#it could also be shared religious trauma

[noramsblog]

Grogu won't stop eating all the frogs😔

From twt

[varilien]

(dress ref)

there's aus where u try to recreate the "effect" of a character's personality and behavior through an alternative "cause", and then there's this shit where i Just think umm well personally wolfwood being down to kill for vash is hot and it's a bummer vash doesn't think so too, but what if an au where he does ?

it's not a true "villain" vash au, basically it goes that vash decided to stick it out with knives in the hopes he could mitigate the damage knives planned to do to mankind, and it's worked for the most part-- at the expense of vash taking on much of knives' ire himself. this vash is even more isolated than in canon, unable to meet the standard knives enforces for what a god is supposed to look like, and constantly concerned with appeasing knives: dressing and styling his hair in a way that doesn't annoy him, talking very little, always offering compromises that put himself at a disadvantage

it's a wholly bad deal, up until the eye (yeah i'm blending stuff from other triguns in even tho it's a 98 au lol) offer vash their latest up-and-coming disciple to protect and serve him directly, though the "protecting" thing ends up being extremely mutual. wolfwood is the first bright spot in vash's life in a hundred years, and he's not going to allow anybody to take that away

[shield-and-saber]

yeah, so i just finished cataclysm

[shirecorn]

ik you meant it as a trans metaphor but that comic also speaks to a lot of intersrx experiences so i am waving at you from across the aisle in solidarity

(Monsters)

I like to make my comics really open-ended so they resonate with lots of people, both in and outside of the queer experience.

Having part of you chopped apart every time you raise your head could be about being queer, or intersex, or disabled, or neurodivergent, or religious, or just having a personality.

My family was ridiculously abusive, but very little of it had to do with my gender conformation because they were too busy crushing me for speaking up, having emotions, being sick, and exhibiting trauma.

I didn't realize I was trans until years after I moved out, got a lot of therapy, and was no longer fighting to survive. So in a way, the comic isn't even about being trans, it's just about being different.

My mom L I T E R A L LY cut the horns off our unicorn toys because anything "magic" was "evil." So for those toys it was divergence from religion. She had no reason to worry about gender from her perfect little girls. Gay and trans sin was something that happened to OTHER people.

I became myself after I was no longer under constant abuse. I didn't even know what was missing, before. The other mythical creatures represent experiences that much of the world says shouldn't exist. That they say are evil. Some of them had their horns and wings cut off, others were fostered and loved as they were.

But being yourself? That grows back. You are always growing, always becoming more you, and there is no intervention, surgery, or therapy that can change that. You may come out the other side damaged, but you will make it out.

And you'll find others who went through things. Not the same things, because all our stories are different, but there will be elements to relate to. There will be stories we share. There will be a future we build together.

[tarotofhope]

PAC: ♫ What is the Importance of Music in your Life? ♫

(Please Read My Pinned post *IMPORTANT NOTE* before selecting a Pile)

Pick an Image by meditating and selecting the image you feel called to. You can be attracted towards more than 1 image. If you are not able to select maybe this reading isn't for you.

𝄞 Pile 1

Cards: The Emperor, The Hierophant Rev. clarified by The Knight of Swords, Ace of Wands, 6 of Cups, The Empress.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 1. You could be listening to music for encouragement and upliftment so it could be motivational songs or therapeutic music such as white noise, lofi songs, slow romantic or sad songs, asmr audios or videos, or any kind of soothing music. This could be because you have some mental trauma or you have been hurt. You could also like metal, punk rock or rap songs. You could also be someone who likes to dance a lot or is a good dancer. For some of you here, your taste in music could be bad according to people, you might be getting negative remarks from some people about your playlist or I'm also getting this very specifically that some of you could be listening to religious music which do not belong to your religion/community, so again, people of your community/religion might be taunting you for this. You might be the one to share your favorite songs or playlist or suggest your favorite band to your friends or people who might be unaware of certain awesome music.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 1.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

𝄞 Pile 2

Cards: The Chariot, 10 of Pentacles, 4 of Swords Rev. clarified by 3 of Swords, King of Pentacles and Justice.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 2. Do you guys feel abandoned and lonely? I'm also getting that there could be a personal problem related to your family/close ones because your choice of music is highly related to this. I mean to say, you could be listening to songs which have an emotional depth, very strong, heart-piercing and fulfilling, where you relate your emotions, where you feel seen, heard and valued. You could also be someone who just couldn't travel without listening to music, you always have a earpiece or a headphone on. You believe you just can't function without music. Dancing might not be much your thing. You could be someone who's a fan of some band or a group which has a family like bonding rather than just being together for work sake, because you could be someone who craves deep bonding and connections yourself. You use music like an escape mechanism from your harsh reality. You could be someone who goes to sleep listening to slow and sad songs. You also get very annoyed when you're too busy in work and you just can't take some time out to listen to songs.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 2.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

𝄞 Pile 3

Cards: Ace of Pentacles, King of Cups, 2 of Wands, The Devil clarified by Queen of Swords, The Empress Rev clarified by Strength, Queen of Pentacles.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 3. You could be someone who's very creative and talented when it comes to music or music/dancing could be your hobby and you're trying to polish your skills. I'm getting that you're someone who earns through music or has a strong desire to convert their music hobby/talent into a profession and you're very serious about it. Some of you could already be famous singers and musicians and are very popular while some of you could be struggling musicians trying to showcase their talent on social media or by travelling to different places, participating in competitions here and there. For some of you, this talent/hobby of yours is not supported by your family so you still went on with it and took your chances, you stood for yourself bravely, so even this might be a struggle. For you guys, music is food for your soul, you find your strength in it. For those who are not being supported, music has always filled up the void for you(for the lack of support and understanding), almost like an actual person. You think you were born to be a singer/musician/composer/lyricist/dancer and you can't live without it. You could mostly be listening to country, folk, pop, jazz or classical music.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 3.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

𝄞 Pile 4

Cards: The Lovers, 9 of Wands, Temperance, 2 of Pentacles, 4 of Pentacles, Queen of Swords.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 4. You are someone who could be into romantic songs. You might like to dedicate songs to your romantic partner. You listen to songs because it balances your daily routine or hectic schedule. You might also listen to songs that talk about seeking revenge or talk about being cool, cold and sassy. This might be your way to get frustration out of your mind. You could be a very busy person so you listen to songs just to chill out and take a break from the stress, nothing more than that. You might really have to take some time out for a break maybe because you hardly get a break. You might also not be open to listening new songs. You might have a fixed routine as well as fixed choices when it comes to music. You are very picky and choosy when it comes to your taste in music. You might think that other people have a very weird taste in music and it might annoy you. For a few of you, you might be confused as to what kind of music you like or dislike, you don't have fixed choices, you might be very moody and listen to music less frequently. Some of you might like singing and dancing equally.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 4.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

𝄞 Pile 5

Cards: The Magician, 7 of Pentacles clarified by 2 of Swords, 4 of Swords, Queen of Wands, King of Cups and 10 of Swords.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 5. You might be someone who listens to all kinds of music, all languages, traditional classic as well as western, from instrumentals to music box, asmr to lofi, party songs to devotional songs, etc. you listen to everything. You might also be very moody. You might be good at both, singing and dancing. When you're sitting idle and you're confused as to what to do, you think of doing different things(you might be very creative or multi-talented), but you end up listening to music. You need your peace of mind when you're indulging yourself into music, you don't listen music while doing other chores because you may mostly listen to music which makes you feel extreme emotions. You believe music can heal you. You always need your focus at one point, maybe you're not good at or don't like multi-tasking. A funny thing happened while shuffling for this pile, I have a little black kitten and he thought I was playing with him when I shuffled the cards, so he came and put his little paws on my cards and it's funny yet adorable how The Queen of Wands jumped out for this pile(I was using the Rider Waite deck), the queen has a black cat sitting right beside her feet. I was getting a very specific message with the black cat, that some of you may have a guilty pleasure or really love to listen to horror themes, horror music, creepy music box or you might also like creepy pasta, horror movies/shows/series/games/podcasts, horror/mystery novels.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 5.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

Thank you so much for being here. I post PAC readings every Tuesday and Friday. Do love and support by reblogging, liking or following.

——————————— ♡ ♡ ♡ ———————————

[writingwithfolklore]

Relationships and Closeness

              There’s two kinds of relationships in a story—the bond your characters have with each other, and the bond the reader has with your characters. Try to push the relationship to levels of vulnerability too fast, too soon and both types will come off as forced or stiff.

              Luckily, there’s a helpful tool for categorizing what ‘stage’ of closeness people have with each other from communications theory, but I think could also be used for writing. It’s called (and stick with me here), the social penetration theory. (Cue that Pitch Perfect gif)

              The stages (generally) go as follows:

1. Orientation

This stage is basic, safe information you might initially share with a stranger. Name, age, maybe pronouns, where you’re from, where you go to school or work, etc.

2. Exploratory affective

This is likes and dislikes, some preferences, and other safe opinions. You’re probably not getting into politics too much yet, but you might share which class is your favourite, what you think about where you live, etc. Typically opinions you’d think are unlikely to offend the other person.

3. Affective

This stage sounds like it is—an increase in affection! This can look like making jokes or goofing around together, sharing goals and aspirations, and generally being a bit more familiar. Typically your work friends or peers get to this stage, and unless you hang out with them outside of work/school, (in my experience) they stay at this stage too.

4. Stable

You start to get more comfortable and share more personal details. Religious/political affiliation, sexuality, sometimes family details and other things about your inner life are shared here.

5. Depenetration (ew)

This stage is the last and the most vulnerable. This is where you share deeply held fears, fantasies, traumas, mental health, and other deeply personal details. Can include your own concept of self, or conversations that go into that depth of individual humanity—what makes you, you on a fundamental level?

              Some relationships stop at an earlier level than others, but that doesn’t make them less strong. Have you ever met someone where you don’t really know all that much about them, but you’d still stick up for them against anything? Versus someone you’ve known forever and you’ve shared all your insecurities with, but you still might prefer to hang out with someone else on your birthday.

              These stages are a guideline, not a rule, to how people tend to interact and the order of which they tend to share with each other. That doesn’t mean that people won’t jump to one stage before another—just that it can sometimes be unreciprocated, or feel a bit uncomfortable. It all depends on the situation and the people within it.

              However, it can be helpful to use these guidelines as a guide to what to share and when in your writing. Right away, you’d probably tell readers your main character’s name before their deepest trauma—or maybe not, maybe you’d establish your character with that openness to the reader right off the bat. What’s important is that you determine what level your character is at with others, and with the reader, and move through them with intention.

              I hope this makes sense!

[fruitedsnack]

Having very serious thoughts about the Aphmau multiverse rn.

Also hey! If ur interested in reading abt this scene I drew from my MCD rewrite, that’s below the cut ! :>

Small TW: child abuse (not graphically depicted, just mentioned), religious trauma, fire, injuries

This is a scene from my MCD rewrite I’ve been working on. Basically in my rewrite Aphmau is a bastard child between a Lords wife and millers husband. The lords wife carried out the pregnancy in secret and in shame, and when she was born abandoned her on the steps of a convent where she was taken in and raised by nuns. Aphmau in my au has retained some memories and feelings from being reincarnated thousands of times over as Irene. She talked about this but because reincarnation is blasphemous she is mistreated and misunderstood by the other children and the nuns. She feels connected to Irene, but disagrees with the church itself. After years of mistreatment, she finally escapes the convent at about 20-21.

Zane is the first person she ever sees outside of her convent. After escaping to a nearby town, she finds it nearly leveled by flames, in the wreckage is Zane searching for an Apostate he’d leveled the town looking for. Immediately he recognizes her as a descendant of Irene (not yet realizing not only that but literally shares a soul with Irene) and attempts to return her to her convent, and essentially force her to be a nun. She’s badly injured, and has just picked up a weapon for the first time, so she’s pretty defenseless. But at the last minute before he can return her she has a surge of magic leaving her with strange black marks, running off into the woods.

Then from there she ends up at the steps of the guard tower in Phoenix Drop, badly injured, severely traumatized, and in a horrible state of shock. That’s where Garroth takes her in, and gets her back to health. I could rant a little bit more, but that’s all that I wanted to say. Anyways I was feeling insipired so I made this. Though if you’re interested hearing more about my Aphmau rewrite, feel free to drop anything in my ask box. Or if u have any suggestions! Always working on stuff like that.

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟓: 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐊.𝐇𝐉 ♡

God Isn't Here

【sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs】 : Bad Boy Hongjoong wanted to change for you. Be the better man you deserved, but what if you ended up changing more than him?

『ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ』 :  3.70k

-> ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Slice of Life. Toxic family. Smut. ANGST. Sad Stuff.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: BadBoy!Hongjoong x Religious!GoodGirl!Reader

[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs] : Heavy religious background. Mention of a cult like life. Lots of trauma. Pet names. Swearing. Corruption and slight manipulation. Thigh riding. Dry humping. Oral. Crying turned to sobbing. (I'm sorry this is a shit show). Fingering. Sight sir kink (I can't help myself). When I say this is messy....this is MESSY, FILTHY, DIRTY. Breast play. Clothing is literally being ripped apart. Slight ass play and mention of anal. Hickies. Mention of sex toys. There is way too much dirty talk cause Hongjoong has a filthy mouth. Use of the name slut. So much sobbing please forgive me I was in a mood. Cowgirl. Unprotected sex. Loss of virginity. Spanking.

Thank you, @historyinmybed , for requesting Hongjoong. Also, thank you to my anony for requesting the plot ♡♡♡

Note: I want to point out that this fic this is no way hating on any type of religion. I came from a very religious household, so I get the idea of internal hatred to yourself and 'god'. But please take this fic with a grain of salt. Believe what you want to believe and practise what you wish to practise. No one should tell you what you can or can not worship. That's your life. Not there's.

Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober List

Perfection. That was what your family described you as. Their perfect little daughter. Naturally pretty, above-average smarts and a people person. Well, that was what your parents dressed you as. They weren't half wrong to be fair. You wanted nothing more than to be the sweet daughter that your parents wanted. But once your heart fell for the mysterious man that stumbled in the back of your bookshop one day. Perfect was no longer the description to view you as.

Rough, mysterious, heartbreaking bad boy. He looked like he jumped straight out of a dark romance novel. He was everything you were not and when he laid eyes on you, he knew he wanted to know you, have you, hold you. To fuck the innocence out of you. But he proceeded with caution. Not wanting to scare you away. He was known as a player, someone that fucked around and partied most weekends…

Yet he changed.

Changed for you. He dotted on you. Followed you around like a loving puppy that found his favourite thing in the world. Which he had. You were his everything and the love of his life and he would do anything for you. And he made sure you knew that every chance he could. Bringing you flowers to your work or gifting you with a home-cooked meal even though he wasn’t the greatest cook. He wanted you to know that he loves you. Forever and always. And when you were cuddling on the couch in your shared apartment―the apartment your parents didn’t know you had―one night, Hongjoong couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. He tried not to do something you didn’t want but fucking his fist to the thought of you was no longer working. He needed the real deal. And tonight he tried his luck. His touches were slow, sensual. You almost didn’t notice them while you were so focused on the new show Fionna and Cake in front of you. But when his fingertips grazed the end of your sleep shorts, your head snapped to him seeing he was completely focused on you, not even paying attention to the TV.

You gulped looking at him with such wide innocent eyes. The tingle in your gut made you confused but it also intrigued you, wanting to know what it was but you were also scared it might be considered unholy. You see, you were fighting an inner battle. Yes, you had left your family's practice and ran away with Hongjoong after he convinced you of your family's toxic lifestyle. You wouldn’t ever consider your life being involved around a cult-like community but yet it was all you knew. And when you opened a bookshop in your hometown your parents made sure to monitor the shop like hawks but neither of them would have thought someone like Hongjoong would stumble into the doors of the sweet establishment. Without even realizing, that day you starting losing your faith in god, if you even had any. It was just a way of life to you and you didn’t know any better back then but now you explore the world day by day with your sweet lover boy and god definitely didn’t have anything to do with that.

“W-what are you doing?”  As if you couldn’t sound any more cute than you did right this minute. His eyes darkened, sucking in a breath as he watched you squirm. Your doe eyes watched him intensely, your hand snaking down to grab his, holding him still. Did you really not know what teasing was? Then again you didn’t know most things until he came along. When he first kissed you, he still remembers the shocked expression you made and how you slapped his chest slightly saying ‘We aren’t supposed to do that.’ But now all you do is kiss him. Morning kisses, hello and goodbye kisses. If you walked into the room he would grab you for a smooch. He loved kissing you and even though you would not admit it, you craved them too.

��I’m just wanting to touch you, Darling.” His soft voice sent shivers down your spine. You gulped, not knowing what exactly he meant. You gave him a confused expression, and it finally clicked in his head that you didn’t know what was going on. “Can I touch you, baby?”

You smiled letting his hand slip into your own, tilting your head “But you are touching me Joongie.”

Oh fuck, you look so goddamn cute and it made him want to pin you to the couch and fuck you into next week. He wanted, needed to teach you this side of life you didn’t know about. Take it slow, Hongjoong repeated to himself, placing his hand free hand on top of yours. He closed the distance between your lips but just kept enough space to let you pick whether or not to actually kiss him. And when you gave him a simple smile before sealing your soft lips on his, he took it as a green light to push you further.

“I mean touch sensually...” He peaked your lips again. “Touch you where the ache it.” He kissed the corner of your mouth as both of his hands got free, letting his finger graze your top thigh before slowly slipping towards your inner thigh. Your eyes never left his, eyebrows knotting in anticipation. Your brain was screaming at you, saying what you were about to do was sinful and bad. But your body craved to see what he could do. Could he really help take that ache that pulses in your stomach? The idea of giving yourself to Hongjoong more than frightened you… it excited you.

“What are you gonna do to me?” You didn’t mean to sound so seductive but Hongjoong drank every word you spoke. And the way you said it would have any man eating out of your hand, yet you didn’t even notice. Merely thinking you were simply asking an innocent question.

“Oh, Darling.” He dipped his fingers further up your thigh helping you open your legs without a thought, too focused on what Hongjoong might say. And he thought, for maybe two point five seconds on what he might say. Does he ease in and take it slow like his brain has been repeating for the past month or does he just drop his filter and see how you react?

He chose to fuck around and find out….

“I want to put my fingers deep inside your pussy.” Your eyes widened at the lewd words that spilled off your lover's tongue. “I want to know what it feels like to fuck you, make love to you.” His fingertips graze your covered core and it makes you jump, whimpering out. You gripped his wrist trying to stop him but you didn’t move him away, too curious to see what he’d do. “Would you let me see what your cunt feels like angel?”

“Y-you can't make l-love to me yet. We aren't married.” That was what you took out of his whole confession, man has got his work cut out for him. He had to laugh a low deep grumble making you shiver. His fingers were still playing with your covered core, trying to pull at the buttons of your pants. “We haven't decided if we want kids yet.”

“Kids?” Okay, now he was the one confused, “Who said anything about kids, darling?”

“Y-you know…” damn now you feel stupid, of course, this was another thing your parents taught you wrong. You tried to learn things on your own, only just recently finding out what a male privates were called. You felt so small in this outside world and you tried your hardest not to let Hongjoong see just how closed off you were growing up but sometimes it slips out, just like now. And the only way to get out of this was to explain yourself. “You only mate to have bare children. No pleasure or love… it’s a ritual that a married couple preform to conceive kids.”

Hongjoong tried to not look shocked but then again he really wasn't. When he found out you were living in cult-like conditions he did everything in his power to get you out of that situation whether you liked him to or not. He couldn’t just leave such a sweet thing like you to be devoured by the jaws of a sick bastard who played a so-called god. “My sweet, sweet baby. There is so much more to love-making than bearing children. Do you want me to show you?”

He gave you one last slow kiss, holding your cheek with his free hand keeping you in place. You sigh in the kiss, feeling a kind of relief and safety. All he wanted to do was keep you comfortable and not do anything you were unsure of. But now you wanted to give back. Give back to his kindness and understanding. You wanted to know, to know what it felt like to be with someone completely. But your mind kept playing the idea that you were betraying your god. You were fighting an inner battle and you didn’t know what to do. “Y-You can s-show me Joongie.”

He shifted his weight, turning to look at you straight on. He placed both hands on either side of your face before asking again. “I need you to say yes baby. Do you want this? Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You might have said that a little too quickly for your liking but Joong. Oh, he’d been waiting for this moment and it couldn’t be any more perfect. Grabbing your hips he pulls you up onto his lap. Your face was flustered a bright red. Your hands instantly gripped onto his shoulders as his own snakes under your loose top, feeling your bare tummy. He kisses you on your lips, then a peck on your cheek, then jaw. Before moving down to your neck. His hot tongue licked a long strip against your skin making you shiver, digging your fingers into his shirt. He chuckled feeling your hips wiggle, trying to subconsciously relieve the ache.  He held your hip with his right hand, helping you move slowly, letting you take control, for the moment. He wanted to ease you in, let you find your rhythm. “J-joongie I f-feel.”

“Feel what baby? What do you feel?” He pulled away to look at you, using his free hand to slowly move down your navel before landing just above your core. Your eyes stayed closed, rocking your hips slowly. Your clit was brushing against your jeans just right and it was sending your head into a spin. You didn’t know how to describe the feeling but it felt, good. Right, almost. And then he cupped your pussy making you jump.

“I feel hot… I think I-I’m sweating d-down….” You looked down, seeing his hand holding your core. He looked down to, knowing exactly what you were saying. Chuckling against he rubbed his two middle fingers along your covered slit.

“It’s not sweat Darling. It’s called cum. It comes out of you when you’re feeling good.” he continued to rub you making your mouth fall agape slightly. He leaned towards your ear kissing the top of your neck before whispering. “and it tastes delicious too. Can you give me a taste baby?”

You hesitantly nodded, “Yes, but is…” He looks at you in your wide eyes. “ W-what about g-gods way…”

“Fuck god. He doesn’t know a good thing if it was staring at him in the face.” His voice was laced with aggression. But his lips against your neck were soft, gentle. “Forget god, baby. It’s just you and me.”

You and me…. Something he has said to you since you met. Sneaking out he always said it was you and him against the world and the day you had packed your bag―with what little you had―and left while your parents were out you knew he’d be there for you. You still wonder if your parents even read the note you left them. But then again they most likely would have thrown it away, not caring for a sinner like you anymore. “I don’t know if I c-can…Hongjoong…”

He stopped. For a moment. Anger was surging through him. Your family fucked you up so much and all he wanted to was find each and every one of those preachers and kill them where they stood. He wanted to protect you, hold you. Love you. “Yes you can angel. You can do anything you want. You are so strong.”

And with that you kiss him, taking in a big breath in through your nose. He pulled away first making you chase his lips but as his body sinks onto the floor, you watch with curiosity. He sat on his knees, never breaking eye contact with you. His hands find the buttons on your jean shorts, helping you loosen them before ultimately slipping them off. Everything was happening so fast yet so slowly as well. your body was shaking, feeling exposed without your pants but as his gaze switched from yours to your core between your legs, you couldn’t help but whimper. “Hongjoong…”

“It’s okay baby I’m going to make you feel good. I promise.” He lent in pushing your panties to the sides and finally getting a good view of your soaked cunt. “Fuck, you are so pretty baby.” he wasted no time in licking a long strip along your folds making you make a high-pitched noise that was music to Hongjoong’s ears. He got to work, suckling, biting and tending to your core. You had thrown your head back against the couch, grabbing your lover's thick dark hair and spreading your legs wider for him without realizing. A strange feeling was brewing in your lower tummy and you couldn’t find the words to explain it. You were feeling all types of emotions, happiness, guilt, hatred, lust and everything in between. And then Hongjoong took his fingers against your core making you jump.

“Hongjoong, w-wait…” But your lover didn’t listen cause he knew you’d just start talking about god again. He needed you to listen to him and if words weren't going to work. Maybe a demonstration would. His mouth cages your clit while his finger begins to sink into you slowly and you felt electricity surge through you. Everything you did for your parents. The little girl that “raised right” was slowly slipping away and it was terrifying you. Tears started prickling down your face, feeling so good but so guilty at the same time. Why did your parents have to do what they did to you? Why couldn’t they have raised you normally? Were you could make your own mistakes. You hated them. You hated everything. Everything except Hongjoong. “G-god…”

You didn’t know what you wanted to say but you knew he wasn’t going to listen, in fact, he snapped instead making a chill pool inside you. “God isn’t her baby, now let me have my meal. Got that?”

“Yes sir…” You cried, feeling him put another finger inside you.

“Fuck say that again…” He groan against your clit.

“S-Sir…” You obeyed, feeling his fingers thrusted in a harsh pace making you scream out, tears pouring out of you more and more with your mouth spilling out saliva onto your chin.

“That’s right baby. This is my pussy yeah? I get to play with her―Fuck her whenever I want. Do you understand?” He chuckled, nibbling on your puffy nub.

“Y-yes sir. Please, have me whenever you’d like. I’ll be good. I promise. Fffuuck!!” You’ve never sworn before but it felt like a word needed for this occasion. A band in you snapped, feeling yourself clench around Joong’s fingers. He slowed down until he came to a stop, but not pulling his fingers out just yet. He had to see your face, the way your nose scrunched up when his thumb pressed firmly on your clit and fingers slowly slipping from inside you helping your ride out. Hearing you swear was single-handedly the sexiest thing you could do. He stood up quickly, grabbing your wrist so he could pull you up making you stand. But your legs didn’t want to work so he hand to hold you up.

“Don’t worry baby. You’re always good baby. My sweet girl.” he pecked your nose making you smile. He rubbed away some of your tears with his left thumb. You both stood there for a moment letting you catch your breath. But without you noticing he undid his belt and jean buttons, shaking his jeans off. You only then noticed when a hard object poked your tummy. Looking down you see his appendage under his boxers. You had to gulp worried as to how it might fit inside you. He licked his lips watching you inspect him, he had no shame, slipping his thumb under the band of his boxer before pulling it down, letting his cock spring free.

You gasped seeing his dick whack his navel. Its red angry tip leaking out some pre-cum and twitching just at the thought you’d touch it. You looked back at his eyes with wide doe eyes, almost silently asking what was going to happen next. He swung you both around so his back was facing the couch before taking a seat on it. He pulled you along letting you take a seat on his lap. The feeling of his hot cock against your pussy made you clench around nothing. Your nerves were shot and you were shaking with a mixture of fear and excitement.

“Ready?” He simply asked, snaking his hands under your top tugging on the fabric slightly. You nodded, answering with a small yes before he took the end of your shirt and ripped it down the middle. You gasped, moaning without thinking. Your chest was suddenly exposed to him, leaving you completely bare for him. He had a sadistic smirk painting his features, leaning down he licked your left nipple making you whimper out his name. Your hands found his shoulders, letting him attack your chest with harsh red and purple marks. His hands that layed on your hips moved behind you. One grabbed a hand full of your ass while the other one glided toward your asshole. He put pressure against your hole and it made you wiggle in his grasp. He lived for your reaction.

“Sensitive Doll? I wonder what I would feel like to fuck this tight little ass too? Hmm.” His dirty words made you feel filthy in the best way. His thumb slipped into your puckered hole for a moment sending a new feeling through your system. Anything he did was pushing your buttons correctly. It was like he knew your body better than you did. “You’re just a dirty girl, aren’t you? Wanting to be fucking in the ass? Bet I could fuck this pussy while I have a pretty dildo up your ass. Hmm. Would you like that? You want to be my little slut?”

“I-I’m not dirty…I..I..” You didn’t know what to say feeling conflicted in his words. But he couldn’t care, your body was reacting perfectly to his words and that’s all he needed.

“Don’t worry baby. I’ll fuck you nice and full. And then we can go shopping. I plan on showing you all the pleasure you’d been missing out on.” his laugh was lewd, almost cruel sounding and you couldn’t help but moan in response. He lifted you up slowly without you taking much notice, only focusing on his finger thrusting in your asshole softly. It was only when a sharp pain started forming in your front you snapped your eyes open looking down.

“F-fuck…Hongjoong!!” he helped you sink down slowly until you had him completely nestled inside your aching cunt. You were crying again. But it was different this time. The pain was only slight, you actually didn’t mind the pain. But it was the value of what you had just done. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you sobbed. Crying from all the frustration. All the anger you had against your parents. Against your community. You had now completely turned your back on the god you once worshipped. All your life learning certain things was for nothing.

“Shhhh. It’s okay.” he rubbed your back, feeling a tingle in his gut. God, you felt so good, your pussy was clenching him perfectly but he felt sorry for you. You had lived only one way and he came in and changed your life in a blink of an eye and it wouldn't had been easy one bit for you.

He had made a promise to himself that night. While his hips started to move and your body started to stutter with him. While his lips were on yours or sucking sharply on your neck. While his hands smacked your plump ass helping you ride his cock at a desperate pace. And when he bent you over the edge of the couch so he could fuck you from behind while you creamed all over his cock for the fourth time. He was going to love you, now and forever. He was going to teach you new things every day and always make sure you were the best version of yourself. And he was going to also fuck you in every room of this house…

That last part might of just been more for his sake but it’s the thought that counts.

- ♥︎

[germiyahu]

That "racism of low expectations" point can be applied to more than Westerners patting their little Jihad Meow Meows on the head by the way. I think it also applies to American Jews, usually assimilated, acting like Israel is this Entity and not a country made up of mostly Middle Eastern Jews, people. When they do acknowledge that Israelis are people who aren't just acting in the interests of an all powerful governmental animus, they act like all Israelis are bloodthirsty frat bro soldiers wreaking havoc in Gaza because they think it's fun.

Because what is this? This tweet was in response to the chaotic backlash against Jonathan Glazer, who espoused a nearly identical sentiment. That sentiment being: Israel is using our Jewishness for some nefarious political purpose. It's not fair! We didn't sign off on GENOCIDE! How dare they use us to do this!

Israeli Jews are seen too unenlightened, too religious, too much of an embarrassment, to much of Diaspora Jewry. And yet at the same time their Jewishness is not even considered to be part of the political calculus of Israel at all? These not in my name types truly think Israel is a shadowy cabal of like 20 old white men (ironic) getting off on destroying lives and using as shields these poor innocent Americans and Brits, famously two peoples who've never twisted or corrupted the legacy of the Holocaust before.

They obviously have very hurt feelings that Israeli Jews dare to be Jews, to invoke their own Jewishness, Jewish values, to justify military action. They're not even really doing that? They want the hostages back. That is the primary concern if you poll Israeli citizens right now. And that's been the case pretty much every day since the pogrom. That's it. That's why they're saying Never Again. If that offends you as a Jewish person really let that steep. Really sit with your emotional reaction to Jews having a trauma reaction to traumatizing events and relating other events of Jewish trauma throughout history to that event. Ask yourself if it's appropriate to insinuate that they're using their Jewishness, sorry just YOUR Jewishness apparently, to make you look bad?

Israeli politicians have invoked the Holocaust outright, as a comparison. Because clearly the country whose "white" population is mostly made up of the descendants of Holocaust refugees has no business doing that? That's an affront to your name and your values?Again, why do you think everything is about you? Why do you think everything Israel does is even in your name in the first place? Is it American Brainrot Disease again?

You think Israeli Jews are so incapable of rationality and of yearning for social justice (they just want their family members back) that you erase them from the conversation. Israeli leftists are not real and are not working with Palestinians as we speak, and certainly aren't advocating for a ceasefire more successfully than anyone on this continent! Israeli politicians who speak to their constituents and use the shared cultural language of being Jews are trying to brainwash and influence Americans, because they have no constituents. Israel is just a bunch of racist politicians and a mercenary army that's trained to kill children specifically.

Like this is getting so annoying. It's clear they wish they could just excommunicate all Israelis, because they're Bad Jews. They want to take away their Jewish card, because that's not what Real Judaism stands for! And then they get offended when non secular Jews around the world dare question their Jewish identities in response to this behavior. Which I'm not condoning for the record, but how about you practice what you preach for once?

[tremendum]

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

Me and the Devil; iii

(not my gif) .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·: Paul Atreides x fem!reader previous next series masterlist

word count: 9.5k

summary:  Perhaps it is not polite to admit to your betrothed that you loathe the idea of wedding them, but Paul knows the feeling is more than mutual. 

warnings: canon-typical threats, violence, getting stabbed, etc. also smut - brief oral (f receiving), fingering, light choking, biting, very brief dubcon (Feyd), unprotected PiV, rough-ish, outdoor sex, fantasizing, hair pulling. sharing food, discussion of alcohol (?), and religious trauma/defiance

notes: a bit of a long chapter for this one - with smut as well as some probably boring politics! sorry LOL but as always please please leave comments or feedback, i love hearing reader's thoughts and takeaways!! :) thanks for all the love on the story, i hope yall are enjoying it. new update on AO3 coming soon as well so keep your eyes peeled for that xx

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

Concerns Rise Over Destabilization of Sabberon

In the wake of the unseating of House Bourbon and the resulting power vacuum on Planet Sabberon, concerns are mounting over the potential for destabilization within the region. Situated on a crucial part of the galactic trade route, Sabberon's turmoil could have far-reaching implications for the economic prosperity of the Landsraad's trade routes.

With no governing body to maintain order, rising insurgent groups throughout the planet threaten to plunge Sabberon into chaos. The potential for conflict and upheaval remains a significant concern for the wider galactic community - but there has been no comment by the Emperor at this time. 

This all comes to head a month before the Imperium's Annual Referendum, wherein new negotiations on Space Trade Routes will be drawn, along with the final Arraignment of the House Bourbon. 

- Collected Galactic News report sent to Duke Leto Atreides, 10191. Caladan. 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

On the planet Sabberon, there is a trail that leads through the forest.

Past the Castle Bourbon, it winds up the slope of a mountain - and in the springtime, when the snow thaws and the glacier pours its icy veins into the rivers that trickle through the woods, the ground becomes spongy with wild grass. 

You crane your head to take in the towering mountains in the distance; They dominate over your vision, the caps bald with white snow reflecting so sharply that you have to squint. Those distant mountains never lose their ice even in the warm months, unlike the one you walk now. 

your hand reaches back across the soft fabric of the dress that covers your body, the sunlight shy and spring-like upon your exposed skin. Your feet are bare; cold, the tips of your toes stained with the dirt of the earthy soil as you pull a weight of warmth behind you. 

The trees rustle, bushes smacking gently against your bare arms as you make your way to a small, secluded clearing - protected by tall trees laden with chiffon ribbons of green; there are candles upon an offering pyre, loomed only by the Pine that grows tall and thick, towering so high that it disappears in the clouds. 

You're at peace. 

The sheet that lies beneath the safety of the Pine's branches welcomes your body as you lie, the sky streaking as the sun shoots pink and orange overhead. 

A body lies next to you; your eyes closed, you feel hands run up the side of your arm, caressing your side. Heat follows; your arm raises goosebumps but they're soothed over when a mouth lands on yours. 

His lips are eager, passionate, calm. You sigh into the kiss, hands reaching to the chest of your husband to find him bare; Skin hot, willing - desiring. 

Your breath catches; Try as you might, you cannot bring your eyelids to open, even as his fingers sneak up your bare thigh, slipping gently under your skirt to graze along your heat. pleasure follows his hand as you keen under his touch. 

Swallowing a gasp with his lips, your husband's fingers slip agonizingly slow into you; tingling with anticipation and desire, you let out a short moan. Your fingers clutch his shoulders; muscles strain underneath your nails as a phantom tickle graces across your forehead - you're unsure if it's yours, or his. 

His forearm is strong, his other hand cupping your neck as he slowly moves his fingers, stirring arousal and pleasure from the deepest pits of your memory. You'd expect to smell fresh forest, perhaps lustful sweat; yet you instead inhale and nearly choke on the tinny air that surrounds you. There is a vague, hazy observation somewhere in your mind: he smells different here, on the ground of the Sacred Pine. Not like the fresh, sea-salty clean of Caladan's soaps. Any thoughts of confusion at the metallic scent wash away as his hot lips trail down your throat, nipping at your heady skin when your head falls back onto the white sheet.

Following the soft moan you let out is a shush from his lips, gentle as the breeze through the needles of the trees; Ecstasy dances through you, lighting a fire of desire that has your legs squirming to close as your husband slides his lithe body between your thighs.

His presence is warm, thick - eager from the scent of you, the taste of you, the feel of you. 

Your eyes flutter open just a moment when his hands push, bunching your dress over your hips. The Pine stands tall above you; upside-down, you stare curiously as it sways, licks of heat igniting the top of it from the sky. The streaks in the sky look bizarre; almost unnatural, and a vague sense of unease strikes you before washing away.

The sun is dipping below the ridged peaks in the distance, but in the evening light, you frown as you stare upwards. It almost looks as if the branches of the Pine are... on fire; Before you can think too hard on it, his lips soothe over yours, pressing his own hardness against your eager heat. Your eyes roll back as a moan leaves your lips; the sound is warbled, as if fallen through a lake.

Your hands slide up his back, feeling the ridges of his spine as you go, gasping at the length pressing against your aching core. 

A wind whistles through the trees. In the quiet of the forest, you whisper softly, "I love you."

The words barely a breath against his lips as you fight against a smile of bliss. His hand snakes up to tug at your hair, exposing your neck to him as you hum, your eyes still shut in bliss. Your vision is blurry as lips find your throat, biting down and making you gasp harshly. 

The chill breeze flutters over your bare core, goosebumps cascading over every curve and fold of your body. But the more your husband bites down, the stronger the foreign smell on your him becomes. In a grunt of discomfort, you shove his mouth away from your throat - but his lips slide up to your ear, instead: 

"I know, pet."

A whisper - cold and sinister. A chill runs down your spine. Fear grips you tighter than a vice as you pull back in alarm, your heart pounding in your chest. 

Then it happens; a sharp pain punctures through you. 

With searing agony, you let out a blood-curdling scream, voice cracking as your eyes fly open. 

But as you look into your husband's eyes, you realize with horror that it's not Paul at all.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen smiles cruelly, watching with a hunger in his eyes as he pushes; but it isn't him, it's something else - your hand flies up to the pain between your ribs, gasping a choked breath as your grip covers his own, feeling the sickeningly familiar hilt protruding from you.

You look down in your terror.

In his hand, he holds your own nameday knife, the exposed part of its blade glinting in the dim light of the ceremonial candles that surround you. With a coldness in his gaze, Feyd leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, his breath hot against you and making your skin crawl.

Blood slowly seeps over your body, covering your dress and soaking the sheet below you, tainting the ritual in crimson. You cannot move, gasping in shock. 

"You're mine," he whispers, his voice possessive and malicious, his hand turning the blade deeper, smiling as you scream. "My wife." 

With a gasp, you jolt awake.

Your heart races as you struggle to catch your breath, the sensation of his touch still haunting you; a face hovers before you, and you lash out, fighting to get the body away from you. Your fist swings wildly from where you sit up, throwing as much power as you can in your blind haze. 

A hand catches your wrist mid-swing, effectively jerking you to the side as a gasp fills the room. For a moment, as your heart pounds, you consider how many moves it'd take to disarm your attacker - but when you blink yourself into focus, your stomach drops. 

Hestia, cheeks red as she breathes, her round eyes wide; her grip is firm, gentle, but her brows are knit with worry.

"-My lady," Her voice is airy, eyes searching your panicked gaze. "You were only dreaming."

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you blink rapidly, attempting to dispel the lingering tendrils of the nightmare that still cling to your consciousness. Dread fills you instantly, regret clasping your ribs in a deadly embrace. "My god," You whisper, eyes filling with unwilling tears, "I-I'm sorry," you stammer, the weight of your actions crashing down upon you as you realize what you've done. "Are you okay? Hestia, I didn't mean to-"

Her expression softens and she gives your hand a gentle squeeze, offering you a reassuring smile, her voice is soft with compassion. "It's alright, my lady," she says, "You were frightened. Anyone would react the same way."

You know she's lying to be nice. Guilt gnaws at your insides as you realize the harm you could have caused, and you feel a lump form in your throat. "I wouldn't hurt you," you say firmly, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. She blinks, noticing the absence that must linger in your stare. 

Hestia's smile remains unwavering as she shakes her head gently. "I know, my Lady," she says, her tone filled with understanding. "And you didn't. I'm just glad you're alright."

The bruises and marks from your old life took several days to fade after your arrival on Caladan, but she, nor the other maids, ever said anything when they'd smoothed makeup over the bitemark on your neck, slipped a tunic over the jagged scar on your ribs, or pulled the mourning veil over your face. Each of them are soft in their own way - kind, loving, talkative, and loyal to their House; and Hestia is your favorite. You never found this kind of humanity on Giedi Prime. 

Even after you and Hestia finish your breakfast, and she helps you dress, she doesn't ask about the dream. And you don't tell her. 

It is certainly not the first of these dreams you've had - yes, you've been dreaming of that place nearly every night since you arrived here; the mountains, the hills, the pathway to the open clearing with the large tree. Each night, it calls to you, singing a song you cannot hear; but never, not until now, had there been a man with you. 

Never had Paul nor Feyd-Rautha found you in those dreams.

A sharp pain to your side reminds you of that phantom knife stuck through your ribs, of the cold stare of the man you once thought you’d be with forever. You'd woken in fear from the nightmare, but the beginning of the dream had been... pleasant, extremely so - and it was because of... 

Paul, your mind reminds you, as you swallow the unease in your stomach.

No doubt in your mind, it is Sabberon in your dreams - you'd know those trees, that Pine, anywhere. But the sheet on the ground, the altar, the chiffon ribbons in the trees, the candles- it felt almost like a ritual. You've never seen nor heard of such a place in all your years. 

Dressing you is a solemn affair this morning. The worst moment of hesitation comes when Hestia holds up the necklace; it shines in the rays of sunlight, glistening with the precious stone that carves out the emblem of the Atreides hawk. Your jaw tightens when you back your head away from her slightly. 

She's not unused to this; it's been half a week since it was given to you, and each day you have bared your teeth as she clasps it around your neck - yet still, you wear it. Her eyes find yours, swimming; she can tell where your mind's gone so easily.

"You said he apologized?" She asks tentatively, and you huff a short laugh. "Yes. Only after I told on him to his parents, like a child. He probably hates me more, now." 

She gives you an incredulous look as she clasps the necklace over your neckline.

"He gifted you a family heirloom - my lady, look at it! This thing is older than the two of us combined." She is lighthearted, but it does not quell your distress. 

Your teeth worry into your bottom lip as you hum gently. "It's not as simple as that." You say with a shrug. Your eyes cast down, where your bare feet stand against the floor. For a minute, you see wild grass under them; a white sheet, blood seeping through it and onto your toes. Averting your gaze, you clear your throat. "I think he wants me to remember who holds the reins." 

A hand on your shoulder snaps you back into your own bedchambers and you swallow thickly. Her face holds nothing but honesty. "Or, it's his way of trying to welcome you as a part of House Atreides. He is not sinister, I promise, just slow to trust." 

You send her a look, "You seem to know Lord Paul quite well, Hestia." you say, not accusatory, but teasing.  

She, as expected, flushes red; you have to hide your smirk. "Nothing-nothing like that, my Lady." she insists, shaking her head. "My mother was the handmaiden to Lady Jessica. He is just a few years older than I - In some ways, though I am but a servant, Paul and I were reared almost as siblings." 

You nod gently, watching her face contort into something very warm, less embarrassed, "I've got no siblings of my own, but sometimes I think he is exactly what a brother should be." She shrugs. "Kind, thoughtful, always willing to lend an ear. Quite loyal, always standing up for what he believes is right, no matter the cost - and, if you'd believe it, he can be quite funny sometimes."

No matter the cost - like ruining a betrothal to a woman he thinks is a Harkonnen spy? You hide your grimace, knowing Hestia is only wishing to soothe your mind. Instead you force a smile, hoping it appears more brilliant than you feel.

"I always seemed to fight with my siblings." Your voice is melancholy - the idea of having someone so close, so familiar, feels like a distant dream now. "But they were my favorite people in this entire universe." You smile wistfully, clearing your throat as you slide on the hand jewelry she offers to you. She doesn't say anything, and you're grateful for it. 

"Family, by blood or bond, is a precious thing." You reason, pulling up your trousers and slipping on your shoes. 

Hestia nods in agreement, her own wistful smile playing on her lips. "Indeed, my lady."

You eye your reflection in the mirror on the wall; You stare sullenly back at yourself- beautiful, yes - but miserable. A dog with a collar for the Atreides leash. 

She claps, "Now, let's get you to this War Council." 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

Paul lets out a sharp sigh.

An aseptic scent pierces his nostrils, contaminating his brain; Distracting him. The castle can become very sterile, deep in the more secluded chambers - the air has a chill to it, sharp with some kind of disinfectant.

"Concentrate, Paul.” His mother’s voice is low but commanding, "Project your will."

He can’t bring himself to look up - his mother stands just a few paces away, her eyes boring into him. Focus. He needs to focus.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he hums gently - flames flicker up the sides of his vision, though he pushes through - a large tree, smoke leaking from somewhere above where it pierces the clouds. A sigh of his name in his ear, hands tugging the curls at the nape of his neck. His nostrils flare as he shakes his head, letting out a small groan of irritation. Focus.

Within him, an energy builds; But as he begins to speak, a strange sense of trepidation washes over his spine, a nagging suspicion of unease. He falters in his words for a moment, confidence waning as doubts crept into his mind.

It's silent for a moment, before she sighs from across the room. “You’re distracted this morning, Paul." she states, her tone neutral. He bites back a sharp I know - instead he sighs, his shoulders dropping. “I didn’t sleep well.” He excuses, pacing towards the water pitcher. She follows, reaching for the glass he offers to her as she hums in thought. 

“Dreams?” She reads him so well. 

He pauses; Frankly, there is a giving degree to which he understands the Bene Gesserit’s plans for him, and this alone is cause for hesitation. He remembers the sheer pain from that box all those years ago, just after he'd heard the Reverend Mother tell his own lady mother that there were two candidates - for what, he still doesn't know - and that Paul may one day be one of them. 

He isn't sure what it meant, but there is a very sick feeling in his stomach that perhaps these dreams have to do with it. 

"Yes." He acquiesces, knowing she would have seen straight through any lie he'd fabricate. "I've been having dreams," he admits reluctantly, gaze drifting to the floor. He knows how it is about to sound. "Vivid dreams...of Sabberon." 

To an untrained eye, no one would be able to read his mother's emotions. But Paul's eyes are indeed quite trained; A flicker of concern passes through her. "Sabberon?" She echoes, her tone careful, the way it becomes when discussing matters of great import. "And what do you see in these dreams?"

Paul hesitates, the memory still fresh in his mind; in the beginning, it is always soft skin, toes imbued with the dirt. Soft whispers of his name from lips he has yet to truly see. 

And then there is your body, the skin of your thighs shaking as his lips move lower and lower. The gentleness of your sigh as he holds your hips down, the glint of a blade's hilt almost golden in the reddening sun. Your gown, thin and blowing in the breeze, the same color as the veil which still conceals your face from his wanting gaze even in the dying light; Streaks of color in the sky, snow falling around you. The soft fabric bunching by your hips, lying down softly on a white sheet. Your chest tremoring in the flickering light of ceremonial candles; Your own breath, warm and willing, upon his neck, hands moving lower towards his waistband. A soft moan, the smell of ash- 

He swallows thickly, staring at his mother with hesitation, jaw clenching.

He clears his throat, "I always see..." He chooses carefully the truths he will forgive, "a white blanket covering the ground," he murmurs, his words heavy with uncertainty. "Above, there's a great pine tree burning. Visions of...knives, and streaks through the sky; I think they are missiles. And we are there together... she and I."

"Lady Bourbon?" His mother repeats, her brow lifting. Paul nods, a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach. 

"I'm not sure why it's always the same dream," he admits, his voice barely audible. "Perhaps I've been reading about Sabberon too much."

He can't shake the feeling that there's something important waiting for him on Sabberon; It's true - you have become a frequent visitor in his dreams. Always there, always you - and somehow, he knows it's Sabberon. He sees it burning; he sees it up in flames, and sometimes, you with it. 

Lady Jessica sets her unused glass of water down on the table. "Be cautious with your dreams, Paul. Listen to them, learn from them." she urges, words leaving no sense of comfort in his chest. "Dreams are  messages from the deep."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

Though it was but late morning, the Strategy Council found you quite weary.

You sit, toying with your fingers as you drown in a sea of House Atreides; The only solace in the room is your shortsword, laid in front of you on the table for all to see. Certainly a warning, this time. 

Nearly everybody you've met of importance is in attendance - the table is large and long, so much so that you know you will have to project your voice to be heard by the dredges of your periphery. War masters, strategists, women and men with intense stares and the symbol of house Atreides upon their clothing. 

After the table is full, Duke Leto begins the discussion with a brief introduction - you have yet to meet a handful of these advisors, and in your own introduction you have to fight hard not to sound too sharp or calculating, your eyes skittering to observe the details of your listeners from behind the veil. Worse than this is the fight to stifle your yawn as the duke reviews intelligence reports; Gritting your teeth, you sit up straighter. Now is not the time for your body and mind to punish you for the lack of sound sleep.

In an unfortunate glance beside the duke, you're startled - Paul, who sits beside his father, stares at the pendant hanging from your neck. A wash of chills fall down your spine. 

Until now, there's lived a cold silence between the two of you that has not been broken since it began the night he gave you the necklace. Cordial nods or a tight-lipped smile from him in passing, whenever a house member is around; nothing more would dare be said. 

If you'd been less indulged in your studies and training, or he less prideful, perhaps it would not have gone on this long - but seeing as you've barely been in the same room once since that dreadful dinner several days ago, it's no different. You aren't to be wed until the end of this year, but you know sometime soon, you will have to learn to live with him. 

Paul does not notice your attention on him for some time as his father speaks beside him; He is seemingly in his own world, gazing intently at the necklace in a way that gives you a rush of unease.

Suddenly, green eyes flicker upwards to find your own; You're unsure how he does it each time, for you know your face is well concealed unless only a foot away from you. It shocks you to your core anyways, and images unwelcome fly into your mind's eye.

Curls that kiss your forehead as he tilts his head down; His hand snaking up the bareness of your thigh. 

You swallow thickly, shifting in your seat. It's bad enough to dream of Feyd-Rautha, but now you're flushing like a child each time you catch your husband-to-be's eyes - like some innocent maiden; catching those very same eyes which regard you as a pawn on the chessboard of his House, no less.

There is not a part of you so vain as to lie and say Paul is not extremely attractive. With his dark curls, sharp angles, plush lips, and that cool voice, anybody with eyes or ears can tell. But even just this innocent observation makes you fight the urge to rip off the necklace, to scream at him - I am not yours to keep like a pet!  But before you can do much of anything, his gaze is gone from you, turning his attention to the matter at hand.

Begrudgingly, you try to do the same. 

Your eyelids droop as you fight to stare at the duke, who speaks in what you can only perceive as background noise as your mind soldiers on against your own will.

"Lady Bourbon?"

Your eyes snap up, heart suddenly beating hard under the shockingly paternal stare of Duke Leto. In fact, through the silence, you observe that every eye is on you expectantly, including Paul. He's concerned, it seems, as you snap out of your reverie, the embarrassment flooding you; Paul's green eyes bore into you just from the Duke's left.

"Apologies, my Lord," you clear your throat, willing your cheeks to stop flushing from the attention. "I've been having trouble sleeping lately. I've been having some...odd dreams," you admit reluctantly under his gaze, "they've been keeping me awake at night. Can you repeat yourself?"  

You do not miss the way that Lady Jessica's eyes flick to her son; His own gaze casts suddenly downwards, as if deep within his own mind. Whatever she is thinking, he clearly is avoiding - there is but little pause from the rest of the council, thankfully. Thufir Hawat denotes a remedy in the form of an elixir you can take before sleep that should help you - the Duke orders a servant to have it brought to your quarters this evening, and you forget all about the look shared between Lady Jessica and Paul.

You're painfully alert after this, and when you are finally called upon to share your thoughts, it is by Gurney Halleck. He leans forward, "My lady, you mentioned certain endeavors during your time on Giedi Prime. What do you know of their Spice exploits?" 

Your jaw ticks when eyes across the room fall to you, wishing to rid yourself of the cursed veil that constricts your face. Sitting forward, you clear your throat. "I do not know much of their spice harvesting - and it must be said that what I know is mostly second-hand. I learned most of it through Feyd-Rautha."

A murmur from the end of the table, one you are quick to squash; "He is vicious, but he has his own weaknesses that the other Harkonnens lack." You refuse to drop the duke's stare as the implications of your words settle into everyone's minds. "Spice is not their only source of power."

Eyes watch you, captivated. Feeling for once like you hold power over them, you continue. "They have large petroleum reserves - I've seen them, they're never-ending."

This makes the duke shift in his seat; likewise, Paul's brows furrow in thought. 

"From what I can piece together, my family was recording Harkonnen reserves and monitoring their activity with the Spacing Guild - not just for spice, but petroleum. I was none the wiser until after they were caught, but of course, who is to believe me?" You eye Paul at your words. He looks away, something like guilt on his face, as you continue. "-Which is why the Great Houses likely allowed for me to be brought to Caladan. In case I know something." Your eyes fall to Duke Leto. "Am I right, my Lord?" You ask. The room is quiet as your information is absorbed. 

"Yes." He agrees, eyes filled with intrigue, "We were... concerned about any acts of retaliation to our house after this ruling, and though it hasn't come yet, we need to be prepared." 

You nod. "When the betrothal was annulled, they were distraught." you say honestly, catching the guarding of several glances, "Not for some attachment to me, mind you. Feyd-Rautha was the worst of them when it came to the dissolution of our engagement, but the truth is simply that Harkonnens do not like when their toys are taken away from them." 

At the silence, you push forward, "Thufir Hawat has been tutoring me; I understand that the majority of the trading exports from Caladan are agriculture - fine wine and rice?" 

"Yes." Paul speaks up from beside his father. You nod, the chain along your headdress chiming slightly as you hold his stare for a moment. You wet your lips, "The Baron could easily flood the galactic market with cheap petroleum with almost no externalities for himself. An influx of cheap fuel like that could disrupt the transportation networks - the market would be saturated by the Harkonnens within days."

A moment as the information is taken in. "This would disrupt our direct trade access from our system to most others without use of the Spacing Guild." Thufir adds. The duke still looks at you, urging you to continue. You do.

"What I fear," you clasp your hands, "Is the vacuum left on Sabberon. There is no governing body now that my family has been eliminated." Your voice is cold, blunt; unemotional. "If Harkonnen boots hit ground there, they could take control of the planet's resources and exports. Harkonnen battalions could easily squash the insurgent groups there."  

"Sabberon's industries are commercial fishing, fir, logging." Says a woman a few seats from you, leaning to find your gaze.

You turn, nodding, "Yes, perhaps, but I more mean the glacial deposits within our mountain ranges - they contain precious minerals and ores whose compounds are valuable for industrial applications." You say, clearing your throat as you set down the pneumatic tubes you'd prepared before the council, "I've documented, to the best of my ability, what I remember here. Feyd-Rautha knows about Sabberon; I believe it is fair to assume the Baron does, too." 

In the lull of the moment, you think back to those days ago - Feyd’s hand on your neck, his smile black - You're mine to keep. There's plenty of life left for you to serve.  

Paul leans forward, brows furrowed. "If that region is destabilized- or controlled by Harkonnens - we will lose our all our exports. Giving them access to the resources is bad enough, but an almost-monopoly on petroleum, spice, and the Space Trade Route?" His brows furrow and you fight the spark of intrigue that courses through you at his intelligence. 

You nod, finding his eyes once again. Gurney Halleck speaks from diagonal you. "We need to consider our options carefully. If the Harkonnens make a move, we must be ready to respond, but acting first could have larger consequences." 

Duke Leto nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. "Halleck's right. The Referendum is quickly approaching - the Landsraad will be redrawing the Trade negotiations then," his eyes flicker to you, "-and your arraignment is set for the same congress. We'll have to wait." 

Dread fills you; The meeting ends with a sense of urgency - plans are drawn out to set more strategy meetings before the Referendum, you are requested to record and attend them. Then you escape very narrowly by insisting to Duncan Idaho that you must rest today and postpone your weapons training, which he mercifully agrees with.

By the time you return to your chambers, you are much too exhausted to seek lunch. Instead, you are asleep within minutes. 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

Your name calls to you. 

You respond with a slight hum as you thread hands through hair; foggily, birds chirp in the distance, the sun setting as streaks fly across the sky. Flakes falls gently around you, but it does not smell of snowfall; a bonfire must be lit nearby - you can hear the crackling, smell the heady cedar embers.  

Your hair is tugged in a surprising manner and you gasp, catching the flicker in green eyes when you bring your eyes back to the body before you. "That hurt." You say, no real malice in your voice. 

The sound of your words is floating, faint, as a hand grips your jaw, tilting it up. "I'm very sorry," he says, not even trying to cover the lie, "Let me ease the pain.” A whisper, gentle against your lips. A faint chuckle when he nips down your exposed neck; His hands are incredibly daring, slipping your dress over your head until you're bare for him and the forest. The breeze of springtime is chill and disarming against your flesh as his fingers trace you. 

You feel nothing but arousal as he sinks lower, lips painting his way up your thighs, biting gently into the meat of your flesh; A swat to the top of his head and a short groan from him in response as you bite back a smile.

"Paul," you whisper, "come back to me." 

He listens, though he usually doesn't. His lips are replaced by his hips as he rolls them against your aching core; a gentle moan that echoes through the air. It is chilly, but his skin is warm. His lips are warm. 

"but I'm here, aren't I?" He asks, eyes staring into yours, "I'm always here." 

He slides into you with a groan, his fist thudding against the trunk of the tree behind your head. You let out a long whimper, arousal consuming you as your back arches.  Any semblance of chivalry is gone when he starts to move; A hand sneaking up from your hip, over your breasts, pinching a pert nipple before rising, fingers wanting, to grip around the necklace that lies on your chest. 

A finger traces over the emblem - a hawk, blue and shining, over your sweat-sheened, thundering chest. 

Barely a moment before he's ripping with force; the necklace breaks and falls apart, stones and pearls rolling over your bare torso and onto the sheet below you.

Muttering something about needing you bare for him - you can't quite catch it for all you know is pleasure as he starts to roll his hips into you. His hand snakes up further once having freed your neck; wrapping around your throat. He is not gentle, he is not slow; because he is your husband, and he knows you like the back of his hand. A groan from his lips as his hand squeezes over your neck, your gasp of ecstasy swallowed by his tongue. A whispered phrase, over and over, spilling from your lips and his - lulling you into a state of euphoria as his body rocks with yours. 

"I'm yours." 

Something rouses you from sleep, much quicker this time, and you wake with a start.   Broad daylight streams through your chamber windows when your eyes open, your heart thundering as you shift on the sheets. A blurry form comes into view, fluffing the untouched pillow beside you on the bed. 

"Bad dream again, my lady?" Hestia asks as she sets down a fresh set of clothing; you swallow your and wince at your dry throat, heart thudding. Bad dream... You can feel your face flood with embarrassment.

You'd rather be caught dead than admit what you'd just dreamt, so instead you push your hair from your face, fanning your cheeks. "Yes." You croak, accepting the glass of water she offers you. The sky is sunny - not a single raincloud - and suddenly your chambers feel heavy, tight. 

"I need some fresh air."  

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

The midday sun casts a short shadow as Paul walks along the meadow.

The breeze is much more permanent down by the shore; he brushes strands away from his eyes. It's only a few hours until he should be back in the chambers with his father, helping draw plans for the upcoming Referendum, but he needs some fresh air. 

His mind is stuck high above him, recalling the Strategy Council meeting. Paul would be struck dead a liar if he were to say you were not one of the most intelligent women he's met; after this morning, there is nothing much else he has been able to think of. The growing bud of admiration sprouts in him, considering your predisposition to violence and solitude.

Paul almost feels foolish for how blinded he was - if war is really on the horizon, he supposes it's very lucky that House Atreides took you in. If not for your capabilities and sharp intellect, then for your claim to Sabberon; Harkonnen power in that region would be detrimental in a war. 

It’s now as important as ever that Paul ensures you remain on the Atreides’ side, should this war come; a burden to hold you should you somehow wish to return to the black embrace of Giedi Prime, but one he will have to keep. 

You are too valuable to his House to let you go over trivial things. Politics are often two way streets; you will help them with your insights and they will protect you. 

For a moment, he sees that lush green forest again; a woodpecker against bark, your hands sliding into his as you lean him back against the trunk of a tree, the smell of smoke, an explosion on the horizon.

Paul sighs harshly. 

He's not sure if it was a smart decision to tell his mother about these dreams instead of his father; skepticism rolls over him in droves as his feet trudge over the cliff and down, closer to the beach. Paul loves his mother, but he is not naive to the manipulative nature of the Bene Gesserit - indeed, his entire existence is a product of their breeding program, and he is almost certain it is again why the Houses were ordered for you to be spared and betrothed to him. 

A small whisper in the back of his mind, the sickly voice of that Reverend Mother those years ago: Two candidates... Paul may one day be one of them. 

The skittering of a rabbit through the grass and under a rock calls his attention to the path, his jaw clenched tight. 

There is a small alcove - one of many below the cliffs which hold a number of tidepools small and large - on his path to the beach that catches his eye, just on the left. A soft smile grows on his weary lips. When he was younger, he often times used to play in these alcoves with the few other children his age in the castle, swimming, playing hide-and-seek, sparring with wooden daggers. 

His feet take him into the alcove without any hesitation, and it isn't until he's into the shade that he sees the figure seated among the pools.

You're wearing the same clothing you'd donned at the Strategy Council, your feet dipped into the shallow waters, back rigid as you turn to him. Even through the waves that lap against the rocks in this alcove, the silence that has lingered between you since Paul had gifted you the heirloom is thick and taunting him. 

With a tentative swallow, Paul takes a few steps closer. "I hadn't expected to find you here." His voice is carefully neutral, honest.

You stare from somewhere beyond the gauzy veil; your fingers twitch towards the blade on your hip. "Nor I, you," you reply coolly. The silence is uneasy; Paul, for his pride, does not wish to stay and endure this kind of agony, but he knows better. 

He doesn't ask if you mind if he joins you, because he knows that you would mind. He sits down anyway, leaving a wide berth of space between you. 

He can see you bristle, stiffening as he lowers himself to sit across from you - he supposes he can’t blame you.

You cradle your hand peculiarly as you look over the tide pool that he slowly dips his feet into, discarding his shoes on his right. The pain is almost palpable in your silence as he looks down at where you rub the skin of your hand, swollen and red. 

“I assume you found the crabs.” He observes. There is a headdress of jewelry adorning your veil today that looks quite heavy when you move - the delicate metal pendants chime when you turn your head to look at him, a hint of surprise laced into your posture.

“I did.” You agree, showing him your blistered, irritated hand; He winces more for your sake than in true surprise before letting his eyes roam. Moss grows in clumps throughout the rocky pools, his eyes searching for the stalky root that grows naturally just outside the reach of the water- with a quick tug, the plant nearest to him is ripped out.

“You can use this plant here.” He hands you the root of the stalk, gesturing for you to take it. Hesitantly, as if sensing a trap, you do; He nods. “Chew it.” 

You do nothing but breathe at him for a moment - if he could see your eyes, he’s sure he would find disbelief. Skepticism.

”It soothes the itch and the pain. Chew it and spit it onto your palm.” He orders, losing patience. "It's not poisonous." He affirms, lifting a brow at you. I'm not trying to kill you, he almost says; but something in him stops the words before they leave his mouth. 

He swears he hears a huff before the root disappears under your veil; he can just make out the shape of your teeth, biting down apprehensively on the stalk, before starting to chew. Your eyes flicker to him and he watches expectantly - from years of habit, he is used to the milky taste, but he remembers how unpleasant it can be. 

When you spit it out onto your palm, your eyes flicker up to stare at him, as if questioning if you were doing it right. Barely seen through your veil, he almost feels his face heat up; A trail of spit falls from your lips slowly and he is harshly reminded of the dream he'd woken up from this very morning. 

He urges the thought away, feeling a sense of panic, as if you could read his mind. So instead, Paul turns to watch the waves lap idly against his feet as you rub the mixture into your palm.

"How did you know to do that?" You ask, your voice curious. Your fingers not occupied with the paste push against the spongy moss; he's reminded of that first day, when you'd mentioned never seeing plants like it. 

Squinting against the sunshine as he looks out onto the beach, his left shoulder shrugs. "I used to get pinched a lot when I was a kid." 

You don't necessarily laugh, but there's an exhalation from your nose that makes his own lips curve slightly. When you reach to rinse your hand in the pool before you, the angry skin has returned to its glowing health. In the moment of silence, waves crashing very quietly within the cove and he hears the unmistakable rumble of your stomach. 

He must learn to live with you, he reminds himself. Be kind, earn trust. 

"Are you hungry?" He asks suddenly, clearing his throat. Your hand has taken to drawing idle circles in the tidepool when you shrug, "I slept through lunch today."

A moment of hesitation before he looks over his shoulder at you. He pulls out the food that he'd taken from the kitchen - apples, crackers, some imported cheese, sparkling juice from the vineyards. 

"This was all for you?" You ask, incredulously. Paul bristles defensively, giving you a look, "I was hungry." 

There's something very foreign to him about what's happening; with a hard blink, he thinks back to the last week, when all he could see when he looked at you was red. The council meeting today left him with a few more questions than he'd expected - it could be true, what you said about your family and the Harkonnens. 

"If I may confess," Your voice is light as you look down sheepishly; Paul's attention falls to you. "The veils have never made it easy to enjoy a long supper. They tangle in my hair no matter how it's styled, anyways." 

Paul huffs a short laugh despite himself - a hint of a joke, from you? He has known many women in his life to wear veils, but never in a custom such as yours; to not remove it in front of anybody for months and months of mourning - He cannot fathom how bizarre a change it must be, even if it is how you were raised. 

So when your hands raise, he does not expect them to go towards the hem of the fabric.

And the moment the veil slides from your head, he's turning his head sharply away; What in the hell are you doing? His heart beats hard, despite himself. In his surprise, he cannot find words. 

"I don't mean to shock you." You say suddenly, and your voice seems very close. "Truth be told, I'm not sure if I'm supposed to wear these still." 

He stares down at the moss and dark rock that you sit upon; thoughts whirl in his head until you throw kindle to the fire. "You don't have to look away, my Lord. I'm still the same beast as before." 

He does look, after that. He stares at you - really you - no fabric to cover the slope of your nose, the curve of your chin, the round of your cheeks - the way your eyebrows move over the most expressive eyes he's ever seen. Your hair is much more beautiful like this - textured, uncovered, being blown gently by the sea breeze. He wonders if Feyd-Rautha enjoyed your hair, unique as it likely was on a planet full of hairless beings. 

He schools himself. Normally, he'd be truthfully ecstatic to see that he has such a beautiful bride-to-be; yet it just serves to wash over another pang in his stomach. I'm still the same beast as before.

There is some inevitability to your gaze - disfavored to him, but perceptive, knowing. The sound of a saw must be known by a tree, Dr. Yueh once told him. Perhaps that is true, and perhaps that is why Paul stares at you, the sense of mistrust having mingled with a new sense of dread, of regret. 

You are no beast to me, he should say, but he doesn't; he knows better than to lie. "Why did you take it off?" He asks instead, still slightly astonished. You blink; heavens, your lashes are long, they kiss your cheeks. 

"I can't eat with it on, and I'm quite hungry." you reason, reaching for some of the cheese between you. 

"I thought you wore them for seven months." He states, tilting his head, as you begin to eat, "The anthropologists in the video said-" 

"-Seven months?" You interrupt, voice more animated than he's ever heard; it nearly startles him, the youth in your voice, the life. "That's a very long time. It's only been three weeks and I'd already like to burn them." 

Confusion must paint his expression, for your face changes sheepishly. "Forgive me, I am not well-versed in my own customs." Your voice is stony, a quick change from your previous cadence. His brows furrow. 

"My family did not often uphold many of the old religion's traditions, from what I remember. I was educated by the Bene Gesserit as my mother wished when I was young, and our family adopted their ways in replacement of the heritage religion. I was eighteen when I left Sabberon, but our castle was so full of visitors that we would often forgo the customs of my father's family." 

This is certainly not what Paul expected - why, then, have you been wearing the veil so devotedly? Your voice is regretful and if he didn't know any better, your voice was wary when mentioning the Bene Gesserit. 

"I have a book," He clears his throat when you look at him, confused. "If you- if you want to read more about it." 

You fix him with a look, "A book?" 

"About your family's customs. We thought it would be pertinent to know what your courting traditions are." He reasons. "If we are to marry, it should be honorable for both of us." 

It's as if his words send you into your own mind; your eyes become distant, he can see it clearly now that the veil is gone. You're deep in thought for a few moments, but he's unsure how to pull you from those cold depths of your own thoughts. "Oh." you say, voice once again that blank, cold tone - as if a wall had been snapped up suddenly. " I only saw the women of my family wear the veils once, when my sister died. I can't remember how long they wore them." 

This is a surprise to him, as his eyes find the necklace you wear around your neck. They shoot up to you just as quick, searching your face for any emotion. He finds none. 

I shall wear it like a dog. 

"The veil was not your choice?" He breathes, surprised. You shake your head, "I just very recently found myself able to make choices for myself for the first time in many years," You gesture to the veil that lies with its adorning metal headpiece to your left, "taking it off is one of them. Feyd-Rautha did not wish for me to wear anything from my home, but I am making the choice for myself now." 

The reminder of your former home is almost jolting to Paul; when you arrived on Caladan, Duncan's arm still bleeding with the result of your fight, Paul had seen a Harkonnen. A wolf, in sheep's clothing. 

Now, perhaps the Caladan air has changed you; Though you do not look a bit well-rested, there are healing wounds on your arms - wounds that make his stomach turn when he wonders how you got them - and you are not so fervent or distrusting as you were those first few days. You walk with less wrath, more credence; You speak with your chambermaids freely, you take sparring lessons with Duncan after Paul's every day, and tutor in the mornings before he does. Your voice was strong, confident at the council this morning; as if born to take on such a role. He looks at you. You will make a good duchess one day. 

Your eyes are large - searching his face and it occurs to him that perhaps this is also the first time you have seen him unobstructed. He lets you stare, taking in the silence and relishing secretly in its change in demeanor; no longer excruciating with the sentiment of shared disdain and mistrust. Something shifted this morning at the meeting: Mutual respect, or the roots to it. Understanding.

"May I ask you something?" He asks gently, looking at you seriously. 

It is a beautiful collar. I shall wear it like a dog. Fatigued from his lessons, the council, the marriage, the prospect of war with the Harkonnens, of his dreams; his head feels like it's swimming. Your brows dip slightly, as if your hackles are rising. "Yes." 

He swallows, "Do you choose to wear that pendant?" 

You lick your lips in thought and he waits patiently. When you speak, it is careful, stoic. "Sometimes, we wear symbols not out of choice, but out of necessity."

This does not ease his conscience. 

You, shockingly, speak up again after a few minutes in which you and he both eat the food laid before you silently; it occurs to Paul that this is the most you and him have spoken without being plagued by tense silences or passive-aggression - or been mediated by his parents as they ask you both questions at the supper table. 

"Did you intend on drinking yourself drunk this afternoon?" You ask, brow lifted. He shakes his head, shrugging with one shoulder as he follows your gaze to the bottle that lies unopened in his bag. The whiplash you've given him switching subjects has left him unable to jest back. 

Intending to be alone, Paul had not grabbed a glass, let alone two; he grasps the bottle, twisting on the cage atop it to begin to open it. "It's sparkling tea." 

You hum, shrugging, "Shame. I've never tried wine." You say. Paul's eyes flicker to you in surprise; Had you not been offered wine at supper here? Had you never had it in your youth as a highborn? 

"Not even when you were young?" He asks, shocked. You shake your head, a wistful smile gracing your lips; your hair is glossy even in the shade - Paul didn't expect it to be such a color, but suits you. "Never," you reply, "Where I come from, our preferred drinks are mead or ale, usually served warm in the winter. And..." You trail off, clearing your throat, "On Giedi Prime they favor a kind of liquor made from anise - you know, the spice?" You ask. He nods. "It's much too bitter and strong," you continue, your voice tinged with a similar bitterness. "I tried not to drink it when I could."

Paul looks out to the ocean - clouds have started to roll in, and the air feels thicker. It'll rain this evening, then. "In the South, all that grows are fields and fields of vines," He explains, recalling the last trip with his father to the South. "They make all kinds of fine wine there. Sweet, sparkling, aged." 

You hum, looking out to the ocean as well, your eyes clouded with thought. 

The lunch passes by in intermediate silence after this: Both you and Paul are insatiable, and in minutes the food is nearly gone. Besides, he is well consumed with his own thoughts to give him the company you do not provide. 

Though as you continue on, clearly trying your hardest to remain amiable with him, a sense of regret bubbles in his chest. 

"I owe you an apology." He starts out of the blue, mouth dry. You jump slightly at his sudden voice, but he refuses to look at you as he continues, "I've been acting like a child." This causes a flicker of surprise through your features; in his peripheral, you turn to him.

"I didn't expect for it to happen like this." He lifts a corner of his mouth mirthlessly, emotionless as he stares out to the ocean- an understatement on his part, and surely in the eyes of you, but it's true.

Perhaps it is not polite to admit to your betrothed that you loathed the idea of wedding them, but he knows the feeling is more than mutual.

He's not usually one for so many words, but they come forth very easily in the quiet of the cove. "I was furious with how things worked out, and I was shocked, but- that doesn't excuse how I've treated you."  You don't say anything, but he can feel how tense you've grown - his own shoulders are tense, his jaw tight as he runs a hand over his face. 

You have every reason to hate the Harkonnens just as much as they do.

The thunderclouds loom in the horizon despite the sunny sky just outside the alcove.

In a moment of resignation, he says your first name; Never having said it out loud, it comes out as a murmur on his lips, a small hymn that makes your eyes snap to his immediately. "We didn't choose this path, but we can choose how we walk it together."

Your breathing is heavy with emotion, but he is not naive enough to believe it is tears - "Yes, we can." You finally say, your voice dispassionate, withdrawn. He looks out where your gaze hits the crashing waves, staring at the foamy white caps upon the ocean.

"I swear I won't disrespect you again." He says firmly. 

It's a beat before you decide to speak, during which you lift your feet from the water, curling them under you.

"Thank you." Your response is curt, eyes sullen, "But don't make promises you can't keep, Paul." He expected this much. "I've had my fill of broken vows." 

You aren't hostile in your words; instead they are melancholy, as if a dreary wind had snuck its way into the little alcove. Paul stares down at the rock, where another small crab treks across the terrain, rocking in the gentle water tides. 

He knows you’re right, and he's soon filled with the same sense of dread that he's felt after each dream; the same melancholy which enveloped you as you rise, preparing to walk back to the castle. 

You walk together sullenly, little more than a few words escaping either of you as you go. By the time you enter the main gates, fat raindrops are falling on Paul's face and sticking to his lashes. 

You, likewise, duck from the rain, your hair pelted with water and sliding over your face like the tears you'd never dare give. 

But you don't put the veil back on. 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

[highseas-swede]

Aziraphale and Trauma

[Just a note that I initially wrote this in response to this post: https://www.tumblr.com/theangelyouknew/732357015604756480?source=share&ref=_tumblr which is full of insightful info. I'm reposting my response here with some minor edits so it's easier to find in tags.]

This is something I actually find interesting within the fandom, because there seems to be this weird divide in fandom when it comes to Aziraphale.

See, I love Aziraphale. I think he's an amazing and well nuanced character, but a lot of the time fandom boils him down into this really simple version of himself. This happens both with people who dislike him and claim he's a bad person as well as with those who want to soften him up and make him more palatable. Aziraphale isn't the only one who has trouble with black and white thinking here!

Things like Coffee Theory remove Aziraphale's agency because the thought of Aziraphale doing something to hurt Crowley deliberately is something they can't stomach. If Aziraphale is acting under some kind of major magical influence, it means that it's possible to brush over the fact that he can - and has - hurt Crowley in the past and it certainly hasn't always been accidental.

There's a lot of Psychology I could touch on here, but it's honestly such a complicated topic that I don't really feel I can do it justice attached to a completely different topic.

But one thing I do want to touch on a bit is how Aziraphale asserts control in his own life via his connection with Crowley, and that touches on something equally complicated, which is something that's probably hard to understand.

Abuse victims are often manipulative.

I don't mean this at all as some kind of slight or insult. I've been an abuse victim myself and it's one reason I know it's true.

Fandom talks a lot about Crowley's trauma and he's got loads, to be sure. I think of that meme about "this bad boy can fit a lot of trauma" and it's very true. I've even seen people mention that Aziraphale has a different kind of Trauma than Crowley, which is also true.

What I haven't seen is someone addressing that the type of religious trauma is a form of CPTSD. CPTSD or "Complex PTSD" is a very specific form of PTSD. PTSD is characterized as being the result of a traumatic event - Crowley's fall, for example, is a good example of PTSD and I can go into that at some point. CPTSD is different because it's not a singular event, it's the result of being in a constant high stress situation. A lot of abuse victims - especially those abused by parental figures or significant others - have this form of PTSD.

A good way to see the difference is in comparing how they relate to their trauma. When Crowley thinks he's lost Aziraphale in S1, it sends him into a spiral. But importantly we see that this traumatic event is causing Crowley to go back to another traumatic event in time, triggering his memories of his fall. This emphasizes how much Crowley's fall defines his trauma. We rarely see him experiencing trauma at the hands of Hell, as he's mostly allowed freedom to handle his job on earth the way he wants.

https://cptsdfoundation.org/ defines CPTSD as "the results of ongoing, inescapable, relational trauma. Unlike Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Complex PTSD typically involves being hurt by another person. These hurts are ongoing, repeated, and often involving a betrayal and loss of safety."

In humans, this is caused by having no sense of safety in key moments of development. It strips away sense of self, sense of worth and really any agency. We even see the angels using direct gaslighting tactics on Aziraphale in S2, which I'm surprised doesn't get mentioned more often: When they come to the bookshop looking for Gabriel, they mention Gabriel and then almost immediately when Aziraphale asks "you were looking for Gabriel", Uriel outright says a line that goes something like "Did we say we were looking for Gabriel?", leading Aziraphale to fumble and try to remember if they did, in fact, say that at some point (they did).

So, one big thing to know about CPTSD and this kind of abuse related trauma is that learning to lie and be manipulative is often what people have to do to survive. Children with abusive parents will learn how to be manipulative in order to get what they need or avoid losing things they need.

We see this with Aziraphale, time and time again. He could just ASK Crowley for things he wants. A lot of people point out that he could ask and that Crowley would probably give in to him most of the time anyway. But that's not how it works in an abusive home. Instead, Aziraphale maneuvers Crowley into situations where Crowley is forced to give him what he needs or wants.

His lack of agency, as a result of his CPTSD, is also why he needs to be worked into making decisions that he already knows - or at least suspects - are right. That's why they have their little dance every time Crowley has to talk Aziraphale into something by finding the right way to frame it so it makes sense with Aziraphale's strict rule structure. These rules exist as a defensive mechanism too. Having rules makes it easier to figure out how to avoid being hurt and Aziraphale cannot simply step outside the rules because it's Not Safe. Not even with someone he trusts as much as Crowley.

The entire apology dance scene stands out for a few reasons. Everything Aziraphale does in the entire scene is an act that allows him to take control of the situation. He's already won, so to speak, because Crowley is back and Crowley is going to do what he wants. The apology is unnecessary on every level.

This post talks about how uncomfortable Crowley has to be sharing a space with Gabriel. Gabriel is with the abusive team, whether or not he was directly involved with Crowley's fall. Crowley also harbors a severe distress and mistrust of Gabriel because of Gabriel's attempts to destroy Aziraphale, the most important person to Crowley. But it's worth noting that Aziraphale is uncomfortable too.

Another good indicator of how stressed Aziraphale is with all this is that he doesn't eat ANYTHING when Gabriel is in the shop. The only food he consumes in modern era is when he's in the Bentley which is a "safe" space. Gabriel constantly hounded Aziraphale over eating and despite offering Gabriel hot chocolate, we don't see him partaking himself. He does briefly drink to demonstrate how "drinking tea" works for Muriel, but he doesn't seem to drink from his cup at all after demonstrating.

The bookshop is also Aziraphale's safe space, his ONLY safe space - Crowley still technically has the Bentley, and honestly I feel like Aziraphale wanting to borrow the Bentley is actually partially because he needs to get away from Gabriel and the Bentley is the only place that feels safe for him at the moment. Shax ruins any illusion of safety for him, but Aziraphale is much more enthused for his trip in ep3 and a fair amount of it is because he's not trapped with Gabriel.

A small note here, as a thought occurs to me. Aziraphale asserting that the Bentley is "our car" is probably mostly for himself. He's trying to realign his thinking to make the Bentley an acceptable "safe space" for himself prior to the trip.

There is a very different relationship dynamic when it comes to Gabriel and Aziraphale because Gabriel is the constant source of Aziraphale's trauma. He's Aziraphale's superior, the one he has to report to, the one who passes down his missions and his punishments. When Aziraphale takes Gabriel in, he's just invited his former abuser of over 6000 years into his safe haven. This is a hugely uncomfortable thing for an abuse survivor.

Worst of all, because Jim is, for all intents and purposes, NOT Gabriel, Aziraphale can't bring himself to lash out at his former abuser the way he wants to.

That brings us back to this apology scene.

There are two major things going on here and both of them are bad and hurtful toward Crowley. They're also both intensely unfair. I love Aziraphale but this was definitely a dick move.

Firstly: Aziraphale is using Crowley to reassert a sense of control over the situation because he is spiraling. He can't assert control over his life and his shop, which is one thing that he falls back on heavily, and that leaves him scrambling to find somewhere where he can control his situation. He makes Crowley go through this whole unnecessary apology and dance routine because it makes him feel like he has control over SOMETHING in his life right now.

Secondly: Aziraphale is also enacting his own trauma on Crowley. He's treating Crowley the way Heaven treats him. This is a direct parallel to the way Crowley terrorizes his house plants because he can't do anything to the people who actually caused his trauma. This is, obviously, wildly unfair of Aziraphale to do - and I'm fairly sure there are other small moments where Aziraphale does this in a mild way, I'd have to rewatch again.

These are both behaviors common in CPTSD caused by environments that apply this constant state of stress.

I'm not going to say it's right, or that Aziraphale isn't being a bit of a bastard in this moment - he absolutely is - but this behavior does have some obvious triggers that might be easy to overlook. It's just important to understand that Aziraphale is falling into self-preservation habits that are actively detrimental to his relationship with Crowley. It's not just the manipulation, he's also hiding things and lying to Crowley when he really shouldn't be - both things often necessary in abusive environments - but he's doing it because that's the method that he's created that works with his abusive relationship in Heaven and he's falling back on it because he feels unsafe. The trouble is, this survival tactic does not work with Crowley and actively makes things worse because it shuts down open communication entirely.

[captainmera]

i never realised just how much tgb had changed how i thought about the characters (mostly vee) until yesterday when i was re-looking over my toh fan-art. You wrote them so well that i forgot that it wasnt all in the show. like how vee and gus weren't shown to being best friends, vee never got to be angry/shocked by hunter or just willow still holding a little grudge against amity. They are just cool details and im so clad they were added! ps your great

Thank you! Wow that's very flattering! I'm glad you are enjoying it!

I really like Vee, and the more I think about the gang's time in the human-realm, the more I sit back in my chair and think "Ah man, these arcs are really necessary and interesting though.."

Vee also holds a lot of plot, as a basilisk. We can speculate what the reason is that they were extinct, for example (grimwalkers were extinct too).

Wat I really enjoy about TOH's characters are how easily and smoothly they weave into each other's themes and arcs. Their personalities and histories makes them all perfect friends to both build them up and break them down. It's a chefs kiss.

Vee is no different! The set-up for her character was perfectly slotted in to what the other characters needed for their time in the human-realm. And the theme I think the human-realm was supposed to embody.

The demon-realm arc for Luz was a hero's journey, but because of the foil of the trope, and that the point was that: there is no hero/chosen one actually, and the rebels didn't make it in time like in the books, and just because it's a different realm it didn't mean Luz could escape - escapism is temporary.

Dana has said grief and hope are core elements of the story, and she chose to tell it through a foiled trope of being chosen/hero's journey, layered with a religious trauma lens.

To me, looking at Luz as the main character, means looking at her as a nerdy girl in need of escapism, wanting to find purpose, and avoiding her emotions about her dad's passing.

The return to human-realm would be, for Luz, a turning point where TOH turns from being about a hero's journey and a journey about the steps of grief and healing - at the end of it, she will find the light.

Vee, to me, is kind of like a new take on the guide character. She is not a guide, in the sense that she has all the answers, but rather all the truths.

She was right when she told Luz she had everything and still chose to run away. They're not the same. Vee is also a lot better than Luz at being normal and fitting in, something Luz has been playing off and avoiding facing. Luz sees herself as being different as a bad thing, she tried to run away to a place where "weird" was normal and that didn't work out. Now she's back home and feels that it's all her fault bad things happened, because she is herself. And the person she is is different. And different didn't mean special, just different. Of course she's depressed.

The same is true for all the other characters. Vee gets to reflect their truths too, simply by being crafted, narratively, into being the guide.

Hunter gets to face his actions as the GG, come to terms with the nuances of his bad actions, whatever reason he committed what he did. Find forgiveness not just from Vee but himself too. He gets to start over, just like her. She shows him it's possible.

Gus gets someone to share his dream with, his love and enthusiasm for the human realm. A place that Vee feels is more home than where she came from. Gus gets to grow as a person, both morally and intelligently. As does Vee, she gets somebody who shows her that she doesn't just have to be a refugee, she can have a purpose here. She can be an ambassador.

Willow was set up to have an arc where she mistook her newfound magical and physical strengths (she is working out a lot in canon after she changed track), for inner strengths. Willow is a sensitive girl, and a bit of a berserk (I mean she was willing to burn her own mind just to hurt Amity). Willow having to face Vee, who isn't physically stronger than her but is significantly further down the road of being internally strong, is something Willow can learn from. Perhaps even have conflict with! (but more so a conflict with herself than with Vee, really.)

With Amity, Vee has a simpler role. I think to Amity it's more so showing that it's possible to live in the human realm, and giving her hope that going back and forth is a future for everyone who wishes to do so. Creatively speaking, I think Amity and Vee more so to bounce off one another for the plot, rather than character growth or decline.

Camila, I think, is the most interesting. Because she has now spent approximately a year with Vee, half of it thinking she was Luz and having feelings about her daughter having changed so much, the line "I'm glad youre still creative" comes to mind. As well as the terror of losing Luz again. But also, because she has had her own unseen arc and development with Vee, and them having bonded into a foster family that we never got to see glimpses of, it goes without saying that Camila has already done the internal work to take on more kids if that's necessary. I think she saw these kids by her door and thought "yep. They're mine now too." Vee, I think, is interesting to toss into the family dynamic between Luz and Camila, who seemingly are misunderstanding one another significantly. Vee sees them both, and can be a voice of reason when it comes to it. Or if it would come to it.

ANYWAY MY RANTS ARE LONG. IM DONE. THANKS FOR READING.

[westbifire]

Wrote the tropes i think well see in each route based on Mcs origins (prepared yourself its a lot.)

Kuras

Unamed- Mc has religious insight and trauma

Alchemist- Science V. Religion personified as lovers (opposites attract)

Hound- A hardened Mc coupled with Kuras who can heal and care for them

Leander

Unamed- Innocent maybe more trusting Mc with Leanders nice guy act. Also Unamed was a false savior with devoted followers and has to heal from that, now with a guy with a savior complex and devoted followers... ya

Alchemist- Magic(al) power couple

Hound- Hound... like blood hound ;)

Mhin

Unamed- Science V. Religion (again) but Mcs faith is shattered and they could learn of other ways of doing things then their curse

Alchemist- Smart Science couple

Hound- Less 'helpless', can sneak, hunt and react to Mhins stealth

Ais

Unamed- Hightened awareness of Ocudeus and whatever mystic connection Ais has

Alchemist- Science V. Religion (again, again) but dangerous if Ocudeus doesn't like Mc

Hound- Mcs familiar with gang behaviors

Vere

Unamed- Both were at once seen as a savior, now cast aside

Alchemist- Vere may have trauma with scientists observing, torturing and just seeing him as a specimen- Mc in the Demo could see magic on collar

Hound- least likely to die, aka can sense shifts in his mood more easily

This is kinda the process I went through to decide my different Mcs origin, just thought I'd share :)

[revehae]

two days ago, this blog turned two years old. well, that’s if you ignore the fact that i accidentally deleted my blogs this january. in spite of that, so many of you are still here with me and have been supportive even when i was quite literally losing my marbles. you guys have been patient through my periods of inactivity and reread my fics with the same amount of appreciation for them as you had the first read - if not more. and for that, i say thank you.

but i’m also saying goodbye.

just kidding! i was being serious for too long and so i felt the need to potentially strike some fear into someone’s heart for fun. anywho, no, i’m not actually leaving. not yet, anyway. there is so much more i want to do with this blog and so many ideas i want to share that will most likely carry on to the following year. so yeah, you guys are still stuck with me.

am i taking the two-year anniversary of a mostly k-pop tumblr blog teeming with dark, degenerate fantasies that ought to get me stoned by stubby, hairy ogres way too seriously? perhaps. but i’ll never forget what this blog means to me. i’m in a place now where my trauma is no longer something i feel suffocated by or bound to, but when i created this blog, i admit that there were still large parts of me that felt like i was “broken.” this was only possible because i found safe places where i could acknowledge it without fear of being judged, blamed, or attacked.

i realize not everyone has those places. one of the greatest delights i have is being able to own a blog where people with similar experiences as me are able to confront their pain in a way that makes them feel safe, comfortable, and most importantly, in control.

i went through periods of time where i wouldn’t even leave my room because i was so terrified of being subjected to the same nightmare again. i couldn’t go out in public, because when i did, i was constantly worried that someone was out to give me. this affected my relationships with my friends, family, myself, sex, the world - everything. it is a hell i wouldn’t even wish on Trumpington McDonaldton. or would i? just kidding. not really, considering his track record. but, back to the point, i know what it’s like to live in the dark. i know how unfair it is that someone can swoop in, ruin your life, and never, ever face consequences. meanwhile, you are staring at the consequences of what someone else did every single day. i know what it’s like to blame yourself. i know what it’s like to wish that things were different.

but i also know that as unfair as it is, as painful as it is, and as hard as it may be to accept, no one is going to single-handedly fix you. you have to be your own healer. you have to put the work in to build yourself back up and bounce back stronger than ever. i know firsthand how intimidating that can be, however, in my experience, the first step was not hiding from what i’d gone through. in a way that i originally never thought would be possible, writing and reading noncon fics was one of the most helpful ways of doing that. everything about this blog has been extremely cathartic for me. and the best part about it is that many of you have told me it’s cathartic for you as well, which fills me with a glee words cannot describe.

now, of course, my blog is not limited to Traumatized Individuals who had their brains rewired in the worst way possible via some negative experience - although i doubt you’re not still somehow traumatized if you religiously read my content. if you aren’t a victim of SA, you aren’t going to be crucified for reading noncon. it’s okay. don’t worry. but still, i will always support and stand up for those that are, even if they don’t cope in the same way as me. because not reading is also okay. there are so many different ways to cope with SA; i’m just happy to provide one of them to those that seek it out.

again, thank you all! thank you to those that have been here since the beginning. thank you to those that followed me this week. thank you to those who leave nice messages in my inbox, and reblog, and leave comments. thank you to my dearest sweet mutuals. thank you to those who followed me here from lisired and didn’t unfollow me when you realized i’m a little bit insane. thank you to those that read my fics over and over and never get bored! let’s heal together everyone. but let’s also be depraved and Scare The Hoes. and if you read all of this, i love you and i hope you get everything you ever wanted in life.

- with all of the love in the world, revehae!

[lovelaurs]

hey could you write a mcd Zane x little sister reader who also never got attention as a kid pls 🙏

AN UNDERSTANDING | part 1

you can find part 2 here!

pairing : mcd priest zane x gn reader synopsis : you enter the church of o'khasis in search of some solace, and find yourself within the confession booth. after living a life of being the neglected youngest sibling, you vent your frustrations to the mysterious church member on duty. but as you continue talking, the advice the person gives you seems almost... personal, and a bond begins to grow. tags : past neglect mention, trauma bonding, confession (as in the booth kind), advice, verbal comfort, slight (sacrligious?) romance word count : 1.2k a/n : first off, i'd like to mention that i am jewish, so if this fic is in any way innacurate, that is why! i decided, "hey, maybe i should delve more into the concept of priest zane a bit more for sillies!". so... here we are! if there is anything offensive about this at all, please tell me and i will change it! it is not in my intent! - also, i'd like to mention that even though the request said "sister", this is in fact gender neutral, as i have stated in my rules that i will not write gendered readers! do not be upset at this.

MASTERLIST

You couldn’t help the frown on your face as you walked to the massive church ahead.

O’khasis was widely known for being the most religious village out there, so it was just your luck that you lived within the confines of the walls.

Almost as lucky as being the neglected fourth born to your family.

That was why you came here; in hopes of speaking to a member of the church to help seek out some sort of solace within your life.

As you pushed open the door to the holy building, you quickly noticed a nun nearby, packing up for the day.

“Um, excuse me, miss?” You asked as you approached the woman. She turned to look at you with curiosity. “I’m here for the confession booth. Is there any chance I could speak to someone?”

She shook her head with a sigh, as someone exited a room nearby, silently praying to themself as they weeped. “I’m afraid you just missed the cut off, hun. That was the last member for today.”

“Oh. I see…” The disappointed look on your face must have been evident considering her hurried followed up words.

“But- We open tomorrow at seven if you wish to seek an audience with one of our esteemed Higher Ups!” She gave a warm smile, hoping to cheer you up.

You nodded, beginning to turn away and go back to your lousy packed house. “Thank you, and I’m sorry for wasting your time-”

Before you could finish your farewell, the door in which the previous person had left had creaked open.

“Relax, Sister Clarice. I do not mind taking in another lost soul.” The voice had sent shivers down your spine as they spoke, and it seemed the same for Sister Clarice as well, who looked almost nervous to be referred to by the Higher Up. “Come now, do not be afraid to share your troubles with me.”

You took one look at Sister Clarice, who nodded in agreement, before you walked over to the room the confession booth was held in.

As you opened the door, you noticed the room was empty, only seeing the door to the confession booth closed as you entered.

I guess this Higher Up valued their privacy.

You slowly walked towards the confession booth as you heard a deep chuckle. “Do not worry, I don’t bite.”

Okay, well that just made you more nervous.

You gulped as you stepped into the wooden box, situating yourself in the cramped space before turning to the little hole provided.

As the wooden plank slides over, you once again heard that chilling deep voice, instead this time from the other side.

“Go on, child of Irene, what is it your mind struggles with?”

The question was so simple, and yet your response was so… complicated. What if they didn’t understand your grief, your struggles, your pain?

“It’s been a recurring thing ever since I was born.” You began. “I was born the youngest sibling, which in some families would garner me more attention… but in my family, all it garnered was neglect.”

You paused as the voice hummed, listening intently to your story.

“I’ve never been the focus of… well, anything. Even my day of birth was more-or-less about my older siblings instead.” You took a deep breath in as you recounted the day. “My parents always focused on my oldest sibling the most, working on helping them harness their craft and knowledge in order to succeed in their name-sake. But, the younger the child was, the less attention we would get. And me being the youngest? Well… I ended up forgotten by the end of the day.”

You allowed yourself to pause, hoping that maybe the church member on the other side would have something to say.

It was quiet for but a moment before the deep vibrato of their voice filled the air.

“I have actually experienced– sorry, heard such things before from others.” They cleared their throat, taking a second of pause. “It seems to be… an often occurrence in which parents would favor their eldest over their youngest.” They paused, before whispering to themself, “Even if the younger child is clearly superior to the elder.”

You couldn’t help but tilt your head at the muttering from the other booth. What did they say?

Again, they cleared their throat, before hesitating to speak.

When they did speak, it seemed to be more of a surprising response indeed.

“I do not wish to break the confidentiality that is my own life, but… I too have experienced this as well.” You raised your eyebrow at the comment. Them? A Higher Up at the Church of O’Khasis? What could they have suffered? 

“My… father tended to ignore me for many years. He always praised and pushed forward my older brother, always seemingly ignoring his other child; me.” And yet again, he began whispering to himself, “The bastard of a child, Vylad, doesn’t count… he never did.” He coughed before continuing. “It wasn’t until I took the reins of my own life into my hands that I finally felt free.”

When you entered this box, you weren’t exactly expecting advice, but more-so a verdict on if you were sinful in the way you did not completely adore your parents. The fact that you’re getting a relatable side back from whoever this was… it meant a lot. Being able to relate to someone in power felt helpful.

“I’m suggesting you work hard to pave your own destiny in life. Prove your parents wrong, and show them that they aren’t holding you back.” Their voice sounded almost softer, not the same grand deep voice you originally were greeted with. “Grow stronger and more powerful than them, so that one day you can overtake their lead.” Okay, maybe this is getting a bit too personal for them. What the hell was this going.

“So… I should carve my own path and prove myself greater than my parents ever thought?” You asked. “Precisely.”

You swallowed deeply, gripping your hands into fists. “Forgive me for saying this, but… you come from a place of wealth. That’s easier for you to say since you’re given more opportunities, even though some less than your older sibling.” You felt sweat pool at your forehead, who were you to question someone of the Church of O’Khasis within the church itself? “I am in no means able to simply make a name for myself without my family’s help…”

“Then allow me to help.” You could hear the opposite side’s door open, footsteps signaling them exiting the booth. “Come out, my dear.”

You hesitantly reached for the handle, slowly opening the wooden door. As you stepped out into the room, your eyes immediately widened as you realized to whom you have been speaking to.

Zane Ro’Meave, the Great Priest of O’Khasis.

Oh my Irene what have you done.

He approached you slowly, his hands held behind his back as he smirked, looking you up and down.

He brought his hand to his chin, seemingly pondering something. “Hm… I could see this working.”

Your nervousness grew even more so at the comment.

It wasn’t until he kneeled in front of you, taking your hand in his and kissing it that your heart started beating even more rapidly, your face flushing with color.

“How would you like a place amongst my staff?”

@lovelaurs, 2024. do not repost this work in any way!

[ivystoryweaver]

Happy New Year, Jake

Happy Rosh Hashanah to the Moon Knight system

Pairing: Jake Lockley x gn!reader

Word Count: 820

Content: Fluff, slight feelings of unworthiness, mentions of food, alters mentioned, brief reference to past trauma, mentions of religion and religious practices, not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

You asked Marc and Steven if you could do this.

Celebrate something with Jake.

Marc had some happy memories of holidays - Passover meals - finding the afikomen and getting a few dollars for it. The food, the wine, the prayers, the traditions.

Hanukkah wasn't quite as big of a holiday, but there were presents and dreidel to play and latkes to eat.

There were candles to light and services to attend.

Then, one day, there was no more happiness.

Steven's memories were spotty at best, but they were happy. His heart was rooted in the traditions of those before him.

But Jake had none of this. He was a shadow - a creature of the night. He had only been in your life for less than a year.

Jake was a difficult man to get to know. He preferred to keep to himself, but he was soft for you - that, he could not fight.

You didn't want to ambush him, or even surprise him. You asked his permission.

"Could...do you think we could have a little dinner for New Year's?" You asked him one night, moonlight spilling across the bed as you drew circles on his bare chest with your fingertips.

"New Year's?" He gruffed out, confused. "In September?"

"Rosh Hashanah," you supplied. "You know...the new year. If you want. I wanted to make you dinner - just something nice."

Jake's calloused hands scratched lightly down the curve of your back. "Not sure, mi vida. Better ask - "

"I did," you interrupted. "Marc's not ready yet and Steven is okay skipping this year - at least the dinner so you and I can share it. Only if that's okay with you. It doesn't have to be anything you're uncomfortable with."

The stubble of his chin tickled the skin of your cheek as he whispered back and forth with you.

"Okay. Yeah. I...I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to do, but...sure."

You were excited, having hoped Jake wouldn't turn you down.

You prepared a savory meal - doing most of the work the night before. You set an elegant yet simple table, with your best dishes, a tablecloth and your grandmother's silver.

A round challah loaf sat on her silver serving platter. You prepared apples and honey to symbolize the hope for a sweet year. You also served pomegranates and some vegetables. You made some brisket for Marc to eat later. Wine glasses and water glasses were set appropriately. You were ready.

You put the finishing touches on the table just as Jake emerged from your bedroom, straightening his tie. Jake was no stranger to wearing a tie or looking absolutely dashing at any given moment.

But this was something else. Instead of his typical leather jacket, he wore a dark suit jacket. Noticing your blatant stare, he ran a hand over the stubble of his jaw.

"I think this is like a...proper dinner," he attempted, sounding a little like Steven. "This too much?"

"Jake," you breathed, floating toward him. "You look incredible." Placing your hands on his muscled chest, you leaned in and brushed your lips tenderly over his.

"Shana Tovah," you wished him, motioning for him to have a seat at the table. But he pulled you back to his side, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple.

As you sat down to enjoy your holiday meal, your heart burned within your chest each time Jake seemed uncertain about what exactly to do. The last thing you wanted was make him uncomfortable, or make him somehow feel less...Jewish? Than Steven or Marc.

You only desired for him to be who he was. But you wanted him to feel a part of his history too, if he was comfortable.

"You okay?" You quietly asked, watching as he dipped his apple slice into the honey.

He paused, his warm brown eyes going wide. "Did I do something wrong? Is there like a prayer?"

"Jake, you can't do anything wrong. This is for you. Just...be with me." You reached across the table and squeezed his hand, watching as his shoulders relaxed.

"This is nice, baby," he spoke up after a few minutes. Leaning in, he made sure to catch your eye. "It's really nice. Thank you...for thinking of me."

You smiled warmly. "Of course, I'm always thinking of you."

You shared your special meal and some traditions together, feeling so warm inside and so grateful for this man of yours. When you got up from the table, he pulled you close and told you how amazing you looked.

"Gotta dress up like this again so I can take you out," he roughly whispered against your ear while holding you against him.

Easing back, you brushed your fingers along his jaw. "You mean 'take me out' a date, right? And not...your nighttime job?" You teased.

"Very funny," he mocked, scooping you up into a hug, where you stayed for a while, content in his arms.

"Happy new year, baby," he whispered, feeling like he belonged.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist