Feyd Rautha - Blog Posts
ecologist's character is so plant-coded, I'm shaking I'm tweaking
(she is literally poisonous!! but also healing!! and she has a hidden thorn!! and spiritually my girl is just a dandelion growing in concrete!!)
If you've never read "Corrupted by Design" by @icedb1ackcoffee you should probably do it idk man all the cool kids do
"Corrupted by Design" on ao3 dot com did more for me than my government ever has
Randomly remembered reading it a year ago, checked on it and found a brand new chapter?????
everybody say thank you @icedb1ackcoffee !!
DUNE MASTERLIST
*AO3 LINKS*
Lady Jessica
Broken trust - oneshot
The waters of purity - oneshot
Leto Atreides
I'm not the only one - series
Paul Atreides
What about me and you together? - oneshot
For you to stay with me (AO3)
Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen
LET THE WORLD BURN - oneshot
Socialist fraternal kiss:
Soviet President Leonid Brezhnev & East German leader Erich Honecker (1979)
Baron Vladimir & Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen in Dune: Part Two (2024)
Giedi Prime Adore:
Billy Corgan of The Smashing Pumpkins in Ava Adore music video (1998) by Dom and Nic
Austin Butler as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen in Dune: Part Two (2024) by Denis Villeneuve
I'm gonna say something and it is that we don't appreciate Feyd's harpies enough... They're so pretty.
Maybe the same character that is touch starved is also touch averse. What then huh? When they shiver at the brush of a hand, when the thought of an embrace makes them recoil, when all they ever wanted is a reassuring touch, another warm body to melt into, an opportunity to finally relax. What then? When these instincts fight each other? What then huh?
BTW when you encounter a character and think "What's this guy's fucking problem?" that's your body trying to give you an out before you fall into obsession.
Serving Absolute Mega Cunt
YESSSSS SLAY BOOTS THE HOUSE DOWN MAMA CITA CUNT-A-TRON FIVE THOUSAND ON THESE HOES
No bc neither of them have looked better than they do RIGHT HERE. I don't care that they're both technically bald. It just FUCKING SERVES. They DON'T 👏 FUCK 👏 ABOUT 👏
Plz, Feyd influenced by this type of aura are my favourite fanfics to read
Like yes, serving cunt
Yes, fucks u freaky nasty style almost painfully is HOT
Yes, killing someone for you instead of gifting roses is just how our man shows love
feyd & paul + text posts (please do not repost without credit)
How did they just read my thoughts??
Obviously I put this in the notes of the original post, but I think I’m on to something here.
I'm too sub, the most I wanna do is slap him about a little so he pins me down.. and... well, whatever he damn pleases 🤷🏻♀️
Very much brat behaviour on my part-
But definitely agreed, ride him til he passes out 🥵
I need to beat the shit out of him and also ride him until he passes out idk
I wanna squish him like a bug.
Idk if this is too blunt... but can we actually just appreciate-
how LONG this man's tongue is.
✋️
And with that, I bid thee all goodnight and fairwell. Nightly blessings to you all. God forgive me for my sins 🫡
If anything, my coochie is scared 🙃
My coochie be like:
I'm absolutely TREMBLING
....in fear ;_;
“Oh my god, he’s so scary,” I say as I kick my feet up in the air and giggle like an idiot.
｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──
the wind in the desert is not quiet. it howls through bone and ruin. it sings of forgotten blood and shattered names. paul has stopped pretending to sleep. the wind keeps him company. so do the ghosts.
he walks the edge of the ridge, cloak dragging behind him like the shadow of a future he no longer wants. fremen eyes watch from the rocks, but they do not follow. they know he walks into something only he can name. he finds feyd there, as he knew he would — standing where the sand meets stone, where the cold creeps up through the soles of their boots like warning. the last harkonnen. the beautiful knife. the mirror with a smirk.
"you’re late," feyd says, though neither of them agreed to meet. paul looks at him, and it feels like looking into the center of a storm.
"or maybe you were early."
feyd snorts, fingers flexing at his sides, like he’s itching for a blade but knows better than to draw.
"maybe we were always here."
──
their first fight ends in silence. not because it isn’t violent. it is. it’s everything. a storm of movement and breathless calculation. sand kicked up in flurries. blades kissing too close to skin. but it ends not with blood, not yet. it ends when feyd’s knife is pressed to paul’s neck, and paul’s hand is buried in feyd's hair, tugging his head back with just enough control to make it dangerous. they’re breathing hard. they’re too close.
"this isn’t how you kill a messiah," paul whispers.
"this isn’t how you fight one," feyd answers, and neither of them move. the blade doesn’t cut. the hand doesn’t release.
──
at night, they fall into the sand like it’s the only place they belong. the fremen sleep in a circle behind them, pretending not to notice. or maybe pretending not to care.
"you think this ends with one of us dead," feyd says, staring up at the stars that don’t blink. "but i think it already ended, long before we met."
paul turns his head. "how poetic of you."
"fuck you."
pause.
"you ever wish you'd never been born into this?"
paul doesn’t answer for a long time.
"every day."
"yeah. me too."
they lie in silence. it stretches between them like a wound.
──
there is blood, eventually. of course there is. you don’t put two blades this close without drawing something red. but it’s not a deathblow. not yet.
feyd bites his lip until it splits, staring down at paul after another fight that ended in stalemate and bruises. "you want me to kill you, don’t you?"
paul says nothing.
feyd drops the knife. it thuds against the sand like a heartbeat. he steps closer. waits for resistance. it doesn’t come.
"you want to see if i’ll be the one to do it. take the crown off your head. end the prophecy. end you."
paul looks up, eyes glowing like he swallowed the sun.
"i want to see if you can stand to look at me and still be human."
feyd flinches.
──
when they kiss, it’s not soft. it’s not gentle. it’s not sweet. it’s a warning. they bite. they bleed. they hold each other like dying men who’ve forgotten how to pray. paul tastes like dust and fear and something ancient. feyd tastes like fury, like burning, like something broken pretending it never was.
they do not speak after. they lie in the silence.
paul’s head rests on feyd’s shoulder. feyd’s fingers twitch against paul’s ribs, like he’s not sure if he wants to hold him or crack him open.
──
"i dreamed of a future where we killed each other," paul says one morning, voice quiet, like confession.
feyd lights a smoke, eyes hooded. "sounds like a happy ending."
"i died with your name in my mouth."
feyd freezes.
he exhales, slow. "was i the one who killed you?"
paul doesn’t answer.
and in that silence, feyd closes the space between them again. not like a lover. like an ending. like a war that forgets it was ever made of men.
a/n: eww i hate this. something about tumblr just makes my writing like twenty times worse. it doesn't help that i'm having the worst hangover of my life while i wrote this..
if they don't put austin butler in feyd-rautha's metal speedo from the david lynch dune i WILL burn down the theater
feyd and his chevelle wagon, 1977
yes I may be cringe but I'm free. AU in which uhhhh some kidnapping and romantic american cross-country roadtrip except Bad happens. but it's fine(?) in the end(???)
also here's a polaroid because I may be cringe but I'm free. though idk if feyd would let paul have access to a camera in this situation...IT'S COMPLICATED
“No more terrible disaster could befall your people than for them to fall into the hands of a hero.” —Dune, Frank Herbert
Emmi Rabban and Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, mother and son
Dune: House Harkonnen by Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson | "Mother" by Tori Amos | Frederick Christiansen | Homeric Hymn to Demeter | A Viking Mother by Frank Stick (1929) | A Storm of Swords, George R. R. Martin | The Young King of the Black Isles by Maxfield Parrish (1906) | Dune by Frank Herbert
girldad!Feyd Headcanons
— WARNINGS: angst, but also fluff — A/N: In the canon, Feyd’s daughter with Margot was named Marie Fenring, and she dies a tragic death at quite a young age. This is going to be a completely self-indulgent fix-it. Enjoy ✨
Sure, he’s the most violent and unhinged madman this side of Gamma Waiping, but even Feyd knows there’s a time and place for everything.
The time being when the Atreides are defeated and the Emperor rewards him and he’s free to go after the Fenrings with his Harkonnen troops.
First, they find Count Hasimir, a frail little man with rodent-like features and thin greying hair. The Emperor’s oldest friend, and the best assassin in the known universe. Feyd knows better than to take him on in single combat, so he has his men deal with him while he goes after Margot.
He finds her in the furthest room of their castle past a cadre of guards that he makes short work of. She’s holding a little girl’s hand… Small and pale with thick dark ringlets, she looks just like he did as a child. He can tell even past the thick visor of the helm he wears — something made to not only protect but also block out sound. Margot knows it’s him just by his gait. She speaks, but it doesn’t matter. Her voice has no effect this time.
He sees the flash of a laser on the wall as his men join him and block the only exit. Feyd walks over to Margot, uncoils the little girl’s hand from hers, and takes her away. Lady Fenring will be brought to Kaitain to answer for her crimes against the once-young na-Baron. The Bene Gesserits, humbled after their near defeat on Arrakis, will not defend her actions — she has already served her purpose anyway.
The little girl looks up at him as they walk away with an unsettling and knowing light in her dark eyes. Feyd gazes down at her and, although she could not see his face, it was as if they’d always known each other.
But he also notices her little legs can hardly keep up with his stride. Oh, that’s right, children are smaller… He stops, kneels, and lifts her up into his arms as he carries her back to the ship.
He was actually nervous about taking off his helmet in front of her. What would she think of seeing a Harkonnen for the first time? They were so different from the soft and sunkissed people of the planet she was raised on…
But she had an eery calm to her even at the age of seven standard years. She regards him no differently than before and also does not acknowledge any need for reverence, even when he tells her who he is.
“Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.” “Hello.” “And what’s your name?” “Marie.”
He found himself genuinely shy when he informed her he was her father, and was all the more surprised to find an impish smile grow on her face. “I know.” Margot must have told her after all…
She doesn’t cry, she doesn’t seem afraid, but Feyd comforts her the whole way to their home planet. He pets her dark crown of curls as she sits beside him on the ship, supports her back when she drinks, and makes out of galactic maps the most unusual of toys to distract her with on the long journey back. None of it comes naturally to him and for the first time he has to think before he acts. It leaves his nerves rattled, but every time she looks up into his eyes and smiles so innocently he gains his calm again.
Giedi Prime was not the first place he had in mind for raising a child, but the other planets he could lay claim to — Lankiveil and Arrakis — were not great choices either. Now that he was Baron, this was where he had to be — at least until the Emperor decided who should govern Arrakis following the trouble with the Fremen. The Corrinos left a cadre of Mentats in charge to oversee the change for now.
She hates the planet at first, scrunching up her little face at the stark white light during the day, at the poisonous smoke, at the vast black wastes filled with petrol. Feyd engages an ecologist the first week Marie is there and plans a series of greenhouses for her with the best water filtration systems spice can buy.
“Why can’t the whole planet be like this?” she asks when he first shows it to her. They walk through young trees, Feyd dodging thin branches of raw red and green while his daughter skips ahead like a lamb. “Because it just can’t,” he mutters. “But why?” “Because it would cost too much.” “How much?” “I don’t know.” “Why not?”
A secret communication arrives to the Emperor inquiring whether he has room in his court for a new assassin now that Hasimir Fenring is gone.
His days are split between official duties, training in the arena, and playing with Marie. He discovers a part of himself again when he is with her — that innocent part that had been lost or buried when he first got to Giedi Prime. There is a satisfaction in making it for her a less brutal arrival, even a pleasant one.
He finds her laughing as she runs through the long halls, tugging on the lances of the guards — who look horrified at the sight of a playful child for the first time, but stay obediently still — and throwing rocks into the oil pools outside the palace to gawk at the pretty rainbow colours.
She loves the vaporous transparent gowns the servants wear, and the servants love her too. They dote on her, fearfully at first but more boldly when they notice Feyd’s approval. The retention rate goes up starkly at the palace, as does the average longevity.
Everyone is puzzled about what to do with her hair, but Marie teaches Feyd to braid it the way her mother did. She’s not shy about berating him either whenever he gets it wrong.
And most nights he falls asleep with her in one arm and a holographic storyreel in the other. He wants to be the sort of parent he only briefly had, the kind he vaguely remembers from his years on Lankiveil.
He dreams of his mother now more than he ever did, and wakes up feeling sorry for how much he falls short. He has no idea how to care for a child, no idea of how to raise her, but he knows he wants to try. Wants to succeed, for her. Marie might not have been an intended child, the way he was, but she was his own flesh and blood and he’d be damned before he made her feel unwanted.
His harpies love her, of course. But he fears they do a bit too much and dismisses them not one month after Marie arrives on the planet. While he’s never indulged, he can only imagine with a frightful shiver how sweet and tender a child’s flesh is.
To the consternation of his people, he flies in tutors from other planets for her. Philosophers from Ecaz, musicians from Chusuk, biologists from Lernaeus, and even a historian from Kaitain itself. She has a Mentat but no Bene Gesserit to serve in her education. His uncle had been wrong about a lot of things, but the scheming of witches was not one of them.
Her bedroom — more white and pale blue than the standard inky black, and decorated with pink ribbons — has a court of dollies on one side and toy swords on the other. Feyd’s love of weaponry does not escape her and, in her childish innocence, she’s fascinated by it all. He takes delight in this, of course, but worries too. Imagining his little child with blood on her hands scares him, and it makes him wonder what sort of person his uncle was to encourage it in him.
In loving her, Feyd’s never felt more unloved himself. Sure, he had his mother and father at one point, but all of that was taken from him when he was Marie’s age. Since then, nobody had cared about him, nobody had even wanted him unless it was to fulfil a purpose. Not his uncle, not his brother, not even Margot…
He comforted himself now that he’d spared Marie of such a fate. His little girl would not become a glorified breeding horse for the Bene Gesserits nor a pawn in the Emperor’s games. He would fill her life with all the things he never had.
Marie grows as the gardens grow, and Feyd begins to speak with the professor from Lernaeus and a retired planetologist from Acline about plans for terraforming Giedi Prime, and one day putting Marie in charge. Her lessons become more structured.
A fact to which she protests, but not for long. She is clever for her age, and understanding, and nobody can explain to her better than Feyd that, although learning can seem useless and boring compared to play, she needs to prepare for the years to come.
“You like the gardens, don’t you?” “Yes…” “And you like eating fruit, right?” “Yes, and smelling flowers.” “What if you could do that all the time, then? Not just in the greenhouses?”
She comes to like the skies of Giedi Prime as well, and the way fireworks look like ink blots. Her every birthday is marked with an array of black and white that make the sky a work of art.
Marie never asks to be the sort of Baroness that always lays around, because Feyd doesn’t do that either. As she grows older he starts to spend more time with her during the day, letting her sit in on meetings, and they debate for hours afterwards on what course the Barony should take. He finds she is more brave than he is, but more reckless too.
“No, little melon, we can’t just declare war on them.” “But why? You know they’re spying on us…” “Yes, but we have no proof.” “Of course we have proof. How would you know otherwise?” “Proof needs to be physical or recorded.” “Let’s record them spying, then.” “Well now they know that we know, so they will have a different approach.” “I still think war would end the problem faster. Or challenge them to a duel!” “I’m getting too old for this…”
They see more of the planet together too, venturing to the caves and crevices that run beneath the surface, taking samples of the native life bubbling in hot springs and collecting crystalline samples.
He takes her to Lankiveil for her fifteenth birthday and they sail together through its icy floes. She loves the sign of whales off in the distance and sounding the ship’s horn, although the local food leaves much to be desired.
“It smells weird.” “It’s fish.” “They stink…” “You want a salad instead?” “Yes, please…”
By the time she turns eighteen, the Emperor has decided to put Arrakis back into Harkonnen hands, and Feyd is terrified. As bad as Giedi Prime is, he wants to see her on Dune even less. Marie can tell this, observant as she is. She’s grown more quiet when she’s thinking and less rash with her decisions, but loud when she wants to be, and daring.
Feyd doesn’t know what to expect of Arrakis anymore and has mixed feelings about it, but he knows one thing for certain: anyone who’s a threat to his daughter there, dies.
“I’ll miss Giedi Prime,” she says as they’re approaching orbit. “It’s finally getting green in places, and rainclouds have begun to form…” “You can go back any time, you know,” says Feyd immediately. “I won’t keep you on this piece of hell…” “I’ll stay,” says Marie. She has the same strange determination she had in her eyes the day they met. “I heard it has old terraforming stations… I’ll want to visit them one day.”
It isn’t easy ruling a desert planet, even one that’s been subdued, but the new spice flow makes it worth it. Feyd keeps Marie close, teaches her everything, watches her grow, and soon she’s sent in delegations reporting to the Landsraad. She represents House Harkonnen better than her great uncle did — and, to Feyd’s pride, better than he ever could.
