#this is my dragon au that i've been planning out

[vaguely-concerned]

I've been trying to figure out a dynamic between neve and rye that I find more compelling, because right now there's not much of anything there for me to sink my little teeth into. but I think I've landed on something delicious with the idea that especially after minrathous gets fucked, rye looks at neve and sees myrna -- someone he feels he keeps letting down horribly no matter how hard he tries not to and can't quite achieve the approval of/connection with that he wishes so it's better to just pull away completely and disengage rather than stay in that unshifting shame. neve is (very understandably) measured and distant with him after what happened, and he's flashing back to his student days of myrna gazing at the perpetually hungover heartbroken heap of a person of him on the other side of her desk every time he missed the deadline of a paper or project like '...can we at least both agree that this is. a bit disappointing. especially considering your potential.' (and him all smudged black eyeshadow and numb ruefulness being like 'sure that's a very kind way to put it myrna thank you'.)

aside from the 'if I let him get too deeply into this he'll go the way of brom and it'll be all my fault (again)' element, neve thinks rye is dismissing her and her city/being a bit callous in the same way he was after varric's death (listen. how fucking wild must rook's reaction to losing a beloved mentor seem to the rest of the crew who aren't seeing the blood magic paper doll ghost varric the whole time, especially those who got to see them interact. you WOULD think 'there's something wrong with this guy. putting the job first is one thing just not seeming to react at all is another this is fucking freaky', wouldn't you, especially after seeing the warmth in that dynamic in action beforehand.) perfect storm of two people who grit their teeth and turn inwards in pain deciding that not talking about it is their best bet (NEWSFLASH: IT ISN'T) lmao

(rye spent his last year of watcher training on a mostly joyless bender and then got it together enough to finish the eternal orb project last moment in a fevered near-sleepless week instead of the half a year that was intended. emmrich is both astounded and distressed to hear this. "a week? but -- but that is an astounding accomplishment rook!! and also why in the maker's good light would you ever do that to yourself?" ("well you see there was no one to stop me from doing it like that but me. and under those conditions these things tend to happen".) rye was working through/looking up stuff around transitioning and doing every kind of OTHER high level watcher research through that whole time, but ultimately he's an excellent watcher and a terrible student, at least under traditional methods. adhd from here to the fucking moon. touched by something akin to divine inspiration in moments of high tension that pulls all the threads into one coherent unbreakable cord, a bit of a frayed mess in most other settings. in our world he'd be dropping out of a masters program at the very last hurdle in this moment maker bless and protect him)

[moongothic]

Crocodad AU where immidiately after having left Dragon and his baby boy Crocodile finds an 11 year old Robin. And while he's 100% only recruiting her so they can make a beeline for the Poneglyph and Pluton in Alabasta by the two of them... Crocodile accidentally sorta kinda adopts Robin.

At this point Robin's been running for her life from the Government for three years so her deep trust issues and fear of betrayal are starting to take root in her little heart. Like perhaps they haven't taken fully over yet, and being still a child I'm sure Robin might've still had that genuine hope that she could find a safe place to stay in. But I'm sure the though of "what'll he'll do with me once he gets what he wants?" would be nagging at her at the back of her mind. Meanwhile Crocodile's struggling between the pain and hurt he's already gone through and given him his trademark trust issues, as well as the aftermath of The Dragodile Divorce. But he also has his Fresh Paternal Instincts and probably misses his baby. So when given a small, scared child who is running for her life, being chased by the very same Government that'll want his son dead if they ever find out about him... Yeah that might fuck with your brain a little

You know this post was supposed to be just that first paragraph and just a few footnotes from the following two paragraphs. And then I kept on Having Thoughts. And I kept on writing them down. And oh no what happened when did this post get so long (Look I was going to either kept on writing my Additional Thoughts in the tags or I just put them in the actual fucking post)

Like considder this: based on this one SBS, we can kinda tell that if Crocodile was given a chance to raise a child, that child would be a spoiled little shit, right

So in this scenario, where Crocodile's looking after lil Robin, would he be kind of torn? Unsure how to feel about her?

Because on one hand, this strange child would have the potential to not only ruin his plans, strip him of his Shichibukai Privileges by outing him and his plans to the World Government, but also put his son in grave danger by extension (if she found out about him having been involved with the Revolutionaries and/or having a child). But on the other hand, his paternal instincts could make him want to spoil this poor little girl rotten. But only because he needs to (perhaps literally) buy her trust so she'll behave. No other reason, he doesn't feel sorry for her one bit, no sirree. (But maybe he did feel sorry for her, since his son could very well end up exactly like her. Poor little thing) (Which is why he needs to nuke Marijoa out of orbit as soon as possible, no matter the cost, and this child can't get in the way of Crocodile protecting his son) (But also this is a child. Like how bad could she be. Besides all he really needs to do to win her trust is be nice and make her feel safe, right?)

Of course, while I'm suggesting Crocodile could have some parental instincts, realistically, he hasn't actually spent any time being, you know, a father to a child (looking after his newborn for an unknown though short amount of time aside), so it's possible he wouldn't even know how to parent Robin even if he wanted to, would he? (Like taking care of a newborn and an 11 year old kid aren't the same either) So if he was kind of just emotionally flipflopping between No Trusting Ever and It's Just A Kid for God's Sake, Crocodile trying to be nice to Robin to make her feel safe and then telling himself to stop being so soft and vunerable... Yeah that would make for an absolute mess of a relationship. (Not to mention, let's be real, dude's a scary motherfucker too, and a bloody giant compared to itty bitty baby Robin. He could keep on accidentally scaring the shit out of Robin (who would be On Fucking Edge To Begin With) by just Being Himself. Like for example, can you fucking imagine if he caught Robin trying to cheer herself up with a little "dereshishishi" only to tell her to stop because "it was stupid"? 'Cause I can imagine him doing that, and boy howdy would that make Robin feel bad)

Or who knows, maybe Crocodile was just Born To Be A Dad, maybe he just Fucking Gets It. Like Crocodile is canonically pretty good at manipulating people to do what he wants them to do (see: how he played Vivi like a fiddle), so knowing Robin's position and understanding how she feels, maybe he COULD completely nail how she needed to be treated. Not being too familiar but still making her feel safe and happy, knowing exactly when to be stern and when to spoil her, etc. Dude just goes off and wins the Dad of the Year Award while being a deadbeat dad himself. The only thing Crocodile would have to worry about then would be making sure HE doesn't get too fond of her. And certainly that could never happen, he's so in-touch with his own feelings and so grounded, he's not a softie, get outta here. Or maybe he does but never realizes until it's too late and good luck backpedalling on those emotions now dumbass

Alright so, the reason I went on that whole rmble is just that like. I'm so interested in the relationship Robin and Crocodile already have in canon. I'm so facinated and curious about how the two feel about each other, considdering they did spend 4 whole years of their lives together as criminal business partners, though neither ever trusted the other. A partnership that was only ended because Robin betrayed Crocodile, out of her own trauma. (God, I want to see these two "reunite" so bad, I want to know how they feel about each other now after the timeskip and Robin joining the idiot in flipflops who foiled Croc's plans)

My question here is just that... if they had met 13 years earlier, would things have been different? Especially if Crocodad Real? Because as I mentioned in the begining, Robin would've been on the run for only 3 years by this point, as opposed to 16 years before running into Crocodile. Simultaneously, this would be before Crocodile went onto spend an entire decade all alone, slowly losing his marbles in his emotional solitude. They'd both be emotionally traumatized, yes, but would it have been as bad in this scenario? Like I did start this post kind of joking about Crocodile adopting Robin, and for clarity's sake I don't think they'd have like a father-daughter relationship nececarily. But it would be a strange relationship still, because we'd have two broken people, both struggling to trust anyone. One who had lost her mother and her only friends, leaving her all alone and afraid while running for her life. The other a father who had just given up his son whom he probably missed dearly. Both having these holes in their hearts from loss of family, holes that could not be filled with replacements. But could they find comfort in each other anyway, because they still as people occupy similar roles to their respective loved ones? If they both could just get over those trust issues?

Okay I've been going off on the Emotional Side Of Things for this AU Concept, THERE'S PLOT TOO

So if Crocodile did pick Robin up like 19 years ago, that should be before he set up base in Alabasta, long before he had built is homebase and financial empire etc.

Now the thing is, while we don't know when, where and how Crocodile learned about the Ancient Weapons, Pluton specifically and how the lead on it would be in Alabasta... Considdering Crocodile did once upon a time aim to become Pirate King, it would make perfect sense if he had learned about Poneglyphs during his past adventures, as he would have needed to get the Road Poneglyphs to find One Piece. And while the World Government did bury the truth about why Ohara had been burned down and why Robin had been given her bounty (remember, the WG claimed it was because she had sunken a fleet of battleships, which she had not, it was because she could read the Poneglyphs), considdering this is a Crocodad AU specifically, you could totally make an argument Crocodile could've learned about what actually happened to Ohara from Dragon and co. So, just to make this AU work, you could just assume Crocodile learned about the concept of the Ancient Weapons from Dragon. And who knows, maybe he overheard the truth about why Robin had been given her bounty from Dragon too (maybe Dragon was able to get intel from Garp in secret) or while going to Marijoa himself to attend a Shichibukai meeting or something IDK.

Maybe he learned about Pluton being in Alabasta before finding Robin by accident, and maybe they made a beeline for Alabasta the second Croc recruited Robin. Travelling takes time and the guy would've most likely had to find an Eternal Pose to Alabasta just to get there (also canonically Robin didn't enter the Grand Line until her 20s so they should've met in West Blue probably, since that's where Ohara was) Or maybe Crocodile had to haul Robin around for a few months while looking for That Missing Piece of Information that would lead him to Alabasta. (Imagine the two travelling from like island to island, library to library, Crocodile trying to find that leads while Robin's just so excited about ALL THESE BOOKS (she's helping too with the research) (but to her, research is playtime, so she's just having the time of her life) (Also, notice how Crocodile's Theoretical Child is a fucking loser ass nerd? Yeah Crocodile would encourage Robin reading and studying, surely. And that would be fucking cute))

But like, once they set sail to Alabasta...

Sure, Crocodile could try to do it The Slow Way that we know he tried in canon, building trust and creating his little empire etc. But also, in canon, Crocodile couldn't have jumped into action head first because without Robin, even if he had found the Poneglyph he couldn't have read it and found the location of Pluton. Crocodile choosing to do it the slow way may have been partially because he didn't have much of a choise and it could've felt like the smarter move long-term.

But in this scenario, he already has Robin. Yes, he could do it the slow, secure way.

But what'd be there stopping him from infiltrating Cobra's palace and kidnapping him (in the night, when nobody suspects a thing), demanding Cobra to spill the beans lest Crocodile kills him and/or his pregnant wife* (*Vivi was born 10 months after Luffy so depending on how long it's been between Crocodad leaving Luffy behind and this scenario... Yeah either the wife is there, still pregnant, or there's a newborn Baby Vivi)

Like it'd be a risky move but depending on how ballsy Croc's feeling and how confident he feels in being able to kidnap the king without being noticed... Yeah he could probably do it. And I'm sure he'd have no problem killing Cobra either, if anything it'd be required if he didn't want the Government to find out he was out to find Pluton, and god knows Cobra would tell on Crocodile if left alive. I could see Crocodad being maybe a little iffy about killing Baby Vivi though (it's not like the newborn baby could report him to the WG anyways), but if nothing else, he just needs to be able to pull off the bluff of his life to convince Cobra to do as he's told. And we all know Crocodile's good at convincing people.

The only question is, how would Robin take that?

Watching Crocodile go into Full Murder Mode, hearing him say he'd kill a pregnant woman/a newborn baby if he didn't get what he wanted? Like yeah, I'm sure 11 year old Robin would be fine with that, that wouldn't make any alarm bells go off in her head at all, it'd be fiiiine. IT WOULD NOT BE FINE, SHE'D BE SCARED SHITLESS. That fear of "what will he do with me when he gets what he wants"? Well, Robin may not have found the answer to that question in particular, but she certainly found the answer to the opposite question, and it's not good

So say Cobra, kidnapped (perhaps with Baby Vivi) by Crocodile in the night, guides the two to the Poneglyph under the tombs. Crocodile puts Cobra out of his misery because he's not needed anymore. And he asks Robin to read the Poneglyph for him.

Robin, who has spent the last little while, be it weeks or months with Crocodile, him having become her "guardian", the thing keeping her safe. Crocodile, who has now shown how cold blooded and cruel he can be. Robin, who might be scared out of her mind. Of him.

And the Poneglyph says Pluton, the thing Crocodile wants, isn't there. It's in Wano.

What's she going to do?

EDIT: I wrote a sequel post, enjoy

[novaursa]

Where Honor Burns

- Summary: After the tragedy Above the God's Eye, you decided to go to King's Landing, in hope to prevent more bloodshed. Even if it means your death.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwanye Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister of Rhaenyra and was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after The Chains We Break. To read all parts in chronological order visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Also, in this AU Rhaenyra never sized King's Landing.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 017

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs @sachaa-ff

- A/N: you guys liked this so much I've decided to push next part out early again, since I have the entire thing finnished already for some time and I feel unfair to keep it from you, as it's very well recived series. There will be one more part of this posted, then it's done. Enjoy. ❤️

The day dawns with gray skies, heavy with the weight of impending rain, as if the gods themselves mourn what has been lost. You stand at the edge of Dragonstone’s cliffs, fingers tightening around the rough parchment in your hand. The inked words smudge slightly from the salt in the air—or perhaps it is the tears you refuse to shed.

Daemon is dead.

The news is sharp and bitter on your tongue, like ashes. You should feel grief, yet what blooms in your chest is nothing more than an emptiness edged with relief. Daemon’s death severs the last frayed threads binding you to him, a marriage that was doomed from the moment it began. The years of ambition, control, and quiet disdain have left scars deeper than any sword could carve. The day you and Rhaenyra agreed to release Gwayne to Otto—sealed your doom as Daemon’s wife. He never forgave you for that. 

The sound of footsteps draws you from your thoughts. Vaeron approaches, his brow furrowed, his usually confident stride hesitant. He’s grown into a fine young man—strong and determined, the fire of Old Valyria running hot in his veins, a fire that no doubt still confused him, born as he was not of Daemon’s blood but of Gwayne’s. The tension between them had only worsened in recent months, yet Vaeron was still the same boy Daemon had taken under his wing, raising him as his own.

“Mother,” Vaeron’s voice is tight, the pain behind it unmistakable. “Is it true?”

You nod, unable to bring yourself to repeat the words. “Daemon and Aemond both perished above the Gods Eye.”

He inhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, full with the silver of his true heritage. “He was a fool to challenge Aemond alone,” he murmurs, but there is no triumph in his voice, only a deep-seated sorrow. Despite everything, Vaeron still sought Daemon’s approval, still yearned for some semblance of affection from the man who had twisted the role of father into something cruel and cold. 

You reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension beneath his skin. “He made his choice, just as we all have,” you say, your voice soft yet firm. “This war has gone on long enough. Too much blood has been spilled, and more will be if we do nothing.”

Vaeron’s gaze sharpens as he looks at you, the young warrior ready for battle in his eyes, but beneath it lies uncertainty. “What are you planning, Mother?”

You straighten your back, steel in your voice as you declare, “I’m going to King’s Landing.”

The words hang in the air like a thunderclap. Vaeron’s eyes widen in shock, a flicker of fear quickly masked by anger. “You can’t! They’ll kill you the moment you set foot near the Red Keep. You’re the one who crippled Aegon at Rook’s Rest! They’ll flay you alive for that alone!”

A bitter smile touches your lips. “Perhaps. But we cannot keep hiding behind dragons and armies, waiting for a decisive blow that may never come. Rhaenyra has the right to the throne, but we cannot burn the realm to the ground for it. Someone must act before there’s nothing left to rule.”

“Mother, please,” Vaeron’s voice breaks with desperation now. “If not for yourself, then for me. You’re all I have left.” 

You feel the sting of tears prickling at the edges of your vision, but you blink them away. You’ve made your choice, and there is no room for doubt. You cup his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm, and see the boy you once cradled as a babe, a child of love born in secret. “I am doing this for you, Vaeron. For you, and for the realm. The bloodshed must end, and if it is my life that brings peace, then so be it.”

He looks at you, eyes shining with unshed tears, his jaw clenched. “You can’t do this alone.”

“No,” you agree, your voice softening. “But I must be the one to start it.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The wind howls around you, the sea crashing violently against the rocks below. Vaeron pulls away, shaking his head as if trying to ward off the inevitability of it all. “I’ll go with you,” he finally says, determination hardening in his voice.

You shake your head gently. “No, my son. You’re needed here. If things go wrong, Rhaenyra will need someone she can trust—someone with a clear head. You must protect your family, no matter what happens.”

He clenches his fists, trembling as he battles between wanting to protect you and knowing you’re right. “I hate this,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “I hate all of it.”

“So do I,” you reply, your voice breaking. “But sometimes, we must do what is necessary, even if it costs us everything.”

You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his brow, and for a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to hold him close, the way you did when he was small, and the world was far simpler. When you pull back, his face is set in a mask of determination, so much like yours when you were younger, filled with dreams and desires that have long since turned to ash.

“Stay strong, Vaeron. For our family. For the future.”

With that, you turn and walk back toward the fortress, your steps heavy with the weight of what you must do. Behind you, the wind carries the sound of your son’s quiet sobs, a painful reminder of all that this war has taken and what it will still demand before it is over. 

You do not look back. You cannot afford to.

You have a realm to save.

King’s Landing reeks of decay, the stench of rot clinging to every breath. Gwayne Hightower stands on one of the parapets overlooking the city, the once-proud banners of the Greens fluttering lifelessly in the breeze. His gaze is fixed on the distant horizon, where storm clouds gather ominously, but his thoughts are elsewhere—always elsewhere. No matter how far he tries to distance himself from the past, it haunts him relentlessly, like a ghost that refuses to be exorcised.

It has been months since his return to the capital, and yet every corner, every shadow in this city, reminds him of her. Of Y/N. His beloved, and the sister of the woman the Greens have fought so bitterly to keep from the throne. He grips the stone ledge tightly, knuckles white as he remembers the day he was brought back, humiliated and paraded like a traitor, a stain upon his family’s honor. 

He had expected death. He would have welcomed it if it meant sparing him from the hollow gaze of Ser Criston Cole, who had demanded his execution for treason. The memory of Cole’s cold sneer, his self-righteous fury, still makes Gwayne’s blood simmer. The man had practically salivated at the thought of executing him, of making an example out of the “traitorous” Hightower who had saved Rhaenyra’s sister from the flames at Rook’s Rest. He would never regret that decision. Not for all the power, gold, or prestige in the world. 

But it was not Cole who held Gwayne’s fate. It was his father, Otto, and his sister, the Dowager Queen Alicent, who intervened, silencing Cole’s demands with a forceful refusal. Yet, they had not been merciful. No, they had allowed the rotting head of Silverwing to be mounted for all to see, a cruel display meant to drive a wedge deeper into Gwayne’s heart. Silverwing, Y/N’s dragon, who had died protecting her—left to wither and decay like a forgotten relic. It was an injustice that Gwayne bore like a festering wound, a humiliation barely concealed beneath the mask of duty.

He shuts his eyes, and her face comes to him unbidden—the softness in her eyes that had never wavered, not even in the face of Daemon’s cold disdain, or the harsh realities of war. He remembers the warmth of her hand in his, the way her voice had soothed the fear in his heart, even when the world around them was crumbling. How could he not have saved her that day? How could anyone expect him to do anything less when it was her life at stake?

The rustle of skirts and the subtle scent of lavender and rosemary pulls him from his reverie. Gwayne opens his eyes, finding his sister standing beside him, her expression unreadable. Dowager Queen Alicent still carries herself with the grace of a woman who has shouldered too much, yet refuses to break beneath the weight. Her once fiery determination has dulled into a cold resolve, a woman shaped by grief and loss, and the endless machinations of court.

“Brother,” she greets softly, her voice carrying the echoes of weariness. “It’s been too long since we spoke.”

He offers her a tight nod, forcing the tension from his jaw. “It has, Your Grace.” The formality is deliberate, a barrier between them. Though they share blood, the distance between them has grown insurmountable over the years. 

Alicent’s eyes flicker with something—regret, perhaps?—before she turns her gaze to the city below. “I’ve heard whispers that you’ve been restless of late. The men say you spend too much time brooding alone, staring into the distance as if searching for answers the gods have hidden from us.”

“I am where I am needed, as you and Father commanded,” he replies curtly, unwilling to entertain her probing. He knows what she’s doing. She’s always been good at drawing out what’s hidden beneath the surface, even when he wishes she wouldn’t.

She sighs softly, a sound filled with unspoken words. “You blame us for what was done to Silverwing.”

Gwayne’s grip tightens on the stone again. He doesn’t deny it. “It was a needless cruelty. She was a noble creature who died protecting her rider. Displaying her head like that—it was an insult to the memory of what she represented.”

“An insult, perhaps,” Alicent admits, her tone carefully measured. “But it was necessary. The people needed a symbol, something to remind them of the cost of defiance.”

He scoffs, bitterness curling his lips. “Defiance? Is that what you call saving someone I love?”

The admission slips out before he can stop it, the rawness of his emotions slicing through the air between them. Alicent’s eyes widen slightly, surprise momentarily breaking through her composed mask. But she recovers quickly, her gaze softening as she studies him. “You still think of her.”

“Every day,” Gwayne says quietly, the ache in his chest tightening. “I think of her every godsdamned day, and I regret nothing. You can have me stripped of titles, cast me into the black cells, and I would still choose to save her.”

For a long moment, there is silence between them, broken only by the distant clamor of the city below. Alicent’s eyes are misty as she watches him, her lips parting as if she’s searching for words that won’t come.

Finally, she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Love makes fools of us all, Gwayne. It blinds us to what is prudent, to what is wise. I once knew a man who would have risked everything for love, but time and circumstance have a way of teaching us that such devotion often leads to ruin.”

Gwayne meets her gaze, defiance burning in his eyes. “Then let me be a fool, Sister. I would rather be a fool than a coward who sacrifices what is right for what is safe.”

A flicker of pain crosses Alicent’s face at his words, but she doesn’t flinch. “I pray that the choices you’ve made do not bring you to ruin, Gwayne. We’re all caught in this web of power and bloodshed, each of us trying to hold onto what little we have left.”

Her words linger, heavy with the weight of their shared burdens. Gwayne looks away, his heart still tethered to thoughts of Y/N, of what might have been had the world been kinder, had fate been less cruel.

But the world is what it is—a place of suffering, where even the most noble acts are punished and love is a weakness to be exploited. Yet, even knowing that, he would still choose her. Every time.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now,” Gwayne says after a long pause, his voice thick with resignation. “Daemon and Aemond are dead. The game we’ve all played has grown cold, and soon it will be Rhaenyra or Aegon who claims the last move.”

“Perhaps,” Alicent murmurs, though her eyes are distant, as if she’s looking at something far beyond this moment. “But war has a way of devouring everything in its path. Whatever happens next, we must be ready.”

Gwayne doesn’t reply. His thoughts drift back to Y/N, to her strength and the resolve she must be clinging to now. He wonders where she is, if she’s safe, and if she ever thinks of him the way he thinks of her. 

But such thoughts are a luxury he cannot afford. He is here, bound by duty, trapped in a city where his only solace is the memory of what once was—and the unshakable knowledge that he would do it all over again, consequences be damned.

The clouds overhead break, and the first droplets of rain begin to fall. As the chill seeps into his bones, Gwayne turns away from the edge, leaving the ghosts of what might have been behind, even if they’ll never truly leave him.

The streets of King’s Landing are thick with discord, and the air hums with the whispers of the crowds. The cobblestones are slick with grime and spilled wine as people press closer to watch, their eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity. The moment you arrived at the city gates, there was no ceremony, no dignity—only the iron grip of Ser Criston Cole’s men as they dragged you from your mount, jeering insults trailing in their wake.

“Look at the whore! Just like her sister!”

The words sting like poisoned arrows, yet you hold your head high, refusing to break. The crowd surges, pressing closer, feeding on the spectacle of your humiliation. You’ve been paraded through the streets like a common criminal, Cole’s grip never loosening as he drags you closer to the Red Keep, his eyes alight with vindictive satisfaction. It’s clear he’s been waiting for this moment, to claim victory over the woman —Rhaenyra— who once defied him and the family he serves so devoutly.

He stops abruptly before the gates of the Red Keep, turning to the gathered throng with a sneer curling his lips. “Behold! The dragon’s whore, sister to the pretender queen, come to grovel for mercy she does not deserve!” His voice carries, cold and mocking, inciting the crowd further. They howl their approval, eager for blood—yours or anyone else’s. It makes no difference to them.

But you do not bow your head. You meet Cole’s gaze with icy defiance, refusing to let him see how your heart hammers in your chest. The memories of Silverwing’s rotting head flash in your mind, a stark reminder of the cruelty that awaits you here. But you force yourself to stand tall. You’ve faced worse than this.

You’re brought into the throne room, where Alicent Hightower and her father, Otto, wait. Aegon’s absence is notable, but you know the reason. The rumors speak of his broken body, of his delirious cries as the milk of the poppy steals his sanity away. The once-proud king is now nothing more than a husk, a shadow of the tyrant he once was.

Alicent’s expression is tight with a mixture of weariness and caution, her eyes flicking between you and Cole as if assessing the weight of this confrontation. Otto stands beside her, his face carved from stone, every line etched with ambition and ruthlessness. It’s clear they intend to wring every ounce of leverage from this moment.

“You have a great deal of nerve coming here,” Otto begins, his voice clipped, “knowing the crimes you’ve committed against this family and this realm. You crippled the king, threw the Greens into disarray, and now you slink back like a beggar, expecting what? Mercy? Forgiveness?”

You square your shoulders, refusing to cower. “I came to end the bloodshed. How many more sons, brothers, and fathers must die before you realize that this war has no victors? Only ashes.”

Alicent’s eyes darken, the mention of sons clearly striking a nerve. She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, the doors burst open, and Gwayne strides in, his face a mask of barely-contained fury.

“Enough of this!” he bellows, his voice reverberating through the chamber. He moves to rush toward you, but Cole steps forward, his hand already on the hilt of his sword, blocking Gwayne’s path.

“Stay back, Ser Gwayne. This is not your concern,” Cole snaps, his disdain for Gwayne evident in every word.

Gwayne’s eyes blaze as he turns his glare on Cole. “Not my concern? You dare speak to me of what concerns me when you’ve dragged the mother of my son through the streets like some common criminal? You’ve no right to degrade her like this!”

Otto’s eyes narrow at his son, but his voice remains calm, almost condescending. “You forget your place, Gwayne. This is not a matter for your heart to decide. The woman stands accused of treason, of crimes against the Crown.”

“I care nothing for your accusations, Father!” Gwayne’s voice cracks with the intensity of his emotions. “I will not stand by while you humiliate the woman I love—while you let her suffer when this war has already taken too much from all of us!”

There is a silence that follows his words, thick with the weight of what he’s just confessed. Alicent’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, her gaze softening with a flicker of sympathy as she studies her brother’s desperate expression. She’s lost so much—Aemond to the skies above the Gods Eye, Daeron at Tumbleton, and Aegon reduced to a broken shell. For a moment, her mask of cold resolve cracks.

“What would you have me do, Gwayne?” she asks quietly, almost pleading. “What resolution is there, when every path leads to more bloodshed?”

Gwayne takes a step forward, his voice gentler now, imploring. “Let me marry her. Let Viserys’ refusal be buried with him. If we end this cycle of vengeance, perhaps—just perhaps—we can stop this madness. Rhaenyra’s forces are strong, but even she tires of the bloodshed. The realm cannot survive more of this conflict.”

Alicent’s lips press into a thin line, uncertainty warring with her long-held beliefs. “Marrying her would be an insult to the Greens, to everything we’ve fought for. How can you ask me to allow such a union?”

“Because you’ve already lost two sons,” Gwayne says, his voice raw with pain. “Daemon is dead, and so is Aemond. Aegon is no longer fit to rule. You know it, Alicent. We’re fighting a war for a crown that no one truly wants anymore—not in the way it once mattered. The people starve, the dragons die, and for what? The Iron Throne is a curse, not a prize. Let there be peace. Let us find some measure of hope before it all crumbles to dust.”

His words hang heavy in the air, each one a plea, not just for your freedom, but for an end to the suffering that has stained this realm. Alicent looks away, tears glistening in her eyes as the truth of his words gnaws at her heart. 

Otto, however, is unmoved. “You would throw away every gain we’ve made for the whims of your heart? This woman’s marriage to Daemon was a slight to our family’s honor from the beginning. To accept her now would be to admit defeat.”

But before Gwayne can respond, Alicent raises a hand, silencing them both. Her voice is quiet, but it carries the full weight of her authority. “No, Father. Perhaps Gwayne is right. How much more can we lose before there is nothing left worth protecting?” Her gaze turns back to you, and for the first time, you see not just a queen, but a mother who has lost almost everything. “If there is a chance to end this, to save what remains of our families, then we must take it.”

Gwayne exhales shakily, relief flooding his features as he steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “Let me marry her, Alicent. Let this be the beginning of something better—something that might actually last.”

Alicent stares at you for a long, agonizing moment, weighing the choice before her. Then, finally, she nods, her voice laced with exhaustion. “Very well. The marriage will be sanctioned. But know this—if this decision leads to more chaos, more ruin, it will be on your head, Gwayne.”

Gwayne bows his head in gratitude, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Sister.”

Cole steps back reluctantly, anger simmering in his eyes, but he knows better than to openly defy the queen. As the tension in the room finally begins to ease, Gwayne moves to your side, his fingers brushing against yours, a touch meant to ground you both after everything that has happened.

You meet his gaze, the storm of emotions within you barely held in check. This was not the path you envisioned, nor the life you had dreamed of, but it is the one before you now. And perhaps, in this fragile truce, there is a glimmer of hope—for your son, for Gwayne, and for the future you might yet carve from the ruins of war.

For now, you allow yourself the comfort of his presence, knowing that whatever comes next, you won’t face it alone.

The room is dimly lit, the flickering light of candles casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. The scent of roses and herbs wafts through the air as the servants bustle around you, their hands quick but gentle as they prepare your bath. You can barely focus on their movements; your mind is still spinning from the events of the day, from the jeers of the crowd to the cold fury in Otto’s eyes. Your body aches, the cuts and scrapes from being dragged through the streets stinging sharply with every brush of fabric against your skin.

When you finally lower yourself into the steaming water, a hiss escapes your lips as the heat bites into your wounds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out, determined not to show even the smallest sign of weakness. The water slowly works its way into your muscles, easing some of the tension, but your thoughts remain a tangled mess. You think of Vaeron, of what he must be feeling, and of Gwayne—the man who risked everything for you, who still fights for you.

The sound of the door creaking open draws your attention. You glance up, expecting one of the servants, but instead, you see Gwayne. His presence fills the room, his eyes blazing with barely-contained anger. The servants freeze, their hands mid-task, exchanging nervous glances.

“Out,” Gwayne says, his voice low and commanding.

The servants hesitate, torn between obeying their orders and respecting the strict instructions they’ve been given by Otto. But Gwayne steps forward, his gaze hardening. “I said out,” he repeats, more sharply this time.

The authority in his voice leaves no room for argument. The servants bow hastily, gathering their things and scurrying out of the room, leaving you alone with him. The door closes behind them with a resounding thud, and the room suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker.

You watch Gwayne as he strides toward you, his expression softening as he takes in the sight of you in the bath. But there’s still a dark fury simmering beneath the surface, a quiet rage barely held in check. He kneels beside the tub, his eyes raking over your body, lingering on the cuts and bruises that mar your skin. His jaw tightens as he reaches out, his fingertips grazing a particularly nasty scrape on your arm.

“They did this to you,” he murmurs, his voice trembling with barely-suppressed anger. “Cole did this to you.”

You can see the guilt in his eyes, as if he blames himself for not being there, for not stopping it before it happened. You reach out and touch his hand, trying to reassure him, but the moment your skin meets his, something shifts between you. The air grows thick with tension, a tension that has been simmering for far too long.

“Gwayne,” you whisper, but it’s all you manage to say before the words are stolen from your lips by the intensity in his gaze.

Without a word, he leans forward, cupping your face with both hands, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. His touch is soft, almost reverent, but beneath it, you feel the tremor of barely-contained desire, of need and longing that has been held back for far too long. He moves closer, and you feel his breath against your lips, warm and ragged.

“I can’t bear seeing you like this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t stand knowing what they did to you, how they hurt you.” His eyes darken, his expression raw. “You deserve so much more. You deserve everything, and all they’ve ever given you is pain.”

His words are laced with a desperation that pulls at something deep within you. You’ve both suffered so much, sacrificed so much, and yet, here you are, still drawn to each other with a pull that’s stronger than duty or fear.

You don’t know who moves first—whether it’s you or him—but suddenly his lips are on yours, and the dam that’s held back your desire for so long shatters. The kiss is not soft or tentative; it’s fierce, fueled by months of longing and years of denied affection. His hands cradle your face, and you respond with equal fervor, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, turning frantic, as if you’re both afraid that if you stop, the world will tear you apart again. You can taste the salt of your own tears mingling with his as he kisses you with a passion that’s almost overwhelming. Your bodies move of their own accord, and before you know it, you’re both reaching for each other with a desperate urgency.

Gwayne pulls back just enough to catch his breath, his eyes searching yours, filled with a hunger that leaves no room for hesitation. “Let me have you,” he breathes, his voice husky. “Let me show you how much I need you.”

You nod, the words caught in your throat, and he rises to his feet, his eyes never leaving yours as he sheds his cloak and begins to unlace his tunic. You watch, your heart pounding, as he strips away the layers, revealing the body you’ve longed for, the one that’s haunted your dreams. There’s no more hesitation, no more fear—only desire, raw and unbridled.

He steps closer, helping you out of the bath, his hands warm against your damp skin. You undress him as he guides you toward the bed, your hands trembling with anticipation. The kiss is reignited the moment you’re close enough, fiercer now, more demanding. There’s no gentleness this time—only a primal need to feel each other, to claim and be claimed.

When he finally presses you down onto the bed, there’s nothing slow or tender about the way he moves into you. It’s not like the times you’ve been together before, where every touch was measured, every caress deliberate. This time, it’s raw, almost rough, driven by months of pent-up desire and longing. He thrusts into you with a desperation that makes you gasp, your body arching beneath him as you cling to him, meeting each of his movements with your own.

It’s frantic, unrelenting—a tangle of limbs and fevered kisses as you both give in completely to the storm that’s been brewing between you. Every thrust is a declaration, every kiss a vow unspoken. There’s no room for words, only the sounds of your shared pleasure, the feel of his body against yours as he takes you with a hunger that has no end.

You’re both lost in it, in the release of everything you’ve held back for so long. The tension, the heartache, the desire—it all spills out in this moment, leaving you breathless, trembling with the intensity of it all. You give yourself over to him completely, letting him take you in every way you were once denied, and he meets you with the same fervor, as if he’s been starving for you.

And then, in the midst of it all, you reach your peak together, a wave of pleasure crashing over you both. The world narrows down to this single, perfect moment—where there is no war, no crowns or thrones—just the two of you, lost in each other.

Afterward, you collapse against him, both of you breathless, your hearts pounding in tandem. Gwayne wraps his arms around you, pulling you close as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He presses a lingering kiss to your hair, his fingers tracing lazy circles along your back.

“I should never have let you go,” he whispers, his voice filled with regret.

You lift your head, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the world outside seems distant and unimportant. “You didn’t let me go,” you murmur, your fingers brushing over his lips. “We were both trapped by the choices others made for us. But now… now, we have a chance.”

His grip tightens around you, a silent vow in the way he holds you close. “I won’t let them hurt you again,” he promises, his voice low and fierce. “No matter what happens, you’ll never be alone. Not anymore.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself believe in that promise, even if it’s only for this fleeting moment.

[phoenixyfriend]

Weird Egg?

Okay so in theory, Obi-Wan was plausibly on Mandalore when Anakin was born, right?

(this is technically a variation on a few other fics and AUs I've seen, and I'll list the stuff that came to mind at the end.)

While on Mandalore, Obi-Wan finds An Egg while hiding in a cave with Satine. And he doesn't recognize it, and Satine doesn't recognize it, and even Qui-Gon doesn't recognize it.

Which makes it weird, at the very least, and probably rare. It's the size of his HEAD and even though there's no parent around, the egg is… warm, now? He didn't notice at first, but it's definitely producing at least some of its own heat.

So Obi-Wan brings the egg with him, which is a pain in the ass in terms of maneuvering, but they do seem to have better luck avoiding Death Watch than before, which uh. Given that the egg feels warmer when they're getting lucky, and seems to glow in the Force, they think might not be a coincidence. A lucky rock, except it's alive.

Mission ends. Obi-Wan plans to take the egg back to the temple for study in case they just discovered Something, and as he's saying goodbye to Satine… the egg Hatches.

It is a dragon.

The dragon can project words into Obi-Wan's mind. It's not quite capable of complex thoughts yet, but it's a he (probably), and has a name (Anakin!), and considers the person who's been carrying him and protecting him and keeping him warm for the past six months to be his mom!

Obi-Wan protests at this. Qui-Gon decides to make his life harder with the 'correction' that Obi-Wan would be a dad, not a mom.

So now Obi-Wan has a small dragon which will be growing to the size of a house, that imprinted on him and is following him home and calling him dad and insisting on sleeping in his bed

Idk if you've ever read Septimus Heap, but… the MC of that found a Fancy Rock, put it in his bag, carried it around for a YEAR because he kept forgetting to take it out of his bag, and then it hatched into a dragon. And I kept thinking about that the whole time I wrote this.

In Obi-Wan's defense, he does Have A Plan.

Until the dragon hatches, turns out to be a sapient as a toddler (with promise of growth), and calls him Dad.

And now the plan is gone.

He just wanted to bring a cool egg back to the Temple for study!

And now the Mandalorians are pulling out old books about whatever the fuck this is because these things APPARENTLY went extinct around the same time as the underwater dragon-adjacent thing that is the Mythosaur.

Obi-Wan learns that supposedly the eggs are inert until something with the Force interacts with it in a Purposeful Manner.

Which includes "probing it a little to see if whatever is inside is actually alive."

Anakin's a standard western dragon that can breathe fire because Flyte. Also this post.

Weeeee okay small text for the references I mentioned.

Obviously, first up is the Septimus Heap series by Angie Sage, specifically Magyk and Flyte.

The fic series I was thinking of initially that kind of jumpstarted the AU process was Boga Service Varactyl AU, but specifically Kenobi Kafé Service Animal Boga AU.

I've been seeing a couple of dragon shapeshifter AUs, including that post I linked earlier from @ahsoka-in-a-hood, @bubblew0lf1's dragon shapeshifter AU, and @squad-724's Dragon Jedi AU has been all over my dash for the past few days.

Stubborn to the Bones by @tideswept, which was part of what had me connecting the various dots of Obi-Wan Finding Animal Anakin on a mission, though our outcomes are admittedly very different lol. (Their fic is shippy, and mine is more decidedly gen/familial with a slight nod to Obitine.)

[th3-c0rps3-r0gu3]

Arranged marriage?

Royal au

Pairing: princess (to be queen) Natasha X autistic queen reader.

Warnings: Natasha being an asshole. (She gets better... Just not yet.)

I got this idea from a Pinterest post from Tumblr. Credits go to whoever that person is. If anyone can find the person who made the original idea please let me know so I can give proper credit.

Natasha was in a marriage she didn't want. Well not yet. The married part. Natasha definitely did not want the marriage at all. But technically she was only engaged. And Natasha hated the fact that her parents refused to let her rule unless she was married. But it was ok. Because she had a plan. Simple and easy. Wait a year or so after the wedding. Then kill queen y/n and live as a widowed queen on her own. Then she would rule alone and get two kingdoms to run. Hers and y/n's. Natasha thought it full proof.

Y/n pov:

I hate this. The meetings and arrangements for a wedding I honestly don't want. I didn't even want to be queen. I have dragons to study and no time to run a large and not to mention busy kingdom. I'm honestly hoping this new wife of mine can just run it for me while I travel to the scorching geysers that dragons tend to nest at. Though in all honesty my supposed to be wife scares me. She's so intimidating and scary. Constantly scowling at me as if I wanted this. I don't. Well I kinda do. Simply so I don't have to run this place. But still! Princess Romanoff could at least be a bit nicer...

It's another beautiful morning and I'm meant to be meeting up with princess Romanoff. And instead of being down in the main hall I'm in the library amongst several old books about striped winged dragons. I know where I'm meant to be but I don't want to have to deal with my scary soon to be wife. So instead I'm hoping that Natasha just thinks I forgot and goes back to her own kingdom.

A crash tells me I'm not going to get my wish. I glance above a pile of books only to see the cursing form of princess Natasha romanoff. I duck back behind my books again and hope against logic that she didn't notice me. Luck is not on my side. I wince as another crash echoes through the library. These are important and ancient books of history. History no one but me reads but still history! And then Natasha's head pops up over the shorter stack of books. Those are about the green clawed wyvern. I look up and see Natasha scowling at me.

"hi princess."

I try and greet her but Natasha's scowl only deepens. She's pissed. At me. Of course she is. I sigh and step out of my mountain of books. Walking around to greet the princess. I smile awkwardly. Natasha doesn't.

"you didn't show up in the great hall. Now I had to come and find you. Do you realise how messy this room is? You should hire a cleaner."

Natasha berated me for the millionth time. Truth be told I should get a cleaner in here but it's the only library study that holds the draconic records. So only I ever frequent the room and I'm not bothered by the dust. So I never got a cleaner. I won't bother explaining that to Natasha. I sigh and nod along to Natasha as she keeps ranting. I've learned that agreeing with her is easier than arguing.

"my apologies princess I forgot the meeting was today."

I try and remain polite as Natasha bursts into another rant about my incompetence. That seems to be her favourite thing to rant about nowadays. Until I notice the book I had been searching for earlier. The one about white bellied fire drakes and their subspecies. I know I should be focused on Natasha but I'm afraid if I look away I won't be able to find it again. I keep my unblinking gaze on the book. My mind blocking out Natasha's rant. Only I don't have the focus to feel guilty about not listening. I finally give in and push past Natasha to grab the book. My smile is wide as I pull it out and examine it. In perfect condition too!

Natasha gapes offended at me as I brush past her to get my book. But unfortunately for her ego I have bigger issues to worry about. I grab the books and brush the dust that had been collecting in it before marching over to my already crowded desk and slipping the ancient text onto it and flipping it open. My eyes light up as I see the familiar images of the white bellied fire drakes. When I finally look up Natasha is staring at me with probably more rage than any sort of fire wyrm that I've ever studied. I purse my lips and an apologetic look comes to my face. At least I hope it looks apologetic.

"ah right... My apologies princess.."

I try and smile but Natasha bursts into another rageful rant about disrespect and my idiotic behaviour and if we are meant to be married and yadayadayada I don't actually care currently I have my book. I sigh and prop my head up against my palm as I half pay attention to anything Natasha is screaming before I look down at my book and whoopsies I'm now paying attention to white bellied fire drakes.

By the time Natasha finishes her second rant I forgot she was even there as I am occupied with reading about ice bellied fire drakes, the close cousin to white bellied fire drakes. I recall a lot of the information in the book but it's nice to get a refresher. I don't remember Natasha is still there until she hits me on the head with a scroll. I look up confused until I realised what scroll she hit me with. The one about steelscaled amphipteres and I gently grab it from Natasha and sit it down gently.

"princess be careful these scrolls are incredibly old and could be damaged easily!"

I exclaim. I don't know what I'd do if any of these books and scrolls got damaged. Have a mental break down and lock myself up for a few weeks probably. It's not until Natasha responds that I look up.

"so what! It's just a bunch of mumbo jumbo anyway who cares."

I freeze and my eyes grow cold. How dare she. These texts are ancient words of history not a bunch of mumbo jumbo and the fact Natasha dare say so makes me angry. I stand up and walk to stand in front of Natasha.

"I care. And if you don't then get out of my library before I call my guards to come and escort you out so I don't have to deal with another one of your useless rants that nobody likes you insufferable pathetic human being."

I snarl. I know this is going to enrage the princess but she has no authority here and I used my serious tone. Meaning no arguments or else. This is my kingdom and I won't let Natasha act otherwise. And by her scowling and burning eyes she knows it too. And before I can say another word princess Natasha romanoff stalks out the room without another word. I sigh and sit down behind my desk. This is gonna be a long marriage.

A/n: this was originally meant to be a one shot but it's turned into a series. Yay! And before anyone comes for me about writing autism wrong I am autistic and this is how I would react in a situation like this.

[larluce]

Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

I'll be putting the tag list at the end now ❤️

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , PART 10 , PART 11 , PART 12 , PART 13 , PART 14 , PART 15 , PART 16 , PART 17 , PART 18 , PART 19 , PART 20 , PART 21 , PART 22 , PART 23 , PART 24 , PART 25 , PART 26 , PART 27 (You're here) , PART 28

Merlin: (thinking, reciting Gaius words) Deny, be submissive, be respectful. Deny, be submissive, be respectful (enters the throne room and bows) Did you call for me, Sire?

Uther: (siting on his throne, pulls out the neckerchief and asks very serious) Do you recognise this.

Merlin: (thinking) Straight to the point then... (pretends to analyse the item and then says) No, I don't believe so, Sire.

Uther: Are you sure?

Merlin: Pretty sure. I've never seen it in my life.

Uther: (puts the clothing back in his pocket) This clothing is part of a serious investigation, so I wanted to make sure.

Merlin: A investigation, Sire?

Uther: Early in the morning this clothing was found deep in the woods with dry blood stains. There were some blood stains on the ground nearby too.

Merlin: Oh... Well, good luck with your investigation then, Sire. 😅 (smiles nervous, thinking) Deny, be submissive, be respectful. Deny, be submissive, be respectful.

Uther: And more recently the bodies of Aulfric and Sophia Tirmawr were found.

Merlin: (confused) What? 😨

Uther: They are sending the corpses to Gaius to analyse them as we speak.

Merlin: (between worried and confused, to himself) But... that's not possible. (thinking) Or is it?

Uther: And why would that not be possible? 🤨

Merlin: (thinking) Shit! (says, trying to stay calm) Because I saw them leave Camelot with Arthur, Sire. They should've been away long ago. Why would someone kill them? Are you… Are you sure it’s them, Sire? (thinking) Deny, be submissive, be respectful. Deny, be submissive, be respectful.

Uther: (thinking) I never said they were killed (says) They could've died in the way. Who knows? Robbers, landslides, wild beasts. There are many hidden dangers on a road trip.

Merlin: Exactly! Maybe even the raiders that sacked their home?

Uther: (laughs dryly) Incredible… you dare to lie to the King right in front of his face. You don't fear the consequences at all.

Merlin: Why would I fear that, Sire? (thinking) Deny, be submissive, be respectful. Deny, be submissive, be respectful.

Uther: Do not insult my intelligence, I'm not Arthur. If you had told me that the garment was yours but you didn't know how it'd got there, I would've believed you. That would've confirmed what Gaius told me about you. That you are a boy without guile and malice, because that is what an honest and pure-hearted person would have said. They would've told the truth even though that would've put them under suspicion because they would trust in their own innocence. But you did the opposite, you denied that this was yours, which shows that you are not only cunning but also calculating. I do not blame you for lying, any wise person would avoid having any connection with murder case's evidence. The thing is that only a person who is aware that a murder occurred would do so, because if Sophia and her father had really left as you say then you wouldn't have seen the need to lie.

Merlin: (thinking, between nervous an impressed)I always wondered how he managed to almost erradicate the entire magic user community, the dragons and almost all the dragonlords. Now I know, he's very fucking smart! Okay, Merlin, just stick to the plan. Deny, be submissive, be respectful. Deny, be submissive, be respectful.(says) Or maybe the neckerchief really is not mine, Sire.

Uther: (enraged, he hits the throne and stands up) Stop lying to your King! Stop thinking you're so clever and disrespecting me! (pulls out the neckerchief and walks to Merlin) I know for a fact that this neckerchief is yours. It’s the only thing I knew for sure before you entered this room. And before you spout any more lies from that vile and poisonous tongue of yours, I can also prove it. (stops infront of Merlin) The first thing I did upon receiving this neckerchief was to research this fabric. This color is something only royalty uses, but there are many royal families in Albion, so each royal family has a different embroidery pattern so they can differentiate their belongings from other royals, and this fabric! (raises the cloth in a fist) was made especially for the Pendragon royal family. This is something only I or my son could wear. It goes without saying that this does not belong to me or Arthur. And before you come up with another pathetic excuse to defend yourself, I'll tell you that each batch that the fabrics are dyed with is not only expensive, but limited. Only a certain amount of purple dye is made each year so only a few yards of fabric are dyed. That's why the yards of fabric my son and I received are all recorded. (takes out log book and opens it) In the last year I received 4 meters of fabric, Arthur 2 meters, of which he used to make a tunic and... guess what he did with the leftover? A neckerchief (closes book and puts it back in his pocket)

Merlin: ...

Uther: So what do you have to say for yourself now?

Merlin: (thinking) Deny, be submissive, be respectful. Deny, be submissive, be respectful. (says in the calmest voice he can) I don't know what you want me to say, Sire. It seems like you already decided I'm guilty.

Uther: (drops the neckerchief and lifts his sword at Merlin, threatening) Where are Aulfric and Sophia?

Merlin: (thinking) Deny, be submissive, be respectful! Deny, be submissive, be respectful! (says) Didn't you just say you found the bodies, Sire?

Uther: (raises his voice) Don't play dumb with me! You knew they weren't found! Where did you hide them?!

Merlin: I didn't kill them!

Uther: One more lie and I'll cut your throat! At first I thought you were just some peasant after some coins, but your ambition was way bigger, wasn't it?

Merlin: (thinking) Deny, be submissive, be respectful! Deny, be submissive, be respectful!

Uther: And, since Lady Sophia was getting in the way of your plans, you got rid of her! An innocent, lovely lady-

Merlin: Oh, please! She was anything but innocent.

Uther: (can't believe the audacity) What?

Merlin: (thinking) Fuck! Deny, be... how was it? (says) I mean, how do you know she was innocent, Sire? You are SO suspicious of me, and yet didn't bother to corroborate Aulfric's story was true at all! "We are from Tirmawr and our home was sacked by raiders, boo", really? Anybody could enter the castle claiming they're nobels like that! But sure, lets invite these outsiders we've never seen in our lifes. What do we have to be afraid of? It's not like we are someone important like royalty and recieve assesinations attemps on a daily basis! (composes himself)... Sire.

Uther: (lets out a small laugh of triumph) So that's the excuse you gave Arthur! That they were impostors that were trying to kill him, so that he would cover for you.

Merlin: No! I'm just saying they could've been-

Uther: If Sophia really wanted to kill the Prince of Camelot she would've waited til they were alone at their honeymoon. Yet she ran away, because YOU humiliated her! And do you really want me to believe Arthur wouldn't be able to defend himself of a defenseless young lady and an old man? Arthur, a trained knight!.

Merlin: (thinking, trying very hard no to explode) Submissive and respectful. Stay submissive and repectful (says, gritting his teeth) I'm just saying first impressions aren't always the right ones and it's not wise to understimate people even if they look harmless, Your Majesty.

Uther: Oh, I'm definitely not going to understimate you. (sheaths his sword) I heard what I needed to hear. You're days here in Camelot are over. You are going to go back to your stinky little village with nothing but what you're wearing and never return!

Merlin: (shouts, alarmed) What?! You can't do that! You can't separate me from Arthur!

Uther: (shouts back) I'm the king, so yes I can! And if you dare to cross the border you'll be executed immediately. I'm never letting you near my son again!

Merlin: (his face contorts with disbelief, anguish and anger, thinking) Deny-submi-respec-FUCK IT, FUCK IT ALL! (suddenly, he laughs and laughs and laughs, saying) You are so, SO funny!

Uther: (surprised at his reaction, but says very serious) I don't recall saying anything funny.

Merlin: (Stops laughing) Sorry, let me correct myself. You are SO SCARED it's funny.

Uther: ...What?

Merlin: You say you are so certain I killed Aulfric and Sophia, but instead of just arresting and execute me for murder, you had to lock up Arthur in the dungeons for what? To make this stupid test and then threaten to do stuff you can't actually do, because you know Arthur wouldn't allow it! The truth is, Uther Pendragon, you can't do ANYTHING to me. You can't HURT me.

Uther: (slaps Merlin, furious)

Meanwhile, with Arthur in the dungeons.

Arthur: (trying to force the door open) Come on. Come on!

Sir Innprudence: (from the celd beside) It's useless, Sire. We tried.

Sir Ewan: (from the celd in the other side) No, we didn't!

Sir Innprudence: Right, we didn't, because that's wrong.

Arthur: What are you doing here?

Sir Ewan: You sent us here, Sire.

Sir Innprudence: And it's being a nightmare! I miss my family and friends. I'm starting to forget their faces! 😭

Arthur: You've just been here for a day. 😒

Sir Innprudence: But you've been here for less than an hour and you're trying to escape, sire.

Sir Ewan: (scolds) Innprudence! 😠 (to Arthur) I'm sure that's not what you were really doing, Sire.😅

Arthur: No, that's exactly what I'm doing. My father is planning to do something to Merlin, I don't know what, but if he had to imprisoned me here to do it, it mustn't be good. I have to get out, now!

Sir Innprudence: Well, I have a little spoon here, Sire. Maybe we could use it to make a hole in the wall-

Arthur: That would take years!

Sir Ewan: I managed to make a stick with a little hook to try to grab the keys, but the guards that have them are too far.

Arthur: So it's pointless.

Sir Ewan: ...yeah.

Arthur: (exasperated, to the ceiling) Can't I have a useful knight for once? Just once!

Sir Ewan: I'm sorry, Sire.

Sir Innprudence: There isn't really much we can do. The King's will is above anyone else's.

Arthur: (to himself, whispering) The King... (calls out one of the guards) Hey, you! Come here! Your future King is talking to you!

Guard: (comes) Do you need something, Sire?

Arthur: I demand to be release this instant.

Guard: That's not possible, Sire. The King-

Arthur: Your King now.

Guard: ...Excuse me, Sire?

Arthur: My father won't be King forever. And, once he passes, I'll be your King. A King who will remember this very day when he was imprisoned against his will. And guess who is going to be the first to receive my rage?

Guard: ...

Arthur: However, if you help me out now. Rage will be replaced by gratitude that will come in the form of lands, money... or even status. More than enough for you and your family.

Guard: (tempted, but scared) Sire... please. I can't disobey the King. It's treason.

Arthur: What are you talking about? You didn't disobey the King. I got a hold of you and you fighted hard, but I'm a very skilled knight, so I managed to knock you out and that's when a took your keys and escaped.

Guard: ...

Arthur: So? The keys?

Guard: (pulling out the key, still doubtful) But... if the King finds out...

Arthur: (smiles, reassuring) He won't find out. I'll make it believable. (extends his hand) The keys.

Guard: (extends the hand with the keys)

Arthur: (pulls his arm instead and hits his head with the iron bars)

Guard: (falls to the floor, unconscious)

Arthur: I told I'd make it believable. (takes the keys and opens the cell) Thank you. (leaves running)

Sir Innprudence: Wait! Sire!

Sir Ewan: You forgot about us! Sire!

Sir Innprudence: ...

Sir Ewan:...

Sir Innprudence: Hey, I think your stick might work now. He left the keys there.

Back at the throne room.

Merlin: (brings a hand to his cheek, eyes wide in shock and offended)

Uther: (with barely contained fury and hatred) Until you finally showed your real face, scum. Who do you think you are to speak to me like that? You are nothing but a serving boy!

Merlin: I'm much more than that.

Uther: (red with fury) How dare you? (shouts) You are speaking to your King!

Merlin: (shouts back) You are NOT my King! Arthur is. And he will be a better and more worthy king that you ever were.

Uther: (about to slap him again)

Merlin: (stops Uther's hand by holding his wrist midway) I don't think so.

Uther: (even more red with fury) You! Little- (brings a hand to his chest suddenly in pain)

Merlin: (all his boldness gone) Sire?

Uther: (twitches and falls to the ground)

Merlin: (in panic) Sire! (kneels and starts checking him frantic, but there is no response and thinks) Oh, Gods! OH GODS! I killed him. I killed the King! No, no, no, no, no! This wasn't supposed to happen so soon! What have I done?! Am I mad? Why did I say all those things? I think I believed he was Uther's ghost for a second. Well, he is a ghost now... NO! He can't be dead! Arthur will be devasted! He can't be dead! Please, please, please, wake up!

Arthur: (opens the door with force and enters, frantic and worried) Merlin! (stares in shock at the scene before him)

Merlin: (looks up in panic and tears of desperation and guilt run down his eyes) Arthur, I-I don't what happened-I didn't-I didn't mean to. He was...and then I...I'm so sorry!

Arthur: (walks to Merlin in silence)

Merlin: (in more panic) I swear on my mother's life I didn't think this would happen. Arthur, please, belie-

Arthur: (kneels and hugs Merlin)

Merlin: ...

Arthur: (pulls away just enough so he looks at Merlin in the eye) Are you alright? He didn't do anything to you?

Merlin: (confused) Uhm... not really.

Arthur: (cups Merlin's face with one hand and hardens his features) He hit you.

Merlin: (getting out of his stupor) It's nothing. But, Arthur, your father! (points at Uther, alarmed)

Arthur: (gives Uther a glance in silence. Then stands up, pulling Merlin with him and calls out) Guards!

Guards: (enter)

Arthur: The King fainted. Bring the Court Physician inmediatly.

Guards: (worried) Yes, Sire (leave quickly)

Merlin: (thinking, a strange feeling in his guts) How... how is that the guards seemed more worried than Arthur himself?

...

Let's remeber this happened before the events of "To kill a King" and "La Morte d'Arthur", so no, Uther didn't die. But how did Merlin get away with insulting and almost killing the King? What did Arthur do? You can make your guesses in the comments ☺️

Tagging @aceauthorcatqueen , @fallenxjas , @smileytrinity ,@lucifertookmyshoe , @an-entity-i-think , @thecornerofbelu , @griffonskies , @odinjm , @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu , @thelady-mary , @bennedict , @nightninjaboy , @st8-of-grace , @star-rie , @error-username-not-available , @dogberryrowan , @jamieweasley13 , @tansyuduri , @tercais , @robynnemrys , @evadne01 , @serasvictoria02 , @hairdryerducks , @hopeaha , @curiously-lazy , @ harriettesthings , @andrealux16 , @wacko-weirdo , @greatdonutenemy , @yougottobekittenme , @anxiousosaurus , @kinkforwings , @someweirdassnamee , @impracticalantlers , @miyriu , @hobipabo , @whitemaskcd

[noxi3xe]

Current complete works:

Do NOT repost my works without my consent.

These works have all been posted on my AO3 and I've decided to post links to each and every post here. Read my tags and INFO HERE for more information.

I do take requests for oneshots!

╰➛ SERIES

All of my finished Series with Plot; Please read the tags on each work!

My AO3 <- here!

GENSHIN IMPACT:

𐙚 Dangerous Entanglement - Info Here You were just eight when you found out you were special yet cursed. not one, not two but three? From Snezhnaya? You must be a joke! SOULMATES AU ( Reader x Pantalone, Capitano, Dottore) 𐙚 Forgive But Not Forget Reader accidentally betrays Celestia, gets thrown out and gets found by Dottore who is obviously intrigued by the fact that the reader is definitely not human. (Reader x Pantalone, Dottore) 𐙚 A Foolish Fatuus in the opera's grip Your shaking form kneels before the Chief of Justice, begging to be let go. declared an enemy of the region and now the warden locks any door behind you, ready to break your shield of stone, revealing a perfect gem. And now Perhaps your new mentioned dirty injuries gave the warden a new idea. ( Reader x Neuvillette, Wriothesley) 𐙚 Up to the test Aka reader gets isekai'd into genshin impact, works for the tenryou commission for a little bit and climbs the ranks then gets moved to snezhnaya to work with the fatui ( Reader x Childe, Dottore, Pantalone, Capitano) 𐙚 To try my hardest Continuation of UP TO THE TEST (Reader x Capitano, Dottore) 𐙚 Echoes of Deception - Info here Your escape plan didn't work as it was supposed to, now your curiosity cost you your position and the trust of the one and only Il Capitano. Perhaps the contract you signed will not only serve as a new beginning but also as the road to regaining his trust. (Capitano x AFAB! Reader)

-

HONKAI STAR RAIL

𐙚 Finding Yourself: Perhaps you had never thought you'd be ending up just where you promised yourself you'd be running away from, and with a bit of help you remembered who you used to be and the major role you held. And perhaps the relationships you had lost could be regained, somehow at least. AFTER the Xianzhou Luofu Trailblazer mission ( Dan Heng, Jing Yuan, Blade x Reader)

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╰➛ ONESHOTS

All of my oneshots and so on some with plot some not, Read tags!

NSFW & SFW!

GENSHIN IMPACT:

𐙚 Genshin Impact men x Reader: Various character x reader + thirsts. some have smut some have mentions of explicit content some are just fluff 𐙚 Behind the prison's office doors: Fluff! Nothing's like having to waddle through the pouring rain to work just to be greeted by your lover, unaware of the conditions outside due to being locked inside his office. (Wriothesley x Reader) 𐙚 Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, Don't cry! Fluff! After a while it had all clicked, the rain was pouring, thunder crackling through the air. Rushing back inside, behind his desk sat the hydro dragon, sobbing loudly. AU! Reader travels alongside Lumine & Paimon (Neuvillette x Reader) 𐙚 Fontaline Dragon Meeting: childe forms a plan to get to the gnosis, fails, has to go thru a trial, his fontaine arrival reaches zhongli, he appears, then childe (again) sleeps his way to the gnosis. (Zhongli, Neuvillette x Childe) 𐙚 Genshin & Honkai drabbles: Various character x Reader Fics and ideas I produce along the way and have no idea what to do with, Short & simple. 𐙚 Knowing when to stop: Fluff! Pierro overworks himself again so you take his place for a day, doing the exact same thing as him in the end. (Pierro x Reader)

-

HONKAI STAR RAIL:

𐙚 Bound for eternity: You get off of work, tired, spot march on the street want to return her hairclip but get dragged along to a pub you meet your soulmate after years of waiting you decide to drag him to your home after meeting him (Boothill x Reader) 𐙚 Genshin & Honkai drabbles: Various character x Reader Fics and ideas I produce along the way and have no idea what to do with, Short & simple. 𐙚 Pretty reunion, Ugly past: Reader has some unsolved problems w blade while working for the Cloud Knights, finds it all too much, leaves everything behind and runs away with the Astral express then returns a decade later and is greeted with a pissy Blade and a warmly (not really) welcoming Jing Yuan (Reader x Blade, Jing Yuan)

OTHER FANDOMS/MULTI FANDOM:

Multi fandom x Reader: Various character x reader oneshots from the next few games/shows: - Demon slayer: (Tengen, Rengoku x Reader) - Jujutsu Kaisen: (Geto, Sukuna, Nanami, Toji x Reader) - Seraph of the end: (Crowley, Ferid, Guren, Higari x Reader) - Honkai Star Rail: (Blade, Jing Yuan, Luocha x Reader) - Gangsta: (Worick, Nicolas x Reader) - Genshin Impact: (Dottore, Capitano, Pantalone, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Alhaitham x Reader) - Bungo Stray Dogs: (Dazai, Fyodor, Nikolai, Sigma, Atsushi, Akutagawa, Chuuya, Odasaku x Reader) - Spider-Man: Spider-Verse: (Miguel O'Hara x Reader) - Call of Duty: (König, Simon ghost Riley x Reader)

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[mtchee]

My Chosen Beloved - [Zhongli] GN

blurb:

In ancient Teyvat, you worship your Lord of Geo as much as the next villager. When you hear that you're cursed by something unknown, your fears are only confirmed when you're given to your Archon as a sacrifice to save your village. Only, it turns out you're not quite the sacrifice you thought you were. OH, turns out, you're to be wedded to your Archon. Except, since arriving at his hidden chambers, you've seen neither hide nor hair of him. Only his pet dragon, Morax, lazes about in the mountainscape to accompany you. Welp, new best friend! Even if it is a sassy lizard. What... What do you mean, he is the sassy lizard...

cw: not edited, second-person-pov, kinda chaotic [name], sugestive at the end, arranged (??) marriage trope except he arranged it, Zhongli is a little shit, i think he's slightly OOC im SO sorry, dragonli, young Morax?? but not quite, ancient teyvat au (kind of), swearing, might do a part 2

| masterlist | genshin impact collection |

[4.0k]

"Cursed!?" You cry out in horror, "I'm cursed!?"

"Not cursed, dear one," The sweet old lady hums, swishing around your cup of left over tea leaves, "just marked."

"Oh, oh good," You feign relief, "so I'm a target."

"Oh hush you," The tea reader swats you over the head, "you fret too much. Besides, there's more I've yet to see..."

You grumble to yourself under your breath, rubbing your sore spot with a pout before sitting and waiting for the rest of her verdict. The woman hums lowly, a content smile on her delicate old features as she keeps her eyes trained on the semi-warm yunomi cup in her hands.

"Ooh, would you look at that," She hums happily, "a crescent star--how wonderful. You will have an unusually large fortune happen upon you..." she swishes the cup once more, "and... ah! And these are... indeed! Health and happiness shall befall you! Though beware, a great sacrifice must you omit in your coming days for this to be achieved."

You sigh to yourself quietly, smiling softly with a shake of your head, "Thank you, grandma."

You place a small pouch of coins atop her tattered, velvet cloth table as you move to stand.

"Ah, ah, ah!" She tuts, eyes wide as she stares at your tea leaves, "my child... I see that someone has their eye on you; beware of whom it is that you trust, deary. Not all things are as they seem..."

You feel a shiver crawl up your spine, and you squeak; you feel your soul levitate.

You gain a cold sweat, "T-Thanks, granny..."

"It's no problem, child!" The old lady beams, positively ignorant of your terror, "come back anytime. It's always such a joy to read for you..."

"Aha, yes. I-I'm sure..." You wince, smile strained, "um... goodnight, granny."

"Goodnight, dear one!"

You're quick to leave the quaint tea shop, placid smile immediately dropping into one of panic. Ever since you'd gone up that stupid magical mountain or whatever, you'd felt these odd shivers down your spine, like someone was watching you.

Constantly.

Or, nearly constantly. It usually stopped when you got to your house--at least this stalker had some decency. 

It certainly didn't help that there was an apparent raid being planned on your village, an attack that you'd all been warned about by an anonymous.

It was a curse of sorts, unleashed by an old enemy of your land's beloved Archon, Rex Lapis. The main city of Liyue is only small at this time, and the adepti, each to their own, have additionally been busy with protecting the various other scattered villages around the land.

You were given fourteen days to figure out a solution. 

Now, there's only three left. 

You shudder, once again feeling a pair of eyes glaring into you from archons knows where, and you let out an angsty huff, crossing your arms over yourself. 

"Great," You crinkle your nose, "now I'm even more paranoid." 

"A WHAT!?" 

Ah, what a wonderful start to the morning, with two days left before the presumed attack. 

The whole village gathers with murmurs of concern, pity, and fear.

In seeing no other way to prevent the attack, the town elder had announced a last resort solution, as provided with help from the adepti.

A sacrifice is to be made and sent to the stone mountains where it is told that their Great Lord and his dragon reside. A sacrifice must be made to their Archon in exchange for protection from the oncoming curse.

And with consultation from Adeptis Cloud Retainer and Moon Carver, you were chosen to be the offered one. 

"You want me to be a WHAT!?" Your eyes practically bulge from your head, and a panic rushes through you, thoughts spiralling as your heart tightens painfully in your chest.

Your outburst garnered further chatter from the rest of the town, some shouting their concern for you, others in protest of the decision made--but ultimately, it wasn't up to them.

The adepti themselves had chosen. 

Your ears rang with a high pitch, gaze hazy as you grew dizzy, struggling to breathe.

You couldn't hear what anyone else was saying--and quite frankly, you didn't want to, nor did you care.

A further immense feeling of fright pierced through you, causing your knees to buckle. It was those eyes again. 

'Dear archons,' You thought to yourself fearfully, 'am I going to die?'

The next forty-eight hours went by too fast, consisting of preparation for your departure, where a group of villagers would later escort you to the mountains and present you at its base before returning home.

And where you would be left alone, alongside barrels of fruit and meat offerings, and baskets of their finest silk and gold.

Then, it would be up to their Great Lord to make the decision. 

And so there you had been, fearful and adorned in opaque silks and fine threads, arms and legs decorated with pretty golden jewellery for an extravagent yet elegant appeal.

Your heart stuttered painfully in your chest, breath uncomfortably stuck in your throat as paranoia and terror consume you simultaneously. The feeling of eyes being burnt into your form had never left, and they had never felt so intense until then.

Staring at the mountain base with your back to the open field behind you, you felt your very soul ice over as a dark shadow swallowed you. You hadn't dared to look back, eyes wide with your skin pricked, breath stagnant as your base most instincts went wild; run.

But you felt you were dead before it had even approached.

You don't remember anything from that point on, only recalling a behemoth silhouette drowning yours before everything went silent and dark.

You had fainted.

But freedom! You cry in your mind, finding yourself awake inside a palace worthy bedchamber. You weren't eaten! Yay! CELEBRATE FOOL.

You notice a soft quilt upon you, its fabric smooth to the touch. Your hands tremble ever so slightly, nerves recovering from being shot. You swallow thickly, unsure of what to expect as you observe your surroundings.

The room is heavenly. Much grander than even the nobles in the nearest city, the room is vast and elegant, with artworks and calligraphy engraved into the stone walls. Cor lapis illuminates it all, along with the plentiful golden intricacies.

An elaborate archway to your left is separated from your room by a semi-sheer curtain, and you can hear the ever so soothing tinkling of water. A bathroom.

Placed along that same wall is a beautiful vanity and smaller archway separated similarly to the other. You can spy a more than generous number of hanging fabrics and neat, polished crates--a wardrobe.

The opposite side of the room displays practically half a library. Gorgeous bookshelves line the walls with ornate pillars and decorative foliage, a grand desk situated nearby with an equally as exquisite chair. The floor is covered by a soft carpet, accompanied by various cosy and inhumanely large pillows.

Nevermind, you must have been eaten, because this looks like heaven.

Mouth agape in bewilderment and disbelief, you slowly slip out from beneath the covers, tip toeing along the cool flooring into the middle of the room.

Your eyes graze over everything, and you're tempted to throw yourself indulgently into the giant pile of pillows just begging to be laid on.

Yet you restrain yourself because where the hell are you.

The large door across from you looks promising.

It takes a good hard push from you before it opens, though once it does the doors part for you effortlessly on their own. You pause, peeking out into the hallway skeptically before actually stepping out.

The door shuts quietly by itself one you're out of its way.

Interesting.

The corridor itself is daunting, both in size and extravagence. One side leads to an archway concealed by a thick red curtain, whilst the other reveals an opening into what appears to be a sun room.

Well, that looks promising.

Like everything else, the area is expansive and elegant. Sunlight bathes everything in a soft, golden glow, and water trickles pleasingly from ornate divets in the high stone walls, following a painstakingly carved path down into a rivet in the ground that outlines the floor plan.

Looking up into the high ceiling, your mouth drops in awe at the crystal clear glass encasing. In an octagonal, dome shape, the largest panes showcase stained glass designs, threading rainbow highlights here and there.

Thriving vines decorate the roofs edge, neatly climbing down the walls and curling around the spaced pillars that hold it all together. The plantation has been carefully placed as to not obstuct or corrode the ornate architecture.

In the centre of the room is a mound of silks and pillows with gold trims and intricacies, a large serpentine figure curled atop the delicate fabrics gracefully as it slumbers.

What.

Pause.

A dragon.

A fucking dragon.

Morax, Rex Lapis' dragon.

And you know it's Rex Lapis' dragon because who fucking else would have a dragon.

Your mouth drops in absolute horror at what you've stumbled upon, and you start to backtrack in silent terror when the slumbering creature begins to shuffle.

You internally curse yourself as the thing emits a sleepy grumble that vibrates the floor before locking eyes with you.

It blinks drearily, lazily yawning and smacking its maws before learning towards you with lidded amber eyes and a grounding purr.

You've been frozen in utter fear for the entirety of its slow awakening, and it huffs warm air into your wide eyed face once its levelled with you.

You let out a frightened squeak, blinking rapidly to recover from the assault while the serpentine creature rumbles contently. It looks... entirely unbothered by your presence.

You can't quite tell what it's thinking, its eyes watching you ever so intently, yet with a peculiar fondness that has you puzzled.

"He.. Hello, dragon," Your voice cracks, and you take a hasty bow to make up for it, "uh! Morax. Um, am I... aren't I suppose to be, uh, eaten..?"

Morax blinks at you cluelessly.

"As, uh, in sacrifice?"

The dragon huffs at you again, though this time much more sharply, as though offended. An odd keen gets stuck in its throat as it tilts its head before shaking out its mane.

Then, Morax leans towards you again with a grumbling coo, as though attempting to soothe you before nudging its large muzzle at your chest.

You stumble back from the unexpected contact, but the being only prods at you again until you gently guide its nose away with both hands. It retreats back into the rest of its curled form, watching you expectantly.

You reach a hand to where Morax had been poking, touching the thick cor lapis pendant situated on your chest in the shape of the geo symbol, secured by a deceivingly delicate looking gold chain.

"Oh this?" You look down at it from your awkward angle, "is something wrong with it?"

Morax lets out a curt grumble, not in warning or any form of vexation, but as a sort of prompt. Not quite.

You furrow your brows, "Then... does it mean something?"

Its grumbles again. Closer.

Your mind blanks, and you stare back at the beast that just blinks at you slowly. It makes no more sounds to edge you forwards, nor anymore mortion to aid your thinking. Instead, it watches you patiently, expectantly. Fondly.

"...You wanna... you wanna tell me?"

Your features flatten when the dragon emits an exaggerated yawn, crossing its massive paws and laying its head down upon them.

"Oh, you've got an attitude, you know," You frown at the mythical thing, and it closes its eyes teasingly in cheek.

You look at your pendant again. It had been provided by the Adeptis, and passed onto the village chief for when the chosen had been annouced. Then it was later given to you at the end of all your preparations, and you've been wearing it since.

Funnily enough, your preparations were similar to those of your wedding traditions--the older women fussing over your appearance while the men gathered gold and jewels to toss and offer up in symbolizing a rich, fruitiful future for the beweddeds.

The pendant is a similar heirloom typically passed from the more forthright intended to their beloved, as a way to show both their devotion, and their will to provide and protect.

The heirloom is usually something that represents the family from which it is given, as the receiver takes on their last name.

But your pendant is the geo symbol, your Archon's insignia.

Holy freaking shit you're wearing your Archon's insignia and it's not a vision.

Your stomach drops.

"O-Oh my god!" The pendant drops back into place on your chest, and you stare wide eyed at the serpent that daringly matches your panicked gaze, "I-I'm our Lord's intended!?"

"You're my one true friend Morax. But don't tell anyone I said that, that's kinda sad."

You distractedly scrub the dragon's scales by his neck, having moved on from his claws. You're dressed in thin bathing silks that cling to your figure from the water, parts of the fabric sheer upon your skin. You're not bothered though, it's only you and the dragon in this huge manor.

For the week or so that you've spent here, you've seen neither hide nor hair of your dear Archon. One part of you is curious as to why, seeing as this is his abode, though the other shudders at the prospect of running into him in person. You're still not mentally prepared for that.

You don't know how to talk to a god! Let alone how to your god--and that's not even mentioning the fact that you're technically supposed to be married to him.

Yeah. You've figured it out now.

No, you had not been sentenced to your death. No pain or any form of violence has been inflicted since your arrival, unless you want to count the dragon tormenting you with the fluff of its tail.

Stupid dragon.

Speaking of the damned creature, you've taken solace in its company. Although non-human, the dragon is a sentient being of its own, and though large and very much built for battle, Morax has been nothing but patient and gentle.

Ever so aware of your smaller being, the dragon has been careful with its every motion, bending its languid body elegently and fluidly to accomidate you. Even in a playful mood, Morax takes great care not to jostle you or startle you so.

You've claimed the overgrown reptile as your best friend in claws!

Morax had preened at the proclamation.

"Has our Lord been taking care of you? I haven't seen him once since I've been here. Do you think I've scared him off?" You snicker, wringing out the soaked cloth in the floral water you're seeping in, "ah, yes. As I am everything he should fear in a spouse. A merciless tongue and a non-existent sleep schedule."

In the furthest depths of this absolutely insanely huge manor, palace or whatever, is an opening in what you presume to be the back of the mountain.

Walls opening into a magnificent waterscape with a lazy lake and picturesque waterfalls, vines and flowers and brush decorating the scene with giant trees overshading parts of the water.

Morax snorts at your accusations, nostrils puffing non-aggravated smoke.

You move on to delicately rinsing the dragon's mane in parts, fingers sifting through the long, smooth fur to untangle any knots.

"Is he kind?"

From its once sleep tempted state, the beast perks up, opening its eyes to gaze at you. Sensing Morax's confusion, you give a tender smile while you brush a hand through its mane and over its scales.

"My betrothed, our Lord," The dragon croons softly, leaning its massive head down to rest its chin on your lap as you chuckle bashfully, "only you and the adepti know what he's really like. When he's not attending his duties, I mean."

You swallow thickly, worry glazing your eyes before being swiftly masked by a ginger smile as Moraz nudges you.

"I just... to be wedded to our Lord is just a fantasy. Who could I ever amass to in comparison to our Archon? I... don't think he will be cruel. But," Your eyes flutter to the side unsurely, "I don't want to live a lie."

Your heart pangs in your chest, and you slow in your movements which begin to cease. The water ripples around you at each notion, the air still and serene. Yet, despite the peace, you feel burdened.

No, not burdened.

Your brows crease in thought.

Perhaps dejected.

Although you have yet to meet, you've been provided with an abundance of wealth. It's evident your Lord is the spoiling type.

Your room is just one example, full of things you love and could lose yourself in for hours, alongside a wardrobe full of clothes you could only ever have previously dreamed of.

And you have the entire mountain to explore to entertain yourself--and it's not as though you were trapped.

You've gone flying with Morax twice now, and further explored the wilderness surrounding with the dragon's protective supervision. If you so truly wished, you could leave these hidden chambers to go elsewhere. To be honest though, you don't trust yourself to be able to find your way back.

The food is plentiful. Visiting the kitchens each morning and night, you find a feast is laden. And during the mid-day when you're hungry, or the late hours when you're peckish, the pantries are stocked in abundance.

A warm breeze caresses your shoulders, and the sound of the water trinkling melodically echoes a tranquil tune.

Morax purrs at you, and your smile saddens as you speak a dismal truth, "I will forever worship our Lord, not just for what he has provided me, but for him in all his existence. Though I admit, my heart will carry the dual burden of heartache."

The dragon blinks at you slowly, before reeling back in all its grace with a low croon. Its eyes are lidded, looking down at you in fondness and something else you can't quite place.

You puff a breathy laugh, reaching up a hand to cup the scales on its cheek. Despite the comically drastic size difference, the mystic being leans into your touch with a rumble.

"Thank you, Morax," You murmur, awed, "but I could ask nothing more from our dearest Archon who has given so much already. I only pray that someday he will find the one with whom he can truly return their affections."

A disgruntled huff escapes from the amber dragon's maw, and it shakes its head before leaning down to carefully press its horned head against yours.

A smile traces your lips, sincere gratitude oozing from your being as your eyes slip shut, nuzzling back against the smooth and damp scales of your mythical friend.

Another kind brush of air kisses your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. From behind your eyelids, a bright flash of light is muted, though you pass it off as naught.

Suddenly though, the scales you had cupped fit much better in your palm, a sensation much softer gracing your fingertips. Your brows furrow slightly as you feel the weight of the dragon's physical presence decrease. The water around you ripples greatly, though the atmosphere itself remains undisturbed.

The winds swoop gracefully as always, musical water cascades still singing their dream inducing tinkles while the scent of the surrounding natural flora soothes you.

You hear a gentle rumble, though much softer than the dragon before you. Your eyes gradually open, slinking up to lock onto the ethereal man leant into your loving caress.

Your gaze drifts to his nose, and then his lips, observing his attire that consists of layers of intricate brown and golden silks that float atop the water's surface.

And then you gasp, meeting eternally wise amber orbs that stare into yours knowingly.

Your muscles tense and your stomach drops, and you stumble back, almost tripping in the water.

At your sudden lurch in movement, the devastatingly handsome man fixes his arms around you, a gavelly chuckle sending a flush of heat to the tips of your ears as he pulls you flush against him.

"Y-You! I--" Embarrassment in all its forms overwhelms you while your beloved Lord himself stares down at you with lidded eyes, exuding elegance and unwavering strength just as he stands.

You don't dare look him in the eye, gaze latched shamefully onto the intricate details laced on the garment covering his chest. Your shame only increases once you notice the opening in the fabric that reveals part of his chest.

"M-My Lord..!"

Humiliation causes tears to prick at your eyes painfully.

But the dragon--his dragon, he is the dragon!

Heavens above, how utterly foolish could you be!?

Weeks you have spent confiding and bumbling about with that damned beast had you spilling the deepest depths of your heart and innermost being.

You would have never behaved in such a trecherous manner had you known it was your Lord! How disgusted he must be with you. How offended he must feel for the ignorant things you have speeled!

You clench your eyes shut, almost trembling in his grasp.

"My.. My most sincerest apologies, Lord Rex Lapis. I-I must avow that for each word I have spoken I never did intend-"

"Whatever do you mean, my love?" His voice is warm and low, a pleasant gravel that slinks into your ears like honey.

Rex Lapis--Morax, your very Archon who is one in the same, pulls himself back to admire you with fond eyes. Though his gaze is ever intense, the emotion he expresses is more than palpable.

His touch is tender, careful but full of longing, "Perish such nonsense from your mind. I, apologise, dear one," He leans down hopefully to meet your gaze, "for startling you so. And for withholding my true self for so long."

You flutter your eyes open, swallowing shakily when he smiles at you oh so adoringly.

"To be honest, I was... nervous. Unsure as to how you would perceive me."

"You? Nervous?" You incredulous tone has him breathe out a laugh.

"Indeed, dearest," You flush at the endearment, able to process it past your panic this time, "it is not everyday you are intended to a God. Now though, I see I should have been the one to welcome you first and foremost."

In contrast to his gentle touches and patient tone, a familiar cheeky twinkle sparkles in his eyes, "To think you thought you were a meat offering."

You blink up at him, horridly aghast at the mention of your initial misgrievances.

Forgetting your prior reservations about him as your Lord, no longer heeding your behaviour to such, you recognise that mischevious glint just as on the first day you had arrived.

A sense of relief floods your being, and you gradually untense in his tender grasp.

Though you're still unwilling to let him off unscathed.

"Who's the one who had me snatched up on such short notice?"

A sense of sheepishness has him ducking his head in self awareness, nodding acceptingly and in apology. A pink tint lines his fair cheeks at that.

But then he glances down at your drenched attire, and his flush deepens as a desire much too long forgone has him turning up his cheek a little more than he normally would.

"Well," He clears his throat distractedly, "who wouldn't at such a delightful temptation, hm?"

And then it's your turn to feel flushed.

Although he had left you lonesome in you first few weeks of stay, he more than made up for it in the coming nights.

And in response to your apprehensions and concern in being wedded to a God, he addressed them directly by providing you with an adoring reverence than even celestia would envy.

And he continued to do so, for the many years that would come.

For he had chosen you; his one and true beloved.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the treacherous tyrant

the wistful wyvern, chapter three

a/n: I'm just gonna take this moment as an excuse to say that if you haven't yet checked out the info or maps about this world i've created, then i highly recommend you do, it'll make it much more fun, for example when we hop around from place to place in this one? you can spot on the map where we are.

summary: halting a moment, he turned to tug your horse’s reins out of your grasp and let her stand on her own, “look, just follow my lead,” before he turned with the expectancy of you shadowing him, “I have a plan.” 

warnings: knight!bucky barnes x knight!reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, ex-friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, former fuckboy!bucky, tattooed!bucky, slow burn, one-sided pinning, forced proximity

word count: 1374

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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“What is it?” you asked when Bucky suddenly leapt off his horse and kneeled down to investigate a spot on the dusty path that split the treacherous terrain. 

“…boot marks…” he mumbled, “fairly recent too…” 

It had been a week or so that you’d been stuck trying to navigate through the jagged landscape of The Asadånie Mountains. From climbing rocky hillsides to the crumbly trail you now followed, it had been hard to know if you were making any headway at all or simply walking in circles. 

Straightening back up to his full height, you slid off your horse as well just as a low rustling noise, from further up where the path curved, found both your alert ears. 

Swiftly, you rushed in behind the tall shrubs that grounded the thin pine trees that shot up towards the blue skies above the mountains. 

The bigger of the peaks before you appeared to open up into a dark cave. In the mouth of it, posted just outside, stood three figures that sent a chill down your spine. 

Silently nudging the knight hiding beside you, his eyes too grew wide with recognition of the uniforms they wore. 

“What are Oblén soldiers doing up here in the mountains?” he whispered, sharing a glance with you before you turned your gaze back to the guards. 

A fourth figure then appeared, marching out of the cavern and prompting the other warriors to go rigid at his presence. 

“Commander Abbot,” one of the soldiers addressed the man clad in gilded armour, “did it go as planned?”

“Well, I still have my head, you idiot,” he rolled his eyes, “so yes, it went as well as it could.” 

“So, The Treacherous Tyrant is agreeable to the king’s orders, then?” one of the others asked as their commander began to walk away from the grotto, the guard’s feet slightly shuffling to keep up, “will he strike again before next full moon?” 

“As long as we keep his dearest safe, then he will continue to do as the king commands.” 

You both stood frozen, hidden behind the flora as the soldiers from the southern kingdom passed, scarlessly even breathing at all before they were long gone. 

“The dragon’s in cahoots with them?” you uttered as you guided your horse back up onto the narrow path, “how is that even possible?”

With his gaze low to the ground, Bucky then mumbled, “The Treacherous Tyrant… I’ve heard that before… what was it…” he shut his eyes a moment, “Farrowghol,” his vision blinked open once more as he remembered, “Farrowghol, The Treacherous Tyrant.”

“Holy fuck…” you shuttered, unable to stop the terror that began to rain down upon you as you stared over at Bucky and saw the wheels in his brain still turning. 

“They mentioned something about keeping something dear to him safe?” his features crinkled up in thought before unfurling with clarity, “oh, what if–…” and before he could finish his own sentence, share his brilliant idea with you, his feet began to move. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I have a feeling,” he began to walk towards the cave entrance, “something’s off.”

“You have a feeling? You’re gonna go get flambeed based on a fucking feeling?”

Halting a moment, he turned to tug your horse’s reins out of your grasp and let her stand on her own, “look, just follow my lead,” before he turned with the expectancy of you shadowing him, “I have a plan.” 

“Fuck your plan!” you screeched, standing your ground, “I’m not going in there!”

But as you watched him get swallowed by the darkness of the cave, only a few seconds passed by before a sharp curse burst out of you and you reluctantly followed him inside. 

Catching up to him, the dark tunnel soon unfolded into a vast and echoing grotto. Stalagmites burst up from the rocky floor and surrounded various mountainous boulders that might have crashed from parts of the caved-in ceiling where light now streamed in through the cracks and lit up the dim interior. 

For a moment, you thought perhaps the beast had flown away right before you’d entered the cavern.

But that moment didn’t get to linger for long as one of the enormous silhouettes you’d assumed was just another boulder began to move. 

The deep growl that then rumbled throughout the lair caused the small rubble on the ground to vibrate around your boots. 

Its scales were such a murky brown that it nearly looked pitch black, and as it reflected in the rays of light gushing in from above, an opalescent sheen glistened on its hide at its movements as its head unfurled, towering above you and eclipsing the low light before its wide jaw unhinged and a smouldering glow began to appear in the back of its throat. 

Throwing an arm around your waist, Bucky yanked you with him as he ducked behind a nearby boulder just before the monster began to spew fire at you. 

As flames licked up the sides of the rock, the view of them cresting over the top caused you to curl further into Bucky’s side. 

But when the dragon paused a moment, reeling before another go, the man beside you unexpectedly yelled, “we’re here to help!”

Shooting a glare up at him, “what the fuck, man?” you cursed in a hushed tone, “what are you doing? Shaking its hand and offering it a fucking pint?”

The leviathan’s booming rumble then invaded the entire cavern, “Farrowghol doesn’t need the help of wheezily little insects,” his heavy stride shook the space as he circled you like a large cat ready to pounce on their prey. 

“King Ivan has something you love,” Bucky bellowed, “we can get it back for you!” 

Farrowghol then suddenly halted, the entire cavern growing dead quiet. 

“That’s why you’re doing their bidding, correct?” Bucky went on, “they took something from you?” he then shifted, slowly sliding his crossbow off his back, “you can trust us. See?” he tossed the weapon off to the side for the beast to spot, “you and I, we share the same enemy.”  

Squeezing your eyes tightly shut, you thought for sure the dragon would let you feel his wrath once more, but instead, his deep roar resounded once more. 

“Not something,” he corrected, “someone.”

“A person?” Bucky carefully stepped out, leaving your hidden frame still in his eye line as he faced the beast with his palms raised up high. 

“My kin,” the dragon bellowed, “that’s who he has imprisoned. Ready to crush each and every one of them if I don’t obey. They’re hidden deep within his walls, in a chamber made entirely of hellstone,” he spoke of the rare material, which was the only thing known to be able to withstand the obliterating breath of a dragon, “I could never reach them, even if I tried, and I have.” 

“We can get them back!” Bucky promised, “set you free from the king’s control!” 

You couldn’t help but tremble as the beast's words shook the lair once more, “I lost my mate aeons ago… Those eggs are all I have left,” he shared hesitantly, “if something happens to them,” he warned with a crackle that raised the temperature a significant amount, “I will burn down everything you hold sacred.” 

“Sounds fair enough,” your fellow warden nodded tensely, “and if we do this, you’ll hold out on their commands of attack?”

“You have one lunar cycle,” he slowly settled, “if my kin have not returned to my cave within that time, I will not hesitate to strike.”

When you finally exited the cave and the bright sunlight once more licked at your skin, Bucky’s tense shoulders dropped back down with a long exhale, whereas yours, on the other hand, did not. 

“Alright,” he muttered, passing you as he briskly walked up to where your horses were still waiting, “so we just break into the palace in Ingorn. The chamber, it’s probably like a vault or something? That can’t be too hard, right?” 

Trailing behind him, you breathed, “no, it is…” before halting your step completely as you sighed, “fuck…” staring daggers down at the ground as you then uttered, “I have to go speak to my father.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[schoenht]

↳ dust of the stars in their eyes

character: lilia vanrouge

synopsis: cinderella au (the musical version)

a/n: TO MY BELOVEDEST @linabirb I HAVE FINISHED PART ONE OF YOUR LATE BDAY PRESENT </3 ILY LOTS AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY !!! I'LL BE WRITING PART TWO VERY SOON I'VE BEEN SUPER EXCITED TO WRITE THIS SINCE I'VE BEEN OVER THERE

No one truly understood the woes of being the prince with pressures of becoming the next king. All the kingly duties and having to uphold the kingly stature when Lilia Vanrouge only wanted to slide across halls in his socks with his advisors, who joined a lot of the time. The loss of himself when he thought too much about who he was. On the surface, he was the prince, but deep down? He couldn't fathom understanding himself past the fun times that he granted himself. Slaying dragons, sliding across the halls, that was what created a life supposedly worth living for him.

Today, however, did not follow the usual exciting schedule.

Kalim walked in with a scroll in his hand. "Your Majesticness, we have to fulfill your father's wishes!"

Lilia smiled, an elfish grin that made him look so innocent when it was not-so-secretly full of mischief. "Which wish? The one where you and Cater dangle me from the ceiling as we pretend to be thieves taking the crown?"

The white haired male knew exactly what he was talking about. Their plans were jubilant, if not occasionally lethal at times. But Lilia seemed to always get back up after falling from several feet high. After all, he was a fae and fae were known for their antics. Kalim shook his head, unfurling a ridiculously long scroll that only said a few words in bright green ink and outrageously enormous letters. "Lilia, get married NOW."

What a bunch of poppycock, Lilia thought. His father had always been protective of him since he was young, and somehow, he had also been trying to set him up with several princesses. The princess he used to be betrothed to when he was a small fae had escaped when she was just 10, deciding to be raised by nuns. He was stunned to find out that when he was born, he was already engaged for some sort of power. Afterwards, his father believed he could court someone on his own.

He could not.

Kalim scrambled to pick the long scroll up and made it into a pile as he glanced at the prince. "My lord? You must find someone."

The prince knew it was time. "What do you suggest?"

"I have an idea~!" The singsong voice of his other advisor came through the halls as he took a singular selfie of himself and made his phone disappear into his pocket. Lord Cater, who was somehow the wisest one amongst the three of them when it came to a situation such as this one, had one of those signature Cater beams, the ones that could relax anyone because he had a plan.

Curious, Lilia slightly leaned forward. "What is your idea?"

"We host a ball! And if you meet the person you like there, we did it, you can get married!"

"That seems a bit unorthodox--"

Cater didn't want to hear it and refused to. "Just think about it, Your Gracefulness, a romantic night sky, candles...maybe even some flames."

"Flames?"

"Of love, of course! Not pyrotechnics." Cater glanced at Kalim, shaking his head. "That means no fireworks, Kalim."

"Awww."

Lilia tilted his head a little. Perhaps it was a good idea to receive guests into his castle, to see who could potentially be the next person at his side to hold a crown on their head. It did not have to be something so overly dramatic as Cater was implying, yet Lilia liked to have that dramatic flair. And a ball was as dramatic one can get. Not to mention, it would slowly quell the murmurs of an uprising advocated by the impoverished individuals in his kingdom. He would feed them and ensure that they got a pleasant night. And so, he agreed.

With his permission, Cater was sent to the kingdom to make an announcement. The day was blistering hot, and yet the town was bustling. He could see people hurrying to get the best purchases in the market; children laughing as they kicked a bright green ball around on the gray cobblestones; couples occasionally stopping at the old and unstable fountain in the middle of the square to share the toss of a coin, hushed wishes made about their relationship lasting until the finality of time; vendors shouting at the top of their lungs their best offers on their wares, hoping to outdo their fellow sellers and perhaps obtain a bit more money this time around.

A flash of excitement came over him and he slowly rose on a barrel full of old clothes, according to the label. The bell in his hand commanded for attention from the people and sure enough, the eyes of the public were on him. "The prince is giving a ball! The prince is giving a ball! Hear ye, hear ye, a ball and that's not all! His Royal Highness, Lilia Vanrouge, is giving a ball!"

The repetition of his words quickly got the attention of several individuals, murmuring and as if Cater was a magnet, they were drawn to him to listen further. "He's giving a ball?" "Impossible, the prince has never given a ball in his lifetime." "Oh, shut it, I want to hear!" "I can't see!"

The ginger grinned, knowing he had the attention of more people and as a crowd formed, he knew he had one shot at this. For Lilia and above all, for his paycheck. And his friendship with Lilia, of course. Clearing his throat, he spoke with regality as he brought out shiny, crisp cream envelopes with the famous wax seal on it. Everyone knew it was the royal seal. "His Royal Highness, Lilia Vanrouge, has this decree: To attend the ball, all one requires is an invitation and suitably fashionable attire, and the prince will choose someone from the ball to be his future partner. That means anyone can be the next royal."

In the crowd, swallowed up by other excited people, you listened with intent, eyes filled with a wistfulness to be able to join such a celebration with high stakes. Living in your position was not easy and perhaps, with luck, you could be the one chosen for the place at Prince Lilia's side. Your thoughts been filled with wishes and wants that had replaced your previous ones. Now there was one that was at the center of it all: you wished you were one of the lucky people with an invitation to the ball.

The crowd dispersed and it left you alone in the square as the vendors packed up to go home after a long day of work. You sat on the fountain, careful not to sit in the one crack that made it more unstable, daydreaming about what it would be like to be in the royal palace. You sigh softly as you talk out loud, dreaming up scenarios of what would happen. But you know it wouldn't and your voice trails off.

Out of nowhere comes the old man that listens to you speak all the time, speaking his gibberish. "All the wishes in the world are poppycock and twaddle!"

"Oh, Crazy Sam, are you mocking me with your gibberish?"

"Yes. All the dreamers in the world are dizzy in the noodle!" The man grinned, his magenta eyes hiding a secret as he listens to your wish about wanting to see the prince in person, to talk to him about what life in his kingdom was really like. With a hum, he teases, "And then to have him fall in love with you?"

You shake your head. No. You didn't want that for you, you wanted the prince to realize that his kingdom was a place that needed to be fixed as efficiently as possible. "Why did you come to visit me?"

"I just knew I would find in the same fountain, in the same part, on the cliff of a foolish dream."

For once, Crazy Sam wasn't crazy. He was right and you agreed begrudgingly. "Maybe I am being foolish."

"Then be foolish with me. What would you dream of?" His smile was reminiscent to that of someone who was the messenger for a surprise party. When he heard your dream of getting an invitation to the ball, he pulled out a cream colored envelope. It was a bit ripped from being run over in the stampede of the crowd as they left. "Here. There's an invitation. It isn't perfect, just go. What else would you dream of?"

Your heart lifted in hope as you spoke about silks and such for your outfit that you so desired for. But then you got realistic. "How would I get to the ball?"

He smiled. "See that pumpkin over there? I'll turn it into a golden carriage."

"And horses?"

"Those mice in that cage." He nodded at the mice trapped in a cage, almost a metaphor for your life was. "And a fox as a footman and a raccoon as a driver."

You could almost burst out laughing. This was so ridiculous and improbable. "In order to do that, you'd have to be a fairy godmother. Or godfather."

Crazy Sam raised an eyebrow and suddenly it felt as if the energy shifted between you both. In the same way a magical girl transformation would happen, it seemed like Sam glowed for a second and he changed from an old man with a hunched back to a man with a top hat that could stand up straight and dance. He had a cane in his hand, markings all around him and eyes that no longer hid their mischief and whimsy. Sam had hidden this secret from you all along. He laughed, doing a small turn. "Much better, don't you think?"

Your jaw was on the floor. You had just seen one of your only friends go from an old person into what seemed to be a magical being. "Sam! Are you...really my fairy godfother?"

Sam kept a beam on his face. "But of course! Actually, I'm everyone's fairy godfather, but you're the only one who has treated me with kindness and generosity. Now, I must make all the dreams we talked about come true."

"But that's so improbable, implausible! You could even say that it's impossible!"

With a regal huff, Sam shook his head, spinning his cane in his hand as he led you away from the town square into the edge of the woods. "Impossible? For a pumpkin to become a carriage? Four white mice becoming horses! Ha! The world is full of fools, who believe too much in their strict, invulnerable rules. Impossible things keep happening every day."

Truly, your eyes were deceiving you. You stared at Sam, thinking that he was out of his mind completely. "That's out of the question!"

"Is it?"

You nodded your head, your hands moving in front of you as if trying to emphasize your point. "Unattainable."

"Hmm, do you believe that?"

"Unimaginable..."

"Unimaginable..." Sam grinned as he parroted what you said.

You sputtered, "But you were just a beggar man a couple of moments ago and now you're my fairy godfather? Does that mean that anything is obtainable?"

"Of course." The man listened to you as you spoke, elated at the fact that maybe, just maybe, he could fix everything. He could fix all that caused you troubles. "No, but you can. You can make it all happen."

"I couldn't!" At your words, Sam mocked you a bit, "I couldn't, it's all so impossible--No, it isn't. Look at me, look at your invitation. I'll even give you proof."

His cane glowed as transformations began, suitable for that of a princess. The silliness of earlier became a reality as your dreams seemed to be closer and closer in your grasp. The pumpkin became a gorgeous white carriage, made out of a material that seemed to be made out of porcelain. It was ornate, decorated with gold linings and shining jewels on the swirling wheels. Under the sunset, it shimmered in the dazzling lotus pinks and poppy oranges of the sky.

Next were the raccoon and fox. They turned into grown men, with no idea as to how they could only walk on their hind feet and had fingers with actual human skin. They slowly stumbled to their positions by the carriage as commanded by the person who made them into something else. Another tap of the floor by Sam's cane and out popped the mice into horses, snuffling at the floor.

Finally, he turned to you. He caused you to float and spin and soon, you were transformed into the most gorgeous attire that you could ever even think of wearing. A gasp fell from your lips. "It's the most beautiful outfit I've ever seen in the land!"

He smiled not unkindly. "I will have to warn you, however, this spell only lasts until midnight. By that time, everything will go back to its normal state of being and so will you. Now go, go with the promise of possibility!"

With your heart beating faster and faster at the prospect of going to the ball that seemed as though any laws abiding by the fabric of the universe could now be ripped to shreds, your carriage raced through the night. The world seemed to hold its breath, as if waiting for you to finally step out and complete the puzzle of the idyllic night that was to come. Perhaps it was the joy of the moment that made you forget the midnight rule for now. After all, the plush fabric beneath you was more luxurious than any material belonging to your household. It was a dream that one would never wish to wake up from.

Arriving at the palace, it seemed as though you had stepped into another universe entirely. The palace was looming over you with its bright white ivory walls, shiny glass windows that prohibited a speck of dust to even land on it, perfectly polished doors with guards in armor, checking every guest for invitations as they walked in. Your carriage pulled itself aside, allowing you to step down from it. As the last person to arrive, it would be quite difficult to not notice you.

And that is exactly what happened to Lilia when he merely glimpsed at you, only to do a double take. In all his years of living, he had never seen a star up close, and yet here you were, dazzling without even attempting. It was a bit cute to him to see that you were standoffish, perhaps a bit shy. He made a choice to introduce himself as he walked over, bowing. "Good evening. I am Prince Lilia. How do you do?"

You couldn't believe your ears. The prince himself had walked over to you, even though you were late and completely alone. You also bowed as you introduced yourself to him. You studied him for a second and you saw that for a prince, he did not appear like one. Black hair with pink highlights in an asymmetrical haircut with tiny wisps on the sides of his head, reminding you of bat wings. Those red eyes full of roguery and the smile that showed who he was beyond being a prince.

"May I have this dance?" Lilia asked as a new soft ballad was being played in the background.

Taking his extended hand, you began to dance with him. It was awkward at first since you were not a professional in ballroom dancing and it was not something that was taught to you in your household. Waltzing through the ballroom quietly, but it was somehow a comfortable silence as you swayed back and forth with him. He didn't mind when you stepped on his shoes at all, he was fond of your inexperience. Oh, the thrill of possibly finding someone that he would adore, that made him refuse to come down to Earth again.

The waltz transformed into something slightly more upbeat, involving everyone. You did not know any of this synchronized dancing, only following through the motions. It was certainly overwhelming. Lilia saw that and he swiftly weaved through the other dancers to get to you, taking you away from everyone else. You may be in the center, but no one else would lay a hand on you as long as the prince decided that he would dance with you and you alone. The melody began to slow down slightly and began once again.

Time seemed to move slowly with him before you were matching the pace of the upbeat melody. It was quickening with every note until it reached its crescendo and suddenly it felt like you were floating. You were floating when you looked down at the floor. Lilia winked a bit. "I decided to switch it up this time instead of me floating."

He twirled with you around the room, everyone else enjoying their similar dances with their own partners as the music blared loudly from the area where the musicians remained. It began to quiet down before rising up again in its notes. As Lilia stared at you, he only thought that angels had to be real, for they lived in your eyes. He shook his head, getting that out of his head and smiling once more at you. "I would love to continue dancing with you, if you'd allow it."

"Oh, I would love to--"

Suddenly, everything snapped to reality as you took a brief look at the massive clock behind him. With a gasp, you realized it was late. You needed to go. "I am so sorry, but I have to go."

His surprise made you land on the floor as you ran through the crowd, a good amount of them a bit outraged and peeved at this inconvenience. "Wait! Please!"

You didn't listen. You made it up the stairs, breathing heavily and then moved to run downstairs. Your shoe fell from you but you ignored it. It was 3 minutes to midnight. If you didn't race out of there, everyone would find out who you were, especially your stepmother. It would not be a pretty sight to see.

As you hurried and pushed past Lilia's cries for you to stop in your tracks, the footman opened the door instantly and when you dove in, the carriage was off. What once seemed like a smooth ride on the way to the castle only seemed like a bumpy, hectic ride back home.

Meanwhile, Lilia was at the top of the stairs, watching you go. "How will I find you?!"

Then, there was the answer: the shoe.

He stared down at it and back up at the sky. The stars seemed to dim without you serving as their foreground.

The prince moved inside to his office, where Kalim and Cater were. "We need to find this person, immediately!"

They looked at each other before Cater spoke up, "Sir, that is a shoe."

"It will guide me to them!"

Kalim tilted his head but believed it. "Okay. Well, we can hold a banquet next!"

Lilia's eyes went wide. "Yes. Yes! That is what we will do tomorrow night. I will find them as soon as possible and we will do what my father said so that he can stop spinning in his grave. I am positive he has burrowed his way halfway to the inner core of the planet."

With a plan in mind, he knew what he would have to do next. He wouldn't stop until he found a satisfying ending. And it helped that Kalim and Cater were most definitely encouraging his delusions of grandeur, even if they were not delusions to him. They would become a reality.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Can I request "Please tell me you have a plan" in Hic Sunt Dracones verse pretty please ? <3

You certainly can! This is something I've been wanting to write for a while: a little bonus scene from Eddie’s pov, some time before the spring festival.

Come what may

Rated: T

Words: 998

Tags: Fantasy AU; Dragon Eddie; Prince Steve; Platonic Stobin; Hurt/Comfort; Mates; Soul Bond; That dragon is down bad

Notes: Bonus scene to Hic sunt dracones

Fate has a funny sense of humor.

You spend your entire life thinking that you don’t care for small things. Delicate things like dewdrops glistening in the morning light. Pretty things like smooth skin and chestnut hair, glowing gold in the sun. Soft things like the silky touch of flower petals. And then, one day, your world comes crashing down in a cloud of splintered wood and shattered stone and blood and pain, so much fucking pain- … only to reshape itself into something new, with the prettiest, softest, most delicate creature you’ve ever laid eyes on at its centre.

He never thought such a thing was possible. Then again, he only ever heard vague stories about what it felt like, finding your mate.

“Sweetheart? Everything alright?”

He never thought of himself as sweet, but here he is. He would be anything for this boy.

“There you are,” his beloved smiles when he turns his attention back on him, and pats the fresh bandage at the base of his tail with gentle hands - always so gentle. “Had me worried for a moment there. Thought I'd hurt you.”

“As if you'd ever hurt me, my love,” he wants to say, but all that'll leave his throat is a low, amused rumble. He goes for nudging his snout into his little mate's chest instead, and the boy yelps and nearly topples over.

He has never missed his other form before, content to stay this way for days and weeks on end, but now he finds himself longing for hands to return the boy’s touch, for lips to shower him in kisses, to press sweet words and playful bites into that soft skin.

“Hey, careful, you big brute,” his beloved scolds, but his smile is bright and happy, his voice brimming with pride. “You're getting stronger every day.”

“Uh-huh. Fantastic,” says another voice, and they both whip around. Oh yes, that's right, his prince brought his little friend today. She's perched on a rock a little way off and watching them with an unhappy quirk to her mouth. “What are you gonna do once he's back to full health? Have you thought of that at all?”

That smile dims. He bares his fangs at the girl and snarls, but his prince puts a hand to his snout and he quietens reluctantly. The girl sighs.

“Listen, you know I'm on your side, but you can't hide a fully grown dragon forever. Just- … Please tell me you have a plan?”

His mate sucks his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Steve?”

“Not much to plan, is there?” The words come out clipped, all fake resolution. “He recovers, and then he leaves.”

The girl takes one look at his mate's face and her expression softens. “Listen, dingus, I know you two have gotten … attached. I wish there was another way-”

“-but there isn't,” his prince interrupts, suddenly intensely focused on searching for something in his bag of medical supplies. “I know that, you don't have to remind me. Now, don't you have somewhere else to be?”

She doesn't look insulted at being dismissed like that. In fact, the only thing swimming in her eyes as she stands is sympathy.

“Take care,” she mutters, patting his mate's shoulder. He doesn’t look up. “You too, big guy.”

He waits until her footsteps die down, and then he nudges his mate's shoulder with his tail, whining softly under his breath.

You don't seriously think I'd ever leave you, do you, my little love?

His prince finally drops the bag, sitting down in the grass and curling up against his side, soft and small and warm.

“Yeah, I'm alright. Don't worry about me.”

He grumbles in annoyance, once again wishing for a set of human lips. His little mate still misunderstands him, sometimes. He has no doubt that this will change in time, once their bond grows stronger. Here and now, though, there's no comforting words he can offer, and the thought fills him with helpless rage.

There's a patch of wildflowers growing just next to their spot, bright and colorful and pretty. Following a sudden impulse, he snaps them off with his teeth. He needs to be careful with them, because they're so tiny and delicate, but he's starting to learn more and more about delicate things.

“I'm pathetic, huh?” his prince mutters, pressing his face into his side, fingers absentmindedly tracing the pattern of scales there. “I mean, I know you can't stay forever, it's just … I wish you could. It's stupid, I- ugh, what are you doing?”

His little love yelps as he drops the flowers on his head, reflexively trying to brush them off. Then, he realizes what they are and pauses. His pretty eyes are large as he looks up.

“Sweetheart? Are those for me?”

He rumbles his confirmation, basking in the picture that is his mate. Flowers in his lap, on his shoulders, in his hair. They suit him so well. He's going to crown him in flowers one day, whole wreaths of them so he'll never need to wear the ugly, heavy things made of metal and gemstones that humans insist on putting on their kings.

His prince smiles, warm and bright like the rising sun, and he purrs in reply, leaning their foreheads together. He cannot convey his love in words yet, but he can show it with touch. He cannot return those caresses and kisses yet, but he will. He'll return them a thousandfold, once he's strong enough to shift again, and he won't ever stop, for as long as they both live. He belongs to this boy, just like this boy is his. His beloved may not fully understand it yet, but he does. Their very souls started to entwine on the day they met - a bond that will only grow stronger for as long as they both live.

They won't ever part, come what may.

And when they leave this place, it will be together.

More celebration ficlets

[empressgeekt]

Trolls - Burning Branches AU part 1

Or alternate title, I have now been sucked down the sudden black hole that is this fandom and now the troll plot bunnies are running ramped around my Fanfic farm, because the creators of this franchise has added my weakness...Sibling relationships... Now I have plans for a two story saga in this fandom of which I wouldn't have glanced at with interest at all a month ago.

Well, that's enough rambling, Time to get into the meat of the fic plot.

So, while browsing on Ao3 I noticed that there was this Rock!Branch au, where Branch is separated from the pop-trolls as a kid and ends up being raised by Barb and Thrash of the Rock Trolls. I love this concept, more then some relatives of mine. But I want to put a little spin on it. I've been a big fan of amnesia/memory loss fics, and I noticed there was a lack of them in this fandom.

Brozone breaks up and Grandma dies like in canon, same old same old. However, in this AU Branch is forced to leave the Troll Tree as a kid, because there is a larger sigmatism about trolls who went grey. The Trolls are very clear that they want nothing to do with Branch. They are all already living with death at their door step and they don't need a grey child to constantly break the false image of happy paradise that the adults try to maintain in the Tree to keep themselves sane. Branch, with nothing else left for him in the tree, packs up and tries to leave to find his brothers, though he does worry if they would even want him now that he was grey.

After successfully escaping the town, (the bergens don't notice if a small troll vanishes in the middle of the night, they didn't notice the whole village packing up), Branch spends a terrifying night in the woods. Running away from what are "predator's" in the eyes of a small child. Until he accidentally, stumbles in the a wormhole. The wormhole sucks Branch away from, Pop territory to the outskirts of the Rock badlands. But in this new hot volcanic he is still far from safe. (I'm adding that their are harsh powerful dragons that roam around the Rock trolls territory, as there has to be some type of reason behind they turned their own music and instruments in the to energy weapons while the other tribes didn't. Not to mention the active volcanic activity everywhere!) While running away from some of these actual predators and dangerous lava pools, Branch gets shoved over a cliffside, and falls into one of the few rivers nearby. In the raging rapids, the little troll strikes his head against the rocky river bed. Knocking him out.

Meanwhile, Still-King Thrash is leading an expedition to the river to fetch water for the people of Volcano Rock City. Being the very soft and caring Father he is, once he sees a small child floating in the river he jumps in without a second thought, and pulls the child to the shore. He leaves the expedition in the hands of another Troll and brings the some how still alive child back to the City and into the care of a capable doctor. While waiting to hear if Branch will live, Thrash goes through the little sack the kid had with him. There's enough evidence for the king of rock to come to the conclusion that Branch was running away, and needless to say Thrash is furious. Who would be so cruel that dared to make a child in his kingdom feel so scared and unwelcomed that they would run away! (at this point due to Branch's greyness and the high emotions of the situation Thrash hasn't realized Branch is from Pop yet, not that it would matter in the long run he's still ticked off).

Eventually, the doctor (an old friend of Thrash's whom they have a deep trust between, I haven't named them yet), calls Thrash in. Thrash finds Branch unconscious on the medical bed with his head bandaged. The doctor tells Thrash that's its a miracle that Branch is even alive, but it would take a bigger one for the child to wake up. The underneath the blood of the wound was a skull fracture and possible brain damage. Then he mentions it would probably be better if Branch never woke up, and further explains Branch's nature as a pop troll, and his greyness. Thrash takes this information in with a sad heart. Stigma against pop was still running high in the Rock kingdom, despite Thrash wanting to believe his people could spare their bias to care for a wounded child, he knows that no foster family would take a pop troll in. He asks the Doctor to keep quiet about Branch, and that if the boy would wake up Thrash would take him in himself. He goes home and hugs Barb after an exhausting day, and asks her if she was open to having a little brother.

After a few weeks, Branch wakes up, but he has no memory of anything. Not his name. Not where he's from. Not how he got there. At this point the medical staff that were allowed to know about him, have taken to calling him Charcoal, or Char, after his perfectly black and shiny hair, and it just kind of stuck after that. Thrash has taken to visiting Branch, even before the boy was conscious, quickly growing fond over the boy and until he'd recovered enough to be taken to the royal cavern. Barb takes to having Char around very well. Having a younger sibling, gives her something to put her protectiveness towards. Thrash makes and announcement, claiming Char as his own to Rock, and putting the boy as second in-line for the throne.

Still it isn't all cupcakes and rainbows with Char in his new home. He has lasting effected form his head injury in the form of migraines and fainting spells. The child is plagued by nightmares, of Giants coming to eat him and old ladies. They frighten him so much he draws and designs traps and bunkers to keep himself safe. Some of the designs Thrash actually considers building in case of emergency. Music brings him to tears if it's too loud or sudden, or if Barb asked him to sing-along. His room is sound proofed, and he has a pair of headphones to block things out if needed. Thrash also finds that his new adoptive son, is far more book-smart then him or Barb, the rarely used Rock library becomes Char's second home. The child become well educated in History, engineering, math, sciences and politics.

It would take two years before, Barb managed to talk Char into coming to her music practice, where the kid learns that music is more then just noise that makes him feel scared/unsafe. Seeing the weapon music can be, something he can learn to protect himself with, Char becomes hooked on the idea of learning it. Too everyone's surprise, it comes to boy like second nature, and his voice is like that of an angel's.

Eighteen years pass, and Branch grows up to be, Prince Char, second born son to Thrash King of Rock. He's a known expert with a guitar, both as an instrument and a weapon, his reputation is that of a eerily smart and organized strategist, who is loyal to his family and people to a fault and ruthlessly protective. With Thrash's health, both physical and mental, in rapid decline, Barb is forced to take on the mantel of Queen earlier then she wanted, but this time she has a brother to lean on as an advisor. Which is a good thing, because between the two of them Char is a much better planner.

Pressure is turned up on the royal rock siblings, when an unexpected earthquake destroys the farmlands that feeds the city. Sure, volcanic soil can been great for growing plants, but rivers of lava and giant fresh trenches don't help at all. Barb flies off the handle, and begins to panic in quiet about what she needs to do to protect the people of Rock, while Char looks into historical records to see if the past king ever had to deal with issues like this. Eventually he stumbles on the knowledge that during ancient times if one of the tribes was in trouble they would call upon their sister tribes for aid.

"Oh that's great advise your books have, let's ask for help from our sworn enemies!" Barb would exclaim, "Wait...the other tribes! If they lasted as long as we did, then they must have resources! But they wouldn't help us...not unless they were just like us. We could use our string to convert..."

"Barb! I'm going to stop you right now. First one our string isn't powerful enough to over-write someone's genre, believe me I looked into it-"

"But if we get all the strings..."

"You mean steal them?"

"Yah!"

"No, if we were to fail that would only sour relations between genres further and our people would still be starving. We'd be better off forging an alliance with a tribe, rather then wasting already limited resources conquering one."

"URGH! Why are you always right....So, alliance...that's our best plan?"

"Currently yes."

"With people that hate us! Are we sure we can't conquer them?"

"Barb, were trying to make a harmony. You can't make harmony with everyone using the same voice. They all need to be different, and they all can't be forced into something they they aren't or it all falls apart."

"Whoa, that's deep. Where'd ya learn that?"

"I-I don't know...but the point still stands we need to befriend another tribe not conquer one!"

"Okay, so how do we do that?"

"Well, apparently theirs more ways then one, all of them include paper work, so leave that to me, but one of them we actually have a unique opportunity to ally with."

"Oh? And how do we take advantage of this unique opportunity?"

"You're not going to like this...but we use me..."

Branch would go on to explain his plan to ally the Rock kingdom with the Pop trolls...through an Arranged Marriage between him and the Pop princess. Barb hates it, especially after all the pop trolls did to her brother when he was young, but she can't argue the logic. The pop trolls live in a forest rich with food and plant life, and water sources. However, they have zero defenses other then how deep they live in the forest. (how he knows all of this Branch has no idea) If the alliance managed to go through, the Rock trolls could get the needed food supplies, and the Pop trolls could gain the knowledge of how to use musical weaponry.

Barb still hates it, it feels like her little brother is throwing away his future. But Char assures her that he's okay with it, and that it's his turn to take on the burden of the crown he supposed to wear. As a bio-pop troll the possibility of an heir from the alliance marriage is higher then if they use a random Rock citizen, and as Rock Prince that will give more creditably to the pleads of their people to Pop. He tells Barb to just take care of Dad when he's gone and that they always have debbie to talk to each other through letters.

So they send a message to Pop Village...requesting to consider the marriage.

At Pop village, Poppy is busy with her new duties as a fresh coronated Queen, caring for the village needs and further establishing peaceful relations with the Bergens after the fall of Chef. When the message reaches her, delivered Via Debbie and Biggie, Peppy tries to take it from her before she cane read it. And then she demands that he Explain why she just got a proposal in a letter from a Rock Prince?

Peppy reluctantly explains the history of the Tribes, and how some times they would form alliances between the genres by wedding members of the royal families together to ensure peace. He makes it very clear that He doesn't want Poppy to even think of answering the Rock trolls even if to decline the proposal, but she fights back saying hat this might be their only chance for peace between the genres for years to come if its taken this long for them to reach out this time. Peppy then tries to argue that if Poppy were to accept the proposal that she would have to marry this prince, this stranger, and he never wanted that to happen to her. He knows Poppy is queen now and he can't order her to do anything, but he asks her to think about this before making any kind of decision.

Poppy needless to say, deeply contemplates the proposal. She wants to help reunite the tribes, but bonding herself to a stranger she never met was a daunting thing. She talks with Cooper and Bridget who are surprisingly helpful with everything, and decides that she'll accept the proposal with the condition that she and her future groom have the chance to meet and get to know each other before the wedding.

Barb and Char readily accept the condition, and calculate that they can give one month of courtship before the Rock kingdom is without food. They respond back to Poppy, and tell them that Char and a few others would arrive in Pop Village a few days after she would receive the letter that confirmed the betrothal.

Char arrives at Pop Village with much fanfare from his travel companions, but shushes them quickly and addresses Poppy and Peppy in a polite manner. Poppy is kind of thrown off by how grey her future husband is, not that she shows it. Char is just as shocked about how bright and colorful she is.

The romance is awkward at first. The cultural differences get in the way sometimes. But eventually a connection is formed. Char learns to feed off of Poppy's energy and Poppy learns that there's more to this grey prince then gloom. With the wedding scheduled for the end of the month, Poppy decides to introduce Char to her BFF Bridget.

Needless to say, it doesn't go well.

Char's underlaying trauma comes back in a panic attack and flashback upon seeing the Troll Tree and bergens. The memory of his Grandmother's demise suddenly becoming clear as day in his mind. In the panic he accidently fires his guitar at Grisle and Bridget, with makes Poppy panic and angry at him. So he runs off into the woods.

Bridget and Poppy end up having a heart to heart where Bridget says that Char looked scared. Having heard about how Char was acutualy a pop-troll and was adopted into the royal family, Poppy connects the dots rather quickly. Realizing that Char used to live in the Troll Tree but didn't escape with the others. the whole visit was triggering for him.

She runs back to Pop Village looking forh im, only to find that Queen Barb had arrived to help set up the wedding, and she wants to know where her Brother is. Poppy blurts out what happened while trying to defuse the situation, and that only serves to rile Barb up further. Until Poppy snaps, yellling at Barb that they need to go looking for Char not fight here! This impresses Barb into agreeing.

Poppy finds him and they end up having a heart to heart, and confessing...

The wedding goes on as planned. On the neutral ground of the Troll Tree, allowing Char to visit his late Grandmother's home for the first time in twenty years.

All seems well...Until one John Dory screams, "Stop the Wedding!"

...

I will post part two in a separate post because this is long!

Part two, and Part three

Edit: The prolog for this fic, which is basically Char's child hood is now posted on Ao3. Link

[shadowgast-recs-weekly]

Highly Specific Aus!

This week, we have eight highly specific AUs - Alternate Universes that move away from the common tropes we love - often towards things that the authors have put a lot of experience and thought into. Check them out beneath the cut, and as always - feel free to comment or kudos if you like them!

when the lights go out by 06151126 (27307, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: panic attacks, self destructive behavior

The formula one racecar AU

Reccer says: Perfect characterization and backstory in a completely different world - this is what AUs are all about

This sudden burst of sunlight, and me with my umbrella by Criticalpancake (63817, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

The Mighty Nein are orchid thieves. Essek is still a traitor

Reccer says: Orchid theives! It's fascinating and something I would have never thought of

I’ve been lost before (and I’m lost again, I guess) by toneofjoy (165080, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek ran away from his problems and settled in the seaside city of Nicodranas. When Caleb Widogast joins their team at the Tidepeak rock-climbing gym, everything changes. Caleb has plans to take down his old coaches, and Essek has secrets. (It’s the Shadowgast climbing AU.)

Reccer says: Its still the first fic I think of when I think of amazing fics built on an unexpected premise. Absolutely phenomenal writing

More Things in Heaven and Earth by kaeda (76998, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb and Essek wake up and find themselves teleported into the alternate universe of the trashy smut novel, Tusk Love

Reccer says: Some of the best Crack Treated Seriously I've ever read 💜

Wishing Coin by Luckyowlsfoot (45913, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Magical Highschool/Academy where Caleb and Essek are secretly dragons

Reccer says: Interesting concept and fun Worldbuilding

the fire kept closest (burns most of all) by mousecookie (21822, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: Major Character Death

Essek is a Volcanologist. Caleb used to be as well, but now he's something a bit different.

Reccer says: I absolutely adore this fic

resonance broadening by toneofjoy (51665, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: None

It’s SG as labmates who hate each other: they’re tired, sassy, and secretly enamored.

Reccer says: Beautiful and Lovely with lots of sass between Caleb and Essek. Great if you ever went to grad school

some branch of stars we see by SongOfWizardry (4680, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes, WIP

A Mighty Nein and/or Shadowgast Teaching AU.

Reccer says: Teaching AUs aren't exactly rare, but the amount of detail put into this AU that is clearly based on the author's experience elevates it to highly specific

Aeor is for Lovers is an 18+ Shadowgast Discord server. The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. All fics, unless otherwise specified, will primarily feature Shadowgast. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! Next week, we’ll be back with Kink Negotation!

[novaursa]

Of Gods and Men (dreams)

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

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

- Paring: reader!Daenys Targaryen/Leto Atredies

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

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: hope

- Next part: horizon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[vorchagirl]

First of all, I've loved your Kaidan and Reyes stories for ages, but I wanted to tell you that I genuinely love Untouchable and I'm checking daily for updates and teasers. Thank you for blessing us with your Rookanis work and for writing something for Dragon Age.

Second, and the point of this ask, I'm wondering what your thoughts are on Mary Kirby's revelation that Lucanis is demi, pan, and a virgin? And are you planning to carry this across into your story?

Hello anon!

Thank you so much for your lovely compliment on my Rookanis fic - I was really nervous about posting Untouchable, but the support and friendly comments have really made me happy! Lucanis and Spite are so much fun, and I fell in love with them even before I played Veilguard. The fact that anyone from the DA fandom is reading my story is still incredible to me 😅 so thank you.

In regards to Mary Kirby, I'll preface my response by saying that I love the little tidbits that she has been contributing to the fandom. It adds some fun flavour and insight to his character that we otherwise wouldn't know. Buuuut, I dont think she has the final say in Lucanis and his character - she wasn't the character's only writer, she was fired a year before the game released, and the Lucanis we got in Veilguard + stories seems to have gone through some changes. Mary herself originally called him a 'bisexual disaster', which has a very specific online meaning, and this doesn't entirely gel with her later comments that he is demi and a virgin. Plus, we have dialogue lines where he talks about previous lovers, so not everything lines up perfectly. I take her tidbits with a grain of salt - they're fun but not necessarily canon.

I think fandom writers and artists should feel free to perceive his character in Veilguard any way they want to - as long as its respectful to what is established in game (and even then, if you're writing an AU I think you have the freedom be flexible!). If Lucanis being a demi virgin makes you happy, then you should absolutely celebrate that aspect in your fic and art. If you see him as more seductive and experienced, then that's equally valid, and you should write your sexy Crow. Fandom should be about having fun and being creative with your HC, not about feeling pressured to change your HC to fit with other people's.

Personally, I absolutely read Lucanis as being demisexual in the game and someone who needs that emotional connection, but not a virgin. I can't see a highly trained Crow assassin as not having been trained in the art of seduction and sex. So, in my fic I'm writing him as being experienced with sex, but not experienced with relationships, love, or any of that emotional stuff.

However, that's just my reading of his character and that doesn't mean I don't respect other readings of his character. I don't want anyone to feel disappointed by my story - it's very a very slow burn romance, but my Lucanis isn't a virgin and there will be smut in my fic involving Lucanis, Rook & Spite. I hope that I'll be able to show that connection and desire building between them in a way everyone likes!

I hope I've answered your question respectfully and kindly. I really love writing my story and the arc I've come up with for Lucanis, Rook & Spite.

*edit* please feel free to reach out or msg if you have more questions!

[gffa]

Do you have any Sith!Obi-Wan fics you can recommend? 🙏

Hi! You can do a search for Sith Obi-Wan in my bookmarks which brings up several or you can start with the novel-length ones that still live rent-free in my head even years after I've read them: Equinox by lilyconrad, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 95.9k During the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan and Anakin crash on a remote planet and take shelter in the ruins of a grand estate only to find they are not alone. This fic was written for me, so I'm biased, but it's genuinely my favorite for the trope because Lily put all this thought into the undercurrents going on between the characters, because it gives such care about why any version of Obi-Wan would fall to the dark and what he would be like, because each chapter had moments of foreshadowing and care given to lush, beautiful descriptions and the creeping dread of the place. It's a gorgeous fic and I think even if someone doesn't usually like Sith versions of the characters, the way this one does it (created reflections, not that our characters are falling, so it's scratching the itch of how it's an extension of our characters, but our characters are not on that exact path), I would gently suggest this one.

Lex Talionis by intermundia, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, 187.1k Or, how Obi-Wan and Anakin fell to the dark side, obtained their revenge, and saved the galaxy in the process. My other favorite Sith Obi-Wan fic, this one is about how these characters fall to the dark, and the author takes his time with how it happens step by step, but also how these massive, galaxy-spanning changes happen, how it's a combination of how sexy the dark side can be but also how awful it can be, how much pain and hurt it can cause. There's so much care and effort put into this story, it spans such a huge story, that it's one of those fics I want to physically print out in special binding because it deserves to be a pretty set on my bookshelf.

wicked thing by imaginarykat, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, 124.2k the story of how Anakin exists in a perpetual state of intense embarrassment, Kenobi is enjoying it a little too much, and everything is, generally speaking, a gigantic mess. This is an AU where Obi-Wan never trained Anakin and is already a Sith when we meet him, and there's a reason it's one of the most famous fics in the fandom, because it is the most charismatic thing I've just about ever read, the sheer amount of dark side sexy charm coming off Obi-Wan is incredible, the tension between him and Anakin is delicious, and the writing/plotting of the storyline is superb. I could not put this fic down when I read it, there's a reason this fic helped really popularize the trope, because it's just so goddamned addicting and glorious to read.

Soldier, Poet, King by Glare, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, time travel, 106.4k wip Second chances are very rarely given, but the Force smiles upon two of its favorite children and returns them to a time before their actions have met their consequences. Anakin Skywalker, also known as Darth Vader, seeks redemption while Obi-Wan “Ben” Kenobi, disillusioned with the Jedi Order and its Code, falls to the Darkness. Trapped out of time, Master and Apprentice must once again work together to stop Sideous’ plans from reaching fruition and bring Balance to the Force—all the while dodging the Jedi, the Sith, and their feelings for each other. I think this might even have been the first Sith!Obi-Wan fic that I read and I know it remains dear to me because I reread it a year or two ago and got sucked in just as hard as before. Obi-Wan is dropped back into his younger body, feels like the whole thing is a bunch of bullshit, gets sucked into dark thoughts, and just goes full dark side dom on Anakin and fixing the galaxy through machinations and foreknowledge. It's so fun and it does such great service to Anakin's level of power, that this guy is an absolute dragon in the Force, but that he also very much wants Obi-Wan's hand on the back of his neck to force him to kneel to the one person he loves. Hnngggg, it really cemented me as a fan of this trope because of how well it scratches the sexy dark side dom/sub while they're both badass dynamic, I love it so much.

I'm still making my way through a lot of Star Wars fic, so if anyone has any more recs, feel free to jump in, especially if you have some gen ones, since I mostly read pairing fic for Sith!Obi-Wan (because I'm personally after the sexy dom/sub dynamic with it)!