#it's the only thing happening this week in dunes world

[spiralgender44]

listen I wasn't going to make any posts on the whole ls dunes double fiasco this week and I still kind of am not because I'm not about to step into the middle of this shit show of a debate. but truly I think plugging the merch instead of having a tucker thursday this week was the absolute smartest thing they could have done here because literally anything else would have made this crisis SERIOUSLY worse so. Congratulations dunes on your single correct decision here lol

[ghostgirl101]

Being In A Relationship With Feyd-Rautha Would Be Like This...

A/N: Yes yesss, I'm back from the deepest depths of the dead, finals kicked my ass earlier but now its almost october and I'll burn any exam paper I see from this moment onwards 😀 don't even question why I used this gif, it pretty much summarises the whole headcanon lmao🖤so enjoy it and lmk if you want to be added to the taglist thing at the end. Keep in mind that requests are not open currently, as I'm catching up with ones already in my inbox for Dune and other dark fandoms.

Warnings: Kind of dark themes, mid violence.. it's Feyd Rautha, idk what to tell you 😐

Next Week's Fanfic: Headcanons for a love triangle between you, Feyd-Rautha and Paul Atreides 😎😎

☠︎︎• You got yourself into some weird territory with this one 😵‍💫

☠︎︎• If you're expecting any semblance of stability and pure romance, then I'd turn and run for the Dunes to find Paul instead, because this Harkonnen doesn't have an ounce of level sanity in him, and the amount of spiking tension you'll have to cope with on a daily basis is enough to give anyone a literal heart attack 💀💀

☠︎︎• My guesses are that you were introduced to Feyd-Rautha as either a pretty young Bene Gesserit girl chosen to weave her way into his life to continue the bloodline, or he liked the look of you when he was off-world in one instance to look over Spice production with his uncle, and took you back as a trophy because he liked the look of you. So lucky you. 🙃

☠︎︎• This boy is an absolute sadist and an unpredictable unhinged mess, so there's a lot to get used to, and even when you do get used to things, it could all flip and spin just as quickly. It would take a hell of a time to truly understand Feyd-Rautha enough to predict him one hundred per cent and longer to have his trust that you won't run off or try betraying him.

☠︎︎• There's definitely a kind of dangerous allure to him that he uses to his advantage, a smug grin on his face when he enters the arenas, most likely to make kills in your name. It wouldn't be a massive surprise if you became some figure in Giedi Prime to sacrifice the dead to, like some kind of goddess of the kill (ik that sounds dramatic as hell, but i see it happening .-.)

☠︎︎• Feyd-Rautha is absolutely not used to the concept of looking out for anyone other than himself, or feeling anything close to respect and love for anyone other than himself. So the relationship he forces between you and him is a shaky and slow-burning bond that works in its own weird ways and quirks, and adapts to him and him only, so there are a lot of adjustments to be made on your end. Because even though Feyd isn't sensitive in the general sense, he's majorly unpredictable, and one wrong word could set him off. Just, tread carefully in the early days.

☠︎︎• If you want affection in any other way than corpses and bruising hickies, it may take a little while, because he has no idea how to pull that kind of gentleness off, and doesn't necessarily want to either. But if it's something that'll get you to submit to his hold over you more, then he'll come round to it, and when there's absolutely no one else in the area, you might get some actual, genuine passion, though there's always a part of it mixed in with some darker conflict in him.

☠︎︎• If you want attention from him, you've got it anyway. Feyd has his own form of attachment, pretty much an obsession, but it's always tangled in with his desire to dominate and possess. It's a suffocating relationship and tipped-scales dynamic, and the only way you can really get him to see your side of things is by wording it in ways that'll make it sound like it was his idea in the first place, and that the reason is because it'll feel better for him.

☠︎︎• Needless to say, if you're a little firmer and have a dark side to you (i'll make a safe bet that you do if you want this guy x_x) this Harkonnen is a thrill seeker to the extreme, someone always looking to feel something new and raw and insatiable, like the sharpest peaks of ecstasy and adrenaline, so will he try out new stuff with you even though it sounds mental and freaky and dangerous? That's a rhetorical question.

☠︎︎• Despite all the bloodshed and his ruthless havoc in the arenas, taking lives and living for the pain of it, believe it or not, Feyd is actually vulnerable in the least suspecting way. He doesn't have an emotional connection with anyone, because he's an unhinged psycho amongst a crowd of pale unhinged psychos who expect nothing less (and.. have you watched the film?? It's confirmed that this dude has mummy issues, so... i'm just saying, look at this hc's front gif 😏)

☠︎︎• If we're talking romance and affection, just think intense. Intense intense intense, because that's the best way to describe it. His hugs are breathtakingly tight and forcefully smothering, and he doesn't kiss, he full-on makes out with you. Public or not doesn't matter, it's just an opportunity to mark you as his in front of an audience, and he'll gladly perform, so suck up your shyness.

☠︎︎• Thinking of pet names, I see Feyd-Rautha calling you either by just your true first name and having everyone else address you just by your general title, or using other typical nicknames he'd use with satisfied smirks and lingering looks. Maybe his dearest darling, because you're higher than the pets he feeds and used before you (apparently they're called harpies??!? idk what the heck lol) I don't see him saying my love or honey unless he's just being a jackass in an argument, because I'm betting my life savings this boy only eats bitter things, and he sure as hell can't define love like you can.

☠︎︎• Feyd comes across as pretty dominant in everything he does, which is right, and even if it's you questioning him, he'll throw a dangerous fit that escalates within a second no one sees, so, again you have to be clever with the way you word things. You physically and mentally cannot be independent with Feyd-Rautha, because he'll break that spirit right out of your soul. Would he physically hurt you? Not badly, no, but just don't push him, because he'll lash out without a second thought in the moment of impulse.

☠︎︎• Again with the independence, another thing that stops you from getting any is how absolutely suffocatingly obsessive he can get, which turns on his possessiveness. You're essentially an extension of himself, something that's peaceful and pure and perfect in so many ways he'll never understand and will always pull your mind apart to try to. So if any other skulking Harkonnen looking to impress you by challenging Feyd himself or devoting a kill in the arena to you, has immediately chosen the slowest, most humiliating death, that you'll probably be tied down to watch -_-

☠︎︎• And if he can tell in even the smallest way that you're drawn to someone aside from him, there's a chance you'll be kept locked up in his chambers for a month or two with no servants, nothing breathing at all permitted to trespass except him, until he's satisfied and you have him wrapped around your finger again. And that means you can get him to do practically anything if it benefits him and draws you closer, like a kill.. to maybe even destroying a whole planet, it's not impossible for him. Once he has his mind set on something, he's a hunter, he's found his target, and he'll go wild until he destroys it.

☠︎︎• He's protective in the way that he will not let you die, or get hurt in any way by any person other than him. If another Harkonnen draws your blood in the tiniest scratch, or hurts your feelings in some way, Feyd will use that as an excuse to wring their necks. You're his to look at and admire and dress up and be close to and make you feel things, so anyone else daring to step up beside you will get knocked down and fed to his darlings. The only time you'll actually see him being doting and surprisingly, cautiously gentle is when he's healing a wound without the audience of any nurses or outside help, an uncharacteristic and uncomfortable silence in the air as he concentrates and gets you back to rights.

☠︎︎• The moments where he'll allow himself to be truly close to you go unspoken, like in the cold hard nights of Geidi Prime, where he pulls you up from your bed and tugs you down the short dark corridor to dump you in his own instead, with nothing else but the need to feel smotheringly close to someone who understands how his mind works. You'll remind him of his mother, and that's all good, so long as you stay by him and with him always, because if you take the opportunity to turn and run, don't let him catch you in the act. There's a 50/50 chance he'll keep you in his rooms for the rest of the relationship, or just straight-up kill you and take in your memories and mind to possess you that way ._.

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Next Week's Fanfic: Headcanons for a love triangle between you, Feyd-Rautha and Paul Atreides 😎😎 ⊹˚₊‧───────────────────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added to this for my future Dune fanfics): @milaeth @ennycutie @nckcn @void21 @leighta @williamtt33 @deathsimp @tatumrileyslover @beebumbo @the-dark-dreamer25 @lilepad @skboo @keicdcat @1950schick @reggiesmoon @velosrantipole @yoonessa @anonymjuni @saturnhas82moons @xlxnq @frickyea-guacamole19 @meowmeeps @chalklate

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DUNE MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ MAIN MASTERLIST

[little-annie]

Jillian Harrington

She knows she's not the best mother, but she tries, she really does.

She was a business woman first, never expecting to be a mother until it mistakenly happened. Though, she'll tell you to this day, bringing her baby boy into this world was the best day of her life. Steven Joseph Harrington, all eight pounds, six ounces and the largest head of hair she's ever seen on a newborn baby boy.

It was a struggle from the get go, juggling a newborn and her portion of the family business. There were many days that she brought young Steven to work with her, plopping him down in a play pen in her office while she tried to get mountains paperwork done.

Richard was never helpful, the most contribution he provided was financial aid and the conception of the young boy.

Their marriage was one of business, vows filled with falsities, only for the greater good of merging two successful businesses in order to create one mega one. And that's what they did. What they were. All they ever were.

It was a loveless marriage from the start, Richard coming into the thing with a line of women hiding in closets or waiting for him at vacation homes. They were business partners that lived in the same home and occasionally shared the same bed. But they were never husband and wife, maybe occasionally lovers, but never in the emotional sense, if anything they used each other to burn off steam.

And well, that's how they got Steve.

She knows she wasn't as present throughout his childhood as they both wished she'd be. Missing birthdays, ball games and the occasional holiday, but my god did she love that boy.

Truthfully, aside from her late grandfather, Steve was the only other human being on the planet that held a piece of her heart.

Once her little boy reached school age and could no longer spend his days in the office 'helping' his mom, a nanny did most of the raising. Tending to Steve's needs, smothering him with love and affection.

But on the weekends Jillian always made a point to be home. Taking a rosy cheeked, freckle-faced Steven out for ice cream and a movie, to the park or driving up to the Indiana Dunes to spend the weekend at the lake. The times they shared together were always happy, filled with laughter and joy. Always the highlight of her week.

As Steve (I don't like Steven mom, it sounds too formal) aged and grew into his later years, they still carved out time for one another. Maybe missing a weekend or two due to conflicting schedules, but on those days when Steve was travelling for school sports or Jillian was out of State on business, they spoke on the phone in the evenings.

She was there to see the light in his eyes at the mention of the eldest Wheeler, to see the blush on his cheeks as he spoke of brown eyes, curly hair and a strong will.

She was there to see that very light drained and dull, cast over with the weight of something that had him up screaming in the middle of the night and jumping at the drop of a pin.

That was when she started dropping clients and changing her schedule to work from home more often, choosing to set up their guest room as a makeshift office.

Whatever her boy had gone through, he'd gone through it alone and that wasn't going to happen again.

Many mornings did she wake to find her teenage boy curled up in bed only a few inches away, at some point in the night startling awake and coming to seek comfort.

When the mall fire, or so they called it, happened, Steve finally let the floodgates open, spilling every unbelievable detail of what he'd gone through. It was heartbreaking to know the boy had suffered so much and kept it bottled up for such a long time. The horrors he'd seen, the loss he'd witnessed.

She wanted nothing more than to haul them away and say so long to Hawkins and its horrors but it just wasn't in the cards and truthfully, she didn't think Steve would be willing to leave.

Richard was an anomaly, a rarity in the Harrington house and never once did they divulge the going ons of Steve's life to the man. They kept him in the dark, much like he did to them. It's not like he was very present in their lives, either away on business or gone off somewhere with a mistress.

Hawkins cracked open on one of the rare occasions Jillian was away on business, out of state, across the country. She'd seen it on the news first and knew immediately that it was connected to the horrors that kept her boy up at night. She'd cancelled her meetings and flew into Indianapolis only to be stopped by military personnel at the Hawkins city limits. An immediate quarantine they'd said, noxious gas or something of the sort. No one was allowed in as much as no one was allowed out.

The only thing on her mind was her son.

She didn't return to her business trip, getting a motel room in the nearest town until she heard word of Hawkins re-engaging with the world.

It'd been a month and when she got back to her hometown, it was quite literally split into quarters, fissures in the ground, deep and daunting, threatening.

Finally it was at the hospital where she found her son, supposedly visiting a friend, a young man she'd yet to meet. Steve was obviously shaken, skin scarred and healing, eyes bloodshot and an expression on his face as if he'd seen death and maybe be had.

She'd taken him home and did her best to nurse him back to health, helping to maintain maintenance on bandages and be there for those times when his sanity inevitably crumbled.

Months had passed and Steve left the house often, going out to "check on the kids," or "help out at the school" or "see Robin," or, just like clock work, every afternoon, "I'm just gonna go check on Eddie."

She'd known about the kids, had met a handful of them, constantly heard of the Henderson boy and his antics. She knew Robin, quite liked the girl and for the longest time figured she was the new Nancy, but after some very emphasised points on the word "Platonic," she knew better. But Eddie, Eddie she knew nothing about, only heard whispering around town, none of which were good.

But it only took a single conversation with her son to know the truth.

To know Eddie was only a troubled boy, with a town out for his head. To know that he was only a boy and aided in saving the very town that hated him. Risked his life for those with closed minds and torches in hand.

To know that her son held something special in his heart for the boy. Something rare. Though she'd never say, she often saw a familiar light in Steve's eyes when speaking about the other young man.

She'd like to meet him some day.

—-

And there's a few times she comes close. Whether she knows it or not.

[screamingcrows]

Start Carvin' Darlin' - Dottore x f!reader

Note: I've never suffered this much anguish just to make a single bad pun. I do want to write their first encounter buuut we'll see if it ever happens. Bear with me, I know it makes little sense. By all that is important- please heed the tags.

~7k words

Tags: dead dove do not eat, nsfw, dark content, fem!reader, cannibalism adjacent thoughts, manipulation, coercion, noncon, drugging, medical malpractice, power imbalance, age gap, somnophilia, sexualised dissection, fingering, needles, blood, gore, dacryphilia?, drowning, no aftercare, thoughts of death, thoughts of murder, brief choking, no pleasure for reader, Il Dottore centric MINORS DNI - I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH

There were few things, and even fewer people, Dottore would consider faithful companions. The world had made clear that nothing could be trusted and any gesture of kindness was bound to come at a price. The rest were blind to their perils. After all, so long as it was woven tight enough, even a tapestry of lies would be beautiful.

Hunger was different in that regard. Its claws had always nestled deep within his flesh, ripping through muscle and sinew to carve out a space for itself. He'd known every flavor it had to offer, from light tingles creeping down his spine to the dagger that had been lodged and twisted between his ribs, unbearable when he'd dragged himself through the scorching dunes that refused to be a home.

His eyes flickered to the scalpel held loosely in his gloved hand, the light reflected in the metal devoid of warmth. There was no real reason to wear them, the broken husk atop his table served no threat, and contamination from himself was a wholly irrelevant concern to the present analysis.

Force of habit was what he reasoned, the motion of putting them on coming almost as naturally as shushing the commotion in his, their, mind. There had been quite enough of that lately, only worsened by his own souring mood. Cutting the link off for the day would be best for them all.

That torment and the hunger accompanying it was but a faint memory now. Much more vivid were the tendrils that had coiled around his gut so long ago and punctured the fragile organ, leaving holes that would never be filled no matter the knowledge he devoured.

Every form of craving was a base need that Dottore had long since catalogued and archived in the back of his mind, giving him control whenever they surfaced. Desires were a potent tool when wielded right, something to use and then push away, a drive he'd discovered far more difficult to replicate mechanically.

What good was fear of decay to something that had never truly been alive?

It wasn't before you entered his life that Dottore understood what it meant to be truly starved. Four weeks. That was how long you'd been gone, a speck of dust compared to his solitary existence. It would likely be another two before you returned. Living as a famished man had been all too easy before the taste of sunsettia lingered on his tongue in the dead of night, the sweet fragrance in the air cloying despite every window letting in the frigid Snezhnayan air.

Ichor poured forth from the incision, rich in color as it stained everything in its path. Light reflected across the surface of the syrupy liquid, creating millions of constellations one second and replacing them the next. How would it feel on his tongue? Look running down your throat? It enveloped his fingers in a welcoming embrace, spilling over the edges as it made way for curious probing.

Crimson eyes refocused under the mask, shattered remnants of crystalline mimicry laying separated from the sharp casing. Rarely did a delusion crack. Even in death, the poor thing still clutched it with fervor. Each delusion was a testament to progress, every shard a strict reminder to never grow complacent. In time, he'd examine the shards for impurities, but for now, the cold flesh bearing the consequences was his priority.

Selfishness ingrained after hatred burning too brightly, his recklessness had long since settled into carefully calculated moves. Still, the temptation of your flesh had been too much. By no means were he a weak man, yet the promise of warmth in the otherwise cold halls had caught him unaware.

It's lungs were expanding almost desperately to accommodate the growing pressure of death upon the air. That was another faithful companion, silent and ever watchful, no doubt waiting for the most opportune moment to strike. The ashen skin was beautiful and had he known no better, it would've seemed obvious to write off the limbs as carved from stone. But there was no reasonable way to make that assumption, not with how the remaining muscle still moved under his touch. How it stretched when tugged. As tenderly as a lover, the sharp metal severed a piece to call it's own.

It hung from his palm, no longer part of anything that could have held importance, the tempting pink that was so familiar tainted by a vulgar discoloration, no doubt caused by the elemental energies it had been forced to absorb.

It bordered on obsession with how his thoughts would always circle back to you. He'd seen that color in the bruises he left on your body, in the plums you so enjoyed, pearly whites ripping through the skin and piercing the soft flesh underneath. You were always messy, with juices running down your chin while you perched so prettily on the cold metal tables of his workshop, nodding along to anything that left his lips. His eyes focused on a single drop running down his arm, deceptively anonymous in origin if seen in isolation, it might be a believable substitute for licking sweet nectar from your lips. He wondered if you were still as sweet as your favorite fruit. If it would sate the longing that gnawed at his insides the same as your presence did.

"Lord Harbinger? I- please excuse my intrusion, I'd been led to believe you weren't otherwise occupied."

You'd come to him as a wide eyed recruit, having had the misfortune of being made a cog in their machine. Such had become the fate of most, ironic that all they would see accomplished in their lifetime was trading who held the reins of their suffering. His wooden doors had creaked on their hinges as you tried to be discreet, trembling and clumsy with the salute, clearly still trying to come to terms with this new fate. You were everything he'd despised; weak, helpless, naïve, and so willing to throw yourself at whatever would have you and keep you safe. It fed something selfish.

"I am always busy. Quit wasting my time and state your purpose."

"I'm supposed to report for a health examination before they finalize the recruitment…"

Under normal circumstances, he'd have punished a disturbance like that, especially when paired with such ignorance. A medical exam. That was what you inquired about, and while he knew it to be true that every acquired asset must be examined, it was laughable that you'd fallen victim to some superiors directing you to his space.

Dottore had been in a good mood, finding himself willing to entertain the misunderstanding, if nothing else, it had provided a good distraction from the failures that had haunted him. Not even an hour after you'd left had he requested your transfer to his command, deeming you suitable for a few impending projects.

There was nothing sentimental left in him, all that had been forsaken, turned to dust when he broke himself into pieces. That was the truth as he willed it.

Another chunk of red left the body on his table, nimble fingers peeling back a layer of epithelia to trace the vessels that permeated it. They too had been contaminated, their walls glittering preciously in the sharp light. Steady hands held a syringe filled with water, letting it perfuse the artery before he gingerly collected it. A sample of blood for purification would be necessary as well. A pity the body had been left long enough that tracking the spread of energy would be useless through the crimson liquid, tissue damage would be the most reliant evidence.

Nothing remained of his past self, the parts that still clung to a desire for belonging, not satisfied by only the unity of ambition. It had been your eyes that revived it, looking upon him as if he held the sun in his palm and brought forth the dawn. As if he held all the secrets that would bring salvation.

Undoubtedly, you were one of the healthiest subjects to find themselves on his tables. And that was the justification he'd used that first time his hands had roamed the expanse of your skin, checking for any deformities and writing down scribbles on a sheet of parchment. It was both to placate your nervous mind, betrayed by the wobble in your lips and fidgeting hands, and to record your initial state, in case an opportunity to bring you back regularly and monitor any changes presented itself.

His fingers pushed inside, pliant flesh parting around his digits and swallowing them whole. It was a mesmerizing sight, his free hand twitching briefly before mindlessly wandering to unclasp his mask, as if the removal of it somehow made the wetness now coating his fingers glisten all the more. A shuddering breath passed his lips, forced out by the growing pressure in his chest as he remained unable to pry away his eyes. How utterly beautiful a sight it was. Unable to hold back, his fingers spread out to better stretch the opening, viscous liquid slowly oozing out as he engaged his other hand.

"a-ah I don't think that-"

"Good, keep it that way, there's no need for you to think. The more you squirm around, the longer this will take. Although, from the sounds you're making, it almost seems as though you are enjoying yourself?"

"No I'm.. Hurts.."

"Relax for me then."

Dottore had wondered since that day whether you were truly that clueless, or if you'd excuse yourself with the anxiety he'd seen choke your thoughts so often since. While he could grant you the benefit of doubt concerning the implications of his title, surely you'd know that a Harbinger had far more important obligations?

Entertaining whims had a habit of bringing more trouble than the brief euphoria indulgence could ever warrant. That had been his first mistake pertaining to you.

A flick of his wrist and the liver was easily removed, threads of adipose tissue clinging to the engorged mass as if unity would somehow save it. How tragically still it all was, the clockwork driving it forward had long since ceased operating, leaving only obsolete parts in the wake. The liver had been discolored, electro particles having seeped into the matter, it was made even more noticeable by the crisp white fabric it came to lay on. One of the segments could prepare biopsies from it, check if the energies had disrupted or otherwise changed the structures.

They already had an understanding of elemental overloading in organic matter, but it was a rare chance to observe internal damages caused by high loads over a short time rather than the prolonged use cases of their regular agents. Dottore had come to understand that no matter his insistence and want for knowledge, the soldiers wouldn't carry their dead with them, and he hardly had time to waste collecting material himself, no version of him did. Not with how close they were to their objective.

You had understood his desires and promised to try. The distaste had been palpable in the slight twitch of your eyes and wrinkled nose. It was the desire to try that fed his hunger. The silent promise of wanting not to understand, for how could you ever, but believing when he said the benefits were worth the hassle.

That he was worth the hassle.

Ah, how lovely you were. Keening moans and gasps of his name feeding into his budding obsession. The sounds had been enough to distract him from the churning feeling in his gut, barely able to handle how warm your insides had been, how tightly you squeezed his fingers. The feeling reminded him of reaching into a bed of roses, thorns puncturing his being and forcing his breath heavier.

It had been nothing but slow, languid movements, meant to explore and not fulfil, the sweet pleas that left your lips were simply a tacked on bonus. Dottore could only hope that you were left aching and wanting far more than him and that you hadn't seen how his cock had strained against the front of his pants, throbbing in tandem with your mewls. It was unbefitting.

"Two doors down the hall, on your right. You should fix your attire, it wouldn't do for a recruit to look as disheveled as that on their first day."

"I will, Lord Harbinger, and thank you… Did you fill out a form or something I should bring?"

"Consider this a preliminary inspection, the actual one will be done by a physician two doors down the hall."

How unfortunate that those The Mayor promised a better future were also the ones who would never see it come to fruition. They gave their lives, some more willingly than others, for a reward they could never reap. It had already caused a disease to run through Snezhnaya's people, unrest and distrust filling the veins of their nation instead of the wealth and prosperity they'd been assured would come. Dottore had found it most useful in handling you, a little taste of false certainty accompanied by the promise of power to protect yourself. Your gaze had rested upon him with nothing but devotion.

Another chunk left the body on his table, almost tossed aside without the faintest hint of grandeur, the heart was of no use to them This was far from his preferred medium, more durable constructions would always be at the forefront of his interest, yet there was still appreciation behind his mask at the delicacy. It had stopped the moment a flash of electro singed the nerves. He briefly wondered how its now blighted lifeblood would feel atop his tongue, would it prickle? Burn the roof of his mouth?

How he longed to taste yours again, feeling the tension in his jaw at the memory of biting a little too hard, that's what he'd called it anyway, an accident. In truth, he would not hesitate to drain your blood in seconds, the thought of your reliance on something apart from him made a feeling better left unidentified carve a path through his lungs, leaving the structures to collapse without air.

Every time his hands had touched you, tears had been rolling down your cheeks. How long before you learned that compliance was the logical path, that he wanted to gag every time his hands were forced to harm you?

Threats of missions far above your qualifications kept you in line for the most part, pliant enough that the restraints kept for livelier subjects rarely saw use.

Despite his best efforts to keep everything under wraps, Tartaglia had grinned brightly, not a care in the world when he'd approached, having the gall to simply barge in, to inquire about what promising new people he'd taken on. 'It had barely been a week' was what he argued, commenting how surely you must be something special to rouse The Doctor's interest so. Any reaction to his taunts would simply play into the ginger's hands, a game he was always surprised the young man knew how to play.

Something wet slid down his wrist, immediately drawing his attention back as he pulled his hands from the bloody mess. His lips curved downward, observing exactly where the edge of his glove had been pushed down, leaving the marred skin beneath vulnerable. With a huff, Dottore stepped away and discarded the gloves, letting cool water rinse away the icky feeling now writhing under his skin.

"Come now, Doc, why won't you let me have a friendly spar with you newest acquisition? It's so rare for you to take a special interest in anyone, surely you can understand why I'm curious?"

"That is exactly why. She shows promise, and I cannot have you breaking her prematurely."

"That's a promise then! When the time is right!"

"Get out, Tartaglia."

"I heard she's been coming in for regular 'inspections', you have to admit, that sounds a little unsavory. Does she actually think you're a real physician? Oh I know, tell her you studied medi-sin."

"That was an order. Out, now."

The water in Snezhnaya had an edge to it, as if pieces of glass were contained within. It left one feeling raw and aching despite no physical proof persisting. If it did, his hands would've been torn open days ago. There had been too many small mishaps lately, too many times he'd needed to cleanse himself after his mind had wandered. Despite how clearly the words echoed in his mind, no part of him would admit to their truth.

You'd done this to him. You'd instilled in him a weakness, a beast that wouldn't let him rest when you were gone.

A soft knock followed by the click of a lock behind him cleared his head in a flash, clean gloves swiftly tugged into place with newfound anticipation bubbling under his ribs. None of his segments knocked. No one else had a key. His body remained still, awaiting an announcement from the intruder, willing patience to persist even if the idea of feeling your skin under his uncovered palm was clawing at his muscles to move them.

"Doctor, I don't feel so good," weak and pitiful was the voice that reached his ears, it should've made him recoil.

Instead, Dottore found himself struggling to keep his movements languid, the image of a predator barely conserved in the slow turn of his head. He had no doubt you'd be scared if you could see how his eyes lingered upon your silhouette.

"You're making a bad habit of returning in a state of disrepair, there is only so much I can do to keep you patched together. Disrobe while I clear a table."

It would be a shame to discard the rest of the opened body already, there were still so many secrets to be pried from its cold grasp. Perhaps he could get you to-

No.

You would adamantly refuse, already he could sense the unease rolling off of you in waves at the putrid stench of death. Instead, the remains were wrapped tightly and brought to an adjacent room, the air misty from the cryo applicator installed inside, ensuring it could rest unaffected by decay while he tended the living.

A chuckle passed his lips upon seeing the way you were eyeing the metal surface as if it'd dissolve skin and bone. The sound alone was enough to stir your body, movements stiff as you sat on the edge. Such obedience was an admirable trait, one that would make the investment well worth it when he would one day enhance your form. He would. That's what he had to tell himself, even if the thought of peeling back your skin and rewiring everything inside was tied so intimately with an odd sense of loss.

"Finally…" his words had no real bite, only mild impatience.

Still, you hid yourself from his gaze, shoulders slumped and arms wrapped around your chest. As if he hadn't seen it all already. Dottore let himself take a moment to simply rake his eyes down the shapes constituting your body, careful to let none of the flames eating away at his insides show. Would you be able to discern it in his eyes should he discard the mask? Light fingers traced down the mock beak, briefly contemplating if he should let you try, it would be nothing but torture no matter what.

Being able to put a monstrous form to everything you'd heard about him, everything he'd done to you, it coiled in the pit of his stomach and upheaved anything on its way. He would never admit to being afraid, but the thought of being regarded with repulsion by you sent a shiver down his spine.

The injuries you'd sustained were minor, shallow and located at safe distances from anything vital. Even so, it wouldn't hurt to play a little, the table had already been cleared and he might as well take the break. Lips set in a scowl, his hands found your shoulders and pushed you back, already relishing in how perfectly the curvature fit against him, how little resistance there was in the movement. Made for him. That's what he would make of you. Scarlet lines had been drawn along your skin, urging his fingers to trail along the wetness.

"Do explain what, precisely, led to you looking like this," he kept his voice frigid for now, knowing how much more responsive the thought of having upset him made you.

"We were on our way back from taking care of-"

"I'm aware of your assignment, do not forget who signs off on your outings, give me the specifics."

A curious finger brushed over your hardened nipple, hearing the words catching in your throat.

"Treasure hoarders. I failed to block a strike and-" your body tensed as it wrung out the words.

"You failed to block a strike from such vermin?" He tutted, hand squeezing a little tighter around the soft flesh of your chest, seeing it spill out between his fingers, "That hardly warrants returning all cut and bruised, clearly, you lack the perseverance I thought I'd observed in you. Soon enough, you'll be nothing but nutrients for the wayside flora, is that what you'd like?"

Dottore wanted to laugh at your pitiful expression, a kicked puppy laying at his feet and wordlessly pleading for forgiveness, unknowing that it had already been granted. It was deliberate that you were never sent away far or for long, but there was no reason for you to know. Fear fostered obedience and your obedience was always pleasant, speeding up the process of cleaning the wounds you'd sustained with minimal squirming.

That didn't mean one hand wasn't constantly splayed over your sternum, pressing down to keep your body pinned. Already, a faint buzz was crawling along his bloodstream, months of conditioning catching up in the most frustrating manner as the front of his pants tightened. He had to swallow hard, forcing his fingers to relax before he left bruises. How would it look, he mused, if his nails could dig into your flesh? At the mere thought of those red crescent, a wave of heat washed over his body, accompanied by images of what other marks he could leave upon the canvas of your body.

Could he replicate and improve how pliant your thighs were under his grasp, would new vocal cords make sweeter sounds, added nerve endings would no doubt make for interesting results, if your muscles were synthetic the force they could exert would be greater meaning-

Not yet.

Dottore willed his focus to return, threading a needle as his disinterested voice rang out in the otherwise silent room.

"Do I need to strap you down?"

There was no need to look, knowing you were already oh so bravely shaking your head. An amused smile graced his lips upon seeing your teeth sink into the dirty uniform. Such foresight deserved praise, a small nod of his head accompanied by a finger rubbing along your collarbone in an almost soothing motion.

Having done it countless times before, the needle went effortlessly through your skin, thread pulling the flesh tightly together whenever he tugged. A hand kept returning to your no doubt soft locks of hair, carding through it and pushing back the urge to give a tug. The few tears that had fallen were swiftly brushed away by his fingers, the taste almost cloying upon his tongue.

Dottore sighed softly, tapping your side to get your attention back to the present, seeing your glassy eyes and the small shivers that ran down your body. He could already smell your arousal in the air, the scent growing in strength every time your hips shifted.

"That's it for now," his hand skimmed along your bare stomach, ending atop your sternum and keeping you down, "however, some of the lacerations appear to be in early stages of infection."

How he'd missed the little hitch of your breath, the stutter of your heart underneath his hand. Unceremoniously, Dottore put more weight into the hand, feeling your pulse echo throughout his own body and letting every beat slowly fill the gaping pit beneath his ribs with hollow promises.

There was no infection, of course, but he needed something to placate you before an injection. And the sedative would be invaluable. After weeks of being famished, there was no guarantee your comfort would be at the front of his mind, and it was so much more pleasant when you didn't struggle. Last time had bitterly taught him as much.

"But you can make me okay, right?" There was a sweet tremble to your voice, always so scared of death.

"The mere question is an insult to my abilities," he practically purred, excitement bubbling as his chosen objective for the day moved closer, "it'll just be a little prick and then you're safe. Now, sit up for me."

He'd already turned around, hands aching to return as he rummaged through a few drawers, eventually pulling out both a vial and syringe. Your body came into view reflected in the clear liquid, barely having sat up and already exploring the stitches.

All it for your eyes to lock on the syringe was two taps to the glass, unease so plainly written across your face while he pressed the plunger to clear excess air trapped inside.

His hand encircled your arm, tugging upwards and tutting at the grime that clung to you. With the syringe between his teeth, he wiped the area down, satisfaction flooding his system when goosebumps spread. It had been so long since he'd had you properly.

"There. Now, you need to stay here a little so I can ensure that there are no immediate adverse effects. The blanket is in the usual spot."

It would have been far more practical for you to put the uniform back on, but Dottore trusted that you'd follow his directions regardless and without fuss. When he caught the rattling of metal buckles, he wanted to laugh at your naivety, were you truly not accustomed enough by now to know what he wanted?

"I said; the blanket is in its usual spot," the icy sneer left his lips without a second thought, and oh how beautiful your widening eyes were.

"Well, I know, but it was just-" your voice was already a pitch higher, the irrational fear further irking him.

"Should I consider this insubordination?"

Already, Dottore had crossed the distance and wrapped a large hand around your jaw. It was no secret what happened to cross subordinates. He was well aware that your little slip hardly warranted this reaction, but it was difficult to hold back when the urge to sink his nails into your skin screamed and begged, fighting to drown out every other thought.

"N-no, please…"

It would be all too easy to squeeze a little tighter, hear the crack of your mandible as it would threaten to give out. His fingers stretched to move further up, pressing against the condylar processes, feeling around the joint as images of you with your jaw agape crashed over him.

Dottore knew how little force it took to break. And how a replacement could be crafted and implanted in less than a day, stronger and sturdier than what occupied the space now.

"Remember your place, and be thankful I don't leave you to wilt," the words were spat out with more disdain than anticipated, his fingers giving a last wanton squeeze before releasing your jaw.

With a small scoff, Dottore returned to one of the workbenches that lined the walls, feigning disinterest as his hands automatically began tinkering with the closest contraption, barely willing to divide enough attention to ensure it wasn't something that required further protective equipment for handling. Of course you'd know there were proper medics within the ranks, the most accessible ones located a few rooms away, but they couldn't offer what he did, and the reassurance that you always came back for him to lick your wounds with his barbed tongue, it was enough to pacify any frustrations with your brief moments of hesitation.

Five minutes of pretending to be distracted and Dottore found himself a little impatient.

Ten minutes and it had built to irritation, glassware scraping along the surfaces as he pushed it around, mindlessly 'reorganizing'.

By fifteen something would have been thrown were he a lesser being.

Sweet relief came at the quiet sound of your voice shattering the thick air, the words slurred as if you couldn't quite make out the correct shapes with your lips.

"Am I s'posed to feel tired?"

A small chuckle wormed it's way from his lungs, nonchalance fully restored now that he could turn to gaze upon your slumped body, fingers tightly clutching the fuzzy blanket that enveloped you in a flimsy haven.

"You've just returned after weeks in the field, having sustained injuries and all," Dottore spoke calmly, betraying none of his greed as he gestured to the trace remnants of blood on the table, "it is no wonder that exhaustion would begin to take hold now that you are safe."

The question was plainly written in your eyes, making Dottore incline his head in silent motion to continue, preemptively stepping closer to catch what would no doubt be a whisper.

"Should I go back to the barracks?"

"Would you prefer to go?"

You wouldn't be given the opportunity to go, of course not, but there was no need to be forceful when he could already see how valiantly you fought to keep your eyes open, how your body seemed drawn downwards. It couldn't be more than a few minutes now.

Irritation briefly sparked in Dottore's chest at the little shake of your head, it would've been far more fulfilling to hear you say it.

No attempt was made to make your way through the laboratory to reach the modest cot that stood tucked away in a corner, crates of supplies and projects on hold usually hiding it from view. How ethereal you looked, head lolled to the side and the blanket slowly slipping from your shoulders as a false slumber curled its gnarled limbs around you.

Whatever conclusions you mind would reach were of little consequence, the sedative would take care of that, countless tests indicating that it always left the recipient's memory riddled with inconsistencies, making it easy to dismiss any unpleasantries as imagined.

Dreams.

The risks associated with using the modified Akasha were still too great, even if the possibility of directly rewriting the barrier between truth and fantasy was a tempting one. This way would be more satisfying in the end, having had to put in a little work and flex muscles that had been allowed to atrophy since his days in The Akademiya.

Dottore showed extra care when he hoisted up your unconscious form, grip unyielding as he closed his eyes to revel in the weight against him. In a past that mattered little, others had sworn the ego he carried around was inflated enough to see him ascend in any way but the desired, perhaps this would've been enough of a tether to their reality. For this alone would he allow himself to be held down.

Perhaps things could have been different had that lone island in the sky not decided for his fate to be nothing but misery. Thus logic dictated that you too would be lost. A soft tremor reminded his fingers to relax, gently stroking over the crescents they'd left.

Your breath warmed him far more than it had any right to, coaxing forth memories of a soft summer breeze, rose petals velvety between his fingers as they were plucked from their stem and plummeted to their inevitable demise. And an inviting sound, bubbly and sweet that had, for just a night, filled his veins with the toxin your presence had reignited.

Having you clean would be preferable. The emergency shower would hardly be sufficient, not with how the filth seemed to have embedded itself in your skin. With you unconscious, there was no reason to school his expression, the notion only serving to exacerbate the scowl his face set in.

A soak would be easiest.

There was nothing pompous about the washroom attached to his quarters, and a pang of regret had the idea of bringing you to The Regrator's briefly surfacing. The sentiment didn't linger, an unwillingness to be indebted quickly reigning in the myriad of thoughts cluttering his mind in much the same way towels and clothes were currently strewn around the room.

It made a pretty picture, your body curled up against the side of the tub, a few rays of pale light slithering through the lone window to caress your face. A feeling that had never quite been within his grasp lingered in the rays of light, coaxing something painfully unfamiliar to tug at his shriveled heart.

Just a little longer before the tingling in his fingertips would be sated.

Quick work was made of disrobing himself, a watchful eye making sure your head remained above water. Dottore let a weary sigh hang in the otherwise empty silence, hating the hesitation that riddled his movements as his clothes fell to the floor. There was no reason to be reserved about the results of a life lived, the chances of you regaining consciousness would remain negligible for a while.

Finally settling with your weight in his lap was undoubtedly the closest to rapture Dottore had found himself. Arms securely around your midsection, your back flush against his heaving chest, had every uncertainty draining into the water.

Dutifully, one hand tore itself from your form to reach for a clean cloth, struggling for a moment before muscle memory took over, fingertips gracing the fabric without the need to tear his eyes from your parted lips. It was nothing short of tranquil, letting the cloth scrub away the remnants of your excursion with meticulous care.

Dottore saw how your skin turned red from the continued friction and consciously ignored it, some small voice wanting to rub it off completely and leave you a blank canvas.

He looked instead at his reflection in the water, vermillion stare drawn to its counterpart, noting briefly how it wasn't nearly as comfortable as being under your gaze.

At least his subconscious mind had the decency to have left the few areas he'd stitched together alone, not that they mattered in any practical sense, but you'd be distraught if they were gone when you woke. With time, would you be as broken as him?

Only once you'd been scrubbed clean were thoughts of his own desires acknowledged, cock throbbing against your back as soon as attention was diverted to the feeling. A small hiss mingled with the steam from the water, Dottore easily repositioning you to let his length slide between your thighs.

Already, satisfaction rumbled in his chest, vision engulfed by white for a moment upon repeating the soft motion of his hips. Your thighs easily gave way when tugged apart, body every bit as pliant as previously. Having made peace with his impatience long before, his lips were immediately descended upon the crook of your neck, stifling the groans that spilled forth as he aligned himself.

The water provided additional friction, a slight burn dancing against his sensitive tip upon breaching your tight entrance. Soap met his tongue, disgustingly sterile as it danced along his taste buds, only spurring him on to mouth at you with renewed vigor, desperate to taste the sweetness he knew lay buried underneath.

His hips snapped up as the familiar taste invaded his senses, eyes rolling back at the pleasure of being buried to the hilt. Had his faith been intact, a prayer to the archons for your silence would have tumbled from his lips. Warm droplets carved out paths alongside old scars, gathering at his chin before being caught in the soft locks of your hair. Dottore felt his skin crawl as traces of a pained howl bubbled in his throat, body trembling in time with every squeeze of your insides.

If time would remain forever frozen as the land just outside the walls perhaps everything would be more bearable then. Would it banish both the threat of separation and the burden of remaining what he'd made of himself in spite of reality?

Another sound crawled from his lungs, foreign and intrusive when it met his ears, wanton in a way that caused nothing but dissonance. Dottore curled his body around you, panting heavily against the nape of your neck as he sought out some form of relief, his muscles straining with the increased pace.

Stagnating would be of no use, pleasure was fleeting, worthless without contrast.

Dottore felt euphoria flood his system, spine tingling mercilessly as his sharp teeth tore into the pliant flesh beneath. It was a thoughtless action, driven only by the need to claim and consume, satisfying the desperate desire to be whole. Water sloshed against the edges with every rut of his hips, driving himself deeper into the warmth you so selflessly provided.

How much time had passed felt secondary, the only thing truly worth attention being the rapid tightening in his abdomen, pleasure steadily building with every movement. Seeking more, Dottore found his hands had moved down to grasp the curve of your hip, easily hoisting you up to twist your body around.

With a ferocity that should by all means have been concerning, his lips sought a home against yours, relishing in how they had already parted for him. A hand in your hair was all that was needed to stabilize your head enough that he could delude himself into thinking you awake.

That the little puffs of air that passed into his waiting jaws were instead keens and broken moans spilling forth. His tongue pushed into the waiting heat, wanting if he could to explore deeper, have your throat squeeze around his tongue as your body did his cock. Before he could hesitate, the curve of your nape rested in his calloused palm, the appendage twitching with budding excitement.

A light press was all his mind would allow, knowing all too well how little it would take to snap such a precious thing. As intoxicating as holding the fate of another in his hands were, this was wrong, without reason.

It was the way your thighs quivered around his hips that brought order to all those thoughts, tugging your head away for a breath of fresh air to stifle his burning lungs. Only a single breath afforded, diving back in for more as all else lost meaning. He needed more, needed to hear you beg him, needed your hands to tug at his hair, needed-

Water splashed over the edges as he pushed forward, hands grasping for the back of your knees to push them against your chest. His chest heaved at the sight underneath him, growling like a wounded animal as he reaped what he'd cultivated, one hand keeping a leg pinned while the other covered your nose and mouth.

He was so close.

Close enough that every clench of your slick heat choked his thoughts. Close enough that he threw back his head, willing the image of your eyes briefly opening from his mind, focusing instead on the water soothing his burning skin as he gave a last few thrusts, cursing as the thread snapped and released washed over him.

It would've been no surprise if the tub had cracked from the force, even less if you had cracked, his body still shaking from the force of his release, milky white leaking out into the water and dispersing. Your body was swiftly pulled above the surface as Dottore sat back, once more cradling your head to his chest, trying to ignore the emptiness that wanted to force itself along the clarity that came in the wake of euphoria.

He laid your no doubt exhausted frame onto the cot, hastily tossing the grey blanket over your form. The harsh light of the laboratory did little to hide the marks that littered your body, blooming purple along your thighs, fierce red at your shoulders, already tempting him to reach out and touch again. It was a matter of creating distance, unwilling to let attachment fester and consume more, already now the gnawing had returned, weaker than before but far from sated.

By all means, he should've swung the door shut with more force, knowing at the back of his mind that the lock never clicked. It did nothing to stop his body from collapsing onto his unmade bed, pushing at the covers before crawling further up. He didn't find himself opposed to having you drape yourself against his body, rest in his arms.

Would you seek him out by yourself once the sedative wore off?

Would that finally stave off his hunger?

[hoedamn-eron]

he found the box of condoms - part 3 (finale)

You and Leto have to deal with the aftermath of your relationship.

Warnings: Age gap, but it is appropriate/legal. Mentions of drinking but it's isn't specified to be alcohol (but it's implied). An awful lot of dialogue. Some swearing. Angsty but happy ending. I have never seen nor read Dune (yet), so there may be some inaccuracies (Duke and Paul being OOC, stuff like that), but it's Modern!AU anyway. Slightly proof-read, as per usual. Word count: 3,025 GN!Reader, no use of Y/N.

FINALLY, I have this posted! Not some of my best work, but I was so aware that I hadn't updated this for 4 months!

Part 2

You wished you had declined your parent’s invitation to their barbeque.

It had been a terrible week. You had started your new job, but the person you were taking over from must have left the company with spite since they left everything in such a mess, that you technically couldn’t ‘start’ your job until everything was put right again. And there was a snooty woman (Harriet, in sales) on your office floor who had already decided you weren’t worth her time, and she seemed to have her fingers stuck in a lot of pies.

You’re dating life was a joke too. You’d been on a few dates here and there, from your adventures in the worlds of Tinder, and Bumble, but nothing went past the first date. They were all either looking for different things or just general walking red flags. The only ‘successful’ dates you had had were with your neighbour, Tom, who was a really nice guy, who treated you really well, and put an effort into your dates, but you had let him down massively by being too hooked on Leto Atreides. Now you can barely look at him when you happen to pass each other in the hallway of your building.

Speaking of your living arrangements, your apartment wasn’t working out like you thought it would. When you moved in five months ago, you weren’t prepared (or warned about) the excessively noisy neighbours, and the terrible water pressure, and the fact that your apartment was just freezing constantly. You’d already been on your landlord’s case, but he didn’t seem to care in the slightest, not now he’d had your security deposit and months’ worth of rent. You were on the verge of asking your parents if you could move back in until you could afford and better place.

And to top off your already terrible week, Leto was here.

You hadn’t seen him since he broke up with you six months ago, after you told your parents and Paul (who hadn’t talked to you since) of your relationship. It had been a hard time for you, obviously, practically seeing him every day since he lived next door to your parents. Of course, you didn’t expect your parents to stop talking to him, he was their friend before he was your partner (even though your dad had given him the cold shoulder for a while); but they could have given you some warning that he was going to be here.

“I’m sorry,” your mother said after pulling you aside to ‘help with the salad’, away from earshot of the other guests.

You were already shaking your head at her, giving her a tight smile. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t, but you weren’t going to tell your mother who she can and can’t have in her own house.

“Your father must’ve invited him – “

“Really, it’s fine,” you say, placing your hand on her shoulder. “I’m gonna grab a drink.”

You really needed one.

Your mother soon went back to mingling and you hung around by the kitchen door, regretting your decision to come to the barbeque more and more. Everyone just seemed so chatty and happy, and like they currently had no problems happening in their lives. These people weren’t struggling to get hot water or being shunned in work by their new co-workers.

They most certainly weren’t in the same space as their ex-partners, still hopelessly in love with them. You did feel slightly pathetic, still pining over Leto the way you were, especially when he’d made it perfectly clear that it would be in everyone’s best interests that you separated.

“We shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

You had the feeling that was what was coming when he had said ‘We need to talk’. Nothing good every came from ‘we need to talk.’ But it didn’t stop you physically feeling your heart break in two, your body suddenly feeling like it would collapse.

Leto’s shoulders slumped as he looked at you with, annoyingly, sympathy. “That came out – “

“No, it’s fine,” you breathed, lightly shaking your head. “I get it.”

But it wasn’t fine, and you didn’t get it. You didn’t understand why you two would need to end what you had, just because Paul had thrown a hissy fit. But at the end of the day, you knew – deep down - Leto would choose Paul over you any day; he was his son, his flesh and blood. They’d both been through a lot since Jessica died. Leto would want the easiest life for Paul, and this wasn’t a part of it.

“I’m sorry,” Leto whispered, looking at you with those deep brown eyes, that you always thought held the stars. “I’m so sorry. It’s just you’re young, you don’t want to be with someone like me, an old man. And Paul is…I’m sorry.”

You shook your head at him again, disagreeing with everything he was saying. You both go silent before a wobbly smile makes its way on to your face. “We can always stay friends.”

Leto stared at you for a moment before giving a single nod. “We can.”

You almost roll your eyes at the memory, trying hard to ignore the pang in your chest. You hadn’t even remotely stayed friends. You wanted far away from him as humanly possible after that night. You were pissed off for a while, blaming Paul and wanting to wring his neck, but eventually you accepted that was just how life was going to go. Sometimes things work out how you want, and sometimes they don’t.

No matter how much you had wanted it.

You take a large sip of your drink, almost coughing at the burn down your throat. You truly didn’t want to be here. Maybe you could give your parents a discreet goodbye a quietly sneak out. Surely no-one would notice, only your parents had greeted you. Leto hadn’t even noticed you were here. You take a quick glance around your parents sunroom, your eyes landing on the God of a man himself.

He always looked so effortlessly good looking. He’d grown his beard out a little and God dammit, if salt and pepper wasn’t his colour. His white polo really brought out his golden tan, evident he’d been working in his garden with the nice weather you’d had the last few weeks. He didn’t look like his life was falling apart; obviously, Leto was a perfect human being. Nothing ever went wrong with Leto Atreides.

You sigh as you finish your drink, throwing your head back and looking back at Leto, before jumping out of your skin.

He was looking right at you, an unreadable look on his face.

You avert your gaze quickly, going to take another drink before realising it was already gone. Good, an excuse to disappear and avoid Leto’s coffee brown gaze. You make your way into the kitchen, intending to raid your parents appropriately named ‘drinks fridge’ for a good five or ten minutes. You weren’t ready to face him, even 6 months of being apart. It still hurt.

Once you had refilled your drink, you turn only to nearly drop your drink in shock. Leto had followed you into the kitchen.

Oh God, you’re cornered, there was no escaping him now.

“Hey.”

Why, why, did he have to have a voice that melted you from the inside out? It wasn’t fair. And you hadn’t heard him since you moved out, it shouldn’t make you feel like this.

“Hi,” you greet back. You curse yourself as the slight wobble in your voice, but you hope he didn’t notice.

He probably did, but he won’t say anything, because he’s just that nice of a person. He’s even looking at you like he’s causing you such an inconvenience talking to you.

“How are you?”

How were you going to answer that? Would you be honest and tell him that you were the unhappiest you’d been in a while, or would you lie? You could tell him that you were living your best life, that everything was absolutely fine with you, that you hadn’t had a few unsuccessful pity dates with your neighbour across the hall, because all you could think about was the Adonis of a man stood in front of you.

You’re taking too long to answer. The call of your name causes you to blink at him with a quick, “I’m fine.”

Leto nodded, an awkward silence filling the air. You look down at the drink in your hand, swirling it around the glass, biting your lip. You wanted to leave. What were you supposed to talk about? How miserable your life was? How he’s probably living his best single life with all the people falling at his feet?

“Your mom mentioned you’d…that you’d met someone.”

You couldn’t help the snort of a laugh that came out of you. Straight to the point. You shook your head as you look back up at Leto, a confused look on his face. “I wouldn’t say mine and my neighbour’s dates were something to write home about, pretty sure we’re not going to go out again.”

“So you’re not seeing anyone?”

“No.”

“So I can take you out then?”

You freeze, looking at him with wide eyes. What did he just say? “Pardon me?”

“I’ve been…completely miserable,” he said, huffing a laugh as he shook his head. “The past six months have been rough.”

The nerve! He broke up with you. He decided to end your relationship for Paul’s feelings, which you understood, really you did, but that didn’t mean you were going to just drop everything and crawl back into his arms. He’d ignored you for six months until today. As much as you were pining for Leto when you first spotted him, you couldn’t help but feel put out and pissed off.

Unnerved by your silence, Leto cleared his throat. “I spoke to Paul – “

“That makes one of us,” you mutter.

“He’s mentioned that he misses you and wants to make things right between us all.”

“He could have reached out himself instead of making you come and speak to me,” you mutter. “It’s awkward enough as it is.”

“He didn’t make me – “ Leto huffed, his shoulders slumping. “I’m trying here.”

“I just thought that my feelings meant just as much as Paul’s do.”

Leto sighed your name, closing his eyes in frustration.

“No, I get it,” you say, nodding at him. “As long as Paul’s feelings aren’t hurt.”

Leto looked back at you. “He’s my son – “

“And as I said, I get that, but he was also my friend. And he was a prick.”

“I know, I’m sorry, but you have to understand – “

“I do.”

You both stare at each other.

After a few moments, Leto shook his head at you. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you counter. “We broke up. That was it. The relationship was evidently too much, so we decided to end it. And now you’re coming up to me, assuming you can take me out, like nothing happened?”

You knew you were being unfair. You had agreed to break it off too, but you had been having a bad week and you weren’t prepared for him to be at your parent’s house after feeling sorry for yourself. And for him to just approach you the way he did and throw his feelings back at you?

You wanted the floor to open you up and swallow you whole.

You found yourself suddenly laughing in disbelief, averting your gaze to look around the kitchen, mainly so you didn’t have to look at his heart-breaking expression, and so he didn’t see the overwhelmed tears in your eyes. “I really didn’t need this today.”

Leto didn’t say anything as you ranted to him, your stress and anger from the past few weeks coming out of you.

“Ever since we broke up, I feel like my life just fell apart. I lost Paul, and you, and my apartment that looked great on paper absolutely sucks and my landlord knows it but doesn’t bother to fix anything. My new job isn’t what I thought it would be and I have already rubbed somebody the wrong way, and I can’t seem to hold down a date with a decent guy, because all I can think about is you!”

You hadn’t realised Leto had made his way to you until he pulled you into his arms. You hadn’t realised you were crying until he was shushing you and whispering apologies in your ear, keeping you to his chest and he lightly swayed you. He was always so warm and welcoming, and always left you wanting to stay in his arms eternally.

You find yourself trapped in a wave of conflicting emotions. As the memories of the time you had spent with Leto flood back, you feel a mix of joy, pain, and longing at being held by him again, even if it was in the middle of a breakdown. Your heart feels heavy with the weight of regret, as you reminiscence on the times you had together and the things left unsaid when you broke up, how it was so sudden when you felt like your relationship had just started.

You don’t know how long you both stood embracing in the kitchen for, but you were vaguely aware of Leto waving your mother away, probably checking to see where you’d both gotten to. You heard your father call to the guests that he was going to start grilling, so you took that as your queue to get out of the kitchen. You pulled away from Leto, wiping at your eyes and avoiding looking at him.

You’d embarrassed yourself enough.

He watched you silently pull yourself back together before you finally look up at him, giving him a shaky smile. “Sorry about that.”

Leto was already shaking his head. “You don’t need to apologise. Ever.”

You take a few more deep breaths, finally calming down. “Did you mean what you said?”

Leto looked at you with a raised brow, before countering back. “Did you?”

Well, yes you did. You know you constantly think about Leto. He’s never far from your mind, you’re always wondering how he was doing since you moved out of your parent’s place, wondering if he ever got back into the dating pool, or if Paul had forgiven him (evidently, he did). Leto was the love of your life, even if you both chose to separate. And despite this, he was giving you the choice to get back together.

You eventually nod at him. “I did. I think about you all the time.”

Leto gave a small laugh of disbelief. “Then what are we both doing?”

You shook your head at him. “I don’t know. Everything was happening so fast, I didn’t…”

Leto gives you a small smile. “I understand.”

“I didn’t want us to break up. I didn’t want to be alone, without you, but you looked like you were doing so well without me and I was practically a pathetic, blubbering mess.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

“I’m glad you were as miserable as I am,” you say jokingly, giving a small laugh.

The change in Leto is instant. His shoulders relax, and he starts giving you that small smile that he used to give you when you were having your long talks on dates. It was the smile that warmed your insides and made you feel gooey, like a teenager going to prom with the most popular person in school.

He stuck his hand out to you. “Shall we start again? I’m Leto, it’s nice to meet you.”

You snort but humour him, grasping at his hand as you introduce yourself.

“I just noticed you across the room and I have to say, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re so cheesy.”

“I remember you used to like me being cheesy.”

You feel your cheeks warm as you gave him a light shove. “We just met, Leto, I don’t know what you mean.”

Leto smiled at you. “Want me to ask you out again?”

You couldn’t help but sigh dreamily at him. Your heart beats hard against your chest as you nodded at him.

“Can I take you out sometime?”

Your breathing quickens, and you still felt like you were melting against that smile of his. This was it. This was your opportunity to be with Leto again, to be happy again. You wouldn’t need to sneak around and you could be a real life couple.

But you didn’t want to risk being hurt again. What if the same problems arose, that Paul wasn’t okay with it after a while, or your parents? Would Leto break it off again? Would he think it was too much again and end things? You were still an adult and could make decisions for yourself; something that others seemed to forget last time.

But you could handle it. You loved him, and you were sure he loved you. And you could be together again.

You nod at Leto. “Yes. I would love to go out with you.”

Leto grinned. “Are you free on Saturday?”

“I am.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven on Saturday then.”

Before you could reply, Leto leans forward, his lips meeting yours. You melt against him, your eyes closing as you revel in the familiarity of their kiss. The way his lips fit perfectly against yours after so long, like coming home after a long journey. You wrap your arms around each other tightly, deepening the kiss, savouring every moment as if you’d never been apart.

As the kiss comes to an end, you both pull away, gazing into each other's eyes, feeling the love and longing that has been building inside you for so long.

“I’ll hide the condoms better next time.”

You let out a laugh before slipping your hand into his, leading him back out to the party. You choose to ignore the smirk your parents were giving each other as you join them.

Tagged - @m0nster-fvcker, @justanotherkpopstanlol, @eonnyx, @secre-flower, @shaggzthatsnottheworm

[anavilante]

@doriennnnn

I’m absolutely terrible at saving and cataloging fics I like, so I’ll name three that I remember by heart and a couple I managed to save across various sources.

Blue by Kalenderen (@urbanspires on Tumblr). This fic and everything around it stir up so many emotions in me, which is why it will always hold the number one spot. It’s a love-hate story between actors Callum and Austin, filled with jealousy, love, anger, pain, and the constant need to pretend to be something you’re not just to get somewhere in this cruel world. It feels like someone pulled this fic straight from my own mind—I feel it with my own nerves, my soul. I don’t even know how to describe it.

But the fic’s journey hasn’t been easy. The morality police went after the guy writing it with idiotic accusations that Callum and Austin are real people and that he shouldn’t be writing about them (as if John Egan and Gale Cleven are not real people, right?!). The author initially tried changing the names (which was completely ridiculous, because Callum and Austin were still painfully obvious), then went along with the other demands of this so-called morality police, whose appetite only seemed to grow. Eventually, he just abandoned the fic altogether. There was a brief moment when it seemed like his inspiration had returned, but these disgusting vultures managed to push him to delete the story completely from AO3 and Tumblr. I feel like crying that I didn’t save at least part of what he’d written.

God, this is one of those moments when I don’t want anything to do with this fandom.

2. bite tongue, deep breaths, by uzimaki, 14K words. https://archiveofourown.org/works/55328026?view_full_work=true Omegaverse Dune fic. The author has an absolutely incredible imagination and a talent for seeing things from a different perspective. Even the names are a treat—meet AUSTIN ATREIDES and CALLUM CORRINO! Callum is the prince of Corrino, and Austin is Bene Gesserit. You have to read it—it’s fantastic!

Oh, and Austin has a vagina in this fic (beware, vagina-haters!), which is pretty much my go-to for Omegaverse where omegas can give birth naturally.

3. Such stuff as dreams are made on, by WonderGinia (@amiserableseriesofevents on Tumblr), 103K words. https://archiveofourown.org/works/55636504/chapters/141217963 An intriguing theater universe, intense slow burn. Even though I’m not a theater fan, never have been, and probably never will be, Gale in this story is incredibly compelling with his combination of psychological trauma and insecurities—he’s sensitive, vulnerable, and desperately in need of love. He’s a character I genuinely enjoy.

Normally, I’m not a fan of long fics that update once a week, because with real life happening, I tend to forget what came before, and unfinished stories start blending into an indistinguishable mess. But somehow, the stars aligned back then—I wasn’t reading many other fics, and this universe was unique enough that I remembered it well. Plus, my long comments and many questions to the author stood out to me as memorable. I rarely do that since authors usually reply briefly, clearly not interested in much discussion. But WonderGinia answered eagerly, making it engaging. Part of the story was in the written text, and the other part was what came out in the comments.

A March in April by defnotanarc

Another First (Work) by JoeyAlohaDream

below deck (Work) by consors

Darling, Make It Go Away (Work) by RambleOnWaywardSon

How to survive being the new hot teacher (By Gale Cleven) (Work) by PinkSiames

Love at second sight (Work) by WonderGinia

The Boy Next Door (Work) by JoeyAlohaDream

Do They Collide? (I Ask and You Smile) by MaShEd_P0tat_0s

feel you on my fingertips by joeyjello

My King’s Crown is made of Flowers by DonotNomi

maybe i'm amazed by teukchul

this august i began to dream of drowning (in you) by simplykayley

Lonely Traveler by RambleOnWaywardSon

'Til Death Do Us Part by RambleOnWaywardSon

Blue Days by QueenKaterina

dive for dreams by Avonne

Wait, WHAT ? by Amethyste_Blanche

And I also recommend this—check it out, you won’t regret it, even though it’s not a fic: Our Baby by V13ENYA

[isshua]

Breaking the Wall (Find Comfort in Those Who Might Hear You)

Sagau Xiao x Reader

I haven’t been feeling great lately, so I decided to write this little story to cheer myself up. I had this idea about what might happen if Teyvat’s environment were to reflect your emotions whenever you logged on, and by extension whatever character you are currently playing as. I also wanted to write my own play on a character “breaking the fourth wall” in order to communicate with their player. This story follows the more classic sagau trope of how the characters are semi-aware of the fact that they’re living in a videogame but view it as a sort of boundary between their world and ours.

Xiao is a huge comfort character to me and I mostly wrote this for myself as a way to cheer myself up. I thought it came out okay though, so I decided to share it here. Hope you guys enjoy! :)

To break the Wall meant instant termination.

  Teyvat made this clear. It would not allow its people to make contact with the divine world. Forging a connection that extended beyond the mechanics of life was simply not meant to be. The Vessels could communicate with the Creator within the bounds of Teyvat’s laws; that was what being a Vessel was all about in the first place. For non-Vessels, then such hopes for communication with the God Above All Gods was impossible. That was how Teyvat was designed. That was how things were meant to be.

  Xiao, typically, did not mind following the rules. After all, he was an immortal being with thousands of years of experience in his belt. He knew attempting to break the Wall would result in his death. Long ago, before he had been chosen to be one of the Creator’s envoys, he hadn’t even cared about the Wall. Why would he want to break it? Meddling in such matters was not of his concern. His duty was to protect Liyue, nothing more.

  But then he got to know you. And his feelings for you only grew. When you chose to, you guided him through his daily tasks with kind words and praising whispers. When your golden light possessed him, his karmic debt would dissipate and he would feel a thousand years younger than he really was. You took him to places he never dreamed of seeing: the peaks of Dragonspine, the streets of Inazuma City, the dunes of the Sumeru desert. With you, there was a sense of adventure. With you, there was excitement. With you, he felt whole.

  You did not speak often, not that he was bothered by it. He was an introverted soul, one who appreciated the silence between the two of you whenever you would travel together. Occasionally you would comment on the environment or the enemy he was fighting. Sometimes you grew frustrated after completing domains-not with him, he understood, but rather with the horribly mediocre artifacts the two of you would receive. He liked it when you laughed. The noise was so clear and invigorating, he found himself hoping to hear it every time you appeared. He liked when you would softly hum some unknown tune from the faraway land you inhabited. He loved it when you acknowledged him, how he was a stronger and better version of himself only because of your dedication to him despite knowing the many sins he has committed. If you could have known the impact you had on him, you might find it amusing to see how easy it had been to steal the aloof Yaksha’s heart.

  There were so many things about you that he loved. But there was one single thing he hated.

  He hated it when you cried.

  The day began as a typical one. You had not possessed him for the entire week, not that this was something to be worried by. You typically did disappear due to some strange thing called ‘college,’ but you always came back. Xiao largely spent his day patrolling Dihua Marsh, slaying monsters, and saving the occasional mortal from dying at the hands of hilichurl tribes. He did not interact with anyone beyond stiff acknowledgment; the only person he did talk to on a regular basis was the Traveler, and the last he heard of them, they were somewhere in Sumeru, ever exploring, always curious.

  Your presence was not anticipated, but it was welcomed. When your golden light descended upon him during late afternoon and he felt your presence tugging at his mind, he felt contentedly unsurprised. Your voice echoed his name: “Xiao. Let me in.”

  He did not resist and allowed your influence to settle within his body. “You called?” he murmured, halfheartedly hoping for a reply. You never did answer him whenever he greeted you, but that was due to the Wall. Conversations were strictly one-way.

  He waited for you to take control. Whether it meant being teleported somewhere or just taking off into Dihua Marsh, he knew the two of you would be off eventually. He waited. And waited. A minute went by. He did not move.

  “Your Grace?” he called out, puzzled. He could feel you, he knew you were there. So why weren’t you interacting? Surely you didn’t appear just to stare at him, right? What is going on?

  Something wet fell onto his hand.

  He looked up at the sky and immediately noticed the ugly gray clouds gathering overhead. A filter of mundane color cast out the light of the sun. Droplets of rain started pattering down onto his face, his hair, and his clothes, leaving him drenched. But he did not stop staring. Because within his head, he could hear soft sobbing.

  The Creator was weeping. And so Teyvat weeped along with them.

  The first thing he felt was anger. Who hurt you? he wanted to ask. Who would dare make you cry? But as he listened to your cries and watched the rain come down, he realized that anger would do nothing to help. He could not solve your problems. After all, he was in Teyvat, and you were somewhere else entirely. His second reaction was to comfort you, but he could think of nothing to say. The issue of you two being separated was still in effect. The Wall would not allow him to offer you any consoling words. He had no choice but to let you suffer alone.

  But by the Archons, you were making his heart ache. Xiao was one to usually think that tears were for the weak, but he could not make himself see you in a pathetic light. Would it not be pitiful of him to deem his Creator as a lamentable coward? He didn’t even know why you were crying. You could be in danger!

  That’s when he decided. I have to make contact with them.

  It was a nearly impossible feat. But he knew he could do it.

  Break the Wall. Establish communication.

  He had never heard of anyone doing it before. Not even Rex Lapis, the strongest god he knew, dared mess with such an unpredictable, mysterious force of power. The Wall was not hard to find, but it took willpower to face it. Xiao didn’t know if he would perish the moment he did, or if it would take time for him to dissolve away. There were too many possibilities of failure. He could think of no way this sudden plan of his would lead to success.

  But your crying was like a million arrows piercing into his heart, and the pain of his karmic debt was rising as he continued to soak in your negative emotions. He was hurting right along with you-but if he could only talk to you, things could be made right.

  Xiao held out his hand, and his jade spear materialized. He braced himself and raised the polearm high into the air. Focusing on the ground beneath him, he concentrated and felt his surroundings. The energy of Teyvat came to him quickly, most likely due to being exposed to your power for so long…and then he pinpointed it. The moment of weakness. He brought his spear down with every bit of strength he had and tore into the fabric of reality. A gaping hole of darkness ripped right under his feet. He did not scream when he fell in, nor did he grunt in pain when he slammed into a glass-like surface after his short freefall. Everything was dark, except for the millions of green bolts of  electricity racing all around him at the speed of light. Your golden glow encompassed him and fended off the overwhelming power this Abyss-like area radiated.

  He looked at his hands. His weapon was nowhere to be seen, and the tips of his fingers were…glitching. In fact, his entire body seemed to be crackling-falling apart and knitting itself back together with technic shrieks. It was a sure sign that he was in a place not meant for him. He had done it; he had broken through the Wall. Now he was beyond it, but where, he did not know. Surely this can’t be the Creator’s domain, he thought. This place was far too dark, and there was no hint of your aura anywhere except for within him. But it had to be the realm in which he would form a connection with you.

  He could still hear your crying, but now, it was less ‘in his head’ and much more clear. Xiao walked forward, his footsteps echoing against the glass floor. “Your Grace!” he called. “Can you hear me? It’s me, Adeptus Xiao!”

  No answer. He was utterly alone in this place…but the sound of your crying was getting undeniably louder. Xiao pinpointed on the direction in which it was coming from and took off. With each step he took, the glow of your light grew brighter. He took that as a sign of goodwill.

  And then, he saw you. You were sitting at a strange looking desk with your head buried in your arms. Xiao slowed to a walk and crept tentatively up to you. He had never seen your physical form before, and only had a minor grasp of your appearance from the various statues of you scattered across Liyue and the abstract depictions of your form in history books. To be honest, he had been expecting you to be a bit more…god-like. The person in front of him did not look like an all-powerful deity. They were ordinarily mortal, and possessed no external qualities that differentiated them from the average human being.

  But then you lifted your head to scrub your tears away, and his breath was lost within his chest. Within your eyes he could see countless stars, and flecks of gold were scattered through your hair. All around you, there was an explosion of light, and Xiao was exposed to the warming feeling of your aura at an even greater intensity than usual. This was you. You might have looked human, but you were undeniably, most definitely his god.

  “Your Grace,” he uttered, kneeling at your side. “It’s alright, I’m here now. I heard your cries. You called out my name. Please, let me speak to you.”

  You didn’t respond. The connection still wasn’t there. Xiao tried again. “Your Grace, can you hear me?”

  You let your head flop back into your arms and continued to sob. Xiao leaned back on the balls of his feet and couldn’t help but growl in frustration. That damned Wall was still keeping you and him apart! What more did he have to do in order to simply talk to you?

  His eyes flitted to the strange device set up on your desk. It had the appearance of a box, but at its front there was a screen, and on it was displayed a shrunken image of Dihua Marsh. This must be a divine mechanism. It’s a way for you to forge contact with Teyvat. What…what would happen if he touched it? Would that finally allow him to communicate with you? He had his doubts, but it was worth a shot.

  Without hesitation, he pressed his palm over the screen. There was a jolt of energy that started at his fingertips, then rocketed through his entire body. He shuddered at the electrocuting sensation and refused to allow himself to flinch away, even when every instinct in his body was telling him to do so. The Wall was trying to repel him; like hell he was going to allow it to do that.

  With his other hand, he reached out to you. At first, he was nervous to touch you, for why should a creature tainted by karmic debt and innocent blood be allowed to embrace the God Above All Gods? He shakily slipped his hand over your cheek and raised your head. Your cries stuttered, and your eyes widened open in confusion. You were not looking at him, but rather at your divine mechanism’s screen.

  “Don’t cry,” Xiao whispered. He swiped your tears away with his thumb. “There is no need to cry. I’m here. I’m with you.”

  He desperately hoped you could hear him. He hoped even more that you would reply.

  You had no idea what the hell was going on.

  Today was a horrible day. A day filled with anxiety and embarrassment and ruined expectations that things might go right, only for them to go wrong. When you returned to your room and let yourself collapse into your desk chair, you thought playing your favorite game might cheer you up. After all, losing yourself in a fantasy world was practically the best way to forget what the real world was like.

  You logged into Genshin Impact and found yourself where you left off last time you played: in Dihua Marsh. Your current character was Xiao, and he stared blankly out at you while you waited for the game to catch up with your internet and for everything to load in. But you did not feel any happier. In fact, you felt worse. The events of the day were just too much to simply forget, and pretty soon, your hand slipped off of your mouse as you slumped forward onto your desk and started to cry. It did not feel good to let your emotions out. The sobs shaking your body were ugly, and the tears staining your cheeks made you feel gross. But you couldn’t stop, and frankly, you didn’t expect to for quite some time. These were tears you had been holding in all week; it was only a matter of time before the dam broke and the water came rushing out.

  You did not expect to feel a sudden intuition to lift your head. You did not expect for your body to automatically follow that intuition, either. It was like someone was lifting it for you, and when your blurry eyes raised to focus on your computer’s screen, you were shocked to see that the in-game chat box had a message in it. It didn’t make any sense. You weren’t in a co-op world, and you were pretty sure you were far too preoccupied with crying your eyes out to accept someone’s co-op request. Could it be a glitch? Far too curious for your own good, you clicked on the chat box and opened it.

  Two words had been sent to you by an unknown entity with no icon. “Don’t cry.”

  “What…?” you mumbled.

  More messages appeared. “There is no need to cry.”

  “I’m here.”

  “I’m with you.”

  This had to be some sort of joke. Someone hacked your account. This had to be a real person.

  It was then that you noticed Xiao was gone.

  “I know what it feels like to break. I understand what you are feeling.”

  “Just know that I am here for you. I will always be here for you. All you have to do is call out my name.”

  “Xiao?” you breathed.

  You felt the phantom sensation of someone wiping your tears. The scent of Qingxin flowers wafted fainty around you.

  “Yes,” the chat-box answered. “I am here.”

[agentnico]

Dune: Part Two (2024) review

I’m fully aware that the Dune sequel has been hit by acclaim from both critics and audiences, and I shall share my own thoughts in due course, but also whilst presenting itself as a serious and sophisticated piece of artsy science fiction tackling challenging themes of religion and politics, from a marketing standpoint this film has been a major farcical meme. From the popcorn buckets shaped like suggestive sand worms (or more so accurately as deformed buttholes) to the viral TikTok video of an unnamed man riding a makeshift sand worm around a cinema lobby on his way to Arrakis, or more likely to one of the gazillion screenings of Dune: Part Two. But yes, absolutely mad bonkers advertising techniques, and not at all reflective of how seriously and straight faced the actual film plays. Anyway, let’s talk Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuneee…..

Plot: Paul Atreides unites with Chani and the Fremen while seeking revenge against the conspirators who destroyed his family. Facing a choice between the love of his life and the fate of the universe, he must prevent a terrible future only he can foresee.

Controversial opinion - I was not a fan of the first Dune. I thought it was all spectacle and no substance, and even then in regards to said spectacle, it was just sand. Lots of sand and bland dark visuals. I understand that the first movie acts as a massive exposition piece with lots of world building and introductions of all the characters and various political families and the spice trade and all that sweet jazz, but honestly it all felt so dragged out. Also a lot of narrative choices felt really immature and I did not buy it. In fact, the only memorable part for me was that female voice screaming on the music score every time something crazy happened, and my does that woman have some strong vocal pipe work! Like damn, her screams…. I really felt them!

Going into Dune: Part Two, I was very much of two mindsets. One was more so a feeling of obligation to watch it, as I wasted 3 hours of my life watching the first one that I felt I deserved some kind of closure for my efforts. The other being Denis Villeneuve. Aside from the first Dune, he’s a director that has constantly impressed me with his unique vision and style. Simply look at his past filmography! Prisoners. Enemy. Arrival. Sicario. All impressive pieces of genre filmmaking. Then there’s Blade Runner 2049, that took the classic Ridley Scott movie and managed to improve on it and become one of the most thrilling science fiction epics of the last decade. Also the trailers looked appropriately exciting, and it seemed like the second movie was actually gonna deal with some serious shit finally. Again, my problem with the first Dune wasn’t that it was slow. I mean, I can happily watch Paris, Texas any day of the week and be mesmerised by the empty yet beautiful takes of the American desert. It’s more-so that the first Dune felt aimless and messy. As for Dune: Part Two?

Well, if we’re going to use The Lord of the Rings terminology, and boy am I happy to refer to the dear-to-my-heart Middle Earth whenever I have the chance, then Dune: Part Two holds the scale of The Two Towers. I may not agree with all of it, and there are still some moments that drag, though The Two Towers is also guilty of that - I’m looking at you Treebeard! But overall this is one hell of a cinematic experience and achievement. Visually for one this is eye-candy. And yes, yet again there’s lots of sand, but this time around Villeneuve manages to find very creative ways to add/take away colour to make many sequences truly impressive. There’s an early scene where the Fremen are fighting Harkonnen goons in the desert and the entire thing is seeped in this blood orange palette, reminiscent of the Martian Chronicles, and then there’s the part where we are introduced to the Harkonnen home planet where the entire screen is drenched in hardcore intense black-and-white due to their sun only giving out white and black light, and instead of fireworks there are these watercolour stroked exploding in the sky, to of course the much talked about eye-dropping sand worm riding into battle scene that had the feel of the giant elephants appearing in The Return of the King, and yes that was another most delightful reference to Lord of the Rings! As I was saying though, the entire movie visually is certainly something to be in awe of.

Also Hans Zimmer’s score!! Of course the man’s a genius, having composed so many of cinema’s greatest musical compositions. I can recommend his Live in Prague performance! Hit after hit, and I find myself spinning it on my record player a good few times. Hans Zimmer’s Dune: Part Two soundtrack feels like a thunderously bombastic continuation and expansion of the first film’s more quiet and moody opener, and that shift in tone allows for some truly spectacular weaving of the composer’s thematic tapestry for Dune – with the finest new thread being the absolutely gorgeous love theme for Paul and Chani. A truly beautiful piece that echoes the heartbreaking tragic nature of the central romance of the film. Needless to say I’ve already pre-ordered the limited edition coloured vinyl of Dune 2’s soundtrack from Mutant (the new Mondo).

As for the narrative, as that is where I felt the first film faltered the most in my humble opinion (which I share so publicly online). I really do feel like the sequel is a major set up, for since the first one focused more on the endless word building and set-ups, this movie is all about the character developments. The scope is still big with the various political and religious elements that are tackled and explored throughout, however at the same time Dune: Part Two manages to feel more intimate compared to its predecessor, with the unravelling of the romance between Paul and Chani, but more so the inner struggles of Paul Atreides, as he tries to balance his emotions of revenge with the feeling of wanting to belong somewhere, as well as his denial of being called the so-called Messiah to the Fremen people. Look, the idea of the chosen one has been a concept that has been done over and over again, however I felt here they managed to really make it feel unique and different, with Paul choosing not to take this major responsibility due to visions of the future where he sees this choice result in darkness and dread, yet at the same time realising he has no choice but to follow his destiny and calling. It’s powerful stuff.

The cast list is stacked in this one. Timothee Chalamet is a rising star, having previously excelled his dramatic chops in Call Me by Your Name and his charismatic whimsy in last year’s Wonka, but this is by far his most impressive acting feat. You truly feel his character turning from boy to man, and it’s a real and raw performance. Zendaya shares great chemistry with him, but also in her own right gives a strong turn as a warrior Fremen conflicted with what she sees and thinks. Javier Bardem’s Stilgar adds a slice of surprising humour to the mix, being so obsessed with Paul being part of the prophecy that anything he’d do, Stilgar would find that to be part of what has been foretold. Paul Atreides could literally fart and Stilgar would observe in wonder proclaiming “as it was written”. There’s also a tiny No Country for Old Men reunion with Bardem being joined by Josh Brolin, who’s alright by the way, though it’s a typical Brolin brute role. Charlotte Rampling as the Reverend Mother continues being truly despicable and honestly that wench deserves to be put in her place - the movie’s ending is very satisfying in this regard. There’s also some newcomers to the Dune world too. Florence Pugh as the Princess reminded me a lot of Padme from Star Wars, and Christopher Walken I felt was tad miscast as the Emperor. Don’t get me wrong, Walken is a great actor, but his way of speech has been impersonated and overdone so many times that it is difficult to take him seriously in a role like this. Minus a couple of strong deliveries Walken felt really lazy here. You know who wasn’t lazy though? Austin Butler! This guy understood the assignment, playing the psychotic nutter Feyd-Rautha and he’s truly unrecognisable. Even his voice is different. Gone is Elvis and in cometh his Skarsgard impression! He’s brutal and maniacal and was honestly superb, and I wish there was more of him in this movie.

Again, it’s far from a perfect movie. There are parts still that drag, and certain times where things feel surprisingly rushed, but overall this is an experience through and through, and unlike my feelings after the first film, here I find myself really looking forward to the inevitable third part. In fact f*ck it, who am I kidding - this movie is bloody incredible!! Like I can’t even - it’s abso-fricking-lutely spectacular!! And by the way I read a bit about the Frank Herbert Dune books now and the future sequels are gonna be mad, just saying. Paul’s son becomes this half-man half-worm known as the God Emperor! Things are gonna get weird! Anyway, Dune: Part Two - go see it if you haven’t already. And in Austin Butler’s voice: “may thy knife chip and shatter”.

Overall score: 9/10

[s-che]

The Dream Library: Apocalypse World 2

The Dream Library had our second Apocalypse World one-shot earlier this week, ending out the end of a month of talking about D. Vincent and Meguey Baker’s game of high octane apocalyptica. Next month, we'll be continuing our semester of PBTA one-shots and book-club discussions with two excellent historical games: Night Witches and Sagas of the Icelanders.

If you'd like to get in on the discussion and maybe even sign up for a one-shot, shoot me a message -- we'd love to have you.

As with the last play report, I want to open by making two things absolutely clear:

Apocalypse World is a sicknasty game that deserves to get played way more often than it does, especially by people who are working and playing in a design lineage which has been forever altered by Meg and Vincent’s work.

Apocalypse World is a game done absolutely dirty by short-term play, a fact which came out way harder in this session than it did the first time round. We had a ton of fun, of course — but the fact that our play was capped at the 3-hour mark meant we barely scratched the surface of what this game can do. 

This time, I ran the game following Vincent Baker’s advice on running Apocalypse World in a con slot, which helped a lot — and still didn’t scratch the itch I have to play this game and only this game for the next hundred or so years. Most notably, we ended up dividing play into two micro-sessions — meaning we got to turn our bio-break into a narrative breather as well and flex some of the game’s “long-term” rules. I’ve broken my thoughts up here by session, which felt appropriate.

Session 1: A Desert Landscape

I had no idea where the session was going to start when we settled down to play — beyond the fact that I was going to open in media res with someone (the answer ended up being my first volunteer, @tormentedbyvisions) in a very bad spot. Details came quickly when we looked for them — a collapsing office tower and glimpses of a desert landscape out the broken windows, dotted with more towers in the distance. Goldman (The Savvyhead, any pronouns), an elderly survivor who, as it turned out, loved nothing more than telling people lies about the world as it was, is cornered on the second floor as a gang headed by a warlord named Dremmer picked their way through the rubble below. Cut forward a few seconds and we have Goldman leaping from a hole in the wall to land on the dune below as Dremmer’s gang fire wildly at a phantom drawn from the psychic maelstrom.

Meanwhile James (The Driver, he/him) and October (The Skinner, they/them) raced along the desert highway looking for their friend. A bad role lead to an ambush, a flipped car, and a surprisingly civil conversation with a would-be raider named Jackabacka — who James enlisted to get the car unstuck and then left unconscious in a ditch. Meeting back up with Goldman — a little battered from his fall from the building, but mostly fine — the game headed back to their home: the outskirts of an oil-refining city which sprang into existence at the moment we needed it, and never before. We wrapped on our first microsession by developing character Hx and nailing down who all these people were to each other.

What did we learn? For one, Apocalypse World is a great game to make shit up in. I talked at length in my last session write-up about the instruction to “barf forth apocalyptica” and how good getting really in the juice of a genre feels, but there’s more than just that happening here. Apocalypse World has a deeper philosophy of storytelling and play (one related, I think, to what I called “fluid mapmaking” in a recent article) which really relishes in moments of hesitation and consideration. There’s an approach to play which some games and players take where “good improv” is ultimately about maximal flexibility — where the ultimate end is to hide the fact that you’re “making things up” at all, and make the game world seem as fully realized as possible. Improv is just a way to get there — since we cannot possibly have prepped for every occasion, improv fills in the gaps. The hyper-performative role of the GM is never permitted to ask for a second to think or talk through some ideas out loud (in the way a non-GM player might) — their role is a kind of computer-referee (a “stable,” as opposed to fluid, mapmaker) who presents only the truth.

Apocalypse World bucks this trend in several ways: in the way moves prompt big narrative swings, in the suggestion you spend session one just following the characters around and seeing what happens, in the MC philosophy (to “always say what your prep demands,” yes, but also to “barf forth apocalyptica,” to “ask provocative questions and build on the answers,” and to “sometimes, disclaim decision-making), and also (and perhaps most importantly) in the “umms” and “hmms” which permeate the play examples. Apocalypse World is a game which is invested in modeling collaborative — really collaborative — play and which, as a result, never felt like a burden or a trap. It felt like my players and I were all together mapping and remapping a world with the tools and toys the Bakers had given us (and what lovely tools and toys they are) but never restricted by the thing we were trying to make. It felt like we were playing. 

On another note about the first session — and this isn’t textual to Apocalypse Worlds, but to Vincent’s con-running method, but — the practice of giving players something to do (in this case, filling out the details of their character sheets) while the narrative spotlight is on others is one of those design ideas that, once you’re exposed to it, you’ll never forget. This is something I’ve seen others to — most recently (and extensively) @jdragsky's Seven Part Pact is a game that does this over and over and over again — but it really hit me in this session what a lifesaver it is. Especially in online games, where losing focus and energy is so easy, giving people something to do which keeps them invested in the game (in the way, in person, just being in a space together might) is the kind of thing I’m going to start putting in all my games. 

Session 2: Lord Terry’s Gasland Refinery

Back from a brief break, I introduced the players to the threat map I’d designed while they were away. It was populated, mostly, by people we’d already talked a little bit about — the refinery where they lived, Dremmer’s Gang in the north, the landscape of the desert highway all around them — plus a couple of strange details thrown in for good measure (at the last minute, I decided to add the Red Priory, the setting of the last oneshot I ran, on the map in the far east — a fact which I could talk about for hours. People need to play Apocalypse World with me west marches style PLEASE). 

Jumping back into the swing of play wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped — the result, I think, of breaking up the session like we did meant we needed to do the usual beginning of session dipping our toes in the water again, but this time with a much sharper awareness of the ticking clock. Still, we got somewhere — thanks in no small part to the fun of just bopping around with these characters. It’s rare that you get to say “okay, now it’s a week later. What has that week looked like?” especially in the context of a oneshot. The cost of starting a session to the players — okay, what has your life looked like? how much barter are you losing to afford that? — quickly transformed what had been a pretty generic setting into a place that had some teeth. Barfing forth apocalyptica — and some yes-anding with the players — gave us Lord Terry, a feudal tyrant whose authority rests (shakily) on the loyalty of his retained soldiers and the terror of the serfs (including our players). 

Truthfully, we didn’t get particularly far in this session: some tinkering in Goldman’s workshop, an argument with Terry, a scouting mission which ended in a tense standoff with Jackabacka, and then a race back home as October washed Jackabacka’s blood off their knife and James bled out in the backseat. I don’t think the “plottiness” of the session got anywhere — but that has also maybe never felt like less of the point. The joy of our second session was absolutely frontloaded — in the moments of thinking about the community to which we (tangentially) belonged and the powers that be, there. 

Apocalypse World tells you it is best played in a long campaign — and I think this was the moment it was most clearly right. I would love to tell you what happens next to James, or whether Lord Terry is going to be dethroned, or if Dremmer’s really the threat he seems to be. None of those are questions I thought I’d be asking, going into this session — they’re questions the game gave me over the course of play. We had some hiccups, of course (combat is brutal when you don’t have a medic, and I wish, in retrospect, that I’d pushed players to read people more often), but on the whole Apocalypse World is a marvelous engine for generating a really collaborative story.

Which makes me ask, like I did last time — what the fuck happened? People talk a lot about PBTA as a philosophy and not just a mechanic — but I think at some point in history that philosophy seems to have fallen out and gotten slimmed down to "PBTA is when 2d6+"

This isn't to say there aren't good PBTA games being written now — we'll be playing some of them in this unit — but, GOD. There is shit in this game that, hearing it from downstream, you would never know about. People should know about it! You, right now, should know about it! Go and play Apocalypse World right now! and also forever!!

[austinslounge]

Sorry for how long this will be 

wow I loved your response to the anonymous comment, because I hadn't seen things from that perspective, in fact every time Austin appears with Kaia or yesterday's show it is very disappointing for me, it gives me a stomach ache, then I breathe, read these blogs and calm down because we find details or see things that at first glance are not seen. 

You could say that I am a new fan of Austin, he conquered me with the thousands of videos that appeared on tik tok from the Dune press and it was like wow he is a handsome boy and I hadn't realized when I saw Elvis, but he is not just any handsome man (because there are thousands of handsome people in the world), he is nice, pleasant, he knows how to listen, you can see that he is a good person and he has his feet on the ground and that conquered me enough to know more about him and follow accounts related to him and go to twitter to see what his fandom says. 

When I started to know more things about him I realized that he was Vanessa's ex and that he was the boyfriend of Cindy Crawford's daughter (I didn't know Kaia at all) and when I saw the first photos of them as a couple it shocked me and caused me automatic rejection, I am 28 years old and I do not idealize couples that look bad together and that show that they have no chemistry, it shocked me that a man like him was with a spoiled rich girl with very different life stories and I'm not going to lie that caused me a lot of disappointment, but I thought it's a man hahaha although Austin is our biggest idol he is a man like any other and I don't want to put everyone in the same bag, but men sometimes get carried away by heat, he was a boyfriend for more than 8 years with a completely normal girl, they broke up and he looked for a very tall skinny model who is only pretty and an accessory that Austin being 30 years old can control in his own way and I don't want it to be understood as if I am attacking him, but even if he did not want to have control over her it is impossible, an older man he will always control your life, he already lived everything that Kaia is beginning to experience and live and being with a man who has everything clear in his life makes Kaia want to adopt personalities or show herself in a way that is not her just to please Austin or to show herself mature and where she pretends to be a person she is not, we have seen her thousands of contradictions. 

I remember that in March-April of this year there were rumors of a breakup because they had not been seen together, but what always happens when we see the ship sinking with force happened, they appear together smoking in NY and then after a few weeks the ones that for me are the worst photos that have come out of Kaia and Austin appear, angry and he walking a meter in front of her and I said woow what will their fans say about this, it is very evident that they are wrong, I went to twitter and I found myself with the surprise that nobody said anything and that they uploaded the photos as if they were goals and on the same photos the people magazine made an announcement that they are still together more than ever and in love? I said am I blind? why does nobody say anything about this, why do they find this couple attractive that you can see had been fighting 5 minutes before the photos, and then the L&S article appears and I found the silence of the fans so strange, it's like they ignore everything bad that can happen with them and they only show when they look good together, until my happiness came to find tumblr and see the real opinions about this, know a little about public relations and everything made sense to me, the problem with this is that by wanting Austin to be happy and for him to find a woman that he truly loves, he slaps us in the face every time we see him with her, Austin acts at his own pace and how he wants and it is desperate for someone who wants this to be now. 

If this relationship is fake or real we will never know, but what is a fact is that they do not love each other, they cannot hide that, the body, the way they look at each other and how Austin turns off when he is with her says a lot, the likes she gave, how uncomfortable he gets when asked about her, how little interest he shows in her projects and her family matters tells us that they have little time left, like any normal couple, they all separate and it is a normal situation in life, putting on that shirt is the least that Austin could give as a boyfriend, he did it and fulfilled, but he will not do more than that, in fact when the merch came out I said a paparazzi walk was coming with the shirt and it took a while but it arrived 😂. 

Now comes the hardest part for many of us, putting up with the minimal effort he's making as a boyfriend. Maybe they won't break up at the end of summer like the article says, and it will be tough for everyone, but it will end at some point anyway, and this advice goes for me too, not to feel disappointed by what I expect from another person's life, since I don't know what he might be going through to make me prefer to stay there. And I'm sorry for the length of this, but I needed to get it off my chest.

Whew! That was a very long read Anon lol 😆

But yea, I agree with some of the things you mentioned.

Anyone who's looking objectively at this relationship can see that something looks off. I think some people just think that just because a couple is still being spotted out together, that things must be going well. But when you look behind the surface, and pick up on little things, you see that smthg isn't right.

I also totally agree with you that Kaia is way over her head in this relationship with Austin, and it shows. 🥴 He's the oldest guy she's ever dated if I'm not mistaken. I think some fans forget that she is only 22. Most women at 22 are still figuring their lives (and themselves) out at that age. Most women are going to change significantly from their early 20s to their 30s, or even mid-20s! Who you wanted at 22 is not always who you want at 30, or beyond. Women change a lot during that pivotal time in life.

Fans have to take these things into consideration. Kaia will more than likely date several people in her lifetime. Austin as well.

I think fans need to take a deep breath and just let this thing play out. It's hard, I know, but to me, they resemble any other Hollywood couple out here who date each other and then break up eventually. There's nothing about them that scream "couple goals" imo.

[ghostgirl101]

Being Loved By Paul Atreides

A/N: Quick lil blurb headcanon thingy while I work on my next set of hcs between a Feyd and Paul love triangle 🙃

Being loved by Paul Atreides would mean that you're never alone, not inside your mind or out of it. The Water of Life gave him the pooling knowledge to break into others' and he almost always knows how you're feeling, without even having to say a word. Even if you're quiet about how you feel and are usually good at pushing things down and hiding them away, Paul always manages to bring the to light, and you'll know you're caught out when you look up from where you are to immediately catch his blue-in-blue gaze locked onto yours with a knowing look. Sometimes the knowing look turns a bit cocky when what you're thinking about happens to be him.

Being loved by Paul Atreides would mean that you're an anchor to his humanity and burden as the Messiah, having a profound and unbreakable bond tied with you that transcends any ordinary relationship. The love he feels for you is a force in itself, scarily powerful and true and darkly pure, that no other force in the Known Universe could sever it.

Being loved by Paul Atreides would mean that you're the only one to see him at his smallest and most vulnerable, in between council meetings and fights in his name during the Holy War breaking out over the worlds, the guilt that racks him to his core and makes him want to hide away from it all. The nights that are spent clinging to you so tightly that your skin goes pale by his hard grip, and there's nothing more to feel but the overwhelming heat of his body pressed up as close as it can against your own, his dark hair tickling your neck and face while he burrows into your neck to smell nothing but the soft signature scent of you, and of home.

Being loved by Paul Atreides would mean that every touch, gesture, and moment of closeness feels like something more, like every action to pull you in closer isn't just physical, but a mental strain too, to merge your thoughts and sense of self with his own, so much so that it's almost suffocating.

Being loved by Paul Atreides would mean that you're never protected more than you are when you're under his fierce, observant watch and devotion. He insists that he doesn't need his guards or watchmen as he can look after himself, with heightened senses and strength enough to know what's coming his way in the present moments and the hidden intentions of those around him, and so they're sent to watch over you instead with keen eyes and strict instruction. If Paul himself is not standing watch over you by your side, you can feel his eyes on you, as if it's omnipresent, and god forbid anyone to let their gaze linger on you with a look he doesn't like, because that's a sure way to be sent down as a sacrifice to the sandworms.

Being loved by Paul Atreides would mean that the only advice or insight he's given that he would truly and wholly think over and consider would have to come from you and be believed by you without the influence of others, because his trust lies in you, and its enough to make him pause for a moment in thought as he pulls apart your words and all their meaning to see if they can fit in and around his plans.

Being loved by Paul Atreides would mean that he would never give a moment of a second's thought to any other man or woman but you, because he holds strong to the conviction that you're his soulmate and the leading light of his destiny. If you die, he dies inside with the last of his strength, and he'll embrace the desert with open arms to offer him up to the great Shai Hulud Himself.

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Next Week's Fanfic: Headcanons for a love triangle between you, Feyd-Rautha and Paul Atreides 😎😎 ⊹˚₊‧───────────────────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added to this for my future Dune fanfics): @milaeth @ennycutie @nckcn @void21 @leighta @williamtt33 @deathsimp @tatumrileyslover @beebumbo @the-dark-dreamer25 @lilepad @skboo @keicdcat @1950schick @reggiesmoon @velosrantipole @yoonessa @anonymjuni @saturnhas82moons @xlxnq @frickyea-guacamole19 @meowmeeps @chalklate

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DUNE MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ MAIN MASTERLIST

[celestelunisea16]

Adding onto that, the funeral... and then the whole thing about the parents blaming the underworld and everyone is pointing fingers until it's revealed that Clover neutral run did it.

Oh, it takes the fun out of funeral.

More angst my deputy darlings under the cut!

TW: Angst, and Lucifer starting to hold grudges against humanity. Starlo death mention.

I can see this would probably happen, like Solomon and Crestina are distraught by their son's death, and Orion is pissed about it, denying that his brother is dead.

I feel like, out of spite for no reason, Flowey would make it look bad by finding Starlo's hat and badge and returning it to his family and setting it next to Lucifer before he leaves the situation, so when Lucifer shows them the hat and badge, they're absolutely hurt over it. Crestina is just taking her son's hat and crying into it, while Solomon and Orion are pointing the blame onto Lucifer. Everyone in the Dunes blames him as well except for Ceroba.

Ceroba has to take a while to think, because his LV in her and Starlo's world is LV. 1. He has gained 0 LV in their world, so how could Lucifer have killed Starlo...? The only way he could do that without gaining LV is by Starlo asking for him to kill him as a final wish but Starlo would never ask for Lucifer to kill him and Lucifer seemed to absolutely have no idea how he died, even though he knew that Starlo was dead...

And the human that passed by the Wild East seemed... Off putting.

After several days and after hearing that the Blue Bird monster, known as Martlet, disappeared after traveling with the human, it was determined by Ceroba that Starlo's death was not caused by Lucifer, but by Clover.

Lucifer is let off of everyone's blame, but some still blame him for not being there to protect Starlo.

A funeral for Starlo is held as his dust (or the pieces Lucifer could gather after Starlo's corrupted copy dissipated) was spread over his hat. Several people cried as they had gotten close to the hat with the dust of his remains. Lucifer only shed a few...

He looks down at the badge of his lost love that he was allowed to hold onto. His heart already sunken to the lowest depths of his chest...

The only thing he could think of while he was there, staring at the badge was what would've happened if he was there?

Would Starlo still be alive because of him?

Would he have just taken minimal damage?

Would he have still died...?

... He couldn't think of anything else.

After the funeral, Starlo's hat was placed on a scarecrow near the cornfield, Lucifer only watching as Orion glared at him for a moment and walked away.

Crestina stood next to Lucifer, apologizing for Orion and her husband's anger towards him, and apologizing for holding her own grudge against him as well...

He tells her he accepts it, but he can never truly forgive himself for leaving Starlo alone to end up with his fate.

Then he looks back through his own life in his own world as he stares at the humans he wished to redeem before... Only grinding his teeth as he scowls at the thought of any human or their redemption, as a human was the one to kill Starlo...

Over the next few weeks, he'd become cold and distant to everyone, including everyone at the Hotel. When he did visit the hotel, he'd only stare at the Sinners, a look of pure hatred in his eyes as he stared at them, reminded of what they were before death. The same thing that killed the love of his life.

"A filthy forsaken human."

He no longer believed in redemption for them. He no longer believed in the past dream of helping sinners become winners. He hated Sinners and Winners for what they truly were.

Just evil creatures who believed that they were above all else. Creatures who were worse than any demon or Deadly Sin or Hellhound or whatever demon you could think of.

"Humans."

[verishere]

Remembering Mekrun

NOT part of any series I've made works standalone, but is in between part one and part two of my main Liam series.

If you don't know how ages work in my world, here's a reference. Axel is like 19 year.

Axel was studying their most recent painting. They'd started their tutoring with Ashnir only a few weeks ago, so it wasn't any kind of masterwork, but they were proud of it. It was only the fourth full size painting they'd done- full size meaning "big enough I have to spread my arms to hold it"- and it was clear seeing how far they'd come. Their first paining this size was on the wall right in front of them, and the difference was incredible- exactly as it had been the last two times, and exactly as Ashnir had said it would be.

The painting was of the southern beach, one of their favorite spots along the coast, which was perfect for practicing their art as they could add just as much or as little detail as they want and it still look mostly real. They'd gone for as much detail as possible, so you could see the waves breaking on the sand, but while they hadn't included everything- there were no sand dunes, for example- it was still recognizable as the beach. Unlike their second painting, which was of Calchoras' house, and was entirely unrecognizable as Calchoras' house. It was clearly someone's house, but whose was anyone's guess. The first painting Ashnir had chosen the subject for them- literally just his art studio- probably to avoid the mess he knew they were going to make when they were first given the choice, which was the second painting.

They'd learned the lesson; if you want to paint without enough skill for the subject to be detailed, don't get disappointed it won't work well. They had almost cried, actually, when they couldn't make the house recognizable, so Ashnir showed them the memory of his second painting- the memory and not the real thing, as it had been destroyed in the war- and they no longer had anything to be ashamed of.

It was still weird to be sharing memories with telepathy. Only three years ago and the best they could have done was concepts, a year ago the best they could have done was words. Sharing entire memories over thought was something they'd only learned to do a month ago, and despite how much they'd used it now, it still felt weird to be able to actually remember before the Fall. Not from their own perspective, but close enough.

They could see pictures of people who now they only knew as stars. They had seen great-grandfather Mekrun and finally understood that dad really did look like him, but as they had that thought they could see the star everyone claimed to be him in the sky through their room's window. It was the second brightest star in the sky, and the second permanent one.

...A strange feeling possessed them. They didn't know what was happening. It was a deep and intense feeling of being watched, to the point that no amount of evidence could have convinced them someone was not looking at them right then and there, but it wasn't negative. It was more like having Ashnir watch them paint over their shoulder, or mom watching them learn to write better, or literally everyone on dad's side of the family watching them learn basic metalwork. It was the feeling of someone you can trust watching you, and being proud.

Their family had talked about the dead waking sometimes. Grandmom talked about one of the first things happening after her fathers death was feeling him watch her, before she even got the news he was dead. No one had described the feeling to them, and they didn't know if this was it. They couldn't be sure.

They stood up and went to their window, staring out at the stars they were just contemplating, to find one of them different. Mekrun was usually the second brightest star in the sky, second only to Nerquam, but right now his was the brightest. No one had told them that the star grew brighter when they woke, either.

But now they were sure.

They didn't know what to say. They were certain this wasn't the first time he'd watched them, not from what their family had said, but it was the first time they'd noticed. Maybe it was because they only recently grew memory telepathy? They can only sense it now that their telepathy has been strengthened? The feeling didn't have the sense of telepathy to it, though. It really was just like being watched.

They were stalling, and they knew it. They didn't have the words to say to the only member of their family they'd never met. They were contemplating just not saying anything, when the door opened on it's own.

Only one person in the entire palace would open any bedroom door without knocking, and sure enough, "Akel!" Leigha still had trouble with some words, which unfortunately included her siblings name. She was nine years old, making her just barely still a toddler, which Axel considered a crime. She was supposed to stay small forever! Why was she big enough she was hard to pick up, now? That's a crime.

Leigha went over and reached to be picked up anyways. Axel complied, but mostly just because they could stand her on the windowsill instead of hold her the entire time. "What are you still doing awake, little sis?"

"Mommy said five more mibutes!" she raised her arms over her head in celebration.

"And when did she say this?" Axel asked suspiciously. This was at least a full hour after they were supposed to be asleep, and Leigha needed much more sleep than they did.

"When I got out-a da bed and ased her if I can get up."

Axel laughed enough she nearly choked. Leigha got out of bed, woke mom up to ask, and she said "five more minutes" probably without even hearing Leigha ask anything at all.

So they'd be putting their sister back to bed in a bit. First though... five more minutes.

"Wha' were you doin'?"

Right, standing at the windowsill probably looked boring to a toddler. Or at least confusing.

"You can feel when someone whose a star is watching, you know?"

Leigha brightened at her learning being tested. "Yeah! Mommy and daddy and gramma told me."

"Well, I'm feeling it for the first time. I was looking at the stars to see who it is. It's great grandpa."

"ohhhhhhh. Grea' granpa watch you, so you watch him?"

"Heh. Yeah, that's why. Do you remember which star is his?" she gestured back to the window.

Leigha looked right in the right spot, then looked progressively more confused over the next few seconds. "Bu' I though' he was almost the brighes sar."

Axel ruffled her hair from behind. "Usually he is, but he's watching us right now, so he's the brightest."

"oh."

A moment passed where they just started at the star, before Leigha waved, and said "Hi grea' granpa. I lo'fes you!"

Axel spluttered, for a second. Neither of them had met their great grandfather. They knew he must have been nice, and wished they could have, but they hadn't. How could Leigha...?

Leigha interupted them. "Tha's what you do when someone watchin for you, righ'? You love em?"

...

"...Yeah, I guess you're right. Thanks, Leigha."

Leigha didn't know what she was being thanked for, but preened anyways.

They could feel the sensation of being watched begin to dissipate. The star was dimming. Still there, but he was going back to sleep.

"bye, great grandfather... I love you."

Next time, I'll say it immediately. And I'll show him my art.

...He'll be proud.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Fourteen (Part 3)

The sand is damp and smooth, and our footsteps are the first to break the even surface. It clings to our shoes. Seagulls caw and the marram grass rustles in the dunes in tune with the nylon swish of Jude’s windbreaker jacket. His face, blank, doesn’t turn to me, but I look up at him and feel unsettled, remorseful, regretful, excluded, and the sunlight glints off one of his little silver earrings and blinds me for a second, as though to force my gaze away. 

“How is Jen doing?” I say, and my voice is small and almost drowned out by the rumbling of the sea, but he hears me. 

“Yeah, she’s doing okay. She hurts a lot, you know, the parts of her that are broken. She’ll be okay, although they’re not so sure about her hand. This piece of shrapnel cut through her wrist, you know, severed some tendons, and there’s a chance she won’t ever have full movement back.”

“Oh,” I say, my own wrist twinging with a phantom wound. “I didn’t know that, that’s really awful.”

“Yeah, I know. She’s strong, though, she’ll recover from this and she’s going to be alright.” He kicks a chunk of driftwood out of his path and buries his chin into the collar of his coat. “It was hard to see her. This week has been the first time in months, and God, she just seems so fragile.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. She seemed that way when I saw her last, she’s really shrunk in on herself like she’s trying to take up the minimum amount of space in the world.”

“Exactly.”

“Having the wrong kind of person in your life at the wrong time can be so dangerous when you’re already fragile, someone can come in and break you so easily that it’s scary.” I shudder and try my best to force away my own dark memories as they begin to creep and coil around my insides. “But what happened to her? What is it with Jen?”

“That makes her feel that she doesn’t deserve anything more than a person like Pamela?”

“Yeah.”

He sighs. “Jen has just never had it very easy, I suppose. Things at home were really fraught, I remember that when I moved here. We were never allowed to hang out at Jen’s place, because she said her parents were weird. It turns out that her mother was really controlling and her dad had a temper. They’d punish her for really small things really disproportionately. I don’t know, Evie, it was just a difficult environment, she was always walking on eggshells around them, and she felt like she didn’t have any control over her own life. 

“When we were fourteen she met a crowd from another school who weren’t all that great. The exact type of friends her parents would keel over if they knew about, but that’s exactly why Jen wanted to spend time with them. I hung out with them too, but only because she did, and I didn’t really want to be all on my own. 

“All we ever did was drink and hang out in parks, honestly. It was kind of boring to me, but I was just there because of her, like, I don’t know, I suppose I felt like I needed to keep watch of her, to make sure that she was okay because it was becoming kind of clear that she wasn’t all that interested in making sure for herself.

“They all used to be obsessed with being high all of the time. Not that they had actual drugs, just solvents. Lighter fluid, deodorant, petrol, sometimes, you know, choking themselves until they hallucinate…”

He’s saying all of this like it’s normal, and that I should know about it already, but I don’t. I nod along anyway despite my horror. 

“But pretty quickly they got their hands on the real stuff. Someone’s brother knew a guy, I think. Something like that. We started with weed, which was fine, but then one day one of the guys showed up to the park with a little bag of cocaine.”

“How old were you then?”

“Fifteen.”

“And you tried it?”

“Yeah, and I didn’t like it that much, because it made me paranoid, same as weed, really. Paranoid and a bit nauseated, so I stopped doing it too often after that, but Jen was the complete opposite. She liked it a lot. There was something about that feeling of losing control of her body and being driven by something else that really did it for her, you know, she just liked losing herself in it. So really, from that point on that’s always how it was with her, always searching for an escape from her life, trying everything and anything those kids could find for her.”

“Fifteen.” I echo in disbelief. “You were both so young.”

“We were. Way too young. Two of those boys we used to know ended up in a psychiatric unit years later. I don’t hear about the others anymore, so I don’t know, but Jen has never quite gotten past it either.”

“Would you say she’s an addict?”

He makes a face like he can’t quite decide upon the answer. Perhaps my question is too simplistic. “I don’t really know what to call it.” He says eventually. “She goes through periods of heavy use, and then she comes back around again and doesn’t touch anything for months, it’s never consistent, it all depends so much on what’s happening with her, and whether her life is steady or not. Obviously, right now, it’s very much not. I think she’s had more and more difficulty in the last few years while I’ve been away.” A deep line forms between his brows. “I haven’t really been here to keep an eye on her.”

“Is that your responsibility?”

“Of course.” He says, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. But to me, it isn’t. It seems to me an incredibly heavy burden to bear.

“Her parents…?”

“They freaked out when they discovered she was a lesbian. They told her that she couldn’t identify that way as long as she lived under their roof, so she left. They don’t speak to her at all anymore, as far as they’re concerned they don’t have a daughter. I remember once we bumped into them in town and they completely blanked her and acted like they didn’t even see her. That was a really rough time. It didn’t work for my family to take her in, because Ivy was only six, so Michelle’s parents agreed. They’d been really close since they were children, so she lived with their family for three years.”

“Jesus.”

“Jen’s parents are horrible people. I don’t usually get so bothered about others to say that I hate them but… yeah, I hate her parents. They essentially destroyed her life. Well, they made a good stab. It feels like Pamela came along to finish the job.”

“I kind of get it, about Pamela,” I say, and he looks at me curiously. “You know, when you’re used to a certain pattern of treatment, returning to the familiar is the path of least resistance. Her parents treated her awfully, so she’ll default to someone like her, who can confirm all of those rotten things she already believes about herself.” It isn’t that cold, but I shiver anyway, and Jude bites down on his lip, frown deepening. “Yeah.” He says. “That makes sense. I just wish she could see what her friends can see.”

“You can tell her that she’s amazing all you like, she’s going to believe only the most negative things about herself.”

“Pamela locked her in a bathroom during an argument.” He tells me. “For four hours. Jen had to climb out of the window from the first floor. And that wasn’t enough to make her leave.”

I shrug. “You’d be amazed how bad it has to get.”

“Well I got Pamela’s number after that, and I called her up. This is what everyone keeps bringing up. I was just so mad. I just went off at her until she hung up on me, and then obviously she told Jen, which, I didn’t care about, I thought she’d be glad that I stood up for her, but I was wrong about that, she just cut me off and stopped speaking to me completely. That was like, a year ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I was confused… I mean, I am confused.”

I sigh. “I wish I could explain how complicated it is, but it’s so hard to.”

“She must know that Pamela is abusive.”

“Sure, but sometimes it’s just easier to put up with it than try to leave or to change something. It’s a strange thing, but I suppose it kind of makes a bit of sense when you’re in it.”

“I thought I was helping.” 

“It’s hard to help, really. You just have to hope that she eventually helps herself.” 

“I hate it.” He says. “I hate how powerless I’ve felt, just away in Berlin this whole time, unable to do anything, or even talk to her, or even know what’s happening.”

“I’m sorry that I kept things from you.” I say, and he replies “I know you are. I understand why you did. I shouldn’t have been so angry.” 

“You have every right to be angry with me.”

We look at each other, and his nostrils flare just a little, a hardened, defensive look coming over his face because we both know that we aren’t talking about Jen anymore. 

“I think I’d like a coffee.” He announces after a tense pause. We’ve reached the main entrance to the beach now, the part of it that was always too crowded with towels and parasols to find a place to sit during the summer, now empty, just like all of the benches and the bar stools in the surf shack just a hundred metres from where we stand. Jude points at it with his thumb. “Do you want one? Or a tea, or, I don’t know, an ice cream cone?”

“I’ll go,” I say, in the dim hope that if perhaps I pay for his coffee he’ll warm up to me again and stop looking at me like I’ve shot him in the heart. “Black americano, no milk no sugar?”

“Yes.”

And usually, I’d make some joke about that, but I don’t even try it this time. I leave him to sit on a sandy bench and I head over to stand at the window to order. 

“Hey,” I say to the shopkeeper’s back. “Could I just get two coffees? An americano and a flat white.”

“We don’t have things like flat whites, this is a small family establishment.” He says, and then he turns around and I’m met with a familiar pair of blue eyes. 

“Oh. Liam.” 

“Evie?”

“Yeah.”

He comes over to lean onto the counter in front of me, and I take him in, the adult version of the boy I used to know. His hair is longer now and pushed back from his face with a patterned headband, and he looks less boyish, less skinny, but his full face of freckles is the very same, as well as the deep tan on his face, which I’m certain is there all year round. He doesn’t look unhappy to see me, in fact, he looks intrigued. “I didn’t expect to see you here, of all people, of a Saturday morning in March.”

“I know, I never thought I’d come here again, honestly.”

“We frightened you away that badly the first time, did we?” 

I smile. “No, I just never thought there’d be a reason.”

“And you found one.” He grabs a paper cup from a stack and gets to work on the americano. “Can I do you a cappuccino instead, by the way?”

“That’s fine.” I watch him pour the coffee grounds into the portafilter and tamp it down. “I’m really just passing through, you know, after the storm, some of the houses down here have gotten damaged.”

“Yeah, that’s right. One over on the end of the peninsula has the roof gone off it.” 

“Oh, that’s not great.”

“Not great indeed.” He puts the first coffee down in front of me. “What are you up to these days anyway?”

“I’m in the middle of college. I’m studying illustration in NCAD, and at the moment I’m taking a year to do an internship in a print studio in Stoneybatter.”

“Ah art school! You were always creative. Or so they tell me. I never did see your drawings in the end.”

I laugh awkwardly. “Well, I suppose you didn’t. How about you? Are you in college too?”

“Well if I was I suppose I wouldn’t be here doing this, now, would I?” He smiles over his shoulder at me after he pours milk into a silver jug. “I went to Galway to study for a year, and I didn’t like it, so I dropped out, came home, and I’ve been working here with my dad ever since. It’s grand, I don’t mind it. Nice to be on the beach and surfing and all that, you know what I mean?” 

I nod. “Yeah for sure.” 

Dumping bubbly, frothy milk into my cup, he wonders “What house were you checking out anyway? Is it Kelly’s mobile or something?”

“No, it’s the Turner’s beach house.” 

When he places the cup in front of me, he peers over my shoulder and spots Jude sitting with his back to us, staring out over the sea, and Liam’s easy smile falters. “Oh right. You ended up going out with him in the end.”

“Oh. Well, no. It’s not like that.”

“Is it not?”

“No, we’ve just been friends for the last few years, there’s not been anything else going on really.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Ah, that makes more sense.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah.”

I clear my throat awkwardly. “Well, um, like, why is that, exactly?”

“Well like I didn’t ever think anything would actually happen there between ye. I’d have been surprised to hear that it had, is all.”

I stiffen. “Is that so?”

“Just from knowing him back in the day, I didn’t think he’d, you know, have gone for you, or whatever. Actually, I thought he’d have fancied your friend Claire instead.”

“Why, because she’s pretty?”

“Well she was very pretty, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah, she is.”

He sees the look on my face, laughs to himself and saunters back to the coffee machine to clean out the grounds. I feel my cheeks flush. “What’s so funny?”

“No, no, nothing.” 

“Explains why you’re chuckling away to yourself.”

He sighs. “I’m not, it’s nothing, Evie.”

“No, what?” I insist. 

“I’m not trying to start something here, I just could have predicted this, is all.”

“Predicted…?”

“That he’d still be, like, stringing you along after him after all this time. That’s what’s going on, isn’t it? It’s always what happens, it’s a classic situation, that’s all I was thinking.”

My pulse quickens. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ah, come on. It’s so obvious. Girls like you always go for guys like him, guys who like the attention so much, but look at ye now, it just goes to show that I was correct way back then when I thought it. He’s never going to give you what you want, he never was. I’m actually on your side, I just think I could have told you this four years ago and maybe saved you the hassle.”

I get it. He thinks that I’m pathetic. “I think you have some nerve saying that. We don’t fit into whatever categories you have in your head. ‘Girls like me, guys like him’. That doesn’t mean anything.” 

He turns around and shrugs, totally nonplussed. “If I’m wrong then what are you doing traipsing down to Wexford with him on an errand? Buying him coffees? It’s fine, Evie, I’m not trying to argue with you, I’m just stating a fact. Some things never change, is all I’m trying to get at. Nice to see that you’re still the same girl as ever.”

“What’s the coffee cost, please?”

“Five fifty.”

“Rip off.” I toss coins onto the counter, grab the cups and stalk away from him. 

When I slam the americano onto the bench next to Jude some of the liquid sloshes out onto the wood, and he awkwardly mops it up with the thin napkin I got from the shack. He asks me if I’m alright, and I fib and tell him I am. 

“Fair enough.” He says because he’s too upset with me to care that much. We walk all the way back to the beach house in silence, wet sand, whispering waves, and cool wind, stuck together, wishing we were miles apart again.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[cow-boy-caviar]

STATION ELEVEN by EMILY ST. JOHN MANDEL

I don’t want to come off too harshly on one of the best, most engrossing books I’ve read in a long time, but there’s finally enough material here to sink my teeth into, so forgive me if it sounds like I’m going for the main arteries on this beautiful beautiful book.

An overview: Station Eleven shifts forwards and backwards in time, tying a once-successful actor (Arthur) to half a dozen other people who outlive him and thus experience the global societal collapse resulting from a flu pandemic. Jeevan, the paparazzo turned paramedic who tries to save Arthur when he has a heart attack on stage; Kirsten, a child actor who witnesses Arthur’s death and goes on to become a premier Shakespeare actor after the collapse of everything; Miranda, Arthur’s first wife and creator of the Dr. Eleven graphic novels; Tyler, Arthur’s son by his second wife and the unnamed prophet of a zealous and violent cult; and Clark, Arthur’s best friend who miraculously survives the pandemic by living in an abandoned airport and curating a museum of items from a past not quite yet forgotten.

Throughout the book, the refrain “because survival is insufficient” echoes across each character, implicitly for most but explicitly for Kirsten and the other members of her troupe, the Traveling Symphony. Each character finds their community and their purpose beyond just surviving to the next day. For Clark, it means preserving past knowledge and technology for the generations born After. For Kirsten, it’s performing centuries-old texts that are no less relevant or moving in a time when electricity has come and gone. For Tyler, it’s looking for a reason why all this happened, and deciding that intelligent design means he was purposely saved. Each of them finds their purpose and their people (for better or worse) to keep them going in Year Twenty, because just getting by isn’t enough reason to stay alive.

This is not a new idea — I can dig up all the quotes I want here: Kirk on the Enterprise saying that humanity must keep moving forward (which I wrote my thesis on in the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic), or Mr. Keating telling his students that we stay alive for the things that are beautiful in life — but we don’t often see it in the context of the apocalypse. Post-apocalyptic media is about survival post-apocalypse. That is, unfortunately, a bit of what happens with Station Eleven as well. For a book that was billed to me as “theatre after the world ends,” there is remarkably little theatre and a whole lot of the world ending.

That being said, in the moments where there is theatre, it is gorgeous and it is the most important thing in that moment. My favorite scene (and of course it’s always my favorite scene that doesn’t get put in the screen adaptation, DM me for Dune dinner party discourse) is before the flu’s spread is known, before anyone besides Arthur has died. All the people at the bar are known only by their King Lear character names or their job title. (Goneril, the producer, the bartender, because that’s what they are to each other. I’m still “Trap Door” in one of my best friend’s contacts because I operated the trap in the first show we worked on together.) They’re all fretting about how the show will continue without Arthur, who to call, how to keep the negative press away from the show. The final paragraph of this chapter was a gut punch: all of these people and all of their very real worries and concerns are made instantly insignificant by the fact that all of them will be dead soon, and the one who lives the longest only lives three weeks. As someone who went from leaving rehearsal worrying if I could land a summer internship, to being back home wondering if my friends would die, it hit hard. All the priorities you could possibly imagine are reshuffled to “stay home, stay six feet apart, stay alive.”

I loved this novel. I devoured most of it in one sitting. Anyone who has had their life consumed by their art should read it. I almost wish it was spread out into a longer series. It’s incredible how many threads Mandel managed to tie together, but there were a handful that I thought would be picked up again: Miranda’s fleet off the coast of Malaysia; the New Petoskey newspaper; Jeevan’s connection to Kirsten, and by extension all of Arthur’s extended network. (But maybe because it’s the end of the world I’m looking for meaning in any interaction, maybe their connection isn’t meant to be something we return back to, because not every person you meet comes back, but then why include it in the narrative?) Some things we aren’t meant to know; I wouldn’t feel satisfied by any resolution for the flight that leaves Severn City Airport for LA around Day 100. Other things we don’t need to show; there is hope in knowing that Clark will recognize Kirsten’s paperweight as a gift he once gave to a friend 30 years ago, in a world that no longer exists, and we don’t need to see that scene to know it would bring both of them tremendous joy. But if we start with Jeevan, giving him a place of prominence in the narrative, I want to see him woven back in later on more than he is. There are perhaps too many characters — all of them full and beautifully drawn and distinct, I don’t want any of them gone — for one book alone. 

New pitch: expand all of their stories, make it a series, make it into a graphic novel that can spiral across this detailed and complete world. Mostly, I want to see the Traveling Symphony’s performance of Midsummer Nights Dream.

[lady-phasma]

hi :)) i just wanted to reach out and say hello. i was a big fan of hotd when s1 came out, but i was in the periphery of some pretty awful things happening fandom wise over the last few months and it made me scared of interacting with others again, especially with s2 coming out. but i read your fandom post and it's given me some hope, so...here i am :)

did you enjoy the trailer? what was your favourite part?

I literally had to compose myself before I answered this. Not being dramatic but it caught me off guard and I cried. I can't tell you how much this means to me. 💕 Seriously, a gif isn't going to express it but I gotta give you a hug! (Hang around long enough and you'll learn I can find a Matt Smith or Austin Butler gif for every occasion!)

Real quick since you're new to my blog: I'm not going to comment on recent events (that's kind of a policy for me), but I hate that for you and I hope you find a welcoming community from here forward. Also, I went on hiatus from Jan 2023 until this March because of some drama and real-world family/life stuff. I came back for Dune 2 (Feyd Rautha) and have stayed for Austin Butler and HotD season 2. I promised myself this time that I wouldn't allow the internet to have power over my emotions. It doesn't always work, but that unfollow or block button sure does!

The other thing that helps: finding people who are kind and fun. Around 9 million people watched the season one finale! There are tons of wonderful people in this fandom and I am constantly finding more!

Answer to the trailer questions after the cut...

OMG the trailer! You should have a look at the chaos my blog was yesterday! I started making gifs as soon as it leaked - I made gifs for about an hour then the HD version was released. I made gifs for another hour or two. Then I spent the rest of the day discussing every insane theory about the Mystery Women. I happened to have the day off and I think I spent 12 hours just doing HotD related things. I finished the night by finally writing one of a couple versions of what I think happened after Storm's End. I only took a year and a half to do it.

My favorite part was actually a tie: the shot of Daemon's hand and the one of Aemond (of course). I loved those because they are my men, but also because we got to have so much fun digging for clues and being unhinged!!

Runner up was this amazing shot of my boy Aegon Toast:

I've only become an Aegon girlie in the last couple weeks and mostly because this Aegon is fantastic! I love a crazy Targ! He's (hopefully) going to be more complex this season. Last season I couldn't find any reason to stan him because 1) he looked kinda young and I'm not young and 2) he didn't have enough screen time to give him depth imo.

I am so glad you're here and thank you again for this lovely ask! It was so unbelievably kind.

If you want to see some of the chaos here's an ask where I listed the crazy posts about who is with Daemon and Aemond!