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theredofoctober · 9 months

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Midnight Mass DARK AU Fic— GOD HAS MANY HANDS

Cross posted from AO3

Pairing: Dark!Father Paul Hill x OC

Synopsis: A nun moves to Crockett Island for mysterious reasons. Father Paul succumbs to new and wicked whims

TW/CW: non con, religious trauma, blood

Father Paul is a darker, somewhat OOC version of himself, though as close to Hamish's portrayal as I could make him in those parameters

Read beneath the cut

The nun had been avoiding Father Paul Hill since she'd first arrived from the mainland, sequestered, a cloister of one, in a cottage at the furthest edge of Crockett Island.

How she loved that house, in its cultivated solitude. Sometimes, when the nun played hymns on the piano over the draughts that jimmied the windows at night, she imagined herself the sole living person in existence, a single pulse—a single breath—in the dark.

But it wasn't enough; her thoughts were always with her, constant tenants that had followed her for thirty miles across open water, and would follow her under the earth, in time. As a good Catholic, the nun was meant to believe in the washing away of one's sins by God's will, that to repent was to be reborn.

Yet she had repented, and it only felt like running away.

The nun left her new home very little, only to collect her scant groceries from the single store, or as deliveries from the mainland, at the port. Still she hadn't entered the church, although it—the Lord's voice—called to her often, its song undulating through her in a constant wave. Yet the thought of the many eyes and whispering mouths attending each sermon repelled her with a strength she'd felt only at the precipice of night terrors— no, she couldn't go there. Not yet.

And no matter: the nun had her own fashions of private worship, leftovers from the convent of St. Aurelia. She could worship in her home, for now, and remain devout.

Father Paul, the priest on the island, did not seem to agree. Several times the nun had bumped into him whilst running errands, a surprisingly youthful figure in blue jeans and tousled hair, ignorant, it seemed, of his own dark good looks. He'd struck her as both quaintly awkward and charismatic, an artful combination that had likely won over the congregation as much as outward appearances.

The man seemed to spring up from grassy hillocks and rugged shoreline like a Shakespearian ghost, ever-ready with a warm greeting and, inevitably, a gentle enquiry as to when the nun would be attending mass. Did he know that she was coming, or was it mere chance that brought them together, again and again? God's will, Father Paul would likely declare, but the nun was less certain of that.

She'd noticed a particular darkness in the priest's eyes, a furtive stirring of old, untended pain, and new.

The priest had suffered in his life; that, or he was hiding something. The nun had no interest in exposing herself to such volatility, intriguing a man though life's ills had forged. She'd vowed to engage nothing and no-one that might disrupt her peace, and thus she'd nodded her way through every interaction, eyes lowered, thrumming desperately for some gap in the conversation to take her leave.

After that came the phonecalls. Most, after the first, went unanswered; the nun got into the habit of disconnecting the line when she began her day's work—the editing of religious texts for publication—and considered having the telephone uninstalled altogether when she was disturbed in the evening, as well.

It was a blessing that the nun rarely dreamed, for she was sure that the priest would find his way there, too, as he had her daily ruminations.

Thought after thought came in their torrents, all of Father Paul, all of him. He coiled inside her as if with many fingers, many hands opening every hole she had, making them his possessions. The image was sin and sickness, boiling at the perimeters of her mind, irrepressible. But the nun would repress it, she told herself, she would not fold under the fancied urgings of a man that didn't know her.

And he did not know her, no matter what he'd heard from the mouths of gossips, nor from enquiries with the tight-lipped secretaries of St. Aurelia, who would give not an inch, holding grimly to self-preserving discretion.

A few days after the priest's calls ceased there came a knock at the door, an imperious rap that seemed to invite itself in. Bev Keene, the unofficial church administrator, stood about the house for half an hour, wrinkling her nose at the living room decor, and smiling blandly over a cup of tea.

"I don't believe we've seen your face at Mass yet, Sister. Honestly, the whole flock has been expecting you. You don't want to disappoint them, do you? They're all so eager to welcome you to the congregation. Following God's own lessons, after all. 'The Lord watches over the sojourners; he upholds the widow and the fatherless, but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin'— Psalm 146:9'. Words to think on."

There was a clammy sense of shame in the air around Beverly, a bitterness she herself seemed indifferent to. One couldn't stand beside her and not feel unclean, riddled with the squirming discomfort of a child pulled up before their teacher. The nun made quiet attempts to usher the woman from the house, which Bev coolly evaded.

"You do know Father Paul has been trying to flag you down? You'd do well to visit the man. His hands are very full at the moment and he's still so keen to make time for you!"

Too much time, the nun thought, but she felt so harassed that it occured to her that if she acquiesced just once this campaign of polite coercion might come to an end.

So it was that she left her house, one night, and made the long walk to the church, turning around on herself several times as her resolve wavered, then ultimately trudging on.

The air was pale with silence, unstirred but for the crunch of the nun's sensible shoes on unturned stones, her feathered breathing. How easily the walking put her out of breath; perhaps it was the incessant choir of nerves she felt, not the journey, that so tired her.

The wind tugged, insistent, at the nun's veil, and she heard, on that breeze, a strange, sharp cry from far off. A scream, or the shriek of an owl— neither were so savage as this noise, as it seemed to her, a yell of killing triumph.

The nun drew a cross against the dark. Likely it had been nothing, but she'd always feared the unpredictability of nature, the omen of it. There was a certain paganism to the Catholic faith that nurtured superstition, and with the nun's anxieties already at their static heights, her walk took on the feeling of folk horror.

At last the church rose into view, as modest a structure as expected for such a small community. Still the nun stopped in the middle of the grass, taken, again, by a great surge of disquiet. Lights were on in the church, which was not unusual; there were late services that dragged on, and the priest or Bev Keene would sometimes linger afterwards to clean, or rearrange the pews.

But the yellow windows were of such an arid, malevolent hue, like sulphur in a bell jar, that by the time the nun reached the church doors she was trembling, her shadow a cave drawing on the wall.

Slowly, she opened the doors, sighing at the familiar scents of dust and incense. Home was in the smell of this building, more so even than in her own precious space; the nun stepped into the church, between the rows, and closed her eyes a moment, taking comfort where she could before dread quenched the feeling again.

"Ah, Sister! I wasn't sure you'd come by."

The nun sprung to her left, hands seizing the top of nearest bench. Father Paul Hill was coming down the aisle towards her, his lined face breaking into a smile that would have disarmed the Devil himself with its warmth.

"I'd hoped, Sister— prayed, I, ah, I even prayed on it, just a little. I hope you don't mind; I know that can seem a little off-putting, unanticipated goodwill after hardship, but there it is. Does that sound conceited? Maybe it does, unintentionally, of course, but the road to Hell, you know—"

The sudden flow of low, mildly stammering chatter arrested the nun, it being so benign that she could do nothing but stand limply in its swell. There was no flitting away through the doors again now, not when those soft, dark eyes were clipped to her face, now the priest's hand was reaching out to envelop her own. Cold, so cold, that hand, and yet somehow feverish at once.

Was he sick, this Father Paul, or was he, too, felled by trepidation?

"Would you like some tea?" asked the priest. "Or coffee, although it is getting late. There's a kettle and some clean cups somewhere in the backroom, I believe. I always make one, for meetings like this. Something about a hot beverage calms the soul."

Helpless, the nun let herself be ushered to a pew at the front of the church, bound in a swaddle of talk. She knew that there would be purpose beneath the niceties, and sure enough when Father Paul at last sat beside her, drinks in hand, the nun felt as if the jaws of some unseen trap had closed barbed teeth around her.

"I get the feeling you're not one hundred percent comfortable in God's house yet," said the priest. "I understand that. I do. All people of strong faith, we're tested daily, for the bettering of our souls. 'Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him'— James 1:2. All the more reason to seek support, to seek support and guidance, from those who offer it with open arms."

It was nothing the nun hadn't heard before. She sipped her tea with a quiet agony as still the priest yammered on, his voice hypnotic in its depth and repetition.

"I know you must feel rejected, just now. Cast down, like Lucifer himself was, by his father, and likely hurt by the fall in more ways than one; just imagine, consumed though he was by wickedness, the Devil felt, as we all have, as we all do, the spurns and judgement of a loved one."

The priest reached out and touched the nun's arm lightly, making her splash tea over the rim of her cup in surprise.

"The convent of St. Aurelia. It was the only family you had, the community there, wasn't it? I understand your parents died when you were young, a tragic accident. My condolences. Though they know peace now it's never easy, a loss, losing, sometimes, the only people you cared to know. Gone, in a second, and suddenly you find yourself breaking bread with strangers. It's a strength, getting through it alone. I commend you for that."

The sheer compassion in the man's voice made the nun's eyes mist, but she merely blinked until Father Paul came sharply into view again. The nun stared down at his jeans, at a loose white thread she itched to pull free. Her eyes remained there as the priest talked, urging her towards the inescapable question.

"But then, there was another upheaval," he said. "You were asked to leave the convent, abruptly— suddenly, so unexpected. You'd lived there for so long, nearly ten years. It must feel like a betrayal— this, this departure, Eve out of Eden—"

A cool hand touched the nun's jaw, tipped her chin so that she was forced to gaze into the tunnelling black of Father Paul's stare. There was something ruthless in those eyes, the zeal of a man turned to madness by his own preaching. Yet soft, still, as salted butter, and the nun floated in that molten darkness.

"Tell me, Sister. Why were you asked to leave the convent of St. Aurelia?"

The nun broke free of the look, the encroaching hand, and the priest blinked, seeming, for a moment, embarrassed.

"This isn't confession, I know. I know that, but, uh, this opportunity, us meeting like this. It feels like time for truths—fears—to be addressed."

Attempting to rise, the nun shook her head, but it only took a meek gesture of Father Paul's hand for her to sink down again, her limbs hewn of iron weights. He looked at her with a sorrowed fascination, his tea going cold, barely touched.

Still he spoke in that low, lulling tone, still seemed so very amenable.

"I've watched you run away from me like a frightened lamb," said the priest. "Well, from everyone, but me, most of all. At first, I'll admit, I was a little hurt. Wondered what I'd done to scare you away when we'd barely spoken two words to each other. But I reflected on it, the puzzle of whatever was keeping a young woman like yourself—a woman of faith, with so much to give—in such isolation."

Father Paul set his cup down on the floor and folded his hands over his knees. Every motion, every gesture was compelling, as if conducting some strain of terrible music. The words were dangerous, he was, somehow. The nun wanted to stand up, make some clumsy excuse to leave, but she knew that she'd be drawn back, a helpless wave called in by the moon.

She didn't know why. All men were an obscurity to her, this one more than most.

"I thought about dropping in, at the cottage," said Father Paul. "But I didn't want to overwhelm you. Bev Keene did that on my behalf, I fear— sorry about that. Well-intentioned, but heavy-handed. I think she frightened you, her intensity—"

It was yours, the nun itched to say, your intensity, you wouldn't leave me alone—

But she couldn't open her mouth, could only listen as the priest burbled on.

"—Anyway, now you're here, I understand. God has allowed me that. Yes, God, I believe that, I really do. Your guilt, your shame is paralysing you, Sister. Shame that you were sent away from St. Aurelia's, so strong you came all the way to Crockett Island to hide from it. But you don't have to hide it, Sister, not with me."

Sunken into a cringing-self revulsion, the nun shifted back across the pew, putting space between herself and the priest. He inched towards her, his smile the pitying grimace of a doctor with a vicious syringe.

"You'll lose nothing by talking, if anything, you'll gain something. If you remember Psalm 32:5: 'I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord.” And you forgave the guilt of my sin.' Your silence, your turmoil. You could be rid of it today, uh, tonight, this very hour, if you wanted to be. It's in your hands, Sister. That freedom. To feel clean again."

Father Paul was close enough that the nun could taste his breath on her face, make out every crease and furrow in his skin. She sensed, under his relaxed confidence, a tension, as before a cat springs. She saw it in the way his head turned too sharply, in the incline of his body over hers.

The priest's eyes were gelid, sinkholes in a slate pit. Coldly, the nun understood that she was being given no choice, that she must speak, feed whatever hunger for contrition stirred in the man's heart, or else sate some other appetite. Or another, still—

Father Paul's hand closed over the nun's thigh, and this time it didn’t tremble away from her. There was something sure, animal, in his touch, the way his fingers latched over warm flesh through the habit, seeking her skin like a caiman crawls to water.

"Please, Father," the nun began, her voice a tremulous whisper.

She stammered over those two words until they guttered to ash.

"What was it, Sister?" asked the priest, his tone rough with a broken kindness. "What did you do at St. Aurelia's that you're so ashamed of?"

His hand slipped the nun's skirt up her thigh with a tender ceremony, and she cried out, a juddering crow-caw of anguish. Father Paul's head tilted slightly, and for a moment there was a luminescence to that stare, the milky white of things seen only in caverns, deep underground.

"I wish things could be different," said the Priest, mournfully. "The telling of secrets. The unburdening of the soul. It's never easy. I wish that it could be. But the nature of growth, Sister, it's painful. Growing pains, they hurt, they always do."

The skirt was up, over the nun's knee, and she wanted achingly to run, to strike the man that touched her with such mercy, but instead she let him push her back onto the pew. The nun gazed up at him, seized by a dread of the inevitable, of the thing she'd known would come when a scent had been caught of her great sin.

"Father," she whimpered, and again could say no more; her mouth was as dry as wafer, her voice drier still.

This time, the priest made no answer. His fingers brushed the bare skin of the nun's thigh, the place behind her knee where a pulse beat with the miserable violence of the Deus irae. The black-silver eyes were fixed there, almost lidless in their lack of blinking, and the nun realised that the priest had bent down, bent in the mode of praying over the exposed limb, his sharp nose almost touching her skin.

Gone, suddenly, was the quizzical arch of those dark brows, all bumbling affability extinguished. Fronds of black hair sprung down onto the priest's forehead, and as he lifted the nun's leg high to press his face to her pulsepoint she saw a creature unhinged, not a man at all, or not entirely.

Pain broke like a cheap mirror across the nun's thigh, and she tried to scream, tried, and failed. The sound was thieved from her lungs as though by the hand of a ghost, as was her strength as she tried to kick, and did no more than dislodge, from her foot, the plain little shoe.

It hit the floor with a resounding thud, like a closed book, but the nun did not hear it, her focus narrowed on the keen, ruby artery of suffering the priest plucked out of her thigh.

His other hand was at her hip, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to hold her to him as he drank from the wound he'd bitten open as though she were a flask in a desert. Blood ran down her leg in sumptuous plenty, soaking her underwear, redding the white.

The nun's body was so stiff with pain and terror that her back and neck ached with the tautness of it. She clutched the side of the pew and muttered faintly to an ear she was abruptly certain did not exist.

"Spirit of our God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Most Holy Trinity, Immaculate Virgin Mary..."

"Yes," said Father Paul, his lips still touching the cut behind the pale knee. "If you won't confess, then pray, pray. There's absolution for us all, in one way or another."

His face was a slick of carmine, dripping its excess onto the nun's calf. As his stare met hers she saw, slowly, the intelligence come back to that primal hollow, something of humanity, although not much of it.

"We all sin, Sister, all of us, even I. God will forgive us, as he'll forgive us again, and again. This isn't the first time someone has touched you; now, at least, we'll be cleansed together, as one."

Was this how he justified his monstrous want, a forgivable sin? Or else the stepping stone to a greater good, the regeneration of a soul? He was lying to himself, as the nun had, in taking flight from her past; no wonder there were holes in her wings.

The priest crawled up her trembling body, shushed her, murmured nothings of consolation as his bloodied hands pushed the useless feather of her underwear aside, as he laid his face alongside hers, anointing her with cloying scarlet.

"I won't judge you, Sister," he said, "if you find pleasure in this. It's normal, in fact, quite normal, the exhilaration of meeting the Lord with the truth bared—"

"Please, God, help me," said the nun, and the priest's irises shifted with that bestial madness, the sheen of lust and religion and killing made one in those terrible eyes.

He kissed her mouth as his fingers breeched her tightness, chaste, at first, then with the passion of a hunter in the night, the covenant of the unholy. His thumb danced her clitoris with the skill of knowing, and the nun had enough presence of mind to be surprised by that before her thoughts were dashed to cinders.

"They tried to cleanse you of this need, in St Aurelia's, didn't they, Sister?" asked Father Paul. "Tried, and failed with the futility of man to erase the very need of man to trespass. I saw it in your eyes: you're young, and on fire with it. I'll burn, with you, a while."

The nun lay under him like a saint carved into marble, as though his touch didn't move her at all. Presently the fingers left, and as fabric rustled another hardness, another piercing thing struck deep, the nail in Christ's palm, the suffering of Job—

"God," she screamed out, and there was so much love in Father Paul's eyes as he moved upon her that she could see scarcely believe that he was within, his cock the spear in the side of Christ, tearing the red scraps of her faith asunder.

It seemed to last the length of three great days, each thrust a thundering violence. Yet still the priest muttered his prayers and maddened sweetness, still kissed her brow with an angel's pure lips as she suffered beneath him. He wanted to bite her again, she felt it; he was starved of that which he had taken.

But it was as if he didn't dare, as if this carnality was the closest he could allow himself to taking such communion again.

"God, forgive us our sins," breathed the priest, against the nun's ruined veil, its wimple crushed and smeared with garnet death. "That we might begin again tomorrow anew. Amen."

He stilled, arcing away from the nun, his groans deep and low. She wished to feel nothing, only the agonies of unhappiness, but even in this God had no mercy; as the hated organ pulsed within there was an answering ripple through her own flesh, the spasms of a joy thrust upon her.

They lay together, a moment, clinging, the devout before some terrible miracle. Then, slowly, the priest gathered himself upright, looked at the blood on his hands and upon the woman. Abashed, he helped her sit; she didn't stop him, allowed him to smooth down her habit, give back the fallen shoe.

"I— I apologise, Sister," said Father Paul, in tones of genuine regret. "I seem to have forgotten myself. God moves me in strange ways, as of late, and I don't dare question His might and wisdom. I'd advise you against that, too. Questioning, I mean. He placed you here for a reason, I feel that completely."

Dully, the nun let him speak, the impossibility of answering a colossus between them.

"It's a pity you feel this way," the priest murmured. "I'd hoped to salvage your trust in God's plan, but I see that will take time. That's okay. We've got plenty of that, on Crockett Island."

He helped the nun to her feet, both of them unsteady in the waning crisis of frenzy. There was a lunacy in the moment, how a kind of performance fell into place between them, a play of being decent and ordinary people.

"Come to the rec center, if there's anything else you need to work through," said the priest. "I'm thinking of offering counselling there, in the evenings. Might, ah, could do you some good."

The nun beheld him with an abstract, distant terror, thinking—a sin, another sin—that she would rather carve out her own throat than be alone with this man once more. But rather than say so she only nodded, a coward's sort of kneeling.

"Yes, Father," she whispered, and stumbled out of the church, down to the beach.

She wanted to keep walking, into the ocean, under the cleansing black of the waves. But again the nun failed her resolve, and tottered on, a broken seabird trailing the shoreline, until the lonely cottage emerged in the distance.

#ao3 writer #dark fic #dark!fic #dead dove do not eat #father paul hill #father paul hill x oc #midnight mass #midnight mass fic #tw!noncon #religious trauma

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sansaorgana · 2 months

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— THROWN TO THE WOLVES (I)

PART TWO || PART THREE || PART FOUR PART FIVE || PART SIX || PART SEVEN PART EIGHT || PART NINE || PART TEN

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Atreides!OC

SUMMARY — After receiving the news from the Emperor about moving to Arrakis, Duke Leto suspects the upcoming war with the Harkonnens. His daughter's marriage with the Baron's heir is supposed to create an alliance and ensure his family's safety. Previously sheltered and protected Princess Atreides must now face the harsh reality on her own.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written as an usual x Reader fic without describing anything about the Reader’s looks but I still classified it as an OC as well since she is Paul Atreides' half-sister. I had this idea even before watching the movie... 😂 but I patiently waited to go to the cinema before starting to write. The fic starts around the events of the first movie but I imagine all characters to be a bit older than in canon – I hope it's okay since all the actors are adults. I can't believe I used to write fanfics where the Reader was Duke Leto's wife and now I'm switching sides like that! 🤣 I don’t know much about Dune’s Universe because I’ve only seen the new movies but I tried to do a bit of research. 🙏🏻

WARNINGS — arranged marriage, blood, mentions of death & actual death, violent behaviour, syringes & blood drawing, mentions of planned and scientifical breeding, Reader's behaviour might be interpreted as spoiled / ungrateful / rude (she's not supposed to be a good person)

WORD COUNT — 6,340

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

THROWN TO THE WOLVES (I)

Duke Leto was standing by the window with his hands clasped behind his back as he watched his son training in the courtyard and his daughter reading a book on one of the stone steps. Last week he had received the news about the Emperor’s decision to move his family to an unfriendly world of Arrakis. He was aware of the consequences of such a decision. He knew that the Emperor always had his bigger purpose.

“What is troubling you?” Lady Jessica stood behind him and put her hand on his shoulder.

“The war with the Harkonnens is coming,” Duke Leto sighed. “And I don’t know what to do to protect my family from it.”

Lady Jessica furrowed her brows. She had been waiting for this moment for a long time now but the moment never seemed to be right.

“What if you make an alliance?” She proposed with her lips inches away from his ear as her hands hugged his chest from behind.

“An alliance? With the Harkonnens?” The Duke couldn’t grasp the concept. “How?”

“You have something very precious here that for some reason you are hiding from the world. But we all have to serve our families. Women serve their families in their own ways, Leto,” Lady Jessica smiled softly and pointed her finger at Princess (Y/N).

Innocent and unaware Princess (Y/N), reading a book and watching her half-brother train. She was wearing a pretty dark green dress with long sleeves that were supposed to protect her from the harsh winds of Caladan. Her hair was done up in a beautiful way by one of her maids and her eyes were as sad as usual.

“She will be sent to her mother’s family soon,” Duke Leto reminded Lady Jessica. “That was my agreement with them.”

“Yes, and what will she do there? She can’t hide away from the big world. She is her mother’s daughter but she’s also an Atreides. You raised her. She owes you loyalty,” Lady Jessica explained. “If you ask her to keep your family safe, she shall do it.”

“I would never send my daughter to those monsters,” The Duke shook his head and turned around to face Lady Jessica. “I am her father. I might have not loved her mother like I love you. But I love her as much as I love our son.”

“If our son was a girl, he’d be the one sent to the Harkonnens,” Lady Jessica reminded him. “Of course her bloodline is not as perfect as Paul’s but she will do. I’ve spoken to the sisters about it and…”

“You’ve spoken to the sisters about it?!” The Duke’s eyes widened at that revelation. “You have already discussed my daughter with the Bene Gesserit?”

“I raised her, too!” Lady Jessica raised her voice. “She is not mine and I would never call her my daughter but I care about her, too. I watched her grow, I teached her, I soothed her after her nightmares. I was there for her. But she can’t hide from her destiny on her grandparent’s planet. She is Princess Atreides.”

The Duke remained silent. He took a deep breath in and looked out of the window once more. His son was already hiding the blades after the training and approaching his sister.

You closed the book and squinted your eyes at the sight of Paul approaching you with a smile. He was a little younger than you but he was the future Duke. In a fair world, you would be the Duchess of Caladan. You were older and you were a daughter of your father and his wife. Paul was basically a bastard.

And he was weak. You didn’t want to say it out loud but you had been watching him train for quite a long time now and you didn’t see a future Duke in him. You kept thinking that you’d make a better one. After all, you were supposed to be born a boy and a future Duke. But your mother was no Bene Gesserit witch and she could not manipulate her child’s gender. She died giving birth to you and she didn’t secure your father with an heir. Lady Jessica did.

So you had to watch Paul struggling with his trainings as you pretended to read books. You had asked your father to let you train as well but he didn’t agree. You were a Princess. If you were to gain an ugly scar on your face, your value would decrease.

“How was it?” Paul pinched you teasingly as you closed the book loudly to show him your annoyance at that gesture.

“The book?” You asked.

“No, my training.”

“I haven’t been paying attention to it,” you lied and shrugged your arms. “It’s starting to rain, let’s go back inside,” you stood up and he followed you to the gates. “I was thinking of giving away most of my dresses to the poor. I won’t need them on Arrakis, the ones with long sleeves and fur,” you told him.

“But you won’t be on Arrakis with us for long,” Paul reminded you.

“My mother’s planet is warm, too. It’s sunny and it almost never rains,” you explained. “I will not need these dresses there either.”

“It is sad that you will have to leave us,” Paul looked down.

You tried to hate him but sometimes you couldn’t. And as much as you hated everything about this family and how you were treated in it… He still remained your younger brother. And it wasn’t his fault that his mother was a witch and that your father loved him more than you.

“I will visit you and you will visit me,” you told him with a shy smile. “I am looking forward to moving to my grandparents and to choose any noble man on their planet I want to marry,” you chuckled.

Of course you’d rather stay and become a Duchess of Caladan. But that was out of option.

“I’ll see you later, I have to look through my dresses. I don’t trust my maid’s choices with them,” you told your brother and you went to your chambers.

You placed the book down on the desk and you caressed your mother’s picture. You had never known her since she died giving birth to you. But you always craved to meet her and you always daydreamed about her still being alive. Lady Jessica was no substitute to you. And she had never tried to be.

There were political marriage unions that were supposed to make alliances but there was also a different type of an union, a more mysterious and weird kind of it – the one that was calculated and planned by the Bene Gesserit. Your mother was supposed to give Duke Leto his heir and Lady Jessica was supposed to give him a daughter that would later be sent away to another great house and continue that malicious and intentional bloodline. To you, it was all witchcraft. You didn’t trust any of that because you didn’t trust Lady Jessica.

You knew that when your mother had been dying and you were being born, your father was not there. He was with her as she was already pregnant with Paul.

You knew about a lot of things from the maids that had come to Caladan with your mother. You knew your father had not been a bad man to her but he couldn’t force himself to love her. And you knew how much she had wanted to go back home. She had missed the sun and the warmth. And now she would remain forever on this grey and rainy planet. As a former Duchess of it, she had to be buried on Caladan.

You were occupied with the dresses in your closet when you felt someone’s presence in the chamber with you. You turned around and sighed at the sight of Lady Jessica.

“I’m thinking about giving away some of them to the poor,” you pointed at one of the dresses laying on your bed. “They will be no use on Arrakis,” you explained.

Lady Jessica remained silent as she leaned on the wall and kept watching you. You didn’t like that.

“What is it?” You asked.

“There’s a change of plans,” she finally cleared her throat as she straightened herself. You furrowed your brows.

“We are not moving?” You asked with hope. You were not a fan of Caladan but Arrakis sounded a hundred times worse.

“No. We are but you will not come with us,” Lady Jessica informed you.

At this point, you were confused.

“Am I moving to my grandparents earlier? Or… Or will I stay here to represent House Atreides?” Your eyes sparkled at the idea.

You already imagined yourself ruling the planet in your father’s name. Wearing regal dresses and being important. Perhaps proving to him that you’d be good at this job and he would let you do it for the rest of your life.

“You will help us to prevent the upcoming war with the Harkonnens,” Lady Jessica smiled softly. “You will be sent to Giedi Prime to marry the Baron’s heir.”

The sparkles in your eyes disappeared in an instant as your hands dropped down the gown you had been holding.

“No…” you whispered. “This cannot be true… My father would never agree to that.”

“He just did.”

“It’s… It’s your mending, you witch,” your fists clenched. “I must speak to my father myself,” you walked past her furiously.

You didn’t know what to think. But as long as you didn’t hear that from your father, it felt like it was a cruel joke on Lady Jessica’s side.

“Father,” you pushed the door leading to his office without knocking. He was sitting behind his desk as if he had already been expecting you. There was a deep wrinkle on his forehead and his eyes looked sad and worried when he laid them on you. “Tell me it is not true,” you demanded.

“You will be sent to the Harkonnens,” the Duke nodded his head.

“You can’t do this to me!” You yelled and banged your fists on his desk. The loud sound echoed through the chamber. “I had my whole life already planned… You cannot just…”

“I can,” he interrupted you and stood up, “and I will. We were not supposed to move to Arrakis. We were not supposed to be involved in this spice conflict. Things changed for all of us. You will go to Giedi Prime and secure the alliance.”

“How can you even speak to me about the alliance with them?” You asked. “How? Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been taught about the Harkonnens. I’ve been taught everything about them for the simple fact that they are our enemies. How can you send your daughter to them just like that?”

“You’ve said it yourself. You’ve been studying them since you were a little girl. You know their culture and their customs. It will be easy for you,” he tried to convince you.

Convince you to… what exactly? Convince you to agree to this without being forced to? Convince you that it would be indeed easy? Like it had been easy for your mother…? And all the women of all history forced to get married before her?

It was never easy. It was only easy for men to say it.

“I wish it was women ruling over the world,” you gritted through your teeth. “And I wish it was men being sent away from their homes and families to unknown worlds to start their life over, to become someone else’s property, to obey. I really do wish that, father.”

“That remains nothing but a wish,” he commented on that with a sad smile. “It brings me no pleasure to send you there. But you have your duties, too.”

“I have studied their customs and their culture. They are monsters. You are throwing me to the wolves. I will not survive this,” your voice finally broke as the realisation hit you that it was indeed happening.

You would be sent to Giedi Prime.

“Father!” Paul’s voice interrupted you both as he ran inside the chamber. His cheeks were flushed as he was taking deep breaths in after running. “You can’t do that! You can’t send her there!”

Oh, how cute your little brother was sometimes.

“The decision has been made, my son,” the Duke told him.

“Don’t be angry at him,” you turned around to face Paul. “You can thank your mother for that,” you added viciously before leaving the chamber angrily and going back to your own.

Everything was packed and the castle seemed to be as empty as never before. The ships were ready to take off and the Caladan weather was saying goodbye in its own manner – with a never ending rain.

The thing was, your family was going to Arrakis. You were going to Giedi Prime. Alone.

Well, you had two of your maids with you like your mother had been gifted two from her homeplanet on her way to Caladan. And you had your mother’s wedding dress, too. Beautiful, handmade snow-white lace, layered and folded in all the right places. It was elegant and innocent looking. Your mother’s maids had been telling you stories that for a moment they thought your father would love her. Because he had been so mesmerised by her in that dress.

It hadn’t happened, though.

“I thought you’d go with me. You or Paul at least. Some man from the family to give me away to them. To stay for the ceremony and make sure I am safe,” you told your father as you were walking beside him. It was your last walk together on Caladan.

“I can’t go now, I am needed on Arrakis. Your safety is ensured. They would not dare to hurt you. You’re Princess Atreides, don’t let them make you forget about that,” your father put his hands on your shoulders.

“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t,” you admitted and looked down, defeated. Your father’s hands dropped down to hold yours. He furrowed his brows at how cold and shaky they were.

“Have some courage, my child.”

“Why does it feel like you’re getting rid of the burden?” You asked while biting on your lower lip.

“You have never been a burden to me,” he pulled you closer for a hug. You felt warm tears rolling down your cheeks.

You really wanted to believe his words but you couldn’t. You still felt like an unwanted daughter and a painful reminder of a woman he had been forced to marry once.

“You are my daughter, remember that,” Duke Leto took a step back to wipe the tears off of your cheeks. “You will forever be.”

You didn’t say anything to that. How would you even tell him that you wished you weren’t?

You went back to the hangar silently. Everyone was waiting for you so the ships would take off. Paul ran up to you and gave you a hug.

“I wish you could go with us on Arrakis,” he said with tears in his eyes.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but I’d also rather go to Arrakis than Giedi Prime,” you confessed. “That planet sounds dreadful.”

“They’re lucky to have you. You’ll make it bloom,” Paul tried to cheer you up.

“Or they will poison me and I will wither,” you smiled sadly and kissed his forehead goodbye.

You only nodded your head at Lady Jessica and she nodded her head back with a smile.

You had been trying to overthink her plans. She either wanted you on Giedi Prime badly or she didn’t want you on Arrakis for some reason. But there was no point of losing sleep over that. You had other things to worry about now. Because finding out her motives wouldn’t change your situation anyway.

You had been informed in a message from the Harkonnens to your father that your husband would be Baron’s nephew named Feyd-Rautha who was your brother’s age and a future baron. His current title was na-baron and he was known for winning many fights as a gladiator. Really, the whole message from the Harkonnens sounded more like an eulogy praising him and his achievements. But it didn’t include his portrait or anything said about his character.

Your achievements were nonexistent but you were a Princess and no one expected any from you. Still, it felt humiliating when your father had been writing in his message that his daughter was innocent, pure, well-behaved, educated on the matter of the customs of her new house. Tidy, pretty, ready to give heirs. It made you feel nauseous.

You knew that the atmosphere on Giedi Prime was unusual after centuries of pollution. You knew everything about this planet and people. Still, looking outside the ship’s window, at first you thought something was wrong with your eyesight.

“Everything is black and white… I don’t see colour,” you rubbed your eyelids.

“It is normal, Princess. The colours cannot be seen outside,” one of the maids reminded you in a calm tone of voice.

You wondered how they could be so calm, your maids. After all, they were moving away from homes, too. And they would never leave to Arrakis with the ship like its captain and the crew. No, they’d stay on this planet with you forever.

“Time to get dressed, Princess,” the second maid entered your cabin. “The captain says we are landing soon.”

“We will be greeted by the servants. They will lead us inside where you will be officially introduced to the Baron and his family,” your first maid reminded you of the schedule. “What dress would you like to wear now, Princess?”

The wedding would take place tomorrow. Now you had to choose a dress to make your first impression.

“I’ll go with something bright,” you decided. “Modest, humble. I want to present myself to them exactly as they imagine me.”

“How would that be then, Princess?” The maid asked, slightly confused.

“Like a prey,” you explained.

They looked at each other but they said nothing. You stood up and opened your arms to let them undress you from your nightgown and then dress you. They put a creamy white silk dress on your body. It could have been your wedding dress if you hadn't already chosen your mother’s.

The jewellery was modest, too. The biggest and the most outstanding piece was a necklace with your house’s emblem. You asked for delicate makeup, too but your maids still made sure the blush on your cheeks would stand out.

When the ship landed, you left it with your maids and a few crew members. The Harkonnen servants looked both scary and scared – and that was an odd mix, especially in that black-and-white light. Their eyes were huge and dark, their skin pale and their heads bald. Both, men and women. They were also dressed in long white robes and they seemed to be terrified of doing something wrong. The men showed your crew members where to take all of your bags and chests. The women bowed down to you and led you inside the huge black fortress.

You swallowed thickly at the size and architectural style of it. It was black and industrial; reminded you of a jail for very dangerous criminals. You couldn’t imagine spending the rest of your life in a fortress like that. Certainly not after growing up on Caladan, in a castle on a cliff. You’d spend your whole days walking around and admiring nature. But on Giedi Prime there was no nature.

The air made you cough and you were exposed to it for five minutes maximum. Still, your lungs felt as if they were filled with a black, slimy liquid. You tried to cough it out before entering the Baron’s huge throne room.

One of the maids tapped your back lightly and you thanked her with a nod of your head. There were tears in the corners of your eyes now from that air and from trying to stop yourself from coughing when the heavy black doors opened in front of you.

“Princess (Y/N) Atreides,” you were announced.

You tried not to show any emotion on your face as you walked towards the throne. Your maids stayed behind and you had to face Baron Vladimir Harkonnen on your own.

As scary as he looked – especially with all the machinery around him – you tried to remember what your father had once told you. He was just a pathetic man who would be easily killed if someone had enough courage to stand very close to him and cut all these bubbles and tubes off. It was his morbid obesity – not his cruelty or special abilities – that made him look even less human than other people on this planet. He was a cruel man, of course he was. But he was also sick and that was the reason for his unusual looks that were so scary to most. You tried to remember about that but it was difficult because he was clearly the most powerful person in this room as he watched you with a smirk.

The power of that gaze was so strong that you stumbled a little on your way. And then someone else’s chuckle made you finally remember that Baron Vladimir Harkonnen wasn’t there alone.

You laid your embarrassed eyes on the young man standing next to the baron. His eyes were watching you closely and they were squinted as if he was a snake. The other man, standing on the other side of the Baron, was much older. So you assumed that the laughing one was your husband-to-be.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. He looked better than the other men you had seen so far on Giedi Prime. But it didn’t mean he was handsome or that he looked kind. On the contrary, he looked terrifying. And the way he laughed at your clumsiness was nothing but cruel. You felt blood in your veins turn cold.

You would die on this planet. Sooner than later. You would die, you thought. You wouldn’t survive it. You weren’t able to. At this very moment you felt like laying down on the floor and crying already. How were you supposed to keep being brave? It was impossible.

You were not raised for this. You were not prepared.

You suddenly felt angry at your father. At Lady Jessica. At Paul, even, for not stopping them. It no longer felt like you had been sent here to be ridden of. It felt like you had been sent here to die.

“Princess Atreides,” Baron’s voice caught you by surprise. You didn’t expect it to be so rough. But on the other hand, what else would you expect from a man like him?

He was visibly mocking you as you stood in front of him and bowed down a little. None of the men bowed down to you, though. You were a Princess, they were supposed to do that. But they did not care and you had no courage to remind them of the courtesy.

“Baron Harkonnen,” you greeted him.

“Welcome to my world,” he opened his arms. “I do hope you find it pleasant.”

You swallowed thickly. Another mockery.

“I do find it interesting,” you answered diplomatically.

“Let me introduce my nephews to you,” he pointed at the older man. “Count Glossu Rabban.”

“My Lord,” you bowed down a little again but he did not move. In fact, he looked quite bored to be there.

“Princess,” he only said and nodded his head very slightly. He was not a pleasant man and he was big and intimidating.

“And my favourite,” Baron pointed at the younger one, the one you had been trying to avoid looking at for a while now. You feared to lay your eyes on him because seeing him would make him real. As long as you weren’t looking, you thought, he wasn't existing. But the world didn’t work this way.

You were also surprised that the Baron didn’t hesitate to so openly admit which one was his favourite. As Paul’s sister, for a short while, you almost felt sorry for Count Rabban. You had this one thing in common with him – being second favourite.

It was weird to realise how similar some things might be between people so different.

“Na-baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” Baron introduced the younger man. “Your husband-to-be.”

“My Lord,” you bowed down at him.

“Princess,” he greeted you with a hiss. Tone of his voice was identical to his uncle’s and it made shivers run down your spine.

This was the voice of the man you’d spend the rest of your life with…? You found it difficult to imagine how you’d ever get used to it.

He didn’t bow down nor nod his head even a little. He had a menacing smirk on his lips as he watched you so intensely that you had to look away for a while. From the corner of your eye, you noticed him licking his lips in a vulgar manner.

“You will be taken to your chambers now to rest after your journey. The wedding will take place tomorrow,” was all the Baron announced and both of his nephews left the room just like that.

Not that you actually wanted to spend time with Feyd-Rautha but you were surprised that they didn’t care at all for you to get to know him a bit better before the wedding.

“One more thing,” Baron said when you were about to leave the room as well. You turned around to look at him. “A medic will visit you. You will obey his orders. Don’t get shy when he tells you to take your clothes off. He will not hurt you.”

“Y-yes, my Lord,” you nodded your head. You were in no position to tell him you disagreed. You might have been a Princess but you quickly realised it meant nothing to them and your father wasn't here to remind them.

You were surprised to see the room you had been taken to. It was not princess-worthy. In fact, it was not even guest-worthy. It looked more like a prison cell. You had the privacy of your own bathroom but there was nothing more except for the bed and your bags and chests scattered all over the floor. The room had no balcony and no windows either.

“Is it my room?” You asked the servant girl. She looked terrified when you spoke to her.

“Yes, Princess.”

“Is this a joke?” You asked her and she took a step back, probably used to the Harkonnens being violent towards her.

“It’s temporary… For now…” She stuttered out.

“Alright,” you nodded, feeling sorry for her. “I do not blame you. What is your name?” You tried to ask but her eyes widened even further and she ran away out of your room.

When she left it, the doors closed heavily and you could hear that the guards locked them.

“Marvellous,” you whispered to yourself with a sigh.

You took a shower and went to bed. You were exhausted after the journey but you were also too anxious to actually fall asleep. Under your pillow, though, you found a small black box. You opened it and it contained two white pills and a note.

It will help you sleep – Baron H.

You didn’t trust any pill given to you by the Baron Harkonnen but you were desperate to fall asleep and forget about your troubles for a while. And if it had killed you, well… You would be grateful, to be honest.

You put one of the pills on your tongue and it dissolved quickly, leaving a bittersweet taste. Two minutes later you were already asleep.

In the morning you were awakened by your maids and the Harkonnen medic. He ordered them to undress you and he inspected your body all over. It felt humiliating but you were aware that some families had this custom of checking the brides thoroughly before the wedding.

What surprised you more, though, was the fact he was drawing your blood, too. And he tried to make an injection of a weird substance, but you stopped him.

“What is this?” You asked, terrified.

Sleeping pills was one thing but getting injected with an odd liquid to your veins was another.

“It’s for health, Princess,” he tried to explain but it was obvious that you didn’t believe him. You moved away from the syringe as far as you could.

“What is this?” You asked once again.

“It will help to control your cycle,” he admitted.

“My cycle?” You furrowed your brow.

“What do you think is your purpose here?” He asked, without even addressing you properly. That was no way for a medic to speak to a Princess. But you assumed that if you told Baron Harkonnen about it, he’d only laugh. No one was taking you seriously here.

Your father’s voice echoed through your mind… That no one would harm you because you were Princess Atreides… Oh, how surprised he would be now. If he had been here. But he was not. You kept thinking about his absence all the time. How could he leave you like that…?

“My purpose here is to ensure an alliance between my house and The Harkonnen Dynasty,” you straightened yourself.

“No, your purpose is to give na-baron an heir and secure the Harkonnen bloodline. You will be given many injections like this and many tests will be run on your body. None of this will harm you but it will ensure that you will give na-baron a healthy son who would inherit only the best genetic material from both sides,” the medic told you.

“This is insane,” you shook your head. It reminded you of the Bene Gesserit ways… only it was even worse.

“Insane or not, Princess, you will obey,” the medic approached you with the syringe and injected the liquid into your thigh. You hissed at that and he chuckled. “Why would we hurt you before you give our na-baron an heir? Until that moment you are the most precious and protected cargo in this fortress.”

Until that time. You didn’t want to think what would happen after.

“Your bloodline is not as perfect as your brother’s but it will do. Especially with my help,” he patted your thigh and walked away to hide your blood samples into his bag. “Your son might rule the whole Empire one day.”

You pursed your lips, trying not to say anything because you were sure that the medic was also Baron's spy. You wanted to tell him, though, that they were all insane.

“Oh, also,” he said before leaving your room, “na-baron wants to see you before the wedding. Tell the guards when you’re ready and they will take you to his chamber,” he bowed down to you and left.

“Is it customary here to consummate the marriage before the ceremony?” One of your maids asked you.

“No,” you shook your head. “But this man doesn’t look like he cares about any customs. None of them do,” you shook your head, trying not to burst into tears.

Shakingly, you allowed your maids to put your mother’s wedding dress on you. It had been adjusted to fit you perfectly but now you almost regretted choosing it for the wedding. The Harkonnens didn’t deserve to see it nor to see you wearing it. It was sacred and this planet was the opposite of that.

Your bridal make up was a bit bolder than the day before. Still humble but more visible. Your hair was done really pretty and there were small white pearls here and there that complimented your beautiful dress and the pearl earrings.

You smiled sadly at your maids and knocked upon the door of your room for the guards to open it. You heard them unlock it and you walked out carefully, holding your dress up to make sure it wouldn’t get dirty on the floor.

“I am ready to see na-baron,” you told them and they nodded.

You followed them through the fortress, thinking of how much in fact you were not ready to see him. A few times you gained the courage to face him but it would quickly disappear. And you still were walking through the never ending mazes of corridors and halls.

The part of the fortress where they took you was much prettier than the one you had spent your night in. You could see that it was a palace where the nobility lived. And you became quite sure that your last night’s room had indeed been a cell.

The guards finally stopped in front of one of the heavy, black doors and knocked upon them. You swallowed thickly, realising that you still had no strategy on how to deal with Feyd-Rautha.

You hoped that you’d get an idea once you’d get to know him more.

“Come in,” his deep voice ordered and the guards opened the door. They showed you with their hands to walk inside, so you did, and they closed the door loudly behind you.

Feyd-Rautha was standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by two servant girls and three women that looked nothing like the servants but they also did not look like any ladies. They were dressed in black leather and eyeing you up and down as if you were a dessert. They were clearly making fun of you and your wedding outfit. They were making you feel uncomfortable and you’d rather be alone with him than have their company.

Feyd himself did not mind their rude behaviour. He was shirtless and wearing nothing but black pants.

“Come, come,” he encouraged you to walk closer, “I am getting ready for our ceremony,” he informed you and nodded at one of the servant girls. She was working on putting the clothes on his pale and incredibly muscular body.

You realised that he’d be able to break you in half if he wanted to. And you did not like that idea.

You walked up to him, slowly and nervously. You were scared to disobey his order.

“Well, well, well,” he teased and three women giggled viciously.

“Who are they?” You asked, having a feeling that they were his lovers.

Your pride and honour won with your fear. After all, you were a Princess. They were no equal to you.

“Oh, they’re my pets,” he explained to you with a smirk. “Don’t worry, you’ll be my pet, too. Just of a different kind.”

The women hissed at you jealously and you straightened yourself to present yourself more dignified.

“Why did you want to see me?” You asked.

He froze for a second as his eyes scanned you.

“You have a big mouth, Princess,” he noticed.

“Do I? What makes you think so? Because I speak to you like you are my equal? We are equal,” you reminded him.

Yes, he was scary. But he was pissing you off. Everything was pissing you off about this whole situation. And your fear would often turn into anger. You had problems with that ever since you were a little girl. Spoiled little Princess, your father would call you. And when you were getting angry, you weren’t thinking of the consequences.

“That is where you are mistaken,” Feyd moved swiftly and before you noticed, you had him standing right in front of you with a sharp blade pointed at your face. “We are not equal, woman.”

That was when you realised your mistake. The medic had told you that you were the most protected cargo. But not for Feyd. For his uncle.

“My Lord, the Baron said to treat Princess gently,” one of the servant girls gasped and you laid your eyes on her. It was the same girl who had shown you to your room the previous night. She had to like you if she risked so much.

She quickly regretted that outburst of courage. Feyd moved his arm without even looking at her and slit her throat.

Your eyes widened as you had never seen death like this. And the blood from her neck splashed all over your face and your beautiful wedding gown.

You burst into tears, not being able to control it anymore.

“Aw,” Feyd raised your chin up with his blooded blade as his three pets laughed at you, “my delicate Princess is crying over dead slaves?”

You did cry about her. And about yourself. But that was not the answer he wanted.

“You’ve ruined my dress,” you sobbed and he smirked.

“Don’t cry, my pet, my servants will wash it,” he took the blade away.

“I don’t have any other for the wedding,” you sniffed and tried to dry your cheeks with the palms of your hands. They soon became bloody since your face had not been wet only with the tears.

“I think you look good for the wedding,” Feyd walked away from you to let the remaining servant girl continue dressing him up. “In fact, I think you look better now,” he added and you looked at him like he was crazy.

Well, he was crazy.

“You might leave now. We’ll see each other at the ceremony,” he told you and you nodded your head before turning around to leave his chamber as soon as possible. You wanted to be out of this room.

“You may feast on your breakfast, my pets,” was the last thing you heard before walking out and from the corner of your eye you saw the three women jumping on the dead servant girl’s body.

You felt sick and dizzy. You wanted to scream and run away but the guards took you by your arms to guide you to the throne room that had been decorated for the ceremony of your wedding to na-baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

MASTERLIST

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