#shrewd-quotes

[quotelr]

Knowing what to say is sense, when to say it is intelligence, how to say it is wisdom, why and how to say it is enlightenment.

Matshona Dhliwayo

[iftitah]

aurat jaat bhi kam madarchod nahi hai vaise <3

[howifeltabouthim]

. . . with the shrewdness of someone whose life has had its fill of disappointment.

L.P. Hartley, from The Harness Room

[hottpinkpenguin]

For event:

Alfie Solomons with

A - “Ask me to stay” + N - not good enough

Please. Thanks

A/n: hiiiiiii, i realized after i wrote it that i got over-excited and forgot the quote (the trope is there though!!) but i like this too much not to post it!

Alfie Solomons X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2229 Tags: angst, steam, canon-divergence, swearing, misogynistic themes

Alfie Solomons was a man of many vices and few virtues. He’d gone to great pains to ensure that. 

Usually this fact was one he lived proudly. He lived violently, lavishly, and with reckless abandon. Spent his money foolishly, shot his pistols carelessly, and slept with women thoughtlessly. This earned him a larger-than-life reputation in Camden Town. It impressed his employees, amused his business partners, and irritated his enemies. Alfie Solomons was a thorn in the side of propriety, and he loved it.

That changed quickly after meeting you. 

Alfie wasn’t entirely sure when that change happened - he couldn’t finger a specific moment or blame any particular feeling - but he had realized some time ago that the man he’d spent his entire life growing into was suddenly a hindrance.

And it had never been clearer than now.

“Mr. Solomons, I am not a man prone to jokes or levity, especially in moments as grave as this.” Your father was sitting across from Alfie, his back as straight as a whipping rod, hands splayed on the small kitchen table between them. He was taller than Alfie remembered, with shrewd dark eyes that bored straight into him. The absent smile of regret slid off Alfie’s face when he snapped back into the moment, dragged out of wistful reverie. 

“No, n-no sir.” A stutter? Alfie Solomons had never stuttered a day in his life, but here he was, reduced to a stuttering, sheepish shadow of himself in your kitchen. He could hear the slightest creak of a floorboard outside the kitchen door - no doubt you and your three younger sisters listening intently to the near-midnight conversation about your future. 

“I must admit, Mr. Solomons, I am utterly perplexed. My daughter is a young woman with no means, very few prospects beyond that which marriage will afford her. It is my understanding that she intends to pursue a life in the church, in fact.” Alfie’s heart froze to solid ice in his chest. A nun? My god, what was this woman doing to him. Alfie Solomons swore silently to himself that he’d die before he saw you don a habit and wimple. The mere sight of that alone would kill him.

“Yes sir, yes, I understand. I understand well.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed as it was rather obvious that Alfie Solomons did not, in fact, understand at all.

“She is a good girl, but plain and modest in both looks, prospects, and background. Surely a man of your… stature-” your father’s voice pressed down on this word with distaste “- would have his pick of eligible brides.”

Alfie stifled a chuckle, recognizing that it would do him no good to appear cocky or dismissive of your father’s concerns. Your father was right on all accounts: Alfie Solomons was a gangster, a womanizer, and a criminal. You, on the other hand, were… well, words failed Alfie when it came to describing you, but to say you were everything that he was not was an understatement of the worst kind. 

He settled on what he hoped was an appropriately chaste nod. Your father leaned back slightly in his chair, eyeing his eldest daughter’s apparent suitor with bald antipathy. Alfie wasn’t used to people - especially other men - regarding him so openly. It made him uncomfortable in a manner he was quite unused to, as if he was being truly seen for the first time in a long time. He squirmed slightly in his chair, clearing his throat and fidgeting with the wide-brim of his best hat, something he’d had commissioned specifically for this occasion. 

The silence between the two men was widening into a chasm. It was more than you could take. Suddenly unable to stop yourself, you leapt up from the crouch you’d been in for the last half hour, eavesdropping from the stairwell with your mother and younger sisters. You launched down the stairs, despite your sisters grabbing at your nightgown. Your mother gasped as you flung open the kitchen door, almost unseating Alfie in the process. Your kitchen was as modest as your future prospects, and with the three of you crammed into the space it was mighty tight. The added pressure of your nearly-dashed hopes, your father’s broad disappointment, and Alfie’s hopeless attachment to you turned the meager room from cozy to positively stifling. 

“Papa, please! I love him! You can’t keep me from him, I won’t let you!” 

Childish and painfully simple, not nearly the eloquent protest you’d been mulling over all day. And a lie to boot. If push came to shove - as it so often did with your father - he could very much keep you from marrying Alfie Solomons. Your cheeks reddened in embarrassment at your outburst.

Alfie, for one, thought you’d never looked more perfect. Your eyes sparkled in the dim lamplight, your hair was undone and slung over one shoulder in a lazily constructed braid, small curls breaking free around your temples and forehead. Your skin flushed with the unseasonable warm of the September night in Camden Town, those beautiful pillowy lips he couldn’t get out of his head parted and pink. If he was a coarser man and the situation less important, he felt sure he’d grab you and pull you onto his lap right then and there, bystanders and naysayers be damned.

“Saints above, m’dear, come away and cover yourself!” Your mother had been only a few steps behind you. Unable to step fully into the kitchen, she settled for tugging on your arm. Your blush deepened to a shade of red bordering on purple as you realized you were standing in nothing but a summer-thin nightgown. Alfie’s gaze hadn’t made its way far enough from your face yet to take in the ample expanses of skin on display, but your father was glaring daggers into the opposite wall, his jaw set so tight you wondered his teeth didn’t break. 

Appropriately embarrassed, the element of surprise now lost to you, you bowed your head and let your mother tug you out of the kitchen. Your mother - a soft-souled romantic at heart - made gentle soothing motions against your back as silent sobs began to rack through you. You climbed the stairs in a fog, your sisters scattering at your mother’s insistence that ‘the show’s over, girls’. With each step higher, you felt certain that the future you’d imagined for yourself with Alfie was destined to be nothing more than a far-flung dream. 

The kitchen had sunk back into a tense silence, however for subtle reasons not quite clear to Alfie, your father seemed infinitely more disquieted by your scene than he’d have expected from the sour old puss. Those gnarled, knobby hands that had, until just a moment ago, been laid out like piles of kindling on the table all evening were suddenly clasped together and fidgety. Your father seemed shorter, his spine bowing under an invisible weight. Against himself, Alfie Solomons found himself leaning forward with a hint of concern.

“Sir? Are you quite alright?” 

Your father’s gaze had lost none of its venom, although behind that mask of derision was a spark of emotion. 

“How did you manage it, Mr. Solomons?” The question was as quiet as snowfall in winter. Alfie almost had to ask him to repeat it. 

“What, sir? Manage what, sir?” More stuttering. Gods be damned, Alfie Solomons was a mess. The image of you bursting into the kitchen, all softness and outrage and girlish desire, had tied him into knots. 

“My eldest daughter is many things, Mr. Solomons. A diligent student, a kind voice to her sisters, a steadfast helper to her mother. A pious child of God.” (Alfie struggled to keep himself from breaking into an impish grin, knowing that if your father had any inkling of the enthusiastic midnight rendezvous the two of you indulged in frequently that he most certainly would not dub you pious.) “And a passionate spirit, I confess. Yet… that part of her is… locked away.” 

Alfie found himself nodding, his memory dragging him back to the first few weeks of your acquaintance. You’d been all business - all ‘yes, Mr. Solomons’ and ‘right away, sir’. But he’d seen that fire in you, the same fire your father spoke of. It simmered deep in your eyes and bubbled up when you laughed. It had sent Alfie to the brink of madness to come so close to something he wanted so badly and to be denied it. But with diligence, patience, and focus - all virtues that Alfie Solomons had gone to great lengths to rid himself of - he’d finally won you over. He’d finally found that the fire inside you burned wild and free. You were raw and open and unfettered with him now. A gift he’d kill for. Hell, he’d die for it too. 

“But not with you, apparently.” Your father’s voice trailed off into quiet. Alfie wondered what he was meant to say. He settled on a noncommittal grunt of agreement. 

“How that came to be, I find myself unable to hazard a guess…” Another probing gaze, the kind that made Alfie squirm. “And perhaps I wouldn’t like the answer. In fact, I…” Your father stopped suddenly, clearing his throat and straightening his crisp Sunday jacket. A ridiculously formal choice for the occasion, Alfie thought, although he realized he could hardly cast stones as he looked down at his freshest suit, newest hat, and shiniest shoes. It seemed both of them had understood the importance of this night, and of the things that hung in the balance with their words.

“I am quite shocked to hear myself say this, Mr. Solomons, and I urge you to leave quickly lest I reconsider. But yes. You may marry her.” 

Alfie wondered if he’d finally drank himself into madness. This surely was a dream, a whiskey-addled fever dream. He gaped openly at your father, stammering out nothing more than shocked noises. 

“You don’t have my blessing, although I won’t stand in your way.” 

The door to the kitchen burst open again, and in you came once more, squealing and flying into a pair of outstretched arms. Alfie smiled as your father engulfed you in a surprised hug. You were bouncing on your toes, peppering the side of his freshly shaved face with kisses and earnest expressions of ‘oh thank you Papa! Thank you!’ Alfie was glad to see that you’d thrown on a housecoat and pinned up your hair in a style more akin to what he was used to seeing you wear. He didn’t trust himself around you with that just-woke-from-sleep blush on your lips. 

Always trailing behind you, in rushed your three sisters and your mother, exclaiming and clapping their hands as if it were a jubilee. How the entire family - plus Alfie Solomons - managed to fit into that pint-sized kitchen was nothing short of a miracle. Hugs were exchanged, and Alfie kissed so many hands he wasn’t sure who’s high-pitched voice was talking to him anymore. 

It wasn’t until he felt your familiar weight balancing on the toes of his boots that he felt himself begin to swim into reality. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around you tightly, lifting you up off your feet into his embrace. You squeaked with joy, your soft hands finding their way to frame his face. Tossing all rules of propriety to the wind, your lips connected with his in a defiant, joyful, and soft kiss. You were warm under Alfie’s hands, and he was glad that no one but you could hear the groan of need he let loose as he tasted you on his tongue. For a moment, he let himself lose time in your mouth, hands resisting the urge to roam across your backside and around the swell of your hips. 

A pointed throat cleared, bringing Alfie Solomons down from the high. 

“As I suggested, Mr. Solomons, a timely exit would be a wise decision.”

Despite his generally somber countenance, Alfie could detect the faintest note of happiness in your father’s words. A confident declaration you’d made earlier that week drifted back to Alfie: Papa loves me, Alfie. He’ll have no choice but to say yes when he sees how in love we are. 

Alfie hadn’t believed a word of that back then, but he was grateful for your prescience. With a broad smile and a swelling heart, Alfie nodded graciously to your mother, sisters, father, and lastly to you, his bride-to-be, before making his exit. He donned his cap on the front steps outside your door, not minding the oppressive warmth of a sticky night even under his three layers of wool suit.

You stepped halfway out the door to wave shyly as Alfie retreated into the night, his feet barely touching the pavement beneath. He turned back more times than he could count to see you still standing there, bathed in the streetlamp’s light. He rounded the corner at the end of your street with the warm realization that, in a few weeks time, there’d be no more goodbyes from front stoops between the two of you. Only goodnight kisses - likely much more than that, if Alfie had any say at all - as one of you would turn down the bedside lamp, turning off the light on another happy day together in a future neither of you were sure would ever come to be…

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

Is This Desire? (Feyd Rautha x reader)

u know I had to tap in 🤭. reader is a noblewoman who has undergone bene gesserit training, there IS smut, there IS sexual tension, there ARE mind games, there IS dubcon (but not really 😉); quote found on Pinterest. None of the media besides the writing belongs to me, including quotes used at the beginning.

Happy Sunday 🤭 finally made it. Strong trigger warning for people sensitive to dub-con situations. There is a significant push and pull dynamic, be mindful of your peace.

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen and Tii Sanura Sur-Kar have been lifelong friends since the day they were betrothed as children—-a mutual coldness in the eyes inspired respect and appreciation between the two kindred spirits. On the day of the na-Baron’s coming of age, however, simmering tensions between the pair rise to an all-consuming firestorm as the young Baron attempts to finally act on the desires he has harbored for her, but there is a significant challenge: how he can manage to break past her impenetrable composure; the dispassionate mask of his treasured Bene Gesserit master?

the lovers.

“Love is an ancient force, one that served in its day but is no longer essential for the survival of the species.” -Bene Gesserit Axiom

***

“Do you truly think you could redeem such a beast?”

She smiled. “I know, I am allowing my affections cloud my judgment. But allow me an opportunity before his fate is sealed, Reverend Mother.”

The older woman stared her down through the sheer fabric cloaking her face. “You are a very sharp mind, but your youth may sway you against wiser judgment.”

The young sister smiled. “I will not lose sight of our mission, do not worry. I only wish to test a hypothesis.”

“Be wary of overextending yourself.”

“I would not shame you with such folly. I have no intention of losing control.”

After this, the Reverend Mother Superior was silent, ending the discussion. The Duchess rose, gave a respectful incline of her head, and departed.

No, she would not lose control. They had come much, much too far.

It was simply a mere experiment—-too much risk, and she would end it without hesitation.

She only hoped she wouldn’t have to.

***

Tii Sanura Sur-Kar ran through the subconscious of the na-Baron like a mantra. A dangerous liability, he knew, but considering it was the name of his bride, it was an indulgence he willingly succumbed to at every turn. It was like song, like poetry to him, neither of which he cared for terribly but she adored—if she was truly capable of such a feeling. His betrothed was a shrewd, charming woman. Never terribly moved nor affected, never troubled nor wanting. It hadn’t always been that way, but once she underwent her Bene Gesserit training, the risk-taking, jubilant playmate he knew as a child became a confounding and mysterious woman as the years passed. He was vexed by it initially; her disinterest towards what had once thrilled her, her fixation on scriptures and disciplines, her strangely hypnotic eyes, but he managed to adjust over time. After all, she was a noblewoman with duties and ambitions of her own, not a pet.

Still, she was his. The knowledge that she could not slip through his fingers sated his dissatisfaction with her frigidity. As the years passed, he managed to learn her ways. He was the only one who elicited a smile from her pursed, pillowy lips. He was the only one who could freely request her presence and, eventually, he was the only one—in the whole of the empire, he suspected—that could see the brief cracks in her sagelike mask. He experimented with the pressure points he could catch glimpses of. There was some satisfaction in pulling out the things she was so resolute to conceal from the world around them, to rouse moments of amusement, surprise (a rarity), or, his favorite, timidity.

He lost out on the last one a couple years ago, though, when he had pushed too far during a sparring match, and she surrendered too freely. Her eyes miraculously sparked with the horror of an uncontrollable and unexpected emotion. He felt it for a moment then—the way he could ignite her desire, the way she softened all over beneath his strength. The warmth of her breath, the softness of her skin; he had gotten a taste of it and had needed more ever since.

Thoughts for another time.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen knew how badly his future bride desired him. And vice-versa. It made Tii Sanura retreat as they grew older: more distance, more sarcastic jabs and intellectual pretensions. She knew him well enough to do exactly what would make him tick, to repel the low hum of want that had grown strong enough to overwhelm any other potential experiences they could’ve shared. There had been a time where they had come to an agreement of tentative friendship, but those days were burned to ash under the heat that dared to surface whenever the two were together.

The closer they got to coming of age the more her visits changed. She took longer to come by, and when she was there, she was terse with him if he could get her to speak. In all fairness, though, they did have chaperones since the sparring mishap. She was undoubtedly being discreet about whatever she felt about him, but he knew that despite all the suitors that attempted to sweep her away from him, he had secured her interest. Only he could tell, as difficult a riddle it was to continuously decode. The difficulty became less infuriating as he slowly understood the game being played—he kept testing her resolve and she kept coming back to prove it. The satisfaction he got from poking at her weaknesses barely rivaled hers from besting them. It was almost heartwarming if either of them possessed such a silly thing: he was still her favorite sparring partner.

Tii Sanura had not visited in this year, and it was an important one. The time of his coming of age and hers, the time of their union. He anticipated her usual distance, but not total silence. He tried to distract himself from the unpleasant feeling it caused but there was no cure on Geidi Prime to salve the absence of her silvery voice and sweet perfumes. His pets sufficed for more immediate needs, but there was no comparison. It troubled and fascinated him, the attachment he had to her. He would’ve rid himself of it if not for the fact she still sent him letters, and the fact she could not truly discard him like the rest fueled his want, his need, his hunger to claim his prize. His woman; his wife.

He would not show mercy on this day.

It was all that was truly on his mind as the slave women did their painting on his torso and he inspected his new blades. She would be there, she would be watching him in the arena, and she would be with him tonight afterward. Feyd intended to make the most of such ripe opportunities.

The games were amusing enough, but it was time for them to end. He had spent months envisioning it, the way he would finally best her, conquer her. The anticipation set his teeth on edge so badly it took all of his willpower to not run through slaves and servants like tissue paper. He would not lose his cool, he would adopt the discipline of his beloved, he told himself. He would not imagine ravaging her powerful, lithe frame, bruising her soft brown flesh, envisioning the pain and ecstasy he would conjure upon her unmoved, delicate face. He wouldn’t lose himself. He wouldn’t.

Not if he was going to finally make her do the same.

***

Tii Sanura was bored, as always. She was always amazed by how stupid everyone had to be to not tell the woman she presented them was a fiction. Did they not find her razor-sharp mind the slightest bit incongruent with the mask of a young noblewoman dutifully awaiting her marriage, tastefully enthused to kindly engage with anybody, who always had the perfect compliment and the most ego-stroking remark? Did they not see the void behind the artificial warmth in her gaze? Did they truly think every braindead comment they made amused her?

Of course not, save for a few pitiful monkeys, but the desire to believe the myth and participate bored her all the same. She had forced it into a microscopic container by now, but part of her still longed for the days of swimming naked in the swelling river during the rainy springs in Daquan, riding horses, hours of archery and combat training, studying the history of her ancestors, dressing up in her mother’s priceless gowns and traversing across the oasis-laden desert that surrounded their palace, much to her always gratifying horror. Oh, the tragedies of womanhood.

She was almost perfect. Almost. It made her want to dig her nails into her palms with frustration. The only source of weakness that remained was her betrothed. No matter how she wanted to or tried, the memories, her favoring of him would not fade away like the rest of her old emotions. She could not stay away no matter how much it infuriated her, humiliated her to her sisters. The little machine and her crush, they would tease her. It made her want to smear the walls and floors with their blood, the sounds of their smug tones and the superior air they held around her. It made her furious with her parents for not keeping her and Feyd separate in their youth. Now she had a soft spot in her armor, and the worst part is how he knew.

He provoked her, the bastard. He studied her every time they were together to the point where her only solution was to stop visiting so much. The only company in the galaxy she could stand was now her greatest vex. Just her luck.

The roaring of the crowd in the arena was deafening to her. She hated it, the sounds of fools cheering for their annual performance, for their na-Baron’s holy birthday. She could only imagine how small the Harkonnens’ subjects’ brains had to be to think God was anywhere near this place.

Despite the charade of his arena performance, it wasn’t a detractor from her future husband’s proficiency in combat. His strength was obvious, from the gradual sophistication of his movements, the calculation of his ink black stare…the way his body sculpted overtime to…distressing perfection. Weary of her sisters sensing where her thoughts wandered, she dismissed the thoughts as quickly as they came, calmly raising her binoculars to get a better view of the arena.

There was no relief: he was walking out into the center.

The cheers grew so loud they hurt her ears. Her body became rigid as she watched how he stalked onto the arena, claiming the praise and attention so readily offered to him. She spied the strength of his taut arms, his hands that held those blades of his with such natural finesse. He was a perfected killer, through and through. She stifled the sensation that dared to conjure in her stomach with a hint of spite. He was well enough in comparison to a Harkonnen, but he had room for improvement, she thought to herself, cooling down. But then, he did the absolutely unthinkable.

Her mouth dried as his head smoothly turned to look up at her and her Bene Gesserit sisters, blue eyes daring to twinkle something disastrously humiliating as they somehow fixed onto her from an impossible distance. He smiled and kissed one of his blades in gesture to her, then turned his attention to his uncle, bowing deferentially. It pleased the crowd greatly, and Tii Sanura wondered if these arena visits would one day fully strip her hearing abilities away as sisters chattered amongst themselves with a flat amusement Tii Sanura could not stand, but kept from feeling resentment towards. Such a small attempt to ruffle her golden feathers would not succeed. She watched on, her blood pressure stabilizing from its slight disturbance.

The bastard. He never bored her.

The pageant went on routinely enough; two hulking, delirious men stumbled out into the arena—the last of the House of Atreides. The name made the base of her spine tingle inexplicably. Perhaps it is her weakness of favor creeping up again, she would wonder; the thought of her childhood friend, his parents, Duncan Idaho and Gurney Haleck swept away in a harrowing night of fire and blood made her blood chill slightly. Perhaps it was the fragility of power in such a bloodthirsty imperial court; it often haunted her these days, knowing that the lives of her parents, her younger brothers, her ladies in waiting, herself, hung in such a precarious and delicate balance. Knowing the treachery of her near Uncle-in-law. The guarantees of disaster from moments of weakness. All the more reason to be perfect. One slip up, one ignorant action, and she could lose control of the game she was playing.

Still, those weren’t the answers, she knew that. It was something deeper. Something much more primal, animal. Like rats would escape pirate ships in those faraway ancient years. It felt wrong in a real way. But she didn’t let this trouble hover over her long. Only at night, in bed, did she contemplate the tension within her body. She knew it was not fear, so what was it? Perhaps if she could feel more she would know.

The arena’s cheers spiked in volume and Tii Sanura blinked, returning to what was conspiring beneath her. Feyd made easy work of the two drugged men, much to the delight of the ravenous crowds, but one still stood. And she meant that, too—he was standing. He was upright, alert and sharp. Her spine straightened in interest. Finally. Something interesting.

The two men squabbled briefly until Feyd realized the situation his uncle had placed him in. To anyone but Tii Sanura’s surprise and thrill, he removed his shield with a beaming expression. Her skin prickled slightly at the memory the motion conjured. When she came too close—much, much too close. It is agreeable for a Bene Gesserit to be able care for her partner, but what she felt that day was intolerable. The heavy burden of it on her sweat-slick chest, skin glistening with sweat and a few smears of blood, their muscles contracting and rippling as they fought each other with a heat that didn’t come from competition or bloodlust. Desire.

The word made her think of shuddering. There could be nothing more shameful, certainly. Especially for her kind—excellence was the only option, mastery was her only aim—her mother would have thought her a braindead whore if she had seen her that day. It almost made her think of feeling ashamed, but she only felt disgusted at her own laziness. It would never happen again.

Another swell of cheers. Tii Sanura left her mind again and focused on the battle beneath her—Feyd Rautha was at the mercy of his opponent’s blade, the point staring him directly in his eyes. She knew that he could only be laughing, and just to prove her point his blackened smile bloomed across his face. The man struggled against Feyd Rautha’a grip on the blade, trying to deal the finishing blow, but Tii Sanura knew her betrothed was well-equipped to handle such a minor threat. This was mere play to him. In an instant he had turned the blade onto the final member of House Atreides, sinking it into his chest.

She held back the sensation she felt watching it, the blade piercing her, imagining the heat of Feyd Rautha’s enthralling stare as he watched the life fade from his opponent. The man crumbled, and Feyd dropped him to the ground. He turned to his audience, raising his blade in victory. More roaring, almost like the oceans of Caladan themselves. She could hear their roaring. She could hear their ghosts.

He met her eyes again. She remained unfazed as she held it. He smiled slowly; it was not the same one as before. She knew that look, when she would politely excuse herself when he was getting a bit too touchy with one of his concubines—pets, he’d call them—and the air sparked with carnal heat.

Hunger. He was hungry. And he wasn’t looking anywhere else but her.

The sister closest to her jested softly. “It seems your betrothed is ready for you, Duchess Sanura.”

“He always looks like a dog in heat,” she cooly remarked, “There is no need to jump to such conclusions.”

Another one spoke again, Lady Margot Fenring, one she preferred out of her sisters, aside from the Reverend Mother Superior herself. She smiled bemusedly, eyeing her with a knowing that made Tii Sanura simultaneously relieved and discomforted.

“I hope you brought something for him to feast on, Duchess Sanura, if you do not want to be the one he devours.”

She allowed herself a bemused chuckle. “A fair assessment, I admit…”

She rose from her seat, undaunted by his dark stare. She slowly cocked her head, a small smirk quirking the corner of her mouth upright, forming a familiar wrinkle in her cheek and exposing her dimples. The arena roared with cheers at the interaction.

“I can assure you; he’s not the only rabid dog I’ve tamed. There will be no devouring.”

“You speak with the confidence of a girl, sister,” she warned.

The Duchess’s smile twitched into something genuine as she turned to look at her.

“He is a mere boy, sister. I have faced much worse than Feyd Rautha Harkonnen.”

“Worse,” Lady Fenring remarked quietly, “I will must admit, the thought of worse troubles one deeply.”

A soft laugh left Tii Sanura’s lips like a breath. “Wise words, I cannot disagree.”

She turned back to the arena. Feyd was gone, with only bodies and pandemonium left in his wake.

He certainly never bored her.

***

They never strayed from their ritual, no matter how much time had passed. Feyd-Rautha waited patiently in his betrothed’s quarters, eyeing the golden box sat in the center of her bed from a seat in the corner of the room.

She was taking a bit long.

He tapped his fingers against the metal armrest with some annoyance but he would keep his cool; she wasn’t going to toy with him this time. His mind wandered to the events of the arena—her icy smirk, her leisurely movements. The people of Daquan were so fascinating in their complete and utter absence of desire, of urgency. Understandable for a people that have hailed from paradise, but it still fascinated and confounded the Harkonnen.

They were certainly a high-achieving people, a quality clearly displayed in Tii Sanura. With no lack nor sense of imperial ambition, her people tended towards scholarly, military, artistic or spiritual pursuits—the level of wealth on their planet was immeasurable to anyone who had never seen it, alien to those who did not grow up in such sheer opulence. The Sur-Kar were among the eldest of the great families; their dynasty serving critical elements to the foundation of the empire of today—the first planet to possess Spice, although not nearly as potent or abundant as Arrakis. They were a sister planet, in fact, and although the differences in culture and landscape were obvious, they possessed the same treacherous deserts deeper in the Southeast of the planet—in images, the deep desert bloomed out like a scar.

Feyd broke out of his thoughts and let out a heavy sigh through his nose. Instead of pondering Tii Sanura’s planet, it would be preferable to have the woman herself before him.

As if she had heard his thoughts, she entered through the hissing doors, her shoulders far more relaxed than they should’ve been. She let out a heaving sigh of her own, starting to remove her many rich golden shawls and copper-colored garbs. He watched eagerly, unsure if she knew he was there, but he certainly wasn’t going to call attention to himself now. He took in the golden inscriptions on her dark brown skin with all of the awe his cold black heart could manage. She didn’t undress, much to his dissatisfaction, but his eyes feasted with on her bared arms and shoulders, glistening with golden passages from the Daquani’s various ancient scriptures—there were many to give strength, tenacity, to cool the mind and spirit, to bring fortune and blessings, protections, the like. Superstitions that were outdated in a world where chance had been long buried.

“Are you ignoring me, or have you forgotten how we meet,” he asked, gravelly voice creeping along the walls towards her.

She stopped, then slowly turned around. Her golden makeup shimmered on her eyelids, harmonizing with the undertones in the high apples of her cheeks. She glowed like a precious jewel. No matter who he crossed paths with, Tii Sanura was the most beautiful woman he had ever known. He would say across the galaxy, if it wasn’t such a foolishly sentimental thing to say. She would throw such a silly compliment back into his face with blasé amusement. Her dark, void-like eyes slowly came to life as a small smile formed upon her lips. He kept his cool resolve.

“Perhaps I do not care either way, My Lord na-Baron.”

He smiled in return, pleased with the biting humor in her tone.

“The only trick you couldn’t play on me is convincing me of such a lie.”

Her mouth barely twitched into a growing smile before she corrected her face and rolled her eyes.

“Oh dear, I see the rumored hereditary madness has set in. Just as I feared.”

He let the insult roll off of his back like water as he slowly rose from his seat, stalking towards her like one of those giant cats from her planet. She had one as a pet, he recalled. He spied the sketches she had drawn in a small pocketbook she used to carry with her when they were younger—he wasn’t sure what it was for—her mood had always improved after flipping through its pages.

“It’s been so long since you’ve visited. Are you afraid?”

Her face softened in amusement. “Yes. I am quite terrified. I’m trembling as we speak.”

“You misunderstand what I refer to.”

She frowned at him as she meticulously folded her shawls and scarves, the brushed past him to set them down in the very chair he had sat on.

“Is there something I’m not aware of?”

“Today is the day we are both of age,” he said, holding back any potential hint of emotion from the phrase, “Our marriage is imminent.”

She didn’t display any hint of being affected, but only nodded. “Hm. Yes, I know. Why would this scare me, exactly? I know everything there is to know about you. I doubt I will have any ugly surprises any other poor noblewoman would have in my place.”

Feyd Rautha studied her closely. She didn’t give it away, but she was bluffing. He could feel it.

“No bridal nerves,” he poked, gaze searingly meandering across her face.

She laughed, brushing past him again and placing a knee on the bed, leaning over to grab the golden box. “What, do you think I’ve been twirling my hair and kicking my feet as I fantasize about the wedding with my ladies in waiting? Or perhaps plucking petals off of flowers in the night, biting my nails down to the cuticle?“

She turned to face him, her voice lifting to a mocking octave. “He loves me, he loves me not…”

She handed him the box, her expression serene and friendly. “I know what is in store. Here.”

He took the box, breaking his intense stare on her and sliding it open. It moved with the unsurprising weight of solid gold—the wealth of these people was borderline obscene.

Within the midsize box was a strange red fruit and an ivory hilted knife, dotted with gemstones of a deep and bloody red hue. He opted to take the knife first—a butterfly knife, upon closer inspection. A hint of a smile formed on his lips, she remembered what he asked her for the last time they’d met; it had been so long even he’d forgotten. In combat, it was obviously useless; he had asked for the gift with the hidden intention of having something equally as tangible as her when she was absent, with the hope she would stop haunting his thoughts if there was a reminder of her readily at his fingertips instead of memories and dreams.

Her eyes held a satisfied glint at his obvious pleasure. “Do you like your birthday gift?”

He looked to her, a devilish grin forming on his face. “Is this all?”

She ignored his suggestive remark with annoyance. “I pray to the gods one day you will manage to finally utter the words thank you.”

“I appreciate this, Tii-Tii.”

She seemed to stiffen a bit at the sound of her nickname, and she broke her gaze from his, moving away.

“Get out, I’m going to change.”

His grin widened playfully. “Certainly you still don’t intend to feign decency now; I am your husband, after all.”

She let out a scoff. “Near husband. I’m not asking again.”

Tii Sanura was the only woman he obeyed.

It didn’t take long for her to have changed and join him in the hall. She refused the assistance of their slaves or servants, insisting on dressing and bathing on her own. He suspected her being wary of constant eyes, but the reason for such a reason wasn’t very clear. He later came to the much more obvious conclusion that she was disgusted by them.

Ever modest, she looked more Bene Gesserit than before in the black gown she had put on: long sleeves that poured past her hands, a hood that cloaked her entire head and face from unwanted view. Of course, the fabric shimmered, as did everything from Daquan. Beauty and Tii Sanura did not wander far from one another. The dress was not stingy with her figure, and Feyd took in the curve of her hips with painfully restrained fervor. He looked away when she eyed him under the glowing light that hovered overhead between them. She brandished the fruit from her sleeve, barely containing it in her palm.

“We’ll need a bowl, you eat the seeds.”

He made a face. “You want me to chew on seeds?”

“I thought you were of age,” she chided, “You whine like a child.”

He shot her a look, and she raised her eyebrows an inch or two, eyes glistening with humor. She loved to annoy him when they were left alone together.

“So sensitive all of the sudden! Perhaps I do need to visit more often, these beaten dogs of yours coddle you.”

“It’s respect,” he corrected with some edge, “At some point you will actually need to show it to your husband.”

She only smiled more, knowing his bluffs of retribution. “Delicate baby boy.”

His eyes lingered on her mouth for a moment, making him slow down their pace to his quarters. Feyd’s jaw clenched as a vision of putting her in her place against the wall burned through his mind. He fought it as quickly as it had come, shaking his head with a slight chuckle as he broke his hot stare. By the time it passed, she had stopped her smiling and was looking away from him, having clearly gleaned what had crossed his mind. The weight of their silence made them start walking again—perhaps sharing the hope of escaping it, even for a brief moment of relief.

He cleared his throat, and the collar of his shirt suddenly felt tight, making it hard to swallow. She tossed the fruit in the air as they winded through the halls of the Harkonnens’ underworld palace, the occasional flashes of white light from the fireworks giving brief reprise from the heavy shadows around them. So much of it felt like a strange dream to Tii Sanura, with all of the darkness and high, shadowy ceilings. She could never get used to this strange, colorless planet. At home, the rich golden suns shone through every window and crevice, kissing her people’s brown skin of various shades. A far cry from the albino appearance of Harkonnens under their black sun.

She eyed Feyd-Rautha discreetly—when they first met on Geidi Prime, she was convinced her betrothed was a ghost. It was one of the few frights he had ever gotten over on her. Before her training, he could sneak up on her and surprise her, getting a laugh out of her high-pitched squeak, but those days had passed. But, once they had made it inside, she saw the fine quality of his features, the pleasing peach-colored hue of his pale skin. His eyes went from terrifying pools of ink to a keen soft blue stare, and soon she felt luckier than most of her peers with the looks of her betrothed. If directly asked (and with enough honey wine), Tii Sanura could not lie about the fact that her betrothed possessed beautiful qualities about his appearance. The older they got, the more he grew into them and the more handsome he had been becoming. It made the idea of intimacy less tolerable and more intriguing.

He felt her stare and looked at her from the corner of his eye, making her look away. She shoved the feelings blooming in her stomach into the smallest box she could and willed it away.

“You still have no qualms about marrying me,” he questioned, gaze now fixed on her hood.

“No, of course not. You’re the only person I can barely stand out of the great houses. Everyone else is just too stupid. I’d end up killing him one way or another—gods forbid such an animal would ever try to touch me, it would be more messy than my parents would be able to overlook.”

His ears perked, and a smile played on his lips. “And if I were to touch you?”

“You have touched me,” she replied loftily, “Or have you blocked out the memories of me beating you into a pulp to salvage your pride?”

She looked up at him with a wicked glint in her eye, eager to pounce on an opportunity to shift the mood to something else. Feyd stole a glance at the expression, then scoffed lightly.

He had half a mind to grab her, hold her down, and have his way with her just to see how she reacted. He knew better than to force himself onto her—he’d be kissing his gravestone if he tried—that wouldn’t bring him the pleasure he sought. She wanted him, he knew this. Her humiliated surrender to her need was what he truly hungered for. He wanted the power to unravel her.

She sighed, tossing the fruit again. He started to think of how he was going to begin as they neared his quarters, passing the guards, who Tii Sanura pointedly ignored.

His pets rose in excitement as he entered, but then retreated at his companion’s presence, giving defiant black-eyed stares. Her gaze shifted to them, hiding her expression from his face, and within mere moments they had retreated to the same corner as the slaves. He didn’t know when or how, but she had made her dislike of them very obvious when they were teenagers. He had to replace one of them in the aftermath of this dislike being shown, but never said she was jealous. She didn’t even act particularly troubled by them, but she was clearly revolted by their existence, and, he suspected, their purpose for their na-Baron. After her training with the Bene Gesserit the flashes of proof that she claimed him as he did were resigned to memories. But he didn’t believe they had vanished. Her nose wrinkled slightly in pointed distaste but she addressed Feyd cooly.

“Have you forgotten your manners? You didn’t have your quarters cleaned for your betrothed’s visit?”

He smiled at her, amused by her inexplicable temperance. “Do my darlings still bother you, Tii-Tii?”

“Remove them,” she commanded immediately, eyes fixed on the bald servant woman. “Take them for a walk, or whatever those things do.”

The woman straightened up from cowering under her haunting gaze, ushering the three women from their position and leaving the room. Her eyes moved to the servants cowering in various corners, eyeing her warily.

“You may leave,” she told them.

They quickly filed out, heads bowed and shoulders slumped. Feyd almost wanted to laugh, but knew better than to provoke her—an incensed Tii Sanura with mind control abilities was more dangerous than any atomic arsenal that could be launched at him.

He was glad to have such a woman as his wife.

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head as she lowered her hood, face glowing softly in the low, sparse light of the na-Baron’s room. He watched her with barely cloaked intrigue, freeing his throat from his collar as he moved towards her with a light smirk. She seemed oblivious to his demeanor as she continued to reprimand him.

“I’m not surprised by the barbarism your relatives display, but I do expect some semblance of class from my husband.”

“Near husband,” he corrected, stalking up behind her and placing his hand on the small of her back, “Or does your jealousy make you forget?”

She chuckled, moving away from his touch unceremoniously. “I am not jealous of filth. I am tolerant of your Harkonnen ways, but it is unsightly. Hopefully spending time in my court will help refine some of your rougher edges…although I’m not holding onto much.”

He watched with sharp eyes as she took a bowl off of a sleek black table, eyed it, and, after deciding it was clean enough, sat down on his bed and made a gesture for him to sit with her. Gladly.

“You know my pets eat out of these,” he lied, eager to tease a reaction out of her.

“Not yet, obviously,” she dismissed, “Whatever poor bastard’s their lunch just got a few more hours.”

She brandished a small black knife out of her sleeve and handed it to him with a sigh. He chuckled, but took the knife as she carefully undid the barely visible labyrinth of fastened clips and buttons that had apparently held her gown together. He watched her with interest as he sliced the fruit.

“Too lazy?”

“Too expensive,” she clarified, gesturing to her outfit with some annoyance, “I swear, my mother’s trying to drown me in fabric...”

The hood and sleeves were simply elements of a cloak that covered her actual outfit. Feyd was feeling his appetite sharpen by the second. It would prove modest to anyone else, with loose, flowing trousers and a woolen, long-sleeved tunic, but for the Daquani, especially one of her standing, he knew that what he was seeing before him was absolutely not for anyone else’s eyes but his. It was just then he observed her braids had been taken down from their elaborate updo she had at the arena—when, he didn’t know—as they gently spilled over her shoulders and framed her foxlike face. She sighed again, watching him skillfully remove each juicy seed from the fruit’s pale flesh.

“You should squeeze it,” she told him casually, curling her legs up next to her onto the bed, “The seeds will fall out.”

He paused, glancing up at her serene, delicate face before turning the fruit over and squeezing it firmly. Tii Sanura watched his hand contract around it, the seeds spilling out into the bowl as he crushed it in his grip. She felt it again; the heat that set her ablaze from head to toe the final time they’d sparred. It had been then, when he had her on the ground, the flat of his blade pressed against the hot pulse that flowed down her neck, that same hand pinning her wrist to the ground with iron-like strength as their faces brushed dangerously against each other, that she realized they were becoming a man and a woman intended to be married and no longer the youthful partners in crime she could easily maintain a satisfactory internal distance from. It was then she became aware of a new weakness, one that caught her by surprise—she never thought it possible to see him in such a way, but there she’d been, flushed in an immeasurable amount of places, wanting to feel more than his blade against her skin.

There was not a feeling more taxing, more tenacious than desire. She could feel it blooming in her stomach with dread that she put all her will into tempering. His eyes were boring into her in a way that made her want to run away, retreat, but she refused to show such a pathetic display of weakness. He managed to get all of the seeds out, discarding the fruit out into the hall where the servants remained, flinching at his motion before he returned to her, sliding both sides of the blade along his tongue to lick off the juice. She stole a brief glance at the motion, but remained unaffected, her mask solid.

“Hm; what is this?”

“My uncle gifted me some recreated seeds they made in his laboratory. Pomegranate is what they called it.”

“Strange name.”

“All dead languages sound strange if you don’t put down your knives long enough to study them,” she subtly reprimanded.

A soft laugh passed through his nose as he returned to her side on the foot of his silken-sheeted bed.

“Tii-Tii, aren’t women from your planet meant to be less…annoying?”

“I wish I could ask the same about the men from yours.”

The juice of the pomegranate seeds gradually coated their tongues as they chewed on them and continued to make playful jabs at the other.

“I want a pleasant wife,” Feyd proclaimed with the gravity of a command, “A respectful one.”

Obedient was a far-fetched fantasy.

“If you want a pleasant and respectful wife, then you must please and respect her,” she said with the impersonal tone of a proverb, “You must plant seeds to harvest what you desire.”

He eyed her quizzically as she continued eating pomegranate seeds. She didn’t respond to the question in his stare, in fact, she seemed to be avoiding his gaze altogether.

“Tii-Tii,” he began slowly, “It’s unlike you to avoid a subject.”

He watched her shoulders square off with interest. Perhaps he had more leeway over her than he anticipated.

“I don’t—“

“We both know playing coy isn’t a convincing look on you,” he interrupted, a wicked smile forming on his face.

“Whatever you wish to speak about, I will speak on,” she said, “But I must admit I don’t know what you want to discuss.”

“The consummation of our marriage.”

She didn’t miss a beat, tilting her head with a shrug. “Yes, a necessary duty. It will be fulfilled, I will give you heirs. I can guarantee no difficulty in the…process.”

Upon finally meeting her betrothed’s gaze, Tii Sanura fell silent. The heat of his stare was unmistakable, and a shiver went down her spine. This couldn’t happen yet, she thought to herself, no overextending.

“Of course, it will wait until our wedding night,” she clarified, testing the waters of his mood, “Anything beforehand would be improper.”

He didn’t answer her, only took the bowl in his hands and lifted it to her mouth.

“Spit them out.”

Hunger. It was burning off of him so intensely she could feel it against her cheeks, which were growing more flushed by the moment. She stared at him in an oppressively long silence before her eyes shifted away to the floor, then gradually met his again. She was blushing, he realized.

“Feyd, what are you doing?”

Her voice had become much more softer, confused. It made him want to pounce, but that wouldn’t do him any good, not when he was getting her where he wanted her. His silence in response weighed down the air around them with what felt to her like tons—she was cornered and she knew it. There were two options: she could fight him off and swat him away, which would anger him, but he could not resist her Voice’s commands. The other one she dare not think of, lest she forget herself. Slowly, she spit the seeds out, watching him a bit nervously. He couldn’t tell she was nervous, of course, no one could, but he had the air of certainty of a predator closing in on its hunt.

She was not ignorant to the fact her betrothed was dangerous and forceful. He was clever, manipulative, calculating, but ultimately a slave to his desires. The Reverend Mother Superior had appointed the two to one another for just this precise reason: one of the sharpest of her students to serve as a companion and counsel to such a husband, but also to keep him contained. She was well aware of her husband-to-be’s danger, and the genuine hazards that came with the heat of his passions.

Tii Sanura was still confident in her ability to defend herself physically, and she knew he had certainly not forgotten how swiftly she could put him down, even if there proved more struggle in the present day. But no, she realized, Feyd did not intend to force his way through to her at all; he knew he could tug on the threads of physical desire that he intended to conjure within her. She also knew, furthermore, that such a refutation and humiliation of her self-discipline was the gratification he wanted—how long, she couldn’t determine.

She rose from the bed as he set the bowl down. He was watching her like a panther.

“What’s wrong,” he questioned, voice saccharine with humor, “You seem tense.”

“Certainly…you can wait a few more months for an heir—“

“I don’t care about heirs, Sanura. I think that’s obvious enough.”

The way he’d said her name made her want to reconsider her resolve, but involuntary alarm bells went off as he approached her—his expression was so dark, his stare so heavy on her face that it reminded her of his thrill in the arena today, his sharp, powerful movements as he struck down his opponents. Damn him, she thought, he’s even got the propaganda working on me.

She watched as his eyes raked her body, her face, and his aura got shadowy as he stepped towards her. Bad, bad, was all that she could think, this still couldn’t happen yet. They had to be married. She tried to spin up a diversion with her words, but they were beyond unintelligible, let alone obvious lies.

“I am not like you, Feyd. I don’t harbor such desires, I am not…I do not have lustful wants. I cannot…It’s not right.”

He only held a knowing smile in his eyes as he closed in on her slowly, standing over her and peering down with evident satisfaction. She was too prideful to back away from him, no matter how badly she wanted to. Or perhaps she didn’t want to. He couldn’t tell, and Tii Sanura didn’t know herself right now. He held her jaw gently, making her hold his stare. He could feel her pulse racing under her skin, and she felt it quicken the longer she knew he could feel how fast her heartbeat was getting. It wasn’t right, she could only helplessly repeat to herself, it wasn’t time yet, it wasn’t right.

The more it kept repeating, the less it was starting to matter. The heat coming from his body was beginning to eclipse how stupid and reckless such an indulgence would be, what a delicate night this was, and how she had been avoiding this exact situation for the past year. A new voice spoke in response: and what a miserable year it has been.

“I have trouble with that, Sanura,” he said quietly, grazing one of her flushed cheeks with this thumb, “See, I don’t think you’re telling the truth.”

She lied like breathing. “I am.”

He clicked his tongue, smiling slightly. “No, you’re not. I can smell it off of you. I know my wife.”

“Near wife,” she quickly corrected, brushing his hand aside.

Her pedantry annoyed him, it wasn’t going to distract him from his goal. He knew just how to punish her for it.

“My wife all the same,” he countered, “Just as I am yours. Besides, you think I can’t tell your only weakness? You can barely think straight and all I’ve done is touch you a little.”

She was fortuitous in her composure—he knew the embarrassment that must’ve been flushing through her body at his open recognition of her obvious desire. She held his gaze now without his help; she had the strength of a challenge behind her stare. His mocking smile grew.

“I have no weakness. You are too used to the pathetic women on this planet to understand that.”

“Oh, Tii-Tii,” he lamented with a sigh, “You know I hate it when you lie to me. Do you think I’m as stupid as everyone else?”

He stepped towards her, and she stepped back. There was mild surprise in her eyes underneath her cool expression; she didn’t do it consciously. He felt his pulse starting to rise; she was cracking.

“I am not one of your whores,” she told him firmly, “You cannot have your way with me as you please. You must have my agreement.”

He smiled, eagerly backing her against the wall. “My darling beloved, I already have it. Don’t I?”

Her eyes flared with sudden alarm. “Feyd, what in the gods’ name is making you speak in such a way?”

“I am not a boy anymore, Sanura,” he said, eyes tracing her skin before returning to press down on her gaze, “And you are not a naive girl. You are a woman. You are a…beautiful woman.”

“I will not be demeaned in such a way,” she warned.

“It is not my intention to do such a thing.”

“You are cornering me like an animal.”

He smiled. “Are you cornered? Are you admitting such a thing?”

She blinked, then a sudden wave of anger darkened her features. He knew before she opened her mouth that she was about to use her Voice on him—he clasped his hand on her mouth, caging her to the wall with the rest of his body. He watched fire bloom in her eyes with reverence.

“You could not understand the way I have longed for you,” he spoke, voice too soft for anyone else but them to hear, “I would not disrespect a woman such as yourself with harm or force. But I will not wait any longer.”

Her eyes were alarmed and questioning. He willingly gave her the answer.

“I need you.”

His fingers gently grazed the scriptures that were raised on her soft skin, trying not to let his breath tremble—he did not anticipate being the slightest bit nervous to make his advance, but he couldn’t help it, not when it was her.

“You’re getting goosebumps,” he remarked with a grin, “Now why is that?”

He teased the edge of her waistband gently, watching her chest rise and fall in short, tight breaths. She was so much more easier to toy with than he thought, or she held back more needs of her own than he could’ve imagined.

“I’ve always wondered about that day.”

Tii Sanura felt her heart drop in humiliation, but an undeniable thrill shot through her. Part of her feared he’d forgotten, consider what he could be sticking his dick in every night, but here he was, admitting it had sat as heavy on his chest as hers.

“If no one had the opportunity to stop us…what I could’ve done to you…”

His fingers slid between the waistband and her bare skin as he slowly grabbed ahold of her hip, holding her in place. Her breath shuddered involuntarily, sending a jolt of hunger through his body.

“Mm, see? You aren’t made of stone, my jewel. You are a woman.”

She looked away with obvious discomfort and shame, but Feyd wanted to press a bit more before retreating. He didn’t lie, he would not force her.

“I will wait for you to come to me,” he said, leaning in to speak softly into her ear, “I won’t judge you for your needs, Tii-Tii. I know I am the only man to have ever touched you like this.”

They looked at each other, the pretense of denial have shattered, making their gazes wide open, their feelings and intentions obvious, unable to cloak them from the other. Slowly, he removed his hand from her mouth, a bit worried she would immediately lash out with a command.

She did not. She was silent. Her lips trembled.

He glanced between them and her eyes, his body slowly closing in on hers until he knew she wouldn’t resist him. He kissed her, gently, so as not to scare her too much, taking hold of her waist underneath her tunic. Her body was rigid and he could sense the nervous, confused energy coming off of her. He parted his lips from hers, feeling her trembling breath against his face.

“F-Feyd…”

She was stuttering, her mind seemingly incapable of forming a coherent thought as she frowned. Her eyes seemed to take in his face in a new way, but she couldn’t make the two different images fit. He kissed her lips again. Then her cheeks, then, with a flash of weakness, he kissed her neck, and her breath audibly drew.

“Feyd, please…”

I can’t take any more, is what she didn’t say but he knew what she meant. It made his blood get even hotter, rushing straight to his groin. His fingers dug into her skin, perfumed with roses, and he inhaled the scent greedily with a swallow.

“You think I don’t know the ways I make you excited?”

She stiffened as he forced his leg between her thighs and pressed against her, making her exhale loudly and mutter under her breath, closing her eyes and turning her face away.

“You can’t—I must…I can’t.”

She felt the cold blade of his newly gifted knife caress her cheek before he pressed the flat of it against her face to turn her face towards his, making her open her eyes and meet his gaze in challenge.

“Mm, those pretty eyes,” he said softly, trailing the dagger point down her neck, then chest, “You can’t what, my darling?”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your pet,” she demanded, hand closing around the hilt of a blade tucked in her waistband.

“No, no, of course not,” he soothed, voice rumbling in her ears as he tilted her chin up with his jewel-jilted knife, “But you’re mine, aren’t you?”

Her eyebrows drew together, and Feyd felt a thrill flash through him like a shiver. What will you do now?

He lowered his mouth to hers, eyes burning into hers, challenging her to stop him. She tried to wriggle but it only created friction between their intertwined bodies. Her eyes shut with a grunt at the feeling of heat and a jolt of pleasure blooming between her legs against his thigh. He watched her, tongue grazing his lips.

“You disgust me,” she calmly jabbed at him, trying not to give a reaction.

He chuckled. “Oh. Do I?”

“Get off of me,” she insisted, “I’m only warning you—once…”

Her voice faltered at the feeling of his blade’s tip tracing her bare waist as he pressed harder, his erection pressing against her thigh. It was upsettingly sizeable, just as she remembered when he was on top of her before. She had prayed it was just a trick of her mind.

Fuck, no, no—she couldn’t, definitely not, at least, before they were wed. It was not only beyond taboo for a woman of her standing in Daquan—but a blow against her pride as a Bene Gesserit. She had proven herself to the Reverend Mother, and she was supposed to throw that away, be knocked up under the seductive force of a Harkonnen? It sounded beyond deranged.

“I will not lie with you,” she told him firmly, finding some ground in her desire-afflicted mind. “You cannot force me.”

“Oh, you’re really breaking, aren’t you,” he murmured against her neck, parting his lips afterwards to taste her skin.

Her chest rose high, and her left hand involuntarily grabbed onto him as she pressed her lips together, fighting the soft shudder trying to move through her body. Her right hand had a white knuckle grip on her dagger, but it faltered.

“I will not lie with you before we are wed,” she said, “I will make you stop if I have to.”

He only laughed. “You don’t have to stop me yet, Tii-Tii?”

“Feyd,” she whispered, her tone even. A warning.

“I won’t give you my heir now,” he reassured, “But that doesn’t prevent me from giving you what you need, don’t worry.”

He started to kiss down to her chest, her skin hot against his lips.

“You really do need it, don’t you? I can tell you do, or you wouldn’t be hanging onto me like that.”

The smugness in his voice both made her frustration and desire rise to a breaking point. She parted her lips to speak, but her voice had disappeared as he tossed his blade aside, undoing the top buttons of her tunic so fast she didn’t even get the chance to try and stop him. He still seemed to hold some sense of respect for her sense of modesty; instead of ripping the fabric free from her body, he let it fall slack and open, revealing her torso to him. He took in the new skin, how the golden tattoos adorned her chest, and he couldn’t help but trace the pads of his finger across them, mesmerized.

“I still can’t understand it, what you’ve done to me,” he muttered softly, tracing the tattoos that weaved up her neck. She shivered slightly at the sensation, despite her best efforts.

Her will was starting to crumble as his fingers slid under her waistband, teasing at her undergarment, his touch creeping lower so slowly her legs were becoming weak. He licked atop her collarbone and tasted her skin, her head slowly tilting back as he dragged his tongue across her throat, tasting her pulse, gently grazing his teeth against her flesh. She made a soft sound, the tension in her body softening. Feyd grinned in victory, feeling the tension in her hips slowly loosening. That’s my girl, just as you’re supposed to.

“I can feel your legs shaking,” he said, words coming out in a low hum, “You’re this pathetic, just from my touch?”

Feyd was losing sight of anything beyond this moment. Her weak, bated breath, the moan building in her throat, the heat coming off of her intoxicating skin—it was overwhelming in the most delicious way. Her breath caught as she stared up at him, feeling, with equal parts terror and awe, completely helpless. It was a state of being she never thought possible; she was always far ahead of her peers, enemies, and colleagues. Never, in her lifetime, had anyone put her in such a weak, pliable position—certainly never a man of the Great Houses.

But here he was: her husband, the only one she ever thought close to matching her, doing just that, and about to push beyond it. Her lips slowly parted as her breath evened and he gently brushed his mouth against his. Their eyes fell shut at the mutual feeling.

“Kiss me,” he whispered against her mouth.

The heavy footsteps reached Tii Sanura’s ears before they reached his, and as the doors hissed, she had summoned a surge of strength within her to shove him away and quickly lunge over to the seat her cloak was and tugging it on. He fell back onto his bed in pure disorientation as she fastened a few of the bigger buttons and pulled the hood over her beautiful, precious face. Feyd quickly sat up as he looked from her cloaked figure to his cousin’s hulking frame barging into his quarters. An overwhelming wave of hatred washed over him as he glanced between them both with suspicion and curiosity. The fucking bastard, he seethed to himself.

“Uncle wants you to see him,” Rabban said, “And you, too.”

She ignored him, leaving the room smoothly with her hood up. Feyd watched her slip through his fingers in furious agony. The fucking bastard; he was so close.

“What—“

Feyd’s white-hot glare was enough to make Rabban turn away and leave.

***

Tii Sanura’s aura was dark and heavy as they were all escorted to meet with the Baron. She stalked ahead of the men in silence, her cloaked hands clasped firmly behind her back. Feyd eyed her with a discreet sense of pride while Rabban eyed her warily. Her hooded figure was unsettling to The Beast; there was something about the silence and swiftness of her movements which set his spine straight. This mood troubled him; in the underworld of corridors they travelled, she could easily slip from his sight and do god knows what. He remembered the day she interrupted his training session hours after he had insulted her culture’s customs, and she brutally beat him with just the same coordination and grace as she had in her movements now. Needless to say, he apologized.

Rabban glanced to Feyd, but his cousin’s face, as usual, remained impossible to decipher.

The three entered the quarters of Baron Harkonnen in silence. Instantaneously, Tii Sanura’s entire aura shifted from agitated to perfectly collected. The Baron blew smoke from his hookah, smiling at the sight of her as he reclined in his ink black bath. It took all her fortitude to not allow disgust to creep up in her mind at the unpleasant sight.

“Ah, my dear nice-in-law,” he remarked, “I’m glad you visited today.”

She smiled, briefly inclining her hooded head. “Lord Baron.”

Feyd and Rabban stood by as the Baron Harkonnen and Tii Sanura exchanged disturbing pleasantries with warm smiles.

He chuckled, rising the hookah to his lips. “How did you like your betrothed’s performance today? Did you not find it impressive? He’s improved, no?”

Feyd eyed her as he awaited her answer; she knew better than to refuse the statement or show any degree of affection towards the na-Baron, but there was always a sliver within him that hungered for her approval.

“He has learned well,” she affirmed smoothly.

“Perhaps after the wedding you can test your blade against his again, see for yourself.”

A soft smile briefly spread on her lips as she turned to him, gaze spelling vengeance. Feyd’s gaze tossed the challenge back with a small smirk. Her eyes said something he couldn’t decipher in response. Rabban glanced between the two discreetly, but his cousin still caught his eye, making him avert his gaze. Tii Sanura’s eyebrow rose a quirk as she glanced over at Rabban as well before turning her attention back to the eldest Harkonnen.

“Perhaps indeed, Lord Baron, but at least let him give me heirs first.”

He chuckled lightly, smoke billowing from his lips. Rabban observed the three with split second glances before remaining still, lest their withering stares fix onto him. He never trusted the Daquani girl. She was too clever, too good at saying the perfect things at the perfect time. His time on Arrakis only made him more wary—to come home to a woman so similar to the rats he fought on Arrakis, charming room after room, bathed in gold and glittering jewels, wrapping his Uncle around her finger only spelled trouble to him.

She was skilled at eliciting any paternal affections the soulless Baron Vladmir Harkonnen possessed—her mental acuity and combat skills already made her the bride he’d envisioned for his prized nephew, but her family’s power and prowess bumped her up to god’s personal gift to him. As if to prove his point, the Baron’s expression glowed with the same fondness he looked upon Feyd with—she was already family.

Rabban swallowed his annoyance, and Baron Vladmir’s eyes slid over to him slowly as if he’d sensed it; his expression quickly souring.

“You may leave.”

Anyone who could make Rabban go away in a moment’s notice immediately gained the Duchess’s favor. Feyd watched her back slowly relax as Rabban left, slinking up next to her. She didn’t shift her focus from his Uncle as their hands brushed against each other.

“Now then, enough pleasantries,” the Baron dismissed, “I have spoken with your family this week. I am sure you know Tii.”

She nodded. “Indeed, My Lord.”

“We have agreed that tomorrow is the day you two shall finally unite.”

Tii Sanura’s stomach dropped, and Feyd suppressed a smile. It seems he didn’t need to wait a few more months after all. He could sense the tension in his fiancé, though, and brushed the satisfaction he felt aside. Either she was truly afraid to marry him, or she knew something he didn’t.

She didn’t falter; in fact, she smiled. “I see, when are we to return to Daquan?”

“They intend to send for you tonight. A bit hasty, but I suspect they are a bit protective of their heir all alone on Geidi Prime, all these years aside. We’ve also discussed your living arrangements.”

Feyd eyed his Uncle suspiciously. “Living arrangements?”

“Yes, the Duke and Duchess have generously invited you to live as newlyweds in their court; I see no protest. You will enjoy yourself, nephew; I have heard many stories of the pleasure of Daquan. Consider it another gift for your birthday.”

Feyd’s jaw clenched as he recalled the afternoon attempt on his life in the arena with the Atreides slave with some annoyance. He pondered drowning his Uncle as his expression darkened. His lips dared to part and speak the thought, but Tii Sanura pinched him discreetly to tell him to be quiet. Sensing something beyond his understanding, he obliged his wife.

“Don’t tell me you’re still upset, nephew, you proved yourself quite well,” the Baron chided, chuckling, “Besides, I have another gift for your birthday.”

His lips parted into a smile that made Tii Sanura’s blood chill.

“Arrakis.”

The air in the room shifted. Tii Sanura’s mind fell still. Arrakis. The sister planet to her own, populated with a people whose ancestors undoubtedly lived in some semblance of the peace and calm hers did before the Empire discovered their Spice, before the Harkonnens sunk their claws into the planet. She held her composure, but wanted to swallow. The thought of ruling over Arrakis made her throat feel like sandpaper. The thought of Arrakis made her blood pulse and thicken. She wanted to sit, she wanted to leave immediately, she wanted to go back home.

Feyd placed his hand on her lower back, glancing over to her. She resented the way it calmed her. She couldn’t stand it.

“Rabban has obviously proved his incompetence, and I need Spice production stabilized. And you, my dearest niece-in-law, you will undoubtedly find a way to make yourself of use in this effort.”

“Of course, Lord Baron,” she assured, her expression placid.

“Of course, still, there are more talks to be had beyond this, but your union, and our houses’ unions are imperative. Go and prepare for your voyage, and allow me to be the first to congratulate you—I sense your union will be…more than agreeable.”

The Baron grinned, and instinctively Tii Sanura’s stepped away from Feyd’s touch to give a slight bow of respect. She offered a meditative smile, bowing her head slightly again and leaving silently. Feyd-Rautha followed, eyes fixed on her curiously. What did she know that he didn’t?

The moment the doors shut, Tii Sanura whirled around, and her hand shot out and collided harshly with Feyd-Rautha’s face. Without missing a beat, she walked towards her quarters at full stride, frustrations bubbling within her as if they had all come to boil.

“Do not ever touch me in that man’s presence,” she snapped lowly, eyes smoldering with barely restrained frustration, “I will not tolerate such humiliation, and you—“

She suddenly cut herself off as Feyd watched the anger boil over into the darkest glare he’d ever seen on his betrothed’s face. They held each other’s gazes, and a flash of realization passed over Tii Sanura’s face, sweeping away her temper as quickly as it had descended, causing him some dissatisfaction—he had never seen her so alive. She sucked her teeth, giving him a harsh look and stalking off back to her quarters.

The bastard.

As she rounded the corner, Feyd grabbed her and pinned her to the wall, eyes smoldering. Her gaze held heat too, and it flared back at him with upset and desire. His hand closed around her throat carefully, holding her to the wall as he whispered in her ear. She was learning new things about herself today—the second was what the sensation of such a gesture did to her body. His breath fanned against her face before her spoke quietly into her ear, mindful that his voice didn’t carry beyond the dark, empty hallway. To her shock and thrill, her language flowed from his lips as he spoke.

“Don’t hit me like that unless you’re willing to pay for it,” he told her, voice practically a low growl, “When we’re married, the next time you strike me like that, I’m going to bend you over the first thing I see and fuck that attitude right out of you. That’d be just what you needed, wouldn’t it? I bet you need it now.”

Their breaths were heavy as he let go of her throat, grabbing the back of her neck, and pulled her into a heated, aching kiss. She grabbed onto the fabric of his tunic with a soft quaver of her voice in her throat, opening her mouth—her body had nearly taken over her mind with need, and she crumbled into the kiss with almost as much need as her husband-to-be. He had to hold back the satisfied groan that wanted to rumble in his chest at her near matching his hunger before suddenly pushing him back as much as he would allow. Her breath was quiet but heavy. Her eyes were unmistakable, even in the shadows of the Harkonnen palace. Feyd held her tighter, leaning in again and taking another kiss.

She slowly closed her eyes, her eyebrows briefly creasing before her expression softened into nothingness again. Her body relaxed into a deep exhale, and suddenly, everything became…

Feyd’s world blurred around him. His mind spun as his feet’s hold on the ground seemed to lapse in and out. All he could hang onto was her scent, her heat, the pulsing blood that rushed through her body. Then, her voice. It whispered to him, but she didn’t open her mouth. A Bene Gesserit trick, he realized.

Follow me.

He wanted to be angry at her slight smirk, but he couldn’t; his mind and body were sedated under her cooling presence as she rose from the wall and took his hand off of her throat, linking their fingers to lead him through the darkness. He opened his mouth, but her whispers stopped him.

Don’t speak. You don’t need to. I know what it is you need.

Somehow he could still see her eyes through the shadows that devoured them both. His heartbeat filled his ears—but whispers did, too, whispers he couldn’t understand. He heard her gently laugh, much to his annoyance and stoking his lust. His hunger couldn’t decide if he preferred how she unraveled for him, or how she could assert her will over every aspect of his being at a moment’s notice.

He blinked, and suddenly his mind cleared. They were in her room. His cock strained against his pants as she reclined on her bed, resting on her elbows. He could see the curves of her breasts through her cloak—was she only wearing her cloak?

“Come,” she told him, her gaze dangerous. Another change.

She didn’t need to command him. Feyd knew the danger he had to be in for her to invite her to his bed, but he had no control. He slowly climbed on top of her, wary of whatever she had up her sleeve.

Careful, her Voice whispered. Not a command, but a warning. His mind sharpened with the familiarity of being caught in one of her traps. Her looked over her serene face with confusion.

“The time has come, my friend,” she said softly, “When I am to test if you are simply an animal, or a man.”

The world suddenly grew clear, and he became acutely aware of something pointing at the side of his neck.

“I hold the Gom Jabbar at your neck,” she told him, eyes scathingly watchful, “One move, and I kill you.”

He swallowed, his desires becoming increasingly stoked by the passing moment. She had him bested once again.

“What is my test,” he asked, eyes taking in glimpses of the bare inscribed skin underneath the black, shimmering fabric.

“Focus,” she sweetly reprimanded, “Or you will die by your wife’s hand.”

He held her stare, feeling his cock aching painfully. She moved her sleeve, revealing a small box further up the bed. He moved with her as she slowly reclined until her head was right next to it, and his hand threatened to slide into the mysterious contraption.

“Put your hand into the box,” she instructed, her lips brushing against his.

He was very wary of her intentions now, she was too open, too intoxicating. Hesitantly, he followed her directions while stealing glances at her.

“What is in it, Sanura?”

Her teeth gleamed in the light as a knowing smile curved her full, pillowy mouth.

“Pain.”

The moment the word left her lips, agony overcame his entire being. He knew to hold still, she would kill him without thinking, but his hand felt as if it was being put through multiple tortures all at once—the skin and muscles flaying off of bone, the fire consuming bubbling flesh, the freezing cold making the sinews brittle and dead. It was too much—he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

He held his wife’s dangerous, enigmatic stare as his hips slightly thrust against her and his cock pulsed and twitched in his pants. She felt it, but didn’t respond.

“Don’t move,” she warned.

His eyes were seeing white with the overwhelming sensations consuming his body—he held onto his wife’s instruction, trying to find her eyes through the haze. He was certain at this point that his hand was long gone, but the pain continued, telling him otherwise.

A groan filled his throat, and she clicked her tongue.

“Silence,” she told him.

His breath was ragged as he fought it down. This woman would be the death of him. He couldn’t tell if he hated her or loved her in this moment of torment.

He fixed his gaze onto hers, forcefully keeping himself upright with nothing but spite and terror. He watched her smile grow, but then she became blurry, and her whispers filled his ears. He felt her careful touch wipe his eyes so he could see clearly again.

“Very good,” she said.

Tears involuntarily rolled down the na-Baron’s face. He was right at the gates of release as she lowered the Gom Jabbar, visibly pleased. The pain lowered from its mind-frying crest, making him nearly collapse onto her if it weren’t for the tension holding his muscles in place.

“You can take your hand out, now.”

Feyd discovered with some shock that his hand was completely intact. Pristine, even. He swallowed, looking down at his wife in shock as his nervous system slowly stabilized. She was smiling. It was a strange one. Not the kind from games or torment, but unmistakably tender. Feyd’s heart slammed in his chest as he slowly rested his forehead against hers, but she allowed it.

“Very good,” she repeated, leaning upwards to gently press her cool cheek against his hot, teary face.

His words rasped out. “Am I an animal, my love?”

She chuckled sweetly, the devilwoman. He wanted to ravage her right then and there.

“You are an animal of a man, my husband. But you prove a man, indeed.”

“So have I passed your Bene Gesserit test, then,” he asked, eyelids heavy as he lifted himself up and let his gaze pass over her body again.

“Yes,” she said, “And now…”

He pressed his hips into her slowly, desire slowly reviving his traumatized senses. “…Now?”

“Now…”

She slowly lifted her chin, tasting the salt on his cheeks, feeling the hungry tremor pass through his body with satisfaction. His hands balled into fists, gripping the silken sheets in his hands. He inhaled her scent, roses and sweat and lust, mouth nearly watering. She grinned as she spoke into his ear.

“You must leave and prepare to depart for our wedding.”

At the flash of indignation on his face, she quickly changed her tone.

“Now,” she commanded.

Involuntarily, he rose, his face blank. She lied back with a sigh, placing the Gom Jabbar back into its cloth sheath and placing it on the bed next to her.

“I will see you soon, my friend,” she teased, “Perhaps your pets can satisfy you.”

The monstrous woman, he thought to himself as he unwillingly left her quarters. I knew she was jealous of them.

Tii Sanura let out a heaving exhale, lying back on the silken pillows and closing her eyes. It was only then her awareness noticed the pair of servants in the corner, awestruck and terrified. She sat up, covering herself with a bit of embarrassment.

“Oh dear, my apologies,” she said, finally addressing them, “I am usually not so sloppy. That was rather…improper of us.”

The two women eyed her warily. She considered them, then gave a small, benevolent smile.

“You may stand properly. I will be your new mistress, and I do not hail from a house of savagery. I expect my servants to stand with some semblance of grace.”

The two women shared a look of confusion, but quickly separated, timidly emerging from the corner with their heads bowed and shoulders crumbled. They faced her and looked at her, but she quickly realized the slaves of the Harkonnens did not know how to stand properly.

“Oh dear,” she remarked.

The slaves tensed in fear, trembling in anticipation of a brutal punishment. Tii Sanura rose from the bed.

“You must lift your heads, my darlings. Stand as I do.”

They observed her, then, warily straightened their spines, their shoulders squaring. Her expression was calm but warm, and she nodded in approval.

“That is better, but we will work on it.”

She considered them in silence, and the slaves gradually became less tense, unsure of what to do or anticipate from the stranger.

“What are your names?”

They feared her too much to speak. Her eyes softened.

“That is alright. You will decide yourselves when the time is right.”

She clothed herself, then gestured for them to approach. They avoided her eyes, but moved towards her quickly.

“You shall join me in Daquan. Is this agreeable?”

The two women nodded, hesitant to disobey, curious and eager to leave the cruel House Harkonnen to discover the court of their new mistress. She smiled.

“I suspected as much. Stay close to me. I will not allow otherwise.”

***

Feyd immediately sought out his wife the moment they were on their way to Daquan in a rage. His footsteps were silent—habit of a trained killer, but his fury was easily felt by Tii Sanura as she and the two Harkonnen slave women conversed.

He stormed into her quarters, meeting an unbelievably bizarre sight—two of his house’s slaves, smiling, conversing freely with his wife, dressed in the luxurious fabrics and jewels that she was adorning them in. Their faces fell in mortal terror at the sight of him, but his wife was unmoved. His stomach twisted, a new, unpleasant feeling. Something was wrong.

“Ah, hello, my friend.”

He moved to grab the slaves, but his wife’s dark stare stopped him in his tracks.

“Take one step towards them and I will return their suffering to you hundredfold,” she snapped, then smiled, “Do you understand?”

Indignation rose to a peak, he snapped at them. “Out.”

Tii Sanura was clearly annoyed by his addressing of the women, but she remained calm.

“No, no; you may stay. I do not want the Harkonmen envoys near you.”

“What is wrong with you, woman,” he demanded, stalking towards her as the women retreated to share a corner, frozen in silence.

She watched him calmly, her expression serene as always. Her eyebrows rose in mock sympathy.

“You did not ease your affliction with your pets?”

Her eyes flitted over to the women with a playful wink; embarrassment simultaneously infuriated and aroused him, and he glared back at the women. They stood differently, he noticed, and then he realized they were awaiting her instructions. Something was wrong.

“What is this,” he questioned, voice forcibly calmed, “What is happening in this room?”

She seemed to be glowing with a quiet joy, her features no longer held the shadow they did in Geidi Prime. She touched his face.

“Calm yourself,” she commanded gently, “And hear me.”

Feyd’s head swam as his nervous system suddenly slowed down. She guided him to her bed, and the two sat. He had never seem such warmth in her eyes.

“I will give you what you need,” she assured, whispering so as not to reach the ears of the women in the corner, “I can promise you; it will outclass any pleasure you derive from suffering. I will give you something better. Let your anger go.”

Her hand soothingly rubbed his back, a motion he did not understand, but wanted to continue. His confusion under the gaze of slaves made him tense. This was beyond humiliation.

“Feyd, do you trust me?”

Easy answer. “No.”

She laughed softly. “I will change that. But you can. I am fond of you, and our marriage ensures your safety.”

Safety?

The na-Baron knew he was missed crucial pieces of the puzzle his wife-to-be had built, but needed no additional information to understand he was caught in her web, and traveling through space directly into the nest itself.

“I cannot tell you everything until we are wed, and your safety is guaranteed.”

Her fingers caressed his jaw soothingly, and he looked at her. He didn’t know who the woman before him was.

“What are you planning, Tii Sanura,” he asked her, voice low.

“It is not my plan. It is the plan. And Vladimir Harkonnen is not included.”

A conspiracy. Familiar ground. He felt a bit more settled with this knowledge, but still, he was wary.

“I am your hostage, then?”

She laughed. It was a laugh he remembered from long ago, when she teased him for not having eyebrows when they were children.

“There is no need for hostages. The course is set. There is no escape. You are my betrothed. We are marrying, and that is all. They want you to breed. I want you to live.”

The word intrigued him. “Breed?”

She laughed slightly. “You will understand soon enough. I see glimpses of the path, but I will see it all. I will make sure you survive the coming storm.”

He scanned her face, but there was no way to know if Tii Sanura was ever lying, not to mention she was speaking nonsense. Seeing he couldn’t understand her, she sighed.

“Give me a moment.”

She led the women outside, conversing with the guards—no, instructions, Feyd corrected, orders to protect them if trouble arose—then returned inside so they were alone. Her eyes were fond, affectionate. It made his stomach churn. His head was spinning.

“I apologize that I cannot ease your confusion, my friend. Plans have been in motion since we have been betrothed; this is all I can tell you for now. You will learn the rest on your own.”

She went over to him, cupping his cheek in her hand and kneeling before him, resting onto his lap. Feyd felt the blood rush to his groin immediately.

“You have known no other life than the one given to you on Geidi Prime. It is a brutal, unnatural existence, but you have become the best specimen of such a place, which is why I fought for you.”

Fought?

“Your way of life has perfected you for the Baron’s purposes. But I wish to show you new ways of life—better ways. You burn what does not need burning, you strike when you need to caress. You will learn these things in Daquan.”

His heartbeat was slamming in his chest as she slid between his legs, looking up at him as he felt her breasts gently pressing against his lower abdomen, stoking the fires of his lust punishingly.

“I only ask of you to let me show you the way. I believe you can be redeemed. Let me show you the way to redemption.”

“I do not need to be redeemed,” he demanded, placing his hand around her throat, “You insult me.”

She smiled, and chuckled softly. “I will first teach you the ways of unsullied pleasure. Let me demonstrate my first lesson, and we will see how you feel afterwards.”

Her hands freely massaged his painful erection with careful pressure. His head swam his need; his grip tightened on her throat. She placed her hand over his, and he curiously allowed her to guide it elsewhere, lower, where his hand cupped her breast. His inhale was sharp.

“Do forgive my deception; I am not uneducated in matters of sex.”

The smile in her lips guaranteed her apology was false. Jealously lazily flared in him, but faded as she continued to massage his length through his pants.

“I cannot show any weakness in your court, so I had to hide many aspects of myself. I suspect you will be pleased with the discoveries you make in our time together.”

“I…will not be your pet, woman,” he protested, pleasure beginning to dull his harsher intentions. She deserved to be punished for her antics and condescension, but her hands were undoing him.

“No, you will not,” she assured, moving closer to graze his lips with hers, “You will be my husband.”

He kissed her hungrily, thrilled and conflicted by the newfound passion he was given back by his betrothed. He wished to take it from her, but she gave it so freely, and he needed the release so badly he couldn’t care less how he got her to ease his agonizing denial. She was tugging at his puppet strings, he knew this, but to receive whatever she offered, he would accept being bested. For now.

She broke their lips apart, eyes slowly opening, lids heavy in a way that he never thought possible.

“Do you trust me now,” she asked, kissing his jaw, slowly unbuttoning his trousers.

“No,” he muttered, then, after gathering his thoughts, “I don’t know.”

Her lips brushed against his ear. “Surrender this moment to me, and I will show you the beauty of trust.”

He had no protest. She smiled.

“Mm, I thought so.”

“You witch,” he protested at her gloating.

She only chuckled. “I cannot perform magic tricks, but I understand your confusion.”

Her kiss firmly silenced any retort she had as she closed her hand around his clothed length, making his breath shudder.

“My customs prevent me from making any sexual contact with your bare flesh,” she whispered, her voice wavering, “But the scriptures I studied didn’t mention anything about—“

He cut her off, taking her face in his hands and kissing her with unrestrained hunger as she began stroking him at a measured rhythm. He groaned softly into her mouth, and she tasted it eagerly. She spoke against his lips.

“I want you to be my husband,” she said, breathing heavily, “Do you understand? No other man will do. No other man would be my lover. I want you.”

“I knew you wanted me,” he muttered lazily, completely at the mercy of her skillful hands, “You cannot lie to me about this.”

“I will not lie to you anymore,” she said, words flowing from her lips in the heat of the moment, “There will be no need to. We will be together.”

He growled involuntarily at the feeling of his climax approaching as she sighed.

“You—you belong to me,” he said, it was both a statement and a question.

“We belong to each other,” she whispered, “No one will disturb us. No one will want to.”

His hand closed around her throat again and squeezed. She sighed again, no other man would take control like him, even when he was at his weakest.

“You belong to me,” he repeated—this time, it was a command.

She smiled, making sure to draw each word out, the surrender he had hungered for so ardently for so, very, very long. Her voice was soft and sweet in his ear, but strained under his grip.

“I belong to you.”

He climaxed almost immediately. He groaned as his cum spilled inside his pants; it belonged in her hot, wet cunt, but that was a matter for later. She hummed in affirmation as his cock twitched and pulsed underneath her hand, and made a slight sound of surprise as his hips jutted against her chest. She gripped him tightly and slowed her pace, humming along with his groans, smiling against his skin as his choking slowly changed to gripping her jaw to hold her still for his ravenous kisses, then changed to gripping her hair at her scalp to bare her neck to his hungry mouth.

She gasped as he kissed and sucked at her throat like a starved animal, then, to his astonishment, moaned softly.

“Feyd,” she barely said, her words barely intelligible through her growing sounds of pleasure, “Feyd, wait…”

His teeth grazed her skin, and she shivered with a smile, moving her hand away from his spent cock to press them both against his chest. She was being too indulgent, but then again, he had always been a bad influence.

“You want to wait,” he asked, tugging her head back, “You care about some old books?”

She chuckled, then moaned as he left a mark on her skin with a harsh kiss.

“I must—We must wait.”

She gently pushed him back, and he accepted her resistance. He was satisfied by her willingness to express her desire; her surrender to his demand. Hesitantly, he restrained himself and pulled away. She kissed him softly, caressing his head with such affection he would’ve thought a stranger was touching him.

“Without principles, we are no better than animals,” she said, “Not all disciplines are easy, I don’t deny it.”

She smiled at him, a devilish twinkle forming in her eyes.

“But the rewards for such obedience prove much sweeter than without it.”

The na-Baron took in his betrothed’s blissful features with an odd sense of reverence.

“You are a strange woman,” he remarked.

She smiled in amusement. “And you are a strange man.”

They kissed again, with Tii Sanura climbing into his lap as his hands hungrily roamed her clothed body.

“Are my convoys landing with me, my jewel,” he asked between kisses.

She laughed quietly. “They will make it to our realm. Then, I will have them released into the asteroid belt. Is this agreeable?”

Feyd laughed in return. “Yes, I believe it is. But I will require more of your…assistance.”

Her giggles were music to his ears as he hoisted her up into his arms, then tossed her onto her back on the bed, climbing on top of her and pressing himself between her legs.

He would have had no other woman as his wife.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

do you have thoughts on harry and cho and what was going on with that?

Harry was projecting.

Harry's life is a dangerous mess, he always just wanted to feel normal. He's desperate to feel normal. And what does everyone around him start talking about during 4th year? Romance and girls.

So, Harry does the obvious thing for him to do, get a crush because everyone's doing it. Because it's what's normal.

Now, he isn't making this decision consciously, I don't think so, but subconsciously he mirrors the guys around him. Cho Chang happens to be the perfect target of said crush:

She's good at Quidditch, and a seeker like him.

She's pretty

She's nice

Not from Gryffindor, meaning Harry never interacts with her and can imagine whatever personality he wants. We see later, when they do date, that he has no idea who Cho is.

And most importantly, she is unavailable — she's a year older and already dating Cedric (learning she's dating Cedric seems to make Harry more interested in her). This means that even if he asks her out, she's likely to say no and therefore he'd never actually have to date her. (Until he does, but that's a different matter)

Basically, Cho was a "safe crush" to have. She ticks all the boxes of what Harry's crush should be on the surface, who she was didn't really matter. And we see it because once they do take, Harry finds her annoying and whiny and dreads speaking to her, not out of stress, but because he really doesn't want to.

I have more quotes about why I believe he never really liked Cho in this post, but this is one of them where Harry really speaks for himself:

“You just had to be nice to her,” said Hermione, looking up anxiously. “You were, weren’t you?” “Well,” said Harry, an unpleasant heat creeping up his face, “I sort of — patted her on the back a bit.” Hermione looked as though she was restraining herself from rolling her eyes with extreme difficulty. “Well, I suppose it could have been worse,” she said. “Are you going to see her again?” “I’ll have to, won’t I?” said Harry. “We’ve got D.A. meetings, haven’t we?” “You know what I mean,” said Hermione impatiently. Harry said nothing. Hermione’s words opened up a whole new vista of frightening possibilities. He tried to imagine going somewhere with Cho — Hogsmeade, perhaps — and being alone with her for hours at a time. Of course, she would have been expecting him to ask her out after what had just happened. . . . The thought made his stomach clench painfully. “Oh well,” said Hermione distantly, buried in her letter once more, “you’ll have plenty of opportunities to ask her. . . .” “What if he doesn’t want to ask her?” said Ron, who had been watching Harry with an unusually shrewd expression on his face. “Don’t be silly,” said Hermione vaguely, “Harry’s liked her for ages, haven’t you, Harry?” He did not answer. Yes, he had liked Cho for ages, but whenever he had imagined a scene involving the two of them it had always featured a Cho who was enjoying herself, as opposed to a Cho who was sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder.

(OotP, 460)

The moment he actually talked to her and knew her personality all his projection of a "safe crush" evaporated because he never really liked Cho for who she is, just for the boxes she ticked as a crush. The concept of what she is. He was interested in her so long as he could project an image on her so he could be normal and have a crush. This projection couldn't hold up once he actually got to know her.

With Ginny, one of the only positive things he says about her is:

He chanced a glance at her. She was not tearful; that was one of the many wonderful things about Ginny, she was rarely weepy. He had sometimes thought that having six brothers must have toughened her up.

(DH, 103)

She isn't weepy and he can project the perfect personality on to her more easily, even if I don't think he actually knows or cares about Ginny either. Not really.

So, yeah, I think Cho was an easy pick because she fit everything his crush should be without him actually having to get to know her. Until he did and it all came crashing down.

This is why Harry is never particularly nice or considerate towards either Cho or Ginny. He doesn't actually know or care about them. Hell, he cares about Luna more than he does his two supposed crushes.

[mecachrome]

I’m dying cause Oscar literally like manifested his mannnn

omg Anon i know......... TT___TT honestly i constantly feel so vindicated for being happy about the mclaren move in 2022 and predicting that he'd develop much better there than in alpine and that he and lando would get along because oscar is humble without being demure and they both have straightforward personalities 🧡 even while people were crowing about alp podium in 2023 i still knew... ok sorry where were we

it's just so much though because oscar is SO clearly someone who resists idolatry and he respects what mark does for him as his manager and obviously appreciates his support but when it comes to his record as a driver he's like... well mathematically seb was better than him. and he very clearly hates when too much credit is given to other people for HIS achievements (how did prema/mark/etc. help you in your junior career), and over and over again we hear about how oscar thrives off solitude and doesn't need that extended network of support to ground himself........ and like 2 be clear this still applies with lando he's not that special, but there are still so many *__* idk tiny moments of vulnerability we get to see that are often about or adjacent to him and it's soooasdflkahsdflhkdf. ACK. like ctfu a bit at the "i don't have to get close my first year since everyone knows how good lando is" quote because the implication is that he doesn't rate oco anywhere even remotely NEAR lando... and all these little snapshots really illuminate how much lando has been a reference point for his career — not just as a driver but in building his persona on social media, in becoming more comfortable with the celebrity associated to being an f1 driver (MY TEAMMATE'S ABANDONED ME DOT MP4), just the little things... like wdym it's really been almost 9 years 🙃🙃🙃

oscar is a very shrewd person who has come as far as he has by respecting himself and being able to confidently assess his own opponents... and it speaks volumes that he trusts and respects and rates lando so much. truly 🥲 thank u laurent rossi for giving ocon a 3-year extension

[jvliaxox]

My favourite quotes from the Neapolitan novels

To cause pain was a disease.

... there are no gestures, words, or signs that do not contain the sum of all the crimes that human beings have committed and commit.

'What does "a city without love" mean to you?' 'A people deprived of happiness.'

I thought of the neighbourhood as a whirlpool from which any attempt to escape was an illusion.

'For your whole life you love people and you never really know who they are.'

'Life without seeing and without speaking, without speaking and listening, life without a covering, life without a container, is shapeless.'

They dived in without hesitation, Lila with a long cry of joy. They were happy, full of their own romance, they had the energy of those who successfully seize what they desire, no matter the cost.

... the beauty of things is a trick, the sky is the throne of fear; I'm alive, now, here, then steps from the water, and it is not at all beautiful, it's terrifying; along with this beach, the sea, the swarm of animal forms. I am part of the universal terror; at this moment I'm the infinitesimal particle through which the fear of every thing becomes conscious of itself.

It was as if she wanted to take the power away from even the realistic possibility of violent death by reducing it to words, to a form that could be controlled.

... it's not the neighbourhood that's sick, it's not Naples, it's the entire earth, it's the universe, or universes. And shrewdness means hiding and hiding from oneself the true state of things.

... every choice has its history, so many moments of our existence are shoved into a corner, waiting for an outlet, and in the end the outlet arrives.

The mind, ah yes, the evil is there; it's the mind's discontent that causes the body to get sick.

While men devote themselves to undertakings in space, life for women on this planet has yet to begin.

The new living flesh was replicating the old in a game, we were a chain of shadows who had always been on the stage with the same burden of love, hatred, desire, and violence.

How much I had lost by leaving, believing I was destined for who knows what life.

... we struggled to understand what a woman was. Our every move or thought or conversation or dream, once analysed in depth, seemed not to belong to us.

Eve can't, doesn't know how, doesn't have the material to be Eve outside of Adam. Her evil and her good are the evil and good according to Adam. Eve is Adam as a woman. And the divine work was so successful that she herself, in herself, doesn't know what she is, she has pliable features, she doesn't possess her own language, she doesn't have a spirit or a logic of her own, she loses her shape easily.

Oh God, how out of order everything was: they, I, the world around us: a truce was only possible by believing lies.

In what disorder we lived, how many fragments of ourselves were scattered, as if to live were to explode into splinters.

Should I remain this shadow -- my mother, all our female ancestors -- or should I let her go?

So what resurrection? It was only cosmetic, a powder of modernity applied randomly, and boastfully, to the corrupt face of the city. It happened like that every time. The scam of rebirth raised hope and then shattered them, became crusts upon ancient crusts.

Where is it written that lives should have meaning?

... evil took unpredictable pathways. You cover it over with churches, convents, books... and the evil breaks through the floor and emerges when you don't expect it.

Every intense relationship between human beings is full of traps, and if you want to endure you have to learn to avoid them.

... I want to leave nothing, my favourite key is the one that deletes.

I am still alive -- I thought -- and yet I can't feel any different from that big body lying lifeless in that sordid place, in that sordid way.

Unlike stories, real life, when it has passed, inclines towards obscurity, not clarity. I thought: now that Lila has let herself be seen so plainly, I must resign myself to not seeing her anymore.

[melancholicstation]

LONER!BOBBY AND POPULAR!READER HEADCANONS — modern! bobby f. kennedy ᥫ᭡

taglist: @remotewatch @bloxholden35 @starsprangledgirl @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @absurdlyvintage @chemicalw0rld @fortheloveofjos @kimcrystal123 @astro-vibes-bro

word count: 989

you meet during co-ed sailing at the college in which bobby, in all his clodhopping charm, accidentally capsizes the small sailing boat ( that, to his credit, looked about as sturdy as the remote controlled boats loaned out in central park )

expecting you to freak out bobby immediately moves to provide incessant apologies, looking and sounding like an about to be scolded boy, but is eventually dismantled by your acceptance and carefree attitude.

stupidly bobby had regarded your personality to match your exterior: heeled boots, glossy lips, hair misted by diptique’s ‘do son’ and a trusty gel lacquer of 151 pirate polish always freshly applied. in his un-frontal lobe developed brain he thought that the prissy nature of your appearance would influence your temperament when dealing with him.

he was quite shocked to find the polar opposite.

after co-ed sailing you hit it off, purely as friends at first but not without your friends constant teasing of your friendship. mostly because of your polar opposite demeanours

bobby’s being one shrewd in mystery and signposted by: his quiet affliction when dining in the cafeteria, shocked and startled by even the most casual expressions of noise. not heterogeneous to that of a undomesticated fawn.

to get to and fro the campus and the sixty-three acreage that was the schools athletic centre bobby would only carry the upmost essentials to his very being: saratoga tortoise shell reading glasses, an agamemnon by aeschylus first edition hardback, and his iPhone 6 plus encased in a intrecciato colorblocked leather briefcase that was comically big for his slender model-esk frame

being that bobby had no instagram account ( despite him being an anomaly in the chronically online classmates ) communication was tricky to say the least

after a series of misguided letters back and forth placed by bobby into your locker and vice versa, you eventually exchanged numbers

despite this, on occasion, bobby slips note cards in varying hues of lilac, honey orange, and taupe into your locker accompanied by hand-written quotes by your favourite writers: joan didion and virginia woolf alongside a clumsily taped blue-raspberry salt water taffy with such care that could only be achieved via a love-sick collegiate-aged boy

when invited to your house, you quickly excuse yourself and tell bobby to let himself into your bedroom. you find him awkwardly positioning himself on your bed, covered in pink floral print, half-sitting on the bed while looking comedically uncomfortable

it’s not until his fourth visit that he begins to perform comfort and seems at peace, finally finding a non-chaotic safe place to metaphorically rest his head, a place without the chaotic nature of his home situation with his 8 rambunctious siblings

when you and your popular cliche encourage him to come to one of your famous beach bashes he’s understandably hesitant but cannot resistant your batting eyelashes and soft assurances while scratching his head that you’ll be there the entire time right alongside him.

so he goes and gets completely trashed. like BLIND drunk due to his inexperienced tolerance to alcohol at about 10:00pm. the party started at only 8:30pm…

neither of you seem to mind: with yourself being smitten towards his loosening of ambitions and his platonic touchiness brought on by his intoxication, and bobby being interior too trashed to know right from left.

the party ends around 12pm with you slinging bobby’s pashmina cardigan over your right shoulder, and trying to gather bobby frame on your left to reach the uber

END OF SFW HC’s NSFW IS AFTER THIS POINT!

loves to have you sit on his face but your constantly making sure your not hurting him until he eventually shuts you up with an climax or seven what who said thatttt

you love to give bobby hickies just for the fun of seeing what creative ways he chooses to style his outfits in an effort to hide them. what you don’t love is your friends incessant teasing of both him and you as a result

popular!reader loves to put her fingers in bobby’s mouth during s*x just cause she finds it hot

your always giving him love bites

like he’s sometimes so cute in his button up and misplaced tie that you just want to bite his cute arms all over!

both of you are a big a fan of mutual masturbation over facetime

always making love raw, so much that it’s a miracle that you aren’t both parents by the age of 20

definitely pulls your hips back to him if he feels you squirming while eating you out

he definitely asks you to marry him two months into dating during a passionate sexual escapade

is a tits man through and through

will hold your boobs in his sleep

has a mysterious exterior with all your friends but is a total blob of sincerity whenever your alone together

loves to feed you honeycombs as an aftercare ritual, doesn’t matter the time or place

he loves to be pulled by the hair sorryyyyy

is very turned on when you get jealous of girls talking to bobby, now that he’s adjacent to the popular crowd

he adores dry humping sorry someone had to say it and i guess that person is me

you ab ride bobby when he’s all sweating from karate practice ( cause he’s a loser like that )

bobby likes that your the taller one in the relationship unresolved dominance kink that will never be explored

only time he feels undeniably confident and himself is when he’s in bed with you…

because you both still live with your parents you make it a game to see who can stay quiet the longest

you make brief, short home videos together but bobby’s too paranoid and you eventually delete all evidence of it’s existence to ease his mind.

[greeneyedsigma]

*Tilestone (one of the Galley-La foreman) giving newly hired Rob Lucci and Kaku their introduction tour and handing them off to their new supervisor, Paulie*

Tilestone, rubbing the back of his neck: ...and that about covers it. You’ll get into the swing of things before long, but if you have any questions you can ask your supervisor.

*they approach Bay 5, and as they get closer they can make out the unmistakable sounds of a contentious argument and discover a short woman with blonde hair cut to her shoulders, pushed back from her face by a pair of welding goggles standing toe to toe with a large pirate captain, the pair screaming at each other*

Tilestone looks unconcerned, grabbing the blonde’s shoulder and interrupting her mid-tirade: Geez, Paulie, you’re going ultra-sonic. Simmer down. *He jabs a thumb over his shoulder at Lucci and Kaku* Got your new boys.

Paulie tossed them a shrewd look before she turned back to the Captain, grabbing him by the open neck of his shirt and yanking him down to her eye level: Listen up, you can either pay for the work at the amount you were quoted for or I can keep your ship and burn it to ash.

Random Pirate Captain, cowed into submission: Yes ma’ama

Paulie, lets go of his shirt, patting the bunched material with a cute smile, a dimple appearing in one cheek: You can go on up to the payment office then, I’ve already sent the invoice over.

Random Pirate Captain, visibly smitten now: Yes ma’am.

Tilestone, grumbling under his breath: Iceburg’s gonna be pissed.

Kaku, raising an eyebrow: Because she just assaulted a customer?

Tilestone, choking on a laugh: What? No! *He nods at the retreating Captain’s back* Because that one has the look on his face that says he’s gonna be asking Paulie out before he leaves. Iceburg’s gonna be a jealous bastard about it.

[juliaswickcrs]

HOUSE BLACKWOOD :: THE DANCE OF DRAGONS ( insp )

The Blackwoods are an ancient house descended from the First Men who ruled the Wolfswood in the North before being driven south by the Kings of Winter from House Stark. House Blackwood is home to many greenseers, skinchangers, and woodswitches, with origins believed to date back to the Warg King and his alliance with the Children of the Forest.

Lord Samwell Blackwood became the Lord of Raventree Hall after the death of his father at the hands of Ser Jonnel Bracken. He avenged his father's death in the Year of the Red Spring, igniting the conflict between both houses once more. He was a shrewd and honorable man who refused to stand by when it came to injustice and was believed to have more north than Riverlands in him. A cunning military strategist, he was the mind behind the Battle of the Burning Mill, which saw the first blood drawn in the Dance. Lady Jocelyn Blackwood nee Stark is the only daughter of Bennard Stark of Winterfell and his second wife Lady Alyssa Strong of Harrenhal. She was sent to ward with her grandfather where she was courted by Samwell Blackwood. She is known as the Witch Wolf, a moniker mocking her relationship with her cousin, Alys Rivers. She was often in contact with her cousin and half-brothers in Winterfell, and convinced them to send men on behalf of Queen Rhaenyra. Cassana Blackwood is the eldest child and daughter of Lord and Lady Blackwood. An unusual and lonely child, her mother sent her to ward in King's Landing with House Strong, where she became fast friends with Jacaerys Velaryon and Daeron Targaryen. She was called home after the Bracken-Blackwood feud ignited again and was staying at Harrenhal when the fire broke out. Miraculously, she survived. She later studied healing and medicine under her mother and the Maester of Raventree Hall. Benjicot Blackwood is the eldest son and second child of Lord and Lady Blackwood. He spent the first three years of his life abed with a sickness none could cure. His lady mother prayed to the Old Gods at the dead weirwood every night for his health as the ravens gathered. When it did, he was left with a large splotch of red on his back and up towards his neck. Some say he fought with an insatiable bloodlust--a touch of the Old Gods within him--and gave him the name "Bloody Ben." Lady Alysanne Blackwood was known as "Black Aly" and is the younger sister of Samwell and Willem Blackwood. As fierce as any man, she was fearless and bawdy and the best archer aside from her bastard half-brother Robb Rivers. She was rumored to be fond of Lady Sabitha Frey, but married Cregan Stark by the end of the Dance. Alysanne was said to have a mind as sharp as her tongue, and often made political decisions for the House when her kin could not. She is credited with the temporary ending of the Bracken-Blackwood feud by marrying her nephew Benjicot to the Lady Catelyn Bracken. Ser Willem Blackwood is the younger brother of Samwell Blackwood and is the only member of House Blackwood in recent memory to follow the Faith of the Seven. He has often been quoted as the Black Sheep of the family due to his preference for his mother's Andal traditions. Later in life, he became known for eschewing honor in order to achieve victory, although this is widely believed to be slander as it came from Amos Bracken. He attempted to win the hand of Princess Rhaenyra and slew Jerrel Bracken, Ser Jonnel's eldest son, in a duel for her hand. Robb Rivers is the elder half-brother of Samwell, Alysanne, and Willem and the uncle of Cassana and Benjicot. He was known as "the Bowman of Raventree" due to his skill with a weirwood bow and "Red Robb Rivers" due to his bright red hair, which contrasted against his sibling's black locks. In contrast to the Blackwood sigil, Robb bore a white tree on a red escutcheon blazoned with a flock of white ravens on black. His mother was believed to be a stable hand at Raventree, although this has never been confirmed.

taglist: @bisexualterror @foxesandmagic @iron-parkr @camiemendess @a-song-of-quill-and-feather

@arrthurpendragon @starcrossedjedis @drbobbimorse @kingsmakers @noratilney

@stanshollaand @astarionbae @darth-caillic @mystic-scripture @aliverse

@misshiraethsworld @asirensrage @eddiemunscns

@princessmadelines @impales @waterloou @stelstellakidd

HOTD TAGLIST: @misskatiewrites (wanna be added? Lmk!)

[quotelr]

If you feed a bird, you don't have to force it to come to you.

Matshona Dhliwayo

[haydenigmatic]

Lady Nesrin /ˈnɛs.rɪn/ Parovus /pæˈroʊvəs/

Meet Nesrin, the enigmatic jewel of courtly intrigue in the Eight Kingdoms. Behind her charming smile and the gentle melodies of her harp, lies a shrewd strategist, always three moves ahead in the intricate game of court politics.

For her face claim it's a mix between Emma Watson, Lilly Collins and maybe Anya-Taylor-Joy, now for the voice I would say Jessica Brown Findlay (the voice of Lenore in Castlevania)

Main Family Dynamics:

Duke Javaid's Expectations (Father):

Duke Javaid, the family patriarch, holds a firm grip on family affairs and expects unwavering obedience and service from his children. While supportive, his expectations also create a stifling atmosphere, especially for Nesrin who navigates the delicate balance between duty and love.

Duchess Sarnei's Priorities (Mother):

Duchess Sarnei is focused on maintaining her beauty and status within the court. She holds a keen interest in fashion and gossip, involving herself in the intricacies of courtly life, which influences Nesrin's awareness of social dynamics.

Seline's Scandal:

Seline, Nesrin's elder sister, is away from court due to a scandal that stained the family's reputation. Unmarried and seemingly without prospects, Seline secretly has a child from a forbidden affair with a commoner, straining her relationship with Nesrin.

Gennaddy's Charisma:

Gennady, Nesrin's younger brother, is a charming and courteous knight who enjoys the attention of many ladies. Confident in the family's status, revels in the admiration he receives, supporting and challenging Nesrin's approach to courtly life.

Some details about her:

Memorable Quote: "I learned at a young age that sometimes, the most effective way to get what you want is to let others think it was their idea."

She indulges in the guilty pleasure of reading romance novels but dismisses them as frivolous in public.

Occasionally orchestrates situations where she allows herself to be seemingly manipulated, only to unveil a grander scheme.

Her skill with the harp is as enchanting as her political manoeuvrers, her melodies weaving tales of beauty and intrigue that captivate those who have the privilege of listening.

She thrives on challenges, evident in her deliberate attempts to out-dress Odette, turning every encounter into a subtle competition.

keeps a dried flower pressed between the pages of her favourite book, a memento from the first bouquet someone dear to her gave her.

Her Silkshroud Feline (Persian cat), Aziza, is her loyal companion during strolls through the family gardens. Aziza wears small jewelled collars that match Nesrin's accessories.

Practices the harp at night, finding inspiration in the quiet hours. The haunting melodies she creates in the moonlit solitude serve as a therapeutic release for her inner conflicts.

Her sister scandal casts a shadow over Nesrin's life, serving as a cautionary tale that influences her choices and adds pressure to maintain the family's reputation.

Feels a deep sense of betrayal, she had confided in Odette about her dreams and ambitions, Odette's swift action feels like a calculated move to steal Nesrin's opportunities and thwart her plans.

Nesrin battles intense feelings of jealousy and resentment towards Odette, especially as she perceives her former friend not only as a rival but as someone who callously took advantage of her vulnerable confession.

[sephirothsplaything]

VISHA SOLARA- "The everlasting sun"

Regarding Lady Visha of House Solara

It is said that the Lady Visha Solara was a horribly shrewd woman. The lords in Westeros thought her unpleasant. Perhaps it was due to the fact that she seemed to know much and more than they ever could; How she was able to achieve such things,it is unclear.

Whatever the reason, Visha alone raised up her own house, without a lord. However, it was not without resistance. Men of the realm wished to see her fall, as they deemed her unfit to hold her own house. Many lords vied for her hand after the sudden death of her husband. King  Jaehaerys Targaryen and his lady wife Alysanne held the Lady Visha in high regard, allowing her to be the sole head of House Solara.

In her younger years, Visha Solara was quite close to Lady Aemma Arryn and her death hardened her further. She retained a vile bitterness towards Viserys Targaryen.

The mystery behind her husband's death is one of great confusion. He had sired the first three of her children Orabela and the twins Seth and Senka,but the parentage of her youngest,Melpomene and Demir are shrouded in rumor. 

Visha and her house rose quickly;Savage islander magic,some say…but who could know?

........

QUOTES!!

“The Targaryens have their dragons, but I have my children– We shall see who fares best in the end.” 

“My own lady mother was a Targaryen,and she suffered for it.”

Mother Visha Solara you will always be famous!!! Honestly, when I was planning out her character she reminded me of the goddess Hera.

Never ask her what happended to her husband because the answer will most definitely be different every time!

[falllpoutboy]

Hello. Tarot reader is back (og i guess? lol) First I want to say to the second Tarot reader, thank you. Also, they were also very spot on and captured all I didn't talk about in my reading about M and J. for A and J I see similar stuff too. Okay, here goes...

First I'll talk about what A and J think of each other. These two are interesting because they showed me two similar, but different view points. They're very different people, but also the same in some ways. It's like they give each other what the other needs. I've never really read interviews they've done or watched any interviews they've done. I've seen quotes, but that's it. I haven't really seen too much on how they interact with each other so this was interesting, to me at least.

For J: A is his great collaborator. He feels connected to her and feels creatively they are magnetic. He views their relationship as something rooted in trust. There's a receptiveness to each other's feelings. He feels he can be honest in his communication with her. He feels safe there. He views her as loyal. He can tell her anything and no one will ever know. He has so much admiration for her. He is proud of her. He looks up to her. Also, he finds her incredibly physically attractive. He looks at her like "wow" Honestly, there's a basic urge to be with her physically, but he is the wands (keep that in mind). she is the pentacles, the page of pentacles in fact. He knows she isn't impulsive like him. He sees her as cautious (she is) she moves slowly when making a choice. He knows she is concerned about what other people think (she's traditional in some sense).<<<this is where they differ. He also views her as someone who has very high standards (she does). She knows what she wants and he likes that. He also views her as innocent in some way--not in a weird way though. He feels all the feels for her. He feels a deep connection. the two of cups showed up in his feelings for her so..i mean...he thinks about her...he compares others to her..no lie..i saw it in my hidden truth oracle cards.

for A: A is funny because she views J as MESSY. haha. In her humorous way of course. she kind of doesn't judge him (she low key does) She sees him as Loyal also. Witty. (she likes his wit a lot) She likes how unique he is. He is an independent thinker and she admires that a lot. She also likes that he can be a straight shooter. kind of shrewd but in an amusing way. She views him as an amazing creator, fun, adventurous, flirty, anxious, passionate, down to earth, grounded---very, very intense. she wants him to lighten up sometimes. (guys as i'm reading these cards and typing this, notice how her words are coming different than his--her energy is just bouncing words off me) He is very emotional to her. He is open emotionally where she is not. She prefers to hide her feelings...especially from him. she views him as shy and it amuses her given he is kind of a walking contradiction. (she sees him as shy yet bold, fearless yet fearful. grounded, but directionless). He has a lot of baggage to her. (ten of wands) She doesn't judge him for it, but it makes her cautious. His intensity makes her anxious in that he can see her in a way where no one else can. she tries to hide it, but he can seeeeee. It is, too, too much for her. (Her energy did not show me physical attraction because she is afraid to go there. she is intensely attracted btw, I saw that in my hidden truth cards as well.)

Now the nitty gritty: Currently their is a lot of tension in their relationship. for A: i pulled the tower, 3 of swords, ten of wands, the hermit, and the high priestess in how she is viewing their dynamic right now. Something happened here. from her perspective he did something that shocked her and disappointed her. It hurt her pretty deeply. (mind you I pulled for them last week because I was bored and the tower and 3 of swords came up also). She told him they need to pump the breaks on their whatever they are. she needs space (to hide and figure out some life stuff). There is a distance with the hermit. A separation. They may not be interacting with each other right now. like not speaking. for J: i pulled similar--7 of swords, 3 of swords, ten of swords. from his prospective, her wanting to get some space hurt him deeply. He feels like she wasn't honest or isn't being honest about either her feelings or a promise was broken on her part. Like J is on the floor right now. He feels betrayed by something. Bro is in a mental crisis, but he's also dramatic so... These two also both have the five of wands. There is an internal/ external conflict/battle with these two. There is DRAMA which A does not like.

The outcome was clear: 3 of cups reversed, 2 of wands, the LOVERS, 8 of cups, death, ace of swords reversed, and justice.... yes things will be fine. They'll figure it out. They'll get back. But they both have to walk their own path of self-discovery and figure some stuff out for mental clarity. She has to be unafraid, honest, and learn to stop hiding. He has to chill and figure out what he really wants (like she doesn't understand and neither does he). They have to let go of things that no longer serve them. They have a few lessons to learn before getting it right. Before finding that balance. There are also a lot of 3s with these two. So many outside folks always getting in the way of their potential. Their world views are so different, but also can help each other. Again this could all change because it's tarot, but this is what the current energy tells me.

this is so…. i am shook. gagged. appalled. not that shocked anyways bc it all lines up and makes sense but holy shit.

[katakosmos]

this question has HAUNTING me for so long, honestly probably because i refuse to understand the concept of the houses in Harry Potter, what do you think is Barty’s House ? ( i bet on Slytherin but Ravenclaw Barty is appealing… )

ohhh, barty doesn't really belong to any hogwarts house for me. if i had to put him in slytherin or ravenclaw, i'd have to recognize him some positive traits (wisdom and virtue). but barty would be pure evil for me if he wasn't terribly loyal: and even in this case, i'd say that he perfectly represents the most ambiguous sides of the two houses.

to quote homer, barty for me is "πολύτροπος", polytropos: of great versatility of intellect combined with cunning and shrewdness (it's the homeric epithet of ulysses). full of intrigues, tricks: you can't raise a child with riddles and then expect him not to deceive you. and then clever, perceptive, but in a purely selfish way. a liar, a skilled orator. he fits perfectly in both ravenclaw and slytherin!!

even though, i must admit, i usually imagine him in ravenclaw... but only because blue suits him better.