#fight political manipulation

[stalinslastsoldier]

🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

[awesomecooperlove]

😈😈😈

[richo1915]

Free!

[streets-in-paradise]

Seriously, people have bots tracking Milei's online time and the dude spends arround 8 hours JUST - ON - TWITTER. He gets in stupid fights with anyone while the country goes to shit.

Him getting in a Twitter fight with Chucky is more likely than what you all imagine.

[katrinawritesthings]

onjongkey; >:3c; R

Do not know how to describe this one without spoiling it. It's good trust me lol

Hey Jinki—

Hey not to overstep any boundaries or anything but I've been sitting on this for a while and I think it will be for the best for me to tell you that I think your Jonghyun is having an affair with a woman that I've seen coming over  to your house a lot when you are and aren't home. I'm sure it must be hard for you to hear this since presumably you know this other woman and you won't want to believe me so I've compiled all of the evidence I found into this email for you to read and then do what you want with. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this.

“Hmm.” Jinki scrolls through the email, chin in his hand, thumb on his lips, a little furrow between his brows. It goes on for quite a while and even has some pictures to go with it. Fascinating. “Hey Jonghyun?” he asks, not looking up from his phone but speaking to the other side of the couch.

“What?” Jonghyun asks. Jinki, still scrolling and not even halfway down the email, stops and just swipes real hard to go all the way back up to read the name.

“Miss nosy from across the street seems to think that you're having an affair on me,” he says blandly. “Is there anything you want to tell me?” he asks, looking up finally.

“What?” Jonghyun asks again, but not because he's confused or anxious suddenly or anything, Jinki thinks. It's probably a lot to do with the thick strap on that he's currently bouncing himself on, eyes hooded and unfocused and breath coming up short as he clings around Gwiboon’s shoulders.

“An affair,” Gwiboon says dramatically, lifting one hand from Jonghyun’s booty to press delicately against her cheek. “Oh dear. I hope you can get to the bottom of it soon.” She rolls her head against the back cushions of the couch to smirk at Jinki. “I'll help if you want,” she says, transferring her hand from her cheek to Jonghyun’s cheek, wiping away the line of drool that leaks from the corner of his mouth, and slipping her thumb inside to press down on his tongue all without looking.

“Wha?” Jonghyun says dazedly around her thumb. He whines, pulling himself closer to nuzzle at her neck, her jaw. “Why did you—why’d you stop— spanking me?” he whines. Gwiboon tsks and coos at him, pushing her thumb all the way into his mouth before taking it out and sliding her hand down his body and back to his booty, where she gives it a harsh slap. As Jonghyun shudders and whimpers out little words of gratitude and begs for more, Jinki smiles fondly and looks back to his phone. Thanks for letting me know, he writes as a reply to the email. I'll definitely look into it.

[organicbeing]

Rigged Debate: How the Media and Elites are Steering the Election—and Selling Out America

The debate last night was a glaring example of biased moderation. Throughout the event, it was clear that Kamala Harris was given a pass on fact-checking, while Donald Trump was heavily scrutinized. Harris often redirected her responses to make everything about Trump, avoiding direct answers to critical questions. This lack of transparency was frustrating to watch, as she failed to provide clear…

[visenyaism]

correct me if i’m wrong cos i don’t watch dune.. but i’ve seen people call paul a tragic character. except isn’t he a whole white coloniser tricking indigenous poc into believing he’s a prophet to serve his own interests? that’s inherently evil that cannot be a tragic character imo

so yes that is correct that is what happens. the tragedy is that he is a sixteen year old boy who gets a vision of this happening and he is TERRIFIED and absolutely does not want this to happen at all. He does not want the holy war he does not want to be the chosen one he initially very much wants to fight alongside the fremen as equals trying to liberate themselves from their current colonizer without becoming the messiah because they have common political cause.

And then the entire second half of the first book (and the second movie) are about the concessions he makes to himself bit by bit by bit (well it’s the only way to save his mom and sister. well it’s the only way to prevent nuclear war. well he does want his revenge. well maybe he IS special.) Until by the end he has lost 100% of his humanity, fully wants to be the messiah and is willing to manipulate people into thinking so, and has declared himself duke of arrakis in his father’s name and made a play for the imperial throne.

you’re right that it’s evil. the book and these movies agree with you. the tragedy is watching a child who desperately wanted to avoid this slowly completely lose himself to it anyways. i don’t think “tragic” and “evil” are inherently mutually exclusive.

[creatingblackcharacters]

“That One Hairstyle? RETIRE IT!” Black Hair is an Art (pt.1)

(This is part one of two lessons, with this one focusing on how our hair itself! The next lesson will encompass how to incorporate its existence into your writing. It'd be a massively long post otherwise.)

So! Black hair. Black hair is a CENTRAL, ESSENTIAL part of our culture and identity. Writing and drawing it means understanding the vulnerability and trust that comes with access to it, and yes, it is racist to suggest that ‘it’s just hair’ when our hair serves such an important role in our history and art. I already wrote a mini-lesson and ask on the topic, but being aware of what our hair looks like, and what means to us, will help you to understand why we care that you put in the effort to get it right.

Hair Textures

We are not a genetic monolith! However, for the sake of this series, we are focusing on 3C-4C, because 1) it's most likely to be seen in life and 2) least likely to be seen in popular art! When you are creating your characters, consider the style and care for THESE textures. I will get more into this next lesson.

Let's get into SOME of the hairstyles!

Afros (36 Afro Hairstyles)

“So, what’s the phenomenon behind the Afro? Well, it’s our hair in its most natural form, but that’s only part of the phenomenon. It’s a way to fight the status quo without saying a word.”

-Ebony Magazine, The History of the Afro

When nonBlack society hears ‘afro’, they think completely picked out, Black power imagery, political statement. And it was, and is! But in actuality, afros are just the natural hair growing out of a Black person's head. The same way your hair grows out of your head. Our texture. Even my hair is not allowed to be ‘hair’, it has to ‘assign’ my Blackness; my distance from whiteness. Imagine, the hair growing out of your head being automatically associated with how you should be perceived. Just by existing, it is making a statement in a Eurocentric society.

Braids (31 Braid Styles)

There are SO MANY TYPES of braids and ways to wear them. If you can imagine a design, I bet there's a Black braider that can do it!

CORNROWS ARE NOT AUTOMATICALLY BRAIDS! Internalize this! They may be used in the same style, but they are NOT INTERCHANGEABLE TERMS!

Braids are considered a protective style; that is, a hairstyle designed to let our hair 'rest' and grow without having to manipulate it. If you have a Black character that's constantly on the go and/or doesn't have time to focus on their hair, and you want an accurate, more true-to-life experience for them, braids can be a crucial part of character design.

Locs

(Yes, while that link has plenty of examples, it was also self-indulgent. Locs are gorgeous, Black men with locs are gorgeous!)

"Locs vs Dreads": As someone in the loc community, there’s been a push to refer to the style as ‘locs’, rather than ‘dreadlocks’. Some people with the style will not care, but others take it very seriously, so it’s something to keep in mind. There’s a societal stigma behind having locs, that they’re ‘dirty’ or ‘unkempt’ or ‘lazy’ and that is NOT true. Locs are beautiful, and they take far more effort than people seem to want to believe lmao.

Locs, though there is currently a positive revival, are still highly discriminated against. Kids have been expelled from school and even have had their hair forcibly cut off to be allowed to participate in sports. Many places won't hire you if they think your hair is 'unprofessional' or 'dirty', especially if you're a Black woman. To consider yet another example of the hair that grows out of my head 'dirty' is extremely racist.

LOCS ARE NOT BRAIDS!!!!

Locs are also a protective style, albeit a much more permanent one, and one that comes with a long history and culture behind it. Many Black people consider the biblical story of Samson to be a man with locs, and that our locs hold power within them. That not just anyone should be allowed to touch your locs. So, if you're interested in mythology and powers, that might be an intriguing way to go, that would be possible if you had a Black character with locs!

In Professional Media

The lack of awareness and concern about our hair isn't just a fan or amateur creator experience. It is ubiquitous in the professional media world. Black actors, actresses, and models have discussed having to do their own hair when working, because no one would properly care for it on set if it wasn't familiarly white. It’s admittedly grown better- however! After decades of not having options other than ‘stereotypical afro’, ‘box cut’, and ‘white people hair’, it is LONG PAST TIME to stop settling for the bare minimum in Black character design. We can tell when "one of us" (with some sense, at least) wasn't in the room to make decisions in popular media.

If you were curious about the lesson title, here's a current example of what I'm talking about in video games. Tell me if you see a pattern:

This style? The Killmonger? We seent it!!!! It has become the “hairstyle to show I understand the exaggerated swagger of a young Black teen” option, the "I know the Black people!" go-to, and frankly, we are all tired of it. Okay it was cute on Ekko. The Black Delegation DEMANDS the professional video game industry pick something else! We have SO MANY DIFFERENT HAIRSTYLES!

I'll give you an example on the other end (not trying at all; refer to Lesson 1) from one of my favorite games, Hades:

This is my blorbo. My favoritest guy. I’ll fight for Patroclus being Black til the day I die. While I begrudgingly settled in my excitement, I can tell you no one Black with any voting power was in the room at Supergiant when they approved this design. Why? His texture! Locs were such an easy option if they wanted long hair! Locs existed BEFORE Ancient Greece! The man did not have a flat iron while fighting in a war! A good Black designer would have considered that!

To give him a more accurate design, some artists (myself included) lean into giving him locs (one of my favorites is @karshmallow 's Pat; a phenomenal example in caring about your Black characters). It’s something Black fans find themselves doing- redesigning Black characters. That's not something we should have to do at all, especially in media we pay for!

But if you REALLY want your Black character to have straight hair, that leads into the last style of this lesson:

Straight Hair

We do have straight hair. But it’s not straight because it grew out that way! It will still look and be thicker! It might be a wig or a sew-in (human or synthetic), it might be flat-ironed (while relaxed? While natural?) It takes effort to get and maintain straight hair.

'I think it looks better good this way!'

If you catch yourself thinking this, this is a racist statement. Whether you’re aware of it our not, there is a bias towards Eurocentric/white features in our society, and that includes in our media. When you think “I only drew [this Eurocentric hair texture and style] because I think it looks good on them!” I want you to PAUSE and think about the WHY. WHY do you think that this Black person’s natural features are unattractive in comparison to the white hair texture you gave them? And how hurt might a Black peer of yours would feel hearing that you find their natural features not worth drawing because they’re “not attractive”. It requires approaching your own internal biases, recognizing them, and then working to unlearn them. And that means practice! Using references to draw our hair and styles, and growing used to using OUR features on US!

Doing it in Art

Me personally, I think if you think drawing thinner hair textures is easy, thicker hair textures should be a BREEZE. I was curious, so I challenged myself and-

(it took me about thirteen minutes total to do ol boy's hair and it's still not right. I'm sick fr y'all don't even know 🤢)

@ackee has a really good art lesson on the how-tos of drawing Black hairstyles. I highly recommend checking it out, as well as following and supporting a fellow Black artist (who is far better than I!)

Hair Brushes

Finally, an option you can use for painting is downloading Black hair brushes! Vegalia has an amazing array of brushes with different types of curls, locs, and braids at her Etsy store! You can also follow her on social media to see how she applies them, and support yet another amazing Black creative!

I know this was a long one, but you made it! Just keep going. Remember, it's the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[m0ther-of-p3arl]

at this point i will fully just be blocking anyone who says they're voting third party idk how to get it into your brains that by voting third party YOU ARE VOTING FOR DONALD TRUMP. if he wins, you're not getting another chance to vote, you're not getting another election, because he WILL become the dictator. he has smart people behind him, horrible people, but people who know what they're doing and know how to manipulate laws and twist them in ways where trump can do whatever he wants.

if you are voting third party, you are taking away our one chance at winning this thing.

kamala harris is a good candidate. she is the most pro-palestinian candidate we are EVER going to get who actually has a shot at winning this thing. she's a black and south-asian woman who understand the struggles that minorities face and does her best to fix them. she is smart, she is pro-abortion, she is literally the most liberal candidate we will EVER HAVE who has a remote chance at winning. she has a positive stance on lgbtq+ rights and worked to make sure the gay and trans panic defense was removed. she protected children and women and people of all kinds who were sexually assaulted. she made it so that children who were SEX TRAFFICKED wouldn't be prosecuted for BEING TRAFFICKED.

she is a good candidate. hell, she's a GREAT candidate. she's leagues better than biden, at this point i honestly don't know what you all are hoping for. we are never going to get the hyper-liberal, massively far left candidate some of you seem to be hoping for. that's just not a possibility: this is politics. you can't appeal to that tiny corner of the population and still hope to win. i wish you could, but that's just now how it works at this moment in time. kamala harris might be the best presidential candidate in the history of the united states.

and even if she wasn't: have you forgotten what 2016-2020 was like?! have you forgotten who we're fighting against?! because donald trump is a nightmare scenario. he is literally the opposite of everything that liberals and far-left people like myself stand for. when bush was running against al gore, the only reason that there was even a supreme court case that appointed bush was because too many people voted third party. you can't do that shit. i wish you could, i wish we had more options, but we just fucking don't.

so, yeah: come november, go out and vote, and when you do, vote for kamala harris. vote for her so we don't lose everything that we as liberals are fighting for, vote for her for those of us who are too young, vote for her for the best-case scenario that the palestinian people will ever have in this current political climate.

please. please, please vote harris. it's the only option atp.

(i will not be doing discourse in the replies or reblogs. don't even try it.)

[eriscary]

Reference sheet of Tear who finally made their appearance in Passing Ghost. I have been waiting to post them, wanting to have that sweet reveal in the comic before it. I am withholding some info due to spoilers or because I want it to be known after the comic is done, which shouldn't take long prolly. Here we go… __________________

Biography: Tear!Sans is a puppet body possessed by a Napstablook whose greatest wish was to become Sans and see the multiverse. He created his body from mix and matching puppets made by Error!Sans. This [REDACTED]

Appearance: Because Tear’s body is a puppet, his bones are plush and have visible stitches. He wears white gloves to hide stitches, but his forehead has the most obvious line of them. He also wears Napstablook shaped headphones and a white coat with a purple hood. Its backside has a pattern of two tear drops forming an upside-down heart. Underneath it is a beige scarf, white shirt and black shorts.

Personality: Tear used to naively believe that everyone is good hearted and tried to be polite even in situations he shouldn’t. His AU got a lot of Sans variant visitors that he observed curiously from afar. Through observation he learns of the multiverse and wishes to experience it. Even wishing to become Sans himself, so he would feel important, loved and blend in more with the multiverse travelers. Finally achieving a feat of possessing a puppet body with a resemblance to Sans, gave him some momentary confidence. [REDACTED] finally understood not everyone is sunshine and rainbows. This made him more nervous of new people than he already is. He spends much of his time training to behave like Sans, failing at making good puns and stressing over not being lazy enough for Sans standards. He works too hard to be one, believing it would give him everything he wanted and [REDACTED]. After all, Sans surely blends into crowds with ease. They saw it with their own eyes. Tear also goes as far as using a great deal of effort into shaping his tears to be gaster blasters and bones. It hinders his speed, although even with this he is as fast as an original Sans, but fails at matching him in damage. Most of the time he feels like he isn’t good enough, both as his old self and Sans. The new life makes him believe it’s his responsibility to do everything Sans took care of too. He blames himself for everything. [REDACTED][ACCESS DENIED]. As a ghost, he felt very touch starved.

Abilities: - Tears: When Tear!Sans cries, his tears hurt anyone on contact. He can manipulate his tears and cry on command. They also leak out naturally. - Shaping tears: Tear!Sans often controls his tears to take a certain shape like his top hat, but usually gaster blasters and bones in hopes of mimicking Sans. Such objects cannot be held by anyone else, as they would take damage. Tear!Sans cannot replicate blue attacks. - Phasing: Tear!Sans can will his body to phase through things, just like when he was a ghost. His body gets more transparent or straight up invisible. Unlike his ghost self, this time it requires magic. When too emotionally overwhelmed, he will unintentionally phase. It will stress him more if it's a comforting touch he was about to receive but couldn't. - [REDACTED]

In battle: Tear's strength is on par with Classic Sans. He doesn't hit as hard, yet keeps up by attacking faster. But because he loses speed by shaping his attacks, he is overall weaker. His boss fight is also shorter because of him spending a lot of magic uncontrollably, before and during the fight. Unlike a Classic Sans or [REDACTED], Tear doesn’t remember SAVEs and RESETs. - [REDACTED] - [REDACTED]

Relationships: - [REDACTED]

Trivia: -Tear’s name has a double meaning. ‘To shed a tear’ and ‘tear something apart’. Different characters will say their name differently, depending on the personal opinion of them. - He is very soft to hug. - He is very light and his steps leave no sound. - His favorite food are Blueberries, or as he calls them, Boo Berries. - He occasionally calls the Player by a pet name “treasure”. - [REDACTED] - He gets excited at seeing any Sans or Papyrus, no matter how they look. - Used pronouns are He/They. - When terrified, Tear can unintentionally water blast the person through his eye sockets. - [REDACTED] __________________ Considering most AU sanses are stronger than Classic, Tear is prolly one of the weakest out there lol. He tries

[gojoluvs]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐑… 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒? જ⁀➴ Masterlist

"You were my everything, my heart, my soul, my love. But now, as I stand here alone, I realize you were never truly mine. I was just a pawn in your game of power, a means to an end. I gave you my kingdom, my trust, my love, and you repaid me with betrayal and heartache.“

pairing; Emperor Gojo x Empress reader

genre;Medieval Au, period piece, Lovers to strangers

↬ summary, Y/N, a young woman, is forced into a political marriage with the cold and powerful Duke of the neighboring kingdom, Satoru Gojo. As she struggles to adapt to her new life and win the heart of her husband, she uncovers dark secrets and conspiracies within the palace. Eventually, she realizes that her marriage was nothing but a facade.

status;on going, (spin off from Forever yours)

tags;Historical romance, Drama, Slight mystery, Enemies to lovers, forbidden love, political intrigue, betrayal, secret agendas, arranged marriage, deception, power struggles, uncovering the truth.

warnings; 18+, Forced Marriage, Mental and Emotional Abuse, Slight Misogyny, Dark Themes, Infidelity, Violence, Manipulation, Trauma, Smut, Major character death.

Ⅰ. The Heir's Dilemma

Ⅱ. A marriage of convenience

Ⅲ. A New Life

Ⅳ. Winning Over the emperor

Ⅴ. Uncovering the Truth

Ⅵ. A Dangerous Discovery

Ⅶ. Betrayal in the Palace

Ⅷ. The Facade of Marriage

Ⅸ. Fighting for the Throne

Ⅹ The Final Reveal.

notes;This fic is a spinoff from my discontinued series, Forever Yours!!! It's based off the Webnovels "What it means to be you" and "My beloved oppressor."(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

taglist;open!

[basilepesso]

Histoire héroïque remarquable, édifiante dans le bon sens du terme. Plusieurs Français ont ici montré leur héroïsme et/ou simplement leur courage. L'origine de la femme de ménage n'est donnée qu'en toute fin d'article, et ce n'est malheureusement pas innocent...mettre cela en parallèle avec l'affaire Mamoudou Gassama en mai 2 018, le migrant qui avait supposément sauvé "au hasard" un enfant étrangement suspendu sur un balcon parisien. Florence Vivès, ancienne ingénieur(e), avait démonté physiquement ce qui semblait absolument une ignoble supercherie. J'avais également longuement travaillé le dossier en me basant notamment sur ses analyses parues sur Riposte Laïque et dans une interview radio (Sud Radio - Bercoff). Les Français sont-ils "racistes" ? Long débat, mais je peux dire que vu le niveau de barbarie raciste subi par les Français, s’ils l'étaient vraiment, la situation serait tout autre que ce qu'elle est...

Basile Pesso, 15 mars 2 023 (Fb) >>>> "Le 9 février dernier, Jean-Luc, le sauveur, est alors avec sa femme dans son appartement à Levallois-Perret (Hauts-de-Seine). La femme de ménage est là. Elle vient deux fois par semaine faire le ménage chez le couple. "Soudain, on entend des cris épouvantables. C’était déchirant", a raconté le nonagénaire à nos confrères. Je me suis dirigé vers la chambre. Et c’est à cet instant, à l’entrée de la pièce, que j’ai vu ses deux mains qui s’agrippaient au dernier barreau de la rambarde du balcon." La quinquagénaire venait d'enjamber le balcon pour tenter de mettre fin à ses jours. L'homme n'a pas réfléchi et a passé ses deux bras pour la retenir. La quadragénaire supplie qu'on la "laisse partir", mais ne lâche pas les mains de Jean-Luc pour autant. De l’autre côté de la rue, trois étudiants en école de commerce aperçoivent la scène et décident d’intervenir. Ils parviennent à entrer dans l’immeuble, montent jusqu’au 14e étage et, aidés d’un livreur, prennent le relais de Jean-Luc et réussissent à sauver la femme de ménage. "Je n’aurais pas pu tenir, ne serait-ce que quelques secondes de plus", a confié l'employeur au Parisien. La quinquagénaire, d'origine sénégalaise, a été hospitalisée".

Article et vidéo de la Dépêche du Midi : “Sauvetage miraculeux : un homme de 91 ans rattrape sa femme de ménage qui tentait de se suicider du 14e étage d'un immeuble“

[seresinhangmanjake]

The Harkonnen's Sweet Thing

Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Reader

Summary: You watched your brother kill the man you love--a man you were once gifted to by the Baron--and now that he is gone, you think Paul will use you as a political pawn in his war. And you're right. But you're shocked to discover who is demanding to have you.

Words: 2650

Notes/Warnings: Ignore canon ages in the timeline. I don’t know what they are, but everyone young is in their twenties, cool? Cool. Dune inaccuracies. Jessica and Paul kind of (very much) suck. Feyd’s a soft boy for our reader. Angst but also fluffy-ish stuff. Implied smut. Mention of pregnancy. I think that’s it. TG:M people ignore me. I don’t know what I’m doing here either, but i'm embracing it for now. 

Part 2

When your brother pierced through armor into pale flesh, you felt it as if he had driven that blade into your body instead of the body of the man you love. You felt the shock of icy steel penetrating warm and delicate tissue, and the suffocation that came from the mutilation of your lung. You felt droplets of blood run down your front as you reached for the blade that was not there. As children, you were taught not to remove it. Not unless sufficient care was nearby to stop the bleeding before too much was lost.

Paul did not respect that knowledge. He yanked his knife out of Feyd’s torso and watched with relief as he collapsed to the ground. His body landed with a thud that matched the heavy beat of your heart. A beat that reminded you your blood was rushing strong, keeping you alive while your lover was draining dry of the strength to keep himself from leaving this world, from leaving you. 

You wailed in the silence of those around you. Screamed at the top of your lungs as tears streamed down your face. You tried to go to him but the Fremen snatched you before you could reach him, forcing you to your knees, one of them slapping a hand over your mouth. This was not the time for hysterical outbursts; it was a time to stare in awe as a new leader accepted his victory and claimed power over the emperor and his daughter. 

“Shut up, girl,” a male voice spit in your ear. He was tired of the struggle you were putting up against the hand squeezing your face. You were ruining his opportunity to witness a beautiful moment in history. A defining moment. A moment you didn’t give two fucks about. 

No one spared you a glance save for the witch whose vibrant eyes were drilling into the side of your skull. A woman your father had instructed you receive as a stepmother following your third birthday. A manipulative woman whose smile in front of the Duke had masked the scowl permanently seared onto her face when looking at you—a decades-long act that the capture and death of your father had freed her from. And she’d wasted not a second displaying her distaste for his daughter. 

Not long ago you'd thought to thank Lady Jessica for not loving you. Her lack of love made her so terribly desperate to rid herself of you that when cornered the night your family was attacked, she’d thrown you right into the arms of the Harkonnens—a fate she believed would destroy you rather than thrust you into a life you would come to cherish.

“A gift for you, nephew,” the baron had said after the fighting ceased and the soldiers, with you in their grasp, had returned to their unfamiliar home.

Feyd-Rautha had not rushed when he descended the staircase and approached you for the first time. His eyes were unblinking as he’d taken in his present; a slow drawl from head to toe that sent shivers down your spine. 

“An Atreides,” Feyd had said in a low voice, deep and thick and eerily lovely.

The baron’s voice did not contain the same appeal. “Yes. Do you like it? A new pet for you to ruin.”

You’d stood frozen as Feyd traced a knuckle down your cheek before grasping your chin and running his thumb over your bottom lip. He’d possessed not a lick of shame when his index finger drew a line from the dip of your throat to your cleavage. There had been no consideration for your feelings when he tucked that same finger between your breasts and the neckline of your nightgown and lightly tugged you forward. 

You had gasped with your stumble, your hands pressing against his chest to catch your fall while he smirked at the blush tinting your cheeks. His tongue then darted out to dampen his lips before he moved his hand to the curve of your waist and squeezed. 

“Perfect,” He’d said, not in a loud declaration of appreciation, but in a tone meant for your ears only. Then he’d grabbed you by the wrist and led you to his chambers.

When the door had slammed behind you after you were jerked inside the room, you were suddenly filled to the brim with panic. You’d heard the rumors. What would he do to you? How would he do it? Would you suffer long? 

A tear had slipped down your cheek that, once noticed, was brushed away with his thumb. 

“Do not worry yourself unnecessarily.”

You’d swallowed, stuttering, “Wh-What do you mean?”

He’d pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, exposing pale skin taught over defined, well-trained muscle. Then he’d stepped into your space, inching you backward until your spine was flush with the wall. He’d fisted the flimsy, nearly see-through fabric of your nightgown in his hand and slowly dragged it up your body until fingers could sneak under the hem to graze your inner thigh.

You’d sucked in a sharp breath at the pleasurable waves of heat that rippled from his touch.

“Atreides or not, you’re much too precious to ruin the way my uncle suggests,” he had said, his lips a hair's-width away from yours. “I've been looking for you for so long. You're mine now, do you understand?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

He hadn’t loved your hesitation—you could see it in his eyes and in the downturn of his lips—but he was satisfied when you’d truthfully said:

“No.” Because you weren’t. Not after he had brushed that tear off of your cheek.

His next question had caused your heart to skip a beat from the concoction of emotions it shot through you. Fear of the unknown mixed with unexpected excitement.

“Have you done this before?” 

You’d shaken your head and in response he lightly nodded, his nose nudging yours. 

“You want to?” he’d asked, hiking your leg up to his hip, and you found yourself nodding as well. “I won’t make it hurt.”

You’d replied with a soft “Ok” before accepting his kiss with as much fervor as he was giving it, thankful that what you’d imagined was awaiting you upon your arrival in foreign territory was far from what you were receiving. 

Days later, when you had mentioned that he did not live up to the rumors of his cruelty extending to all areas of his life, he’d hummed. Said, “I make many bleed, and enjoy it. I feed off of their pain. Those who have been in my bed are not spared this, and it will not be uncommon for you to see me stained with the death of others, including my former pets.” 

He’d paused then, allowing you a moment to question your future as one of those pets, if that's what he considered you.

“But I have been searching for something that I’ve wanted for a very long time,” he’d said. “Something that hasn't existed within these walls. Something I will never want to harm. Something…soft…and sweet,” he had admitted to your surprise.

He’d then told you that you were that sweet thing. That he’d known it from the moment he saw you. That he was choosing you. 

But it was a choice that had its repercussions. 

All things must have balance, and you had tipped the scales. From his gentleness toward you, a darker, more gruesome beast emerged when facing off with others. A brutal warrior who never surrendered and never lost. A sadistic man who showed no mercy to the opponents whose blood you would later wash from his body. He had annihilated his previous reputation as just the famed killer of Geidi Prime and evolved into something more, all because of you.

That was why you thought he would win against Paul. Your brother was skilled, but the universe had long known the name Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen for his prowess in combat and his ruthlessness which had only grown with time. 

So why was it not your brother on the floor with his love sobbing and struggling to reach him?

In the thirteen days since your lover’s death, it is that question that has robbed you of all peace. 

Despite your brother having escorted you back to Caladan for the time being, you find no sense of home or happiness in your birthplace. You walk the beaches and fields that, as a child, you dreaded one day leaving, but they are not the same. Nearly a year has gone by since you were last here, however, so much of what you once loved about this planet is overshadowed by the shattered heart caused by Feyd's death. 

When you were young, your father would often express his wishes for your future. He would paint a beautiful image of you bringing your children to play in the gardens of your childhood home, carefree and unburdened. It was a source of comfort that he used to mask the reminder of your duty as an Atreides: that you would not be marrying and having children out of love, you would marry in the name of peace and produce heirs in the name of security. And it seems in the end, he was right.

With Feyd unable to claim you, Paul will be the one to secure new arrangements for your future, which just so happens to greatly fare in his favor. After all, he just declared war, and you are the ripened political pawn at his disposal.

“Are you well?”

You turn as sharply as you can at the intrusive voice, but the uncomfortable skirts of your dress are thick and stiff, restricting your movements. Feyd never made you wear anything like this and you forgot what it's like to be weighed down by layers of fabric. You fucking hate it.

Paul stands a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back and a light smile on his face. Clearing his throat, he joins you on the balcony attached to your old room. 

“I know we haven’t spoken much about what’s to come. I’m sure you’ve been curious,” he says. 

You shrug, shake your head, and return your gaze to the horizon where ocean meets sky. 

“We have matters to discuss.”

Matters such as where he will be sending you off to be married, you imagine. He must act quickly if he intends to establish and gain control over house alliances, since they weren't overly enthusiastic about accepting him as their leader.

“Let's sit down,” he tells you. He grasps your hand before you can object and guides you to one of the balcony benches. Once you’re settled, he takes a seat beside you and says, “I am going to ask you something. And I want honesty.”

You sigh. “What?”

“When you were with the Harkonnens for those many months, were you treated like a slave as I had feared, or were you something far from it?”

Your eyes narrow. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because it’s important,” Paul states, staring you directly in the eye. “I’ve been thinking about the way you wept over him after we fought, and how he denied every offer I made in exchange for your release…” With his pause, he shakes his head. “I thought maybe he had messed with your mind, confused you, and that was why you were so hysterical over his loss…but that’s not right, is it.”

“Paul–”

“Does he love you?”

It takes conscious effort to keep your body from shifting uncomfortably. “What is it to you?”

“He survived his wounds,” Paul says. 

The casualness with which he shares that news heavily contrasts everything that runs through you. Your heart stops. Your lips part, unsuccessful in drawing in oxygen. Your eyes no longer see anything but Feyd’s face as it flashes in front of you. The way he looked when he last smiled at you. The way he looked the last time he came inside of you. The look of him when he died—or almost died. Death had been there, looming over him. 

You’re trying to will away the tears. Paul is watching you too closely. “Wh–What?” you say.

“He’s alive, and he is demanding you be returned to him,” he informs you. “So, tell me: is he truly threatening me so aggressively over one of his ‘pets’? Or is he threatening me to get back the woman he loves?” 

The woman he loves. You never imagined yourself in a situation where your brother would ask if a member of a centuries-long rival house loves you. But then again, you never imagined a member of a centuries-long rival house loving you to begin with.

You remember the night he told you. It was late and your bodies were bare after having bathed together. You were searching for your nightgown when he said “Come to bed, my love.” 

You sighed, defeated. He’d called you that before, but whether it was real or not was such a mystery and it hurt your heart a little bit more each time. “You shouldn’t call me your love unless you mean it,” you finally told him. 

You heard his footsteps when he stood from the bed. He walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest. “Why would I call you that if I do not mean it?” he asked. Then he hummed and said “You know me better than that, my love” before dipping his head lower and nipping the shell of your ear with his teeth. 

So yes, he loved you—loves you. But there’s something in Paul’s voice as he asks you that question that gives you pause. It’s too gentle as if luring you into a false sense of security. The Harkonnens are not known for their capacity to love, and Feyd loving you could be seen as a weakness; his one vulnerable spot.

As monotone as you can manage, you reply, “If you’re being threatened you should just send me back and be done with it. I know you have more important things to worry about.”

Paul’s lips thin in disappointment. “I can’t send you back,” he says. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

He sighs. “Because I believe he loves you. And I need to see how far a Harkonnen is willing to bend for an Atreides,” he says. “If he wants you back, he will have to be open to negotiations.”

You stand sharply, take a few steps from him, and blow out a heavy breath through your nose. You were told your brother changed after drinking that magic water and it shows. Holding you hostage for political gain is not the same as marrying you off. 

“I would like to be done with this conversation,” you say with a huff.

“I understand,” he replies, so you turn to enter your bedroom. But before you’re fully through the door, he says, “There’s more, though.”

You freeze. 

“I had a dream,” he says, his voice coming closer. “There was a boy, no more than five years old. He had your features and your hair but his skin was of the same paleness as the Harkonnens.”  

Sucking in a breath, you brace yourself with a hand gripping the door’s frame. 

“You’re pregnant, sister,” he tells you, leaning against the opposite side of the doorway. “But I'm very glad to know that the heir of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is a product of love rather than an unfortunate incident,” he says. “Additional incentive, should it be necessary.”    

In your shock, you can’t look at him. He doesn’t need you to. You can see his smirk in your peripherals, then he pushes off the frame and heads toward the main door of your room. 

“Try to get some rest, sister,” he calls over his shoulder. “You really shouldn't be on your feet too long.”

[shaisuki]

the fourth wife

PAIRING. YANDERE! TENGEN UZUI & WIVES X CHUBBY READER

CONTENT WARNINGS. angst + babytrapping + dubious consent + manipulation + gaslighting + forced affection

SYNOPSIS. you never signed for this.

it is you who caught the sound hashira's interest.

tengen have come across of different women. single and married. the pretty ones and the average ones. he encountered all of them even whom he considered flashy and took his interest in the most way that will leave him wanting for more but he never made any advances to them. no matter how attractive and pleasing they are for his tastes for he is devoted to his three wives, bound by duty.

it once crossed his mind that he ought to take another wife and it would be bound by love. sure he loves his wives. adored them in the flashy way he can show it and they are the same to him but it was out of duty. a custom of his clan but what of it when he's already free of them. no rules to abide and will from his own.

he abandoned the thought of it long ago. realizing he's contented with hinatsuru, makio and suma. the relationship between them four wasn't out of love but respect and tengen likes the dynamic of it however it came crashing down on him. the long buried thought in the back of his head came surfacing once he fell in love with you.

a daughter of a humble merchant. one that supplies the goods in the rest house where he stayed in the duration of his recovery after previous missions decision that he needed to be taken care of before returning to his wives even they are more than capable of taking care of him and that's when tengen first laid his eyes in you.

first noticing the different built of your body. you were soft. soft anyone can be and tengen knew soft having three wives gave him the knowledge about the anatomy of a woman and long he burned in his mind what they looked like. you were different from it and when he lifts his gaze up. he saw the most expressive face a human can see and that's when you notice him. offering him a curt smile and then you nodded. merely acknowledging his presence and that's when tengen knew he was a goner and the thought of making you his fourth wife have come to life.

he wasted no time in finding you. introduced himself and from the looks of it you were smitten as he was to you. your parents were delighted to have a man like him who wanted to marry their daughter and so tengen asked for your hand and that's when he's about to get you accepting his proposal, you refused. much to the horror and dismay of your parents. you bowed politely to him despite the affection you have for him in a short span of time. tengen was baffled how could you refused such proposal and that's when you told him the reason and tengen knew you were right. there's no fighting about it.

at the ripe age of twenty-one. many considered that you were past of a marriageable age. growing up with friends that have married before they can reach the age of eighteen, you knew that you're not the sharing the same fate as theirs. while they started to nurse their babies and decided to follow it with an abundance of children you remained the same. deciding that you were not suited for the marriage life. liking the life as a single and your parents didn't need to worry if they desire grandchildren, your older brother have already fulfilled it and it's not like you were the attractive of the bunch of your friends. you would rather be free without being tied to a man who would criticize you for not being deemed beautiful and the standard of your time after the marriage hence your parents agreed besides they still don't want to depart their precious daughter.

tengen's too good to be true and that's the reason you knew he was married. promised and bound to someone. a man who is built like a god which is true, he introduced himself to you as a god of the festivals an attempt to woo you and that almost made you fall for him. handsome he is with his white hair and the flashy accessories he wore and those maroon eyes of his that held confidence and that eccentric personality of his which you find endearing. he's the dream of every lady and you were lucky he took interest in you and said that he was in love with you so what's the catch? he was married, not one but to three women.

he confessed it to you after you refused. calling you a smart girl for finding it out. he explained it to you that it was made by duty but what of duty when it he's already committed and he possibly can't think that you can be his wife despite his wives. you find the proposal absurd and selfish. his desire is your misery and you don't want that. the reason why you avoided being married despite the pressure have put you. your parents were not happy either. they take what they said and didn't accept his proposal despite the promise of paying a dowry just for your hand.

tengen left after that and returned home. back to hinatsuru, makio and suma where he knew he is loved and adored. he remained the same after what happened. not wanting to worry his wives who cared for his being but it doesn't miss their eyes and the feeling that their lord husband is bothered by something, someone.....

they all knew it. this marriage was duty and they played their parts on it and sooner and later their husband will fall in love someone. they knew he loved them but it was respect and that was enough for them and so then they decided to talk their lord husband about it and how right they are and accepted what tengen have said to them.

makio, suma and hinatsuru, all tengen's wives gathered in the estate's living room as they have been summoned by their husband. makio and suma are both anxious while hinatsuru remained calm but despite that he knows how their husband gets when they are all here, it must be important.

it is important. the most important of all, second to tenged and it will be their new priority. a new addition to this family of them.

and hinatsuru was right.

tengen broke the news to them. “my wives, duty bounded us all and i am proud that i have fulfilled all your needs as a husband.” the sound hashira confidently boasted about his achievements to them and it's true. tengen exceeded his duties as a husband and them as his wives. “it is i decided that i desire for a wife.”

there was a complete silence between them.

it was anticipated that this day would come. their lord husband wanting a wife that he loves. he loves them but it was out of respect and responsibility. in many years they were together not once tengen have expressed his desire for a wife that he wanted. they were chosen to be his wife and it's different for this woman that have captured their lord husband's attention. tengen have found someone who he knew he loves from the depths of his heart.

hinatsuru unconsciously grip her kimono. she knew it and it pained her that her lord husband still decided that he wants to marry again despite them three but it was his lord husband's happiness and she was happy for him. although a little hurt, she gave a reassuring smile to tengen. turning her frown upsidedown. her lord husband wishes for it and she's merely a wife to him and she would not put herself in the way of his husband even sharing him with a another woman again.

makio on the other hand wasn't too happy about it. her brows furrowed and a concentrated look in her face. makio was not trying to show his displeasure at the said news but what of it? it's not her place to say it. she doesn't have the heart to tell him and that husband face of her lord husband brimming with an unadulterated love for a woman she is yet to met. she shared her love for tengen with the other in two, what difference would it make when another join this union when it's important for her lord tengen.

suma was desperately trying not to cry but alas a few years escaped from her eyes. it wasn't her problem and he wouldn't be tengen's wife if it wasn't for her bawling her eyes out and thus, replacing her sister when they chose her as one of tengen's wives. she didn't have the right but it's too much not to think about it, knowing that if you accept they will be another contender to tengen's attention and it was you he loves.

tengen wouldn't be called their husband if he didn't care for his wives and truth be told he expected these kind of reactions from them. “my wives, there is nothing wrong to feel this way and i told you of this desire of mine for the reason i didn't want my wives to worry. i know this is hard but please meet her. you will love her like i did.” tengen said, his voice tinged with tenderness and they want to melt at the spot but if tengen was so sure of you, how could they not?

true to his words their lord tengen was. you were all what he described you as and it almost made him want to sing praises for you. they realized that you were just not going to be as someone to them. you were going to be their new partner and a wife to tengen.

they approached you while you tend to the goods in the stall you have set up. curious gazes mixed with envious stare at why someone like you have bewitched a man like their husband and then the answer was clear. when you spoke, the words they were kind. your gaze clear as the sky. pure as the water that flows in the stream. it's almost enough to made them weep.

without pretending and not being able to hide their identities to you, they have laid what they're plans for you and the future that you'll have with you in their life. the requests absurd. you were not going to be a fourth wife of someone who had already three beautiful wives and he's clearly wrong in the head to be going for you and adding you to his collection of his wives. what will be of you and you took the course of what you deemed is right. you straight out refused. you can't accept such terms. bowing your head in a respectful manner and you requested that will be the last time you're seeing the four of them.

it came true but such request like that won't be easy for them.

they were hurt but it's your right. your wish and they were made to respect that but what about tengen. it was clear that their lord husband is deeply infatuated with you. the late night departures and the talk of you. they can't resist his wishes to be with you. as selfish it can be, you were going to be tengen's. wether you like it or not.

it was simply wrong of them to force you but what can they do. the more they know you longer, the deeper they have fallen for you. never did they thought they would share tengen's affection for you. it was maddening. frustratingly ambitious. they can't imagine without you. the mere thought of it drives them crazy so they did what they know are befitting for you.

they took you. it can't be considered an accident. your home burning along with your parents perishing in the accident. no place to take shelter, no people you can confide in. they took you in. offering you with condolences that doesn't pass the intentions they have with you.

you shared a home with your suitor with his wives and it was so wrong. you can't belong in this place and with their strange arrangement. it was from hospitality they were giving to you. it was trapping you in a place. it was too late for you to leave now. their plans have come to fruition and it was decided that you're going to complete their family.

who knows you have no tolerance for sake. the liquid drawing fire down your throat as you took a sip of it. you only insisted that you're only drinking a cup but they insisted that you deserve to drink more. it's a way for you to bond with them and this is their way to get to know you more while their lord husband is away taking dangerous missions.

when you started to get more open to them. they brought the topic of you marrying tengen and you will going to be a part of the relationship. you said no but the arrangement it wasn't. withing a fortnight you were married to him. a tear escaping your eye at what have you done to yourself. you place your self in a trap with no way out but the light is the marriage is yet to be consummated. the marriage isn't valid and you clinged to that while you planned your escape.

the plan's foiled. there's no way out. hinatsuru's lips are on your neck. sucking on that sensitive that leaves you gasping. makio and suma were sucking on your nipples. their tongues swirling on your hardened buds. your legs being spread by them and you tears continuously rolled. you can't get yourself free from them.

while they busied their selves on you, you almost didn't notice tengen looming all over you four. his thick fingers spreading your pussy lips and admires your sex glistening with wetness. it was time for this marriage to be consummated. they already have planned with it.

the fat tip of his cock slowly nudges into your pulsing hole. groaning at the sensation and at the sight of his wives pleasuring the new addition of their family. you can't go now. you would belong to them after this and to make it true, his cock swiftly entered your hole and with that, there's no way out.

it was months after that, every desperate attempt of escape were prevented. you sat there emotionless while your wives simply doted on you while tengen did his duties. fawning over your pregnant belly and cooing how they can't wait to see the little one being born. they weren't jealous of you being pregnant with tengen's baby. it was the opposite. they were delighted.

such delightful event means that you can no longer escape them.

[ash-says]

Survival 101 :

Buckle up your seatbelt darling because this is going to be triggering and one hell of a ride. Don't expect mushy from me. Might do it when tapped in my soft girl era but today I feel like a Villain.

1) Keep your mouth shut where you don't hold the power. No power no expressed opinions that can put you in trouble.

2) Learn manipulation and seduction skills. This will help you to detect when someone is trying to manipulate and seduce you. Saves a lot of drama and heartache.

3) Fight back strategically. We don't want to lose a job, a degree certificate, a bruise on your body,etc depending on your situation.

4) Facts over emotions. Always.

5) 90% of older men are creepy. Speaking from experience here. Play with them by ear. Get what you want by being polite and respectful but if they try to harass you or take advantage we turn Medusa on them or if you are not in a position to fight and walk out safe just play cutesy and shy and dumb. Ask him what he means and do not take a word said by him seriously. Dodge his advances like your life depends on it until you get an opening to run for the hills.

6) Snap out of delusions and pay attention to reality. People are not what you make them out to be they are what they show you. Stop making excuses for them.

7) Anxiety can be crippling. Panic attacks are the worst but no matter what happens try your level best to never show them publicly. Men are vultures and vulnerable women are easy prey for men.

8) That one friend who is all sweet to you and is your bff but anything positive happens in your life and suddenly starts becoming passive aggressive. Not your friend. Don't share any secrets. Best to be kept as an acquaintance.

9) Develop sarcasm and don't be afraid to put self entitled bitches and bastards in their place. Better being called a 'Mean Girl' over a 'Doormat'.

10) Bully back the bullies. It's 2024 sweetie we don't wait for an opportunity for revenge we fucking create it.

11) No matter how tough your life is going everyone shouldn't be getting a broadcast about it. At least not by your own mouth. Try to act as put together as you can.

12) Kindness is virtue but being apathetic saves you. Don't be the fool who bleeds through the stabs of the same knives again and again. "Because I can't see them in pain. I have a heart." Babygirl you have a life too. All that emotional stress is going to result in some serious problems in the upcoming years.

13) Learn when to quit. The most emotionally intelligent people I know are great quitters. They know when it's the end of an era.

14) Never disclose your family issues to outsiders. Until and unless a person has proved their loyalty to you year after year only those selected one or two people should know your domestic issues. Anyone else knowing it is like having a good gossip for tea time.

15) Lastly, there are no fucking saviours in real life. You are your own saviour.

[lovetwist]

Veil of Deception (I)

SYNOPSIS: In a world where political alliances are forged in blood and treachery lurks around every corner, you find yourself thrust into marriage with Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen. Born to be his perfect mate, you grapple with the terrifying prospect of becoming entangled with a man known for his brutality, obsession, and madness. As your union unfolds, you navigate a landscape of deception and dark desires, struggling to find your footing in a marriage fraught with danger and uncertainty. Caught between duty and defiance, summon your strength and resilience to survive in a world where loyalty is a luxury and love is a dangerous game.

WARNINGS (R18+): mildly dub-con, smut, first time, weapons kink, mentions of violence, manipulations, genetic breeding, power play

Word Count: 3.5k

PART 2

Below the towering spires of obsidian and steel, against a backdrop of opulent extravagance that flaunted wealth and power, a tension hung heavy, pregnant with the promise of destiny.

As Lady Atreides, sole daughter of Leto Atreides, you stood poised on the precipice of a meeting that would shape the course of your future. Your heart seized with nerves as you awaited the arrival of your betrothed.

Since your 15th name day, you had known of your engagement to the na-Baron. It was an inescapable fate predetermined by the Bene Geserrit. Your mother, Lady Jessica, had gone against them by giving birth to Paul, a male heir for Leto. Two years later, she gave birth to you – a gift of compromise for both sides. In return, Lady Jessica and Leto achieved the familial harmony they wanted, through the sacrifice of their daughter.

Every year, the Harkonnens requested your portrait to be sent along with a lock of hair. In exchange, they sent House Atreides jewels, gold, silks, and spice; disguised bribes for the upkeep of such a fine lady. They had only sent a portrait of Feyd-Rautha once. It was taken during his coming-of-age ceremony, a lean young man dressed in black fighting leathers. You stared often at the picture, looking to find some clue that could reveal his character. His demeanor was unnaturally cold and collected, yet his dark eyes barely concealed a burning rage. You wondered if Feyd-Rautha poured over you pictures as you did his.

Years passed and the engagement felt more like a false formality than reality. Unlike other noble families, you never exchanged letters with Feyd-Rautha or even met as a courtesy. Having completed your Bene Geserrit training under your mother, you learned that such things did not matter when it came to pairings arranged by the Reverand Mother. You caught whispers of conversation between your mother and her Bene Geserrit sisters. There would be no chance of failure, this union would be perfect. You were genetically engineered to be his absolute mate. Attraction and physical compatibility was assured. Everything about you was designed to lure him in – your scent, your voice, your everything was to be his undoing from the moment he would lay eyes on you.

Yet the thought gave you no confidence as you stood here now in Giedi Prime. Sexual attraction differed greatly from love, he didn’t need emotions to breed you. Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen, was a man followed by countless stories of brutality and wickedness. You heard that he laughed when Reverand Mother subjected him to the Gom Jabbar. He didn’t endure pain, he reveled in it.

Your palms grew clammy, breath becoming increasingly shallow as you pondered the dark fate that awaited you in the form of this formidable man. Would Feyd-Rautha be the embodiment of all the whispered sin that had reached your ears, or would he prove to be an enigma beyond your wildest imaginings? With each passing moment, the anticipation mounted, weaving a delicate web of uncertainty around your heart as your braced yourself to meet the man who held your destiny in his hands.

The grand doors of the chamber swung open with a regal flourish, your heart quickened its pace, echoing the rhythm of anticipation that thrummed through the air. Through the gray haze of incense, you beheld Feyd-Rautha, a vision of masculinity and charisma, whose presence seemed to command the very essence of the room. His eyes met yours across the expanse of the chamber, a charged moment filled with unspoken tension, as if the universe itself held its breath in anticipation of this meeting.

You were ensnared in a tempest of conflicting emotions, thoughts swirling like sand caught in a desert storm. You questioned your own composure, wondering if you could maintain the facade of confidence expected of a lady of House Atreides in the presence of the young Harkonnen and the terrifying Baron. Feyd-Rautha may be your future husband, but he was not required to provide you a good nor happy life. After all, why would he? You were the daughter of his family’s sworn enemy. He may have been bound in marriage to you by centuries of bloodline manipulation, but he maintained a free will.

Would his words falter, betraying the tumult and hatred raging within him? Or would he summon the grace and poise befitting his station, masking the turmoil that churned beneath the surface? Your apprehension mounted, a symphony of doubt and fear playing out in the recesses of your mind. Yet, amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a glimmer of determination flickered like a distant star on the horizon, urging you forward into the unknown with a quiet resolve born of necessity.

For in the labyrinthine dance of politics and power that defined their world, you knew that you could ill afford to falter now. With a steadying breath, you squared your shoulders and prepared to face your destiny, whatever form it may take in the guise of a madman husband.

Feyd-Rautha, with an air of effortless confidence, strode forward, his gaze a smoldering ember that ignited a spark within your soul. In that fleeting moment, as your paths converged amidst the darkness and mist of the surroundings, you felt a surge of something unfamiliar yet undeniable—an electric current that crackled between your bodies, binding your fates together inextricably.

Words eluded you as you struggled to articulate the wave of emotions that threatened to consume you. Yet, in the silence that stretched between you two, you found solace in the understanding that this meeting was but the first step on a journey fraught with uncertainty and possibility. He bowed without taking his eyes off you. In greeting, you extended a gloved hand, Feyd-Rautha grasped it with a firm sense of resolve. You knew that your lives were now intertwined in ways neither could fully comprehend nor stop.

And in that moment, amidst the hazy dream of your shared future, you glimpsed the faintest flicker of something akin to desire dance across his eyes. You noticed a dilation of his pupils as he laid a kiss on the back of your hand. Then, his grasp of you tightened and tightened. Your face contorted in pain as a crooked smirk appeared on his features.

In the dim light of the chamber, your eyes traced the contours of his cheekbones and the fullness of his lips, searching for traces of the young man you once memorized in a portrait. Yet, try as you might, only a beast stood before you in the guise of a gentleman. When he stood at his full height with his darkened leer, you held yourself back from cowering. His gaze was vicious, his smile vulgar with blackened teeth, and he exuded an air of savagery.

“How delightful it is to finally meet you, Lady Atreides.”

His deep, raspy voice caught you off guard. What a performer he could be! Long gone was the ethereal allure he displayed when first entering the room, now you could see him for what he was.

“Likewise, my Lord Feyd-Rautha.”

Uncertainty lingered like a specter in the room, casting a pall over the impending union that would bind you with him. You let your gaze lower onto the floor as your parents approached to talk with the Baron and na-Baron.

You could feel his intense gaze burning through your body even as you moved away to be with your brother. Could his eyes pierce through your facade, unraveling the intricacies of your soul like fine thread? Such questions gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, casting shadows on your will to remain strong.

As the evening progressed, the tension in the air thickened like a fog, suffocating any semblance of ease. Seated at the long banquet table surrounded by your family, the Harkonnens, and noble guests, you found yourself ensnared in a delicate dance of propriety and peril.

Across from you, Feyd-Rautha lounged in his seat, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he watched you with unabashed fascination. His demeanor was that of a predator toying with its prey, his every movement calculated to instill a sense of discomfort. Your family would leave to Arrakis after the wedding festivities, then you would be truly left alone with him. The precariousness of your position tugged at your heart.

As the meal commenced, the atmosphere grew increasingly tense, punctuated by the clinking of silverware and the strained chatter of polite conversation. You forced yourself to engage in small talk with those seated around you, your words measured and careful, lest you betray the fear that coiled like a serpent in the pit of your stomach.

Despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of composure, you couldn't shake the feeling of being scrutinized by those dark, probing eyes. It was as if Feyd-Rautha could see straight through you, peeling away the layers of pretense to expose your most secret vulnerabilities. You found yourself growing increasingly unsettled. You longed to escape, to retreat to the safety of your chambers and away from the suffocating presence of the Harkonnen heir.

But you knew that there would be no reprieve, no sanctuary from the darkness that had descended upon your life like a shadow. For tonight, and every night thereafter, you were bound to him by the cruel machinations of fate, condemned to walk a path fraught with danger and uncertainty. And as you raised your glass to Feyd-Rautha’s toast to your impending union, you couldn't help but wonder what horrors awaited you.

“To the most beautiful bride in the world, I will certainly savor tomorrow’s…memories.”

The men at the table chuckled darkly while your father’s and brother’s jaws clenched. You lay your delicate hand over theirs, do not mourn me. If I am to die, I shall do so with honor.

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As your mother lowered your veil, you noticed tears forming in her eyes. You never thought you’d live to see the day the impenetrable Lady Jessica shed tears for you. I must really be walking into my death, you thought.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror. There were no words to describe the vision you saw. Crafted from the finest silk and satin, your wedding gown exuded an air of majestic elegance with flowing skirts cascading like waves of moonlight around your figure.

The bodice, adorned with intricate beadwork and delicate lace, hugged your curves with a tailored precision, accentuating a slender waist and graceful neckline. A row of tiny diamonds trailed down your body, gleaming against the smooth expanse of your back. While the front of the dress was conservative, your back was tastefully exposed through a combination of sheer silk, diamonds and pearls.

Your hair was pinned neatly into a bun with a delicate braid on each side. The veil was gauzy, making your face seem like a daydream. The ivory fabric of your dress pooled at your feet in a sea of frothy tulle and satin, forming a train that trailed behind you like a regal cloak. The wedding dress was embroidered with delicate motifs of growing vines, mountains and ocean waves – a reminder of Caladan.

At your collar, a border of intricate lacework added a touch of timeless elegance, its patterns catching the light in a dazzling display of shimmering beauty. With every movement, the gown seemed to whisper tales of romance and splendor, a clear hope to the love and devotion the seamstress had prayed you’d find. You choked down a sob.

You’ve made me an angel for him to ruin.

The wedding hall was adorned with such grandeur, you’d expect the emperor’s daughter was getting married instead. The flickering silver torches cast dancing shadows upon the ebony stone walls. As guests gathered in hushed reverence, the air crackled with anticipation, as if the very walls themselves whispered of your impeding damnation.

At the front of the hall, beneath a canopy of arched black silk, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen stood, an imposing figure in his ceremonial garb. His porcelain skin was stark against the darkness of his clothes as he awaited his bride.

You approached with measured steps, hardening your grip on your father’s arm. Your eyes must’ve betrayed your fear and resignation because you could see Feyd-Rautha biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a laugh.

As you reached the altar, his lips curled into a predatory smile, his voice dripping with malice as he spoke the vows that bound you together in unholy matrimony. The words echoed through the hall like a curse, sealing your fate alongside his.

As you exchanged rings, a union forged in the fires of despair, you vowed that though your body may be bound to Feyd-Rautha, your spirit would remain forever free.

Standing before him, you felt the weight of his gaze like chains around your soul.

With a solemn nod from the officiant, you and Feyd-Rautha were instructed to seal your union with a kiss. He removed your veil, his eyes lingering on your face. As his lips met yours, a shiver ran down your spine.

The kiss was surprisingly gentle, but devoid of love. You gasped when his tongue entered your mouth. It was a macabre dance of dominance and submission, a twisted mockery of affection that left a bitter taste upon your lips. You try to push him away, but he holds your hands firm against his chest. The Harkonnens roar with applause and laughter. As you pulled away, a sense of profound emptiness washed over you, a hollow echo of the dreams and desires that had once burned within your heart.

The rest of the wedding banquet was a blur. As you were led to the high table by Feyd-Rautha's side, you couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped, ensnared in a web of malevolence. The guests, mostly Harkonnen allies, noble families, and sycophants, feigned smiles and exchanged whispers, their eyes gleaming with a perverse curiosity at the spectacle of your union.

The feast itself was a decadent display of excess, with platters of exotic delicacies and goblets overflowing with rich wines. But the opulence only served to accentuate the suffocating atmosphere, as the room was closing in on you with each additional piece of ornate furniture.

Feyd-Rautha, ever the consummate host, played his part with calculated charm, his laughter ringing hollow in your ears as he regaled the guests with tales of conquest and murder. You watched him from across the table, his features twisted in a mask of false benevolence, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of revulsion mingled with a sliver of pity. He, too, was playing a part – ever the performer. 

Throughout the banquet, you were subjected to the leering gazes and whispered innuendos of the Harkonnen cronies, their crude remarks slicing through the thin veneer of civility like daggers. But you held your composure, steeling yourself against their taunts and jeers, refusing to let them see the cracks in your mask.

As the night wore on and the wine flowed freely, the mood grew increasingly raucous, the revelry descending into a frenzied ecstasy. You found yourself adrift in a sea of faces, each one a grotesque caricature of humanity, their laughter and applause a cruel mockery of your predicament.

And amidst the chaos and debauchery, you couldn't help but wonder what was in store for you, chained to a man whose heart was as black as midnight. As you absentmindedly finished your last sip of wine, Feyd-Rautha stood suddenly, his chair loudly rattling against the granite floors. A chilling silence descended upon the hall.

He extended a hand towards you and you immediately understood his intentions. You departed the hall, hand-in-hand as men watched with envy and women stared with pity. You couldn’t bear to look at the faces of your family, afraid that you might beg them to take you home.

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As you left the banquet hall with Feyd-Rautha, a heavy sense of foreboding settled over you. The echoes of the evening's macabre festivities lingered in your mind, each laughter, each lewd jest, a reminder of the gilded cage in which you now found yourself imprisoned.

You walked beside Feyd-Rautha, his grip firm upon your hand, guiding you through the labyrinthine corridors of the Harkonnen estate. There was an eerie stillness in the air. With each step, you felt the weight of your predicament pressing down upon you, the reality of your situation sinking in like a cold, unyielding truth.

You stole a glance at Feyd-Rautha, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Occasionally fireworks would alight by the window, allowing you to see his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger that made you look away immediately.

As you walked in silence, your mind raced with a flurry of thoughts and emotions, a storm raging within you. You couldn't help but wonder what awaited in the bedchamber. You weren’t ignorant to the act of consummating a marriage, but your husband was no ordinary man. What horrors lay in store for a woman bound to a man as cruel and cunning as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen… what would satisfy a man like him? But amidst the fear and uncertainty, a flicker of desire burned within you, a stubborn resolve to claim him as much as he claims you.

He led you into a large room with double doors. Compared to the gaudy decorations of the wedding hall, this room was relatively simple: a chamber of dark elegance and understated grandeur. There were only the bare necessities required of a bedroom, but each piece had been impeccably handmade with the most exquisite of materials. At its center, a massive four-poster bed stands as the focal point, its frame crafted from polished ebony wood, intricately carved with motifs of serpents and ivy. Perfectly sized above the bed, stretching over the ceiling was pure reflective glass. You swallowed thickly, this man had no shame.

A grand chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, its crystals casting prismatic rays of light across the room, illuminating the space with a haunting allure.

The walls are lined with dark, navy paneling, adorned sparingly with antique tapestries depicting scenes of forgotten battles and dangerously sharpened weapons. A sleek, black writing desk sits nearby, stacked with books on war strategies and adorned with quill and parchment.

A sense of regal simplicity pervades the space, each element carefully curated to its master. This is a sanctuary of solitude, where one can retreat from the heaviness of the Harkonnen world and immerse themselves in the embrace of peace.

Busy admiring the room, you didn’t notice Feyd-Rautha locking the doors behind you. You tensed when you suddenly felt the coldness of a blade against your back. With one precise slice, he cut your wedding dress open leading all the decorative pearls to fall to the ground. Your hands instinctively went to cover yourself, but his newfound grip on your wrists was even faster.

“You are mine now, pet.” His hands slowly guided yours down as he ripped away the rest of your dress. “Do not resist me, I want to see you in all your beauty.”

Your face flushed as you looked away from him. You knew objecting to his wish was futile, perhaps if you appeased him then he’d be gentler. You learned this was a useless thought the moment you saw his expression – raw, animalistic hunger chipped away at the edges of his sanity. His pupils dilated so wide that his eyes became monochromatic orbs of obsidian.

He removed his own clothes with swift and lithe movements, revealing pure sculpted muscle. Through the rapid rise and fall of his chest, you could see that he was barely holding back his lust. Feyd-Rautha was going to devour you without leaving a single morsel for the world.

“I-I… If you hurt me, I will scream.”

“Go ahead, it’ll only stroke my ego if you do. Scream loud enough for the whole banquet to hear. Let them know what pleasures your husband bestows upon you.”

With each step he took towards you, you took two steps back. When you felt the bed come into contact with the back of your knees, you realize you’ve been trapped.

“Lie down.” he commanded.

Sensing the tonal shift in his voice, you obeyed. You felt his long, slender fingers enter your most intimate place. When he curved against your inner wall, you let out an involuntarily moan – which he quickly swallowed from your lips. You had touched yourself before, but only rarely during occasions when you couldn’t sleep and the moon was hanging high.

However, this was different – he was different. His fingers reached places where yours never could. Your body made lewd sounds as he pumped in and out of you with torturous speed. The way you grind against his hand was indecent, but he rewarded you with such sweet friction. Hearing his low pants against your ear, you couldn't help but writhe into his touch. When you came undone, he smirked and licked your essence from his fingers.

Before you could catch your breath, he was on top of you again; caging you between his toned arms. He reached out to grasp your chin before roughly crashing his lips down on yours. The kiss was all-consuming, he was drinking in every part of you without letting you breathe. Your eyes wandered down to where his member stood unnaturally stiff and enlarged. Your new husband sneered at your expression before his right hand circled around your throat.

“Your throat… it shall be my axis tonight.”