#a mentat would get that

[yther]

me in summer: o hey look at datSsun

summer: UTE should know better

[what-the-hell-is-going-on-here]

FELLOW 0 LIKER OMG. HII..

GIGGLES.....HAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IM ABSOLUTELY A 0 KISSER. 10000000000000%. 0 is so scrumbly sckimbo goobly gorpy. ya know? [i sound crazy.....] hes so silly. i NEED THAT STUPID TANK NEOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. OUR STUPID INSECURE CRINGEFAIL SCIENTIST (endearing). i would kiss his flat face . no hesitation. (as well as do...other things ie- the shit in my pinned, but i doubt ur here for that LMAO ill be normal for once... ) OH ALSO 8. WE LOVE 8 IN THIS HOUSE!!!!!!! IDK HES JUST SO CUTE TO ME I CANT. HIS VOICE (or lack of?) IS THE BEST THING EVER. ALSO 0'S VOICE I LOVE THEM BOTH SMMMMM... if i got a hug from 8 or 0 id absolutely die. just.. explode. cease to exist. would be the best day ever. nothing could ever top that. oh also i like klein even tho hes a bit of a dick. id give him a kissy too. dont worry ill fix him ive got this <- lying to myself

[ms-fade]

Reaction to making you cum/Fingering for the first time hc’s: My hero academia men.

Mha characters x Fem!reader +18 drabble.

Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo, Shoto Todoroki, Eijiro Kirishima

This is just for fun because I can’t stop thinking of a certain character’s reaction and decided to do more!

They are all ages up to +18.

Warnings: Fingering, dom/sub, sub!reader, teasing, slight degradation, male’s characters first time, crying, overstimulation, teaching, males having no clue, no really canon but also a bit, mentation of taking pictures.

Izuku Midoriya/Deku

This boy was always itching to get his hands on you because even if he has a pure heart, he’s still man. I think he’d think about it so much that when it finally happens he realizes he has no clue what to do.

So when you’re kissing and he has you onto of him the only thing he does is grab your waist and get hard underneath you. So when you both decided to go there you guide him and tell him what to do.

But when he gets the hang of it he might get a little cocky at how you gasp when he pushes all the way in. He just really enjoys your moans and the look on your face. He is a slut for giving pleasure.

When you grabbed ahold of the his shirt and rocked your hips to get more, he could feel you gripping onto his fingers and knew you were close. “I’m doing that good? You stop guiding me a while ago, guess I learn quickly.” He’d kiss your shoulders and work his way up to your neck.

When you finally do come it’s all over for him. He stares at you with awe in his eyes from knowing he did that to you, he made you cum. He’s so proud of himself but he can’t keep his eyes away from you.

“You looked so pretty when you cum.” He’d nudged his face into your neck and pull his fingers out getting a whine from you. “You think you can give me another?”

Yes, he wants to do it again. Deku really enjoys fingering you and watching you moan just for him. Think about it, his thick fingers that hold such power- Who wouldn’t cum?

He would moan with you because it makes me feel just as high, might even cum in his underwear or get close.

He also licks his fingers clean each time and always make you cum twice, I don’t make the rules. I think he’s the king of fingering.

Katsuki Bakugo

Man thinks he knows how to do it but he really doesn’t, but bare with me. He would always want to make you bend at his will and make you his. So when the opportunity comes he jumps into it.

Here’s why I say he doesn’t know how to: He’s to rough and tho that’s good for some people, he has no skill and it actually really hurts. Boys like “I’m doing so good.” Until you pull away from him and ask him to stop.

He gets defensives, “What do you mean I’m doing it wrong.” You explain to him that he isn’t doing it right, so you take his hand and guide him through it. How exactly you like and if you like it rough you teach him how to do it right.

Does get good because he takes notice of everything about how it makes you feel. So it doesn’t take him long to have you actually a moaning mess underneath him, because he’s also a quick learner.

“Look at this pretty little hole, so wet for me. Am I doing it right now?” His smirk was as wide and cocky just like he was at the beginning. You didn’t answer him so he grabbed your cheeks and pulled you up and close to his face. “You guided me on how to finger you but you’re embarrassed now?”

He’d laugh as he felt you clinch and added a finger inside to make you more full. Soon he watched your eyes roll back and your stomach shake with your pussy clamping around him. He could feel the cum leak onto his fingers but he couldn’t stop looking at you.

Bakugo couldn’t be more smug then this moment because he made you cum for the first time. You moaned for him, you did everything because of him. “That was so fucking hot.” Licking his lips he pulled out his fingers and licked one of them clean, claiming you tasted delicious.

“Open wide and taste yourself.”

Eijiro Kirishima

Let me tell you something, he has googled it to prepare for you. He has been waiting to pleasure you for a long time and he knows that it’s different then porn so he wants to know. Deku was to embarrassed, and bakugou didn’t think he needed it. But this man? He of course wants to please you so much.

So when things get more heated for the first time he wants to keep it simple. His cock was so hard just by feeling and kissing you but he couldn’t get the thought of actually getting to feel that pussy. So he asks if he can try it and you say yes obv.

So, he knows at little more then the others but still wants your guide since he read that each girl is different. But he will finger you softly until you tell him to go faster. He curls his fingers the way you want, and listens to your words.

He couldn’t believe how warm and amazing you felt that he got more feisty with it the more he sees you moaning. He would kiss all over your neck and work his hands while he listens to your body. Each breath and moan, each twitch or squeeze you give him.

“You like that baby?” He voice sweet but teasing. Kiri was watching you bounce against him with closed eyes and mouth open. “How could you get more beautiful? Fuck- You look so hot.” He couldn’t get enough of how you looked.

When he noticed you were close it was bliss and he egged you on, even pumping his fingers in faster to make you cum harder. He was moaning and breathless just watching you. “Cum. Cum for me pretty girl.” He was demanding you cum for him.

Kiri stared wide eyes when you finally cummed and almost didn’t stop because he was loving the feeling of your pussy. You had to cry for him to stop sinces it felt so good but it was to much. So when he stopped he kissed you and told you how well you did.

“You’re just perfect.” You blushed at his sweetness. “But, I think I want to make you cry more.”

Shoto Todoroki

The least knowing for sure, idk what you say. He’s never really watched porn, or had a high sex drive until he grew older and met you. Having someone so close to him and beautiful made his horny side come out, so he didn’t have a clue of what to do.

But he was a good kisser and he knew basic things and let his heart tell him what to do. So when it came to more sexual things he asked you. “Can you teach me how to please you?” Just straight up asked you. He had no shame because he wanted to touch you so bad.

He was so slow and careful at first because he didn’t want to do anything wrong. He asked so many times if it was okay, please appreciate him. When he slipped his first finger in he was gone. His head went fuzzy at the moan you let out and how your pussy felt.

You guide him through everything from how he rubbed your clit and how to move his fingers, what felt good and didn’t. He took it slow because he wanted to savor the sweet noises you let out. I imagine him just watching you with lusty eyes at everything you did.

It wasn’t until you told him to pick up the pass and pushed down on his fingers that he lost his composure. Shoto loves the juices flowing down your pussy and onto his fingers and your thighs. His pace would pick up quickly and more then you could handle.

“I have never felt anything like this, my love. Have you ever seen yourself like this? It’s truly a work of art.” He couldn’t help but smirk softly at your face. “You’re taking my finger so well, practically sucking me in.” He’d chuckle.

When he noticed you were close he would focus on your face and how it scrunched up in pleasure. “Please cum for me.” His fingers curled like you had taught him and pushed them in farther and deeper. When you came it leaked down because he didn’t stop until it was overflowing.

He’s one to be memorized by how you cum. To your face and then to your cum itself. “Such a pretty face when you cum, almost makes me want to take a picture.” He’d smirk and lick his fingers clean and made sure you watched.

I think he can’t stop thinking of making you cum after that- Man is a slut for your cumming face. (He definitely has pics)

[feirceangel]

How about a feyd x reader where feyd has reader watch him in the arena to gain her favor. She is impressed with him and respects his prowess. Just before a huge match what if she goes to him and leaves a hand print in paint over his heart as her token rather than a sash like the others. This fires him up/ looks super cool on his skin.

Ooh I love this!! I did my own spin on it but I hope you still enjoy! :)

Imagine | Stained (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)

Word Count: 1,377

Warnings: biting

Cheers rise into the polluted air on Giedi Prime, a torrent of frenzied noise which alerts you to the occurrence of yet another gladiatorial event.

You hadn't realized there would be one today. Normally, you notice the announcements and the crowds gathering to go see the festivities. You don't often join them.

Watching people fight to death. . . it's not a habit of yours.

Lately though, you've noticed how often Feyd has been mentioning his fights, never outright asking you to watch them but leaving plenty of hints.

Being from a wealthy family has its benefits, especially on a harsh place such as this. Ever since you've been here, you've tried to make the best of it and befriend as many native Harkonnens as you can.

This first, and dare you say only, friend-adjacent connection you've made has been with Feyd-Rautha.

His brother is too animalistic and angry for your liking, and the Baron is a ghastly man you do not like to interact with. Servants won't speak to you and the Mentat Piter is sickening in his sadistic tendencies.

So, to your surprise, you got to know Feyd the best out of them all.

He's brutal, yes. Menacing and violent as well.

And so alone.

Sure, he has his concubines: his pets that he plays with but soon grows bored of. And yes, he has his mockery of a family: a predatory uncle and a nasty brother.

Yet you can see past his façade of aloofness, see into his inner self. And what you see is a man forged by others into what he is now.

You see a hurting man who doesn't know anything close to true kindness.

So yes, he is wild and vicious. But there is an intelligence and cunning within those dark eyes that you have seen countless times. 

He's constantly observing, waiting for his moment to strike. He knows how to play his hand to benefit himself.

Despite his more undesirable traits, you'd dare call him a friend.

The cheering dies down as colourless fireworks burst in the air like ink stains. You watch them, casually leaning against the balcony railing.

Feyd finds you immediately, half undressed and still painted for fighting in the triangular colosseum.

"My lady," he rasps, approaching from behind slowly. "You did not watch the fights."

"It slipped my mind," you reply honestly. "Though I have no doubts you remain the champion, my lord."

His lips quirk upwards, "Naturally."

Your eyes roam over his blood splattered body, taking in the well-defined muscles which are decorated with paint. He's shirtless, how could you not stare?

He basks in your attention, cocky smirk never leaving his face. But it strains once you turn your attention away.

Feyd comes to lean against the rail beside you. You feel his eyes on you.

"You're coming to the next fight," he finally says once he realizes you're content to dwell in the silence.

You turn to face him with a smile, "Am I?"

His eyes narrow, voice quick and sharp, "Yes."

"You didn't ask."

Feyd tilts his head, "It's not a request."

"A command, my lord?"

"Yes," he repeats, leaning closer into your space. Your teasing tone is getting under his skin, you can tell. He's almost touching you now but you don't retreat.

This is the game you play.

"I suppose I can attend the next fight," you hum thoughtfully.  "Especially since you've requested it personally."

He backs away slowly and you force yourself into staying still even as you desire to chase after him. His close proximity is intoxicating.

As if he senses your inner battle, he grins and nods to you before sauntering away.

"I will put on a good show for you, my lady."

You find yourself alone, wishing he had stayed longer.

~~~

It was not mentioned again, and now you find yourself in your room preparing for the event. You dress modestly, still unaccustomed to the fashions on Giedi Prime. A black dress does nicely, with your hair loose. 

You still have plenty of time before your attendance is necessary, but you traverse to the arena despite this. The hallways are as colorless as everywhere else, a maze of black and white. 

Feyd is being dressed as you enter the room. His sharp eyes betray a smidge of surprise which he masks underneath an air of haughtiness. 

The servants attending him walk on eggshells, knowing that any wrong move could cause their demise. 

"You may be dismissed," you say, addressing the servants. 

Their eyes flicker to you with uncertainty. The servants do not move until Feyd snarls, "Do as she says!"

Instantly, they are gone. 

And it's just you and the warrior. 

You approach him slowly, picking up the paint pot that the servant abandoned. Circling him, you note how his eyes never leave you, even when he has to twist his head to keep you in his sights. 

"My lord, I hope you can forgive my impertinence, showing up here unannounced."

"Don't be coy," he narrows his eyes, "You're not sorry."

"You're right," you chuckle, swirling the paintbrush through the inky paint. "I'm not sorry to see you, especially like this." 

You rake your eyes over his flesh, barely concealed by a cloth wrapped around his waist. He is truly a fine specimen of a man. 

"May I?" You ask, stopping in front of him. 

He inclines his head. He hadn't been expecting this, since you seemed intent on avoiding the fights entirely. 

You begin by painting the smaller rectangles across his chest and then move to his back. Your brushstrokes are slow, methodic.

He anticipates each cool touch as you meticulously paint his flawless skin. He wishes it was your touch he was feeling, your hands against his skin. He craves it.

Next, you adorn his abdomen, barely concealing the excitement you feel being this close to him. As you finish, he reaches for his clothes but you stop him with a hand on his arm. 

"I'm not finished, my lord."

Intrigued, he returns his arm to his side, staring you down. 

You coat the palm of your right hand with the inky black liquid, never breaking eye contact with Feyd. He doesn't stop you as you press your hand against his warm chest, right where his heart would be. 

You start to pull away, but he is quick to grip your wrist, keeping you in place. For a second, you are concerned that you went too far. Maybe this is the day he kills you for your insolence?

Instead, he lunges forward, catching you in a hungry kiss. He bites and takes, and you surrender with ease. A sense of relief and excitement floods your senses as you kiss back just as passionately.  

"It is fitting," he says once he parts from you. 

He watches as you slowly peel your hand from his skin, leaving a perfect handprint over his heart. 

"What is?"

"That you should mark me like this," he grins to reveal blackened teeth. "You are a stain on my heart."

"How so?" You're still breathless, allured by his gravelly voice. 

"All it longs for is your touch, you vixen."

You caress his cheek, "I'm just marking what I own. And once you're declared the victor, you can come claim what's yours." 

Your words ignite a fire in him and he starts forward but you step back. 

His glare is venomous, as if you just deprived him of oxygen. 

"You have a fight to win, Feyd. Shouldn't you be preparing?"

Turning, you begin to walk away. 

A rough hand snatches your shoulder, and a hot mouth is on your neck before you can blink. He bites down harshly, drawing spots of blood. The pain is expected when dealing with a man like Feyd, but it is still surprising. 

You really have gotten under his skin. 

He releases the pressure of his teeth and drags his tongue over the wound. 

"You needed a mark too, my sweet."

You turn and press a chaste kiss to the top of his head, "Go make me proud, Feyd. I shall see you in your chambers after the fight."

He lets you leave, watching with blood stained lips. 

"As you command, so it shall be."

[please like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed!]

[on-a-lucky-tide]

fun things to inflict on a pilot who bases his value on how useful he is to others:

temporary blindness >:3c

141 accidentally pierce an old mustard gas canister during an operation. Nik takes the brunt.

cw: injury, temporary blindness, distressed character.

Price paced up and down the base hospital ward wringing his hands as he waited for news, his heart in his throat. The mission had gone south so bloody quickly, and no matter how many times he retraced their steps, Price couldn't pinpoint the exact action that had caused such a monumental fuck up.

Old world war one bunker. Old old. The perfect place for a terrorist cell to store chemical weapons, or at least a lead to them. They had jumped early that morning with Nik because it was in east Germany and he had the knowledge they needed to break through the security systems. The USSR had used it as a base of operations during the Cold War, so without Nik, getting in would have been like chipping away at granite with a toothpick.

They got in. They secured the intelligence - no bloody weapons though - and were on their way out. A small detachment of enemy combatants had infiltrated through a different entrance that hadn't been recorded on the schematics they were working from. There had been an exchange of fire. A stray bullet caught a canister and...

Nik ignored the most fundamental rule of chemical warfare. You sort your own fucking mask first. But no, the stupid wanker grabbed for Gaz's first, because he was closest to the explosion and had only a split second to react.

Nik had been too slow with his own as a result.

Holding Nik in the casevac had been one of the most difficult experiences of Price's life. The skin lesions across his face had been like second degree burns, his eyes swollen shut, streaming. Anywhere there was moisture, the old gas had attacked. Despite the wounds, Price had seen the terror on his face as he tried to wrench the damp gauze off. He couldn't see.

"John, ya nye mogu videt! John... gdye ty? Gdye ty!" His usually calm, sombre voice, with its laid back drawl, broken and cracked in desperation.

In the end, Price had taken the decision to sedate him in the heli, one of those big hands clenched in his to keep him anchored as the drugs brought his heart rate under control and soothed his panic. He had lashed out at Gaz blindly - "otyebis ot menya!" - but between them they had managed to get the sedative into his thigh.

There were other wounds; bumps, scrapes, but none as serious.

"Sir, I'm sorry," Gaz had rasped, chucking the needle back into the bag. "This is my fault."

"No," Price had shaken his head. "Not your burden to carry. G'won, go eat somethin'."

The door at the end of the hall opened and the doctor summoned him with a flick of the head. "Well?" Price demanded, ignoring the pursed lipped irritation he got in return.

"It's temporary," the doctor said, his arms folding. "The gas was old, degraded. Still potent enough to cause damage, but with the right treatment, he'll get his eyesight back."

"How long?"

"Difficult to say. Four to six weeks for the skin lesions to heal. His body will decide on the rest... uh, captain," the doctor reached out a hand as Price tried to walk past, "there is a risk of long-term dyspnea, respiratory problems, awful stuff mustard gas, it attacks the central nervous system too, it can cause changes in mentation, and I understand from his file that he has a medical history of--"

"--I know what's in the file."

"We may be looking at more damage here than just his eyes. But only time will tell."

When Price stepped through the door, Nik startled, looking in his direction even though the heavy bandages over his eyes prevented him from seeing. Price spoke softly as he closed the door at his back. "S'just me, Nik. Easy."

Price nodded tightly, walked by and shouldered his way into the next ward. He found Nik's room but hesitated outside. Nik was awake. He was trying to grope around the table in front of him, searching.

"Captain, it is... well, I would say good to see you but..." He gestured vaguely at his head, his wry smirk shaky, and then that hand returned to patting around the table.

"Did they explain everything? Did you..." ...understand. Fuck, Price didn't understand half of the medical jargon, so he wouldn't be surprised if Nik struggled in his fourth language to parse what they were saying. Fourth out of eight. Asking felt like an insult to Nik's intelligence. The doctor's comment about mentation lodged in Price's throat like a shard of glass.

"Da. It will heal but there may be some future complications, I..." Nik suddenly slammed his fist against the table, anger twisting his mouth into a snarl, "..blyat, where is my phone? I need.." Nik's voice cracked and his chin tilted down with the shame of it, trailing off into miserable silence.

Price reached for him and tried not to let the resulting flinch shred his heart. Once Nik realised it was Price's hands and not whatever phantom his mind has conjured, he relaxed. Price sat down on the edge of the bed. "You don't need t' do anythin' but heal. We've got yer covered."

The way Nik's jaw twitched, teeth clenching at the back, his shoulders rising a little towards his ears; Price could see the clawing discomfort without needing to see his expression.

"You're gonna have to trust us, Nik. I need yer to trust me."

"I do," Nik croaked. "It is... This is not your burden to carry."

"Even if you weren't who you are, you still got injured in one of my operations."

"I let you down. And now I am useless." Nik's other hand clenched into a fist at his side, making the finger monitor creak under the strain.

"Temporarily out of commission. Not useless."

Nik turned his head away, refusing to hear it. They sat in silence, Price's thumb stroking back and forth over Nik's knuckles, giving him a point to focus on that wasn't his burning skin or the darkness of his vision.

"Nik, short of turnin' me over to Al Qatala, you could never let me down," Price said, finally.

Now was the time. Now Nik needed to hear it more than ever.

"You... mean the world to me. I..." he rubbed at his face, tugging at his whiskers, "...I love you. And when I saw you go down, my heart stopped for a second. The world stopped. Believe it or not, I was glad you were screamin' bloody murder in that chopper, cause that meant you were still here."

Nik drew a stuttering breath, but he didn't say anything. The man who had a one-liner or a bit of sass for every occasion sat in mute silence. It made Price ache in a way he never had before.

"'M not gonna abandon you, Nik. Wouldn't have even if this had been permanent. An' I know you don't believe me. I know. But... 'm gonna show ya. And you can grumble and cuss at me 'til the cows come home."

Nik's head fell back against the pillow and he sniffed, scowling with a muttered curse.

"You olrigh'?" Price squeezed his hand.

"Da. I am crying like little girl and it is stinging my eyes."

Price chuckled, patting their joined hands against his own thigh. "Soppy git."

That had to be a good sign. Tear ducts were what the eyes used to heal and maintain themselves, right? And he could feel the tears. Positive. This was positive. Price lifted Nik's hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles, lingering there to feel the warmth of his skin.

Nik swallowed, his fingers tightening in Price's grip. "If I had known that losing my eyes would have earned me John Price, I would have cut them out years ago."

"Fuckin' 'ell, Nik," Price said incredulously, always somewhat taken aback by the intensity with which Nik expressed himself when it was just them. He sighed. "Yer've had me all this time. I just... I'm just not as brave as you are."

Nik huffed. "Bravo Six is the bravest man I know."

"Only for some things. Not feelin' particularly brave right now, and you're the one in the gurney."

Nik tilted his head towards Price, so desperate to see his face. Price was glad he couldn't. His damn eyes were watering. "Then, I will be brave for you. This, I can do without my eyes."

Price smiled and made sure Nik could feel it against his palm, promising him silently in that moment that he wouldn't waste a single second more of their time together on this bloody earth. "Sounds like a plan."

[afewfantasies]

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ -V- Spellbound

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4.7K

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Feyd-Rautha X Reader

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: The Baron and Bene Gesserits are sniffing around, you and Feyd grow closer in spite of the danger - until it comes to a head. You will get your full real taste of Harkonnen brutality.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: sex (p in v), breeding kink, invasion of privacy, mentions of bruising and soreness from sex (for the reader), NSFW

MASTERLIST

_________

Part V - Spellbound

The sprawling halls of the palace seem foreign to Feyd-Rautha for the first time as he traverses them. The darkness is in stark contrast to the colors sprinkled into your room. The muted halls now feel sterile in contrast to all the life and beauty you have brought to his life. He now had his na-baroness, you. The union had been consummated and he felt married to you in every way. Ceremony be damned. He’d woken up next to you, laying there peaceful, vulnerable and complete with the evidence of his markings all over. Feyd fought against his instinct to stay, instead he left you there untouched and peaceful. He had begun his day with his morning training sessions and a debrief on all Arrakis’ affairs. After his morning session he’d been intercepted by the Harkonnen Mentat on the Barons orders. Stretching his arms as he walks down the halls, people whisper and ogle him. Unlike before, Feyd is no longer interested in dipping in and out of the ladies within the palace, no longer interested in acquiring concubines and pets. There's no room for further distractions. Straightening to a regal posture Feyd enters the throne room seeing one of the Bene Gesserit Reverend mothers standing near the Baron. With a breath he removes all evidence of irritation from his expression, he places a pleasant smile onto his lips nodding at the witch before averting his gaze to his uncle.

“Baron” he says, holding the gargantuan man’s eyes. The Baron's thin lips flatten further into a smile. His labored breathing and suspension machine filled the uncomfortable silence. Feyd catches a nervous twitch from the Bene Gesserit sister.

“Feyd… there’s been some developments. According to the Reverend Mother three of her sisters have gone missing. A Lady Margot Fenring, a healer and sister Y/N” The Baron comments.

“Would you like my assistance in their retrieval efforts, is the emperor indisposed?” Feyd asks, playing dumb.

“No of course not, but I’d like to know if you came across any of them?” She says making Feyd genuinely smile. They were on to him but they had not effectively done their homework. In his search for you he’d learned how instrumental Leia had been to your adjustment. Four Bene Gesserits were missing now at his hands. Only two of them would continue to draw breath. The bitch that tried priming him for Lady Fenring’s seduction was dead along with her conspirator.

“Why would I?” He asks.

“Where are they?” the sister hisses using the voice, Feyd feels the reverberations in his head. Only, as it had been with Margot Fenring the compulsion is ineffective. Swallowing he shakes his head hyper aware of his uncle’s all seeing eyes. “My betrothed is in my company, I have not come across Lady Margot Fenring. The other, well unfortunately she got a little close after my fight in the arena” Feyd snarks, pretending to be frustrated by the manipulation. Looking up out of anger the Reverend mother senses no deception from him.

“You have been betrothed to Princess Irulan” the Reverend Mother responds, correcting him. Understanding the weight of their scrutiny he raises a brow. Too much affinity for you would expose his weakness making you a further target, he’d rather all attacks be aimed at him.

“Irulan” Feyd nods, looking at his uncle the Baron with a nod. He’d never been more bored by the prospect. Everyone knows the Emperor’s oldest daughter is an astute student of Reverend Mother Mohiam. He had no use for the schemes of weak men who’d rather use marriage rather than taking what their hearts desired.

“Are you satisfied?” The Baron asks the Bene Gesserit. Casting a look at Feyd she nods again leaving with a few guards. There had been a plot and now the hags were on the hunt for their rogue agent, only she would never be found and he would never be made a fool of. Feyd relaxes a touch turning to the devil he knows suspended on his throne. The Baron’s gaze is critically assessing his nephew, he too wanted to know what had become of Margot Fenring, but there would be no way for Feyd to resist the voice. How could the Baron know that the attempt on Feyd-Rautha’s life by the Atreides soldier had the opposite effect. Instead of making him more vulnerable to suggestion, he had become immune to their trickery. It strengthened the bonds between the two of you.

Feyd-Rautha’s love and admiration of you had only grown in the moments following the arena. The way you had clung to him, the fear in your every touch, the fortitude in your commitment to his well being. It was everything. You had shared your blood and body with him connecting the two of you on another level.

“How is your newest pet?” The Baron asks floating down from his throne at the very moment Rabban emerges through the doors. Turning slowly Feyd-Rautha’s eyes narrow in on his brute of a brother, hands itching to draw his knives. Rabban had been at the helm of the brutal attack on you and Leia and would pay for it.

“Good, now that both of my nephews are here. Rabban, Feyd-Rautha will be taking over on Arrakis” the Baron’s words cause a chain reaction. The Beast groans out of anger and rage, his breaths become shallow and he draws inward flexing his muscles as he makes a desperate attempt to withhold a tantrum.

“That is not necessary” Rabban snaps at the Baron. It’s all the disrespect Feyd can take. He strikes fast, slashing his brother across his face. Rabban tries and fails to get the better of his younger brother. Feyd out maneuvers the bigger man landing a kick that leaves Rabban on the floor blood dripping through out of his newest scar.

“Kiss or die” Feyd smirks knowing that this is just the beginning of his punishment. He would make sure he was dead once it was safe to do so without inquiry or repercussion. Looking down, Feyd watches his older brother inch closer and place his lips on his boot. Smiling Feyd-Rautha withdraws, casting a look back up at the Baron and striding out.

Feyd had risen early as was expected. Risen and left without the opportunity to wake you slowly, enjoying a morning with his na-Baroness. It angered him to have to put his inheritance ahead of you but it was the inheritance that would ensure his safety. Feyd spent hours assessing the land masses on the live map, his plan would need to be fool proof to release the spice. As soon as he could do that the more time he could have fucking you. He’d prepared a bath soak for you to ease the tension and aches from your body. Aches he’d put there, aches you welcomed as he went deeper inch by inch. Your safety was the only reason Feyd forced himself out of bed instead of allowing himself to be lost in you. He had made the mistake of dismissing your warning before and it had potentially cost him his mind, genetics. Potentially even you, there was no way to be sure what Lady Fenring could have achieved with his mind. Poisoning his mind against you or worse sanctioning your eradication. Feyd would do his best to give a semblance of normalcy because once on Arrakis and away from the Baron he could spend as much time as possible in throes of passion with you. He needs time to watch your back arch coming off the bed, your nipples pointing up at him ready to be sucked and played with. The way your breathing looks on your stomach as it contracts and swells at the sight of him thrusting inside of you. The bounce of your ass and tits as he increases his vigor. Your hands reaching to him for support, championing his insatiable desire for your pleasure. He’d never loved a body the way he does yours, he’d never felt so connected to a woman before. The chemistry between the two of you heightened to a point of senselessness, it had been pure instinct, autopilot. There’d been no blood left in his brain to process anything but the pure pleasure he felt and the feast for his eyes of you were laying there naked and sullied in front of him. The chorus of your moans of pleasure etched into his mind - his new favorite melody.

Last night had made it real. There was no denying it or passing it off as a simple preoccupation, he would never tire of you, he would do anything to keep you safe the same way you’d rushed to his aid. Rabban and the Baron would reach untimely deaths at his hand for their treachery. Irulan too if she would be foolish enough to insert herself into a relationship with him. The Empire be damned, he would find his way on the throne if it was what he wanted. He’d inherited Arrakis without schemes, he was simply the best for the job. Unlike the Emperor and the Baron Feyd had never been a coward, he always welcomed a good fight. He’d heard whispers about the sanctioned assassination of Duke Leto Atreides. He’d heard about the Emperor’s jealousy and the Baron’s grasp for power. Timing had been perfect, while all eyes were on Arrakis Feyd’s were on you and somehow now he would have both.

Sliding his hand in the reader Feyd enters into your quarters. The bath is drained and he finds you and Leia sharing a late lunch. Leia turns first nodding at him sheepishly before you turn to him with a smile. The feeling that washes over you is one you aren’t likely to forget. Relief, happiness, home, there’s a magnetism in your heart at the sight of Feyd. He comes over embracing you and you can smell his slightly musky scent.

“I’m going to freshen up” Leia stands not wanting to interrupt.

“Take one of the rooms in here, stay with the na-baroness” Feyd instructs getting your attention. Leia makes herself scarce and Feyd-Rautha sits on one of the chairs. Cautious of your soreness you sit on his knee, his arms hold you instinctively and you relax into him. You’d missed him dearly this morning, he had said goodbye but you wanted to wake up still tangled in his arms, body to body, feeling his heat, his strength, his vitality, his insatiable appetite for you and his reverent gaze. Everyone had been wrong about Feyd-Rautha, fear wasn’t the first thing you felt when you laid eyes on him. It was the opposite. The way he looks at you makes you feel special, powerful, dangerous, sexy, unstoppable, untouchable. There’d been no shame in the way he made love to you.

Feyd’s hand roams up the length of your leg under the silky fabric of your robes, you can see the need in his eyes. Breathing in your eyes flutter as his lips take yours in a kiss. He’d longed to have you in his arms for so long it hardly felt real to him. Somehow the real you was better than he could have ever imagined. Better in so many ways. How could another woman ever make such a major miscalculation. How could Margot Fenring or anyone else think they could sway his attention. Letting his head rest in the curve of your neck Feyd breathes you in. Resting your head against his, your hand hovers over his face wanting to touch him. Something makes you hesitate, his hands and chest seemed like fair play but his face… There’s something about his energy and dominance that makes you hesitate. Seeing your contemplation Feyd looks up, kissing your palm with a knowingness, his dark eyes daring you to continue. Reaching for him you withdraw a touch making his smirk deepen. His eyes sparkle and you reach for his face again touching him, you run your thumb along his cheek. Feyd kisses the inside of your wrist in a permissive gesture. His skin is soft and smooth, unlike the hard ridged edges of him.

“I only need you to follow my direction down to the detail when we’re making love, or there’s an emergency. Otherwise you are free to do as you please” Feyd explains.

“And if I make a mistake?” You ask, remembering the sting of his spanking last night.

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again” he smiles, it thrills you a little.

“How?” You ask curiously and Feyd’s smile deepens, his eyes sparkle brighter at the prospect.

“Well if I tell you, it’ll kill the surprise” he comments suddenly in a much better mood. You withdraw a little but he secures you in place amused slightly. “How did I make you feel last night?” Feyd-Rautha asks with his lips to your ear. The tickle of his words make the tiny hairs on your neck stand.

“Incredible” you respond honestly.

“And I always will, even if you make a mistake” he promises. You relax into him again enjoying the closeness and ease you feel with the na-Baron. “Did your bath soothe the aches?” He asks.

“Yes, but I’m still sore,” you confess.

“Where?” Feyd asks giving you his hand, you place them on your hips where he’d held you, sliding them down to your thighs where he’d tested your flexibility to its limits trying to make adequate space for himself. Unsure again you place his hand over your center. Feyd’s eyes close at the contact of your hands drawing his between your legs. Deep appreciation for your trust of him and deep regret in the reality that he cannot be inside you again tonight. He places a chaste kiss on your forehead enjoying your warmth as he lets his hand rest comfortably over you.

“It’ll take time” Feyd says regretfully, it had never been a consequence before. His rotation of concubines left him sated, if one was indisposed he could call on another.

“Will you leave me for your pleasure slaves tonight?” You ask, unsure of how things work. You hope he won’t, it’s all in your eyes, against your training and better judgment you can’t withhold the sentiments of hurt his abandonment will cause.

“No, I will be at your side tonight if you will have me” Feyd whispers, holding your gaze. “I will have you” you nod blushing slightly. A contraption beeps and he takes it, ending the noise with a smile.

“I have to leave you now but I must inform you that Margot Fenring attempted to seduce me last night, she paid with her life. Her body will not be found, your sisters are looking for her and they continue to try to seduce me with the Empire through Irulan” he whispers, his hand still nestled against your heat.

“What say you?” You ask.

“They’re desperate and I do not jump to please the desperate, they aim to please me” Feyd reckons with a smug smile. “We’re to leave for Arrakis within the week.” He adds getting your attention. You turn to him with an unease, reminded of your vision.

“Arrakis is at war with a Fremen prophet” you tell him having heard the whispers.

“I will bring the Fremen to their knees and then you may decide if you’d like Irulan as a pet. You will sit beside me on my throne and we will make the rules from a position of strength.” Feyd whispers into your ear. After years of powerlessness it’s an attractive proposition. Frowning a curious thought comes over you.

“How were you able to best Lady Fenring?” You ask.

“The late lady tried using the voice, unfortunately my na-baroness ensured I cannot be manipulated hours prior” he says just as another string of beeps follow. He silences them standing and placing you on steady feet in front of him. You turn searching his eyes only to see its the truth, smiling you laugh a little, he does the same. He secures his blades before turning his attention to you.

“You’re the sharpest one,” he mutters, peering into your eyes. It’s high praise considering how much he reveres his weapons of choice. “The most beautiful, the most dangerous and the most rare” he adds looking down at you. Pride fills you, it's been so long since anyone valued you as he did.

“I’m thankful our fathers had the foresight to ensure we would have each other” you confess and Feyd-Rautha stands upright, straightening as pride fills him from your words.

“The sweetest too, so sweet you don’t even feel the sting” he says holding you gaze with mutual admiration and gratitude. Taking your hands he brings them to his lips placing a kiss on them. He turns leaving you awash with a variety of emotions. Your feelings for him are growing increasingly as the days pass. You place your hand against your stomach wondering if there’s a quickening in your womb. If the feelings would manifest by multiplying.

…

You had long wondered how losing your father had affected your mother, why she had never come back for you if she had survived. Hands running along Feyd-Rautha’s muscular back, you sense the deep loneliness that must exist within her as he sleeps on top of you, his heavy body anchoring you to this world. The warmth of him heating your own body. Looking down at Feyd you smile to yourself, the dream of him is disguised in the nightmare of his reputation. There was more depth to the man aside from brutality and cruelty. The same attentiveness that made him a dangerous adversary made him an excellent lover. As did the knowledge of the human body he’d long used for means of torture. Turned on its head it made for a lover that excels at the delivery of pleasure. The same for pain, after years of brutality he knew better than anyone how hard to push, how long to go, when to stop and when to be unrelenting. Here and now, he was completely relaxed over top of you, his slow breathing and soft breaths like that of a small child but far more peaceful. While asleep he didn’t look dangerous, he seemed to just be a man, like all the rest. He stirs turning his head, his arms tightening around you in a gesture of possession. When behind closed doors Feyd-Rautha was incapable of resisting the need for touching you. He needed you as close as possible, a piece of you touching him in some way. When there were no other eyes on you he wasted no time assuring you how much you meant to him.

He’d spent the last few days pouring over maps of Arrakis for hours while Rabban tried and failed to bring order to the desert planet. Feyd’s plans remained close to the chest so that his brother's spies would have no opportunities to undermine his objectives. He also had the foresight to keep you tucked away in your quarters. There were no margins for error, no room for distractions - he would need to ensure the flow of spice to gain enough power to make demands and have them met. He wouldn’t allow himself to be used as a pawn in the power games the Emperor played, he wouldn’t not allow himself to be in a subservient position like the Baron, to a man lesser than him in every way. He would never allow himself to be in the position where he needed to sell off his daughters and sons to improve his station. The games of advantage displeased him even more now that he’d been privy to the realities of a love match. He also knows you would never welcome it, trading the children you bore out of love for advantageous positions. Stirring to consciousness he flattens his hands down over your stomach. He’d emptied his desire in you on three occasions now and there was a strong likelihood of an offspring quickening within you. Feeling your gentle caresses he places a kiss on your sternum lifting his head from between your breasts and inching up to the pillow. He pulls the blanket over your bare form to keep you warm in the absence of his body heat. His eyes drink you in with an insatiability, he never seemed to tire of your flesh. You smile at him as he readjusts getting between your legs.

“Feyd” you whisper in anticipation. “You have training, you're already late” you remind him sensibly.

“I can be quick” he whispers, needing you to start his day. “Cum for me” he whispers sliding in. Your eyes close as you accept him inside of you, he fits so well. “Look at me” Feyd demands and you do. “Make a mess for me” he instructs finding a torturous rhythm, he’s right it will be quick. He turns you on like a light, everything about him driving you there in no time, the slapping of skin to skin becomes wetter and wetter as your body accommodates his size, pleasure oozing out of you. “That’s my good na-baroness” he hisses, thrusting harder. The monster is inside of you and you love it. The nightmare capable of slaying all others. Your body welcomes him, drawing him closer as the head rush of your orgasm starts. Your eyes lock and he wears a smile, his chin moves in an encouraging nod allowing you to let go of all inhibition and decorum. “Let it out” he smiles as sweat beads on your forehead.

“Feyd '' you moan as he slows, breaking the rhythm. A powerful thrust follows, and another and another. Your hands squeeze around his arms needing to be grounded. His mouth lingers open above yours whispering dirty pleasantries, the sweetest filth promising your undoing. His smile is mocking as he edges you to oblivion. He needed his balls empty before starting his day if there was any hope in him being effective in his tasks. The more he has you the more he needs. You’re in his every thought, in his every desire, in every decision and breath. Feyd’s sure it's Bene Gesserit witchcraft but wrapped so tightly around his cock he welcomes it in all forms. Watching you come for him he knows the ecstasy is pure. Burying himself deep he lets his orgasm flow into you. Only one Bene Gesserit would bear his children. Any others who’d seek to insert themselves between you and him would be collared, leashed and be made your pets, surviving purely off of your generosity. He would teach you how to take care of traitors. He would teach you everything.

“Feyd” you call again shuddering as more aftershocks rip through the both of you. You live for the moments you’re both satisfied and connected, body to body, flesh to flesh. His head bows and you raise yours to meet his full beautiful lips.

“I love you” he says slipping out of you. He moves from between your legs pressing your knees together, wanting you to keep as much of him inside you as possible. Smiling, you rest your head on his chest as he lays on his back. You rest, catching your breath and slowing your breathing.

“I love you too” you tell him back.

“We made a mess” he says with pride but the smirk fades to horror in moments he jumps out of the bed in a flash, his cock bouncing still hard. Your heart races as he throws the sheets over your bare body. The doors open and your heart stops at the sight of the Baron. Only his eyes are not on you but Feyds manhood as he puts pants on.

“What are you doing in here!” Feyd growls pulling the curtains of the canopy bed just as the Baron’s head turns to you. You pull the sheets to your chin, trembling.

“They said Feyd-Rautha missed his training session. I said no way, as long as he breathes he’d be with his blades'' the Baron said through labored speech. A sickeningly sweet and rancid odor fills the chambers. You find yourself trembling under the weight of such a terrible man's gaze. All of Feyd’s hard work to bring you pleasure is eroded by the rotting abomination of a man in this chamber with Feyd and yourself.

“Out uncle” Feyd snarls, terrifying even you.

“I wouldn’t mind laying eyes on the pet that’s keeping you preoccupied and away from the others every night” the Baron says and you pull the sheets over your face although the poster bed’s drapes already conceal you from the two men.

“Don’t” Feyd snaps, stopping his uncle from pulling the drapes. No one would ever lay eyes on you indisposed.

“I can ready Rabban and the staff, put on a show dear nephew. Show the rest of us how your whore has come to pleasure you, taking away valuable time from your tasks at hand” the Baron yells.

“Get out” Feyd responds trembling, looking at his uncle for the first time he wants to spill his blood everywhere. Every attempt at hiding his possessiveness and predilection for you is out of the window. Feyd fights for control trying not to expose further weakness.

“Show us Feyd, we want to see the work she does with your cock that is more important than your inheritance” Baron Vladimir Harkonnen taunts glancing at his nephew's groin area.

“No” Feyd responds, setting his jaw. Murder apparent. The Baron taps on his shield, well aware of the heightened state of his nephew. The doors open and guards enter. Without his shield or weapons Feyd is at a disadvantage. Murder will have to wait. Cornered, Feyd’s thoughts turn to you. “I missed the training because I've exceeded all instructors” he says attempting to subvert the truth. The Baron chuckles knowing the potential poison love could be to his progeny and the Barons own ambitions. He’d been getting more reports regarding his heirs preoccupation with his inadequate betrothed.

“Someone will have to pay for this deliberate disobedience. Will it be you or your whore?” The Baron chides seeking to provoke Feyd. His disrespect of you in public sealing fate, now Feyd would kill his uncle. It would happen.

“I will” Feyd rasps. Nodding the Baron smirks.

“Bring the whore to watch” the Baron says before turning away and eroding Feyd’s confidence. Every instinct in Feyd wants to beg, he wants to plead for absolution. He could take any punishment but subjecting you to brutality and violence … he … he couldn’t fathom its effects. He’d grown up with the barons' malevolence, his brutality and cruelty. But Feyd had watched you become undone by a minor cut on his back. The way you would care for it and caress it daily was evidence enough to know this would break you. You would be unable to witness the cruelty of punishment according to the Barons machinations. The mocking, the jeering, the humiliation, the whippings, the hours of fighting until he could no longer defend himself, the scars, the weeks of soreness. He took them in stride, becoming increasingly vicious every time. But that was before he had you to consider, before he’d known real love. The baron had tried everything in his arsenal to break the boy with no success. Smiling as he floats away he knows he has now, the look in your eye could only be explained as one thing.

Love

And love could, and would always be the easiest emotion to exploit. the most powerful impulse. Even if his nephew had a mind of his own and the wherewithal to rebel, after today he was sure you would keep Feyd away out of love. He would make you feel culpable for the brutality Feyd will face. Exploiting all the kindness and empathy housed in a loving woman. The spice will flow, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen will become emperor. The Baron is committed to ensuring you will be disposed of. He’ll use you to his advantage if need be, he’ll break you, he’ll have you beg Feyd to marry Irulan. His machinations will be fulfilled by any means necessary.

Authors Note: Sorry this one is a little shorter than the others. how do we feel about the Baron and his sick and twisted treatment of Feyd? How will you react to Feyd's punishment? How do we like the developing relationship between the two?

Thanks for so much reading 🩶 don't forget to like comment, reblog 😘

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[dreamlandcreations]

Chapter 1 • Faded dreams

Feyd x Atreides!Reader

Summary: You risk your life to find out what your dreams mean...

Warnings: space drugs (🙈), near death experience, mention of blood and death and war, no dialogue, no Feyd yet (well...), this is basically a prologue

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Your dreams were getting worse and it was getting more difficult to wake up each time. They seemed so real, yet they fade away each time within seconds as you finally jolt awake from the nightmares. All that remains is fear and a knowing that you are seeing the end.

You tried to ask your mother for help, well, more like tried to ask for information without telling her what's going on. Paul's own dreams were a good excuse to justify your curiosity but it also limited your options of inquiring about your specifically maddening problem. Because, of course your brother gets to dream about a pretty girl while you drown in a bloody nightmare every night. If only you could see more clearly, the not knowing of what these hazy images mean is almost worse than the death you witness each time.

You can't tell your mother though, or even Paul. They would try to stop you from making this utterly stupid decision that will probably result in your death. They wouldn't be able to understand that that possibility cannot be worse than this slowly driving you into insanity.

It was not as difficult as you thought, tricking a mentat, a doctor and a Bene Gesserit to give you little doses of spice to try. According to your careful research, with what you were gifted by Lady Fenring on her last visit, it should be enough to induce the process.

You waited until nighttime, until you knew everyone went to sleep. It was an unnecessary precaution as it turns out because Paul in the next room startled awake as soon as you took the spice.

With your last coherent thought you were thinking that getting hit by lightning must feel something like this. Only the energy didn't just hit you once, it was trapped inside your body, wreaking havoc in the very essence of your being. It was tearing you apart, and the pain was unbearable.

For a long while there was nothing but the pain, you did not really feel or sense anything. Then the first thing you were aware of was screaming, it took you a moment to realise it was your own, just before you had another wave of power rushing through you and you lost every bit of control over your body. The screaming stopped and you faintly heard your mother for a few seconds before the dreams drew you in.

No, not dreams, visions. You see everything all at once, and at first none of it made sense then you felt... time, in a way it couldn't be explained in words. The connections, the possibilities, the what ifs... like the branches of a tree... too many variants for even a mentat to handle and you were only half-trained at best. Yet, you understood, no, you felt, you sensed, you became a part of each version a little, living in a million moments at once, spread apart and yet still whole beneath that... like the branches of a tree...

The tree, your ancestry, you have to get to the other memory to finish the trial. You try to look within yourself, slightly distracted by regaining some of your physical sense and weakly trying to fight off the poison of the spice.

At the end of the spiral you see a figure, a source of all the death and misery that haunts you. A familiar, yet strange face that seemed to look into your soul. There is that rage and madness you started to see in your own reflection, only this gaze, this unnatural blue scared you more than your own demons.

Well, she is your demon in a way.

With that thought the spice floods your mind again, taking you where you wanted to go, forcing you down on the line of your ancestors, their knowledge and experience becoming a part of your consciousness but you know something is terribly wrong when your mind takes a path that no Bene Gesserit has before. You see your father and his entire line, both female and male members of your extended family tree on his part. And it comes surprisingly easy to you, too easy.

Your mother's line stops with her, there's something horrible beyond that which your mind cannot deal with and it almost shatters you.

On the inside you struggle to get out of the darkness that pulls you in. On the outside your body crashes, your heart stops, and so does your breathing.

You hear Paul's yell to the doctor to do something, followed by your mother's command, using the Voice to order you to breathe. With your last bit of strength leaving you, it feels like what you would call your soul starts to leave your body. It is quite peaceful actually, there's no more pain or worry, only a calm nothingness but unlike the previous cold and twisted darkness that came from within this feels right and you almost slip away from existence when you feel something, someone catch you and practically drag you back.

There's a voice, a command of a simple "No!" comes with the force that knocks you down and holds you in this world. The tone is unfamiliar, the raspy voice with the obvious rage laced into it sounds more like a growl than anything else and it is followed by a similarly angry, yet so much louder order, "FIGHT!"

The presence is gone as soon as it came but you are tethered to your body again, feeling how it shuts down sparks a sudden defiance in you. Not really knowing what you're doing, you will your heart's muscles to move, to pump the remaining spice through your body and your cells absorb it, sparkling to new life, then you slowly and now consciously start to sort of reboot your system with this new strange energy.

When you are done you just rest, unable to truly sleep but too tired to move too, you think. Going through the visions again and again, you start to see a pattern. As soon as you understand the reasons behind the events, it all comes together, all the previously possible paths become clear until a certain point.

Hours go by as you lie there, practically trapped in your own body but there's no fear in you anymore, you are too busy planning your next move. And the next, and the next.

You might have failed getting through the Spice Agony and it's a miracle you are alive but it doesn't matter, it wasn't an unnecessary risk after all, you know the truth now. There is only one person who's decisions changed the end game, all the others who you thought had enough power to be key persons could only influence the path, not the outcome. So you know, your mother can never set foot on Arrakis and if you have to take her place in the story, so be it.

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[francis-writes]

loved the feyd-rautha harkonnen/servant reader headcanons! what do you think would happen if a visiting noble took interest in the reader before she formally became his lover?

This is certainly a very problematic situation. If he could, Feyd would kill his rival at first occasion but since that was a noble, he had to hold back his urges (if it was a person from common people, they would probably be executed in a moment and nobody would bat an eye but dealing with rich elites require more subtlety). Fortunately (for him, not sure if for you as well) he's more composed than his brother. No offense for Rabban but he probably would get carried away by his emotions and either start a fight or straightforwardly threaten that noble. Which wouldn't help anybody and moreover it would make Baron Harkonnen mad.

But Feyd, while as sadistic as the rest family, is more machiavellian and able to achieve his goals in more planned way (he may not be a mentat but he probably learned a few things from Peter de Vries).

His reaction also depends on your attitude towards the whole situation. If you already seem interested in Feyd, or at least you aren't interested in that noble in the slightest, Feyd just deals with the situation behind your back and you won't know a thing. He goes to talk with that man and gently suggests that: 1.You're not interested 2.You're Feyd's favourite servant 3.Harkonnen's hospitality has its limits and sharing servants as lovers is far past the red line. Anyway, there's no chance you would become lover of that man.

Maybe noble is smart, has self preservation instinct and he gives up on the potential affair. If not, Feyd has a few ideas how to get him away from you. First, he threatens him. But not with violence, at least not yet. He starts subtly, with suggestion of blackmail an ruining that man reputation. If this doesn't work either, situation may end up in assasination before noble leaves Giedi Prime.

But what in the case where you actually reciprocate noble's attraction? Well, situation gets complicated for you. Feyd decides to definitively prevent any development of those affair and orders to isolate you from the guests. You aren't really locked in your room (but btw Feyd has some yandere vibes), but for some time you work only in rooms for servants, when you can't accidentaly meet that noble. Situation looks like that until guest leave and you (as Feyd hopes) forget about your potential lover.

[nevadancitizen]

-> O LORD, O LORD (WATCH OVER ME)

synopsis: joshua graham talks an awful lot about god and his blessings, and it leaves you curious as to what prayer is actually like.

word count: 1.8k

characters: joshua graham, courier six! reader

trigger warnings: mormonism, discussions of god + jesus christ

notes: this can be read as platonic or romantic, wasn't sure what direction i wanted this to go in :P also it was really hard to find information on mormonism without touching any mormon-affiliated sites but i rekindled my love for wikipedia, the free online encyclopedia that anyone can edit!! everyone say thank you wikipedia <3333

The Lords of post-apocalyptic America are usually the ones with the most money, the most influence, the most soldiers on the ground. There is no bearded man in the sky, no Adam and no Eve, no christenings and no afterlife. When you die, you die, and there’s nothing beyond that. Nothing. Nothing remains. Someone might remember you for a little while after, but not for long. 

And yet, somewhere in the cracks and caves of the canyon of Zion, there is still worship. There is still prayer and reverence and love for God and Jesus Christ and all his children. 

But this is the first time you’ve heard of this mysterious “Jesus Christ” character and the weird way Joshua Graham talks when speaking of him.

He’s usually straightforward and blunt with his (and the Dead Horses’) needs and words, but when the topic of God comes around, he speaks in an almost poetic way – flowery, ornate. You usually only hear that type of talk from someone that’s day-tripping on Mentats, trying to sound smarter than they actually are.

But Joshua is smart. He’s a translator, with knowledge of language pouring over the cusp of his lips. His people are entranced by the inner workings of a professionally-crafted firearm, and he’s no different. He’s the prodigal son of the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-Day Saints. He’s basically a goddamn genius – in multiple fields, no less. 

It’s only reasonable that you’d want to pick his brain as you sit, cross-legged, on the ground of Angel Cave, loading bullets into magazines. Joshua sits a few feet away, meticulously checking the numerous .45 pistols that lay across the table over and over again.

You clear your throat and the sound echoes a little in the small cave. “Graham?”

He glances at you, then returns his gaze to the guns in front of him. “Yes?”

“Is it – uh, this God thing…” You scratch the side of your nose. “You… I don’t really understand it. I mean, following a few laws and receiving eternal salvation and all that sounds good, but I just… don’t get it.”

“I understand,” Joshua says. He flips the empty pistol in his hand so that he’s looking down the barrel and pulls the trigger. A dull click. “Most survivors think that there is nothing more to this world: just a well-trodden trail that they’re supposed to walk, from the house of Birth to the house of Death.”

He flips the pistol so that he’s holding the grip and slides the magazine back in. “Those looking for faith had simply been trying to find offshoots in this path, other houses to occupy. That is, if they ever actually felt the calling of God, even if it was the voice of a false one. They say that there are only two houses, and only dirt connecting them. But this is untrue.”

You continue thumbing bullets into the magazine. “How do you know? I mean, I don’t want to be disrespectful, but…”

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” Joshua reassures. “I’ve met a menagerie of people, seen grotesque creatures that were birthed from mutations and chems instead of God’s perfect hands. I appreciate that you’re approaching this with an air of curiosity rather than judgement.”

Joshua sets the pistol on the side of the table of the pistols he’s already checked. He turns in his chair so that he’s facing you and sets his elbows on his knees. The pale blue of his eyes are stark against the burn scars of his skin as he looks down at you. “What would you like to know?”

Clips of his voice flash through your mind – “You’re a good neighbor to us,” “Good news is our most valuable commodity,” “The fire that had kept me alive was love. Their love. God’s love.” – but it settles on one: “It never stops burning. My skin. Every day, I have to unwind the bandages and replace them with fresh ones. Exposing my body to the air is like living through it again. But it's better to be clean than comfortable.”

“Well…” You shift under Joshua’s piercing gaze. “You’ve stayed loyal to God, right? All your life. You worshipped and prayed and… yeah.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet Joshua’s. The bandages that cover him in his entirety give nothing away. “So why did he let you be burned like that? If he’s, y’know, all-loving, all-forgiving, shouldn’t he have guided you away from Caesar? Or, let… let you die?”

Joshua stares at you, then blinks once, twice. It’s like he wants to be sure of his words before he actually speaks. “There are some things that you don’t want to do and you pledge to yourself that you won’t do. You forbid yourself, and then, suddenly…”

His eyebrows furrow. “They happen all by themselves. You don’t even have time to think about them: they just happen and that’s it. Then you’re left just watching yourself with surprise – disgust – and convincing yourself that it wasn’t your fault, it just happened all by itself.” 

Joshua’s hands come together and the bandages make an abrasive sound as he folds his hands, his elbows still on his knees. “But things don’t happen by themselves. The Legion didn’t build itself – I had a hand in it. And so this is my punishment. My atonement for not noticing how things were changing day-to-day. Not noticing how translating became giving orders, how giving orders became leading in battle, how leading in battle became training, punishing, terrorizing.

“I am a wicked man, with a wicked soul. I can only pray to God that this is enough for everything I’ve done.”

Your eyes return to the half-loaded magazine in your hand, and the bullet in the other. You roll the bullet in your fingers as you think. It’s… weird, to you, Joshua’s relationship with God. He doesn’t sound all that loving and forgiving. So why worship him? Why make and keep covenants with him? It sounds contradictory and hypocritical.

“Okay.” You look up at Joshua again as you thumb the bullet into the magazine. “Then… praying. What’s praying? I mean, I’ve seen you doing the…” You set the magazine in your lap and bring your hands together, palm-to-palm. “Before eating. I know that’s part of prayer, ‘cause you told me. But can you, like, hear him? Or is it like talking to a wall?”

“I cannot hear him, no,” Joshua says. “But I know he is listening, and I offer every prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, who is a medium through which man can converse with God. I feel him touch my heart, and guide my mind with his blessings and counsel.”

“Blessings and counsel sound nice,” you say. “But what do they look like? Like, how do they manifest?”

Joshua tilts his head slightly, the bandages on his neck making a soft sound. “Rain in a time of drought. Dryness in a time of flooding. A bullet that makes contact in just the right place. A bullet that just barely misses. God’s blessings are diverse and many.”

“Sounds like I could use some of those blessings.” You laugh under your breath as you go back to loading the magazine. A few seconds pass as you fill it, then move on to filling the next. An idea pops into your head as your hands continue their repetitive actions. 

Why shouldn’t you be able to get a blessing? From what you understand, it only takes a few words and an invocation of a holy name. It should be easy to get one – right? Or maybe not. Either way, you’d need it, especially with the way Joshua described the examples of blessings. Divine intervention sounds like it could literally be a lifesaver.

“What if, uh…” You scratch your cheek. “What if I want one of these blessings?”

Joshua narrows his eyes, the reddish burns of his skin cutting into the blue of his irises. “Do you… wish to pray? Do you want me to pray over you?”

“Yeah, I guess,” you say. You glance up at Joshua, then look down at the magazine. Your hands fumble a bit, then correct themselves. “I don’t… really know how to, though.”

“I will lead you in prayer, if that’s what you truly want,” Joshua says.

All it takes from you is a single nod.

He gets up out of his chair and kneels before you, resting on the heels of his boots. You look up at him, and he’s looking down at you. You could swear he’s looking at you with some kind of hope in his eyes, but it’s hard to tell in the low light of the torches that illuminate the cave.

“Come on. Up on your knees.” Joshua takes the magazine from your hands and sets it aside.

You sit up on your knees, resting on your heels, mimicking Joshua. You clear your throat nervously. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay.” Joshua takes your hands in his, cradling your fingers with his and resting his thumbs on your knuckles. The bandages on his fingers are abrasive, but in a comforting type of way. “As I said, I’ll lead. Now bow your head and close your eyes.”

You do as he says, and his rumbling voice starts the prayer. 

“Dear God, I thank you for this day, and I thank you for your allowance for life to continue prospering in this wasteland. Now, allow me to direct your attention to one of your creations: the one I’m praying with right now.

“Allow me to pray over this courier. I pray that no matter where they go, no matter how far off the trail of fate they fall, you will watch over them. Even if they fall to temptation – any temptation – that you will still protect them with all that you can, for I know you are merciful, and I know you are loving. 

“In this world filled with defilement and savagery and violence and barbarity, the only comfort I can turn to is you. Allow me this comfort. Allow me to know that this courier, no matter what they do, no matter what sin they fall to or transgression they commit, is safe. In Jesus Christ’s name, amen.”

Joshua lets go of your fingers and brings his hands away from yours. 

You open your eyes and look up at him. You glance around the cave – nothing’s different. Everything seems to be exactly the same.

“Is that it?” You ask, then register how disrespectful that sounds. “I mean – I just didn’t think it would be that easy.”

“Yes, the prayer is over.” Joshua stands, then holds out his hand to help you up. You take it.

“Now, please, make yourself sparse.” He glances at you, then his eyes flicker over to the table stacked with .45 pistols. “I have some of my own praying to do.”

[lowtaperfeyd]

A Scintilla of Excitement (Chapter 1)

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Mentat!reader

author's note: This is the first chapter of the mentat series I am writing! I'm so excited for you to see what else I've come up with for this :D (It has now taken the spot for longest thing I've written.) Also go check out my beta-reader @zzleeper!!!!

warnings: house harkonnen, death, mentions of knives,

wc: 1529

You sat on the cold, metal seat of the ornithopter the Harkonnens sent to come and get you from the heighlinder. The scraping of metal startled you when they screeched unexpectedly.

 How tragic, you thought, my final moments will take place in a world with no normal sun. And no normal sons either. 

The entire two day trip on the heighliner was not so bad. You were allowed to wander the empty ship corridors and explore even up to the staff decks. The only part that was scary were the ‘servants’ aboard the ship. Their bald heads, that seemed to engulf any light that shined on them, made you feel uneasy. 

If this is how I feel when I see people like this, I wonder how I’ll feel when I see the baron. 

They always seemed to look at you as if you were an alien. Which I supposed you were. The color to your skin that made you look more alive than them. It probably scared them just as much as it scared you. 

As you continued to sit there in the cockpit, thinking about the heighliner, you fiddled with your fingers and did not sit fully still. 

“We have a nervous one I see!” Shouted a voice from the front of the cockpit where the pilot was. A voice that had a distinct inflection that just screamed Harkonnen, even if the owner of the voice was whispering, 

“Don’t worry the baron doesn’t play with his food.” The pilot laughed out, “But the Na-Baron, oh boy watch yourself around him!” 

As you sat there, mildly disturbed at what you just heard, the pilot went on and on about the things he had seen the Na-Baron do. Almost like he was proud of him,

“There was this one time Na-Baron took a butter knife off the table and stabbed one of his uncle’s advisors because he didn’t agree with what he was saying!” He exclaimed, “One of my friends was there, he barely survived with just one eye left. Told me all about the story.” 

“That's,” you swallowed so as to not hurl at what you heard, “really something…” 

FACT: HARKONNENS AND THE PEOPLE OF THE PLANET, IN GENERAL, ARE USED TO THIS VIOLENCE AND ENJOY IT. 

INFERENCE: DON'T ACT LIKE YOU HATE THOSE THINGS, BE VERY NEUTRAL ON IT.

HYPOTHESIS: IF YOU CAN ACT LIKE YOU FEEL INDIFFERENT ABOUT THESE THINGS MAYBE THEY'LL PUT IN A GOOD RECOMMENDATION TO KAITAIN. 

“It’s incredible, ” The pilot responded, “But the real question is, why does the baron need another Mentat?”

“Another good question is where’s the store that doesn’t sell chatty pilots?”(Y/N) retorted, feeling a little sick and tired from the traveling and what they had just heard.  

The snap seemed to shut him up just long enough before you landed on Giedi Prime. 

“About an hour before we land on the surface, Mentat.” The same pilot muttered in annoyance. 

Actually, 1 hour, 2 minutes, and 23 seconds. But who's counting or keeping track? Definitely not you. 

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

As the heighliner ramp went down, it allowed you to fully see the polluted land around Geidi Prime. The black sun changed the red, metallic bracelet you were wearing to a dark and shiny gray, almost sliver, instead of its normal vibrance. You saw the guards and their multitude of weapons and dark armor. 

If they were standing inside, that would be black. You thought, but that isn’t a surprising detail.

“Are you ready to walk down, Mentat?” one of the other workers on the heighliner asked.

“Yes.” You responded courteously, because you had a pretty good idea of what would happen if you disrespected someone with all the guards and important people around. 

The ramp underneath your feet was extremely slippery and steep and forced you to take very slow and precise steps to reach the end. At the rate I am moving I’ll get to the end after the sun goes down. You eventually got to the end of the ramp. But, you only looked at your feet the entire time. Once you looked up you saw a man with a black hood and robes, as well as the lip tattoo you had. 

That’s Piter de Vries. 

You took the final ten steps to walk to him. As you walked you noticed him look you up and down in an arrogant and almost disgusted manner. 

You put your hand out waiting for him to shake your hand. As you did this you said, “I’m (Y/N) (L/N), the new Mentat.”

Instead of him talking your hand he just continued to look up and down. Most likely reviewing the clothes you were wearing and the way you held yourself. Awkwardly, you put your hand down back to your side. 

“Well your arrival in the ornithopter was on time. But, the way you traversed down to the ground was quite untimely.” He remarked, “It must be quite exciting for you to have your first assignment.” He added sarcastically. 

Just a scintilla of excitement, it would be more if I was not here. 

“But, there is no time for talking,” he exhaled, “I can’t have you seeing the baron in such attire.” 

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

You looked around at the small bedroom you were given. The room had a hospital type of antiseptic-ness. The walls were bare besides small vertical groves and bolts into the walls holding things together. There was a little gray desk that had shelves that were indented into the walls above it. Beside your desk, was the little chest of belongings that were sent before you had departed from Tleilax. 

I’ll unpack that before I go to bed tonight. 

You turned toward your bed, a relatively small bed with dark covers and pillows. On top of that was a black butcher paper package. On the front of it, in clear print was, TO THE MENTAT, (L/N). In the package was a set of black clothes that looked similar to the ones you see de Vries as well as other people wearing, except without the cloak. On top of the clothes was a note from de Vries himself. 

(L/N), I have taken the liberty of getting rid of all the unnecessary clothes in your trunk and replacing them with more suitable attire for a Mentat. In your closet, you’ll find more of the same kind in the package.

De Vries.

What an asshole.

Quickly, you walked over to your closet and sure enough when you opened it. It was like the same outfit had been cloned over and over again. Black shirt, black pants, and a shiny black belt. Three pairs of black, leather dress shoes were in there too. At the back of the closet, there was a small amount of colder weather wear. A couple of insulated black coats and cloaks. 

Unwillingly, you shed your bright clothes from the academy for a dreary uniform instead. The fabric of the shirt was silking and smooth, but the pants itched badly when it met your skin. 

Once you were done, you exited your room to see two, bald headed, slave girls standing outside of your room. 

“Why are you here?” You questioned. 

“We are here to take you to the baron. Under the order of Mentat De Vries.” The girl on the left said timidly. 

“Alright…” you whispered as you closed the door behind you. 

As you walked through the halls of the Harkonnen’s castle you saw portraits of past rulers who were equally as bald as the next. After four minutes of walking, you ended up in front of a heavily guarded door. From outside the room, you could hear the sounds of yelling, screams, and a thud against the wall.  

Remember, indifference, and then you’ll get your way. 

You nodded toward the guard, signaling to him you were ready to enter the room. Slowly, the guard opened the heavy, metal door with a slight grunt. Walking inside, you saw a long table that had chairs on either side of it and a huge spread of food on top of it. But, there was only one chair at the head. The Baron was sitting there enjoying the elegant feast on the table. 

For the baron… all that food. 

You walked past important officials and advisors to Baron Harkonnen sitting in the chairs. You noticed De Vries sitting right next to the baron and opposite two bald headed men. These men were dressed not like the slave or advisors, but men of higher standing. 

The baron’s nephews Count Glossu and Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Rabban. 

Beside De Vries, there was an empty seat. As you walked to sit in that seat, you noticed the younger man who was sitting opposite of you, the Na-Baron, eyeing you down and biting his lips at the same time. 

He probably picks the member of staff that gets eaten when a couple mess up. Is he imagining me fried or boiled?  

“I appear to be late, I’m sorry about that, my baron.” You apologized as you pulled the chair out and sat.  “Don’t be sorry, Mentat." The Na-Baron jested, "It’s not a good look for you.”

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

I absolutely LOVED your eroticization of radaway/rad-x post!! It brings me so much joy to know others love ghouls as much as I do! I was wondering if you had any headcannons/thoughts on john hancock? love your work!

Thank you sooo much! I wasn't expecting that post to resonate with people the way it did, honestly; it was like 70% shit post. I absolutely love ghouls, both from a sci-fi point of view and from a monster fucker point of view, and I'm overjoyed to have found a like-minded group of people to share my stuff with. I'm usually a huge sucker for fictional physiology and in-universe biology (which I'm sure you can't tell at all based on the few thousand words I've written on this blog about various ghoul body fluids, etc.) and the Fallout universe has so much potential for stuff like that.

I have two requests for Hancock headcanons in the inbox right now, so I figured I'd split the SFW/NSFW stuff between this post and a follow-up.

SFW John Hancock (FO4) Headcanons

He is excellent at mending clothes. After years of partying and fighting and fucking in his old-ass cosplay, he's gotten very handy with a needle and thread. If you need something patched, hemmed, or appliquéd, he's your guy. He's also pretty competent at stain removal, to some degree.

Something else he's surprisingly good at is cooking, but not in the traditional "roast you a chicken" (or a radroach or whatever), "bake you a cake" sort of way; more in the "your stoned roommate with all the weird stories at 3 AM working with what's about to go bad in the fridge" way. He's the master of dressing disgusting shit up to be palletable, or elevating stuff that's easy to get your hands on into something you'll actually find yourself craving, especially when you're high.

We know he loves mentats (mmm...delicious and smarty) and I like the idea of him sitting up all night with his brain buzzing for knowledge, just reading whatever he can get his hands on. He has *one of the highest INT stat of any Fallout companion (a whopping fucking 14/10, quite literally), and I like to imagine that a lot of that can be contributed to behavior like this, in addition to him also being naturally smart.

He may give off the air that he's very confident and self-assured, but a lot of it is bluster and faking it until he makes it. Don't get me wrong, he certainly has aspects about himself that he is confident in, as his talents are many, but...he'd be lying if he said he was confident in his looks. Sure, they don't really bother him, but he's not the biggest fan of looking in mirrors. It's not necessarily because he thinks he's that ugly or anything, but his face reminds him so much of all his regrets; that didn't change when he became a ghoul. The new face is just associated with new regrets.

This man was born to be a gamer and he would absolutely love to chill and play something fun. The games on the Pip Boy don't strike me as THAT fun, but hey, would he really know the difference?

[is-it-bussin-hannibal]

okay so,, I don't know if i have it in me to write a whole fic, but i needed to get this slightly dark Paul out of my head

Paul is married off to Feyd the second Feyd is of age (which avoids the attack on Arrakis yadayada as Feyd, alongside Paul, will inherent Arrakis, everybody wins). At first, obviously, the boys don't like each other very much, they're two teenagers, but they're also of noble birth, it's their duty, and Paul is bene gesserit, his whims have no place here. Feyd tends to ignore his husband most of the time, but he sleeps in the same bed, sometimes he'll stay in their rooms while Paul read or draws, somethings he really just stays there, quiet, sometimes he will engage in an activity of his own, they're practically parallel playing, sometimes he'll excise, and Paul will quietly join him. Paul knows he could seduce him, but there's just something about Feyd, how he avoids physical contact, how he'll move an inch away when approached, he's very mistrustful, and Paul respects that. It only infuriated him a "bit" when he found out Lady Fenring seduced his husband, and he knew why. Still, Feyd willingly spends time around him, and he doesn't do that to anyone else, and that means something.

Living in Geidi Prime proves to be a chore, it's harsh and cold and empty. Paul has observing as his form of distraction, right away he understands the power balance here, he understands why things happen the way they do, he sees the Baron for what he is, he also starts to understands Feyd the longer he stays with him. Paul never had anyone his age around, granted, but he also never had anyone match his wits, and he's delighted with how smart Feyd is. From what he learned with the bene gesserit, his husband was a animal, aggressive and not particularly intelligent, like his brother but stronger, he thought his marriage would be just taming a beast, like he was trained to do, dull and uncomfortable. But oh, what a delicious surprise!! Feyd managed to deceive the witches, made this mask of a monster, but of course, no one can get close enough to see through it. Paul does, like a bad dog, Feyd-Rautha bites when threatened. And soon Paul realizes, that everything here is a threat to Feyd, and has been since he can remember, the biggest threat? the Baron. He feels sorry for his husband, but he knows that would not please Feyd, and Feyd made the effort to be around him, because for some reason, he decided to stay with him for life and not just, kill him, and he's happy with that, so he does his best to show Feyd what a family is, because now they're family.

Paul sets for old fashioned childlike friend making instead of bene gesserit seduction. He talks to Feyd, even though Feyd does not respond, tell him things, sometimes random things, sometimes important things about himself, just to make conversation, to guide Feyd. The Na-Baron is very confused at first, but he listens, Paul urges him to speak too, he doesn't really knows what to say, but in time, he starts making comments about things here and there, like he's seen Paul do, which seems to please Paul. They create a routine. He annoys Feyd enough that the older has no option but let him do whatever he wants, and what he wants? to know Feyd, to be his friend. Feyd is not really familiar with the concept, he has his pets of course, but they're just one of the twisted mentat's failed experiments. The girls are beautiful but with the intelligence of a doberman. They were given to him as mock, but his pets suppressed expectations in his hands. Paul doesn't mind them at first, they scare him but it's nothing he can't deal with. He knows Feyd loves them, he usually doesn't show soft emotions, not here, never here, but Paul just knows, he can feel it. So he approaches the girls, he has heard all kinds of horrible things about the Na-Baron's harem of cannibals, but that's just what they are. They were born cannibals, they need human meat, Feyd is a gladiator, he keeps the girls fed, nothing else. For the world it looks sadistic and evil, adding to Feyd-Rautha's lore, from up close, it's really what Feyd can show of compassion. Gretel, Mischa and Niobe, they can't talk, but they're smart, Paul teaches them some sign language. Feyd is more than impressed, the girls usually don't let themselves be approached by strangers, but Paul won them over, especially Niobe, she's the one more taken by his little husband, follows him around and is eager to communicate, even started to sleep by his bed. Feyd asks to learn sign language too, of course, he also wants to communicate better with the girls. Paul can explode with happiness, something else to bond over!!! They're already have fighting, flying and Paul noticed the dedication Feyd has with his looks and decides to match him. It takes hard work, but Feyd starts to relax around Paul. He also understands Paul is his equal, just as intelligent, just as resilient, he can see Paul and Paul can see him. He's still hesitant, like a wild animal who was kept in a cage too long, but he's getting there and that's okay for Paul, he'll teach his husband, feelings are hard and Feyd never learned to deal with them besides bottling them up and attacking first, but now Paul is here, they are friends.

Enough spice in the food has enhanced his perception, he noted, and easily enough, he knows who he is, what he is, not just a Harkonnen by marriage but by blood. He can feel it now, in the back of his conscience, that thing that have always flown through his blood but he could never name it, hedonism. His sheltered, kinda repressed, life in Caladan makes him a little angry, all he has been denied and for what?. The Baron obviously takes a like for him, and he understands why, he also understands why Feyd seems uncomfortable, almost disgusted with it, and he too, feels a little thrown off by it, but he's bene gesserit, he uses it.

No reason to tiptoe aroud it, Paul calls him grandpa, which just makes the Baron happier with him. He stays at the Baron's side, sits with him in his floating device, talks about whatever the Baron wants, let's his thick hands linger, he gains advantages over the fat man. Soon enough, he's included in the important conversations. Even though the old man is a disgusting creature, Paul sees he's also very intelligent, and even learns a thing or two from the Baron. His grandfather is more than happy to dress him up in the most expensive fabrics, parade him around like a trophy, and Paul does the Baron's biding because yes, he's the most disgusting man in the galaxy but boy, he sure knows what he's doing, and he's got to make the most out of his situation. He knows his family would be outraged to see the Duke's son like this, in the Baron's lap, laughing, clinging to him, whispering in his ear a thing or two he noticed about the nobles around them. But Paul is not just the Duke's son, he's bene gesserit, he has the power here, he's a mentat, he's doing this for the advantages, he's Harkonnen, he's doing this because he can, because it's his birthright.

Paul noticed how Feyd would tense up in the Baron's presence, how he hated to be touched by anyone but held very still anytime it was necessary, he noticed Feyd would cover his body head to toe when he had the choice, only socially he would be showing skin, enchanting everyone around him like a good showman, and Paul knew he hated it, he knew he was doing what he was taught to do, to be a good boy and entertain. Maybe after a while he ever got a taste for that, not enough to enjoy having skin showing around the Baron, but enough to do it effortlessly.

After so much time around the Baron, Paul learned he did, in fact, have strong Harkonnen blood running through his veins. He enjoys power, he enjoys lavishness, he is very much a hedonist. The bene gesserit training served him well, but he saw through them now, he would not do their bidding, especially after learning what they did to Feyd, setting a trigger word that would render him paralyzed, "for safety" they said, it makes his blood boil. Taking away Feyd's agency, making him vulnerable, he knows those are Feyd's biggest fears, oh how he would snap those witches necks with his bare hands, maybe he will if they ever get too close to his husband. Let them think he tamed the beast, let them think of him as a beast, that keeps him safe, and Paul learned from Feyd, add fuel to the fire if it's working for you.

His training from his old masters also served him well, but now that his grandfather included him in real talks about the imperium he knows there's no such thing as morally better or whatnot, if anything, his father was not very smart, leading with his heart and training with repression. He loves his family dearly, but the world is so much bigger now, and out of everyone, is the Baron teaching him. His sees now, his mother is a Harkonnen like any other, hungry for power, he cannot see how love would blind such a powerful woman, that's why she defied the sisterhood, why she tried to make him a boy, the one. He wonders how different things would be if she had been raised by her father, maybe she would be like himself now.

Like the Baron, he thought of Feyd as "his", differently from the Baron, he would NEVER hurt him, and that's how he distance himself from that man, he can not stand the thought of Feyd being hurt, and he will do whatever it takes to protect his husband, his friend. He knows Feyd initially was angry at him for this behavior, withdrawing from him, he couldn't understand why Paul would let the Baron touch him, knowing what he knew, knowing what he did to Feyd, how could he be fine with that, was he that much like his grandfather? it was revolting to him. And at first, Feyd thought his husband was stealing his thunder, then, he thought his husband was giving himself for free. It took a while for Feyd to realized that with Paul gliding around the room in his pretty, expensive clothes the Baron chose for him, nobody, especially the Baron, minded him. He could wear the clothes he was comfortable with, no one cared, he didn't need to say a word to anyone, all eyes were on Paul, the sweet, pretty grandson of the Baron Harkonnen. He felt it, Paul was doing this for him, no one was going to touch him, no one was going to be all over him, he wasn't going to be forced to perform, the Baron would not hurt him, not under the little witch boy's spell. Paul was also safe from the people around them, Feyd was a plaything until he started to bite back, but no one would touch the Baron's arm candy, the Baron's only grandson. Feyd is as close to free as he could ever be, thanks to Paul, he almost can't keep it in his chest, the dukling likes him so much he is willingly at the Baron's side, knowing that his family will not be happy with that. No one had ever protected Feyd before, maybe his mother once, but he couldn't really remember. And like that, he trusts Paul, and maybe that's what love feels like. Paul knows what loves is, he was loved from his first breath, and when he sees it in the Na-Baron's eyes, directed at him, he feels complete.

In the early days of their marriage, when Feyd was very skittish around him, and would not touch him, Paul thought of many things, maybe the Na-Baron didn't find him attractive? or maybe he was repulsed by sex altogether, odd, considering what he learned about Geidi Prime and Harkonnen culture. Maybe he was impotent? no, the sisters would've told him that, they wouldn't jeopardize the way for an heir. That wouldn't do, they needed an heir to secure this union and Feyd unwillingness to touch him as unbecoming.

One day, during their training session, Paul was wearing a short blouse that would ride up with every move, he caught the older boy's eyes lingering on his frame, he said nothing, Feyd also said nothing. Then Paul noticed his struggle to move, the Na-Baron's pants had become tight, the duckling smiled to himself, so he was attracted to him after all, and he clearly could get it up, so what was the issue?. One day, Paul used the Voice on Feyd, they were wrestling, he thought it would be funny to get the upper hand like that, and a good way to let Feyd know of his abilities. He was wrong, Feyd moved so fast way from him, it was as if he used the Voice to tell him that and not "down". He looked terrified for a moment before he caught himself, still away from Paul as he got up. Paul felt so bad, he understood why Feyd was terrified, Feyd hated not having control over his own body, more than hate, he feared that. Paul explaind he only wanted Feyd to know he could do it, told him he would NEVER use the Voice on him again, apologized profoundly. Feyd acknowledged his explanation but was very surprised by the apology, he liked it, Paul could tell. He decided to show what a pinky promise was, and made a promise with Feyd. Feyd-Rautha was quite happy with that.

They had become more comfortable with each other over the weeks, they held hands and hug every once in a while. Paul would have vison nightmares sometimes, other times Feyd would have nightmares, after calming down they would just hug until they fell asleep again, Feyd was getting found of hugs. Paul even got a kiss! the only other time they kissed was at their wedding and Feyd did as fast as he could.

One day, while they were laying in bed, just enjoying the other's company, Feyd asked, out of nowhere, if he would use the Voice on someone else. Paul took a while to respond that yes, if he needed, he would, he saw something shine in Feyd's eyes, he couldn't tell-- "you're very powerful" Feyd said, not blinking, looking directly at him, breathing heavily, and oh, that's it, Feyd is not only attracted to him, he's also attracted to power. Paul then decided to show how much he appreciated his husband by giving him power over himself. Feyd, unlike him, was experienced, forced to perform, then acquired a taste for it, for taking back. Paul knew what he was taught as a bene gesserit and what his grandfather had shown him in filmbooks but nothing felt like giving in to Feyd, not having to be the one in control all the time, just letting go, he trusted Feyd, knew he would never hurt him, and Feyd trusted Paul to never force him to do anything. They were a united front now.

[deconstructivesurgery]

We back out the trenches with this one folks: Someone sent me the "fallout companions' alcohol tolerances" post and I immediately decided I had to make one about the Think Tank in turn. So, here we bloody go:

Dr. Mobius: 9/10. Mobius could tank a solid 3/4ths of a bottle of vodka, perch himself in front of a chalkboard for a few hours straight swaying back and forth slowly and still wind up inventing a new formula for rocket fuel. He is unbothered. Unphased. In his element. Years of horkin' down Mentats like they were going out have style have numbed his entire nervous system to the influence of lesser chems like booze. He's got the Logan's Loophole perk equipped somehow.

Dr. Klein: 8/10 Listen he's got wine bottles and a full bar in his home I bet this man is a frequent flier- but that doesn't spare him from getting like miserably drunk off a bottle of wine and lying in his bathtub scrubs and all contemplating his seething hatred for his many neurotic coworkers. Not only is Klein a mean drunk, but he's a miserable one, too. He'll crab and bitch at anyone that dares to encroach upon him whilst smashed, and all at top fucking volume too. Thankfully, I feel like he stays cloistered in his office or in his Higgs home on the days he spends day-drinking.

Dr. Dala: 4/10 Listen, she's decent- mildly less so than 8, but not bad either- not like 0. I feel like she gets incredibly talkative when she drinks and enjoys telling stories or recounting her latest research- you just get hit with like a laser-beam of oddly loving recountments of the latest liver she's pried out of a war criminal or other some such information. Don't put her and Klein in the same room if both are drunk, she's such a generally personable drunk that his attitude alone would sour her night.

Dr. 0: 2/10 I CANNOT see him having any decent tolerance towards booze at all I'm gonna be so real with you I think he'd down a few espresso martinis in an attempt to combine the coffee he likely chugs 24/7 with alcohol and then spend the rest of the night vaguely weepy, incoherent, fumbling around and generally white girl wasted. He'd somehow end up IN Dr. Borous' backyard in Higgs in an attempt to weep openly into Gabe's fur and wind up with like 3 dog bites because of it.

Dr. Borous: -1/10 Listen how much alcohol he's CAPABLE of tolerating is irrelevant, if you offer this man a drink not only will he turn you down but he'll go on a verbal tirade about how he never tolerates the evils of alcohol because one time in American High RICHIE MARCUS dared to invite nearly EVERYONE in his class to an ALCOHOL party except for him and now he refuses it out of sheer PRINCIPLE. Bonus points if he somehow, some way brings Communism into it.

Dr. 8: 5/10 I feel like he just has the most normal man alcohol threshold known to man. I also hate to say it but I FEEL like he'd be a horny drunk. I'm sorry. I don't like that fact any more than you do but my brain contemplated it and so I must share.

[ome-magical-ramblings]

Review: Spiritual Cleansing by Draja Mickaharic

If there's one book I would always go back to or always look back to or recommend to others it is this book! Seriously, that's how good this book is. To start with, this book is the best because it is direct, to the point, and only 100ish pages. I honestly have to put the following "warning" that the author himself puts in the start of the book:

Because some of these things sound simple and interesting, don't get an idea to “do a variation.” When you try to work “magic” using only your own enthusiasm you are treading in dangerous waters.

How do I sell you on this book? that's a funny way of me saying that this is the best book you will have in your library as a starting beginner. First let me mention some stuff from the book, which is evil eye being the first chapter and get dealt with so swiftly with a beer bath and there's no extra mystification or complicated procedure being given. As this whole book the procedures are simple but application of them consistently will proves their benefits. In the Arbatel itself we find the following:

God and Nature have ordained all things to a certain and appointed end: so that for examples sake, they who perform cures with the most simple herbs and roots, do cure the most happily of all. And in this manner, in Constellations, Words and Characters, Stones, and such like, do lie hid the greatest influences or vertues in deed, which are in stead of a miracle.

Protection while asleep, psychic, attacks, and stuff related to sleep and protecting your loved ones can be seen here where you can help someone who can't help themselves like a child or someone who's too weak to protect themselves at night.

My Favorite Chapter(4) is the bath/spiritual baths chapter. Every part of the bath from beginning to end is filled with gems and wisdom that you will not regret. 4 Cleansing baths, 12 herbal bath, 6 household items baths, 2 love baths, and 4 nut baths, like what's MORE I can say except mention the bath he got the most testimony out of! To add ¼ cup bicarbonate of soda (baking soda) to the regular bath water is an amazing cleansing bath both physically and spiritually :) of course praying, doing it with the instructions and so on is the best you can do!

Special mentions go to chapter 6 for teaching how to cleanse with an egg and not making it some tiktokized or 30 seconds or 2 minutes version of it. What can I say more is that it is a VERY amazing chapter, for all kind of cleansing emotional or spiritual, for eyestrain, for protection while asleep, cleansing your home, cleansing the sick, and cleansing your pet!

I will jump over chapter 7 and 8 despite them being EXTREMELY good and mention that chapter 9 is a MUST READ. Mainly these methods of washing the head or feeding the head are used to work with the non-physical part of the human mentation, not exactly a replacement for psychology or psychiatry or medical treatment of mental illnesses but it is an AMAZING addition to anyone who's healthy but feel slightly "off".

The last chapter and appendix is about finding spiritual practitioner to help you, and what Draja describe as "Recommended System of Treatment for General Therapy", I am honestly just going to say good read the book, it isn't that long and the weight of it is in gold with how much jam-packed it is with technique you would pick up from here or there. Go buy it, pirate it, I don't know just get it and see for yourself!

[sugar-soda]

Kids Shouldn't be Here: Nick Valentine

Fallout 4 Platonic Companions x Child! Sole

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Child in dangerous situations

A/N: This is NOT romantic at all! This is all platonic relationships that explore how the Fallout 4 companions and game would change if the Sole Survivor was a young child. Any romantic suggestions or reblogs will be blocked.

Masterlist

______________________________________________________________

Kids were in trouble in Diamond City often.

Most of the time, it wasn’t anything big. Kids were meant to get into small amounts of trouble. Sneaking a Fancy Lad Snack Cake before dinner was expected, and with an actual group of kids in the city, arguments and fights were bound to happen. It was easy for them to get a hold of things they shouldn’t: Half empty beers left by guards on break, a single Mentat left in a tossed away tin, and dirty magazines their fathers hid from their moms. All was free reign when the adults were away.

A few times, the trouble they brought was bigger. While an adult would not get sick from a full bottle of alcohol or from a strong hit of Jet, the few times a kid has gotten their hands on something unused like that, it ended with them having to spend the entire night in Dr. Sun’s care. Everyone also remembered when John McDonough had set fire to the radio station. One resident still walked with a limb from when they played with their mother’s pistol.

They weren’t all trouble. Everyone got their news from a quick-witted little girl, and their water was cleaned by a sharp tongue young boy. Children never bothered Takahashi, only approaching the robot when they had spare caps to buy a bowl of noodles. It wasn’t uncommon to find them piled up in a secluded area, reading a few comics and sipping from a single Nuka-Cola until it was time to go to class, go home, or help their parents with their jobs.

None of the adults really trusted each other. Parents especially. So no one asked for help when they struggled to take care of their little ones. If anyone wanted to help, they would have to be subtle about it. Dr. Sun’s price for check-ups would be mysteriously cheaper for families, and Mister Zwicky and Miss Edna ran the schoolhouse 24/7. That’s as much “help” as anyone was willing to accept.

There was, however, one exception to that unspoken rule.

______________________________________________________________

Detective Nick Valentine always liked kids. When he first came to Diamond City, the kids were the only ones to talk to him, asking questions he didn’t have answers for and telling him what he didn’t know about the Commonwealth. Even now, the kids of Diamond City would randomly approach to ask questions about his latest case or news outside the city Piper didn’t deem necessary to write about. His status as a publicly-known, easily-seen, prototype synth ironically gave the parents of Diamond City a peace of mind when he was with the kids. He was already a synth, so there was no worry of him being replaced by one. Even if he was, he had so much wear and tear, there was no way it wouldn’t be noticeable. So no one was worried when the kids ducked into the agency to avoid a rainstorm. Well, except Myrna, who had a problem with Nick's general existence.

Even the original Nick was good with kids, regularly being the one placed in charge of kids to ask gentle questions or provide a distraction until a parent or social worker could take over. Bubblegum and candy had taken permanent residence in his pockets so he could pass them out. His friends and fellow cops had told him he would make a great father. When he first started out, he would just laugh them off, saying he works too much to have a kid. After he met Jenny, the teasing jokes increased and he would have to ignore the pleasant images in his head and the warm, subtle blush on his stern face.

Then Jenny was shot, and the jokes stopped, and any idea of fatherhood had disappeared long ago.

Now, his dislike of gang leaders like Winters had not decreased from that terrible night. Skinny Malone had nowhere near the power of Winters, but he had the same ego. Nick wasn’t sure what exactly Darla saw in the gangster, but his best guess was his promise of caps and power that had blinded the young woman from his cigar breath and bad temper. Not that her’s was any better.

The no-name mobster that was guarding Nick was just as bad. He would yell out taunts or threats and get annoyed when Nick ignored him and get annoyed when Nick did respond. He was sure the guy was compensating for something, but the annoying bastard was sadly right. He didn’t have any way of getting out of this office, and rescue wasn’t likely coming. He was at the mercy of Skinny Malone’s twisted whims.

He picked up the very slightest scrape of a door. All the vaults had these fancy sliding doors that barely made any noise. Lot easier on the audio processor than the rusted, broken doors more commonly found in the rest of the Commonwealth. Nick expected the rough yells of another triggerman coming to tell his current guard it was time to switch off or that Skinny has finally decided to stop wasting time and off the detective.

Instead, he heard nothing. Just the poorly made threats echoing through the empty, wide open room. Nick slowly slid his eyes around what he could see from the window. White metal walls, white metal railings, and white metal railings. Same as it was when he was first locked in this office.

There. A flash of red, before disappearing on the stairs. Definitely not triggermen. They preferred to wear reclaimed suits from before the war in blacks and checkered patterns. Nick wasn’t sure who this person was, but they were the closest thing Nick has had a chance of getting out of here.

“Keep talking, meathead. It'll give Skinny Malone more time to think about how he's going to bump you off,” Nick insults back at the wannabe mobster. He was pulling words out of thin air, but he needed this guy out of here. As the triggerman sputtered out a retort, Nick added detail to his lie in his head.

“Really? I saw him writing your name down in that black book of his. Lousy cheating card shark I think were his exact words. Then he struck the name across three times.” That was how Skinny Malone kept track of everything. His men, money, people he killed, where he was wanted. Everything was kept in a little, black book that was dwarfed by Skinny’s large fingers, and everyone knew what those three strikes meant. Three strikes and you’re out.

The triggerman panicked at the suggestion and ran off. Good. That’s one obstacle out of the way. Now for the door.

“Hey, you. I don't know who you are, but we got three minutes before ole' muscles-for-brains comes back. Get this door open.” He yelled through the window. Running toward the terminal, He saw that there were actually three people.

He was relieved to see Piper. A few times he had asked her for assistance, and even more she had invited herself on a case. Nick remembered when she first came to Diamond City, little Nat in tow. A teenager who had a gleam of determination in her eyes that hasn’t gone away as an adult. While she was as subtle as an atom bomb sometimes, she had her heart in the right place.

A minuteman took watch at the door the triggerman had left through. Nick hadn’t seen one for awhile. When Nat had shown up at his door early one morning, personally delivering a copy of a certain story to each member of the city, Nick knew it was important. He dropped a few caps in the girl's hand, then sat in his chair reading about the death of Quincy over and over until Ellie had woken up. He had passed the paper to her solemnly and neither of them had spoken for the rest of the day. Nick didn’t know if this one was involved, but he didn’t trust him to watch his back.

Whoever the third person was, they ran to the terminal too fast for a good look on who they were. He just caught their shorter stature and a bright blue. His guess was a vault dweller. They were the only ones who wore such a vibrant color. This vault had never been completed, so he guessed they were from vault 81, since it was the only operational vault to his knowledge.

“Hey, Valentine,” Piper greeted through the thick glass. “You got Ellie all worked up thinking you’re dead.”

“I’ll give her a day off once you and your friends get me out of here,” He promised. His gaze flicked to the minuteman. “Do I know these guys?”

Piper followed his eyes, “No, met them earlier. Don’t worry, he was with Colonel Holis when Quincy fell.”

Good enough for him.

The sound of the terminal going off and the click of the lock interrupted any further conversation. “I got it, Miss Piper!” the third person spoke. The voice sounded young. They rushed in quickly, Piper coming in after the previously unseen third member of the party.

Looks like he was right. The kid couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Nat. She was all awkward limbs and too-big armor. The yellow-gold lettering on her suit said 111 instead of 81, so he was wrong about that. He had never heard of Vault 111, but it may have opened up in the time he was locked up in here. That didn’t explain what the kid was doing or what the hell Piper was thinking bringing her here.

Nor did it explain the laser rifle in her hands, nor the sniper rifle slung haphazardly to her back.

The kid seemed surprised by his appearance, probably not stopping to register it when she was hacking the terminal. Her eyes widened in shock at his appearance and her nostrils flared as she attempted to school her face into a polite neutral expression. He appreciated the attempt at least. Most people would either freak out or spit insults in shock.

Deciding to wait and see what explanation she had, Nick lit a cigarette. He couldn’t actually breathe in the smoke or feel the effects of the nicotine, but it was a habit from the original Nick that he had never been able to properly shake. Guess addictions ran deeper than just physical.

“Gotta love the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario,” he said, “Question is, why did our heroine risk life and limb for an old private eye?”

“My brother was kidnapped,” the vault girl answered, “You’re my only lead on finding him, so here I am. How did you get in here?” She said it with such ease that Nick wondered if she realized how strange this scenario was. Not that he had any room to comment.

“A missing kid, huh? Well, you came to the right man. If not the right place.” Missing people were sadly a dime a dozen in his line of work. Kidnapped kids, sneaking spouses, and turbulent teenagers would disappear and their loved ones would come to Nick Valentine, the Synth Detective. The cases didn’t always end the same way. Sometimes he simply brought back a runaway who overestimated their skills and underestimated the Commonwealth, dragging them to their crying mothers or upset fathers. Other times, he revealed an affair that had been ongoing for months or years, until the immoral lovers decided to run from their problems instead of releasing their poor, betrayed spouses. He normally alerted the guards and kept an eye on the cheated party, due to how prone they were to the whispers of revenge. Kidnappings were the worst. They normally involved sneaking, fighting, and sweet-talking his way to the victim’s freedom. Sometimes he saw a reuniting of families. Other times he brought back a limp body. Still there are others, where there was nothing at all.

“I thought you were looking for a kidnapped woman, Nick. How did you end up being kidnapped?,” Piper questioned.

“I've been cooped up in here for weeks. Turns out the runaway daughter I came here to find wasn't kidnapped. She's Skinny Malo's new flame, and she's got a mean streak,” Nick explained. The vault girl made a grossed out face, guess she hadn’t gotten out of the ‘boys are icky’ phase. “Anyway, you got troubles, and I'm glad to help. But now ain't the time. Let's blow this joint. Then we'll talk.”

The girl nodded, “Got it. I’m Sunny, and the man with us is Mr. Preston. We met Miss Piper when we went to Diamond City looking for you.” As she spoke, she grabbed a bobblehead off the desk, pivoted on her heel, and followed them out of the office.

The minuteman, Preston, took his gaze off the door. While Sunny had tried to hide her reaction to Nick’s robotic appearance, he gave none at all. “It’s an honor to meet you, Detective Valentine. Sorry it couldn’t be under better circumstances.”

“Likewise. We’ll save the pleasantries. Hope you know how to use that musket.” Nick took the point of the group, rushing down the steps toward the exit. He explained quietly the situation regarding the vault, Skinny Malone, and how he got hired then subsequently thrown in the office. Two weeks of being guarded by these meatheads had made Nick more than a little stir crazy.

They came up to the entrance of what looked like the vault cafeteria. Triggermen were scattered around, playing cards and drinking what little provisions they had away. It's a wonder they were able to stay here this long the way they blew through food and liquor.

“How do you want to do this?” he whispered. There was a tell-tale sign of a Stealth-boy being activated and Sunny had disappeared. Good. There was a plan for her.

Piper had taken the first shot, and then chaos erupted. The gunshots echoed loudly off the metal walls of the vault. Preston's laser musket was probably the quietest of all of them, though Nick had seen a laser come from nowhere a few times.

The rest of the Vault went the same way. Run through the stairwell, shoot the triggermen, rinse and repeat until annoyed. “Who built this damn vault? A fitness instructor?,” Nick complained.

Whenever the fighting would stop, Sunny would reappear, then set to rifling through the dead men's pockets for ammo and stimpaks. She stayed quiet for the most part. She mostly made occasional noises of agreement in response to commands. There was a brief excited squeal of excitement when finding an in-tact comic book before she remembered herself. Nick was glad she seemed to understand the situation, he didn't have the patience to keep an eye on an unruly teen.

They finally came up to the room where Skinny Malone mainly set up shop. Nick could hear heavy footsteps

The door click and angry swearing through the door. He tried to open it, but it held fast. “Another locked door. Shouldn't be too hard…”

As he messed with the lock, he gave a warning. “I hear big, fat footsteps on the other side, so Skinny Malone and the rest of his boys are waiting for us in there. The name's, uh, ironic, but don't let that fool you. He's dangerous. Once we step through this door, get ready for anything.”

The spare bobby pin he kept snapped. “Dammit,” he swore. He started fishing for another in his pockets. While he could pick a lock just fine, he was much better with terminals or any piece of tech. Old Nick didn’t bother with either, but he also didn’t need to. This skill belonged to the Synth.

Something tapped against his shoulder. “Here, I got some.” Sunny was holding out an old cigarette carton, stuffed full of bobby pins that rattled with each tap.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a pin and trying again. This time he found the sweet spot in the lock. It clicked open and he was met with the business end of multiple submachine guns.

“Nicky? What're you doin'? You come into my house. Shoot up my guys. You have any idea how much this is gonna set me back?,” Skinny Malone said in false hurt.

“I wouldn't be here if it weren't for your two-timing dame, Skinny. You ought to tell her to write home more often.”

“Awww… poor little, Valentine. Ashamed you got beat up by a girl? I'll just run back home to daddy, shall I?,” Darla mocked. Her grip around her bat tightened. Apparently, she liked to get up close and personal with her victims in a way that firearms didn't allow for. Nick had the unfortunate experience of learning that when he first came to the Vault.

“Should've left it alone, Nicky. This ain't the old neighborhood. In this Vault, I'm king of the castle, you hear me?,” Malone spat, “And I ain't lettin' some private dick shut us down now that I finally got a good thing goin'!”

Darla’s glare snapped to Skinny. Even he wasn’t free from her ire, “I told you we should've just killed him, but then you had to get all sentimental! All that stupid crap about the ‘old times’."

“Darla, I'm handling this! Skinny Malone's always got things under control!”

As the killer couple bickered, Nick thought that they could sneak past the two if it weren’t for the two bodyguards aiming at them.

“Oh yeah, then what's a kid doing here, huh? A pipsqueak helped rub us all out of here!,’ Darla pointed her bat too close to Sunny’s face, and leaned down to snarl in her face. “What are you doing here, you brat?”

Sunny’s eyes widened in a mix of emotions. Surprise at being addressed, fear at being threatened, and confusion at the question. She was quiet for half a second, before steeling her face like she did when she entered the office, and asked her own question.

“What are you doing here?”

Darla didn’t like that answer one bit, grabbing the girl’s arm and dragging her forward. “You fucking mocking me? Don’t test me, cause I ain’t got a problem with knockin’ a snot-nosed brat off the map!, “ she spat.

“You’ve got a family don’t you? With food, water, and safety? Who love and care enough for you to go all the way to Diamond City in the hopes of hiring someone who can find you? Why would you give that up?”

Darla still looked angry, but now that anger looked conflicted. Nick didn’t know much about her family and their homelife. When her father had come into his office on a late, chilly afternoon, he knew he wasn’t from the city. His skittishness at the crowds and purple stains on his clothes suggested he was a mutifruit farmer, but all the man spoke about was his poor daughter had been kidnapped by some gangster, and he had no idea where he had taken her. When the father had calmed down enough to describe the gangster in detail, Nick knew where to look for the girl.

“I had nothing in that dirt pile! No one understood I wanted to be more, not just work in the fields with the other girls and pop out babies for the first fucking guy that popped the question!”

Sunny grimaced as Darla tightened her grip, but kept pushing. “So you came here? An empty vault surrounded by gangsters with no caps? Ordered around by a gross old guy that could be your father?”

“He’s got power!” Darla argued, but she didn’t look like she believed herself. Most of Skinny Malone’s men were now corpses pumped full of lead. He had been muscled out of his previous territory by stronger, smarter, and better supplied gangs. It wouldn’t take much for them to come in here and kill off the gang for good.

“What good is that when you have no food or water? If the settlements don’t bow to your threats, and you can’t get caps, where are you going to get stimpaks or radaway? At least that dirt pile seemed to care about you, all he’s done is drag you underground and yell at you.”

There was a beat of stillness as Darla didn't respond, staring at Sunny. Then, she just…drops the kid’s arm. Sunny immediately scrambles back behind Preston. Darla stared for a bit longer, brow furrowed and angry, then turned and started walking toward the exit.

“Darla? Wh-where are you goin'?”

“Home, Skinny! Where I should have been all this time. This is goodbye for us,” she snapped. Her walk turned into a sprint as she took off toward the vault door, refusing to be stopped by Skinny’s yelling. Nick guessed he would get a message in a few days from her father, telling him Darla is home, safe and sound.

“Oh, come on, Nicky! You cost me my men, now you and your friend cost me my girl?, “ the gangster turned back to the detective. Well, the runaway girl got out. Now he had to get himself out.

“The kid here just did you a favor, Skinny. You always did have bad taste in women,” Nick quipped, “Now that she's not around to feed that temper of yours, maybe you'll see sense and let us walk? You still owe me for two weeks in the hole.”

Skinny turned multiple shades of red. “ You smug, overconfident ass… Agh! All right, you get to the count of ten! I still see your face after that, I'm gunning both of you down!,” he growled.

That was long enough for Nick.

“Ah, look at that Commonwealth sky. Never thought anything so naturally ominous could end up looking so inviting…”

The mad dash out the vault and into the open air hadn’t affected Nick, but the other three were kneeled over as they tried to catch their breath. Nick patted Sunny’s shoulder as she gulped down air, “Quick thinking in there, kid. You kept a cool head in there.”

“Oh, I didn’t,” Sunny disagreed, gasping between words. “I have no idea what I said, it was just word vomit. I think I actually threw up a little.”

The walk back to the city was filled with chatter. Piper caught Nick up on everything he missed while prisoner in the vault. Who had been accused as a synth, who did the accusing, who had been caught cheating, what asinine thing Mayor McDonough had most recently done, and everything in between. When she had exhausted all topics, she pressed Preston into talking about the Minutemen and his hopes for the currently broken faction.

Sunny added small comments to their anecdotes. She had added that the mayor had mistaken Preston for her father when Piper had told him about McDonough making the kid cry. When the Minuteman told about their incident at the Museum of Freedom, she had helpfully added about Preston getting thrown into a car when fighting the Deathclaw.

It naturally segwayed into Sunny coming from a vault.

Nick wasn’t surprised that Vault-Tec would do something so horrible as to freeze people alive, but he was surprised anyone survived. Guess they were in the same boat. The only reason either of them were here in the Commonwealth is because of the immoral actions of people wanting to play god with no consequences. Nick had no idea how the Institute had gotten the original Nick’s memory files, but he had definitely not signed up to have his memories shoved into a experimental robot. Even if some families would have willingly frozen themselves to wait out the nuclear apocalypse, Vault-Tec still decided to lie and trick innocent people for their sick experiment.

Now all that was left of those experiments was a Synth Detective and a two-hundred and twelve year old kid.

Sunny hadn’t walked in their small group, instead choosing to flit back and forth on the street and between the three. She was filled with nervous energy, likely about the missing brother she mentioned earlier. There were a million ways someone could go missing in the Commonwealth, and going missing from a vault would make a case harder than the average runaway case. Nick just hoped the boy was alive, wherever he was. He wanted to go ahead and start asking questions, but they all probably needed rest before they were really ready for questions. Anyway, he would prefer to ask questions in a more private place with a notepad and pen. He could borrow Piper’s but he didn’t want any private details mixed into the next edition of Publik Occurrences.

All of the stores were closed by the time they got into the city. Everyone was asleep by now, except it seems, Nat, who was still up waiting for her sister. Piper crashed onto her couch with a promise of a longer interview later, and a Mr.Handy replaced her. According to Preston, “Codsworth” was Sunny’s and had served her family before the bombs dropped.

No wonder she was so attached to him.

When they got to the agency, Preston gladly took up Nick’s offer to take his bed. It’s not like he actually slept, he just used it for a more comfortable place to sit at night when his chair was too hard to sit on. Elle was fast asleep on her own sheets, still full dressed. She probably tired herself out in worry.

Sunny was still filled with nervous energy, hopping from one foot to another as Codsworth fretted over her. She clearly won’t be getting sleep soon.

Nick sighed. Best get some work done while she was still awake. He pulled off his coat and placed it on her shoulders, hoping the weight would settle her a little.

“Here, kid. At least sit down, I’m getting antsy just watching you.”

“Sorry,” she apologized, and flopped down on the offered chair while Codsworth checked her shoulder for bruising. Nick opened a cabinet drawer and flicked through his files, looking for anything involving Vault-Tec and their metal graves. There wasn’t much, barely enough to fill half a page, but it was something.

“You said your brother is missing, right? Any idea if he ran off on his own or if someone else did the dirty work?”

“Someone else,” Sunny answered immediately, trying to sound calm, “Shaun’s a baby, he can’t even walk yet.”

Nick nodded and switched to a drawer with files on cases with really young kids. Babies weren’t desirable in the slave trade, since it takes so long for them to grow up and be useful, they needed a lot of care, and can easily die from anything. Too much risk, not enough reward. He stacked what few files he had with his Vault-Tec file.

“Any motive that you can think of?, ” Nick continued, “Rogue scientist who couldn’t handle the guilt of freezing a newborn? Crazy neighbor hopped up on Buffout?”

“No. I saw the man who took him. After he killed Mom and Dad, he looked right at me,” she paused, blowing out a shaky breath. “ I’ve never seen him before, and he wasn’t dressed like a scientist. He was dressed like he was from the Commonwealth.”

Taking an empty file and mostly empty pen, he also grabbed a list of known, at-large criminals along with what pitiful information he found. He sat down at his desk. Sunny being a witness wasn’t a good thing, no matter how much easier it would make his job. No kid should see that.

“It’s going to be okay. Do you need a minute, or do you think you can tell me what he looked like?”

[wixxid]

IVORY  · PART VI

Fandom: Dune

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Female OC

Words: 3,692

Warnings: dark and sexual themes, dub/con, non/con, and arranged marriage.

Summary: You've been summoned to spectate. Adrenaline turns carnal.

A game.

The kind your mother and father would play; silently challenging one another across the table. You remember the intensity in their eyes, although not the sort that would infer violence. These kinds of games were only ones of friendly competition.

The round piece between your fingers hovers above the board. From the moment you began, you've been plotting move by move. Now you're almost there, at the precipice of your own hard work and sacrifice.

You're set to win.

Setting the piece down on the board, you leant back to allow your opponent their own turn. So far, your servant has been forthcoming; an unexpected challenge. It might've been presumptuous, but you didn't think Harkonnen's would have the patients to play something as trivial as a board game.

It's too peaceful.

Observing the servants stagnant position, you watch her eyes flicker and mind reel as she thinks of a possible path. One wrong move and the game could end prematurely, or possibly, she may even be able to prolong the challenge.

The possibilities are endless, but you can only predict and plan so many steps ahead. There's always a chance great beginnings may not lead to great victories. And just as she went to seize her turn, the woman was deprived by an uninvited guest.

Piter.

The mentat enters the expansive yet minimalistic room; a quiet lounging area. It's one of the few places you feel comfortable enough to spend your days, apart from your chambers. This place at least offers large window panes, allowing you a glimpse to the outside world.

On his approach, your servant quickly stands to resume her dutiful spot; upright with hands clasped and head bowed. You don't have to look up to see the displeased look on the mentat's face.

"It's unbecoming to play with the help."

"You didn't come all this way to lecture me," you retort while still eyeing the awaiting pieces on the board. "What is it you want?"

"You're expected to attend tonight's festivities."

"I've already refused."

Getting up from your seat, you go to pour yourself a cup of wine. The liquid is almost black, a rare of kind of vintage. A type of wine only produced on Salusa. The enriched aroma of spice fills your lungs, making your mouth water before you even take a sip.

The invitation was given awhile ago, but the moment you'd been informed of the true nature of the spectacle, you'd felt utterly disgusted with the notion of attending. The arena is archaic. A hellish pit made from cracked bones and blood.

"It needn't be to your liking, and no doubt, you'll take no joy from what you see," replied Piter. "But your absence will be noted."

"Then let them notice." Taking a mouthful of your wine, you stew on the thought that crosses your mind. It's rather bold - if not treasonous - but even so, you find yourself speaking anyway. "Feyd-Rautha is to fight?"

Piter paused, "Yes."

"And what happens - if he's killed?"

Turning around, you stare at the pale man in all seriousness. It'd been mentioned that your husband much prefers to participate in the arena, rather than to spectate. Feyd-Rautha wouldn't miss the glory of killing.

Piter warned between drawn lips, "Careful."

Walking towards the glass paneled window, you sigh as you look out over the palace and city. In the distance you can see the arena; a triangular mega structure, capable of holding tens of thousands. It's daunting.

As fortunate as you find the possibility of Feyd's death, you doubt the Harkonnen heir would allow himself to be slain in a simple match; and certainly not in front of his own people. Had the chore been so easy, the man would've perished long before you ever knew he existed.

"Perhaps you can assist me in another matter," you said in diversion of the topic. The remainder of your wine is swallowed. "Those things he keeps with him - those women - I'd rather they be removed. Immediately."

"I'm afraid that isn't possible. The Harpies aren't yours to discard," he replied before somehow trying to make light of his answer and the situation. "Besides, they serve their purpose."

"To devour the dead?"

"To distract. To keep away from - you."

His answer can't help but make you scoff in disbelief. At every turn he manipulates, like a seasoned puppeteer. You aren't quite sure why he's taken to governing you, but in times likes these, you see him to be against you; in typical favor of his own master.

You utter, "Is that so?"

As grotesque as you may find the women that keep company with your husband, it isn't their vile nature that has you most resenting their existence. Your distaste runs deeper. In truth, it's the blatant realisation that you see yourself closer to them than you care to admit.

Parallels.

Beneath titles, your nothing but a glorified slave. It isn't the metal chains of a shackle or the bars of a cell that keep you prisoner, but the superiority of one man. The same invisible restrains that bind those women are the same you bear now.

Piter calmly commands, "Ensure the lady is ready and waiting."

The room settled in silence as soon as he left, to which you're now able to let out the breath you've been holding. It isn't one of relief. It's uneasiness. The kind that makes your knees weak and stomach twist.

The spiced wine has gone straight to your head, but despite the fact, you continue to sip throughout the evening. It drowns your mind, enough to allow you a sense of calm as your prepare, and eventually approach the outer rim of the arena.

The journey to the place itself was over all to soon, as you now sat within the capsule carriage. The vessel hovers in waiting, and already you can hear through its walls; a bombardment of cheer that fills the monotone sky.

"We're here," utters your servant.

After the capsule opens, she's the first to exit the vessel, before providing you with support as you follow out. As you first laid eyes on the arena up close, the structure immediately takes your breath away. It's a marvel of smooth black metal, towering higher than you first perceived.

"This way."

Soldiers steer you from the front, while two linger at the rear. Their protection guides you inside and upward, ascending until you reach the pinnacle. A private balcony. It's open and grand, with many servants and adversaries awaiting nearby.

"Under our glorious black sun," began the deep voice of the announcer. "We welcome to these very special festivities, our beloved leader - Baron Vladimir Harkonnen."

At the forefront of all the rest, you see the grossly substantial man, as he sits perched upon his levitating chair. The crowd cheers at the announcers introduction. The view is pristine and you can't help but be in awe of it, as well as the thousands of people who've gathered in witness.

"Come," orders the Baron. "Sit beside me."

Taking a seat at his side, you would have rather preferred to hide in the shadows. But as you peer over the edge, scanning the horizon of faces, to then take in the sands of the arena, you realise you've never seen anything like this; terrible yet unique.

"I've been advised that you aren't fond of our traditions," spoke the Baron, to which you discreetly eye the mentat. "Why is that exactly?"

"I don't condone the killing of others for sport."

"What you see here is more than just sport," he replies with a gravely tone. "This is politics."

Another wave of uproar drew your attention. The surrounding sea of black and white all stood in a wave of craze and excitement, before chanting the devilish name of your nightmares. The Ne-Baron. Feyd-Rautha.

"Tell me," utters the Baron. "What do you see?"

Feyd enters the arena, striding through the sands with predatory intent. Meanwhile, his opponents stubble from their confines; half-naked yet armed with swords. It all began so quickly, that soon thereafter you watched as the burley man staggers forward; the first to strike an attack.

You peer through your viewing lens. "Are they sick?"

"Drugged," confirms the Baron.

You lower the lens in time. You don't have to watch to know the burley man has been slaughtered. The uproar of the spectators in enough. They display their pleasure and glory of the moment without remorse; as if what they've witnessed is marvelous.

"You call this politics?"

"Of course!" agreed the Baron. Reaching up, he takes a drag from the black pipe he often smokes. The cloud of vapor disperses between thin lips. "What better way to earn the love of the people, then by slaying the enemy."

It's an honest confession. Although, the brutal display of violence is far removed from any politics you've ever seen on Caladan. Under no circumstance would your father ever permit a massacre such as this, let alone grant it in full view of the public.

"It's barbaric," he admits as if reading your mind. "Merciless. Cruel. It's all those words you're no doubt thinking. But, our people feed on strength. There's no room for weak men. He's a perfect example! Feyd-Rautha - my nephew - a true Harkonnen."

Looking over at the stout man, you can't help but see a mix of pride and envy glint within his piercing gaze. It's confronting. A look you hadn't imagined could ever be present on such a mans face, yet there it is.

Lust.

Following along his line of sight, you continue to watch from afar as the match goes on, soon to be followed by the next. Although you can't see it all transpire, you aren't immune to your other senses. The smell of blood and sweat. You can taste it in your mouth. Iron and salt.

War

Gripping the edge of your seat, you can't allow any of this to matter. The happenings of this planet can't affect you. There's nothing that can be done to stop it. On Geidi Prime you're powerless.

A wine glass appears in your peripheral, held out in offering by the pale hand of your servant. A silent understanding transpires between the two of you, before you take it. The inebriant will make this whole ordeal go much faster.

Taking a long sip, you devour the wine until the burn numbs your throat and dulls your senses. The matches began to blur one after the other, but they seemed to go on forever; as if time itself worked against you.

Palpitations beat beneath your chest, while your mind begins to stray. You're curious to know where exactly where they'd found and kept all these so-call opponents. It had to of been somewhere awful by the state of them.

The men are covered in filth and tattered clothing, but they can't have been prisoner for long. They aren't wasted away. They're still lean and strong. You take another sip in debate. It wouldn't be a good show otherwise.

"He's ruthless!" chuckles the Baron. "A warrior."

Yet again, his nephew wins the favor of his people; earnt by a gruesome decapitation of the enemy. Holding up your lens, you take in his unabashed show of glory; black teeth bared as he thrusts his weapon into the air. Undefeated.

"There's nothing to fear," spoke the Barron. "When fear itself is on your side."

A short and cryptic speech, aimed more to himself than anyone else. You don't allow yourself to ponder on what it could possibly mean. You're far too intoxicated to desire delving into the mind of a mad man.

Instead, you bided your time until the evening came to an end; an eternity later. It might have been the end of the fighting, but you're sure the raw energy it's ignited would no doubt continue elsewhere in the city; a reveling amongst people.

It became evident you were right as you travelled back to the palace; your vessel travelling past all kinds of celebrants. You don't take to much notice as you all want is the silent sanctuary of your chambers. This pollution of noise around you is so tumultuous it's become nauseating.

It's a chaotic atmosphere you're forced to navigate, but eventually you arrive back to the palace and into your private abode. A moment of relief is the first bring you back down. You can no longer smell the ick of blood, or feel the heavy thrum in the air.

"A bath, my lady?"

"Yes," you managed to reply.

Removing the pins from your hair, the pleasant aroma of flora soon drifts in from the bathroom. As soon as you're free of the confines of your dress, you take no time at all to sink within the water. It's sobering. Liberating. You feel somehow cleansed.

Relaxing as your skin is gently washed, your eyes flutter in a bout of fatigue; the affect of wine and sleepless nights. It takes a toll, both mentally and physically. Wading your fingers along the water, you watch as steam rises from the milky surface; adorned with dried leaves and flowers.

"Where did they come from?" you ask, as the thought can't help but linger in the back of your brain. Perhaps you thought knowing might give you closure. "The men who died tonight."

"They're opposers," she answers. "Deserters, captives, even slaves."

"Are any of them my own?". The question caused her to pause mid-stroke with the lathered sponge. You turn to look at her, only for the woman to blink and still herself, as if she were somehow struggling. "Well?"

"I-I can't tell you," she stutters. "I'm n-."

A raspy voice intervened, "What are you talking about?"

The two of you gasped, as both your eyes turn to the trespasser. Feyd stands at the entrance of the bathroom; like a demon from the shadows. His lips part subtly, face entirely unbothered, and yet his stare is narrowed. Suspicious.

"Go on," he challenges with a step forward. "Speak."

You demand, "Get. Out."

The initial shock is swift to disappear, and now you're livid. The last face you wanted to see this night is his own. Only moments ago he was killing; butchering men in an arena for entertainment. He's still in the same attire. Unclean.

"I said leave," you hissed.

"Don't you hear her girl?" he questioned, glaring eyes turning to your stunned servant. "You've been told to leave."

The twisted torment is obvious and all three of you are aware. As untrue as he spoke, you can't blame your servant from fleeing at his underlying threat. Her encompassing fear left along with her from the room. You're alone.

Defenseless.

Sitting naked and petrified within the tub, your heart skips in awareness of your own vulnerability. The safety you once felt upon entering your quarters, can't help but now scorn you in a macabre twist of humor. You're too foolish.

You asked, "What are you doing?"

"What I like," he says while eyeing you in the tub. Feyd isn't able to see your sunken form below the milky water, but it's all too easy for his sickly gaze to convince you otherwise. "Women like you are so precious."

He looks down at the floating flower petals, before plucking one from the surface. It's strange to see him hold such a pretty and delicate thing. The flower rests innocently upon his pale palm, before being crushed within his fist.

"So unlike our own," he continues as the crushed flower falls from his palm. "You're soft. Weak."

"Then you don't know women like me."

Feyd chuckles in amusement, "Is that so?"

It didn't go unnoticed how terribly close he's becoming. You have the urge to distance yourself and move to the other side of the tub - or better yet - to get out and run, but you find yourself frozen. Even as he comes to stand behind you, you're still trapped in the deadly lock of terror and pride.

"Enlighten me then," he encourages while taking a knee beside the tub. "Show me who you are."

"I'm not playing this game."

In an instant, he has you in a hold. Fingers thread tightly within your wet hair, while his other hand squeezes at your throat. If his fingers dig any further, you feel he might rip out your throat. Spluttering within his grasp, the water sloshes against your struggling body.

"Game?," he growls in you ear. "That would imply you have a chance."

Feyd pulls you from the water, as if you're as meagre as the flower he'd just crushed. What little air in your lungs is forced out, leaving you a gasping, wet mess as he drags you from the bathroom into the bedroom.

Discarding you with a throw to the floor, you wasted no time in backing away from him; squirming like a worm in the dirt. Feyd's muscles tense within his body. The way he's looking at you now, is the same way he looked at those men in the arena.

"You have fire in you," he admits while removing his outer jacket. "But even still, you're just more of the same."

As soon as he stepped in your direction, you scrambled to get to your feet; a frivolous attempt to flee. A failure. It didn't matter how hard or loud you screamed, no one out there would come to your rescue, so you didn't bother.

"There's nowhere to run," he said before catching you within his arms. "Nowhere I can't find you."

Whipping you around, he went to grab your face when you bit him; teeth sinking deep within his flesh like a wild animal. The spiced wine hadn't left you entirely. Between the fermented brew and adrenaline, you aren't thinking with a rational mind.

You just want to survive.

Pulling away from his attack, he managed to backhand you across the face; sending you hurling back down to the floor. A puddle of flesh at his feet. You can taste the remnants his thick blood in your mouth; smeared along your lips and chin.

Feral.

Feyd plucked you from the floor to push you up against the nearing wall. The metals cold surface instantly chills your flesh; a quick and painful reminder of how naked and unprotective you are in this moment.

Pinning you with the weight of his body, you're unable to fend him off, other than to kick and hit at will. It proved utterly useless. A waste of energy. The force of your weak knees and hands are nothing against his solid form.

"Don't you know - pet - not to bite the hand that feeds you."

Grabbing your jaw, his lips meet yours; tongue delving into your mouth. It makes you squeal in protest. You can feel him kissing you. You know he can taste your blood and his, and when he leans back, you see him grinning with a sinister chuckle. Enjoyment.

"Where's your fight?" he goads. "Where's that fire?"

Turning your head to the side, you feel his warmth breath fan against the length of your neck. Bait. He's trying to tempt you, to get a rise of anger. He's still high on his own rush of pleasure; an addiction to death.

"Don't act so restrained," he pesters while a calloused hand presses against your side; running the length of your body, until it reaches the top of your soft naval. "I know you want to hurt me."

"I want you to suffer," you confess while thrusting your knee into his stomach. The impact would have been enough to hurt him, but only took satisfaction in your assault. "I want you to die."

"And die I will," he said before suddenly punching you in the stomach; hard enough to leave you hunched in a coughing fit. It shocked you. The rupture of pain that struck within your belly is overwhelming. "But not today."

Forcing you over in a stumbling mess, he bends you over the nearby table; breasts and stomach pressed flat against the surface. Your hips dig into the edge of metal. Unable to think or move, he holds you down with ease; hands pinned behind your lower back.

"There's pleasure in many things," he says with a booted kick at your ankles. "Fighting and killing," he clarifies upon forcing your legs to spread wide. "And now I have just one more - now, I have you."

Rough. Forceful. He takes you like a servant. A whore. The length of his hardened member plunges deep inside of you; stretching your walls, threatening to rupture your womb. There's no mercy or reprieve. It only continues.

Again.

And again.

It's punishment. Degradation. Feyd grunts beneath his breath, while you can't help but express sharp moans. It's discomfort. The tips of your toes flare with pain as you try to ease the his forceful jabs, but he only pulls you back; rutter harder.

Fucking you.

The moment he released your hold, you felt betrayal more than relief. That was the moment you were supposed to flee; to fight back. Instead, you held on and stayed; fingernails clawing at the table for some kind of anchorage.

He's almost done. You can hear it. Feyd breathed shallower, more labored. That icky sticky trail is already creeping its way down between your thighs, and soon there'll be more, but he's not quite there.

You only found a sort of relief from the guilt when his fingers threaded within your damp hair; twisting so hard your scalp screamed. The pain is enough to overwhelm the fact he'd just emptied himself inside of you.

Warm.

Thick.

The weight of his body bears heavily atop your back, but he doesn't linger. Pulling himself free of you, trails of cum drip like blood from a wound. You wished all of it would empty itself; to be sterile.

The thought of being round and well bred terrifies you more than any nightmare. You couldn't bring yourself to imagine what kind of thing could come tearing it's way from your body; beauty or beast.

A Mosiah.