#melange mind

[cool-as-steel]

ohhhhhh the reason this feels familiar is that it is is Kind of shaped like tombs of atuan. except none of the things that are cool and mesmerizing about tombs of atuan are the focus here.

#the captain's library #We Are Still Reading Murtagh. my conclusion that the alín/bachel duo adds up to one entire tenar is certainly affecting ye experience #paolini is an Interesting read because in this one he seems to be writing in a flavor of fantasy that seems to be fading these days #this weird hallucinatory melange of big dragon and big sword and scary lady in leather #and I won't deny that I am having fun because I Am having fun. but also I miss some of his cleverer and weirder characters #(nasuada! angela!) #anyway. one thing paolini can do very well is a cathartic fight scene! #altho' the description of slicing through a man's head 'like fresh cheese' is going to live in my mind #right next to the animorphs orca hoagie scene :/ #but even so it's a good match to put on a couple of dark britannica albums and just go Hoooooo Swordfight Time

[wizardlyghost]

that the league of extraordinary evil's plot against paul atreides involved popularising tarot cards is just so funny to me. like, the reasoning behind it is really clever - the odds of getting any particular three card spread are 76³-76²=433,200, per spread, so if you fill the canonically largest city to ever be built with religious pilgrims asking the cards whether they should get the fries every five minutes, the number of randomised possible outcomes quickly becomes impossible for the human mind to contemplate, thus muddying the waters of prescience - but the idea of "we're gonna get a whole buncha people hooked on gambling to throw off the god-emperor's precognition" is just so simple that it sounds laughable. dune messiah au where they turn arrakeen into las vegas and muad-dib is immediately rendered utterly powerless.

#look i know that the book states it as 'minor psychics using the spice' but like. come on. #melange is a mental stimulant it gives paul precognition bc he's supercomputerman #its effects are in the mind it doesn't affect how a deck of cards is shuffled therefore the tarot scheme can't rely on actual prescience #dune #dune messiah

[kteezy997]

The Emperor's Wife// Paul Atreides

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, slow burn kinda

"That princess shall have no more of me than my name. No child of mine nor touch nor softness of glance, nor instant of desire." The promise of Paul Atreides as he ascended your father's throne was held true for some time. But his words began to falter in time, against his will.

He married you, but remained loyal to his concubine, Chani. But he did acknowledge that you had a literary nature, and he entrusted you to sit in on his council meetings as Emperor. The more time you spent around each other, the more you became companions, and the more he relied on your mind to help him keep a balance of things.

You noticed as Paul started to become more relaxed around you. He'd even have a laugh with you now and then. It was clear that he valued your friendship as much as your ability to write and make sense of things.

One day Paul joked that Chani was his wife of passion and you were his intellectual wife. Your feelings had started to form into deep admiration for your husband, so his words were course against your ears. Though you knew that this was the way it had to be, it wasn't any easier to hear him say it.

But there was a look from him, a look where he scanned you, slowly, from head to toe. Your special training had kicked in. You could feel it; it was desire. He thought his momentary glance would go undetected, but that was nary the case.

All the late evenings in the council room, all the discussions you had about history and his interest in your writings, it all bubbled up to his vow being broken. You caught his gaze in a meeting later, and his green eyes could no longer lie to you. He was curious and desirous of you. But he could not do anything about it. He simply could not act on it.

But you, on the other hand, were tired of the intellectual relationship. This feeling was different for you, and you never expected to fall for him. Your body ached, your skin burned for your husband. Even if it was just once, you had to have him.

You hated to admit to yourself the jealousy you felt toward his Fremen woman. You wanted to feel what Chani felt. Just one full moment of Paul's desire. You needed his touch. To exchange passionate breaths with him. To have the weight of the handsome Emperor on top of you. To have his eyes on you, and only you.

..........

You ventured to Paul's sietch, into the private apartment he shared with Chani. The Fremen in the village knew you, so they did not try to stop you, or persuade you to leave. They welcomed you with respect, as you were indeed Muad’Dib’s wife.

The room was quite plain and modest for an Emperor and his woman. The bed, however, looked cozy with glow globes on either side. The scent of cinnamon and coffee hung in the air, laced with the spice melange.

You hoped he'd come soon. You hoped he would be the first one in, and not Chani. You didn't know what to say to her, if that would be the case. She had always been pleasant toward you when you were around her, but you didn’t know if her attitude would remain the same if she knew you wanted to bed her man.

You hoped that he wouldn't be harsh towards you; that he wouldn’t be angry about you invading the space he shared with his concubine. You liked to think that you had broken his walls and exposed the tender side of him. You sat on the bed, waiting.

Finally, you heard footsteps approaching, there was a tired huff from the person outside the door, and you knew the voice instantly. Paul came in, pulling off his still suit the second he entered. He didn't see you at first. You saw his shoulders and chest as he rid himself of the rubbery material. He was strong, with hard muscles and pale skin with minor scars here and there.

You could smell the dirt and sweat that he carried. It did not deter you in the slightest, but made you more eager.

He could sense you there. You knew he could.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, without even turning to face you.

You took a shaky breath, then answered, "I wanted to see you, Paul."

He finished freeing his arms from the constrictive suit, turning to look at you sitting on his bed. "And why?"

You were excited just seeing his shoulders, but now you saw his naked chest, his hard pectoral muscles and small nipples. You nearly shuddered with need. "I-uhm," I want you. "I wanted to make sure that you saw how bright and beautiful the two moons look this evening. And maybe you'd like to see my latest Muad'Dib chronicle?"

Paul nodded, "Hm." He stepped over to the window, looking up at the moons, "They are quite beautiful tonight."

You rose from the bed, joining him by the window. You could really feel his presence now, as you usually didn't get quite this close to him. His scent was stronger, too. "I brought my latest writings. If you want to read."

"Sure. You may leave them here."

He was so polite, but never overly kind. He couldn't disrespect Chani. But you so wanted things to change between you and your husband.

"Paul, I really came here to talk to you about something."

He took his eyes off the night sky outside his window and looked into your eyes. "Go on."

Your heart started thumping in your chest, you cleared your throat. "Well, I do not wish to overstep, but I think you and I have both come to enjoy our time together. I think it is safe to say that we are good friends now." You got stuck for second as you got a close look of the sweat glistening on his skin in the glowing light of the dark room.

Paul softly smiled, giving you a nod to keep going.

"But, I need you to know that no matter how amazing the moons might be on a starry night, it is no match for the way I feel when I look at you."

His expression fell, and he shook his head, "Y/n, please. I am very flattered. I appreciate you, and I care for you."

You butted in, "I can sense that you desire me, Paul. You've already broken your oath. I know that you feel distant towards your concubine, and I wonder if it has anything to do with how you feel about me."

He chuckled, walking away from you, "I thought you said you didn't wish to overstep?"

"I cannot help it. I'm sorry. But you know my training." You genuinely didn't want to disrupt anything between him and Chani.

He ran his hand over his face, pushing away the exhaustion of the day, trying to make sense of his own feelings as well. "Y/n, you aren't wrong. Chani knows that my sentiments for you have shifted."

So he admits it!

"You haven't bedded her for weeks now, have you?" you prodded, carefully.

"No," he stepped closer to you, towering over you by several inches, "not that it is any of your business."

"I don't want to make you angry, Paul. But I have seen the way you look at me, the way you brush passed me during council. You've preferred spending more and more time with me lately." You took a step forward this time, just a foot's length away from him.

Paul let his guard down, knowing that you were right about everything. His face softened, and he brought his hand up to caress your face. His hand had been roughed up by the wind and sand if the desert, but you could still see yourself melting against it as he touched you.

Paul went on to say, "You should know by now how I feel for you. But it cannot be. I made a promise. I don't ever want to be cruel to you, my y/n." he licked his dry lips, and you noticed just how blue his eyes were as a result of spice addiction. "I did not marry you for things such as love or children, you know that."

"Yes, I know." you sighed, having heard that piece of information a hundred times during your marriage. "My husband, you are a loyal man. I admired you for that, but I don't wish for anything more than the same love that you have for your concubine. You can share that tenderness with me."

He said nothing, but kept his hand on your cheek, gazing at you so fondly.

You could sense him breaking for you. "Paul," you leaned closer, placing your hand on his exposed chest, "I have seen the way your eyes narrow at me when I bow before you as my Emperor."

Then, his hand wound tightly into your hair, and his lips were being smashed against yours. He pulled you against him, he moaned into your kiss. His hands were on your body, sliding up the curves of your hips.

Your body was electrified, you ran your hands through his hair, not caring how sweaty he was. The hunger was equal on both sides.

Paul pulled away suddenly, sighing as he turned away from you.

He was still wrestling in his mind, you knew it. "I need you." you said, melancholy taking over your tone as you started to believe he was going to refuse you completely, "I need my husband. I want to made love to by Muad'Dib." You went over to him, looking at his back you noticed a scar, larger than the others on his body. You wondered if the mark was result of a fall on a sand dune or maybe the consequence of riding the great sandworm. You reached out, cautiously running your finger along the scar.

He shivered at your touch, but he didn't shy away.

You decided that maybe this plan was fruitless, that he wouldn't, and never could love you the proper way in which a man loved his wife. "Paul, if you do not love me, I will leave now. You'll never see me come back to this place. I will accept being wrong. Things will go back as they were."

"No, please, don't go." he faced you again. He relaxed more, his body language and the look in his eyes was more at ease.

"Then stop me, my dear husband."

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @bitchyunknownuser @lixzey @kpopgirlbtssvt @ducktapebar

#timothée chalamet #timmy chalamet #timothee chalamet smut #timothée imagine #paul atreides #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides smut #paul atreides imagine #dune fandom #dune film #dune #dune 2021

[perlelune]

Oblivion | Paul Atreides

There used to be beginnings and ends, nights and days, dream and reality, before the haze took over, swallowing every thought, every memory, every whisper of free will.

Warnings: NON-CON, Fremen Reader, Kynes!Reader, Mind Control, Memory Manipulation, Padishah Emperor Paul, Loss of Identity, Brainwashing, Mentions of war and religious fanaticism

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Muad’Dib leads the way. 

It is what the prophecy dictates. That he is the voice from the Outer World. The one who will lead your people to paradise. The one who will turn Dune’s arid desert lands into bountiful, endless green fields. 

But as your eyes rest on him, you do not see the chosen one. You do not see the Lisan Al-Ghaib. You see your friend Paul, broken, lost, his heart shattered into a million pieces due to your cousin’s absence. 

He sits at the head of his bed, shadows fluttering across his delicate features from the glowglobes’ dull orange light. Wide black rings surround his sunken blue eyes, the result of his daily consumption of spice melange. Lank, greasy brown curls hang around his handsome face. A pang twists your chest. He hasn’t slept in days, has barely gotten a full night of replenishing sleep since she left on a maker’s back.

You cannot blame your cousin. Paul’s ascendency to the Golden Lion throne came at a cost. A hefty one. Promises were broken. Trust was destroyed. Only time will repair the damage that was done. Though you carry faith the two of them will find their way back to each other. 

You stir the spice-coffee in the pot, straining the shimmering dark powder before pouring some in a cup. A spicy cinnamon smell coats the cool night air. 

You rise and bring the cup to him.

“For you, Usul.”

A soft smile blooms on his lips as he takes a slow, weary sip.

“You make it so well,” he praises.

You glow at the compliment, returning his smile. Your grandmother used to show you and Chani how to blend coffee beans with spice and herbs. The knowledge never left you. Now, every time you feel troubled or upset, you make a fresh kettleful. A single sip of the familiar brew is enough to alleviate your frazzled nerves. Especially here, so far away from Sietch Tabr, between the strange stone walls of the Arrakeen Keep, you have craved little reminders of home more than ever before.

Fremen belong in the desert, not in peculiar tents made of marble and stone.

Paul’s brows crumple as he studies you. 

“You don’t have to take care of me,” he says.

“I can get another Fremen-”

His fingers latch around your wrist, desperation sizzling under his touch. 

“I prefer it to be you.” He sighs. A bone deep fatigue radiates from the sound. You halt in your tracks. You suppose you could stay a while longer. “Please, stay, your presence soothes me.”

You nod. “I’ll stay, Muad’Dib.”

Relief falls over his features. 

The doors suddenly open, the guards stepping aside to let Stilgar in. He bows to Paul.

“Lisan Al-Ghaib…”

Your friend’s mouth flattens into a thin line. 

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

Stilgar acquiesces. He will never stop addressing Paul with reverence and admiration. None of his followers believes in him more. At times, it scares you a little. While you share the same faith, the fervor with which every Fedaykin is willing to lay their swords in his name can be frightening. Sometimes you wonder if Chani was right. How much will it take to liberate your world? How much blood will require spilling? You’re not completely naive. No war was ever won without a few casualties. Still, part of you hopes the war will end soon and peaceful times will come.

“No sign of her?” Paul asks. 

A contrite expression tugs the older man’s face.

“Apologies, my liege. We scouted the Southern regions this time. We couldn’t find her. She knows the desert well. It is home to us Fremen. She will not be found…”

“...Unless she wants to be found,” you finish, grabbing the empty cup from Paul’s hands and placing it back on the table.

The faint embers of hope in Paul’s cobalt gaze flicker out. Your heart sinks, for both you and him. Though you do not wish to burden him, you miss your cousin too. Her practicality and common sense. Her strength. Without her, a piece of you is missing. A crucial one. Your mother died in childbirth and your father in battle, so both of you grew up together, close enough in age to share secrets and play together for most of your childhood. 

It was Chani who taught you how to summon a worm and ride upon its back for the first time. She is the sister tragic circumstances blessed you with.

Stilgar apologizes profusely once more before taking his leave.

As soon as he’s gone, Paul’s shoulders slump.

“She hates me.” 

You crouch beside him.

“She doesn’t hate you. She never could. She is your quiet in the storm, and you are hers. She will return when she is ready.”

A wry laugh escapes his lips. 

“I have Irulan, my beloved wife, who is likely plotting my demise as we speak. Qizarate missionaries pressing me to take action and purge the non-believers on Aldinor. I am surrounded by foes, everywhere I look.” That distant expression he gets whenever his visions haunt him touches his face. “Blades pointed at my neck at all times, waiting for a sign of weakness to strike.”

You grab his hand, reassuring him, “You also have friends, Usul, who believe in your cause.”

“Fanatics,” he corrects bitterly. 

Your chest swells with worry. You don’t like it when he questions himself as such. His cause is right. He freed Arrakis from the Harkonnen’s iron-fisted rule. He will bring peace to every world in the universe. It is written. It’s the only path forward.

“You are not alone.” His fingers squeeze around yours. Warmth rushes to your face, the realization that you’re awfully close to the Emperor striking you. You adjust the nezhoni scarf covering your hair and rise. “I shall let you rest, my Lord.”

“Stay, please.”

His tone is beseeching. Your gaze swings to the window. There, moon beams pierce through the colorful glass, scattering rainbow splashes of light across the floor. Vibrant stars pepper the dark sky, pearls lost in a sea of ink. It’s pitch black outside. You should be in your own room. Not his.

“Muad’Dib, it’s late…”

His grip on your hand tightens. When he speaks again, his tone is different. Disembodied. Powerful. Its tantalizing echo drips inside your head like honey. 

“Stay,” he mumbles. You plop down on the bed, your body moving on its own, driven by the strange, irresistible thrall of Paul’s voice.

“Usul…” 

He cups your cheeks. 

“Sleep beside me tonight.”

“I’m not her.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“She should be with me and she isn’t. But you are.” His inflection becomes soft and inviting as he drinks you in. As if he were lumbering through the desert, parched and desperate, and you were a well overflowing with fresh water. “You are beautiful. I never noticed before.” He pauses, tracing your bottom lip. “Perhaps I should have.”

You blink, dazed. When did Paul’s face get so close to yours? You can outline each of his long lashes, the speckles of green lingering in his blue eyes. 

“Paul-”

His mouth grazes yours, his thumb stroking your cheeks. It only lasts a few seconds. The warm plushness of his lips on yours yanks you back to reality. You gasp and flinch back. When you recoil, his silky tone fills your ears once more.

“Don’t fight it. You love me, remember?”

A confused whisper slips through your lips. Two parts of your mind wrestle with Paul’s words. 

“I do?”

His eyes dive into yours.

“Of course, you do.”

“Of course I do,” you repeat, his tone nudging aside the doubts lurking inside your mind. 

A bright smile unfurls on his lips, his lids sagging to half-mast.

“It’s like you said before. You are my quiet in the storm and I am yours.”

Right. You uttered those very same words. How could you forget?

You are Paul’s quiet in the storm. He is yours.

His mouth covers yours. It moves slowly against your own. He explores your mouth as he cradles your face. His long lashes fall over his cheekbones as he loses himself in your taste. He hums against your lips, gentle fingers touching your face. You don’t move, eyes half-open as you let it happen. It’s foreign, the sensation of Paul’s lips on yours. Foreign and strange yet you can’t help but numbly accept it. 

Once he frees your lips, he rests his forehead against yours. 

“Come into my arms, my love,” he says.

You don’t resist as he pulls you into his embrace, nudging you onto the bed. Soft strands of Paul’s brown mane brush against your cheek as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your spice-coated scent. 

His arms circle your waist. Your back melds against his chest, the warmth of your bodies mingling through the thin layers of your clothes. 

“You smell so good,” he mutters. Your scarf shifts when he rubs his face against it. “Don’t ever leave me.”

When you don’t reply, his tone gets firmer. “Promise it.”

The words roll off your tongue easily.

“I won’t ever leave you, Paul.”

Tension leaks out of his tightly coiled muscles. 

“Good,” he says, drifting off to sleep quickly with you nestled in his snug embrace. 

You fall asleep too, no thoughts in your head, Paul’s soft snores lulling you into peaceful slumber. 

You awake with a start, the stark unfamiliarity of the palatial chambers you find yourself in causing your pulse to soar. Your eyes dart about the room. Recognition hits you. These are the Emperor’s apartments.

Your eyes grow wide. You’re not supposed to be here. Panic sets in.

“W-What am I doing here?”

Paul’s quiet voice flows across your back.

“Calm down.”

“No. I shouldn’t be here…”

You start crawling off the bed but Paul’s fingers around your wrist impede your departure. 

He holds your face, vibrant blue eyes locking with yours. You find yourself incapable of looking away, ensnared by his unflinching focus.

“I said, Calm down.”

The alarms ringing inside your head fall quiet. You lean into Paul’s touch. What were you doing? What were you thinking? Every thought you attempt to grasp at evaporates in the heat of Muad’Dib’s stare. 

“There. Much better,” he coos, satisfaction hovering on his handsome face. His voice sinks into a sensual whisper. “Why don’t you kneel for me?”

You do as he instructs. Then all fades to black as quicksands of confusion engulf your thoughts. 

When you return to yourself, you aren’t on the bed anymore, but on your knees on the carpeted floor. 

Paul is looming over you, grunting, his throat bobbing. One of his hands is curled around your nape while the other is under your jaw. 

You note the saltiness coating your tongue, the drool on your chin, the soreness in the back of your throat. 

You choke on his length, air wavering inside your lungs. 

Paul’s cock is in your mouth. 

The sick, awful realization tumbles over you like a bag of stones. 

Muffled moans leave you as you lift pleading eyes towards him.

You place your hands on his thighs, shoving with all your strength. 

Paul doesn’t let you move. He cradles your face and thrusts inside your mouth until his balls are pressed into your chin. 

Clouds of lust obscure his gaze as it falls upon you. 

He caresses your face, dragging his cock out before pushing it inside your mouth again. Gurgled sounds leave your throat. Tears skip down your cheeks and you wonder when you’ve started crying. 

Fremen do not cry. Ever. Even for the dead. It is a rare, sacred act.

Paul wipes them off your face with his thumbs. 

“You love me. It is what lovers do,” he says matter-of-factly.

Your body relaxes. 

Right. Of course. You love him. It is what lovers do. 

You hollow your cheeks and suck him off. He unleashes a throaty sigh of delight as you pleasure him with your mouth. 

When his seed drips down your tongue, he coaxes you not to waste a single drop. You swallow all of it, showing no resistance when he nudges a stray drop between your wet lips. 

Several days in a row, you awake in the emperor’s chambers. At first, you experience great confusion. However, Paul’s soothing words always quell your rising panic. It becomes all you know. The Emperor’s mesmerizing voice. His large, soft bed. His ceaseless, ravenous touch. 

Sweaty, tangled limbs melting in lewd harmony.

You stop questioning it. Even the strange lapses of time when you are in one room and mysteriously wind up in another. It isn’t rare for you to wake up with the Emperor’s head bobbing between your thighs, greedily lapping at your folds, or with your hips grinding into his as he impales you on his cock. 

It is where you belong. And you believe him when he says that, mumbling loving promises into your ear in the dead of night.

“If we do not strike fast and hard, they will not accept your rule,” Stilgar says. 

“They worship a false god. We are doing them a favor,” another man sitting at the table interjects. 

A shaky exhale flows from your tongue. You look around, dismay filling you when you realize you’re in Paul’s war room amidst a council meeting. Your head throbs. How did you get here?

You rise from your chair. Bemused gazes land on you. 

Princess Irulan snickers from her seat.

“Husband, your concubine is acting strange,” she sneers.

Concubine? You step away from the table.

You blink several times as you stumble outside. You grip your temples, your forehead scrunching. That cannot be right. Is it? 

You are no one’s concubine. 

You are…

You are…

Adrenaline pumps through your blood as your head buzzes. 

The answer will not come, your mind keeping it under firm lock and key.

Frustration mounts within you. You blindly waddle around.

You end up in a room that bears vague familiarity. You lean against a basin full of water. Water…just lying around. That seems strange.

Your eyes land on a mirror on the opposite wall. The reflection in the glass has your heart rate spiking. Who is this?

You bolt to your feet, the water in the basin splashing around your feet. 

Your tremulous fingers rise to your face, horror filling you when the woman in the mirror mimicks your exact motions. 

Your gaze travels across the wide, open space. Quick breaths rush from your throat. The Emperor’s room. Why did you think it was your room? 

You stagger backwards. You gasp as you bump into a solid form.

You whirl, eyes widening.

“Paul.”

He gauges you, slight concern etched in his blue eyes. Relief fills you as you soak in his boyish, slender features, much more familiar than those of the stranger in the mirror. 

You know Paul. Muad’Dib. Paul is familiar, safe. You trust him. He will tell you who you are.

“Yes, my love?”

“Paul, who am I?”

A displeased frown settles on his brow. He approaches you and grabs your face. His expression hardens.

“You are mine. Nothing else matters.”

“But Paul-”

Your protests are stifled by the feverish press of his lips on yours. A fog surrounds your thoughts as his kiss grows more passionate, his hands sweeping over your curves. You place your hand on his chest, pushing feebly.  

“Forget it. Forget it all, beloved,” he mumbles against your lips. You sag against him. You drown in Paul’s blue eyes, time stretching beyond eternity. 

When you gain a semblance of awareness, your naked form is writhing above Paul’s. Your palms are spread over his lithe muscles, your hips moving as he slams his cock into your cunt repetitively. Paul bites his lip, his gaze glued to the sight of his length disappearing between your wet folds. 

When did you get on the bed? When did you shed your clothes?

Every inquiry melts in the heat swirling across your damp flesh. 

Your lashes flutter as you unleash a broken whimper, Paul’s hard length touching you in places that send electricity rippling through your spine.

You tighten around him and he purrs. 

“Remember nothing but my name,” he rasps, clutching your hips possessively. He impales you on his length, thrusting faster. You choke on your breath, his quickening pace driving you wild.

You brace yourself on his chest and lose yourself in the pleasure, your breath hitching each time he pounds into you.

The filthy sounds of your coupling fill the room, bouncing off the stone walls. Paul’s deep, animalistic moans. Your soft, desperate whimpers. The blunt, wet sounds your cunt makes as he buries himself inside you. The bed rattling and squeaking under your writhing forms.

“Paul, Paul…” you pant as you bounce on his cock. An intensity ignites his eyes as his name falls from your tongue like a prayer. You toss your head back, voice dying in your throat as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your toes flex. You tremble, your body jolting as your slick walls flutter around his length. A husky moan leaves him. He twitches inside you. His back lifts from the sheets, his body tensing as he hits his peak too. Slick warmth spills from his tip, glazing your walls. 

An errant sliver of panic lurks inside your brain. Your eyes bulge as you glance down at where your body and Paul’s are conjoined. Rapid breaths burst from your chest.

Seeming to sense your distress, he shoves your hips back down when you try to squirm away.

His authoritative voice booms across the room, unnatural, multiplied. Everywhere at once. 

“Do not move, beloved. Let me fill you up. Make you mine in every way.”

Your breaths settle down. Your worries disappear. You look into Paul’s loving gaze. A smile unfans on his lips as you ride him with abandon again.

“What are you doing?”

You pivot at the abrupt sound of Paul’s voice. You pause above the bag you’re packing. You peer at him, mulling over an appropriate answer to his question. You do not find one. You only know that you stirred awake that morning, feeling strange, sore…Lost. The urge to collect your meager belongings and leave the Arrakeen Keep seared inside you since then. A hollow, distant voice rings inside your head.

Return to Sietch Tabr.

“I have to go. Something…Something isn’t feeling right.”

The muscles of Paul’s jaw flare, his tone as ice as he states, “You want to leave me.”

Discarding your bag, you rush to him. You take his hands in yours.

“No. I made you a promise. I just need time to think…I can’t think anymore, Paul.”

It’s true. Every day feels like trudging through a Coriolis storm, your thoughts scattering as dust in the wind the minute they form.

Everything that was solid before is now sand slipping through your fingers.

Paul’s gaze corrals yours.

“You don’t need to,” he says, gripping your face. His tone dips to a soft lilt that penetrates your senses. “Who are you?”

You search his eyes. A breeze blows away every single doubt you had.

The answer to every inquiry you had is right there. In Paul’s fond stare.

The persistent little voice in your head, that pesky plea begging to be heard suddenly falls quiet. The truth echoes in your head, Paul’s powerful voice filling your mind.

You are right where you belong. 

“I’m yours,” you utter with certainty.

His face softens. “That is correct, my love,” he says, stroking your cheek.

“Now, why don’t you settle down, beloved?” You let him escort you to the bed, coaxing you to take a seat on the sheets. “Agitating yourself as such isn’t good for you.”

He sinks to the floor and drops a gentle kiss over your round belly.

“And it’s not good for the baby either.”

#paul atreides #paul atreides x reader #dune fanfiction #dune #dark!paul atreides #dark!paul atreides x reader #dune part two #paul atreides x you #paul atreides imagine #dune part 2

[redskull199987]

A bright Future

Paul Atreides x fem!reader Word Count:1.4k Warnings:minor Spoilers for Dune Part II, Blood, stab Wound, Violence, you know the drill Summary:You thought you were going to be fine. Until you saw Paul cry. He knew the Rules of the Desert better than anyone else. Seeing him waste his Water so freely told you how serious the Situation was…

Masterlist

It was quiet. Or at least that’s what it felt like. A quiet and short moment, that barely anyone around you noticed. You had always thought getting stabbed would be a sharp pain, naturally. That you’d scream out in pain or drop to your knees. 

But none of that ever happened. It wasn’t a sharp pain, it felt dull and barely noticeable. It was the adrenaline and Spice running through your system. Or that’s what you told yourself. You had to tell yourself something. Something to keep you focused, to tell yourself to not black out. To pull out the blade and kill the Harkonnen Warrior in front of you. 

You felt slow, awfully slow. You thought that if you had been any slower, the Harkonnen might have stopped and laughed at you for ever thinking you could beat him. But Paul and Chani later told you, they had never seen someone move so fast, like you did in that moment.

The Adrenaline, you told yourself again. Over and over again. You had to keep fighting, finish the Mission. Save the Fremen. The people that had become your family, even over the short time that you had been on Arrakis. You just had to make it, that you owed them.

The next few minutes felt like you weren’t even in control of your own body. Like you were a watcher, an observer. It felt like you were back on Caladan, watching a filmbook about the Fremen with Paul. You saw yourself fight against the Harkonnen with Paul while Chani fired her weapon at the Thopters. You saw the Explosion and felt the earth shatter from the sheer power of the blast. It must’ve been the Spice, you thought. Granting you views and visions you weren’t even capable of seeing. As an Outsider, you had always been sensitive to the Melange.

And lastly, you felt the Pain.

The Pain of the weight of the world crashing down on you again. First there was silence, but suddenly you felt everything everywhere all at once. You felt like the sand beneath your feet was pulling you down and no matter how much you fought against it, you couldn’t escape it. Couldn’t escape fate. Couldn’t escape death.

You abruptly came to a halt. Paul’s hand left yours and you saw your two companions run a little further, until they noticed that you had stopped. You heard Paul call out to you and a few seconds later, he came running over to you. His expression was of pure panic when his gaze wandered from your face to your abdomen. You had pressed a hand against it, but it seemed useless. Thick warm Blood was oozing out between your fingers. It felt comforting, somehow. It told you that you weren’t dead, yet. Somewhere in your mind, you heard Stilgar scolding you, every drop of Blood was valuable Water. Water that was now lost in the Dunes of Arrakis.

“Paul?”, You mumbled. You were sure he didn’t even hear you with how quiet you spoke. Your mouth felt awfully dry. But what you did know, was that he saw you fall. And you felt his arms as they wrapped around you, dragging you back to your feet, urging you to keep going. A soft groan left your lips, as you did as he told you. Just a few more meters. A few more meters and you'd be over the next Dune. You’d be safe. You knew that the rest of your people weren’t far away. Neither was Sietch Tabr. You were almost sure that you were going to make it. That was until you saw Paul cry. Saw how his tears dropped into the hot sand, evaporating almost immediately. He knew the Rules of the Desert better than anyone else. And seeing him waste his Water so freely told you how serious the Situation was.

When you reached the top of the Dune, The Spice Harvester behind you exploded, sending the three of you flying down on the other side. Your ears rang from the Explosion. But you barely even acknowledged it. You tightly pressed your hand on top of the Wound as you tumbled down in the sand, but it  was useless. Finally, after what felt like ages, you released a scream. A scream so earth shattering, Paul later told you, he thought he’d lost you in that exact moment.

For a few Seconds, all you heard were your own wheezing Breaths, the blood rushing in your ears and the sand crunching beneath your Body. When Paul and Chani came into view, you heard their Voices. Loud and Clear. You wanted to answer them. Tell them that you were going to be fine.

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t talk and if you could’ve, you didn’t even know if you could promise them that you were going to be alright. You so desperately wanted to talk to them. Talk to Paul. Tell him how much you loved him, that you would follow him to the very end. Talk to Chani, tell her how much you appreciated her, how thankful you were that she took you in and accepted her as one of her own People.

But you couldn’t. All you managed to do was lift your hand, even just a few centimeters above the Ground. And when Paul grabbed your hand, squeezed it ever so tightly, you knew that it was going to be alright. It had to be. it just had to.

And then you blacked out. 

You were older. So much older. At least ten years. Over the time, you’ve had many Spice-induced Visions. Never as strong as Pauls, only snippets. Short moments, often not far into the future, just a few weeks, a month tops. 

But this was different. This was at least a decade into the Future. And it felt so vivid, you almost thought it was real. When you saw your own face, older and more mature, standing alongside Paul and behind a long table that you knew was in the throne room of Arrakeen, many familiar faces gathered around it, alongside with some you didn’t know, yet. You knew you were not dead, you couldn’t be. For what reason would you be seeing this, if you weren’t going to make it. It would be worthless. 

As the Vision started to fade, you saw Paul look at you. Not at the older You, but at you. You who were observing this. And it felt like he could see you, standing there at the other side of the Table, smiling at you like he always did when he tried to comfort you. Your brows furrowed in confusion, but there was nothing you could do, as you felt your mind slip out of the vision and back into reality.

You heard all kinds of voices around you, most of them familiar. You felt the bed beneath your body, you smelled the warm air of Sietch Tabr. You knew you were Home. And when you finally opened your eyes, you heard a chorus of cheers break out around you. You saw the warm smile of Stilgar who patted your shoulder before he scurried off to tell the good news to the rest of the Fremen. Next you saw Lady Jessica, your Reverend Mother standing in the Corner of the Room. She gave you an acknowledging nod. You bowed your head in return, knowing that you probably owed her your survival.

Lastly, you saw Chani and Paul who were sitting at your bedside. When your Gaze wandered to them, as you sat up you couldn’t help but laugh. it was a warm and genuine Laugh. You were alive. You had made it and you would live to see them again, the people who mattered most to you. Chani smiled at you in return, gently squeezing your hand, before standing up to join Stilgar and the other Fremen outside.

Paul and You were the only People who remained in the now silent room.

“I thought I’d lost you.”, he finally sniffled. You slowly looked up, seeing that Tears were running down his face. “But you didn’t.”, You answered firmly, raising your hand to wipe away his tears,”So, stop wasting your water.”

Paul chuckled quietly, putting his hand on top of yours, closing his eyes in relief. With a grin, you leaned your head against his, swaying in the warm sun of Arrakis.

“Trust me, we have a bright Future ahead of Us.”

#Dune #Dune edit #Dune fanfic #Dune Oneshot #Dune os #Dune 2 #Dune ii #Dune Part 2 #Dune part ii #dune paul atreides #paul atreides #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides oneshot #paul atreides fanfic #paul atreides x fem!reader #timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet edit #timothee chalamet x reader #Chani #Stilgar #Arrakis #Harkonnen #Onehsot #Fanfic #Os #Fem!reader #female reader #writer

[esmedelacroix]

Coffee Shop Love Pt.4

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

summary: He's as stern and cold as the snow falling from the sky blanketing the bustling streets of Nueva York, Miguel O'Hara stumbles upon a hidden gem of a coffee shop just around the corner from Alchemax. Only problem is the annoying-as-shit smiley-ass barista.

contents: slow burn, no use of y/n, fluffmania, implied age gap, suggestive, forced proximity

author's note: Hi lovies, :( this part is coming to you very late >.< ! The semester is ending soon and I'm an academic weapon so I've been writing papers and studying, here's the fourth chapter for y'all :) ! I suggest you read this chapter while listening to "Strangers In The Night" by Frank Sinatra on repeat it sets the perfect tone for this chapter, enjoy...

word count: 1.6k

Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt. 5, Pt.6, Pt.7, Sequel: Sweet Tooth

You both looked down at your phones in disbelief. Your thoughts raced like a thousand wild stallions, galloping through your mind at breakneck speed What do we do? Will he have to stay over? How will he react when I tell him I have one bed? He couldn't fit on the couch to save his life. You thought to yourself trying to figure out what could be done.

"So a whole day here?" Miguel asked as the shock slowly dissipated from his face.

"Yeah, well I better lock up and turn the heaters on," you said as you got up the locked the doors.

"So uh, I live upstairs," you said awkwardly.

"Okay, I live several blocks down," He joked eliciting a chuckle from you as laughter danced lightly upon Miguel's chest.

"You know what I mean, I'm inviting you into my apartment," you said pointing at the stairs as a flush crept onto your cheeks.

"I'm just pulling your leg chula," he chuckled. You both walked up the stairs to your apartment. A melange of peppermint, gingerbread, and vanilla, like Santa's North Pole workshop in an aromatic form.

The fireplace crackled merrily, festive blankets were strewn across the couch, and a tray of gingerbread cookies patiently awaited their turn in the oven. Your apartment was the epitome of Holiday cheer and warmth. The exact opposite of Miguel's place. Which was currently dark cold and empty. Not a trace of color other than the black and dark blue that his interior designer had insisted on. But was the point of a home that didn't feel like anyone was living in it? Your house was all color. Your house had memories scattered over the wall just like in the shop. Your house had lights all around, messy blankets and pillows, dishes in the sink, and baked goods sprinkled all over the dining table.

"So sorry it's a little messy," you murmured timidly.

"That's fine, it's nice," he mumbled.

You both looked at each other awkwardly before turning away. "So, I only have one bed, and there's no way you're fitting on the couch so, I could take the couch," you thought aloud.

"Well I'm not going to make you sleep on your couch," he said.

"I'm fine with sharing the bed, as long as you don't make it weird," you said.

"Well you just made it weird by thinking that I was gonna make it weird," he quipped.

"Well, well, ditto," you rebutted.

"Ditto? Double ditto," he chuckled.

"Double double ditto times a million trillion gazillion," you giggled.

You both burst into a fit of laughter. You both agreed to take turns in the shower. You lent him your brother's old clothes that he had left the last time he visited. That was how Miguel ended up sitting on your couch with a generic pair of black and red plaid pj pants. With the ugliest ugly sweater on. You plopped down next to him, straight out of the shower.

Your hair smelled like fresh candy canes. He could smell it every time it would whip around when you cracked your neck. Your skin smelled faintly like sweet gingerbread and vallina. You had an interesting selection of Christmas-themed self-care. What's the use of 'sugar cookie' lip balm? I kind of want to taste it..., ew Miguel, he thought to himself.

"So since you have to spend all night and a whole day with me, you have to understand why I love Christmas so much. We're going to watch only the best holiday movie series ever, 'A Christmas Prince,'" you said excitedly as you got up and got some holiday treats and put them on the coffee table.

"This better not be some sappy romance," he groaned.

"Oh hunny, it's all the sap, all drama, and all stupidity and miscommunication. But that's what makes them so good," you explained.

Although Miguel was sure he would hate the movie, he was more invested in it than you were. Every time you would try to talk he would shush you, "I need to see what happens next," he would whisper as he strangled you squish mellow from anticipation.

You started messing with him by talking during the movie which got him so frustrated he threw a pillow at your face playfully. But you had taken this as a declaration of battle and started a pillow fight. It was full-on warfare and giggles all around. You could tell Miguel was holding back all of his strength because he could probably actually hurt you.

You pounced on Miguel, knocking him backward onto the couch. Pillows flew in the air around you as you both tumbled, your laughter turning into shared, breathless excitement.

You found yourself on top of him, faces inches apart, heartbeats racing. Your warm breaths hit each other's face, and you both lay there, staring into each other's eyes.

Miguel's playful smile slowly softened into something deeper, something more intimate. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, the world outside the room ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, lost in that brief moment of connection.

Your breath caught as the intensity of the moment enveloped you. You felt a magnetic pull towards Miguel, an unspoken attraction that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. The air between you crackled with unspoken words, and as your eyes locked, they shared a moment of understanding, a silent promise of what could be.

But just as quickly as it had come, the moment was broken by the sound of the timer on the oven going off, signifying to the two of you that the gingerbread was ready. The laughter returned, but now it held an extra layer of tension, a newfound awareness of the connection you had just shared.

You both get up, brush yourselves off, and head to the kitchen to take the baked goods out. "Why bake more when you have a million variants of baked goods everywhere?" Miguel inquired as he helped you put the slabs of gingerbread into your fridge to cool.

"I have to test and create the entire seasonal menu before I serve it," you explain.

"That sounds tiring..." he starts.

"No! It's actually really fun! Here try this red velvet cake," she said excitedly. Miguel was waiting for another opportunity to have your baking without having to outright ask you for some, and you knew that.

He took a bite and to no one's surprise, he loved it. But he wouldn't tell you that and tried not to let it show either. The rest of the night went on without a hitch until you were both exhausted. You took a look at the clock, [2:23 am]. Your eyelids felt heavier, and you could see Miguel start to blink for a little too long while trying to watch the third Christmas Prince movie. You used all the energy left in your body to get up. "C'mon big guy, we should get to bed," you said tapping his shoulder. All you got from him was a small smirk and picked up a pillow and whipped it at his face.

"You nasty!" you started before stopping and stomping into your room. Miguel followed you into your room chuckling lowly.

The moon cast a soft glow through the bedroom window, painting the room in muted silver hues as you and Miguel settled into bed. There was an unspoken tension between you two, a tangible distance that lingered in the cool air. The bed, once a refuge for dreams, now seemed an expanse to navigate cautiously. As the night unfolded, lost in the realm of dreams, you began to shiver subtly. Miguel noticed your discomfort, remembering you telling him that you were always cold.

With hesitancy, he inched closer, the space between you shrinking with each careful movement. The distance that had felt overwhelming moments ago now seemed trivial, as if the gravitational pull of shared warmth was irresistible. Miguel's arms encircled your body, a gentle cradle against the night's chill. His body heat became a lifeline, a silent promise to ward off the cold. Nuzzling his face into the curve of your neck, he couldn't help but marvel at the vulnerability of sleep and the unspoken connection that drew them closer.

You, amid a dream, sighed with the blissful surrender of someone finding solace. As Miguel held you close, your shivers ceased, replaced by a quiet tranquility. The once-distinct boundary between them dissolved into the shared warmth of the moment. In the hushed stillness, you emitted a soft, contented snore, a sound that resonated with an endearing charm. Miguel couldn't help but smile, finding the delicate symphony of her sleep both heartwarming and irresistibly cute.

Cuddling in bed wasn’t a part of the plan but you weren’t complaining. Your sweet scent invaded Miguel's senses. You smelled just as good as the cookies you had baked. Your skin was as soft as the velvety stockings you had hanging over your fireplace. He could stay like this forever. He never made wishes but he hoped and prayed that Medusa would come to him and turn him to stone so that he would never be able to let you go. He let fatigue carry him to dreamland, your snores acting as a fleeting melody in the silent serenade of the night.

Next... Pt.5

taglist:

@iite-cool@jewelz-teehe@br0-please@amber-content@thesilenthill@d1lf-loverrr@corpsebridenightamare@laysmt@bitchystrawberrystudent

#miguel o hara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x you #miguel o'hara x you #astv miguel #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x reader #spider man atsv #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #astv x reader #miguel fanfic #miguel o #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o hara fluff #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel imagine #spiderman 2099 #miguel o hara x reader

[valenshawke]

While I don't mind seeing Dune getting a lot more attention thanks to the movies, I object to calling the geriatric spice, Melange, space cocaine.

It's so much closer LSD. And I'm not full of shit here, some of Frank Herbert's later and lesser-known works make this more explicit (The Santaroga Barrier) where he's exploring what could happen if there really was a psychoactive drug/additive that could heighten your awareness and free your mind.

Yes, the stimulating effect Melange could give could also be akin to cocaine, but it's still really space LSD.

Thank you.

#Dune #Dune Chronicles #The Santaroga Barrier #Frank Herbert #Literature #Val has thought about Dune for 25 years and will not shutup about it #News at 11

[becomingfoxes]

Steddie Week Prompt Discover / First Kiss

@steddie-week 💛

☀️🌿

Eddie's temples pounded with blood and a fury that simmers. Knuckles battered and bruised, raw. Skin broken.

He takes heavy pulls of clean forest air as he arrives at his spot in the forest to find it already occupied by the same boy who's become a part of his waking rituals.

Bent over with his head pillowed by his arms, Steve is sleeping. Eddie moves like a shadow, mindful of his footsteps on the forest floor.

His heart a melange of yearning with a heavy handful of fear.

Because Steve is a forest fire and inside Eddie is as dry as bones left to bleach in the summer son. His insecurities surrounding him like lions.

But he's got blood in his mouth, on his knuckles, in his hair. Knows it was worth it when he sees the softness of Steve's face in sleep, the ease of his brow. Ethereal and delicate. /Divine/.

Hopes with that quiet fury that he broke Tommy's nose.

Drags light fingertips across Steve's cheek, through his hair. Bends and presses a gentle kiss to the dip of his cheek bone. Pulls back, resists the urge to sink his teeth into the cook of his neck.

Swallows his desire, chokes on it.

Steve smells like summer. Like Blackberries warmed by the sun. Ocean salt drying on reddened skin. Petrichor. Cinnamon.

He smells like the earth. Like the sun. Like home.

Eddie drops beside him, close enough to feel the heat from his body. Lights up a cigarette.

Breathes in Steve Harrington.

Breathes out smoke.

Stands guard. Makes it safe where the light of the sun bends and wraps around them.

☀️🌿

#steddieweek2023 #steddie fanart #my art #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things fanart

[squidwen]

🌹Even the Thorns Have Roses🌹

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Summary: During one of your night walks with Malleus the topic of his loneliness around school slides into conversation. It’s no mystery that the crowned prince is feared more than he is respected, but you don’t stroke his ego.

Cruel to be kind, as they say. You speak your mind about the situation, prompting a melange of emotions to spark inside the fae. How will he react to being criticised by a human? 

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The day’s last golden sunbeams extinguished as night rolled onto the sky. You stood at the gate leading up to Ramshackle, smoothing your uniform and fixing your hair in anticipation for your company. Even if Malleus didn’t care about how you looked it was still important to make an effort. He was a prince after all, humbling himself to visit you.

Tiny fairy lights began dancing in the air. A prelude – an announcement to your guest’s arrival. Your chest swelled as they floated over the broken cobblestones and through the branches of the dead trees. So dainty and ethereal. Like baby stars. A total contrast to the broad figure heading towards you.

It was hard not to run for them.

Moonlight melted off Malleus’s obsidian horns, making his porcelain face shine with a radiant paleness that would have seemed anaemic on anyone else. And his eyes -  reptilian and piercing – glimmered like molten peridots.

“Good evening, Child of Man,” Malleus said as he halted before you. You noted how he bent slightly at the waist to make himself appear shorter, less intimidating. Despite your curiosity you didn’t question him on it. The forest beckoned and the night wasn’t getting any younger. 

•~•~•~•~•

The pair of you barely spoke a word for the first half of your walk; content to simply be in each other’s company – to breathe the same air, hear the same sounds, share the same peace. Crisp night air slid over your skin as nocturnal creatures chirped and hooted. 

“I don’t think I’ve told you how fortunate I feel to spend this time with you,” Malleus suddenly said.

You whipped to him, bewildered. Did he really just say that? The most powerful and esteemed man in the whole world felt lucky to be near you? Malleus read the disbelief in your eyes and looked away, smiling.

“Why is it you wave when you pass me in the corridors, while everyone else turns away and prays I move on quickly? I’m no better than an omen at this school, a step down from a curse.”

So it was to be one of those walks. A little piece chipped off your heart at the suffering in those words.

Malleus’s isolation wasn’t a secret at the college. His absence at events was mostly down to not being invited and it wounded you see such a kind soul suffer. The injustice was too great. Why did people fear him? What had he done? Yes, he was powerful, but restrained. He was privileged, but not stingy.

You stopped still and guided him around to the front of you. Malleus let himself be led. “I always think that if you wanted to hurt anyone you would have done so already. And the fact you haven’t is…comforting.”

Stillness. Complete and utter.

The cloak about Malleus’s shoulders was the only thing that moved. He studied you intently, as if your arms, your hair, your face was made of stardust. You could have sworn the skin around his eyes had turned red. The redness that’s followed by tears.

“Oh Malleus.” You took his hand. The dragon fae felt so cold.

“Why can the world not have your eyes?”

Malleus rubbed his thumb over your knuckles and brought your hand to his heart. You could feel the beat reverberating through his clothes. So strong. So fast. Was he scared? Excited? You searched his face for answers but it betrayed nothing.

“Why can no one see me as you do?”

The sweetness flustered you.

At first. 

But as you genuinely considered the question, you wondered if it was right to coo and giggle. To use his insecurities as a means to flirt.

The little bend at the waist he did earlier played on your mind. It hadn’t been an isolated gesture. You had recently noticed in passing how Malleus seemed to slouch when he stood, and wore his school uniform more than his dorm uniform. You knew it was in a bid to seem more approachable.

And it sickened you.

“Malleus.” You measured his name slowly. The fae’s furred ears twitched, attentive. “This might sound harsh, but you need to get over yourself.”

•~•~•~•~•

The forest choir silenced around you as the prince’s expression turned from intrigued, to bemused, to hurt. He dropped your hand. “No one…” he drawled, bearing his fangs, “has ever spoken to me like that.”

His powerful voice rang through your veins, magnifying your fragility – your mortality – in every cell. You wanted to run. Bolt. But this was Malleus. You clung to that name - that fact - steeling yourself to say: “I’m not going to tell you something I shouldn’t.”

Malleus’s face immediately softened.

“People are allowed to dislike you,” you went on calmly, “and why do you care if they do? How long have you used what other people think to shape your life? If you live your life through others’ eyes is it really yours at all?”

Each syllable that fell from your lips was like ambrosia. A sobering melody. Malleus marvelled at how you dissected his character like a fine meal ruined by a poor sauce. You, a mere human - a child. No. Children couldn’t level dragons with no fear. You were something else. Made of something else. Divine, perhaps. A miracle.

Ignoring all etiquette, Malleus did what felt right and dropped to one knee. His eyes regarded you like a child listening to an epic tale.

“I know you’re a dragon,” you said “but people can’t be hoarded like treasure. You don’t need thousands to love you. Just a few. And you have Lilia, Silver, Sebek, your grandmother.”

“But that doesn’t change what they fear. My power. My status. It’s all anyone has on their minds when they meet me.”

You chuckled. “Those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.”

Dropping to your own knees you threw your arms around the prince. Malleus tensed. Pressing him so close, you were probably committing the highest treason, but you didn’t care. It felt right.

Malleus was suddenly so overcome with emotion that his chest started heaving. The reverberations pulsed into you and made your heart dance. His equal. That was what you were. 

Alone, with the only witnesses the crickets and owls, Malleus tenderly hooked a hand around your lower back and stood up, lifting you with him. No human could handle such a feat without grunting from the strain, reminding you of his true strength. You sat on his forearm - perched like a nightingale. Sing for me some more Malleus’s face seemed to say.

“And what of my power and status to you?” he asked. “I can destroy. Subjugate. Kill if I wanted. I’m the Prince of Thorns, my dear Y/N. Sharp and cruel.” Would that scare you away? He had to test it.

You just said calmly: “Even the thorns have roses.”

•~•~•~•~•

Those five words. Just five. They shattered the dam. Malleus’s face was a picture. You could see yourself in the sheen of his tears, welling in his eyes but not falling. He wouldn’t let them. Not if the saltwater would blur your image for even a moment.

Voices and words surged through Malleus’s mind, striking him dumb. Seeming to realise there was nothing he could say, or at least nothing that would suffice, he set you back down and clicked his fingers. 

Fairy lights lit the woodland path that you had just walked. “Return home, my dear,” he said. “They will guide you. Apologies, but I must cut this evening short.”

You didn’t press him as to why. Your gentle and warm smile bid him goodbye before he disappeared into thin air. A part of you worried if you had offended him, but when you remembered his soft face – full of disbelief and adoration – you were put right at ease.

•~•~•~•~•

Malleus reappeared in the Diasomnia common room. Lilia was tuning his guitar while dangling upside down from the ceiling beams. Bats flanked him holding sheet music. “Ah, the young prince returns.” Lithe as a cat, Lilia unhooked his legs, twisted, and landed effortlessly on his feet. “Why back so early? You usually don’t finish your walks with Y/N until at least ten o’clock.”

Malleus strolled through the common room in a stupor, a tiny smile piquing the edges of his mouth. Lilia stared at him knowingly. Malleus’s pale skin made his blush extremely obvious.

•~•~•~•~•

Author Note: I also make no attempt to hide the fact I love Malleus, or rather am in love with the idea of him being at peace with who he is. He reminds me a lot of Azul, but by being so sheltered he wasn’t bullied for his otherness. 

I hope MC has a significant role in chapter 7. Does anyone else feel as though they’ve been quite obsolete since chapter 3? That if you removed them from the plot altogether nothing would really change?

If the game devs are being honest, and TWST is not an otome game, then it’s safe to assume they want to push Yuu and Malleus. I’m PRAYING for meaningful interactions beyond Yuu’s vague one-liners haha.

As always, comments, reblogs with comments, and follows are appreciated. My OC ask box is open, so if you have any questions please don’t be shy!

Squidwen x

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #squidwen #twisted wonderland x mc #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus draconia #twst malleus #malleus Draconia x mc #TWST fic #Diasomnia

[unsoundedcomic]

Sette and Nary have very specific and defined speech patterns; is there anything you keep in mind when writing their dialogue to make sure they sound like them? I assume Sette is a lot of the 'if you write a RP character for long enough their wordchoice just instantiates in your brain', at least.

Shartes overall have a certain flavour: a melange of various Britishisms, Twainish patter, and the odd scrap of thieves cant and maritime vocabulary. Certain words are off limits. "Cool," obviously, but also just "okay."

Ofttimes it's as pig-simple as crushin' a ugly noun up 'gainst a adjective t'make a saucier one; or specklin' 'postrophes like the pox all o'er the face of your bloviation; or usin' posh fifty sem words what take two full breaths to dredge up out your gullet and show off to the creduble all your profound educatin'.

Nary and Sette have personal attributes atop their Sharteness. Nary is very intelligent and thoughtful, but he's not well-read. The challenge there is to make him sound every bit as wise as Duane (such as he is), but nowhere near as book smart. You can get a lot of mileage just letting a character use language in unconventional, not-entirely-accurate ways; ways they would have learned not to use if they read more.

Sette is simpler. She's very Sharteshanian but she's also a little sponge. She parrots all her da's deepest wisdoms and also some of Duane's fancy words. Sette is also small and has to make up for that by talking big! She will tell you what she thinks of you and then rephrase it three different ways because your thick skull prolly couldn't parse the first.

On a more meta level, she doesn't seriously swear. None of the kids do. I find it a lot more fun to force them all to use more creative language. It makes them more endearing too, and helps with the impression that they're younger than the adults. Be really careful letting your kid characters swear, even if they realistically would. It really does take something away from them.

[candywife333]

Seven Days Are Over Already

Here is the FIFTH part of the JK-Seven Drabble series. These drabbles can be read out of order as stand alones but make more sense when read in order.

This is part of an entire Drabble series based on his recent music release. 

Disclaimer: As usual, everything in  the fic is fictional, and the behavior displayed by the character in the fic is obviously not representative of the real Jungkook.

WARNING: THIS PART OF THE DRABBLE HAS SOME DUBCON/SOMNOPHILIA IN IT, SO BEWARE AND PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THESE THEMES.

The next few days were pretty peaceful for me as I re-oriented myself. I heard from Jimin that Jungkook had been issued a restraining order from me. He couldn’t even be seen near the premises of my dorm, otherwise he would get detained. The man still wouldn't stop calling me though, so I was forced to block him. 

Jimin had told me that he had grown up in a really sheltered household, the type that went to Church every Sunday and shunned any sex related conversation. So apparently the dude was so sexually repressed that he didn’t even have any experience. Apparently I was the first person he had ever been with sexually, which made me even more confused. He got depressed because he had constantly been bullied through school and had very low self esteem. He was undergoing therapy for a month now, but had difficulty being in consistent attendance. He had apparently drastically improved this year after fixating over me. He was extremely cheerful and motivated now, and his grades had improved so much that he had gotten honor roll this semester. 

 How could a guy so handsome and cute not find anyone else attractive till now? If he just put himself out there, he would’ve been boinked on the first day of ever stepping onto campus. Then I remembered that he talked to me about his erectile dysfunction issue. I just found his tale a tad fantastical, I mean, how could I be the first person to turn him on ever, he must be out of his ever loving mind.

On the other hand, I was able to finish my assignments in peace. I was studying to be a psychiatrist and nothing could get in the way, including him. This year was lighter for me, but prepping for med school interviews was difficult. And though I intended to stay in state for med school, I couldn't have unnecessary distractions. Plus I liked the way my life was so far, being single allowed me to focus on myself and get to know what I liked and didn't like, what my boundaries were. Engaging him would make that goal very difficult to achieve.

If his obsessive tendencies were anything to go by, he needed therapy and distance from me. 

As it had already been a week now, he must have gotten over me. With this confidence, I got ready for bed. I left the window slightly open to let in a breeze and settled into bed which was right near the window, letting the cold air filter in  as I was snuggled into a fuzzy melange of blankets. 

I fell asleep easily, comforted by the warmth of just dried sheets wrapped around me. 

Then suddenly, I woke up to a strange sensation. I could feel a cold tongue traveling up and down my nether lips, separating them delicately to lick into my core. 

What the hell was going on?! I sat up in the body, confused as to my surroundings. I was in my dark bedroom, but now the window was open wide. I saw the glint of gold rings shimmer as what looked like a human head moved under my sheets. I pulled the sheets off hurriedly in panic and fear just to see two doe-eyes glittering with tears staring directly at me. I tried to get his head away from my core, pushing him away in a flurry of movement. 

His grip as usual didn't budge as he swatted my hands away, resuming his position at my core, as though he deserved to live between them. He kept licking, making me shiver as I couldn't control the electric cold sensation slide down my spine. His tongue laved tirelessly at my clit,  his warm hands squeezed my thighs. He moaned contently as he licked, as though he were drinking ambrosia. 

Even I tried resisting, his firm arms corded with muscle ripped my night gown as I gasped in surprise. He grunted in a satisfied manner as his hands were met with the texture of my taut nipples. He was in an unstoppable frenzy. I could feel my core tighten and throb as I felt a white blaze overtake my vision. I slumped onto the bed, my back meeting the sheets as he climbed over me to suck at my nipples. He latched onto them as though there was milk for him to draw out of them. His hands continued to trace the lines of my body, outlining my form as he kneaded the flesh around my hips and stomach. 

He pushed his tongue into my mouth as I moaned, slobbering me with wet kisses on my jaw and neck. He tasted like bananas and sprite, what an odd combination. Finally he started speaking in a broken whisper as his hands continued squeezing my flesh, “I-I am s-s-so sorry, I keep hurting you. But I am addicted to you. I j-j-j-ust can’t stop myself. I tried controlling myself for a year but it’s just not working. I don't want to hurt you, I will wait as long as you want me to. We can take it as slowly as you want. But I have to be with you, otherwise I feel like I am going insane. I can’t even function without the thought of you. You got me out of my depression when I saw you reading in the college Green house for the first time. I felt happier than I had my entire life until then.”

He continued speaking as his beautiful eyes gazed into mine, pinching my clit. I couldn't hold his gaze as my eyes closed in pleasure. “I know you were scared of me. That’s why you called the police. I hate that I made you scared of me. I love you so much that I can’t let go of you. I wouldn’t be able to forget you if I tried. Please let me be just be by your side. I know I am not good enough for you, but I will be anything you want me to be. I won't push you to have sex, though I am so hard it hurts, I know you are recovering. Let me just lick you the whole night. Let me memorize your taste on my tongue. Let me come into your window every night to lick you to completion.”

I trembled as my body shook with the innumerable orgasms he was pulling out of me. His cold tongue coated my core to the point that it felt soothing. I pulled his head up to mine, grasping his hair to make him face to face. 

I felt unhinged with him. He made me feel things I never felt before. My logic told me no, but my heart said something else. I pecked him on his lips and his eyes seemed to glitter with bliss, his mouth curving into a smile as I said, “You are good enough for me. I’m sorry that I keep pushing you away when you profess your love for me. Honestly speaking, I don’t have time for you in my life or anyone else.” His smile started to transform into a pout, his eyes shimmering with the start of tears.

I squealed in panic, “No, no, don’t cry. I hate seeing you cry. Why don’t we do this? We can try dating for a week and see if we work out. But you have to stop trespassing like this”.

He smiled , seeming more at peace than I had seen of him til now, “That sounds great. All I need is one week to convince you to marry me. I have the engagement ring ready just so you know.” 

He giggled and fell on the bed wrapping his arms around me, grabbing my butt as he fell asleep. The urge to escape his hold was dying down. I settled into his embrace, falling asleep content in his arms. 

#jungkook x reader #bts x reader #smut #somnophilia #dubcon #chubby reader x Jungkook #jungkook x curvy reader #soft yandere #needy jungkook #jungkook x plus size reader #fanfic #SEVEN jungkook #body worship #bts x curvy reader #bts x y/n

[valdomarx]

Follow my lead

Istredd's eyes comb over the ballroom. Among the great and powerful mages of the continent, there is one figure who draws his attention more than the others.

Even in the ridiculous doublet which he clearly despises, Geralt cuts a striking figure. In the midst of the wealthy and powerful who are coiffed and primped and decked out in the finest fabrics and enchantments, his simplicity somehow catches the eye.

There’s a stillness to him, Istredd thinks. A surety and solidity that pulls people in, like the forces which set the stars above in their rotations. 

The sharp staccato of the Melange dance begins, and Istredd takes his place opposite Geralt and Yennefer, acknowledging them with a nod. The opening bars of the dance are simple: a step, and then another, a turn, and a step. Geralt raises one arm, and Istredd mirrors the movement. They step toward and past each other, the back of their hands barely brushing, the brief contact leaving a thrill like an enchantment crawling up his arm. 

Geralt turns. Istredd turns. They pace apart and the music crescendos, syncopated beats building. They swing to face each other once more, and Istredd is drawn toward him, eyes glued to Geralt’s gleam of silver and black, stepping first to one side, and then to the other.

They come closer, and closer, face to face now, and then the music stops. They pause for a moment’s silence, like a gulp of air, and the tiniest hint of a smile plays at Geralt’s mouth. Istredd looks down at his lips, and then back up, and there’s a heaviness in the air like rain about to break.

And then the music comes crashing back, and Istredd is swept away back into the throng of dancers, his heart hammering in his chest for no good reason. The musicians beat out the final bars of the Melange and Istredd ends up back where he started, staring across the crowd at Geralt. 

Then there are speeches and the usual pandering, but Istredd’s mind is elsewhere. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a presence behind him and a gravelly voice says, “Do something for me, Istredd.”

Geralt’s voice is rich and deep in his ear, and he wants to say, “Anything.” Instead, he turns to face him and gives a sharp, professional nod.

That hint of a smile is back as Geralt says, “Follow my lead.”

And then Geralt’s hand is cupping his jaw, and his other hand loops around Istredd’s waist to pull him in, and Geralt kisses him like there’s not a single other person in the room. 

Istredd melts into him, and it’s really not a hardship to follow, with the way Geralt’s tongue is grazing at his lips and he’s nipping playfully at his mouth. Istredd puts his arms around Geralt’s hips, bringing their bodies into line, and he’s aware of the shocked murmurs of the crowd around them.

Let them fucking murmur. He feels Geralt smile against his mouth, and then Istredd finds himself dropped into a low dip, almost parallel with the floor. Geralt’s arms are strong and firm around him, and he doesn’t fight it. He lets himself be swooped into a scandalous horizontal line, Geralt’s mouth hot on his own, and the gasps from the crowd intensify. 

Follow his lead, Geralt had said, so Istredd throws one leg around the back of Geralt’s thigh to really sell it, grinding their bodies together from face to foot. Geralt moans into his mouth, and the sound of Tissaia hissing about appropriate behavior for the occasion carries through the buzzing gossip of the crowd.

Geralt pulls back by just a fraction so that their eyes meet. The amber irises are sparkling with amusement as he says, “Do you think we have their attention?”

-

Yen stretches out on the silk sheets, decadent and sated. She runs a hand through the silver tangle of Geralt’s hair where it spreads over the pillows.

“You know, when I asked for a distraction earlier, you kissing Istredd wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Geralt smiles one of the rare, slow, genuine smiles. She really likes those ones. “It worked out pretty well in the end, didn’t it?”

Yen looks down to where Istredd is fast asleep between the two of them. She lays a fond hand on his shoulder and lets out a laugh. “I guess it did.” 

#geralt x istredd #geralt x istredd x yennefer #the witcher #my writing #is this a crack ship still? i think i might unironically ship it now #ah dear i played myself #the witcher spoilers

[angelinecarax]

-- tagged by @archaiclumina

✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✦✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✦

✫✧✩EMOTIONS/FEELINGS✫✧✩

✫✧✩COLORS✫✧✩

✩ pearlescent inside of a shell ✧ faded blue of an inkprint in the sun ✫ holographic glitter rainbow ✩ soft clouds as the sun rises ✧ where the sky and the sea become indistinguishable

✫✧✩SCENTS✫✧✩

✧ sea breeze, sun cream, and the scent of hydrangeas. her home. ✩ the first sweat at the beginning of a long day. just getting started. ✫ a dreamy melange from powders and lotions. finally drop into bed. ✧ veryberry lipgloss and citrus candies. never not on hand. ✩ a light + enveloping perfume that leaves the mind hazy. Nite out.

✫✧✩OBJECTS✫✧✩

✩ a broad-brimmed sunhat. a sweetness from flowers in the band. ✧ a keychain of charms. hard to place where they're from... or when. ✫ a well-worn journal. complete with special aetheric glitter gel ink. ✩ a scattering of trinkets. cheap, shiny, various. Ever-present. ✧ a hardy backpack. with a glowing heart and pristine wings.

✫✧✩BODY LANGUAGE✫✧✩

✧ an ever-present rhythmic humming sway any time she's at rest 🎐 ✩ when feeling bashful, she'll tap her earring with her fingernail ✨ ✫ on her favorite mounts she'll dig her fingers in deep in their fur 🎠 ✧ when laughing, she'll lace her fingers in front of her mouth 🌟 ✩ as she casts magic, she'll dance to a melody only she can hear 🫧

✫✧✩AESTHETICS✫✧✩

✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✦✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✦

this....... was SO much fun to put together. To those I tag, I wish this fun upon you - or, if you did it already, link me again so I'm shore I see it (or re-see it lmao!) I capped this at lucky eighteen - if you'd like to do it even so, this is your tag! (see interact masterpoast here as well!)

TAGGED: @archaiclumina for Ren!!!!, @viiioca, @aislingsurrow, @thatoldstandby, @a-sleepy-dragon, @cd-container, @corsair-kovacs (I know you did yours and it was one of my inspirations!), @generaltacticus, @moldy-mold, @airis-ray, @xmimiteh, @reconditerune, @zeloinator, @discountdps, @chadhunkler, @sjofn-lofnsdottr, @pumkinbones, @gatheredfates

#ffxiv #Angeline Carax #character associations #ffxiv oc #tag game postbox

[roamwithahungryheart]

As the halfway point of the season rapidly approaches, the 63 minute runtime of 3x06 'Sunflowers' is already causing chaos.

This is a workplace comedy! Episodes used to be 30 minutes long!

I'm going to tell you something that may just blow your mind.

Ted Lasso is not a workplace comedy. It's genre-bending, subversive television disguised as a workplace comedy.

In the beginning, it was marketed as feel-good television. A fun little sports rom-com show we can all be inspired and amused by. Season 3 is not the same peppy, happy, quickfire comedy we once knew. Because it isn't meant to be. The progression of the story has taken us to a darker place. There are new characters to get acquainted with. The tone of the show has changed to reflect Ted's journey.

These things take time to set up. When you have a lot more to say, you need a lot more time to say it.

Production was delayed to accommodate rewrites, making it clear that there's a larger story to be told. That being said, season 3 is still sticking to a 12 episode run in line with previous seasons. Considering the level of detail put into the show, that's quite an achievement.

When you compare this season to the previous two, the level of impatience some viewers are feeling is understandable. The pacing is different, there are more lingering shots, and the longer runtime packs a lot of punch in one sitting, leaving us all frazzled husks of the viewers we once were as we try to process the events of each episode.

The last TV show that crushed our brains to mush and threw the rulebook out the window was, of course, Twin Peaks.

Twin Peaks had a major influence on Brett Goldstein's creative direction, so if we look at Ted Lasso through a Lynchian lens, what do we get?

The Twin Peaks pilot episode was filmed as a standalone TV special. It was an intense 94 minute event that led to three seasons filled with weird and wonderful stuff. The episodes were long, the pacing was slow, and each episode subverted expectations. It was a tantalizing melange of familiar tv tropes injected with darkness.

When The Return finally aired in 2017 after production delays (Lynch pushed for 18 episodes as opposed to a more palatable 10 for mainstream television) it was somewhat divisive. It was longer, slower, there were new characters and plotlines that took us away from everything we once knew Twin Peaks to be.

Some critics said it felt like a different show. What those critics failed to realize - much like the reaction to Ted Lasso s3 thus far - is that it was a different show. The Return was an old familiar story told from another perspective.

Ted Lasso s3 is doing the exact same thing. It's telling us Ted's story through his eyes.

Just as Lynch & Frost did with The Return, Ted Lasso s3 gives us a glimpse into the lives of our beloved Richmond gang with a new twist, whilst retaining the core DNA of the show.

In the words of The Log Lady -

"We live in a world where nothing is simple. Each day, just when we think we have a handle on things, suddenly some new element is introduced and everything is complicated once again [...] Are our appetites, our desires undermining us?"

The expectation that we're always going to get perfectly palatable bitesize television like we did in the halcyon days of lockdown box set binges is ruining our ability to turn on, tune in and drop out. This season is a reminder that patience is a virtue.

#Ted Lasso #Ted Lasso s3 #thoughts #rambling time! #many thoughts head full #follow for more Ted Peaks talk

[topnotchquark]

Honestly Vale seems like a powerful byproduct of a long running Bene Gesserit bloodline experiment. Melange induced blue eyes and all. Whole shebang about fear being a mind killer and all that jazz.

#not kwisatz haderach powerful of course #but somewhere along the lines #valentino rossi #vale #bene gesserit #motogp #Dune

[unclewaynemunson]

Wingman Wayne - Ronance Edition pt4 :D | Read from the beginning | Read on ao3

It hasn't even been five minutes since Robin came home from work, when the phone in the hall starts ringing. And she has some suspicions about who the caller might be.

She squints at the phone like it's personally offending her, considers for a few moments to just let it ring – but she can't. She doesn't want to be a completely cruel person, this is already gonna be awful enough as it is.

'Hi,' says Nancy, sounding slightly breathless, when Robin picks up the phone. 'How was your day?'

 'Um – gr...ay.'

'Gray?' Nancy repeats, confused.

Robin flinches. She had meant to say “great” but decided halfway that that would probably sound weirdly enthusiastic regarding the conversation they were about to have so she changed it to “okay” and – yeah. This is embarrassing.

'Yeah – I mean, the weather. Was. Very bad. Lots of rain and shit.' She cringes at herself, talking awkwardly about the goddamn weather, glad that Nancy isn't able to see how beet-red she has gotten so at least some of her dignity will stay intact.

'Tell me about it,' Nancy says, 'I got soaked at least three times today, it was the worst. But I was thinking...' There's a slight pause before Nancy continues, 'If we're feeling optimistic enough to believe the forecasts, it'll clear up by the weekend, so maybe we could go for a walk or something? There's this tea garden at the other side of the woods, I know a nice scenic route from Lover's Lake, what do you think?'

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Robin squeezes her eyes shut. Why, oh why, did Nancy have to come up with the most fucking perfect date idea in existence? God, she can almost touch the scene in her head: walking side-by-side with Nancy, the sun filtering through the leaves and shining a golden light onto Nancy’s curls, her cute nose going slightly red from the early spring sunrays, their arms brushing together every other step until Nancy will feel brave enough to grab Robin's hand and lace their fingers together; the flowers blooming in all kinds of pretty colors in the fields surrounding the tea garden, the taste of mint or some herbal melange on her tongue, Nancy's hands wrapped around her mug as she laughs at something insanely funny Robin is telling her...

No. No. Her stupid brain should most definitely not be going there.

She sighs.

'I have to tell you something,' she blurts out, before weakness can overpower her and make her say something stupid like Yes, this is the best idea ever, I’d love to go with you, can I please kiss you already?

'Oh.'

And in that single word, she can already hear the disappointment dripping from Nancy's voice. Damn it, she hates this so fucking much.

'Yeah, it’s not good... So, um, remember that I told you how my best friend is the one who set me up with you? The one whose boyfriend is Mr. Munson's nephew?'

'Oh God,' Nancy says, sounding truly horrified. 'You're actually in a relationship with him and cheating on him?'

'What – no, God, no!' Robin exclaims. 'Why is that the first thing that comes to your mind?!'

'I don't know, you sounded so ominous so I just went straight to worst-case scenario!'

Nancy is perfectly mirroring Robin's own panicked energy and she realizes she has to keep her head cool now if she doesn't want this whole conversation to become even more of a mess.

She takes a deep breath and continues in a somewhat more collected voice, 'Okay, so maybe not worst-worst-case scenario, then. But um... He didn't actually know anything about you when he set us up. So we only found out today that he – Steve – had been trying to set me up with his ex.'

There's a silence. 'Steve Harrington is your best friend?' Nancy then asks.

'Yeah, crazy, right,' Robin confirms. 'I'm really sorry, Nancy. I had so much fun with you last night, seriously. And you're really cool and badass and generally amazing. But I'm not gonna be dating my best friend's ex. I can't do that to Steve. I mean, I basically know everything about what went down between the two of you, and it's not like he harbors any resentment – I actually think he still respects you a lot – but... It still feels wrong, you know?'

There's a sigh, distorted through the phone. 'Yeah, I get that,' Nancy says, in a small voice that's kind of breaking Robin's heart already. 'Honestly, that completely makes sense. And honestly, I wouldn’t want to add to his hurt either. I already did that more than enough, back when - you know.‘ She sighs again. ‘For what it's worth: I had a lot of fun with you, too, yesterday.'

Pt5

Taglist: @munsonsuccubus @messrs-weasley @shrimply-a-menace @booksandsience @sadcanadianwinter @mightbeasleep @theysherobinbuckley

#don't mind me rambling about stranger things #fruity ficlet #ronance #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #stranger things