#fanfic writing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

houserautha · 3 days

Text

These Destined Ends

Part Ten

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: talk of death and dying, grief, reader gets to a pretty bad place, stabbing

A/N: It’s earlyyyyy. If this was a Friends episode, it would be called, “The One Where Reader Loses Her Goddamn Mind”

As a child, Gurney would take you to the seashore to reward you for a particularly good session, whether it be academic or physical training. You used to look forward to these rare occasions. Not only because you loved the sea, but because your beloved mentor would loosen and his scarred face would slip into a semblance of a smile. On this specific day, you remember the sky being impossibly blue and the water still as a puddle.

You had reveled in your good fortune.

Laughing, you had initiated your favorite activity — chasing the waves down the shore then running away as the tide crashed at your heels. The memory of that day invoked a sense of warmth and safety, enveloped by the sunlight and the briny smell of the sea.

You had taken a break from your antics to catch your breath when you noticed dimples forming in the sand whenever the water receded.

You squatted down, sea-sprayed pants rolled to your calves, to inspect your discovery. After a few moments, you realized that snails are causing the dimples, being no longer than your pinky nail and entombed in pastel-colored shells. Delighted, you watched them scurry to bury themselves in the sand before trying to grab one for yourself. You dug fervently in the wet sand, giggling as they slipped out of your still chubby fingers.

Finally, finally, you managed to scoop up a hunk of crumbling sand that hosted one of the tiny snails.

Crying out triumphantly, you hurriedly brushed the sand from its purple-colored shell and then held it up to the sun. The small, nearly translucent creature disappeared into its home. But you didn’t care. You found it and it’s yours. Gurney, sitting in the sand a few feet away, calls, “What did you find?”

You skipped over to him. Slowly uncurling your careful grip, you showed him your treasure.

“It’s a snail,” you had told him enthusiastically, “I caught him in the tide.”

Gurney smiled indulgently at you. “How cunning you are, Lady Y/N.”

You started to dance, nonsensical and without rhyme or reason, the dance of small children so possessed by happiness that you needed to release it somehow. “I’m going to take it home and show Papa,” you said as you spun away, snail clutched to your chest.

Later, Gurney approached you. His feet had been bare and encrusted with sand, face reddened by too much sun. He squinted at you. “Lady Y/N, I must tell you something.”

“Hm?” You had been busy balancing on a piece of driftwood, arms spread out like wings. You had transferred the snail to your pocket after worrying your sweaty palms would lose grip on him.

“You must return your friend to the sea.” When you gazed up at him in disbelief, he ruffled your hair. “It will die if you take it from its home.”

“But…but I love him,” you said with child-like solemnity. Your lower lip jetted out.

Gurney’s smile turned pitying. “I know you do, Lady Y/N. You have a gentle heart. But sometimes, when you love something, you must let it go so it can be happy and safe. You want your snail to be happy, don’t you?”

You paused and considered this, then nodded.

Stepping off the driftwood, you moved a few paces closer to the shoreline and laid the snail lovingly atop it. It wiggled into the sodden sand and vanished as the tide washed over it.

Tears that you were too ashamed to shed burned your eyes, and you sniffed.

“You did the right thing, Lady Y/N,” Gurney had told you, “because of you he will live another day.”

You thought that by journeying to Giedi Prime, by marrying the na-Baron, you would be ensuring the happiness and safety of your family and beloved mentor.

But now, like the tide washing over the snail, they were gone.

At first, you were detached from reality, wavering slightly. Asha and Feyd and the servants stared at you. It felt as if a numbing agent had swept over you, completely obliterating any sense of self. You ran the words over and over in your mind, hoping that if you repeated them enough you might be able to change their meaning.

The House of Atreides has fallen. The House of Atreides has fallen. The House of Atreides has —

Tears blurred your vision. Your lower lip trembled. You said, very quietly, “You did this.”

“Y/N,” Asha had said, stepping towards you.

“You did this,” you repeated louder, voice loathsomely tremulous. The numbness in you turned sharp and jagged. “You did this. You knew. You knew.”

Asha started, “We didn’t —”

“You think we did this?” Feyd snapped.

You barely heard him as the pieces fell into place, memories of the last few months surfacing and creating your gruesome truth. The threats from Rabban, the Sardaukar soldiers, Rabban’s recent departure. There was no doubt the Harkonnens were behind your family’s downfall. Had they all known? Were you just another pawn in another game that you hadn’t wanted to play?

Hysteria crept into your tone. “You knew. You knew. And you lied! You fucking lied! All this time you knew they were going to kill my family and neither of you did anything.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Feyd sneered.

Asha looked to him, alarmed. “na-Baron, perhaps this isn’t the best time to —”

“If I wanted to kill your family, I would’ve done it on our wedding day,” Feyd continued as if she hadn’t spoken. He advanced on you. “We had no hand in their deaths.”

“Don’t come near me.” You held up a hand to prevent him from getting any closer. Your gaze flickered between Asha and Feyd, to the servants watching the entire scene unfold with wide eyes. “None of you come near me.”

“Y/N —”

“GET OUT!” You screamed. Tears had streamed down your face then, which was surely reddened by anger and grief. “All of you! Get out!”

The servants scurried away, leaving Asha and Feyd in their wake. They stared at you; Asha in fright, Feyd’s expression unreadable. Your whole body shook with the concentrated effort not to launch yourself at them. “I never want to see either of you for as long as I live.”

Feyd’s mouth worked. “Fine.”

He spun on his heel and disappeared. Asha lingered momentarily, seemingly searching for something to say, but ultimately ended up trailing after the na-Baron with her head low. Now that you were alone, you flung yourself into your quarters and started pushing furniture in front of the door.

You wanted to be alone. And you never wanted to see another Harkonnen again.

That had been, what — three days ago? Four? You had stopped keeping track. After barricading the doors, you had alternated between wailing your sorrows and destroying everything you hadn’t pushed in front of the door. Then, from that night and into the next two days, you had curled into a corner of the room and slipped in and out of consciousness, getting up only to relieve yourself.

It was the third day, then, that Feyd began knocking. At least, that’s what it started as.

Soon he was pounding on the door, throwing his body against it, screaming and cursing and crying out your name. He roared, “You can’t stay in there forever!”

Each strike of his fists on the wood reverberated through you like a physical blow. Not once did you respond to him, much to his ire, demanding that you let him know you’re still alive.

Were you?

You weren’t sure. And even if you were, you had nothing to say to him.

Your sadness was a living, breathing thing, its arms reaching around your middle in an embrace that slowly squeezed the air from your lungs. You could feel it compressing your bones, your blood, pressing down on you with merciless force. Everything melted together in a devastating act.

And then, in fragments of time when you could wade through your crushing grief, grim realization would settle in.

The last time you had seen Jessica, you not only insulted her status but dismissed her from your presence. She’d tried to reconcile, through your father, of course, but you had denied her even that. Would you have felt as justified in your decision if you knew she would be dead soon?

Your heart panged at the thought of Leto, too — how you had so cowardly ran from him to avoid his disapproval of you. And now…now you would never see them again. Never hug your mother or feel the brush of your father’s beard on your cheek, inhale their familiar scents.

You were alone. Completely alone.

And worst of all? It was the fault of the people you had just decided worthy enough to trust.

This delivered a hit to you almost more crippling than the deaths of your family: the death of the new family you thought you found. Asha. Feyd. Their faces circled through your mind. You did your best to shove them away but sometimes you thought you saw them in the corner of your eye, heard Asha’s musical laugh or caught the fluid, graceful movements of Feyd’s stride.

And each time you turned in a flurry of hope that they were there. Because, despite their betrayal, you wanted them there to comfort you.

The fifth day passed. Your images of them increased, to the point that you staged arguments with them and raged and sobbed and came undone. You vaguely realized that the food you kept refusing was affecting you, the poison your body now depended on taking its toll without daily reinforcement. Your days became delusions and fake conversations. You were weak, mentally and physically, unable to move. Some of the nausea and fever returned from the first few days after dosing, too, rendering you powerless.

Your mind played tricks on you. A memory of Caladan superimposed on top of Feyd’s mouth, his body on yours, Gurney and your parents and the sea and the snail and your own bloodstained hands. The Feyd your subconscious conjured found you like that — crumpled and spent and sodden with tears — after you imagined he broke into your quarters.

Unlike the other images, however, this time he scooped you into his arms and carried you to the bed where he laid you down on the bedclothes and plied you with something bitter-tasting that drifted you off to sleep.

A bright light washes over you, and you slowly open your eyes. The first thing you notice is a warmth inside you that previously had been missing. Then, that you’re lying in the bed and the room has been cleaned and, for the most part, rearranged.

You jolt up. There’s a cuff around your left wrist, keeping you bound to the bed. It rattles as you yank on it, urgency seizing you.

“It’s just a cautionary measure, na-Baroness.”

A woman glides into view. By the crown of dark haired braided back from her forehead, you know she’s not Harkonnen. The woman stops at the end of the bed and smiles reassuringly.

“Who are you?” You croak.

“My name is Doctor Wyn. I am a physician that’s been called in to aid your recovery.”

You consider this. “Feyd-Rautha called you.” She nods at this, and in response you recline back against the pillows. “I don’t want to see him.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Wyn says. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, I suppose.”

“Your body was suffering from the lack of nourishments and, without your dosage of poison, severely unable to regulate itself. Did you suffer any…delusions? It’s mostly commonly associated with poison withdrawal. I want to clarify what you remember of the last few days.

You hesitate but eventually recount your memories, including seeing Asha and Feyd. “The last thing I remember is a vision of…him.”

Wyn hums. “I suspect that was real, na-Baroness. He’s the one who managed to get to you. And in good time, too, you were close to death.”

“He…found me?”

“Yes, na-Baroness.”

You think back to your fragmented memory of the event, of Feyd’s pale, concerned face hovering over you as he tucked you into his body.

That had been real?

“Did he put you up to this?” You ask.

“No, he did not,” Wyn answers with a hint of amusement, “but he has been waiting anxiously for you to awake. Do you mind if I inform him? I will only be gone for a moment.”

You nod your assent. The thought of Feyd makes your stomach twist uneasily.

When she leaves, you turn your gaze up to the ceiling. The last few days float over you, the news of your family’s deaths. The numbness is now replaced with something you can’t quite name — not sadness or grief. It’s almost peaceful, except for a flicker of anger.

Wyn returns. You’ve moved yourself fully upright and flattened down your hair. The surprise is evident on her face. You tell her, “Let him in.”

“na-Baroness, are you sure?”

“Yes. Do it now.”

Wyn nods again before leaving. This time, the sound of approaching footsteps is only too familiar. Feyd freezes when he sees you. An indecipherable expression crosses his face before disappearing behind his usual indifference.

You take him in greedily — the contours of his face, his broad shoulders, plush lips. All of this pales in comparison, though, to the scar that starts at his right brow and slices across his nose to the opposite cheek.

Feyd examines you. “You look like shit.”

“I could say the same to you.” You want to know what caused the scar, but you don’t want him to know that you care. “Why did you save me?”

“It would be terribly inconvenient for me if you died.”

“Are you sure it’s not because I’m the only thing linking you to Arrakis?”

Feyd’s gaze hardens. “Explain.”

“Arrakis,” you repeat like it’s obvious, “isn’t that why all of this is happening? I’m the last of the Atreides line and as my husband you stand to inherit the planet.” And the spice trade.

“Admittedly, I’ve given thought to it,” Feyd says with a tired sigh, “as did my uncle, who I suspect orchestrated this entire tragedy.”

“Don’t separate yourself from him,” you hiss.

“Did you not hear me?” Feyd rounds the bed to your side. “The Baron has been acting of his own accord, scheming behind our backs, wife, with my idiot brother. And while we should’ve been retaliating, you’ve been…here.”

“Here, what? Mourning my family?”

“Do you not wish to avenge them?”

Your tongue rolls in your cheek. “I do.”

It’s true — his words fan the anger in you into a burning inferno. You do want to avenge them. You want the Baron to pay for what he’s done.

Feyd sits down on the edge of the bed, his weight dipping the mattress. His hand twitches as if to grab yours but ultimately thinks better of it.

“We can’t do it if you do not trust me and believe me complacent,” he says. “Tell me what I must do to prove it to you.”

You don’t reply. Instead, you stare at him, achingly beautiful, this man whose darkness calls out to yours. You can tell that he is earnest about this. His suggestion is a summation of your relationship thus far, you push him and he pushes back harder. Only, this time, you would push last.

“You hurt me,” you murmur, “and now I want you to feel the same.”

“How?” Feyd asks. Did you imagine his eyes flick down to your mouth?

“Give me your dagger.”

His movements are slow, deliberate. Not once does he tear his gaze from yours as he unsheathes the dagger at his hip. Feyd presses the handle of it into your palm. It’s heavy, a weight you’re not certain you can even wield in your current condition. You wrap your fingers around its leather grip.

And Feyd never even flinches as you plunge the dagger into him.

Part Eleven

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @kpopnstarwars @m-indkiller @dacreshoney @stopeatread @the-na-baroness @therealslimshady-1

#feyd rautha #dune #feyd x reader #feyd x you #fanfic writing #writers on tumblr #writing #feyd rautha harkonnen

205 notes · View notes

iminkandpaper · 2 days

Text

Favourite genre of fanfics is Found Family: Accidental Dad Edition

114 notes · View notes

allaboutlov3 · 2 days

Text

Imagine a world where Harry was raised by James and Regulus. Where the Order took care of Voldemort and Harry has to go to school with all these random people looking up to him because his dads were a part of the people who saved the world. He grew up with the expectation to be someone great. While he never wanted to be anything but a normal kid.

And Draco has to go to school knowing that Harrys dad is responsible for robbing his father from him. For destroying his childhood. He grew up in silence and shame. While he never did anything but be a kid.

Imagine these boys meet. Imagine they fall in love. What a tale to tell.

103 notes · View notes

onceuponapuffin · 2 days

Text

Fanatic Intervention Part 5!!

Hiya! Sorry about the delay! Life got in the way there for a bit ^_^" But I am here! With Part 5!!

Beginning || Previous || Next

*************

Crowley had liked Hozier (although Take Me To Church, predictably, wasn’t his favourite), and after whining at Aziraphale that it’s nooooooot ‘bebop,’ you finally managed to get an admission that all right, it wasn’t all that terrible. You took the win.

But the dance party couldn’t last forever. There’s still a world to save, after all.

And so, all of you sat, thumbing through Revelations. Well, Aziraphale and Muriel were. You and Crowley had given up on the fancy Bible-ness of it and googled the Cliff Notes version.

“Ugh,” You say, “John really hated the Romans.”

“Well, yes,” says Aziraphale, “He had decent enough reason, though, as far as humans go.”

“What, he hated indoor plumbing and heated floors?”

“Actually, he hated people of the Christian faith being arrested, tortured, and killed for their beliefs.”

“Oh….yeah that makes sense,” You say, and after a moment you add “...Sorry.”

“That’s quite alright,” Aziraphale replies kindly, “He wrote Revelation as a way to reassure Christians that all of their suffering would mean something in the end. That it must be part of the Great Plan.”

“The Ineffable Plan, you mean,” chimes in Crowley with a smirk. Aziraphale rolls his eyes.

“Yes, that one,” he replies. You notice the microscopic-Michael-Sheen-ian smile on his face as he says it. Honestly, the resemblance is uncanny. Aziraphale continues. “He wanted Christians to feel heard, and to encourage them to hold fast to their faith.”

You pause for a minute before saying anything. Then you remember a tumblr post or something from forever ago.

“Santa Claus,” You finally say. Crowley spurts wine from his nose, and begins to laugh. Aziraphale is confused.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s like Santa Claus,” You say again, “Like ‘be good, and you’ll get presents! it’s almost Christmas Eve! Santa’s watching!’ You know?” You look at Aziraphale imploringly. Crowley is still laughing. Aziraphale doesn’t look impressed.

“I think that’s rather an over-simplification.”

“Am I wrong?”

“…..It’s...it’s not...That’s not how it works!”

“Oh, okay, so I’m wrong then.”

“Sounds about right to me!” Crowley calls with glee from the other side of the room. Aziraphale looks all flustered, his face beginning to go red. Crowley hands him a glass of wine and Aziraphale downs it in one go.

Okay, winding him up is a great deal of fun, and so easy, but I’m guessing, dear Reader, that you love Aziraphale just as much as I do. You don’t actually want to hurt his feelings. Thus you decide to concede the point.

“So,” You say, “He said he had a dream about things getting really bad and then Jesus coming back and saving everyone.”

“In a nutshell, yes,” Aziraphale sighs, clearly relieved to be back on topic. You think back to old interviews with Neil and Terry about their back-then-hypothetical sequel would look like.

“Okay, well the only thing I know about it was something about it taking place in America. I read in an old interview somewhere that Jesus was meant to descend from the heavens in a private jet with a bunch of like...bodyguard angels or something.”

“America? Again? I mean really.”

You shrug. “Neil Gaiman really likes America.”

“But it doesn’t have to be,” says Muriel now, flipping back through their notes, “You said that the sequel was never written, and the third...season?was still being written too when you left. And you said that book isn’t the same as what happened in the tv show, or the radio show, or the musical. So how do we know it would be the same here?”

They make a good point.

“Maybe ask that author of yours,” says Crowley, looking over from his drink, “You said he answers questions sometimes. Who would he be to deny,” he swishes his glass around with what you suppose is meant to be grandeur, “The Famous Crowley and Aziraphale?” He empties his glass.

“Anathema might be able to find him,” You say after a while, “Jesus, I mean. She did a good job finding everything in Armageddon Part 1. Or Adam. I mean, Jesus is supposed to be all about love, right? Maybe we can convince him not to, you know, end the world.”

Aziraphale hums to himself. “Revelations states that Armageddon is meant to be started by the seven angels of the church, bringing together seven keys. I mean, John could be wrong of course, but I wonder...Could one of you find me a map and search these names? I might have an idea why Mr. Gaiman wanted to set The Second Coming in America.”

Good Reader, guess which country contains cities named after 5 of these 7 angels. I’ll give you three guesses, but you’ll only need one.

And so now we have three directions we can take this story in.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

44 notes · View notes

swag696942069 · 3 days

Text

If I was a better author, I would write all the fic ideas that came into my mind, and then make a Fame AU, where all my previous fics are movies the Marauders and co acted in

40 notes · View notes

amorinthewater · 2 days

Text

James is irrevocably in love with Regulus. He knows that Regulus is it for him. There’s no one else and no one else compares. He has known this and he can’t move past it. He wishes he could obliviate himself.

There’s a party, everyone seems to be here. James is leaning at a corner, drink in hand and head spacing out. His brain is on Regulus Black. He can see him from this corner of the room. Regulus and his friends are gathering on a sofa, drinks all around, laughter flooding the space. Pandora waves at James when she sees him gazing Regulus. Regulus turns his face to see who Pandora is waving at. Their eyes meet and Regulus gives him a small smile. James lifts his glass to greet him and then Regulus returns his attention to his friends. Some time later, Regulus finds him.

“Hi!”

“Hi, Reg.”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Hmmm…”

“When are you going to scoop me into an empty room and take me?”

“Where is this coming from, Reg?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to make a move on me.”

”I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Regulus leans forward, lips touching his ear, “I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

“How do I look at you?”

“Like you want me.”

“A lot of people want you.”

“It’s true. But I don’t want them like I want you.”

“Don’t play.”

“Who says I’m playing? I know what I want, do you?”

“I do.”

“Why don’t you reach out and grab it?”

“Why don’t you grab what you want?”

“I’ve been bold enough for one night.”

“Why today?”

“I can’t take it anymore.”

“What?”

”Your stares.”

“That obvious?”

“Yes but I’ve had years to get used to it.”

”If you knew why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought you might outlast it.”

“What? You?”

“Your obsession with me.”

“It’s alive and kicking.”

“Then… show me.”

“I’ve avoided you for this long for a reason.”

“What’s the reason, James?”

“It doesn’t matter Reg, I won’t bend to your will.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you would destroy me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’ll chew me up and spit me out and I won’t know what to do with all the little pieces of me.”

“You’re that afraid?”

“Oh, I’m mortified.”

“I thought you were brave.”

“I am.”

“It doesn’t show.”

“Not as you might assume. I've mustered the courage to keep my distance from you for years and I’ll continue to brave through for the rest of my life, if I must.”

“Don't you want to seize it?”

“I do. Oh, how I do. But I won’t, Regulus. I won’t do that to myself.”

“I assure you, I won't falter or give in.”

“I know you won’t, but you will break me.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?”

“More than anything.”

“More than having me?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand…”

“I’m a simple man, Reg. I love carelessly and blindly. I don’t play games and I don’t lie. I’ll give myself to you and you will shy in my intent. You’ll think it’s too much. It will feel like everything and it will overwhelm you. And you’ll regret it and you’ll hurt me for it. You’ll grow tired of me and my affections and you’ll resent me. And because I’m soft and caring, I’ll tolerate it and endure it. And then, bit by bit, piece by piece you’ll have your way with me and I’ll let you. You’ll make me pay and that’s when it starts, although all the signs were there prior and I could see them. I will still think I caused it and push you away. I will retreat into myself and you’ll ignore me and I’ll never grow out of it because I’ve never had a chance. Since the very beginning. And I won’t do that to myself.”

He drains the last dregs of his drink, closes his eyes, and lets out a heavy sigh before silently exiting the room. Regulus is left behind, his chest heaving and tears welling in his eyes.

#jegulus #marauders #regulus black #james potter #james x regulus #james loves regulus #regulus loves james #snippet #fanfic #fandom #ao3 #fanfic writing #random snippet #Jegulus snippet #dead gay wizards #regulus arcturus black

23 notes · View notes

clalog · 2 days

Text

Friendly Collaboration: Part 2

Paring: hokeyplayer!sunghoon × onlyfan!reader

Genre: social media!au; academical rivals; smut

Worming: only fans use; smut (mdni please); swearing; probably grammar mistakes (not English speaker/dyslexic)

Synopsis: Sunghoon get obsessed with a only fan creator he casually find on a stressed day and he truly believes he is in love with her even if he never see her face. He doesn't know that behind the screen his is university rival and he doesn't know what kind of deal they'll make

Previous | Next

Clalog Masterlist | Serie Masterlist

⚠️This is a work of fiction, every reference of character sexuality or personality are from the mind of the author for plot purposes and DO NOT describe the real life person

⚠️Everything on this fiction is from the mind of the author, the stolen of the story or parts of it is punishable by law

All banners made by @cafekitsune

Tag List Open

@deobitifull @namdeyuoi @heelovesmeknot @cheese-fri24 @yubinswrld @jungwonsstrawberriesnchocolate @tasnim10

#enhypen #enhypen fic #enhypen imagines #enhypen smut #enhypen sunghoon #enha #enha x reader #enha sunghoon #enhypen smau #enha smau #enha smut #sunghoon enhypen #park sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon #fanfic writing #kpop fanfic #kpop #clalogfic

22 notes · View notes

localcanadiancryptid22 · 13 hours

Text

Leshycatpril Week 3: Nightmares

Oneshot fic for my Nightmares entry. Plus this is set in an au where leshy is the follower and enzo/yellow cat is the revived chaos god,because i can. Also @aniflowers i meant roleswap when i asked about using aus in the ask,i worded it wrong lol. Enzo is yellow cat btw.

//////////////////////

Enzo wakes up in the middle of darkwood,seeming to have teleported there despite him not having his crown's powers anymore. He then walks across the area and then he ends up finding some camellias.

'Camellias.. Leshy loves these heh.' the yellow cat thought to himself,and he pushes the thought aside to keep walking in order to find a way back to the cult.

Enzo walks and walks for what seems to be hours until his legs gets tired from traveling for such a long time so he sits against a tree to rest for a bit. He notices it's dark out by then.

"Ugh it's night time. How will i get back to the cult and my beloved worm now?. And i'm too tired to keep traveling by foot." enzo complains,not talking to anyone in particular,just saying his thoughts out loud.

The scenery suddenly starts to become darker and darker as if shadows begun to envelope the forest. Then the yellow cat heard a voice yelling "He's over here!" to unknown associates. And before he knew it enzo got all his limbs tied up.

"Where are you taking me?!." enzo hissed at his captors. The big boar man carrying him then looked at him and opened his mouth to speak. "Don't you remember?,we were your old sacrifices when you were still the bishop of chaos. You had us hanged drawn and quartered,had us burnt at the stake,made sure that we had the most painful deaths possible. So we are going to make you go through the horrible demise to make you pay for doing so." the boar says to the yellow cat,with the other two former sacrifices which are a dog and a fox respectively listening to the two's conversation.

"But that's impossible! You're all dead! I made sure of it!." enzo says to the trio. "And the lamb resurrected us after finding our corpses at the outside of darkwood. Looks like we're gonna have our revenge boys." the boar says to his associates and then they all keep walking to a remote area in darkwood,which has a cauldron boiling at the center.

Enzo then realizes what's going to happen to him and then he starts crying. "Please! Please don't do this!. I have a boyfriend to go to!. Mercy! Mercy please for the love of the old faith!." enzo pleads to the trio tearfully.

"Did YOU listen to our pleas when we were getting sacrificed for you to selfishly gain more power?." the fox says to enzo who shakes his head in disagreement.

The yellow cat is then placed into the cauldron and the former sacrifices put more oil into the fire to make it stronger. Enzo can feel himself starting to burn and his skin rapidly starts peeling and blood gushes out from his now furless skin as he screams and cries for his captors to take him out but he burns and burns until he eventually dies.

Then enzo wakes up crying beside leshy in their tent together,with the cat realizing that it was just a dream.

The cat whimpers and cries softly as he hugs himself to soothe his own terrible nightmare as he doesn't want to wake up leshy with something so embarrassing for the former god of chaos,something that made him become so helpless and powerless. 𝘗𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤 as his inner voice chastises.

Leshy then wakes up from hearing enzo's quiet sniffling via his strong hearing. "Hey. What's wrong zozo?." the worm asks enzo who's still crying.

"It's nothing. I'm fine." enzo says to his beloved as his voice breaks even more. The worm hugs enzo and then he kisses the latter on the forehead.

"You don't look fine kitty. You know you can tell me anything right?." leshy says to enzo softly who blushes in response. "I know. But it's kinda silly." enzo says then he laughs sheepishly while leshy wipes off his tears.

"Silly is okay with me. Now what or who made you cry?." leshy asks enzo. "I had a nightmare about my sacrificed followers getting resurrected and then they cooked me alive as revenge for the painful deaths i gave them. It was so scary. I thought it was real." the yellow cat says to leshy and then he cries even more.

"Oh kitty.." leshy says to enzo and then he hugs him a bit tighter,giving him kisses on the head. "It wasn't real. It was just a bad dream. You're safe with me now." leshy says to enzo and then he kisses him softly on the lips,the cat then kisses back and pulls away.

"Thank you lesh. I love you." enzo says to leshy. "I love you too. Also before we go back to sleep,what made you think that the bad dream was silly?." leshy asks. He then keeps hugging enzo.

"Well it's because i felt so helpless and pathetic in it. Because it's so humiliating for a former chaos god to feel that way... I hate being a powerless mortal." enzo explains to his boyfriend and then he frowns.

"Oh. Well at least this powerless mortal is loved by his awesome boyfriend right?." leshy teases enzo and then he wraps his arm around enzo's back. "I guess so. That's one good thing about being mortal." enzo says and then he yawns.

"Good night leshy." enzo says to leshy. "Good night zozo." leshy says to enzo and then he lies down along with enzo,spooning him from behind and hugging him tightly so that he won't have bad dreams anymore.

20 notes · View notes

simplydannie · 16 hours

Text

Part 1 || Parts 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

After running from his sisters outrage, Veneer found himself in alley where he met a very familiar little friend.

The meeting is cut short as a new face comes in to save Branch. Finally being able to leave, something stops Branch… he somehow can’t leave Veneer behind to the dangers of Under Rageous.

Branch squinted his eyes, taking in the sight in front of him. Same pale skin, deep blue eyes, the darn swooped up hair, it was definitely Veneer. A smile spread wide on the boy's face.

“You’re Floyds brother!” He called. “H-how is he? I wrote to him and he never wrote back. Is he okay? Is he better? How did you get here? Is he here too? Is the rest of Brozone here? Is….." Branch ran up to Veneer covering his mouth with his tiny hands. This kid was a yapper.

“Dude. Calm down. You’re giving me anxiety.” Branch scowled.

“Sorry! I’m a little nervous.” Veneer kneeled on all fours to get at level with the little Troll. That’s when Branch noticed the faint bruises all along Veneers face, a scar healing above his lip…. This wasn’t the same flawless face he had laid eyes on a year ago at the Rage Dome. Branch glanced behind him, noticing the unconscious Rageons laying on the ground.

“Did you do that?” Branch asked in surprise. Veneer cocked his head unsure of what he was talking about at first. He then turned around.

“Oh! Y-yeah. Good thing there was a crowbar nearby.” He chuckled. He turned back to Branch. “I know you’re Floyd’s brother, but I don’t know your name.”

The little Troll was hesitant. This was the same face that tortured his brother a year ago, nearly killed him…. But then he did admit to his wrong doings, he did just save him, and he hasn’t tried kidnapping him…yet. He had to proceed with caution.

“Branch.” He said coldly, crossing his arms. “And where the heck am I? You’re here, but this doesn’t look like Mount Rageous.”

“It’s because it isn’t. Umm.” Veneer extended his hand on the ground, waiting and hoping the small Troll would take the friendly gesture. Branch hesitated, Be ready for anything, he thought to himself. Eventually, Branch mounted Veneers hand. Gently, like carrying something delicate, Veneer walked over out of the alley. Without being chased, with everything calm, Branch was able to take in the scenes for the first time.

The buildings where stacked on top of each other, bunched up crowded reaching the sky. Streets and walkways unkept, broken, cracked. Nothing but neon artificial light lit up the city as far as he could see. It was high tech for being somewhat run down, Branch would give it that. He stared straight up. Far above he noticed clouds, the cloud line, bright lights barely shining through…

“Is that, Mount Rageous? Then what’s this place?”

“It adopted the name ‘Under Rageous’. It’s…. It’s a lot different down here than it is up there.” Veneer explained.

“Obviously. Mount Rageous was too colorful, this place, well, hardly anything.”

“We make do.”

Branch glanced at the Rageoun confused. “What do you mean?”

“We….Me and Velvet…. This is where we’re from…. I found Floyd down her before….” He voice and eyes trailed off as he avoided eye contact with Branch. “….It can be hard down here…”

“How hard?” Branch asked….

….What they didn’t notice, hiding in the cracks in the buildings above them, was a gray little Troll. He’d been eyeing them, watching them the whole time. He peeked his head out ever so slightly; he wore a dark blue beanie that covered his Troll dark blue hair except for a piece that covered his right eye, he wore sa denim-like material that was fashioned into a sleeveless vest, the same material he used for his pants. He was young, a Troll born and raised in Under Rageous… and throughout all his 17 years of life, he never saw a Rageon and Troll interact in such a casual manner. The young Troll kept a watchful eye, waiting for the opportune moment.

“Just… hard.” Veneer didn’t explain any further, and Branch didn’t push it. “How…. How did you end up here?”

“I was….taken….Pop Troll Village was attacked. Some of us kidnapped. I was able to escape with a few others… everyone else… I don’t know.” Branches voice and gaze grew distant, remembering the events that occurred that day.

“Is…Is…Floyd okay?” Veneer asked with a desperation in his voice. Branch arched an eyebrow.

“You care?”

Veneer turns his gaze away, looking at something at the ground. A sense of guilt hit Branch, maybe he did….

“I don’t know…I don't know what happened. That’s why I have to get out and go back.” Branch finally responded. Veneer turned back to look at Branch. He noticed and knew that look all to well…it’s a look he would constantly give his sister….worry.

“I can…help you…” Veneer finally replied after sharing a silent moment. The Trolls small ears perked up.

“R-really?”

“Y-yeah. But ummm…. Could we go with you?”

Great. Branch was not in the mood to make promises. Did he want to take the kids with him? No. He didn’t trust him, he didn’t trust his sister. What if this was some trick Veneer was plotting? A plot to get closer to the Trolls, find their destination, take them all…. But what if Branch said no? Would Veneer still want to help him?

“I….”

SWOOSH. THUMP. THUD.

Something came swinging in, hitting Veneer full force on the chest, knocking him off his feet. Branch went tumbling out of his hand and onto the floor with a small thud. He rubbed his head as he stood up.

“Ven-..” Another little Troll came up to Branch, covering his mouth.

“Shh! Let’s go!” The dark blue haired Troll with a dark blue beanie pulled Branch along after, heading back into the alley.

“Wait. What? Who are you?”

“Hurry up!” The young Troll ran until they made their way into a crack in the building. The Troll looked at Branch and heldl a finger to his lips.

“Branch? Branch?” He could hear Veneer call out as he rubbed his chest. Peeking through the crack, Branch could see Veneer peeking and overturning debris to find him.

“Who are you?” He asked looking at the young Troll.

“….Tye.…My name is Tye.” Tye peeked through the cracks as the young Rageon outside kept digging through the debris.

“Branch!” Veneer called out again.

“I don’t think he’s all that bad-..”

“Shhh!”

The two Rageons that Veneer had knocked out earlier regained consciousness. They wabbled their way to Veneer, holding their heads, letting out small moans of pain.

“You…. You stupid little freak!” One exclaimed, a fury growing in his eyes. Veneer quickly got up from all fours, he turned and ran….

THUD!

He slammed into a body that was standing right behind him. Veneer fell back again, he stared up the tall Rageon: pale skin like them all, orange stringy hair style into a Mohawk. A cybernetic eye on his left, matching his clawed prosthetic arm.

“Wel, well, well. I should be honored. The one and only Veneer everyone!” He gestured to the young Rageon still on the ground.

The Trolls watched silently from the cracks of the building.

“Okay. They’re distracted, let’s go.” Tye attempted to pull Branch along.

“Wait.”

“For what? Let’s go!”

“Wait!” Branch exclaimed, peering through the cracks.

“H-how do you know m-my name?” Veneer stuttered.

“Isn’t that what you guys wanted? ‘Baby, remember my name’” He sang mockingly. “Oh you were famous down here as much as you were up there. Only for the wrong reasons.” The Rageon gazed and fiddled with his prosthetic arm as he continued to speak. “You and your sister, Under Rageons living the luxurious life. And you didn’t bend a finger to help out the rest of us down here.”

At his last words the orange haired Rageon grabbed Veneer's neck with his prosthetic, robotic arm, he began to squeeze tightly leaving Veneer choking and gasping for air. The rest of the Rageons smiled at the sight of Veneers suffering.

“You’ve seen enough. Let’s go.” Tye whispered again.

Branch stared at the sight before him. Veneer desperately claws at the at the other Rageon, pleading to be let go, fear in his eyes…

“….I can’t…” Branch replied. Tye spun around in genuine surprise.

“What.” He demanded.

“I have to help him. Please help me help him.” Branch said.

“He’s a Rageon! They’re all disgusting filths!”

“I think… I think he’s different. Trust me. I know him, kind of.” Branch stated.

“Yeah! So does everyone down here. We know who he is and what he did. I am NOT helping you help him.” Tye crossed his arms and turned around.

“Please! Troll to Troll.” Branch heard painful whimpers and grunts. He peeked to see Veneer struggling in and out of consciousness.

“Many would pay a heavy price if I took you in right now. Public execution would be nice. But the satisfaction of killing you myself is rewarding enough.” The Rageon squeezed his hand tighter. “Not to mention you allowed a Troll to escape my guys.” Tighter he squeezed.

Tears began forming in Veneer's eyes, his face going from red to blue….he felt his heart fighting to continue pumping.

“Please!” Branch said again, turning around to Tye with a desperation in his eyes as Veneer inched closer to death. Tye let out an annoyed sigh, balling his tiny fists. Reaching into the pockets of his vest he pulled out two seeds, handing one to Branch.

“Ummmm..” Branch began to say.

“Do you want to help him or not?” Tye asked, earning a nod from Branch. “Then listen to what I say…”

“Someone should record this.” One Rageon laughed as their boss squeezed tighter and tighter around Veneer's neck. His thoughts went straight towards Velvet… who would watch out for her? Who would help her with the condition she was in? He was all she had, Veneer couldn’t just leave her alone.

CLANK!

The sound of metal hitting the ground echoed through the alley behind them. The orange haired Rageon slightly let go of his grasp around Veneer's neck.

“What the hell was that?” He murmured…. Suddenly in the blink of an eye, two tiny Trolls came swinging in.

“Veneer hold your breath!” Branch cried out. As he and Tye neared the other Rageons, they squeezed the seeds they held in their hand, releasing a yellow pollen into the air. Taking one breath, the Rageons began falling to the ground one by one. Veneer felt the hand around his neck go limp as the orange haired Rageon lost consciousness and fell to the ground with a big THUMP.

“Okay…. You can breathe now.” Branch said as the pollen quickly disappeared.

Veneer gasped for air, coughing and choking as he held his neck. Red marks began to bruise around his neck where the Rageon squeezed.

“Are they..” Veneer said softly as he tried to regain his strength.

“No. Insomnia Lily Seeds. Knocks you out in one shot. Trolls are immune, but not Rageons.” Tye responded. Veneer glanced at the small little Trolls.

“T-thank you.” He said.

“Don’t thank me. I’d personally have had them kill you. He was persistent though.” Tye nodded at Branch who was caught off guard.

“I- l…. W-well…Let’s just call it even!” Branch turned around and crossed his arms, avoiding Veneer's thankful gaze.

“Whatever. Let’s go now.” Tye nudged Branch. As he began to run away, footsteps and voices were heard rounding the corner….

“Boss said he’d be back in a few. Where the heck is he?”… More Rageons, and not the nice ones.

“Great. We- ah!!!” Tye yelled as he felt himself being scooped up. Veneer also grabbed Branch and made a run for it, holding both Trolls close to his chest.

“Let go!” Tye began beating his little fists against Veneer's chest.

“Where are we going?” Branch called out.

“Somewhere safe….I hope.” The Rageon replied

22 notes · View notes

allthingswhumpyandangsty · 8 hours

Text

Reblog if you love AO3 and appreciate their volunteers who are working harder than God, fighting battle after battle, making sure the place that is a safe space for every fandom is staying up and running for all of us

220 notes · View notes

houserautha · 5 hours

Text

These Destined Ends

Part Eleven

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: you stabbed him and now you handcuff him, blood play, wound play, the events in this part are probably not hygienic or realistic but my thots took over, you both cry, mentions of killing/death, brief depiction of killing

A/N: I would like to add that reader and Feyd have such a toxic relationship but god do I love it so much (also the writing god possessed me and made it possible for this to be published now instead of tonight, god bless)

You push the dagger in to its handle.

It comes back slick with blood.

You use it to quickly unlatch your bindings, then shift aside as Feyd falls onto the bed beside you. Without thinking, you place a knee on either side of his waist and set to inspecting your work — the cut is deep, weeping ink-colored blood. A depraved part of you wants him to suffer, to feel pain as unimaginably deep as you did. And you do not want him to clot quickly.

Feyd’s hand ghosts over the wound. Blood spills onto his alabaster skin, the bedsheets, on the leg of your pant nestled into his side. And all the while he gazes up at you endearingly, face noticeably paler, blood coming to gather at the corner of his lips. You lean forward to kiss him and lap up the droplets of blood, he groans; you’re pressing your entire weight into him, into the wound.

“I want you to hurt,” you whisper against his mouth. You put your fingers to the wound, Feyd shifting uncomfortably as your nails bite into the recently torn flesh. Beneath you, his cock stirs, and in response you dig your fingers in deeper.

His flesh is warm. Wet.

“Fuck,” Feyd mutters.

“I want to hurt you and you’re enjoying it,” you sneer at him, “perhaps I should just stop. Chain you up to the bed, see how you like it. Leave you to bleed out alone.”

He doesn’t reply. There’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes — he knows that he’s supposed to atone for his family’s crime, play his part in your twisted battle of wits, but there’s no denying his swelling, twitching cock, eager to make contact between your legs. He grimaces as you remove your hand, breath expelling in shaky bursts.

Feyd watches you reclaim the cuff, hook it around his wrist and then do the same with the cuff on the other side of the bed that Wyn hadn’t bothered to attach. You secure both cuffs so that his hands are pinned above his head. He looks infuriatingly gorgeous like this, blood wetting his skin and your hands, muscles tensed and pain spasming his handsome features.

You grind against him and his hips buck.

“Fuck,” he says again.

You lose yourself, slightly, at the sight of him like this, and you’re entangled between vengeance and desire. The urge to maim him paired with the dreadful urge you have to ride him.

Why couldn’t you do both?

You rake your nails down his chest, creating trails of angry welts from sternum to navel. His breath quickens. Blood pools near the site of the wound and you drag your fingers through it.

“Interesting. You bleed just like the rest of us, Feyd-Rautha.”

“Do you want another taste?”

He inhales sharply. You’ve angrily pressed your palm into the wound, resenting him for reminding you of your transgressions. You growl, “You won’t find humor in this when I’m done with you.”

Fingers bloodied, you put them to his plush bottom lip — fuck, his lips drove you wild — and down his chin, the column of his throat, over the welts you’ve created. He writhes. You unbuckle his pants and, without any trace of kindness, tear them from his narrow hips. Feyd whimpers as the sudden movement prompts a gush of blood, and you grin at the reaping of your effort. He glares.

You scoop more blood like a painter from its palette. His cock is standing to attention, arched backward slightly, flushed and threaded with pulsing veins. Starting at his swollen head, you trace your fingers up and down, coating him thoroughly with his own blood. It takes several applications before you’re satisfied. An entirely addictive sounds escapes him when you fist the base of his shaft and start pumping, the slickness of the blood easing your work.

You stroke him over and over, varying your pace as not to guide him to orgasm. He rallies against you, straining at the cuffs. Although you can’t see it, you feel him dig his heels into the mattress in an effort to gain purchase, anything to channel the desire unfurling inside him. And all the while you watch him, fascinated, bleeding profusely yet so eager for your touch.

The mighty Feyd-Rautha, champion of Giedi Prime, shuddering and moaning beneath you, pre-cum leaking from the slit of his cock. It draws heat to your core. With his hands over his head, his mobility is limited, and you use this to your advantage: maintaining a steady pace on his cock with one hand while the other explores his body, dipping down to cup his balls, trace his thighs, then back up to tease his taunt nipples and the wound in his side. Feyd cries out, eyes rolling back and hips snapping.

You revoke your hand. He’s practically shivering now, undoubtedly torn between pain and pleasure. You climb carefully off his lap. Feyd’s gaze burns into you as you strip off your clothes until you’re standing only in your panties.

“This should only hurt a little,” you tell him. The muscles in his stomach jump and flicker as you resume your kneeling position, this time decidedly higher.

Your clit is aching for friction, so much so that you grind your center into him, right over the wound. He grunts in pain with each roll of your pelvis, seeking out your pleasure while you aggravate the place where the dagger had slid in, breasts pushing outwards. You can see it on his face, what he would do if he could use his mouth on you, his hands, but the pain is too great. Tears spring to his eyes as he fights the crashing waves of agony while you ride his wound.

“It’s not enough,” you utter, mostly to yourself, “it’s not enough.” Not enough pain.

You slide back down his body, reclaim his cock, then notch its head at your entrance. You’re slick with your own desire, and his blood, and you have to fend off his bucking hips to prevent him from penetrating you. The sensation of him gives you shivers, racing up and down your body.

You brace your quivering thighs and sink down on top of him. Feyd howls as your walls clamp down, taking him in one swift movement. You can’t help it — your head lulls back and your body bows, gripped by a wave of unbelievable pleasure. He fills you up so neatly, so fully, that you’re in despair when you pull away, then plunge back down with even more force. It reminds you of the throne room, how you had wrested the power from him. But you were na-Baron and na-Baroness before, this equates to something much more primal, raw, two blood-soaked fighters in an arena of your own making.

You ride him to completion, cuming on his cock twice before he finally musters the words, “Enough. You’ve got your punishment. Now let me fuck my wife.”

You pause with him still seated deep inside you.

“I don’t think I’ve yet reached the depths of your pain,” you tell him in reply.

Feyd’s eyes flash. “No weapons can maim me as entirely as having you naked in front of me and without the use of my hands to touch you. There will be no show of blood for how you’ve tormented me. No physical measure. Let me fuck you now so that we may be equals again.”

Seconds after you unlatch the cuffs, Feyd is on you. He all but attacks you, mouth hungrily searching yours, hands grabbing at your body. Effortlessly he flips you onto your back, blood gushing from him. He wavers, probably from loss of blood, before burying himself inside you. You cry out, wringing pleasure from him with each thrust, the feel of his hands more rewarding than anything without them. He’s on every surface of you — pressing kisses down your neck, your breasts, pulling each nipple into his mouth and giving them a lewd suckle. His hands grab the backs of your thighs, your ass, pin your hips to the bed so that you can’t move.

“You. Are. Mine,” he grunts with each thrust. His voice is wreathed with anger. Possession.

Heartache.

You can’t even begin to examine this before he spears you even faster, with more vigor, words slurring together with impassion. “You are mine, jewel. I thought you dead. I thought you taken from me. But no one can take you from me. No one. You don’t even possess that ability. I am the keeper of your life.”

He’s becoming more and more incensed, his pace growing sloppy and unpredictable. You feel a wetness by your neck and you realize that it’s not blood causing it but rather a furious outpouring of tears from your husband, his jaw clenched and brows furrowed in concentration.

“Mine.” Thrust. “Mine.” Thrust. “Mine.”

You cling to him, hold him the only way you know how, with your legs wrapped around his waist and your nails down his back. It’s as if you’re trying to merge into one being, take this man as part of your own flesh and, in addition, make his sorrows and pain yours. You taste the salt of your own tears as you both rise and crest like waves against one another, finally not opponents in a war that you can’t win but allies in a surmountable battle.

Feyd cums first, but you follow quickly after. Pulsing and shuddering, he cries into your neck as he fills you with his seed, clutching your body to him just as tightly. Both of you are gasping for air from the exertion, the tears, the culmination of your pleasures being chased down in such a heightened state. Feyd withdraws from you. He allows one hand to press against his wound protectively, but then surprises you by placing his bloodied handprint on your breast.

Above your heart.

“You are mine,” he says, “and I am yours.”

Hot water pours down you in rivulets, interrupted only by Feyd’s hands as he washes your body. Crimson water swirls down the drain. You take turns silently scrubbing the blood from each other and swapping stolen kisses, Feyd wincing each time the water makes contact with the wound. You start to form some semblance of an apology but Feyd silences you with a formidable look. “It was necessary,” he tells you.

The bloodied sheets and discarded clothes are much harder to rid of. And there’s no saying what Doctor Wyn was thinking when you told her that Feyd now demanded her attention, what she thought when she saw the horrible wound etched into his side. But, to her credit, she never asked any questions, and you never gave her any answers.

You could see why Feyd hired her.

And when someone wasn’t aggravating the wound, it healed much faster. Feyd refused any ointment that would erase the scar, however, which you knew he would. He kept every scar from every fight like badges of honor. You knew most of them well by now, and had your fair amount of contributions. And although you never explicitly discussed what happened between you two that day, you felt it between you like a tether, binding you together in a way that even you had no words to describe.

And that’s why you stall the Baron’s wish to seek an audience with you. You won’t go without Feyd.

He’s stubbornly vague about everything, too, claiming that it would make more sense to wait to hear everything unfold at once. You’ve missed too much while self-contained and now feel eager to return, to start the plot against Feyd’s uncle.

“I have my ideas,” he says one day when you’re begging him incessantly, “but first hear what the Baron says, make your own judgements. Revenge does not happen overnight.”

This irritates you, but you ultimately oblige.

Finally the day comes for your visit with the Baron, and you make sure to wear your best dress. Instead of the usual monochrome Harkonnen colors you’ve chosen a bright red, a thin fabric that clings to your figure. Feyd’s lips twitch when he sees you.

“You wear red to invoke the ire of the bull.”

“The Baron is no bull,” you retort. You think back to your grandfather’s legacy, of the dark eyes of the bull staring at you while you sat at the table on Arrakis. And while the Baron was not a bull, you were determined to have his head anyway.

Feyd grabs your hand, feathers his lips over your knuckles. “You look exceptional.”

You smile at him. “Let’s see what your uncle has to say.”

You made it a condition of the meeting not to be held in the throne room — you didn’t like the imbalance of power. Besides, you weren’t a lowly citizen come to collect their stipend, you were the na-Baroness, bound to the na-Baron in a bond that transcended the intricacies of power. You were no longer two beings but one, a formidable union. And as you sneak a glimpse of Feyd before you enter the dining room, you’re only emboldened by the resolve you see in his face; he is a fine partner to have in battle, indeed.

The doors open and his hand brushes yours once, a subtle indication of his fealty to you.

Your chin is raised and your stride confident as you approach the table. “A meal then, between family,” the Baron had said when you declined his offer to meet at the throne room. You notice that neither the Baron nor Rabban stand when you enter, which digs under your skin like a splinter.

“Don’t spare your na-Baroness with your pleasantries,” Feyd rasps darkly.

“This is not a political endeavor,” the Baron replies. If he realizes just how agitated his nephew is, he doesn’t show it. “Sit, sit. We dine together finally. I am only too glad to…catch up.”

It’s difficult to keep your composure neutral. Here before you is the man who orchestrated your family’s deaths, the one who carried them out. Hatred burns inside you.

You take your seat, Feyd beside you.

“We’ve already had our catching up, haven’t we, brother?” Rabban’s gaze is cutting.

Feyd just stares evenly back at him. “I remember.”

Rabban grins triumphantly. “And I’m glad to see that you’re healing well.” Before you can inquire about this — was Rabban the cause of the scar across his face? — the former turns his attention to you. “It is my dear sister-in-law that I need to reunite with. Isn’t that right?”

“Need is a strong word,” you retort. “I was under the impression I didn’t have much choice.”

“Oh, how you wound with your words as well as the blade,” Rabban replies, feigning insult.

“You seem to know quite a lot about blades, Rabban. Is that how you dealt the deaths of my family?”

Rabban sneers. The Baron holds up a large hand, his voice punishing, “That’s enough.”

“I’ve only just started,” you bite back.

“Brother, temper your wife,” Rabban says. “She speculates that which she has no knowledge of.”

You open your mouth to reply, outraged, but Feyd beats you to the punch. “My wife will do and say as she pleases. You should just be grateful that she hasn’t slit your throat yet.”

“There will be no deaths today,” the Baron warns.

“Because you’ve had your fill of them?” You counter. Under the table, your fingers form claws.

“Let me give you the truth, na-Baroness, so that you might stop leveling accusations,” the Baron replies coolly. “You are new to the Harkonnen so I may forgive you this once. You were not born as we were. That being said, we were the original defenders of Arrakis. It is our planet. And as you know we will do whatever it takes to defend our own.”

You can’t help it. You snort. Is that what he was doing when he cajoled his young nephew? Put more darkness in him than necessary?

“With the help of the Emperor, we were able to reclaim Arrakis. We tried to give House Atreides the option of conceding but they staunchly refused. We did only what we had to do.”

Your eyes narrow. “The Emperor aided you?”

This, you knew, but you wanted to hear an explanation from his own mouth.

“We both had certain…lofty aspirations…that the other could provide. It was a rational exchange,” the Baron says, as if talking about expanding trade routes instead of lives. “The Emperor was fearful of your father and his power. Now he has to worry no more.”

Conversation subsides as servants place food in front of you, some kind of bird drenched in a sickly colored sauce. The only person to touch it is the Baron, who savagely devours it without any use of utensils.

“You lie,” you finally say. “My father had no intentions of usurping the Emperor as you claim.”

“The Emperor is a…fickle man. He knows his own weaknesses. I cannot blame him for his fear.”

“And why did he partner with you?” You ask. “What did you gain from this?”

“Arrakis,” the Baron answers simply.

“You said that you both had aspirations that the other could provide,” Feyd presses, taking the words from your mouth. “You eliminate the House Atreides for the Emperor, but you are not the sole benefactor of Arrakis. You must know that I would rather perish than take orders from you.”

The Baron wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I suppose the news will come out sooner or later. Rabban?”

News? What news?

Rabban grins at you and Feyd. “The princess Irulan and I are engaged to be married.”

Shock seizes you and keeps you from forming any sort of response. The Emperor gave his eldest daughter to Rabban? Thoughts race through your mind. Not only did that mean the Baron had his influence in Arrakis but now the entire Known Universe as well. Dread fills you. How had anyone allowed this to happen?

“That’s not the congratulations I was expecting,” Rabban continues, clearly pleased with himself.

Feyd’s fist strikes the table, causing the silverware to rattle. “You gave me Arrakis over my brother, but now you secure him as Emperor? What are you playing at, uncle?”

“Your brother is willing to…follow my orders, as you so eloquently said. His loyalty deserves recognition.”

“This is a grave error,” Feyd snarls.

“Jealous, are we?” Rabban asks, drawing the attention back to him. “This could’ve all been avoided if you’d only accepted my offer,” he says to you, then Feyd, “and then you could’ve been in my position, heir apparent to the Empire.”

Feyd shoots to his feet. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance.”

“Boys,” the Baron snaps, intervening what you are certain would’ve been a death match, “everything is now in place. Feyd-Rautha will rule Arrakis and its coveted spice; Rabban, the Empire. Instead of fighting you should be celebrating the fortune of the Harkonnens.”

Silence descends.

This was worse than you imagined. The Baron had manipulated everyone here to get what he wanted. It was he who would profit from the marriages he forged for his nephews.

“Now, Feyd-Rautha, you must put aside your envy. You and the na-Baroness are required to return to Arrakis in a fortnight.”

It feels as if someone has poured ice water down your spine. “What?”

“You think you can rule from Giedi Prime?” The Baron asks, bemused.

“Fine.” Feyd looks to you but no one else. “We are done here.”

You want to challenge him, to remain where you are and root out more truth, but to do so would to humiliate him. You avoid the eyes of the Baron and Rabban as you pick up the skirt of your dress and follow after him dutifully.

The doors slam shut behind you with a resounding thud.

As you search for something to say, Feyd screams, visceral and terrifying. In a blind fury, he cuts down the two closest servants with his dagger, their blood splattering the ground as their bodies slump to the floor. His shoulders heave, dagger gripped tightly in his grasp, and he whirls on you wildly as you approach.

“Do not give them the satisfaction,” you whisper urgently to him, grabbing his face. Your touch soothes him ever so slightly. “Their time will come but first we must consider how to proceed, formulate a plan that will leave them in their graves. They will not go unpunished.”

The dagger clatters to the ground as Feyd finally releases it.

“I will not rest until then,” he swears.

You rock up on your toes and press your forehead to his, holding him to you. “Neither shall I.”

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @m-indkiller @kpopnstarwars @dacreshoney @stopeatread @the-na-baroness @therealslimshady-1

#dune #feyd x reader #feyd x you #fanfic writing #feyd smut #writers on tumblr #feyd rautha harkonnen #writing #fanfic #these destined ends #feyd rautha

96 notes · View notes