#Deficd

[godresembled]

@deficd asked ❝ if you would be so kind as to relieve me from having to witness a domestic spat ❞

Irulan was still too much the Bene Gesserit's tool, although perhaps not quite as much as she had been on their (equally unwanted) wedding day. Still attempting to use their tricks on him as if Jessica hadn't ensured that he could see right through them even without the spice.

It was a sign of his incomplete training that he had let his anger get the better of him during the council meeting and begun berating her. It was a sign of her carefully clipped training that she turned it into a continuing argument rather than turning it into a performance more beneficial for herself.

They'd at least had the sense to bring it somewhere more private. Or would have been more private, if not for the ghost that slithered around his throne.

If you would be so kind as to relieve me from having to witness a domestic spat.

The daggers they had been glaring at each other immediately turned to fly at Feyd, before Irulan huffed and turned slightly from both men without stepping away, clearly working through the Bene Gesserit relaxing technique.

"Shouldn't you be taking care of the rat problem?" Paul asked him flatly, knowing he ought to follow her example but finding it easier to redirect his ire instead.

[petitsdieu]

@deficd 's feyd-rautha : spotify wrapped: the exit by conan gray

❛ Feels like we had matching wounds. ❜

[cripplemagics]

4) slow sex while one or both are injured (bonus points if it’s after a battle or after they’ve patched up each other’s wounds) (( from feyd! ))

Injuries happen often enough that Aoi never thinks of it. However now that they're under Feyd's watch, his concern makes them aware of how unnatural it is. He's wrapped their wrist in a splint without a word. The same arm hangs in a sling made of his sash thanks to their hurt shoulder. Two dislocations from opening a paint pot wrong. An embarrassment beyond belief.

Yet now they're content. She sits on his lap warming his cock, unhurt arm slung over his shoulder. Every minute movement he makes causes her to shudder as he rubs her inner walls. "Feyd. . ." They moan. "Feyd, please. . .!" Their breath hitches as he shifts his weight in the armchair. Forehead pressed against his chest, she whimpers. The goal of keeping still appears to be drifting away. "Let me fucking move!"

[inn0cencestrained]

@deficd continued from x

There was nothing logical, or even fair, in her mind that demanded she knew what it was that made the greatly feared Feyd Rautha Harkonnen flinch like that scar could. She still remembered the first moment she ever asked about it and how quickly it sent him into a defensive attack. It wasn't her business and she was constantly repeating the mantra but the storyteller in her couldn't resist. She was a historian. At least that was what she told herself, and none of her reasonings had anything to do with a woman who simply cared.

It wasn't like Irulan couldn't take an assumption to what caused it. There were a few solid ideas she had in mind, yet all were simply just plots- never the story.

Everything, and nothing, inside of her wanted to know and so once more she asked.

Emerald eyes watch as he loosely stalks over to her, forcing the orbits to stay on Feyd and not on the marking. What did she want him to say? That was the million dollar question. What did she even want from this? What were she to even do with this information? She questioned all of it and yet it didn't stop her from responding.

"....Something real. I just want you to say something real and I will never bring it up again. I only ask because....because I see how much it cripples you. I see how you avoid it and try to shield it...and I just want you to know that whatever it is...you don't have to hide it in front of me anymore."

[hymnoire]

Kaeleena had always been a shadow, one birthed out of the decadent cruelty of Giedi Prime. The halls of the Harkonnen stronghold thrummed with whispers of power and terror, yet her name was never among them. But she wanted it to be. She craved it to be. The white swan wore the unspoken truth of her lineage beneath her skin, a secret etched into her very bones. Yes, she had always known she was of royal blood; her mother had made certain of that. Late at night, the woman whispered stories of Kaeleena's birth in secret. Kaeleena had loved her mother fiercely, even as she died too soon, crushed beneath the weight of a world that never acknowledged the worth and life of women with no names. She was a child then, left with nothing but grief and rage. The forgotten Harkonnen had spent every moment since sharpening herself into something new. A Doctor. Her intellect and resilience soon made her one of the best; however, she was never so devoted to curing as she was to the power in the eyes of her patients : eyes that gazed at her as if she were a god. After all, who but a god has the power to decide who heals, who doesn't, who lives and who dies? A deep cruelty was born from holding lives in her care. She became a tormented weapon of intellect, an intellect that stripped away her humanity and replaced it with obsessions, with greed. A greed for power. A power she managed to steal.

Decades had passed before Kaeleena finally stepped into the heart of the Baron's empire. From there, she would plan to make her bloodline—not his, hers—endure. They would remember her not as a shadow, not even as the inferno that consumed and reshaped the Harkonnen legacy. The Baron had tried to kill her—how dared she claim herself as one of them—but he simply couldn’t. How and why? That answer was hers alone, locked behind a sly, knowing smile from that one day they faced each other. How had she forced the Baron’s hand, made him see her potential? A deal had been struck. He would grant her the position she craved: not by ruling, but by marrying the heir. The arrangement was an insult at first, an attempt to bind her ambition to a spouse’s role. Ah, well. Kaeleena had not flinched. On the contrary, she had embraced it all, seeing it for what it was : a beautiful opportunity. Feyd-Rautha ( @deficd ), the sharpest blade in the Harkonnen arsenal, was to be her brother and groom. She had seen him in the arena, his ferocity and madness unrestrained. She saw the bloodlust that burned behind his gaze. She even imagined him slicing her head off the moment she became an inconvenience to him, and she smiled at the thought. Kaeleena waits in the grand atrium, where the silence is thick. The polished floor reflects the sharp edges of the fortress’s brutal architecture. She stands poised, her silhouette wrapped in black silk embroidered with gold accents, the fabric clinging to her figure like shadows caressing stone. Her hair is swept back, glinting like polished moonstone. The sound of steps echoes in the distance, growing heavier with each stride. She doesn’t turn to look; she doesn’t need to. She knows it is him. Feyd-Rautha, her blood and promised. She has been waiting for him, knowing they would cross paths here and now. "What is it, my Lord, that seeps beneath the skin and gnaws at the marrow of certainty? It bears no visage, yet watches unceasingly. It speaks in whispers, only in the solitude of your mind. It hungers for the warmth of blood and the stillness of power, and when night falls, it nestles within the abyss of your shadow, its embrace both suffocating and inescapable." A riddle. Her lips curve into a faint, knowing smile, the subtle gesture a contradiction of menace and grace. "It has been arranged for us to be formally introduced tomorrow," she says, her voice laced with chilling enthusiasm. "It would only be proper for us to meet beforehand... Brother Mine." She turns. Her gaze is steady, somewhere between soft and sinister, her tone almost tender as she adds, "Unless, of course, you would rather settle the matter here and now. Shall I bare my throat to you?" Her lips curl slightly, almost indulgently, as she tilts her head to expose the pale, vulnerable curve of her neck. "All the disgusting vile little dreams I’ve had about us begin like this," she murmurs, her voice both confession and taunt.

[unpossession]

Of course Wraith the Oracle is well aware of @deficd -- most Ethereals, Saults, European heroes in general are aware of each other in some capacity following their debut. Wraith remembers crossing paths with Aposynthos when she was around eighteen years old, but he went by Bloodbath then -- she likes the rebrand. It's a little more sophisticated in her opinion. Growing with your audience.

What she doesn't remember is all the awful things she saw when she shook his hand, her subsequent skittishness, the wide-eyed, near starstruck looks she'd given him. The almost-tears, barely held back.

"Hi there. I'm Wraith -- It's cool to be finally working with you." It's as if she's meeting him for the first time, this time. Wraith is cool, collected. Warm, though, as always. "I know Supertonic has been pushing for this for years."

[rejectory]

@deficd: “You’re just a body, made to be split open.”

A caterpillar of feeling wriggles down him. Finally seen

—and invited closer. He goes.

And Paul’s stiff, baby deer-legged anger is here as well. It’s only taken the courting of innumerable corpses. He must have cared about the sum of this one. Its execution, too. Tell him more of why it deserved double the attention to detail it got.

‘ No traitors. ’

Not to the cause of lies that keeps the Empersonator throned and the market therefore profitably in place; not, by far, to esteem. Prisoners of war. Biological refuse waiting to die in fear of lifting a finger against its circumstance. All well deserved, then.

A prison is in the mind. They’ve been relieved of the stress of everyday boredom.

‘ You should think, ’ Feyd-Rautha crushes a nailless slippery dead hand underboot, ‘ Emperor, if you want to conduct on my territory. ’

[vuulpecula]

✖ @deficd ❤'d for a starter !

“I ain’t arguin’, I’m just waitin’ for you to be done being wrong.” Fox smiled in her crooked way, offering out her half smoked cigarette as a peace offering. "That thing is just as dangerous as a gun, if not more." She nodded toward the bike again. There'd been more than enough accidents, more than enough pieces left behind on the highway, to help her win her argument. Once you saw how fragile a human body was, you didn't soon forget.

[godresembled]

@deficd asked ❝ rest ❞

Nearly everything Rey knew how to do, she'd taught herself. It had always been enough; trying to decipher the type of reports and things that she had to deal with while wrestling Palpatine for control over the galaxy had quickly proven that, in that arena at least, her own instruction had been lacking.

It was frustrating, and it felt like she was always so quick to anger lately already without something as tedious as the words on the screen in front of her. So wrapped up in it, and the headache threatening to form at her temple, she didn't notice Feyd's presence other than that odd calm that occasionally slid across their bond, and then a weight on her thigh.

Almost as if she'd done it a hundred times before, Rey brushed her knuckles along the side of his scalp before looking down at him, her brow furrowing.

"You can read." Bitten off, more of an insult than an observation. Of course he was well taught, by actual teachers and with plans for him to one day rule a planet. "You get to deal with the paperwork."

It made her feel a little better. Surely even if he could understand it all he couldn't enjoy it. Even a monster like him must hate the paperwork of ruling.

[petitsdieu]

🏆 🏆 🏆 (for three recs!)

꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ... 𝑆𝐻𝑂𝑈𝑇-𝑂𝑈𝑇𝑆 𝑜𝑓 𝐴𝑊𝐸-𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒.

A note to all three ... Although different in your own right, you all write like music. It's a privilege to read, a bigger one to be apart of your duets. So glad y'all found me. ʚ♡ɞ

🏆 ― 10/10 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔, 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑑

@nightmarefuele ... home of the true grit ... and somehow exceptionally a light beacon to me ... i mean c popped into my life at the right time and showed me there were still people out there that wrote things i loved to write, too. and not only that, she's always been so unapologetic about it. it's very inspiring. i've loved all her characters i've gotten a chance to interact with ... but there's a special place in my heart for the first. ren, an epitome case in taking the best parts of canon and growing it into something uniquely their own. that seems to be her tried and true recipe and if there's one thing to take away from her its that, folks. her writing is insanely beautiful. and i'm not just saying that because i think it pairs so lovely with mine ... which it does. it's gritty, dark, visceral chew ... and my brain chews it up, spits it out just to chew it up again. whether it's a line, a fragment of a line, a paragraph, a whole reply ... edible, always. she's one of the kindest people here. and one of my all time favorites i've ever gotten to met thru this hobby. some of my fav drool-worthy excerpts below!

🏆 ― 10/10 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔, 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑑

@deficd ... lee, literally ... and i really mean literally ... from the jump has been so overwhelmingly sweet and kind. they are easy to talk to ooc. and they're excellent in collaborative plotting and writing ... in most cases i like the equate to the ultimate writing partner as someone you're having a tennis match with ... they've KO'd me countless times when hitting back their reply ... but lee sits a shelve above ... our writing feeds off each other to create something so breathtakingly beautiful i could weep. there's never been a reply from them that hasn't left me in awe ... pure poetry. lee's ability to match my freak levels when it comes to romance writing takes a big, big swallow of hearts here. beauty in the disgust at its finest ... romantically, and otherwise. because i mean this fondly, they really know how to write something lovely gross. and to top it all off, lee knows how to be a little self indulgent and to have fun ... and that's really inspiring. flawless, yummy. some of my fav drool-worthy excerpts below!

🏆 ― 10/10 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔, 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑑

@crimlune ... corner to corner, blog to blog, miffy achieves a perfection ( by my opinion, so you can't deny me here ) every time. she has sucha impeccable eye for aesthetics. but what i adore about her the most is the way she writes. i love the way she can make angst so ... buttery, velvety, like it smooths all the way down as it hurts in a way that you don't just mind but prefer. and than her ability to write romance and sensuality in all its beautiful grotesque glory ... i've known few to get it ... its fun being able to go full out with her on it ... tho i think she could take the most mundane topic and make you fall in love with it. and i've adored our exploration through something entirely new on this blog ... brother/sister dynamic that isn't filled with hate and is ultimately heathy. always giddy to see her pop up in my activity. whether i'm writing with her or witnessing on the dash is an absolute treat. flawless, highly recommended, adore miffy to heaven and back. some of my fav drool-worthy excerpts below!

[nightmarefuele]

@deficd sent: i didn't remember, exactly. but my body did. (( kavra at ren ))

Remember?

The firmament's northmost hollows bloom the pinkest. The Ren had come and gone with the first snowfall, dragging down their pall from above. It matters little to their headmost what greater body was cut here, sluicing of the taiga a battlefield. What endures is only iodine, dust, and remnants from the infant fig of a sun; and this, only this, is lasting.

Until the next scourge comes and goes, and the sun dies again anew.

Ren's hand holds still. His silhouette a shape across whetted snow. He turns his visor'd thoughts to Kavra, waiting, as cherried blood and viscera cool.

Memory is transient, he concedes, and multifarious.

His hand smells of singed metal and memento mori. Only the quelled saber keeps it warm.

Your searching will end only when destroyed, or lain to rest.

Far ahead, her figure a hard slice atop hill, the Ren's Axis shifts her stance, remembering herself the destruction, and the rest.

[hunt-the-hare]

@deficd asked: ❛ your face shows you unwell. ❜ (( for holly from piter! )) from here

                Was    it    that    obvious    ??    Does    she    wear    her    emotions    on    her    face    that    obviously    ??    She    can't    help    it.    Her    father    had    always    adored    that    about    her.    He    didn't    know    what    it    was    like.    Dalton    was    an    expert    liar,    a    manipulator,    a    man    who    could    hide    his    emotions    well,    and    he    didn't    understand    that    it    was    indeed    needed    in    her    profession.    Well,    the    profession    she    wanted    to    be    in.    It's    a    good    thing    her    father    loves    her    enough    to    provide    for    her.

                It's    a    curse    to    be    this    visibly    uncomfortable.    With    any    mention    of    Glossu,    even    with    the    obvious    relief    she    has    when    he's    left    the    room,    and    the    surprise    that    comes    when    he's    not    demanding    she    follow.    Was    her    face    of    unease    that    obvious    ??

                "    No,    I'm    fine.    "    It    doesn't    take    a    Bene    Gesserit    to    know    she's    lying.

[summerxmelodies]

@deficd said - " you look like hell. " (( from dj, of course ))

“And who’s fault is that?” she complained, contemplating throwing something at his head. Instead she decided to nurse her hangover quietly or as quietly as possible with DJ around. He always complicated everything.

“Shouldn’t you be in some dark corner of the hospital tinkering with some busted old computer?” she asked after an awkward stretch of silence. Why was he even at her station? He always seemed to be around and like always she was torn on being happy about that or annoyed.

She just needed to own up to the fact that she liked him a lot, but his damn reputation always gave her pause.

“I am never doing karaoke with you again,” she complained.

[sweetbitterbitten]

@deficd didn't ask for a tipsy starter but, but i apparently think drunk kamila is a joy which should spread among the space populace.

she hates to say, but this is starting to get routine. when they have a good string of luck, or slip through fences and back out swiftly enough to beat the clock; a con pulled off with less cuts and bruises than previously collected. she drags them out drinking, so they can enjoy their vices and the delusion they are not entirely duds at this racket.

well, for her at least.

she's still rather new to ransacking the rule of law. it's still lily fresh to her, the exuberant joy of jackassery against the unjust. so, it's hardly surprising she ends up going a bit overboard - and even less, that her shipmate is serving as a late-night cabbie, yet again, despite the raggediness of his shoulder upholstery. at least this time it was just a jar or two more than was medically recommended for a junior rascal of her belligerence and body mass.

she wriggles, wormlike, weasle-ish and huffs, indignant; aggrieved. "you need to start stuffing that shoulder pad of yours if you are going to keep using it as a saturday night saddle. my skewered womb would very much like to stop screaming now, if it's all the same to you."

[vitalphenomena]

@deficd // vera

"Vera. I think you should stand behind me."

[rensect]

❛ there you are, my darling! ❜ (( for syrax, from agonia maybe while throwing something like a detonator idk ))

His upset is a tangible malice at odds with thermal heat. Maybe she enjoys watching him dance away from the impact, cat-scampering into a hollow; maybe she thinks he plays catch. 

Crouched alone above the smoke, Syrax is a flame unto himself, unstable kyber scorching the edges of its hilt. Simmering. 

'"Downright unromantic," he shouts from his pyre. "Show us a li'l 'preciation. Next time, make it—"

And ignites. 

"Fuckin' close range!" Banging the butt of his weapon against his person, his ribcage a war drum. "Close range! Fuck! I'll eat you fuckin' raw!"

Agonia has four inches on Syrax but not the four seconds she needs to spurn his advances. He rains from the ceiling, with flail unsheathed, a crashing stalagmite. Shatter impact. Body detonating body. They’re spidered together, limbs on limbs, thorax to thorax, midriffs united, his tooth in her cheekbone, her palm pinned by his flail, pocked by its incisors, incantation cupped in glove.

There you are. 

He stakes a blood claim under her eye with the fine-point tooth embedded in his helm, daring her tongue to loll. Let his fire spread over her—may she admire her burns in his grid. 

There you are. 

“Like this. Like this.”

@deficd