#not here for the plot

[feralforfeydrautha]

Sparring Partners - Chapter 1

My offering to the Feyd Fanatics. Stay fed out there!

Adults only! 18+, minors don't interact.

It's gonna get kinky in here.

Your cardinal rule was not to mix business and sex. The way he held your gaze, waiting to strike and devour you at any moment, you might be convinced to make an exception. 

You gently press the cloth at the hollow above your collarbone, letting two small rivulets of water trace down below the collar of your stillsuit. If you had your way, you would linger to enjoy the light breeze in the courtyard whispering across your dewy skin. Palace tradition dictates that you treat the luxury as trivial. Three quick dabs across your face, a quick press of moisture on your lips before dropping the cloth on the ground for the beggars to wring water from. Picking up your cases, you follow a servant inside. 

As you walked further and further down the halls, schlepping your cases, you thought this Harkonnen had better make a considerable purchase to warrant having called you here from Carthag. Perhaps some price adjustments are in order to make it worth the trouble. Originally, you had half a mind to refuse the request entirely, but had thought better of starting off on his bad side. Though Feyd-Rautha was reputed to be more cunning than his brother, but you didn’t suppose he would be any less vicious. Better to make the trip to Arrakeen than deal with the potential consequences of refusal. 

Finally, the servant stops in front of a set of doors. She meekly stands to the side, unmoving, gazing at the floor. 

“Do you mind?” you ask, gesturing towards the door handle with one of your cases. She shrinks further back against the wall. Sighing, you set down the case and knock on the door. You pull back your shoulders and lift your chin, ready to get this over with.

The door pulls open, but you cannot see who opens it. To your surprise, it is not a meeting hall, but a bedroom. No wonder it took so long to get here from the entrance. A tall, formidable frame rises from an armchair and slinks towards you. 

“You must be the Temptress,” he softly growls, the hairs at the nape of your neck seem to vibrate. “What have you brought for me?” 

“I’ll be glad to show you, na-baron, if there is somewhere I may set my cases. This is a rather… unconventional place for a meeting.” You pause, raising an eyebrow. There are no tables in the room, save a small end table next to the chair. 

“I thought you would prefer the unconventional,” he smirks, waiting for you to respond. You remain still. 

“The bed will suffice.”

As you lean to unlock the cases, you can feel him approach you from behind. He leans over your right shoulder, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body. He reaches in front of you to retrieve an item from the case in front of your left hip, without making contact. You hate it when clients try to put their hands on you. Though he hasn’t touched you, the proximity has drawn your ire. You glance down at his hand, holding a flogger with metal tips.

“That one is quite a stinger. If you like a sharp, biting feel, I also have a selection of crops in the other case.” Feyd curves around you as you step to the side and click open the latch. With both hands, you pull out a handle with a long, thin reed. Feyd shakes his head. He presses a finger down along the cane, guiding you to put it back. 

“No? Alright. Tell me what you like, then.” You follow his gaze as he scans the toys, not lingering on any particular item. He runs a finger over clamps, harnesses, handles, then steps in between you and the bed, so you have to lift your head to look at him. His leg brushes your inner thigh.

“Is this it?” he asks. “With everything I’d heard about you, I thought surely you would have something I hadn’t tried before.”

 You grit your teeth, trying to tamp down on your irritation. You close one case lid, barely avoiding slamming it closed. 

“How was I to know what you have and haven’t tried before? I can’t carry my whole store here. If you want variety, you have to come to the shop. What a waste of time,” you huff.

You close the second case, and as you start to pull the handle, Feyd presses the case down into the bed. You snap your head to look at him. He’s grinning, mouth slightly agape. 

You yank the case out from under his hand and charge towards the door. He could have held his place, instead he lets your arm to his chest push him out of your path.

“Firey little pet” he calls out, but you round the corner without looking back. 

“Now, that’s something new.”

There’s a knock at your door. You look through your oil lens periscope to see a man in Harkonnen dress, though you don’t recognize him. You slide open the porthole on the door. “Yes?”

“Na-Baron Harkonnen demands you return to speak with him. You will come with me to the ‘thopter. Gather your things.” 

”No,” you say firmly. “If he would like an audience, he can come here.”  You close the porthole and pointedly ignore the incessant pounding on the door. Eventually the man gives up. 

Several days later, you are soldering wires to a circuit board when you hear knocking again. This time, the periscope shows a familiar face, with several Harkonnen soldiers behind him.

“Your men can wait outside.” 

Feyd Rautha saunters in and the door’s vapor seal closes with a damp thwack. HE begins to circle the room, eyeing the displays. When he turns, you’ve placed a chair in the center of the room. 

You tap the chair with your hand. You look at him expectantly and wait. 

Feyd’s eyes lock onto yours. 

An ache grows in your chest, and you realize you are holding your breath. 

Feyd coyly tilts his head, moving his gaze with deliberate slowness to the chair, back to you, then to a display case. 

“It was bold of you to refuse my invitation,” he says, languidly picking up a spiked metal tool from the display. You can feel him tracking you in his peripheral vision, like a predator stalking its prey. It’s unnerving, though you don’t entirely dislike how it tingles the back of your neck. 

“I didn’t have to invite you at all,” he continues, unhurriedly. “I could have just had you taken prisoner, you know.” Feyd sets down the tool.

He turns his eyes back to you. You motion again to the chair, willing yourself not to look away. He slinks towards you, never breaking eye contact, hesitating inches from your face. 

“I could have taken what I wanted, and then slit your pretty throat.” His hand hovers at your neck. Your nerves ignite with anticipation, heat blossoming across your neck and chest. He withdraws his hand and sinks down into the chair, unblinking. 

“Forgive me that I’m not more grateful for your Harkonnen hospitality. I suppose you didn’t have enough time on Lankeveil to learn any manners, so I’ll give you your first etiquette lesson.” You grab metal cuffs from a hook on the wall.

 “I only do business with clients who agree to certain terms. If you want something I have, you must come to me.” You clasp one cuff shut around Feyd’s arm and the arm of the chair. You glimpse one faint twitch of his shoulder. He keeps his arms on the armrests. 

“If you disrespect me, I have to punish you.” You clasp the second cuff shut and engage the lock, the dials clicking softly as you adjust them.

You lean backwards against a table and take your sweet time looking him over. Feyd Rautha is a beast of a man. Imposing. Muscles taut with deadly kinetic energy. You let your eyes linger where they please. He breathes huskily. A bead of moisture pools at the edge of his mouth. 

You straddle his lap. You grasp his jaw, the rivulet of spit gliding down your hand as you turn his head to you. 

“You need to be punished,” you hiss. “How dare you presume such intimacy with me when we had never met. Are you so impertinent with all your business contacts that you invite them to your bedchamber on the first meeting?” 

 You squeeze his jaw more firmly.

“Do you expect them to know your carnal appetites? Or should I have read your mind like some bene gesserit witch?” Eyes flashing, your nails rasp against his skin. Feyd grins, panting. He is ravenous.

You lap his drool off your hand with the flat of your tongue, trailing your hot breath to his ear. “You’re going to sit here and think about how you’ve behaved. When I come back, if you're a good boy and you ask nicely, maybe I’ll show you something you want.”

[pokimoko]

I can't keep being fundamentally changed as a person by animated movies, it's just not sustainable.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

brain please wake up and draw

bonus :

[ruporas]

trigunned the hades or hadesed the trigun (id in alt)

[sunlit-mess]

taking off my anxiety over a license exam ☠️

[glorious-spoon]

i know we all laugh (mostly fondly) about the paper-thin plots in porn that only exist to make the sex happen, but i was reading some old stargate fic over the weekend, and i really think we're sleeping on the paper-thin hurt/comfort plot that only exists to force the characters to FEEL THINGS.

like, is this scenario realistic? no. does it make any rational sense? no. does it provide a built-in excuse for a character to collapse, bloody and disoriented, into the arms of his beloved/friend/partner? obviously, that's the whole point of this exercise.

i love it. it's my favorite thing in the world.

[stealingyourbones]

A Danny Gets Summoned By Cult AU but he’s actually bound to their summoning and has to do everything he’s commanded to.

Small twist: he’s not the Ghost King. He has the power level he has in the TV show. Not Uber powerful, just a mid tier meta going rogue.

As the local heroes go to stop this rampage they see something off.

The apparition like being that just leveled a city block with his war cry and looks like he’s about to collapse is crying. Glowing green tears flow down his cheeks as he’s commanded to freeze civilians and create havoc. The only reason why he’s standing is because he’s bound by summoning magic to completely level the city and not stop until he’s completed his task.

At this rate if Phantom isn’t stopped, he will fully die before the town is leveled.

[mafuyuakgae]

even if I came to love humanity in the end, there’s no proof I was ever here, right?

[egophiliac]

was gonna wait 'til I'd done all the poms, but it's been a day, so have Vil with a Salazzle 🍎

[hailsatanacab]

Family Dinners - dpxdc

"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne!" Danny gaped, jabbing a finger at the man sitting at the head of the table.

The bustling dining room goes silent as everyone turns to look at him.

"Danny, who did you think was going to be here?" Tim asks, disbelief plain in his voice and Danny feels his face flush red.

"Sorry, I, uh, I guess I just never put it together. Tim Drake-Wayne. Wayne Manor. It, uh, makes sense now." He laughs sheepishly and scrubs at his neck before slumping back down into his chair.

"Well," Tim says with an indulgent sigh, "at least I know you're not just friends with me for my connections."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, I just never thought about it, I guess."

Danny sinks lower as everyone around him laughs. Come to dinner, he said, the food is the best, he said, ignore the family, he said. Danny really wishes he'd listened to Tim and just ignored them—almost as much as he's regretting accepting the offer in the first place—but... he's having dinner with Batman.

Ancients, that's so weird!

The last time he saw Batman was in the future and, suffice it to say, it was not going well. There hadn't really been time for family dinners there.

Wait. Family dinners?

He peers around the table, openly gawking at everyone as it all clicks into place.

"Everything alright, Danny? Now realising who everyone else is?" Tim asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Uh... something like that..." Danny mumbles as everyone laughs again.

From further down the table, the smallest Wayne scoffs and clicks his tongue.

"I thought you said he was smart, Drake?"

"So, you all do it, too, then?" he asks, ignoring the jibe. Danny's only a little bit jealous as he thinks of how much easier they must have it, how much easier it'd be if his family had been on his side, too. "You all work together?"

"Nah," Dick says from across the table with a brilliant grin. "Tim's the only one that works with Bruce, we all have different jobs. I'm a police officer in Bludhaven."

"Disgusting." Danny blurts out without thinking—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting vigilante would also be a police officer?—before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

The whole table laughs again, the loudest being the blonde girl a few spaces down from Dick. Look, Danny wasn't really paying attention to names when they were all paraded in front of him. Dick only gets remembered because his name is a joke.

Come on, Danny, recover!

"That's, uh, not what I meant, though."

"Oh?" Dick asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. Is it Danny's imagination or does his smile tense slightly?

"Yeah, I mean like, you know, in costume. It must make it so much easier to have everyone together like this."

"Costume? What do you mean?"

Yeah, Danny's not imagining it, everyone tenses up at that. It's really only now that he's realising that this probably isn't how he should bring up that he knows about their... night time activities. In fact, he probably shouldn't be bringing it up at all.

"Uuhhh..." Danny looks wildly around the table as he continues making his stupid noise. Think, think, think! There must be a way out of this!

"Danny?" Tim asks, looking concerned.

"Oh, Ancients, this isn't how I wanted it to go at all," he mutters, slipping even further into his chair. He's almost on the floor now and he so, so wishes it could just swallow him up.

His real first meeting with Batman was meant to be cool! He had planned to be Phantom, maybe save them from a tight spot, prove his worth as a mysterious and powerful ally as thanks for the help Batman gave him in the future.

"Danny, what are you talking about?" Tim starts tugging on his sleeve in an attempt to pull him back up from his pit of despair.

Eventually, Danny relents and sits up straighter, hiding his face in his hands and whining all the while.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect him to be here and it threw me off so now I look stupid and it's so embarrassing!" he wails, flailing his arms wide. "Why wouldn't you warn me that Batman was your adopted dad, Tim? Couldn't you have let me know?"

"I'm sorry, what? Danny are you alright? There's no way Bruce can be Batman, look at him!"

"Yeah," the blonde girl laughs from the bottom of the table, "look at him! That's a wet noodle of a man! Batman can actually do things, B is incapable of pretty much everything."

"Thank you, Stephanie," Bruce sighs, massaging his forehead.

It's... Those are the first words Danny's heard Batman say since everything went down and it's enough to knock him out of his embarrassment.

It's really good to hear his voice again. Especially now, when it's strong and healthy and full of personality—even if that personality is little more than a tired father right now—far better than how it had been, at the end.

Danny sits up, back straight, and grins. He's got this. He remembers it perfectly. Some people count sheep to fall asleep, Danny repeats his mantra to be certain that he'll never forget it.

"Gamma alpha upsilon tau iota mu epsilon, 42, 63, 28, 1 colon 65 dash 9."

Once again, the whole table falls into silence.

"Holy shit..." breathes the other D name (Duke? Danny's pretty sure he's Signal) from opposite Stephanie. "Isn't that...?"

"The time travelling code." The littlest Wayne says stiffly. "We have met in the future?"

"That's not just the time travelling code, Dami." Dick says, looking between Danny and Bruce. "That's the family time travelling code."

Danny's grin freezes in place.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"1 colon 65 dash 9." Dick explains, still flicking between him and Bruce. "It means you've been adopted into the family and we should all treat you as such, no questions asked."

"Tell you what, I'm about to ask a question." Danny says, dumbstruck. "You just told me it was a code to identify time travellers, not anything about being adopted! What the hell, B?"

Bruce looks about as shellshocked as Danny feels.

"We must have been close," he says finally, after opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water a few times.

"No! Not that close!" Danny reels back, taking a deep breath ready to refute it all, but... "Well, I mean, you found me when I first got stuck, and you helped me get better despite being... And then we fought together against the, uh, bad guy, before he, um, he... before you couldn't."

An uncomfortable beat passes while they all pick up on what Danny tried so hard not to say.

"So, you're not from the future, then, you travelled there and came back?" Tim asks, breaking the tension and leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

"Yeah, it was a whole end of the world thing, but don't worry about it," Danny says with a hand wave, "It's all kosher now, won't ever happen."

"What did happen?"

"Seriously, don't worry about it, we cool."

"How long in the future was it?"

"About ten years? You were pretty spry for an old man, B," Danny laughs, wishing they'd get off the topic of what happened and get back to the adoption bit.

Everyone shares degrees of a cautious smile as they relax out of the shock, and Dick—whose grin is the biggest—says, "No wonder you got the family code, you're already riffing on him like one of us. How long were you there for?"

"A week, before I managed to get back to my present and stop him then."

"A week? Jeez, B, that has to set some kind of record, seriously."

"Oh!" Danny says, sitting bolt upright and blinking in surprise before pointing at Dick and bouncing in his seat. "You're Nightwing!"

"What?"

"That's exactly what Nightwing said when Batman told me the code! Makes so much more sense now."

Dick laughs and claps his hands, delighted.

"You were not formally adopted?" The grumpy small one—Dami?—asks, his face pinched.

"I didn't even know I was informally adopted."

"And your parents? Are they alive or dead?"

"Damian, stop—"

"They were dead in the future, but they're alive now." Danny says, looking down. He fiddles with the tablecloth, twisting the fabric around his fingers as he fights down the pang of sadness that he always feels when he thinks of them now. He forces a bright smile on his face and hopes it doesn’t look too strained. "I just, uh, can't talk to them much, anymore."

"Damian," Dick warns, "1 colon 65 dash 9. Treat them as family, no questions asked."

"This is Damian treating him as family, the little turd has no manners." Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he gently bumps shoulders with Danny to knock him out of his funk. Danny can't help but send him a watery smile.

"I have the most exemplary manners, Drake, unlike some people." Damian spits, crossing his arms with a pout. "I was merely ascertaining his status to see how he could possibly fit into the family."

"I know this is all a bit sudden, Danny," Bruce smiles, ignoring Damian and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his arm, "for all of us. But if I felt strongly enough to give you that code after spending a week with you in the future, then you are more than welcome in this family, if you so choose it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'd like to get to know you a bit more."

"I know a threat when I hear it, Bruce." Danny snorts. "But, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry this is all so weird, it really wasn't how I wanted to find you again, but... I'm glad I did."

"So are we, Danny." Dick says, with a warm smile. "And formally or not, 1 colon 65 dash 9 means you're family. Welcome to the fun house! No take backs or refunds, sorry. You're stuck with us."

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[feralforfeydrautha]

Nameless Feyd Fic Teaser

Feyd awakened something in me, and I've been puzzling over how to write it. I have to get this out of my head, but trying to add plot keeps getting in the way. It won't be the best written fic you've ever read, but we're all just trying to stay fed out here. Also I know basically nothing about tumblr, so help a girl out with the formatting, tags, etc.

Adults only! 18+, minors don't interact.

Your cardinal rule was not to mix business and sex. The way he held your gaze, waiting to strike and devour you at any moment, you might be convinced to make an exception. 

You gently press the cloth at the hollow above your collarbone, letting two small rivulets of water trace down below the collar of your stillsuit. If you had your way, you would linger to enjoy the light breeze in the courtyard whispering across your dewy skin. Palace tradition dictates that you treat the luxury as trivial. Three quick dabs across your face, a quick press of moisture on your lips before dropping the cloth on the ground for the beggars to wring water from. Picking up your cases, you follow a servant inside. 

As you walked further and further down the halls, schlepping your cases, you thought this Harkonnen had better make a considerable purchase to warrant having called you here from Carthag. Perhaps some price adjustments are in order to make it worth the trouble. Originally, you had half a mind to refuse the request entirely, but had thought better of starting off on his bad side. Though Feyd-Rautha was reputed to be more cunning than his brother, but you didn’t suppose he would be any less vicious. Better to make the trip to Arrakeen than deal with the potential consequences of refusal. 

Finally, the servant stops in front of a set of doors. She meekly stands to the side, unmoving, gazing at the floor. 

“Do you mind?” you ask, gesturing towards the door handle with one of your cases. She shrinks further back against the wall. Sighing, you set down the case and knock on the door. You pull back your shoulders and lift your chin, ready to get this over with.

The door pulls open, but you cannot see who opens it. To your surprise, it is not a meeting hall, but a bedroom. No wonder it took so long to get here from the entrance. A tall, formidable frame rises from an armchair and slinks towards you. 

“You must be the Temptress,” he softly growls, the hairs at the nape of your neck seem to vibrate. “What have you brought for me?” 

“I’ll be glad to show you, na-baron, if there is somewhere I may set my cases. This is a rather… unconventional place for a meeting.” You pause, raising an eyebrow. There are no tables in the room, save a small end table next to the chair. 

“I thought you would prefer the unconventional,” he smirks, waiting for you to respond. You remain still. 

“The bed will suffice.”

As you lean to unlock the cases, you can feel him approach you from behind. He leans over your right shoulder, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body. He reaches in front of you to retrieve an item from the case in front of your left hip, without making contact. You hate it when clients try to put their hands on you. Though he hasn’t touched you, the proximity has drawn your ire. You glance down at his hand, holding a flogger with metal tips.

“That one is quite a stinger. If you like a sharp, biting feel, I also have a selection of crops in the other case.” Feyd curves around you as you step to the side and click open the latch. With both hands, you pull out a handle with a long, thin reed. Feyd shakes his head. He presses a finger down along the cane, guiding you to put it back. 

“No? Alright. Tell me what you like, then.” You follow his gaze as he scans the toys, not lingering on any particular item. He runs a finger over clamps, harnesses, handles, then steps in between you and the bed, so you have to lift your head to look at him. His leg brushes your inner thigh.

“Is this it?” he asks. “With everything I’d heard about you, I thought surely you would have something I hadn’t tried before.”

 You grit your teeth, trying to tamp down on your irritation. You close one case lid, barely avoiding slamming it closed. 

“How was I to know what you have and haven’t tried before? I can’t carry my whole store here. If you want variety, you have to come to the shop. What a waste of time,” you huff.

You close the second case, and as you start to pull the handle, Feyd presses the case down into the bed. You snap your head to look at him. He’s grinning, mouth slightly agape. 

You yank the case out from under his hand and charge towards the door. He could have held his place, instead he lets your arm to his chest push him out of your path.

“Firey little pet” he calls out, but you round the corner without looking back. 

“Now, that’s something new.”

[cosmosnout]

The real reason Oda had to get rid of her was not for plot convenience, but bc she would have kicked everyone’s ass. (Source: trust me bro)

[angry-kid-with-no-money]

"Nora doesn't know anything about the things she writes about" "aftg is terrible queer rep" "the queer characters in aftg are so problematic"

Idk guys maybe the book series abt problematic ppl set in 2006 and written in the mid 2010s shouldn't be expected to hold up against scrutiny of what we consider to be moral and correct now, in 2024

Idk tho, idk

[justanotherfanfolks]

I find it funny that in the platinum jacket cards so far, everyone’s face looks like this:

And then there's Rook.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I'm not going back to Gusu with you.

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