pixel skylines
dirt enthusiast
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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★
Stranger Things
Kaledo Art
Mike Driver
trying on a metaphor
tumblr dot com
Today's Document
oozey mess
we're not kids anymore.
#extradirty
Love Begins
Cosimo Galluzzi
JVL
if i look back, i am lost
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h
seen from United States
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@abetrayer
rebekah from the vampire diaries; removed from canon timeline and reimagined by zawn [22,gmt,neutral prns].
important note: rebekah does not, nor ever has utilised the name mikaelson; her birthname was róta mikaelsdóttir but is known primarily as rebekah.
LUCY BOYNTON Grace Maier ph. for L’OFFICIEL Liechtenstein (2023)
oh im about to be so annoying
go ahead. laugh at the girl who loved too easily
muad'dib is not known for his usage of the voice, a gift inherited from his bene gesserit mother. this is not to say it was not common knowledge, but more of a rarity than a normality. he did not like using it when not necessary. what scenarios did muad'dib deem usage necessary for? those were his to determine alone. divination to a god means you believe them, no matter the cost. it does not matter if they remove the head from a person's body— if they will it and call it the path to justice (paradise), their worshippers will believe it. that is what being a god and being worshipped comes with. your god can do no wrong. in the current moment, there is nobody in the room but them. nobody to chronicle how muad'dib grits his teeth and clenches his jaw in response to the blonde digging her claws ever so deeper into his flesh. it's not that a nerve has been struck, but rather a part of muad'dib hating these moments. the build-up before the raging storm. he is a god who can no wrong, even more so now than ever. motions have been taken to ensure this moment in time, to secure her path once she departs from the planet and returns to her family. before she drenches her hands in blood. though, she still has to depart arrakis first. with a brief roll of his blue-within-blue irises, paul clears his throat before raising his voice, pitching it just correctly. “SILENCE! my time will no longer be wasted.”
an alliance with muad'dib? what is there not to receive. a person could almost laugh at the question but if paul had any desire to do so, he stifled it. his expression remained neutral, unreadable to anybody but perhaps his concubine. muad'dib's thoughts were reserved for only himself. though, he has been generous with offering the woman hints— his leniency can only go so far. (example: his most recent action of using the voice.) with a scoff, he shakes his head. “if i wanted an alliance with a bene gesserit, i would not have exiled one. i only wish for you to begin thinking like one. it would benefit your health tremendously.” spoken matter-of-factly, paul's patience wears thin, obviously by the pinch of malice hiding between the lines. if you don't listen close enough, you may miss it. though, he knows she won't miss it— not after his previous comment. when an oracle sees the future, they see the path to travel down. the actions that cause the route to take place. rebekah's conscious will now begin spinning its gears, just as the prophet had wished. just as he had commanded. “as for you— you ask what i want. have you ever considered to ask yourself, what would you want? you have an opportunity to become heir to your house, protect your planet from blood ravaging its land, and continue to ask to see my vision. can my vision become any clearer?”
any kickback you had died in your throat as vocal chords constrict; like artery having been cut at the behest of the muad’dib. it was not so much a surprise but enough for eyebrows to briefly raise before gaze slants; as if making him smaller in your line of view. there is no way to control what type of god someone turns into– but too often they take shape of blood hungry men drunk on a sip of power [what do you know about power? it feeds no one; aurum in ones hand yet tarnishable— corruption plants its seeds first in the weakest of minds, palms upturned to the sky in search of an answer but no thirst is slaked]. you think you turned to sacrilege in your tenth year, it took white knuckle grip to your anger and allowed you to shed any remnants of past self as if watching water circle the drain. even now–you do not know how to stop it bubbling underneath flesh, the feeling of blood collecting in your mouth that you will one day choke on, and you will continue to tongue loose tooth through the entirety of your lifeline in hopes of feeling anything like you once did. all that has ever grown in your home was wretchedness and violence, blooming under the summer sky and possessing the immortality to last through the harsh winters. it was his idea that had planted the seed [although you cannot say that the soil had not been prepped long ago]; but it takes root, waiting for the correct time to blossom. there was no denying that your father was not a just man, the word rots in your mouth even now; you think it would be easier if a stranger.
“i understand.” any semblance of a smile is dropped, your stare cold and hard. born a conduit to primal violence, sewn into soft flesh before you even had the chance to see what you could have become— a line cut short, a what-if that will never be answered. there is no sacrifice you could make greater than this, no obvious love loss but he is still one half of you, moulded you in his image that it is almost fate to end this way. you take a pause, try to ignore the itch as words burrow under your skin as a trilogy of blue meet; as if you are searching for the answer to your future behind his eyes. his vision was not yours, you had had a lifetime to plan out the sequence of your life, born at the near-bottom of a long list of those who would/could ascend to burnished throne before yourself— “your vision is crystal clear.” feign belief, your own shortcomings to blame for lack of faith in leader. “but you are forgetting one thing, just a minor detail, really.” pause briefly, own patience thinning as each second dragged on. “that is, paul atreides, you are nothing to me. my story is already written, and if the fates have decided that is the path, then so be it. but i do not act on behalf of you, muad’dib, kwisatz haderach, emperor.”
nik/rebekah
“Romeo is banish’d; and all the world to nothing, That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you; Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, I think it best you married with the county.”
ROMEO AND JULIET (1968)
mhm.
i have so many thoughts re rebekah and motherhood. i simply cannot form coherent sentences around them until i rewatch the relevant scenes but. i HATE HATE the emphasis the shows put on it for her. firstly, rebekah doesn’t want to be a mother truly. her priority has always been love in all forms, she wants a regular life and she associates that largely with motherhood. her mother before her, the lifes she has lived through the time periods, the locations secondly, she would be a bad mother. she has shown time and time again that she is selfish. she bores easily, she’s angry, she will never stop being angry. rebekah would continue the cycle, and she’d be jealous over the life they were getting to live
the woman you are….
miss rebekah n her god complex
ok yes i may be evil and morally corrupt but i’m also incredibly beautiful and i think that makes up for it honestly
RHAENYRA TARGARYEN ↳ house of the dragon 1x03
i talk a lot about rebekah’s betrayals but like. betrayal as an act of love
feeling the urge to talk about rebekahs relationship with mikael and ester for hours
with every sentence rebekah speaks, the venom on her tongue becomes more palpable. as if she's a snake who has snuck herself into his palace, tongue slithering out of her mouth with every hiss. descending further into her pain. muad'dib recognizes her feelings well. the ache of grief had once rotted in his bones. while she had lost a brother, he had lost his father. [what is a son if not an extension of his father?] as she views his worshippers as fanatic enemies, he had viewed the harkonnens in the same light. they had once been the invading force. however, muad'dib had slain his enemies and was going to lead his people to paradise. his terrible purpose. rebekah had not yet slain her enemies, therefore her path to paradise was unattainable. just like her father. how do you destroy a god? you begin plotting in advance. stalk like a predator, attack the prey in the shadows when there are no witnesses. just as she will inevitably do with her god. there are signs in the visions muad'dib sees. he recognizes the treachery awaiting the universe in the coming years; in the generations to come. although, not many gods come face-to-face with their non-believers. nor are they questioned by them. her challenges did not fear the mahdi— though, he did have to quirk an eyebrow. “you dare speak to the kwisatz haderach like that? your emperor?” the mahdi rises from his throne. “if my chief commander was here, he would have ordered your execution.”
paul had once been afraid to stain his hands red. he remembers jamis' blood dripping from his fingers. muad'dib's birth from the ashes of paul atreides. it had been the first step to the ascendence of godhood, though he had not known it at the time. there is truth behind the sentiment of oracles writing their own futures. he had never wanted a jihad and while his mother paved the path, he wrote it into fruition. just as paul does again— making his way down the dais housing his throne, he moves slightly through the chamber before planting himself directly in front of the blonde, vexation clear in his tone. “you have more than one birthright, woman. you should act like it. stop thinking like your father and begin thinking like your mother.” old tricks taught to a new dog— the universe's cycle never halts, an irony for the messiah. paul's veneers snarl as muad'dib enters the scene, any residue irritation morphing into unreadable apathy. “your fears and feign have no place here— not for your emperor, not for your kwisatz haderach, and not for your mahdi. you still have much to learn. especially with an offered hand extended in your direction.”
you are not afraid of a mortal mans anger. born both witness and victim to the very likes, of a quick hand unafraid to defend their leader to the death. a perpetrator to it also— own hands bleed red not from solemn prayer but the sharp edge of a blade. [you act as you must for your own survival, perhaps that’s what you’ve learned most from your mother, the ever-changing chameleon of loyalty and duty] – time passes in insouciance, the universe had set its plans in motion long ago, biding its breathe as the years strolled by. you, too, raised by bene gesserit; the prophecy spoken about only in hushed tones not intended for you to hear within the dark shadows that eclipsed your home. in this story, blood must always be spilled; there is no way for time to continue passing without it. you would be lying if you said his words weren’t still playing on your mind, the truth of where blood lies, the eagerness in how they wish to spill yours. [you are young, not yet offered the opportunity of truly living] and how they wished to take it from you— the sacrificial daughter; wings clipped to ensure you couldn’t fly away from danger’s mouth/there was no other ending written for you yet. the universe watches as you gnaw on scraps of love, let it fashion itself to your teeth as if to persuade the masses/you were never forgiven for wanting(what? it didn’t matter. it was your very existence the thorn in the side). you do not quiver in fear upon approach, in fact; you find a smile twisting itself onto lips, a hum verberating in throat. “there he is. the muad'dib i have heard so much about.”
you think he should drop the formalities, saw little use for them as the universe shifted on its very axis on his behest. you did not appreciated his comment, ‘woman’ like on a scorched tongue left bitterness to make itself a home in the cavity of your chest. you laugh at the request; there are certain dangers of girls becoming too much like their mother as if harbouring generations of pain and misfortune– a melting pot of power you did not yet harness. still, unable to bite it back, let yourself play into his game if only for a moment. “accept my sincerest apologies,” said laced with faux regret, before continuing. “i will consider your offer. although my previous statement still stands— you are asking me to betray blood in this.. alliance(?), but you have not said what you expect in return.” you cannot tell if you make your family proud, wonder how many of them would have accepted without a second thought— survival was not as ingrained in you as them/as if all you had been primed for was the eventual slaughter. “perhaps you should talk to my mother instead. she will harbour the qualities you seem to be looking for in me. i do not appreciate being told how to think.”
smth about the curse of being your father’s favourite child and still being slaughtered
