For day 28 I would like to shout out a fic that technically requires no shout outs, because it rightfully is one of the most popular, if not *the* most popular Feyd fic out there. I can genuinely say it's the most jaw-dropping fanfiction that I personally have read in my entire life. The intricacy of the worldbuilding and characterizations are of insane quality; better than many (most) books I've read. This fic doesn't hold back on everything Dune typical, dark and dead dove and it depicts Feyd as a positively insane, violent but also deeply troubled man. It ticks all of my boxes and I can hardly put into words how grateful I am for this work of art ❤️
bit my gun with my black-gold gums by @inkwingsinc
“Go to hell,” she hissed. “Just slit my throat and deliver me from this nightmare, then. I hate you, I hate being your bride, I hate that I’m marrying a goddamn brute—”
— Laera Druegelle
Laera panted and closed her eyes tight, trying and failing not to rock her pinned hips back on Feyd-Rautha’s fingers. “Go to hell,” she managed. The thin, reedy quality of her own voice shamed her crimson.
yes hi guess who wants to post this weekend (you are formally invited to my parking lot beatdown because I've been mean and withholding with mi chapters)
[ meet the setting ]
In a shadowed hangar deep in the Harkonnen spacing hall, a woman in betrothal chains stands defiant before the furious Na-Baron.
“I’ve had my fill of concubines in the past. I kept them naked and wanting, but by the time I slaughtered them, I was done with entertaining such petty relationships. If I wanted to keep you around to function as a tight little hole to shove my cock into, then I’d do so. But you’re too precious to be just a toy. I won’t let you have a say in the matter, but you are mine, Laera Druegelle. If I want you in these chains—you’ll wear them. If I want you in these chains and nothing else—then that’s what I’ll have. Do you understand?”
"Your display of favor insults me."
Find the story on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54217396/chapters/137290048
First: I have received and read all messages before this one and I treasure them. I also wholly intend to respond to them. I hope my response to this short ask doesn't come as an offense to anyone who has taken the time to write me messages with gravity. (I feel these messages, a pang in my chest, and I wish I could Vulcan mind-meld somehow to show you my appreciation)
This ask dredged up something very secret and primal for me. I was married on Halloween. This summer my spouse killed themself. I am still in the process of grieving and it is as hellish as you can imagine. Asker, I know this is not what you wanted to know (also fuck yeah ask all your questions there are no rules and I invite all of them) but I hope it sheds a little light on my absence.
I am sorry. I write but I am having trouble editing. I really, really hope to put out a good Halloween chapter to give a little light on that day.
Darkfluff Outtake #1: bit my gun with my black-gold gums
[ this is a drabble outtake from my ongoing darkfic, still might sneak it into the story somewhere ]
Fandom: Dune
Character Focus: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Female OC (established relationship)
Parent Fic Rating: Explicit (written by an adult, for adults)
Drabble tags: domestic "fluff", brief mention of past child abuse, humorous reference to dismemberment, unedited
Word Count: 592
To combat writer's block and darkfic fatigue I write little "fluffy" scenes using the same characters to freshen things up a bit. This is an unedited barebones sample, just for funsies.
Scene: Feyd-Rautha has...an interesting taste in music.
The first time Laera saw him put on music had been the first time he’d engaged with anything cultural that could be considered art. He was fond of moving around; often, he’d pace around his quarters while he read the reports his advisors would bind for him, or he’d take to his pull-up bar, or roll easily to the floor to curl himself into endless, controlled sit-ups. He read voraciously, but the texts were always dry nonfiction. He sharpened his blades. He contorted himself into series of endless stretches, rotated through solo training exercises, and would mutter to himself endlessly. Always moving. Always noisy. Constantly following Laera from room to room, never content to allow her moments to herself.
One morning after breakfast he ordered his attendants to bring in a musician.
The House bard was a small, frightening woman who had entirely blackened eyes and wicked, mangled scars roping over the dome of her pale skull. Her fingers were strange, being completely without fingernails, and she carried an instrument that Laera didn’t have the learning to recognize.
The music of Geidi Prime, Laera soon found out, was horrible.
“What is that, exactly?” Laera asked her warden, cringing at the metallic, shuddering moans the bard coaxed from the strange instrument. The bard wore an odd attachment over one hand, fondled a trio of metal balls, and caressed her other hand overtop with precise, slow movements. Electricity was involved, but Laera was far too disturbed to ask how it worked.
“It’s a hand theremin. Electrical harp,” Feyd-Rautha murmured up at Laera from his post on the floor. He held himself in a horribly rigid plank position, every muscle from his neck to his toes flexed. Beads of sweat gathered in the deep furrows between his shoulder blades and just above the dimples on the small of his narrow back. “Isn’t it lovely?”
Laera struggled not to laugh. “It’s…it’s something, alright. I think the sound is what a spark plug would sound like if it had the ability to scream.”
The bard turned her face to look at Laera sharply for her comment. Laera gave an apologetic shrug.
Feyd-Rautha’s rasping bark of laughter felled him from his plank, and when he hit the floor, he lazily rolled to his back on the cool stones, hard body coiling like a languid snake. He caught one of Laera’s ankles in an idle hand and pulled his foot to his chest, cradling it there. “I was taught to play as a boy. Used to play for the Baron while he bathed.”
Laera pulled her foot back, uncomfortable at mention of the Na-Baron being anywhere near his naked uncle. “Were you any good?” she asked. Good was relative, she guessed. The music still sounded like eerie, haunted-house spookytunes to her unfamiliar ear.
“I was terrible.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” Feyd-Rautha rolled to his feet and collapsed on the lounge chair beside Laera, who had abandoned her book to gape at the bard and her alien little instrument. "Sometimes this music is accompanied by singing. Don’t insult my harpist, pet, or I’ll treat you to battle hymns. If you think the melody is bad, just wait until I serenade you.”
Laera snorted, amused. “Battle hymns? I can imagine the lyrics now. I bet Harkonnen lullabies even include references to ritual dismemberment.”
“Only two of them do.”
“I see.”
Unfortunately for Laera, Feyd-Rautha found her distaste for the hand theremin to be amusing. She was treated to many, many renditions of “songs”, for many hours.
Darkfluff Outtake #2: bit my gun with my black-gold gums
[ this is a drabble outtake from my ongoing darkfic, still might sneak it into the story somewhere ]
Darkfluff Outtake #1 Link Here
Fandom: Dune
Character Focus: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Female OC (established relationship) x Female OC (handmaiden to other female OC)
Parent Fic Rating: Explicit (written by an adult, for adults)
Drabble tags: domestic "fluff", inappropriate family dynamics, "my wife and her girlfriend" kinda vibes, unedited
Word Count: 504
To combat writer's block and darkfic fatigue I write little "fluffy" scenes using the same characters to freshen things up a bit. This is an unedited barebones sample, just for funsies.
Scene: Feyd-Rautha doesn't have qualms exposing himself to his (or his lady's) handmaidens
Laera was sprawled on the low lounge chair in the Na-Baron’s antechamber when he sauntered in from the bathroom, fresh from the tub and still dripping. Raya had laid her head in Laera’s lap and was enjoying Laera’s soft, idle strokes against the smooth skin of her skull; it was comforting to both women to be physically close, and with Laera’s attention still fixed on the open book propped on the chair’s arm, Raya was free to gaze up at her Mistress in lazy adoration. Her black dress spilled like silky oil around her legs, the hem hiked indecorously to her thighs and fluttering sideways to the stone floor. The fireplace behind them was unlit, and the glowglobe had been called to aid in Laera’s reading.
The cut of light made Feyd-Rautha look obscene, shadows casting in the furrows beneath carved muscle and highlighting his warrior’s body. His wet, naked warrior’s body.
Laera looked up and said with a gasp, “Absolutely not! Put something on, please,” she cried, slapping down one quick hand over Raya’s pretty black eyes. “There’s no need to offend my handmaiden.”
Raya, cheekily enjoying the claim of her Mistress’s touch, smiled a wide, black smile and wriggled happily.
Feyd-Rautha rolled to a stop before the lounge and dripped absently all over the floor. “You’d tell me how to conduct myself when in my private apartments?” he asked. His expression was hard, but the amusement in his rumbling voice gave him away. He clicked his tongue. “Rude. Little Raya would be so lucky to see my cock. Wouldn’t you, sweetling?”
“That is your niece you’re speaking too, for Great Mother’s sake,” Laera bit out. She batted away Raya’s small hand when it raised to her face, presumably to push away Laera’s hiding hand. Naughty little thing, Laera thought fondly.
Feyd-Rautha cocked his head. “Your pet bastard girl is no niece of mine. I assume your prudishness is leftover sensibilities from Caladan. They do things different there, don’t they? I bet your nighttime kisses to your brother were so boringly chaste, Lady Druegelle.”
The thought of kissing Walden with anything other than simple familial affection made Laera blanche. “Whatever Geidi Prime has done to you is poison, Feyd-Rautha. Come on—you’re a fighter, not a lover. Go put on some pants and find a blade to hold.”
His laughter was sudden and chest-deep, and Laera found herself smiling at the sound despite herself. “You’re a delight,” he purred. He moved to step closer, but Laera pointed back to the bathroom with a cocked brow.
“Have some decorum in front of Raya, seriously. She’s only a girl.”
“That is a grown woman you’re cradling in your lap, Laera.”
Laera rolled her eyes. “She’s a baby. She’s, what, a decade younger than me? Come on.”
Feyd-Rautha gave a long-suffering sigh, the sound a performative, mocking gesture. “If I put away my cock will you let me trade places with your little pet? I’ll send her to go soak and you can stroke me instead.”
