#but i cannot fathom my friends liking me for it and think they are only enduring it politely because they were raised better than me

[breitzbachbea]

Idk how I deserve friends who just let me talk about history at them for three hours, holy shit.

[teamatsumu]

screenshot. (kita shinsuke x reader)

summary: your friend confesses on your behalf. for my valentine’s day event - theme: confessions.

word count: 1161

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi @sleepyxxhead d @priv-rose @nishayuro @kitas-tapioca @kakashineedstotouchgrass @amisuh @avis-writeshq @samanthaa-leanne @akaashi-todorki @sp1ng @kur0obaby @bleach-your-panties @pinkiipeachiikeen @whippedbel

event masterlist

Many of Kita’s friends and volleyball teammates think he is a stickler for routine. And they are right. But Kita isn’t rigid. He isn’t unchangeable. He accepts a break in routine, takes it in stride, learns from the turning tides and comes back with a smile on his face. Why else would he be the captain of the volleyball team if he didn’t know how to assimilate with rapidly developing circumstances?

Today, he is confronted with another such change. He is staring it right in the face. For a few moments, Kita cannot fathom the sight. How can it be? A red envelope in his locker? Surely, it must not be meant for him.

His next thought is how it got there in the first place. No one besides the volleyball team is allowed in the club room. He is the one who always opens it and he is also the one who locks up every night. Did someone sneak in during practice time?

Nothing else in his locker seems out of place. Just the letter placed delicately on top of the rest of his belongings. Kita finally reaches out for it, tugging on the flap to detach it and pulling out the crisp white paper inside. Kita is halted in his tracks when he realizes that there is no writing on the paper. It’s a print-out. Of a screenshot.

He eyes the text message chain, recognising the small icons on both the sender and receiver’s text bubbles. It’s Suna, his underclassman, and he also recognises you, the manager and his long time best friend.

‘I can’t stand it anymore suna!’

‘then just tell him’

‘u know i cant’

‘thats a u problem’

The next message is long, bordering on a whole paragraph, and Kita’s eyes skim over it. For the first time in a long while, his heart skips.

‘ive known him forever rin. hes such an amazing person and my best friend but he doesn like me that way. if i tell him im just gonna lose him as a friend and id rather we be friends than nothing at all’

The punctuation is atrocious, and the grammar is slightly questionable, but Kita smiles regardless. He carefully folds the paper again, placing it inside the envelope. He closes his locker and continues his evening routine of cleaning up and locking the club room.

Over the next hour as Kita cleans, his thoughts mull over the letter he had just received. The menial nature of the tasks relaxes him, gives him time to mull over this new information. Kita realizes that maybe he isn’t as perceptive as previously thought by his friends.

How can he have not seen that look in your eyes before? Softer than anything and directed only at him, now that he thinks about it. He ponders over your words, the insecurity and negativity behind them. He has never known you to be a negative person. You are endlessly optimistic and full of energy. You are so bright that Kita loves basking in it. He has known you for a very long time, and he is almost affronted that your budding romantic feelings were hidden from him for so long. Especially when Kita has made his courting intentions for you fairly clear.

He has not directly said anything. But he doesn’t think he was ever being discreet. But maybe he has been wrong in his approach. Maybe you hooking your arm with his when you walked to school in the morning, sharing lunches every day, permanently stealing a few of his choice hoodies were all friendly gestures on your part. While Kita has interpreted the gestures as romantic, it seems you have not felt the same heat behind those actions.

Kita has always walked the same route home, sometimes with Aran, sometimes with you, and sometimes on his own. Today he takes the walk alone, but he is not bothered. He has purpose in his mind, the red envelope in his hand, and his feet carry him all the way through the winding streets until he stops at your doorstep.

He smiles at the surprise in your eyes when you receive him at the door. He nearly coos at the fuzzy slippers on your feet, huge and with bunny ears on them, making your feet look twice their usual size. You are so cute. Kita scolds himself lightly, regretting that he had wasted so much time as your friend when maybe he could have spent it with you as his romantic partner. His girlfriend.

It has a nice ring to it, Kita decides.

“Shinsuke?” Your voice breaks his train of thought. The ‘what are you doing here’ is clear in your voice. Your eyes are wide and your face is questioning. There is a tinge of worry on your face, and Kita realizes that showing up unannounced may not have been the best idea. He isn’t sure what is going on in your head, but he quickly tries to quash your worries.

“Everything is fine.” Clear, direct, to the point. It’s Kita being Kita. “I’m here about something I found in my locker while closing up.”

He holds up the red envelope, and when you stare at it in confusion, he proceeds to open it and pull out the white paper. You take it when he offers it to you, unfolding it and reading the letter. If you can call it that.

Kita watches the color drain from your face, notices how the panic overtakes your features as you recognise the conversation printed in front of you. He feels his shoulders slump a little, lamenting the fact that you are truly scared about him finding out. What do you think he will do? Has Kita truly not made his intentions for you clear enough? He cannot help but self loathe in that moment, seeing the state you were in now.

“Shin-”

He doesn’t let you finish.

“If you will allow it, I would like to take you out for dinner this weekend. Will you be free on Saturday?”

You blink once, twice. Your mouth opens and closes. Kita is acutely reminded of a fish. He tries to tamp down his smile.

“R-really?”

He merely nods.

Slowly, life reinjects into your face. You seem to age in reverse before his very eyes. Your grip on the letter crinkles the paper slightly, and Kita reaches out to gently pry it from your hands and smooth it out. He stays quiet as you process his words. He thinks of hugging you, maybe even kissing you. But stops himself. Those are moments he will reserve for after your first date, after he has properly given you the best date of your dreams. So he keeps his eyes on the letter.

“Remind me to thank Suna for this letter.” He comments. “I must say, it’s the strangest confession letter I have ever received.”

There is a pause.

“You’ve received other confession letters?!”

[dekariosclan]

This is an appreciation post for all the grumpy pics of Gale that I see cross my dash.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely LOVE seeing him happy and smiling (wearing his ‘resting sweetheart face,’ as someone brilliantly put it) but whenever I see photos of him brooding or pondering a serious topic or being displeased about something, I can’t help but think about the whiplash a person would get once they actually met him.

Imagine your first impression of Gale when he’s in his battle robes, wizard staff on his back, looking breathtakingly handsome and wearing a stern expression on his face (literally looking like the photo above, from user eekeric) and all you can think is, “Oh my god, I can already tell this guy is going to be an arrogant, blunt, unfriendly asshole. He probably only speaks to people he considers ‘worthy’ of his greatness.”

And then the minute you introduce yourself he hits you with his thousand-watt smile and he’s all “HELLO :) :) :) I’m GALE of WATERDEEP! *shakes your hand vigorously, bows* I can’t help but notice you’re wearing an amulet of Animal Speaking! *chuckles* My oldest and best friend is my own Tressym companion, Tara. Our conversation topics range from roasted pigeon recipes to advice on expanding my social circle to suggestions for my love life. *raises a finger* Have you met any animals that offered you sage advice in regards to your love life or other topics? Perhaps a dolphin with recommendations for a particularly ‘FIN-tastic’ date? *laughs at his own terrible pun* May I fetch you a glass of wine? I’d love to converse further on—”

TLDR: HOW ARE THERE PEOPLE WHO CAN RESIST THIS MAN I SIMPLY CANNOT FATHOM IT

[stargazerlillian]

HELLO, HI, YES? I'M STILL MARVELING AT THIS ABSOLUTE TREASURE OF AN ART PIECE-💖💗💕💖💗💕💖💗💕

@stargazerlillian's OC, Star!

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

Geoffrey and Bob Karaoke selection- Creep - Radiohead

AN: A little more insight on Nancy and her major: Nancy is majoring in architecture. The Landgraabs are famously known for owning land and property- both residential and commercial- and Nancy will eventually operate the part of family business that will allow her to design houses, buildings and other structures in addition to leasing. (Geoffrey comes from a family of doctors but he decided to get a business degree- as he knows this would likely please Nancy's parents)

Transcript under the cut

Siobhan: Think about it, Nancy! Making your mark on this university—on the world—begins with Theta!

Becca: Nice one, you two.

Nancy: They only want me to join their organization because it’ll benefit them. All they care about is money -Ouch!

Geoffrey: [winces] Sorry. Your knees are completely raw.

Geoffrey: They’ve only got as far as knowing your name. If you give them a chance to get to know the real you-

Nancy: There’s nothing to know! Why do you think I had my parents make arrangements so I’d have my own room? I don’t want roommates. I don’t want friends! I just want to do my time so I can-

Geoffrey: Get away, I know...but what if you just take the next four years to have fun? It’s ok to just enjoy it for what it is. Isn’t that what college is all about?

Nancy: [scoffs] Sure, for you. You don’t have the same expectations as me.

Nancy: You can be anything you want. You can join any sports team; you can switch your major a million times if you want to. I have to excel at everything I do, whether I want to or not, and I cannot come out of this a failure. I have to be ready to start working along with my parents the moment I graduate.

Geoffrey: I just want you to be happy. I want you to take care of yourself. Be kinder to yourself. Give yourself the benefit of the doubt. You’re a good person. You’re an amazing person, Nancy. Anyone would be lucky to be apart of your life.

Geoffrey: Does this hurt?

Nancy: Yes. It hurts.

Nancy: You’re too good for me.

Geoffrey: Don’t say that.

Geoffrey: It’s Karaoke night at Tab’s. Bobby and I wanted to check it out. Did you want to go?

Nancy: I think I’ll pass. I should get started on this project for Munch. I want to get ahead.

Geoffrey: If you change your mind, come down and unwind a bit. Have fun. Eat. Ok?

Nancy: Ok.

Geoffrey: I love you, Nance.

[door shuts]

Nancy Narrates: [I’m holding him back. A selfish part of me knows it, but I can’t fathom the thought of losing someone else]

[distant laughter]

Nancy: Heavenly Father, help me to find peace in Your love and wisdom-

Geoffrey and Bob Karaoke Pick: Creep by Radiohead I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo What the hell am I doin' here? I don't belong here

[crowd whistles and cheers]

I don't care if it hurts I wanna have control

I want a perfect body I want a perfect soul

Morgan: [hums] Upright High Priestess. That’s twice now. Once again, my intuition is being called forth.

I want you to notice When I'm not around

Morgan: My appetite is off. I can’t focus. If I weren’t on the pill, I’d think I was knocked up. So. What does that leave me with? I can almost bet this is all connected to-

Morgan: You! You have something to do with this.

Nancy: [frowns] Do with...what, exactly?

You're so fuckin' special I wish I was special

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo

Morgan: Rich Christian girl with walls as high as Berlin stumbles on campus and taps my shoulder. I had a dream the night before that I placed an injured dove back into its nest. I think this is fate. Sit. I’ll do your reading. Free of charge, of course.

Nancy Narrates: [I didn’t know it then, how right she was. About fate. About everything]

What the hell am I doin' here? I don't belong here

[simplyreveries]

Hello! I would like to make a request for Riddle, Kalim, Ortho, and Malleus (gn reader, platonic or romantic. except for Ortho, platonic for him)

How would they react to finding out that the reader wasn't allowed to celebrate their birthday back home and has never had a birthday party?

riddle rosehearts

I have a feeling riddle never really had experienced a birthday party himself, unless it was someone like trey or che'nya doing some little kid attempt at giving him one during their childhood and that is until he came to nrc and got to feel that more. Yes, riddle is saddened when he hears that you've never gotten to have one yourself more so greatly upset. you’re the last person he would ever think deserves to have that happen to, he will make sure to go completely out of his way with the help of trey and other dormmates he made help to ensure that your first birthday would be positively perfect..! riddle really wouldn't accept anything less than best for you.

because of his own experiences with… unpleasant birthdays he knows what a dreadful feeling it can be so it only amps up his own feelings into making it good for you. The roses will be painted your favorite colors, he’ll make sure trey makes you the tastiest cake/pastries of your liking, decorations are of your taste he is going above and beyond here. ace and deuce even make sure to tread more lightly around him as he's invested in this… they cannot cause any trouble on your special day hjsdjklsdg

all he can think about is the smile that will be on your face once you've seen what he has done, at least he can hope so. he frets about choosing a gift for you, but he’d settle for something small but sentimental like a necklace. his tension and initial worry do seem to evaporate when he sees you having a good time, he feels a sense of relief and simply cannot keep his eyes off of you.

kalim al asim

kalim literally cannot fathom this... he is immediately planning and preparing your birthday as soon as he hears about it and yes, it's going to be his best one yet (”kalim my birthday is in two months-”) he talks to jamil all the time about his plans and how it's going to be absolutely perfect for someone as perfect as you. kalim really is observant, especially towards you— he knows what you like and will implement any of that into this celebration of yours.

I don't just mean a big loud party with a bunch of people— kalim already knows if that really isn't your thing but trust me, he will still go above and beyond even if it's just some sleepover with him and some friends of yours. we haven't even discussed the amounts of gifts you’ll be receiving. I 100% believe he’d be like giving you some gift every day in your birth month, he’ll claim they're all to make up for the birthday gifts you didn't receive growing up.

on the day of your birthday, you could look at what he’s done and be like “isn't this a bit-” “too little??” hahaha. he is so full of energy that day; he tries to get you to dance with him even if it's just him making some fool of himself to get you to laugh. because, despite all the things he does and gets you objectively kalim’s priority is to see you happy and laughing throughout the day. that will be his biggest reward.

ortho shroud

ortho knows you pretty well, he does analyze people incredibly. so, he can easily understand what exactly it'd bd you’d want for a birthday… the issue may be is how do you get a bunch of people to celebrate something in ignihyde?? he’d settle to making some surprise party for you at ramshackle and drag idia to help him out. Along with the other first years.

he would make sure to let others like grim, ace, deuce, and the ghosts that live in ramshackle know what he’s doing as he still asks for some advice from them quite often. it's cute to see how serious he takes it; he gets all stern with people like ace or grim to make absolutely sure they don't spill and reveal the little celebration they're setting up for you, it's almost a little intimidating until he switches a 180 to a cheerful and excited demeanor when the plans seem to be going his way.

the party would end up becoming some sleepover with him and the first years, a little chaotic, but really fun. on top of that, ortho is getting his own experiences with things like this with friends for the first time too and he loves it.

malleus draconia

he has had spent most of his birthdays, rather lonely. i mean, he literally doesn't like cakes for the fact that they once gave made him sick because he didn't have really anyone to split it with. not to mention, his birthdays may become quite repetitive and boring with his years of age. however, he almost seems confused when you mention that you’ve never really have had one before. malleus believed that it was normal for humans to always have one, it's what he's been the most exposed to.

malleus could not stop getting that fact of you out of his mind, he seemed to be troubled and lost in thought on how to make you feel better about it. most likely, coming to lilia for help since he’s usually the one to do birthdays, obviously. of course, malleus would be quite happy and excited even to have one celebrated for you at diasomina— silver is quick to suggest he handle cake after past experiences with lilias cooking and baking skills.

he tries to actually keep to a surprise but he’s so obvious about it as he can't help but feel excited as he awaits your reaction to it all. you could ask him one night outside of ramshackle if he's planning a party for you and he’d chuckle and be like “am i?” (disappears??). he doesn't seem to leave your side once the day comes, content and pleased with how happy you seem. you’ll catch him staring at you the whole time as you go about your day, blow out candles for the first time, open gifts (which are obviously some rare, expensive accessory from him) and experience what it’s like for the very first time.

[waitingtobreatheagain]

One of my favorite parts of the argument outside the Modiste scene is one although it starts harsh/angry…it becomes vulnerable and communicative very quickly. This is due to the core of their relationship. They are each other’s favorite person. No one understands the other more or in the way they do. Even through the hurt, the love is so so apparent.

It is a great example of how anger is a secondary emotion and in this case the primary emotion are emotions related to feeling emotionally hurt.

People say all they had was miscommunication and that is absolutely not true. You wanted them to be all good in five seconds and that was never going to be the case. Two weeks to process what felt like a betrayal, work through it, and work through your own insecurities that could impact your relationship in the future is NO SMALL THING. Not to mention, Colin repeatedly shows his love even in his anger hurt and confusion.

My absolute favorite thing about the scene (and proof of them still having good conversation even while being on the outs) is Colin doing something that Eloise never did. He actually asks Penelope WHY she wrote what she wrote. Even in feeling his most hurt, he seeks understanding. He knows Pen better than anyone (as she does him) and he really needs to identify how and why his most favorite person in the world, the love of his life, could do this. After discussing it, he is still upset which again is fair but he does understand and knows that she is still who he has always know her to be.

To be vulnerable when you’re hurt instead of hurtful also so emotional maturity. Yes, we know their first time seeing each other after the reveal he says something hurtful but he immediately regrets it which is made evident by Luke Newton’s skill in facial expression. He even asks Pen’s questions which she agrees with and identifies why she couldn’t do those things back when she wrote about specific things (I.E. “why didn’t you just tell me to my face” “I know I should have I didn’t have the confidence to then”).

And the part where we see his insecurity about his writing skill and the biggest insecurity being deserving of her on full display. Colin has grown up feeling as if he has to be so many things for so many people to be able to feel worthy. Just being himself has never felt like enough so it makes complete sense that he cannot honestly fathom that his favorite person…the love of his life…loves him simply for being him. That’s beyond belief for him. That is why the “what good am I to you, then (if I can’t protect you) and Pen’s response of I love you is so important. We see Pen’s face go from on guard, defensive, and some indignation to soft and empathetic. She is truly seeing the insecurity and similarly to how Colin couldn’t believe that Pen had no chance of romance when she asked him to kiss her��Pen can’t believe that Colin thinks he can only be loved by her if he is in service of her or has utility. His reaction to her I love you also support Colin is demisexual theories. The affirmation that she does not need him to protect her or do all these things for her and instead just has to be the man she loves is the catalyst for the passion and desire we see him kiss her with afterwards As to say, that’s right. This is the only relationship in my life where I am able to fully be myself, where I am loved for who I am, where I am uplifted, understood, seen, and valued based on my true self not based on who society says I should be, where my vulnerability and emotional intelligence is seen as a strength and not a deficit, etc.

That is so beautiful to me.

This goes back to why for me Polin will always be the pinnacle. The depth of their relationship following years of friends especially as they got closer sets up how they work through conflicts. There are so many parallels when looking at Colin helping Pen work through her insecurity with her confidence and appearance and Pen helping Colin work through his insecurity with self doubt and feeling deserving/worthy of his love.

Truly, a love that is a beautiful as it is rare.

[merlucide]

The matchmaker has found a match……

@thebestsetter your match is….

ISAGI YOICHI!

x kindhearted, fun, exciting, attentive, vb player, fem!reader

RAAAAAAAAGGHHH

OKAY, NOW HEAR ME OUT BOO.

Yes, he’s basic, yes he’s bland

but

BUT, he’s caring, responsible, competitive and a silly lil guy!!

Idk what trope but either Mutual Feelings or Childhood friends :3

tbh I think you’d like be like his ideal type too??

anywho-

You’d be like doing your own thing and he’d just stare at you a think ‘She’s so pretty..’

and then he realized ‘oh no, I like her!!’

He would find every excuse to be around you, oh you need someone to help you carry for science project? Well what do you know! Isagi is already picking it up!

Need some one to spike? Isagi is literally Hinata wym (his spikes are awful, but you teach him how to do it and then becomes decently good actually!)

He confesses on accident lmao

He had finally, FINALLY, mustered the courage to ask you out!!! After literal YEARS of pining after you. 💀

He was supposed to tell you to meet him at the fair, because he had something he wanted to tell you (confess) but instead of

’Hey- We are still good for the fair right? I have something I wanna tell you there :-)”

he said..

”I’m gonna ask you out at the fair- you’re coming still right?”

sigh, Isagi, Isagi, Isagi

and you are just like ‘??? Did I hear that right??”

and it takes him a second to realize what the flip he just said

he just turns all red and is stuttering out incoherent nonsense

he wanted to die so bad

and you’re also like terribly flustered and caught off guard by the sudden confession

You had a feeling he liked you, but you weren’t sure if he really did feel the same!!

you just awkwardly-nervously tell him you feel the same and answer his original question with a soft ‘yes’

and he’s just like ?!?!??

i’m sensing a theme here..

He actually, genuinely, CANNOT believe YOU like him

like WHAT. This pretty, smart, funny, amazing, perfect, girl- actually likes me?!?

‘..so like …. Um … are we like… dating .. now ?’ is all he says

Real smooth Isagi, real smooth 😐

You then ask if this fair is a date now

which he’s like ‘I guess it is’

You both do the awkward goodbye and he goes straight to the boys bathroom and splash’s water on his face

He was genuinely tweaking

And that’s how you two became a couple! :3

The fair date was really fun, but super awkward bc, Isagi 🙂‍↕️

He tried winning you those big stuffed animals, and failed miserably 💀

He really wanted to get it for you too— then you ask if you can try it

You win on the first try.

hes just like ‘🧍‍♀️’

super embarrassed lmaooooo- but super impressed

Also he like… wants to hold you hand… but is like overthinking it so bad

‘Is it too soon??’ ‘Yeah it’s too soon’ ‘Would she even like holding my hand??’ ‘No she wouldn’t’ —-

Doesnt end up holding your hand 😔

You both end your first date on the ferris wheel

You both just chat about wtv, and that you didn’t think he’d like you

and he’s like ‘WHAT’

After he walks you home he immediately changes your contact name “Y/N-san” to “my girlfriend y/n💙”

Now! General HCs! :3

Isagi is such a good hype man ong, like you’re not feeling your best? Well Isagi is gonna make you feel like a thousand bucks!!

He thinks you’re the most perfect person to exist and cannot fathom you thinking you’re anything else but that

super sweet when comforting too, he’ll either hold your hand, hold your shoulders, or actually hold you when he comforts you.

Btw he gets super pumped up at your vb games, he’s like wearing your school/jersey colors and cheering for you in the bleachers

At first he didn’t really understand how the game worked, since the only sport that exists to him is soccer 💀

Really likes playing volleyball with you! He’s really good at digging and passing and so-so at spiking. He’s STUNNING at setting, because of yours truly 😚 like yes, I taught him that 🥹

hes got a mean serve though 😋

Now!

for the affectionate scale! Id say he’s about a 8/10 tbh

Hes like a clingy cat who always wants to lay on your lap lmao

always holding your hand, ALWAYS.

is a sucker for cheek kisses omg ><

He gets all blushy-n-gushy when you kiss his cheeks (anywhere really, but cheek kisses are his fav!!)

He gets soooo flustered when you give him affection or he gives you affection

eventually he gets used to it but he still blushes when you give him some love <33

He loves the simple hugs :) He loves squishing his cheek against you shoulder/neck and rub circles around you waist, while you massage his neck and blue locks (haha pun intended ( ͡ ° ͜ʖ ͡ °) )

Loves laying on your thighs obviously 😌 loves anything with your thighs tbh

His ideal date is probably going to see a movie or just walking around wherever and getting dinner 🙃

He will literally do whatever you want — so just tell him whatchu wanna do and he’ll be on board!!

Really appreciates it when you come to his games <33 it makes him feel so loved and valued <33

also feeds his ego 💀 in his mind he’s like ‘haha yeah, my gf came to my game, these losers don’t even have a gf 😌’

super cheesy btw- but it’s like the best kind of cheesy

Brings you pretty roses :) and likes to buy you keychains whenever he finds one he thinks you’ll like

love any gift you wanna give him, but really melts at the heartfelt ones

help I really yapped on this one 😭

anywho I think you guys would be real cute :)

I ship fr fr😽

hope you like it! 😭💗

(also did see your inbox question but by the time I got it I was literally done with the HCs 😭😭 …. HOPE YOU STILL LIKE IT??)

runner ups!

Kuroo Tetsuro

Karasu Tabito

Bokuto Kotaro (HEAR ME OUT..)

[just-j-really]

"I just don't get it," Hob says, for the fifth or sixth or possibly twentieth time that night, glancing over the rim of his cup at Will, who's sitting on the other side of the room, cuddling with his soulmate in an armchair that's really too small for the both of them. "Why everyone's so hung up on soulmates."

It's all anyone's been able to talk about tonight- and sure, that's fair, it is Will and Ann's engagement party, but Hob has overheard the phrases 'oh you're so lucky you found each other so young' and 'why did you wait this long?' far too many times for one night. Will and Ann met as toddlers; they've never had another option and Hob cannot fathom why everyone seems to think that's a good thing.

Case in point, even his little group of Unmatched friends react to his statement with varying degrees of exasperation.

Hob is just sober enough to be aware he should probably shut up, and drunk enough that he keeps talking anyway. "I mean, I've seen 'soulmates'," he says. "My parents were soulmates, both my siblings met theirs, half of my friends are paired off by now. It's not like I don't know how soulmates work. Soulmates are..." he takes a moment, gathers his thoughts, and even though he's not entirely sure what he's about to say, the moment the word leaves his mouth he knows it's exactly right, "Stupid."

His friends laugh uncomfortably. "You're an idiot," Andrew says, not unkindly.

But Hob's on a roll now, an argument that's been simmering in his chest for years spilling out of him, the exhilaration of speaking making the words come easily. "You literally don't have to stay with your soulmate. No one has to! Everyone just goes along with it because everybody else does. But not me. I've made up my mind," he says, setting his cup down and straightening his shoulders. He's been bullshitting a bit but he means this, knows down to his bones that this is something worth staking his life on. "I'm going to meet someone perfect who isn't my soulmate, and I'll marry them instead."

He feels like he should do something solemn to mark this occasion. Stand up on a table, maybe.

Instead, most of his friends laugh at him again. "Hobs, that's the literal definition of your soulmate. Someone who's perfect for you," Gwen points out. The laughter is teasing, and Gwen's tone is more reassuring than anything else, but still, Hob finds himself frustrated.

"But there's so much more out there. So many people to fall in love with," he insists. "Shouldn't I know who's perfect for me better than anyone?"

And his friends tease him for somehow being sappily romantic in his opposition to sappy romance, and he laughs along with them and points out that his perfect person will be more understanding than them, for sure. And he's genuinely a bit hurt, but Gwen bumps his shoulder apologetically and he thinks that destiny has nothing on these friends he's made on purpose, who know him well enough for these unspoken gestures. And there's movement in the corner of his eye.

Hob looks up.

The most gorgeous man alive is standing in front of him. He's tall- probably taller than Hob, even- pale and willowy, with a mess of soft-looking black hair. His eyes are a deep blue Hob didn't think existed in real life until this moment. He looks like the slightly magical prince in a fairy tale got loose in the real world and decided to become a goth. He's perfect.

"Did I hear you say," the man asks, his voice soft and deep all at once, resonant in a way that Hob's never heard before, "you have no intention of meeting your soulmate?"

Not if he's you, Hob thinks, I take it all back if he's you.

Despite what many of his friends will argue, he is capable of not voicing every thought that comes into his head, if only under extreme circumstances, so he offers the stranger his best grin and says, "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"You'll need to tell me how that works out, then," the man replies.

"Don't encourage him!" Andrew calls from the other side of their little cluster.

The man- flinches, just a little. Hob probably wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been staring at him, but Hob's universe just gained a new center, so he is and he does.

"Hey," he says, catching the man's eyes, "Don't mind him, he's just boring. You really want to know how it goes, finding someone who isn't my soulmate?"

"I do," the man says, seriously, like he genuinely thinks Hob's quest is worth his full attention. It leaves Hob feeling warm, almost giddy.

"Perfect," Hob says, and then, because he's never known when to quit, "Let me give you my number, so I can update you?"

The man nods, a teasing little smirk appearing on his face, as though he and Hob already know each other perfectly, and this is a shared, ancient joke between the two of them. His fingers brush Hob's as he passes over his phone.

Nothing happens. There's no spark, no splash of color on Hob's skin marking where this stranger's fingers first dragged over his.

They are, definitively, not soulmates.

And Hob knows for certain that he's right.

[Part Two]

[spacelazarwolf]

its so wild. Cuz yeah, I've caught myself chuckling or gauffing at a 9/11 joke that's caught me off guard before. I've done a little snort im not proud of it.

But I would never ever DREAM of saying happy 9/11. Esp like, on social media. Even without the tasteless bad jokes done in edgy bad faith, I cannot fathom what prompting it would take for me to do that. It happened before I was born but I'm still aware of what harmed its caused for others. And still causes!

Dark humor and edgy punchlines only work if you know your audience, and I dont think the general public let alone a specific post about not liking 9/11 jokes, is that time and place. Save that shit for with your friends offline and keep it there.

yeah like. my cousin lived in new york and my mom and i flew there to visit her in august of ‘01. we almost went to see the the world trade center but didn’t have time and my mom said “don’t worry, they’ll always be there” and when i tell that story it always gets a laugh-groan bc it’s like. 😬 😬 😬 but “happy 9/11”????? are u ppl ok????

[ladyloveandjustice]

So the reason I was rewatching ATLA in the thros of my sickness was because I watched Big Joel's breakdown of the live action series and areas where it failed and didn't make sense and it made me want to rewatch the cartoon again.

I went ahead and watched the Big Joel video because I figured I wasn't going to watch the rest of the live action series at this point--(it's fun to yell at it with friends but also it's probably better to take those opportunities to watch something we actually like. 3 episodes is enough of a chance, and the only scene I liked out of that was the stupid little fight where Aang threw plates at Zuko)....and man, now I'm definitely not going to watch the series.

There really did just drain away Katara's entire personality and her agency. I honestly don't understand why adaptations are so afraid of letting her be the angry, stubborn, opinionated person she is in the show. I mean I know why, sexism. It's like writers cannot fathom a girl being nurturing and kind while also having a hot temper and being passionate and outspoken. She's not a hard character to get! But they cannot hold those two concepts in their brain at the same time! It's really sad!

But there are two points that really get me

--they...they seriously have Aang agree with Paaku's sexism towards Katara. When she tells him about it he's like "well maybe you shouldn't fight" It's apparently there for in plot reasons like blabla the spirit just told him the avatar should work alone and he's scared his friends will get hurt but I don't care. no. I don't want to see Aang being a tool like that. I don''t think in the original series there's actually any situation where he'd diminish her ability to fight or side with the systemic oppression of women, and there definitely isn't any situation where Katara would silently take it lying down. She'd have kicked Aangs ass (verbally) (perhaps accidentally physically considering what her waterbending does when she's angry) and honestly, I think her trust towards him would have broken so badly it would have been really hard to repair. But that didn't happen, because like Joel said, Aang isn't a dweeb and he respects Katara, and Katara is his equal who wouldn't take that shit.

--They have Iroh excuse his actions at Ba Sing Se (to a guy who's brother was murdered in the battle) with "it was war, we were soldiers". This is played straight, like Iroh is in the right, not as a character flaw to be explored- we're supposed to think Iroh is right to say that. Like he wasn't the GENERAL of the army trying to invade and colonize a city? It wasn't war, it was violent imperialism and people defending their home. How the hell do you misunderstand that. The original show never had Iroh make excuses. The original show wasn't afraid to demonstrate Iroh was a pretty monstrous person when he was leading the invasion- his casual joke about burning Ba Sing Se to the ground in that flashback is so jarring coming from Iroh, supposed to make us see how even he was unbelievably cruel at one point, even he was part of the system of imperialism, but it took his son's death for him to change. And he did change, he started questioning and working against the system he once upheld, and dedicate himself to taking care of Zuko.

But he was a war criminal, and he knows that! I think that's in part why he wanted Zuko to take the throne, he knows someone who did what he did shouldn't be in charge. I think the Iroh we know in the show would have understood if someone who's family member died in that battle was angry at him for starting it. I think he's equally angry at himself, holds himself responsible for his son's death in a battle he commanded and could have refused to fight, and that his son's death is what made him realize what he was inflicting on others.

It's such a stupid decision and shows the writer doesn't have a single thought in their head about imperialism or Iroh's character, that they don't even understand it. incredible.

So yeah, those things alone are enough to not make me want to watch this show. The thing with Iroh shows a disdain for the core themes of the show, and Katara and Aang being stripped of what made them good characters, but even just active characters....nah not for me. I will continue watching reaction videos and breakdowns though, love that stuff.

[fantaatix]

a stolitz post? in the year of our lord??

warning this is genuinely a long ass post

okay so sometime last month i was watching 3bskyen’s JLMW reaction (really tells you how long i’ve actually been cooking this post), and he was talking about color theory or something but what caught my attention was that he was paused on THIS frame:

he said something about the red/blue contrast throughout the music video; red being symbolic of blitz (the moon) and blue being symbolic of stolas (the ocean (?)) and it got me thinking, i wonder what the gold might symbolize? because this definitely isn’t the first time we’ve seen the color gold in reference to stolitz. first think back to truth seekers, there’s gold in quite a few places

golden rails, golden feathers, golden shackles; this is why i say gold and not yellow. at first i thought it might be symbolic of the power imbalance, but that’d be too easy.

quite the selection of objects, isn’t it? rails imply safety but can also be restricting, the feathers seem harmless but then turn into shackles…possibly reminiscent of the nature the book deal and the role it actually played in blitz’s mind about his relationship with stolas.

but there’s one more thing i left out; the golden dust

...okay...don't laugh...

first time i saw this scene in truth seekers i was immediately reminded of shrek ever after

AND I’M NOT COMPARING BLITZ TO RUMPELSTILTSKIN, i’m not trying to imply they stole from shrek ever after, THAT'D be a stretch. if anything blitz is better compared to shrek himself, but i'm not gonna write about that because i Don't Want To

but if i’m remembering correctly, that movie revolved around the theme of taking good things for granted, like your partner and your friends, which aligns pretty well with how blitz’s bad trip ends:

“i believe your subconscious is trying to tell you that you simply cannot fathom proper intimacy, but also craves it as well. it’s rather unfortunate, sir, considering it’s often how you treat those who stand by you, such as myself. are you worried i may have enough of it one day, as well?”

"you cannot fathom proper intimacy."

blitz doesn’t know how to be close to other people–i don’t think he understands the relationship he has with any of the people in his life.

we still don’t truly know blitz’s full belief on love and we can only deduce it from his actions; he says monogamy is boring but then goes on to stalk his monogamous employees, on their anniversary no less, bringing along his own singular date...

he focuses on the sex in his relationships because that’s what he’s good at; he finds sex less complicated than romance... and then struggles to get his asmodean crystal to open a portal because he can’t get it off.

he has this recurring pattern where the title of “best friend” eventually turns into something else, often unrequited...

“...my first ever friend!”

he didn't expect stolas' intimate attraction to him. stolas made the connection and it succeeded in making blitz feel guilty about stealing the book; that was why he stayed the night. blitz isn't used to not being rejected, even though he has a record of relationships that stopped once the Evil Four Letter Word came up. when he goes into a relationship, blitz has learned to not expect it to evolve past sex. love has negative connotations to him.

the worst part is we don’t know for certain WHY any of this is, or if it can even be chalked down to a singular thing

yeah, his mom died in a fire blitz caused, his best friend/crush lost his limbs in a fire blitz caused, he’s been treated as property since a young age; you can makes all kinds of correlations between these events and how they might have affected him later in life but as it stands now, we have no concrete answers other than the conclusion that blitz hates himself and has commitment issues.

but back onto that “taking things for granted” tidbit–subconsciously, he knows relationships can be good, but he feels he has to give up a lot of freedom in order to maintain one of his own.

also note how blitz is desperately crawling up the staircase, feathers kind of just hitting him haphazardly as he does so, as opposed to trip!moxxie who takes a few steps up after picking up a feather of his own volition. he knows moxxie’s relationship is more stable than any relationship he’s ever had, and yet:

“stop fucking talking, all of you!”

cue the gold dust.

now, i'm not saying the book deal was a good thing. in fact, it kind of reinforced the power imbalance between blitz and stolas. i'm saying that from blitz's perspective, it was a safeguard. any feelings he might have had for stolas before could be dismissed, and he does exactly that one episode prior;

"it's a transactional fucking, you see..."

what i think he does take for granted is the advice “moxxie” gives to him, his attempts to reach out in a meaningful manner, kind of like stolas’ attempts to reach out. he ignores them both; he’s too deep into his own denial.

also, STAIRCASES IN THIS FUCKING SHOW.

why do these fruity little men think so low of themselves and so highly of others??

i guess that's a bit of a rhetorical question, we all know the answer, but. wait. hold on a sec

ohhhh.

OOOHHHH, that's what this post was gonna be about!

i fucking GOT all of you, you thought i could go a post without talking about him you're WRONG and should feel SILLY.

so this was the OTHER thing i realised when watching 3bskyen's JLMW reaction: it follows the same theme as moxxie's bad trip!

JLMW vs. moxxie's bad trip

in helluva boss, we're used to seeing staircases being symbolic of a difference in power or importance, or a staircase to heaven, or a highly anticipated event going wrong *cough cough ozzie's cough full moon cough cough*

however, i think in the context of moxxie’s bad trip and JLMW, it can also be attributed to emotional distance. like stolas, moxxie's also looking for an emotional intimacy/understanding between him and blitz (he spends his whole trip actively trying to get on the same level as him for crying out loud).

this could also fit into blitz's bad trip; he's trying to get on the same level as stolas, but feels like even if he ever did, he'd still be inherently worthless. a "play thing".

he doesn’t know why anyone would want him for anything else, but he’s clearly not all about the hierarchy.

they need to get on the same level as each other emotionally; they need to break the power dynamic, and thats why the book deal had to go.

the difference in the symbolism is that while blitz has a straight and narrow path to trip!stolas, moxxie’s path to trip!blitz is this winding, unguarded staircase. he almost falls off.

now, compared to both of those, stolas’ path is a fucking stroll. albeit an emotionally damaging stroll, but it takes less physical strength.

conclusion; stairs are symbolic of a difference in power, but gold is symbolic of something else.

and there is a power dynamic between moxxie and blitz. it's not like stolas and blitz's dynamic, it's an artificial imbalance; blitz is the boss, moxxie is the employee. and moxxie has his own inferiority complex, which i think plays a role in it too.

the imbalance between stolas and blitz is kind of, unfortunately, inherited. but it's not impossible to manage. of course, stolas doesn't care about where blitz is on the hierarchy, he doesn't care about the hierarchy period. but it's still there. blitz cares because it affects him.

"you will be technically under his jurisdiction, but..."

this was problem one. stolas unintentionally demonstrating his power over blitz. "surprise, i technically made you someone else's property! please love me!" i'm exaggerating but this is definitely not the kind of thing you spring on your partner; they needed to talk about this beforehand, but according to stolas:

"no need for an arrangement, it can just be him and me!"

sigh. the many different ways this night could've gone

this is enough to trigger blitz's fight or flight. he wants to be with stolas, but he doesn't want the freedom to choose to be with him, which is problem two:

because blitz's belief of love is so inherently fucked up,

what are the chances that the very thing stolas gave to blitz to reaffirm his free will was just interpreted as another shackle?

blitz doesn't do commitment; stolas doesn't say "i love you", he doesn't need to. if you love something, you let it go, and if it comes back then it's yours--which happens in the very next episode.

blitz is the first person to mention love.

but if they want to love each other, they have to be equals, which was why the book deal had to go. they can't hold each other to these super high standards because that'd just set themselves up for disappointment. they have to be on the same level.

tldr: they're two sides of the same coin. literally!

color theory for dummies, a brief intermission

fun fact: i actually didn’t learn color theory in an art class, but in a textiles class. we love american education. but anyways, i’m gonna ask you to draw your attention specifically to the complementary colors.

we start the chorus of JLMW in a purpley sort of place, which then shifts into gold, and then into the red/blue contrast.

except red and blue aren’t complete opposites, they’re both primary colors.

if they wanted complete opposites, they could’ve used red and green, or blue and orange, which are admittedly uglier combinations but the point is that stolitz aren’t complete opposites.

however, purple and yellow, or gold, ARE complete opposites; they’re complementary colors. if purple is implied to be symbolic of stolitz together, then could gold imply stolitz apart?

well…no. i think that’s the wrong angle. if they wanted that contrast, they could have left the gold out entirely, because red and blue separate is stolitz apart.

so how are we supposed to deduce what the gold is actually symbolic of? because no, i don’t actually think it’s an extended shrek 4 reference. that kind of exclusively pertains to blitz’s trip.

listening to the lyrics in the gold part;

This unspoken contract

A deed we forged for mutual gain

If that's all this was when you're not here

What is this rooted pain?

I don't care that you're of lower station

Or primed to sate my dark temptations

Why can't you understand? Let me explain

And I'm terrified as I cry

To make these feelings true

What's left for me and my broken heart

If I cannot have you?

a direct mention of the book deal…and another mention of the power imbalance…so i realize am starting to sound insane, but please hear me out.

i think the main theme of helluva boss IS learning to love in spite of damages and traumas and insecurities–not ignoring either of those, but learning to work around them or possibly heal those parts of yourself so you can love someone else effectively. learning from mistakes.

so what if the gold is symbolic of the simple desire of a mutual understanding? or a meaningful connection with someone else?

tying it all back together somehow

both moxxie and stolas want to connect with blitz (in different ways), but for stolas, that means severing possibly the only thing connecting them thus far (the book). for moxxie, that means climbing the staircase and possibly being pushed even further away.

moxxie also has this high opinion of blitz despite all his obvious (and not so obvious) flaws. i think it's partially because of his own inferiority complex, but to him, blitz is the phantom--his scar becomes the mask he hides behind. he knows blitz puts on this loud, crude personality to hide his cracks and keep others away, and has a scarily accurate portrayal of him in his mind.

moxxie wants to be on the same level as blitz, and he knows it's possible to get there, because he's a damaged character himself and he gets it. he's just yet to take the actual first step.

stolas, even in his own imagination, doesn't think it's possible to be emotionally intimate until the deal is broken. he could reach for blitz, but blitz wouldn't reach back. he's not looking. not to mention the literal celestial view he has of blitz in his head.

while stolas can see blitz's damage, he can't fully comprehend it yet, partially because blitz won't give him the chance and partially because stolas isn't damaged in the same way he is. they both had deadbeat dads, but they adapted in different ways.

that's just the way trauma works, you adapt to deal with it, and then have to unadapt those unhealthy coping mechanisms once you're finally safe. it just takes a while for people to realize they're actually safe, and these fruitcakes are no exception.

conclusion? uhh, i don't know, i guess i don't really have one. just. enough with the discourse about these bitches i guess??? just give them each some time, change takes more than two seasons.

i guess i could compare the way the songs are set up but this was supposed to be out like two days ago and it's already 11:45 so. maybe some other time, maybe in a post about moxxie's Interesting taste in musicals

was unfortunately unable to finish the mox vs. fizz masterpost this month but we'll see sometime in the coming months, maybe sometime after the next helluva short comes out. been a bit too busy with school and other social things to have time writing these long asf posts about my skrimblos

okay goodnight o/

[tremendum]

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Me and the Devil; vi

(not my gif)

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previous next series masterlist

word count: 11k LOL SORRY

summary:  "Now is not the time for recklessness; Paul will bide his time, watching and waiting for the opportunity- with a small flicker, he casts down the side of him that wishes to see Feyd-Rautha's head on a spike."

warnings:  blood and gore, graphic descriptions of violence (reader and others), allusions to noncon/incest/pedophilia (Feyd Rautha and the Baron), referenced past abuse, blood kink, predator/prey kink, allusions to dubcon, knife kink, rough unprotected PiV, slapping, flashback to Feyd-Rautha warning maybe i should say, drinking and making dubious decisions... pls lmk if i left any out.

notes: hi to my friends here who are reading this series! thanks for the patience I know its been a little bit since i last updated but in return, this chapter is the longest yet with almost 11k words... i promise itll be worth it!! things are moving along!! new chapter on AO3 is also coming soon :) as always please feel invited to leave feedback, its how i get motivated! love u all i hope you enjoy!

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My Dearest Niece,

I received your letter with great joy, though I regret to inform you that I will not be able to attend the Space Trade Referendum or the arraignment as planned. It is with love that I must share the news that I am set to give birth around that time, and I am unable to travel in my condition.

Please know that my absence does not diminish my support for you in any way.  Though I cannot be there in person, I will be thinking of you and sending you all of my love and support from afar. Should things become dire, please remember that you are always welcome at House Ginaz. Our doors are open to you, and we will do whatever we can to assist you in any way possible.

Take care, my dear niece, and know that you are never alone.

With all my love and best wishes,

Lady Ginaz

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The planets look tiny and unimportant from so vastly far away. 

You've decided, in the last few days, that you are not particularly keen on space travel; The ship that transports you and the members of House Atreides is incredibly massive and freezing cold, and the empty void of space that sits just to the right of your bed has been a present reminder of your mortality. 

You stare silently out the expansive window that covers one whole wall of your chambers; out into the deep dark, your breath nearly fogging the plexiglass from your proximity. Your lip, chewed raw, has cracked down the middle and bleeds gently as you sigh, one hand toying with the sleeve of the dress you wear. 

It is now only three days until the summit Referendum is drawn - four days, then, until your fate is charged against the rest of the Landsraad - when you could lose your planet and your name, your right to marry Paul, your claim to the Noble class. 

"I want you to be prepared," Duke Leto had said last night at dinner, "Baron Harkonnen will be in attendance, and it is likely that either of his nephews will be with him." 

Your eyes bore holes into the window before you, showcasing the wide expanse of space that stretches deeper than you could fathom. The thought of seeing Feyd-Rautha festers in your mind; a dangerous, hungry beast that cannot be quelled but with the taste of flesh and blood. 

It is with a twist of your gut that you realize you want him to be there. 

Ever fiber of your being screams with the desire to see him, to scream, to rip the skin off of his face. More fearfully, though: deep down inside you feel a longing, quiet and unsure, that sings in your heart. There were those days when Feyd would come to you late at night, muscles weary, and he would lay with you; nothing more than his head on your chest, his breaths labored, as he fought back the gruesome memories of his uncle's vile ways. He never particularly opened up about his experience completely - but in those moments, where you'd tenderly stroke his head and listen to his uneven breathing, he'd whisper evil truths to you; truths that prove even the worst person you know can be hurt by another. 

You'd shared moments of tenderness with Feyd-Rautha, even though it is now completely unimaginable - warped and disintegrated by the cruelty of your stay, the horror of their culture. Fingers, dipping into a bowl of black paint to be smeared over his taught torso; Lips, smeared with the same color and pressed on his palms, where he'd clutch blades in the arena.

Small gifts; the bright red wax currants from your homeworld, smuggled when the Baron was none the wiser; a new dress in your wardrobe the day after he'd ripped one apart. Feyd's hands, surprisingly soft when he was placated - pressing against your waist, or smoothing over your cheeks. The same hands that hit your skin and the same lips that said horrible things to you; the teeth that broke skin, the blades that cut yours. 

There was once a semblance of care between you, however skewed and twisted it was; Now, all that remains is hatred. 

A knock at your door makes your brow furrow; the view from the plexiglass window, thick and slightly warped, reflects your surprised expression. You are not set to land on Kaitain for another few hours. 

"Yes?" You call, voice sharp; you are unable to shake the anger that has grown in you the last few minutes reminiscing upon your relationship with Feyd-Rautha. 

"My lady," Your handmaid calls - it is not Hestia, but a sweet maid who is younger and less inclined to speak freely. "Lord Paul wishes to speak with you." 

You find yourself relieved that it is him who wishes to speak with you, not sure you have the energy to face anyone else now. You send her a small faux smile, hoping to ease her anxiety - wherever it may stem from - and nod, "Let him in, please." 

A few moments before he walks in, steps quiet against the floor as you stare out into the vast darkness. It's been over a day since you've seen Paul - consciously, at least - and he looks quite different away from the winds of Caladan. His eyes are dark, framed by those long lashes, face more serious than usual; a feat you never thought possible. Much like yourself, he is dressed quite formally - curls tamed away from his face, dark dress uniform that has the brass sigil of Atreides on the collar. 

You wetten your lips as he arrives next to you; you taste the tang of your own blood, familiar and warm, as you greet him. "Hello, Paul." You say, turning to nod at him. 

You haven't spoken alone since the few nights ago in the garden; during meals and meetings upon your travels to Kaitain you've exchanged pleasantries and discussed options for trade routes and embargoes, but nothing more. It's a good thing you're seeing him now, you remind yourself - to become acquainted with being seen publicly by his side. You'll land in a few hours and stand together upon arrival; a flicker of anxiety flares within you. 

I don't know why you pretend to know anything about me. 

He says your name, and it gives you that odd feeling in your stomach at his timbre. His eyes don't hold yours for long after greeting you; silently, he resigns himself to watch out over the ocean of space with you. Perhaps it's the sense of foreboding that lingers over your head, or the desperation that crawls through your veins when it hits you; while unlikely, there is still a possibility that you could lose your engagement to Paul in a few days, and by extension, lose the only grasp at power you might have. 

His breathing is low and slow; you match your own breaths subconsciously, unaware of the comfort you find in his presence. "Will you sit in with your father for the drawings?" You ask, unsure why he's chosen to visit you before it is time to land and chosen to remain mute; but you are curious to know what he is thinking. It will be more beneficial to be on each other's good side going into the next few days, and it's better to start with tortuous slow talk as to avoid the arguments that are bound to sprout up. 

"Yes," He affirms, "But not for the trial; only House representatives may sit on the bench." 

You hum, your hands clasping in front of you, smoothing over the rich texture of your dress. You're not sure if it's a relief or another anxiety that Paul will not be sitting front row at your arraignment.

The starlight reflects in his eyes as he stares at you, as if unsure what to do. A violent rush of emotion floods through you - you realize in this moment just how much you've come to rely on him; not in the way you had with Feyd-Rautha, where you'd had to rely on him out of necessity, but because he understands what you are feeling, if not just a tiny bit. 

It's been a lonely many years, and to finally trust someone - with your life, your future - uncertainty blooms in your gut untastefully, but you are finally beginning to let yourself ignore it. You're learning to let things happen as they come; resistance holds more pain than fortune in some cases. It's much easier to ignore your troubles when Paul's standing beside you, watching the stars silently. 

"I used to get nauseous during space travel." He says quietly; introspectively. The corner of your lip quirks; you haven't felt too good yourself since setting off on the ship. You debate even responding, but curiosity piques you as you turn to regard him.

"Have you traveled off-planet much?" You ask. You've only ever been to Sabberon, Giedi Prime, and Caladan; Though once, when you were just barely fifteen, you convinced your father to take you to one of the smaller moons under the jurisdiction of your House, but fell ill and had to stay home. 

He shrugs with one shoulder in that peculiar way he does, shaking his head. "Not particularly, but I've gone with my father to High Councils and meetings on Kaitain." 

You nod, considering. "Is it really just one big city?" You ask, willing to play a pleasant game of small talk. His eyes are locked on a particularly bright star in the distance. Paul's response is thoughtful, his expression distant as he recalls, "It's mostly Corrinth City," he muses, choosing his words carefully. "There's certainly more variety than just buildings, but the parks and vegetation they have lack authenticity."

A wistful smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you remember the natural beauty of your home planet, impressed by Paul's fascination with different cultures and planets. "Fresh air." You mutter. He watches you as you turn back to the glass, toying with the necklace in your hands. "Giedi Prime is similar," you confide, a touch of bitterness seeping into your words. "Not a single part of nature there that wasn't synthesized."

It's quiet for a heavy moment in which you're thrust into black and white memories of thick air, an oppressive sun, unwelcoming glares and hisses. 

There's a brief pause as he considers his next words, a thoughtful furrow appearing between his brows, "I can't imagine what it must have been like," he admits, his tone gentle. "But I admire your resilience."

It's not a particularly enticing subject; the thought of Feyd-Rautha has you seeing red, and the prospect of it happening in a setting like you're about to be in is sickening to you. You are tired of people repeatedly telling you that you're resilient or strong after being forced to survive such tragedies; there is nothing irrepressible about it when enduring is the only choice. You sigh, "Maybe one day people will stop telling me how strong I am." 

He turns to look at you in your peripheral. "And what would you have them tell you instead?" He questions. 

You find yourself interested in the small glint that reflects within his green stare; attention fully on you, you've never particularly noticed what Hestia had once said to be true: There is a side to Paul which enjoys a small bit of humor, however odd it may be. And perhaps you are starting to recognize a similar side within you.

A pang of longing washes over you suddenly; a selfish wish. To enjoy your youth while you still have it grasped within your hands, to relish in the attention of the handsome boy who stands before you - no matter who he is - and to bask in the wealth and prosperity of the house you're marrying in to. When you were eighteen, before leaving Sabberon, you would have felt overjoyed to have such a connection with your future husband. Even in the eclipse of your anxiety of the days to come, a resentment grows within you - towards everything, perhaps, that threw you into the midst of crimes you did not commit, to have to answer the call for your family after those who cast it killed them. 

"I don't know, maybe something shallow and complementary for once? That they like my hair, or the dress that I'm wearing." Your voice is tired - less sardonic than usual, though, and you find a kind of warmth within it. You shrug, "What do people usually tell noble ladies like me?" 

Paul stares at you, and for a moment you flounder under the scrutiny: have you just embarrassed yourself, for acting so childish? But then, who is to say you shouldn't act childish, when your young adulthood has been so tainted and tarnished? 

His small grin eases your worries quickly and even stirs something deep within you; you've never seen his expression so relaxed, so pleased except in dreams; The thought sends your stomach flipping. "Well, I do like your hair." He says simply, shrugging.

You send him a flat glare, ignoring the heat in your face at the blunt compliment. This is certainly untread ground. At your expression, Paul shrugs, pointedly staring at your knife that lies untouched by your resting area. "To be fair, if someone tried to compliment your appearance I believe you'd carve their tongue out."

You scoff, "Just because you think I'm some monster-" 

He doesn't let you go off on another tangent this time; he dares interrupt you instead, tilting his head as if to prove a point. "-And as for your dress," he added, his tone teasing as he takes the time to take in your appearance, "I like the color. But I'd say it pales in comparison to the woman wearing it."

 You roll your eyes at the cliché, the way his grin looks innocent and boyish in the starlight, and you shake your head. Concealing your heated cheeks with a glare, you huff, "I should cut out your tongue for that. That was painful." 

"I'm simply following your orders, my lady." He defends, hiding a small laugh. His own amused smile looks completely foreign and quite beautiful upon his features, you can't look away. "Shallow and complimentary." 

"I didn't mean it like that." You mutter, crossing your arms. He turns towards you; the viridian of his uniform is striking against the matte architecture around you. "You seem not to know what you want." He shakes his head. 

This is, for some reason, sobering. 

You clear your throat, smile dying down as your thoughts spiral, concern growing the closer you close in on Kaitain.  

You hadn't acted much like a noble lady, especially when you'd arrived; though Duncan does not hold it over you, the look on everyone's faces after they'd seen the claw marks you'd left him is fully ingrained into your memory. You'd lashed out, been cold and distant, unwelcoming. Even as Paul tries to navigate through the thick haze of both of your dreams, you've been difficult - but you've come to understand that his introspective nature, which you initially perceived as snootiness, is just introversion and a sharp mind.  

"I may not act like it all the time," you say smally, unsure who you're admitting it to - him, or you - "but I am very grateful for your help. Your house has shown more kindness than I deserve. And I'm sorry for the times that I seem less than so." 

Like in the garden the other day, you almost add; hesitating, you let the words hang above your head. It's a hard thing, to trust him with your future. Despite the uncertainty that looms over you both, there's a quiet reassurance in his presence - even as he takes a step back from the window and looks towards the hall. 

He doesn't say anything, but the corners of his lips uptick in a gentle smile. 

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The weather is warm and sunny when Paul steps out of the space port.

The House Atreides is received by members of the Imperial House; Paul's father pulls one of the men into a tight embrace for a moment as he watches, a smile growing on his father's face. Each one of them wears a mask, even you; Paul stares on at the people before him with his chin up, just as he was taught in his youth. 

You stand next to him, his father on his right and his mother on the other side. The sun burns brightly today - it's about midday, and though he is exhausted from travel, Paul's gaze is immediately drawn to the grandeur of the cityscape; the bustling city that reflects in your hairpiece as you tilt your head in his peripheral.

There are towering spires of gleaming metal - gold, too - and glass that stretches towards the heavens, reflecting the fountains below them. The fountains adorn the main plaza where a convoy waits to shuttle the house to the lodgings -  cascading waters create a soothing symphony amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. 

The entire walk, you stand beside him, your back straight as ever; your eyes are wide with awe at the vibrant energy of the city. Banners and posters line the boulevards, boasting of the Trade referendum; convoys with tinted shields carry other Noble Houses to and fro under the watchful gaze of the large conference building that towers above the other theaters and galleries. 

Paul never cared too much for a large city, preferring the sparce Cala City with its docks and canals. 

The ride to the accommodations is filled with views, too: grand theaters and lush parks, each more impressive than the last - a gentle breeze, barely a cloud in the sky above all the skyscrapers, statues of previous Corrino Emperors watching down the boulevards with golden stares.

His parents murmur gently in front of him - you, however, stare out the window solemnly, your eyes stuck on the large building in the distance: The Imperial Opal Palace.

There is a worry between your brows that does not subside the entire trip towards the accommodations; to save your dignity, Paul pretends to not see it. 

He is likewise stuck with a sense of apprehension for the days ahead, but doesn't dare voice his thoughts out loud. He's spoken with his father already about his concerns - The political landscape of the Landsraad is fraught with tension now more than ever; every decision made during the referendum will have far-reaching consequences. Not to mention, the very present chance that, after the arraignment, you may be stripped of your House's land and wealth - most of which was absorbed by the Harkonnens but some of which still remains on Sabberon.

Blinking away drooping eyelids, Paul rests his chin in his palm. Sleeping has become quite a chore as of late, and he's found that more often than not, each slumber leaves him less rested than before.

It's only thirty minutes until you're being received again at the gates of their lodgings; A plethora of people in uniform who bow to the members of House Atreides and their staff before shaking hands, pressing small kisses to you and his mother's knuckles. You look stricken with panic; though your face is completely schooled and placated, he can see in the tenseness of your neck and the way your eyes flicker sharply that you've found that feeling again - to run. He almost feels it, too. 

Glancing sideways at you while staff directs everyone to their quarters, Paul feels his hand brush against yours; a fleeting accident, but the look you send him before entering your own quarters is less than chilly - he turns forward, leaving you without a word when a maid gestures him down a different hallway. 

The days on Kaitain are long and filled with conferences, galas, and 'town halls' in which Paul takes diligent note of every single person, who they are, and what their stance is on the upcoming voting; His father insists on debriefing each evening and then again in the morning. There is little time for rest and even less time for speaking with the others. 

Paul cannot help but miss the routine of life on Caladan; perhaps he's grown keen to the architecture that has held up his entire life - intricate windows and hexagonal wooden floorboards that creak every third left foot - but the streets and buildings of Corrinth City are much less pleasant and too gaudy for his taste. 

The sun is more inviting on this planet; he decides the intermittent gloom that creeps into Castle Caladan might have put an even worse damper on the anticipatory moods of him and his House members. 

During supper the second evening, his mother mentions the court building she'd accompanied you to with Thufir earlier in the day. You'd gone to provide your genetic data for the upcoming trial and arraignment, as well as sign the correct paperwork as final heir to your house. Paul has to suppress a look of exhaustion when you make a face at the thought of the courthouse. 

"Was it bad?" His father asks you, a glint of amusement in his eye. You, as you often do, miss the jesting in his voice. "It was perfectly pleasant, I suppose, despite why we were there. I didn't quite like the golden dome, though." 

They love their gold here, Paul thinks. Your eyes flicker to him after a split second and he blinks, somewhat startled by the sudden attention.  

It's over as quick as it came, and dinner sullies on. 

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You don't see much of Paul or Duke Leto in these days leading up to the Referendum; Attending the meetings and councils for the Great Council are forbidden for you. Deemed a person of interest, you are not allowed a seat at this conference; instead you stay back and try to ignore the impending doom growing in your gut. 

The few days between your arrival and the actual Referendum are littered with pointless social gatherings; you observe as Paul attends every single meeting, gala, dinner, and everything in-between with a grace you never actually thought imaginable. He's up bright and early each morning, mumbling deeply at the breakfast table and rubbing the sleep from his eyes while reviewing subjects with his father. Besides the short visit to the court building to provide genetic data, there is nothing for you to do besides wait for the others to return and relay information to you, waiting to hear your thoughts.

There is a play you attend at the opera house that one of the Emperor's daughters is also in attendance to; this is a big buzz for the other Nobles, who you have grown to detest even more through the last few days. Lady Jessica keeps her stay with you when she can but attends several of her own more mysterious meetings off-campus; some that leave you wondering and doubting, spending hours of your day staring at the wall, trying to recover the full knowledge behind the Shortening of the Way.

Hestia was unable to come with you, and though you enjoy the company of your maid, she is quite jumpy around you, and stares with fear at the knife that sleeps beside you on your pillow. Despite being around many, you still feel alone - more than you have in a while. Perhaps that is why you fall asleep so early the night before the Referendum.

Perhaps that is why you dream what you dream. 

Your feet slap bare against the cold floor of the halls; your breath comes, but it is ragged. 

If Giedi Prime's atmosphere was capable of it, you'd imagine a harsh ice storm slamming against the echoing walls, berating and mocking your racing heart. Plumes of clouded breaths betraying you as you pant, holding a shaky hand to your lips as you turn your neck. 

A distant shout; His voice rolls, feet sliding down the same hallway upon which you crouch; Your heart thunders in your chest, fear striking you as the dull heat in your stomach grows lower, aching in your core. 

You should not feel excited for what is to come - but something dark in you dares Feyd-Rautha to come near you, to try and best you in combat; you, unlike the others he fights, are not drugged. 

Despite your fear you're as sound as ever tonight, because it is your nameday. And you know what the Harkonnen grooms gift to their betrothed on their first nameday spent together - it is strapped to your waistband, sheathed and perfectly pristine. 

After tonight, that blade will weep with blood.  

A deep chuckle through the walls; you slide as quietly as possible from shadow to shadow, the billowy dress skirt you don providing no ease. Perhaps another day, you'd find this entire thing a complete waste of time - if Feyd-Rautha felt the need to exercise his control over you, he need not look further than, say, your living quarters, which were small and attached to his; the slaves they gave to serve you, with their tongues cut off; the complete regulation over anyone you come into contact with; the times you go to the arena and train or fight. 

Every part of your life, he can control - except one. 

One part of you, nestled deep down from the last few years on Sabberon with your mother holds onto the power of sex; a power of yours that Feyd-Rautha yields to quicker than anybody else. 

It is not exactly true, either, to say that he takes things of that nature from you unwillingly; though he'd probably enjoy to anyways. Because the worst part of it all is that deep down - in the evenings, when the shadows glint over his brow bone, in the mornings, when you agree to paint him before he goes to the arena, when that smooth chuckle echoes in your chamber, when you take down yet another competitor in the arena and you meet his hungry eyes, or even when his hand wraps around your throat - you like it. You love that deep arousal, the simmering fear that bubbles into hunger.

You've begun to crave the darkness that spills out of him, relish in the feeling of him on your body far after he's gone. 

Feyd-Rautha's appetite cannot be satiated; he is hungry for you, for warm skin against his, constantly. He has his Harpies, and you are thankful for that; without them you fear you'd have to kill him in his sleep. 

Tonight is different, though - because you have just celebrated the first steps in a long-seated tradition of House Harkonnen and are now hiding in the depths of the stronghold, hiding away and hoping your betrothed cannot find you. 

The walls creak, hallways groan; something disgustingly personified about some of the areas of Barony's Castle that sets your skin on edge. Fingers shakily skim over the leather hilt of your new blade - curved, silver and foreign, it is engraved with an odd language that you do not wish to read. 

Suddenly, a chilling laugh echoes through the empty halls; back flying rigid, shivers wash over your spine. Freezing in your tracks, your eyes scan the darkness for any sign of movement, knowing he is much closer than you'd wished. 

You've made it - from what you can tell - a long time running from Feyd; he grows impatient with every breath, every step - though you are not on your way towards either of your quarters, you wish you had been. There is a dull ache that has sprouted in your anticipation that you know Feyd-Rautha will be eager to satisfy your arousal after the ritual; though you are unsure if either of you will be in a state good enough for it. 

You hear a whisper around a corner and shrink back further into the shadows of the room you've slid into. Across your vision lies a grand table, its legs a thick dark wood with a glossy finish in the moonlight. 

And then, like a specter, his shadow slides up against the backlit hall - casting a tall frame over the glint on the table. You resist a gasp, your eyes pealing over the twin knives that hang dauntingly in his grasp. "Come out, little pet," he taunts, his voice a sinister whisper. "There's no use hiding. I can smell your fear."

He might be bluffing, but you're not sure; there is a part of you that has fear quaking through your bones and nearly sets your teeth to chatter - but a larger part of you is ravenous, hungry for a chance to get your hands on him. 

You press yourself against the cold stone wall, heart pounding in your chest as you make a quick plan; you're not foolish enough to believe you are any match for Feyd-Rautha in your current state of panic - But still, you refuse to give in to despair; You might be able to outwit him for just a bit longer. 

He draws closer, entering the room. The footsteps echo ominously in the silence and send a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. With a silent prayer to the void, you dart down a narrow corridor, footsteps quick and light as you seek refuge in the darkness. But Feyd-Rautha is relentless in his pursuit, his laughter echoing through the halls as he gives chase.

"You can run, little mouse," he calls, his voice filled with cruel amusement. "I'll still find you."

Desperate, you press yourself into the shadows, not daring to breath as you wait for him to pass; then, with a surge of courage, you spring from your hiding place, drawing your knife from its place at your hip.

For a brief moment, your blades clash; he, with a small light of shock in his dark eyes, and you with fury and anger. You're too weary from running for over an hour - he, on the other hand, had adopted a leisurely stroll through the castle he's known for years longer than yourself; barely winded, he attains the upper hand in moments. 

You get several cuts in; he, per tradition, does not have a shield on and takes the pain with a glinting smirk.

You relish in the crimson that beads at the seam of each strike.

But you are too little, too late; in a sudden blur of motion, he is upon you, his frame crashing into yours with a force that sends you sprawling to the cold stone floor.

The impact is harsh; you squint your eyes to ward off the dizzy spell that accompanies the ache in your skull. For a moment, you lay there, stunned by the impact and mind reeling as you struggle to catch your breath. Feyd-Rautha follows you to the floor swiftly- you feel his weight pressing down on you like a jolt of electricity.

It's a sensation unlike anything you've ever experienced before; a heady mix of fear and desire, arousal and revulsion, all swirling together in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions that makes you scream out, exhausted and petrified. Feyd-Rautha's hands roam over your form, one blade still in his fist; lifting the tip of it, he traces the curve of your jawline gently. You gasp at the cold metal, the sweet sharpness slicing gently down your cheekbone. When the blood pebbles, his tongue is there to lap it up; a shaky sigh you admit into his ear lets him grunt and from there, he's all but forgotten the purpose of the hunt itself. 

You, foolishly, drop your blade in a last-ditch hope he will too; instead he leans just so, dragging the curved knife over your neck and down between your breasts, where he begins seamlessly slicing your dress down the middle. You squirm under his thighs; not for discomfort - no, that would be too sane - but in desire, your body alight with a primal hunger you cannot deny. 

Your mind rebels against the intrusion, screaming out; you should push him away, fight back against the overwhelming tide of desire threatening to consume you - but why shouldn't you? He will be your husband one day - there is nothing wrong about satisfying your desires with him. Perhaps it will distract him from his task.

You yield easily; into his lips, a whisper against sharpened black teeth and a hungry growl. Your body melts against his touch in a dizzying haze of surrender and desire - "Have you ever tried spice, my pet?" You think he asks. You shake your head, body trembling as the knife lowers across your waistline, nicking against the pair of underwear you don. Your hips buck with desire in response. 

He hums, tongue sliding from your bleeding cheek to your chest; teeth marking you as he chooses to do every night; over the cacophony of yellows, blues, purples, blacks and browns. He tsks into your throat as he throws the blade to the ground; having cut open your dress you are nearly bare for him, spread out and eager on the stone floor. "When we go to Arrakis we will have it." He promises; an odd thing to remark but you can barely focus as he presses his length, hard and eager, to your heat.  

Your eyes close, trying to visualize where your knife's gone, and where his are; because at some point, he will have to finish the job, and you will be prepared. A harsh twist of your budding nipple has your back arching, pain and pleasure flaring within you. 

"Are you listening to me?" He growls. You yelp in pain, hand slapping him hard across the face. His eyes roll back as he inhales sharply; a twitch as he roll his hips against you. "I'd listen better if your cock were inside me." You dare say, fed up with waiting; you glare impatiently as he stares with pupils so wide they swallow your next words. A hand on your throat, pressing you into the ground with a snarl. 

"When I am inside you, you tend to forget your own name." He grunts into your ear, hand fumbling with his own belt; with anticipation you move against him, hand snaking down to pull his length from his slacks. 

"You caught me," You breathe into his ear, risking a reminder of the game you'd been set to play and how deliciously it'd been forgotten. "Claim your prize, na-Baron." 

He does. 

Unfortunately for you, you are not as lucky as you'd hoped after Feyd enters you. Indeed, minutes later when you are at the very apex of your own pleasure and he is just about to find his, he must come to his own senses; and that is very unfortunate for you. 

Your legs tightening around his hips, back arched and bare chest pressed against the rough texture of his tunic, you barely feel his hand slip from your throat and upwards, to your left above your head. If you'd opened your eyes, you'd have seen the sadistic smirk upon his face when he thumbed the virgin blade, as your breaths of satisfaction fogged it up. 

You feel it very presently when it happens. 

You've hit your high; spasming, gasping, fingernails drawing blood in streaks across Feyd-Rautha's scarred back, yet you feel the blade as it pierces through your skin. 

You freeze for a moment and your eyes widen; he's watching you, eyes fanatic and excited as he plunges the blade just between your ribs; just so, shallow enough to avoid serious injury but still enough to stake claim. You scream louder than you ever have before. He moans along with your curdled, cracking voice as he slows his thrusts, your legs spasming and arms pushing him away in shock and pain. 

His spend leaks from you as you gasp, hands shaking as blood seeps from your torso, hatred coursing through your very veins. How dare he defile you, take your own virgin blade and stain it with your own crimson; you're luckier than most Harkonnen brides, perhaps if only for the fact that you knew of this ritual before it began, but you are filled with a newfound hate for your betrothed. 

It doesn't make it any less real when the wound heals but the scar does not; the feeling of Feyd-Rautha's tongue lapping your blood never quite subsiding even years later.  

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The day of the referendum finds Paul in an extremely dreary mood.

He is plagued by a horrific dream - one he knows is more of a memory - and cannot bring himself to eat breakfast, stuck avoiding your stare all morning as the members of House Atreides break fast together.

There is no time to speak with you about what you dreamt, but the fear that has clawed in the back of his mind - what is being set up for us? - is starting to wage a serious war within him.

The minutes tick by in droves as Paul's mind whirs; calculating constantly- your eyes, flashing to his every time he thinks about you, as if you know. You couldn't possibly know, though? 

His mother stares at him intently, too; a gaze that he'd usually just find mildly concerning but has since grown with every day pushing towards the outcome of this trip. 

His father discusses the plans drawn from the previous day with you and you're perceptive; insightful as you double-check Gurney and Thufir agree with your opinion on fruits exports at the end of summer harvest, should the redrawn routes go less in the House's favor. At one point, to Paul's surprise, you even coax a short laugh out of Gurney and the Duke. 

But Paul is too consumed to tune in himself. 

Chewing on his lip, he sticks a slice of melon between his teeth and chews half-heartedly, struck by another bout of confusion concerning the entangled dreams. 

At first, he had considered the possibility that it was some manipulation by the Bene Gesserit. Something that was cast by the Reverend Mother and carried out by his mother - a subtle ploy to influence your relationship, to harden the bond that was indeed barely there at all. This can't be, though; Paul has grown up his entire life preparing to marry a complete stranger, as is requested by almost every noble person in the known universe - why, then, wouldn't they trust him to carry through with it, even if he had once believed you to be a spy? There is no dire need to ensure the marriage would happen - both of you have admitted your reluctance, but not once have you nor him declared to refuse the union.

But this last dream was a memory, he's sure; and he wasn't in it, which implies many things he wish not unpack presently. Not to mention that even his mother, with all her training and abilities, has never found a semblance of this kind of connection, through conscious or subconscious, with him. 

A stroke of concern clouds his mind at this; might this be a manifestation of his Mentat abilities - some latent aspect of his training that allowed him to perceive the world in ways others couldn't? To see into your mind and, in turn, project his into yours?

Paul's eyes accidentally find yours again; he casts his gaze to his plate, recalling unpleasantly the blood-curdling scream you'd let out as that same knife you still carry was plunged into your ribs. A sense of unease stirs deep within his core.

Resolutely, there are other matters to attend to that are more time-sensitive. He and his father are informed that their transport has arrived, and so with tight nods and farewells, they leave for the final addendum. 

Paul will have to ask Thufir about these concerns after the convention; But for now, Paul tucks the question away in the recesses of his mind, awaiting the opportunity to seek answers.

The chamber hums with anticipation as Paul sits attentively beside his father - looking over the crowd, he notes representatives from each of the Great Houses Major and Minor of the Landsraad, along with delegates from the Spacing Guild and stakeholders of the Imperium fill nearly every seat in the grand hall, their voices a low murmur punctuated by occasional bursts of conversation.

He can only imagine how it will feel for you tomorrow; each face staring down at you as you perch on a stool, subjected to answering for the family that never answered you. He bites his lip, recalling the trunk he'd requested be brought with them on the trip to Kaitain; perhaps you could use a distraction tonight from what's to come - or would that just make you more skittish, more ready to bite any hand near you? 

He hopes you aren't agitated by what he'll offer this evening - don't you deserve to enjoy at least one part of this whole trip, even if the worst may come in the morning? Paul suppresses a groan, wondering when any of that ever started to really matter to him. 

The lights are too bright and it makes his eyes squint; drawing, somewhat unintentionally, to an unpleasant splattering of black and paled, sickly skin just several rows away.

His spine straightens, stomach curdling. 

"House Harkonnen." He whispers; his father hears it, though, and his eyes trail over to the grotesquely gigantic man who takes up two seats - the machine suspending him as he reposes with several others around him. Memories, faint and not his, flash in his mind and disgust trickles through his veins.

Paul flares in fury; His father sighs, "Paul, you mustn't start anything." 

As if he was going to walk up and slit Baron Harkonnen's throat in the middle of the Referendum?

He grits his teeth, "I won't." He says calmly, eyes stinging from the stare he casts. 

A deep-seated rage simmers within him even as the meeting begins; fueled by a sense of injustice and a fiercely warm burning in his chest when he thinks of you- left to fight alone for years. The Harkonnens represent everything he despises: cruelty, deceit, and a complete disregard for the well-being of others - his House's deepest enemy, the vilest of beings. 

Paul maintains his composure and pays attention to the council, but an extremely violent hatred gnaws at him relentlessly. Is one of those heads glinting in the fluorescents Feyd-Rautha? Will you have to stare into his eyes as the charges are read to you tomorrow? 

His fingers twitch, but he does not dare disrupt the meeting. Now is not the time for recklessness; Paul will bide his time, watching and waiting for the opportunity- with a small flicker, he casts down the side of him that wishes to see Feyd-Rautha's head on a spike.

Things do not get better after this. 

One by one, the representatives from each House cast their votes, their voices ringing out in the vast hall. Paul watches on with a sinking feeling as House after House sides with the proposed changes; Not necessarily a sealed fate for the economy of House Atreides, but certainly putting it at risk should the Baron decide to leverage his holdings.

After a recess, the final votes are tallied; Imperial Mentats, their eyes flashing, approve of the calculations. The presiding official steps forward - Paul, too lost in his thoughts of your dream last night, had missed the man's name - and addresses the gathered delegates.

"Esteemed members of the Landsraad, members of the Imperium," he begins, his voice carrying through the chamber. "The new spacing trade routes have been decided."

Paul's mind whirls with possibilities as the herald of change continues, "The routes are set to transform, with a large expansion through the Epsilon Opiuchi system and the Campas system," the herald announces, "along with direct routes through the Core Worlds of the Imperium." 

As the implications of the announcement sink in, Paul feels a bizarre wash of calm; If nothing changes within the proprieties of the surrounding systems, the new routes present opportunities for expansion and growth. On the other hand, they also represented a shift in the balance of power within the Imperium; the Spacing Guild is in the Harkonnen's palm and the risk of the Baron leveraging this against the rest of the Landsraad is concerning.

Paul pushes through his mental calculations to admit that despite the changes, there are still open routes they could take without relying solely on Spacing Guild transportation if the market becomes saturated. With a quick turn to his father, he makes eye contact with Gurney. "What do we do now?" Paul asks, voice barely a whisper. His father's jaw is tight.

"We adapt." He responds. 

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You're in the beginning stages of panic when the request comes. 

Having bathed and taken a good thirty minutes to stare at the wall, letting your insides eat you alive in apprehension of tomorrow, you're startled when your handmaid comes and informs you the Lord Paul Atreides has requested your presence in his chambers.

Your brows furrow; it's much too late for that, but you are certain you'll go crazy if you spend the evening on your own. 

You barely blink, hair still drying as you slip on a night gown, following the woman down the hall. Your anxiety is gnawing on you from the inside; and how does Paul seem to find you in every moment, with any weakness you may find? Several times before he's taken the grace to check in on you, be it out of duty or order by his parents or simply his good will and empathy, you are caught off-guard each time and still keenly unsure how to react.

Supper this evening was an affair dampened by the recounting of the official Referendum outcome; an event which boasted very little confidence in your small group considering the possibility of Harkonnen route monopoly. You’d barely touched your food and Paul looked more trouble than he normally does (another feat, considering the constant analysis he seems to impose upon his mind at any moment). In fact, you do wish to speak more about it- and freely, if you dare say so, without the hawk ears of the Sisterhood nor the political influence of the others to weigh in. You'd like to hear what Paul really thinks about it. 

When you do enter Paul's room, you stare, bewildered, at the sight before you. 

It's certainly not what you expect. 

The table, positioned just near the lit hearth, is gaudy and full of at least five wine bottles - two fine crystal glasses rest, untouched, next to them. 

Paul sits, his expression somber, as he uncorks one of the bottles; with a pop, the rich aroma of the wine fills the air and you tilt your head, walking cautiously further. 

This is certainly not what you'd expected.

 "Celebrating with a few bottles of wine, are we?" you remark, tone laced with bitterness. 

Paul looks up, meeting your gaze with resignation. "There's little else to do but drink." he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of irony. This is not necessarily true - this planet is full of parks, theaters, galleries, clubs, even. Paul seems uninterested in this tonight, though, and you barely got yourself over to his own chambers without disassociating for less than thirty seconds - there's not a chance the two of you will be venturing out into the Kaitain air tonight. You've got quite a big day ahead of you tomorrow. 

You take the seat opposite him, body heavy with worry. "I suppose." you concede, fingers tracing the rim of your glass as you watch him pick up the bottle. "Your hard work's all but finished."

He doesn't respond to the jab and it makes you feel even worse.  

"You told me once that you've never tried wine." He states simply, as if you weren't teetering on the edge of the worst day of your life, "I thought you'd like to taste." He says, tilting the bottle into your glass; the liquid flows viscously, a deep maroon color that reminds you of blood. You suppress the warmth that blows through your chest at this, surprised he remembers those off-handed few sentences you exchanged so many moons ago.

"They taste mostly the same to me, but I prefer red." His eyes don't leave the crystal, watching as it stains with the dark color. 

You're so shocked - bewildered - and exhausted that you can only grin; a true, unimbued smile, because you do not want to think about what will happen tomorrow, and perhaps Paul can see that. 

Looking at the glass, you bite your lip: you should have just stayed in your quarters and gone to sleep; But you don't necessarily want to be alone, either.

You wait until he's filled his own glass and then clink the rim of yours to his; watching as he lifts the liquid to his lips. His eyes flicker, lifting a brow when he sees you hesitating. "It's not poison." He mutters dryly. You sigh, taking a sip yourself as you avert your eyes. 

It's bitter, but not in an unpleasant way - your gums tingle slightly, the smell of oak and a deep hint of pitted fruits. Cherries, plums, dark licorice... It almost tingles on your tongue. Spicy, deep.

You're pleasantly surprised as you swallow, making a noise of content. It feels warm all the way down and leaves a peculiar taste on your tongue after. 

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Paul's lips are stained a reddish color by the end of the third glass.

Things seemed to slip from your grasp by the tasting of the second bottle - a Zincal, from the Southern Continent of Caladan. It was much more robust, and though Paul doesn't know much about wine he has studied his homeplanet's culture enough to impress any guest who visits - and talks you through each tasting as if he were a professor. It almost makes you want to laugh - the first sign that you are not completely your sane self. 

The second sign is the low simmering heat that begins to grow the second that Paul leans back in his seat and stretches his shoulders back; the uniform from earlier discarded he is still in his under-tunic, a white number that was more unbuttoned than when you'd arrived earlier in the night.

His chest and exposed throat, gleaming and flushed from the heat of the room and the tannins of the wine, glisten gently. Your heart pounds hard in your throat; is this what being intoxicated feels like? 

You're sure your lips are just as purple-stained as Paul's, but your mind is too fuzzy to consider this at all. You feel warm, surely the fire in the hearth is too high - your cheeks are on fire and your mind is more at ease and foggy than you've even felt in your dreams. 

There's that distinct feeling again that you'd had days ago on board the ship before landing at Kaitain; like yourself, but more careless, free. Content, despite the doom that rumbles in the near distance. 

On the fourth tasting - a bubbly white wine that is crisper than snow and delicate as lace - you feel yourself loosen, opening to Paul and letting words flow freer than you'd ever found before; he listens with gentle, large eyes as you sprawl on the floor, having taken the liberty to get more comfortable in his chambers. 

"I met the Harkonnens when I was young." You explain, leaning back to stare at Paul through your lashes. "My mother was instructed to have me mate with Feyd-Rautha when I came of age, so we saw each other twice before I was sent there. Once at ten, then at fourteen."

There is a noise of disgust from the bedpost.

Paul lays, un-chivalrously sprawled on his bed; head upside-down, his dark curls hanging in tendrils towards the floor. His features, handsome and sharp, look most foreign upside-down, even as you sit on the rug, toying with the strings that have come loose with time.

His eyes are heavy with the effects of the wine, the room smells like cinnamon and cherries. You stifle a laugh at his noise and even more so at the look upon his face at your choice of words. Your hands move over your face but you don't really know if you have control over them, a feeling of lost control sending nothing but amusement to your muddled brain. 

"It was a Bene Gesserit match?" He asks blurrily, but you know he knows the answer. You laugh - had you been slightly less inebriated, you'd never dare let out such a girlish thing, especially in his presence, but you can't help it. 

You swipe hair away from your eyes. "Of course, it was." You sigh, leaning back to support yourself on your palms, head tilted sideways; His brows are incredibly full and move oddly, as if he's trying to make you laugh again. "As is ours."

It's a disquieting thought - one that sends you reeling through your drunk mind, trying to recall the Kwisatz Haderach and all you've learned about it. He seems to be lost in thought, too- his brows have settled low upon his lids in a calculating look, his hands laying neatly folded over his chest.

His face is red; perhaps from the hearth, or the wine, or from laying with the blood rushing to his head - it occurs to you with a bitter jealousy that he looks pretty even like this. 

"It's late." You observe, watching the clock as it chimes; Paul hums in agreement, lazily tilting his glass until the remnants drop onto his tongue. You watch on with a fuzzy, aimless interest.

You should return to your bed- you'll be up in the morning early to be escorted to court.

A pang of fear and resistance courses through you. 

You don't want this evening to end - or, you don't want the morning to begin. Plus, leaving Paul's quarters would require fighting to walk all the way back without rousing anybody else and settling in to bed on your own. And you quite like the blissful ignorance the wine has given you; an excuse to just be you for a night, not the disgraced and fallen noble woman, not the betrothed-twice and likely never again. 

You sigh. "I don't enjoy sleeping like I used to." You hum, finishing your own glass and reaching for the half-empty bottle beside you. Your voice is syrupy and sweeter than usual, and it floats warmly in the room. 

Paul watches your motions with slight amusement, eyes widening microscopically when you try to gnaw off the cork with your teeth. You suppose you’ll be embarrassed by this in the morning.

"I can't imagine why that could be." He muses, voice barely more than a murmur. You like his voice, you realize; it's quiet, deep, but contemplative. 

You shrug, finally plying off the cork, blinking in surprise when your vision shifts with the movement. The vertigo reminds you of the feelings you find in those more pleasant dreams, the ones with Paul; the ticklish feeling of lips fluttering around your throat, a playful nip of teeth against your breast, the tight grip of hands upon your hips, pinning them down - that must be the reason for the words to fall from your lips so carelessly. "Some of my dreams I don't mind." Your words almost echo in the chamber, the fire crackling and spitting in the silence that follows. 

This captures his attention, his eyes snapping to your frame quick; you ignore the gaze, focusing intently on pouring yourself another helping of the wine. This one, the fifth bottle, is more sweet - dessert wine, Paul had explained. 

He doesn't respond to your words, but his lips part in a soft exhalation of breath. 

You offer the bottle to him and numbly he nods, as if still reeling from your admission; you try to ignore the heat in your cheeks at such a profession, the weight of the words occurring to you only after you've said them.

Perhaps due to your state, you finally let yourself consider the thought that's been actively repressed for days: If he's been dreaming similar things as you, does that mean he dreams of... all of it? How does he feel about that?

Your eyes flicker to his hands, how deftly they move as he cracks a few knuckles - the vein that trickles down his arm, the creamy smooth skin that glows against the fire light. Does he see you similarly when he observes you in waking hours? Does he, in turn, dream about your sighs, about how it may feel to run his fingers through your hair as you lie on that white sheet in the middle of nowhere, to touch your heat and feel your desire? 

You’re unsure what flares hot in your stomach at the concept; you can’t find it in you to care.

I don’t mind some of my dreams either.

The voice is low, no more than a distant rumble of thunder in your mind, a decisive declaration; with a fuzzy stare you register that his lips don’t even move. 

Your blink is syrupy as you watch him with intrigue, staring under lidded lashes. 

You can't be bothered to move more than a crawl; your head pounds, but there is a warmth within you that spreads like wildfire in the summer when you move. 

He watches you with a stare that sends a shiver of intrigue over you- a predator frozen, watching prey creep forward. It is not what you expect; you expect wide eyes or maybe a blush - his cheeks are already pink, though, and there is something dark and hungry below his hazy, inebriated stare.

"You got me drunk," You say suddenly, blinking down at him. He stares back at you, lips parting - lips that are plush, pink, stained with the red from the very wine he'd brought all the way from Caladan

"Did I?” he asks, skeptical as he watches you upside down. You nod but it feels sloppy. Truthfully, you've never been safe enough to be drunk before, but you feel more safe than you’ve been in a long time here, on this strange planet, with this strange boy. 

He shakes his head, "I told you to slow down," He furrows his eyebrows like he always does, but it looks very peculiar from where you sit before him, "-you're the one who took it as a challenge instead of a warning." 

You blink, eyelashes slow and syrupy; shaking your head, you shrug. He’s right, he did encourage you to slow down, and you did take it as a challenge. You can't help it. 

His lips are glossy - bitten and swollen, "I had to try them all," You say breathlessly, face hot, "-who knows if I'll be able to afford it after this week." At your words, he scoffs gently; you can smell the wine on his breath as it hits your cheeks.

"My wealth will be yours in just a few weeks. As will my name." He argues, eyes cast onto yours. After all this time, you're still hit with the surrealness of it all when it's said out loud. 

You wonder, briefly, how odd you must look from his perspective; perched back on your shins, one hand in your lap and the other holding the bottle you'd intended to give to him.

"If you want wine for every meal, you can have it." He promises; you imagine he'd intended for it to come out teasing, but it comes out deeper. "Whatever you want." He adds. 

It tugs your heart in a way that makes your hair stand on end; you know what you'd do if your legs weren't cemented to the ground, if your lips weren't gravitating towards his own. You'd probably run, against your better judgement.

Or, perhaps that would be the better judgement. 

Whatever you want. 

"I don't know what I want." You admit, your lips parting as you stare at his beautiful, angled jaw; it clenches under your scrutiny before he whispers softly, "That's okay." 

There is a magnetism that pulls you to him like a moth seeking a warm flame. 

Your hand finds itself on his skin before you can think about it. Soft, slightly ingrained with the beginnings of stubble; over his jaw your thumb strokes, feeling the sharp edges that lie below the soft, porcelain skin. To your surprise, he lets you touch him, as if both of you are pulled by some strong force towards the other and cannot stop.

"Is it?" You ask, a whisper under the flickering light of the hearth. “You made it seem like a flaw.” you muse, watching in intent fixation as those very lips move under your finger’s manipulation.

His lips part when your thumb runs over the bottom one, tugging it down curiously. 

“It’s not a flaw,” he mutters in a gentle motion against your thumb; a sensation that is as foreign as it is exciting. The breath that leaves him hits your own lips. When did you lean closer? When did he? 

His eyes are sparkling from this angle and they focus on your lips. You almost voice your doubt, but there is something that is pulling you to him- you are tired of talking, and his face is so incredibly inviting in the firelight.

When your lips press to his, you have to angle your face; the plush bottom lip against your top one feels odd, foreign.

It’s chaste, short as you pull your head away slightly. Heat chases you as you back away, blinking away your surprise; he doesn’t let you get too far though, as his cold fingers slide around your neck to stop you from pulling away. 

Your stomach flutters as he tugs you back against him with fervor; as if this moment was one of forbidden lovers embracing for the very last time. 

Your hands cup his jaw and his hair tickles the goosebumps that run over the exposed flesh of your chest.

There’s nothing in the room but a heavy syrupy scent- did you knock over the dessert wine? Your lips slide against Paul’s and you’re surrounded by his smell, the feeling of his fingers threading through your hair.His lips are soft as he lets out a sigh in your mouth, tongue prodding your lip gently. Your sharp inhale keens your chest forward, coaxing your lips apart as he presses forward into you. 

Everything slides off-kilter. Time starts to melt and warp with every slight movement you make, a low pounding in your head as you tilt your head to taste more of Paul. 

The clock in the corner ticks, but the metronome is skewed and it starts to beat with your heart. 

Pulling away for a moment, you let yourself gather a breath; His fingers are cold but you presently notice how warm the rest of him is- cheeks, jaw, shoulders, everything. 

He’s moved upright on his mattress now; sitting up, he towers over where you perch on your knees, staring up at him with glossy eyes. A starved transgressant begging for salvation from the solemn preacher before you. 

A hand soothes over your hair. Between his knees, your hands settle on his thighs; a heat rolls over in you and a yearning ignites. Paul stares down at you, eyes darkened and glossed over with the sheen of alcohol as he leans down, hand cupping your jaw. 

What are we doing? 

You think it gently, bewildered and surprised; but Paul stops just as his lips brush yours again. He gives you a look that sets unease- had you said that out loud? 

It’s over as quick as it happens- Paul’s mouth has found purchase over your own and has taken the liberty of pushing against the plushness of your bottom lip. 

Something flutters in your stomach; A need for more. His tongue slides against the seam of your lips with a drag of heat and you open for him, pressing further as your hands slide up and over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin under your palms. 

But even amidst the dizzying rush of sensations, you feel when Paul breaks the kiss, his warm breath lingering against your lips. The room is at a standstill, but you feel as if you're spinning. 

“You should probably go to bed,” his words are barely audible over the pounding of your heart, the beating in your head. They flutter like the wings of an insect over your lips. 

For a brief moment, clarity pierces through the haze of desire, and a flush of embarrassment washes over you; The arraignment tomorrow, the dreams, the Bene Gesserit, House Harkonnen - all of it hits you in a dizzy spell and you break away from Paul's grasp suddenly, eyes wide. 

Trying to regain your composure you nod, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his low-lidded, slow gaze. You find your footing as you rise from the floor and to your chagrin, Paul follows; ever chivalrous. 

"I should." You say quietly, righting your hair and dress awkwardly. "I'm sorry I kept you up so late." You grasp for anywhere to hold on to, lest you fall into the chasm that has opened below you. He shakes his head, "It was me who kept you up." He mumbles; laced with sleep and something else. 

He fumbles to open the chamber door, but you're grateful he attempted it before your shaking fingers did. The walk back across the hall to your quarters is shorter than you remember, thankfully; only a few hiccups from you and a few heavy breaths from him before you're standing in front of the large door, a settling of doom clouding around you like a bad thunderhead. 

His hand, having never dared touch you so boldly before tonight, cups your arm gently. Staring at it, your eyes skip over the blurry figure before you; you swear, there's something of a halo lighting up his curls. "It'll be over quick, and we can go home." He says. There's no need to elaborate what he's speaking of; he always knows what you're thinking. 

Perhaps you're too tired to conceal your worries, or you've just finally found yourself capable of admitting it to him. "I'm scared." You mumble. 

His eyes are on your lips - he doesn't kiss you again, but you wonder faintly if he wants to. You'd like him to, you realize. It's a disquieting thought, borne from weeks of tense conversation, long glances, and arguments. How odd to miss the lips of a near stranger. 

He nods shortly, "I know." He says, and it does nothing to quell the raging sea of despair that has resided from its previous numbness. Wine and handsome men can only do so much, you suppose. "I'm going to be there tomorrow." He says, voice low and quiet, still bleeding together from the crimson wine you'd poured. "You may not see me, but I'll be there." 

You can only nod, knowing that tears will come soon; you will be caught dead before Paul sees you cry. You bid him good-night and then lie on your mattress, tears leaking emotionlessly through the cracks in your lashes. 

You are enveloped in fear, worry, hate; numb to whatever just happened in Paul’s chambers and even more numb to what is to come in the morning.

You're not sure how, but you sleep through the night without a single dream. 

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[goldenlikedayl1ght]

mary on a cross - m. murdock

a/n: guys i am so down bad for him. like i need him desperately. what the hell is happening to me. matthew just one chance. also this is dedicated to my friend morgan and everyone who loves matt but he's pathetic and a loser. i also wrote the second half of this fic high. im sorry about that. warnings: mean!matt, loser!matt, relationship is kind of toxic, reader is disgustingly down bad, porn, fingering, dirty talk, lowkey embarrassment kink, use of pet names (baby, honey, pup), smut with an angsty ending, matt burns the reader in a mean way, reader has no description or pronouns but they do have female anatomy! word count: 3.1k summary: you're not sure if matt loves you.. or if he's even your boyfriend. pairing: mean!loser!matt murdock x reader now playing: mary on a cross - ghost "your beauty never ever scared me/mary on a, mary on a cross/if you choose to run away with me/i will tickle you intnernally/and i see nothing wrong with that"

You try to convince yourself that Matt is a good boyfriend.

He—

Wait.

Is he your boyfriend?

You tell yourself he’s your boyfriend, really you try to believe it because he is so damn gorgeous you cannot fathom that you actually have someone like him interested in you.

Really, it’s not like you’re particularly a catch anyways. You’ve only had one boyfriend before Matt, and he never wanted to do much with you other than kiss you. You bake brownies from a box, you have a horrible smoking habit, and you cry over every little thing.

You’re licking leftover brownie batter from the spoon when he knocks on the door. Of course, you answer it. You greet him with a grin.

“Hey, Matt. What’s up?” You lick some of the batter off the spoon, and you watch as his head tilts and his nose twitches. He looks sort of sad and far away, like he’s trying to come to terms with death, or maybe he’s just sad looking. Maybe he looks older than he is and you’ll never know him as young.

A pit in your stomach that sits there most of the day, rocking your conscious and insides back and forth like a storm over a sea becomes warm and light.

What you do know is that you have got to have him.

As you stick the spoon in your mouth to hold it there, Matt listens to the way the metal clatters against your teeth. He thinks about you biting down on his cross to keep you quiet.

“Missed you.” Is all he responds, stepping into your apartment. He notices the way your heart stutters at such a small comment, but he says nothing. He sheds his jacket, then his hat, and he’s just in a sweater and black jeans. “Do I smell brownies?” He almost gags at the artificial smell that accompanies the brownies.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been spending too much money on little treats on the way home from work, so.. Brownies.” You shrug, and he just nods. Your apartment is small, but he’s been here enough times, and often enough, to know the layout. It’s pretty much a studio.

Your bed sits in the corner of the main room. It’s just a few feet from the doorway, and to the right of it is a small tv on a night stand. It’s just far enough for you to use your bed as a couch. The nightstand hugs the right wall, which has three large windows on it. Most of the wall is a window.

Then, around the corner from the doorway is your kitchen, with a small dining room table in the center. Your bathroom is in the back of the kitchen, right next your washer-dryer unit (one of your favorite aspects of the apartment).

But your apartment is also kind of messy—Clothes scattered across the floor, an ashtray on the windowsill, dishes in the sink, a stack of papers and mail on your counter. Candles everywhere.

You move to light one, and Matt hears the flick of your lighter.

“Which candle are you lighting?”

“Uh, the eucalyptus one I like.”

“Light the vanilla one instead. It’ll go better with the brownie smell.” He tells you as he sits on your bed. His fingers find the soft silk sheets, a suggestion he had made when he first started coming around. He fiddles with the blankets he’s planning on fucking you on, but his head tilts when his hand finds an unfamiliar fabric. He listens as you light the candle, as he tries to identify what it is he’s found. When he picks it up, he hears a light jingle of a bell. Then, it clicks. A smirk plays on his face as he asks, “Who is this?” He asks, and your head snaps over to him.

Oh, god.

“Wait, no, give me that—” You lunge at him, but he holds the stuffed dog just out of reach. You’re attempting to climb over him to grab the dog, insistent that you might be able to be faster, or maybe stronger than him, as he shakes the stuffed dog, tempting you with the jingle of the bell.

“Aw, tell me her name,” He requests gently, holding you back easily with one hand. “tell me her name and I’ll give her back.” You’re not sure why, but you find yourself letting out an exasperated whine.

“Him!” You demand, still reaching.

Something about the way your desperation makes his face twitch with desire.

“Okay, tell me his name, and I’ll give him back.” You frown and glare at him.

“You’re being mean!” You tell him, and before you can stop it, tears prick your eyes. He smells the salt in the air. He needs you.

“Just tell me his name.” He tells you, “Then I make everything better.”

“Fuck you.” You find yourself saying, and his free hand grips your chin.

“Tell me his name.” He demands, his grip tight. You’re ready to get down on your knees.

A beat.

“..Jellybean.”

Jellybean was the one thing you allowed yourself of your old life when you moved to New York. A small keepsake of the person you once were, of the little kid who dreamed of a big city apartment, a fancy job, and a loving boyfriend who was kind to you. You usually kept him under your bed, hidden away from Matt and all the things that you have brought into your life.

Matt was never ever supposed to find him, you just.. got upset last night. You got lonely and reached for your childhood friend, holding him close. But, between work and making brownies when you got home, you forgot to put him away.

Now you’d deal with the consequences of it.

“Aw, Jellybean,” Matt laughs, leaning his head back. “A little pup..” He coos, and he moves it towards you and rubs the soft fabric of the dog over your skin, and his cock twitches at the way you squirm under his touch.

“Matt—” You start to object but he gently hushes you.

“Here. Take it, little pup.” He says, handing you the dog. You take it back and grip it hard for a few minutes before leaning away to tuck him under your bed. He just smirks, leaning back, leaning on his hands. When you’re done, you find yourself climbing onto his lap, and your lips find his.

He kisses you back, his hands coming up to your jaw. His rough hands caress your face with so much gentleness that it almost takes you back. His finger gently rubs the back of your ear, and you hum softly into the kiss. He pulls away just to smirk at you.

“You know, most puppies like it when they get their ears scratched—”

“Oh my god,” You huff, pulling away from him to go walk away. He grabs your wrist to pull you in for a kiss, but you pull away after a few moments. You turn towards your window and pull out a cigarette and your lighter before cracking open the window.

Matt frowns and gets up, going over to you as he listens to you flick the lighter. Without another word, he takes the lighter from you.

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

“Are you gonna give me the ‘it’s bad for you’ talk? I’ve heard it all.”

“No,” He tells you, “It’s much more selfish than that. You taste like cigarette smoke after you smoke, I don’t like it.” That is Matt’s polite way of telling you he thinks it’s absolutely fucking disgusting, and he has been trying to think of a way to tell you that he’d rather swallow nails than taste another cigarette.

“You won’t kiss me if I smoke?” You ask, and he just scoffs.

“If I tell you yes, will you stop?”

“I don’t know.”

“Here.” He flicks the lighter and lights the cigarette, but before you can even inhale the smoke, he plucks it from your lips. You frown, and go to protest, but before you can, he gently presses the lit cigarette into your wrist. He listens to you yell, whine and squirm.

“Matt! What the fuck?!” You whimper, tears filling your eyes. He flicks your cigarette onto the ashtray. His hand comes up to wipe your tears, and you are ashamed to say how easily you lean into his touch. Matt has never hurt you before, but you have a feeling he’s trying to teach you something.

“Does that hurt?” he asks, tilting his head. His voice has an echo of condescension.

“Yes! Yes, it fucking hurts you dick!” You’re mad at him now, and you step away from him.

“Well, lung cancer hurts a whole lot more.” He tells you. “C’mon.” he requests gently, taking your free hand to guide you to the sink in your kitchen. He turns the cold water ends and takes your hand to run it under the cold water. “Aw, poor baby,” he tries to tease but you just glare.

“You’re mean to me.” You tell him.

“I’m sorry.” He tells you gently, his thumb rubbing your skin gently. “Your habit is bad. Do you know what I want for you, little pup?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“What?” you quietly ask the man that dictates the quality of your life.

“I want you to live until you’re one hundred and one years old. I want you to marry someone who will be good to you, someone safe. I want you to have three or four, or even five children. I want you to die old and warm in your bed. And I want you to live that life healthily. Maybe one day you’ll even make brownies from scratch. But you won’t get that if you keep smoking.”

You want to ask him why he can’t be that man. You want him to tell you that he’ll be the one to give you three or four, or even five children. You want him to be the one to hold your hand as you die, old and warm and one hundred and one years old.

But as if he can read your thoughts and he doesn’t want you to ask, or maybe he doesn’t want to answer, and he continues before you can speak.

“The brownies are burning, little pup. Pull them out and let them cool.” He requests gently, leaning forward to kiss your head and then going back to your bedroom.

You decide to take the time to cool down, give him a bit of space. But you can’t be away from him long, so you find yourself climbing on top of him as he lays against your blankets. His hands find your sides, and you lean down to kiss him gently.

“Still mad at me?” He mumbles against your lips. You just hum into his lips, and before you can react, Matt flips the pair of you over, his hand going to your leg to gently caress your thigh, silently asking you—telling you to bend your leg around his torso. You do without hesitation.

He deepens the kiss, finding himself grinding against you, as your hands move to try and pull off his sweater. It’s thrown somewhere else, somewhere far far away. His hands begin to sneak up your top, and he relishes in the way you squirm with giggles.

“Matt—” You whine, and he hushes you gently.

“Be a good pup for me, huh?” He requests, and you nod before he kisses you quick. Then, his hands slip your shirt off, and he leans down, starting to plant kisses down your neck. Your fingers fumble at the waistline of his pants, and he quickly kicks them off before starting to work on the waistband of both your shorts and underwear.

He’s leaving little bites and marks across your skin as his hand finds your clit, rubbing small circles into your skin—Slow, agonizing circles. He’s mostly interested in hearing all your little noses and feeling you squirm against him.

Your fingers tug at his hair gently, relishing the feeling of his teeth grazing against your skin as your fingers threaten to pull his mouth right off of your skin.

When a finger slips inside of you, you start to moan but Matt’s hand comes around your skin. He gently squeezes, and you feel like you’re in fucking heaven. Well, you were in fucking heaven, but your boyfriend-maybe-not-boyfriend lives in a church basement. Maybe don’t bring up God while you’re fucking. Or.. maybe he’s into that.

He pulls his face away to come up and kiss you as one hand fingers you, and the other gently squeezes your neck. As his fingers—two now—pump in and out of you, he licks your limps and recalls his thought about you biting down on his cross. Then another embarrassing idea comes to mind. He pulls away from your kiss to ask,

“You wanna cum, pup?” He asks, and you just let out a soft whimper of a moan. “Aw, I know.. Beg me. He asks.

“Fu—Matt, please.. Baby, please I wanna cum so bad.. Pretty please..” You breath out.

Matt smirks softly.

“Then bark.”

The question takes you out of it just for a moment.. But only for a moment.

“Stop being mean—”

“Oh, stop, I’m not being mean,” He tells you. He kisses you gently, “Just bark for me like a good puppy.” He requests, and your face is flushed. If only your good Christian parents back home could see their baby now, giving barks in exchange for an orgasm.

You bark quietly at first. But your boy is cruel.

“Honey, I can’t hear you,” he says, and you want to bite him because he somehow always fucking hears you. When you bark a little louder,  he just smirks against your lips, “Go on, puppy, let go for me.” He purrs, and you do not need to be told twice. Your legs begin to shake as his pace slows down gently.

He’s not always the nicest, but Matt knows you. Maybe better than anyone ever has. And damn if the man doesn’t know how to make you cum, doesn’t literally make you see stars. Oh, Matthew.. He is like the stars. Oh, so tempting.

After you take a few minutes to breath through your high, you look to the man whose phone number you do not know, and you feel like you’re melting, right under his touch.

And the man whose phone number you do not know and a last name that eludes you, gently presses his lips against your head after aggressively fingering,

“Ready to keep going, pup?” He asks sweetly, and you just grin at him.

“Totally.” You purr. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips. Then, he slowly slips into you, and you let out a gentle groan, leaning in so that your lips touch his. His pace starts out slow. He leans down and kisses the skin next to the burn scar from earlier.

Your fingers gently claw at his skin, and with that, his pace quickened, his grip on your thigh tight as he thrust everything into you—all of his frustrations, fears, trauma into you.

“Fuck…” You groan.

“I know, pup..” he huffs happily intro your ear.

And then you can’t keep it in. You’ve been slowly growing addicted to him. You cannot think straight. You immediately know you’ll regret it every day until you die.

“I love you.”

His pace does not slow, it does not stop, it barely stutters as his pace keeps on you. The only reaction you get is his hand moving down to massage your clit, and before you know it you’re clenching around his cock. His fingers massage faster, and without more effort than that, Matt bites down on your neck as the two of you cum at almost the same time.

Slowly, he lays down, right on top of you. He leans forward and kisses your head gently, before he lays his head down on your chest. You cradle him for a few minutes. When his breathing finally slows and his sweat stops..

Then, Matt sits up, and rubs his eyes gently. He slips on his boxers, taking a moment to tilt his head, listening to your heartbeat. He slips on his socks as he breaks that heart in the next six words he says.

“We can’t see each other anymore.”

You stop, sitting up.

“Wait, what?” You ask, baffled. Matt focuses on finding his pants.

“We can’t do this anymore.”

“Wait,” You grab one of his tee shirts and your shorts and slip them on. “Wait, is it—is it because I said I love you?” You question. “Because.. Because I didn’t mean it! That wasn’t an ‘I love you’ I love you, that was-  that was a mistake, a ‘stupid middle-of-sex’ I love you!”

He moves to slip his sweater on and you grab his arm like a child clawing to their parents leg as you get dragged off to your first day of school. He says your name gently, like he’s laying you to bed.

“I just.. it can’t happen, okay?” He mumbles, as he manages to lace up his shoes. You fumble out of the bed and grab his shoulders, then his jaw.

“Matt, please, I fucking promise, I don’t love you!” You whimper, tears running down your face. Matt leans forward and kisses your head gently. “Matt. I don’t love you.”

He doesn’t need his heightened senses to know you’re lying.

“I’m sorry, pup.” He says quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Matt..” You say quietly, as he moves to get his jacket and hat, not bothering to put them on as he opens the door and grabs his cane. You make one desperate attempt to pull him back into your apartment, tears clouding your vision.

He doesn’t say anything. He just pulls away from you and closes the door behind himself.

He’s a shitty boyfriend. He always has been, even before that building fell on him. Never enough time for them, always off at work or being Daredevil.

But he has a sneaking suspicion that he’s hit a record low as he walks towards the entrance of the apartment, trying to drown out your sobs.

[undiscovered-horizon]

Eleventh Doctor x insecure/ anxious reader?

🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀 || Doctor Who-inspired playlist

"Cold feet" - 11th Doctor x Reader

SUMMARY: Funnily enough, after facing death and vicious aliens, it's small talk with strangers that gives you cold feet. Fortunately enough, you found yourself in the company of an expert on running away.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.9k

A/N: As an anxious person I cannot be thankful enough for people in my life who casually roll with my anxiety and don't try to "fix" it with cheap advice

"Time Lord to human! Are you listening to me?"

The sudden yelling shook you awake. Only then did you realize you zoned out in the first place, letting Doctor's rushed words brush right by you. You looked at him only to see pure annoyance seeping from his expression. Although you never meant to hurt him, the guilt still gnawed at you.

"Sorry, missed the last bit," you explained yourself as you awkwardly rubbed the back of your neck. "What were you saying?"

Instead of repeating his scientific ramblings which definitely would have been a little too fast and complex for you to understand, he shifted his posture to rest his hands on his hips. You felt as if he had caught you red-handed doing something he had absolutely prohibited you from doing.

"Oi, what's going on with you? It's like you've lost your head."

You absentmindedly shook your head to dismiss his worry. "Yeah, sorry, it's no-"

"Are you in love?"

For a moment you couldn't get any sound to leave your mouth. "What?" It was a bizarre conclusion to jump to. You couldn't tell what on Earth could even get him that idea. "No, it's on-"

"Good for you!" he said as he clapped his hands. "Now, moving on. Focus, eyes on me."

"Look, it's just that I've got a..." you suspended your voice thinking of the right word to use. The Doctor stared at you with wide eyes, clearly awaiting the second part of the sentence. "Thing."

"A thing?" he repeated in confusion. It seemed as if with each of your words he only grew more offended at your misplaced attention.

"Yes, a thing." Out of all the words you could have used, your choice seemed to have fallen on the worst and least exhaustive one. "My friend, Ada, is throwing a party for some of her college friends but apart from me everyone invited is from her course, so she's going to be the only person I know there."

"And that's what you've been thinking about while I was explaining my clever, clever plan?"

The Doctor stared at you with closely knit eyebrows. In some way, he couldn't fathom how a party invitation could be in any way more interesting than him showing off his extraordinary intellect and creativity. Choosing between a college party and aliens should have been a lot easier than it truly was.

"It's not as simple as it sounds, you know?"

"Alright, then tell me." By his hand-flapping and surprisingly undivided attention, you couldn't tell whether he was growing more upset or actually wanted to hear about what was troubling you.

"Honestly, I don't want to go but it's important for Ada. Also, I haven't seen her in ages. On the other hand..." your voice drifted away. Now that you've started this little heart-to-heart, it was pointless to lie to the Doctor - if successful, fooling him wouldn't gain anything anyway. "It's a party full of strangers."

For a moment he stared at you in silence, visibly expecting you to elaborate but truthfully, there wasn't anything more to say. The hypothetical group of strangers, as faceless as they were, was already stressful enough, even without giving them imaginary traits or habits.

"Strangers, right," he said as he clasped his hands. The sound echoed throughout the console room. He looked away for a moment, basking in enlightenment, before looking back at you. "How exactly is that a problem?" he dwelled on the subject. It seemed as if the discomfort of a company of strangers was hardly conceivable.

"You wouldn't get it." You vaguely waved your hand at him in a dismissive manner. Maybe it was unfair towards him but you really couldn't imagine a scenario in which he doesn't throw in a sarcastic comment about your anxiety. "I mean, how could you? Socializing has never been a problem for you."

"How could it be? People, party, cake, dancing. I love dancing! Great times, nothing to be scared of."

"Yes, there is: small talk and thirty people I've never met. And that's only the beginning."

Even the mere mention of that situation made a cold shiver run down your spine. A flutter of anxiety in your chest brought an unpleasant, suffocating sensation. Unconsciously, your face contorted in a grimace.

"You just go up to them and talk, what's hard about that?"

"Everything!" you exclaimed as you made a broad movement with your hands. "It's just... I can't do that. I physically can't make myself go up to a stranger and ask how they're doing, I'd rather hit my head against a wall. I know the theory, the 'walking through a house' metaphor, it's just... I can't force my body to do that. And when I do find myself talking to a stranger, I want it to end immediately. And the silence! Oh God, the silence... Like when you ask them a question, they answer and then the silence. The awkward silence of my anxiety, lack of social skills and being a generally uninteresting person. Just a bit of quiet and everyone knows I'm weird, awkward and-"

"Hey, hey, stop it!" he scolded you in a whiny voice as if you were a child. "Don't say that. You're not awkward or weird, you're brilliant!"

"Thanks, that's nice of you but unfortunately, I am self-aware."

He may have known you for weeks but you've known yourself for decades.

"No, really." He refused to let go. If the Doctor was going to spout cliche pick-me-ups, he appeared exceptionally committed to the meaningless act. "You crossed the universe as it is wide and long. Fought aliens and risked your life because a toddler couldn't sleep at night. Blimey, you told a Sontaran with a bomb bigger than your head to piss off. And it's house party small talk that gives you cold feet?"

Contrary to his presumption, the context didn't give you any comfort or motivation - it only made you feel worse. If you really were as brave as he made it seem, why couldn't you just start a conversation with your friend's guests? By the measure of saving the universe multiple times, you should be more than capable to do so.

"I know it sounds ridiculous and I agree it's stupid but it's not the same. When we're saving worlds it's a mission, a puzzle to solve." You paused for a moment but by your expression, the Doctor could tell there was something else on your mind. "And I've got you," you added.

"Me?" he asked sheepishly. The Doctor vaguely pointed his finger at himself. "What does that have to do with me?"

"You make me a little braver. I mean, you don't look scared even when you are, so it gives me a little push. I feel a little less anxious when I know that you've got my back."

"So what do you do when I'm not there?"

"Bail," you answered with a shrug. Were you really the same person who criticized the fashion choices of an alien with more guns than limbs? "I rarely go but when I do, I just run off around midnight like Cinderella." You made a small pause when you lowered your gaze, avoiding the Doctor's face. "Honestly, it always makes me feel ashamed like I'm making myself miss out on something but it's either that or panicking in the bathroom."

A silence fell between you. The Doctor's typical hand flapping came to a strange halt as he continued to stare at you with an inexplicable expression. He would have agreed on your resemblance to Cinderella, your regent-esque charm and princess-like beauty but there seemed to be a matter more important at hand:

"Has that ever happened?"

His voice was surprisingly quiet, hesitant even as if he didn't want to actually know the answer. Maybe he wasn't sure he was ready for the responsibility the knowledge would bring. The Doctor's words were barely audible over the whirring and wheezing of the TARDIS's engineering.

"Which part?"

"Panicking in the bathroom."

"Yeah," you said quietly. Your gaze fell to the floor. Looking for some kind of comfort, you slowly rubbed your arm. "It was New Year at my friend's, didn't know anyone there except for him. At some point, I just needed to take a break from being around so many people. I sat in the bathroom wearing a silver sequin ballgown and fought back tears. Funny, I probably looked equally pathetic and great. The only thing I could think about was how rubbish I was at just hanging out with people and, you know, being a normal teen at a normal teen party filled with normal teens. I just..." you stopped yourself at the last moment possible. A heavy, defeated sigh left your lips before you continued in a voice barely above a whisper. "I just wish I was a little less anxious."

"You never said anything."

"Why would I? It's not something I'm exactly proud of." You let out a bitter chuckle as you answered him.

Suddenly you found yourself engulfed in a tight hug. The Doctor's arms were tightly wrapped around you, his slow but ragged breath brushing against your neck. Surprised at the unforeseen affection, you hesitantly reciprocated the embrace. The tweed of his jacket was slightly coarse, some strings were coming out of the seams. He always smelled like burnt wires and a second-hand bookshop. At first, that distinct fragrance wasn't exactly pleasant to you but with time it became a beacon of hope, comfort, adventure and a good laugh.

"Oh, you brilliant, clever you," he quietly said in a sad voice.

Then he stepped away from you just as swiftly and surprisingly as he hugged you in the first place. The first thing you noticed was the change in his facial expression: the Doctor was no longer annoyed or concerned but excited as if he had just come up with a perfect solution to some mind-boggling problem.

"Well then, good thing you're not going alone this time."

"I'm... not?"

"Yes! A plus-one. It's still a thing, right? I'm your plus-one."

"That's sweet of you but you really don't have to. I'm fine on my own," you assured him, although he had no reason to believe you after what you'd already told him.

"Change of plans, sweetheart!" he exclaimed as he pulled one of the many levers. The TARDIS was about to take flight and it was a little too late for arguments and second thoughts. "We're going together and when people become a little too much we attend to an emergency," he said while running between different parts of the flight console. As if he was dancing, he made a whole circle around the control switchboard and stood in front of you once again. The Doctor stuck his index finger in your face as if reprimanding you once more. "No panicking in the bathrooms."

"Wait, what emergency?" you asked as he was already taking directions to your hometown.

"You know, this very real emergency that can't wait and we have to take care of it at the very moment. The crisis that I definitely did not invent just now."

"Right..." you drew out your answer as you caught on to his ruse. A smile crept unto your face. "Time travellers, defenders of the universe. You can never know when you're needed. Any suspicions as to what the emergency is?"

"Laskos' fourth moon. There's that small waffle bar that might need an inspection."

[itsillchangethislater]

Woe! Chapters 14-16 pictures be upon ye! So I’ve actually got at least 1 more chapter 16 picture to do, but I finished these and wanted to post them! I’m super happy with how that shoe turned out lol. Sorry DCA fandom, these ones are just y/n!

Now! Silly thought time! I used the red rock tunnel in Utah as my reference picture for the first image. I always saw the much beloved duo going to a more Arizona/New Mexico type desert? But the rock tunnel looked super cool and gave the “red rock mountainous” effect I wanted so I think it all worked out!

The detector scene has actually always KILLED me XD. Not THE detector scene, but when y/n is having a cardiac event over watching two green blips chase each other around with no animatronic buddy to explain away the “glitches”? My gosh. The imagery of Eclipse chasing Shoh across the desert while yakkety sax plays plagues me. I think I’m going to tuck that one into a corner as a spot drawing, hence the odd shape.

AND THE SHOE! The reveal of Vanessa’s trailer and the horror show within? Makes my heart ache. I cannot fathom the cold aching terror of realizing that your friend’s home, and by extension your FRIEND, is being used to do unspeakable things. Just a really well written scene. Not only preceded by Lambert’s gruesome death, but then immediately followed by the big reveal and the fight with Shoh???? MMMMM GOOD STUFF!!!

(Also, an aside here, my mom came in while I was finishing this one and said that the shoe looked just like my 2 yr old nephew’s. I was both complimented and also did NOT have the heart to tell her context for the scene. Thanks for making it so much sadder mom ❤️)

I’ve got more thoughts but those are for the next set of pictures!

cryptid sightings belongs to the criminally cool @naffeclipse