#muahdi

[uri59]

*The Freemen recognizing Paul as their prophesied Leader*:

*The Aiel recognizing Rand*:

[impercre]

@muahdi​ i can’t imagine a version of myself that would not love you. 

He rested a head on her lap, content like as a cat as her hands toyed with his dark, russet hair. “You cannot imagine it because it does not exist,” He insisted gently as he lifted his head. “I searched though all the histories and futures and couldn’t find a single soul that resembled yours. You draw me like a moth to fire. And I can’t imagine where you exist I would not will myself to exist there also because of it.”

[impercre]

@muahdi​ i dream of you. sometimes in my dreams you are singing. sometimes you’re raging at me. 

Chani tensed when the other ghola neared aware of the desperation and need with which he seemed to see her. Her thumb moved in a strange motion at her thigh. It was a forgotten habit from Sietch days centuries passed when a crysknife had been kept there, always at the ready. 

“I am not your Chani,” She said in a hissing whisper. “You dream only of the dead. Muad’Dib.” His name rolled out of her mocking mouth, showing how little she thought he measured up to that legendary conqueror and blood stained prophet he had been cloned from. 

[impercre]

@muahdi​ am i the martyr or are you?

Leto II looked at his father and smiled wickedly. “Does it matter? You will think of yourself as the victim and martyr regardless,” He said. “It seems to me to be the natural bent of your mind to see yourself as a victim.”

[impercre]

To Be Held prompts | accepting

@muahdi​ [ RELIEF ] - sender gives receiver a relieved hug.

Leto froze his arms hovering around Hwi without pulling her in. It was a thing so long desired it felt unreal to finally have. This was not merely his fellow ghola but the Lady Hwi Norree he remembered. He had feared this awakening, fearful of the violence and terror that might be needed to birth it. 

Yet here she was at last. He breathed in and finally pulled her against him tightly. “Do you remember it all, beloved? Have you ached to feel yourself in my arms as I have ached to hold you?”

[pyshcic]

    ʾ ➻       with  @muahdi .

         A milky cast to her stare,  a foggy display just barely obscuring the deep red of her iris  ––  a hunger inherent,  a thirst so visceral it catches in her throat as she stares onwards,  boring a hole into the chest of the man before her.  All this is physically,  tangibly,  obvious  [at least,  to those of this inhuman creation,  clay-baked creatures with someone else’s blood running hot beneath their skin];  and yet  ––– !  How “yet” is such a brilliant word for a girl such as Alice,  a wide eyed  &  pretty-toothed darling.  She soaks in the possibility of happiness despite herself,  willful misinterpretation of the burning seethe in the pit of her stomach,  turning it from violent ends to violent delights.  She sits motionless,  focused,  a softness,  still,   to her gaze.

         ❝ If I asked you quite nicely, ❞  she says,  moving her eyes to meet Paul’s but leaving her head positioned just as it was.  ❝ And if I said it was important to me  ––  would you promise me something? ❞  Tone is light in contrast to her heavy,  sincere gaze.  God grant the wherewithal to maintain herself,  she has the instinct to pray,  but finds herself resenting the thought  (can’t seem to finger the reason!).  As if to make light her request,  perhaps to goad him to allow it,  she brings her lips to a slow curve  ––  kindness,  warmth  to beget  good  will  from  her  companion!    ❝ It won’t be difficult for you,   I swear. ❞

[mooonburn]

' 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 . . . ? ' her voice is uncharacteristically thin - pretense abandoned , never anything more than a fleeting and pesky buzzing at her ear ; so insignificant it hardly registered . the look of him cut into her and through her , never had chani felt so thoroughly seen by someone else .

chani liet-kynes , freeman , daughter , and now . . . mother herself , the woman who did not give water to the dead even at the death of her father , wept openly . her fine featured , elfen face such a portrait of agonies - those blue on blue eyes of hers beg for every comfort she cannot muster asking for . instead , she reaches for him , she is always reaching for him - he is the antithesis of ending and beginning , death and birth . he is the womb from which everything begins and ends .

[impercre]

@muahdi​ If God does not love you, how could you have done all the things you have done?

That voice felt like a warm hand against his skin Otheym’s place in a Harkonnen cell. He turned, his hands bound together and raw at the wrist from the Krimskel Fiber rope that kept him tethered below. 

He rose to his feet, blue-within-blue eyes wide as he gazed upward. The milk white of his Lord’s skin seemed to glow not unlike a crysknife in certain lights. He did not hesitate to try and make the climb up to the small window where he stood reaching down to him. If he were not a Fremen he would weep as he reached for his hand. “I am to be executed tomorrow, bless me.” He said as their fingertips finally touched and Otheym’s wrists began to bleed.  “Bless me. Do not let me die un-shriven.”