#sharp spices (ship tag)

[m3chanical-rhythm]

The shriek this man let out before whipping around to see Rachael standing behind him--

"RACHE, WHAT THE FUCK--?!!"

[n1ght0f-nyx]

Hihi!

I just read your rules, so I hope this request follows them:

Could I request an leviathan!merman x fem reader? I'm not super picky about the details of his appearance, so you can have fun with that.

I'm thinking, maybe, reader is prisoner on a pirate ship and leviathan!merman attacks and sinks the ship because it constantly disturbs the water of his territory. He finds reader, realizes he almost killed an innocent captive, and shenanigans ensue from there. He takes her home with him to take care of her while she recovers from the imprisionment/his attack since it's too far to safely take her back to shore, much less a shore she knows. His underwater cave has an airpocket/above-sea level entrance as well as the main entrance; how lucky and convenient, amirite?😅

Maybe he's slightly awkward and it makes him seem detached and scary...

I'm hoping for fluffy with a smidgen of spice or smut at the end?

Thank you in advance if you decide to write this!🫶

holy shit this was insane i love you

merman x fem! reader fluff and smut

warnings/tags- short smut peice at the end, fem reader, monster x human, mentions of imprisonment, i gave him a name at the end

word count- 3727 words (im tired)

The salt-laden air was suffocating. The relentless waves rocked the creaking pirate ship as it cut through the waters, a prison you couldn't escape. Days had passed since your capture, and you were bruised, sore, and tired from the confinement. The crew barely acknowledged your existence beyond the scraps of food they tossed your way. They were focused on something else, something beyond the horizon that kept them nervous and on edge.

One of the older pirates muttered about a sea demon—a creature that hunted ships around these waters. You thought it was nothing more than sailors’ superstition, but as the air turned heavy and the sea became unnaturally still, an eerie sensation crawled down your spine. The crew became frantic. Eyes darted toward the water, watching for something. You couldn’t tell what.

It happened fast. The once-still water erupted into chaos, and the ship shuddered violently as if something enormous had collided with it. Men screamed weapons were drawn, but none of it mattered. The sea itself had risen against them. Waves higher than any you'd ever seen crashed down, tearing the ship apart. You were thrown across the deck, striking the mast hard, the air rushing out of your lungs as darkness claimed you.

---

When you awoke, the world felt different. The coldness of the water had soaked through every part of you, the sensation both numbing and alarming. You blinked, trying to focus on your surroundings, but nothing made sense. The sea still roared, but you weren’t drowning.

You were… floating? Treading?

Something—or someone—had you in its grasp. Panic surged through you, and you tried to twist away, only for the grip around you to tighten, keeping you still. Then you felt it—scales. The slick, cool texture brushed against your skin as a powerful tail swam you through the water with ease. You struggled, coughing up saltwater, your limbs heavy and useless.

A voice, deep and foreign, hummed in the water. “Don’t… fight.” The words were broken but clearer than you expected. You tried to crane your neck, to see what held you, but before you could make sense of the situation, you were lifted above the water.

The night sky greeted you once more, stars shimmering against the black ocean. But it wasn’t the stars that took your breath away. As your vision focused, you were pulled into the shallow confines of a cavern. Rock formations loomed above, sharp and jagged, and the faint glow of bioluminescent algae clung to the cave walls, casting an ethereal light across the scene.

Then you saw him.

The creature holding you was enormous. His upper body was humanoid but covered in dewy scales, glistening under the faint light. His skin was a mix, inky gunmetal grey and Cerulean blue, blending with the shadows and the sea. The  scales grew rougher around his neck and joints, trailing down to the massive tail that curved behind him. His eyes, glowing with an eerie gold hue, met yours, unblinking and intense.

A sea-creature.

The pirate tales weren’t lies.

He moved carefully, setting you down on a small ledge that jutted out of the water inside the cave. You coughed again, your body shaking as the cold air hit your wet skin. For a moment, the creature just stared at you, his eyes scanning over your form with something you couldn’t place. Was it curiosity? Guilt? You weren’t sure, but it wasn’t the mindless aggression you'd expected from the stories.

"Pretty… girl," he whispered, the words hesitant as his voice echoed in the cavern.

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear mixing with confusion. Why had he saved you? Had he been the one to destroy the ship? The silence between you stretched on, uncomfortable and thick. You opened your mouth to speak but hesitated, unsure if you wanted to know the answer to your questions.

He shifted awkwardly, his long tail curling into itself as if he wasn’t sure what to do next. The leviathan’s hands, large and clawed, flexed as he tried to mimic human gestures. He brought one to his chest as if trying to calm you. His voice was gruff and halting. “Hurt..?”

You swallowed, trying to find your voice. "I... I was a prisoner."

The leviathan frowned, his expression twisting as if he was processing your words. He pointed to himself. "I… destroy..Save you." he spoke blankly

Your mind reeled. He had attacked the ship. He had killed everyone on board—pirates, yes, but also human beings. And yet here he was, trying to help you. There was no malice in his expression, only an awkward uncertainty, like he wasn't used to interacting with anyone, let alone a human.

“I…” You stammered, feeling small under his gaze. “Why?”

His head tilted, brow furrowing. He seemed to struggle with the question, trying to find the words. "Innocent," he finally murmured. "No kill… innocent."

You wanted to believe him. But trust didn’t come easily when you’d just been ripped from one terrifying situation and thrown into another. “You killed them all,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

The leviathan’s eyes darkened, his tail thrashing slightly in the water, sending ripples across the surface. “They… disturbed…” His hand clenched into a fist before he loosened it again, trying to maintain his composure. “This… my home. They hurt… water. Hurt… sea.”

You blinked, processing his words. He was a protector of these waters, not a mindless monster. He had been defending his territory. The pirates had angered him and threatened his home. And in his attempt to drive them away, he had nearly taken you with them.

“I didn’t mean to be there,” you said, your voice softer now. “They captured me.”

He nodded slowly, his golden eyes never leaving yours. There was a strange kind of innocence to him despite his monstrous appearance, like he was trying to understand, trying to make sense of the situation as much as you were. “I… care for you. You are safe… here.”

You looked around the cave, the glow from the algae creating an otherworldly atmosphere. The air pocket allowed you to breathe, and while the water was cold, the rock beneath you was dry. For now, you were safe.

But how long would you be here? How far from the land were you? Your thoughts spiralled, and before you could stop yourself, tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You were stranded in an underwater cave with a creature who had just destroyed an entire ship, and you had no idea what would happen next.

Seeing your distress, the leviathan made a low sound, a soft chirping noise that seemed almost out of place for something his size. He inched closer, his movements slow and deliberate as if trying not to scare you. “Safe… now,” he repeated, his voice almost a whisper.

Your body trembled, a mix of cold and exhaustion taking over, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. You were too weak to respond, and as your vision blurred, you caught a final glimpse of the leviathan’s concerned gaze.

“Rest,” he murmured, his deep voice the last thing you heard before the darkness took you once more.

---

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you awoke again. The cave was still, the water lapping gently at the edges of the rocks. Your body ached, but the sharp pains from earlier had dulled to a manageable throb. As you stirred, you noticed the leviathan watching you from the water, his upper body resting on the edge of the ledge.

“You… awake,” he said, a hint of relief in his tone.

You pushed yourself up slowly, wincing as your muscles protested. “Yeah,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead. “I’m awake.”

The leviathan studied you for a moment before shifting his weight and submerging partway into the water again. “No go… back to land,” he said, his voice low but clearer than before. “Too far. Too… dangerous.”

You frowned. “Then what do I do? Just… stay here?”

He looked almost embarrassed, his golden eyes darting away from yours. “For now. I… help. You stay safe.”

It wasn’t an ideal solution, but what choice did you have? You were miles from land, and even if you could swim back, there was no guarantee you’d survive the journey.

As the days passed, the initial fear that had consumed you began to ebb away, replaced by something you couldn’t quite define. The leviathan, whom you had come to think of simply as "him," seemed to be doing everything in his power to make you feel safe. Every day, he brought you food from the sea—fish, clams, seaweed—arranging it in neat little piles on the dry ledge of the cave where you rested. It wasn’t long before you stopped seeing him as a monster. He had saved you, after all. And there was a gentleness in his awkwardness, an effort to communicate that made you feel like you weren’t just some stranded victim in a strange land. 

He never wandered too far, always returning with something new—a small collection of smooth stones, intricately shaped shells, and occasionally, bones that had been bleached by the ocean. He would lay them down carefully in front of you, watching for your reaction with bright, expectant eyes. At first, you didn’t think much of it. He was probably just offering you things he thought might interest a human, but you noticed that he always seemed delighted when you picked them up, inspecting each one closely. 

You had begun making a habit of it—admiring the shells, thanking him for the smooth, polished stones. His face would light up in a way you’d never seen before, his golden eyes flashing with that strange, bioluminescent glow that was becoming more familiar to you. 

And it wasn’t just his gifts. His body language had started to shift in subtle ways. When he emerged from the water, the faint freckles along his face and shoulders glowed softly, but when you spoke to him or even smiled in his direction, they would brighten, casting more light into the dim cave. At first, you assumed it was a natural response to his emotions—perhaps a way for his kind to communicate. But then came the sounds. He chirped. He hummed. He made these low, rumbling noises deep in his chest that reverberated through the cave walls. 

It was strange—almost endearing. 

One day, after he had brought you a particularly beautiful shell—spiralled and iridescent—you smiled at him, running your fingers over its smooth surface. “It’s beautiful,” you said softly. “Thank you.”

The leviathan’s face lit up, his freckles flaring into an almost blinding brightness as he chirped happily. You chuckled, placing the shell in the small pile of treasures you had started keeping at your side. 

“Do you have a name?” you asked him, curious if he could understand more complex language. “I mean… what should I call you?”

He blinked, his head tilting slightly. “Name…?” His voice was still halting, but he was getting better, and more confident with his words. “No… name.”

“Hmm.” You bit your lip, thinking. “Maybe I’ll give you one, then.”

His eyes widened slightly, glowing with interest.

You tapped a finger against your chin, trying to come up with something that suited him. Something powerful, but also kind. “How about... Kai? It means sea in a few languages.”

“Kai…” he repeated as if testing the word. Then, his face broke into a small smile, the glowing freckles on his cheeks pulsing rhythmically. “Kai… like.”

You couldn’t help but smile back. “Good. Kai it is.”

The days continued like this, with him bringing you more gifts and making those strange chirping noises whenever you accepted them. Sometimes he would linger nearby, watching you with a strange intensity that should have been unnerving but wasn’t. It was almost… sweet. 

One evening, after he had brought you a particularly smooth stone—a dark, deep blue colour—you held it up to the faint light. “You have quite the eye for pretty things,” you said teasingly, glancing at him. His golden eyes glinted, and he made that low, rumbling hum again, the sound resonating in your chest.

You didn’t know when it started to happen, but somewhere along the way, you had stopped seeing him as just a creature of the deep. There was a tenderness in him, a genuine care for your well-being that warmed you in ways you hadn’t expected. He wasn’t just keeping you alive. He was trying to make you happy. And it was working. 

You caught yourself watching him more often—how his muscles shifted beneath his dark, glistening skin, how his tail curled and flicked in the water when he was excited, how his glowing freckles pulsed in response to your laughter. And when he brought you something new, when he chirped at you or hummed softly, it made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with fear. 

---

Kai didn’t fully understand it at first, but something had changed between the two of you. He could feel it. Every time you smiled at him or touched the gifts he brought you, something warm and bright filled his chest. It was more than happiness. It was... connection.

He had been practising the small rituals of his kind for days now, bringing you things he knew you would like—rocks, shells, even bones from deep within the sea. He had hoped you would understand what he was doing, even if it wasn’t something humans were used to. And when you accepted his gifts, when you smiled at him and thanked him, he felt like he was glowing from within. You were accepting him.

The colours in his bioluminescent freckles had grown brighter each day, especially when you were near. He could feel his body reacting to you—flashing brighter, chirping louder, humming more frequently. He had started making these sounds almost unconsciously, his excitement and affection bubbling up every time he was near you.

And then there was the moment when you said his name. Kai. A human name, but it fits. You had given him something special, something to define himself beyond just a creature of the deep. He had felt it then—an overwhelming urge to be closer to you, to protect you, to make you his.

---

You hadn’t realised it until later, but you had unknowingly been accepting his courting rituals. The smooth rocks, the shells, the soft chirping sounds—all of it had been Kai’s way of showing affection, of trying to bond with you. And you had accepted it with open arms, without even realising the significance of what you were doing.

One night, as you sat by the water’s edge, Kai was closer than usual, his large body half-submerged in the water. His golden eyes were fixed on you, his freckles glowing softly. You noticed how close he was, and how his massive form took up most of the space in the cave. But instead of feeling intimidated, you felt… comforted.

He chirped softly, his tail flicking in the water. "You… like?” he asked, his English much clearer now.

You glanced down at the latest gift he had given you—a perfectly polished piece of coral—and smiled. “I do. Thank you, Kai.”

His glowing freckles flared again, and the rumbling sound in his chest grew louder, more persistent. He was... happy. You could feel it radiating from him.

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his arm where the scales were smoothest. His body tensed momentarily, his eyes widening as he looked at where your hand rested. But then, he relaxed, a soft, pleased chirp escaping him.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but you stopped seeing him as just a sea creature somewhere along the way. It was Kai. He was awkward and endearing, and despite your vast differences, he made you feel safe. 

And as you looked into his glowing eyes, your heart beat faster in your chest. You had grown fond of him—maybe even more than fond. 

Kai’s tail flicked in the water, and he shifted closer, his face just inches from yours. His freckles glowed brighter, casting the cave in a warm, ethereal light. “Pretty… girl,” he murmured, the words filled with a strange kind of awe.

You smiled, your hand still resting against his arm. "And you're not so bad yourself."

For a moment, the two of you just sat there, the sound of the ocean filling the space between you. But something had changed. There was a new understanding, a new bond. You weren’t just surviving together. You were connected.

And from the way Kai’s eyes shone, you could tell he felt it too.

As the soft light from Kai’s freckles pulsed gently around you, you felt his large form shift beside you. Before you could react, he lowered his head, nuzzling it under your chin with surprising tenderness. His skin was cool and smooth, and the sensation sent a shiver down your spine, though not from fear. You hesitated, then let your hand drift to the back of his head, fingers tangling in the strange but silky strands of his dark hair.

A low, content hum rumbled from him, vibrating against your chest. He was close—closer than he’d ever been before. The warmth of his presence, the gentle weight of his nuzzle, made your heart race, and yet... it felt right. 

“Have… pups,” Kai murmured, his voice halting but filled with sincerity. You froze, your breath catching in your throat as his words slowly registered. “My… pups.”

It was then that everything clicked into place. The gifts, the soft chirping, the glowing freckles, his constant presence. This wasn’t just him being kind. This was more. **He loved you.**

Your heart pounded in your chest as you pulled back slightly, looking down at him in stunned realization. His eyes, glowing softly, blinked up at you with that same innocence and intensity. He wasn’t just a protector—he saw you as his mate. 

And somewhere deep inside, you realized that you didn’t mind the thought.

You stared down at Kai, your fingers still resting gently on his head as he gazed up at you, unaware of the weight of his words. His eyes were wide and expectant, as if waiting for your reaction. The warmth that had been building in your chest bloomed fully, but it was accompanied by a nervous flutter in your stomach.

"Pups," you whispered softly, your voice barely audible. The idea, once foreign and unthinkable, now seemed… less strange. It wasn’t just the word—it was the meaning behind it. The way Kai had said it, with such sincerity and hope, like he couldn’t imagine anything more important. The realization that this ancient, powerful being cared for you in ways you hadn’t even understood until now.

Kai’s tail flicked in the water, splashing lightly as he nuzzled you again, this time more insistently. “Yes… pups,” he repeated softly, the low rumble of his voice vibrating through you. He shifted even closer, his large frame curling around yours protectively. “You… mine.”

Your breath hitched at his declaration. The weight of what he was saying—what he felt—was starting to sink in. Kai wasn’t just offering you protection or companionship. He wanted more. He wanted to build a life with you, in whatever form that took. To him, it seemed so simple. But to you, the complexity of the situation was dizzying.

Could you feel the same way about him? Could you be with someone so vastly different, someone from a world so far removed from your own?

But as you looked into his eyes, glowing softly with that bioluminescent warmth, you realized that you already had. The time spent together in the cave, the strange courtship rituals, the quiet moments of connection—they had already won you over. You had grown attached to him, maybe even fallen in love without realizing it. And now, faced with his earnest desire, it was impossible to ignore.

“Kai,” you murmured, brushing your thumb gently over the side of his face. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

His head tilted, eyes blinking as though he didn’t quite understand why you would question it. “Mean… yes. You mine. We… together. Have… pups.”

You think for a few seconds “how…how would we..?”

His hand pushes against your thigh, twitching hard, which has your eyebrows pulling tight. You go pale when you look down. What you assumed to be his hand was something else completely, moving around against your thigh with a sticky sheen being rubbed on the skin of you hip like he’s grinding his double dicks against you. His tail is heavy enough to keep you in place under him, and his crawled hand is slid along your side while he purrs pathetically, looking up at you with sweet begging eyes “Oh, fuck,” you mouth, “oh fuck.” Trying to slip out from under him makes him let out a soft growl, mouth corners lifting to show his canines.

“I-i dont think i can take them..both” you gulp.

He doesn't seem to notice, all he desires is your affection, Kai brings his fingers up interlacing around your chin. Under the night sky, his body lights up, the shimmering blue lights on his skin and tail accentuating your own vulnerability. He offers you a smile, his deep brown eyes sparkling with longing in the soft glow of the moon. Your lips meet. You trace your fingers along his chest and stomach. A glimpse of his form emerges from his opening, and you can't help but smile as you circle his protruding tip. He sighs your name into your mouth, the sensation akin to the gentle ebb and flow of the sea against the rocks. Gradually, he slips his entire cock into your hands grasp, and you caress his length with gentle strokes. He recoils slightly, his head resting back, his scales reflecting the moon's light. Firmly holding you, he rolls you onto your stomach. You grin up at him, extending your hand to gently sweep away a few droplets from his face. He returns the smile. Leaning back, you spread your legs and clasp onto his hips, taking a deep breath as he positions himself for an intimate moment. Your moans fill the night as he fucks you with a rhythm reminiscent of the ocean's waves.

[inlovewithgreta]

Heya! i was wondering if you could do a Captain Phasma x f!reader fic? Maybe a little bit of spice? It could be any plot btw! (Captain Phasma is one of Gwendolines characters! :))

Space Racing - Captain Phasma x Fem!Reader

Summary: Phasma distracts you in the most best way possible.

Warnings: Praise, oral sex (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), I think that's it!!

Word Count: 1.6k

Taglist: @celasteria @shslbunnylover @bellatrixsbrat

© Do not copy, repost, or modify any of my works.

"Sometimes I worry about your flying skills," your lover admitted, after her head hit the back of her seat when you increase your speed.

"It's not my flying skills that you need to worry about." You were smiling from ear to ear. You never got the chance to fly, but when someone bets you to a race, Phasma had no choice but to tag along.

Knowing you would've gone with or without her permission..

You heard her take in a sharp breath, unsure of if it was because of a passing asteroid that was a little bit too close or the subtle graze of your knee against her own.

"Oh?" She tilted her head. "And what is it that I need to worry about exactly?" She asked.

"Well, when I win this bet—"

"If you win the bet—"

"When I win, I'm going to have so much fun making you pay for ever doubting me."

Phasma quickly rolled her eyes in a playful manner.

"Once I have you on your knees, you'll have no choice but to beg for my forgiveness," you teased.

"And what would you make me do?" She knew it would never happen, but alas she was curious what your mind would come up with.

"I'll have to feel it out once the moment comes of course.. but, one thing's for sure is I will not let you up until I am entirely satisfied."

"You sound awfully sure of yourself, sweetheart. But your friend here might just give you a run for your money and beat you." She pointed to the ship on your left, slowly passing you.

Your concentrated face had Phasma admiring you. She loved the way your eyebrows knitted and the bottom lip that got pulled in to be bitten by your teeth.

Her hand curling around the back of your neck almost broke your focus. But now was not the time to be distracted. You had a bet to win.

Her gesture was light yet possessive, sending an immediate shiver down your spine as her fingers toyed with your hair.

"Phas..." you mumbled, trying to stay focused.

Instead of removing her hand, she allowed her fingers to leave your hair to trail along the side of your throat. In a slow, teasing manner.

Your eyes flicked to the woman sitting next to you, but she tutted and shook her head.

"Keep your eyes straight ahead, princess."

You let out a deep breath, attempting to focus. It was hard to ignore the fingers that left a fiery trail across your skin. When she dipped them lower, you couldn't help the gasp that escaped.

With an agonizing slowness, Phasma soon went low enough to trace the upper swell of your breasts...then even lower down your body. Another gasp fell past your lips when she went even farther to trace your nipple through your shirt.

"Not so sure of yourself winning, now are you?" She asked, knowing how much your teasing was easily distracting you.

You hadn't noticed how far she leaned in, lips just barely gracing the shell of your ear as she spoke. Her voice was lustrous and deep, and her lips were soft and light.

"I don't think this is what I had in mind when I let you accompany me."

"You think you let me accompany you? Oh darling, you have it all wrong." Phasma teased the edge of your bra.

You knew exactly where this was headed, and you eagerly awaited her next moves. You couldn't help but shiver in anticipation as she grazed your nipple once more before rolling it between her fingers.

"You okay, love?" She smirked, teasing you to her best ability. She knew the effect she had on you. How hot and bothered you easily got.

You silently nodded your head, not trusting your voice at a time like this. Where you knew you would be shaky and breathy.

Phasma put a warm, comforting hand on your knee to give you some time to recover from her hands on your breasts. But she knew exactly what she was doing.

Her hand only temporarily stalled, only moving to inch it higher up your inner thigh.

"Phas, please..." You truly couldn't take anymore, all the teasing, the touches, the sultriness in her voice.

Her hand reached your center, fingers teasing you even more through your clothes. You couldn't help but gasp from the touch.

"Imagine if they could see you right now..." Phasma increased the pressure, forcing you to buck you hips against her hand in a desperate attempt for more friction. "Trying to get yourself off on my hand while you attempt to beat your silly little friends in a race that you're no longer participating in."

You had finally reached a point that you couldn't take anymore of her taunting and teasing. You pulled the ship to a stop and turned to face your smirking lover.

"No more teasing. I need you. Right now." Your eyebrows were knitted and lips were down in a faux pout, leaving Phasma to let out a deep, husky, laugh.

You grab the blonde by the front of her shirt, glad she was not wearing her usual suit. You pulled her into a deep, hard, demanding kiss. Phasma matches your energy immediately, tongue sweeping into your mouth.

You try to undress her, but you bump into the steering wheel. With a huff, you pull the lever to move your seat back. Phasma is quick to kneel in front of you, pulling your pants down eagerly.

"How's this?" She asks, placing a gentle kiss on your knee.

"Much better.." You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. "But I'd like to see more of your skin too."

The blonde smiled, before unbuttoning her top and revealing her white bra that looked angelic with her milky skin.

"That's more like it."

Phasma reaches up to cup your face, pulling you into a passionate kiss. You hum when her soft lips demand your own.

You feel breathless when she pulls away, to make her way back down your body. Your legs spread wider to make room for her. Adrenaline pumps through your veins as Phasma pulls your panties down your bare legs.

"This excites you, doesn't it?" She asks with a teasing tone. "Imagine someone looking inside our window here. Me between your legs, fucking this pretty pussy of yours right out in the open."

"Yes, I love it," you admitted. Phasma runs her hands up and down your curves, before flicking her thumb across your clit.

"You like it when I touch you like this too, huh?"

Her touch left sparks in their wake, sending a longing straight to your core as she circled your button.

"Yess..." you bucked your hips. "But I like it more when you use your mouth." You tug at her blonde locks, urging her head forward.

She takes the hint, and places a small, light peck to your center. A small hum left your lips, finally getting what you've been craving most.

"I love when you take what you want from me," she mused.

Her long pointer finger gathered your slick around your entrance before slipping inside you. As you gasped from the intrusion, Phasma didn't wait to insert her middle finger.

"Yess, Phas..." You let your body relax as your lover started her slow pace.

"Tell me how you want me, and I'm all yours." Between her accent, big blue eyes gazing up at you, and her fingers inside your cunt, you didn't know which one made your pussy throb more.

"I want you exactly like this. Between my legs. Using your fingers and that pretty mouth of yours to fuck me."

Phasma nods with a smirk, "I may have a pretty mouth but this pussy is a whole lot prettier, my love." Her mouth reaches your clit, and you gasp.

"Yess..." Your head falls back against the seat while your lover fucks you. With a free hand, she reaches up to tuck a hand underneath your bra to cup your breast.

Fingers toyed with your nipples while the others fucked your pussy with long, feverish strokes that had your breathing growing heavy.

She pushes her finger knuckle deep, and you let out a long, loud, pornographic moan. The overwhelming onslaught of sensations had you seeing stars. And not the ones that were outside the window.

"Gods, that feels so good.."

Phasma slows down to give you a moment to catch your breath... only to then slowly bring her pace back up. Every stroke, and thrust of her fingers had you moaning out in pleasure.

She does it over, and over, and over again. Slowing down, just to pick up her pace all over again. Her lips were wrapped around your button, and with each hum from the blonde, you bucked your hips.

The hand on your breast twists and pulls at your nipple. The pain from her pinches mixed beautifully with the pleasure between your legs. Gazing down however, was the last straw for you.

Big blue eyes were still gazing at you, almost undressing the rest of you with her eyes. The sight was plain out filthy, and the sounds coming from your wet pussy as you came, had her letting out another hum as your juices dropped out of your used hole.

"Phasma!" Your body felt numb, as your orgasm ripped through you. The cramped space from the seat had your body closing in tightly around the blonde.

As you were finally able to catch your breath, Phasma slowed her movements little by little. She wanted to elongate your orgasm as long as possible, but still ensuring you weren't overstimulated.

"I hope they don't think we got lost," you laughed, suddenly remembering why you were there on the ship in the first place.

Phasma leaned up, to pull you into a deep, smashing, demanding kiss.

"Y'know, I can't bring myself to care about your little friends. All I care about right now is you.. and cleaning up this little mess you made." Phasma kissed your inner thigh before pulling away to grab anything within reach to clean you up.

And that's when you noticed the damp front side of her shirt and the small wet spot below you.

"Christ, Phas... what have you done to me?"

"Fucked you good, sweet girl. That's what I did."

She was gentle while cleaning you up, and your heart was bursting with love. The last thing you ever imagined, was being treated like a Princess by one of the most badass stormtroopers you have ever met.

general masterlist | gwen masterlist | taglist

[aventurineswife]

Stars, Spices, and Shared Silence

Summary: You, a colleague of Jiaoqiu with backgrounds in both cooking and the Alchemy Commission, share a quiet evening with Feixiao, the Vanquishing General of the Xianzhou Yaoqing. As you present her with an experimental dish and share a heartfelt conversation, the imposing warrior reveals her softer side. Amid the tranquil setting of her garden, you find a rare connection in the simplicity of good food and shared silence.

Tags: Feixiao x Reader, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Soft Moments, Food Bonding, Quiet Evenings, Emotional Vulnerability.

The quiet hum of the Xianzhou Yaoqing's bustling cityscape faded as you entered Feixiao's private garden—a tranquil haven nestled amid the grand halls of the ship. A soft breeze rustled the delicate golden leaves of the woven bamboo canopy, carrying with it the faint scent of tea and herbs.

Feixiao sat cross-legged by the koi pond, her imposing figure softened by the serene surroundings. Her hair, tipped with teal, shimmered in the dim lantern light as she skillfully tied one of her ornamental teal orbs back in place. A faint smile curved her lips when she saw you, her eyes with their striking white rings alight with warmth.

“You’re late,” she teased, her straightforward tone laced with a playfulness you’d come to expect.

“Perfection takes time,” you replied, holding up a neatly wrapped parcel. “Especially when it’s Jiaoqiu's experimental recipe.”

Feixiao’s eyes gleamed with curiosity as you set the parcel on the small table beside her. She leaned forward, the fabric of her white trench coat glinting in the lantern light. “Experimental, you say? Should I be concerned?”

“It’s safe,” you assured her, laughing. “This one’s a twist on your favorite—braised phoenix talons, infused with spiritvine elixirs from the Alchemy Commission. But, full disclosure, Jiaoqiu insisted on adding a pinch of something...unusual.”

Feixiao raised an eyebrow. “Unusual? From Jiaoqiu, that could mean anything.”

Unwrapping the parcel, you revealed the dish—phoenix talons, lacquered in a golden glaze, their delicate aroma mingling with the earthy tang of spiritvine. Feixiao's nose twitched, her martial precision evident even in how she assessed food.

“I’m impressed,” she admitted, lifting a talon delicately with her chopsticks. “It looks like a meal worthy of the Arbiter-Generals.”

“Flattery won’t save you if it’s too spicy,” you quipped, taking a seat across from her. “Shall we?”

Feixiao nodded, her sharp features softening as she took her first bite. A brief silence fell, save for the trickling of water from the koi pond. Her expression shifted—a flicker of surprise, followed by appreciation.

“Spicy, yes. But balanced,” she said, savoring the flavor. “Jiaoqiu may be eccentric, but he outdid himself this time.”

You grinned, relieved. “High praise from the Vanquishing General herself.”

Feixiao chuckled, setting down her chopsticks. “You’re more than a worthy rival in the culinary arts. But I’d expect nothing less from someone with your Alchemy Commission background.”

“Alchemy isn’t so different from cooking,” you mused. “Both require precision, patience, and the willingness to experiment.”

Feixiao leaned back, her gaze turning contemplative. “True. But cooking carries something more—connection. It’s about sharing moments, even fleeting ones, with others. Like this.”

Her words lingered in the air, weighty yet comforting. You reached for the teapot, pouring her a cup of steaming herbal tea. “Then let’s share this moment.”

She accepted the cup with a nod, her teal eyes meeting yours. “Thank you, truly. It’s rare to find someone who makes me feel at ease. The battlefield demands strength, but moments like this remind me what we fight for.”

Your heart warmed at her honesty. Feixiao wasn’t just the fierce warrior admired by all; she was a person burdened by her own struggles, yet determined to embrace life’s simple joys.

“Anytime, Feixiao,” you said softly. “Whenever you need a reminder—or just someone to share a meal with—you know where to find me.”

Feixiao’s lips curved into a genuine smile, her usually commanding presence tempered by a rare tenderness. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The night deepened, the stars of the Xianzhou glinting faintly through the garden canopy. As the two of you lingered in comfortable silence, the koi pond’s gentle ripples mirrored the quiet understanding between you—a bond forged not in battle, but in the shared solace of stars, spices, and unspoken gratitude.

[gingernut1314]

Little Game Pt. 2

Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader

Summary: Mihawk has found you once more after a month of hunting after you--a month of playing your little games. Found you in yet another poor excuse for a bar, except it seems you have forgotten all about your game. Forgotten and were dulling your usually sharp sense away with drink after drink. But Mihawk hasn't forgotten. Your game is still on and he plans on winning.

Tags: angst, fluff

Word Count: 4.9K

Setlist:

Emotions

I Wanted to Leave

A/N: I'm soooo sorry it's been such a long time! I'm in my last year of college and it's absolute hell on earth and the work is insane. Anyywway, there's no spice again, but I'm slowly getting there! I hope you all enjoy! 🩷

↞ to One Piece Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠ Part 1 | Part 3

Mihawk had traveled thousands of miles from his Marine-ravaged home. Had smuggled himself onto cargo ships and luxury vessels to get to island after island. Had begged to join the first pirate crew he could find so he might learn to sail and build his strength. Had begged on his knees, forehead bowed so low it had touched the ground with anger-fueled tears in his eyes to the first swordsman he could find to teach him the delicate art of the blade. 

Had begged on hand and knee to every swords master he came across to teach him. To help him draw closer and closer to that end goal he would do anything to achieve. 

He would become strong. Become the greatest swordsman the world had ever known and then he would lay waste to the Marines. He would spare them no mercy, just as they had spared his home no mercy. Just as they had spared his mother no mercy. 

It was a goal--no, a vow bound by blood and death herself that led him here to this small island. An island covered in ancient, towering trees. An island home to a secluded and unknown people. Home to the greatest swordsman of a long-ago era. A swordsmen who had lived 180 years and had never lost a fight. 

His yellow eyes scanned the dark wood he had been warned was full of monsters--devils waiting to tear any traveler brave enough to enter its thick, fog-filled brush. His last master had warned him many men had gone in looking for the great swordsman to learn from him, just as Mihawk, but they never reached his log cabin at its center. They had hardly stepped foot into the wood before its guardian attacked. 

Mihawk calmly stated he would be the first to make it. Would face this Guardian of the Wood and all its devilish monsters and win. He would find the great swordsman and prove to him he was worth his teachings.

The forest hardly looked dangerous. Especially when he spotted the yellow-gold petals of marigolds that he could see littered the leaf-covered floor. 

No monster in sight. No devil. No Guardian. 

Mihawk placed his hand over the hilt of his sword at his side and started into the dark forest. Had just passed a rather large bunch of marigolds when someone landed on the ground before him, having hopped down from their spot amongst the treetops. 

Mihawk scolded himself for not having spotted the figure, knowing he would have seen them had he not been so preoccupied thinking about devils. The tip of a naginata pressed into his chest.

“Are you a pirate?” The voice that came from the figure was silky and calm, yet held dark danger within its melody. It was a voice unlike any other Mihawk had heard and its wielder was just as rare. You looked like some wood nymph. Like the mystical yet deadly creatures Mihawk had heard sung on the lips of pirates and sailors alike come to life. 

“I am here for Rivers Achilles.” You frowned deeply, that sharp blade never leaving Mihawk's chest. He looked you over carefully. Looked over your well-trained stance, one only gained from practice and patience Mihawk knew all too well. Took in the fact you must be around Mihawk’s own age of fourteen. No. He could tell you were older. A year--maybe two. 

“Do all you pirates have a monthly meeting to discuss such originality?” Mihawk narrowed his eyes the slightest bit. Watched your eyes spark like you enjoyed his small reaction. 

“I do not have time to waste on some dirt-smug girl.” Mihawk saw you were hardly dirt smugged. You were pertinently clean as if you had washed before climbing up into that tree. He said it to snuff out that spark of enjoyment you had gotten from baiting his temper. An anger he was slowly training himself to wrangle away. “Now. Move before I move you.” 

You laughed. A small thing that grew into an all-out bellow. It was a laugh that matched your darkness. Your rareness. It had Mihawk blinking, as if stunned at its sound.

“You step another inch in my wood, pirate, and I will break your nose.” You threatened, that dangerous tone laying in the background of your voice pooling thick like venom to its forefront. It was--intoxicating to hear. A sound Mihawk wanted to drag from you again and again. 

“Are you the Guardian of the Wood?” Your shoulders rose and pride swelled in your eyes.

“If you have heard of me then you have heard of what I have done to many a pirate such as yourself. I make them disappear--vanish them from the face of the earth.” Mihawk watched you slowly. A slowness that sparked anger in your eyes. 

It was an anger that Mihawk knew too well. An anger that matched his own in intensity and fury like some twin flame. Someone had hurt you--had taken someone from you, just as those Marines had taken his mother. Had left you feeling so weak and empty it left that anger to fester and grow out of control in you, just as it had in him. It was an anger he wanted to lash out at. One he wanted to direct his own anger at. 

“I thought you would be--” He paused, letting his eyes roam over your body again in a bored manner. “--more.” That fiery anger flared brightly. Had your knuckles going white wrapped as tightly as they were around the staff of your naginata. “How disappointing to find you are just some feral, dirt-covered girl.” Oh yes--yes there it was. Such anger. Anger to match his own. Anger that would rival him like none other ever could.

Mihawk had hardly seen you move before you were bringing the staff of our naginata to ram into his nose. A sickening crunch sounded in Mihawk's ears as pain flared in his face, nearly blinding him. 

A pain that blinded him from seeing you move to kick him hard in the chest, sending him flying out of the woods and back onto the black sand of the beach he had just landed on near minutes ago. 

His anger flared then, but he could only blame himself. He had been distracted by your own anger. By your dangerous voice and your rare beauty. Stupid, idiotic distractions on his part. 

“A runt such as yourself should know his place.” You hissed as Mihawk shoved himself to his knees, wiping the blood from under his broken nose as he laid his yellow eyes on you once more. Found you had left the darkness of your wood and stopped before him looking like some vengeful goddess fallen straight from the heavens. “My father does not wish to waste his time training the likes of pirates. Weak pirates such as yourself, runt.” 

Your father was Rivers Achilles--yes, it made sense now. Your rarity made sense. Your strength and skill. Your father was no ordinary man, therefor his offspring would be just as inordinary--spectacular. 

“I am no runt and I am not weak. I will pass you. I will bow before Achilles and he will train me.” Mihawk declared, cold sea water spraying at his dark leather boot-covered feet. “Your little game will do nothing to stop me from becoming the greatest swordsman this world has ever seen.” 

That excited spark flashed in your icy eyes again. A spark that flickered and twirled with your anger. A wicked, cat-like grin crossed your face--a grin that was so stunning it nearly stole Mihawk's breath away--did steal it.

“Game on.” 

Mihawk had been tracking you for a month now. A month longer than he liked, but you never gave up the chase. Never slowed or stopped long enough for Mihawk to grab hold of you. All he ever saw of you was the trail of perfect chaos you left behind. 

He had followed you through the North, South, East, and West Blues. Had followed you into the Grand Line, full of all its dangers, and back, only to follow you right back into its mysterious waters. And just when he thought he had caught up to you, would have you within his grasp, you had disappeared like smoke between his fingers. 

Despite how long his pursuit of you had taken, he found it excited him. Had him looking forward to the coming dawn, something he had long ago started to dread. 

He assumed it was because you excited him--had always kept him on his toes. You were a rare woman. One that had always challenged him in skill and wit--that matched him as perfectly as one could match another. 

Part of him wished you would just give in. Come with him back to Kuraigana Island and let him indulge you in every luxury he had ever wanted to give you. It was a foolish wish, but one he held regardless. One he knew would never come true unless he won this little game of yours. 

A game you seemed to have forgotten for the night, because here you were, in another run-down, dirty, overcrowded bar on some backwater island in the Grand Line, drunk out of your mind. It was unlike you, to be this careless. Not when it came to your games--when Mihawk was playing them just as you had wanted. 

But there you were, downing the last of your beer, hardly grimacing at the taste as he knew you usually would, too drunk to even taste it. There you were, looking so--exhausted. It was an exhaustion Mihawk knew too well--that weight heavy on his shoulders as it seemed to do you. An exhaustion that had Mihawk pausing. Almost had him leaving this too-small bar and all its too-drunk inhabitants. 

Almost. 

A drunk man bumped into Mihawk with a slurred apology, but he hardly heard it. Hardly even felt the pathetic man running into him. Not when he was so close to you. Not when he was so close to winning the game you had started. 

“Why is it you continue to frequent such nightmarish establishments?” Mihawk's voice should have had you sobering up. Should have had you scrambling to escape back out to sea and leave him and this island far behind. But his voice--so smooth and calm and utterly bored had you tingling in excitement. 

You had missed his all-too-calm dementor. Had missed him, his face, and his stupid hat. 

On a small hiccup, you turned to look up into those piercing yellow-gold eyes you had missed the most. Eyes you wished you could look into forever.

With your thoughts fogged nicely thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol you had consumed, you had no embarrassment or strength for good decision-making when you placed your palm over top of his hard-earned abs. The warmth of his skin seeped into your freezing fingers as you ran them over his skin. 

“Mi-hic-hawk.” You purred up at the unamused man, all but fighting against your hiccups. You flashed him a sly grin. “How’d you find me?” You slurred horribly. 

“You are being sloppy.” You hummed as you brought your other hand to run along his skin, taking in his warmth and power that all but radiated off of him in dangerous waves.

“You always know just how to--hic-- sweet talk a girl.” You said, running your hands around his waist, where they disappeared under his dark jacket. Where they felt the equally as strong muscles lining his lower back. “Say something mean to me again, Mihawk. Pretty--hic--please.” 

Mihawk blinked down at you for a single moment before swiftly removing your hands from his body. You pouted, going to grab for him again, but he brushed you off once more. “Stop.” You whined pathetically, “You’re being mean.” 

“You asked me to mean,” Mihawk said the fact simply in that overly bored manner he hid behind. With a huff, you stopped your attempts at touching him and crossed your arms over your chest. 

“I didn’t say sh-hic-oo me away.” 

“You are drunk, Y/N.” You rolled your eyes dramatically, turning back around on the bar stool you sat on to find the bartender again. 

“And you’re not. It’s --hic-- boring.” You hissed as the bartender came over. “I will have your finest beer and my --hic-- best friend will have your oldest wine.” The woman’s eyes darted to Mihawk making you fix her with an icy glare. Her eyes looked a little too long in Mihawk's direction. Had looked over his face and body for too long. “Don’t look at him. I can only look at him.” She was quick to snap her eyes away, her face going pale in utter fear.

“Y-yes ma’am. We-we only have a red blend from a year ago.” You sighed.

“He will deal with it.” 

“Y/N, we are leaving,” Mihawk said as the woman rushed off. You gave another dramatic sigh, turning back to face him. Those yellow-gold eyes had never once left you and you couldn’t help but enjoy being in their sights. 

“Mihawk, we are--hic--not. I just ordered.” He continued to look unamused. Continued to fix you with his own sharp stare. One that never quite seemed to overpower your own. “Is it because I ordered you bad wine?” 

“Bad wine or not we are leaving.” You narrowed your eyes up at him. Narrowed them so sharp you willed them to cut him open. 

“It’s my--hic--day off. If you are going to be a party pooper then you should --hic-- leave.” It was the exact opposite of what you wanted him to do, but you had landed on this island to get drunk. So drunk you would hopefully wake up with dark spots in your memory.

“I will. With you.” He insisted. You rubbed your eyes roughly, that exhaustion you had come here to escape returning with a vengeance. 

“You are such an --hic--asshole.” 

“Poetic.” Mihawk monotoned. You hissed, yanking your hands away from your face and flinging them up in the air.

“I’m drunk, Mr. Smarty-Pants. Leave me be.” Your beer was placed before you and you were quick to scoop it up. The bad glass of wine went untouched by Mihawk. “Do you want to know --hic-- something?” You asked the bartender who hesitated. Hesitated and stayed after you fix her with your icy glare once more. “This--hic-- guy acts all tough but really --hic-- he wants to leave because all these people are making him--hic--itchy. He’d rather just sit on his pert little ass in the dark.” You said, a giggle leaving your lips. 

The bartender’s eyes darted back to Mihawk and you slammed your fist on the countertop, making the glasses rattle and the bartender nearly jump out of her skin. “I said don’t look at him.” You watched her chest heave up and down in fear as you took a long sip from your beer. “Talking about pert little asses. Mihawk once ran naked--”

“Enough, Y/N.” Mihawk all but commanded you, making you tense. It was a command you bristled at--made your anger begin to heat in your chest rather quickly. Too quick for you to grab hold of and control, especially when you were this drunk. “We’re leaving.” 

“Fuck you! Fuck you and fuck the Marines and --hic--fuck you again.” You hissed, standing from your stool only to nearly fall off it in the process. Mihawk stayed planted in his place, even when you ran into him during your oh-so-graceful fall. “You can’t tell me what to--hic--do.” 

“You are stumbling around like a no-good drunkard. Collect yourself.” You stomped your foot and pushed Mihawk with another hiss like some child. The swordsman hardly seemed to even feel your attack. A fact that had you seething and going to do it again, but he grabbed your wrists in a tight hold. “Enough.” He commanded again. You yanked against his grip but it stayed strong. 

“Let me go.” You hissed at him, yanking again. 

“We are leaving. Whether you do so on your own two feet or I carry you out makes no difference to me.” Your anger surged in your chest. Surged in defiance at his orders. You were not one to be ordered around. Especially by him. 

“You will unhand me this instant or I will--hic--break your nose.” Something flashed in Mihawk's golden eyes. Something--sad. A sad that called to your own sadness which had been welling and pooling within your chest for years now. Pooling to the point of near flooding. A flood you resorted to drinking to dam it up. 

Mihawk’s grip around your wrists fell, but he made no sign of leaving. Made no sign of moving a single muscle from his spot before you. Made no sign of giving up on his declaration of leaving this bar with you in tow.

In your drunken state, you thought this was a perfect opportunity to draw your black blade, which you had left uncovered at your hip. You swung, your muscles moving on near memory, at the frustrating swordsman before you, causing the bartender and a few people around you to scream out in fear. 

Mihawk sidestepped your attack and before you could blink, your sword was skillfully pulled from your grasp and you stumbled forward with a roar. “Give it--” Your words were cut off by a yelp as Mihawk grabbed you up in his strong arms, throwing you over his shoulder. 

Your right shoulder hit Yoru’s hilt painfully and you had to quickly throw your hands out to stop your face from colliding with the black blade strapped to his back. Mihawk wrapped an iron-like arm around your thighs to keep you in place before starting for the exit.

Your vision blurred from the sudden movement, but it didn’t stop you from pounding on Mihawk’s powerful back and kicking your feet as best you could in your weak attempt to escape. His hold on you never lessened, only seeming to tighten in your struggle. 

“Let me go, Mihawk!” You shouted, pulling yourself up enough to try to catch of glimpse of his face, only for his stupid hat to hit you in the face. You gave a frustrated little growl. “This is not fair! I’m drunk!”

“Drunk or not, you started the game. I plan on finishing it.” You huffed in frustration, punching his back once more to no avail. 

The bar fell away and soon you were being carried through the night-filled streets of the backwater village you had found. You continued to fight against his hold until your stomach stirred nauseously and your vision blurred to the point you could hardly see. 

With a pathetic moan, you let your body go limp against his back, your body bouncing with every graceful step he took. It only made your nausea grow, but you were too dizzy to do anything about it. 

“Tire yourself out?” Mihawk asked something like amusement finally filling his smooth voice. 

“I’m going to vomit all over your fancy little sword.” You murmured, making the man sigh deeply through his nose. 

“Are you serious?” You moaned, feeling bile rise in your throat. Your world spun and blurred around you as Mihawk dragged you off his shoulder, a movement that only had that bile rising sharply and your mouth filling with hot spit. You were placed on your feet, but your knees gave out with little warning. Tiny rocks dug into the flesh of your palms and into your kneecaps. 

You cursed, taking deep breaths of the chill night air, hoping to settle your upset stomach. Maybe you had overdone it on the drinks--but unfortunately for you, this is what you had set out to accomplish, and sober you knew she wouldn’t have to deal with all of this nastiness. 

You had just opened your mouth to relieve your aching stomach when strong hands collected your hair away from your face. Hands that held your hair in a manner so soft you hardly felt it. You vomited before you could think much more on whose hands were holding your hair up. 

“Why were you in that bar, Y/N?” Mihawk asked, voice low and so--gentle. As gentle as the man could make it seem. You huffed in and out deeply, catching your breath.

“Why do most people go to --hic -- bars? To get drunk.” You hissed as best you could between breaths. Bile rose in your throat and your stomach rolled once more. Gods--

“Yes,” He sighed, annoyed at your comment. “But you don’t go to bars to get drunk. Not when you are set on a task. Not ever.” You huffed a moan before throwing up once more. 

“I’ve changed.” You huff out, catching your breath once more. Mihawk was quiet behind you. A quiet that ate at you more than you wished to admit. Your vision blurred again. But it was a blur that had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the tears welling in your eyes. 

You had drunk too much. Way too much if it was bring you to tears. Tears you could do nothing about to control, not in the state you were currently in. Not when the man making you cry was behind you, holding your hair like there was nothing wrong between the two of you. Like you were back on your home island, stealing alcohol from your father and sneaking off to the only bar on the whole island. 

Your home. Your father. Your forest. All gone. Just like that in the blink of an eye. How had it happened? How had you let it happen? You had been your home's Guardian, just as your mother before you, and her mother before her. It had been your job, your responsibility to protect it from such dangers. 

It had been your life's purpose and you had failed. Failed and lived. Lived when you should have died protecting it.

“Y/N--” Mihawk started, but you swatted his hands away as you turned your body away from your puke. You buried your face in your hands to keep the swordsman from seeing your tears. From seeing your weakened and broken state. 

“Leave me be. Please.” You all but begged. Gods you were pathetic. So far from the proud and strong person you had once been in your youth. So old and angry and tired.

“I’ve seen you at your lowest. Some sick and a few drunken tears are hardly going to deter me.” He said on a sigh like you should have already known that. 

You pulled your face from your hands to glare at him where he knelt behind you. To tell him to leave on a venomous hiss--to throw insults his way, but his hand disappearing into his jacket pocket caught your eye. It reappears with a golden hair clip, diamonds sparkling in the lamp lights as he showed it to you. 

“That’s my--” You started in disbelief. 

“You forgot it on my ship when you left.” He said, handing it to you. You took in gently in your hands and before you could even begin to process everything, his hands were in your hair once more. He gently pulled and twisted it, mimicking how you had done your hair a million and one times before without so much as a thought of his ever-watchful gaze. His free hand plucked the golden clip from your hand and nestled it securely in your hair. 

He had kept it. Had not only kept it, but had kept it on his person. Kept it close and ready to use if you ever needed it once more. 

When he was done, you turned to stare bug-eyed up at him, tears still refusing to halt their endless fall. Calm. He was always so calm. A calm that frustrated you and grated on your nerves to no end, but was such a familiar, comforting presence. A presence you had yearned to be around more than you yearned to hunt down every last Marine you came across. 

Hesitantly, he reached for you. So hesitantly he gave you enough to slap him away, but you made no move to do so. Made no move to stop him as he brushed your tears away with his thumb. 

His touch sent your eyes watering all over again. His touch and his actions were so gentle and kind and so utterly unfair. So unfair because you couldn’t give in. Not now. Not for a long, long time. 

Gods how you wanted to give in. 

“I can’t--I can’t go with you.” You said in a low, grave tone. Mihawk brushed his thumb over your cheek once more before pulling away, making you feel that cold aloneness you had been trying to chase away with drink. He gave the slightest of nods. 

“I know.” He said just as lowly, his face seeming to harden further. You watched him grab your black blade, which he had placed on the ground beside him. He resheathed it at your side skillfully and reached for you again, grabbing you under your arms and lifting you to your feet. You swayed like a great gust of wind had blown into you, your drunkenness having yet to wear off. 

Mihawk hardly made a single sound before he was lifting you off the ground once more. Made no sound as he prompted you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. You did so without much thought, the action having been memorized by your body.

It was something the two of you had done many times over the years, whether it be you clinging to his back or front. Whether it be because you were too drunk or injured to walk, you would cling to him and he would hold you tight. It was something he had grumbled endlessly about the first few times you’d insisted upon it, but had slowly grown used to it to the point he would pick you up as such without your prompting. 

Your eyes catch his own briefly. Eyes so bright they were like the sun. A sun your soul begged to orbit one more, but your pride beat it down. Had you looking away and placing your cheek on his shoulder, taking his rose and expensive cologne scent deep into your nose so that you might hold on to it for that much longer.

Mihawk felt like a teenager again, holding you like this. It was--refreshing, though if anyone of importance saw him in such a way, there was sure to be trouble. But for now, in this small village in the middle of the Grand Line, he could get away with it. Could hold you close and keep your seemingly ever-cold body warm. 

He had marked where your ship was docked before he had ever docked his own, so finding it again was hardly a chore. 

Your ship was just a tab bit larger than his own, still designed for a single crew member to sail, but large enough for a much more spacious sleeping quarters and kitchen. That had been something you had complained about endlessly when having sailed with him on his own ship. 

He readjusted his hold on you so he might open the door that led to the inner workings of your ship. It was neat and tidy, just as his own was, though the walls covered in numbers and markings were unlike anything on his own ship. 

They were Marine branch numbers, ones you had come across during your journeys. Underneath each number were tally marks which he assumed represented how many ships you had destroyed flying those same numbered flags. The branches you had completely whipped off the face of the earth he found were crossed out. 

It was impressive how many Marines you had wielded your perfect chaos against. Impressive and worrisome because he knew as the number grew, the more you would be noticed. And the more you are noticed, the more likely it was they would send another one of the Warlords to slaughter you. 

Garp had warned him of this the last time they spoke. Had commanded Mihawk to get you under control or you would be spared no mercy. It was Mihawk's first and final warning to stop you before you got yourself killed. 

And as much as Mihawk wanted to take you away to his new home, to keep you out of the prying eye of every last Marine and pirate that sailed the seas, he knew he needed to wait. To play your game and win it, or there would be no victory. No having you back by his side. 

You had fallen asleep sometime during the walk, so you made no fuss as Mihawk placed you in bed. You merely grumbled something in your sleeping state as he pulled your boots off and took your sword from your side, propping it against the wall.

He watched you for a long moment. Watched your softened features as you slept. 

So rare. You were too rare to let go. To give up on and allow to die. You were Mihawk’s twin flame. A flame he would fight and die for if given the chance. You were the only person alive he would truly bend to. 

And bend he did by letting you go. By playing your little game. A game he vowed to win the right way.

Previous | Next

[novaursa]

Of Gods and Men (daenys)

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: contact

- Next part: the gift

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

- A/N: Previous part has been fixed.

I am Daenys Targaryen, born of flame and blood, heir to a legacy that stretches across millennia. My House was once the pinnacle of power in the known universe, its dragonlords feared and revered by all. We ruled from Valyria, the greatest civilization the galaxy had ever seen, until the Doom came. The fires of war—nuclear and cruel—swallowed our homeworld and all we had built. Our enemies conspired, believing us destroyed, our legacy reduced to ash and ruin.

But House Targaryen was not so easily extinguished.

In the aftermath, my ancestors did what Targaryens have always done—they adapted. They fled to the furthest reaches of space, to the uncharted corners of the galaxy where the light of the Imperium could not reach. There, we found a new home, a planet of red skies and volcanic peaks, a world where we could rise again. We named it Albiron, and from its molten heart, we rebuilt our civilization.

In the depths of Albiron, we discovered the drakaon crystals, a powerful source of energy that has allowed us to evolve beyond the constraints of the galaxy's fuel economy. The Imperium and the Spacing Guild cling to melange—the spice that gives them control over space travel. But we, the Targaryens, found a way to traverse the stars without reliance on their outdated systems. The crystals not only power our ships but enhance our technology, giving us the strength and independence we needed to survive.

And survive we did.

Our ancestors safeguarded the ancient knowledge of our House. The secrets of forging Valyrian steel, a craft thought lost to time, still live within us. Our swords, forged in dragonfire, remain unbreakable, as sharp as the day they were first drawn. We hold the wisdom of Valyria—its sciences, its alchemy, its weaponry—all hidden away from the prying eyes of the Empire that now rules the stars. The new emperors and their Bene Gesserit servants tried to create their own messiah, to forge a future in their image, but they could not control us.

They do not know what we are capable of.

And now, after millennia in the shadows, we are stirring again. The galaxy has forgotten our name, but the time will come when they will tremble at the sound of it once more.

For fire and blood will always rise from the ashes

The icy wind cuts through your cloak as you press yourself against the jagged cliffside, the snow swirling violently around you. Arctis is unforgiving, a frozen wasteland where the cold bites at your bones, and the endless white stretches far beyond sight. The Harkonnens are still searching, their patrols scouring the frozen plains, desperate to find you. Their ornithopters hum overhead, casting dark shadows against the snow as their engines roar through the storm.

You crouch low, your breath steady, watching as a squad of Harkonnen soldiers trudges through the snow below, their visors scanning the terrain. They’re relentless, but you’ve been trained for this. The cold, the endless hunt—none of it is new to you. The blood of the dragon runs in your veins, and you know how to wait, how to survive.

The satchel at your side holds something precious: an ancient dragon egg, long since turned to stone. It’s a relic of your past, a symbol of your House’s power, though the Harkonnens know nothing of its true worth. To them, it’s a prize, a trophy. They think capturing you and your egg will give them leverage—perhaps even power. But they do not understand what they’re dealing with.

The blizzard rages on, the wind howling like a beast across the frozen plains. You pull the hood of your cloak tighter around your face, your eyes scanning the landscape for any sign of the ornithopters. Their searchlights sweep across the cliffs, but they won’t find you. Not here, not in the storm.

You move silently, your footsteps careful as you navigate the narrow path along the ridge. The Harkonnens are close, but you’ve learned to avoid them, slipping between their patrols like a ghost in the snow. You’ve disrupted their operations, destroyed their mining equipment, and now they’re hunting you—desperate, angry, and foolish.

You crouch behind a snow-covered boulder, listening to the distant hum of their comms. Their voices crackle through the static of the storm, distorted but still clear enough to hear.

“…continue the search… she can’t have gone far…”

You smirk to yourself. Let them come. Let them search. You’ve been evading them for days, and they still have no idea what they’re up against.

Your thoughts flicker back to the hatchery—the ancient underground structure they uncovered in their greed. It had once been a place where dragons were born, a relic of Valyria’s greatness, long forgotten and buried beneath the ice. The dragon eggs within had turned to stone long ago, but the Harkonnens, ignorant as they were, believed they could extract some kind of power from them. They were wrong.

The Harkonnen soldiers below continue their search, unaware of your presence. You wait, patient, watching them pass by. When the last of them disappears over the ridge, you move again, keeping low to the ground, careful not to make a sound.

A distant shout catches your attention, carried by the wind. You freeze, listening. They’re getting closer. The hum of the ornithopters grows louder, their engines cutting through the storm. They’re sweeping the area, desperate to find you before you can strike again.

You tighten your grip on the hilt of your sword, the Valyrian steel cold against your skin. The ancient knowledge of your House flows through you—the blood of dragonlords, the fire that burns even in the coldest of places.

The storm is your ally, masking your movements, your presence. You can feel the Harkonnens growing frustrated, their search becoming more frantic. They think they can capture you, but you are not so easily taken. You were born of fire and blood, and you will not fall to the likes of them.

In the distance, the hum of the ornithopters fades, replaced by the howling wind and the silence of the frozen wasteland. You remain still, your breath steady, waiting for the storm to hide you once more.

The hunt continues, but you are patient.

You always have been.

The storm raged on, swirling the snow into thick, blinding curtains around you. The wind howled, its sharp edges cutting through the air as you huddled beneath an outcropping of jagged rocks. Your breath came slow and steady, your body still despite the cold biting at your skin. You had lived in conditions far worse than this; the ice and snow of Arctis could not force you out of hiding.

The Harkonnens had passed, their search party moving farther into the storm. But you remained cautious, listening for any signs of movement. The winds carried faint voices—not the harsh tones of Harkonnen soldiers, but something else. Low, deliberate, and organized. You pressed yourself deeper into the shadows, straining to hear.

The voices grew clearer as they approached from beyond the ridge. You crept forward, carefully peering out from your hiding spot. Through the swirling snow, you could make out a group of men, moving in two tight formations. They were well-armed, disciplined, their movements efficient and purposeful. It took a moment to recognize them, but soon you realized they were not Harkonnens at all.

These men were from House Atreides.

You observed them quietly, hidden in the shadows. Two distinct groups, both moving with military precision. Though you didn’t know them by name, you could tell from their movements and the way they coordinated their search that these were capable soldiers. Their formation suggested high-level training, and the way they swept the terrain for threats made it clear they were not to be underestimated.

Unbeknownst to you, these were two teams separated from Duke Leto’s main force—led by none other than Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck, two of the Duke’s most trusted men. But here, in the blizzard, they were just another force you had to evade.

You listened closely as the men talked amongst themselves, their voices carried by the wind, though still muffled by the storm.

“The Duke’s with them still now,” one of the men said, his voice barely audible. “Escorted willingly to their camp. There has been no contact since.”

“They didn’t try to stop him? By the sound of his voice Leto sounded determined.” another voice responded.

“No, they welcomed him. These unknown forces—whoever they are—they’re not hostile to us. Not yet, anyway.”

You felt your pulse quicken. Your brother, Aelor, had found them first. Of course he had. He had been scouting the planet for days, and if anyone could make contact with the Atreides without hostility, it was him. He had always been the diplomat, the one to make the first move. But that meant time was running short. The Harkonnens were still searching for you, and now the Atreides were caught up in the middle of it.

You leaned in closer, straining to hear more, but just as you shifted, the snow beneath your foot crunched—too loud in the stillness.

Two of the Atreides soldiers, their instincts honed from years of combat, immediately stiffened. One of them, a man with sharp eyes and a scar down his cheek, turned his head slightly, his hand moving to the hilt of his blade.

“Did you hear that?” he muttered to his companion.

The other man, stockier but just as alert, nodded, his eyes scanning the area. “Something’s out there.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. You couldn’t afford to be caught—not now, not before you had a chance to finish what you had started. Without waiting for them to spot you, you pushed yourself up from your hiding place and began to run, your feet light on the snow but fast enough to kick up a trail in the storm.

“Hey!” one of the soldiers shouted, his voice sharp. “Stop!”

You didn’t look back. The wind whipped against your face as you ran, the storm providing just enough cover to keep you from being seen clearly, but you could hear them behind you, their footsteps crunching through the snow, their voices calling after you.

“Stop, damn it!” another voice yelled. “We’re not Harkonnens!”

It didn’t matter. You couldn’t stop now. You had no idea what they would do if they caught you. For all you knew, they might try to turn you over to the Harkonnens in exchange for leverage or an alliance. You couldn’t take that chance.

You ran faster, weaving through the rocks and cliffs, your cloak whipping behind you. The Atreides soldiers were fast—faster than you had anticipated—and they were gaining ground. You could hear their boots thudding against the frozen earth, the clinking of their armor as they chased after you.

“Stop, we’re not your enemy!” one of the voices called again, closer this time.

You pushed yourself harder, but the storm was growing fiercer, the wind tugging at your cloak, pulling you back. The cold bit into your skin, slowing your movements as the snow thickened around you. You glanced over your shoulder just in time to see the sharp-eyed soldier closing the distance between you, his hand outstretched.

“Stop!” he commanded, his voice firm. “We’re with House Atreides—stop!”

Panic flared in your chest, but you couldn’t let it control you. You needed a way out, but the storm was growing too intense, the landscape blurring before your eyes. You stumbled slightly as the ground beneath you dipped, but you caught yourself, forcing your legs to keep moving.

But the Atreides soldiers were relentless, their pursuit unwavering. If you didn’t find a way to lose them soon, they would catch you. And then everything—your mission, your House’s survival—could be compromised.

In the distance, you could hear the faint hum of more ornithopters, but whether they were Harkonnen or Atreides, you couldn’t tell. The storm masked everything now, the world narrowing down to the sound of your breath, the crunch of snow beneath your feet, and the pounding of your heart.

You had to escape. You had to find a way to evade them.

Because if they caught you, the consequences would be far worse than just being another prisoner.

Gurney Halleck’s boots pounded through the snow, his breath clouding in the icy air as he and Duncan Idaho sprinted after the fleeing figure. The storm was growing worse, and the swirling winds tugged at their cloaks, but Gurney’s focus was razor-sharp. Whoever this person was—Harkonnen, rebel, or some other unknown—they had to catch them before the Harkonnens did.

Ahead of them, through the thick snow, the figure moved swiftly, almost too fast for the conditions. Gurney could make out only a vague silhouette through the storm, darting between the jagged rocks and heading straight for the frozen lake that stretched out beyond the ridge.

Duncan glanced over at Gurney as they ran, his sharp eyes narrowing as the unmistakable sound of Harkonnen ornithopters roared overhead. Their black, beetle-like forms cut through the sky, their engines loud even over the howling wind.

“Harkonnens!” Duncan shouted over the noise. “I’ll deal with them—keep after the runner!”

Gurney nodded without breaking stride, his focus narrowing on the figure disappearing over the edge of the ridge. “Go!” he shouted back. “I’ll get him!”

With a final glance, Duncan peeled away, motioning to the rest of the Atreides soldiers to follow him. They fanned out, preparing to engage the Harkonnen forces as the ornithopters swept in low, their blasters lighting up the snowy landscape.

Gurney, now alone in pursuit, gritted his teeth and pressed on, his legs burning with effort as he crested the ridge and saw the frozen lake below. The figure was already halfway across, their feet moving swiftly but carefully over the ice.

Gurney’s instincts screamed at him to be cautious—crossing a frozen lake in the middle of a storm was dangerous—but he had no choice. The person was fast, but Gurney had tracked many runners in his time, and he wasn’t about to let this one escape. Whoever they were, they had answers he needed.

His boots hit the ice, and immediately he felt the treacherous surface beneath him. Every step had to be calculated, the slick ice making it difficult to gain speed. But Gurney was relentless, his eyes fixed on the figure ahead.

They were nearing the far edge of the lake, and Gurney knew he had to close the distance before they reached cover. With a burst of speed, he lunged forward, his feet sliding slightly on the ice as he tackled the figure to the ground.

The two of them hit the frozen surface with a thud, the impact jarring but controlled. Gurney quickly pinned the runner down, his strong hands gripping their arms and forcing them into submission. He expected a struggle, but what caught him off guard was the sudden stillness beneath him.

The figure twisted beneath his grasp, but not with the strength of a hardened soldier. Gurney blinked in surprise as he looked down at the person he had just caught—and found himself staring into the face of a young woman. You.

Her face was striking, though it was partially hidden beneath the hood of her cloak. She had pale blonde hair, almost silver in the dim light, and her eyes—unusual lilac eyes—narrowed at him with fierce defiance. There was something otherworldly about her appearance, something that startled Gurney more than the fact that she wasn’t a man, as he had first assumed.

“Who—?” Gurney began, but before he could finish, the woman twisted again, trying to free herself. Her movements were quick, but Gurney held her down, his instincts now on high alert.

She wasn’t Harkonnen—of that he was sure. No Harkonnen would move like this, or have those eyes. But who was she?

Before he could ask, a blaster shot echoed across the lake, and Gurney instinctively glanced up. The storm was still raging, but through the snow, he could see Duncan and the Atreides soldiers engaging the Harkonnen forces near the edge of the lake. Ornithopters circled overhead, firing down into the snow, but the Atreides were holding their ground.

Another sound—this one closer—pulled Gurney’s attention back to the woman. She had stopped struggling, but her eyes were fixed on something behind him. Gurney turned his head just in time to see another squad of Harkonnen soldiers emerging from the storm, their weapons aimed directly at them.

“Damn it,” Gurney muttered under his breath.

Without wasting a second, Gurney hauled the woman to her feet, his grip firm but not cruel. “Come on,” he said urgently, his eyes flicking to the advancing Harkonnens. “We need to move, now!”

She hesitated for a moment, her violet eyes darting between Gurney and the soldiers. But when she saw the Harkonnen forces closing in, she seemed to understand the danger and nodded.

Gurney tightened his hold on her arm and pulled her toward the far edge of the lake. They had to reach cover before the Harkonnens caught up—or worse, before the ice gave way beneath them.

The icy wind slashes at your face as your captor drags you across the frozen lake, his grip firm, unwavering. You twist your arm, trying to pull free, but the man doesn’t loosen his hold. His face—grizzled, hardened—remains focused on the danger ahead, but you know he’s underestimated what’s coming.

“Let me go,” you say sharply, your voice cutting through the storm as you glance back at the advancing Harkonnen forces. They’re closing in fast, their dark shapes moving with deadly precision across the ice.

The Atreides soldier barely acknowledges you, his grip tightening as he pulls you along. “Not a chance,” he mutters, his voice gruff.

You grit your teeth, frustration boiling inside you. He doesn’t understand the danger—not fully. The Harkonnens aren’t just after him or his men. They’re after you. And they’re not going to stop until they have you, no matter who stands in their way.

“You need to let me go,” you repeat, more urgently this time, your breath visible in the freezing air. “You can’t fight them while dragging me along. Let me go, and we’ll have a chance to survive.”

He doesn’t slow down, his eyes scanning the horizon, but you can see his jaw tighten. He knows you’re right. The Harkonnens are gaining momentum, their boots pounding on the ice, the sounds of their shouts growing louder.

As the blizzard intensifies, you can make out the rough bark of one of the Harkonnen officers through the storm. “Keep the girl alive! She must stay alive!”

You tense at the words, but your captor’s steps falter for just a moment, his head snapping toward you. He knows now—they want you alive. For a moment, he hesitates, his grip loosening just enough for you to jerk your arm free.

Before he can grab you again, you turn to face him, your lilac eyes flashing with intensity. “Let me fight, or we’ll both die.”

He studies you for a split second, his instincts warring with his sense of duty. But as the Harkonnens close in, their weapons raised, he makes a decision.

“Fine,” he growls, finally releasing you. “But stay close.”

You smirk despite the cold, the tension in your body finally easing as your muscles loosen, ready to move. This soldier doesn’t know what you’re capable of—but he’s about to learn.

The first Harkonnen squad reaches you, their weapons drawn, their faces twisted with a cruel determination. One of them rushes toward you, his blaster raised, but you move faster than he can react. Your hands find the hilt of your hidden Valyrian steel blade, and in one swift motion, you unsheathe it, the metal gleaming in the pale light of the storm.

With a speed and grace born from years of training, you dodge his first strike, your body moving fluidly as if in a dance. Your sword hums through the air, cutting through the cold like a whisper. Before the Harkonnen can fire, your blade is at his throat, and in a single, decisive motion, he falls.

Your captor—the Atreides soldier—watches you, stunned. He’s seen warriors before, but nothing like this. Your movements are unlike anything he’s witnessed—swift, lethal, and otherworldly. You hear his breath catch as he engages the Harkonnen beside you, barely keeping up with the chaos that’s unfolding around him.

The rest of the Harkonnens press forward, but you’re already a step ahead, moving like a shadow on the ice. Another soldier charges, his weapon raised, but you sidestep him with ease, your blade slicing through the air with lethal precision. His body crumples to the ground before he even realizes he’s lost.

The storm howls around you, the snow swirling in thick, blinding waves, but the battle is sharp, focused. You fight like the blood of the dragon runs through your veins—fast, furious, and unstoppable. The ice beneath your feet holds, but you can feel the tension in the air, the weight of the conflict hanging like a blade ready to fall.

Beside you, the Atreides soldier fights fiercely, but you can sense his astonishment. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected you. The Harkonnen forces are brutal, unrelenting, but you fight as if every strike has been calculated a hundred times before it happens. You are the storm, and the Harkonnens are nothing but kindling in your path.

A Harkonnen lieutenant rushes forward, his face twisted with rage. “Take her alive!” he roars. But before he can reach you, you spin, your sword flashing in the storm’s light as it cuts through the air, meeting his weapon with a sharp clash. The force of your strike sends him stumbling backward, his face a mask of shock.

You don’t give him a second chance. Your blade is at his throat in an instant, and with one final strike, he falls, his body hitting the ice with a dull thud.

The sounds of blaster fire and plasma rifles echo in the distance as the Atreides forces engage the Harkonnens, but here, on this frozen lake, you stand victorious over the bodies of those who had dared to hunt you.

Your captor—still catching his breath—turns to you, his eyes wide, his disbelief clear. “Who the hell are you?”

You sheath your blade, the cold wind whipping at your cloak as you step closer. Your lilac eyes meet his, unblinking.

“I am Daenys Targaryen,” you say calmly, your voice carrying over the storm. “And you were right to let me go.”

Before he can respond, another group of Harkonnen soldiers emerges from the storm, and this time, they don’t hesitate. They charge forward with renewed fury, their weapons raised, their intent clear.

Without a word, the Atreides soldier grabs your arm, pulling you toward cover as the next wave of battle begins.

The blizzard whipped violently around you and your captor, the snow swirling in a thick veil of white as the cold air bit at your skin. You could hear the Harkonnen soldiers shouting, their voices growing closer. They were relentless, but you were ready—your sword still slick with the blood of those who had tried to capture you. You glanced at the Atreides soldier next to you, his breath heavy as he clutched his rifle, scanning the horizon for more threats.

Then, through the storm, you heard a voice—a sharp, commanding one, calling out through the chaos.

"Gurney!" the voice called, rough but strong, cutting through the howling winds. "You there? Gurney!"

The man next to you—Gurney, apparently—responded immediately, his tone urgent. "Duncan! We’re pinned down! The Harkonnens have us locked here on the ice with the girl!"

At the word girl, you scoffed, barely able to contain your irritation. You were no mere girl; you were Daenys Targaryen, the blood of Valyria running through your veins. You had fought and survived where others would have perished. Being reduced to nothing more than a ‘girl’ felt like an insult—one you’d gladly repay once this was over.

But Gurney’s use of the word didn’t seem to faze the man on the other end of the comms—Duncan—at least not at first. You could hear a brief moment of hesitation in his voice as he processed what Gurney had said.

"Wait—what?" Duncan’s voice faltered for a heartbeat. "A girl? Out here?"

The disbelief in his tone was palpable, as though the very idea of a young woman being out in the middle of this frozen wasteland was beyond reason. You clenched your jaw, the irritation bubbling up inside you again. But before you could say anything, Duncan quickly recovered, his voice sharp and focused once more.

"Doesn’t matter," Duncan continued, his voice steely and decisive. "Both of you need to keep moving. I’m sending you coordinates now—regroup there. We’ll cover you. But don’t stop, Gurney, do you hear me?"

Gurney nodded, though his eyes remained fixed on the advancing Harkonnens. "Copy that," he responded, his voice clipped. "We’ll make a break for it."

Gurney’s grip on your arm tightened, and he pulled you back slightly, his face set in concentration as he surveyed the chaotic battlefield ahead. The Harkonnen forces were relentless, pushing forward through the storm, their blasters firing indiscriminately as they closed in on your position. The ornithopters circled above, their harsh lights cutting through the snow.

You could hear more of Duncan’s voice in the distance, directing his own men to lay down cover fire, but it wasn’t enough. The Harkonnens were too close.

“We need to move,” Gurney muttered, his breath fogging in the cold air. “Now.”

He glanced at you, his eyes hard and calculating. He didn’t know who you truly were—he only knew that you were important enough for the Harkonnens to want you alive. For now, that was enough for him.

“Keep up,” Gurney ordered as he turned toward the coordinates Duncan had sent. Without another word, he took off across the ice, moving swiftly despite the uneven ground.

You followed close behind, your movements fluid and precise. Every instinct told you to fight, to turn and face the Harkonnens who hunted you—but you knew there would be a time for that later. Right now, the priority was survival.

As you and Gurney ran, the sounds of battle raged all around you—blaster fire, the roar of engines, and the shouts of men locked in combat. You could feel the ice beneath your feet shifting slightly, creaking under the weight of the violence above it, but you kept moving.

"Stay low!" Gurney barked as he ducked behind a large chunk of ice, pulling you down beside him. Plasma shots zipped overhead, lighting up the storm with flashes of red and blue.

You could hear Duncan’s voice again, this time over Gurney’s comm. “We’ve got them distracted—keep moving, Gurney! Head for the ridge. I’ll meet you there with reinforcements.”

Gurney gave a terse nod, not wasting time with words. He glanced over at you, and for a moment, you saw something flicker in his eyes—perhaps respect, or maybe just acknowledgment that you weren’t the helpless ‘girl’ he had assumed. Either way, you were both in this together now, and you had no intention of slowing him down.

As Gurney prepared to move again, you looked back over your shoulder. The Harkonnens were relentless, pressing forward, their eyes locked on you. You could hear them shouting to one another, their orders clear: "Take her alive!"

But they didn’t know who they were dealing with. You were no mere prize to be captured. You were fire, you were blood, and the day of reckoning would come soon enough.

“Ready?” Gurney asked, his voice low.

You nodded, your hand resting on the hilt of your sword. "Lead the way."

With a quick signal, Gurney rose from cover, pulling you with him as you both sprinted toward the ridge. The storm raged on, the ice creaking beneath your feet, but you moved with purpose, knowing that Duncan and his men were waiting.

The Harkonnens would not have you today.

The ridge came into view through the swirling storm, and you and Gurney pushed through the biting wind, your breath visible in the freezing air. Ahead, the forms of more Atreides soldiers emerged, and you could see Duncan Idaho standing at the front, his hand signaling his men to hold position. As you and Gurney neared, Duncan waved his men forward, laying down cover fire to drive the Harkonnens away. Their retreating shouts echoed through the blizzard, and soon the battlefield quieted, leaving only the howl of the wind.

You barely had time to catch your breath before Duncan signaled to his men again, his voice sharp. “Surround her!”

Immediately, several Atreides soldiers moved in, forming a tight circle around you. You could feel the irritation rising within you, your muscles tensing as their weapons remained trained on you. You clenched your jaw, biting back a retort, but the annoyance was clear in your eyes.

Duncan stepped forward, his gaze sharp and assessing as he took in your appearance. You noticed the way his eyes lingered on your sword, your stance—he was calculating, sizing you up, but you stood firm, refusing to let him see any sign of discomfort.

Nearby, Gurney moved closer to Duncan, and the two of them began speaking in low voices. You strained to hear, knowing they were discussing you, but the howling wind muffled most of their conversation.

“What’s her story?” Duncan asked, glancing briefly in your direction before focusing on Gurney. His voice was calm but edged with curiosity.

Gurney, his face still stern from the intensity of the chase, spoke quietly. “She calls herself Daenys Targaryen.”

Duncan’s reaction was immediate, his eyes narrowing as he glanced back at you, disbelief flickering across his face. “Targaryen?” he repeated in a hushed tone. “That’s impossible.”

“I thought the same,” Gurney muttered, his voice low and cautious. “But we’ve seen many impossible things on this planet.”

Duncan’s expression remained skeptical, but you could tell he wasn’t about to dismiss the claim out of hand. He took a deep breath, then stepped closer to you, his eyes searching your face for answers. There was a heaviness in the air, the kind that came with the weight of secrets and the unknown.

“What are you carrying?” Duncan asked, his voice calm but demanding, as he gestured toward the satchel at your side.

You stiffened at the question, your hand instinctively tightening on the strap of the satchel. “That’s none of your business,” you said coldly, your voice firm despite the storm swirling around you.

Duncan’s eyes narrowed slightly, but before he could respond, one of the Atreides soldiers acted swiftly, stepping forward and snatching the satchel from your grasp. You spun toward him, ready to fight, but two other soldiers quickly closed in, blocking your path and preventing you from reaching the man who had taken it.

“Give that back!” you snapped, anger flashing in your eyes as you took a step forward.

Duncan opened the satchel carefully, his expression curious but guarded. His brow furrowed as he reached inside and pulled out the heavy, smooth object—the petrified dragon egg. He held it in his hands, examining it with a look of confusion and mild disbelief.

“It’s a rock,” Duncan said, shaking his head slightly as he turned it over in his hands. He glanced up at you, his expression puzzled. “The Harkonnens are chasing you… for this?”

Before you could respond, Gurney stepped closer, his eyes widening slightly as he saw what Duncan was holding. His tone was urgent, a hint of alarm creeping into his voice. “Duncan, that’s not just a rock.”

Duncan raised an eyebrow, still skeptical. “What is it, then?”

Gurney took a breath, his eyes locking onto the egg in Duncan’s hands. “It’s a dragon egg.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and charged. For a moment, the world seemed to still, even as the storm raged around you. Duncan’s expression shifted from confusion to disbelief, his eyes flicking from the egg to you.

“A dragon egg?” Duncan repeated, incredulous. “That’s… impossible.”

You stepped forward, your voice calm but laced with a warning. “There are many things in this universe that you don’t understand.”

Duncan stared at you, clearly trying to process the implications. He glanced down at the egg again, turning it over in his hands, as if expecting it to reveal more of its secrets. “The Harkonnens wouldn’t go to this much trouble for a stone,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “But if what Gurney says is true…”

“It is true,” you interrupted, your voice steady. “That egg is more valuable than anything the Harkonnens could hope to steal. But it doesn’t belong to them—or to you.”

Duncan looked back at you, his expression unreadable. He still didn’t fully trust you, but there was a flicker of understanding in his eyes now, a recognition of the significance of what he was holding.

“Why are the Harkonnens so desperate to capture you?” Duncan asked, his tone softer now, but no less intense. “What’s your connection to this… dragon egg?”

You met his gaze, your lilac eyes unwavering. “Because they know,” you said, your voice steady despite the cold biting at your skin. “They know that House Targaryen is more than just a myth. And they will do anything to claim what is ours.”

Duncan glanced at Gurney, who gave a slight nod, as if to confirm the gravity of your words. The storm continued to howl around you, but now the weight of the moment pressed down on everyone standing there.

The Atreides had stumbled into something far greater than they could have imagined.

And for the first time, Duncan Idaho realized that their fight with the Harkonnens was about to take a turn none of them could have predicted.

Duke Leto Atreides sat quietly in the meeting room, his hands resting under his chin as he tried to process the gravity of what Aelor Targaryen had just revealed. The room was still, save for the faint hum of the advanced technology that surrounded them, but inside Leto’s mind, a storm was brewing. He had heard impossible things in his life—tales of lost Houses, ancient enemies, and forgotten powers—but this was something else entirely.

Aelor had told him in no uncertain terms who he was and who his people were. House Targaryen, the long-lost, feared enemy of the Imperium, had not perished. They had merely retreated into the shadows, rebuilding their strength, and now… now, the Atreides had aided them.

This could mean disaster for his House. If the Imperium learned that the Atreides had sided with the most feared enemy of the past, it could be seen as treason. And yet, there was something in Aelor’s calm, confident demeanor that made Leto pause. Something that told him this was not just another power struggle. This was about survival—about the future.

Beside him, Thufir Hawat stood, his arms crossed, his ever-sharp mind cataloging and analyzing every detail of the conversation. Leto knew that Hawat was already formulating plans, strategies, contingencies. That was his gift—his curse. The Mentat could see possibilities where others saw only chaos.

Leto exhaled slowly, his eyes still focused on the table before him. The weight of the decision ahead pressed heavily on his shoulders.

“I understand what you’ve said, Aelor,” Leto finally spoke, his voice calm, but edged with caution. “But you must know what this means for House Atreides. If the Imperium learns that we’ve aided your people—”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Duke Leto,” Aelor interrupted gently. “You merely defended yourselves. The Harkonnens were the aggressors here, as they always are. The Imperium does not need to know what they do not see.”

Leto’s eyes flicked up to meet Aelor’s, searching for any trace of deception. But Aelor’s face was calm, his expression almost serene, as though he held all the pieces to a puzzle that no one else could solve.

Before Leto could respond, the door to the room slid open, and Kellor stepped inside. His expression was strained, but there was an urgency in his eyes that caught Leto’s attention immediately.

“Duke Leto,” Kellor said, “Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck are trying to establish communications with us. They’ve encountered something… unexpected.”

Aelor, who had remained composed, suddenly straightened, his violet eyes sharpening with interest. Leto glanced at Hawat, who gave a slight nod, his calculating mind already considering the possible scenarios.

“Patch them through,” Leto ordered, standing from his seat. His eyes flicked to Aelor, and he gestured for him to join. “We’ll find out what this is about.”

Moments later, the room was filled with the crackle of the comm system coming to life. Duncan’s voice, steady but with a hint of tension, echoed through the room.

“My Lord, we’ve secured the area,” Duncan began. “The Harkonnens have retreated for now, but there’s something else you need to know.”

Leto exchanged a quick glance with Hawat before answering. “Go on, Duncan.”

There was a brief pause before Duncan spoke again. “We’ve… captured someone. A young woman. She says her name is Daenys. Daenys Targaryen.”

At that, Aelor’s calm demeanor shifted instantly. His eyes widened, and he stepped closer to the comm system, his voice filled with sudden urgency. “I wish to speak with my sister.”

Leto, sensing the importance of the moment, didn’t hesitate. “Duncan, Gurney, Daenys’ brother is here. He wishes to speak with her. Patch her through.”

There was a brief moment of silence, followed by the sound of static as the comm system adjusted. Then, a new voice came through, heated, full of frustration and defiance.

“Aelor!” you said, your voice sharp, cutting through the distance like a blade. “What the hell are you doing?”

Aelor’s reaction was instant, the tension in his shoulders releasing slightly as he heard your voice. His response came swiftly, spoken in the fluid, melodic language of High Valyrian.

“Lykirys, jorrāelagon, līragon issa kesīr. Nykēla ñuha hāedar naejot ivestragīr.” 

Leto and Hawat exchanged a quick glance, both of them recognizing the ancient language but unable to understand its meaning. Leto’s mind, however, was elsewhere—focused not on the words, but on the sound of your voice. It was sharp, yes, but there was a melodic quality to it, a tone that stood out even in the midst of the moment.

Aelor spoke again, his voice softening slightly as he continued to address you in High Valyrian. For a brief moment, the storm of emotions seemed to calm between you both.

After a few moments of conversation, Aelor turned back to Leto, his expression more composed now. “I need to retrieve my sister, Duke Leto,” he said, his voice firm. “She is of great importance to our House.”

Leto nodded, the decision already made. “Duncan, Gurney—send me your coordinates. We will come to you.”

Duncan’s voice came through again, clear and direct. “Understood, my Lord. Coordinates incoming.”

Leto took a deep breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. The impossible had become reality. House Targaryen was not only alive—it was standing before him, and the choices he made now would shape the future of House Atreides, for better or worse.

“Let’s move,” Leto said quietly to Aelor and Hawat. “We have a lot to discuss.”

The sky above the frozen plains of Arctis was a swirling gray, but through the storm, two banners flew proudly in the icy wind. A red hawk in flight on green and black, the proud sigil of House Atreides, stood side by side with a red three-headed dragon on black, the ancient and feared symbol of House Targaryen. The two House banners, both powerful in their own right, flapped together in the cold air as the transports descended toward the meeting coordinates.

Leto Atreides sat in the lead transport, his mind racing as they neared their destination. Beside him, Thufir Hawat sat in contemplative silence, his Mentat mind already running through countless calculations. Aelor Targaryen, seated across from them, was composed, though the slight tension in his jaw betrayed his concern for his sister.

As soon as the transport landed with a soft thud on the snow-covered ground, the doors slid open. The cold wind rushed in, but before anyone could react, Aelor was already on his feet, stepping out into the snow with purpose. The Atreides soldiers followed suit, along with Leto, Hawat, and Sergeant Kellor.

Aelor spotted his sister immediately, her figure standing tall in the distance, surrounded by Atreides soldiers. Without hesitation, he rushed toward her, his cloak billowing in the wind as he moved across the snow with surprising speed.

You saw him approaching and, despite the tension of the situation, allowed yourself a brief moment of relief. Aelor reached you and without a word, he embraced you tightly, his arms wrapping around you in a gesture of both protection and reassurance.

“Lykirys, jorrāelagon,” Aelor whispered in High Valyrian as he held you, his voice soft, meant only for your ears. You had been through so much, and yet here he was, just as you had known he would be.

When Aelor finally stepped back, there was a flash of warmth in his violet eyes as he looked you over, ensuring you were unharmed. He then gently took your hand and turned to lead you toward the gathered Atreides men.

As you approached the Atreides soldiers, Duke Leto, Hawat, and Sergeant Kellor stood in quiet observation, taking in the scene before them. Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck were still standing near the transports, their faces reflecting a mixture of surprise and wariness at the unfolding events.

Aelor led you to stand before the Duke, who was visibly taken aback the moment his eyes landed on you. Though he recovered quickly, the brief flicker of surprise in his expression didn’t go unnoticed by Hawat. The Mentat’s sharp eyes caught the Duke’s subtle reaction—his gaze lingering a fraction longer than usual on your face, perhaps noting your striking resemblance to your brother, or perhaps something else entirely. Hawat filed the observation away in the recesses of his mind, a detail to be discussed later.

Leto, however, was quick to compose himself. He offered you a respectful nod, his hands clasped behind his back as he spoke, his voice steady. “Lady Daenys, it is an honor to meet you, though I wish it were under less perilous circumstances.”

You met Leto’s gaze, your posture regal despite the harsh conditions. “Duke Leto,” you acknowledged, your voice firm but respectful. “The peril is far from over. I fear the Harkonnens will not stop at their defeat here.”

Leto nodded thoughtfully. “That’s precisely why we need to discuss the situation further. The Harkonnens won’t let this go. We’ll need a plan to contain them.”

Aelor glanced at you, then back to Leto. “My sister is right. The Harkonnens have learned of the underground structures beneath this planet. If they know about this place, they’ll soon search for more. Every world we’ve known that contains these structures will draw their attention.”

At that, Leto frowned slightly. The gravity of the situation was clear—this was no isolated conflict. The Harkonnens were after something much larger than just control of Arctis.

Thufir Hawat, standing beside Leto, broke his silence, his sharp eyes locking onto you for a moment before addressing the group. “We must assume that the Harkonnens will use any information they’ve gathered here to pursue your House further. If they know of the structures, they won’t stop until they’ve uncovered whatever they believe to be of value.”

Sergeant Kellor, ever the practical soldier, crossed his arms, his gaze shifting between Aelor and you. “What exactly are these underground structures? What do the Harkonnens think they’ll find?”

You exchanged a quick glance with Aelor, and for a moment, there was a silent conversation between you—an unspoken understanding. You had both known this day would come, but it didn’t make it any easier to explain.

“These structures,” you began, your voice measured, “are remnants of our ancient civilization. Some of them were once hatcheries, places where our dragons were born. Though the dragons themselves are long gone from there, the Harkonnens believe they can extract something of value from what remains.”

Leto’s gaze hardened as the weight of your words settled in. “The Harkonnens believe they can use your history to gain power.”

Aelor nodded. “They will stop at nothing to claim what they think gains them leverage.”

Hawat’s mind worked quickly, processing the implications. “Then we need to ensure that they never get that chance.”

Leto met Aelor’s gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. Whatever else was happening here, the Harkonnens were a common enemy, and for now, that was enough to unite their Houses.

“We’ll work together,” Leto said, his tone decisive. “We’ll put a stop to the Harkonnens, but we need more information. We need to know the full extent of their plans.”

You stepped forward, your voice calm but insistent. “I can help you with that. I know what they’re after. And I know how to stop them.”

Leto studied you for a moment, his gaze thoughtful, before nodding. “Then let’s begin.”

...

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the cruel and ambitious heir to House Harkonnen, stood at the center of the command room, his back to his men, staring down at a tactical map of Arctis. His fingers clenched into fists, his knuckles white with barely contained rage.

The silence was suffocating, broken only by the low hum of machinery and the distant howl of the blizzard. Feyd's men, hardened and ruthless as they were, stood rigid, afraid to speak but knowing they couldn’t stay silent for long. They had failed—again—and there would be consequences.

Finally, one of the soldiers, braver or perhaps more foolish than the rest, cleared his throat and spoke, his voice shaky. "My Lord, the girl… she managed to escape. The storm provided cover, and our forces were scattered. We—we lost her in the confusion."

Feyd turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the man who had dared to speak. His face was a mask of barely controlled anger, his lips curling into a sneer. "She escaped?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "One girl… against an entire Harkonnen strike force, and she escaped?"

The soldier swallowed hard, his throat bobbing nervously. "Yes, my Lord. The storm—"

"The storm?!" Feyd exploded, slamming his fist onto the table, sending the holographic projection flickering. His voice echoed through the tent, and every man within it recoiled at the sudden outburst. "The storm is no excuse for incompetence! She’s a single target, and you let her slip through your fingers like sand!"

He began to pace, his hands flexing and unflexing as his mind raced, the fury building with each step. "And now… not only has the girl escaped, but the Atreides are here. They’ve joined forces with the Targaryens." His voice dripped with venom at the mention of House Atreides, his family’s ancient enemies.

One of his lieutenants, a man with a scar running down his face, stepped forward cautiously, trying to keep his voice calm in the face of Feyd’s wrath. "My Lord, the Atreides forces have bolstered the Targaryens’ position. They outnumber us now, and our operation is compromised. If we continue this conflict, it will draw the gaze of the Emperor… and the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood."

Feyd stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he looked at the lieutenant. "The Emperor? The Sisterhood? And do you think I care about their gaze?"

The lieutenant opened his mouth to respond, but Feyd cut him off, his voice colder than before. "You think they don’t already know? You think they aren’t watching? We are all pawns in their game, but make no mistake, I will not be humiliated by Atreides dogs and Targaryen ghosts!"

His words hung in the air, the weight of his threat clear to everyone in the room. Feyd had no intention of retreating, no intention of admitting defeat. His hatred for House Atreides ran deep, and the very idea of their forces allying with the Targaryens had ignited a fury that could not be easily quelled.

The tent fell into a heavy silence, the soldiers exchanging uneasy glances. They knew better than to argue with their commander when he was like this. No one wanted to be the one to deliver more bad news—or face the consequences of his wrath.

After what felt like an eternity, another soldier, younger and clearly less experienced, nervously cleared his throat. "My Lord," he ventured carefully, "what… what should we do about the Targaryen girl?"

For a moment, the tent was silent again, but this time it was different. Feyd stopped pacing, his expression shifting from anger to something more sinister—something almost amused. A slow, twisted smile spread across his face, and he chuckled darkly.

"Oh, don’t worry about her," he said softly, his voice dripping with malice. "I’ll catch her. She can’t run forever."

He turned back to the map, his eyes gleaming with a cruel light as he traced the coordinates of their last known position. "Daenys Targaryen may have escaped for now, but she’s made a fatal mistake. She’s shown us just how far she’s willing to run. And when we catch her… well, I’ll make sure she regrets every step she took."

His men remained silent, their unease palpable. Feyd’s mood had shifted, but it hadn’t improved. The promise of what was to come for Daenys Targaryen and her allies was not one of mercy.

Feyd turned back to his men, his tone hardening again. "We’ll regroup and press on. This failure—your failure—will be delivered personally to the Baron." He smiled coldly at the thought of his uncle, knowing the consequences for his men would be severe.

"But until then," he added, his voice dangerously soft, "we hunt. And when we find the girl, we’ll make sure the Atreides and the Targaryens learn that no one crosses House Harkonnen and lives to tell the tale."

The soldiers nodded in grim silence, knowing there was no room for argument. The hunt would continue, and this time, there would be no escape.

Feyd’s eyes gleamed with the cold fire of vengeance as he turned back to the map. He had no intention of letting this go. House Targaryen, House Atreides—they would all pay. And it would start with you, Daenys.

[secretlywritingstories]

Nah, you wouldn't have spared me | EPIC: The Musical one shot

Summary: Sirens are apex predators that easily bring down whole ships. As soon as their song reaches a human’s ear, a spell takes hold that no mortal could break. It is easy to lure men to their demise. Until the sirens meet Odysseus, who is turned into a different beast altogether.

Tags: Canon compliant, set during Suffering & Different Beast, impersonation, predator/prey but uno reverse style, POV siren trying to eat the crew

Warnings: blood and gore, tail dismemberment but not graphic, and death of the narrator

Word count: 3.3k

Read on AO3 or below

It is one of their scouts that spots the ship slowly gliding into their territory. The weather is mild and the sky clear. Bright open hunting ground and a sizable meal about to slide into their claws.

Sirens work in a natural hierarchy, based more on cunning than strength. All of them are strong, all of them have spells that no mortal can hope to resist. It’s amusing, how their prey is turned putty in their hands, throwing themselves overboard with abandon, thinking they are falling into the arms of a beautiful woman or a long lost family member.

So primitive.

It’s almost too easy. It’s why they have turned it into more of a game. Pick them off one by one. Stun them and then play with their food a little. Just to spice things up for themselves.

“I’ll start us off with the captain,” the head siren says, starting her hum in the back of her throat.

Singing is the time when they feel most powerful. This is what they were evolved to do. Sing, spell, lure, kill. An endless cycle. To eat and to protect their territory. To play with, if they get bored.

It’s limited how much play they can get out of a spell-drunk human but usually, the splash of connecting with the water jolts them somewhat awake again. Then they're really fun, desperate and begging for mercy but their fate has already been sealed. 

The captain stands at the helm, looking out over the water and he has got no clue what he is about to encounter.

She always did like this part, getting a glimpse into someone’s head to see what really moved them. It was often primitive. Predictable.

Riches. Power. Love. A trifecta for most humans.

This one is no different, she notes, as the spell starts to take hold of the captain.  A long-lost prince far from home. A wife and daughter are waiting for him. A kingdom that has been left alone for too long.

The wife is his focus. It shines out of his very being. He has to get home to her.

It’s easy to slip into the effects of the spell, knowing that her sharp claws will look like soft, loving hands in the eye of the captain. Wicked smile will turn into pouting lips that he longs to kiss. And from her mouth, he will not hear the siren song but the voice he hasn’t heard in so long.

She swims out to meet the ship and breaches the surface right in front of the captain glancing out on the horizon. Eyes are searching. Their eyes are always searching once the spell has got them. Prime for the picking.

“Don’t you miss me?” she sings, flicking her long, tangled hair over her shoulder.

His eyes find hers and the longing is so deep that it almost catches her off guard. She is used to longing, it is a plaything of a siren but this man is beyond desperate. Oh, he’ll be fun to play with. He is watching her face like he cannot believe what he is seeing.

But he is. She knows that she appears just like that wife of his. A siren spell is a perfect trick mirror. 

“More than you know,” he says, voice breaking and eyes never leaving her face.

“Then jump in the water and kiss me,” she continues to sing.

To place a death’s kiss on sailors is always her favourite things. Stealing the life right out of their lungs before dragging them down to the depths.

She expects him to throw himself right over the railing.

“Penelope, I've told you this before,” he says and his voice trembles. “You know I’m afraid of the water.”

Oh.

That is new. She’s heard about it before. Some fears are so primal that they don’t leave the prey, even when they are spell-bound. She has never met one personally before.

She can feel the eyes of her sisters, deep beneath the water, awaiting her signal to appear and start singing the rest of the crew off.

It’ll be a bloody feast, but first she must coax down the water-fearing captain. A challenge. She perks up a little. A prey earned for once. She signals to one of the younger sirens to come up next to her. If the wife isn’t enough, the rest of the family might be.

“I’ll make sure that you are safe and sound,” she promises, putting her arm around her niece, who takes the shape of the long-lost child. “Come play with me and our daughter and let’s watch our love leave the ground.”

“Oh, I would, but I’d be suffering trying to float the whole time,” he resists, gripping onto the side of the ship with a white-knuckled grip. He’s resisting but the hold of that fear will not be enough for him to resist her.

She waves off her niece, who disappear under the sea. The man might love his child but he's not looked away from his wife's image, not even once. 

“I would take the suffering from you,” she promises, and with how intensely he’s watching her, she feels like he will throw himself over any moment.

“Oh, as good as it sounds, right here, I'm just finе,” he says and chuckles a little, almost sounding abashed.

She will try again. Surely, he’ll understand.

“I can take the suffering from you,” she says, letting her hands spread along the surface of the water, almost like she’s petting it. Making her home inviting for him. Even if he’ll be on the dinner table rather than a guest.

“You know that I prefer my feet on the ground.”

His fear of the water really must run deep. She can’t imagine what it would be like. But he is going to fall for her call. He will, whether he wants to or not.

“I will take the suffering from you!”

She’ll feast on his suffering, a worthy prey brought down, struggling to keep his life his own.

He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment and when he opens them again, she thinks that she has got him, only…

“Fine, but only if you answer a question or two.”

That has most certainly never happened before. No one has any questions. Ever. Against her better judgement, she’s curious. He might need a bit more of a reassurance to jump in.

Sugarsweet, smiling with sharp teeth that he cannot see, she says: “Of course.”

“Okay, so let's say, I was on the run or hiding,” he starts, voice growing more frantic, like he’s trying to force the words out fast. “From I don’t know, Poseidon! And let’s say he blocked the way home with giant waves and giant storms.”

That most certainly would not be good. Who would be stupid enough to piss off Poseidon? Their days would be numbered, if they needed to cross the ocean. Unless you know how to evade him, of course.

“Oh, no,” she says, tilting her head and trying to take in what kind of man this captain is. There is something about him that she cannot quite put her claw on.

“How am I to evade him? How am I to get home? Which route should I take? Where am I supposed to go?”

He’s frantic. Begging. For help instead of mercy, like she's used to. He saw his wife and his first thought was an escape from the Gods? Something is off about it, but children of the sea have secrets that they don’t get to share often. Maybe she could share this one. After all, the captain will be dinner soon after he’s heard the answer.

And it’s a chance to show off a little. He is watching her like he’s never going to look away from her face. It’s a little flattering, even if she is wearing his wife’s face in his eyes.

“He will chase you, high and low. So, find a place he’d never go. The one way you’ll get home is sailing where he’s scared to roam,” she says, drawing in a breath to dramatically tell him the safest way to avoid godly wrath, even if it puts him in front of a monster. “It’s through the lair of Scylla.”

“No.”

The despair in his tone is palpable. Does he know?

“This is your only way home,” she tells him. “The lair of Scylla.”

But there is a reason Poseidon won’t go near. Scylla is not to be underestimated.

“But Scylla has a cost.”

She blinks, surprised. She did not expect a mortal man to know about the cost. That you can sail through the lair and with luck, your ship will sail straight through. If you are unlucky, however, the whole ship will be sunken, crew and all.

If you’re not willing to take that gamble, you can make a sacrifice. One for each of her heads.

It is not her problem to make such a choice, and it is not the captain’s either. He’ll never get to sail there.

“Well, you asked and now you know. Now jump in the water!” she says, smiling and playfully slapping the water.

Her patience is rapidly running out, even if he is quite entertaining. 

“Penelope, why you know, I’m too shy and terrified,” he says, and tucks his hair behind his ear. It should not be charming, but it is. Strange.

“I would take the suffering from you,” she promises again, certain that it’ll take hold now.

“Oh, for you, I would die, but can’t you let me stay dry?” he responds.

Oh, he’ll die for her alright. But not while staying dry. He’ll be dragged down until there’s nothing but water.

“I can take the suffering from you,” she sings, and he leans out over the railing for a moment before managing to retreat.

It almost worked.

“You should come onto the ship. We’ll jump at the same time,” he offers and it’s sweet. Really, it is. But she’s not going to get up on that ship with him.

“I will take the suffering from you,” she sings instead and she sees the way his shoulders slump.

Defeat. Surrender.

She smiles.

“Ah, the things I do for you,” he says, stepping back a bit. She’s sure he is about to do a running jump right into her waiting arms.

She’s wrong.

The arrow pierces her shoulder and she shrieks. Deep and guttural and entirely surprised. It hurts. It stings like nothing she’s ever experienced. Their prey doesn’t shoot back. What in the world?

“Let’s cut the charade, you are no wife of mine,” he says and everything about him is different. His tone, his posture, the look in his eyes. He stares down at her in the water with a grin that’s a touch too manic. “You’ve been trying to take my life this whole time.”

He shouldn’t be able to figure that out. He shouldn’t be able to tell. The spell should have had him in a thrall. A chill shoots up her fin.

“I know underwater there are packs of you hiding. Yeah, I know exactly what you are. A siren.”

She snarls at him. He pays it no mind. Like he is not even scared, even though he should be terrified of them. 

“My real wife knows I’m not scared of the water, and my real wife knows I don’t have a daughter,” he reveals.

It makes no sense. She saw the daughter in his mind. She believed the fear of the water.

“But while you were so focused on turning my men into snacks... you didn’t notice that your friends got snatched.”

“What?!” she exclaims, ducking down into the water and they’re gone. She breaks through to the surface and spots one of the nets. How did they even get close enough to get snatched?

They’ve all become too complacent. Drawing in close because they were sure their meal would soon leap into the water but they were wrong. Now they are the prey. A siren out of the ocean, a siren without her voice is powerless.

“We are a different beast now. We are the ones who feast now. No more of us deceased, ‘cause we won’t take more suffering from you,” he says and looks down at her like she has personally slaughtered his men.

And she tried, but it didn’t work. Something already hurt him. Deeply. 

“We are the man-made monsters. We are the ones who conquer. You are a threat no longer. We won’t take more suffering from you.”

She bristles because it’s true. He has managed to incapacitate their song somehow. He was asking about a God before. Divine intervention? She should have sensed something was off about him. 

“We’ve been away from home for about twelve years or so. First, we slayed in our own war, and now, we’re here with more foes. While on the run from Poseidon, we found a ship with no crew. I realised nearby, there were sirens singing sailors to their dooms.”

Clever. The sirens let the ships sail on or push them out of their territory as best they can. Most men seein such a thing would assume, they got shipwrecked. No one thinks of sirens because there are no stories of them here.

No survivors to tell the tales.

“We filled our ears with beeswax. That’s how we resist your song. You pretended to be my wife, so I just played along. I read your lips and phrases, scanning for information.”

She takes it back. That is the truly clever part, even if this man is a trickster. He bends the rules to his own favour. No wonder the Gods have taken an interest in him, even if it is to chase him down. He thinks too highly of himself. 

Her sisters are up in the ship’s nets, twisting and shrieking, trying to break free but the nets are holding. They are looking at her for salvation.

Maybe, they can bargain. Adventurers love a bargain.

“Sirens know about every route and horizon. Now, I know how to get back to my island," the captain says.

This man is too well-read about the worlds. He knew about Scylla. He knows about sirens. They underestimated him. She underestimated him and now they might have to pay for it.

She sees the net thrown, but she is too slow to avoid it. It shoots out fast and her shoulder bleeds and hurts, the arrow still stuck in it. The net twists into the arrow, pain shooting up her entire body as she tries to fight it to no avail.

As she is raised up, she sees the whole crew out on deck. Some of her sisters are trying to sing still, but nothing is taking hold. The captain is not the only one with beeswax in his ears. They’ve all done it. They are parroting the captain.

“You are a threat no longer,” he says, as her net is thrown onto the deck. The impact stuns her tail. “We won’t take more suffering from you.”

She never thought she would get to feel how it feels like to be trapped and hunted. It is an unfamiliar feeling and she cannot see how they are going to get out of this one. The men have the upper hand. Escape is not possible.

They have to resort to something else.

They have to beg for mercy. And hope to be granted it.

She has to be the first one to say it. The others follow her. It has to be her who makes the decision.

“Spare us,” she says, words tasting like acid on her tongue, but she has to protect her family. 

“Oh, spare us, please,” they join in, voices calling out with a melancholy that not even their song possess.

She looks at the captain, into those hard eyes, and hopes for him to give in. She has never met a man who didn’t give into her eventually.

“Why?” he asks, staring down at her in a warrior’s stance. “So, you can kill the next group of sailors in this part of the sea?”

Yes. Because that is what they do. They are the predators of the sea. It is their job to hunt and kill. He is the one not playing by the rules. Outsmarting them in a way that should not be allowed. He should be dead already, but there he stands with all of the cards in his hands.

“Nah, you wouldn’t have spared me,” he says, looking right into her eyes.

And he’s right.

They wouldn’t.

“I made a mistake like this, it almost cost my life. I can’t take more risks of not seeing my wife,” he says, and at that, his tone turns a little softer. A little sadder. He looks at her with that deep longing.

The spell might not have worked properly but he is still seeing her reflected back. The way his eyes roam over her body to take in the creation of his wife looks like it physically pains him.

And then he turns away, face downcast but voice clear.

“Cut off their tails! We’re ending this now. Throw their bodies back in the water. Let them drown.”

“No!” she screams. All of them scream and thrash but it is no use. The nets holding up the other sirens are lowered onto the deck. They are on land here. They cannot move fast enough.

She feels like she must have misheard him. The brutality of it is too raw. Too cruel, even for a siren. But the captain is walking away after giving his order, distinctly not looking in her direction.

She screams at his retreating back, trying to crawl after him but the tail, the net and the arrow all keep her right where she is. Screaming and calling out for mercy of a man who cannot and will not hear her.

“Kill them all.”

She sealed their fate and he’s walking away. The crew are drawing their swords, and there is cruelty in their eyes. The same cruelty portrayed by their captain.

“Kill them all.”

He repeats his words before he stops near the railing and looks out at the sea. Like he cannot bear to witness what he has just ordered? Or like he could not care less? She is not sure, but a man approaches with a sword and swipes for her. Death cries from her fellow sirens fill the air.

“Kill them all.”

The first hit is only enough to cut through the net and slash open part of her scales. It burns and hurts like nothing she’s ever experienced before. It feels like being torn apart. Like being dismantled. The next swipe is enough cut halfway through her tail and everything gets fussy.

Cut in half. A siren is nothing without her tail. They’ll be fish food in the ocean that they once ruled.

“Kill them all,” the captain says one final time before disappearing below deck.

Not a single glance back at the massacre that he has left behind him. Another swipe of the sword and she doesn’t really feel the separation as much as she sees it. It doesn’t feel like it’s her tail lifeless on the deck. Limp and bloody.

She won’t survive this. None of them will.

And as she loses the fight against life, she hears the crew call out the name of the captain that took their lives without an ounce of mercy.

“Odysseus.”

It echoes across the corpses like a warning.

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🦇 We Free the Stars Book Review 🦇

❓ #QOTD What's your favorite found family story? ❓ 🦇 Zafira and Nasir return to a ghostly Sultan’s Keep, low on resources and allies alike. The dark forest has fallen, but the kingdom teems with fear of the Lion of the Night’s return. As Nasir fights to command the dark power in his blood, Zafira fights against a very different darkness festering through her bond with the Jawarat. Can they defy the darkness surrounding them to find the light?

💜 My lovely romantasy readers. While we're all waiting for a certain dragon book, why not slip into a rich, vivid, Arabian-inspired epic fantasy that will HAVE YOU ON YOUR KNEES for an intense, slow-burn, enemies-to-lovers ship? We Free the Stars (the second book in the Sands of Arawiya duology) provides all that AND SO MUCH MORE.

💜 Hafsah Faizal is an absolute MASTER at intricate, eloquent, powerful prose. Between the stunning setting, realistic characters, and absolute wit, you'll remain enthralled with every page. As our rag-tag found family "zumra" races to restore magic, you'll remain seeped in Arawiya's world and Faizal's spell-casting language. It's lyrical, action-packed, full of longing and loss. As captivating as the world-building and attention to detail are, it's the characters that bring this story to life. Many romantasy stories focus solely on the main ship, but Zafira's relationships with her sister, best friend, a daama book, and those she's lost weigh on her heavier than her father's cloak ever did. Those relationships are meaningful, still growing, capable of shattering with a single mistake--much as real relationships are.

💜 Zafira and Nasir have suffered so much, but still find one another in stolen moments that can steal your heart just as swiftly. The build from enemies to allies to the possibility of more is authentic, never rushed, leaving you craving more with every page yet never denying readers too long. The development is authentic; a dizzying, delightful slow-burn that never steals from the main story.

�� Unfortunately, the second half of this duology relies deeply on miscommunication. Again, the characters internalize a LOT, causing the pacing to drag at certain points. Some points of conflict were avoidable, if only the zumra spoke to one another (instead of Zafira talking to a daama book that sasses back). The third part of the book, while sweet, felt a little unnecessary, dragging out scenes that could have been collected into an epilogue.

🦇 Recommended for all romantasy fans, namely fans of Ember in the Ashes, Rebel of the Sands, The Wrath & the Dawn, Spice Road, and The City of Brass.

✨ The Vibes ✨ 🌙 Young Adult Epic Fantasy 🧭 Sands of Arawiya Duology 🏹 Magic ✨ Assassin/Huntress Enemies to Lovers 🌙 Lyrical and Spellbinding 🧭 Arab & Muslim Inspired/Writer 🏹 Triple POV ✨ "I came to kill you but fell for you" 🌙 Found Family 🧭 Royal Court/Political Intrigue 🏹 Slow Burn & Super Angsty

💬 Quotes ❝ “You seem to have no trouble being the end of me.” ❞ ❝ “Habibi. Hayati. Roohi. My love, my life, my soul, the words meant, but their meanings went deeper than that. Habibi was for friends and love that was real enough. Hayati was when love became an all-encompassing thing. Deeper and deeper, until one became the others life. Roohi was when a soul twined with its match and loved with the force of a thousand suns. When it slipped beneath the heart and tangled in the very fibres of an existence.” ❞ ❝ "You’re like a room full of books. Every time I see you, I discover something new.” ❞ ❝ They suffered alone. Quiet and brave. It was easy to believe that anyone who did not speak of suffering did not suffer. ❞ ❝ My bladed compass, sheathed in starlight. ❞ ❝ His compass. His queen. His life. ❞ ❝ He had been the Amir al-Maut until she had come and torn the monster to shreds with sharp words and coy glimpses. ❞ ❝ You’ll have me. No matter how thick the night, I will always be there to light your way. ❞ ❝ "They say the soul cannot rest until it finds its match. Then it ignites." ❞ ❝ “Do my people not deserve the freedom of yours? Do you know how it feels to stand beside others forged of the same flesh and bone and still be treated as inferior? As someone undeserving?” ❞

[driofaire]

Rogue, saboteur specialisation. Heart of gold, the right idea and god-awful execution. Struggling to find herself and where she belongs. A personable ex-pirate with an uncanny knack for defeating the odds and coming out on top. Plenty of hiccups ahead.

MUSE TAGS: GENERAL, WRITING, PINTEREST, SPOTIFY, BONDS, META.

Please note: spoilers for Veilguard below. (Will remove the read more in a month or so).

THE BASICS.

NAME: Balrina Munette Maribel Rook Ladair. ALIASES: Mari (picked herself), Rook, she does not offer the name of Maribel unless very, very well acquainted as she ties that with her adoptive mother. AGE: 32. RACE: Human, assumed common born due to having no information about her own parents. GENDER: Female. OCCUPATION: Pirate & smuggler (formerly), mercenary (present), treasure hunter. SEXUALITY: Bisexual, male-leaning. PLACE OF ORIGIN: Ferelden (unknown to her), assumed Rivain. SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Common, Rivaini. Fluent in both. AFFILIATION: Lords of Fortune, The Veilguard.

THE PHYSICAL:

FACECLAIM: Geena Davis, specifically in Cutthroat Island. HAIR: Dark brown, almost black. Messily cut so it doesn't fall into her eyes. Definitely does this with a dagger when it starts to bother her. EYE COLOUR: Hazel, leaning heavily more into dark green. HEIGHT: 5'7''. BUILD: Lean but well-muscled from years of trawling through ruins, and scrambling up the mast to get into the crow's nests of ships. A little on the skinny side, as most seafaring folks tend to be. This is from many weeks either at sea, or, having actually left seafaring behind, setting out on trips with only the necessary rations. DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: Heavy scarring on face, some newer, some older. Heavy scarring on body from knife-fishing and altercations with sea life. A mish-mash of tattoos over her body, some newer, some faded with time. The favourite of hers being an anchor on her collarbone. A beauty mark above her left lip, on her left cheek and the right side of her jaw. Missing the top segment of her left pinky finger after a game of five finger fillet in her misspent twenties.

RELATIONSHIPS.

Family: Uriel Munette† (biological father), Camilla Munette† (biological mother), Marisol Ladair (adoptive mother, estranged). FRIENDS: Varric Tethras, Bellara Lutare, Lace Harding, Lucanis Dellamorte, Neve Gallus, Emmrich, Davrin, Taash. ENEMIES: Solas. Elgar'nan. Ghilan'nain. Marisol Ladair.

BACKSTORY / TIDBITS.

Originally born Balrina Munette, sole daughter of Uriel Munette and Camilla Munette. They were seafaring merchants that dealt mostly in spices, though, on occasion they could be paid to carry … other curiosities of interest. 

As they were never home, they opted to set sail with Maribel rather than leave her with someone else, as they hoped that, as their eldest daughter, when they retired they would be able to leave their profession in the hands of her. 

Were set upon by pirates allied with the Lords of Fortune when she was three years old, and, after the rest of the crew had been slaughtered, they found her cowering in the hold. Rather than throwing her overboard, they opted to take her to their Captain, one Marisol Ladair, of the Brightfin. She considered leaving her at the next safe port, but ultimately decided against it. She would eventually grow fond of her, and take her under her wing as a stolen protege. 

She was renamed in the first few weeks under Marisol’s command, as Maribel herself decided that she did not sound quite pirate enough. She asked Marisol to pick one, and the pirate thought it would be cute to match. She would also claim the title of Miniature Mari in the years to come.

When she came old enough to be trusted to scamper up into the crow’s nest of The Brightfin, she would be on the lookout for ships on the horizon. It would not be until her 12th birthday that Marisol gifted her the first sword she would ever know. Crafted specially for her adopted daughter, it was a small thing but sharp enough to cut through her finger like butter. She called it Little Fang, and now that she has long outgrown it, it is now a display item in her room in the Lighthouse. 

It took her a while to realise that it was Marisol’s crew that killed her family, and she did not remember her name before. This did put a rift between them, as from the ages of 15-25, she pulled away from her and the life of piracy in favour of the plunder and robbing of tombs, ruins and contracted jobs escorting excavators, scholars and other folks who need a trained eye.

She likes spear fishing/combing the sea floor for oysters. This is how she chooses to relax when she is stressed and she is able to find shiny shells, pearls and sea glass which is also displayed in her room in the lighthouse. 

DECISIONS: UNDER CONSTRUCTION.

[the-darkdragonfly]

WIP Wednesday: A Trick of the Light - A Captain Swan Tale

Chapter 9: A Field of Roses

*blinks in shock* Oh My... Hey!! I wrote things! I am probably more shocked than you are... probably... Coming soon....

♥️♥️♥️

I guess I didn’t really think this through- she had giggled into the towel he’d handed her as she stood before him, pink and warm, skin steaming from the water he had helped her out of as the snow swirled wildly outside the window. 

He’d bitten down a smirk, though she had noticed it regardless, eyes shining with mirth as she watched him in the light of the candles she’d obsessively lit before pouring the last bucket of near scalding water into the tub. 

“It smells so good though!” Her grin widened, as he picked yet another soggy petal from his chest, nodding and trying desperately not to laugh. 

“Aye,” he deposited the small pink hitchhiker on the edge of the tub, a rogue petal from Emma’s attempt at something she had called bath salts.

It had been a series of amusing trial and error attempts before she’d decided to add the rose petals Fiona had helped her tie in the few last days of autumn, the various herbs and spices Emma had crushed into the heaps of hand-crushed salt; pungent and mostly terrible.  She’d gagged, holding a hand in front of her face as he dutifully disposed of batch after batch, early pregnancy hormones preventing her from finding any part of the ordeal humorous. 

“They didn’t really stick to me,” she turned in an attempt to inspect her backside- probably because I’m not hairy like you are- which had remained petal-free, unlike his own. 

He had found her, the tiredness he’d dragged with him throughout his day lifting from his soul as watched her bent over her work, his fingers ink-stained from the ledgers at the warehouse as he itched to touch her, to pull her attention away from her task for even only a moment. His ears had echoed Alec’s annoyed mutterings most of the day until the merchant ship they had been waiting on all morning finally appeared on the horizon clearing from his heart. She had collected small bowls, scattered around her like soldiers awaiting her orders, and was busy measuring something into them as she tilted her head to the door- you’re just in time!- sweat from the fire gathering at the base of her neck. 

He’d braided her hair before he’d left that morning while her hands soaked into the wash basin, the swirl of silk under the warm water like the call of the sea, and she’d leaned back into his chest, pressing a kiss into her hair. 

The scent of roses had stayed on her skin, impossible as it was through the travel of portals and time and realms, the faint drift of the blooms he had brought her over the years. 

She’d bought a small bag of salts- this is the real deal, babe!- from a trip into Boston before Liam was born, pouring a small handful of the soft scented grains into the bathtub as he helped her over the edge, her pregnant stomach making the movement awkward- don’t you dare laugh, Jones, this is entirely, mostly, partly your fault- his hand on her elbow as he lowered her into the water. 

There hadn’t been any room for him that day, the tub in their Storybrooke home smaller than the large porcelain one which sat in the corner of their bedroom at the cottage by the sea, and he had knelt on the floor, the bathmat wet under his knees, and spoke softly to her and their child. 

The memory hung around him like fog on a cool sea, thick and quiet, until a sharp clang of metal on stone echoed frantically through his blood as his head cleared like the sun burning it all away.  

♥️♥️♥️

Catch up here.

Read my other stuff here.

Tagging:

@elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @sailtoafarawayland @teamhook @wefoundloveunderthelight @caught-in-the-filter @batana54 @ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgood @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @jrob64 @kmomof4 @artistic-writer @gingerpolyglot @xarandomdreamx @justanother-unluckysoul @zaharadessert @xsjax @karlyfr13s @tiganasummertree @wyntereyez @klynn-stormz @onceratheart18 @rkrbirdgirl @ouatdaily @blowmiakisscolin @courtorderedcake @winterbaby89 @pirateprincessofpizza @superchocovian @deckerstarblanche @jlsadphoenix @alexa-fangirl-forever @stahlop @undercaffinatednightmare @lostintheskyfaraway @anmylica @motherkatereloyshipper @last-tsarina @lfh1226-linda @hookedmom @midnightsuki @paradiselady19 @jonesfandomfanatic

[clarafell]

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 ! ! (   season  edition  !   )  

*  repost  ,  don’t  reblog.  bold;  always  applies.  italicise; sometimes  applies.

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑬𝑹. —  cold  drinks  after  a  long  day  ,  hiking  in  the  woods  just  outside  the  city  ,  swimming  in  a  lake  ,  spontaneous  picnics  ,  the  warmth  of  the  sun  making  you  drowsy  ,  the  buzz  of  insects  flying  by  ,  blooming  wildflowers  ,  the  scent  of  bark  and  leaves  ,  snapping  twigs  in  half  ,  a  blade  of  grass  between  your  teeth,  light  sunburn  on  the  tip  of  your  nose  ,  barking  dogs  ,  rosy  cheeks  ,  children  laughing  in  the  distance  ,  sunflowers  reaching  for  the  sun  ,  fresh  ice  tea  ,  resting  your  head  on  someone’s   lap  ,  warm  yellow  ,  the  sound  of  waves  crashing  .

𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑼𝑴𝑵.  —  cool  breezes  that  feel  just  right  ,  piles  of  leaves  , rust  red  ,  oversized  sweaters  ,  knitted  blankets  ,  pumpkin  spice ,  the  scent  of  freshly  baked  goods  ,  open  windows  letting  the  fresh  air  in  ,  cold  cheeks  and  hands  ,  rain  boots  ,  carving  pumpkins  ,  soft  scarves  ,  a  comforting  embrace  from  an  old  friend  ,  the  scent  right  before  a  storm  ,  wild  mushrooms  ,  ripening  berries  ,  a  cup  of  hot  tea  , purring  cats ,  blueberry  muffins  ,  braided  hair  , wearing  your  partner’s  shirts  ,  an  alarm  pulling  you  from  slumber  ,  burning  candles  .

𝑾𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹.  —  the  crackling  of  a  fireplace  ,  hot  chocolate  with  marshmallows  ,  the  smell  of  fresh  cookies  ,  fuzzy  socks  ,  beanies  pulled  over  your  ears ,  a  strong  pot  of  coffee  ,  dark  clouds  gathering  on  the  horizon  ,  the  sound  of  wind  shaking  the  ship house ,  melting  ice  ,  snowflakes  in  your  hair ,  melancholy  afternoons  ,  curling  up  with  a  book  while  the  world  stands  still  ,  cough  drops  on  the  nightstand  ,  excitedly  giving  gifts  ,  long  coats  with  deep  pockets  ,  pale  blues  ,  flour  on  the  tip  of  your  nose  ,  warm  soup  ,  stubble  turning  into  a  beard  ,  the  scent  of  leather  .

𝑺𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮.  —  the  smell  after  it  rains  ,  waking  to  the  sound  of  birds  singing  ,  the  crack  of  thunder  ,  soft  pinks  ,  energy  drinks  or  protein  shakes  ,  the  scent  of  fabric  softener  ,   tidying  up  , the  sweet  taste  of  fresh  fruit  ,  competitive  spark  in  eyes  ,  sand  beneath  your  feet  ,  sweat  on  your  brow  ,  catching  your  breath  after  running  ,  light  green  ,  frosted  cupcakes  ,  electricity  in  the  air  ,  forbidden  kisses  ,  the  sharp  hunger  after  a  work  out  ,  daring  romances  ,  high  ponytails  ,  unexpected  storms  ,  picking  flowers  ,  running  barefoot  in  the  grass ,  iced  coffee  .

---- tagged by: @trattcria (thank you so much!)

tagging: @catncore & @madeimpact & @domina-noctisim & @wolfvirago & @reapinghook & @rosecoloredmuses & @pixieacoco & @shorestar & @s-talking & @distortsverity & @justiica & @conseille & @vampire-tales & @s-ubtlety & @nenegyo & @msteroso & @starsgifted & @shibemuses & @skydragn & @deathdanse & @dnangelic & @theircurse & @dangaer & @duessperare & @donutghoul & anyone else who wants to do it! 💜

[m3chanical-rhythm]

💛 for an (playful) air kiss from Rach to Riot. Totally messing with him.

@splinter-sister

SEND A HEART FOR A SPECIFIC KISS.

The fuck was that? Why was Rachael blowing a kiss at him as he left for HQ?? Furthermore, why was it embarrassing him so much??! Riot could tell it was playful and didn't mean anything by the way she looked at him while she did it. She was just teasing him! Obviously!!

But the more he thought about it, the more he thought about how it might feel to actually kiss her. Did human lips feel different than reploid lips? Would they feel warm, or cold compared to his?? Would they be as soft as they looked???

AUGH!!! He was thinking about this way too much!!

Riot quickly left the apartment to head to work--He needed to go dunk his head into some ice water or blow something up to get his mind off of kissing his new roommate.

[thuganomxcs]

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 ! ! (   season  edition  !   )  

*  repost  ,  don’t  reblog.  bold;  always  applies.  italicise; sometimes  applies.

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑬𝑹. —  cold  drinks  after  a  long  day  ,  hiking  in  the  woods  just  outside  the  city  ,  swimming  in  a  lake  ,  spontaneous  picnics  ,  the  warmth  of  the  sun  making  you  drowsy  ,  the  buzz  of  insects  flying  by  ,  blooming  wildflowers  ,  the  scent  of  bark  and  leaves  ,  snapping  twigs  in  half  ,  a  blade  of  grass  between  your  teeth,  light  sunburn  on  the  tip  of  your  nose  ,  barking  dogs  ,  rosy  cheeks  ,  children  laughing  in  the  distance  ,  sunflowers  reaching  for  the  sun  ,  fresh  ice  tea  ,  resting  your  head  on  someone’s   lap  ,  warm  yellow  ,  the  sound  of  waves  crashing  .

𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑼𝑴𝑵.  —  cool  breezes  that  feel  just  right  ,  piles  of  leaves  , rust  red  ,  oversized  sweaters  ,  knitted  blankets  ,  pumpkin  spice ,  the  scent  of  freshly  baked  goods  ,  open  windows  letting  the  fresh  air  in  ,  cold  cheeks  and  hands  ,  rain  boots  ,  carving  pumpkins  ,  soft  scarves  ,  a  comforting  embrace  from  an  old  friend  ,  the  scent  right  before  a  storm  ,  wild  mushrooms  ,  ripening  berries  ,  a  cup  of  hot  tea  , purring  cats ,  blueberry  muffins  ,  braided  hair  , wearing  your  partner’s  shirts  ,  an  alarm  pulling  you  from  slumber  ,  burning  candles  .

𝑾𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹.  —  the  crackling  of  a  fireplace  ,  hot  chocolate  with  marshmallows  ,  the  smell  of  fresh  cookies  ,  fuzzy  socks  ,  beanies  pulled  over  your  ears ,  a  strong  pot  of  coffee  ,  dark  clouds  gathering  on  the  horizon  ,  the  sound  of  wind  shaking  the  ship house ,  melting  ice  ,  snowflakes  in  your  hair ,  melancholy  afternoons  ,  curling  up  with  a  book  while  the  world  stands  still  ,  cough  drops  on  the  nightstand  ,  excitedly  giving  gifts  ,  long  coats  with  deep  pockets  ,  pale  blues  ,  flour  on  the  tip  of  your  nose  ,  warm  soup  ,  stubble  turning  into  a  beard  ,  the  scent  of  leather  .

𝑺𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮.  —  the  smell  after  it  rains  ,  waking  to  the  sound  of  birds  singing  ,  the  crack  of  thunder  ,  soft  pinks  ,  energy  drinks  or  protein  shakes  ,  the  scent  of  fabric  softener  ,   tidying  up  , the  sweet  taste  of  fresh  fruit  ,  competitive  spark  in  eyes  ,  sand  beneath  your  feet  ,  sweat  on  your  brow  ,  catching  your  breath  after  running  ,  light  green  ,  frosted  cupcakes  ,  electricity  in  the  air  ,  forbidden  kisses  ,  the  sharp  hunger  after  a  work  out  ,  daring  romances  ,  high  ponytails  ,  unexpected  storms  ,  picking  flowers  ,  running  barefoot  in  the  grass ,  iced  coffee  .

tagged: @infintasmal (thanks for tagging yo boy)

tagging: @acoldsovereign , @theothervonkarmagirl , @chibitantei , @tvstarkuma , @fatexbound (ann), @belovedblossoms (hiyori), @eternalbxtterfly , @bonescribes , (steal it homies)

[hoarding-niffler]

I kinda wish you could make your mc a professor or to make it a bit easier to be a dlc an assistant. Like your character could want to become a professor or own a shop for that specific subject and you can work along side the professor of your choice. Maybe you can get more character interactions with students like tutor them or people who were that teacher’s assistant a couple years ago. Idk it seems like a fun idea. Plus more Professor Garlick and Sharp content is a must.

I feel like this works well as a fanfiction but would be a flop as a game. It would not sell well. It would be boring quite quickly and while it does indeed sound cosy and like something I'd read in a heartbeat, it sounds like a mix between Sims and Animal Crossing but with less to do, in a world where people want to fling spells and save the world instead.

Can't really imagine that a DLC like that would ever happen and if so, it would probably be really short so as not to become tedious. We all know the game has enough monotonous tasks already (looking at you, Merlin Trials and Landing Platforms).

That being said if you ever write or draw something like this? Please tag me because I'd be delighted to see/read it! We all need more Garlick and Sharp in our life.

Are people out there shipping Garlick and Sharp, btw? Because as a herbologist she might aid with Sharp's leg pain or provide ingredients for his potions. What would even be their ship name? Garp? Sharlick? Spices? :'D

[divineslcyer]

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 ! ! (   season  edition  !   )  

*  repost  ,  don’t  reblog.  bold;  always  applies.  italicise; sometimes  applies.

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑬𝑹. —  cold  drinks  after  a  long  day  ,  hiking  in  the  woods  just  outside  the  city  ,  swimming  in  a  lake  ,  spontaneous  picnics  ,  the  warmth  of  the  sun  making  you  drowsy  ,  the  buzz  of  insects  flying  by  ,  blooming  wildflowers  ,  the  scent  of  bark  and  leaves  ,  snapping  twigs  in  half  ,  a  blade  of  grass  between  your  teeth,  light  sunburn  on  the  tip  of  your  nose  ,  barking  dogs  ,  rosy  cheeks  ,  childrenlaughinginthedistance  ,  sunflowers  reaching  for  the  sun  ,  fresh  ice  tea  ,  resting  your  head  on  someone’s   lap ,  warm  yellow  ,  the  sound  of  waves  crashing  .

𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑼𝑴𝑵.  — coolbreezesthatfeeljustright,  piles  of  leaves  , rust  red  ,  oversized  sweaters  ,  knitted  blankets  ,  pumpkin  spice ,  the  scent  of  freshly  baked  goods  , openwindowslettingthefreshairin ,  cold  cheeks  and  hands  ,  rain  boots  ,  carving  pumpkins  ,  soft  scarves ,  acomfortingembracefromanoldfriend, the  scent  right  before  a  storm  ,  wild  mushrooms  ,  ripening  berries  ,  a  cup  of  hot  tea  , purring  cats ,  blueberry  muffins  ,  braided  hair  , wearingyourpartner’sshirts ,  an  alarm  pulling  you  from  slumber  ,  burning  candles  .

𝑾𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹.  —  the  crackling  of  a  fireplace  ,  hot  chocolate  with  marshmallows  ,  the  smell  of  fresh  cookies  ,  fuzzy  socks  ,  beanies  pulled  over  your  ears ,  a  strong  pot  of  coffee  ,  dark  clouds  gathering  on  the  horizon ,  the  sound  of  wind  shaking  the  ship house ,  melting  ice  ,  snowflakes  in  your  hair ,  melancholy  afternoons  ,  curlingupwithabookwhiletheworldstandsstill, cough  drops  on  the  nightstand  ,  excitedly  giving  gifts  ,  long  coats  with  deep  pockets  ,  pale  blues  ,  flour  on  the  tip  of  your  nose  ,  warm  soup  ,  stubble  turning  into  a  beard  ,  the  scent  of  leather  .

𝑺𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮.  —  the  smell  after  it  rains  ,  waking  to  the  sound  of  birds  singing  ,  the  crack  of  thunder  ,  soft  pinks  ,  energy  drinks  or  protein  shakes  ,  the  scent  of  fabric  softener  ,   tidying  up  ,thesweettasteoffreshfruit , competitivesparkineyes,  sand  beneath  your  feet  ,  sweat  on  your  brow  ,  catching  your  breath  after  running  ,  light  green  ,  frosted  cupcakes  ,  electricity  in  the  air  ,  forbidden  kisses  ,  the  sharp  hunger  after  a  work  out  ,  daring  romances  ,  high  ponytails  ,  unexpected  storms  ,  picking  flowers  ,  running  barefoot  in  the  grass ,  iced  coffee  .

tagged by: stolen~ !

[novaursa]

Of Gods and Men (contact)

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: exodus

- Next part: daenys

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

- A/N: The reader will have much more larger role in the next part as plot is established better.

The transport starship of House Vex shuddered as it emerged from the shimmering folds of space, settling into the cold, dark void at the exact coordinates it always did. This part of the unknown universe was rarely traveled, its stars dim and uncharted, hidden far beyond the grasp of the Imperium’s prying eyes. The black and sleek ship, known as Vassel's Edge, gleamed under the faint light of distant stars, its wing-like solar collectors retracted as it prepared for its next stage of the journey.

Captain Harl Vex, a stout man with sharp green eyes and a graying beard, stood at the helm, his fingers tapping methodically on the command console as he surveyed the coordinates. This route was familiar to him, yet today something felt different. His ship was not carrying its usual crew; today, several guests from House Ix were aboard, their curiosity piqued by the mysterious buyer House Vex delivered to.

Harl glanced over his shoulder to where the members of House Ix were seated—three of them, watching the starfield with a mix of intrigue and impatience. The leader of the group was Serus Ix, a tall, thin man with cold blue eyes and a keen intellect that had earned him a reputation as one of the finest minds in his House. Beside him sat Xyla Ix, his younger sister, who shared her brother’s sharp features but had a more cautious demeanor. Lastly, there was Daric Ix, an engineer known for his fascination with all things technological, his mind always whirring with possibilities.

“Coordinates confirmed,” Harl muttered under his breath as the ship's scanners hummed to life. “Now, we wait.”

As if on cue, the space before them flickered, and a green light began to sweep over the ship. The Ixians exchanged glances as the green light pulsed along the ship’s exterior, scanning it methodically from bow to stern.

“What is that?” Daric asked, his curiosity piqued as he leaned forward. “Some sort of advanced scanning technology?”

Captain Vex glanced at him but continued monitoring the readouts. “Precautionary measure,” he said calmly. “From the station where we’ll be delivering the spice. They’re very particular about security, especially with the type of cargo we’re carrying.”

Serus leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “Station? I thought we were meeting a buyer directly. Why all this secrecy?”

Harl gave a thin smile, knowing better than to reveal too much to his guests. “That’s how things are done out here, Serus. House Hightower controls the sentinel stations in this part of space. They keep watch for intruders. We deliver the spice there, and it’s transported elsewhere. And today…” He turned to face Serus fully. “…the mysterious buyer has agreed to meet with you, as per our arrangement.”

Before Serus could press further, the comms crackled to life.

“Vassel’s Edge, you are cleared for docking,” came the calm, authoritative voice of the station commander. “Proceed to docking bay three. You have passengers aboard from House Ix?”

Harl nodded, toggling the comms. “Confirmed. House Ix representatives are aboard, as agreed.”

There was a brief pause before the commander’s voice returned. “They will be escorted to the meeting hall upon arrival. Follow docking instructions precisely.”

The communication ended abruptly, and Harl guided the ship forward, feeling the slight pull of the station’s gravity field as they neared the massive structure. The sentinel station loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the backdrop of stars. Its angular design was distinct, built for both defense and secrecy, with long spires extending outward, each armed with powerful weapons and sensors capable of detecting any intruder who dared approach this part of space uninvited.

The docking process was smooth, as it had been many times before for Harl. The massive bay doors of the station slid open, revealing the illuminated interior where several other ships, all smaller and less significant than Vassel’s Edge, were docked. The ship glided in silently, its wings folding back as it gently touched down on the docking platform.

As soon as the docking clamps secured the ship, the bay doors sealed shut behind them, and the interior lights of the station grew brighter. The docking platform was already bustling with activity—station personnel moving about, preparing for the next phase of the spice transfer. But amidst the commotion, a group of armored guards stood waiting by the entrance to the station’s inner corridors.

Captain Vex stood and turned to the Ixians. “This is where we part ways for now. The commander will escort you to the meeting hall. I suggest you tread lightly—our hosts are not known for their patience.”

Serus, Xyla, and Daric rose from their seats, adjusting their formal House Ix attire. “We can handle ourselves,” Serus said coolly, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty.

The group exited the ship together, stepping down the ramp onto the station floor. The guards were waiting for them, each clad in dark, matte armor that seemed to absorb the station’s artificial light. Their helmets were faceless, their identities concealed, but their presence alone was enough to signal the station’s seriousness about security.

“Welcome to Sentinel Station,” one of the guards said, his voice distorted slightly by the helmet’s modulator. “Follow us. The meeting will begin shortly.”

Without another word, the guards turned and led the group down a long, sterile corridor that wound through the heart of the station. The walls were smooth and metallic, illuminated by thin strips of white light that cast long shadows as they walked. The air was cool, almost too cool, and there was an unsettling quiet that settled over the group as they moved deeper into the station.

As they walked, Daric couldn’t help but whisper to his sister, “This place feels…off. Like there’s something they’re not telling us.”

Xyla gave a subtle nod but kept her gaze forward. “Keep your thoughts to yourself, Daric. We’re guests here, not investigators.”

Serus remained silent, his mind turning over the possibilities of what they might encounter. The technology they had seen so far—advanced scanners, cloaked guards, and now this hidden sentinel station—was far beyond what they had imagined. Whoever this mysterious buyer was, they were clearly operating on a level House Ix had not yet attained. And that intrigued him more than anything.

Finally, they reached a large, reinforced door at the end of the corridor. One of the guards stepped forward and keyed in a code, and with a soft hiss, the door slid open, revealing a dimly lit meeting hall. The room was circular, with a wide table at its center and chairs arranged neatly around it. The air here felt different—charged, as if something unseen was watching them.

As they entered, Serus glanced around, his sharp eyes scanning the room. “Where is our host?”

Before anyone could answer, a new voice echoed from the shadows at the far end of the room.

“Patience, Serus Ix. All will be revealed in time.”

The Ixians turned as a figure emerged from the darkness—a tall, slender man with sharp features and piercing eyes that seemed to glow faintly in the low light. He was dressed in dark robes that shimmered like liquid, and though he moved with grace, there was an unmistakable air of authority about him.

Serus stepped forward, his curiosity now fully piqued. “And who might you be?”

The man smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “I am simply a representative of the one you seek. And today, we shall discuss matters of great importance. Matters that will shape the future of your House…and perhaps the galaxy itself.”

Serus, Xyla, and Daric exchanged silent, uneasy glances as the figure before them—the one who had introduced himself as their host’s representative—lingered in the shadows. But something else caught Daric’s eye.

In the far corner of the room, barely visible in the low light, a creature crouched silently, watching them with glowing yellow eyes. Its body was massive, covered in thick, jagged plates of rock-like exoskeleton. Its breath was slow, rumbling, almost volcanic in nature. Daric stiffened, recognizing the creature from his brief studies on unknown ecosystems. It was a Volcanic Stalker, one of the creatures rumored to inhabit remote planets in uncharted territories. The beast’s eyes locked onto him, unblinking and watchful.

Xyla noticed it next, her hand reflexively inching toward her belt where a concealed blade rested. But before either of them could act, the man from the shadows spoke again, his voice calm, almost amused.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a hint of a smirk. “It doesn’t bite—unless commanded.” He stepped fully into the light, revealing more of his features: dark, sharp eyes, and long silver hair tied back in a neat braid. His presence was both regal and intimidating, every movement deliberate. “I am Vaegor, Master of Whispers for House Targaryen. You’ve been brought here to discuss matters that transcend your understanding, but first, sit. We have much to discuss.”

As the Ixians sat, the doors to the chamber opened with a soft hiss, and four figures entered the room. Serus, Daric, and Xyla turned to see who approached, and their breath collectively caught in their throats.

Leading them was Dragonlord Aenys Targaryen—a figure of unmistakable authority. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his regal face framed by long silver-blond hair, eyes a deep violet that seemed to glow with the intensity of one who commanded dragons. His presence filled the room with palpable power, his black robes embroidered with a subtle red three-headed dragon, the sigil of his House. His gaze was calm but fierce, the weight of centuries of tradition behind him. He moved with the grace of someone who had nothing to fear.

Behind him were his three children. First, his eldest son Aelor Targaryen, a young man with strong, chiseled features. He shared his father’s silver-blond hair, but his eyes were darker, like polished amethyst. He wore armor under his cloak, displaying his role as both prince and warrior, his expression cold and unreadable.

Next was Maelor, the younger brother. His resemblance to Aenys was striking—almost identical in appearance except for a faint scar that crossed his left brow, a mark of some past battle. His lilac eyes scanned the room with a playful glint, though his presence was no less commanding. His movements were more fluid, almost casual, yet there was an undeniable danger lurking beneath his calm demeanor.

And finally, you, Daenys Targaryen, Maelor's twin. Your pale blonde hair framed a regal face that bore the marks of your father’s lineage, though it was softened by a scattering of freckles across your cheeks. Your eyes were lilac, like your twin brother’s, but there was a depth to them that seemed to flicker with fire, as if the very soul of a dragon rested within. You were dressed in dark, flowing garments embroidered with symbols of your House, and you carried yourself with the grace of someone who spent more time on dragonback than on land.

Vaegor’s voice broke the silence, gesturing toward the newcomers. “May I present Dragonlord Aenys Targaryen, and his children: Aelor, Maelor, and Daenys.”

At the mention of the name Targaryen, the Ixians immediately stiffened. Serus, who had been the most composed, shot up from his chair, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief. His hand instinctively reached for a weapon that wasn’t there.

“House Targaryen?” Serus blurted out, his eyes darting between the four figures. “Impossible. You—you’re supposed to be—”

“Sit,” Aenys commanded, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. It wasn’t a shout, but the sheer authority behind the word was enough to make Serus’s knees buckle. He slumped back into his chair, unable to defy the Dragonlord’s presence. The room fell deathly silent, the tension thick enough to choke on.

Aenys’s violet gaze lingered on Serus for a moment longer before he slowly took his seat at the head of the table, his children standing behind him, their expressions unchanging. He leaned forward, fingers steepled beneath his chin, as he addressed the Ixians.

“I believe you called this meeting to negotiate an exchange,” Aenys said, his voice measured, cold, and powerful. “You seek our technology, and in return, I wish to know—what do you offer?”

Serus, still visibly shaken, struggled to regain his composure. Xyla, quicker to adapt, took over, her voice steady despite the tension. “We… we offer you more spice, the strain your House has required in the past. We can increase the quantity and—”

Aenys waved his hand dismissively. “We have no shortage of spice,” he said. “What you fail to realize, Ixian, is that on this side of the universe, spice is not the driving force behind power. We care little for your melange beyond its limited use. Now…” His voice darkened slightly, “I suggest you rethink your offer.”

Xyla faltered, unsure of how to proceed, but Serus quickly interjected, trying to salvage the negotiation. “Perhaps, then, we could offer something more… lasting. A mutual exchange of knowledge. We control a harvesting field on Arrakis—one with access to the specific strain of spice you seek. We can offer you independent access to it, so your House may harvest the spice for your needs without reliance on intermediaries.”

Aenys’s eyes narrowed slightly, and a smile—more predatory than pleased—touched his lips. “Interesting. It seems you understand your position well, Serus Ix. You’re desperate, I see, but clever.”

Vaegor, the Master of Whispers, stepped forward, pulling out a piece of parchment from his robes and placing it before Aenys. The Dragonlord signed it with a flourish and then slid it across the table to the Ixians. Xyla’s breath hitched as her eyes fell on the parchment. In the corner of the document was the unmistakable seal of House Targaryen—a three-headed dragon in red wax, sealing the agreement.

Aenys leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on Serus. “You will deliver this agreement to your Emperor,” Aenys said, his voice soft but laced with an unmistakable threat. “And let it serve as a warning to him. House Targaryen has returned, and the things to come will make even the most powerful Houses of the Imperium tremble.”

Serus, his heart pounding in his chest, nodded stiffly, unable to tear his eyes from Aenys’s cold, violet stare.

As the Ixians gathered their things, preparing to leave, one thought echoed in their minds: House Targaryen, the House thought to be destroyed millennia ago, was not only alive—they were stronger than ever. And they were preparing for something that could change the balance of power in the galaxy forever.

The grand chamber of the Imperial Palace on Kaitain, with its towering columns of polished marble and intricately woven tapestries, was unusually quiet. Normally bustling with courtiers, representatives from the Landsraad, and the Emperor’s various advisors, today it was a scene of growing anticipation. Serus Ix, along with his House delegation, stood before the Emperor himself, flanked by the shadowy figures of the Spacing Guild’s representatives.

Emperor Shaddam Corrino IV sat upon his gilded throne, his expression unreadable as he held the parchment in his hands. His elaborate robes, adorned with the finest silks and jewels, did nothing to soften the cold fury building in his gaze as he scanned the document. The Imperial Court had never been known for warmth, but today annoyance in the room was well felt.

Serus shifted his weight uneasily. He had delivered the parchment just as instructed, but now that it was in the Emperor’s hands, the weight of what he had seen on that distant sentinel station seemed heavier than ever. The Targaryens—an extinct House by all accounts—were not only alive, but they were thriving, powerful enough to conduct negotiations that would change the galaxy. And now, the Emperor was reading their terms.

As Shaddam’s eyes reached the bottom of the parchment, they landed on the seal—the unmistakable sigil of House Targaryen: a red three-headed dragon imprinted in wax. His expression darkened, and the room seemed to grow colder.

Shaddam’s gaze snapped up, fixing Serus with a piercing look that seemed to burn through his very soul. “Is this a joke?” the Emperor asked, his voice low and deadly, laced with disbelief and a simmering rage. “You bring me this? An artifact of some long-dead House? Have you lost your mind, Serus?”

Serus straightened, trying to steady his voice. “It is no joke, Your Majesty. I saw them with my own eyes. I spoke to the Dragonlord himself, Aenys Targaryen, and his children. They are very much alive. They control a strain of spice unlike anything we’ve encountered—”

Shaddam stood abruptly, his robes billowing as he stepped down from the dais, his face mere inches from Serus’s now. “And you claim to have made a bargain with them? With ghosts? With the very House that once tried to challenge the rule of House Corrino?”

Serus swallowed hard, his mind racing. “Yes, Your Majesty. House Targaryen is no ghost. They’ve remained hidden in the unknown regions of space, and they have advanced far beyond what we could have imagined. They agreed to terms—”

“Terms!” Shaddam interrupted, his voice echoing through the chamber. “They have no right to terms.”

The Emperor’s fingers tightened around the parchment before he thrust it toward the nearest representative of the Spacing Guild, a tall, pale figure with a cloak that seemed to shimmer unnaturally in the dim light. The Guild Navigator, whose face was obscured by the folds of his robe, took the document without a word, but the air around him seemed to shift as he examined the seal.

For a long, tense moment, the chamber was silent as the Navigator carefully inspected the parchment. Then, slowly, the Guild representative turned his head slightly, his voice a low rasp. “This sigil…is authentic.”

A murmur rippled through the chamber, but Shaddam silenced it with a single gesture. His fury had turned to cold calculation now, his eyes narrowing as he looked back at Serus.

“You claim to have spoken to this Dragonlord,” Shaddam said, his voice calmer but no less dangerous. “And you saw his…children?”

Serus nodded quickly. “Yes, Your Majesty. They are powerful, and they are not afraid to make their presence known. They have offered House Ix a chance to share in their technology in exchange for exclusive rights to a specific spice field under our jurisdiction on Arrakis.”

Shaddam's eyes darkened further as he processed this. His mind was already calculating the implications of this revelation. House Ix, aligned with a surviving Targaryen faction—this was more than just a political inconvenience. This was a threat to his rule, and to the entire balance of power in the Imperium.

He turned sharply to Serus. “You and your House will not speak of this to anyone,” Shaddam commanded, his voice brokering no argument. “Not to the Landsraad, not to the Spacing Guild, and certainly not to the Bene Gesserit. This stays between us until we confirm the validity of these claims and until this…danger is contained.”

Serus hesitated for a moment but then bowed low, his heart racing. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

But as he straightened, his mind was already working. The Targaryens had offered something far more valuable than the spice itself—knowledge, power, and a chance to align with a force that could potentially rival even House Corrino. If what Serus had seen was real, the balance of the entire galaxy could shift. And he knew one thing for certain: whichever side he chose in this coming storm would determine the future of House Ix.

The Emperor, meanwhile, turned to the Guild representatives. “You will investigate the location of this spice field. I want every detail. If there’s any truth to what Serus claims, we cannot let this go unchecked.”

The Navigator’s cloaked head dipped in acknowledgment, though the inscrutable expression behind the robes remained hidden. “We will investigate, Your Majesty. But be warned… if House Targaryen has indeed returned, they may not be as easy to contain as you think.”

Shaddam’s jaw tightened at the Navigator’s words, but he gave no reply. Instead, he turned back to Serus, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “You are dismissed, Serus Ix. You and your House are now bound to this silence. Fail to obey, and the consequences will be severe.”

Serus bowed once more, backing out of the room as the Emperor’s gaze followed him, cold and threatening. The doors to the chamber shut behind him, but Serus’s mind was already far from the gilded halls of Kaitain.

As he stepped into the shadowed corridors of the palace, Serus felt the weight of his decision pressing down on him. On one hand, obedience to the Emperor. On the other, the potential alliance with the most powerful House the galaxy had never forgotten—House Targaryen, reborn in exile.

For the first time, Serus truly understood the danger that lay ahead. But his mind, ever pragmatic, began to turn toward the future. The Emperor could issue his orders, and the Guild could investigate all they liked. But once dragons returned to the stars, no command from Kaitain would be able to stop them.

And Serus Ix would need to decide—whether to stand with the crumbling Empire of Shaddam Corrino or to pledge his allegiance to the rising flame of House Targaryen.

For in the coming war, neutrality was not an option.

The icy winds of Arctis howled across the desolate expanse of the frozen planet, biting through even the most advanced thermal suits of the Atreides forces as they huddled in the shelter of a hastily constructed outpost. The sky above was a constant swirling gray, the heavy clouds thick with snow, casting an eternal twilight over the ice-covered landscape. This world was a brutal, inhospitable place—its temperatures always well below freezing—but it was also strategically vital. Positioned at the very fringe of Atreides territory, it served as a critical point of control in the ongoing struggle between House Atreides and their bitter rivals, the Harkonnens.

Duke Leto Atreides stood at the edge of the outpost’s overlook, his cloak flapping in the wind as he stared out across the snowy plains. His breath formed faint clouds of vapor in the frozen air, but his gaze was steady, focused. This was not the first time the Harkonnens had made a move in contested space, but something about this situation felt different. Strange. And it concerned him.

Duncan Idaho, his most trusted swordmaster, approached from behind, his footsteps crunching in the snow. “My Lord,” Duncan said, his tone quiet but urgent. “Our scouts have confirmed Harkonnen forces are moving deeper into the eastern sector. We’ve also detected strange activity near their base. It’s… divided their attention.”

Leto turned, his expression darkening. “What kind of activity?”

Duncan glanced toward the tactical console set up inside the shelter. “Unknown, my Lord. But it’s enough to pull Harkonnen resources away from their main defense. They’re not focused entirely on us.”

The Duke’s brow furrowed as he considered this. “They’re being distracted?”

“More than that,” came a gruff voice from behind them. Gurney Halleck, Leto’s loyal warmaster, approached, his scarred face creased with concern. “We’ve picked up starship signatures entering and leaving Arctis’s orbit—unknown ships. Our sensors can’t get a clear reading, almost as if they’re cloaked by some kind of technology or interference. The planet’s extreme conditions are messing with our equipment, but it’s more than just the cold.”

Leto’s eyes narrowed. “Cloaked ships?”

“Or something close to it,” Gurney replied grimly. “Hawat is already analyzing what we’ve got, but he says whatever’s happening here is beyond what either the Harkonnens or we have access to. This is something… different.”

Thufir Hawat, Leto’s master of assassins and the greatest Mentat in the Imperium, stood nearby, watching the exchange with his cold, calculating eyes. His mind worked faster than most, and he had already drawn several conclusions before any of them had finished speaking.

“We don’t have much data,” Hawat said, his voice clipped, efficient. “But we know this: someone else is playing in this frozen field, and they don’t want to be found. They’ve drawn the Harkonnens’ attention, but we’re not immune to the consequences of whatever game they’re playing. The unknown activity is concentrated near the Harkonnen base, but it’s close enough to our location that it could interfere with our operations.”

Leto’s expression hardened. The cold winds of Arctis might have frozen the planet, but the battle for control here was heating up. The Harkonnens had escalated their presence on Arctis, no doubt hoping to force a confrontation, and now it seemed they weren’t alone in their schemes. The unknown starship signatures added another layer of complexity to an already volatile situation.

“If the Harkonnens are distracted,” Leto said, “this might be our best chance to strike before they consolidate their forces. But we can’t ignore this other activity.”

He looked to Duncan and Gurney. “We’ll investigate both—whatever the Harkonnens are doing, and this unknown presence. I want answers before we engage in a full-scale confrontation.”

Duncan nodded. “We have a tactical advantage if they’re divided, my Lord. If we move quickly, we can investigate the source of these unknown ships and the activity near their base without drawing their full attention.”

“I agree,” Gurney added, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. “But we need to be careful. Whoever’s out there isn’t playing by the same rules. They’ve got technology that’s far beyond what we’ve seen, and if they’re operating here, it means they’re invested in this conflict. We don’t know what they want yet.”

Leto paced for a moment, weighing the risks. The cold bite of the wind and the ever-present tension between the Atreides and Harkonnen forces swirled in his mind, but there was something deeper gnawing at him—this unknown factor. The possibility that a third party was manipulating the situation couldn’t be ignored.

He stopped and turned to face his men. “We can’t wait for the Harkonnens to make the first move. Duncan, Gurney, prepare the men. We’ll send strike teams—one to probe the Harkonnen base and watch for retaliation and the other to investigate the unknown activity. We’ll hit both targets simultaneously and find out what’s happening here.”

Hawat stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “I’ll oversee the scouting of the unknown presence. If there’s a larger plot at work, I’ll find it.”

Leto nodded, his decision made. “We move at dawn. Prepare the forces. We’ll take control of this planet, but we’ll do it on our terms.”

Duncan, Gurney, and Hawat all gave sharp nods before turning to leave, their tasks clear. As they walked away, Leto stood alone for a moment, staring out at the endless white expanse of Arctis. The wind howled louder, and in the distance, he could see the faint glimmers of movement—Harkonnen forces, just on the horizon.

But beyond them, there was something else. Something hidden. Something dangerous.

As Duke Leto turned back toward the outpost, preparing for the battle ahead, one thought kept echoing in his mind: the Harkonnens weren’t the only threat on this frozen world.

And whatever this unknown presence was, it could change the balance of power in the galaxy.

He only hoped they were ready for what they would find.

The winds of Arctis were relentless the next morning, cutting through the layers of thermal gear worn by Duke Leto and his elite soldiers as they pressed forward into the endless snowfields. The cold was so biting it seemed to seep into their bones, but the Atreides were disciplined, their determination unwavering despite the planet's hostile environment. The icy terrain crunched underfoot as they made their way deeper into the region where the strange activity had been detected.

Duncan Idaho had split off with a squadron to the east, tasked with probing the Harkonnen base and the surrounding areas, while Gurney Halleck led another group to the west, scouting for potential ambushes. Leto had remained with Thufir Hawat, the Mentat whose abilities made him invaluable for solving the riddles of this mysterious situation. Their own squad of Atreides soldiers—veterans of countless engagements—moved like shadows in the frozen landscape, their black and green armor stark against the white snow.

As they pressed on, one of Leto’s men, Sergeant Kellor, held up his hand, signaling for a halt. His visor was scanning the horizon, his breath clouding in the freezing air.

"Sir," Kellor said, his voice crackling over the comms. "We’ve picked up a strange communication frequency. It's intermittent, but definitely coming from somewhere nearby. We can’t make heads or tails of the language used, though. The computer’s unable to translate it."

Leto's brow furrowed as he glanced at Hawat, who had moved closer, his analytical mind already at work. "Play it," Leto ordered, his voice calm but with an edge of curiosity.

Kellor nodded and tapped a few commands into his handheld device. The crackling static of the transmission cleared for a moment, and then a strange, melodic language filled the airwaves, harsh yet flowing, each word clipped yet carrying an odd rhythm. The sound was like nothing Leto had heard before—alien, otherworldly.

The Duke exchanged a glance with Hawat, who remained silent as he listened carefully, his sharp eyes narrowing as he absorbed the unfamiliar cadence. The rest of the soldiers stood quietly, their faces tense with confusion as they waited for Hawat’s assessment.

After a moment, Hawat shook his head, still staring at the ground as if deep in thought. "This… this is unlike anything I've encountered," he said, his voice quiet, as though admitting the strangeness was something unnatural for a Mentat. "I've processed hundreds of languages, dialects, and communication codes—this doesn’t match any known language or communication in the Imperial database."

Leto frowned, feeling the weight of the moment. "Are you saying the language is alien in nature, Thufir?"

Hawat looked up, the cold wind making his aged features appear even more severe. "I can’t say for sure, my Lord," he replied carefully. "But this language isn’t recorded in any of the archives I’ve accessed, not even in obscure historical records. If it's from the known universe, it has evaded detection for centuries. It could be something ancient… or it could be something entirely unknown."

Leto's eyes flickered with unease. "Could it be something the Harkonnens are involved with? Perhaps they’ve found some way to mask their communications."

Hawat's lips pressed into a thin line, calculating. "Possible, but unlikely. Even the Harkonnens don’t have the capability to create an entirely new language that doesn’t register in the databases. They might be brutal, but they’re not that subtle."

Leto folded his arms across his chest, looking out over the icy landscape as the strange transmission continued to play softly in the background. The language—though unrecognizable—held a sense of power, a kind of ancient authority that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. What was happening on Arctis? Who—or what—was behind this?

Before Leto could respond, the communication channel crackled again, this time shifting to a frequency they recognized all too well: the harsh, guttural tones of Harkonnen comms.

A voice came through, cold and authoritative, instantly recognizable. It was Feyd-Rautha, the sadistic nephew of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen and heir to the Harkonnen dynasty.

"All units, this is Feyd-Rautha," his voice came through the comms, clear despite the interference. "We’ve detected Atreides forces in the region. Press forward and engage them if they approach. Do not let them interfere with the operation. Prepare artillery in the ravine and set an ambush. I want her captured alive. No mistakes."

Leto’s head snapped toward the comm device. "Her?" he repeated under his breath, exchanging a puzzled glance with Hawat.

Hawat’s keen mind was already racing, analyzing the situation. "Whoever this 'her' is, it seems important enough for Feyd-Rautha to mention specifically. And they’re setting an ambush, expecting her to fall into it."

Leto's face hardened. "Who could they be after? We haven't received any reports of an allied presence here, and no one outside House Atreides should be involved in this sector."

Hawat nodded thoughtfully. "It’s possible the unknown presence we've been detecting is their target. They could be focusing on this other entity—whoever or whatever it is—and they’re trying to capture it alive. This would explain why their attention has been divided between us and this unknown activity."

Leto ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. Between the mysterious language, cloaked starships, and now a Harkonnen ambush set for an unidentified target, things were growing more complex by the minute. This was no longer just a skirmish for control of Arctis—it was a web of intrigues with more than two players. The unknown ships that had evaded detection, the strange communications in an unrecognizable language, and now the Harkonnen pursuit of someone—or something—they wanted alive.

Leto turned to his men, his voice steady and commanding. "We proceed as planned. We’ll investigate the source of the unknown activity first and gather more intel before engaging the Harkonnen forces. Be prepared for anything—we don’t know who or what we’re dealing with, and we need to avoid getting caught in Feyd-Rautha’s trap."

The men nodded, tightening their grips on their rifles and checking their equipment. Kellor and the other soldiers moved quickly, their faces hard with focus as they prepared to head into the cold unknown.

Leto glanced at Hawat. "Stay sharp, Thufir. If this is something beyond what we understand, we’ll need every ounce of your expertise."

Hawat’s face remained impassive, though his eyes gleamed with the intensity of a man whose mind was already unraveling the strands of a complicated puzzle. "I’ll do what I can, my Lord. But this situation is like nothing I’ve encountered before."

The wind howled as the squadron of Atreides soldiers began their march across the frozen terrain, their black silhouettes cutting through the snow. Somewhere ahead, in the icy ravines and under the gray skies, lay answers to the mysteries that had plagued this mission from the beginning. The Harkonnens were closing in on a target they desperately wanted captured, but Duke Leto knew there was more to this than just a battle over territory.

There were new players in the game—players who wielded unknown languages and technology that defied Imperial understanding.

And whatever forces were converging on Arctis, Leto was determined to uncover the truth.

The cold air bit into his face as they pressed forward, the distant hum of unknown ships hidden in the clouds above, while Feyd-Rautha’s voice still echoed in the back of his mind.

"I want her captured alive."

Who was she?

And what secrets did she hold that could sway the balance of power in this frozen war?

The biting wind of Arctis clawed at Duke Leto’s face as he and his men pressed forward, the ice beneath their feet cracking with each step. The cold felt more oppressive now, not only because of the temperature but because of the growing tension. The mysterious communication, the Harkonnen ambush, and now the unknown forces—it was all a dangerous puzzle, and Leto knew they were walking into something far bigger than a mere territorial skirmish.

They rounded a bend in the frozen terrain when Sergeant Kellor, moving ahead of the group, stopped abruptly and signaled the others to halt. His visor focused on something embedded in the ice just ahead, partially hidden by the snow. Leto stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he approached.

There, carved into the rock face and faintly illuminated by the low light of Arctis’s sun, was a sigil. A three-headed dragon, carved with precision, its wings stretched wide in a majestic, powerful pose. It was unlike any emblem Leto had seen in his years as Duke, and as he studied it, he felt a strange chill run down his spine—something beyond the cold of the planet.

“I don’t recognize it,” Leto said quietly, running his gloved fingers over the smooth carving.

One of the more experienced soldiers who had been trailing behind with the rest of the men, stepped forward to examine the sigil. “Nor do I, my Lord,” he said, his voice thick with caution. “It’s nothing like any House sigil we’ve encountered in the Imperium.”

Thufir Hawat, ever calculating, approached last, his eyes scanning the sigil with intense focus. “It’s not in any of our records,” he confirmed after a moment. “No known House or faction uses this symbol. This is… ancient, perhaps. Or new—something we’ve never encountered before.”

Leto stared at the three-headed dragon for a moment longer, his mind racing. Something about the design felt intentional, as if it held a deeper meaning. He didn’t know what it was, but he could feel its significance like a weight pressing on his chest. The unknown forces they were dealing with—whoever they were—had marked their presence here, and it was clear now that the Harkonnens were aware of them too.

“We press on,” Leto ordered. “Whatever this is, we need to know who or what we’re dealing with.”

As they continued deeper into the icy landscape, the faint sound of distant gunfire reached them. It was intermittent at first, but quickly grew louder as they approached. The sounds of a skirmish—blaster fire, the roar of engines, and the unmistakable clamor of combat—echoed through the frozen ravines.

Before Leto could issue new orders, the comms crackled to life, and Duncan Idaho’s voice came through, tense but composed as ever. “My Lord, we’ve just engaged Harkonnen forces. They’re not willing to negotiate—they’re attacking on sight. They’ve set up an unauthorized military base in this region and appear to be mining something.”

“Mining?” Leto repeated, his eyes narrowing. “Any sign of the unknown presence?”

“None yet,” Duncan replied, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. “So far, it’s just angry Harkonnens. But whatever they’re mining, they’re guarding it fiercely.”

Before Leto could respond, the sound of engines roaring overhead made the entire squad stop and look up. Through the swirling snow, they saw Harkonnen ornithopters streaking across the sky, their dark, beetle-like bodies weaving through the clouds.

But they weren’t alone.

Leto’s eyes widened as he spotted other ornithopters engaged in a furious dogfight with the Harkonnen craft. These new ornithopters were unlike anything he had ever seen before. Their design was sleek, almost organic, with dragon-like wings that flapped in a rhythmic motion, propelling them through the air with an uncanny fluidity. Their hulls were dark, shimmering with strange patterns that shifted in the light, making them difficult to track as they maneuvered with extraordinary agility.

“Those aren’t Harkonnen,” Kellor said, his voice laced with astonishment. “Or any craft from the Imperium. I’ve never seen designs like that—not even from Ix.”

Leto’s mind raced as he watched the alien ornithopters engage the Harkonnen forces with brutal efficiency, their strange, draconic forms weaving through the air as if they were living creatures rather than machines. Blaster fire lit up the sky as the Harkonnen ornithopters desperately tried to keep pace with their attackers, but it was clear the unknown craft were superior in every way.

“What in the name of the Emperor…” Leto muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them trembled, and the sounds of combat intensified from the ravine ahead. Without wasting a second, Leto signaled for his men to follow him as they moved to a nearby vantage point overlooking the ravine. What they saw below sent a ripple of shock through the Atreides forces.

The ravine was a chaotic battlefield. Harkonnen soldiers, their black-and-yellow armor standing out against the snow, were locked in brutal combat with unknown forces. These new combatants moved with an elegance and ferocity that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. Clad in dark armor that shimmered with the same shifting patterns as the alien ornithopters, these warriors fought with a combination of energy weapons and what appeared to be swords—sleek, deadly blades that carved through Harkonnen soldiers with ease.

Leto scanned the battlefield, his heart pounding. The unknown forces were smaller in number, but they fought with a precision and intensity that was overwhelming the Harkonnens. And above all, there was something… regal about them, something that reminded him of ancient stories of noble warriors, legends of long-lost Houses.

“What are we seeing?” Kellor whispered, his voice filled with disbelief.

Leto didn’t answer immediately, his eyes locked on the chaos below. He could see the Harkonnen forces were struggling, and the sounds of artillery preparing in the distance confirmed that Feyd-Rautha’s plan was already in motion. They were trying to capture someone—whoever these unknown forces were, they were the target.

“We need to make a decision,” Hawat said, his voice low and urgent. “Do we engage the Harkonnens now, or wait?”

Leto’s mind raced. The Harkonnens were setting up an ambush, preparing to take one of the unknown fighters alive. The mystery of who these new players were gnawed at him, but one thing was clear—they were not Harkonnen allies. And in this frozen war, an enemy of the Harkonnens might just be an ally worth risking.

Leto made his decision, his voice firm and steady. “We aid the unknown forces.”

Kellor nodded, already moving into position. The Atreides soldiers, disciplined and battle-hardened, began their advance, preparing to enter the fray below.

Leto glanced at Hawat, who simply gave a small, knowing nod. Whatever was happening here, the Atreides were about to gamble on a new piece in the deadly game of Houses.

The battle was chaos, pure and unrelenting. Leto and his men charged down into the ravine, their rifles and blasters cutting through the freezing air as they joined the fray alongside the unknown forces. The sound of energy weapons echoed across the icy terrain, mixing with the clatter of steel and the guttural shouts of Harkonnen soldiers. The Atreides elite moved with precision, each strike calculated, their disciplined tactics overwhelming the scattered Harkonnen forces caught in the heat of battle.

But as the skirmish raged on, the sky above began to darken further, the winds of Arctis growing fiercer. A blizzard was rolling in fast, the snow whipping around them in thick, swirling clouds that obscured vision and muted sound. The temperature plummeted, the icy wind slicing through their gear with cruel efficiency.

Leto ducked behind a rocky outcrop, scanning the battlefield. The unknown warriors fought like a well-trained phalanx, their movements fluid, graceful even. They fought hand-to-hand with swords that shimmered with a strange energy, their forms difficult to track in the blizzard, while Harkonnen forces struggled to hold their ground.

Just then, a sudden rumble beneath the ground signaled the arrival of more Harkonnen artillery. Leto’s comms crackled to life as one of his soldiers shouted over the noise, “Heavy Harkonnen reinforcements inbound, my Lord! Artillery moving into position!”

The ground trembled as Harkonnen tanks and artillery rolled into the ravine, their massive cannons swiveling toward the embattled forces. Explosions rocked the frozen ground as heavy artillery shells began to fall, sending plumes of snow and ice into the air. The battlefield had descended into a brutal slugfest, and the freezing winds only made it harder to see, hear, or strategize.

“Push forward!” Leto shouted, his voice barely carrying over the storm. “We can’t let them surround us!”

The Atreides forces continued their advance, but as the blizzard intensified, something strange cut through the howling wind. It was a sound, sharp and high-pitched—a shriek that seemed to come from above, distant at first but growing louder with each passing second.

Leto looked up, straining to see through the swirling snow. His heart pounded in his chest as the shriek pierced the air again, this time closer. He could make out flashes of something—dark shapes moving through the storm, circling overhead. He tried to focus, to make sense of what he was seeing, but the blizzard was too thick.

Then, suddenly, fire exploded from the sky.

Two Harkonnen ornithopters, their engines roaring as they maneuvered through the storm, were struck by something unseen. They burst into flames, spiraling down from the sky, crashing into the icy ground below in fiery explosions. The shockwave knocked several Harkonnen soldiers off their feet, while the remaining ornithopters struggled to evade whatever had attacked them.

Another shriek cut through the storm, followed by the faint whistle of something large slicing through the air. Another Harkonnen ornithopter was struck, its hull exploding in a brilliant flash of fire as it fell in a blazing arc toward the ground. The heat from the explosions briefly warmed the frigid air, casting flickering shadows through the blizzard.

Leto’s eyes narrowed as he tried to discern the source of the attack, but the storm obscured everything. All he could hear were the shrieks and whistles, and then more explosions as Harkonnen forces began to retreat, their voices echoing in panic through the comms.

“They’re retreating!” Gurney’s voice came through, his tone both surprised and urgent. “The Harkonnens are pulling back, my Lord!”

Leto crouched behind the cover of a large boulder, his breath coming out in heavy clouds as the explosions gradually subsided. The sounds of battle were fading, replaced by the howling wind and the eerie quiet that followed. Whatever had attacked the Harkonnens had forced them into retreat.

Suddenly, through the snow, Leto saw a figure approaching, emerging from the storm like a ghost. The figure wore sleek, dark armor that shimmered in the dim light of the fading explosions. As the figure drew closer, Leto could make out the faint glow of a symbol on the armor’s chest—the same three-headed dragon sigil they had seen carved into the ice earlier.

The figure stopped a few paces from Leto and his men, lifting the visor of his helmet to reveal a young man’s face, though most of his features were still obscured by the armor.

“I am Aelor,” the young man said in a calm, confident voice, his eyes sharp and piercing beneath the helmet. “And I believe I owe you thanks for your assistance, Duke Leto of House Atreides.”

Leto blinked in surprise, his breath catching for a moment. The man had spoken his name with certainty, as though he had known exactly who they were all along. “You know who we are?” Leto asked, his voice steady but filled with curiosity.

Aelor smiled faintly beneath his helmet. “Of course. We have been watching your House for some time, though you may not have been aware of it.”

Leto’s eyes narrowed. “And who are you exactly? This planet is under Atreides jurisdiction.”

Aelor’s expression became more amused, the cold wind whipping around him as he crossed his arms. “This planet,” he said slowly, “and all the others you call your domain, once belonged to us. Long ago.”

The cryptic response only deepened Leto’s unease, but before he could press for more answers, Aelor gestured toward the stormy landscape. “This is no place for conversation. There is much to discuss, but not out here in the cold. Our base is not far from here. Follow me, and I will explain everything.”

Aelor spoke a few quick words in the same unknown language Leto and his men had overheard earlier, and moments later, several alien-looking vehicles rolled up through the snow. Their design was unlike anything Leto had seen in the Imperium—sleek and organic, as though they were crafted from living metal. The transport vehicles stopped beside Aelor, their hatches sliding open with a hiss.

Leto hesitated for a moment, his instincts warning him against walking into an unknown situation, but there was no denying that Aelor and his forces had saved them from being overwhelmed by the Harkonnens. Whoever they were, they had power—power that Leto needed to understand.

He turned to his men, his decision made. “We’ll follow them. But stay alert.”

As Leto and his men began to climb into the alien transport vehicles, he activated his comms, reaching out to Duncan and Gurney. “Duncan, Gurney, report.”

Duncan’s voice came through, steady despite the wind. “My Lord, we’ve just secured the area. The Harkonnens have retreated, but they’ve left behind traces of their mining operation. Whatever they were after, they were pulling resources fast.”

“Did you encounter the unknown forces?” Leto asked, his eyes scanning the strange interior of the transport vehicle.

“Negative,” Duncan replied. “We’ve only dealt with Harkonnens so far. No sign of anything else.”

Leto paused, glancing at Aelor, who was giving orders in his own tongue to the other soldiers. “We’ve made contact with an unknown force. I’m following their leader now—he’s taking us to their base. Keep an eye on the Harkonnens and secure our position, but be ready for anything.”

“Understood, my Lord,” Gurney chimed in. “Be careful. Whatever this is, it’s not something we’ve seen before.”

Leto cut the comms and settled into the transport as it hummed to life, gliding smoothly over the snow and ice. As the vehicle moved through the storm, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they had just stumbled upon something far greater than they had ever anticipated.

The transport vehicle hummed steadily as it glided through the blizzard, cutting a path through the thick snow that swirled around them. Inside, the atmosphere was stifling. Duke Leto Atreides sat near the front of the transport, observing the man seated across from him—Aelor, the leader of these unknown forces. Beside Leto, Thufir Hawat sat in silence, his sharp mind undoubtedly racing to process the implications of everything they’d witnessed. A few of Leto’s most trusted men, who had managed to fit into the vehicle, remained quiet but alert, their eyes darting around the strange alien interior.

Leto, his curiosity piqued but tempered by caution, turned his gaze to Aelor. The young man sat with his helmet still on, but through the visor, Leto could see the faint glimmer of his eyes, steady and watchful.

“What are your people doing here?” Leto asked, his voice measured, though his instincts told him there was far more to this situation than a mere skirmish with the Harkonnens.

Aelor leaned back slightly, his armored form relaxed yet commanding. His voice was calm when he replied, though there was an edge to it. “House Harkonnen became aware of our presence some time ago. They’ve been trying to dig out what remains of our underground structures—structures that have been buried for centuries. They seek to take what does not belong to them.”

Leto raised an eyebrow, intrigued but wary. “And what exactly were these underground structures used for? They must be important to draw the Harkonnens’ attention.”

For the first time, Leto saw Aelor hesitate, his eyes briefly widening behind his visor, though he quickly composed himself. There was something deeper here, something that Aelor wasn’t revealing.

“They can’t use what’s inside,” Aelor said after a brief pause, his tone more guarded now. “But it is not theirs to collect. The Harkonnens are digging for something they don’t understand.”

Leto studied Aelor carefully, but before he could press further, Hawat leaned forward, his cold, analytical voice breaking the silence. “We intercepted Harkonnen communications before we engaged them. Feyd-Rautha mentioned they were after someone—her specifically. Who is this person they’re so desperate to capture?”

Aelor’s gaze shifted to Hawat, and this time, there was no hesitation. “They’re after my sister,” he said plainly, his voice carrying a note of protectiveness. “She was the one who disrupted their operations. The Harkonnens know they can’t use what’s in the structures, but they believe capturing her will give them leverage.”

Leto exchanged a glance with Hawat, their minds both running through the implications. The Harkonnens were desperate—enough to launch an all-out assault to capture one person. Whatever was buried in those ancient structures, it was important enough for them to risk everything.

Before Leto could ask more, the transport began to slow, and Aelor’s voice cut through the silence. “We’ve arrived.”

The vehicle came to a stop, and as the doors slid open, a blast of cold air greeted them. Leto and his men stepped out into a base unlike anything they had ever seen. The structures were sleek, dark, and seamless, built with a design far more advanced than anything in the Imperium. But what struck Leto most was the banners that hung from the tall spires around the base—banners bearing the three-headed dragon symbol he had seen carved into the ice earlier.

“This way,” Aelor said, gesturing for them to follow.

As they moved deeper into the base, Leto couldn’t help but notice how the design felt both familiar and alien. There was an elegance to the architecture, a flowing, organic quality that reminded him of ancient stories from his studies as a boy.

They entered the central structure, and Aelor led them into a large command center. Inside, a team of soldiers worked at strange, holographic consoles, their faces hidden by sleek helmets. A massive map of the surrounding area was projected above them, showing the positions of both Harkonnen and unknown forces.

Aelor turned to face Leto and his men, and with a quiet hiss, he removed his helmet. The sight of his features caught Leto off guard. Aelor was young—his face regal, with high cheekbones and silver-blond hair that fell in soft waves around his shoulders. His eyes, the same piercing violet that Leto had only seen in old records, glowed faintly in the dim light of the command center.

For a brief moment, Leto took a step back, his heart racing as a flood of recognition washed over him. The sight of Aelor’s face—his silver hair, his violet eyes, the unmistakable grace of his movements—triggered a memory long buried in the depths of Leto’s mind.

“Welcome, Duke Leto,” Aelor said, his voice now softer, more formal. “To House Targaryen’s command center.”

The words struck Leto like a blow. House Targaryen. The name sent a shockwave through his thoughts, dragging him back to his youth, to the old histories he had studied in the Atreides archives. He had read of House Targaryen—once a powerful dynasty, one of the most feared and revered Houses in the galaxy, known for their dragons and their near-mythical strength. But they had been eradicated—wiped out thousands of years ago in a war that had shaped the balance of power in the galaxy for millennia.

Yet here they were. Alive. And not just alive, but powerful—strong enough to face off against the Harkonnens with technology far beyond anything Leto had ever seen.

Leto felt a surge of disbelief as the implications of what he was witnessing set in. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could form words, a sharp voice cut through his thoughts.

“Duke Leto,” Hawat said, stepping forward, his voice a warning. “Stay focused.”

Leto blinked, his mind snapping back to the present. He glanced at Hawat, who was watching the situation with the same sharpness as ever, though Leto could see the tension in the Mentat’s eyes. This was no ordinary encounter. Whatever House Targaryen had been in the past, they were a force to be reckoned with now.

Aelor, watching Leto carefully, smiled faintly. “I see you recognize the name. Good. It saves us some time. There is much to discuss, Duke Leto, and many answers I’m sure you seek. But for now, we must prepare. The Harkonnens won’t stop their pursuit of my sister. And if they succeed, they may uncover things that should remain buried.”

Leto, still processing the magnitude of what was happening, nodded slowly. His thoughts raced, but there was one question at the forefront of his mind.

“What do you intend to do?” Leto asked.

Aelor’s violet eyes gleamed with determination. “What we have always done, Duke. Protect what is ours. And in the process, perhaps we can show you that this galaxy is not as small as you once believed.”

The warning in his words hung heavy in the air, and Leto realized with certainty: whatever lay ahead, the fate of House Atreides—and perhaps the entire galaxy—was about to change.

- A/N: The timeline of these events will be made clear as the story expands. Everything written here has a purpose for future events that will happen.