"B-but Palestinians Can Get Their Freedom With Peace Not Violence 🥺🥺" No. Screw Your Feelings.

Deleted Scenes From The Cruel Prince

(Some of these are alternate storylines)

These are all of them, both deleted and alternate storyline. I highly recommend buying this TCP edition 🫶🏼 as it comes with gorgeous artwork and a neat velvet cover!

Who’s your fav character, but you have to choose one and one only!

I remember asking you this! This is such a tough question cause I'm so indecisive but I'm gonna go with Tom Riddle this time (literally named my account after him lol).

@dracoswhorexx

hotd men ; apologies.

+ . various x f!reader

synopsis. how the house of the dragon men apologize.

3 + . contents. angst. manipulation. gaslighting.

⋆.˚ DAEMON TARGARYEN.

daemon knows when he is right and when he is wrong – even if he seldom admits to the ladder. yet still, when time calls for apologies and your forgiveness, daemon will not so easily provide it. like razors through his throat or barbed wire around his tongue, apologizing is more difficult than taking sixty men head on. but daemon still yearns to comfort you, to ease you without the need for the words “i’m sorry” or “forgive me”. daemon will not show himself apologetic either, he will show nothing to indicate remorse or guilt. instead, daemon will come to you when he can’t stand the guilt in his chest and he’ll first wrap his arms around your waist. whether you melt into him or refuse, you’ll eventually cave when his hand slips up your dress and the other around your throat. daemon does not want to admit his fault, he does not need you to forgive him or pardon him because then that would mean he did do something wrong. all daemon needs, all he does to apologize is to fuck you until you forget of his wrongdoing.

⋆.˚ SER CRISTON COLE.

criston needs love, he yearns and vies for adoration and affection. should criston need to apologize, he will do so. criston will grovel and he will grasp at your dress with tears in his big brown dornish eyes and criston will beg for your forgiveness. but criston will only do such a thing once. criston believes that asking for a pardon, for forgiveness, it is a one time thing. should you deny him, reject him, criston will find any way he can to pin the fault on you entirely. to quell his guilt or to soothe his rejection, criston will grovel and he will beg and cry but should you deny him he will think he’s done all he could to right what was wronged. if you do decide to forgive criston, he litters your face in kisses and ghosts his lips along your palms and up your fingers. criston seldom actually feels a true and real guilt, what drives his apologies, his need for forgiveness is his need for love and validation. for affection.

⋆.˚ AEGON II TARGARYEN.

aegon does not – or rather cannot – apologize in words. not because aegon doesn’t want to, because he doesn’t know how. raised beneath a cold mother and father that hardly deserves the title, aegon doesn’t know how to apologize. all aegon knows is that he cares what you think, he cares about whether or not he is to lose something in his lack of apology. so, aegon uses whatever he can. whether it be his tears in big doe eyes of lilac or anger and threats with the power he wields, aegon will do anything and everything to bring you to him to let bygones be bygones. anything and everything except utter an actual apology. though, that isn’t aegon’s first resort. manipulation and gaslighting isn’t aegon’s first choice, his first is to gift you something. something aegon thinks you may like or something expensive and flamboyant to try and weakly compensate for his sin. if it doesn’t work, aegon will use manipulation like a blade.

⋆.˚ AEMOND TARGARYEN.

aemond’s way of apologizing is entirely dependent on whether he himself believes to be in the wrong. if he believes he’s in the wrong, aemond will apologize to you simply. aemond will simply ask for your forgiveness and if you don’t accept it, he’ll ask for a way to show his apology to you and fulfill it to the best of his capabilities. aemond will usually kiss the corner of your lips or top of your head after taking accountability in his apology. however, if aemond does not believe himself to be in the wrong you will never get a single semblance of an apology. any confrontation and aemond will deflect, he will impose blame on you or call you dramatic or hysteric. if aemond does not think an apology is necessary, than an apology you shall never get. whether you’re angry, sad to tears, or giving him the silent treatment, aemond will never concede. even if it means aemond will live in the chill of your cold shoulder forever. if aemond thinks he did no wrong, then he did not.

⋆.˚ JACAERYS VELARYON.

jacaerys doesn’t think apologies suffice in the mere words of “i’m sorry” or “forgive me”. when you two have a disagreement, an argument – something to bring about the need of apologies then jacaerys will first insist on space. insist you both take air before you come together to talk. then jacaerys will listen to you, your words and feelings before he provides his own. the entire time jacaerys will have a hand on you somewhere. cupping your cheek, holding your hand, resting a hand on your thigh, jacaerys must be touching you throughout the mature conversation. but it won’t always be like that. sometimes jacaerys will lose his patience, he’ll never raise his voice but he’ll storm out and or insist that he isn’t in the wrong but be will reassure you sharply and angrily that him not being wrong doesn’t mean you are. still, jacaerys will return to apologize, he will return cooled and he will murmur an apology forehead to forehead with his hands holding your face. once all is forgiven, jacaerys is more than content to forget the topic. or learn from it.

HENRY WINTER X READER

LOVING AND SELFLESS WERE NOT TWO WORDS EVER USED TO DESCRIBE A MAN SUCH AS HENRY WINTER. When you entered Julian Morrow’s office, Henry looked at you with an amused look upon his face. Richard had only just recently joined the class, now you? Julian was feeling generous.

His cold gaze followed you to your seat before returning to whatever he was writing in his notebook. With little acknowledgment, Henry only lifted his head with Julian entered; a man he idolised and admired greatly.

Henry straightened his posture, closed his notebook and adjusted his already neat tie. He merely glanced at you.

As the class went on, Henry began to read out a passage from the Iliad.

"Early in the morning the gods of Olympus sent down the breezes, to fill the sails of our ships.” Henry recites, the words imprinted in his mind.

“It symbolises the human spirit.” He says, a knowing grin fighting to grace his lips.

“I disagree.” You speak up, almost regretting doing so as all heads turn towards you; Henry’s much slower than the rest. “It symbolises the life and death. They’re being led to death.”

Henry let’s out a stiff chuckle, completely insincere.

“You’re overlooking the larger symbolic value of the passage, which is the idea of the human spirit overcoming obstacles and adversity. The breezes represent their collective effort and resilience in the face of challenges, not death.”

You furrow your brows and notice Bunny’s eyes widen a little. “You're just trying to force your own interpretation on the passage to fit your narrative. Death and being led to it is a much more nuanced and accurate theme to the passage and it's the very essence of the human condition. It represents the truth about existence.”

Henry shakes his head and his jaw tightens once more. “The passage is a reminder that our collective effort and determination can overcome even the most difficult challenges and that is the core of the human spirit.”

You tear your eyes away from Henry’s for a moment before looking back and continuing to argue. “You see, that's exactly the problem. You keep glossing over death and try to replace it with some positive rhetoric but you can't escape the truth. Death is inevitable, inherent in life and the human spirit must confront it.”

Julian looks impressed, only leading to Henry’s blood boiling more. A hatred began to stir inside of him. Luckily for you it was the end of the class and Julian knew Henry could argue over this for hours.

“I believe both inferences are correct.” Julian attempts to disperse the flame yet there was no shaking Henry’s cold glare.

Henry is the first to leave the office after you’re all dismissed, his strides strong and determined. He pulled out the pack of Lucky Strikes from his breast pocket, dig for his lighter from his coat pocket and lit a cigarette up. He took a deep inhale.

You walked after him, attempting to keep up with Henry’s pace. Despite his leg he moved briskly.“Henry.” You called and his pace slowed before he came to a complete stop, exhaling the smoke from his cigarette. Henry turned around, his height towering over you. It was much easier when you were sat down; you would’ve never thought to speak up earlier if he was standing. “I didn’t mean to aggravate you before, I was just expressing my inference.” You manage to tell him.

“You didn’t aggravate me, your opinion wasn’t vital.” Henry responds simply in a selfish manner.

You couldn’t help but scoff a little. “Well neither was yours.” You say, your sudden distaste for Henry getting the better of you and making your words come out harsh.

Henry’s jaw tightened; a common occurrence that happened whenever your mouth opened you began to realise. “At least mine made sense.” Henry replies brutally before turning around once more and taking another deep drag of his cigarette.

Since then a rivalry blossomed — Henry’s mind challenging yours as you challenged Henry’s.

Despite Henry’s spewing hatred for you, Francis Abernathy, another peer, had taken a likeness to you. He invited you over to his aunt’s countryside estate, the group’s last visit before winter break yet your first visit.

It was grand and large, easy to get lost in the winding far hallways. You spent evenings in the living room, lay across the couches and indulging in the rich wine from the cellar.

Tonight was no different.

Your minds were fairly numbed and you gazed up at the ceiling as the others talked — unaware of Henry’s gaze upon you from the armchair close to the fireplace. It looked almost playful. Almost.

Bunny was bringing up a moment from the class in the previous term and you laughed, shaking your head. “Nope, that’s not how I remember it.” You say your laughter dying down. You then heard a faint stiff chuckle from Henry and all heads looked to him. He hadn’t spoken much all night.

“What?” You ask, a faint laugh in your voice. It was a nervous laugh, you never knew what Henry was going to say.

“Even when we aren’t in Julian’s office you still manage to argue with anything anyone says, it’s predictable.” Henry tells you, taking another sip of wine.

“Henry knock it off. It’s all in good fun.” Charles said with a scowl, pouring more wine into his glass.

“I’m just stating the obvious, you always have to know better than anyone. Come on, give it a rest for one night.” Henry tells you, his gaze more challenging than ever as he wore a satisfied grin at how your face dropped.

In Henry’s mind he was only being playful — to you he was nothing but cruel. The room suddenly felt warmer and you needed to leave the living area before smoke came out your fucking ears.

You left the estate and stood outside for a while, crossing your arms; a poor attempt to warm you from the cold.

A few moments later you heard footsteps wondering towards the front door; those familiar heavy footsteps.

You glanced over your shoulder and saw Henry, lighting up a lucky strike. Quickly, you looked away and kept your jaw tight in a similar fashion to how Henry’s usually had his whenever you were near.

Henry glanced to you, his eyes roving you up and down for a moment as he exhaled the smoke. His eyelids were droopy and he cleared his throat before glancing away, intoxication taking hold.

“I was only trying to joke, it was a joke.” Henry informs you. You laugh falsely and look over to him.

“Jokes are funny.” You tell him and he grins, perching the cigarette between his lips as he got his Lucky Strike packet from his coat pocket. “Touché.” He murmured and held out the packet to you.

You looked at it for a moment before shaking your head and looking forward to the field. He put the packet back in his coat pocket and looked out to the field with you that was covered by darkness.

“I envy your perseverance. At first I hated it, then I began to love the challenge, the thrill of proving you wrong.” Henry tells you.

Your eyes remained forward yet you could see Henry in the corner of your eye, drawing closer. His hand reached up to caress your face, his hand large enough to cup your cheek and ear with his fingers not once calloused by work but by the scribbling away of his pen over the years.

As his fingertips grazed your cheek you grabbed his hand and shoved it away before making your way back inside.

“You intrigue me.” You hear Henry’s voice slur as you continue to walk. He wanted you to stay out there with him, yet drunken words, or any word at all from Henry didn’t matter.

You left to your room after that encounter and didn’t come down for the rest of the night.

The next morning, you saw Henry in the kitchen, up first as usual. You wished he was hungover, enough to stay in his room for the rest of the day.

His usual slick back hair was messier and his eyes were more remorseful. His top blouse button was undone and he lacked a belt. For a moment Henry looked human.

As you put the kettle on he looked you up and down once more, taking a sip of his own lukewarm coffee.

You didn’t look his way and looked out the kitchen window that faced the fields.

“Whatever I said last night I apologise.” Henry told you with a soft tone you were unfamiliar with.

“It doesn’t matter.” You mutter dismissively and keep your eyes out the window. You hear Henry sigh and he removes his glasses and rubs his temple in annoyance.

“It does, it does. What I said was true. I am intrigued by you.” Henry admits.

You scoff and shake your head. “You have a funny way of showing it.” You tell him bitterly, still believing he was fucking with you.

“It intrigues me that you challenge me. I’m not used to it.” Henry tells you. Your shoulders relax a little as the sincerity of his words dripped from his lips.

“I regret how I’ve treated you, please. May we be friends?” Henry asks, standing up from his seat. You glance over to him and he extended his hand to you as if you were creating a pact.

Slowly and uncertainly, you shook his hand and watched his face relax. It was new, something other than a clenched jaw.

Henry was a man of is word, his attitude and behaviour towards you dissipating from anger to a fondness of you. Little did you know it ran much deeper, that fondness soon submerging into desire.

When you worked together, to study or work on assignments it was like clockwork and everything fell into place. Your minds worked as one and Henry felt immensely foolish for creating your rivalry in the first place.

You returned to Francis’ aunt’s countryside estate in the spring where the fields were flooded with vibrant green and the odd clumps of flowers sat across it.

Everyone was outside, Camilla walking by the stream with Richard while Charles, Francis, Bunny and Henry played tennis. You were settled under a tree, shading from the sun and reading while seated on a picnic blanket.

You only look up from your book you were annotating upon hearing the approach of heavy breathing and look up to see Henry, his blouse unkept and untucked from his pants, a few strands of hair falling over his forehead.

“Was tennis really that intense?” You ask with a slight grin. Henry chuckles and lays down on the picnic blanket beside you. He rubs his forehead.

“Bunny can be very competitive.” Henry replies and you roll your eyes in a playful manner.

“What are you annotating?” Henry inquired, sitting up. You held the book out to him. Henry took it from your grasp and suddenly much more aware of how close Henry was seated beside you.

He flicked through the pages, his eyes concentrated as he focused on every word you wrote on each page and marvelled at it.

“Ingenious as always.” He tells you with a subtle smile, holding the book back out to you. You’re still reeling from the proximity. Why was this so overwhelming?

Henry looked back to you upon noticing your gaze and slowly lowered the book onto your lap. His eyes flickered to your lips for a moment before back to your eyes, a silent ask for permission.

When your lips part a little, he takes the indication and cups your chin with his fingers, bringing his lips to your own in a deep tender kiss. Closing your eyes, your body relaxes and you let your lips get taken by his, attempting to kiss back with as much affection as he did. His arm slipped around your waist and pulled you closer to him if it was even humanly possible.

Henry wanted every part of you.

His tongue slipped over yours and nothing felt better before the grating sound of a whistle was heard from Bunny mouth.

“Hey! We’re starting another game!” He yelled, unable to see entirely what was happening as the sun caused his eyes to squint, disorienting his vision.

Henry’s lips grazed yours now and he sighed in annoyance. He looked over to Bunny. “I’ll be over in a moment!” Henry yells.

He leaves one last desired kiss upon your lips before returning to Charles, Francis and Bunny, acting as though nothing had happened despite his lingering glances to you throughout the next game.

House of the Dragon characters x Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of child death, pregnancy, mentions of sex, mentions of threesomes

Daemon has trauma from what happened with his past wife, Laena. He's terrified that you'll die during childbirth, and will have a Maester check up on you every moon.

Daemon loves to gently press his forehead against your stomach, humming a song under his breath as you fall asleep.

He'll pick out a few dragon eggs for you to choose from for your guys' baby.

If there are any complications during the birth, he'll threaten to put the Maester's head on a spike if you don't make it out alive.

He'd rather you survive than the baby. You can always have another baby, but there's only one of you.

It was no surprise that you got pregnant since the both of you were constantly fucking.

b i g b o o b s

His hands and mouth are constantly on your breasts and once you begin lactating it will probably get worse,

Like Daemon, Aegon would choose you over the child if it came to it. You are one of the only things that bring him some version of happiness and he'll be damned if he losses you.

Aemond has thought of being a father before. Of course, since he was the second son, he would need heirs. He had also sworn that he would be a better father to his children than Viserys was to him.

Aemond does get a bit possessive when your pregnant and would prefer to be the one helps you bathe and gives you massages when you complain about back pain.

Though Aemond is usually reserved and shy about his touches, once he finds out your pregnant, he becomes more confident. Something that should of been a simple kiss, would end up with his hands wandering towards your breasts.

Ser Harwin probably got you pregnant during one of the multiple threesomes you have with him and Rhaenyra.

She's over the moon when she finds out your pregnant.

Her hands are constantly on your stomach.

Rhaenyra has a lot of experience when it comes to pregnancy and childbirth. She'll be there for you, listening to your worries and reassuring you.

She'll go throw a list of baby names with you, and you'd land on Aemma and Baelon being one of your top picks.

Buys you long necklaces and new dresses that show off your breasts, and gives you a cheeky smirk when you catch her looking.

Batfam x reader incorrect quotes:

Damian: And I’d love to be sorry for that, but we all know I’ve done much, much worse.

Bruce, in a meeting: My policy is if you see something, say something. You: I saw a squirrel in a tree today! Bruce, with the tone of someone who is used to You: Outstanding. You: This is what I’m talking about people.

Tim: You're the love of my life and my best friend, I would do anything for you. You: I want you to eat three meals a day and have a decent sleep schedule. Tim: Absolutely not.

You: Do you have any skeletons in your closet? Damian: You mean literally or figuratively? You: Honestly, the fact that I have to specify...

Damian: God, give me patience. Tim: I think you mean 'give me strength'. Damian: If God gave me strength, you'd be dead.

You: I've already sent good vibes your way… they’re coming. There’s nothing you can do to stop them. Jason: This is the most threatening way I’ve ever been cheered up.

You: What if the 'g' in 'gif' is silent? Damian: Go the fuck to sleep You: What gif I don't want to? Damian: Fuck You

Bruce: I actually have a black belt. You: In what, karate? Bruce: No, from Gucci.

You: Date someone who will drag you outside at 3am to look at the stars. Damian: If anyone, and I mean anyone, wakes me up at 3am to go look at the damn sky they will be removed indefinitely from my life.

You: That’s one of my biggest fears. Like, if I ever woke up as a donut... Dick: You would eat yourself? You: I wouldn’t even question it.

Tim: Do you think you’d actually notice if someone didn’t cast a shadow? Or if their limbs were just slightly too long? Or if they had just a little too many teeth? like how many times have you passed Something on the street and you just didn’t Notice It? You: Stay woke monsterfuckers ur love is out there!!!!! Tim: Yknow what? Not my point at all in any way whatsoever, but I’m glad I could be an inspiration.

Marvel characters x oblivious!reader

Steve Rogers:

Steve and you had been getting to know each other for the past few months and were becoming good friends. Although, Steve had begun to get feelings for you that were not so friendly. He wanted more out of your guys' relationship.

He'd never been good with flirting, but decided to at least try in doing so incase he scared you off or made you uncomfortable by being too upfront.

So, while on a walk with you one winter day, Steve decided to make his move.

"Y'know, Buck once told me pretty girls always have cold hands." The cold didn't bother Steve because he was a Super-Soldier, but he assumed that it would cause some discomfort for a normal human.

You look down at your hands.

"Huh. Mine are always warm." But either way, you shoved your hands in your jacket pocket, not noticing that Steve had put out his hand for you to hold.

Peter Parker

Peter and you had been going out for a little while now, and every time he'd try to flirt with you, you'd be oblivious. So after building up some confidence (with the help of Ned), he asked you. "Can I have a kiss?"

You look at Peter in shock, wondering how he knew you had a bag of kiss in your bag. You rummage through it and hand him one.

"Here," You say, handing the small chocolate to him.

Ned held in a laugh.

"Th-thanks?" Peter said, his voice cracking with confusion and embarrassment at being rejected - even if it was done obliviously by you.

Wanda Maximoff

Wanda had tried flirting with you before and you would never quite get the hint. She had assumed there was something wrong with the way she tried to make romantic advances with you and went to the Natasha to get some pointers.

Later on, Wanda decided to use some of Nat's tips.

Wanda asked you if you wanted to bake cookies with her and invited you into the Avengers Tower kitchen.

While you both were baking and talking, Wanda would try to make her laughs sound breathy when you made a joke or would compliment you from time to time.

When she noticed you were having trouble icing one of the cookies, she stood behind you, and gently wrapped one of her hands around your hand that was holding the piping bag while you held onto the cookie.

"Here," she whispered, her hot breath hitting your ear as she helped you ice your cookie.

After Wanda was done, she placed the icing bag on the counter and looked at you, trying to see if her flirting had done the trick. But you don't notice anything out of the ordinary.

"Thanks, Wanda," you say, thinking she was just trying to be helpful.

You went to grab another cookie to ice, when she suddenly grabbed your chin. "You have something on your face," she says.

You look up at her in surprise as she swipes her thumb against your cheek. She brings her thumb to her mouth before licking the icing off.

You look up at Wanda, your brows furrowed. "That's disgusting, Wanda."

The media is complicit in the dehumanization of Palestinians with the language they continue to use. If they can’t even call children, children, then what do they truly think of them?

and let's talk about how they cancel it within ONE MONTH OF IT AIRING like did you even really give it a chance?? was scrolling through twitter and it's all the (either outright or subtly) racist star-wars-purist white folks that are crying tears of joy at the acolyte being cancelled.

unfortunately i'm not even THAT surprised. they always see representation as something that taints the fictional universe they've come to love.

i feel like sometimes these kinds of fandoms—they'll tolerate a token poc character every so often, but god forbid too many at once. you're ruining the franchise! you're overdoing it!

why do the smallest & loudest & most miserable little bigots have to get their way I CAN'T DEAL WITH THIS.

lower the budget for another season! idgaf! but i really hate getting so into a story just to never know how it ends.

ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 2 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking.

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Legs tangled in gray sheets. The lightning-quick flash of a silver dagger, held by a pale hand.

The images in the dream are more like fragments- impossible to discern and decipher. On the bed, asleep and vulnerable. . .

There’s you.

And then Feyd wakes up, heart hammering in his chest so hard he can feel it in his throat. Slowly his fingers crawl up, up, up the expanse of the bed in search of something. In search of warmth, of you. Nothing. He’s just as alone in his room as he was when he drifted off into sleep. He lays awake the rest of the night, tossing and turning with worry.

This dream felt more like a warning than just another disjointed nightmare. It felt real. He was used to having dreams every now and again which clearly depicted a future outcome. He saw you in his dreams quite often, more so once he was no longer a boy-child.

If someone thought to hurt you… he’d just have to hurt them first.

The customs you and your people practiced were completely different to those that were normal on Geidi Prime. You watched one of your ladies-in-waiting as she brought over another small bowl of sweet smelling bath salts, dumping it in and using her hand to properly dissolve them. For a moment you felt self conscious, running your fingers through your hair as you looked at their perfect complexions and shaved heads. What did they see when they looked at you? Someone beautiful and strange. . . or an alien?

Still, you would eventually have to disrobe and bathe. Pressing your luck and refusing their help would only solidify your place as an outsider. You were sure that whispers of your arrival were already spreading like wildfire, and it was almost guaranteed that no one was happy about it. An Atreides amongst Harkonnen’s? You were nothing more than a pariah on their industrial wasteland of a planet.

The air was even more acrid in your lungs than it had been the night before, and while the smell of the rose body oils and salts were thick and hazy in your room, you could still catch the scent of pollution. Already you missed the cool, crisp air of Caladan. You missed your horses, your parents and your brother to the point of pain. This was not where you belonged. Not here in Geidi Prime. Not here with Feyd-Rautha.

The urge to cry yourself hoarse was practically undeniable, and yet you somehow managed to resist. You were late to breakfast already, and surely the Baron was making some unsavory comments about your family and their taught “manners”. So you untied the front of your nightdress and shimmied out of it, letting the soft cotton pool at the ground beneath your feet. The women couldn’t help but gawk at the tiny imperfections they saw there- a beauty mark you’d had since you were a child, a scar you’d received while training with Gurney. You weren’t used to feeling so self conscious, and so you were quick to grab one of the women’s extended hands so that you could sit down in the murky bath water.

They rubbed floral smelling soaps into your hair and on your skin, making sure to handle you as though you were as fragile as porcelain. You wished they would scrub you raw. Even then they wouldn’t be able to cleanse you of your fears. You were in the hands of the Harkonnen’s now.

No one could save you.

“We are not very used to styling hair, my lady. It might not be to your liking.” One of the women said anxiously. The way that her hands shook as she gripped the hairbrush was not lost on you.

How cruelly were they treated here? Or even worse- what did she think of the Atreides family? What lies had they poisoned these people’s impressionable minds with? You didn’t care to dwell too much on such thoughts. Reaching out you gently removed the brush from her hands, flashing her the kindest smile you could muster before shaking your head.

“Leave this to me then. Why don’t you pick something for me to wear from my things?” Your bags were still packed, lying exactly where a few servants had laid them last night. You had denied every offer to have them unpacked for you.

Denial. You refused to believe that you were actually stuck here. This would never be your home. It couldn’t be.

“He’s not here,” Feyd was sitting at a long, slate-gray table by himself. The food on his plate had barely been touched, but he had busied himself with chopping the meat up into miniscule pieces, too small to even fit on the prongs of his fork. “If you were planning on trying to make a good impression, you can forget about it. He always has his food sent to his quarters.”

You thanked the two ladies that had shown you through the colorless halls under your breath, moving to sit on the other side of the table. At least eight chairs separated you from the Na-baron and it still wasn’t enough. You wished you were on an entirely different planet, lightyears away from the Harkonnen scum.

The room was practically empty aside from the large dining room table. No art decorated the walls or rugs to cover the floor. It was all cold, black marble with white accents.

“I don’t care, actually.” And you were being truthful. You didn’t care about getting on the Baron’s good side any more than you cared about getting on Feyd’s.

He smiled then, staring at you long and hard before licking one of his black painted canines. He was amused by the blase way you brushed off his uncle so easily. Indifference wasn’t something he was used to, especially not when everyone in the galaxy had tried so hard to get on their good sides. People tended to tread lightly as far as the Harkonnens were concerned. They were as wealthy as they were cunning.

“Be careful, little Atreides. Saying things like that might get you hurt around here.” His gruff voice was but a whisper now, and suddenly you felt as though there weren’t twelve feet of dead-air separating the two of you.

You had picked up your fork, ready to eat whatever bland food had been prepared for you, but froze at his words. Heat rose to your cheeks and you were quick to lean back in the ornate high-backed chair, the cool iron seeping into your back through your clothes.

“Do you mean to threaten me?” Your words were icy, tongue sharp and ready to give him a proper lashing.

“It’s not a threat, darling.” He was practically purring, reveling in the joy of referring to you whilst using a pet name. It suddenly looked as though a switch had been turned on, his eyes narrowing on you. “I know him far better than you do. He’s killed people for far less. Be careful.” There seemed to be something he wasn’t telling you. There was genuine warning in his tone.

A pause.

“Please.” And then he went back to eating.

So were you supposed to act gutted at his uncle’s absence? You picked up the fork and took a bite of whatever had been put on your plate. It wasn’t at all what you were used to. Even the food tasted. . . fake. The meat tasted like it had been pumped full of chemicals and was mealy in your mouth, like sand. Still, you swallowed despite your distaste and shoved the plate away from you.

“Who have you assigned to be my sparring partner? I’m sure that my father made your uncle aware that I train daily, correct?” If you didn’t physically exert yourself and blow off some steam then you were bound to get no sleep tonight.

Last night you had tossed and turned, unable to stay asleep when your body was constantly alerting you to possible dangers. Even now you were on high alert, eyes locked on the knife that sat on the right side of Feyd’s plate. Your own fingers danced towards yours it you watched. Waited. Worried.

“Training?” He tilted his head again, eyes narrowed in disbelief. You could almost see the cogs turning as he mulled over your words. “What good would training do you now? If there are any threats then I am here to protect you- that’s my duty as your husband.”

Ah, yes. Why would a woman train when she could just sit back and play the part of a perfect little wife instead? You could spit.

“Would you rather I just hunt down one of your servants and kill him for sport?” You hated that he was so good at getting a reaction out of you. Maybe you were acting too much like a brat, but you wanted to see him squirm. Seeing him mad must be better than seeing him. . . like this.

For a second he sat there, arms perched nonchalantly over the armrests of his chair, staring at you with a crooked smile. You jumped in surprise when a chuckle escaped him, the act itself so out of place, so surprising that all you could do was stare in horror. The chuckles soon morphed into frenzied laughter, and he was quick to lean back in his seat so that he could place a hand on his chest.

“Was that funny to you?” You spoke through gritted teeth.

He watched the muscle in your jaw clench and unclench with wild eyes, sucking in a deep breath in the hopes of calming himself. Still, to hear such a beautiful woman speak such hideous words. . . it was wonderful, bordering on perverted.

“If you do kill a servant, please make sure I’m there to watch.”

He was too busy watching your face to notice the knife that you slid into the sleeve of your dress. With a huff you stood up, your skirts dryly brushing along the ground as you started to make your way out of the large room.

“I require a trainer.” You tried to mimic your mother’s tone, straightening your shoulders as you turned to look at him.

Lady Jessica always had a way of commanding a room. She was powerful, your mother. You needed to channel that same power now.

“You’ll train with me then,” He stood up from the table, the height and build of him alone nearly causing you to take a step back. You’d forgotten how large he was. How formidable. “Consider it a wedding gift.”

This had you balking, mouth opening and closing as you tried to think of some way to refuse. He was already stalking past you though, ignoring whatever retorts you were bound to make.

“I recommend getting changed. . . Unless you want me to tear that dress to shreds.”

That awful, ugly, no good- 

“Bastard!” You whispered under your breath, wadding up your dress just to angrily toss it onto your bed. 

You sank to your knees, braiding your fingers into your hair so that you could give it a few good yanks. He was doing this to fuck with your head. All of this was calculated on his part, it had to be. Was it all just to get a rise out of you? Or did he truly want to try and hurt you? You couldn’t figure him out, and that boiled your blood. All Harkonnens were cunning, blood thirsty schemers. You wouldn’t put it past him to be unhappy with the marriage arrangement, choosing to resort to violence in order to end things. 

‘Now. Now is the time to strike.’ 

You’d already hidden the blade under the mattress of the bed. The Baron wouldn’t allow you to live if you killed his precious nephew, but you’d much rather put up some sort of a fight than be put down like a dog. After taking a few steadying breaths you somehow managed to pull on your trousers and shirt, your mind plagued with dangerous, dangerous thoughts. If the moment called for it you were certain that you could not kill Feyd in hand to hand combat. His skills with a blade was well known across the galaxy, and while you were more than able to defend yourself, you weren’t delusional enough to think that you could manage to beat him without using underhanded tactics. 

You’d have to wait until his guard was lowered. 

“Do all women take this long to get ready?” 

You hadn’t heard the door open, nor his footsteps approaching. Who knew how long he had been watching you. The intrusion was an unwelcome one. You looked up to glare at him, trying hard not to balk at his appearance. The clothes he wore were skin tight, a black material that caught the dim lighting- like it was made of pitch black oil. His pants were tucked into big black boots, laced up high on his calf. 

He stretched his arms up, leaning against the doorframe so that he could continue his awkward staring. 

He did a lot of that it would seem. Any time you turned your head to face him you found that he was already looking in your direction. It was odd. . . off putting to say the least. Of course you couldn’t know that he was currently tracing the lines of your face with his eyes, committing every detail to memory. You were so different when he compared you to the females that he was used to seeing. You were all soft lines, long lashes and doe eyes. He found it impossible not to look at you. Gorgeous… you were gorgeous. 

“It took me a while to get out of my dress on my own.”You shoved your way past him in the doorway, his chest warm under your palms. 

You were quick to jerk away, startled by the fact that this was the first time that you’d touched him since the two of you had reunited. 

You didn’t hate the feel of him, but you should have. 

“Then you should have asked for some help.” He said, reaching out to grab you by the back of your shirt when you started to walk off in the wrong direction. 

Feyd pulled you along like he would a pet on a leash through the triangular halls, ignoring your mumbled curses as you tried swatting him away. 

The shield vibrated in your ears as you switched on the button, enveloping you in its warmth. 

You used to find it uncomfortable as a child, the tight, foreign warmth triggering a mild case of claustrophobia. You were used to it now, wearing it like a second skin. You waited for Feyd to turn his on as well, the blade clutched tight in your palm. 

You waited. And waited. And waited. 

“Where’s your shield?” You asked him, motioning towards his hip with your free hand. 

There it was, that crooked smile again. He was laughing at you. Was he trying to infer that you were weak? Was he so confident in his skills that he didn’t even see you as a threat?  

“I don’t see the nee-” He didn’t get very far. 

You kicked your leg out, catching the back of his right knee. His legs buckled, and he was quick to adjust himself, his left arm flying up to catch your wrist before you could sink the blade home. For a split second the two of you just stared at each other. Mild shock in his eyes, your own alight with an anger so consuming that you feared you might be burnt up with it. He gave your arm a sharp tug, hard enough that the joint rolled uncomfortably in its socket. 

You kicked your leg out before he could throw you over his shoulder, landing a sharp blow to his ribs. You heard him let out a pained moan before you hit the ground. Using your weight to your advantage, you tucked your body in, rolling to the side so that you could easily stand up to your knees, blade poised at your side and ready for an attack. 

“You fight well, Atreides.” Feyd purred, spinning his blade between two fingers before letting it fall back into his pale palm. 

“Turn on your shield.” You growled, rising to your full height so that you could begin circling him, a panther ready to pounce. 

“Was it Duke Leto that trained you?” Still, he was ignoring your statement. 

“No.” 

“No, of course it wasn’t him,” He took a step closer to you, eyeing you down. No one had looked at you like that before. . . and it made your skin crawl. You didn’t want to be desired by this man, the thought alone was miserable enough to have bile rising in your throat. “Your father is too weak-spirited to ever train you himself, lest he accidentally harm you.” 

Your heart was beginning to pound in your ears now, vision tunneling. All you could see was Feyd. All you could imagine was the blade that you were currently white-knuckling sunk hilt deep into his chest. 

“How horrible it must be for Caladan to have a Duke so. . .  spineless.” 

You bared your teeth, and for a second you were sure that you would snap the hilt in half with how hard you were gripping your blade. You demanded blood for such an insult. How dare he. How dare he. 

“I should cut out your tongue!” You screamed, pointed the blade at him. 

‘Don’t come any closer’ you urged with your eyes, feeling the angry tears causing your vision to fog. A Harkonnen was insulting your father. He was insulting your family and now he was smiling at you. The bastard had the gall to smile and this time all of his teeth were showing. Wide, unabashed in his joy. He was terrifying. So much so that you felt your legs begin to shake underneath you. 

“But you’ll want to put this tongue to good use eventually.” His gravelly voice purred. 

“Silence!” And before you could even control yourself you were using the Voice. 

You might not be as talented as your brother when it came to hand to hand combat, but your mother had taken the time to teach you well. Feyd’s mouth snapped shut so hard that you heard his teeth clatter together. 

“One more word and I will gut you.” Your voice shook and before you could rethink your actions you were lunging forward, the blade cutting through the air. . . 

Aimed at his throat. 

He was quick to push your arm away with his forearm, and even with the shield up you could feel the bone shattering pressure he put behind the movement. He was stronger than Paul- stronger than even Gurney. He took advantage of the fact that you were put off balance and grabbed a fist full of hair, the shield around you flashing red as he pressed his blade as close as he could to the base of your throat. Your scalp exploded in pain, eyes watering as he gripped harder to yank your head back so that you were staring directly into his eyes. They held no malice towards you, even despite the fact that you were obviously trying to maim him. 

And then he leaned in closer. And closer.

“If I didn’t know any better then I would think that you were actually trying to kill me.” He whispered against the shell of your ear. You could practically feel the warmth of his lips against your skin as he spoke, your heart roaring in your ribcage. With your chests practically touching like this you could smell him.

 You’d only caught the scent of spice once in your life- and it was akin to bitter cinnamon. There was something else though, something more complex to it. Aromatic spices you couldn’t quite put your fingers on and. .  . the natural musk of his skin. 

“So you can speak again?” You managed to tease him through your pain, wincing as he brought you even closer against his chest. The blade that you clutched in your hand was now pressing against his side, the pointed edge digging into his skin. 

He didn’t wince, even when you put more pressure against it. 

“You think it wise to use the Voice on me in my own home, little girl?” He hissed as he pulled away from your ear, and the fire that was in your eyes was now mirrored in his own. 

Slowly you moved the blade away from him, the metallic clanging echoing around the room as you let it fall to the floor. Your palm hurt from the vice-like grip you had been holding it in. 

“Release me now.” You didn’t shy away from staring into his eyes, unwavering even when he pressed the blade even tighter, the shield vibrating louder and louder around you. 

He leaned in, even when your hands moved to press against his chest, willing him to give you space. You could barely breathe with him this close to you. His own knife clattered to the ground, and using his free hand he ripped the shield from off of your hip. The gasp that escaped your lips was uncontrollable. You could feel his breath on your lips as his eyes continued to swallow you up whole. 

They looked even bluer when you were up close like this, framed by long black lashes. For a split second you wondered what had become of that beautiful little boy you had met. Had Baron Vladmir beaten the beauty out of him? Or perhaps it had never truly been there to begin with. 

When Feyd looked at you, up close like this, all he saw was the object of his ever-present affections. Something yawned to life in his chest- the need to protect. All at once he felt wrong, disgusting and horrible for causing you any sort of pain. 

But you looked so lovely with those tears in your eyes. So much so that he gave your hair another small yank, a shuddered breath escaping his lips as you yelped in pain. He saw the hate in your eyes and he detested it. 

‘Fear me’ he silently urged. ‘Love me, do as I say and I will become your slave.’ 

His lips brushed against yours, achingly slow- painfully soft. 

“I yield.” You were quick to say, pulling as far back as you could even with the grip he had on your hair. 

Fire. Your scalp felt like it was on fire. 

And then he released you, taking a step back with a heaving chest. The spell now broken, it felt like the world around you suddenly resumed its orbit. Wordlessly he pressed a hand to his side- the side that you had pressed the knife- and when he pulled it away you could see that it was stained with blood. 

“Didn’t you say that you were going to gut me?” There was no hint of humor in his voice now. 

“I wanted to.” You conceded. 

“Then you should have tried harder.”

Again you lay in bed awake, unable to fall asleep. You told yourself that it was just homesickness that had you clinging to the blankets, but you knew better. What had happened today left you rattled and confused. 

There were a hundred times today that Feyd could have killed you. Everything that Gurney had ever taught you had disappeared like smoke in the wind the second that your father was mentioned. You had acted on instinct alone. 

And if it was an actual fight to the death then you would have lost. Miserably. 

There was something strange about it though. It never once felt like an actual training session. He taught you nothing and gave you no feedback. Not only that but. . . it never felt like he actually wanted to damage your pride. He didn’t turn on his shield before and after taunting you, almost as though he actually wanted one of your attacks to land. 

He had allowed you to get everything out of your system. You hated that it had worked. It wasn’t helping you to sleep tonight though. No, you had other things on your mind now. 

Like the fact that he had almost kissed you. 

Your knowledge was limited where men were concerned, but you were nearly positive that there was something sexual about the way that he had treated you. It was like he didn’t want to actually hurt you, but still went out of his way to touch you. 

You’d be sure to ask for someone that might be willing to train you again tomorrow over breakfast. Someone who wasn’t Feyd, preferably. Lunch and dinner had been spent in silence on your part tonight. He had tried to strike up conversation a few times, even baiting you in ways that might warrant annoyance and anger. You didn’t budge. Why? Because you hated how nervous you felt in his presence now. 

Was it because you were afraid of him? That had to be it. Hearing about his proficiency in fighting and seeing it first hand were two different things. He had practically swung you around like a ragdoll. It was absolutely humiliating. 

Yes, that had to be it. . . well, you hoped. 

“Atreides.” 

The sound of your name had you bolting up into a sitting position, willing your eyes to adjust to the non-existent lighting in the room. The sound of footsteps had your heart jumping up into your throat, adrenaline flooding your system once you realized that it wasn’t a voice that you recognized. 

No one had entered the room since you’d gotten back from dinner, which meant. . . 

Whoever this was had been hiding, waiting until you completely lowered your guard. You were in danger. Horrible, horrible danger. 

‘Be careful. Please.’ You remembered Feyd’s words from earlier. 

He had been trying to warn you.

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