#Islamic Due For Love Marriage

[sansaorgana]

— FORBIDDEN FRUIT

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Baron Vladimir Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — After your planet was conquered by The Harkonnens, you are sent to Giedi Prime as a war prize to marry one of The Baron's nephews. However, Baron Vladimir changes his plans at the sight of you and decides to take you as his wife. Feyd-Rautha does not give up easily, though.

REQUEST — (1) // (2)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It's finally here! I got carried away, not gonna lie... Look at the word count! 🙈 I might have forgotten about some warnings, just keep in mind the fic is dark and twisted 😝 By creating the Reader's homeworld and its customs I was loosely inspired by the mediterranean and islamic cultures but of course her physical appearance is not being described. 🤍

WARNINGS — arranged/forced marriage, blood, death, Baron Harkonnen being an absolute and non-consensual creep, Feyd-Rautha being non-consensual as well in the beginning, SMUT, fingering, oral, breeding (artificial and natural), incest undertones (they're not related but he calls her Aunt and she calls him nephew) + Feyd's traumatic past briefly mentioned, Reader is a few years older than Feyd but he is aged up to 20

WORD COUNT — 13,560 (🤡)

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

FORBIDDEN FRUIT

Your homeworld used to be a Paradise. The sky was always blue, the weather warm but not too hot due to the light breeze coming from the Ocean. Cypress trees, pistachio nuts, olive branches and fish were what Pairi Daêza was famous for in the past centuries. It was a small planet that remained unnoticed and neutral in most of the conflicts. The Imperial Family loved to spend their holidays on Pairi Daêza and import their goods in a form of a tribute.

That was history. And although you were born on this beautiful planet, in your teenage years the whole world crumbled down and you were exposed to the true reality of the war. When one of the Imperial geologists had found a huge spice deposit under your planet’s Ocean, the destructive war began.

Your parents tried their best to avoid the conflict. They offered the Emperor to dry a huge part of the Ocean to harvest spice from there. In fact, your father the Sultan saw an opportunity of getting wealth and influence in this situation. And that probably was his downfall. The Emperor wanted all the spice for himself.

But The Emperor was not the one to get his hands dirty. No, he hired the most fearsome warriors and assassins to teach your planet a lesson. The Harkonnens.

While the battles were taking place on the ground, their special machinery was drying out the Ocean and harvesting the spice hidden underneath the water surface. The whole planet began to die off due to the lack of water. The crops were evaporating in the heat, people were starving and their homes destroyed. The Harkonnens were kidnapping your citizens to be their slaves and your father and his army were too weak to protect them. The subjects of the Sultan started a rebellion with the help of The Harkonnens and after long years of the ongoing and destructive war, it was the final blow for your father’s weak reign.

You were an adult woman now, standing proudly with a veil covering nearly your whole face with only eyes being on display like all unmarried women of Pairi Daêza traditionally wore. Surrounded from all sides by The Harkonnen army in your father’s throne room, holding your mother’s hand. The dignified and beautiful Sultana with the last piece of jewellery she had refused to give away – a majestic headpiece made of gold and sparkling gemstones of all the possible colours. They reflected the dim light creeping inside through the windows of the ruined Pairi Daêza Palace where you had been born and resided for your whole life. And where you would die with only a few the most loyal guards protecting you.

The front doors opened loudly and a huge, beastly looking Harkonnen man stormed inside with a few of his identical soldiers. You had heard of him, he was the terror of Pairi Daêza in the past few years. The Beast Rabban himself. He dealt with your guards completely on his own, feasting on their deaths with a psychotic smirk. You swallowed thickly at the size of his hands; so big and strong they could break you in half. You hoped for a swift and quick death – as a Shehzadi of Pairi Daêza you had your privileges and you counted that the mercy of Beast Rabban would be one of them.

He started to approach you confidently, his black armour stained with the blood of your guards, contrasting with his sickly pale skin. Your father stepped out to cover you and your mother with his own body as if it would stop the Beast. Rabban froze at the sight and let out a contemptuous laughter that echoed through the throne room.

“Your reign is over, Sultan (Y/L/N),” he announced. “Pairi Daêza and its spice is under The Harkonnen rule.”

“Pairi Daêza no longer exists. You have destroyed my world and you want to rule over the ruins,” your father drawled through the gritted teeth.

“We do not care about your world. We care about the spice. But you… You will be remembered as the Sultan whose reign was the last. The death of your world will forever be attached to your name,” Rabban pointed out and reached for his blade. “Come to me and fight like a man, I shall give you the privilege of defending yourself. Do not cling to the skirts of your wife and daughter. By doing so, you put them in the path of my blade.”

“Don’t hurt them,” your father approached him, despite your hands trying to stop him. “The planet and the spice are yours. You can kill me but spare my family,” he pleaded.

“Your wife will be given to the new Governor of Pairi Daêza and he will do as he pleases with her. Your daughter is our prize I will take with me to Giedi Prime,” Rabban laid his terrifying eyes on you and you froze out of fear. You’d rather die than be taken away to The Harkonnens. He could only see your eyes but it was enough for him to smirk and lick his lips in a disgusting manner.

This scenario was worse than the death you had been expecting.

“You will die,” he told your father and pointed at one of the deceased guards for your father to take his sword and be able to defend himself in a fair fight.

But you knew already it would be a slaughter you did not wish to see.

“Don’t kill him! Don’t kill my father!” You screamed and took a step ahead. Your mother sobbed behind your back.

“(Y/N), don’t…” your father shook his head.

“I will offer myself to you willingly if you spare his life and let him govern this planet in The Harkonnen name. He will obey your orders and so will I,” you promised.

It was common for parents to sacrifice themselves for their children. No one would ever question such an act. Why couldn’t it go both ways? You loved your parents just as much as they loved you. Especially in the last years of the war, you had grown very close having basically no one else by your side.

If you were all to die together, it was not a bad ending. But if they tried to kill your father, send you away and give your mother away to a stranger… you could not let that happen.

“What makes you think we care about women giving themselves to us willingly, Shehzadi?” Rabban snorted at you but he approached you slowly with his blade held up. “You’re confident to offer so little for wanting so much in return,” the tip of his blade lifting up the hem of your face veil as you trembled out of fear.

“There is no need for bloodshed. My father will bend his knee and I will go with you, my Lord,” you choked out, trying to hide your obvious fear.

Rabban tilted his head and laughed at you. Then, in one swift move he cut the veil open and you gasped as the fabric fell down on the floor, leaving you exposed in front of him and his Harkonnen soldiers. It was one of the greatest humiliations for the Pairi Daêza woman for her to reveal her face in front of a man outside her close family before her wedding. It was her husband who was supposed to lift the veil off of her face on their wedding day and see her first before every other man would. To take the veil off of an unmarried woman in an aggressive manner like this was the greatest disrespect that back in the day men had been punished for by the law.

Embarrassed and humbled down, you stood still, trying to stare back at the Beast Rabban with your shoulders straight and your lips pursed out of anger and determination.

“You are not mine for the taking. I am to take you to Giedi Prime and my uncle shall decide what to do with you. Most likely he will want you to be my younger brother’s bride because it is him who will inherit the title one day,” he told you and you felt a knot forming in your stomach.

You hated Rabban but he was the devil you knew from the stories and now personally as well. His brother was a new character in the story that you feared. What was he like? 

“Why is that not you?” You asked him. “You have just conquered a planet for your uncle, have you not, my Lord?”

“It is not I who argues with my uncle’s decisions,” Rabban snapped at you but you saw in his cruel eyes that you had touched a sensitive subject with your question. “Will you bend your knee, Sultan (Y/L/N)?” He asked your father.

He was staring at you with a terrified expression on his face. He couldn’t believe what you had just done. But you knew he wouldn’t throw a fist now. He would bend his knee because your father was a weak man.

Deep down, despite your love for him, you hated him for his weakness. Most of your problems, most of the failures in this war were caused by this trait of his. You couldn’t blame him, though. The Sultans of Pairi Daêza had never been trained to fight or lead military campaigns. There had been no need for that in the past.

“I, Sultan (Y/F/N) of The House (Y/L/N), pledge my allegiance to The House Harkonnen,” your father kneeled and bowed his head down.

You watched Rabban closely. He could accept this offer but he could also simply behead your father.

“In the name of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, may your service be accepted, Sultan (Y/L/N),” he nodded his head. “We didn’t know who to make the Governor of this wasteland anyway,” he snorted. “I guess this is solved. However, you will be watched carefully,” he squinted his eyes at your father. “I will leave my guards here and you will be spied on every second of your pathetic life, Sultan.”

“Yes, my Lord,” your father nodded. “What about the rebellion you helped to start? The citizens of Pairi Daêza do not wish me to stay in this Palace anymore.”

“You have my army to command now. You can slay them,” Rabban shrugged his arms and your father stood up clumsily.

“You helped them to start the rebellion against me and now you’re giving me your army to slay the rebels?” He asked to make sure.

“All we care about is your spice,” Rabban’s voice sounded casual and then he turned around to look at you again. “And your daughter,” he added with a smirk before approaching you and grabbing you by your arm roughly. You squealed as he started to walk you out of the room.

“Let me go!” You protested.

“You’re already breaking our arrangement, woman. You promised to be obedient,” he barked at you.

“I want to say goodbye to my parents,” you told him.

“It’s not the last time you’re seeing them. That is, if they play nice and don’t start anything,” he threatened as he looked at your scared parents.

Your mother risked it, though, and she ran up to you. Her shaking hands grabbed yours as she sobbed. She couldn’t say much because of her state but she didn’t have to.

“I will be fine, mama. I will survive and you have to as well, do you hear me? Otherwise my sacrifice won’t matter,” you told her and she nodded her head, silently choking on her sobs.

“That’s enough,” Rabban threw you over his shoulder swiftly like you were a sack of potatoes and he took you out of the Palace – straight to the huge Harkonnen ship that was destined to go back on Giedi Prime.

You were a war prize.

You didn’t know much about Giedi Prime except for scary legends and myths. The heavy industrial landscape was something you had not been used to nor was their black sun that was making everything on the planet black-and-white when you were spending time outside. Not that you had spent lots of time there. You were transported from the ship to the huge black fortress and into the chambers with a few female servants waiting for you. They bathed you carefully and put you in long black robes with a veil mimicking the ones that were traditional for the Pairi Daêza unmarried women. Only your eyes were visible when you looked at yourself in the mirror, but barely – the veil was decorated with dangling silver chains. They were making you look even more mysterious and kind of dangerous but the whole outfit felt like a mockery of the traditional robes of your people.

The unmarried women of Pairi Daêza were hiding their faces but their dresses were often made of a few layers of sheer and colourful materials. Just because they were under a cover, didn’t mean they were not cheerful and full of life. The dresses would be often decorated with lace, flowers or embroidery. They were flowy and ethereal when the women walked down the streets and all the married women who no longer had to hide their faces were envious as they remembered their younger days. On Giedi Prime you looked as if you were in a deep state of mourning. But perhaps you were. Your planet was destroyed, your family humiliated. And no one knew what would happen to you.

You were taken by the guards and followed by the servants to a huge throne room of The Baron Harkonnen. You had heard of him from your father so you expected the worst but his unnaturally huge and floating form still made the blood in your veins run cold. He was enormous and repulsing; sickly. Kept alive by the machinery behind him and the undying will to rule forever.

He was accompanied by Rabban who smirked at you when you walked inside. There was another man standing there, too. He was young; strong and muscular but also slim. Tall and proud in the way he stood. His face was full of cruelty and mockery but you had to admit he was rather attractive… at least for a Harkonnen male. His lips were full, his eyes reminded you of a snake but they were decorated with a long set of eyelashes. You hoped he was the younger brother that Beast Rabban had mentioned before.

You stood in front of the stairs leading to The Baron’s throne and you bowed down, waiting for his reaction.

“Shehzadi (Y/L/N),” he greeted you in a harsh, deep voice that sent shivers down your spine. “Finally I get to see you… Or not,” he added and you raised your head to lay your eyes on him. He was observing you carefully and so was the young man. “Take her veil off, Rabban, show me what you’ve brought here,” he snapped at his nephew and the Beast approached you. “She better be pretty enough for Feyd-Rautha if you decided to spare her father’s life for her,” The Baron teased him. 

“Who would have thought that women were your weakness,” the man named Feyd hissed at his brother and you got startled by the sound of his voice. It was identical to The Baron’s in a twisted and uncomfortable way that formed a knot in your stomach.

You felt oddly bad for the Beast Rabban. He was the one to conquer your planet and he was the one to take you. Yet, you were a prize that he had won not for himself but for his spoiled younger brother. You couldn’t quite understand the dynamic of this family yet.

He stood next to you and grabbed the fabric of your veil in his fist in his usual brutal manner. By the pace of his breath, you could hear that he was as nervous as you were. If The Baron would not like you, he would be punished for going soft on your father.

Rabban’s hand hesitated before tearing the veil off of your face. It caught his younger brother’s attention. He hissed and walked up to you with a short knife in his hands that he had been playing with as if out of boredom. He smirked at you and revealed black teeth that made you flinch at the sight. Your reaction only excited him.

“How long do I have to wait, brother?” He asked as he cut the veil open, impatiently. Rabban took a step back and allowed his brother to take a better look at you. The Baron tried to peek in but Feyd was standing right in front of you and covering your face completely from his uncle’s sight.

The young man hummed to himself and tilted his head both sides. He raised his hand up and grabbed your chin to squeeze it gently.

“How old is she?” He asked his brother as if you could not speak.

“Shehzadi (Y/N) is twenty years old like you are,” Rabban tried to recommend your virtues the best he could, like he was a slave seller.

“Five and twenty,” you corrected him confidently, not feeling any shame about your age. Rabban took a sharp breath in as Feyd gave him a scolding look.

“A bit old, isn’t it?” The Baron’s voice interrupted them.

Feyd looked you up and down with so much fire in his eyes that you started to feel your cheeks heating up. You had never been looked at this way not only because of the custom of covering your face but also because it was not a way that men on Pairi Daêza would court women in.

“I’ll take her,” Feyd shrugged his arms as he announced to his uncle. He turned around to look at him and you sighed out of relief. So did Rabban.

“Move aside, Feyd,” The Baron barked at his nephew, impatiently. “It is I who decide,” he added and Feyd took a step to the left, revealing your form to his uncle. You had both of the brothers standing on both sides and their hideous uncle looming over a few steps ahead of you.

In complete silence he was watching you for a long while, puffing on his pipe. Finally, he beckoned you over to come closer. You gathered the fabric of your skirt in your hands and took a few steps ahead with your heart pounding in your chest.

“I shall take her,” he stated as the whole room went dead silent.

“What are you talking about?!” Feyd protested and you chewed on the insides of your cheeks, trying not to burst into tears. “She is mine for the taking!”

The Baron was a disgusting creature but you were aware that being his wife would give you more power and influence than marrying any of his nephews. It would protect your family better, too.

And every power came with a sacrifice.

Still, your dignity wanted to join Feyd-Rautha’s tantrum. You had been expecting to be given in marriage to a young and healthy warrior. Not an old and sickly piece of greasy meat in front of you.

“Shut up, boy!” The Baron yelled at Feyd and you flinched. “Don’t startle, my Shehzadi,” he cooed to you in a malicious whisper. “As you can see, none of my nephews are worthy of you nor my throne one day. You shall give me an heir,” he told you and you nodded, obediently. Fighting him had no purpose.

Feyd was furious. You heard him walking out of the room angrily and slamming the door behind him.

“You have just made an enemy, my Shehzadi,” The Baron reached his swollen pale hand with the green and blue veins popping out. You gently took it and nearly gagged at the feeling of it.

“Me, my Lord?” You tried to bat your eyelashes at him. Your voice shivered out of fear and he smirked at you.

“Feyd-Rautha will no longer be the Na-Baron when our son is born. He will do everything to get rid of you and the child. You shall be careful, sweet Shehzadi,” he warned you. “I have my ways of keeping him obedient. When he’s not showing you proper respect, you will tell me, yes?”

“Y-yes, my Lord,” you nodded.

“Good,” he squeezed our hand gently and you felt your stomach turning. “Go, prepare for the wedding,” he let go of you and raised his finger to touch your cheek. It was getting difficult to hide your repulsion but on the other hand it was oddly satisfying to know that you were chosen by The Baron himself.

You bowed down and walked out of the room with the guards and servants. They all were staring at you with widened eyes, as shocked with the outcome of this day as you were.

You hadn’t seen The Baron for the past few weeks of the preparations for the wedding. In fact, you hadn't seen anyone. You had been kept a prisoner in one part of the fortress but you did not mind that at all because you had lots of servants and your chambers did not lack any luxury. The only thing you missed was nature – the greenery, the sound of birds, the feeling of the sun on your skin, the light breeze of the Ocean. But there was no way of coming back to it. Pairi Daêza had none of it anymore.

Spoiled as a child, you were harshened in your teenage years by the war taking place in your homeland. Despite your father’s weakness flowing in your blood, you had learnt how to adapt and survive. You would survive just well on Giedi Prime, you decided.

The only thing you dreaded about your marriage was the physical aspect of the union. However, you had been informed by the medic visiting you every morning about the nature of your future duties.

“These injections are supposed to prepare your body for carrying a son,” he told you after sticking a syringe with an odd liquid into your vein. “After the wedding you will be bred to carry The Baron’s heir, my Lady.”

“Bred?” You swallowed thickly.

“I will insert the seed during a swift and painless procedure, my Lady,” he assured you.

“So… I will not be…” You didn’t know how to say it without offending The Baron.

The medic knew, though. He looked up into your eyes as your face was covered with the black veil. The Baron had liked your homeworld’s tradition and allowed you to cover your face until the wedding.

“The Baron’s health does not allow such activities,” he informed you and you sighed out of relief. “Which does not mean he will not demand some… other duties.”

You nodded your head at him. Some other duties, whatever they meant, you could survive. It was the haunting image of him hovering over you or taking you from behind that was keeping you sleepless recently. You had come to Giedi Prime completely innocent in that subject but you made your Harkonnen servants tell you all about it. They were experienced, especially the ones who had been called late at night to Feyd-Rautha’s chambers. The young na-baron apparently liked sex a lot. The more you were finding out about him and his nature, the more glad you were that it was his uncle you were marrying. At least he was not so young; not so full of adrenaline and testosterone as his nephew.

Giedi Prime had not had a Baroness in a long time. The ceremony was about to be the grandest you had ever experienced. The leaders of the great houses had been invited – your parents amongst them. Even The Emperor himself had sent an envoy to take part in the event in his name. You had never expected to hold such importance in the Galaxy. After all, you were only a Shehzadi of a small and unimportant Pairi Daêza. The spice deposit had truly changed everything.

Your servant women worked on your huge wedding dress. It was black, too, of course. Everything was black. But there was some meaning behind it, in fact, since the wedding was an occasion to mourn your maidenhood and your previous life. The veil covering your face was decorated and attached to the upper part of your bodice, so when your face would be revealed and the veil taken off, your dress would stop being so modest and show off your breasts squeezed by a corset. You didn’t feel comfortable with that idea. Women on Pairi Daêza were not known for revealing their physical virtues in such a way. But Harkonnen women were their husbands’ prizes and trophies. You wanted to make The Baron proud because it would keep him happy. And keeping him happy meant the safety of you and your family. You didn’t want to play many games. You just wanted to survive.

You actually wanted to give him a son. Because giving him a son would seal your fate as The Baroness. Your position would be untouchable and that awful Feyd-Rautha could throw tantrums about it but it would be your son who would inherit the title of The Baron.

You were allowed to see your parents before the ceremony because they were supposed to leave early in the morning on the next day and in the evening there would be no occasion to be left alone with them like you were now. Alone in a room with your mother and father whose faces looked worried and exhausted. Their clothes were different than you remembered. Less colourful as if they were grieving, too.

“Are you alright?” Your mother asked you. She approached you and tried to lift the veil off but it refused to move.

“It is attached to the dress. I am fine,” you assured her. “Do not worry, my face is not bruised. You will see when he takes it off,” you nodded.

“It is an honour for you to marry The Baron himself,” your father smiled at you gently. “A great honour that he has liked you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” your mother scolded him. “It is awful, awful news. You know what he’s like. He’s destroyed our planet!”

“She can handle that for all the power she’s going to have now,” he shrugged his arms.

“How easy it is to say for a man,” your mother sighed. “You owe her your life.”

“I do and I am grateful,” your father nodded his head at you.

“And yet you demand more,” you whispered to him. He froze. “You demand of me to keep The Baron happy so he doesn’t get rid of you. But that is your part of the deal. You shall obey him and play nice as you promised. As long as you do that, there is no threat and my protection is not required.”

“If you think this way, why are you here, all dressed up to get married?” He raised his eyebrow.

“For mother,” you held her hands gently, “because you will not be able to protect her like me,” you added sternly.

Your father looked away, frustrated. He wanted to snap at you but he could not. Not when you were The Baron’s bride. You were no longer his daughter but almost another man’s wife. And the man was too powerful to disrespect.

The ownership of women. Once your father’s, then your husband’s. Freedom would come only in the case of a man’s death. And yet, men wondered why so many women were so angry and bloodthirsty.

“Time’s up,” one of the guards entered the room harshly. “Shehzadi (Y/N) is asked to attend the ceremony,” he announced and nodded at you. You nodded back and squeezed your mother’s hands for the last time before following the guard into the dark and cold corridor of the fortress, trying to keep your veiled head high.

Out of the people gathered for the ceremony, one pair of eyes was locked on you the most intensely. The dark eyes of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen were observing your every move, every gesture, every breath and every word. You felt suffocated by his gaze. It was full of fire like the first time he had seen you but also full of hatred and contempt. You couldn’t tell if he wanted to claim you or kill you. Perhaps both answers were true. You wouldn’t be surprised after hearing all the stories about him.

You feared him the most out of all The Harkonnens. Beast Rabban was the devil you knew and you were his weakness because you were the prize he had conquered himself. The Baron was terrifying and dangerous but he was rather calm and he treated you like a pet so as long as you were quiet and obedient, he did not take pleasure in tormenting you. Feyd-Rautha was different. He was psychotic and your wedding to his uncle was making him lose the greatest deal – his inheritance.

The worst part of the wedding ceremony was the kiss. Not that The Baron had been particularly passionate about it but something about his lips touching yours – even though briefly – was making your insides twist. Perhaps being married to him wouldn’t be as easy to survive as you had been hoping.

When The Wedding Games had begun, Feyd-Rautha joined them eagerly with all the fierceness a warrior could possess. It was an old and dreadful tradition full of blood and violence, a display of power and murderous Harkonnen nature. The men, usually gladiators, were fighting for life and death. Only one could remain and become the winner who would be forever remembered. When his nephew joined the fight, your new husband didn’t look very pleased and he followed every movement of his boy carefully, keeping his eye on the guard, too. He was scared of losing his heir after all.

You watched Feyd-Rautha fight as well. His moves were swift and confident. It was bringing him joy to both hurt and be hurt. He was playful in combat – smirking, winking, occasionally looking back to make sure you were watching. And whenever he was the one to take the blow, he would let out a laugh and hiss in pleasure. He was an odd, scary creature because he had no fear of any sort of pain. Not even death most likely.

Eventually, he killed the last opponent right in front of your eyes, wanting for you to flinch, you suspected. You did not give him such satisfaction. All the years of the war on your planet had made you immune to the sight of such violence and death.

He let out a triumphant yell and raised the bloody knife before bowing down and reaching his hands out with the blade towards you. You stood up and accepted his offering as you had been taught by your servants the past few weeks during your preparations.

“Thy display of power and bravery has been noticed, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” you told him the words you had learnt by heart.

“For my Baroness I will shed the blood of my enemies,” he looked up intensely at you and you swallowed thickly. You hated when he was staring like this. You only nodded and turned around to hand the bloody blade to one of the guards who would secure it. The blade would later be on display in the Memory Room.

You sat back down and forced a small meal upon yourself. In the meantime, your husband had already left the party. Not that you minded.

Feyd and Rabban were sitting nearby. Both were staring at you but the older one actually looked as if he was sorry for you. He hadn’t spoken a word to you ever since his uncle had decided to be the one to marry you. It was nearly funny how back on Pairi Daêza everyone feared the Beast Rabban but here on Giedi Prime he was the least important pawn of the game.

Around midnight, one of The Baron’s servants leaned in to whisper into your ear to inform you that your husband had been waiting for you in his chambers. You swallowed thickly and nodded your head before standing up and leaving the dining room as fast as possible.

In the dark corridor you slowed down, though, not wanting to walk too fast and approach the dreaded room too soon. The guards were not following you but you knew the way, you had been taught it by your servants even though your chambers were in a different part of the fortress. Now, as The Baroness, you would get the new ones – even more splendid and luxurious. But you had been told you would not share them with your husband which was a great comfort.

Halfway there you heard footsteps behind you and you angered. Whatever humiliation was there to come, you did not want any witnesses. The corridor was dark and empty and yet some guard decided to follow you. You turned around furiously, ready to scold him. But it was no guard. It was Feyd-Rautha.

He leaned on the wall with a smirk and squinted his eyes at you.

“What do you want?” You asked him and clenched your jaw.

“Like a sheep for slaughter,” he snorted at you.

“That is none of your business, I believe,” you straightened yourself and raised your chin up.

He didn’t like your remark as he moved away from the wall and approached you quickly. In no time you felt his face looming over yours, mere inches away.

“I know what he’s going to do to you,” he whispered as you tried to remain cool but his words made you terrified. There was an odd sparkle in his eye, like he was enjoying your torment. He probably was.

“Fuck me?” You tried to pretend it didn’t bother you.

“Well, well, well, look at how dirty your mouth can be, Shehzadi,” Feyd-Rautha grabbed your cheeks to squeeze them and your eyes widened at his insolence.

“To you, I’m The Baroness,” you mumbled out.

“Sure you are, little snake. How else should I call you? An aunt?” He teased. “I shall,” he added. “No, he’s not going to fuck you. But he’s going to touch you and this reeking, slimy feeling won’t ever leave your skin. You will feel him always,” he moved even closer to you. You wondered how he could know such things. Then you felt how hard he was underneath his leather pants. You were scared he would hurt you now, which would make your husband furious and toss you aside, surely. 

“Sounds like you’d like to watch,” you drawled, regretting it instantly. He took a sharp breath in and pushed you against the wall, still holding your cheeks but now you were trapped between his body and the cold marble.

“Don’t be disgusting,” he warned you. It was surprising there were things he was finding gross. He didn’t look like the type. “You’ve no idea what’s waiting for you, aunt,” he hissed.

“Aw, you’re worried?” You cooed and he let go of your cheeks angrily. He remained close to you, though. You felt his hot breath on your face. He smelled like blood and leather.

Feyd’s hands dropped to your waist. Before you could stop him, he was pulling up all the layers of your dress, desperately trying to get the access between your legs. You grabbed his wrists, trying to stop him quietly.

“No, no, no, please, no,” you whispered in a panic. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, aunt. He’s going to do it,” Feyd snorted at your words and froze when all the layers of your dress that had been on the way were finally moved aside. A cold shiver went down your legs at the feeling of your exposed thighs. Feyd cupped your womanhood covered with black silky underwear. You gasped at the feeling as your eyes widened when you looked at his face. His lips curled into a smirk as you shook your head.

“Relax, Baroness, I’ll ease you for him,” he told you as his fingers hooked on the edge of your underwear. You felt his cold fingertips brushing your pussy softly and a set of shivers went down your spine at that sensation.

You didn’t know how to feel about it. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you were getting dizzy. Your mind wanted him to stop but your body did not. Despite the lack of experience, you knew that The Baron would not make you feel the same way as his young nephew would.

“I won’t fuck you,” he let out a raspy whisper, “he would kill us both for that.”

“He wouldn’t know,” you told him and Feyd tilted his head at you. “I’ve been examined by the medic this morning to prove my innocence. I doubt he will examine me now again.”

“Believe me, he would know,” Feyd let out a laugh as he moved your underwear aside and exposed your womanhood. It was too dark for you to feel ashamed of it but it still felt incredibly wrong. Yet, you didn’t ask him to stop. Not that it would change anything.

He raised his hand up to his full lips and licked them while staring deep into your widened eyes. Then he put his hand between your legs again and began to touch you in your most intimate place. You sighed at the feeling of his wet and cold fingers trying to get between your folds.

“Open your legs further,” he ordered and your body obeyed by moving the legs more apart before your mind could take over and make a responsible decision to run away. Not that you could run away because with his free hand he grabbed one of your wrists and pinned it to the wall above your head.

Once he got a better access to your pussy, Feyd focused on massaging your sweet spot that made your eyes roll to the back of your head, occasionally dipping his finger carefully inside of you to gather some of your wetness. You moaned softly and dug your fingernails into his bicep, feeling a close release. He was smirking at how fast he could make you reach your high but you didn’t care. You hated him but his fingers were skilled, making you stand on your toes as the muscles of your abdomen tensed, desperately wanting more friction.

“I’m gonna…” You gasped and that was when he took his hand away, fixed your underwear and took a step back, letting the folds of your dress fall down to their place. It took you a moment to collect yourself and realise that he had left you without a release but with a deep and urgent need. “What was that?” You asked.

“Now it won’t hurt when my uncle does the same to you, aunt. Maybe you’ll even cum with his fingers inside you as you remember my fingers on your cunt,” Feyd chuckled contemptuously and licked his fingers clean as you watched with terror in your eyes. “Sweet. Like I’ve imagined a cunt from Paradise to be,” he commented and turned around to walk back to the party, leaving you breathless and dizzy with an ache between your legs.

For a while you forgot where to go. You kept taking wrong turns before finally approaching the doors leading to The Baron’s chambers. At your state you weren’t even scared anymore. Feyd-Rautha had eased your mind indeed and reduced your body functions to one primal need.

You pushed the door open softly and entered your husband’s chambers. They were nearly empty and very cold. In the middle of it, there was a big bathtub full of a black substance. He was bathing in it and puffing on his pipe as he squinted his eyes at you.

“What took you so long, Baroness?” He asked and you cleared your throat, trying not to sound too shook up. The sight of him in that bathtub made your desire much lesser, though. Even the memory of Feyd-Rautha’s cold fingertips brushing your clit lightly and teasing you with pleasure could not make you feel the same excitement again.

“I’m sorry. I got lost,” you answered, which had been only half a lie.

“Don’t worry, Baroness, you will soon remember the way,” he wasn’t angry and he beckoned you over with a move of his wrist.

You approached him obediently although your limbs were getting numb. You were left completely alone with him and you had no idea what he would want now from you. As your husband he could demand anything and you’d have to follow.

“Undress yourself,” his voice was softer than when he would address his nephews but it was still an order as he watched carefully with squinted eyes.

You nodded shyly at his words and began to clumsily take your gown off. It was a complicated piece of fashion and you did not have any servants to assist you. However, your husband was not rushing you, he simply watched and he was visibly content.

When you were naked, you covered yourself with your hands as you stood in front of him. He looked up from his bathtub and puffed on his pipe with a smirk.

“No, no, don’t hide,” he shook his head. “Come, join me,” he invited you in and you swallowed thickly at the black slime he had been bathing in. You doubted it was harmful but you didn’t want to sit in the same substance as him. “Join me,” he repeated, more sternly this time and you bit on your lower lip as you nodded and entered the bathtub.

Your body was shaking but the odd liquid was nicely warm and relaxing. The feeling of it helped you ease a bit. You sat as far away as possible from him.

“Come closer, Baroness. You see, I’m old now and not of the best health. I sadly cannot perform my marital duties and satisfy you like a husband would,” he pretended to feel sorry for you. “But I want to play with you a little and admire my new wife,” he reached out his hand and you took a deep breath in before holding it and letting him pull you closer. “Do you know why I took you for myself?” He whispered and you shook your head. “Because he wanted you so much.”

When you left The Baron’s chambers, there were two scared female servants waiting already behind the doors. At the sight of you leaving in a hurry, they entered – most likely to finish what you had started. You hurried to the rooms that were supposed to be yours now. They were empty since your own servants would come in the morning.

You had been barely dressed because you wanted to leave his room as fast as possible. This time taking your dress off took you a few seconds and you jumped into the bathtub in the bathroom and filled it with warm water. With a sponge laying on the counter you started to scrub your body harshly, causing the skin to bleed in a few places. You wanted to get the black slime off of you and – most importantly – your husband’s touch.

Feyd had been right. What his uncle had done to you was not the worst – he had been touching and teasing, sniffing your scent and caressing your skin as he had whispered about the beauty of youth and innocence. But the fact that it had been him doing so, it made it the most disgusting thing you had ever experienced. You gagged at the very memory of it and now, after your wedding night, you no longer felt comfortable with the idea of being bred with his son even if it would be an artificial conception.

You started to sob uncontrollably. You hated The Harkonnens. They had destroyed your planet and your childhood. Now they destroyed your innocence and womanhood. You would never get free of them.

But death was not an option. It would be an easy way out. You had to be strong.

The medic’s procedure had truly been quick and painless but you felt disgusting leaving the medical wing of the fortress knowing that The Baron’s seed might be already growing in you. To make it worse, on your way back to your chambers, you spotted Feyd-Rautha coming back from the training yards. He smirked at the sight of you as you froze, still remembering the last night’s blasphemous act of intimacy that he had performed.

“Aunt,” he greeted you with a nod of his head.

“Nephew,” you answered in a similar manner as you looked him up and down.

Sweaty from the combat and still wielding a blade, he looked incredibly magnetic at that moment. His youthful and fearless energy was unfortunately drawing you in. The way he was staring at you made you remember how good his fingers had felt on your pussy and it brought the heat up to your cheeks. You wished he would stay away from you because his very presence was a torment.

“How was it?” He leaned in when he spoke to you, his eyes carefully watching your figure. You did not give him an answer. “Did you cum?”

“You’re an insolent brat, Feyd-Rautha,” you told him sternly and he straightened himself. You spoiled his fun by not being scared nor disgusted. “I want you to stay away from me since I might already be carrying your uncle’s true heir,” you added.

The playfulness of his eyes turned into anger very quickly. He pointed at your abdomen with his blade and you flinched. The guards standing a few steps behind you, hurried to your side immediately.

“You will soon realise, aunt,” Feyd drawled, “that he is your enemy – not me. He will destroy you like he destroys everything he ever lays his hands on.”

“Like he destroyed you?” You raised your eyebrow curiously and he lowered the blade. His jaw clenched but there was a shadow of hurt in his eyes at that moment, which surprised you. You didn’t expect a man like him to ever feel hurt.

Feyd-Rautha did not reply to that. He walked away without a word, followed by your guards’ eyes.

“Are you alright, my Lady?” One of them asked you and you nodded. “Shall we tell The Baron about the incident?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “His nephew’s antics must be tempered.”

Six months had passed since your wedding day and you still were not carrying The Baron’s heir. Your husband was growing impatient and the only thing stopping him from getting angry at you was the medic’s declaration that it had not been your fault but the seed’s quality was weak due to your husband’s age and condition. Even enhanced artificially with the Harkonnen science, it could not settle well in your womb. At this point you were so drugged with their injections to the point that you wouldn’t be surprised if a simple touch of any other man than your husband would put a son in you. How ironic.

You had no idea what The Baron had done to Feyd-Rautha but after the corridor’s incident the young man had been avoiding you. He had been watching you carefully from afar with eyes full of hatred like an ominous shadow following you behind wherever you would go. But he would not approach you nor talk to you unless he had to in an official situation. He would always address you with respect as The Baroness or Aunt. You had noticed that it brought him a twisted pleasure to call you by that name.

Your husband hadn’t been spending much more time with you either. He would be next to you during the official events and he would ask you to join him in his chambers about once or twice a week but other than that you had been spending your days alone with nobody but your female servants and male guards, occasionally with the medic. It was a lonely life but at least you weren’t exposed too much to the dreadful Harkonnens… except for the nights you were expected to perform some sort of marital duties.

No amount of time had made you used to The Baron’s touch. You would flinch every time he caressed your body or admired it while whispering the filthiest things. But after the first month your body had developed a defence mechanism of dissociation during those acts.

Technically speaking, though, after six months of being The Baroness Harkonnen, you remained a virgin. The marriage had not been consummated properly so The Baron could divorce you without consequences any day. Giving him a son was the only thing that would legitimise your union. And as much as you dreaded his spawn growing inside of you, you wanted to secure your position. The frustration of not getting pregnant had brought you to tears many times before.

It did now as well. An hour after finding out that the last week’s procedure had failed and the seed had not settled in your womb. The medic had been both sorry for you and himself because he had known that The Baron’s rage would mostly be aimed at him for not doing enough. Soon, though, you were sure, it would reach you as well.

Your chambers were being cleaned at the moment and you wanted to be alone so you wandered to a different part of the fortress and hid in one of the empty study rooms. You kicked your shoes off and sat on a black leather armchair by the wall as you sobbed into your hands, curling up with your feet up on the seat. You felt so small and unimportant at that moment; you missed home and you missed your mother’s embrace. You missed any sort of affection.

Focused on self-pity you did not hear the doors opening. You only startled at the sound of them closing loudly and you froze at the sight of Feyd-Rautha who had just entered the study room. At first, he stiffened seeing you as well.

“What are you doing here, aunt?” He asked, carefully.

“It is none of your business, go away,” you ordered, trying for your voice not to break and reveal your crying state.

“You cannot command that,” he snorted at you.

“I am your Baroness. I can and I will,” you sniffled your tears back and you hugged yourself tighter as if you wanted to protect yourself from him.

Feyd ignored your words, though. He approached you confidently and smirked after realising what you had been doing.

“Yes, feast on the sight of me crying,” you snapped. “What a pleasure it must be for you. Let me please you further, dear nephew. I am still not expecting an heir that would take your place. Happy now?” Your voice trembled.

“Look at you, you’re glowing,” he crouched down to be on your level as he whispered in an oddly seductive way. You furrowed your brows at his words and he reached his hand out to brush your cheek stained with tears. “They’ve injected so many hormones into you, Baroness, you’re practically begging to be fucked. You’ve no idea what the smell of you does to men around you…” He brought his finger to his mouth and licked the tip softly. “The taste… Even your tears are an aphrodisiac,” he looked up at you and you swallowed thickly. It was making you uncomfortable but for the first time in a long time you felt seen. “What a torment it must be. Do you touch yourself, aunt?” He asked and the insolent question snapped you back to reality.

“I’ve no idea how he punishes you but you’re asking to be punished again,” you warned him.

“I can show you how he punishes me,” Feyd did not wait for your answer as he took his black shirt off, revealing his pale and strong chest. His hard muscles were simply beautiful, you had to admit it. But when he turned around to show you his back, he revealed dozens of thin scars scattered all over. Some were white and bumpy, visibly old. But some were more fresh and still reddened. You hissed at the sight and he turned his head around to look at your face.

“I’m sorry, I did not know…” You admitted and reached your hand out to touch some of them gently. You let your finger follow the lines and he smirked.

“Don’t be sorry, aunt. I enjoy the whipping,” he grabbed your wrist and turned his body in your direction again.

“It is hard to believe, Feyd-Rautha,” you admitted. “I thought his punishment was based on threats.”

“His methods are more sophisticated,” Feyd sneered. “Now, I’ve revealed myself to you, Baroness. Will you reveal yourself to me?” He asked and you furrowed your brow. “Do you touch yourself?” He repeated the question that caused your cheeks to heat up.

“Sometimes,” you answered. “I start but I never finish because somewhere in the middle I get haunted by the visions of his hands touching me and they make me sick,” you whispered your secret.

“Poor aunt, you must be so tense,” Feyd cooed to you and let go of your wrist. “So ready and eager to welcome a child in her womb and yet so unsatisfied.”

You hated to admit that he was right. The amount of hormones that had been injected made your breasts and womanhood sensitive, a single brush of your servant’s hand during the bathtime was enough to fill you with desire. Most of the time you were walking around with an itch deep between your legs, a heavy burden that could not be removed by any means.

Now, Feyd-Rautha being so close to you and talking to you in such a manner was not helping. In fact, it was making your condition worse.

“What do you care?” You asked. “I thought you don’t want me to carry him a son. If he tossed me aside or even killed me, it would be your victory,” you pointed out.

“My greatest victory would be humiliating him by putting my son in your womb,” Feyd watched your reaction carefully but you didn’t even flinch at the sound of that.

He was young and so full of life. You were sure he’d succeed during the first try. It would secure your position and keep The Baron Happy.

“What if he finds out? He’d kill us both,” you bit on your lower lip.

“And you think I would allow that?” He snorted at you, revealing his black teeth. You were so shook up that in this state you even found them attractive. The fact they were so black, so different, so extraordinary, symbolising his brutality. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted his toxic saliva to poison your innocence. You wanted to be trapped under him as he ravages you.

He had to notice the shift of your gaze, the way you face changed its expression. He smirked triumphantly, already knowing that you craved him.

“The medic… He will see I was deflowered,” your last hesitation made you speak up your concerns.

“The medic?” Feyd-Rautha chuckled contemptuously. “The same one who is working for me? The same one who is making sure that my uncle’s seed is not succeeding?”

“Wh-what?” You choked out but he only smirked as he shushed you.

“Don’t forget you were supposed to be mine, little snake. I do not give up easily,” he admitted and with one rapid movement of his strong hands he pushed your legs apart as your thin silky dress pulled up, revealing you to him. “Let’s give you a quick release before I properly breed you. You must be in such pain and torment,” he cooed.

Your eyes widened at his actions but you did not protest. Your limbs were getting numb out of the overwhelming desire and feeling his breath on your pussy was nearly enough to make you cum on spot.

Feyd dropped to his knees and leaned in even closer, biting the soft flesh of your thighs gently with his black teeth and leaving trails of saliva. You felt your womanhood pulsating, begging for his attention. He had to notice the twitching muscles underneath your underwear as well as he chuckled and took it off of you greedily. He froze for a moment with his eyes fixed on his prize and he slowly licked his lips.

“So swollen and eager. The smell is enough to put only one thought in my head,” he admitted. “Make you swell with my seed. Come here,” he crooned in his coarse voice that sent shivers down your spine as he grabbed your ankles and pulled you closer to the edge of the armchair’s seat. He threw your feet over his muscular shoulders and opened his mouth to stick out his long and slim tongue to show it off for you as you took a deep and shaky breath in.

Feyd leaned in and buried his face between your wet folds that had been anticipating any sort of release for weeks now. You gasped loudly at the sensation of the tip of his tongue tickling your sensitive sweet spot. His mouth was so skilled that he did not require the assistance of his hands as he placed them flat on your thighs to keep steady. He would gather your wetness with his tongue and then dip it all inside of you, making your back arch and hips rise slightly for more friction. There were times when his whole face was buried deep into you but he did not even flinch from the lack of air as he was devouring you, licking you completely clean like a starving dog and then focusing again on your swollen clit. Whenever he teased it, you were sure you’d cum now but then he would move his tongue away over and over, keeping you on the edge.

Your gasps and soft moans filled the room. You were trying to hold yourself back a little, ashamed of being so displayed for him but on the other hand it was him kneeling down to lick your pussy like a servant. It was you who was in control and the thought of that alone was enough to turn you on even more.

Your hands had been squeezing the armchair’s leather fabric but you dared to place them on the back of Feyd’s bald head and he did not protest. In fact, he moaned at the feeling as a pleasurable vibration went down your body. Your toes curled when you pushed his face even deeper and you felt the pressure of his nose on your clit when he was fucking you with his long tongue.

The overwhelming desire stripped you out of shame as you began to move his head up and down, rubbing your pussy all over his face while your moans grew higher and louder. Fuck it, you thought, you deserved it. After months of such a sad and awful marriage, being The Baron’s trophy wife, unsatisfied and yet violated by his repulsing touch, you deserved to cum on his handsome nephew’s face. It was the least Feyd-Rautha could do to make it up for you.

With a loud moan, shaky breath and trembling legs you finally reached your peak. Although the movements of your hips came to a halt and your hands stopped pushing his face, he was relentlessly sucking on your clit throughout your high, until you begged him to stop and he hesitantly let go of your glistening pussy with your sticky juices vulgarly dripping down his chin as you looked down at him with hazy eyes.

“I could feast on you for days, Baroness, you’re as sweet as a ripe fruit from your homeworld,” Feyd did not bother with wiping his face. He took your limp feet and calves from his shoulders and threw them back on the floor before placing one last kiss upon your wet mound as your pussy twitched uncontrollably in an aftershock.

You didn’t know what to say. You could see the hunger in him, he expected more and you wanted it, too. You wanted to feel his cock inside of you, you wanted him to fuck you like The Baron could never do.

“Claim me, Feyd-Rautha,” you ordered in a weak voice. “I want to remember with satisfaction each time he asks for me that it is you who have claimed me and fucked me. Put your son in me and smile every time you see me walking swollen with your seed as you know that it is yours and not his. If you’re a good boy now, I might reward you and let you feast on my fruit every night in my chambers,” you promised, like it would bring him more pleasure than you, which was not true at all. You craved it as much as him, if not more.

Your words elicited even greater hunger inside of him as he grabbed you by your ankles and pulled you down on the cold marble floor. The coolness of the stone brought some relief to your feverish body, your dress was still pulled up and you watched Feyd positioning himself above you as you bit on your lower lip and realised he would truly claim you now, on the floor of an empty room in secret. There was something barbaric about it and the fact you were an innocent lady from a planet known as Paradise who would be taken by such a brute warrior was making you go dizzy. You didn’t even fear the pain that would come with it because you wanted it – you wanted him to stretch you out and fill you.

When such thoughts were invading your mind and exciting you all over again, Feyd got his cock out of his leather pants and stroked it at the sight of you waiting for him with your legs open. With his free hand he gathered the wetness of your pussy and coated his length with it before hovering over you with his face inches away from yours.

“It’s going to hurt, my Lady,” he warned you with a smirk, there was absolutely no worry in his voice.

“I want you to hurt me,” you nodded and grabbed his biceps, ready to dig your nails in them as he’d slide inside.

Your spent and overstimulated pussy was relaxed enough to welcome him but the burning sensation made your back arch and your eyes roll, you were sure your fingernails made his shoulders bleed but you did not care. The pain was overwhelming and mixed with pleasure, you felt as full as you could and yet he still had more and more to give you, sliding it inside slowly, inch by inch, with a raspy moan and his forehead pressed to yours.

“You’re so tight,” Feyd breathed out, “open your eyes,” he commanded and your eyes fluttered open to stare into his cold and intense gaze. “I want you to look at me when I fill you up with my son,” he added and you nodded, still too overwhelmed to speak but already getting used to his size as if your pussy was made for his cock.

Once you nodded, he started rutting into you with all his force without any warning. You dug your fingernails even deeper into his flesh and moaned out of pleasure as the spasms of pain travelled through your body. His moves were fast and rough, relentless; nearly automatic like he was a machine and not a human. With each stroke he was hitting a spot inside of you that was making you gasp and writhe underneath him, leaving you a drooling and whimpering mess. Feyd used one of his hands to grab your cheeks and squeeze them gently to shut you up before joining his lips with yours in a sloppy and possessive kiss. You could taste yourself on him and you moaned at the taste – it was sweet indeed from all the hormones you had been injected with. It was no wonder he got addicted already, you would get, too. In fact, you explored his mouth with the tip of your tongue in order to clean it off of your juices completely, greedily licking them away from him as you were letting out muffled moans into his mouth.

His hips were brutal and his mouth was aggressive but you wanted nothing else but this. Hearing the stories about his sexual appetite you had been scared but now you wanted to laugh at your old self. It was nothing to fear, it was something to anticipate.

The fact that the act was forbidden, that he was your husband’s young nephew and a rival of some sort, was making it even better. You were welcoming each of his rough thrusts with eagerness, hoping it would fill your already swollen womb. Your whole body was ready to take the seed and as much as you dreaded the idea of carrying your husband’s son under your heart, you found the idea of carrying Feyd-Rautha’s heir much more appealing. If he would be like his biological father, he’d be handsome and fearsome, psychotic and depraved. You’d see your lover in him – not your husband – and it was giving you satisfaction.

Feyd’s hands dropped to your breasts as he tore the fabric of your dress open to expose them for himself to squeeze and pull on your hard nipples. You broke the kiss and cupped his face to push it down to your neck where you needed his open-mouthed sloppy kisses and soft bites of his black teeth. He obeyed and then he moved his head even lower to give the same treatment to your breasts, occasionally accompanying your moans with his low grunts.

You could feel that your second peak was coming close and you wanted to make him finish, too, so you spoke up in a shaky, hazy voice.

“Fill me up, give me a son,” you pleaded in a raspy whisper. “I want it so bad, I want to swell with your baby.”

Feyd moved his head up once again and joined your lips in another kiss – this time it was messy with teeth clashing and uncontrollable moans as the movement of his hips became less steady. In a few short spasmodic thrusts he spilled his thick black cum inside of your pussy. The feeling of his hard cock filling you deep inside straight into your womb was enough to bring you to your second peak as well.

Once he was definitely finished, he broke the kiss between you two and moved up to slide out of you and hide his cock back into his pants. You whined at the empty feeling and watched him put his shirt back on while breathing heavily, still laying on the floor, exposed with your dress torn up and your hair a mess. Feeling like a whore and absolutely loving it.

“You will go to the medic tomorrow and tell him that he had to be mistaken and the seed had made its way inside of you,” he informed you oh-so-formally.

“You’re so sure of your success?” You asked.

“I am,” he leaned in to look at you. “Don’t worry, I shall still visit you at night whenever you invite me. I’m a dog at your command now,” he admitted shamelessly and you sat up, resting on your elbows to take a better look at him.

That fearsome warrior was completely under your spell and all you had to do was to let him taste your pussy. You laughed at him. He had so many other women, yet it was you who made him this way. You knew why. It was because you were a war prize, because you were from Paradise and because you were an off-world Shehzadi. But most importantly he wanted you because you were his uncle’s Baroness. He craved you to spite him.

“And if I command you to never touch me nor speak to me again? I have already used you for my own gain,” you teased and raised one of your feet to caress his thigh with it.

Feyd angrily grabbed your ankle and looked into your eyes intensely.

“Don’t think I will allow my child to be called his heir and watch myself being tossed aside as my son is remembered as Vladimir Harkonnen’s spawn,” he threatened.

You didn’t answer that, unsure about the meaning of his words. He gave you one last angry gaze and pushed your foot away before walking out of the room as if nothing had just happened.

Of course the medic did not believe your words but he pretended that he had. He couldn’t know that Feyd had told you about the fact that he was working for him so he just played along and informed the Baron that he had been mistaken and you were, in fact, finally pregnant with his son.

You had been hoping that once you’d be pregnant, your husband would leave you alone. But no, how wrong you had been. He was now keeping you around him nearly all the time as if you were a precious cargo. He invited many great leaders for official banquets and showed you off. He would sit you on his lap and keep his huge hand on your swollen abdomen proudly.

But you did not even mind that much – not when you knew that the child was not his. You would often catch Feyd-Rautha’s gaze somewhere in the room and give him a mysterious smile as he would give you a smirk. It was your secret, your revenge on The Baron Harkonnen.

And late at night he would creep inside your room and please you however you wanted him to, only to disappear before the first rays of the black sun would hit you, as if he was only a dream or a ghost. You would recognise his smell now everywhere, though. The feeling of his touch differed so much from others. There was nothing but pure and raw desire bonding you two together and yet, when you watched him in the gladiator arena next to your husband, you feared for his life and you would startle at the sight of his opponents attacking him.

You knew that if something or someone threatened your life, Feyd-Rautha would protect you and he was more physically capable of it than his uncle. You needed him alive to keep you and your son safe.

You admired his body and his strength, the amount of his devotion to you and his little revenge plan. He was magnetic and you almost felt lucky to be chosen by him even though it was you having the upper hand in this relationship.

Some nights he was not coming to you, too busy with other things or perhaps too exhausted after the training. You didn’t mind since your body needed a rest as well, especially now when you were six months pregnant already. That night was one of those lonely nights and you had problems with falling asleep, so when you were woken up abruptly in the early morning by your servants, you didn’t hide your annoyance.

“What is it?” You snapped and rubbed your eyes.

“It’s… It’s The Baron, my Lady,” the girl’s black Harkonnen eyes were widened out of fear.

“What about him?” You yawned and sat up, squinting your eyes at the sun creeping inside through the windows. Another servant was already opening the curtains.

“He… He drowned last night, my Lady,” the girl informed you and you froze.

“What?” You asked, blinking slowly, not sure if it wasn’t a dream. “What are you talking about? What do you mean drowned? My husband is dead?”

“Yes, Baroness… He drowned in his bathtub. My condolences,” she bowed down. “You are awaited by the lords for the council,” she informed you.

You were speechless as you allowed them to dress you up in a humble black dress of mourning. They did your hair up and put a light make up on your face to hide the dark bags underneath your eyes. Your mind was spinning with an endless train of thoughts.

One thing was certain – it had been no accident. It had to be Feyd-Rautha’s doing.

And as much as you were relieved to hear about The Baron’s death since he would never touch nor hurt you ever again… you were scared of what would happen now. There was no way the lords would allow you to rule as the widow. You were an off-world woman who had been married to their Baron as a war prize. You were a pet, nothing more. You only hoped to convince them to let your son be an heir as they call someone else a regent in his name. You couldn’t hope even for the regent title.

You were escorted to the council room by the guards and when you entered it, every man inside went silent. They bowed down and gave you their condolences but their eyes held no sympathy. Feyd-Rautha was not amongst them.

“Thank you, my lords,” you took a seat at the end of the long, black table. “It is a great tragedy but thankfully before his death, my husband has managed to produce an heir,” you brought up the topic immediately as the men looked at each other. “What is it?” You asked.

“The boy is not even born yet, my Lady,” one of the lords spoke up and pointed at Rabban. “If we announce Count Rabban the next Baron… or Feyd-Rautha as the late Baron wanted… Well, then they might produce their own heirs in the future. They are both young and capable.”

You got dizzy at those words and the reactions of other men. They seemed to hum in approval.

“So, I am to be tossed aside?” You asked, angrily. “I am carrying your late Baron’s son and you’re tossing me aside? The child inside me is a rightful heir,” you protested.

“And what would you want?” A different lord asked without even addressing you properly. You realised you had already lost. “Perhaps you want to be The Baroness Regent? Over my dead body I will let a woman – let alone from Pairi Daêza – to command me.”

“Enough!” The doors opened and Feyd-Rautha walked inside with his head held high and a playful smirk on his face. The way he confidently walked and scanned the room with his eyes was enough proof for you to know that it was him who had killed your husband. “The child is not yet born, that is a fair point,” he looked at the lord who had addressed the matter, “therefore at the time of my uncle’s death I was still the Na-Baron,” he added and you gasped softly. You couldn’t believe that he betrayed you. You chewed on the inside of your cheek at the realisation how stupid you had been to think you were playing on the same side.

You had never discussed any details of his plan with him. But you were carrying his son and you hoped he would protect you and the child. Apparently, he only tormented you for his own fun. You wanted to cry. You had lost everything.

Then he looked at you and his face softened a little at the sight of your trembling lip and sad eyes.

“I will wed my uncle’s widow to be my Baroness as the old levirate law says,” he announced and you froze out of shock. Levirate was a law about brothers but you guessed an uncle with such an important title counted as that, too.

“Respecting that law is not expected from you, my Lord Baron,” one of the lords informed him. “You can choose any other bride.”

“I can,” Feyd nodded and stood behind your chair as he rested his hand on your shoulder, “but I will not. I’m choosing Baroness (Y/N) Harkonnen to be my bride,” he announced as the lords looked at each other, as surprised as you were. Out of relief you reached your hand up to hold his and squeeze it in a grateful manner. “I also want to make it known,” Feyd raised his voice and everyone went silent as they looked at him, “that the child she is carrying is mine and not my late uncle’s, therefore her son is my heir.”

Your heart started to pound in your chest. The eyes of the lords were staring at you with such intensity that you were afraid they would make a hole inside of you. You swallowed thickly, knowing perfectly well that you just had to admit to your sins now.

“I confirm,” you nodded and they began to whisper between each other. Feyd’s hand squeezed yours.

“If you do not believe me nor The Baroness, the medic might make a public announcement of the paternity test but I do hope you will not humiliate your Baroness like that,” Feyd told them and they all went silent again.

“N-no, my lord Baron,” one of the lords stood up and bowed down in your direction. “We accept the child as yours and we will let others know.”

“I do not want this matter to be discussed nor questioned,” Feyd stated harshly.

“With all respect, brother,” Rabban spoke up suddenly and you laid your eyes on him, curious about what he was going to say, “the matter that has been discussed and questioned so far was our uncle’s fatherhood. The only thing we have found out today was the identity of the man our Baroness has laid with.”

“Rabban,” Feyd barked at him.

“It is quite alright,” you said. “I am rather relieved that I do not have to lie about it anymore as I am proud to carry Feyd-Rautha’s son under my heart,” you smiled at the lords. Some of them rolled their eyes but they still nodded their heads at you.

“Then it’s settled,” Feyd announced. “Go back to your chambers as we settle the details about my uncle’s funeral and the rest of the upcoming ceremonies, my Lady,” he looked down at you and you nodded. He helped you to stand up and placed a kiss upon the palm of your hand before taking your seat by the table.

You were taken back to your chambers accompanied by the guard as you caressed your womb gently, very content with the outcome of that council.

The excitement made you less tired so you just ordered breakfast. Once you were finishing it, the doors to your bedroom opened and Feyd-Rautha entered your chamber. For the first time by daylight, without making it a secret. You stood up from the table and approached him with a smile before you threw your hands around his neck.

“My darling,” you greeted him. “I have doubted you for a short while this morning, you know that?”

“Have I not told you that I would not allow my son to be remembered as his heir?” Feyd smiled at you and pulled you closer by your hips – as close as he could with your swollen womb between you two.

“But the lords were right. You do not have to marry me. I can give you a son, he can be your heir. There is no need to wed me,” you pointed out.

“Don’t you want it?” Feyd tilted his head.

“I’m asking do you want it,” you pointed out.

“I wanted to marry you a year ago when you came here, after I lifted up that veil. Why would I change my mind?” He put his hand on your abdomen and caressed it possessively. “You were supposed to be mine. You would have been mine if he hadn’t wanted to spite me.”

“Why do you want me?” You asked. “As a Baron you could have anyone. One of the Imperial Princesses even.”

“You’ve got what it takes, my Lady. You’re stubborn and strong. I’ve claimed you, you are mine,” he insisted.

You cupped his face and caressed his cheeks with your fingertips. It was hard to believe that he was yours now. Your husband. You would no longer dread these words.

“I will be a good wife to you, Feyd-Rautha,” you promised, genuinely. You did not want any games nor conflict. “I want only one thing from you.”

“And what is it?” He squinted his eyes at you, curiously.

“Safety,” you pleaded. “Of me and my family.”

“Your family is now my family,” he nodded and you sighed with relief. “I want a few things from you, too,” he added and you bit on your lower lip.

“What is it?” You asked.

“You will share your chambers with me,” he started and you nodded, “you will give me more heirs,” he added and you smiled at that, “and you will never mention him again,” he finished sternly.

“Never mention who?” You asked softly and leaned in to place a gentle kiss upon his lips. “There is only you and I.”

MASTERLIST

[farisjax]

I've come to notice when looking for marriage brothers want a wife who looks like a model, cooks like a chef, and prays like a saint, but they can't even find their own necks in the mirror...

It's become common, men demanding a wife that fits into their prewritten needs and wants.

But when it comes to themselves? No effort. No self-care. No self-discipline.

Imam al Ghazali رحمة الله in his book Ihya Ulum al-Din, he noted:

"The husband should adorn himself for his wife as she does for him, for this increases love between them."

Shaykh Ibn ‘Uthaymeen رحمة الله said:

“So if he (the husband) demands from her that she beautify herself for him but he comes to her with dirty and ragged clothing, this is not from justice. That which is proper is that you beautify yourself for her just as you love that she beautify herself for you.”

— Ta’liq ‘Alal-Muntaqā Min Akhbār Al-Mustafā, 4/566

Islam emphasises mutual respect and responsibility between spouses.

Ibn ‘Abbas رضي الله عنه said:

‘I love to adorn myself for my wife just as I love for her to adorn herself for me.’

[Al-Tabari, Tafsir 2:228]

This statement is supported by the Qur’anic verse:

‘And due to them [i.e., the wives] is similar to what is expected of them, according to what is reasonable.’

— [Surah Al-Baqarah, 2:228]

[lonestardust]

re your tags on the names of Marjan's family. So Marjan's name is not a Lebanese name?

Also I'm curious to your takes on her getting engaged/introducing Joe to her parents 👀

nope. and neither is Marwani actually. Marjan is persian Iranian and Marwani (and it's actually often Almarwani) is Algerian and Saudi Arabian.

i'm curious actually but there aren't certain positive expectations I'm waiting for here with this storyline. the inaccuracy of the name thing alone was something i immediately rolled my eyes at lol. I mean lucky the pilot was so good in every way I was hooked from the jump because otherwise if i had to think twice about Marjan's disastrous praying I'd have been turned off.

It's clear that Natacha did not get the assistance she needed to give Marjan what she needs. not as simple as guiding her on how to properly pray. But are we surprised that the american TV's portrayal of Arabs falls short in many ways due to lack of cultural competence in writers' rooms/ lack of research and guidance from diaspora Arab Muslim creatives? I mean their first thought about Marjan was like hmm how can we introduce this veiled woman in a storyline that portrays her well without trying to objectify her? oh let's take that veil off and see her hair! I don't hate this storyline but it just doesn't fully sit right with me either. especially as an intro.

so I don't know how they're going to go about this whole thing with Joe but I for one really hated the arranged marriage storyline. Yes it's so normal here for family & friends to try to set up adults. but i just can't stand watching the portrayal of I've-been-engaged-since-I-was-12 and playing it into "love is something you grow into" as a commonplace in muslim Arab culture and not something so questionable and rather a fucked up constraint on people (that has been fought against for decades). not even considering the class, ethnic and national difference that plays into it, given how underage arranged marriage or forced marriage is an actual piled up generational struggle rooted in gender inequality and exacerbated by colonial violence and wars. being cut off from the access to education, the creation of extreme poverty that makes families (especially displaced ones) struggle to provide for their kids and fear for their safety and future and so some come to the conclusion that marriage somehow could protect their kids from harm while providing them with a level of financial stability or facilitating moving in and out of besieged areas/cities and crossing boards etc.

And so it's clear that no one of Marjan's class/background in diaspora or back home would consider this to be the norm. so it's weird to me that this was welcomed normally. The writers just took a bunch of stereotypes about Muslims at large with no regard to national/ethnic or class background differences and turned them on their head.

another inconsistency is the chaperone/Mehrem (family member) thing. because first, actually once you're in public you don't need that during a date. second, someone like Marjan with her lifestyle, background, worldview/character and being a diaspora lebanese muslim in her 20s, would not follow an old Mehrem fatwa (the Islamic laws that change according time, place, people, and other prevailing conditions) unless she actually wants that out of having company.

I just don't think the writers engage with Marjan's background in a consistent realistic or authentic way. I didn't really see anything especially Lebanese about Marjan. beside what the mention of cuisines?

anyway i hate the idea of 'representation' in American media either way. It feels like an oxymoron. and the idea of seeing representation as an ultimate goal is even more dangerous. I find it counterproductive more often than not. this is an industry that perpetuates and financially aid violence and defamation narratives against said people that they pat themselves on the back for including and so it's naive to consider that they'll ever get it right. they tiptoe around certain people and tokenize them more than anything. Literally for every one good bare minimum representation there are dozens of American entertainment-military complex propaganda movies/tv shows/video games doing the exact opposite and taking it to extremes. I just always end up asking myself 'how is this exactly helpful? Yes it's entertaining i love watching it, i love this show but the things that plays into the bigger picture are still parts of the objective reality, what should I do about it?'

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Conservative, religious MAGA here. I honestly don't give a crap who you want to sleep with (so long as they aren't a minor, and it's all consensual). I personally don't consider it marriage due to my strict definition, but I'm not gonna tell you what to call it, and I have no interest in telling you that you can't sleep with another guy or gal, and I'm certainly not gonna stop you from getting tax benefits out of it. (That's why everyone gets married, right? 😉)

Just don't force me to make a wedding cake for it, going past multiple other bakeries specifically to target mine, and we'll be good.

Frankly, I have more of a problem with islam than I do gay people. islam is fine with murdering people who disagree, lying to the enemy to subjugate them, and raping children as young as nine. Most gay people tend to agree that those things are rather evil.

Exactly. There is nothing here we disagree on except for our own personal definitions of marriage. But the left would have me hate you and have me believe you hate me just because of that small difference of opinion. It's ridiculous, and it's exactly why they're losing so badly. They demand perfect ideological compliance as a prerequisite for friendship, love, or even purely pragmatic partnership. The right, and MAGA in particular, are, by and large, much more interested in finding the places where we agree and building off of that.

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

I got a good idea and I hope you’re okay with this bc u said you didn’t know much about Islam (but don’t worry it wouldn’t be offensive of weird if you wrote this) but imagine this , king Baldwin is secretly in love with a Muslim princess and she gets betrothed to another man , a Muslim one and then he sees her again alone , it could be so much angst

♧ Perhaps In Another Life - King Baldwin x Reader ♧

♧ Angst ♧

A/N: Hello Anon! Thank you for the request. It is a really good idea and I do hope that I don't mess it up due to my lack of knowledge but i'll try my best 😅. As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

PS: I really need to stop writing in clsss, people walk behind my laptop too much. Scares tf outta of me.

TW: Leprosy

She was beautiful. A work of art.

Their eyes only met once or twice, but it was enough to make Baldwin’s heart flutter with nervous exitement and his mask-covered face to flush with a pink tint.

Princess y/n of the Middle East.

Naturally, the king had the opportunity to see her a few times whenever she came to Jerusalem for royal affairs, but he never had the opportunity to speak with her one on one.

This both disappointed and relieved him. She was vastly intelligent and charming, but what he would say to her if they were alone, he had no idea.

In her presence, he was not a king nor a leper, just a young man with a secret crush.

He liked that. He liked not being anything special, just for a bit. Just a few minutes where he could look at her and forget his responsibilities.

Just him and y/n.

But it wasn't just them. It never was, there were always others around.

Others to pull them away. Others to ensure they never spoke more than a few words to each other.

It was on their fourth meeting that Baldwin had decided he was in love with her. Absolutely and undoubtedly in love with her.

The way she spoke, the way she moved, it was hypnotic. Her clothing and jewelry fitted her perfectly. He never once lusted for her like the men around her did, he loved her.

He did not wish to feel her skin. He wished to speak with her, know her, show her the world. Show her love. But he knew this would not be possible.

She was a muslim, he was a christian. Two opposite religions that would never permit marriage between the two.

But still, his feelings continued on for years. He never looked at another woman the way he looked at her, because no other woman was as special or even half as beautiful as she was.

Baldwin was twenty one when he received the letter.

It was a wedding invitation. Her wedding invitation.

His beloved y/n was to be married. She was to be betrothed to another man.

The king allowed the letter to fall from his gloved hands to the desk and a single tear to fall from his eye onto it.

He knew deep down that it was not possible to marry her, but he still held onto hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, they could at least be alone together to speak once. Just once. But now she would be married and that would become impossible.

The wedding was exactly a week after he received the invitation. Baldwin watched silently from his seat, desperately attempting to not allow his eyes to well with tears.

He never forgot that day and he never forgot her either.

He never married either, he simply could not see another woman the same way he saw her.

Unbeknownst to Baldwin, he was not the only one suffering from the marriage.

Y/n herself had taken a liking to the young king, many years ago.

When their eyes met for the first time.

She saw him before he was forced to wear the mask. His golden blonde hair reflected the sun, making it look like he was wearing a halo.

His bright blue eyes looked at her with kindness and even after the disease forced him to cover his beautiful face, his gorgeous blue eyes still looked at her with the same kindness from behind the iron mask.

But like him, she knew that it was not possible for them to be in love.

However, like him also, she hoped that one day they would have the chance to be together, just for a little bit. But her wedding made sure that would not happen.

She never forgot him either, until one day she was overjoyed with the news that her husband and herself would be traveling to Jerusalem for a few days to meet with the king and his officials.

Baldwin’s disease had progressed significantly and soon he would be stepping down from the throne.

Y/n knew he would die soon, but thinking about it was too painful so she chose to not. Or at least tried.

----------------

It was late when she and her husband arrived, they were shown to their rooms and told that the first meeting would be the following morning. 

But y/n could not sleep, nor even come close to shutting her eyes.

So she waited until her husband fell asleep and left the room for some fresh air.

She headed outside to the courtyard, taking a seat on a large bench and looking up to the stars.

“Madam?” a rough, yet kind voice called from behind her.

The princess turned to see Baldwin standing behind her.

Moonlight reflected off his iron mask just like how the sun used to reflect off his golden hair.

“Are you alright?” he asked, approaching her slowly.

“Yes, I just could not sleep,” she told him.

This was the first time they had been alone, needless to say they were both nervous but concealed it well.

“Nor could I,” the king replied, taking a seat beside her.

The two sat in silence for a little while, the only sound being the wind through the palm trees and Baldwins struggled breathing.

Y/n’s heart ached for the man for she knew he did not have much time left.

“I dont think we have been properly acquainted before” the young king finally spoke.

“Yes, it is strange. I have known you for so long but we have never had the chance to speak” y/n replied, turning to face him.

Baldwin sighed, “how is your husband?” he asked.

“He is well. How about yourself? Have you found a wife?” the princess asked, silently hoping he said no.

“No. I believe it's far too late for me to find love. To be wed now would be cruel to the poor lady expecting a husband” the reply only made y/n’s heart ache for him more.

This poor soul had never known love and she had plenty of opportunities to show it to him. But because of one small factor she never could.

“I am sorry to hear that Baldwin, truly I am” she placed a hand on his arm gently.

When he turned to her, she saw tears in his eyes. “I have a confession my lady, I need to tell you this before I die, for I can not go another second with this burden on my shoulders”

Y/n nodded, “of course, anything your highness”.

The king inhaled a shaky, struggled breath before he spoke again. “From the moment I laid eyes on you all those years ago y/n, I was in love with you. I have never felt that way about anyone before and that is the true reason I never took a wife, even when I still had at least some of my health. No woman was as perfect as you” he felt a tear run down his cheek behind the mask.

“And when I got news that you were to be wed, I simply could not take it” he turned away from her, not wishing for the princess to see the tears that now flowed freely down his cheeks.

Y/n thought for a moment before speaking.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I have always felt the same?” she reached out a hand, placing it on his masked cheek to make him face at her.

“I always loved you Baldwin. If it was not for our faiths being separate I would have asked my father for your hand in marriage myself if you didn't” y/n gave him a weak smile, looking into his cloudy, once bright blue eyes.

The king tried to speak but he couldn't, all he could do was choke out a muffled sob before y/n wrapped her arms around him.

Her embrace felt just like he imagined it to be, soft and warm. A comfort he had not felt since he was a child.

“I do not fear your illness Baldwin. I have awaited this moment for seven years, allow me to remove the weight from your shoulders before you are acquainted with your lord in heaven”

Her words were perfect. They were exactly what he needed and longed to hear.

“Perhaps in another life, things would have been different” he said quietly, his face buried in her shoulder.

Y/n smiled, “yes, perhaps they would have”.

[womenmustgoon]

Reading as Resistance

In 2010, Azar Nafisi published a book that I considered my favorite—a statement that might seem simplistic or superficial coming from someone who has always identified as a compulsive reader. And yet, that’s how it was. I remember sitting on a patch of grass, completely absorbed in that Adelphi edition with its utterly unappealing cover—yet it captivated me, page after page. It transported me to a world culturally distant from my own and, while discussing books I had loved during my university years, it also spoke of a country I had dreamed of visiting for its artistic beauty and cultural allure: Iran.

It was 2010. I was a young woman full of dreams and expectations. That book embodied everything I had studied, the highest expression of what I had immersed myself in over the past ten years: literature, particularly English literature, Western cultures, the cultural divide that often appears to separate geographically distant peoples, the condition of women—most visibly subordinate in the Middle Eastern world—the emancipatory power of education, Islamic law, and the role of marriage in society.

Those were the years when I was beginning to explore the internet as a space for debate, when I was leading university seminars on forced marriage, analyzing it as a representation of the cultural clash experienced by second-generation Muslim populations in the West. Yet in those seminars, I always emphasized how this institution had also been an integral part of our own culture, used as a tool of control to suppress any rebellion against the preordained norms of patriarchal societies—societies that, only on the surface, seemed distant from Islamic culture.

Those were the years when I would spend hours talking to anyone who was willing to listen about how liberating education could be, how I saw it as the most powerful weapon against political dictatorships and cultural segregation. Those were the years when I fought to prove the power of words.

Then one day, long after its publication, I came across this book, and it was love at first page. A manifesto of disarmed and disarming rebellion. Perhaps too politically correct for the louder voices of the time, perhaps even a bit bourgeois—but to me, it was a powerful and compelling battle cry.

Reading Lolita in Tehran

Azar Nafisi, a professor at the University of Tehran, was forced to suspend her English literature course due to pressure from the regime that took power after Khomeini’s 1979 revolution. As a witness to the repression and violence her female students suffered at the hands of the morality police, she refused to give up teaching. Every Thursday, she gathered a small group of former students in her home, which became a refuge for reading and discussion. In this all-female space, far from the grip of dictatorship, these women spoke about themselves and their new reality in post-revolution Iran. For a brief moment, they experienced freedom—studying and seeing their own lives reflected in the pages of books banned by the Ayatollah, engaging in dialogue through the words of authors like Nabokov, Austen, and Fitzgerald.

Novels became tools for analyzing daily life, allowing these women to expose their vulnerabilities while also giving them a lens through which to deconstruct the new regime. Lolita, reduced to an object by Humbert’s monstrosity, became a symbol of their own dehumanization, while Jane Austen’s works, with their masterful use of what is said and left unsaid, provided insight into the evolving role of women across different times and places.

The professor explained to her students how, in their culture, the divide between love and sex was a barrier to a true perception of the female figure. And so, in one of their final meetings, she arrived with Pride and Prejudice in one hand and a book on female sexuality titled Our Bodies, Ourselves in the other. Once again, literature became a weapon—a means of preserving dignity and achieving self-awareness in its fullest sense. Nafisi proposed rebellion through literature, through self-knowledge and the pursuit of understanding, as the only form of resistance against censorship, against thought controlled and dictated by a society that fears women, fears equality, fears equity—but above all, fears knowledge.

I loved this book. I read and reread it until I practically wore it out. And yet, only a few days ago, I discovered the existence of a film adaptation by Israeli director Eran Riklis, released in November 2024.

The Cinematic Adaptation: A Complex Challenge

Riklis’ film takes on one of the most complex and, in a way, most spiritual challenges: adapting a literary work to the screen. A delicate endeavor that, personally, I have only ever truly admired in Ivory and Zeffirelli. On top of that, Riklis faced the challenge of bringing to the screen a book that, as mentioned earlier, is essentially a symphony of literary voices, spanning different eras and geographical origins. Nabokov, Austen, Brontë, Flaubert, Naipaul, and Fitzgerald seem to engage in conversation, prompting the reader to question the limits of their own freedom to act.

In my opinion, the director does a fairly good job of achieving his goal, effectively conveying the oppressive atmosphere of post-revolutionary Tehran even to viewers unfamiliar with its historical or political context. He highlights the stark contrast between the rigid, suffocating world outside and the secret meetings between Nafisi and her students, alternating between moments of breath and tension for the audience.

And yet, despite the film’s clear and effective message about the power of literature, it lacks the strong sociological analysis that Nafisi so brilliantly weaves into her narrative. Riklis only lightly touches on what Nafisi states outright in her book: that Islam and the Islamic Revolution are two distinct and distant entities. Furthermore, the director largely overlooks the many references to Persian literary culture, particularly excerpts from One Thousand and One Nights, which Nafisi considers just as powerful as the coveted yet forbidden Western literary tradition.

The male characters also seem stripped of depth, resulting in an almost caricatured portrayal of Iranian society—an aspect that, at times, might make viewers question the intentions behind the film’s Israeli production. Another limitation is the film’s minimal representation of historical events—aside from the initial scenes of student protests during the revolution—whereas Nafisi’s book provides a rich, detailed account of her twenty years in Iran, from her return from the United States to her final escape in the late 1990s.

Had the film been bolder in its storytelling and paid closer attention to Iran’s history, it could have reached a wider audience and made a stronger impact. Instead, it gives the impression of being aimed at a niche audience already familiar with Nafisi’s book—viewers equipped with the necessary references to understand its many literary citations.

The Power of Words

It is a powerful film, still worth watching, but one that, if I may say so, misses the opportunity to highlight an issue that extends beyond Iran’s morality police and revolution. The role of words—just like that of images, in this case—is to awaken dormant consciences, to shake us from the fragility of our time, from the precariousness and existential uncertainty that define contemporary global history.

The power of words. The power of knowledge. The freedom to know oneself as the ultimate answer to the suffocating repression of singular thought.

Reading as the highest form of freedom—this has always been the true act of rebellion.

Source: Leggere Lolita a Teheran: la ribellione della parola

[iamnotharaam]

Hi I am a bi oriented aroace and agender muslim and im come from Nigeria but I'm in UK for my studies...in light of ramadan I need some help...I mostly come from a interfaith family with my dad being muslim and my mum being Christian meaning I never got to essentially explore Islam outside what was in my country...the kind in which more focuses on the rules and rituals of doing it right in the community

And this has made me to feel not safe in islam especially in nigeria where being even vaguely hint of queer will get you killed or imprisoned and from a personal level for me if I don't get married to a man or not at all...I will be sent to a conversion therapy or at best set up for a arranged marriage

Along with suspected mental illness due to me suffering plus the killing of the imam and...other killings from people in Islam...I feel like I don't belong or want to be in islam

I have already got some books but...I still feel trapped because I'm still under my parents and I ha e to obey them otherwise my chance of even leaving will be squandered and I'll be back to a country that I will have to spend the rest of my days in alone and scared and this haunts me

It's already second half of ramadan and I still don't feel like I belong even with all the resources I have read and the books I have and I feel that even with all that I'm reading will it be worth it...I'm not from here in the UK

Do you have any advice for this situation that I'm in and how can I finally reconcile my identity in a way I can feel sage and away from my parents

Salaam love,

Ramadan is a time for spiritual reflection and can unearth a lot of fear and uncertainty. With everything going on, your mental health suffering is highly understandable-- remind yourself that it's normal to be effected by world news, take a breath, and find ways to ground yourself

I don't know your full situation, but I can deeply understand your struggle. As a student, I often felt really powerless and confused because I didn't have full agency of my life. I feel like your stress with world news, uni, family, religion, and honestly the strain of Ramadan are making it hard to see a solution. I will tell you now as someone who has survived to 35, there is never a singular solution. I don't say this to scare you, but to prepare you and to arm you with knowledge.

Reconciling your identity is a personal journey that can take place any time of your life. Being safe and away from your parents is a journey about practicalities and agency (which is hard to achieve as a student). I am not saying they are not tied, but I think it can help to try to separate the pieces of both where you can.

There is a lot of dialogue, especially among white queer people, about "being authentic and being open and coming out of the closet," but the truth is it's just much harder for us. Queer, people of color, Muslim-- it's harder. If you need to stay closeted, or quiet, about your queerness in order to survive, there's no shame in that

I honestly think for your safety, you should focus on finding a footing in your life and slowly work towards independence.

Not to give you another book to read, but the memoir "Hijab Butch Blues," by Lamya H follows the author, a South Asian lesbian who ends up studying in the USA, and her journey with her faith, identity, and family, who they are largely still closeted to

And lastly, you don't need permission from anyone but yourself, but if you need encouragement, just remember "there is no compulsion in religion," if you don't feel like a Muslim, then don't. It's ok if you need to practice it culturally for your safety, but Allah, or God, or whatever you end up believing in, will understand and encourage the path that is true to you

Best of luck, we are here for you

[nuza3minalqabail]

"A character who emigrated to Allah and His Messenger and fled with her donkey from Mecca to Medina is Lady 'Um Kulthum' bint 'Uqbah bin Abi Mu'ayt. She was the first woman to migrate to Medina after the migration of the Messenger of Allah, peace be upon him. The Treaty of Hudaybiyyah included the condition that (whoever came from the people of Mecca as a Muslim would not be returned to them, and whoever came from the polytheists to the Muslims would be returned to them). So, 'Um Kulthum bint 'Uqbah came to Medina, and her brothers followed her and asked the Messenger of Allah to return her to them, saying: 'Fulfill our condition for us.' The Prophet, peace be upon him, said: 'The condition was for men, not for women.'

Then Allah revealed the verse we mentioned earlier. From that day, a migrating woman would be required to swear an oath that she did not migrate out of resentment for her husband or out of desire for worldly benefits, but rather out of love for Allah and His Messenger and a desire for the religion of Islam.

Allah says: (O you who have believed, when there come to you believing women as immigrants from the land of disbelief, test their faith...) The phrase 'and Allah knows best their faith' is an interjection to clarify that the reality of faith is known only to Allah, and that we can only judge by outward appearances. Then Allah says: (And if you know them to be believers, do not return them to the disbelievers; they are not lawful for them, nor are they lawful for them.) This means that if you verify their faith after testing them, do not return them to their former relationships; it is not lawful for a Muslim to remain in a state of marriage with a polytheist.

Thus, the honor is due to the first emigrant in Islam, Lady 'Um Kulthum bint 'Uqbah,' who upheld the right of women to migrate from the land of disbelief to the land of faith. Because she was truthful in her faith, Allah honored her and supported her with verses from Him that are recited in His Holy Quran until the Day of Judgment."

[dominadespina]

LAZAREVIC SISTERS II

Princess Dragana Lazarevic 

Early Life

She was born as the second out of five daughters of Lazar of Serbia with his wife; Milica. Her date of birth might be around the late-1350s or early-1360s. 

She is the namesaker of her paternal aunt; Dragana Hrebeljanović, the wife of a man named Musa.  She was likely born and raised in Prilepac with her eldest sister; Mara, before moving to Krusevac. 

Not much is recorded or known about her early or later life, but most people believe her to be the second wife of Emperor Ivan Shishman. 

Marriage to…….. Shishman

A lot of Serbian sources are divided about the identidy of her husband, but he certainly was an imperial representative of the Shishman family, and they married around 1386. 

Though Nikola Giljen, mentions her as the wife of Emperor Ivan Shishman, this seems highly unlikely, as Ivan was executated in June 3rd of 1395, and later that year in September, Dragana’s mother; Milica (Now Nun Eugenia) met with the fraternal council of the St. Paptelejmona monastery to discuss financial support that should be given to her daughters in case of poverty in widowhood. 

Nowhere does it mention the recent widowhood of one of her daughters, it can then be concluded that she is not the second wife of Ivan Sishman, but instead the wife of his eldest son; Aleksander Shishman. 

The confusion of her husband’s identidy might be due to the fact that Ivan Shishman proclaimed his eldest son; Aleksander as co-ruler and so by their marriage right both Dragana and Ivan Shishman’s second wife were referred to as “Empress Consorts.”

Nonetheless, nothing is known about the relationship she shared with her husband. Like most royal marriages at the time, it had more to do with the union of two houses into a paternership than a privy love affair. 

As Turks

In 1393, Sultan Bayezid Han conquered Trpovo on July 17. Ivan and his family were captured, it does seems like Dragana was one of the family members who were captured. 

In 1395, Ivan Shishman was executed by order of Sultan Bayezid. In the meantime Aleksander converted to Islam (It is unknown if Dragana converted with him) and became Iskender. Bayezid showed mercy to his kin and put him in a position of power, Iskender became the governer of an area near the Black Sea and was now referred to as "Iskender Bey". 

Later Life 

Nothing is known about the later life of Dragana, after 1395 Serbian sources lost track of her.

Wether or not she outlived her husband is unknown, but if she did this might confirm that she did in fact convert to Islam along side her husband and became Turk, which is why she never returned home; to Serbia.

Issue

There are no known decsendants of either Iskender Bey or Dragana. 

( Sources: “КЋЕРИ КНЕЗА ЛАЗАРА ИСТОРИЈСКА СТУДИЈА ПОГОВОР” by Jelka Redep, Dve srpske sultanije : Olivera Lazarevic (1373-1444) : Mara Brankovic (1418-1487) by Nikola Giljen )

[calabria-mediterranea]

The Festival of the Giants in Catanzaro, Calabria, Italy

A glimpse of i giganti at a Sicilian or Calabrian festival is a treat for all ages. But who are these folkloric giants – the golden-haired damsel and her dark-skinned suitor – and what are their origins? Just as the evocative figures float and whirl through the streets, their history entwines actual events and colorful myth to create the intriguing tradition.

The legend of the giganti is generally thought to originate in Messina, the northeastern Sicilian city that is separated from Calabria in the toe of the mainland by the aptly named Strait of Messina. Some accounts tell of a beautiful peasant girl, others of a local princess, but whatever her social position, the young maiden came from a virtuous, Christian family. Her name was Marta, or Mata in dialect. One day around 970 A.D. during the period of the Saracen invasions, a very tall Arab named Hassass Ibn-Hammar came ashore with his men to pillage the city. Upon seeing the lovely Mata, the prince asked for her hand in marriage. She refused, causing him to plunder all the more.

In the picture: THE IMPRESSIVELY GIANT GIGANTI IN MESSINA, SICILY

As a good Catholic, Mata resorted to prayer. Some stories tell of her kidnapping, but whether voluntarily or by force, she eventually capitulated and fell in love with the Muslim prince when he converted to Christianity and gave up his barbaric ways. He subsequently changed his name to Grifo and came to be known as Grifone due to his noteworthy physical stature. (The suffix -one denotes largeness in Italian.)

Across the Strait of Messina in Calabria, the giganti are constructed of papier-mâché and rest on the shoulders of their handlers.

Hidden under the giants’ skirts with a face hole to help guide their way, the puppeteers engage in a dance of courtship – the swarthy, mustached Saracen versus the fair, rosy-cheeked girl next door.  Fast footwork to the step of the tarantella conducts the couple through turns, inclinations and other gestures that draw them ever nearer and lead to an embrace or kiss to the delight of the crowd.

The ballo is accompanied by the incessant beating of drums that not only requires great stamina from the puppeteers, but has even inspired legends.

Calabria and Sicily share the giganti as they share the Strait and histories plagued with foreign incursion and domination. The ballo of Mata and Grifone is commonly viewed as a representation of the struggle between Islam and Catholicism. In festive atmospheres throughout the regions, the conflict is peacefully resolved, the people emerge victoriously, liberty is preserved and everyone has a good time. Long histories and engaging folkloric traditions come together to form part of a rich cultural fabric in which i giganti play an important part, both enlightening and entertaining the generations of today and tomorrow.

Video by Giganti Varapodio RC Profilo

Written by Karen Haid

Follow us on Instagram, @calabria_mediterranea

[hanaaamaryam]

“Fear of commitment”

I see how common these things are, every person has their own baggage and burden they bring with them. It’s quite sad to see how alot of humans are so terrified of letting themselves be vulnerable. I understand to the fullest extent. I do. People have their own traumas, due to the fact they were badly hurt in the past. I don’t blame them. Everyone has their own story.

People can be confusing, us even. We are confusing creatures. Because emotions are confusing. We may think we want something and then one day we wake up, we feel it changing. It ebbs and flows. I guess being with someone and choosing someone you have hope that it will progress into something beautiful is a commitment in itself. You choose this person every day. You’re not always supposed to feel that “in love” emotions, its the feeling of responsibility that comes with choosing your person.

Although I have my own baggage and i’m afraid of being close to a person, however I am still hopeful. I’m afraid but I’m willing to take that risk. Because to find love, you must risk of getting hurt. Being vulnerable comes with pain, because you strip your heart naked. With genuine connection, you must open up yourself so that connection can be built on a foundation that is free of judgement. I know now that what i’m looking in a partner is someone who I can feel safe being a burden to, not intentionally. You need to share your burdens together to move forward, its not my job to fix them and neither is them to me. But i will gladly be there with you while you fix yourself. I love when someone knows they’re imperfect, but tries to be better. Acknowledge that they have a lot of flaws to improve. There is always room for improvement.

Commitment feels wonderful with the right person. As long as you know your worth and value, you are cautious but at the same time very honest and open, you will find your person. I know that I look for that emotional closeness with a person, where we can undress our souls, where we can be two naked souls together. It’s not even about the physical things anymore, its how comfortable you are with your own emotions and others. I love that. I deserve someone who has a high emotional intelligence, cause I know i am that way. I want someone who can be on my level. I used to question myself alot, like there’s something wrong with me. I feel too deeply. But nothing is wrong with me, I just had bad emotional regulation. I lack of self control and could not contain my emotional response. I’ve learned and still am learning.

I believe loving someone comes with patience too. They will be obstacles, but it will feel easy with the right person. Until I find someone who can switch off my craziness, anxieties, i will be hopeful. I’m optimistic. You should be with someone that calms your soul, gives you peace.

Even in islam, marriage is supposed to be your peace. Love is one thing, but your partner should be your peace, Sakinah. I don’t believe in the feeling of “inlove”, you tend to do things blindly when you are inlove. Hence, when a person gives you peace, you have no worries.

Thats all.

With love,

Hannah Maryam

[rametarin]

Sex negative Progressivism

While conservatism is the go-to for sex-negativity, and it is a problem and a general pain in the ass, we really need to remember the language of how we speak about these detrimental problems.

Sex negativity is bad, whether their reasons are due to squeamishness, or their own ideological bend interpreting it in a certain way. This of course includes conventionally irritating, restricting ideas about it borne from the expectation that their religious ideology should dominate the wills and expectations and normative standards of society as a religious culture sees it, but it also encompasses the bullshit of more Progressive, Left learning inhibitions.

For example, typically racism and prejudice against mixed-race or ethnic or regional marriage, or cross-caste love, are considered "wrong" among traditionalists and more hardline conservatives. Not just including the, by comparison, liberal judeo-christian forms of conservativism, but the Islamic and Hindu conservatism, as well.

But the less conversed about would be objecting to mixed race relationships because, "the power disparity between whites + anyone."

Now, this sort of thing slips passed the radar of people that:

A.) Don't want to acknowledge such a thing exists. To them, racism isn't simply defined dogmatically something only whites can do, it's just something only whites seem to do. It's not ideological malice, just a lack of critical thinking skills and taking at face value what other ideologues have told them is the way things are. They literally cannot imagine prejudice could be directed at whites, because the discourse only seems to mention examples of white supremacists oppressing other groups through organized malevolence. If they stopped to think about the term racism, they'd understand discrimination on the basis of background and heritage and prejudice on basis of kine and kin is universal, and wrong. But, it's presented to them as discrimination by whites against everybody else, and they don't question it- assuming since the word isn't in itself explicity directed at European, it must not just mean "something Europeans inflict on everybody else." They simply cannot imagine people that are conscientious about racism would be bigoted against another group, it's not logically in the name. The distinction is indolence of thought.

B.) Don't want to acknowledge such a thing exists, because they have explored the question of if racism means, "Bigotry and prejudice against people on the basis of their biological background and heritage and region of origin," or, "when white person interacts with THE PEOPLE OPPRESSED BY THEIR EXISTENCE" and determined racism is a one-way street by definition. So sex-negativity, similarly, must exclusively be conservative- even if it comes from and is maintained by people that argue to establish such "conservatism" on Leftist principles. Leftist views can thus never be wrong without being conservative, and conservative can never be right without not really being conservative. So to them, racism and sexism can only be conservative, because they refuse to acknowledge minorities being xenophobic, insular and bigoted as that. The distinction is ideological dogma.

A sex-negative progressivism could therefore be described as anything TERF from before the 2010 era, when Radical Feminists existed in this Schroedinger's state, where Feminism was Absolutely Good and Could Do No Wrong without the wrongness being attributed to lone wolves, or conservatives that weren't really feminist- even if what they were quoting were "not real Feminists" that were accredited and in-culture radical feminists authors that "real feminists" draw their literature from.

Where they embrace the "right philosophy" but interpret it against further Progressive views; stopping at biological sex and not conforming their views to a view of gender that 100% divorces their perceptions of gender from sex.

Before the question or discourse about transgenderism mattered too awful much, you could not contradict a TERF. They were indistinguishable from any other feminist, and other, more liberal feminists that fancied themselves egalitarians would hide them in their wool like wolves hiding amongst sheeps. These ones were the ones screaming about, "moids," how men didn't deserve to see their children, how females should all be subsidized by society, how men should be stuck with the cheque of their college educations, how all businesses and social structure should appoint women automatically to eventhing to always have at minimum 51% control of everything.

And if you disagreed with this view, especially if you were a cisgendered male, you, "just hated women." There was no room for inquiry or even discussion, especially if you were male. If you were male, you were wrong to disagree with the Radical Feminist position, and at the mercy of however they defined their position, as they got to choose the identity and motivation of any that opposed them diametrically. They defined YOU.

So as a man you'd just have to stand there while they spewed the most vitriolic, gynosupremacist garbage about how all men are biologically designed to be fascist rape machines, how "women need Radical Feminism to even have a chance in the face of white patriarchy!", how men shouldn't get visitation to their kids, how men should still be obligated to pay for kids they're not allowed to see and the house the woman lives in but not be allowed to live in it themselves, and anything they possess should belong to the woman, even after she remarries."

Freely telling children, "the facts," about how women were defacto kind, nurturing, wonderful people, while males were nothing but benefactors of women's beneficence and despoilers of civilization, culture and nature. This is not hyperbolic. I had to hear disgusting bullshit like this by angry TERFs throughout the entirity of feminism's existence. It was its own built in radicalization pipeline that made the supposed "alt-right fascist pipeline" look like a water faucet compared to a sewer line you could drive a dump truck through.

These were the views that were considered acceptably Progressive(tm) and thus, left-wing and good, either to be ignored as vitriolic grumblings that "weren't serious and shouldn't be considered literally," even if you could bring out the literature where the radfems in question, college accredited professors, academic publishers and researchers, and prove they weren't some rando podcaster, but part of the beating pulse of radical feminism.

They only became Conservative when it became impossible to filibust the conversation on whether they exist or not, impossible to gaslight the conversation to keep them obfuscated from discussion or acknowledge in debate, and when given the choice betweens trans-positive Intersectionality vs. saying nothing to let the transphobic TERFs carry on, chose to other the TERFs in the interests of ideological purity.

Then TERFs became stink-bad conservatives and "not really left-wing or Progressive (tm)." Because You Can't Be Wrong And Progressive/Left-Wing. Only conservatives have bad-wrong regressive ideas, therefore all ideas and values and beliefs that their group disavows and doesn't want to associate with become conservative, even retroactively.

They justify this by going, "Yeah! Our values are constantly undergoing a radical revolution! That's the point."

How that actually works, is they never admit they were wrong, and the things they find wrong today, were "right" in the past, to bring them to that point. Even things as disgusting as telling children their dads were evil monsters on the basis of being men, and being silent when overhearing that as the Progressive perspective, while choosing to make noise and ostracize people who dared say similar horrid shit about females and feminists.

Eco-warriors/environmentalists of the 90s that were Radical and violent, chaining themselves to trees and setting fire to animal testing labs? Oh, those aren't Progressive and Leftist, those are Eco-FASCISTS. Those don't count as left-wing or Progressive, because Left Wingers and Progressives Don't Do That(tm). Only Conservatives Do That(tm)

Unironically No True Scotsmanning the Overton window.

So as a result, we got lectures and talks about sex negative conservatism and no talk whatsoever about how Progressive ideologies and culture also could be horrid.

When your ideology argues that to be a man is to be an oppressor synonymously, and to be a woman is to be oppressed, and demand that in order to acknowledge man and women are things you accept this dialectical conflicting nature to be how they work, you demand they acknowledge this is true, inarguable and absolute on its face. It's no different from the way any religious culture or dogma argues the true origin and nature and purpose of man and woman and what that means incorporated into their overall viewpoint of creation, its origin, purpose and destiny.

Marxism is not a conservative position just because it is also dogmatic, harmful and sex-negative when applied to Critical Sex Theory. And thus, Sex Negative Progressivism is a thing, is detrimental, and just as much so as any religiously aligned sexual values. The fact TERFs exist, and are not conservative no matter what Intersectionals think, is proof of that.

[alhamdulillah10]

If you are married, this is my number-one tip: let go of your subconscious fantasies about marriage. Leave the world of fantasy in favor of the world of reality.

Because the reality is:

You're not perfect, and your spouse isn't perfect, so your marriage won't be perfect. And that's okay.

And there's no such thing as soul mates, and the idea of this perfect romantic love actually makes a lot of people depressed in their marriages. So let it go.

Our unhappiness comes from the gap between our expectations and our reality.

If our expectations are too high and unreasonable due to the fantasies we learned from Disney, Hollywood, and Bollywood "love stories," then actual reality will never measure up.

And we will be disappointed, dissatisfied, discontented.

And Shaytan will whisper to us slyly that we probably married the wrong person.

And then we start thinking about divorce. Thinking that we need to leave this un-perfect spouse and this un-perfect marriage to find our "soul mate" and our "perfect love story" and our "happily ever after," because this clearly isn't it.

Only we will never find those fantasies, even if we were to continously hop from marriage to marriage seeking.

Because the problem isn't our spouse.

The problem is the fantasies that fuel our expectations, which poison our thoughts and feelings about reality.

So let us gracefully let go of the fantasies and maturely accept reality. This is the start of happiness in marriage.

You can find grounds to divorce your spouse in almost every marriage, but the real deal is to find the grounds to stay married.

We need to get over this Hollywood version of romance in marriages, as it’s all facade, and the secret of happy marriages is just one; loving your spouse for the sake of ALLAH!

#shared and a bit edited

This is a general advice but not absolute that work in all cases because if the disappointments have real basis in matters of aqeedah, then divorce is better I mean if the aqeedah matters are enough serious to take someone out of the pale of Islam for which even marriage itself is nullified and intimacy it's already all zina. I don't mean a difference of opinion about a specific sunnah where there is room for another interpretation or different opinion. Neither is this meant to get beaten by a ruthless husband for small or no real reason and consider it as a norm and "have sabr" while great injustice and abuse is being done to you.

[blissingupliving]

Religion: for connection, for humanity

Hinduism, Islam, Christianity, Sikhism, Buddhism, and Jainism...

Religion, the teacher that teaches us to connect with god, with that almighty but we have been misguided sometimes not by what we study or learn but by what we listen and see in news..

Though the things are true that "not everyone is same", but this is also true that not everyone has the patience to make people understand the thing that it's not about my or yours and then ultimately that small argument raises to a big conflict and then boom: "Another fight in the city due to Religion"..

Now there lies something really interesting, growing up with these news headlines brings up only hatred to another religion just because at that point of time we listen up our sides stories and instead of patiently dealing with the situation and making the tomorrow a better place to live we want the justice of the events happened in past. Why do we always stuck with the past and not move together with a better mind to make our tomorrow a better place to live where there are no fights related to religion, and people accepts each other's rituals..

I know people would definitely raise the voice against this as well that how a teen girl could say that but i would really co-relate this as marriage only, though religion is not marriage but yeah marriage is a kind of religion so i guess that works well. Marriage also has issues and we often forget the past or the mistakes and we learn, accept and we move on together by mutual understandings and the love but in religion we forget that we all are humans and the first thing that religion taught us is to respect each living being because they are the creation of God and respecting his creations leads to connection with him..

and that is what RELIGION taught or teach us, to respect his entities, to respect his words and to respect him...

[ottomanladies]

Hello, I hope you are doing well, I love your content but I was confused by a subject you brought up

You mentioned in one of your posts that Nilüfer was most likely a consort of slave origin, and then you rely on the Mekce document to claim that Orhan had two other consorts called Melek and Efendi.

I would like to know what recent historians base their claim that Nilüfer was a slave on, apart from her first name? Which could very well have been changed following her conversion to Islam, I see absolutely nothing that proves that this is the case, quite the contrary, and by the way, who decreed that Nilüfer was a slave name? 😭

According to the majority of historians, Nilüfer was the daughter of the Tekfur/Ruler of Yarhisar.

It is said that Nilüfer arrived after 1324 because she is not mentioned in the Mekce document, and that this is sufficient evidence to say that she was not there before and that the stories about her are false, but absolutely not. This document is not a family document in any way, all the children of Orhan and Osman are not mentioned, and neither is Asporça Hatun, although it is absolutely certain that she became Orhan's wife well before 1324 since she gave birth to Ibrahim in 1316. And you basing your theory on Nilüfer being a slave because she arrived after 1324, while you say that she is the mother of Suleyman who was born around 1316? In addition to this, in this document, Efendi and Melek are not certified or mentioned as Orhan's wives in this document, unlike his sister Fatma who is clearly mentioned as Osman’s daughter, so where does this information come from? Efendi, Mal Bint ömer and Melek are all mentioned at the bottom of the document and are the three people whose identities are not identified (this was also confirmed by Leslie Pierce)

Also I don’t know what’s so important for everyone about that Mekçe document? In 1941, Halil Ismail Uzuncarsili published the 1324 Mekçe Property Charter from the documents found in Topkapi Saray, where indeed Efendi and Melek are mentioned (not described as Orhan’s wives they are just witnesses), everybody take in consideration that document but ignore the other charter made by Halil Ismail Uzancarsili published after 1963, this one actually prepared by Orhan Gazi himself in 1360 after the death of his eldest son Süleyman, where Nilüfer IS mentioned, Efendi and Melek aren’t.

Efendi was only Orhan's cousin and Melek was more likely his niece, them being mentioned in the Mekce doesn’t mean they were wives of Orhan?

Moreover, this theory can also be easily denied due to the fact that the title of "Hatun" was not used with their names (like Fatma *HATUN* Bint Osman for example), which was unlikely as the name of all other noble or even common women was followed by this title, let alone the wives of an Ottoman ruler.

All the claims about “Efendi” and “Melek” being Orhan’s wives are completely baseless and were only made by Feridun Emecen after 725 years.

The so-called Bayalun is also more likely Nilüfer, it is said that it is one of her names. There is this book of travels by Ibn Batuta who himself mentions that Nilufer Hatun was Beylun Hatun. In John Freely's book it is also mentioned exactly the same thing, Beylun Hatun was Nilufer Hatun

You also say that Theodora was Orhan's favorite wife, while her marriage with Orhan was for purely political reasons, Orhan probably didn't even welcome her and she was taken care of in the Ottoman lands by eunuchs like it is mentioned in the book" Eunuchs in the Byzantine history and society". Theodora was 16 when she married and Orhan 66? Unless Orhan has some strange sharpness, I doubt she was his favorite, especially when the great love story of Orhan and Nilüfer is so well described in the many history books read, presented and approved at the court of the Ottoman Sultans Bayezid II and Murad III :)

That grant land which apparently identifies Efendi as Orhan's wife, I wonder if anybody ever saw this document because I don’t think so? It is in Leslie.p's book okay, but this isn’t a proof?

Orhan had three confirmed wives in his life and these are most probably the only ones he had: Nilüfer, Asporça and Theodora.

And I wonder where is it stated that Orhan had a Serbian wife, because I checked Oztuna’s work on O.E and all he has talked about is politics and the era of yavuz and kanuni and until now I myself couldn’t find anything in which he talked about the wives of sultan or like the even slightest mention

Regarding Alderson and his claims (that I didn’t find btw) pointing out that Orhan had a Serbian wife, I wonder where he got that from, and I don't think his statements are really true, for example If we follow his logic almost all of Mehmed III's children were born from Handan and he also completely denied the fact that Murad III had a daughter named Hümaşah 💀 In addition to this, he also wrote that Orhan died in 1360 and that Murad executed his brother Suleyman’s son, I don’t even know where the Serbian wife thing comes from. All Alderson said about Nilüfer and Orhan was just that they got married in 1299

There are so many sources that claim that Orhan only had 3 wives, and that Nilüfer, the Byzantine Tekfur’s daughter was his favorite wife, I can share them with you but expect it to be long 😭, sorry if I seemed rude, it was not my intention, have a nice day! And again I love your content! ❤️

I'm sorry but I'm a little confused because I looked into my blog and I've never claimed any of this stuff.

A little disclaimer before I go on, though: I don't do historical research for every post I make because otherwise, I'd post once a year. Everything I have written on this blog has been taken from books, so it's not me claiming anything. It is true that in this post, related to Orhan's and Bayezid's consort, I did not include sources but the bookshelf page contains all the sources I usually use.

Now:

You mentioned in one of your posts that Nilüfer was most likely a consort of slave origin, and then you rely on the Mekce document to claim that Orhan had two other consorts called Melek and Efendi.

I have no idea what this Mekce document is, I have never used it nor seen it. That Nilüfer was "most likely" a concubine (words are important) is something that Peirce says in The Imperial Harem:

Nilüfer's name, Persian for "water lily", argues for a greater likelihood that she was a concubine, since it was typical of the mostly Persian names given to concubines in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, many of which were names of birds and flowers. Further evidence that Nilüfer might have entered Orhan’s household as a slave concubine is the fact that slaves were an abundant commodity in the Turkish principalities of western Anatolia by the time of her son Murad’s birth. Ibn Battuta reported that the ruler of the rival Turkish principality of Aydın had twenty Greek slaves standing at attention at the entrance to his palace; indeed, he gave the traveler a Greek slave woman as a gift. The household of Osman contained slaves used in combat and probably household slaves as well, although historical tradition represents the estate of the deceased ruler as modest and typically nomadic: a robe, flank armor, a saltcellar, a spoon holder, soft high houseboots, several stables of good horses, several flocks of sheep, a few wild mares, and several pairs of saddle pads.31 By the beginning of Orhan’s reign, slaves taken in conquest may have been a standard feature of soldier households in the Ottoman principality: Orhan purchased slaves from his followers in order to provide for the defense of the newly conquered fortress cities.

I have simply reported what Peirce said in The Imperial Harem.

And you basing your theory on Nilüfer being a slave because she arrived after 1324, while you say that she is the mother of Suleyman who was born around 1316?

Again, I don't understand why you're thinking *I* am the one who came up with the theory. I didn't. I've never studied Orhan's family as it is not a subject I'm particularly interested in.

This, again, is written in The Imperial Harem:

The principal witnesses of the 1324 endowment deed cited above were family members; the hierarchical order of the signatories suggests that two of the four female witnesses—Melek and Efendi—were wives of Orhan (the other two were Fatma Khatun, Orhan’s sister, and Mal Khatun). Efendi, identified as “Eftendize” in the record of a land grant Orhan made to her as his wife, may have been Orhan’s cousin, the daughter of Osman’s brother Gündüz. If so, this first-cousin marriage may have functioned to seal Gündüz’s loyalty to Osman. Melek appears in no histories or other documents that have come to light; if indeed she was married to Orhan, she may have been the mother of Sultan, who is known to us as one of Orhan’s sons only through his appearance as a signatory to the deed and who must have died before his father. Another of Orhan’s wives, and the mother of his son İbrahim and two daughters, Fatma and Seljuk, was Asporça. Nothing else is known about her except that Osman granted this daughter-in-law several villages, which she then deeded to her descendents in 1323, making her son her executor.

All the claims about Efendi, Melek, Bayalun... I know nothing about this. I simply reported what I've found in books written by other people. Just take it up to them.

You also say that Theodora was Orhan's favorite wife, while her marriage with Orhan was for purely political reasons, Orhan probably didn't even welcome her and she was taken care of in the Ottoman lands by eunuchs like it is mentioned in the book" Eunuchs in the Byzantine history and society". Theodora was 16 when she married and Orhan 66? Unless Orhan has some strange sharpness, I doubt she was his favorite, especially when the great love story of Orhan and Nilüfer is so well described in the many history books read, presented and approved at the court of the Ottoman Sultans Bayezid II and Murad III :)

I really have no idea where I said this because I looked for posts where I mentioned Theodora but I didn't find anything. This is what I said about her when I was asked to talk about Orhan's consorts:

And I wonder where is it stated that Orhan had a Serbian wife, because I checked Oztuna’s work on O.E and all he has talked about is politics and the era of yavuz and kanuni and until now I myself couldn’t find anything in which he talked about the wives of sultan or like the even slightest mention

I don't know what O.E is but I use Devletler ve Hanedanlar. This said, it's not Oztuna who said Orhan had a Serbian wife, but Alderson:

Stefan Uroš IV Dušan was King of Serbia, hence his daughter was Serbian.

Regarding Alderson and his claims (that I didn’t find btw) pointing out that Orhan had a Serbian wife, I wonder where he got that from, and I don't think his statements are really true, for example If we follow his logic almost all of Mehmed III's children were born from Handan and he also completely denied the fact that Murad III had a daughter named Hümaşah 💀 In addition to this, he also wrote that Orhan died in 1360 and that Murad executed his brother Suleyman’s son, I don’t even know where the Serbian wife thing comes from. All Alderson said about Nilüfer and Orhan was just that they got married in 1299

Even if he's wrong, which I don't know, I had to include this second Theodora in my post about Orhan's consorts just for completeness. Also, Alderson cannot be completely discarded just because he's sometimes wrong. He also wrote in the 50s.

I'm honestly perplexed because I feel like you confused me with another person, as I have never said anything that you claim I have said.

EDIT: I haven't forgotten about the other asks in my inbox, I'm just reading everything carefully. Please be patient 🙏🏻

[hidayahchronicles]

Maturing is understanding that marriage is an act of Ibadah and not a happily ever after fantasy where all your problems will dissolve. It’s a union that will bring out trauma in you and you have to choose how to deal with it. Marriage is a test, not a cute Instagram reel. We often have unrealistic expectations of marriage due to what social media portrays. Yes marriage can be beautiful but it’s hard it requires a lot of effort, you can’t just walk away when things aren’t going your way and say Khalas. Marriage offers a special healing yes but, you can’t enter marriage with the expectation of your partner making you happy 24/7, that is unfair towards them. Happiness is a state of mind not a momentary thing or materialistic things. We haste to make Nikkah that we over look the responsibilities we are given to us over our spouse. There were Scholars in Islam who were afraid to get married because they were afraid they wouldn’t be able to fulfill their obligations towards their spouses. Are you ready to fulfill the obligations you will be given? What will you say in front of Allah when you were not able to fulfill your duties?

Don’t marry for love, lust or selfish desires, it will destroy the marriage before it even begins. Marry for the sake of Allah, because it’s pleasing to Allah and because He commands it. Rahmah and Mawadda will overflow in that marriage.

Lastly do your research about the marriage contract, learn the rights of the husband and wife so that you may fulfill your responsibilities and that you may not be deprived from your rights.

Learn to understand deeper than the superficial standards displayed.

And Allah knows best 🤲🏼.

-HidayahChronicles