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☀️ ᴀʟɪɴᴀ sᴛᴀʀᴋᴏᴠ. ([personal profile] peasant) wrote2028-06-09 01:16 am

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dictator: (pic#17216852)

[personal profile] dictator 2025-01-26 11:23 pm (UTC)(link)
You'd say a good husband would give you orgasms, then?

Alina, you're going to make me blush.


( """going to""" hahaha )

He would've loved you. He was always very generous with his compassion, always kind when cruelty was easier. He probably would've called you his daughter. ( unlike paul's mother who, at best, tolerates alina. at worst, actively plots to separate them. her christmas gifts are still a sore spot for him. ) And our children will inherit your guile, and your strength, and most importantly, your presence.
You know, I could show him to you. A memory of him at least, if you wanted to see what he was like.
It might feel a little invasive, though. You can say no.

Alina. Please. That could not be further from true.
dictator: (pic#17216810)

[personal profile] dictator 2025-01-27 01:59 am (UTC)(link)
Can you? ( x to doubt ) I'd like to see that. It's settled, then.

No, it won't hurt. It'll be more like a movie we watch together, but in your mind where I put it. I won't go digging for anything, I'll just be leaving a little something behind.
Maybe I could do something very small, like a picture instead of a memory, and see if it's okay for you? Otherwise, if the Library ever opens back up I'll see if I can get a drawing of him.


( man with ingrained technology trauma forgets pictures are a thing for a second )

PS: The Kwisatz Haderach does see all, including his beautiful wife.
dictator: (pic#17216866)

[personal profile] dictator 2025-01-27 03:23 am (UTC)(link)
I suppose you'll have to take what I give you, and not come before you're allowed.

( sweating, pausing two seconds to see if he's going to be yelled at, carrying on )

You'll know my thoughts and feelings at that time, but you won't be me in the memory. You'll be watching it from a third perspective. It might feel confusing, but it shouldn't be hard to separate between the two of us. I'll be there to help you.
If it is too much, you can tell me and I will end the memory.

PS: What is the punishment for heresy, my goddess?
dictator: (pic#17216792)

[personal profile] dictator 2025-01-28 01:12 am (UTC)(link)
I like it when you call me that.

( an easier admittance with the boundary of phone screens between them. it's not the kink part that gives him pause — more, a question left open in the ether, a burgeoning shame, is it okay to enjoy something that has so recently harmed you? if alina is his patron saint, then this is his confessional. he's sure she will steer him right if he's on the wrong path, as any goddess would. )

It will be a good memory, that I can promise. Most of my memories of my father are good.

PS: Unrelated, I am a heretic.
dictator: (pic#17216806)

→ action

[personal profile] dictator 2025-01-31 02:39 am (UTC)(link)
No, not to me.
You want to know something? I really like you. I think you could call me anything, and I'd answer.

I did. And I do, still.

PS: I'm sure I can come up with something, if my penance is as rewarding as kneeling between your legs.


( he actually types and sends that right outside the door, but waits a few proprietary seconds before letting himself in. so alina can read it firstly, and then a few extra seconds so she doesn't think it strange he didn't just — say it in person. which he might've, if he thought about it.

regardless, he enters in the room, and it becomes apparent why coming back to her took so long — in one hand he has a wrapped bouquet of iris flowers, a tray tucked under his arm. the tray is technically for kettlewing, who is instead making paul look particularly pregnant, tucked into the wide pocket of his hoodie which was the only thing that stopped him crying. in any case, paul drops the flowers on her bedside table, along with his phone, reaching a hand out to push back her sweaty hair, bending to press a kiss on her forehead.
)

Hi. ( sitting, he shuffles kettlewing out of his pocket, who looks about ready to start wailing again, before paul presses him carefully to alina's side. he's warm from a recent brew, it might help her cramps if her stomach's hurting. ) He's full of broth right now. No, um. No vegetables or anything.

( because that feels a little gross, but if he said that out loud, the tears would probably start up again. in any case. paul also pulls out a bag of gummy worms from the pocket, and tossing them beside her on the bed. he keeps one hand on her head, thumbing her temple, idly checking her temperature. )

How are you feeling? Any better?
dictator: (pic#17216840)

[personal profile] dictator 2025-02-02 04:17 am (UTC)(link)
( he smiles at her, ever fond, paul's small and shy smile that he reserves for moments like these — when he heart is full, and alina's being cute, and he has no idea what to do with all the emotion in his chest but flush happily about it. his fingers thread through her hair, a little dirty but still silky smooth, and he pushes it behind her ear, so he can stroke the bend of her jaw, thinking about kissing her everywhere.

a nod of assent then, drawing his hand down her shoulder, comfortingly.
)

Yeah. I'll just change.

( the sweater, mostly saved from kettlewing's salty bouillon tears gets left on the foot of the bed in case alina gets the chills. it's shortly followed by his wet, gross shirt, which paul puts in its rightful place in the hamper. he fusses around a little, stealing a mug full of paint water from alina's painting area, dumping and filling it with fresh water, trimming the irises swiftly down to size before setting them inside in an artful display. all in all it takes less than a minute for him to slide into bed beside her, propped up a little higher on the pillows to pull her into his chest, resting her head on his shoulder, an arm down over her back. kettlewing is a hot compress almost smushed between them, but paul doesn't mind, sighing contentedly to his weird, porcelain birdy sounds. )

Comfortable?
dictator: (pic#17216750)

[personal profile] dictator 2025-02-12 03:42 am (UTC)(link)
( how rude. paul huffs a laugh, small and genuine, paternally smoothing alina's hair back down her skull, twisting the ends around the knuckles of his first two fingers, braiding it like a ring around him. he wonders what alina's expression would look like, if he asked for a lock of her hair to have on him always — he imagines equal parts wry and endeared, and smiles dumbly at himself, tilting his head down to nose into her hairline.

he also wasn't listening, so it takes a second to play catch-up in the conversation. then, on auto-pilot —
)

They don't. Zapodidae do though, and they're a little like the kangaroo mice of Arrakis.

( responsibly, he picks up her offered goodies and tears open the pull tab of the plastic, more than a little amused she couldn't do that much — but also a little warm and soft and humbled he gets to take care of her even in the small, silly ways. he fingers through lesser flavors at the top of the bag and picks out a strawberry pink bear, holding it in front of alina's mouth for her to eat. he gets another one ready for her, whenever she wants it, pinched between his pointer and thumb finger.

and, since he imagines he'll have to be the one to broach the subject, he injects it a little clumsily,
)

How do you feel about the memory-share now?
dictator: (pic#17216766)

[personal profile] dictator 2025-02-23 03:47 am (UTC)(link)
( he blushes, teased, but happy for it, acting the part of an abruptly feral animal to snuffle and snort at her, bending down and nipping at her cheek. it's easy them, to bully alina onto her back, paul maneuvering like a warm breeze over dunes to slide between her legs, propped up on his knees, catching kettlewing by his back before he can splash hot soup all over alina and the bed. the bird gets resettled against her side, paul shrugging while he positions her knees on his hips, caging him in. )

Maybe. Well — not running away, but changing your mind is allowed. It's still allowed.

( hands curve over her bony knees, sliding down the tops of her freckled thighs, landing at her hips, loosely covered by lazy sleep shorts. paul edges up the hem of his sweatshirt, just enough to stroke his thumbs against her stomach, wondering if he might be able to cash in his learning ravkan reward now, after all. well — nowish. first things first. )

You know ... Okay. Imagine a hard-boiled egg. ( he gives her a look. ) Just stick with me. You know, if you push your thumb against it, there's some give, but when you take your thumb away there's no imprint. In this case, your mind is the hard boiled egg, and my memory is the thumb. It'll fill a gap, long enough for both of us to see it, and when it ends, it'll just be you again. ( cozying down, he props his chin up between her breasts, weight distributed down her middle, a little like an oversized cat finding the most comfortable and inconvenient spot to lounge on. ) Okay?