#even if it's about paul's terrible acting

[somerunner]

Unfortunately I don’t have examples, and it’s been a while since I read the comics (except the last one); I’ll have to pass that buck to other commenters. Or myself later.

Most of the mercs (Engineer, Heavy, Sniper, Spy, to a much lesser extent Demo and Medic) are also “straight-man-like” or mostly normal people, minus a breathtaking casualness about definitely-not-casual subjects. Pauling is the same as them in that regard. Spy doesn’t make terrible investments and only goes along with Scout reluctantly; Heavy takes everything seriously and only is a little insane regarding his gun, iirc Engineer and Sniper are also as roughly-normal as them. Pauling is more serious about covering their tracks, but will still go along with (and help create) the initial insane plans the group comes up with.

And then the hetero adventurer couple is equally battle-crazy as each other, kind of like Soldier and Zhanna.

There are far fewer women characters than men in the TF2 comics, but I’d say they are all equally insane as the men characters (even if they’re not given as much narrative power to act on their insanity, but that wasn’t the point of the OP).

one thing thats so important about tf2 is that all the women are just as insane and stupid as the men. youd think miss pauling is the level- headed voice of reason, but don't worry, she's neither level-headed or reasonable

[oimoitalaina]

What If? Season 3 episode 1 rant

After waiting all this time to see Sam, one of the central characters to the MCU, get any screen time in What If? I can’t help but be disappointed by what we got. The version of Sam we see in this episode is just so flat compared to who he is in any other MCU project. Despite supposedly being the main character of this episode, I feel like by the end the audience has gained no further insight into who he is as a person.

Sam’s whole story in this episode is about his supposed friendship with Bruce. He says that he’d be more helpful to Bruce as a friend than as a therapist. But he spends the whole episode continuing to act as a therapist, because they are in a one-sided relationship. Bruce gets to vent his feelings as much as he wants to Sam, but we never in the entire episode see Sam get an opportunity to express his own thoughts and feelings to Bruce in return. That’s why everyone in the episode needs to keep *saying* that the two are friends, because nothing about the story is actually depicting it as an equal relationship. 

I think the best examples I can give are the two instances where the episode is trying to reference the friendships Sam has in the main timeline. We start with Sam and Bruce meeting on a jog in the same spot where Sam met Steve, and their initial conversation exists as a variant of that first conversation. But here we can already see the weakness of the comparison. In CA:TWS, Sam first makes an actual connection to Steve by correctly guessing that Steve is still uncomfortable sleeping in a regular bed. Sam is able to make this guess because he has lived through the same things as Steve, albeit in a different century. This conversation leads to Steve asking more about Sam, asking if he lost anyone during his time in the air force. Sam opens up about losing Riley, whose death serves as another point of connection between Sam and Steve.

Compare this to the What If? version between Sam and Bruce. Bruce gets to talk about how he’s using cardio to try and control the Hulk, how this problem makes him feel like a monster. Sam doesn’t have any opportunity to relate to this, there’s really nothing in Sam’s story that makes him feel like a monster, so there’s no actual point of connection between the two. In addition, Bruce doesn’t ask anything about Sam. This transitions to a scene where Sam is acting as his counselor, because that’s the relationship they have. In this one scene where the show is attempting to show them as friends it does just the opposite.

The next scene attempting to depict Sam and Bruce’s friendship is on the Wilson family boat, the Paul and Darlene. Best girl Sarah is even there! This is clearly meant to parallel Sam and Bucky’s reconciliation in episode 5 of TFATWS. Bucky is actively helping Sam because he cares about his friend who he had not been treating very well for the last few days.  They’re on the boat after a day of Bucky helping Sam fix it up. Not only that, but Bucky came to Sam’s home town in the first place to bring a suit that he requested from the Wakandans on Sam’s behalf. In the case of Sam and Bucky, this moment of the boat solidifies their friendship after Bucky gets his act together enough to support Sam.

In the version we see in this episode of What If?, none of that context exists. We don’t see Bruce being of service to Sam in any way. They didn’t have a falling out that Bruce was just working to repair. Now obviously it's fine that the narrative isn’t exactly the same, but the point that I’m trying to make is that this scene also doesn’t depict Sam as his own person with his own emotional needs that need support.

Sam’s whole motivation for the events of this episode are about Bruce. How he feels as if he failed his friend. This isn’t a terrible motivation but it is severely lacking in comparison to what we’re used to seeing with Sam. What does Sam’s friendship with Bruce say about Sam? Other than he’s just a nice guy, I guess? Sam befriends Steve for a reason, because he recognises their similar trauma. Sam and Bucky have conflict in their friendship because of Sam’s uniquely difficult position accepting the role of Captain America as a Black man. Sam and Bruce have conflict because Sam is … nice and Bruce is … the Hulk. 

I guess overall what I’m trying to say is that Sam’s character is flattened so much in this episode, and I hate that this is what people think he’s about. Because Sam isn’t in the MCU just to be some white guy’s therapist, he’s his own person with his own darling personality that I was hoping to finally get to see in this episode. I guess I should just be grateful he wasn’t killed off this time at least.

[javelinbk]

Paul and John (and Ringo) talk to Brian Matthew on the first edition of the BBC radio show Top Gear, recorded 14th July 1964 and broadcast 16th July 1964.

Brian: In my young days, when I was a lad, they used to have actors in films and that, now they... Paul: Yes John: Eh, listen... Paul: It's all changed now John: It's all changed now Brian: Well, this is what I'm wondering. Paul: They're not doing that. No actors. Brian: In those days, the actors used to say their best bits were left on the cutting room floor, did you find that? John: No (laughs). No, no, there was the good bits in the film. You should have seen the rest. Brian: Yes? John: Rubbish. Brian: Was it really? John: Even worse, yes. Brian: Who was worse? John: Oh, Paul Brian: I see Paul: (laughs) No, I think John was about the worst John: No, it was you Paul: Ah, Ringo was very good Brian: He was Paul: He's a good lad Brian: They're saying he's... John: He was miming Brian: ... a new Charlie Chaplin. Do you think that's right? Paul: A new Charlie Chaplin? John: Oh, aye - he's an old one (laughs). Ok, Ring? Brian: He's beginning to look like it Ringo: Alright, John? CAN YOU HEAR ME? Brian: Now then... Paul: Can you hear him? Brian: Not really, I hope not. Hope not. John: We brought you the flowers, Ring

Brian: He’s not allowed to talk. Ringo: Eh? John: We brought you the flowers! Ringo: Oh, good John: And the grapes! Ringo: Oh, I like grapes! Paul: He likes grapes

[yeonjuns-beanie]

Blasphemous Rumours

Warnings: 18+, smut, hierophilia, sacrilegious acts, priest kink, fucking on an altar, suggestive themes in a confessional, riding a rosary(?...), hair pulling, biting, light blood play, exhibitionism, suggestive themes during mass, probably smth else but i don’t remember. nothing too crazy🧌. im debating on linking the playlist i wrote this to, but it would kinda get rid of the anonymity of this account…. ~nero :)

Father Paul Hill x female!reader

Word Count: 6.3k

You hated this fuckin ferry. 

You loved your family but you never understood why they never left that island. When you found your way out you left without a second thought. Vowing to never settle here again but that didn’t mean you’d never visit your family. Usually for the holidays you made your way back out here, but this time you just had a break in your schedule and wanted to visit. Wanting to visit didn’t trump the hatred you had for riding this fucking ferry though. 

To be completely honest you didn’t hate the ride itself but rather how the journey made you smell like a feeding bucket at Seaworld. The evening sun was gracing you with its last bit of warmth as it began to tuck itself behind the horizon. Against the cool mist of the water for a split moment, you almost understood the appeal of this lifestyle.

Almost. 

The ferry pulled up to the dock and your eyes fell on the shoreline meeting some abandoned nets and dried out seaweed. The seagulls' mews echoed as you exited the boat. Grabbing your bags you took a deep breath as your feet hit the sand and you began the trek up to your family home. 

Nothings changed. 

It’s been years and everything still looked the same. The houses, the people, hell even the smells were the same. It was uncanny. You saw the church in the distance and were relieved knowing that you could finally lay your bags down soon. As you passed the church your eyes landed on a relatively young man standing outside, a warm smile welcoming anyone that passed by. Styx-colored locks, a slender frame, and a face that looked ever so familiar. Pressing your lips together in a close-lipped smile and waved at him making a mental note to speak to him later. 

Your family’s house was only two doors down from the church and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited to see them. Knocking on the front door you eagerly waited to see who would see your face first. 

“Coming!” 

You heard faintly from the other side and you were greeted by the face of your mother. 

“Y/n! Oh, honey, it’s so good to see you!” 

She embraced you immediately, nearly squeezing the life out of you. 

“Hi, Mom.” You chuckled 

Over her shoulder, you saw your little sister, Briar, smirking at you trying her best not to laugh at your current situation. Your mom pulled you into the house motioning for you to come eat dinner as you arrived just in time. 

“Please, come eat. We’ll worry about your bags later. You came just in time to go to mass with us after.”

Mass? Why so late?

“Mass? Did you guys miss it this morning or something?” 

Washing your hands you turned around to face your family as you dried them. Before you sat down at the table your dad came from around the corner physically interjecting himself into the conversation as your mom spoke. 

“No, they happen—hi dear, they happen in the evening now. A new priest has been filling in for the Monsignor. Apparently, while he left for his trip to Jerusalem he fell terribly ill. Such a shame. But Father Paul is phenomenal! I think you’ll like him.”

Your mom looked at you with a knowing smile and you knew exactly what she was teasing you about. You rolled your lips around your teeth and began to eat, swallowing a sly comment. 

After you guys finished dinner, you fixed yourself for mass. Although you weren’t religious on your own time, you did it for your family while you were here. Plus, it allowed you time to wrestle with your feelings with Christ to see if it really wasn’t for you. Your relationship with God or whoever was out there was complicated. Wildly complicated. You knew in your heart that you were a formal sinner yet you lacked the guilt that should’ve come with that. 

If anything, you relished in it. You loved being entangled with the feeling of sin, it made you feel alive. You felt so strangled as a kid with religion, as if every move you made was under scrutiny so when you found the courage to separate yourself, you may have overindulged in things that were impious in nature. 

Just as you were this evening, clad in a low-cut tank top, a hoodie, jeans, and slip-on Vans. If you felt you didn’t belong in Crockett before, you definitely visually fit the part now. Looking like a complete foreigner in comparison to everyone else. You screamed city. From your clothes, and makeup, even down to the way you spoke. You tried your best to eradicate every trace of Crockett when you left but there was one thing you couldn’t scrub away. 

God. 

God always found a way to squirm His way around your brain and tether you to this island. 

“Y/n! You ready, honey?” 

“Yeah!”

Spraying yourself with a light perfume you walked out into the front room where your family was waiting for you. Filing out the door, the walk to the church was quick which was something you despised as a kid and you could feel those same feelings bubbling up as you neared its entrance. It was as if God was mocking you, knowing that you had such an internal feud with whether or not you believed, what was right and wrong, and if you even had a sliver of faith left within you. 

Sitting down in the pews next to your family, you felt at home once the incense filled your nose. The strange feeling of comfort washing over you as memories of your childhood flashed in front of you. The tottering organ that was moments away from wood decay, the massive crucifix in the center arch of the back of the church, and the haunting glow from the warm ambient lighting had you questioning yourself once again. You swallowed the thought, deciding that nostalgic comfort was weighing out your need for logic. 

You were pulled from your thoughts as everyone around you rose to your feet and the chimes of the bell echoed through the building. It was at this point that you realized how many people were stuffed into the pews. Mass was never like this as a kid. 

He’s either the hottest thing known to man or he’s sent from God himself. 

Anticipation settled in your stomach and you fought the smile that was begging to stretch your lips. You needed to know what it was. Maybe he was just a really good preacher, and you were being facetious–or maybe you just walked into the next Jim Jones story. Either way, your eyes were glued to the hallway counting the seconds to the procession. 

As everyone around you opened their book of hymns you were fixated on the white robe that exited the side door.  You didn’t recognize either of the altar boys and for a brief moment, you wondered where the last two poor bastards ran off to. But then your eyes fell on his. His stark black hair wasn’t as neat as it was earlier today when you were walking through town. A few pieces in the front dangled over his right eyebrow and his head was bowed slightly as he walked through the pews. 

Your mind was pulled away from fully taking in the man as you were distracted by how full the church sounded. When you were younger the hymns always sounded so hollow and weak, but tonight it resembled a traditional mass. Savoring the moment of repose you felt, you found it within you to appreciate the music resonating through the building finding it somewhat odd that they were singing a hymn that sounded so haunting. 

At His feet the six-winged seraph, cherubim with sleepless eye~

Your attention drifted back to the priest where he kneeled at the steps and then bowed his head at the altar. When his head raised to stare out across the pews you felt your eyes widen slightly at the sight of him. Your mom nudged your side, smirking when you turned to look at her. 

“Told you.”

You shoved your tongue in your cheek, swiping it across your teeth as you sat back down. Mass went by in a blink considering you were completely engrossed in the man in front of you rather than his preaching. At some point, you completely tuned out his biblical orations and resorted to the simple pleasures of imagining him and yourself in various scenarios in the church. 

In the pews, across the altar, across the altar with the front door open waiting for Beverly to waltz through, in the confessio-

“Honey, come. I want you to meet Father Paul.”

Your mom tapped you on your shoulder pushing you out of your trance of thoughts. Standing up, you smoothed out your top and took a deep breath in an attempt to shake out the tension in your shoulders you most certainly built up during your daydreaming. Walking out of the church you wondered why you were leaving if she wanted you to meet the man. You turned around and noticed that he was no longer at the altar either. Stepping out to the front, your questions were soon answered as a smooth voice sounded from behind you. 

“I see we have a new face in town.” 

Your mother butt in before you had a chance to speak for yourself. Laying her hand across the small of your back introducing you to the man you just spent the better half of an hour fantasizing about. 

“For a little bit, we do, yes! This is my daughter, y/n. She usually comes around for the holidays but we got lucky this time around. This used to be her home until about two years ago.”

You stuck your hand out, Father Paul grabbing yours with a firm grip and you couldn’t help the compulsion to stare at his hand for a moment before quickly finding your mind and smiling at him.

“Nice of you to step in for the Monsignor. My mom told me you’re his stand-in for the time being.” 

“Yes. I apologize seeing as I’m not who you expected, but I assure you he’s on the road to recovery.” 

As Father Paul spoke, you couldn’t quite place why he looked and felt so familiar. You were running through files of how you could’ve possibly known him but nothing was coming out concrete. 

“Oh! No need to apologize. I quite enjoyed your sermon, it was very similar to what I was used to growing up here. It’s as if he never left.” 

You chuckled out your last sentence and suddenly nerves found themselves coursing through your body as you maintained eye contact. You were committing his face to memory. Whether it be for personal reasons in the dead of night or to try and figure out where you knew him from. You’d wrestle with that later. Right now, you were just hoping that you weren’t being painfully obvious. 

You were. 

You were bordering a fine line of staring and eye-fucking him that your mother and sister were finding absolute humor in. Your eyes flickered back and forth between his clerical collar and his face trying to shake the thoughts that were circling their way around your head. 

“Well, I’m glad that I feel so familiar to you. I hope to see more of you during your time here with us.” 

He smiled at you with such sincerity you forgot about all the lust brewing for a second. His face held so many emotions but you couldn’t place any of them. 

“You will.”

You smiled back at him, your eyes holding something a little more heavy though. You were aware of the priesthood’s celibacy and something about knowing you couldn’t have him made the feeling that more intense. Although, you didn’t miss how it seemed the feeling was reciprocated while you looked at him. Father Paul spoke, breaking the silence that you two created. 

“Well, it was very nice to meet the rest of your family, Mrs. L/N, but I am afraid that I have some matters to tend to back in my rectory. You all have a very nice night.” 

His gaze lingered as he spoke, giving you the same treatment as you did moments before and it was making you squirm on the inside. His gaze was soft but so intense and the contrariety of it left your mind racing. While you and your family said a choir of goodbyes, you watched Father Paul walk away as your family made the way back to the house. Your sister spoke up, whipping you from your thoughts. 

“At this point, you should just tell him you want to fuck him.” 

Both of your parents exclaimed your sister’s name in shock but the two of you were left laughing. 

“Oh come on, I wasn’t that bad.” 

“Y/n, you might as well have been sucking his fingers in front of us.” 

As you guys walked back into the house your mom snickered as you genuinely asked for her opinion. 

“Was I being that obvious about it?”

She paused. 

“You could be…less obvious about it.” 

You groaned in embarrassment rushing straight to your room to avoid any teasing for the night. 

“Goodnight!” 

~*~

You couldn’t sleep. You opened your phone to check the time knowing full well that it was the middle of the night. You just wanted to see how late it was. 

3:33. 

Shit. 

You let out an exasperated sigh wiping your hand across your face. It was usually at this point in the night that your hand found its way in between your pajama pants and gently glided itself across your sensitive floret. Your hips jolted forward at the contact and as soon as that sensation spread through your body, images of Father Paul flickered in your mind. As your finger circled over your clit you found yourself reaching your climax faster than usual. As your orgasm flooded through your limbs, your chest heaved for air trying to calm the euphoria running through your veins. 

Pulling your hand from under the sheets, you let your arm drape across your eyes grappling with what you just did. But before you could really identify the problem with your actions, sleep weighed heavily on your eyelids. 

When you woke up, your middle of the night scandal was the first thing on your mind. 

How am I gonna look at him again? 

A string of questions ran through your mind leaving you mentally scattered but as you got ready for the day and saw your sister in the main room, it left the front of your mind. 

“Morning.” 

“Morning. You gonna go to church today?”

You shot your sister a look that was a mixture of embarrassment and a playful knowing. You two erupted into a fit of giggles that ended with you looking at her out of the corner of your eye. 

“Maybe.”

She watched you, impressed by your honesty, and nodded her head. Taking a sip of her drink she spoke through her swallow making her voice a little gummy. 

“Your best chances of seeing him are in the evening. For some reason, he’s stopped coming out in the day. Probably to avoid Bev. That woman would sew herself to his hip if she could.”

“Bev was up the Monsignor’s ass too, nothing out of the ordinary. I’ve never seen someone try to get so close to fucking God.” 

You both were laughing until you saw your mother emerge from the hallway and you halted the sound in your throats. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing. Just givin’ Bev shit for being Bev.”

Your mom laughed through her nose and shook her head at your antics and you were preparing for a small lecture. 

“So I take it you’ll be heading to the church tonight y/n? Typically we only go on Sundays now but I’m sure Father Paul would be ecstatic to see one of us a little more often.” 

Your family took great pride in taking the piss out of you and to be completely fair you made it quite easy. You rolled your eyes at your mother because even she knew you had lost touch with your faith, but now you had reason to find it–maybe. 

“I wasn’t planning on it but since Briar and now you have both greeted me with the question maybe I will. Build some rapport with the man.” 

“We both know you’d wanna build something more than rapport with him.” Briar chimed in. 

“I literally can’t even! You know…with him. It’s against their whole code. Don’t think I forgot. But also they like should come up with a code to not have hot priests, I’m just sayin.” 

They both just hummed in agreement still silently giving you shit. 

“You guys are terrible.” You laughed. 

~*~

You had all day to conjure up a scheme of how you’d find a way to get close to Father Paul and you finally decided on a plan while you were getting ready. 

Confession. 

Technically you didn’t need a priest for confession but it’d be nice to have someone listen while you were in the box. Everyone separated into their rooms for the day and you hoped that was still the case when you stepped out of the house. 

“Skirt’s a little long isn’t it.” 

You didn’t expect Briar to be sitting in the main room so her voice spooked you before you registered her words. 

“Yeah, but I think the side slits balance out the potential prude.” 

You shoved your leg out to the side showing off how the slit in the maxi skirt stopped at the middle of your thigh. Paired with a fairly tight black long sleeve and chunky boots, you were bordering on looking like a mortician. In your mind, being clad in all black hid not only you, but your true intentions from being so visible. The last thing you needed was being sniffed out through a choice of clothing, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t hopeful for an interaction. 

“I’ll be back.”

“Be safe.” Briar snickered

Stepping out into the cool night air, you were thankful to feel something other than the emotional heat from your family. It immediately soothed your nerves and you found yourself focusing more on your plan. With the church doors open, you noticed you saw nobody walking in and when you walked up the steps you were surprised to see the pews empty. It felt like you were intruding, like a fly buzzing around a dinner table. Your footsteps echoed in the empty building and you felt an overwhelming feeling to run out and forget about this elaborate plan. To sacrifice your need for affection and carnal satisfaction for a walk across the shoreline or to the general store. Just something else. 

Your eyes panned over to the confession box and you were wrestling with your gut feeling to stay. Maybe you should confess and get it off your chest…just not with him there. With disquieted uncertainty overcoming you, you took a step back to exit the church deciding that you’d come back another day, but when you expected your body to glide through the air, you stumbled into something solid instead. Whipping your body around you apologized profusely. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I was spaced out and didn’t hear anybody behind me I’m so-” 

And then you paused. As your eyes traveled up to meet the person you stumbled into your eyes caught the clerical collar. It was like a bullet lodged itself into your chest and you felt your limbs begin to grow cold from shock. You knew who lied above that collar and you had to find the guts to look at him in the eye. 

“It’s no trouble at all. Are you alright? You seem pretty startled.” 

Father Paul placed his hand on your shoulder looking down at you with genuine concern. You made the mistake of looking at him directly in the eye and you wished you didn’t. His deep brown eyes furrowed under his brow waiting for your response but you were entranced by him. Stuttering when you found your voice. 

“I, uh, yeah. I’m fine. I just was in my head about something.” 

Father Paul cocked his head slightly trying to figure out where to step with you. He narrowed his eyes for a moment and flickered back and forth between you and the confessional box. 

“I noticed you were quite focused on the confessional, were you looking to confess this evening, y/n?” 

You panicked. Backed in a corner, your mouth moved faster than your brain. It was too late before you could register the words flying out of your mouth. 

“Well, yes and no. I’ve been quite separated from my faith as of late but I’ve been struggling with…some intense internal issues that can’t be ignored now. I’m not sure if confession would make it better or worse and that’s why I was so engrossed in it.” 

“Well. We’re here now. If you’re comfortable, I can lead you through it.” 

You were hesitant. You worried that in your current state, you’d divulge too much, but maybe that’s exactly what you needed to do. To just get it all out of your system and bear the humiliation. You looked at him one last time and it was as if he was waiting for your compliance. He may as well have been extending his hand out to lead you to it. Closing your eyes and accepting this as a fated moment you inhaled a deep breath and nodded. 

“Okay.” 

Walking to the confessional, you got down on your knees, folded your hands in front of your mouth, and exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You looked through the latticed opening and made out a few of Father Paul’s features. A feeling began to pool in your stomach as you realized the dynamic of the situation you were in. Your mind swiftly moved into the gutter wishing you were on your knees for a different reason. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned–and will continue to do so.” 

You paused deciding one last time if you were going to bear all your bones here. Swallowing your pride, like a gun sounding the start of a race, you relieved yourself with zero guilt. 

“Being separated from my faith has left me in a deeply sacrilegious state. For the most part, I can ignore my thoughts, my taboo interests but since I stepped foot back on this island it's all come bubbling back up.”

You looked to see if Father Paul was looking at you but he stared straight ahead giving you his complete focus to your confession. 

“I find, grave desire in things I shouldn’t. Sexual hunger that I can’t displace somewhere else because I know the only reason it brews within me is because I know it’s wrong. Father, these feelings came back to the surface when I laid my eyes on you during Mass. I couldn’t help it. The feeling that pooled in the depths of my stomach and left me aching for something more. Forgive me, Father, for my boldness, but I fear that the only way I can feel relief is to…release.” 

You felt your breath quicken at how honest you were being but it was soon replaced by the feeling of of excitement. 

“I know it’s wrong but I…I can’t stop the feeling. This is all I can say, I’m sorry for my sins.” 

Silence. 

You felt like you sat in silence for an eternity waiting to hear his voice echo to your side, but you didn’t. Instead, you heard the pace of his breathing. You almost confused it for your own but you held your breath trying to calm your nerves and still it echoed. 

“Father…I. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any-” 

“Y/n. Come to the other side. 

As you rose to your feet, you heard the door on his side of the confessional click open. When you stood in front of the door, it was the first time this evening you found the courage to look him directly in the eye. There was a dastardly hunger swimming in his brown eyes. Like a predator stalking his prey, his aura was intense and left you frozen in front of him awaiting his command. His eyebrow slightly cocked upward and his hand raised, coaxing you towards him. You followed, pausing before you stepped inside his side of the box but he coaxed you forward with his voice so smooth and alluring. With little room, you were left to slot yourself in between his legs. 

Your breath hitched as you looked at him again and he patted his thigh with his hand that was wrapped in a rosary. Clenching around nothing, you made the swift decision to close his legs and straddle them instead of taking his knee. Letting your hands rest on his shoulders you stared him down. Nothing but salacity was radiating between your bodies and quickly you began to feel your desire rise into your face. Searching his eyes for any indication of his feelings you opened your mouth to speak but he occupied the silence before you. 

“I wondered if, you would find the courage to be truthful and I must say I’m struck by your honesty.”

Your heart nearly stopped. 

You fucked this up, bad.

“Father, I-”

“No need for any apologies. I’m glad you were so honest.” 

“You…you are?”

“Lying is a sin, so yes. But it relieves me of my own prurient conscience so that I may indulge in you free of guilt.” 

You weren’t paying attention to the movement of his body due to being so focused on his words, but when his words were punctuated with the rolling of his rosary-clad finger across your cloth-covered center, you were made very aware. Your cunt clenched around nothing and your body lurched forward unintentionally writhing over his hand. Your breath came out in shutters and your eyes, now hooded with lust, gazed into his own in a frenzy. 

His fingers kept gently teasing your bud through your panties and you couldn’t help the compulsion to ride in tandem with his movements. The beads of the rosary gifted you an unknown kind of pleasure that you knew would afflict your mind for the rest of time. It was a feeling that was near indescribable but the pleasure was too good to deny. You rested your head on his forehead, gripping onto his shoulders for some type of leverage. You bit the corner of your lip in an effort to silence yourself, but your ragged breathing was near that of an incensed bull. 

“If you did a better job of controlling yourself yesterday, I may have been fooled by your sheepish nature, but you just couldn’t quell this desire on your own, could you? You went home to seek some satisfaction but you found none, so you came here to plague me instead. Praying that I’d fix this ache within you. Am I right y/n?”

You went to respond but Father Paul’s finger slipped past the barrier of your underwear, leaving you to feel your arousal be spread across your puffy petals. A moan escaped your throat and the way it echoed off the confessional walls into the church made you shrink into his body. A pathetic attempt to hide from your lechery. Father Paul hummed, urging you to speak as he sank two fingers into your honeyed garden. Catching your breath, you found your words. 

“Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Father~”

You brought your head up to look at him again, too dazed to even feel like this was real. As his fingers continued to roll themselves against your sweet spot, your breath quickened as your mouth stayed ajar looking for the courage somewhere in yourself to slot your lips against his. As he rolled his finger over your swollen bud, your body decided for you. Your lips danced in a sweat and lust-filled hysteria leaving your brain foggy with desire. You rolled your hips into his hand needing more of him and your sounds slowly increased in volume as you felt a bead of the rosary slide across your center. The feeling of the beads slightly grazing your sensitive lips brought you faster to the precipice of elation than you expected and you pathetically whined for your release. 

“I’m, I’m close, Father.” 

You expected him to speed up his ministrations, but instead, he removed his slick-ridden fingers from your garden and brought them up to his lips. As if his hand was dripping in myrrh, he sucked you off of his fingers and paused before he spoke. Ghosting his fingers across his lips, his tongue hesitantly licked the tips of them as he dragged his hand away from his face.

“If you’re going to be brought to rapture by my hand it will be done when all of me is inside of you.” 

Father Paul motioned you to stand up and you staggered out of the confessional with him not far behind. He grabbed your hand and dragged you down the center of the church pews up to the altar. Ripping the white cloth off the altar, Father Paul held his hand out before sitting you down on the altar. He caressed his hands down the curves of your body before toying with the waistband of your skirt. Looking down at you, you saw the fervor swimming in his irises. 

“My sweet lamb, is this alright?”

You nodded and he slotted himself in between your legs feeling his bulge at your center. Depraved and corpulent lust washed over your body and your fingers fumbled with his belt, unfastening it with haste. You looked up at him and his face was closer than you expected, the heat radiating off of your bodies leaving a mist of humidity between you. You palmed him through his jeans and an inviscerated moan crawled out of his throat. The sound urged your body to move faster, the need to have him inside of you becoming near unbearable. 

He kissed you again, insatiable ardor all that you could taste. The feeling trickled down your body leaving goosebumps across your soft skin and a river seeping through the fabric of your panties that slowly painted the apex of your thighs. He tapped your thighs and you took it as a sign to lift your hips. In a swift motion, your skirt and underwear were left in a pool by the altar. Father Paul removed himself from his sweater, throwing it in the pile of sacrilegious cloths that served as a visual reminder of the desacralization that was about to take place. He left his button-up to cling to his chest and he moved his jeans and underwear down to the middle of his thighs, leaving him with his fervid cock on full display. 

You kicked your boots off your feet, the thud echoing a little bit louder than you intended. With your feet now free from their confines, you wrapped your legs around Father Paul’s legs, bringing him as close as possible. Your hand slithered between your bodies and varnished the tip of his cock in your amatory nectar. Your moans harmonized in synchrony and you gazed into his lust-blown eyes seeing nothing but black and you were sure yours were the same. He asked silently one last time for consent and you nodded slightly before he entered you. 

The stretch of his cock was something you felt only one could dream about. It filled you perfectly and you knew you wouldn’t last long. Your head dipped back in zeal, relishing in the feeling that was rushing in waves over your form. When your head tipped back up, your eyes met the enlarged crucifix that hung in the center of the back wall. For a reason unknown to you, locking eyes with Jesus as you desecrated His holy house made a pang of carnal hedonism tangle in your sexual daze. 

Your hands webbed themselves in Father Paul’s hair gripping at his strands and pulling his face into the junction of your neck and shoulder, feeling his breath heat up your skin. You felt his mouth open and drag itself across the side of your neck. A slight chill graced the parts where his spit marked his territory. You felt his breathing get heavier and all of a sudden you felt his cock slip out of you and he picked you up from the altar, turning you around and kicking your feet into a perfect V shape. He bent your body over the altar and slowly pushed himself back into you, the new angle making you cry out in complete perverted passion. 

His thrusts were deep and pointed making sure that you felt every inch of him drag in and out of your seraphic labyrinth. Just when you felt that the feeling couldn't get any more intense, his hand entangled itself into your hair and pulled your body up, flesh against his chest. His thrusts became rougher and you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke. 

“Feel good, my dove?” 

You were fucking yourself back onto him, any coherent thought on the brink of leaving you amidst your ardent pleasure. 

“S-so…so good, Father. Shit.”

You were running out of air, your body paying more attention to the dam that was about to burst within you. 

“Better than your hand?”

“Uh-huh”

Your eyes were rolling back in pleasure and were hooded as you looked back at him. He gingerly guided your body back down to the altar and removed his hand from your hair, slowly tracing his hand down your back. Both of his hands grabbed your hips and the feeling had you crying out as his tip kissed your cervix. You felt his body lean over yours as he moved your hair away from your neck. His breath was sticking to your neck before a whisper ghosted over your ear.

“I’m sorry, but trust me right now.” 

He licked from the base of your neck and then you felt him pierce your skin with his teeth. In your licentious stupor, you just moaned out at the contact not fully registering that his teeth were sinking into your flesh or the fact that footsteps were echoing through the church. 

“Father, you weren’t in your rectory so I assumed this would be second best to find you-oh…” 

Bev.

Her grating voice almost brought you out of your daze, but Father Paul resorted to slow, deep thrusts as he kept he kept sucking your neck. When he lifted his face from your neck you felt a warm liquid trickle down your skin and pool towards your collarbone before landing on the altar. You lifted your head, your body weak and wracked with pleasure. You could barely make eye contact with her as your eyes were so hooded but you heard her voice resonate through the building once more. 

“Haresis Dea.”

Your head dropped unable to focus on her and your body rolled back into Father Paul’s, needing more of him as your orgasm was slowly fading back into your body. As you moved against him, his hips slowly began to thrust back into your sloppy cunt as Bev waited for some semblance of an explanation. 

“God has chosen her. He has chosen to consecrate this union, this nocturnal metamorphosis with lascivious intent because she is the last piece. God has willed it this way and has chosen her.” 

Father Paul bent down to lap at your neck again and his hips regained their momentum. You pushed yourself up from the altar and wrapped your arm around the back of his neck lapping at the blood that was dribbling down his chin.

“Very well.” 

And you heard Bev’s footsteps walk out of the church, the main doors closing behind her. Father Paul picked you up again, turning your body back around to face him. There was a certain ferality that wasn’t in his features before that had you clenching around his cock. With the doors shut, you both let your moans reign loose, a salacious cacophony filling the air. Your eyes scaled up the wall again and you came face to face with Jesus as a pool of heated arousal settled in your lower stomach begging to be set free. Your head knocked back in avidity and you didn’t see him slice a small cut in his wrist. 

When his thumb found your enflamed bud, you brought your head forward and he placed his bleeding wrist against your lips. As a wave of sexual delirium washed over you, your mouth hung open and he urged you to suck on his wrist. The metallic taste flooded over your tongue as your orgasm heightened your senses. Father Paul kept fucking you through your high until he reached his own, his cock painting your labyrinth a warm alabaster. He pulled his wrist away from you as you both were trying to calm down your breathing. 

Both of your mouths now covered in a drying garnet hue, you found yourself pressing your lips against his once again, unable to satisfy this ache completely. He chuckled as you both pulled away. 

“Easy, my dove.” 

You nodded, placing your hands flat against his chest. 

“Let’s get you dressed and then walk to the rectory, hmm?” 

Licking your bottom lip and locking it behind your teeth, you nodded as you slowly made the return back to your body.  

© yeonjuns-beanie

[annebrontesrequiem]

Thinking about how in Dune Part 1 the concept of Paul dying and rising is this big set up to his fight with Jamis. And how through killing a man for the first time, Paul does in some ways kill a part of himself, which is then reborn.

Now thinking about how many times Paul dies and is reborn in Dune Part 2. When he is accepted by the Fremen, and rejects his status as outsider of the planet. He severs his ties to Caladan more than even the death of his father.

When he accepts his fate and goes South. Though Paul is saving himself from being killed by the Harkonnens, he's also killing his hope. The last of his resolve. And he accepts his terrible destiny, rising again.

Of course, drinking the Waters is the most explicit example of this. Paul literally almost dies, only to be resurrected by Chani. Only this time it's the most terrible death of them all. Because Chani assured him that she would always be his as long as he remained himself. And in this act Paul is losing her. Already when he goes South he's lost. But now he can see it clearly. And she can too. Paul Atreides is dead. Paul the Messiah is born. He's gained so much, and yet how much he's also lost.

Then, of course, circling back to Dune Part 1, Paul the Duke is killed by Feyd Rautha, before being reborn as Paul the Emperor. Again he comes perilously close to dying, yet even here the loss and gain does not match the scope of when he took the Waters. Thus, though this is his 'moment' politically, in terms of fate that moment has already passed.

[kasagia]

Dancing with the devil IV

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem! royal!reader Summary: Unknowingly, you fall into a trap from which it will be difficult to get out. The only solution seems to be to make a pact with the devil himself. A devil who seems all too happy to finally get his hands on you. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART III ~•♤♤♤•~ PART V ~•♤♤♤•~

“It's a refreshing change. Don't you think, Y/N?” Your friend inquires as you sit on the windowsill, gazing out at the landscape of Kaitain.

You hum, nodding your head, keeping your watchful gaze on the ramp where the next ships are landing. A shiver runs through you as you recognise the familiar black Harkonnen orb. Whoever designed their ships must have worked hard to even make them look... disquieting. Y/F/N notices what you are staring at.

"Don't worry." You comfort her and hold her hand. "I won't let you marry that brute. There is no worse fate than being Harkonnen's wife."

"It's not that… just if it was someone else. Na-Baron, for example." You tense slightly at her mention of Feyd. Your eyes follow hers, and you notice her staring at him longingly as he walks out, surrounded by his soldiers. You feel bile rising in your throat.

"Na-Baron?" You ask stupidly, trying to ignore the sudden, unexpected feeling of jealousy. Which, of course, was a pure act of stupidity on your part. Because how could you be jealous of Harkonnen? And yet, you felt like gouging out your friend's eyes for staring at your Feyd for too long.

"He... isn't that bad at all. Despite what they say about him. He cared about me there - on Giedi Prime. In their crazy way... but thanks to him, the stay there wasn't so... terrible." You tense up and roll your eyes at her words.

As if there could be angels on Giedi Prime. As if HE could be something more than the cunning devil who breaks hearts, takes the souls and lives of innocent people. As if he could be something more than a bloodthirsty sadist raised by the most disgusting man who ever lived.

"Believe me, it's just a facade. The moment you let your guard down, he will show you his true colors. And this is a far cry from the image of his personality he painted in your head. He wants you to consider him your ally. This way, it will be easier for him to use you for his own benefits. Spying on his brother or something like that, I'm not sure yet. Maybe he's also looking for sexual release after his harpies are dead?"

"Y/N!"

"What? I'm just thinking out loud." You reply with a shrug. Your gaze remains focused on Na-Baron. Princess Irulan welcomes him and his brother rather reluctantly. She behaved quite similarly towards you. Except for her special coldness and malice reserved for you, to which you had become accustomed by now.

"You must know him very well to see through his intentions so quickly. I also remember that as children you were often in the company of him, Paul Atreides and Princess Irulan."

You flinch when Na-Baron's gaze suddenly turns to the palace. But you know it's impossible for him to recognise your silhouette among the palace's many windows... or at least you hoped so. Regardless, you decide not to tempt fate and walk away from the window, turning around to face your friend.

"That was a long time ago."

"But you must know him very well. Or at least the child he was."

"Trust me, he was never a child." You reply, pouring yourself a glass of wine. You don't want to tell her anything else.

You don't want to explain to her exactly when Feyd lost his childhood, when he stopped being your friend and the boy you played with, when you lost him, when the place of the charming boy from Lankiveil was taken by the bloodthirsty, psychopathic, brutal Na-Baron of Giedi Prime. Because only you knew the Prince of Lankiveil. And the memory of him will follow you to your grave.

Because you knew there was no salvation for him, that the boy you gave your heart to was dead, and his murderer was none other than the Baron. And all you have left of him is a shell. The one he gave you and the shell of who he once was were a living and painful reminder of what you lost because of the Baron and Princess Irulan. And because of your own fear.

"I'm bored." You tell Feyd as you sit next to each other in the feast hall.

Your parents, his brother, and his uncle are celebrating with the other great families the birth of the Emperor's (another) daughter, and you and the rest of the children are forced to attend the event until your maids take you away.

And this has been going on for you for ages.

"Act like a lady and don't whine." Feyd responds to you, rolling his eyes at you slightly. You punch his arm, causing him to gasp and look at you indignantly.

"Act like a child and don't talk to me like you're my mother."

"What do you want to do?" He sighs, shaking his head at you.

If he had to list his weaknesses, you would definitely be the first of them on his list. He was always waiting for the moment where he could free himself from Giedi Prime and his uncle's gaze to spend a few minutes with you. You gave him... a sense of freedom. With you, he didn't have to worry about how he acted—whether he was too soft or too lenient.

He could have just been a child for a while—a boy from Lankiveil he had almost forgotten about. A boy you seemed to like quite a lot. And he tried his hardest to show you that he was still able to find in himself nooks and crannies that weren't polluted by the Baron. Mentally and physically.

"To sleep. But I don't have my teddy bear and blanket." Feyd tries his best not to laugh, but he allows his mouth to open slightly, making sure to keep it closed.

He didn't want to scare you with his black teeth—an addition recently introduced on Baron's orders. Feyd couldn't quite get used to them yet. He remembered breaking all the mirrors in his chambers the first day he saw his new row of black teeth. Over time, however, he got used to them, like everything else on Giedi Prime.

"What?" You ask as he stares at you for a few too many seconds or minutes. Feyd clears his throat and manages to lower the corner of his mouth.

"Nothing. I may be not as soft as your precious teddy bear and blanket, but I can keep you warm. And my cloak is... possibly the coziest thing I have." He answers awkwardly, already taking off his coat. He wraps it around you without waiting for your response, remaining in his black military armor.

He knows that the next day he will have scrapes and bruises from too tight armor. He should have gotten a bigger one a long time ago, but the Baron seemed to insist that Feyd keep his old clothes for as long as he could.

"You allow me to nuzzle up to you?" You ask, surprised, as he wraps his arm around you.

Feyd didn't particularly like physical contact; sometimes he flinched when someone's skin touched his—a reaction he tried to hide. However, apart from you, there was one other person who also noticed it. And while Feyd should have hated the Atreides, he would remain forever grateful to Letto Atreides, who had invited him to spend the summer with his son, you, and Princess Irulan shortly after Rabban and he had moved to Giedi Prime. It was the best summer of his life since leaving Lankivieil. A moment of respite.

However, with you, sometimes he could afford to feel your body a little closer to him. Most of all, he WANTED to feel your body press against his. Which, over the years spent on Giedi Prime, was a very rare, even unheard of feeling for him.

"I allow you to rest on me and take a nap. My mother... my mother did this a lot with my father when she was pregnant and had to sit in on these meetings." Feyd says he has vague memories of his mother being pregnant with her third child and how his father acted towards her—before all hell broke loose on Lankiveil, when he could still be... normal.

"But I am not pregnant. And we are not married." You point it out maliciously, but your head is already falling onto his shoulder. You wrap your hand around his waist and snuggle into him. Feyd suppresses a blush as you unconsciously nuzzle his neck and inhale his scent. You were too innocent to know what it did, and he was too tainted for his body not to react to it. Despite everything, he controls himself and holds you, making sure you don't fall out of your chair.

"But you are tired, aren't you?" He hums against your ear, fully aware that you're about to drift off into his arms. And that he would rather kill himself than let anyone take you away from him.

"I am. And I also never miss a chance to hug you, my grumpy Na-Baron." He furrows his hairless eyebrows, unconsciously tracing patterns on your arm with his finger. He relaxes, seeing that his uncle has left the party. So did the young servant who served him. A shiver runs through him, but he ignores it. His focus is on you. On your slow breathing, on your smell, on your warmth, on how perfect you feel next to him, as if you were his missing half. And Feyd allows himself to believe for a moment that this may be the case—that you are truly written in the stars for him.

"I am not grumpy." He says, rolling his eyes at your taunt and completely ignoring Princess Irulan's glare from across the room.

"You are. Like those funny green creature from Paul's book. You know, the old one with weird pictures."

If Feyd could, he would forbid you from meeting Atreides. Unfortunately, your parents seemed to insist on this special closeness to this family. And you loved reading. Same as Paul. Feyd's only consolation was that when Atreides didn't have a book in his hand, he lost any interest in you. Unlike him. He had your attention, regardless of what he was doing or what he might be giving you at that moment.

"Sleep." He mumbles and presses a kiss to your tample.

"Don't tell me what to do. I am not your wife." You mumble, half asleep, but you give in to him anyway and fall asleep on him. You press your cheek against his shoulder, and he begins to worry that his hard armour might accidentally leave a scratch on your cheek. He gently lifts your head and places his hand under your cheek to make sure you don't feel any sharp, protruding metal decorations.

"You are not... but you will be." He promises, fully convinced that you're already asleep and don't hear his little promise. He tightens his hand around you and listens to your calm breathing and heartbeat, wishing that he could listen to this beautiful music every day. Not only during boring balls that you both hate.

You sigh, wiping the sweat from your forehead. Your maid gives you a horrified look as you lunge at the mannequin in the training room. Stabbing the puppet several times with your blade, taking out your frustration and energy on him.

When you feel the air moving behind you and the added presence, you don't hesitate. You turn around, your blade colliding with Feyd's, and glare at him in response to his cocky smirk.

"I see that old habits die hard. Why don't you accept a real challenge instead of taking out your anger at this motionless pile of threads?"

"Why don't you do it instead of tormenting Atreides' drugged soldiers? At least I don't get dirty while playing with my motionless pile. Not like you." You say, stepping away from him. You let the hand with your dagger fall as you walk over to the table for a drink of water. You freeze, feeling the cool tip of his steel against your throat.

"How many times have I told you not to turn your back on your opponent? Besides..." He steps closer, his chest pressing against your back as he leans in to whisper in your ear. "Did you have the same fun with my harpies? Didn't you want to get dirty, and that's why you chose poison to kill them? And you accuse me of being a bloodthirsty, jealous beast... I guess we're more alike than you want to admit, my little, beautiful, dangerous, jealous swan."

"I… I have no idea what you're talking about." You whisper, tensing in his arms. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that you're alone in the room. He must have gotten your maid out of there somehow. You suddenly feel very vulnerable.

"You do not have? And that's funny. So why did I find a poison in your things the day after they died and just before your departure?" You frown and push his hand with the blade away from you. You turn to look him in the eye, too surprised by his accusation to do anything but say the truth.

"I have no idea. Whatever happened to them, it wasn't me. You know very well that I wouldn't kill anyone." This clearly catches him off guard, and you feel offended that he could be so sure that you took someone's life just because they had the opportunity to fuck him. You roll your eyes at him in annoyance and raise your blade in challenge. You might as well exercise a little while he does his investigation.

"Well… after all, swans don't like getting their beautiful feathers dirty with blood… but who else could do it?" He responds, dodging and blocking all your attacks.

You work harder, jumping away from him and trying to break through his protective shield. You sigh as you manage to get the blade close to his skin, but no telltale shield appears around him. The son of a bitch didn't even put his shield on when fighting you. No one could piss you off and humiliate you at the same time more than him.

"I don't know. I don't care." You growl, pushing against him and trying to draw his black blood at all costs.

You manage to kick him in the stomach, but when he falls, he drags you with him. You land on top of him, but he quickly changes your positions and pins you to the floor beneath him, keeping your wrists in a tight grip as he presses his blade to your neck.

"Do you? Doesn't it make you jealous just thinking that someone could be madly in love with me enough to get rid of the women who give me pleasure? What if you're next on my secret, deadly admirer's little list?" He whispers in your ear, and you shiver as he bites his lobe. He throws his blade aside, his other hand lazily exploring your body, abusing your breast as he squeezes it tightly and digs his fingers into it.

"We have no connections." You moan as his lips move to your jawline. He sucks gently, leaving no trace except a trail of his black saliva as it moves to your exposed neck.

"Not in public. But in the quiet of the night, in your gardens, of my corridors, of the halls of this palace—all these places remember many of our connections."

Unfortunately, he is just as stubborn, maybe even more stubborn than you, and he will do anything to prove that he is right. You gasp, biting your lip, as his hand goes under the fabric of your pants. Your traitorous pussy welcomes his fingers like a permanent resident. You tighten around him, and he chuckles lightly, feeling you already wet. You dig your knee into his stomach, trying to fight back, but he just positions himself between your legs, casually pushing your leg away as if it were just an intrusive, insignificant obstacle to getting what he wants.

"And yet you run from one man to another… but it's my fingers that fill you while you wait for someone to put a ring on your pretty feathers, my little swan." He mumbles against your neck.

You shiver as he pushes his fingers deeper into you, his cold metal Na-Baron signet teasing your warm, wet walls, only making you clench tighter around him.

His hips grind against you madly, his hard length pressing into your thigh as you moan softly, trying miserably to keep from making any grinding sound when all you want to do is feel him deep inside you, splitting you open for him.

"And you… you're pathetic for always looking for me and coming back." You respond, feeling your pleasure building within you. You grind away from him, angling his fingers just right, deciding that since you were already in this position, you might as well show him that you were using him and not him using you. After all, you were always the one who came, not him.

"I am." Surprisingly, he nods, caressing your clit with his thumb as the rest of his fingers penetrate you mercilessly. "And you come pathetically beautiful with my name on your swollen lips. We are both humiliating each other. And we both love it." And that's exactly when he pushes you over the edge. You lift up and connect your lips in a kiss to stop yourself from screaming his name, knowing full well that the guards are outside and could… really guess what happened between you behind closed doors.

You admit to yourself that you loved his plush, soft, full lips on yours, the way he caressed yours, the way his tongue slipped in unnoticed, you loved kissing him. His kisses made you more addicted to him than the orgasms he gave you. That's why you made sure you had them very rarely. Because no one else's mouth has ever given you as much pleasure as his.

In the frenzy of the kiss, he releases your wrist and cups his hand around your cheek. You sigh, biting his lower lip. This is the only warning you give him before you plunge your dagger into his back.

He screams as your blade pierces his skin. Your fingertips are sticky with his thick, black blood, but you don't care. You look him straight in the eyes and rip the dagger from his body, giving him another wave of pain.

"How many times have I told you to never let your guard down?" You ask, using the exact same tone he used as soon as he held the knife to your neck.

You push him away from you and stand up, straightening your clothes a little. He laughs hoarsely and shakes his head in disbelief, still looking at you and ignoring the burning pain in his back. He had wounds worse than a swan's bite.

He comes to you on his knees and takes your fingers into his mouth, sucking his black blood from them and never taking his eyes off you. You dig your fingers into the skin of his pale scalp and tilt his head back, breathing quickly as you melt into the gaze of his cold, oceanic irises and dilated pupils. You can't fucking believe he got so turned on by your stabbing. And that you, too, felt hot again.

"You are sick." You whisper as he lets your fingers pull out with a loud pop. His now gray saliva had replaced his black blood.

"Just like you."

Before you can deny it, the door to the training room creaks loudly. You pull Feyd up, forcing him to stand up, and you wipe his saliva off your fingers on your shirt.

"Michael. You always know when to come. Na-Baron and I were training and unfortunately he got injured."

"Yhm... very unfortunately." Feyd mumbles sarcastically. When you go to Michael, you step on Feyd's foot. You pretend it never happened and join the man's side. He smiles at you, his two-toned eyes hypnotising you for a moment, and a huge smile appears on your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Feyd frowning. There is no better feeling than rubbing salt into someone's wound.

"Always here for you, my love." He says and places a kiss on your forehead. "You should go to the healers, Na-Baron. We wouldn't want such a small wound to do a serious harm to your health. After all, soon we will be celebrating... important events." Michael says this and wraps his arms around my waist, pressing me against him.

"Of course." Feyd growls and nods. He walks away, leaving the two of us alone in the training room, and closes the door loudly behind him.

"He insisted that I train with him. Believe me, I would never…"

"When you will be my wife I won't allow you to do such things." He interrupts your attempt to explain himself and takes your dagger, which is covered in Feyd's blood, from you. He throws it into a box of various weapons and turns back to you.

"Excuse me?" You ask, both surprised and annoyed by his condescending behavior.

"No worry, sweetheart. You are still learning." You feel like he slapped you. He treats you so condescendingly, as if you meant absolutely nothing, as if your opinion was not important to him at all. This sudden change surprises you and makes you even more nervous. However, you cannot understand the reason for his sudden rude behavior. Was it jealousy?

"You know usually women after such a... blunt statment doesn't marry the man who said it."

"Oh, you think you will have a choice?" He asks mockingly and plays with your hair, fixing your hairstyle to his liking. You push his hands away from you and glare at him furiously.

"Won't I?" You ask defiantly, raising an eyebrow at him.

"After my people attack your home planet? I don't think so."

"I beg you pardon?" You ask, completely shocked. He lazily, casually reaches for your chin and lifts it to look at you closely.

Your brain races like crazy, trying to ignore the fatigue in your muscles from fighting the Na-Baron as you wonder if he's just joking with you or if he really means what he said. A shiver passes through you when his fingertip brushes against your cheek.

"I told you. I want to achieve something. To prove myself in the eyes of the emperor. As we speak, my troops are boarding the ships on my home planet. Tomorrow morning, your father will receive notice of the start of war with my country. And you, darling, you will be a beautiful spoil of war. The proof of my greatness."

"You... all those meetings with me on my home planet... you didn't want to marry me; you wanted to explore and review our fortifications and the training of our soldiers. Test the ground before sending your men on my land."

"Your father's lands. You may be smart, honey, but you're only a woman. All you have is a title and a royal pussy. Although your mind and beauty are a dangerous combination. Maybe I should make you my wife instead of a concubine?"

"You… you can't… you won't." You shake your head, trying to deny what he just said. He couldn't just take everything from you, your whole life.

You try to control your emotions and not give him the satisfaction of completely destroying your world. He makes you feel so guilty; after all, you were actually the one who let him onto your planet and showed him around all the places he wanted. How could you be so stupid and naive? How could you not sense that he was more interested in your military and the weak points of your planet than in you?

"Oh, honey... don't insult your own intelligence now. You know very well that I can. You have nothing. No allies, no strong friend. I am your only serious admirer since Atreides. You're lucky I'm a gentleman. I will not touch you until your land, crown, and title are officially mine. And I will give you a good future. You could always end up in a brothel. Don't be a brat and appreciate it, my beautiful war booty."

His touch burns you in an unpleasant way. You want to bite off his hand, but you need to get more information from him to prepare some kind of action plan. You need to lower his guard just as he lowered yours.

"Why are you doing this? If you had married me, you would have had it anyway. Without any war."

"I told you. I want to prove my worth. To achieve something. In small steps. First, I will conquer one planet, then another. You have the honour of being my first conquest. And who knows? Maybe you'll even become empress by my side. Now smile nicely, darling. Your depressed face is ruining my mood."

So you smile. You put on a good face for a bad game and try to control your anger and despair. Because what can you do with them now? Nothing at all. You needed a different approach. Better. Smarter. You couldn't just give up your future without a fight; let him take over your country and do what he wanted to you. If you were going to be someone's property, wife, trophy, or whatever, you wanted to decide who it would be.

Michael was wrong. You had one secret ally who was much stronger than him. But you know very well that asking him for help will cost you a lot. Unfortunately, you were not in a good situation. You were in a hopeless position. So it required you to take desperate, risky, and embarrassing measures. This required making a pact with the devil himself.

" I need to talk with you." You say this as soon as the door opens for you, before you change your mind and run away. You tug at the sleeve of your silk robe and stare pleadingly into the ocean irises before you.

"At this time? What do I owe this pleasure to?" He mocks you, crossing his arms over his bare chest. You swallow, looking away from his muscles and back into his eyes.

"Feyd. Please." You say this seriously, looking around to make sure no one sees you at his door. He tenses a little, hearing the desperation in your voice. Wordlessly, he moves to the side, allowing you to step inside.

He closes the door behind you, and you shudder as you realise there's no going back. You close your eyes, taking a few deep breaths and trying to calm down. Feyd furrows his hairless eyebrows at your condition. He walks over to you and tentatively places a hand on your shoulder, not used to comforting... anyone. Not since the two of you were kids.

"Y/N. What happened?"

"I need your help." You reply and move away from him. Feyd sees you trying your hardest to control your emotions. The same way that even though he's happy about your late-night visit and the sight of you in that skimpy robe, you look terrified and disgusted that you have to be here.

"Y/N..."

"Michael wants to attack my home planet and dethrone my father. In the process, make me his whore or wife. He's not sure yet." You interrupt him and blurt it out before he says anything else.

This stuns Feyd for a moment as he takes in this new information. He would have smiled at the mockery and anger in your voice if his blood hadn't boiled at the thought that you could belong to anyone other than him. That anyone else would have the right to touch you like he did and has long dreamed of doing even more.

"Your duke that you've been parading around with and admiring for the last few months? The same one you hug and cling to at every recent party?"

"Yes."

"The one you gave the right to hold you and kiss you?"

"Yes."

"The one..."

"YES! This one!" You interrupt him, annoyed and embarrassed. You sigh, rubbing your eyes, and realise that screaming at him and venting your anger isn't the best idea right now if you want to ask for his favour. "Please, help me."

"And what I can do? You chose your fiancé. Or a lover. Whatever. What do you want me to do? Fight with him for your hand? And then get rejected by you? Thrown away when you don't need me anymore?" He mocks you, turning his back on you. He pours himself a glass of wine and sips it leisurely, making no move to turn towards you.

"Feyd. Please. I beg you. I... my people can't die just because of the whim of some man." You say, your voice cracking. Your throat burns from the dryness, and tears suddenly appear in your eyes. This is a very strange phenomenon considering that you have been crying for the last three hours in your chambers.

Your sniffling makes Feyd involuntarily turn back to you. This is a bad move. His heart clenches uncomfortably at the sight of your watery eyes and red nose. He wants to take you in his arms, run his hand through your hair tenderly, and sink into your touch.

"You know very well, little swan, that this is how most wars start. By the whim of one man." Feyd says, crossing his arms over his chest to somehow keep from touching you, from taking you in his arms and burying his face in your hair, whispering comforting words in your ear. He had to play this... unique opportunity well. If he won't have you willingly, he might as well have you by trick.

"I will do everything." He does everything not to smile, not to immediately make his demands. He has been waiting so long to have you that a few minutes more won't do a big difference to him.

"So get ready for the husband of your own choosing." He says icily, acting unfazed, as if the mere thought of someone else having you didn't make him want to murder every man who ever had the chance to touch you.

As if he didn't dream at night of having you by his side, of arguing with you every day, of having you with him forever on Giedi Prime, sitting on the throne next to him and being as terrifying as he is.

"Feyd..." You mumble and walk over to him. Feyd tenses, controlling all his muscles, stopping them from making the slightest movement towards you.

He watches your every move carefully as you approach him. The air between you is thick and full of tension. He swallows when you come within his reach and tries his best not to even touch you with his fingertip. However, all his control is put to the test when you stand directly in front of him and lean towards him.

Feyd clenches his fists tightly, so tightly that he feels the blood slowly seeping from where his nails dig into his abalaster skin. The familiar scent of you and your favourite perfume reaches his nostrils, and Feyd does the stupidest thing he can do at that moment. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply into your sweet, seductive scent.

"You can have me. Right now. Wherever you want. However you want. Wouldn't you like to? All you have to do is order some troops to my home planet and scare off Michael's army." You whisper into his ear, brushing your lips against his lobe. Feyd holds his breath as your lips trace his jawline and up to his neck, where you begin to kiss and suck his skin.

Feyd stands frozen, unable to move, allowing you to do whatever you want with him. He sighs as your two long, delicate hands slip under his black robe and caress his chest. His heart is racing as you play with his nipples, pinching them and twisting them in your fingers as you work tirelessly to leave as many marks on his neck as possible. He grunts, trying to stifle a groan as he feels his manhood respond to your caresses and begin to harden painfully.

He reaches for your hips and pulls you closer to him, and Feyd would probably give in to his desires if he didn't feel you tense up under his touch. He sighs and musters all his willpower to grab your arms and pull you away from him.

"You can't just... kiss me, come into my chambers dressed like that at this hour, and demand such things from me when all you show me is hatred and loathing. Don't act like a whore. I won't fall for it. I… not when I know you don't mean anything that you are doing right now." He says this without meeting your eyes, somehow unable to see your reaction. He lets go of you, as if touching you hurts him, and walks to the other side of his chamber, escaping to the balcony.

A cold breeze hits his skin. He sighs, gripping the railings tightly and holding on to them with all his might, as if crushing the marble in his hands would bring his full self-control back.

It doesn't take a minute for your scent to hit his nostrils again.

"And how I should act?! What do you think I can do?!" You shout after him, walking towards him. Feyd tenses, sensing your presence behind him, but makes no move to turn towards you. You sigh in defeat, and Feyd thinks you've given up when suddenly he hears your shaky voice and your pure panic as you try to convince him to help you one last time. "My people will die tomorrow morning, I… I'm begging you. Please, I will do anything, Feyd. Whatever you want."

"Then marry me." He replies, his back still turned to you as he stares into the distance at the Kaitain hills in front of him.

Even though he can't see your face, he can clearly hear the gasp of shock you let out. He imagines your beautiful, full lips falling open, your eyes widening, and you holding your breath as you process his words. He knew that this was the only way for now to ensure his right to you—to make a claim. He had too little time to try to change your opinion of him.

When you're finally "safely his", then Feyd can try to fight for your affections and prove that he is not the monster you think he is. For now, your anger will have to be enough for him. But he would eventually melt it. You loved him once; when you were kids, he might try to make you feel this way about him again.

"What?" You ask, shocked. Feyd slowly turns towards you, and this time he takes a step closer to you, making you both breathe the same air again.

"You have two options. You can agree to... your Michael's terms, marry him and be his property for the rest of your life... or you will marry me and I will protect you, your parents and your people from anyone's invasion." He replies calmly and unfazed, keeping his hands behind his back.

"And be yours property for the rest of my life?" You ask mockingly, almost furiously, with that gleam of mischief in your eyes that Feyd loved so much. This was his little swan. Finally.

It might have been nice to have your mouth and hands on him, but in your case, he didn't want forced submission. He wanted just that blazing fire that captivated him, where he could burn himself if he made one wrong move. He wanted it all... even if he had to gently steer you down the right path—down the altar to him and only him.

"Don't pretend to be so disgusted. We both know how you love some... aspects of being my property. A moment ago you were begging me, saying you would do whatever I wanted. Marry me then. What would you say?"

"I... you know I have no other optiom... neither time to assure I will have any other option. But we also know that I don't trust you and never will." He nods, knowing full well that trust will be the last thing he gets from you. But if Feyd valued anything in life, it was his honor.

"You have my word. I will protect your people as mine. Even better. My uncle or brother or I will never order to attack your home planet. You would became one of our closest ally and thus ensure your country the safety against anyone's invasion. It's a win win situation."

"And how you will win?"

"I will get you." He replies with a shrug, as if it were an obvious reward.

He sees the gears in your head turning as you silently consider all the consequences and benefits of marrying him. He knew clearly that this wasn't what you wanted, that your search for a husband was supposed to be completely different, that he was probably the last man you wanted as a husband, from whom you wanted a nice ring, whose planet you wanted to move to, but Feyd had been waiting for you for so long; he did so much to have you that the circumstances of your marriage didn't really matter to him anymore.

"You will get bored of me. You can't love or trust, not trully or neither can be loved or trusted by anyone else. You know that what's going on between us won't be sexy anymore when it will be no longer forbidden." Your words somehow hurt him more than the worst wound he received. He grunts, clenching his fists behind him, waiting for the unexpected, unpleasant lump in his throat to subside so he can somehow respond to your blasphemous words.

"That's how you see your future husband?" He finally asks, glad that he managed to keep his voice from shaking.

"I didn't say yes to anything yet."

"But we both know you will. You have tied hands. And we both know that you can't dance with them for a long, before you fall." His comment makes you even more furious. Feyd does his best not to smirk at your flushed cheeks and pursed lips. Oh, how he wanted to kiss those lips so much…

"Yes... but you can put chains on them instead of ropes and I will be even worse tied." You respond calmly, carefully analysing his words, looking for a trap—a hidden intention behind his actions beyond his obvious desire to marry you.

"I guess you have to take a risk." He replies calmly, shrugging his shoulders.

"Hmm. Such a convinient situation for you." You mutter, crossing your arms. His eyes automatically fall on the valley of your breasts, but he quickly tries to return his attention to your eyes. If everything goes his way, he'll soon be able to caress every inch of your body he wants.

"Very much. I got to call you my wife and all I have to do is to scare away some lord's family who shouldn't even touch you in the first place."

"I decide who touch me." You say, angry that he hasn't even put a ring on your finger yet, and he's already forbidding you from doing something.

"Not for long I guess."

He sees you biting your lip in anger. You take a step towards him, and Feyd thinks you're going to slap him, but you do something completely different. You cup his cheek in your hand and lean in to whisper in his ear:

"I hate you so much. With whole my heart. If you think this will somehow change my opinion of you, you are wrong. I feel exactly the same about you, and maybe even worse things than what I told you on Giedi Prime. You are the baron's spoiled nephew who only has to snap his fingers to get something. I hate you and I will hate you forever, no matter what you do, no matter how well you fuck me, how good or bad of a husband you are, my feelings towards you will remain the same as they are now." And with that, you press your lips to his, sealing your promise with a sudden, unexpected kiss.

Feyd moans into your mouth, feeling himself start to get hard again, which should be absurd in this situation, but he remembers times when he was aroused by… worse things.

"Is that a yes?" He asks, swallowing thickly as your lips leave his—too quickly for Feyd to enjoy the taste and softness of them.

"What the fuck do you think I can do in this situation?" You growl at him angrily, at which he smiles, unable to stop himself, showing you his row of black teeth. Surprisingly, you don't tremble in fear or disgust.

"I want to hear it."

"And I want a decent proposal." You reply in return, forever trying to argue with him.

You're surprised when he walks past you and goes back to his room. You stand alone on the balcony for a moment, taking a shaky breath and staring at the stars in the sky, wondering how the hell you ended up in this situation. Just a week ago, the idea of marrying Feyd would have seemed completely absurd to you.

You freeze in shock when he comes back with a small black box and actually kneels down in front of you.

"Y/N Y/L/N. The darkness of my life, the bane of my existence, the ghostly apparition that haunts my dreams, the heartless witch, the murderous siren, the deceptive nymph leading me to my death, will you do me an honour of beeing my wife and let me fuck our heirs into you?"

You would have smiled at this if his icy blue eyes weren't piercing through yours and carefully analysing your every little reaction. You don't even look at the ring he's offering you—a ring he clearly must be wearing somewhere close to himself. Your heart is racing, despite the fact that this isn't exactly the proposal you wanted. Despite everything, it is... in a strange and twisted way, a nice feeling.

"You could try better." You finally reply in a hoarse voice, suddenly aware of how dry your throat is.

"I am waiting for an answer." He growls, really waiting for your response.

If it weren't for the nature of the whole situation, you'd actually think it was cute. The way the most dangerous man in the world kneels before you, asking for your hand. You sigh, mentally preparing yourself before signing a pact with the devil.

"With great disgust and reluctance: yes."

"Yes what?"

"Haven't you already had your fun?" You ask, frowning furiously. He bites his tongue to keep from giggling, absolutely loving to tease you.

"I didn't even start, my little swan." You roll your eyes at him and look at him expectantly, sticking out your hand. But he makes no move to put the ring on it. You decide not to fight him on this one matter.

"Yes. I will marry you, Feyd-Rautha."

You can see from his face that he is remembering these words and that he is taking a mental picture of this moment. He takes the ring out of the box and, with unusual gentleness for him, takes your hand in his and slides the metal onto your finger.

The ring is nice. Made of white gold, its eyelet is a black onyx stone, which is held by engraved flowers on a metal ring. It was… astonishingly beautiful and thoughtful. And not as big as you assumed it would be. Y/F/N got a ring with a gemstone on half of her finger. You're surprised Feyd didn't give you something similar.

"There. Was that so hard?"

It's a tricky question. Because, as much as that ring weighed on your finger, you couldn't admit that you hated the whole idea of marrying him with all your heart. After all, you could do worse than him... right?

Taglist for Feyd: @avidreader73

Taglist for DWTD: @iloved1lfs0 @heartarianagran @hueanhdang @barnes70stark @forgedfromthestars

[inamindfarfaraway]

I love how Paul's character in The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals is defined entirely by a lack of desire, or desire defined only as 'not what I don't want'. "What Do You Want, Paul?" is a big joke about what a terrible narrative protagonist he is. But it's deeper than that. Throughout the show, even in the smallest, most insignificant phrasing, this man only ever expresses wants in these negative forms, as if he's incapable of feeling attraction in itself rather than simply avoiding what he dislikes. And only avoiding! He never says that he hates anything, either! That would give him passion, drive, perhaps the goal of actively removing that thing. No, he exclusively uses the verb hate in past tense.

He doesn't like musicals, singing, dancing or public performances. He makes this very clear, to the point that it's one of his most significant character traits. At no point does he ever talk about liking any media.

He doesn't want to do social activities.

He doesn't want to give away his money. About both this and the above, he can provide no logical explanation or moral justification. He just doesn't feel like them.

He always gets black coffee because it has "no cream, no sugar, nothing in it"; that is to say, he might not necessarily love it, merely prefer it over its sweeter or more complex alternatives.

He doesn't believe that Emma should have to sing and dance at work - he doesn't want her life to be so unfair and annoying to the both of them.

He doesn't want to obstruct the workings of his office (saying "that's the last thing I want" triggers "What Do You Want, Paul?").

He says, "I wanna go home!" when Mr Davidson is singing at him, but means that he wants to be somewhere safe and not stuck in this incredibly uncomfortable situation.

He doesn't want to die.

He specifically doesn't want to die in Clivesdale, because fuck Clivesdale.

He doesn't want to join the Hive.

He doesn't want to leave Hatchetfield, even when it's the site of an alien invasion that is his personal worst nightmare. He actually says that "All things considered, I like Hatchetfield", arguably an exception to the standard. However, he's also well aware of the town's flaws and problems. He grew up one of its poorer residents, attending the inferior, underfunded Sycamore High School where he casually admits the students "hated [themselves]" and having to watch its more respectable rival Hatchetfield High's school play. He has no strong investment in his tedious middle-class office job. He doesn't get along with some of his fellow townsfolk, like his coworker Ted and all the employees of Beanies except Emma. He awkwardly evades giving to charity and the homeless every morning on his way to work. His life is decidedly not one of utter bliss, and yet it's good enough for him in that he doesn't have the energy, ambition or imagination to want anything more. Since he's "been here [his] whole life", his affection for his hometown could be more an aversion to everywhere else or the hassle of travelling. Sticking with the devil he intimately knows.

He doesn't think badly of Emma, and says so because he doesn't want her to or believe that he does after learning that she helped make a "hated" experience of his happen.

He doesn't want to let Bill die, which is why he goes with Bill to rescue Alice. His heroism and proactiveness at the turning point of the end of Act One start to notably erode his apathy, but his phrasing reaffirms his negative motivations: "Hey, it's not like you're asking me to go see Mama Mia!", "Emma, there comes a time in every man's life when he has to draw a line in the sand. And I will never be in a fucking musical."

He doesn’t want Bill to blame himself for Alice's endangerment, stay in the area once Alice is revealed to be a vessel of the Hive or kill himself.

He doesn't want to do some light reading on the universal truth of love and the strength of the human heart.

He has no positive motivation. He breaks one of the most basic rules of being a fictional character, let alone the main character the audience is supposed to root for. He isn't just an antihero, he's an anti-protagonist. Although this could easily make him boring or unsympathetic, he manages to seem relatable. Real. Human. He captures so genuinely an ordinary person living an ordinary life suddenly trapped in a horror story. How many of us can honestly articulate "one concrete goal that motivates all [our] actions"? Even if you can, you wouldn't undergo a narratively fulfilling and thematically cohesive arc related to that desire the way a fictional character would. We're all essentially just trying to survive each day. To make or keep our lives however we define 'good enough'. We may not have a crystal clear picture of our ideal life, but I bet we all have a long list of things we don't want in it. We're all Paul. He even says, “I want what anyone wants”.

What more appropriate antagonist for this man to face, then, than a force that exists to strip people of their autonomy, their individuality, their personhood, and force them to play archetypical characters in a conventional narrative? The Hive observes that Paul is an anti-protagonist and takes offence to this. It seeks to convert him into his antithesis, the "bold" "leading man" of its musical who the audience can "sympathize with". The Infected highlight this in the opening song, in which they eagerly anticipate and prepare the audience for his entrance... and he misses his cue. He isn't following their script. Perhaps that's why the audience is able to believe in this average, unassuming antihero's potential to succeed, to defeat the Hive or at the very least escape it, despite how fraught and grim the situation becomes. The story certainly proves itself to be cruel to its characters; but Paul doesn't operate like a normal character. The Hive promises to fulfil people's desires and make them happy throughout the play. Charlotte, Bill, Hidgens and Ted's deaths are connected to, by either direct causality or thematic relevance, their respective desires for Sam's love, Alice's safety, world peace (and the glory of a musical career) and Ted's own survival. Paul is uniquely immune to this pattern of death related to a core motivation.

Until:

"I can't leave without Emma”, “a friend of mine."

"Is there a chance of something more?"

"I think so. I'd like there to be. I want there to be."

He wants Emma, her life and her happiness and maybe, just maybe, her love. He wants to love her. To spend time with her. For the first time ever, he wants more out of life, not less. He's a little bit more of a character. After the Infected reprise the "Did you hear the word?" section of the opening song, building up to his appearance, this time he does enter the theatre, coming down the aisle just as he was meant to. Right on cue. Paul is now vulnerable to the narrative - the Hive's narrative. And the Hive's control.

Still he resists, even while doubting if he was ever really happy before. Not only does he use his final words, fittingly, to declare that he doesn't like musicals, but before that he firmly refutes the Hive, and the philosophy behind it and all the pressures and temptatations it might represent: "It doesn't matter what I want." What matters is the good of the world. Emma. Love. Hope. Freedom. Integrity. Humanity, which must be wonderful if we can make sacrifices like this for all the right reasons.

Rest in peace, Paul Matthews. You were the opposite of a conventional protagonist, but a true hero.

[dev-solovey]

Reading up on the history of American Idiot (album) and realizing exactly how revolutionary it was and I just have to yell about it for a hot second

So, before they started working on American Idiot, the band was having problems and they were thinking they were going to break up. But for a couple of reasons, they switched directions, most notably because they all felt strongly about the Iraq War and how it was manufactured by greed and warmongering from the Bush administration, which was amplified by the news media. I read a quote from Billie Joe Armstrong where he talked about how the news media was becoming "more of a reality show" than it was news, and he couldn't have been more right. In fact, that problem got worse, and now we're living in an era of rampant misinformation where everything is politicized to a point where just supporting human rights for marginalized people is considered controversial. The song American Idiot came out in 2004, and when Donald Trump first visited the UK at the beginning of his presidency, it was the top played song on every UK radio station, 12 years after it was released. Most things would be culturally irrelevant at that point.

When creating the album American Idiot, a lot of thought went into it - they had a very specific message in mind, and their goal was to send that message to youth. This is because they realized at some point that their fanbase was a bunch of teenagers, and even though they hadn't necessarily intended it that way, they suddenly had a platform with the youth of America and they decided they ought to do something good with it. The drummer, Tré Cool, said something along the lines of "I've never really liked the idea of preaching to kids, but I realized we don't really have a choice at this point." And I love that so much because like, so many people who get rich and famous just become completely out of touch, and when they get a platform, it's very easy to exploit that platform, influence them with terrible ideas, or encourage them to act in terrible ways for self-serving reasons (ex: JK Rowling, Andrew Tate, Dream, Logan Paul, Onision, etc etc). Green Day refused to allow themselves to get to that point. They know the platform they had gave them power and they made an active choice early on to be responsible with it. And a lot of that moral code comes from the fact that they came up in the DIY punk scene in Oakland, which held its members to a very high standard of ethics, a code that they still follow even after they were disowned by that scene when they signed on with a major record label in 1994.

The song American Idiot has a message of "this mass media hysteria is manufactured bullshit, don't fall for it," and it is not subtle about that message. It punches you right in the face. I remember being 12 years old and listening to it and thinking, "yeah, I don't want to be an American idiot." And now, at the age of 28, I am a staunch leftist who is firmly against the atrocities the US government commits, and I feel strongly about stopping misinformation. So I can say with absolute certainty that they succeeded.

I also get like, really upset when people say that American Idiot is the album where they sold out, because that's objectively not true, both for the reasons I've provided above, and also because of the song Wake Me Up When September Ends. Not a lot of people know the story behind this song, but it's actually a song that Billie Joe wrote about the experience of his dad dying of cancer when he was 10 years old. The story, as he tells it, is that when he came home from school, his mom gave him the news, and being (understandably!) upset, started crying, ran to his room and slammed the door. When she knocked on the door to try and talk to him, he shouted "wake me up when September ends!!" in response. It took him decades to be able to write this song, and it shows because it's the perfect grief song, having been played at benefits for 9/11, hurricane Katrina, and so on. The first time I heard that song it reduced me to tears, because you can hear the intense sadness in it. A "sellout" would never write a song like that!! (Side note: maybe stop tweeting at Green Day to wake up every October 1st, it's super tone deaf given the subject matter,,,)

Anyway, I think I'm done being autistic about Green Day (that's a lie, they'll forever be my special interest), so TL;DR:

Thank you, Green Day, for creating a generation of leftists who aren't about the bullshit

[luminnara]

Feyd Rautha headcanons plsss

Like what was his upbringing and training like? How did he become what he is?

Okay I think about this A LOT and I just wanna say that I know people argue a ton about the original Dune book(s) vs the older adaptations vs the new DV movies, and these are just my thoughts! Frank Herbert was a great writer and he gave us complex characters with tons of subtext, but the original Dune was also published in the 60s and the other best known older adaptation is from the 80s, and both have some definitely outdated and not great stuff was used to show how bad a character was (like the Baron having an affinity for uh young boys who look like Paul 😬). I think that DV made some really smart changes to these characters that are more in line with contemporary thinking, while also remaining true to what Frank Herbert was trying to tell us about them—like the Baron is a Bad Man and Feyd is angry and impatient and definitely wants to kill him. ANYWAYS leggo, this is long and my thoughts jump around a lot but I hope you enjoy!

WARNING for some talk of SA! Also mentions of violence and murder and cannibalism, the usual stuff

The more serious ideas that are backed up by text and movie evidence:

Feyd-Rautha was taken from Lankiveil, a Harkonnen planet ruled by his birth father Abulurd (Vladimir’s younger half brother) by his uncle, Baron Vladimir. Feyd definitely knows this, and knows that Glossu Rabban is his older brother…so imagine all of the conflicting thoughts he must have surrounding his own position and future. On the one hand, he was taken and raised by his uncle so that he could inherit the title of Baron. On the other hand, he was taken as a punishment to his father. There must be resentment there, towards both his father and his uncle, and even his older brother. Even though Feyd was essentially chosen to become something more than Rabban, he grew up away from most of his immediate family. Even though he was raised to become Harkonnen royalty, imagine how he might have turned out if he had remained with his father, who had renounced the Harkonnen name.

He was brought up in a cruel and harsh environment. He was made into a killing machine, partly because of Harkonnen customs, partly because Vladimir enjoyed the carnage, and partly because it was the only thing a young Feyd ever knew. As a young man, he loves killing and shredding because it feels natural and is second nature to him, but does he ever wish he had known what it was like growing up in a softer environment? Food for thought.

He hates his uncle. In the book, he attempts an assassination. In DV’s part two, he mentions to the Baron that he should kill him, and the Baron laughs. Vladimir finds it amusing that Feyd would say something like that, because he knows he’s got Feyd under his thumb. Perhaps Feyd is even scared of him.

The Baron is, and was, cruel to him. In the book, after the failed assassination attempt, Vladimir tells his nephew that if he agrees to stop trying to kill him (lol), he’ll step down and let Feyd have his position. BUT he kills his darlings as a punishment (who in the book are female slaves, who act as his lovers)

I already have a ton of headcanons about his darlings in the DV movies, and I really think that Feyd cared for them. So imagine that your own uncle WHO YOU WANT TO KILL takes away the only things you care about?? That’s fucked up man

The Baron abused Feyd to some degree, very possibly sexually—I’ve seen a lot of people pointing out how heavily this is implied by the subtext in both the book and part two. Feyd is actually a complex character, but neither Frank Herbert nor DV really spelled that out, and you have to dig a little and think about it. While I obviously don’t want ANYBODY, even fictional characters, to experience something like SA, I think it does add to the depth of his character and gives more fuel to his rage. It also shows us just how terrible Vladimir really is. I’ve seen it suggested that this is part of what Margot Fenring means when she says that Feyd is sexually vulnerable, but I take that comment to more mean that he opens himself up to the possibility of harm a LOT in bed and that’s when he’s most emotionally vulnerable. BUT I don’t think those things are mutually exclusive

NOW THE MORE FUN IDEAS THAT I ENJOY (fun is a subjective term here lol)

Feyd-Rautha has a vulnerable side, and it’s very, very guarded. It’s buried so deep he may not even be aware of it.

He really does care for his darlings, and that’s the closest thing he feels to love. It’s a possessive, ownership kind of love that we would consider toxic irl, but they’re the only things besides his weapons and power that he cares about.

He doesn’t revere his weapons, but he respects them. They’re not personified, but he appreciates a good killing tool, and likes to take care of his knives.

He views lives as very black and white. There are people who can be killed (slaves, servants, rivals, his uncle), and people who ABSOLUTELY cannot be (his darlings, an SO, his hypothetical children)

He views everyone else as weaker than him, and it’s partially because his uncle would never LET someone as important to his plans as Feyd be harmed, so Feyd rarely feels that his life is actually in danger. Almost everyone he fights in the arena is drugged, and it isn’t like his trainer would fight without shields. He’d be confused and intrigued by someone who could actually defeat him, and he’s so into the art of war and battle that he would respect it (but also be upsetti)

He spends a lot of time watching and calculating in silence. While he’s impatient and has a short temper, he likes to learn about things that interest him.

He’s up to date on Giedi Prime beauty trends and sets a lot of the standards himself. He gets massages and spa treatments regularly and has been known to undergo more serious procedures.

While he doesn’t partake as regularly as his darlings, he occasionally consumes human flesh and blood and doesn’t think it’s weird, because he views almost everyone as lesser than him, so eating them is akin to eating livestock. Alternatively, I could see him going down the “I feel so overwhelmingly deeply about you that I must consume you body and soul” road about someone special but I really don’t think he’s got that brand of romance in him lol

Like lady fenring said, he is, in fact, sexually vulnerable. In the bedroom, he can let out his emotions, and sometimes they’re ugly and sometimes he needs to not be in charge for the night. He leaves himself open to manipulation and harm. Man just really needs a good hug tbh

Canonically hypersexual as a result of trauma

Is harsh as a result of a harsh upbringing, one that looked comfortable from the outside but was anything BUT for him. Beneath the surface, he’s messy.

Aggressive because he’s always had to be to survive. His uncle probably wouldn’t have killed him because he was always integral to Vladimir’s plans, but did a young Feyd know that?? NO

is NOT well traveled. He’s lived on Giedi Prime his whole life, has probably seen Lankiveil, which is cold and watery, and has been on Arrakis, but I think he would NOT know what to do if he was on a lush green planet. All he knows is harsh, extreme environments. If you plop him down in a meadow, he will have NO clue what to do

As a child, he watched his uncle kill anyone who inconvenienced him. This definitely warped Feyd’s concepts of kindness and the value of life.

His childhood was just unbelievably strict and harsh and at the same time he was spoiled in certain ways, and that has led to him growing into a pampered yet still caged man

He would LOVE to slaughter his uncle and feed him to his darlings

In an arranged marriage, something about his spouse would have to suddenly intrigue him, and then he would be HOOKED. He would sink his teeth in and refuse to let go. Opening up to someone who isn’t one of his darlings would be strange and difficult for him

Remember how I said he isn’t used to fighting sober opponents? I think that once he gets a taste for fair fights, he becomes a little addicted to the thrill of it and the power that those victories bring him, and he loses interested in drugged fights. After a lifetime of living under this uncle’s thumb, the control he has over someone’s life and PROVING that he’s better and stronger and meaner than them is the most validating feeling he knows.

He never shows mercy, because no one has ever showed it to him.

[sonofhelios2005]

Dead Boy Detectives AU, Redemption. Edwin and Charles are both genuinely good people who got dealt a bad hand but still try to do good. What if their lives took different turns?

Instead of taking Edwin to hell, Sa'al instead senses Edwin's potential for magic and offers him a deal, If Edwin becomes a witch and enters the service of hell, he would be spared any torture. Edwin, a terrified 16 year old facing a terrible fate, agrees. Edwin returns to his bed and pretends not to know what happened to Simon and the other boys. As part of his deal, Edwin begins studying magic and finds he has a genuine talent for it. He also enjoys the challenge that comes with trying to master spells. After a few years, Edwin realises he's immortal as he hasn't aged since he made his deal.

Over the next few years, Edwin occasionally gets orders from hell to place a curse on certain people or to summon demons to Earth. As the years pass, the acts he commits on behalf of the demons become worse. He kills or arranges deals between demons and mortals for their souls. Over the years, Edwin becomes detached from humanity, not particularly caring about his victims. His life wasn't fair. Why would anybodies be?. Then one day in the 1950 he crosses another witch who is far older and more powerful than him, she curses him to endure the suffering of anyone he had wronged, this lead to Edwin being comatose for a year before he wakes, now fully understanding what he's done Edwin is filled with remorse.

Edwin considers what to do, and eventually, he decides to try and help others. He uses his magic to cloak himself from hell. He then travels helping people when he can and takes special interest in banishing demons back to hell. He becomes well known as a powerful but dangerous individual who can be contacted for help with supernatural issues. He operates alone until he encounters Charles Rowland in 1989.

Charles, in this reality, was born in 1950. His dad hates him and is as viciously abusive as the show. Charles attended St. Hilarion's School for Boys until 1966, he stepped in to save a Pakistani boy from his friends only to become the target of their assault. However, instead of running into an attic to hide, Charles runs and is chased into the forest. In the forest is a group of vampires who are basically the British Lost Boys or BLB. The BLB kill everyone chasing Charles and are about to kill him until the leader sensing Charles's potential, offers a choice, die or become a vampire. Charles a terrified 16 year old accepts.

From here, Charles lives as a member of the BLB hunting and killing without remorse driven by the bloodlust of a vampire and the encouragement of the others. The BLB are outcasts among vampires as, despite their reputation, most vampires simply want to live their immortal lives in peace, unlike the BLB who cause chaos for the thrills. Charles enjoys the freedom that comes with being a vampire, and the BLB are more of a family to him than his own parents ever where. Charles grows into an incredibly powerful vampire who, along with his formidable physical prowess, also has numerous common and rare vampire abilities.

In early 1989, after 23 years of being a vampire, Charles unexpectedly encounters his aged father whilst he was out hunting. Seeing his father causes Charles to have an epiphany, he had always sworn to never be like Paul Rowland, but now he realises he is far worse. Charles horrified at own his actions over the last few decades begins pulling away from the BLB who noticed. Knowing the others would kill him if they knew he was going to leave Charles manages to fake his death and informs other vampires about the BLBs location. The BLB are banished from the UK, and Charles is left to his own devices. Charles spends the next several months lost in guilt and even contemplates ending his existence until he encounters a witch called Edwin Payne who had been looking for a base of operations in London and had walked into the abandoned building Charles was inhabiting. (The DBDA office)

The two begin talking, and Edwin seeing himself in Charles encourages him to begin helping others if he truly wants to make ammends. Charles starts helping Edwin in his jobs using his strength and near invulnerability to protect Edwin as he casts his magic. Soon, they become friends, neither having had true friendship for decades. Together, they are able to make a genuine difference and help many people, and after 30 years, start to believe they have started to find true redemption. In the 2020s, they are joined by a young psychic who they found abusing her powers to lie, cheat, steal, and even murder. Unfortunately, this is also when their pasts finally catch up with them, and they once again encounter hell and the BLB.

This won't actually be a story as I have no ability to write fanfiction. it's just my mad ramblings. I changed the year Charles was born because I thought it made sense if he did evil stuff for a long time, I also wanted him and Edwin to be together for the same amount of time as the show. Also, if Charles was born in the 50s, then he could be part of a vampire biker gang.

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 3.1

I thank my lucky stars every night that Yoko eventually got sick of playing secret-keeper.

Paul: I didn't leave the Beatles. The Beatles have left the Beatles . . . John said he wanted a divorce. Alright, so do I. See how they say “Beatles” and they mean each other sometimes?

Derek Taylor on John's position on the break-up: if Paul were to approach him and say “let's do it together again” he probably would; with no more words, he would probably do it. Which is an insane claim to make to a world full of people grieving the greatest band to ever exist unless you are very very sure of that probability. But if it's true that that's all it would have taken, and Paul didn't do it? That hurts my head a little. Do we think he was just hurt too bad to want it back? Do we think he didn't know he had that kind of power? Do we think he was glad to be free of the group?

Ugh my heart can't take it. I'd cry too, John, watching that. I mean look at how they are looking at each other. Look at everything they've lost in a year. I'd bawl like a baby too.

Paul sends John a long, thorough letter, begging for them to legally end their partnership outside of a court. John's run out of cards at this point, but he still doesn't want to lose Paul, so he's just going to play dumb.

This is how bad he doesn't want to lose him, actually: he goes along with Klein in tricking Paul this time. Calls him up and asks him to come to the studio for a jam session, because it'll hurt his case in court. But for multiple reasons – the Eastmans were knowledgeable lawyers, and Paul might not have even wanted to be in a room with John at the time anyway – Paul doesn't come. Which John would've been hurt and angry over, no matter his motives.

"They tell you to stop crying at about age twelve. Be a man. What the hell's that?" I'm so proud of John for his (albeit long and backsliding) journey out of his toxic masculinity and violence. Something I honestly don't see him achieving without Yoko.

And from that quote it transitions to Paul in Scotland, looking like the embodiment of depression, as the opening of “Isolation” plays. It's perfect.

“And don't try to come over here. Or you might get in some trouble.” The way he just froze when he saw them filming him and then the next thing we see is him threatening them? Get ‘em, babe!

John sounds so giddy about this one-upping competition with Paul. I'll scare him and then he'll scare me!

The whole Lennon Remembers era is such a terrible case of diarrhea of the mouth in general, but the amount of homophobic language is quite striking compared to how John talked before and after.

John, talking about George in Rolling Stone: "he was working with two fucking brilliant songwriters and he learned a lot from us." People read that quote and just parrot it like they do with everything John said in this period and act like George had nothing to be angry over. He had every right to be much angrier and hold a much bigger grudge than he did.

And about George's new record, which was phenomenal and brilliant, John is transparently jealous and so cruel. If he'd said that about me and then asked me to play on his new record I'd tell him to go to hell. Why did George do it?

See and everyone who knows John knows how much he loved Brian and to hear him speaking so crassly and cruelly about Brian must've been a sure indication to them to just take the entire interview through that lense of “oh he's just saying shit”. But that's only the people who knew him. Everyone else for the rest of time took this shit as constitutional. And it pisses me off. It should be locked away in a vault somewhere and no one is allowed to listen to it until they've passed some kind of Beatles and emotional intelligence tests.

This crushes my soul. How warped must his definition of love have been by that point that he genuinely believed Phil Spector and Allen Klein loved him more than Paul and George did? It's bonkers.

John in 1967: all you need is love! John in 1971: the point of life is to manipulate people. . . . What the hell happened to you, buddy?

I go back and forth as to who's the smarter PR person: John or Yoko? Because maybe she's right. Maybe they shouldn't divulge that they're master manipulators. But is this one of those times when it's good to be all “look how honest we are about this! We're not hiding anything! We're saying bad things about ourselves too! So you should believe us about everything else!”

Really this documentarian should be hired to make all the music videos for all the Beatles and solo songs. This one for “Too Many People” is perfect. Paul walking into court with a full beard and a confident stride, John and Yoko in bed, Paul horse riding overlayed on Linda's gorgeous face like she's some goddess, designing his fate. All of it is just pure brilliance.

I'm forever laughing at just the title of the song, too. Because to John and Yoko it was so important that they were Weird and Off-putting. Different. Revolutionary. And to say “no. You're not special. There's actually an excess of people like you.” Is so funny to me.

“When she wants an A side, that's when we start fighting.” Oh gosh. Remember how I said he backslides a lot in his feminism journey? Yeah…

Insanity quote Hall of Fame. Yeah, I know he meant to say it's weird to be best friends with a woman. But it sounds like he's saying it's weird to fuck a woman. Which maybe he subconsciously means both idk.

Paul: we need to legally dissolve the partnership because it's the only way we're attached anymore. Ouch. Okay it's true. It's deserved. But that must've stung for the guy who was terrified of losing people. Must've sent him into fight or flight.

I think the point of this framing is to say that if they'd had facetime back then, instead of just crackly phone lines, HDYS would not have been written. Not with those puppy eyes staring him down like that.

Interviewer: the song wasn't even funny though. John: well I think it's hilarious. Interviewer: hmm. Lol I love hearing interviewers talk to John about his lyrics like he's a real guy doing a real job, though. Imagine a music critic now saying John Lennon wasn't clever in his lyrics. You can't, yeah. Me either.

What a slap in the face to Cynthia. Guess she wasn't Cool Girl enough. Should've gone girled him. That would be an excellent fic. Cyn and Jane gone girl their idiot bfs and John and Paul realize they're in love on death row. But anyway, yeah. If Paul would've just pet John's head . . .

Another absolutely bonkers thing to say. That's something the Rockstar’s ex wife says in a documentary ten years after he's dead, not something a songwriting partner says, completely unprompted, in an exiting the band interview.

And then he goes off on what I see as a self-soothing diatribe on Paul the family man. You can see the hoops he jumped through to get himself there. What did Paul want that I couldn't give him? A family. And is that justified? Absolutely not, only pussies and conservatives want families.

Allan Klein: were you and Paul ever really close, then? John: no. John: not that I didn't love him. I did. It's just that every time I let my guard down, he hurt me. Holy shit. At this point, after getting hit in the face with so much of John's Paul-made pain with nothing from the other side but pictures of the happy McCartney family, I'm genuinely feeling quite angry at Paul. Me. An extremely biased Paul girl who knows it's far more complicated and multi-dimensional than this. No wonder the uninformed public fucking hated his guts.

And as they're showing this quote, “I didn't want to hurt you,” plays mournfully in the background. They really are so twisted up in each other there's no separating individual identities.

Okay so he's a psychopath. So what? He's the sexiest man that ever was or ever will be. He's allowed to be a horrible person. No, but really. He's Get Back Paul but healthier. He's done with his depression drinking and he's been spending a lot of time proving he's still useful enough to exist by building fences and shearing sheep.

And this is how Paul talks about George to interviews. John said Klein made ATMP a success but Paul disagrees. "George recorded it all, wrote it all, did it all, wasn't anything to do with [Klein]. It was George's victory, wasn't it?" Compare that to how John does it and tell me again why the hell George is Team John?

What is Paul's obsession with daddies? Actually I know exactly what the obsession with daddies comes from, but we won't get into that here. I do find it interesting that in ‘69 he's saying “we do need a sort of central daddy figure.” And in ‘71 he's deriding John needing one and won't let John's daddy of choice touch him with a hundred foot pole.

I tend to think Paul chafes against authority in general, but that's actually not right. He never had a problem with George Martin. I think it's just abusive authority or authority he doesn't trust yet.

[cynthiav06]

Post-tartarus Percy and Annabeth and even post tartarus Nico weren't written well at all. Tartarus makes them manic, always on edge, jumpy. This is PTSD and it doesn't just go away. Not to mention, they lost Bob and Damasen.

Yes, sure, one could argue there weren't many opportunities for Rick to explore how Tartarus changed Percy in Heroes of Olympus series. There still should have been mentions.

Rick focused on Bob and Damasen part for a bit and then never again. It's like after Tartarus arc, Percy and Annabeth were back to being themselves, which is such a character assassination. Here's what I think are a few ways Tartarus changed Percy and Annabeth and even Nico in:

PART 1-PERCY

Percy becomes hypervigilant at all times.

He can barely sleep, and whenever he does, he is always affected by terrible nightmares.

He feels extremely guilty about not being able to save Bob and Damasen and hence is now extremely protective of his other friends and family.

He no longer feels at all safe in his cabin and avoids it since Hera abducting him from there led to his whole thing.

He spends large amounts of time away from the camp.

Percy only ever feels truly safe by the sea .

Percy knows how delicate Sally and Paul act around him, and he hates it and hates himself for it. They don't say a word even when him screaming wakes them up. In fact, they just sit beside him, holding his hand and letting him cry or scream.

Poseidon also makes his own protective tendencies known, and when Percy gets too manic to stay anywhere, he whisks him away to Atlantis to calm him.

Every night, Percy finds a place to look at the stars and repeat the same message : Bob says hello.

He becomes an entirely different person when attacked when fighting monsters. A killing machine. It scares most people especially Annabeth.

Percy becomes a lot more aloof and likes being by himself (so he doesn't have to bear the responsibility for protecting someone other than him for a while)

He becomes a bit more pensive and talks less than usual.

He hates his own power but doesn't shy away from using it in dangerous situations. But this leaves him with a long internal struggle.

He begins to think of himself as monstrous.

He can't feel at ease without feeling Riptide in his grasp.

Somedays the nightmares the memories get so worse that he has to make himself bleed to take the worst of it away.

He becomes skeptical of most things: people, and food and objects.

Everyone makes sure not to bring Calypso in the same room as him lest he kill her then and there. It takes him a long time to forgive her.

Percy is now so good at sensing monsters that he is always ten steps ahead of everyone.

The worst of it is Percy's constant need to fight something. He spars with multiple strong opponents to at least make it a bit challenging for him. It makes him feel like Ares, and he hates it.

Percy's first true genuine smile is when he finds out he is going to have a baby sister.

Will cover Annabeth's and then Nico's in the next parts. This is enough ptsd for all of us for one day.

[necrotic-nephilim]

au for the ask game: omegaverse where omega dick grooms ealry-presented alpha tim in "prodigal son"

dick is going through one of the worst periods of his life after breaking up his wedding with kory (maybe she, like a tamaran, couldn't understand the secondary gender of humans and during the breakup said something bad about dick as an omega) and then tim appears with stars in his eyes and believes that dick is the best human being on earth.

bonus points if the society has progressed enough and mating with children is strictly prohibited, even if they present early.

for the ask game!

gdfdsfdgbf anon i'm kissing you on the mouth. this is my favorite flavor of Omegaverse, especially for DickTim. i'm a proud believer in the dominant omega!Dick/submissive alpha!Tim propaganda. also a big fan of how terrible Dick's life is during Batman: Prodigal. and i just. man i love the Omegaverse concepts of alien characters like Kory not understanding secondary gender and it causing rifts.

what's fun about the Prodigal era is just how isolated Tim and Dick are during it. Bruce is off.. being fucking Bruce, and Alfred is also away, so it's really just Dick and Tim for a bit. they've always worked with each other and have a repertoire, but a lot of the conversations they have about each other's pasts are happening for the first time. so it's such a fun time for Tim to present as an alpha. and of course, his hero worship for Dick (especially after having to deal with Jean-Paul) makes it so *easily* for Dick to just. slip his fingers into. Dick's isolated from the Titans, he's lost Kory, he's on the rocks with Bruce, and so there's just something so nice about this kid who still holds utter faith in him. he doesn't see any of the societal stereotypes about omegas in Dick, he just sees Dick. and then, he presents and he trusts *Dick* with that information, lets Dick guide him through the most awkward parts of presenting. how can Dick not want to take advantage of that? a young, fresh alpha who he's currently in charge of mentoring, with no one to stop Dick or notice what he's doing.

it's still tricky, of course. Dick not only has to make sure he's not breaking the law, but he also has to keep Tim from noticing, immediately. Tim's hero worship crush is the most obvious thing about him, but that doesn't mean Dick can jump on him. it needs careful time and planning. Bruce might not be around, but Tim still has his dad who could notice the scent of an omega on Tim. so instead of marking Tim, Dick starts marking himself with Tim's scent. it starts small, using the same blanket Tim has used in the Batcave, grabbing a couple of Tim's oversized hoodies and wearing them. things with plausible enough deniability, but enough that Tim starts to subconsciously associate his scent with Dick. when he can't smell himself on Dick he feels like something is wrong. and when he's finally brave enough to bring it up to Dick, Dick is able to spin it on Tim. make it seem like Tim is the one coming onto Dick, assuming things. Dick plays it cool, pretending to be shocked by the idea of it. he gently explains to Tim what he could be implying about their relationship and Tim is *mortified*, apologizing and tripping over himself to try and fix it. but Dick just calms him down, promises Tim he isn't mad bc hey, Tim is a fresh alpha and he presented so *young*, it's difficult to navigate.

so you have Dick offering to help navigate this with Tim and using it to get closer and closer to Tim. grooming him into the type of alpha that Dick wants in a relationship. anytime there's behavior in Tim that Dick doesn't like, Dick can pretty easily redirect by dropping comments about how Tim just "can't help" acting like this because of his alpha nature, which instantly makes Tim scramble to fix it. Dick likes Tim for who he is, this cute, sweet kid who's such a handsome little alpha. but he's rough around the edges and Dick puts it on himself to smooth those edges over. he's playing the long game with this, and he doesn't mind waiting it out. and Tim can't complain when Dick pushes the boundaries, making him uncomfortable, because he doesn't want Dick to think he's a *pervert* for thinking that way. it's one big mind game.

i do think, Dick would cave and sleep with Tim before Tim's an adult. he's smart enough not to mate Tim, and he's definitely smart enough not to sleep with Tim enough for Bruce, a beta, to notice what's going on. but when some sort of sex pollen incident triggers a simultaneous heat and rut for Dick and Tim respectively, it's the most convenient in that Dick needs. Dick acts like they're doing this out of necessity, that he's giving in even though he doesn't want to, just because of how Tim's acting under the aphrodisiac. it gives him complete control over the sex because Tim is so desperate to not give in to his "alpha ways" and hurt Dick by being violent or animalistic. Dick gets to pin Tim down, possibly even tie him down "for his own safety" and ride him until Tim is a crying mess under Dick. after the first time, if Dick orchestrates more scenarios where they end up in "fuck or die" situations well, it's not like anyone's noticing. at the height, he even manages to have sex with Tim without that sort of pretense, he just has to act like he can tell how needy Tim is and sigh, pretending he's the one doing Tim a favor "just this once" by letting Tim fuck him.

in the end, it's a long con that pays off. it takes until Battle for the Cowl but Tim's a legal adult. and Dick is Batman again, which really does feel like everything coming full circle. part of the reason Dick makes Damian Robin is to remove the pretense of Tim and Dick being sidekick and mentor. it makes it easier for Dick to insist he really does see Tim as a full adult (even if he doesn't, deep down. Tim is still a fresh teenager, just because it's legal doesn't make it any less morally questionable) and something more than Robin. Dick makes a comment about them being mates so offhandedly it makes Tim stop in his tracks. Tim, who's about to go on his Red Robin arc and isolate himself, now has a chance at being mates with his hero. a chance to smooth over their differences and be actual equal partners. of course, Tim jumps on it. maybe deep down, after they mate and Dick is all too pleased with himself, it clicks for Tim that this was all a set-up. he puts the pieces together while they're cuddling in bed. he knows deep down that Dick will never *actually* see him as an equal. but, the deed is done and if Tim is going to give himself over to anyone, of course it's going to be Dick Grayson.

[joeybrr9]

Part 4 - Poetic Man

Summary: Aurora continues to work on her new album but might have a new distraction

Warnings: None

a/n: So sorry it took so long for this part to come up. Finals week was KILLING me. So excited for Christmas break. Also, what are we all thinking of this break in at Joe's house???

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“One more time.” Jack Antenoff was helping Aurora put together her 6th studio album. Jack was well known for creating success all across the music industry; the two first started working together for her album “i used to think i could fly.” Jack reached over and put his headset on, signaling to Aurora that he wanted her to sing her song again. “Alright…..let’s do it from the beginning.”

Aurora heard the music begin and took a deep breath.

“You're so dumb and poetic

It's just what I fall for, I like the aesthetic

Every self-help book, you've already read it

Cherry-pick lines like they're words you invented

Gold star for highbrow manipulation

And "love everyone" is your favorite quotation

Try to come off like you're soft and well-spoken

Jack off to lyrics by Leonard Cohen”

Aurora had very obviously written this song about her past relationship with Paul; it was a song that had become very intimate and personal for her. She hesitated even adding it to the album. Aurora worried once he heard the lyrics she would receive a nasty phone call from his display all his distaste for her work. 

"Don't think you understand

Just 'cause you talk like one doesn't make you a man

You're so sad, there's no communication

But baby, you put us in this situation

You're running so fast from the hearts that you're breakin'

Save all your breath for your floor meditation

You're so empathetic, you'd make a great wife

And I promise the mushrooms aren't changing your life

Will you crash the car and abandon the wreckage?

Fuck with my head like it's some kind of fetish”

Nothing Aurora did in her relationship with Paul was right; whether it was making the wrong dinner plans, flying out to see him on the wrong weekend, interrupting his ‘work time,’ or even just being in his presence, she knew he didn’t want her around. Many people would ask why she stayed with him for so long and there was only one answer, he knew how to manipulate her. When they would have a terrible fight, the next day he would buy her 100 red roses. A big gesture. Love bombing some people would say.

“Don't think you understand

Just 'cause you act like one doesn't make you a man

Don't think you understand

Just 'cause you leave like one doesn't make you a man”

“Honestly Aurora, that might have been the last take.” Jack leaned back with a huge grin plastered to his face high-fiving Mark. Aurora on the other hand felt sick to her stomach, singing such an intimate song had her feelings at an all-time low. She exited the recording booth and was greeted with a bunch of smiling faces. “What’s wrong, we release Espreso in five days and the album is almost done.”

“Speaking of that.” Mark cut Jack off and took a step closer to Aurora. “Have you decided who you want in your music video for your second single? We should probably think about filming it soon.”

“Yeah, I haven’t thought about it yet. Let me get back to you.” She let out a nervous giggle because Mark had already reminded her to pick someone, a month ago. “ Well, on that note I should definitely get going. I have two hungry football players at my house right now.” She quickly tried to grab her stuff without any more interrogations.

“Football players, who is at her house?” Aurora heard Jack but she didn’t have the effort to explain why she had two NFL players staying at her home. 

“I think it’s that Joe Burrows dude and his friend. I don’t know and honestly, I don’t care.” That was all Aurora was able to hear before she let the door close behind her. She got in her car and hit the call button on Ja’Marr’s contact. It only took two quick rings for him to pick up. 

“Hello, my girl. What’s up?”

“I’m heading home right now. Did you guys settle in okay? You didn’t fight him over who gets the bigger room right.” Aurora heard a laugh in the background, assuming it came from Joe her cheeks reddened. 

“No Ma'am we did not start a fight in your home. Did miss you though Rory, thought you said it would only take you a little bit. It’s been five hours. I’m also starving. You don’t keep much food around here, like-”

“Okay Marr I get it, you're a starved man and it’s my fault. I’m only fifteen minutes away so how about we order when I get there, or can you not wait until I get there?”

“I guess, but you better buy some snacks for me. I’m not sure how you survive on wine and ramen noodles.” She let out a little laugh before sighing.

“Snack and dinner. I got it. I’ll be there soon. Love you, Marr.”

“Love you too Rory.” She hung up the phone, taking the exit to her house. Aurora sat in silence in her car, loud silence. For a few moments she thought about calling Ja’Marr back to fill the silent void for the last few minutes of her drive but instead, she pushed the on button to her radio. A random Dua Lipa song filled the car, only making Aurora forget about her thoughts for a couple of minutes. 

Eventually, Aurora pulled into her driveway, seeing her living room lights were on and she could see Joe and Ja’Marr sitting on her couch. A black truck was parked in her driveway, which must have been what the boys rented for the days they were staying in California. She quickly parked her car in the garage and gathered all the stuff to bring inside when she was met with Ja’Marr at the door. 

“Here, let me grab that.” He instantly took everything out of Aurora’s hands. When she was around Ja’Marr he treated her like a queen. “Soooo, I was thinking.”

“Well, that’s never good.” Aurora heard Joe say from the couch. She let out a little laugh.

“Yes Marr, what can I get you to eat tonight? I know I kept you waiting until,” Aurora took a quick glance at the time displayed on her stove, “5:30. Oh my gosh Ja’Marr it’s 5:30. I expected it to be around 7.”

“When I’m hungry, I’m hungry. Sorry girl.” Ja’Marr put his arm around Aurora as the two walked over to the couch. Joe was sitting comfortably watching Spongebob on the TV. 

“Okay boys, what do we want? Pizza, Chinese, Italian, In-N-Out, or Mexican? All of that sounds really good to me so you can choose. Aurora exchanged glances between Joe and Ja’Marr until Joe finally spoke up.

“Pizza sounds good to me.”

“What kind are we getting?” Ja’Marr wasn’t too concerned with the food. He was too busy watching the content displayed on the TV.

“What about pepperoni and sausage?” Joe and Aurora said at the same time. She felt a blush grace her cheeks as she smiled at him. 

“Yeah I’ll order it now-”

“No, I got it. You don’t need to be paying for our food when you’re already letting us stay here for free. I got it.” Joe left to go call in a pizza, leaving just Ja’Marr and Aurora. 

Aurora could see Ja’Marr looking at her out of the corner of her eye. “Instead of staring at me Marr, why don’t you just say whatever you want to?” He chuckled awkwardly, rubbing his jaw.

“Me and Burrow were talking today. About you. A little bit. Not the whole time. Don’t let it get to your big head.” He gave a gentle push to Aurora’s shoulder making her giggle. “He mentioned that Tee sent him your interview. He seemed to think it was funny, in a cute way. Don’t be embarrassed Rory, he thinks you're cool.” She looked over to her left where Joe was standing in the doorway of her library on the phone. He hadn’t said much, or anything at all, to her since she got home.

“That interview got kinda out of hand. I’m embarrassed he even saw that.”

“You don’t listen. He thinks you’re a cool girl.” Ja’Marr wrapped his arm around Aurora pulling her into him. She was a little curious if Joe was still dating his long-term girlfriend from college. It had been reported a couple times that they had split but Aurora wanted to know from an inside source.

“Um, would he happen to still be dating that one girl from college? Not that I care or anything. I just see a lot of stuff on TikTok. You know.” Real Smooth Aurora. Ja’Marr looked down at the blonde girl with a cheesy grin.

“They did in fact break up. It was all on good terms. Joe is a very focused guy when it comes to football. Not sure that’s what she wanted. Sometimes he needed his space and they couldn’t agree on it. No bad blood as far as I’m concerned.” Aurora nodded her head. “So yes, he is single, Rory.” Ja’Marr poked her sides making her squirm and move away from him. 

“I got three pizzas and an order of breadsticks. Also, Aurora, I noticed you have a lot of wine in your cabinets so I ordered some wine too. Hope you don’t mind.” Joe took his original spot next to Aurora on the couch.

“I could never mind someone buying me wine; that was very thoughtful of you.” She flashed the quarterback a quick smile. 

“Pizza should be here in about 35 minutes.” Joe looked between Aurora and Ja’Marr.

“Did you guys want to put on a movie until then? The group decided to watch The Hangover until the pizza arrived. One of Ja’Marr’s favorite movies.

“Bro, did you see that tiger?” Ja’Marr was clutching his stomach from laughter. Aurora had stood up to get the pizza that just arrived.

“Yes, Marr. We all saw it. I’m pretty sure you’ve seen it about a thousand times too.” Aurora disappeared for about two minutes coming back with all the food. “Alright boys, I’ll let you get yours first.” She set out plates for everyone and a glass for her wine. 

“Here,” Joe reached over to open the bottle of wine he ordered and opened it. “Let me get this for you.” He poured her a glass and got her a couple slices of pizza.

“Um, thanks.” Aurora grabbed the gestures from Joe and made her way back to the couch to finish their movie with dinner. As she was walking back to the couch she overhead Ja’Marr and Joe.

“Try hard?” Ja’Marr scoffed as he grabbed a beer out of the fridge.

“Dude, she’s just a nice girl. I’m not gonna be rude to someone who’s letting me stay in their house for free. I’ve never met her before either. Good first impressions.”

“You sure it’s nothing else loverboy?” 

“Yes, I’m 100% percent sure. I’m focused on football, not girls.” Joe laughed. Even though there wasn’t anything going on between Joe and Aurora, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She hadn’t been able to move on since Paul and a very small part of her thought Joe would possibly be that person for her. It was a stupid thought anyway. 

Joe and Ja’Marr joined Aurora on the couch to enjoy their pizza dinner and movie. Ja’Marr was able to eat 10 slices of pizza while Joe only had 6. Aurora stuck to her original 2 slices with a bread stick. 

“Sorry to cut the night short but I’m gonna head to bed. Sleep good Rory. Night man.” Ja’Marr ruffled Aurora’s hair and dabbed up Joe. The two were left alone on the couch with the ending credits of The Hangover displayed on her TV. 

After a long couple minutes of awkward silence, Joe cleared his throat. “So Ja’Marr tells me you are working on your sixth album. That’s a pretty big deal.” Aurora took a big drink of her wine finishing off the glass.

“Uh yeah, I am. It should be out sometime this summer. I’m really excited to release another album.”

“He told me you won Album of the Year at The Grammy’s last year. That’s huge. Congrats, I know it’s a little late.” Joe chuckled. 

She swished around whatever was left of her wine. “Yeah, you know, you do something incredible like that and you feel like you need to live up to those expectations again. I just don’t want to let anyone down. I have an amazing producer and if I don’t win another Grammy with this next album I know I won’t only be letting myself down, it will also be hurting him.”

Aurora looked over at Joe and by the look on his Face she knew he wasn’t sure what to say to her singer/songwriter trauma. “Can I get you another glass of wine?” Aurora debated before she answered his question. Did he want to down here talking to her? This would be her third glass of wine.

“Yeah, sure.” Joe hopped up from the couch and walked over to the kitchen. Aurora couldn’t help but observe him in person. He was a good-looking guy; even better in person. 

“Here you go. Tell me more about yourself. How did you get your start in music?” Joe got himself comfortable on the couch; showing Aurora he had no plans of heading to bed anytime soon.

“My first album was “Singular Act I,” so that was obviously my big start. My huge single off of that album was Sue Me. Have you ever heard it?”

“Uhhhh, I don’t think so. Don’t hate me.” Joe laughed, making Aurora crack a smile.

“No hurt feelings. One day I just started posting videos of myself singing on Youtube and it started blowing up. Eventually, a record label contacted me and they wanted to produce a single. Fun fact, it wasn’t Sue Me.”

“Do I get to hear this legendary single?” Joe smirked at Aurora.

“Absolutely not. I like to brush that song under the rug. I never-”

“You know if you don’t play it for me right now I’ll just look it up later. Matter of fact, let’s look it up right now.” Joe pulled his phone out of his pocket and started typing something into Google. Aurora jumped up from her spot on the couch to move closer to Joe.

“Joe stop, I hate that song. I’m not kidding. Listen to it later, not right now.” Aurora reached for Joe’s phone the second she heard the beginning verse to Thumbs playing out of the speakers. “JOE, stop it right now.” Aurora couldn’t contain her laughter at this point. She was leaning over him, grasping for the phone.

“And the bank robbed the people, so the people robbed the bank.” Joe sang along, laughing in Aurora’s face. She took one more reach for his phone, failing, before falling back beside him. After the song ended Joe tuned toward the blonde girl.

“Honestly, I was expecting worse. Not sure what skidledeee deee dat dum means but I can roll with it. Definitely added to my warm-up playlist.” Joe gave Aurora a cheesy smile before bursting out laughing.

“I fucking hate you.” 

Aurora and Joe sat on the couch and talked until 2 am while Aurora drank, not one, but two, bottles of wine. She definitely would feel that in the morning. Joe knew that as the night whet on Aurora had become wine drunk and nothing she said he could take too seriously. She did tell him he had the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, and that the curl in his hair was his best feature. Around two thirty Aurora passed out on Joe's lap while watching How To Train Your Dragon.

Joe carried Aurora up to her room while also trying to figure out which one was hers. When they finally made it there and he had tucked her into bed; it was time for his escape. He felt her hand grasp his wrist. 

“Can you please stay? Please Joe, just this once.” Aurora hardly opened her eyes but that was all the convincing Joe needed to stay.

[blues-valentine]

Dune Spoilers:

I like the Dune book series - it’s one of the first sci fic books I ever read and we all know they're the blueprint. And Deni's movies are a visual masterpiece. With that being said, I have some issues with the movies because of their use of Arab culture to build their world while most of their cast and staff isn’t even middle eastern. But I don’t feel I have the authority to talk about it so I’ll refer to some posts. (x x x)

But with a lot of criticism I disagree with the takes about the movie showing us a "white savior trope" and I don’t want to yell that media literacy is death when it comes to analyzing entertainment but yes because Paul Atreides is being portrayed as a cautionary tale since the very first introduction to Dune in the movies. Chani starts the movie explaining Arraki’s story about being invaded and under the ex rule of an imperial house and asks the following question: “Who’ll our next oppressors be?” while cutting directly to Paul and starting his journey. Paul isn’t being shown as the white savior that will free the Fremen from the imperial rule and get them the paradise they see in the prophecy. He quickly becomes a power hungry leader with a god complex and I think Dune: Part Two heavily showcases this transition. Paul spends a lot of time denying what he could be and when he has the ability to see he can win and rule the world - his greed takes over.

Paul’s ascent to power in the 3rd act isn’t even being portrayed as a good thing — it’s supposed to be dark and full of warnings about the tyrant he’ll become. It’s there in his scary speech and Chani’s face. Both Paul and Jessica are being shown as manipulative people that are leading the Fremen into false hopes and religious fanaticism. Paul knew from the very start that the Bere Gesserit were planting ideas on the Fremen about him being the one - and he knew he needed to convince the remaining doubtful people of the prophecy if he wanted them on his side for his revenge. He was using the Fremen for his vengeance agaisnt the emperor. And he might’ve fallen in love with Chani and genuinely believe his place is at Arrakis' but he quickly transforms into the Messiah that plays into people’s false worship. He knows the easiest way to control the Fremen is by playing into the prophecy.

Paul’s Atraides isn’t about a hero’s journey but mostly the journey of an anti hero. We are not supposed to think he is the good guy. In the books there’s this important quote from Frank Herbert’s himself: “No more terrible disaster could befall your people than for them to fall into the hands of a hero.” because Paul isn’t there to save them from colonialism just replacing their old oppressors (Harkonnen) with him.

And I was pleasantly surprised with the changes in Chani’s character by her having more agency by being a freedom fighter and the only one seeing the wrongs in the increasing fanaticism towards Paul and the dangers this means for her people instead of playing the passive girlfriend that sticks by his side despite him becoming everything he swore won't be like in the books. And I really hope they change some parts of her arc in the last movie and she goes against him. Or at the very least have her still present a strong opposition to his world view. It would turn their relationship more interesting than her spending 12 years as his concubine wanting to bear him children and dying for it. I think Denis seems to be planning a better way to portray the women in the last movie and I can't wait to see what he does with them.

I just feel like people will get to Dune: Messiah and be so confused as if Paul going into a dark path and becoming Arraki's next oppressor wasn't pretty much there all along.

[rpking99]

The Paul Problem

Hey guys. So we all know this dipshit. The asshole. The figure face behind all that is wrong with Spider-Man right now . Well, with the writer of the book leaving in September, I thought it was about time to look over the Paul situation and why it sucks.

Now I am not going to go into the storyline in chronilogical order. Nothing like that. I'm just going to be going over a few key facts/moments and talking about why they dont work.

So first things first... he has NO personality. Like... none. Blander than whtie bread. More generic than the most generic isekai protagonist. Next, he exists jsut to cause drama and to not have Peter and MJ together. So with all that nonsense out the way... lets get to the real topics.

When Peter and MJ where trapped in an alternate dimension and had a chance to escape, what did Paul do? Just push Peter through it. Peter and MJ could have left at the same time, heck they where GOING to, but instead he pushed Peter through to get him out of the way.

This act lead to the "answer" to a "question" that the book had been building up to, as this was part of a flashback arc. The "question" was "What did Spider-Man do to make everyone hate him" and the answer was.... "nothing. He was trapped in another dimension and his return trip destroyed a city, which he did not know would happen and he had no control over"

Peter and MJ had been dating when Peter went through the portal. He then made EVERYONE he knows and trusts mad as he beat up friends and stormed through everything and anyone. He saved Paul and MJ... and MJ reveals she has been with Paul for 6 months. And the two where now together. MJ was cheating on Peter for six months

And to make that even worse, MJ basically just tells Peter to "get over it" like an unfeeling bitch. Just "No, I am not leaving Paul despite our years together. How dare you do that Peter. Fuck you"

Let's go back for half a moment and remember, Paul KIDNAPPED MJ there. He kicked Peter through the portal and left MJ trapped/stranded there for SIX MONTHS alone with him

One defence the writer keeps giving to try and defend Paul in the book is that he is a "Good Man". Well... let's go over a few of his "nice acts", shall we?

He wanted to leave/abandon two children to die so he and MJ can just run away

He used these kids to trap MJ in a loveless marriage for months

These kids where not real and actually illusions/manifestations of his fathers powers

Commited at LEAST one genocide with/for his father and did not feel bad about it

Punched Peter in the face because Peter pointed out his crimes and said he wasn't a "good guy"

Oh yeah and let's not forget that Paul only "turned good" because MJ "saw the light", AKA he wanted to bang her and is a terrible person as well as a simp but the writter thinks he is the true "tragic hero" of it all.

Now we all know how much of a "wonderful person" Paul is. Don't we all feel so much better?

...

Just three more months. Just three more months.