#cw csa discussion

[echidna-auxiliatrix]

Been thinking about Alien 9 this morning (as you can tell by my reblogs) and Kumi, specifically the thing with Kumi and Kasumi and why Kasumi strangles Kumi in episode 4 of the OVA.

Kumi is the tallest in the alien party. She’s also very parentified by her mom, and is also the one in the party that has bore the most responsibility throughout her life, having been the class representative since kindergarten. In animation, taller generally means older -- there are exceptions, but generally this is the case. I think Kumi is one of these. In Kumi’s case, being taller probably simply means that she went into puberty earlier than Kasumi and Yuri. Along these lines, I think it’s also significant that Kumi is the only character who’s having romantic feelings -- her crush on Yuri is pretty damn obvious. I think Yuri returns these feelings, at least a little bit, but they clearly arose in Kumi first.

I want to point out that Kumi was the one buried in the sand in episode 3 at the beach -- I also want to point out that in the manga, the girls gave Kumi’s sand body breasts and pubic hair. We see that Kumi is physically uncomfortable, and looks as if she’s having trouble breathing. The anime, understandably, censored the details that the manga left in, but I think those details from the manga are significant, in that they sort of confirm what I was saying earlier about Kumi hitting puberty earlier. Kumi’s in the early stages of puberty, but she’s not a woman, therefore the pubic hair and breasts don’t quite fit from the viewers perspective, but they do fit from the girls’ perspective.

It’s glaringly obvious that Kasumi’s brother was sexually abusing her. The imagery and dialogue in the series makes it abundantly clear. Kasumi is also very intentionally characterized as the most innocent, the youngest-seeming one in the alien party. This puts Yuri in the middle, as the average girl. Anyway, Kasumi’s brother is older than her, though it’s never said exactly by how many years. In any case, this is incestuous sexual abuse. Which is a complicated thing. Clearly, Kasumi misses her brother after he’s been sent away. Her parents seem very laissez-faire -- a.k.a. neglectful. So the only way Kasumi could receive love, affection, etc. was through her brother and his abuse. So of course she’s lonely, vulnerable, and not doing well after he left. Not that she wasn’t those things before -- just that she was able to bury those feelings and distract herself from them when her brother was around. It’s terrible and heartbreaking. 

Kasumi can’t admit to herself that her brother hurt her. If she did, her whole worldview would crumble. She speaks positively of her brother throughout all 4 episodes. Yet Kasumi’s still hurt by him. She wants love but doesn’t want to have to take abuse in order to get it. Nobody does, let alone any child. Kasumi is also afraid of change -- afraid of puberty and growing up. All three members of the alien party are, in their own ways, though Yuri’s angst is most obvious. Kasumi feels that once she stops being a little girl, sex and abuse will be inevitable; there will be no other way to be loved than to be hurt. Guess who’s closest to being a woman out of the alien party? Yep, it’s Kumi. Kumi represents what Kasumi fears -- puberty, growing up, having the body of a woman, and having romantic (adult) feelings. If Kumi represents these things, then when she’s tasked with cutting Kasumi out of Yellowknife, then she’s robbing Kasumi of this unhealthy, amniotic static state where she can be with her brother forever. That’s why Kasumi strangles Kumi. She’s trying to kill what she fears.

[wickjump]

ok wick is kind of upsetti spaghetti so im doin a little rant here. that’s it

people get very weird about proshitters. they give a billion arguments to why its not that bad but at the end of the day it’s consuming or supporting people who consume fictional child porn.

“but XYZ was proven false!” i don’t care about the jaws effect or the slenderman stabbing. i am talking about grown ass adults getting off to drawings of little kids getting raped. why is that so controversial to think is disgusting. why is it something that people are so quick to defend. i do not see any reason why a grown adult would get off to that unless there is something genuinely wrong with them and that should not be a controversial thing. an adult should not be aroused at the concept of a child being raped, even fictional.

if you hear: “an adult should not get off to drawings of a child being raped by an adult” and your immediate thought is to try and justify it, there might be something wrong with you, too. at the end of the fucking day, regardless of whatever shit you want to spout, you have to see the common fucking sense that is “a grown adult should not be jacking off to drawings showcasing the rape of children”. why is this a sentence so hard for you to accept. how come saying this gets people mad. how come grown adults with a 9-5 think this is okay. you are old enough to have raised the kids you’re getting off to in art form. that is not a good thing. you should not be left alone with a child.

if someone hired you to babysit their kid and saw your ao3 history you wouldn’t be allowed near that family ever again. if your coworkers saw your tumblr you’d be ostracized quicker than you can blink. if your parents saw your twitter you’d be disowned. getting off to kids is weird. you are the chronically online ones.

(do not harass proshippers. it is never productive, never causes any actual change, and only serves to make everyone in the situation stressed. proshippers do not change their minds because someone sent “kys” in their inbox. not to mention multiple younger pros were groomed into the community and all harassment will do is push them further into it and away from recovery. block pros and move on.)

[iamnmbr3]

honestly why did jkr choose DUMBLEDORE as arbitrary gay 'rep'. Besides the not even there stuff he is an awful person.

(And you could pretty easily read him as that sort of Creep. Like I know that's not the sort of grooming people mean but that's always what I think :( )

I know. She really went 'diversity win! the serial liar and manipulator of children who is weirdly fixated on the attractiveness of an 11 year old is gay!'

Now I am absolutely NOT saying that a gay character cannot be flawed or even downright evil. Being gay doesn't make someone inherently bad - or inherently good. Gay people are humans - and just like any other group of humans are capable of the full range of human complexity. However, when the ONLY gay character is like this it feels like their negative personality traits are tied to their gayness. (Just like if Dumbledore was the only straight character it might feel like the author was was casting aspersions on the morality of straight people - even if that wasn't her intent).

Also it's so weird because there were so many other characters that are very frequently read as queer - including Tonks, Lupin, Draco, and Sirius. Not to mention HARRY POTTER himself. But nope. JKR was extremely resistant to anyone even suggesting these characters might not be straight (lol joke's on her - she might not have meant to write these characters as not straight but she did. be mad about it jkr). Only the character who had one queer romance which was extremely destructive and then swore himself to a life of celibacy where he spends all his time manipulated children is allowed to be gay apparently. smh.

And yeah. As for Dumbledore coming across kinda creepy, I definitely think it wasn't JKR's intention but it is a very valid reading based on what she wrote. I mean Dumbledore literally is out there saying 'oh yeah one of the only reasons adults liked this 11 year old child was because he was hot' without any awareness of how incredibly messed up a thing that is to say.

Like if that's something he's comfortable admitting publicly what thoughts doesn't he admit to? This is just an incredibly bizarre thing to say and really says a lot about how he perceives the world.

Why does he assume that all adult teachers pay attention to how attractive the children they are responsible for are? Why does he assume that teachers' treatment of their UNDERAGE STUDENTS is affected by attractive they find each child? That is not how an adult should ever be relating to or thinking about a child.

And it's specifically attractiveness he highlights - not cuteness or charm or literally anything even slightly more appropriate to favor a child for (even though it would still be wrong to favor a student). No. It's the same way he talks about Tom later. He suggests that Tom used his looks in some sort of evil seductor routine to victimize Hepzibah Smith - even though what we actually see is HER creeping on Tom, so it comes across very much as a "he was asking for it" and "he was to blame because he was being a temptation simply by existing" type perspective which is absolutely repellent. And seemingly Dumbledore was thinking about Tom in that way right from the beginning.

In addition, I will say it's notable that in the Hepzibah Smith memory Dumbledore seems to sympathize with the person who is acting as a predator. (I mean she literally touches Tom without his consent and tries to hit on him multiple times while he tries to change the subject and seems super uncomfortable; she is the aggressor in that interaction).

It's also notable that Dumbledore seems to take Tom rejection of him at their first meeting very personally which is odd. Tom's reaction to Dumbledore is not that surprising but Albus seems to take great offense at the fact that Tom does not trust or look up to or like him and does not want to spend time with him or accept his friendship. It's a rather unusual way for an adult to react.

And more generally he doesn't treat children as children. He talks about child!Tom the same as he does adult!Tom and doesn't seem to view him as ever having been fundamentally different. He happily sends Harry and his friends into danger.

He also has a nasty habit of reading people's minds without their consent. I don't think it's a coincidence that nothing about the topic of Occlumency is taught at Hogwarts. It seems that he's been frequently reading the minds of the Golden Trio (and probably other students) for years - probably since book 1; and the mind is a very intimate and scared part of a person that shouldn't just be violated. Characters having a blank or closed look is often used as a descriptor to suggest that that character is employing Occlumency. We know Tom's mind powers were quite developed and I think he successfully blocked Dumbledore from his mind during their first encounter (after Dumbledore read his mind to find out about the things he stole) as right after that scene he is described in similar ways to scenes where characters use Occlumency. And this denial and rejection may been part of what particularly irritated Dumbledore.

His interactions with kids - and especially his fixation on Tom - are very weird. And you could definitely read it as him having some sort of repressed (or not repressed) attraction/fixation that he's probably in denial about (or does mental gymnastics to justify). 100 percent not JKR's intent. But yeah. The way she wrote him is kinda off.

[lesbianfrottage]

I've said this a few different times, a few different ways before, but to be very clear: I do think that actual consensual adult relationships should never be illegal or socially taboo, because it becomes a very slippery slope, but I specifically believe that consensual incestuous relationships should be destigmatized specifically because it is crucial to put ability to support victims of nonconsensual incestuous assault.

I am unfortunately speaking from first hand experience here.

As much as I have fun with it on here, I don't actually have a vested interest in the kink side of things. Not only do I not have a sister complex for real, even if I did I think I'd be pretty unlikely to act on it. But I was a victim of ongoing childhood sexual abuse from an adult in my family. And if you think the way we treat victims of sexual assault who come forwards (especially shaming and blaming them) is messed up, you haven't seen anything, because the way we treat victims of nonconsensual incest is actually disgusting.

I have been talking about this with my therapist a lot lately actually! When the only portrayals of something are as a villainizing characteristic it's really hard for a kid to speak up because they feel like maybe they're bad for it happening to them. And then when they do speak up yeah, MAYBE the adult figure does something and shit gets better. But abusers know how to hide things well, and they've still been shamed and are looked at as if they're filthy. It's enough to give a girl a complex! And that's assuming they even took you seriously enough to file the report. The mandated reporter I told just ignored it because she liked my abuser.

If some of you are old enough to remember before gay marriage, it's the same thing as what happened there: partner abuse in gay relationships was SEVERELY underreported because it looked different, or they didn't want to get looked at badly, or in some cases they felt an obligation not to make other gay people look bad.

As long as we stigmatize healthy, consensual adult relationships, their nonhealthy, nonconsensual analogues get stigmatized to the point that victims can't get help.

If I'm being honest I actually do personally find IRL incest kind of icky! And yes, a lot of that is my own trauma. But I also recognize that if we want to be a society that protects the most vulnerable members of our society and creates safety nets for when we fail to protect them we have to let people do things that ick us out, personally.

Like I said, I've said literally all of this before in different places on here but I needed it collected for the new pinned I'm building.

[weaselbeaselpants]

About fandom smexuality, aging-up, age gaps vs CSEM

The thing I wish people could understand is the debate over whether or not loli/shota/cub/drawn 'artwork' is inherently cp is a different debate than the fandom questions of:

" Is making a child character into an adult for *reasons* akin to irl grooming? "

" Is making a childincanon-now-adult-character date an always-was-adultincanon-character akin to irl grooming? "

" Is making absolutely everything into a sexy pinuplegalage adult good for me? "

" Can you write about these topics at all? "

" What is someone's mental age vs physical age when it comes to fantasy fiction involving shit like gods, monsters, shapeshifting talking animals having smex? "

" Is it wrong to dismiss a character's age when they otherwise don't act or look the age they're supposed to be +are treated as sexualized adult in canon? " ((kinda specific; I'm mostly thinking of Ariel and Jasmine being canonically 16 and 14 for some reason.))

All these above debates are worth talking about. And by talking about, I do mean having discourse over because it's unavoidable. No one is going to agree 100%, I think that's just the nature of sexualizing things or maybe just fiction in general. Something that may be tame to you can be triggering/traumatizing for another person -especially if that person is a survivor of any kind of ab*se. You are not responsible for their well-being, B U T, you ARE responsible for yourself and not being a dick to survivors. I also think it's such a 'your millage may vary';'depending on the situation in canon v fanon'-shit going on.

f.e. shipping the themepark young man version of the Mad Hatter with the adult woman Alice that walk around Disneyland and are their own characters apart from their animated counterparts but clearly are still meant to illicit those versions-- I can be sus and grossed out and designate it as one of my own notps all I want, same with Lydiajuice and Fluttercord. I DO find these ships genuinely 'icky' to me because I can't get over the association w the animated versions. BUT- knowing the context of what people are into it and how, I'm not going to call that shit amoral. It's not. I'm just allowed to dislike it. Cope.

Ultimately people are right that it's sus how we keep making underage characters into smexy adults to appeal to adults with sexual and/or shipping tastes. Like 'can we seriously not comprehend characters in a non sexual (or in fandom, non shiptastic) context EVER about anything?' is a genuine debate worth having.

People are also right that susbehavior can be excused with legitimate circumstances; like how coming of age stories inherently mean minors discussing sexuality because teens are sexually imbalanced and sex interested. There's a LOT of talk to be had there and shade to be delivered.

As an asexual who's dabled in, and has friends, who make and sell adult art for adults, I just don't see this problem[i.e. aging up minor characters into adults] as an inherent red flag.

Many honest nonpredatory people have adultified versions of their childhood crushes. There is a porno version of Alice in Wonderland where Alice was a sexually adventurous twenty-something getting down with other adults in furrsuits and singing. No really. Me in my new fangled respect for the og novel can be all "GAWD why do we have to make this sexy?" all I want -AND YET-- I'm also glad they made the porno version of the story for adults ABOUT adults. Good job. I'm sure lots of people looking for that thing loved it. Let cringe adults be cringe adults, damnit.

Sexuality and sexual preference (not orientation) IS messy and complicated even if you do all this by yourself and without a partner.

~End of part 1.

[loveandscience]

childhood trauma stuff, reducing stigma and all that i guess

didn't want to put it in the tags of that last post bc op and such may not want to see that kind of stuff

but dang i did so much stuff online that was unhealthy and risky as a child in middle and high school. Teaching internet safety to kids is so important to me, I wouldn't want them to do the things I did.

But like, at least by 13 I was talking to adult men online and being very sexual with them. Mostly strangers, but one of them was this teacher I'd had at a computer camp that I started talking to online and had a crush on, and like, at 13 I had no understanding of why that was so inappropriate and damaging to me to be acting on that. I even convinced my mom to go to a store to meet up with him in person, while we were "dating."

My risky behaviors didn't just come out of nowhere. I couldn't manage to tell anyone about this next part until I was an adult, not even my therapist as a teenager-- I didn't think anyone would care, and I was too embarrassed, but not talking about it prevented me from getting help and it made me more vulnerable to being abused by others. Secrecy enables predators, and so the more we bring this uncomfortable stuff to light, the more we can protect each other from them.

But throughout pre-school, daily, I was sa'd by another child, and supposedly no one knew. One of the common symptoms from being sa'd is being hypersexual, but I don't think the adults around me knew that or if they did, didn't notice my behavior. I was also discouraged from talking about my body throughout life. Like, even when I was older and had a period for the first time, my mom just gave me the box of pads, asked if i knew how to use them (i lied and said yes because of the shame that'd been instilled) and that was it.

idk like, even with the metoo movement and the inches society is making toward de-stigmatizing victims talking about their own experiences, it's still hard to talk about it, which kinda means i should get more comfortable talking about it in a healthy way in order to reduce that shame.

Having worked through that trauma, I take all reasonable measures to protect my own kid from ever going through that while careful not to instill an anxiety in her about how she goes through life. Educating her so she knows about her own body and that she can talk about whatever, no topic being off-limits. Educating her about online safety as she starts to interact with people she doesn't know online in slightly less restricted environments. I make sure to check out the environments she'll be in-- my pre-school where I was assaulted had chaotic bathrooms, where there were a few stalls and teachers didn't supervise very well. So this boy was able to force me into a stall every day, and teachers either did not notice (like there were only 3 or 4 stalls, idk why) or didn't think it was a problem). Ugh, and my parents would leave me at his house or have him over on weekends, because they thought we were such good friends. So, when looking for schools, it was always an important thing that they had single person bathrooms where only one kid would be allowed in at a time. And I have to know adults well enough to be able to trust them to be alone with her.

It actually wasn't until I was choosing a pre-school for her that I told anyone what had happened to me. The family kept pressuring me to choose the same pre-school they'd sent me to, and I was like No, I am Not sending her there, imagine how guilty I'd feel sending her to the same place if the same thing that happened to me happened to her? No way. It hadn't even seemed that different, when I visited it again around that time.

Tbh, I don't blame the kid who harmed me; what he did was very likely a result of him having been assaulted, and passing that behavior on because he didn't know it was ok. Like, we were 4 or 5, I don't expect that level of understanding for a child that young. I do think the teachers I had were incredibly irresponsible and put that more on them, than anyone.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + ten

authors note: i think ya'll will be pleased with majority of this chapter. as far as the ending scene, let me know what ya'll think roman should do. i have it already planned, but i'm always so curious reading other perspectives. btw, they've been married almost four months, for context.

also, to those who want to know about the subplot of solana's bitch ass daddy plotting to kill roman....it's still a subplot. stay tuned.

passages from 'the courage to heal' do not belong to me.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: violence against women, references to csa, character briefly discussing csa, fluff, angst, language, and suggestive themes

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 10k (no comment)

Learning to be intimate is rewarding, but it is not always comfortable. As one woman said, “I kept myself safe, but I also kept myself alone.” Becoming intimate means peeling back the layers of protection to let someone in. It means going to the place where you’re comfortable and then taking one step more. One step, not twenty.

Solana must read the passage at least half a dozen times, sitting with the words, meditating with them and doing her best to cope with the discomfort she’s experienced at various points while working her way through the book that’s brought an equal amount of questions as it has answers.

She knew right away going into this section, Healthy Intimacy, that it would most likely be the hardest chapter for her. But not even for the reasons that she initially thought, reasons that would have been the case before a certain Roman Reigns entered her life.

Every day that passes with him seems to bring about a new level of comfort, a new slice of happiness, a new type of contentment. 

She enjoys talking with him and being around him. She looks forward to his meeting her at the end of work and struggles with endless worry when he doesn’t make it back home until the wee hours of the night.

His touch, whether that’s his hand on her back or both hands on her waist as he holds her against him, no longer triggers an automatic tense, uncomfortable feeling. Somewhere along the way, the need to identify his touch as ‘safe’ waned and was replaced with an automatic knowing. Like she knows that it’s okay for him to touch her, because she’s safe. Because she’s safe with him. 

That, along with her continued and also growing attraction, has caused her to think more and more what it could be like to be with someone in that way. The thoughts have been fleeting, far and few over the years, typically followed up with abject horror. But lately….lately she’s been less and less scared and more and more hopeful.

Optimistic that maybe….just maybe, she could one day know what that’s like. To have that experience in a healthy and non-traumatic way with a safe person. With someone who truly desires her in said healthy way.

Someone….someone like Roman.

It’s scary and terrifying and exciting and nerve racking and moving and every other emotion to exist, but on top of all that, for the first time in her life, it’s a possibility for Solana. 

And she wants to take that chance, even if doesn’t work out, even if it’s not what she thought it would be. To be able to say she at least tried, to say that she overcame her fears…it would be monumental.

It would feel like the breaking of mental and emotional chains. 

And it starts today.

Closing up the book, Solana untangles her legs and marks her spot in her book. She gives Dulce a light pat on the head and walks into the bathroom. Opening up the drawer, her eyes land on the pair of scissors. Nothing fancy. Just a pair of regular scissors.

Solana takes a deep breath and grabs them. 

Using one hand to let down her hair from the messy, half-effort bun, she gives her head a good shake. Once, twice, and then a third time. For a brief second, she hesitates, her father’s constant belittling returning to the surface.

“You don’t need short hair. You’ll look even fatter with it.”

Solana shuts her eyes as she thinks of all the times Roman has called her beautiful, has made her feel beautiful. The endless support from Bayley and Naomi. The borderline inappropriate comments form the twins almost every time she sees them.

It all brings an emotional smile to her face as she takes another deep breath.

One step, not twenty.

And she cuts.

________

Samantha can count on one hand in all of the years that she’s known Roman Reigns the times that he’s surprised her with a visit. 

Zero.

He’s always always given her a heads up for his arrival or plans to visit, solely for the mere fact that Roman is a man who doesn’t like to wait. When he wants pussy, he wants it then and now. And she’s never been one to deny the Head of the Table anything he’s ever asked for. 

So when she finds him sitting at her desk, feet propped up with an unreadable expression, it takes her off guard. 

Only for a minute. 

“I knew it was only a matter of time.” Samantha is quick to kick the door shut behind her, locking it right as she tosses her purse on the nearby chair. “You can’t go too long without me.” This fact alone is enough to make her cum right then and there. The fact that even with his roster of women he rotates through, she remains number one. 

Roman knows where it’s at. 

And him coming to her, at her job of all places, just proves it.

Eye dropping to his crotch, she licks her lips at the thought of that thick, beautiful dick in her mouth. Fuck, she’s salivating at just the thought. “You want me on my knees, daddy?”

Samantha starts to kick her shoes off when he finally breaks the silence.

“I want to know what you said to my wife.”

Samantha’s smile drops in under a millisecond. Instantly, she’s scowling. “What?”

Roman doesn’t hesitate to repeat himself, every word perfectly enunciated with his heavy, baritone voice. “What did you say to my wife, Samantha?” 

This….this isn’t how she was expecting this to play out, and it shows in the sudden stuttering, “I—I don’t—”

“She came back from that bathroom upset, and I don’t like seeing her upset, so I’m only gonna ask you one more time—” Samantha nearly jumps back into the door when he suddenly bangs his fist on her wooden desk and growls, “what did you say to her!”

Stammering, she answers with a combination of fear and desperation, “I just—I told her the truth.”

It seems to be the wrong answer, as Roman looks 5x angrier. “And what the fuck is that?”

Samantha gathers herself a little better, voice more even as she answers with misplaced confidence. “That she could never please you. Not how I can.” And with foolish bravery, Samantha steps toward him. “That you’ll always come back to me.”

“You fucking bitch.”

That makes her still with her movements. He’s called her all kinds of names when they’ve fucked, and she’s loved it, loves being fucked hard and rough, his preference. But there’s something about this that she doesn’t love. 

It’s because he sounds legitimately upset with her.

And that, in turn, upsets her, because he cannot seriously be upset that she said some shit to that little girl.

“Why does it matter? It’s not like she means anything to you.” Samantha has to actually laugh. In no universe can she see someone as strong and powerful as Roman caring about a girl like that. But, it’s when he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t voice some type of agreement that her confidence dwindles a bit. “R–right?” Still, nothing. And it’s with that nothing she realizes with all of the anger and shock in the world why he’s so upset.

“Oh my god. Are you serious right now? Her? You really have feelings for her?” Even saying it aloud sounds ludicrous. “What the fuck, Roman? What the hell is so great about her?”

There is absolutely nothing that girl brings to the table for her to have someone like Roman Reigns interested in her. It doesn’t make any goddamn sense. What the hell is attractive about a scarred, sliced up, fat bitch?

He finally speaks, warning her in an almost menacing tone. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“That girl is weak, Roman. You can’t be the head of the Bloodline and have someone like her at your side. She doesn’t deserve it.” By now, Samantha has moved over to him, her hands planted on his chest, his eyes closed. “You need….someone strong at your side. Look at what you’ve done just by yourself. Imagine…imagine having a queen to rule with you.” She licks her lips, going in for the kill. “I can be that for you. I can give you an heir. Look at how long it’s been and still nothing, no baby. She’s broken, Roman. That bitch—”

Samantha is silenced by him jumping up from his chair as he shoves her against the wall, hand on her neck. It’s not the first time they’ve been in a similar position. She loves to be choked during sex, and he’s adept at doing just enough to get her off without her passing out. 

But this time, there’s no pressure, no sexual aspect, no foreplay.

This….this is different.

Because this is the first time she’s ever actually been afraid of him.

“If you ever in your fucking life speak on her again, I’ll kill you.” Samantha’s eyes are wide, hand grasping at his. He’s still not actually applying any sort of pressure, probably more so placement  to evoke a level of fear. A reminder that he could end her life in a matter of seconds if that’s what he wanted. “If you ever speak to her again, I’ll kill you. Fucking look at her, and you’re a dead bitch.”

Samantha barely has time to process his threats when he says something in Samoan and steps back, releasing her as she dubs over and gasps loudly from the shock of it all. 

Seconds later, she’s on the floor, laying on her side after fucking Nia has landed her big ass foot in Samantha’s head. 

Nia is looking down with a wicked smile that promises a level of pain. “You talk too fucking much.” She can’t tell if it’s directed to herself or Roman, regardless, he looks unbothered, outside of staring down at her with disgust.

Samantha has no idea where the hell that bitch came from, but her unexpected blow nearly has her seeing stars. She’s writhing on the floor, on her side, cradling her head when Nia yanks her up by her extensions.

“Oh, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” Nia kicks her a second time, in her side, and Samantha is almost certain she heard the subsequent cracking of her rib from the impact. Tears fill her eyes. “I’ve wanted to kick your ass since we were kids.”

Helpless and feeling so confused as to how he could do this to her, Samantha sets her teary gaze onto him. She does her best to generate as many tears as she can. “Roman, please—”

“You’re fucking delusional if you really thought I would ever make you anything more than what you were to me.” Samantha sniffles, vision blurred and stomach aching from both the physical and emotional impact of his words. “Nothing.”

A sudden anger fills her, meshing with the growing physical pain. She did this. That fucking bitch has taken Roman from her, her Roman.

“You wanna know what she is to me?” He crouches down and reaches for a lock of her hair, answering just as icily as the disgusted look in his light brown eyes. “Everything you’re not.”

Samantha snarls almost, not even angry at his words as much as her mind is trying to navigate any and all ways to make that little troll pay for this. Pay for stealing her man.

But it’s as Roman is walking out, that he barks his last order to Nia. Not necessarily a necessity given the fact that he’s certain she’s dreamed exactly of how this very moment could and should go down. Granted, this is the one symbolic thing he needs to ensure takes place. 

“Break her fucking jaw.”

________

Handling the Samantha situation is just one of many things to be checked off of Roman’s to-do list for today. He’s got meetings, contracts to review, spreadsheets to update, shipments to see sent off, and a million and one other things. Most of which he’s far from thrilled about but also know needs to be done, regardless if he’d rather say fuck it all just for today. For just a couple hours, even.

Delegate, perhaps. But these are things that can’t be delegated. He, as the Head of the Table, needs to put his signature on to make it official.  

And he’s got his Wise Man fresh on his heel to remind him of such responsibilities.

“And if my Tribal Chief can find it in him, we should also review Nick Aldis' proposal.” Roman’s instantly scowling. He fucking hates Aldis. The bastard is smug and thinks himself more important than he is. That Roman won’t end his fucking life with one snap of his finger. 

Roman is halfway listening to Paul when he walks past Alicia who stands up from her desk. “Sir—”

His dismissal is swift and brusque. “Leave me alone.”

“But—”

One murderous look, and Alicia is back in her seat. Roman briefly overhears Paul chastising his secretary for her insubordination when he opens his door and immediately realizes why Alicia was most likely trying to speak to him.

Roman sees Solo standing almost awkwardly in the corner out of his peripheral vision, but his attention is solely on the other unexpected guest.

Focused on the way her almost flesh toned dress hugs every curve that drives him fucking insane sometimes, the way she bites down on her bottom lip in that way he’s learned she does when she’s unsure of something. And he’s especially focused on her hair that’s chopped down to where it lightly grazes her shoulder.

“I tell you, good help is so hard to find—” Paul is silenced as he finally walks in and sees Solana. “Oh, it’s you.” Roman shoots him a look that would absolutely kill if it had any sort of physical impact. “I mean, Solana, what a surprise—”

Roman easily moves back to focusing on his wife who looks absolutely fucking stunning. He directs his command though to Solo and Paul. “You two, out.”

Solo doesn’t need to be told twice, but Paul seems to meander, even as Roman walks over to Solana. And it’s when Roman has his hands on Solana’s hips and the room is still not cleared, he repeats in a calm voice that’s solely because of Solana’s presence.

If not for her, he’d be screaming at his Wise Man.

“I said get out.”

Roman can practically hear the nervous gulp. “But, sir, we have work—”

Solana frowning pisses Roman off in a way he has to keep from showing. But it’s when she finally speaks and it’s an offer to leave that he really has to reel in his rage. “I can go—”

“No.” That’s the fucking last thing he wants. “Paul is leaving.”

It’s not a suggestion, not a request, not a preferred action.

It’s a fucking demand.

And his Wise Man must realize this, because he’s quickly following in line with Solo and finally leaving Roman alone with Solana who seems still unsure about her presence.

“You have work to do—”

“You really expect me to get anything done when you come in my office looking like this?” He motions to her outfit and sees the way her cheeks tinge reddish as she bites back a smile. “Not happening, sweetheart.”

“I thought it looked nice.” The bashful way she says as such, as if she’s unsure it was an accurate assessment blows his mind. She looks down at the dress as if it’s not the woman wearing said dress that has him pushing back unholy thoughts.

“It doesn’t look nice. You look nice, Solana.” Another one over of her curvy body, and he mutters, “more than nice.” He brings his hand to her hair, brushing his fingers against the ends. “You cut your hair.”

She nods, an almost look of determination in her soft expression. “It was time,” is all she says, and Roman doesn’t need to ask for clarification. This meant something to her. Cutting her hair has a deeper meaning than just wanting something new, and whatever the reason, he’s proud she found it in her to follow through. 

He hates when she asks him, still unsure, “does it…does it look bad?”

He’s not sure he could ever use Solana and ‘bad’ in the same sentence. Ever. “You could never look bad.” 

She smiles, clearly pleased by his compliment. Good. He likes seeing her smile.

“Come here.” Roman takes her hand and leads her over to his desk where he sits down in his chair and doesn’t think twice about guiding her onto his lap. Roman feels her tense for only a couple seconds before she relaxes against him.

“As pleasant a surprise it is to find your fine ass in my office, I know you came for a reason.”

Roman is extremely perceptive. Always has been. He’s noticed the increased comfort Solana has developed and continued to develop with him. The way her discomfort at being looked at too long or even touched in any sort of capacity has shifted into bashful smiles and an almost light in her eyes at being complimented. At someone finding her to be anything but every lie she’s ever been fed.

Her confidence is growing, slowly but surely. And he likes that shit.

So he’ll do whatever he needs to do to keep it growing. 

“It’s nothing serious.” It doesn’t have to be. She could come to his office every day if that’s what she wanted. He’d have zero complaints. “I just…I was baking Sopaipillas, and I know you like them and I felt bad because I’m bringing Jimmy and Jey some—”

It’s not until that moment he sees the Tupperware container on his desk. Her thoughtfulness is so unfamiliar but very much appreciated. He chuckles as his fingers carefully tap against her hip. “Thank you, but you know if you keep feeding they asses, they gon’ keep coming over.”

She’s smiling almost, defending them to a certain extent. “They’re really not that bad.” And she’s not entirely wrong. His cousins can be entertaining at times, but beyond that, he likes seeing her comfort level with them increasing as well. 

For her to be as comfortable around them as she’s become, especially with them being men, is extremely significant given her trauma.

He’s proud of her for that just as well.

Still,Roman shrugs and calmly points out. “I spend most of my day with them.” Her other hand lays on his chest as he admits, “I don’t want to come home and see them. I just want to see you.”

Solana gives an expected almost shocked expression followed up with a slight confession of her own. Her voice is soft, like she’s unsure about what she’s about to say but is going with it regardless. “That’s why I wait up for you to get home…because I want to see you too.”

He believes this to be true, but he also knows there’s something else to it. “You worry about me.”

She nods, nervously licking her lips. “I’m trying to work on it though.” She’s been working on a lot of things, a lot of difficult, most likely mentally taxing things. And as proud of her as he is, Roman also recognizes the importance of pacing oneself.

He gently grazes the back of his fingers over her cheek. “Just focus on you, alright?”

The corner of her lips lift into an almost playful grin as she asks innocently, “what if I can do both?” Roman studies her, sees and hears the playfulness. It’s unlike her, but he fucking loves it. She squeals and almost giggles against him as he brings her closer to his chest, her hand squeezing his shoulder as he remains mindful of the placement of his hand on her hip.

Growing comfort or not, he still wants to be respectful of her boundaries.

Still wants to maintain her trust.

“I got me. Always.” Her gaze is on him, softening by the second as he adds on almost quietly. “Just need you to be okay too.”

Okay is such a big word, so layered. She’s not sure she’ll ever be fully okay. Too much trauma. Never enough healing. But there may be some level of okayness she can achieve, and it does feel like that’s something that’s in progress. “I’m getting there.”

And a large part of her healing journey is largely due to the man underneath her, staring at her with almost a sense of fascination, like he’s so enraptured by her. Like he’s smitten with her. The person she once believed no one could ever want has a handsome, powerful man like Roman Reigns holding her, looking at her, wanting her.

A line from the book resurfaces to the front of her mind.

One step, not twenty.

With that as a motivating and supportive mantra, she slowly moves her hand from his shoulder to his face, his beard prickling against her skin.

“Solana…..” She’s not sure she’s ever heard him sound so pained. “Baby, you can’t touch me like this and expect me to not want to kiss you.”

The butterflies in her stomach grow exponentially. Baby. She’s not entirely certain, but she feels like he’s called her this before, that he’s referred to her as such on a different occasion. So, it’s not a mistake, not a one time thing. It’s yet another sign that there wasn’t a dishonest bone in his body when he said he wanted her.

That he wants her.

Her heart is beating a mile a minute as she pools together all of the courage in her body and again chips away another tiny section of her wall of protection. “So kiss me.”

It’s not until this moment that Solana sees Roman actually appear genuinely surprised at something. He asks, maybe as if he needs to make sure he heard correctly, but Solana would bet it’s less that and more him ensuring consent. “Are you sure?”

He’s been so good at that. Consent. And it’s meant the world to her. His patience with all of her baggage.

Nodding, she quickly remembers his preference for verbal acknowledgements. “Yes.”

Solana doesn’t really remember her kiss with Roman at their wedding. She doesn’t really remember much from the actual wedding at all, to be honest. It was….it was more traumatic than anything, which is why she does her best to keep it stored away with the other too difficult to sit on memories.

But this….this she is certain she will never forget.

There’s an almost hesitancy when his lips touch hers, a space he’s leaving open in the event that she changes her mind. She’s grateful for that, but it’s not necessary. Her ‘yes’ was as genuine as his apparent interest in her. 

And when he picks this up, picks up the fact that she truly wants this, he deepens the kiss, his hand moving up to her lower back as he pulls her closer to him. Roman’s full lips are soft and warm, and the way he moves his mouth against hers is both reserved and hungry, a strange but well balanced thing only he can manage. Like only he can achieve. He kisses her with a passion  that she feels is only a fraction of everything he feels toward and for her. 

Solana’s hand slides to the back of his neck, her fingers brushing up and across the skin, teasing the strings of hair that refused to mold down. She’s not sure if this was the right move because he makes a sound against her mouth, an almost mixture of a moan and groan, and pulls away. The separation and her subsequent light panting makes her suddenly aware that they’d been kissing longer than she realized. That she’d gotten so plunged in the experience that time seemed a nonfactor.

Her eyes flutter close when Roman brings his lips back onto her, this time peppering kisses along her jawline. Her head tilts back, an unconscious thing that grants him full access to the nape of her neck, which he easily makes his way down to. It’s a different, pleasant sensation that has her nails scraping against him.

“Roman….”

“So fuckin’ beautiful….” He says something else, something she can’t understand because it’s said in Samoan, but it unintentionally triggers something for her. A new level of bravery, an ability to ask something that makes her insides light afire and heart rate exceed what’s probably safe and healthy. But, it’s a hill she wants to eventually be able to get up and over.

And he’s made her feel safe enough to be the one to do it with.

“Roman.” Her voice must give away her need to say something because he pulls away from her and is focused directly on her. She licks her slightly swollen lips. “I want….I want to try—”

“Whatchu mean he busy? Man, you trippin. Uce always got time for family.” Jimmy’s loud unexpected voice is enough of a disruption and mood killer that Solana quickly jumps off Roman’s lap and moves away just enough to adjust her hair and dress. “Soso!”

Solana brings herself to look at her husband’s cousin as he finally walks in the office after dismissing Alicia’s warning. The first thing she notices is the tupperware bowl in his hand and white substance on his fingers. “I hope you don’t mind. When I saw your driver, I figured you had these little sugar things in the back so I just grabbed em’ all.”

If not for the fact that Solana is still trying to settle herself, she’d point out how the other bowl was supposed to be for Jey. But that seems irrelevant at the moment. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Jimmy seems completely unbothered by Roman’s threat as he plops down on the sofa, kicking his feet up on the glass coffee table and asks with all the obliviousness in the world. “So what ya’ll doing?”

When Roman shoots up from his desk and starts toward his cousin, Solana places herself in front of him, hands on his chest. His attention is immediately down, focused once again on her.

“It’s okay. I—I’ve got training with Bay and Naomi anyway.” Swallowing her nerves and pushing back thoughts of how….how nice it felt kissing him, she quietly offers a hopefully acceptable alternative. “We can talk tonight.”

This doesn’t seem like Roman’s preference but something he can live with. “Fine.”

She knows he’s obviously annoyed at being interrupted, and she is too, to a certain extent. But, Jimmy meant no harm, and she hopes Roman can at least recognize as much. Solana says bye to Jimmy and is near the door where she sees Solo waiting for her when an idea, more an urge, becomes too prominent to push away.

She turns back around and leans up, pulling Roman down by his shoulders and kisses his cheek. He gives her a look that tells her he’d be pulling her back for more if not for her cousin, and it makes her stomach somersault all over again.

But, she doesn’t give him the opportunity, just a small smile as she walks out for good this time. 

And it’s after she’s gone, the Wise Man back in the room to help minimize the chances of his Tribal Chief killing one of his cousins that Jimmy uses the distraction to pull out his phone and send a text in the group chat. 

Group Chat: Operation RoSo

Jimmy: Ya’ll! Code red! Code fucking red!

Jey:?????????

Bayley: Is Solana okay?!

Naomi: ^^^^^^

Jimmy: Man, I just got to Uce office, and good thing I walked in when I did. They acting all weird and shit. Soso just ran out of here but not after telling him they’ll ‘talk’ tonight!!!!

Jey: I’m too high for this shit right now.

Naomi: Babe, how exactly is that a code red???

Jimmy: They was obviously arguing before I got here! And ‘talking’ tonight??? That ain’t nothing but part two!

Bayley: Jimmy, that seems like a bit of a stretch.

Jey: A big ass stretch. Man, leave them two alone.

Jimmy: Naw. We gotta expedite this plan. I can see the writing on the wall. If we don’t move fast, they never gon fall in love. They might even be starting to hate each other now!

Bayley: Now you’re just being dramatic.

Jey: Agreed. How I get out this chat?

Jimmy: I don’t wanna hear it! I’m the master strategist so let me do my thing! 

Jimmy: Babe. You and Bayley have SoSo all done up and nice this evening. Make her think ya’ll are going out or something.

Naomi: Why?

Jimmy: Damnit woman, because I said so!

Naomi: 🫤

Naomi: I’m trying to figure out who the fuck you think you talking to. Don’t get your ass beat.

Jey: I’m muting this shit. Ya’ll not gon get me killed. Roman don’t like people in his business.

Jimmy: Just have her ready, and I’ll text you the location and the time she needs to be there.

Jimmy: We gotta save RoSo from themselves!

________

Solana misses the blow from Naomi by only a fraction of a second, but before she has time to think about it, another one is coming, forcing Solana to quickly jump to the side.

“Nice,” Naomi compliments. “Try more offensive positions though. Try to hit me.”

Solana knew that was coming, knew that Naomi would be pushing her today, as she has the last couple times. It only makes sense. Solana recognizes that she’s improving, that she has improved a lot since she started. It seems only natural that Naomi would continue to push her to further the progression of her skills.

“Don’t be afraid, Solana! Naomi can take it,” Bayley encourages from the sidelines, drinking some of her Gatorade.

Solana does her best to not get too distracted, knowing that can be quite literally fatal if this was a real situation. 

Naomi lunges at her again, and Solana manages to block it with her forearm but also lifts her foot, managing to kick Naomi away.

“Nice!” It’s such a weird thing to be applauded for. “But remember to retract your foot faster next time. I could have twisted it and grounded you.”

Solana commits that to memory just as Naomi steps back and Bayley walks back over. She then compliments, “I know I said it already, but the haircut looks amazing on you.” She quickly adds in a manner that’s more telling than asking. “Just have to even some areas off.”

Solana half smiles. She expected Bayley to need to go in with actual shears to shape up some areas given the fact that Solana’s impromptu haircut was literally just her taking some regular scissors and chopping at least five inches off. 

But before Solana can say anything else, she sees why Bayley ended her break to get back into the training. 

It’s evident by the knife in her outstretched hand.

“This is a Benchmade Bailout. It’s a folding knife. A little bigger than what we’d like you to carry on you, but a good place to start.”

Carrying….Solana hadn’t even allowed herself to think about that part. Of course they’d want her to start keeping a knife on her once teaching her how to use one.

Naomi then advises, “we’re not gonna do any fight training with it today, but we do want you to get used to the feel and weight of it.”

Solana can feel her heartbeat increasing. She can’t remember the last time, if ever, she’s held a knife of this nature. Her left hand is against her shorts, tapping against the spandex, a continued nervous habit.

Bayley sees this and offers assurance. “It’s okay. We just want to go over the basics.”

Solana does her best to focus not on the past, but the present. The here and now. Another recommendation from her book. She also strangely remembers the countless times Roman has asserted he won’t let anything happen to her. 

“I’ve got you.”

The safe feeling she has when he’s around. He’s not physically present, but the recollection of his words anchor her.

Taking a deep breath, Solana takes the knife from Bayley, its coolness taking her by surprise. She never takes her eyes off the blade. 

Meanwhile, Naomi goes into basic tips and information. “Right off the bat, if you ever need to use it to defend yourself, go for the major arteries.” She then begins pointing to the various body parts as she lists them off. “The neck, stomach, chest area namely. It’s your best bet at getting someone almost entirely immobilized.”

“And this might be graphic, but don’t be afraid to go for it twice. Sometimes people can still be standing with just one hit.” Solana is grateful for the fact that Bayley is trying to be careful with her words, vague to a certain extent but clear enough so she can understand.

“If you just wanna get them away and not potentially kill them, maybe go for the hand or foot, depending on how they’ve got you pinned.”

“But by the time we finish your training, no one will get the chance to pin you.” Naomi gives a comforting smile and squeeze of her shoulder. “Not to mention Roman would never let you be in that position in the first place.”

Solana doesn’t doubt that one bit.

Bayley suddenly clears her throat, almost awkwardly. 

Solana frowns, looking lost by the otherwise random in interjection. “What?”

“We’re not supposed to tell you, but Roman is taking you out to dinner tonight.” Naomi’s answer is appreciated, but it doesn’t make sense. 

“He what?” Solana is confused because she literally just saw Roman this morning and came straight from his office to the Warehouse to train without him mentioning a word of this. “He didn’t say anything to me.”

“It’s supposed to be a surprise,” Bayley adds, but there’s something almost unsure about her answer. “So, I’ll take you to my salon afterwards to touch up your hair now, and then we can also figure out glam while you’re there.”

“Yes.” Naomi claps and carefully removes the knife from Solana. The knife she completely forgot she was holding. Naomi comments on that. “See? You forgot about it for a minute, didn’t you?” Solana nods. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you there.” 

The encouragement means the world to Solana as she offers a quiet but meaningful, “thank you.” They’ll never know how much their support means to her. 

Ever.

Bayley comes and stands beside Solana, sliding her arm around her with that infamous sly smile.”You never have to thank us for being your friends, Solana.” Words have never hit so deeply, Solana having to hold back tears. Friends.  “Now let’s figure out what the slay is gonna be for tonight.”

________

The minute Solana walks into the restaurant, she realizes that something is off. 

And not even in a dangerous sort of way, more so, there’s something she’s not being told sort of way.

It’s a beautiful upscale restaurant that has decor that probably costs more than some people’s mortgage payment. 

But it’s barren. Not a customer in sight. 

Walking up the three steps that lead to a higher level, she looks around, confused as to the fact that a restaurant that probably requires reservations six months in advance is vacant. 

Digging in her small purse, she pulls out her phone to text Roman. Bayley and Naomi encouraged her to continue to play dumb, but this isn’t right. 

She needs to talk to him.

“Solana?”

Her head snaps up to see Roman who also just walked up the same steps she did minutes prior.

“Roman?”

He seems surprised to see her, an unexpected expression for someone who allegedly planned this dinner. “I—I don’t know what’s going on.” He walks over to her as she explains. “I was told—”

“Probably the same thing I was told,” he finishes for her and takes in her appearance, Solana’s hands smoothing over her dress. Looking just as captivated as he’d looked at her this morning in his office, Roman ghosts the back of his hand against her cheek. “Sei uno splendore….”

She hasn’t a clue what he’s said, but something tells her it’s a compliment of some sort. Still, Solana asks with that same bashful smile that seems to always fall on her face when she’s around him, “are you gonna tell me what you just said?”

Roman winks and answers, plain and simple, “naw.”

Smiling even harder, before she can say anything else, another voice enters the conversation.

“Soso, girl, what you doing here?”

Both Solana and Roman turn to a smiling Jimmy who's wearing a poorly feigned look of surprise. 

“Jimmy?” Solana is genuinely confused while Roman looks like he’s genuinely considering murdering his cousin for the second time today. “What—what are you doing here?”

Roman is completely uninterested in the why and more so on the how he’s going to end the other man. “I’m going to fucking kill him, Solana. I don’t care anymore.”

Jimmy completely ignores Roman and answers her question with an answer that makes no sense. “Ahh, you know, I was in the neighborhood.”

He gives Solana a side hug as she answers his question as well, hoping to avoid witnessing a familial crime. “Bayley and Naomi told me—”

“You know what, it don’t even matter. You here. Big Dog here.” He gestures around them. “Looks like this nice ass restaurant has been rented out by some coincidence. Might as well enjoy a nice dinner.”

Roman closes his eyes, seemingly trying to count off. “I’m literally going to snap your fucking neck if you don’t get lost. Now.”

Solana moves over to Roman just enough for him to reach and gently tug her into him. He doesn’t need to be getting this upset. She naturally lays her head against his chest, fingers grasping the sides of his shirt.

Jimmy lifts his hands in a surrender manner. “Hey. I can tell when I’m not wanted.” Solana smiles at the look she can imagine on Roman’s face at that. “Ya’ll be safe now. Soso, I’ll be at the crib in the morning for breakfast.”

“Why the fuc—” 

Solana reaches up and redirects his focus onto her. “It’s okay.” Solana looks over at the table that’s beautifully decorated with a stunning centerpiece. “It’s….it’s sweet.” Her diversion also, thankfully, a long enough distraction for Jimmy to depart, leaving the two of them alone.

Her preference.

Roman’s as well, clearly.

Solana then takes in the situation, a little relieved to finally know what’s going on. It’s obvious she was set up. Roman too. But regardless of the deception, it’s deeply appreciated. Her friends going to such lengths to set up something nice like this. 

Roman, calming down a bit, doesn’t necessarily disagree with her, but instead asserts, “they’re interfering, and I don’t like that shit.” 

Her smile dims a bit as she offers, “we can leave—”

“No.” He shoots it down immediately, hands on her hips. “Just hate that I finally get time alone with you, and it’s because of fucking Jimmy.” Her eyes shut when he kisses her forehead and murmurs, “been thinking’ bout you all day…”

And the smile is back as she takes his hand and leads him toward the table, Roman pulling her chair out for her. 

Having the restaurant entirely rented out is a luxury she’s not used to but appreciates, especially with how catered the service is as well as the fact that they don’t have to wait long for the food. Conversation flows easy between them, more Roman asking questions about how she’s doing, if she needs anything.

He’s always so attentive, and she’s so grateful for that. 

Grateful for him.

It’s the same type of attentiveness that causes her to comment after the waiter comes and takes their plates, clearing the table. “You seem stressed.”

And not just because of the date setup.

He shrugs, partially dismissing but not outright denying. “Just a long day.”

It seems to be a recurring theme with him. Solana has noticed for a while now how his early days always bleed into late evenings that sometimes spill over to the next day. It doesn’t seem sustainable to her. “You have a lot of those.”

“I’m the Tribal Chief.” He says it with pride, as he should, but there’s something else there. Something she can’t outright identify. “Comes with the territory.”

And Solana recognizes as such, but as large of a man Roman is—in many different ways—he’s still just a man. “Is it ever too much?” She crosses her arms across the table, leaning forward almost. There may be no other attendees present, but there are still workers, so she’s mindful of her volume. “I mean….”

“Do I ever get exhausted?” She nods. “Sure.” That wasn’t the answer she was expecting. Roman does such an excellent job always wearing that mask of calm, cool, and collected. Outside of his obvious temper, he’s always so well put together. It’s something she envies, to a certain extent. “But someone’s gotta do it, and as it’s my birthright, the responsibility falls on me.”

She sits on his words, understanding where he’s coming from but also wondering just how he manages such a weight. She knows he’d headed the Bloodline for some time now, since he was 18 years old. That’s a large burden to carry at such a young age and for him to do it so long and as well as he has, it’s impressive.

He certainly lives up to his reputation.

Solana nods and does her best to ease into what she’d really like to tell him, to have him know even if he never in life takes her up on it. “You always say that I can talk to you…”

Roman doesn’t hesitate to reaffirm it too. “You can.”

She knows this. He’s….he’s made it abundantly clear that he wants to speak with her, to know what’s on her mind. “That goes both ways.” Something speedily flashes in his eyes, briefly affecting his otherwise neutral expression. “You can talk to me too.”

For a second, she regrets saying anything, regrets second guessing his abilities to handle things. The last thing she wants is to insinuate he’s somehow incapable of taking care of business. But, if he’s insulted by her offer, he doesn’t show it, just says a simple, “thank you.” She offers a small nod when he seemingly changes the subject. “How’s training?”

There’s a bit of a sting at what feels like a slight form of rejection, but she understands better than anyone that opening up can be hard, so she respects his wishes.

“Good. I….I think I like it.” It’s the truth. While initially terrified of being put into such a foreign situation, Solana has found herself growing increasingly content with this new part of her weekly routine. Training has assisted, to a great extent, in her growing confidence and surety with herself. There’s something comforting about learning how to defend herself, how to keep herself safe. “Today was a little hard though. They’re teaching me how to fight with knives. It’s…..uncomfortable, but that’s how I know I need to do it.”

If there’s anything she’s learned in the past couple months, it’s that nothing about working to overcome trauma is easy. That doesn’t, however, make it any less important.

Or beneficial. 

“Not if you absolutely don’t want to.” To be fair, Roman wasn’t even informed that this was something the girls were starting with Solana. He makes a mental note to remind them that while they handle her training, the specifics of what she’s taught needs to be run by him at all times. He probably would have shot down the knife training.

Solana was literally present and witnessed her mother be stabbed to death. Solana herself was also stabbed. 

That seems almost cruel to make her learn how to wield the very weapon that took so much from her.

“Wes used to use knives to hurt me.” It comes out more quiet than she intended, a natural effect of sharing something so painful. She points to a small scar on her neck, the exact date and nature of how it happened, something she’ll never forget but has little desire to elaborate on.

“And I know….I know you won’t let him hurt me anymore, but….I don’t want him to have that power over me anymore either. He knows I’m scared of them, and he’s always taken advantage of that fact. I don’t….I don’t want him to have that anymore.”

“Then he won’t,” Roman agrees. He can understand her logic, and he respects the hell out of her wanting to take back that power. He supports the hell out of it too. “Not if you don’t let him.”

She gives a sad smile, shaking her head. “As strange as it is, I think….Wes and I are both victims.” Before Roman can press her for clarification, she explains, “my father always kept his contact limited with my mom. He said she would make him weak like she made me.” Just saying it takes Solana back to countless times and occasions where her father would talk down on her mother, talk down on Solana. It’s a weighty memory. “Having my mom…having her love for the time that I did made a big difference for me. Wes never got that, so I always wonder how things could have been different if he did.”

Solana has a big heart. Pure. A mind-boggling phenomena to Roman considering everything she’s been through. “It still doesn’t make what he’s done to you right.” Kind heart or not, it’s imperative she knows there’s never a good enough reason or excuse for anyone to do what he’s done to her.

She nods, “I know.” It’s still a work in progress, Solana learning to unlearn the victim blaming she’s placed on herself for so many years. But, that much, she’s come to accept.

She never deserved any of Wes or her father's abuse.

Roman can see the way memories might be coming back to the front of her mind and moves to redirect again. “You wanted to talk to me about something earlier.”

Oh.

For a second, she wants to lie. To make up something. To come up with a story that’s hopefully believable enough for him to not poke holes through. And then another line from her book resurfaces.

Calculated risks are different—you weigh your chances and step out onto the ice only when you’re relatively sure it’s solid.

Solana is certain she’s never met a more solid person than Roman.

Scooting back in her chair, she feels his watchful gaze around her as she moves around the table and is only inches away from him when he realizes what she's doing and beats her to it, gently pulling her onto his lap. He’s always so careful around her.

Solana moves her arms around his neck as he rests one hand on her hip.

She takes a deep breath. “I was...I was working out of my book this morning, and it was the chapter on…on intimacy and—” She has to pace herself, knowing that if she doesn’t, she won’t get through the conversation. And she has to do this. She almost feels like she needs to do this. “I think I always thought I couldn’t have that because of what happened to me, but…..but I think I can.” 

And this has been such a powerful and moving revelation to walk into. For so long, Solana has lived in fear and trauma, haunted by the horrific memories of her sexual assault. It’s inaccurately painted her views of what should and could be something beautiful and special with the right person. She never thought that could be possible for her though, believed that her chance had been destroyed by two sick individuals.

But if the past few months have taught her anything, it’s that there are decent people in the world. Decent men in the world. Jimmy. Jey. Solo.

Roman

She’s still very much nervous, and even talking about it has her pushing back a level of anxiety, but the desire to overcome that trauma, to be able to experience that as a woman, to not be held down by the shackles of her past, is stronger than it’s ever been before.

“And I want to try.” She licks her lips, nervously adding on and explaining as best she can, “but, I can’t do it right away. I need….I need to build up to it, and I know—that has to be frustrating for you—”

“Solana.” His interruption is quiet but firm. “We’ll go as slow as you want.” His finger is moving in slow circles on her hip, an action that provides her a strange sense of comfort. “Whatever you need is what we’ll do.”

Solana releases a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding in. Him agreeing isn’t something she necessarily didn’t see coming, she just didn’t realize it’d come so easy. 

She almost feels it’s too good to be true.

Suddenly unsure, Solana double checks. “You’re….you’re okay with that?”

He doesn’t miss a beat with his answer. “Only if you’re sure this is what you want.”

It’s a profound statement. There’s a lot of things she’s not sure of that she’s been making herself do, regardless. 

But this……

This is something she wants.

Something she maybe even needs.

Solana is careful with her answer. “I’m gonna be 29 this year, and the only sexual experience I’ve had is being raped as a child.” There’s an equal combination of emotion and conviction as she affirms, “I don’t want that to be my story anymore.”

And it won’t.

Because she won’t let it.

Not anymore. 

“Then we’ll do this.” She nods, still nervous but also comforted by his support. “You know I won’t make you do anything you’re not ready for, but I also need you to be good about communicating with me.” His eyes move up and down over her, resting slightly longer on her chest, which is understandable given the revealing nature of her dress. “And you also know how attracted I am to you, to all of you, so I need you to stay clear with me on what you are and aren’t comfortable with, okay?”

It’s fair and completely understandable. Roman is still a man. A man with needs, and he strikes her as being an otherwise handsy man, so him wanting and needing to know where her red zones are is important.

“I understand.” And she’ll make an active, concerted effort to be on top of that. To practice saying no and cutting things off when she needs to. “What—what about you?” He gives her a look. “Is there….is there anything you’re not comfortable with?”

Again, he takes her in, head to toe. His tongue leaves his mouth to slowly gloss over his bottom lip. “Baby, you can do whatever you want with me.”

Her smile is bashful as she looks away. Him being so….outspoken about his attraction and desire for her is still a new thing she’s trying to navigate, but it’s not unwanted. Nor does it feel bad to have a man like him want her so badly.

Not at all. 

Deciding to continue to stay on the ledge she’s already started to trail, Solana brings her hand to his chest. “So….so if I asked you to kiss me again….”

He chuckles, Solana’s eyes shutting as he brings his mouth to her jawline, “whenever,” her nails claw against his chest as he moves his lips to her nose, “however,” finally he’s teasing the corner of her mouth. “Wherever you want.” 

And it’s at the exact moment their lips connect again that a phone ringing once again steals away another groundbreaking moment. 

Solana can feel the irritation in his muscular body and smiles against his lips. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” She doesn’t necessarily doubt it as he kisses her cheek before pulling his phone out and answering as she lays her head in his neck. He barks out an unkind, “what?”

It doesn’t deter her as he keeps his grip on her hip, Solana enjoying the feeling of being in his arms. She’s starting to realize being this close to him makes her feel safe. His presence alone gives her that feeling, but this is something different, something almost…deeper.

She doesn’t try to listen in on his phone call, but it’s made virtually impossible not to, given the fact that she’s literally on his lap. However, that’s ended when he switches to speaking in Samoan. Still, it’s not hard to pick up on the fact that he’s growing more annoyed with every second that passes. 

He then gives a heavy sigh, switching to English, “I’ll be there in a bit.”

Her stomach drops, a frown appearing that she does her best to quickly push away. She had a feeling the call would end that way. 

Before he can explain to her the obvious, she lifts her head and assures, “it’s okay. I should probably get back to Dulce anyway.”

“Damn dog is so needy.” Solana smiles at the scowl on his handsome face. For someone who doesn’t care for dogs, she’s noticed he seems to interact with her puppy more and more as the days pass. He brings his hand to her chin, ensuring she keeps her gaze on him. “Don’t wait up, alright?”

It’s an expected request, one he should already know she’ll do her best to, but most likely won’t, abide by. 

“I make no promises...” 

________

Having such a small dog means that he or she can be in the most random of places and blend in seamlessly because of said smallness. It’s why in looking for Dulce after getting out the shower, Solana damn near searches every corner and crevice of the first and second floors of the mansion. Outside of a room that’s been locked and closed off the past two weeks, Roman not really giving her a reason why nor has she pushed.

She’d never been in it anyway.

It is, however, out of the norm though for Dulce to not be nearby. She typically likes to stay close to Solana.

Or even Roman.

So for a moment, Solana starts to get concerned. But after searching her room, the kitchen, the dining room, and even the backyard a second time, Solana is finally able to locate Dulce in the least expected place.

Roman’s room. 

She didn’t even realize Dulce’s bed was still in there, still in the original spot on the side of his bed.

The side she had slept on that one night.

“Dulce, you can’t stay in here.” Solana knows Roman isn’t a huge dog person, and Dulce being in his room is probably the last thing he’ll want to see when he gets back. But it’s in reaching over to pick up her puppy that something unexpected happens. 

Dulce nips at her.

Solana gasps, momentarily taken off guard. That’s the first time Dulce has done that. “Dulce, no.” Again, Solana goes for the grab only for the puppy to plant her bottom and back legs into the bed. Now Solana is just straight up confused. “What is wrong with you?”

Thinking maybe she can lure the puppy with a toy, Solana turns to leave, almost to the door when Dulce’s whimpering and the patter of her little feet stops her. Solana turns around and moves to grab her when Dulce scampers right back over to her bed, plopping her little body down.

It’s when she does that, Solana starts to catch on.

“You want to stay in here?” Dulce’s reply is a bark followed by the wag of her tail. Solana frowns. “We can’t…..this is Roman’s room.”

And yet even as the words leave her mouth, she thinks about that. Thinks about the fact that a part of working up to being intimate with Roman includes being close to him, touching him, in his bed perhaps. And though she still doesn’t remember everything from the night she got drunk, she remembers waking up in his bed and falling asleep again in the same bed with zero issues.

She felt….she felt comfortable. 

She felt safe.

“We can stay for a little while.” Deep down, Solana knows Roman won’t be upset with her. If anything, he’ll be more annoyed that she didn’t listen and decided to wait up, but her laying in his bed for a few minutes won’t generate anger.

Solana puts her phone on the nightstand, making sure the ringer is still on. The likelihood of him texting or even calling her is slim to none, but still….she doesn’t want to miss it if he does.

Laying on his bed is the initial plan, but there’s a chill in his room that has her moving under the covers just to provide her that slight warmth. It’s not intended to increase her comfort and definitely not intended to lead to her falling asleep.

But that’s exactly what happens. 

It’s also the last thing Roman expects to find when he makes it back home a couple hours later. 

Solana asleep in his bed. 

He knew she would try to stay up, knew she would end up falling asleep in trying to stay up, but he didn’t know she would end up doing all of that in his room, in his bed.

It’s unexpected but far from unwanted, a strange sense of satisfaction at seeing her sleeping so comfortably, so peacefully in his space of all places. 

He’s careful in his movements around the room, gathering clothes to change into post shower. Roman doesn’t want to disturb her, to wake her up, especially since he has a good guess that she didn’t intend to end up in his bed and would be unnecessarily apologetic. 

Apologetic for something he’s halfway considering asking her to make a permanent thing.

Roman manages to finish his shower without Solana so much as moving an inch. If only her damn dog was the same, because he’s barely able to open the bathroom door when Dulce is at his feet, whimpering.

Small ass dog with an even smaller ass bladder. 

Before she can progress to barking, he’s got her up in his arms, guiding her out the room, down the stairs and into the backyard where she thankfully wastes zero time in doing her business. Roman is grateful, not wanting a second to pass where Solana could wake up, freak the fuck out, and leave.

He wants her to stay right where she is.

And it’s in sliding into the bed with her, moving his arm over her body and gently pulling her into him, he realizes another reason why he doesn’t want her to leave. There’s an unfamiliar almost instant peace he has at the feel of her next to him, like this is how it should be, like she should be with him.

Like she’s supposed to be with him.

But he clearly wasn’t thinking straight when he moved her, because she’s suddenly stirring in her sleep, eyes slowly blinking open.

Fuck. He didn’t mean to wake her up. 

Roman’s half expecting her to freak out, to panic at being this close to him, at being in bed this close to him. But she again surprises him with a quiet murmur that’s more an acknowledgment than anything. “You’re back….” He watches as she frowns almost, an indication of worry, asking in a voice full of sleep. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He brings his hand to her cheek, recognizing that even though she’s talking, she’s very much still half-sleep. “Go back to sleep.”

Solana gives a little nod and the moment he pulls his hand away, she inches closer to him. He shifts their positions, so he’s on his back, and she’s tucked safely into his side. In what feels like seconds, she’s fast asleep. 

Yeah….

A discussion about her moving into his room is definitely on the table, preferably sooner rather than later. It makes sense to him for a lot of reasons, namely the fact that she’s clearly comfortable sleeping with him in this way but also the fact that she’s expressed a desire to work up to being intimate.

Roman’s had sex in a lot of different places, but there’s no way in fucking hell he could ever have his first time with Solana be anywhere but a bed. 

His bed.

He plays around with a few different ideas on how to broach the subject before sleep prevails over him too.

It’s the fastest he’s fallen asleep in years.

And he’s certain it has nothing to do with the long ass day he had but everything to do with the woman besides him.

But his sleep is short lived by the vibrating of his phone on the nightstand. Irritated at the interruption of his sleep, he’s not surprised. Roman’s always been a light sleeper.

He peers down to make sure Solana remains undisturbed in her slumber, and seeing that she’s still sleeping as peacefully as before with her body somehow more over his than he remembered, he grabs his phone.

Paul: Sorry to disturb you so late, sir, but I got the files you requested for Miller. Emailed. As we already know, he’s almost a million in the hole. Has been in debt over the past twenty years. Never in the green. The bulk of it was accumulated in 2005. 500K. Summer 2005. Strangely, in that same month, it was cut in half to 250K. Then mysteriously zeroed out in late 07.

Roman sits on the brief summary provided by his Wise Man. It doesn’t add up. He already knew Miller was in the hole. The man is a fucking idiot when it comes to finances, so him being that deeply in debt isn’t surprising, but him somehow getting rid of a quarter million debt is. The fucker isn’t smart enough to pull that off.

Roman: Who was the creditor?

Paul: Still looking into that. 

Roman: Anything significant about 07’?

Paul: Not that I can see. Still digging though.

Roman doesn’t like mysteries. Can’t stand unanswered questions. They’ve always driven him fucking insane. It’s why he finds himself unable to fall back asleep, an inconvenient thing given the fact that he’ll need to be up and out of bed in a little under three hours. Still, he can’t get the dates and information out of his head. 

How the fuck did a dumbass like Miller clear his ledger to that extent? It’s not unheard of. Roman could have done it. Easily. But, he’s also significantly smarter than his wife’s dumbass father. 

Even more, what the hell did Miller need or have done for fucking half a million dollars? 

Was he moving product? Weapons, maybe? Human trafficking? Just the thought of that last one makes Roman want to place his fist through the nearest wall. 

But it’s Solana stirring on top of him that serves as the unintended trigger that helps him fill in the rest of the gaps.

He’s quick with the text to the Wise Man.

Roman: When was Solana’s mother killed?

Paul: Sir?

Roman: Answer the fucking question.

There’s a brief delay followed by those three dots and an answer.

Paul: 2005. August. 

Wheels start turning as Roman begins putting the harrowing pieces together. Miller went into half a million dollar debt in August of 2005 that somehow got slashed in half at the end of the same month. The same month that Solana and her mother were attacked, and only one of them made it out alive.

Half…..

2007….

Roman does some mental math. Solana was born in 95. She’ll be 29 this year. That puts her at age 12 back in 07’.

12.

The same age she was when she was raped.

The same year the largest chunk of her father’s debt suddenly zeroed out and disappeared like it never happened in the first place.

And just like the night he found out Solana was a survivor of childhood sexual assault, the unbridled horror and disgust that filled him in knowing the truth, Roman is starting to wish he wasn’t so good at connecting the dots. That he wasn’t able to put two and two together.

Because the picture is more fucking horrifying than anything he’s encountered in some time. If ever.

Because he’s now faced with the dilemma of just how in the hell he’s supposed to tell Solana that her father is responsible for her mother’s murder but also her being raped.

Because now he’s faced with the dilemma of if he should tell her at all.

Roman closes his eyes.

Shit just got infinitely more complicated.

[twptwp]

(Discussing some my experiences with finding comfort in PMD while growing up in a hostile environment)

CW mentions of CSA, physical abuse, verbal abuse

During this time period my sister also died, I lost quite a few of my siblings, I was subject to severe ableism from aforementioned "father", very weird threats. I could go on and on there was a lot of bad

CW over

Nowadays I'm in a much better place both physically and mentally, I thank you my friends and my ma. I had PMD Explorers of Sky as a child and played all the time, it really shaped who I am today and I learned to stay alive from that game. I found comfort in all the characters, Chatot was also a big one surprisingly HAHA!

I hope this was not too upsetting of a post, "dadnoir' stuff really sticks out to me nowadays because I use to imagine him so much when I was scared... I was actually really scared of Dusknoir as a kid for a while, but then I played special episode 5 and he became a big source of peace and comfort after that. I liked how he changed and became good. I'm no stranger to doing absurd things out of fear and wanting to stay alive, I came to respect and understand him quickly.

Anyways, that was a big post ahhh, I hope you have a nice day! Do take care of yourself, you're cherished

[mayasaura]

i hope u dont mind me asking but where is it implied john is a survivor of childhood sexual assault?

Yeah, I did kind of just throw that one out there, didn't I? The implication is spread out across a combination of John's backstory and behavior, especially in Nona the Ninth.

cw for discussion of sexual coercion, csa, and systemic abuse in an academic setting

Let's start with his behavior. Mercy and Augustine spent five hundred years planning Dios Apate Major down to the last detail. Luring John into bed was clearly not an easy thing to do at the time. And while a lot of worse stuff came to light in the big reveal scene in Harrow the Ninth to overshadow it, what Augustine and Mercy did was a violation of John's bodily autonomy and a form of sexual assault.

So where is that behaviour coming from?

The next time we hear from John, he's on a binge drinking hypersexual spiral, turning on a dime from five hundred years of near-celibacy to sleeping his way through the full cast and crew of the Erebos. I love a good "he fucked that old man" joke as much as the next guy, and I intend to keep making them, but that kind of zero to sixty manic behavior is a pretty common response to triggered sexual trauma. There's something happening there.

Very early on in Nona, John recites a list of his schools. First on that list is Dilworth. Dilworth is a private school for economically disadvantaged (read: poor, and majority indigenous) boys, and it has a reputation. To quote its wikipedia page:

John attended that school as an academically gifted gender non-conforming indigenous boy with no support network. His only known family died of pneumonia while he was enrolled. He was a vulnerable target in a high-risk environment.

A class action complaint is currently underway against Dilworth School seeking accountability and compensation from the school for knowingly failing to protect students from systemic sexual abuse that occurred between 1970 and 2006.

This wouldn't be enough to come to a conclusion if John were a real person, of course. If John were a real person, we'd be out of bounds in speculating. But he's not a real person, he's a character whose life and backstory were deliberately crafted. Name-checking Dilworth in John's backstory was a choice, and I think the implication is pretty clear.

[shrimpkini]

Who's lex dark and why's that anon so pressed about you hating them? Hate to your heart's content!

CW: discussing CSA, pedophilia, and problematic content

Lex_Dark is a popular nsfw artist on twt. I want to get it out of the way that I at one point followed them for a brief time. This was until I saw some of the art they made. They’ve drawn porn of teen soukoku, endorse ships like Chuuya x Oda, Mori x Dazai, and Ranpo x Fukuzawa. They are a pro shipper who, surprise, surprise, takes things too far by glorifying and sexualizing pedophilia.

One of their pieces has Mori walking in on skk after they had sex. Like Dazai doesn’t have pants on and still has cum dripping down his legs and opens the door to greet Mori. They don’t depict teenagers having a sex life, because I do believe that can be done in a way that is needed for a story or self discovery. But that is not what they are doing. They are drawing a teen Chuuya and Dazai and making them “sexy” for the audience.

They have 60k followers and I’m really disappointed they have a platform. When it comes to sexualizing fictional children in art, it is incredibly harmful. It actively hurts real life children. I should know as a victim of csa myself. Normalizing the sexualization of teenagers is disgusting. I think we should ask ourselves what do they find attractive about the teenage version of those characters? Why are they so keen on shipping children with parental figures or adult characters who met them when they were kids? It is so important to mention that Oda met Dazai when he was 16. Oda is 5 years older than Dazai meaning he was 21. He watched him grow up and viewed him as a child in the light novel. BECAUSE HE WAS. Teenagers are CHILDREN. Same with Fukuzawa and Ranpo. He met Ranpo when he was a kid and essentially adopted him. To put it in real life perspective — could you imagine lusting after a child you adopted and raised? My little sister is around that age. Another example is as a 21 yo, even though it’s legal, I wouldn’t go after an 18 yo who is still in high school. We are at different points in our life and they are still very much a kid despite being “legal”. Morality and what makes a moral relationship doesn’t just lie in age.

That is why I say if you are making content like that you are either a pedo, making content for pedos, or apart of the problem. And that is why I hate the content Lex_Dark makes. Hopefully that made sense. If there’s any confusion or things that you want more clarification on - I’d be happy to oblige.

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

I'm BACK, my Darlings!

Link to full AO3 fic

Tags and CW for this chapter: murder; rigged gladiator matches; the Baron being the fucking worst; mentions of child abuse/CSA/incest; the Bene Gesserit; mentions of smut/exhibitionism (no actual smut in this one, sorry there will be soon) early pregnancy; Feyd's mommy AND daddy issues; I take a couple of minor liberties with Feyd's birthday arena fight; blink-and-you'll-miss-it implied sexual assault; implied/references sex trafficking; Geidi Prime's culture; mentions of matricide

CHAPTER ELEVEN: HAPPY BIRTHDAY

You reach the box, noting that the more obscure sisters have sat in one section, while Margot and the Reverend Mother sit in the other booth, with room for you in between them.  All stand and turn to you when Idrisa announces your arrival.

Behind her veil you can see the Reverend Mother’s eyebrows raise at your dress, your painted-black lips.

“I imagine the na-Baron had a hand in your outfit?” she asks as you all sit down.

“He had an idea for how he wanted me to look on his birthday, your Reverence,” you say.  

“Have you spoken with him?”

“A little, your Reverence,” you tell her.  “I just finished helping him prepare.”

It’s safe to assume that she’ll be observing you as well as Feyd.  You wonder if she wonders how much leverage you’ve truly gotten with him.  You wonder if she’ll want the graphic details when the two of you speak in private later.  

“How did he seem?” she asks.

“While we haven’t discussed it much, he’s pleased about my recent development.  He seemed indifferent to the prospect of the match, however; he’s participated in so many since he turned eighteen I think it’s somewhat routine for him.”

“It’s reckless, sending the na-Baron into the arena when he’s only just secured the bloodline,” one of Bene Gesserit sisters says.

Both her Reverence and Margot glance your way in a silent invitation to explain your husband’s people’s customs.

“He’s in no danger, Sister,” you say.  “The na-Baron’s matches aren’t traditional matches so much as they’re executions.  His opponents aren’t fighting at full capacity, so it’s impossible for them to have the upper hand.”

“And you’ve seen these executions in practice?” she asks.

“Yes, Sister.  Just once, the night before my wedding,” you tell her.  It was ostensibly a gift, but meant to serve more as a warning .

“But these other matches…?” she starts.

“Are real,” you finish for her.  “The victor gains their freedom, should they survive.”

You explain the figures clad all in black, their faces obscured with headpieces resembling curved horns and armed with long hooks, as Picadors.  “They essentially act like sporting referees,” you tell them.  “But by and large they don’t interfere in any of these matches; just about everything is allowed.”

And then the festivities, as they were, begin.  The announcer’s voice is amplified so loud the echoes of it reverberate in your chest and nearly make your teeth rattle as he gives the name of not each individual fighter but their Houses and planets, succinct enough that anyone can understand, accompanied by the sound of drums. You can sense the distaste from some of the Sisters, the ones who sound younger, as the first match commences.  For your part you try to give nothing away, face schooled into a mask of neutrality, and keep silent other than to answer polite questions about your home world and how the cultural differences between it and Geidi Prime.  ( “Oh, there are many, Sister.  Our culture’s also militaristic and public executions aren’t uncommon but we don’t have arena fights like these.” ) There’s little audience bias from the crowd; they just want to see two men trying to kill each other.  The closest it gets is when a non-Harkonnen who’s nonetheless from Lankiveil is pitted against another fighter.  For a brief moment you assume that the crowd will favor the Lankiveil fighter.

That moment passes, because throughout the crowd many start shouting something that you’re pretty sure means “ traitor. ”  You shouldn’t be surprised that here, Abulurd Rabban’s defection hasn’t been forgiven, and neither has anyone who’s refused to fall in line with Harkonnen governorship in their claimed territories.  You wonder what Feyd thinks about that and watch as the Lankiveil man puts in some good offense–before one of the Picadors shuffles closer and catches him in either side of his neck with both hooks, leaving his opponent to finish the job.  As the man gurgles, blood spilling from his throat, you hear the loudest cheers so far.

Time narrows down to Feyd’s showing.  He’ll be armored by now, dressed, ready to make his first proper public appearance in a month, and even as the cheers die down from the past match and the blood is swept to the ends of the arena, the audience can feel it.  Horns sound, and you gasp as you notice what look like bursts of black plasma exploding in the air with splattering noises.  Fireworks, or the closest thing Geidi Prime has to it, stark against the plain white sky.

You’ve been practicing the Harkonnen language every day, but you’re far from fluent yet.  Not even conversational.  You understand only bits and pieces as the excitement in the announcer’s voice ramps up, booming throughout the colosseum. 

"Under sljdgkjo our ghiel black sun, we welcome iwelkgnle sljeifgwaln our beloved leader Baron Vladimir Harkonnen,” the voice booms. “His lwkejlw jkslanlwe fjldklwel of blood and honor, pwoerl the holy birthday of our beloved na-Baron, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen!"

You hadn’t realized what the word for blood was a month ago when you saw your first arena match, or that that’s what the crowd was chanting for.  You feel a chill run down your spine as you keep your posture straight, your face impassive.  

“Do you know what they’re saying?” her Reverence asks.  You wonder if she knows the language and just wants to know how much you understand.

“Some, your Reverence,” you say.  “They’re introducing him now as the main attraction.”

And when the cheers get even louder, chanting Feyd’s name, you look down and there he is, moving in long-legged, purposeful strides with a blade in each hand.

You take a breath as you pull up your binoculars and watch as Feyd-Rautha takes to one knee, bowing deep in the direction of the Baron.

“He doesn’t bow to you?” one of the Sisters asks.  “You’re his wife.  You’re carrying his child.”

You shake your head.  “He wouldn’t.  That’s not how they do things here,” you tell her as you can’t look away from Feyd, who raises his head for a moment, trying to focus in on his face.  He looks up not at you, but at his uncle with a cold glare before rising and getting into stance.

As Feyd activates his shields, and you can’t help but think he looks reptilian under the Geidi Prime sun.  

“In celebration of our Na-Baron Feyd Rautha, we slheo a lwehfoew tueigh , the alsg three lsgjwoq of House Atreides.”

Atreides .  Geidi Prime managed to drag the last of the Atreides military into their dungeons, their fate to be drugged and killed in front of the House that caused their destruction.  A straightforward execution would be more dignified than this pretense of a match.

You can’t help the unease, even growing disgust brewing as you watch three doors slide open to reveal three men, all shirtless and wincing against the harshness of the infrared sun, and as Feyd’s eyes slide towards each door with a detached, calculating look.

You can sense the Bene Gesserit Sisters watching you, wondering what you actually think of your brute animal of a husband as you try your best to keep a straight face.

Two of the men are broader and bulkier than Feyd, not like it will make any kind of difference as they trudge forward, stumbling, trying to adjust their grips on their blades.

“Do you… like seeing this?”

You force yourself to stare ahead.  “It doesn’t matter if I like it or not, Sister,” you say.  “I’m expected to support my husband in this.”

Of course you don’t like seeing this.  But from the way Feyd paces, swift in his execution, gnashing his teeth and snarling like a beast desperate for a challenge and still riled up with pent-up energy, it doesn’t seem like he takes any satisfaction in doing this. 

He’d seemed like he was getting some amusement out of his last arena showing, playing with his opponents and taking as much time with them as he felt would be entertaining for the thousands of fans in the audience and disturbing for you and your family.  

He appears to get no such amusement now as he prowls, frustrated at the utter lack of challenge.  Maybe it’s because the chance to slaughter the greatest of his House’s enemies is hollow and unearned this way.  He’s an adult and yet the Baron’s been so quick to keep him safe from any real danger other than himself.  Maybe it’s finally getting to him that he’s not even expected to be able to beat members of the Atreides army in a fair fight, especially since it looks like the dungeon-masters selected burly, powerful-looking men for the spectacle even as the drugs render them weak and sluggish.

But then there’s the third man.  Although he’s leaner and, from what you can tell, older than the first two, as soon as he gets his bearings of the unforgiving Geidi Prime sun he strides forward confidently and with purpose.

That can’t be right , you think.

“That last fighter isn’t drugged,” Margot says, gaze sliding over to you as if to ask, Did you know about this?

“No, it would appear that he isn’t,” you tell her as your heart speeds up and you can feel yourself blanche.  “They must’ve been keeping him healthy for this.”

“Do you know why?” another woman asks.

“I do not,” you admit.  Maybe Feyd wanted a proper challenge.  Maybe he wanted to grace his audience with a real fight this time to show his own merits.

But then you zero in on Feyd and the flash of open incredulity on his face as he tilts his head and seems to realize the situation, when the soldier swipes and evades him with far more ease than the others, gets in a strike to the chest that would’ve killed him without his shield.  You’re pretty sure that had he not been distracted with the first two soldiers he would’ve noticed the difference immediately.

Feyd didn’t plan this .

You look, horrified, across the arena into the Baron’s stadium box.  The Baron doesn’t notice you, of course, but he smirks as he glances down into the arena.

What’s the purpose of this, you sick, awful man? you want to ask him.  Are you trying to get him killed?

You look back down at Feyd, who you realize must’ve been looking at his uncle thinking the same thing before he looks back at his opponent, who he fixes with a smile.  The monochrome landscape makes his black teeth look nonexistent within the cavern of his mouth as he acknowledges the Atreides fighter, turns off his shield, and unclips it from his armor for everyone to see before tossing it and his second blade to the ground.

You want a fair and honest fight, you’ll get a fair and honest fight, he seems to tell his opponent, the Baron, everyone in the audience.  The two begin to circle one another, reevaluating each other and the best way to strike.  The Picadors step in closer. 

You inhale, exhale, in the second before their match starts in earnest.  He’s been training since he was a little boy; he spars every day.   He’ll be fine, you think, as Feyd and the Atreides soldier look each other in the eye.  You’ve seen him do drills before; he’s well-coordinated.

You’ve never seen him like this.

He’s fast.  He’s good .  You’d taken it for granted that of course, he’d be competent with a weapon, but you’ve never seen him properly fight before.  You hadn’t realized how graceful and swift he is, a good match for the lean and limber soldier he’s fighting, who goes on offense with the hatred and desperation of a man with nothing left to lose but the chance to take one last Harkonnen down with him.

Feyd looks like he’s having the time of his life.  

The smile never quite leaves his face as he counters every move, and you’re sure there’s an excited gleam in his eye that your binoculars can’t quite pick up.  He smirks and winks at the other fighter, like this is a fun, improvised dance rather than a fight to the death.  Almost like he’s flirting.

Your heart pounds.  The Atreides fighter’s undeniably skilled, has all the same strengths as Feyd, and has adjusted quickly to the unpleasant atmosphere and harsh light of the Geidi Prime sun, not to mention the Picadors taunting him with their prowling.  No other opponent would do to make Feyd seem like a genuinely credible fighter.  You watch as Feyd sweeps the legs out from under the Atreides soldier and go in for the kill, only for his opponent to evade him and get back up to resume fighting.

You wince as one of the Picadors pierces the Atreides soldier’s shoulder blade with their hook, thinking, That will make Feyd look weak.   Feyd must be thinking the same thing, because the moment the soldier cries out in pain Feyd snarls and bellows at the Picadors for their interference. Like cockroaches they recoil and scatter, releasing the soldier and leaving just a small piece of metal lodged there, presumably to keep the man from bleeding out before Feyd has the chance to kill him.  No interference, no cheating, no advantages.  Man to Man .

It’s not lost on you how inhuman Feyd looks, especially against his opponent.  You also don’t care; you just need him to win, you think as Feyd disarms the Atreides soldier, only for the ensuing scuffle to land them both in the sandy ground, grappling for the remaining blade.

For a moment they’re both flat on their backs, and in that moment, you realize that the soldier has the blade and the upper hand as they both slowly get up, locking in, equal force and resistance in a perverse embrace. 

The blade’s so close to Feyd’s eye; the Picadors encircle them but don’t dare get any closer as he keeps the tip mere centimeters away.  You can’t breathe, your sweaty hands shaking as you clench one fist in the skirt of your dress and force yourself to hold the binoculars with the other as you watch Feyd, from his coiled frame to his narrow face and can hardly believe what you see as you flutter the setting in closer.

He’s laughing .

And then he stops laughing as he pulls the knife to the side, past his head, turns it around in their combined grip and plunges it into the other man’s stomach.

The moment lasts for what feels like years, the Atreides soldier’s expression turning from shock to disbelief to growing horror as the light starts to fade from his eyes.  You think Feyd says something to him as he gently cradles the man’s face with one hand, as if he’s trying to reassure him even as his other hand has a blade wedged in him, and you’d give anything to know what he’s saying.

And then the other soldier’s dead, finally going limp, and Feyd pulls the knife out, getting up and showing it to all of the arena.  The crowd erupts into elated, blood-thirsty cheers that don’t let up as he silently strides away, one arm still raised in victory.  The fireworks go into a frenzy as the crowd chants Feyd-Rauth-A! like the beat of a war-drum.

It’s not until Feyd’s returned to the Colosseum's underbelly like a monster that was summoned from it only to return from the bowels of the underworld from whence he came, that anyone in your booth finally speaks.

“Your husband is impressive, indeed” Lady Margot says.

You won’t see Feyd for a while; apparently he is to bathe and change before having a private meeting with the Baron, while you are to speak privately with her Reverence, at least according to the attendant who leads the other Bene Gesserit back to the guest wings to rest before the upcoming celebrations.

Maybe the Baron will provide a decent explanation for surprising his nephew with an opponent who actually stood a shot at killing him .

Idrisa trails behind you and the Reverend Mother as house servants lead you to a room with expansive floor-to-ceiling windows offering an excellent view of the black sun and sky that from the interior resembles a sickly gray.  More servants come in with herbal tea with lemon for the two of you and you sit in silence for a moment, the Reverend Mother ignoring her tea as she watches you and you let her, wondering what information you’re giving her in your fixed posture and delicate sip from your cup.  You glance over at Idrisa, who stands in the corner with her head bowed.  

“Your husband’s showing in the arena was quite revealing,” her Reverence finally says.  Even more than your dress .

“I apologize.  I had no say or knowledge of the fight.   I don’t believe the na-Baron did, either,” you tell her.

“The Baron acted in an unorthodox manner,” her Reverence says.

“I’m sure he must have been confident in the na-Baron’s odds of winning in a fair fight, even if it was...a high risk,” you say, trying to sound diplomatic and keep the anger and desperation out of your voice, “to put him in such a situation.  Surely he must know how important the na-Baron’s role is both for the sake of Geidi Prime and for his service to you.”

Her Reverence almost smiles.  “We’d prefer to keep the na-Baron alive as long as we reasonably can; he has the markings of a Great House leader, and of course your safety is more intact with his protection, but our main requirement of him is securing a son, and he’s accomplished that.”

Were her words supposed to be comforting?  Your hands feel clammy and sweaty as you try not to wring them in your skirt.

“Yes, of course, your Reverence.  I agree, I’m safer with him, much as I found that hard to believe at first.  We’re,” you hesitate, “more compatible than I think either of us anticipated.”  You try not to blush as you say it, can’t quite look her in the eye.  

“Even powerful men are malleable,” the Reverend Mother says.

“He and I spend time together outside of the marriage bed as well, so I think he likes my company well enough,” you add.  

You can hear your mother’s voice clear as day in your own head, warning you, Think very carefully about what you’re going to say and who you’re saying it to .

You find the words as if sounding them out, “Still, I cannot help but be concerned,” you say, “about the role the Baron will play in my children’s lives, especially any sons I’ll have.” 

You realize that she knows what you mean without you having to say it as she hardly blinks.  “The Baron’s health has been declining steadily over the years,” she says.  “It appears that as of late he hasn’t quite had the stamina to indulge in some of his baser inclinations.”

So you also knew and let it happen?  Did Feyd not have a single adult in his life actually looking out for him?  Revulsion swirls in the pit of your stomach.  “All the same, I don’t want to take that risk,” you tell her.  

The Reverend Mother’s gaze grows sharper.  “Walls have ears, young one,” she says, and you recoil, briefly.  For a woman who must be at least seventy, even without using the Voice on you she intimidates you more than most men you’ve met. 

“I understand, your Reverence,” you say quickly.�� “But if I’m to provide my firstborn son everything he needs to grow into the man he’s meant to be, everything you need for him to serve you and the Empire, then he’ll need a safer upbringing than that of his father.”

The Reverend Mother purses her lips for a moment, and you try not to wince, realizing how transparent and sophomoric your attempt at manipulation is.  Still, you’re desperate.  She can sense it, and lets you stew in your own juices for a moment.

“Feyd-Rautha’s father was and remains reviled on Geidi Prime,” she says eventually.  “Elsewhere he’s seen as a decent man brave enough to distance himself from a cruel House and forge his own path.  And yet he was still cut down in his forties, his legacy erased.  Much like the Duke of Atreides recently.”

Why are you telling me this? you want to ask.  Are you implying that it’s better that Feyd was raised by a pedophile than by a pacifist?

“Tell me this, do you honestly feel you have his devotion?” she asks.

You want to say a definitive yes.  You think about how he holds you close at night, remember him nestled against you.  You think about how diligently he trains you, insists on eating with you, encourages you learning to speak his language with him when he could ignore you except to come inside of you whenever he so chooses.  “I…I think so?” is what you manage, though, when you think of his fervent loyalty to an uncle you’re pretty sure he despises.  “I think I’m getting there, earning it,” you add.  “I know part of his wedding vows was to keep me safe and I think he intends to keep it.  But he is still Harkonnen.”  And the Harkonnen who taught him all about politics has devotion to no one but himself .

You expect the Reverend Mother to berate you for your only middling success for a moment.  Instead, and whether it’s to comfort you or for her own purpose, she picks her tea up, considering it but never lifting her veil to actually drink it.  “The Baron did everything in his power to mold Feyd-Rautha exactly to him.  In the mind, anyway.  And in some ways he succeeded.”  He took a seven-year-old boy and turned him into a bloodthirsty sociopath like him , she doesn’t need to say.  “But I’ve heard and now have finally seen it for myself that despite all this, he has a sense of honor.  And that comes from Abulurd Rabban, a decent man who loved the family he chose and forged for himself.” 

Your throat feels dry as you think about how this woman has shared more about Feyd’s father than Feyd ever has, and yet your tea sits forgotten on the table in front of you.  Your heart beats faster.  You try and find the words.

“So…if my husband had to make the choice between mine and my children’s safety…and his uncle’s demands…”

“I think you know,” the Reverend Mother says.  “The Baron’s time is coming to a close, once he’s served his purpose.”

“And what,” you clear your throat.  “What is that, exactly?”  

“Laying the groundwork for his nephew’s success,” her Reverence says.  “Lady Fenring told you about how we tested your husband.”

“Yes, your Reverence,” you tell her.

Her gaze pierces through her veil as she looks at you.  “It’s not just a test to determine pain tolerance, or self-control.  It’s a test to determine if someone has elevated themselves above their animal nature.  Neither the Baron nor Rabban have ever taken such a test,” she says.  “Neither of them would survive.”

You look at each other, an understanding settling in between the two of you.

There’s a knock at the door and you both look towards the door, which opens to reveal two guards and Feyd, who’s changed into long robes that cover him from his Adam’s apple to his boots.

He inclines his head towards the Reverend Mother.  “Your Reverence,” he says, the gesture polite but his tone clipped.

“I trust your meeting with your uncle was enlightening?” she asks as you both rise to stand.

“It certainly was, your Reverence,” he says, and you can sense an unspoken topic simmering under the surface, something you’re not yet privy to.  Something they haven’t shared with you yet .  But you’ll find out.  If you’re to play a part in their greater schemes, all the plans within plans that they make, you need to know what you’re in for.

“I understand your festivities are imminent,” the Reverend Mother says.  “So I’ll take my leave.”  She practically glides past the servants on her way out.

Before she leaves, though, she turns to Feyd once more.  “Oh, and congratulations on winning your match,” she adds.  

Feyd shakes his head when a servant wordlessly offers him a fresh cup of tea and looks back at you.

“It’s a shame we won’t be alone for long,” he says.  “Uncle wants us in the banquet hall soon for my celebration dinner.”

“Did he provide an explanation for what he did earlier?” you ask him.  

Feyd says nothing for a moment, compressing his lips into a thin line.  “I saw the look on both your faces,” you tell him.  “No one told you about the undrugged soldier; your uncle ambushed you.”

“He claimed it was a birthday gift, the chance to prove to my people that I’m a warrior and not an entertainer.”  He seems to hesitate before adding, “It’s far from the worst gift he’s ever given.”

That I very much believe.  “You accomplished it,” you tell him.

And then he adds, “The other gift is governorship of Arrakis.”  

You do a double take, hoping you heard wrong.  “You’re replacing Rabban?” you ask.  

“They’ll announce it soon,” he says.  “He’s been hemorrhaging both spice and soldiers.  It’s embarrassing.”

“Does he know?” you ask.

“He’ll find out soon enough,” Feyd says.  

Then you’ll be gone , you think, heart sinking.  I don’t want to be left alone with the Baron here .  “I’m coming with you.”

“You’re to do no such thing,” he says.  “I won’t bring you and our son into enemy territory in the middle of war; it’s too dangerous.”

“The Reverend Mother said herself that I’m safer with you,” you tell him.  You feel yourself flush, desperate and angry.  I need help.  I need protection.  Everyone says they’re looking out for my and my child’s safety and yet they deprive me of what I really need .  You can hear yourself raising your voice as you say, “No offense, husband, but you’re the only Harkonnen man that I trust.”

Feyd reaches out and you flinch before he can cup your face in one hand, his eyes darting across your face.  Your breath comes faster, straining against the straps that barely cover your breasts.  You think about the Litany Against Fear and think, no.  He needs to know that I’m scared .

“No harm will come to you,” he says.  “Not here, especially not after your pregnancy’s announced.  The people will be overjoyed to know we’ve succeeded in continuing the Harkonnen line.  The first royal birth on Geidi Prime in over sixty-five years.”  His hands move to your waist.  “You’ll have the best medical care the planet has to offer.  I’ll keep in correspondence with you whenever I have the time.”

He leans in closer, gently presses his forehead against yours.  “Make no mistake, Y/N Harkonnen,” he says.  “I wouldn’t be separated from you if I didn’t think there was a risk.”  You exhale, closing your eyes.  

“Ever since I’ve come of age I’ve been used for spectacle, ornamentation.  Fighting rigged matches with no real risk, used as a mascot and an image and not for what I was made to do.

“But now I get to live my purpose; I get to extend the Harkonnen line, I get to lead my men into battle.  For the first time I have real responsibilities and I’m going to fulfill them.”

You listen to his words, hear the conviction in his voice, and think about how there’s a part of Feyd not molded by the most cruel and depraved parts of this planet; an albeit twisted honor code, a sense of loyalty.  Perhaps the Reverend Mother was right in thinking it comes from his father, because it’s not his uncle or brother.

“Will I see you again before our son is born?” you ask.

He moves his hands to yours, taking them in his grasp.  “I swear it,” he says.  “And I swear I’ll never allow any harm to come to you and our children.”

Would you kill the Baron for us? you want to ask, knowing you can’t.  Not here, not now.  But soon.  

Do you have his devotion? 

Yes.  I’m certain.

“Now,” he says, pulling away.  “Tonight, we make our first public appearance as husband and wife since the wedding.  You said something last night about your years of training for the political aspects of marriage?”

“We wish to thank you all for attending my dear nephew’s twenty-sixth birthday,” the Baron says, hovering in a manner that makes him loom over even the tallest of heads as all stand, him at the seat of honor and his nephew on his right side and you beside his nephew.  Of all the Bene Gesserit guests, only the Reverend Mother and Margot are here for the banquet.  You imagine the always-veiled Sisters have to eat in the privacy of their quest quarters.  You notice Count Fenring as one of the distinguished guests–he must’ve only arrived today.  The age difference between him and his wife is all the more noticeable when you see them together.  There are other non-Harkonnen guests--it is a prominent birthday for a member of a prominent House, after all, but for the most part it remains, like in the arena, a sea of bald heads and black fabric.

Before anyone is permitted to sit down and eat, the Baron calls for a toast.  Everyone else has wine, and the ruby-red juice in your own wine glass looks enough like the real thing that people won’t ask questions yet.  We’ll give it a few weeks time, you think.  Stagger the news in between this and when Feyd’s officially given governorship of Arrakis.  Wait until a test from a Harkonnen doctor can confirm it and then we can announce it to all of Harko .

“To the na-Baron, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, and to his prosperous future!” the Baron says, raising his glass and taking one long sip as everyone cheers Feyd, and finishes his sip with a flourish before passing his glass to a servant to set down on the table for him.  His thin lips are already tinged red as he turns to his nephew, takes Feyd’s face in one hand, holding his chin, and presses a quick kiss to his lips.  Feyd doesn’t react beyond a slight twitch of his jaw.  You look down to stifle a flinch.

“Now, let us truly celebrate,” the Baron adds, and people cheer again in response.

When you all sit down Feyd turns to you, takes two fingers under your chin and raises your lips to his.  It’s not a passionate kiss, probably won’t even smear your lipstick, but it’s a slightly longer kiss than the one he just had from his uncle.

Maybe it’s for show; he wants to pass on the image of obedience.  Maybe he wanted to get the taste of his uncle off his lips.  You see the Baron look at you with a brief look of distaste before the food and drink can distract him and the courses can start flowing.

Either weddings by design are much more formal and quieter on Geidi Prime than birthday parties or the Baron wanted to show as much decorum as possible towards your House for the one occasion.

The banquet makes up for a small portion of the evening, quickly giving way to drinks and more food passed around as people disperse from tables to either stand around in the middle of the room or lounge on chaises and oversized armchairs that line the walls.  The fireworks continue in earnest outside, while inside people feed on delicacies passed around on trays and drink wine out of goblets and harsher liquors out of metal tumblers.  You make do with distilled water and sips of the same wine-colored juice from dinner.

Generals and off-world politicians alike toast Feyd both in the Imperial Standard and Harkonnen Battle Language.  Once again Feyd stiffens in the presence of Margot Fenring perhaps even worse with the Count present, his interactions with both of them polite but tense on his own end.  He never directly looks at her, you notice.  Funny thing, she doesn’t seem surprised or uncomfortable at his coldness.  Neither does her husband.

( “Isn’t it strange,” you overhear one of the Harkonnen captains say to another, “That they have three daughters together and I hear none of them look like him.” )  

You try to file away the growing discomfort of it.  I’ll unpack it later, you think, as today’s discoveries have been pretty illuminating towards why your husband claims to dislike the Bene Gesserit.  You try not to dwell on it for now, just trying to act the part of the demure and effortlessly poised political wife.  With Harkonnens you stay silent, to the side and slightly behind Feyd.  With other Houses you engage a bit more, agreeing with the compliments people give Feyd, who for his part plays the statesman rather well.  The Baron has, much as you hate to admit it, a level of wit that if he were another man you might occasionally find charming, but it’s always clearly manufactured.  While he still carries an intimidating presence, Feyd uses his combination of quick-thinking and brevity to his advantage.  He offers the occasional wry quip among the required pleasantries.  You think to yourself that, despite superficial appearances, the two of you make a decent-looking couple.

That said, you do catch a few people frowning at your hair, clearly wondering why Feyd hasn’t insisted on shaving it all off.

Yeah, well, not that it’s any of your business, but he happens to love my hair and can’t keep his hands off of me , you think, offering a polite smile and raised brow at one such bewildered-looking Harkonnen man, who quickly looks away to avoid being caught staring at the na-Baron’s wife.

Through it all slaves either mill around or weave in and out silently bearing trays either to serve food and drink or to take away used glasses.  They’re discreet, as they’re meant to be, but you can’t help but notice a couple of differences, things you’re certain hadn’t been present at your wedding reception.

Some of the slave girls who stand against the wall are in transparent dresses under which they’re all nude.  A few don’t look like some of the attendants you’ve seen; they’re curvier, with distinct markings you can see under the gauzy fabric.  There are also a few men, young and fit, wearing only loincloths.  Their body types also range in size, some slight and lean, some built with thicker, denser muscle.  You glance over as a Harkonnen soldier approaches one of the men with his wife trailing behind him.  It doesn’t surprise you that the higher-ranking women only ever approach any of them in the company of their husbands, but that when they do it’s not for one specific type.  Women, men, both appear to get used.  You glance at Feyd, who seems indifferent to it all; politely accepting congratulations on his arena match and happy birthday wishes.  He must be used to the implied debauchery of it all.

After a while it starts becoming uncomfortable, standing around in boots meant more for ornamentation than practicality, and Feyd senses it.

“Come now, wife, I think we’ve earned a bit of a sit-down,” he says, as if you also fought in the arena earlier instead of just standing for a while, and gives you his arm to guide you to an armchair wide enough to serve as a couch.

“Thank you,” you whisper in his ear as you sit down, before he sits down beside you and wordlessly pulls you into his lap.  In your surprise you shift, trying to make sure that you don’t expose any more skin than you already have, pulling the skirt of your dress over the slit along your thigh and hoping your breasts don’t fall out of the scraps of fabric meant to cover them.  Feyd doesn’t seem to care in the slightest, his hand coming to rest over your ribcage.

You weren’t entirely sure how he’d present you, but weren’t expecting him to have you front and center, silently demanding that all who approach him show their respects to you as well.  Maybe if things were different he'd have you kneeling on the floor beside the chair like an obedient dog.  Maybe the thought occurred to him; probably, if it occurred to you.  You shake the thought loose, wondering something else.

“What’s the informal term for ‘ father ’ in your language?  I haven’t been able to find it.”  Not that you can quite picture Feyd ever actually playing with any of his children, but the idea of it, the idea of all of you in a reasonably normal family, is a nice one you’d like to keep with you.

“There isn’t one,” Feyd says.  “It’s just ‘vasta. ’”

You frown.  “Nothing more casual than that?  Something a child would use?”

“Nothing,” he says.  “It’s either ‘vasta’ or ‘ father .’”

You consider this.  “So there’s no equivalent to something like ‘ Papa? ’ That’s what I called my father almost exclusively until I was four or five.”

“So did I,” Feyd says.  “But Lankiveil’s different from Geidi Prime.  Or it was until Rabban took over and started using it as a Harkonnen outpost.”

You pull back to get a better look at his face.  He’s never talked about his father, nor Lankiveil other than the once, and that had been at your prompting.  “You did?”

He looks at you as if he isn’t sharing something more intimate about his childhood than anything he’s ever discussed with you.  “That surprises you?”

“A little,” you admit.  “It’s easy to forget you had such a different life from this once.”

“It is, after enough years of separation,” he says.

You’re not sure quite what to say to that.  You think about how reviled the name of his father is on Geidi Prime, how begrudgingly respected he is on other planets.  You think about what the Reverend Mother told you, the information she gave you that Feyd never has and wonder if he ever will, or if like in matters of the bedroom, he needs to get to know you better before he shows you that kind of vulnerability.

But then he nuzzles against your hair, the shell of your ear, and you notice that in certain corners, seemingly unnoticed, some couples are getting closer and there are fewer of what you must assume are Fortress pleasure slaves than there were before.  Feyd has a tumbler glass of a harsh-smelling amber liquid that might be one of your parents’ birthday gifts in one hand, but the other holds you to him.

You think about that one morning in the Training Halls when he’d fucked you against the wall as everyone had been dismissed but aware of what the two of you were up to.  You doubt he will, but it also wouldn’t surprise you if he’s thought about pulling his cock out and having you sit on him for the entire party to see.

Maybe after he’s crowned you’ll do it–not in front of an audience, but in private after the throne’s been thoroughly disinfected you’ll take him inside of you while he sits on it.

He sets his glass down on the side table and lays his hand on your stomach, low on your belly, just where the tight bodice ends.  He brushes his thumb along the material.

“I’m glad to finally show you off,” he says, voice quiet enough that no one will hear except anyone foolish enough to try and eavesdrop on him.  “The picture of a Harkonnen bride.”

“Even with the hair and eyebrows?” you ask.

“Anyone who has a problem with it has to answer to me,” Feyd says.  “You are exactly as I want you; poised, capable, carrying my child.”  He slides a hand under the slit in your dress.  “Just curious, what sort of undergarment are you wearing under this?”

You feel yourself flush, a nervous laugh escaping you.  “About that…” you start, leaving the implication clear.  There’s another reason you’ve been sitting and standing so carefully all day.

Feyd’s eyes blaze.  “Because you want me to be a gentleman, I’ll wait until we’re in private before I rip this off of you and leave you in nothing but your necklace.”

“Trying to be a gentleman?  Is that the only reason why?” you ask, still flustered, trying to keep up.  The other bodies inhabiting this vast space are far easier to ignore this way.

“No,” he says simply.  “None of these people deserve to see you moaning as you take my cock like the beautiful, desperate cockslut that you are.  It’s only a twenty-minute walk to get back to my bedroom.  Fifteen if we walk briskly, and that’s about how long I’ll be able to last without being inside of you.”  He shifts you in his arms like he means to carry you and another giggle escapes you.  

“Leaving your own birthday party?” you ask.

“The party’s become a full Bacchanalia,” Feyd says, the Cupid’s bow of his upper lip turned up in a coy smile.  “I hardly think anyone will notice if we slip away.”

You smile back, arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders, picturing all the positions you’ll only be able to fuck in for another few months, before you start to swell.  You think about your breasts crushed against his solid chest, his abdomen against yours when he kneels and pulls you on top of him.  

“Alright,” you tell him.  “For the sake of propriety–”

“My apologies, my lord and lady na-Baron and na-Baroness, for the interruption,” a voice says, and you startle away, jerking your head towards an embarrassed-looking man in gray robes–a servant, to be sure, but a higher-ranking one.  He keeps his head inclined, eyes on the floor, and you’re certain it’s out of awkwardness just as much as respect.  “I have a message from the Baron.”

“What,” Feyd says, looking like he wants to rise from his seat and sucker-punch the messenger in the stomach.

“The Baron requires a private audience with the na-Baroness.”

Why? Your mouth opens in silent question and you furrow your brow.  You look at Feyd, whose expression is thunderous.  A muscle feathers in his jaw.  You turn to look back at the servant, knowing that no matter how much you don’t want to, there’s only one acceptable response.  “I accept.  When?”

“Presently, Na-Baroness,” he says.  

Feyd holds you tighter for a moment.  “What was his reason?” he demands.

“To congratulate her on her success so far and inquire about her health,” the messenger says.

You sigh and disentangle yourself from Feyd.  The mood had soured the moment the messenger showed up and mentioned your uncle-in-law; Feyd will be able to wait a little longer.  

The Baron’s lounging in his private throne room, with what looks like a hookah in one hand and a large goblet of wine in the other.  Two guards flank him, their heads downturned, but other than them you’re alone.  You curtsy as discreetly as your dress will allow as you acknowledge him and keep your head down.  Ostensibly it’s out of respect but you’re honestly grateful to not have to look at him any more than required.

“Congratulations on your new development, young Y/N,” he says after your show of deference.  “The Bene Gesserit are most pleased with you.” 

“Thank you, Baron,” you say, keeping your gaze on the floor.

“You’ve satisfied my nephew,” the Baron adds, setting both the wine and hookah down on either side of him.

“That pleases me to hear, Baron,” you say, trying to feel proud of how you’re not taking the bait even though you know he’s enjoying his ability to embarrass a woman from a Greater House.  You wish you could control the heat burning in your cheeks and ears.  I hate you, you think.

“As your condition progresses and after you bear the child, I’m sure he’ll do his best to temper his…biases…against mothers for your sake,” the Baron adds.  “Although it runs deep within him.”

You can’t help but look up at him in confusion.  What biases?  Feyd’s never mentioned his mother once.  Never mentioned any of what he’s been through.  

The Baron sees your confusion and his smile when he realizes the added power he has over you is truly awful to look at.

“Did my nephew not tell you about his mother?  I suppose I can’t be surprised.  He must not have wanted to upset your delicate sensibilities.”

You had her killed so you could keep him isolated.  So you could keep molesting him without interference.  I know you, you sick bastard .  And if you’re threatening me I swear on my family’s legacy I will find a way to make you suffer for it .

“He has not, Baron,” you tell him.  “He doesn’t speak of her.”  

The Baron tilts his head as much as his jowls will allow.  “So you know nothing of her?” he asks.

“I know she was a member of the Bene Gesserit,” you tell him.  “I know my husband and Rabban were the only children she produced with your brother.  I know she took your brother’s surname and was known as Emmi Rabban.  I know she’s been dead for nearly twelve years.”

The Baron straightens up a little, eyes glinting.  “So you did some research, and yet you don’t understand my comment about Feyd’s issue with mothers.”

“I can imagine the separation from her at such a young age must have taken a toll on him,” you say.  Maybe created some attachment issues, you don’t say.  You don’t want to offer up any more vulnerability, especially not on Feyd’s part.

“So you know she died when Feyd was fourteen,” he says.

“Yes, Baron.  Shortly after his attempt on your life.”  

“And what,” he asks, “based on what you’ve read, do you think her cause of death was?”

Your mouth feels dry.  He’s trying to provoke you.  Try not to let it show that it’s working .  “She was killed by Harkonnens,” you manage.

The Baron sits forward as much as his bulk will allow, looking happier than perhaps you’ve ever seen him before.  “ A Harkonnen, some claim.  One who was young and impulsive and carrying a grudge against his mother for sending him away.  But we cannot prove that, since no culprit was ever convicted, so we’ll never truly know, will we?”

You hear your own gasp as if it’s happening from outside of your body.  Pressure builds behind your eyes.  The words, I don’t believe you , die before they can reach your lips.

The Baron looks downright gleeful now.  “I can see why my dear nephew finds you so amusing.  You really had no idea?”

You lower your head, mouth opening and closing.  

Do not cry.  Under no circumstances are you to ever cry in front of this man .

It’s awful.  It’s so horrifying it never occurred to you and yet it also makes a sick kind of sense that makes you wish you could vomit out the information the Baron’s just given you, purge it from your mind and go back to several minutes ago, when even with such unexplored territory ahead of you at least you felt a level of safety, even optimism.

“The coroners say she was stabbed in the neck four times,” he adds and that’s the moment he wins and you feel yourself begin to double over, letting out a sob before covering your mouth and belatedly realizing that you’ve wrapped one arm around your belly.  Stop.  Please just stop, you want to say, and no words come out but tears do.

The door opens and the Baron’s eyes flicker to something behind you.  

“Feyd!” he calls out.  “What excellent timing.  We were just talking about you.”

You slowly turn, not wanting to look at either of them and needing to know.  Tell me it’s not true, Feyd.  Please tell me that it’s a sick joke .

Feyd inhales sharply when he sees the look on your face and glares back at his uncle.  His expression, looking stricken and then quietly furious, is his admission of guilt.

“I must say I’m a little surprised, nephew,” the Baron says and your ears ring as you see that beyond the now-opened door the servant who’d brought you here now lays motionless, bleeding out on the floor.  “I’d assumed you’d want to be honest with your delicate wife about your history, even the less savory bits.”

“You try to poison my own wife against me,” Feyd snaps.

“I’m not doing anything that wouldn’t have happened anyway, nephew,” the Baron says, reaching for his hookah again.  “She’s not stupid; she was bound to figure it out eventually, even if you were never going to tell her.”

He wasn’t , you think.  Would he have lied if I’d bothered to ask?  Or just hoped that I’d never be curious?  

Feyd looks at you.  Neither of you speak.  What is there to say?  You can’t think of anything.  You turn and start walking, needing air, needing to get away.  Feyd reaches for your arm as you pass him and you wish you were Bene Gesserit so you could properly use the Voice on him when you scream, “ No! ”  All the same he drops his hand, flinching, silent, as you leave the room with tears streaming down your cheeks.

Behind you, distantly, you hear the Baron chuckle.  “Make sure you’ve properly tamed your pet before you tame Arrakis, Feyd.  Oh, and happy birthday again.”

That is all for now but I am very much back and at close to 100k words.

Tagged: @alexandrainlove @richardslady121 @wo-ming-bai @blazeflays @cavillandevanssandwhich

For anyone else who'd like to be tagged please lmk!

[solisevart]

Teal Streaked Ribbons by GardenFairie on ao3

A story and character study of Will’s healing from the Upside Down, and his journey with intimacy and control.

it’s here!! I had the absolute pleasure of working with @gardenfairie for this year’s @bylerbigbang, who wrote this beautiful fic about a part of Will’s canon life that isn’t often explored - including himself here - and it warmed my heart to see him navigate it 🥹 check it out!!

cw for discussions of CSA (read author’s notes!)

click here for some companion doodles from the fic!

[flawlessflesh]

at arm's length

CW: Discussion of CSA and trafficking

I originally wrote this meta in response to a retrospring anon - These are my thoughts on the impact of child abuse on Thistle's ability to form relationships or feel attraction.

Keep in mind as you read that this is based on my personal interpretation of Thistle as a present-day teen who was trafficked for several years before being taken to the golden kingdom. This meta is canon-adjacent, not canon, and can be considered supplementary info for my fics.

-

Thistle has a heaping pile of trauma centered on interpersonal relationships and intimacy. This, along with his lifespan, inhibits him from forming equal relationships with others, and outside of his very small family group he doesn’t feel safe or capable of reaching out to people or letting people in.

He can feel attraction towards others but he shuts it down and doesn’t act on it because it feels like something bad will happen if he does. I consider him to be more comfortable around men than he is with women because he thinks he knows what he can expect from men (men were the main perpetrators of his abuse, but men like Freinag and Delgal are also the most important relationships in his life), but he has no idea what to expect from women. Best to avoid them. Most of his attraction is towards men as well and that complicates things due to the likelihood that these historical fantasy tall-man societies are homophobic - and Thistle isn’t treated like a man but he also isn’t a woman, so is it allowed? Is there something wrong with him for feeling this way? He doesn’t know. It isn't safe. So he keeps it all to himself.

In my timeline, Thistle doesn’t start puberty until a few years before the kingdom is turned into a dungeon. He never has the typical experience of crushes and childhood romance because he has no peers to engage in them with - his slower aging and his race isolate him. Everyone sees the silly little elf jester first and not the person. All he has is the royal family. Delgal goes through puberty, fools around, gets married, and through it all Thistle only understands that behavior like it’s something he’s read about in a book. He's disturbed by it too, having only had negative experiences with human sexuality, as little as he remembers of it. As an aside, I think when Thistle was brought to the castle he briefly had a crush on the king, but it was a child’s harmless emotion directed towards someone safe who he perceived as having saved him. If you’ve ever had a strong attachment towards a teacher or mentor growing up it was like that, and Freinag wasn’t aware of it and did not encourage it.

This is going deep into headcanon territory now. Thistle was trafficked by the troupe master of the traveling performers who had him before he was given to King Freinag. Thistle has suppressed the entire thing and can’t clearly recall the last twenty years of his life before Freinag. The information he has about that time is what people later told him (“your parents abandoned you”, “you were part of a traveling troupe”, “you already knew how to play the flute and follow instructions well”, etc). Freinag unintentionally replicates the emotional abuse that Thistle suffered — he calls Thistle his child but treats him more like a pet who has to perform for approval, and he is overly physically affectionate while neglecting the very real parental needs Thistle has as a young child. Thistle's hurt is like a barely scabbed over wound that keeps being picked at until it bleeds again.

Thistle grows up with an incorrect idea of how adults are allowed to treat him which leads to wariness towards everyone who is not the immediate royal family. They’re safe, they don’t do anything bad, but he can’t trust anyone else. Plus - he doesn’t like when strangers single him out for being an elf. He wants to fit in so badly and instead they invade his space and point out how he’s different and are always reaching for his ears. The few times he feels attraction he suppresses it on instinct without trying to understanding what it is or what prompted it. He doesn’t want to feel drawn to anyone he isn’t already close to. It’s a self-preservation mechanism and a reaction to the abuse he suffered, and after a while the curiosity is blocked off altogether.

In a post-canon future where he’s found a will to live and is healed to the point where he is interested in meeting new people, I still think he wouldn’t want to have an intimate relationship. It’s like a chasm, a frightening abyss of possibility for new experiences but also for getting hurt, and he has been hurt too many times already. Friendship would be daunting enough - I genuinely think he’d struggle with it - but anything more is equivalent with ruinous loss of control in his mind. Things can get better with time, conscious work, and understanding, but this mindset is where I see him staying for a long while. Thistle doesn’t do well with change or admitting truths to himself that he’s worked very, very hard to suppress.

[vallcro]

Tw/Cws: Vent/Rant Post, Mildly Graphic(?) Discussion Of CSA and CSEM, Shipcourse

As A Victim Of CSA And CSEM It Actual Hurts Me So Much To See People Equate Drawings And FanFics To ‘CP’ As The “We Care About Victims” Group Calls It.

Like It Hurts So Bad Knowing People Are Unironically Equating My And Other Victims Trauma To Fictional Characters.

A Fictional Character Isn’t Real They Don’t Understand How It Feels To Be Abused And Recorded During It, Don’t Understand How It Feels To Know Your Little Hurt Body Is Forever Alive Through Photos, Don’t Understand How It Feels To Know That There Are Still People Till This Day That Possess Images And Videos Of You Being Hurt, They Can’t Understand Bc They’re NOT REAL They’re FAKE And Don’t Feel Pain. VICTIMS are REAL People Who Have Been Hurt, WE ARE REAL PEOPLE THAT HAVE BEEN HURT AND SOME OF US ARE STILL HURTING AND WILL FOREVER.

Victims And Just Real Human People In General Matter So Much More Than Any Fictional Character Ever Will.

When You Are Saying People Who Create Darkfic Drawings And Fics Are The Same Evil That Record, Share, And Look At Videos And Pictures Of Real Children Being Abused You Are Indirectly Telling Victims They Are Worth Nothing More Than A Fictional Character And That They Don’t Matter. CSA Already Causes Issues With Self Worth And You Are Telling Victims They Have The Same Value As A Fictional Character Sometimes Saying They Have Even Less.

Do You Seriously Not Get How Evil That Sounds?

[littlebattybaby]

late night thoughts, pls be nice, this is personal, but i thought others might feel alone like i do (cw/tw for discussion of s*xual thoughts and csa)

i see a lot of stuff about how agere is NEVER sexual and while OFC you should never sexualize agere I also wanna provide validation for those who struggle with sexual thoughts due to ocd or trauma even while regressed.

my brain doesnt turn off the trauma responses it usually has when i regress, so while it ALWAYS makes me feel super uncomfy when regressed, i can struggle with my hypersexuality still being present. i also was hypersexual as an *actual* child due to csa, so it makes sense that even while regressed my mind would still contain this aspect. i absolutely hate it and it makes me feel gross but im not making any conscious choice to be the way i am and i dont act on any of these thoughts or feelings. i just want to talk about this because the lack of discussion about this aspect of agere made me feel isolated and like i was doing something wrong.

if you experience anything similar i see you and dont worry you're valid too <3

(i cant even stand swearing while regressed so if u think this means im actively sexualizing my agere or engaging in sexual activities while regressed, im absolutely not)

[antlerqueer]

If you like Yellowjackets, you may like... (books)

If you like the dark sides of the whimsy of girlhood, forest exploring girls all grown up, mystery Read What Lies In The Woods by Kate Alice Marshall CWs death, discussion of suicide, violence, SA implications

If you like unlikable narrators & toxic girl friendships where both of them are victims, but theyre bad for each other, and they spent time apart but now she's back Read When We Were Friends by Holly Bourne CWs discussion of suicide, SA, self harm, drug use

If you like toxic girl friendship, this time in college, murder mystery with a dual timeline Read The Girls Are All So Nice Here by Laurie Elizabeth Flynn CWs self harm, violence, sa, drug use

If you like codependent teen girls with dark themes Read Cherish Farrah by Bethany C Morrow CWs anti-Blackness (including descriptions of violence, micro aggressions)

If you like dual timelines & homoerotic formative girlfriendships (and canon relationships), rivalry but this time it's a girl group not a soccer team Read The Unravelling of Cassidy Holmes by Elissa R Sloan CWs ED (descriptions of the feelings, habits), suicide, SA, racism, depression (descriptions of the feelings), drug use/addiction

If you like Misty Quigley, milf on milf manipulation, unreliable narrators, dual perspective narration, and, of course, some light stalking Read None of This is True by Lisa Jewell CWs mentions of csa, grooming. descriptions of violence.