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fuckyeahisawthat · 2 months

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Controversial opinion among Dune book fans maybe, but I loved the changes they made to Chani's character. Making her a fedaykin who is already an experienced fighter before Paul arrives was a brilliant choice. Dune Part Two is a war movie, and this puts her at the center of the action, side by side with Paul, and gives her a much more active role than she has in the book.

We got a hint of where things were going in the beginning of Dune Part One. The first thing we ever know about movie Chani is that she's a fighter. She serves as a voice for the Fremen, telling us the story of their struggle from her point of view. I wrote here about the difference this change makes compared to other adaptations of Dune, what a perspective shift it is to have the world of Arrakis introduced not by an outsider, describing it as a dangerous but valuable colonial prize, but by one of its native inhabitants, who tells us before all else that it's beautiful, her home that she's fighting to liberate. I am so, so glad that the second movie followed up on this characterization.

I never found Chani and Paul's love story in the book particularly convincing, because why would this woman, who already has a prominent and respected place in Fremen society, even give the time of day to her deposed would-be colonizer, let alone fall in love and have children with him? Without a compelling reason for Chani to love Paul, she ends up feeling like a prize to be won, and "indigenous culture personified as a woman to be wooed (or conquered) by the colonizing man" is a trope we've seen and don't need to repeat.

But as soon as you tell me it's a barricade romance I get it. Cool cool cool, I know exactly what this relationship is now and it makes sense. Movie Chani doesn't respect or even particularly like Paul when she first meets him, and she doesn't think he's the fulfillment of any prophecy. She comes to respect him, and eventually love him, through his actions. He's brave--sometimes recklessly so. He fights well. He's willing to stick his neck out on the front lines with the other Fremen fighters. He can (after a little help) hack surviving in the harsh desert environment. He's not too proud to learn from others. He seems to genuinely want to be her equal in a common political struggle. All these qualities make sense as things she values.

Fighting side by side as equals is just about the only way I can see movie Chani falling for Paul. And it fits perfectly with the film's pattern of reversals that Paul's capacity for violence would initially be one of the things Chani likes about him, only for her to be repelled later when she sees what he becomes.

And as for Paul, well, he's had people deferring to him his entire life. Someone who doesn't take any shit from him is probably refreshing. He seems to like people (Duncan, Gurney) who challenge him and engage in a little friendly teasing--and aren't afraid to go a few rounds in the sparring ring.

It's easy to speedrun a romance when you're spending all your time together in mortal danger fighting for a shared political cause. Especially if you then start winning in a war your people have been fighting for decades. Are you kidding me? That is the perfect environment for intense battle camaraderie to turn into romantic love, and lust.

It makes sense that this version of Chani never believes Paul is any kind of messiah. Of course a character like movie Chani wouldn't believe in or trust some outside savior to liberate them. She's been working to liberate her own people for years. The more Paul invokes the messianic myth, the more he starts sounding once again like someone who plans to rule over them, and the more uncomfortable Chani becomes. In this way she becomes a foil to Jessica, the two of them representing the choices Paul is pulled between. It's a great way of externalizing the political and philosophical debates that often happen within characters' heads in the book.

And of course this version of Chani would leave Paul at the end of the film. It's not just the personal, emotional betrayal--although that stings. What common cause does she have with someone who just declared himself emperor and is sending her own people off in a war of conquest against others? Given the important role she plays in Dune Messiah, I am super curious to see how they get her back into the story, but girl was so valid for being willing to just gtfo. Given that she has the last shot of the whole movie, I'm sure she'll be back somehow, and I can't wait to see what they do with her character in any future installments.

#dune #dune part two #dune part 2 #chani kynes #paul atreides #adaptation #dune spoilers

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wausaupilot · 10 months

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'Route 51' to cover DACA recipients as police officers

Tune in at 10 a.m. July 14.

WAUSAU – Lawmakers in Wisconsin are trying for the second time to pass legislation that would allow residents enrolled in the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program to become law enforcement officers in the state, a bipartisan proposal that is seeing significant support from police. At 10 a.m. July 14, “Route 51” host Shereen Siewert welcomes Wisconsin Sen. Jesse James, R-Altoona, to��

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#American Business Immigration Coalition #DACA #Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program #Jesse James #Route 51 #Shereen Siewert #The Ideas network #Tony Gonzalez #Wisconsin Public Radio #WPR

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shijas · 1 year

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🥂!

#delete later #ranting softly in my tags again please ignore this post aha #sometimes i wonder how the people in my direct family see me! and maybe it’s cuz this holiday season i’ve been extra introspective #but i often feel vvv lonely ! which is like so silly because i don’t doubt they love me and i have what i always say are really good friends #to keep positive energy in the universe ! but there’s always this pressure when i’m around people ! how much of the real me can i be! what #is the limit before i become intolerable you know ? and it’s like if i can’t even been intolerable with the people who i would willingly #take the brunt of their own intolerability ? who will i ever allow myself to be myself around #and yeah idk i feel like to them i’m such an tough person? like i’m argumentative and whiny and childish but those are the earliest ways i #learnt not only how to defend myself but be myself in a sense #when i was younger my mum used to say i’m too soft hearted and kind #and i ended up in friendships and situations where that led to me being the only one hurting #and ultimately feeling lonely #but idk if they realise for all of these things at the end of the day i may show a bit my discontent towards their actions towards me #but i always give up! i always just go with whatever they decide to the point that i don’t really know how to voice my own opinions in #certain things since i’m so used to deferring #like i have gotten so used to accepting that ultimately the issue always lays with me and i have to change #because that’s what they want of me #and now i’m an adult who feels lonely by herself because she doesn’t know how to be herself around people she loves #who truly believes that no one loves the real her #facets of me are truly loveable ! and i think ik pretty well where my limits of toleration are but i live in fear #that one day everyone will have had enough #and more than that i like being lonely it feels safe most of the time ! if no one knows you how can they truly hurt you #but then why am i always hurt and why do i desepertaely sometimes feel the weight of the loneliness #anyway! what a bunch of probably incompressible babbling #happy new year i grit my teeth and lived so that’s how i shall continue

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minnesotafollower · 1 year

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Congress Fails To Adopt Important Immigration Legislation

Previous posts documented Congress’ earlier failure this Session to adopt (a) the Afghan Adjustment Act to improve the legal status of Afghan evacuees in the U.S. and (b) important bipartisan immigration reform, one of which was offered by Senators Kyrsten Sinema (ex-Democrat & now Independent) and Thom Tillis (Rep., NC) that would have addressed the legal fate of so-called Dreamers and provided…

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novlr · 1 year

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Vary your language with synonyms to use instead of "said"

While there is nothing wrong with the word "said" in and of itself, variety is the key to exciting writing that keeps readers engaged.

Combining action beats with varied synonyms as well as "said" yields the most interesting and varied results.

Here are some examples you can use in your next project to keep you writing varied:

Instead of "said quietly"

whispered

murmured

muttered

croaked

purred

hissed

crooned

breathed

buzzed

Instead of "said affectionately"

admired

gushed

praised

flattered

lauded

beamed

complimented

approved

exalted

Instead of "said sadly"

sobbed

cried

lamented

pleaded

wept

grieved

wailed

sniffled

bawled

Instead of "said angrily"

growled

fumed

demanded

hissed

scolded

mocked

yelled

bellowed

berated

Instead of "said fearfully"

stuttered

gasped

stammered

gulped

cautioned

screamed

wavered

croaked

blanched

Instead of "said excitedly"

cheered

sang

beamed

rejoiced

hailed

exclaimed

celebrated

exulted

blurted

Instead of "said uncertainly"

inquired

hesitated

balked

deferred

speculated

floundered

pondered

wavered

vacillated

Neutral synonyms to use instead of "said"

voiced

expressed

insisted

noted

uttered

continued

replied

went on

began

#nanowrimo #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #novlr #synonyms #writing dialogue #writers #writing #creative writing #creative writers #creative inspiration #writing resources #writing community #authors #writing fiction #writing books #writeblr

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reportwire · 2 years

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Today in History: September 5, first Continental Congress

2022-09-04 21:00:41 Today in History Today is Monday, Sept. 5, the 248th day of 2022. There are 117 days left in the year. Today’s Highlight in History: On Sept. 5, 1774, the first Continental Congress assembled in Philadelphia. On this date: In 1698, Russia’s Peter the Great imposed a tax on beards. In 1864, voters in Louisiana approved a new state constitution abolishing slavery. In 1939, four…

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#Bill Clinton #Bob Newhart #Carice v #Crime #Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program #Dennis Dugan #Dweezil Zappa #General news #Government and politics #Government programs #Marta Vieira da Silva #michael keaton #Rose McGowan #Skandar Keynes #Yuna

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samodivaa · 5 months

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You Are Art

Request : College!Bucky x Artist!Reader where Bucky is a nude model partner for life drawing.

Warnings - smut, soft sex Words - 2.3k AN - Me personally, would draw Soldat. ;o

All art is a kind of confession, more or less oblique—because one eye sees, the other feels. And the human form that you need to draw will include a physiological precondition that is indispensable—intoxication, lust. If you can say your feelings for him in words, there would be no reason to paint him—you wouldn't have asked him to be your model.

Bucky grows pale as death, he gazes into your eyes with a strange, wild, reproachful look as his lips tremble and vainly endeavors to form some words, then his mouth twisted into an incongruous smile. “Should I…undress now?” His face gave evidence of suffering. You are considerably amazed. “Yeah if you are comfortable? Does something worry you?” “I have scars” Bucky says all this perfectly seriously, and without the slightest appearance of joking, indeed, he seems strangely gloomy.

“There is no need to-”you say, seriously and with deference.

Never judge a work of art by its defects―Washington Allston “I want to, I promised you”

He interrupts suddenly, with a look of weariness, focusing on his lungs, on his ability to take a deep breath, to soothe with oxygen as the word rolls off his tongue. He is a handsome man, rather stout, with a very polite and dignified manner. He is always well dressed, and his clothes are always exquisite. Your conscience very soon informs you that is the proper narrative to tell. You met in the first semester, he is a business major looking to commission an artist for his project. You admit, that among the many silly and thoughtless actions of your life, the memory of that encounter comes prominently forward and reminds you that it lay long like a stone on your heart—ever since that, you stayed friends—it makes sense, doesn't it? For him to return the favor. There are a few seconds of dead silence before he goes to your small coach to undress. You eyes are flashing in a most unmistakable way, lips were all quiver as you observe his back muscles flexing. You try to speak, to reassure him, but can’t form words, a great weight seems to lie upon your breast, suffocating you. He’s quite tall with broad shoulders and an athletic physique that even his leather jacket cannot hide. You lick your lips, trying to quench the mental thirst for him—his belt clattering noisily as he unbuckles it, popping the buttons of his jeans open, followed by the low purr of his zipper coming undone, he drifts his hands down his sides and hooks both thumbs into his jeans, sliding them and the boxers down his legs. There is a frightened feeling, which makes him scowl and feel ashamed while removing his jacket and shirt until he is fully naked.

As you sit, your eyes turn to the blank canvas, squinting at it in the dwindling light, trying to concentrate. Then you gaze out the window, study the way snow clings to the spruce beside the building, and wonder how you will manage on your own once you have received your degree. With a sinking heart and a nervous tremor, he finally turns to face you. “So you just want me to sit here?” he whispers at last, drawing his breath with an effort, his nerves are terribly overstrained by now. He is sober, but the excitement of this chaotic situation—the strangest day of his life—has affected him so much that he was in a dazed, wild condition, which almost resembles drunkenness “Okay I will just sit here”

Bucky sits on the bar stool that is next to your canvas and his eyes fall upon yours, stop short, grow white as a sheet, and stares motionless, it is clear that his heart was beating painfully. He is gazing intently, but timidly, for a few seconds. Suddenly, as though bereft of his senses, he moves a bit, putting his hands on his tights. He knows that he won’t get hard—worry empties any dirty thoughts he might have. You are mesmerized by the tiny flecks of indigo in his blue eyes—you can drown in those eyes and it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. His beautiful features offer themselves to your gaze as you trail through them, annoyed at how attractive he looks—putting your mind into a darker cloud of irritation. In spite of this scornful reflection of his current mental state, he is looking cheerful as though he is suddenly set free from the terrible burden of worry and he gazes round. “Just don’t move I need to start with the sketch” You crack your fingers nervously before picking up the piece of charcoal—you stare at him, mentally measuring the propositions which helps you with the composition and scale. As an artist, you dip your brush in your own soul, you paint him with love—but you love him beyond words, beyond paint. And you hope Bucky will feel that once he sees the finished art. “Just tell me when you need a break” “Yeah, okay” he answers firmly, after a brief pause. Your voice is positively reflecting a sort of radiance on his face. You think, staring at him deliberately, that it is just another life painting, simply that's his body, his face, that are his eyes, his nose, and yet at the same time, It's a miracle, it's an ecstasy. And your only concern is to capture his beauty. “It is turning out amazing” you continue, pursuing the whirling ideas that chases each other in your brain “You are art, Bucky” He feels a hammering in his head and a faint smile shows on his face. His eyes are riveted upon yours, at first reluctantly and, as it is, resentfully, and then more and more intently.

Why isn't he saying anything? Did you need to say that out loud? The one time you try to implement that you like him and… So you torture yourself, fretting with questions, and finding a kind of enjoyment in it. And yet all these questions are not new, but suddenly confronting you, they are old familiar aches—it grips and rends your heart—maybe he just sees you as a friend.

It tortures your heart and mind, clamoring insistently for an answer, but you don’t dare turn your eyes to him for several moments. Bucky’s heart is beating violently, and his brain is in turmoil. At that moment something seems to sting him; in an instant a complete revulsion of feeling comes over him. He suffers passively, realizing that his cock is getting hard, but that he must do something, do it at once, and do it quickly.

“Can we take a break now?”

“Of course” you are bewildered, and stare at him open-eyed. You spot it, you can’t miss such a big dick. He gets up and goes to sit on the couch, covering his private parts with his jacket. His thoughts stray aimlessly…he finds it hard to fix his mind on anything at that moment. He longs to forget himself altogether, to forget everything, and then to wake up and begin life anew.

“Things like that happen all the time, no need to be embarrassed. It is nature” Bucky ponders and rubs his forehead, strange to say, after long musing, a spontaneous and by chance, a fantastic idea comes to his mind—to be honest with you. “It is not because of nature” he says all at once, calmly, he has reached a final determination. That answer agitates you, but you keep uneasily seeking for some sinister significance. You get up, slowly moving closer to him, standing in front of his sitting form. Bucky looks at you, your yellow dress of some light silky material, but put on strangely awry, not properly hooked up, and torn open at the top of the skirt, full of colorful stains, close to the waist. You stare straight at him. For one instant, the look on your face, in your eyes, has him puzzled— then he recognizes it. Curiosity—you are shocked, stunned, or thrown into a maidenly fluster. You are curious, you want to hear more, searching his eyes, but couldn't read his thoughts beyond the fact that he is considering you, considering what to tell you. “It is because of you” He stills, but his confident smile doesn't waver.

There is no going back as he removes his jacket, inviting you to madness, to sit on his legs. The sight literally steals your breath. His defined body, his creaminess of his forehead and cheeks, and the determined line of his jaw, the soft vulnerability of his lips, slightly parted. You see the scars on his legs, but your gaze is more drawn to the long block stranding out from his pelvis.

The gorgeous curves of your body somehow delineated beneath taut fabric, his eyes wonder shamelessly to your pink lips simply begging to be kissed. Their shape is etched in his mind, he wants the taste to be imprinted on his senses. "Here? You want me to sit here, on your lap?" The word, weak though it is, accurately reflects your disbelief. Your legs feels suddenly heavy, drowsiness comes upon them.

"Right here. Right now.”

At this time, the setting, his words and the whole picture are so truth-like and filled with details so delicate, so unexpectedly—it leaves a powerful impression on the overwrought and deranged nervous system. You straddle him, knees dug into the couch beneath you, the solid columns of his thighs hard against your soft limbs. Bucky adjusts his hold as his hands slide about your waist, beneath your dress. You gasp desperately, clenching your hands on his shoulders, fingers sinking deep.

Then he lifts one hand, sliding one finger beneath your chin.

Your sensitive skin comes alive to his touch. He tips your face up so that your eyes lock on his with heavy lids, watching flaring passion light your eyes. Sparks of pure innocence and want flashes in the depths as he gently kneads, then sends his fingers of his other hand to glide over your silken back. Desire heightens, needs escalates—and he is in no rush, you are too important to rush—conquering your senses and body is not all that he wants. He wants you forever and even though he doesn’t have the talent of art, he has the one of love.

He takes possession of your lips, your mouth. His hard lips move on your, and you soften, not just your lips, but every muscle. Slow heat washes through your body. When he pulls back, you swallow, and drag in a desperately needed breath. It is all pleasure, simple love—you become softer—he becomes harder, needy. The touch of his eyes, the touch of his hands. Art. As he is savoring you again, the softness of your mouth is his to enjoy, you feel his desire, the hard, throbbing length pressing against your panties. The softness of your thighs pressing firmly on both sides of his legs as you slowly grind against his cock and you can feel him attempting to buck his hips up to meet yours. The tension, pouring off him in waves, eases, just a little. He sighs, and rests his forehead on yours. Your innocence is addictive, entrancing.

Bucky shivers, eyes shut tight―he lets a low, wickedly teasing laugh. “I love you”

His lips brushes your in an inexpressibly tender caress. You kiss him, sliding your hands up, framing his face, so you can let him know―let him feel―your response to his words.

“Are you okay with doing it like this?”he murmurs, his tone deep. You gaze at his eyes, slowly nodding. "Good" The word is a feral purr then his hand slid lower, to lightly caress, with just the barest touch, the sensitive skin, moving the panties aside and rubbing his fingers along your folds, stroking and sliding slowly into you. Sweet pleasure washes through you, making you moan softly. His thumb presses your clit, moving in slow circles as two fingers slide deeper, finding the spot that makes you tremble. There it is.

“I want you inside me, please” The smile on his face, curving those fascinating lips―you are flushed yet so bold with words. He withdraws his fingers. You lift your hips as he tugs and shifts them until he is aligned, but you don’t wait as you sink on his cock to the hilt. A muffled groan escapes your lips as his length stretches your walls and you move your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, rocking slowly onto his cock, the head of it hitting your deepest places. Bucky’s hands travel to massage your breast, eliciting unexpected loud moans from you. His eyes locked on your face. “Don’t slow don’t, keep on riding me”

He states, his voice very low, it sends a most peculiar thrill through you, he grabs at your hips, impatiently thrusts up hard into your core, urging you to continue. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes around the small studio as you keep the moderate pace.

“I will come, Bucky” You keep on hitting your cervix as your trusts become harder, your nubile breasts swing with the force of your body rocking. An impossible pleasure goes through you, cumming violently, your throbbing walls milking his cock as he keeps on trusting through your orgasm, moaning before filling you up with his cum.

“I think that sex is a form of art” You kiss him long and soft, and when you pull yourself away, you touch his mouth with your fingers. “I suggest you not to think more, Bucky”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky imagine #college!bucky #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #request #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut

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0bticeo · 26 days

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lurk | feyd rautha

part two of five. (part one.) (part three.) (part four.)

summary:

the edge of the blade is sharp. a pinprick of pain blossoms above your carotid. but…

“it’s not sharp enough.”

he blinks. slowly, his lips curl in a smile. your gaze flits to them. to the plush lower lip, to the arch of his cupid’s bow. to their predatory edge. you’ll cut yourself if you get too close. maybe you need to take a step forward.

“what will you have me do?”

“pardon?”

“to sharpen it. should i fetch the incapable wretch who forged them?” his grin sharpens. you feel his blade cut through skin. “or should i use you?”

wc. 3k

tw. blood, death, manipulation, knife kink, blood kind (both heavily hinted at), possessive feyd, political machinations, little canon divergent because the atreides actually attend feyd's bday fight (canon dune part 1 one starts a little after that), please read part one first it will all make sense i promise. shoutout to @kpopnstarwars my most beloved you're going to enjoy this. same goes for you @jaiuneamesolitaiire . also please ask questions about reader/the plot i beg of u i need to get this out of my system

you’re falling.

you see white sands engulf you in their sickly warmth, greedy little grains sinking you in.

you’re falling, and there’s a distant roar ringing in your ears. you’re falling, lifeblood escaping you.

you’ve fallen.

black.

you peel your eyelids open. they feel like sandpaper against your eyes, coarse and rough in all ways wrong.

you dream. again.

the past shifts and twists in front of you, ever changing, desert sand falling through your fingers. the more you cling to it, the less you grasp it.

you let yourself fall in the abyss of memory.

you blink.

you stand by your father’s side, gait proud and regal in a dark dress - a convoluted affair of veils and silver. on your breast, the crest of your family - crimson falcon spreading, spreading. you think of blood blooming on your chest and shift, ever so slightly. the cool press of your blade against your forearm soothes you.

you are in troubled waters, after all.

geidi prime, home to your house’s sworn enemy, the harkonnen. geidi prime, its black sun sucking life out of its inhabitants, monochrome nightmare.

the flight from caladan was costly enough - you can almost hear hawat’s teeth grinding in discontent. a fortune, wasted on harkonen festivities held in honor of the na-baron’s birthday. yet, you must attend. you, betrothed-to-be to a harkonnen.

you’ve heard whispers. hushed conversations between your mother and father, an assessing gaze from the reverend mother herself. it won’t be the baron himself - too old, too sick to produce the desired offspring.

just any other member of that wretched house won’t do either - you are a duke’s daughter, your bloodline mingling with that of the emperor himself.

in the end, it all comes down to the baron’s nephews.

rabban - brutal. all furious brawns, minimal intellectual capacity, proficient for slaughter if used well.

na-baron feyd-rautha. utterly psychotic. deadly. precise. cunning. watching.

from his position at the baron’s right flank, he assesses you. you, back impossibly straight, hands folded before you, feet spread wide enough to spring to action should the situation go awry.

you, bowing before them, liquid smooth, a hair short of being disgracious.

you’ve only bowed low enough to respect the intricate harkonnen protocol, not to show deference. not to them.

the baron raises his head from his seat, barely.

“welcome to geidi prime, duke.”

you suppress a twitch. how utterly informal.

“thank you, baron.”

a shift in the baron’s entourage.

outrage, barely concealed. rabban looks ready to slit your father’s throat. how dare the atreides scum fail to recognize the honor paid to him and his suite?

they’re being left alive, have the privilege of witnessing their beloved na-baron’s coming of age, and still fail to show the due respect?

you let out a slow, drawn out breath. the ceremony will be held in two days. more than enough time for you and your father to be disposed of.

your lips quirk up. you speak.

“it is always an honor to be invited to festivities in which the emperor partakes.”

feyd-rautha’s eyes are on you. under geidi prime’s soulless sun, they’re white, depthless. a milky way of depraved harkonnen savagery. he bares his teeth with unbrided hunger. you know it to be a threat - you’ve heard of his harpies.

you think he’ll consume you whole, with the way his gaze scorches your very soul.

how delightful.

a pulse. the suspensors. slowly, the baron rises from his seat, gargantuan mass towering above you, shadow stretching and stretching until it encompasses all of you.

“the flight to geidi prime must have been quite draining.”

a tenth of your wealth. he who controls the spice controls the universe. the harkonnen have had arrakis in an iron hold for eight decades. your jaw ticks. bastard.

“escort them to the guest wing.”

servants surge forward.

feyd-rautha’s gaze burns, sinks in the exposed skin of your back.

your dream shifts. twists, turns, has you seated at a banquet table.

a feast.

one day left until feyd-rautha’s coming of age.

the guards don’t know how to hold their tongue. they expect a fight - the grandest thing under the sun.

the emperor’s here, sitting at your table. from the corner of the eye, you observe. he’s been put at the head of the table, the baron at his right, your father at his left. an attempt at appeasing eons old enemy. a failure. yet...

there’s an air of satisfaction to the emperor. haden’t you be trained in the bene gesserit way, you would have missed it, the way his eyes glimmer like arrakean spice.

finality sinks in as he takes the first bite, knife slicing open the tender flesh of an unknown poultry.

it looks like a falcon.

you take a bite of your own meat. medium rare, the proper way to consume meat. especially venison. princess irulan watches you, gaze assessing. she, too, has been trained in the way.

you smile at her, finger tracing the rim of your glass, spider-pleasantries networking endlessly. you ask her if she enjoyed your gift - a vocal recorder of the highest quality.

her smile is sincere. in the brutal white lighting of the banquet hall, you find yourself wishing things were different.

“how is your brother?”

you grin. you’re being watched.

“he’s grown. still has his back facing the door.”

she scoffs, amused.

“he’ll learn.”

under the artificial light, your wine looks like freshly spilled blood.

you take a sip and hum. the alcohol burns, sweet little fire settling low in your chest.

“is the wine to your liking, my lady?"

to your credit, you don’t startle. your shoulders tense, your hand freezes in its motion to lower the glass.

na-baron feyd-rautha is at your side, close enough for his breath to tickle your ear.

“it is, my lord na-baron.”

mine. mine. glacier eyes have you riveted in your seat, needle-like against your throat. mine, mine.

his lady. his to claim, his to wed, his to breed.

you watch lithe fingers curl around his knife and wish you could see him in action. watch the deadly precision he’s so praised for.

soon.

twist and shift, until you’re lost in a maze of hallways.

the ceremony is about to start - you can feel the low thrum of thousands of harkonnen roaring their na-baron’s name. shadows pass over you.

it’s cold, this architecture. metal wings stretching, stretching. should you crane your neck, maybe, you’ll watch them disappear in the ceiling. maybe. darkness is a looming cloud - these very walls soak up the light.

you, yourself, are a shadow. puppet dancing to the whims of whoever holds your strings. bene gesserit. baron vladimir harkonnen. the emperor.

you feel a storm coming.

you stop. light. an open door. a lone silhouette, porcelain white etched against black.

feyd-rautha.

he raises his head. sees you. tilts it to the side, lips stretched in a slow grin.

“are you lost, my lady?”

“so it would appear, na-baron.”

a twitch. flicker of annoyance in his eyelid, in the clenching of his jaw, sculpted edge caressed by shadows.

his blade is at your throat before you can make a move.

time holds its breath. it will snap and bleed raw at your feet, thick rivulets of it.

you will bleed, too.

your lips part, a muted gasp. the edge is sharp. a pinprick of pain blossoms above your carotid. but…

“it’s not sharp enough.”

“what will you have me do?”

“pardon?”

“to sharpen it. should i fetch the incapable wretch who forged them?” his grin sharpens. you feel his blade cut through skin. “or should i use you?”

your heart skips a beat. a droplet of blood trails down your neck, down to your collarbone, down to your breasts. his gaze follows. hungry.

“you’d make quite a mess, na-baron.”

he steps closer. circles you, free hand grazing your hip bone, left bare by your dress. you feel the heat of him. suddenly, you’re acutely aware of his bare chest pressed against you. you suppress a shiver.

“address me properly, my lady.”

he shifts his blade. it presses against your jaw.

“very well, my lord na-baron.”

a pleased hum, like a purr. you tilt your head to the side.

“what will you do, feyd-rautha?”

he turns by a fraction. his lips graze your cheek, a breath away from your mouth. your throat feels dry. they graze there, too, over your carotid, trailing up and up until he’s pressing his cheek to yours, guiding you, helping you see-

carnage.

servants, dressed in white, lying limp on the ground, throat slit with deadly perfection. blood pools on the ground. stretches. oozes from gaping wounds, until it reaches the hem of your dress.

concubines, three of them - sisters of fate, harpies with broken limbs, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. they’re smiling, teeth like fangs in the dim lighting of the room.

“help me,” he mutters, voice like a plea. “i will guide you.”

“and if i refuse?"

a low chuckle. deep, raspy. you melt a little inside.

“you’re brave, my little atreides.”

“you wouldn’t be the first to try to kill me and fail, miserably.”

his arm wraps around your middle, pressing you to him. oh, mother, why did you have to wear a backless dress? you feel each ridge of him, the perfection of a trained warrior, muscles taut from countless hours of training - he’d make sculptors weep with the lethal perfection of him.

“ah, the fabled tale. show me, little atreides.”

“say please.”

his fingers dig in your hip, thumb tracing small circles under the silver threads holding the fabric together.

“please.”

slowly, you raise your arm. the fabric of your dress, a convoluted affair of veils and velvet, slides down your skin. inch by inch, until the treacherous, ragged scar stretches along your forearm. he tenses, feyd-rautha.

“who did this to you?”

“a fool who underestimated me.”

an assassin.

sent to kill you and your brother as you were running around on the beaches of caladan. who took you first, had you pressed against him, blade at your throat - until you sweetly asked him to

unhand you.

he did. your mastery of the voice wasn’t perfect. you faltered. he struck. you bled.

killed.

words are the weapons of the weak.

that, you aren’t.

“how may i help you, feyd-rautha?”

twist, turn, until you’re facing him, holding a bowl of paint. thick, petrol black, it clings to your fingers like a lifeline. feyd-rautha’s hand covers yours. guiding you, dipping your fingers in the paint, raising your hand to his torso.

you flush a little.

he’s warm. so very warm under your touch. the paint is cool on his skin - you watch him shiver, abdominals contracting, and you trail down, down his pectorals, stopping just short of his navel, lingering over the fabric of his tunic. at his side, his fingers twitch, eager.

“more.”

“where?”

his hand reaches for yours. presses it on his chest. you can feel his heart, steady, strong - fluttering, hummingbird flailing in a cage made of ribs.

you want him, you realize. you want to consume him whole, sink your teeth in him until you can finally taste.

“where?”

you have to crane your neck to get a look at his face. something like amusement glimmers in his eyes.

he brings your fingers to his lips.

you blink.

spread the paint, thumb pressing down the plush of his lips. his lips part, suck you in and bite.

feyd-rautha watches you, tongue darting out to gather the sweet blood trailing down your hand. he presses a kiss to your palm, lips lingering against the callouses of your skin.

you let out something like a whine. the bowl falls. you never hear it reach the ground.

“you’re making quite a mess.”

bastard.

“you’ll make a bigger one if you’re late, my na-baron.”

twist and turn, again, and again, and again. dreams have meanings, and you won’t let this one escape your grasp.

you’re standing above the ground, in the gaping mouth of a harkonnen arena. on and on it stretches, cold metal sparring against the sky, gnawing at its decimated horizon. ink blots the sky. you think of blood pooling in the water. fireworks.

you step inside the lodge. the guards recognise you - duncan idaho flashes a smile, a sharp quirk of his lips. you nod. they part ways. let you join your father, sit by his side and watch.

the fight hasn’t begun yet.

“you look thoughtful, daughter.”

you look away from the immaculate sand and the thousands of harkonnen roaring their na-baron’s name. feyd-rautha.

your father is watching you, gaze austere. you will not conceal, not from him.

“an alliance with the harkonnen would be beneficial, father.”

silence. you watch the subtle twitch of his eyelid, the flexing of his hand. the guards do not hear. you’ve willed it so on your way in. to them, this is only pleasant chatter between father and daughter. harkonnen slander.

“you will not speak of such matters again.”

“the emperor-”

“enough!”

you keep your mouth shut. your father is a stubborn man, blinded by hatred passed down from generation to generation of atreides. as you should be.

horns blow. doors part, slide up. in comes feyd-rautha harkonnen, prowling on the wretched grounds of his playing ground. your binoculars zoom in on him. on the ease with which he carries himself, on the perfect arch of his neck as he kneels before the baron.

on harkonnen prisoners making their way towards him. undrugged.

you straighten in your seat.

the guards murmur. they too, have noticed the prisoners walking straight, carrying themselves with entirely too much ease.

“a bold move. what is the baron planning?”

your father. he’s watching too. all of you are, thousands of gazes riveted on the focal point that is the lone silhouette of feyd-rautha harkonnen.

you rip your gaze away from him and focus on the baron, a few meters above.

his lips part.

show me who you are, my dear nephew.

he’s fast. too fast for them. you relish in it, the fluidity of his movements, the way his hands tenses with each strike of his blades, bare forearms rippling with tension. one body falls. two. it’s barely been a minute since the fight started.

you cross your legs and watch, enthralled.

by god, does he fight well.

a reptile, slithering around his opponent, assessing him with the cruel knowledge of his supremacy. shadows loom over them, horned beasts ready to pry his opponent away from him should he prove to be in danger.

you feel more than you hear his outraged snarl.

“back off!”

that poor soul is his to kill. his gaze flickers upwards. up to the guest lodge, up to you. he bares his teeth in a smile, a flash of black against pure white, and strikes. blood splatters on the ground. a gash opens in the side of the prisoner. he stumbles but doesn’t fall.

no, he’s a fighter that one. lunches forward to pin the na-baron to the ground, wrestling with him, clawing at his arms, hitting every nerve until the baron drops his blades. he’s laughing. he’s getting the life choked out of him and he’s laughing, shifting until his feet find enough leverage to pull him up.

there’s a blade at his throat. the prisoner pushes and pushes, unstoppable force against immovable object. on he laughs, feyd. your eyes drops to his lips, where you see droplets of drool drip down his chin. you bite your lip.

feyd seizes the blade with his bare hand and twists. you hear the prisoner’s wrist break before you hear him choke on his own scream, coughing out blood. the dagger’s deep in his throat. it’s the only thing keeping him together - one fluid motion and feyd rautha wrenches it out of torn flesh and raises it above.

his gaze finds yours.

the dream shifts.

a veil unfolds, parts, until you’re walking the burning sands of arrakis. paul atreides, blood of your blood, flesh of your flesh, stands before you.

his eyes are blue.

you freeze.

a litany rises. lisan al gaib. your mother’s handicraft and eons of propaganda from the missionaria protectiva did its job well. here stands the one, scalding wind screaming around the looming silhouette of him.

bodies. bodies, laying on the ground, thousands and thousands of bodies, hands clutching at scorched earth, parched mouths opened in damnation. hunger. they’re dying in paul’s wake. fate will set the galaxy ablaze. fate will make monsters out of you.

“you know what must be done, sister.”

you do. there’s something a little broken in the way you smile at him, palm cradling his face.

“do you, little mouse?”

he’s tired, paul atreides, usul, muad’ib, lisan al gaib. sanctity doesn’t suit him well. he sees, but his eyes are sunken, his cheeks have hollowed out. there’s an edge to him, too. the bene gesserit were right to fear him.

“don’t lose yourself more than you already have, brother.”

it’s too late.

a jolt.

your eyes wrench open.

“welcome back, atreides.”

the baron.

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x y/n #feyd rautha x you #dune x reader #dune x you #dune x y/n #obticeo writes #bald freak supremacy

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shirefantasies · 5 months

Text

How the Fellowship Act Around Their Crush (GN!Reader)

Hello friends! Kicking off my blog with some cute headcanons for my favorite people- hope you enjoy 😄

Aragorn

✧ One of the least obvious for sure 😅 we love a strong silent type but unfortunately that means you’ll have to be reading in on his actions

✧ Checks in on you a lot, just making sure you’re feeling alright and not hiding any burdens because he wants to carry those.

✧ Teaches you all he knows about the world’s botany when he notices your curiosity, pointing out what plants are poisonous, which the elves use for healing, and which can be made into tea. Snags a few to make you said tea at the earliest convenience 😌

✧ Will be the one to drape his cloak over you if you get cold. Not the type to stop others from doing it, but boy will he be the fastest by far!

✧ Has the habit of letting his fingers linger over yours just a bit longer than necessary when he hands things off to you or presses small items into your hands.

✧ Is the best with his words. He’ll reassure you if you feel insecure that you have a strength and beauty you bring to this world that no one else does, that the time you are in does not define you as a whole, that all have roles to play here.

Legolas

✧ Least obvious part 2! Another who is more silent about things…at least at first! If you understand Elvish, you may catch him searching for advice from Aragorn on if he should speak of it or not.

✧ Almost always defers to your word/opinion whether it’s where to stop or simply how you’d like to spend the rest of the evening.

✧ Shows off just a smidge 🤏🏻 when he knows you’re looking, like no, he doesn’t have to impale three orcs with the same arrow three different ways but did you think it was cool? Then yes he did. Still his face colors with surprised, joy, and amusement when you react with awe.

✧ “Wow, beautiful,” you breathe as your eyes scan the stars, glittering constellations and distant galaxies winking above you. “Indeed,” Legolas responds softly, but if you happen to peer at him from the peripheries of your vision at just the right time you’ll see the glance he surreptitiously slides to you.

✧ Holds open every door for you, slides back every chair, serves you at every meal, like this prince is peak gentleman and nothing less!

✧ Whispers joking observations about the rest of the fellowship, especially Gimli, that he usually keeps to himself into your ear as you sit together during mealtimes. This creates a whole slew of inside jokes between you two and much confusion over what you could possibly be laughing at.

Boromir

✧ Not over-the-top, but he figures what’s the point if you never figure anything out? Definitely wants to drop hints for you 😌

✧ Places a kiss to the back of your hand when he first meets you, telling you it is truly an honor.

✧ “Here, allow me,” he’ll say as he gently takes whatever burden you bear whether it’s bundles of firewood or even your bag on a particular rough day of travel.

✧ Happily shares tales of Gondor’s splendor with you and insists he’ll take you there and show you himself someday. Asks in turn for stories of your home and all your favorite things about it. Even if he can never visit, Boromir is determined to find a way to bring a piece of your home to you someday- anything to make you feel like you’re there again.

✧ Offers you his arm when you two walk side-by-side, guiding you with a firm, warm grip that keeps you feeling secure.

✧ Always places himself between you and danger, stepping in front of you with his sword and shield in hands and even shifting you back with a hand upon your waist.

Gimli

✧ You’re going to figure it out pretty quickly. He’e comically vocal as we all know, but also incredibly smooth when he wants to be…and boy does he want to be 👀

✧ Drops a lot of hints about how dwarves are the warmest, heartiest lovers and best providing partners! “We’ve the grandest of halls and sturdiest of bodies, after all!”

✧ Literally always has your back, like he is more aware of any threats to you than you are. It’s nearly impossible to count how many times he’s slashed an orc you hadn’t even seen off your back, giving you a triumphant nod and an “Anytime, Lassie/Laddie!”

✧ Laughs at every single joke you tell so hard you can’t help but puff up in pride at your sense of humor, nudging your shoulder with his.

✧ “Oh, stay still, you’ve got something in your hair…” Proceeds to remove it in the most tender and intimate manner you’ve ever experienced.

✧ Asks you to look him in the eyes before a big fight because, in his words, if that’s the last thing he looks upon before going out it’ll all be worth it.

Frodo

✧ Has no idea what he is doing honestly. Has never felt this way before and wasn’t sure if he ever would, so his demeanor around you suddenly becomes shy, almost withdrawn.

✧ Your self-appointed nurse. Tends your wounds silently but with the most caring, gentle touch and gaze fluttering back and forth between your wound and your expression with those big blue eyes.

✧ Goes on walks every now and again when everybody’s camped. After a while of seeing you watch him off, Frodo plucks up the courage to invite you to join him on one.

✧ Embarrassed as he is at first, he is encouraged by your eager eyes when you ask what he’s reading, shyly admitting it’s some poetry he loves. Ends up reciting you the whole thing, looking into your eyes intently as he wishes to actually be confessing each of those flowery words.

✧ Grabs your hand to lead you places whenever he finds something you just have to see! Blushes about it after the fact but in the moment the excitement just takes over him and he doesn’t even think about it.

✧ Begins sharing concerns and deeper thoughts with you once he trusts you as a sort of sign of that feeling. He hopes you understand that he doesn’t disclose to just anyone.

Sam

✧ He wants to talk to you so bad, but also you’re the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen and how does he do that??? So sweet and attentive with his gaze when you do talk, so that could clue you in.

✧ He definitely gives you the biggest and best of anything he prepares, smiling softly at you as he dishes it up!

✧ Offers to tell you stories of The Shire, especially if you’ve never visited it yourself, and you can see the love for it in his eyes as much as you can hear it in his voice. Shares a few about his old Gaffer, too!

✧ Trips over his words from time to time. He’ll accidentally say the wrong thing and nervously try to laugh it off not realizing how adorable he looks when he blushes ☺️

✧ Sees a pretty flower on the road and immediately thinks of you, plucking it up and twirling it thoughtfully before extending it your way gently, naming his discovery as he does so.

✧ Would give you the shirt off his back if you wanted or needed. Offers you things from his bags a lot ranging from supplies that can ease your passage on this trip to the last of the sweets from The Shire he’d thrown in his pack pockets. Any task you don’t want to do Sam is jumping up to do for you!

Merry

✧ Medium obvious because he makes it his mission to get close to you and hype you up. If you’re oblivious or cynical it could be mistaken as him just being friendly, but it can’t come as a shock the way he’s so eager for your presence!

✧ Acts like you being amazing at things you’ve never even done is a foregone conclusion, like it could be your first time firing with a bow and he’ll be telling everyone what a natural you’ll be, urging you to go on and show them!

✧ Faintly embodies the old adage ‘if they tease you, that means they like you’. He sometimes makes up stories to see if you believe him, chuckling merrily when you do but quickly giving up the ghost again so you don’t have the wrong idea. Others he’ll just poke fun at things you say and egg all of your jokes on, too!

✧ Winks at you on the off time you two make eye contact with each other.

✧ Holds out his hand to you and gives a small bow every time he invites you to dance, asking if he may have it with a devilishly charming grin before he pulls you close.

✧ Whisks you away when he wants you to himself, taking you on a sightseeing adventure or even just foraging. Turns it into an over-the-top skit of him searching and protecting you from the threats of the forest that has you giggling!

Pippin

✧ Oh, you’ll be able to tell! He tries his best to be smooth and is super complimentary and generally wants to be around you 25/8. Even if it comes across goofy, you have to give him props for being forward with his intentions 😌

✧ Practically jumps out of his seat to be the one to help you with anything, whether it’s going fishing, gathering berries or firewood, getting some training in…you name it, he wants to be there for you if you need him!

✧ You may catch him staring at you, whether it’s in awe of your beauty or just straight-up checking you out depends on his mood, but his eyes are almost always flicking back to you in idleness.

✧ Remembers every single detail you share about yourself, like EVERY SINGLE ONE. Knows all your preferences by heart and frequently suggests playing your favorite game or offering to sing your favorite song, likely with an invitation to dance too! Pippin will chime in about your dislikes or allergies before even you can.

✧ Casually begins breaking touch barriers with small gestures like putting a hand on your shoulder during a mock apology for his cousin’s behavior or sitting with your arms brushing. If you don’t seem to mind, he’ll get bolder, slinging an arm over your shoulders during a jolly moment!

✧ Not afraid of compliments, definitely not! Unabashedly (well, mostly anyway, he hides a blush well) tells you that color looks great on you or what a pretty face you’ve got just in casual conversation.

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