seraphicsage

[seraphicsage]

The Quiet Between The Screams

TW: Pregnancy, mentions of matricide, mentions of self-harm, dream murder

He touches your stomach as if he is checking you for a wound. No smile. No reverence. Just a palm, calloused and cool, pressing lightly against the small swelling beneath your ribs. As if something inside might break. As if he were expecting it to bite.

You can’t blame him. You haven’t felt human in weeks.

Your ladies gasp when he touches the small bump. They were worried about this, about letting him be around you when you were in such a vulnerable state.

The high chamber is silent. Outside, Giedi Prime howls with its usual industry—grinding gears, plasma drills, a sky carved open by chemical lightning. But in here, everything is still. No guards. No surveillance. Just you, and Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, and the child twisting quietly inside your womb.

"It kicked," he says.

You nod. You don’t correct him. You don't ask if he's pleased. You're not sure you want to know.

He pulls his hand back. He wipes it on his coat as if he had touched something unclean.

You close your robe.

He leaves in a hurry, and your ladies clamor around you. It has been this way for the past few weeks.

His behavior is strange.

It’s what haunts you as you sleep. How off-put he is by your distended body. You may not be sure if 'off-put' is the right word. Perhaps 'unsure,' 'hesitant,' or 'maybe wary' would be more accurate. All things that were not Feyd-Rautha. All things that haunted you in your dreams.

You were only at the beginning of the third month of your pregnancy. Barley a bump there feel. But you had been glad. This was what you were sent here for. Secure the bloodline and your future. It was the outcome of all of these noble marriages and should have been expected.

Except your husband seemed…surprised. Surprised by your pregnancy, astonished by your excitement, and shaken by the prospect of the future.

You were no fool. You did not expect the murderous Na-Baron to shower you with affection the way another might. Did not expect him to pat you on the head and say how proud he was of you. But you certainly had not expected him to run away from you. To avoid your form entirely.

You knew he had problems with his mother. That the friction there had led to her death. However, no one seemed to care enough about your safety to tell you why she was killed.

He moved you here, to this high chamber. Away from your marital bed, away from him. As if he could not stand the sight of you. The idea of. His visits are all like this. Short, lacking understanding, and a hurried exit.

If this were to continue, you wouldn’t be sure how long you would have left. How long your child would have without you.

***

That night, your hauntings change.

A boy who looks like Feyd in all ways except for his eyes smirks at you. He presses a dagger deep into your abdomen over and over again, with the ease of pulling a lever. With the care of cutting grass. He murders you. He smiles. And you can only be glad that he is healthy.

It's terrifying. But you cannot bring yourself to do anything but rub your belly soothingly when you wake alone in your new chambers. You could not abandon your child to such a fate. To be capable of such cruelty.

Your tears begin to well up in your eyes, warm as they roll down your cheeks. There is no one to comfort you tonight, only the darkness. Only the silence.

***

Dinner is the only thing that retains its normalcy. He stares at you with his usual interest. Always wondering what you choose to eat, where your taste buds linger. Tonight, he wonders why you are not drinking wine.

“Is it spoiled?”

You can only shake your head, exhaustion from another sleepless night clinging to your bones.

He hushes himself, watching you with wary eyes. You both continue in silence for moments more. But he cannot help his need for conversation.

"You’re quiet," he says over dinner, not looking up.

"You left a knife on my table."

"A gift."

You snort. "Of protection or permission?"

He glances up then. His eyes are the color of hunger.

"Both."

You mull it over, thinking of the short, blood-red blade that was left in the quiet of the night for you. It was silly that it brought you comfort. Because it could have only been left if he was watching you, waiting for those few hours you fell asleep to leave you your gift. A romantic gesture of the highest order from Feyd-Rautha.

And yet.

He doesn’t speak again for a long while. Then, as you reach for a piece of bread, his voice is low and curious.

“Do you think he’ll hate you?”

Your hand freezes mid-reach. You look up slowly.

“What?”

Feyd leans back, expression unreadable. “Our son. Will he hate you for bringing him into this world? Or will he save that for me?”

Your heart flutters at his curiosity, so much so that you nearly disregard his question.

“My goal is to make sure that he is happy. There is no reason he cannot be, even here.”

He snorts. “I’m happy. Would you have him be that way?”

You pause for a moment, meeting his eyes deeply so that he may understand your meaning. “I mean happy in the way that you make me.”

He cannot answer this because he cannot lie and say that he doesn’t understand it.

There were nights he spent curled into your stomach, simply listening to you breathe and to your heartbeat. A feeling he had not understood nor deemed necessary at the beginning of your courtship. Now, he cherished it in ways he refused to name. It had become a ritual, something primal and silent. And with your body changing, with the heartbeat no longer just yours, he did not know what part of the sound still belonged to you—and what belonged to the thing he helped create.

“You can try.”

You can’t help but grin.

He always did love issuing a challenge.

***

He stands at the foot of your bed, fists clenched and breath heavy. Under these lights, you see familiar dark rings around his eyes. He had also been losing sleep.

"She called me her redemption," he says finally. "Her clean slate."

"And?"

"I never asked to be her second chance."

“And you hated her for it?”

“Yes.”

Your lips roll into a line, unsatisfied with his reason, but you cannot argue with him because there is confusion in his eyes, too. As if he doesn’t know the reason why he is who he is.

“If he is like me, will you hate him?”

“I will love him.”

He comes closer and kneels near the side of your bed. He hesitates before he puts a hand on your belly.

“If he is like me,” you ask. “Will you love him?”

Contemplation settles across his face. And his hand this time snakes under the blanket, settling on the bare skin of your stomach. He rubs this time using his entire palm to feel the budding seed. The feeling of his calloused hand on your skin sends shivers down your spine.

“He will be mine.”

You chuckle. Perhaps that was better than love to him.

[seraphicsage]

shoutout to the color red

[seraphicsage]

I dunno. I think that what bugs me most is that, coming out of the Second World War, it felt like there was all of this talk about how humanity had learned its lesson and things would be better in the future and we would break the cycle of history and things like "Never Again" actually had meaning.

And now here we are. Again.

And again and again and again and again and again and again

[seraphicsage]

[seraphicsage]

btw being excessively nonconfrontational is NOT a positive trait. it does not mean u are “too nice” or just too kind to hurt people, it means u have a problem communicating and you need to work on it.

[seraphicsage]

It's impressive how Neil Gaiman vanished from the internet. Wish Rowling would do the same.

[seraphicsage]

I think every lesbian who says she wouldn't date a bi woman is functionally on the same wavelength as men who say they would only marry a virgin

[seraphicsage]

“they’re exes to me-“ not in a ‘i dont like this ship way’ but in a i think these two characters did feel deeply for each other for a while and the flame burned bright but i feel like it burnt out specifically for these two and i think breakup angst would be very interesting to watch, i also think that the way these characters think about each other very much sounds like there was love there but there just isnt anymore, its not about them doing something cute so they should kiss, its more about they did that cute thing because they have kissed before in the past. i can see why you think it would be endgame but they’re not that to me personally.

[seraphicsage]

[seraphicsage]

I think if they don’t say mols is phil she will crash out

Just stalked your blogs to get lore, why are you and mols so phan coded i love it

cause we’re chaotic and gay and people are wondering what the fuck we are? but... i have to know, who is who????

[seraphicsage]

stopppppp complaining about he/him lesbiansss omlll. who gives a fuckkkkkk who carrreesssss oh my GOD! get over yourself! bitch we have bigger issues! we are all queer how about that! stop fighting! let people be who they want to be who gives a fuck as long as they aren’t hurting people!!!!! let’s just connect over how our queerness makes us beautiful, if we can fucking connect we can feel a lot stronger as a community. labels are meant to help us all feel clarity in our identities, they aren’t meant to separate us. I LOVE QUEER PEOPLE, WE SHOULD ALL LOVE EACH OTHER BECAUSE THEN WE ARE HAPPIER AND ALL THAT LOVE GIVES US POWER. those fuckass politicians don’t give a fuck about he/him lesbians they just want ALL of us GONE. they want us to fight, we are giving them exactly what they want! so just shut the fuck up and love your queer siblings please! :)

[seraphicsage]

remember kids, the moral of "Irish and Italians weren't even considered White yet!" isn't "because in those times people were so ignorant they didn't think the Irish were white". the moral is "because white is an unreal category created to justify slavery and ongoing hoarding of power and wealth". It's not that you know better about Italians. It's that the boundaries of the higher caste have changed.

[seraphicsage]

[seraphicsage]

So… a… baby…?

i’m like if a sugar mommy was less of a mommy and more of a baby but NOT a sugar baby

[seraphicsage]

[seraphicsage]

Also if anyone has any other suggestions they think would work then do say please

Guys serious question, do we like that i’m a multifandom account with shit posting or should I change things up?

Please please please vote I want to make a writing comeback

[seraphicsage]

I'm sorry but it's way too sketchy to have to "sign up" for a protest. There's no reason you should have to give anyone your full name, email, phone number, and/or address in order to march in the streets. People are getting arrested left and right because cops have access to information that connects people to the protests they were at. If an organization is having people "sign up to join the fight," all the cops need to do is access that list.

Just go. Don't leave a fucking paper trail.