.

“I Hope That I Have Not Breached A Line You Wished Me Not To Cross By Invading Your Space And Furthermore, Personal Belongings, Descole.” He Apologized. While Leon May Not Be His Father, Descole Would Always Be His Brother And Someone Whom He Irrationally Fears Losing Again——Given The Two Ways In Which They Had Their Supposed Goodbyes. If He Crossed Him, No Matter How Small The Situation Was, His Deepest, More Repressed Fear, Was To Go Through That Loss Again.

“Hershel, I Don’t Want To Go Away!”

………

“I Want To Stay With You!”

He Felt The Need To Swallow Hard, Those Early Memories Won’t Seem To Leave Him Again Now That He Regained Some Recollection Of Them And With It His Fear Of Abandonment.

[bitchlessdino]

scream : the death of a nympho (m)

Pairing: ghostface!seungcheol x ghostface!wonwoo x afab!reader

Genre: horror, scream au, smut

Word count: 6.8k

rating: rated R for ROUGH FUCKING SEX (probably the meanest i've ever written anyone)

tags: THIS IS COMICAL BUT VERY DARK FIC, PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION. CONTENT MAY NOT SUIT MOST READERS. Morally black woncheol with no redemption arc, VIOLENCE IMAGERY (stabbing, physical fights), mentions of knives, Mentions of blood, Mentions of alcohol, humiliation, degradation kink, name calling sexually and none sexually (bitch, slut, cum bottle, ECT), manhandling, slapping kink, deep throating, face fucking, double bjs, cum swallowing, unprotected sex

Summary: This worn-out little town has seen its fair share of bloodshed, but now there are two new Ghostfaces in town—and their eyes are set on you. Someone who craves intimacy just as much as they enjoy sinking their daggers into something.

author note: thank you @highvern for being a great betaread, they got some giggles in so i hope you guys get to as well! This idea was initially requested and offered by @smileysuh and I hope you enjoy the journey babes!!!

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone @stagefrjghts @pantumin @aaniag @mochisdayone @gyuguys

The town has witnessed its fair share of bloodshed, with pages upon pages of stories about murders staining its history since its settlement. Transplants from the past couple of decades knew of the Ghostface murders, had experienced their horrors, and were relieved to finally learn the identities of what they believed to be the only culprits, known by the nicknames BL and SM. What they didn’t seem to grasp was that there was a lineage—a deep-rooted legacy that would take the eradication of many Ghostfaces to completely sever.

One that has yet to happen. But now there was another problem.

With nothing left but their dread, the townies embraced twisted ways of coping. They chased oblivion in reckless sex and drugs, feeding a festering culture of heightening promiscuity and sexual deviants to businesses catering to their darkest urges. But this decay only primed the ground for blood, making it easier to spill.

The Ghostfaces, known privately among themselves as the Spirituals, saw it as their duty to cleanse the town. In their eyes, there was no room for the filth that seemed to taint their almost perfect town, and so they took matters into their own hands, delivering judgment on their own terms.

Seungcheol took after his father, who was currently detained after being caught serving judgment to the town’s notorious transplant mayor, infamous for his monthly group-sex gatherings. Now, as the head of the Spirituals, Seungcheol was determined to continue following his father’s creed, not once forgetting the scripture carved into him as a child.

Whereas Wonwoo took after his mother, a caretaker of many children within their society's education system who had fallen in sacrifice for the greater good. Now the right-hand man to the leader of the Spirituals, once a soldier and now captain to many of its followers, he knew nothing but how to uphold and worship the Spirituals' beliefs.

They were a duo not to be reckoned with—the youngest in history to hold the highest possible ranks, and the most effective at slaying the vermin of the town. Unmatched to even their predecessors. If they wanted something to happen, they knew just how to do it.

Their targets had a history of overlooking them, their spry bodies and youthful faces seeming harmless to anyone they encountered—until their daggers found the light under a bright moon. They killed victim after victim, and were careful to not have a single clue that could be traced back to them or the society. It was the perfect ruse, ideal for victims like you.

Fresh-faced and eager to start your next chapter, you arrived in town for college and had stayed ever since. You’d dated here and there, with more than the occasional fling—so the thought of the murders never really intimidated you. As an aspiring journalist, you found the town’s dark history more fascinating than frightening. To you, it was just material for dark bedtime stories. Yet, while many who had survived the horrors saw them as more than history or folklore, those who had evaded them were a lot like you—they saw nothing to panic over, just a few rotten apples already put behind bars.

But you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been tempted to test some of the theories. Almost eager, you found yourself wanting to investigate the current-day Ghostface rumors, wondering if they might be linked to the recent disappearances.

You pondered even now, nursing your third glass of red wine, the deep red hue swirling in the glass, mesmerizing under the effects of a light buzz that calmed your body. You and the bartenders of the high end Diamond Club, Hansol and Chan, had gotten acquainted in your time here—perhaps more than necessary—so they had a good idea of your usuals, whether it was your drink of choice or preferred form of entertainment.

“Red wine tonight, I see,” Chan flirtatiously engaged, wiping down whiskey glasses.

“Tonight called for something sweet, a little treat for working so damn hard,” You replied, finishing the last bit in your glass. “Where’d Hansol go? He had just serviced me.”

“Just getting something from the back, probably more of your wine.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, setting the wine glass down politely in front of him. “You both do know me so well. I don’t suppose there’s room for me to check back there too.”

“No can do today, beautiful,” Hansol said, emerging from the backroom as he rolled up his sleeves. “We’ve got a big meeting tomorrow morning, so we need to be on our A-game.” He threw an arm around Chan, signaling caution to his coworker, then regretfully scanned your attire.

Hansol’s gaze traced over the perfect lines and curves of your dress as he tightened his grip on Chan’s shoulder, both of them watching as you patted your lips against your napkin, leaving a kiss stain in mauve-red lipstick. He knew soon enough he’d regret his responsible decision-making. “But we’ll be sure we’ll leave a slot available for you after.”

Hansol turned toward Chan, looking for reassurance as the other man held the middle seam of his pants. “Right, Chan?”

“R-right,” the other bartender responded with a tinge of disappointment.

You softly pouted. “Okay. Another time. I’ll let you guys get back to work.”

The prospects tonight were slim, but not impossible. There were group gatherings and couples, but no one alone like you—that made it more challenging, and you loved a good challenge. You turned away from the bar on your stool, twirling your freshly topped-off glass from a new bottle, and scanned the room for another late-night treat.

In the corner, you spotted a diamond in the rough—a pair of men who couldn’t seem to tear their eyes off you, each idly toying with the dark liquor in their glasses. You flashed them a sly grin before turning away just enough to keep them in your peripheral vision, watching as they drank you in. They smiled back, one darkly handsome man to the next, their gazes unmistakably intrigued.

“Isn’t that a beaut,” Seungcheol muttered under his breath, hiding it under his glass drenched in bourbon.

“They are,” Wonwoo agreed. “Their reputation precedes them. We complete our duty tonight.”

Before Wonwoo could stand to approach you, Seungcheol tugged him back down, something more than authority in his gaze. “Hold on, brother. What’s the rush? It’s not every day we come across a sacrifice as…delectable as this one. I say we take our time.”

“But, sir… Seungcheol,” Wonwoo corrected himself, remembering they were in a public setting. “We shouldn’t leave any evidence.”

“And we’ll make sure of that.” Seungcheol grinned at his capable, steadfast captain. “Besides, I saw the way you looked at them. Don’t pretend you didn’t, soldier.”

Wonwoo had looked at you—perhaps longer than he should have. Sinful deviant or not, he could understand why others found it impossible to resist you. You were a vision to behold, a captivating stain on the town he might have allowed to linger under different circumstances. But there were no exceptions in the scripture. You would meet the same fate as everyone else they’d killed.

“Nonetheless, we have demands to meet… Seungcheol.” Wonwoo’s tone was even, but his eyes held a flicker of impatience.

The elder man sighed, swirling his drink with a slow, deliberate motion. “Sure taking advantage of my given name, aren’t you…Wonwoo?” He raised a brow, an amused glint in his gaze, though his words held an edge.

“We must stay focused, even if the distraction is so… distracting,” Wonwoo replied, his voice steady but his gaze briefly drifting to you before snapping back.

Seungcheol smiled cunningly, leaning back in his chair as he let his eyes settle on you. “All I’m saying is, why not reward ourselves with a taste of their mercy? Give them a final moment of sin before they see the flames of the inferno where they belong.”

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened. “And would we not be sinning too, brother?”

Seungcheol’s smile faded, and he leaned forward his captain in arms, voice low and commanding. “You dare question my judgment?”

A silence hung heavy between them before Wonwoo let out a resigned sigh. “We need our affairs in order,” he murmured, his tone weary yet resolute.

Seungcheol scoffed, rolling his eyes as he straightened. “Fine. We’ll do it your way,” he conceded.

They adjusted their jackets, sharing a brief, knowing glance before rising from their seats and approaching you with a leisurely stride, intrigue glinting beneath their composed expressions. Seungcheol met your eyes first, flashing that boyish dimple—the one that had gotten them out of more than a few tight spots. 

“Mind if we join you?” he asked, his tone smooth, and inviting, but with an edge that hinted at something far less innocent.

Your teeth grazed your bottom lip as you gave a slight nod. “Both of you?”

“If that doesn’t intimidate you,” Wonwoo replied with a polite smile, the bar light catching his glasses and casting a faint glare that concealed the depths of his true intentions.

“Not at all. Sit.”

And they did, boxing either side of you, each exuding an intoxicating mix of decadence, spice, and something darkly earthy. The scent was almost hypnotic, stiffening the hairs on your neck. 

Every glance, every subtle movement, spoke of a carefully restrained danger, like a coiled snake waiting to wrap around its unknowing prey. Their intensity crackled in the air around you, unsettling yet somehow magnetic. Something about this pair was dangerous on belief and your gut was screaming it loud, but instead of listening, you were anchoring yourself in place, wanting to find out just what it is you should be afraid of.

“I’m Seungcheol, and my colleague here is Wonwoo. And you are?” The dimpled man asked.

As you introduced yourself, both men let your name roll off their tongues, savoring each syllable as if committing it to memory. Wonwoo angled his body toward you, his gaze intent. “That’s quite nice to say,” he murmured, repeating your name slowly, watching closely to see how you reacted to the sound of it on his lips.

“What brings you both here?” you asked, subtly crossing your legs with a teasing smile. “Date night?”

Both men chuckled, clearly amused by how effortlessly they’d caught your attention. “Something like that,” Seungcheol replied, leaning in just slightly. “We’re just looking for a nightcap before calling it a night. Came straight from the office.”

You raised a brow, laughing softly. “It’s 10 p.m. You both work this late? And turn in this early?”

“Well,” Wonwoo countered, a strategic smile on his face, “we never said how long we’d be here… or how brief our nightcap might be.”

You hummed, sipping your wine as you eyed them over the rim of your glass. “You two really do everything together.”

“Yes,” they answered in perfect unison.

“Everything together?” you pressed, a playful edge in your voice.

“Yes,” they replied again, this time with a hint of menace that made the word linger in the air just a moment too long.

The longer you stayed in their presence, the more you couldn’t shake the feeling that something about their composed demeanor didn’t sit right. Call it survivor’s intuition, but something was off. Still—“I suppose neither of you has time for anything else tonight?” you asked a slight challenge in your tone. “A way to truly acquaint ourselves before the night ends.”

“That does sound interesting,” Wonwoo mused, pretending to consider, his gaze never leaving you.

“And what better way to end the night than with a new…friend?” Seungcheol added, his smile sharp as he leaned in.

It was almost too easy. One moment, you were at the club, indulging in a reckless amount of wine courtesy of these fine gentlemen, the night unfolding in a haze of alcohol and sultry gazes. The next, you found yourself in their penthouse, entangled in a kiss with Seungcheol as Wonwoo was tearing off your clothes, the world outside suddenly distant and irrelevant.

You could feel the warmth of the man’s breath against the back of your neck. His spectacles brushed lightly against your skin as he leaned in, the metal sending a subtle shiver down your spine as you counted the beats of his pants. He explored your body with reckless abandon, uttering your name under every tender kiss.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol was evidently impatient, his lips quickly latching onto yours in a frenzy. He wasted no time tracing the surface area of your mouth, as if time were ticking and he knew that sooner or later, it would run out. “By gods, you are something else.”

He pressed up against your body, only the thin layer of your lingerie to protect you as you began to undress him, the concaves and curves of his body scorching under your fingertips. Your moans muffled under Seungcheol’s lips as Wonwoo's moans muffled under your skin, the tautness of their body sandwiching you into a sweltering trap.

“You both have no idea how much I needed this,” you panted, hands roaming in Seungcheol’s hair as his lips latched around your tits.

Wonwoo softly scoffed, loud enough to hear but soft enough to be dismissed. “On the contrary, you don’t know how badly we needed you.”

You mewled under the sounds of his false pretenses and squealed when they brought you naked over the sofa. Seungcheol took a moment to admire your vulnerability, caressing along your sides, spreading your legs so he may position himself between them, and just behind you stood Wonwoo. Impatient for something else entirely, procured a knife from under the couch, just where he had left it. 

Seconds before the spectacle man lifted it up, deciding to plunge it through your shoulder, chest, or even throat, Seungcheol stood up. “Just a moment, darling,” his eyes flickered over to the armed captain in caution, frozen with the hunter’s knife inches above you, “Me and my buddy got to do one last thing before we proceed. Wait for us patiently?”

“All right…don’t keep me waiting too long,” you purred, a slow smile curling on your lips, your heavy-lidded gaze smoldering with anticipation.

Seungcheol steered Wonwoo into a separate room, shutting the door behind them with a quiet finality. He fixed his subordinate with a piercing glare, the urge to drive him to his knees simmering just beneath the surface. “Tell me, soldier—what do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s not ‘soldier’ anymore, sir,” Wonwoo muttered, his voice tense. “I’m doing what we’re supposed to. We can’t indulge in this…” he hesitated, searching for the word, “…depravity. It only complicates the operation.”

Seungcheol stepped closer, his figure casting a shadow over Wonwoo as he instinctively leaned back, nearly cowering under the weight of his leader’s stare. “So you doubt our abilities, is that it?” he demanded, his voice low and venomous. “It’s been a minute since I took on my bitchbreaker on for a ride and you of all people are deciding to be a nuisance. If you’re so certain we can’t balance pleasure and duty, perhaps you should step aside—so I, your capable and trusted leader, can finish the job without you repeatedly defying me.”

He turned to leave, his movements sharp with frustration, but before he could take a full step, Wonwoo’s hand shot out, gripping his bicep tightly. The hold was firm, almost defiant, and Seungcheol could feel the strength behind it—a mix of resolve and the fear of regret that held Wonwoo back. Their eyes met, and in Wonwoo’s gaze was a fierce determination, teetering on the edge between loyalty and a barely restrained desire.

“I’ll follow orders,” Wonwoo said, his tone unwavering. “Your orders. I won’t question you again, sir.”

Seungcheol gave a smug smile, brushing off his right-hand man’s grip before leading him out of the room.

When they returned, they found you still lounging on the couch, but now holding something you hadn’t had before—something stark white and blinding, something that didn’t belong to you and should’ve gone unnoticed.

“Boo!” you laughed, lifting the Ghostface mask to your face with a playful grin as the rest of you was still nude, offering an enragingly tantalizing image.

Wonwoo’s voice nearly boomed as he tried to keep his rage in check, suppressing another sensation that fought him to break out. “What do you think you’re doing?” His eyes flashed a sign of panic, quickly narrowing at you. Had they been caught? Exposed? You were already a risky target, and now you were making things a lot more complicated.

You pulled the mask off with a casual smile, unfazed by the shift in Wonwoo’s demeanor, which was colder than it was moments before. “Sorry for snooping; I couldn’t resist.”

Seungcheol’s calm voice cut through the tension. “Where’d you find that?”

You held the mask in your hands, inspecting it from front to back, not fearing the consequences. “Under the coffee table,” you said, turning it over, admiring the attention to detail. “It looks really real.”

Seungcheol stepped forward, his presence looming as his eyes flickered over from the mask to you, its captor, with an intensity that bordered on possessive. “It is real. We believe it belonged to one of the original Ghostfaces...As historians, we collect these kinds of things.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Ooh,” you grinned, your lips curling in slight admiration.

Seungcheol studied you for a moment, his arms crossed in calculated intrigue. “You’re not scared?” His voice dropped slightly in defense. “Why?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know… I just find it more interesting than scary. And maybe kind of sexy… I don’t know.”

Wonwoo couldn’t hide his disbelief. His voice came out sharp, almost incredulous. “Sexy… you find centuries of bloodshed and thousands of lost lives sexy?”

You paused, your fingers tracing the edge of the mask. “Okay, well not that—the mask! I know it’s tied to awful, disgusting, horrific events, but…” You brought it up to your face, tilting it as you peered through the narrow slits, your voice trailing off in their signature tone of voice that the articles quote were ‘shrill and cunning.’. “There’s something about it that’s...captivating. Like, what kinds of things did they do, and why this mask? What makes it so...iconic?”

Seungcheol’s eyes darkened for a split second, a flicker of something realization passing through them, but he said nothing. Instead, he watched you with a calm amusement, his lips curling into a slight, almost imperceptible smile.

“Really?” Wonwoo’s voice cut through the silence, laced with disbelief. His eyes narrowed as he processed what you had just said, a quiet judgment simmering beneath his calm exterior. “You really think that is sexy?” His words hung in the air, thick with the implication that he couldn’t fathom how anyone could glorify such an image.

Wonwoo was quiet for a moment, his thoughts clearly racing. Yeah, I’m the one doing the killing, he thought, but they were sacrifices—an entirely different kind of thing. They were meant for the greater cause, something you could never understand. He had been the one to offer the death, to carry out the act, and yet you—you—were somehow making it seem like some kind of twisted, romanticized thrill.

He glanced at Seungcheol, whose only response was a raised eyebrow. The corners of his lips curved into that unsettlingly knowing smile, the kind that signaled anything but anger.

Seungcheol retrieved the mask from your fingertips, put it towards him, and shielded his facial features. “So if I wear it like this,” He stuck out a hand to grab you, tugging you by the waist and gliding his hand over your sides, “and touch you like this…”

His palms cupped the underside of your ass, digits digging into your flesh roughly, releasing a sharp breath from you. His body, gloriously exposed, was firm and warm, so inviting you couldn’t help but throw your arms over his shoulders to press against his waist. You stared into the eyes of the mask, stomach-churning at the increase of stimuli and you almost heard yourself growl under your breath. “I don’t think I could resist you.”

Seungcheol removed the mask, holding it in one hand and tightening his grip on you with the other. “You’re a weird little thing, are you,” he asked, narrowing his eyes, voice rich and dark.

“I’ve always wanted deep throat the cock of someone wearing one,” you blatantly confessed, your bottom lip caught in your teeth. 

Seungcheol quirked a brow, interest piquing before tossing the mask in Wonwoo’s direction, who caught it flawlessly, looking back at it in concerned confusion. “Wear it,” said the fellow conspirer, “Make our little guest dreams come true while I enjoy the show.”

Wonwoo didn’t argue, and against his better judgment followed his leader’s orders, securing the mask on his face as he bared his nether region, regrettably taut and aroused. As soon as Seungcheol released you, you fell to your knees, gazing up at the Ghostface mask before drawing your gaze down to Wonwoo’s cock that stood on its own, full of life.

Beneath that mask, Wonwoo held on to his uncertainty, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to the image of your lips wrapped around him. It was about all he could think about since being aware of you, other than killing you that is. Even as you beckoned him closer, with your knees on the ground of where the blood he’s shed–the bodies he’s slaughtered–he couldn’t help but think about how to dispose of you. How to get rid of your stain next. But the moment your lips reach the tip of his cock, his worries and schemes seemed to fade away, vanishing even faster as your pace quickened so eagerly.

Your hands palmed over his waist, and the lust in your eyes was insatiable, making a man—even Wonwoo—wonder how that pretty little mouth could take so much cock. He groaned, grabbing you by the crown of your head, and pushing you closer as he started to thrust, gradually adjusting to the tight, warm press of your mouth. “Oh fuck,” his voice gave out, muffled by the mask. 

He winced as he felt himself hit your throat, swallowing as he heard you gag on his cock—trying to fit all of him and he broke out in a hidden smile, and if he was being honest, he hasn't held a smile like it in a long time.

Why, Wonwoo hadn’t realized how long he’s had a good fucking like this. Ever since he took on as captain, sex was a thing of the past, something not even in the back of his mind, but you. Oh, you. You awoke something that should’ve stayed dormant. Years of training and discipline are suddenly out the window. And now he’s had a taste, he was going to ruin you until you didn’t even have the energy to breathe.

His hand locked between your tendrils, shoving your head impatiently. “Little toy that knows how to play. That’s rare.”

One hand found the underside of your chin, bringing your face up to gaze upon his, and watched as the mask on his face tilted in curiosity. Vice gripping that head of yours, he used your throat, letting his length slide down inside you. “Aren’t you a little slut? Just fucking wet having my cock down your throat, are you? Don’t try to deny it. I don't have to see or feel it. I can smell it.”

You confirmed with a strugged nod, salvia dribbling down your chin as tears began to burn your eyes.

Wonwoo let out a staggered breath, hitching another in his throat with a groan as felt your face touch the base of his cock, holding you in place and hearing you breathe with immense difficulty l. He pulled himself out of you, dragging you by your head, watching you cough on the ground, strings of your salvia ruining the floor and stretching from your cheeks. “You’re such a try-hard, taking my cock when I hear you practically gasping for air.” 

He bent down to level with you, the mask staring back at you menacingly, so realistically. “What? You’re not gonna beg for more?”

“I will, I will,” you assured, a blubbering mess, gasping while the tightness in your throat failed to bother you like it should’ve.

“Is that right?” Wonwoo chuckled, squeezing your cheeks in a rough grip. “You gonna beg for me to fuck your face? Huh?” He inhaled your gasps, body convulsing. His voice was gravelly and stinging with repulsion. “Cockbreath.”

You whined, pleading: “Please, I want to feel it deep, deep inside me, Mr. Ghostface. Give me your cock.”

“Then let me hear how much you want it.”

Your mouth parted, fumbling for the right words, struggling to release them from your strained throat, the sound coming out rough and raspy. “I want your cock shoved in my throat. I want to feel it from one end and out the other. I live for you cock. I’d die on your cock. Please just stick in my throat and don’t stop please.” 

Wonwoo looked down at you, surprised with the spew coming out of your mouth but went with it, shoving himself swiftly back in you, the sensation of your throat welcoming him like it never left. “I better see you swallow every inch,” he warned, his voice thick with malice. “If you so much as breathe, I’ll give you more than enough reason not to,” a smile laced with dark amusement edging his tone.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol watched as he promised, laying aloof back on the sofa with cock in hand and reveling in the sheer desperation from your voice as he stroked his cock to the pace of Wonwoo’s thrusts. 

As the reigning leader of the Spirituals, he was accustomed to having others do his bidding, just as his father had planned. But through his experience in leadership, he discovered he preferred being directly involved. Very involved. And it was moments like this that confirmed it.

“Good little cocksleeve, ain’t they?” Seungcheol commented, licking his lips.

“They certainly know how to make use of themselves,” Wonwoo drawled, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he observed your efforts, taking him with as much excitement as you initially came with.

Seungcheol started getting up, standing beside his partner in crime with a growing cock firmly in his grasp. He cast his gaze down at you, his presence domineering and intimidating, yet all the more mesmerizing. Seungcheol scoffed as soon as your eyes flickered in his direction, and his hands found themself in your hair. “I wonder how they’d take two cocks. How does that sound?”

Seungcheol helped release you from Wonwoo’s clutches and invited you into his as he met your eye level. “Can two cocks,” He produced another Ghostface mask, lifting it to his face, “fuck that pretty mouth full? There’s only one right answer.”

“Yes,” you managed to answer, your voice trembling, tears streaking down your face as you exhale, your flushed cheeks betraying the weight of your words. “Always.”

“Exactly what I was looking for.”

Kneeling between them, you held them both in either hand and traveled down both their lengths. Each Ghostface was more wicked than the other as you shoved a cock down your throat, Seungcheol’s groan following in response. Your tongue dragged along its underside, mouth stretching to adjust its size and familiarizing with your throat just as Wonwoo’s had, and the familiar sting of your tears had caused another stream of heat down your cheeks.

“You dirty little slut, so this is the kind of treatment my partner here has been getting,” Seungcheol took you by the hair, and slammed you against the base before pulling you back to only reach the head, another fit of coughing to ensue. “You better work five times as hard if you want to please me too.”

You nodded, each stroke to either of their cocks deliberate and purposeful, the masked individuals looming in front of you anticipating your next move. Taking Seungcheol back in your mouth, you sucked all around his circumstances, memorizing the veins of his shaft to then do the same with Wonwoo, batting your eyes back at him, your mouth parted wide letting both exit and enter on your own accord.

It was then either tip breached one another, both of your hands rubbing against each other at once that you heard something so delicious in their voices, so real and so pure. And before you could truly savor it, both of them pried your mouth part, either cock rubbing against either inside of your mouth, stretching your cheeks, as they unevenly thrust into your mouth.

It looked like it hurt, and either man was glad for it because, in its own sick way, it was another form of punishment, catering to them would only guarantee your ultimate demise and proving to them once and for all how necessary their roles really were.

Still, they enjoyed it—hell, they were euphoric seeing you put so much effort into such an ordeal, but not more impressed than about how it felt. Each twist of your wrist aimed to pump ego in their lengths, the dampness of your slobber stretching from your chin to their shafts creating a path of viscous filth, and the tension building in their manhoods that never seemed to fade as they attempted to bury themselves inside of your face.

It was momentous, and Wonwoo, who was initially concerned, was elated to reap more of the benefits just as much as his leader.

They shoved you off as soon as one of them was close, landing you on the sofa, flushed with a thin layer of sweat. Wonwoo, lifting the mask slightly above his face, let his lips run down your body, the hard, cold of plastic the mask chill on your body, while his teeth were nipping your torso and soft growls hummed against your skin. Startled, you yelped as he tugged your legs toward him, his cock position almost perfect at your warm entrance before he inserted himself, not wasting time by giving you a warning.

You mewled at the sensation, his rock-hard length plunging against your moist, plush walls. You instinctively gripped his arms for support, his ruts definable sharp, guttural, and primal. He loomed over you, mask still in place, but the shadow cast over his face in combination with just the barest hint of his mouth exposed showed a twisted smile of lunacy, dangerous beyond recognition.

Wonwoo was rough, hurting you in a way you’ve never been fucked before, but it made it all the more pleasure and Wonwoo knew it more than you thought. Seungcheol joined your side, squeezing himself between you and the couch as he propped his cock towards your mouth, slapping it against your cheek. “Open the fuck wide,” he said in a gnarly rasp through his mask.

As you opened, he seized you by your chin, slapping the cushion of your cheek where it already stung, before slapping the shaft of his cock on your tongue. You looked up at him, panting in excited gasps before he filled your mouth, then emptied it, and then filled your mouth again. His free hand claimed your breasts, ruthlessly squeezing them, pinching at your peaks, before ultimately slapping them, every action you could only swallow at. At almost every end, you were filled to the brim, hung in the balance of their mercy, and not once could you open your eyes without seeing stars.

“Can’t fucking stand it, what’s a fucking slut like you think you deserves our cocks for,” Wonwoo slapped the underside of your thigh, the sting of it ringing in your ears.

Seungcheol chuckled, fingers threading through your hair, pulling your head back to see the glisten in your eyes, how they beg without saying so, or how they water in delight. “One would be lucky to be so fortunate. You’ll thank us later and it won’t just be with gratitude, it’ll be a plea for more.”

Wonwoo, almost as blinded with lust as either you or Seungcheol, gave a deep heart laugh as he folded your legs back towards you, feeling him bottoming inside you and hitting a spot that shot you up in space. At this point you were immobile of making conscious decisions that didn’t have to do with sex, deducing you to only something they could use—something they could fuck until they were sick of you. 

You’d muffle something around Seungcheol’s cock, whether it be their names, or calling them Ghostface, it didn’t matter. It was as if the world outside this room didn’t exist and none of them cared for it to exist. Just them and you, and the sound of raw, unbridled sex. Succumbing to their primal urge to unleash pent-up tension and energy—and how effortlessly they did so.

Wonwoo felt his stomach seize, his abdomen tightening as the involuntary contractions slowed his pace, the warmth starting to overcome him, and his low groans took power over his voice as he doubled over. His cum up and out of him in thick ribbons up your path, the twitching of your orgasm quickening in response to his warmth. Simultaneously, Seungcheol filled your mouth, expanding your cheeks, and he gently stroked your throat, “Swallow every fucking bit of it, you fucking cumbottle.”

Your eyes fluttered, pushing the cum down your pipes as he still stood in your mouth, feeling it slide down with a heavy swallow, and you opened your mouth wide to show just how thorough you are.

Seungcheol finally peeled the mask from his face, revealing flushed pink on his cheeks and damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, making him an undeniably captivating sight—nothing short of a perfect reward. 

Wonwoo followed, his presence marked by a familiar mirage, his smile shifting into a Duchenne grin—a smile that sparkled in a way most didn’t, reaching his eyes and revealing just how genuine it truly was. Underestimating the relief that consumed him. “Finally,” he gasped out.

He stood up, towering over your frame, his shadow falling over you. “Nothing short of our expectations,” he complimented before pressing a kiss to your lips, explosive and electric, foreshadowing how it’d be the last.

He started to retrieve the additional knife from under the couch, its steely presence finally making a comeback, and you managed to catch the glint of it peering at you at a lower glance. Jumping into action, your feet aimed for his gut, throwing Wonwoo off base as the knife scattered on the ground and crashing him hard into the glass coffee table behind him. 

“Fuck!” Wonwoo shouted, pain pricking him at all sides of his body, blood gushing from the holes from which the glass had penetrated. “You bitch!”

“Like I was going to let that happen,” you spat, recovering from your fatigue. 

Seungcheol pinned his arms behind you, an evil smile visible in your peripheral. “And you think I’d let you damage my property like that?” He hissed.

Before Seungcheol could avenge his comrade, you head-butted him from the back of your skull, momentarily blinding him as he clutched his face in agony. “Fuck! Holy fuck! My fucking face! You broke my fucking face!” He growled from the depths of his gut as you backed off of him. “I’m gonna enjoy fucking killing you.”

“God fuck, you knew! Didn’t you, you stupid bitch?” Wonwoo started inching closer to you, the knife a good distance away from him. “You knew who we were and came up here anyway. To what? Get one good fuck? Are you that stupid?”

“Of course, I didn’t fucking know! But I had a gut feeling,” you panted.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol taunted, eye swollen, cheeks and forehead red as he procured a knife from between the couch cushions. “Where that gut feeling take you? Besides getting them rearranged, that is?”

Wonwoo scoffed, finally finding the strength to get up. “Dumb slut like them didn’t get that far. Just good for a fuck.” He spat on the ground blood, gritting his teeth.

Your gaze flickered from one to the other, bare fisted, preparing for the worst. “Why don’t you test that theory then, boys?”

“Fucking gladly,” Seungcheol agreed, voice falling several octaves.

They bolted towards you in blind fury, grasping at you like straw and swinging a knife in your direction, barely nicking you. When Wonwoo ran at you from one end, Seungcheol came at you from the other, attempting to corner you. Determination oozing in their gazes, piercing through your very being, the mirage of the devil’s on both of their unsettlingly handsome faces. 

“Nowhere to run now, you little bitch.” Wonwoo screeched venomously.

Seungcheol twirled the knife between his fingers, a grin stretching from ear to ear. “This is where you start crying. Or begging for mercy? It doesn’t matter like it won’t matter where or what we stab you with next.”

You slid underneath their swinging arms, the knife briefly slicing, forearm and you gasped in response, stumbling backward. Feeling cornered. You slowly backed away, searching for an escape, but by luck, you find something in your purse instead, abandoned on the ground just out of your assailants’ sight. “You fuckers aren’t gonna get away with shit by the way. You should be careful where you leave your things around here.”

They both laugh at you condescendingly, not an ounce of doubt in their eyes. “No one is believing your bluffs, darling. Just come over nice and slowly. We’ll only stab you 20 times each,” Seungcheol feignedly reassured.

Thinking you were defenseless, they charged at you at full speed—until you lifted what you’d hidden behind your cowering figure. A burst of pepper spray erupted from the canister into their eyes, and the sound of grown men screaming from the tops of their lungs, like terrified final girls, seared itself into every wrinkle of your brain.

”You stupid slut! Pepper spray? Seriously?”

”First you swell up my face, then fucking blind me? You’re in for a real one, cum guzzling little shit.”

Seizing your chance, you delivered a final kick, shoving Wonwoo in Seungcheol’s direction, sending them into an unexpected embrace. In the haze of pain, Wonwoo's eyes shot open, the piercing ache in his chest telling him everything he needed to know about what had just happened. “S-Seungcheol…what the fuck…”

As he stared into his comrade's eyes, Seungcheol’s eyes grew wide in realization, and looked down at the knife he held in his hand, now plunged into their chest. The leader followed him as he collapsed, taking the longest moment to register the events leading up to this as Wonwoo’s eyes began to drift close. Gripping his brethren’s shoulders with the anger of a million suns, Seungcheol bared his teeth, voice singing in regret. “You…I’M GOING TO CHOP AND FEED THEM TO MY PET SHARKS, YOU TRAMP.”

He turned to face you swiftly—too swiftly—because as soon as he did, his neck met the blade, slicing from one side to the other until you plunged it deeper, twisting it down his throat before pulling it out. Fury lingered in his eyes, barely alive, as he began to spit up blood, several drops landing on your face and body. Moments later, he collapsed beside his partner, his eyes dulling as the life slowly drained from his face and body.

You collapsed to your side, shakily reaching for the phone in your bag and dialing the authorities. “H-hello…I just killed two men that attempted to kill me…I think I know the address.”

Once you hung up, you summoned the courage to flip your phone to camera mode to capture the evidence, gasping for breath, ensuring yourself of the life left in you. As soon as you did, a gravelly voice cut through the silence. Its owner raised the knife that had once been lodged in his chest, charging at you with bloodshot, deranged eyes. “DIE, FREAK, DIE!”

You managed a quick, well-aimed strike where the sun doesn’t shine, slowing him down just enough. As he stumbled, you seized the knife you’d stolen from Seungcheol’s throat and plunged it into his head, again, and again, and again, screaming at the top of your lungs until he finally collapsed to the floor.

With trembling hands, you struggled to hold the phone steady to capture the scene. Blood streaked down your forearms, and your sniffles provided the only soundtrack to the aftermath.

You’d done it—you’d finally done it. It only took a hundred tries and countless hours of risk, but it happened. You had become the one–if not the only–true survivor of the town’s Ghostface murders. If this didn’t launch your career, you weren’t sure what would.

You just had hoped they wouldn’t come with backup.

[kaxtwenty]

#I think they should do SEVERAL projects in the visions universes#idc that they aren’t Canon they deserve it

Hey guess what show inspired this thought process in the first place!

In all seriousness though, it does make me wonder what Star Wars would look like if it took the same route Gundam did and started committing more to stories set in AUs. We've gotten a taste of this with the Ronin novel (which I still need to finish) fleshing out the world seen in the very first episode of Visions.

I guess my mind went to going to a new time period because, in a way, stuff like the Old Republic already fulfilled a similar role. Honestly an issue I've had with the Old Republic setting is that as it went on, it lost that "interstellar bronze age" feel that the original Tales of The Jedi comics had, feeling more like an AU that deconstructed the original setting, rather than something supposedly set almost four thousand years before the original movies.

I also feel like both legends and new canon have an issue with constantly going backwards rather than forwards. Legends gave shit set before the republic's founding elaborate and detailed storylines, while never pushing the timeline more than 150 years past the movies. A new era set long after everything could also allow for more creative freedom like we see with Visions, without running the risk of constantly retconning shit like every SW show that comes out nowadays.

I also just want to see what the galaxy looks like centuries removed from the events of the main saga. What does the New Republic look like? How is the New Jedi Order fairing? Is Huyang still around? What's a grown up Grogu up to? Do corporations still hold large sway or has their power reduced under the New Republic? Are there any other large intergalactic governments that exist alongside the New Republic? Who would the villains of this era be and what would they look like? Has Mandalore finally managed to not implode on itself every two decades?

I wanna see a new era in Star Wars like that, but with a completely different look and feel to it--like we see in Visions. Make it cyberpunk as shit while we're at it. The main worry is it slowly turning into standard Star Wars fare like the Old Republic setting did.

Anyone else think that Lucasfilm should do a project like the High Republic, but instead of being set centuries in the past, it’s set centuries in the future?

Kinda like what Star Wars: Legacy was back during Legends, but instead set in the new canon.

[k-nayee]

Fallen Hazbin Hotel i

wc: 3.3k a/n: this will be a slight au goes cause ngl i never really made it past episode 2💀

Traveler M.List

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　���　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The creation of your soul was unlike any other.

In the hallowed space where human souls were molded, Seraphim Sera worked beside the successor of Lucifer in the celestial sanctum dedicated to new life.

Though Emily had grown adept at forming souls over the eons, she still found herself studying Sera's technique with curiosity and deference.

This time, however, she noticed an unusual stillness in Sera. There was a hint of sorrow in her—deeper than any Emily had seen before.

The state of humanity weighed heavily on Sera's heart. It was something even the sacrifice of Jesus had not remedied.

Where she had hoped to see more unity and compassion, humanity continued to stumble.

Devoted to creation and guidance and yet here she was: moved to a grief that seemed to reach even her divine powers.

Without Sera's knowledge that sorrow imprinted itself on the soul she was forming.

As her fingertips hovered over the amorphous light, her unspoken worries and heartache transformed it, seeping into the essence she shaped.

You were different from the start—a rare blend of purity and compassion, a hope born from despair.

No other soul had quite the same resonance as yours. It was as if each fragment of light carried Sera's lingering wish for humanity's redemption.

Emily remained silent as she observed. For all the thousands of souls she had seen, none had been like this. She could sense Sera's guarded admiration as well.

Though Sera (ever the professional) did not show overt favoritism, there was a lingering gaze—a brief stillness, every time her eyes fell upon you.

And then, just as quickly, she'd retreat to her disciplined demeanor as though she could not allow herself the luxury of attachment.

Once your formation was complete, you were sent to Earth with no knowledge of the watchful presence behind your existence.

From the beginning the world proved to be harsh and unforgiving.

Abandoned as a child and abused by those who should have protected you, you were thrust into a life of struggle.

And yet in spite of it all no bitterness clouded your heart nor did hatred take root; instead you grew wise to life's difficulties, meeting each day with a kindness that was resolute.

Each act of goodwill, every kindness you extended, seemed to spark a subtle ripple effect—something that shaped the lives of others and sent positive changes flowing into places you couldn't see.

Having never grown hard or cynical to life, you were granted angelic ascension upon your death.

Upon your arrival Sera awaited you at the gates, a subtle smile softening her usually serious expression as she guided you to your new position before going off to her own responsibilities.

Life in Heaven felt nearly surreal.

Though the celestial realms were as awe-inspiring as they were vast, you felt a strange pang of loneliness among the hierarchy of angels—most of whom seemed untouched by the hardships you remembered from Earth.

Your days was spent in quiet work under higher-ranking overseers with often yourself as company in the towering halls of Heaven.

That was until you were summoned to Adam's chambers.

You had heard much about him from other angels beyond his legacy as the first man. He was someone who had a commanding presence—sharp wit.

But as you stood before him, despite his evident authority, he exuded an oddly modern charm—a confident, slightly arrogant air that might have been more suited to a CEO than an Archangel.

He looked you up and down, his piercing gaze sizing you up as if deciding whether he could work with you at all.

In those first weeks Adam had made his displeasure known. He rarely missed an opportunity to grumble about the favor he was doing for Sera.

You were a lower-ranking angel after all. And Adam made no secret of his annoyance over this fact. It was shown through your tasks.

They were menial at first: simple records and errand-like duties—which unbeknown to you, was actually ordered to test your resolve rather than develop skills.

He was meticulous and unyielding, a mentor who would not accept anything less than perfection and barely acknowledged your efforts even when they met his exacting standards.

But as the days weeks turned to months there were subtle changes. Sometimes he would sit back and watch you with a look that lingered a bit longer than he intended.

You'd catch him softening in brief moments when he thought you weren't watching with a slight curve of his mouth when you managed something especially well.

And over time his critiques mellowed into an almost playful teasing. The conversations once clipped and formal took on a different tone.

He would linger after giving you a task—recounting stories of the early days of humanity, speaking of his own creation and the burden of his role with a tone that almost resembled confession.

Then one day he invited you to walk with him in the gardens—an invitation that you knew wasn't extended to just anyone.

As you strolled among Heaven's flowering vines and ethereal fountains he casually asked about your Earthly experiences, or as he put it, the "domino effect" Sera mentioned in your file.

You told him of your life as a human and the trials you faced and the choice to meet the world with kindness despite its many hardships.

Then, for the first time ever, a full fledged smile graced his face. Its tenderness filled the stillness around you.

That unspoken bond grew. 

Even the other angels began to notice Adam's (in all his aloofness) distinct warmth that was reserved only for you.

He still carried himself with that familiar arrogance and exuded his usual authority, but his eyes softened when you were near.

His usual cutting words now had an underlying fondness that only the two of you fully understood.

You didn’t speak of it—didn’t dare name it. But when you were alone there was an undeniable closeness.

It went beyond his usual dismissive flirtations or occasional compliments. His hand would linger on yours a moment too long, his touch warm and grounding as he guided you through the grand halls.

You still felt the guarded edges around him even as he allowed this closeness. Almost as if he were keeping a part of himself hidden.

Though you yearned to know more, knowing the gentleness Adam has for you was reserved for no one else made up for it.

For now that was enough.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The revelation came upon you like a sudden storm.

It seemed ordinary enough—one of those rare quiet days where Heaven’s peace felt genuine and untouched by schemes or whispers of unrest.

You had been looking for Adam, searching the grand halls where he often spent his time in secluded contemplation or strategy.

Upon entering his quarters you stumbled upon a series of records and texts you hadn’t seen before—drawings, schematics, plans filled with the details of an endeavor you could hardly comprehend at first.

Shock locked you in place as your eyes darted over the pages, the full picture beginning to take shape.

Adam was planning to eradicate all of Hell in a brutal purge. His intentions scrawled out plainly with plans to make it a bi-annual devastation.

His motivations seemed focused—almost obsessive: he desire to destroy Lucifer for corrupting both his wives and damning humanity to sin.

The righteousness of it felt  sinister in a way that clashed with everything Heaven should represent.

It was the sound of footsteps that pulled you from your horrified trance. You look up, catching Adam’s steely gaze as he entered the room.

He stilled, his eyes narrowing as his lips twist into a brief condescending smile before disappearing just as quick. “Eavesdropping now are we?”

“What...is all of this?” your voice shaky but resolute. There was no hiding your distress nor the raw betrayal evident in your tone.

He watched you carefully, his silence stretched painfully long with each passing second drawing his gaze sharper.

“It’s necessary,” he finally replied, each word precise and calculated. “You of all people should understand that.”

You shook your head with disbelief flashing in your eyes. “Necessary? Adam you’re talking about genocide. A-an endless cycle of destruction! How can you say this is the right thing?”

His expression darkened.

“This is for the greater good. Lucifer’s actions have damned humanity, cast shadows over Heaven itself.” Irritation seeped into his voice. “The world would be purer without his influence infecting it, without Hell festering beneath.”

The certainty in his tone left no room for negotiation and you felt the depth of the chasm between you.

You shook your head, taking a step back. “I can’t be a part of this Adam. I...I won’t.”

He watched you as a flicker of something like disappointment shined in his eyes, though it quickly cooled to an unnerving calm.

“Perhaps you’re just not seeing the full picture,” his voice smoothed as if he were offering comfort. “Meet me at our usual spot. I’ll explain everything. Trust me.”

There was a note of gentleness in his words, a familiar echo of the kindness you’d come to know.

Against the shadow of doubt that churned in your chest, you wanted to believe him. You wanted to think that somehow there was something you’d misunderstood.

And so you went to the place that had become yours over the years—a quiet grove within Heaven’s gardens where the two of you spent your time together.

The serenity of it now felt almost mocking.

As you waited you searched for a sense of reassurance, for the feeling that this was all some awful misunderstanding.

That Adam would arrive, put a hand on your shoulder, and explain everything away.

But instead when Adam appeared, his presence felt cold—almost mechanical. There was no trace of the man who had once softened around you nor a lingering warmth in his gaze.

“Adam...” you began only for your words to die on your lips. He raised his hand, and suddenly you felt an unfamiliar pull.

It was as though gravity itself had turned against you. Your wings flared instinctively, but they were useless against the force drawing you downward.

Realization gripped you as you looked up; this wasn’t an explanation. This was a sentence.

Adam’s face was the last thing you saw before the Fall: a sharp tooth grin stretched across his lips.

He raised his hand in a mock salute, almost playful as if he were bidding farewell to an old friend rather than sending you into damnation.

That look—that chillingly gleeful expression was imprinted itself in your mind; searing a deep wound of betrayal that would never fully heal.

Your voice caught in your throat, eyes wide with disbelief as you fell. He hadn’t wavered. Didn't hesitate.

The one who had been your confidante, who had once looked at you with something like love, has casted you down without so much as a flicker of remorse.

Tears escaped and scattered into the wind around you. Just as Heaven faded from sight, darkness fully enveloped you and your world went black.

.*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

You plummet from Heaven like a comet; a streak of searing light tearing through the thick red skies of Hell.

Your form was enveloped in flames as you crashed down with a force that made the very ground tremble.

The impact was like a small explosion—flames erupting, leaving a crater scorched and steaming as debris scattered for yards around.

Slowly you regained consciousness, faint prickles of pain tingling at the edges of your senses.

Your entire body felt heavy. Every inch of your body throbbed with the reminder that you’d been ̶b̶̶e̶̶t̶̶r̶̶a̶̶y̶̶e̶̶d̶ casted down by the very person you trusted most.

Suddenly, you feel warmth pressing against your cheek. You blink, finding yourself face-to-face with a strange malformed creature—a bird if you could call it that.

It had way too many eyes that blinked in eerie unison with a beak far too sharp as it pecked at your face.

You instinctively swat it away with more force than you intended. The creature squawked in protest before flapping its leathery wings and vanishing into the smoky distance.

Looking around you find yourself lying in the center of a deep crater as steam rose from the ground. For a second your mind struggled to reconcile where you were.

Then realization crept in slowly along with a numb sort of disbelief. Hell. You were in Hell.

As you shifted to sit up, soft murmurs above made you snap your head upwards. There on the edges of the crater stood  gathering figures— Hell denizens that drawn to the commotion.

Sinners and demons, the curious and wicked souls damned to this place, they all watched you in curiosity.

That is until they caught sight of the faint remaining glow of your halo and pure white wings.

Their gazes turned alarmed before they scattered away in screeches and shrieks, stumbling and tripping over each other in their desperation to flee in the mistaken belief that your arrival was the start of an unexpected purge.

The silence that followed was almost jarring, leaving you alone in the crater as the echoes of their hurried footsteps faded into the distance.

Your body screamed in protest as you slowly rose to your feet.

You try to open your wings in attempt to take flight, but the moment you flexed them, a searing pain flared down your back making you clamp your wings shut with a wince.

It seems flying wasn't an option right now.

With painstaking effort you hobbled toward the crater’s edge, eyes fixed on the steep walls.

Your teeth grit from the pain when you reach out and grasped a jagged piece of rock jutting from the crater wall.

'Okay,' a grim look of determination cross your face. 'Guess I’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.' 

.*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

With a weak but firm grip you grasped the edge of the crater, using every last ounce of strength to pull yourself up onto the cracked pavement.

A heaving gasp tore from your throat as you collapsed onto solid ground before scooting yourself away from the crater’s edge.

It had taken longer than you’d hoped, but you’d done it. You were out.

Lying back, you let your head fall against the pavement to stare up at the crimson-tinted sky above.

Clouds churned in dark ominous shades of red as a massive pentagram symbol loomed high above—it glowed sinisterly, slicing through the swirling clouds in sharp precise lines.

Hell’s “moon” hung beside it—a twisted scarred orb that looked as though it had been dragged from the depths of something far darker than night.

And even higher in the distance, just barely visible against the hellish skyline, was the faint shimmer of Heaven’s gate. A cruel and unreachable mirage.

You closed your eyes, letting out a long shuddering breath as you try to gather yourself before reluctantly forcing your exhausted body to move once more.

Just as you managed to stand a strange warmth flickered above your head. Your fingers reach up to touch your now sputtering halo.

The steady glow dimmed as it pulsed weakly—and before you could fully process it, the light extinguished altogether.

The once radiant halo fell and clattered to the ground with a hollow metallic ring.

You stared down at the cold dull metal lying lifelessly in the dust. Your legs buckled and you sank to your knees, reaching out with trembling fingers to pick it up.

The weight of it felt foreign now, devoid of the light and comfort it once radiated.

A sad hollow laugh bubbled up from your throat; a weak attempt to mask the sharp ache of loss.

“...and it was such a good reading light to use,” you murmured, voice barely a whisper.

The familiar warmth of Heaven was gone and replaced by an oppressive heat that clung to you as the air around filled with the bitter scent of sulfur.

The betrayal, the Fall, and now your halo—each piece hammered at your heart, leaving you grasping at the edges of your composure as the weight of this new reality pressed in on you.

Fortunately you didn’t have time to dwell on it for long. 

“Hello!” A voice cuts through the stillness.

Startled, you look up to see a young girl standing at the edge of the abandoned street, her bright eyes wide with wonder.

She was small, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders as she wore a frilly red dress that looked almost too pristine for a place like Hell

She moved before you could process her intentions, darting toward you with surprising speed.

You instinctively opened your arms, catching her as she flinged herself into your embrace with childlike trust.

Her weight was slight with a warmth to her that felt strangely comforting. She nestled against your side, tiny hands exploring your feathers as her eyes sparkled with awe.

“Oh wow!” she squealed, brushing her fingers lightly over the downy feathers of your wings that had unconsciously curled around her as if to shield her from the world. “Your wings are so pretty! They look kinda like my dad’s!”

You blinked, still processing the fact that a child was not only here in Hell but clinging to you like you were an old friend.

Her innocent curiosity and lack of fear threw you off guard. For a moment faint memories of the children you had in your human life resurfaced and a bittersweet warmth filled your chest.

“Who might you be little one?"

The girl looked up at you with a giggle, eyes wide with innocence. "My name's Charlie, Charlie Magne!"

You couldn't help but smile. She reminded you of them in a way—of the tenderness you’d once known.

"And why are you out here alone?” concern was heard in your words. It was dangerous even for a child who clearly belonged here.

“I just wanted to see if it was really an angel causing all the fuss. I overheard my dad talking about it and well...I got curious! So I snuck out and—bam! I found you!” She gave you a triumphant grin as if discovering you were her own special accomplishment.

“Your...dad?” you echo softly causing her to frantically nod.

“Charlotte!” A booming voice calls out sending a shiver down your spine. Charlie looked over her shoulder, her eyes lighting up even more.

“Oh! There he is!” she chirped. Wriggling out of your arms, she hops down and began waving enthusiastically in the direction of the voice. "Over here!”

You quickly got to your feet, bracing yourself as you saw him: Lucifer Morningstar—The King of Hell himself striding down the street with an air of authority.

His softened gaze was locked on Charlie as she ran to him. But the moment she pointed back at you and exclaimed, “Look Daddy! I made a new friend!” his expression shifted.

The smile he’d given her vanished and was replaced by something far darker. In a flash he was in front of you, his crimson eyes piercing through you like twin blades.

You barely blinked before you were slammed to the ground.

The impact stole the air from your lungs, you were left gasping as his weight pressed down on you, a foot planted firmly on your chest.

Charlie's pleads of Daddy stop! seemed distant, almost muffled as you struggled to catch your breath.

'Geez...What s up with this family and tackling?'

Your dry thought is interrupted by the cold bite of metal on your throat. The sharp blade is pressed against the skin of your neck making you give a wide-eye stare up at the man towering over you.

His expression hard and unforgiving with an air of suspicion around him.

"Who sent you to the land of the Damned?" 

[icarusignite]

For Whom the Bell Tolls Masterlist

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Strong! Reader

Tropes: World War 2 HOTD AU, nurse x soldier, trauma bonding, childhood sweethearts, star-crossed lovers

Wattpad / AO3

Summary:

"The tragic hero is complete. You can call him unhappy (miserable, utterly broken) even before he is dead. For an instant, he is something divine, and then he dies, because there's nothing else left to do. The center of every tragedy is the image of a human being who has already died but keeps talking, someone whose face is a mask."

In the years preceding the inferno of the Second World War, the world dances precariously on the edge of destruction, teetering between disintegrating old empires and the looming dawn of new ones. In the heart of this volatile era, the Targaryen family rises to power through the might of their ironclad empire, the Targaryen Ammunitions Conglomerate. The story is set against a backdrop of a world torn between tradition and modernity, where the echoes of old wars linger in the corridors of power, and the spectre of new conflicts casts long shadows across the lives of those entangled in its web.

Viserys Targaryen, the Chief Executive Officer of Targaryen Ammunitions, is a man haunted by the ghosts of his past. Decades before the world would be set ablaze, he cements his legacy, but at the cost of his own soul. The death of his first wife leaves him shattered, clinging to the last vestiges of humanity through the love he bears for his only daughter, Rhaenyra, his chosen heir. 

But even Viserys cannot escape the machinations of those around him. Drawn into a marriage with Alicent Hightower, his daughter's former college classmate, he finds himself ensnared in a web of deceit spun by her father. Otto Hightower's ambitions reach far beyond the bounds of mere familial ties; he seeks to control the empire itself, and the Targaryen family, once bound by blood and loyalty, begins to fracture as ambition and betrayal take root.

Rhaenyra, a woman of fierce independence and unyielding spirit, is forced into a life she never wanted. Pressured by her father and the demands of his legacy, she is coerced into a marriage of convenience with Laenor Velaryon, a man whose own struggles mirror her own. Their union is one of necessity, where neither partner truly belongs to the other, yet, in their shared discomfort and understanding, they find solace, forging a partnership that defies the world's expectations. Laenor, hiding his true nature in a society that would cast him out, finds safety in the match, while she, in turn, secures the power and stability she needs to maintain her position as her father's heir.

Years pass, and the couple's inability to have children leads them down a different path—a path that brings them to the doors of Harrenhall, where the recently deceased Harwin Strong leaves behind four orphaned children who have been disowned by his brother Larys in his greed for their fortune. Rhaenyra, with a heart as relentless as it is kind, cannot bring herself to separate the siblings, despite the dangers it may pose to her own ambitions. She adopts them all, bringing the Strong children into the fold of the Targaryen family.

As the eldest of these children, you are burdened by the weight of the world. At just ten years old, you have been forced to grow up far too quickly, stepping into the role of mother and protector to your younger siblings in the absence of your own. Your heart is a fortress, built stone by stone, your mistrust of the world as deep as the abyss. When you and your brothers are taken in by the Targaryens, your siblings find joy in the luxuries and love showered upon them by their new family, but you cannot let yourself believe in the comfort being offered, waiting for the moment when it will all be torn away.

Your fears are only compounded by the cold reception you receive from Rhaenyra's half-siblings, the children of Alicent Hightower. The second of these, Aemond Targaryen, is a boy who has grown up in the long shadow cast by his half-sister. Neglected by his father, who lavishes affection upon his new adoptive grandchildren, he harbours a deep resentment toward the Strong siblings. In his eyes, you are all usurpers, interlopers who have stolen all that should have been his and his alone. 

Nevertheless, the two of you find an unlikely ally in each other. Aemond, who despises the hollow privilege of his lineage, finds in you a kindred spirit, someone who understands the bitterness that festers in his heart. You, in turn, see in him a mirror of your own disillusionment, a boy lost in a world that seems intent on breaking him.

As the world outside your gilded cage hurtles toward cataclysm, your connection blossoms into something deeper, something tender, but just as your hearts begin to entwine, calamity, as it always does, intervenes.

Tragedy strikes the family, one blow after another, as the winds of war begin to howl across the continent. The fragile alliances that Rhaenyra has built start to crumble, and as Viserys struggles to hold his empire together, the rifts within his own family threaten to destroy everything he has worked for.

It is all made worse when a terrible accident steals away two precious loved ones, and in the aftermath, guilt weaves its thorny tendrils around Aemond's heart. At the tender age of eighteen, burdened by the weight of his own self-reproach, he severs all ties with his family, abandoning the name that has become a symbol of his anguish. He takes up his mother's maiden name, hoping to cast off the shackles of his past and live free from the burdens that have haunted him.

But in his flight from the wraiths of his former life, he leaves behind the only person who has ever understood him, to pick up the fractured remnants of their family. You are left all alone, as you have been for so much of your life, to mourn in silence, and the grief that once bound the two of you together now festers into a simmering resentment. Aemond does not write, nor does he respond to the countless letters you send, each one a plea for reconciliation, a desperate attempt to reach him across the chasm that has opened between you. 

Eventually, you receive word that he has been drafted into the conflict. The news shatters the fragile remnants of your dreams, the ambitions you once held of becoming a historian now buried beneath the rubble of a world on fire. You abandon everything and follow him into the inferno, earning the nursing certifications that place you at the very heart of the battlefield, where life and death are decided with every breath.

In this vast and chaotic landscape, the young lovers keep missing each other, like ships passing in the night, always just out of reach. Time and again, they come within moments of reunion, but never actually do. Until, at last, they are thrown together once more when a severely wounded and half-blind Aemond Hightower is brought into the makeshift clinic where you have been stationed.

The reunion is a storm of tears and apologies, a raw and unfiltered outpouring of the pain that has been carried for so long. For a few precious months, you have each other once more, as you tend to his injuries, nursing him back to some semblance of health. In those fleeting moments, the two of you cling to each other like drowning souls.

But fate is a fickle mistress, and there is nothing she loves more than to slit the throats of young lovers, and you are not spared the annihilation that has been written for you in the very stars, centuries before you were even born, a destiny that neither of you can escape, no matter how hard you try.

"You're going to die in your best friend's arms. And you play along because it's funny, because it's written down, you've memorized it, it's all you know."

CHAPTERS: (coming soon)

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter3

Chapter 4

A/N: This isn't going to be a full-length fic. It's going to be a collection of one-shots almost, or snippets jumping around the timeline to tell the most important parts of the story, so maybe 10-12 chapters at most. This way I won't bore yall with unnecessary filler chapters and still get to tell the story I want. The summary is about as much as you'll on the background tbh, this is meant to be an AemondxReader centric story. It's inspired by Atonement and every other WW2 movie I've ever watched.

Comment to lemme know if this is something you would be interested in and if you'd like to be added to the taglist.

Alternatively, add yourself to the taglist!

[veryrockyraccoon]

A Justice Lord Superman AU where all the Batfam except for Damian die.

Damian now grieving and alone returns to the League of assassins, the LoA are successfully using Lazarus and/or other forms of ancient magic to hold their territory, with Damian’s bat training they easily keep their grip.

He sets up like stained glass windows as memorials for his family and tells stories of them, he’d do anything he could to make them be remembered.

Damian starts training a group of assassins with specially Robin lineage techniques as a way to pay tribute to his predecessor’s. The assassins all assume the previous birds must have been some kind of forces of nature, like they’ve heard of the bats from Lady Talia and the Demons Head, while technically they’ve heard of the birds to they’ve always been more mysterious than the bats, when people talk about the bats its clear where they were first got experience, like Batman and BlackBat were trained by the LoA while Batwoman had military training and Oracles father was the police commissioner. The birds only have slightly traceable roots with Damian himself and maybe Steph but her father wasn’t particularly high level, sure they had experiences that helped but to the LoA it seems a lot like these guys just popped out of nowhere, they were unhinged and dangerous for the entirety of their careers.

The basis for this is essentially Damian desperately trying to figure out how to mourn without destroying himself, all while trying to do the Robin legacy proud.

[blorbocedes]

why am i getting stressed about this hunger games au.......... how does the games end? they're getting to the final few tributes... they know they have to kill each other..... i dont like this mom come pick me up im scared

they stop wearing their weapons to sleep. Its still within hand's reach but not on their body. the gamemakers make it unreasonably cold at night and they can't light a fire and have the smoke give away their location so they have to conserve body heat by holding each other.

one of the final jobs is a couple from a district. they got together during the training games allegedly. brocedes each take one, and their teamwork is better. nico tells lewis its a strategy, previous games if two people claimed they were in love, hapless people in the Capitol kept them alive for longer to see the doomed tragedy work out. probably weren't even actually in love.

nico's first kill had been the girl from his district -- equally trained to be a Victor and thus his biggest enemy. lewis hadn't connected with the older woman from his district, focusing on his own survival, and she died pretty early on. now he feels a pang of guilt, that he chose nico over someone from his own district.

paranoia starts creeping in. the final tribute is missing. they make a pact to kill him together so neither gets a head start when it's just the two of them left. nico dreams of his father, what the games must have been like for him, no footage of his father's games exists ofc because of the nature of how he won, of nico being nine and taught how to put down a dog. lewis dreams of his family, his district, how he can help them when he wins — bring prosperity. and sometimes they dream of each other, somewhere far away from here.

every night they don't kill each other is like waiting with bated breath. lewis gets more sponsor gifts now. keke hasn't sent anything in a while. Is he disappointed nico isn't getting the job done? did the stress of old age catch up to him in a heart attack? the silence feels pointed.

nico realizes lewis is the better story, the better underdog to root for. lewis thinks nico is the legacy, son of a Victor, the face that breaks a thousand hearts and sells even more advertisements. they're both hyper aware every night can be their last and every night they hold each other a little tighter, clawing into the other trying to leave a mark. when lewis moves to kiss him, nico looks beyond him - at the cavern walls - and tells him to make it a good one for the show. the cameras that are constantly watching them, out of sight. but lewis can feel nico's heart thudding faster. its real enough.

the next morning there's two silver parachutes on opposite ends of the arena. one is sent by keke. the other is sent by lewis' entire impoverished village collecting their savings to send one sponsor gift. they both set out. they're both separated.

there's a cannon fire and then the hologram of the final tribute.

someone broke the promise.

and then there were two.

[novaursa]

Of Gods and Men (dreams)

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

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

- Paring: reader!Daenys Targaryen/Leto Atredies

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

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: hope

- Next part: horizon

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

The skies of Giedi Prime were always dark, the polluted clouds swirling above casting a shadow over the industrial wasteland below. Inside the fortress of House Harkonnen, the air was thick with the smell of machinery and oil, a sharp contrast to the cold, calculating minds that plotted within its walls.

In a grand chamber adorned with banners bearing the Harkonnen sigil, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen lounged in his suspensor chair, its mechanisms humming softly as they lifted his massive form just above the polished floor. Across from him stood Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam, her dark robes flowing around her like the shadows themselves, her face half-hidden beneath the hood that shrouded her features.

The Baron studied her with a thin, oily smile, but there was a glint of caution in his eyes. “Ah, Reverend Mother, how generous of you to visit my humble home. To what do I owe the pleasure of this... surprise audience?”

The Reverend Mother did not return his smile. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, bored into him as if seeking to strip away the layers of deceit that clung to him like a second skin. “The Emperor has decided that the time has come to resolve the Atreides problem once and for all,” she said, her voice cold and precise. “He is preparing to send his Sardaukar to Arrakis to eliminate House Atreides—to crush them utterly. And to cleanse the influence of the Red Faith that has taken root in the desert.”

The Baron’s smile widened at her words, his suspensors shifting as he leaned forward slightly. “Ah, so our illustrious Emperor finally makes his move. And here I thought he was content to let the Atreides pup play in his new sandbox a while longer.” His tone was mocking, but there was an edge of eagerness to it.

The Reverend Mother’s gaze hardened. “Do not mistake this for leniency, Baron. The Emperor's Sardaukar will cleanse Arrakis of the Atreides stain, but there are conditions. Lady Jessica and her son, Paul, must be left unharmed. They are of great interest to the Sisterhood, and our plans for them must not be... disrupted.”

The Baron’s expression twisted into a sneer, but he inclined his head, the smile never leaving his lips. “Of course, Reverend Mother. House Harkonnen lives only to serve the Emperor and the Sisterhood. If it is your wish that the witch and her brat be spared, then it shall be done.”

The Reverend Mother studied him for a moment longer, as if weighing the truth behind his words. “See that it is,” she said finally. “And be aware, Baron—there have been... disturbing reports of Targaryen presence in the deep desert. Their alliance with House Atreides complicates matters, but the Sisterhood has no intention of allowing these... dragons to become a new power in the Imperium.”

At the mention of the Targaryens, the Baron’s eyes narrowed, a flash of genuine unease passing across his face before he quickly masked it with another smile. “I assure you, Reverend Mother, I will deal with any... remnants of the dragonlords that dare show themselves. Arrakis is mine by right, and no long-lost exiles will change that.”

The Reverend Mother inclined her head, accepting his words for now. “See that you do, Baron. The Sisterhood and the Emperor will be watching closely. Do not disappoint us.” With that, she turned, her robes sweeping around her as she departed the chamber, leaving only the faint echo of her footsteps behind.

As soon as the door closed behind her, the Baron’s smile faded, his expression twisting into a mask of contempt. He pressed a button on his suspensor controls, and a side door slid open, revealing Pieter de Vries, his Mentat, who had been lurking in the shadows. The Baron gestured him forward with a flick of his wrist.

“Did you hear that, Pieter?” the Baron growled, his voice low and filled with barely contained rage. “The Reverend Mother thinks she can come here, make demands, and expect me to dance to her tune. But I am no puppet to be manipulated by the Sisterhood or the Emperor.”

Pieter’s lips twisted into a thin smile, his calculating eyes gleaming. “Indeed, my Baron. It seems they underestimate your... ambitions. But surely, we can turn this situation to our advantage.”

The Baron’s expression darkened, his hands clenching into fists. “Oh, we will, Pieter. The Emperor will get his war, and his precious Sardaukar can wipe out House Atreides. But make no mistake—I will ensure that none of the Atreides leave Arrakis alive, not even that witch Jessica or her accursed son.”

Pieter nodded, his mind already racing through the possibilities, analyzing the outcomes and angles. “The Emperor will not care how it is done, so long as House Atreides is removed as a threat. And with the Targaryens involved, there may be... opportunities to sow further chaos.”

The Baron’s smile returned, colder and more vicious than before. “Yes... the dragons. They think they can reclaim their place in the Imperium, but they will learn the price of defying House Harkonnen. Let them come, let them play their games in the desert. It will only make their fall all the more satisfying.”

He leaned back in his suspensor chair, the hum of the machinery filling the chamber as he envisioned the destruction to come. “Prepare our forces, Pieter. And make sure our allies are ready. Arrakis will burn... and with it, House Atreides and any dragons foolish enough to stand with them.”

Pieter bowed slightly, his smile mirroring the cruelty of his master’s. “As you command, my Baron.”

As the Mentat turned to carry out his orders, the Baron’s laughter echoed through the chamber, a sound that held no warmth, only the promise of violence and betrayal. And above the smog-choked skies of Giedi Prime, the shadows deepened, heralding the coming storm that would shake the Imperium to its core.

Duke Leto Atreides stood in his study, overlooking the bustling city of Arrakeen from the high windows of the Atreides stronghold. The desert stretched endlessly beyond the city walls, shimmering under the intense sun, but Leto’s attention was fixed on the reports spread across his desk. The room was cool, the hum of the air processors a faint background noise, but Leto’s thoughts were far from serene.

Thufir Hawat stood beside him, detailing the results of the latest shipment of spice harvested using the two new Targaryen harvesters. Leto’s gaze swept over the holo-projections, showing the precise spice yields, the efficiency rates, and the safety margins that far exceeded anything their Imperial models had managed before.

“It’s... remarkable, Hawat,” Leto said, his voice tinged with genuine admiration. “The harvesters have exceeded all our expectations. They’re faster, quieter, and their ability to operate without attracting sandworms is nothing short of revolutionary. We’re producing more spice with fewer losses, and our carryall deployments have become almost unnecessary.”

Hawat nodded, the faint lines of a smile playing at the edges of his stern expression. “It’s true, my Lord. The Targaryen technology is a game-changer. With the yield from this latest operation, we’ve not only met our quotas but exceeded them. It’s no wonder the Harkonnens are rumored to be... less than pleased.”

Leto allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. The Targaryen alliance had proven its worth, and each successful shipment strengthened their position on Arrakis, securing a foothold in the most valuable territory in the Imperium. It was a triumph that even Jessica’s warnings could not dampen—though he had taken her words to heart, he could not deny the potential that this partnership brought.

As Hawat sifted through the remaining reports, he paused, his expression turning more thoughtful. “There’s another piece of news, my Lord—one that I thought you might find... interesting.”

Leto looked up from the reports, curiosity piqued by the Mentat’s tone. “Go on, Hawat. What is it?”

Hawat adjusted his cloak, casting a sidelong glance at Leto. “Lady Daenys Targaryen will be arriving in Arrakeen within the next few days, along with her brothers, Aelor and Maelor, to oversee the resupply of their harvesters and to coordinate the next phase of operations.”

Leto’s heart gave a sudden, unexpected lurch in his chest, a sensation that he struggled to keep from showing on his face. He felt a flash of anticipation, a thrill that he had not experienced in years. But he quickly schooled his expression, adopting a mask of measured calm. “I see,” he replied, forcing his voice to remain neutral. “That’s... good news. It will be an opportunity to discuss further improvements to our operations.”

Hawat’s keen eyes studied Leto closely, noting the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his shoulders seemed to relax just slightly, the faint edge of excitement that crept into his tone despite his best efforts to conceal it. The Mentat hid a knowing smile behind a cough, returning to the reports with meticulous focus.

“Indeed, my Lord,” Hawat said, his voice carefully neutral. “It will also be an opportunity to strengthen our... relations with the Targaryens. Their presence in Arrakeen could be beneficial for both our House and our operations. I trust you will handle the matter with your usual diplomacy.”

Leto nodded absently, his thoughts already drifting to the upcoming arrival of the Targaryen delegation. He could almost picture you—Daenys—stepping off the transport, your silver hair catching the desert sun, your lilac eyes scanning the cityscape with that same keen intelligence that had captivated him on Arctis.

He pushed the thought aside, forcing himself to remain focused on the strategic importance of the visit. This was a chance to discuss the next steps in their alliance, to negotiate further exchanges that could benefit both Houses. But even as he tried to maintain his professional detachment, he couldn’t entirely suppress the flicker of eagerness that warmed his chest.

Hawat cleared his throat, breaking the moment of silence. “Shall I arrange for the delegation’s arrival, my Lord? And perhaps prepare a more... informal reception?”

Leto met Hawat’s gaze, his mask slipping for just a fraction of a second to reveal a faint, genuine smile. “Yes, Hawat. Make the arrangements. And... ensure that they have everything they need while they’re here.”

The Mentat inclined his head, the faint glimmer of amusement never quite fading from his eyes as he gathered the reports and took his leave. Leto watched him go, then turned back to the holo projector, but the data no longer held his full attention.

He found himself thinking of you again—of the conversations they had shared, the understanding that had grown between them, and the sense that perhaps, in a universe filled with enemies and alliances of convenience, he had found something—someone—he could truly trust.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he leaned back in his chair, the shadows of the study lengthening around him. He knew that he would have to tread carefully, that the Emperor’s gaze and the Sisterhood’s scrutiny were never far from Arrakis. But for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself once more a moment of quiet hope.

After all, there were dragons in the desert now. And with them came the possibility of change—and perhaps, something more.

The evening sun dipped low over Arrakeen, casting the city in a warm, amber glow. The central square was alive with the quiet murmur of expectation, the air filled with a mix of anticipation and curiosity. Duke Leto Atreides stood at the head of his delegation, flanked by Paul, Thufir Hawat, Gurney Halleck, and Duncan Idaho. The banners of House Atreides fluttered in the dry desert breeze, their hawk sigil illuminated by the last light of the day.

Leto’s gaze swept over the cityscape, his hands clasped behind his back, but he couldn’t hide the edge of nervousness that tightened his shoulders. He glanced at Hawat, his tone carefully measured to conceal his unease. “Are we certain this is the time they said they would arrive, Hawat?”

The Mentat nodded, his expression as impassive as ever. “Yes, my Lord. The Targaryens indicated they would arrive at nightfall. It would be... uncharacteristic of them to be late, given their usual precision.”

Leto suppressed a sigh, trying to ignore the way his heart seemed to quicken in his chest. He forced himself to remain calm, though he couldn’t shake the sense that tonight would be unlike any other night on Arrakis.

And then, as if in answer to his silent thoughts, a series of shrieks split the air, echoing over the city with a sound that was both alien and ancient. Leto’s head snapped up, his eyes scanning the darkening sky. Around him, the rest of the Atreides delegation did the same, their expressions shifting from confusion to astonishment as they turned their gaze upward.

High above the city, three massive shapes broke through the shield wall, their silhouettes outlined against the deepening blue of the sky. Wings as wide as ships beat against the air, sending currents of wind down through the city streets. Roars reverberated through the buildings, shaking the very stones of Arrakeen.

It took a moment for Leto to comprehend what he was seeing, his mind struggling to connect the impossible sight before him with the stories he had heard as a boy—tales of creatures from a time long past. And yet, there they were: dragons, their scales glinting in the dim light, their eyes burning like unknown stars.

The largest dragon—a deep red creature with eyes like embers—led the formation, flanked by a sleek black dragon and a silver-scaled beast whose wings shimmered like moonlight. They circled the city five times, a display of power that sent waves of awe and fear rippling through the populace below. People spilled into the streets, staring up in wonder, some bowing, others whispering hurried prayers to gods they had long since forgotten.

Beside Leto, Paul was wide-eyed, his usual composure shattered by the sight of the dragons. Gurney Halleck, ever the soldier, had one hand on the hilt of his dagger, though he made no move to draw it. And Thufir Hawat, for once, seemed at a loss, his analytical mind grappling with this ancient power that had just revealed itself in the skies above Arrakeen.

Only Duncan Idaho seemed unperturbed, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched the dragons with a kind of unspoken pride. Leto caught the expression and raised an eyebrow at him, but Duncan merely shrugged, his eyes never leaving the descending forms.

The dragons circled one final time before landing in the square with a deafening thud, their massive forms kicking up dust and sand that swirled around their scaled legs. The ground trembled beneath their weight, and for a moment, the air was filled with the sound of cracking stone and flapping wings.

Leto’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched you dismount from the lead dragon, a creature whose very existence defied everything the Imperium believed to be true. The dragon—your Vexiae, he would later learn—lowered its massive head as you slid gracefully to the ground, your silver hair catching the glow of the city’s lights.

You moved with a confidence that Leto recognized as uniquely your own, a grace that spoke of strength tempered by years of discipline. And in that moment, as you stood before the Atreides delegation, Vexiae looming behind you, Leto felt the stories of his childhood come rushing back to him—tales of dragons and the lost kings who rode them, of flame and steel that once bent the world to its will.

You inclined your head toward Leto, a faint smile touching your lips as you addressed him. “Duke Leto,” you said, your voice carrying easily across the square. “It seems we have arrived... perhaps a bit more dramatically than anticipated.”

Leto found his voice after a beat, forcing himself to step forward, though he couldn’t quite mask the wonder in his eyes. “Lady Daenys,” he replied, inclining his head in return. “You certainly know how to make an entrance.”

Your smile widened slightly, a glint of mischief in your eyes as you glanced back at Vexiae, who was eyeing the crowd with a predatory curiosity. “I thought it might be fitting to... remind your people that they are not the only ones with wonders in the desert.”

Leto’s gaze lingered on the dragon behind you, the creature that had once existed only in myths now standing before him. He felt a shiver run through him—fear, perhaps, or awe—but it was tempered by something else, a sense that this moment was the beginning of a new chapter in the story of Arrakis.

“Welcome to Arrakeen, Lady Daenys,” Leto said, his voice steady now, though his eyes never left yours. “It seems we have much to discuss.”

The main hall of the Atreides stronghold in Arrakeen had been transformed into a place of celebration. House Atreides retainers moved swiftly between the tables, carrying trays of food and pitchers of water and spice wine, their movements precise as they served both their own people and the newly arrived Targaryens. The banners of the red hawk and the three-headed dragon hung side by side, the colors of House Atreides and House Targaryen blending in the dim light of the oil lamps that illuminated the grand chamber.

At the head of the room, Duke Leto Atreides sat with Aelor and Maelor Targaryen, the three of them engaged in a strategic discussion. The Targaryen brothers, with their regal bearing and intense gazes, brought an air of ancient power to the hall that had not been felt since the days of the old empires. Leto spoke animatedly, outlining potential military maneuvers to demonstrate their strength on Arrakis—a move that could secure their shared interests and deter any threats that might arise.

“We must show the Imperium and any would-be challengers that our alliance is more than words,” Leto said, his voice low but firm as he leaned closer to the Targaryen heirs. “A joint operation—a demonstration of force—would serve as a deterrent. It would make clear that House Atreides and House Targaryen are prepared to stand together.”

Aelor nodded thoughtfully, his expression as calculating as his words. “Agreed, Duke Leto. The desert is vast, but even here, power must be made visible. We can deploy our dragons in tandem with your forces to strike at strategic points. Let it be known that this is not a land for those who seek to challenge us.”

Maelor, the younger of the two brothers, smirked slightly, his lilac eyes glinting with a touch of pride. “The Harkonnens thought they could claim Arrakis without resistance. We will remind them of their mistake.”

Leto nodded in agreement, sensing the fierce determination in the brothers. He glanced around the room, catching sight of you, standing near one of the large arched windows with Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he saw the way you seemed at ease among his people, your silver hair catching the light like a halo in the glow of the lamps.

As the conversation continued at the head table, Paul approached you, his steps slow and measured. He waited for a lull in the conversation before speaking, his tone tentative but carrying an underlying urgency. “Lady Daenys,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “It’s... good to see you again.”

You turned toward him, a small smile curving your lips. “Paul Atreides,” you replied with a note of familiarity, a warmth in your voice that Paul found strangely comforting. It was as if you both spoke a language that others could not hear. “The pleasure is mine.”

Paul shifted slightly, glancing around to ensure that Duncan and Gurney were still engaged in their own conversation before he spoke again, his voice lower this time. “I... would like to speak with you—when you have the time. Privately. There are things we need to discuss.”

You studied him for a moment, your lilac eyes meeting his with an intensity that made Paul feel as if you could see straight through him, down to the very core of his being. But there was understanding there as well, a sense that you knew why he sought you out. You nodded, the corners of your mouth lifting in a small smile. “Indeed, Paul, we do have much to discuss. I’ll find you later, and we’ll have that conversation.”

Before the moment could stretch further, Gurney Halleck nudged you lightly with his elbow, his rough-hewn face softened by a teasing grin. “Now, Lady Daenys, you promised me something back on that frozen rock, remember? A song to warm the soul, and here we are with the perfect setting and all these fine folk. How about you indulge us now?”

Duncan raised an eyebrow, chuckling softly. “I’d like to see that myself. We could all use a bit of music after the past few days.”

You laughed softly, glancing between them before inclining your head. “Very well, Gurney. I suppose I do owe you a song. But you’ll have to accompany me, of course.”

Gurney’s smile widened as he reached for his baliset, the well-worn strings gleaming faintly in the dim light. He adjusted the instrument, tuning it with practiced fingers, and then began to pluck a melancholy melody, the notes filling the hall with a haunting beauty that caused the conversations around the room to hush.

You lifted your voice, singing a ballad in the old tongue, your words weaving a story of lost kingdoms and burning skies, of dragons that soared above emerald seas and the exiles who found their way to new lands. The melody was filled with both sorrow and hope, a reminder of the past but also a promise for the future.

Leto, seated with Aelor and Maelor, fell silent as he listened to your voice, the emotion in your song stirring something deep within him. He could see the captivated expressions of his people, the way even the Targaryen brothers seemed drawn in by the ancient tale you wove with your voice. And as he watched you, he realized once more just how dangerous you were—not because of your power, but because of the way you could move hearts with just a few words.

Paul listened as well, but his thoughts were turned inward, to the dreams that had haunted him, the visions of you standing before him with dragons at your back. As he heard the melody, he felt as if he was glimpsing a part of those dreams brought to life, a piece of the puzzle that had yet to reveal its full shape.

And when the last note faded into the air, a silence followed, filled only with the echo of your voice. The hall was quiet, the weight of the moment settling over all who had gathered there.

Gurney set down his baliset, a satisfied smile on his face as he inclined his head toward you. “You’ve got the voice of an angel, Lady Daenys. I’d say that was worth the wait.”

You smiled in return, but your gaze drifted back to Paul, who stood just behind Duncan. And in the shadows of the hall, beneath the banners of hawks and dragons, the seeds of fate continued to take root, their branches stretching into a future that no one could yet fully see.

Lady Jessica, standing near one of the shadowed arches on the opposite side of the hall, found herself feeling a sense of unease that she could not fully shake.

The presence of the Targaryens here, so close to House Atreides, defied the very laws of the Imperium and the natural order as the Sisterhood understood it. These were people who should have been extinct, erased from history by fire and time. Yet here they stood, the last dragons, moving among her consort's court as if they belonged. And it was Leto who had insisted that she be introduced to the three siblings personally, despite her reservations.

Across the hall, Aelor, Maelor, and Daenys stood together, their presence like a ripple in the air that Jessica could feel on a level beyond the physical. She knew that the Targaryens had recognized her presence long before any formal introduction—their training, honed even in exile, had sharpened their ability to sense a Bene Gesserit. It was a skill that unnerved her, for it placed them beyond the usual manipulations of her order that had no effect on their House.

As the siblings approached, Leto gestured to them with a warm, if slightly forced, smile. "Jessica, allow me to introduce Aelor, Maelor, and Daenys Targaryen," he said, his voice carrying a note of formality that he reserved for such occasions. “I thought it best that we meet in person, given our... alliance.”

Jessica nodded, offering a measured smile, though her eyes were watchful. She sensed the anomasity in the air, the unspoken knowledge that passed between them as she met the gazes of the Targaryens one by one. Aelor’s look was polite but guarded, Maelor's was edged with a faint smirk, while you, Daenys, studied her with a curious intensity that made Jessica’s skin prickle. It was a challenge, one that Jessica was not accustomed to facing outside the halls of the Sisterhood.

She tried to maintain her usual composure, but Hawat, standing nearby, observed the exchange with sharp eyes. He saw how Jessica's cool demeanor slipped, if only slightly, beneath the pressure of the Targaryens’ gaze. To most, it would have been imperceptible, but Hawat had trained himself to notice the smallest of shifts, and this one intrigued him. He had never seen Lady Jessica so unnerved, so clearly on the back foot.

The Mentat tucked this observation away in his mind, recognizing the potential advantage. He had never fully trusted Jessica, not since she had arrived in Leto’s life with the Sisterhood’s agenda hidden beneath her charm. Now, seeing her disturbed in the presence of the Targaryens, he felt a sense of vindication. Perhaps the dragons—for all their unknowns—were more worthy of trust than the shadowy Bene Gesserit. At the very least, they seemed more transparent in their intentions.

Jessica, meanwhile, turned her gaze toward you, noting the way Leto glanced at you with a mixture of admiration and something deeper. It wasn’t just your striking appearance, though your silver hair and lilac eyes were impossible to ignore. It was the way you carried yourself, the strength and self-possession that seemed to draw people to you—Leto included. She understood, now, why her consort’s thoughts had been so preoccupied since Arctis.

She knew what obsession looked like—she had seen it in the Emperor, in the Baron, in those who sought power and control. But this was different, tinged with a hopefulness she had not seen in Leto for years. And that, more than anything, made her wary.

The exchange between Jessica and the Targaryens remained polite, but the tension was visible, threading through each carefully chosen word. It was Aelor who finally broke the stalemate, inclining his head toward Jessica and Leto with a faint, courteous smile. “It has been a pleasure, Lady Jessica. But I think perhaps my sister and brother might wish to explore the hall a bit more, meet some of your... other guests.”

He glanced meaningfully at you and Maelor, and after a moment, you nodded in agreement. With a final, respectful bow to Leto and Jessica, you and Maelor turned away, making your way across the hall toward Duncan and Paul. As you left, Leto’s gaze followed you, his expression betraying a flicker of disappointment that did not go unnoticed by Jessica.

With the two of you out of earshot, Aelor turned back to Leto, adopting a more businesslike tone. “I wanted to thank you, Duke Leto, for the generous gift of water that you have provided for our operations,” he said, his voice as smooth as the desert winds. “It is a precious resource here on Arrakis, more valuable than spice in many ways. But I’ve been wondering... have you considered implementing a more advanced hydroponic system for your people? Perhaps even building aqueducts to maximize your water reserves?”

Leto blinked, momentarily stunned by the scope of Aelor’s suggestion. It was a bold idea, one that went beyond the typical imperial technologies used on Arrakis. “That’s... a significant undertaking,” he replied, choosing his words carefully. “Our resources are substantial, but what you propose would require a scale of technology and infrastructure that even House Atreides would struggle to muster.”

Aelor’s smile widened, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “You might find that House Targaryen has access to certain... innovations that could make such an endeavor feasible, Duke. If we are to thrive here, we must adapt. Our alliance could make many things possible—things that the Imperium has deemed impossible for far too long.”

Leto considered this, feeling a spark of excitement at the possibilities. But he also sensed the implications of Aelor’s words—the subtle hint that House Targaryen might hold knowledge that even the Emperor did not possess. He glanced toward Jessica, whose expression had turned pensive as she observed the exchange.

“We will speak more of this later,” Leto said finally, offering a polite nod. “For now, let us enjoy the evening. We have time to discuss the future when we are not surrounded by so many... curious ears.”

Aelor inclined his head, accepting the Duke’s response with a hint of a smile. “Of course, Duke Leto. Until then, I hope you will consider the potential of what we can build together.”

As Aelor turned to rejoin his siblings, Leto felt a faint shiver run through him, a sense that he was standing on the precipice of something far larger than himself. And in the shadows, Hawat watched it all unfold, his mind turning over the calculations, weighing the risks and rewards that each new alliance might bring.

You and Maelor made your way across the grand hall, the murmurs of conversation fading as you approached Duncan Idaho and Paul Atreides, who were standing near a corner where the noise of the banquet softened to a low hum. Duncan glanced up as you approached, a smile spreading across his face as he took in the sight of you.

“Well now, Lady Daenys,” Duncan said with a warm chuckle, “I have a message for you. Stilgar and his people wanted me to express their gratitude for the water filtration units and spice-resistant cloth you provided them. It’s made a real difference in their siege operations. But if you keep sending them supplies like that, you’ll spoil them. They’ll start thinking they’re nobles.”

You returned his jest with a light laugh, your expression softening. “Tell Stilgar he is most welcome. But I doubt he’ll be content to play the part of a noble for long. His pride is too fierce for that.”

Duncan chuckled again, a twinkle in his eye. “True enough. I’ll make sure he hears it just like that.”

You offered Duncan a final smile before turning your attention to Paul, who had been watching the exchange with an intensity that you recognized from your own reflections. “Paul,” you said, your voice quieting as you addressed him, “would you care to join me for a walk? I think there are... things we should speak about.”

Paul’s gaze held yours for a moment, searching, before he nodded. “Yes, I think you’re right. Lead the way.”

You and Paul stepped away from the bustle of the hall, moving through a side corridor that led to a balcony overlooking the night-shrouded sands of Arrakis. The air was cool, a breeze carrying the scent of spice and distant desert blooms. You leaned against the stone railing, the distant dunes stretching out beneath a sky full of stars. Paul stood beside you, his shoulders tense with the weight of the questions he had carried since your first meeting.

For a moment, you both stood in silence, the expanse of the desert a quiet witness to your thoughts. Finally, you broke the stillness, your voice as soft as the wind that swept across the sands. “You have questions, Paul. I can see them in your eyes.”

Paul turned to face you fully, his brow furrowed, the lines of his face drawn tight with uncertainty. “I do,” he admitted. “From the moment we met, I felt like I knew you, like you were someone I’d met before, even though I knew that wasn’t possible. But it’s more than that. It’s... dreams. I’ve seen you in my dreams, Daenys. Before I ever set foot on Arrakis.”

You inclined your head slightly, acknowledging his words, the starlight reflecting in your lilac eyes. “You’re right, Paul. We knew each other before we met. Our paths crossed long before they converged in this place, on this night.”

Paul’s gaze grew sharper, his mind racing through possibilities, questions forming on his lips before he finally asked the one that mattered most. “The dreams... what do they mean? Why do I see you in them?”

You paused, considering how best to explain the nature of your visions and the bonds they created. “My dreams are not like yours,” you began slowly, your voice tinged with a mysterious certainty. “I am a Targaryen, and we have what my people call dragon dreams—visions that show us glimpses of what might be and what is yet to come. They are a part of our blood, a legacy of the dragons.”

Paul frowned, his mind turning over your words, but you continued before he could interrupt. “Your dreams, Paul, are not the same. They are the product of Bene Gesserit designs, the result of centuries of selective breeding and genetic manipulation. They tried to replicate something ancient, something they could never truly possess, no matter how hard they tried. Something born of Targaryen blood they can't intermingle with.”

Paul’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line as he absorbed the implications of your words. “You mean... the Kwisatz Haderach? That’s what they’ve called me. But they never said anything about this—about being connected to you.”

You nodded slowly, the wind catching strands of your silver hair, carrying them like threads into the night. “They wouldn’t. It’s not something they could have planned for. But I did dream of you, Paul, just as you dreamed of me. Our fates are woven together, by threads that go beyond bloodlines and prophecies.”

Paul’s mind swirled with the weight of your revelation, the foundations of his understanding shifting beneath him. He turned his gaze back to the desert, his voice barely more than a whisper. “If our dreams are different, then what do yours show you, Daenys? What do you see when you dream?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, the memories of your dragon dreams stirring beneath your eyelids like coals in the dark. “I see... fire and shadow, dragons that rise from the ashes of ancient worlds, and a storm that sweeps across the Imperium. I see choices—choices that will shape the future of Arrakis, of your House and mine. And I see you, Paul, standing at the heart of it all.”

Paul shivered despite the warmth of the desert night, feeling the weight of your words settle over him like a cloak. For the first time, he felt that the visions that had haunted him were not a burden he carried alone. You shared a connection that defied the logic of the Imperium, a bond that neither the Sisterhood nor the Emperor could control.

He turned to look at you again, and in that moment, he knew that the answers he sought lay not only in the teachings of the Bene Gesserit but in the wisdom of those who walked beside dragons. 

Leto Atreides stood in the shadowed corner of the grand hall, his eyes following your form as you walked away with Paul, your figures disappearing through one of the arched doors leading to the balcony. He felt a pang of unease—not because he feared for Paul’s safety but because he knew how Jessica would react. And sure enough, she was already striding toward him, her expression tight with barely concealed irritation.

“Leto,” Jessica said, her voice sharp as a blade as she gestured toward the doorway where you and Paul had disappeared. “You shouldn’t have let her go off with him. Daenys is dangerous, and Paul is not safe with her. Who knows what she’ll put into his head?”

Leto turned to face her fully, his own frustration bubbling to the surface as he met her fierce gaze. “Enough, Jessica,” he snapped, keeping his voice low but firm. “Daenys is no threat to Paul. She has given us no reason to mistrust her. And if you haven’t noticed, Hawat’s men are everywhere. Paul is in no danger.”

Jessica’s eyes flashed, a sign that her Bene Gesserit training was warring with her personal feelings. “You don’t understand, Leto. She’s not like us—she’s not like anyone we’ve dealt with before. She’s... other, and her presence here upsets the balance. I’ve seen the way you look at her, and I know it clouds your judgment. She could be putting ideas into Paul’s mind, manipulating him—”

Leto raised a hand, cutting her off, his expression hardening. “That’s enough, Jessica. I’ve trusted your advice for years, but this time, I’ll trust my own instincts. Daenys means no harm to our son. And frankly, your suspicions of her have more to do with the Sisterhood’s fears than with reality.”

Jessica stiffened at the accusation, a flash of hurt crossing her features before she masked it behind her usual composure. She took a breath, then leaned closer, her voice barely more than a whisper. “This is your last warning, Leto. Don’t let your... feelings for her blind you to the threats she might pose. Paul is more important than... than whatever you think she represents.”

With that, she turned on her heel, her robes swirling around her as she retreated into the crowd, leaving Leto standing alone. He watched her go, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he struggled to control the mix of emotions that churned inside him—anger, frustration, and something deeper that he could not easily name.

As the tension from the encounter lingered in the air, Gurney Halleck approached, his footsteps light despite the weight of the baliset slung over his back. He had caught the heated exchange, and now he studied Leto with a knowing look. “Ah, my Lord, I couldn’t help but overhear some of that... discussion with Lady Jessica.”

Leto sighed, running a hand through his hair as he turned to face Gurney. “I suppose it’s no secret that we don’t see eye to eye on this. She’s convinced that Daenys is a danger to Paul. I know she means well, but... she doesn’t understand.”

Gurney’s expression softened as he nodded, his gaze drifting toward the doorway where you and Paul had disappeared. “Aye, the lass is a strange one, no doubt about it. But dangerous? Not to Paul, not from what I’ve seen. She has a... gentleness about her when she speaks with him. It’s not the kind of thing that threatens—more like the kind of thing that... guides.”

Leto’s shoulders relaxed slightly at Gurney’s reassurance, the tension easing just enough for him to breathe. “I know, Gurney. I feel it too. But Jessica...” He shook his head, as if trying to dispel the lingering unease. “She sees something different. And it’s... difficult, balancing all of this—House Atreides, Paul, this alliance with the Targaryens. Sometimes it feels like there’s no right path, just... less dangerous ones.”

Gurney chuckled softly, clapping a hand on Leto’s shoulder. “My Lord, if I might speak plainly... you’ve always had a way of thinking too much. Sometimes it’s better to follow your heart, even if it leads you into unknown places. I’ve seen the way you look at the Targaryen lass, and I think you’d do well to have a real conversation with her, without all these... formalities hanging over you. Unburden yourself, as it were.”

Leto glanced at Gurney, surprised by the directness of the advice, but there was a certain wisdom in his old friend’s words. He turned his gaze back to the door, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he imagined the possibility. “You might be right, Gurney. Perhaps it’s time I had a... different kind of conversation with Daenys.”

Gurney grinned, giving Leto a gentle push in the direction of the balcony. “Go on, then. I’ll keep Lady Jessica occupied, if she decides to come back for round two. And don’t worry about Paul—he’s tougher than he looks.”

Leto took a deep breath, then nodded. As he moved toward the balcony, he could feel his heartbeat quicken, a sense of anticipation building inside him. He had faced enemies in battle and navigated the treacherous currents of politics, but there was something different about this—something that felt like stepping into a new world, one filled with possibility.

You and Paul stood on the balcony, overlooking the vast desert that stretched beyond the city of Arrakeen. The last whispers of your conversation lingered in the air, the words shared between you turning from the weight of prophecy to a more personal warmth. For the first time since he had arrived on Arrakis, Paul felt a sense of clarity, a feeling that his dreams and visions were not a burden he had to carry alone.

He offered you a smile—genuine, even if touched by the uncertainties that still lay ahead. “Thank you, Daenys,” he said, his voice quiet but sincere. “I think... I understand a little better now. Whatever happens, I know I’m not alone in this.”

You returned the smile, a warmth in your gaze as you nodded. “You are not, Paul. We both have a role to play in the unfolding story of this world. But remember, you have the strength to shape your own path, just as your father does. Trust that.”

Paul glanced back over his shoulder, where the three dragons loomed in the distance, their massive forms dark silhouettes against the starlit sky. He knew that the presence of these creatures—these beasts of myth—would be spoken of for generations, their arrival marking a new era on Arrakis. He took a deep breath and turned back toward the door, catching sight of a shadow standing in the threshold.

It was Leto, his father, watching them with a quiet resolve in his eyes. Paul’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile as he passed by Leto, offering a simple, “Goodnight, Father,” before disappearing back into the warmth of the stronghold.

Leto nodded, acknowledging Paul’s departure, though his attention remained fixed on you, standing there with the desert wind playing through your silver hair. He stepped forward, crossing the threshold to join you on the balcony, his presence bringing a different kind of warmth—one that felt more personal, more unspoken.

You turned as he approached, offering a nod of greeting, and he came to stand beside you, leaning against the stone railing that overlooked the sands below. For a moment, the two of you stood in companionable silence, the howl of the wind filling the space between words. Leto’s gaze drifted to the dragons far beyond the city’s edge, then back to you, as if trying to find the right way to begin.

“The first time I saw Vexiae today, your dragon,” he said finally, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It felt like... something out of a dream, or a story I used to hear as a child. A thing that wasn’t supposed to be real. And yet... there you were. Standing with a creature that I thought had vanished from the world.”

You tilted your head slightly, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “Many things that are forgotten linger in the shadows, Duke Leto. Not everything that disappears is truly gone. Sometimes, it just... waits for the right moment to return.”

Leto glanced sideways at you, his expression growing more serious, though there was a warmth in his eyes that softened the lines of his face. “I think I’ve come to understand that. Ever since Arctis, I’ve been trying to find the right words to... express how I felt when I saw you there. And then again, here, in the heart of Arrakis.”

He paused, struggling with the words that sat heavy in his chest, a weight that he had carried for too long. He turned to face you more fully, his voice low and earnest. “This alliance between our Houses—it’s more than just military strategy and economic ties. At least, it is for me. I think... I think it’s become something personal. Something that I’m not sure I have the right words for.”

Your gaze softened, your expression shifting into something that Leto had seen only glimpses of before—something unguarded and honest. You stepped closer to him, your eyes searching his face, as if reading the emotions that he struggled to articulate.

“Not everything needs words, Leto,” you replied gently. “Sometimes, it’s enough to simply feel. To let those feelings guide us, even if we don’t understand them fully.”

Leto let out a soft breath, his shoulders relaxing as he took in the truth of your words. He nodded, a faint smile playing at his lips. “You have a way of making things sound... simple, even when they’re not. I suppose that’s one of the things that drew me to you in the first place.”

The silence that settled between you was different now—no longer filled with unspoken tension, but with the quiet understanding that something had shifted between you. Leto glanced down at the desert sands, the light of Arrakeen casting long shadows across the dunes, and then back at you, standing beside him like a figure from a legend.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a murmur. “But I’d like to think that... maybe there’s a place for something more than just alliance between us. If you’re open to the possibility.”

You studied him for a long moment, your lilac eyes holding his gaze, and then you offered him a smile that was as warm as the desert sun. “I think, Duke Leto, that we both have a great deal to discover. About Arrakis, about each other... and about the things that linger just beyond what we can see.”

Leto felt a warmth bloom in his chest at your words, a sense that he had found a kindred spirit in a place where trust was often a rare commodity. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against yours in a gesture that was more promise than anything spoken aloud.

And as the stars above Arrakeen shone brighter against the desert night, the future seemed a little less uncertain, shaped by the presence of a dragon’s shadow and the dreams of those willing to change the world.

The incident with the Hunter-Seeker had left a shadow over the Atredies stronghold, a sense of paranoia that clung to every corridor and corner. The hidden Harkonnen assassin who had been uncovered in the aftermath was now being interrogated deep within the dungeons, but the implications of his presence ran deeper than any single conspiracy.

In his study, Duke Leto Atreides paced back and forth, his mind racing with worry and anger. He glanced up as Thufir Hawat entered, the Mentat’s face drawn and pale, his usual confidence replaced by a grim determination. Hawat’s shoulders were slumped, the weight of his perceived failure pressing down on him.

“My Lord, I should have anticipated this,” Hawat began, his voice tight with frustration. “I should have known that the Harkonnens would try to strike at us even after we’d taken Arrakis. This Hunter-Seeker nearly reached Paul—if it hadn’t been for your son’s quick reflexes, it could have—”

Leto raised a hand, cutting him off. He could see the turmoil in Hawat’s eyes, the way the Mentat struggled with his own sense of guilt. “We cannot change what has already happened, Thufir,” he said, his tone gentler than the anger that burned inside him. “What we need now is to focus on understanding how this assassin managed to remain hidden among us for so long.”

Hawat’s jaw tightened, and he nodded reluctantly, though the tension in his posture remained. “I’ve been investigating the possibility of a mole within our own ranks, but... there are rumors, my Lord. Whispers that this may have been the work of the Sisterhood—that Lady Jessica might have had a hand in it, or that... perhaps I myself might be the traitor.”

Leto’s expression darkened at the mention of Jessica. The strains in their relationship had only deepened since their last confrontation, but he refused to believe she would put Paul at risk, even if her loyalties were divided. And yet, the rumors had already begun to spread through the stronghold, poisoning the trust within House Atreides.

“I’ll not entertain baseless accusations against Jessica or you, Thufir,” Leto said, his voice firm. “But the fact remains—we need help. And I believe our allies may have the resources we lack to uncover how this assassin remained hidden here for so long.”

Hawat looked up, surprise flickering across his features. “You mean the Targaryens?”

Leto nodded, turning to gaze out the window, where the distant desert dunes rolled like waves beneath the morning sun. “Yes. Aelor, Daenys, and Maelor have made it clear that they have access to surveillance technologies beyond what the Imperium understands. And they have a vested interest in keeping Arrakeen secure from Harkonnen interference.”

He turned back to Hawat, his expression hardening with a renewed sense of determination. “Send a message to House Targaryen. Inform them of what has happened and request their assistance in investigating this security breach. If they can help us uncover how this assassin managed to infiltrate our stronghold, it will help us put to rest any suspicions among our own ranks.”

Hawat bowed his head, though a shadow of relief crossed his face. “Yes, my Lord. I will see it done immediately. And... thank you, for your trust. I will not fail you again.”

As Hawat turned to leave, Leto’s mind was already spinning with the implications of this request. He knew that relying on Targaryen aid would be seen as a dangerous gamble by some, especially those who still viewed the dragons as outsiders with their own agenda. But he also knew that the poison of paranoia was a greater threat than anything the Harkonnens could muster.

He watched as Hawat disappeared down the corridor, the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance. Alone in his study, Leto let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to shake off the weariness that had settled over him like a cloak. 

And as he turned back to the window, he allowed himself a fleeting thought of Daenys, wondering if you would understand the trust he was placing in your family—if you would see it as an olive branch, a chance to build something lasting amid the shifting sands of Arrakis.

For better or worse, the dragons had become a part of his world, and Leto could only hope that they would stand with him when the storm finally broke.

...

The medical chamber was quiet, filled only with the steady hum of the machines and the occasional rustle of Dr. Yueh’s robes as he carefully examined Paul Atreides. The incident with the Hunter-Seeker had shaken the household, but Jessica had insisted that Yueh perform a thorough examination to ensure that no lingering effects or injuries had gone unnoticed. Paul sat on the edge of the examination table, his expression calm, but there was a tension in his shoulders that Jessica recognized well.

Jessica stood nearby, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her gaze fixed on her son with an intensity that held more than just motherly concern. The events of the past week had left her unsettled, and her mind was plagued by thoughts of the Targaryens, particularly the growing influence they seemed to hold over both Leto and Paul.

Dr. Yueh’s hands moved with the precision of a skilled physician as he passed a scanner over Paul’s torso, his expression thoughtful. “There are no signs of lingering damage, young master,” he said softly. “The Hunter-Seeker was detected in time, and your reflexes served you well. You’ve come through this incident unscathed.”

Paul nodded absently, his gaze drifting to the window where the sunlight of Arrakis streamed through. But before he could respond, Jessica took the opportunity to speak, her tone sharp with the frustration she had been holding back for days.

“Paul,” she said, drawing his attention away from Yueh. “We need to discuss your... relationship with Lady Daenys Targaryen. It’s dangerous for you to become so close to her, especially given what we know about her family and their... unpredictability.”

Paul’s head snapped around, a frown creasing his features. “Why is it dangerous, Mother?” he shot back, a note of defensiveness in his voice that Jessica had rarely heard from him. “Daenys has done nothing to harm us. She’s been... honest with me. More than most in this court.”

Jessica took a step closer, her eyes narrowing as she met her son’s defiant gaze. “Honesty is not the same as loyalty, Paul. The Targaryens are uncontrolled elements—dangerous because they do not bend to the will of the Bene Gesserit or the Imperium. Should they turn against us, they could threaten everything we’ve worked for. And you... you are too important to be swayed by their charm.”

Paul’s frown deepened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “I’m not being swayed, Mother. I can make my own judgments. Daenys has shown me respect and a kind of understanding that... that I don’t often find here. She’s not like the Sisterhood you belong to, with all its secrets and manipulations.”

Jessica’s breath caught in her chest, the passion in Paul’s voice startling her. It was a tone she had heard only a few times before—when he spoke about things that mattered deeply to him, like his father’s honor or the legacy of House Atreides. But what worried her most was the realization that she had seen this same intensity in Leto whenever he spoke of the Targaryen woman.

Jessica took a breath, forcing herself to keep her tone even as she continued. “You’re forgetting your purpose, Paul. You are more than just a young man—you are the product of centuries of planning and breeding, the hope of the Sisterhood’s grand design. You cannot afford to become... distracted by Daenys or her family’s promises.”

Paul’s eyes flashed, and he shook his head, frustration boiling over. “I haven’t forgotten, Mother. I know exactly what you and the Sisterhood expect of me. But maybe... maybe I don’t want my life to be dictated by a plan that I never asked for. Maybe I want to be something more than just a tool for your order.”

Jessica stiffened at his words, the rebuke cutting deeper than she had anticipated. She opened her mouth to respond, but the anger and hurt in Paul’s eyes stopped her. For a moment, she saw not just the son she had trained but the young man who was searching for a path that belonged to him alone.

Dr. Yueh, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, cleared his throat softly, breaking the tension that had thickened the air. “If I may, Lady Jessica, young master Paul, the examination is complete. And... I believe the Duke would want us all to focus on the threats that remain. The Harkonnens are still out there, and the future of Arrakis is uncertain.”

Paul turned away from his mother, his shoulders tense as he nodded to Yueh, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. “Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate your help.”

Jessica remained silent as Paul left the room, her mind racing with the implications of their conversation. As the door closed behind him, she pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her breathing. She couldn’t shake the sense that she was losing control—not just of Paul but of Leto as well. And the realization that they might both be willing to trust Daenys Targaryen over the Sisterhood was a disturbing thought indeed.

When she turned to face Dr. Yueh, she found the physician studying her with a curious expression. He inclined his head slightly, his tone respectful but firm. “If I may, my lady, I have seen worry in many forms. It seems to me that young master Paul is... finding his own way. Perhaps that is something to be nurtured, rather than... feared.”

Jessica offered him a tight smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you for your insight, Dr. Yueh. But there are... things at play here that you do not fully understand.”

With that, she turned on her heel and swept from the room.

...

Jessica moved through the stone corridors of the Atreides stronghold with a brisk pace, her robes swirling around her as she made her way deeper into the halls. Her mind was clouded with worry and anger, her thoughts turning over the confrontation with Paul and the widening gap between her and Leto. She could sense that the balance of power and influence within their household was shifting—and that the presence of the Targaryens was at the heart of it.

As she approached one of the side courtyards, she caught sight of Thufir Hawat standing near a Fremen messenger, his expression intent as he passed a sealed message into the messenger’s hands. The Fremen nodded curtly, tucking the message into his robes before turning and disappearing into the shadows of the courtyard, heading in the direction of the desert.

Jessica stepped forward, her voice sharp as she addressed the Mentat. “Thufir, what are you doing? Sending messages to the Targaryens behind my back?”

Hawat turned to face her, his expression hardening as he squared his shoulders. “The Duke ordered me to reach out to House Targaryen for assistance in rooting out the Harkonnen threat, my lady. It’s a matter of security for Arrakeen—something I believe you would support, given the circumstances.”

Jessica’s eyes narrowed, and she took a step closer, her tone icy. “Do not think for a moment that I am unaware of what you are doing, Mentat. You have allowed Leto to draw too close to these outsiders. He risks everything we have worked for by aligning himself with them.”

Hawat’s jaw tightened, but he met her gaze steadily. “The Duke is acting in the best interests of House Atreides, as he always has. Daenys, Aelor, and Maelor Targaryen have proven themselves valuable allies, capable of providing resources and technologies that could strengthen our position on Arrakis. The Harkonnens are a greater threat than you realize, and we need every advantage we can muster.”

Jessica’s expression grew more severe, her frustration boiling over as she pressed her point. “And in doing so, you risk endangering House Atreides from within! Leto’s judgment has been compromised—I have seen the way he looks at Daenys, how he speaks of her. He is letting his feelings cloud his decisions, and you... you are enabling him.”

Hawat’s eyes flashed with defiance, and he took a step forward, closing the distance between them. “You underestimate the Duke, my lady. He has made difficult choices before, and he will do so again if it is what is best for Arrakis. If that means aligning with House Targaryen, then so be it.”

Jessica’s lips thinned, and she lowered her voice, her words carrying a sharper edge. “Do you truly believe that this alliance will end with military aid and economic exchange, Thufir? Leto has kept himself unmarried for years, maintaining his freedom for political maneuvering. But now, I fear he is prepared to break that unspoken promise, even if it means betraying those who have stood beside him all these years. Betraying... me.”

Hawat’s expression shifted, and for a moment, a flicker of sympathy crossed his features. But his voice remained firm, unyielding. “If Leto chooses to pursue a different path, it is because he believes it is the right one. And if that path includes Daenys Targaryen, then perhaps it is time to consider what new possibilities that could bring to House Atreides.”

Jessica’s eyes flashed with anger and hurt, but she held herself tall, unwilling to show any weakness before the Mentat. “You overstep, Hawat. You have always overstepped, but this time... you go too far. You would cast aside loyalty for a new alliance, one that could break us.”

Hawat inclined his head slightly, though his expression remained cool. “I serve the Duke, my lady. As do you. And I will continue to do so, no matter what choices he makes.”

Without waiting for her response, Hawat turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the stone corridor, leaving Jessica standing alone in the courtyard, the shadows deepening around her.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the weight of her fury and fear pressing down like a stone. Leto’s intentions were becoming clearer with each passing day, and the thought of him offering his hand—and House Atreides—to the Targaryens filled her with a cold dread.

But more than that, it was the realization that she might be losing her place in Leto’s life, a place that she had fought so hard to maintain, that cut the deepest. And as she stood there, her mind raced with the possibilities, the plots, and the shadowed futures that loomed before them all.

She knew that Arrakis was a battleground—but it was not just the desert that would be fought over. 

[captain-hawks]

Dee, I have Thoughts and no one irl to brainrot @ so pls excuse the umpteenth time I am in your notifications this weekend.

Last week I word vomited in your spicy requests about how much TraditionalGarb!Hoshina plagues my thoughts. Well, I went out for dinner and had a few cocktails, and my slightly drunk, pliant mind was churning the entire ride home. [Sober Note: I started this ask right when I got home, and now, having sobered up a bit, holy hell I am sorry for getting lost in the sauce and turning what was supposed to be drunk imagines into something ludicrous. I can't quite bring myself to delete it bc I was clearly so into it, but seriously if this is too long/annoying please just ignore me!]

I'm thinking of a historical period-era AU Hoshina clan. Not too familiar with Japanese history but maybe Edo period, idk about historical accuracy. In my imagines, reader is from a less influential, albeit wealthier clan, has 2 older brothers, and grew up around the Hoshina family from birth. Both their families are preoccupied with the eldest children and their role in continuing the family legacy/business, so their families don't hound them too closely in their childhoods. They're in a rural, countryside part of Japan with plenty of wild grass and flower fields. Soichiro holds all the weight of family expectation so he is more aloof. But Soshiro is allowed more freedom, so when he isn't obsessively training, he is spending time with reader as her closest childhood friend. Meanwhile, reader is trained in all the traditional arts and duties expected of her, but she also has a love for calligraphy (or painting but idk how accurate that is) that she is allowed to cultivate because, again, her parents aren't hounding her too closely. She's fascinated by Soshiro's swordsmanship and makes him show her all the moves he is learning, and in turn, he is enthralled by her knowledge and love of calligraphy and likes to hear her talk about it for hours even if he doesn't quite get it. Because they're in a rural area, they also play outdoors together whenever they can, climbing trees and splashing in the streams, and Soshiro is rough-and-tumble and free around her in ways he can't be at home when he's ceaselessly trying to measure up to and surpass his brother. As they grow older they are naturally forced apart due to expectations of their genders and stations. They still hold onto what they believe is a fondness for their childhood friend, until one day, as the wild wisteria blooms and they see a glimpse of each other after an absence of several months, they both realize that the innocent fondness held in their hearts had taken root long ago and finally bloomed into love.

Unfortunately, in the Edo period, warrior families started to lose their place in this era of newfound peace, and the Hoshinas are forced to worry about their place in this world for the first time. At the same time, reader's clan is struck by tragedy and her 2 older brothers are killed in an accident, leaving a vacuum for the future of the clan. The Hoshina and Reader patriarchs decide on what they believe is a mutually beneficial arrangement: Soichiro and Reader shall join their clans in marriage. Reader's clan benefits from the prestige of the Hoshina name, and the Hoshina clan benefits from the prosperous wealth of her family. As the sole remaining offspring of her clan, she should be honored to be chosen to helm the Hoshina household and bear its heirs.

Ofc Reader is devastated, but she knows that her voice is unimportant and she will forever be doomed to suffer in a life so close to her dreams, but with a cruel twist. She sees Soshiro just once after the engagement announcement, and it is with a too-cheerful mask that he congratulates her on her match, and, in a moment when no one is looking, he slips into her hands a small gift that he had picked up in the capitol on his last trip and had been meaning to give to her: some fine new ink he thought she would love for her calligraphy. He supposes it is an engagement gift now, even if the gift is only really for her.

On the eve of her wedding, she manages to sneak out and find Soshiro. Together, they go to the grassy field of wildflowers by the creek they played in as children. Even though fate is not on their side, it seems the moon has sympathy for them, because it hides behind clouds and conceals their illicit meeting. They're finally able to declare their love for one another in the place where it all began. She tells Soshiro that even though destiny was determined to keep them apart, she wants to know what it is to wholly love and be loved, just once in her life. So under the glow of a thousand fireflies, she undresses Hoshina, gently pulling his kosode apart to reveal his chest. She laughs lightly as she traces his scars-the old and familiar ones from childhood, and the newer ones he has acquired in manhood. She traces the marks she remembers: the dented scar on his shoulder from when he fell out of the cypress tree trying to grab a beetle to impress her when they were five. The patch of slightly uneven skin along his arm from three years later, when he had run after his father's horse in the road and tripped down the hill. The thin, raised slash from when Soichiro had cut him in training at age 11, to teach him a lesson on inferiority. From there, she draws lines to the unfamiliar marks: a puffy patch of new skin from a recent battle wound that has only started to heal, two pigmented gashes where he was gouged in battle last year, a mottled expanse of bruises on his ribs from where he had challenged Soichiro last month, just after the engagement announcement, and had finally shown his brother that his attempted lesson in inferiority had never sunk in.

She says that all these marks tell her a story in the same way a calligrapher's soul is left indelibly in their brushstrokes. She sees a world in his body, and it tells her favorite story. Overwhelmed, Soshiro finally crashes into her and through the flurry of kissing he has her on her back in the grass, slipping her out of her garments. He's mapping his way across her significantly less blemished skin with his lips and tongue, and laments between pants that he will never be able to partake in the story of her body, because she belongs to his brother and he cannot leave his own brushstrokes on the expanse of her skin. Breathless, reader pulls a bottle tucked into her undergarment next to her heart-a vial of the precious ink Soshiro had gifted her. Her wedding is tomorrow-she knows there is no way he can leave any lasting marks on her. But for tonight, she is his and she wants some proof of that, however temporary. So Soshiro dips his finger in the ink and swirls and dips it all over the memories he has buried in his mind: a spot on her neck where a particularly vicious bee had stung her as they chased tadpoles as six-year-olds, a whorl on her shoulder where his ten-year-old head rested as she unrolled endless scrolls to extol the virtues of some long-dead calligrapher, an almost-violent slash just under the swell of her bosom where he had caught her when she had fallen in her attempt to swing his katana at 13.

And as he finally lines up his achingly hard cock and breaches her cunt, as he makes love to her for the first and last time, he grieves for the death of the two stories written here-hers, which will be washed off her body as soon as she returns to her home, and his, which will wither and end without her to trace the patterns and give them the meaning he can never find by himself. [sober note/holy run on sentence batman]

you better believe i'm posting this ask because IT NEEDS TO BE SEEN!!!

MY FRIEND!!!!! i'm on my knees. i'm begging. i'm clawing at the air. i'm frantically waving anything of value that i have in your direction. i implore you to write this because i'm wholly obsessed. a period piece, childhood friends, the arranged marriage, THE YEARNING, THE LOVELY POETRY OF IT ALL EVEN JUST AS A SUMMARIZED VERSION!?!?!?

She says that all these marks tell her a story in the same way a calligrapher's soul is left indelibly in their brushstrokes. She sees a world in his body, and it tells her favorite story.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(don't even get me started on him painting on her????? oh my god i'm so unwell. i need one of those fainting couches. i want to CONSUME THISSSSS)

you're a genius. a brilliant wonderful genius.

[exhuastedpigeon]

Buddie Hiatus Fic Rec - Month 8 Nov 16 - Dec 15

Previous lists under the cut at the bottom

0-5k

merle said mama tried, but the prison still won by oklahoma / @sunshinediaz Teen | 2.9k Eddie goes to (mall) jail.

do you love me? all you gotta do is say yes by fleetinghearts / @shitouttabuck Teen | 3.1k two boy best friends and an ex lover walk into a grocery store. everyone is on their normalest behaviour.

drawstrings by browney3dgirl6 / @hoodie-buck Mature | 3.7k Eddie helps Buck fix his drawstrings. How was he supposed to know it’d lead to him sitting in Bucks lap?

Here Comes the Jackpot Question In Advance by lamardeuse / @lamardeuse Teen | 4.1k Buck is determined to start the new year right.

5k-10k

I'm still standing in the same place where you left me standing by trysetmeonfire / @try-set-me-on-fire Teen | 8.3k Bobby deals with the ramifications of a misplaced confession

10k-20k

Don't Push Me So Far Away I Can't Reach You by giselleslash. / @gigi-gigi Mature | 12k the one where Buck thinks he and Eddie are just friends with benefits so he pushes Eddie to date other people because he’s an idiot.

give it to someone special by rainbow_nerds / @rainbow-nerdss Mature | 12.3k Buck and Eddie meet at the airport after their respective girlfriends live their Hallmark movie dreams and dump them right before Christmas.

into thirty separate parts by hammersmiths / @henswilsons Teen | 12.6k Taylor’s book comes out.

sang to the sea for feelings deep blue by Tizniz / @tizniz General audiences | 14k The 118 responds to a cruise ship emergency.

20k - 30k

say (don't) go by bccalling / @fiona-fififi Teen | 20.4k Eddie starts dropping hints he wants more kids. Buck assumes he means with Marisol. Buck spirals about it. Eddie does not mean with Marisol.

deck the halls (and your in-laws) by oklahoma / @sunshinediaz Mature | 29.6k Eddie and Buck, recently married and moved into their new house, have the (dis)pleasure of unexpectedly hosting their parents through the holiday season. It’s not what either of them want or need, but they can get through it because they’re in this together. Right?

30k +

Facets of a Diamond by countrygirlsfun / @acountrygirlsfun Teen | 35.1k Southern California is where Buck has spent the most time since leaving Pennsylvania. Of all the places he’s lived and worked over the last few years, this place is where he decided to stay. It’s why he picked LAFD: to put down some roots. It’s warm, has the ocean, and it’s the opposite coast of his parents. So if he’s going to be here for a while, he thinks he’ll need to make an effort to let people in.

Sweet Nothing by LongConvolutedSimiles Teen | 37.8k Buck and Eddie go on dates, fall in love and get together. Yes in that order.

Maybe More Than I Should by Leslie_Knope Mature | 51.5k Eddie caught sight of the man leaning against the side of his desk and immediately wanted to retreat to the relative safety of the hallway, back in time when he lived happily not knowing that Mr. Buckley was apparently some kind of male model masquerading as a third-grade teacher.

it walks with my legs (to fall at your feet) by Underhung_Aura / @eddiebabygirldiaz Explicit | 61.8k a buddie summer sons au where buck and eddie get caught up in something bigger than themselves and awaken a power that haunts them for the rest of their lives; however, the unspoken truths and love between them haunts them more than any ghost ever could.

a blaze in the dark by woodchoc_magnum / @woodchoc-magnum Explicit | 117k Set post-Season 6, where Buck has inadvertently sacrificed his friendship with Eddie in order to focus on his new relationship with Natalia, and is shocked when Eddie comes out to the team and subsequently reveals that he is dating a guy.

All My Shattered Oaths by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels / @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels Explicit | 120k Eddie wants to stay away from his family’s legacy and give his son a normal life. Buck’s desperate to find a way to get over the love he lost. Fate has other plans for both of them.

Month 1 (May 15 - June 15) Month 2 (June 16 - July 15) Month 3 (July 16 - August 15) Month 4 (August 16 - September 15) Month 5 (September 16 - October 15) Month 6 (October 16 - November 15) Month 7 (November 16 - December 15)

[kiragecko]

One of the main reasons I love things like Reverse Robins AUs, is how they can help you figure out what's important to a character, and then look at those things through a fun house mirror to learn them better.

This is why my new favourite Reverse Robins concept is Tim, the second Robin, dying protecting a 4 year old Dick Grayson and his parents from the Court of Owls.

Part of why he dies is that Damian has made showing weakness so painful that he doesn't call for help. Dick leaves Gotham with his parents and gets another 5 years of happiness before they're killed by Tony Zucco. Tim becomes a Talon. He becomes active in Gotham when Jason is 16, and nobody knows who he is until Dick has become the newest Robin and the Court sentences Batman and Robin to death, a year and a half later.

Things that I find really satisfying about this idea:

It keeps the canon Dick+Tim 'Relationship Transformed by Kindness and Death' dynamic, but flips it. Instead of Dick being trapped in the place of his tragedy, surrounded by reminders, and Tim growing up silently watching him; we have Dick being whisked away from his tragedy, growing up surrounded by reminders of what's been saved.

It allows us to play with Jason's 'I Can't let Go of My Death and So I've Lost Myself and Everything I Loved' issues. Tim can't let go of his death, and it's his only link to himself and everything he's lost. He remembers saying 'The Flying Grayson's will fly again!' Keeping Dick alive is more important than avoiding being thrown back in the Labyrinth. Protecting Dick from the Court is his path back to his family.

It keeps the obsession and connection between Tim and Dick, instead of trying to convince the reader that Tim idealized Damian. I've struggled to translate Tim's motivation for becoming Robin in a reversed setting, and I can't make it work. This gives that motivation to Dick, instead, and allows us to explore how DICK would have been transformed by that one meeting. He didn't need love and affection in the same way Tim did. But I can see him holding on to the hope and heroism he saw, and instead of getting consumed by his rage when his parent's die, he's motivated to live up to Robin's legacy.

It gives a reason for my favourite reversed dynamic: instead of Bruce being broken by Jason's death, Bruce is convinced to step up by Tim's. In this universe, Bruce didn't choose either of his first 2 kids, and found it easier and safer to deny Tim even WAS his kid. (During Tim's tenure, Batman and Robin start patrol from the central Wayne Ent. Batcave, leaving the Manor to Damian, because it's easier than keeping Damian's vicious resentment and jealousy in line. Tim learns to mostly avoid the Waynes as civilians. Bruce deals with anything he sees, but doesn't confront the roots of the issues, and Tim loves being Robin but never feels particularly safe in the role.) Bruce 'got a kid killed' by holding him at arms length, and so, when Jason comes into his life and Bruce's attempts to find him a better place are stopped by corruption at every turn, Bruce chooses to truly become a parent.

One of the few things Tim remembers is his certainty that Robins aren't safe around Damian. This lets me keep Dick's canon struggles with Tim and Damian's conflicting needs. Both want to protect him, but Tim wants to protect him FROM Damian, and clingy baby Dick idolizes Tim, but NEEDS to hang off various parts of Damian for as much of the day as possible. Damian is drowning in guilt and wants to make Tim as comfortable as possible, but has committed to raising Dick. He can't let Tim stay between the 2 of them at all times.

It doesn't give as many hooks for Tim and Jason's relationship as I like. And I remain conflicted about whether Cass and Steph should come before Tim (to properly reverse canon) or after Tim (to make them contemporary with Jason, because he deserves to have contemporaries in AUs. Canon denied him). Duke is swapped with Babs, and I have fun thoughts about him, but that's a different post.

I don't think I can write this, but I want to see it!

[hlficlibrary]

HL Fic Library 💙 Disabled Character Fics

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.

✨ Take My Breath Away by @realitybetterthanfiction {E, 153k}

There is a prestigious school in the British Royal Navy classified as Premier Delta - or as it is known by its flyers, 1D. These select pilots are an elite set of Naval lieutenants who are trained in the skill of aggressive aerial combat. They are instruments of war, trained in times of peace. They are dogfighters, relentless and fearless in their mission to protect their beloved country. From their lofty vantage, they are always watching, waiting, and ready to lay it all on the line.

Lt. Harry Styles, call sign Sparrow, is a prodigy when it comes to flying. The owner of an unrivaled Naval pedigree, being a pilot was always written in the stars for Harry. With his trusty RIO, Lt. Niall Horan, Harry has made an unprecedented ascension in the ranks of the Naval aerial combat elite, and has been recruited to the esteemed Premier Delta flight school, carrying on his family’s legacy. What he finds there are unexpected friendships, perilous challenges, and something beyond what he ever thought possible. Because as his father had always told him, before the great Captain Styles went tragically missing in combat, you don’t fall in love with the sky, you fall in love with what keeps you on the ground.

✨ And What If I Were You by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom {E, 109k}

For Louis, will losing his sight give him the clarity to realise what is right in front of him?

For Harry, will losing the love of his life give him the strength to finally open his heart?

And can they find their way back, before they lose each other forever?

A story of love. A story of loss. A story of fighting for each other, no matter the odds.

✨ We're What's Right In This World by BriaMaria / @briannamarguerite {E, 48k}

“Why did you talk like that in Brighton? If you weren’t planning on ever telling me?” Louis asked. “Is it because you think you’re going to die?”

“It’s war, Lou,” Harry said finally.

The words were a knife slipped between his ribs. Everything hurt and he was bleeding. He shifted up, his palms cradling Harry’s jaw, his lips against his boy’s. Not kissing, just resting there, so Louis could feel him. “Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Harry’s hands smoothed down the sides of Louis’ body. “You know I can’t do that. I’ll never lie to you.”

“Promise me. We’re going to have our cottage. And our dogs. And our breakfast in the garden where nothing grows because of the wind from the sea. Promise me.”

“I won’t.” Stubborn as always, his boy. “I’ll promise you, I’ll love you all my life. I’ll promise you, you’ll never leave my thoughts. I’ll promise you, you’re my forever and my always. But promising you something I can’t cheapens the things I can.”

Or the World War II AU where Harry goes off to fight and all Louis wants to do is be the boy who brings him home.

✨ Seeing Blind by zedi {E, 46k}

Louis finally turns his head in Liam’s direction, knows his face is showing the longing he’s been aching with ever since it took root in his chest. “What the fuck do I do, Liam? He wouldn’t want me like that, but I want-” his voice cracks, and he turns his face back downwards. “What do you do when you’re not perfect for the person who’s perfect for you?”

OR the one where Harry’s an independent omega who likes to have his fun and Louis is the blind alpha that changes Harry’s priorities.

✨ It Feels Different When You’re With Me by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings {M, 45k}

Harry fell in love with sign language as a kid. He never imagined the first love of his life would lead him straight to his second.

✨ fondre ton absence by @scrunchyharry {T, 41k}

Harry had never really given much thought to the future. He preferred to let life steer him forward and to follow in the footsteps of Louis, his best friend from as far as his memory went, his lover, his everything. Louis knew better than he did what was good for him.

It changed drastically when Louis was ripped away from him, drafted and sent to the front to fight in a war that Harry had always been sure would never reach him. Too young and too sickly to follow, Harry was left on his own for the first time in his life.

When he thought things could not possibly get worse, Louis went missing at the Somme and was declared dead. While everyone buried and mourned him, Harry never moved on. If Louis were dead, he was sure that he would know it. Their lives were too entwined, he would know if half of his heart had died.

Determined to find Louis, Harry did everything he could in his quest to be reunited with him, except prepare for the state Louis might be in.

He did not prepare for the harsh truth he would have to face: was love possible without memories?

✨ Bitter Ends Turn Sweet by @allwaswell16 {E, 30k}

It had been four years since Harry first heard the song his ex wrote about him and far longer since they broke up. He forgave Louis long ago, and now his life was focused on his career, his family, and especially his son, Max. But Louis was back in Chicago, after all this time, and he’s not an easy man to ignore.

Or a songfic inspired by the song Chicago

✨ my strange girl by curlockholmes / @dykesteddie {E, 30k}

Harry works in a cafe kitchen; making bagels, snarking with Zayn, and generally trying to exist as an autistic girl working in hospitality.

Louis is the captain of the local women's rugby team who takes a shine to her.

✨ To Give You a Hand to Hold by gettingaphdinlarry {NR, 26k}

When he spoke again, Harry’s voice was low. “Ever think of how many birthdays they don’t get?”

Louis avoided Harry’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Martinez was what, nineteen? Missed a good sixty of them.” Harry took the last of his cake and passed the plate to Louis. “Figure sixty missed birthdays each. Just on our side. How many is that?”

Louis used the edge of his fork to scrape frosting off the plate. “Never thought about it.”

“What would your shrink say?”

“‘Focus on the positive.’”

Harry ran a hand over his head and scratched the back of his neck. “How’s that working?”

Marine Louis Tomlinson is medically discharged when an IED explodes in Afghanistan. Months later, he's reunited Stateside with his Navy medic Harry Styles. The two of them shelter each other even as they refuse to admit they're in the throes of PTSD, until one night nearly destroys them.

✨ the dead things we carry by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics {M, 25k}

September ‘49  He hasn’t seen him since that day in France, that horrible muddy day where for one terrifyingly long second, Louis really thought he was going to die. He winces with the phantom pain, the hand not holding his cane going to his stomach automatically, remembering the franticness, the tenderness, of Harry’s hands while Louis was bleeding out.

This is the man who saved Louis’ life.

For one second, Louis fears Harry won’t recognise him, but his eyes widen when he turns to his left and they meet Louis’. He takes a step forward, reaching for him with a shaky hand before stopping himself.

“Louis,’ Harry says with a shudder and Louis doesn’t think his name has ever carried more weight.

This is the only man Louis ever thought about kissing for real.

“Oh,” Mrs. Padley says, clearly taken aback. “You two know each other?”

There are some things people never fully come home from. Until, one day, if they’re lucky, home comes to them.

✨ Don't Act Like It's a Bad Thing to Fall in Love by nightwideopen / @themarshalstale {G, 23k}

Louis was born blind, completely blind, leaving him with nothing but the absolute blackness that his lack of vision produces.

Harry, on the other hand, is deaf. No sound can be registered by the two tiny ears his rowdy, chocolate curls obscure so well.

The first time Louis and Harry meet, it’s sort of an accident.

✨ the sanctity of patience by @scrunchyharry {T, 22k}

When young Lord Harry was chosen by King Louis of Bavaria to become his husband and prince consort, Harry thought all of his dreams had come through. His illusions came crashing down when he understood it meant living in isolation in the alpine castle of Neuschwanstein with a husband who turned out to be far from what he had hoped for.

His illusions vanished, Harry will have learn to appreciate what has and even, perhaps, fall in love with his imperfect husband and his castle.

✨ some evening in springtime by delsicle / @eeveedel {M, 20k}

Fresh out of veterinary school, Louis moves to a sleepy small town in Texas to take over the local animal clinic. But his new life is quickly interrupted by a middle aged rancher with a bad leg and a mysterious past, who really needs Louis's yoga skills.

✨ Blind Faith by @2tiedships2 {M, 18k}

“Harry?” Liam prompted.

“I’m blind,” Harry eventually said, trying his best to keep himself from crying.

Liam was silent for a few moments, before responding, “That’s not exactly news, H. You were blind when I met you a year and a half ago. Have you been in denial this whole time or something?”

“No, Liam,” Harry cut in. “This is different. I’m not legally blind like I used to say. It’s not just my night vision. The tunnel from my tunnel vision has closed. I’m fucking blind! I moved halfway around the world in the hope of finding my soulmate and it’s obviously not happening now. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not even a soulmate is going to want to put up with a blind alpha."

✨ Our love is special because it's you and I (series) by sweetkisses {NR, 11k}

"So what are you studying?" Harry asks.

"Accounting." Louis says quietly.

"Sweet. I don't know much about accounting but I do know that it means you must be pretty damn smart." Harry says nodding his head.

"Thanks." Louis giggles out and Harry didn't know it was possible for him to be more beautiful. "What, um, what are you studying?"

"Law." Harry says and lays his legs out in front of him as he places his hands behind him and tilts his head towards the sun.

"You must be pretty smart if you're studying law." Louis mocks with a smirk. Harry didn't expect the next words to ever come out of his mouth but this boy just does things to him.

"Two smart people make a genius couple."

or the four times Harry sees the beautiful boy in the wheelchair

✨ Heart Eyes by @snowy38 {E, 10k}

He fidgeted nervously, long fingers pushed through his soft fringe, fingertips lingering on the thick curls that he felt formed there. He hoped his hair looked okay. He hoped he looked okay.

He hoped-

“Oi oi!” Niall’s loud, Irish voice cut into the small space along with the loud chatter of the party; the door assumingly opened. He swallowed.

“Fuck off!” A northern accent complained; the sound of bodies wrestling before it went quiet again; the clunk of the lock confirming to him that his suitor was now locked inside.

Harry knew the voice. He knew. And if he hadn’t known the voice, he would have known the smoky, sweet scent of the boy before him. Seventeen years old, friends since they were eight, and they’d never been pushed into the kissing cupboard together before.

✨ Deep Within The Mystery of Your Eyes (I Am Home At Last) by patdkitten / @babyarcanacasey {M, 10k}

It's a world where you discover your soulmate after skin contact and finding your world exploding in colour. Louis has been blind his entire life. He makes do quite well, thank you very much, and he's glad that he doesn't have to see colours fade in and out of his world. Harry trains disability dogs, and, during a chance meeting with Louis at a local market, he discovers that Louis' his soulmate. He comes up with a wild scheme - train his current dog to be the perfect dog for Louis - in order to keep Louis in his life, and maybe convince him they're soulmates.

✨ the pain never leaves, but neither do you. (series) by Anonymous {M, 10}

Harry has fibromyalgia and Niall is an idiot, leaving Louis to bump into Harry at 6am in a hospital corridor. It ends up as something much more wonderful than Harry ever could have expected, stood with a walker in his ratty PJs after a nasty flare-up, and he finally finds someone who can love him just the way he is.

✨ I Roll 'til I Change My Luck by larry_hiatus / @larry-hiatus {T, 8k}

Dating is hard enough when you're gay. When Louis reveals to his Tinder matches that he uses a wheelchair and has a service dog, things tend to get even more complicated. Too bad the guys on dating apps aren't as sweet and understanding as his best friend Harry...

✨ Struggle by @1diamondinthesun {NR, 3k}

Louis had accepted long ago that he would always be alone in the world. Yet he often wondered what defined us as people: the cards we’d been dealt, or how we played them to survive.

Or, Louis is living with a chronic illness and growing tired of going it alone.

[beanghostprincess]

Auntie Buggy anon, back again bc you are my soul twin (no romo) and you Get Me

Consider an AU where Buggy comes out relatively early on in life but only really PUBLICALLY transitions later on. She is happy and safe under Roger's wings and so she feels secure enough to ask Crocus questions and look around and talk to Roger, Rayleigh, Shanks - Shanks is the first to know anything. He goes from "wow he's so pretty" to "wow she's so pretty" with barely a hiccup.

The crew is aggressively supportive. Roger especially made damn sure NOBODY would be mean to his daughter ((both bc he's Protective and also bc AAAAAAA HE HAS A DAUGHTER)).

Hormones weren't safe or feasible for her at that age - she was young enough for puberty blockers maybe, but the notion (and supplies) were just Chemicals to her. She could think of far more interesting chemicals to play around with - explosive ones!

Add in her devil fruit and an instinct to split at a prick or slice, she wasn't really good for injections. And she was so wild that the idea of having a routine for medication was laughable. It didn't matter, bc her dad and her crew and her Shanks were there for her, even if some people (cough cough ROGER) got a little too excited when she came out.

(Though in his defense, she DOES look cute in a ballgown. She just didn't need him to buy out the entire boutique. No, really, Captain, stop-!)

When Roger realized the End was here, that he'd done what he Had Wanted To Do, he gave the kids gifts - things for them to carry on with them in lieu of himself. He considered them his children, and so he passed on what he could as smth of an heirloom.

To Shanks, his Hat - his Legacy. Not to be the next Pirate King, not at all, but to live freely, happily, and to embrace the Seas as a sentinel. Shanks was the sky, limitless and without shackles, and Roger would not tie him down to a set path or a pre-written journey. Smth Big was coming, after all, and Shank always loved a good adventure.

To Buggy, his Initial - she was less inclined to battles than Shanks, though by no means was she weak. No, Buggy would do better nurturing the next generation, putting her mind to use and plotting the course to her own treasures. She was the one who he could see as the driving force, the energy, the charisma, the catalyst to the New Beginning. She was a D. in all but blood (and maybe even then that can be argued - their blood types were compatible, and he had definitely donated some to her before.) Where Shanks was the sky, she was the sea - bold, unapologetic, merciful and cruel, dynamic and unflinching even as it carried so many currents, too many to count. But just as the waves calmed when held in hand, she too benefited from security. She would be safe, and she would be his, a last little claim for his baby bug.

((And maybe, Roger, knowing how much she FEELS everything, knew she would love with all she had. Buggy loves love, even if it scares her. He would never be able to clip on her veil or call her a beautiful bride or walk her down an aisle or make sure the man/woman/whoever (or more) she married would be good enough for her. He wouldn't BE there, but he could give her this, a piece of him, his past, his roots, to help her grow in the future, to connect them. It was the best he could do in that moment))

So Buggy comes out early on in her life.

After Roger's execution, the Marines and the press make assumptions when she makes waves, calling her a man; Shanks, Rayleigh, Crocus, anyone who KNEW, they are furious but won't out her, not without her permission - something impossible to get.

So when Buggy eventually DOES come out, even years upon years later, it is to knowing smiles, Seas apart and still so painfully fond.

((And if she ever gets married, Rayleigh may show up with a familiar sash, decades old but lovingly protected. It's worn, soft, and there are spits where the color has been bleached by the sun. Somehow it even still smells faintly of a familiar brand of rum, an old recipe no longer being made, sea salt and caramel and something almost like ozone, an imprint of Haki so familiar it brings tears to blue eyes. And Rayleigh smiles, nods to her silent question.

Roger left many things for his children, but some were for special occasions. Who better to trust with such things than his first mate?))

I have so many emotions about Buggy in GENERAL and the Rogers and trans Buggy and just aaaaaaaaaaaa too many feelingsssss

You are my soul twin too bestie <3 You get me !!

Using the same reasoning I use for transfem Sanji, fem Buggy makes sense because Roger has SO much girldad energy. He'd be so so supportive. Like, extremely. All the crew would, but he'd just be so proud of his girl and he has no idea how to talk to or treat women but he's excited anyway. And Shanks literally just changes pronouns in his head so damn easily lmfao he just sees Buggy as Buggy he doesn't care if she's a girl or not or whatever, what matters to him is that she's happy. And if she's a girl, to him she's the prettiest girl in the world and he's ready to fight whoever says otherwise.

You didn't need to make the initial thing so damn poetic, do you want me to start crying??? It's so-- Okay. Shut up. It's just too beautiful because people often portray Roger as this guy who ignored Buggy and preferred Shanks when he quite obviously loved both a lot and,, And I am sobbing. Roger not being able to see her getting married but Rayleigh showing up-- I am inside your walls. Stop- I- Okay. I don't want to make this about Shuggy but I am making it about Shuggy and saying that Shanks would be so damn emotional marrying Buggy. Like, he'd see her in a dress and he'd just start sobbing mid-wedding and Buggy would be so tired of him because he's pausing the whole thing only to cry. Fucking sap (she loves him a lot).

The Roger Pirates would be so protective of their girl because, well, that's basically their only girl, lmfao. If somebody dares to disrespect her, they're probably ending up dead or very very wounded. Good luck trying to make fun of her.

I also can't stop thinking about Buggy growing up surrounded by men and feeling a bit too much left out, but then Toki shows up (thanks Oden, we love you bestie), and that kind of changes Buggy's life completely? Trying to think about this before she comes out to the rest of the crew and she's just starting to think about gender and what it means to her. And Toki is right there, being all feminine and gorgeous but strong and extremely smart and Buggy admires her a lot. And she starts spending a lot of time around her and she helps her so much to understand herself,,, Sobbing.

[flowerpot-broppy]

Bet you'd thought you'd seen the last of this AU, didn't ya?

Omg I'm not dead!! lol sorry ive been gone so long, I did NOT intend to be!! I have been going through some crazy art block, and I am just barely pulling myself out of it.

that being said, lets get into the AU under the cut!

(Pt. 1/2):

John Dory - (40) took the job after their grandmother died, he talked often about one day owning his own mechanic shop, and now needs the money to fund that dream. Very proud of his family and their legacy.

Bruce - (38) started out in the army and quickly grew in rank due to his skill in sharp shooting, but eventually settled into the chef occupation. married a war nurse and attended culinary school after returning. had his own restaurant but was forced to shut down after he shot a customer in the leg for complaining about his wife's food.

Clay - (37) an army medic, he went to school for botany and medicine and graduated with multiple PhDs. an exceptional doctor with a sweet disposition, he was recruited for his background in botanic research and pharmaceuticals.

Floyd - (34) the most adventurous past out of the brothers, spent time in the circus as well as an exotic dancer, waiter, and semester, his specialty lay in Electronic Communication devices. has had no fewer than 4 ex boyfriends and 2 ex husbands however none of them were meant to last. widowed by his most recent husband, Floyd fills his days with work and gossip.

Cooper - (21) adoptive family ran a flower shop, and while he was manning, making corsages for prom, the chinese laundry next door exploded due to a gas leak. He survived but the store was ruined. Taking the experience as "a sign from god" Cooper began his career as a demolitions expert, eventually finding new ways of making explosives such as adding oregano or chili powder to the concoction, claiming "it makes a very nice boom."

Keith - (12) displayed an early interest in subterranean pursuits at the age of 6 when he began exploring the vast sewer system of his home. By the age of 9 he had developed a specialized type of goggles and headgear to wear while exploring and had expanded from the sewers  to the surrounding countryside as they held no further challenge or mysteries for him. a year later and Keith has developed the ability to "taste" and identify various soils. He is sensitive to the light and generally distrustful of those he does not know well. He eats only roots, burrowing animals, and, if the rumor is to be believed, insects.

[preet-01]

Couldn’t get this idea out of my head after being a political tv show binge. So we’ve got maxiel in a political au

For all the modernity and progress that the country claims one things remains true — the people don’t elect just a candidate, no they elect the entire family.

They don’t want some bachelor. It is not a sign of commitment to one’s career, but an indicator of a man that could think with his cock and have bastard children while at the highest level of public service. It is an indicator of a man that could bring ruin and shame to the most sacred position.

They want a family man. A man who is happily married with the perfect partner to bear his children. That is a sign of maturity and commitment. An indicator that he is settled.

And more so, it is an image that the people can project their own thoughts and beliefs onto. A family that can distract the public from the harsh realities of governing and politics.

It is not just politics and connections that get you elected, but also the perfect family that the people can fall in love with.

Max Verstappen fits all the qualifications for a great candidate — the perfect candidate even. Except for one tiny little thing in his opinion, but a major hurdle according to his campaign manager, Sebastian.

Max Verstappen is about as single as they come. With two cats he adores more than anything and no partner, Max does not apparently have the makings of a winning candidate.

“So just because I am not married, I cannot become president?” Max questions. His actual presidential run is still a few years away, but the framework needs to be laid out years ahead.

The presidency is all that Max has ever wanted. Every moment in his life is meant to culminate towards that. And now one tiny little detail about his life could prevent it.

“Essentially yes. Voters want someone they can love. A bachelor is not easy to love, but a family? Well that is very easy to love and root for,” Sebastian says. “But… should you not want to find a partner… on your own… there are avenues we can take,” he says, carefully picking his words.

“How?” his dad asks.

“We’re in the nation’s capital. There is no shortage of people well aware of and willing to commit to a political marriage that could be beneficial for both parties involved,” Sebastian replies, giving his dad a knowing look.

“Of course, and you have a short list?” his dad questions.

“There is a list and it is quite short,” Sebastian replies vaguely.

____

The list is two people.

A man and woman — both brunette, older, and carriers. His dad suggests the woman, he’d known her father years ago. Sebastian suggests the man.

“Daniel is… well loved in the wealthy circles in this part of the country. Personable with everyone, not just the wealthy.”

“Then we go with Daniel,” Max agrees. Sebastian hadn’t led him wrong so far in his career and he doubted that the man would ruin it all as they neared a presidential run.

Sebastian’s team makes their story. As it turns out, they have quite a few mutual friends. It’s easy to make up a story of one of them introducing them and a secret romance blooming away from Max’s political career and Daniel’s preferred social circles.

Just a week before their first public appearance as a couple, Max meets Daniel for the first time. And Daniel is… well he understands why Sebastian would suggest him.

Daniel is like something come out of Max’s deepest fantasies.

“The future president, huh?” Daniel questions.

“It’s going to be a big commitment,” Sebastian says.

“I’ll play the part, as long as my conditions are met,” Daniel tells them.

“Conditions?” Max inquires.

“We hyphenate names. This will be my legacy as much as it is yours. There are certain policy issues on which I would like a say, Seb knows. I will not become some political breeding machine. We have three kids maximum and they have to be at least 2-3 years apart. And when you make it to the presidency, I will not stand for any cheating/sex scandal. Keep it private if you must, but the moment it makes national news, I’ll be gone with any kids we have in tow and telling everyone how you wronged me,” Daniel answers.

They’re not the most unreasonable conditions, but Max does have his concerns about the second and fourth conditions. “I will ensure that those are followed,” Sebastian answers before Max can say anything.

“Perfect, now I have to go. The ambassador from Monaco is visiting,” Daniel tells them, getting up from the sofa he had been sitting on. “Seb, do come to dinner. I’m sure the ambassador would love to pick at your brain again, amongst other things,” he adds.

“Should we not practice being the loving couple for next week?” Max asks.

“Oh darling, there’s no need,” Daniel replies, giving him a sleazy grin as his eyes trail over Max. “I’ll be the adoring partner that everyone expects of a senator hoping to run for president. You’re easy on the eyes. Now toodles poodles, can’t keep Sharlie waiting at the airport lest he run off in some strangers car again,” Daniel is gone within seconds. Leaving Max alone with Sebastian and a hundred questions about his husband to be.