#al-ghaib

[m00nkissedlover]

・｡kiss of indifference 🌙

"'cause i have hella feelings for you, i act like i don't fucking care, 'cause i'm so fucking scared"

post water of life! paul atreides x fremen! reader | word count: 2,076 words

summary: paul's recent indifferent attitude towards you causes new sparks to fly~ 🌙

warnings: long intro? before dialogue, slight angst, paul still loves reader while engaged to irulan (previously established relationship), yelling (you two make up in the end!), mild spice (MDNI), heated kissing

note: kinda rushed. first time writing this much, WOO! might be a bit inaccurate, i tried my best. 🫠 enjoy!

paul atreides. the skinny, dark haired, and pale skinned boy you had fallen for. the boy who didn't care about being lisan al ghaib, but who rather hated it. the boy who would immediately shut down his mother's talks of her bene gesserit lore and prophecy, who would instead find solace and comfort in your arms.

this was not him. this was some blue eyed doppelgänger wearing his skin, you were sure of it. the sudden shift in his attitude and overall demeanor after having consumed the "water of life" sent a chill down your spine. obviously, you weren't the only one that noticed. but you were the only one who was concerned about it.

paul was becoming...distant. especially from you. with his duties as the new emperor, it was understandable. even more so, since he'd asked for irulan's hand in marriage. the fact that he'd professed his love for you and then asked for such a thing in almost the same breath broke your heart and crushed your soul. you'd often see paul accompanying the princess to meetings and such. obviously he didn't love her, he never had 'that' look in his eyes when he looked at her. 'that' look being the one he'd have in his eyes as he'd sneak glances at you as you'd pass each other in the hallways of the grand palace or when you'd attend meetings as well to give some freman insight. saying that paul hated this was an understatement. but he had to keep up appearances, attending meetings and staying one step ahead of his enemies.

that was another problem, his enemies. he always had to keep up with his image of being a stern and almost cutthroat leader, which meant showing no weakness, ever. unfortunately, this also meant distancing himself from people he truly cared about: his mother, his unborn baby sister, and worst of all...you. after all, the only reason you were let into palace was by paul's orders. he'd have to force himself not to love you, or at least act like it. your greetings were met with a nod or a silent mumble, or, like most times, nothing at all.

it was late at night, the sound of your ticking clock keeping you awake. no, it was actually your never ending thoughts of none other than paul. you wanted nothing more that to rush out of your room to his, knock on his door, and give him the biggest hug you could give, to run your fingers through his dark brown locks again, to tell him that everything would be okay. you stood up, deciding to take a walk through the palace to clear your mind. as you opened the door, you were met by paul, mid-knock. his hair was a little messy and it seemed like he'd just retired from his study.

you didn't say anything, instead stepping aside to let him come in and closing the door behind him. there was a moment of silence that felt it had lasted a little too long before paul spoke up. "how have you been? you seem to be looking well." paul commented, standing in the middle of your room as you sat on your bed. "yes, i've been fine. and what of you?" he wasn't even looking at you. yes, he was facing you and to anyone else, it looked as though he was staring straight at you. but his mind was obviously elsewhere...he wasn't paying attention to you.

"paul," you said, raising your voice a bit and reaching out to hold his hand. you could see him being pulled out of his state of distraction, your hand squeezing his. "talk to me. this is the first time we've been alone together in weeks. please..." paul could see the pleading in your eyes, a soft sigh leaving him as he sat down next to you. "don't worry about it," he brushed you off, pulling his hand out from your grip. "i simply came to see how you're doing." an obvious lie. "paul, something's bothering you. you can tell me," you began. "[y/n], i'm fine," "but you're not. i can tell it's eating you up inside, the visions, your enemies."

"[y/n]-" he was staring to get irritated, not at you, but at the fact that you were right. it was eating him up, slowly consuming him and making him lose himself more and more each day. "it's why you've been avoiding me, right? you're scared they'll take advantage of your affection towards me-" paul stayed silent, his fingers curling up into fists as he looked at the floor. you grabbed his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. "these visions don't define you, paul! this prophecy doesn't define you! you can't just run away from us and face this on your own!"

that was easy for you to say. you didn't have throngs of people either depending on you or praying for your untimely death. you didn't have the weight of the entire universe on your shoulders. "you don't understand-" "i'll try to-!" "YOU CAN'T!" paul yelled, pushing your hands away from his face. you flinched, your eyes going wide as he stood up and ran his hands through his hair. "you can't possibly understand the horrific things i've seen each time i so much as close my eyes. do you know what i see? people dying from starvation. holy wars being waged in my very name. the people i care about with every bone in my living body being slaughtered in front of me! and you," he turned to you pointing an accusing finger at you as if it were a blade. "you sit here and act like you understand me?"

you didn't expect for paul's words to hurt so much. he'd never raised his voice at you, and he'd certainly never yelled at you. you felt like a knife was being twisted into your heart as the boy you loved turned into someone you didn't even recognize. "i'm just trying to comfort you," "well stop! because...because i love and care about you so much, it physically hurts me. i'd be a lost soul if something ever happened to you," you looked at your hands, feeling a whirlwind of emotions as you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. but you refused to cry.

"you should go. i'm sure irulan's looking for you." "you know we sleep in separate rooms-" "still...you don't need unsavory rumors on top of all you have to deal with..." you turned away from paul, using the back of your hand to dab away the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. you felt the bed dip, but didn't turn to look at him. "[y/n], look at me..." you didn't answer, sniffling softly and moving to get up, ready to try your hand at kicking him out once again. a soft yell left your lips as paul's slim fingers wrapped around your wrist and pulled you right back next to him, his face so undoubtedly close to yours. you could smell the pent up emotion on him, a word of protest ready on your tongue.

before you even knew what was happening, paul's lips were on yours. you let your eyes flutter shut, yelping softly into the kiss as he pulled flush against him, leaving absolutely no space between your bodies. another observation you'd made was that ever since paul drank the "water of life", he'd been extra aggressive in most everything: he'd give people harsher punishments, he'd execute orders with upmost precision, and when he loved...he'd love harder. his heart was practically bursting at the seams as all the love he'd been forced to shove down spilled out of him in the form of a bruising kiss.

you felt dizzy as paul pulled away from you, your cheeks flushed and your breathing a bit labored. the two of you just stared at each for a while, your fingers still twirling strands of his dark hair. "still want me to leave?" he asked, lightly brushing his lips against yours, his action making your eyes flutter shut. you felt your heart squeeze as you opened your eyes once again, gazing at him through watery eyes. "paul-" "i know...i know." paul's hands came up and cupped your face once more, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks and wiping away your tears. "me too...i'm sorry too..." he whispered before leaning back in to meet your lips again.

a shaky breath left your lips as you melted into the kiss once again, your hands clutching the front of his shirt as if he'd slip right through your fingers. paul's fingers playfully danced beneath the fabric of the shirt of your sleepwear, slowly tracing the skin of sides, as if trying to relearn their curvatures. your hand snaked up to tangle into his hair, a few tears flowing down your cheeks. not because you didn't want this; in fact, you wanted this so much it almost hurt. your breath hitched as you felt paul deepen the kiss, his body pressing against yours.

as you pulled away, breathing a bit heavier and cheeks flushed, you swallowed and met paul's eyes. the look in them was an untamed mix of love and something more. "...we should stop..." you murmured, your hands moving down to cup his face. you felt him relax into your touch, your heart warming. "you're right...but i don't want to-" just as he was about to lean back in for another kiss, a rhythmic knock on your door stopped him.

"ignore it." he muttered , a flash of irritation on his face. "but-" paul cut you off with another kiss, pushing you back into the mattress. his lips started to move with newfound fervor, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses over the skin of your jaw and down to the dip of your neck. feeling paul's hands start to roam under your shirt caused a soft sound between a gasp and a moan to leave your lips. "paul~" you muttered, letting your eyes flutter shut.

another knock made his hiss in annoyance. "[y/n], are you awake?" princess irulan's voice asked from behind the grand door. you and paul looked at each other, his eyes giving you a serious look. he got up and reluctantly hid in the little space between your bed and the wall.

"i'm sorry to bother you so late at night." the princess said, a gentle expression on her face. "oh, no, not at all, princess. what did you need?" "just irulan is fine. i was wondering if you'd seen paul. he wasn't in his study." you felt your stomach churn as the princess said his name. you shook your head, muttering a quick apology. "no, i haven't seen him today. maybe he went outside to get some fresh air." you lied. she gave your room a quick scan from where she stood and you knew she knew. she knew and decided to stay silent. "very well, have a good night." "you as well."

once the door closed, you were met with paul's bright blue eyes as he stood behind you, a soft but startled yell leaving you. you hadn't even heard him get up. he reached out and held your hand, gently squeezing it and kissing the back of it, letting his lips linger for a moment. paul then looked back up at you, leaning in and brushing his lips to yours one last time. "i'll see you soon..." he whispered against your lips, a soft hum of a response leaving you. you squeezed his hand, feeling your heart skip a beat. "yeah...see you soon..." he pulled away from you, making his way to the door and opened it a crack, glancing for anyone else that might be awake.

just as he was about to take his leave, you grabbed his hand, leaning back in to give him on final kiss. "good night." you murmured, your grip absentmindedly tightening. you didn't want to let him go, not now, not ever. not after knowing this would be the last night the two of you would share like this before paul went back to wearing that dreaded mask of indifference. "good night." you felt his hand slip from your as he took his leave, turning to meet your ocean blue eyes once last time. now you knew, he still loved you, even if he wouldn't show it.🌙

© m00nkissedlover, 2024

[beggingwolf]

no but seriously whomst will brainstorm this enemies to lovers dramatic fantasy world magic/Great Houses drama with interrupted breeding programs and also probably a/b/o because I want it and even possibly bitching

[arguablysomaya]

saw dune 2

[telltaleanatomicalheart]

from the leaks that i’ve seen i’m not even a rhaenicent like that anymore but an alicel…

[dabihaul666]

DK GAMING BABEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY LETS FUCKIN GOOOOOOOOOOOO

[goyurim]

it's so frustrating to me how clueless the people at my uni are about just. life. in general. like this guy started to animatedly talk to me about how excited he was to watch dune 2 (i am a hijabi by the way. and i am very much visibly brown. not even white-passing) and the girl next to me goes like "omg i went to the premiere!" and started showing us videos of the red carpet while everyone around us started fawning over the cast

the funniest thing was that the premiere was Empty. like this girl didn't even plan to go the premiere, she told us she was invited in by a random dude in the street asking her to join bc they needed pit fillers and she still didn't understand that it's bc people are actively boycotting the movie bc it's whole premise is racist and islamophobic

and it bothers me how people still don't get how ironic it is to portray arabs and muslims as savages in a dystopian fictional future all the while a literal genocide is taking place currently, in real time? like. rebecca ferguson, a swedish actress, wears a hijab as a costume and it's a fashion statement while sweden (and the rest of europe for that matter) goes around passing laws about banning the hijab??? what kind of twisted parallel universe are we living in. what black mirror episode is this. like. how dense do you need to be to not see the blatant mockery and propaganda the media is still trying to enforce 6 months into this genocide and still look at this movie premiere and say "omg tiramisu charmander is so hot i can't believe you were so close to him wish i were there"

[perlelune]

Oblivion | Paul Atreides

There used to be beginnings and ends, nights and days, dream and reality, before the haze took over, swallowing every thought, every memory, every whisper of free will.

Warnings: NON-CON, Fremen Reader, Kynes!Reader, Mind Control, Memory Manipulation, Padishah Emperor Paul, Loss of Identity, Brainwashing, Mentions of war and religious fanaticism

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Muad’Dib leads the way. 

It is what the prophecy dictates. That he is the voice from the Outer World. The one who will lead your people to paradise. The one who will turn Dune’s arid desert lands into bountiful, endless green fields. 

But as your eyes rest on him, you do not see the chosen one. You do not see the Lisan Al-Ghaib. You see your friend Paul, broken, lost, his heart shattered into a million pieces due to your cousin’s absence. 

He sits at the head of his bed, shadows fluttering across his delicate features from the glowglobes’ dull orange light. Wide black rings surround his sunken blue eyes, the result of his daily consumption of spice melange. Lank, greasy brown curls hang around his handsome face. A pang twists your chest. He hasn’t slept in days, has barely gotten a full night of replenishing sleep since she left on a maker’s back.

You cannot blame your cousin. Paul’s ascendency to the Golden Lion throne came at a cost. A hefty one. Promises were broken. Trust was destroyed. Only time will repair the damage that was done. Though you carry faith the two of them will find their way back to each other. 

You stir the spice-coffee in the pot, straining the shimmering dark powder before pouring some in a cup. A spicy cinnamon smell coats the cool night air. 

You rise and bring the cup to him.

“For you, Usul.”

A soft smile blooms on his lips as he takes a slow, weary sip.

“You make it so well,” he praises.

You glow at the compliment, returning his smile. Your grandmother used to show you and Chani how to blend coffee beans with spice and herbs. The knowledge never left you. Now, every time you feel troubled or upset, you make a fresh kettleful. A single sip of the familiar brew is enough to alleviate your frazzled nerves. Especially here, so far away from Sietch Tabr, between the strange stone walls of the Arrakeen Keep, you have craved little reminders of home more than ever before.

Fremen belong in the desert, not in peculiar tents made of marble and stone.

Paul’s brows crumple as he studies you. 

“You don’t have to take care of me,” he says.

“I can get another Fremen-”

His fingers latch around your wrist, desperation sizzling under his touch. 

“I prefer it to be you.” He sighs. A bone deep fatigue radiates from the sound. You halt in your tracks. You suppose you could stay a while longer. “Please, stay, your presence soothes me.”

You nod. “I’ll stay, Muad’Dib.”

Relief falls over his features. 

The doors suddenly open, the guards stepping aside to let Stilgar in. He bows to Paul.

“Lisan Al-Ghaib…”

Your friend’s mouth flattens into a thin line. 

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

Stilgar acquiesces. He will never stop addressing Paul with reverence and admiration. None of his followers believes in him more. At times, it scares you a little. While you share the same faith, the fervor with which every Fedaykin is willing to lay their swords in his name can be frightening. Sometimes you wonder if Chani was right. How much will it take to liberate your world? How much blood will require spilling? You’re not completely naive. No war was ever won without a few casualties. Still, part of you hopes the war will end soon and peaceful times will come.

“No sign of her?” Paul asks. 

A contrite expression tugs the older man’s face.

“Apologies, my liege. We scouted the Southern regions this time. We couldn’t find her. She knows the desert well. It is home to us Fremen. She will not be found…”

“...Unless she wants to be found,” you finish, grabbing the empty cup from Paul’s hands and placing it back on the table.

The faint embers of hope in Paul’s cobalt gaze flicker out. Your heart sinks, for both you and him. Though you do not wish to burden him, you miss your cousin too. Her practicality and common sense. Her strength. Without her, a piece of you is missing. A crucial one. Your mother died in childbirth and your father in battle, so both of you grew up together, close enough in age to share secrets and play together for most of your childhood. 

It was Chani who taught you how to summon a worm and ride upon its back for the first time. She is the sister tragic circumstances blessed you with.

Stilgar apologizes profusely once more before taking his leave.

As soon as he’s gone, Paul’s shoulders slump.

“She hates me.” 

You crouch beside him.

“She doesn’t hate you. She never could. She is your quiet in the storm, and you are hers. She will return when she is ready.”

A wry laugh escapes his lips. 

“I have Irulan, my beloved wife, who is likely plotting my demise as we speak. Qizarate missionaries pressing me to take action and purge the non-believers on Aldinor. I am surrounded by foes, everywhere I look.” That distant expression he gets whenever his visions haunt him touches his face. “Blades pointed at my neck at all times, waiting for a sign of weakness to strike.”

You grab his hand, reassuring him, “You also have friends, Usul, who believe in your cause.”

“Fanatics,” he corrects bitterly. 

Your chest swells with worry. You don’t like it when he questions himself as such. His cause is right. He freed Arrakis from the Harkonnen’s iron-fisted rule. He will bring peace to every world in the universe. It is written. It’s the only path forward.

“You are not alone.” His fingers squeeze around yours. Warmth rushes to your face, the realization that you’re awfully close to the Emperor striking you. You adjust the nezhoni scarf covering your hair and rise. “I shall let you rest, my Lord.”

“Stay, please.”

His tone is beseeching. Your gaze swings to the window. There, moon beams pierce through the colorful glass, scattering rainbow splashes of light across the floor. Vibrant stars pepper the dark sky, pearls lost in a sea of ink. It’s pitch black outside. You should be in your own room. Not his.

“Muad’Dib, it’s late…”

His grip on your hand tightens. When he speaks again, his tone is different. Disembodied. Powerful. Its tantalizing echo drips inside your head like honey. 

“Stay,” he mumbles. You plop down on the bed, your body moving on its own, driven by the strange, irresistible thrall of Paul’s voice.

“Usul…” 

He cups your cheeks. 

“Sleep beside me tonight.”

“I’m not her.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“She should be with me and she isn’t. But you are.” His inflection becomes soft and inviting as he drinks you in. As if he were lumbering through the desert, parched and desperate, and you were a well overflowing with fresh water. “You are beautiful. I never noticed before.” He pauses, tracing your bottom lip. “Perhaps I should have.”

You blink, dazed. When did Paul’s face get so close to yours? You can outline each of his long lashes, the speckles of green lingering in his blue eyes. 

“Paul-”

His mouth grazes yours, his thumb stroking your cheeks. It only lasts a few seconds. The warm plushness of his lips on yours yanks you back to reality. You gasp and flinch back. When you recoil, his silky tone fills your ears once more.

“Don’t fight it. You love me, remember?”

A confused whisper slips through your lips. Two parts of your mind wrestle with Paul’s words. 

“I do?”

His eyes dive into yours.

“Of course, you do.”

“Of course I do,” you repeat, his tone nudging aside the doubts lurking inside your mind. 

A bright smile unfurls on his lips, his lids sagging to half-mast.

“It’s like you said before. You are my quiet in the storm and I am yours.”

Right. You uttered those very same words. How could you forget?

You are Paul’s quiet in the storm. He is yours.

His mouth covers yours. It moves slowly against your own. He explores your mouth as he cradles your face. His long lashes fall over his cheekbones as he loses himself in your taste. He hums against your lips, gentle fingers touching your face. You don’t move, eyes half-open as you let it happen. It’s foreign, the sensation of Paul’s lips on yours. Foreign and strange yet you can’t help but numbly accept it. 

Once he frees your lips, he rests his forehead against yours. 

“Come into my arms, my love,” he says.

You don’t resist as he pulls you into his embrace, nudging you onto the bed. Soft strands of Paul’s brown mane brush against your cheek as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your spice-coated scent. 

His arms circle your waist. Your back melds against his chest, the warmth of your bodies mingling through the thin layers of your clothes. 

“You smell so good,” he mutters. Your scarf shifts when he rubs his face against it. “Don’t ever leave me.”

When you don’t reply, his tone gets firmer. “Promise it.”

The words roll off your tongue easily.

“I won’t ever leave you, Paul.”

Tension leaks out of his tightly coiled muscles. 

“Good,” he says, drifting off to sleep quickly with you nestled in his snug embrace. 

You fall asleep too, no thoughts in your head, Paul’s soft snores lulling you into peaceful slumber. 

You awake with a start, the stark unfamiliarity of the palatial chambers you find yourself in causing your pulse to soar. Your eyes dart about the room. Recognition hits you. These are the Emperor’s apartments.

Your eyes grow wide. You’re not supposed to be here. Panic sets in.

“W-What am I doing here?”

Paul’s quiet voice flows across your back.

“Calm down.”

“No. I shouldn’t be here…”

You start crawling off the bed but Paul’s fingers around your wrist impede your departure. 

He holds your face, vibrant blue eyes locking with yours. You find yourself incapable of looking away, ensnared by his unflinching focus.

“I said, Calm down.”

The alarms ringing inside your head fall quiet. You lean into Paul’s touch. What were you doing? What were you thinking? Every thought you attempt to grasp at evaporates in the heat of Muad’Dib’s stare. 

“There. Much better,” he coos, satisfaction hovering on his handsome face. His voice sinks into a sensual whisper. “Why don’t you kneel for me?”

You do as he instructs. Then all fades to black as quicksands of confusion engulf your thoughts. 

When you return to yourself, you aren’t on the bed anymore, but on your knees on the carpeted floor. 

Paul is looming over you, grunting, his throat bobbing. One of his hands is curled around your nape while the other is under your jaw. 

You note the saltiness coating your tongue, the drool on your chin, the soreness in the back of your throat. 

You choke on his length, air wavering inside your lungs. 

Paul’s cock is in your mouth. 

The sick, awful realization tumbles over you like a bag of stones. 

Muffled moans leave you as you lift pleading eyes towards him.

You place your hands on his thighs, shoving with all your strength. 

Paul doesn’t let you move. He cradles your face and thrusts inside your mouth until his balls are pressed into your chin. 

Clouds of lust obscure his gaze as it falls upon you. 

He caresses your face, dragging his cock out before pushing it inside your mouth again. Gurgled sounds leave your throat. Tears skip down your cheeks and you wonder when you’ve started crying. 

Fremen do not cry. Ever. Even for the dead. It is a rare, sacred act.

Paul wipes them off your face with his thumbs. 

“You love me. It is what lovers do,” he says matter-of-factly.

Your body relaxes. 

Right. Of course. You love him. It is what lovers do. 

You hollow your cheeks and suck him off. He unleashes a throaty sigh of delight as you pleasure him with your mouth. 

When his seed drips down your tongue, he coaxes you not to waste a single drop. You swallow all of it, showing no resistance when he nudges a stray drop between your wet lips. 

Several days in a row, you awake in the emperor’s chambers. At first, you experience great confusion. However, Paul’s soothing words always quell your rising panic. It becomes all you know. The Emperor’s mesmerizing voice. His large, soft bed. His ceaseless, ravenous touch. 

Sweaty, tangled limbs melting in lewd harmony.

You stop questioning it. Even the strange lapses of time when you are in one room and mysteriously wind up in another. It isn’t rare for you to wake up with the Emperor’s head bobbing between your thighs, greedily lapping at your folds, or with your hips grinding into his as he impales you on his cock. 

It is where you belong. And you believe him when he says that, mumbling loving promises into your ear in the dead of night.

“If we do not strike fast and hard, they will not accept your rule,” Stilgar says. 

“They worship a false god. We are doing them a favor,” another man sitting at the table interjects. 

A shaky exhale flows from your tongue. You look around, dismay filling you when you realize you’re in Paul’s war room amidst a council meeting. Your head throbs. How did you get here?

You rise from your chair. Bemused gazes land on you. 

Princess Irulan snickers from her seat.

“Husband, your concubine is acting strange,” she sneers.

Concubine? You step away from the table.

You blink several times as you stumble outside. You grip your temples, your forehead scrunching. That cannot be right. Is it? 

You are no one’s concubine. 

You are…

You are…

Adrenaline pumps through your blood as your head buzzes. 

The answer will not come, your mind keeping it under firm lock and key.

Frustration mounts within you. You blindly waddle around.

You end up in a room that bears vague familiarity. You lean against a basin full of water. Water…just lying around. That seems strange.

Your eyes land on a mirror on the opposite wall. The reflection in the glass has your heart rate spiking. Who is this?

You bolt to your feet, the water in the basin splashing around your feet. 

Your tremulous fingers rise to your face, horror filling you when the woman in the mirror mimicks your exact motions. 

Your gaze travels across the wide, open space. Quick breaths rush from your throat. The Emperor’s room. Why did you think it was your room? 

You stagger backwards. You gasp as you bump into a solid form.

You whirl, eyes widening.

“Paul.”

He gauges you, slight concern etched in his blue eyes. Relief fills you as you soak in his boyish, slender features, much more familiar than those of the stranger in the mirror. 

You know Paul. Muad’Dib. Paul is familiar, safe. You trust him. He will tell you who you are.

“Yes, my love?”

“Paul, who am I?”

A displeased frown settles on his brow. He approaches you and grabs your face. His expression hardens.

“You are mine. Nothing else matters.”

“But Paul-”

Your protests are stifled by the feverish press of his lips on yours. A fog surrounds your thoughts as his kiss grows more passionate, his hands sweeping over your curves. You place your hand on his chest, pushing feebly.  

“Forget it. Forget it all, beloved,” he mumbles against your lips. You sag against him. You drown in Paul’s blue eyes, time stretching beyond eternity. 

When you gain a semblance of awareness, your naked form is writhing above Paul’s. Your palms are spread over his lithe muscles, your hips moving as he slams his cock into your cunt repetitively. Paul bites his lip, his gaze glued to the sight of his length disappearing between your wet folds. 

When did you get on the bed? When did you shed your clothes?

Every inquiry melts in the heat swirling across your damp flesh. 

Your lashes flutter as you unleash a broken whimper, Paul’s hard length touching you in places that send electricity rippling through your spine.

You tighten around him and he purrs. 

“Remember nothing but my name,” he rasps, clutching your hips possessively. He impales you on his length, thrusting faster. You choke on your breath, his quickening pace driving you wild.

You brace yourself on his chest and lose yourself in the pleasure, your breath hitching each time he pounds into you.

The filthy sounds of your coupling fill the room, bouncing off the stone walls. Paul’s deep, animalistic moans. Your soft, desperate whimpers. The blunt, wet sounds your cunt makes as he buries himself inside you. The bed rattling and squeaking under your writhing forms.

“Paul, Paul…” you pant as you bounce on his cock. An intensity ignites his eyes as his name falls from your tongue like a prayer. You toss your head back, voice dying in your throat as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your toes flex. You tremble, your body jolting as your slick walls flutter around his length. A husky moan leaves him. He twitches inside you. His back lifts from the sheets, his body tensing as he hits his peak too. Slick warmth spills from his tip, glazing your walls. 

An errant sliver of panic lurks inside your brain. Your eyes bulge as you glance down at where your body and Paul’s are conjoined. Rapid breaths burst from your chest.

Seeming to sense your distress, he shoves your hips back down when you try to squirm away.

His authoritative voice booms across the room, unnatural, multiplied. Everywhere at once. 

“Do not move, beloved. Let me fill you up. Make you mine in every way.”

Your breaths settle down. Your worries disappear. You look into Paul’s loving gaze. A smile unfans on his lips as you ride him with abandon again.

“What are you doing?”

You pivot at the abrupt sound of Paul’s voice. You pause above the bag you’re packing. You peer at him, mulling over an appropriate answer to his question. You do not find one. You only know that you stirred awake that morning, feeling strange, sore…Lost. The urge to collect your meager belongings and leave the Arrakeen Keep seared inside you since then. A hollow, distant voice rings inside your head.

Return to Sietch Tabr.

“I have to go. Something…Something isn’t feeling right.”

The muscles of Paul’s jaw flare, his tone as ice as he states, “You want to leave me.”

Discarding your bag, you rush to him. You take his hands in yours.

“No. I made you a promise. I just need time to think…I can’t think anymore, Paul.”

It’s true. Every day feels like trudging through a Coriolis storm, your thoughts scattering as dust in the wind the minute they form.

Everything that was solid before is now sand slipping through your fingers.

Paul’s gaze corrals yours.

“You don’t need to,” he says, gripping your face. His tone dips to a soft lilt that penetrates your senses. “Who are you?”

You search his eyes. A breeze blows away every single doubt you had.

The answer to every inquiry you had is right there. In Paul’s fond stare.

The persistent little voice in your head, that pesky plea begging to be heard suddenly falls quiet. The truth echoes in your head, Paul’s powerful voice filling your mind.

You are right where you belong. 

“I’m yours,” you utter with certainty.

His face softens. “That is correct, my love,” he says, stroking your cheek.

“Now, why don’t you settle down, beloved?” You let him escort you to the bed, coaxing you to take a seat on the sheets. “Agitating yourself as such isn’t good for you.”

He sinks to the floor and drops a gentle kiss over your round belly.

“And it’s not good for the baby either.”

[descendinight]

Lisan al-Ghaib

Prints !

[moonssugar]

me watching viktor break up with his boyfriend do all the magic shit and start a religious following in the span of 5 minutes 🫵🫵🫵 LISAN AL GHAIB 🫵🫵🫵

[repressedgaymer]

this is so self indulgent... beatles dune au.... yes george is the lisan al ghaib

[m00nkissedlover]

・｡good mornings ☁️

"in my rose-tinted dreams, wrinkled silk on my sheets, i don't see nobody but you~"

paul atreides x reader | word count: 681 words

summary: lazy mornings with paul ☁️

warnings: slight reference to sexual activity the night before, mention of aftercare. other than that, none!

note: here's a short, fluffy paul drabble to take your mind off of the horrors (iykyk, yes i live in the us-). get food, get water, i love you! 🫶🏾

sunlight filtered through the large windows of paul's bedroom, illuminating the two of you in a soft, warm glow. the two of you lay in his bed, a tangle of limbs beneath the soft, silk sheets and fluffy duvet. paul had his arm wrapped around your middle from behind, his chest pressed against your back as the two of you still wandered through dreamland.

paul was the first to wake up, slowly stirring awake as he blinked the sleep away from his eyes. he stretched out his body a little, gazing at your sleeping figure and feeling his heart swell with love and affection. you lay there, lips slightly parted as you took slow and steady breaths. your eyelashes casted shadows onto your soft cheeks, a bit of your hair falling in your face.

he was very careful to make sure he didn't wake you as he nestled back into hugging you from behind, skin touching skin. the two of you were left bare under the duvet cover after a rather eventful night of passion and love. glancing over at your neck and shoulder, paul couldn't help himself. he brushed some of your hair away from your neck, breathing in your scent before leaning over and pressing a feather light kiss to the crook of your neck. the hand of the arm around your waist would find your hip, his thumb tracing lazy circles over the smooth skin.

you slowly started to stir, feeling his touches. a soft and sleepy groan left your lips as you squirmed a little, a soft chuckle from paul reaching your ears.

"good morning." paul whispered, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot right under your ear.

you let out a soft sound between a yelp and a sigh?, your eyes fluttering shut for a few seconds. "hm?" you muttered, still sleepy and delirious.

paul couldn't help but laugh, resting his chin on your shoulder and kissing your cheek. "morning, love." he whispered again, your eyes finally opening.

you felt paul's fingers gently run up and down your arm, his fluffy bed head tickling your neck.

"mornin'" you mumbled, your voice a bit groggy and laced with sleep. you yawned before raising a hand to rub the sleep from your eyes.

paul always thought you looked the cutest when you first woke up, all drowsy and disoriented, mumbling incoherently, your hair all messed up and slight bags under your eyes. yes, he absolutely loved seeing you like this.

you started to turn your body so you could face him, paul pulling back a bit to give you some space. you yawned again and gave him a drowsy smile, your eyes still half-lidded. paul's heart skipped a beat, one of his hands coming up to caress your cheek.

"you're so beautiful in the morning..." he muttered, his eyes full of great affection.

"you say that every morning," you rasped, feeling his free hand settling onto your hip again.

"still doesn't change the fact that it's true." he hummed, pressing your foreheads together. his fingers slowly trailed up to your stomach, tracing lazy patterns as your fingers combed through his dark, curly hair.

that small gap was closed when paul leaned in to brush his lips over yours. you returned the feather light kiss, butterflies forming in your stomach.

"we should probably get up soon." you whispered, pressing another peck to paul's lips.

"five minutes never hurt anyone." he whispered back, making you laugh. you knew five minutes would turn into an hour, but you didn't mind. getting to spend the mornings after with paul was probably your favorite part of you two's nightly sessions of lovemaking. the second round of aftercare was always the best.

"five more minutes." you repeated, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder.

you lived for mornings like this. curled up together, sharing soft kisses and hushed whispers, just lying in each other's embrace and acknowledging each other's presence. it made your heart feel warm and most of all, it made you feel loved. and that's all you've ever wanted. ☁️

© m00nkissedlover, 2024

[tamamita]

So I know the Mahdi is an actual thing from Islam but does Lisan al-Gaib mean anything or did Frank Herbert just make that shit up?

Idk what Dune's about, but there's the concept of "Gheib" in Islam, and most particularly in Shi'a Islam. The term translates to unseen, forgone, hidden, secret and etc.

He could be referring to Ilm al-Ghaib which is the "Knowledge of the Unseen". In Islam, Ilm al-Ghayb is divine knowledge. Knowledge which is entirely witheld from humanity and only accessible to God for His knowledge is beyond human comprehension and exists only within His domain. He may extend this knowledge to those He wants, such as the Biblical prophets (as), the Prophet Muhammed (pbuh&hf), the Imams (as) and the Holy ladies (sa). Imam Mahdi (atfs) possesses this knowledge as well.

It could also refer to the concept of Ghaibah, which is the idea that the Twelth Imam, Muhammed al-Mahdi (atfs), went into occultation (Ghaibah) following Abbasid orders to have him and his Shi'as arrested. The Mahdi is said to reappear before the Day of Judgment.

[leam1983]

Lisan al-Ghaib

The Hellsite has a thing against White Savior narratives, and for good reason. The idea that general-purpose Natives have some elixir for mindfulness, mental health or even sociopolitical stability is nothing new. It's as tokenistic as you think if you take it at face value, but I think the more classic examples in the genre like Dances With Wolves or, God forbid, Avatar (a revised copy of the previous title, in many ways) tend to focus on something that's a smidge more positive - namely in that the Other - not the Noble Savage, so much as someone with an entirely external perspective - has the power to help us progress. A very debatable posture.

In effect, the classic examples in the genre contend that it's not really about "saving the Natives" or even becoming their saviour, but rather about the unformed or troubled protagonist finding themselves thanks to the Natives' input. I've always thought that Wolves' Sioux never needed Dunbar, Dunbar needed them. The Na'vi never needed Jake Sully, some other member of the People would've eventually filled in the blanks and become Toruk Makto. Instead, Jake Sully needed the Na'vi to fix himself. There's nothing magical there, despite the First Nations spiritualism that mostly coats the genre, ripped out of its context and sort of propped up the same way mindfulness is now pulled out of its own context and served up to the masses, as if living with a little anxiety or stress were somehow a symptom for something more insidious. The world forgot Herbert's object lesson, and suggested that for some people, especially damaged goods, the only way to find purpose is to subsume yourself in another culture. You emerge as the saviour, kill the monster, and fulfill your role in the story.

Taking up someone else's problems to fix yourself isn't an actual solution; I think any two-bit psychologist could tell you that. Even if Dunbar and Sully emerge whole and healed from their own tales, they're behavioural abnormalities. Power doesn't allow you to stay humble. Power corrupts.

Ask Shaddad. Ask the Bene Gesserit. Ask the Harkonnens, who never saw their end coming.

Back when Frank Herbert first wrote Dune, Eastern mysticism was taking off much in the same way we're seeing meditation and yoga. He pulled an interesting bait-and-switch in showing us a protagonist who seemed set to go from a mostly nameless aristocrat to your typical conquering hero - but he realized that some faiths can be noxious. Some currents can twist the mind. After all, Paul Atreides' own story addresses the fact that he comes to align with fundamentalists, and does so willingly.

In many ways, George Lucas tried to play the same melody with Anakin Skywalker being set up as the Force's hero, only for the will of the Galaxy to be made manifest through his son, instead. The problem is, unlike Herbert, Lucas lacks subtlety. The danger of messianic thinking more or less deserves a dream-state vignette on Dagobah, where Luke beheads Vader and sees his own face in the depths of his father's mask. Herbert, in comparison, makes those fears concrete. Paul was on shaky ground the moment he embraced the moniker of Muad'Dib, and slipped into something I might as well call psychosis, after drinking the Waters of Life.

Chani lost the man she fell in love with. Paul Atreides lost himself.

White Savior narratives aren't meant to be seen as the Civilized Man saving the day. They're meant to be seen as an outsider protagonist needing an external point of view to face the abyss, more or less.

If you're an optimist, the protagonist is thankful for the wisdom he's received and plays his part, not for prophecy or for Ego - but for basic care and consideration. Consider Shogun's Blackthorne, by the end of the series. He wasn't one to calculate his next move - he's clearly a man of passion. Japan gave him something to hold onto - and then squeezed around him like a vice made up of niceties and political manoeuvring. Yoshii Toranaga, on the other hand, is the chess player. Blackthorne's fate is the grimmest of the brighter ends of the White Savior genre. He didn't save anyone or anything; he merely proved useful.

If you're a pessimist, you turn to Dune or to any of your local Fire-and-Brimstone preachers.

Considering, when I hear the Hellsite dismiss Dune as just another story written by a White guy about some other White guy saving some vaguely Middle-Eastern-coded people; that tells me a lot of armchair critics haven't picked up the books or watched the movies.

If anything, Dune's very premise gives reason to those of you who decry Colonialist rhetoric. Dune isn't just a seminal science-fiction classic; it's also a warning about what happens when faith goes haywire, and of what happens when the balance of power tips in the worst direction possible.

[solsonnn]

liZaun al-ghaib

[kafkaoftherubble]

185.2章：放下？还是压抑？可贺，抑或可悲？

// Chapter 185.2: Detachment v. Repression

This ramble concerns To Your Eternity manga Chapter 185.2. It is edited from a conversation between (yea you guessed it) @bestbonnist and me after the chapter dropped before I had to hastily run off because sorry gotta see shits with my Besto Furrendo! Lisan al-Ghaib! Lisan al-Ghaib!!!

Although this chapter is devoid of hype moments—unlike C184.1 where plenty of us were sent into a frenzy— and good old macabre, this is genuinely one of my favorite chapters to date.

Because it became a really nice philosophical discussion between friends. Sounds a tad cheesy when I say it like that...

(1) Two Different Perspectives on Fushi's Latest State of Mind

Ray expressed dismay that Fushi's coping mechanism seems to gave become even more terrible because they are essentially repressing their emotions. They are telling themself not to feel anything and to be detached. In the Wish Era, Fushi seemed to have become more resigned to their fate, which became starkly apparent when contrasted by the Doll and Andy's loud, outward desire to see Abel live.

That dismal observation actually stunned me—because I happened to see this development in a positive light. What better state of mind should Fushi aspire to attain apropos to their immortality... if not a state of non-attachment? After all, if they don't learn to be so, then the sheer impermanence of life will torment them forever. To me, non-attachment—or in a more English-natural manner of speaking, detachment—is a goal worthy of pursuing, even if it is often fraught with erratic instances such as mistaking "repressing one's emotions" as similar to "being genuinely unperturbed."

----

(2) The Benefits of Attachment

In this story's universe, attachment keeps a person's faie (their soul) around.

Hence, to Ray, Fushi's loss of attachment implies their death (which I agree is a reasonable projection for the end of this story). When they no longer have anything to do—no goal—then it is time for them to move on.

But more than that, there's this other thing Ray is worried about. The manga asked whether Fushi is human, especially in its earlier exploration. Whether they think they are human. Therefore, it's hard to see Fushi's detachment as anything other than dehumanizing themself ("I'm not human so I don't deserve to be attached/feel bad when people I care about die.") It's one step to Fushi's progression into becoming a deity at the expense of their humanity.

This prospect is upsetting because they wanna see Fushi leave as a human being, as someone who dies after living a satisfying life like Yuuki did.

Ray also argued that there's a difference between acceptance and detachment. "Acceptance is acknowledging that something is out of your control and acknowledging that the way you feel about that." To them, Fushi seemed to have acknowledged that something was out of their control, but they hadn't yet acknowledged their feelings toward it.

Then, they conceded that while Fushi was frank about being pained by people leaving, ultimately, the dude seemed deadset on trying to ignore that pain altogether. "Fushi isn't good at being 'above' feeling things!"

I agree with this. Of course, they aren't! One of Fushi's powers is supernatural empathy. They can't ignore the sensation of pain or (occasionally) love in their vicinity even if they try. Feeling shit is what they do, willingly or not. And from an emotional connection like that, one easily forms attachments.

---

(3) The Common Error: Mistaking Detachment with Apathy

Strangely, at that point in our conversation, it became clear that Ray thought Fushi should not be detached because it stops them from accepting death—while I think Fushi should learn to be detached because it helps them to accept death. Same destination, but different ways of assessing detachment as a path.

Now, of course, when I use the term "detachment" or "non-attachment" (preferred), I'm once again drawing it from a Buddhist philosophical perspective. Because dude, it's me, 睿得失。You fucking signed up for this the moment you talk to me, bwaahhahahahaha!

Even Buddhists, born and raised, often make the mistake of conflating "equanimity," which non-attachment encourages, with "apathy."

One of the four sublime qualities (brahmavihārā), equanimity (upekkhā) is the state of being unwavering and unperturbed even in the face of loss and gain [1], good-repute and ill-repute, praise and censure, and sorrow and happiness. Its far enemies—as in, its direct contrasting vices—are greed and resentment. But its near enemy—the quality mendaciously close to equanimity—is apathy.

[1] Just a little aside: this is why I joked that Fushi should take up my self-given Chinese name in our conversation. 睿得失 means "being wise (about one's) gain and loss." The hope of attaining some semblance of upekkha is built into the name already.

Plenty of people think being detached means being uncaring and indifferent, and that it has some elements of dehumanization to it—be it to other people or to yourself. But it's not. Being detached is to keep a balance between concern and coercion. It's expressing compassion while being mindful not to conflate your genuine care with your desire to will things and people to bend to the state or situation you wanted.

Fushi and us mortals could easily realize one fact about life: it is truly impermanent. The desire to impose our will on the universe—as if there is some supernatural feature to our will that can influence things to happen—is a source of agitation. Life doesn't bend to our will; it indifferently stays impermanent even when we demand it to be permanent in some sort of personal bliss.

In Buddhist thought, it's our actions and intentions that impart changes. Our will (and our demanding desires) don't. We'll revisit this in our 5th Chapter later.

In other words! Contrary to Ray's interpretation, I see being detached not as imposing a limit on your compassion but liberating it from constraints. Now that you're detached, your mode of compassion is centered around the situation and people as they are, not as you hope them to be. True compassion asks for nothing in return—not because you suppress your demands, but because you genuinely have none to begin with.

----

(4) Fushi's Laudable Baby Steps

What really made me think that Fushi had grown here was their insistence that whether Abel lives or dies is "his decision to make."

Not Fushi's, despite their god-like powers. Not Doll or Andy, despite their love and attachment to Abel. It's Abel's choice. All Fushi can do is to accept whatever the man says—and that acceptance is only possible if they begin practicing detachment. After all, attachment results in the reactions Doll and Andy expressed.

To me, Fushi is taking a step in the right direction already. This is the kind of wisdom I think an immortal, most of all, should gradually pick up (I also think mortals like us should, too, but that's beside the point).

Here is where I think Ray's criticisms warrant merits in my interpretation: Actually practicing detachment/non-attachment is hard as fuck. I wouldn't deny that though it doesn't make you an apathetic non-human, you're not gonna be very normal-humanlike if you manage to be equanimous either. While learning to be detached, one often takes up a lot of problematic tactics and mistakes it to be detachment.

One such misguided tactic? Suppression of emotions. You force yourself to pretend you're not feeling anything instead of facing them and realizing their falsity while believing you're being detached. So Ray's concerns are completely warranted, because I don't believe Fushi has consummated their learning either. They wouldn't have lied about the massacre if they were really that detached.

Repressing your emotion, as a tactic, is wrong, but it is the hallmark of someone who's trying to get there, especially when you compound it with the philosophy Fushi was articulating. They care. But they are also being clear-eyed about the limits of their demand.

I don't think they seem resigned here. I think they are being wise. Baby steps, and their method is imperfect, but good nonetheless.

----

(5) Yuuki the GOAT and His Biggest W Yet

Fushi grappled with wanting to impose their will to make others live as long as they in the Modern Arc, right? That's one of their biggest and most constant sources of dukkha (dissatisfaction/suffering). But Yuuki's satisfying death and life... actually steered him in the right direction!

Fushi didn't come to earn detachment because of some horrible, tragic death turning them jaded and cynical. They learned because Yuuki's life and death were that fucking good.

Learning philosophy from pain is all well and good. It is usually how people learn it (few would give a fuck about existentialism or Buddhist philosophy or stoicism or what-have-you if they weren't in a personal crisis). But learning philosophy from joy is a whole other thing. Whatever you learned from that instance has no hint of jadedness and cynicism to corrupt your thinking; it's like making a decision when you're at the most optimal state.

This is Yuuki's victory. He influenced and taught Fushi without giving him pain or trauma to live by. He was not some main character of a tragedy despite outwardly looking like a bumbling normie.

Think about it: none of the Immortals who were attached to Fushi, until now, had been capable of influencing and teaching them without accidentally leaving some grief, pain, and trauma!

Why does Fushi take on Yuuki's form so much lately—if not because Yuuki is the only one who managed to teach them without the use of pain or trauma or anything like that?

And as Ray pointed out, Yuuki was the form embodying "Peace." Even his death was offscreen and peaceful. On a bed, unpoisoned and unhurt. Fushi remembers him constantly because he makes them feel at ease.

"It's our actions and intentions that impart changes," that was what I mentioned in Chapter 3 of this long-ass ramble. Here it is exemplified. People inherit the fruits of other people's actions (and you yourself are one of those who will inherit your own actions, too). And well? These are the fruits of Yuuki's actions that Fushi continues to reap even now.

That's how complete Yuuki's W is. He managed to leave just the kind of food for thought for an Immortal that eventually set them up to grasp the kind of wisdom they lacked. Who says the Modern Arc has no lessons?

----

(6) Conclusion, or The Abrupt Ending of a Conversation

As you can tell, I really don't think Fushi's latest development is bad. Bittersweet and a bit of a mixed bag, sure, but I ultimately think it's commendable rather than worrisome. Of course, my ass interpreting things through a Buddhist lens has a lot to do with it, but brutha, this is exactly my niche! You should have seen me talk about non-self vis-a-vis Fushi in a YouTube comment section!

Ray did leave this paragraph that had eluded me because, again, the Muaa'dib was calling me and I really gotta go:

"I have a potential counter-argument for you, which is about how Fushi's ideal person to follow is kind of a mix of Yuuki (as you explained) and Kahaku (bag of mess and you haven't read that part of the present era anyways), which is putting the concept of detachment together with a really selfish kind of selflessness (as we talked about). But I'm not clear on whether that's still there after their fight with the left hand. I feel like it's lingering a little but I haven't seen much evidence for it in the wish era."

Now, I don't really know what that whole bit was like because I didn't actually read all of the Modern Arc—just the latter half. But again, "detachment" and "self-lessness" are complementary and forward-feeding to one another in Buddhist Philosophy, so on this concept alone, I don't see a clash.

I should probably clarify what Ray's "selfish kind of selflessness" meant here, but... I'm kinda tired now. And I've briefly touched on this in my essay about... Gojo Satoru, goddamn it.

Or maybe Ray should explain it themself! I distinctly remember someone owing me like, 3 essays or something. I'm such a kindhearted person I'm willing to give them a discount and accept just one essay for this week, though. Don't squander it, you!

Thank you for reading my ramble.

----

Did you enjoy this? If yes, wouldn't it be really fucking cool if you get to read essays and commentaries like these, alongside fanfic and fanart and other interesting bits, in one place?!

BECAUSE! We are thinking of starting a To Your Eternity zine! It's merely in its Interest Check phase, but you gotta fill this form up so we can see just how many people in our modest little fandom want this! Be a supporter or a contributor, it don't matter at this stage! Support is the currency here!

[agentshades]

Things My Wife Has Said While Playing Baldur's Gate Part 6

We keep playing, she keeps saying. Everybody give it up for @everyoneinmckinneyisdead

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

*after casting Fireball, and to the tune of "Blinded by the Light"*

Kelsey: "Blinded by the baaaaaallll!"

--- 

*Myrkul appears*

Kelsey: "Is that literally three skeletons in a trenchcoat?"

---

Shadowheart: "How could you have known that? I told very few people. Certainly not you! And yet, you knew!"

Kelsey: "Lisan al-Ghaib!" 

---

*Looks at the spell description for Moonbeam*

Kelsey: "Only 20 damage? That's not very much..."

Me: "Being a Sorcerer may be skewing your perception of 'not very much...'"

---

*after building Jaheira into a Circle of Spores Druid and realizing she can make spore zombies*

Kelsey: "HA! Take that Astarion! What can you do? Bite people, stab people, and stab people sneakily? Zombies!" *gesturing at screen* 

--- 

*The person Kelsey is talking to shapeshifts. Orrin appears* 

Kelsey: "Wait, she was just that random guy? I just picked some random dude to talk to and it happens to be her? Crabby tits?"

---

*she tries to target two enemies with lightning bolt but an ox is also in the blast radius*

Kelsey: "NOOOO THE COW! I don't want to kill cow but I want to hit both of them. Ughhhhhhh." 

---

*when invited to join a clown on stage for a magic trick*

Kelsey (to me): "I bet you'd just go up on the stage with him instead of doing literally everything possible to get out of it like me. Cause thats what you'd do in real life. You weirdo."

---

*when a guard demands 200 gold to get into Baldur's Gate* 

Kelsey: "What?! I'm not paying her! Its an open road! I pay taxes! Probably!"