Jun 23, 2025
Losing was the only thing that would have made you happy.
Some studies for @ace-of-bajor hope this helps you stranded in the tags
Feyd-Rautha with hair below the cut for all you book truthers
seen from China
seen from Nigeria
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United Kingdom
seen from France
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Sri Lanka
seen from Malaysia
seen from Nigeria
seen from Yemen
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from South Africa
seen from Canada
seen from United Kingdom
Losing was the only thing that would have made you happy.
Some studies for @ace-of-bajor hope this helps you stranded in the tags
Feyd-Rautha with hair below the cut for all you book truthers
yeah.
Chapter 33, now posted 🔞
Chapter Summary:
The Harkonnen's finally rally to Sietch Tabr, where Mintha is finally forced to confront the twisted nature of her one and only. There is no escape when she returns to the castle either. She is forced with a reminder that being Feyd's favorite has a cost to the ones she adores beyond him.
Free the Animal a Feyd-Rautha//DUNE fanfiction
Read a little: [mature readers ONLY]
The warship was unlike any I was passenger on. It moved and operated differently than a thopter. It was smaller than a heighliner. The only two framings of what air travel were vastly different. This warship being a third, very different option, too.
The warship was much larger than a thopter. It was modern, too. It did not have the constant thrumming of wings. The silence was eerie.
Even with the many soldiers seated in the cargo area, it was silent at the control table.
I held on with my fingers to prevent flying backward. Feyd knew when to brace himself. His hand would grasp mine in place to keep me upright.
Captain Rurik guided the ship’s navigator to the coordinates in the desert. His gruff words were easy to discern.
When in sight, he fled the co-pilot position. The echoing of his boots approaching felt like an end drawing nearer.
It was the end.
The attacks, the Fremen. Their vigilante leader, Muad’Dib.
Feyd would gather enough control and spice to begin the plot to overthrow his uncle.
It was all so near our fingertips.
If only, we surmounted this.
The feeling of the rumble within the air as large ancient rocks crumbled to dust. The sietch blended with the rest of the jagged rocks cutting through the warm sands. Now, it was being rendered to nothing.
Blasts from the warship filled the air like electricity. My skin hummed alive with each sensation. I felt every painful shock.
For the death of many, we could live untethered.
Our child would never know the haunted touch of that man’s fingers against their body. They would never know the fear- true fear - of being powerless under that man.
Still, guilt churned from my darkest depths. If death was the only way to live, was the life worth living? Death would grant us all reprieve from this constant fight of living. We could be free forever, in no other way to be stolen from our hands.
“The ground.” Feyd bayed. He paced urgently. The stomp of his boots vibrated up through the metal plating floors into my feet, into my legs, into my being. Anxiety and thrill, his, only made me more aware of every sensation around me. “I want to be on the ground.”
“We’ve not cleared the-.”
“Open this door. Now!” Feyd banged his fist against the hatch.
They complied with their na-Baron’s order.
“Do not leave this ship, Lady Mintha.” He shouted over his shoulder as he fled the confines of the aircraft for softer grounds.
The rush of heat surged against my body from the open hatch. The planets scorn, its wound hotter still. Opening and crumbling, like its blood flowing.
I looked into the dim darkness, growing darker with every moment. The sounds of the shelling stopped. Calm was alive. It crept through the warm winds, but I knew better than to listen to its lies.
Harsh tongues broke out against the still. Harkonnen. The tongue I used as a language to my own lover broke out against the still night as an invasion to the natural order. A colonizer of an ancient land that was immemorial. Tongues answered back. The desert’s language. It was one I knew from the castle, the staff and the locals. Sounds echoed. Out in the night, dancing around in torment of the never ending shift of the sands. There were screams and grunts. Fighting.
I pulled myself away from that open ledge before I convinced myself that the dunes were a better choice than living on with the knowledge of what had been done here.
What I had let be done.
The front of the ship was open. The navigator remained fully encased in the equipment around his eyes. The many cords connected into the board of the ship.
“Are you looking for worm sign?” I asked to distract myself from the slaughter.
“No, my lady.”
“Can you see…”
“No. They are not capable of seeing through rock.”
“Oh.” My fingers pulled at the edge of my taut bodice. “So, what are you looking for then?”
“Outlying Fremen scouts. If they are close, they might ambush us here,” he explained. “Muad’Dib specializes in entrapment.”
I swallowed. “We are vulnerable here.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“No one survives ambushes from Muad’Dib.”
“Rarely. Yes, my lady.”
“Would na-Baron be their target?”
“Their patterns do not indicate any personal vendetta.”
My hands rested atop my stomach. I let them hold the womb the way that Feyd often did. It was loving and protective and all I knew to do.
There were ends I would bring to my child to spare them pain, but this. A death in the desert in fiery explosion did not bring me peace.
It brought me fear. Hot and angry fear.
I disembarked from the aircraft into the dunes. The collapsed rocks jutted the ground. There were bodies. The ground showed Fremen and Harkonnen alongside in death. The rock wall was half collapsed in on itself and showed its hollow depth.
The crunch of sand breath my feet filled my ears.
A pair of guards walked with a small child between them. She struggled against the unstable sand. Around her neck was two ropes. Each secured tight within a soldier’s hands. Her tiny chubby baby hands were cinched taut together in front as she walked.
When our eyes met, a strange connection zapped through my entire being. They were filled with unfathomable depths. Something about that unnerved me. My hands held tighter to my stomach as I passed.
Blue. Her eyes were a bright, blinding blue.
“You killed nine of my men with one single blade,” Feyd said. I followed the sound of his rasp through sunken sandy corridors.
Read the rest below:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
A man with incredible amounts of power, physical and political, ruthless and unhinged but extremely sexually vulnerable to a point where he can be controlled and manipulated through sex?
Yeah that’s my type… thanks dune…
FREE THE ANIMAL - A Dune/Feyd Rautha Story
New chapter titled Heat.
[trigger warnings: violence, gore, implied abuse, self-harm content, SMUT] prisoner/master relationship, forced proximity, trauma, coping, dissociation, romance through broken bonds, attachment issues, sexual content,
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
I did not want this life. This place, this fucking title that lorded over me like a reminder of submission rather than the freedom it implied. I despised it all.
Feyd, most of all.
It was he that pushed me into this. He used me as a trophy, no better than his harem.
My feet stomped over to the bathing room, past an oversized wardrobe not filled a quarter of its available space, and noticed a flick of silver upon the dresser.
Feyd’s stupid ring.
It was two bands of silvery metal with an inky black of the coal of his home world. The pollution pumped into its dark air from burning the dark rock.
Next time I saw him, I’d return it.
Not his ring was mine, same as the title of his lady.
Prisoner was all that I was. Prisoner on its last moments. That was all I was.
Nothing more.
The time alone helped chill the tempers that had risen. Arrakis was a hot planet. It made it all the easier to flare to anger, I guess.
A servant entered the chambers. Over their head was wrapped a cotton shawl with a robe-like dress covering them down to the floor. Their eyes were warm brown, layered with lines deep-set in their face. I wrapped my arms tight against my chest.
They did come bearing a treat: a steaming golden tea kettle and a pair of ripe mangos larger than my fist.
“Greetings, Lady.”
“Please,” I said swiftly. “Do not call me lady.”
“It is royal decree, yes?”
The tray was placed at a stone table. The scent of tea leaves filled the air with its woody aroma.
“Yes, but na-Baron forgets that I do not prefer to be addressed so highly.” Then I thought longer. “Actually, I do not need any wait staff at all. I can serve my own needs. My station is so low that a mouse would rank higher than I.”
The servant held the sleeves of their robe away as they poured the tea into its cup. “Na-Baron’s knives don’t seem sharp to you?”
I tilted my head.
“I only ask because anyone caught against his say will be faced with the opposite realization at the end.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works