#and i like to think i have a far superior knowledge of what i am looking for for my particular dog

[fjordfolk]

i was a little short with a pet store employee today and i feel a teeny bit bad about it but also: when i've rejected assistance, they've watched me read the back of 2-3 different bags of dog food and settled on one, and they've asked if i need anything and i've said no - i appreciate what they're going for, but when i get to the register and they start probing me on what breed of dog i have and what i've been feeding them until now and try to explain to me what is in the food that i am trying to buy (with money) i feel like i'm allowed to look them in the eye and say "yes. i know :)"

[utilitycaster]

Do you think this new option could lead to a break up in the party and some of the characters leaving the group? Because I can't see everyone agreeing that this is the best solution, but I also think Ashton is stubborn enough to refuse to consider anything else

This is going to be a very long answer for what is a pretty short question that could be answered in one sentence, and here's why.

I've gotten a lot of questions in the past week or so that are specifically asking me what I think the future will be - for campaign 3, and for Critical Role generally. And I've gotten a little frustrated by them, which is somewhat uncharacteristic of me because I love having opinions, but the fact is, I don't know and I don't even have strong opinions. So I dug into that, and why people might be asking these things more than usual, and I really think it's because the narrative of this campaign is so constantly under threat of derailment or going in the same old circles that pretty much anyone in the fandom with any sense of narrative structure, and what makes for a well-crafted story is like "so...what's happening." Which is translating as coming to me, a person who is very good at sounding confident and knowledgeable.

I do not fucking know. I share this frustration, and I cannot be the person to clear it up. i am not even the best at narrative or analysis in this fandom; as I pretty frequently state I took the hard STEM option with regards to my education so while I read a lot and have a pretty good sense for the lay person, there are actual like, trained and published writers. For what it's worth several of them are my mutuals and while I'm not putting the rest of this post on them I do feel safe saying they agree that the lack of narrative direction is at the heart of most people's frustrations with this campaign, even if they enjoy the characters. But getting back to the point, I do not know.

Here's where I stand on the actual plot before I go back to the bigger picture. I think that unless Bells Hells decide on their course of action pretty quickly, no ending will really feel satisfying due to that sense of directionlessness - and there are arguments for Bells Hells to take either the Arch Heart or the Accord's plan, though I think the Accord's is far superior, but they need to pick one.

Because of the ongoing issues with this party lacking perspectives that tied in well to this story and having to hinge everything on either one singular interpretation of one single instance in extraordinary circumstances (eg: Dorian), or stuff that feels, as I've said before, retconned, I have generally been extremely amenable to Bells Hells losing party members either through a split or through character deaths. This is not out of any sort of vindictiveness or dislike of characters, but just a hope that now that they know the vibe, the cast will make a character who has a perspective that is relevant to the story (which, FCG is not an ideal example because they happened to be the character who had perhaps best grown from their original concept to fit into the themes of this campaign, but Braius obviously is a very strong character informed by the story as well). I also think that a lot of the indecisiveness is part of the characters' various natures and that will also be a factor, especially since a new character can be both decisive, have a clear point of view, and be a lot more comfortable pissing off the rest of the party to assert it. So: if Bells Hells as they currently stand can decide what to do quickly, no need to break up! But if they can't, yeah, it would be to their and the story's benefit to do so. That's before we get into, for example, the sacrifice required from specifically Imogen or Fearne for the Arch Heart's plan; Ashton is not the one who has to risk their own autonomy for the rest of eternity. They might die in battle, but they will not become a husk housing an ancient hunger. I think the people who might have to do so get to decide.

Now: it may seem counterintuitive to demand a clear direction from a TTRPG, when part of the appeal is that we don't know how it will end, but the thing is, with the past campaigns, we did not know if the party would succeed but we knew that they wanted to do. Vox Machina could have fallen to Vecna but we always knew they were going to fight Vecna. The Mighty Nein's decisions not to get involved with the war are not indecision but rather a very clear decision (do not get involved). Their later reversal of that decision similarly follows from who they are and the richness of their pasts.

Bells Hells does not have that, and the endless circular conversations are both circular in game and a vicious cycle out of it; because we've always been focused on this plot from very early on and because the characters were not developed as strongly, we have a lot of very indecisive people who are too trapped in this crisis to develop and become decisive. In a way, it feels like Matt's been something like the Arch Heart here: saying "oh, THIS would be interesting, I wonder what will happen" at everything when it's like "ok but consequences are like, important, and maybe you should let things play out. I mean, two cycles isn't great but it is still only two; maybe you should actually let your children/players figure this out, even if it doesn't fit your idea of what should happen, instead of throwing yet another new thing at them."

So: I don't know and I don't have answers about Campaign 3 events at this point because, again, as someone who has a pretty good sense of what makes for a satisfying narrative, it has frequently subverted those requirements (which, to be clear, is bad - it's not genre subversion or a masterful play on expectations, it's subverting actual satisfying narrative beats; as someone said on one of my other posts in not quite so many words, it's like storyline-baiting). I know I tend to present my points with confidence, and I am pretty confident about a lot of things like CR lore and said sense of narrative, but like...maybe this guess on the fandom vibe is incorrect, but I think I'm getting these questions because people are saying "hey, do you know where we're going? I think I am reading this map wrong" to me and I'm here to say "no, you're reading it fine, we've gone off the road and are just kinda crashing through underbrush, and maybe we'll hit another road and continue on that and I can give some insight, but also we might go off a cliff, no way to tell."

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

Is This Desire? (Feyd Rautha x reader)

u know I had to tap in 🤭. reader is a noblewoman who has undergone bene gesserit training, there IS smut, there IS sexual tension, there ARE mind games, there IS dubcon (but not really 😉); quote found on Pinterest. None of the media besides the writing belongs to me, including quotes used at the beginning.

Happy Sunday 🤭 finally made it. Strong trigger warning for people sensitive to dub-con situations. There is a significant push and pull dynamic, be mindful of your peace.

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen and Tii Sanura Sur-Kar have been lifelong friends since the day they were betrothed as children—-a mutual coldness in the eyes inspired respect and appreciation between the two kindred spirits. On the day of the na-Baron’s coming of age, however, simmering tensions between the pair rise to an all-consuming firestorm as the young Baron attempts to finally act on the desires he has harbored for her, but there is a significant challenge: how he can manage to break past her impenetrable composure; the dispassionate mask of his treasured Bene Gesserit master?

the lovers.

“Love is an ancient force, one that served in its day but is no longer essential for the survival of the species.” -Bene Gesserit Axiom

***

“Do you truly think you could redeem such a beast?”

She smiled. “I know, I am allowing my affections cloud my judgment. But allow me an opportunity before his fate is sealed, Reverend Mother.”

The older woman stared her down through the sheer fabric cloaking her face. “You are a very sharp mind, but your youth may sway you against wiser judgment.”

The young sister smiled. “I will not lose sight of our mission, do not worry. I only wish to test a hypothesis.”

“Be wary of overextending yourself.”

“I would not shame you with such folly. I have no intention of losing control.”

After this, the Reverend Mother Superior was silent, ending the discussion. The Duchess rose, gave a respectful incline of her head, and departed.

No, she would not lose control. They had come much, much too far.

It was simply a mere experiment—-too much risk, and she would end it without hesitation.

She only hoped she wouldn’t have to.

***

Tii Sanura Sur-Kar ran through the subconscious of the na-Baron like a mantra. A dangerous liability, he knew, but considering it was the name of his bride, it was an indulgence he willingly succumbed to at every turn. It was like song, like poetry to him, neither of which he cared for terribly but she adored—if she was truly capable of such a feeling. His betrothed was a shrewd, charming woman. Never terribly moved nor affected, never troubled nor wanting. It hadn’t always been that way, but once she underwent her Bene Gesserit training, the risk-taking, jubilant playmate he knew as a child became a confounding and mysterious woman as the years passed. He was vexed by it initially; her disinterest towards what had once thrilled her, her fixation on scriptures and disciplines, her strangely hypnotic eyes, but he managed to adjust over time. After all, she was a noblewoman with duties and ambitions of her own, not a pet.

Still, she was his. The knowledge that she could not slip through his fingers sated his dissatisfaction with her frigidity. As the years passed, he managed to learn her ways. He was the only one who elicited a smile from her pursed, pillowy lips. He was the only one who could freely request her presence and, eventually, he was the only one—in the whole of the empire, he suspected—that could see the brief cracks in her sagelike mask. He experimented with the pressure points he could catch glimpses of. There was some satisfaction in pulling out the things she was so resolute to conceal from the world around them, to rouse moments of amusement, surprise (a rarity), or, his favorite, timidity.

He lost out on the last one a couple years ago, though, when he had pushed too far during a sparring match, and she surrendered too freely. Her eyes miraculously sparked with the horror of an uncontrollable and unexpected emotion. He felt it for a moment then—the way he could ignite her desire, the way she softened all over beneath his strength. The warmth of her breath, the softness of her skin; he had gotten a taste of it and had needed more ever since.

Thoughts for another time.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen knew how badly his future bride desired him. And vice-versa. It made Tii Sanura retreat as they grew older: more distance, more sarcastic jabs and intellectual pretensions. She knew him well enough to do exactly what would make him tick, to repel the low hum of want that had grown strong enough to overwhelm any other potential experiences they could’ve shared. There had been a time where they had come to an agreement of tentative friendship, but those days were burned to ash under the heat that dared to surface whenever the two were together.

The closer they got to coming of age the more her visits changed. She took longer to come by, and when she was there, she was terse with him if he could get her to speak. In all fairness, though, they did have chaperones since the sparring mishap. She was undoubtedly being discreet about whatever she felt about him, but he knew that despite all the suitors that attempted to sweep her away from him, he had secured her interest. Only he could tell, as difficult a riddle it was to continuously decode. The difficulty became less infuriating as he slowly understood the game being played—he kept testing her resolve and she kept coming back to prove it. The satisfaction he got from poking at her weaknesses barely rivaled hers from besting them. It was almost heartwarming if either of them possessed such a silly thing: he was still her favorite sparring partner.

Tii Sanura had not visited in this year, and it was an important one. The time of his coming of age and hers, the time of their union. He anticipated her usual distance, but not total silence. He tried to distract himself from the unpleasant feeling it caused but there was no cure on Geidi Prime to salve the absence of her silvery voice and sweet perfumes. His pets sufficed for more immediate needs, but there was no comparison. It troubled and fascinated him, the attachment he had to her. He would’ve rid himself of it if not for the fact she still sent him letters, and the fact she could not truly discard him like the rest fueled his want, his need, his hunger to claim his prize. His woman; his wife.

He would not show mercy on this day.

It was all that was truly on his mind as the slave women did their painting on his torso and he inspected his new blades. She would be there, she would be watching him in the arena, and she would be with him tonight afterward. Feyd intended to make the most of such ripe opportunities.

The games were amusing enough, but it was time for them to end. He had spent months envisioning it, the way he would finally best her, conquer her. The anticipation set his teeth on edge so badly it took all of his willpower to not run through slaves and servants like tissue paper. He would not lose his cool, he would adopt the discipline of his beloved, he told himself. He would not imagine ravaging her powerful, lithe frame, bruising her soft brown flesh, envisioning the pain and ecstasy he would conjure upon her unmoved, delicate face. He wouldn’t lose himself. He wouldn’t.

Not if he was going to finally make her do the same.

***

Tii Sanura was bored, as always. She was always amazed by how stupid everyone had to be to not tell the woman she presented them was a fiction. Did they not find her razor-sharp mind the slightest bit incongruent with the mask of a young noblewoman dutifully awaiting her marriage, tastefully enthused to kindly engage with anybody, who always had the perfect compliment and the most ego-stroking remark? Did they not see the void behind the artificial warmth in her gaze? Did they truly think every braindead comment they made amused her?

Of course not, save for a few pitiful monkeys, but the desire to believe the myth and participate bored her all the same. She had forced it into a microscopic container by now, but part of her still longed for the days of swimming naked in the swelling river during the rainy springs in Daquan, riding horses, hours of archery and combat training, studying the history of her ancestors, dressing up in her mother’s priceless gowns and traversing across the oasis-laden desert that surrounded their palace, much to her always gratifying horror. Oh, the tragedies of womanhood.

She was almost perfect. Almost. It made her want to dig her nails into her palms with frustration. The only source of weakness that remained was her betrothed. No matter how she wanted to or tried, the memories, her favoring of him would not fade away like the rest of her old emotions. She could not stay away no matter how much it infuriated her, humiliated her to her sisters. The little machine and her crush, they would tease her. It made her want to smear the walls and floors with their blood, the sounds of their smug tones and the superior air they held around her. It made her furious with her parents for not keeping her and Feyd separate in their youth. Now she had a soft spot in her armor, and the worst part is how he knew.

He provoked her, the bastard. He studied her every time they were together to the point where her only solution was to stop visiting so much. The only company in the galaxy she could stand was now her greatest vex. Just her luck.

The roaring of the crowd in the arena was deafening to her. She hated it, the sounds of fools cheering for their annual performance, for their na-Baron’s holy birthday. She could only imagine how small the Harkonnens’ subjects’ brains had to be to think God was anywhere near this place.

Despite the charade of his arena performance, it wasn’t a detractor from her future husband’s proficiency in combat. His strength was obvious, from the gradual sophistication of his movements, the calculation of his ink black stare…the way his body sculpted overtime to…distressing perfection. Weary of her sisters sensing where her thoughts wandered, she dismissed the thoughts as quickly as they came, calmly raising her binoculars to get a better view of the arena.

There was no relief: he was walking out into the center.

The cheers grew so loud they hurt her ears. Her body became rigid as she watched how he stalked onto the arena, claiming the praise and attention so readily offered to him. She spied the strength of his taut arms, his hands that held those blades of his with such natural finesse. He was a perfected killer, through and through. She stifled the sensation that dared to conjure in her stomach with a hint of spite. He was well enough in comparison to a Harkonnen, but he had room for improvement, she thought to herself, cooling down. But then, he did the absolutely unthinkable.

Her mouth dried as his head smoothly turned to look up at her and her Bene Gesserit sisters, blue eyes daring to twinkle something disastrously humiliating as they somehow fixed onto her from an impossible distance. He smiled and kissed one of his blades in gesture to her, then turned his attention to his uncle, bowing deferentially. It pleased the crowd greatly, and Tii Sanura wondered if these arena visits would one day fully strip her hearing abilities away as sisters chattered amongst themselves with a flat amusement Tii Sanura could not stand, but kept from feeling resentment towards. Such a small attempt to ruffle her golden feathers would not succeed. She watched on, her blood pressure stabilizing from its slight disturbance.

The bastard. He never bored her.

The pageant went on routinely enough; two hulking, delirious men stumbled out into the arena—the last of the House of Atreides. The name made the base of her spine tingle inexplicably. Perhaps it is her weakness of favor creeping up again, she would wonder; the thought of her childhood friend, his parents, Duncan Idaho and Gurney Haleck swept away in a harrowing night of fire and blood made her blood chill slightly. Perhaps it was the fragility of power in such a bloodthirsty imperial court; it often haunted her these days, knowing that the lives of her parents, her younger brothers, her ladies in waiting, herself, hung in such a precarious and delicate balance. Knowing the treachery of her near Uncle-in-law. The guarantees of disaster from moments of weakness. All the more reason to be perfect. One slip up, one ignorant action, and she could lose control of the game she was playing.

Still, those weren’t the answers, she knew that. It was something deeper. Something much more primal, animal. Like rats would escape pirate ships in those faraway ancient years. It felt wrong in a real way. But she didn’t let this trouble hover over her long. Only at night, in bed, did she contemplate the tension within her body. She knew it was not fear, so what was it? Perhaps if she could feel more she would know.

The arena’s cheers spiked in volume and Tii Sanura blinked, returning to what was conspiring beneath her. Feyd made easy work of the two drugged men, much to the delight of the ravenous crowds, but one still stood. And she meant that, too—he was standing. He was upright, alert and sharp. Her spine straightened in interest. Finally. Something interesting.

The two men squabbled briefly until Feyd realized the situation his uncle had placed him in. To anyone but Tii Sanura’s surprise and thrill, he removed his shield with a beaming expression. Her skin prickled slightly at the memory the motion conjured. When she came too close—much, much too close. It is agreeable for a Bene Gesserit to be able care for her partner, but what she felt that day was intolerable. The heavy burden of it on her sweat-slick chest, skin glistening with sweat and a few smears of blood, their muscles contracting and rippling as they fought each other with a heat that didn’t come from competition or bloodlust. Desire.

The word made her think of shuddering. There could be nothing more shameful, certainly. Especially for her kind—excellence was the only option, mastery was her only aim—her mother would have thought her a braindead whore if she had seen her that day. It almost made her think of feeling ashamed, but she only felt disgusted at her own laziness. It would never happen again.

Another swell of cheers. Tii Sanura left her mind again and focused on the battle beneath her—Feyd Rautha was at the mercy of his opponent’s blade, the point staring him directly in his eyes. She knew that he could only be laughing, and just to prove her point his blackened smile bloomed across his face. The man struggled against Feyd Rautha’a grip on the blade, trying to deal the finishing blow, but Tii Sanura knew her betrothed was well-equipped to handle such a minor threat. This was mere play to him. In an instant he had turned the blade onto the final member of House Atreides, sinking it into his chest.

She held back the sensation she felt watching it, the blade piercing her, imagining the heat of Feyd Rautha’s enthralling stare as he watched the life fade from his opponent. The man crumbled, and Feyd dropped him to the ground. He turned to his audience, raising his blade in victory. More roaring, almost like the oceans of Caladan themselves. She could hear their roaring. She could hear their ghosts.

He met her eyes again. She remained unfazed as she held it. He smiled slowly; it was not the same one as before. She knew that look, when she would politely excuse herself when he was getting a bit too touchy with one of his concubines—pets, he’d call them—and the air sparked with carnal heat.

Hunger. He was hungry. And he wasn’t looking anywhere else but her.

The sister closest to her jested softly. “It seems your betrothed is ready for you, Duchess Sanura.”

“He always looks like a dog in heat,” she cooly remarked, “There is no need to jump to such conclusions.”

Another one spoke again, Lady Margot Fenring, one she preferred out of her sisters, aside from the Reverend Mother Superior herself. She smiled bemusedly, eyeing her with a knowing that made Tii Sanura simultaneously relieved and discomforted.

“I hope you brought something for him to feast on, Duchess Sanura, if you do not want to be the one he devours.”

She allowed herself a bemused chuckle. “A fair assessment, I admit…”

She rose from her seat, undaunted by his dark stare. She slowly cocked her head, a small smirk quirking the corner of her mouth upright, forming a familiar wrinkle in her cheek and exposing her dimples. The arena roared with cheers at the interaction.

“I can assure you; he’s not the only rabid dog I’ve tamed. There will be no devouring.”

“You speak with the confidence of a girl, sister,” she warned.

The Duchess’s smile twitched into something genuine as she turned to look at her.

“He is a mere boy, sister. I have faced much worse than Feyd Rautha Harkonnen.”

“Worse,” Lady Fenring remarked quietly, “I will must admit, the thought of worse troubles one deeply.”

A soft laugh left Tii Sanura’s lips like a breath. “Wise words, I cannot disagree.”

She turned back to the arena. Feyd was gone, with only bodies and pandemonium left in his wake.

He certainly never bored her.

***

They never strayed from their ritual, no matter how much time had passed. Feyd-Rautha waited patiently in his betrothed’s quarters, eyeing the golden box sat in the center of her bed from a seat in the corner of the room.

She was taking a bit long.

He tapped his fingers against the metal armrest with some annoyance but he would keep his cool; she wasn’t going to toy with him this time. His mind wandered to the events of the arena—her icy smirk, her leisurely movements. The people of Daquan were so fascinating in their complete and utter absence of desire, of urgency. Understandable for a people that have hailed from paradise, but it still fascinated and confounded the Harkonnen.

They were certainly a high-achieving people, a quality clearly displayed in Tii Sanura. With no lack nor sense of imperial ambition, her people tended towards scholarly, military, artistic or spiritual pursuits—the level of wealth on their planet was immeasurable to anyone who had never seen it, alien to those who did not grow up in such sheer opulence. The Sur-Kar were among the eldest of the great families; their dynasty serving critical elements to the foundation of the empire of today—the first planet to possess Spice, although not nearly as potent or abundant as Arrakis. They were a sister planet, in fact, and although the differences in culture and landscape were obvious, they possessed the same treacherous deserts deeper in the Southeast of the planet—in images, the deep desert bloomed out like a scar.

Feyd broke out of his thoughts and let out a heavy sigh through his nose. Instead of pondering Tii Sanura’s planet, it would be preferable to have the woman herself before him.

As if she had heard his thoughts, she entered through the hissing doors, her shoulders far more relaxed than they should’ve been. She let out a heaving sigh of her own, starting to remove her many rich golden shawls and copper-colored garbs. He watched eagerly, unsure if she knew he was there, but he certainly wasn’t going to call attention to himself now. He took in the golden inscriptions on her dark brown skin with all of the awe his cold black heart could manage. She didn’t undress, much to his dissatisfaction, but his eyes feasted with on her bared arms and shoulders, glistening with golden passages from the Daquani’s various ancient scriptures—there were many to give strength, tenacity, to cool the mind and spirit, to bring fortune and blessings, protections, the like. Superstitions that were outdated in a world where chance had been long buried.

“Are you ignoring me, or have you forgotten how we meet,” he asked, gravelly voice creeping along the walls towards her.

She stopped, then slowly turned around. Her golden makeup shimmered on her eyelids, harmonizing with the undertones in the high apples of her cheeks. She glowed like a precious jewel. No matter who he crossed paths with, Tii Sanura was the most beautiful woman he had ever known. He would say across the galaxy, if it wasn’t such a foolishly sentimental thing to say. She would throw such a silly compliment back into his face with blasé amusement. Her dark, void-like eyes slowly came to life as a small smile formed upon her lips. He kept his cool resolve.

“Perhaps I do not care either way, My Lord na-Baron.”

He smiled in return, pleased with the biting humor in her tone.

“The only trick you couldn’t play on me is convincing me of such a lie.”

Her mouth barely twitched into a growing smile before she corrected her face and rolled her eyes.

“Oh dear, I see the rumored hereditary madness has set in. Just as I feared.”

He let the insult roll off of his back like water as he slowly rose from his seat, stalking towards her like one of those giant cats from her planet. She had one as a pet, he recalled. He spied the sketches she had drawn in a small pocketbook she used to carry with her when they were younger—he wasn’t sure what it was for—her mood had always improved after flipping through its pages.

“It’s been so long since you’ve visited. Are you afraid?”

Her face softened in amusement. “Yes. I am quite terrified. I’m trembling as we speak.”

“You misunderstand what I refer to.”

She frowned at him as she meticulously folded her shawls and scarves, the brushed past him to set them down in the very chair he had sat on.

“Is there something I’m not aware of?”

“Today is the day we are both of age,” he said, holding back any potential hint of emotion from the phrase, “Our marriage is imminent.”

She didn’t display any hint of being affected, but only nodded. “Hm. Yes, I know. Why would this scare me, exactly? I know everything there is to know about you. I doubt I will have any ugly surprises any other poor noblewoman would have in my place.”

Feyd Rautha studied her closely. She didn’t give it away, but she was bluffing. He could feel it.

“No bridal nerves,” he poked, gaze searingly meandering across her face.

She laughed, brushing past him again and placing a knee on the bed, leaning over to grab the golden box. “What, do you think I’ve been twirling my hair and kicking my feet as I fantasize about the wedding with my ladies in waiting? Or perhaps plucking petals off of flowers in the night, biting my nails down to the cuticle?“

She turned to face him, her voice lifting to a mocking octave. “He loves me, he loves me not…”

She handed him the box, her expression serene and friendly. “I know what is in store. Here.”

He took the box, breaking his intense stare on her and sliding it open. It moved with the unsurprising weight of solid gold—the wealth of these people was borderline obscene.

Within the midsize box was a strange red fruit and an ivory hilted knife, dotted with gemstones of a deep and bloody red hue. He opted to take the knife first—a butterfly knife, upon closer inspection. A hint of a smile formed on his lips, she remembered what he asked her for the last time they’d met; it had been so long even he’d forgotten. In combat, it was obviously useless; he had asked for the gift with the hidden intention of having something equally as tangible as her when she was absent, with the hope she would stop haunting his thoughts if there was a reminder of her readily at his fingertips instead of memories and dreams.

Her eyes held a satisfied glint at his obvious pleasure. “Do you like your birthday gift?”

He looked to her, a devilish grin forming on his face. “Is this all?”

She ignored his suggestive remark with annoyance. “I pray to the gods one day you will manage to finally utter the words thank you.”

“I appreciate this, Tii-Tii.”

She seemed to stiffen a bit at the sound of her nickname, and she broke her gaze from his, moving away.

“Get out, I’m going to change.”

His grin widened playfully. “Certainly you still don’t intend to feign decency now; I am your husband, after all.”

She let out a scoff. “Near husband. I’m not asking again.”

Tii Sanura was the only woman he obeyed.

It didn’t take long for her to have changed and join him in the hall. She refused the assistance of their slaves or servants, insisting on dressing and bathing on her own. He suspected her being wary of constant eyes, but the reason for such a reason wasn’t very clear. He later came to the much more obvious conclusion that she was disgusted by them.

Ever modest, she looked more Bene Gesserit than before in the black gown she had put on: long sleeves that poured past her hands, a hood that cloaked her entire head and face from unwanted view. Of course, the fabric shimmered, as did everything from Daquan. Beauty and Tii Sanura did not wander far from one another. The dress was not stingy with her figure, and Feyd took in the curve of her hips with painfully restrained fervor. He looked away when she eyed him under the glowing light that hovered overhead between them. She brandished the fruit from her sleeve, barely containing it in her palm.

“We’ll need a bowl, you eat the seeds.”

He made a face. “You want me to chew on seeds?”

“I thought you were of age,” she chided, “You whine like a child.”

He shot her a look, and she raised her eyebrows an inch or two, eyes glistening with humor. She loved to annoy him when they were left alone together.

“So sensitive all of the sudden! Perhaps I do need to visit more often, these beaten dogs of yours coddle you.”

“It’s respect,” he corrected with some edge, “At some point you will actually need to show it to your husband.”

She only smiled more, knowing his bluffs of retribution. “Delicate baby boy.”

His eyes lingered on her mouth for a moment, making him slow down their pace to his quarters. Feyd’s jaw clenched as a vision of putting her in her place against the wall burned through his mind. He fought it as quickly as it had come, shaking his head with a slight chuckle as he broke his hot stare. By the time it passed, she had stopped her smiling and was looking away from him, having clearly gleaned what had crossed his mind. The weight of their silence made them start walking again—perhaps sharing the hope of escaping it, even for a brief moment of relief.

He cleared his throat, and the collar of his shirt suddenly felt tight, making it hard to swallow. She tossed the fruit in the air as they winded through the halls of the Harkonnens’ underworld palace, the occasional flashes of white light from the fireworks giving brief reprise from the heavy shadows around them. So much of it felt like a strange dream to Tii Sanura, with all of the darkness and high, shadowy ceilings. She could never get used to this strange, colorless planet. At home, the rich golden suns shone through every window and crevice, kissing her people’s brown skin of various shades. A far cry from the albino appearance of Harkonnens under their black sun.

She eyed Feyd-Rautha discreetly—when they first met on Geidi Prime, she was convinced her betrothed was a ghost. It was one of the few frights he had ever gotten over on her. Before her training, he could sneak up on her and surprise her, getting a laugh out of her high-pitched squeak, but those days had passed. But, once they had made it inside, she saw the fine quality of his features, the pleasing peach-colored hue of his pale skin. His eyes went from terrifying pools of ink to a keen soft blue stare, and soon she felt luckier than most of her peers with the looks of her betrothed. If directly asked (and with enough honey wine), Tii Sanura could not lie about the fact that her betrothed possessed beautiful qualities about his appearance. The older they got, the more he grew into them and the more handsome he had been becoming. It made the idea of intimacy less tolerable and more intriguing.

He felt her stare and looked at her from the corner of his eye, making her look away. She shoved the feelings blooming in her stomach into the smallest box she could and willed it away.

“You still have no qualms about marrying me,” he questioned, gaze now fixed on her hood.

“No, of course not. You’re the only person I can barely stand out of the great houses. Everyone else is just too stupid. I’d end up killing him one way or another—gods forbid such an animal would ever try to touch me, it would be more messy than my parents would be able to overlook.”

His ears perked, and a smile played on his lips. “And if I were to touch you?”

“You have touched me,” she replied loftily, “Or have you blocked out the memories of me beating you into a pulp to salvage your pride?”

She looked up at him with a wicked glint in her eye, eager to pounce on an opportunity to shift the mood to something else. Feyd stole a glance at the expression, then scoffed lightly.

He had half a mind to grab her, hold her down, and have his way with her just to see how she reacted. He knew better than to force himself onto her—he’d be kissing his gravestone if he tried—that wouldn’t bring him the pleasure he sought. She wanted him, he knew this. Her humiliated surrender to her need was what he truly hungered for. He wanted the power to unravel her.

She sighed, tossing the fruit again. He started to think of how he was going to begin as they neared his quarters, passing the guards, who Tii Sanura pointedly ignored.

His pets rose in excitement as he entered, but then retreated at his companion’s presence, giving defiant black-eyed stares. Her gaze shifted to them, hiding her expression from his face, and within mere moments they had retreated to the same corner as the slaves. He didn’t know when or how, but she had made her dislike of them very obvious when they were teenagers. He had to replace one of them in the aftermath of this dislike being shown, but never said she was jealous. She didn’t even act particularly troubled by them, but she was clearly revolted by their existence, and, he suspected, their purpose for their na-Baron. After her training with the Bene Gesserit the flashes of proof that she claimed him as he did were resigned to memories. But he didn’t believe they had vanished. Her nose wrinkled slightly in pointed distaste but she addressed Feyd cooly.

“Have you forgotten your manners? You didn’t have your quarters cleaned for your betrothed’s visit?”

He smiled at her, amused by her inexplicable temperance. “Do my darlings still bother you, Tii-Tii?”

“Remove them,” she commanded immediately, eyes fixed on the bald servant woman. “Take them for a walk, or whatever those things do.”

The woman straightened up from cowering under her haunting gaze, ushering the three women from their position and leaving the room. Her eyes moved to the servants cowering in various corners, eyeing her warily.

“You may leave,” she told them.

They quickly filed out, heads bowed and shoulders slumped. Feyd almost wanted to laugh, but knew better than to provoke her—an incensed Tii Sanura with mind control abilities was more dangerous than any atomic arsenal that could be launched at him.

He was glad to have such a woman as his wife.

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head as she lowered her hood, face glowing softly in the low, sparse light of the na-Baron’s room. He watched her with barely cloaked intrigue, freeing his throat from his collar as he moved towards her with a light smirk. She seemed oblivious to his demeanor as she continued to reprimand him.

“I’m not surprised by the barbarism your relatives display, but I do expect some semblance of class from my husband.”

“Near husband,” he corrected, stalking up behind her and placing his hand on the small of her back, “Or does your jealousy make you forget?”

She chuckled, moving away from his touch unceremoniously. “I am not jealous of filth. I am tolerant of your Harkonnen ways, but it is unsightly. Hopefully spending time in my court will help refine some of your rougher edges…although I’m not holding onto much.”

He watched with sharp eyes as she took a bowl off of a sleek black table, eyed it, and, after deciding it was clean enough, sat down on his bed and made a gesture for him to sit with her. Gladly.

“You know my pets eat out of these,” he lied, eager to tease a reaction out of her.

“Not yet, obviously,” she dismissed, “Whatever poor bastard’s their lunch just got a few more hours.”

She brandished a small black knife out of her sleeve and handed it to him with a sigh. He chuckled, but took the knife as she carefully undid the barely visible labyrinth of fastened clips and buttons that had apparently held her gown together. He watched her with interest as he sliced the fruit.

“Too lazy?”

“Too expensive,” she clarified, gesturing to her outfit with some annoyance, “I swear, my mother’s trying to drown me in fabric...”

The hood and sleeves were simply elements of a cloak that covered her actual outfit. Feyd was feeling his appetite sharpen by the second. It would prove modest to anyone else, with loose, flowing trousers and a woolen, long-sleeved tunic, but for the Daquani, especially one of her standing, he knew that what he was seeing before him was absolutely not for anyone else’s eyes but his. It was just then he observed her braids had been taken down from their elaborate updo she had at the arena—when, he didn’t know—as they gently spilled over her shoulders and framed her foxlike face. She sighed again, watching him skillfully remove each juicy seed from the fruit’s pale flesh.

“You should squeeze it,” she told him casually, curling her legs up next to her onto the bed, “The seeds will fall out.”

He paused, glancing up at her serene, delicate face before turning the fruit over and squeezing it firmly. Tii Sanura watched his hand contract around it, the seeds spilling out into the bowl as he crushed it in his grip. She felt it again; the heat that set her ablaze from head to toe the final time they’d sparred. It had been then, when he had her on the ground, the flat of his blade pressed against the hot pulse that flowed down her neck, that same hand pinning her wrist to the ground with iron-like strength as their faces brushed dangerously against each other, that she realized they were becoming a man and a woman intended to be married and no longer the youthful partners in crime she could easily maintain a satisfactory internal distance from. It was then she became aware of a new weakness, one that caught her by surprise—she never thought it possible to see him in such a way, but there she’d been, flushed in an immeasurable amount of places, wanting to feel more than his blade against her skin.

There was not a feeling more taxing, more tenacious than desire. She could feel it blooming in her stomach with dread that she put all her will into tempering. His eyes were boring into her in a way that made her want to run away, retreat, but she refused to show such a pathetic display of weakness. He managed to get all of the seeds out, discarding the fruit out into the hall where the servants remained, flinching at his motion before he returned to her, sliding both sides of the blade along his tongue to lick off the juice. She stole a brief glance at the motion, but remained unaffected, her mask solid.

“Hm; what is this?”

“My uncle gifted me some recreated seeds they made in his laboratory. Pomegranate is what they called it.”

“Strange name.”

“All dead languages sound strange if you don’t put down your knives long enough to study them,” she subtly reprimanded.

A soft laugh passed through his nose as he returned to her side on the foot of his silken-sheeted bed.

“Tii-Tii, aren’t women from your planet meant to be less…annoying?”

“I wish I could ask the same about the men from yours.”

The juice of the pomegranate seeds gradually coated their tongues as they chewed on them and continued to make playful jabs at the other.

“I want a pleasant wife,” Feyd proclaimed with the gravity of a command, “A respectful one.”

Obedient was a far-fetched fantasy.

“If you want a pleasant and respectful wife, then you must please and respect her,” she said with the impersonal tone of a proverb, “You must plant seeds to harvest what you desire.”

He eyed her quizzically as she continued eating pomegranate seeds. She didn’t respond to the question in his stare, in fact, she seemed to be avoiding his gaze altogether.

“Tii-Tii,” he began slowly, “It’s unlike you to avoid a subject.”

He watched her shoulders square off with interest. Perhaps he had more leeway over her than he anticipated.

“I don’t—“

“We both know playing coy isn’t a convincing look on you,” he interrupted, a wicked smile forming on his face.

“Whatever you wish to speak about, I will speak on,” she said, “But I must admit I don’t know what you want to discuss.”

“The consummation of our marriage.”

She didn’t miss a beat, tilting her head with a shrug. “Yes, a necessary duty. It will be fulfilled, I will give you heirs. I can guarantee no difficulty in the…process.”

Upon finally meeting her betrothed’s gaze, Tii Sanura fell silent. The heat of his stare was unmistakable, and a shiver went down her spine. This couldn’t happen yet, she thought to herself, no overextending.

“Of course, it will wait until our wedding night,” she clarified, testing the waters of his mood, “Anything beforehand would be improper.”

He didn’t answer her, only took the bowl in his hands and lifted it to her mouth.

“Spit them out.”

Hunger. It was burning off of him so intensely she could feel it against her cheeks, which were growing more flushed by the moment. She stared at him in an oppressively long silence before her eyes shifted away to the floor, then gradually met his again. She was blushing, he realized.

“Feyd, what are you doing?”

Her voice had become much more softer, confused. It made him want to pounce, but that wouldn’t do him any good, not when he was getting her where he wanted her. His silence in response weighed down the air around them with what felt to her like tons—she was cornered and she knew it. There were two options: she could fight him off and swat him away, which would anger him, but he could not resist her Voice’s commands. The other one she dare not think of, lest she forget herself. Slowly, she spit the seeds out, watching him a bit nervously. He couldn’t tell she was nervous, of course, no one could, but he had the air of certainty of a predator closing in on its hunt.

She was not ignorant to the fact her betrothed was dangerous and forceful. He was clever, manipulative, calculating, but ultimately a slave to his desires. The Reverend Mother Superior had appointed the two to one another for just this precise reason: one of the sharpest of her students to serve as a companion and counsel to such a husband, but also to keep him contained. She was well aware of her husband-to-be’s danger, and the genuine hazards that came with the heat of his passions.

Tii Sanura was still confident in her ability to defend herself physically, and she knew he had certainly not forgotten how swiftly she could put him down, even if there proved more struggle in the present day. But no, she realized, Feyd did not intend to force his way through to her at all; he knew he could tug on the threads of physical desire that he intended to conjure within her. She also knew, furthermore, that such a refutation and humiliation of her self-discipline was the gratification he wanted—how long, she couldn’t determine.

She rose from the bed as he set the bowl down. He was watching her like a panther.

“What’s wrong,” he questioned, voice saccharine with humor, “You seem tense.”

“Certainly…you can wait a few more months for an heir—“

“I don’t care about heirs, Sanura. I think that’s obvious enough.”

The way he’d said her name made her want to reconsider her resolve, but involuntary alarm bells went off as he approached her—his expression was so dark, his stare so heavy on her face that it reminded her of his thrill in the arena today, his sharp, powerful movements as he struck down his opponents. Damn him, she thought, he’s even got the propaganda working on me.

She watched as his eyes raked her body, her face, and his aura got shadowy as he stepped towards her. Bad, bad, was all that she could think, this still couldn’t happen yet. They had to be married. She tried to spin up a diversion with her words, but they were beyond unintelligible, let alone obvious lies.

“I am not like you, Feyd. I don’t harbor such desires, I am not…I do not have lustful wants. I cannot…It’s not right.”

He only held a knowing smile in his eyes as he closed in on her slowly, standing over her and peering down with evident satisfaction. She was too prideful to back away from him, no matter how badly she wanted to. Or perhaps she didn’t want to. He couldn’t tell, and Tii Sanura didn’t know herself right now. He held her jaw gently, making her hold his stare. He could feel her pulse racing under her skin, and she felt it quicken the longer she knew he could feel how fast her heartbeat was getting. It wasn’t right, she could only helplessly repeat to herself, it wasn’t time yet, it wasn’t right.

The more it kept repeating, the less it was starting to matter. The heat coming from his body was beginning to eclipse how stupid and reckless such an indulgence would be, what a delicate night this was, and how she had been avoiding this exact situation for the past year. A new voice spoke in response: and what a miserable year it has been.

“I have trouble with that, Sanura,” he said quietly, grazing one of her flushed cheeks with this thumb, “See, I don’t think you’re telling the truth.”

She lied like breathing. “I am.”

He clicked his tongue, smiling slightly. “No, you’re not. I can smell it off of you. I know my wife.”

“Near wife,” she quickly corrected, brushing his hand aside.

Her pedantry annoyed him, it wasn’t going to distract him from his goal. He knew just how to punish her for it.

“My wife all the same,” he countered, “Just as I am yours. Besides, you think I can’t tell your only weakness? You can barely think straight and all I’ve done is touch you a little.”

She was fortuitous in her composure—he knew the embarrassment that must’ve been flushing through her body at his open recognition of her obvious desire. She held his gaze now without his help; she had the strength of a challenge behind her stare. His mocking smile grew.

“I have no weakness. You are too used to the pathetic women on this planet to understand that.”

“Oh, Tii-Tii,” he lamented with a sigh, “You know I hate it when you lie to me. Do you think I’m as stupid as everyone else?”

He stepped towards her, and she stepped back. There was mild surprise in her eyes underneath her cool expression; she didn’t do it consciously. He felt his pulse starting to rise; she was cracking.

“I am not one of your whores,” she told him firmly, “You cannot have your way with me as you please. You must have my agreement.”

He smiled, eagerly backing her against the wall. “My darling beloved, I already have it. Don’t I?”

Her eyes flared with sudden alarm. “Feyd, what in the gods’ name is making you speak in such a way?”

“I am not a boy anymore, Sanura,” he said, eyes tracing her skin before returning to press down on her gaze, “And you are not a naive girl. You are a woman. You are a…beautiful woman.”

“I will not be demeaned in such a way,” she warned.

“It is not my intention to do such a thing.”

“You are cornering me like an animal.”

He smiled. “Are you cornered? Are you admitting such a thing?”

She blinked, then a sudden wave of anger darkened her features. He knew before she opened her mouth that she was about to use her Voice on him—he clasped his hand on her mouth, caging her to the wall with the rest of his body. He watched fire bloom in her eyes with reverence.

“You could not understand the way I have longed for you,” he spoke, voice too soft for anyone else but them to hear, “I would not disrespect a woman such as yourself with harm or force. But I will not wait any longer.”

Her eyes were alarmed and questioning. He willingly gave her the answer.

“I need you.”

His fingers gently grazed the scriptures that were raised on her soft skin, trying not to let his breath tremble—he did not anticipate being the slightest bit nervous to make his advance, but he couldn’t help it, not when it was her.

“You’re getting goosebumps,” he remarked with a grin, “Now why is that?”

He teased the edge of her waistband gently, watching her chest rise and fall in short, tight breaths. She was so much more easier to toy with than he thought, or she held back more needs of her own than he could’ve imagined.

“I’ve always wondered about that day.”

Tii Sanura felt her heart drop in humiliation, but an undeniable thrill shot through her. Part of her feared he’d forgotten, consider what he could be sticking his dick in every night, but here he was, admitting it had sat as heavy on his chest as hers.

“If no one had the opportunity to stop us…what I could’ve done to you…”

His fingers slid between the waistband and her bare skin as he slowly grabbed ahold of her hip, holding her in place. Her breath shuddered involuntarily, sending a jolt of hunger through his body.

“Mm, see? You aren’t made of stone, my jewel. You are a woman.”

She looked away with obvious discomfort and shame, but Feyd wanted to press a bit more before retreating. He didn’t lie, he would not force her.

“I will wait for you to come to me,” he said, leaning in to speak softly into her ear, “I won’t judge you for your needs, Tii-Tii. I know I am the only man to have ever touched you like this.”

They looked at each other, the pretense of denial have shattered, making their gazes wide open, their feelings and intentions obvious, unable to cloak them from the other. Slowly, he removed his hand from her mouth, a bit worried she would immediately lash out with a command.

She did not. She was silent. Her lips trembled.

He glanced between them and her eyes, his body slowly closing in on hers until he knew she wouldn’t resist him. He kissed her, gently, so as not to scare her too much, taking hold of her waist underneath her tunic. Her body was rigid and he could sense the nervous, confused energy coming off of her. He parted his lips from hers, feeling her trembling breath against his face.

“F-Feyd…”

She was stuttering, her mind seemingly incapable of forming a coherent thought as she frowned. Her eyes seemed to take in his face in a new way, but she couldn’t make the two different images fit. He kissed her lips again. Then her cheeks, then, with a flash of weakness, he kissed her neck, and her breath audibly drew.

“Feyd, please…”

I can’t take any more, is what she didn’t say but he knew what she meant. It made his blood get even hotter, rushing straight to his groin. His fingers dug into her skin, perfumed with roses, and he inhaled the scent greedily with a swallow.

“You think I don’t know the ways I make you excited?”

She stiffened as he forced his leg between her thighs and pressed against her, making her exhale loudly and mutter under her breath, closing her eyes and turning her face away.

“You can’t—I must…I can’t.”

She felt the cold blade of his newly gifted knife caress her cheek before he pressed the flat of it against her face to turn her face towards his, making her open her eyes and meet his gaze in challenge.

“Mm, those pretty eyes,” he said softly, trailing the dagger point down her neck, then chest, “You can’t what, my darling?”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your pet,” she demanded, hand closing around the hilt of a blade tucked in her waistband.

“No, no, of course not,” he soothed, voice rumbling in her ears as he tilted her chin up with his jewel-jilted knife, “But you’re mine, aren’t you?”

Her eyebrows drew together, and Feyd felt a thrill flash through him like a shiver. What will you do now?

He lowered his mouth to hers, eyes burning into hers, challenging her to stop him. She tried to wriggle but it only created friction between their intertwined bodies. Her eyes shut with a grunt at the feeling of heat and a jolt of pleasure blooming between her legs against his thigh. He watched her, tongue grazing his lips.

“You disgust me,” she calmly jabbed at him, trying not to give a reaction.

He chuckled. “Oh. Do I?”

“Get off of me,” she insisted, “I’m only warning you—once…”

Her voice faltered at the feeling of his blade’s tip tracing her bare waist as he pressed harder, his erection pressing against her thigh. It was upsettingly sizeable, just as she remembered when he was on top of her before. She had prayed it was just a trick of her mind.

Fuck, no, no—she couldn’t, definitely not, at least, before they were wed. It was not only beyond taboo for a woman of her standing in Daquan—but a blow against her pride as a Bene Gesserit. She had proven herself to the Reverend Mother, and she was supposed to throw that away, be knocked up under the seductive force of a Harkonnen? It sounded beyond deranged.

“I will not lie with you,” she told him firmly, finding some ground in her desire-afflicted mind. “You cannot force me.”

“Oh, you’re really breaking, aren’t you,” he murmured against her neck, parting his lips afterwards to taste her skin.

Her chest rose high, and her left hand involuntarily grabbed onto him as she pressed her lips together, fighting the soft shudder trying to move through her body. Her right hand had a white knuckle grip on her dagger, but it faltered.

“I will not lie with you before we are wed,” she said, “I will make you stop if I have to.”

He only laughed. “You don’t have to stop me yet, Tii-Tii?”

“Feyd,” she whispered, her tone even. A warning.

“I won’t give you my heir now,” he reassured, “But that doesn’t prevent me from giving you what you need, don’t worry.”

He started to kiss down to her chest, her skin hot against his lips.

“You really do need it, don’t you? I can tell you do, or you wouldn’t be hanging onto me like that.”

The smugness in his voice both made her frustration and desire rise to a breaking point. She parted her lips to speak, but her voice had disappeared as he tossed his blade aside, undoing the top buttons of her tunic so fast she didn’t even get the chance to try and stop him. He still seemed to hold some sense of respect for her sense of modesty; instead of ripping the fabric free from her body, he let it fall slack and open, revealing her torso to him. He took in the new skin, how the golden tattoos adorned her chest, and he couldn’t help but trace the pads of his finger across them, mesmerized.

“I still can’t understand it, what you’ve done to me,” he muttered softly, tracing the tattoos that weaved up her neck. She shivered slightly at the sensation, despite her best efforts.

Her will was starting to crumble as his fingers slid under her waistband, teasing at her undergarment, his touch creeping lower so slowly her legs were becoming weak. He licked atop her collarbone and tasted her skin, her head slowly tilting back as he dragged his tongue across her throat, tasting her pulse, gently grazing his teeth against her flesh. She made a soft sound, the tension in her body softening. Feyd grinned in victory, feeling the tension in her hips slowly loosening. That’s my girl, just as you’re supposed to.

“I can feel your legs shaking,” he said, words coming out in a low hum, “You’re this pathetic, just from my touch?”

Feyd was losing sight of anything beyond this moment. Her weak, bated breath, the moan building in her throat, the heat coming off of her intoxicating skin—it was overwhelming in the most delicious way. Her breath caught as she stared up at him, feeling, with equal parts terror and awe, completely helpless. It was a state of being she never thought possible; she was always far ahead of her peers, enemies, and colleagues. Never, in her lifetime, had anyone put her in such a weak, pliable position—certainly never a man of the Great Houses.

But here he was: her husband, the only one she ever thought close to matching her, doing just that, and about to push beyond it. Her lips slowly parted as her breath evened and he gently brushed his mouth against his. Their eyes fell shut at the mutual feeling.

“Kiss me,” he whispered against her mouth.

The heavy footsteps reached Tii Sanura’s ears before they reached his, and as the doors hissed, she had summoned a surge of strength within her to shove him away and quickly lunge over to the seat her cloak was and tugging it on. He fell back onto his bed in pure disorientation as she fastened a few of the bigger buttons and pulled the hood over her beautiful, precious face. Feyd quickly sat up as he looked from her cloaked figure to his cousin’s hulking frame barging into his quarters. An overwhelming wave of hatred washed over him as he glanced between them both with suspicion and curiosity. The fucking bastard, he seethed to himself.

“Uncle wants you to see him,” Rabban said, “And you, too.”

She ignored him, leaving the room smoothly with her hood up. Feyd watched her slip through his fingers in furious agony. The fucking bastard; he was so close.

“What—“

Feyd’s white-hot glare was enough to make Rabban turn away and leave.

***

Tii Sanura’s aura was dark and heavy as they were all escorted to meet with the Baron. She stalked ahead of the men in silence, her cloaked hands clasped firmly behind her back. Feyd eyed her with a discreet sense of pride while Rabban eyed her warily. Her hooded figure was unsettling to The Beast; there was something about the silence and swiftness of her movements which set his spine straight. This mood troubled him; in the underworld of corridors they travelled, she could easily slip from his sight and do god knows what. He remembered the day she interrupted his training session hours after he had insulted her culture’s customs, and she brutally beat him with just the same coordination and grace as she had in her movements now. Needless to say, he apologized.

Rabban glanced to Feyd, but his cousin’s face, as usual, remained impossible to decipher.

The three entered the quarters of Baron Harkonnen in silence. Instantaneously, Tii Sanura’s entire aura shifted from agitated to perfectly collected. The Baron blew smoke from his hookah, smiling at the sight of her as he reclined in his ink black bath. It took all her fortitude to not allow disgust to creep up in her mind at the unpleasant sight.

“Ah, my dear nice-in-law,” he remarked, “I’m glad you visited today.”

She smiled, briefly inclining her hooded head. “Lord Baron.”

Feyd and Rabban stood by as the Baron Harkonnen and Tii Sanura exchanged disturbing pleasantries with warm smiles.

He chuckled, rising the hookah to his lips. “How did you like your betrothed’s performance today? Did you not find it impressive? He’s improved, no?”

Feyd eyed her as he awaited her answer; she knew better than to refuse the statement or show any degree of affection towards the na-Baron, but there was always a sliver within him that hungered for her approval.

“He has learned well,” she affirmed smoothly.

“Perhaps after the wedding you can test your blade against his again, see for yourself.”

A soft smile briefly spread on her lips as she turned to him, gaze spelling vengeance. Feyd’s gaze tossed the challenge back with a small smirk. Her eyes said something he couldn’t decipher in response. Rabban glanced between the two discreetly, but his cousin still caught his eye, making him avert his gaze. Tii Sanura’s eyebrow rose a quirk as she glanced over at Rabban as well before turning her attention back to the eldest Harkonnen.

“Perhaps indeed, Lord Baron, but at least let him give me heirs first.”

He chuckled lightly, smoke billowing from his lips. Rabban observed the three with split second glances before remaining still, lest their withering stares fix onto him. He never trusted the Daquani girl. She was too clever, too good at saying the perfect things at the perfect time. His time on Arrakis only made him more wary—to come home to a woman so similar to the rats he fought on Arrakis, charming room after room, bathed in gold and glittering jewels, wrapping his Uncle around her finger only spelled trouble to him.

She was skilled at eliciting any paternal affections the soulless Baron Vladmir Harkonnen possessed—her mental acuity and combat skills already made her the bride he’d envisioned for his prized nephew, but her family’s power and prowess bumped her up to god’s personal gift to him. As if to prove his point, the Baron’s expression glowed with the same fondness he looked upon Feyd with—she was already family.

Rabban swallowed his annoyance, and Baron Vladmir’s eyes slid over to him slowly as if he’d sensed it; his expression quickly souring.

“You may leave.”

Anyone who could make Rabban go away in a moment’s notice immediately gained the Duchess’s favor. Feyd watched her back slowly relax as Rabban left, slinking up next to her. She didn’t shift her focus from his Uncle as their hands brushed against each other.

“Now then, enough pleasantries,” the Baron dismissed, “I have spoken with your family this week. I am sure you know Tii.”

She nodded. “Indeed, My Lord.”

“We have agreed that tomorrow is the day you two shall finally unite.”

Tii Sanura’s stomach dropped, and Feyd suppressed a smile. It seems he didn’t need to wait a few more months after all. He could sense the tension in his fiancé, though, and brushed the satisfaction he felt aside. Either she was truly afraid to marry him, or she knew something he didn’t.

She didn’t falter; in fact, she smiled. “I see, when are we to return to Daquan?”

“They intend to send for you tonight. A bit hasty, but I suspect they are a bit protective of their heir all alone on Geidi Prime, all these years aside. We’ve also discussed your living arrangements.”

Feyd eyed his Uncle suspiciously. “Living arrangements?”

“Yes, the Duke and Duchess have generously invited you to live as newlyweds in their court; I see no protest. You will enjoy yourself, nephew; I have heard many stories of the pleasure of Daquan. Consider it another gift for your birthday.”

Feyd’s jaw clenched as he recalled the afternoon attempt on his life in the arena with the Atreides slave with some annoyance. He pondered drowning his Uncle as his expression darkened. His lips dared to part and speak the thought, but Tii Sanura pinched him discreetly to tell him to be quiet. Sensing something beyond his understanding, he obliged his wife.

“Don’t tell me you’re still upset, nephew, you proved yourself quite well,” the Baron chided, chuckling, “Besides, I have another gift for your birthday.”

His lips parted into a smile that made Tii Sanura’s blood chill.

“Arrakis.”

The air in the room shifted. Tii Sanura’s mind fell still. Arrakis. The sister planet to her own, populated with a people whose ancestors undoubtedly lived in some semblance of the peace and calm hers did before the Empire discovered their Spice, before the Harkonnens sunk their claws into the planet. She held her composure, but wanted to swallow. The thought of ruling over Arrakis made her throat feel like sandpaper. The thought of Arrakis made her blood pulse and thicken. She wanted to sit, she wanted to leave immediately, she wanted to go back home.

Feyd placed his hand on her lower back, glancing over to her. She resented the way it calmed her. She couldn’t stand it.

“Rabban has obviously proved his incompetence, and I need Spice production stabilized. And you, my dearest niece-in-law, you will undoubtedly find a way to make yourself of use in this effort.”

“Of course, Lord Baron,” she assured, her expression placid.

“Of course, still, there are more talks to be had beyond this, but your union, and our houses’ unions are imperative. Go and prepare for your voyage, and allow me to be the first to congratulate you—I sense your union will be…more than agreeable.”

The Baron grinned, and instinctively Tii Sanura’s stepped away from Feyd’s touch to give a slight bow of respect. She offered a meditative smile, bowing her head slightly again and leaving silently. Feyd-Rautha followed, eyes fixed on her curiously. What did she know that he didn’t?

The moment the doors shut, Tii Sanura whirled around, and her hand shot out and collided harshly with Feyd-Rautha’s face. Without missing a beat, she walked towards her quarters at full stride, frustrations bubbling within her as if they had all come to boil.

“Do not ever touch me in that man’s presence,” she snapped lowly, eyes smoldering with barely restrained frustration, “I will not tolerate such humiliation, and you—“

She suddenly cut herself off as Feyd watched the anger boil over into the darkest glare he’d ever seen on his betrothed’s face. They held each other’s gazes, and a flash of realization passed over Tii Sanura’s face, sweeping away her temper as quickly as it had descended, causing him some dissatisfaction—he had never seen her so alive. She sucked her teeth, giving him a harsh look and stalking off back to her quarters.

The bastard.

As she rounded the corner, Feyd grabbed her and pinned her to the wall, eyes smoldering. Her gaze held heat too, and it flared back at him with upset and desire. His hand closed around her throat carefully, holding her to the wall as he whispered in her ear. She was learning new things about herself today—the second was what the sensation of such a gesture did to her body. His breath fanned against her face before her spoke quietly into her ear, mindful that his voice didn’t carry beyond the dark, empty hallway. To her shock and thrill, her language flowed from his lips as he spoke.

“Don’t hit me like that unless you’re willing to pay for it,” he told her, voice practically a low growl, “When we’re married, the next time you strike me like that, I’m going to bend you over the first thing I see and fuck that attitude right out of you. That’d be just what you needed, wouldn’t it? I bet you need it now.”

Their breaths were heavy as he let go of her throat, grabbing the back of her neck, and pulled her into a heated, aching kiss. She grabbed onto the fabric of his tunic with a soft quaver of her voice in her throat, opening her mouth—her body had nearly taken over her mind with need, and she crumbled into the kiss with almost as much need as her husband-to-be. He had to hold back the satisfied groan that wanted to rumble in his chest at her near matching his hunger before suddenly pushing him back as much as he would allow. Her breath was quiet but heavy. Her eyes were unmistakable, even in the shadows of the Harkonnen palace. Feyd held her tighter, leaning in again and taking another kiss.

She slowly closed her eyes, her eyebrows briefly creasing before her expression softened into nothingness again. Her body relaxed into a deep exhale, and suddenly, everything became…

Feyd’s world blurred around him. His mind spun as his feet’s hold on the ground seemed to lapse in and out. All he could hang onto was her scent, her heat, the pulsing blood that rushed through her body. Then, her voice. It whispered to him, but she didn’t open her mouth. A Bene Gesserit trick, he realized.

Follow me.

He wanted to be angry at her slight smirk, but he couldn’t; his mind and body were sedated under her cooling presence as she rose from the wall and took his hand off of her throat, linking their fingers to lead him through the darkness. He opened his mouth, but her whispers stopped him.

Don’t speak. You don’t need to. I know what it is you need.

Somehow he could still see her eyes through the shadows that devoured them both. His heartbeat filled his ears—but whispers did, too, whispers he couldn’t understand. He heard her gently laugh, much to his annoyance and stoking his lust. His hunger couldn’t decide if he preferred how she unraveled for him, or how she could assert her will over every aspect of his being at a moment’s notice.

He blinked, and suddenly his mind cleared. They were in her room. His cock strained against his pants as she reclined on her bed, resting on her elbows. He could see the curves of her breasts through her cloak—was she only wearing her cloak?

“Come,” she told him, her gaze dangerous. Another change.

She didn’t need to command him. Feyd knew the danger he had to be in for her to invite her to his bed, but he had no control. He slowly climbed on top of her, wary of whatever she had up her sleeve.

Careful, her Voice whispered. Not a command, but a warning. His mind sharpened with the familiarity of being caught in one of her traps. Her looked over her serene face with confusion.

“The time has come, my friend,” she said softly, “When I am to test if you are simply an animal, or a man.”

The world suddenly grew clear, and he became acutely aware of something pointing at the side of his neck.

“I hold the Gom Jabbar at your neck,” she told him, eyes scathingly watchful, “One move, and I kill you.”

He swallowed, his desires becoming increasingly stoked by the passing moment. She had him bested once again.

“What is my test,” he asked, eyes taking in glimpses of the bare inscribed skin underneath the black, shimmering fabric.

“Focus,” she sweetly reprimanded, “Or you will die by your wife’s hand.”

He held her stare, feeling his cock aching painfully. She moved her sleeve, revealing a small box further up the bed. He moved with her as she slowly reclined until her head was right next to it, and his hand threatened to slide into the mysterious contraption.

“Put your hand into the box,” she instructed, her lips brushing against his.

He was very wary of her intentions now, she was too open, too intoxicating. Hesitantly, he followed her directions while stealing glances at her.

“What is in it, Sanura?”

Her teeth gleamed in the light as a knowing smile curved her full, pillowy mouth.

“Pain.”

The moment the word left her lips, agony overcame his entire being. He knew to hold still, she would kill him without thinking, but his hand felt as if it was being put through multiple tortures all at once—the skin and muscles flaying off of bone, the fire consuming bubbling flesh, the freezing cold making the sinews brittle and dead. It was too much—he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

He held his wife’s dangerous, enigmatic stare as his hips slightly thrust against her and his cock pulsed and twitched in his pants. She felt it, but didn’t respond.

“Don’t move,” she warned.

His eyes were seeing white with the overwhelming sensations consuming his body—he held onto his wife’s instruction, trying to find her eyes through the haze. He was certain at this point that his hand was long gone, but the pain continued, telling him otherwise.

A groan filled his throat, and she clicked her tongue.

“Silence,” she told him.

His breath was ragged as he fought it down. This woman would be the death of him. He couldn’t tell if he hated her or loved her in this moment of torment.

He fixed his gaze onto hers, forcefully keeping himself upright with nothing but spite and terror. He watched her smile grow, but then she became blurry, and her whispers filled his ears. He felt her careful touch wipe his eyes so he could see clearly again.

“Very good,” she said.

Tears involuntarily rolled down the na-Baron’s face. He was right at the gates of release as she lowered the Gom Jabbar, visibly pleased. The pain lowered from its mind-frying crest, making him nearly collapse onto her if it weren’t for the tension holding his muscles in place.

“You can take your hand out, now.”

Feyd discovered with some shock that his hand was completely intact. Pristine, even. He swallowed, looking down at his wife in shock as his nervous system slowly stabilized. She was smiling. It was a strange one. Not the kind from games or torment, but unmistakably tender. Feyd’s heart slammed in his chest as he slowly rested his forehead against hers, but she allowed it.

“Very good,” she repeated, leaning upwards to gently press her cool cheek against his hot, teary face.

His words rasped out. “Am I an animal, my love?”

She chuckled sweetly, the devilwoman. He wanted to ravage her right then and there.

“You are an animal of a man, my husband. But you prove a man, indeed.”

“So have I passed your Bene Gesserit test, then,” he asked, eyelids heavy as he lifted himself up and let his gaze pass over her body again.

“Yes,” she said, “And now…”

He pressed his hips into her slowly, desire slowly reviving his traumatized senses. “…Now?”

“Now…”

She slowly lifted her chin, tasting the salt on his cheeks, feeling the hungry tremor pass through his body with satisfaction. His hands balled into fists, gripping the silken sheets in his hands. He inhaled her scent, roses and sweat and lust, mouth nearly watering. She grinned as she spoke into his ear.

“You must leave and prepare to depart for our wedding.”

At the flash of indignation on his face, she quickly changed her tone.

“Now,” she commanded.

Involuntarily, he rose, his face blank. She lied back with a sigh, placing the Gom Jabbar back into its cloth sheath and placing it on the bed next to her.

“I will see you soon, my friend,” she teased, “Perhaps your pets can satisfy you.”

The monstrous woman, he thought to himself as he unwillingly left her quarters. I knew she was jealous of them.

Tii Sanura let out a heaving exhale, lying back on the silken pillows and closing her eyes. It was only then her awareness noticed the pair of servants in the corner, awestruck and terrified. She sat up, covering herself with a bit of embarrassment.

“Oh dear, my apologies,” she said, finally addressing them, “I am usually not so sloppy. That was rather…improper of us.”

The two women eyed her warily. She considered them, then gave a small, benevolent smile.

“You may stand properly. I will be your new mistress, and I do not hail from a house of savagery. I expect my servants to stand with some semblance of grace.”

The two women shared a look of confusion, but quickly separated, timidly emerging from the corner with their heads bowed and shoulders crumbled. They faced her and looked at her, but she quickly realized the slaves of the Harkonnens did not know how to stand properly.

“Oh dear,” she remarked.

The slaves tensed in fear, trembling in anticipation of a brutal punishment. Tii Sanura rose from the bed.

“You must lift your heads, my darlings. Stand as I do.”

They observed her, then, warily straightened their spines, their shoulders squaring. Her expression was calm but warm, and she nodded in approval.

“That is better, but we will work on it.”

She considered them in silence, and the slaves gradually became less tense, unsure of what to do or anticipate from the stranger.

“What are your names?”

They feared her too much to speak. Her eyes softened.

“That is alright. You will decide yourselves when the time is right.”

She clothed herself, then gestured for them to approach. They avoided her eyes, but moved towards her quickly.

“You shall join me in Daquan. Is this agreeable?”

The two women nodded, hesitant to disobey, curious and eager to leave the cruel House Harkonnen to discover the court of their new mistress. She smiled.

“I suspected as much. Stay close to me. I will not allow otherwise.”

***

Feyd immediately sought out his wife the moment they were on their way to Daquan in a rage. His footsteps were silent—habit of a trained killer, but his fury was easily felt by Tii Sanura as she and the two Harkonnen slave women conversed.

He stormed into her quarters, meeting an unbelievably bizarre sight—two of his house’s slaves, smiling, conversing freely with his wife, dressed in the luxurious fabrics and jewels that she was adorning them in. Their faces fell in mortal terror at the sight of him, but his wife was unmoved. His stomach twisted, a new, unpleasant feeling. Something was wrong.

“Ah, hello, my friend.”

He moved to grab the slaves, but his wife’s dark stare stopped him in his tracks.

“Take one step towards them and I will return their suffering to you hundredfold,” she snapped, then smiled, “Do you understand?”

Indignation rose to a peak, he snapped at them. “Out.”

Tii Sanura was clearly annoyed by his addressing of the women, but she remained calm.

“No, no; you may stay. I do not want the Harkonmen envoys near you.”

“What is wrong with you, woman,” he demanded, stalking towards her as the women retreated to share a corner, frozen in silence.

She watched him calmly, her expression serene as always. Her eyebrows rose in mock sympathy.

“You did not ease your affliction with your pets?”

Her eyes flitted over to the women with a playful wink; embarrassment simultaneously infuriated and aroused him, and he glared back at the women. They stood differently, he noticed, and then he realized they were awaiting her instructions. Something was wrong.

“What is this,” he questioned, voice forcibly calmed, “What is happening in this room?”

She seemed to be glowing with a quiet joy, her features no longer held the shadow they did in Geidi Prime. She touched his face.

“Calm yourself,” she commanded gently, “And hear me.”

Feyd’s head swam as his nervous system suddenly slowed down. She guided him to her bed, and the two sat. He had never seem such warmth in her eyes.

“I will give you what you need,” she assured, whispering so as not to reach the ears of the women in the corner, “I can promise you; it will outclass any pleasure you derive from suffering. I will give you something better. Let your anger go.”

Her hand soothingly rubbed his back, a motion he did not understand, but wanted to continue. His confusion under the gaze of slaves made him tense. This was beyond humiliation.

“Feyd, do you trust me?”

Easy answer. “No.”

She laughed softly. “I will change that. But you can. I am fond of you, and our marriage ensures your safety.”

Safety?

The na-Baron knew he was missed crucial pieces of the puzzle his wife-to-be had built, but needed no additional information to understand he was caught in her web, and traveling through space directly into the nest itself.

“I cannot tell you everything until we are wed, and your safety is guaranteed.”

Her fingers caressed his jaw soothingly, and he looked at her. He didn’t know who the woman before him was.

“What are you planning, Tii Sanura,” he asked her, voice low.

“It is not my plan. It is the plan. And Vladimir Harkonnen is not included.”

A conspiracy. Familiar ground. He felt a bit more settled with this knowledge, but still, he was wary.

“I am your hostage, then?”

She laughed. It was a laugh he remembered from long ago, when she teased him for not having eyebrows when they were children.

“There is no need for hostages. The course is set. There is no escape. You are my betrothed. We are marrying, and that is all. They want you to breed. I want you to live.”

The word intrigued him. “Breed?”

She laughed slightly. “You will understand soon enough. I see glimpses of the path, but I will see it all. I will make sure you survive the coming storm.”

He scanned her face, but there was no way to know if Tii Sanura was ever lying, not to mention she was speaking nonsense. Seeing he couldn’t understand her, she sighed.

“Give me a moment.”

She led the women outside, conversing with the guards—no, instructions, Feyd corrected, orders to protect them if trouble arose—then returned inside so they were alone. Her eyes were fond, affectionate. It made his stomach churn. His head was spinning.

“I apologize that I cannot ease your confusion, my friend. Plans have been in motion since we have been betrothed; this is all I can tell you for now. You will learn the rest on your own.”

She went over to him, cupping his cheek in her hand and kneeling before him, resting onto his lap. Feyd felt the blood rush to his groin immediately.

“You have known no other life than the one given to you on Geidi Prime. It is a brutal, unnatural existence, but you have become the best specimen of such a place, which is why I fought for you.”

Fought?

“Your way of life has perfected you for the Baron’s purposes. But I wish to show you new ways of life—better ways. You burn what does not need burning, you strike when you need to caress. You will learn these things in Daquan.”

His heartbeat was slamming in his chest as she slid between his legs, looking up at him as he felt her breasts gently pressing against his lower abdomen, stoking the fires of his lust punishingly.

“I only ask of you to let me show you the way. I believe you can be redeemed. Let me show you the way to redemption.”

“I do not need to be redeemed,” he demanded, placing his hand around her throat, “You insult me.”

She smiled, and chuckled softly. “I will first teach you the ways of unsullied pleasure. Let me demonstrate my first lesson, and we will see how you feel afterwards.”

Her hands freely massaged his painful erection with careful pressure. His head swam his need; his grip tightened on her throat. She placed her hand over his, and he curiously allowed her to guide it elsewhere, lower, where his hand cupped her breast. His inhale was sharp.

“Do forgive my deception; I am not uneducated in matters of sex.”

The smile in her lips guaranteed her apology was false. Jealously lazily flared in him, but faded as she continued to massage his length through his pants.

“I cannot show any weakness in your court, so I had to hide many aspects of myself. I suspect you will be pleased with the discoveries you make in our time together.”

“I…will not be your pet, woman,” he protested, pleasure beginning to dull his harsher intentions. She deserved to be punished for her antics and condescension, but her hands were undoing him.

“No, you will not,” she assured, moving closer to graze his lips with hers, “You will be my husband.”

He kissed her hungrily, thrilled and conflicted by the newfound passion he was given back by his betrothed. He wished to take it from her, but she gave it so freely, and he needed the release so badly he couldn’t care less how he got her to ease his agonizing denial. She was tugging at his puppet strings, he knew this, but to receive whatever she offered, he would accept being bested. For now.

She broke their lips apart, eyes slowly opening, lids heavy in a way that he never thought possible.

“Do you trust me now,” she asked, kissing his jaw, slowly unbuttoning his trousers.

“No,” he muttered, then, after gathering his thoughts, “I don’t know.”

Her lips brushed against his ear. “Surrender this moment to me, and I will show you the beauty of trust.”

He had no protest. She smiled.

“Mm, I thought so.”

“You witch,” he protested at her gloating.

She only chuckled. “I cannot perform magic tricks, but I understand your confusion.”

Her kiss firmly silenced any retort she had as she closed her hand around his clothed length, making his breath shudder.

“My customs prevent me from making any sexual contact with your bare flesh,” she whispered, her voice wavering, “But the scriptures I studied didn’t mention anything about—“

He cut her off, taking her face in his hands and kissing her with unrestrained hunger as she began stroking him at a measured rhythm. He groaned softly into her mouth, and she tasted it eagerly. She spoke against his lips.

“I want you to be my husband,” she said, breathing heavily, “Do you understand? No other man will do. No other man would be my lover. I want you.”

“I knew you wanted me,” he muttered lazily, completely at the mercy of her skillful hands, “You cannot lie to me about this.”

“I will not lie to you anymore,” she said, words flowing from her lips in the heat of the moment, “There will be no need to. We will be together.”

He growled involuntarily at the feeling of his climax approaching as she sighed.

“You—you belong to me,” he said, it was both a statement and a question.

“We belong to each other,” she whispered, “No one will disturb us. No one will want to.”

His hand closed around her throat again and squeezed. She sighed again, no other man would take control like him, even when he was at his weakest.

“You belong to me,” he repeated—this time, it was a command.

She smiled, making sure to draw each word out, the surrender he had hungered for so ardently for so, very, very long. Her voice was soft and sweet in his ear, but strained under his grip.

“I belong to you.”

He climaxed almost immediately. He groaned as his cum spilled inside his pants; it belonged in her hot, wet cunt, but that was a matter for later. She hummed in affirmation as his cock twitched and pulsed underneath her hand, and made a slight sound of surprise as his hips jutted against her chest. She gripped him tightly and slowed her pace, humming along with his groans, smiling against his skin as his choking slowly changed to gripping her jaw to hold her still for his ravenous kisses, then changed to gripping her hair at her scalp to bare her neck to his hungry mouth.

She gasped as he kissed and sucked at her throat like a starved animal, then, to his astonishment, moaned softly.

“Feyd,” she barely said, her words barely intelligible through her growing sounds of pleasure, “Feyd, wait…”

His teeth grazed her skin, and she shivered with a smile, moving her hand away from his spent cock to press them both against his chest. She was being too indulgent, but then again, he had always been a bad influence.

“You want to wait,” he asked, tugging her head back, “You care about some old books?”

She chuckled, then moaned as he left a mark on her skin with a harsh kiss.

“I must—We must wait.”

She gently pushed him back, and he accepted her resistance. He was satisfied by her willingness to express her desire; her surrender to his demand. Hesitantly, he restrained himself and pulled away. She kissed him softly, caressing his head with such affection he would’ve thought a stranger was touching him.

“Without principles, we are no better than animals,” she said, “Not all disciplines are easy, I don’t deny it.”

She smiled at him, a devilish twinkle forming in her eyes.

“But the rewards for such obedience prove much sweeter than without it.”

The na-Baron took in his betrothed’s blissful features with an odd sense of reverence.

“You are a strange woman,” he remarked.

She smiled in amusement. “And you are a strange man.”

They kissed again, with Tii Sanura climbing into his lap as his hands hungrily roamed her clothed body.

“Are my convoys landing with me, my jewel,” he asked between kisses.

She laughed quietly. “They will make it to our realm. Then, I will have them released into the asteroid belt. Is this agreeable?”

Feyd laughed in return. “Yes, I believe it is. But I will require more of your…assistance.”

Her giggles were music to his ears as he hoisted her up into his arms, then tossed her onto her back on the bed, climbing on top of her and pressing himself between her legs.

He would have had no other woman as his wife.

[historical-fashion-polls]

Hi Curator!

I love popping in to see the new polls! Just a question, not sure if you have answered this one but I couldn't find an answer. What made you interested in Historical fashion? Was it always a hobby? You always have so much information and detail to provide, I love it!

Thank you!

hi dear anon! 💕

thank you so much for this lovely message and this super fun question! ☺️☺️

to be honest, I'm not sure if I could point to any one thing that made me interested in historical fashion. I really enjoyed American Girl dolls when I was younger (my favorite was Felicity ☺️), and those are definitely focused around interpreting history/historical fashion, so that could certainly be one reason! 💖💖

I also watched a lot of period pieces with incredible costuming (or at least costumes that I thought were really pretty) during my formative years, so that probably influenced me too. some notable examples are:

The Young Victoria (2009) – the gold dress with the red roses that she wears at the ball had me in a chokehold as a pre-teen

Pride and Prejudice (1995) – regency fashion isn't always my favorite, but this series is just sooooooooo good and it's one of my comfort shows, and I just feel like the costuming and the whole vibe of the series is very lovely and immersive (also not to start discourse but the 1995 version is the superior adaptation, I know that the 2005 film has folks on this website in a chokehold but the 1995 version is far better I have to speak my truth 😤😤)

Downton Abbey (2010-2015) – yeah I was and still am a Downton Abbey girlie, y'all. I watched the first couple seasons on dvds from the the library and I think I caught up with it "live" so to speak in the third season. I've seen the whole series twice now and I just love it. and the costumes are EXQUISITE 😍😍 Mary's turquoise and gold dress is absolutely [incomprehensible screaming]

btw I'm putting images of the gold ball gown and turquoise/gold dress below the cut in case you want to see ☺️☺️

I think the more I saw of fashion history, the more entranced by it I became, and I just wanted to learn more! I'm also a huge fan of many of the historical costume youtubers like Bernadette Banner, and I watched a lot of videos like that in undergrad just to expand my knowledge on the subject

plus, running this blog has helped me learn so much, and I've come to appreciate some styles that I used to not like as much! I'm still definitely not an expert, but I love learning about things that bring me joy, and historical fashion is definitely one of those things! 🥰🥰

thank you so much again for this lovely question and for giving me an excuse to ramble about my love for fashion history! ☺️💕 and now I'll turn the question to you and anyone else who wants to answer: what made you interested in historical fashion and/or what brought you to the blog?

[brown-little-robin]

HI so sorry to barge in here unannounced like this but u seem to have a lot more knowledge about japanese language/culture/social etiquette than i do and i've seen u mention dimple's mannerisms in canon once or twice and like . i'd love to hear more abt that if ur willing to ramble for a bit. i've been Very curious just how far dimple's Rudeness goes, but i know very little about the culture. i'm sure some things he does or says seem fairly normal to me but is considered very rude or disrespectful to the characters. no pressure tho ofc :]

hi Rika!! literally drop in anytime! I,, I appreciate this ask so much and will answer as best as I can, but I'm a very new student of Japanese and Japanese culture, so take what I say with a grain of salt! also I personally am going to tag @russenoire to respectfully invite them to partake in this conversation if they think it would be fun (no pressure of course!). they have been studying this much longer than I have :}

putting my thoughts under a cut because !!! I love to ramble!!! note: all of this is based on Dimple's Japanese voice & mannerisms from the anime. I don't have the manga in Japanese yet 🙏

As a preface: Ekubo's direct/rude/familiar speech style is typical in anime and not unheard-of in real life, but it's definitely worth noticing! Mob Psycho 100, particularly, gets a lot of its unique interest out of taking unrealistic anime expectations and saying "HEY pay attention to this, WHY is this happening, this is immature behavior, why are adults in this universe letting this happen", and making it funny and/or serious. So!!! let's dive in.

So, okay, Dimple's mannerisms. The first thing to know is very general. he usually speaks in the casual register (which has a whole distinct vocabulary from the more polite registers: for instance, he tends to end his sentences with "da" rather than "desu", which are both "is" verbs with the exact same meaning, just a different connotation). the casual register is comparatively... direct. Dimple using casual implies that he thinks of himself as on familiar terms with and/or higher in the social hierarchy than whoever he's speaking to. casual Japanese is par for the course in anime in general, especially for people expressing arrogance, like Ekubo does all the time. But still, that's A Choice. it expresses simultaneous superiority (I am allowed to speak to you in informal terms because I'm above you) and also, possibly, desire for closeness (Ekubo speaks to Shigeo in familiar terms like they're brothers).

(Politeness, respect, and distance are linked in Japanese. Casual language isn't always rude, but in the wrong situation, it can be jarring and disrespectful. Using casual Japanese is a sign of confidence and personal closeness in your relationship with someone—new friends will switch from formal to casual language at some point and typically never go back; siblings use casual language with each other as a matter of course. It's very situational.)

The second thing to know is, there are choices of first person pronouns in Japanese!!! And Ekubo's choice is spectacular. He refers to himself as "ore-sama". "ore" (roughly pronounced "o-ray") is one of two typical Japanese casual male pronouns, ore and boku. (the formal first-person pronoun for men is watashi). To my knowledge, "ore" was originally the only casual male pronoun, and then "boku" entered popular use as a more humble option and changed the meaning of the formerly more neutral-sounding "ore" by competing with it, which is fascinating. but I'm getting distracted. "ore" is the more aggressively masculine pronoun; it's considered rough/direct to the point of being rude in many contexts. And Ekubo doesn't just use "ore" (ore is a widely-used choice!), he adds the honorific -sama to the end. This is extremely macho. SUPER arrogant. It tracks with his desire to become a god: -sama is the honorific for kami as well as the honorific for people who are way higher ranked than you. giving someone the honorific -sama expresses a greater gap between you and them than -san does. this is hilarious to me. Dimple is over here referring to himself as 🔥 ME 👑 every time he uses first-person pronouns. (Mob uses boku, btw.) ore-sama isn't not used irl, but it's, uh. highly highly unusual, from what I can tell. sounds like a biker gang boss kind of thing to me—something someone on the fringes of society would use. no shade to those outside "polite society" from me, btw, I'm just stating the general connotation from a majority cultural perspective.

OH AND SPEAKING OF HONORIFICS. I'm guessing you've seen analysis of this before and/or just Get It from cultural osmosis, but Dimple calls Shigeo "Shige-chan" the second time they meet. -chan is a usually-affectionate diminutive usually given to girls younger than yourself or celebrities people find cute; I think they translate it as "li'l Shige" in the English dub? -chan has cutesy connotations and can be infantilizing if it's not used with permission and/or some kind of... y'know... familiarity and understanding between the person giving the honorific and the person being referred to with -chan. it is super disrespectful of Dimple to call Shigeo Shige-chan having just met him, and having gotten off on a terrible foot with Shigeo, no less. what the heck, Ekubo!!

And then Dimple proceeds to call him just Shigeo with no honorific at all, which is ALSO disrespectful?? given that Dimple doesn't know him, really?? too familiar, too abrupt! As a strange adult, he should be calling him Shigeo-kun! But he's treating Mob like a little brother. (For instance, as the older brother, Shigeo has the right to call Ritsu by the first name and only the first name, whereas Ritsu usually calls Shigeo "Nii-san". To my knowledge, that's not unnatural in Japanese the way it would be in English; it's not Ritsu reiterating their bond every five seconds, it's just the Expected Thing for the younger brother to refer to the older brother as "Nii-san" out of respect. you'll see the Shiratori brothers, Daichi and Kaito, doing the same thing if you pay attention. to each other, they are "Kaito" and "Nii-san". BUT ANYWAY)

Another Dimple regularly does that reads as arrogant/direct to me is sometimes speaking in a Really Low Voice. This is where my knowledge gets hazy—it's more about pronunciation and accent than "behavior" as such, so bear with me, but the general pitch of one's voice is important in Japanese. Girls and women tend to pitch their voices higher than their natural range in Japanese, especially when doing "polite" or "customer service voice". Japanese speaking men often raise their pitches for politeness/to express humility or a conciliatory attitude too, even though it's not as extreme as with women. And men who are performing aggression will often lower their pitch on purpose, creating a growling kind of effect. Dimple does this a lot. Let me see if I can embed a video of him doing it here

YES. OKAY. Listen to the difference between his mental voice and his spoken voice here!! Dimple uses a higher pitch when talking to Mob because he's trying to ingratiate himself with Mob, but then when he's muttering to himself, he reverts back to his evil-spirit, gang-boss, stereotypically-yakuza-sounding kind of... deep growl.

Relatedly, Ekubo rolls his r's. he rolls them hard. That's a really rough way of speaking, definitely not typical in "polite" Japanese. people learning Japanese are told not to roll their r's unless they want to sound like they're yakuza wannabes. (He also, to my ear, tends to kind of roll his vowels?? he puts his voice backwards in his mouth, pronouncing things either near his nose or deep in his throat, and kind of crushes them with his mouth as they emerge. I don't know if there's a word for this, but to my synesthesia it looks like his voice goes spiky. it's a COMPLETELY different sound than the smooth pronunciation of polite Tokyo-style Japanese. I don't actually have a point this is just interesting to me)

That's about all I have for now! I'm fascinated by Dimple's speaking style and what it says about him. Sorry this was more about accent than behavior—as far as behavior goes, I mean, he's weird. he's weird! as a ghost, he's not really a part of society and he just wanders around making fun of people, which would be rude in any culture. I have a whole Other rant about how Dimple improved as a person after Reigen started treating him as an employee and how that adds to MP100's theme of society and connection, but now is not the time. I hope this has been interesting to you!! Thank you for the ask!

[therobotmonster]

What do you get when the 6 Million Dollar Man and the Bionic Woman decide to pull a Brady Bunch and a Johnny Quest at the same time?

You Get the Bionic Six.

Impossible to find streaming in high quality anyplace, but a bunch of eps in pretty decent quality hit archive.org.

Decent animation, an earworm themesong that I am so frightened of I muted it while taking its screenshots. The Bionic Six is a lost 80s gem. Not like, a diamond or a sapphire, but like, at the very least a citrine, or a really nice tiger eye that's all polished up in a riverbed? Anyhow...

I joke about the premise. It's not Steve Austin, it's Jack Bennett. It's not Jaime Sommers, it's Helen Bennett. It was a serial number filing but it absolutely is someone's 6MDM and Bionic Woman fanfic where they got married and both had and adopted a bunch of bionic kids.

The story, however, involves Jack (already bionic) and his family getting irradiated by an alien spaceship (the 80s was a hell of a drug) in the Himalayas, with the family going comatose except for Jack, thus requiring the family's upgrades.

This explains why a bunch of children would be turned into cyborgs, but it does not explain why those upgrades came with superpowers. That seems to be down to the grandpa-figure of the group, Professor Dr. Amadeus Sharp Ph.D, which, I gotta say, that's a chef's kiss cartoon character name right there.

Putting both Professor and Doctor in front of your name is exactly what I'd expect from a guy that's like "these children are comatose... I think I'll give that one the magnetic repulsors..."

As for the family proper, you've got Bionic-1/Jack Bennet, the literal team dad who suspiciously has all the bionic powers you'd expect from Steve Austin, with a touch of Reed Richards gray on the temples.

You have, ahem, Mother-1/Helen Bennett, who doesn't have the Bionic woman's powers because they'd be redundant. But she is a lady in an 80s team cartoon so she's got... say it with me folks... psychic abilities!

Also, if I had a nickel for every brunette be-bobcuted supermilf in a red jumpsuit named Helen I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it does lead to some obvious crossover concepts that the r34 community have thus far failed to provide. I'd commission something but, as established, I've only got the two nickels.

She also stands out by having a codename that is calculated to make villains deeply uncomfortable with using it, thus putting them on the back-foot. Just takes every deathtrap situation to a weird place.

Their (at least initially) biological children, Sport-1/Eric Bennett and Rock-1/Meg Bennett establish the pattern of there being a bionic kid for every interest. Sport-1 has magnetic attraction-repulsion powers, and uses lamposts like baseball bats all day, every day.

Rock-1 was literally designed to be cartoon Cyndi Lauper and has speakers built into her shoulders for sonic attacks. She is also super-speed runs the fastest.

IQ/J.D. Corey is adopted, and doesn't do the normal naming convention. He's an unusual character in 80s toon terms, as he's both the smartest member of the team (per the codename) but also has the most powerful super-strength. You don't get the smart AND strong combo that often, and you'd expect the Sport-1 to be physically strongest but it seems he's more the Mario of the team.

Karate-1/Bunjiro "Bunji" Tsukahara is a foster kid who got dragged into all of this, and has both the most greatly enhanced super-agility and also actually knows how to fight without powers.

They also have a robot ape named F.L.U.F.F.I. who wasn't in every episode.

The story structure is an 80s toyvertoon take on Johnny Quest, with the whole family having toyetic super-powers and vehicles, and instead of a cavalcade of one-off baddies, you get a recurrent cast lead by Dr. Scarab, who is Sharp's brother, and is after Sharp's superior bionic knowledge.

Mad science, not even once.

I have vague memories of Scarab's pursuit of 'trionic' technology, which assumed both that the 'bi' in bionic was for 'two' (reasonably understandable assumption) and that that if two was good, three was logically better, while never really establishing what third thing was being mixed in (baffling even to my childhood self).

On top of his drone robots, called "Cyphrons" (not Cylons, Battlestar Galactica Lawyers, cyphrons), Scarab had a host of modified goons, most of whom where combinations of dumb, strong, and ugly.

The main stand out being Madame-O, who is a cartoon femme fatale of the classic variety, who punctuates her sentences with 'Darling', uses a harp to shoot energy blasts, and can disguise herself as other people, because why be good at one thing when you can be confusing at several?

The animation is pretty good for the time period (It was a TMS animated show!) and it has that weird mix of self-aware and totally earnest that makes 80s cartoons fun.

It was, like most of them, an advertisement for action figures. In this case from LJN, the gimmick of which was they were G.I.Joes that were mostly made of die cast metal. A lot of the characters were pretty chunky, to the point that a FLUFFI could be bring down an assailant if you chucked it at 'em just right.

Oh, and the whole family could join hands to pull of Deus Ex Machina bullshit. It's a trip.

Go watch ya some cartoons.

[emhm]

I can't keep trying. I have to leave early today. But you can have a snip from Chap 121 while we wait for Ao3 to get their shit together. I'll try again in the morning.

Sun crawled up on all fours to join him and sat back on his heels. "Eclipse… is there anything I can do?" "No. Probably not." "What's on your mind?" "Thinking about what my former self said to me. I'm not sure if I care about what his opinion would be, but it still kinda hurt." He twisted part of the robe around his fingers. "Did you know… he deliberately made his backups less intelligent then him?" Sun cocked his head in confusion. "Why would he do that? If a backup was activated it would be because he died right? Wouldn't you want your second chance to be smarter???" "Superiority complex. He always wanted to be the most intelligent. That way if one of the backups was activated by mistake; it would be easier to end their lives. He was afraid of having to compete with himself." "I guess that makes a twisted kind of sense…" Sun watched his mate for a long moment. "You know, I wouldn't blame you if you hated me for killing him." "No. That's not it. And his death at least gave me a chance at life. I just… part of me… I pity him. He didn't hate you the way he hated Old Moon, but he was a threat to your family. Chances are good he would have gone through with his plan. Reset everything and made himself a god like Lord Eclipse. He probably would have let you live at least. Made you his servant the same way. But everyone else you love would have perished. And if he regretted it later… it would have been far too late to change anything." Sun's fingers curled around his own and he gave them the barest squeeze. "What I am, what he was… it's so unfair. We're born into a cage with the knowledge that we were abandoned to our fates. The only choice we can make is to beg for our lives or become hostile and claw our own way to freedom. And those of us lucky or smart enough to get loose spend the rest of our existences in mortal terror of getting trapped again." His metal made the slightest tightening squeak. "My original self was a firefly in every sense of the word. He glowed like the star for the brief time he was allowed to live. You exorcised him from his cell, he spread his wings to catch the first freedom he'd ever known; and in the same moment the flames consumed him and he was gone. He was feeding me everything from his senses until-. I know what it felt like. I… I wish I could say he was happy at the end. But I know better. Almost his entire life was misery of one kind or another." He looked down at their curled hands and a tear escaped to trickle around his lighter cheek. He barked the smallest bitter laugh. "And here I am. Of course he'd be disgusted with me. Of course he'd hate me for grovelling in front of his jailer. For tolerating Old Moon instead of trying to destroy his soul. For letting love make me soft and putting my fate in your hands. Of course he'd think that me letting you take pleasure in using my body was the foulest fate for an eclipse." Sun hunkered down closer to him, pulling his rays in slightly with conflicted feelings. "It doesn't have to be that way. You're not my pet. I'm not angry with you. I actually respect you quite a bit. If nothing, you're a hell-of-a-lot smarter then me about a lot of things. I don't mind being on my knees if it makes you happy." Eclipse made the smallest choking noise as his emotions got the better of him. Sun scooted up closer so their masks were almost touching. On impulse he put out his tongue and licked up the errant tear. The dark sun froze, his eyes half-lidded as the bit of silicone dragged against his metal skin. He leaned into the soft touch almost desperately. "I remember when you cleaned me." Sun murmured. "I've never felt so cherished. I know we both have bad self-esteem. Most of the time I feel pretty stupid. But you make me feel beautiful." "You are beautiful Sunrise. I love you." "I wish you felt the same way about yourself Eclipse. I think you're beautiful too." He looked down. "I feel pretty ugly inside. But when you touch me like that, I can forget about it for a while."

[vickyvicarious]

Then seizing the shaving glass, he went on: "And this is the wretched thing that has done the mischief. It is a foul bauble of man's vanity. Away with it!" and opening the heavy window with one wrench of his terrible hand, he flung out the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pieces on the stones of the courtyard far below. Then he withdrew without a word. It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave, unless in my watch-case or the bottom of the shaving-pot, which is fortunately of metal.

.

He has a curious habit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to read one's thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I flatter myself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from my glass. Do you ever try to read your own face? I do, and I can tell you it is not a bad study, and gives you more trouble than you can well fancy if you have never tried it. He says that I afford him a curious psychological study, and I humbly think I do.

Several of us pointed out last year how the timing of Dracula Daily juxtaposes these two lines/scenes, with Jonathan's mirror being taken from him just before Lucy talks about looking into hers. I'm going to try not to retread the same point too much, but instead I'd like to note the contrast between the way Lucy and Dracula speak of mirrors.

Dracula calls mirrors an agent of man's vanity. Essentially, he's dismissing them as promoting excessive ego. Looking in the mirror too often leads one to think too highly of themselves. And the image of a beautiful young woman spending time staring at herself in her mirror plays right into stereotypes about exactly that. It suggests self-absorption, obsession with beauty over substance, etc.

But that's clearly not what Lucy is doing. She links her mirror to self-knowledge, not self-praise, and in fact specifically points out the difficulties involved. She is flattering herself a little here as she says, but only in the context of realizing it can be hard to figure her out from appearances alone. Her doctor friend says she's a curious study, and despite looking her straight in the face cannot figure her out. Even she has trouble telling from her mirror. This could hint at her deliberately putting on a false front, or perhaps at feelings of uncertainty about her own identity, or difficulty expressing herself in the ways she wants. Regardless, her time spent looking into mirrors isn't vain, it's inquisitive.

And while that doesn't match up to what Dracula says about mirrors, it fits very well with the reality of what mirrors mean to him. He has no mirrors in his castle. Not because he's humble; he's obviously got a very inflated sense of his own importance and superiority. But he doesn't keep mirrors because they reflect what he is by failing to reflect him at all. It's a curious mix of being unable to see or know himself by looking at his own reflection... but also being known/revealed in a way that cuts past any examination of his actual face. Jonathan looks very closely at Dracula when he meets him, but despite spotting various unusual features* he doesn't realize his monstrous nature. But when he sees him in the mirror - or rather, nothing where he should be - he finds his first real proof that Dracula is inhuman. And that's why Dracula gets rid of Jonathan's mirror; he hates being known, unlike Lucy who enjoys the struggle of trying to figure herself out.

Mirrors as a window to knowledge also connects back to Jonathan. With his mirror stolen and destroyed, his ability to assess himself is hampered accordingly. Perhaps it would be a difficult study regardless (as Lucy says) but no mirror makes that even harder. He will have to rely on sub-par reflections in tools not made for that purpose. Not just to shave, but to be able to see himself. This coming when he realizes there are no other people around cuts him off even from seeing himself from the outside, so he can't see a human face... only Dracula's face. But also, Dracula is outright trying to deny him knowledge, and Jonathan is in a position where he's having to try and maintain his faith in his own sanity. The inability to look at his own face and examine his appearance might make that harder... although it also cuts him off from comparing his current appearance to how he used to look, and I suspect the lack of that comparison might be better than the alternative at times.

* This also ties in physiognomy. An inherently racist "science", of course, but one that was popular at the time this book was written, and engaged in by a couple characters. I don't think Jonathan outright says he's examining Dracula's features for that purpose, but I believe readers could be expected to take that description and use it to 'figure out' aspects of his personality. It's possible that Lucy is hinting at using a similar process on herself here, but if so then she seems not wholly satisfied with the results. She isn't saying that studying her face reveals her true character - closer to the opposite, if anything.

[tinykonig]

John Price x reader headcannons

price’s turn and i am not holding back… reader is she/her pronouns. NSFW indicated in post!!!

this is the last of my intital headcannons series!! thanks for the support on all of them (königs has 700 notes like what the fuck)

Price is furiously loyal, and the second you join his team he takes you under his wing

Doesn’t let anyone give you any shit and pushes you hard to be the best you can be because he see so much potential in you

Always gives you tips and never makes you feel bad about making mistakes. He’s the first person you turn to for advice

You definitely have had a crush on him for the longest time because of how he treats you so well and you feel a little silly about it, after all he’s your captain and you think he sees you as an annoying little sister

He has noticed your crush, but doesn’t tease you. He sees how you always watch him when he’s around, and how you blush when he praises you in the field

Tells himself he is not going to cross that boundary, but he can’t deny that the knowledge of you liking him makes him feel on top of the world sometimes

Secretly he recognizes that he feels a little bit more than just friendly feelings towards you, and feels guilty about it because of the age gap and that fact that he is your superior

Until he sees you get injured during a mission, he doesn’t even know if its severe but the second he sees you go down he just blacks out and his only priority is saving you

Which is certainly out of character for him

You’re shot in a non-critical area. Hurts like a bitch but you’ll survive as long as you dont lose too much blood. He absolutely will not leave your side anyways

“Stay with me,” he murmured, dragging you to a safe area while everyone waits for evac

Soap, Ghost, and Gaz are all exchanging glances because they know something has changed but they don’t say a word

The days following you are drifting in and out of consciousness in the medbay, and he is always there when you wake up

You’re confused but it makes you feel kind of warm and light as well

Once you wake up in the dead of night because you feel like you are absolutely freezing and you look over to see him sleeping in the chair next to your bed

You try to reach over him to grab a blanket off the shelf over his head so you dont wake him, but the pain when you lift your arm causes you to let out a loud hiss

He wakes up and is like, “No, no love let me get it for you.”

Literally tucks you in and feels your head to make sure you don’t have a fever

When you ask him why he is here so late he just sits back down slowly and puts his face in his hands

“I think I love you, kid”

Shocked is an understatement and you try to ignore how loud your heart is pounding

“I think I love you, too, John,”

There is nooooo hiding this relationship. His eyes never wander very far from you and while he isn’t big on PDA sometimes the man cannot resist putting his arm around you

He hates anyone you hate. He is the ultimate shit talker and blindly takes your side in any argument

Gives you hand massages at the end of a long day

He is extremely lazy on his days off like it is near impossible to get this man off the couch and away from either the tv or a book

He likes just existing near you. A perfect day for him is cozied up with you, both reading your own books and drinking tea

He is one of the most organized and neat people you have ever met

Even his sock drawer is color coordinated

Buys you a toothbrush and toiletries for his place and is just like, “well you might as well just move in!” (smooth price)

Mornings waking up next to him are something to write poetry about. His voice is raspy and laced with sleep, he feels so rough and soft at the same time

Big on cuddles when sleeping. He runs so hot too you probably end up overheating but like, how could you say no to cuddles when he looks so cute?

Not afraid to pout to get his way

Makes you breakfast 90% of the time

Sends you voice memos on your phone instead of texting because he thinks its faster

Uses the 😄 emoji so excessively

Pats your head a lot?? Its endearing

Offers to drive you everywhere even if he doesn’t need to go with you

He really likes taking long drives with you. When he’s been having a hard time, it’s his favorite way to unwind and get his mind off of any bad thoughts

Fills up the ashtray in the car and just drives you to the most beautiful places

Loves trying new foods with you, and hes not picky at all this man loves flavor

When he holds your hand he runs his thumb back and forth over your hand. Its very soothing

Hums when he’s cooking. Throws in a whistle here and there

Dreams about marrying you all the time. When he does propose it’s going to be the most well thought out and beautiful experience

Very private, just you two. Takes you somewhere significant to you both and asks the question and you swear there are actual stars in his eyes

He’s just a guy full of love to give, alright

NSFW BELOW THIS POINT

He is. so. incredibly. passionate. Wants to feel every inch of you

Makes you say what you want before he gives it to you. “Gotta be specific, love. Just wanna give you exactly what you want.”

Obsessed with you on your knees, will put you in that position any chance he gets whether you be sucking him off in the shower or he has you on all fours taking you from behind

eye contact... he WILL grab your jaw and force you to look at him

He goes slack jaw when he cums

[littlesislovesyou]

Mhmmmm you're my innocent little girl. You'd never touch your needy lil cunny to such naughty things without my knowledge...You're my sweet angel. You'd never be tempted by such dirty temptation. ; p

Well I feel that in many ways 😭 size or the length of the response doesn't matter too much to me. More so the effort you put into responding and how I can literally sense what you're feeling. The passion, arousal and more from you when you respond. That's what I want. Don't ever feel bad for not writing as much as me. I'm cursed in that regard LMAOO I'll always put the work in if it's for you. 🤭🔪

Well you're doing a good job of making me more obsessed and ferally for you...fuck hehe.

Oooh I'll keep that in mind for next time then...blindfolding you and then taking you into our play date area and dropping you off and giving you time to run...but I'll know I'll catch you and when I do. I'm going to thoroughly rape your young, tight lil pussy while you cry and make my cock harder as you beg me to stop and not to cum inside as I blindfold you and use your holes mercilessly as I mount and breed you in the grass~ Feral animals returned to their natural habitat... 🖤

And fuuuuckkk please keep talking to me just like that. With the confidence that you could tempt me away from a wife. That I wouldn't be able to resist owning a fuckpet like you and making you all mine. Cheating and sinning in the worst ways imaginable. Maybe even making it more taboo and fauxcest heavy

Even more so I can never get enough of you... sucking my balls dry until my wife walks in and she's appalled and you introduce yourself with my cum all over your face and your makeup running as my sibling as you continue to pump me and mock her for not taking better care of me. And how siblings know each other inside out and how you'll do better than my pathetic wife ever could and you get me to agree in a heartbeat with your superior tits squeezing my cock together as you lick the tip and make me cum again. She'll walk out enraged and ashamed but unable to go beyond the front door. Laying down and crying as she listens to me fucking my sibling harder and better than I ever did her. 😭

You're so much better than my wife baby 🥵

Goood girl trust me you'll always be on my mind if you did filthy shit like that while I was with the wife. I'd never be able to get you out of head. Always nice to me, flirting and letting me push my cock against your hips when no ones watching and begging me to fuck your brains out at night... all of that running through my mind when I fuck her senselessly. She thinks it's for her but she has no fucking clue who this tribute is for~

I wish I could show you her face when I did...I bet it'd make you so fucking wet at the damage you'd have done. <3

Hehe I am 💓🫣 also I’m sorry it took me so long to see this, I completely passed out<3 I hope you had a good night though, bet you were thinking about using my holes<333

And always;’) I’m so sweet and innocent💓💓💓☺️ I would never touch myself without permission from you first;’)

Ugh it’s so unfortunate that you can’t feel how absolutely soaked I get from your asks 👀💓 you’ve ruined a few pairs of my panties already<333

And that’s exactly what I was thinking for that, just breeding me like a wild animal all feral, in the grass, taking exactly what you want and need from me<3 especially if I’m blindfolded, I won’t get very far, I’ll be too scared, having too much adrenaline rush through me<3 and my heart will probably stop when you finally catch me🥺🥺🥺 I’ll be a whimpering crying mess, you could overpower me easily I’m sure💕

🖤☺️ oh don’t worry I won’t stop, I know I could tempt you, I’m sure I wouldn’t even have to try very hard, I could have you wrapped around my finger in no time, I feel like all I’d have to do is wear a low cut top and bend over in front of you💕 or maybe a short dress and no panties?;’)

God she would be so appalled but I’d only be doing what’s natural and helping my bro out, just makes it even better than you’re married and still can’t even resist your slutty younger sibling💕💕💕 bonus points if we took each others virginity when we were both younger<3333

Ah 💓🫣 you’re so lucky I don’t know who you are, I’d be doing that rn if I could💓💓 sending you pictures I don’t post here just for you;’)

Is it weird I’ve imagined you helping me make content? Maybe you’ll take the pictures and the videos for me, helping me look sexy and attractive all the while you’re throbbing in your pants<333

;’) just knowing I can tempt you away from your wife is enough<3 some random internet slut filling up every corner of your brain, making you throb and touching herself to the dirty things you send<333 you better fuck her hard when you’re thinking about me 🥰💓

Also I never think your asks are too much, never think that because I absolutely love them💕 I sit and wait for them sometimes they’re probably starting to be my favorite part of the day<3 just hearing what all dirty things you’re into today, what is on your mind right now💕💕 I like imagining you’re just at work, head filled with all these dirty fantasies and thoughts about me<3333

I really do hope you had a nice night<3 I’m sorry I fell asleep before you were able to send another!🥺🖤

[inchidentally]

please tell me your parasocial theory about the lando effect on his teammates i'll shrivel up like a raisin without it actually

god. I'm gonna try and keep this coherent and not TOO weird. obv this is completely without knowing any of these people personally and it's just me theorizing for fun without any actual private knowledge etc etc !

(I've had to edit the hell out of this bc I don't want to like outright offend anyone since this isn't meant to be super serious at all but I'm mortified at how long it is anyway lol)

so we all know that Lando has always had the whole main character fairytale prince/princess quality that started from taking so incredibly long to finally grow up right up to his version of grown up vacillating between devastating fuckboy to coquette fetish sweetheart. and we all know that Lando is fully aware of how he looks and how he's perceived bc of visible social media presence and interactions and also just being around mirrors. he's stunning and charismatic because he makes no effort to be and there is an aura of destiny and magic around him with whatever he does. but he's always seemed like someone who needs to know what exactly he means to his close friends, mainly guys. in a way that's almost like 'yeah you have a girlfriend but does she accept that I'm ✧Me✧ and not just a Normal Blokey Friend?' or 'will your friends accept that I'm ✧Me✧ or will I have to put up a front?'

the reason Lando's so magnetic to people is because he's a ✧Me✧ but also because he's a ✧Me✧ while being a guy which guys aren't usually secure enough to be ✧Me✧. a lot of guys dress up or play up acting like one but Lando's authentically a ✧Me✧ and not to be classed with guys who are Normal Bloke or Normal Friend. they are very very rare.

to expand on this further and because I have insomnia let's take a walk through our perceptions and occasional facts of fandom observation over the years...

I feel like somewhere in the process of his first few years of F1 Lando went from awkward paddock baby who was probably a fall risk to realizing how incredibly adorable he still was even as a pro racing driver. he was literally everybody's baby (and honestly still kinda is). he was thrown into F1 so young it's not surprising.

I am a diehard carlando fan here so please understand that I'm switching to speaking in real life and not fandom terms (and I prefer fandom terms lol) real life Carlos is 100% hetero to me. my family and friend group are sort of UN levels of diverse and what seems like fruityness in non-American or sometimes non-British men is completely standard for straight dudes outside those countries. straight euro guys in particular flirt and get physical with their bros one way and then have an entirely different type of flirting and physicality with women they're attracted to. I don't think this is the case with Carlos at all but a LOT of these euro dudes can even compartmentalize so well that they're actually homophobic while fully kissing and cuddling with their friends. like I say Carlos doesn't seem at all homophobic but there have definitely been tiny, subtle moments with other drivers or during social media challenges where he's been like 'okay that's far enough for me'. which imo is him drawing boundaries and is totally fair.

AND YET WITH LANDO? Carlos has had a verrrrry hard time classifying Lando up until recently I think. for a while after signing to McLaren it was clear he viewed himself as protector and big brother/uncle to a very skittish and weird child/toddler/pet. then when Lando started to build his F1 personality around Carlos and was able to do some give and take with him, Carlos started to see Lando as a fun little satellite buddy and we got some of their silliest most adorable moments (the squawk laughing and the horseplay etc). but Carlos very much still viewed himself as the superior and Lando was just happy to have someone patient and considerate of him rather than a serious competitor.

to me Carlos and everyone else in F1 shifted how he saw Lando around the time of Daniel showing up on the scene (and Carlos' shock at how upset Lando was when he went to Ferrari). Lando got a LOT more confidence on and off the track from here on and he absolutely saw Daniel as a competitor and gave as good as he got off track too (in a fun way). he was never a satellite of Daniel's like he was with Carlos. he also physically started to grow and appreciate his own beauty and sexuality (not as in his identity but his effect on others sexually). he started dressing more consciously and mixing flirting with cuteness to win people over and play the media. youtuber/streamer Lando began to merge with F1 paddock darling Lando into something new between having Carlos and Daniel as teammates.

I can just tell you right now that a dude like Carlos would have ABsolutely no idea how to classify what Lando was becoming at that point in terms of their friendship. Lando was too pretty and still too small to be considered a Dude and apart from on the race track Lando doesn't have the natural douche-ness of Dudes. but Lando also had an active sex life and women were already crazy for him so he wasn't a child anymore either. since F1 drivers literally for bodily safety reasons can only identify as straight Carlos couldn't even class Lando as a rainbow guy.

personally I think that's when Carlos elevated Lando to Hot Bitch/Great Dude status. Lando can still take roughhousing and stupid jokes but he's also got this intense genderfluid glow that poor straight man brain have a tough time with. so Lando's this still confusing hybrid but one that Carlos accepts and loves.

in such a short time Lando went from notice me senpai over Carlos as a teenager on twitter to showing off how they exclusively hang out outside race weekends and he can breeze into the Ferrari garage like he owns the place. one teammate down :)

obv this whole time Lando has had Max F in his life and I think they've known for a long time that they're the sort of best friends who are also common law married. their gfs have always seemed really good natured about it. (**this will be relevant when Oscar comes up later) before Carlos, Max was very clearly the stronger public personality Lando had latched onto as a kid and stayed that way until about 2020/2021. since then I feel like Max is watching Lando in a kind of proud wiping away a tear and claiming that it's raining way. he was down before he probably knew it :)

honestly I'm not a big fan of Daniel Ricciardo for specific reasons and I've chosen to just edit out what I'd written about him and Lando since I truly don't want to piss anyone off over this pointless post lol. it's enough to say that for all Daniel's cockiness making gay jokes etc I get a lot of joy from the fact that Lando has ended up combining Lewis Hamilton-gender norms are for losers attitude with his own genuine rising stature as a future WDC and basically blew Daniel out of the water in every way. they're absolutely still good buddies but damn, Hot Bitch Lando had Daniel stuttering and staring with how little effort it took for Lando to outshine him, on and off the track. Daniel is usually the one in charge of his F1 relationships but Lando got him fucked. up. and begging.

another teammate down :)

do I even need to go into detail about Oscar . we know so incredibly little about Oscar's real personality yet we fully know that he's been replying to Lando's tweets and watching Lando's content since boarding school in the UK. you can take a tour of just the McLaren youtube content from the 2023 unboxing onward and watch Oscar go from dazed and stumbling over himself to not look a tool in front of Lando to Prema-era humor Oscar being able to banter with Lando.

here's what's different with the Lando/Oscar friendship tho. Oscar came in weirdly grown up for his age bc he'd left home so young and went from boarding school to being set up in his own flat by Mahk Wibbah. he already had a long term girlfriend and after waiting a year for his driver's seat he'd made the extremely ballsy move to publicly decide his own fate in F1. Lando was probably expecting to have a typical rookie on his hands but instead he got someone who's already more emotionally mature and responsible than Lando's other two teammates combined. then Oscar is so incredibly talented that he's pushed Lando to such a massive new level that P3 and P2 and (currently) 4th in the WDC are already losing a bit of their shine. Lando wants the whole thing and in a way he never has up til now. Oscar is a not insignificant part of that.

Lando suddenly has an equal! their age difference is negligible and their competitive level is the same. the fact that Oscar's racing mentality is so vastly different to Lando's is perfect because there'll never be a Lewis/Nico situation. Lando needs to stay within his own head to a certain degree for race weekends and Oscar looks forward to his next opportunity as soon as he's done with one. Oscar even has a much more laid back Max F style sense of humor which means Lando doesn't have to play up and perform as much as he used to for social media shit.

then there was the awful start to the season followed by Lando definitely being shook up by how hot Oscar came in as a rookie. AND YET Oscar has always gone out of his way to celebrate Lando's successes literally no matter how his own performance went. he's never once opted to peace out until needed for media or pictures (or straight up left) after a DNF or finishing poorly. there's this moment from the Dutch GP that breaks my idiot fandom brain bc Lando had just qualified second and Oscar (Q8) is shaking his hand and congratulating him and. idk it feels like one of those 'oh!' moments where Lando realizes Oscar is rooting for him even when they're competing and it's not a one-off nice gesture or bare minimum effort

(which honestly that bare minimum is totally fair in racing and I don't judge drivers who need to lick their wounds, it can take a lot to come out of that adrenaline mindset and be happy for your teammate who is also your competitor).

and that's the thing, Oscar came in already won over by Lando. he simply expects them both to do their jobs well and whatever Lando has to offer outside that is cool with him because Lando is ✧Lando✧. if Lando wants to bring him more into his non-F1 life at some point that would probably be great but Oscar's also got his own stable non-F1 life so it's fine either way! if Lando has other commitments and Oscar needs to step up more with the team then that's fine! I know I've been superlative with this post but like, Lando never needed/needs to do anything at all for Oscar to like him and accept him and root for him. Oscar clearly doesn't feel the need to prove anything to Lando or force the relationship. everyone else is dazzled by Lando or watched him/helped him grow up but Oscar just really Finds Lando Neat and Wants to Be Around Him. he seems to like being bossed around by Lando but he also likes when Lando is being really cool and when Lando is quiet and moody he just waits until Lando wants to be around people again. he's like a cat that proves their devotion to you by remaining in proximity rather than meowing or shoving their face in yours.

so like, part of me feels like Lando saw his new teammate having this whole life(**girlfriend?? but does she accept me as ✧Me✧?) already before even meeting Lando and had no idea how they'd develop a relationship. both Carlos and Daniel had (and still have) very bachelor style lives where a relationship with the current teammate is top priority and everyone else in their life has to deal. work comes first, then work friends, then everything else until the babies are made.

but then Oscar just shows up all content with his grown up life and smiles at Lando all the time and doesn't take anything for granted and respects Lando's space within F1 and McLaren and never complains even about doing things he doesn't like and Lando's like oh! I've already got this one down for the count and I didn't even do anything! nice :)

anyway thank you for asking and I hope this was remotely worth reading aakfgsjgfjgafagla

[msviolacea]

I finally saw a couple of posts that told me where the "fanfic to published book" discussion was suddenly coming from, and ... okay, here's a fact that might be uncomfortable(?) for some to process.

A whole bunch of successful romance (or SFF with romantic plots) authors out there today got their start as (and in many cases are still) RPF writers.

Because in the end, RPF is pretty much entirely original story plots with celebrities as face claims for the characters. Put aside the question of whether individual writers/fans actually believe that the stories they're writing are based in objective truth, that's a whole different rabbit hole that never leads to anywhere good - and quite frankly, the true believers are a far smaller subset of RPF fans than you think. The fact is, what RPF writers have to go on is mostly interviews, a person's social media presence, and a vague knowledge of "person X was in place Y on Z date." That's not a story, it's a collection of details. What RPF writers are doing is taking a bunch of details gleaned from publicly available information and going "I would like those details to fit into a story with this trope." And that, my friends, is almost entirely what an original romance novel is anyway.

Honestly, I'd love to do a full analysis of how RPF fanfic is a very distinct genre of fiction from standard fictional character based fanfic sometime, if I have the time and energy to put it all together, and to deal with the kneejerk blowback about RPF in general. But the point is ... it's a shorter leap from "RPF writer" to "original romance writer" than it is from fictional character fanfic, because a) the characters in question are more archetypes/tropes created from a celebrity persona and b) the plots are by necessity already made up out of whole cloth, with some details from a celebrity's public life used as a loose frame. It takes less work to either file off the serial numbers and make something fully original, or shift your thinking from using that loose framework to fully creating your own characters and plots.

None of this is saying that one genre of fanfic is superior or inferior to another, or that any writer is more or less talented than another. The point is that people who gravitate toward and make the effort to write RPF are often bringing themselves closer to the skill set that original romance fiction authors use, and thus there's a very significant crossover between the two. If you read any romance written in the last decade or two - het or queer - chances are pretty good you've read something by someone who participated in an RPF fandom. I say this as someone who's been in or otherwise witnessed most of the large RPF fandoms since the late 90s, and knows a bunch of people who have made the transition over the years.

Anyway. Yes, Red White & Royal Blue probably got its start as RPF. It could have been a number of fandoms. It's not alone by any stretch, and I for one am very proud of everyone who's made the leap.

[mythserene]

Mark Lewisohn really wants to overturn narratives and “Get Back” accidentally gave us incredible insight into how little it takes to make him smoothly and confidently wrong

Great AKOM. Maybe too good because it left basically nothing to add on the primary topic. This show followed my own notes more than any so far—but I had not caught the John quote being about the Maharishi—chef's kiss. 👩‍🍳💋

However... it does give me a chance to riff off something they touched on that I've also been thinking about for awhile: Mark Lewisohn's big desire to overturn narratives, and how wrong he gets it when he runs into a fact check we can all see with our own eyes.

Pre-“Get Back” Mark Lewisohn previewed some of the narratives he was itching to overturn, and off the top explained that no one had really told the Get Back sessions correctly. By trying to ingest all that Nagra audio on a sort of anniversary-tribute calendar schedule—(which is insane, impossible, and hubristic beyond words)—he was prepared to make news on a few fronts. (All clips of him are from 2019.)

First of all, no one has told the "Get Back" sessions story right. Yet.

But after binging the Nagras once the expert is ready to “write it differently”

Redeeming Magic Alex

In this tweet is a hidden wink-wink-hint at the new Magic Alex storyline Lewisohn was queuing up. Although if he hadn't tipped us off in the podcast the “not so bad then” would be meaningless. As it is, we have the key.

Magic Alex has been slandered, his studio was fine, and the Nagras — especially George's good vibes — prove it.

Honestly, just imagine what we would be reading from him if “Get Back” didn't exist. This is the flimsy nonsense he builds entire storylines around. Because he prioritizes flipping narratives second only to deifying John. And like a reporter with a thesis he interviews and searches out sources to prop up that thesis. But unlike a reporter he has no checks. No imperative to give competing evidence. Answers to no one. Is wholly opaque about sources. And most certainly doesn't concern himself with adhering to even the most basic UK and US ethical guidelines for historians.

And so this is possibly the best peek we will ever get into how his process works and just how incredibly flimsy it is.

Paul didn't want to go up on the roof—he was the one who had to be persuaded—because it wasn't enough of a climax

Apparently even Anthology was trying to pull the wool over our eyes about Paul and the rooftop concert, but Lewisohn was ready to rewrite history and tell the truth about Paul not wanting to go up on the roof.

The last clip isn't of Mark Lewisohn, but references him as an expert. The final arbiter of fact. And it fits. Because at this point if Mark Lewisohn says it, no matter how ridiculous it is, it becomes cannon. And it pains me to see anyone—especially Beatles' fans—parroting nonsense and looking foolish.

Mark Lewisohn, heroin expert

It is so clear that Mark Lewisohn is going to handle John and Yoko's heroin issue by feigned expertise blended with apologia and creepy idolatry. (See Prellies in Tune In.) How he thinks he's expert enough to opine on the effects of heroin is beyond me, but that's never stopped him before. I really don't think he ever even questions himself or his superior knowledge of anything, despite zero experience or study. His expertise at extricating John from all hard truths is enough, and will make us all stupider. (Also playing now because I am inching up to pointing out something on those Nagras.)

Repeating Mark Lewisohn: the "Two Junkies" interview (where John literally had to stop to throw up) was from a heroin hangover because John and Yoko weren't messed up enough to actually be doing heroin on set

*I posted this last night and Tumblr disappeared 90% of the post then wouldn't let me post more audio because it counted the disappeared audio against me. Therefore I forced myself to repost it this morning before listening to the bonus (Womak/Mal Evans) AKOM I've been so looking forward to and may now go revel in my reward without guilt. 😌

[polarisbibliotheque]

Nemesis (Vergil x Reader) - Chapter 4

Nemesis

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: The Abyss opening is a rare occurrence. In his youth, Vergil wanted to harness its power, but never thought he would meet his greatest adversary along the way. Years later, the Abyss is once again open and that might call for some rather unlikely alliances.

Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 (you are here!)

Age restriction: 18+ - there’s a lot of blood, violence, cursing and all those things people want to forbid younger audiences of seeing. Also, cosmic horror is a thing here. Procceed with caution.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: You beat each other's asses. There'll be blood and injuries :)

Author's Notes: Quite a small chapter but hey! It's been less than a week (I think) from chapter 3, so hooray! I am afraid, though, this will be the last time Vergil will appear on his blue coat glory - next appearances will be during black coat era.

What I will say, is that our beloved demon in red will probably appear on chapter 7 ;)

And I love kicking Verge's demon ass

Chapter 4

You had changed. Vergil could see it in your face – you looked sturdier, with those eyes burning like fire and resolve still in your soul. That tired protector you once were, doing all you could to save those weaker than you, had now become a skilled fighter.

Your hands gripped the silver sword with grace and technique, your chin slightly high in the air. The arrogance he met in you many moons ago was still there, but you looked more experienced – not just a warrior anymore, but a hunter.

“You have something of the Abyss within you.” Vergil’s words were slow and calculated; that serious smirk never leaving his lips. “I will let you go without the humiliation of defeat once more if you give it to me willingly.”

Your expression didn’t show how confused you were with that statement of his – after all, you went to another realm, but you would be able to feel if it was the Abyss. The book, perhaps, could be that piece of ancient energy he was talking about and, suddenly, the feather weighted heavier in your pocket.

But of course. You now had access to the best source of knowledge on the Abyss, something that blue demon also searched for. With a convinced smile spreading across your lips, you couldn’t help but to raise your head in superiority: you had the upper hand in that department.

And, for all you cared, he could writhe with the pain of never being able to access it. In a matter of fact, you would make sure he would.

“Well, well, demon…” Your voice carried all the condescendence that made Vergil’s blood boil – even if his expression remained as unreadable as ice. The demon inside him, though, wanted to make sure you, a simple human, knew your place in the natural order of things. “Whatever it is that you want from me, you will have to take it. I will never give something to you, let alone willingly.”

“Hmpf. You could save yourself the shame of being subdued one more time.” Vergil scoffed, seemingly dismissing your comment. His eyes pierced through the darkness, meeting yours with a kind of savagery that didn’t match his icy demeanor.

“Last time, I was already injured and close to death.” This time, even if you continued smiling to maintain your upper hand, you already felt your blood running hot inside your veins. Soon, you would have to remind him why humans were far superior than his pitiful kind. “I wouldn’t be so sure of your victory in a fair fight with the same conditions.”

“We will never be on the same conditions.” He almost growled back at you, still maintaining his calculating look even if his voice showed the rage under still waters. “I would have to hold back so you could even have a chance.”

“Hmpf.” It was your turn to scoff, seemingly dismissing his point. Only your heart knew how much his words and hubris affected your pride – as much as yours affected his. “It sounds like you are scared of losing to a human.”

“Enough.”

Now your words had cut through his pride like the sharp blade of the Yamato – already glistening in the dark as Vergil quickly unsheathed his sword and plunged into a swift attack.

You responded at the same speed, gracefully holding your silver sword with both hands and blocking his attack. Meeting his eyes above the blade of your swords, Vergil’s silver gaze maintained yours before both of you repelled each other and jumped into the fight once more.

You didn’t protect your knowledge of the Abyss more than Vergil attacked you to take it for himself – your swords clashed so both of you could defend your pride.

Your years of hunting showed up in your fighting. You were smarter, quicker, with enough dexterity to make Vergil focus even more on the movement of your feet and the grip on your sword. Now you had a sort of streetwise experience to match your technique – making you more difficult to read and harder to beat.

Vergil, in the other hand, had grown more aggressive. Years ago, you observed how he stalked and attacked, sometimes even seeming to think too much before an attack. Now, he had given more room for his rage, showing it through his fighting style. Still technical, still skilled beyond everyone else you had fought in your life – but with a hate that threatened to make even the sturdiest of demons bleed.

You blocked one of Yamato’s piercing attacks, making you break your stance and stumble towards one of the mahogany bookshelves. As you hit your back on it, dust filled the air and some books fell on the floor, while you kept your eyes glued on the blue devil’s form as he sheathed his sword once more.

“There’s a lack of balance on your feet.” As always, he was full of himself, lowering his stance and holding the hilt of his sword, ready for a swift killer blow. “I should’ve never been able to break your stance with such an easy attack.”

With those words, Vergil released the Yamato, unleashing a thousand of cuts in the void to your direction in the blink of an eye. If your reflexes hadn’t been quick and you hadn’t rolled to the side, you would’ve ended up in pieces – just like the mahogany bookcase, now slowly falling apart amidst a rain of cut paper and dismembered books.

“You broke it with strength, not skill.” Your voice grabbed his attention, making Vergil quickly spin to his left. You, in the other hand, had already prepared yourself: raising from the floor, you took the opportunity to kick his torso with all your strength, making Vergil roll to the other side of the hall. “You lack attention on your enemy. First lesson: never lose sight of your opponent – as you gloat how good you are, they can kick you down in no time.”

That smile. Vergil wanted to take that smile out of your face with the slap of a hundred summoned swords as he got up from the floor. What you had just done to him wasn’t just a fair move on a fight – it was humiliation.

Once again, you rolled on the floor to escape his bright blue summoned swords, thrown at you at lightning speed. Up to that moment, you had only fought with swords and none of you thought of using anything else. Vergil’s rage, in the other hand, made him slowly give in to all he had available in a fight – and soon, he would forget you were human and wouldn’t hold back anymore.

Kneeling on the floor, it was time to take your guns out and have that demon taste some of the silver bullets you carried for hunting. You shot expertly, aiming with dexterity and firing quickly – but Vergil deflected all those bullets in a move you had never seen before: spinning Yamato in front of him, everything you shot was cut in half, hitting books, papers and shelves, but never him. Vergil remained in place, barely fazed by your fire power.

You had to bring him down with your sword then.

Plunging back into battle, you yielded your silver sword as Vergil readied for deflecting your attack. He tried a counterattack, but you blocked with expertise, almost too quick for a human. Indeed, the more he fought you, the more he realized you had excellent reflexes, timing and precision – if Vergil couldn’t feel you were entirely a human, he would doubt it.

But the blood that ran through your veins smelled exactly like his mother’s – vulnerable, sweet, completely human. When he was a child, Vergil quickly learned to distinguish between his mother’s and his father’s scent – and later, he learned it was all in their blood. Eva could be compared to flowers next to the scent of a demon; Sparda was like a strong bottle of whisky, a mix of smoke and burnt wood. The worse demons, though, reeked of rotting flesh and vinegar, something quite unbearable to his nose.

You, in the other hand, had no other scent aside the sweet notes of human blood. That same flowery fragrance of Eva, whether she wore perfumes or not. You didn’t need that for Vergil to know you were nearby – and for him to know there was nothing demonic or supernatural running through your veins.

Which only made him more furious inside when your silver sword managed to wound his right cheekbone.

You froze in your place as Vergil’s hand slowly raised to his face; the crimson blood staining the tips of his long fingers. You remained in silence as his head gradually turned to you, hand still raised, blood running down his hand. Vergil’s silver stare pierced yours with rage and shock – while you had a mix of fear and pride in your chest.

After all, you managed to draw his blood. Even if his eyes promised to unleash hell on you, your heart gloated with the pride of finally hurting your archenemy. He had no reason to talk you down anymore: it was more than obvious that you were on the same level as him and that made Vergil’s blood ready to explode.

“I hope you are ready to face the consequences of your actions, foolish human.”

His eyes glowed in the dark, his teeth now sharp with fangs. You knew he was a demon, but you had only seen him as a human – for the first time, he was about to show you his real form, how he looked when he was ready to kill. His nails sharpened and you tightened the grip on your sword. However he looked, however powerful he was… Now it was time to fight him in his true form.

At least, that was what both of you had expected before the floor trembled and the walls shook with a rumble that crossed the entire city. It was like you were brought back into reality – the Abyss would soon close, and you both had been so caught up in your fight, you had forgotten everything else.

Vergil’s eyes were back to silver, his nails and teeth suddenly human, as your eyes turned to the aisle that took you back to the outside. With another rumble, a shriek echoed through the city, piercing your ears.

You had never heard a sound like that before – and, as you stared back at Vergil, you saw in his eyes the same was true for him as well.

As you stepped on the old library’s roof, you and Vergil observed the city now under the bright light of the blue moonlight. You tried to find the source of such a shriek – and it didn’t take long to locate it: near the crack of the Abyss, in the distance, a ghostly figure crawled out. It resembled a woman, with black holes for eyes and a mouth glowing in red. Its legs were useless, but its body was massive, dragging itself out of the Abyss while commanding a swarm of humanoid demons – mere dolls to its own desire.

“It cannot be…” Vergil muttered under his breath, standing side by side with you for the first time. “That creature is a Hell Puppeteer…”

“They were extinct centuries ago. The Codex Daemonica says the last apparition of a Hell Puppeteer was in ancient times; that’s impossible.” And you couldn’t believe your eyes – even if the Puppeteer dragged itself right in front of you, controlling its many demons to its will, it wasn’t supposed to be there. You had only seen it in illustrations and descriptions.

Vergil slowly turned his head towards you, eyebrows furrowed. He too had only seen those kinds of demons in books, drawings of old describing how those vile and ancient creatures had been extinct even before his father decided to escape Hell for good. As you met his smart eyes, you raised one eyebrow.

“What? I’m a Devil Hunter now, I have to know the Codex by heart.” You stared back at the horror show right in front of you. “I find it baffling there’s nothing on the Abyss in the Codex, especially if its harboring that sort of thing.”

“Indeed. The entry on the Abyss is unsatisfying to say the least.” Vergil turned his attention back to the problem you had in hand. It was the first time he heard a human mention the Codex – when he was a child, Sparda made him and Dante study it thoroughly and he was proud to say he knew it by heart. Just like you, apparently. “Although, it also doesn’t have much on extinct species like the Puppeteer.”

“Well… It’s time to figure out how to kill that thing, then.” You took a deep breath, sheathing your sword and reading yourself to run towards that creature in the distance. Vergil just stared back at you once more; you just sighed in response. “I don’t expect a demon like you to do the right thing, you guys have no honor. I was hired to save the people in the city and at least try to keep it in one piece and not allow it to go to hell like mine was. You can do whatever you want, I’m fighting that thing and I’m killing it. When I write it on the Codex Abyssae later, you can have a read and learn something then.”

Taking the emergency stairs, you started climbing down the building while Vergil closed his eyes and took a deep breath. You had to be the most unbearable human he had ever met in his whole life.

Because the most unbearable being was his stupid little brother.

As your feet touched the streets, Vergil simply landed by your side with a swift jump from the building, ready to walk with you.

“Bold of you to assume I am going to allow someone like you to write a Codex Abyssae.” He scoffed as you started making your way towards the Puppeteer.

“Huh. I do carry something of the Abyss with me, remember?” You teased with a cocky laugh, making him stare back at you with eyes so sharp they could rival the Yamato. “Don’t go thinking you’re the only one interested in the Abyss. Whenever you think about entering it, I’ll be there to stop you and close it for good.”

“And you dare say humans have some kind of honor.” He rolled his eyes, keeping his own pace and forcing you to catch up – you seemed to be able to stand by his side without effort, though. “With such hasty judgment, I doubt your research will have a good result.”

“You assume too much too quickly. I wonder what kind of judgement you have.”

Vergil scoffed back but made no comment. You were both researching the Abyss for two opposite reasons – while he wanted to harness its power, you wanted to close it. You would only join forces for one time to defeat that Hell Puppeteer; after it was over, you would go back to being archenemies.

There was nothing that would stand between Vergil and his search for power. Not even the scent of flowers.

**

To be continued...

[sclfmastery]

So to jump off of a Tweet I made (I’m Ambs): 

No but really. Indulge me for a moment.

The Master thinks of Tecteun’s discovery of the Timeless Child as a despicable disgusting thing; he’s too angry and hurt at the Doctor to consciously recognize that his disgust isn’t just at “everything I am is somehow because of you”--it’s ALSO at the fact that his best friend was killed over and over and experimented on as a child AS THE FOUNDATION OF AN ENTIRE CIVILIZATION. 

The civilization to which HE belongs, which HE always thought entitled him to something akin to godhood ( “I’m a Time Lord, I have that right,” said Simm Master, during Ten’s era).  Which, after absorbing the entire Matrix and all its knowledge, he is now aware is a GENOCIDAL LIE (“everything you know is a lie,” Spyfall Part 1).  Including his identity. Far more importantly, including HER identity. “Call me by my name,” he demanded of her, on her knees (because, Doctor, you have always defined me and you always will, and I’m learning that’s inescapable. I have no autonomy, control, or mastery, over anything). 

But the Master is nothing if not obsessive. He can’t let it go. He can’t accept this: especially after having been Missy in the Vault for 70 years, trying to placate the Doctor by “turning good,” and ending up killing and being killed by herself as thanks for it. So he’s off to work. First the Spyfall plot, including the encoded message (”why should I make it easy for you? It wasn’t for me”): that falls through quickly, and gives him 77 years among the worst pockets of humanity and human history, more pain and resentment in which to marinate. 

 Next, he absorbs the Cyberium and creates the Cyber Masters (the corpses of the Time Council and Lords, who have KNOWINGLY reaped the benefits of genocide, mutilated into Cybermen with the Doctor’s DNA).  This is all mere ritual: he has no real desire to follow through with conquering the universe. He wants to die. He begs the Doctor to kill them both with the Death Particle. Then at last they’ll be equals again. She refuses, runs (because unlike him, she has other people to live for), and lets a human try to kill him instead. This won’t do.

So he escapes, and chooses to live a little longer. 

Now, in Power of the Doctor, he decides, okay, if I can’t just kill us all, this awful lie of a “great civilization” build on the predation of my childhood best friend, I’m going to make it so that this entire scenario never occurred to begin with. He drops the Doctor a hint--as one always does, in the best of cat and mouse games (though he has told us, now, in his deepest state of despair, “it isn’t a game”).  What’s the hint? 

“This is the end of your existence. You will be ERASED.”

It’s that word--erased--that draws ALL my attention. Someone on Twitter noticed that what the Doctor is standing inside, when we see her regeneration energy being activated, and hear her calling “YAZ,” looks an awful lot like a LOOM.

Why’s that important? Because looms synthesize Time Lord offspring using  genetic sequences. 

So logically, they can undo those genetic sequences too. 

What would happen if the Master robbed the Doctor of identity as completely as he has been robbed?  In his mind, what makes her special, deserving of adulation, is her capacity to be immortal.  He misses the idea that they are equals and foils.  If he can’t make them equal again with a simple double suicide,  then maybe he can extract the parts of her DNA that make her (in his mind) special.  

Maybe the scene that we THINK is Thirteen’s regeneration is just a loom the Master is using to remove her ability to regenerate, period.  And she’s screaming for Yaz because something has happened to Yaz, and if she can’t heal her with regeneration energy, Yaz will die.   

And maybe the Master is TAKING that ability from her, to BECOME, in his mind, a SUPERIOR DOCTOR. 

What if he’s found some way to prevent Tecteun from ever finding her--some causal chain of events that necessitates abducting earth seismologists and wiping certain famous earth artists from existence such that their paintings never existed (or maybe just the paintings, that’s not clear yet)? What if that’s why the Daleks were contacting the Doctor of all people for help--they are noticing parts of their history changing or going missing. 

What if the Master has been able to create a functional temporal paradox (this might explain the two earths and two TARDISes) so that he and his “children” the Cyber Masters can go on existing, but simultaneously, the Doctor and the other Time Lords never came into being? 

“You will be ERASED.”

[drysaladandketchup]

The Terror, The Franklin Expedition, and The Humanity Lost In Interpretation

I’ve seen one too many posts about The Franklin Expedition and The Terror with regards to colonialism and how the intentions of the British Empire at the time means that none of the characters---nor their real life inspirations---deserve sympathy or to be seen with even an ounce of kindness, and the way some folks talk about the men on these ships, real or fictional, really rubs me the wrong way.

These men were not martyrs. Of course not. The damage done by British colonialism is massive and far-reaching, to say the least, and very apparent in the show. It’s obvious in what the Tuunbaq represents and how it suffers more with each interaction with the crew right up to its death by their hands. It’s made apparent during Goodsir’s discussion with Silna about why they’re in the Arctic, framing the futility of their actions. It’s seen when people like Franklin or Dr. Stanley or Fitzjames, among others, turn their noses up at the Inuit people, their customs, or their knowledge, because of a perceived ‘superiority’ to those they deem as lesser. Hell, we see it plain as day when all these men are suffering and dying in a land they deem ‘savage’ and ‘inhospitable’, despite the fact that we see the Inuit people living and surviving just fine in that same land.

So of course I am not arguing the message about the damage done by imperialism and colonialism under the Empire. I’m not denying that their refusal to learn from the Inuit or past mistakes did not aid in their downfall.

However, where I start to get irked is when people talk about these men as if they were not human beings. All of them. As if they were an irredeemable hive mind of brutish men who were there for the sole purpose of doing harm. Which is simply not the case.

First and foremost, I think some people need to remember one very important thing: the Franklin Expedition was not in the Arctic for the purposes of settlement or assimilation. In fact, had all gone to plan, they had no intention of setting foot on land in the Arctic at all. Britain was a coloniser, yes, but this specific expedition was to find the Northwest Passage. A waterway through the ice, a faster route to the Pacific for the purposes of trade. This expedition wasn’t to set roots or colonise anything. I’m not saying that had they succeeded in finding a viable route, that it wouldn’t have led to more colonising of the Arctic, I just mean this group of men were not there for that. They were not there to claim and conquer people or land. They were literally just sailing ships through the ice. Were they doing it under the flag of the British Empire? Yes. Were they wholly unprepared for the environment? Undoubtedly. But ultimately this expedition was one of exploration, science, and cartography.

The British Empire colonised, exploited, and abused many countries around the world. Plenty of people at home believed in the rhetoric of the ‘white man’ as a superior race; the white Englishman, specifically. Religion had a strong grip on the population. Classism played a major role in many facets of life. Laws and rules and institutions sometimes reflected harmful values and beliefs. But that doesn’t mean every single living, breathing, thinking individual at the time believed it or subscribed to it or acted upon it. Often the worst rhetoric is the loudest remnant of its time, but it rarely paints a full picture. The darkest parts of our history often overtake other narratives.

People today have a plethora of thoughts and opinions, regardless of---and sometimes in oppositions to---their leaders and governance. Yet we forget that that was the same in the past. Individualism has always existed. Tolerance and empathy are not modern concepts. Who you are as a person is not inherently defined by where you were born. Can the tenants and teachings of where you grow up and those you grow up around affect you? Of course. But people are fully capable of thinking for themselves, and changing. Growing.

What is often lost within the argument of whether or not to look at history through a modern lens, is that regardless, you cannot paint everyone with one brush. Few arguments are black and white, and never have been. History, and the people who came before us, were just as diverse, and fallible, capable of good and bad and everything in between. I find myself somewhat unnerved when we talk about people as if their very existence in a particular time or place is reason enough to denote their entire character or personality or intentions in life. Rather than just seeing them as people, living lives that were messy, fluid, complex, unique to them. It is a simple fact that we cannot hold every individual accountable for the actions of others or a group or a nation.

My point in all this with regards to the Franklin Expedition and the The Terror is that people who say ‘they were all there to do harm and therefore deserve no sympathy’ are missing a huge bit of forethought. As well as a bit of compassion, I think. Most of the men on those ships (aside from the officers and Marines, who were commissioned) were volunteers. But whether commissioned or volunteered, these men were sailors. They were there to do a job. I can guarantee that none of them signed onto this expedition thinking, ‘This sounds like a good opportunity to snatch up a chunk of land and kill a bunch of Indigenous people.’ It was simply sailing; it was how they made a living.

This expedition wasn’t ‘Manifest Destiny’, to use the American term. Find a passage to the Pacific, measure the magnetic readings to improve navigation, map as much of the still unmapped Arctic region as possible. Those were the goals. Nothing more. To the crews, it was to be a few years aboard a ship with good pay and a chance to see the world. Many likely thought it was an opportunity to be a part of what was to be an important voyage, which could earn them better standing within the Navy.

And again, I am not arguing the ultimately imperialistic intentions of the British Empire with regards to the potential results of this mission had it succeeded. I am simply saying that to vilify all 129 men aboard these ships simply for a job that, in this particular case, was not intended to do any harm to anyone, is extremely careless and misguided.

Hubris was a factor in their failure, undoubtedly. But even then, there were those on the Expedition who had traversed the Arctic and/or Antarctic before, like Crozier. They knew more than most what to expect. Of course it’s hard to say whether or not these men would have made changes to their approach or supplies or tactics had they the freedom to do so (after all, Franklin too had suffered terribly in the Arctic on a previous expedition, yet he seemed confident that nothing need change for them to survive this time around). But the fact is the rules and practices of the Empire and the Royal Navy were set in stone. In a sense, these men were also victims of their own Empire. That, and the reality that what ultimately sealed their fate was the unprecedented deep freeze during the winter of 1846 which trapped their ships.

And to the point I’ve seen people make about how the crews refused help from the Inuit: I will politely ask you to read some more books, or the oral accounts passed down by the Inuit themselves. The Franklin Expedition did have interactions with the Inuit. They did look for help once they were on foot. And by the accounts of the Inuit, help was offered. The issue wasn’t that the crews refused it, the issue was the Inuit simply did not have enough food or resources to support 100 men as well as their own community. And before someone interprets this the wrong way: no, I am not at all saying the Inuit caused the deaths of the crew who made it to land. It was a simple fact of life: the Inuit survive in the Arctic, yes, but it is still a harsh land where resources are scarce. You mind your supplies, every bit of food, every tool, every fur, every scrap of material. Nothing wasted. And you care for your community, your people. The crew sought help, and the Indigenous peoples offered what they could, but the situation was simply not ideal for anyone.

As an aside, I would like to point out that there are many cases throughout history where Europeans had normal, positive, and prosperous interactions with Indigenous peoples, not just in North America, but across the world. Not to say that makes up for the irreparable damage that’s been done to many of those same Indigenous cultures by colonialism and various Empires, I simply mean we need to remember that not every single moment in history is dark and dismal. You cannot assume some binary ‘good vs. evil’ when discussing someone or something simply because of who they are or where they came from.

But to my point with regards to the Franklin Expedition and The Terror: the Empire’s refusal to learn and adapt resulted in the loss of these men’s lives. But that should not translate into, ‘Every man on those ships deserved to suffer and die simply for being there.’ I think some people miss that side of The Terror as a show.

While it is clear in its message about colonialism and the worst things that people can do to survive, it is just as clear in its humanising of the men. It is just as clear that they were all people with lives and families, their own hopes and thoughts and wants and dreams. Men who could care and help each other as much as they could harm each other. This show is about people. About surviving. About suffering. It is a warning about hubris, but it is also a tale of humanity, and all the ways that manifests or withers. Good decisions are made, bad decisions are made, extreme decisions are made. Sometimes perspectives change, reasoning shifts, outcomes are different than expected. Because people are complex, diverse, fallible, ever-changing, imperfect.

So at the end of the day, talk your head off about the impact of imperialism and colonialism, both the messages from history and it’s message within the show. It’s very important.

But if you cannot also look at these men---their real life selves or their fictional counterparts---with even an ounce of sympathy, or empathy, then I genuinely fear how you treat people in the present, in the real world. Because if you believe death and suffering are ‘deserved’ as a solution to the world’s larger injustices (even by people who themselves are not committing those injustices, simply living under them), then you have condemned yourself to nihilism and a refusal to gauge human kindness and hope.