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#and more detailed thoughts are coming when I have more time
erwinsvow · 12 hours
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𝐫𝐜 - 𝟐:𝟏𝟏𝐩𝐦
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you slept at tannyhill every night now.
it was commonplace to see you making breakfast in the kitchen, by the pool with sarah or inside watching some silly movie with wheezie. that was only sometimes though, since all your time was usually spent with rafe.
he liked having you around at tannyhill all the time—he thought it was cute. you wait for him to get back like a little housewife, looking pretty and pampered and tan, like he wants.
he doesn’t like waking you up early when he’s leaving for the day. you used to set your alarm to get up and drink coffee with him but he’s started turning it off—you don’t have any reason to be up that early.
sweet and always compliant, you do as he says, sleeping in. rafe presses a kiss to your forehead in the morning before he leaves, day filled with meetings and business things that he doesn’t always tell you about in detail. you just know that he’s gone.
“stoppin’ by barry’s and then the club with kelce. we’re playing golf with-” you listen to rafe while he puts on his watch and his rings, but you drift off half way through. you feel the warm press of his lips on your skin and the sound of him saying goodbye.
you’re not sure when it happened—you used to get up early and get ready for the day, filling your summer days with friends at the beach and your books by the pool and never going more than an hour alone. but now that you’re with rafe, it’s so easy to sit around and wait for him. you don’t even want to see anyone, you just want the hours to pass until he’s back.
maybe it’s not healthy. you don’t really care much even if it’s not.
you fall back asleep, and wake up when the sun is pouring in between rafe’s dark curtains. you stretch and debate going downstairs to eat something, but after brushing your teeth you crawl back into rafe’s bed. the sheets smell like him and you stare awfully long at the pillow he sleeps on. shifting the pillow to lay on it, you fall back asleep, not waking up until you hear the door to his room open.
rubbing your eyes, you glance up, hoping it’s not ward looking for him since you’re just in one of rafe’s shirts and nothing else, but the shape in front of you gets closer and clearer.
“what’s this? been in bed all day, kid?” you yawn again.
“what time is it?” you question, laying back down against rafe’s pillow.
“two in the afternoon.” he comes and sits by the edge, stroking your hair while you melt into his touch. “got any plans to get up today?” you shake your head.
“your bed’s comfy. and it smells like you.”
“that’s cute, kid. gotta get up eventually.”
“you’ll have to make me.”
“that can be arranged.” you giggle, lifting yourself up to give rafe a hug, head resting on his shoulder. "but i like you like this. don't have to lift a finger, do'ya?"
“no," you agree, nodding your head. maybe you could get used to this. "missed you.”
“i’m back now. nothin’ to miss.”
“i still do.” rafe presses another kiss to your forehead, and you nestle in further. “i could fall asleep like this.”
“yeah, no.” in one motion he scoops you up, placing you on your feet. you yelp in surprise, fighting against his grip.
"i'm still tired! i thought you wanted to spoil me, this isn't spo-"
“shut up. c’mon, we’re gonna go shower.” that shuts you up right away. 
“okay,” you sing sweetly, suddenly compliant. 
“yeah, i knew you'd get out of bed for some dick. little freak.”
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sailorholly · 3 days
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Between Us Pt. 2
Summary: You and Spencer had a casual relationship. A misunderstanding ruins it all.
Pairing: Spencer Reid × F. BAU Reader
Warnings: Friends with benefits. Angst.
See My Masterlist Here
Part One
Tonight was the night you were going to confess your feelings to Spencer. You couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore, it was too painful. You were worried you would lose him when you told him, but you thought there was a good chance he felt the same.
You spent all afternoon cooking his favorite foods, planning for a night of cuddling and love making after you got the confession out of the way. When you were finished getting dressed, Spencer knocked on your door.
You invited him in, taking your seats at the table. You ate in silence, your nerves making your stomach hurt. “I have to tell you-“ “We should talk.” You spoke over each other. You smile, giggling with excitement. Spencer wanted to talk too. This is going so well.
“You go first.” You prompt him, smiling wide at him. “These past six months have been so fun. But I think our time together should come to an end.” You try to swallow the lump in your throat, willing yourself not to cry.
“I want to keep it professional at work. We can still be friends, we will just take the sex out of it.” He explains, studying your face. All you can do is nod as he rattles on about how the statistics of such a relationship show that the longer you did it, the harder it would be to end it.
You used to love hearing him spout a million facts about whatever topic he was talking about. But not tonight. “So what did you want to tell me?” He asks, serving himself more food. “Um, I was just going to tell you that book I ordered you came this morning. I thought you would be excited.” You rise from the table, retrieving the thick book from the counter and bringing it to Spencer.
“Thanks.” His smile breaks your heart. You can feel that your attempts to keep the tears at bay are failing. “Why don’t you take the food with you? I’m suddenly not feeling well.” You tell him, as you turn your back to get the lids for the bowls. You hand them to him, turning your back as the tears start to fall. “I’m going to lay down. Lock the door behind you.”
If he thought your sudden illness had anything to do with him, he didn’t act like it. Spencer was right about nothing changing. He was the exact same as he had always been with you, just without the sex.
Spencer was heartbroken. He didn’t want to end his sexual relationship with you. But he couldn’t put himself through the pain anymore. He spent all of his spare time with you. He couldn’t keep you off his mind. Things had changed a few months ago. He had bent the rules he set in place so he wouldn’t fall for you.
You had started spending the night and cuddling. Spencer had fallen fast and hard. But he couldn’t go through every day knowing you didn’t feel the same. So he had to end it, as painful as it was for him. It was no secret that you had been hooking up. But he didn’t want to talk about it with anyone.
Until two weeks after he called it off, he was so upset, he broke down and talked to Derek. He wanted to know all the details, but Spencer only told him the important information. “I have an easy fix for you, pretty boy.” Morgan smirked at him. Spencer leaned in, excited there was a solution.
“You know what they say, if you want to get over someone, get under someone else. You just have to sleep with someone and she will be the last thing you’re thinking of. Works for me every time.” Spencer cleared his throat. “Easy for you to say. I’m lucky she agreed to sleep with me. I’ll never find someone else so quickly, and I’m not sure I would want to.”
“I know someone who has been into you since she started here.” Derek boasts, nodding his head to the blonde at the coffee pot talking to Rossi. “Ashley?” Spencer squeaked, while Derek laughed.
Ashley Seaver was one coworker you could not get used to. She was impulsive, always throwing herself into trouble. You couldn’t stand her. Not only for how she acted on the field, but for how she looked at Spencer. She wanted him, and she didn’t care who knew it. She was all over him from the second she started working at the BAU.
She even knew that you and Spencer were hooking up, but she didn’t care. She used every opportunity to touch him or say something flirty, making eye contact with you the whole time she did it. Luckily, Spencer was oblivious. When you mentioned how she hung all over him, he said he didn’t even notice. He was too busy thinking about the case or the thing you did with your tongue the night before.
So you stopped being jealous. It wasn’t like you had any right to be. You and Spencer were just hooking up. If he wasn’t interested in her, then you would just let it go. The last time she tried anything had been a month ago. You were sick and she invited Spencer to go eat after work.
Spencer being the nice guy he is, accepted her offer. While they were out, he talked about you the whole time. She had told him to stop talking about you, that she was right there and she wanted whatever he was willing to give. He politely turned her down, but she was furious. She kept her distance from both of you since then.
That’s why you were confused when you heard her squealing and giggling, saying Spencer’s name as loudly as she could. You looked up from your mountainous stack of paperwork that you came in early to work on to see Spencer hugging her.
There was a vase of roses on her desk. “I can’t believe you got these for me! What a surprise! I knew you would come around!” She almost yelled, looking directly at you. Spencer took her hand in his, “I wanted to get you something before our date tonight, but I wasn’t sure I would have time to get them after work.” He explained shyly looking at her.
That little shit! Was he actually blushing? Was he seriously going on a date with Ashley tonight? And what is with the roses? He never once got you flowers. Did he call things off with you to date her? Seeing them together made you feel sick. Actually, the temperature felt like it rose a hundred degrees. You needed to get up now. You ran to the bathroom making it just in time to throw up.
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welcometomyoasis · 1 day
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To all the love letters I wrote but never sent | Xu Minghao
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Synopsis: what happens when your best friend, minghao, finds the secret stash of love letters you’ve been writing to him over the past few years?  Minghao x gn! reader | fluff, best friends to lovers | w.c | warnings: mention of a drug (minghao is said drug) | not proof read A/n: happy birthday @haecien! Idk, when i think of you i think of letters… can you tell?
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For years, you’ve been utterly and hopelessly in love with your best friend, Minghao. 
At first, you thought it was just a passing phase of infatuation. You know the one which happens when you begin to get a little too close to your best friend? It’s the time when you begin to sit a little closer to them, you begin to lean into them, share secrets with them, stare into their eyes as they talk and then watch as their eyes stare back intensely at you. Your mind starts to make weird connections that maybe these actions aren’t so platonic anymore? Maybe, just maybe there’s a spark between the two of you? 
You didn’t really bother to think too much about it, thinking that the phase would eventually run its course, that it would eventually pass. He’s your best friend after all. There’s going to be some level of connection or intense emotions shared between the two of you. It will pass, and then everything will go back to normal.
Oh you were so wrong. What you thought would be a simple passing phase of infatuation turned into a full blown crush, one which you could not control. Everything about Minghao was so infuriatingly intoxicating. You hated how attentive he was, you hated how pretty his eyes were, you hated the way he had with words, you hated all the details you noticed about Minghao because they only made you fall in love with him more. The more details you noticed about Minghao, the more time you spent with him, the more you wanted him, and the more you needed him. He was like a drug, one that you couldn’t get enough of. You lived off the high of being near him, all while hating the fact that he was yours, but not in the way you wanted. He was your best friend. Not, your boyfriend. 
You hid your feelings of course, behind a smile and the facade of a supportive, loving best friend, out of fear your feelings would change the friendship you held so dearly to your heart. You were scared your feelings would frighten him, chase him away. Because as much as the proximity between you and Minghao pained you, it gave you the pleasurable high you never ever wanted to come down from. 
But the pain of being near someone who you believed would not, and could not love you back was overwhelming. It began to consume you. You needed an outlet. You needed a way to write down all the feelings you had for Minghao, just in a way he would never find out. 
So, you settled on pouring your feelings out through letters. You guided your pen across the paper, letting the ink act as your messenger for the heartfelt words you longed to tell him. Whenever you felt like your feelings for Minghao were too much, you would write. You chuckled at how silly it was, writing letters to someone who was never supposed to receive them. Still, it must have worked because writing everything down helped to soothe the pain in your heart until it was only a dull ache. 
Months and years passed. Your stash of secret love letters seemed to only grow thicker with each passing day. And you swore to yourself that Minghao would never find out about the letters. 
Or, at least that was what you thought. Life always seemed to throw you unexpected curveballs, though, not all of them were bad. 
࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃 
“Y/n! Do you have my charger? I think I left it in your room the last time I was over!”
“You… Hao! You’re always leaving things over, maybe you should just move in! It should be in one of the drawers at my desk. Try the one on the bottom left!”
Snickering at your frustrated tone, Minghao walked over to your desk. His eyes scanned the books and sticky notes scattered across your desk. You would never change would you? You were always going to be that messy person he met on the first day of grade six in school. Well, that was just one of the many, many things he adored about you. 
Flushing at the thought, Minghao shook his head. He needed to find his charger to charge his dying phone, not charge the (definitely not platonic) feelings he had towards you that only seemed to grow stronger with each passing day. Crouching over your desk, he pulled the bottom left drawer open. He clicked his tongue once again when he saw his charger lying within a mess of twisted cords and wires. He picked it up, and shut the drawer. He was going to have to teach you the art of tying your wires together neatly, again. 
As Minghao was about to get up, a shiny box tucked beside your desk caught his eye. Pulling the box up with him, he lightly swept his hand across the top to remove the dust that had piled on there. He shook the box gently. What was in it? Since when did you have this box? Raising it to his eye level, he inspected the box closely. Noticing some writing at the bottom, he squinted. 
“To all the love letters I wrote but never sent”
Love letters? Slightly taken aback, Minghao almost dropped the box. He knew you were hopelessly pining after some guy for years. You had told him that. It pained him to know your heart belonged to someone else, but he always told you to go for it. You never know, maybe the guy you like liked you back. Somehow, you never did. Wanting to respect your boundaries, he never pushed you further than that. 
Minghao sighed. He should really put this back. This was obviously your private stash of love letters to the guy you were pining after. He gripped the box tightly at the thought of you hunched over, pouring your heart out on paper to someone that wasn’t him. His heart clenched. You’ve loved this guy for years, and he did want to know who this idiot was. Which idiot were you so afraid to confess to? Maybe it was Junhui, one of your other best friends. You two were close, and he knew Junhui had a small, tiny crush on you. Minghao growled a little, Junhui…. That little… The more he thought about it, the more annoyed he got. 
Minghao was torn. He really wanted to know who you loved. But no, he would never invade someone’s privacy and breach their trust like that. He would never do that to anyone, especially not to you. 
“Hao?”
Your voice broke Minghao out of his intense train of thought. Alarmed, Minghao peered up at you, “I’m sorry! I saw this shiny box! I didn’t open it though!”
You stared at the box in Minghao’s hands, wide eyed. He found it? Fidgeting on the spot, you bit your lip, trying to calm the hot flush that was rising quickly up your face. You knew Minghao was telling the truth, he wouldn’t open the box. It’s just the thought of him finding that box out of all the things you had littered around your room. It was embarrassing and horridly nerve wrecking.
Noticing your discomfort, Minghao spoke gently, “Y/n, I’m really sorry. I’ll put it back.”
Impulsively, you shook your head. Your brain was fried, your emotions were going into overdrive, but something inside told you that it was okay to let Minghao know. It was finally time for you to tell him. You loved him. 
You took a deep breath, “You can open it.”
“Y/n, you don’t have to… this is your personal box…”
“Hao. It’s okay. I want you to.”
Staring into your eyes intently to make sure it was really okay, you affirmed his wordless question with a slight nod. 
Minghao set the box on your desk, and gingerly opened the lid. Picking up the stack of letters gently, Minghao shuffled through them quickly, noticing how the date of each one went back further and further. He inhaled sharply. You must really love this guy… Setting his sights on one where the title was bolded and written larger than the rest, he pulled it out of its place between the rest of the pieces of paper.
He let his eyes run across the title.
I think I love him. 
He unfolded the letter, scanning through it quickly. 
I think I love him.  The way he laughs, it’s so melodious.  Like a harmony sung by the most prestigious choirs. 
I think I love him.  His eyes, the way he looks at me.  It brings out my inner most desires.
I think I love him.  It’s the little things he does like carry my bag, buy me a drink. Even the way he helps me tie my wires.
I think I love him.  Minghao, that’s his name.  I want him so badly but alas, what I want will never transpire. 
Minghao? That’s his name… He rereads the letter again, staring intensely at the line that his name is written. Him? The idiot he was talking about earlier… It was him? 
Minghao’s eyes widened in shock. You loved him.
As the realisation kicked in, a tiny glint in his eye appeared. You loved him. 
Letting a toothy grin spread across his face, he looked at you excitedly. 
You reeled back, slightly unsure as to why Minghao was acting in such an unMinghao-like manner. Why was he smiling? He literally just found out that the person you’ve been pining after for years was him. Shouldn’t he be creeped out? Yell at you? You’ve been writing about him for years…
“I LOVE YOU TOO!” Minghao exclaimed.
You stilled. What? Did you hear him wrongly… 
You chuckled nervously, “Hao? Say that again?”
Shaking his head, Minghao walked over to you in a few big strides. Shoving the letter right in your face, Minghao repeated himself, “I SAID, I LOVE YOU TOO!”
Watching Minghao’s bright eyes, his words finally began to sink in. You yelled, “WHAT? YOU’RE TELLING ME, WE COULD HAVE ALREADY BEEN DATING BY NOW?”
Minghao nodded, laughing at your reaction. That was what he loved so much about you. Your reactions were somehow always so perfect. 
Using his free hand to lift your hand in front of your face, Minghao intertwined your fingers. He placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “Yes, we could have… but it’s not too late to start? In fact, now that we both know, how about we ditch the work we were going to do and go on our very first date?”
Scrunching your nose and looking at Minghao adoringly, you replied with a kiss on his knuckles, “Of course. And you know. Just in case you didn’t already know. I love you. A lot.”
Minghao leaned towards you, “No, no, I know. But I think you’re going to need to rewrite the description of your box.”
“And what’s that?”
Clenching your hand a little tighter, Minghao replies with a smile, “To all the love letters I wrote but never sent, don’t worry because he got them anyway.”
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taglist: @weird-bookworm @wonijinjin @babyleostuff @wishing-fieshes @kwanienies @mayashu @megseungmin @porridgesblog @haecien @mirxzii @scoupsofcherries @eightlightstar @brownsugarbaybee @zaggprincess2 @nonononranghaee @hrts4hanniehae @treehouse-mouse @vcutparis
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sansaorgana · 2 days
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👀 Gale showing his wife just how much he missed her overseas?
hello, love! 😌 I've already written a smutty fic like that here so this time I went with a scenario of Buck coming back home and the emotional aspect of this situation since they haven't seen each other in almost two years 😳😭🥺
my inbox is open for blurb/short fic requests for major cleven 🤗
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When Buck was leaving his wife to go to Europe, he was planning to come back to her quickly after finishing his twenty five missions as fast as possible. Or he would die, which was also a possibility. But he certainly wasn’t planning to get shot down and end up in a German camp for the rest of the war.
Every day, week, month he spent there was filled with one thought only – lost time. All the time he was losing on surviving at all costs instead of living his life at home with his wife who was bravely and patiently waiting.
“Do you think they're still waiting for us? Our girls?” DeMarco asked one evening when they were playing cards and killing time.
“You’re asking as if you were so faithful yourself,” Bucky teased him. “Plenty of men back home hunting for the military wives.”
Buck shot him an angry glance for a second. He had been faithful to his wife. And he was sure she had been faithful to him, too. He wanted to be.
“Don’t look at me like that, Buck,” his friend pushed him playfully. “You guys have seen his wife?” He asked the others and they nodded in response. They all had seen a picture of Mrs. Cleven because Buck always kept it with him and occasionally stared at it with soppy puppy eyes. “What I’m saying is that I’m sure there are lots of men ‘round town who chase her,” Bucky explained.
“Thank you for clarifying,” Gale gritted his teeth.
“And she’s only a woman after all, we’re all humans with needs,” DeMarco joined the teasing. 
Buck stood up as the men looked up at him, confused.
“Come on, we are teasing,” Bucky grinned at him.
“I will not participate in this,” his friend sat on his bed instead and opened a book to read.
It was none of his business how his friends treated their wives and relationships but he was serious about his and he respected his wife more than anything. However, their jokes and teasing had planted a seed of insecurity in his mind. 
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When she held him for the first time after his return, it felt surreal. Her hands were so soft when they cupped his face, yet they squeezed him so tight that he felt like she would crush his organs. Gale couldn’t stop looking at her face, her sparkling eyes, her smile, every tiny wrinkle on her face, every little detail that he had forgotten already; that the black-and-white picture failed to capture.
He was back home but he felt like he was put in a glass jar. People’s voices sounded as if they were coming from another room. His wife’s hand squeezed his and it was the only thing grounding him. Even his own house felt odd and strange – he had remembered it differently. Now it was decorated with Welcome Home signs and filled with the neighbours patting his back and asking him millions of questions per minute.
So when they all left and he closed the door behind the last couple living down the street, Buck sighed with relief and turned around to face reality. The house was dark at this hour but there were dim lights turned on in every room on the ground floor. His wife was taking care of the dishes in the kitchen and he looked at his face in the mirror by the front door.
There were scars scattered all over his cheeks and he looked exhausted. But other than that, he was a lucky bastard who had gotten home safe and sound. Even if it had taken him much longer than expected.
Gale fixed his hair in the mirror and entered the kitchen, awkwardly leaning on the doorframe. It was his home but it didn’t feel like his space anymore. It was hers now – his wife’s. She was humming a song and washing the plates and cups with an apron put loosely over her cocktail dress.
“Where did you get a dress like that?” He asked softly and she turned around with a smile.
“Oh! You startled me for a second,” she gasped. “I’m not used to having someone creeping up on me like that,” she admitted and Buck approached her to start drying the freshly washed dishes with a cloth. He wanted to help in any way. “I bought it last week. Been saving money for something special for your return and since it took you so long to come back to me…” she chuckled nervously, “I saved quite a lot.”
“I’m sorry,” Buck blushed at her joke.
“No, baby, don’t be sorry. It was them Krauts who didn’t want to let you go, am I right?” She pushed his shoulder with hers and went back to washing the remaining cups. “If I was them, I wouldn’t want to let you go either,” she added.
She always tried to joke about almost anything, to turn everything into a situation worth laughing or at least smiling about. It was one of the things Buck adored her for.
They finished washing and drying the dishes and she took her apron off with a sigh.
“I’ll finish cleaning tomorrow,” she told him.
“I will do it. Tomorrow,” Buck told her and she smiled faintly at him.
“Come, sit on the porch with me,” she held his hand as if he was made of glass and led him outside. There was a wooden bench on the porch and a small light turned on, flowers in the pots and an ashtray.
“You smoke now?” Buck raised an eyebrow at his wife as he sat down.
“No, only sometimes. You see, I had women coming here in the evenings,” she explained and sat down next to him, “and we would sit here for hours just like that. And talk,” she added and laid her head on his shoulder.
He nearly flinched at that gesture. It was such a long time that he wasn’t used to affection anymore. Yet he craved more of it.
“I’m glad you weren’t lonely,” he whispered and put his arm around her.
“Oh, but I was… So awfully lonely,” she looked up at him and he looked down to meet her gaze. Her eyes filled with tears.
“My friends were teasing me that…” Buck swallowed thickly, “...that a woman like you… Well, that she’d be chased ‘round town by all the men here.”
He felt stupid admitting that and he knew that this sort of accusation would hurt her. But she didn’t look angry nor sad. She only chuckled.
“No men left, no,” she shook her head. “All the best ones were away or dead,” she hugged his chest and he sighed with relief. “And what about you, Major Cleven? Am I supposed to believe you’ve been faithful?”
“Not many women in a camp for the captive pilots, you know?” Buck rubbed her back.
“But I mean before that,” her finger played with one of the buttons of his shirt.
“You can ask Bucky if you don’t believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you,” she laughed. “You know, my friends teased me, too. They were saying there ain’t no way my man’s no cheater. But I knew you would never do that. I said, my Buck would rather die than look at another woman. And they all thought I was crazy,” she told him.
“You aren’t crazy,” Buck shook his head and leaned in to kiss the top of her head. “And you smell so nice. Is that a new perfume?”
“I didn’t use perfume,” she answered.
“Then it’s just you. You smell so nice,” he hummed to himself and buried his face in her hair.
She curled herself up in his arms and bit on her lip before asking in a shaky voice:
“Do you still love me?”
Gale’s heart skipped a beat as he looked down and raised her chin to make her look up.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you still love me?” She repeated the question and he took a deep breath in but she didn’t let him answer. “I know you think you do. And you had my picture but I am not that picture, Buck. I know you loved the picture and your little scenarios you were creating inside your head to keep yourself alive and I am not angry at you, not at all. But now when you’re back and when you see me, do you still love me or are you disappointed? Perhaps some part of you wishes I was that picture instead?” Her lower lip trembled as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I don’t know what to say, darling,” he admitted and wiped her cheeks with his thumbs. “But I can show you. Come,” he stood up gently and raised her up with him to lead her back inside and pick her up bridal style to carry her upstairs to their bedroom. Her bedroom. He hadn’t slept there for almost two years.
Buck switched the light on and laid his wife on the bed gently as she kicked her shoes off of her feet. He hovered over her on bed and joined their lips together in a sweet and gentle kiss as his fingertips caressed her jaw and neck.
“I missed you,” he whispered after breaking the kiss and looking deep into her eyes. “I missed the real you. That picture was never enough,” he assured her and she smiled at him before throwing her hands around his neck to pull him down for another kiss. Hers was more eager, though; it was hungry and sloppy and it encouraged him to roam his hands more freely all around her body.
“I’m scared,” she breathed out. “I’m scared that I’ve grown too used to being alone.”
“You’ll grow used to having me around again the same way. I’m not letting you go, sweetheart,” he bopped on her nose and she rolled her eyes with a chuckle.
“Buck Cleven, my hero,” her delicate hands cupped his cheeks and caressed the scars with her fingertips.
“I’m no hero,” he protested.
“To me you are,” she insisted and furrowed her brows. “You had to be in so much pain and I wish I could take at least some of it.”
“I would never want you to,” Buck kissed her wrist softly. “It would spoil all your sweetness.”
“Oh, it’s already spoiled. You haven’t seen me at my worst,” she confessed and he looked at her face, worryingly. “When I was going crazy without you here all alone. You’d send me to asylum if you saw.”
“I would not,” he assured her, seriously. “You haven’t seen me at my worst either. I don’t think you would like me like that,” he swallowed thickly as the horrific memories flashed in front of his eyes. “The things I did to come back to you…”
“Shh, I don’t have to know,” she pulled his face down and placed soft kisses upon his cheeks, nose and chin. “Unless you want to share it with me one day. But you don’t have to tell me anything, Buck.”
“I’m just so happy to be home,” he whispered almost inaudibly, their faces so close that their lips were touching.
“And I’m happy to have you back, baby,” she smiled and fixed his hair.
“Every breath was for you, every step, every bomb I dropped, every bullet I avoided, every day and every night. Just to come back to you,” he kept looking deep into her eyes. “I’m sorry it took so long.”
“Major Cleven,” she shook her head and rubbed her nose with his, “your wife would wait a million years for you, don’t you know…?”
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brailsthesmolgurl · 2 days
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Delirious
No matter how much you had offered your heart and arms to him, you were never his. And he was never yours.
Another oneshot requested by my angsty babies, I am glad you chose Rafayel. Yes, the writer you had wished for is back. Hang on tight to your seats baby gurl, this one gonna be hard to swallow.
Warnings: Angst, no comfort. Make your eyes bleed. Character death. Descriptive Mentions of dark topics so if ur sensitive please refrain.
Artwork is not mine, please support the original artwork!
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Ding Dong. Ding Dong. Ding Dong. dINg dOng. DiNg dOnG.
You slammed your door opened and the 183cm drama queen stands in your doorway, head hung low, face drooped towards the floor. If he is not made of solid muscle and bones, you would be watching him melting right into the floor. Sighing, you stood aside and let him in, not even bothering to ask him a single question. You sort of having a gist on what had happened.
"Here, soup for you." He replied solemnly, feet carrying him lazily across the living room and to your kitchen. He brought soup this time, must be something big. Him bringing a souvenir over also means he would probably be staying the night. Not that you guys are in a relationship or anything, but 'complicated' is the right term for the both of you as of this stage.
The chair creaked under his weight as he took a seat on the wooden chair slotted at your dining table. "Rafayel." You grabbed a tissue box and sat down on the opposite end, a good necessity whenever he drops by your house unannounced. His hunched over form under the harsh lighting of your dining room's light unexpectedly painted a blob of shadow on your table. You reached your hand out this time, finger tapped on the wooden table just a few centimeters away from his hand. "Rafayel, are you okay?"
"She broke up with me." His reply was short. No details, no whining, no accusations, but just one sentence. This is an untouched territory for you. Most of the time, he would pressed on the doorbell nonstop until you slam open the door and his lips would not shut off till he was done venting. There were a couple of times he did came in looking like a dreaded fish, but the smell of alcohol would be the perfume of his. Today, however, no alcohol smell and no usual harangues.
.⋆。⋆☂˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆.
Few days passed, till few weeks, then few months after. For such a while, Rafayel had been hanging out more frequently with you, bringing you to the most random places to hang out such as going to a bowling alley just to get their waffles because he claims he likes to watch people roll balls but he also likes the waffles there. A trip to the market only to buy crabs and releasing them into the backyard to watch which one could run the fastest then the winner shall be rewarded as dinner on the dining table.
He had never been weirder than ever, but maybe this is his way of coping and who are you to judge? You had never been in love. But reading through romance books and watching all of the romantic shows, when love comes to your mind, Rafayel comes to your mind. You thought, maybe you do love him?
"Get out." Your words were final. Index finger sliced through the air and pointed straight towards your front door. Your cheeks glistened under the reflecting light casted by the television that was playing a teen romance flick. But no attention was spared for the movie anymore. "Rafayel. GET. OUT."
"What do you mean?" Eyebrows sewn together, eyeing your expression that spelled hurt. He was confused about your sudden burst of anger. "All I did was talk about the movie. And you got mad at me all of a sudden."
"You did not talk about the movie. All you did, was compared me to her, with the context of the movie." Your nostrils flared, tears stinging at the back of your eyes as if you had inhaled poison. Your throat and chest tightening further the more you held your tears in. "You lied to me. You said you got over her." Your arm fell to your sides, voice feeble. "But, why do you always find the need to compare me to her?"
"Oh spare me, I just went through a breakup, I could use the space to let loose, can't I?" His ignorance egged you on, seeing how indifferent he is about this situation. "Furthermore, I could use the---"
"And you think it's okay to play with my feelings?!" You belted, eyes welled up with tears, blurring your vision. You stepped up to him, hands pointed towards his face this time and you seethed in anger. "You, came here everytime, when she broke your heart. And out of everytime, I stayed. I waited." Your voice started cracking. "I was there for you when you had nobody else. And I picked you up when you thought you could not live without her anymore."
"Well, you could have just left if you---" He chipped in and you slapped him across his face with your palm. Although your hands are small, but it packed enough of a force to cause his cheek to ache, an uncomfortable throbbing pain following afterwards. He left his head tilted to the side, taking in the reality of what had happened. He just got slapped by a girl. Never in his life, he thought he would do something so outrageous that he would get slapped across the face. Guess he just broke his streak of not getting slapped by women.
"I WAS IN LOVE WITH YOU, CAN'T YOU TELL?!" You withdrew your hands and slid onto the floor, full on sobbing as you hugged onto your body to gain warmth for yourself. All of the blood had rushed up to your head which explains why you could not feel your legs anymore, hence the position on the floor. You desperately hoped Rafayel would grab you right now, and hug you tight within his arms.
You heard hurried shuffles, sound of keys jangling and a soft thud next to you. Those noises not tending to your curiosity at all. "I am sorry." His reply was bland, numb even. A sentence for remorse, also a sentence for a goodbye. The doors closed behind you and you were left alone, a forlorn soul basked within the lights emitted from the romance show. Silent sobs overheard by the moon that was peeking in through the windows of your sky roof.
.⋆。⋆☂˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆.
"Rafayel!" Thomas burst in the front doors, scurrying towards Rafayel's room at full speed after spotting the empty canvas sitting at the living room. Slamming the door that leads to Rafayel's room, the artist was sprawled out on the bed, his room so cold that Thomas could have just witnessed the North Pole without having to be there. The floor was surrounded in trash, papers crumpled up, pencils of all kinds used for sketching strewn across the floor. One may call it an organised mess, but Thomas calls this artist block.
"How long have you been in this room?!" Thomas shook Rafayel's shoulders to wake him up. "Your room is as cold as the cold storage that you use to store your seafood!" Thomas wasted no time in having to collect the pieces of papers and pencils on the floor, arranging them in his hand. "Why are you not done with---"
His nag came to a halt when Rafayel had sat up straight, back hunched over and eye bags the only colour present on his pale features. "What do you want?" Even his voice sounds hoarse, like a teen boy cycling through the age of puberty. "I do not wish to be disturbed."
"Your calls, as usual, went unanswered for the past few days so I helped myself by going over to ask y/n about your whereabouts because I thought you were staying with her pretty often these days." Placing the items onto the artist's white desk, Thomas turned to study his expression, his arms crossed over his chest.
"I know that look from somewhere." He squinted his eyes, studying him even further. "You had that same look when you caught your ex cheating on you that night." Thomas was referring to the girl that came before you. The one that had broke Rafayel's fragile heart. "Funny, now that I think of it, y/n's not doing any better than you."
Coming to realisation, the light bulb in Thomas' head flipped the switch. "Did anything happened to the both of you?"
"Did she asked anything about me?" Rafayel answered his question with another question. Eyes finally slanted upwards to face the manager of his. He just wanted to hear something, at least something to give him a reason to find her. He felt guilty, remorseful even for putting his burdens onto her. Leaving her all alone, drowning her in her own agony that day was the worse thing he could ever do to someone who had only ever been kind to him. And it took him three days to figure that out in his fish brain.
"No, she just asked me to hand you this." The older man reached into the pocket of his blazer, fishing a pink note out of his pocket and he handed it to Rafayel. The paper a little wrinkled, but the contents of it are a mark of your handwriting.
//𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓈 𝐼 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝒹.// Your cursive writing always a form of art to his eyes. A small, dainty note was all that takes for her to personally pass on the will to him. Rafayel stared at the note for a good minute, the wind coming out of the air-conditioner turning Thomas into a popsicle but filling the silence.
"I have to go." Rafayel uttered, hoisting himself out of the bed in one go and he threw on his dark pistachio green open collared shirt. The one you always quipped about how healthy his skin tone looks in it but with him constantly bantering that the green was a direct insult to his hair and eye colour. Just for this time, he would smother his ego, put on your favourite outfit, and head over to find you.
.⋆。⋆☂˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆.
The keys he held onto, the same set of extra keys you had entrusted him with, slotted into the keyhole and turning it clockwise, a 'clack' could be heard and he opened the door with the twist of the copper-painted doorknob. The balcony's sliding door remained opened, the sheer white curtains danced to the rhythm of the wind. The lights in your house were dimly lit, providing Rafayel with just enough lighting to navigate himself towards your room.
At this timing, in the middle of the night, he tiptoed through your wooden floors, afraid even the smallest of creaks would give you the spooks. He twisted the doorknob to your door but it jammed halfway. Trying again, with a bit more exerted force this time, the door remained unbudgable. "Y/N...?" He called out for your name, using his knuckle to give a light knock on your door. "It's me Rafayel. Can we talk?"
He was met with a deafening silence. Of course you would not want him to be anywhere near you, be it to hear him apologise for his stupidity or for him to comfort you within his arms. He bet you could care less about him given the last stunt he had pulled on you. He grappled for his phone, pulling out of his pant's back pocket and he turned on the screen, the light on his phone screen puts the dim lightings to shame.
He scrolled through his phone book till he stopped at your name, a heart symbol edited in next to your name. It was not just a stunt for him to catch your attention, the heart emoji has always been there, but after you had taken him in and allowed him to stay with you for a couple of weeks, the heart started making more sense to him, but poor Rafayel couldn’t distinguish what is love and what is bare attraction. If he could get to talk to you this time, then maybe the heart would mean the world to him. Maybe, maybe this time, he will not mess his speech up and break your heart again.
The phone was set to dial mode and he pressed onto the green call button, ready to receive shoutings from the other side of the room. Your ringtone rang, the stupid song for the Toothless Meme played on rewind. Did you slept a bit too well maybe? He called again, and the same scenario happened.
His heart was hit with a sudden pang of fear. You had always been a light sleeper and noticing the obnoxiously loud ringtone not even waking you up for the slightest bit, he decided to take a step back and bust down the door with his shoulder. Luckily, just with one hard nudge of his broad shoulders, the door dislodged itself.
So does his heart. Your whole room was thrashed, filled with the pink notes that you had given to Thomas earlier. Some were torn, some were sheathed, some had scribbles all over it, all of the notes littered with handwritten notes beyond his comprehension. Rafayel watched you, held up vertically, legs far from touching the ground, a noose was the only thing connecting you towards the ceiling. "Y/N!" He ran up to you and grabbed you, his lanky legs kicking all of the notes out of his way. "Y/N!"
A short burst of flames from his fingers burnt the noose and you fell to the floor. Your face a shade match to the moon that was sitting outside. Rafayel's hands fumbled with his phone, calling the emergency hotline as soon as he could. Strings of curses coming out of his mouth afterwards when he asked for help to be deployed to your location as soon as possible.
While awaiting for the ambulance, Rafayel did CPR, or at least what he could remember from the lesson he had taken years ago. Pumping steadily to a rhythm, blowing air through your mouth to hopefully deliver air to your lungs. The sirens of the ambulances huddled outside of your condominium, the blue and red lights adding on a speck of neon to the monotonous night.
"Stay with me please. Please stay with me y/n." Rafayel held you in his arms, your ice cold skin prickled against his warmth. His tears fell down his cheeks and continued its trail down your already tear-stricken face. He never thought his ruse would cause you this much damage. He thought that you could be the end to his delirium, and the start to his new reality.
The paramedics that arrived on the scene stood aimlessly at the door frame, watching the broken man in front of them, amidst the thrashed room, holding onto a lifeless body of a woman who seemingly cried herself to death.
.⋆。⋆☂˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆.
Angsty af, this piece is part and partial of my experience as I had once struggled with my mental health before, and it was also due to a shitty ex. But I am doing much better now, and writing this brings back those shitty feels that I used to have, but also reminded me of how much more happier and stronger I am now, and that I am not choosing death because of my ex! :)
But if any of you, do have issues with mental health, please do seek for reliable help. As cliche as it sounds, life is not at all bad if you have people that are supportive of your recovery journey. If you needed someone to rant to, my dms are always open <3.
I do not wish harm for any of my readers, and I want you guys to know that just as much as ur supporting my works, I want to be there to support you if you have any hardships in life as well. Just know that you are loved, and I love you <3.
Sincerely, Brails.
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swordyarts · 2 days
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(last ask for a while bc I feel like I'm nagging you sorryy)
I thought road wiz was like an scp, and now we have hazard monster.
Anyway I wonder how either of them would react to being treated like scps? Hazard would be a keter for sure.
Also if you made a road wiz plush I'd 100% buy it I love him sm
got carried away my bad
The Road Wiz
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Item# : SCP-████
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: Contained within a Standard Secure Humanoid Containment Cell in ██████, Sector-██ at Site-██. SCP-████ will often teleport out of their containment cell for an unprecedented amount of time before teleporting back. They are allowed to freely walk around the foundation as their skills and “magic” are very useful in securing anomalies, reducing injuries and casualties, and dealing with containment breaches.
Description: A humanoid entity (hard to distinguish if SCP-████ is a human or some other entity due to their hat and scarf obscuring facial view. Request to remove hat was met with opposition) wearing a hat resembling an orange traffic cone with one big and small white, reflective stripes, an orange safety vest with a long cloak attached from the backend, a yellow and black safety coverall, and long black leather and rubber gloves and boots.
SCP-████ is also in possession of a long black staff with a ring on the tip of unknown material. This staff is able to produced anomalous properties which can be better described as “magic.” Their “magic” seems to be a parody of signs, spells being correlated by the top of their staff in a hologram visual. One example being the staff projecting a deer sign when generating a glowing holographic version with mass of any of the Cervidae family.
Addendum 1: Discovery
SCP-████ was first captured near American state highway ██. The foundation was alerted when nearby police claimed that quote, “a portal just f█cking opened in the middle of the lobby where then a weirdly dressed guy wearing a cone on their head kicked a guy through saying to arrest him for drunk driving.” All personnel in the police station were given Class A amnestics. Foundation personnel were then deployed to the last place SCP-████ was spotted. Foundation were able to find SCP-████ feeding some stray dogs under American state highway ██. SCP-████ willingly agreed to come with the foundation for questioning.
Addendum 2: Interview
The following interview was conducted by Dr. Richards
Dr. Richards: Good afternoon SCP-████, I hope you’re feeling comfortable right now.
SCP-████: No, no, I’m fine thank you. Though I would prefer if you addressed me by “Road Wizard” or just “Wiz.” SCP-████ sounds a bit degrading.
Dr. Richards: …Noted. Anyways the foundation would like to ask you questions regarding your… job.
SCP-████: My job! Well you see Dr., as my name suggests, I am a wizard. My job is simply to keep everyone safe and responsible. The world is a very dangerous place, you SCP foundation folks would know that better than anyone about that fact!
Dr. Richards: You know of the SCP foundation?
SCP-████: Of course I do! Very big fan of your work! Trying to keep the everyone safe from all these dangerous anomalies. Kudos to you guys, kudos!
Dr. Richards: Uh, thank you? Anyways, can you detail how you usually preform your job, or keep people “safe?”
SCP-████: Uh… I guess lecturing people on the rules and importance of road rules, filling up potholes, sticking reflective poles near edges, stuff like that. Pretty mundane huh?
Dr. Richards: What about your staff? What do you use that for?
SCP-████: Oh my staff! Well, I use it to channel my magic for the more dangerous part of my job. Magic can be real dandy in a rock slide.
Dr. Richards: I see.
Room is silent as Dr. Richard pauses to write notes.
Dr. Richards: *coughs* Um, SCP- sorry, Road Wizard. If you don’t mind me asking, I know you dub yourself as the “Road Wizard,” but is that the only safety concern you have? Or are there others like you that specialize in other hazards?
SCP-████: Funny you should ask that Dr., my real name’s actually the Safety Wizard. I just go with road because America has a crap ton of cars you know? And no, there's no one else like me so far that I know of.
Dr. Richards: So do you specialize in anything else then?
SCP-████: Sure I do! Let me just-
SCP-████ then manifests their staff from their hand which starts to emit a blue glow. A train sign then projects at the tip.
SCP-████’s outfit then suddenly shifts into a mock version of a steam engine engineer of their outfit, complete with a cap, denim overalls, vest-cloak and a yellow and black striped bandana.
SCP-████: Trains! Guess you could say I’ve become the “Rail Wizard!”
Silence.
SCP-████: Haha, sorry. There are other specialities too, but it’d probably take a while to show you all of them.
Dr. Richards: So are you able to switch forms like that?
SCP-████: That’s right miss! It’s very important to be dressed proper for any job!
SCP-████’s staff projects a car sign and outfit returns to previous description.
SCP-████: So any other questions for me Dr.? I’d love to stay and chat, but I need to be going soon.
Dr. Richards: SCP- I mean Road Wizard, you are aware that we can’t just let you go out.
SCP-████: I understand your concerns Dr., seeing what kind of place you guys run. But believe me, I’m not a dangerous guy! And it’s not like you folks can keep me in here anyways.
Dr. Richards: What do you mean by that?
SCP-████: Oh nothing. Anyways, it was nice chatting with you Dr. Richards, but I really must be on my way. See you later!
Dr. Richards: Hey, wait!
*SCP-████’s staff projects a Two Way Traffic sign and a glowing, yellow portal appeared to the right of SCP-████. SCP-████ then enters through the portal which disappears.
[END LOG]
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The Hazard Monster
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Item# : SCP-█████
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-█████ should be contained within a 5 m x 5 m x 5 m chamber of reinforced concrete. Door and windows should be tightly sealed to prevent SCP-█████ from escaping through any cracks.
Description: SCP-█████ is an amorphous, black blob which can change its mass, texture, shape, and composition through anomalous means. SCP-█████’s face appears to be an NFPA 704 Diamond symbol. Each section of diamond can open up to reveal a set of teeth or eyes (amount varies). SCP-█████ normally uses its anomalous abilities to inflict injuries on people. The relationship between SCP-████, or as they dubbed themself, the Road Wizard, is very negative.
Addendum 1: Discovery
Foundation was first alerted of SCP-█████ when reports of multiple incidents were reported by the people in the town of █████████. Residents were reported being injured by a black shapeshifting blob. Foundation, with the help of the Road Wizard, were able to track down SCP-██████ and capture it. All town residents were given Class A amnestics.
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Text
To hunt or be hunted #4
Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader x Lucifer Summary: Truth unveiled, Alastor being unusually touchy, Lucifer being himself. Warnings: Mentions of child death.
Hazbin Taglist: @sakuraluna2468 @boogiemansbitch @mysterypotatoink
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One year and seven months left. You reminded yourself while watching the black snake tattoo that slowly made its way up your arm, soon it would reach your heart and all would be over.
“Ten years, you work for me at my Hotel, and if I can’t manage to convince you to find something good to do with yourself, I’ll set you free” Charlie’s voice resonated in your head, it made no sense, but the true meaning of the deal was that if she could manage to help you find a reason to continue living, you would have a permanent home at the hotel.
If she couldn’t, you would have your soul back, and then the snake takes care of ending your suffering.
A swarming of feelings and thoughts came from thinking about the countdown, “It’s probably the best” who was going to miss you anyways? No one did back at the living world, your daughter died post-partum, your husband had died because of his sins, most of your friends at the time flew overseas looking for a better life, and there was no family left to mourn you.
Still isn’t.
Your father and your husband were most likely around in hell somewhere, in a hundred years you haven’t bothered to check, probably ended up repeating the same pattern: Gambling, debts, death.
May was a dreadful month, Mother’s day, your daughter’s birth and death anniversary, and just by the end of it, your birthday. Turning 40 is bad, but imagine turning 140 years old, that is worse.
You died at 35 years old in the 1920’s, since that to now it’s been 104 years, plus your age at the time 139, now turning 140. “It’s a blessing that I stayed looking the age I died in, otherwise I would be looking worse” you outlined your hips with your hands while straightening the leather straps around your waist.
‘Y/n, can you come to the parlor please?’ you heard Charlie speak through. You immediately knew what was going to happen, giving that it was nine Am sharp, and you weren’t summoned to make breakfast.
She either told them, or Angel was going to be fried alive.
Just as you guessed, there was Charlie in front of the fireplace, as the rest, except Alastor, looked rather hurt and shocked, specially Lucifer and Vaggie.
“You called?” the smoke cleared, making yourself appear sitting on the couch next to Charlie. A gasp found its way out of Vaggie’s throat before anyone could say anything. The angel collected her thoughts and then she was able to speak.
“Charlie, what the fuck is the AXE-MAN DOING IN THE HOTEL!” Vaggie didn’t doubted a second to stand before her with the spear pointing at you, “She’s the chef of the Hotel” Charlie smiled weakly, trying her best to stay collected. “Since when?” the feline bartender asked, not minding your presence very much.
“Before it started actually, eight years now?” she turned to you for confirmation, which you nodded affirmatively. “And you hid this, because…?” Angel’s turn to ask. Charlie was in shambles trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t raise more questions, but failed, so you interceded.
“We made a deal; we don’t need to disclose the details, but it made her feel guilty” she shot you an unamused look before turning to her partner, her hand softly tracing the outline of her cheek.
“How come you got angry at me for lying to you, but you keep this kind of secret, honey?” ‘Oh hell no’ master or not, you weren’t going to allow that girl to talk to her (or anyone) like that.
“Hey now, whether she wanted to tell you or not it’s my and her business, but you hid the fact that you are an angel, worse than that a murderer, and no better than us sinners, so don’t act all hurt because now you two are even” your eyes lit up as the staring began to feel more lie a threat towards the fallen angel.
“You knew?” she diminished the distance between her spear and your neck, not earning a single flinch on your part, “One piece of advice, your golden blood leaves a trail, and the stench is very… specific, those like me that are used to blood can tell the difference” Alastor nodded in agreement.
“Why didn’t you tell me” Charlie sounded suspicions not hurt, to no one’s surprise really, “Last thing I knew I was a chef, not the gossip press” you took a look back to Vaggie, using a finger to lower the spear with zero effort, “Besides, wasn’t my secret to disclose” you winked an eye.
“Wait hold on, what makes the Axe-man want to work in a place for redemption?” Lucifer questioned, now more relaxed, he was all and hellfire before thinking you had taken her daughter’s soul. “She’s…kind of…forced to be here” another gasp.
Everyone turned to you, “I’m not ashamed of it, I got my ass kicked by miss sunshine here, lost my soul in the process and now I’m the chef” all except you and Charlie laughed, tearing up a little too.
“Charlie doesn’t own a soul, don’t be stupid, she’s lying right, Charlie?” Lucifer, watched his darling, perfect daughter image crumbled when all she could respond to that was a quiet shameful nod.
“YOU OWN A SOUL?” the shock was understandable.
It was too much for Lucifer so he sat beside you, holding his head on his hand, “Before you all judge her, I was stupid enough to challenge her when Lilith had just left, she was in a very dark place, my timing was terrible”
“How dark?” the king whispered your way, “I was her punching bag” he muttered a ‘oh shit’ both impressed and somewhat feeling guilty. They both had similar eyes when it came to pain.
“The infamous Axe-Man of New Orleans, I must say I am a big admirer of your work” Alastor came forward, grabbing your hand and placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. “Oh, how unfortunate” he knew your name from above, so he lived around or in New Orleans.
“Why would you say that? You made an entire state fear your axe, for years there was nothing but jazz playing in the streets at night, and what’s best you were never identified nor caught” he pulled you from your seat, hitting his chest, his cane disappeared, leaving his free hand to sneak behind to hold your back in place.
“Well, I’m not that person anymore” Alastor drank in your scent, the sweetness burning its way down his lungs.
Every fiber, every hair on his body, told Alastor to run. Animal instinct, a deer in the jaws of a lion, a prey in front of a carnivore. Maybe because of the post-battle adrenaline he didn't feel the same instinct when you helped him. What will you feel with him so close? hunger? anger? lust? Curiosity ate him alive, he wanted to know what was telling you your instinct, how would it feel to be eaten by you.
“What made you bury the hatchet?” Angel’s pun made you smile, “Alastor” still in his arm, you felt him shift. “When you made yourself…present in hell, young, power hungry and all that, something inside me just told me that it was time to stop” ‘or else it was going to end with blood’ you thought. 
“Also before all this, I had heard about the cannibalistic murderer” you were aware of his aberration to touch, but given his closeness, you had no choice. Both of your hands settled on his hips, mostly for leverage, but to see how he would react to you.
“What an honor, I must say your performance inspired mine” his smile twitched, specially after feeling your warmth though his coat.
“You’re insulting me, Mr. Heartfelt” his chest tightened, a growl emanated from your throat, subtle but it made Alastor’s mind cloud a little. Focusing on your dilated pupils at all times to read any sign of warning, he saw nothing, no emotion whatsoever.  
“Your act was sloppy, careless. The bullied that became executioner of his bullies, tell me, do you feel better?” He didn’t understood what you were implying, once he tasted human meat he just couldn’t stop. He never asked himself if he was content, or if the blood made him feel better.
“You only targeted Italian mobsters; I’d say that’s rather sloppy” that’s all he could think, “And yet I didn’t allowed myself to be shot in the head” there was a weird aura surrounding you and him.
The situation was charming, two assassins of excellence, powerful Overlords with influence and stigma. Despite their sins, they were beautiful beings full of life and grace. Lucifer couldn't help but feel a tingle on his back watching such a scene. It seemed like they were going to devour each other, and relish in it.
“Disappointed?” your fangs shined with the firelight. “A little” he answered, expecting you to be more sanguinary, just as you used to be. “I’ll make Jambalaya today if that makes you feel better” but no matter what he did, while froze in place, like a deer in headlights, you couldn’t make him feel less excited, so alive.
“Thank you chérie, what about my work as of late?” reluctantly he let go of you, taking both of your hands in his.
“Very entertaining” he has a very slim waist, and yet it felt strong under your fingertips, warm. He has his hands and forearm blackened, just as his legs must be. The rest of his skin must be of that beautiful cream color. Of course, his chest wasn’t bald, like you he has a thin layer of short and soft fur.
“Get a room” Lucifer broke the moment, making Alastor’s eyes turn into the demonic radio stare you knew so well, “Funny I didn’t think such a tiny person could have a massive mouth” he then stepped away. Was it normal to be cold? Your body missed his closeness.
“Here he goes again, how about you help me with breakfast munch-king?” Lucifer felt his jacket being pulled off the couch, dragged by it towards the door that lead to the hallway to the kitchen, “Did you seriously called me that?” he allowed that, with a smirk he gave Alastor the finger.
“Want me to sing the song too?” you warned with a smile, “You wouldn’t dare-” your arm hugged his small frame into your side as you started to mock him, “Ding Dong the witch is dead!” you started, dragging the king down the hallway, “STOOP!” that was the last thing the crew heard before the door closed behind you.
🍎📻
“So, you challenged my daughter?” you hummed a yes, “She took the split a bit bad, huh?” on the corner of your eye you could see him sit on the kitchen island, just a few inches from where his daughter had hurt her hand.  
“I’ll send you my medical bill” your sarcasm made him laugh a little, “You don’t look like you belong in the sin of pride, yours must be wrath, isn’t it?” do demons look accordingly to their sins? You didn’t knew, “You tell me, I have yet to allow myself to ponder over what I have done”.
“I think I didn’t introduced myself, please forgive me” you left the kettle under the fire and walked over him, “My name is Y/n” you extended your hand to him, he took it with a smile. “Lucifer Morningstar, you may call me however it pleases you” his touch was gentle, but firm, you could feel his pulse though his gloves.
A thought tickled your brain, “In that case, would you like sugar or honey in your tea, Samael?” his eyes shifted, his horns grew. Like wood, like wood, his gaze was the same as his daughter's, and yet they harbored both hatred and sadness, both as deep as an abyss.
It shot an intense wave of electricity up your spine. You stood in front of the biggest predator in all of hell.
“Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to get a reaction out of you” he hadn’t let go of your hand, nor squeezed it, “I apologize, my king” your free hand caressed over the fabric.
He pouted, still not letting go of your hand. “If you let me touch your ears, I may forgive you” he turned back, you caught the sight of his tail slithering inside his pants.
“Sure, but please don’t get too close to the inside, my instincts are very strong and unforgiving, I would hate to have your blood on my uniform” You couldn't even finish speaking when he pulled your hand, immediately starting to touch the fur surrounding your ears. His knees settled on either side of your hips, taking advantage of the extra height the furniture provided.
“So soft, it’s so weird, a lion sinner, usually it’s a loyal, brave and true creature, heaven material” the sensation made your heart flutter. You felt like a dog, which made your ego bruise up a little, but at the same time his hands were warm and gentle, he took your advice and avoided the areas that you mentioned.
“Anyways, you’re forgiven, again, you’re very soft” Another cold feeling due to loss of touch, how annoying. You swallowed a lump of saliva before you could speak again, “Thank you, I take care of myself”.
“Oh and the note, thanks, it hasn’t been easy” he didn’t eased the pression on your hips,  “Marriage ain’t easy, and being apart after thousands of years must be rough” it’s not like the closeness bothered you, but it grant him a cocky smile and a sense of power over you, that feeling brought back the feeling of looking like a dog.
“I just…I wish I could make it up to Charlie” his hands grabbed one of yours, fidgeting with your fingers and the palm. “If it makes you feel more at ease, the sole fact that you’re here partially does more than enough” the light in his eyes lasted a few seconds, it was a lovely sight.
“Partially?” worried? Understatement. “If I say it you can’t hit me or anything” he made an X over his heart, then his hand went back to yours.
“She lied to you and you just went along with it? Parenting 101, mutual respect: she doesn’t lie and you don’t either” he applied a light pressure to your hand pads, making your claws come out and retract, that seemed to amuse him.
“So I have to…ground her?” his golden gaze went up to your eyes, but you were far too concentrated in his movements. “Well not now, but maybe speaking with her about it might be the right course of action”.
Melancholy, he had a feeling so he went for it.
“You were a parent?” he was right, your pained expression lasted a second but it was enough for him to feel a pang on his side. “For a day and a few hours” your eyes darkened, as it they were lost in a thought. The warmth of his hand on your cheek and a soft ‘My condolences’ brought you back.  
“I just know appropriate parenting by taking my parent’s example and do the opposite” you masked your pain with a smile and a smart remark, just like him, “Yeah, me too” his response made you scoff, “Where would you’ve sent you daughter for this kind of idea, Heaven?”.
Laughter filled the room. He wouldn’t do such a thing, nothing Charlie did would make Lucifer banish her anywhere, much less punish her like that for trying to help others.
“I had a different perspective of you” your tail stiffened around your leg, “What, a soulless maniac killer and nothing more?” you used to be like that. He laughed, “I mean, soulless indeed” you ruffled the hair that fell on his forehead, “But I’m glad I was wrong, thank you for taking care of my daughter, I see she trusts you a lot” you wouldn’t call it trust, nor she relied on you much.
Now that you think about it, taking care of her was instinctive, “I just grew used to her this past eight years” he smiled, “Thank you” he sensed the shift in you, the situation tensed up very quickly.
“Don’t, and just to be fully open about it, you were my objective” you would never show your fangs to anyone, looking like an animal doesn’t give you the right to act like one.
“Wait really?” his lips twitched, almost smiling. “I thought if I bruised up your daughter you would appear, but you saw how that ended” he hummed, rather amused. Your intimidation did nothing to him.
“Are you strong enough?” his question, he was insulting you? “Are you offering to fight?” you looked  at him up and down, not a trace of malice. “I mean if that’s what you wanted?” he was willing to fight with you? “I…I knew I wasn’t strong enough, nor I am now. To be honest, I wanted to pass to history as a crazy bitch who died at the hands of the devil”.
‘I’m oversharing, shut up’ you took a deep breath, adjusting yourself in between his legs, “I see” his breath hit your skin, “Now I just do this, and I’m fine with it”.
“I’d say, you’re terrific in the kitchen, no matter if it’s a served cold or hot type of dish, you always make it taste like home” your ears flattened against your head. “Thank you” he then looked up from your hand once again, a tender pink hue adorned your cheeks.
“Anyways” you got rid of his touch, as well as separated his knees just enough to walk a few steps backwards, “I have to make breakfast, and I just pulled you away because your constants fights with Alastor has gotten old very quick” you walked away, taking your white apron off the hanger, then tied a lovely bow on your back with the laces.
“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, see you later then” was that disappointment? You didn’t knew, and couldn’t care as long as your body remained trying to shake off the excessive heat, and the phantom of his touch still lingering. “Fuck” thinking about it made you cut your finger with a knife.
-------------------------------------------------
Stay tuned :3
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gglitch1dd · 18 hours
Note
I’m curious, when it comes to the dilf izuku cheating story just how did it happen? Did Izuku go out drinking and meet Ochako and things took off from there, or is something more darker taking place and Izuku didn’t actually cheat on his own free will? Also Bakugou being revealed as our ex was actually shocking! I’m also curious as to how that old relationship with reader went down considering he’s a ass who also cheated.
Hmmm... yall want the real details of what happened... okay... BTW, If you want to read how Izuku and Reader got together please read The Contract, which is on my AO3 and on my Tumblr. It's the entire story of how Katsuki cheated and how we got together with Izuku.
How Dilf Izuku Cheated
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Warning: does not contain reader but mentions her, non-con/dubious consent, implied intoxicated state.
Izuku typed away on his laptop as he sat in his office. It was already late in the evening, far past sunset with the sky a dark blue and Izuku was exhausted. He leaned back against his chair, rubbing his eyes as he sighed. His body weighed heavier than a load of bricks. He had been so busy lately, especially with the Jigsaw trial having ended. The streets were safer but at what cost?
Izuku refusing to go home.
It felt suffocating. Watching you try and keep it all together as you tried to keep the boys afloat, walking past Shoyo's bedroom knowing there wasn't going to be a little boy there anymore.
Worst part were all the stupid fucking headlines.
PROHERO DEKU: LOSING HIS EDGE?
DEAD HERO'S SON- TOO SLOW FOR EVEN THE NUMBER ONE.
WHERE WAS DEKU?
It all made him sick to his stomach. It was terrible what they were saying, and it made Izuku force himself to try and be better. To work harder so that no little boy would ever go through what his son went through.
Izuku opened his eyes to look down at the gift on his table. Apparently it was sent by Katsuki. A large glass bottle of whiskey. At first Izuku thought it was some ultimate "fuck you" and he wouldn't even touch it. However with a pounding headache and him too scared to go home and face you and the kids. Maybe a glass of it wouldn't be too bad...
There was a buzz that took him out of his thoughts, a call coming from the downstairs desk of his agency, the night shift. "Mr Deku?"
He put a finger to the intercom. "Yes?
"Prohero Uravity is here to see you? Something about the Juggernaut case?"
Izuku sighed. He thought he had told Ochaco that they would talk about it some other time, but then again, he always came up with excuses to talk to any one of his friends these days. "Send her up." He stated before removing his finger and standing up to grab a glass from the refreshment counter he had at the side of the room.
He walked back to his chair and grabbed the bottle while he did so. He poured himself a cup before lifting it up to his lips and taking a long drink. He let the burn of the alcohol hit his throat before he let out a sigh. But... he couldn't shake that something felt off about the whiskey. Izuku took the bottle and moved to check what brand it was. Maybe it was just one he had never tasted.
There was a knock at his door, before a head of brunette hair had peaked through. A friendly smile cam with it. "Deku." She let out sweetly as she walked into his office. She was dressed in a pretty little black dress as she walked over to him. Every light in his office was off other than the one on his desk. "I was surprised to know that you were in still."
Izuku leaned back with a heavy sigh as he dragged a hand through his mess of curls. "Well, crime never sleeps." He gave a pathetic excuse back to her with a weak smile.
She walked over to stand in front of him with a small frown on her face. "I know you've had a rough couple of weeks recently."
Izuku let out a scoff as he took another sip of the whiskey, wanting it to take the edge off his day. "You don't know the half of it." He let out lowly.
Ochaco paused as her brown eyes that suddenly looked so warm, looked down at him. "You should rest, Deku." She spoke softly as she took slow steps over to him, moving around his desk to go stand beside him. She turned his chair so that he could face her. "You work too hard." She said with a slight pout, moving to sit on the edge of his desk. Her dress hiked up a bit, the skirt of her dress revealing the inside of her thighs and more leg to show. Izuku's grip tightened on his glass as he shook his head, trying to focus for five seconds. "Is Y/N not helping you to relax?
Izuku moved to rub his eyes. "Uh..." he took a moment to understand what she just said. "She's busy with the boys and everything. We both need a moment. I couldn't expect that from her." He answered honestly.
"But she's your wife, Deku. She should prioritize you." She tilted her head to the side. "I know it has been rough but you deserve to feel..." She leaned forward, placing a hand on his forearm.
Izuku's eyes moved from where her hand was touching his arm up to her. He then realised that he dress seemed rather... revealing. He could see right down her cleavage and
God did he just want to grab her breasts till the fat was spilling between his fi-
Izuku shook his head as he sat up. His eyebrows furrowed. What was wrong with him today? Having such thoughts about Ochaco, a woman that was not his wife. He only ever found you attractive once the both of you got married, why was he thinking about Ochaco? He put down his glass, realising that he maybe had one too much to drink.
"You..." He let out feeling rather confused with a slur to his words. "You came here for the Jugger... Juggernaut case?" He asked confused.
Ochaco nodded but she looked at him gravely concerned. "I did but... Deku are you alright?" She asked.
Izuku was definitely not alright. His head felt like he was on another planet. He couldn't think straight.
He needed his wife.
He needed you.
Where were you?
Why was he all alone?
He didn't like being alone. He needed help. You were help.
"Y/N." He let out lowly as he stood up from his chair on shaky legs. "I... I need..." He quickly caught himself with his hand on the desk as he tried to focus and he tried to think but he couldn't walk straight to save his life.
"Izuku!" Ochaco quickly came to his side. "Let me help you." She stated as she helped him get to the couch, allowing him to fall back onto his couch. She crouched down in front of him. "Are you alright?" She asked him.
Izuku looked at her, his breath heavy as he noticed her every curve, her every feature. Everything seemed almost all in his face. She gave him a weak smile. "You know... I could help you relax. You look like you need it." She stated as she slowly started to crawl into his lap.
Izuku felt like he couldn't speak but every touch that she was giving him made him feel like finally... finally his brain could just switch off. Her hands moved up, curving over the large thick problem that sat snug in his pants.
She let out a giggle. "Oh... how I missed this." She gripped him through his pants and a moan stumbled out of his lips. He couldn't seem to care for the most part. It felt so good to have her here and she cared so much. "It's been too long Izuku. And I'm sure you've missed a body that isn't rather... stretched out, like your wife's. Don't worry, I'll be nice and tight just for you." Her lips moved to his ear making him feel like he could just be lulled away by her touch.
Maybe... maybe five minutes with her wouldn't hurt.
So he tightened his hold on her hips and kissed her.
-Glitch1d
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lowtaperfeyd · 2 days
Text
A Scintilla of Excitement (Chapter 1)
Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Mentat!reader
author's note: This is the first chapter of the mentat series I am writing! I'm so excited for you to see what else I've come up with for this :D (It has now taken the spot for longest thing I've written.) Also go check out my beta-reader @zzleeper!!!!
warnings: house harkonnen, death, mentions of knives,
wc: 1529
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You sat on the cold, metal seat of the ornithopter the Harkonnens sent to come and get you from the heighlinder. The scraping of metal startled you when they screeched unexpectedly.
 How tragic, you thought, my final moments will take place in a world with no normal sun. And no normal sons either. 
The entire two day trip on the heighliner was not so bad. You were allowed to wander the empty ship corridors and explore even up to the staff decks. The only part that was scary were the ‘servants’ aboard the ship. Their bald heads, that seemed to engulf any light that shined on them, made you feel uneasy. 
If this is how I feel when I see people like this, I wonder how I’ll feel when I see the baron. 
They always seemed to look at you as if you were an alien. Which I supposed you were. The color to your skin that made you look more alive than them. It probably scared them just as much as it scared you. 
As you continued to sit there in the cockpit, thinking about the heighliner, you fiddled with your fingers and did not sit fully still. 
“We have a nervous one I see!” Shouted a voice from the front of the cockpit where the pilot was. A voice that had a distinct inflection that just screamed Harkonnen, even if the owner of the voice was whispering, 
“Don’t worry the baron doesn’t play with his food.” The pilot laughed out, “But the Na-Baron, oh boy watch yourself around him!” 
As you sat there, mildly disturbed at what you just heard, the pilot went on and on about the things he had seen the Na-Baron do. Almost like he was proud of him,
“There was this one time Na-Baron took a butter knife off the table and stabbed one of his uncle’s advisors because he didn’t agree with what he was saying!” He exclaimed, “One of my friends was there, he barely survived with just one eye left. Told me all about the story.” 
“That's,” you swallowed so as to not hurl at what you heard, “really something…” 
FACT: HARKONNENS AND THE PEOPLE OF THE PLANET, IN GENERAL, ARE USED TO THIS VIOLENCE AND ENJOY IT. 
INFERENCE: DON'T ACT LIKE YOU HATE THOSE THINGS, BE VERY NEUTRAL ON IT.
HYPOTHESIS: IF YOU CAN ACT LIKE YOU FEEL INDIFFERENT ABOUT THESE THINGS MAYBE THEY'LL PUT IN A GOOD RECOMMENDATION TO KAITAIN. 
“It’s incredible, ” The pilot responded, “But the real question is, why does the baron need another Mentat?”
“Another good question is where’s the store that doesn’t sell chatty pilots?”(Y/N) retorted, feeling a little sick and tired from the traveling and what they had just heard.  
The snap seemed to shut him up just long enough before you landed on Giedi Prime. 
“About an hour before we land on the surface, Mentat.” The same pilot muttered in annoyance. 
Actually, 1 hour, 2 minutes, and 23 seconds. But who's counting or keeping track? Definitely not you. 
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As the heighliner ramp went down, it allowed you to fully see the polluted land around Geidi Prime. The black sun changed the red, metallic bracelet you were wearing to a dark and shiny gray, almost sliver, instead of its normal vibrance. You saw the guards and their multitude of weapons and dark armor. 
If they were standing inside, that would be black. You thought, but that isn’t a surprising detail.
“Are you ready to walk down, Mentat?” one of the other workers on the heighliner asked.
“Yes.” You responded courteously, because you had a pretty good idea of what would happen if you disrespected someone with all the guards and important people around. 
The ramp underneath your feet was extremely slippery and steep and forced you to take very slow and precise steps to reach the end. At the rate I am moving I’ll get to the end after the sun goes down. You eventually got to the end of the ramp. But, you only looked at your feet the entire time. Once you looked up you saw a man with a black hood and robes, as well as the lip tattoo you had. 
That’s Piter de Vries. 
You took the final ten steps to walk to him. As you walked you noticed him look you up and down in an arrogant and almost disgusted manner. 
You put your hand out waiting for him to shake your hand. As you did this you said, “I’m (Y/N) (L/N), the new Mentat.”
Instead of him talking your hand he just continued to look up and down. Most likely reviewing the clothes you were wearing and the way you held yourself. Awkwardly, you put your hand down back to your side. 
“Well your arrival in the ornithopter was on time. But, the way you traversed down to the ground was quite untimely.” He remarked, “It must be quite exciting for you to have your first assignment.” He added sarcastically. 
Just a scintilla of excitement, it would be more if I was not here. 
“But, there is no time for talking,” he exhaled, “I can’t have you seeing the baron in such attire.” 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You looked around at the small bedroom you were given. The room had a hospital type of antiseptic-ness. The walls were bare besides small vertical groves and bolts into the walls holding things together. There was a little gray desk that had shelves that were indented into the walls above it. Beside your desk, was the little chest of belongings that were sent before you had departed from Tleilax. 
I’ll unpack that before I go to bed tonight. 
You turned toward your bed, a relatively small bed with dark covers and pillows. On top of that was a black butcher paper package. On the front of it, in clear print was, TO THE MENTAT, (L/N). In the package was a set of black clothes that looked similar to the ones you see de Vries as well as other people wearing, except without the cloak. On top of the clothes was a note from de Vries himself. 
(L/N), I have taken the liberty of getting rid of all the unnecessary clothes in your trunk and replacing them with more suitable attire for a Mentat. In your closet, you’ll find more of the same kind in the package.
De Vries.
What an asshole.
Quickly, you walked over to your closet and sure enough when you opened it. It was like the same outfit had been cloned over and over again. Black shirt, black pants, and a shiny black belt. Three pairs of black, leather dress shoes were in there too. At the back of the closet, there was a small amount of colder weather wear. A couple of insulated black coats and cloaks. 
Unwillingly, you shed your bright clothes from the academy for a dreary uniform instead. The fabric of the shirt was silking and smooth, but the pants itched badly when it met your skin. 
Once you were done, you exited your room to see two, bald headed, slave girls standing outside of your room. 
“Why are you here?” You questioned. 
“We are here to take you to the baron. Under the order of Mentat De Vries.” The girl on the left said timidly. 
“Alright…” you whispered as you closed the door behind you. 
As you walked through the halls of the Harkonnen’s castle you saw portraits of past rulers who were equally as bald as the next. After four minutes of walking, you ended up in front of a heavily guarded door. From outside the room, you could hear the sounds of yelling, screams, and a thud against the wall.  
Remember, indifference, and then you’ll get your way. 
You nodded toward the guard, signaling to him you were ready to enter the room. Slowly, the guard opened the heavy, metal door with a slight grunt. Walking inside, you saw a long table that had chairs on either side of it and a huge spread of food on top of it. But, there was only one chair at the head. The Baron was sitting there enjoying the elegant feast on the table. 
For the baron… all that food. 
You walked past important officials and advisors to Baron Harkonnen sitting in the chairs. You noticed De Vries sitting right next to the baron and opposite two bald headed men. These men were dressed not like the slave or advisors, but men of higher standing. 
The baron’s nephews Count Glossu and Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Rabban. 
Beside De Vries, there was an empty seat. As you walked to sit in that seat, you noticed the younger man who was sitting opposite of you, the Na-Baron, eyeing you down and biting his lips at the same time. 
He probably picks the member of staff that gets eaten when a couple mess up. Is he imagining me fried or boiled?  
“I appear to be late, I’m sorry about that, my baron.” You apologized as you pulled the chair out and sat.  “Don’t be sorry, Mentat." The Na-Baron jested, "It’s not a good look for you.”
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hacked-by-jake · 1 day
Text
[MC (they-them) × Jake × fluff]
MC stepped out of the police station, relieved to have finally finished the last report on the Hannah case, feeling the warmth of the sun on their face and the crisp spring air filling their lungs. They glanced at their watch, already mentally mapping out their route to the next town where their expertise was needed. But before they could take another step, a mysterious figure clad in black approached them, sunglasses hiding his eyes, a hood obscuring his features.
"Are you MC?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly.
They nodded cautiously as he handed them a sealed envelope without another word. Without waiting for a response, the enigmatic figure vanished into the bustling street. Intrigued and slightly unnerved, MC tore open the letter, their curiosity piqued by the unexpected delivery, despite already having a premonition about the sender of this letter..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
𝘔𝘺 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘔𝘊,
I'm sending this letter to assure you of my safety.
As I sit here, penning these words to you, my heart races with both excitement and trepidation. The events that unfolded during our recent mission have left me both exhilarated and wounded, both physically and emotionally. But above all else, they've left me longing for your reassuring presence.
I write to you now, not from a place of despair, but from a place of hope and determination. Despite the close call and the injuries sustained, I want you to know that I am safe and on the path to recovery. The mine left me with several, light injuries. The burns may sting, but they are nothing compared to the ache in my heart from being away from you.
MC, our partnership has been nothing short of extraordinary. Together, we've faced challenges that most would shy away from, and emerged victorious against all odds. The way you fearlessly tackled every obstacle, with unwavering resolve, fills me with an indescribable pride. You are the true hero in this story.
Yet, amidst the chaos and danger, I can't shake the feeling of guilt for putting you in harm's way. Please know that it was never my intention to cause you worry or pain. If anything, I am in awe of your strength and resilience, and I am eternally grateful for your unwavering support.
As we embark on this temporary separation, I find solace in the knowledge that it is only a matter of time before we reunite. I've been informed about the City near Duskwood, where they requested your assistance. Moonvale awaits us with its mysteries and challenges, and I have no doubt that together, we will conquer whatever obstacles lie ahead.
Until then, my love, take comfort in the knowledge that I carry you with me always, in every beat of my heart and every thought that crosses my mind. Stay strong, stay safe, and know that I am counting down the moments until we can be together again.
I, too, will personally ensure your safety. Nymos and I are committed to clearing your path and doing whatever it takes to protect you. I've shared my vulnerability with you before, and in light of the recent events at Grim Rock, I find myself even more dependent and at your mercy.
I'm incredibly proud of you for cracking the case and saving my sister. The challenges you confronted, the horrors you endured, and the loss of Richy... I can only begin to fathom the emotional anguish you're experiencing, but I vow to be your unwavering support, concealed in the shadows, yet ever-present by your side, even if you cannot perceive me. I will never leave you alone.
MC, my love, I promise you, we will see each other again when the time comes.
With all my heart,
Jake
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A/n: A little thing after the release of the date, just a little idea. Actually, I just wanted to post the letter, but decided to add the first part, just as an introduction. Letters from Jake are just great, aren’t they? :) I was a bit proud for the wording here. Even if the first part is pretty short and not so detailed. But well, writing Jake is a stress-lovely something. I hope you liked it. Thanks for reading and I hope you will have a fantastic day/evening/night! 💚
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were there any specific styles/cultures you took inspiration from when designing the telchin clothing styles?
Honestly the tricky answer is: a lot-
Initially, it was very much just like “okay does this shape and colour palette and design look cool? Sick” and just throwing thoughts at a wall.
When it came to defining those broader shapes/colours and adding things like specific cuts, details, patterns, etc, I sort of worked backwards to grab inspirations.
Ulysses initial/main outfit is honestly quite Medieval, European (but notably Norse/Scandinavian in its cut/style), albeit with a ridiculously plunging neckline for some reason lol-
(it was even a bit early on that every time one of the cast drew Ulysses, we’d make his neckline just a little bit sluttier)
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HOWEVER the details on the collar and sleeves are directly lifted from ancient Greco-Roman designs, specifically influenced by the “Greek Key” or “Greek Meander” pattern which can be seen in pottery, jewellery and architecture all over the ancient Mediterranean!
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Specific to Ulysses, his clothing has currently reached a fairly fairytale-esque “fantasy” stage, drawing a lot of early Renaissance and pirate-style influences with his little poet-shirt and sash, since he’s been on the Overworld so much, and is slowly growing to become a part of that culture and world, and I really wanted to show that in his clothing changes.
Honestly, a lot of the broader telchin clothing when I have sketched it up is very Greco-Roman, at least in the way I tend to depict it (that is my field of expertise, given my degree haha) but there’s honestly a lot of broader Mediterranean ties in as well. The army and their armour is designed to be very Ancient Macedonian, and a lot of the more casual clothing skew very Ancient Egyptian.
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Canonically the Telchin clothing style also definitely develops rapidly over the course of the war with the drowned, mostly for practicality sake more than fashion (loose flowing fabrics aren’t doing anyone much good escaping the undead), leading to an almost 1950s/60s American aesthetic? Of course still mingled with the Greco-Roman patterns. Especially in the way the scientists are presented in lore/my art, they always had a very retro-60’s almost sci-fi scientist aesthetic. If I was to give it a proper-sounding name I think “Neo-Classical Americana” would be more or less it, potentially lmao-
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(You can even sort of see similar shapes and patterns in that first reference image to Ulysses eventual design!)
There was of course always a flair of Victorian-Mad-Scientist too, because I have a bit of a brand and I can’t help myself. And given the blurring of science, alchemy and magic in Fable I think it definitely fits.
It’s a shame Tumblr only lets me upload 10 images per post on mobile because I have A BUNCH of reference images for all of these stages of the Ulysses/broader telchin clothing design lol, but sadly I can’t include them here :(
But I hope this was somewhat useful/interesting!! I’ve had so much fun coming up with this kind of stuff over the course of Fable s3 for the telchin and I’m very grateful to Ocie and Metta for kind of just letting me go ham on a bunch of aspects like this lol-
54 notes · View notes
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Can I request Redson, Mk, Sun Wukong and Mei with a Raiden Ei reader/ s/o? (I can only imagine how they would react to reader pull the sword out of her chest 😭)
Thank you very much if you have time for my request!
Redson, Mk, Sun Wukong, and Mei with a Raiden Ei!reader (separately)
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MK
He’s seen a lot since the day he found the staff and it would be reasonable for him to think he’s seen every weird thing. But one day when he was out on a date with you, another villain of the week attacked right beside you both and you saw a large piece of debris coming towards you. You pulled out your sword from your chest and cleanly sliced the large piece of stone in half.
Meanwhile, MK has thousands of thoughts buzzing around, many of them wondering how he didn’t find out about this sooner. How are you able to do this without cutting your chest? Were you scared to show him your sword chest thing? Why don’t you use it more often? Why did you hide the cool boob sword from him?!
Be prepared for an abundance of questions being yelled at you as he’s fighting off the demon. He’ll deal with priorities later and get lectured about it by Wukong, Macaque, Pigsy, Sandy, Tang, Red Son, Mei, etc (pretty much everyone who cares about his wellbeing)
He will be asking to see it again whenever you’re okay with it and every time it’s like he’s seeing it for the first time. There are stars in his eyes as he admires the skill you have of not hurting yourself but also how gorgeous your blade is. This man is trying his best to hold back the wave of questions due to his confusion on how you actually do it since not one bit of it makes sense to him.
Mei
Genuinely loves it and tries to replicate it or somehow make it known how amazing and impressive she finds your ability.
She is genuinely more in love with you and wants to see you perform to your ability as much as you allow. Endlessly complimenting you about your skills and grace whilst also looking badass.
Despite accidentally injuring herself many times Mei continues to try and replicate it because of how much she wants to be able to do it with you. You and the others will have to stop her from injuring herself too much. Whenever a battle is going on you and her will match your styles, you summoning your glowing violet sword with your girlfriend in tow and mimicking you.
She will constantly ask to see your sword up close and admire the beautiful style of the metal, tracing the intricate designs carved into the hilt and end of the blade. Mei of course loves anything shiny so you might have to steal your sword back because she isn’t going to give it back easily.
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Sun Wukong
He probably has the opposite reaction compared to the rest since he’s centuries old and he’s seen a lot of strange things. However, all of that goes out the window when a piece of debris nearly hits you causing you to take out your sword in front of the group and effectively slashing the debris into rubble behind you. You see a look of shock and a failed attempt to push down his excitement now that he knows you’ve unintentionally hidden this amazing and pretty attractive ability of yours.
He’s not going to ask that many questions and plead for you to do it again and again so he can fully see how it works and functions. Of course, the obvious next step is for you both to spar until both of you are exhausted or it comes to a draw and then he’s going to admire your sword while you both rest. The shiny glowy object is very pretty to look at even to you.
When you both are cuddling or relaxing he’ll sometimes ask to “play” with your sword and trace the details or carving in the high-quality steel, being careful it doesn’t cut him because he’d rather not get up from the warm cuddle pile you both have and not so subtly replaying the memory of how you summoned your sword in the first place.
This does mean that you’re going to join MK in training sometimes and momentarily distract Wukong because you are his lover but also he’s still drawn into your swordsmanship skills which causes either of you to get a hit in. He pouts angrily pouts at you while telling MK that he just got lucky and he let it happen to teach him another lesson but neither of you buy a word of that lie.
Redson
Despite everyone else’s reactions, he’s very confused about how this works or even how you don’t get cut every time you do it, and thinking about it makes him go into a spiral of curiosity.
Like MK be prepared for many questions about your ability and the permission for him to examine your sword for a couple of hours, you aren’t banished from his workshop but he’s going to hyperfixed the sword and its ability. So you may not get much attention unless it’s to get him to eat and drink or necessary things because he must find out.
Red Son does find it attractive and is very impressed with your skill as you wield the blade when you’re training or just fighting in general. He is a gentleman so he’s wary of staring at your chest for too long so you can definitely see a light blush on his cheeks if you look at him at just the right time.
Don’t get me wrong he is very impressed with your ability but also wonders if he could somehow improve your ability if you request it. If not then he’s still curious but he does eventually stop given this is a world where magic and demonic bullshit exist and sometimes stuff just doesn’t make sense.
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j0kers-light · 3 days
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His Lighthouse: Coordinates to Home (LedgerJoker x f!reader)
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Coordinates to Home - Oneshot
KEEP IN MIND THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER UPDATE!
In light of this post, I give you Joker with tattoos! Don't tempt me, cuz I’ll write it! I did not use this mini oneshot to stall writing the next chapter. I had to get this out of my head and onto digital paper before I lost it my marbles. Child I literally wrote this at my desk so I apologize if there’s anything errors. I hope you enjoy!
taglist:
@blackreaderatrisk @twinkledinkle @clemdango04 @l3ejm @tears-of-amber @what-an-angel @darthjokerisyourfather @thatsnoteii @dollster @cheetahspy @kaidennnnn @urdariingdoll @motivation-idontknowher @ins0mniac-whack @spaghettificationandpretzels @reneisance @alittlesmartcookie @ninacutebee16 @carydorse @jaysmentalspace @she-could-never @that--thing
Let me know if you wish to be added to the official His Lighthouse taglist! Be alerted with any oneshots and the main story updates! 🖤✨
You had to be seeing things because there was no way Joker, of all people, had a tattoo.
It didn’t make sense given that tattoos were so unique. They were used to identify people for crying out loud! Was he really that careless? You found it hard to believe that J would have one given his illegal (and wanted) status in the world.
Unless.. he acquired them before becoming The Joker. If so, you had to know what it was!
For a moment you thought it was just a trick of the light. Another blemish, for a monument to his hard life was etched onto his skin already. What was another mark to a man like Joker?
Old scars, deep battle wounds, and one gnarly area below his rib cage, ‘a bomb gone wrong’ he told you, made identifying the possible tattoo difficult. It just blended in with his silvery skin.
Additionally, you had to pretend that you weren’t intrigued less Joker would feel your gaze and thwart your attempts. He had come a long way to be confident with his body, more so around you.
In the beginning, he didn’t remove his clothes at all if you were nearby. Now Joker practically walked around nude. You definitely weren’t complaining yet this was the first time you looked at him in great detail.
What could you say? When Joker took off his clothes, your mind quickly became… distracted.
It was a peaceful morning with the sun pouring in through the windows and Gotham had yet to begin its corruption. Not like it ever took a break.
You and Joker were safely tucked away in the comfort of your bed.
J was knocked out, flat on his stomach, and for once you woke up before him. It was rare to see Joker asleep, so you took the opportunity to admire your lover while it lasted.
The stress of his title was far removed from his features. His face was bare of any greasepaint and surprisingly his hair wasn’t dyed its signature green. J had promised not to color it when around you, thus his natural sun kissed hair was askew all over the sheets.
A gentle smile curled the corner of his scarred lip, and the sight made you copy the action. Joker looked at peace.
Any other morning you would’ve counted his freckles or kissed his nose—today you were on a mission.
Joker was an extremely light sleeper, causing you to move with caution until you straddled his lower back. There you had full access to view his most vulnerable side. A ray of sunlight hit Joker just right and you held back a sigh, seeing all the pain he endured over the years.
Some other time you would kiss them one by one.
Your fingertips grazed the site where you first caught a glimpse of his potential tattoo.
And much to your surprise, a sentence in a language unfamiliar to you was written out in red ink. It almost blended with his skin and if you weren’t intentionally looking, you would’ve never found it.
“Everything burns.”
You jumped hearing Joker’s sleep filled voice recite the text. He turned his head toward you, groggy from sleep but still handsome as ever. Right now, he resembled a grumpy cat deprived of sleep.
You had the decency to be guilty. “I didn’t mean to wake you, J. G-Go back to sleep.” You whispered.
Fat chance of that happening.
Once Joker was up, it would take an act of congress to get him back asleep. Both of you knew that. He yawned and rolled onto his back, extending a hand to hold your hip steady during the position change.
“J… I’m so sorry for waking you. I know you’re exhausted from last night and…”
Why were you still talking? The damage was already done.
“Hush Bunny.” Joker blinked away the last of his sleep to finally rest his eyes on you. Being woken up this early was worth it if this was the reward.
You bathed in the morning sun, gazing down at him like a deity. How did he get so lucky? His thumbs rubbed soothing circles on your hips, as he hummed.
“Mm. I got such a errr curious little Bunny. Did ya find what you were uhh, looking for?”
The sound of his voice so early in the day should honestly be illegal— but you shook your head clear to focus. Now was not the time to be horny.
You did in fact find what you sought out for, but its discovery only opened more questions.
“What language is it in and.. um why use red ink?” You asked.
How did he get access to ink? Was the tat written his native tongue? And it was so tiny, no bigger than your index finger in length. Who can tattoo that small? Joker could see the swarm of questions buzzing in your head.
“Now, now Bunny. Tattoos are powerful messages! Red ink is perfect for uh hiding them in plainnn sight. Why, you’ve seen everyyy inch of me doll and you didn’t notice it.” He stopped to smirk, “Or the others.”
Your bunny ears perked up, “Others?”
Joker thought you were the cutest. He could see every emotion you displayed in real time. He winked at you.
You neglected the fact that Joker didn’t fully answer your question. You were on the hunt for the others. Joker hissed when your cold hands came in contact with his chest but chuckled at his bunny’s avid curiosity.
“You won’t find them like this, my Light. Be a dear and move?” He playfully bucked his hips, causing you to lose your balance.
“Oh!” You fell over and watched as Joker sat up and presented his back to you. It was an honor indeed and you kissed J’s cheek for the amount of trust he gave you.
You hardly saw his back given it was a sore spot for him. But sure enough, the sun’s gaze illuminated his skin for your search, and you saw it all.
Joker inhaled and your eyes dropped down to a patch of skin in wonder. “It’s white ink!” You gasped, “I never seen white before..”
You found a set of dates (no surprise, missing the year), a line of coordinates, another phrase in the same looking foreign language, and an exaggerated smiley face but in black ink. Each little gem was a rabbit’s hole into Joker’s character. You were almost afraid to touch them, it didn’t seem real.
He spun around to kiss you, but you wouldn’t be distracted.
In between kisses and gasps for air you asked, “What do they all mean?” It was your turn to shiver when Joker’s hands came in contact with your body. He was removing your night shirt when he huffed in irritation.
“Do they neee~eeed to have a meaning Y/n?” He pulled back to let you moan out in want. His hands were making it difficult to string sentences together.
“N-No but..” you wavered, and J used your hesitation against you.
“But nothing.”
He pushed you down on the bed and grinned at the hazy look in your eye. You wanted this too. Joker rubbed your knees until you got the message and parted your legs for him.
Joker slotted himself in the space you created and guided you to wrap your legs around his hips. Your hands traveled up his shoulder blades and down to where you now knew his tattoos resided.
With each mind-numbing kiss, you worked hard to memorize every bump and ridge. You weren’t letting this go. If Joker wouldn’t tell you, you’d find out for yourself.
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This was dangerous and probably one of the dumbest things you ever did.
Joker was out terrorizing Gotham City tonight, leaving you home alone and burning with curiosity. It was safe to say that you were obsessed.
J gave you plenty of chances to study the grooves of his tattoo with all the sex he instigated. It didn’t matter that you had to learn it backwards, you needed to know what his tattoos meant! You drew what you could duplicate in your notebook and hoped it was correct.
At first you were confused. Joker’s tattoo resembled Braille with its raised font; however, one engine search later found that prison tattoos or ones of lesser value, were not the best and scarred the flesh worse than a professional.
Joker’s tattoos were literally carved into his skin. His threshold for pain was a cause for concern.
After shivering in disgust, you opened a latitude and longitude finder and started entering the coordinates by trial and error.
You were excited to learn more about Joker even if your methods were a bit unconventional. Perhaps it was his old childhood home or the town where he was born! The coordinates were next to tiny Roman numerals for a date, so you assumed that was the meaning behind his tattoos.
Something this important on a man like Joker was bound to be epic.
He certainly went to great lengths to keep it concealed. It was located on his back, in white ink, and no bigger than three to four inches in diameter. Whatever it was, you would solve it.
You were biting your lip in anticipation when the map completed its search. The results shocked you. “Huh? That’s…”
“Home.”
You screamed upon hearing Joker right behind you. He had a habit of sneaking up on you, but today took the cake.
“Joker what are you doing here?! You almost gave me a heart attack! I thought you were staying in Amusement Mile tonight?!”
He ignored all your panic induced questions to focus on your computer. A GPS tracker had finalized its results and dropped a pin smack dab on your apartment. He glanced at your notebook where your handwriting matched the tattoos on his back.
His Light was too curious for her own good.
“If ya want-ed to know.. you could’ve asked me, Y/n.”
“Oh! I know you lying!” You asked him what they meant weeks ago, and he didn’t say! Now he wanna speak up? This man know he got on your last nerve!!
You had the urge to throw something, but you kept your cool.
Joker seemed to enjoy your irritation. He shrugged off his coat and made himself comfortable at your desk. He chose to ignore you calling him a liar, though.
“Are ya done, doll?” He mused.
“No, I’m not!” you tapped the computer screen, “Why does it point here?” You asked.
Joker twirled around in your desk chair, throwing you a ‘are you kidding me’ look. He was having a grand old time acting like a whole kid; you were waiting for an explanation.
He was making you dizzy so you reached out and stopped his little merry go round ride. J laughed and waited for the room to stop spinning before grabbing your hand.
“I uh de-cide-ed to keep a.. permanenT record of home on me should I ahh, ever get.. lost. Smart huh?”
Never mind the fact he couldn’t see it, you were touched.
You caved and walked straight into Joker’s lap. His hands found their rightful place on your hips as he looked up at his Light.
Your hands busied themselves in his hair, curling wayward strands around your fingers. “I-I’m home to you?”
J just nodded and quickly regretting the motion after spinning around so much.
“And the date?”
His lips pecked your exposed midriff before he rested his head against it. “The uh.. day we met.”
How do you respond to such a heartfelt confession? Simple. You don’t.
All you could do was blink back tears and pray that Joker didn’t hear you crying. Maybe he did since his grip tightened around you. Silence enveloped the room. Hidden within the scars of his past was a reminder of a brighter future.
Joker was grateful you didn’t poke any further and deduced the other portion of his tattoo. He told you the first half that was written in red ink, but not the added line in white.
Underneath the coordinates to home and the day he found his light, a vow was etched in a language he long since forgotten.
Everything burns, but not her.  
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danibee33 · 22 hours
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Part III of undercover!Ghost 🩶
ghost x reader (callsign: Hela)
word count : 4.7k
>>> [PT 1] [PT2]
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You aren’t avoiding Ghost. Not really..
Ok, maybe you are.
The week since the undercover mission had been busier than usual, so it’s not like you don’t have an excuse for your absence- you did have other duties and responsibilities to attend to collaterally to the one-four-one. But were you using said collaterals to possibly steer clear of a certain person..? Well, that’s not important.
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“Been awhile, lil’ LT..”
You return Soap’s grin, looking up at him as you both take tentative steps- him reaching out first, and you deflecting,
“D’ya miss me that much, sergeant?” You say, eyes skimming his form, looking for any weakness in it, waiting for the right opening.
It wasn’t a planned meet up, you just needed something to do- you’ve been so restless lately, like no matter what you do, it’s never quite enough to stem the relentless flow of thoughts. Which is how you found yourself on the sparring mats opposite the equally restless man at such an ungodly hour.
“Always miss ye, hen..” Soap grunts just before lunging for you, attempting to swipe your leg but inadvertently opening himself up for you to get your arms and legs wrapped around torso- using your body weight to bring him to his knees,
“Steamin’ Jesus, lil LT- worse than a fuckin’-”
Whatever insults he might’ve tried to spew are cut off when you suddenly readjust, but he recovers quicker than you expect- lifting up and bringing you along with him,
“If ye wanted to cuddle, ye could’a just said so..” Soap says, that flirty little lilt at the edge of his words, the same one you’ve heard him use at the bar a hundred times now. And the lopsided smirk on his lips is all too familiar as he tightens his grip around your waist–
God, he’s such a fuckboy…
With a breathless groan, you switch your hold again, crossing your arm over his face in order to put distance between you while still keeping him mostly trapped,
“Shut it, MacTavish. I’m still winning, aren’t I?”
You go back and forth like this until you’re both struggling to breathe and your muscles begin to quiver with fatigue- throwing jokes and jabs easily. It had always been effortless to talk with Soap, banter with him came naturally, but you think it’s only because you two are alike in that way. Never at a loss for words to fill a silence.
And by the time you’re both thoroughly exhausted, all sweat and panting breaths as you stick uncomfortably to the mat, does he roll to his feet, brushing his hair back in the same motion,
“Always a pleasure, ma’am.” He grins, dwarfing your hand in his own as he tugs you up, “And we’re, uh, we’re goin’ out tomorrow night- or well, tonight, I s’pose.” he fumbles over his words in that adorable way he does sometimes, like a schoolboy with a crush on his teacher, “If ye’d like to come.. I can have LT text ye the details.”
At the mention of Simon, you feel the very tips of your ears begin to burn. The sergeant’s prompt too quickly bringing back all the thoughts and memories you had been trying to purge yourself of by coming here,
“Um.. Sure. No promises, though. It’s been busy, ya know..” You say, fighting to keep your tone flippant and casual- but John MacTavish is more keen than you might have given him credit for.
He walks by your side out of the gym, obviously searching for the right way to bring it up, until finally it’s almost like you can feel his own curiosity win over his better judgment,
“Ma’am.. Did somethin’ happen? On the last mission?” The next few seconds are filled with him trying, and somewhat failing but it’s amusing nonetheless, to explain why he’s asking- mostly due to your unusual absences since returning that night. The way you’ve been avoiding the entire team in favor of doing paperwork in your office-
Which you never did because you said you hated being back there on your own.
No, you always preferred to take care of those things in the common spaces, where the chances of having company were always high.
“Was it seein’ LT’s mug? I ken that’s always a bit of a shock for first timers, but-”
“What?” You interject, eyebrows raised in surprise, “No.. no, it has nothing to do with that..”
Well, that’s also not entirely true, is it? But you don’t think it’s for the reasons Soap’s imagining.. It’s more about the fact that everytime you even catch a glimpse of the giant man, you’re reminded of how handsome he was on his knees in front of you, how big his hands felt over your thighs, how his tongue-
“Well, just think ‘bout joinin’ us, won’t ye?”
The sheer amount of hope in Johnny’s voice pulls you out of your reverie, replacing the memory of amber eyes with bright cerulean ones, and that signature fucking smirk,
“Fine! Just chill out with the puppy dog eyes, MacTavish.. Begging like a damn dog.” You concede, waving him away and turning toward your hall without waiting for his reaction. But he doesn’t let you get far before you hear his chuckle, husky and chocked full of guile, bounce off the concrete walls,
“Woof, woof, lil LT..”
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Ghost doesn’t like new places.
He doesn’t like being unfamiliar with his surroundings, because he spends too much fucking time being unfamiliar in nearly every surrounding he’s sent to. He doesn’t like leaving things up to chance, doesn’t like how much more stress accumulates around his shoulders and neck- it annoys him, the ache.
But Johnny and Gaz had just been so damn adamant about trying out a new pub. One on the opposite end of town, and he can admit it’s nicer than their usual hole in the wall, but still.
Ghost doesn’t like new places.
Well, that was until he caught sight of you. And then he found himself slightly more drawn to the low lighting that danced over your skin, the way it glowed in your eyes as your survey the bar-
“Hel’s ‘ere?” He asks, downing the last nip of bourbon in his cup.
Johnny’s head whips up then, spotting you in an instant- and there’s something about his response that causes Simon’s gaze to narrow at the shorter man. It’s too… giddy, too reverent for his liking.
“Aye! Invited her the other night.”
That ache in his neck returns but somehow significantly worse.
The other night? You had been with Johnny the other night? When this entire fucking week he hadn’t been able to get three fucking seconds alone with you-
Ok, no, he hadn’t worked up to trying to just call or text, that felt too impersonal. He was shit at all that anyway, he needs to see your body language, needs to analyze all the little expressions that give away so much more than words do. But you had somehow found a way to beat him at his own game. You turned into a ghost, only ever catching your silhouette from the corner of his eye, hearing your voice but never being quick enough to be within a few meters of you.
And possibly the worst was when he would enter a room you had been recently in, the smell of you permeating the air, causing his heart to stutter just so with every deep breath.
Fucking hell..
But here you are. And at Johnny’s request, no less.
Ghost despises new places.
Yet, he does think he could learn to like the overly enthusiastic beat of the music when he sees your hips sway to the rhythm as you wait for your drink. You’re in tight jeans and a black leather jacket that fits your figure like a goddamn glove- and he swears he can feel the silk of your skin by just memory alone, the curves of your body already etched into his mind.
“Gonna get a refill.” He grunts, already walking away from the table with the empty glass in hand.
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The sound of a cup being sat on the bartop snaps you back to the present, followed by a heady rush of chills when you hear the baritone of Simon’s voice far closer to your ear than you expect,
“So, she lives.”
You let out a small breath, turning to find the burly breadth of his chest taking up nearly your entire field of view- clad in black from head to toe, which doesn’t surprise you one bit, but it’s not his usual hoodie and jacket. No, this time he’s in a black henley that fits more like a second skin, the fabric deliciously stretched over his pecs and shoulders, the top button left open to give you just a peek at the silver chain glinting underneath and… is that a tattoo?
“She does..” You say, meeting his eyes.
And you really should know better, with too many of your nights haunted by the deep amber of his irises- but the instant it happens, it’s like you’re back in that damned office all over again. The music grows faint, and the people around you turn into little more than blurs at the edge of your vision. He’s all you can feel, the heat of him, the intensity behind his gaze, the way his head tilts softly to the side, studying you as if he might be recommitting your features to memory- not that he needs to.
Because you’ve haunted him just as much. You’ve been the bane of his existence this last week, and somehow the only thing he can see when he shuts his eyes. The sole focus of his loathing and his desire-
“Ma’am, your whiskey sour-” The bartender announces from behind you, effectively breaking the spell you’ve been so wrapped up in right before you hear another small clink, “and a bourbon, neat.”
Without hesitation, Simon leans closer, big arm reaching around you to pull his glass from the bartop and the black surgical mask covering his mouth and nose down in the same motion. He keeps that same heavy gaze on you, your own eyes growing wider at the sight of his face, his crooked nose and scarred lip. You watch him take a short sip, but just as quick as it happened, his mask is back in place, and he’s stepping back,
“C’mon. Table’s over ‘ere.”
You’re not sure you’ve ever felt whiplash quite like seeing Ghost turn his back on you, easily carving a path through the patrons that fill the space-
But you are damn sure the infuriating Brit isn’t going to get the last word in this.
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Ghost can feel your stare, feel how it’s directed right at the back of his skull. A perfect kill shot if he were a betting man. But he can also hear the quiet click of your boots following after him, the tightness in his jeans growing more noticeable with every step-
Fuck.
“Lil’ LT! Glad ye’ could make it out!” Johnny shouts over the crowd, blue eyes cast in mischief and that open sort of admiration that Ghost is sure the man couldn’t hide even if he tried.
You round the table, looking up at the Scot with a devastating smile on your lips before nudging his shoulder with your own,
“Yeah, I just wanted to make sure your ego wasn’t too damaged after kicking your ass this morning, sergeant.”
“Ach! -”
Ghost can hear Johnny sputtering on and on in that terrible mashup of English and Scottish slang that’s always grated on the lieutenant’s ears- but whatever he’s saying doesn’t quite register. Instead, he can only really hear the way your laugh brightens the dim room, see the way your head tips back as you take another sip of your drink.
And it’s only then he realizes that he just wishes you would look at him like that. Wishes that he could draw the melodious sound from you, that he could be the reason you smile so brightly-
“Well, well, well-” the group looks over to see Gaz and Price meandering through the throng of bodies, the younger man with outstretched arms, “Hela! Thought you’d up and left our sorry arses!”
All Simon can do is grit his teeth as Gaz embraces you in a quick side hug, Price close behind with a warm grin even on his bearded face,
“And miss out on all the fun? You know me better than that, Garrick.” You say, raising your glass to the Captain in greeting.
So, no, Ghost doesn’t like new places.
But he can’t deny that as the next hour passes he’s smiled more than a few times at his team’s antics. And he certainly can’t say that he hasn’t missed the way you bring them all a little closer, your bubbly brand of forwardness allowing them to each get out of their heads, even if just for a little while.
“What’s this about you handin’ MacTavish's arse to him?” Price’s voice booms over the music, which has only seemed to get louder the later it gets-
Ghost watches you down the rest of your whiskey sour without so much as a flinch, your cheeks flushed such a pretty pink from the alcohol,
“I mean, is that really a surprise?” You shoot back, the man in question all but slamming his glass down on the table in rebuttal-
“Ooh- yer arse is oot the windae! I want a rematch!” Johnny’s words slur together just enough to give away how good he’s really feeling, throwing an arm over your shoulder, “Watcha say, lil LT? And this time we’ll have a proper judge, right Cap? No cheatin’-”
It really isn’t fair how you lean into him as you chuckle, that ache in Simon’s neck creeping up again at the sight.
Christ alive, why can’t he just get it together? Why does he care? You’ve never been one to shy away from physical touch… but fuck all if it doesn’t eat at him.
“Oi, who wants another round?” Gaz, thankfully interjects, drawing everyone’s attention with a collective and resounding sound off.
The others waltz away through the crowd in the direction of the bar, everyone but you- standing across from Ghost at the table, toying with the toothpick in your glass,
"Late night spar, huh?" You don't miss the added gruffness in his tone, or the fact that he refuses to look at you now, staring somewhere over your head.
And if you were a better woman, you wouldn't feel the need to play into his offputting display of jealousy- but you're you after all.. and he's Ghost. So, you give a little hum before plucking the tiny skewer from your cup,
"Couldn't sleep.." You shrug, looking up at him under you lashes, his eyes already on the maraschino cherry that drips down your fingers, "Figured I'd do something a little more productive since I was up anyway-"
Simon tracks your hand, falling right into your terrible little game as you bring the fruit to your lips- it's tooth achingly sweet when you finally bite into it, mixed with the burn of whiskey. And it's when the juice runs down your chin that you meet his gaze, swiping up the liquid on your thumb, he watches with a severity that sends a dangerous chill up your spine- not even daring to blink as you suck the digit clean.
You know he's keenly aware of exactly what you're doing, but that doesn't stop the lust and satisfaction from rushing through you at his deep growl- those coppery eyes darker than you've ever seen.
All too innocently, you flash him a smile, "I think I'll have one more.. you want anything, sir?"
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Ghost thinks he can feel the crystal glass in his hand begin to splinter under his grip, unable to tear his eyes away from the red stain on your lips- it's enough to drive him mad.
He gives you a curt shake of his head, knowing that if he had another drink, he might lose whatever vague sense of self-control he's clinging onto so precariously.
And instead of watching you walk away, he turns toward the pool tables, needing something to do with his hands- because if he clenched them any fucking tighter he think he might draw blood with the way his blunt nails dig into his calloused palm.
Without waiting for the others, he racks the balls before picking up a cue stick and breaking the formation- moving around the table just as Johnny sidles up to him,
"Did’nae take ye for a billiards guy, LT.." He says, quickly working to chalk up his own cue.
Gaz and Price follow soon after, eager to join in on teams- and it works, for a short time anyway to distract him. If he can just stay focused on making each shot, then he won't have time to think about you. But, that's a rather silly notion, isn't it? Because sure enough, just as he leans in to take a shot, he spots you bump elbows with his Scottish counterpart.
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"Here to give me some good luck, lil LT?" Johnny looks down at you with a lopsided grin, both hands wrapped around the cue stick as he leans on it.
You take a slow sip of your drink, just enough time to glance at Simon- sleeves now pulled up to expose the thickly corded muscles of his forearms and the faded black ball cap on his head turned backwards. He's calculated in his shot, efficiently knocking a striped ball into the nearest pocket-
"I don't think you want any of my luck, sergeant.." You drawl, eyes flitting up to see his deep blue ones already on you, "Can't say I have the best track record when it comes to that."
Soap's chuckle is warm and laced with silk in your ears, watching him copy his superior's movements, finessing his own cue to score a bankshot. Gaz is next, followed by Price, and you follow them ardently, moving around the table as they go until it's back to Ghost-
"Aye, LT-" Johnny calls, "Why don't you show Hela how to do a jump.."
You've managed to get close enough to the towering man now that he has to look down at you before glaring back at his sergeant,
"'m sure she can figure it out on 'er own, Johnny."
"I've actually never really played." You say before your better judgment can stop your mouth from moving- maybe you have had a little much to drink.
And the way Simon's jaw clenches, having taken off his mask as the other patrons slowly dispersed, makes your core tighten- biting the fleshy inside of your cheek between your teeth. You shouldn't push it. You’ve done enough of that already, haven’t you?
Yet, in one swift motion, Simon's hand is on your hip, the other taking the half-empty cup from your grasp before positioning your body in front of his. It isn't exactly gentle, there's a roughness to his movements that put you on edge, a stiffness in his voice that only stokes the the fire in your belly,
"Hold it 'ere.." You take the stick in your hand, the wood still hot from his touch, "and 'ere."
When you grab it this time, he covers your hand, easily repositioning it further down- "Like that."
Very suddenly, you're regretting putting yourself in this situation, so swept up in the feeling of Simon all but dwarfing you, his proximity far more intoxicating than any of the alcohol you've consumed tonight, that you don't notice the sly smirk on Gaz's face- nor the knowing looks shared between your teammates.
In your defense, Simon makes it hard to concentrate on much of anything with the way he slowly leans into you, urging you to bend forward- his hold light but still strong enough to make the slightest adjustments to your stance,
"Lift your elbow now." He mutters, his breath tickling over your exposed shoulder, your jacket left slung over the nearest chair. But it's his hand that catches you off guard, because unlike every other movement he's made with purpose and intention, a man simply doing a job; when he moves now, it's slow, his fingers grazing up your side before softly caressing the skin of your arm,
"Good."
You shift on your feet, your body feeling like it might combust at any moment, the one word spoken in his brassy accent threatening to unravel you on the spot.
The next few moments seem to pass in a blur, you feel him lean in just a bit closer, his left arm bracing over you on the edge of the table as his right hand lands right behind yours on the stick. Whatever he does after is more like a magic trick than logic, rushing the tip downward on the ball with enough force to nearly jerk you forward, but with enough finesse that the little sphere hops off the table- knocking what you assume was the intended target into its pocket.
It takes longer than you're proud of to recover, scrambling to put a bright smile on your face, moving when he does and hoping to whatever deities might exist that it's dark enough to hide the red hue of your cheeks,
"Look at that, a natural, ma'am!" Gaz shouts, clapping a wide palm over your back- and you try to force out a laugh, try to keep your eyes away from the dark form that's moved back towards the table now.
Away from you.
And you wish it didn't make your stomach twist, seeing him pull his mask back on and fixing his ballcap again so that the bill sits low over his eyes-
"Headin' out, Simon?" Price speaks up, an unlit cigar propped lazily between his lips now.
Simon gives his signature nod, which barely a perceptible gesture, but you're all used to it enough by now. The captain, already out past his bedtime, is happy to begin rounding up his own belongings as well, urging the sergeants to get it together and get to the truck,
"I call shotgun!" Soap calls over his shoulder, already barreling towards the exit, Garrick hot on his heels,
"Fuckin' hell.." Price grumbles, looking back at you, "Need a lift, love?"
"No, I'm good. See you tomorrow, Cap." You say, a tired smile reassuring him enough that you would get home-
And just like that, the once bustling pub is more like a ghost town when you step out into the crisp night air, watching the tail lights flicker away. You had gotten a taxi here, but you feel too wired to call for one now- your body felt like it was vibrating, still so lost in the fading memory of what happened inside. But maybe you were just imagining it.. maybe you had let those lines between reality and fantasy blur a little too close for comfort.
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Simon climbed into the driver's seat, his hands hitting the steering wheel before ripping the hat and mask off and throwing them onto the dash-
"Fuck."
What was he thinking? He should have never given into it, never touched you the way he did, held you, gotten close enough to feel you against him again. Should have never fed the monster.
God-fucking-damn MacTavish and his annoying fucking antics, never knowing when to quit. Ever since the undercover mission, the man had been a hound with a scent. Testing and prodding and sticking his damned nose in places it didn't belong-
Simon loathes new places.
But there you are. Standing under the milky glow of the street lamp, your hands tangled in your hair and your cheeks puffed in frustration. And so fucking beautiful he can't stand it.
He should leave. He needs to go back to base, needs to take a shower so cold it hurts, needs to bury himself in work just like you did. He needs, he needs, he needs.
Yet, he doesn't do any of those things.
No, like the awful, depraved man he is, he steps out of the truck and makes a beeline right for you- which, looking back on it, might not have been the best course of action because the instant you see his hulking frame he watches how you go on the defensive. Your posture stiffening and your hand reaching for one of your many concealed weapons if he knows you like he thinks he does.
That's ok though, he imagines you could stab him right here in the parking lot and he wouldn't mind one bit. Hell, you could slit his throat and he would smile as he bled out at your feet.
Thankfully, you do neither of those things.
And as soon as you're within reach, he's got those big hands framing your face, crushing his lips to yours.
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Shock is all you can register at first. Your mind and body flooded by adrenaline, ready for a fight when you initially saw the shadowed figure coming for you. But in those same few seconds, you recognized him, recognized every purpose driven stride, the steady sway of his shoulders-
Though him kissing you hadn't necessarily been on the list of things you had expected.
You're pulled to your tiptoes, and for a moment you think it might be a dream, the way he audibly groans when your lips begin to move against his. But he doesn't relent, and you don't want him to. So you lean up, wrapping your arms around his neck as soon as your muscles can catch up to your thoughts.
You feel his tongue gently glide over your bottom lip, a gentle urging for you to reciprocate- which you're more than happy to oblige. The kiss turning somehow more heated, sloppy even, something you had never experienced yet something that you never want to end.
But all too soon, he does pull away, his fingers threading through your hair, "I'm sorry-"
Again, hearing Simon Riley apologise was just not on the bingo card for tonight.
He presses his forehead to yours, your heavy breaths mingling with his, remnants of whiskey and bourbon filling your nostrils,
"Sorry?" You look up at him, eyebrows tightly knitted, "For what?"
"The mission.. I shouldn't have- I didn't-" --he stumbles over his words, scarred lips finally pulling into a grimace, "Hel, is it true?"
The way his gaze bores into you feels intimate, like he's trying to peel you apart, "Gonna have to be a little less vague there.. I'm smart, but I can't read minds."
Your breathy chuckle helps to ease the tension, if such a thing were possible with how close he still holds you,
"That you've never been with anyone, like that.."
Oh. GOD FUCKING DAMN YOU, MACTAVISH.
When you take a step back, he reluctantly lets you go, his expression faltering for a moment- and you hate it. Hate that you had possibly hurt him- but you just needed space to put it all together, to try to explain.
"Yes.." his face falls even more, and it's like you can feel the shame that radiates from him, your hands reaching for him on their own, fingers tangling into the fabric of his shirt, "But I wanted it.. I wanted.. you. I want you- jesus, fuck- I'm so bad at this."
"You didn't say anythin'.."
You shake your head, a laugh huffing through you as you look to the inky sky above, "Would it have changed anything?"
"I wouldn't have-"
"You wouldn't have done what you did? Why?"
That seems to stump him, his mouth opening and then closing, opening again, "You deserved more."
"Simon, just because I've never had sex doesn't mean I'm completely naive.." You initiate the kiss this time, mimicking the way he had held your face, pulling him closer, "I'm under no illusion that it's suppose to be this magical moment-"
He eagerly returns your kiss, an arm wrapping around your waist as you continue, "And, let's be honest, having 'The Ghost' on his knees was waaayy better than sex."
You feel his smile right before he bends down and hoists over his shoulder,
"Simon!"
But, your shrieks and giggles fall on deaf ears, hands smacking at his back in a lame attempt to wiggle free, "Mm.. no, no, keep screamin' my name, sweet girl. I like the way it sounds."
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a/n: this one got away from me… but your honor, they’re down so bad for each other 😭 thank you for reading!!
[PT 4] (coming soon)
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cauliflowercounty · 7 hours
Text
Knives Dance (Part III)
Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader
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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 sunlight from Giedi Prime’s black sun hits his eye line through the wall of windows that separate his bedroom from his 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: asteroids colliding with your ship, tearing gaping holes in the walls, and sucking you into the vacuum of space, or maybe 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 over the days 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 gratification. 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 new 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, 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, your craft is already touching down. As he hears the machinery’s loud whirring die, the ramp lowers to meet the floor. Two lines of Harkonnen soldiers file out first, 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 outwards and form an aisle that extends between Feyd and the craft. 
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 hoof.  “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 purple liquid 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 first handed him the same blade, the first time he saw your true nature for the first time. 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 metal hit the floor and look to the floor under Feyd and Paul’s feet, and spy fragments of metal, broken into uneven shards scattered across the floor, 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 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 was dreading meeting, knowing he would have to enter a loveless relationship with. You were a woman he wanted to make a plaything out of.  He was intent on manipulating, breaking, and exploiting for his 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 of 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?
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Tags that aren't working for some reason??? @roguegenshin @miaraises
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alex51324 · 2 days
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It's Almost Here! North American Solar Eclipse, 2024
As I mentioned in that other post, it will be visible as at least a partial eclipse to most of North America, with the path of totality cutting a diagonal from Sinaloa, Mexico to Newfoundland, Canada, including 15 US states from Texas to Maine.
Don't be fooled by how we just had one back in October, and another one a few years ago in 2017: total solar eclipses are rare! They only happen when the Sun, Moon, and Earth line up just perfectly--and only for a small portion of the Earth's surface each time.
It's a wild coincidence that North America/the US has gotten three in such a short span of time; the last one before the recent trio was in 1979, and the next one won't be until 2044. (We do have a big partial coming to us in 2033!) The Northeastern US won't see another until the 2070's.
(Note: If you are not in North America, you can use these maps to see when your continent will have its turn!)
This eclipse is also really special in that its path of totality sweeps across a lot of heavily-populated areas. About 31 million people live within the path of totality, and millions more are expected to visit.
So, it's a pretty big deal, and now's the time to get ready!
If you live in the path of totality:
Lucky you! Look up your location on these maps to get the exact time and duration of totality.
Be ready for extra traffic & crowds--especially if you live somewhere with stuff for tourists, or a place that people outside the immediate area will have heard of.
Totality times are in the afternoon, ranging from about 1:30 in Texas to 3:30 in Maine (local times), so if you'll be at school, or at work in a setting where you can't choose your own break times, now's a good time to talk to whomever you need to. It's not unreasonable to ask to step out into the parking lot for the three minutes that people will be coming from far and wide to see--but depending on your setting, it may take some arranging ahead of time. (If you're in school, hopefully your science teachers have already thought of this, but if not, ask them. And if your science teachers are jerks, try other teachers.
If you live near the path of totality:
Try to go! As the American author Annie Dillard says, "Seeing a partial eclipse bears the same relation to seeing a total eclipse as kissing a man does to marrying him, or as flying in an airplane does to falling out of an airplane."
(Link is to the Atlantic; if you hit a paywall, the 12-foot ladder works.)
Here's a map of approximate driving distances to the path of totality, in the US (from this page).
If you're close enough to think about going, here are some Google maps with eclipse overlays for more detailed planning. (I like the Xavier Jubier one.)
Once you're inside the path of totality, anywhere you can see the sun is a valid viewing location, but if you're making a day of it and you want to find a special spot, check local visitor's bureaus or tourism offices for the area you'll be in. They'll probably have a list of parks and other places. For instance, here's what Erie, Pennsylvania has.
Seriously, If you are able to drive/have a car, live within day-trip distance of the path of totality, and can be away from work/school without losing your job/being arrested for truancy, you should go. This is a once-in-a-lifetime type of thing, and there's still loads of time to plan a day-trip.
(Note: If you aren't in day-trip distance, but now you want to go, you don't have a lot of options: hotels and flights have been full for ages. However, if you're in two-days-driving distance, you might be able to find a Sunday-night base camp, from which you can get up on Monday morning and drive several more hours to the path of totality. For instance, in Pennsylvania, there are still reasonably-priced hotel rooms to be had in State College, which is--in normal traffic--three and a half hours from Erie. (You might even be able to get a little closer than that; I just checked State College because they have a lot of hotels for the Penn State football crowds.} So if you're coming from, say, Maryland or Virginia, that could work, and there may be similar creative options for other regions. Again, if this is something that's feasible for you to do, without bankrupting yourself, getting fired, or other long-term consequences, I would strongly consider doing it!
If you live in North America, but have no way to get to the totality:
A partial eclipse is still pretty cool! And again, it'll be a while before you have another chance to see one, so it's worth it to make the time.
All of the 48 contiguous US states will be able to see some amount of eclipse. So will Hawaii, Mexico, Central America, and most of Canada and the Caribbean islands, plus a little bit of South America. (Alaska and part of the Yukon are SOL, but you will have your turn in 2033!)
Use these maps to look up the time and extent of the eclipse in your location.
As of this writing, you can still get eclipse glasses here, among other places. If you run out of time to get them, check for eclipse-viewing events at local parks, libraries, etc.--they may also have some to give away ahead of time, but even if not, if you go to an event, there will almost certainly be some to share.
The plus of a partial eclipse is that you have a fairly relaxed viewing window--as much as a couple of hours, depending how far you are from the middle of the eclipse zone--rather than a standout moment that you want to make sure you're in position for.
That makes it pretty easy to get a chance to see it even if you're at work--everybody can take turns stepping outside for a look. You can share eclipse glasses, too.
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