#and yes the writer is a man

[peaches2217]

THIS JUST IN: calling a bride at a wedding beautiful without fawning over the groom in equal measure is sexist

(I get unfair, absolutely, but sexist…?)

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 254

So. Danny might have accidentally become a bit of a cryptid. He didn’t mean to, but he’d become a bit nocturnal- like many an Amity Parker- and it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t be bothered to make sound when he was tired. Or pretend to breathe or, okay, he could see why he kept freaking people out at the grocery store he kept going to. 

But it wasn’t his fault! He has to get food too! And really is it anyone else’s business? Seriously he thought that people wouldn’t be so surprised with how much magic is everywhere. Like you’d think they’d never seen someone who wasn’t fully human before or something. 

Oh great, there’s a journalist at the grocery store now- he’s going to ignore that and finish his shopping and then continue his online work. Ooh, and eat icecream. He deserves it for potentially putting up with this. 

Oh, it’s a little baby reporter, first couple of article thing. Adorable. 

[queerofthedagger]

thank fuck we have fanfiction. like truly where would we even be

[francy-sketches]

rhaenyra could say 'I wish I was a man with dick and balls' and hotd twitter would still be like 'umm she just means she wants freedom and respect but otherwise she is a FEMININE WOMAN stop making her into a man you weirdos'

[17panicattacksinatrenchcoat]

i need to stop writing late at night you guys i was looking over my drafts this morning and i found this little gem

"He was a short, bespectacled man with glasses."

"bespectacled man with glasses"

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part 9

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: kind of (?) sub!Feyd, oral sex f receiving (there’s an imbalance in oral sex but I promise reader shows him some love too), p in v, “no hands”

A/N 1.0: Two updates in one week?? I probably should edit this more but I’m just excited to release it hehe

Feyd drags his tongue down your navel, dipping into the divot of your belly button to lick out the poison. You’ve taken to creative methods of your daily dosages, the current which gives you shudders of delight. His tongue is warm and wet, his grin roguish, and his dark eyes sinfully gorgeous; there are certain instances when you can hardly stand to look at him, this being one of them. You honestly don’t know what he will see reflected in your own eyes.

His tongue darts out to capture any residual poison from his lips. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Fine.” You sit up, pulling your shirt back down. Disappointment is evident on Feyd’s face. “Shouldn’t we be going?”

He pulls you to the edge of the table and nudges open your legs so that he might position himself between them. “They’ll wait.”

“We don’t want to anger them.”

Feyd’s tongue rolls in his cheek. “Don’t we?”

“No.” You hop off the table. “Come on.”

“You haven’t taken your dose yet.”

You fix him with an exasperated look. Feyd pours the measurements into the glass, then into his mouth. His expression is comically triumphant. You roll your eyes as you close the space between you, then press your mouth firmly to his.

His kiss is as dangerous as the poison itself, spilling out from his lips and down his chin, down your chin, coating the inside of your mouth as his tongue pushes into it. You greedily kiss him back, poison forgotten. It’s him that you need the daily dose of, a perilous addiction that would render you sickly without. And he pulls you in like he knows this, that it’s only the poison from his lips that you seek.

You withdraw, breathless and wiping at your chin. “Satisfied?”

“For now.”

Rabban is departing today for a political mission, one that neither you nor Feyd are privy to — to his chagrin. You were both requested by the Baron to attend his send off. As you stride beside Feyd to the thopter hangar, the sight of the Baron seizes you with burning hatred.

He floats next to Rabban, muttering something to him that you can’t hear. Both cease their talking when you arrive. Frankly, you don’t know if you want to tear out their throats or leave them to Feyd’s concubines.

Rabban wordlessly boards the thopter. It will take him to a more secure location to be delivered to a heighliner, from your understanding. As you observe the scene with thinly veiled disgust, you notice a commotion to one side — it’s the same Sardaukar soldier from before, along with a handful of others. Today they’re adorn in the typical Harkonnen armor, distinguishable only by the fuzz of closely shaved hair on their heads.

You grab Feyd’s arm, lean into him. “Who are they?”

“Sardaukar. Though I suspect you already knew that,” he says without tearing his gaze from them. “I don’t know what business they have with my rotten brother.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I.”

He breaks away from you and storms to the Baron. They share a short, heated exchange, one that has your stomach clenching. How he stood to even be near his uncle bewildered you, though you supposed in some sense that he was unable to completely divorce himself from the man. Feyd was his heir, after all. A fact that the Baron wields over him. Your hands form into fists.

“He said that the Emperor’s soldiers are assisting them in the mission. Something about a shared goal.”

You frown. Both of you stand silently as the soldiers climb into the thopter after Rabban, stirring dust as its wings snap out and then ascend into the rings of smog circling the hangar. The Baron glides toward you both.

“Your brother is a fine soldier,” he rasps, “I know I can rely on him to secure our objective.”

Feyd’s upper lip curls into a snarl. “He has plenty of time to considering he doesn’t have any other obligations.”

“There’s a reason I made you the na-Baron,” the Baron replies coolly. “Your brother has a different fate.”

This response unnerves you. You stare after his bulbous retreating form, then flick your gaze to your husband — Feyd’s entire body is rigid with fury. You wonder briefly if he had spoken to Rabban, and what he said if he did. The more days that have passed since your wedding, the less time you had to spend together.

You were coming up on one month now.

“We dont need to stay here any longer,” you tell him.

Feyd wrenches his arm from your grasp. He snaps, “I have something I need to tend to.”

And then somehow you were left alone in the hanger, a mixture of emotions forming within you. You wanted to chase after Feyd but your better senses warned you not to — he could be volatile like this, and you weren’t really in the mood for a verbal lashing.

Instead you wander the fortress grounds. It’s taken some time, but you’re finally used to the black sun. And the guards no longer believe that you’re an Atreides spy or, at least, any threat. You want to comment on this but it’s a nice freedom, and you nod to them as you pass by. Your aimless stroll is interrupted by a loud yelling, however, drawing you to the massive gates that barricade the fortress from the rest of Giedi Prime.

Before today, you’d never even seen them open.

There’s a crowd of citizens gathered outside, obviously agitated. Guards stall them from entering with their spears, though, to the credit of the citizens, they’re doing a fairly decent job of holding their own. You spot Asha amongst the number of servants aiding in the crowd control.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

“They’re here for their monthly audience with the na-Baron,” Asha explains, “but he’s refusing to meet with them. They aren’t happy.”

She grimaces as an angry shout pierces the air.

“Why is he refusing them?”

Asha casts you a sideways glance. “He’s the na-Baron, he doesn’t need a reason.”

You survey the crowd.

“Tell them that their na-Baroness will receive them.”

“What? Are you sure?” Asha stares at you as if you asked her to behead them all.

“Give me a few minutes, first.” You flash her a smile and then turn back towards where you came from, the clamor of the crowd subsiding.

In your chest, your heart pounds furiously. You didn’t even know Feyd took audience with the citizens, much less what to do with their requests. But you could handle it, you were sure. It was about time that you contributed to the baronship.

Quickly you change into a formal dress and then make your way to the throne room. Your footsteps ring out through the space as you climb the dais steps and take your place on your husband’s throne. It’s to the right of the Baron’s, not quite as grand, and you have half the mind to sit on it before the doors open and the citizens of Giedi Prime spill inside.

The first citizen is a woman, dressed in a worn white dress. Her eyes are sunken. “na-Baroness, we are grateful for you to receive us today.” The woman nervously licks her lips. “I wouldn’t know what to do without my stipend. None of us would.”

Those that can hear her nod their assent.

You do your best not to let your surprise show on your face. You wave a hand. “Of course.”

Most of the citizens are all there for similar reasons: their monthly allowance bestowed upon them by the na-Baron. You learned that families that served in the Harkonnen military received a slightly higher amount, including those retired from it. You were loathed to be impressed by Feyd but you couldn’t help but admire his rule — he was many things, but an excellent na-Baron happened to be one of them. He supported his people in ways that others would not have bothered to.

Of course, not everyone comes to you for money.

You settle a dispute between two neighbors arguing over property lines, and a factory employee declaring unfit working conditions. It rather surprisingly becomes very easy for you to delegate the matters of these people — you found you cared about their problems, making them your own. The crowd had dwindled down quite a bit when you’re faced with two men who can hardly look at each other.

“na-Baroness,” the taller one says. He introduces himself as Anagon.

The other man remains silent.

“We are here today for your gracious judgment,” Anagon continues, unbidden. “You see, this man has forsaken me and my family.”

You examine both men. Anagon is dressed in the style typical of nobles, the other in a simple tunic and pants. He refuses to meet your eyes.

“I see,” you say. “How so?”

“He stole my family’s ceremonial dagger. Straight from my manor!”

The other man finally says, “I didn’t!”

“He deserves the swiftest punishment for his crimes against me,” Anagon continues as if the other man never spoke, “the lower citizens of Giedi Prime must learn their place.”

Anagon’s face falls as you ask the other man, “And what do you say?”

“I-I did find the dagger but —” he raises his voice to be heard over the noble’s protests, “I found it while demolishing the old factory. It-It was buried under the building, lost and forgotten. I fully intended to return it to its owner.”

Anagon hisses, "You did not!"

"You can not know his intentions," you remind him pointedly, then, to the other man, "is this dagger here today? Let me see it."

"My-My name is Res," the man says as he approaches. He offers to you a ceremonial dagger, one that you notice is badly bent out of shape and tarnished. It certainly looks like it’s been buried under a factory.

“Did you know where the dagger was? Answer me truthfully, for I will know if you have lied.”

Anagon shifts his weight. “No, na-Baroness. But it is my family’s ceremonial dagger. It-It was misplaced in the civil war two generations ago.”

You gaze between Anagon and Res. Taking the dagger from the latter, you hand it blade-first to Anagon. “This relic belongs to you. But you must compensate Res for his troubles — you accused him wrongfully. It is not your right to put whoever you see fit into place.”

“Fine. And how do you recommend that I compensate him?” Anagon asks, clearly displeased with your decision.

“You will give him a job under your employ.”

You had sat in on quite a few political meetings with Feyd, and knew the factory that Res spoke of. It had to be demolished and thus left many workers displaced. Anagon, a man you knew only by name until today, was the wealthy head of a series of factories that produced weapons.

Anagon’s jaw flexes. “na-Baroness, there must be another way —”

“You will employ him or I will take that ceremonial dagger and cut your throat with it.”

“She’ll make quick work of it, though,” a familiar rasping voice says. You shift to discover Feyd in the doorway of one of the throne room entrances, the one used for servants. Anagon and Res both stare wide-eyed at him. “You heard her.”

Anagon and Res exchange a glance before the noble mutters something akin to an apology, and promise of employment. Anagon lingers, seemingly for Feyd’s disapproval or your ire, but when neither of you speak, he turns and storms away. Res blinks up at you gratefully.

“Thank you, na-Baroness. You are exceedingly generous and fair.”

You dip your chin. Res takes that as his invitation to leave, smiling softly as he does so.

“That’s it for today,” Feyd announces. “I will receive the rest of you tomorrow.”

The remaining crowd grumbles but filters out of the throne room, leaving you alone with Feyd. He stops on the stairs at the bottom of the dais and gazes up at you. “You belong on a throne.”

Your brows furrow, and you ignore him. “You did not have to intervene, I was managing it quite well.”

“Clearly.”

“Then why did you dismiss them?”

Feyd examines your face. “If a noble claims that a lower-class citizen stole from their house, the citizen would receive death. No questions asked.”

“What?” Outrage shoots through you. “That’s ridiculous. You saw what happened —”

“I’m not disagreeing with you, wife. I am merely stating the truth of the law.”

You bristle. “Do you suggest I call them back here and slaughter the poor man for something that he did not do?”

“While that would be entertaining,” Feyd retorts, “it would demean your decision. The only real danger of it is that the citizens of Giedi Prime will be disappointed if I receive them now.”

“Maybe for good reason,” you sniff. “Why did you desert them today? It is clear to me that these people rely on you.”

A shadow of anger passes over Feyd’s expression. “I was not equipped to handle their problems, which look minor in the face of my own. My emotions would’ve clouded my better judgment.”

“That’s no reason to leave them,” you counter.

“And what do you know of ruling?” Feyd snarls. He advances on you, still towering above you despite your position on the throne. “You played the part of doting daughter to the Duke for all these years. This is your first taste of it. Do not tell me how to rule over my people.”

“Our people,” you dryly correct, “as you married me and thus gave me equal power over them.”

He sneers. “Perhaps a mistake if you think you know more about ruling than me.”

You curb the flare of your irritation, barely, by lifting your chin and looking your husband squarely in the eyes. He is a storm, crackling with dangerous energy, ready to unleash upon you.

And you tell him, “I know plenty of ruling. Get down on your knees, Feyd-Rautha, so I may prove it to you.”

Recognition flickers in his eyes. As much as the beast in him calls to you, the opposite is just as true. You love him like this — wild and beyond your control, fraying at the seams of his sanity. You want to pull on the threads until he unravels completely.

You lean forward slightly. “I said kneel.”

Never breaking eye contact, Feyd sinks to his knees before you.

A heady surge of power crashes over you then, threatens to encompass you, the brightness of the sun after an eclipse. And you are drunk on it, gulping greedily from the golden chalice that it embodies.

“You pretend that I am nothing but a duke’s daughter,” you hiss, “when I am your wife, the wife of the na-Baron. You say I know nothing of rule and yet here you are, submitting to me. How does that speak to your assumptions?”

Feyd says nothing. His gaze burns you.

You continue, unbidden, “I should punish you for your impudence. Tell me, na-Baron, what does your law say of this?”

“It says whatever you would like,” he rasps.

You can see his cock straining against his pants, feel the heat of his desire. And yet he gazes upon you with utter devotion, ready to follow out your orders without hesitation.

“I would like to put that mouth of yours to better use than making false claims.”

Feyd wavers.

“No hands,” you instruct.

You do him the favor of hiking the skirt of your dress up around your hips, then spread your legs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he marvels you. With the slightest indication of your chin, he all but crawls closer to you, breath fanning the sensitive skin of your thighs. He moves as if to brace his hands on either side of you and you press the toe of your heel to his cock.

“No hands,” you repeat, alleviating the pressure on him only once he’s locked his hands behind his back. A frustrated groan rumbles through his chest, eyes flashing. You say, “Continue.”

Your back bows as his cheeks nuzzle up against your thighs, his mouth ghosting over your cunt with perverse refrain. Unwittingly, you snap your hips to meet him — you didn’t tell him to tease you, you wanted him to fuck you with his mouth, with his stupidly plush lips. Feyd’s breathy laugh warms your exposed entrance, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, of the throne itself.

Finally he presses his mouth to your entrance and licks a stripe of your center. You shiver in delight. He drags his tongue through your slick folds, slow and savory, deliberately avoiding your clit. Feyd has no hair for you to anchor yourself so instead you grab the base of his neck and push him closer; there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s strong enough to resist you, but he assents to your touch. Feyd’s tongue spears you, stroking your inner walls before withdrawing and paying attention to your aching bud. His mouth closes over your clit and sucks.

The action sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You hold him to you, giving him no other option but to worship you, his licking and sucking becoming almost lewd, fervent, coating his chin with your wetness as he laps at you.

You pull on the back of his armor. Feyd releases his mouth from your cunt, shoulders heaving from his effort. You behold him like this — yielding to you, slick with your moisture, on his knees — and you feel a pulse of want. It drives you to kiss him, to push your tongue into his mouth and taste yourself. Feyd kisses you back just as passionately, mouth working to devour you, devour every logical thought you might conjure.

“Now,” you say, breathless, “I want you to fuck me right here on your throne, so the next time you doubt my competence you remember this moment.”

Feyd nods eagerly. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, na-Baroness,” he amends, rasping.

You smirk at him, pat his cheek. Feyd remains kneeling as you step from the throne. His body quivers with the slightest hint of his lust, visible to your eye as you circle him from behind. Drinking in his broad shoulders, his tapered waist, the shape of his ass, you swallow, exhilarated by your power and the man before you.

“Sit down. On the throne.”

Feyd obeys. He moves his hands from behind his back to the armrests. There’s a tension in the line of his jaw that tells you it’s taking every ounce of his strength not to touch you.

You set to removing his armor. “Lift,” you instruct and he does as you ask so that you can slide his pants down. His cock springs forth, slapping up against his toned stomach. You trail the backs of your nails up his length, under the curve of his head, and Feyd nearly whimpers at the contact.

You straddle him, and his entire body coils. There’s a tremendous release of endorphins when you finally sink down on his cock, clenching your walls and taking him all in. Feyd groans. You wiggle your hips appreciatively and let yourself adjust. He bucks into you then slightly, which you respond to with an agonizingly slow withdraw, lifting up on your knees so that he’s once more exposed to the cool air. His cock twitches.

“Fuck,” he all but seethes.

You slam back down on him and he howls out. Joining him with a cry of pleasure, his cock piercing you almost painfully, you set a violent, unsteady pace, instincts guiding you to seek out your own orgasm. It washes over you too quickly, stills you as it takes a hold over your senses.

“Please,” Feyd mutters. He grinds against your cunt, eager to keep up the friction.

You hum “Please what?”

“Please let me touch you,” he begs, “please, na-Baroness.”

You pump his cock slowly, lazily, and he grits his teeth in agony. Feyd trembles. “Fine,” you say, his hands on you before you can even finish the word. His touch is electric.

Feyd grabs hold of you, curls his fingers into the dip at your lower spine, and thrusts with you, over and over. He’s the one sitting on the throne but you are the one in charge — holding power over him by the snap of your hips, the way your cunt coaxes out his orgasm, your lips on his neck. And he is all too willing to be the slave to your pleasure, aiding you to orgasm twice more before finally coming inside you.

His thick cum fills you. You moan into the juncture of his shoulder as he wrings his own pleasure from you, shuddering, breath warming the side of your face.

“I-I won’t make that mistake again,” he rasps.

You can’t help but laugh. “Mm, pity. I quite enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it,” Feyd says. His expression turns into one of introspection. “I’ve never…given…myself to someone like that before. Not on purpose.”

Your heart twinges. “I wouldn’t have —”

“No. No apologies. I did it willingly. It was a show of…trust.”

The pain you feel at his behalf melts away to something even more confusing and impossible to name. You don’t say anything as you both adjust yourselves; you, slightly uncomfortable as his cum slides down your thighs, him, looking neither abashed at his admittance nor pleased. Just…content. A look you’ve never noticed before gracing his handsome features.

Unspoken between you, the two of you return to your quarters. Fatigue seizes you. But there’s a tiny bird trapped in your chest that beats its wings against your rib cage — hope. A foolish, tragic brush of promise that you wish to silence.

From your place on the bed, where you collapsed upon arrival, you covertly watch Feyd. He cleaned you, gave you a new dress to wear, and now is ensuring that he’s fit for the view of others. You trace the shape of his body, so achingly familiar to you, hidden mostly under his armor. He catches you staring and lifts a brow, dark eyes glinting.

“Yes, wife?” He turns. “Or should I say, na-Baroness?”

You grin at him.

Sitting on the tip of your tongue, a confession lies, your judgement loosened by this moment of peace between you. You want to tell him about the beating of your heart, the way that he’s properly — unavoidably — invaded your mind, but the opportunity passes as soon as you have the chance to grasp it.

There’s a commotion outside of your quarters.

Feyd beats you to the door, shields you with his body as you both survey the servants pacing back and forth. They seem to be mumbling between each other hastily, worriedly, obviously uncertain about what to do with themselves. You can’t miss their pitying glances.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

Feyd’s expression is grave. “I don’t know.” He grabs the arm of one of the passing servants. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“na-Baron!” The servant’s eyes widen. “I-I don’t know, we haven’t been told —”

Suddenly you hear your name being called over the clamor. Asha elbows her way through the servants, face stricken, and grabs you by circling her arms around your neck. “Y/N, I’m so sorry —”

“What? What are you sorry for?”

She holds you at arms length. There are tears in her eyes. “The House of Atreides has fallen.”

A/N 2.0: I’m sorry Leto, you don’t survive in this universe either😭😭😭 Also, part 2 of Feyd and reader solving their disputes with fucking.

For the life of me I can’t remember who but I dedicate this chapter to whoever reblogged Part 7 and added something like “I wish Feyd would fuck away my disbelief and insecurities”. Because same.

Part Ten

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @kpopnstarwars @m-indkiller @dacreshoney @stopeatread

[shannonsketches]

I just wanted to play with color on Toyotarou's art and I these panels spark the most joy

[tomurakii]

Seeing Silco and Vander together in the AU lowkey feels like watching your based nonbinary best friend get back with their shitty ex boyfriend who misgenders them. Girl he's a centrist and he tried to drown you stfu about "forgiveness"

[mokadevs]

day 19: partners-in-crime

[escespace]

Arthur: I'm not a morning person

Gwaine: You're not an afternoon person either.

Arthur: I'm a night owl

Merlin: You're a grumpy 24/7

[sciderman]

I give you one better, I invite you to avoid the negativity and tell us. What would be the perfect DP/SP cannon comic for you? Like that topics and motivations and even silly jokes would make you fill with joy and happiness and fun reading it?

Also if you could choose any writer to do it, who would it be?

for real the spideypool book of all time is avenging spider-man #12-#13, for wade and peter's ridiculous dynamic where - unlike most of deadpool and spider-man's team-ups, spider-man is honestly in good spirits and good humour, and is rolling with the punches.

i think that's the big reason why i love this particular team-up so much - it's not as mean-spirited as literally every other spider-man and deadpool routine, where spider-man is kind of excessively mean to deadpool. like sure, wade and peter aren't friends, exactly, but peter's not excessively mean, and they just have this delightful little dynamic where - like, peter's disappointed, but i don't know, it doesn't feel belittling to me. even when peter's disappointed.

it's the most likeable peter's ever been in any spider-man and deadpool team-up. he really really has a likability issue in every single spider-man/deadpool team-up. in every single one, save for this one, peter is just... really unlikeable in the spider-man/deadpool dynamic. he's always holier-than-thou, and i really can't stand it.

so if there were a spider-man and deadpool book i'd want to read - it would have to have wade and peter on equal footing. none of this holier-than-thou stuff - peter doesn't see himself as superior. he probably will still see deadpool as a nuisance, but he doesn't think he's better than wade. i'd want it to stay street-level. i'd want a lot of opportunities for each of them to surprise each other with their abilities - i'd want wade to constantly be taken aback by peter's brilliance, and i'd want peter to be taken aback by how sharp wade is. i'd want that respect between them to grow, over time. equal footing. a balance of powers. i really don't think it's fair that, kind of consistently, peter's always held the power in the dynamic and wade's kind of always a bit of a doormat with peter. so - i want them to dismantle that hero-worship dynamic, and put them on equal footing.

god. and the series has to be funny. dear god let it be funny. the sm/dp series was just - not funny. i can't remember a single joke that landed, for me. if there's anything a spider-man and deadpool book has to be, it's funny. please. deeeeaaaar god please.

[metropolisblue]

batman : prodigal (1998) pt.2 | (( pt.1 ))

[mukimokai]

hey you!!!

wanna hear one of my fic ideas for a canon rewrite that will absolutely shatter your heart????

yeah...

you've been warned..

.

TW!!!

dr//g ab*se, attempted su!c!de

⠀

alhaitham attempted to overdose after the argument with kaveh over their thesis.

.

they basically screamed each others throats off that day; they've argued over their differing ideals before but it was never this bad, and the fight eventually got a bit physical, and there was a lot of hairpulling, scratching, pulling each other up by the collar, because they weren't just arguing about the thesis anymore, they were mad at each other. until alhaitham pointed out kaveh's fatal flaw, how his altruism is going to fail him one day, and kaveh, who can't handle the truth, yanks at alhaithams hair again, telling him to fuck off, that he wishes he never met him, all through pained, angry tears. and then, he lets go and leaves, bolting out the front door and not even bothering to close it.

it was one of the first times in alhaitham's life that he had ever let his emotions get the better of him, and he watched kaveh run out of the door, panting and shaking, tears prickling the corners of his eyes out of pure, unadulterated frustration. and alhaitham realizes at this moment that he'd lost someone. again.

oh yes, alhaitham's all alone again!! no one cares about him anymore!! he'd just lost the last person in the world who gave a damn!! silly alhaitham!! all because you're you. because you had to open your mouth again. because you had to say something. all you wanted was to help, but nobody understands that. nobody ever will. to them, you're just a cold, calculated, arrogant, cocky, bastard. and look what you've done now.

the thought breaks him, and he crumbles to the ground in what can only be described as a meltdown, a very violent one. vases are shattered, kitchen wear chucked across the room, books thrown around carelessly, all while he screams curses into the air, directed at no one, maybe at Kusanali, maybe at Celestia, who knows, but he screams anyway, bordering on babbles as he stumbles to his room, dizzy and distressed and grabs the bottle of prescription drugs (working on what kind of drug currently). It's not full, it's almost empty actually, only about 10 tablets at the bottom, but alhaitham, hands shaking, laughs incredulously at himself, and eats all of them.

or at least: tries to...

the commotion he'd made upset his neighbours. initially, they were storming over to his house with the Matra beside them to have him taken care of but upon arrival, they were horrified. The matra with them practically tackled alhaitham, making him spit out the 3 pills he had in his mouth when they found him in his room; he had already taken 5. they dragged him to the bimarstan as fast as he could, the neighbours following in terror and worry.

alhaitham was saved that day and the memory still haunts him. he was so clouded with emotion he'd lost all sense of what he was doing and just felt, and it scared him how his own feelings took control of him. At that point, alhaitham only closed up even further, basically forcing on his poker face and shoving down his feelings because he never wanted to feel so vulnerable again. he doesn't want to feel. it hurts to feel. strong feelings only bring pain. more pain than alhaitham could bear.

so alhaitham chose to hide this story, he never told anyone about it, not even a single detail. but kaveh, who moved back in eventually and now lived with alhaitham for about a year since their argument, was tidying up when he found a bottle of pills under alhaitham's bed, it was practically empty, only 2 pills remained.

concerned, he questions alhaitham about it later and it was the first time he'd seen alhaitham genuinely look scared. when kaveh explained he'd found it under his bed, alhaitham snatched away the bottle and disposed of it in the trash, cursing himself for not having found it last year when the incident happened and couldn't believe it had been there the whole time.

kaveh isn't an idiot, he pieced it together the moment he saw alhaitham's reaction. he just stands there, completely speechless and horrified. all he can say is "when..?"

and alhaitham, for the first time since their school years, responds in a shaky, miserable voice, "a year ago."

and kaveh is stunned, just staring at alhaitham, who seemed so unreachable when he moved in, suddenly looking so heartbreakingly vulnerable.

he doesn't say anything.

kaveh just hugs him, buries alhaitham's face into his shoulder and hugs him. and he swears he can hear soft, weak sounds coming from the scribe, and he swears the fabric over his shoulders became damp, but he doesn't say anything.

he just holds him.

i'm sorry. come at my throat all you'd like.

⠀

⠀

⠀

[wolvertooth]

theres some xmen fans out there that really just make me wanna make an hbomberguy style video defending sabretooths character good fucking lord

[souenkun]

Pokémon Masters EX spoilers ahead!

Kabu likes to play TAG with his pokemon... and he's shown to have a much softer side beneath his strictness in pokemas too... he's so grandpa-shaped to me 😭💖

[bumblingbabooshka]

My name is [BRUTUS] and my name means [HEAVY] so with a [HEAVY] heart I'll guide this dagger Into the heart of my enemy

Something about having absolutely no choice in who you marry. About being literally forced by the law to spill blood - to accept this stranger as your husband over a man you truly care for or accept the fact that the man you love might die because you put him in danger. Something about risking becoming the wife of a man you've never even seen before a few minutes prior because you know anything would be better than putting your beloved in harm's way. Something about the trust inherent in that decision and in the way she speaks of it after. Truthfully, T'Pring doesn't know the captain and she doesn't know Spock. Either one of them could have taken her as their wife but she does know Stonn. She knows that Stonn will remain by her side no matter what. They made a plan together. They have an agreement which T'Pring believes will be upheld even though the plan changed with the arrival of Kirk. Stonn will always be there, always, and Stonn will be hers. Something about the language used around T'Pring: Ownership, subservience, non-personhood. T'Pring is an object that Spock can win. She cannot reject him, she has no say in the matter other than having Stonn 'claim' her instead. Even when Spock leaves after being very clearly rejected by T'Pring he says "Stonn, she is yours." as if despite her clear rejection he still owns her and is must formally 'give' her to Stonn. But the language T'Pring uses around Stonn is a break from that: "There was Stonn who wanted very much to be my consort, and I wanted him." Stonn who wanted very much to be HER consort and she WANTED him. The language here is very particular - It's not, for example: "Stonn wanted me to be his wife" - he is HERS. And she WANTS him. There's a mutual affection there and a strong trust - a trust which seems to be well founded since Stonn (though silent) stands by her side at the end of the episode. <- That might seem small but if Spock would reject her for 'daring to challenge' (again, the language is not 'because I don't want you' but more of an implied disgust at her having the AUDACITY to reject him) then it's not a stretch to assume that it'd be considered an insult in the TOS Vulcan society to NOT choose Stonn as her champion after a prior agreement. Anyway T'Pring was a woman in an impossible situation within a society which saw her as more of an object than a person and she wanted Stonn and Stonn wanted to be hers and she trusted that he would understand if she had to publicly pick someone else to ensure his life would be spared and he did understand.