#Off To The Races Leto Atreides

[foxilayde]

100 from the smut prompts is very OTTR Leto hehehehe

[thank you for the prompt, Scout! I had so much fun with this one!]

100. “You’re still so needy, even after I just fucked you”

Needy [OTTR Leto Atreides x Fem!Reader]

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY smut

When you’d first seen the bedroom where you and Leto would be spending the holidays with his family, his childhood bedroom, you laughed. You thought it was a joke. Until Leto set your suitcase on the floor, kissed the side of your head, and said, “we’re gonna be real cozy, baby.” It wasn’t so much the room itself, with it’s old posters, track and field trophies, and his mother’s sewing table in the corner. It was the bed. A twin bed. Fitted with flannel sheets and a comforter so small that you weren’t sure it would even cover the two of you.

“We’re sleeping here?” You point worriedly to the bed, eyes shooting wide.

Leto hisses and looks over his shoulder, checking to make sure his mother didn’t hear the affronted tone to your voice from the kitchen where she was cooking a welcome home meal for her apparently prodigal son. You’d never seen anyone greeted with as many kisses and tears, crossing herself and thanking various saints for Leto materializing for his holiday stay.

Leto closes the door quietly, and puts his hands on his hips. “There a problem?”

God, you don’t want to start fighting. What kind of impression would that be? A helluva way to introduce yourself to the Atreides clan gathered together downstairs.

You blink down at the bed, doing mental math, trying to envision what sleeping positions the two of you would have to hold in order to not fall off either side of the mattress.

“No.” You say with a smile, placing a hand on his heart and kissing his cheek. “Looks cozy.”

Leto scrunches his nose in agitation and sighs. “We’ll try it tonight and if it’s bad we’ll get a hotel nearby.”

You nod.

“It’ll break ma’s heart of course. She went through all this trouble—“

“Leto, it’ll be great.” You reassure him, rubbing the back of his black cashmere sweater, giving him a peck on the nose. “Let’s go downstairs, you have to introduce me to everyone.” You grin in earnest this time. You really are excited to meet his family, and warmly honored that he wants you to, and that his mother— without even knowing you— insisted you stay the full week in her house, amidst all the commotion and joyful bustle of so many family and friends celebrating together.

Leto’s eyes soften and he glances back at the bed, “I swear that thing was a lot bigger when I was 18.”

You laugh, hugging him close to you, “thank you for brining me, Leto.”

Leto hums, burying his face in your hair, rubbing your back firmly, “thanks for kicking my ass about going home for the holidays, baby. This’ll be nice. And if it’s not—“

“A hotel, yeah I know.”

—————-

It ends up being very nice. Much nicer than you anticipated, not only have you been ingratiated into the Atreides family with open arms (Leto’s sisters were downright haranguing him for not having proposed to you yet), but the sleeping situation isn’t horrible at all, in fact, its downright cozy. Just like he’d said it would be.

It’s a snowy week in Jersey, a climate that neither of you are accustomed to at your costal home in California, but it’s toasty inside the glowing home, and the heat rises to the top floor where Leto’s room is. Plus the heat of both of you, snuggled cozy in the small bed under the flannel sheets, it’s comforting in a way you’ve never known in your oversized king bed by the sea. Sure, there’s no Egyptian cotton sheets, no down comforter, but there’s also no balcony for Leto to escape to for his cigarette, no way for either of you to scoot to a respective side if you get in a ‘mood’. He holds you close, in his arms, your legs tucked together. He can kiss parts of you without moving much. He whispers how much he loves you, loves seeing you with his family, he strokes your arm, your side, your back, with the tips of his fingers until you’re lulled to sleep. And after so much socializing every day, so much food and drink and nieces and nephews running around, you sleep like a rock through the night.

On the fifth night, instead of assuming your position as the little spoon like you have been the previous four nights, you slip in between the sheets and lay down on your side in bed and face him, stroking his beard. You love that he grows it out in the colder seasons, it suits his face so well. He looks so utterly soft and domestic in his white sleep shirt, no gold gazelle shades or silk button down. You study his face in the low lights provided by the Christmas bulbs outside the window that glow softly through the frosted glass. You try to see the boy his mother showed you in the photo albums the day before. He’s usually so hard and gruff, it’s hard to do, but when his eyes turn up in question at your inspection, you can see him in there in the warm brown depths. You grin, biting your lower lip.

Leto shakes his head softly, grinning back at you, “I know that look, little miss.”

“What look?!” You whisper, scooting closer into his embrace, giggling at his expression and stroking his beard lightly.

“I know that look. You’re thinking naughty thoughts.” Leto pinches your side and you nearly yelp from the tickling, you would have too, if you weren’t acutely aware of his mother’s room being on the other side of the wall.

You slap his chest as best you can in such close proximity, but the lack of leverage only makes your hand cling to his pec in a needy way and Leto glances down at it. “She’s gettin frisky.” He sighs somewhat dramatically in a put upon way, grabbing your hand and kissing the tips of your fingers, “I shouldn’t be so surprised. You’ve been without daddy’s cock for what, 72 hours now? Baby must be starving.”

He’s such a self-satisfied tease, taking total mirth in your affronted expression, encircling your wrist in his palm while you try your best to take a good playful whack at his chest.

“For your information, it’s been… over a hundred hours.”

“That so? Well I trust you to keep score on the t-minus how long its been since you’ve cum, needy, needy baby.”

“You love that I’m needy,” you lay the sultry eyes on him, “because you love giving me what I need.”

Leto’s eyes go dumb for half a second and he loosens his grip on your wrists, allowing you to maneuver your hands around his broad shoulders, gently guiding his body to easily roll over your own.

“Oh yeah? And what does baby need, huh?” He rubs his nose against yours, he’s smiling so big his teeth are showing and you know from experience he won’t so much as kiss you until you tell him. Explicitly.

“I need,” You hear a floorboard creek from somewhere down the hallway. Jesus, the last thing you need is for someone to overhear what you’re about to say to your boyfriend. You put your mouth up next to Leto’s ear and whisper, “I need your big cock inside me.” You tug the lobe of his ear gently between your teeth.

Leto groans in approval, kissing you messily as you both work to rid yourselves of all sleep attire.

“You gotta be quiet, baby,” Leto says between kisses. Your moan of agreement is sharp and needy against his lips and probably already louder than you should be judging by the way Leto chuckles against your lips.

It’s not as though you’re a loud person, or have been historically or anything, you’ve never been a ‘screamer’, but with Leto? Let’s just say the man has been known to pull unholy sounds out of you with nothing but his lips, tongue, and two well-placed fingers. The man just does something to you. Those fingers make their way between your naked bodies to the heat between your legs, swiping at your already substantial wetness.

“Fuck. Baby. So fucking wet. You been horny for me all evening or what?”

You moan again, pursing your lips closed you try your best to reign in your expression of pleasure, nodding. “Yeah. Need you.”

Leto plants his forehead against yours and uses the wetness from your pussy to stroke his cock, teasing your folds with his tip, earning a barely stifled moan from you to his delight.

“What was it, baby? What got you so worked up that you’re that fucking wet for me, huh?” He’s taking far to much pleasure in teasing you, letting his cock notch in and slide up, rubbing your clit with the underside of his cock. “Tell me, baby. Tell me and I’ll give it to you, give you what you need.”

You’re so ravenously horny at this point you don’t care if he knows exactly what it was this evening that was making you hot and bothered. “Seeing you with Joey and Nicky, with the boys, how good you are with them, how… how, oh fuck, how good of a uncle you are, what a good dad you’d be.”

That stops him cold for the flash of an instant, forehead on yours, panting heavily above you. He warms to it almost instantly, running a hand from your hip bone all the way up to your cheek, making you shiver audibly in the process. “That right, baby? Mmmm, fuck, that what you want? Want me to make you a mommy, huh?”

You gasp at the combination of his phrasing and the dark look in in his eyes. You can’t tell if he’s teasing or if he’s taking it in earnest, calling your bluff like he so often does at any and all detriment to himself just to prove a point.

Leto slides home and your replying moan is unquestionably too loud for comfort because Leto covers your mouth with his palm, scooting deep into you and whispering, “What did I say, huh? Shhhh.” He replaces his hand with his mouth and fucks into you slowly, but not without force. Enough force to make the bed squeak softly underneath your hips. You grab him by his backside, fingers divoting the warm flesh of his ass, drawing him further into your throbbing cunt.

Leto’s lips against yours are working twofold in containing both the sounds of your pleasure and his own. You feed them to each other, one hand on the back of his head, one on his ass and maybe its the fact that this is Vacation Sex, or that you haven’t had each other in a handful of days, but Leto is more vocal than usual and struggling, like you, to reign it in. You can feel it in the hunch of his shoulders, the crease in his brow, in the way he wrestles between fucking the way he wants to and straining to mitigate the sounds of the creaky old headboard and squeaky wire box spring beneath you.

All he can do is give it to you hard and slow, easing into every thrust, never making a move that would surprise you enough to punch a shriek into the silent night air.

When you break the kiss to tell him, “I’m close, I’m close, I’— I’m—“

He groans, pained by restriction, burying his face into your neck and galloping into you at as unhurried a pace as he can while still maintaining the effort of “keeping quiet”. Leto can feel when you’re on the brink and he covers your mouth with his palm again, biting into your shoulder to stave off his own orgasm til yours is complete. Your toes curl into the warm flannel sheet and you try your damndest to keep your whine as silent as possible, Leto fucking you steadily through your climax. It goes on for what feels like minutes, the heat through your veins, the tension and shakes, the suffocating feeling of your moans barricaded behind Leto’s palm, as if trapping all the noise inside of you is keeping your pleasure from spilling out at the same time and instead you have to take the force of it in little sips, prolonging the whole experience, thrust by measured thrust.

Leto lets go and cums the moment you start to sag under him, having sufficiently fucked you through the waves of your pleasure. He pushes deep inside of you and kisses your trembling lips, his own mouth beginning to stutter with satisfaction. His eyelids flutter a bit and everything from his breathing to the relaxing of his brow and shoulders reads like utter blissful relief. You kiss him on the warming pink apples of his bearded cheek.

Leto rolls over, taking you with him to rest comfortably on his chest. He kisses your fingertips tiredly and you marvel at his beauty from the pillow of his chest, from his hawklike angular face to the sturdiness of his body under your own.

He scratches and strokes your back as you nuzzle into him, kissing his warm, slightly perspiring neck, and sucking little marks where no one but you will see. Your hand rests comfortably on his softening, sticky cock. You curl and unfurl your fingers, gently stroking his sac. You suck a little mark in the valley of his chest and squeeze your hand a little more forcefully around him, earning a rumble from the chest under your lips.

“You’re still so needy, even after I just fucked you.”

His voice is deeper than usual. You prop your chin on his chest to gaze into his black glittering eyes. You are needy for him. You can’t deny it, there’d be no point. But that’s why you work, isn’t it? You need him and he needs to be needed. He relies on your reliance as much as you rely on, well, him. You’re half fucking tempted to trade in your California King for a twin bed the second you get home, because this has just been utter heaven being wrapped up in him like this. There’s no space on earth small enough to accommodate the amount of space that you don’t want in between the two of you.

You scoot yourself even closer to him, he welcomes the intrusion, grabbing your hips like he dares you to try and leave his embrace.

“Yes, Leto. I always need you.”

And he can’t fuck the neediness out of you, but he can sure try.

End

[crescenthistory]

in the silence, there is an us

Pairing: Paul Atreides x Reader

Summary: Throughout their lives, Paul and reader have often found themselves in each other's bed. Childish games after bedtime, late-night studying sessions, nightmares, and a burning need to not be apart.

Part of Paul's point of view can be read here: "you are my favourite silence"

Words: 7.2k

Warnings: not proofread, possibly some inaccuracies about plot details (have not watched dune in ages, i'm just obsessed with paul), best friends to lover, tension, light angst, jessica being a bit rude, reader being an orphan and of a lower social rank, duke leto's death (rip), lots of cuddles and lingering touches, fluff, the whole deal

***

The grand halls of Castle Caladan always had an eerie stillness after sunset. The select servants walked quietly, the sound of waves crashing below barely made its way through the stone walls, and the Duke and Lady Jessica kept to their quarters. For Paul and you, though, this was the perfect time to sneak past the sternness of bedtime. The day never seems long enough for young children whose eyes are still filled with stars.

“Come on!” Paul’s whisper was loud, almost too loud for sneaking around, but you didn’t think long enough to care. The thrill of the game was enough to make both of your hearts race. You were barefoot, your steps making soft thuds against the cool floor as you tiptoed through the hall toward his room.

“If we get caught—” you whispered, but Paul cut you off with a grin.

“We won’t. Besides, who can stop us?”

You rolled your eyes at his cocky confidence. He wasn’t wrong, though. You had never been good at staying still, at obeying the invisible rules set up by adults. With no living relatives to share your name, Paul was more than just a best friend – he was all you had. Him and Duke Leto, whose unwavering sense of duty made him take you in at the Castle when your parents died on a mission he orchestrated. Responsibility above all else, all the qualities he aimed at instilling in his young son. And it couldn’t hurt Paul to have a friend his own age, could it? 

You slipped into his room, both of you giggling like you’d just played the best prank on his sleeping parents. His bed was huge for a 7-year-old, more space than one boy could ever need regardless of his nobility. Tonight, it was your playground, stretching for miles.

Paul scrambled up first, then turned and offered you his hand. “Bet you I can jump higher than you,” he said, a challenge clear in his eyes.

You took his hand, pulling yourself up and laughing as the two of you bounced on the mattress, trying to outdo each other in height and bravery. You weren’t worried about waking anyone. Even if Duke Leto found you – and he often did – his stern reprimands were laced with amusement.

This was not the first time the two children had snuck into each other’s rooms after dark, the activity becoming more habit than occasion. Nights like this were your shared rebellion, a refusal to let the day end just because the sun had gone down, just because Jessica had tucked Paul into bed an hour earlier for bedtime.

Eventually, after you had worn yourselves out, you collapsed side by side on the bed, your breaths heavy from laughter. You stared up at the ceiling, still giggling as the adrenaline began to fade.

“I don’t want it to be bedtime ever again,” Paul said, his voice soft, almost wistful.

You turned your head to look at him, sprawled out on the massive mattress, dark hair in his eyes that reflected the dim moonlight streaming through the window. You understood exactly what he meant.

“Me neither,” you replied with a smile. Your hand found his under the covers.

Neither of you moved as your true bedtime took over, the quiet settling in around you, comfortable and warm. You fell asleep like that, fingers intertwined, with no concept of what it meant to have boundaries. There was just Paul, and you, and the night that was never long enough.

  ***

In the wake of your early teens at the castle, sneaking into each other’s rooms had become less about rebellion and more about comfort. The innocence of bouncing on beds and stifled laughter gave way to whispered conversations in the dark and the shared weight of fears neither of you quite understood yet.

The first time Paul came to your room because of a nightmare, it startled you. You were just about to drift off when you heard the soft creak of your door, followed by the quiet patter of feet. You jerked up from the mess of blankets, blinking into the darkness. Confusion and perhaps a bit of fear grasped you, until you saw his silhouette standing near the edge of your bed.

“Paul?” you whispered, straightening up. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer at first, he didn’t know how. With his tense expression and shadows playing across his face, he looked haunted despite his still small, boy-like frame. You knew him in and out by now, and could clearly read the signs of his nails digging into the skin of his fingers, breathing shallow and uneven. 

“Can I stay?” His voice was rougher than usual, like he was barely holding it together.

“Of course.”

You didn’t ask any questions, it was a silent understanding. Instead, you lifted the blanket, making room for him. He crawled in without hesitation, laying his head on the pillow on your left. His body rigid beside yours for a moment before he relaxed, the tension slowly draining away.

Lying there, you listened to the sound of his breathing steadying, feeling the warmth of his presence next to you, arm against arm. It was quiet, but not silent – the kind of quiet that only existed when you knew someone else was there with you. Someone who understood. Someone who would never judge you for being afraid.

In his newfound safety, Paul drifted off easier than he could in his own bed. Yours was significantly smaller, but somehow softer, and he could actually feel the weight of you beside him on the mattress. He could ground himself in your presence. When he fell asleep, his head fell slightly to the side, his hair brushing against your cheek. 

You, on the other hand, stayed awake a little longer, staring up at the ceiling, your thoughts racing. 

You’d always been each other’s rock, but now, something was different. The comfort you found in his presence was deeper, more profound. It wasn’t just about not wanting to be alone anymore, it was about needing him specifically. It brought a smile to your face to know that he found that same assurance in you.

***

The weights on your shoulders materialised and became clearer as you grew beside each other. At sixteen, the favours Duke Leto had bestowed upon you by allowing you residence and education at Caladan felt like a debt more than a blessing. One you had to repay through excellence, through true devotion to any and all training given to you. While Paul tried to seem more lighthearted about it all, it could be felt in the air all the same. You were no longer just two children sneaking around a castle that seemed to never end. You were a future duke and a noblewoman-in-training, navigating a world that seemed to have its eyes on you at every moment.

To earn your gifted title and position and prove yourself worthy of your place as Paul’s friend, you poured over every textbook your teachers assigned you. The study of Caladan, of politics, traditions and customs occupied your mind to the extent that you neglected the occupant of your heart. 

Yet, at late hours, it was always Paul’s bedroom floor the pair found themselves splayed across. 

Sheets of notes, pens and books layed on top of themselves in a system neither of you could have been able to explain to an outsider. Paul against the wall with his notebook, you stomach-down on the carpet, nose buried between the words in your textbook.

“You’re going to wear yourself out.” Paul’s words were muttered, watching you through tired eyes.

You shook your head. “I’m fine. Just one more chapter.”

“You said that an hour ago.”

“I mean it this time.”

Paul didn’t argue, but you could feel his eyes on you as you worked, his presence a quiet comfort beside you. It had become routine, the two of you studying together, you claimed you worked better that way. Paul occasionally asking questions while you tried to focus on your own work but more often than not, you ended up helping him instead of yourself.

Your one-more-chapter became two more as you tried to retain the information, but your eyelids grew heavier, your focus slipping. The same sentence became burned into your retinas without making much more sense.

Ever so slowly, your head was brought closer and closer to the ink. Eventually it was all you could see before your cheek hit the page – you were out as a light.

Paul watched you for a moment, a soft smile playing on his lips. This was not the first time. He closed his own book and moved quietly to your side. He brought a finger up to brush some of your hair out of your face before he rolled you over. Gently, he lifted you, careful not to wake you as he carried you to the bed. His bed.

It had almost become part of the routine, he watches you exhaust yourself and then ensures you get the rest you deserve. He had done this before, but each time, it made his chest tighten more in ways he didn’t fully understand.

As he laid you down delicately, he hesitated by your side for just a moment, watching the rise and fall of your chest, the peaceful expression on your face. He didn’t realise how often he found himself staring at you like this, wondering when the girl who used to be his playmate had become someone he couldn’t stop thinking about. Someone he wanted to protect, to keep close, even as you worked yourself to the bone. He wanted to tell you you didn’t have to, that he knew and that you were enough. Instead, he let his instinct win and lightly caressed the soft flesh of your arm.

After a brief pause, Paul pulled the covers over you and sat on your edge of the bed for a while longer. He was tired himself, but he didn’t want to move. Not just yet.

***

The past few months felt as if they stretched on for years with how much change and development you were faced with, almost forcefully. Despite your efforts, the older you got, the more you felt like a young girl attempting to parade as a grown woman ready for whatever duties Duke Leto sees fit of you, as a “noblewoman” without any true blood given nobility. 

Paul had been dancing around your worries for a while now, cutting off your worried rants with funny quips and dragging you from the library or training room to the beach when he believed you too worrisome. However, his duties were catching up to him as well, even when he tried to balance on the beam with you. He would be a duke one day, and though he had acted like a prince all his life, this was much more real.

His duties were specifically catching up to him in the form of one Lady Jessica. Reminders, comments, requests to his teachers and staff. She wanted him to start becoming the man he needs to be.

One of her lectures was playing out before your eyes in the library, though it escaped you how it even began. The soft, rhythmic drumming of the rain against the high windows felt like the one thing tethering you this world as she spoke, shadows cast across her face. 

Lady Jessica’s voice sliced through the rain, calm but pointed. Leaving the air around you feeling heavy. You sat at a table beside Paul, as she stood above you, a judge passing through your reading session. Her sharp eyes, blue within blue, never seemed to miss anything.

She had always watched you carefully, ever since you were children – though it wasn’t until recently that you noticed how her gaze lingered on you. Emotion indecipherable, yet somehow your stomach seared from it. She was assessing you on criteria it felt you had no control over. 

“You’re both approaching the age where things will change,” Jessica said, her gaze flicking between you and Paul. Her tone was deceptively gentle, like the calm before a storm. “You can no longer afford to be... careless.”

There was a long pause, a silence that felt charged with unspoken meaning. Paul shifted beside you, and though you didn’t look at him, you could feel the tension in the way he carried himself, alert, almost defensive.

“I’m not just speaking about duties to the House or the formalities expected of you as you come of age.” Lady Jessica’s eyes rested on you, sharp and assessing. “I’m also speaking about the way you conduct yourselves in your personal relationships.”

Your heart stuttered at the implication, warmth creeping up the back of your neck. You did not wish to dig into the meaning behind her words.

This was not the first time she’d given such a lecture, but it was the first time it felt so personal. So aimed. It was understood she must be referring to the hours upon hours you spent together, including in the moonlight. The quiet moments where you and Paul sought each other out, clinging to your comfort when the world felt too heavy to bear alone.

It was never intended to be anything inappropriate. You were each other’s safety nets, just like you had always been. But still, you felt a pang of shame coil in your chest at the thought of it being seen that way.

“You have been given responsibilities that go beyond your own desires,” Jessica continued, turning slightly toward Paul. “You are the heir to the House of Atreides, Paul. Every decision you make now, every relationship you allow to develop, can impact that legacy.”

Paul’s jaw clenched, and for the first time, you risked a glance at him. His face was unreadable, but the tension in his posture betrayed his discomfort. His eyes flicked to you, worry clouding them more than annoyance at his mother’s words. He searched your face for something, and did not seem happy with what he saw, but you ripped your gaze away a mere second after.

He was not thinking about his legacy. In that moment, all he thought about was you and how you were feeling.

Your stomach twisted, and the weight of it all – the difference in your status, the expectations that shadowed both your lives – seemed too much. Lady Jessica was not wrong, and Gods did you hate it. You glanced down, willing the words to settle somewhere far away, somewhere that wouldn’t hurt so much.

“You must understand,” Jessica said, her voice softer now, but no less firm, “the time for childish games is over. It’s time for both of you to take your roles more seriously. The future will not wait for you to be ready.”

The words hit you harder than they should have, like a reprimand for something you had not yet done but already felt guilty about. You wanted to say something, anything to show that you understood, that you weren’t some distraction pulling Paul away from his responsibilities, but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you nodded stiffly, keeping your eyes trained on the floor.

Jessica gave a tight-lipped smile you did not see, before turning around to take her leave, pleased with the efficiency of your talk. She was gone, her robes whispering against the stone floor as she left you alone with the silence she had created between you two.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The weight of Jessica’s words still hung heavy in the room, thickening the air between you. You could feel Paul’s gaze on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him, not yet.

“She didn’t mean it like that,” Paul finally said, his voice low and careful, like he was testing the waters.

When you did not respond, Paul let out a soft sigh, moving his body towards you. “She’s just worried. That’s all. My mother—”

“Your mother is always worried,” you cut in, more sharply than you intended. You could feel the weight of it all pressing down on you. The constant reminders of how you didn’t quite fit into this world of nobility and politics, how your presence was tolerated but not truly embraced by the one woman you wished to be on your side. “And maybe she has a point. I’ve been distracting you. I shouldn’t... I shouldn’t keep coming to you.”

You did not elaborate, you did not need to.

Paul’s expression tightened, and before you could move away, he reached out, gently gripping your hands between his. His touch was warm, grounding, but you tried not to let yourself sink into it.

“No,” he said, his voice firm now. “You haven’t been distracting me. You’ve... you’ve been keeping me sane. It’s not the same thing.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head again. “But your mother thinks—”

“I don’t care what my mother thinks.”

The words were out of Paul’s mouth before he could stop them, and for a moment, he looked almost startled by his own admission. He blinked, as if trying to make sense of his own boldness, before his grip on your hands tightened just slightly, his eyes locking onto yours.

“I don’t care what she thinks about the time we spend together,” he said, quieter this time, but no less intense. “She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning, like the world’s pressing in from every side, and you’re just. Alone.”

You looked up at him then, your breath catching at the rawness in his voice. Paul never let anyone see him like this—not even you most of the time, not fully. But now, there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Desperation, maybe. Or something deeper, something unspoken.

“Whenever I’m with you, it’s the only time I don’t feel that way,” he continued, his voice low, like he was sharing a secret he’d been keeping for too long. “You’re not a distraction. You’re the only thing that keeps me steady.”

Your chest tightened, torn between the overwhelming urge to believe him and the guilt that had been festering inside you since Jessica’s words. You wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes made it impossible to say any words out loud.

So instead, you swallowed your thoughts, pressing them deep down where they couldn’t be reached.

“We just need to be more careful,” you said softly, pulling your hands away from his grasp. Your skin still tingled where his fingers had been. “Your mother’s right. We can’t keep hiding away in each other’s rooms. We can’t... we can’t keep acting like kids.”

Paul’s face fell, the tension in his shoulders sagging slightly. His now-free hands went up to rub at his face before he sighed. “But we’re not acting like kids.”

“Aren’t we?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “We’re literally sneaking into each other’s beds in the middle of the night, Paul. We’re still pretending like nothing’s changed.”

Paul was quiet for a long moment, his eyes flicking away from you, as if he couldn’t bring himself to argue. Maybe because deep down, he knew you were right.

But then, just as the silence between you started to feel unbearable, he spoke again, his voice quieter, but full of conviction.

“Nothing has changed though. Not between us.”

The words lingered in the air, and for the first time in a long while, you didn’t know how to respond. A part of you wanted to believe him, wanted to cling to the idea that no matter what the world threw at you, no matter what Lady Jessica said, you and Paul would always be the same. The same two people who had spent years leaning on each other, who had always been there to catch each other when the ground fell away.

Yet, you knew what Paul’s wishful thinking sounded like more than anyone else. You knew everything about him. And in this moment, you knew he was wrong. No matter how much you both tried to ignore it, the future was closing in around you.

“I should go,” you said quietly, getting up from your seat before he could say or do anything to stop you. “I need to think.”

Paul didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes was enough to keep you rooted in place for just a moment longer, looking down at him. He still looked so young, his eyes so wide. That familiar ache settled in your chest, the same ache that came whenever you thought about what you were trying so hard not to lose.

“I will see you tomorrow,” you said, and with that you left him to sit with the sound of rain drops against glass.

After Jessica’s most pointed lecture, your unease at night, the one you and Paul seemed cursed to be forever plagued by as children of the castle, had only increased. You woke in cold sweat or you did not wake at all – regardless, you stayed in your own bed, never venturing down that familiar path in the hallway. You hugged your knees for comfort. 

You were a proper young woman. As you ought to be.

Nothing could get you and Paul to stop spending time with each other entirely though, not his mother and certainly not complicated feelings. There was already a lot of that flowing around anyway.

Classes, meals, walks around the hallways, the occasional silent moment watching the waves side by side in a large window. Never late-night visits. Never lingering too much, especially not around Jessica. 

She seemed pleased with your development, so you bit your cheek and played the part.

It had been months since either of you crossed that invisible boundary, but the comfort of those nights lingered in your minds, a shared memory you couldn’t quite let go of. One that you held tight on rough nights.

Ironically enough, it was the nights without thunder or storms that you struggled the most. Gripped by fear and horror, you fought through the worst nightmare you had experienced in many years. Mangled bodies, fire and smoke, Paul’s face distorted by sandstorms that you swear you could feel cut into your fragile skin like class.

The scream was lodged in your throat as you shot up, finally able to pull yourself out of the depths of your consciousness of all that has happened and all you fear will. Drowning in sweat and tears, violently trembling all over, you suddenly found yourself on your feet in the cold hallway.

No coherent thoughts were running through your head, just instinct and an intense need to be saved from your own mind. Even in a waking state, you still felt half infused in the nightmare, seeing the scenes when you blink, as if tattooed on your eyelids.

Almost running down the known path, your hand grazing the wall as you went to stabilise yourself. The rational part of your brain told you it wasn’t appropriate, that you should listen to Jessica, you were both too old to be doing this – but you were not in a rational state of mind right now. Right now you were the same scared little girl you have always been, the one you fear you always will be, and you knew what you needed to do to quiet her screams. 

When you reached his door, you paused, your hand hovering over the handle. What if he didn’t want this anymore? What if he would turn you away?

Before you could second-guess yourself further, the door creaked open, and there he was. Paul stood in the doorway, lit up from behind by a single candle on his nightstand. His eyes were wide as he took the sight of you in, but there was no real surprise etched on his face. However, if you weren’t mistaken, you thought you saw relief in it. Like he had been waiting for you, hoping for you to come.

Paul breathed your name out like a ‘thank you’, stepping aside to let you in before you could even speak. His hair was dishevelled, his shirt wrinkled from where he must have been lying awake, staring at the tall ceiling.

You slipped in past him, already feeling some tension leave your body as soon as the door closed behind you. You weren’t sure what to say. Maybe you didn’t need to say anything at all. Letting your eyes meet his, the look on Paul’s face told you everything you needed to know.

Without a word, you moved toward the bed, and Paul followed, his presence a warm, steadying force behind you. He didn’t ask you any questions, he didn’t need to. You both knew that whatever it was, it was enough to bring you here, to him. 

You hesitated for just a moment, feeling the weight of the years between you. When you were children, there had been no second thoughts, no hesitation. But now, voices were creeping in – but you shoved them aside like his blankets, and climbed into his bed.

When Paul slid into bed beside you, everything felt right again.

The tension in your body melted away as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. You could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, feel the warmth of his skin against yours, and suddenly, the fear that had gripped you moments ago faded into nothing.

You rested your head against his chest, closing your eyes as the last of your tremors subsided. He was your anchor, your constant in a world that was rapidly spinning out of control.

“Are you okay?” Paul finally asked, his voice soft, almost a whisper.

You nodded against him, but your throat felt tight, your words stuck behind the weight of everything unsaid. The nightmare had shaken you more than you wanted to admit, and it wasn’t just about the dark images in your head. It was the fear of losing Paul, of losing the one person who had been by your side for as long as you could remember.

“I’m glad you came,” Paul said quietly. “I wanted to come to you, but—” He trailed off, his hand tightening slightly on your shoulder as if to ground himself.

“I know,” you whispered, finally finding your voice. “I wanted to come sooner.”

There was a pause, and then, after a long moment, Paul’s thumb began tracing slow circles on your arm, his touch gentle but deliberate. It was a gesture of comfort, of familiarity. 

“I’ll always be here,” he murmured, so softly you almost didn’t hear him. “I swear it.”

You opened your eyes and tilted your head up, meeting his gaze in the dim light. His face was serious, his eyes reflecting the weight of the promise he’d just made. For a brief second, you thought he might say more, something you’d been waiting for but weren’t ready to confront. 

Instead, Paul’s expression softened, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, the gesture tender, reassuring. It was something he might have done when you were younger, but now it felt different. It wasn’t just comfort anymore—it was a part of the promise.

Neither of you said anything after that. You simply held each other, letting the quiet settle in. The world outside might have been shifting, changing in ways neither of you could control, but here, in the stillness of the night, there was nothing but you and Paul.

You didn’t know when you fell asleep, only that, for the first time in a long while, you felt safe. And unfortunately, as the next few days would ensure, it was the last time for a long while as well.

***

When Arrakis claimed Duke Leto, it also claimed something inside Paul.

He wasn’t the same after that day. The boy who had been your partner in rebellion, the one who made you laugh even in the darkest of times, had hardened. His grief was silent, buried under layers of duty and survival, but you could see it. It was in the way his hands trembled ever so slightly when he thought no one was looking, the way his eyes had dulled since your arrival on this cursed planet.

In the middle of it all, you felt lost too. You had lost the closest you had to a father figure in Duke Leto, but worse, you were losing Paul—bit by bit, day by day, as he was forced to become someone you struggled to recognise. This was a different kind of nightmare, one you couldn’t wake from.

After growing used to the luxury of Caladan Castle’s beddings, you found yourself huddled with Paul in a small tent in the middle of the desert, the harsh winds of Arrakis howling outside. There was nothing but sand for miles, and for the first time since arriving on this planet, you felt truly untethered from the life you once knew.

Paul sat across from you, his back pressed against the rough fabric of the tent, his face half-shadowed by the faint light from a small glowglobe. His eyes were distant, fixed on something you couldn’t see, something only he could comprehend.

“Paul?” you whispered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

He didn’t answer at first, but then, slowly, his gaze shifted to you. There was a fragility there that caught you off guard—a vulnerability that reminded you of the boy you used to sneak around the castle with, the one who used to chase away your fears with a single glance.

Without thinking, you moved closer, kneeling in front of him. His breath hitched as you reached out, gently placing one hand on his arm and the other on his cheek. He looked down at your fingers, as if surprised by the touch, before his eyes met yours again.

You wanted to say something, anything at all, to ease his pain. To take some of the burden off his shoulders, even if that meant taking them upon your own. No words felt worthy enough and died in your throat, while the sentiment remained hot on your tongue.

With Arrakis raging around you, you wanted him to feel some sense of security.

“I’m still here,” you whispered, echoing the words he had said to you when you were the one needing the comfort.

For a moment, he just stared at you. Then, with a twitch of his lips, something cracked in his expression, something that had been carefully held in place to keep it all in. Paul’s shoulders sagged, the weight of loss and doom pressing down on him all at once.

He didn’t say anything, but when you shifted closer and pulled him into your arms, he didn’t resist. He simply let you hold him, his head resting against your shoulder, his breath shaky and uneven.

You sat like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s presence as the storm outside raged on. The world around you was crumbling, but here, in the faux quiet of the tent, there was nothing but the two of you. You didn’t have words for what you were feeling, but it didn’t matter. Paul understood. He always had.

As if the continued touch broke him, Paul made a sound like a tear-less sob, saving water while still drowning in emotion. His arms tightened around you, holding onto you for dear life.

He murmured something against your neck that you couldn’t hear. You made an inquisitive humming sound as you began to stroke his back, coaxing him through his pain.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered. His voice was raw, it sent ripples through your heart. “Please.”

“You won’t,” you promised, your fingers moving up to card through his hair. “I’m not going anywhere, Paul. I’ll be right here with you.”

If he wanted to answer, he couldn’t. Instead he let himself have this moment before facing a world that seemed increasingly too big.

***

Life among the Fremen was harsh, unforgiving, but the two of you had learned to survive. It had been weeks since you arrived in the sietch, and every day felt like a battle—against the elements, against the constant threat of danger, against the growing distance between you and the boy you grew up with.

The desert night was deceptively cool, the air carrying a sharpness that contrasted with the oppressive heat of the day. You stood just outside the sietch, gazing up at the unfamiliar stars that stretched endlessly above the dunes. The sky was clear—almost too clear—so different from the comforting overcast of Caladan, the gentle crash of waves a memory long lost to the wind. You inhaled deeply, trying to ground yourself, but the vastness of the desert made you feel small. Disconnected.

There were few quiet moments here, and you took a deep breath as you were surrounded by it.

“I thought I’d find you here.” 

There was a shuffle of footsteps behind you, soft but deliberate. Without turning, you of course knew it was Paul. He came up behind you, standing slightly to your left so you could see him in your sideview. You leaned back, resting your shoulder on his own.

You smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Paul laughed lowly – some things never change. “Neither could I.”

You shook your head, still staring at the stars. “I don’t know if I’ve had a proper night’s sleep since we left Caladan.”

“I miss the rain,” Paul said quietly. “I never thought I would. I used to complain about it when we were kids.”

You smiled faintly. “Don’t lie, you hated being inside when it rained. You’d drag me out into the mud even when it was pouring.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “Well, you never said no.”

“I never could.”

There was a pause, one that carried the weight of the past few months – Arrakis, the loss of Duke Leto, the constant struggle for survival. The two of you had grown so used to moving, fighting, planning for the next step, that there had been no time to sit with your grief. No time to just be, in the way you only can with each other.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Paul murmured, glancing at you sideways. “How quickly everything changes. A few months ago, we were on Caladan, complaining about studies, sneaking into each other’s rooms like we always used to... and now–”

“We’re here,” you finished for him, your voice quieter. “In the middle of the desert.”

Paul’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, and you felt the weight of his gaze. You’d been through so much together, seen so much of each other, in ways no one else had. Yet there was still a distance between you now, a hesitation that hadn’t been there when you were younger. 

It was as though you both knew you were standing on the edge of something, but neither of you dared to cross it.

“I was thinking...” Paul started, his voice trailing off. He looked away, frowning slightly as if choosing his words carefully. “Would it be... strange if you stayed with me tonight? Just for comfort, I mean.”

Your heart skipped, somehow caught off guard by the question. There had been so many nights, both as children and as teenagers, where you had found solace in each other’s company. Whether from nightmares, from stress, or simply because being apart felt wrong.

“Not strange, anyone would need a bit of comfort in our situation,” you tried at humour before looking back at him with soft eyes. 

He didn’t say anything, seemingly trapped between his thoughts. Usually when you spend the night together lately it was because of difficult emotions. You open the door for him to talk about his feelings.

“Are you– are you okay?” you asked, searching his face for the answer. 

Paul was always the one holding everything together, always taking on the weight of his responsibilities without complaint. But tonight, standing under the cold desert sky, he seemed tired. Tired in a way that went beyond just sleepless nights.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he looked out over the dunes, his expression unreadable, though the subtle tightening of his jaw told you he was wrestling with something.

“I’ve been thinking about my father,” he finally said, his voice thick with the grief he rarely let slip. “About everything he wanted for me. For us. How he wanted me to be a ruler who led with compassion, but how can I...?” He trailed off, swallowing hard, and you could see the battle raging behind his eyes.“I don’t know if I can be what he wanted.”

Your heart ached at his words. You had always known Paul felt the weight of his future, but you hadn’t realised how deeply it cut. Stepping closer, you touched his arm lightly, drawing his attention back to you.

“You already are,” you said softly. “Even in the middle of all this, Paul, you haven’t lost that part of yourself. Your father would see that.”

He exhaled shakily, meeting your gaze, and for a moment, it felt like the world fell away. There was a vulnerability there, one he rarely let show. It made something inside you shift, as though the careful lines you had mentally drawn to protect yourself, to keep things unchanged between you, were suddenly blurring.

“I’m just afraid of losing more,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Of losing everyone I care about. Losing you.”

The words settled heavily in the space between you, a truth that had always lingered but was now undeniable. You were no longer just childhood friends. You were no longer just companions trying to survive. There was a throne in your heart, and on it, Paul was more than just a duke. 

“You won’t lose me,” you said firmly, turning towards him and stepping even closer. “You couldn’t. I’m here, Paul, I’ve always been here.”

Paul stared at you, his expression shifting into something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes softened, the hard edges that had been carved into him by grief and duty melting away, if only for a moment. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at you now, something that had been building for years but had never quite been said aloud.

“You don’t understand,” Paul whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I can’t lose you. Not just because you’re the last piece of Caladan I have left... but because I—”

He stopped, his throat working as if the words were too hard to say. But you knew what he meant. You’d always known, hadn’t you? 

Paul took a step closer, the last step separating his body from yours. His hand lifted to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers lingered at the base of your neck, and you were sure he could feel the rapid beat of your heart in your pulsepoint. It echoed the weight of what he wasn’t saying. 

“You can say it,” you whispered, your voice trembling, though you weren’t sure if it was from fear or anticipation.

Paul’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he looked like he was on the verge of stepping back, of retreating into that familiar space where he could hide from the truth. But then his palm made contact with the side of your neck, and he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. Breathing in deeply, slowly.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words tumbling out like a secret he had been holding onto for too long. “I have loved you for so long, and I didn’t even realise it. But now, I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

Your heart stuttered at the confession, your breath catching in your throat. It wasn’t a declaration shouted from the rooftops, it wasn’t a grand, romantic gesture. It was quiet, real, the kind of love that had grown slowly over years, woven into every shared moment, every laugh, every late-night conversation.

“And I love you,” you whispered back, the words barely audible in the quiet of the desert night. “You’re my best friend, my person. You must know that.”

Paul let out a soft, almost relieved breath, his hand moving up to cup your cheek as he tilted your face up to meet his. There was a question in his eyes, one he didn’t need to ask. You answered it by leaning in, lips barely brushing against his, before he closed the final gap with the gentlest of kisses. He was tentative, as though testing the waters of something new, something fragile but real.

It was a kiss that felt like a promise.

It lingered, even when he pulled back ever so slowly, resting his forehead back against yours. 

You both stood there in the quiet, the weight of the desert and the night around you, but the tension between you finally dissipating through your touches.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Paul whispered again, his voice steady this time, though the vulnerability was still there, just beneath the surface.

“I will stay with you every night, if that would make you happy.” There was no hesitation in your voice or your heart. Just love.

A smile spread on his face before he pressed it against your lips in another kiss. Searing, caring, passionate. This was the closest you have seen him to his old boyish self, always happy to bask in your presence.

Letting his hand travel down to find yours, he interlaced your fingers and pulled you back into the sietch.

His room was small, barely big enough for the both of you, a stark contrast to your conditions at Caladan. But as you lay down beside each other, it didn’t matter, you were glad for the excuse to keep him even closer. Paul wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly, and for the first time since Arrakis had stolen everything from you, you felt safe. Safe in the knowledge that whatever came next, whatever trials the desert or the universe had in store, you wouldn’t face them alone.

As you lay in his arms, your head resting against his chest, you whispered, “We’ll get through this, Paul. Together.”

Paul’s grip tightened around you, and you could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

“We will,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Not ever.”

“And I you. No matter what, my love.”

Warmth spread across Paul’s face at the name. He thought, with sleep beginning to cloud his mind, that though there are many uncomfortable changes – that is one he will happily accept. 

For the first time in weeks, you both fell asleep easily, wrapped in the comfort of each other, and the quiet promise of the love that had finally, after all these years, been released into dry air.

[shegatsby]

Love Thy Enemy

Summary; Y/N Atreides had always been a stranger to the entire galaxy, her bed wasn’t her bed, her home wasn’t her home due to the fact that she was sent to accompany and be sisters with Irulan. She had limited access to her actual family and over the years they grew distant. She thought she would be like Reverend Mother, alone, yet powerful, and soon she would realize that there was no need of being alone when a wild creature had his eyes on her for a long time.

A/N; HI!!! Its been a long time since I wrote a series but i cannot resist Feyd. English isn''t my first language so go easy on me. There will be smut in the future chapters. TAG LIST IS OPEN!!!!!! (Reader has a lover and Feyd's going to find out lol 😉😉😉)

Warnings; None. Female Bene Gesserit Reader x Feyd-Rautha, enemies to lovers! reader is reffered to as she/her.

Words; 1.520K

Chapter 2

Chapter One – ‘’Meeting in flesh and blood’’

‘’Right behind you!’’ Irulan screamed as she was riding her horse to match Y/N’s. Y/N was a skilled rider, the wind in her long hair, she laughed at Irulan’s attempt of winning the race and focused on the finish line. Planet Kaitian which was the second Capital of the Corrino Empire had so many opportunities for Padishah Emperor Shaddam’s daughter Irulan and his beloved Y/N. The planet had forests, lakes and rivers so Y/N didn’t miss much of her home planet Caladan, she sometimes tossed and turned in her bed thinking of her family members but she was taken to Kaitain years ago. Irulan and Y/N were the same age and when Shaddam couldn’t have more children he asked Duke Leto Atreides to bring his first born daughter to be sisters with Irulan. Leto tried to find so many ways to refuse Padishah Emperor yet he was the ultimate power in the entire galaxy and Leto had no choice but to give his daughter Y/N. She was one years old when the arrangements were made. She could see her family at political events or celebrations, she had been in Caladan few times yet she felt stranger to the planet and she felt stranger to Kaitain as well. She has always wondered if, by any chance one day she would feel the sensation of ‘’being at home’’ nowhere and no one was her home. Maybe this was her fate.

When she finished the race her horse calmed down, Irulan followed behind. ‘’I swear you’re cheating and I am going to find out.’’ She was joking of course, Irulan and Y/N had a close relationship yet Y/N never forgot that she was a princess and there for needed to be treated more cautiously than the other lords and ladies of the galaxy. Together they hopped off of their horses, ‘’Walk with me.’’ Irulan’s  voice was soft yet direct. Her short blonde hair got messy, hem of her white long dress covered in mud, she was carefree when she was with Y/N.

Y/N had the color of her house Atreides. Green. Her green dress felt so light, they were walking on the grass for few minutes in silence., Y/N knew that Irulan wanted to say something.

Palace’s gardens were evergreen, gardeners achieved perfection. Gardens smelled of flowers at any time of the year. Irulan stopped in her tracks, they turned to soak in the scenery before their eyes, the entire planet was under their feet. Servants’ chatters could be heard, no matter what they were never alone. ‘’Soon my father will throw a ball for me.’’ She looked distant, Padishah Emperor Shaddam never had parties without a solid reason, it must be political. Before Y/N could ask Irulan explained simply, ‘’I will meet the man I have to marry.’’ Y/N knew one day that she had to marry someone in order to protect the power they had over the galaxy but she never thought the date would come this quick. Y/N had already a lover, only Irulan knew because he was from a lower house. She had a childish hope that one day she would marry him.

Irulan laughed in sarcasm, ‘’How I wish to be you, sister!’’ it was obvious that Irulan dreaded the situation.

There were no arrangements for Y/N and she was free for a long time or so she thought.

‘’I trust in Emperor’s decision. He won’t wed you to someone unworthy.’’ She tried to encourage her dear friend but Irulan stood there like a stone. ‘’Let’s head back.’’ Y/N said. A hollow silence followed them to the dining hall. Emperor couldn’t attend because he was dealing with preparations of the ball. The white marble fire place was lit and orange colors danced in the room, the dining hall was adorned with lavish furniture and a long wooden table. The wood came from Giedi Prime, it was called Pilingitam.

 Irulan seemed troubled, ‘’What’s on your mind sister?’’ Y/N asked. She was concerned for her, if she knew that she had to be concerned for herself…

She watched Irulan’s palm slithering on the Pilingitam table,’’ Majority of the houses will be at the ball,’’ she looked up to meet Y/N’s curious eyes, ‘’The Harkonnens will be too.’’ Y/N’s blood ran cold, she remembered the times where Emperor used to take them to Giedi Prime for political reasons. They had to sit and watch the games in the black and white arena. Gladiators killing each other…

She remembered a boy with pure blue eyes and full lips, ‘’I will fight there too when I’m old enogh.’’ He was sitting next to Y/N in his black outfit. He closed the tiny gap between him and Y/N, and he spoke quietly, ‘’Will you come and watch me?’’ he was speaking as if killing was a normal act. His knee touching Y/N’s, she remembered distinctly that the boy interlaced his little finger with hers. They were ten and yet Y/N could see Baron Vladimir’s influence on his poor nephew.

Y/N didn’t need to go back in her memories to detest the Harkonnens. Their families were in and out of war for centuries. Thankfully for a long time peace was kept. ‘’I will manage.’’ She insured Irulan with a genuine smile yet it wasn’t enough. Y/N brushed it off, after dinner she had mental training anyways.

Until the day of the ball she corresponded with her lover, Pyramus

He was a tall man with dark curls and jet black eyes. His beard always tickled her face.

She spent her days training and accompanying Irulan. Irulan grew restless as the they approached.

One by one the ships started to arrive, one could look up to the busy blue sky and see. Y/N’s family arrived early to see her and spend time with her. Lady Jessica, her mother, immediately questioned her about Y/N’s Bene Gesserit training, Duke Leto was happy to see her daughter once again. Paul, her one year younger brother gave her a tight hug.

They were united once more, she escorted them to their quarters in the palace and retrieved to get ready for the event. She wore a green dress with emeralds on her chest and waist, her maid braided her hair in Atreides style. She also wore an emerald tiara. Paul Atreides knocked on her door to escort her to the ball room, he looked sharp in his dark green suit. ‘’You seem nervous.’’ He questioned, -Y/N knew that her mother was teaching Bene Gesserit ways to her brother,- yes she was nervous because she was going to be reunited with her lover. ‘’Too many people.’’ She responded. Servants were running with food and wine on the corridors, music could be heard from a distance. Members of houses were having conversations about spice, politics, etc.

The doors of the room were open, inside was lit by the yellow warm lights coming from glowglobes, guests laughing and drinking. Tallest member was Baron Vladimir due to hanging in the air, eating like a mad man but she ignored him.

Her eyes searching for her lover, so blind to an outsider who got her under his radar.

Paul and Y/N walked to the table of their house, ‘’You look lovely my girl.’’ Duke Leto kissed her daughter’s forehead, it didn’t go unnoticed by a certain someone. He was a snake, silently slithering close to his prey.

Padishah Emperor Shaddam and his daughter Princess Irulan were announced and slowly entered the room, everyone bowed. They took their seats and Emperor greeted everyone, thanked them for coming to his feast and he also announced that he would choose the life partner of his daughter among his unmarried male guests. Duke Leto found himself watching his daughter with sad eyes, he wondered if he could see her wedding one day. Would she be happy and fortunate like him? Only time would tell but he prayed quietly.

It was time to dance, couples held each others’ hands and marched to the dance floor, Paul excused himself and went to ask the princess to dance with him. Leto happily asked Jessica to dance with him, Y/N wished that they were officially married but to keep his position as a powerful bachelor, other houses worked for him hoping that one day Duke Leto would marry one of their daughters. It was a well played game of chess on Atreides’s part. Y/N watched Irulan and Paul talking silently and dancing.

Soon Pyramus came with a huge smile. He kissed her hand and winked at her, ‘’My beautiful lady, would you be so kind and accompany me on the dance floor?’’ she tried so hard not to grin, ‘’Of course my lord.’’ He was in his house’s color, yellow. Hand in hand they mingled among the other couples, ‘’I’ve missed you.’’ He whispered. ‘’Not here.’’ She used the voice on him and his mouth closed in a second. Only their eyes talked.

They heard a rough cough and turned to face the intruder, Y/N had no idea that she would meet him in flesh and blood, ‘’Feyd…’’

[rosesanddecay]

Oscar Isaac Characters Finding You Dead

Minors DNI

Featured Characters: Miguel O’Hara, Moon Knight System, Basil Stitt, Blue Jones, Poe Dameron, Nathan Bateman, Duke Leto Atreides, Prince John, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Anselm Vogelweide, Llewyn Davis, Abel Morales x gn!reader

Sorry if anyone is ooc!

CW: death, murder, suicide, blood/gore, break-in, various wounds, torture, etc. + pet names, untranslated Spanish, so on.

Notice! Not all of these scenarios are romantically founded, the reader is just someone who knew the character/was close with them.

These are just some short, dumb little rambles/headcannons of mine, so it’s not written the best.

Not proof read or heavily edited

Miguel O’Hara - Villain Attack

There was never a doubt in Miguel’s mind, he knew that one day he’d have to save you. But not like this…

A Green Goblin anomaly had appeared and started bombing Nueva York.

You’d think with all the Spider People so close by, there’d be no casualties. But being so focused on protecting other universes, he almost neglected his own.

The moment Miguel was aware of the anomaly, he and many other Spiders rushed in to help protect the city.

The damage was already extreme, with two buildings nearly demolished.

Spiders spread across the scene, saving and moving the bystanders as Miguel focused on the alternate Goblin.

After capturing the terrorizer, Miguel started barking orders to everyone, wanting everything cleared up asap.

He was heading back to base as the spiders cleared the rubble.

“Oh god- MIGUEL!” One of the Spiders cried out as they tried to lift a large blanket of concrete up. The urgency in their voice quickly set Miguel off.

Miguel rushed over, his heart dropping seeing your dust covered body.

How long had you been under there? Why didn’t anyone sense you sooner? Miguel’s mind raced with panic.

With his sheer strength, he threw the debris away from your body and checked your vitals, his eyes focused on your face the entire time.

Open your eyes… please… mi amor…

When didn’t feel a heartbeat, he went to start cpr, but realized your ribs were broken. The broken bones had stabbed your vital organs, he couldn’t save you, it would’ve only caused more damage.

Miguel didn’t even realize he was crying until he saw his tears hit your face, muddling the dust covering your skin.

It wasn’t often he cried, hell, it took a good few minutes for him to start crying over Gabriella’s death. But after another loss, he couldn’t hold in the pain he was already barely containing.

His arms cradled your broken body with the most care possible. It didn’t matter that you were gone, you were his, the person he swore to protect.

I failed again…

Sobs ruptured through the bombing site. The boss who everyone saw as intimidating and cold, was now hunched over, sobbing over your limp body.

I failed.

I failed.

I failed…

Moon Knight System - Steven / Marc / Jake - Break-in and Murder

Steven, once again, had a late night of work at the gift shop. He was exhausted when he came home, but was more than happy to be back home after stocking shelves for hours.

He was almost tempted to let Marc or Jake front instead, but Steven wanted to see you before Jake took off to do Konshu’s bidding later in the night.

“Love, I'm back!” He says, keeping up his cheerfulness. It had been a long day, he just wants to see you.

Looking around the house, Steven felt confused. You normally rushed to meet him, to welcome him back.

Where were you?

Walking into the bedroom, Steven saw your form under the blankets.

“Love? Are you not feeling well?” He asked quietly, worried he might wake you.

You looked at peace, your hair tousled as it lays on the pillow. Your skin was a bit pale, but Steven smiled softly, assuming you were just tired, he knew he sure was.

His hand fell on your covered stomach as he sat beside you. But a warmth quickly spread over where he had applied pressure to the blanket.

Looking over, Steven nearly had a heart attack. His hand was tacky from blood that now soaked the thick comforter that’s covering you.

With fear rushing through his veins, he ripped off the covers to reveal the stab wounds littered across your torso.

A scream ripped through his chest as he quickly tried to see if you were still alive. His heart dropped when he felt your cold skin and lack of a heart beat.

Despite Jake and Marc trying to desperately front, Steven wouldn’t let them or listen to their pleads.

Instead, he grabbed your body and sobbed. His hand clasped yours, wishing yours would squeeze his, that you’d wake up and kiss his worries away.

No, no, no— what happened— love… oh god…

It took a good while for Steven to let one of the others front, but Marc took over when he got the chance.

Both had been confined to the mirrors in the bedroom, wishing they could hold you like Steven had. Instead, for over an hour, they were stuck in the mirrors, cursed to grieve from a distance.

Steven faded back into the subconscious, too drained to watch Marc from the mirror.

Jake, on the other hand, took a step back into the subconscious because he had his own plans.

Marc didn’t sob as much as Steven did, but his pain was just as bad.

He had lost so much in life, he was almost confused on how to express his grief for you.

His fingers run along your face, tracing every detail he loves so much. Marc wished you would open your eyes, but your body was long since cold.

Marc wished he complimented you more. Sure, he praised you often, but did you know how much he loved you?

His heart ached with guilt. Marc wanted to make you blush once more from his compliments and soft kisses.

He didn’t know who did this. But he would. They’d find out who did this.

They all would get justice for you.

By Konshu’s word, he swore they would.

It was Marc who called the police and watched as you were dragged away to the hospital morgue.

It was Marc who watched the security footage that showed your killer breaking into the apartment and leaving an hour later.

It was Marc who found out the explicit details that came with your murder.

Marc was the one who told Steven and Jake the details.

This shouldn’t have ever happened… but now we know. What do we do next?

Jake was the protector, or so he’s supposed to be.

Standing over your body in the freezing morgue, Jake stared at your expressionless face.

He could remember the last time you two had a date night. The night was warm as he drove the two of you around town. He could remember the beautifully warm smile that broke across your face as the date came to a close.

Jake would do anything to see that smile again.

The others had already fronted to say their final goodbyes, Jake wanted to be the last one. He wanted to talk to you one last time.

“We found out who did this, amor.” He whispered, trying to contain his wavering voice.

“They won’t get away with this…” His lips brushed your forehead.

”I’m sorry I couldn’t save you…” His tears finally fell down as he reluctantly pulled away.

As he left the hospital, Jake dawned the suit and slipped into the night, ready to enact revenge for you.

Your murderer will regret ever laying a finger on you…

Basil Stitt - Suicide

Basil hadn’t seen you in a while. Yes, part of it was because he had locked himself in his apartment, but he also just hadn’t seen you pass by his door.

He always had his eye to the peephole when you should be leaving or getting home from work.

Is that weird? Of course, but it made him feel less alone. He wanted to talk to you, but his scars contained him to his room.

Where were you? He wondered after spending an entire day looking out into the hallway.

Basil’s heart dropped when he saw movers taking garbage bags out of your apartment.

What are they doing to your things?

Despite his fear, Basil dawned his paper bag and poked his head out.

“What are you guys doing?” Basil questioned nervously.

“There was a suicide. The family wanted us to collect the person’s belongings.” The confused and hesitant workers answered.

Basil slammed his door and collapsed to the ground instantly. The paper bag tumbling to the floor as he clutched and pulled his hair.

His body trembled with grief and hatred as tears pooled on the floor.

He never was good at reacting to bad information, but this was worse.

Why did you leave him too? What did he do wrong?

First it was his face, then his job, then his family and girlfriend, but now you too?

His tears turned to screams and Basil went on a destructive rampage in his apartment, the agony overwhelming him.

He blamed himself for your death, despite barely knowing anything about it.

Maybe if he hadn’t gone into hiding, you would’ve lived. Maybe you two could’ve been lonely together.

But he was also angry.

How could you leave him after everything that happened to him? When he needed you the most?

You didn’t know though. How could you? Your neighbor, the only person you saw everyday, had disappeared for weeks without a word.

Basil knew that, but nothing could stop the emotions flooding and pouring out of him.

Why did you leave me? Why? Why?! Why?!?

Blue Jones - Murdered by a Client

Working for Blue always had its risks, and everyone knew that, including him.

But Blue didn’t expect this.

You had been bought out for the night by a rich newcomer. Nothing bad was supposed to happen.

Blue gave them permission to use you as you saw fit. As long as the merchandise didn’t get damaged, anything went.

Blue stood over your strangled body, his face neutral and flat.

Your glossed over eyes stared back at him, lips hung open loosely.

He didn’t expect his toy to be destroyed, let alone strangled to death.

Your costume was still on, but your makeup was out of place. Blue’s doll was a beautiful, broken mess.

Blue exhaled a puff of smoke as he turned to the killer, the man a sobbing mess.

“I didn’t mean to- they wouldn’t listen to me- please let me go, I’ll compensate you-“ He tried to ramble out, shutting up when the barrel of Blue’s gun pressed against his forehead.

The shot rang through the entire building. The girls and clients quickly rushed out of the other rooms to see what happened.

Screams and tears broke out from the girls as Blue pushed past everyone going to his office.

But it was once he was alone that Blue had the chance to process what happened.

Everytime he closed his eyes, he saw your dead ones. It hurt seeing something he owned in such a state.

Only one tear falls down his cheek as he reviews the footage of what happened. He always kept cameras in the rooms, it was a security measure, but he didn’t think he’d actually ever watch the footage for something like this.

Blue already knew the man was lying about why he killed you, but it hurt to watch you get choked and beg to be let go of.

The man was just angry, he only wanted to kill. You had done nothing wrong. Which made Blue mad.

He leaned back in his seat as the hot, silent tears fell down his cheeks, hidden by the cigar smoke flooding the front of his face.

Blue decided that, from the forward, he was going to be far more strict with who could touch his toys…

My poor bunny…

Poe Dameron - Spaceship Crash

You and Poe had agreed to stay safe, to meet one another after the fight concluded.

Together, you were going to celebrate the victory.

Poe knew you were an intelligent flier, that you were going to do great things for the universe.

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that everything went well, until he joined the celebrations…

Everyone was celebrating over the successful stop to the First Order. But as Poe searched the crowds, he realized you were missing.

Fearing the worst, he darted to the medical tents, desperately looking for you. His fears were met when he saw your barely breathing body.

Poe fell to his knees besides the cot you rested on, analyzing the damage you had taken.

He called out your name, to no response.

“Their ship was shot and crashed. There were some malfunctions and the safety’s didn’t trigger. They don’t have much longer, there’s nothing we can do on such short notice.” A nurse sadly explained.

“So you're just leaving them to die out!?” Poe exclaimed in horror, his tears falling fast and hard.

Despite wanting to reprimand the nurse, he knew it would do nothing. Instead, he held your hand to his lips as he watched you until your final breath.

In your final moments, Poe had been whispering soft and loving words to you, hoping you could hear him.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner, that any of this happened. You deserve the world, the galaxy. You helped save us. You’re a hero… you’re my galaxy…”

Poe couldn’t stop crying, and he could barely hear himself over the cheering outside.

He should’ve been celebrating with you, this shouldn’t have happened.

No one knew where Poe had gone, and hours later, Finn had to pull Poe away from your body.

Despite all reluctance, Poe eventually left your side for the night, but he didn’t stop mourning you.

That night, he spent his time in your room holding your belongings close, not wanting to lose the last bits of you he does have.

My galaxy, I’m so so sorry…

Nathan Bateman - Killed by a Prototype

You had been one of the few people Nathan trusted enough to come around the house.

Not that he ever let you go downstairs, no.

He didn’t need you to.

When first developing Ava and her predecessors, he had chosen to try and study a real person. Not through the cameras like he did later on, no.

He thought it’d be better to model the AI after someone he liked.

But he was wrong. One of the few times he had let his emotions make his decision, and it was the worst one.

While trying to work out the kinks of the AI, it had escaped. It had knocked him unconscious for long enough that it made its way upstairs.

The girl stared at you in horror as you stood in the kitchen, knife in hand from making dinner.

You looked just as shocked to see a nude woman coming up from the basement, wires hanging from her broken arm.

She even looked oddly similar to you.

Before you could even react, she tackled you, the knife going flying.

Nathan, having heard the crash, awoke and ran upstairs.

He came up from behind and broke the AI’s skull, the body falling on top of you.

“For fucks sake. That was awf…” he trailed off once he shoved the AI’s body to the side and saw you.

Nathan didn’t know how to react seeing your bleeding body, knife sticking out from where your heart is.

There was no hospital nearby, and with how glassy your eyes looked, he knew you were doomed.

Silently, Nathan sat back on his knees and feet, just staring down at your lifeless body.

He wasn’t an emotional person, but he didn’t like how he felt at that moment.

His eyes searched yours before shifting to the dead AI woman, his creation, your killer.

Nathan’s fists reacted quicker than his brain had, and before he knew it, his hands were bloody from breaking the AI down to nothing but shards.

His feet moved to the bar, and before he knew it, he had drunk a full bottle of vodka.

His knuckles, caked in dried blood, chucked the bottle at the wall. The shatters go flying, some even hitting you…

Nathan stood over your body, once again, staring down at you. His expression unclear.

After your death, Nathan was far more careful. Adding keycards to open doors, not just simple locks.

He even kept the prototypes locked up no matter what.

And who knows, maybe your death is what got him to start drinking so much…

How idiotic…

Duke Leto Atreides - Poisoning

Leto knew the dangers of loving you, yet he still did it.

He always made his love clear, practically worshiping you in private.

Leto would risk his life and title as Duke just to care for you for forever.

He wanted to propose eventually.

But your life was taken long before he had the chance.

The Duke looked down at your slumped body, your poisoned drink spilt from where your head had fallen.

In that moment, Leto regretted never marrying you.

He loved you, but in theory, it was better to stay unmarried, open to alliances with the other Great Houses.

But this wasn’t worth it.

Your life wasn’t worth it.

Leto had to keep his composure in front of his men, but in the comfort of his room, he cried. He weeped.

His sobs shook his body as remorse and grief overwhelmed his senses.

Seeing your body in such a way, it shook him to the core.

Sure, he had experienced death before, but this was different.

He loved you, and he saw where you died, he saw you dead.

Choked sobs escaped his lips as he recounted all the moments you two shared.

He wished he could’ve kept you safe, stopped you from drinking the poison.

You were in the House of Atreides, you should have been safe.

That’s what ate at him. That you died where he swore you were protected.

You died under his care.

Why you were killed, he wasn’t sure. But he swore to find out, to avenge you.

If nothing else, he’d make sure to get you justice.

He loved you, and he messed up never marrying you.

I wish I had made you mine, my dear…

Prince John - Assassination

John, the prideful idiot, should’ve never put a bounty on Robin Hood’s head.

It only made his reputation worse.

John should’ve lowered the taxes, but he didn’t.

And now all the citizens hate him, rightfully so.

But John always had you to go back to, you to love and receive love back.

You tried to reason with John, to show him he was being unreasonable and bleeding his kingdom dry.

Yet he never listened, and he now knows the danger of not listening to the advice he gets.

You had just been going about your business, crossing through the towns when you were attacked.

What was supposed to be a simple robbery, turned to an assassination. One of Robin’s troupe mates had gone rogue; they wanted to send Prince John a message.

The message was received.

John had gotten word of what happened.

He found out about how you begged for your life.

How you cried before your body was abandoned on a wooded path.

It made him angry. It made John furious.

You didn’t deserve this. You advocated for the citizens, yet you were the one killed.

John had destroyed everything in sight upon hearing of your murder.

His guards and mother had barely been able to calm him down. But once he had come down from the rage, John broke out into sobs.

He was barely consolable, all he wanted was to fall into your arms and be comforted by you.

Just one more time, John wanted to feel you caress his scalp as you reassured your love for him.

He couldn’t believe he lost you, the only person who loved him.

In spite and pure hatred, John raised the bounty on Robin Hood and his gaggle of followers.

John wanted them alive so he could execute them on your behalf, but he’d take their dead bodies as well.

As long as they were dead, he would be content.

Robin Hood… you’ll regret this… hurting my beloved…

Santiago “Pope” Garcia - Car Accident

Santi had been through so much in life, and it made him extremely overprotective of those he loved.

He always was worried and tried to protect you.

He didn’t want to risk you getting hurt, especially in the dangerous world we live in.

So why did the world still take you from him?

Santi didn’t know how to react when he got the call from the hospital.

He initially had ignored the call, thinking it was a reminder to set up an appointment or something. But when they called again a few minutes after, the blood in his face drained.

“… died… car crash…” those were the only words his brain registered the operator saying.

His heart broke into a million pieces and he felt like he was hyperventilating.

You died..? How could you die in a crash? After everything tried to do to protect you?

The call had ended and Santi sat hunched over, crying into the palms of his hands. His breathing was erratic and uncontrollable.

If he had picked up the first time, maybe he could have made it to the hospital. Maybe he could’ve said goodbye. At least, that’s what he thought.

“I’m so sorry- oh god, no…” He murmured over and over, desperately wishing it wasn’t true.

He almost wished he was at the crash, that way he could’ve seen you one last time. But now, he’s stuck waiting for the morgue to call, waiting to confirm that it’s your body on the table.

Santi’s sobs only stopped when he passed out from exhaustion.

Why did this happen to you? Why you…

Anselm Vogelweide - Shot on Accident

Anselm was known for his erratic and random behavior. That included when he’d change his mind on a whim.

Despite his absurd actions, you cared for him, as he did you.

Anselm always kept you nearby, and everyone knew that. Even people just passing through his office knew that.

He treated you differently, he treated you better than most of his other employees.

Where he’d change his mind as he saw fit with his clients, he was very firm with his decisions regarding you.

And it didn’t go unnoticed.

So when Anselm decided to raise the price out of the blue on a client, the client was pissed.

It wasn’t unexpected that a gun was going to be pulled, but the gunshot that rang out- that was a surprise.

His men had already detained the perpetrator before Anselm realized that you’d been shot.

Your hands clutched at your bleeding heart, and your eyes quickly fell shut, your body following suit.

Disregarding his squeaking leg brace, Anselm dove to collect your body in his arms.

His eyes were wide with horror and disbelief at the sight of you dying in his arms.

The world was practically silent for him as he watched you breath your last breath.

Anselm sat there for a moment, pulling your body close to his chest in an attempt to preserve your warmth. He felt an ache in his chest when you gave no response, your body limp and spilling blood.

Anselm didn’t give himself the time to mourn or cry, instead he went cold, his heart stilling for a moment as his attention turned to the shooter.

Looking through the fogged glass lens, Anselm ordered to have your killer chained up in the basement as he carried your body to another room.

For months after your death, Anselm tortured the person who killed you.

The basement became a crime scene of horrific activities. Teeth and nail pulling, breaking bones, slicing skin, it was all incomparable to what Anselm felt the murderer deserved.

They killed his dear dove. This was the least he could do.

His disappointment was immeasurable when he found the murderer dead one morning, Anselm felt far from done torturing them.

The body was disposed of swiftly, and afterwards, Anselm visited the extravagant grave he made special for you.

It was only then, after everything, that he let himself cry over your passing.

My dove…

Llewyn Davis - Suicide

Llewyn was your friend, and the two of you always helped one another out.

He needed a couch to sleep on, you were open. You needed a drinking buddy, he was there.

You both couldn’t offer much monetarily, both just trudging through life and old habits.

But you always left the window unlocked, just for him.

Llewyn hadn’t heard from you in a while, and it had just so happened, he needed a place to stay and was in the area.

Throwing open the fire escape window, he hopped through, entering your apartment.

He called your name as he wandered around, confused where you could be so late in the day.

Yet, when he arrived at the bathroom door he paused, knocking before entering.

He instantly wished he never opened the door.

In the tub, surrounded by bloodied water, he saw you. Your face was towards the window, like you were watching the sky before you died.

The sight made him nearly hurl, but the tears made it out first.

What have you done…

Just when Llewyn thought his life couldn’t get worse, you decided to leave him just like Mike did…

Of course, he knew it wasn’t actually a choice to go against him, but it still felt like he was part of why you took your life.

And that broke his heart.

If he had just visited you or bummed at your place more often, would you still have gone through with it?

He called the police after a bit of a breakdown, and a few days later, he was alerted that your only goodbye was a note scrawled with “I’m sorry.”

Maybe the note was for him, but boy, he wished there was more.

A simple “fuck you Llewyn” would’ve been better than this…

You had always asked him to play a song, but he alway said no. He always said he was too tired, that music was his work, not something he wanted to do all the time.

You never pushed him to play for you, not like other people did. So, he never played for you.

But now, in front of your grave, Llewyn played his heart out to you. His tears bouncing off his guitar, onto the frozen ground where you’d been buried.

‘If I had wings, like Norah’s dove,

I’d fly up the river to the one I love…’

Abel Morales - Accidentally Killed During Work

Abel knew the dangers of letting his employees continue their oil deliveries and solo inspections.

So many of his employees had already been attacked, yet he still took the risk.

He just didn’t expect the attacks to get worse.

Sure, some had been threatened with a gun, hell, one was kidnapped and beaten.

But this was the first time someone actually died…

Upon hearing about your death, Abel stopped in his tracks and demanded to know what happened.

He felt like his life was falling apart the moment his wife explained what happened.

After so many troubles and hoops he’s had to go through for his company, he didn’t think he’d be losing one of his best employees as well.

You were doing a simple house call and sales pitch.

That’s all it was supposed to be.

If he had known your colleague wasn’t feeling well, he wouldn’t have sent you out to the call at all.

He never would’ve guessed you’d decide to go alone…

Abel felt guilty over your death. You died because the competition was trying to send a message, or at least that’s what he assumed.

Abel held his head high as he found out about the circumstances of your death.

Apparently, the murderers were only meant to rough you up a bit and dump you just outside city limits, in a particularly snowy area.

But as you tried to run away, one of the goons tried to shoot a warning shot to get you to stop.

The bullet hit you in the Achilles tendon.

You collapsed into the dense snow instantly, crying out in pain.

In fear of getting arrested, the shooters fled, leaving you to bleed in the snow.

You died of hypothermia. You could’ve been saved.

That’s what hurt Abel the worst.

If your killers had just tried, they could’ve brought you to the hospital. But instead, they’re now awaiting a trial and eventual imprisonment.

But because they confessed, and it was an accidental death, they would be able to have parole, they could walk free one day.

To Abel, they deserved to rot in prison forever. But he didn’t have the right to oppose the judge, not when your family had already accepted the punishment.

Abel paid for the funeral, and there he saw you for the last time.

I’m sorry this happened… I’ll take care of your family from now on. I promise…

—————————————————

Brb sobbing in the club rn…

For real though, thank you for reading!

Feel free to send over any requests/suggestions

[rafecamerons-national-anthem]

THE HIDDEN ONE-PAUL ATREIDES

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 Paul Atreides discovers Y/N, a mysterious woman caught between humanity and machines, created as a weapon by his family. As they grow closer, their bond challenges destiny. 𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

The desert winds howled across the surface of Arrakis, carrying the endless whispers of fate and prophecy. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the still, vast expanse of sand. A new chapter in the Atreides lore was about to begin, one that had been written long before Paul Atreides was born. And though his mind had been consumed by visions of a future yet to be realized, there was one vision he could not shake. Her.

Y/N. The hidden one, a name he had never heard but whose presence seemed to loom over him in every moment of clarity. Her image, striking, enigmatic, with eyes that shimmered an unnatural blue, had appeared to him in fleeting moments, in the liminal space between sleep and wakefulness. He had seen her in the most unexpected places: in the stillness of the desert, in the heart of the Emperor's court, in the shadow of a battle not yet fought.

The visions had become so vivid that they haunted him, each one more real than the last. It was as if she were calling out to him, from a time long past, from a place hidden beneath the sands.

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

The day Paul Atreides found the secret room was an accident. He had wandered the halls of the grand Atreides stronghold, as he often did when lost in thought. His steps echoed off the cold stone walls, and the flickering lights from the chandeliers cast their soft glow across the polished floors. It was in this quiet solitude that he stumbled upon the door. It was hidden behind a tapestry, an old relic that seemed out of place, yet remarkably well preserved.

He pulled aside the fabric, revealing a narrow passage. The air was thick with dust, as if the door had not been opened in centuries. Without thinking, Paul stepped inside.

The room beyond was a stark contrast to the rest of the castle. It was smaller, and its walls were lined with shelves filled with ancient texts, cryptic diagrams, and machinery that seemed impossibly advanced for the time. But there, in the center of the room, was something that caught his attention.

A pod. It was sleek, metallic, and humming with an energy that felt...familiar. As Paul approached, his breath caught in his throat. Inside the pod was a woman, beautiful, serene, yet impossibly still. Her skin was pale, almost ethereal, and her eyes, those blue eyes, were closed, as if she were merely sleeping.

The moment Paul’s fingers grazed the surface of the pod, her eyes snapped open. She stared at him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.

“You...” she whispered, her voice a blend of wonder and recognition.

“Who are you?” Paul managed to ask, his heart pounding in his chest. He had known, somehow, that this was the woman from his visions.

“I am Y/N,” she said softly, her gaze never leaving his. “And you…you are Paul Atreides, the one who will lead us into the future.”

Paul’s mind raced. How did she know him? How had she been hidden away for so long? He had so many questions, but the answers seemed to elude him.

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

Unbeknownst to Paul, his father, Duke Leto, had known of Y/N’s existence for many years. In fact, it had been the Duke who knew about this generational secret that his family holds, far from the prying eyes of the galaxy and the political machinations of the Imperium. The truth was that Y/N was more than just a person. She was a being caught between humanity and the machines of the past. A living testament to the forbidden thinking machines, who had been altered and preserved as a weapon, a safeguard for the Atreides legacy.

Paul’s discovery of Y/N did not come without consequence. His visions had led him to her, but the Bene Gesserit, who had their own plans for Paul’s destiny, had long known about Y/N as well. They understood her significance; she was the key to breeding the Chosen One, the one who could wield the powers of the Kwisatz Haderach. But what the Bene Gesserit did not anticipate was the bond between Paul and Y/N, one that ran deeper than any political or genetic manipulation.

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

“You’re...not just a woman,” Paul said, his voice breaking the silence between them. “You’re something else. Something...ancient.”

Y/N smiled faintly, her robotic blue eyes glinting with a knowing sadness. “I was meant to be a weapon, Paul. A part of a forgotten war. But I am human too, just like you. I’ve been waiting for you, for this moment. I knew you would come.”

Paul stepped closer, a mix of curiosity and awe tugging at his chest. “Why? Why wait all this time? What’s your purpose?”

Y/N's smile deepened, and she reached out, her hand hovering near his. “I am here to help you. To guide you. To stand by you. Together, we can change the course of history.”

A heavy silence fell between them, thick with the weight of their shared destiny. Paul reached out slowly, his hand brushing against hers. The contact sent a shock of warmth through him, a connection he couldn’t explain. And in that moment, all the confusion, the fear, the uncertainty seemed to melt away.

“I don’t know how,” Paul whispered, his eyes searching hers, “but I think I’ve been waiting for you too.”

Y/N’s gaze softened. “Then let’s face the future together.”

They stood there, their hands intertwined, as the weight of their fates settled upon them.

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

The Bene Gesserit, led by the determined and calculating Lady Jessica, were not pleased when they learned of Y/N’s existence. For years, they had sought to control the bloodlines, to ensure that the Kwisatz Haderach would be born according to their plan. But Y/N was a variable they had not accounted for a wild card in the grand scheme of things.

Jessica, ever the loyal servant to her Order, confronted Paul in the halls of the Atreides stronghold.

“You have to understand,” Jessica implored, her voice tense. “The Bene Gesserit have spent decades grooming you, Paul. You are the one they’ve chosen, the one they’ve trained. And yet, this...this machine is not part of the plan. She is a threat.”

“I don’t care about the plan anymore,” Paul said fiercely, his eyes blazing with a resolve that surprised even him. “I know who I am. I know what I’m meant to do. And Y/N...she’s a part of it.”

Jessica’s eyes narrowed, a hint of fear flashing in her gaze. “You don’t understand, Paul. The Bene Gesserit will stop at nothing to see their vision realized. If you side with her, you’ll bring war to us all.”

Paul’s heart wavered for only a moment. But when he thought of Y/N, of the way she had looked at him, the way they had connected, he knew he could not turn away. He would not.

“I’ve made my choice, Mother,” Paul said, his voice firm. “And I will not be swayed.”

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

As the conflict escalated and the sandstorms of war swept across Arrakis, Paul and Y/N stood together. In the quiet moments between battles, when the world seemed to hold its breath, they found solace in each other. Their love, born of destiny and choice, grew stronger with every passing day.

One night, as they stood beneath the star-streaked sky of Arrakis, Y/N turned to Paul, her robotic eyes shimmering in the moonlight.

“You’re afraid,” she said softly.

“I am,” Paul admitted, his voice low. “But not of the war. Of what I might become. Of the power I have to wield.”

Y/N stepped closer, her fingers brushing his jaw, a gentle touch that grounded him. “You are not alone, Paul. Together, we can face whatever comes. We can change the future, together.”

He pulled her into a kiss, soft and lingering, a promise of what they would build. As their lips met, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, their love, their power, and the future they would shape.

In that moment, Paul knew that he had found something worth fighting for, not just the throne, not just power but something deeper, something eternal. And no matter what challenges lay ahead, he would face them with Y/N by his side.

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

The days stretched into weeks, and the conflict on Arrakis escalated as the Atreides’ struggle for control of the desert planet became all encompassing. The war raged on, against the Harkonnen, against the Emperor’s forces, against the very forces of fate itself. Yet, in the midst of it all, Paul and Y/N’s connection deepened.

Their secret moments were stolen between battles, hidden in the shadowed corners of the Atreides stronghold, or beneath the sprawling, endless skies of Arrakis. Despite the danger, despite the world crumbling around them, they clung to each other, finding solace in the love that had sprouted between them, unpredictable yet undeniable.

One such moment arrived after a particularly brutal confrontation with the Harkonnen forces. Paul had returned from the battlefield covered in dust and sweat, his face drawn with exhaustion. Y/N, ever the constant, found him as he entered his chambers, her presence like a steady flame in the darkened room.

Paul’s eyes softened when they met hers, and he exhaled deeply, releasing the weight of the day. His once clear blue eyes, now the same shade as hers, spoke volumes of the battles fought and those yet to come.

"You’ve been fighting all day," she said, her voice gentle, yet laced with concern. She stepped toward him, reaching up to touch his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble. "You need rest."

"I don’t know if I can," Paul replied, his voice distant, conflicted. "Every moment is a step toward the future, but I can’t see it clearly. There’s so much uncertainty...I see visions of us, of you but they are fragmented. Some of them...they frighten me."

Y/N’s gaze was unwavering as she stepped closer, her fingers softly tracing the curve of his jaw. "I am not afraid of the future, Paul. And neither should you be. We’ve waited for this moment, for this bond to come together. We can walk through it, side by side."

Paul inhaled deeply, absorbing her words. The soothing calmness she radiated began to settle his thoughts, grounding him as only she could. She was the anchor in the storm that was his destiny. He could no longer deny it.

"Stay with me," Paul whispered. "Help me make sense of all of this. You’ve been a part of the plan since the beginning. But I’ve changed. I’ve seen the possibilities of the future. I know I am meant for something greater than I can fully grasp. And maybe...you are too."

Y/N’s smile was soft, warm with affection. "I am no longer just a weapon, Paul. I was shaped for a purpose, yes, but now I am a part of something more. With you, I can feel it. Our bond is not one of politics or control. It is one of love, of choice. I choose you, Paul. I have always chosen you."

He looked at her, his expression softening into something tender and vulnerable. He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm, feeling the warmth of her skin against his. "Then I choose you, Y/N. We face this together. We will rewrite the future."

And as they stood together in the quiet of the night, the sounds of war distant yet ever present, they shared a moment of peace. Paul kissed her then, a kiss that spoke of promises made, of destinies intertwined. It was a kiss full of longing and hope, a silent vow to never let go, no matter the challenges ahead.

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

The Bene Gesserit had been watching. They knew Paul was growing increasingly unpredictable, his visions, his growing bond with Y/N, all of it had stirred something in the fabric of their plans. Jessica had felt the tension for months, but now, with each passing day, it became clear that Paul’s path would not align with their carefully laid designs.

One evening, Lady Jessica arrived in Paul’s chambers. The air was thick with tension as she met her son’s gaze. “Paul, we need to talk,” she began, her voice calm, but there was an undeniable urgency in it.

“I know what you’re going to say, Mother,” Paul said, his voice heavy with resignation. “You want me to turn away from Y/N. But I won’t. She is part of me now.”

Jessica’s eyes flashed with frustration. “She is a dangerous variable, Paul. The Bene Gesserit have been tracking her for decades. She was not meant to be part of your story.”

“Maybe it wasn’t meant to be anyone’s story but ours,” Paul replied, his voice unwavering. He glanced over his shoulder, catching Y/N’s eye. She stood just behind him, watching with quiet strength. “You don’t understand what she means to me. I’ve seen it, Mother. Our future together is more than just a bloodline. It’s about love. It’s about choice.”

Jessica’s gaze flickered to Y/N, the woman who had long been a mystery to her, whose presence now threatened the balance of power that the Bene Gesserit had worked so hard to maintain. “You think love is enough to change everything?” she asked, a sharp edge to her words. “You think that will stop the Bene Gesserit from ensuring their plans come to fruition?”

Y/N stepped forward then, her voice steady as she met Jessica’s gaze. “I don’t care about the Bene Gesserit’s plans. I care about him,” she said softly, her hand resting on Paul’s shoulder. “And he cares about me. The future is not set in stone, Jessica. We can make our own destiny.”

Paul nodded firmly, his hand covering Y/N’s in silent support. "She is right. We make our own fate, and we’ll face the consequences together."

Jessica’s eyes softened, but there was still a trace of doubt. "I never wanted this for you, Paul. I never wanted you to be caught in the middle of their games."

Paul met her gaze with newfound strength. "You’ve taught me to trust in my own power, Mother. And I will. With Y/N by my side, I will forge a new path for Arrakis, for our family, and for the future."

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

The rebellion against the Harkonnen forces reached its peak as the Atreides rallied their allies, with Paul and Y/N leading the charge. They stood side by side, not just as rulers, but as partners in every sense of the word.

The desert winds whipped around them as they stood atop a dune, gazing out at the battle unfolding below. Sandstreaked warriors fought with determination, their cries lost in the chaos of war.

"Are you ready?" Paul asked quietly, his gaze never leaving the horizon.

Y/N turned to him, her eyes gleaming with fierce resolve. "I’ve been ready for this moment for centuries."

And as the battle raged, their hands found each other once again, strong, steady, bound by something deeper than any political alliance or royal bloodline. They were united, not just by destiny, but by love and choice. Together, they would change the course of history.

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

The dust of war settled in the wake of the battle, and though the future remained uncertain, one thing was clear: Paul and Y/N had carved their own path. A path that led to the throne, yes, but more importantly, a path that led them to each other.

As the sun set on Arrakis, casting a golden light across the desert sands, Paul and Y/N stood together, looking out at the world they would shape.

"We will face everything that comes, together," Paul whispered, his lips brushing her ear.

Y/N smiled, her eyes shining with the certainty of their shared future. "Together, Paul. Always."

And as the winds of destiny swirled around them, they knew that no matter the trials ahead, they were stronger than the sum of their parts. The love between them would change the universe one choice at a time.

𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨𓆨

The days following the victory over the Harkonnen and the fall of the Emperor’s forces were filled with the quiet hum of change. The Atreides now stood as rulers of Arrakis, the planet once lost in the sands of time, now the heart of a new future. The desert winds, ever constant, whispered of the shifting tides of power, but beneath it all, a new dynasty was being born.

Paul Atreides sat upon the throne in the grand hall of the Atreides stronghold, his blue eyes reflecting the weight of leadership. But beside him, always beside him, stood Y/N. His equal. His partner. The one who had walked through the fires of destiny with him, not just as a symbol, but as the very core of his strength.

Their love had altered the very fabric of the universe. No longer merely a woman of mystery or a weapon of the past, Y/N had become something more, an integral part of the new world they had forged. Together, they had defied the expectations of those who had sought to control their fates. And together, they had emerged victorious.

The Bene Gesserit had retreated into the shadows, their plans thwarted, but the fear and control they once wielded had no place in Paul and Y/N's new vision for the future. The choices they had made were their own, and the consequences, while great, would not deter them. They had rewritten history.

In the halls of the stronghold, as night fell across the vast expanse of Arrakis, Paul and Y/N shared a rare moment of peace. They stood on the balcony, the dim orange glow of the setting sun casting long shadows over the endless desert, now a symbol of their rebirth.

Paul’s fingers traced the curve of Y/N’s hand, their palms pressed together. "Do you ever wonder, after everything we’ve been through, what the future will hold?" he asked softly, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken questions.

Y/N’s gaze lingered on the horizon, her blue eyes reflecting the twilight, the endless sands stretching before them. "I do," she replied, a smile tugging at her lips. "But not in the way I used to. I used to fear it. The unknown. The path laid before us, and the one that others expected us to follow."

Paul turned to her, his brow furrowing slightly. "And now?"

"Now," she said, her voice steady, "now I believe in the future we’ll create. A future we shape with every decision we make, with every choice we embrace together."

Her words carried weight, a promise not just to the empire they ruled, but to each other. They had been to the edge of the abyss, had touched the core of their destinies and come out stronger. Their bond, forged in the fires of war, was unbreakable. They were not just rulers, they were a symbol of what could be achieved when love and fate intertwined.

As they stood in silence, the stars began to appear above them, shining brightly in the night sky. It was a beautiful sight, the same stars that had guided their ancestors, that had witnessed the rise and fall of empires. But tonight, they were witness to something new. A new beginning.

"Together," Paul whispered, as if affirming to himself the weight of his words. "We’ll face whatever comes, side by side."

Y/N’s smile deepened as she turned to him, her hand resting over his heart. "Together," she echoed.

The universe may have shifted, but in that moment, with the stars above them and the vast desert stretching before them, Paul and Y/N knew they had already won the greatest battle of all, not for power, not for control, but for their love, for their shared vision of the future.

And as the winds of Arrakis continued to blow, carrying whispers of a new era, the world below them stirred with the promise of change. A new era of peace. A new era of unity. A new era of hope.

And they would rule it together, not as mere monarchs, but as something far greater. A force unstoppable, for the power of their love could conquer even the harshest desert winds.

As the first night of their reign fell, Paul and Y/N stood together on the balcony, hand in hand, looking out at the world they had conquered and the future they would build.

The sands of time had shifted. And the dawn of a new era had begun.

Together. Always.

[machinesonix]

Okay with Dune 2 being mostly about messianic philosophy and the next one probably even moreso, I wanna talk about what I see as the BIG MESSIANIC PICTURE behind the setting, or at least what I believe it to be. There's going to be spoilers in here, but they're not going to be anything you're going to see on screen in this trilogy.

I'm gonna start off by highlighting something that might not be totally obvious at first glance. There are two completely different prophecies Paul finds his terrible purpose in. The Kwizatz Haderach is the ‘ultimate human’ envisioned by the Bene Gesserit who will have an enhanced power of prescience because he can project the Other Memory through both the X and Y chromosome and free humanity from its animal nature. The Lisan al-Gaib is a myth planted in the Fremen culture by the Bene Gesserit in case the Sisterhood ever needed to control them. The big tldr is that Bene Gesserit training involves a lot of learning through observation, so their kids tend to learn things so fast it looks like they already knew them and they pass that off as a miracle. 

I think it’s pretty obvious we’re supposed to find this Kwizatz Haderach thing pretty sus. The disciples of this prophecy are themselves purveyors of false prophecy. Paul certainly doesn’t believe he’s the Kwizatz Haderach, and that’s because he knows he’s not the Lisan al-Gaib. But he does wind up ticking the boxes. He does in fact survive the Water of Life ritual despite his sex. He is indeed uniquely prescient because he can see both sides of the Other Memory. Thing is as we move forward into the books that are not getting movies, we’re asked to reinspect this because of all the other Kwizatz Haderachs.

Brian Herbert gets kind of a raw deal because he didn’t have his father’s writing chops, but we’re comparing him directly to a person many consider to be the greatest science fiction author of all time. What he did have is a deeper insight into his dad’s setting and philosophies than anyone else, so miss me with any mess about which books you don’t consider canon unless you’re ready to go all Council of Nicea with me. Anyway, a really prominently weird thing that loses a lot of people is that Paul’s kid is a worm. He’s not born that way, he basically does the Water of Life ritual in the middle of a bunch of pupating sand worm larvae and comes out of it as a big worm with a human head that can produce spice in his own body. Leto II claims that he’s the Kwizatz Haderach, and to be fair, he is way more of an ‘ultimate being’ than his dad. People worship him not as a prophet, but as a god. Paul brought revolution to the universe, Leto II brought peace. It’s the peace of a godlike tyrant who can read minds and punish dissidence before it happens, but as long as we’re comparing people to their dads it's not like he started a race war that killed 26 billion people in the name of ‘justice.’ 

You may have heard Duncan Idaho winds up being the real Kwizatz Haderach. If you remember that gimp suit beetle thing in the first movie, the Harkonnens and their Tlelaxu buddies take dead people and turn them into sort of clone-zombie servitors called gholas. I’m not making any promises, but there is a real possibility the third movie will have Jason Momoa in a gimp suit, because Duncan is the best ghola. The second Duncan Idaho, bearing the edgy mid-century sci-fi moniker Hayt, is a gift from the Tlelaxu to Paul after his rise to power as an ostensible ‘we’re sorry we helped the Harkonnens kill your entire family.’ If you’ve seen the 1984 Dune movie you’ll know that the Duke of House Atreides keeps a pug. What you might not know is that it’s been the same pug for 10,000 years by virtue of genetic xeroxing. Once Leto II takes over, Duncan becomes the new house pug. Duncans serve as mentats, swordmasters, philosophers, and more over millenia of incarnations. Eventually one of the Duncans gets slammed with all the memories of the previous Duncans and he’s got this totally bizarre version of the Other Memory where he can remember all of his ancestors' memories, but his ancestors are also himself. Thereafter he can run like the Flash and fistfight robots and people call him the Kwizatz Haderach. Like I said, Brian’s books are petty controversial among fans.

Also the reverse-Bene Gesserit wind up making a Bizarro Kwizatz Haderach at one point but he’s just prescient enough to see that there isn’t a future where he isn’t just a washed up fraud. 

Now let’s put it all together. I think the core philosophical study at the center of Dune is the question ‘What is a messiah?’ And like any great work of art it really is more about the question than the answer. Our three Kwizatz Haderachs (I’m not gonna count Thallo, he’s more like an allegory for Joel Olstein) propose some possibilities. Paul is the guy who ticks all the boxes. His messianic status is descriptive, not prescriptive. He isn’t actually the guy the Bene Gesserit thought it was going to be, so that notion of predestination is gone, but if the Kwizatz Haderach is ‘the man who can use the Other Memory,’ then he’s it. He and the people around him knew the prophecy and chose to lean in that direction, he got 

Leto II is the closest thing to a divine manifestation that fits in this universe. He is literally in the body of one of the unstoppable forces of nature the Fremen venerate as their protector. He calls himself ‘God-Emperor’ in a setting where every man, woman, child, face dancer, and thing in between is raised on the principle that there is a monotheistic creator deity and that deity wants humanity to flourish. Everyone who didn’t believe in God got killed by robots ten thousand years ago. By insisting on literal religious worship of his political station, Leto II is seriously making some waves. Imo this is sort of like an extreme example where the question is more like ‘Is this what it takes before you’ll call someone the messiah?’ Even then, the fact that this dude is definitely NOT God in the way this setting understands it casts aspersions on the idea of a visibly supernatural force being inherently divine.

Finally, Duncan is a total freak accident. He is the ‘perfect human’ because he has been iterated on and improved over and over again, but he has nothing at all to do with the Bene Gesserit breeding program. Thousands of years after the Fremen uprising, when everyone thinks the Kwizatz Haderach is ancient history, there’s this guy with super powers. Unlike Paul, there’s no prophecy to suggest he might be the Chosen One and no decision to lean into the mythos surrounding it. The idea of iteration is really important with Duncan. Pardon the unflattering comparison, but there’s something kind of Heglian in how perfection is an inevitability as long as someone keeps stirring the pot. 

I would argue that aspects of all of this are present in the first book. Leto II and Duncan are just deeper explorations of some of the questions posed by Paul. And if I’m to wrap this all up with a neat little bow, I think the point of it is that they’re all totally valid Kwizatz Haderachs. ‘Kwizatz Haderach’ are just words. For ten thousand years, there was a description of a thing and nothing existed that fit that description. There was a plan to create something that fit the bill, but we got a guy who could do the miracle even when we went off script. At that point it just seems like a semantic argument. Likewise, Leto II is pretty much God. He’s immortal, he sees all things past and future, his body produces and feeds him the chemical that puts him in that trippy oneness-with-everything. He sure as fuck isn’t what anyone was expecting God to look like, but it’s pretty much theologicially bankrupt to be like ‘Excuse me, something isn’t the universal superbeing unless it’s exactly what I already had in mind’ even if people do exactly that all the time. If the 400 meter single worm-boot fits, as they say. I’m not exactly how to make this sound as serious as I mean it, but Duncan as Kwizatz Haderach is basically like Brian Herbert shoving the pile of Korans off his desk and going ‘Fuck it, look.’ This guy’s got nothing to do with the Bene Gesserit. He has the genetic memory of his masculine ancestors, but you probably couldn’t get away with calling it the same thing Paul does in court. Half the reason he gets called the ‘perfect human’ is the sentiment expressed by ‘Oh dawg, Duncan, bro, he’s the realest, most human out of any of us.’ He is just called the Kwizatz Haderach because that is the language that exists in the culture that is closest to what he is. But you know what? Same with Paul, or Leto II, or even the Joel Olstein guy I mentioned. 

Prophecies don’t predict saviors, they make them. Chani has a line in the new movie that’s something like ‘Promise them a messiah and they will wait forever,’ and I think that’s Dune boiled down to its most essential notion.  

[ahses2ahes]

Sun Rays

Pairing: Duke Leto Atreides x reader, kingdom/18th century AU.

Warnings: arranged marriage, language, chasing. There isn’t much really.

Summary: After your father tells you that you’re too be married off to some Duke you choose to spend most of your time horse back riding and the rest arguing with your father. That is, until you meet the Duke and he makes quite the deal.

Photos from Pinterest and Leto is from Dune. You obviously belong to yourself.

You had always been a wild being, something your father disapproved of. Especially as a Duke. You could care less, though, preferring to feel the wind whip through you hair as you rode the back of your horse and race through the trees with some of the stable boys.

You were rough and tough for a royal, lacking proper manners and in need of a serious reality check. That is why your father chose to have you engaged to a man about two decades older than you. A Duke from a land you knew nothing of except its barrenness and sand.

You had fought with your father constantly about it, taking any chance to bring it up at dinner or council meetings you found oh so boring to attend. He was insistent, though. He believed you needed to marry someone respectable and learn to become a proper person of the court.

You hated the idea, even now as you prepped your horse for a ride. You had gotten word that your husband to be had arrived and you did not feel like meeting him. So you had decided to sneak away and out of your formal attire down to the stables and into your riding gear.

Now you were with your dark stallion, placing on his saddle and closing it right around him.

“Is this any way to great your future husband?” a voice rang from the entrance of the stables.

You turned your head to see Duke Leto himself and for a second your eyes widened.

You had heard the man was attractive and while it was true, you didn’t expect him to be this attractive. He was rugged and wore a head of neatly combed back grey and black hair. A full beard adorned his face along with two beautiful dark eyes that held years of wisdom, but didn’t show a single worry. A smile also graced his slightly pale lips. His walk was just as elegant and sophisticated as he looked, his steps nearing you quite quickly.

No matter how beautiful he was, though, you could not forget your anger towards him.

“I have no interest in speaking to you,” your words were harsh as you pulled a strap on the saddle of your horse a little too roughly.

“Please, my dear, let us talk, there must be something we can work out,” the Duke said as he placed a hand on the small of your back.

Anger sparked through you quickly and you smacked his hand off of you.

“There is nothing to speak of with you, I will not marry you simply because my father told me to!”

He raised a brow, before a smug smirk crossed his face. God, it was hot.

“How about a wager then,”

The offer had piqued your interest, you straightened yourself out, turning to look at him with a brow quirked upwards.

“What would that be?”

“I get to choose a horse and we race. If I manage to catch you before the sun sets, you shall marry me. If you are able to stay away, I shall leave and never even look back.”

“Done,” you say quickly, spitting in your hand and sticking it out. An attempt to gross out the Duke.

He did indeed look a little disgusted, but he took your hand in his leather clad one, shaking it firmly.

With that, you both began to prepare, you even helped him pick out a good horse, one that could match the abilities of yours. By the time you were both ready, it was just after the beginning of evening.

“So, I start and you have to wait ten minutes to start the chase,” you said, as you looked over the greenery you had grown so fond of.

“And neither of us are allowed to leave,” Leto reminded “If we do then whoever has left is the immediate loser.”

I nod my head and look at him.

“Ready?” Leto nods in response.

“On your marks,” you say

“Get set,” Leto continues for you

“Go!” You both scream in unison.

With that you are off, faster than a flash of lightening. Hooves thunder the ground and trample the small plants that lie in your path. You ride and ride till your horses’ breathing is heavy. That is when you choose to stop.

You let him breathe by a stream and you stay there for several minutes letting your racing heart calm as you think.

Leto was quite the different man than you had expected. You expected him to force this marriage upon you and give you no say, but no. He was giving you this way out even though he likely knew how skilled of a rider you were and how well you knew this forest.

You continued to sit there thinking till you heard the thunder of something. You were confused for a second before you saw Leto, on his golden mare stomping towards you.

“Shit shit shit shit shit,” you mumble out as you quickly climb onto your steed and zoom off.

You can feel that his hand just narrowly misses your shoulder before you zoom off. You thunder through the water, him jumping over it and staying close on your heels. You zoom through the trees hoping to take some sort of turn and loosen his trail on you, but it’s of no use, he stays hot on you.

“How the hell are you doing this?” You yell to the man behind you.

“You never asked of my experience in hunting and tracking!” He said with a mischievous chuckle.

You continue to ride, evading him through the trees. It was so close to sunset! Just a little more time!

You continue to ride, thundering north. He manages to get right next to you, his hand reaching over to wrap around your waist. You quickly pull off to the left and avoid him, but he is quick to follow. You now thunder east towards the palace. The sun is almost below the horizon. You ride and ride and as you see the clearing with the last of suns you cheer to yourself. You are too soon, though, because Leto is at your side again.

You watch as the rays continue to shrink and as you reach the edge of the first. Suspense is building in your chest as you watch the sun continue to tuck itself away. Just a little bit more!

His hand is reaching back towards you now, almost touching you. You’re almost there dear god you are almost there.

Just as the front of your horse is out of the forest, you feel yourself being taken off of your horse, the last rays of sun set.

“Fuck!” You cry out as you watch your horse stop at the edge and the horse you are now slowly halting.

Leto chuckles and pats the side of your waist that he holds.

“I believe this means I’ve won dear,”

[electricbluebutterflies]

I don’t know if you’ll feel comfortable writing this but you’re really good with emotional fics so I’m asking you.

Prompt: Jessica is sexually assaulted during an attack on the Atreides and Leto cares for her in the aftermath. I’m mostly interested in the aftermath, not the attack itself.

Obvious content warnings apply here (I went very vague so *I* didn't have a rough time), mid-era, PG-ish despite everything, and also on ao3.

Back into her body. Back into the wreckage.

It was easier to disconnect. Perhaps she should keep that state a while longer, but the worst is over, she has been left alone in her ashes and-

Straight to the heart. There will be blood for this. Hopefully no more of hers.

Jessica assesses the state of her body slowly, feeling out what she can. Eyes, mouth, and wrists still bound. Bruises forming, some in more awkward places than others. Dress torn and indecent. Vulnerable parts…

She is still a woman, status and abilities be damned. How easy she was to hurt for it. She had become weak, and-

She is at least on the cold stone floor, able to curl herself into a ball and use her other senses. In the distance, alarms still going off but the attack does seem to be over; coming closer to her…

Familiar heartbeats, and a new fear.

She knows what was meant to happen through her violation. She knows how deeply this will wound and provoke her beloved, and-

She feels the movement of someone kneeling beside her and pulling her against their body, and she wants to recoil but she’s too tired, wants to bat off the hands that undo her bindings but she can’t-

She can’t-

Jessica does not break easily. Even with her voice taken from her, she showed none of the emotion she suspects her attackers wanted. She is still too trained for detachment, and-

She blinks up at her partner, and she has never seen him so concerned, and she does not know what to feel.

He should not be wasting his time on her, she wants to say. There are countless things that need to be done in aftermath, and he’s never delegated as much as anyone else in his positions would, and he rarely picks her in such a clash of priorities, and-

“I’m sorry” is what comes out, paper-thin in a voice she barely recognizes as her own.

She does not want to be touched right now, and she is also not stable enough to support her own body, and she makes her decisions accordingly. Resting against his chest, focusing on his racing heartbeat above all else, perfectly still as he removes his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders and at least nothing wounded is visible like this and-

“I can’t-“

She should disconnect again. She should allow herself to forget these few moments. Her partner does not know what to feel either and it is obvious in the silence, in the way he holds her close with a fierceness that is unlike them. What happened to her was actually about him, and this is understood, and-

“Leave me,” she breathes. “I’ll be alright.”

“Not happening. Not… not like this.”

They stay there on the floor for what feels like too long. She does not want to cling and she does not know what else to do, and this wounded uncertainty may be the worst part, not what she has already endured but what is still to come and-

Others will see this. She understands now. There is a statement in their positions, and if the extent of the damage is shown tactfully…

“At least let me rest. It has been long enough.”

“Can you move?”

“I think so, but-“

Getting to her feet is unpleasant. Her body hurts in new ways, and to do this alone she’d have to cling to walls and that would look wrong and she knows how important this visual will be, her torn dress and-

“On me.”

It would be understandable to hand her off to someone else, she thinks, but this too is a statement, a signal that nothing will change and she is still-

Jessica has spent what feels like far too much of the past few hours trying not to cry. She allows herself to do so now, as she focuses on her partner’s proximity. There are other eyes on them and she cannot let herself think about that, about anything else, about-

“It’s over. We’ve-“

“Our son?”

“Safe.”

“If there is anything you are not-“

“Unharmed.”

In the days and weeks to come, the attack will be unraveled, and she will have to deal with everything further, and-

She does not need to deal with it now. Her partner is clearly holding back emotions, and she feels fire in the weight of his hand on her shoulder, guiding her towards… not their normal spaces, she processes this now, but a wing of the compound generally used by visiting diplomats, somewhere neutral enough that she will be able to leave her worst memories behind a door she will never need to open again and even in this he takes care of her and-

“I need to see what they did to you.”

They are alone, safe. The room is cold and she feels something coiled in her body, ready to explode, ready to-

“Be as gentle as you can.”

He takes the jacket off her shoulders and puts it aside, then what remains of her dress. This alone is enough to make her tense, to close her eyes and-

“You do know I-“

“Don’t speak of violence. Not-“

Fingertips on her skin, touch she has leaned into so many times. Her face was covered enough in bindings and there is no damage there, but he still traces lines as if to comfort her, pushes her hair out of her eyes and this beginning does allow her to get a better read of him. He was unharmed; the attack was targeted at her, she knows that now, and the worry of it-

“Can you keep your eyes open?”

“I will try, but-“

“I won’t wound you further.”

“I trust your hands and your heart.”

Her body has always been safe with him. This is what she reminds herself even as the lightest touch makes her want to recoil. She has endured far worse and she trusts that he does not mean to do any worse than map bruises, and there are a few of those she was not aware of but-

A few cuts on her breasts from how her dress was undone, not deep enough to worry her any worse than the rest of this mess but still stinging to touch and she flinches and-

“You won’t hear anything I say about protection,” her partner murmurs. “You… shouldn’t, after this. But I won’t let you out of my sight until these heal.”

“That’s not the worst of it.”

The look of horror in his eyes imprints itself into her heart forever, the fear and the anger and-

“They got what they wanted. Hurting you to destabilize me…”

“I will heal. You know I am-“

“You think that makes it easier? Knowing just how much it takes to make you so-“

“If you don’t want to look at me-“

“I need to. I need to see every way you were wronged and-“

“I won’t be able to calm you. I’m not focused enough to-“

“You think I would ask for that? You think I would ask you to take the righteous fury of-“

“Everything that can happen already has! If you are in no state to comfort me, leave and let me rest.”

“I won’t leave you alone. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“Then lower your voice and do right by me.”

She does want him here, she decides as his hands move down her torso. The bruises get worse at her hipline, and she barely holds back flinches, and-

“Would you let me lay you down? I suspect…”

“Yes. I don’t think my balance will hold when you-“

The bed is soft, calming, and she will take what comfort she can get, and-

Her partner’s breath catches as he parts her thighs, another moment of horror, and she’s unsure if she could even find the right pressure points on his wrists but she wants-

“I need to get water. This isn’t… I can’t…”

He is gone just for a few moments, and it feels wrong to be alone even as she hears his movements in the background. She will need someone beside her at all times until her mind and body heal, and it would be unfair to ask that of her beloved for very long but he will at least give her this night and she has never been able to ask for more than that, one night at a time and the desperation of-

He returns to her with basin and cloth and shirtsleeves pushed back, and the familiarity of him is everything, and-

“Try to be still. That might… make this easier.”

Her body hurts. That is all she knows. Her partner removes a mixture of bodily fluids from the space between her legs, and she feels the concentration of him, the nightmares he will have for years and the importance of seeing everything and-

“I am still safe,” she murmurs. “I did not lose control of-“

“At least there is that.”

“I am unsure what else-“

“You didn’t bleed like this at our consummation.”

Her own anger flashes. “You would compare-“

“I only meant your lack of experience then, not-“

“Do not speak of how you have loved me. Do not ruin us.”

He finishes his task in perfect silence, and there is new pain but not with intent and she bites her lip and allows what she trusts is meant only as care. She feels so delicate and vulnerable, trapped in her body and-

“You should rest now.”

“Will you stay?”

“Will you allow that?”

She should say no. There is so much else that needs to be done, there are always other things that need done and-

For once, let her be selfish and wounded and desperate and everything she normally is not.

“I do not trust my mind if I am left alone,” she murmurs. “I would have you close, if you are still willing.”

“Why would I not be-“

“I am a reminder of-“

She feels sadness overwhelm her, and she allows it. She curls her body into a ball and tries to make herself numb and fails, and it will be days before she leaves this space, she does not care what else needs to be done, she does not-

“You are still the love of my life. This changes nothing.”

She should say the same, and she can’t. She should say something comforting, and instead-

“Move the blankets over me? If you are done-“

He does as she asks, avoiding touching her, and they will not be ruined, and-

“I will slip away while you sleep. There are… a few more things that need to be done, and comforts to find for you, but… only a short time.”

“You have already taken care of me more than enough.”

“You wouldn’t complain about one of your cocoon dresses.”

“You hate how I look in those.”

“Your comfort is everything right now, do you understand?”

She does, and she feels a bitter taste in her mouth, another wave of this should not be about her as it has become and-

“Be careful with me.”

“Always.”

Jessica closes her eyes, and it is still a length of time before her mind quiets for sleep. She can feel her partner’s presence in the background, out of reach but not by much, the fear and the love and the power of him and-

She will endure. She was good at that, once. They will find a way forward.

[berylcluster]

➫ PAUL finds that only his head is able to move in this moment, tilting as if to hear more of whatever spite and harsh words came from the other boy. He finds that none of these things affect him much, which puzzles him more than anything being said. Until, that is, the mention of his father - the Duke. He was no Leto Atreides, even he knew that, deep down, his father would have shunned what he was doing here. And no matter how hard he fought to stop it, no matter how many steps he took to prevent bloodshed and violence, it was all the human race had ever known. War, perfecting the art of it, so that men like Feyd-Rautha and Rabban were born, filled with hate and fire in their bones. They split countless liters of blood, the innocent and undeserved alike, for the sake of amusement or for the better of their rule, he was never really sure. Whatever their intent, he felt no better than them when the time finally came to become the Kwisatz Haderach.

He thought about spice for a moment, thinking it would once again reveal to him that his war and complete take over was somehow fated to him, that he was on the right Path. Paul realizes in this moment that he's not actually talking anymore, staring off into a universe of his own making. His head raises back to finally look at his prisoner again, and all he sees is someone attempting to goad a reaction from him. "Do you think I weep for your brother or Hawat? They served their purposes, their deaths are not in vain. If you would like to be added to my pile of bodies, then be my guest, your water will be given to the people of Arrakis along with theirs." Muad'Dib thought he did not, not even for a moment, fight that hard to earn his prophet status. It was basically handed to him like the bag of water rings he acquired for killing Jamis. It was a hollow thing, having done nothing to earn praise but receiving it anyway. "I don't have to be a prophet to understand when a man is looking for a fight, which you won't get out of me, not today at the least."

Feyd moved toward the bars of his cage. He had spent his whole life fighting, even his earliest memories were filled with screams and rage. It showed now in his stance, he could kill, had killed and not because of anything so elegant as hatred but for the pure animal reasons of pleasure and survival. Though he could kill out of hatred, he'd plotted of it often enough but even that was a pleasure the Atreides had robbed him of.

He looked at his 'cousin' now with a kind of mocking insight. There were things he didn't yet know, couldn't know. He had no traces of prescience, the only Bene Gesserit he knew had been that Fenring woman and even the he'd only known her for a single night's pleasure. Even Irulan was only coveted at a distance.

He didn't know about the breeding program or that his Uncle had sired Jessica. But he saw that this upstart Duke was as ignorant of his world as a child, and there was no Missionara Protectiva to soften his gaze with hoped for awe.

"I thought you were a prophet," He said and laughed mirthlessly. "My brother's head is mounted on the walls of your city, Hawat is dead at your feet. Do you think I weep now for my Uncle? That he cosseted me as his heir?"

He leaned against the bars of his cage now and smirked. "I fought for my title. Did your father make you do that, Duke?"

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Your Grace

Winter Prompts Masterlist | Winter Prompts List

Pairing: Duke Leto Atreides x Reader

Prompts: Soup/ Memories/ Next Door Neighbor

The entire household is scrambling, and in something of a subdued uproar. Well, it’s not every day that Duke Leto Atreides turns up at your door, asking for a meal and a place for him and his men to stay for the night. 

You live in one of the furthest reaches of Caladan. Your house sits on a high hill overlooking the ocean. There’s a damnable chill in the house, one that you typically endure, but certainly can't expect royalty to suffer through. You’ve already worked through three-quarters of the corded wood to heat the home; you’re not sure there’ll be any more.

Your mother sends you out back to cord some more, despite the Duke’s insistence that your family puts himself and his men to work for the inconveniences that their presence is causing. You tighten your coat around yourself at the evening’s rising chill, and the damp air.

You can only hope there’ll be enough hot soup for your dinner when you get inside—though you're not sure there will be. The Duke and his complement of soldiers have taken up more space and resources than your small household is typically accustomed to entertaining. 

--

It’s been raining for nearly an hour by the time you make it inside. Your mother’s left you a bundle of dry clothing to change into in the mud room by the back door. You want to take a hot bath to warm your chilled bones, but you’re almost the Duke and his men will be busy tidying themselves up. You hurriedly change into the dried clothes, swiping your dripping nose with the clean sleeve of your henley. You draw your sleeves down over your hands, stepping out into the hall and leaving the wet clothing in the hamper. 

The house is quiet for the most part. Several of the Duke’s men are sleeping in your parents’ room; mortifyingly, the Duke is staying in yours. You’re desperately hoping that your mother will send you on some other errand tomorrow morning—something that will keep you out of the way again. 

You step into the vacated, quiet kitchen, carefully stepping around the scattered things left by the Duke’s men. You walk over to the tall pot still on the stove, lifting the lid and peering inside. You sigh softly, relieved as you see just enough soup left to sate your hunger. You set the lid aside and take up the clean bowl beside the stove, ladling the piping hot soup into it. There may be some fresh bread in the oven still, but you can’t bring yourself to check. You sit at the small table, poking and stirring your soup a touch, trying to release some of the heat. 

“Your mother said you made that.” 

The sound of the Duke’s voice makes you startle, and you bolt up from your seat, your spoon clattering to the table. The Duke looks a touch apologetic under the gleam of the glowglobe as he waves for you to sit again. You remain standing, unable or unwilling to take your eyes off of him. You’d caught only a glimpse of him when he’d arrived, and nowhere near this closely. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” He apologizes. 

“Is there something that I can get for you?” 

“No—Please, sit, eat,” He insists, walking more deeply into the kitchen. You lower yourself back into your seat hesitantly, mind racing. What would your mother tell you to do? Leave the room and give the Duke some privacy? Offer him something else to eat, or drink?

Before you can act on any of those, the Duke is taking up two wine glasses, and an opened bottle from the counter. He arches a brow, holding them both up, and you give a nervous little nod, and a mumble of, “Please.” 

“I should be asking you, frankly,” He says, setting both down and pouring a healthy amount into both. “This is yours, after all.” 

“We’re happy to—” 

“I know,” He waves you off gently again, setting the two glasses and the bottle down on the table. You take hold of one a touch warily, raising it to your lips and allowing yourself to take the most lady-like of sips. 

“Is everything alright with the room?” You ask. 

“You mean your room?” The Duke bats back, his brows raising as his lips curl in slight amusement. Your face warms with embarrassment, and you duck your head just a touch, taking up your spoon and pushing the soup around a bit. 

“It’s very comfortable,” He adds. 

“I’m glad to hear it.” 

“Interesting books on the shelves.” 

Your eyes flit nervously toward him at the comment, but his expression seems genuine. His eyes are dark, and have an inviting warmth to them. 

“May I ask what’s keeping you awake? Your Warmaster said that you’ve had a long journey,” You hedge. The Duke’s lips quirk a touch wider before he peers down at his wine. 

“I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. My mind is muddled with memories.” 

“Of what?”

The Duke’s eyes lift to yours again, smile widening at your question. 

“The last time I was on this side of the planet.” He nods toward your bowl. “Your soup will get cold.” 

You take a taste of it almost dutifully, and hum contentedly as it warms you. 

“I’d’ve preferred your mother had let us help you,” The Duke comments. 

“You’ve had a long day.”

“And now, so have you.” 

You smile a little, shaking your head. 

“I’m accustomed to long days…As I’m sure you are, Your Grace,” You hurry to correct. He chuckles softly at the nerves in your voice.

“I can guarantee that there’s almost nothing you can say to offend me,” He offers. “And I’m no Duke tonight. Merely a man that’s incredibly grateful for your hospitality.” 

Tag list: @amneris21 ; @elen-aranel ; @brandyllyn ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight

[foxilayde]

Thinking about OTTR Leto. That scene from Scarface when they are at restaurant. You’re in a pretty satin dress barley picking at your food. You’re pissed off at him for getting way too high at a special dinner.. he even brought Duncan for god knows what? You were supposed to be gone an hour ago, champagne bottles are empty… the ice cream you didn’t have for dessert is melted. All because Leto ( the stallion HAHA) is rambling about taking over the “spice” lands over on the east.

Thank you for the beautiful prompt! It was inspiring 💚

Tw: drug use, 18+only

Fucking boys night. It always turns into a boys night. And why wouldn’t it? Every restaurant he’s ever taken you to is one he ‘owns’, one where all his jumped up lackeys like to take their dates as well. And they always greet each other like it’s some big fucking surprise. “This guy! They just let anybody in here, eh?!” Kissing each other on the cheek, slapping each other on the ass. He should just take Duncan out on a fucking date.

Not a single one of them can ever have just a gentleman’s dose of the slopes, can they? Especially Leto. He’s beyond geeked and making such a fucking scene that you start to realize why there’s a connotation about the secret back rooms of gangster affairs in restaurants, why the boss is always ‘in the back’… it’s cause you can’t stick him anywhere near the regular patrons without scaring the paying customers away. Especially with his penchant to wave that fucking Desert Eagle. He takes bumps off of it. The golden piece. Ostentatious, reckless, asshole.

This wasn’t supposed to be business. If you can even call it business, the shit these overgrown boys do— playacting as robbers and robbers. The intimidation. The pageantry. The obnoxious parade of power. You twist your Cartier watch on you wrist to get a look at the time, the gorgeous diamond pavé thing, a gift from Leto. Some I’m sorry baby present, you’re sure. Too many to count. The only thing you can count on is that there’ll likely be another one tomorrow. Yes. In the sober light of day, Leto will wake with a raging headache, depleted tanks of dopamine, and a hundred excuses. You’ll excuse yourself because you won’t be able to look at him and when you get home there will be ten dozen red roses and something shiny enough to distract you until the next time.

It’s almost 3 in the morning. Which means you’ve been sitting at the table by yourself for almost an hour.

He sidles back over to the table and rubs your shoulder with his strong ringed hand, “Hey baby.” He’s so fucking loaded right now and he’s going to insist on driving when the time comes. It takes everything in you to smile and put your hand over his.

“Hey, daddy.”

“You okay over here? You’re being kind of quiet.”

It’s a trap, this line. It’s leading. Before you were versed in the beast of chemicals puppeteering Leto, you would speak your mind— air your aggravations. But the beast is a delicate creature that must be treated tactfully. The beast does not care if you’re “okay” the beast is saying, “I am interpreting your silent non-participatory attitude as you judging me. You’d better reassure me right the fuck now that you’re not.”

So you say, “I’m sorry, Leto. I’m just so so tired.” You smile sleepily to sell it and he does what he always does. He offers you cocaine.

“Got a remedy for that.” He starts to dig in his pocket, but you put a soft hand on his arm and pout your lip for good measure.

“Would you mind if I took the car home? I’m just dead tired and I want to lay down, is that okay?” You try to say it all as sweetly and sympathetically as you can, forcing all the weight and meaning off any syllable that might be interpreted as anything accusatory.

But the beast is sensitive.

“You have the fucking keys, dontcha?” He shoos you away with both hands, laughing derisively, “sulking at the fucking table all night,” he mutters. “Go the fuck home, don’t act like I’m holding you hostage.”

You’re frozen for a moment with hot tears welling up in your eyes. You hate that he can be like this. Talking to you like you’re one of his guys’ nephews who just fucked up a drop.

“What are you waiting for? Go! You’re so damn tired, then leave!”

You’re self conscious, scooting and slipping out of the booth, keeping your eyes on the floor in some vain attempt to not let the room see you’re crying. You hope not everyone is staring but you know they are.

You could yell back, if you wanted, like you used to do in the early days. Something about his rage probably preferred it— the twin fervor and flame of it all. The broken crystal. The name calling… The sex was better then too. You’d be just as loaded and dish it out just as hard and you’d fuck in mutual groveling, passionate with evenly geeked apologies in the back of his Cullinan. But you just can’t bring yourself to do it tonight. You weren’t lying when you told him you were tired.

[supernovafeather]

The Fear Coming From The Inside

Duke Leto Atreides x F!Reader

Warnings : PTSD linked to war, blood, explosions, language, angst, fluff.

What was a race against time to avoid any ambush is now a desperate race against a hord of opponents animated by their thirst for your blood. The heat of their breath hits your nape every time you do a barrel roll with your ship to avoid their attacks, and you don't know how long you will manage to survive. Even plunging into the depths of canyons formed between huge dunes doesn't help you much. You are not even sure they have pilots, their motions looking too precise, like following a trail. And this makes your voice waving for the first time through the comms as all of your body is already tensed, sweat pearling down your temples. You don't even waste precious seconds with formal talking. Screw that. You are about to die. All your brain is doing is making you describe what is happening.

"No fuel no ammo no loophole they'll take me down in a few seconds." You articulate faster and faster yet still audibly as you make your ship pounce down two huge cliffs , followed by the four shadows. You need to give as much info as you can. "AI or better equipment coordinated units impossible to detect through our radars get our units ready they can be anywhere and..."

No doubt your superiors can hear the deafening boom as your right wing gets annihilated, the thin yet heavy structure of your ship now rolling on itself into the air, horizontally for a brief moment before starting to get attracted by the Arrakisian gravity. There is no way to know if this iron-like taste comes from blood in your mouth or from something from your ship as a second shot pierces through your cockpit, high-pitched alarms overwhelming your brain.

"SHIELD, RIPPED OFF, SHIELD RIPPED OFF !"

The world around you is turning so fast, Arrakis is now only a mix of burning yellow, orange, blue, brown and brightness. Nausea is torturing your stomach, added to the knot forming in the back of your throat.

Those haunting memories come back at you with a monumental brutality, like a slap in the face with a hot blade. Such flashes shouldn't occur. It's not the right time. There is none.

Your are not the leader of this expedition. No. It is Leto Atreides, by your left on his own seat and giving firm orders in this usual stoic way. He looks barely annoyed by the battle raging underneath. His face is dug by light and shadow, and his sharp features are softened by his beard that looks softer on some spots, especially on the white ones. But those invasive thoughts have you blinking as you try to focus on what's in front of you. Despite your experience you are a sweating mess in your pilot outfit, mouth dry and wet palms grabbing the aides of your seat at every brutal and brief acceleration.

Then it hits you again, the metal crashing like an asteroid onto the surface of the planet, only surviving by luck thanks to sand slowing you down violently and the fuel shortage that prevented any explosion from occurring.

You feel like fainting after a sharp barrel roll and you close your eyes before opening them up when the ship gets an horizontal trajectory again.

"You're alright ?" Your Duke asks in an abrupt tone with a side glance, his face still neutral despite this chaos surrounding everyone.

Now that his voice brought you back to reality, you can hear your whistling breath and grimace at how painful your fingers got from gripping your seat. It is stronger than you, your belt isn't enough to reassure you. There is fire, smoke, everything is shaking from the ship to land under blasts. But what drives you to the border of unconsciousness are two hostile shadows erupting on both of your sides, having even your ruler to tense up, his stoic mask now cracking with this worry digging his features even more.

"Shit two of them, everyone on..."

You think you blacked out for a while after this millisecond of a weird rage boiling inside your guts. The kind of anger causing a cramp in your belly. Maybe it is adrenaline that caused you to take control of the front canons, blasting relentlessly and doing your best to annihilate your enemies before they could do anything else than an intimidation strategy. You heard the Duke protesting the second after you took the commands but seeing how efficient you were, he let you do it, pushing the rest of the team to focus on fleeing to come back. But those shadows act like flies around livestock suffocating during a heatwave, coming back in hord and trying to drink from their sweat and tears, harassing again and again, coming back with more insistence and more soldiers after you manage to get rid off one.

They don't appear on the radars but you manage to take four of them down thanks to the unpredictable move of your own vessel, and to the dedication of everyone on it. There must be at least a dozen others of those ships turning around you, unless there are always the same three or four just charging over and over.

Once landed afar from this unsufferable hive, you unbuckle your belt, heading outside with shaky legs and sweating even more than previously now that the fight is over. Some officers try to assure your balance by holding your shoulders or arms, telling you to rest on your cot in the quarters at the back. You just want some fresh air even if it means having to endure the inferno surrounding the dunes.

"You, come here." Growls a voice before a firm hand grabs your collar, pulling you away from the door you were about to open.

You barely have the time to gulp that you end up pushed back to a mattress on the floor, your wide-open eyes taking in the infuriated face of the Duke situated at barely a few inches from your face.

"What was that, Commander ?" He whispers as you let his raging eyes piercing through your skin. "What on Arrakis can lead you to think that acting like that is a good thing ?"

Speechless, you watch his face softening in confusion as tears you didn't think you had start gathering up in your eyes. This whistling breath is leaving your mouth and everything gets blurred before you feel two hands surrounding your face, a beard scratching your cheek as a hot breath brushes your ear.

"Stay with me you are going to be fine." He repeats calmly several times, his weight starting to rest against you shaky form on the mattress as your hold tightens desperately on the front of his grey outfit. "You are going to be fine, we are all safe, Commander."

There is this attention - you don't dare to think about softness - in his voice and gestures that makes you listen to him. You know the warrior turning ruthless against his opponent, you know the leader caring when it comes to his people, but you've never seen the gentle man trying to sooth your anxious mind. Even if now his body is pressed against yours he doesn't do anything wrong. He keeps whispering in this voice sounding so foreign to your ears, low, soft yet with this hint of command. Your breathing finally calms down after a few minutes of this as your disconnected brain focuses on his breath brushing your lips as he repeats almost the same sentences. You grabbed his shoulders with your hands to remain anchored to reality, you don't want to faint as oxygen comes back down to your lungs.

"Good. Now I'll bring you a doctor."

He tries to get up but your fingers tighten their grip on the grey fabric. You can't form any word, but at least he understands the message.

"Commander," he scold you slightly with raised eyebrows, "I can't stay here."

You nod vaguely. Now this closeness seems unreal, and once he is standing back on his feet, looking down at you with a slight frown, you feel ashamed for your behavior. Your crash really turned you into a baby afraid of fire. You never talked about your anxiety to anyone other than doctors, and even them don't know how destructive it got for you.

"Take care of yourself Commander. We will talk about this later, back in my palace."

You just watch him coming out of the quarter, not knowing if it was a promise or a threat.

- - - -

Thanks for reading ! Please comment and reblog if you liked it ! 😊

@abelslittlebunny @ophelialoveshandsomemen @salome-c @anetteaneta @dilfoscarisaac @letoatreiides @huxdameron @amneris21 @lady-targaryen @lavenderluna10

[fernysbasement]

On reading Dune not as a hero’s journey

Every time I saw people READ Dune and interpret Paul as very much the hero of the story I worried a little bit, about myself and how much bias I must have poured into my reading to understand this: that Paul is begrudgingly playing his part in a huge conspiracy that he hates, but which he can’t find a good enough way to oppose. 

Whether he is the expected Kwisatz Haderach, “the chosen one” seems a lot less important than what that entails. For himself and the future of humanity.

So, now that I’ve learned a bit about how to make conscious readings of text (and mind you, I’ve learned just a bit... enough to pass a couple exams, I suppose) I found myself in need of tracking the exact bits that informed such a reading. 

And I mean strictly the first book. We go the Barthes way here, no author commentary, no sequels, just the text within the book with only a whiff of the historical context in which it was produced. 

If we take free will to be a core theme and hope for the characters, which can be glimpsed by calling the rebel forces the Fremen, for instance; there’s little in the way of a happy narrative to be found. The Spice Melange, the amazing substance that can grant an extended life, extended consciousness, extended awareness... is coupled with a terrible realization. 

‘ We're trapped here, she agreed.

And she accepted the truth of his words. No pressure of the Bene Gesserit, no trickery or artifice could pry them completely free from Arrakis: the spice was addictive. Her body had known the fact long before her mind awakened to it. ‘

-When Paul finally realizes that he is, more or less, the supreme being that secret organizations had been scheming for generations to conceive, through careful breeding programs and planting of cultural blueprints... that sense of inevitability and entrapment in a net far too grand and systemic only becomes more clear.  

‘ And he thought: I'm a seed.

He suddenly saw how fertile was the ground into which he had fallen, and with this realization, the terrible purpose filled him, creeping through the empty place within, threatening to choke him with grief.

He had seen two main branchings along the way ahead--in one he confronted an evil old Baron and said: "Hello, Grandfather." The thought of that path and what lay along it sickened him.

The other path held long patches of grey obscurity except for peaks of violence. He had seen a warrior religion there, a fire spreading across the universe with the Atreides green and black banner waving at the head of fanatic legions drunk on spice liquor. Gurney Halleck and a few others of his father's men--a pitiful few--were among them, all marked by the hawk symbol from the shrine of his father's skull.

"I can't go that way," he muttered. "That's what the old witches of your schools really want."

"I don't understand you, Paul," his mother said.

He remained silent, thinking like the seed he was, thinking with the race consciousness he had first experienced as terrible purpose. He found that he no longer could hate the Bene Gesserit or the Emperor or even the Harkonnens. 

They were all caught up in the need of their race to renew its scattered inheritance, to cross and mingle and infuse their bloodlines in a great new pooling of genes.And the race knew only one sure way for this--the ancient way, the tried and certain way that rolled over everything in its path: jihad.

Surely, I cannot choose that way, he thought.But he saw again in his mind's eye the shrine of his father's skull and the violence with the green and black banner waving in its midst.‘

-Paul sees this path as the way humanity may remain constant in the universe, a universe it conquers and subdues. But at no point is he pleased by this, at no point does he embrace his place with joy, pride or passion. 

The tone remains as dry as the dessert that surrounds the characters most of the time. 

‘ Paul had sensed the jihad in their words, shrugged off the question with one of his own--learning then that Kaleff, the elder of the two, was ten, and the natural son of Geoff. Orlop, the younger, was eight, the natural son of Jamis. 

It had been a strange day with these two standing guard over him because he asked it, keeping away the curious, allowing him the time to nurse his thoughts and prescient memories, to plan a way to prevent the jihad.’ 

(...)

‘ "Nothing money won't repair, I presume," Paul said.

"Except for the lives, m'Lord," Gurney said, and there was a tone of reproach in his voice as though to say: "When did an Atreides worry first about things when people were at stake?"

But Paul could only focus his attention on the inner eye and the gaps visible to him in the time-wall that still lay across his path. Through each gap the jihad raged away down the corridors of the future.’ 

(...)

‘ Even the faint gaps were closed now. Here was the unborn jihad, he knew. ’

(...)

‘ And Paul saw how futile were any efforts of his to change any smallest bit of this. He had thought to oppose the jihad within himself, but the jihad would be. 

His legions would rage out from Arrakis even without him. They needed only the legend he already had become. He had shown them the way, given them mastery even over the Guild which must have the spice to exist.

A sense of failure pervaded him, and he saw through it that Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had slipped out of the torn uniform, stripped down to a fighting girdle with a mail core.

This is the climax, Paul thought. From here, the future will open, the clouds part onto a kind of glory. And if I die here, they'll say I sacrificed myself that my spirit might lead them. And if I live, they'll say nothing can oppose Muad'Dib.‘

-Notice that the conjunction there is AND, not BUT. Which can be understood as these results not being quite contrary. 

-Then, after slaying his last enemy, the book ends with these words, shared mostly between Paul and those most close to him, his mother and his concubine: 

‘ "The Fremen are mine," Paul said. "What they receive shall be dispensed by Muad'Dib. It'll begin with Stilgar as Governor on Arrakis, but that can wait."

"And for me?" Jessica asked.

"Is there something you wish?"

"Perhaps Caladan," she said, looking at Gurney. "I'm not certain. I've become too much the Fremen . . . and the Reverend Mother. I need a time of peace and stillness in which to think."

"That you shall have," Paul said, "and anything else that Gurney or I can give you."

Jessica nodded, feeling suddenly old and tired.  She looked at Chani. "And for the royal concubine?"

"No title for me," Chani whispered. "Nothing. I beg of you."

Paul stared down into her eyes, remembering her suddenly as she had stood once with little Leto in her arms, their child now dead in this violence. "I swear to you now," he whispered, "that you'll need no title. That woman over there will be my wife and you but a concubine because this is a political thing and we must weld peace out of this moment, enlist the Great Houses of the Landsraad. We must obey the forms. Yet that princess shall have no more of me than my name. No child of mine nor touch nor softness of glance, nor instant of desire."

"So you say now," Chani said. She glanced across the room at the tail princess.

"Do you know so little of my son?" Jessica whispered. "See that princess standing there, so haughty and confident. They say she has pretensions of a literary nature. Let us hope she finds solace in such things; she'll have little else." A bitter laugh escaped Jessica. "Think on it, Chani: that princess will have the name, yet she'll live as less than a concubine -- never to know a moment of tenderness from the man to whom she's bound. While we, Chani, we who carry the name of concubine -- history will call us wives."

Here I will concede that Jessica’s proclamation seems victorious enough, but I can’t help putting emphasis into the subterfuge and compromises made. Paul has displaced a despot, but not punished him. He’s playing the political game, he hasn’t overthrown the system he despises, simply taken a higher position within it, because that’s the lesser evil as far as he can see, and the path in which at least he remains alive, in accordance to the wishes of his family and those that look up to him. 

So... my reading may not be diamond-solid, of that much I’m aware, but at the very least I’ve shed some light on why I felt the way I did about Paul’s journey not as that of a hero, but of a reluctant monarch. A messiah to those beneath him, but a conscious cog in a machine, in a greater sense. 

Now I wonder which tone will the coming movie display, how will it portray the actions and feelings of the characters involved and the futility of their actions against the grand designs that predict and guide them. The photography seems to be quite grey, and that may prove to be telling.  But there are more than fifty shades of grey.   

[yasbxxgie]

Now that the cast is coming together, Denis Villeneuve’s upcoming adaptation of Dune is getting more attention than ever. And with that attention an interesting question has started cropping up with more frequency, one that bears further examination: Is Dune a “white savior” narrative?

It’s important to note that this is not a new question. Dune has been around for over half a century, and with every adaptation or popular revival, fans and critics take the time to interrogate how it plays into (or rebels against) certain story tropes and popular concepts, the white savior complex being central among them. While there are no blunt answers to that question—in part because Dune rests on a foundation of intense and layered worldbuilding—it is still an important one to engage and reengage with for one simple reason: All works of art, especially ones that we hold in high esteem, should be so carefully considered. Not because we need to tear them down or, conversely, enshrine them, but because we should all want to be more knowledgeable and thoughtful about how the stories we love contribute to our world, and the ways in which they choose to reflect it.

So what happens when we put Dune under this methodical scrutiny? If we peel back the layers, like the Mentats of [Frank] Herbert’s story, what do we find?

Hollywood has a penchant for the white savior trope, and it forms the basis for plenty of big-earning, award-winning films. Looking back on blockbusters like The Last of the Mohicans, Avatar, and The Last Samurai, the list piles up for movies in which a white person can alleviate the suffering of people of color—sometimes disguised as blue aliens for the purpose of sci-fi trappings—by being specially “chosen” somehow to aid in their struggles. Sometimes this story is more personal, between only two or three characters, often rather dubiously labeled as “based on a true story” (The Blind Side, The Help, Dangerous Minds, The Soloist, and recent Academy Award Best Picture-winner Green Book are all a far cry from the true events that inspired them). It’s the same song, regardless—a white person is capable of doing what others cannot, from overcoming racial taboos and inherited prejudices up to and including “saving” an entire race of people from certain doom.

At face value, it’s easy to slot Dune into this category: a pale-skinned protagonist comes to a planet of desert people known as Fremen. These Fremen are known to the rest the rest of the galaxy as a mysterious, barbaric, and highly superstitious people, whose ability to survive on the brutal world of Arrakis provides a source of endless puzzlement for outsiders. The Fremen themselves are a futuristic amalgam of various POC cultures according to Herbert, primarily the Blackfeet Tribe of Montana, the San people, and Bedouins. (Pointedly, all of these cultures have been and continue to be affected by imperialism, colonialism, and slavery, and the Fremen are no different—having suffered horrifically at the hands of the Harkonnens even well before our “heroes” arrive.) Once the protagonist begins to live among the Fremen, he quickly establishes himself as their de facto leader and savior, teaching them how to fight more efficiently and building them into an unstoppable army. This army then throws off the tyranny of the galaxy’s Emperor, cementing the protagonist’s role as their literal messiah.

That sounds pretty cut and dried, no?

But at the heart of this question—Is Dune a white savior narrative?—are many more questions, because Dune is a complicated story that encompasses and connects various concepts, touching on environmentalism, imperialism, history, war, and the superhero complex. The fictional universe of Dune is carefully constructed to examine these issues of power, who benefits from having it, and how they use it. Of course, that doesn’t mean the story is unassailable in its construction or execution, which brings us to the first clarifying question: What qualifies as a white savior narrative? How do we measure that story, or identify it? Many people would define this trope differently, which is reasonable, but you cannot examine how Dune might contribute to a specific narrative without parsing out the ways in which it does and does not fit.

This is the strongest argument against the assertion that Dune is a white savior story: Paul Atreides is not a savior. What he achieves isn’t great or even good—which is vital to the story that Frank Herbert meant to tell.

There are many factors contributing to Paul Atreides’s transformation into Muad’Dib and the Kwisatz Haderach, but from the beginning, Paul thinks of the role he is meant to play as his “terrible purpose.” He thinks that because he knows if he avenges his father, if he becomes the Kwisatz Haderach and sees the flow of time, if he becomes the Mahdi of the Fremen and leads them, the upcoming war will not stop on Arrakis. It will extend and completely reshape the known universe. His actions precipitate a war that that lasts for twelve years, killing millions of people, and that’s only just the beginning.

Can it be argued that Paul Atreides helps the people of Arrakis? Taking the long view of history, the answer would be a resounding no—and the long view of history is precisely what the Dune series works so hard to convey. (The first three books all take place over a relatively condensed period, but the last three books of the initial Dune series jump forward thousands of years at a time.) While Paul does help the Fremen achieve the dream of making Arrakis a green and vibrant world, they become entirely subservient to his cause and their way of life is fundamentally altered. Eventually, the Fremen practically disappear, and a new Imperial army takes their place for Paul’s son, Leto II, the God Emperor. Leto’s journey puts the universe on what he calls the “Golden Path,” the only possible future where humanity does not go extinct. It takes this plan millennia to come to fruition, and though Leto succeeds, it doesn’t stop humans from scheming and murdering and hurting one another; it merely ensures the future of the species.

One could make an argument that the Atreides family is responsible for the saving of all human life due to the Golden Path and its execution. But in terms of Paul’s position on Arrakis, his effect on the Fremen population there, and the amount of death, war, and terror required to bring about humanity’s “salvation,” the Atreides are monstrous people. There is no way around that conclusion—and that’s because the story is designed to critique humanity’s propensity toward saviors. Here’s a quote from Frank Herbert himself on that point:

I am showing you the superhero syndrome and your own participation in it.

And another:

Dune was aimed at this whole idea of the infallible leader because my view of history says that mistakes made by a leader (or made in a leader’s name) are amplified by the numbers who follow without question.

At the center of Dune is a warning to be mistrustful of messiahs, supermen, and leaders who have the ability to sway masses. This is part of the reason why David Lynch’s Dune film missed the mark; the instant that Paul Atreides becomes a veritable god, the whole message of the story is lost. The ending of Frank Herbert’s Dune is not a heroic triumph—it is a giant question mark pointed at the reader or viewer. It is an uncomfortable conclusion that only invites more questions, which is a key part of its lasting appeal.

And yet…

There is a sizable hole in the construction of this book that can outweigh all other interpretations and firmly situate Dune among white savior tropes: Paul Atreides is depicted as a white man, and his followers are largely depicted as brown people.

There are ways to nitpick this idea, and people do—Paul’s father, Leto Atreides might not be white, and is described in the book as having “olive” toned skin. We get a sense of traditions from the past, as Leto’s father was killed in a bull fight, dressed in a matador cape, but it’s unclear if this is tied to their heritage in any sense. The upcoming film has cast Cuban-Guatemalan actor Oscar Isaac in the role of Duke Leto, but previous portrayals featured white men with European ancestry: U.S. actor William Hurt and German actor Jürgen Prochnow. (The Fremen characters are also often played by white actors, but that’s a more simple case of Hollywood whitewashing.) While the name Atreides is Greek, Dune takes place tens of thousands of years in the future, so there’s really no telling what ancestry the Atreides line might have, or even what “whiteness” means to humanity anymore. There’s a lot of similar melding elsewhere in the story; the ruler of this universe is known as the “Padishah Emperor” (Padishah is a Persian word that essentially translates to “great king”), but the family name of the Emperor’s house is Corrino, taken from the fictional Battle of Corrin. Emperor Shaddam has red hair, and his daughter Irulan is described as blond-haired, green-eyed, and possessing “patrician beauty,” a mishmash of words and descriptions that deliberately avoid categorization.

None of these factors detract from the fact that we are reading/watching this story in present day, when whiteness is a key component of identity and privilege. It also doesn’t negate the fact that Paul is always depicted as a white young man, and has only been played by white actors: first by Kyle MacLachlan, then by Alec Newman, and soon by Timothy Chalamet. There are many reasons for casting Paul this way, chief among them being that he is partly based on a real-life figure—T.E. Lawrence, better known to the public as “Lawrence of Arabia.” But regardless of that influence, Frank Herbert’s worldbuilding demands a closer look in order to contextualize a narrative in which a white person becomes the messiah of an entire population of people of color—after all, T.E. Lawrence was never heralded as any sort of holy figure by the people he worked alongside during the Arab Revolt.

The decision to have Paul become the Mahdi of the Fremen people is not a breezy or inconsequential plot point, and Herbert makes it clear that his arrival has been seeded by the Bene Gesserit, the shadowy matriarchal organization to which his mother, Jessica, belongs. In order to keep their operatives safe throughout the universe, the Bene Gesserit planted legends and mythologies that applied to their cohort, making it easy for them to manipulate local legends to their advantage in order to remain secure and powerful. While this handily serves to support Dune’s thematic indictment of the damage created by prophecy and religious zealotry, it still positions the Fremen as a people who easily fall prey to superstition and false idols. The entire Fremen culture (though meticulously constructed and full of excellent characters) falls into various “noble savage” stereotypes due to the narrative’s juxtaposition of their militant austerity with their susceptibility to being used by powerful people who understand their mythology well enough to exploit it. What’s more, Herbert reserves many of the non-Western philosophies that he finds particularly attractive—he was a convert to Zen Buddhism, and the Bene Gesserit are attuned to the Eastern concepts of “prana” and “bindu” as part of their physical training—for mastery by white characters like Lady Jessica.

While Fremen culture has Arab influences in its language and elsewhere, the book focuses primarily on the ferocity of their people and the discipline they require in order to be able to survive the brutal desert of Arrakis, as well as their relationship to the all-important sandworms. This speaks to Herbert’s ecological interests in writing Dune far more than his desire to imagine what an Arab-descended society or culture might look like in the far future. Even the impetus toward terraforming Arrakis into a green world is one brought about through imperialist input; Dr. Liet Kynes (father to Paul’s companion Chani) promoted the idea in his time as leader of the Fremen, after his own father, an Imperial ecologist, figured out how to change the planet. The Fremen don’t have either the ability or inclination to transform their world with their own knowledge—both are brought to them from a colonizing source.

Dune’s worldbuilding is complex, but that doesn’t make it beyond reproach. Personal bias is a difficult thing to avoid, and how you construct a universe from scratch says a lot about how you personally view the world. Author and editor Mimi Mondal breaks this concept down beautifully in her recent article about the inherently political nature of worldbuilding:

In a world where all fundamental laws can be rewritten, it is also illuminating which of them aren’t. The author’s priorities are more openly on display when a culture of non-humans is still patriarchal, there are no queer people in a far-future society, or in an alternate universe the heroes and saviours are still white. Is the villain in the story a repulsively depicted fat person? Is a disabled or disfigured character the monster? Are darker-skinned, non-Western characters either absent or irrelevant, or worse, portrayed with condescension? It’s not sufficient to say that these stereotypes still exist in the real world. In a speculative world, where it is possible to rewrite them, leaving them unchanged is also political.

The world of Dune was built that way through a myriad of choices, and choices are not neutral exercises. They require biases, thoughtfulness, and intent. They are often built from a single perspective, and perspectives are never absolute. And so, in analyzing Dune, it is impossible not to wonder about the perspective of its creator and why he built his fictional universe the way he did.

Many fans cite the fact that Frank Herbert wrote Dune over fifty years ago as an explanation for some of its more dated attitudes toward race, gender, queerness, and other aspects of identity. But the universe that Herbert created was arguably already quite dated when he wrote Dune. There’s an old-world throwback sheen to the story, as it’s built on feudal systems and warring family houses and political marriages and ruling men with concubines. The Bene Gesserit essentially sell their (all-female) trainees to powerful figures to further their own goals, and their sexuality is a huge component of their power. The odious Baron Harkonnen is obese and the only visibly queer character in the book (a fact that I’ve already addressed at length as it pertains to the upcoming film). Paul Atreides is the product of a Bene Gesserit breeding program that was created to bring about the Kwisatz Haderach—he’s literally a eugenics experiment that works.

And in this eugenics experiment, the “perfect” human turns out to be a white man—and he was always going to be a man, according to their program—who proceeds to wield his awesome power by creating a personal army made up of people of color. People, that is, who believe that he is their messiah due to legends planted on their world ages ago by the very same group who sought to create this superbeing. And Paul succeeds in his goals and is crowned Emperor of the known universe. Is that a white savior narrative? Maybe not in the traditional sense, but it has many of the same discomfiting hallmarks that we see replicated again and again in so many familiar stories. Hopefully, we’re getting better at recognizing and questioning these patterns, and the assumptions and agendas propagated through them. It gives us a greater understanding of fiction’s power, and makes for an enlightening journey.

Dune is a great work of science fiction with many pointed lessons that we can still apply to the world we live in—that’s the mark of a excellent book. But we can enjoy the world that Frank Herbert created and still understand the places where it falls down. It makes us better fans and better readers, and allows us to more fully appreciate the stories we love.

+Dune’s Paul Atreides Is the Ultimate Mighty Whitey

[saint-severian]

Dune - Chapter 3

In this chapter, we witness two conversations in the Atreides home, later in the day of Paul’s ordeal. The first is between The Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother, Gaius Helen Mohiam, and Paul’s mother Jessica, who is scolded by the older woman, who was once her teacher and remains her superior within the Sisterhood, for bearing a son (Paul) rather than a daughter from Leto. There is no question at all of it having been an accident: Bene Gesserit are apparently in total control of the gender of their children. Had Jessica bore an Atreides daughter as commanded, the child would have been wed to a Harkonnen male and “breached the gap”. Having, in just the last chapter, witnessed the depravity of the mortal enemies of the Atreides, this comes as a disturbing thought, especially given that it would be the Atreides house absorbed into the Harkonnen, and not the other way around. But this does not even figure into Jessica’s calculation: the first thing she said in her defense was, “but it meant so much to him!”, the Duke. Apparently, the ethical issue of marrying one’s daughter off to a family of barbaric and disturbed tyrants was secondary next to the admiration and affection Jessica has for her man. She would have gone along with the orders of her Sisterhood if not for the particular qualities of the particular man she was assigned to. 

But there was another motivation, or at least implication: the possibility of a male Atreides heir being the Kwisatz Haderach. It’s important to note that the correct word is “being” the Kwisatz Haderach, not “becoming”. The tests for the Kwisatz Haderach, like the tests for humanity, are not formative tests in their objective, but rather they seek to determine whether inborn traits are present. Humanity, like being the Kwisatz Haderach, is an inborn status, not achieved. Although Paul’s training in the Bene Gesserit Way is vital to his fulfillment of his destiny, it is impossible for him to act other than in his own nature. 

In response to Jessica’s desire for an “alternative” to the doom which Mohiam says she has brought upon her house in her disobedience, she gives a prediction of the future: “I see in the future what I’ve seen in the past. You well know the pattern of our affairs, Jessica. The race knows its own mortality and fears stagnation of its heredity. It’s in the bloodstream--the urge to mingle genetic strains without plan. The Imperium, the CHOAM Company, all the Great Houses, they are but bits of flotsam in the path of the flood.” We have of yet no context to place this prediction in (and neither exactly does Mohiam), but we can use this idea to understand the Bene Gesserit mindset. It is probable that the BG see themselves as working against the effects of such a mass-mingling, and of the impulse that motivates it, in their artificial selection project. A project which orients itself as against intuitive human nature. In the most obvious respect, that people don’t naturally like to be bred like horses or dogs (although it takes four books for anyone to voice this obvious reaction), but in a more specific sense: the disgust which Jessica must have felt at the thought of marrying her child to a Harkonnen (whom she later implies as being subhuman) or of betraying the wishes and hopes of the Duke. The Bene Gesserit eugenic program implicitly views human nature as contra to the furtherance of the race. Living in a world in which mass migration from the uncivilized backwaters, the “putrid latrines of the world” to the centers of civilization is a real and ongoing process, not unlike the “flood” that Mohiam describes, it’s wholly natural to agree with this sentiment and to see Herbert in this sense as a prophet of our era. But is it true that true eugenics is necessarily against human impulse? Although it’s true that it is far easier to ruin something than to better it, including a race, it’s hardly probable that every strong and intelligent race on Earth came about by going against its own natural instincts. And, if this is true, what would it mean for the race-loyalism that posits racial endogamy as natural and good, and miscegenation as the product of externally-originating degeneration? I’m inclined to take a page from BAPbook and say that often, arranged marriages, which are historically motivated by political and economic accumulation, are dysgenic exactly because they fail to incorporate the natural law of attraction into the reproductive process. Although it’s true that people get it wrong, the human instincts for healthiness and unhealthiness are the product of millennia of unknowably complex processes, whereas rationality as the source of reproductive selection has much more capacity for fallibility. To put it in the simplest possible terms: would you like to choose your partner based on the necessities of a vast and abstract breeding program, or your attraction to them? Perhaps we answer the same way for good reason. 

The second conversation begins when Paul is called from his soundproof Meditation Chamber into the room with his mother and Mohiam. He’s asked immediately about his dreams. Paul replies that, although he remembers all his dreams, some are worth remembering and some are not, and he simply knows the difference. At Mohiam’s request, he recalls last night’s dream, in which he is standing in a cavern near a large pool with a “very skinny girl with big eyes. Her eyes are all blue, no whites in them”. In his dream, Paul tells the girl about the Reverend Mother (whose name he could not have known at the time of the dream), and about a “stamp of strangeness” which she placed on him. This startles Mohiam. The girl calls him “Usul”, which he initially mistakes as the name of his homeworld, and he tells her a poem about the sea, but he has to explain the meaning of most of the names. 

Mohiam tells him he may be the Kwisatz Haderach, but that she sees no more than possibility, and waits for him to respond. After he quietly waits her out in an amazing power move, she admits that he he has “depths” to him. Before the chapter ends, she gives him a hint and a warning. Her hint on being the Kwisatz Haderach without dying is a koan-like platitude which Paul sees as infantile at first, but nonetheless it evokes in him again the feeling of terrible purpose: that which submits rules. Her warning is this: although he yet may be saved from the coming fall of his house, “For the father, nothing”.

[alwritey-aphrodite]

Back again for another follower celebration ask… can I please get a name game?

Would love to hear your thoughts of an Off To The Races Leto Atreides ficlet with the title “Pretty When You Cry”

💕💚 thank youuu

Ok so obviously it’s some nasty filthy sex because that’s what we do - I know this is very similar to the ask I sent you, but imagine you’ve been feeling down about yourself for whatever reason and obviously Leto notices and he also knows that you won’t listen to logic or reason when you get in these types of moods because you’re so bent on being sad, so he does what he does best and he fucks you until you cry, until you’re not even capable of thinking about whatever made you sad because all you can think about is him, and afterwards he’s all sweet and loving because at the end of the day you’re his girl and he hates seeing you upset and he’d literally do anything for you to feel better - essentially rough nasty sex and then soft sweet loving aftercare