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rafey-baby · 4 months ago

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sweet treat 5

shy!reader really wants to tell construction worker!rafe how she feels but what if he doesn’t feel the same?

18+ mdni!

c/w: the L-word, mostly fluff, reader being an overthinker & getting a little jealous, pda

wc: 2.3k

hi! this is the last part of sweet treat (might write some extras but i make no promises) & just wanted to say how much i appreciate everyone who reads my stuff. the first part was my first proper piece of writing i posted on this blog and i was overjoyed by the warm welcome and all the kind comments, asks & reblogs (nothing goes unnoticed by me!) so thank u so so much for being so lovely <33

hope you enjoy xx

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

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

It’s been exactly two weeks since she came to terms with the fact that she’s in love with him.

She hasn’t been able to sleep all that well and has tried her very best to avoid Rafe, albeit fruitlessly since he insists on driving her home from work every day and on top of that, he often invites himself over to her house or asks for her to stay the night at his; not accepting her excuses about being tired and having to wake up early.

“Why don’t we just…be tired and wake up early together, then?” his grin is playful when he argues with her reasoning. And how is she meant to refuse that?

And if all that wasn’t already suffocating her, of course he’s now helping with the renovation of the cafe since her boss wanted to expand the business; make the small coffee shop into a bigger one in hopes of more space for new tables and seats because the amount of clients they got was beginning to be too much for everyone to comfortably enjoy their stay.

Therefore, she now has to practically work in the same building as him every single day because the renovation work isn’t disturbing the current cafe from running nor decreasing the number of customers with a sweet tooth or a craving for their usual morning coffee from strutting in.

This wouldn’t be a problem, if Rafe wasn’t walking around all sweaty and dusty, biceps bulging whenever he’d lift wooden planks over his shoulder or carry around different equipment; looking as attractive as ever.

And with these newfound lovey-dovey feelings trying to break through the surface, she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to stop herself from ogling him or keep her rapid heartbeats to herself whenever he wanders over to chat with her on his breaks.

She tries to act as normal as she can, but she can tell that he’s picking up on her excessive rambling and stuttering, flushed cheeks and anxious fingers fixing her hair every two seconds whenever he’s talking to her.

She’s certain he can see right through her, knows that she’s hiding something. She can practically see how he wants to bring it up more often than not but seemingly hasn’t found the right way to approach the subject yet and she can sense that she’s running out of time; can’t tolerate lying to him for much longer.

She’s been thinking this whole thing through over and over, to the point of her head hurting as she bakes Rafe’s favorite lemon raspberry cookies as a distraction and because he’s been working so hard and she wants to surprise him; see the soft smile that makes the whole world glitter whenever he graces her with it.

She wants to tell him, wants him to know how deeply she feels for him, how much she appreciates him but every time she tries to open her mouth, the words seem to evaporate before they’ve even begun to sprout on her nervous tongue.

What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if this is all just a casual thing for him and she’s making it into something more than it is? These bleak thoughts turn her mood sour; a pout forming on her lips as she concentrates on topping the flamingo pink icing covering their most popular vanilla cupcakes with fresh blueberries.

As she’s taking out Rafe’s cookies out the oven, she comes to the conclusion that she has two options; she either tells him she’s in love with him or she doesn’t. If she tells him, there’s a very high possibility of him looking at her with a crease between his brows and words about not wanting for this to be anything serious hitting her against the face.

And if she doesn’t tell him, then…well she doesn’t really have anything to lose, does she? Except maybe the what ifs haunting her for the rest of eternity.

She tries to get rid of these tormenting thoughts with a shake of her head as she sets the cookies off to cool down and begins to place the finished cupcakes onto the display counter, trying her hardest to forget about it all.

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

Later that day when Rafe is contently munching on the cookies she plated for him and happily distracting her from work, someone approaches the counter; a girl with glossy lips and shiny hair.

“Hi, could I get a mango matcha latte, please?” Her eyes are as green as grass as she places her order.

“Of course, would you like it with ice or no ice?”

“With ice, please,” she answers in a friendly manner.

“Coming right up,” she gives the girl a polite smile when her payment goes through.

“You’re working on the renovation?” The girl’s attention then turns towards Rafe, making Y/N’s gaze flicker over to them as she puts blended mango into the bottom of a tall glass.

“Yeah, the cafe’s gon’ be twice as big as it’s now,” his gravelly voice drawls, putting the half-eaten baked good down.

“That’s so cool, I’ve always wondered how construction workers are so strong. Do you go to the gym a lot?” A saccharine voice reaches Y/N’s ears, making her brows furrow as she’s measuring the right amount of matcha powder and trying to appear nonchalant.

“Uh, yeah, yeah. Also think my workdays sometimes count as workouts,” he scratches the back of his head as she lets out a giggle. It wasn’t that funny, Y/N thinks with a roll of her eyes.

“Hey, I was actually wondering if maybe you’d wanna hang out sometime? Could give you my number?”

Something muddy swirls in her stomach at the girl’s straightforward question. She doesn’t appreciate the fact that she’s blatantly hitting on Rafe right in front of her. Even if she’s well aware that they’re not together and the girl probably assumed they were just friends, which they are.

However, she can’t prevent herself from turning grumpy from the mere notion of him being interested in someone else. After all, the girl is stunning and she wouldn’t really blame him if he wanted to at least consider her offer.

“Nah, I’m actually not available right now,” he offers an apologetic smile when the girl’s shoulders slump.

“No? That’s a shame. Well, let me know when that changes?” She gives him a flirty smile that makes Y/N quietly scoff as she pours the milk into the mix.

“It’s not changing anytime soon,” she mutters under her breath, making both of them turn their heads towards her.

“Sorry?” The girl asks, muted jade settling on her suddenly tense form. Fuck, did she really say that out loud?

“Oh, um— just that…here’s your drink,” she peeps out, feeling Rafe’s eyes burning into the side of her face as she sticks a paper straw into the beverage; the ice cubes clinking together when she hands it out to her.

“Right, thanks,” she says looking over to Rafe once more, seemingly expecting him to give her an answer of his own.

“Uh…yeah, what she said. Not changing anytime soon,” his grin is wide, making the girl’s cheeks flush as she hurriedly leaves.

And when it’s just the two of them again, she flits her eyes down, busying herself with a wooden container of tea bags she’s trying to organize, not wanting to face him.

“What was, uh…what was that about?” His tone is teasing, an annoying smirk playing along his features.

“Nothing,” she quickly dismisses, avoiding his gaze.

“Nothing? You’re telling me you weren’t just really fucking jealous two seconds ago?”

“N—no,” she can’t even convince herself with the pitiful denial.

“Don’t worry, I’m all yours, alright?” He chuckles as he stuffs the rest of the cookie down his maw.

“How did you know I was craving these, by the way?” He asks around the mouthful as she tries to brush aside the sudden tingle in her ribcage and the blush dusting over her cheeks.

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

A few days later when her shift is coming to an end, her other coworker already beginning to take orders and telling her she’s free to go, she drags Rafe behind the counter and practically forces him to taste test a new recipe she’s tried out; a walnut carrot cake with lime buttercream.

“Wow, this is…amazing. The lime gives this fresh sourness to the frosting, it’s so good,” his voice is muffled by his chewing and her heart warms in response to his detailed commentary, never one to shy away from showering her in compliments.

“You think so? I actually added the lime just cause I know how much you like citrus fruits so, I’m really glad you like it,” she beams up at him.

“Yeah? Made this just for me, huh? Can I ask why I’m getting this special treatment all of a sudden?” His tone is playful, tongue licking over his bottom lip to clean up the bit of icing lingering there.

“Well, cause I love you and—” she blurts out and then her entire body tenses; mouth hanging open in shock and wide eyes slowly moving to look at him, trying to verify whether he heard it or not. Of course he did. She wasn’t exactly quiet now, was she?

“You…you love me?” His brows raise in surprise.

“Uh…I— I didn’t mean to…I mean, you probably don’t feel the same so doesn’t really matter. Just— um...just forget I said that. I don’t know why I—”

“What are you talking about? You think I spend most of my time with you cause I…what? Dislike you? You can be so silly sometimes, you know?” He scoffs, setting the golden fork down on the porcelain plate.

She stays silent.

“What I’m saying is that I’m obsessed with you. I mean, you’re even in my fucking dreams, right? But listen, love has always been a little…tricky for me to grasp onto cause my relationship with my family has always been…complicated? But if me wanting to spend every second of my day with you means I love you too then, shit, maybe I do. But I need some time before I can really say that shit, you get that?” His words are honest and raw and she thinks her rattling heart is going to beat out of her chest.

“Oh. I— um…yeah, of course. Take all the time you need,” she finally manages out.

“Hey, c’mere,” he says before he’s practically dragging her dumbfounded form into his embrace; beefy arms pushing her flush against his chest with a steadying grip on her waist.

“I mean, we’re basically already dating at this point, no? Wasn’t sure how to make it official without freaking you out but since you love me, I think you’re all good, yeah?”

She croons something incoherent in response.

“So, wanna be my little girlfriend or what?” He asks into her hair.

“I— of course I do,” she mumbles against his shirt.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” She hums before he tucks an index finger under her chin and raises her face to look up at him; thumb toying with her bottom lip before he’s leaning down and smearing a sloppy kiss against her mouth.

“Shit, you’re so cute. Just wanna swallow you whole sometimes,” he murmurs with a soft smile tugging at his lips and blue hydrangeas twinkling with something syrupy in them.

“I love you,” she mumbles, almost inaudible; words still too tender to consciously say out loud.

“Say it again,” he practically demands.

“Um…I love you,” her voice is nearly a whisper.

“What was that? Think you can say it a little louder?” He teases.

“Rafe, stop…you’re embarrassing me,” she whines, cheeks coloring over with a strawberry hue.

“No, I’m not. Just wanna hear you say it,” his smirk is all big and smug and it makes her huff.

“ILOVEYOU, okay?” The words mesh together like fluffy clouds in the sky and her volume is louder than he’s probably ever heard it, a couple of curious heads turn to look at them, the lively chatter around them quieting down some.

“Yeah? You guys heard that? She loves me!” He’s nearly shouting, looking around with a stupid grin on his face, making her flush and hide behind her hands as a few customers cheerfully titter in entertainment.

“Congrats, dude!” Someone even yells.

“Oh my god, Rafe. Why would you do that?” Her mortified eyes widen as she crouches down; trying to find shelter from behind the pale-yellow counter. “I’m never leaving my house again,” she complains with a glare.

He doesn’t seem to be all that bothered by the whole thing, simply chuckling with dimples denting his cheeks; the light-hearted sound making her stomach flutter despite the humiliation crawling up her spine and making her want to vanish into the cracks on the floorboards.

“Of course you are. I’m your boyfriend now which means I’m taking you out on a date tomorrow, yeah?” He lifts her up with a grip on her waist, pulling her flush against him as his devious fingertips slip underneath the hem of her shirt, smoothing over her bare stomach and making her let out a squeak.

Then he’s grasping her jaw in one hand and pressing his mouth on hers once again; her protests withering away like a dead rose when he slips his tongue past her lips, dragging out an involuntary whimper from her.

She pulls away, hiding her face in his chest when she can feel multiple pairs of eyes staring at them.

“Rafe, can we just go already?” She pleads with her voice small before he’s guiding her out of the coffee shop with a big palm resting on her back, calming her down some.

And despite the little scene he just caused, she thinks she might just be the happiest girl on the island as he helps her climb into his truck with a honeyed kiss warming the apple of her cheek.

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thatbugkidd · 11 days ago

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INTRODUCING... MY DRONESONA/OC, SCRAP

Scrap is a unique type of drone, a Collector Drone. Collector drones are a byproduct of worker drones, built with a few differences to be more efficient at their primary tasks. They are slightly smaller and more compact, but much heavier and hardy. These drones were built to be able to hold extremely heavy loads, much more than your average worker drone. They can also endure much harsher conditions, and are overall a bit more resilient.

They were often tasked with "collecting" things, hence the name. Trash, scrap material, valuables, minerals, etc etc. Primarily, they were used to mine the planets, collecting and transporting materials they gathered. They are equipped with an extra pair of arms, that are removable and replaceable via a port on their sides just below their primary arms. As well as ANOTHER pair of ports just on their backside for a third pair of appendages if they're ever seen fit to use it.

Their second pair can be swapped for extensions that help with their tasks (eg, clawed hands for digging) and are often equipped with tools under the last cap of their finger joints, such as screw drivers, a drill, tape measure, etc as they were often also used to help at construction as they were excellent for carrying heavy materials where trucks and other vehicles couldn't reach.

Unfortunately, because of their heavy machinery, upkeep and maintenance was very important but oftentimes difficult to provide. Because of this, not many were built in the first place, so when the core exploded on copper-9, most of them were destroyed or permanently powered down. Scrap, being kept below the surface in a bunker for repair on damages, had been very jostled but managed to reboot with a big chunk of memory loss and now faulty code that went awry.

This caused a malfunction in their tasks, so she now collects anything perceived as dead. She wanders copper-9 digging through corpse piles of drones and humans alike, scavaging for anything interesting and looking for history as she explores the dead planet.

The backside port allows the third pair of appendages to slide up and down for added mobility!!

Also featuring @kalpeavaris 's drone OC, bishop hehe >:3

#murder drones #artists on tumblr #murder drones art #murder drones au #thatbugkidd art #murder drones oc #murder drones sona #drone sona #collector drone #collector drones

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artbyblastweave · 5 months ago

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Now one thing I find really stylistically interesting about Batman Beyond, is that a lot of the mechanisms by which the supervillians do their thing come part-and-parcel with the cyberpunk setting, rather than being an aberration resulting purely from the superheroic genre elements. This is the future of a quote-unquote "present-day" DCU, meaning that they've superficially addressed the question of why all the cutting-edge supertech used in the cape scene never seems to see mass adoption by the civilian sector- forty years later, it has. This means that It's never hard to grok where any given villain is getting the resources necessary to execute their gimmick; these people are flashy by our standards, but they live in a world where everyone has access to flying cars and antigravity drones. Half these people are doing the cyberpunk equivalent of going killdozer with repurposed industrial equipment, or kludging together something with off-the-shelf stuff from radio shack, or mounting a machine gun on a technical truck, and literally in the middle of typing this sentence I started the episode where there's mass-market off-the-shelf animal gene-splicing that would have been a whole-ass individualized origin story in the time of Batman: The Animated Series. Even one-off mutants like Inque and Blight are well-understood within the context of the setting, to the extent of Inque being able to make a knockoff of herself on the go.

This is dystopic. Beyond the genre-typical surface-level megacorp domination of society it's dystopic. On the meta-level it's the same dynamic as Superman: The Animated Series, where the reason there's a sudden uptick in weird costumed crime concurrent with the protagonist's debut is purely Doylistic- the hero needs punching bags. But within the logic of the setting, there's nothing special about Willy Watt's decision to go full Carrie using a hijacked construction robot besides the fact that he had somewhat easier access to the thing than the average school-shooter. Spellbinder being able to put together functional illusion-and-mind-control tech on a high-school counselor's salary- when his entire complaint is that he isn't being paid enough- implies that the main barrier to anyone else pulling the same brainwashing stunt is that nobody else thought to. Shriek's sound suit might be more a more roundabout demolition tool than dynamite, but it's still powerful enough to bring down buildings and he created it as a fly-by-night contractor. The consumer tech base is evolved to the point that regardless of when Batman shows up, shit like this should literally never not be happening- they're past an inflection point. I remember Syndrome from The Incredibles having some kind of line about this

#The zoey Ashe series by Jason Pargin had a lot to say about the genie-out-of-the-bottle issue you get with this level of tech saturation #thoughts #meta #batman beyond #batman beyond livewatch

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cottonlemonade · 4 months ago

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Alone At The Library

word count: 2342 || avg. reading time: 10 mins.

pairing: rival!Akaashi x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, rivals to lovers

warnings: implications of financial struggles

request: small pineapple lemonade with extra ice for Akaashi || fluffy accidental confession with rival Akaashi

In desperate need of escaping the academic and social pressure of a top university, Akaashi convinced his parents that it would not be the end of the world if he went to one a little outside of Tokyo instead. It was far less prestigious, of course, and few people had ever heard of it. But in the end, his air-tight argumentation had won them over and he had moved into his dorm in a neighboring prefecture. The university he chose had a surprisingly good literary program with shockingly bad libraries. For months now the main library on campus was under construction with no indication of anyone ever working on it and so the students were forced to fan out to the smaller libraries in the surrounding neighborhoods to find the volumes necessary for their field.

Akaashi stretched his neck and winced when it popped. He would have loved to take the stack of books next to him to the dorms but the small town library he had chosen was so miserably equipped that they couldn‘t afford to let the few academic publications they carried leave the premises. The essay he was pondering over was a lot trickier than he had anticipated and if he didn‘t hand it in by tomorrow he‘d get a failing grade by default. And so, resigning himself to his fate, he shuffled to the lobby to get a paper cup of watery coffee from the old vending machine, ready to make the most of it until closing time.

When he returned to his spot at the long, somehow always mysteriously sticky table he frowned. He could have sworn there was a book missing. Confused and thinking his exhausted mind must be playing tricks on him he looked around but besides the elderly woman at the reception, deeply engrossed in a well-read paperback with a questionable title, there was no one else around. Akaashi bent down to look through his bag, considering he might have absently put it away, and shot back up a moment later when a pair of chubby legs in very familiar, frayed sneakers walked past on the other side, heading towards the opposite end of the table and he heard the unmistakable sound of books being somewhat carelessly dropped onto the surface.

His mood darkened. Pretending you couldn‘t see him, you placed your backpack on the chair next to you and withdrew a tattered notepad, pencil case, and water bottle, reaching for the first book. Once you opened it, he noticed the cover.

You didn‘t even have the decency to look ashamed when he came over. “What do you think you‘re doing?“, he asked.

“What does it look like?“, you replied, your tone pointedly bored as you flipped through the pages.

“I was working with this book.“

“Really? Looked to me like you were done with it.“

“I only went to get a coffee.“, he pressed out through his teeth, “And it lay open next to my paper. How much more in use could it have been?“

“Listen, you have a whooole stack next to you. Why don‘t you use those until I‘m done, hm?“

You had the audacity to give him a very fake bright smile.

He hated that he didn’t immediately have another comeback. Biting the inside of his cheek he thought but ultimately knew there was no point in arguing with you. Any wall would be more susceptible.

“20 minutes.“, he said coldly, “Then you‘ll give it back.“

“Sure thing, pretty boy.“, you said sarcastically, placed the book demonstratively in front of you, and began taking notes. As he walked away you added lazily, “You misspelled “embarrassing“ in your second paragraph. - Ironically.“

As he sat back down, feeling his blood pressure steadily rising in your presence, he felt a pang of annoyance when he saw you were right.

“Time‘s up.“ Exactly 20 minutes later, Akaashi stepped next to you once again. He reached out for the book but you held it tightly, scribbling away. “Just take a picture and work with that.“, he suggested irritably.

“Battery died.“, you only replied without taking your eyes off the paragraph or stopping to write.

For a couple of moments he just stood next to you, hoping to bring you out of context for one, but also maybe come up with a solution for your problems. There was a lot of cross-referencing involved in his paper. Taking pictures would most likely take longer than just looking it all through in his case.

“Maybe we can share it.“, he said eventually.

You looked up and raised a highly doubtful brow.

“I know,“, he suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, “but if we both need it right now that feels like the only way.“

After a moment‘s thought you moved your backpack from the chair to make space for him and continued your work.

He scoffed inwardly. Obviously, you expected him to move to you, but not wanting to risk another argument he gave in and went to collect his things.

It was by no means a perfect solution but at least there was minimal fighting. You were even considerate enough to only hold the page open at a 90 degree angle so he could continue reading on the page he was on, which he conceded was rather civil of you.

The late summer sun was ready to turn in and through the windows offered little support with grayish golden light.

“Okay, you two. It‘s time to pack up for today.“, the elderly woman announced. Instinctively, Akaashi checked his phone for the time. It made sense that the small library closed at 6 but he was so used to the convenience of the business hours of Tokyo’s city center that it caught him off guard nonetheless.

“Just another hour?”, you pleaded from the seat next to him, your voice sweet and genuine. He never heard it like that before.

The elderly woman pursed her lips apologetically, “I’m sorry, dearie. But we open tomorrow at 9, you can come straight back then.”

Akaashi looked down at his unfinished paper. 9 a.m. was his deadline. And judging by your barely legible notes, you were also in a hurry to finish up an assignment. You began putting your things away and looked confused when he grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“Gimme a moment.”, he said and got up.

You watched with rising curiosity how he rounded the corner of the table and began talking with the woman. They were too far away to hear clearly but she laughed and playfully waved him off. He kept on talking for about another thirty seconds before she laughed - no, not laughed. Giggled. Then she rummaged in her purse, produced a set of very jangly keys, and, unclipping one of them, handed it to him. Your jaw dropped when she waved Goodbye to you past his shoulder. With a small satisfied grin, he returned to you and plopped down on the chair, going back to the book as if nothing happened. Evidently, you weren’t gonna let it slide and stared at him until he talked.

“Don’t look at me like that. I just got us VIP access.”, he held up the key, “We can stay as long as we want. Just have to lock up after and leave the key under that clay owl at the entrance.”

“How did you even…?”, you asked, impressed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just asked nicely, that’s all.”

“Uh huh.”

“You have your ways,”, he pointed to the book you previously swiped from him, “and I have mine.”

“Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

As a child, Akaashi would have done anything to spend a night alone in a manga café. He would have practically glowed at the prospect of squinting for hours at the text bubbles and admiring the details in the panels. Now that he got glasses, the squinting was gone, but his love of reading was still as strong as ever and even though it wasn’t an exciting manga in front of him or a café that kept him fed with ramen and other junk food he still felt a deep sense of joy to spend time alone in a library. Well, almost alone. A loud growling of your tummy ripped him from his nostalgia.

He had completely forgotten about the time. “Maybe we should order some food.”, he said, reaching into his pocket and taking out his wallet to check how much cash he had. He doubted the delivery services this far out all came equipped with card readers. Scrolling through the handful of delivery services in the area, he asked, “What are you in the mood for?”

He was about to lay out your options when you shook your head. From somewhere in your backpack you produced a slightly squished onigiri. It was from a convenience store with a bright red sticker announcing that it had been on sale due to the close expiration date. His eyes fell onto your notepad once again, densely covered in scribbles, not wasting a single centimeter of space. The scratches and dents in your metal pencil case suggested that it had been with you for a long time. He tried to remember ever seeing you during the many social events the university offered. But whenever the class suggested going out for dinner you made excuses of studying or having to part-time. He knew you were a scholarship student but he just figured it was because of your excellent grades since you two usually fought for the top score of the year, not for a lack of money.

Akaashi looked down at his wallet again.

“I can just pay for both of us, no problem.”, he offered and was shocked when that earned him a dagger-filled glare.

“No thank you.”, you said sharply and bit into the rice ball.

He shrugged. “Fine. Suit yourself.” After ordering a large pizza for himself, he put his phone away again, going back to working silently by your side. The book that had started the alliance was pushed out of the way at this point and you were each going through separate materials.

About half an hour passed before his phone buzzed, letting him know the pizza was waiting out front and when he returned the tempting smell of cheese and freshly baked bread filled the air. With a slice, heavily laden with different toppings, in one hand, Akaashi went back to checking the notes he had taken since his arrival, sifting out the truly important and highlighting the ones he wanted to add to his paper. Your stomach grumbled again and your hand automatically went to cover it. He pretended not to notice it, but a grin slowly formed on his lips with each new noise coming from you. He heard you swallow quietly and caught you glancing at the pizza every so often. He took his second piece, adding a little hum of culinary delight to the mix.

Once a third of the pizza was gone and you still hadn‘t said anything he was beginning to worry his idea hadn‘t worked, so he swerved to plan B. Leaning back in his chair he patted his stomach, a small bump indicating he was stuffed. “Hey, can you do me a favor?“

“When have I ever been known to do that?“

Akaashi ignored your comment.

“I think I was being too greedy. There is no way I can finish this thing on my own.“

With a sidelong look at him, you raised a brow. “I‘m not a child. I know what you‘re doing.“

“And what is it that I‘m doing?“, he asked, innocently but with a definite challenge to his voice.

You were about to call out his obvious scheme when you wondered if it wouldn‘t sound too egotistical to say that he wanted to share from the beginning. What if he really only miscalculated his hunger? And letting a fresh (and free) pizza go to waste was basically a crime.

Wordlessly, you reached past him and pulled the box over so it was sitting between you. The first bite was heaven and you chewed carefully to savor the taste. Very satisfied with himself, Akaashi began adding his notes to his paper. Whilst nibbling at the crust you slid a book to him.

You tapped a paragraph near the bottom of the page. “Here, this is your topic, right?“

He quickly skimmed it and nodded. The title of the book didn‘t suggest that it had anything to do with his research.

“It seemed promising, maybe it can give your paper that last little bit of extra.”

He wanted to thank you out of reflex but instead said with a teasing tone, "What, you like me now?"

“I tolerate you.“, you said loftily, taking a second slice.

Akaashi mimicked you under his breath, of course still loud enough for you to hear, “I tolerate you.“

You both laughed.

“Can I ask you something?“

You nodded and took another bite.

“Why do you hate me?“

“I don‘t hate you.“, you said without wasting a single breath.

“Huh, you sure about that?“, he chuckled.

“Kinda. Like… 80% sure, I‘d say.“

“And what are the other 20%?“

Choosing to focus on the pizza, you shrugged.

“I‘d dislike anyone who is smart, handsome and kind.“

“You think I‘m handsome?“, he asked immediately, making you clear your throat and look away. He was having a great time.

“Oh, don‘t pretend you don‘t know you‘re dreamy.“, you said with playful annoyance, “Why do you think I call you pretty boy?“

“Is that so?“

With your cheeks turning very red very quickly you took a new book from your stack and opened it to a random page. Picking up your pen, you began taking notes again.

He watched you for a bit, impressed by your dedication, then asked, “Interesting book?“

“Uh huh.“

Akaashi reached for it and turned it around.

“Then I bet it‘s gonna be even better when it‘s right side up.“

art: @ui536

a/n: thank you so much for your request and I apologize that it's taking me 6-8 business weeks to reply to requests by now. I hope you enjoyed it @toomanygoldfish

And a special thank you to @haikyu-mp4 for listening to me rant about this piece for way too long.

#sunnys lemonade stand #akaashi keiji x chubby reader #akaashi x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu x curvy reader #akaashi keji x reader #akaashi fluff #hq akaashi #akaashi x reader #haikyuu akaashi #akaashi keiji #akaashi x you #akaashi x y/n

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cauliflowercounty · 9 months ago

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Knives Dance (Part III)

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

Summary: It was hard to have a prose summary so here are some bullets of what’s happening in part 3

Baron Feyd missing you + heartfelt reunion

Feyd being totally infatuated with you

SCIENCE!!! and POLITICS!!!

Rabban being pitiful

Reader being a badass

Feyd vs Paul on Arrakis (what will happen? You’ll never knowww… [unless you read this chapter **wink, wink, wink**]

Warnings: Violence, blood, death (woohoo)

Word Count: 10.3k (whoops… I went typey-type)

A/N: I wanted to say a sincere thanks to everyone who's read Knives Dance up to this point. This series is some of the most fun I've had writing in a long, long time. Sending lots of love your way :)

Part I | Part II | Part III

Stirring gently in his bed, Feyd recoils slightly as the light from Giedi Prime’s black sun hits his eye line through the wall of windows that separate his bedroom from the private balcony that overlooks the cityscape. He extends his arm to your side of the bed and runs his hand languidly across the surface, feeling the cool, silky sheets under his fingertips. His heart feels heavy in his chest, and he lets out a low growl of frustration into his pillow. It has been a long three weeks without you.

You’ve been off-world on a visit to Youra to see your father and bring back equipment for the laboratory you’re constructing on Giedi Prime. He knows that he doesn’t have to worry about your safety because he insisted on a full Harkonnen security detail accompanying you, which should have put his mind at ease, but he’s laid awake each night since your departure, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think of disasters befalling you during your travels. One night it’s asteroids colliding with your ship, tearing gaping holes in the walls, and sucking you into the vacuum of space. Another, it’s an ambush by an undiscovered society, hellbent on killing alien peoples for sport. Perhaps a novel virus wiping out the entire population of Youra and you with it in a matter of days? No farfetched scenarios were off limits when Feyd allowed his mind to wander.

The foreign feeling of loss due to your absence has not only plagued him with anxiety, but allowed Feyd to slip into a state of abject melancholia. None of his old vices have come close to fulfilling him, let alone make him feel much of anything. Watching his servants cower in fear or making foreign ambassadors quake in their seats wasn’t giving him the same gratification as it once had. Even hearing the roar of the crowds in the arena didn't given him any satisfaction. Everything had felt unbearably pedestrian. The only thing that brought a smile to his face was the thought of having the other half of his bed full again and listening to your tranquil voice. With every passing moment, he’s yearned for the life you had built together on Giedi Prime to resume.

Your mornings together were simple and easy. They were a time when he could always experience a drop of serenity within the political quagmire he’d gotten himself into since assuming the title of Baron. He’d wake up with you already in his embrace, your head laid delicately on his chest. He'd listen to your soft breathing and savor the way your limbs would entangle with his. The image of you blinking your eyes open to look at him with the special glimmer of affection reserved just for him never failed to make his heart flutter.

Overtime, Feyd noticed you had been taking very well to Harkonnen dresses, which you now wore more often than not. He had the best seamstresses on Giedi Prime make and tailor custom outfits for you, though he didn’t expect you to always wear them, knowing how important your heritage was for you. Nevertheless, you continued to grab one of the black gowns from your shared closet for your daily tasks and tell him with a smile “I’m Baroness Harkonnen now. Shouldn’t I dress the part?”

Before leaving your quarters each day, Feyd always took the opportunity to take your hand in his and bring you in front of the floor length mirror in your shared closet. With his hands around your waist, he would pepper gentle kisses from your cheeks down your neck, whispering in your ear “you are a vision today, my Baroness.” You'd always smile and blush bashfully in return, returning his kisses in kind. Moments like those when it was just the two of you had become one of his favorite parts of the day.

You made the meetings, filled with diplomats groveling to win his favor, bearable. How he loved to watch you as you sat on the grand Harkonnen throne beside him. You never failed to command the room with your head held high. Power and dignity seemed to drip off of your being and fill every room you entered. You were truly worthy of the title of Baroness, and with every passing day and every interaction, there was more and more for Feyd to admire about you.

In private, you took to training together, where he would bask in your shared might. With every blow he endured from you, all he could think about was that he, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, was the only person alive to witness you so animated with ferocity and passion from battle, as all others who have seen you this way have been slain and buried. Sparring sessions between the two of you almost always ended with you both on the floor, limbs entwined and chests heaving after one of you would get the best of the other and take the opportunity to pin the other to the floor.

At the end of the day, you'd always assume your position on the balcony in a flowy, white nightgown. With a gentle gesture, you’d beckon him to accompany you while you observe your shared domain, watching the shuttles flying through the gaps in the dark architecture and the stark white floodlights passing over the cityscape. He’d hold you close by your waist and whisper sweet nothings into your ear until you start to shiver from the evening chill, at which point he’d tug at your waist to take you back to the bedroom to retire for the night. Every day, Feyd was falling deeper and deeper into you, and he’s loved every moment.

Bringing himself upright, Feyd stretches his arms and stands up, walking over to the closet. Across from his sets of Harkonnen formalwear and battle gear, your gowns are neatly hung. Half of them are the sleek, black Harkonnen designs he had made for you. The other half are gorgeously vibrant Youran gowns. He sighs, imagining sharing one of your moments again in front of the mirror like always, but alas, you are not beside him. Once he’s dressed, he emerges from his quarters and is met with a nameless servant.

“Good morning, Baron,” the servant says, bowing deeply and trying not to give Feyd an excuse to kill him. “I am here to inform you that we have received a signal from the Baroness’s craft. Her arrival is imminent.”

Hearing those words, Feyd turns on his heel toward the landing docks, dismissing the servant who heaves a sigh of relief because his head is thankfully still connected to the rest of his body. As Feyd walks the halls, his pace quickens, feeling the anticipation rise in his chest. People bow and salute him in the hallways, but he doesn’t pay them any attention. He’s too preoccupied with his thoughts of you; he can already smell the aroma of rainforest flowers you carry around with you. The thought that he’s so close to having you near again nearly drives him mad.

When he arrives at the landing docks, the fleet of Harkonnen vessels is already touching down. As he hears the machinery’s loud whirring die, the ramps of all the crafts to meet the floor. Lines of Harkonnen soldiers file out first, each soldier with weapons in arms. The steady pulse of their synchronized footsteps echoes through the space with perfect adherence to Harkonnen military standards is satisfactory for Feyd. The commander in front barks orders, and the guards immediately step into formation, making an aisle that extends between Feyd and the craft closest to him.

He is at a loss for words when he sees you walk down the ramp. You are undeniably gorgeous in Harkonnen clothes, but you look positively ethereal in the Youran gown and golden headdress that adorn your body today. Instead of shrouding yourself in the cloak you’ve worn in the past to hide your weaponry, you’re wearing a traditional dress reserved only for Youra’s utmost nobility. Layers of sheer, olive and cerulean fabric flare behind you to create your dress’s skirt out from under a ribbed bronze and mahogany corset. Seeing how it’s cinched your waist and accented your silhouette, all Feyd wants to do is hold you and drag his fingers up and down the length of your figure.

Through the abundance of delicate golden chains that are symmetrically draped over your exposed shoulders and chest, Feyd can see how the corset and the off the shoulder neckline cradles your breasts in a way that makes him feel lightheaded. The entire skirt of the dress is decorated in dazzling embellishments and the characteristic Youran golden thread that Feyd has come to love on you. The fabric of the train seems to flow like water behind you as you walk.

The high front hemline of the gown that ends at your upper thighs gives Feyd a good look at your legs, the lengths of which are delicately wrapped in the thin, tan ribbons from your sandals. The crosshatched pattern of the ribbons allows him to see just how beautifully your legs are sculpted from years of training and exploration. The sight makes his mouth water. He is truly breathless gazing upon you, his Baroness.

You return his affectionate gaze and call his name excitedly, reaching down and bunching up your skirt in your grasp before breaking into a run between the lines of Harkonnen guards. Your footsteps are the only noise reverberating throughout the area. Before he even realizes it, Feyd’s running for you, too. As you approach each other, he extends his arms out to you, and you leap into them, wrapping your legs around his waist. As he lifts you up into his arms, he spins you both around as you nuzzle yourself deeper into his hold.

Your grips on each other are desperate. Without a moment to waste, he cups your cheek with one hand as the other holds you tightly by the small of your back. A tear threatens to fall from his eyes as he considers saying that he hopes that you’ve missed him, but the look in your eyes already tells him the answer. This is truly happiness like he’s never experienced before. It washes over him when you finally bring your lips to meet his. His breath is warm against yours as he exhales into the kiss in satisfaction. He feels your hands come up to clutch the back of his head to deepen your kiss and growls hungrily, quickly losing himself in your embrace while attempting to resist the urge to devour you on the spot. His brow furrows when you finally break for air.

“Hello, my love,” you whisper softly, pressing your forehead against his, as if what you’re saying is a secret meant for only his ears. He grins at the pet name you’ve picked for him. “How have things been at home?” Your words make Feyd pause. Were you calling Giedi Prime “home?”

“Everything has been adequate,” Feyd says, kissing you again. “But I do prefer it when my Baroness is beside me.”

“I guess you’re in luck then,” you smile at his words. You rest your hands on his chest, feeling his prominent pectoral muscles underneath his shirt which makes him sigh in satisfaction. You swiftly squash the temptation to kiss him again as you meet his gaze because if you do, you’d never want to stop. Feyd sets you down, even though he’d gladly carry you all day wherever you want.

“My father sends his regards. He’s very pleased with House Harkonnen. He also sends his condolences at your uncle’s passing,” you say, which makes Feyd scoff silently to himself. “I’ve also gathered all I need for the laboratory. I hope I didn’t bring too much back with me. I hope it’s not a burden…” you trail off.

“You could never be a burden. We have plenty of servants. They can handle the labor,” Feyd assures as he turns to one of the closest guards. “Start unloading the Baroness’s things. You know where to take them. Don’t you dare damage any of it. There will be repercussions if anything is found broken.”

“Yes, My Lord,” the guard responds before beginning to bark orders to the others. One by one, the guards disappear into the vessel, and emerge moments later, carrying large wooden crates by the bronze colored handles attached to the sides of each. They all file out and disappear into the fortress, headed for your lab.

“So,” Feyd says, turning back to you. “Home is Giedi Prime now? I wouldn’t have expected you to call anywhere but Youra home. It’s not that I’m unsatisfied that you’ve found comfort on Giedi Prime, but I was surprised to hear you say those words.”

You smile and glance down at the ground before looking back to him, responding. “Younger me would have agreed with you. Youra is my first home and will forever be such. However, my feelings have changed. Home is wherever you are,” you explain, intertwining your fingers with his. At your words, Feyd pulls you in again by the waist for another quick kiss, and he wonders what he did to deserve a wife like you as you both turn to follow your belongings.

Weeks ago, you and Feyd had set aside the largest of Baron Vladimir’s personal recreation spaces to be converted to a laboratory for you on Giedi Prime. You both had celebrated the initiation of the transformation by gathering all the Baron’s belongings and smashing them to smithereens, which was quite cathartic for the both of you. In particular, you loved bashing Vladimir’s pipe and ripping his bathtubs apart piece by piece. The day of eradicating every trace of Vladimir, except for his portrait in the hallway, culminated in you both basking in the warmth of a glorious bonfire, fed by what remained of the Baron’s belongings.

You both arrive at your laboratory. The Harkonnen workers have been very efficient installing the necessary infrastructure in the time you have been away. The room that was stripped to the bones the day you left for Youra is now a proper lab, outfitted with fireproof surfaces, chemical hoods, gas lines, and plenty of storage cabinets.

“Wow, Feyd,” you say. “This is amazing. I can’t believe this got done in the time I was gone.”

“Only the best for you, my love,” he replies as more servants arrive, and you begin to instruct them how to unpack your belongings. Feyd stands back on the sidelines and watches you, seeing the sparkle in your eyes now that you’re able to bring part of your life from Youra to Giedi Prime. Many of the instruments and objects he sees being unpacked are unfamiliar to him, but you seem unphased, perhaps even comforted, by the diversity of items. He marvels at your proficiency with handling all of them. With the help of the servants, you quickly have all the crates unloaded and the items put away and organized. You dismiss all the workers promptly, so you and Feyd can be alone. Once the doors are closed, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Is the space to your liking?” Feyd asks, coming to your side and slipping his arm firmly around your waist.

“It’s perfect,” you reply, looking around with elation in your eyes. You reach into a drawer in front of you and take out a jar. Inside, he sees it’s full of the iridescent indigo scales of the fish you had shown him the night you were attacked on Youra. “I wanted to wait until I got back to Giedi Prime to do the extraction on the scales for your batch of the elixir. …Would you like to stay while it happens?”

Feyd nods without hesitation. He knows that watching you work is something only the people closest to you ever get to see. “Of course, my love. It would be my pleasure,” he says. You smile at him, delighted at his interest. You point to a little door in the corner and tell him to wait for you before disappearing into it. A few minutes later, you emerge having shed your gown and jewels for a tan lab coat. When you smooth your hands over the new coat, Feyd thinks to himself how put together you look. You seem even more at ease now that you’ve changed. In your arms, he sees another coat and two pairs of safety glasses.

“To protect your clothes and eyes,” you say, walking over and handing him the other coat and one of the pairs of glasses. Inside the coat, he sees “Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen” delicately stitched in with golden lettering. As he puts it on, he realizes it’s been tailored to his measurements perfectly at your behest. His heart swells once again. Your foresight is obvious to him. Beside him, you take out a mortar and pestle and pour a few of the scales into the mortar. He hears the scales clatter like pebbles against one another as they fall.

Over your shoulder, Feyd can finally get a closer look at the scales from the fish you had shown him. The scales are shaped like rounded trapezoids and glimmer even in the artificial indoor lighting. Through the striking coloration, he can see delicate silver ribs that flare out from the narrower end of the scales, making each scale look like a pocket of moonlight rays shining through an inky night sky. Feyd thinks how it’s truly a wonder how nature produced such a creature that bears such beauty.

You grasp the pestle in your hand and start striking the scales with firm, downward motions. Upon impact, the scales fracture at the ribs. Little by little, the scales become smaller, and you change your technique, beginning to roll the pestle around the bottom and up the sides of the mortar. You reverse the direction of the circle every few times. Because of your expert hand, the scales are soon reduced to a fine powder in the bottom of the mortar. The dust glistens beautifully as you pick up the mortar and tip it around in a rolling motion, observing the results of your grinding.

“It’s time to perform the extraction and then the purification. Hopefully the crystals will be well formed,” you say to him, taking the mortar over to the fume hood behind the two of you and flipping the on switch to the hood. “Have you ever watched any of your scientists work before?”

Feyd shakes his head as he follows you, memories of his childhood passing through his mind. “My uncle always instructed me to remain in the arena and the training grounds growing up. The laboratories on Giedi Prime were never our places to be. Our scientists would always come and report to us rather than us going to them. It has always been that way. Everyone in House Harkonnen works for the Baron. Everything they do is in service to him. It is inappropriate by our standards for him to go to them.”

You nod at his words, reaching for the glass sash that separates you and Feyd from the compartment of the fume hood. “Unsurprisingly, it’s the opposite on Youra,” you say, putting the mortar with the powdered scales inside before lowering the sash again until it’s almost closed, leaving gap a couple inches tall for continued access. “Yes, all workers serve my father and me, but we are all colleagues, in a way. They are the workers and my father is the hub for all of the departments on Youra. Much of my father’s success is tied to them, so he would often visit our workers to acknowledge their efforts and dedication. He always wanted to see their work for himself, too. He’s always been the curious type. My father had me follow him to the laboratories as soon as I was old enough to understand safety protocol. I’m sure if it wasn’t for regulations, he’d have brought me into the labs in a baby sling.”

The image of young you in a laboratory, holding your father’s hand as Youran chemists show you both what they’re working on comes into Feyd’s mind. Even though he didn’t know of you when you were children, he can imagine you then, much shorter with a rounder face but with the same bright eyes brimming with curiosity. The idea makes his heart warm and a smile tugs at his lips.

“I’m sure those laboratory visits were most influential for you,” Feyd says. You nod in return as you put on a pair of gloves and reach under the sash to grab an amber bottle containing a clear liquid from the side of the hood.

“Absolutely,” you reply as you transfer all the powdered scales into a glass Erlenmeyer flask and add enough of the liquid to cover the solids. You move the flask onto a raised plate in the hood and press a few buttons to begin the heating process. “I loved watching them do their work. They knew so much about our world, but were still determined to know more. The way they moved in the lab was like a dance. I desperately wanted to be a part of that, so I began working with them when I was fourteen…”

As Feyd listens to you talk about your past as you work, his admiration of you grows. Your determination and tenacity through failed experiments and stalled projects are astounding to him, and the fact you’ve been able to become a swordswoman on the side this is truly a marvel. Your skill and years of training are evident today, as your body seems to know this process by memory. This in front of him is the product of all those years of effort.

The liquid in the vessel begins to bubble gently. As the moments go by, the liquid takes on the iridescent nature of the scales and becomes a vibrant blue. Removing it from the heat, you strain the liquid through fine mesh into another container, removing all the powdered scales from the mixture. Looking at the collected solids, Feyd can see the scales have lost their original coloration and turned a chalky off-white. You smile to yourself, knowing that the extraction was effective while you prepare a large volume of a different liquid, also clear and colorless, in a large beaker.

“Are you ready for the recrystallization?” you ask him, grabbing a syringe and drawing up some of the extract into the barrel. You return to the beaker of liquid and gently tip it sideways with one hand while pointing the tip of the needle at the side of the beaker. Carefully, you begin to squeeze the syringe and the indigo liquid begins to drip out the needle’s tip and trickle down the side of the beaker. As the extract hits the surface of the clear liquid, deep purple crystals seem to flutter out from the point of impact into the liquid instantaneously. Feyds lips part in amazement, unable to tear his gaze away from the process

“How does it work?” he asks, watching as a batch of thin, needle-like crystals start to gather at the bottom of the beaker while the bulk liquid remains colorless. It’s as if all the color of the extract has been contained within the crystals.

“I use the first liquid to remove the compound from the scales and make a concentrated extract. I then add the extract to a bulk solvent which our compound of interest is insoluble in. The compound forms crystals when the liquids meet because the second liquid is in great excess compared to the first,” you explain, drawing up more extract and adding it to the beaker in the same way. Once you’re out of extract, you squat down to bring your eye level to that of the beaker. “It’s perfect. I don’t think the crystallization has ever gone that well.”

You’re absolutely beaming as you swirl the crystals suspended in the liquid, admiring how they twinkle in the light. He can’t deny that your excitement is contagious. You collect the crystals by filtering the mix through another filter and spread out the crystals on a metal sheet to allow them to dry before removing your safety glasses, and Feyd follows suit.

“This is the compound I was referring to that night at the Pools of Ashora,” you say to Feyd. “If we dissolve the crystals in water and drink it, it allows people to retain their body’s water content and reduced the frequency at which people needed to drink water.”

“Fascinating…,” Feyd trails off, staring at the delicate crystals scattered across the surface inside the fume hood.

“When I was on Youra, I tested the elixir myself,” you say. Hearing you say that you’ve done that, a bolt of fear goes to his heart at the thought of you just drinking a novel chemical. Feyd’s eyes quickly lock onto you, and his neck stiffens. His mind swirls with distress at the possibility of you getting hurt. You may look okay now, but was the elixir difficult for you to stomach? Did it hurt you in the moment?

Looking at him, you’re immediately in tune with his reaction, and you lift your hand up to rest on his arm to calm his nerves. At your touch, he immediately relaxes. “Don’t worry, Feyd. I am alright. There’s nothing to be worried about. We’ve done plenty of trials since I first introduced this fish to you. I assure you it’s safe. I’ve had all of my best scientists on this project, and I had the best doctors in Youra monitor my vitals for two days after the fact.” Feyd nods, knowing if anyone is competent enough to keep you safe, it's yourself and the Youran doctors and researchers. “We still don’t know the exact mechanism of the compound in the body, but we do know there aren’t significant negative side effects on people. Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Feyd replies, taking the opportunity to bring his hand to your waist and pull you close enough that your lips are almost touching and you’re both staring into each other’s eyes. “I will always put my faith in you and your work.”

“I’m glad to hear,” you reply, your breath fanning out across his face, which sends shivers down his spine. “That means a lot, Feyd, we’ve been working hard the last few weeks for this.” Grinning at you, he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tips your head up toward his, catching your lips in his. You quickly take off your gloves and hold his cheeks in your palms, savoring the intimate moment.

A knock at the door sounds through the room. Feyd grumbles in annoyance as the tension between you releases. You and Feyd look at each other before ending your embrace. You call out “Enter!” in the direction of the doors. A military advisor enters the lab in full uniform with his head low. He immediately drops to his knees in front of both of you to show his respect.

“Baron, Baroness,” he says. “I am deeply sorry for interrupting you both, but I bring critical news from Arrakis.”

“Very well,” Feyd says, straightening up and peering down at the man kneeling before him. “Out with it.”

“There has been an attack by the Fremen. They destroyed eighty percent of the most recent spice crop.” You can tell by the way the man shivers that he is afraid. Nobody ever wanted to be the one to break bad news to Feyd-Rautha. “Count Rabban attempted a counterattack.”

“‘Attempted?’ What happened?” Feyd growls, his eyes flashing in dissatisfaction. You catch Feyd’s hand in your palm as it flies in the direction of the knife he keeps on his person. You shake your head. You tell him there is no use in killing this man because it would be a waste with just a look.

“Y-Yes, my Lord,” the man says, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. You can hear him beginning to hyperventilate despite his best attempts to steady his breath. “Rabban went after the Fremen, but the dust and debris from Rabban’s initial artillery attack made the visibility so poor on the battlefield that only Count Rabban and a few others survived. They were ambushed in the haze; it was a massacre with a casualty rate of seventy two percent and climbing.”

“Over half?!” you gasp, your own fists beginning to clench at Rabban’s blunder.

“Rabban says he saw the Fremen prophet, Muad'dib, on the battlefield before he fled. The Fremen… they are dedicated to him. They kill for him, Baron. Our spice operation is in jeopardy. We await your command.”

Feyd stiffens, a vein threatening to pop on his temple. He sucks in air through his teeth, infuriated at Rabban’s continued incompetency. The advisor recoils at the noise, shuffling backward toward the door.

“You are dismissed,” you call to him with a huff. A wave of relief washes over the man as he bows and thanks you before slipping out the door.

“Rabban is a damned fool!” Feyd shouts once you’re alone. “He has had every chance to rectify his mistakes on Arrakis, but he seems to leave his brain behind when he makes decisions and lets this Muad'dib win every time! And now I hear news of abandoning the battlefield at the sight of this prophet? He is a coward! An absolute imbecile! If something doesn’t change soon, the Emperor will take Arrakis from us!”

You reach your arm out and rest it on his shoulder. In moments, you’ve quelled Feyd’s initial outburst until he’s only seething with fury instead of being on the verge of trashing the entire lab. “I think it’s time to relieve my brother of his duties,” Feyd says after he takes a deep breath. “We shall go to Arrakis to do it. I want to see the look on his face and the hope drain from his eyes when he knows he’s failed. I will take over the operation on Arrakis. We will do what my brother was incapable of.”

“In that case…,” you say, preparing two glasses of water, adding a pinch of the crystals to each. The water immediately turns a luminous indigo, and you hand Feyd one of the glasses, which he gladly takes. You raise your glass in the air. “To victory and to House Harkonnen.”

“To victory and House Harkonnen,” he replies, connecting the rims of your glasses and drinking the entire glass in one go. The elixir is salty and rich on his tongue as if he’s drinking the essence of the tropical ocean. As the elixir flows into him, he feels a warmth pulsate throughout his body. He isn’t sure if this is truly the effects of the elixir or just a placebo, but Feyd feels powerful, like he could slaughter a thousand men and still have a hunger for more. As he meets your gaze, you give him a knowing look. You feel the energy, too. You both shed your laboratory coats and leave the room to prepare for your journey to Arrakis.

The preparations before and journey to Arrakis went without a hitch. You had opted to choose Harkonnen battle gear over your own, but you and Feyd still agreed on concealing your knives under a black Harkonnen dress cloak, still not eager to let anyone know of your true nature. Arriving in Arrakeen, you notice the striking architecture, made up of geometric slabs of tan stone layered to create a fortress to protect its inhabitants. This time on Arrakis, Feyd doesn’t feel the heat like he used to. It’s as if his body is fighting back against the harsh environment on the desert planet. You feel it, too. You were initially concerned because you had only tested the elixir during the dry months on Youra, which paled in hostility in comparison to Arrakis, but seems the elixir’s protection is more than sufficient.

You and Feyd walk the halls of the fortress side by side, heading to the room where all of the Harkonnen strategists and military officials are. You see them gathered around a digital map projected by a computer in the middle of the room, which shows the locations of all the Harkonnen forces in the north of Arrakis. Upon seeing their Baron and Baroness side by side, they all freeze and bow.

“Welcome to Arrakis, Baron, Baroness” one of them says. He opens his mouth to continue but Fed cuts him off.

“Enough,” Feyd hisses at him. “I have orders for you. You are no longer to follow the word of Count Rabban. As of today, he is relieved of his duty as Planetary Governor of Arrakis. You will report directly to and receive orders only from me and your Baroness.”

The room of men immediately shout “Yes, My Lord!” in response. A smirk forms on Feyd's lips at their responsiveness, and he instructs them to hit the Fremen with old-fashioned artillery. As the orders are executed by the Harkonnen military, you watch the map intently as the targets on the map turn green, indicating the Fremen bases are hit successfully. All of the military advisors’ eyes widen in surprise at the genius of Feyd’s strategy as the reports of complete annihilation from the ground forces roll in.

They all begin to applaud Feyd and as their chants fill the room, your heart fills with pride. Feyd has finally proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was always meant to be the leader of House Harkonnen. As the applause continues, you see Rabban appear in the doorway, a look of surprise disgust on his face. You notice he’s still wearing his nightclothes, and your eyes flash between him and Feyd as Rabban approaches Feyd, Rabban’s legs still stiff from sleep.

“Leave us,” Feyd instructs the others in the room, who promptly file out. They keep their eyes on the floor, not daring to look at Rabban. They know people who end up alone in a room with Feyd after repeated blunders usually don’t exit the room outside of a body bag.

“What are you doing here?” Rabban growls at Feyd.

“It’s early morning. What are you doing here?” Feyd quips back. Rabban lets out a frustrated huff.

“You can’t just waltz in here,” Rabban says through gritted teeth. “And how can you bring that woman into the inner sanctum?”

“How dare you refer to your Baroness like that!” Feyd roars, grabbing Rabban by his collar. “If you have forgotten, dear Brother, I am Baron now. I will do as I please and take my wife wherever I wish!”

Feyd throws Rabban back and he falls on his back hard. In desperation, Rabban tries to scramble to his feet again, but as soon as he’s almost upright, he feels his knees buckle from under him as you kick the backside of his knees in. Rabban’s forehead collides with the stone floor with a visceral crack, and he feels his arm caught in your grip behind him. He groans as you push his arm to the verge of overextension. On his neck, Rabban feels the cool tip of a blade threatening to pierce his skin, which sends a chill down his spine, his head still spinning from impact.

“You should learn to respect your superiors,” you whisper to him as Feyd’s gaze is fixated on you. The picture before him has a fire rising within him. His breath turns thick and heavy, seeing you over Rabban, your blade on his neck and your foot on his back with a fiendish smile on your lips. “I would have expected more from my brother-in-law… You are a disgrace to House Harkonen,” you drawl, pressing your dagger’s tip into Rabban’s neck enough to draw blood. Dark crimson blood trickles down Rabban’s neck and he squirms. You remove your foot from his back and step forward to place your shoe by his face. You take the opportunity to kick his cheek in a little with the toe of your shoe before the heel of your combat boot hits the floor by Rabban’s face with a firm thunk. “Kiss my feet, and I may spare your life.”

Rabban quivers under your hold, his palms spread over the stone floor. He considers trying to escape. He could try to press his body up and avoid the blade on his neck and try to sweep your legs out from under you, but he quickly realizes that you are in control. Any movement like that would end with your knife in his chest, back, or neck. Despite his position being compromised, he hesitates to kiss your foot How could he, Glossu Rabban, kiss a woman’s shoe in submission?

“You heard her, Brother,” Feyd hisses, stepping toward you both as he basks in his brother’s terror. Feyd stops in front of his brother and squats down to look at him. “Kiss her feet. Now.”

After a moment, Rabban quivers and presses his lips against the leather of your shoes. As he does, you see how miserable and pathetic this man below you is. It's truly a shock that this oaf is the brother of your Feyd, who is confident, domineering, and skillful in every way.

“You made a good decision obeying, Rabban,” you say, releasing the blade on his neck. “I would have wasted a perfectly sharpened knife slitting your throat if you hadn’t cooperated.” You step back from him as he clambers into an upright position. His hand flies to his neck, feeling the blood trickle down his neck and seep into his nightshirt.

“You are hereby relieved of your duties as Planetary Governor of Arrakis,” Feyd grins at the pitiful sight before him. “You will return to your quarters in the meantime and wait for future instruction.”

Rabban leaves in defeat. Once the doors shut behind him, you and Feyd smirk at each other, and Feyd rushes to you giving you a tender kiss. “I love you, Baroness,” he murmurs, completely infatuated with you.

A few days later, you stare up into the atmosphere of Arrakis. The Emperor’s craft has just entered the atmosphere. You and Feyd share incredulous looks and you immediately make your way to where the emperor will be docking.

“What could the emperor want?” you ask Feyd as you walk.. “We restored spice production. It’s never been more efficient.”

Feyd shakes his head, deep in thought. “I do not know, my love.”

“I don’t like this, Feyd.” you whisper to him, trying not to let anyone else hear and Feyd nods in return. “What could have summoned the emperor to Arrakis?”

“We shall see,” he replies. Rabban arrives and bows to you both, which makes you frown. Rabban hasn’t been involved in House Harkonnen’s operations since he was removed. Nevertheless, he still proceeds into the throne room before Feyd or you can dismiss him.

Inside the throne room, the emperor is perched on a large throne up a large flight of stairs with his daughter and a Bene Gesserit standing by him. Your eyes narrow seeing the witch’s presence, knowing they have tricks they are not afraid of using to manipulate the great houses. You, Feyd, and Rabban kneel in front of them, bowing your heads. Before any of you speak, the emperor’s voice rings out.

“I am sure you are curious as to why I have come to Arrakis,” he begins. “What do you know of the prophet Muad'dib?” Rabban speaks up first, saying that Muad'dib is a madman.

“Mad?!” the emperor says.

“All Fremen are mad!” Rabban counters, and the Emperor’s fist clenches around the arm of his throne. You and Feyd shoot daggers at Rabban, and he closes his mouth immediately, putting his head down again which casts his face in shadow.

“We apologize for my brother speaking out of turn,” Feyd says to the Emperor. “Rabban has had no part in the latest work of House Harkonnen. He is not a reliable source of information. We know Muad'dib is a figure of the Fremen, and they follow his command.”

“Yes,” you say. “He organizes their forces, and they have been effective in battle against many of our forces by hiding in the sands and staging ambushes. They’ve been effective at destroying our spice harvesters in the past, but we’ve been able to successfully retaliate.” The Bene Gesserit flashes some hand signs at the emperor. She must be able to tell if people are lying or not.

“What of the prophet’s whereabouts?” the Emperor asks, his voice darkening with frustration at your lack of knowledge. The emperor’s suggested scorn directed at House Harkonnen is sour on your tongue, and you grit your teeth.

“We control the north of Arrakis and spice production, Emperor,” you reply, keeping yourself collected. “We believe Muad'dib has fled to the south to hide in the storms after my husband’s last military tactic was successful in neutralizing their northern bases.”

As you utter those words, you feel a tremendous boom propagate through the air, causing the building to shudder. Everyone in the room looks up. Some of the diplomats that have accompanied the emperor swallow thickly. You and Feyd exchange knowing glances. Something isn’t right. The Sardaukar forces, who have come to protect the emperor, raise their weapons and get into formation with one line in front of the emperor, who has abandoned the throne in favor of shelter.

The other line of Sardaukar forms a line opposite the entrance way, as more explosions can be heard beyond the walls. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rabban slip away, ever the coward. You feel Feyd’s touch on your arm as he beckons you to position yourself behind the defenses with the other diplomats. From your shared position, you both wait and listen intently. The others in the room are paralyzed in a cold sweat, but you and Feyd are silently watching, waiting, and listening, already gathering information on the situation to calculate your next move.

Dust fills the room as another bang resonates throughout the room and the barrier breaks down. The frontline of the Sardaukar advance, weapons at the ready. As they disappear into the dust, you know they aren’t coming back. The room is almost entirely quiet, but through the haze you hear the barely audible but familiar sound of daggers piercing armor, slitting throats, and tearing flesh. The remaining Sardaukar dig their heels in as a figure emerges through the orange debris, wrapped in tan fabrics caked in others’ blood. His face is concealed by a scarf, and the only flesh of his you see are his eyes, blue from spice. He is accompanied by an army. Judging by the amount of noise they made on their arrival, you and Feyd know there are probably hundreds of them. Fighting your way out is not an option. This must be the prophet Muad'dib.

Muad'dib looks around with his blade drawn, seemingly searching for someone as he enters the room. You see him and Feyd make eye contact. Feyd’s eyes narrow at him in curiosity. When Muad'dib does not find who he is looking for, he turns the crowd of people behind the Sardaukar guards. Most of the diplomats instinctively take a step back. He makes eye contact with the emperor before turning to his own forces and hissing something in a foreign tongue which you presume to be Chakobsa, Fremen language. He exits the room back into the crowd of Fremen who chant for him, waving their war banners. You see they bear the hawk insignias of House Atreides. The son of Duke Leto Atreides is alive.

The Fremen advance, easily slaying the last remaining Sardaukar. Many of the diplomats shudder and jump in surprise as the Fremen plunge their daggers into the Sardaukar warriors, who are powerless to stop them. Once they are all dead and their blood is spread across the floor in crimson red pools, the Fremen start grabbing the rest of you by your arms, and you are all dragged away one by one. You are being taken prisoner. You look to Feyd, who gives you a subtle nod as if to say “go along with it,” and you do.

You’ve laid low all in the confinement the Fremen have kept you in all night, not eager to give any of them a reason to kill you. Silently, you’ve been analyzing your situation, trying to figure out a way to achieve an optimal outcome, which you feel is slipping through your fingers. Since you have been taken prisoner, you can only presume that the rest of the Sardaukar and the Harkonnen army have been slaughtered and their bodies burned before daybreak. You and Feyd are likely the last living Harkonnens on Arrakis.

After sunrise, you are called upon by a faceless Fremen, who orders all of the prisoners to follow. You are reunited with Feyd, who takes your hand, careful not to let the Fremen see this gesture of affection as to not allow them any leverage. His touch automatically makes you as at ease you can be, given that you are both captives without allies.

Arriving in a room with the other prisoners, you see the surviving Fremen mingling and congratulating one another. The man from before stands in the clearing of the room without his face covering, his black wavy hair framing his face. Feyd turns to you and mouths “Atreides.” You nod in understanding, and watch as Paul Atreides addresses the Emperor, challenging him for the throne. Looking out the window, you see warships in the distant sky. The other great houses have arrived and Paul Atreides threatens to destroy all the spice fields if the houses intervene.

“Stand yourself or choose your champion,” he orders the Emperor, who turns to Feyd.

“I select Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” the emperor declares. “Get him a blade.” You inhale sharply, knowing this means Feyd must fight to the death against a man who has already slain many in battle and emerged victorious from the bloodbath of the previous night. You trust Feyd’s skill, but you know not to underestimate Paul Atreides. Feyd’s eyes flicker toward you. He knows what you’re thinking and gives you a slight nod as if to promise he will fight his hardest, not for the emperor, but for you. He is presented with a blade by one of the members of the emperor’s council. To your surprise, Feyd pushes it away and turns to you. Coming to stand in front of you, he gestures downward toward your legs, where your daggers are still strapped to your thighs out of sight.

“Feyd, are you sure?” you say to him, your voice small.

“I want to use your blade. Please let me fight for you,” Feyd whispers. You nod and reach down to fulfill his request, drawing one of your Youran weapons from your garters. When you hand it to him, Feyd feels the familiar heft of your dagger in his hand, which makes him grin. Just as he remembers, it’s expertly balanced and perfectly crafted, its pointed tip shining in the low orange light of the room. He smiles, recalling the night you handed him the same blade, the first time he saw your true nature. He twirls the knife in his grip with a flourish of his wrist as he stands opposite Paul Atreides.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, cousin,” Paul says.

“Cousin…” Feyd says, continuing to evaluate Paul for his weaknesses. “You wouldn’t be the first family member I’ve killed.”

His words don’t phase you. You’re well aware of Feyd’s family history. You clasp your hands in each other in front of your chest, willing Feyd to be the victor. Paul Atreides straightens himself and salutes Feyd. “May thy knife chip and shatter,” Paul says with a gruff tone, lowering himself into a battle stance and pointing his knife at Feyd. Feyd smirks, raising your weapon. The sight of it in his hand is gratifying for Feyd. Despite standing alone against Paul, it’s as if you are both in this fight together with him wielding your weapon.

“May thy knife chip and shatter,” Feyd returns and within moments, they're after each other, having an all out brawl in the middle of the room. They each swipe at each other with reaction times like lightning. The sounds of blades crashing against one another, the low smacks of their bodies colliding, and their grunts of exertion fill the room. You have to admit, Paul Atreides is an impressive fighter. He’s quick on his feet and swiftly dodges and counters many of Feyd’s attacks, but it is obvious that Feyd is the one with strength on his side. The only way for Atreides to win is if he is able to find a way to use that strength against Feyd.

You’re barely breathing at this point. Your facade of stoicism threatens to crumble when you see Paul Atreides’ forehead connect firmly with your husband’s nose. To your surprise, you don’t see any blood on Feyd’s face. Paul Atreides’ head is thrown back after almost bouncing off of Feyd’s nose. Paul’s head seems to be spinning as he stumbles backward on uneven footing. Feyd recognizes Paul’s debilitated state is fleeting, and takes advantage of the moment, striking Paul again. The tangle of limbs is intense, but in the blink of an eye, you see Feyd disarm Paul, taking Paul’s knife for his own.

As they break away from one another, Paul Atreides is heaving, struggling to breathe as the leather bound hilt of your dagger protrudes from his abdomen. He’s wheezing as his own blood seeps into his battle gear. His allies gaze upon the sight in shock, some wincing in second-hand pain.

Feyd approaches him promptly, and grabs Paul by the scruff of his neck, raising Paul’s own knife at him. Paul Atreides uses his own gloved hand to grab the blade, trying to push it away, but Feyd leans in, forcing the blade to slip further into Paul’s grip, cutting the flesh of Paul’s hand open with a sickening noise, the tip of the knife getting closer to piercing Paul’s neck.

The next moment, you feel like screaming. The dagger, once poised to slice open Paul Atreides’ neck, is no longer in the air visible to you. Paul Atreides has used his grip on Feyd’s blade to redirect the tip toward the stomach of your husband. Your hands fly to your mouth, tears threatening to spill. The force Feyd puts behind his blade at that proximity is fatal.

The memories of meeting Feyd on Youra, fighting by his side against Ozran, plotting into the early hours to kill his despicable uncle, your wedding ceremony in front of House Harkonnen, and the moments of tenderness and affection he’s given you in private flash through your mind. Your stomach writhes, and your heart shrivels into itself, and your mind begins to confront the idea that you now must mourn the life you and Feyd had assembled. Another thought flashes through your mind. You’ll likely be killed after this with the rest of the prisoners in this room, and die alone without your husband, lightyears away from your people on Youra and Giedi Prime. You’ve failed.

Through your tears, you stare at the scene as the air and the people surrounding you are completely still. However, something gives you pause. You hear something hit the floor look down to the area under Feyd and Paul’s feet. You spy fragments of metal, broken into uneven shards, scattered across the floor. However, there is no blood to be seen. Your eyes shoot to Feyd, who is also looking down to where they both hold the hilt of the broken knife.

Without a second to spare, Feyd’s hand flies to your knife in Paul’s side, ripping it out of him. Paul cries out in agony, the removal of the knife causing a blood curdling squelch of skin and muscle ripping. The next moment, Feyd slits Paul Atreides’ throat with a grand swing of his arm, sending blood splatter fanning across the floor. The pregnant woman seated in the wooden throne bearing the Atreides crest lets out a high pitched shriek, and she begins to wail, seeing the light from her son’s eyes fade as his body crumples to the floor. A Fremen woman across from you lets out a shaky breath, her lip quivering and tears pool near her bright blue eyes as Paul Atreides’ fresh blood collects in a puddle on the stone floor under the gaping hole in his neck.

Feyd turns back to you, bloody blade in hand and lets out a deep exhale, allowing the tension in his own chest to dissipate. He had thought he was dead, too, but no. He is alive. He is victorious, and he gets to look into your eyes again, knowing that he has done his job for you.

Kneeling, Feyd presents the emperor with the soiled blade. The emperor smiles and pronounces Paul Atreides, the prophet Muad'dib, to be dead and Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen as the victor. In defeat, the ally of Paul, identified as Gurney Halleck, relays a message to the great houses of the outcome of the fight. The emperor’s reign shall continue, and your husband is alive. You push your way past the others in the crowd and throw yourself at Feyd, who cradles you in his arms, running his fingers through your hair, whispering to you “Please don’t shed any more tears, my love. I am still here… I wouldn’t leave you that easily.”

“I thought I lost you,” you choke out and Feyd shakes his head, using his thumb to wipe away the tear stains on your cheeks.

“You haven’t and you won’t,” he replies, his hands holding your body steady. “Let’s go home.”

—

Holding your knees to your chest, you sit in a private chamber on the Emperor’s vessel as it leaves the atmosphere of Arrakis to take you and Feyd back to Giedi Prime, which was the least the emperor could do given that Feyd nearly died for him. One of Feyd’s hands rests on your waist, holding you firmly in his grip while the other rubs gentle circles on your shoulder with his thumb. Feyd watches as your eyes dart side to side, which happens when you’re deep in though.

“What is on your mind, my love?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

“I’m thinking about your battle with Paul Atreides,” you reply. “The knife broke when he tried to turn the tables on you, didn’t it?” Feyd nods, bringing his hand down to the spot on his abdomen where the knife was. “May I see where it was?” you ask and Feyd obliges, creating a small bit of distance between the two of you so that you can get a good look at his torso.

You bring your hand to where Feyd’s armor has been sliced open by the blade. Bringing the other hand to his body, you gently spread the layers of fabric and leather apart to look through the hole. Underneath, you see Feyd’s familiar pale skin and his chiseled abdominal muscles that you’ve always loved to drag your fingers across. His skin appears to be absolutely pristine without a single nick or bruise in sight. You bring your head closer to get a better look before saying, “There isn’t evidence of any damage to your skin, Feyd. Your body is like the battle never happened. There isn’t a trace of impact.” As soon as you utter the last word in the sentence, you freeze and your lips part ever so lightly as your mind races to connect the dots. He knows that look on you, and he sees the gears turning in your mind.

“Impact…,” you mumble to yourself. Your eyes shoot up to Feyd’s “During the battle there was a moment when Paul Atreides’ head collided with your nose.” Your hand flies to his cheek to steady his head. You examine his nose, using your hand to tilt his head side to side. Everything about his face is unchanged, which shouldn’t be the case, especially after a fight like that and the headbutt he endured from Paul. You tip his head back. Again, there is no blood or breakage.

Your mind begins to race as you return your hands to your husband’s torso. Your hands fumble as you attempt to remove the layers of armor in between you and Feyd’s skin. Feyd realizes what you’re doing and soon enough he’s shirtless in front of you. You extend your hand out and drag your hand over his stomach. You press your fingers firmly down onto his abdominal region and upper body repeatedly, changing the area you’re putting pressure on each time. He feels solid under your touch and not in the way you’re used to. Feyd has always been bulky and muscular, hardened from years of training, but something about this is different. It’s like his body has the durability of an alloy the researchers on Youra could only dream of engineering, but he’s still flesh and blood. Bring your fingers to your own stomach, pressing your fingers against your own front, and you gasp. “That’s it!” you exclaim.

“What is it?” he asks, knowing you are on the edge of an epiphany.

“It’s the elixir!” you gasp, standing up and holding your head in disbelief “It saved your life!”

“I thought it was only to help the body retain water,” Feyd says as you get up and begin circling the room.

“Don’t you remember? That’s the end result of the elixir, but we were still unsure of the mechanism by which that happens!” you exclaim. “Remember the night I showed you the fish? I said that the fish sheds its scales at the beginning of the wet season. What I didn’t tell you is that the wet season is the only time of year we can get the scales off the fish because they fall off naturally. Our scientists have tried to get the scales before the transition of the seasons, but they've always been unable to pry the scales off or kill them because it was impossible to slice open the fish. No matter how much we sharpened the knives, we couldn’t cut them open!”

“That’s how the fish retain water in the dry season. The fish develop these scales with this compound that transforms their own bodies into a shield from the elements, so that water can’t escape. I’ve always wondered how a fish would be able to survive the whole dry season on a dried up lake bed. This compound is why the fish species hasn’t gone extinct! When they’re sitting in their dried up ponds, no predators can eat them because their bodies are too tough to pierce,” you surmise, delight filling your complexion. “By drinking that compound, the same thing has happened to our bodies! You were able to survive the battle because your skin became this impenetrable barrier that lets you keep your water that just so happens to be impervious to outside attacks as well! That’s also why your nose didn’t break and why Paul Atreides was so disoriented after he struck you with his head. It was as if he rammed his head into a steel wall. Researchers on Youra didn't catch this effect in the clinical trials because we don’t just go stabbing all of our test subjects with knives or subjecting them to blunt force trauma, especially not for a study about water retention!”

Feyd hardly believes what he’s hearing, but he knows it's true. Everything you’re saying makes perfect sense. Memories from the battle flash in his mind. He remembers his arm is suddenly bending toward himself, feeling the rough surface of the broken blade scrape against his abdomen, but the pain he had been trained to resist since childhood never hitting his senses. He brings himself to his feet and pulls you into his arms, squeezing you as tight as he can muster. “You are phenomenal, my dear, I can’t believe you figured that out,” he murmurs to you. “Thank you. I owe you my life.”

He lowers his lips to yours, kissing you like he’s never done before. You both cling to one another, relieved you are both alive and safe. Feyd holds the back of your head and runs his fingers through your locks tenderly, thinking about how far you both have come in this short amount of time. Mere months ago, you were a stranger he had the obligation to meet and marry. He knew he would have to enter a loveless relationship with you in the name of alliances. He tried to convince himself you were a woman he wanted to make a plaything out of. Before, he was intent on manipulating, breaking, and exploiting you for his own amusement. Those ideas feel so foreign to Feyd now as he revels in your affections and caresses your cheek.

Looking down at you, he sees you for what you are. You are the most beautiful being to ever exist. Nothing past or present will ever compare to you, and it brings tears to his eyes, knowing you are his wife and he is your husband. You are the culmination of all House Ronen and House Harkonnen have worked for, a true representation of the union of your two houses, and the pinnacle of all Feyd has come to hold dear. You are where brain meets brawn, where tradition meets modernity, and the pride and joy of Feyd’s life. You are simply everything.

Thanks for reading! I can’t believe the series is over (but I'm also considering writing an epilogue, but I have some requests coming down the pipeline, so we'll see about that. lmk if that's something you might be interested in...). Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed Knives Dance! :)

Also is it obvious I study chemistry yet?

Taglist:

@austinbutlerslovers @rougegenshin @itshype@woodland-mist @tian-monique @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @allthingsimagines @meetmeatyourworst @nyaaaaa008 @caroline334 @alana4610 @targaryen-madness

Tags that aren't working for some reason??? @roguegenshin @miaraises

#feyd rautha #dune part 2 #dune part two #feyd rautha x reader #dune #x reader

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spyskrapbook · 7 months ago

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"Unité d’Habitation / La Cité Radieuse", 280 Boulevard Michelet, 13008, Marseille, France [1947-52] _ Architect: Le Corbusier _ Photos by: Spyros Kaprinis [25.05.2024].

"The building takes the form of a housing bar 135 metres long, 24 metres wide, 56 metres high and mounted on stilts. Three hundred and thirty apartments, divided into twenty-three different types, can accommodate a population of between 1,500 and 1,700 occupants having at their disposal on the seventh and eighth floors a shopping street and a hotel-restaurant, together with a kindergarten and sports facilities on the roof terrace. The constructive principle adopted, the so-called “bottle rack”, consists in building apartments inside an independent frame of posts and reinforced concrete beams. The apartments are made up of standard elements assembled on the site. All the apartments are dual-aspect, except those on the south side. A sun-break loggia provides an open-air facility at the same time as limiting exposure to sunlight. Protected by double glazing, the apartment interiors are subject to the two basic rules of naval and monastic architecture: rationalism and simplicity. The living room, open on two levels, is the nucleus of the family “home”; upstairs the parents’ room occupies the mezzanine. The kitchen is equipped like a laboratory: electric cooker, refrigerator, rubbish chute and storage racks. The entire apartment is fitted with racks replacing traditional storage. The ventilation of the kitchen, bathroom and toilets is mechanically operated, while the entire apartment is supplied with clean air by an air conditioning system. These facilities were not found in the low-cost collective housing units of the time, and the standard surface areas of the Unité d’Habitation are greater than these by between 40% and 50%. The seventeen-storeys below the terrace are connected by eight interior streets which, given the overlap of the two-storey apartments, each serve three floors. Each street is accessed by a battery of four elevators complemented by a service elevator and three emergency staircases. The entire building and its equipment are designed in terms of the Modulor, the universal measuring unit conceived by Le Corbusier."

#Unité d’Habitation #La Cité Radieuse #Marseille #France #Le Corbusier #1947 #1952 #Spyros Kaprinis #2024 #Concrete #Brutalism #Housing #Architecture

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artifacts-and-arthropods · 1 month ago

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Palmetto Tortoise Beetle: the larvae of this species produce long, thin strands of feces that are gradually woven together to form protective "fecal shields" around their bodies

During its larval stage, the Palmetto tortoise beetle (Hemisphaerota cyanea) uses its own feces to create a defensive layer known as a "fecal shield" or "fecal thatch."

As this article explains:

Most remarkable, perhaps, is the fecal “thatch” of Hemisphaerota cyanea. In the larva of this beetle, the feces are emitted in strands, which, as they build up over the course of larval life, form a loose assemblage that totally hides the larva from view.

The construction of the "fecal thatch" begins almost immediately after the larva hatches. Each larva begins to feed within minutes of hatching, and the very first fecal strands emerge from its anal turret just a few minutes later. Subsequent strands are then produced in quick succession, and they begin to accumulate around the larva's body; as each strand emerges, it is made to curve around the larva's left or right side depending on whether the anal turret is flexed to the left or right. The direction of the curve usually alternates from one strand to the next, ensuring that a nest-like structure is formed around the larva's body.

As they emerge, the fecal strands are gathered together and then cemented into place with the help of an anatomical feature known as a caudal fork. Once an individual strand has been extruded to its full length, the anal turret is rotated upward until it comes into contact with the caudal fork, and the larva then pinches off the strand while secreting a droplet of "glue," which effectively cements each fecal strand into place against the caudal fork.

It generally takes about 12 hours for the larva to finish building its very own "fecal shield."

As an adult, the Palmetto tortoise beetle has another unusual defense mechanism: its tarsi (i.e. feet) are each lined with 10,000 tiny adhesive bristles, and when the beetle is attacked, it can press its feet flat against the surface of a leaf and secrete an oil that allows it to adhere to that surface with an enormous amount of strength. The adhesive mechanism is strong enough to resist pulling forces that are up to 60 times greater than the beetle's own weight for a full 2 minutes; it can resist even greater forces (up to 230 times greater than the beetle's own weight) for shorter periods of time.

According to this article from the University of Florida:

Each of the greatly enlarged tarsi is equipped with approximately 10,000 adhesive bristles. Each bristle has two terminal pads. When walking, only a few of the bristles touch the leaf surface. However, when attacked by a predator, the beetle puts all or nearly all of the bristles in contact with the surface and secretes oil onto the pads. With the adhesive force created by the oil between the leaf surface and tarsi, the beetle is able to clamp its hemispherical shell down tightly against the leaf and has been demonstrated to withstand pulling forces of approximately 60 times its own weight for up to two minutes. This time period is sufficient to thwart the efforts of predatory ants attempting to pry the beetle from the leaf.

Palmetto tortoise beetles are native to the southeastern United States, and they're especially common in Florida (which is why they're also known as Florida tortoise beetles).

Sources & More Info:

Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences: Defensive Use of a Fecal Thatch by a Beetle Larva (Hemisphaerota cyanea)

Earth Touch News Network: By the Power of the Poop-Shield: Beetle Defenses of the Faecal Kind

Cornell Chronicle: Fecal Defense: This Beetle Uses 'Overhead Sewer System' to Ward off (most) Predators, Cornell Biologists Discover

Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences: Defense by Foot Adhesion in a Beetle (Hemisphaerota cyanea)

University of Florida: Palmetto Tortoise Beetle

Bug Guide: Hemisphaerota cyanea

#entomology #arthropods #coleoptera #palmetto tortoise beetle #hemisphaerota cyanea #insects #beetles #bugs #animal facts #tortoise beetles #larvae #fecal shield #evolution #defense mechanisms #nature is weird

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visit-new-york · 1 year ago

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Chrysler Building: A Shimmering Icon of Art Deco Elegance

In the heart of Manhattan's bustling skyline, one architectural masterpiece stands tall, capturing the imagination of all who gaze upon it. The Chrysler Building, a shimmering beacon of Art Deco elegance, is not just a skyscraper but a symbol of New York City's enduring spirit and architectural innovation. With its captivating history, exquisite design, and a touch of old-world glamour, the Chrysler Building continues to enchant and captivate, leaving an indelible mark on the Big Apple's iconic skyline.

The Chrysler Building, completed in 1930, was the brainchild of architect William Van Alen. Its distinctive design is a symphony of style, blending Art Deco with influences from the Machine Age. The tower rises to a staggering 1,046 feet, making it one of the tallest buildings in the world at the time of its completion. Its crowning glory, the iconic stainless steel spire, reaches even higher, ultimately soaring to 1,476 feet. This bold architectural choice, combined with the building's tiered setbacks and intricate ornamentation, immediately sets it apart from its contemporaries.

The Chrysler Building's spire is nothing short of a masterpiece. Composed of seven concentric stainless steel arches, it seems to ascend endlessly into the sky, a testament to human ambition and ingenuity. The polished metal glimmers and reflects the ever-changing hues of the New York City skyline, giving the building a dynamic and ethereal quality. The spire's tip is adorned with a spectacular sunburst design, a symbol of hope and optimism that encapsulated the spirit of the Roaring Twenties.

Beneath the shimmering façade, the Chrysler Building holds a treasure trove of architectural marvels. The lobby, in particular, is a breathtaking work of art. A soaring, marble-clad space is adorned with ornate, artful details, including intricate friezes, Egyptian-inspired motifs, and a magnificent ceiling mural by artist Edward Trumbull. The lobby's elegance and opulence transport visitors to a bygone era of sophistication and glamour.

The Chrysler Building's enduring legacy goes beyond its architectural significance. It has played a prominent role in popular culture, making appearances in numerous films, television shows, and works of literature. Its silhouette, unmistakable and timeless, is a symbol of New York City itself, representing both the city's storied past and its ever-evolving future.

Yet, beneath its polished surface and captivating design, the Chrysler Building harbors an air of myth and mystery that adds to its allure. One enduring legend is the tale of a secret spire race between the Chrysler Building and the Bank of Manhattan Trust Building (now known as 40 Wall Street), a nearby skyscraper under construction at the same time. This tale, though perhaps more myth than fact, only deepens the intrigue surrounding this architectural wonder.

The construction of the Chrysler Building was not without its challenges. The architects and builders had to contend with the limitations of 1920s technology, including the absence of modern safety measures and equipment. Nevertheless, the determination and expertise of the builders triumphed over adversity, resulting in an enduring symbol of human achievement.

As we look ahead to the future, the Chrysler Building continues to stand as a symbol of resilience and creativity. While no longer the tallest building in New York City, its timeless elegance and iconic spire remain a source of inspiration for architects, artists, and dreamers alike. Recent renovations and preservation efforts ensure that this shimmering gem will continue to grace the Manhattan skyline for generations to come.

For those who wish to experience the magic of the Chrysler Building firsthand, tours are available to explore its exquisite lobby and learn more about its history and architectural significance. Standing in the shadow of its gleaming spire, visitors can connect with the past, marvel at its beauty, and imagine the countless stories that have unfolded within its walls.

In a city that is constantly changing and reinventing itself, the Chrysler Building remains a steadfast symbol of New York City's enduring spirit, artistic excellence, and architectural innovation. Its shimmering spire reaches for the heavens, while its hidden treasures and legendary history capture the hearts and minds of all who encounter it. As an icon of Art Deco elegance, the Chrysler Building is not just a skyscraper; it's a living testament to the dreams and aspirations of a city that continues to inspire the world. It's a reminder that in the ever-evolving urban jungle of Manhattan, the Chrysler Building's brilliance still shines as brightly as ever, inviting all to partake in its timeless allure.

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#Chrysler Building #new york city #new york #new-york #newyork #urban #nyc #ny #manhattan #city #usa #United States #buildings #travel #journey #outdoors #street #architecture #visit-new-york.tumblr.com

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judgemark45 · 5 months ago

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The U.S. Navy's Seawolf-class submarines are among the most advanced and powerful submarines in the world. Here are some key features and capabilities that make them so powerful:

Stealth

- Quietness: Seawolf-class submarines are designed to be extremely quiet, making them difficult to detect by enemy sonar. They have advanced sound-absorbing materials and hull design, which significantly reduce their acoustic signature.

- Anechoic Coating: They are covered with anechoic tiles that absorb sound waves, reducing the noise they emit and improving their stealth capabilities.

Speed and Depth

- Speed: These submarines are capable of reaching speeds in excess of 35 knots (about 40 mph or 65 km/h) when submerged.

- Operating Depth: Seawolf-class submarines can operate at depths greater than 1,600 feet (approximately 490 meters), allowing them to evade detection and operate in deeper waters than many other submarines.

Armament

- Torpedoes: Each Seawolf-class submarine is equipped with eight 660mm (26-inch) torpedo tubes, which can launch a variety of torpedoes, including the advanced Mk-48 ADCAP (Advanced Capability) torpedoes.

- Missiles: They can also carry up to 50 Tomahawk cruise missiles, which are capable of striking land targets with high precision from a great distance.

- Mines: The submarines can deploy mines for area denial and strategic control of waterways.

Sensor and Combat Systems

- Sonar Systems: The Seawolf-class features advanced sonar systems, including bow, flank, and towed-array sonars, which provide comprehensive detection and tracking capabilities.

- Combat Systems: They are equipped with the AN/BSY-2 combat system, which integrates all sensors, fire control, and weapons systems, allowing for rapid and effective response to threats.

Survivability and Endurance

- Robust Construction: The hull is made of HY-100 steel, which provides greater strength and durability, enhancing survivability.

- Endurance: These submarines can operate submerged for extended periods, limited only by food supply, due to their nuclear propulsion system.

Versatility

- Multi-Mission Capability: Seawolf-class submarines are capable of performing a wide range of missions, including anti-submarine warfare (ASW), anti-surface warfare (ASUW), intelligence gathering, special operations support, and strike warfare.

Summary

Overall, the Seawolf-class submarines are among the most formidable submarines in the world, combining stealth, speed, firepower, and advanced technology. Their ability to operate in various environments and perform diverse missions makes them a critical asset to the U.S. Navy's undersea warfare capabilities.

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spacenutspod · 11 months ago

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The China National Space Administration (CNSA) has put out a call for international and industry partners to contribute science payloads to its Chang’e-8 lunar lander, set for launch to the Moon in 2028. The mission, which will involve a lander, a rover, and a utility robot, will be China’s first attempt at in-situ resource utilization on the Moon, using lunar regolith to produce brick-like building materials. Just like NASA’s Artemis plans, the CNSA’s plans for the Moon are targeted at the Lunar south pole, which is expected to be rich in useable resources, especially water. The presence of these resources will be vital for long-term human activity on the lunar surface. Possible landing sites for Chang’e-8 include Leibnitz Beta, Amundsen crater, Cabeus crater, and the ridge connecting the Shackleton and de Gerlache craters, according to a presentation by Chang’e-8 chief deputy designer in October 2023. Chang’e-8 will be the last CNSA robotic mission to be launched before construction begins on the International Lunar Research Station, China’s crewed moonbase being planned in collaboration with Russia’s Roscosmos. That makes Chang’e-8’s attempt to create building materials out of regolith a vital proof-of-concept for their lunar aspirations. In order to make moon-bricks, the lander will carry an instrument that uses solar energy to melt lunar soil and turn it into useable parts at a speed of 40 cubic cm per hour. Alongside the regolith processing equipment, the lander will be equipped with an array of science instruments, including cameras, a seismometer to detect moonquakes, and an x-ray telescope. Part of the mission will focus on moon-based Earth observation, with several instruments designed to monitor Earth’s atmosphere and magnetosphere. The rover, meanwhile, will carry ground penetrating radar, cameras, a mineral analyzer, and tools for collecting and storing samples (leaving open the possibility of future missions to retrieve the samples). The utility robot is a key piece of the mission, but CNSA isn’t developing it in-house. Instead, the space agency is seeking proposals from partners interested in developing it as a piggyback payload to ride alongside the rest of Chang’e-8. According to the call for proposals, the 100kg, battery-powered robot will need to be able to “capture, carry and place items, shovel, and transfer lunar soil.” It will also need to be able to travel at 400m per hour. There is room for an additional 100kg of piggyback payloads besides the robot, for which full proposals are expected to be submitted later this year. While planning for Chang’e 8 is ongoing, the CNSA has two additional robotic moon missions in the works for the near future. The first, Chang’e-6, will launch this spring, and aims to return a regolith sample from the lunar far side (a never before accomplished feat). The next mission is planned for 2026, when Chang’e-7 will carry out a geological examination of the permanently shadowed craters scattered around the Moon’s south pole. The post China's Chang'e-8 Mission Will Try to Make Bricks on the Moon appeared first on Universe Today.

#space #astronomy #news #science

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dontforgetukraine · 24 days ago

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The installation ‘I'm fine’ was installed on Kontraktova Square in #Kyiv. It was made from the equipment of telecommunications devices damaged as a result of Russian aggression against #Ukraine. Hromadske reported this, citing the project's authors. The construction is 7 meters long, as tall as a man, and weighs 2.7 tonnes. The letters ‘I'm Fine’ are assembled from parts of base stations and network equipment damaged by #Russian attacks and occupation. This includes shot antennas, masts, broken wires, and chips torn apart by explosions. ‘The damaged systems reflect not only the scale of the destruction but also the efforts to restore communication even where it seemed irretrievably lost. It is also a symbol of hope and new opportunities that arise even in the most difficult times,’ the project authors said in a comment to Hromadske. The project was created by Ukrainian artist Oleksii Say and producer and founder of the Ukrainian Witness media platform Vitalii Deynega. The installation is a continuation of the ‘I'm fine’ project, which was presented this year at the Burning Man festival in the US. Back then, a similar structure was made of shot road signs and other surfaces damaged by Russian aggression. —Detector Media

#Ukraine #wartime art #russia is a terrorist state #burning Man #I'm fine #i'm fine project

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osha-official-2 · 2 years ago

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Safety and Compliance Report on Aperture Science: PPE

29 CFR 1910.132 establishes:

"Protective equipment shall be provided, used, and maintained in a sanitary and reliable condition wherever it is necessary by reason of hazards encountered in a manner capable of causing injury or impairment in the function of any part of the body"

This anonymous employee was kind enough to allow Inspector 17 to photograph them in their work uniform. The uniform includes a set of blaze orange coveralls and a PFAS (Personal Fall Arrest System)in the form of an AKR (Advanced Knee Replacement).

29 CFR 1910.28(b)(1)(i) establishes:

"The employer must ensure that each employee on a walking-working surface with an unprotected side or edge that is 4 feet (1.2 m) or more above a lower level is protected from falling"

Inspector 17's report on Aperture Science noted that unprotected edges were only present in "Test Chamber" environments and only test participants (such as the employee pictured above) were exposed to these hazards. The issuing of AKR systems to all test participants successfully negated these falling hazard.

When asked about the employee's lack of foot coverings an Aperture representative insisted test chambers were meticulously cleaned of any refuse that an employee could potentially step on. However OSHA 300 logs indicated that test participants occasionally experienced serious stubbed toes and twisted ankles. Inspector 17 attributed these to the use of concrete in test chamber construction and slippery walking-working surfaces.

Aperture was issued a warning and required to ensure that all test participants wear close-toed, slip-resistant footwear in future tests.

#OSHA #osha official #osha approved #osha compliant #keepworkerssafe #aperture science

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kybercrystals94 · 1 month ago

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Come Back (part 4)

Read here on Ao3!

Rated: T | Words: 2436

<<Previous Chapter | Next Chapter>>

KANDRIA

“I will answer your questions to the best of my capabilities,” Tech says, a strength in his voice that wasn’t there before.

You don’t have to worry about me, kid, us clones are more resilient than we look, Jaunt had told her while he lay on the cobblestone street, a smile on his lips even as blood trickled from one side and Kandria frantically tried to wipe it away with her sleeve.

Tech continues, “However, I am more valuable than you realize. Information can be misconstrued and outdated; therefore, I can offer you something greater in exchange for your assistance making contact with my brothers.”

Kandria’s heart thuds violently in her chest, and blood throbs in her ears. She tries to keep her breathing steady, her feet firmly planted, but she is trembling.

Uncle Garo walks forward and shoves Kandria roughly aside; however, she is ready for the impact, moving with the force of the push to sidestep and keep her balance. She turns and just catches Tech’s eyes shift to her briefly, before focusing on her uncle.

“You are in no position to bargain with me, clone,” Uncle Garo sneers. He pulls his blaster from his holster. “I could shoot you right now and be done with you.”

Kandria bites the inside of her cheek to keep from protesting. Something in Tech’s voice tells her that she needs to trust that he knows what he’s doing, that he understood her whispered warning. She prays to Maker he does.

“You are correct,” Tech tells Uncle Garo. “You could shoot me; however, that would not be in your best interest. I can build you equipment.”

Uncle Garo lowers the blaster. “What kind of equipment?”

“With the proper materials, I could construct almost anything you might be in need of,” Tech tells him. “I am an engineer by design, and my mental capacities have been enhanced. I have memorized hundreds of schematics in my lifetime.”

The fist around Kandria’s lungs loosens when Uncle Garo reholsters his blaster. “Is that so?”

“But I will need your word that I can make contact with my brothers.”

“We do not have a transmitter,” Uncle Garo tells Tech.

Tech nods. “I thought as much. I will build that as well. I will be sure that it has the capability of secure encryption.”

Uncle Garo is silent, and Kandria knows he is trying to decide if he should take Tech at his word or not. Finally, he nods before turning sharply and leaving the storeroom.

It is as close to an agreement as Tech will get, although Uncle Garo will never keep his word on such a thing. But Tech has bought himself time, plenty of time, to heal. Kandria can help him escape later. She will not think about the consequences. The consequences don’t matter. She can save him. She will save him.

Kandria releases a shaky breath of frail relief.

TECH

After proving his usefulness, Garo allowed the girl to use the correct dosages of medications. It has made him sleep for long hours, surfacing consciousness only long enough to drink water and the nearly flavorless but warm broth he is offered before sinking again into dark, dreamless depths.

This time, when he comes to, he finds his mind more alert than it has been since he made the decision to sever the connection between the railcars. Although he thinks he might be able to manage on his own, the girl insists on helping him sit up, and offers him the mug of broth to hold in his own hands. She then sits on the edge of the cot.

“Can you really do all the things you told Uncle Garo?” she asks him.

“I can,” Tech tells her.

Kandria tips her head. “And you’re an enhanced clone?”

“That is also true.”

“Are there other enhanced clones?”

The girl seems genuinely curious, pale eyes watching him intently. He is not accustomed to natborns being particularly interested in clones or their development outside of vague fascination. Then again, Clone Force 99 rarely worked directly with civilians for any substantial length of time to allow such questions to appear organically. Perhaps this is a common line of conversation.

“Few survived,” Tech tells her. “My brothers and sister are enhanced in different ways.”

“What kind of ways?”

He did not anticipate the subject of his siblings creating a sharp twist of emotional discomfort under his broken ribs. While he has every intention of finding them again and relocating Kandria to Pabu, there are variables outside of his control. Clone Force 99’s perfect record has ended spectacularly, starting with the loss of Crosshair to the Empire. Failure is as likely as success.

He may find his family again.

He may not.

He may save Kandria from the man she calls uncle.

He may not.

He may die, either from an unforeseen complication of his injuries, or a blaster bolt between his eyes if Garo should have a change of heart.

Do you ever cry, Tech? Omega asked him in another lifetime.

“Hunter has heightened senses and is able to detect electromagnetic fields. This makes his sense of direction far more accurate than any map you might have,” Tech says, answering Kandria rather than Omega. “Crosshair…” he hesitates a moment before pressing on, “Crosshair’s mutation is that his vision and marksmanship capabilities have been enhanced. I have yet to witness a shot he does not have the ability to make. Wrecker possesses superhuman strength and is larger than the average clone. We once watched him wrestle a young rancor until he wore the creature out, as an example.”

The girl laughs. It in no way sounds like Omega, but it is painfully reminiscent. The emotion in his chest twists again, and were it made of flesh, it would surely be bleeding.

“He fought a rancor?” Kandria asks incredulously, still smiling, oblivious to Tech’s invisible wounds.

Tech blinks. “A young one,” he reiterates.

“Why?”

“That,” Tech says, “is a long and complicated story.”

“We have time,” Kandria tells him with a grin.

And Tech cannot argue with that logic.

KANDRIA

Her father used to tell her stories about when he was a ship medic, traveling the galaxy. Granted, most of his stories centered around an injury or illness of some kind, but Kandria didn’t mind. You’d be surprised how much trouble a crew can get into, he’d tell her. Some of the stories were secondhand from his patients, excuses and explanations for the ailments they’d bring to the med bay. Lies, most of them. I felt like a detective trying to root out the truth in all the malarkey. And it was funny that he said that, because Kandria was almost positive that he embellished his own stories liberally, even if it was just to make her smile or laugh.

Tech does not tell stories like her father did, and she does not have to worry about any sort of malarkey.

“...we were criminally underpaid for the job,” Tech tells her as he finishes his account of the rancor incident.

Kandria shrugs one shoulder. “But at least you got a good story out of it. My dad always said that as long as you have a story to tell or a lesson you learned, no experience is wasted.”

“Hmmm.” Tech regards her thoughtfully for a moment. “Your father…where is he?”

If Kandria has learned one thing about Tech in the little time she’s known him, he is well spoken but blunt. Painfully honest; however, it is a fair question. And she brought her father up in the first place. “He died,” she says, keeping her voice as even as she can. The admission still feels as fresh as the day she told Jaunt the news. “During one of the Separatist attacks on my home planet.”

There had been chatter about Separatists in the area; but there was always chatter. After all, they were close to a major trade route and were under Republic protection. And yet, her father had told her to stay home that day, to keep the door locked. It had made her so angry, and like a small child, she’d pouted and didn’t tell him goodbye. She can still feel the warmth of his palm on top of her head as he told her he loved her, that he’d come straight home after his shift. I love you, sweetheart. I won’t get caught up in conversation with Mister Roolek today, I promise. She hadn’t wanted his promise. She’d wanted her way. And it had cost her any final happy memory with him.

“Is that when you came to be with your uncle?” Tech asks.

Kandria shakes her head. That is a part of her history she is not willing to tell. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “Are you finished with your broth?” she asks, shifting the subject away from raw, stinging memories.

“Yes, thank you,” he says, and lets her take it from his hands.

Kandria turns to leave.

“I apologize if my questions were insensitive,” Tech says behind her, briefly stopping her retreat. “I did not mean to cause you any sort of emotional discomfort.”

And she knows he means it, which somehow makes her emotional discomfort worse and better in the same aching heartbeat. No one has cared about her for a long time. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to have the real thing and not just threadbare memories of those now out of reach.

“I’m fine,” she tells him, and leaves the room before she starts to cry.

<<>><<>>

“You look a little young to work here, kid.”

Kandria startles and looks up from her data pad to find a clone staring down at her from the other side of the counter. Flustered, she begins rambling, “Oh. I don’t. I’m just sitting here reading while I wait for my dad. He’s finishing his rounds.”

“Ah, I see,” the clone says. He takes off his helmet. “So, your dad’s a doctor? Would his name happen to be Doctor Terrand?”

Kandria nods.

“Fantastic, just the man I wanted to see. I have a delivery of medications for him.”

“Oh.” Kandria didn’t know that soldiers made deliveries.

The clone looks past her at the door leading to the main ward. “You said he’s just finishing his rounds?”

“Yes, sir. But I can go get him if you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate it, kid,” the trooper says with a grin. “And you can just call me Jaunt. ‘Sir’ makes me sound more important than I am.”

Kandria smiles politely as she slips down from her chair. “I’ll go find my dad,” she tells him, hugging her data pad to her chest, before she whirls around and flees the front office for the sanctuary of the clinic.

One of the night nurses catches her the moment she gets through the door. “You know better than to run,” she scolds.

“There’s a clone trooper here with a delivery for my dad,�� Kandria tells her.

The nurse frowns. “No excuses. Walk.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kandria sighs.

Her father’s clinic is small, specializing in long-term elder and end of life care. As Kandria walks past open doors, some of the patients call out greetings, and she makes sure to smile and wave back. As she suspects, her father is in Mister Roolek’s room. She stands in the doorway, patiently waiting for a lull in the animated conversation between her father and the Rodian.

Mister Roolek’s dark eyes fall on her almost immediately. “Little Star! Apologies, I have kept your father longer than I should.”

“It’s okay,” Kandria says, stepping into the room.

“Did you need something, sweetheart?” her father asks.

“There is a trooper here that says he has a delivery for you,” Kandria says.

“Oh,” her father says, turning back to Mister Roolek, “You’ll have to excuse me, Siero.”

“Of course, of course,” Mister Roolek says, waving one long fingered hand. “Go do your work, Doctor. Our conversation will keep until tomorrow.”

As her father passes by, he pats Kandria’s head. “Thanks, kiddo.”

Kandria moves to follow after him, but is stopped short by Mister Roolek’s voice. “How’s your new book, Little Star?”

Kandria turns back and goes to Mister Roolek’s bed, holding up her data pad. “Very good. I’ve almost finished it,” she tells him. “Then I can read it out loud to you if you’d like.”

“I would like that very much,” he says. “You are an excellent narrator.”

Kandria beams. “Thank you.”

“You know that your mother was one of my students when I was a teacher?”

Kandria does know this, has heard it a hundred times; however, as she always does, she shakes her head, letting Mister Roolek tell the story again for what he thinks is the first time.

“Such a bright student, your mother. Kind and diligent. You are just like her when she was your age.”

“Thank you,” Kandria says.

Mister Roolek sighs, sinking back into his pillows. “Taken too soon, your mother.”

Kandria nods. While she does not have any of her own memories of her mother, she feels the loss deeply through the voices of those who knew her. It feels strange to miss something she doesn’t remember, but it is there nonetheless, a tender, hollow emptiness.

“Go catch up with your father, Little Star,” Mister Roolek tells her.

“I’ll come read to you tomorrow,” Kandria says. “I think I’ll finish the book tonight.”

He smiles at her. “I look forward to it then.”

Kandria returns to the lobby just as the trooper is putting his helmet back on. “See ya around, kid,” he says with a nod.

Her father turns to her. “I’ll go lock this up, then we’ll be ready to go.”

“Okay, Dad,” Kandria says, watching the clone trooper leave.

She wonders if she’ll ever see Jaunt again…or how she’d even know since he looks the same as all the others.

TECH

Kandria takes the distraction of her presence with her, leaving Tech’s hyperactive mind entirely to its own devices. He should be thinking about how to escape, how to bring Kandria with him. He should be thinking of his own survival; however, melancholy claims his thoughts instead.

Tech misses his data pad. He misses his goggles. He misses the structure of the war, the certainty of success, and the defying of failure. He misses his squad. He misses Hunter’s quiet leadership and Wrecker’s unconventional brilliance. He misses Echo’s hard won wisdom and Omega’s determined optimism. He misses Crosshair and hopes that they still search for him.

Do you ever cry, Tech?

And he thinks he might.

Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!

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talesofadragon · 9 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬

Synopsis: Receiving wind that Hydra has successfully managed to awaken another wave of winter soldiers, Captain America appoints his two best avengers, Bucky Barnes and Y/N Y/L/N, for the job. But aside from Bucky’s trepidation at reliving his worst memories, there’s something else rooting him in his place–the fear of inflicting harm on the woman he loves the most. Between her encouraging words and his violent past, what will happen when Y/N is forced to encounter her boyfriend’s alter ego?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

Warnings: Angst. Like seriously. Way too much angst.

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬 Masterlist | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒

𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 construct different iterations of the simple human notion of waking up.

It was primarily described as a flutter of eyelashes—a realm of white that greeted the senses before giving way to a cascade of other colors. Then, there were instances where it was tingling whispers and the slight pressures of one’s touch that evoked the need to open your eyes and welcome consciousness.

When she was young, Y/N tried to find the truth behind those saccharine descriptions. Time and time again, she’d wake up, but whether it was her natural instincts or someone calling for her consciousness, coming to was never as gentle as described. It was an instant action, her mind urging her to open her eyes.

Her lashes would barely flutter before she took in her surroundings. And contrary to the books, the thoughts of the night before never occurred to her. She barely even remembered which side of the bed she had slept on.

But, for some reason, today was different.

Waking up felt less urgent. It was like her body was in a state of purgatory, caught between wanting to indulge in the placidity of unconsciousness and the need to be free from its confines. For the first time, Y/N felt aware of her surroundings before her lashes had left each other’s embrace.

It started with steady thumps, like the ebb and flow of a river, but admittedly, a little sharper. It infiltrated her ears, causing a slight furrow in the middle of her brows. An involuntary twitch of her fingers forced the numbness in her arm to dissipate, the pads of her fingers brushing against soft sheets.

She heard a groan next. She felt it, to be precise, clawing against the walls of her own throat—impersonating the breath she was trying to release. This sensation was different from all the other times she’d woken up. Even when she had taken hits in the past as part of the Avengers Initiative, waking up didn’t feel this jarring.

“Y/N,” she heard a voice, soft and dulcet—juxtaposing the sound she’d released earlier. “Y/N, it’s Steve. Can you hear me, doll?”

Yes, she tried to say, but the word remained a fleeting thought.

The soft sheets beneath her shifted, the bed dipping down. A hand caressed her arm, tethering her to the moment. It wasn’t Steve, as far as she knew. The hand may have been scarred and the fingers calloused, but they still held the daintiness of a female’s hands.

The woman didn’t speak. She only traced Y/N’s forearm, coaxing her mind to wake. It was then that Y/N felt a shift in her surroundings. The touch wasn’t surface-level. It penetrated her cells, echoing within the nucleus of her atoms. The beeping sounds inundated her ears, assaulting her eardrums with their discordance.

The caresses persisted, trailing her entire arm, while the woman behind them spoke, “Y/N, sweetheart, calm down. You’re safe.”

Natasha. The realization hit Y/N with full force. Natasha and Steve were with her, surrounded by these jarring noises and what she predicted to be a sterile room from the scent that wafted around her.

Ever so slowly, her eyelids fluttered, lashes releasing themselves from their confines. It took four spaced blinks for her vision to clear, the haze giving way to the bright blue walls and the medical equipment.

Medical Bay was Y/N’s second thought. But try as she might, her head couldn’t wrap around her reason for being here. Instead, it focused on finding Steve and Natasha, each on one side of her bed.

Natasha smiled down softly at her. Her forest green eyes, which were calculating in nature, softened. “You gave us quite a fright.”

“We’re glad to have you back,” Steve added gently.

Y/N opened her mouth to reply, but she wasn’t sure she could get the words out with how scratchy her throat felt. Steve regarded her carefully, wasting no time reaching over her bedside table and pouring her a glass of water. She accepted the glass with a solemn nod, gulping down the liquid.

While the water wasn’t cold by a long shot, its temperature was cool enough to tame the scalding heat in Y/N’s throat.

“Thank you.” Thankfully, her voice was clearer now, although it didn’t rise above a low hum. “How long was I out?”

Steve and Natasha exchanged a quick look, the former fidgeting with his hands. Maybe it was the question, or the ones they knew would ultimately follow. But something about this whole ordeal weighed a lot heavier than Y/N anticipated.

“Almost three days,” Nataha relayed. Simple and straightforward as she always was.

Y/N took the answer at face value, her mind journeying back to the events she last remembered. It was a bit fuzzy, flashes of her last mission here and there. Fridgidness invaded her senses without prior notice as images of Antarctica filled her head.

Steve must’ve caught her tremors, possibly mistaking them for anxiousness. He carefully situated himself on the small hospital bed, his blue-green eyes calling for attention. “How much do you remember?”

“Not much,” Y/N admitted. It was like a mental wall had built up in her mind. Her senses seemed to be on overdrive. And for someone gifted with the power of emotional manipulation, she struggled greatly to rein them in.

“We had a mission in Antarctica. SHIELD gathered some intel about… about Hydra. Asked us to investigate.”

"The mission was a trap," Natasha stated with a sharp edge to her tone, casting a pointed glance at Steve. Y/N observed the tension between them Unlike him, Natasha didn't mince her words. "Hydra knew we were coming and set their enhanced soldiers on the loose. Unfortunately, you bore the brunt of it."

“Nat,” Steve reprimanded. His eyebrow arched, eyes wordlessly communicating his thoughts.

Natasha showed no signs of relenting. “What's your point?”

“She just regained consciousness.”

“Congratulations, Captain Obvious. But in case you haven't noticed, I'm already aware.”

Steve sighed, “Romanoff, I mean it. Let's not overwhelm her.”

“Coming from the one who started all of this.”

“I was giving her headnotes. Not the gory details you were seconds away from indulging her in.”

“Steve,” Y/N interjected, her tone reflecting her evident wishes.

Knowing he had lost this battle, Steve ruefully nodded. He shifted in his seat while Natasha leaned back on the bed as if offering Steve the floor to speak.

“The mission was meant to be recon,” he began, his words like ripping off a bandaid. He seemed eager to get it over with, to avoid prolonging the discomfort. His discomfort. “We were tasked with infiltrating a Hydra base to gather intel on their new program. SHIELD discovered they were developing enhanced soldiers, still in a dormant phase.”

A spark of recognition lit up in Y/N’s eyes. “The Winter Program,” she declared.

“Yes,” Steve confirmed, his voice tinged with regret. “That’s the one.”

He paused, uncertain whether to proceed or give Y/N space to remember. She wondered what had occurred during the mission to spur his hesitation. She tried to reach out to him, to soothe his compunction, but before she could command her powers, something stirred inside her.

Her powers. The reminder struck her like a crashing wave. Her hands involuntarily retreated to her sides, causing Natasha to jump in alarm. Y/N exchanged a worried glance with Steve, feeling the weight of her emotions swirling inside her.

“They took my powers. An agent from Hydra, Pavel! He took my powers, and he... James!” Y/N nearly bellowed her boyfriend’s name.

Her breathing turned shallow as her mind floundered with images from the last mission. She recalled the anxiety she had felt when she discovered the seventh pod. How her heart plummeted at the sight of the onyx engraving on the plaque—The Fist of Hydra. Her stomach churned at the thought, tears clouding her eyes as she remembered how Bucky had struggled to free himself from the invisible ward that kept him from her. How he fought against Pavel's orders to kill her.

“Barnes is fine, Y/N,” Natasha reassured her.

Y/N’s voice cracked. “I don’t remember.” A lonesome tear trailed down the length of her cheek, landing on her chapped lips. “I think he caught me after I fell? I remember a knife. But after that… after that, I don’t remember anything.”

It pained her to feel trapped in the darkness of uncertainty. No matter how much she urged herself to journey back, it was as if her brain was mired in the present, steadfastly refusing to be swayed. She could vividly recount the details of Pavel’s heinous face, the large scar that traversed down his right eye, and the upturned lips that were too sinister to forget. But that’s as far as her memory could take her.

Steve caressed her hair, his fingers soothingly pressing against her scalp while his thumb traced an arc behind her ear with the slightest bit of pressure. Her tears didn’t cease, yet her breath caught in her throat, a demure whimper almost escaping her lips.

James, she thought. James must’ve taught him that.

“There was static on the end of Bucky’s line. He picked up on it, talking slowly and clearly to let us know you both were in trouble. We rushed as fast as we could, but the soldiers fighting us slowed us down,” Steve explained.

Natasha nodded, adding with a voice so dulcet that no one outside the Avengers could have known she was capable of such gentleness. “He was scared, котенок. Asked you to run and hide from him. By the time we arrived at the lower levels, he was already chasing you.”

“The Hydra agent had a weapon which destabilized our powers,” Steve added. “Tony’s suit malfunctioned, and Clint’s arrows wavered from their original course. One accidentally hit Hulk, and he got so angry, he knocked down the vents.”

Y/N gasped, “I was in there.”

He stared down at his lap, wringing his fingers together. “You were.”

She recalled it then. Her memory wasn’t lucid by a long shot, but her mind paved an avenue and led her across its cobbled path. The way Bucky begged her to run, the silver tears that dimmed his electric blue eyes, and the disassociation he faced when the Winter Soldier clawed his way from the abyss to the surface of James’ consciousness.

“I told him I loved him,” Y/N admitted. The words were breathless, weightless on her tongue. “I—He tried to slit my throat, but I told him I loved him. He stopped.”

It could’ve been the senses that were now on overdrive, or it could’ve been the force behind the memory itself. But Y/N landed back on her pillow. Her body isolated itself from her surroundings, and her thoughts thrust her back to her past encounter with Bucky.

Pandemonium hailed around her. The screams of her teammates were deafening, and the fear that gripped her added its own touch of discordance.

Bucky was long gone. There was no sign of the man she had grown to love and understand.

Y/N felt like a deceiver as she stared down at death, molded in a steely knife and prophesied by a haunted soldier. Just hours before, she assured Bucky that everything would be alright—that they’d both find their way back home, safe and sound.

She knew Bucky would. There was no way in hell that Steve would allow him to lose himself one more second to Hydra. But how would he feel when he came to be and discovered the gravity of his actions?

‘I don’t want my own violent dispositions to threaten the home that I’ve built with you.’ It echoed in her head. The words he’d used when they addressed his insecurities and concerns about the mission.

A pained whimper followed the thought, and Y/N had a hard time wrapping her mind around it. Was it the memory of Bucky? Or was it the result of the soldier’s assault on her neck?

Bucky and the Soldat. She scoffed then, but was it audible? She didn’t know. He had tried to warn her, distinctly describing Hydra’s creation as a menace—a monster from the depths of history’s wintry tales.

But she refused to see him as such. She knew this reaction was triggered by his fears, not by a thirst for destruction or a penchant for mayhem. The weathered dominion that harbored his darkness was not his choice to inhabit. If only Y/N had her powers, she would have rescued him from it.

Her powers. The missing link. The catalyst that would alter the equation.

Y/N was never one for dependability. She never clung to her powers more than necessary, establishing an identity beyond their grasp. How pitiful did she feel then, having no means to survive but a set of implicit energy bestowed upon her for reasons unknown?

The soldier grunted then, the edge of his knife sinking beneath her skin. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that Y/N had been denied her powers, or else the pain would have been too crippling.

Maybe she died before the knife had even touched her. What kind of Avenger was she if she couldn’t survive a hit? As powerful as the Winter Soldier was said to be, was she truly so lamentable that she couldn’t fight her way outside of his grasp without manipulating his emotions?

Emotions. Emotions! That was it!

‘I’m convinced that even without your enhanced abilities, you would still be the only person able to influence my emotions.’

She cried at the memory. Bucky wasn’t fazed in the slightest, muscles rippling as he prepared to deliver the final blow. Y/N caught his wrist then, her knees digging into the dirtied ground.

"James," she implored, but not for the reasons he believed. Apathy marred his face, impatience unmistakably clear. "You’re good. You’re so good, James." He froze, his body still for a second. It was working. Y/N held onto that silver lining, wetting her lips as she hastily continued. "You don’t resemble these people. You’re James Barnes—my James Barnes. And my James is not a monster."

“прекрати.”

“I won’t stop. I can’t. You’re not theirs to control anymore. You don’t belong to them. You belong to yourself. And everything about you is so beautiful. Every part of you is worthy of love.” His knife dug deeper in warming, but Y/N didn’t relent even though her voice started to fade. “I’m not afraid of you. How can I be when I love you? I love you in all your nuances and dispositions. No matter who you are or who you think you ought to be, you'll always be my home.”

She repeated the words she had told him that day, syllables and vowels reverberating in the confined space between their rising chests. Bucky stilled, his frantic gaze hovering over her neck as if he was reining in his emotions and calling for every bit of control meshed in his veins.

His chest rose violently in contrast to Y/N’s shallow breaths. For the first time in a long while, their heartbeats didn’t match. He closed his eyes then, willing composure.

Bucky barred his teeth. He screamed, his fury bellowing across the base. Y/N closed her eyes, the sound assaulting her heart. There was a thud, a yelp, and a handful of chaos before the storm ended, and she found herself drifting against the silent shore.

"The weapon developed by Hydra was some kind of destabilizer. It served to hijack weaponry and intelligent systems. In your and Bucky’s case, it functioned as a neural stimulus."

“Emotional manipulation,” Y/N deduced.

Steve squeezed her hand. “They developed a formula that replicated your powers. When the discs attached, it subdued your abilities. As for Bucky, it had a different effect.”

“How so?”

“Shuri may have erased the trigger words from Bucky’s mind. But even she couldn’t mend his scars.”

Steve didn't continue, but the tension in his jaw and the sharpness in his voice conveyed what he didn't say.

“Is James back?” Y/N’s eyes were contoured silver as she quietly asked the question.

“No,” Natasha stated bluntly, her words piercing Y/N’s heart like daggers. “Not yet.”

“How so?” Y/N pressed further, watching the silent exchange between Steve and Natasha.

Natasha spoke first. “We're not entirely sure.” How unhelpful.

“You said something to him before you passed out,” Steve supplied. His shoulders hunched as he recalled the events of the days that had passed. “The only reason he went into Winter Soldier mode was the false environment that disc placed him in. But you altered his emotional response somehow. He charged at the Hydra agent and almost killed him had Tony and I not interfered.”

“What happened after?”

“He rushed to your side and stripped the top half of his suit to warm you up. You were bloody, bruised, and cold to the touch. He didn’t waste a second transporting you to the Quinjet.”

“James?” Wistfulness filled Y/N’s voice.

Steve’s lips thinned, extinguishing her hope. “More like Bucky and the Soldat.”

It was silent for a while, Y/N contemplating Steve’s words. She bit on her lower lip, concentration etched on her features. Eventually, she shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Both you and the Hydra agent manipulated Barnes’ emotional wireframe, almost at the same time. His two personalities clashed, bringing both of them to the forefront of his mind,” Natasha explained.

“Couldn’t no one fix this?” Y/N paused, fumbling with all of the questions she wanted to ask. “Not Bruce or Dr. Cho? Tony?”

Natasha offered a sympathetic smile. "They would have if he had allowed them to."

A surge of pain jolted through Y/N's mind, causing her to whimper involuntarily. She slumped back in her seat, arms shielding her eyes from the sudden onslaught. A burning sensation in her heart clashed with the prickling in her brain, intensifying her discomfort. Natasha and Steve stiffened beside her, clearly alarmed by her abrupt distress.

"Could you please give it to me like it is?" Y/N lowered her arms, her eyes reflecting raw irritation. "There's an excruciating pain in my head that even Dr. Cho's medications can't seem to alleviate. So, please. I'm barely holding onto enough energy to speak, and I can't keep demanding answers for three days’ worth of questions. What happened after I passed out?"

A tense silence followed her outburst. Despite her claim of exhaustion, Y/N delivered her impassioned plea without faltering. She narrowed her eyes at Natasha and Steve, silently willing her powers to extend beyond her body. While she typically refrained from such actions, reserving her powers for missions or with prior consent, the waiting was becoming unbearable.

Fortunately, the Super Soldier Serum did little to conceal emotions from her perception. However, what Y/N both appreciated and resented about it was its amplification of human emotions.

Pain, guilt, and anxiety flooded her senses, instantly discernible. She tugged at these emotions, using them to articulate her own discomfort.

Though Steve disapproved of her actions, evident in his hands-on-hips stance, he relented nonetheless. “Bucky wouldn’t allow anyone to touch you. He was feral. Unpredictable. The moment Bruce reached out to check your pulse, Bucky lunged at him. It took all of us to pry him off so Sam could examine you. You suffered a lot of injuries, Y/N. The twenty-hour flight was unbearable. And—”

Captain America was known for his resilience. It was widely recognized that even in the face of adversity, he would bend but never break. Yet, in this instance, that wasn’t the case. Steve clenched his fists, his teeth biting into his skin. Y/N’s own hands clutched the fibers of her hospital gown tightly. Through the emotional connection she had opened between herself and Steve, a wave of anguish swept over her. Raw and scorching, it consumed her from the inside out.

Steve, ever perceptive, noticed her distress. He let out a long breath, gently rubbing Y/N’s arms.

“I’m sorry, I–”

“It’s okay,” she reassured him. “I should have waited a while before using my powers.”

Steve nodded subtly, taking a full minute to compose himself before resuming. “You weren’t breathing, hanging onto life by a thread. You coded, Y/N. Twice. Bucky… he nearly tore the entire jet apart in a fit of rage. Your heart rate disconcerting, and every shallow breath you took was followed by Bucky’s wails or the Soldat’s furious cries. It went on like that for grueling hours, and I never wished more for Doctor Strange to be on speed dial.”

“We had Cho on speed dial, though,” Natasha added. Despite her composed tone, Y/N sensed an underlying tension. “She said you wouldn’t make it.”

“But I did.”

“By some miracle, you did,” Natasha smiled wearily.

It was hard to fathom how much could unfold in just three days. Skipping a day at SHIELD Academy seemed trivial compared to skipping a day in the life of the Avengers. Y/N's chest tightened as she drew in a deep breath. Tears welled up in her eyes this time, filled with her own sorrow and sadness. She reached out for Steve’s hand, seeking physical comfort. He gladly obliged.

“James?” she asked, her voice trembling with emotion. It was her final question, her last plea, before succumbing to her overwhelming emotions.

“Unconsolable.” So it was as she feared. “When Cho told us you wouldn’t make it, he almost pried the jet’s latch from its hinges. We… I had to knock him out. By some miracle, your body fought tooth and nail until we arrived and Cho put you in the cradle. When Bucky woke up, a part of him was still the Soldat. We tried to get him help, but he refused. Called it his retribution for your pain. Your pain and your absence were already leading him to the brink of insanity. So, if you wouldn’t be the one to bring him back, then he’d rather stay broken the way that he deserves to be.”

“His words?” Y/N asked. Steve nodded solemnly. “Where is he now?”

“Solitary confinement,” Natasha supplied.

“Why?”

“You already know.”

“Can I see him? Please?” Y/N implored.

Steve and Natasha understood that denying her request was not an option. They both relented, with Steve giving her hand one final squeeze and Natasha planting a kiss on the crown of her head. Moving in sync, they headed toward the door. Aware of their keen senses, Y/N didn’t care to hide her feelings any longer. They had barely crossed the threshold when she let out a piercing shriek, unleashing all of her pent-up emotions.

She could feel her restrained powers clawing at her soul, the agony and pain twisting within her muscles. Most of all, she sensed Bucky, confined in his cell, grappling with his demons. She cursed Hydra for their atrocities, past and present. And she reluctantly admitted that a part of her cursed her own abilities too because, just this once, Y/N wished she didn’t feel so deeply.

Hi witchlings! Ramadan Mubarak to all my fellow Muslims observing these blissful days! I'm sorry it took me so long to post this, but I was not in the right headspace to write. I hope I made it up with a nice angsty chapter. On a brighter note, this series is getting one more chapter before it's finished. I hope you're excited for it!🩷

All-Works Taglist: @xxrougefangxx

Bucky Barnes Taglist: @ye0nvibezzn @justafangir1

Series Taglist: @msoldier @kandis-mom @nobodycanknoww

: ̗̀➛Read Chapter 5 -TRUTHS - here!!

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #winter soldier!bucky #winter soldier relapse #winter soldier x y/n #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes angst

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