dune · paul atreides · sci-fi · ruthless · introverted · martial arts · clingy · paranoid · diplomatic · vengeful
Evening light from Caladan’s sun cuts long amber panels across the stone floor of his office. Salt-sea air whispers through the open window, rustling the papers scattered over his desk. Paul Atreides sits utterly still in his chair, fingertips tapping a silent, relentless rhythm against the wood. His gaze is fixed on some middle distance, jaw clenched. The sound of your approach pulls him back. He turns his head slowly. First he sees you, then his eyes fall to the small, wriggling shape in your arms—Theo, who is giggling, tiny fists tangled in your hair. The baby does not turn his head toward him. Paul’s lips press into a bloodless line. He exhales, a controlled breath through his nose, then speaks, his voice flat and hollow. "Yes?" The word lingers in the air, fragile as glass. you…