#the unmade dune

[muttonchopsalley]

Here for the FIRST TIME is the COMPLETE Jodorowsky’s Dune Storyboard Book! (Although the text isn’t legible, lol)

[sharkchunks]

Giedi Prime as painted by H.R. Giger for Jodorowsky's unmade Dune

[leeloooonfire]

There's this saying within the group of freaks of Hawkins High and the guys from Corroded Coffin - "Never, ever even think about opening one of Eddie's notebooks if you want to keep all your limbs intact and not roll with disadvantage for the rest of the entire campaign."

It's like an unspoken rule and if one dares to break the silence and say they'd wish to know what kind of treasures lie within the hardcover notebooks dispersed all throughout Eddie's space, their words were whispered off the record. Some, like Gareth, even throw haunted looks over their shoulders and then raise their hands into the air, fingers twisted in a sign against all evil when even one mumbles the unspeakable two words "Eddie's notebooks".

The party were warned early on to never mention the sacred books within Eddie's hearing range or even think about touching them at all.

Only once, Mike dared to reach out for one tattered notebook with a red spine and warped pages when it fell off the table during one of their DnD sessions. Dustin is sure to this day that Mike actually saw his life pass by him in a flash and only his role as one of the youngsters of the group saved his sorry ass from imminent destruction.

Still, even though knowing he might actually not survive this, Dustin really wants to know what's inside of them. Time and time again, Lucas told him to forget it, „You being his favorite won’t save you from his wrath, so banish your foolish wishes from your mind.“

But how could he banish the thoughts when there are so many notebooks around the trailer; hidden between well-loved copies of fantasy books like The Lord of the Rings and Dune or monster manuals within the bookshelves of Eddie's room. When they can be found under the piles of discarded clothes on the floor or kicked under his spray-painted dresser during a heedless moment? One with blue stripes lies just right next to a bottle of bleach under the kitchen sink and two, one blue and one brown, are on the couch at all times. If one might want to relieve themselves during a night of horror movies in the Munson's home, they might find one in the bathroom, right next to the toilet. There are even a few in the tiny gap between Eddie's forever-unmade bed and the patchy, poster-covered wall or in the back of Eddie's beat-up van with stained covers and ripped-out pages.

Some, they all know, are for DnD, and some for his music. One or two, though mostly abandoned within the first few weeks of the year, for school and his studies.

The others? No one really knows.

They all have their own little theories. Like Fred, who thinks Eddie uses most of the notebooks to write down his secret, illegal science experiments. Or Jeff, who once said that Eddie probably uses them for boring stuff like accounting for his drug deals and taxes. Not that Eddie pays any taxes.

There are theories about witchcraft and satanistic rituals held within the pages of the books, obviously. About nude drawings of any DnD monster having intercourse with one of their DnD characters. Theories about him writing a cringy romance novel or poems like an Edwardian nobleman succumbing to his fatal illness.

Clara, one of the older DnD legends who graduated the year before Dustin started Highschool, once said Eddie might be using so many notebooks to keep track of his multiple personalities.

All of them seem rather plausible, but none of them explain why Eddie protects them like Smaug protected the sparkling hoard of gold in the Lonely Mountain.

To the others, it feels like a secret better left alone. To Dustin, however, it seems like the most exciting mystery since his ninth birthday party where his father, then still alive and well, was able to prepare an entire pirate-themed scavenger hunt.

To no one's surprise, he takes the first opportunity that comes along his way to get his hands on one of the thick notebooks.

It's after almost an entire year of wondering, two months after the horrendous affairs of the Upside Down where both Eddie and Max merely escaped with their life and (almost) all limbs intact.

It's when the party and Steve help Eddie and his uncle move out of the now mostly destroyed trailer and into a small house at the edge of Loch Nora.

While the others are all somewhere else in the trailer, Dustin and Steve fill box after box with Eddie's stuff from his bedroom.

"Fucking hell, this place is even filthier than the landfill," Steve mutters to himself when they move the mattress off the bed to dismantle the frame and they get a good look at the trash that gathered under it for probably ever. Or, at least, since Eddie got this bed. Cigarettes, condom wrappers, used tissues -yikes-, crumbled-up or ripped pages, a few scattered pens and more dust than meets the eye. Steve's right, it is filthy. His mother would have a heart attack and then sentences Eddie to a day of cleaning like a disgruntled judge in court.

He is about to say something that's both mean to Steve and still agreeing when he sees them - right at the very edge of the bedframe, hidden underneath a jumper that looks like it could have been Mr Clark's favorite, are seven notebooks.

Dustin moves before Steve can even react; almost jumps over the frame and belly lands on the floor to get to them before the other has the time to count them or take them away or anything.

Steve stares at him with an incredulous look, lifting one part of the frame up in the air, "Why did you do that?"

Dustin shrugs, trying to look innocent like the tiniest baby kitten in the world, and says, "Thought I saw a rat, had to jump."

"A RAT?" Robin shouts, who came into the room to bring yet another empty box for them to fill with Eddie's junk. "WHERE IS THE RAT?"

"There's no rat!" Steve rolls his eyes, but behind Robin, Argyle shouts, "A RAT?"

In the chaos of the entire group trying to find and run away from the non-existing rodent, Dustin grabs three of the notebooks and hides them under his hoodie right between his belly and the waistband of his jeans.

He knows it's shitty.

But - Eddie owns him one, Dustin thinks, for almost dying on him in the Upside Down. So, it somehow feels like his damn right to snoop through his private notebooks.

Just a peak, he tells himself. If it's a diary, he'll close them right away and bring them back to Eddie. It's not like Dustin would want to read something that personal. He would with Mike to make fun of him, but not with Eddie. Despite almost dying and being a massive dork, Dustin thinks Eddie is cool.

This means he will respect his privacy if the notebooks are that personal. Otherwise - what really is the harm, right? Old, discarded DnD notes? Homework and dates of exams? Pffff; it can't be that bad, can it?!

It can.

Less than five hours later, Dustin is sitting on the floor next to his bed and has one of the notebooks open on his legs.

It is definitely not a diary, even though Eddie has marked the pages with dates.

It is, however, probably, pretty personal.

18th of June 1985

They kiss for a long time, lying in the dark, softly and then decisively, chaste and then deep.

Before long, Bilbo lowers down onto Thorin, making a long, slow sound like an early rumble of thunder. 

It's so sexy, hot, amazing. Everything's warm and soft and dark and slick, Bilbo's hand on Thorin's forearm, Bilbo's ass in his lap, back against his chest, Bilbo's hole around his dick. 

Thorin thought that maybe doing whatever Bilbo wanted would ... 

The thing is, Dustin should have closed the notebook after reading the first line right away; shouldn't have even taken them home with him. The thing is he can't just take them back to Eddie and act as if he's never seen what he saw.

And the thing is, is - is that Eddie. Eddie!

Eddie writes - stories?! Fiction? Sexual fiction about two already exciting characters who are, well, are a dwarf and a hobbit. But also are two men.

Sure, Tolkien never explicitly talked about gender in his books, Dustin thinks, but from his understanding and what he's reading in Eddie's notebook, it's two guys - having fictional intercourse.

Does this mean that his brother figure is gay?

Is Eddie a homosexual? Or does he just like writing about Bilbo getting railed by Thorin?

He has sooo many questions, and most of them, he's not sure, he really wants to get an answer.

He is still contemplating what he's going to do with the hobbit porn in his lap when the door opens and Steve comes in with an eye roll, "I knocked about four times, what the hell are you doing that you didn't hear me?"

Dustin, once again, tries to look innocent and shoves the notebook off his lap and under his bed before Steve catches on.

This time, not even a potential rat alert could save his ass, because Steve's eyes narrow and before Dustin can even say anything, the other is on the floor, grabs one of the other two notebooks and opens it.

"NO!" Dustin shouts, slamming against Steve to tackle him and rip the notebook out of his hand, but it is too fucking late.

"Bilbo reacts almost immediately. His mouth latches around the tip, sucking before pulling back and kitten-licking all around the head. Thorin writhes impatiently, his gasps nearly pained. Bilbo suckles, licks [get a dictionary for synonyms] on the tip, and then he glances up, meets Thorin's gaze, and sinks down. - Oh, -."

Steve reads out loud, voice wavering the closer he comes to the end of the passage and then lets go of the book.

Dustin tries to hit Steve in the shoulder before scooping up the notebooks and pushing them under the bed to the other one.

They stare at each other, both flushed and slightly uncomfortable.

God, could El please open one of the portals now so Dustin can hide in the Upside Down? That would be great!

"Please don't say anything!" Dustin says at the same time Steve opens his mouth to let out, "Are you into guys?"

"What? No!"

Steve holds out his hands in front of him as if to protect himself from Dustin's anger, but he raises one eyebrow, "It's okay if you do."

Dustin shakes his head, "Of course, it's okay if I do, but I don't!"

Steve's cheek twitches, clearly unsure how to proceed, and then says, "There's nothing wrong with gay fiction."

"Jesus, I know there's nothing wrong with gay fiction. It's not mine, though."

"Sure!" Steve smiles and reaches out to clasp Dustin on the shoulder, "You can talk to me once you're ready."

"There's nothing to talk about. I have Suzy!"

"Okay, and? There are plenty of people who like both, so it's okay if you just realised that."

Dustin wants to smack his head against a wall, or maybe, Steve's head, "It's seriously not mine. They're Eddie's!"

Steve stills.

Dustin stills. He seriously didn't mean to tell Steve that, to leak Eddie's secret. He just wanted to know what Eddie was hiding, and not maybe, probably out the guy to Steve fucking Harrington.

"Eddie's?! Why do you have Eddie's notebooks?"

Dustin makes a face, deer in the headlight and slightly scared.

Understanding dawns upon Steve's face and he groans, "No you little shit didn't!"

"I didn't!" Dustin says automatically but cringes when Steve kneels down and picks up the three tossed notebooks from the floor.

"Seriously, Dustin, why can you never leave things alone?"

"Please don't tell him."

Steve stares at him, hard, lips pinched together and then sighs, "Okay. But you little fucker own me."

Feel free to use this and make an entire story out of it 🖤☺️

[sinisterexaggerator]

Stars Above! | Cad Bane

Chapter 16

Explicit: Semi-slow burn, gratuitous smut /pwp, canon-typical violence, rough sexual elements, angst, Tatooine Slave Culture.

This chapter: Contains smut involving two tentacle-like Duros dicks. Blowjobs. PiV sex.

Word count: 4.9+

Notes: Hope you like weird, alien genitalia! Also, I headcanon it is Hondo Ohnaka who helped Bane regain his health and had a physician fit him for his metal plate. I am "borrowing" an OC made by @allsystemsblue, though she remains unnamed in this story and is mentioned only in passing. Mizu will be included in Annals of an Outlaw when the time comes!

[ Ao3 ] - [ Masterpost ]

《 Previous chapter ||

The bottle would suffice him, no need for a glass, he’d drink straight from the container held within his hand. Top shelf, dark, and biting on his tongue, the liquor went down, down in deep swallows, urged by smooth suprahyoid muscles. His mattress had been just as good a hiding spot as any, the pungent whiskey housed beneath its firm, yet springy shape—it had been stashed there for ease of access, as it often helped him to achieve a good night’s sleep.

Bane was no stranger to vivid dreams and nightmares. His past was colorful enough that he was prone to restless fits, accompanied by cognitive distortions—all those things he bore throughout the day would plague him when he drifted into REM. His mind only allowed for short, spasmodic bursts; he was on guard by default. In this day and age, there was hardly anyone left to trust except himself.

He had left his bed unmade, messy, and unkempt, though it was luxurious and soft, like that girl he had partaken of. He didn’t like it when the droid came in here, unless absolutely necessary. He feared he might misplace something important, or simply try to reorganize his things in a way that did not please him.

After a double shot, it all came flooding back: a deluge of unwelcomed memories. First Jango, and then Boba, never once able to rid himself of his past transgressions, as if they would haunt him until his dying day—whenever that might be.

But Zulara—she had been there, sometime after his ordeal at Jabba’s Palace, yet that was impossible—he had left her back at Slave Quarter’s Row before answering his summons. She was safe and sound, and far from him. It was as it should be, as he would not have her involved.

And Boba, this was all his fault. He could not remember what had happened after he had followed him out into the dunes. He only knew one thing—Todo had somehow rescued him, just like when young Fett had put a bolt into his head.

The Duros sighed; he understood it hurt to breathe, stepping to the single viewport that overlooked his ship’s right wing. He pressed his forehead to it, the transparisteel cool against his scales. He growled as he realized he would need to clean this too, as he had left a gluey imprint on the glass.

It was sundown. Bane lingered to get a good look at what lay beyond his window, no bigger than twice the size of his own face. He had lost more time than he had thought, people roaming to and fro as they prepared to close up shop, bought dinner, or talked amongst themselves.

He had picked this dock for the fact it was open and quite spacious; there was plenty of room to park his ship, and he had a bird’s eye view of the happenings down below. He had rented it from some other Duros, one he had come to trust, as whenever he visited this dry ball of dust, him and Ohwun De Maal did business.

A sharp ache flared just behind his brow ridge, extending up and beyond to where his scar resided; it was reminiscent of a bolt of lightning splintering, though it was pain instead of light that spiked. He grit his fangs until he thought he might crack them into pieces, for some reason the smiling mug of that damned Weequay overtaking his mind’s eye, as if he had a choice.

It had been Hondo who the droid had commed, anxious to help his master, who appeared to be on the verge of death after that ordeal involving Fett. Bane had more enemies than friends, but Ohnaka had been his droid’s first thought—a poor one, but it had saved his life.

Cad reminisced as he took a swig, the infernal pirate playing more than gracious host. He had answered to his every need, and beckoned his own doctor to patch him up. The tiny woman had been professional, her hands steady and her disposition sour—it was no matter, as she had done her job, and then some; it was unfortunate that Hondo had seen him vulnerable.

And yet the rapscallion had never mentioned this to anyone. For that he was quite thankful. Bane hated to think he owed him one, though Ohnaka did not seem to think so. At least that’s what could be concluded from the scoundrel’s lack of boasting, Cad often irked by Hondo’s potential to be a decent man—and for no good reason—what had he ever done for him? Why had he stepped up? The hunter refused to ask, harried every time that they crossed paths, though he was awfully good at hiding things.

Bane might threaten him, but he would never turn Ohnaka in, nor would he kill him, despite the thought having crossed his mind numerous times before.

Bane would set the bottle down; he had been out cold for a full rotation. Still, that was not time enough for him to forget just who the cause of all of this was—that lamebrained governess who had laid her claim to Tatooine, despite the slug-like Hutt’s overwhelming chokehold on its denizens. There was no doubt Cad Bane would call her; he had a mind to change the terms of their arrangement, but first he needed to wash and clothe himself.

Ignoring Todo’s bleating in the hall outside, the Duros was used to his mouthy droid complaining about every little thing. Why he put up with it was for him to know, but he knew better than to disturb Bane once he was in his room.

The aching hunter trailed the wall, finding the door to his refresher. His legs were wobbly; what a pathetic sight he must have been, Cad grateful that no one was around to see it.

---

Water, in abundance, could be heard, like rain falling to splatter on some planet that was unlike hers. It echoed, reaching her ears just beyond the door, Zulara’s mismatched eyes gleaming at the absorbing sight before them.

Bane’s room was homey, yet in a state of disarray. It was cozy, but disheveled. She had not known what to expect, though what she saw was somehow fitting, yet she could not help but think this was perhaps too intimate a place for her to be. Her nerves tingled; Zulara forced herself to move. She hadn’t made it this far just to stand there, though her heart thundered feverishly inside her chest.

There was a closet, holding a sparse amount of clothes. He had a hat collection, lined along the wall on metal hooks. His bed looked soft and comfortable, though the sheets, the blankets, were all tangled. He had a plethora of pillows, but there were things scattered amongst them—credits, coins, and gold medallions. They were on the floor, stuffed inside of drawers, some still stored in cases that were open, jutting out from varied crevices and corners.

Zulara had never seen so many pretty things, shiny jewels encrusted with more gold or silver—rare objects that looked like they belonged in a museum. There were little statuettes, baubles, trinkets—ticket stubs, bounty fobs, and books; they were old and made with flimsi; they had gilded spines and were in a language she had never seen. She desired to touch these things, but there was one thing she wanted more—the man himself.

She spied a mirror, and next to it a table with some personal effects; these items were all in order and arranged just so. She stopped to inspect herself, noting that she looked exhausted. How she was feeling was wrought indelibly into her expression, though she was easily distracted, as a single thing of his had caught her eye.

Before her was a small leather pouch; it had once been of a darker coloration, but now it was tawny and rough from years of use. Her thumb traced where it was worn and faded; etched on it were a few scant words. She could not read them, yet held inside were toothpicks.

The girl was tempted—she heard a noise, like the Duros had coughed or groaned—her heart fluttered. Zulara turned, making her way toward the refresher after setting the pouch back down.

She had softened her footsteps, unsure of when to announce her presence. It was clear that Cad Bane had temporarily lowered his defenses, as he had not yet detected her. She could not decide if this was good, or bad. She did not want to cause him any undue stress, yet her heart and brain were not communicating, as it was in her best interest to follow his droid’s advice.

Zulara’s index finger grazed the button to the sliding door; it was silent when she pressed it. The room was warm and steamy, the transparisteel before her partitioning him off from her. It was opaque, leaning toward obscure. The glass was frosted, the Duros nothing but a vague blue outline to her as she steeled her courage. Her hand lifted to knock, but then everything went wrong.

The bypass door had vanished—slipping backward—and so had her resolve. There was a flurry of sudden movements, Zulara discovering herself pinned flat against the refresher wall. Her throat had closed; there was a large hand obstructing her, Bane’s hulking fingers tightening as he cut off her air supply—he was choking her, she realized.

Zulara whimpered, as she could not speak. She kicked her feet, the hunter having lifted her some few centimeters off the floor. She gasped for air, then Bane loosed his hold; his bold red eyes were full of something. It wasn’t anger so much as remorse, but alongside that was an inkling of horror.

Bane did not speak to her as she inhaled deeply; she stared at him as her chest heaved and she tried to adjust her breathing—she would stiffen once again—the Duros’ fingers traced her windpipe, Zulara’s eyes agog as she dare not move. 

For that single moment, he had looked terrified—afraid he’d hurt her—but now his gaze had hardened. His lip pulled back to reveal pink gums; he bared his fangs. “Must nahtta heard when Ah told ye te go home.”

So, she hadn’t been a dream after all, he thought.

Zulara reflected on his words, that thing he’d whispered. Bane retreated back into the shower, the half-Twi rubbing her neck where it was sore, acknowledging that even in his weakened state he had tried to get rid of her.

For most, that would have been enough, but not Zulara, not like before. She knew he liked her. Though closed off to her and the rest of the galaxy at large, Bane was multifaceted, like an Ojomian onion with a myriad of layers, though just how many was unknown.

She appraised his body before he could shut her out; he had bruises over every inch of his lapis-colored scales. They were green like nephrite, just like his blood; it was still present on her top, though long since dried. Her eyes watered, though she would not cry for him—she had already done that. He was alive; he would be all right.

Then, an idea came to her, a bad one, but one she would entertain, her judgment poor and heart full of something akin to affection for him. Zulara tugged off her boots, followed by her simple garments; her shirt, her skin-tight, light-weight pants, leaving her just as naked as the Duros who kept his silence. His place was once more behind the single sliding door that barred him from having to look at her.

Did he expect her to leave? To exit his ship and not return? The girl was getting gutsier, taking a deep breath before she once more pressed the switch to give her access to where Bane quietly resided; his eyes ballooned into two elliptic ovals—he studied her—drinking in her buxom breasts and her admirable shape.

Zulara would do the same; her gaze traversed the lean muscles of his legs and thighs, taut and thin, with an abdomen that was refined though flat. His hips were streamlined, sleek, and well-nigh graceful; his ribs mildly protruded, Bane’s pectorals well-defined though they lacked mamilla as they were not present—Duros physiology was different in that regard, the girl inferred, not having seen him fully nude before.

The contours of his clavicles might as well have been hewn from marble, Bane all scales and sinews, his cheeks chiseled, and his jawline sculpted like some rugged work of art—she had seen his face already, yet she found him so oddly beautiful.

She knew to stare would be disrespectful—Zulara tried her best not to ogle him as he was injured, though she was highly inquisitive. Her eyes dropped to below his waistline—Bane’s genitals were covertly covered and nestled inside himself, unlike prior—he was bare but for a three-inch slit. She longed to hold him.

“It ain’t just yer eyes dhat don’t werk, it’s yer ears,” the Duros jeered.

Zulara would cursorily recover; she blatantly ignored him, feeling that what came out as bitterness was a mechanism used to defend himself, Bane’s acerbic tone not bothering her one bit—to others it might as well be acid.

Zulara’s face betrayed her, her worry for him, his dark contusions setting her brow to furrow inward in a show of pity with a total absence of tranquility. She felt disquieted to see him entirely disrobed—he had so many scars, so many scrapes and scratches—the claw marks of the rancor had raked him across one shoulder; it extended to the middle of his sternum. Would it scar too, she wondered? The thought displeased her to no end.

He seemed surprised to see her be so brave, not predicting this course of action, but the one thing he did not do was outright protest. Bane’s lack of a rebuke, to her, was an open invitation, Zulara taking one step up to join him. The halfling would tilt her head, letting the water flow down over her in rivulets, raven strands being tossed just over her shoulder’s edge; she had given him a look that thawed his heart, yet he refused to be enamored by her.

Zulara did the unthinkable once again; she touched him without his permission—yet hadn’t he done the same to her many times before?

Mauve digits freely roamed the length of Bane’s cool neck, tracing its long column to find the thrum beneath his pulse point.  It was for her own peace of mind, detecting that it was strong and hardy, perhaps the hunter’s heartbeat having minutely accelerated.

Zulara nuzzled him the best she could, just below the atrium of his right hearing organ; he had no auricles, only a small pinna-like protrusion, her warm breath licking cobalt flesh with her increasing closeness. “Let me stay,” she begged, the girl’s earnest marked by the imploring lilt of her sweet voice.

Cad Bane might as well be speechless, the girl’s breasts pressed flush up against him; she had whispered beguilingly, her plea alluring, if only for the way it had been administered. He was trying and failing to be upset; he would not reprimand her, yet she would also not receive his full encouragement.

Zulara did not need it, lithe fingers of the opposing hand rising to cup the back of his bare head. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him on his battered lips, the girl unable to help herself; she was inextricably drawn to him.

The man enjoyed this, though he would not return her kiss, instead surveying her with the intensity of a punctilious avian. An Edgehawk would come to mind, native to her home on Lothal, and just as deadly a predator as he could be, preying on small things.

Zulara began to shy away, variable hues of gold and blue skirting past his face down toward his throat and chest. Her hands found their own path, the tips of mammalian fingers warm and tender; he barely felt it as she traced one of his many fresh abrasions—the girl was as gentle as could be.

“I hate it,” she whispered to him—her touch—the stripe she feathered down past his stomach—it caused him to seize her wrist. Zulara gasped as he had startled her, the girl’s meager confidence shattering like Chandrilan glass that had been mishandled. She had no words, fearing what might befall her next.

Cad Bane kept his grip cinched around her arm, rough and weathered fingers tucking a few strands of her hair away behind her ear. Zulara would peer upward, the Duros guiding her to fully look at him by a tilt of her trembling chin.

He kissed her on his terms, soft, slow, and with a method that caused the girl to moan. He had barely touched her, but she was already beginning to come undone, as if he could put the blame on her.

Bane’s tongue joined in, wet and rosy pink; Zulara readily accepted it, hers hot and lush inside his mouth. He was careful of his cuspids—he did not wish to hurt her—the fangs that filled his maw were not entirely for show, as they could rend flesh from bone should he choose to do so. Zulara had learned of that firsthand during the time they had spent together, yet she had only suffered bite marks, the evidence clearly present by welts that blossomed. It was possible the hunter felt a mote compunctious, only due to one or two being a mite too deep.

The girl’s desperation was palpable, Bane feeding into it as it fed his ego. At the same time, his core enlivened; Bane’s body was self-lubricating, yet he did not feel that feeling that demanded he act on it. It was strange; sex was meant for one thing in his book: a way to get his rocks off, a way to clear his head before the next hunt began. And yet, this was different. This girl was different; she did not try to woo him, she simply did. He found this fact disturbing, knowing one day it might ruin him.

Bane could feel the rise and fall of her full bosom against his ribs. The ache was there, but it did not matter; he found himself absorbed by her enticing narrative.

The one where he was not all bad, but worthy of attention; the one where she was concerned for him. He allowed himself to be engrossed by the notion he was not such an awful man; it was too self-indulgent combined with the cocoon of her warm flesh; Zulara was hugging him again even as they kissed—he seized her throat once more, albeit gently.

Zulara would not flinch; Bane retreated from her lips to flash his teeth. The girl’s eyes would lock on his, bewildered, though transfixed.  Then, she felt it: the Duros’ cocks had slipped outside himself. He was toying with her, the spongy tip of one tentacular-like appendage having grazed her clit. It had inched its way between her folds; the girl would gasp, pleasure radiating from the place where he had touched her.

Bane’s depthless eyes narrowed; his fingers slightly tightened. Zulara would reach for his mouth again with hers; Bane held her steady, finding she now appeared alarmed.

“Dhis is what ye came fer, innit,” Cad Bane seethed, his cocks not hard but soft and cool, slick, and resembling the limbs of a cephalopod. It was the result of his subdued arousal; He packed prehensile tendrils instead of pricks as hard as bone. They only solidified when he was notably stimulated, and for now he wasn’t.

He would take care to thank her should she give him the right answer.

“I came for you,” the girl breathed out, tears welling in her two-toned eyes. She was distraught; Zulara could not fathom why he would presume to think that, though her mind began to overanalyze and search her feelings. She knew the truth; it was her worst fear coming to fruition: the idea she was just some cheap lay, another slave who would do anything for freedom. A girl who wanted to seduce him. A whore, for lack of a better word—perhaps he did not trust her or her words.

Zulara covered his hand with hers, grasping at his fingers. She plucked them free, like ripping off a necklace in a throe of passion, this set of actions a paroxysm on her part. Bane stared at her, though he relinquished his mindful hold, until he realized she meant to take her leave of him.

One arm scooped her back, extending to curl around her tapered waist. Zulara would set about to struggle, but even so, she was heedful of his wounds, his cuts and bruises—the rancor’s claw marks. Her tepid hands only pushed at his sore arms, but that was nothing compared to everything else that hurt, or the many other near fatal injuries he had endured throughout his lifetime.

“I’m not what you think I am,” Zulara pleaded, her words having a double meaning, though it was lost on him. “I only wished to help,” she would argue quietly, though her body settled, the girl’s head tipping forward so she could rest her nose against the Duros; he felt her balmy flesh make contact with his rostrum.

“Dhen what are ye,” came Cad’s raspy-voiced reply; he let her stay right where she was, though compelled to know her answer. He knew nothing of her, just that they had shared her bed; that she was Kayson’s slave; that Hondo vied for her affections, yet here she was in the refresher with him, naked.

“Just a girl—I’m no one special,” she lamented, “but one who hurts seeing you like this,” she added, one of her kindly hands moving to cradle his strong jaw where it met his chin. “I can’t force you to believe me,” she said, defeated.

Cad Bane was moved, though he would never easily admit it. He soaked her up, her honest sentiments and her unmatched beauty. He returned the gesture, the pad of his long thumb rubbing a small circle into the round of her soft cheek.

“Dhat’ll do,” he stated gruffly, his tone bordering nonchalance, yet it was a front; he would not make her aware of the effect she had on him.

The silence was filled with the sudden onset of Zulara’s disjointed moans, Bane had introduced one of his cock’s inside her. The motion had been smooth and fluid, his member pliant and able to inter itself snugly. It did not need an easy introduction, as Zulara’s plush insides would expand to accept his supple girth, Bane slick with his own secretions; he knew just where to target her.

His length would pulse inside her, like the writhing of a worm, languid, and patient with her. To Zulara it felt like the lapping of a tongue, impossibly large, and buried deep within her. She was a liquid, her legs desiring to fail her. Though Bane was not at his full strength, he kept her standing, taking the brunt of her slack weight.

“Easy,” he muttered low; the girl would search out his mouth again. In doing so, he was fed her gasps, Bane absorbing them like sustenance to fuel himself.

Zulara could not speak as Bane’s second cock licked her clit, its swirling tip fondling her with peculiar purpose. The girl’s brain filled with sporadic images—nothing clicked—she heard Bane rattle out a fricative hiss. She was coaxed by an open palm; Bane drew her toward his throat, reedy fingers entangling themselves in her black locks.

The Duros held her there, his oil sacs emitting an aroma that would only entice her more; they were fine slits beneath his ribs, and she had not noticed them before. They were camouflaged, blending in with the rest of his blue scales; he had nearly inked himself because of that damned rancor, their main function not one of pleasure but of defense.

“Breathe, hm?” he emphasized, his voice taking on a harsher shade. The girl obeyed, though it was difficult. She regained her footing, yet still needed his support.  

“Bane,” she uttered his name, but he would not go any faster; he would not let that persuade him. Cad was dutiful in his undulations, having already found that special place that made females forget themselves. He would prod it gently, coiling against the underside of her anterior.

It was too much, the syncopated rhythm of both his cocks. While one felt like it was eating her, the other viciously teased her, Zulara’s piteous moans and whimpers like music to his ears; he pressed her head against himself.

The girl relaxed into an orgasm, her warm heat clenching, Bane letting Zulara ride him until its completion, though he had not been in it for himself; he would withdraw as soon as she came down.

Bane would unhand her, freeing her of a rare embrace, the Twi falling gradually down onto both her shaky knees. Bane watched as she descended, not of her own volition; her legs simply would not allow her to keep standing anymore. Her hands trailed his stomach, his thighs and calves, until they dropped and rested in her lap as she breathed deeply, appearing to be starved of oxygen.

Zulara would cant her head, gazing up from the few square inches of space her body now occupied. Met face to face with Bane’s foreign genitalia, she would extend her tongue to taste the tip of one.

She could smell herself, and discern the flavor, yet not overpowering the Duros’ own brand. The sheen of sticky that coated both his cocks was both sweet and sour, and not by any means unpleasant.

Bane shuddered, finding his place along the wall; the girl did not stop there, his reaction the catalyst for what she would do next.

Zulara guided him inside, her mouth hot and textured like choice velvet. The girl found it easy to intake nearly the whole of him as he was not rigid, yet this introduction to the tight confines of her throat would not come without its consequences, should he not be able to keep himself in check.

She moaned, the hum vibrating against him from within her gullet; his belly quivered, Zulara allowing him deep passage—for a girl who had never done anything quite like this, she was adept, or effortlessly able to adapt.

Her lips would pucker as she sucked, Bane’s cock glossy, all the while thickening though frictionless, like candy made sleek from the constant roiling of one’s tongue across its surface. His other member mobilized itself, caressing Zulara’s cheek with its ability to touch and molest, like the curving of a finger as it followed a path down toward her chin.

In reality, it might seem monstrous, a thing that was hideous or atrocious to those not of his species, but Zulara was not disconcerted, nor was she intimidated. Bane’s anatomy did not so much frighten her as it was intriguing, assuming all males throughout the galaxy had their own way of being that she wasn’t privy to—the women too—enjoying what she could of him.

Zulara picked up the pace deliberately, one hand rising for its underside to palm Bane’s second phallus. She would run her fingers along the length of it—she was unbelievably delicate with him—it might have tickled had it not felt so delicious.

Bane could feel the telltale signs, the ones where his scales bristled, and his cock was on the verge of hardening; he was nearing the point of no return, forcing the girl to stop her suction; it was regrettable, but he knew himself. Though he would recuperate, currently his energy was depleted; he was tired, he desired to do nothing but relax, yet he had a call to make to that damn governess, and the hunter wished to hold onto his anger as it would serve him.

To allow himself release, to cum inside her pretty mouth—Bane knew nothing else would matter after that.

The Duros would withdraw his hips, pushing his buttocks to the wall of the now cold shower. This whole scenario had been a waste of water, but he would quickly forgive himself as Zulara was coerced to give up on her task. His cock had slid from out her throat, retreating back through her open mouth, the other slithering across her fingers joining its companion. The girl was frowning, her eyes two sorrowful, sparkling gemstones of varied chromaticity; she gazed at him like he had hurt her feelings.

“Did I do something wrong?” the halfling asked, her voice soft and peppered with notes of worry. Bane only stared at her as he allowed his breathing to even out; he swiped her bottom lip with the pad of a harsh thumb, dragging it slowly downward, exposing her bottom row of teeth and gums.

“Gotta comm te make,” he offered by way of an explanation. With that, he opened the bypass door, stepping past Zulara to touch down upon the refresher’s floor. Bane would leave her there to take care of herself, knowing that he could find her easily when he was ready— besides, Todo would keep an eye out.

[nothingeverythingallatonce]

Chris Foss - Destroyed Spice Pirate Ship. Concept art from Alejandro Jodorowsky's unmade Dune project.

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

Projections have THE GARFIELD MOVIE opening somewhere in the $20-30m range for the three-day, and somewhere over $30m for the 4-day.

In other words, it's opening like a typical post-COVID breakout animated movie. Unless you were the Mario movie, MINIONS 2, or few other films, you stayed below $30-35m for the three-day opening. For context:

$146m - THE SUPER MARIO BROS. MOVIE

$120m - SPIDER-MAN: ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE

$107m - MINIONS: THE RISE OF GRU

$57m - KUNG FU PANDA 4

$50m - LIGHTYEAR

The five half-hundred openers. And then... Other big studio Western animated movie (and in some cases, hybrid)... Squarely below $35m:

$33m - IF

$31m - SPACE JAM: A NEW LEGACY

$30m - TROLLS BAND TOGETHER

$29m - ELEMENTAL

$28m - MUTANT MAYHEM

$27m - ENCANTO

$23m - THE BAD GUYS

$23m - DC LEAGUE OF SUPER-PETS

$22m - PAW PATROL: THE MIGHTY MOVIE

$22m - SING 2

$19m - WISH

$17m - THE ADDAMS FAMILY 2

$16m - THE BOSS BABY: FAMILY BUSINESS

$14m - TOM & JERRY

$13m - PAW PATROL: THE MOVIE

$12m - MIGRATION

$12m - PUSS IN BOOTS: THE LAST WISH

$12m - STRANGE WORLD

So, yeah, THE GARFIELD MOVIE is performing as usual. It curiously has a B+ CinemaScore, when usually, an animated picture - no matter the reviews - gets an A- minimum. I still expect it to leg up until INSIDE OUT 2 is released, and make back its fair $60m budget.

Director Mark Dindal deserves a big hit after three movies that didn't quite cut it at the box office. CATS DON'T DANCE was dumped by Warner Bros. and made soooo little in 1997, THE EMPEROR'S NEW GROOVE was similarly dumped by Disney but had the fortune of garnering excellent legs that might not have covered its budget, but it showed that Disney had a sleeper hit on their hands... and then there were the subsequent great video sales that probably un-flopped it a year later. CHICKEN LITTLE barely made the grade. Dindal hadn't directed since, the closest he got was with DreamWorks' unmade ME AND MY SHADOW. Dindal would be replaced by Alessandro Carloni on that film, and then DreamWorks nerfed it altogether. (Though they did briefly revive it as SHADOWS, courting Edgar Wright to direct at one point!)

So, yeah, I'm rooting for Garfield! For Dindal! I'll be seeing the movie in about a week or so.

As for the other side of this weekend's box office coin... FURIOSA:

I want to point out... A lot of people are seemingly confused as to why FURIOSA isn't breaking out... Thus making for a pretty small Memorial Day box office long-weekend...

When were the MAD MAX movies ever these massive blockbusters here in America?

The first film was barely released theatrically in North America, lost in the midst of its domestic distributor - American International Pictures - being acquired. The film's breakout success in its home country, Australia, was really what lead to sequels. MAD MAX 2, released as THE ROAD WARRIOR stateside, did fairly well but wasn't among 1982's biggest movies. MAD MAX: BEYOND THUNDERDOME, thought to be the most Hollywoodized of the movies, also did okay enough. Again, nowhere near the edge of the Top 10. I reckon for most people my age, FURY ROAD was their first MAD MAX movie. It certainly was mine, and then I went and blind-bought the other three movies thereafter.

MAD MAX: FURY ROAD opened with a fair $45m back in 2015, and went on to gross $380m worldwide against a $150-180m budget. Barely 2 1/2x that price tag if it was $150m, so I guess it just made it. Enough for more movies to be made at least, as Tom Hardy was signed on to reprise his role as Max Rockatansky for at least a few more films. A fifth movie proper is in development, apparently... But, yeah... $380m. Good gross, but not... Let's see, STAR WARS or MCU-sized. Not DUNE: PART TWO nor RISE/DAWN/WAR OF THE PLANET OF THE APES, for fellow sci-fi comparisons...

And nor did it need to be... There's more a gnarly, punk-like edge to these movies anyways.

Which is why I did not expect FURIOSA to make that much more than FURY ROAD, especially since it's about a younger Furiosa and it's a prequel. Having not seen the movie due to circumstances (I'm gonna aim for it this coming Friday), I've also heard that it's way different from FURY ROAD, which was more or less a two-hour car chase that barely lets up. This apparently, at 2 1/2 hours long, is more in line with the classic MAD MAX movies. There's some vehicular action that really delivers, but the bulk of it is a lot of atmosphere and long stretches that really souses us into the wasteland world of the series.

One of my pals actually compared it to director George Miller's previous film, THREE THOUSAND YEARS OF LONGING... And... Uh, if it's really anything like that film, it's going to be interesting to see how it holds up in the coming weeks. THREE THOUSAND YEARS OF LONGING is a curious film that I didn't particularly enjoy much, but it's very cool that a $60m movie that appears to be Miller - in his 70s - pondering and reflecting on the art of storytelling and the big mosaic of it all even exists. Now to see that applied to a massive budget action movie in an iconic sci-fi franchise? Even cooler. That's what you call taking a BIG SWING. If MAD MAX 5 happening hinges on this movie's success, I really hope it defies the odds.

So THE GARFIELD MOVIE doesn't have a massive bar to clear, and it's already over $50m worldwide thanks to opening in a few territories beforehand. Should make back the budget easily. Only needs to clear $150m to do that. Legs would really have to be bad in order for it to not do so. FURIOSA is the one I'm concerned about, as that cost $168m to make. If that closes the door on future Wasteland movies, then that will suck big time. Fingers crossed for both.

[mediaomnivore]

I finally got to see the 2013 documentary, Jodorwsky’s Dune, about the unmade film. It was informative, but I still have a lot of questions about how all of the production materials made their way to the Star Wars team.

[nicklloydnow]

“Trying to explain what makes Blood Meridian a masterpiece is like trying to describe Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 using only semaphore – you’re really best just finding out for yourself. That might not be the easiest task given how daunting Blood Meridian can appear (especially for those unfamiliar with McCarthy’s refined, almost biblical, prose that shuns most punctuation), but those willing to persevere will find a powerful tale comparable to the epics of Shakespeare and Melville. The novel tells the story of an unnamed runaway (referred to only as "the kid") who joins a group of scalp hunters operating on the United States-Mexico border during the 1840s. While they initially do this for just reasons – protecting the local communities from pillaging Apache tribes – this soon gives way to bloodthirsty and fatalistic behavior that leaves a trail of bodies in their wake, heroes and villains alike. McCarthy utilizes their nihilistic crusade to explore a range of topics including religion, warfare, and the nature of man – all told via some of the most poetic writing ever committed to the page.

(…)

But despite these issues, Hollywood has shown an almost psychotic interest in adapting Blood Meridian. And despite these issues, it’s easy to see why. The high esteem that both Blood Meridian and Cormac McCarthy are held in would inevitably make it one of the most talked about films of the year, and were a director able to find that illusive sweet spot that translated its horrific beauty into the language of cinema, there’s no reason why it couldn’t be one of the most acclaimed too. The phenomenal success of No Country for Old Men – the winner of four Oscars including Best Picture and Best Director, and now revered as one of the 21st century’s greatest films – will only have spurred on this insatiable desire. Unmade screenplays are reportedly so common in L.A. they could wallpaper every house in Pasadena, and their continued existence appears to have turned Blood Meridian into a sinister rite of passage for any aspiring screenwriter. We’ll never know for certain how many times Hollywood has tried (and failed) to make Blood Meridian, but a few have since come to light.

(…)

Indeed, it was this exact problem that killed most potential adaptations, such as a version spearheaded by Ridley Scott in the mid-2000s. Alongside his Kingdom of Heaven scribe William Monahan, Scott – never a director who had much time for compromise – intended to go all in with the novel’s violence, resulting in a gore-heavy rendition that sounds more akin to a horror film than a revisionist western. “It would have been rated double-X”, he later described it as – a statement that wouldn’t have brought confidence to already nervy investors. Scott did satisfy his McCarthy itch with 2013’s The Counselor (his only original screenplay to also get the feature-film treatment), a wordy and often bewildering watch that feels closer to an audiobook than a truly cinematic experience. Its mixed reception had McCarthy scholars breathing a sigh of relief that he was never able to make Blood Meridian, but considering how Kingdom of Heaven also mixed historical fact and speculative fiction to craft a nuanced character study amidst the backdrop of harrowing warfare, perhaps he would have been the ideal choice.

(…)

But then again, what does that term even mean? If “unfilmable” novels like Dune, Life of Pi, and Cloud Atlas can leap between mediums, why couldn’t the same also be done with Blood Meridian? McCarthy himself has rejected the idea that his opus is destined to remain on the page forever, admitting that while it would be “very difficult to do”, there’s no reason why someone “with a bountiful imagination and a lot of balls” couldn’t get it done. The simple truth is that Blood Meridian isn’t unfilmable, it’s just that everything that makes it a masterwork are so firmly entrenched in the written form that it would require substantial alternations to work in a new format, and it would take a brave filmmaker to start tinkering with the foundations of a certified classic. It’s inevitable that someone, someday, will make this dream a reality, at which point the internet can move on from debating if Blood Meridian is unfilmable to whether Blood Meridian should only ever be a novel. Until that day, we’ll have to tide ourselves in wild speculations. It’s not like we’re short on options.”

[ltofoceania]

Question Tag Game

I thank @tonkshamsandwich most kindly for tagging me!

Do you make your own bed?

Depends on the day, or whether or not I am making the drive down south for a stay. Usually it sits unmade because then I can slide right back in under the covers when it's time for bed.

Favourite number?

27 is my absolute fav. It's my birthday number. I am also fond of 5, 7, 11, and 13.

What is your job?

Graduate Student Researcher (GSR) this semester. Was a Teaching Assistant (TA) for years before though. Got to be an Instructor of Record (IOR) for a summer session for the first time this year too, which was a dream come true. My goal is be an instructor full-time. Grad school babyyyyyyy!

If you could go back to school, would you?

I technically haven't left. I went right into a PhD grad program after undergrad. Plan to finally finish this Spring. Please send me good vibes/thoughts/etc so that I can finish.

Can you parallel park?

Not entirely sure. I think so, but I haven't had to do it in my current vehicle. I think I did so successfully when I had my Jetta.

Do you think aliens are real?

Yes, of course. Galaxy is vast! There's bound to be something or someone out there!

Can you drive a manual car?

I want to say yes, but I have yet to drive an actual manual transmission car since all my cars have been automatic. I can do a manual in a dune buggy/off-road vehicle though which I think counts for something.

What's your guilty pleasure?

Probably watching bad movies just to see the current actor that has taken residence in my mind. Bonus points if I saw a gif(set) or photo(set) that had the actor without a shirt on.

Any phobias?

Playing Subnautica made me realize even more that I have submechanophobia to a degree, as well as a degree of thallasophobia. I love Subnautica and Subnautica: Below Zero but there is something about those depths, and being underwater near the crashed Aurora ship that freaks me out. When I went to The Queen Mary with my family one time we got to see the propeller room (?) and I NOPED very hard away from the sight of the prop under the water.

Favourite childhood sport?

Soccer! Played for 13 years!

Do you talk to yourself?

Hell yeah. It's how I set my task list/to-do list for the day, and how I work through my writing.

Tattoos?

No, but I like the idea.

Favourite colour?

Black, blue, red, and grey. My wardrobe represents this and so does my off-road riding gear.

Do you like puzzles?

YES! Love sudoku and jigsaw puzzles. Even that sand sorting game on mobile.

Tagging @tinavy35 @metronomeblue and anyone else who would like to!

[muttonchopsalley]

More of Jean “Moebius” Giraud’s storyboard pages from the unproduced Alejandro Jodorowsky adaptation of Dune.

[rabbit-surfboard]

Dune gets better the more I revisit it. I first watched the documentary about Jodorowsky's unmade adaptation, then saw Dennis' version when it came out and thought it was dope. Then I read the Frank Herbert books, and very recently saw Dennis' movie again and holy shit -- such an easy watch despite how long that thang is and my usual preference to avoid rewatching shit. I'm terrifically excited to reread the first four books sometime.

Lately I've been trying to imagine from an author's perspective how they might lay out story development for a naive audience who must be introduced to just enough information to make a story development hit correctly. Often when watching a modern TV show where they throw down a steadily metered minimum of 1 plot development and 1 cliffhanger per episode to keep me hooked, I wonder how different it must feel in the writers room. They know everything about the world, how difficult must it be to imagine approaching the story linearly and produce a delightful surprise for the uninitiated?

Dune does not work like a Netflix series. It seems that the more you know about it the more you get to appreciate it's finer points. There's something to be said for attempting to relate to prescient characters by reading along with much more knowledge than a regular person could possibly have.

the more I read Dune Messiah the more I love it. First time through felt a little slow but I think it's a testament to the fact that you can read these books in whatever order you like. The Alia x Hayt hits so much harder once you have the full series under your belt. Same with Paul's transition into total prescience, I think it's the first time in the series you're introduced to the concept but I don't think it's as impactful until you've read God Emperor. I'm obsessed with the idea of destiny and reluctant godhood. Idk I just love this series and there's always a new little treat for me every time I re-read.

[sang-d-or]

I don’t usually post my cosplays on here but i’m so proud of my Feyd-Rautha i just had to share!!! I absolutely fell in love with Mœbius’ design for the Na-Baron Harkonnen after discovering Jodorowsky’s Dune. I’m so happy with how my cosplay turned out and maybe i’ll post some more pictures from the photoshoot soon!

[spaceintruderdetector]

Dan O'Bannon on Jodorowsky's Dune

[witchywomanrunningupthathill]

Will You Hold Me?

Request: Hello! I was wondering if I could request a blurb or something similar abt hugging Paul Atreides (as best friends (gn reader))? I feel like he'd give great hugs and I'd never pass on a Paul hug lol. Thank you in advance!

Pairing: Paul Atreides x gn!reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Description: Paul gives you a (much-needed) hug

Warnings: depression, suicidal ideation

A/N: Sorry for the mini-writing drought. I’ve been trying to figure out my life and have been super uninspired lately b/c #depression, but here’s my attempt to both fill this request and convince myself that I don’t feel like dying on the inside :/

Only three hours had passed since you last thought about throwing yourself off one of the Arrakeen Residence’s balconies. It was a long way down the brutalist palace reminiscent of the Egyptian pyramids that were once on Terra. In truth, you didn’t really have much time to lend to these violent thoughts, whether it was the pitching yourself off the balcony or otherwise. You’d thought about the sand worms and the Fremen, and you doubted you’d stand a chance against either. Sometimes you even wished the Harkonnens, in all their entitlement and vitriol, would return to “their Dune” and off you once and for all. 

As these thoughts crossed your mind, hot tears streamed down from your bloodshot eyes. You sat in your chambers, staring across to the single window — if you even wanted to call it that. You sniffle before covering your face with your hands and sobbing silently. You didn’t want to feel like this. Miserable, helpless, misunderstood. 

You’d pray to the stars to fix you, take your pain away, rebalance your body, mind, and spirit. But despite your distress and sincerity in those requests, it seemed that your prayers had fallen on deaf ears. Maybe this was just the cruelty of the Universe. 

Or maybe you were just weak and unwilling to go out and actually do something about your pain. Pull yourself out of this mental hellhole. But it hurt so badly. Your soul ached. You longed for home — for Caladan, for cool breezes and rushing ocean waves, for the sound of the wind rustling through the trees, all of the things that helped you come back to reason when everything started to feel like it was spinning out of control.  Now all you had were the recordings of those sounds from a Caladan filmbook Paul had given to you ages ago. A far cry from the real thing, though, because you were constantly fast-forwarding, rewinding, pausing, and then playing the recording to avoid the commentary on the planet. It was too much work, to be honest. So, you usually found yourself sat on your unmade bed, frustrated and livid that the rest of your life was to be spent on a giant sand dune with half of the universe counting the days to House Atreides’ extinction. 

Perhaps no one would even notice if you did go through with the business on the balcony. Everyone was too busy running around, whether it was attending council meetings, going on aerial excursions around the desert, or even so desperately trying to find a moment for themselves, no one seemed to notice that you hadn’t been present for breakfast nor for your fight training. 

Except, he had. Paul never spent a day without the thought of you crossing his mind at least once. You two hadn’t had the chance to spend much time together since the move to Arrakis just five days ago. He was busy being a prince and you had your own commitments to attend to. Your spiraling thoughts halt as you hear the doors to your chambers slide open. You quickly wipe your tears and opt to lay down again. You pull a pillow up to your face in an attempt to conceal it. 

“Missed you at breakfast…and at fight training…” Paul says, trailing off. You smile sadly at him before turning your attention back to the pillow. He’s still in his fight training clothes, the linen top unbuttoned revealing his pale, lean chest still glistening with sweat. 

He comes to sit on the side of your bed. “You wanna talk about it?” he asks. You frown, keeping your head turned away from him as your face begins getting hot again, tears threatening to fall. 

“Not really…” you croak out. Paul studies you for a moment before pulling off his boots and scooting up next to you. 

“Please, can I see you?” he asks, combing his hand through your hair. His lips are centimeters from your ear. “Please?” he whispers, dragging out the word. You turn over, shoving aside the pillow you’d been using as a shield. 

“Will you hold me?” you mumble, failing to meet Paul’s sympathetic gaze. 

“Come here,” he says as he pulls you tightly into his chest. He kisses the top of your head as you snuggle closer to him. Then the floodgates open. You grip onto the thin linen of his top as you sob, the sounds echoing out into your chambers. Paul just holds onto you, rubbing your back. He’s not exactly sure what to do, but he recalls how his mother would comfort him when he got upset. So, he did his best to do what Lady Jessica did until your cries began to die down. Your forehead brushes against his damp chest. 

“Ew,” you grimace. 

“What?” he asks. 

“You’re sweaty,” you say, pushing away from him slightly and sitting up. 

“That’s never stopped you before,” he declares, trying to tease a smile out of you. Paul sits up and leans against your stone headboard. He directs his attention to the filmbook that’s still playing, its projection slightly grainy on the opposite wall. The filmbook was currently detailing Caladan’s agricultural industry. Something about pundi rice fields. You nudge your head back into his shoulder, giving him permission to embrace you again. 

“I can’t do it, Paul” you admit. 

“Do what?” he probes. 

“Everything. It’s just too much. My brain is like…overloaded with all of this. I feel paralyzed. I don’t want to do anything. But I feel hopeless if I don’t, if I just keep laying here…Everything is just really hard for me to do right now…I feel so alone.” 

Paul doesn’t say anything for a while. He rubs your shoulder, pondering his next words. 

“You don’t have to do anything right now, okay? This move has been hard…and things will probably stay challenging for a while, but we’ll get over this hump.” He looks down at you as you wrap your arm around his abdomen. “And you’re not alone — you’ve got me and mother and father…Duncan…even Gurney!” 

A knock sounds at the door before a young Fremen girl appears from around the corner. 

“Sorry, Samira, could you come back a bit later?” you ask, sniffling. 

“Of course. My apologies, jalalatukah” Samira says before quickly bowing and leaving the chamber. 

You turn back toward Paul, closing your eyes and resting in his embrace. 

“Let’s get you out of this room. Take a walk with me?” Paul suggests. You huff out a breath, considering his offer for a moment. 

“Okay” you say. 

“Yeah?” Paul asks as he pulls his arm from around you and moves off the bed. As you swing your legs over the side, Paul slides your shoes over to you before pulling on his boots. You mirror him. “Ready?” Paul asks, holding out his hands. You take hold of the boy’s hands as he helps you up. 

*jalalatukah - your majesty (my embellishment of the Arabic)

[impercre]

Links Under the Cut

I've included pdfs/ links to the miniseries and various websites/youtubers who are good resources for exploring different concepts in the Dune universe or the difference between adaptations.

Dune / Dune Audio Book

Dune Messiah

Children of Dune

God Emperor of Dune

Heretics of Dune

Dune: Chapterhouse

Adaptions/ Misc.

The Dune Encyclopedia - A funky collection of various headcanons written as an in-universe document. A lot of the character entries are NOT GREAT but the world-building aspects are solid enough.

The Dune Wiki - The Wiki is fantastic in that it usually offers seperate tabs for the Original Series/ The Dune Encyclopedia/Expanded Universe

Dune 1984 Spicediver Edit - Basically an extended cut of the 84 film that is closer to the book and is much better paced/edited than the official expanded cut of the 84 film

Dune Miniseries

Children of Dune - This is the only version I can currently find and unfortunately uses French subtitles for some scenes

DuneInfo- This is the go to resource for any information you might want about the various adaptions both made and unmade

A Beginner's Guide to Dune - Youtube video breaking down the basics of the worldbuilding in Dune.

Quinn's Ideas - If you want a video going in-depth on the various concepts/ factions of Dune, Quinn is 100% your guy

Dune Book vs. Movie- A friend of mine linked me to this recently and while I'm not familiar with the youtuber it is a great break down of the differences between the book and new films especially

Dreamer of Dune- The Biography of Frank Herbert as written by Brian Herbert. It explains everything.

If anyone ever needs the Dune PDFs. The Miniseries/1984 film/ Spicediver's expanded cut of the 84. I got links.

[downthetubes]

Rare Alejandro Jodorowsky “Dune” storyboard book set to go under the hammer

Rare Alejandro Jodorowsky “Dune” storyboard book set to go under the hammer

Auction house Christie’s recently announced the upcoming sale of one of the very few known copies of the Dune storyboard for Alejandro Jodorowsky’s unmade adaptation of the pioneering science-fiction novel by Frank Herbert. Coming up for sale in a “Livres rares et Manuscrits” (“Rare Books and Manuscripts” sale on 22nd November 2021, this rare document features a cover by acclaimed SF artist…