#for keeping the ones who Aren’t Important To Her in line

[bestworstcase]

Genuine question, do you call Oz's (or Salems) circle a cult based on the ancient definition (i.e. cult of dionysus) or the modern definition of cult with the BITE model (i.e. Scientology, Manson family, etc)? And can you go into why you think they're cults, if that's okay? I'm very curious :>

generally speaking when i say cult i mean it in the non-pejorative sense of a system of religious veneration toward a particular entity, e.g. salem and ozma received cult as god-rulers back in the day. aside from. tyrian. i wouldn’t characterize salem’s present day operation as a cult because it’s Unclear to me whether the others actually worship her in any sense beyond like smiling and nodding when tyrian starts going on about Our Divine Savior. similarly ozpin’s inner circle is not a cult of him, it’s a cult of light.

In This Sense what makes ozpin’s circle a cult is the explicitly religious nature of the group. which is something a lot of the fandom overlooks because a) rwby is cooking the religious narrative very slowly and b) religion is not taken seriously as character motivation. but like, when qrow brings team RNJR into the loop he leads with "not many people are super religious these days and there’s a lot of Fake Made-Up Gods but ozpin says there’s two who Really Exist. they made us and they left behind four divine relics for us to guard from The Enemy." & it’s not an accident that he frames the situation in these terms, not is it accidental that oz presents himself as someone cursed (ordained) by the gods to stop salem. the organizing principle at the heart of this group is religious in nature—the gods entrusted us with these divine relics we must guard whilst we shepherd humanity toward redemption.

*teams RWBY and JNPR aren’t brought into that second part before ruby explodes ozpin’s whole situation by asking jinn her question, but in fairytales of remnant the story of the two brothers is attributed to qrow and overtly states the divine ultimatum:

“I disagree,” the God of Light said. “And we promised to share in the fate of our joint creation.” He gave a mighty yawn. “Let us rest, and when the time comes, we will see what Humanity has become in our absence. At that point, we will judge them. If they are worthy, we will take their forms and walk among them as equals. If not, we will take back our gifts and start over elsewhere. What do you say?” “Who will decide whether they are worthy?” the God of Darkness said. “Humanity will make it plain. If they come together in unity and find a way to destroy the evil in the world and within themselves, then they are worthy. If not … we will let them burn,” the God of Light said.

which ozpin reiterates in the commentary:

Whether or not you believe in the Brothers, or in this story in particular, the underlying message still holds value: We are burdened with responsibility for our world, and we share a common destiny. Like the twin gods, we are intricately connected with one another, and if we can learn to work and live together, we can create things greater than the sum of their parts. Remnant survived the Great War, but while the four kingdoms now cooperate and coexist, our bond seems tenuous. We have a fragile peace, and in some ways, we are more divided than ever. Even if the gods aren’t real, even if they don’t return to judge us for our deeds, we should act each day as though they are arriving tomorrow. In the end, we will be the arbiters of our fates. We will either create a beautiful, peaceful world and live in harmony together or destroy ourselves and our planet, and the gods will judge what we have chosen.

what this tells us is that a) ozpin’s innermost circle knows that the brothers will some day return for the final judgment and that ozpin is working to prepare for this, and b) the idea of the final judgment itself is not something ozma has kept secret, it’s mainstream brother-cult doctrine that ozpin publicly uses his platform as the headmaster of beacon academy to proselytize. the reason none of the kids reacted at all to the divine mandate/the final judgment is they already knew about it in the same way you’re probably familiar with the rapture in basic terms even if you aren’t a christian.

based on the fairytale anthology, i would also argue that all of this is true not only of the inner circle but of the academies writ large, because in the introduction:

When I became headmaster of Beacon Academy, one of my first goals was to introduce a deeper study of the stories that make up the fabric of our world—after all, I am first and foremost a teacher. […] It may seem self-serving to place this book at the core of a new curriculum at the Huntsmen academies; however, it also has been compiled with these academies especially in mind.

ozpin indicates that once he became headmaster he published this set of stories and commentaries and then made it the CORE of a new curriculum for the four academies; and fairytales of remnant is, again, an overtly religious text that exhorts the reader to believe in and act upon brother-cult doctrine. imagine an anthology of stories that included a hodgepodge of aesop’s fables, grimm fairytales, a couple greek myths, and a synopsis of the gospel with a commentary urging you to accept jesus into your heart. that’s what fairytales of remnant is, in essence, and the whole curriculum of the academies is structured around that. these institutions front as secular but they’re not.

(two brothers is also not the only story in the anthology that references the final judgment: the ‘circle’ depicted in the infinite man is explicitly working to “make ready for the final judgment” before they’re put to the sword by adversaries who presumably didn’t like the sound of that. so ozma’s been doing this with varying degrees of subtlety for a good long while.)

ALL THAT SAID,

ozpin’s inner circle is absolutely also a high-control group (which is what people typically mean when they say "cult"). let’s walk through the BITE model real quick ->

behavioral control.

in reality this dimension involves various practices e.g. sleep deprivation, corporal punishment, social isolation, financial control that serve to establish and maintain direct power over group members such that they become physically and/or psychologically dependent on the group and therefore unable to leave. within the world of rwby and the specific context of ozpin’s inner circle, this is Not Necessary because all ozpin has to do is invoke the dangers of mass hysteria and the grimm. we mustn’t cause a panic or the grimm will come and there will be chaos and the world will go to war.

combine this constant drumbeat (“old ozpin would always put his foot down. ‘we can't cause a panic.’ heh, can't tell you how many times i’ve heard that…”) with the reality that huntsmen work is grueling in and of itself, and that we know from 9.10 that ozpin made it a regular practice to call individual members of team STRQ away on hush-hush urgent missions with no advance warning in the middle of the night. on its own, that isn’t inherently problematic (hunting monsters is a dangerous and difficult profession, duh)

but think about what it says about how ozpin operates that working for him means being on call at all hours for top secret dead-of-night emergencies that regularly turned out to just be “routine patrols.” this speaks to his paranoia but—do you want a group of people who are permanently stressed-out and exhausted? this is how you get that, by refusing to stay organized and just set up a schedule for routine patrols such that emergency becomes routine. if nothing else this is a horrible working environment. and this sort of thing is what the dimension of behavioral control is really about, because people who are stressed out and tired all the time are more susceptible to disinformation and manipulation.

the final piece is the inner circle’s perception of ozpin as the one who must guide them because, as glynda tells ironwood, he “has experience the rest of [them] lack.” again, taken in isolation this seems innocuous until to you consider that a) ozpin does not have the experience he claims to posses—he hasn’t been fighting salem for any significant length of time because salem has been Ignoring Him—and b) ozpin does things like LEAPING to the conclusion that lionheart is a traitor on the grounds of the mistral council overruling him, and getting first verbally forceful and then physically violent when the girls start to defy him. what first appears as ozpin taking the lead because he has the most experience turns into, well, lunging at ruby because she disobeyed him

✅ sleep deprivation + fostering an artificially high-stress environment ✅ encouraging groupthink ("we can’t cause panic") ✅ cultivating dependence on the group leader ✅ threats of punishment/dire consequences for failure (the grimm) used to guide behavior

information control.

this dimension. doesn’t need elaborating. lol

✅ deception (in all forms: withholding information, distorting the facts, & systematic lies) ✅ restricting access to unsanctioned sources of information (by keeping everyone too busy to investigate or ask questions, on this see also the way oz frames raven’s decision to leave) ✅ compartmentalization of information (information is heavily controlled, different levels of information provided at different levels of commitment to the group, "we can fill you in on the details once we know you’re with us," ozpin decides who needs to know and when) ✅ encourage spying/monitoring within the group (qrow accuses ironwood of "turning his back on oz," winter + ironwood accuse him of being compromised, summer and raven both feeling isolated/unable to trust others in the group, general high levels of distrust between group members)

thought control.

also very straightforward.

✅ instill black and white, us vs them thinking (specifically, "it’s us protecting the Helpless Frightened Masses against them," and reducing every problem to "we can’t let salem divide us" and "how can we kill all these grimm"—contrast how robyn operates, the difference is staggering) ✅ thought-stopping platitudes ("we can’t cause a panic" and "i always prefer discretion" and "we can’t let salem divide us" etc, with the latter note how rwby delivers the "you’re being divisive" rhetoric through jacques first, specifically to illustrate its efficacy as a tool of control) ✅ allowing only correct / good thoughts (because if negativity then salem wins!) ✅ rejection of critical thinking or constructive criticism (this happens every time someone is informed of the first layer of truth and starts asking why it’s secret; inculcating the group rationalizations to shut down this questioning is always step one) ✅ prohibiting questioning of the group leader (in the most extreme example, ozpin lunges at ruby to stop her from using the lamp, but see also his anger when the kids don’t stop questioning his choices) ✅ other belief systems labeled as illegitimate (the brothers are the only True Gods and other religions that exist don’t count except when we use them to justify keeping secrets) or evil (salem’s rejection of the gods is construed as a desire for the world to end, in some cases overtly, and this is explicitly manipulative)

& emotional control.

the grimm do most of the real legwork here. i won’t go into the Whole Thing on how the huntsman model is an, at best, incomplete understanding of the grimm but suffice it to say repressing feelings is, demonstrably, Not Effective at warding away the grimm and small villages outside the kingdoms with no huntsmen protection are demonstrably capable of dealing with grimm outside of extreme situations (bandit raids, giants like the nuckelavee) where huntsmen would be outgunned too. which i want to emphasize because the extremely dysfunctional way ozpin’s inner circle views negative emotions is NOT practical or necessary within the context of the setting, and in fact is arguably counterproductive to the stated goal of minimizing grimm attacks.

anyways,

✅ manipulate and narrow the range of acceptable feelings (all "negative emotion" is undesirable and actively shamed) ✅ inculcate guilt or feelings of inadequacy (in leaders specifically: "if you are not always performing at your absolute best, what reason do you give others to follow you?" + the condemnation of raven and general attitude of "there’s no shame or disgrace in abstaining, only in retreat") ✅ instilling fear of thinking independently (we see the consequences of this play out in v7-9, with the incredible anxiety over disagreement) and of the outside world (grimm, constant drumbeat of inescapable existential danger which can ONLY be avoided by keeping secrets and keeping the general public complacent) ✅ specifically inculcating intense fear of leaving the group (by ostracizing those who leave [raven] and cultivating the mindset that there is never an acceptable reason to leave [it is disgraceful and shameful to retreat, leaving is "abandoning your training/duties"], plus terrible consequences if someone leaves [without the spring maiden we’re all going to die]; with ironwood this escalates to him going to extreme, violent lengths to get penny back under control and punish winter for defying him)

note how:

many of these behaviors continue and/or escalate after ozpin’s death, because the members of the inner circle continue to follow the example he set and because the kids (ruby n yang especially, having been raised from birth by members of the inner circle) were inculcated with the foundational mindset and beliefs in academies that the inner circle a) controls and b) uses as a recruiting ground; and

since v6, the narrative has been developing character arcs that examine the Many Ways this system traumatizes and breaks people. this is of course exacerbated by the fact of the apocalyptic war happening, but the broken old guard—team STRQ, ironwood, ozpin himself, gretchen rainart—are there to make the point that the inner circle was breaking and traumatizing people long before salem went to war. so the abundance of these high-control methods exists in conjunction with the narrative focusing on how harmful and destructive all of it is; the inner circle is intended to be understood as deeply dysfunctional, and the huntsmen academies as failing institutions doomed by the inner circle’s beliefs and methodology.

so whether the Specific Authorial Intention is to depict a high-control group/cult, in the more general sense the inner circle is overtly meant to be Bad News. things like the sinister framing with pyrrha in v3, ozpin physically attacking ruby when she used the lamp, the throughline from things ozpin teaches ruby in v1 to her breakdown in v9, the whole Situation with summer and raven in the past, etc, all of this weaves together to paint a very fucked up picture of how the inner circle functions and the ripples of harm it causes.

[hwaflms]

round & round! ★ [ l.dh ]

{💭} hyuck : i suggested playing spin the bottle because i wanted to kiss you, but now everyone’s kissing you except me :/

[☆] pairing. haechan x reader, slight jaemin x reader ft. 00’ line, chaewon of lesserafim and sieun of stayc

[☆] genre. smut + fluff | stoner!nct, pwp bc it’s me

[☆] wc. 6.1k

[☆] warnings. explicit content (mdni), weed/marijuana use, lots of making out, slight choking, dirty talk, fingering, sexual stuff in a semi-public place, use of the word ‘slut’, very slight degradation, not very proofread, pretty tame tbh

[☆] notes. my first time writing again in like??? two years???? istg i didn’t mean to abandon this acc 😞 pls be nice i haven’t written in a while and this is not my most favourite work but i’m warming up for more stuff in da future i just wanted to post a lil self-indulgent smth abt hyuck bc bf☝️ idk how active i’ll be because of uni and other things but i missed u guys!!! any feedback is appreciated enjoy :p

even through the clouds of smoke engulfing the little living room of jeno and jaemin’s shared flat, your hooded eyes still met.

today was an important day amongst your friend group; it was chaewon’s first time smoking up with everyone. your friends weren’t really the type to pressure anyone into doing anything they weren’t sure about, but considering the astounding majority who enjoyed smoking some variation of weed, group sessions were a frequent occurrence. you either joined in or didn’t, chaewon being the latter until she decided of her own accord that she was going to try it with the people she trusted.

you sesh with jeno most often, seeing as he was the one who introduced you to weed and taught you everything you know about it. after weeks of listening to you complain about sleepless nights, jeno suggested you try smoking a joint before you go to bed, especially since it was starting to affect your attendance. (“i can’t keep attending these zoology classes without you, y/n. every time something stupid happens, i laugh and make a joke out loud because i forget you aren’t there, and now i’m pretty sure people think i’m either insane or just really fucking lonely”.)

now, smoking up has been a pretty regular occurrence, especially since jeno introduced you to a bunch of his friends and vice versa, all of you making up one big, happy group of stoners. chaewon and sieun were your friends who got along with everyone else just fine, and though they didn’t hang out with the others as much as you did, they were still welcome whenever.

presently, you are leaning back against the couch, all the way on the end, because jaemin is sprawled out alongside you, opting to rest his legs on your lap. haechan makes a joke that you don’t understand, but you laugh anyway along with everyone else, except renjun who covers up his laugh with cough.

“you can never let me have it, huh?”, hyuck scoffs, narrowing his eyes at renjun who’s mouth forms a thin line. “i know for a fact you find me funny.”

you hear that he makes a remark back at haechan but what he says doesn’t register in your head, everything sounding far away. remembering the special occasion, you turn to face chaewon and sieun, who are giggling away on the floor about something between the two of them. you don’t know what they said but you smile anyway. she clearly seemed like she was having a good trip, and so was everyone else.

swallowing nothing, you realise how dry your throat feels, and with that realisation came this undeniable desire for some form of liquid. “jen,”, you tilt your head back and call out to the boy who was already rolling another joint on the table behind you. “did you end up buying more coke?”

“check the fridge”, he mumbles without looking at you, tongue poking his cheek out of concentration as he focuses on what he was doing. with a groan, you heave jaemin’s legs off your lap, muttering a couple ‘sorry’s when he starts to complain about the change in position.

you all but float to the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge and spotting the fresh cans of coke placed neatly in the overcrowded appliance. the first gulp feels like heaven against your parched throat, taking a few more while standing there.

“you gonna share or no?”, a voice startles you, turning to find haechan’s figure looming right behind you with a dopey smile on his face.

“god, we need to get you a bell or something. i never hear you coming”, you roll your eyes before grabbing two glasses from the cabinet. you’re disappointed to see that there was no ice in their freezer, but you pour the drink into the glass anyway.

“why are you pouring it into a glass?”, haechan furrows his eyebrows, looking pointedly between the glass and the literal can in your hand. “now we have to wash two glasses when we could’ve just drank it from the can.”

he’s right, of course, but you’re not gonna tell him that. instead, you pretend that you were planning on adding some lemon juice to the drink because you saw it on instagram. while you figure he doesn’t believe you, he humours you anyway and tries your little concoction, which ends up being pretty damn good.

out of all of jeno’s friends, haechan definitely stood out to you. you didn’t really understand why, you were just drawn to him, even way back before you met him, when jeno used to tell you about his friends. “loud and annoying” were the words he used to describe him, but the smile that appeared on his face anyway let you know that he was someone special to jeno. this was not to say his other friends weren’t special, you got along incredibly well with all of them, meshing right in with their group.

as of right on cue, jaemin’s voice loudly sounds out from the living room, “are you guys fucking in there or what?”.

sighing, you pick up your glass and begin to walk out of the kitchen, but not before purposely knocking haechan’s shoulder when you walk past him, hearing him snort before following you out as you exit the room. perhaps if you had lingered in the kitchen for a couple seconds longer, you would’ve heard haechan muttering something along the lines of “i wish” under his breath.

“jeez, took you long enough, can i have some of that?”, renjun drawls, lifting himself off the armchair with a smile, to which you roll your eyes but pass him your glass anyway. you sit down on the floor opposite the couch and he looks as if he is about to compliment your drink-making skills before haechan cuts him off.

“dude, chaewon and sieun look like they’re about to fall asleep, let’s do something”, he half yawns out, opting to stroll over to your spot on the floor and sinking down next to you.

“not…sleepy…”, chaewon murmurs, but her voice is muffled because her cheek is pressed against sieun’s shoulder, both of them sprawled out on the floor like it was a comfortable bed.

“sure you aren’t…”, jeno chides with a smile, getting up from the table to walk over to where all of you were situated. he twirls his newly rolled joint between his fingers, finally holding it out in his palm as if it were some magical gadget, and if you were being fully honest, you were sold. “round 2? or 3, I can’t really remember…”

some words of agreement were muttered across the room, chaewon and sieun even groggily getting up from what looked like a very comfortable napping spot. another rotation began, and you made sure to blow out your smoke directly into an unsuspecting haechan’s face when it was your turn.

“let’s play a game or something”, jaemin suggests, taking a long puff and passing it to jeno who sat beside him, and soon the room was hazy once again, the smell of weed infiltrating your nostrils.

“like what?”, chaewon coughs weakly in between her hit and renjun pats her back before he hands her your coke that you hadn’t received back after you gave it to him. so long for that.

“monopoly?”, jeno offers with a shrug and haechan lets out an obnoxious snore as a reply, making you laugh but you cover it up with a cough when you meet jeno’s playfully narrowed eyes. “okay then, big guy, what’s your incredible idea?”

haechan appears to actually think about it for a moment, looking around the room for some sort of inspiration maybe, until his eyes land on you.

“okay jaemin, get that empty wine bottle from last week, we’re playing spin the bottle”, he is grinning from ear to ear, wiggling his eyebrows even though all his suggestion receives is a bunch of groans and sighs.

your eyebrows are raised however, and you try not to let your reaction show too much on your face. spin the bottle? you hadn’t played that since you were maybe fourteen, but that was the least of your concerns at the moment. haechan wanted to play spin the bottle? who was he hoping to kiss? or was it just a whimsical little suggestion that was more of a joke?

it didn’t fully seem like he meant it as a joke, judging by his expression as he awaited some actual responses from the group. “what are we, fourteen?”, renjun might as well have read your mind, but he soon joins you and haechan on the floor, the others following suit. jaemin presents the empty bottle and places it in the middle of the little circle you have formed, everyone seeming slightly more keen as the joint runs out.

maybe it was the thc talking, but it didn’t really seem like a bad idea to you anymore. you were all single, attractive and close enough that it wouldn’t make things weird, and most importantly, you wouldn’t mind getting more familiar with haechan’s lips.

you shocked your own self with the sudden lewd thoughts in your head about the male sitting next to you, squirming in your position slightly. he turns his head towards you like he could hear your thoughts (“shut up, y/n, he can’t hear your thoughts…right?”) and you swear his eyes soften a bit. “are you sure you wanna play?”, he asks softly, mistaking your tenseness for discomfort, but you shake your head a little too quickly for your liking.

“no, no, let’s play, it’s not like we have anything better to do, right?”, you feign indifference and after everyone else agrees, the bottle is spun for the first time by haechan.

much to renjun’s dismay, it lands on him, and it’s almost comical the way he looks at the bottle pointing at him before slowly looking up at haechan. “renjunnie, let me kiss you”, haechan whines in a high pitched tone while drawing out the “you”, puckering his lips expectantly. the next three minutes consist of renjun listing every single person he would rather kiss than haechan, and you’d have half the mind to volunteer yourself if you weren’t clutching at your sides laughing at the whole exchange, slapping at both jeno and sieun who tried and failed to dodge your waving hands.

renjun finally relents when chaewon suggests he lets him kiss his cheek instead, but haechan is no quitter so he makes sure that he plants the loudest, most wet kiss on his face before sighing in victory when he sits back down. renjun is not the most happy with this, and he tells jaemin to take his turn instead while he rushes off to the bathroom to wash his face. hyuck looks indignant, calling out behind renjun, asking if he wants another one.

taking the turn instead of renjun, jaemin spins the bottle harshly, and it spins and spins and spins for what seemed like an eternity. your eyes are so focused on the way the bottle looks as it spins that you don’t even notice that it has stopped, until jeno nudges you with his shoulder. it’s neck is pointed directly at you, and you finally look up from your trance at jaemin, who wears an undeniable smirk on his face.

while you didn’t exactly see him that way, there was absolutely no denying that jaemin was a very attractive man, and he was no different presently, the sleeves of his hoodie rolled up as he propped himself up with his arms, looking at you expectantly.

you don’t want to look at haechan right now, because you can see out of the corner of your eye that his face is looking straight forward, not at you or jaemin, just forward. you wonder what is going through his head, but your thoughts are cut short when jaemin scoots closer to you in the circle.

“are you okay with this?”

and when you think about, you are. “yeah, i mean it’s just a game”, you reply, not wanting to ruin the fun or raise any suspicions, to which jaemin agrees and inclines his head towards you.

he kisses you, more fully than you were expecting, but you had no complaints really as you kissed him back, titling your head in the opposite direction to slip your lips over his. you wonder if your lips were as dry as they felt, and in the back of your mind it registers that your friends are watching you kiss your other friend because they hoot and giggle, but you can’t really bring yourself to care.

jaemin’s lips taste sweet and he smells sweet, his touch soft as he brings a hand up to your cheek, gently holding it while he continues kissing you. it probably wasn’t as long as it felt, but jaemin finally pulls away, the remnants of his sweet chapstick lingering on your lips. you are aware of how hot your face feels when you pull away and return to your spot, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“dude, what chapstick do you use?”, you ask after clearing your throat, and jaemin rummages in his pant pocket for a moment before whipping out a cute pink tube, holding it out in front of him. “strawberry dream, baby”, he winks, reapplying it on his lips. “never go anywhere without it.”

renjun returns after god knows how long, stating that he had to re-do his skin care routine because haechan had completely thrown off his skin’s ph balance, and is saddened to hear that he missed witnessing you and jaemin.

the game continues in a steadfast manner for the next couple of rounds thanks to haechan insisting we play one more round, though it doesn’t exactly go in the manner you were hoping for. the group is practically in tears after watching jeno and jaemin share an awkward kiss, chaewon arguing that they can’t claim “no homo” because it was the most homo thing she’d seen in a while, and that was saying a lot because she was, in fact, gay.

you have now kissed sieun, jaemin once again and an especially endearing renjun, who’s cheeks and tips of his ears are painted a bright red after you plant a full peck on his waiting lips. haechan grumbles something about renjun not having kissed anyone besides his mom to explain his reaction, but jeno is quick to cut renjun off before another argument ensues.

“i don’t know about you guys, but i think that’s enough exchanging of saliva for one day”, he all but sighs, lying down on the floor dramatically. while you do agree, you’re disheartened, because not once has the bottle landed on you when spun by haechan, or the other way around. it feels like the universe is fucking with you, because really how many times can you spin a bottle between a group of seven people and not have it land on the one person you want to kiss even once.

haechan looks like he wants to say something, but appears to decide against it in the end, stretching and standing up. it is then mutually agreed by everyone that it was time to watch a movie.

“super bad?”, jaemin proposes, and even though most people had already watched the movie, no one argues against it and jeno starts setting up the movie on their big screen tv.

settling into the couch, you glance over at haechan and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling a tad bit disappointed. this whole spin the bottle thing makes you wonder about all the other times where you could have had an opportunity to make a move on the brown-haired boy.

you’d gone on long drives together, gone partying, even drank with just each other a couple of times. the closest the two of you had ever come to crossing that line was while you where dancing at a party and his arms were looped around your waist from behind, slowly swaying to the beat. you’d danced with him tons of times before that but you recall thinking the air was a little different than normal, more heated, but you also recall mistaking renjun for your professor, so you didn’t trust yourself. the moment came and went, and neither of you ever had the balls to address it, and now it had been way too long since to bring it up.

“this seat taken?”, haechan snaps you out of your bitter thoughts, jerking his head towards the spot on the couch next to you. you clear your throat and shake your head, scooting over slightly so he could sink down next to you. “what’s up, y/n, you look a little…not present. you still high?”

it’s funny because your mind certainly wasn’t present, it was in the gutter, but you choose to blame the weed. “yeah, i’m still high”, you answered truthfully, and so was he, his red, hooded eyes a dead giveaway.

“okay, perfect, i wanted to show you this stupid tiktok i saw”, he’s pulling his phone out of his pocket and leaning closer to you to show you some video of a cat, or maybe a dog, you weren’t paying attention. he laughs at whatever the animal did, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he does so, and you observe him instead of watching. when he doesn’t hear you laugh, he peeks over at you but you’re quick to turn your head back to his phone, letting out a very late giggle at the video.

if he did catch you, he doesn’t mention it, continuing to scroll and show you more videos. jeno finally gets the movie set up and turns off the lights, taking up the final seat left on the couch. the movie begins, and everyone falls into a comfortable silence bar hyuck, who makes the occasional comment that earns him a snort from you each time.

at some point during the movie, haechan stretches his arms out behind him, placing his arm on the head of the couch directly behind you. glancing at him quickly, you can’t tell whether the action was purposeful or not, because if it was, he was doing a very good job of looking nonchalant. you try your best to ignore it, but his hand is resting directly above your shoulder, inches away from touching you- but it never does.

you had never noticed what nice hands haechan had before. long and slender, nails clipped short and clean, his middle, ring and index finger adorned with various silver rings. you note that he wears three rings on his left hand, but none on his right. his right hand sits on top of one of his thighs, two of his fingers drumming against it following some rhythm going on in his head. his fingers are long, and the only thing you can think about is just how nice they would feel inside–

no, no, no, stop it, since when are you this horny?

you realise stressing out about how horny you are all of a sudden is just going to lead to a bad trip and you don’t want that, and you want to clear your head. even though you’re feeling a different kind of thirsty, you figure a distraction for a couple minutes would be helpful, so you excuse yourself to go get some water, jumping up from the couch and walking towards the kitchen. unbeknownst to you, haechan’s watchful eyes follow your figure as you exit the room.

finally away and in the kitchen, you fill up a glass and lean over the sink, closing your eyes to collect yourself. you can finish the movie without driving yourself crazy over haechan, right? tonight is no different than any other hangout and you don’t want to weird haechan out with your unnecessary staring and poorly concealed thirsting. you just need to stop thinking about his stupid hands, his stupid thighs, his stupid hair and his stupid kissable lips. “kissable? lock in, y/n, lock in…”

“who are you talking to?”

you wince but don’t turn around, eyes screwed shut tightly. you’ve been gone for a couple minutes and you don’t know when he left the room, but you put down the glass and turn to face him.

“what’s got you so jumpy?”, he questions, leaning against the counter. his arms are folded and his gaze is piercing, face tilted slightly to the left as he observes you. this is the second time he’s startled you in the kitchen today and also happens to be the very reason you’ve been so jumpy.

“nothing, i just…god, you need to starting announcing your entry into a room, dude…”

he furrows his eyebrows but lets out a chuckle anyway, slowly sauntering over to where you stood. eyes never leaving yours, he now stands directly in front of you, caging you in between the sink and his body. the closer proximity and dim lighting isn’t helping your case in the slightest, feeling all hot and bothered as if there was a sudden change in temperature. “what’s happening? you’re usually never like this, we’ve smoked up together so many times. are you having a bad trip?”

you understand why he might think that, what with your jerky movements, dazed staring and just overall disconnected demeanour. while you were wound up a little tighter than usual, you weren’t having a bad trip, your mind was just very slightly preoccupied. “no, hyuck, i’m fine, i just…needed some water”, it’s a half-lie you tell, choosing to not tell him the full truth for the sake of your own pride.

“you just seem…off”, he seems to pick his words carefully, eyes roaming over the expanse of your face. “no, i just…”, you trail off to try and find the words to explain this situation away, but he’s just looking at you so intensely. it’s so silent in the room and the air feels all too still, and you swear you’re trying to speak coherently but haechan switches his weight to his other leg, wetting his lips with his tongue while he awaits an answer and you just freeze. “i…”

“‘i’ what? see? you’re doing it again”, he starts, running a hand through his hair, and the muted light that leaks in through the window illuminates only one half of his face, but you can see him so clearly that even the way his pretty eyelashes brush against his cheek when he blinks doesn’t go unnoticed by you. you’re subconsciously chewing on your bottom lip, feeling a little like a deer caught in headlights. “you have this look in your eye. like you wanna…”

“…what?”

everything is still and unmoving, until your eyes zero in on haechan’s hand as he raises it, slowly bringing it to graze his fingers over your cheek. his touch leaves a burning hot trail on your skin and using his thumb, he releases your bottom lip from under your teeth, hand lingering cautiously for a fleeting moment before he drops it.

“like what, haechan?”, you repeat yourself, urging him to just say whatever it is he has to say, getting tired of this back and forth. you could sell a kidney just to see what was going on in his mind right now, because he looks torn between speaking his mind and just staying silent.

“like you want to kiss me.”

a few beats of complete and utter silence pass, not even hearing the dull sound of the television in the living room anymore over the thudding of your heart in your ears. haechan takes a small and tentative step towards your frozen figure, gripping the counter you’re using to lean against with his right hand, effectively trapping you in your place. now you really are a deer caught in headlights, because he’s spoken what you’ve been thinking about for the past couple hours into existence and he is absolutely correct.

“am i wrong, pretty?”

judging by your sharp intake of breath and open-mouthed expression, you’d have to be a fool to think otherwise. he looks as if he’s waiting for you to answer him regardless, giving you a chance to get out of this, but your voice is no longer functioning, and it takes all the strength in your body to shake your head ‘no’.

his eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips, tongue peeking out to lick his lips again. “i suggested playing spin the bottle because i wanted to kiss you”, his voice is strained as he admits this, quiet and careful like he’s holding back while his eyes are trained on yours like he’s daring you to break eye contact. you don’t. “but then everyone else was kissing you but me.”

normally you would giggle at his little frown, but all you can muster up is a whisper of his name, finally breaking his all-consuming eye contact in favour of looking at his lips again. you don’t know who moves first, but the next thing you know is your lips are pressed together in a fierce kiss, your hands tangled in his soft, brown locks while he grip your waist and pull you into him.

he kisses you like a man starved and you do the same with equal fervour, not even being able to process that your little daydream is coming true. his hand comes up to caress your cheek, soon moving down your neck after stroking your face softly, using it to tilt your head for you. the position of his hand is very purposeful because his thumb presses into your throat ever so slightly, but his grip is still tight enough that you couldn’t break the kiss (not that you wanted to, anyway). the other hand snakes around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, pressing his hips into yours.

you’re positively drunk off the feeling of haechan’s lips molding over yours and you think you might just ascend when he tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth, using the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. body on fire, you mewl against his lips, swirling your own tongue around his while he slowly but surely bucks his hips into yours.

no wards are spoken while your hands thread through his hair, pulling on it and letting out a sound of surprise into his mouth when his hand trails down to your ass and grips it harshly. he finally releases you from the searing kiss, but he doesn’t let you catch your breath, instead spinning you around in his hold so that his front presses tightly into your back, hands slipping around your waist from behind. this feels like a déjà vu kind of moment because you are reminded of the time when you both were dancing in this exact position, except this time you were getting exactly what you wanted.

“you know how bad i wanted this?”, his voice echoes your thoughts and breaks the silence, hands running up and down your front in a teasing manner. lifting your shirt up slightly, he trails his fingers over the exposed skin of your torso and the action makes you squirm in his hold a little, and much to your surprise, he groans lewdly against your ear. “fuck, i’ve been thinking of this for so long. kissing you, having my hands all over you…”

you get the sense he’s talking more to himself than you, but you revel in it nonetheless. his hand grips your jaw and squishes your cheeks together so your lips form a pout, forcing it to the side where he plants one, two, three kisses to your puckered mouth. his other hand slips further up your shirt where he brazenly cups your boob through your bra, fondling one of them while his tongue peeks out to flick at your bottom lip.

you’re putty in his arms, all gasps and squirms and whispered ‘haechan’s. “what, baby?”, he mumbles into your cheek, the hand gripping your jaw letting go in order to slink down to your hip where it lingers for a moment. “what do you want?”

your lack of answer doesn’t bode well with him, earning you a tight squeeze to your hip as a kind of warning. “need you to touch me”, you whisper out defeatedly, and you feel haechan laugh mockingly against your face.

“yeah? need me to touch you?”, he mimics your voice while tutting, letting his hand slip further down to where you needed him the most, but not letting you have it just yet. “think you can be a good girl and keep quiet for me? we don’t need everyone outside hearing what a little slut you’re being in here.”

everyone outside. the fact that you were just a room away from all your friends who were sat watching a fun little movie together had completely slipped your mind, but if you were being honest, you couldn’t find it in you to give a shit. everything about your current disposition was so dirty. one hand under your shirt, the other about two seconds away from fingering you right in the middle of your friends’ kitchen, while said friends were sat outside, unaware of the goings-on under their own roof.

though you didn’t think actually getting caught in this position would be the most pleasant experience, the idea of it dampened your panties and caused you to whine out loud, tilting your head back against haechan’s shoulder. you receive an immediate hand clamped over your mouth in return, haechan tutting in your ear condescendingly. “looks like the little slut can’t follow a simple request.”

even though he reprimands you, his hands begin fumbling with the button of your jeans anyway, undoing it and pulling the zipper down. one hand comes up to wrap around your front and rests on your shoulder, holding you in place, and the other he sticks down your pants and cups your heat but makes no effort to move, chuckling when you try to move yourself against it. his crotch ruts against the swell of your ass and for you, any friction is better than no friction at the moment. with one hand gipping the arm around your shoulder, you slip the other behind you to palm at his hard cock over his pants, making him let out a sound of approval.

“please, hyuck”, you shake your face free of his hand and turn to look him in the eye, and he grips your throat and presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

he seems to accept your plea, finally moving his hand against you and you breathe a sigh of relief, lost in the feeling of his fingers rubbing circles on your clit over your wet underwear. he’s quick to slip his hand inside your panties, cold fingers pressed directly on to your bare pussy, spreading your wetness all over you. when he ultimately slips a finger into your tight, waiting core, you moan but it’s cut short when he slaps his hand over your mouth again. “keep. quiet.”

if someone were to walk in, the two of you would be a sight to see. you writhing in his tight hold while his hand is stuffed in your pants, two fingers pistoning in and out of you at a fast pace as his forehead is pressed against the side of your face, releasing short breaths. you look positively fucked out, and you’re both in a state of complete bliss as you grind against each other in a timely rhythm.

“my pretty girl. if i had known you wanted this too, i would’ve just grabbed you and kissed you like i wanted, in front of everyone.”

his voice is honey-like and sultry, and his fingers are nothing short of heavenly. they pump in and out of you, and he still manages to use his thumb to toy with your clit in this position, leaving you breathless and on the edge. “can’t believe jaemin and renjun got to kiss you before me.”

you’re so wet that your cunt makes downright sinful noises as he fingers you and you’re hoping that it isn’t really as loud as it seems. “you’re so wet, angel. so this is what had you all jumpy today”, he laughs like he’s stating the obvious, and you’d have half the mind to feel shy if his ministrations didn’t feel so fucking good right now.

you’re aware that you’re close and so is he because you’re clenching around his fingers, so he quickens his pace both inside you and against your clit. “you gonna cum for me, baby? right here, in the middle of kitchen, while everyone’s outside?”, he purrs against your face and you grip the part of his arm that isn’t shoved in your pants, digging your nails into his skin in a way that’s sure to leave a mark. his words make you feel dirty in the best way, not even knowing you could feel this turned on.

he peppers kisses along your jaw and neck, sucking here and there, and through the pale moonlight bleeding into the room from the window, the red blemishes that begin to bloom on your skin are visible to hyuck, and he seems pleased with his artwork. “that’s it, sweetheart, let go for me.”

your moans are muffled against his palm when you finally come, the orgasm ripping through you so strongly that you go limp in his hands, legs almost buckling at the sensation. with the added boost of the weed you smoked earlier, your orgasm is immense, feeling it pulse through your body until it’s too much, whining and wriggling in haechan’s firm hold. he holds you still and helps you ride out your high, whispering utterances of “that’s right, baby” and “my good girl” into your ear while you throw your head back and try to regulate your breathing.

in a moment, his hand slips out of your pants, turning you back around so you’re now facing him, grinning down at you from ear to ear as if you both hadn’t just defiled jaemin and jeno’s kitchen. “you feeling okay?”, he mumbles, tucking your hair behind your ear with the hand that wasn’t soaked, pressing a number of kisses all over your face as you nod and giggled, trying to evade his attack. he lets you go just to wash his hands, and it’s when he dries his wet hands on the material of his pants that you notice his raging boner, immediately feeling bad.

“wait hyuck, let me–“

as if he’s reading your mind once again, he shakes his head and takes both of your hands into his, wrapping them around his own waist while pulling you into him. “we can save that for another time, pretty”, he insists, his expression turning shy when he realises the implications behind his words. “that is, i-if you want another time, of course–“

it’s your turn to cut him off this time, but you do so by leaning up and connecting your lips again, bring a hand up to stroke his cheek. “of course i want another time, hyuck. i want this. i want you.”

your assurances do good to bring a smile to his pretty face, taking ahold of the hand on his cheek and pressing his lips to your skin gently, lovingly. “so, so, perfect.”

taking note of the prolonged amount of time the two of you had been gone, you skulk back into the living, but this time, hand in hand.

the scene you’re greeted with is a surprising one, because you find every single one of your friends to be sound asleep, much to your amusement and hyuck’s dismay. “so you’re telling me i could’ve been hearing you moan the whole time and none of these idiots would have even known?”, he is appalled, a hand coming up to rub at his face out of frustration. “i did all that for nothing?”

“i wouldn’t say for nothing”, you reveal, biting your lip and smiling up at the boy shyly. “i might have woken them up.”

“oh yeah, well now you’re going to”, and with that, he’s dragging you back to the kitchen while you giggle, nearly tripping over your own feet before he all but scoops you up in his arms, muttering to himself about having left something in the kitchen that needed urgent fetching.

[adelheidvonschicksal]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ It's Like That *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

You decide to accept Itadori's invitation to the movies. It turns out better than expected.

Pairing: Itadori x GN!Reader

CW: Fluff, SFW, hand holding, potential friends to lovers, it's technically a date 💕

“Do you guys want to see Human Earthworm 4 with me?”

The three of you minus Itadori, who posed the question, share a lukewarm look. You’re on the edge of the shopping district, trying to decide what to do after your mission, if anything, and that’s the first idea that floats out amongst the group. 

“What’s it about?” Nobara asks.

After Itadori explains the horror romance, there’s even less enthusiasm amongst the group to watch the movie with him. Sensing this, he ups the bargain.

“I’ll pay.”

You wince when you see Fushiguro pull out his phone. “I don’t really have the energy to sit through a movie,” he excuses himself, fingers going a mile a minute to escape the situation of friendship for today. “I’m going home.”

Your broody classmate holds his ringing phone to his ear and briefly glances at Nobara.

“I’m going to hit up the shops," she responds to his silent question.

Megumi leaves the three of you behind in no time flat. Nobara only stays behind long enough to ask if you want to go shopping with her. While you normally love to go with her and are in dire need of new shoes, you notice a lonely sullen shadow building over your slit-cheeked classmate and throw up an apologetic smile to her. 

“I think I’ll go with Itadori-kun today.”

You miss the way his head perks up as you wave her off. Before you have a chance to collect your thoughts, Itadori is already on top of you, his fists drawn in front of him excitedly and chestnut irises filled with happy stars.

“You’re going to love it,” he tells you. It’s cute how he nearly shakes with excitement, you can even hear it growing in his voice and shining in his eyes. “It’s such a good series! I mean, I know it sounded weird, but it’s so much better on screen that— forget any of what I said, you gotta see for yourself!”

He wastes no time taking off in the direction of the theatre, and you jog to keep up with the speed of the Tiger of the West. It isn’t until he notices you lagging behind that he slows up to grab your hand and pull you with him.

“Come on, come on, we don’t want to miss the opening.”

“Is this one of those movies where I need to see the first three to know what’s going on?”

“Well, there’s a few returning characters, like Dr. Richter, but I can fill you in on the important stuff so don’t worry.”

When you get to the theatre, Itadori immediately jumps in the ticket line, huffing in relief when there are still seats available. You begin to pull out your wallet but pause when he hands you a pink paper ticket.

“I told you it’s on me,” he reminds you before going down the line and ordering a large popcorn, two drinks, and beating you to grab a packet of candy that you were staring at for two seconds too long. 

He hands the bag of sweets to the cashier to scan. “And this please,” he asks before handing the candy to you. 

“That’s okay,” you tell him, but he laughs it off.

“It’s fine. That’s your favorite, right?”

You shyly nod and hold onto the envelope of overpriced candy like it’s the most precious thing in the world causing the cashier to smile at you as she finishes preparing your items.

“Aren’t you two the cutest,” she comments. 

You squeak quietly at her comment, crumpling your candy in surprise. It’s not a big deal she mistook you as a couple, it’s not like Itadori was someone you didn’t like after all, and it’s not like there was any need to correct her but you didn’t know if he felt the same way about the situation. 

Curiously, you look at him, waiting for him to make the decision on the matter. Surprisingly, he blurts out a quick and happy, “Thanks!” before moving on to fill his drink.

As you watch him, you fight the urge to ask why he didn’t correct her; and when you notice that he’s way more interested in finding the right theater, you decide he must have said it because it wasn't worth a fuss.

The two of you get seats at the back of the theater, and you shift over people carefully to avoid falling into Itadori’s back as you find your seats. You can finally relax as he sets the bucket of popcorn on the armrest between you.

Soon enough, the movie begins to play.

It starts off like every normal horror movie. A mad scientist, a hapless victim, and an escape followed by a romantic subplot of the human earthworm discovering that the woman he met indeed loves him even if he is a worm. 

That’s about as much as you can keep up with. There are too many easter eggs that keep flying over your head and too many callbacks to the previous movies in the series. Itadori does his best to try to help you whenever you whisper questions at him; but eventually, you’re too distracted by the couple in front of you making out to pay attention to the movie.

It’s so obnoxiously grotesque, their arms wrapping around each other and a soft moan every so often that’s drowned out by the guttural sounds of the earthworm children. You can’t really believe they’d do that in public, and why did they have to be so close to you out of all people?

Itadori looks at you and then finally catches on to what’s making you squirm. When he does, a faint hint of red starts to coat across his nose, and he becomes equally uncomfortable. 

Deciding to make it a little better for the both of you, you nudge him then make a silly disgusted face with your tongue stuck out to mimic a gag. You’re rewarded with a snicker from him and his own silly face in turn, and it makes the awkwardness of it a little easier to take as you try to focus back on the movie.

It’s another half hour in before you wonder exactly how the hell are they still going at it. 

“Society really needs to bring shame back,” you think before a warm breath hits your ear and fans down your jaw. 

You nearly jump before the smooth sounds of Itadori’s voice greet you. 

“So, that guy—” he begins but you’re way too focused on how close he leaned into you this time, how low the timbre of his voice goes to keep from disturbing those around you. It makes your feet curl in your shoes and your breath catch in your chest when his shoulder connects with your arm.

You feel heightened to his presence and the heat of him so close. It wasn’t like this earlier, but your heart is racing and your skin tickles the more he whispers. You think he’s so close that he could almost kiss your earlobe. 

It’s a path that you didn’t know you had in your mind, and it leaves you rattled as the smallest brush of pink hair hits your skin as he straightens back up and reaches for another handful of popcorn. 

Every time he touches your arm after to get your attention or your hand scoops by his in the popcorn bucket, you start to become flustered and jittery like a child after too much sugar. 

It lasts until the movie reaches its apex.

There’s a combined scream that fills the theatre, and you tense at the splatter of blood hitting the camera, leaving the few remains of your popcorn scattered across the floor as you unwittingly knock it over and squeeze Itadori’s hand tight. 

Your fingers slot with his and your fingertips bury against his palm, and it’s the only thing keeping you from bursting into a scream. 

When the lights flash back on, you notice how pink his hand looks under your tense hold and mumble out an apology. 

“Oh, that?” he asks followed by the same charming laugh as always. “It was pretty funny. You should’ve seen your face, like a blowfish,” he comments, teasingly mocking your blow-eyed expression as everyone around you begins to exit. “I never took you for a scaredy-cat.”

“You’re one to talk. You screamed in my ear at least a dozen times,” you remind him as the two of you also make your way towards the exit doors. “Sounded like you were on fire.”

“Don’t say fire in a theatre!” he scolds with a hiss.

“You said it louder.”

“To remind you not to say it!” 

You giggle at how offended he sounds as you break out into the light of the late afternoon. You walk with Itadori back to your pickup spot on the edge of the shopping district. It’s surprisingly quiet especially considering who you’re with, and it makes you worry a bit. 

You thought Itadori would be more excited after watching the film and practically forcing you to run 500m dash to get there, but he’s barely said two words about it since leaving the theatre, briefly mentioning how he’s still glad they used a real costume for the main earthworm instead of CGI.

But since leaving, his mood seems to have dampened. You thought about bringing something up from the movie, but you couldn’t really catch more than a few bloody scenes and a little evil monologuing from Dr. Richter outside the moments when Itadori would have your attention, with his voice in your ear or his hand excitedly clasping around your wrist each time he enthusiastically info-dumped a scene to you.

“Hey, um,” he begins piquing your interest. He seems to lose his nerve when you catch his eye; his gaze flutters to his feet before nervously picking back up to glimpse at your face but only for a few seconds. “Thanks for coming with me.”

You smile. “Don’t mention it. It was…different.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees but he still seems down. 

“Itadori-kun? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah…It’s just…I could tell you didn’t really like the movie. I mean I knew from the start it wasn’t really your thing. You and Nobara usually like to shop together more than watch horror movies. But still—” he breathes in deep, a shy color blossoming across his face. “It’s been a while since it felt like I did something normal, so it was really nice having someone to come with me. I appreciate it.”

There's something about his explanation that makes your heart hurt. He hasn’t been a sorcerer that long yet; and coming from being a normal kid to the world you were born into was probably scarier than you all could understand. 

“It’s not that I didn’t enjoy it! I just couldn’t really follow the story between that annoying couple smacking the whole time, and I felt like I barely follow anything at all!” you reason with him, but he still has that kicked puppy look on his face. 

You sigh with soft empathy before offering him a reassuring smile.

“Hey, Itadori-kun, you know I think I’d like to come back and see it again with you. After we watch the first three movies of course."

He gives you a curious look, his eyebrows raised with disbelief. 

“Really?”

You give a cute and short nod. “Mhm! I can’t really give it a fair chance if I haven’t seen the ones leading up to it. Besides, I want to know why Dr. Richter was trying to kidnap the baby H.E.s in the first place? Couldn’t he make more Enhanced H.E.s from the DNA left from the original experiment victim like he did at the beginning of the movie?” 

It’s like you open the skies back over him when your words sink in, and he moves so happily, speaks so fully, and it makes you happy to see him simply be happy. 

“They explain it so good in the third movie,” he says, unable to hold in his excitement. “I know a great site, it has subtitles and everything, and a special director’s cut at the end of the second movie.”

You laugh. “Sounds good!”

“We should pick up some more snacks; the original is actually pretty long,” he warns and starts to lead you towards the convenience store. Your smile only breaks when you feel the tug on your arm and look down to notice his hand still fastened around yours. 

You freeze, feeling your face warm a bit when you realize he’s probably been holding it since before you left the theater. This makes him pause and turn towards you.

Softly, he calls your name and asks if you’re okay, making you drop your head bashfully.

“Oh, it’s nothing really but you’re still holding my hand,” you point out.

Itadori looks down between the two of you and confirms that his fingers are still locked with yours, a comfortable fit.  

“Huh, oh, I guess I am,” he states matter-of-factly before he blushes. “Oh, it’s probably all gross and oily right? Yuck.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s not actually,” you correct, making no move to force him to let go because you honestly don’t want him to stop this good feeling pouring from him into you through the simple act. 

Your soft expression makes his cheeks warm for a different reason this time. 

“Oh, well, w-we should probably hurry,” he stammers out, and your hand tightens around his hand just a little bit more as you agree and find the closest convenience store to prepare for your first movie night. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Nobara stops outside the convenience store, hand to the glass as she stalks back and forth, trying to catch glimpses down the aisle. 

She could have sworn she just saw the two of you walk in from the other side of the street, and she was going to come to say hi – partially to ask how the movie went and partially to make Itadori carry her shopping bags if the two of you were done – that was before she noticed how close the two of you looked.

Weirdly close. 

When she finally catches you in the foggy glass, hand in hand, looking at the mini gacha inside the store, she gasps and quickly shuffles her bags around in search of her phone. 

Kugisaki quickly scrolls through her contacts, impatiently tapping her foot as she waited for the line to pick up.

“Fushiguro get here quick,” she harshly whispers into the device.

There’s a lazy voice on the other end asking what she wants, and she vaguely explains the situation to be met with resistance.

“Well then have Ijichi drop you off again! What do you mean ‘No’?" she growls. "Shut up and listen to me. They just went into 7/11. Ugh. Fine, fine, I’m sending you some pictures,” she argues. 

Kugisaki quickly starts to snap some pictures through the glass and frantically sends them off before bringing the phone back to her ear.

“That’s what I’m saying so hurry up and get here! Yes, it’s like that!” 

[parkerslatte]

One Year

Thanos/Choi Su-bong x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: usual squid game stuff. blood and gore. injury. mentions of suicide. mentions of addiction. drugs. soft thanos. slight canon divergence.

Summary: After an argument about money and debts, Y/N left Thanos. A year later she meets him again in the games yet he does his best to ignore her. During the game of Mingle, Y/N gets thrown out of her room and Thanos comes to her rescue.

Squid Game Masterlist

“Are you being serious?” Y/N asked, sitting down on the chair in disbelief. 

Su-bong paced in front of her exasperated. “It was meant to make us more money! You can’t blame me for trying.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I told you when you first told me about it that it was a stupid idea. Not only did you ignore me, but you invested more than you said you were going to. And not just your own money, you took some of mine too!”

Su-bong rolled his eyes and Y/N chuckled. How he could be annoyed with her was beyond her. “I can’t believe this. I really can’t.”

“I can do something,” Su-bong said, a hint of desperation in his tone that he was clearly trying to hide. “I can start writing songs again. I can–”

“Don’t lie to me or yourself,” Y/N snapped. “You have been saying that for the past year.”

Su-bong scoffed. “You try to do something like that again when you are turned into a laughing stock!”

“And who’s fault was that?” Y/N said. “I was the one who advised you to not take those pills before the performance and you did it anyway. You have no one to blame but yourself.”

“Aren’t you meant to be my girlfriend? Isn’t it your job to support me?” Su-bong questioned. 

“I do support you, but I know when to draw the line,” Y/N replied. “I don’t support you basically gambling your entire life savings and mine all on what was clearly a scam from the start. I don’t support you going out every night getting high using pills you bought with my money. And as far as I know, you are supposed to support me too.”

“I do support you,” Su-bong defended, clearly offended. 

“Give me one example where you supported me over the past year,” Y/N said. Su-bong remained silent, giving Y/N the answer she needed. “The fact that you can’t even name one explains it all,” Y/N said. “You weren’t there for me when I was fired from my job. When my father was sick. When I broke my leg and could barely get around.”

“I can support you,” Su-bong said, grasping Y/N’s hands. “I can get us money. I can get it back–”

“No,” Y/N said and pulled her hands from his. Despite how she felt in the situation, she couldn’t help but miss the warmth of them. But she knew that what she was about to do was the right decision for her. “I can’t do this anymore. Not only did you continuously lie to me, but you stole money from me dragging me down with you.”

“Y/N, please,” Su-bong begged. “Don’t do this.”

Y/N pressed her lips into a thin line. There was a time when they had had this conversation before. Then she had stayed and Y/N was coming to realise that it was a stupid decision. Despite it all, she did still love him. But she couldn’t forgive him–not this time. “Are you begging me only because you have nowhere else to go or because you still love me?”

There was a brief moment of hesitation. It was at most a few seconds but those few seconds were arguably the most important. “Of course I love you!”

Slowly, Y/N nodded. “I see.”

“Y/N, please,” Su-bong begged. “I’ll get a job. Fuck, I’ll get two jobs. I can fix this.”

“You are over one billion won in debt!” Y/N exclaimed. “Do you really think a few shitty jobs are going to fix that anytime soon? At least my job pays a decent wage but it is still nowhere near to pay off my own debts which you forced me into. No, I’m done this time,” Y/N said, keeping a steady tone despite the way she wanted to cry out and forgive him instantly. “Please leave. I’ll have your things sent to you.”

“You can’t kick me out!” Su-bong exclaimed. 

“You don’t rent this apartment, I do,” Y/N said, avoiding his gaze. “Please leave Su-bong. You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

He scoffed. “I can’t believe I ever loved you.”

Y/N’s gaze remained fixated on the table before her until his footsteps grew distant and the front door was opened and slammed shut, plummeting the apartment into silence. The moment she knew she was actually alone, Y/N allowed the tears to flow. She knew that this decision was for the best, after all their relationship over the past year had been far from a whirlwind romance. Y/N couldn’t remember the last time they had even slept in the same bed. 

But somehow she already had the urge to run out and tell him to come back and that they could work everything out together. Y/N’s hands gripped the arms of the chair, grounding herself. She couldn’t do that. Leaving him was for the best– even if she didn’t believe it just yet. 

***

The platform began to move, the number of players in the room was considerably less compared to the first round. She was standing on her own as she looked at the puddles of blood on the floor. There had yet to be someone Y/N had become allies with, the group she was with for the pentathlon were already a small alliance of four and she only joined them because they needed a fifth person. Everyone else already seemed to have their own group apart from her. 

It wasn’t that Y/N hadn’t tried. The moment she had seen her ex-boyfriend run up to that voting button and confidently chose to continue the game, she had tried her best to speak with him. Despite the fact that she was the one who broke up with him, it was nice and comforting to see a familiar face, even if that familiar face was high out of his mind every single time she tried to speak with him. 

Four different times Y/N had tried to speak to Su-bong and each time he wouldn’t give her the time of day. It irritated her more than she cared to admit though deep down she couldn’t blame him. After all she was the one who had kicked him out. 

She glanced at him from across the platform and noticed him already staring at her. Upon noticing this, he quickly looked away from her. If she made it through this round, she would make him speak to her whether he wanted to or not. 

“Two players,” the voice called out. 

There was no hesitation as Y/N grabbed the person closest to her and began to drag them to the yellow room right before her eyes. The round was carnage as people pushed and shoved and fought each other to get to a room in time. There were 126 players left, only 100 would be able to make it through the round. 

Just as the person she dragged opened the door, Y/N spared a glace in the direction Su-bong ran and found him and Player 124 dragging people out of the way of the door before running into it themselves. Y/N turned back to her room and slammed the door behind her just as Su-bong looked in her direction before he slammed his door closed. 

Once the door was closed, Y/N allowed herself to breathe and finally relax for a moment. She looked at the person she had dragged. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you when I dragged you, did I?”

Before the woman could even muster a response, the door was forcibly pushed open and a firm grip squeezed Y/N’s arm, pulling her out of the room as an older man forced his way inside. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Y/N yelled, kicking and hitting the man as he tried to push her out of the room. 

“I’m not dying today!” the man hissed. 

Y/N pulled her arm from the man’s grasp and before he knew it, a fist was flying at her face, her vision blurring immediately. A force pushed Y/N outside of the room and she fell to the floor. 

“Fuck you!” Y/N yelled at the man inside. 

Y/N glanced around at the clock and panic instantly rose within her. There were ten seconds left on the countdown and all hope left her body. There was no possible way she was going to find a partner and a room in time. Y/N slowly stood to her feet, already accepting her fate.

There were a few people still on the platform either hurt from someone or accepting their fate. Others were still trying to force their way inside rooms and fight for them. Slowly, Y/N closed her eyes. At least in her final moments she wouldn’t have to see the carnage surrounding her. 

Before Y/N knew it, she was quite literally swept off her feet. Her eyes opened and immediately recognised the mop of purple hair and she let out a small noise of surprise. Without a moment of hesitation, Su-bong ran into a blue room and slammed the door behind him just as the door locked, breathing heavily. 

As the gunshots sounded out, his grip tightened on her as he slumped down to the floor, Y/N still in his arms. 

“Su-bong?” Y/N muttered, still in disbelief that he had saved her. She stood from his hold and shakily got to her feet. 

“Why were you just standing there?” Su-bong asked, raising his voice. “Do you want to die?”

“I was thrown out of the room,” Y/N said. “There wasn’t enough time to find someone else and find a room.”

Su-bong stood to his feet, his eyes wide. “Why wouldn’t you at least try?”

“Why would you care?” Y/N said. “Evidently from the way you have refused to even speak to me here, you wouldn’t care whether I lived or died.”

“Of course I care!” he exclaimed.

“Then why haven’t you spoken to me since we’ve been here?” Y/N questioned. “I have tried so many times to speak with you, thankful to see a familiar face, and you have shut me down every single time! Is it about the drugs you’ve been taking? I know that I don’t like it when you take them but honestly right now I don’t care. All I have wanted to do is speak with you.”

Su-bong scoffed. “Now you want to speak to me? What about the past year? You never wanted to speak to me when I reached out.”

“The circumstances were different and you know it,” Y/N snapped. 

“How?” He asked. “I’m just doing exactly what you’ve been doing to me.”

Y/N sighed, forcing herself not to roll her eyes. “For once, imagine being in my place. Imagine supporting your partner for a year after their career took a plummet, you start paying for everything. Food, clothes, sometimes even their drugs when they begged you.”

At that statement, Su-bong glanced down at the necklace hanging from his neck. 

“Then you find out that they had an amazing idea to invest in crypto that turned out to be a scam,” Y/N continued. “Not only did they stupidly invest their entire life savings, but then you find out that they have been taking small amounts of money from your account too. Now leaving themselves in debt as well as you. In between all of this, imagine them going out early in the morning and either returning high out of their mind where you need to stay up and take care of them all night or they don’t return at all and you spend the whole night worried about where they are and if they are even alive.”

Y/N took a step closer to Su-bong. “Imagine if our positions were switched. You wouldn’t want to speak to me again either. But you have no idea how hard it was for me, because despite it all– somehow I still loved you. You fucked me over and I still loved you.” A shaky breath left Y/N. “So, I’m sorry if I didn’t want to talk to you. I’m sorry if I ignored you for a year. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more to help you, but I needed to put myself first for once.”

The silence in the room was deafening. The gunshots had ceased and the guards were clearing up the bodies. The numbers who hadn’t made it sounded through the speaker but Y/N didn’t listen as she only stared at Su-bong who hadn’t met her eyes the whole time she spoke. 

Slowly she took another step towards him and brought her hand up and placed it under his chin and forced him to meet her eyes. “You always did have trouble making eye contact when we were having a serious conversation.” His pupils were blown wide from the pill Y/N had watched him take before the game. “Why did you save me?”

Su-bond blinked once, then twice as if he was confused by the question. “What?”

“I watched you run into a room with your friend, pulling people out of the way for it. You were safe. Why did you risk your life to save me?” Y/N asked. 

“You were watching me? Señorita, I’m touched,” Su-bong said, his tone flirtatious. Y/N knew this behaviour all too well, sometimes she used to fall for it. 

Y/N frowned. “Be serious for a minute. I don’t want you to be ‘Thanos’. I want you to be Su-bong. My Su-bong.”

Surprise seemed to fill his eyes and he seemed to unconsciously lean into her touch as his eyes flicked to the side. “I watched you run into a room, I thought you were safe so I entered a room. When I looked out and saw you were standing outside, I ran out without thinking.”

“Did you know that there was a room available?” Y/N questioned. 

If possible, the room became quieter. “Why did you do it?”

“I couldn’t leave you out there,” he admitted. “I couldn’t leave you to die.”

“But you could have died in the process?” Y/N questioned. “How stupid could you be?”

Su-bong’s eyes met Y/N’s once more. His pupils were still dilated but Y/N could see his true emotions shining through clear as day. Vulnerability. 

“Do you know where I was when that man in a suit offered me that card?” Su-bong said, his voice strangely quiet. “I was on a bridge ready to jump and take my life. So I don’t care if I die in these games. But if you died, I couldn’t handle that. When I ran out, I thought that we would either both live or we would both die.”

Su-bong’s hands slowly moved until they held onto Y/N’s waist. The feeling of it so familiar but so foreign. “I tried to convince myself that I didn’t care about you, that if you died, I wouldn’t feel anything. I tried to convince myself that I was angry at you for turning your back on me. But when I saw you standing outside that room prepared to die, I realised that none of that was true. I still love you, baby. Even though I’m pissed that you joined these games.”

“It’s not like I had any choice,” Y/N shrugged as she cupped his face gently, her eyes stinging. 

Su-bong glanced down guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Y/N said, her thumb brushing along his cheekbone. “Someone who wasn’t sorry wouldn’t risk their life to save their ex-girlfriend who kicked them out with nowhere to go”

A huff of a laugh left Su-bong as he dipped his head down resting his forehead against Y/N’s. “Looking back, I can’t blame you.”

Y/N’s eyes closed as she savoured the feeling of his closeness. If she imagined hard enough, she could pretend that they weren’t trapped in a series of deathly games. They would be in her apartment, her doing her own work while Su-bong worked on a new song, happily sitting side by side. Just how it was for four years before his career blew up and things spiralled from there. 

“Vote to leave,” Y/N whispered. “We can get out of here and we can work things out. I know that you said that you…don’t care if you die in these games, but I don’t want to watch that. If we vote to leave, we can pay off our debts together and work things out between us– properly this time.”

Suddenly a warm pressure captured Y/N’s lips. The feeling was one she had missed. Her body fell into his as she wrapped her arms around Su-bong’s neck as she deepened the kiss. His arms wrapped around her waist before he turned their bodies until her back was pressed against the wall. 

Y/N pulled away and allowed herself to look into Su-bong’s eyes for a brief moment before she leaned in once more. The kiss held a hint of desperation behind it, as if one of the guards would enter the room and gun them down that very second. Su-bong’s hands slid from her waist to her hips, giving them an experimental squeeze. 

A content sigh left Y/N as she threaded her fingers in his hair and Su-bong smiled into the kiss. He pulled away, breath mixing with hers. “Jump, señorita,” he muttered.

“I always hated you calling me that,” Y/N mumbled against his lips.

“You loved it,” Su-bong replied as he picked her up and her legs immediately wrapped around him as he deepened the kiss. 

It wasn’t until now when Y/N realised how much she had missed him and how perfectly they fit together. It had been a year since he had last touched her this way and it was as if no time had passed. 

“I missed this,” he muttered, lips attaching to her jaw before peppering soft kisses down the side of her neck. 

“Me too,” Y/N sighed, tilting her head back as she savoured the feeling of his lips on her skin. She could only wish that they were in her apartment, gradually making their way towards the bed. 

Instead Y/N was brought back to her harsh reality. 

“Attention players, the game is now over.”

The door clicked and unlocked and Su-bong reluctantly detached his lips from Y/N’s neck.  They stared at one another breathlessly. Y/N’s legs were still wrapped around his hips and her fingers were tangled in his hair– only messing the strands up even more. 

Slowly, Su-bong set her back on her feet, hands slipping up her body to her waist. The footsteps of the other players broke the two from the daze they were in as Su-bong slowly stepped back, allowing Y/N space to step away from the wall. 

“We can get out of here together,” Y/N whispered as she slipped her hand in Su-bong’s. “Please vote to leave.”

The door was opened and a guard stood in the threshold, gun clutched in their hands unafraid to use it. Y/N and Su-bong slowly stepped out of the room and joined all of the other players as they exited the game. Neither of them spoke though their hands remained clutching one another tightly. 

“Thanos!” Player 124 said as he nudged Su-bong’s shoulder. “What was that for? If it weren’t for those pricks outside the room, I’d be dead.”

“You’re alive aren’t you?” Su-bong said the tone of his voice shifting to something more distant. A tone he never spoke to Y/N in. A tone that she knew was purely for other people.

Player 124 glanced at Y/N and his eyes trailed down to where her hand was linked with Su-bong’s before his eyes fixated on the red patch stuck to her jacket. A quiet huff of acknowledgement slipped past his lips. “I hope this bitch won’t make you change your mind about playing one more game.”

Su-bong’s head whipped around fast to face Player 124. “Don’t fucking call her that, man.”

Player 124 laughed. “Whatever you say. But remember. One more game.” He slipped back into the crowd of people– significantly smaller than when they had first entered. 

“You need to make better friends,” Y/N commented watching Player 124 leave with distaste. 

“And you need to make friends,” Su-bong defended as he pulled Y/N along with the rest of the crowd. “I’ve seen you sadly standing around on your own since we’ve been here.”

“Sorry for not wanting to get attached to anyone in a place where I could die,” Y/N replied. 

Su-bong huffed a laugh and squeezed her hand. “You have me now.”

“Only until the vote?” Y/N asked, her heart dropping slightly.

There was a brief moment of hesitation as he glanced down at the blue patch on his jacket. After a while he slowly nodded and Y/N let out a soft sigh of relief. 

“Only if you promise to not kick me out again,” Su-bong muttered as he threw his arm around Y/N’s shoulders, keeping her pressed to his side. 

“I promise,” Y/N replied as he pressed a kiss against the top of her head. “Only if you promise to work things out between us.” Y/N glanced at his necklace. “That includes your addiction. I know it will be hard, but I will be with you every step of the way.”

Su-bong looked at the cross necklace hanging from his neck and let out a long sigh. “Okay, señorita. You have a deal.”

“I told you not to call me that,” Y/N muttered.

“I know that you love it,” Su-bong said. “You always did. Especially when I–”

“Let’s leave that talk for when we are out of this hellhole,” Y/N said, lightly shoving him away from her. 

A quiet laugh left Su-bong as Y/N looked up at him, a small spark in his eye shone brightly. It was the first time she had seen it in years. Y/N’s lips twitched up as she savoured his touch, hope filling her heart for the first time she had woken up in this god-forsaken place. Y/N linked their fingers together once more as they walked through the colourful staircase for what would hopefully be the final time. 

[eunnieboo]

IYHM ask replies! (2/3)

🌸 @csevet asked:

hi my copy of iyhm just came in and my fiancee and i snuggled up and read the whole thing cover to cover and CRIED!!! i love when lesbians 💕💞����💗💝💗💘💞💖💗💝

AHHHHH thank you SO much!!! OMGGGGG 🥺 live laugh lesbian..... 💞💗💖💕💖💞💕💖💗

🌸 @chrysalis-the-butterfly asked:

I read If You'll Have Me a few months ago and I loved it! Your art is so pretty and Momo and PG are such cool characters! 🥰 If you're okay with sharing, I'd be interested to hear what inspired you during the creative process? Were there any pieces of media or any other characters which influenced the formation of Momo and PG? Or did you do your own thing?

oh my gosh! thank you!! i really love character interactions and relationship dynamics, so i wanted to depict two girls who seemed like opposites - one cool and laid-back, the other soft and sweet. after a while they started to take on a life of their own, and i thought it'd be wonderful if their story could evoke the feeling of a shoujo romance!

i had a lot of things on my mind when i wrote the script... friendship, intimacy, communication... communication can be so hard! sometimes it's harder with someone you're close to because their opinion is so important to you. and what happens when you've got a character who's non-confrontational and has low self-esteem + someone who prefers actions over words, and would rather burn bridges than admit to feeling vulnerable? how would they get past that? i wanted to write their flaws as believable, and how their life experiences have shaped the way they think about themselves / the way they respond to personal conflict... but also how they learn from each other and grow ❤️ tysm for the question!!

@bisexualgoof asked:

Hi Eunnie! I just finished reading “If You’ll Have Me” and let me tell you, it was spectacular! I saw it in a local bookstore the other day and it was a no brainer to grab. The characters are so fun, the story is beautiful and heartfelt, and honestly every character is attractive… I especially fell in love with the pages of the books without words, especially 312-313, it made me cry. Such beautiful art! I related to PG’s annoyance with her long hair, I felt very seen with her comments. I’ve definitely said “I’d like to forget” so many times myself, right to my butch heart haha. Thank you for sharing this story with the world, and thank you in particularly for your acknowledgment at the end of the book, it made me feel seen. What an amazing love story, hope to see more of this adorable couple in the future!

oh my goodness!! this is so lovely and wonderful and ahhh T_T thank you so very much. it's such a dream, having these girls be out in the world with their personalities and backstories revealed at last! and i'm so happy to hear about the cast and side characters, i love designing people hehe ♥ i'll definitely keep drawing this couple, alongside more sapphic couples that are to come 😍 thank you!!

🌸 @skittles-rainbow-cat asked:

HI HI HI!!! you’ve been one of my fave artists forever and i just got done with iyhm and it’s sooooo amazing im in love with it. also i think strawberry blonde by chloe moriondo fits mono and pg very well :] i hope you’re having a good day and thank you for all your art it heals me in many ways <3333

HIIII omg!!! thank you so much! this song is so cuteeee oh my gosh this line:

Takes my hand in hers when the lights aren’t on Smaller than mine and oh god I am gone

it's so sweet ;_; thank you forever, i hope you're having a wonderful day!! <3 <3 <3

🌸 @lord-of-the-froggies asked:

Howdy Eunnie! I know you're probably swamped with work right now, but I just wanna let you know that I got my copy of your book today!! I'm gonna start reading it right away, it looks and feels amazing. From a fellow Washington artist to another--congratulations on such a huge achievement!

yay hello fellow washingtonian! and fellow artist!! thank you so much for your kind words 🥺 and i'm so glad the book got to you safely! wishing you a happy read~

🌸 Anonymous asked:

I just found your art today and after scrolling through your stuff I went and pre-ordered your book. I'm so excited!!

omggg thank you that means so much!!! ;_; <3

🌸 @ddooyoung asked:

I got my (signed!) copy of the book, and I love it SO MUCH. It's everything I was hoping and more. I love finally getting to know them, especially Momo. Since the first time I saw them, I thought Momo was a lot like me and now I have confirmation 😆 Thank you so much for writing such a wonderful story!!! I'm excited for everything you do 💗

WAHH thank you so much!! yesss i'm so overjoyed to finally share their story after so long! i hope the signature turned out okay, i was very nervous signing books for the first time (shaky hand and everything) 😱 i think next time it would be fun to make a custom stamp and stamp a doodle next to my signature hehe. thank you again!!! 💕

🌸 Anonymous asked:

I somehow missed the news about your having created a whole damn book?? was just flipping through yu & me books's holiday gift guide and did a double take when I saw priscilla and momo!! zoomed in and sure enough, there was your name at the bottom! congrats on ihym and congrats on being featured on rec lists from shops as cool as yu & me 🎉😍

omggg thank you thank you!! 🥰 AHHH yu & me books looks so amazing! i've been to new york just once but if i ever get to go back i have to visit them... i'm always looking for indie bookstores to throw my money at 😤

🌸 Anonymous asked:

1. Will there be an “if you’ll have me” sequel? 2. Is Momo her full name or a Nick name? If it’s a Nick name what is her full name? Thank you i love your work! ❤️😊

ahh there's no sequel planned as of right now! but i'd love to make one if i get the chance... i have some ideas that i think would be fun <3 and momo gardner is her full name! i liked gardner because it made me think of flowers ☺️❤️ thank you so much!!

🌸 @upsidedown-shadow-dreamer asked:

Hello, long time fan here. If You'll Have Me was delivered an hour ago and I've already finished my first read. OMG it's AMAZING. I love the story, the beautiful art, the inner thoughts, the pacing, the page color changes for back story… Just major WOW. I hope you are so proud of this work. I'm already looking forward to reading it again. Thank you!!!

this is sooooo AHHHHH T_T i'm in tears. i can't tell you how happy and thrilled i am to hear this!!! it's so encouraging and uplifting and ahh!! i want to make more stories... and just knowing that this book will be read by the same person more than once, omg! it's truly the highest of praise. thank you from the bottom of my heart <333

🌸 Anonymous asked:

Hello!! I just remembered I could borrow graphic novels as e-books from my local library, found IYHM, devoured the entire thing in one sitting, then went through your tags so I could look at all your other IYHM art, and I was wondering if you'll make more stories about Momo and PG because I can't get enough of them! Absolutely obsessed with these two and I love seeing them so happy together 💖💖💖💖

hello!! oh i'm absolutely over the moon about this! i can definitely see myself making a follow-up book if i'm so lucky 🙏 but i'll keep on drawing more minicomics and illustrations no matter what!! thank you so much for this wonderful message 💕💕💕💕

🌸 Anonymous asked:

hi!! love love love your art!!! do you think we can expect to see another graphic novel about momo and priscilla in the future?

🌸 Anonymous asked:

I’ve read IYHM so many times already and I absolutely loved it!!!! Are you planning on writing another book with Momo and PG? Is is there a way we can buy more of your stories?

thank you both so much!!!! <3 a sequel is actually one of the ideas i pitched for my second book! my editor cautioned against it in case IYHM didn't perform well, so i ended up going in a different direction - but my fingers are crossed for future opportunities 😤 realistically, it will probably depend on sales... but for the record, i'd want to do one regardless of the numbers...

i have one more book coming out, which i'm working on right now! the timeline is a bit up in the air atm but i'll try to keep everyone posted. making a book is so slow but i'm so grateful to you all for waiting 🥺💛

🌸 @randomqueernoun asked:

Do you make webcomics for other apps/websites? If yes where can I find them and what do I search in them to find your comics?

ahh not at the moment! but thank you SO much for the interest! one of my biggest goals right now is to set up a website where i have all my work in one place, and that would definitely be the place where i post future webcomics 👀

also, just as an aside... i want to make webcomics so bad. i think after my next book, i might take a break from traditional publishing to do that. sometimes i can't believe i'm drawing hundreds of pages i can't post... i'm like, how are people supposed to read this if i can't show them? how will they know?! ahh it kills me... but yes... someday!!!

part 3 to come~

[biowaredisasterbisexual]

One thing I found wonderful about Neve, aside from literally everything about her of course, was how she subverted our expectations about mages from Tevinter and provided an excellent and nuanced view into facets of how Tevinter’s class system works in practice.

In prior games, most of what we learn of Tevinter is hearsay from Southerners who aren’t fans. We are told by these sources little of true detail, other than broad explanations of the Imperium’s class system and that they are a mage oligarchy. Oh, and that the south think they’re all evil blood mages.

The times we’ve interacted with mages from Tevinter at all, they’ve come primarily from the Altus class, like Dorian. Those from another class were acknowledged in Inquisition, Calpernia being a good example, but largely if we were interacting with a Tevinter mage, they were an Altus citizen of the Imperium. These are the elites, right? They play an important role in Tevinter society - indeed Tevinter’s society is formed around them - but they really aren’t exemplars of it because although they wield a lot of power they are by far outnumbered by people from other classes.

Enter Neve. Not born into an Altus family, not born into a mage family at all, she grew up Soporati class and by all accounts not well off, until her magic showed up and she was elevated to Laetan class. Dorian tells us that part of how the Magisterium keeps the many, many non-Altus inhabitants of the Imperium in line is that there’s always that hope that a mage will be born in the family. It opens up the opportunity to join the Laetan class, opens up better marriage prospects, opens up jobs in the bureaucracy….

But the flip side of that, we learn through Neve, is that those Laetan mages who fulfill that hope for their family of being born with magic can be just as damaged by that elevation as they are benefitted by it. Being Laetan doesn’t make someone rich, it just means they might have access to certain jobs (ones Dorian scoffs at) they otherwise wouldn’t. And they can attend the Circles of Magi, which guarantees them an education. They’re still poor, sometimes, or maybe middle class bureaucrats, they’re still looked down on by Altus mages. Still denied meaningful access to that privileged class. But marginally better off than the Soporati. Neve’s relatives try to use her new status to their advantage, all the same, other than a single uncle she speaks well of.

Compare this to a Shadow Dragon Rook. The game tells us SD Rook is adopted into a military family. That means that, unless you headcanon one of their parents as a mage, the Mercar family are Soporati (Liberati and slaves cannot serve in the Imperium’s army). One relative of SD Rook is a high-ranking officer, though which relative is headcanon specific. In practical terms, speaking only financially, SD Rook likely grew up better off than Neve did. Even though she’s a mage and even if SD Rook isn’t. If Legate Mercar is Rook’s father, SD Rook was likely Significantly better off financially growing up.

Service in the Imperium’s army is one of the few stable, arguably decently paid jobs in the Imperium other than working in the civilian government (like the Templars) for Soporati. That’s its whole appeal.

So through Neve, we get insight into how the class system works in practice in this nation we’ve been taught over and over in prior games prioritizes and elevates mages. And what we’ve heard is…kind of true, in broad strokes. But it’s not the whole picture. She challenges a lot of what we thought we knew. And I think it’s awesome that through Neve we get to see that nuance.

* Now, I have…so much to say about how I personally conceive of the Imperium’s military and its pay, none of it canon although informed by it, because I am a nerd, but this is all just from in-game information.

[luveline]

Hi luveline! I have a request: in a busy night at the restaurant reader cuts or burns herself and gets overwhelmed and carmen patches her up and calms her down 👉🏻👈🏻 pretty please I loveee your hurt/comfort fics <3

—Carmy looks after you and your burned wrist. fem, 1.2k

Carmy thought he had bad nerves. 

You julienne onion at your station, ready to garnish their miniature French onion hot pots, your hand coming down slightly too hard. You’ve positioned the knife wrong in panic, thumb too far down the blade and claw of your other hand loosely tucked. You’re getting too stressed, and you’re going to get hurt. 

He has too much to do, but not too much to call for your attention across the cutting boards. “Hey, hey,” he insists. You look up. “Slowly and surely. Thumb against the line of the blade, like this.” 

He shows you the proper grip. 

“I know how to do it,” you say, frowning. 

“Just calm down.”

“You’re never calm.” 

Carmy can actually be extremely calm, and especially when he cooks, but nobody at The Bear has true reason to believe him. He has yet to prove himself properly after his in-fridge meltdown. Maybe he can’t. 

But tonight is busy, not make or break. 

“Seriously,” he says, smirking because he knows you hate it, “take it slow. Well, slower. Check your grip and keep going.” 

“Carmy, can you fuck off and let me cut these?” you ask. Clearly, your associates are rubbing off on you. 

Richie chimes in, his official, nothing-but-business intonation in play, “Carmy, can you fuck off, please?” 

Carmy doesn’t need to raise his voice. “Fuck you.” 

“Fuck you, Carmen. Twelve, walking in five. Hands? We’ve gotta pick up some bucatini...” 

Richie’s getting pretty confident in the back of house. Carmy’s happy for him, even if they aren’t speaking outside of the kitchen. 

He’s about to swing around Daniela to help her on the stove when you burst forward toward it and take the reins. Your prep station is cleaned and your onions set aside; he can’t believe how quickly you’re moving, and he saw that chef who was taking questionable substances fuck up a carton of carrots in a good two minutes. Dude was fast. 

He wants to say Baby, slow down, and he wants to examine how awkward ‘baby’ might be if he said it. He can’t think of another pet name that could garner success. Honey’s too old (though maybe, said with softness–), sweetheart too sweet. Doll is for uncles and bub sounds like it’s missing a syllable when he says it. Honestly, Carmy’s just desperate to call you something nice and have you listen, for once. 

You grab a pan from Daniela’s hand. “I got it,” you tell her, not without sympathy. “We can do one each.” 

“Thank you, can you–”

“Daniela, I need those lobster claws now. I’m serious,” Sydney interrupts, giving Daniela a rightfully impatient look. “I needed them five minutes ago.” 

Daniela winces. Sydney waits. You, unbeknownst to everybody except Carmy, attempt to clean a smudge from the hot stove top for no good reason —Carmy could scream at you. He nearly does.

“Can you fucking stop?” he bites. 

Sydney looks at him likes he’s grown a third head, but her reaction, while unfortunate and rather important considering their partnership, is the least of his worries. You flinch at his sudden rough tone and pull your hand back from the smudge, sleeves rolled and clean, skin of your wrist naked and waiting to be branded as you catch it on the side of your hot pan. 

Your yelp is immediate. 

“Fucking– Carmy!” Sydney says. 

He’s not sure why he’s being shouted at. Maybe because he abandons the line at a time where doing so guarantees a ripple effect. 

You’re freaking out. Carmy slides in beside you to encourage the pan off of the heat while you’re unable to tend it. “Daniela?” he says, loud and clipped. 

“It’s okay,” you say. You’re wide-eyed and lying, it isn’t okay, the burn mark is a squeamish pink stripe against your skin and you're already crying. 

Carmy takes your elbow. He wants to yank you to the cold faucet, but he’s measured enough. He has an encyclopaedia of kitchen safety. 

He’s burned himself enough times. “Come here,” he says, though you’re coming anyway, wincing as he leads you to the back of the kitchen by the sink. He stoppers it and starts the cold tap, where he pauses. “It’s gonna sting.” 

“It already stings.” 

Carmy guides your arm under the stream. 

He turns the faucet until it’s a fast running spray and encourages you to lean down to submerge the entirety of the burn in cold water. Your sleeve gets wet. He pushes it up. 

“Carm, it’s fine.” 

He shakes his head to readjust your arm. His hand is tender, but his fingers are trembling. 

“Carmen,” you say firmly, quietly, “it’s okay.” 

He realises suddenly that he’s not breathing. He lets out a breath, pulls another fast one in, and snaps the fuck out of it. “It’s okay,” he repeats, “the cold waters gonna draw out the heat. I’m gonna get the first aid kit.” 

“I have to go back–”

“No.” His and Syd’s kitchen will never prioritise the food over injury. “I’m gonna get the first aid kit, I’m gonna dress it. But you have to stay here for thirty minutes with your hand in the water.” 

“A half hour, are you kidding?” 

“Do I sound like I am?” he asks genuinely, not pissed nor bossy, fighting a tendency to be both. 

“We’re right at the crest of the rush–”

“It doesn’t matter. You can’t prioritise the restaurant over yourself. It’ll fuck you up.” He feels the cold on his hand where he holds yours in the water, watches the water rise to the overflow. “Does it hurt?” He turns your hand to see the burn in better detail. “It’ll blister for sure. You’re gonna have to look after it.” 

You wipe the drying tears from your cheek. It was a stupid question. “Yeah, it hurts. Fuck, it was so hot.” 

“That’s why I told you to calm down.” 

“I know that. Thanks.” 

He doesn’t know if you’re sarcastic or genuine, can’t tell if you’re hurting or pissed at his instruction. You shiver when he lets your wrist go, but you keep the burn submerged, the faucet squeaking as he wrestles it off again. 

“Maybe we could both try calming down,” you suggest. 

“Maybe.” He squeezes his eyes shut quickly. When he opens them, you’re still squinting in your own pain. “Yeah, maybe. I’ll be right back.” 

He pats your shoulder gently. His hand gets stuck to you, massaging tenderly at your shoulder and down your upper arm, your faces closer than they reasonably need to be. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

Your cheek tilts down toward his hand where it holds you, but you don’t let it fall. “I’ll be fine. I am fine. It’s just… busy.” 

“I know.” 

“Never burned myself like that.” 

Carmy has, but you could guess that. “It’s fine. I know how to look after it.” Look after you. 

His hand crests your shoulder. You let your cheek touch briefly to the back of it. “Okay,” you murmur. 

Yeah, he’s fucked. The first aid kit can’t fix what’s wrong with him. 

[eternal-moss]

Christ, the whole Wilbur situation is so fucked. Already the things that are coming out of the woodworks so quickly are so sad.

tw for abuse and misogyny. If you aren’t aware of this yet, Wilbur Soot has been revealed as a prolific abuser

My heart breaks for all the people he’s harmed. I think Shelby was really intelligent in the way that she’s brought this to attention, without naming him. This meant that even though some people denied it or lashed back at her, the repercussions were minimised.

Wilbur responding proved it was him she was talking about, although the details she provided made it so patently clear it was him from the start, it made it so that he had to admit he was the one who had been committing essentially serial abuse on young women by the nature of him responding to the description of the unnamed abuser, although he didn’t mention that it was *multiple women* in his absolutely pathetic excuse of an ‘apology’.

I’ve been thinking about this deeply from pretty much directly the moment after Shubble revealed it really. I’m not going to pretend that I’ve ever watched any of Shubble’s stuff, and I’ve not watched streamers for a couple of years now, but the courage she had to do this is fucking immense. Wilbur is very well off financially with a massive and loyal fanbase, the influence he has is very large and not to be underestimated. His ‘apology’ reeks of PR pressure, although it fails to meet the mark on all levels of even a basic apology (which is not even the bare minimum in this situation) and omits some very important details.

It’s so sad that abuse and grooming is so common amongst streamers/YouTubers, but the response to this time (from the community) being genuine support instead of victim blaming does make me feel hopeful. Wilbur’s condescension of women and younger ccs is absolutely disgusting. This recontextualises so many moments when he’s been dismissive of and made jokes at women’s expense. What he’s done is abuse and it’s misogyny. He’s picked on people he knows are less able to fight back from all parameters. Misogyny is massive in the gaming scene, and he’s relied on all these women (it really is a lot at this rate, even an ex-trumpeter from Lovejoy) staying silent out of fear.

Shubble saying keeping their silence protected him more than it protected her is very true, and this will absolutely wreck his reputation. Rather, he’s fucked it up himself, and there really is no one else to blame in this situation. The people who knew about it and were subject to this were typically smaller, younger or female streamers. It’s disgusting that he had relied on their silence for so long.

This is a bit of a mess, but ngl so am I. It’s been eating at me for as long as it’s been going on, I found out almost immediately. I was quite a big Wilbur fan for a damn long time, since his early days of streaming (when skyblock randomiser was made etc). I was emotionally invested in his original music and looked up to him a lot.

The worst thing I think is that I resonated with his online interactions with Tommy (which makes me feel vile), and his adoration of Wilbur, always calling him ‘like a big brother’, and it fondly reminded me of me and my younger sibling. Except Wilbur would sometimes do some unexpectedly cruel things. Like stomping on Tommy’s hand and causing it to bleed. That alarmed me at the time, also when he revealed that he was relying on Tommy to talk him out of suicide, which really made me concerned about how healthy their relationship was. The worst thing is, this didn’t surprise me that much at all when it was revealed. Shelby’s descriptions could fit no other person, and it made sense and lined up with his past behaviour, but that doesn’t make it any less wholly awful and horrific.

I wasn’t going to talk about it on this blog, but I just feel angry. Angry for all these people he’s hurt. Angry that he’ll still be living comfortably off of his fanbase for years to come, young people who trusted and idolised him, the vast majority young girls themselves. Angry for Shubble, angry for Niki, angry for the women’s names we don’t know yet, angry for those who had been intimidated into silence. Angry for those who had been abused and brutalised by him. The main thing that’s coming up again and again is the biting, the bruising, the physical abuse, the way they were scared into saying anything, left traumatised by the way they’d been treated. As if that could be brushed off in any way by some disgustingly shallow and self-centred attempt at self preservation of his reputation. Fuck off.

Like Aimsey said, this isn’t some light cancellation from Twitter, these are reprehensible serial misogynistic crimes, and it’s only been days since the initial reveal and hours since his response and the influx of victims speaking up. My heart breaks to know how much more is going to be unearthed.

So yeah this is basically it, I treat this blog mainly as an archive for fan creations of things I like, but also as a collection of my thoughts. I have been unable to stop thinking about this, and I know that I’ve barely talked about mcyt on here, but I was heavily into dsmp and streamers for a long time. Shubble is insanely bloody brave for doing this, I wish them all the best (and the other victims) in recovering from his behaviour, as well as applauding her for the sheer fucking bravery to make the decision to speak up.

***I’ve seen some people saying Shubble uses they/them pronouns, but most people I’ve seen refer to her with she/her. If I find out she doesn’t use she/her I’ll change this post < Shelby uses she/they

[paigesluver]

for me? | chapter_1

paige bueckers x fem reader

synopsis; you and paige share unspoken feelings for each other, resulting in an escalating tension that complicates your friendship and challenges your emotions

warnings; sexual tension, emotional conflict

hi hi! this is the first chapter and it took me so long to be happy with the outcome. i hope everyone enjoys it and let me know what you think!

Waking up at eight in the morning was part of your daily routine. As the director of the media team at UConn, you had a lot on your plate: ensuring everyone had their assignments for upcoming practices and games, approving various media, scheduling everything meticulously, and preparing for interviews and conferences. You loved the hustle. At just twenty-three, you were already one of the most dedicated directors, a title you’d earned after starting out as an interviewer and photographer.

After finishing your morning routine, you laced up your shoes, grabbed your keys, and tossed your laptop into your backpack. You gave your apartment a quick glance before locking the door and heading to your car. 

A few minutes later, you pulled into the parking lot of the basketball facility, you slid on your headphones and grabbed your key card to enter the building. Typically, you were the first one in, but as you passed the basketball court, you heard the unmistakable sound of squeaking sneakers. Curious, you paused and spotted a blonde ponytail in motion. You walked backward until you reached the glass windows, peering inside. There she was—Paige Bueckers, effortlessly sinking shots from way beyond the three-point line with the kind of ease most people could only dream of.

You walked back to the nearest door, slipped inside, and made your way to the court. As you approached, Paige’s voice rang out. “I was wondering when you’d show up,” she said, watching the ball swoosh through the net before turning to face you. 

“How did you even know it was me?” you asked, tilting your head with a smile. 

“You’re the only one crazy enough to be here this early,” she said, chuckling. “And look who’s here.” She pointed at you with a smirk. 

“You’re here, aren’t you?” you shot back. “Touche,” Paige said while you laughed, shaking your head as you jogged over to meet her. “You really have a thing for calling me out.”

Paige shrugged, giving you a playful wink. “Hey, someone has to keep you on your toes.”

You exchanged a quick dap, but before you could fully pull away, Paige wrapped her arms around your waist in a sudden hug. The warmth of her caught you off guard, and for a second, you just stood there, soaking it in.

“I missed you,” she said, her voice quieter than usual, though still full of that familiar playfulness.

You chuckled softly. “Alright, you got me. I missed you too.”

She pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, her mischievous grin back in place. “So, what’s the plan? Are you ready to show me up on the court, or are you just going to stand around being all cute?”

You glanced down at your watch. “As much as I’d love to stay and shoot hoops with you, I’ve got a million things to do today.”

“Right,” Paige said with an exaggerated eye roll. “The director’s got to direct. You’ve got all that important work to do, don’t you?”

“I do,” you said, feigning seriousness. “But don’t worry, I’ll make it back later. Might even grab some footage of you practicing... just because.”

Paige raised an eyebrow and shot you a teasing look. “Oh, so I’m your muse now? Better get my best side.”

“Always,” you replied with a smirk. “But honestly, every side’s the best side.”

She laughed, tossing her head back, her ponytail swaying. “Smooth talker. Alright, director, go do your thing or whatever.”

You waved as you turned to head out. “I’ll be back. Don’t miss me too much.”

As you walked toward your office, the light in your chest made it hard to wipe the grin off your face. Not just because of the work that lay ahead, but because you’d been lucky enough to get a little piece of something special every time you spent time with Paige.

You settled into your office, finally diving into the mountain of emails that had piled up overnight. The routine of work—scheduling, approving media, prepping for upcoming games—helped keep your mind from wandering too much. You focused on the tasks at hand, pushing away any stray thoughts of the court, of Paige, of the way her laugh echoed in your mind long after she was gone.

The hours passed, and your stomach rumbled around noon, reminding you that you’d barely eaten. You grabbed a protein bar from your drawer and got back to work, responding to emails and crossing off one to-do after another. Between finalizing the schedule for an upcoming game and reviewing media coverage, you barely noticed the time slipping by.

Around 2 p.m., your phone buzzed on the desk. You reached for it absently, expecting another work-related message. Instead, it was a text from Kaia: hey, want to hang out tonight? maybe grab dinner or watch something?

You stared at the message for a long moment, your finger hovering over the screen. Kaia had been sweet to you, and you liked her—really liked her—but things had felt different since that night at the bar. That night with Paige. The tension that had simmered between you two, that casual teasing... it had unsettled you in a way you hadn’t expected.

You couldn’t deny it any longer: something was shifting between you and Paige, and you couldn’t ignore it. And yet, here was Kaia, reaching out with the kind of ease you wished you could feel.

But you knew you couldn’t go out with her tonight—not with the feelings you were trying to suppress, not with the way your mind kept circling back to Paige. You didn’t want to lead Kaia on when your heart wasn’t entirely in it. And you definitely didn’t want to be unfair to her. She deserves someone who could give her their full attention, not someone who was tangled up in confusion.

You set the phone down without replying, forcing yourself to focus back on the work in front of you. But the knot in your stomach remained. You weren’t sure if it was guilt for ignoring Kaia’s invitation or the unresolved tension that still lingered in your chest every time you thought about Paige.

The clock ticked on, and you tried to push both thoughts aside as you finished up the last of your tasks. Just as you were about to close your laptop, your door creaked open.

"Hey, director," Paige’s voice called out, light and familiar. You looked up, and there she was, leaning against the doorframe with that grin of hers—the one that always made your pulse pick up a little too fast.

“Busy?” she asked, arching an eyebrow as she stepped inside.

You smiled, leaning back in your chair. "Not at the moment. What’s up?"

Paige walked further into the room, the scent of something delicious filling the air as she set the bag down on your desk. “Thought I’d check in on you. And, y’know, bring you something to eat. You’ve been working through lunch again, haven’t you?”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Too late, already did,” Paige grinned, pulling out a Caesar salad wrap, crispy fries, and your favorite passion fruit juice. “You’ve been stuck here all morning, so I thought you could use a little pick-me-up.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the gesture. “This is very sweet of you P, I was just starting to get hungry.”

“Figured as much,” she said, flopping down in the chair across from you. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you, making sure you don’t work yourself into the ground.”

You laughed, opening the bag and grabbing the wrap. “You’re spoiling me now, my favorite from Gansett’s? How’d you know?”

Paige leaned back, resting her arms behind her head casually. “We’ve known each other for a long time now, you think I wouldn’t know where one of your favorite meals is from?”

“Not a lot of people pay attention to things like that” You laughed, shaking your head.

Paige’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Well good thing I’m not just anybody.”

You felt a strange flutter at her words, a mix of admiration and something else that was harder to pin down. She wasn’t wrong—she had a way of making you feel like she really saw you, and that made you feel… something more than just friends. You quickly brushed the thought aside, not sure you were ready to unpack it.

Paige laughed, but this time it was softer, like she caught the shift in the air between you two. She held your gaze a moment longer, her expression a little more serious than usual. “So… you’re still sticking to that ‘all work, no play’ routine? No chance of you coming out and having some fun tonight?”

You paused, considering. There it was again, that casual invitation. The kind of offer you would normally take without thinking. But with everything that was swirling inside you—feelings you couldn’t even begin to sort through—you couldn’t bring yourself to say yes.

“Actually, I was supposed to meet up with Kaia later,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. A flicker of guilt washed over you. You hadn’t really planned anything with Kaia—you’d just ignored her text earlier. “But, uh, I think I’m going to go meet her after all. Just need to get out for a bit.”

Paige gave you a long look, her brow furrowing slightly. “Oh yeah? That’s a change. Haven’t seen you take a break in forever.”

You shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, figured I could use one.”

Paige didn’t press it, but the air between you felt a little heavier. She stood up, brushing off the hem of her hoodie, and gave you a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, don’t let me keep you. But if you ever want to ditch the routine, you know where to find me.”

"Thanks," you said, your voice quieter than you meant. "Maybe next time."

Paige paused at the door, glancing back at you with a look that you couldn’t quite read. “Yeah. Maybe next time.”

You watched her walk out, her footsteps fading down the hallway, and a strange knot tightened in your stomach.

Kaia’s message was still there on your phone, waiting to be answered. You were going to meet up with her, but something about it felt a little off now. The weight of Paige’s words and the tension in the air lingered, but you pushed it all aside for the moment.

You grabbed your phone and typed out a quick response to Kaia: 

hey! dinner sounds good, is Latina Cantina cool with you?

You hit send and tossed your phone back on the desk, hoping dinner would help take your mind off everything.

A couple of hours passed since Paige had dropped by your office. You buried yourself in work, crossing off to-dos and reviewing media, but your thoughts kept flickering between the tasks at hand and your conversation with Paige. Before you knew it, late afternoon had rolled around, and practice time was approaching. You decided it was about time to head over to the court to get some footage of the team.

Grabbing your camera gear—lenses, extra batteries, and your bag—you made your way toward the gym. The familiar sounds of practice greeted you as you approached: the squeak of sneakers, the bounce of basketballs, and the low hum of players in motion.

When you reached the court, you immediately spotted Paige. She was in the middle of a drill, her blonde ponytail swinging as she drained shots from beyond the three-point line with ease. You smiled to yourself, knowing you'd be in for some good footage today.

You pushed open the door to the gym, which creaked slightly as it swung wide. Paige turned her head and, as soon as she saw you, her face lit up. She waved you over with a grin, clearly enjoying herself.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” she said, tossing the ball up into the air, making another effortless shot. "I was starting to think you forgot about me."

You chuckled and adjusted your camera, walking over to her. “Busy doing responsible adult things, you know how it is,” you said with a smirk. “But I’m here now, and I’m ready to capture all your greatness.”

Paige shot you a teasing look. “Better get a good shot of me then,” she said, setting herself up for another shot. She launched the ball into the air, sinking it with ease. She turned toward you with a playful grin. “That’s one for the highlight reel, right?”

You snapped the picture, laughing. “Definitely.”

Paige ran to the other side of the court, getting back into position, and you quickly moved to adjust for the next shot. She continued to hit shot after shot, making it look effortless. With every successful basket, she’d glance back at you, pointing toward the camera as if to say, “That was for you.”

The entire team was in sync, their chemistry on full display as they went through drills, but Paige was in a class of her own. Her movements were smooth, controlled, and she made it all look easy. You kept snapping photos, capturing everything from her perfect form to her focused expressions.

After a few minutes, you decided to move around and get shots of the rest of the team. You greeted the players with high-fives and daps, snapping pictures as they got into their respective drills. Some of them flashed quick smiles for the camera, while others focused on their practice. You even took a moment to greet the coaches, giving them a wave and a nod before heading back to catch more action. The atmosphere was relaxed, but you could feel the energy in the air as the team worked together.

About an hour or two into practice, you decided to start wrapping up. The team had been working hard, and it seemed like a good time to pack up for the day. You took a last round of shots, then slung your camera bag over your shoulder.

As you headed for the door, Paige caught your eye once more, flashing that signature grin. “Don’t forget about me now,” she teased, tossing the ball to a teammate. “Make sure you get my best angles next time.”

You waved at her as you walked toward the exit. “I’ve got plenty of footage. Don’t worry,” you called back with a grin, feeling the weight of your day settling in.

As you stepped out of the gym, the sounds of practice fading behind you, you made your way to your car. You had done what you came to do, and now it was time to head home and get ready for your dinner with Kaia. The evening was calling, and though your mind was still half on the court, you knew you needed to focus on the night ahead.

Your phone buzzed again as you walked toward the exit. It was Kaia: “Latina Cantina works for me, see you there?”

You typed out a quick response, feeling the familiar pull of anticipation as you headed for your car.

“perfect, see you later.”

With everything wrapped up at the gym, the rest of your day fell into place. You were ready to unwind for the night, but that lingering feeling—thoughts of Paige—seemed to float just under the surface. It was hard to shake them off, but for now, you’d focus on getting ready for your date with Kaia. Tonight was about having fun.

You drove home, the familiar sights of the city passing by without much thought. The conversation with Kaia lingered, but so did Paige’s smile and the way her eyes had met yours with that unspoken hint of something more. You shook it off and focused on the night ahead. Kaia was sweet, and you liked her. You were determined to be present for her.

At home, you tossed your bag on the couch and started going through your closet. You wanted to look good without overthinking it. Something casual, but still special. You settled on a fitted jersey, leather pants, and your black Amina Muaddi heels. Comfortable yet stylish. After a quick glance in the mirror, you felt good enough to head out.

Before leaving, you took a couple of mirror pics, capturing the outfit just right. You checked your phone, made sure you had everything, and grabbed your keys.

Your phone buzzed again—it was a message from Kaia: i’m already here, can’t wait to see you!

You smiled, the familiar excitement bubbling up. You shot her a quick reply: omw now, see you soon, pretty girl.

The drive to Latina Cantina was short, and you found a spot right in front. Walking in, the warm scent of spices and sizzling food hit you instantly. You spotted Kaia almost immediately—sitting at a corner booth, scrolling through her phone, her easy smile lighting up when she saw you.

"Hey, you made it!" she said as she stood up, giving you a friendly hug. "Glad we could finally catch up."

You smiled, the tension from earlier slipping away. "Yeah, me too. It's been too long."

Kaia looked great, dressed in a soft, oversized sweater in a pastel shade, paired with a sleek mini skirt and chunky white sneakers. She completed the look with a simple silver necklace. The outfit was relaxed yet chic, and she pulled it off effortlessly. "You look amazing," you said, sitting down across from her.

"Thanks," Kaia smiled, her eyes twinkling. "I figured I’d dress up a little, hope I didn’t overdo it."

"Not at all," you said, grinning.

The night went smoothly—good food, easy conversation, and laughter. Kaia was warm and attentive, and though there were moments when your mind briefly wandered back to the gym, you quickly refocused. You didn’t want to spoil the night.

As you finished up dinner, Kaia leaned across the table, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "So, what's been going on with you lately? You’ve been a little... distracted."

You hesitated, your thoughts drifting back to Paige, but before you could respond, Kaia smiled playfully. "I’m just glad we’re hanging out tonight, no distractions, right?"

You chuckled, grateful for her easy-going nature. "Yeah, no distractions tonight. Just us."

The conversation flowed effortlessly after that. Kaia’s warmth and lightheartedness made it easy to be present. You talked about funny stories from work, what you both had been up to lately, and random bits of pop culture.

As the meal wound down, Kaia leaned back in her seat, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "So, what’s next on the agenda for you? I know you’ve got a lot going on."

You took a sip of your drink, considering. "Honestly? I just needed a night off. No work, no stress—just hanging out."

"Well, I’m glad you’re here," she said, her tone sincere. "We should do this more often."

You nodded, feeling a flicker of warmth. "Definitely. I’d like that."

For a moment, the two of you just sat there, the noise of the restaurant buzzing around you. There was something about this moment, about Kaia’s easy presence, that felt... right. You smiled, grateful for her patience, for how effortlessly she seemed to make everything feel comfortable.

The waiter brought the check, and after a few moments of back and forth, you split the bill. You both stood up, and Kaia pulled on her jacket as you followed her out of the booth. Walking toward the door, Kaia brushed her shoulder against yours, a playful grin on her face. "Same time next week?" she teased.

"Sounds like a plan," you said, your voice a little lighter than when you first walked in.

Outside, the cool night air greeted you both as you walked to your cars. Kaia stopped, turning to face you. “I had a really great time tonight. Thank you for coming out.”

You smiled. "Of course. I had a great time too. See you soon?"

She nodded, taking a step back. "Definitely."

As you drove home, the warmth of the evening stayed with you—Kaia’s laugh, her playful teasing, and the easy flow of conversation. But beneath that warmth, the thought of Paige lingered. The way she had looked at you earlier, the invitation to meet at the bar—it all kept running through your mind. You wondered what it would have been like if you’d gone.

You pulled into your apartment's garage, parking your car and taking a moment to sit in the quiet of the space. The night had been a whirlwind of emotions, but you couldn’t shake the pull toward Paige.

You glanced at your phone, the text to Kaia letting her know you made it home safely, but still no message from Paige. You stared at the screen, your thumb hovering over the phone, lost in thought. Without second-guessing, you grabbed your keys, unlocked the door, and stepped out of the car.

You ordered an Uber almost instinctively. There was no hesitation—this felt like the right thing to do.

The Uber ride flew by, the hum of the city at night drowning out your thoughts. The anticipation grew as you neared the bar. When you arrived, the noise hit you immediately—laughter, the clink of glasses, the hum of conversation. You made your way toward the bar, scanning the room for the bartender.

As you were about to order, you felt a presence behind you. "Amaretto sour, right?" Paige said, her tone playful yet confident.

You turned, surprised but smiling. "Exactly."

She ordered for you, adding, “And I’ll take a Shirley Temple. Can’t have you drinking alone.” Her hand brushed against your lower back as she guided you toward the team’s table. The warmth of it sent a rush through you, and you followed her, completely at ease.

As you reached the table, her teammates greeted you. Paige pulled out a chair and sat next to you, her eyes glinting with amusement.

"Glad you made it," she said softly, leaning in closer.

You smiled and settled in beside her. The night felt lighter now, the tension you’d carried throughout the evening melting away.

“I guess I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately,” you said, your voice quieter. “Been trying to figure some things out.”

Paige didn’t push further, but there was a knowing look in her eyes, like she understood. “It’s okay. You don’t have to have it all figured out. Sometimes you just have to let things play out, you know?”

You nodded, her words sinking in. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

The music in the background seemed to swell for a moment, and for a second, it felt like you were the only two people in the room. Paige’s gaze softened, and she leaned in a little closer, her shoulder brushing yours. It wasn’t obvious, but the closeness carried an undeniable charge, as if there was something deeper at play than mere friendly conversation.

“You’re a good person,” she said, the sincerity in her voice catching you off guard. “I can tell you’ve got a lot going on, but I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you came tonight.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, and you found yourself smiling, feeling the weight of everything lift just a little. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just the way Paige made everything feel easier, but in that moment, you felt a little more at peace.

“Thanks, Paige. That means a lot,” you said, your voice quieter now, more real than it had been all night.

She smiled, her eyes meeting yours. “Anytime.”

The night stretched on, but something had shifted. Whatever was lingering between you and Paige, whatever unspoken thing had been hanging in the air, it was finally starting to feel a little clearer. And for the first time that night, you were ready to let yourself just... be.

The night seemed to stretch on endlessly, the laughter of the bar around you becoming a distant hum as you and Paige found yourselves slipping into a quieter, more secluded area. The sounds of clinking glasses and chatter faded, leaving only the space between the two of you, thick with unspoken words and tension.

Paige stood close now, closer than before. The small distance that had once felt comfortable had dwindled to almost nothing, and you could feel the heat radiating off her, her presence impossible to ignore. Her eyes locked onto yours, an unreadable expression playing across her face as if she was waiting for something—waiting for you, or perhaps waiting for the right moment to make the first move.

You could feel her body heat, the subtle shift of her posture, her breath just a little quicker than usual. You couldn’t remember when exactly the conversation had stopped, but now, words felt unnecessary. All that was left was the tension—the tension that had been building from the moment you walked into the bar and locked eyes. It was suffocating, thrilling, and you weren’t sure whether it was the alcohol or the attraction, but you couldn’t deny it anymore. The pull was undeniable.

Your hand brushed against hers in the dim light, a touch so fleeting but loaded with meaning. Her gaze dropped to where your fingers hovered for a moment, then back up to your eyes, an almost imperceptible flicker of something—desire, maybe—flickering in her expression.

The air between you grew heavier, the silence stretching, each second pulling you closer to a decision, to a shift in the unspoken tension. But before either of you could take that final step, Paige moved first. She leaned in just enough to press a soft kiss to your lips, her touch gentle yet full of intention. It was a quiet moment that spoke louder than words ever could, the space between you both crackling with a charged energy that had been building all night. Her lips were warm against yours, hesitant at first, like she was testing the waters, but it only took a heartbeat for you to feel the pull between you deepen.

You didn’t hesitate. Your hand reached up instinctively to rest on her waist, drawing her closer as the kiss grew more urgent, more assured. Her lips parted slightly, just enough for your breaths to mingle, and you could feel her pulse quicken, her body pressing softly against yours. Everything around you seemed to fade—there was only the two of you, suspended in this moment where nothing else mattered but the way your lips moved together.

The world outside ceased to exist, the hum of the city and the dim glow of the streetlights blurring into the background. Her fingers found their way to your jaw, tracing along your skin with a featherlight touch, anchoring the both of you in this stolen moment. Each brush of her lips told a story—of longing, of unspoken feelings finally set free, of a connection too strong to deny.

The air between you seemed to hum with its own rhythm, matching the steady beat of your heart as you tilted your head slightly, deepening the kiss. Her breath hitched, and you could feel her relax into you, her body molding effortlessly against yours as though she’d always belonged there. The taste of her lingered, sweet and intoxicating, leaving you lightheaded yet desperate for more.

When the kiss broke, it wasn’t abrupt but gentle, like the tide pulling back from the shore. Her forehead rested against yours, and for a moment, the only sound was the soft cadence of your shared breathing. Her eyes searched yours, wide and vulnerable, yet shimmering with something unspoken—something fragile but unmistakably real.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as though saying it too loudly would shatter the intimacy of the moment. Her confession hung in the air between you, a quiet truth that made your chest tighten in the best possible way.

[razorblade180]

A Quiet Home

Jaune:*walks in* Hey, I’m back.

Weiss:*writing*….

Jaune:I umm, got some food. Saph said she always makes too much so-

Weiss:You should’ve turned it down. Your nephew is a growing boy.

Jaune:She wouldn’t have offered if she couldn’t help. How’s rent looking?

Weiss:Despite my colossal fuck up on the mission, it’s covered.

Jaune:Hey, what’s important is-

Weiss:Jaune, don’t patronize me. I screwed up, got my leg hurt, got the client hurt, and lost the target. *puts pen down* Thankfully I found another high paying one. It’s a three weeks long and I’m-

Jaune:Actually…I put in a request to take that mission too. Client said he’ll think it over.

Weiss:*turns around* Excuse me? You’re taking my job line ups? You went in the last two missions. It’s my turn to-

Jaune:You need a break.

Weiss:Tsk, not this shit again. I just had a break!

Jaune:Crunching bill numbers is not a break. Weiss, your head isn’t in the game, and that’s fine. After all, your mom…

Weiss: “My mom” nothing we aren’t talking about this. There’s nothing to talk about. She lived drunk and died drunk. Predictable ending.

Jaune:Weiss-

Weiss:Give me space! And cancel your request while you’re at it. You’re in no condition to go on another assignment so quickly.

Jaune:…I’m not letting you go on that mission.

Weiss:Sorry, you’re not letting me? *stands up* I don’t remember needing your approval.

Jaune:That’s not what I-

Weiss:No it was, or else you wouldn’t have applied for the same mission despite our agreement. I made one mistake and now it goes out the window?

Jaune:You’re angry.

Weiss:Of FUCKING course I’m angry! I’m trying to keep these lights on and not burden others while you’re bringing in leftovers and stopping my job!

Jaune:You’re not doing your job! You’re running away from your problems!

Weiss:Oh you’re one to talk! The only reason why you’re here is because moving back in with your folks would be too much to handle.

Jaune:I moved in with you because you needed a roommate! My girlfriend was cutoff and alone and I could help! All I’ve been doing is trying to help!

Weiss:I didn’t ask for your help! I was handling things just fine!

Jaune:You were struggling.

Weiss:AND I’M NOT NOW!? Does it make you feel a little better to say you tried. Can’t help but I want to fix things huh?

Jaune:That’s not fair.

Weiss:Oh now we want to be fair? After intentionally making my job harder? For someone who is “trying to help” it never really works out for you now does it!? Not for me not for P-

She immediately covered her mouth, scared and shocked from the venom that almost slipped past her lips; this carelessness was given back with a stare of contempt that ate at her.

Weiss:I-

Jaune:There was a never a second I thought you were broken, or needed to be fixed. Guess that was my fault. Looks like your father did a number on you after all.

Her blood went cold. Weiss’s cheeks began to burn red as her anger boiled over.

Weiss:And yours never cared to do a swing to begin with.

Jaune:Speaking from experience?

Weiss:Get. Out.

Jaune:….

Weiss:I SAID GET OUT! I DON’T NEED THIS FROM YOU! I DON’T NEED YOU!

Jaune:…Good, cause you don’t have me. Sell my stuff for all I care.

He reaches in his pocket and throws his key at her. Weiss catches on reflex before hearing a thunderous boom as Jaune slams the door on the way out that shakes the room and cause a picture to shatter. The room is deathly silent as Weiss stares at the door.

Weiss:F-FINE! RUN BACK TO YOUR FAMILY!

………..

Not knowing what to do, Weiss simply grabbed her broom to clean up the mess Jaune made. Glass was half hazardly swept aside as she picked up a broken frame holding a photo of her laughing with Jaune, their face covered with cake from their house party with a banner overhead.

“A year of memories and miracles”

Weiss’s hand began to tremble until the picture slipped from her fingers. A giant pit filled her stomach and threatened to gag her as her knees fell to floor and her hands covered a ghastly wail. Finally, her breath was robbed and tears broke through shaking eyes filled with dread over the reality that was flooding in. The miracles were gone, and the memories, now bittersweet.

[potchi-fics]

councilor

i | ii

summary: a councilor reader and councilor sevika finally meet again after not seeing each other for years.

      a councilor is what you are gonna be from now on. may torman hoskel rest in peace, but he was as useless as a paralyzed kid given a bicycle– you suppose he did one good thing: voted for peace, but all in all, he did very little for being someone higher in ranks.

“madam,” your assistant, you consider her a friend, “it is almost time for your meeting.”

       you take one last glance at yourself in the mirror, you are wearing an elegant black silk dress adorned with silver accessories, and paired with black heels. you step outside to find your assistant waiting at your door holding a paper and pen. she nods at you as greetings.

your heels click against the tiles as you signal her to walk beside you, “how are you feeling today, alexandria?” 

“i must be the one asking you that,” a chuckle escapes from her, “councilor.”

your eyes roll at the title, “not yet, child.”

      you are decades older than your assistant, you have taken her under your wing; guiding and teaching her ever since she was a child. today is the day you get assigned to be a councilor for your house, for your nation. and, you vow to do and be better than the so-called councilor torman hoskel. just the thought of the useless man taints your good mood, your lips forming a thin line. too busy judging the dead in your mind, you do not notice that you have reached your destination: the councilors’ chambers.

“nervous?” your gaze travels from the door to alexandria, seeing her offer a comforting smile.

however, you only smirk cockily, “you should know by now that i do not do nervous. wait for me, will you?”

      and with that, you open the doors, swinging it open and catching the attention of the other councilors. they quiet down as you walk inside, offering them fake sweet smiles: what a bunch of low-class backstabbing morons.

you know what they are, a bunch of money and power-hungry freaks who do not care for anything other than themselves, sharks are what they are. you let your eyes roam around the room, taking in familiar faces— though you could only recognize a few, councilor shoola, former councilor caitlyn, and councilor salo. your smirk widens at the sight of the latest addition to the councilors, happy to see councilor sevika.

“welcome, councilors,” your attention is brought back to the center when you hear caitlyn’s booming voice, “thank you for making time for this meeting. as you all can see, a new figure will be sitting at this table in turn to replacing councilor torman hoskel.”

      in cue, all of the members stare at you, their eyes already judging and scrutinizing your entire being. you strut to where your seat is located, beside councilor salo: just my luck. you lock eyes with every single one, lingering your gaze on a certain zaunite a little longer. 

“anything you would like to say, councilor?” caitlyn asks you.

however, you only shake your head and dismiss the question, “with all due respect, i would like to keep this short.”

“quite rude, aren’t you? but i agree, i believe that there are more important things to talk about, zaun to be specific.” councilor salo laced his voice with disgust at the word zaun but before he could continue, you stepped in.

you bark a laugh, “well, you didnt see me calling you rude when i noticed you guesstimating me earlier, break a leg in getting better, councilor salo.”

      before it could escalate, caitlyn cleared her throat and concluded the meeting. she briefly mentioned that this day was for them to get to know you better but you dont think that’s happening anytime soon due to the scene you displayed earlier. to be fair, you always stand your ground. you see caitlyn approach you, along with her guard dog behind her.

“ms. kiramman,” you offer them both a nod of acknowledgment. 

vi snorts, making you raise your eyebrow, “sorry, but i just find it funny when you said break a leg on getting better.”

“stop,” caitlyn tries to scold her but its no use when vi’s barely holding in her laugh, “that certainly was unexpected. im looking forward to seeing your plans in action, councilor.”

“i was only…” your voice trails off, you take a seat on the side of your chair, “biting back, ms. kiramman. tell me, ms. kiramman, do you think that this council of ours can change the predicament we are in?”

she takes a moment before answering, “i am… unsure, but im looking on the bright side of it. ive heard about you, councilor, i know that you will do everything in your power to have what you want, that is why i voted for you to be seated in.”

“oh?” you cross your legs, the slit in your dress offering them a sight of your smooth leg, “buttering me up, ms. kiramman?”

      not only did caitlyn take the bait, you see vi take a peek at your exposed limb. you lean back and smile teasingly at the two, raising your perfectly sculpted eyebrow once again— causing the couple to flush bright pink. they bid you goodbye and it amuses you how they manage to bicker, you giggle knowing you were able to fluster them. you crack your knuckles and stretch your back, your eyes landing back on her.

councilor sevika.

oh, but she is already looking at you. oh, indeed. you uncross your legs and without breaking the eye contact, you saunter to where she is— only stopping when you are right in front of her. you address her.

“councilor shoola,” a hand darts out to propose a handshake. “it is nice to finally meet you. i believe our nation had been involved in a trading a while ago?”

councilor shoola accepts your handshake, “yes, yes, you’re correct. im also looking forward to working with you. i apologize for cutting our meeting short, but i need to talk about something with council–”

      you do not let her finish, you give her way, silently saying that it’s okay— she nods her head as a thank you and makes her way, leaving only you and sevika alone. 

your voice drops an octave lower, “councilor sevika, it is a pleasure to finally talk to you. i have heard many great things about you.”

“yeah?” her gruff voice weakens your knees, “bet it’s just me killing someone.”

      her eyes roll because that’s how the topsiders are, always mislabelling and spreading rumors. they were right of course but they don’t need to generalize her people. 

so grumpy, you think to yourself. “believe me, councilor, i have. also, aren’t you excited to see me?”

      you flutter your eyelashes at her, making yourself look just a tiny bit smaller. but all you get is a roll of eyes and a huff. but you do not let this bother you, you are here to work too after all.

“for what it is worth, sevika,” your arm moves to touch her bicep, “it is great to see you here, representing zaun.”

      her arm feels like it's on fire, and your touch feels like it's on fire. she looks down at your hand on her arm for a second before subtly shrugging it off. 

she stares coldly at you, “yeah, well, i need to do something or my home will fall apart.”

“yes, i am aware. and, for you to be able to achieve that, you will need help.” sevika shakes her head to interfere but you continue, “you will need resources, councilor, you will need funding and i will give it you— i will help you get it.”

“i do not need your hel–”

this time, you glare at her— your eyes seeming to glint dangerously under the light, your arms crossing, “shut it, councilor, you need me.” 

      you take a couple of steps towards her, uncrossing your arms and putting a finger underneath her strong jaw, you slowly lift her head. you mouth the words you need me; tapping her cheek and turning around to leave the room— not even caring to bid your farewell. she sees you talking with your assistant, and getting one last look from you before the door shuts behind you.

since when were you so commanding and assertive. sevika’s core clenched at your tone, her breath hitches, and her pupils dilating.

oh.

[liesmyth]

@moscca you're right and you should say it! Here's a really great compilation of Taz quotes I've been keeping in mind

From an interview where she says that Lovecraft was one of her main inspirations, talks about her relationship with horror vs. sff as a genre author, and wanting to find relatable heroines in horror lit.

I didn’t write Gideon the Ninth for the characters—I wrote it entirely for the structure. I wanted to tell a very specific story, and I needed everything to serve that story.

I want people to realise there are no boundaries. I also want to release people from having to take their universe entirely seriously, if they don’t want to. Science fiction and fantasy reflects ourselves, our anxieties, our joys. I’m just writing to amuse myself, as per usual.

I am writing for my younger self and it would be disgusting of me to try to teach her anything.

(& other quotes from that same interview)

Although love and forgiveness aren’t necessarily the same thing either, Gideon’s frankly divine ability to forgive is a huge core of the novel. [...] Forgiveness is almost the electrical current being able to transmit through love.

The way I personally stay true to the story I started down on is to give myself permission to not teach anyone anything. [...] I know that a lot of people do take enormous pleasure and relief in lines or phrases or ideas from stories that ring true to their own lives, but it’s important for me that I tell a story and that I’m not writing Chicken Soup for the Necromantic Soul.

...the God of the Locked Tomb IS a man; he IS the Father and the Teacher; it’s an inherently masc role played by someone who has an uneasy relationship himself to playing a Biblical patriarch. John falls back on hierarchies and roles because they’re familiar even when he’s struggling not to. But the divine in the Locked Tomb is essentially feminine on multiple axes.

It seems to me that most books by anyone female-adjacent have an expectation that they will comfort the uncomfortable and discomfit the comfortable etc., whereas a guy can just tell an adventure story and be done with it. This ties in with an idea that I think nowadays that good art is moral and bad art is immoral: i.e. if a story is good it must somehow be beautiful on the moral scale. We go looking for why the art we love is moral even if the art we love is a donut.

[akindplace]

The thing about romanticizing the tortured artist trope is that it takes very serious health conditions, physical, mental, and emotional ones, and it turns it into a very empty aesthetic made for consumption. It takes a life story, and it turns it into a punch line, an easy way out to explain a lifelong struggle while having no regard for the person who actually lived it.

It’s a way of simplifying something so complex as a whole life story, take away the good parts, the artist’s talent, and atribute years and year of studying and practicing their craft to an illness. As if it makes people feel better that maybe they aren’t geniuses but at least they aren’t “insane”.

Artists are constantly working to the bone to get people to see and understand their art, to change the current status quo, to perfect their craft. The most important thing is not how an artist died. It’s the life they lived, the work they’ve left behind, their mark on the world. Reducing people to a tragedy is not a way of appreciating their genius: their art is.

No one is a genius because of their illness, their trauma, their suffering, but because they studied and worked hard to develop the aptitude they were born with. Talent is not a miracle, it’s a lifelong effort.

This stereotype is extremely harmful to people who are currently struggling with those health problems, and it should not be used to “give pain a meaning”, because there is always so much more to someone’s life than suffering, and there is always so much more to your own life than romanticizing your own struggles and those of others.

Pain is meant to be worked through, not fed. And when you feed yourself the myth that an artist was brilliant because they were sick, you are erasing a big part of their life to try and make sense of yours. But you won’t find true meaning in life if you’re only feeding your sorrow instead of maybe, just maybe, doing what those artists did and work through it with your own art.

A lot of them did not have any access to healthcare because their conditions were unknown, but they did what they could to keep going. Their deaths don’t mean they gave up in a big tragic ending, and reducing them to that means you’re erasing everything they did to keep going, every fight, every effort they put into their own health and into their life’s work.

I love impressionist art ever since I was in elementary school, my favorite artist being Vincent Van Gogh. I was first introduced to his story as a man who had a mental illness and died a tragic death, while struggling financially and never being recognized properly during his lifetime.

But you see, Vincent Van Gogh had his brother Theo, who kept all the letters his older brother sent him, and sent his brother words of admiration, support, and unconditional love in his own.

He helped Vincent financially so he could pursue his paiting career. He saw the talent in his own brother even when others might’ve not. The period when Vincent was doing a little better with his health was actually when he was most prolific in his painting, which shuts down the idea that someone must be on the gutter and on the deepest pain and sickness to produce great art.

Most people in really poor health have a hard time managing daily life, and they probably won’t miraculously produce their best work yet while they in extreme suffering (I dare you to make the greatest work of art you’re capable of while you’re down with the flu, now imagine being in constant physical, mental and emotional distress and people think you can just make just about anything). Great art takes a lot of work. Genius and suffering don’t go hand in hand, and it reductive to explain away talent by an illness, as if any effort artists put into their craft was meaningless.

Theo named his own son after his brother, and after Vicent died, he still wanted to make his work known, and after his own death, his wife Johanna kept working on Theo’s mission besides her own political activism. She published the letters between the two brothers, and her own son helped in making Van Gogh’s work even more well known. Even though he was just a baby when his uncle died, he kept his memory alive by founding a world famous museum in his name.

Vincent Van Gogh was able to keep working because he was helped by his own family, financially, emocionally, and was given every encouragement so he could go on with his own career. He painted more when he got medical help, even though in his own time he would have had access to much simpler treatments, since the understanding of illnesses has largely changed in the last centuries.

Healthcare, support, compassion and understanding go a long way, and that’s why it’s important to keep pushing society to be more inclusive to people with illnesses - so they will get the help they need, so they won’t leave earlier than they should.

Vincent Van Gogh’s name is not well known just because of his own efforts, but also by the efforts of those who loved him and kept his name alive long after he was gone. He is not famous because he was a tortured artist. He is famous because those who loved him tried to help him in the ways they could, even after he was gone. His fame is not the result of his death, but of his life’s work and the work of those around him.

Love made him known. Support allowed him to keep working. Getting some help even at a time people did not understand his condition well enough meant he could paint more.

Van Gogh was only human, and he felt such a broad spectrum of emotions and lived through so many things, just as we all do. Behind those paintings, there is a person, a story, and so much hard work, and none of that can be reduced to the romanticized ideal of a tragic death of a tortured man.

It is not about his pain, his suffering, his death, you see. It’s about his life. And it’s about the life of those who loved him. He was able to do what he loved because he was loved, and that is the reason is remembered to this day.

I will end this long post with one of his most famous quotes:

“There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”

[mypoisonedvine]

𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 (part I) | frater imperator x reader

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 | when the newly-appointed head of the clergy decides (or, has it decided for him) that it is time to marry, he neither has time for nor has to worry about the stress of dating... he can just take his pick.

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 | 5.2k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 | for the series overall: smut (18+ only!!), arranged marriage, extreme religious themes, shy!reader, and lots of pining/slow-ish burn. for this chapter: mention of death and mostly just reader having anxiety... and a hint of my glove kink coming through but that's neither here nor there

this is probably not worth saying when it's already in the title but uh, rite here rite now spoilers. so sorry but it's literally what the fic is based on so I couldn't help it.

Frater Imperator… Frater Imperator…

He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the title, still.  It was a shock already when he first read the letter from his mother— on top of the shock of losing her, which was more than enough— but it still hadn’t quite sunk in.

He was so shocked by the promotion, in fact, that he’d been entirely unable to process the paragraph afterwards:

And please, do as I’ve been asking for quite some time and finally take a wife.  Or husband!  I’m not picky.  But you need someone beside you to keep things in order and keep you in line.

Yes, Copia’s mother had been encouraging him towards marriage for quite some time, even before he knew she was his mother; in some ways, it made more sense once that element came to light, though it did change the tone of her request quite a lot.  It also made him take it much more seriously.

And now, it could be argued that this was basically her dying wish.  He really had no other choice: he couldn’t put off a marriage any longer.

See, he’d never had a problem with the idea of it— he’d always imagined getting married some day, like most people seem to— but he wasn’t the luckiest in love.  A broken heart or two (or five) had convinced him to focus more on his work with the church, and to be fair, no one could deny that the work had paid off.  But, as they say, it gets lonely at the top: and now, he was the leader of the whole church, and he had no prospects or even romantic interests to speak of.

Fortunately, he had realized that because he was the leader, he didn’t need all that: all he had to do was say the word.

~

The announcement spread through the congregation like wildfire: the newly-minted Frater Imperator was going to get married.  The part they neglected to mention— and the part everyone wanted to know the most— was to whom.

There were already plenty of rumors, which you avoided because you felt they were all baseless.  Even within one day you’d heard three different stories about this mysterious future spouse, each more preposterous than the last: that he had a secret lover in the ministry he would wed, that he met a fan at a ritual and swept her off her feet, and that he had some previously unmentioned long-term girlfriend who wasn’t even in the church.

The wedding was less than a week away and all anyone knew was that everyone would be there.

Unfortunately, it was hard to ignore the gossip, even if you weren’t participating in it.  The night when it all began, you were trying to read while several of the other Sisters were giggling amongst themselves over their various theories.  “I wasn’t sure he’d ever marry,” someone admitted, “even though he could probably have anyone he wanted.”

“Not me,” one Sister announced smugly, “I never thought he was all that good-looking.”

“Oh please,” another scoffed incredulously, “you’d be on your knees in a second if you saw him at a ritual.”

“Besides, his looks aren’t the most important thing: this is the head of the clergy.  Whoever he marries is probably going to be spoiled rotten!”

They laughed excitedly, and though you’d been trying to tune it out, you couldn’t help but wonder about it as well.  The announcement had left so much unanswered, but the timing of it seemed too important to ignore.  Perhaps the clergy had forbidden the Papa to marry— you weren’t aware of any rule against it, since to your knowledge none of them had ever tried— and so he’d had to wait until his time was complete to be with the person he loved.  Perhaps it was the death of his mother that triggered it: at best, a renewed desire to find happiness and family when faced with a reminder of mortality; at worst, his mother hadn’t approved of his lover and only now was his final obstacle removed.

Ironically, after all those times you failed to ignore them before, it took the other Sisters several attempts to tear you out of your train of thought now: you blinked quickly and looked up from your book as you realized they were saying your name to get your attention.

“Hm?” you mumbled hazily when you looked at them.

“A message for you,” Sister Agnes informed you, leaning over to hand you a rolled parchment.  You weren’t sure if it was private or not, but everyone was staring at you in anticipation— in fact, you noticed then that their entire conversation had died down to silence— and so you awkwardly unrolled it and read the writing inside.

MESSAGE FROM THE CLERGY:

Frater Imperator and the clergy request your presence in the upper sanctum imminently.

~

As soon as you descended the stairway back to the mail halls of the abbey, a gaggle of Sisters descended on you, wide-eyed and desperate for gossip.  “So?!” Sister Lilith asked expectantly, like the rest of her question should be obvious. “What was it about?”

“Was the whole clergy there?”

“U-uhm, all but Frater,” you replied shyly.

“What did they say?”

“Don’t be silly, ladies,” Sister Agnes scoffed, “it was obviously about the wedding.  What else would there be meetings about today?  They must want her to help in some way: communion, maybe?”

“Ooh!  A bridesmaid!” another in the group suggested excitedly.  “Do you know who he’s marrying?”

“Of course she knows!” someone answered for you.  “Who is it?  I was right, wasn’t I— it’s someone in the church!”

“Well… yes, I know who it is,” you mumbled, “but I… I’m not sure I’m permitted to speak on it.”

That was a lie, but you were too busy trying to process it all yourself to share it with anyone.

“Just tell us,” they begged.  “You won’t get in trouble!”

“The wedding’s only a few days away,” Sister Lilith pointed out, “so there’s no point in it being a secret now— and if I’m right about who it is, Sister Magdalena owes me a fifty.”

“I’m sure you didn’t guess it,” you promised her.

But the questions just kept coming: “It is a woman, though, right?” “Is it someone you know?  Wait, is it someone we know?” “

You realized that if you didn’t tell them now, they would either figure it out soon or be entirely blindsided at the ceremony.  Not to mention that if you refused to answer their questions, they’d just keep grilling you until they got something.  Your voice was actually quite feeble in that moment, not loud or strong enough to cut through all that chatter— but your words were enough to stop every question being thrown at you in its tracks.

“It’s me.”

You waited for them to react, but for a moment, they didn’t.

“I was asked to— to take the position,” you specified, putting it as vaguely as possible.  I’m going to marry Frater Imperator was just as true but was just as hard to say as it was to wrap your head around.

They erupted into a variety of reactions, all of which at least had some element of shock involved.  “I had no idea you were so close!” Sister Agnes exclaimed.

“We’ve… never even spoken…” you shyly replied, and the excitement quickly died down.  You weren't offended by their quizzical stares; if anything, it was a relief to see some of them looking as confused as you felt.

Why did he choose her? you caught a few whispers in the back of the group.  They're strangers? What makes her so special, then?

You wish you knew the answers to those questions.

That night as you laid in bed, you couldn’t do anything but replay the clergy meeting in your mind.  You’d felt so small across the table from all of them; you had no idea air could feel so heavy and stiff, matching the tense energy as you waited for them to explain why you’d been summoned.  As it all happened, you thought you would never forget every detail— but already you were losing your memory of what was said in what order, when exactly you realized you weren’t in trouble, how long it took you to believe what you were hearing.

Should we not court first?  Or have a meeting, maybe? You had suggested.  Frater does not feel it is necessary, a clergyman firmly replied.

And he’s not here now, because… you trailed off.

We all feel you should make this decision privately— in case his presence would sway you one way or another, a high Sister answered.

You could see the logic in that, and appreciated the concern for your uncoerced consent… except, of course, that this was an offer already impossible to say no to.  They’d successfully convinced you that you wouldn't be punished for turning down the proposal, but the marriage itself had already been announced: if you rejected the offer, someone else would surely take your place.  And for some reason, though the idea of going through with this terrified you, passing it up sounded even worse.  Even just imagining another woman taking her place at his side… why did it bother you so much? 

Because you will take your husband's title, but will not have decision-making power over the clergy, your title from henceforth shall be Sister Imperator Consortia.

It had a ring to it, but it didn’t feel like you— at least not yet.  It felt too… formal, too important.  Generally, people don’t join a convent and put on a habit because they’re intent on standing out, Satanic or not.

You told yourself that you needed to rest while you could, you had a busy week ahead starting with a dress fitting first thing tomorrow.  But still, you hardly got a moment of sleep that first night; part of you thought if you shut your eyes long enough, you would wake up to learn this had all been some bizarre dream.

You couldn’t decide, though, if you’d be relieved or heartbroken if you awoke.

~

In some ways, the wedding mass was quite similar to how you’d always pictured yours would be… except for the attendance.  You were sure you’d never met this many people in your life!  Even tonight, you wouldn’t be able to meet them all!

But, of course, this was the social event of the year, if not decade, for any church member or Satanist: it only made sense that there were throngs of people not only in the church but outside, waiting to see the new couple.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, face obscured by the black veil, your eyes widened with the thought that you might be basically the Kate Middleton of Satanism in this moment…

Trading your opaque veil for one of lace, your loose and simple dress for a form-fitting and extravagant one made of dark red silk and sporting an over-the-top train, you wondered if you were going to be swallowed up by all this overwhelming intricacy, all this… pomp.

Taking a shaky breath, you tried not to imagine that everyone else watching you walk down the aisle would agree with you that you were horribly out of place.  You wished you’d had a chance to understand why you were chosen— to even just meet the high Frater, but the clergy had insisted several times that he was too busy with his new duties and planning the wedding.  Yes, your fiance was too busy planning your wedding to speak to you.  It was all horrifically ironic, and irritating.  So, as you turned and stepped out of the bridal suite, taking your bouquet of Dahlias from one of the Sisters assisting you, you thought to yourself if nothing else, at least I’ll get to finally try to understand all this by the end of the night.

The doors to the main hall opened for you, and there was no turning back.

It was a massive room, with easily a thousand people between you and the altar, but the very first thing your eyes fell on was Copia all the way at the other end of the aisle: the all black suit was no surprise, yet even from so far his white eye stood out prominently, and it was fixed on you.

Walking down the aisle took quite some time— you’d been reminded to take slow steps, as if you were just going to break into a sprint or something.  You tried to keep your eyes ahead, and ignore all the eyes on you: people seated on the furthest ends of the pews leaned and stood on their tiptoes to try to get a glimpse, but between all the encouraging smiles you caught an occasional glare of disapproval… it seemed plenty of your siblings were jealous of or disappointed by you one way or another.

Adjusting your clammy hands slightly, you realized you were unintentionally holding a concerningly tight grip on the Dahlia stems and the ribbon they were wrapped with; that said, you were very thankful for something you do with your hands.

Your heart was pounding by the time you reached the front of the hall, where the priest, the clergy, and your betrothed waited for you at the altar.  A Sister took your bouquet away to free your hands just as you passed the front row, and when you looked forward again there were only a few carpeted steps between you and… everything.

Copia surprised you by reaching forward— at first you weren’t sure what he meant by it, until you realized and quickly took his hand, letting him guide you up the stairs.  He was wearing those leather gloves you hardly ever saw him without, but even still, it was the first time you’d ever touched him; was his hand shaking?  You couldn’t tell, yet it almost felt like it.  Not to say that his grip wasn’t a strange sort of comfort in that moment; as he helped you up the stairs, you felt yourself relaxing slightly, despite being far from over with the hardest parts of this.

The first few minutes were just a matter of standing and waiting while the priest spoke: you wish you could say you remembered a damn word of it, he must’ve said something about love or marriages or… you know, all that.  Whatever it was, you were relieved when it was over and you could move on to the communion and prayer— the more familiar parts, and the parts where you got to kneel.  You were actually amazed that your legs hadn’t been noticeably wobbly so far, but they definitely could use a break.

In the time that your head was meant to be bowed in your prayer, you carefully opened your eyes and turned your head— just enough to take a peek at him quickly.  Well, your intention was to be quick about it, but once you started looking, you became distracted rather easily.  It was just that you'd never seen him so up close, you were sure: you'd never noticed the slope of his nose before, or how long his eyelashes were, or the shape of his lips in this profile—

Suddenly, as if he sensed your stare somehow, his eyes popped open and glanced over to return it.  He gave you a half smirk as your eyes widened and you snapped your gaze back down to your clasped hands.

“...and may they be joined in unholy matrimony for all eternity,” the priest ended his prayer: “Nema.”

“Nema,” you and Copia and the rest of the congregation replied.

The penultimate step of the ceremony was the exchanging of the rings, which were extended towards you both on a little velvet pillow— it was actually kind of adorable, you thought.

You figured he might take his gloves off for you to put the ring on, but it was apparently designed to fit around them; alternately, you had to suppress a startled reaction to your own ring as he gently placed it on your finger.  It was a massive ruby surrounded with onyx and black diamonds, intricate and completely unsubtle.  You knew Copia had expensive taste, and it was certainly in keeping with such a lavish wedding, but you wondered if it would look entirely out of place on you for daily wear.

I’ll wear this ring every day, forever, you reminded yourself; you breathed out shakily as his hands held yours so tenderly for one more moment after your ring was in place.

And then there was only one thing left.  The thing you’d been preparing yourself for since this morning— or perhaps since that fateful meeting with the clergy: the kiss.

It felt pretty melodramatic with him lifting your veil over your head, and it felt surreal to be in the part of this that you’d been imagining in hopes of preparing yourself.  Of course, it was a little different than how you’d pictured it, most of all the look on his face: it was subtle, but he didn’t seem as serious or muted as you were used to.  It wasn’t like he was grinning or anything— that would’ve actually been sort of creepy— but there was a small smile on his face.

You heard the priest say something about husband and wife but you weren’t paying attention, it all sounded distant somehow.  And maybe you sort of psyched yourself up for this moment too much— maybe you wanted to get the wedding over with, maybe you were afraid if you didn’t commit fully that you’d end up instinctively backing away when he came closer and you’d both be humiliated in front of all these people.

There were other possible explanations for what you did, but for whatever reason, you all but threw yourself onto him and kissed him.

It only lasted for a few seconds, but that moment may as well have been frozen in time; it took him a second to react, his hands settling near your waist— and it took the crowd a moment too, but they began to clap and cheer for you both at some point.

Truthfully, you weren’t thinking much about how it felt to kiss him… you couldn’t, really, without losing focus on the point of all this.  You weren’t here to have a nice kiss or meet someone you might like— you were here to serve a purpose, to fill a role.  And that’s not to say you weren’t grateful, but you weren’t going to let yourself be distracted from your duty to the church.

You backed away as suddenly as you’d latched onto him, and when you opened your eyes after scrunching them shut during the kiss, you saw him looking at you with a bit of shock in his expression.  Only then did you wince to yourself and wonder, was that too much?

He took your hand and turned to face the congregation, so you followed suit of course, and as he smiled and waved at them politely you were a little surprised to see them all standing and applauding.  It definitely felt like a bigger crowd from this side of the cathedral…

You were almost frozen for a second, until you felt his hand guiding you down— he was already on the first step down, so you quickly picked up your skirt and followed him.  You had wondered before if you would feel different walking back down the aisle with him, compared to when you processed on it alone.  You weren’t sure if you really felt married or something— what would that even feel like?— but you did feel different.

You felt better, actually— relieved, happier, you even caught yourself smiling at the crowd, but it was hard not to with how… energetic they were.  Despite not really knowing what to do with all that attention, you at least appreciated it, though it surely had little to do with you.  They were cheering for him because he’s Copia— Frater, the former Papa, heir of the Emeritus bloodline— and they were only cheering for you because you’re his wife.

And no, just because you understood that logically didn’t mean it felt at all real yet.

Frater Imperator and Sister Imperator Consortia! you could hear the announcement echoing through the hall, though it was distant compared to the claps and hollers.  You dared one glance at him by your side, thinking it might be easier than looking at this massive crowd around you, and found him already smiling at you; and with a warmth beginning to spread on your face, you let him guide you out of the doors, into the rest of the church submerged in nightfall. 

~

After a crowded spectacle like that, the quiet of his chambers was quite a relief.  So much so, actually, that it dampened some of that eerie, anxious feeling of being alone with Copia in his bedroom; it wasn’t quite as spacious as you would’ve assumed someone with his level of importance would have, but the ornate and luxurious furniture made perfect sense.

You were so caught up in taking it all in, almost entranced by the beauty all around you, that when he spoke it slightly startled you. 

“That kiss,” he said suddenly.  “Wow.”

It was just that his voice sounded so different like this: no microphone, no massive chapel, just one small room with stone walls.  There was a brief pause as he ran his gloved hand over his hair, blowing air quickly out of his mouth, and you realized you should probably respond somehow: for some reason, your mind struggled to accept that he was speaking to you directly.  “I’m sorry if I was too forward, I just—”

“No!  No, not at all,” he laughed thinly, “no, you did very well.  I’m sure today was… overwhelming for you.”

It felt good to just hear him confirm that: up until now, everyone in the clergy had been sort of acting like this was normal, never really acknowledging (let alone validating) your stress.

“If it’s any comfort, it was for me, too.  And I’ve had a lot more experience with large crowds than you,” he added.

You smiled a little; “Yes, that’s true— but it must be different here, at home.”

“Mm,” he nodded, pondering that for a second.  “It is.  But it’s preferable in some ways, too— like now, being able to come back to my own space.”

You envied that a bit; you were likely never to return to your chambers across the building, and while you didn’t necessarily enjoy sharing that space with a dozen other Sisters, it was probably easier than sharing a bed with just one man.

Before you could get a little too caught up in that train of thought, he spoke again.  “I can’t believe I haven’t already told you how exquisite you look in your dress,” he offered.

“O-oh, thank you,” you hummed, “I’m very fortunate, it’s a beautiful gown.”

“Of course it is, I picked it out,” he informed you proudly.  “I have excellent taste, no?”

“You do,” you agreed with a small laugh.

“And you liked the ceremony, I hope?”

“Yes, Papa,” you answered dutifully.  “I-I mean, Frater.”

“Force of habit,” he noticed, “literally.  But, I'm not Frater to you anymore, I'm your husband.”

That certainly made your heart skip a beat, even though you couldn’t imagine you had forgotten it in the last ten minutes.  “So what should I call you, then?” 

“Well, just my name should do,” he laughed slightly, seeming a bit surprised by the question.  “Spouses call each other pet names from time to time, would you like that?”

You might have been able to think about that idea more clearly if his hand wasn't on your waist, petting along the curve of it absent-mindedly.  “I… don't know,” you admitted, “I’ve never really tried it.”

“It will come naturally, I suppose,” he shrugged.

“So, it is a proper marriage then,” you realized.

“Hm?” 

You wondered if you shouldn’t have said it aloud.  “I-I just mean, I wasn’t sure at first… if maybe it was all political, you know,” you admitted.  “A marriage for show, not necessarily of a personal nature, I guess.”

“If it were political, I would have been paired up with someone from another church, I imagine,” he explained, one of his eyebrows raising.  “Did you think I chose you randomly?”

It felt pretty fucking random, you wanted to say, but that would have been a little bit harsh.  Instead, you sat down on the edge of the bed (which was only a little cumbersome with your dress) and he copied you, sitting just a few feet away.  “I’m so honored you chose me, Copia,” you began, feeling a little odd about using his name so casually, “but I just… I can’t imagine why.”

“The clergy asked me the same thing,” he recalled, “but they weren’t satisfied with my answer— I’m sure you won’t be, either.”

“Try me,” you encouraged.

“Well… I saw you once,” he explained slowly, “in a Mass— I gave you communion, do you remember that?”

“O-oh, yes, I think you’ve served me the elements a few times.”

“This was the first time,” he assured, “I know, because I thought to myself she must be new, if I’d seen her before I would’ve remembered it.”

You tried not to smile too wide, but you couldn't help some reaction.  You never imagined you'd left such an impression on him.

“You looked up at me, and you just looked so sweet… I couldn’t get the image out of my mind, you on your knees before me…”

You crossed your legs tightly.  “I mean, I remember that too, of course.  But it’s because it was the first time I saw you in your papal robes— I was just one of hundreds, I didn’t even know you could tell us apart.”

“Well, you stood out to me— maybe it was fate, eh?” he smirked.  But he was the head of the clergy, the most important man in the church: he made his own fate.

“And that’s it?” you realized sheepishly.  “You thought I was pretty, or something, a few years ago and so you married me?”

“Not pretty, no— pretty is cheap, cara mia.  You were enchanting.”

Was this flattery?  It seemed too perfect to be totally genuine, but hell, he was smooth.  

“I thought of you often,” he admitted, moving closer to you, “I imagined if I might have you to myself someday… and now I do.”

His gloved hand rested on your shoulder before carefully moving up to the back of your neck; he guided you towards him, slowly and patiently, looking into your eyes for a moment but taking longer to look at your lips. 

You swallowed nervously once before letting your eyes fall shut.

The kiss was soft at first, but grew more intense with every moment; he breathed a little heavier through his nose and you could feel it against your face.

His arms wrapped around you, and it should've felt nice, like a loving embrace; it sort of did, it just also started to make you feel claustrophobic, forcing you to fight the urge to squirm out of his grasp.

You wanted to give into it, you wanted to let yourself melt into his arms… but as he held you tighter and kissed you harder, your heart started to race in a way that wasn’t pleasant anymore.

Pulling back and pushing against him, you broke away and hoped he wouldn’t be angry with you or hurt by your rejection.  Fortunately, he let you move back as soon as you tried, and looked at you with an expression more of surprise than frustration.

“W-wait, I—” you mumbled nervously, willing your hands not to shake with nervousness.  “It’s not that I don’t— we’ve only just— I do find you attractive, but—”

“We don’t know each other very well,” he finished for you.  “It's alright, you seemed nervous already.”

“Yes,” you sighed, smiling with relief.  “I just thought… maybe we could get to know each other better first, before we…”

“I didn't expect you to be so shy,” he noticed with a soft laugh.  You were keeping close watch on his tone and, from what you could tell, he thankfully didn't sound too disappointed.

“I-I’m usually not,” you assured, “maybe compared to some other Sisters…”

“Well, that's a low bar,” he noted with a raised brow, “but anyhow, it doesn't bother me.  I'm happy to wait until you're… more comfortable.”

You smiled a little, glancing away briefly.  “Thank you,” you began, barely managing to stop yourself from calling him by a title again.

“I just hope you'll stay in my bed tonight— it's your bed, too, you know.  Nothing else has to happen.”

“Of course,” you smiled, “I'd like that.” 

He nodded shortly at you and moved as if he was going to get up, but you opened your mouth impulsively to speak— even if nothing came out right away— and he stopped.

“But, um— you could kiss me again,” you suggested quickly, before you lost the nerve.  He smiled, with a certain sparkle in his eyes that made you squirm slightly against the bed.

His hand brushed under your chin gently, lifting your face until you were forced to look right up at him.  “If it would please you,” he returned with a purr.

Swallowing thickly, you nodded; “Yes,” you insisted softly.

This kiss was slower, but no less intoxicating: he touched you like you were the most fragile thing, and the movements of his lips seemed to gently guide your own.  You heard yourself sigh against him, and his thumb started to pet your jawline tenderly.

You remembered that moment clearer now, the one he described to you before. Taking communion from him, kneeling under him, waiting with an open mouth for him to deliver the mana to your tongue… the cool golden chalice against your lip and the bittersweet wine…

His other hand delicately landed on your lower back, and you opened your mouth wider, letting his tongue graze against yours.

When he pulled back, you found yourself leaning forward just for a second, chasing him for more.  And he obviously noticed, it was clear from the way he smiled down at you.  You wondered if he would indulge your desire for more— for a second, you imagined he might decide that you were more ready than you'd let on and take you right then and there.  A little brutish, yes, but the idea tickled a certain corner of your brain.

But, no, he sat up straight and let out a short breath.  “I'll get ready for bed,” he announced.  “You should too— you've had a long day.”

You nodded back; “Yes, Papa,” you returned compulsively once again.  “Damn it!”

“It seems you have a lot of new things to get used to,” he laughed.

More than you know, you thought to yourself as he walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

[thewritetofreespeech]

pleeease do the wedding headcanons for bg3!! can you do all the main boys (and maybe ascended astarion??) 💍

Gale

Gale does try to subtly warn you that it will be a big wedding, with the Dekarios Clan far & wide, but you hadn’t realized how big.

Cousins, uncles, aunts, friends of the family, friends of friends of the family all come to attend. To the point that you can’t have sides at the wedding as the groom’s side would swell over the other. So you choose to have no sides.

Gale’s mother is head of the clan and officiates the wedding. Utterly beguiled by you and the happiness you bring to her son. And a day she thought would never come while he was intwined with a goddess.

Tara acts as ring bearer. A title she is at first insulted about but then refuses to give up. No take backs.

They will have to transmute another wing onto the tower for all the presents. Gale blushes & stammers at other well wishes of having children right away. He’s not against it but he wants to have you to himself a little while longer.

Wyll

Given his background that I made up and also his rank in society as the eldest son of Ravengard, it was probably always an expectation of Wyll’s to get married. Family lines and all that.

Even when his life was in shambles, deep down he always believed that he would one day be free, get married, and have children with his partner.

It would be a very traditional wedding, with military aspects given his link to the Flamming Fists. This includes uniforms, sword arches, etc.

He cares very little for the formality but takes great pains to follow the traditions.

Wyll is much more interested in the reception. To dance with you who is finally all his, makes nearly ending with the world almost worth it.

Astarion

He’s surprised you want to get married and have a proper wedding. Can you just be continuing on as you are? Together because you want to be, not because you have to be. Astarion also doesn’t like…labels.

But, if it’s what you want, he supposes it wouldn’t be the end of the world. It’s just a big party at the end of the day, right? He likes parties.

It’s an intimate little affair with all your core friends come to join you. You couldn’t possibly have everyone you helped or made acquaintance with at the wedding. Astarion insists on keeping it small as you’ll never financially recover from all the ale you would need for that.

Makes his partners outfit and his own. Something matching, but not on the nose. More of a photo negative matching set. With no red. He doesn’t want to think about blood or the past today.

After it’s all said and done, Astarion can see what all the fuss might be about. To tell everyone you’re his. To tell everyone that you’ve chosen him. To have a symbol of that for all time. He’s glad you made him go through it.

Ascended!Astarion

Why? You’re already his. A piece of paper or foolish mortal ceremony is pointless when you have eternity together as Ascended and consort.

But….there are advantages to a wedding. Nobility and the merchant class of all Baldur’s Gate, not to mention powerful allies from afar, striding in like obedient lambs into his castle to pay tribute to the two of you. That is something he can get behind.

He has the grand ballroom flooded with night orchids, casablanca lilies, and any other night blooming flower he can think of. Just because they have to have the ceremony at night doesn’t mean that he’ll have your wedding be dull and dingy, devoid of color.

A costume change couple as there is an outfit for the ceremony, the reception, first dance, and departure. All custom made with the finest materials available. The kind of craftsmanship that takes 7 seamstresses 7 days & nights to finish on time. But it’s worth it.

Astarion would dance you around the ballroom. As if you were the only two in the room. Floating on air. He’s completely lost interest in his schemes and guests with you in his arms. He’ll come back to them later but they aren’t important when you’re with him.

Halsin

Never believed in marriage or weddings. Binding another person to another with words seemed unnatural to him. People are free to come & go as they please.

But, he also never considered himself a monogamist until he met you. His heart shifting from more of the bear into the wolf. Do not wolves bite and mark their mates like they might do with rings?

It would be a very small wedding. And by small he means just the two of you.

Together in a forest, under Oakfather’s gaze, using a traditional hand binding of the druids with crowns of flowers and simple garb, you make your pledge.

He would want to consummate your marriage immediately. Right there under your marriage tree; if you let him. He could be persuaded to at least wait until you’re back at your home, but it better be a short walk. Otherwise he makes no promises.

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

New chapter is up, my Darlings!

Full link to AO3 fic here

18+ only/minors DNI. Tags and CW for this chapter: mentions of matricide; implied/referenced CSA; implied/referenced sexual assault; implied/referenced incest; questionable consent involving the Bene Gesserit; pregnancy; misogyny; marital strife; vague murder plots; eventual smut; sub!Feyd; subspace; oral sex (F+M receiving) face-fucking/riding; collars; pronged collars; leashes; binding (Feyd has his hands tied behind his back for most of the sex scene)multiple orgasms; overstimulation vaginal sex; riding; dom!Reader

CHAPTER TWELVE: PLANS WITHIN PLANS

Idrisa’s waiting for you in the hallway a few meters away from the dead servant and even with her head lowered in deference she catches your look of surprise.  

“I go where my lady goes,” she explains.

You exhale, closing your eyes for a moment.  You’d lined your eyelashes with black gloss earlier; you can feel the remnants of it drying on your cheeks.  “Then can you take me back to my quarters?” you ask.

Idrisa hesitates, glancing down the hallway towards the rooms where people still celebrate, before looking back at you.  “Are you sure, na-Baroness?” she asks, voice small.

“They won’t notice that I’m gone,” you tell her.  “And if they do, they won’t care.  I just need to get away.”  You shake and feel bile rising in your throat and gag, trying not to vomit as a pair of guards pull the dead servant’s body away.  He leaves behind a trail of blood as you keep your eyes on Idrisa and hold your breath, not wanting to breathe in the coppery smell of blood that lingers in the air.  

No one else seems affected by it, not even Idrisa, who ignores the sight before her and inclines her head while giving a curtsy.  “If that's what my lady desires,” she says.  

“It is,” you say quickly, glancing behind you at the double doors separating you from the Baron’s throne.  You can barely make out Feyd’s clipped, furious tone but not any words.  You don’t want to be here when he re-emerges.  You nod at Idrisa, jutting your chin out as if to say, Let’s go.

As your heels click along the dark marble she trails behind you like a pale shadow, her head downcast.

You feel sick.  You need a moment to decide what to do next.

Stay as far away from Feyd as possible, at least until you have answers.  But where to get them?  You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose as you realize you know exactly where.

Even if they aren’t friends of yours, you still have the Reverend Mother Mohiam and multiple Bene Gesserit sisters on Geidi Prime until tomorrow night.  They’ll have answers and insight.

Answers and insight they deliberately withheld from you .

They must have known, or at least the Reverend Mother probably did.  They’ve had their hands in everything, especially involving looking after their own, which just makes you wonder why they chose to help keep this buried.  Not why they chose to keep this buried from the other Great Houses; if Feyd’s really so important for their selective breeding program, it doesn’t surprise you that they would.  

You’d known that he kills people well before you ever met him.  Many men with his kind of power have killed.  But there’s no way they’d construe him killing a prisoner of war in an arena execution as being the same level of evil as killing his own mother.  They hid this from you, and you want…well, not even to know why they would, because you could answer that yourself, but to know why they’d let him be raised by a monster, why they care so much to preserve his life, no matter how painful it’s been.  Why they chose you for him.  

“The Bene Gesserit Sisters aren’t leaving until tomorrow evening,” you manage as you walk together, and you keep your voice from trembling.  “Can you speak to one of their consorts?  Request a private meeting for me with the Reverend Mother Mohiam before she goes?”

“Yes, na-Baroness,” Idrisa says. 

You don’t know what else to say as she leads you to your quarters and aids you out of your gown, into a chemise and robe.  Was it only half an hour ago that you thought Feyd would be either tearing you out of this gown or simply hitching your skirts up around your hips before fucking you hard and fast?  

“I’ll grab some wet cloth for your cosmetics, na-Baroness,” Idrisa says, and ducks into the bathroom.

You stand there, almost swaying in place, furious at everyone including yourself.  Even at the end of your patience with Idrisa, who gently applies a damp cloth below your eyes to where you’ve wept.

“It’s alright,” you say after a moment, closing a hand around her delicate wrist to nudge her away.  “I can handle that part myself.”

Idrisa drops her hand when you release her wrist but otherwise stays in place, kneading the cloth in her grip.  “My lady is distraught,” she says.  “Is there nothing I can do to comfort her?”

Does she know?  You can’t shake the question, can’t avoid it.  You look at Idrisa and think, she’ll squirm, but she won’t lie.  “Can you tell me about Feyd-Rautha’s mother?” you ask her.

You hadn’t realized it was possible for her to blanche, but she does.  “I am sorry, na-Baroness,” she says.  Your hands shake and you take a step back.  She continues hardly above a whisper.  “Like I said, it was before my time.  I remember hearing she’d died, but I don’t think anyone was surprised when she did.  Her name was,” she pauses, trying to find the right euphemism, “not popular here.”

Of course it wasn’t . 

Idrisa adds, giving you an almost apologetic look, “People called her Abulurd’s whore.  Apologies, na-Baroness,” she adds when you wince.  “I heard she was killed in a home burglary.”

“And is that all?”

Idrisa’s lips part a fraction.  After a moment’s hesitation she asks, “Does my lady suspect anyone in particular?”  Her eyes dart across your face.  

Do you? you almost ask.  “I did,” you tell her.  “It turned out to have been someone else.”

You let the silence speak for itself. Idrisa’s eyes widen before she looks down.  “I’m very sorry, na-Baroness,” she says.  

“So really, no one here has any idea,” you say, finding it almost impossible to believe and yet it makes a disturbing amount of sense. 

“We’d heard no details other than a burglary resulting in a stabbing and that was the end of it. Whatever happened, it happened on Lankiveil, “ Idrisa says.  “None of us witnessed it like…” she hesitates, unsure where to look as she can’t keep your gaze.

“You saw it?” It .  The thing that keeps going unspoken but hovers over your husband, your marriage, your children’s futures.

“Trust me, na-Baroness,” Idrisa says, “I didn’t want to.  None of us did.”

You finally look at each other.  You know Idrisa’s terrified of Feyd, and yet the compassion you see in her eyes is for him as well as you.  You hesitate, then open your mouth, about to ask her what he was like back then.

The door swings open and Feyd strides in, and all at once you remember how frightening he was when you first met him, how much he’d make you feel like prey.  How there’d been something that felt distinctly inhuman about him.

“You disrespected me in front of my uncle,” he says as he slams the door shut behind him.  “He won’t overlook that anytime soon.”   

Your vile uncle can go fuck himself , you don’t say.  You lift your chin and meet his gaze as you tamp down on your instinct to run.

His lips compress into a thin line before he continues.  “I don’t think you understand how fair I am with you.  If you’d been Rabban’s wife and this was his party, he’d be raping you in front of his men right now just for the fun of it.  He’d cut out your tongue for shouting at him, because it’s not as though you need one in order to give him sons.”

“Get out,” you tell him.  You sound more confident than you feel.

“No,” he says.  “If I speak, then you’ll listen.”

Idrisa swallows, glancing nervously at you and at him, looking like she wants to disappear and weighing her options on whether that would be more disrespectful than acknowledging Feyd, before giving a small curtsy and starting to step back.

If he hadn’t had to reach down for his boots you wouldn’t have caught him drawing a blade in time, because he doesn’t look away from you as he strides forward, about to slash the edge across Idrisa’s throat.  But he did, and you have a split second to react, and even if it’s not enough time to run forward and tackle him, you find your voice.

“ Stop! ”  It’s a less angry, more desperate scream from before, but it makes Feyd-Rautha pause, knife centimeters from Idrisa’s neck.

“Don’t you hurt her,” you tell him.  Your voice shakes as much as you do.  “She has nothing to do with this.”

He doesn’t turn his head, but his eyes slide towards her, then back to you, his expression as cold and detached as it was at the start of his arena fight.  Idrisa shuts her eyes.  A tear slides down her cheek.  

For a moment the three of you stand frozen in silence.  Do you take a step forward and try to disarm him, or will that provoke him?  Idrisa certainly can’t move; her fate lies in Feyd’s hands.  He’ll kill her for sure if she tries to evade or resist him.  Feyd, for his part, seems to weigh his options: remind you what he’s capable of and how there’s nothing you can do to stop it, or try not to upset you any further tonight.

Given the turn tonight’s taken, pure spite might motivate him most right now.

“Please,” you blurt out, too scared to take that kind of risk.

A brief flicker of surprise.  You can imagine the thoughts running through his mind.  Why do you beg for the safety of a mere slave?  She’s replaceable .  

“Say that again,” he says, as if he thinks you’d be too proud to beg for the life of the only friend you’ve made here.

“Please,” you say again, slower. “Please don’t kill or hurt Idrisa.  I’m the one you’re angry with”--a statement you’re not entirely sure is even true–“so please don’t take it out on her.”  After a moment you add, managing to keep the venom out of your voice, “husband.”  You try to breathe, fresh tears pooling in your eyes.  How, you wonder, do you try to reason with him?  Why do you try to appeal to his humanity when it’s been called into question that he possesses such a thing?

And yet you stand, silently begging, barefoot and hardly dressed, feeling as vulnerable and powerless as you did on your wedding night, but with another life hanging in the balance between you.

Feyd’s eyes go half-lidded, lip curling in contempt, but he lowers his blade.  For a moment you and you’re certain Idrisa wonders if he’s simply going to swing it back up and slash her across the throat.  The muscles in her face clench up.  He makes no such movement, simply takes a step back.

“ Out ,” he says.

Idrisa sags, letting out a loud sigh of relief that leads to a rattling gasp, tears now streaming down her face.  She lowers her head and scurries away, murmuring, “ Thank you, na-Baron.  Thank you, na-Baron .”  As she leaves she nods towards you.  “ Thank you, na-Baroness .”

She closes the door behind her.  You and your husband stare at one another.  Fear has done nothing to quell your anger.  It takes you a moment before you think you can talk without breaking down.  

“Did you really think I’d never find out?  That I wouldn’t eventually ask?” you finally manage.

“You’d seemed to’ve drawn your own conclusions,” Feyd says, stock-still with his hands at his sides, his grip on the knife looser.  He doesn’t come in any closer.

“You’re right, I did,” you say.  “I’d thought your uncle had her killed to make sure she couldn’t help you.”

“She didn’t help me when she was alive, either,” Feyd snaps, the implication clear, the lines of his face harsh.

How could you think she’d ever have let the Baron touch you? you want to ask.  No mother would ever sit idly by and watch their child go through that.

“She was one woman against Geidi Prime and Baron Harkonnen,” you tell him.  You can’t accept the fact that any sane mother would just allow their son to be raised by a man like the Baron, or that she didn’t know what kind of monster he was.  “There’s no way she just gave you away.”

“How do you know?” he asks, his tone not accusing, not yet.  He sounds almost amused, in a manner you find almost condescending.  It makes you want to clench your fists.  I didn’t think you were still so naive, wife, he seems to be saying.            

“Your father got out.  He defected .  She would’ve known why,” you say.

Feyd tilts his head slightly as he considers your words, looking at you as if you’re the one who’s unreasonable.  “Why did you think I was born in the first place?” he asks.  “Why do you think my mother, a Bene Gesserit witch, chose to get pregnant eighteen years after she had her first son and when she was nearly forty?  It wasn’t an accident. I’ve never heard of an accidental Bene Gesserit pregnancy, have you?”

You look away.  He gives you a moment to respond.  You can’t.

“They always have plans within plans,” Feyd says.  “Their children are never just their children, they’re tools to serve a greater purpose.”  

And they’re always Bene Gesserit first, not mothers or wives or anything else .

“Why do you think they sent one of their witches after a man who was estranged from his own House?  Why do you think he was of any value to them?”

You know what he’s asking.  You shut your eyes as you answer.   “Because his degenerate older brother wasn’t the match they wanted to continue the bloodline,” you say.

When you open your eyes, it’s to the sight of him giving you a grim smile.  “See?  You understand, even if you don’t want to.  Now, why do you think she waited until Rabban was about grown before trying for another son?”

“Feyd,” you start.

“Why?   And why do you think everyone waited until after my father was dead before I was taken in my sleep to Geidi Prime the night after my seventh birthday?”

You don’t realize you’re shaking your head.  Even if she had an agenda, she wouldn’t have just let it happen.  You can’t believe it.

Feyd’s eyes are like a shark’s.  It’s hard to look him in the eye.  “I was only ever a tool for her, for their kind.  They just cared about furthering the bloodline, not what it would cost me to live like I have.”  The thing he never talks about.  The thing he still won’t talk about.  You could scream.  Everyone knows, and everyone’s quietly agreed to acknowledge it.  You finally break, saying it before you’re realizing you’re saying it.

“Did you really kill her because of that or because you couldn’t kill him?” 

The question hangs there after the words spill out of you.  Your ears ring and your heart pounds as you force yourself to look at him. 

His nostrils flare.  His eyes look silver in the harsh light.  

“You killed her after you’d tried and failed to kill him first.”  You can see the rise and fall of Feyd’s chest, his look of warning.  “And I understand why you wanted to kill him.  Anyone would’ve, and should’ve.  He should never’ve been allowed anywhere near you.”

Feyd’s eyes glint.  He doesn’t speak, but he looks stricken, looks livid.  

You try to craft your next thought word by word, unsure where to tread lightly or go straight for the jugular.  “I know it must’ve seemed different at the time, but he was clearly trying to isolate you.  He was trying to make you hate your mother.”

“He didn’t have to try,” Feyd says.  “Did it all on my own, after enough time passed.”

“I…” you start, and stop.  Feyd waits for you to finish a sentence you cannot construct.

“You don’t know what it was like,” Feyd says.  “ You. Weren’t.  There. ”  He enunciates every last word, baring his black teeth in a snarl.

You flinch away.  When you can speak you say, “You’re right.  I wasn’t there.  I don’t know how it feels to go through what you went through.  And you refuse to tell me.”

Feyd’s lip curls.  Something flashes in his eyes.  “You’re saying you want all the details?” he asks.  “Did you want to know how the first time it happened was eight months after I was brought here and two months after I finally accepted that I’d never hear from my mother again?”

“I’m saying that this is more than a marriage; it’s a political alliance.  I’m saying that as your ally I have the right to know things that will impact me.  And as your wife, even knowing that I can’t change the past, it  was still so much worse having to hear it from the Baron than if I’d heard it from you.”  Your chest heaves.  You won’t cry again.  

And Feyd doesn’t respond.  

“You killed your mother.”

“Yes,” he says.  He sounds resigned.

“Do you ever regret it?” you ask.

“I briefly did, at first,” Feyd says.  “Mostly I don’t think about it at all.  Thinking about it won’t change the fact that she’s still dead.”

You look down; the silence hangs between the two of you and grows heavier.  You feel cold.  You wrap your arms around yourself.

“I won’t let you fuck me tonight,” you tell him.  “You’re not welcome in my bed, and I won’t come to yours.”

“Believe it or not, I’m not really in the mood anymore,” Feyd says.  He turns towards the door, pauses, and adds, “We’re expected to make an appearance tomorrow.  The festivities aren’t over yet.  Someone will send you another gown.”  

He leaves, and after he shuts the door behind him it feels like the air has gone out of the room.

Not to your surprise, you have trouble sleeping.  

For some, the party’s still going on, and will continue into the morning.  Feyd’s still going to train, you’re sure, and you don’t envy the poor sods expected to spar with him.  You imagine they’ll be bloated and sweaty, desperately hungover or perhaps still a bit drunk from their master’s festivities.  There will be more festivities tomorrow night, and the night after that, although muted by comparison.  You will be expected to be present for at least part of it at Feyd-Rautha’s side.  You think about how most visitors will be leaving after tonight’s festivities.  You think of the cold, detached way the Reverend Mother alluded to Feyd’s abuse.  You think of Margot Fenring and her coy, knowing smile.  The daughter growing in her womb and the bitter way Feyd talked about plans within plans.  

There’s a sick kind of acceptance in your gut that could almost be freeing.

There’s no one here who you can really trust .

You manage to fall asleep at what passes for the crack of dawn on Geidi Prime, even if through the window it’s all just different shades of sickly grey, only to wake up three hours later feeling not-particularly rested.

Your morning knock at the door reveals not only Idrisa but one of the Bene Gesserit nuns; lower-ranking, you suppose, who’s shrouded head to foot.

“Good morning, na-Baroness,” the young woman says, her voice sounding youthful enough to call the descriptor ‘ woman ’ into question.

“Good morning, Sister,” you say, a burbling cocktail of both hope and dread rising in your stomach.

“Would you like to join her Reverence for breakfast, na-Baroness?” she asks.

“I would, thank you.  When does she want me to join her?”

“In an hour, na-Baroness.  Your handmaiden will know where to take you,” the nun says as Idrisa sets your tray down on your end-table.  She seems so poised, as if she hadn’t nearly been murdered last night.

“I’m looking forward to speaking with her.  Thank you, Sister,” you say as you think that for such a meeting it would be most appropriate to wear something with a hood, perhaps something that covers part of your face.  Feels safer that way.  Perhaps the Bene Gesserit are onto something there.

When it's time, the room Idrisa leads you to isn’t within the guest wing, like you’d expected, but in a neighboring corridor you haven’t been in before.  You wonder, for a moment, if the Reverend Mother is more familiar with this vast Fortress than you are after an entire month of living here, and then a pair of Harkonnen guards open the door for you to step inside.

After a month of breakfasts with the Baron, the spread set out for the two of you is quite modest, even if it’s more food than the two of you combined could put away in one sitting.  There’s a plate of different breads and accompanying toppings, eggs, fruit, and pitchers of juice and distilled water set down in the space between the two of you.  There’s also a pot of tea with sides of lemon and honey.

“Thank you for meeting me, your Reverence,” you say as you sit down, and for a moment the two of you sit in silence.  A Harkonnen slave girl pours tea for each of you before leaving the room.  The Reverend Mother waits until the door’s closed to lift her veil and take a sip of tea.

“I'd heard it was urgent that I speak with you at my convenience,” she says once she’s set her cup down.  “It’s convenient for me now.  So by all means, speak.”

You take a breath, twisting your hands in your lap, thinking about how you’d rehearsed this conversation in your head all night and earlier this morning.

“I must confess I got some rather distressing news last night,” you tell her.  “Something that’s fundamentally changed the nature of my marriage, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?” she asks, tilting her head ever so slightly.  

“Did you know Feyd-Rautha’s mother, Emmi Rabban?” you ask.  Did you assure her all would be alright?  Did you pretend to comfort her when her child was abducted?  Did you care at all when her own son murdered her?

“I spoke to her a few times when she was alive, yes,” her Reverence says, and doesn’t elaborate.  Seconds tick by and she offers nothing else, eyes tracking every minute muscle in your face.  She seems content to let you torment yourself in the ensuing silence, and it works.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you finally ask.

The Reverend Mother pours herself some more tea. “I imagine it must’ve been the Baron who shared the news with you if you’re only just finding out,” she says.  “If his nephew hadn’t used that bit of family history to keep you in line, he must not have wanted you to hear about it at all.

“Of course,” she adds, “It was a little naive of you, young Y/N, to be so shocked when you knew everything else.”

“It’s not something he ever chose to share with me,” you tell her.  “I’d thought…I’d have expected matricide from his uncle or his brother, but not him, not even in the state he must’ve been in.”

“You’d thought better of him?” her Reverence asks and you flush.  The woman who’d assured you that he could be tempered, that he had a sense of honor, is acting like it’s your own fault for trusting your husband to be above the act of matricide.

“I mean… yes, ” you say, unable to keep the incredulity out of your tone.  “With everything I’ve learned about the Baron I’d just thought…I’d thought Feyd had tried to find asylum on Lankiveil after the assassination attempt and the torture that followed.  I’d thought he’d tried to defect from the Harkonnens.  I’d thought the Baron had been the one to have her killed so Feyd would have no one left to turn to.”

“The thought occurred to him, I’m certain,” her Reverence says.  “But that would’ve been too simple, wouldn’t have gotten his would-be heir to truly embrace his inner darkness. 

 “If he’d had her killed she would’ve been immortalized as an innocent in Feyd-Rautha’s eyes and he would’ve hated his uncle all the more.  But poisoning her image, fanning his separation into hatred, would ensure that he lost her well before she died.  The Baron has a talent for manipulation.”

“I realized that after I found out who really killed her,” you say in your defense.   “Then it made sense that the Baron convinced both of his nephews to each kill a parent.  I can see how he manipulated Rabban as well.”  From your limited interactions, Rabban seems more concerned with his uncle’s approval than his younger brother is.  

The Reverend Mother tilts her head in acknowledgement and gracefully spears a few berries onto her fork but doesn’t eat them.  “It took far less work.  Rabban was already a man by that point, young but too old for the Baron to break in his preferred ways and not as bright.  Good enough to work for his uncle, not promising enough to carry on his legacy or serve our plans.”

You and your fucking plans , you think.  “Is that why you let the Baron cover up Feyd’s matricide but not his brother’s patricide?” you ask.  “Because it doesn’t matter how negative Rabban’s reputation is outside of his own House but Feyd-Rautha,” you shrug, angry, vaguely aware of how petulant and emotional you must seem despite your earlier intentions of treading carefully, and finding you don’t care, “now, if he’s as important to your plans as you say, then he has to be as respectable as a Harkonnen can be in the eyes of the other Houses, the Empire.  He has to be someone close to redeemable, and there’s no redemption for someone who murdered their own mother.”

He killed their mother; his brother killed their father.  Oh, Great Mother, is Rabban going to be sent back here?  You don’t want to be anywhere near your brother-in-law, not when he’s going to be bitter and vindictive over losing his governorship.  He’s going to want to go after his little brother’s toys–and you’re certain that’s how he sees you.  

Please just keep him on Arrakis or send him to Lankiveil.  Fuck it, just send me back to my home planet.  It’s not like anyone needs me to be here right now.

“So you knew all this, and you chose not to prepare me for it,” you tell her.

“What good would it have done you?” her Reverence asks.  “You have no Bene Gesserit training, you haven’t learned to overcome your own fears and desires.  It would’ve clouded your judgment, plagued you with self-doubt that you could temper him and gain his devotion.  You wouldn’t have been any more prepared to bed him and gain favor with him with that information. Without it you’ve been more malleable, more open-minded to the strengths of your marriage.”

I didn’t tell you because you would’ve tried to resist the marriage if I had .  

You try not to think about the machinations of it–not that you’ve ever wanted to picture it, but the image of the Baron’s swollen fingers groping his nephew’s bare skin when Feyd’s a grown man is enough to make you want to throw up, let alone…you suppress your cry of disgust. 

“You knew all this , knew what the Baron would do to him, and still allowed it all to happen,” you say, voice rising in pitch before you can reign it in.

“He needed to ascend to a Major House,” she says.  “We’d have had no use for him as a whaler’s son.”

“But you did as someone driven to matricide?” you demand.  “What greater use do you even have for him beyond siring a boy?  What are you going to do to him when you’re done with him?  What are you going to do to me? ”  Before you can stop yourself, because the thought’s been lingering in a way you cannot ignore now no matter how much you’d like to, you add, “Whose child is Lady Fenring really carrying?”

“ Silence! ” her Reverence snaps and you feel your mouth shut tight, jaw muscles clenching of their own accord.  You’re shocked.  You feel so utterly stupid for feeling shocked.

She watches your face as you glare at her, your anger and fear so transparent it’s embarrassing.  You’d wanted to be poised.  You’d wanted to keep your fears if not abated then suppressed.  You wanted to be able to play a sharp mental game of cheops with a Truthsayer.  You just failed.

“I must say I’m disappointed in you,” her Reverence says.

I feel the same way, your Reverence, you don’t say even if you could; it’s like there’s a vice, like clamps keeping your jaw clenched.

“Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is going to lead one of the Great Houses, and one of the wealthiest Houses in Landsraad.  If he needs to be brutal to ascend and take his uncle’s throne, then so be it.  It’s entirely expected among his people, and if anything you should be grateful he didn’t adopt his uncle’s tastes for himself.

“I never lied to you about your purpose with him, young Y/N,” she continues.  “It’s always been to combine your genetics with his, create a bloodline with him, and provide a son.”

For me and him or for you?   You take a deep breath.  In.  Out.

“I told you when we first met that you were under the protection of the Bene Gesserit order.  I didn’t lie to you about that, either.  You insult me by questioning my abilities and that I will not tolerate.  You are safer on this planet than anyone else who inhabits it.  You’re acting like a petulant child.”

You feel yourself flush, angry and ashamed of where you are right now.  You still can't’ speak, can’t even open your mouth, but you can feel your lips tremble and feel heat pricking up at the corners of your eyes.

“You have our protection and for all of your husband’s violent past and likely violent future, you have his protection as well, and for that you ought to be grateful.  He’s a vicious enemy and an even more vicious guard dog.

“As for Lady Fenring, it’s nothing personal.  Our Sisterhood needs daughters from every major House.  She and her husband will raise the girl, she’ll receive the best Bene Gesserit training of Landsraad, and neither of you will ever have to think about her.”

Did Feyd know her purpose in taking him inside of her?   Will her daughter grow up knowing who her biological father is?  

Did she use the Voice on him?

And suddenly you feel like the clamps have loosened.  You run a hand over your jaw as her Reverence asks, “Now that I’ve explained everything to you, do you think you can handle a quiet, civil breakfast or will you continue to question me?”

You want to curse.  You want to tell her that she’s full of shit.  Without the Voice’s influence you clench your jaw of your own volition to tamp down on everything you wish you could say.  “I have no further questions to ask, your Reverence,” you say.

“So will the na-Baroness behave in the manner expected of her title?” the Reverend Mother asks and in that moment you hate her.

“Of course, your Reverence,” you say.  “What sort of hostess would I be if I didn’t entertain my guests?”

Your head pounds and your hands shake as you get back to your quarters and find the gown for this afternoon laid out on your bed.  It’s not as provocative as yesterday’s, but you’re no more excited to put it on.  Idrisa silently helps you with the bodice and the new jewelry of fine silver corded necklaces that lay over your chest like a row of chains.  Idrisa assists with your hair; for someone who’s never touched real hair until recently, she’s gotten quite good at helping with it.  Doesn’t even seem confused or repulsed by it anymore.  Your cosmetics manage to cover up the shadows under your eyes.  Neither of you talk much, even though there’s a lot that needs to be said.

“I’m sorry, Idrisa,” you tell her as she puts away your cosmetics and you’re ready for her to escort you to the Banquet Hall.

She looks bewildered as she turns to you.  “Oh, no, my lady,” she says.  “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

I could’ve gotten you killed, you think, wondering what else she's been through that makes her so quick to try to forget last night when the two of you are flanked by two guards once you reach the main hallway.  She’s probably trying not to think about it when the doors to the Banquet Hall open and Feyd’s already there in long black robes with a silver chest plate, standing by the door awaiting your arrival.

The politics of marriage, you think to yourself, as the two of you match the body language you’d shared in front of everyone last night; no more and no less affectionate.  Even though a trained and watchful eye can see that the way he gives you a quick kiss on the lips and how you rest your hand on his arm is stiffer than yesterday, as is your posture.

You wish you could drink.  Instead you make polite little smiles at everyone who acknowledges you, as visitors stop by to show their respects, bid the na-Baron a happy belated birthday and to offer their congratulations on your nuptials.  The tables are laid out with platters full of imported delicacies and you pick at a few, but your breakfast sits like a brick in the pit of your stomach.  Feyd’s appetite is marginally better, and he nurses the same goblet of wine, twirling it absently more than he ends up drinking from it.  Finally he leans over and whispers in your ear, “I’m going to one of the private pleasure rooms and you’re going to join me.”

You raise your eyebrows, incredulous, as you look back at him.  He holds your  gaze, nothing in his flirtatious or suggestive.  He simply rises from his chair and holds out his arm.

You clench your jaw, remember all your etiquette training, and rise to take it.  Not everyone’s going to notice the two of you leaving together, let alone leaving together in the same direction, but those who do will interpret what comes next.

You know the Baron sees.  You can feel his smirk like a trail of slime. He's probably thinking, Good; my nephew’s breeding his brat-whore of a wife into submission .

Feyd leads you past two guards who wisely don’t react beyond lowering their heads in respect and down a hallway where there are opaque slots in the middle of each door.  Some are black, some are white.

“White means unoccupied,” he says, and presses a button to open one of the doors.

The room’s fairly sparse, you notice as the two of you step inside; there’s a bed, a nightstand, a chaise.  A small chest of drawers, the contents of which you don’t want to know.  All the anger from the previous night, from this morning, comes flooding back.  You want to slap him for this humiliation, for having the audacity to drag you in here.

The door closes behind you and the  two of you stand opposite each other, the bed a threatening presence at your side.  You speak first.

“I don’t want this,” you tell him.  

“I know,” he says.  He doesn’t come in any closer or make any effort to undress.  Instead he stays where he is and you cross your arms, waiting for him to speak again.

“You spoke with the Reverend Mother Mohiam this morning,” he adds.  It doesn’t surprise you that he’d know this; every guard in this Fortress reports to him.

“I did,” you say, your tone clipped.

“I imagine she told you everything,” he says.

You shrug, looking down, your arms folded across your chest.  “She said enough,” you respond after a moment.

“About my mother?”

“A little.  We spoke a little bit about multiple topics.”

“Such as?” Feyd prompts.

“Your uncle, your brother.  Lady Fenring.”  Feyd’s jaw tightens and his eyes narrow for a moment.  “You know Lady Fenring’s carrying your child, too?”

“The bastard in her womb belongs to me less than it does to her cuckhold husband,” Feyd says. 

“I’m not jealous,” you add.  

“There was nothing to be jealous of,” he says, the tone in his voice leaving an implication that has you furrowing your brow.  Do you mean what I think you mean? You open your mouth to ask, but he speaks first.  “So what else did you discuss?”

“What else did you discuss yesterday?  With the Baron?” you ask.

“Plans within plans,” Feyd says wryly.  Of course; plans within plans within plans .

“Such as?” you ask.

His mouth twitches upwards.  It's almost a smirk.  “I’d wondered why after centuries of tension it was only now that we took down the House of Atreides.  I’d thought it was in retaliation to them being gifted Arrakis.”

“Was it not?” you ask.  “Even if it was the Emperor who handed Arrakis over to them in the first place?”

Feyd’s eyes glint.  One of the corners of his mouth twitches upwards again.  “Why do you think he handed Arrakis over to them, then?” he asks.

That…you shake your head.  The Houses Corrino and Atreides were allies.  The Emperor and the Duke were friends.  “I don’t understand.”

“Sure you do,” Feyd says.  “The other Houses can find us as brutal and unforgiving as they want, but the Emperor was the one who gave us the orders, lent us his soldiers, and had us wipe out the House of Atreides in the dark.”

Impossible.  “ Why?” you ask, voice higher than intended.  

Feyd sighs.  “Uncle withheld that bit of information from me, if he knows at all.”  

You try to think.  How far does this go?  Who else knows and what are they hiding?  What did they have to gain from massacring an entire Major House?

“And what do you suspect?” you ask.

He considers something, and his response throws you off.  “The Atreides boy–the Dukeling.  Did you know him?”

What does he have to do with anything?  He was years off from inheriting Caladan.

“You mean Paul?  Not well, but he and I spoke a couple of times over the years.  He’d be turning twenty-one around now,” you tell him. The interactions were brief, polite, and uneventful, a potential match between the two of you always unlikely.  The Duke had clearly been hoping for one of the princesses’ hands in marriage for his son and your father had been hoping for someone a bit more intimidating than the skinny, affable Duke’s son.   ( Of course, he did end up getting what he’d been hoping for, much to his chagrin .)  “Why?”

“The Duke’s Bene Gesserit whore was meant to bear a daughter,” he says.  “That daughter would’ve been my wife; it had all been planned out.  She refused the order and gave the Duke a son instead.  Screwed up all their plans.”

The Reverend Mother told you about their years of planning, selective breeding.  How plans had recently changed and the new plans involved feeding you to the heir to the Harkonnen throne.  

Your brow furrows as you ask, “Did the Baron tell you this?”

“I've known since before I met him.  I remember hearing my parents arguing about it around my fifth birthday, when the Dukeling was born,” Feyd says.  “Thousands of years of planning out the window.  From what I could gather, they decided they could choose either the Atreides boy or myself to continue the bloodline they want.”

You think back to this morning.  You think of Margot and her growing number of daughters who aren’t her husband’s.  You remember what Paul Atreides’s face looked like when he was nineteen and making polite small-talk with you about the similarities between Y/P and Caladan and for a moment you imagine what he’d have looked like as a girl.

“I’m not certain exactly how or why,” Feyd continues, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if those witches impacted the Emperor’s decision. It’s almost funny how often they’re spotted lurking in the shadows when powerful men fall.”

“If they had something to do with it, do you know why they chose your House?” you ask.

Feyd shakes his head.  “Not yet,” he says.  “But I know this: Uncle wants a Harkonnen on the Imperial throne.  He’s wanted it his entire life, more than anything else.  And he thinks we’re closer to it than ever before.  He might even be right.”

You collect yourself, try to think, and when you do you can’t help but be selfish.  You flex and clench the fist of your right hand to avoid bringing it to your belly.  “Did he say where I fit within these plans within plans?” you ask.

Feyd doesn’t look away, but he also doesn’t speak for a moment.  He seems to look at every curve, angle, and slope of your features as if trying to commit the sight to memory.  “Your place is by my side, Y/N Harkonnen,” he says.  “As my wife, as the mother of my children, as the bridge between Harko and the rest of Landsraad.”

All very nice words.  Not a real answer.  “I notice you didn’t say if those were your uncle’s plans or not,” you tell him.  

“I know you did,” he says.  “What he thinks about you doesn’t matter.”

You take a step back, unable to help the incredulity within you.

“How does it not matter?” you ask.  “After everything he’s done, after everything he’s done to you, you still do whatever he wants.  If he decides that I don’t fit within his plans, then how can I believe you’ll keep me safe?  After everything you’ve done?”

Feyd recoils and he looks like he’s never been more insulted in his life, and he does not deserve to give you the reproachful look he’s giving you now.  “You think I’d go back on my vows?” he asks.

“You mean them now, but what about after he’s born? What about after I give you more children?  As I get older and I start reminding you more of your mother?” you demand.

“You don’t remind me one bit of her and that’s not going to change,” he says.

“But how do you know that?” you ask.

He doesn’t try to touch you, but takes a half-step forward.  “Because when you talk about our son you don’t talk about the greater plans for him.  You talk about him like he’s our child, not any part of an agenda.  You talk about nurseries, not who you’ll breed our son with. Because you don’t.”  He pauses.  “Because you aren’t one of them.  You belong to me, not them.”

You look at him as your heart pounds.  You shouldn’t be so naive to believe him, but you’re certain he means it.  The next thought that comes to you is one you can’t shake away.  It’s a risk; walls have ears.  But it’s a question you’ve been wanting to ask for weeks, and one you can’t avoid anymore.

“I read up on Harkonnen wedding vows,” you say.  “You made a vow to protect me, keep me safe.”

“I did,” he says.  “I will.”

“And our children?” you ask.  Feyd’s spine goes rigid.  “Will you keep them safe?”

He knows what you’re asking; he says nothing.

“Will you keep him away from our son?” you ask.  “No matter what?”

He looks at you, his jaw clenching for a moment as he looks down, lashes fluttering.  You wait.  

Finally he speaks. “When I ascend, my coronation needs to be honest.  The rank needs to be earned or I’ll never truly have the respect of my people, let alone the other Houses.”  Not quite an answer to the question you asked, but to what you really mean.  You take a breath, nervous.  “But my priority will always be the future of the Harkonnens, not what will soon be past,” he adds.  “That’s you and that’s our children.”

Yesterday showed you that Feyd isn’t always forthright, but he doesn’t lie when you ask him a direct question.  It’s something, a step in the right direction, and certainly a better one than last night.  

“Alright then,” you say on an exhale.

“Alright then,” Feyd echoes.

“Shall we?” you ask, gesturing for the door.

Feyd looks at you and his eyes flicker to your neatly-arranged hair.  “Not yet,” he says, and closes the distance between the two of you and tugs a few strands askew before burying his hands in your scalp, scrunching with his hands, and then releasing.  He shifts the silver strand adorning your hair just a little askew.

“What are you–?” you start, and he moves his hands down to pinch your cheeks.  You squawk and slap his hands away.

He gives a small smirk.  “Trust me, Y/N,” he says, “you’ll want them to think we were fucking instead of talking.”

And so you keep your head held high as you leave the room and re-enter the Banquet Hall, primly ignoring the few pointed looks you get.  They don’t linger, anyway; no one wants to get their throats slashed by the na-Baron for gawking at his, as far as they know, freshly-fucked wife.

The festivities continue, albeit a little muted compared to last night, and without further incident.  When it seems like an appropriate time to take your leave, you take a few minutes to thank everyone for sharing in your company.  Even, begrudgingly, the Baron, who gives your mussed hair a pointed look and a snide comment about how you must need some rest.

You don’t go into Feyd’s bedroom.  As the hours tick by, you realize he won’t be coming into yours, either.

You’re hit with twin feelings of relief and doubt.  You know you’re going to have to share a bed with him again; everyone has made it abundantly clear that it’s a part of your obligations as a married woman.  He’s going to Arrakis soon; you don’t want him to leave with memories of a newly frigid wife. You don’t want to lose any more of the momentum you’d been building with him that you’d created in no small part through near-constant intimacy.

And still, you stay alone in your bed, not even wanting to touch yourself.

The following morning you could almost swear that things are normal again, or as normal as they were before the Bene Gesserit arrived.

Feyd calls on you to train with him early in the morning again.  He double-checks to make sure your shield’s activated before having you practice with Korvo, and then with him.  

Breakfast is a bit different, though.  The remaining distinguished guests join all of you and the spread is even more vast than usual with dishes both savory and sweet.  You’d noticed over the course of the past month that Feyd almost always eats the same thing for breakfast: eggs and a savory porridge cooked in bone broth.  This morning, however, he doesn’t have much of an appetite, perhaps because of the couple seated across from him.

Among the last remaining guests are Count Hasimir and Lady Margot Fenring, the husband looking a little like a rat in fine robes with a velvet brocade, his beautiful younger wife in a fetching blue dress that’s formal enough for the occasion but looks comfortable enough for her trip back home.  

“Her Reverence has departed early, along with the other Sisters,” Margot explains to you.  “But she appreciated the hospitality you showed.”

I snapped at her and she used the Voice on me last time we spoke, you think.  “We appreciated her guidance,” you say, knowing she probably knows what transpired between you two.  Presumably so does her husband.  You glance over at the Count a few times and wonder, does he like the idea of his wife fucking other men and carrying their children?  Or does he merely tolerate it?

“Did your brother give reason for not attending your birthday celebrations?” he asks.  “Surely he attended your nuptials, at least.”

“He did,” Feyd says, “but his presence wasn’t required for either.”

You hesitate, wondering if it’s going to exacerbate rather than ease his tension, before finding his hand under the table and brushing your fingertips against his knuckles in a silent invitation to take his hand.  He doesn’t look over at you, but after a moment’s stillness, takes your hand in his and sets it on his leg.  

Since it’s the na-Baron’s belated birthday and another chance to show his statesmanship, the Baron delegates the two of you with seeing off your foreign visitors afterwards.  It also conveniently saves him the strain of having to continue staying upright and making small-talk instead of lounging in what Feyd has described only as “the tub” in a tone that makes you glad you’ve never seen it.

Count and Lady Fenring are finally leaving–you bid them farewell for the last time alone while Feyd sees off a representative from the House Corrino.  After what he told you about the Emperor, you assume his reasoning for this is two-fold.

Hasimir Fenring’s in the Emperor’s ear as well.  You wonder what he’s going to report about you as he kisses your gloved hand.  You wonder what Lady Fenring really thinks about you as you smile at each other for what you hope will be the last time for the foreseeable future.

“Your visit has been most educational,” you tell her.

She knows what you mean.  You don’t even have it in you to hate her all that much.  You don’t think she’d ever have done anything with Feyd if given the choice, and that makes it somehow more fucked up.

And then they’re all gone, docked and shipped out, and things can go back to normal.

None of this was ever normal, though.  And even with the understanding you think you’ve reached with him, it’s never going to be the same.  

Neither of you talk much at dinner.  The Baron shares some of the more salacious details about Count Fenring, knowing neither of you want to hear it.

“He’s not just sterile, he’s impotent,” he says, picking up a piece of lamb by the bone and dipping it in a cream-based sauce.  “The man’s testicles are purely decorative, and on top of that he’s hardly an intimidating man to look at, but he commands respect and why?  Shrewd political mind.  It will get you farther than just muscle.  Bodies age and break down but that’s all fine as long as you keep a sharp mind, Feyd.  Remember that.”

“I will, Uncle,” Feyd says, ignoring the sauce for his own lamb.  “But I don’t think my body will be breaking down any time soon.”

He looks like he regrets it the moment he says it, because the Baron smirks.  “Oh, certainly not yours , nephew.  You’re still a handsome young man.  Eventually, though, age comes for everyone.”  He turns to look at you with the closest thing to an affable smile he possesses.  “Believe it or not, young Y/N, I didn’t always look like this.  I was never as attractive as Feyd here, but I was leaner, had a more defined jawline.”

There’s something unsettling about him trying to be friendly towards you, especially as Feyd looks downright thunderous as he stares at the knife clenched in his fist like he’d rather use it to cut his uncle rather than his meat.

“Well,” you say, shifting in your seat, “as you said, my lord Baron, the sharpness of the mind is the most important thing, and you certainly still have that.”

Something’s wrong.  It was far easier to overlook when there were multiple other people to entertain at dinnertime but the tension between Feyd and his uncle is palpable, even as the Baron ignores it.  It lingers and follows you after dinner, when you and Feyd walk together to your quarters, and you know a conjugal visit is in order and you know that perhaps it would be more prudent to just let him fuck you first and then interrogate him when he’s spent and pliant.  But with everything Feyd’s talked about, the way he spoke of the Baron, sends whatever desire you might have been trying to build up cratering. 

So when you get to your bedroom door you turn to him and blurt out, “Can we talk first?”

Feyd looks at you and nods, his movements serpentine in their grace as he follows you inside and you shut the door behind you.  He waits, and for a brief moment you think about speaking evasively before dismissing the thought entirely.  This is neither the time nor the place to play coy.

“What did your uncle really say about me?” you ask.  “On your birthday?  What are his plans within plans for me?”

Feyd doesn’t look surprised at the question.  A muscle twitches in his jaw.  Dread rises in the pit of your stomach, threatening to evict your dinner.  His eyes look darker than usual.  

“After you bear my son, my uncle wants me to wed the princess Irulan,” he says.

And even as you can’t say you’re surprised you can’t help but gasp, hand flying towards your belly, because whatever conversation they had about this didn’t involve the words annulment or polygamy and Feyd doesn’t need to spell that out for you.

Feyd’s lips part just a fraction at the look on your face and he reaches a hand out, stopping for a moment when you flinch, and then moving slower to cup the side of your face.  His palm is warm.  

“I won’t,” he adds.  “ You’re my wife, and I’ll have no other.  You’re not going anywhere, Y/N Harkonnen.  You’ll be my na-Baroness and them my Baroness and perhaps even Empress.  We’ll have more children after this and you won’t have to worry about him .  Neither of us will.”

“You said your coronation would have to be legitimate.  You said you’d have to earn your ascension to the throne,” you tell him.  “You were so adamant that it was the only way to take over,” you tell him.  Your heart beats like a rabbit’s, chest heaving, feeling like you’re about to throw up.  You force yourself to look at him as he uses his free hand to cup the other side of your face.  He looks so calm.  How can he look this calm?

“I’ll say this only once,” he says.  “He’ll be gone by the time you’re in labor.”

Your eyes dart across his face, looking for a sign of anything that could contradict the conviction in his voice and you find none.  He means it.  

“Care to explain how?” you ask.

Feyd tucks in his bottom lip for a moment and exhales.  “Better not,” he says, “for the sake of plausible deniability.”  He pauses.  “At least, not yet. ”

You take a breath.  “Is that why he didn’t want us to have time to be alone together on your birthday?” you ask.  “Or were you never planning on telling me about this, either?”

“I wasn’t sure how I would, or when,” Feyd says.  “But you said it yourself that you’re my political ally as well as my wife.”  He tries to give you a smile; it’s a twitch of the lips.  “I wouldn’t withhold information about a potential assassination from my greatest political ally.” 

He kisses you once, slow but not deep, as if feeling out how receptive you are to it, and trying not to seem too disappointed that while you don’t resist, you barely reciprocate.  

“Not tonight, then,” he says.  

“We can,” you offer.  He can hear the reluctance in your voice.

“Not for nothing, Y/N, but I tend to enjoy it more when you aren’t morose and I must assume dry as a bone,” he says.

You sigh, looking down.  He’s not wrong.  You haven’t been aroused once since his birthday party a few nights ago and this conversation hasn’t helped in the slightest.  “Tomorrow night,” you tell him.  “Tomorrow night, your bedroom.”  We can do whatever you want, you almost add before he leaves, but you don’t want to offer something you’re not sure you can fulfill.

The following morning you get up early to train with him.  If anyone dared comment, they’d note that you seem a little aggressive with your offense when sparring.

During breakfast it seems like Feyd has an appetite again.  The Baron probably notices.  He also probably notices that the air between the two of you feels less tense than it has for the past couple of mornings, and of course he narrows his eyes in sidelong glances at you.  You ignore it, offering a couple of vague pleasantries about how efficiently-run Feyd’s birthday festivities were.  

“So,” you ask Feyd as you set down your distilled water.  “What’s the process like?  Moving to Arrakis?”

The Baron sits a little further upright.  “You told her about Arrakis, boy?” he asks.  You glance away from him, thinking, He told me about much more than that you sick man.  

Feyd glances at you before answering, his tone unfazed.  “If I’m leaving her behind for months then she should know why,” he says.

The Baron looks between the two of you as if he can get more answers from a single glance, and you look down at your food and spread a pat of butter onto your toast.  So far your appetite hasn’t changed.  It probably won’t for another few weeks.

When you get back to your quarters you write to your parents to give them the news of your pregnancy.  You want them to hear it from you first rather than a formal announcement from Geidi Prime a couple of weeks from now.

In the letter Mother sent you, she had asked, her tone vague but concerned to the point that you could imagine her voice faltering as she dictated the words, if the Baron was being kind to his niece-in-law.  You’d laughed bitterly when reading it, knowing what she was asking.  He has never shown any untoward interest in me, you’d responded, thinking, that’s not the problem at all .

You’re going to take to Feyd’s bed again tonight, as you told him; even as you’re still not looking forward to it, you’ll power through.  You don’t want the bed to grow colder.  You don’t want him to get frustrated and find other bodies to fuck, even as you know that will likely happen anyway in your upcoming months of separation.  You were able to get leverage with him in the first place by catering to his desires.  That’s how you’ll keep it.

And that’s what you tell yourself when you strip and shower that evening after dinner, and don’t bother to dress after drying yourself off, padding naked into his bathroom and past it into his bedroom.

You’d wanted to feel arousal, and you’re certain you’ll get there eventually.  You weren’t aroused the first couple of nights of your marriage but he’d gotten you sufficiently wet enough for him to fuck, even if it was a rough passage.  

Feyd’s sitting naked on the edge of his bed with his elbows resting on his knees.  “So what’s keeping you from getting wet tonight?” he asks as soon as he gets a good look at you.

“How would you even know that?” you ask.

If he had eyebrows you’re certain he’d raise them at that.  “I’ve gotten to know your body pretty well, pet,” he says, and you don’t normally mind the nickname but tonight there’s no appeal to it.  “If you’re wet I can practically smell it.  When you’re feeling desire it shows, and when you’re not it shows even more.”

“I don’t know,” you tell him.  “It’s not important.”

“Last time we fucked you were drooling and practically begging for my cock,” he says.  “I’m not interested in going from that to you only tolerating it and I want to know why that is so I can fix it.”

You sigh, trying to think, trying to find the words, embarrassed when you do.  Because it sounds so shallow and petty when you do. “I guess it’s because I’m yours but you’re not mine,” you say finally.  It’s not something you ever allowed yourself to think about, not even as a child who knew you’d have to get married one day and knew you might not like or even know the man you’d marry. 

But now you are married and you think you’ve gotten to know the man you’ve married pretty well, especially over the last few days.  You even like him sometimes, despite everything.  

Feyd blinks and tilts his head, his lips curled into a faint smirk.  “You think I’m not yours?” he asks, his tone shifting.  Teasing.   You bristle.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you say.  “Not right now.  Not after everything that’s happened.”

“I’m not.  I’m just surprised, pet,” he says.  He rises and stands, walking slowly towards you, his movements almost serpentine.  “You really think I’ve ever willingly given as much of myself up for anyone as I have with you?  Servants and enemies alike fear my very name, run from my shadow, tremble before me.  But you have me in a way no one else does.”

You hesitate.  You didn’t expect his words to send heat through your lower body.  You lick your lips before you realize you’re doing it.  

“Do I? ” you ask, your voice deeper than normal.

Feyd senses the shift within you.  He can probably smell just like he says.

“Use me,” he says.  “Take as much as you want from me, as much as you can.  I can handle it.”

You glance down at his full, plush lips.  They curve into a real smile when he notices where you’re looking.

“We can start there.”

The collar’s heavier than yours.  There are prongs on the inside–they’re dull, they won’t pierce Feyd’s throat, but they’ll still dig into his skin, potentially even break it.  You look at it and look at him and your heart beats faster.

You glance back at the armoire; the leash isn’t the same fine silver chain but a heavier length of metal chain.  It’ll be an effort for him to comfortably keep his head up after a while.  It’ll be an effort for you to hold it after a while.

“You sure I’m ready for this?” you ask him.

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t,” he says.  “Do you think you’re ready?  More importantly, do you want this?”

You picture him on his knees wearing nothing but the collar you’re holding and you answer without a drop of hesitation, “ Yes .”

He guides your hands as you unfasten the collar and wrap it around his neck, when you fasten again, but he brings his hands to his sides and keeps them there when you clip the chain to the center of his collar.  You take a step back for a moment to get a better look at him, how he stands proud while naked and leashed, your handsome plaything, and thinks he looks perfect.

Or rather, almost perfect.

“What else do you want to do?” he asks when he sees you thinking.

“I want to tie you up,” you admit.  “The way you’ve tied my hands behind my back.”  The memory of the way he’d fucked you relentlessly from behind with one hand pressing your head into the mattress and the other holding up your hips as you’d felt utterly, deliciously powerless flickers.  You want him to have the same feeling.

“Alright,” he says, unfazed.  “I can talk you through it.”

And as it turns out he’s a decent knot-making instructor.  He crosses his arms in an X across his back, turning his head to look at you as best he can while you stand behind him and cinch the ropes in–not tight enough to cut off his circulation, but to keep the knots intact.  You smile as you circle around him once it’s done, caressing his biceps, his shoulders, the parts of his back not marred by scars before crossing in front of him.  His pectorals look especially prominent this way, pressed forward and impossible not to play with.  So you do, groping the warm flesh, pinching the stiff peaks.

“On your knees, Feyd,” you say softly.

He’s far more graceful than he ought to be as his knees hit the floor in one long smooth movement.  You gasp at the sight, nearly dropping the chain as you take in the way the long, pale muscles in his thighs look as he kneels before you.  You look at the elegant lines of him from an angle you only now realize that you’ve never seen before.  Feyd’s eyes dart everywhere, zigzagging across the different planes of your body, and you smile as you take a step forward and cup your own breast, watching how Feyd’s pupils dilate, how his semi-stiff cock finishes filling out.  You stare back at him as you trail your hand down further, in between your legs, idly stroking and rubbing, letting your fingertips collect the growing slick down there before pushing two fingers inside.

You see his breath hitch, chest expanding, as you pull your fingers back out and step in close, just above him.  His mouth falls open the moment you bring your fingertips to his face; his head tilted back as he gazes at you with the same delirious, worshipful look he’d had a week ago.  He laps at your honey coating your fingers, gaze burning into you, his cock hard.

You grin down at him as you tug on the chain.  He closes his eyes for a moment, lips parted and twitching upwards in a brief smile.

You know what you want; when he’s licked you in the past it’s always been when you were on your back or on all fours, and never with the same domination as when he’s gotten you on your knees for him.  You know the physiology will be different, and trickier to navigate, but you’ll both manage.

Feyd moans softly as you grip the back of his head with your free hand, nuzzling against your bare cunt, his nose against your bud and his tongue reaching out to lap at what he can access.  His forehead rests against your mons for a moment.

“You’re so eager for it,” you tell him as you try to sound like you aren’t eager yourself, like you aren’t fucking dripping for this.  “So desperate.  You’d beg for this, wouldn’t you?”  You don’t wait for an assent before adding, “You don’t have to.”

You shift your feet, legs going wider, and slide one thigh over Feyd’s shoulder. 

He moans again, desperate, breath ragged, as you grip his skull tighter and grind your slit down onto him.  

If you didn’t have all night, you’d be embarrassed at how quickly your momentum builds the first time, moaning shamelessly, breath hitching, as you ride his mouth.  You think about how the first time he ever put his mouth here that you’d wished he had hair you can pull but realize now that you can manage just fine.  You think about how it’s been over a week since he’s licked you here, and nearly that since he’s touched you at all and that could be why you’re getting so close so fast.  And then you can’t think at all.

You have to hold onto his head and neck for support when you come and you gasp for air, raising your hips off of him enough to breathe.  

“You could come just from this, couldn’t you?” you ask, dazed, hardly able to speak, pulling him off long enough for him to groan an assent.  “Don’t.  Not yet.  I’ll take care of you when you’re finished here.”

And with that you bring his face back in, nails digging into the back of his head as you move his mouth for a moment, dragging his eager tongue inside of you.  You can’t help the snarl in the back of your throat as you feel his nose against your clit, building yet again, so close.

He seems to forget he needs his mouth and nose to breathe, and a couple of times you nearly do, too, grinding his face into your privates as you dig your nails into his skull, tugging on his chain as you keep your thigh draped over his shoulder, the metal digging into your skin as the muscles in your inner thigh squeeze his cheek .  “That’s it. Fucking take it, Feyd,” you hear yourself say at one point.

You wonder how he can enjoy being nearly smothered in between your thighs, but when you manage to get a glimpse southward, he still looks achingly hard, precome glistening at the tip.  Well, alright then .

You’re just as much of a desperate whore for this as I am, you think, and collapse forward for a moment, and bring your leg down, sliding it off his shoulder, realizing that if you keep going like this you won’t be stable enough to stay upright.  You take a deep breath, spread your stance, and tug Feyd’s collar down so he has to sink down lower, going from kneeling to sitting on his haunches, tilting his neck.  You switch his chain from one hand to the other, dragging your nails down the back of his head as you yank his chain forward.  

How is he still going with this kind of enthusiasm?   You feel like you're pushing yourself nearly as much as him when he’s the one being put to work.  Can he lick your cunt, his face buried in it, for hours?  Can he last longer than you can doing this?

Well, now you certainly intend to find out. 

You don’t know how long you keep going, grinding his mouth against you until you shudder and come, and then releasing him so you can both breathe before you pull him in again.  It’s too much.  It’s agonizing.  It's perfect and it’s actually starting to hurt but you also want to keep going, addicted to everything he’s giving you, and you stumble, legs shaking, vision going white for a second.

“Hold on,” you manage.  “I need to sit down.  I–I can’t…”

You relax the chain, stepping back so you can sit down at the edge of the bed.  Feyd shuffles forward on his knees and for a moment you wish you hadn’t tied his wrists so you could watch him crawl towards you.

My beautiful obedient beast , you think, as he reaches you, sits back on his haunches, and leans in to press an open-mouthed kiss to your pussy.

“Wait,” you tell him before he can.  “Just stay there for a second.  I need a moment before I’m ready again,” you add, still feeling fluttery.  You hold the back of his head in place with your free hand, close to your swollen, slick cunt, his nose not-quite brushing against it, his cheek resting against your inner thigh.  He gives the closest thing a voice like his could make to a whine, desperate to dive back in, not daring to move as you curl your fingers around the back of his head.  You spend several minutes this way, him on his knees, in place, hardly moving a muscle.  You feel his lashes flutter, but otherwise he remains still.

There’s something so deeply intoxicating about having this kind of power, about his warm breath against your cunt, about how obedient and submissive he is.  He’d stay down there all night if you asked, kneeling before you, wanting to but not touching you, not tasting you, until you commanded him.  

You smile, eyes shut, tamping down on a fit of giggles and the urge to say, Down, boy .  You loosely wrap one hand around his throat, just above his collar and then trail your fingers over his scalp.

You finally open your eyes and look down at him.  His bright blue eyes shining with hope, but not daring to say a word, waiting for you to tell him what to do.

“Oh, alright then,” you tell him.  You feel delirious as you tug his chain forward and he dives in, desperate, as if grateful for the chance for you to fuck his face again.  As if you’re the one doing him a service.

You groan, spent and running on fumes at this point but still not willing to let up, curious to see how much more he has in him.  How much more you can handle.  “That’s it, Feyd.  This is what your mouth was made for,” you say, and at this moment you’re pretty sure it’s true.  Your nerves are frayed and you’ve been so thoroughly tasted it’s becoming painful and your muscles feel as taut as if you’d just had a strenuous training session when really all you’ve done is have your cunt feasted on.  And still you persist out of sheer stubbornness until the tension builds again.  You shift and spread your legs a little wider, sitting closer to the edge of the bed and rolling your hips against Feyd’s face.  He can hear your breath hitch, your moans getting more desperate.

You start babbling, unable to keep the words from spilling out every image that pops into your head.  “Next time I use you– ah, fuck!  I, I’m gonna tie your wrists to the bedpost and fucking use every part of your body.  I’m going to ride your dick and then ride your face until you get hard again, just gonna alternate between the two until I drain you.  I’ll never get sick of it your fucking magnificent body and that mouth –”

And then you come, one last time, doubling over as you clutch the back of his head with both hands, burying his face in as deep as it can go, his nose scrunched up against your bud and his tongue buried inside of you.  You hear your own guttural scream as you shudder, moving his head side to side for a moment to wrench every last bit of pleasure out of it before you can come down.

For a moment you hold him there, just enjoying the closeness of him.  He’s still breathing, thankfully.  What an embarrassing obituary that would be.  Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, dead at twenty-six.  Cause of death: suffocated on his wife’s pussy.   You can’t help but laugh as you pull him off, but the laughter fades as you get a good look at him.

He’s a mess, his face drenched.  His eyes blaze, his cock leaking precome.  He stays where he is as he gazes up at you.  He’s still looking at you with hope and desire.  Did I do good? What else can I do for you?  Do you want me to go back in?  I’ll go back in .

“Wow,” you say softly, thinking, You’re so beautiful like this .  

It takes what feels like a full minute to be able to stand again, your legs trembling, and you give Feyd just enough slack on the leash for him to continue kneeling.  His knees must be in agony right now.  He probably wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Stand up,” you tell him anyway, watching as he slowly manages to rise, biting back a groan at the effort.  “Good.  That’s good,” you say softly, looking up at him once more.  He keeps his head bowed, breath smelling of you and ghosting over your lips as he waits for further instructions.  You smile at him as you unclip his leash and let the chain fall to the floor between you.

You touch his chest again, made more prominent as he squeezes his arms behind his back as if standing at attention.  You decide you won’t untie him just yet as you run your hands down his torso, spread them to his sides and down his hips, your fingertips just barely digging into the flesh of his ass.  You haven’t talked about it yet, aren’t sure how well or poorly he’d respond to being touched there, so you keep the contact brief.  You don’t want to ruin anything when he’s been so good for you and seems like he’s still in that space in which he’s inclined to do whatever you want.  Feyd stays stock-still, like a good soldier awaiting your orders, and you find your voice.

“Have a seat, husband,” you tell him as you step aside to let him, and he does, where you just were, and waits.

You start by standing in between his legs, pressing your breasts together, and leaning down to rub them against his face.  He dives in eagerly, licking, kissing, sucking marks into the soft flesh.  It only briefly feels strange to feel your own slick there, but your mind seems to discard that after coming to the conclusion that it isn’t unpleasant.

“They’re going to get bigger in no time,” you say aloud.  “Will you like that, Feyd?”  He moans an affirmation, albeit a muffled one as you guide his face in the space between your breasts and keep him there for a moment.  “When they’re full and juicy and there’s more to play with?”

He moans again, chest heaving.

“You’ve been so good for me, Feyd,” you tell him as you caress the back of his head.  “So sweet, so devoted.  Are you ready for your reward?  I think you’ve finally earned it.”

And then you get on your knees.  His mouth falls open in a gasp, as if he hasn’t seen you in this position before.

Granted, he’s never come in your mouth before, even as he’s said he’s thought about it.  You caress the tops of his thighs, your thumbs trailing along the insides, before you grip his cock, tilt your head, and give him one long lick from sac to tip.

His breath comes in rapid pants, the salt of precome making the slide of him in your mouth all the easier.  You take him down as far as you can manage, your tongue along the underside of his cock.  Maybe next time you’ll tease him a bit more, take more time with this, but tonight you want to give him his reward.

“A- ah! ” He shudders and gasps as he comes in your mouth for the first time; it’s viscous and briny and you choke a little as you swallow it down but you swallow it down all the same, sticking your tongue out to swipe at what's left around your lips.

You get up and nearly stumble as you settle on his lap, kissing him, reaching for the ropes that bind him because you need him to touch you and you’re certain that he needs it, too.  You kiss your own slick off his lips and taste it on his tongue as he tastes himself on yours and perhaps someone else would find that disgusting.  A while ago that someone probably would’ve been you.  Right now it feels devastatingly intimate as you fumble with the knots and finally set him free, the rope dropping onto the covers.

Feyd’s hands slide over your hips and waist, into your hair.  He buries his face against your neck for a moment, his breath a rattle.  And you’re straddling his hips and his chest is pressed against you and, somehow, despite how overstimulated you are, you need him inside of you again.  It’s been multiple nights.  It’s fine if you don’t come; you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve come tonight, it’s all a blur.  You just want him nestled within you, just like this.

“Do you think you can get hard again?” you ask as you caress the back of his head, which he lowers to your breasts.

“I…” he starts, voice muffled as he holds on to you.  “ Augh, I…” he pauses, shutting his eyes.  “Yeah, I can.  Anything.  Anything you want.”  

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” you say, rocking against him.  It takes a few minutes, all dignity gone as you dry hump him slowly, your slick gliding over his spent cock until it starts to stiffen again, but there’s no one else here to see or judge it.  You can barely think as you raise up on your knees and spit into your palm before reaching down and wrapping a hand around him to work him to fullness.  It brings him face-level again with your breasts, and he takes advantage of the fact for the moments he can.  It makes you smile.  For a man with no particular voices it sometimes seems like he’s downright addicted to your body.

“Alright now,” you murmur once you feel Feyd’s cock hot and rigid in your grasp again and start to slide down.

It’s almost languid at first.  You just want to feel his cock inside you.  You hadn’t thought you’d miss it when it’s been less than a week.  You might go mad with frustration when he’s on Arrakis, you think, rocking slowly down onto him.

But that’s when a thought occurs, and you start to speed up, rising and falling on him with greater fervor.  You’re going to milk this man dry, you think, and giggle to yourself at the thought.  Between now and when he ships out to Arrakis you’re going to fuck him so good and so often he’ll be satisfied for the weeks, even months you won’t see each other.  You’re going to replace anyone else he could ever want in his mind’s eye.  

That’s what you’re thinking as you start riding him harder, faster.  Feyd’s gasps and grunts grow in volume alongside yours, his hands wandering everywhere now that they’re free to, but letting you take full control of the rhythm of him inside of you, letting you slake your lust on him rather than insisting on the other way around.

And as such you didn’t think you’d be able to come again tonight, but you were wrong.

“ Mmm! ” you shudder and shut your eyes as you can feel yourself start to clench up, almost at the precipice.

You nudge Feyd’s shoulder with one hand and he goes down, back hitting the mattress.  He gapes open-mouthed at you, eyes cloudy with lust and you gaze down at him until the pressure makes you shut your eyes again, until it’s too much and you’re grinding on him hard and fast.  You feel his hands cupping your breasts the first crest you wave, and then him coming inside of you on the second and stronger one that has you crying out.

Your mouth, your hands, your cock, they all belong to me, Feyd .  You can’t speak.

You can’t quite stop moving in the moments after you come, hips jerking awkwardly before you still, taking a deep breath, feeling the contracting and relaxing muscles of Feyd’s abdomen under your hands.  It takes another moment for you to come to your senses enough to open your eyes and look at the timepiece on your nightstand, and then you can’t help but laugh when you see that the two of you were at this for over an hour.

You look down at Feyd, who sits back up to meet you for a kiss.

“So,” you say, smiling into the kiss.  “Do you feel sufficiently used?”

“Dunno,” he says.  “Have you taken all you want?”

You nod against his lips.  “For tonight,” you tell him, and give him one last kiss before unfastening his collar.  The skin around his throat is red, indentations where the prongs dug in, and you press your lips there before nipping at it with your teeth.  He just holds onto you for the time being, tilting his head to give you access where you want it, breath coming in soft pants when you use your teeth on him.  You bring your mouth to the shell of his ear and murmur, “If you give me a second, I’ll put everything away.”

It takes some effort.  Your thighs shake as you slide off of him and grab the collar and rope.  You remember as you pick up the chain and walk over to the armoire that he’ll want some water as well.  If you’re thirsty from the amount of noise you made, then he certainly will be, too.

You sense movement and see Feyd shifting to the edge of the bed, about to get up, watching as you set everything back in place.  “Just relax, husband,” you tell him over your shoulder, proud of the fact that you can walk and sound coherent when you feel like you might pass out.  “I’ll take care of it.”

And you do; you wonder if this is how he feels on nights he pulls from his armoire.  You wonder if he feels the same kind of smug pride putting his equipment away while you lay in bed, exhausted and recovering.  You wonder if the reassuring calm as he does it is just as much of a facade, because tonight you’re pretty sure he took you to your limit even more than you took him to his.

You lay back, afterwards.  He nestles in between your legs, his head on your belly as you absently stroke his back and neck.  There will be visible scratches there and along his scalp, conspicuously at the back of his head.  The indentations of the collar will need to be covered; while people will certainly notice the scratches you doubt anyone will dare comment. 

“How soon is too soon to tell everyone?” you ask.

He turns his head, gradually coming out of his dazed, heightened state you don’t have a name for, and kisses your stomach before resting against it once more.  “If I felt it was appropriate, I’d burst out of this room right now and shout it to the whole planet and the Emperor himself that you’re carrying my child,” he says.  “Realistically, I’d say we should wait a couple of weeks, though.  After a doctor’s visit to confirm it.”

“Will you be there for it?” you ask, stroking his cheek and lifting two fingers under his chin to tilt his head towards you.  His cloudy blue eyes brighten a little.

“I’ll be here.  I don’t ship out to Arrakis for another month.”

“And after that?” you ask. 

“I’ll fix Rabban’s mistakes.  I’ll recover our lost Spice.  I’ll extinguish the Fremen rebellion.  And then I’ll come back to you,” he says.

And what will I do before you come back? you don’t ask.  You’ll need to.  You’ve thought about asking to go home, to Y/P, where you can be with your family and foster the life growing inside of you in an actually hospitable climate.  

You shift your legs a little further apart to get more comfortable.  Feyd gives a soft sigh and shifts as well, his breath tickling your bare skin and his arms loosely wrapped around you.

You’ll bring it up later. 

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