#(because helen is lush)

[motherofdogs1010]

Of Messiahs and Seeds I (Dark!Paul Atreides x Reader)

Summary: Emperor Paul of House Atreides has set forth with expansion of his empire on the planets that have resisted and has now come across the last stronghold that resists him: Terra Millennium...

Warnings: eventual 18+, dark!fic, eventual forced marriage, eventual NONCON, eventual pregnancy, dark!Paul Atreides, more to come as story progresses

A/N: Reader is inspired by Daenarys Targaryen with dragons and Sailor Moon's Silver Crystal lol, so I hope you all enjoy!! Terra is similar to Earth, I imagined Lord York to be Tyrion Lannister so please picture that

😈 Dividers by @firefly-graphics 😈 Banner by @vase-of-lilies

Part II

"Terra Millennium stands as a enomely in the universe for their rejection against the Empire", the hologram records said. "A two-century long battle was waged for the planet through the Great Houses yet the people won through the help of someone they have since called 'The Conqueror'."

Paul had heard of the Terra Millennium, their planet one of lush greenery, vast oceans and an abundance of resources that the previous Emperor had tried countless times to harvest just as House Harkonnen had done with the Spice on Arrakis, but alas, no one had ever been successful in mining Terra Millennium. He had heard that they experience something called 'seasons', he wondered what that was.

Just as he had done with Arrakis, Paul sat in his private room, watching hologram clips of Terra Millennium as his fleet flew to the planet to finally land conquest through the help of the Fremen.

"Anthropologists have never been able to stay long on the planet or among the people, but what has been gathered is the people have rejected the teachings of the Bene Gesserit, labeling it as hertic literature."

Terra Millennium was an odd planet with an odd people who had unusually long live spans, being able to live into their thousands without a single wrinkle or grey, they repented against the Bene Gesserit, the use of the Spice; he had heard of the people of that land believing solely in the ruling Queens because of a crystal, one of immense power that was sought after.

"Characterized by their white hair, the ruling House of L/N have upheld the traditional values of the planet, which has a population of over 1 billion. Only female heirs have been able to inherit the throne and it is rumored that a single crystal that is worn by every ruling Queen is said to hold immense power that has granted its people longevity, peace and prosperity."

A knock interrupted his research, Paul seeing Stilgar walk in followed by Gurney.

"Muad'Dib, we have touched land on Terra Millennium", Stilgar said, "they have responded to our communication message."

"What did they say?" he asked, Gurney chuckled.

"They said if we proceed with our mission, they will see it as an act of war", Gurney said, "they're real hard asses here."

"You've been, Gurney?" Paul asked, curious.

"Once", Gurney replied, "I came with your father on a diplomatic assignment, but that was with their previous Queen Helene. This one is new, just coronated a few months ago."

He thought back to the new dreams he had been having of a woman whose hair was the color of white that hung down near the ground in large curls, whose eyes were hard and the color of lilac with the roar of a great beast that rung in his ears when he would awaken from his dreams.

Unlike his dreams with Chani, these felt different now that he had drunken the Water of Life. His visions of the woman consisted of a gentle breeze sweeping through her hair, it curling around her as she was dressed in a long, white silk dress that clung to her body and trailed in a long train behind her with woven golden in the upper bodice. She stood on a tall pillar of crystal, a tall scepter in her hands that she was raising above her head as the breeze picked up.

Soon, the dreams melted in a great war as crystals encapsulating him, a bright light that blinded him yet filled him with warmth and security.

"Show them the full might of the Empire", Paul said, "after all, they are in the presence of the Muad'Dib."

And it was those eyes that greeted him when he finally set foot on the pavement of Terra Millennium with its tall structures that were made of variously colored crystals.

Neo-Queen Amaris was the regal name Y/N had chosen to go by when she took the throne a mere few months ago. Of course, she went by her name, Y/N in private with those closets to her and only by her regal name with others.

Y/N had heard the rumors of the new Emperor wanting to claim her home, her people; he wanted to bring her planet into the vastly growing empire that he ruled under as a supposed Messiah to the Fremen and Bene Gesserit: Muad'Dib. Everyone had heard of how he supposedly liberated Arrakis and the Fremen people, marrying Princess Irulan as a political move to secure his position as the new Emperor.

Only a few days ago did a message come into their Communication's Hub from the Emperor about finally claiming Terra Millennium for not only himself but for the Fremen as it would be their 'Green Paradise'.

War will come to Terra Millennium if you refuse to submit, the message read.

"My Queen", her advisor, Lord York, said as she sat on her throne. "Reports have come in that the Atreides fleet has made contact on the landing pad near the Capital. Scouts have seen the Atreides Army beginning to get ready."

Lord York was a man of small stature with a head full of bronze curls and dark brown eyes that always looked calculated as if he was already ten steps ahead.

Y/N looked over at Lord York before bringing a hand to the crystal that hung around her neck on a chain that could never be removed from her neck before slowly standing up from her throne that was encrusted in gemstones.

"I believe it is time we greet them", she said, looking over her court. "After all, hospitality is what our people are known for."

And it is not like they have any chance of having their weapons working; outside weaponry not from Terra M had no chance of working and she wondered what their reactions would be once they realized this.

"But before we go", Lord York said, "may I make a suggestion?"

Y/N made a motion to the man, who gave a nod and said, "I believe it is our Queen's best interest to wear your ancestor, The Conqueror's crown and scepter to greet our guests. It would show the great strength you possess, a message to not only the Great Houses but the Emperor as well."

"That sounds like a great idea."

"You are the presence of our Neo-Queen", a man said with a thick facial beard, "first of her name, descendant of our goddess Selene and The Conqueror, wielder of the great Silver Crystal, Mother of all, Neo-Queen Amaris."

Paul watched as the man motioned to the woman he had been dreaming about, he could see that as the breeze came that she wore no shoes; all the Terrians didn't despite their silken clothes as they stood amongst the tall crystal structures. They had landed as close to the Capital, finding that there was a landing pad despite the relatively isolated nature of the planet.

"I welcome you, Paul of House Atreides", she said with a stoic expression. "But now you must leave."

The woman, their Queen Amaris, looked upon them with a hint of annoyance as she held a large scepter in one hand that was as tall as Duncan Idaho had been with gold and gem embellishments, but what was curious was that at the top of the scepter where it looked as if a missing piece was needed. The crown she wore on her head was large, glittering in diamonds and curved up into a point as she stood there, her hair having a few small braids that pulled the framing hair away with kiss curls on her forehead.

"Leave?" Paul said with some amusement.

Irulan stood next to him dressed in a silver mesh outfit, a metal hair net that connected over into her dress that held down her short blonde hair. Paul was glad that he Voiced the woman to stop talking, she would not stop and frankly, he had no desire to try and pursue a romantic relationship with the woman after Chani chose to leave further into Arrakis.

His mother stood amongst them, holding the bundled form of his sister, Alia.

"I did not realize a Emperor could have poor hearing", Amaris said, "you are not welcome on Terra Millennium nor do we plan on allowing for you to colonize us. Terra M remains alone."

Paul took in the way she spoke, her accent one he had never heard before and the formal way of speaking. He noticed the large gem that hung around her neck, it sparkled in the sunlight as she stood there and looked to be the size of a her palm.

"Also, we did not apperciate your Bene Gesserit coming", she continued, "spreading their heretic language, you will find them in the Prisoner's Bay."

"You don't believe in the Muad'Dib, the Kwisatz Haderach?" Paul asked.

"We believe in our Queen, may her reign be as prosperous as Selene", the bearded man said.

The Queen just looked at him with contempt, he saw her lip curl a little in annoyance.

And it was that look that made something stir deep in Paul and made him feel something that he never felt before. She looked at him as if he was a bug ready to be squashed underneath her foot

He wanted to possess the woman in front of him, at all costs and he didn't care who he had to kill... he was going to.

#paul atreides #paul atredies x reader #dune #dune x reader #x reader #reader insert #timothee chalamet #chubby reader #smut #dune imagine #dune part two #dune part ii #duneimagine #dark!fic #dark!paulatreides #yandere #yanderexreader

[brophigenia]

never met a man who gets it like you do

“So,” Blue said to him over their morning breakfast— yogurt for her, the fruity dregs for him, plus a mug the size of a small butter churn full of black coffee to prepare her for a long day at the public defenders’ office. “I think you should have sex with Ronan.” 

“What.” Gansey replied, softly owlish in his wireframes with all his muscles out, shirtless at the table that in the mornings he called the breakfast nook but was actually just the table they ate all their meals on.

Life in their matchbook apartment revolves around that table. He was reading the paper (the finance section) idly. Later, he’d make himself a plateful of scrambled eggs. For now, he was still mostly asleep, sitting up like a prop to well-wish his partner out the door. 

Blue’s cell phone was going off, chirruping insistently. She took one last big spoonful of strawberry-flavored dairy goodness and kissed her fingertips before she answered Blue Sargent, pressing them to his mouth as she passed on her way to defend the disenfranchised masses. 

“What.” Gansey mumbled to himself again, and then got up to go water all his plants. Their apartment resembled some kind of strange urban jungle, with greenery lush and alive on every possible surface. On their tiny balcony, he had a potted lemon tree that lived in their bathroom on winter nights but thrived now in the summertime light, fruited and vital. He liked it— being surrounded by so much life. 

He was a gentleman of leisure; he spent his days trading stocks and caring for his plants and going to the gym and working idly on his thesis. He’d be a PhD sooner or later— Dr. Richard Campbell Gansey III. For now, he was content to be just this— just Gansey. 

What, he texted Blue for good measure, before starting in on his morning dose of protein in the form of expertly-scrambled eggs. It was the only thing he knew how to cook without fail. He and Helen used to eat platefuls at night when they were too polite to wake up the housekeeper but too wracked by growth spurts to go hungry.  Blue didn’t respond except to send him a meme about capitalism. He forwarded it to Adam, who sent back funny, because he was too serious and too Adam to ever type out lol.

#gangsey #trc fic #ronan lynch #ronan lynch/gansey #ronan lynch/adam parrish #ronsey #bluesey #blue sargent/richard gansey iii #blue/gansey/henry

[artphotocollector]

"Color! What a deep and mysterious language, the language of dreams.” – Paul Gauguin

The yearning to capture the world in color has always been with us. Whether it was painting on walls in caves, crafting vegetable dyes for textiles, the development of oil paints, to experimenting with chemistry in photographic processes--the allure of color has motivated artists to represent the world as they experience it.

The autochrome, an ephemeral photographic process patented in 1903 by the Lumière brothers, released commercially in 1907, and produced until the mid-1930′s, changed the possibilities of photography. Over a hundred years ago, what was once only available in monochrome, became possible for photographers--without great technical skill or a different camera--to capture the world in color as they saw it. During the brief 30-year history of the Lumière manufactured glass plates, photographers produced hundreds of thousands of autochromes. However, because of their inherent fragility and sensitivity to light, autochromes would later be supplanted by other more practical photographic processes, particularly the rise of Kodachrome in 1935. Alas, the autochrome would fade to memory. 

Drawing on the resources of the Victoria & Albert Museum in London, which houses one of the most extensive collections of autochromes, Color Mania: Photographing the World in Autochrome by Catlin Langford is a scholarly and considered reminder of our yearning for color. This new publication from Thames & Hudson reveals work that has never been shown, and helps us to understand the significance of autochromes in our shared photographic history.

To see the early 20th century in color is to see the world anew. The work of long forgotten photographic pioneers like Helen Messinger Murdoch, who was the first woman to travel the world taking autochromes, is included in the book. Her travel pictures from the early 1900′s remind us how modern autochromes can seem. We magically and immediately experience the past in color. The lush, painterly, pointillism look of the autochrome is unique. And like a language we have not heard in a long time, the images in Color Mania remind us how deep and mysterious that language can be. --Lane Nevares

#autochrome #color photography #photography #color mania #history of photography #Thames & Hudson #victoria and albert museum

[mermaidsirennikita]

Any modern Marriage of Convenience stories?

Ooh, this is difficult to get right, but when it's good it's good.

Possession by A. Anders--one of my favorite reads this year. An erotic celebrity romance. The hero is an A-list actor who entered into a PR marriage of convenience with the heroine, who's an up and coming America's sweetheart type. She's also Latina and plus size, as a side note. They don't have sex at all, and don't plan to. Then he gets caught on camera having very kinky sex with a woman who looks a LOT like the heroine; and it's obviously this huge scandal. He basically runs away to this camp his friend owns where people can basically play with pretty immersive, hardcore kink. And though he tells her not to... she follows him. It's VERY sexy, it's very emotional, it's quite creative in terms of kink and sex. Highly recommend.

The Fiancee Farce by Alexandria Bellefleur--F/f romcom, one heroine is a works at a bookstore and basically in a stressful situation claims this romance novel cover model is her heroine. Turns out that model knows friends of friends of theirs, and she needs to get married to inherit her family's publishing empire. Sooooo a marriage of convenience it is!

Lush Money by Angelina M. Lopez--another favorite of the year! Mexican self-made lady billionaire offers to bail a small nation out financially... As long as the nation's prince, who's super hot and also incredibly smart, agrees to marry her long enough to get her pregnant. Because she likes the idea of her kid being royalty and having a genius level IQ, lol. If you like the idea of breeding at all... This book is very "put a baby in me", and it's super hot, and it kicks off immediately. Like, these two are fuckin' within the first couple chapters. And they HATE each other.

Marriage for One by Ella Maise--it's been a good while since I read this, but I remember liking it. The heroine is another one where she needs to marry in order to secure an inheritance, and for SOME REASON, this grumpy rich guy offers to do it

The Bride Test by Helen Hoang--hero is on a virgin on the autism spectrum, and is super uncomfortable around people and comes off as very brusque and cold; his family is from Vietnam, and his mother travels home and convinces a struggling single mom to marry him... and brings her over without his consent. Love how sex in this book is explored.

If you're open to fantasy that is partially set in our modern world, with a modern heroine, Wed to the Wild God by Ruby Dixon is, well, quite wild. The heroine is a contemporary girl, but she basically ends up bonded to a god from a parallel fantasy realm. He's a literal wild god who's incredibly hedonistic, literally inspires lust in people--he and the heroine fuck like, immediately after meeting lol. But then, in order to seal a deal, they end up in a marriage of convenience. She's very "I SWEAR I WON'T FALL IN LOVE" about it. Also: has pegging!

#romance novel blogging #book recs

[theloniousbach]

PROGRAMMER’S NOTES, JAZZ SPECTRUM, 4 JUNE 2022

While there is an obvious gimmick that defines this show, I took the challenge of finding songs with women’s names in alphabetical order as a structuring convention that could define this invention the way the Rhythm changes launches countless wonderful improvisations, even more, compositions.

This show is about the tunes and there are many favorites here, precisely because the composers are paying tributes to loved ones. There is a lushness, a poignancy, an ache, and a beauty because they are love songs.

My Romance is a fitting Song of the Week and I culminate with Bill Evans/Scott LaFaro/Paul Motian at The Village Vanguard in 1961. But there are other rich versions, even vocals by Ella Fitzgerald and Sarah Vaughn. And there’s more of that band with Waltz for Debby and Gloria’s Step.

There would have been Alice in Wonderland too, but the show’s host pared things down in effective and interesting ways. In any case, I wanted to start with Eric Dolphy’s Miss Ann. The changes he made improved the show. So let me count the other ones:

—Sam Rivers’ own Beatrice rather than Stan Getz with Kenny Barron.

—Ingrid Jensen’s Christiane, not the Buster Williams Christiana by Sphere.

My two choices would have been recent repeats, precisely because they are favorites.

—The tribute to Emily Dickinson is nice on two levels. I very much like the Johnny Mercer tune, but our host went against his inclination and played it recently. So it is not a love song, instead a nice tribute for a significant women artist by a woman composer. That’s what Melissa Aldana’s Frida by Artemis which follows also is.

—I had Clifford Brown also doing Portrait of Jenny hard on the heels of him Jacqui. Louis Smith’s is another fine version

And, yes, I put Charlie Parker’s Kim in there. It’s my show and my name.

I had started My Romance in the middle of a set, not at the top of the third hour, a way the concept became a constraint. But he fixed that.

O is hard, so I went with Charles Mingus’s Orange Was The Color of Her Dress. Q is hard too, but I had two, sort of, with the Sons of Kemet’s tribute to Harriet Tubman from My Queen Is A Reptile and Jackie McLean’s Song for My Queen. There are two Ns, but Nefertiti as one of them is a nod in this direction too.

It gets to be late in the show but there are two Monk tunes and three performances with the poignant solo version of Ruby My Dear when she was ill and Monk had to go on as well as the version when John Coltrane was in the band.

I guess there isn’t any Ellington/Strayhorn, but Monk and Shorter, Mingus, Golson, and Parker. If it’s about the tunes—and it most definitely is—then the likes of them had to be here. But there’s much love and beauty here that transcends what could be a gimmick too clever by half.

And here are those tunes:

SET 1

Eric Dolphy w/Booker Little, Far Cry, “Miss Ann” 4:18

Art Farmer & Benny Golson Jazztet, Complete Mercury Recordings, “Along Came Betty” 5:32

Sam Rivers, Fuchsia Swing Song, “Beatrice” 6:14

Gary Peacock Trio, Now This, “Christa” 4:44

Ingrid Jensen, Vernal Fields, “Christiane” 7:14

Set 2

Chet Baker and Paul Bley, Diane, “Diane” 5:33

Bill Evans, Waltz for Debby, “Waltz for Debby” 6:48

Jane Ira Bloom, Wild Lines: Improvising Emily Dickinson, “Emily & Her Atoms” 6:43

Artemis, Artemis, “Frida” 7:21

Set 3

Bill Evans Trio, Sunday at the Village Vanguard, “Gloria’s Step” 6:12

George Cables Trio, Cables Fables, “Helen’s Song” 6:35

Miles Davis, ESP, “Iris” 8:34

Clifford Brown/Max Roach, Study in Brown, “Jacqui” 5:12

Set 4

Louis Smith, Ballads for Lulu, “Portrait of Jenny” 7:00

Charlie Parker, Now’s the Time, “Kim” 3:00

Ella Fitzgerald, With the Nelson Riddle Orchestra, “Laura” 3:46

Miles Davis, Filles de Kilimanjaro, “Mademoiselle Mabry” 16:37

Set 5

Ben Webster/Sweets Edison, Ben and Sweets, “My Romance” 6:08

Sarah Vaughan, Sassy, “My Romance” 3:16

Houston Person, My Romance, “My Romance” 5:54

Set 6

Red Garland, A Garland of Red, “My Romance”. 6:52

Benny Golson Quartet, Free, “My Romance”” 7:30

Ella Fitzgerald, The Rodgers and Hart Songbook, “My Romance” 3:46

Bill Evans Trio, Sunday at the Village Vanguard, “My Romance” 7:14

Set 7

John Coltrane, Giant Steps, “Naima”. 4:23

Miles Davis, Nefertiti, “Nefertiti”. 7:55

Charles Mingus, Plays Piano, “Orange Was the Color of Her Dress, Then Silk Blue” 4:17

Set 8

Thelonious Monk, Brilliant Corners, “Pannonica” 8:50

Charles Mingus, Revenge!, “Peggy’s Blue Skylight”.12:53

Sons of Kemet, Your Queen Is A Reptile, “My Queen Is Harriet Tubman” 5:38

Set 9

Jackie McLean, Jackie Mac Attack, “Song for My Queen”10:24

Thelonious Monk, Alone in San Francisco, “Ruby My Dear”. 4:00

Thelonious Monk, Thelonious Monk with John Coltrane, “Ruby My Dear” 6:20

Mingus Big Band, Live in Time, “Sue’s Changes”. 11:23

#jazz #2022 #jazz spectrum #wgte

[leahquark]

The Bureaucracy

The investigation department didn’t investigate shit! Helen damn well knew it too! 

“We fucking…” Before another word could exit my mouth Helen’s steely gaze pierced my soul. Underneath her petite business suit, and powdering of makeup, was a stone-cold killer. The prim and proper glitz of her polished nails resting on the wheel of her shining new SUV told the world what game she was playing. The deadly seriousness in her eyes, and the rigid and tense battle stance she defaulted to, warned the world what would happen if they didn’t play along. People called her “scorpion” behind her back. Step out of line, and, well…

“We saved the world.” I replied, my curse riddled bark turned whimper. 

“We did our job. The investigators were just doing theirs.” Helen responded casually. 

“It’s my grandmother locket, not part of that creature!” I spat back.

“You didn’t report it. Everything you don’t report to them is a potential threat.”

“I didn’t report it because it’s deeply personal to me!” The conversation fell quiet, as I glared at her incredulously. No questions? No curiosity as to this deeply personal story? No interest whatsoever in learning why the aura of her prized “indestructible bag” was less than half the aura off a simple locket? No! All questions could reveal were facts and personal information. Helen knew all the facts, and she had no reason to care about personal information. 

I adjusted my analogue watch, 4:54pm, a full hellish hour passed alone with Helen.

The car whispered gently to a stop in a visitor parking space, the glistening silver SUV standing out like a sore thumb from the rattle trap rust buckets assembled in the lot’s employee parking. Dark ominous clouds swirled overhead, dropping a scattering of rain neither cooling nor cleansing. Before us loomed a monolith of dull beige, surrounded by a tarmac lot attached to an untraveled road. On three sides was decaying forestry, the kind with lightning struck fallen logs, and more brown bumpy roots than lush green grass. The fourth side of the lot was the road, beyond which was a heap of abandoned farmland, no crop growing in the barren dirt clearing. A lone telephone poll tilted diagonally in the field, threatening to topple at any second. 

“This can’t be it!” I scoffed. The building was little more than a massive cube, the paint bumpy, most of the windows fogged with dust. “Investigation department? Yeah right! You’re telling me that we all report to a bunch of norms operating out of this shack in the woods?”

“The upper administration consists of individuals with supernatural abilities rivaling our own. Further, like it or not, this building is the department headquarters. It was chosen for specific reasons I have yet to understand and am unable to explain. I therefore insist you follow my lead. I also insist that while inside you behave yourself.” The scorpion stopped speaking, looking to me to ensure I understood. Behave myself? What the hell kind of sentence was that? 

Her eyes flashed with genuine aggravation, and it became clear. She wanted me to behave like her! She wanted me to play her game of false niceties and diplomacy! Never!

We entered the building, and I snapped awake. The entryway was a massive high-ceilinged courtyard. A cooling breeze wafted over us as we passed the threshold. The floors were white tiles which clicked in every step, and the walls gray synthetics. The lighting in the room touched every corner, perfectly regulated to see every inch of the space. Centrally placed was a looming glass plaque standing upright, and around it were dull gray cushioned benches that looked as though they’d been freshly cleaned. Strangest of all were the walls, covered in immaculate oil paintings in all different styles, at perfectly even intervals, each an identical size. 

Something shifted in me as we entered the space, perhaps the cooling sensation of stepping into the building, but every hair stood on end, and every sense seemed to grow heightened. The clipping of Helen’s boots against the floor, the beating of my own heart in my ear, even the ruffle of my baggy cargo pants, all of it was audible in perfect clarity. I could smell the stench of my own unwashed shirt, feel sweat and grime pooling on my hands, and taste the remnants of the extra garlic pasta I’d consumed in spite before the long car ride. 

It took me only a moment to realize why. There was nothing to the room. The air was a dead silent, devoid of the rustle of wind or pitter of rain outside. It was light too, the air was light and cool, not a thick soup to swim through. There was no smell to the building, no taste to the air. Even the wood door was silent, on the other side painted over gray and indistinct. 

We made with speed to the central glass structure. A touchscreen directory was projected on it, which Helen interacted with in silence. Waiting, I began to pace about the room, admiring the paintings, gorgeous works of art I studied with wonder. Each depicted rich landscapes and natural beauties. My favorite depicted a lone wilting cactus bristling with thorns in a desert heat, a single flower blooming from the mass of spikes, a cloudless blue sky overhead. 

I returned to Helen after studying each painting thoroughly. She’d taken out a small paper, likely from her “indestructible bag” clipped over her shoulder, and was writing. A start jumped across my body, as I realized I was looking to her with total relaxation. I felt calm, and perhaps grateful that she’d accompanied me. My heart rate slowed. I was glad to see her. 

A flush of heat hit my face, as I quickly pulled out my phone and tried to check for distraction. To my dismay the device refused to power on. The time displayed on my watch was 4:55. I glared, comprehending that the second hand had stopped moving, the watch dead.

“Lucy,” Helen spoke softly, softer than I’d ever heard her speak before. “Let’s go.”

Through a gray door, and down a flight of gray stairs, we arrived in another wide-open courtyard, a similar directory of glass stationed in the middle, identical paintings adorning the walls in the exact same spots. The same room was repeated on two different floors, and somehow this was calming, my heart further slowing from its already relaxed pace. 

Helen led us to an office where a woman, secretary of one “Mr. Smith”, insisted we’d need to come back at 5 O’clock. We left the office, moving into the central courtyard.

“5 O’clock huh?” I questioned, looking to my watch, the second hand still wedged in place, directly at the 30 second mark. Helen ignored me, moving with purpose to the directory. A tiny digital clock displayed in the top left corner, the colon separating the hour from the minute blinking in and out of existence periodically. The time displayed was 4:59. 

 “They’re going to make us wait a full minute for no reason?” I proclaimed in indignity.  

“Evidently so.” Helen responded calmly. “Please try to be patient.”

I paced about the room, glancing over each painting a second time. Beautiful still, as with the ones on the first floor, but having lost a touch of the initial excitement. I took a stand next to Helen, who in her always rigid, always ready stance was completely still, keeping the digital wall clock just on the edge of her vision. Finally, the stupid blinking clock read 5:00. 

Mr. Smith was of no help. He directed us to a “Mr. Johnson” and Helen thanked him on our way out. We got ten feet from the door before I realized I hadn’t yelled at the man, thrashed the stupid norm’s desk to scare him into helping us. I moved to speak, to express the surprise in myself to Helen, but before I could say a word the thought suddenly didn’t seem to matter. 

We scheduled a meeting with Mr. Johnson at 5:05. For five minutes we stood in wait, watching the little colon blink in and out of existence on the glass directory. The paintings were worth a third look, but only for a few seconds each. Most of the time was spent standing in silence side by side, staring at the stupid blinking clock which couldn’t tick by fast enough. 

Mr. Johnson was not responsible for confiscated items. Instead he provided paperwork to apply for a clearance we already had. The rest of the lot seemed to go by in one blurry wash. It was while waiting for a 5:35pm meeting with Mr. Williams, that Helen next spoke to me. 

“Thank you,” She said. 

“Hmmm?” I questioned. I glared at my watch. The second hand was still wedged at 30.

“You’ve behaved yourself very well.” Helen muttered softly. Something felt wrong with those words. But at that moment, I glanced up at the digital clock on the nearby directory, and watched that glorious blinking colon blink its way to 5:35, and nothing else seemed to matter.

We entered Mr. William’s office, and stood across from his gray synthetic desk. 

“Lucy Brand.” He said at last, typing on his old desktop. The first meeting to last more than a minute. “Enchanted locket, moved to storage locker 66. That’s not my department. And Mr. Miller will be out for five business days.” Like a bizarre vision, an image flashed in my mind, of watching days tick by on the colon blinking digital clock displayed on the directories. 

“Could you hold on for just a second.” Helen questioned, lifting her bag over her shoulder. Her fingers seemed to slip, and the satchel fell in a clump on the floor. At once I reached out, and with just the brush of my fingertips over the fabric I felt it. 

Helen’s enchantment was simple, my hand repelling off the thing, hit with a sudden static shock. The damn stupid fake brand name bag was enchanted to keep me out! Keep me out! Like Helen thought I was more likely to rob her than reach into it for essential supplies I knew she carried! We dealt and danced in crisis every day, and here was the scorpion, keeping up the niceties and playing her pretend politics! She waltzed into danger in that same stupid business attire. And she waltzed out expecting us all not to celebrate with joy, or cry from fear. No, of course, why would she let us? Displaying emotions was just too damn immature for her!

I felt something, heard something in the hanging stillness of the air. There was a rhythmic thumping that wasn’t there before, soft and quiet and slow. With a start it picked up as I realized it was my own heart, fear racing in me as I considered when I lost track of it. Details of the room came into focus, the baggy eyed man in the gray suit was hunched behind his gray desk in the gray room, his skin a ghastly sickly gray. There was Helen, her posture slumped, arms relaxed. No longer was a battle ready killer beside me. She was no one to fear, no one to command, not anymore. Her winged eyelashes were painted over dulling tired eyes.   

“What the hell is going on here?!” I snapped, my heart thumping in my ear. I felt something jagged catching in my lungs, as they wheezed with relief like I’d been holding my breath. My heartbeat quickened, and a myriad of hateful swears poured into my stagnating mind.  

“Lucy!” Helen attempted to scowl, slow and without energy. 

“No! I’m tired of running around in circles! We’re leaving this purgatory, with my locket! Your chain of five-minute appointments ends here!” A swell of vitality flowed through me, an energy like I’d never felt before. An urge to move, to fight, coursed through my every vein. Rage as fuel powered my words. “Do you know who we are? While you’re all locked away in here, we’re out there, living! Does anyone here remember what it’s like to live?! To admire nature rather than painted imitations?! To find something to do rather than telling others what they can’t?! Is this how you want to spend your days, reading about someone else’s exploits instead of living your own?! No one in this forsaken temple of bureaucracy is even alive!” 

“I’m sorry, that’s not my department.” The man behind the desk said simply. 

Helen snapped to her feet. Her stance was rigid, her arms tense. Her eyes shot like blazing daggers into me. With one hand she grabbed her bag, with the other she pulled me by the arm like a child for the doorway. I waited expectantly for the damn condescending lecture, but it never came. We climbed our way up the stairs, her unceasing grip on me the whole way. 

On the first floor, rather than the exit she made way for a painting, a lone standing cactus in an arid desert. It was hideous, perfection in its most unrealistic and exacting precision. The scorpion released my arm, and in one fell swing ripped the painting for the wall, the frame clattering to the floor, canvas face down. I stared incredulously at her blatant vandalism and the glistening metal behind the painting, a hatch, etched with roman numerals. In a single heartbeat, Helen pulled from her bag a metal hair clip and jammed it into the lone key slot. I rubbed my wrists where she’d grappled me as I waited. The second hand of my watch was stuck at 33. For 3 seconds it had started to tick. The vault door opened, and I grasped the glistening jewelry inside. 

“Like I said.” Helen answered when my raised eyebrows glanced to her. “I’ve been here before. You did a good job back there. I was beginning to lose myself too.” She almost seemed to smile as she said it. We crossed the threshold in a race to return to the real world.

Never did a tilting telephone poll across an untraveled road shimmer so beautifully. Never did the chirp of bugs and the crunch of the sandy parking lot sound so appealing. I looked at Helen, already reaching her car. In my hand I felt the locket, barely having time to comprehend its recovery. But that damned desert scorpion wasn’t to fool me that easily. One act of good was far from enough to redeem a person from a year of negligence and irritation. But maybe it was enough for a pleasant car ride home. I made my way toward her car, shining under the cloudless blue sky, and the glistening sun directly overhead. 

[tinknevertalks]

I really need to update here when I post chapters.

I've updated Of Sequins and Scalpels (twice) since my last fic post, so have two chapters.

Chapter 33: When Kate has to do some work as Helen's PA person.

Chapter 34: Saturday night, and Nikola realises how deep things could go.

Ok, so these have been up for a while, but I just wanted a record of them here too. I hope you all enjoy. :)

#sanctuary #fanfic #my fanfic #sanctuary come dancing #teslen #helen magnus #nikola tesla #yes kate is helen's personal assistant and publicity person #she has one or two other clients for publicity but she only pa's for helen #(because helen is lush) #helen magnus/nikola tesla #also there's nikola & abby friendship #i will finish this fic #i just need to stop adding rounds #was gonna have them do a swing off but i think i'd rather do old style strictly #i dunno #i'll think on it

[trekkele]

If you make Helen of Troy blonde/blue eyed you're a coward and I ain't watching it.

#ok maybe i will #because i am a sucker for well done historical fiction #but give me brown skinned freckled helen with tumbling aubern hair and laughibg dark eyes #give me golden skinned helen with hair as black as blood and eyes like stars #give me helen who looms fucking greek at the very least #with the greek nose and olive skin and dark hair and eyes #blonde and blue is pretty sure #but watercolor pretty #i bet the most beautiful woman to rival the gods was as vibrant as an oil painting #dark and lush and alive #shutting up now #oh yeah #xena

[bibliosophist]

Asmodeus with a mc who is insecure. They thinks they are not good enough for him and think he'd rather be with someone prettier. He find out and go's to comfort mc.

Tonight is the night. Panacea Skincare is having a launch party to celebrate their new line of products, and Asmodeus is the face of the campaign. He’s talked about nothing else but this party for a fortnight, and now it’s here.

The first thing you see when you enter the hall is a screen displaying a thirty foot tall photo of your boyfriend. In it Asmo is sprawled across a white marble bench set amid a lush, verdant garden. One of his milky white arms rests above his head, the other lays across his bare stomach. Only a swath of silky white fabric covers his hips. He’s lithe and lean, with both the indentations of his ribs and the toned planes of his stomach on display. Letters forming the words Panacea Skincare scrawl themselves across the bottom of the screen.

He squeals as he runs across the room towards his own likeness, pulling you along behind him.

“I can’t believe it! (Y/N), look, it’s me!”

“It’s you. You look incredible. I mean, you always look incredible, but you’re practically glowing.”

He giggles. “I know, right? They didn’t even alter the photograph at all. That’s one of their principles- no retouching. Panacea wants everyone to know that they’re honest and authentic. But,” he grins, leaning in to whisper in your ear, “why not stack the deck in your favour, right? That’s why they came to me. Who else has skin this close to flawless?”

You smile and squeeze his hand. “Nobody.”

“Exactly! Darling, would you mind taking a picture of me with me?” he asks, striking a pose next to the photo. He leans forward slightly, one hand braced on his thigh while the other throws a peace sign. He winks at the camera.

You snap a half dozen photos of him from different angles. You know what Asmo means when he says “take a picture.”

A high pitched squeal breaks your impromptu photoshoot. When you whip your head around to the source of the noise, you find a beautiful young demon standing stock still, pointing at Asmo. “It’s him! It’s Asmodeus!”

In a matter of seconds, Asmo is engulfed in a swarm of admirers. Some hang off his arms, others clutch at his hands. One particularly enamored demon drapes themself over Asmo’s shoulders. Camera flashes sting your eyes- it seems that the entire room is desperate for a selfie with your boyfriend. You can just barely see Asmo’s amid the crowd. A perfect smile lights up his face- he’s absolutely in his element.

As the mass of demons around him continues to grow, you’re shunted to the edge of the room. You don’t really mind; it’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. Being with Asmo means having to be okay with sharing his attention, and you've accepted that. Still, you can’t say that it doesn’t make your stomach twist when you see the gorgeous demon with their head on Asmo’s shoulder whisper something in his ear that makes the Avatar of Lust giggle.

You’re so preoccupied with watching the encounter that it takes you a moment to notice the two demons standing a few feet away from you, heads bent together over their drinks. It isn’t until you hear your name that your ears perk up.

“(Y/N)... Yes, that sounds right. (Y/N).” says one of the demons. They both have sleek, bottle glass green hair down to their waists and skin the colour of sun bleached canvas. Sirens, you think.

Beside them, their similarly striking friend snorts. “Even their name is common. I can’t believe Asmodeus, of all demons, has settled for that.”

“Maybe they’re more than meets the eye. You’ve met the other human, Solomon, right? They say he’s the most powerful sorcerer to have ever lived.”

“Unlikely,” says the other one. They make no attempt to hide the way their eyes rove over you, or the way their lip curls before they continue. “If they had any kind of magical power, they’d spruce themselves up a bit. Would you be caught dead looking like that if you could help it?”

“No, I suppose not,” says the first, sipping at their drink.

You feel the blood rise to your face. It’s not like you haven’t thought the same thing yourself a thousand times since you started dating Asmo, but to hear it said out loud...

Ducking your head to hide the tears pricking your eyes, you make your way across the hall to the washrooms. Thank whoever designed this building, they’re single occupant. You lock the door behind you and, closing the lid of the toilet, sink down onto it.

They’re right. You know they’re right. You see the way eyes linger on you when you’re together. You went to high school, you know that look. The “what’s he doing with them” look. What did Asmo see in you? He could have his choice of lovers from any of the three realms. Even among humans, you’re... average. What does the most beautiful creature in existence want with average?

You feel the telltale sting of tears rising to your eyes just as a knock echoes through the small room. “There’s someone in here,” you say, trying your best to keep your voice steady.

“(Y/N), it’s me.” Asmodeus.

“I- I’m in here.”

“Hon, open the door. Please.”

With a monumental effort, you push back the tears. Smoothing down the outfit you’d so carefully chosen for his big event, you cross the room and unlatch the door. As soon as the lock clicks open, he’s pushing his way into the bathroom and relocking the door behind him.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, reaching for your hand. Instinctually you pull back. If he touches you now, you know you won’t be able to hold the tears in. He looks crushed. “(Y/N)? Did I do something?”

Well, crap. The very last thing you wanted to do was ruin this night for him. He’d been so excited. You couldn’t have him thinking that this was in any way his fault.

“No, no, of course not. I just- just have a headache, that’s all.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Really,” you say, turning away from him as the tears threaten to reappear. “Just go back out there, I’ll be fine in a few min-”

A warm hand on your waist spins you around. “I thought we promised never to lie to each other. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

The look in his eyes as they try to catch yours pushes you over the edge, and before you know it you’re sobbing. He pulls you to him, rubbing his hand over your back in slow circles. You pull away, knowing that your tears will leave ugly marks on his beautiful shirt. When you try to say as much he shushes you, pulling you against him even tighter. “To hell with the shirt. What happened?”

Knowing there’s no way you’ll be able to brush this off now you relay what you overheard the Sirens saying. “And the worst thing Asmo, the very worst thing is that I know they’re right. I know it. And I know that someday you’ll leave me, and-”

“Is that really what you think of me?”

“W-what?”

“Do you really think I’m so shallow?”

“No, I didn’t mean- it’s just that you’re so beautiful. You could have anyone- absolutely anyone. Why would you settle for someone that isn’t your equal? Or as close to your equal as anyone could get, because I mean-”

“Stop,” Asmo says, cutting you off. “Listen to me. Normally I’d love nothing more than to listen to you babble about how beautiful I am, but not while you’re being so ridiculous.” He sighs. “I’ve had a lot of lovers, (Y/N). I’ve been with beautiful creatures- Demons, humans, even angels. But,” he runs his hands down your arms, slipping his hands into yours, “None of them were you.”

“So what, you’ve had your fill and now you’re ready to slum it?” You know you’re being belligerent, but you can’t help it.

“I absolutely did not say that, and you know it. I do think you’re beautiful, (Y/N). Of course I do. But that’s not why I love you. I love you for you. Do you only love me because I’m beautiful?”

“No,” you mumble, “but it’s a nice perk.”

The vibrations of his chuckle tickle your cheek. “Darling, in my long, long life I have never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. Helen of Troy didn’t make my heart stutter like you do.”

“You dated Helen of Troy?”

“‘Dated’ Is a strong word, and that’s a story for another time. Please believe me when I say you’re the one I want to be with.”

You sniffle one final time, squeezing his fingers in yours. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. And, once I’ve taught those Sirens how to accessorize with their own intestines, I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of the night with you on my arm. What do you say?”

#obey me #shall we date: obey me #shall we date #prompt #prompt request #anon asks #asmodeus #asmo #om! asmo #om! asmodeus #asmo x reader #asmo x you #minor angst #insecurity

[doveprose]

Pax gives her a look of bewilderment at the suggestion, mainly because he is incredibly aware of how risky such a task is for a short ass like her to undertake on her own, without help. But it is without doubt that he will at the very least grasp the ladder very firmly in order for her to avoid breaking her neck.

The idea is for her to go up onto the roof to drape some lights, given the festive season and the merry mood that’s in the air. Even as he opens his mouth to deter her from doing so, she reminds him of the times she watched her father do the same during those many wonderful childhood years spent just with him.

' You do know this is perfectly insane, right? ' he quizzes as his brows seem to rise steadily as she grabs the box of lights just across the room. ' And by insane I mean what the hell do you think you’re even doing, ' he goes on, following behind her.

' Oh, psh.. I could do this blindfolded if I was so inclined, ' she brushes off his concern almost immediately, but in the pit of her stomach there is a small swelling of concern for herself as well as her well being should she accidentally slip.

Keeping up with her as she makes her way out of the door and over to the ladder already waiting securely against the side of the house, he winces. The thought of anyone, even people who were professionally trained to do so, climbing onto a roof blindfolded and attempting to hang lights, made him feel all kinds of sickly. He had watched videos of people doing these sorts of things as a challenge, to see whether or not they would fail, and almost everytime, they did and were injured.

His worry over her and his determination toward preventing her from breaking a bone made him step inbetween her and the terrifying ladder situation she had set up ready to go. His hands found his hips and he gave a quick pop to one side and stared openly at her, almost expecting her to read his mind. It seemed to work, but not in his favour, as she spoke up.

' The only thing you’re doing right now is slowing me down, cowboy, ' she reprimands, though a chuckle lingers behind her words and soon flies out as she shoves him out of the way and places her foot onto the first step, feeling the ladder wobble. ' On second thought, why don’t you hold it for me. '

' I mean, duh.. what did you think I was gonna do, just stand here and watch you fall to your death? That ain’t me, honey, ' his sass almost smacks her in the face with how quick he was and how sarcastic.

Helene continued taking each step with care, the lights now in a loop and over one shoulder to prevent her having to carry up the entire box, which surely would see him correct because it would certainly cause a tumble.

Pax was holding on to those ladders with a death grip, she noticed, as it wasn’t moving at all now and any fears she did have were now dissipating. Each breath that left her was more a sigh of relief until she reached the roof and had to work out how to actually get on it.

' I didn’t think this through, ' she calls down to him, scrambling to get onto the roof and trying to wedge her shoes between the tiles to avoid slipping and breaking her spine.

' Damn right you didn’t, how are you planning on getting those lights to stay up there, Hel? ' he raises his voice just enough so she can hear him well and shakes his head as he laughs. ' You should wait for your old man to come around and do it for you cause you’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’ right now, ' he adds.

Helene lets out a huff of frustration as a pout rests on her face and she grunts, trying to watch her footing so she can find her way back onto the top step of the ladder without sliding. Right as she does this, however, her foot slips two steps lower until she goes flying down the rest of it with a yelp. Pax is there to catch her as soon as she is within reach, though, reaching his arms out to pull her safely against him as they land.

There is a thump as he hits the ground first, softened only a little by the lush grass she had yet to cut, for which he couldn’t be more thankful in that moment. A groan of pain leaves his mouth but he soon follows it up with laughter at her situation, squeezing her in his arms as she had landed on him when she fell. She is scowling and tangled in the lights she brought down with her at the audacity he has in finding it so funny.

' I could just get you to do it, ' she pipes up suddenly, a look of wonder filling her expression as she looks up at him, climbing off and offering her hand to help him up. ' My daddy is too old for this sort of thing now, Pax. '

' Yea.. not happening, princess, ' be chuckles, rubbing a spot on his back which had hit the ground first and no doubt had bruised on impact. ' I’ll see if my dad knows anyone at the hotel who wouldn’t mind a quick half hour job for a few quid, ' he offers, smiling brightly at the fact neither had to do it.

' That works, too, ' she returns his warmth and genuine want to help with a squeeze and a peck on the cheek. ' I’m sorry, by the way.. we should get you a bag of frozen peas for your back before you swell up, ' she winces as he follows her back into the house and toward the kitchen.

Paxton watches as she takes a bag from the freezer and then he wanders through to the living room, plonking himself down stomach first onto the sofa as though he belonged there. He did spend quite a lot of time at Hel’s place these days, but for him to laze about on her furniture like this, you would think the property was his own.

Coming in seconds later, she scolds him for just plopping himself wherever he deemed fit, but did walk over to place the bag of peas wrapped in a towel on the tender area of his lower back to help ease up the ache that was there.

' So, you decide you wanna hang lights from the roof and I’m the one who ends up minutes from an urgent trip to A&E.. ' he laughs as he says this, but there is so much truth in that.

' Just because I make a habit of doing these things does not mean you get to turn it into dramatics, ' she shares in that amusement for a moment, then laughs much louder at the thoughts floating through her head. ' Do you know.. this is a thing we seem to be very familiar with in our friendship. '

' Hey, just cause I knocked you out cold when we met doesn’t mean you should assume out friendship is a death trap, ' his serious tone causes her to glance his way, but she soon finds him holding off on bursting into fits of giggles.

#🕊 drabble #🕊 helene starling #🕊 paxton collier #🕊 THIS IS CUTE OKAY #🕊 the unyielding patience it takes to write drabbles on a mobile is just wow

[new-sandrafilter]

Nerdist - Breaking Down the First DUNE Trailer Shot by Shot

by Amy Ratcliffe

Starting with the Pink Floyd song. The lyrics for “Eclipse” are rather fitting for Dune. But moreover, Alejandro Jodorowsky wanted Pink Floyd to do the music for the adaptation he never finished.

“There’s something happening to me.” Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) stands in a bright light, dust swirling around him. The dust is likely spice, the addictive substance Arrakis is known for producing. He’s in the middle of a spice cloud on Arrakis—at least he is in his dream.

“There’s something awakening in my mind. I can’t control it.” He sees Chani (Zendaya) on Arrakis, illuminated by the sun. Then he sees himself with Chani; they’re both wearing stillsuits. They kiss. This is still part of his dream. A prescient dream, as it turns out.

Paul awakens from the dream in his bed on Caladan, his home planet. Notice that the headboard features fish in motion. It’s a symbol. Caladan is a planet full of water. It’s lush… unlike where he’s about to go.

“There’s a crusade coming.” The young Atreides sees a future of fire and smoke. He stands with what looks like the Lady Jessica (though it could be Chani) at a siege. Someone is attacking Arrakis. Is this part of a dream or is it really happening? Paul can see the future in his dreams, so it’s likely this attack is an event to come. Something that will lead to that dangerous path mentioned above.

Then we’re back on Caladan. Before the Atreides depart their home, the Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam (Charlotte Rampling) questions Paul. She asks the Atreides son about his dreams. She then administers the gom jabbar test to see if Paul is actually human.

After some dramatic shots of storm clouds above Caladan, we get a solid look at personal shields, a.k.a. Holtzman shields, and how combat with the shield works. It’s a personal protective energy field the wearer can easily activate. Here, Paul trains with Gurney Halleck (Josh Brolin); they both have their shields activated. When the shield flashes red, it indicates a hit. Though brief, this scene illustrates that the Atreides heir is swift on his feet and capable in a fight. He’s been relentlessly trained by Gurney, a warrior poet, and other teachers to handle himself.

And behold, our first glimpse (in this trailer) of Paul’s father, Duke Leto Atreides (Oscar Isaac). He’s a powerful figure in the Dune world, and as Leto says goodbye to Caladan, he knows Arrakis will bring change and challenge. Paul points out to the Reverend Mother that his father rules an entire planet. The Reverend Mother notes that Leto is losing it. And that the Duke will lose Arrakis too.

We see the exterior of Castle Caladan, and servants and assistants packing up the interior. All of this—the color palette, the size, the number of possessions—sets up Caladan as a very different place than Arrakis. The Atreides are going from a place of comfort, of home to somewhere entirely unknown and unwelcoming.

As we see the last of Caladan, we cut to Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), a Bene Gesserit, Duke Leto’s concubine, and Paul’s mother. She looks on edge to say the least. For one thing, she’s leaving her home. She has no illusions about what Arrakis will really be like. Jessica is suspicious that House Harkonnen is letting go of the spice rich planet and letting House Atreides come in without consequence. She should be on guard. And as a Bene Gesserit, Jessica is unnerved by the Reverend Mother’s presence and that the elder put Paul through the Gom Jabbar. Lady Jessica’s decisions are at the core of a lot of Dune‘s major events, and though she can’t grasp that know, she certainly knows something is in the air.

Next, the arrival on Arrakis. From the first moment, the blinding light is opposite of the cooler hues on Caladan. Duke Leto Atreides appears in full armor and looks over his shoulder to give Paul a look of concern. Jessica and other women of the household appear to be in a formal dress of some kind. The vastness of Arrakis awaits them. Guild transport ships and troops stand on the sand.

As Paul and Gurney walk into the desert, a very eager Duncan Idaho (Jason Momoa) greets him. Duncan is another of Paul’s teachers; he’s an expert fighter. He went to Arrakis ahead of the Atreides to attempt forging an alliance with the Fremen. In this moment, we also get a glimpse of Thufir Hawat (Stephen McKinley Henderson). A mentat and master of assassins, Thufir works for House Atreides. He’s been training Paul in the arts of war and strategy. Paul and Gurney are in Atreides dress uniforms, while Duncan is wearing a Fremen stillsuit.

And speaking of the Fremen, this is Stilgar (Javier Bardem), a respected Fremen leader. The Fremen, of course, being the inhabitants of Arrakis’ desert. We get a good look at his blue-within-blue eyes—the Eyes of Ibad—which is caused by the consumption of spice. All Fremen eyes look like this.

“Arrakis is a death trap.” As if to emphasize this warning about Arrakis, we see a huge number of Sardaukar, the Padishah Emperor’s elite military force. That these soldiers are on Arrakis is very bad news. And they are present in huge numbers.

With the introduction of the threat of the Sardaukar, it’s time to meet the primary opposition to House Atreides: House Harkonnen. We first see Glossu Rabban Harkonnen (Dave Bautista), a.k.a. the Beast. He’s Baron Vladimir Harkonnen’s oldest nephew and quite sadistic and terrifying.

Speaking of sadistic and terrifying, this is brief look at Stellan Skarsgård as Baron Harkonnen. The leader of House Harkonnen is no foolish enemy. He’s cunning, manipulative, and excellent at staying one step ahead of his enemy. It’s hard to tell what he’s doing here, but I’m going to go ahead and say it’s evil.

As palm trees burn outside the Arrakeen keep the Atreides now call home, a distressed Lady Jessica appears. Arrakis only means trouble for the Atreides family. Paul notes, “This is an extermination.”

This is our first look at Dr. Wellington Yueh (Chen Chang). The Suk doctor serves as Duke Leto’s personal physician. The black diamond tattoo visible on his forehead denotes Imperial Conditioning, which conditions doctors against taking human life. It basically means nobles can trust any doctor with this tattoo not to assassinate them.

And then Sardaukar drop in. We hear Paul say, “They’re picking my family off one by one.” The young Atreides appears by his father, both in Fremen stillsuits. In the book, they wear stillsuits to go out into the desert to observe spice harvesting so that may be what we’re seeing here (or about to see).

“Let’s fight like demons.” Remember how I mentioned Duncan Idaho being an excellent fighter? Well, he’d better be, because he’s facing a lot of Sardaukar. You can see more shield hits as he launches into action.

In the middle of this growing tension, we flash back to the Reverend Mother giving Paul the gom jabbar test. She explains an animal caught in a trap will gnaw off its own leg to escape. The Bene Gesserit elder wonders what Paul will do. Is she trying to say the Atreides are going to be caught in a trap on Arrakis? And that Paul will have to take action? Hmm…

As the footage shifts back to Arrakis, we see Paul’s first in person meeting with Chani. He’s seen the Fremen women in dreams before, so he’s not startled to recognize her.

The next few sequences illustrate the amount of trouble the Atreides face. Some of it, anyway. Drop ships arriving during what looks like a siege. An ornithopter is in the air. What seems to be a group of Atreides troops take a hit with Gurney Halleck looking blinded and surprised by an explosion.

Baron Harkonnen, bald like his nephew Rabban, rises from oily water. Baldness is apparently a Harkonnen thing in this Dune adaptation.

Then Duncan Idaho and Paul salute each other, and it looks like Paul has a crysknife. This is likely before an important duel (if you’ve read the book you know the one, and if you haven’t, I won’t spoil it).

One of Arrakis’ many perils is the sandworm. The creatures that reside in the desert make traveling on foot and harvesting spice a challenge. Case in point, a sandworm devours a spice harvester whole while Paul and Gurney look on in this scene.

Dr. Yueh from earlier walks alongside Harkonnen troops. That sure seems suspicious.

And then next we get a look at Dr. Liet Kynes (Sharon Duncan-Brewster). Dr. Kynes is the planet’s Imperial ecologist and also a Fremen leader. The character is gender-swapped here.

The pace picks up, signaling the increasing threats the Atreides face. We see Rabban leading Harkonnen troops. The camera pauses on the Beast’s stomach, likely because of the whip he’s wearing. It’s an inkvine whip. In the Dune book lore, the Beast used that whip in a fight with Gurney Halleck and left a scar on the warrior’s cheek.

A bloody hand falling from Duke Leto’s shoulder (likely belonging to the Shadout Mapes, the head housekeeper of the Atreides’ new abode).

Paul, apparently settling right into Fremen life, engages in a duel. He pulls a crysknife on one of the Fremen.

Then Jessica and Paul pilot ornithopter in what looks like a rushed manner. They’re running from something or someone. I mean, there’s plenty to run from on Arrakis so…

Arrakis is such a treasured planet because of the spice that comes from the desert. Here, Paul picks up a handful of sand containing the highly valued substance.

We hear Paul say “Fear is the mind-killer” as Duncan Idaho kneels in front of Paul and says, “My lord Duke.” The words Paul recites are from the Bene Gessert Litany Against Fear, maybe the most quoted passage from Dune.

And as the trailer ends, we get a clearer look at a sandworm. It looms above Paul and Jessica, mouth agape and ready to devour whatever and whoever is in its way. You can see how its mass displaces the desert sand around it. If the fact that a sandworm ate a whole harvesting vehicle wasn’t enough to unnerve you, this certainly should do the trick.

#timmy #timothee chalamet #dune 2020 #denis villeneuve #paul atreides #rebecca ferguson #zendaya #Oscar Isaac

[deadlyflan]

Figuring out the OCs from an as-yet-unpublished TMNT fanfic. Come meet my AU.

October 2 - Glass - 1,308 words. Leonardo. Nina. Helen. Rated G.

Nina kept turning the television on.

Not watching it. Not even leaving the sound on for background chatter. Just turning it on, muting it, and leaving the room.

Leonardo had been rereading his favorite sci-fi novels (a collection of various Neal Stephenson books if anyone wanted to read them too so he’d have some one to gush about them with) in the living room for about a week now. Not always at the same time. Not always for long. But often enough to notice Nina’s habit.

Any time the cluster of sisters moved through the living room, Nina would bring up the rear of the group. Nina had a limp; of course she walked slower than her sisters. Nobody commented on it; that would be insensitive. Well, Mike commented, but usually in the context of, ‘Do you want a piggy-back ride?’ and since she was all smiles about that, apparently Michelangelo got away with being inappropriate. Again.

This evening, the girls tromped down the stairs with Helen at the lead, her arm around Dinah. The twins, Peggy and Julie, followed right on their heels. Nina brought up the rear with just a slight hobble to her steps. They were headed through the living room into the kitchen where his brothers were loudly setting up board game night.

Leo would join them in a bit, but first he had to see if Nina would do it again.

Leonardo watched the girls parade by over the edge of his book (SnowCrash, if anyone liked dystopian fiction and would like to talk about it), and forced himself to not watch the twins. He’d spent the summer watching the twins. Nothing improper. He knew boundaries and honor. It was just that his eyes always seemed to find them. And, well, it had been his first summer with real-flesh-and-blood turtle women around. Surely he hadn’t done anything wrong? He deeply hoped not.

He resolved for the hundredth time to get better about that.

Tonight though, he focused on Nina and her mysterious TV habit.

Her sisters headed towards the kitchen, pulling at each other’s sweatshirts, leaning in to press hands or squeeze shoulders. Nina paused at the bottom of the stairs. Detached from their group, Nina made a detour. Past the sofa. Past the coffee table. She scooped the remote control off the floor where someone had dropped it. And casually, as if she were just tidying up, she flicked the TV on and hit the MUTE button in the same movement as setting the remote on top of the TV.

She avoided looking at him completely. Intentionally. Leonardo sat right in her line of sight if she was headed to the kitchen. Was she worried she was going to get caught? That he would be upset?

“Nina?” Leonardo cleared his throat. He needed to keep it casual. She hadn’t done anything wrong. “Wait a second.” He closed his book (he was in the chapter where the protagonist learns about machine language and its parallels with ancient Sumerian mysticism, if that sounds cool to anyone else) and leaned forward, but stayed seated. He desperately wanted to avoid coming across as an overbearing nag to their newest family members and Nina could be so nervous.

Nina froze in place. Peggy must have heard him, because she backed up in the kitchen doorway. She nodded at Nina. A little smile. An implied 'Go on. It’s okay. I’m right here.'

Leonardo’s shoulders relaxed. Thank goodness for Peggy. Maybe Nina would talk to him.

“I’m curious and I hope you can help me understand.”

She turned slowly; thick socks barely making a sound on the old wooden floor. Nina’s sharp features cast a hard profile even in gentle reading light. Her coloring had improved markedly with better food and more sunlight over the summer. Bright yellow stripes against a lush leaf green traced her brows and the very upper edge of her cheeks before flowing down her neck. But for all her health had clearly rallied, it did nothing to soften the angular lines of her beak or the strong point of her chin. Almost birdlike. Chiseled. Much more masculine than her sisters. Heck, more masculine than some of his brothers.

Maybe that was unfair of him. It wasn’t right to judge her by her looks. Not for the first time Leonardo wondered if his assessment was that of a turtle, with a turtle’s concept of gender, or if he’d just spent too long living around humans and Disney films.

Her shoulders had rounded under the weight of his attention. Her eyes settled somewhere around his ankles. “Okay.” She whispered.

“What makes you want to turn the TV on if you aren’t watching it?”

Nina stared at the old TV. It silently spooled out The Weather Channel’s latest forecast. Rainbow maps flickered behind a nice man with a suit. Light shone out of the glass-domed front and flickered across the rug in front of the TV stand.

“Um. To…” She pulled her hands into her sweatshirt. “It. Feels.” Her volume slowly lowered as she tried to explain without looking at him. “It’s safer.”

“Safer?” That worried Leonardo. The most important thing he and his family could offer five former laboratory captives was a sense of safety. They had needed security just as much as they had needed nourishment when they’d first arrived on the farm.

“Safer.” She nodded and looked back over her shoulder at Peggy. Julie and Helen had joined her. The three didn’t all fit in the doorway, so they edged into the room.

They were gathering an audience. That was the last thing Leo wanted. If his brothers got in on it too, this would turn into a whole production. Nina would feel put on the spot and he would never get an answer from her. This was too crucial to mess up. It a matter of Nina feeling protected! It went way beyond his curiosity about the TV.

“We want you to feel safe. That’s really important.” He made sure to include Helen and the twins in that. “What is it that makes you feel better when it’s on? Is it the light?” Michelangelo had slept best in the TV’s glow when he was a kid. Leonardo could understand that. “If I can help—if we can help—you to always feel safer, we want to do that.”

Nina had returned to staring at his toes. She mumbled something.

What he wouldn’t give to have Master Splinter’s hearing!

Helen butted in. “She says, 'There’s no black glass.’”

Nina nodded miserably.

“I’m sorry?”

He had given Helen had an invitation to speak and she transitioned smoothly from ‘sister-translator’ to ‘sister-spokeswoman.’ “When the TV is on, there’s no black glass. She doesn’t like it watching us. None of us do. But really Nina.” She slipped around the sofa and wrapped a protective arm around her sister.

Nina looked ready to disappear through the floor. Blushes had started darkening her cheeks and browning her stripes. She whispered something to Helen.

“I know you’re not a scaredy cat. I don’t like reflections either.” Helen lifted her chin and addressed Leonardo directly. “We’re going to go play board games now.” She threw her announcement at him like he might try to stop them. Her hands trembled on her sister’s shoulders. It wasn’t just Nina feeling nervous about the conversation.

Leonardo opened and closed his mouth around a number of replies, but went with, “Of course. Have fun. Thank you for... explaining.”

He watched his clan’s newest members shuffle into the kitchen and thought about the room the girls had been rescued from: three walls and a floor to ceiling one-way mirror with cameras and scientists on the other side.

He put his book aside and went to find the tool box. There were mirrors to be removed from the bathrooms.

The TV played to an empty room.

~~~end scene~~~

@oc-growth-and-development

More about this AU tagged #tmnt chain reaction

#oc-tober #prompt list #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #tmnt chain reaction #tmnt oc #tmnt au #sisters #siblings #found family #tmnt fic #trauma recovery #down on the farm. #leonardo #tmnt leonardo #nina #helen #medical trauma #mirror

[aion-rsa]

With Lady of Caladan, Dune Finally Gives Lady Jessica the Epic She Deserves

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In the epic of Dune, the hero of the story might appear to be Paul Atreides, but the most powerful character in the original Frank Herbert novel is actually his mother, Lady Jessica. Although not formally married to Paul’s father Duke Leto, Jessica belongs to the order of the Bene Gesserit, a matriarchal group of telepathic pseudo-witches, who are pretty much Dune’s version of the Jedi. In the backstory of Dune, Jessica has angered her Bene Gesserit elders by disrupting their complex breeding program. Instead of having a daughter with Duke Leto — as instructed — Jessica had a son. (he Bene Gesserit can choose the gender of their babies.) In the first chapter of the original Dune, the Bene Gesserit are annoyed with Jessica for the existence of Paul, but it’s also a given that they’re just going to have to live with it. 

When Dune begins, this matter has more or less been settled, but how? Dune: The Lady of Caladan, a new prequel novel in the Dune series, answers that question and then some. The latest in a long line of Dune prequel and sequel novels from Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson, The Lady of Caladan tells the story of Jessica’s tribulations and adventures in the year before the original book begins. And, in doing so, The Lady of Caladan enriches the entire saga. If, after re-reading Frank Herbert’s Dune, or, in anticipation of the new film, you want to get a greater sense of Lady Jessica, this book delivers. Here’s how The Lady of Caladan fits into the Dune timeline, and why it’s a fantastic way of reframing the larger story. 

When the original Dune begins, the Atreides family has already decided to move to Arrakis (the desert planet where the book is set) and the Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam is on Caladan, testing young Paul’s skills with the gom jabbar. For such a lengthy novel, the classic Dune is remarkable insofar as it begins speedily, forcing the reader to digest the backstory gradually, as the enthralling plot takes hold. And yet, for longtime fans, there’s something a little bit depressing about having to leave the lush oceanic planet of Caladan so quickly. The novel Dune — and its various film adaptations — keeps the action firmly focused on everything that’s happening on Arrakis because that’s where the spice is, and that’s where House Atreides has to move. But the galaxy of Dune is, of course, much bigger than the planet itself. This universe and its characters are, arguably, richer than the original novel even allows. 

And it’s on this point — the notion of scope in the Dune universe — where The Lady of Caladan is so fantastic. Right away, we get to see Jessica on the planet Wallach IX, the Bene Gesserit stronghold where she was raised. The planet itself is where much of the Bene Gesserit’s plans were hatched, so, visiting it so close to the classic Dune time period is thrilling, in no small part because the Bene Gesserit are so terrifying. Herbert’s original novel always gives you the sense that Jessica is torn regarding her Bene Gesserit background. On the one hand, Jessica and Paul owe some of their awesome powers to the Bene Gesserit, and yet, in The Lady of Caladan, it’s made very clear how much Jessica resents having her life taken from her by the Sisterhood. But, like the original novel that inspired it, The Lady of Caladan kicks-off not with endless world-building, but with a gripping mystery. 

One of the Bene Gesserit sisters has gone mad, and this particular person is known as “the Kwisatz Mother,” a seer of enormous power who has been killing members of the order with her mind. In Star Wars, the notion of using verbal commands to get somebody to do something (i.e. “these aren’t the droids you’re looking for”) is always a little bit funny. But, the Dune equivalent, “the voice,” is much more hardcore. And, in the opening scenes involving the Bene Gesserit in this new book, you see why. Although more of the lush planet of Caladan is featured in this book than in its progenitor, the story doesn’t want you to get comfortable. Jessica’s adventure begins on Wallach IX, but it certainly doesn’t end there. 

And, she’s not the only character zipping around the galaxy in this novel. We also follow Duke Leto as he tries to buoy the reputation of House Atreides among his peers within the complicated political system known as Landsraad. While Jessica is trying to save the universe, Leto, in this book, is doing the Dune version of internet dating. In the original book, Leto is unmarried, but loyal to Jessica. However, in The Lady of Caladan, we see that Leto is nervous about not being married to someone from one of the other Great Houses, and so we find him crisscrossing the galaxy, kind of looking around. It may sound a bit strange, but having Leto and Jessica separated for the majority of the novel is actually brilliant. By the time Dune happens, we know that Leto and Jessica are totally devoted to each other, even though they are not technically married. This is partly because, politically, they each have more freedom in this arrangement. But again, figuring out how Jessica and Leto got to that decision is fascinating. 

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Even Paul gets a small part of the spotlight in The Lady of Caladan. Because his parents have left Caladan, we get to see what Paul was like as a 14-year-old, slightly flippant ruler. This serves to deepen the relationships Paul has with all of his beloved teachers: Gurney Halleck, Duncan Idaho and Thufir Hawat. While some foreshadowing about Dr. Yueh happens in these parts of the book, The Lady of Caladan is not just all set-up for Dune. It is very much its own novel, and if you’ve never read the original novel, there’s 100 percent an argument to be made for reading this first. These are the same characters from Dune, but seen at a different time, making them feel larger and more dimensional than ever. The conflicts in The Lady of Caladan are more numerous and disparate than in Dune, and the pacing is measured and exciting. Frank Herbert proved with his original book that space politics don’t have to be boring, but in The Lady of Caladan, the political scheming is downright electrifying.  But, most of all, the novel remains Jessica’s story, and it explores the secrets she was forced to keep not just before Dune, but afterwards, too. As played by Rebecca Ferguson in the new film, Lady Jessica is a force to be reckoned with, and an endlessly complex and pivotal character. With The Lady of Caladan, she finally gets the epic that she deserves.

The post With Lady of Caladan, Dune Finally Gives Lady Jessica the Epic She Deserves appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Haven (16/50)

Summary: They say Resembool is a haven, and they’re right. Lush pastures, quaint country town, farmers’ markets on Saturdays: a bucolic paradise.

But it’s more than that. Resembool is a haven for the runaways, the deserters, the people who don’t want to be found…

The Resembool community knows there’s something odd about Hohenheim, but they’re not going to let that stop them helping him out. This is Resembool after all, a place where no one has to hide and neighbours help neighbours, be they building a fence, chasing a sheep, or trying to save the country from an evil they inadvertently helped release centuries ago…

Or: A series of slices of life in an AU in which Hohenheim never leaves, and several broken state alchemists find hope and home in Resembool.

Rated: T

==

Haven

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [AO3]

Summary: A deserter from the military arrives in Resembool, and Trisha is certain that Hohenheim is the perfect person to try and get to know the newcomer. Hohenheim is not so sure, but goes along with it anyway. 

Characters: Hohenheim, Sarah, original characters

Content warning: Self harm and discussion of attempted suicide.

Note: You are free to imagine Sherman however you wish; my personal image of her is the late Helen McCrory. 

==

Within twenty-four hours of the stranger arriving in the town from the direction of Ishval, news of her arrival is all over Resembool. They don’t often get Amestrian military deserters coming through, most of the arrivals from Ishval are refugees escaping the persecution, but Resembool is a safe haven for everyone, and they’ve always maintained an easy peace within their little microcosm. 

The newcomer is a deserter, that much is clear from the uniform, although she’s torn off all the braid and stripes and identifiers. The rumour whispered through the town is that she’s an alchemist.

“I think you should investigate,” Trisha says over breakfast. 

Hohenheim just raises an eyebrow. “Why me?”

“You’re an alchemist. You’re the only alchemist in Resembool. She’s an alchemist. You’ve got something in common.”

“I’m a four hundred year old Philosopher’s Stone from a country that doesn’t exist anymore. I have nothing in common with anyone.”

Trisha just rolls her eyes, and Hohenheim knows that he’s not going to get out of this one easily. Well, he supposes it's his turn to be the nosy one. He’s lived here long enough without getting involved in other people’s affairs like the rest of the village does, it was bound to happen sooner or later. And he can’t deny that he’s definitely in the best position to be getting to know a potentially volatile military alchemist. 

In the end, he agrees to Trisha’s proposal for practical reasons, because someone has to find out if this latest arrival is going to be dangerous to their increasing Ishvalan population. Considering the furtive manner in which she arrived, on the run from the military as much as the Ishvalans are, Hohenheim thinks probably not, but in such times of conflict one can never be too careful. 

She’s holed up in a room in the small guesthouse by the station, and no-one has seen her since her arrival in the evening two days ago. 

Kenneth, who runs the guesthouse, knows immediately why Hohenheim is there when he walks in. 

“She’s in room two,” he says. “I’ve heard her moving about so I know she hasn’t…” He trails off, suicide still an uncomfortable concept for the majority of people. “But I’m a bit worried all the same.”

Hohenheim goes up the stairs and pauses in front of the locked door. He probably should have thought about what he was going to say before he got here, but he’s here now, and he’s going to have to make the best of it. 

He taps on the door. 

“Are you all right in there?”

He hears cautious footsteps come towards the door, but no one speaks and the door remains firmly locked. 

“We’re just a little concerned, that’s all,” he continues. “We want to make sure you’re safe; from yourself and from anything else.”

The door unlocks and opens a fraction, revealing a middle-aged woman with tired eyes. The hand that is holding the door is bandaged, and there’s blood seeping through the crepe.

“I’m fine,” she says. “Thank you for your concern. But I’m fine.”

Hohenheim looks pointedly at the bandage. The blood is blossoming on the back of her hand, not near a major vessel that could have caused massive damage. The bandage is tied awkwardly and inexpertly, and he can tell it’s a self-done job.

“Can I at least get you a doctor for your hand?”

The newcomer shakes her head. “It’s fine. It’s…” The pause is just a bit too long. “It’s nothing.”

She shifts uncomfortably in the doorframe and Hohenheim sees that her other hand is the same. He’s not known for being quick on the uptake, but if what they’re saying about her being a state alchemist is true, then she’d need her hands for whatever work she does.

Hohenheim really wishes that he’d brought Trisha with him. She’d know exactly what to say. She has the knack for making people open up to her and getting them to trust her. She managed to get him to do it, after all.

“Ok,” he says eventually. “If you’re sure.”

The woman nods, not meeting his eyes. She doesn’t look scared so much as exhausted and lifeless, weighed down by the world. 

“Welcome to Resembool,” Hohenheim says. 

The woman gives a sad smile. “Thank you, but I don’t really think I’m welcome, considering where I’ve been and what I’ve done.”

“Everyone’s welcome, as long as you intend no harm.” He pauses. “You’re not the first deserter we’ve had to stay for a while. I promise that you’re safe here. You’re a state alchemist, aren’t you?”

“I was.” She looks down at her bandaged hands. “Not anymore.” There’s a long silence. “Actually, maybe a doctor would be a good idea. Thank you.”

X

A couple of hours later, Sarah is unwrapping the bloody bandages. The damage looks horrible, but as Sarah explains, it’s largely superficial. The skin's completely gone from the backs of her hands, scraped away like the boys’s skinned knees when they trip over but on a much more intense scale. It was done deliberately, this was no accident.

“It’ll scar badly,” Sarah says, “but as long as it’s kept clean it shouldn’t be a problem. Hohenheim, do you think you could heal it without leaving a scar?”

“No,” the woman says quietly.  “The scarring is the point. It needs to stay.”

Everything falls into place then. State alchemists sometimes tattoo their unique circles onto their hands to save drawing one every time, and this state alchemist has decided to obscure her tattoos and render them useless in a rather gruesome but nonetheless effective manner. 

Sarah disinfects the wounds and ties up fresh bandages. “There. Just be careful, and give us a shout if you need any help.”

“Thank you.” 

Sarah leaves then, off to see her other patients, but Hohenheim stays a while longer. They’re sitting in the ancient and rarely used sitting room in the guest house and the furniture smells vaguely of damp, but it’s safe, and quiet. 

“You’re all very helpful,” the newcomer says eventually. She sounds a little dubious. 

Hohenheim shrugs. “We live on the edge of a warzone. A lot of the people who arrive here need help, so we give it to them. There’s no right or wrong side. This village looks after people. It always has, for as long as I can remember.”

“How long have you been here?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

They fall into silence again. 

“Abigail,” the woman says suddenly. “I’m checked in as Jane Doe but my name is Abigail Sherman. Or just Ab.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Abigail.”

“I take it you’re an alchemist too?” she asks. 

“Yes. Not state. Just me.”

Ab smiles. “I remember what that was like. Then I joined the military.”

“Maybe you’ll get back to that, in time.”

“I don’t know. I specialised in air and wind-based alchemy. It’s done a lot of damage in its day.”

“It doesn’t have to. No alchemy has to be destructive.” Hohenheim gets up to leave. “You just have to make it constructive instead. It’s in your hands. You just have to choose how you want to use it. You can hurt, or you can help. In Resembool we choose to help.”

“Hohenheim?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

#FMA: Brotherhood #FMA Fanfiction #Van Hohenheim #Fic: Haven