atreidestm - Tumblr blog

[atreidestm]

Paul Atreides. You are your father’s son. You are my son.

TIMOTHEE CHALAMET and REBECCA FERGUSON DUNE 2021 | Denis Villeneuve

[atreidestm]

 ❛ you can’t make homes out of human beings. someone should have told you that. ❜

like  so  many   warnings   passed  from  father  to  son,  the  detachment  so  cultivated  by  the  former  duke  and  the  preached  adherence  to  it,  fell  by  the  wayside  in  the  space  between  one  generation  and  the  next.  though   time  now  was  visible   to  paul  is  ways  leto  could  never  comprehend,  that  gap  between  them  in  mind  and  body  felt  like  an  ocean.  paul  had  always  yearned  to  truly  grasp  an  understanding  of  the  man  he  so  admired,  and  yet  so  much  of  him  remained  unrevealed.  now  he  received  council  from  a  ghost,  preaching  sentiments  of  similar  separation.  to  remove  care,  to  take  off  the  mantle  of  memory  and  forget  what  he’d  lost,  to  step  forward  without  tremble  and  continue  on.  but  it  was  an  impossible  thing  for  him  to  do,  as  he  left  a  piece  of  himself  with  all  who  had  fallen  and  now  he  was  near  disintegrating,  turning  to  the  very  particles  of  sand  and  dust  he  claimed  dominion  over. 

❝ — someone  did, ❞   the  inherent  similarities  between  the  two  men  still  churned  unease  within  paul,  forcing  him  to  grapple  with  things  that  were  best  left  buried.   ❝ i  consider  it  now,  as  i  did  then.  it  is  convenience  disguised  as  practicality,  for  men  who  wield  power,  because  to  hold  that  power  requires  those  men  to  be  of  nomadic  morality  and  to  make  measured  sacrifice. ❞  

then  he  turns  and  regards  @gentsleuth​​  with  an  increasingly  curious  expression,  ❝ still,  my  home  was  built  upon  shifting  ground  and  now  that   it  is  lost,  what  would  you  advise  aside  from  trifling  rumination  of  what  should  have  been?  ❞  

[atreidestm]

—  ❛❛  //  𝙻𝙸𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴  𝙵𝙾𝚁  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙶𝙻𝚄𝚃𝚃𝙾𝙽𝚂.  (  lines  of  literature  that  will  rip  your  heart  out.  please  substitute  pronouns  as  needed. )

❛ one of the cruellest things you can do to another person is pretend to care more than you do. ❜ ❛ i loved you and sometimes you loved me too. ❜ ❛ don’t tell anybody anything. if you do, you start missing everyone. ❜ ❛ you never know how much space you occupied in other people’s lives. ❜ ❛ beautiful things grow to a certain height and then they fall and fade out. ❜ ❛ i felt like destroying something beautiful. ❜ ❛ i have scars on my hands from touching certain people. ❜ ❛ you cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness. ❜ ❛ what can you do but hold your hand out in the dark ? ❜ ❛ you can’t make homes out of human beings. someone should have told you that. ❜ ❛ your only problem, perhaps, is that you scream without letting yourself cry. ❜ ❛ being surrounded by the wrong people is the loneliest thing in the world. ❜ ❛ i hid my deepest feelings so well i forgot where i placed them. ❜ ❛ i didn’t leave because i stopped loving you, i left because the longer i stayed the less i loved myself. ❜ ❛ at every moment of our lives, we all have one foot in a fairytale and the other in the abyss. ❜ ❛ some people turn sad awfully young. i know, for i’m one of them. ❜ ❛ nothing makes me happier and nothing makes me sadder than you. ❜ ❛ all great and precious things are lonely. ❜ ❛ someone can be madly in love with you and still not be ready. ❜ ❛ i felt less lonely when i didn’t know you. ❜ ❛ things change, friends leave. life doesn’t stop for anybody. ❜ ❛ i am deathly afraid of almosts. ❜ ❛ it’s such a secret place, the land of tears. ❜ ❛ what do we do now, now that we are happy ? ❜ ❛ when we first met i was lonely and you were pretty -  now i am pretty lonely. ❜ ❛ i want you to know that i’m both happy and sad and i’m still figuring out how that could be. ❜ ❛ if you gave someone your heart and they died, did they take it with them ? ❜ ❛ the one you love and the one who loves you are never, ever the same person. ❜ ❛ you can never love people as much as you can miss them. ❜ ❛ i was too young to know how to love you. ❜ ❛ if anybody could have saved me it would have been you. ❜ ❛ sometimes i can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives i’m not living. ❜

[atreidestm]

Czeslaw Milosz, New and Collected Poems: 1931-2001

[atreidestm]

aesirdottir​:

oh,      how   his   success   bleeds   into   her   own.      the   enchantress   smiles   as   chalice   is   handed   to   her,      replacing   clear   water   when   the   deep   burgundy   of   wine      ;      not   accounting   for   taste,      but   there   are   many   aspects   to   an   illusion   that   he   must   master.               ❝      fantasy   begins   with   the   eyes,      ❞               she   instructs   as   a   flow   of   wine   is   beckoned   from   the   cup   to   swirl   obediently   around   her   fingers.      it   shifts,      changing   in   tone   and   form   so   that   water   becomes   beast      ;      a   spider   that   travels   up   his   forearm   without   any   sensation   that   it   truly   does.               ❝      for   most,      commanding   one   sense   is   enough   to   command   an   individual.      ❞

silken  words  beckon  his  gaze  meet  hers.  it  begins  with  the  eyes  she  tells  him  and  he’s  never  known  a  more  resolute  truth.  only  the  dancing  display  of  controlled  magic  draws  his  attention  away  from  the   obsidian  ocean  of  her  eyes  to  the  delicate  curve  of  her  twirling  fingers.  the  power  feels  palpable,  as  if  he  could  taste  it  in  the  air  and  he  yearns  to  have  her  ability  to  command  the  unseen.    

❝ the  eyes  inform  the  other  senses, ❞    he  replies  to  show  he’d  been  listening.  a  smile  is  summoned  by  the  creeping  creature  she  compels  over  his  skin,  and  as  if  to  prove  her  point  he’d  swear  he  could  feel  the  crawl  of  small  hairy  legs  traveling  up  his  arm. 

a  sudden  swelling  of  want  fills  a  dark  chasm  inside  him  and  he  brings  his  hand  up,  unsure  how  he  summons  the  power,  twisting  his  fingers  —  watching  the  creature  sink  beneath  his  skin, a  pooling  of  ink  in  the  shape  of  the  arachnid.  a  deep  breath  centers  him  as  he  looks  back  up,  ❝ yet  the  eyes  are  so  easily  fooled.  are  all  creatures  so  simple  to  command? ❞

[atreidestm]

Those curls! Those coats! The number of times that I’ve watched this film in the past few days should now be a cause of concern for most people… BUT I’ve managed to get work done somehow. Come to think of it, I’m not entirely sure how 😂

I mean, these curls! Did I mention the curls?? 

[atreidestm]

list  of  things  i  need  to  properly  hc  someday;  bc  nobody  survives  reading  dune  and  they’re  important !! bene  gesserit  training  /  abilities  mentat  training  /  abilities  pain  tolerance  /  gom  jabbar  test important  points  of  canon  divergence bloodline,  similarities  to  father  and  grandfather isolation  due  to  his  station   very  complicated  relationship  with  mom  how  his  visions  work  ( canon  and  my  crossover  departures ) 

[atreidestm]

PREMIERE OF DUNE IN LONDON October 18th, 2021

[atreidestm]

there’s  a  drum  beat  echoing  at  the  edge  of  his  thoughts,  the  tempo  mirroring  the  ebb  and  crest  of  the  power  he  could  feel  like  a  second  blood  within  his  veins.  the  already  dim  lights  flicker  as  he  focuses  on  the  spell  she’d  given  him,  turn  water  into  wine.  something  so  simply  stated  and  yet,  the  complexity  of  altering  substance  puzzled  him  briefly.  

triumph  quickly  turns  scowl  to  grin  and  he  offers  her  the  chalice,  tongue  flitting  out  to  wet  his  bottom  lip  as  the  smug  smile  makes  a  home  across  his  face.  ❝ i  can’t  speak  to  taste,  but  it  appears  i’ve  had  some  success. ❞

❝      such   is   the   allure   of   magic,      my   dear.      the   way   it   stirs   inside   of   you      -      bending   every   will,      straying   every   thought,      burdening   the   coil   of   your   muscles   until   its   release.      you   then   begin   to   wonder   how   you   ever   lived   it   without   it.      ❞

@atreidestm​​  /  💚

[atreidestm]

silent  scrutiny  settles  space  between  statement  and  reply,  paul  only  taking  minor  offense  to  the  brash  words  and  condescending  nickname.  ❝ —  you  don’t  believe  me? ❞

@atreidestm​​  <3 

“ really  that  sounds  more  like  something  you  oughta  be  keeping  to  yourself,     huh  sunshine? ”

[atreidestm]

Mahmoud Darwish, from Unfortunately, It Was Paradise: Selected Poems; “The Hoopoe,”

[atreidestm]

 “The heart of man is very much like the sea, it has its storms, it has its tides and in its depths it has its pearls too.”

―Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh

[atreidestm]

He’s just so. Pretty. [The King Premiere, London Film Festival, 2019]

[atreidestm]

make no heros

[atreidestm]

aesirdottir​:

she   does   not   recoil   as   he   wakes   or   feels   any   amount   of   guilt   in   the   way   that   fingers   continue   their   path,      greedy   to   find   the   end   that   sees   her   touch   reach   a   finale   upon   the   jut   of   his   chin   before   falling   dutifully   upon   her   lap.      asgard   rejuvenates   her,      adding   a   radiance   to   her   appearance   that   cements   any   claim   that   she   be   less   than   otherworldly.               ❝      two   days,      ❞               she   recalls   simply,      a   level   of   sympathy   in   her   tone   that   she   injects   with   great   pains   as   the   same   sentiment   is   pushed   to   the   forefront   of   her   gaze.               ❝      i   was   worried   for   you.      ❞               the   velvet   caress   of   her   tone   is   calculated,      warm   upon   her   tongue   before   it   is   carefully   cast   out   to   caress   his   senses      ;      almost   a   whisper,      like   she’s   afraid   to   admit   such   a   thing.

❝      the   palace   was   beginning   to   whisper.      they’ve   never   seen   a   man   in   my   bed      …      wearing   clothes.      ❞               she   lets   the   implication   hang   within   tense   air   and   takes   her   leave,      the   yielding   mattress   inhaling   as   the   goddess   rises   and   walks   towards   the   threshold   of   her   terrace.      wrists   flicker   and   curtains   shift,      bowing   to   greater   magicks   than   the   wind   to   reveal   the   sight   of   asgard   to   him.               ❝      you   are   safe   with   me   here,      on   asgard.      ❞

had  he  really  been  out  for  two  days?  it  was  an  extravagant  excess  considering  the  minutes  he’d  been  able  to  claw  together  in  the  weeks  and  months  prior  to  his  harrowing  escape.  the  feeling  of  amora’s  touch  echoes  upon  nerve  endings  even  after  she  moves  from  his  side  and  it’s  not  lost  on  him  how  long  it  had  been  since  he’d  felt  the  caress  of  anything  but  violence  and  vitriol.  the  concern  she  offers  feels  coarse  even  though  spoken  with  care,  but  he  resists  the  urge  to  indulge  in  doubt.  had  he  been  handled  so  roughly  that  he’d  believe  every  intention  one  to  fear?  was  he  a  kicked  dog  now,  that  might  recoil  when  offered  respite?  no.  he  was  a  man  with  mastery  of  his  senses,   not  a  desolate  place  where  hope  and  trust  could  no  longer  take  root.  she’d  given  him  no  cause  for  distrust,  her  every  promise  had  been  fulfilled.

the  comment  about  clothing  shifts  his  attention  to  his  own  attire,  the  rags  he’d  been  wearing  had  been  replaced  with  soft  finery. ( not  unlike  he’d  been  used  to  in  his  former  life ).  it’s  with  measured  movements  that  he  raises  and  joins  her  at  the  door  to  the  terrace.  ❝ it’s  breathtaking, ❞  his  eyes  drink  in  the  glittering  landscape  before  they  turn  to  her.  ❝ —  it’s  everything  you  said  it  would  be. ❞  

[atreidestm]

there’s  no  telling  how  long  the  cobwebs  of  slumber  cling  to  paul’s  mind  before  there’s  a  stirring  at  the  edge  of  his  consciousness.  something  there  at  the  horizon  where  black  shifted  toward  the  light  in  mingling  and  dizzy  shades  of  grey.  the  cradle  of  comfort  that  pillowed  beneath  him  was  disconcerting  in  contrast  to  the  cement-floored  cell  that  had  etched  itself  into  his  bones  over  the  last  few  months.   absent  family,  title,  and  any  familiarity,  he’d  fought  for  his  life  with  every  breath.  a  silent  rebellion  against  the  man  who  claimed  ownership  over  him,  the  man  who  feasted  on  high  and  waited  to  see  what  test  might  make  a  spectacle  of  the  atreides  heir’s  death. 

it  was  his  stubborn  refusal  of  death  that  nourished  him,  his  own  meal  of  revenge  and  retribution  plotted  in  aching  detail.  except  it  had  all  been  a  dream,  a  death-gasp  fantasy,  until  the  benevolence  of  a  mystical  woman  promised  the  path  forward. 

it’s  her  there  when  his  eyes  finally  open  and  he  blinks  toward  awareness.  the  delicate  scent  of  her  perfumes  the  air,  invading  his  senses  and  making  his  thoughts  skip  like  a  smooth  stone  over  water.  the  sound  of  her  voice  lingers,  but  her  words  fall  to  mystery  as  he  wakes.  the  proximity  of  her  should  be  alarming,  instead  he  stills  and  watches  with  rapt  curiosity,  weighing  the  debt  he  owes  her.  ❝ —  how  long  has  it  been  since  we  arrived? ❞

it’s   near   dusk   in   asgard,      where   moonlight   stripes   through   gossamer   and   gentle   wind   causes   it   to   dance   past   the   threshold   of   her   parapet   that   overlooks   the   bifrost.      there   she   waits   for   slumbering   prize,      perched   upon   her   own   bed   with   the   horrid   costume   of   a   doomed   land   replaced   with   the   emerald   and   aureate   garments   more   befitting   an   enchantress.      should   reality   pierce   into   dreams   he   might   find   her   scent   there,      filling   him   with   every   even   inhale   so   that   the   dark   brilliance   of   her   eyes   haunt   the   unseen   corners   of   his   faraway   fantasy      ;      the   first   corruption   of   many   that   the   goddess   has   planned   for   him.

tender   touch   caresses   his   forehead,      falling   down   along   his   cheekbones   towards   the   carved   blade   of   his   chin   in   silent   admiration.      she   captures   a   picture   of   him   now,      untouched   and   sinless      -      when   she   is   done   he   will   likely   not   even   recognize   himself   in   this   way.               ❝      the   world   plots   on   as   you   sleep,      my   dear.      ❞

@atreidestm​  /  plotted  starter  !

[atreidestm]

DUNE 2021 | Denis Villeneuve