formalsweatpants

Latest Posts by formalsweatpants

June 17, 2023

hellooooooooo

1. i dropped off the map because i have adhd and my hyperfixations change a lot

2. i absolutely do not care about the timothee / kylie thing, i just can't be bothered

3. that bleu de chanel ad popped up on hbo and jumpscared me in the best way, like i put my hand to my chest and gasped and everything

4. i just wanna read and write fanfic for christ's sake

Sweet boys deserve a hand around their throat

avoiding bo burnham's inside for the last couple years because i haven't felt emotionally equipped to handle it and then realising i'm not, never have been, and probably never will be emotionally equipped to handle much of anything because i am Mentally Unwell and also a bit of a sad sack

anyway i'm just saying i'll watch it when i get a spare couple hours some evening this week

✨✨ Timothée Chalamet for Apple TV+ ✨✨

timmy after posting today

Happy Wife, Happy Life

Summary: Yes he do the cooking and yes he do the cleaning. 50s AU

Pairing: 50s househusband!Timothée Chalamet x black!reader

A/n: I had fun playing with role reversal, gender dynamics and expectations, and just thinking of Timmy being a blushing bride. Originally inspired by Dove Cameron’s Breakfast music video and a convo with @get-your-fics. Also tagging @lsyd25 hope next week goes better hun! Fluff mostly, shy of 1k. Minors, ageless and blank blogs dni

Timmy fiddled with the buttons at his cuff, the iron puffing steam like a dragon. He had less than an hour to tie up all the loose ends of the day before you got home. 

The house smelled like the fruits of his labor; a roast loaded with carrots and potatoes just pulled out of the oven, a pound cake placed in it directly after, lemon from all the surfaces he had scrubbed clean. Tim had had a very productive day and couldn’t wait to tell you about it. As well as the usual tasks of cooking and cleaning, he’d ticked a few things off the Honey Do list. The kitchen table didn’t wobble anymore and the gutters were all taken care of. He’d even mended the hole in your favorite sweater that you liked to wear to work.

Outfit completed, Timmy unplugged the iron and took a look over himself in the mirror. Thirty minutes left by now, he should take the pin curls down. One by one, he released the perfectly flouncy spirals. He fluffed them all just a bit, to give it the effortlessly tousled look you loved even though the process was anything but effortless. He smiled at his reflection, dabbing on just a bit of the cologne you bought him for his birthday before leaving the bedroom.

Timothée had made quite the catch with you. A teacher, his parents had been impressed when he first brought you home for an introduction. 

You were a boss all day, commanding your classroom, shaping young minds, nurturing them. It only made sense that most of the time, you came home and commanded it too. And Timothée was more than fine with that. You worked so hard all day and kept a roof over your heads. Afforded him such a nice cushy life. Of course he’d want to provide every little comfort for you when you got home. Catering to you was the least he could do.

Right on time, Timothée had just finished icing the cake when he heard you pulling up in the driveway. He licked the glaze off his finger, smoothing out his button down on the way to the door. He arrived in the foyer just as you opened the front door. Warmth flooded his chest. Would he ever get used to how pretty you were? Almost a year of marriage and he didn't think it possible.

“Welcome home, my love,” he greeted you as he helped you out of your jacket.

“Thank you,” you said, breathing deep. “Smells good in here.”

A pleased smile played on his lips as he followed you into the dining room. “I’m glad it does. Are you ready for dinner or would you like to unwind first? I could mix you a drink or pour you a glass of wine.”

You sighed as you rerouted to the living room. “You know what, babe? A mojito would be really fucking nice.”

“Of course, Y/n! Put your feet up for a bit.” Timothée made his way to the bar cart and started the prep and assembly of the drink. 

“These flowers are pretty.”

Wings fluttered in his chest. You noticed. “They're from the garden! I thought they might brighten up the room. Saw them when I cleaned out the gutters earlier.”

“Shit, I didn’t even see that, thanks babe.” 

Tim finished off your drink with a mint leaf garnish and brought it to you with a smile. You patted your lap and his cheeks flamed, quietly suppressing his delight. “Take a seat and tell me about your day.”

He did as you said, practically buzzing under your attention. You took a sip from the cocktail and hummed, your other hand rubbing circles on his lower back. Timmy cleared his throat and began listing all the things he had been so excited to report to you, pride swelling at each little word of praise from you. It was hard to stay still, to focus on his words when the hand that was on his back traveled to the nape of his neck, flustering him as you twirled one of his carefully curated curls around your finger.

“You look so pretty today, Tim.”

Was there any wonder how Timmy fell for you? He’d never get up. “Thank you, love.”

“Mhmm, let’s get your pretty ass on up and in the dining room. Think I’ve delayed dinner long enough.”

Timothée loved the attention but he was glad for a distraction, his face was so hot he could reheat the meal on it, if necessary.

As you ate together, he asked about your day and your mood deflated then flared as you recounted the annoyance that was the principal of your school. Timmy had heard you complain about him before, knew you didn’t like him or agree with his decisions half of the time. Timothée thought you would make a wonderful principal, had mentioned it before but you loved the kids. Being principal took you out of the classroom and that just wouldn’t do for you. Thus, your frustrating cycle at work continued. He felt a little bad for souring your mood, for spoiling the sweet flavor of cake still on your tongues. He had to make it up to you.

“We could snuggle up on the couch, watch a little tv,” he suggested as he rested his hand over yours.

“Sorry, Tim, I'm a little too keyed up from the day to wind down just yet.”

Timmy’s heart thumped in his chest as he trailed a finger over the back of your hand, as far up your arm as he could reach. “Well then, use me.”

You raised an eyebrow, a lopsided grin growing on your lips. Timothée returned it with an inviting one of his own as he stood. Taking your hands, he walked backwards as he led you to the bedroom. “Use me however you see fit.”

There’s fanfiction…. And then there’s FANFICTION. The kind of shit you happen upon at like 3am or some other ungodly time because you were trying to find a fix for ur fixation at the time and you are just SUCKED IN and every sentence feels like a line of cocaine and it has quotes and imagery that permeate your brain and it’s the shit that sticks around in your consciousness forever and it never goes away and it’s always going to be one of Those Fics.

wow i love him

i absolutely would smash that no question

some of my fav comments on timmy’s selfies

“i can bark btw.”

“blink if you need help.”

“it’s hard to keep defending you, tim.”

“i ain’t gay but hear me out.”

“she’s so craaaazzzyyyy love her!!!”

“weird way to propose, but yes.”

“he’s so babygirl.”

“picks his nose like a real man.”

i will never understand why fandoms with a historical setting insist on making like 70% of the fanfiction modern aus... the history aspect is literally what makes it interesting hello...

Here I am, here I remain!

OSCAR ISAAC as Duke Leto Atreides in DUNE (2021) dir. Denis Villeneuve

tried. can't. sorry 💞

alixpvris

imzayningg

paulluuux

the main reason i hate charmie nonsense, in a few perfectly stated succinct paragraphs

in any other context the whole "everything person x does is a sign that points to their partner" would be seen as an indication of abusive dynamics in the relationship (or at the very least cause for concern). it wouldn't be applauded or indulged in by anyone with a modicum of sense. but expecting charmies to not engage in fantasies of abuse and control and dehumanisation is like expecting a fish to not swim.

They cannot allow Tim to have a single moment of triumph on his own. To them, he's always thinking about, behaving for, and pandering to Armie and his stans. The business with the TIFF jacket is so insane, I can't.

They demean Tim's entire life by making his every waking moment about a man. Never mind that it's AH. It's insulting on every level and would be for anyone whose existence has been reduced to what any adult would see as teenage behavior. Imagine believing a grown man - 27 yo and a world famous celebrity - is so obsessed with his sekrit lover that he's compelled to "leave clues" for the faithful Charmies since only they can understand and support his authentic self. JFC.

In that sense, I agree with you that the way they talk about their ship sounds like a Victorian novel written by women who've never had sex.

This has been going on for years and it still surprises me. As a Tim stan, it's maddening. I suppose their own lives are so narrow and all they have is this Charmie fantasy that they can't imagine Tim's life isn't just as narrow. It isn't.

This TIFF jacket is ridic. They are completely erasing the significance of that moment for Tim as an actor in his own right to make it all about a hug between former costars. Forget the actual significance of that suit to both Tim and Haider- Tim's first red carpet for a starring lead role in a suit by Haider as a designer on his own. It was their first foray together as their own men. Wearing it yesterday, I can guaran-fucking-tee it had fuckall to do with Armie Hammer.

writers will be like "here's my current wip! can't wait to share more :)" and then you never hear about it again

did you write the sardaukar chant for dune? if so is there a phonetic or otherwise transcription anywhere? i want to figure out how to sing it but its difficult to get close without proper transcription. thanks!

Yeah, I did. You can find it all here.

quentin_medeiros

Am I watching Dune again? 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 of course not why do you ask 😅

ellekorea

Maybe I’m an old man but goddamn, these vampires with blood dripping down their chins–that’s your food!! THAT’S YOUR FOOD!! Close!! Your!! Mouth!! You think some asshole slobbering chicken noodle soup or yogurt or clam chowder all down themselves would be sexy??? What makes you any different, you sticky-stained slackjawed screwball??? Close your mouth!! Use a napkin!! And for godssakes stop looking so smug, like, “Oooo, I’m a creature of the night look at what sustains me” yeah uh huh a fucking lack of basic hygiene is what I’m seeing and it is not impressive!! At all!! My nephews are three years old and they drool less than you do!! You’re how many centuries old?!?! ACT LIKE IT

idk what's wrong with me but like ... when he looks kinda worn out the pleasure center in my brain lights up like times square

 Call Me with Timothée Chalamet | Apple TV+ photoshoot

considering my blog content this is lit'rally a tragedy luv and no cause for congrats

lmao pathetic was my first thought too 💞

I saw the Timmy Apple TV commercial today and my mom was there too. Her opinion on the commercial? This is a direct quote, btw, “pathetic”. I wanted to burst out laughing because apparently my mom is savage to her future son in law.

Your mom has already clocked it, a pathetic timmy is the best timmy

^ pathetic

oh look it's my favorite fic ever

Life’s Perfect Ache

Summary: It was saying something that she was the closest thing he had to a “friend his age.”

Pairing: Paul Atreides x black!OFC

A/n: FINALLY it’s finished!!!! Written for my darling @get-your-fics Midsummer Night’s Writing Challenge, I decided to be inspired by Much Ado About Nothing! Fair warning, I take a good amount of liberties. We got almost 8k words here folks. Let me know what you think!! Angst and pining and idiots unwilling to admit their feelings ahead 😘 no smut but no minors anyway, you, ageless blogs and blank blogs will be blocked.

~~~~~~~~~

Small doses. Things were better when Paul only got small doses of her.

House Hekau was closely aligned with his own; Leto and Duke Abraxas forging a connection between the two families over a decade prior. But with these regular political meetings between the two nobles came Paul’s seasonal headache in the form of House Hekau’s heiress.

She appeared now, gracefully descending the ramp from the spacecraft to the welcoming platform. Her black dress billowed down, obscuring her feet. A woolen cape of Caladanian make encapsulated her torso. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was the cape his mother chose on his behalf to send to her for some gift-giving holiday or another the year before. Jessica had just written his name in the from section. A scowl already decorated her full lips.

“Lady Pharao,” he greeted her formally with a shallow bow, hands clasped stiffly behind his back. She barely glanced at him.

“It’s cold.”

He pressed his lips into a forced smile. “We can count on your sour attitude more surely than the weather.”

“Do not start,” Abraxas scolded them both. “At least until I am out of hearing distance and neither of you can contribute to this headache.”

Paul turned his hospitality on for the duke. “Would you like a Healer, my lord?” But the older man just waved him off as he held a hand out for her mother, Lazul.

“Just tell me where I can find Leto. It’s unusual for him not to greet us.”

“By design. He wanted me to greet you as the future of House Atreides.”

Pharao grimaced. “When you say it like that, the future sounds so bleak.”

Paul exhaled hard before pressing another fake smile upon his lips. “Ever the charmer, Lady Pharao. Tell me, why have you not gotten a suitor yet to whisk you to some planet very very far from here?”

“If I wanted to hear an ass speak all day I’d move into the stables.”

“Is that what that smell is?”

“I am not out of hearing distance!” Abraxas snapped. He spared a commiserating glance to Lazul as they walked the path to the castle. “Three more months of this, I swear to the stars, I’ll go mad.” Paul and Pharao’s mouths snapped closed similarly, a sideways glance at each other causing rebellious grins to arise.

Small doses of Pharao, Paul was sure he’d be able to handle just fine. But Paul never got only small doses of her.

It was saying something that she was Paul’s closest thing to a friend his age.

Their fathers had allied in their preteens. From then on, they were constants in each other’s lives.

Constant pains in the asses.

They were rivals in everything. Always had a sneer or a slick remark for each other. From a young age, Pharao was foul-tempered and unresponsive to Paul’s gestures of welcome. She wasn’t shy, didn’t need to be coaxed out from behind her mother’s skirts. Pharao had just taken one look at Paul and deemed him unworthy of her time, he supposed. Paul himself had been shy with a brave face, reciting the different things Leto had always said a respectable duke— a respectable man— should do upon meeting other nobility over and over in his head. Her outright spurning of his friendship had hit him harder than he wanted to admit. Than he ever would admit. But it had cooled to indifference before the heat had been placed back under it, with every disdainful look and insult Pharao slyly let fall from her lips. 

He always watched them fall from her lips.

And then he dished it right back to her.

She was a thorn in his side and he an incessant gnat buzzing in her ear.

But in boring governmental meetings that they both had to sit in on, they were the other’s only source of entertainment. Exchanging glances of boredom, annoyance, even the rare humor. When Paul needed a date for a ball, he was having a missive sent off-planet to Enfiel. He had been Pharao’s first dance at her debut event. And her first dance at every gala either of their parents held after. He knew the hiding places in her castle and she knew the ones in his. On nights on Enfiel when the dry air caused his head to pound, Pharao would sneak him into the kitchens in the dark, giving him tea to breathe in the steam and hydrate him. On nights on Caladan when thunder cracked over the castle and kept her mind alert, he was there at the foot of Pharao’s borrowed bed, chatting and bickering with her until she fell asleep.

Her hands were both comfort and claws. His presence both soothing and stifling.

They loathed. They loved. But never in so many words.

The two dukes met merrily in Leto’s private office.

“Abraxas! Great to see you. How did Paul do?”

“He did fine. Looked well, greeted me properly. Looked strong and regal. Until he pulled up his pants legs and stooped to Pharao’s level.”

Leto sighed. “They’re still doing that, are they? I had hoped my instruction today would change that.”

“It’s unavoidable with them and truly, he handles her better than most,” Abraxas said with a grunt as he lowered himself to an armchair. “I daresay the two work together.”

A sparkle caught in Leto’s eyes. “I’m happy to hear you say that, old friend. I’ve been thinking of a proposal I wanted to offer you.”

Abraxas leaned back in the chair, steepling his fingers. “Do tell.”

Leto busied himself at his bar cart, making drinks for each of them as he delivered his pitch. “We have been allies for a long time. And before, we have mused about what a boon it’d be to pool our resources. We’ve always dismissed it for this reason or the other, but our scions are merits to our legacies. Pharao has grown up to be a beautiful, shrewd businesswoman with an excellent perception of character. Her progress with daggers and hand-to-hand are coming along well, I hear. And you’ve begun the Mentat work with her, as well, haven’t you?”

“I have, she’s only recently back from Lampadas.” 

“Paul is making me prouder by the day. Gurney and Duncan tell me he’s been taking the more brutal training in stride. He’s begun private Mentat training and I suspect Jessica is working with him as well. They are ambitious, strong leaders in the making–.”

“You wish them to marry,” Abraxas interrupted with a narrowed gaze.

Leto chuckled at his old friend getting to the point and handed him his glass. “Yes. I know in the past we have felt they should aim higher, for the potential to make a play closer to the emperor’s seat. But, sincerely, Abraxas, I think together, they can accomplish a greatness we can’t imagine, make political moves we wouldn’t have seen. They could get there together, if they wanted it. And if they don’t,” Leto paused then and shrugged. “It would get their heads out of their asses about each other in the meanwhile.”

Abraxas roared with laughter. 

“Unions built on love are stronger. You know we both agree on that. I think this specific union built on love, could knock the Harkonnens off their pedestal.”

A light gleamed in Abraxas’ eyes. “We will need assistance to free their heads from their asses.”

“Agreed.”

The two men clinked their glasses before they fell to hush tones, conspiring animatedly.

With dinner brought the exact scope of the mountain the men were to climb to succeed in their goal.

“I heard you’ve recently spent time on Lampadas, Pharao. With a rather interested fellow as your mentor, I hope you weren’t too distracted,” Jessica said, smiling teasingly as she took a bite. Reactions abounded at the mention. Lazul and Abraxas groaned, Pharao’s face fell into a grimace and Paul’s attention snapped to first his mother then Pharao.

“Distraction,” she scoffed. “More, it was unprofessional and made my work that much harder. Why do men make their affections your problem? Isn’t it more honorable to just pine quietly? And, honestly, with the dynamic of our situation shouldn’t he have just held it all in until the end of the term? Or the end of time even?”

Paul settled back into eating as he listened to her vitriol. “So he confessed his undying love to you, then?”

“Worse, he proposed.”

Pharao smiled blandly as he choked on his food. “And when I said no, I still had another two weeks of training on the schedules with him.” She shivered as she reached for her goblet. “This visit was timely indeed. I have more need for a beak than a man declaring devotion to me.”

Paul hummed. “You're a fine enough harpy without one.”

“If being a harpy keeps me blessedly single, I’ll glue wings on my arms my-damn-self. The bird’s nest on your head seems to be working for you,” Pharao said, pointing her fork at him casually. His jaw dropped as he reached for his hair.

“I’ll have you know I’m single because I am skillfully stepping over all of the eligible bachelorettes who throw themselves at my feet.”

“Well, with their noses to the ground they can miss a lot of your flaws, Atreides, not a bad plan.”

Abraxas tutted noisily. “Do you see what you’ve done, Jessica? Let’s speak of a lighter subject like universal history or war debt.”

They all laughed good-naturedly at Abraxas’ segue, Lazul taking the opportunity to divert the conversation to a safer topic as the two dukes exchanged a heavy look across the table. 

Their jobs playing Cupid would be an uphill battle.

Paul hated that Pharao had to join his training sessions when she was on-world. She made it hard to concentrate and her hostile edge made him competitive. Made him want to take risks. To shut her up and have her looking at him with awe. Paul could admit to the image passing through his mind once or twice. He wouldn’t admit to anything closer to the true number.

Today specifically, her presence in the training room was terrible. Paul had been sparring with Gurney for the last quarter hour. Gurney had started him on a more brutal regimen and he had been a little excited to have her see it. But when he looked over at the end of the first round, she was locked in amiable conversation with Duncan. 

His jaw clenched a bit and he shook out the tension of his hands as he looked away. Pharao and Duncan had never been particularly close before. He was just curious as to what they could be discussing now. And why were they chit-chatting during training anyway? There was no room for talking and giggling and the showboating way she twirled her daggers in deceptively delicate hands. His eyes had slid unbidden back over to their corner of the room. No, not their corner, just a corner they were in. Together. 

His mouth moved before the thought fully formed in his mind. “Maybe if you’re not going to actually practice, Pharao, you can run your mouth with the ladies in waiting.”

“If you want me to hand you your ass, Atreides, just say it.”

“Pharao, now you know–,” Duncan started, but the familiar way he said her name blurred something in Paul’s brain. 

“Lady Pharao” He made hard eye contact with Duncan, who blinked back in surprise. 

“Don’t misdirect that ire that you so clearly have for me,” Pharao scolded haughtily as she turned on her shield, testing with the flat and edge of her blade to make sure it was working properly. “Let’s have it then, little duke.”

Leaving the session early seemed like the right choice to Duncan. Paul was being uncharacteristically reckless in his strikes. It seemed every correction Duncan had for him was being ignored while every compliment he gave Lady Pharao was met with a seething green cut of his eyes. He had decided to leave the instruction in Gurney’s hands for the day. 

“Duncan!” The guard turned to see the two dukes behind him, ducking comically from around a corner.

“My lords,” he said, about to drop a knee, but Leto waved him off and over to them.

“We have a little task for you.”

Duncan raised his eyebrows. “Anything.”

———

When Duncan had been assigned a special task for Paul, he hadn’t expected it to be this. Tricking his young friend into finally pursuing a love life by way of gossip. It would explain Paul’s distaste for his sudden proximity to Lady Pharao earlier. Duncan had never had a full conversation with her before but she mentioned how she had started fighting with two blades recently and preferred it and he had asked to see a demonstration. Paul acted like he stole something precious by having her attention. Duncan was going to enjoy setting the two up. The sooner he did, the sooner he could openly tease Paul about his jealousy.

Duncan made the decision to recruit Faline, Pharao’s highest ranking lady-in-waiting.  They set up their ploy just down the hall from Paul’s room. When they heard his approach, they began to set their trap.

Paul limped with a surly expression towards his room. That woman always played dirty, when would he learn? He had won the first round and she the last, ending it with a swift kick to his shin that left him smarting. They couldn’t even have their tie breaker match yet Pharao had smiled smugly like she had won. That little smile of hers haunted him, he swore.

“I just wish for her sake that he’d be a little sweeter on her.” It was Faline, Pharao’s lady-in-waiting. And she was speaking to Duncan, it appeared. The two hadn’t seen him yet.

“Why do you say that? She seems like she hates Paul.”

Paul’s ears perked up at the sound of his name. He knew it wasn’t becoming of a nobleman to eavesdrop but it was about him, wasn’t it? He had a right to hear. Ducking silently into an alcove, he listened in on the conversation.

“Hates him? Stars, no. The poor thing just doesn’t know what to do with herself in front of him.”

“You’re speaking as if Pharao is in love with Paul.”

“Oh, but she is!” The servant stage-whispered. The four words rang in Paul’s ears like a gong, resounding so that he missed their next few exchanges of dialogue. But who could blame him? Pharao in love with him? And the servant answered with such conviction! Like the secret feelings in her heart were as easy a fact to swallow as rain in the forecast.

“—wept on my lap when she came back from Lampadas.” Paul heard the servant say as he tuned back in. “So upset over that proposal. She just was so hurt, crying that if Paul couldn’t love her then she’d marry none.”

Duncan hummed with acknowledgment. “She brought it up over the meal. You’d think with the way she feels, she’d act softer towards him.”

Yes! What in all the worlds could be her reasoning for that?! Paul wanted to thank Duncan for voicing his own thoughts on the matter.

“Lady Pharao is hard to love. Those hard to love need it most.”

“Hard to love?” Paul muttered with a frown. Pharao wasn’t hard to love. Not at all. Sure, she was difficult and argumentative and foul-mouthed and petty and prideful and complained like it was in her job description. But Faline had her mistress all wrong. How could she think that about Pharao?

“Also she believes herself to be too plain looking to tempt him.”

“In what world?!” Paul hissed incredulously then slapped a hand over his mouth as he ducked further into the shadows. 

Duncan and Faline hid their smiles and snorts behind well-timed coughs and face scratches.

“Yeah, well it’s a damn shame to hear that she’s given up on loving him.”

“On love completely. It appears if she can’t have him, she will settle for being alone.”

“I have to go to a meeting soon, but let me walk you back to your quarters.”

“Thank you, sir,” Faline replied as he led her in the opposite direction than where Paul hid. When they were far enough away, he made a break for his room, hustling inside. He stared blankly at his wall as he absorbed all he had overheard, mind spiraling over all of the words Duncan and the lady-in-waiting had spilled.

Paul paced in his room. All this time? How had he not noticed that Pharao had been in love with him all this time? Could it really be true? He knew Pharao better than anyone. But were matters of unrequited love not close to the heart? 

He couldn’t picture the ever-blunt bother that she was holding her tongue for anything. She was almost larger than life in Paul’s head, above trivial human emotions like love and devotion and yearning. He imagined Pharao finally breaking down one day, sobbing into Faline’s lap about how she didn’t feel worthy of him, didn’t feel pretty enough for him. As if that were ever a matter in question of all things! Paul had disliked her despite her alluring dark eyes and tempting smile. She got on his nerves despite the lilting tone of her voice that sedimented in his brain like an earworm and the way her hair and skin practically invited his touch in the humid Caladanian air. Could Faline be believed? Had Paul of all people been the one that she softened towards in her private thoughts?

“Atreides?”

Pharao’s voice snapped his attention back to present. She had just entered his suite, would probably be in his room any second. In a moment of panic, Paul threw himself onto his windowsill, grabbing a random book from his end table. He combed his fingers quickly through his curls and made a split-second decision to open the top of his tunic, allowing a bit of his chest to show. When Pharao finally made it to his room, Paul had fully committed to his ‘act natural’ bit. The sun that had broken through storm clouds streamed through his window and fell upon him. He let it halo his profile as he looked over to her with exaggerated slowness, sure he had given her eye candy to stumble upon. 

Pharao looked at him from his door critically, brows frowned deeply as if disturbed.

She blinked at him, eyes narrowing. “Meeting starts in fifteen,” she announced flatly. 

He sent her a gentle smile, one he had seen Caladanian girls swoon at during an official city tour he’d traveled on. He honeyed his voice a touch as well, letting it dip slightly lower than usual. “I appreciate that you took such pains to come and tell me.” 

“It wasn’t as painful as you make it seem.” 

“So you mean you take pleasure in this, then?” 

“I meant if it was painful I wouldn’t have done it. Are you well?” 

He brightened a bit, green eyes wide with innocence and hope. “You worry for me?” 

Pharao blinked again. “You’re being weird. If you’re not in the meeting room by the time it begins, I’ll tell the dukes you’re sick.” She left his room and Paul watched her go. Sagging back into the window sill, he reflected on the exchange. 

She had said she took no pains to come to him. That it was no issue to come to him. She asked after his health, seemed concerned for him. There was surely double meaning to be found there! On the surface she seemed to act as usual but through the lens of her hiding her secret doting, it was clear as day. He bit his lip to try and temper the smile that curved them. 

And irony of all ironies, he noticed the book that he unwittingly grabbed. Sailing Infinite, a neo-classic retelling of an even more ancient tale of Shakespeare. The spine was broken and it opened to the same page automatically every time. The quote he had thought to himself just the day before stood out on the page.

They loathed. They loved. But never in so many words.

Paul always liked to imagine the hero of the story as himself. But he never could fully acknowledge that he imagined the heroine to resemble Pharao though she was described much differently in the novel. 

He never let himself think of Pharao at all because he thought that she thought nothing of him. But that no longer seemed to be so. So he looked into his mirror and primped a little to see her again. To give her something to look at. And then, for the first time in years, he allowed himself to think and think and think of her.

Throughout the meeting, Paul’s eyes traveled frequently to Pharao. She in turn seemed to be hyper-focused on whoever was speaking at the time, pointedly avoiding looking in Paul’s direction. She shifted self-consciously, making unnecessary notes in her tablet as Duncan, Abraxas and Leto exchanged conspiratorial looks over their heads.

After the perceived success of the first trick, Duncan couldn’t wait to perform for his next eavesdropping audience. Roping Faline in again, they arranged themselves perfectly in Pharao’s path as she left the library.

Duncan shrugged theatrically, beginning his act. “I don’t know what it is about this particular trip, but Paul’s love for her is spilling over, he couldn’t even keep it contained in the meeting today!”

Pharao remained just inside the doorway at the conversation she almost stumbled into. Paul’s love? Love for who? Her mind was working slowly in her sudden emotional state. But finally she recalled his last words. In the meeting today.

Duncan couldn’t be referring to her… could he?

“My, is that so?” Faline’s voice goaded, thirsty for the willingly spilled gossip. She did always have an ear for the trifling things that went about the castle back on Enfiel.

“Oh yeah. These months since he last saw her, he brought her up all the time. Wondering aloud when she would visit again. Gazing out the window in the direction of her galaxy, sighing like a lovestruck fool.” Duncan leaned in conspiratorially. “He even told me how her eyes were like stars and detailed the similarities for nearly an hour.”

Faline whispered to him. “A little overkill, don’t you think?”

“We’ll see, I guess,” he shrugged as he whispered back.

“But he’s always so cold to her?” Faline spoke back up.

“All a front. He’s so gone for her but she hates his guts, so what more is there for him? Just does the little things that he can to be near her. You know, he insisted on being the one to welcome them on this trip.”

“Well, I’ll definitely keep an eye out for that lovestruck expression at the wine tasting later,” she raised her voice on the next bit so she could be sure Pharao heard. “I need to go get my lady dressed and ready for it now. I will see you there!”

Slippered feet sneaking passed could be faintly heard behind them and the near silent slide of the chamber door opening and closing. 

The two gave each other a thumbs up.

Meanwhile, Pharao was buzzing, excitement just below her skin. She knew it! The vindication flowed through her, knowing the difference in him wasn’t her imagination. Pharao hummed as she walked to her suite, chin raised a little. Was it truly a difference, though? More, wasn’t it just now a more obvious explanation of his previous actions? Pharao always caught him staring but a glare or an eye roll was usually his immediate reaction when she noticed. Paul took any opportunity to show off in front of her. The poor boy, he had fallen for her when all she had offered was insults and slights? He’d positively melt if she finally allowed herself to look upon him with a gentle smile. He’d trip over himself, look at her with those moony jasper eyes. Pretty pink lips parted in awe. It wasn’t a bad image in her mind. She may have imagined him looking on her like that before.

Faline finally joined her in the room and helped her mistress get ready for the wine tasting. When she came back with her hair acoutrements, Pharao had on a different earring in each ear. She twisted side to side, lips pursed as she considered them in the mirror.

“Milady?”

Pharao cleared her throat and tried to be as nonchalant as possible. “Which of these complements my eyes better?”

Faline shot a private smile to an unseen audience. “Got her!”

Paul sipped tentatively at his wine. He was too nervous to drink too much, unwilling to make an ass of himself in front of Pharao. He counseled himself as he awaited her appearance. First, he would compliment her, as if it would be difficult to find anything of her worth praising. He’d rid this foolish idea of hers that she’s not the most beautiful person he’d ever met. But he wouldn’t be too effusive to brook suspicion or look disingenuous. He’d hang on each word that fell from her lips, refusing to divide his attention, proving she commanded it all. He’d work horses into the conversation somehow, invite her to the stables for a moonlit ride through the orchard… 

All his careful devising flew from his mind as Pharao entered with her small entourage. And Paul let himself gape, open appreciation in his eyes as he let his gaze travel the length of her. Deep red silk clung to her curves, making the long sleeved, floor length dress still look like a tease. When he arrived back at her lips, they were curved into a knowing smirk. He returned it as he strode over to her.

“Lady Pharao.”

“Good evening, milord.”

“Those jewels are stunning. Were they handcrafted on Enfiel?” He asked, indicating her earrings.

Her chin tilted up, letting the stones catch the light anew. “Indeed they were, custom made for my twentieth birthday.”

“They’re almost as gorgeous as their wearer.”

A pleased smile played on her lips as she ducked her head. Butterflies fluttered in Paul’s stomach just knowing he could elicit such a reaction in her. 

“Would you allow me to choose a wine for you to try, milady?”

“Do you think you know my tastes?”

“I’m sure I know of them more than you think.” A private joke for himself as he waved over one of the attendants circulating with the bottle he’d already had in mind. 

Pharao tested the wine and he watched intently as she let the flavors coat her tongue. Triumph flooded him as she sipped again with a hum.

“Good guess,” is all she awarded him with and he chuckled.

“You wound me! You liked it and refuse to admit I’m right. The way you abuse me isn’t fair, lady.”

“And yet I’ve a feeling you wouldn’t change me had you the chance.” Pharao declared, her face upturned to challenge him squarely. She said it with utmost surety, bold though barely above a murmur. Paul gave her a crooked smile as he maintained her dark measuring gaze.

“I have no issue admitting when someone else is correct. Unlike some people.” Pharao giggled, a sound Paul hadn’t heard in years and didn’t even realize he missed. “No, Pharao, there’s not a thing I’d change about you.”

She hid a coy smile by sipping at her wine. “I will quote you on that one day.”

“A man stands by what he’s said.”

“So, then, my eyes are truly like stars?”

Paul regarded her with a quizzical smile. “I suppose they are.”

“Don't act so coy, you said it.”

“I've never said that.” Not even drunk would Paul have admitted such a thing aloud when he was sure she hated him. He never would have left himself that vulnerable. Pharao’s smile slowly fell, searching his eyes for signs of jesting. Pharao had known Paul for a decade and could read his eyes like a ledger. Maybe there would be the sarcasm or dry wit they had always used before. But there was none. Only truth. Which meant her source was false.

Which meant she was making a fool of herself.

“I should have known you wouldn’t be so romantic. It had to have been Duncan messing with me.”

Paul was confused by the turn in her, that soft look in her eyes hardened to granite. “I can be romantic when it's deserved!”

“Woooowwww, so I don’t deserve it now?”

It was all crashing down, crashing together. Her mention of Duncan only reminded him of how he had come to ‘discover’ Pharao’s secret love for him. His stomach dropped as he came to the painful realization. None of it was true. And he had been ready to bare his heart. To chalk all the previous years up to childish denial and fear of rejection. But Paul was right to fear. It sharpened his tongue as he finally responded to her.

“I should have known you were too frigid to show warmth, even in private.” 

“Well, I’m so glad we were saved from Duncan and Faline’s cruel prank. You and I in love?” Pharao chuckled harshly. “Laughable.”

Cruel, yes, the whole affair was cruel indeed. A fist was closing around his heart, making it ache to keep rhythm. It throbbed out of pace. Paul’s jaw clenched and he spoke through gritted teeth. 

“Hilarious.”

He stalked past Duncan on his way out of the atrium. The man had seen the sweet moment sour before his eyes but couldn’t hear what led to the devolution.

“What happened—?” he tried to catch him, slow him down but Paul snatched away from his grasp.

“From now on, stay the fuck out of my personal affairs.” Paul prayed his eyes weren’t red, but the way they stung made him less than hopeful.

Leto grimaced as he joined the high table Abraxas stood at.

“Did you see that as well?”

“See it? I couldn’t look away! Things were going so well, what could have possibly ruined it?”

Abraxas huffed out a breath before taking in a mouthful of the specialty wine. “Welp. I’m not afraid of enacting Plan B. Are you?”

Leto sighed as he waved over another servant with a bottle. “No. Not afraid. Just wondering if my foundations can withstand your daughter’s shouting.”

Abraxas drained his goblet then put it forth for a refill as well.

“Stars, let’s pray so.”

An awkward air blanketed the room like a stench. Pharao and Paul sat in their expected seats; at the right of each of their fathers and almost directly across the table from each other. Paul was doing his damnedest not to look at her, but every fidget or sigh Pharao would make, his green eyes tracked to her however briefly. With a clenched jaw, he’d forcefully avert his gaze again. Pharao on the other hand was attempting to put up the front of nonchalance but failing, as shown by her inability to keep still. As if she was uncomfortable in her very skin. Leto regarded the two heirs with uncertainty, but didn’t let it deter their decision. He looked to Abraxas and nodded for the man to move on to the next order of business that would threaten to bring his castle down.

“Next we will discuss the parameters of the marriage contract that will join our houses,” Abraxas said stoically, before reading off his tablet as though they discussed weather.

Being forced into her presence all his life, even the visions Paul had been seeing lately couldn’t have foretold this.

As the words ‘marriage contract’ fell from her father’s lips, Paul looked to Pharao to see her face just as baffled and blindsided as he felt.

Because there was… not much to gain from this union. Not that Paul knew of. His own father hadn’t married his mother for the potential of making a higher political play. Why would they have settled for this pairing when he could be joined with some young noblewoman with no brothers? When Pharao– as much as the idea made him sick– could beguile some archduke and elevate their family status?

Pharao interrupted Abraxas’s listing of the dowry with a raise of her hand.

“My apologies, milord, but what in the fresh fuck is happening right now?”

“For once, I’m in agreement with her, right down to the crass language,” Paul chimed in.

Leto cleared his throat. “As the heads of our Houses, Brax and I decided that what would most behoove our families and our planets would be a union.”

Pharao waved that away. “Yeah, sure that’s all well and good, but the only unite-able people are this one and me!”

“Hey! Don’t attack me! I didn’t ask for this!” Paul snapped.

“Oh, don’t worry I’m sure you didn’t. I’d never expect you to bind your future to someone so unpleasantly frigid,” Pharao sneered. Paul huffed an angry breath through his nose like a bull, a mirthless chuckle punching out of his chest.

“But who wouldn’t want that oh so delightful charm you bring to every situation for the rest of their natural born lives?”

“You absolute basta–!”

“Enough!” Leto barked and the two fell into charged silences. “It is decided. This is not up for debate. There will be an engagement ball tomorrow for the castle and a formal announcement to Caladan the day after.”

Abraxas took over from there. “After which, the happy couple will travel to Enfiel for the engagement rites and tour to continue.”

“You cannot do this!” Pharao said, slamming her fist as she stood from her seat. She looked at her father vehemently, hurt. “Am I like chattel to you after all?”

Abraxas softened minutely. “You know you are not. You are not yourself right now. When you are less emotional you will be able to see this from a business point of view.”

“Do not talk to me as if I’m an airhead and not your scion!” She pushed back from the table, heading for the door. When the door slammed behind her, Leto deflated.

“She’ll come around, son.”

“Don’t mistake my lack of theatrics for agreeing with you.”

His eyes snapped to his son, his green eyes cold as jade. “Paul–.”

“You take advantage of the fact that we must do as you say. That even as adults, you still can make decrees such as this over us. That you would put the fiefdom over your relationships with us.”

“That is not how–.”

“Forgive me, father,” Paul said as he stood up from the table, “but I’m really not interested in whatever the fuck you have to say right now.”

Paul strode to the door, knowing he couldn’t go after Pharao but he also couldn’t stay here. “Enjoy your meeting, milords.”

A poignant silence reverberated in the near empty room. Abraxas sighed. “Well, it could have been worse. Pharao didn’t even throw anything.”

It was a cruelty for Pharao to look as she did at the engagement ball neither of them agreed to. Her gown flowed off of her like water, a rich blue-grey one that Paul hadn’t seen her wear before. Pharao usually wore formalwear in the Atreides house colors when she visited. Paul was sure she wore it in defiance, wearing the Hekau house colors instead along with the copper jewelry that embellished her neck and hair. A protest to their fathers. Was it a message for him as well?

“Lady Pharao looks to be making a statement tonight.” Paul’s attention snapped to Duncan beside him. He hadn’t forgiven the man yet. Just seeing him reminded Paul of the words he thought Pharao said, of the feelings he thought she felt. The betrayal resurged anew like it had only happened moments prior rather than days. 

“Still sentenced to the silent treatment, am I?” Duncan asked with a half chuckle, ending short in a wince when Paul didn’t even look his way. 

“I see that I’m not welcome. I'll get out of your hair. See if Pharao wants to dance, I suppose.”

Bile overcame the betrayal. Green and devouring. The acid flowed from his lips as he spoke.

“I am always her first dance.” 

Duncan shrugged. “Thought it was just ‘cause you felt you had to not wanted to. I’d enjoy dancing with her so no need to feel obligated.” 

Paul’s jaw clicked in his inner ear at the force with which he clenched his jaw, unable to admit anything. What was there to admit? Duncan raised an eyebrow at him– a dare, a taunt, Paul just knew it– before he turned Pharao’s direction across the room. Paul caught him by the arm before he could fully take a step. He leveled the older man a quelling glare before moving past him, towards Pharao. She hadn’t been looking their way, luckily hadn’t seen the pissing contest Paul had just waged and won.

“Shall we get this over with?” Paul asked as he held out his hand to her. It was difficult to pretend to be unaffected by her, who had the nerve to look even more exquisite up close. Her eyes were dusted in copper and lined in kohl, lips left bare to their natural hue with an attention-drawing gloss. 

Pharao sighed and put down her glass. “Might as well.” 

Off-stage, two nosy fathers caught the entire scene from the gauntlet figuratively thrown down by Duncan to Pharao taking Paul’s hand. Leto caught the slightest pull of his son’s lips, a quickly smothered grin of triumph before schooling his face to be blank again as he led her to the dancefloor. He threw another look at Duncan before settling into a waltzing stance with Pharao. One a little bit closer than he normally would. Leto nudged Abraxas with his goblet.

“This bird still has wings, my friend.” The crystal of their glasses clinked as they privately celebrated.

Paul had fallen deep in thought while dancing with Pharao, almost entranced. 

“Why are you staring at me?” 

Why do your eyes look like stars? It was a question and her answer in one if he dared to utter it. Despite their dark hue they twinkled like galaxies lived inside them. Like solar systems were born and supernovaed in them constantly. Space operas conducted in her irises. How hadn’t he realized it until now? Had he never stood this close to her before? No that’s not it either. Could it really just be because he never let himself think about it? That each time they had danced before, he had looked everywhere but her luminous, enchanting, petrifying eyes—?

“Paul?” Pharao spoke up again, firmly knocking him from his deep thoughts. She looked mildly apprehensive, a frown pinching her brow. “Are you okay?” 

No. I don’t think I am. “It’s fine, Pharao,” Paul answered instead. “Leave it.” 

“If you don’t want to dance—,” she said after hesitating, even shifting to step back but Paul’s grip tightened around her waist, moving with her so it looked a part of their dance. He cleared his throat. 

“I don’t think we can afford another scene. Just leave it, Pharao.”

An unspoken truce was struck between the two for the rest of the event. They only danced the once, hovered in each other’s vicinity the following few hours, and accepted congratulations with tight-lipped, wordless smiles. Pharao eyed Paul curiously, something close to concern in her surreptitious glances at him. He felt it too dangerous to meet her eyes again.

That night, Pharao traversed the halls of Caladan Castle alone by orb light. The storm that rolled overhead ensured her lack of sleep. Normally, she’d find her solace in Paul, no matter how reluctant she seemed on the surface. But for obvious reasons she couldn’t go to him. Betrothed. Fiancé. She never imagined the words attributed to the boy she knew growing up, the man who slept down the hall. 

No, that was a lie. It was something that had graced her dreams a few times, thoughts that couldn’t bloom during the day exorcized in the helplessness of sleep. Joining their houses had been a fantasy before. Calling Paul hers, riding horses in the morning and having supper in his observatory. Things she’d never done with him because they felt too romantic. Because she wanted them too much.

She could admit that the storm was not the only reason sleep escaped her. 

And so Pharao was heading to the one other place she could find comfort in. The door to the training room slid to the side. It wasn’t the same one that she and Paul practiced in. This one was for all the castle guards. Windowless and sound muffled walls made it a good refuge for the weather. It stifled the sound of cracking thunder enough to not frighten her but was still loud enough to know if the storm still raged.

Not long after she had settled down did the training room door slid open; Paul standing in its wake. Pharao was afraid Paul wasn’t the only psychic. Had she summoned him by thinking too hard? Called out to him on some extrasensory frequency?

“The storm seemed pretty loud. I went by your room but you didn’t answer when I called out.  And I know you could have just somehow managed to have fallen asleep in all of this but I figured I’d check here first to be sure.” 

No, Pharao wasn’t psychic. Occam’s razor was that Paul simply knew her. A humbling concept.

“Well, here I am.”

“Here you are.”

Paul padded over to Pharao barefooted, sitting next to her against the wall. Things were soft and hazy in the lowlighting and familiarity of the situation. Sitting side by side in pajamas, comfortable, almost too comfortable. Why did his presence pacify her like nothing else? Just with the warmth of his side against hers. His silence mingling with hers. But then… their fingers were mingling as well. How? Who had inched their hand closer to the other? They were twining loosely on the floor in the space between them as if they had minds of their own. Pharao looked down at them and released a shaky breath. They’d fit. If she moved her fingers closer, they would dovetail with his like they'd been carved in each other’s negative space. She knew they would. When she looked up, Paul was already staring at her.

Thunder rumbled outside.

And then their lips met. Light as gossamer, like it was precious, like it could fly away if spooked. They meet and they meet again. And then finally, finally, they stayed. They pressed, they parted, they slotted together.

With her heart in her gut, it did a dangerous swoop that felt too much like when they spar, too much like when they dance.

The last time Pharao had felt this light in Paul’s presence, it only took four words for her heart to leaden, for the sweet words ready on her tongue to ashen. And Pharao did something she’s never done.

She panicked.

She jumped away from Paul as if the kiss had belatedly scalded her. Like it had taken her too long to realize her hand was in the fire. She scrambled to her feet without looking back at the boy she was fleeing.

“The storm seems to have blown over, I’ll retire now. Goodnight.”

Almost as if to purposely catch her on her horrid lie, thunder cracked overhead. Her shoulders cringed against the noise but she didn’t break or slow her stride out of the room and out of the heavy weight of Paul’s gaze.

Pharao had had enough. They were moments from making the address, all of Cala City practically on their doorsteps to receive the news of an impending noble wedding. And Paul was grinding her very last nerve beneath his sleek combat boots. She had always appreciated them on him previously, a silent fan of how they suited him. No longer. 

Pharao yanked him to the side, telling their fathers that they just needed a moment of composure before they made the announcement. Paul was in his military dress, a distractingly appealing sight but she would remain unruffled, dammit. She forced him through a side door revealing a room that amounted to little more than a utility closet. The close quarters, also, were not a problem at all for her. She focused on the task at hand, asking a pertinent question.

“What the fuck is your deal?!”

“You’re being weird!” Paul answered immediately.

“I wouldn’t be acting weird if you weren’t acting weird!”

“I wouldn’t be acting weird if you hadn’t kissed me!” Because Paul couldn’t think past it or around it. It beat at the forefront of his brain like a battering ram. Everytime he looked at her, there was only the imprint of her lips on his, of the soft curve of her jaw under his fingertips, of her flimsy excuse and running away from him. He had hated to see Pharao’s back last night and was flustered to see her face that morning. She was back in Atreides colors, black and green shimmered on her eyelids and Paul felt the way they highlighted her eyes would rob his knees of their strength.

“You kissed me first!” Pharao hissed as her face flushed with more heat than a red star.

Paul made an ugly noise of affront. “I definitely didn’t!” He may have. He didn’t know. But he wouldn’t accept blame regardless.

“You were literally all over me.”

“Your mind is slipping in your old age.”

“We’re the same age, you cunt!”

“I'll kiss you right now to prove I don't feel anything for you!”

“Fine, prove it!”

Paul grabbed her with both hands, gripping the back of her neck because he had a half a mind to strangle her annoying ass as well. Stars, she just made him so angry. She riled him like nothing could, hit raw nerves with a reflex hammer and left him undeniably throbbing in her aftermath. He poured it all into the kiss, spelled the fire of his heart on her tongue with his own.

She gripped his lapels to pull him closer, the pounding of his heart thumping against her knuckles.

They broke apart but not far, entangled too surely to achieve space again.

“Your verdict, Atreides?” Pharao panted as he rubbed against her temple, like a cat blessing favor.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

And then he dove for her mouth again.

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Appreciate this company’s commitment to demonstrating the size of their products in relation to Dune, an object whose size I am intimately familiar with

i literally just want to devour him idk

W E T

💀💀💀

I’ve never been clear on how much the rest of the galaxy knows about the Bene Gesserit. Like, the specifics of the Kwisatz Haderach program are presumably a secret, but everybody seems to know that they can do freaky microbiology shit like control the sex of their offspring and neutralize poison inside their bodies. They also know that they can basically mind-control people with their voices. And yet. They marry them? They willingly go “yeah sure let’s put these mysterious witches with secretive goals and freaky powers and a bizarre breeding scheme into positions of political influence at all levels, why not” and then wonder why the Bene Gesserit seem to be pulling strings in undesirable ways.

Florence Pugh's BIFA Photobooth Photos