#I will tag this in hopes of not triggering others
Note
REQUEST TIME :333 ummm this is actually my first time requesting here but I’ve been so obsessed with Human Alastor so maybe a sexy thing where he hunts you (fem reader) down in the wooded near his cabin with his shotgun? This is so dangerous lol but he’s shooting and splitting trees as you zip pass them in your nightgown (he would never shoot you it’s for the flare) you stumble over an old stump and he is on your ass! You fight and tumble around before he’s dragging you by your ankles back to his cabin to have his way with you? (All of this was very much consensual between the two of you elaborated foreplay if you will!)
Trigger Happy - Human! Alastor x Fem!Reader
My friend in Satan, I am SO sorry for how long this took! I was honestly getting worked up over it!!! Hate the delay, but I hope the story itself will be worth it! Just as a warning, this is getting towards risky territory, but I promise nothing too bleak. A few warnings: Guns, a heated foot chase, you get distracted there for a while, some physical violence/tussling, f!reader, some f!oral and m!oral, overtsim, rope/restraints, and some REALLY filthy penetrative sex. Y'all are some absolute freaks in this one. Hope you enjoy! (ALSO THIS IS LIKE INSANELY LONG IM SORRY ITS LIKE 9K--)
SPECIAL SHOUT OUT TO @minkdelovely and @hazelfoureyes for helping me through this and being my scream queens/beta readers dhoduhdouhdoduhdohidoi <3 (I'm in love with both of you BLINKBLINK)
Taglist: @ieatcocoa @nocturessa @tsukikos-stuff @leviskittywh0re
@polyo-nym-y @cosmiccandydreamer @littlebluefishtail @your-excellenc-z21 and others (if you wanna be tagged I'll add you! Sorry I've never made a taglist before???)
🩸🦌🩸
Your hands fidgeted in your lap as Alastor finished the final touches of tonight's meal. You regarded him nervously as his humming filled the humble interior of his inherited cabin. He was in such a good mood, you thought... Why spoil something so tender and domestic between the two of you?
For a while now, you knew of your darling beau's aversion to many things, physical intimacy being one he struggled with most. At least, compared to most... You hardly minded, as when you were on the receiving end of such of intimacy... Well, let's just say you could usually expect to be bedridden for a few hours. You swallow the bile creeping up, nerves reflected in your voice as you spoke," Alastor, dear?"
A pair of kind, almond-colored eyes looked upon you, making your heart leap. Alastor's eyes turned a warm amber when exposed to the charming lighting provided by the fireplace.
"Yes, darling?" Alastor cooed, his tone still airy and filled with a domestic softness.
"Could we... could we talk for a moment? Before dinner?"
Your partner gave you a bemused look, as if he were asked a ridiculous question. His hands settled on his hips as he rocks his weight onto his other foot, eyebrows raising.
"Dear, why let the food grow cold? Could we not discuss it over dinner? I tell you, it's JUST like my mother's; it's hearty, filling, and--"
"Alastor," you interrupt, a stern bite cutting through your meek tone," Pl-Please... If I try to tell you while you're eating, you'd probably choke." Alastor grants you an interesting look, eyes widening with your change in demeanor. But of course, he relents, sighing like a demure housewife.
"Well then, who am I to refuse... Choking is rather unpleasant, anyhow." Quickly, Alastor fusses over your meal, dousing the fire to let it simmer.
"Now then: we have a few minutes before I need to stir it. Tell me... what's troubling you?"
You gesture for Alastor to sit with you, to take his place at the table. He silently moves towards it in confident, wide strides. You watch nervously as he sits, crossing his legs formally. You felt the sweat trickle into your brow as his simple actions felt like they took an eternity... Alastor then sets his elbows on the table, resting his chin upon his folded hands. He looked... entirely too comfortable, a stark contrast with your stiff spine and sweating palms.
Alastor watches you quietly, granting you a moment to collect your thoughts. And then, you speak:
"Alastor... you know how-- well, it's been a while since we last-- Uhhm..." The quiver of your lip tips your partner off immediately, his eyes squinting. The smile that plays on his face is telling, his teeth gleaming under the dim light.
"Oh honestly, what am I to do with you? Yes, of course we can try for a little romp tonight. But... I sense that our standard 'bedroom practices' aren't the only thing clouding your mind?"
He just didn't get it. He didn't understand the weight of what was on your mind, and how quickly it was going to hit him. You were thinking of this for weeks, terrified of his reaction... But, in the comfort of the cozy, warm cabin: it was now or never. You felt a tinge of guilt as you felt his flirty smile widen, ready to shatter his expectations.
You nod in affirmation, forcing yourself to look his way fully," Right. I have an idea. Something to... change things up. 'Make it a bit more interesting, if you'll hear me out."
Alastor hums pleasantly, one of his hands gesturing outward in an animated way. He regards you just the same, opening the floor to you. You steel your nerves, hands turning to balled up fists as you formulate your next thought bluntly," I want you to hunt me, Alastor. I wanted to be hunted."
A silence befalls the room, causing panic to rise in your chest. Your chaste, Creole partner stares back at you, eyes wide. His expression was damnably neutral, as if processing your demand. You immediately start onto a tangent, leaning forward as you make your case.
"L-Look, I know how that sounds... I don't want you to actually hurt me or kill me-- I mean-- I feel like you'd be terribly sad if I were gone, but-- No, I mean in a more..."
When you trail off, you expect Alastor to pick up on your meaning. You sigh with frustration, your hands mirroring each other as they mimed your body's curves and contours," ...sexual... way."
Alastor's expression morphs under the light of the fireplace, which burned dutifully. Alastor's black pupils dilate, his mouth falling ajar. He sits upright in his seat, leaning back as he takes everything in.
" You want me to... pursue you. Hunt you... like I would wild game? Is... Is that what you're asking?"
You nod firmly, your hands trembling," I-I know, I know... it's different. I told you it would be different--"
"Different is hardly a bad thing, mon cherie... 'just surprising, is all," Alastor drawls, his eyes softening. He could see how much you were worked up. You were scared to disappoint; scared to be rejected. He hated to see the soured look on your face, and was determined to replace it with something else," What exactly do you have in mind? This-- pursuit of ours... what are the conditions?"
It was now your turn for your face to morph, a mix of surprise and relief, a faint heat brewing in your stomach," Well... I'd like you to treat it like a legitimate chase. I could be a deer, in a sense... something to bring home for dinner. You'd chase me, and I would do my best to fight back, run away...," your eyes wander over to the shotgun by the cabin door, eyes glazed from your impure thoughts," But I don't want you empty handed. I want... I'd like for you to bring the shotgun. Use it, even... as long as you don't actually try to kill me." Alastor's expression, you swore, was now the rawest it's been since you've first met him. His heart was on his sleeve: confusion, shock, delirium, and... some sort of desire. A hunger.
Alastor smoothly rises from the table, his footsteps almost echoing in the silence. He makes his way to his nightstand, fishing out something you couldn't see. When Alastor turns towards you, you hear a familiar clink, as his revolver shines in the warm light. He opens the chamber, showing to you that it is empty, before sealing it with a resolute spin. Your fists unclench, and you let out a breath that you hadn't realized you were holding.
"Dear, as lovely and authentic as it would be... I would hate to bring the shotgun. That tool is far too accurate and far too deadly, even in an inexperienced person's hands. A round so small can tear a hole wider than your skull, given the proper range..." When Alastor returned to the table, he sets the empty revolver there, your heart thumping at the implications. He slid it towards you, as if a peace offering," I wonder what may have caused this idea to fester... But it's one I'm most certainly intrigued by," he offers simply. You tried your best not to look away, his smile exposing just how fascinated he was with your proposal. His eyes were a dead giveaway: he was more than willing to carry this act out.
Your hand ghosts over the revolver, the wood of the grip much warmer than the cool metal of the barrel. Alastor clears his throat, calling your attention back to him," If I may, dearest, I also have a request..."
You feel your heart thudding loudly in your chest, the loud pulse making you deaf to the rest of the world.
"Which is...?" you attempt to counter smoothly, but the breathiness of your tone gives you away. Alastor's eyes squint, familiar with that lilt of yours. He relished seeing you like this: embarrassed, sheepish... But most of all, you felt an overwhelming desire to have him agree; have him take charge. His ego bloomed right under your nose... He wanted to see just how badly this desire had been burning inside of you.
"Do you recall the nightgown that you wore when we first embraced, love? The white little number with lace trim?" You nodded immediately, a heat rising in your face as you recalled your first night with your partner," Y-Yes... yes, I think I have it with me, actually."
Alastor moves over to your side of the table, kneeling down to your height. He grabs your chin, gently tilting your head to meet his eyes. You couldn't help the spark of desire that shot up your spine as a wicked smile stretches across Alastor's face," Good. I'd like to see it thoroughly ruined once I'm done with you."
You swore you had a stroke, your eyes wider than the dinner saucers that set the cozy, oak dinner table. You were brought back to reality as Alastor patted your cheek, practically singing when he spoke again.
"Now: let's eat. You'll need this to have your strength, dear~ The hunt starts this evening. Once dinner is finished, you'll have until I fully load the revolver to run. And that's when I'll come for you... understood?"
You had all but forgotten how to breathe, a stupefied nod his only reply as Alastor went back to the stove," Ohhh, almost forgot! We still have some bread from last night! I hope that's alright, dear~"
You were almost numb from the overwhelming sensations and emotions that coursed through your body. You were so excited and so nervous that you couldn't even think of eating. But Alastor had worked so hard to make you a fresh, homecooked meal... who were you to let it go cold? Despite yourself, you happily devoured the entire course, and were soon given seconds. Alastor grants you a coy smile, his expression saying what he kept silent: eat up. You're gonna need it.
---
Like the dutiful partner you were, you helped Alastor clean every dish and utensil used to prepare dinner. Ever the vixen, you even smeared some of the broth across his cheek, just to lick it off. The act made Alastor shudder, but he spared you, merely squeezing your hips and giving you a kiss. As for tonight... well, you wondered just how gentle he would be... if at all.
Once you had dried the last utensil, your ears perked up at the sound of a metallic clink. Your eyes widened, head whipping around to see Alastor opening the barrel to his revolver. He glances towards you, a neutral smile on his face," Oh! Sorry to startle you, dear. Just filling the chamber. 'Thought I heard something stalking outside... I might have to investigate it. You can never be to careful, these days."
You gasped, eyes dilating as you shook with anticipation. Now, now was the time.
You sprinted over to your suitcase, throwing it on the bed as you frantically searched for your nightgown. He was eager to start too, it seemed--
Click. First bullet loaded.
"I say, what a strange time of year...," Alastor rambled as he spun the glistening chamber, pushing up his glasses with the wrist of his other hand. The second bullet was clutched in his fingers, the rest scattered on the counter. You nearly shrieked as you frantically tear off your loungewear, exchanging it for the gown that Alastor requested. He would have thought the action was adorable and meek, if it weren't for his desire to fuck you stupid.
A bemused chuckle fills the air, dark and full of promise.
"What do you think is out there right now, love? A little rabbit, perhaps? With a fluffy white tail?"
Click. Second round.
You made your way hastily to the door as Alastor watched you, wiping the barrel of his revolver with the edge of his flannel. He was taking his time and making this spectacle: that you knew for sure. He seemed aloof, unbothered by your accelerated heartrate... but it agonized him to no end. This zesty little suggestion already had his mind reeling, possibilities of how he would claim you crossing over him every time he blinked.
"No, perhaps it's a deer? A doe, even? I hear it's about that time of year... mating season, that is." Your face grew hot at the notion, cursing yourself for not better preparing for this. You made sure to pull on your hiking shoes, tying the laces tightly. You prayed that they'd stay on to protect your feet.
Alastor hums with curiosity, blinking. Another image of you, trembling and moaning under his body, making his nethers pulse with interest.
"Ohh, maybe a bobcat! Something feisty... I wonder how it would taste?"
Click number three. Halfway through...
You turn around, chest already heaving as you made eye contact with Alastor. He saw you for the deranged, desperate animal that you were. His eyes matched your energy, an uncanny smile on his face. Alastor's pupils were mere pinpricks, the overwhelming expanse of amber and caramel brown nearly glowing.
"I don't know, baby... But whatever it is, I hope it runs fast," you grin to Alastor as he mirrors your expression, his tongue running across his pristine teeth.
"I'd hate to think of what would happen if you caught up to it."
With that, you were out of the door, unable to hear the rapid succession of bullets four, five, and six. Teasing be damned, he was making himself impatient. Alastor made a show of closing the weapon with a hard snap and spin, a satisfying weight settling into his hand. With the gun fully loaded, it just felt so... right. A fascination he gained from his father, unfortunately. Though he did appreciate the skills he learned from the sick bastard, that was the extent of his affection.
He'd have a good number of things to thank him for before the end of the night, as he slipped on his own pair of outdoor boots. When he stepped out onto the deck, he had caught a glimpse of you. That delicate little nightgown was fluttering and fleeting, catching the moonlight. It had to have been around 9 or 10 o'clock at night... A perfect time for your little chase to commence. Not to mention, the cool, crisp Fall air had made everything entirely better; not too hot, and not too cold. For all the weather that permeated in this southern state, Fall in Louisiana had been one of Alastor's favorites. It was his favorite namely for Open Season... and how convenient for him that you were added to the list of eligible, wild game...
He inhaled deeply through his nose, savoring the scent of evergreen and pine tickling his senses. He held his breath like this for a while, feeling his chest expand and burn from the denial of oxygen. Once he'd had enough, he exhaled heavily, a shudder running through his entire body. He let you have a decent head start. Now the chase could begin.
---
Your lungs burned from how swiftly you ran, feet carrying you further than you had ever pushed yourself. In that moment, you almost felt liberated, free… as if something had rolled off your chest. You aren't quite sure where this sense of euphoria came from, but you embraced it all the same, laughing breathlessly as your dress caught in stray branches and debris, your boots splashing into the wet, almost marshy forest floor. You breathed in through your nose, feeling a similar pull as Alastor to just take everything in… You were greeted with smells of wood and earth, though, in this part of the forest, you caught whiff of a water source nearby. As if a tether were around your waist, you felt called to it. Your running came to a steady, calm trot, your eyes trying to adjust to the darkness of the night.
You stop just by a clearing, a familiar bayou greeting you. You marveled at the scenery before you, scarcely lit up by the moonlight. You had almost forgotten about your little game with Alastor, brushing stray Spanish Moss aside as you stepped fully out into the open. You smile fondly, a memory crossing your mind:
You, frantically shaking Alastor's shoulders as you try to point out a doe and her darling, new fawn. But, in your desperation, the deer were scared away, frightened by your presence. You had been heartbroken, though your partner swore up and down that he saw them, and that even so: your enthusiasm was a much more charming sight.
You walked a few yards from the water's edge, not wanting to chance it; meeting a creature of the night face-to-face was not your idea of "fun"... unless it was Alastor. You were grateful, then, for your hiking boots, as they made navigating the wet earth beneath your feet much easier. However, your foot catches on your next step, causing you to stumble into a nearby tree. When catching yourself, you spy a delicately carved pattern: yours and Alastor's first initials. (You, later on, had added the heart that surrounded them). Initially, you hadn't wanted to deface a tree like this, but Alastor, ever the charmer, insisted that it would become a landmark for you; a way to tell where you were if you were ever lost...
Your hands traced the familiar carvings, the rivets scratching against your fingertips gently. You just felt your heart swell more, the thoughts of your softer moments making your mind fog. Even with someone hot on your tail, your focus waning. You began humming to yourself as you continued your restful stroll, running through moments in your memory that made you feel particularly cozy; safe.
Just when you had felt your safest, a loud SNAP of a tree twig sounded to your rear left. You froze in your tracks, turning feverishly towards the sound. Your once still, content heart was racing wildly, eyes as wide as the moon looming above you. You slowly turned your entire body to face the noise, making sure to keep your eyes focused on the direction you heard the snap. You start to walk backwards, making your way stealthily towards the tree line.
Most animals will attack you with your back turned… facing them will deter an assault, even if for a few moments, you thought… Just before you could disappear, having half a mind to sprint-- a sudden, deafening CRACK rang out, followed by the splintering of wood. You looked to your left again, as you witness the tree next to you receive a battle scar: a bullet wound.
RUN.
You bolted into the thick underbrush, doing your best to stay low to the ground as a set of steady, patient steps pursued you. Had you not had a good distance on him, your hunter's pace would have been undiscernible from your own. It thrilled you; it horrified you. You knew that Alastor had a knack for hunting, and had you known he was THIS committed, you would have asked for a better head start.
A startling thought plagued your mind as you had a moment of clarity, your face paling. You ASSUMED this was Alastor… what if it wasn't? What if this was a wild animal, who had its sights on you? What if it was another marksman, and you were trespassing on their property? The thought made your throat run dry, the instinct to become small and hide winning over your other senses.
You nearly shrieked as a second bullet wizzes past you, less than a yard away, before it strikes the tree to your right. To your horror: it was at eye level. Had this been a stranger… they were going for the kill.
You crouch all the way down to the forest floor, searching frantically until you spy an hollowed-out tree log. You slink your way over, searching for any residents or critters, before diving headfirst into the tree husk. You laid on your back, bringing your legs in as far as they could go. You winced as your knees scrapped against the dead wood. Unable to calm down, you hastily cover your mouth with both hands. You were doing your absolute best to calm your breathing. Think, now, think… you had to think your way out of this mess.
The steady beat of the hunter's footsteps slowed, until they stop entirely. You resisted the urge to sigh in relief, still unsure if you were safe or not. Eventually, you couldn't hear a thing over the deafening stillness, the normal noises of the woods silenced by your escapade. Much like you, other creatures seemed to wait with bated breath. Maybe they were terrified of the hunter… maybe they were terrified of you.
You twitch as you hear the familiar clink of metal, a revolver's spinning wheelhouse catching your ear. You weren't out of the woods yet… this could still be another person. This could very well be a real hunt…
A sharp inhale sounds just a few yards away. You nearly jumped out of your skin, eyes slamming shut. When did that hunter get closer!? Had you misjudged how far away you were from him?!
"Only 4 more bullets, Little Cottontail… let's see if you can evade them all~"
Relief and terror washed over you simultaneously: Alastor.
Your body was paralyzed with conflicting emotions, breath picking up as you hear footsteps stirring closer. You could feel the panic rising in your face, blood pressure raging; but you can also feel the traitorous, hazy heat that engulfed your core. Either way, Alastor had you completely on edge, your fragile mind was on the verge of caving in either way. Should you run away, or run to him? That was your conflict…
Knock knock
Your eyes fly open as you dare to look between your bent legs, spying a pair of steely, hungry brown eyes. Pupils mere pinpricks, the whites of his eyes were nearly glowing under the light of the moon.
"There's that sweet, little rabbit!"
You shrieked as you were pulled out of the log, knees and back scrapping against the wood of your shelter. When you met solid earth, you kicked and fought, eyes wide and animalistic. Your body still fell into conflict; you wanted this to be a real chase: FIGHT BACK. Alastor was quick to avoid your kicks, straddling your hips as he tried to restrain your flailing arms. Never did you make contact, but Alastor was cautious to avoid any accidental hits, all the same.
"Oh dear, was I wrong after all? Am I really still chasing a scared, feral little rabbit~? Or something bigger…" Alastor teased, managing to seize one of your hands. It was immediately pinned above your head as you thrashed, grunting and groaning in your efforts to escape. Alastor pressed further into you, eliciting a tight -lipped moan as you felt an unmistakable hardness rub against your core. He was enjoying this much more than his face allowed him to show…
"Be a good little pet, won't you? Won't you let me take you back to my cabin? I promise I'll make this quick and painless~"
You thrashed your head back and forth. You didn't want this to be quick. You didn't WANT it to be painless. You wanted more. MORE of this.
In a daring fit of heightened hormones and rushed decision making, a loud SLAP filled the air. You panted as your hand stung, Alastor's face now jerked to the left, looking away. A flushed, red print was painted across his handsome face, his eyes wide with disbelief. He sat there like this for a few moments, his grip on your hand all but gone. You took this opportunity to slink out from under him, using his dumbfounded expression as a gauge. Truly, how long did you have until he was grounded?
Sadly, it wasn't long, a slender hand cupping the offending, fading mark. You looked down as you saw something move, your mouth watering: his cock was even harder than before, twitching from the sudden outburst. A shaky, broken sigh left Alastor's trembling lips as he slowly looked back towards you. A deep dusty rose flooded his cheeks as he chuckled, his voice full of a wicked venom. His free hand fished for his revolver, the barrel now pointing straight at you.
"Alright, then… no more playing nice."
You immediately vaulted out of the way as a third shot rang out, impacting the earth you had just been sprawled upon. Alastor elegantly got to his feet, like a regal vampire exiting his coffin. He pressed his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, pupils wide with desire as he watched you bob and weave into the trees.
"Three more to go," he growled, his grin widening madly as he broke out into a frenzied sprint.
The panic was steadily rising, as did your burning desire. You realized, with horror, that Alastor's pace nearly went in double time, and he was steadily gaining on you. And so, you figured if you were truly to get caught, it might as well be a trap for him too--
BANG
Shot number four rang out, a terror-filled scream igniting the night; this shot was less than a foot from your trembling, straining right leg. You muscles were scorched from the effort you put yourself in, core fully engaged as you tried to focus on breathing. You were unsuccessful, already far too overworked and overheated. You came to the harsh realization that you couldn't run much longer.
You started charting your course carefully, taking dips and turns in hopes to throw Alastor off of your trail… but ever the clever man, he never lost sight of you. And, despite your best efforts, he was nearly on top of your imaginary cottontail. You dared to look behind you, searching for the madman coming for you, only to see he was no where in sight. Your pace slowed down, confused as his footsteps cease. You came to a dead stop, spinning around wildly to find any sign of your darling partner. Your mouth ran dry as you panted, legs nearly giving out from under you. As you took in your surroundings, you feared that you may be lost… truly, genuinely lost.
"A-Al… Alastor? Baby...?" you rasp between pants, a hand coming up to your heaving chest. You take a few, cautious steps back towards the direction you came from, squinting harshly. Your eyes still had not adjusted to the low visibility of the dank, dark forest.
"A-Al… AL?!" you call desperately, scared that you may have lost him, or worse: maybe he was injured... You go to take off again, before a hand snakes around your throat. You couldn't scream as the hand squeezes your pulse, a cold, metallic object pressed into your lower back. Your fear transformed into relief, which transformed into desire, all within a span of few seconds. Familiar, heated lips brushed against the shell of your ear. Alastor's breath was heavy on your skin.
"I guess I didn't need all of my rounds, after all." Alastor nearly purred, despite his labored breathing. His warm breath followed his lips as they came to the junction of your jaw and neck, three fingers unfurling from your pulse. This left him just enough room to litter the bared skin of your neck with short, open mouthed kisses, your eyes fluttering closed. Even with only two fingers squeezing your throat, you still felt lightheaded, unable to escape. You shuddered under his grasp, your body instantly surrendering to his desire. It was official: the chase was officially over. Alastor knew that the moment you sighed into his touch.
"Good girl~"
In a rapid succession, you were grabbed and hauled over Alastor's wide shoulder, his free hand tucking his revolver away. Your hands flew down to grope and run over Alastor's body, your lungs still exhausted from the strife of running away. Alastor allowed your hands to explore, appearing unphased as he carried you out of the woods. He resisted every fiber in his being to not bend you over and fuck you into the damp earth; a filthy act for a filthy-minded girl like you. But, he had at least some modicum of class… he needed to make this last; he would ensure this was something you wouldn't soon forget.
--
You felt embarrassed by how rapidly your heart beat, how frantically you were tugging at Alastor's flannel, but when your eyes looked up to a different building, your heart nearly stopped. You were walking toward 'the shack', Alastor called it… THIS was where he took all of his wild game after hunting them down. Seeing your unease, he slapped you on the ass, hoping to chase away your nerves," Don't worry, darling… I told you I would be gentle~"
His words contradicted his actions as you were practically thrown into the shed, sprawled out onto the floor. Your eyes tried taking in your surroundings, but it was far too dark to see. You yelped as both of your hands were seized and tied with a coarse jute rope, the fibers pricking your wrists. When you felt Alastor leave you, your legs came together, heat still pooling in your lower abdomen," S-Sooo, Mr. Huntsman~ You've caught me~ What do you plan to d--"
Your questioning was cut short as you were suddenly jerked onto your knees, your hands now taunt over your head. A few more tugs on your rope, and you were standing upright, struggling to balance on the balls of your feet. You wobbled as you heard shuffling behind you, rope being fastened, and the clink of Alastor's revolver laying on a flat surface.
Alastor left you in suspense like this for a few moments, as he brought his hands together with a satisfied hum. The crisp sound made you jump as if it were gunfire, your cunt nearly drooling as you strained to look for Alastor in the pitch.
"Now then… 'can't see very well like this, can we?"
A lantern was lit just in front of your face, startling you. You realized that Alastor had all but held his breath to get closer to you, those same, silent footsteps deceiving you again. You couldn't find the words to speak, eyes wide with disbelief and desire as you stared back at Alastor's shit eating grin.
"Ahhh, yes… Finally managed to capture you, you tricky thing~," he mused as he flicked the tip of your nose. He chuckled when you wiggled it back and forth and recoiled, almost mimicking the animal he claimed you to be.
"No, I don't think you're privy to know what I plan to do to you, with words… But, I can certainly show you." He seized your cheeks roughly with one hand, puckering your lips as he closed the distance between your bodies," But you might enjoy that too, wouldn't you?" Alastor's other hand ran dangerously up your trembling thigh, his face cool and collected as you were practically panting under his touch.
"P-Please…"
Alastor sends you a questioning look, before grinning maliciously," I didn't realize animals could speak, let alone have permission to." A harsh grip on your thigh anchored you to Alastor's pelvis, and you felt the familiar, hardened length on your core. You whined, obeying in silence as Alastor ground against you. His mouth fell open as he pressed his hips again, eager to seek some friction.
"You'd like me to use you, wouldn't you…? Breed this body like a deranged rabbit while you're helpless, defenseless under my touch…" Your mouth watered at the idea, your eyes fluttering as his hand shifted to palm your ass. His smirk was very telling, both hands moving to spread and palm your backside properly. His touch was slow and sensual on your trembling, supple body.
"Or maybe I should lay my claim here… Uncharted wilderness is quite thrilling to explore, don't you think?" His breath was so low it rattled his own ribcage. Without warning, a groan was torn from both of your throats as you bucked into Alastor's hips. Your eagerness was not unwelcomed...
Alastor was rewarded with another broken, wanton moan for his scandalous ideas and his wandering hands. He realized, in that moment, he was telling you exactly what he wanted to do to you. And, in that same moment, he decided that he didn't fucking care.
"Or maybe… maybe I can't wait--"
Alastor starts to drag his lips down your form, kissing down your neck, then the valley of your breasts, then your abdominals… before landing at the hem of your still-concealed underwear.
"I'm quite parched, love… Surely you won't mind if I quench my thirst, first?" Alastor's hands snake up your thighs as your nightgown is pushed up, revealing his current target: your clothed loins. His pupils shrink as he inhales, almost nuzzling into your inviting cunt. You whine weakly when he gazes up to you with mesmerized eyes; he was as bent out of shape as you were, and he was struggling to keep it concealed… Was he really going to enjoy himself, or sink his teeth in? Your heart stuttered at either possibility.
You nodded down to Alastor, wobbling as you spread your legs as far as you could. Your wrists were reminded of their predicament as you tried to move, thrashing in your restraints. You didn't speak, a firm nod your answer and consent. As Alastor kissed your awaiting heat, he shifted your legs onto his shoulders, alleviating the pressure on your feet. Had you not been so aroused, you would be heavily flustered by this gesture: a kindness yet something so brazen, even for your sweet beau.
He squeezed the meat of your thighs, humming as he licked a warm, wet stripe between your covered lips, the fabric of your panties already drenched with your arousal. You swore you saw his eyelids flutter as he sighed against you, diving in more earnestly. You wailed with frustration, unable to feel the full effect of his tongue just yet. You cared very little, however, as some attention was better than none. Your struggled against your restraints once more, warning hands digging into your thighs. You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but it simmered into a moan with each wave of pleasure. You wanted to scream as Alastor continued to tease you, unable to regulate your breathing or your moans.
He wasn't kidding; he wanted to eat you out like a man starved, his tongue dancing along your drenched panties wildly. He left no surface unmarked by his sinful, silver tongue. Alastor practically moaned around your sensitive bud, your mind reeling at the sensation as your hips bucked subconsciously. Whether it was because he was enjoying himself, or strictly to stimulate your clit, you weren't sure… but that little noise sent jolts of electricity right to your core.
Despite this: you were rewarded with a nip to your pearl, a whiney, breathy moan your weak rebuttal. You secretly hoped he would tear you apart, just to put you back together and break you again.
Your mind refocused as you felt your underwear being moved to the side, a bold, eager tongue now attending to your bare, puffy folds. You shrieked his name, whimpering from the stimulation. His tongue worked dexterously, licking and coddling every curve, dip, and crevice. Alastor's movements were now raw and unfiltered, MUCH to your delight.
Your legs caged his head, squeezing him closer to you as you felt your orgasm forming at an alarming rate. You couldn't help but mewl, head falling forward and limp as Alastor buried his face into your mound. His straight, rigid nose prodded your clit as he drove his tongue into your aching entrance, your taste and scent engulfing his thoughts. You let out a long, satisfied moan as he began to pump his long tongue in and out of you, working both his spit and your arousal in and out. The slick skin-on-skin squelching did nothing to calm the fire behind your eyes, toes popping with how violently they curled. Alastor continued his brutal pace, unable to get enough of your taste, scent, and special, little cries that were made just for him.
"F-fuhhh~ F-Fahhh--! Ahh! A-Al!" you cried, wanting desperately to use your words; you tried to give him a warning. You were near your climax, tears pricking your half-lidded eyes. You heard Alastor grunt into you, hands rubbing and kneading your thighs, as if asking you to crush his head more. You obliged, bucking into his mouth as your release started to approach. He had his mouth full, no doubt! Even so: you swore you heard Alastor moan and whisper into your folds hastily, suckling and swirling your clit to make you cum.
"F-Fuck-- Oh fuck, cum for me, then--"
Your body spasmed, head tossing back sharply,"F-Fuck, Al-- Al!!! Fuck, cumming--"
The dizzying affect swam over you swiftly, a scream that could be mistaken for pain filling the tiny shack you were in. The force and sudden rise in pleasure was overwhelming, almost maddening as Alastor wound you back down. You were gently set back onto your feet, legs shaking... All the while, his tongue never stopped, making you whine from overstimulation.
"A-Al… please, that's-- G-God! You can stop now-- Ahh~"
You would have doubled over if your hands weren't restrained, your tongue lolling out from between your lips. The delightful slurping from below didn't cease, and seemed to become even more feverish. Alastor smiled up at you, parting for just a moment before licking his slick-covered lips.
" Am I not allowed to have seconds, dear?"
Your face seemed to catch on fire as you try to formulate a reply. However, Alastor's mouth knocked it out of you, head vacant as he continues to ravage you. He suckled on your abused clit, hands holding your hips in place as you tried to squirm away from his devious touch.
"F-Fuck! F-Fuck, Al, please--!!! T-Too much-- Ahhn-- T-Too much!!" you cried, your wrists chaffed against the rope that bound you.
Alastor did not relent, instead pressing you further into his face as he feasted upon you. His slurping and gulping nearly doubled with a grotesque volume, his eyes wide and watching you. You trembled under his intense gaze, rushing towards a very intense, unnecessary second orgasm.
"F-Fuck-- Alastor!! A-Al! Fuck, don't--" you whined, tears streaming down your face as the searing heat of the new orgasm washed over you," Pl-Please-- FUCK--"
Another shriek bounced off the walls as a hasty, overwhelming feeling flooded your loins. You winced with embarrassment as you felt a sudden gush of warmth coat your sex and thighs. Of course, Alastor was on the receiving end, but didn't seem to mind, his tongue only slowing when you were practically sobbing into the afterglow. Your legs completely gave out on you, wincing as your arms held your entire body aloft," F-Fuck… Fuuuuckkk…" you whined as your head spun, your eyes blurry from the pleased, hot tears that stained your face. A sweet, warm hand cupped your cheek, forcing you to look Alastor's way.
"An absolutely breathtaking meal, darling…," Alastor panted, his eyes warm but still full of a lusty haze," Please… if you'll have me, I simply can't stop there."
When you gave him a weak but sure nod, Alastor nearly bolted to the secured rope, allowing you to descend to your knees. The warm wooden floor dug into your legs as you waited. Alastor was quick to resecure the rope before looping back to you.
" If I were to ravage your pussy now, I'm afraid this little show might end early… So for both our sakes…" Alastor swiftly freed his aching cock, a hand lazily pumping his flushed member. Despite his aversion to touching himself, he sighed into the relief his hand provided.
"Won't you please… allow me to use your sweet lips instead, pet?"
How could you say no, with his words tumbling out sweetly?
With a speed that made Alastor dizzy, you beckoned him to you, tongue first. He allowed you to kiss the head of his flushed cock, eyes drinking in your expressions and your body. He had half a mind to cut the rope holding you hostage, but decided against it when you took him into your warm mouth. Alastor hastily covered his lips, stifling a groan as his other hand fisted your hair. You didn't mind, hollowing your cheeks as you took as much of him in as you could. His public hair tickled the very tip of your nose, his musk invading your senses. Had his mind been clearer, Alastor would've worried about your ability to breathe... but he had to focus on not throat fucking you first.
"Shit-- so warm--," Alastor groaned, his voice still muffled. Despite this, his words reached your perked ears, and causing your wet entrance to flutter around nothing. Alastor flinched, his hips spasming as you took him down to his base. He was jammed far into your throat, your eyes rolling back as you tried to relax around his engorged member. A choked noise and a sputter erupted around his cock, a pleased moan eagerly following. As much as Alastor was enjoying himself, you would be lying if you said choking on Alastor's cock wasn't fun for you.
"Fuck, don't hurt yourself, darling-- I don't need-- FUCK--" The moment you started to bob your head, all words and worries flew out the window, the hand in your hair beginning to guide your descent. Alastor felt like he was being incinerated, his body electrified by your wriggling tongue and tight mouth. His restraint was beginning to wane, hair fanning across his sweat-slicked forehead," Fuck, you take this so well-- Take ME so well--"
Alastor panted, hardly able to keep his eyes open as you whined around him. His grip in your hair grew harsher, his hips beginning to stir.
"So malleable, so eager-- Good God--" Alastor's head fell forward as you created a delicious, tight suction around his dick. The sensation nearly drove him to bellowing, your name tumbling clumsily from his parched lips. He stared at the point where his cock disappeared into your mouth, then up to your teary eyes. Fresh tears spilled over your flushed cheeks, his words causing a shiver to run up your spine. Alastor, completely enthralled, felt his cock throb at the sight of your desperation, gritting his teeth," FUCK-- Damn it all--!"
Straining to reach out of sight, his hand ends up landing on a carving knife. Once he could grip it properly, he hastily swings above you. You flinch for a moment, before your arms relax and fall to your sides. You realized he cut you loose, but you had no time to dabble on the thought. Alastor's cock slid out of your mouth, your jaw setting into a neutral, open shape. Alastor started to stroke himself hastily, using his other hand to gesture in a circle," Turn around-- on all fours. NOW."
You didn't hesitate when that dark, brisk command was thrown your way, clambering like a newborn deer. You turn to look back at him, wagging your hind in a teasing way," Don't want to waste a drop, huh?" you teased, a coy smile on your face. Alastor laughed, breathy and high, as he fell to his knees. He easily towered over you as he aligned himself to your dribbling, plush entrance," You know me too well, love."
The plunge of his cock nearly knocked you onto your stomach, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. To your pleasant surprise, Alastor had bottomed out inside of you. There was a slight discomfort from the sudden intrusion (one that wasn't unwelcome) as a strong arm wrapped around your torso.
" B-Bear with me. I'll fill you up soon, dear--"
You nearly cried as Alastor began to move, hips already hammering into your most intimate place at an animalistic rate. You were truly fucking like rabbits, unable to do anything but chase your own desires. Alastor buried his face into your neck, biting down on your shoulder to muffle his grunts. You were unable to stifle your own, the sounds of your ecstasy bouncing around the room. The steady, rhythmic squelching of your privates were almost drowned out by the steady plap, plap, plap against your ass with every brutish press. You were getting close... And as Alastor's voice rose with yours, you realized he couldn't be fa behind. You allowed yourself to fall forward, cheek smashed against the grain of the floorboards as you arched your back," F-Fuck… fuck me, Alastor-- Hah-- Oh god, please--" Your eyes slammed shut as Alastor's pace only increased, his hips angling in a way that stroked your g-shot with every press.
"Yes, love-- fuck yes, you want this? Harder? Faster? Fuck--" He accented your mental demands with more energy, a hand cupping your bouncing, right breast as the other caressed your stuffed pussy. He sought your puffy pearl at the apex of your cunt, and drew quick, deliberate circles into it.
" Fuck, fuck! I need you to cum-- Want you to cum--," Alastor begged, his breath hot and heavy in your ear," O-One more time, please-- then I'll make sure to fuck my-- Oh fuck! I'll fuck you full of my cum--"
Your mouth hung open, drool pooling under your cheek as you felt your orgasm building for the third time that night, your hands clawing into the wooden floor," F-Fahh-- ahh! Yes!!! Fuck me, shit-- fuck me stupid, Al!!!" you wailed, eyes flying open as he pinched your clit. You clamped resolutely around his cock, your body locking up-- Yes, yes, just a few more thrusts--
"FUCK!!!"
You came with a wail and a tremor, your lungs screaming for air as it was fucked right out of you. Alastor, watching and feeling your body unravel under him, was unable to last any longer. He pressed his forehead into your shoulder, humping once, twice, thrice until he delivered a deep, devastating thrust. Your name became a debauched mantra as you milked his cock, spurts of hot, white seed painting your core. You trembled as you felt it being fucked into you, Alastor sighing into your shoulder.
"Sh-Shit… Shit, I love you. God, I fucking love you--" Alastor cursed into your shoulder, his hips stirring again," I-I can't stop-- fuck, you keep sucking me back in--"
You whined as Alastor started to rut into you again, his hardened length not wavering in the slightest. Like an animal in heat, he proceeded to fuck you through his own climax, eager to fill you up again," F-Fuck, I'm sorry-- You feel too good. Fuck, this is--"
You did your best to look behind you, lips clumsily kissing his temple, his forehead-- whatever you could reach," H-Hahn… hah, it's okay! Pl-Please, use me… F-Fuck, you can use me again! I wanna feel you cum in me again, Al!"
Alastor needed little convincing, his overstimulation outweighed by his desire. The cries that dripped from your mouth were sweeter than the honey and slick between your legs," G-God-- God, mon amour-- FUCK!"
You were smiling deliriously as Alastor used your sensitive cunt to chase another high, head foggy and vision blurry. You could do nothing but whine and shake as you were not only fucked through your orgasm, but felt your loins boil with an impending, new release. You couldn't say a word as each thrust pushed a scream from your diaphragm, Alastor's own throes of pleasure mirroring yours. The both of you made eye contact, and for the first time in a long time you saw… Alastor wasn't smiling?
Alastor's brow was knit together, face hard and yet so flushed as his mouth hung open in a wide, desperate "O". You felt your walls flutter around Alastor, the sight almost as beautiful as his trademark smile. Hastily, Alastor pulled you up by your throat, squeezing as you were forced to face away… The growl that was rumbled into your ear did little to slow down your peak.
The smile that danced across your face was unmatched; you had gotten Alastor to completely melt into you, unable to keep his 'armor' on. He was drunk off of your body, and he was unable to hide just how much he wanted both of you to cum. You mentally cheered, unable to shake the feeling of victory as that tension in your belly snapped. You unleash a broken, primal scream as Alastor fills your womb with another load, his semen spilling out from your writhing cunt. Completely out of breath, both of your collapse to the floor. You were left gasping and wheezing as Alastor sunk into you deeper, fully sheathed and pressing into your cervix. The sensation just made you whimper into your afterglow, lips twitching as you both wound back down…
You both lay on the floor like this for a few moments-- hell, maybe for an hour-- trying to regain your bearings. Trembling hands caressed your body, while your own reached up to pet and stroke at soft, chestnut brown hair. A tired chuckle fills your ears as Alastor closes his eyes, a content sigh rolling off his chest.
"You never fail to amaze me. And, of course… you never fail to make me cum either," Alastor admits, a sheepish blush creeping across his face. You nod, your laughter just as meek," Y-Yeah… fuck, you… you did all the work," you quipped, feeling Alastor shake his head. He kissed at your shoulders, trailing them up your neck and to your heated cheeks.
"Darling, if anything deserves the praise, it would be your nethers… She put on quite a show." You lightly elbowed him in the ribs, the both of you laughing like teenagers," Or maybe your brain… for coming up with a delicious roleplaying scenario?"
You hum for a moment to contemplate, before sighing," Fair enough… I'll take that," you profess, looking up and back towards your exhausted partner," Alastor?"
"Yes, my dear?"
"Thank you again, for all of this... and-- sorry about slapping you earlier," you chuckle, your face burning under Alastor's sweet gaze. He seemed entirely unbothered, shrugging," Ahh, nothing but a passionate act in the heat of the moment. Think nothing of it-- as long as you don't mind me slapping this again~" You squeaked as your ass received a playful tap, like a friendly, sportsman’s slap of approval.
"Good job~"
You rolled underneath Alastor, his cock finally freed when you sprawled out onto your back. You invited him to lay his head on your chest, which he gladly accepted. You could feel the tension in his body dissipate the moment he laid down, his eyes fluttering closed. You brushed the hair away from his face, giggling at the adorable sight of your dopey, sleepy lover.
"Alastor... don't fall asleep on me, now. We still need to get back to the cabin." Alastor groaned, brow furrowing. Stubborn as a bull, he nuzzled into your chest face-first, sighing as your heartbeat lulled him," Just a few more minutes, dear… I don't believe either of us could stand, even if we wanted to."
You hummed, patting Alastor on the head as you conceded," Touché… But I blame you for that."
"And not our heated chase, dearest?"
You snort as you try not to laugh, belly aching from holding back," Fuck, that's fair... Maybe we can play a little closer to home next time?" You smile down at your partner as he adjusts himself. Finally, he came up for air as his chin settled between your breasts, his eyelids still heavy from exhaustion.
"Oh sweetheart, where would the fun be in that? You know I love a good chase~"
He moved further up, caging your body with his as he gave you a tender, quick kiss," You can run, hide, do whatever you like... as long as we both have fun, that's all that matters– our legs be damned..." You can't help but nod and laugh, pushing Alastor back into your bosom. Your sleepy beau can't help but hum in approval, your chest a warm, welcoming pillow.
"You're right... that's all that matters. But really, I-- I love you, Alastor. I can’t help but thank you again. For all of this…" Your partner stills for a moment, a dark, intense flush coming across his face and neck. You can't help but laugh as he hides his face into your chest again, sighing dramatically," I love you too, mon ange... For now, I'll settle for saying it, as I'm far too tired to show you again right now..."
You chuckle as you crane your neck down, kissing his crown before letting your head thunk against the floor," You already show me more than enough, baby... More than you know."
The silence is calming, even comfortable as the two of you find yourselves drifting off to sleep. Thankfully, the autumn heat and the union of your bodies was more than enough to keep you warm. Both of you allowed yourselves just one, brief nap while the crickets and cicadas harmonized outside the window... A perfect, peaceful conclusion to a passionate, relentless hunt.
#alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#human!alastor#alastor x reader#alastor x you#alastor x oc#alastor x y/n#hazbin hotel fanfic#hazbin hotel imagine#human!alastor x reader#hazbin hotel fanfiction#female reader#alastor x female reader#GOD THIS TOOK TOO LONG HAHAHAHA#ieatcocoa I hope this is what you wanted and like#I get so nervous sometimes dhoudhodhdoidjd#but I wanted to keep this a surprise for you#hdohsosihsisoisjsvdiodius#IF ITS NOT YOUR BIRTHDAY IT IS NOW
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*average self-proclaimed safe space tumblr blog voice* I soooooo support people with schizophrenia that must be so hard to you anyway I just saw some weird looking woman talking to herself right outside my house im fearing for my life should I call the cops. Yeah dude I support all the adhd havers in the chat just try to pay attention when I talk to you it's not that hard it's like the least you could do to show some regard for the other human being in front of you. Like it's fine to have memory problems but why did you forget this one thing in particular that was important to me do you like not care or anything you should try harder. I am one of the only real mental health advocates to still exist in this world I hear your struggles that being said I hope I never get to meet one of those irl sociopaths or people with aspd whatever they call them now they're so freaky and they can blend into society so well you might never know if you're actually face to face with an actual socio i mean person with aspd in the store absolutely one of my biggest fears what if they torture me in their basement. I absolutely empathize with all the people in here suffering from delusions as long as they like, don't actually show it or have one concerning me that'd be highkey uncomfy leave me out of this dude im not talking to you until you get help, anyway my fav character from my anime just presumably died but i still think they actually survived im sooo delulu lol. We should push for more wheelchair accessibility in our cities I agree but like it's so difficult to tell how many people are actually disabled and who are actually faking it, like, ummm why did that "wheelchair" "user" guy stand up just now cover blown lmaoo…. Yeah I support people with facial differences but I still have a right to be disgusted you can't control my emotions anyway can you tag your selfies as #body horror this deeply triggering to me. Speaking of triggering can you also pleaseee hide your scars or at least warn us beforehand jesus do you know how many people genuinely do not want to see it. Here is my extremely fast strobing lights and flashing gifset #epilepsy. Yeah I loveee girls with bpd beautiful princess disorder am i right they're so interesting the stigma sucksssss i'd love to get to be one's favourite person as long as they don't actually have any of those weird or violent symptoms or don't go into any of their "episodes" near me like that's a bit dramatic….. I deeply feel for those who had underwent narcissistic abuse from the hands of an npd I think my shitty ex boyfriend was a narcissist too tbh #surviving narcissism here are 10 signs you are dealing with a narcissist and here's a tutorial on how to trigger a narc crash to epically own them anyway does anyone else think we should start enforcing mandatory castration of all the newly diagnosed narcs like you know what happens when they reproduce right. But I am willing to support them as long as they go to therapy to get that fixed it's just you know. Anyway sometimes hospitalisation is fine if they're genuinely a danger to themselves like what do you want them to go live on the streets or actually get help?? I support all the people dealing with being a professionally diagnosed disordered system and I think it's sooooo terrible how literally 99% of the youth population nowadays is purposefully faking it for attention I did my research (1 minute google search, 2 minute r/fakedisordercringe scrolling session and consulting a single system that agrees with me). It's just not believable to me that there's really that many people with it isn't it supposed to be rare… Also are we really sure all those alleged people in their heads are really real or just their imagination maybe all of them are actually faking it huh food for thought. I am very uncomfortable with nonverbal high support needs ppl actually having sex like consent is supposed to be explicitly verbal only and, are we really sure they can even consent arent they like basically children. You can't call me ableist I'm literally autistic
#mine#actually autistic#actually npd#actually plural#ableism#sanism#npd stigma#bpd stigma#pluralmisia#<- gonna add on to these later i am. bad at tagging warnings#i needed this off my chest like. can these people stop#dont know how comprehensible this is im bad at articulating myself#long post
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Hello, Darlings! I am back with another chapter of my Feyd-Rautha/Reader arranged marriage fic. (18+ only) Strong content warning and tags below the cut.
@richardslady121 @blazeflays @wo-ming-bai . Please let me know if you would also like to be tagged in future updates!
Trigger warning for this chapter: There are mentions of and references to child abuse, sexual abuse, and incest--none of it graphic, all of it occurring in the past. There is also dubcon/the Reader finding hard limits and triggers without realizing she had them. I feel like the last couple of chapters I've written were mostly smutty fun and this chapter...is not that. I wouldn't recommend going into this blind if you haven't read any of this already. The link to the full fanfic so far is posted above, and I'll cross post the newest chapter down below.
CHAPTER SIX: HIS LOVELY NEPHEW
You don’t have to wonder for too long if Feyd-Rautha wants to train you this morning. You prepare for it with nearly as much sinking dread as you felt before your wedding, pulling on your training pants and shirt that must’ve been laundered since yesterday morning and plaiting your hair. You’re about to put on your boots when Idrisa comes in with her tray and says, “Good morning, Na-Baroness. The Na-Baron will not be needing you in the Training Halls today.”
Just dressing for breakfast, then. There’s a part of you that’s reasonably certain that Feyd-Rautha likes your old clothes from your home planet, just as he likes your hair, but since your first day as a married woman the Baron has insisted that you dress only in the Harkonnen style. You can hardly imagine what he thinks of you keeping your hair. Eventually it won’t matter what he thinks about you; he’s an old man whose body has been kept intact only due to the best of Harkonnen technology and healing, but not even that can make him immortal. At least, you hope not.
So off comes the training gear, on goes another Harkonnen dress that’s snug enough that you won’t be able to wear it for long as you wonder if you’ll be able to tell when you’re pregnant. How early will your body recognize it? Will you have a moment soon in which you’ll just know , or will it take a visit from the Bene Gesserit? You certainly couldn’t begin to guess right now.
Idrisa escorts you to the Dining Halls, probably noting your silence and the nervous set in your shoulders but, of course, saying nothing. You don’t want to go in when you reach those double doors, but would normally accept your fate were it not for a split second before Idrisa’s about to open them.
You hold up a hand. Wait. There's murmuring on the other side. You lean in, walking closer to the sound until you can press your ear against the wall a couple meters to the left of the doors.
“I trust you’ve been fulfilling your marital duties, my lovely boy?” the Baron says. He’s close enough that he must not have sat down for breakfast yet. It sounds like he’s hovering with the aid of his suspensor technology.
“I have.” Feyd-Rautha’s voice, curt and hauntingly similar to his uncle’s, makes you want to turn and walk away.
“I had no doubts, of course. I’ve heard what a virile man you’ve become.”
You furrow your brow. As much as it turns your stomach to think about it, you know that your father wouldn’t talk to your brother this way.
“Those Bene Gesserit whores want you to sire an heir immediately,” the Baron continues. “So of course you’ll have to do your due diligence and make sure your little pet is carrying your son as soon as possible.”
You flush at the insult. I’m hardly his pet, you filthy old man . And not that you expect your groom to defend you, not when he sees you as hardly more of a person than his uncle, but you almost hope that he calls you his wife. After all, he likes it when you call him your husband.
There’s a moment of silence, and even through the door you can sense the tension.
“That won’t be an issue, uncle,” Feyd-Rautha says finally.
You've finally had enough; you glance over at Idrisa, who immediately looks down and opens the doors for you.
You realize that they were looking at an old portrait of the Baron lining the nearest wall that’s either far too flattering or suggests that around the time of his coronation decades ago he must’ve been over a hundred kilos lighter than he is now. You don’t know when it will be replaced with a portrait of Feyd-Rautha, who spares you only a brief glance.
So he hasn’t forgiven you . For what, you’re still not certain. You’re still trying to figure out his anger.
I didn’t cause those scars , you want to tell him, and I wasn’t mocking you for having them .
When you curtsy towards him and the Baron, you’re certain that they know you could hear at least part of their conversation, but you’re not entirely sure if the Baron either doesn’t care that you heard or how you’d react or if he feels smug knowing that he’s reminded you of your place within this Fortress, as if he’d ever let you forget. Feyd-Rautha doesn’t seem to react at all, his face a mask of cold indifference even as you can sense the tension he keeps coiled in his lean but powerful frame.
You’re almost surprised that he continues his habit of pulling your chair out for you before he takes his seat beside you, but you realize that it’s because the Baron must have picked up on this practice from your wedding reception and will immediately sniff out something to use against either of you if he senses anything amiss.
Of course, if the Baron were familiar with how marriage typically works, he’d know that spouses tend to talk to each other, especially over a meal. They don’t sit in awkward silence barely looking at one another for an entire half hour.
It’s more of the same; the Baron oscillates between being condescending to Feyd-Rautha and complimentary, offering vague comments on Rabban’s disappointing return to governing Arrakis and mentioning a possible sighting for another planet that could provide spice without a hostile population fighting them over it. The Baron doesn’t acknowledge you in part because you’re fairly certain he forgets you’re even there; Feyd-Rautha because, well, because. Because of whatever he has buried beneath the surface that you may have awakened. In the early morning, still half-asleep, you didn’t fully realize it, but two memories jump out at you as you sit silently at the table with your husband and his uncle and sneak stolen glances at them both.
“ Guess I just wasn’t pretty enough to be our uncle’s favorite .” Hardly more than a week ago; the way the very air seemed sucked out of the room when Rabban said it, Feyd’s reaction. The seed, though, had been planted years before you understood it, before you were arranged to marry into this twisted family.
“ I can’t prove it, I can’t explain it, but Vladimir Harkonnen has something going on that he doesn’t even want other Harkonnens to know. Something fucked up ,” Father had said once to one of his generals as you’d trailed in just outside of sight. “ Worse than any of his other vices .”
When you were a little younger, but old enough to consider the realistic implications of an arranged marriage, you'd feared marrying into a family in which your father-in-law liked to sample his son's bride. The Baron is as close to a father-in-law that you're getting, and you're confident that he would never do such a thing to you. Not out of honor or respect, you’ve known that he has none for you since the moment you met, but because his inclinations lie elsewhere.
You were prepared for a lot, but you didn’t expect to spend an agonizing meal wondering how horrific the Baron’s treatment of your husband has been over the years.
You'd wondered in the past what tastes the Baron must have that the mere concept of which had disgusted your father years ago. Animals? The dead? Children? All concepts that turn your stomach and when you think about the way he talks to his nephew even now, the scars on his back, the very fact that Feyd tried to kill him during his adolescence, you’re pretty sure you have your answer. Still, it just seems impossible; the two of them sit next to each other as if everything’s normal.
If it’s true, then how? Feyd-Rautha is still so subservient to him, so deferential even if he’s about as friendly towards his uncle as he is everyone else, which is to say, not at all. The closest anyone’s gotten to bringing it up was Rabban, and that was to imply that his little brother…you can’t bring yourself to think about it… slept his way to the top of his family lineage?
The very real possibility seems too awful to be real, but it’s also the most obvious explanation.
You head back to the library immediately after breakfast, returning a couple of documents and heading back to your quarters with an armful more. You could sense the librarian’s nervousness when you specified which documents you wanted, but he complied with a quiet “Yes, Na-Baroness.” It’s a little disconcerting that he’d be anxious over what information you’ll find, but you disregard the part of you that suggests that maybe it’s easier to remain ignorant. You need to know.
The door’s been fitted connecting your bathroom to his, so you’ll be able to slip into one another’s quarters with greater ease. You would’ve been far more grateful for it yesterday, back when your new husband seemed to actually want to be with you. You don’t give it another thought as you spread everything out and start reading.
You’re pretty sure that you now have all the documents that chronicle Feyd-Rautha’s assassination attempt. Fourteen, punished severely, yes, you already have that. You try to find a cause listed, and come up empty. You do, however, find details of what his punishment was.
Three days, apparently. Three days of severe beatings only to be healed with a potent elixir before being subjected to another round, but with the Baron merciful enough to his young heir to heal all of his scars except lash marks on his back. He left them to serve as a reminder never to betray his uncle again. There are a couple of renderings of him from that time; a skinny boy with a narrow face and an angry set in his jaw. It’s the eyes, though, that make you wince. It’s the bags around them that seem entirely wrong for a boy that age, the haunted look in them. Since the moment you met him there was something calculating yet almost inhuman in them. Here there’s just pain and anger.
He was just a kid. This wasn’t some underhanded tactic to seize power; it was the desperate act of an angry boy in pain.
After being spared his life, he went missing, only to be found on Lankiveil days later. He’d managed to find passage under a fake name. You look at the date, furrow your brow, and then check on the other records you’ve held onto–the date of his mother’s death.
They match up; the day the Harkonnens found and captured Feyd-Rautha was the same day his mother was found murdered.
You inhale sharply, getting up and pacing around the room, running your hands through your hair.
Are you surprised? Why? To say that the Baron’s corrupt would be to look into the ocean and say, ‘Ah, yes. There’s water in that.’
You flinch when you hear a knock at the door, feeling silly for thinking for a brief moment, It’s Harkonnen guards coming to execute me for reading about their scandals .
“Who is it?” you ask, voice breaking, and exhaling in relief when Idrisa calls to tell you she has refreshments for you. Water, fruit, a sort of lemon-ginger sparkling water as well that she claims is excellent for digestion. She sets the tray on your end-table and you wonder–-she knows something. Even if she wasn’t present, she must know details that will never see the light of day. Word of mouth endures.
“Idrisa,” you call for her, and she turns. You can’t contain it. You’re buzzing, ready to crawl out of your skin, needing to say it. “I know about the time Feyd-Rautha tried to kill his uncle. And now I know about how he was whipped as part of his punishment and that’s why he has scars all over his back. I know how he tried to return to Lankiveil afterwards, and I know how he was immediately apprehended and brought back here around the same time his mother had been murdered with no suspects, let alone a culprit.” Idrisa glances away, fidgeting her fingers in front of her, and still you press on, the words spilling out of you. “At the wedding, Rabban said the only reason their uncle favors Feyd is for his looks. I know you said that the assassination was before your time but if all the other details are spelled out except Feyd-Rautha’s motive for wanting to kill his uncle, then it paints a certain picture, doesn’t it?” you say, wanting to recoil from your own words and the implications of them.
Idrisa looks down, fidgeting with her hands that she has primly clasped in front of her. “I cannot speak ill of my masters.”
“I won’t tell,” you say. She still can’t look at you. “I’m sorry but I need to know. I once overheard my father insisting that the Baron…” you almost laugh, because it’s so uncomfortable to say. You’d almost rather not know and never have to think about it, but it’s unavoidable. “That the Baron had certain tastes. Certain appetites, not just for food.”
The way Idrisa’s face seems to turn even paler might serve as enough of a confirmation that you’re right.
“And last night, early this morning, I,” you hesitate, stammering for a moment, “I touched one of the scars on my husband’s back. I didn’t think it would bother him but it did. As awful as it is, if,” you take a breath, clear your throat. The idea of the Baron putting hands on his nephew now makes you nauseous, let alone over a decade ago, or, oh, Great Mother, eighteen years ago. “As awful as it is, if what I’m guessing is true, then I need to know.”
Idrisa’s gaze flutters as she tries to find the words. “Na-Baroness, what is in the past…”
“Still affects the present and the future,” you tell her. “Especially if it involves something like this.” There’s more silence, Idrisa biting her lip as she can’t quite look at you. “Please,” you add.
From the way her posture almost snaps ramrod straight, eyes widening, you wonder if anyone’s ever pleaded with her before. You wait, realizing that you’ve found a small crack in her armor.
She hesitates. “I began my service here when I was fourteen. The Na-Baron was seventeen at the time. I was instructed to keep my head down and not say anything. We all were. We were told that if we saw or heard anything, that no, we didn’t.”
“So you met my husband when he was seventeen?” you ask. That was nearly a decade ago. What was he like back then? Was he cruel and efficient, or was he more emotional? Had he already been turned into a killer, or would that come a little later? How much did he change in those three years? Do you know?
Idrisa nods, not quite looking at you. “And he was starting to age out of the Baron’s…preferences, but I don’t think it ended entirely for another year or two.”
It. One word to capture the enormity of what happened. Your mind goes blank. You already knew, already steeled yourself for this, but it feels as though the floor has given way under you. You sit on the edge of your bed, needing to think.
“The Na-Baron has earned the respect of his men since he’s come of age, my lady,” she adds. “They don’t think any less of him, especially not anymore.”
Why would they think less of him? He’s not the one who’s a pedophile .
“How many?” you ask instead. You can’t say the rest, How many victims? but you don’t need to. She knows. Maybe there’s a part of her that’s been bottling this up for years, desperate to say it out loud.
She shakes her head, shrugging, as if to say, No one really keeps count . “Over a dozen that I’m aware of and he’s been slowing down as he’s gotten older, so there’ve likely been hundreds over the years. All boys, mostly between the ages of ten and fifteen or sixteen. I’ve heard that the Na-Baron was his favorite for about a decade.”
Heard that . So people just…talked about it, albeit in secret, instead of doing anything.
“And everyone knows?” you ask, your voice going into a higher register out of pure incredulity.
Idrisa shakes her head again. “Not outside of the Fortress. The general populace of Geidi Prime isn’t aware of it. The Harkonnen government has made sure that they never will be.”
“But everyone else, everyone here…” you trail off.
“We see nothing,” she says again. “We hear nothing. We keep our heads down and keep the Fortress running.”
It is what you’d feared, what he won’t discuss. An open secret that festers much like an open, untreated wound. You think you’re going to be sick.
“The Baron brings in good commerce. He’s held up and improved on everything that’s made Geidi Prime such a wealthy planet. If Geidi Prime thrives as much as it possibly can under his rule, then that is what matters.”
You don’t know how to take this all in.
“Na-Baroness?” she asks.
“Thank you, Idrisa,” you tell her. “You’ve been very helpful.”
She understands this as the dismissal that it is, the need to process everything. She leaves with a curtsy.
You don’t keep track of the time between then and when evening comes; the black sun hasn’t fully set yet; you hadn’t noticed it getting darker.
You look at the renderings of your husband as he was over a decade ago. When did the pain leave? When was it replaced by something that seems far less human, or did it just retreat so far inwards that no one will ever see it again?
Idrisa comes in. Timidly, she stands, eyes downcast and hands clasped in front of her. “Dinner is ready, Na-Baroness,” she says.
You look over at her, and down at all the documents that you’re going to need to put back together and return.
How am I supposed to eat with this person and converse over dinner like everything’s normal? How does Feyd-Rautha stand it?
“And I suppose my presence is mandatory again?” you ask, voice measured, and get up, resigned.
At dinner you’ve never been less hungry in your life. You feel a humming at the back of your skull grow louder and louder as the Baron and Feyd-Rautha make casual conversation about focusing on growing the industry on Geidi Prime to make up for the spice losses on Arrakis.
How can you sit next to this man, listen to the sound of his voice, follow his orders? How do you not want to kill him all the time? you want to ask Feyd. You poke and prod at the little food you bothered to take for yourself and stare at your plate, still trying to wrap your head around the dynamic unfolding around you. How can your husband live like this?
The Baron notices that you haven’t eaten anything. “It’s a little early for nausea, young Y/N,” he says. “Or is the food just not to your liking?”
You can’t look at him. “My apologies, Baron,” you say in as measured of a tone as you can. You’re the one making me sick, you monster . “There is no issue with the food. I just don’t have much of an appetite this evening.” You think about taking your knife and jamming it into his eye. You wonder how often Feyd-Rautha has thought the same thing while sitting poised and calm at this very table.
They usually serve wine with dinner. The Baron usually indulges, and due to his size and age can drink a lot without it seeming to affect him. Feyd-Rautha usually declines, not to your surprise. Now that your monthly courses are pretty much over your plan has been to decline as well, given what will soon be the nature of your condition. Tonight, though, you accept, hoping that the alcohol on an empty stomach will numb you to what’s happening at this table and keep you numb when Feyd-Rautha comes to “fulfill his marital duties” tonight. Neither of them comment, but both look at you as you tip your glass back.
You’re not sure if the Baron can sense it, but Feyd-Rautha can. He’s a smart man; he knows you’ve been reading about his life, about recent Harkonnen memory, so he can reasonably assume that once you set him off early this morning that you did whatever research you could as to why.
He says nothing about it; he barely even looks at you throughout dinner and the quiet tension is excruciating; he knows that you know and it makes him even angrier. He also can’t take
I’m not like the people who let it happen, you want to say. I’m not your brother who called you weak or suggested you were asking for it. I don’t think you’re less of a man for this. Maybe no one else had the compassion for you that you needed but I do.
But a man like him, one raised on brutality–you’re not sure he’d ever accept your compassion if you offered. Maybe he’d be offended by it.
The hours tick by after dinner, and then after you get cleaned up for the evening and changed into only your robe. He doesn’t come by, doesn’t demand you come to his quarters. You try reading but give up after you realize you’ve been reading the same page for the past several minutes. You’ve come to regret drinking your dinner tonight instead of eating it; the faint buzz you got from two glasses of wine on an empty stomach has faded and instead left you feeling both empty and slightly nauseous, with the beginnings of a headache.
“Maybe he won’t come tonight,” you say to Idrisa as she’s getting ready to leave for the night, and the sentiment makes her hesitate.
“My apologies, Na-Baroness, but he will,” she says. “At least until you have proof of conception.
“Would you like me to stay until he arrives?” she adds, looking as awkward as you feel at the idea.
You shake your head. “It’s fine. You’re relieved. I don’t want you to have to see this, if and when it happens.”
She lowers her head in a bow and departs without another word.
You continue reading in bed, staring at the same page as you listen for any sounds, dreading each passing second.
When you hear it, a door opening and closing to your bathroom, your breath hitches, fear creeping up your spine.
You look up, watching the bathroom door, waiting, heart pounding and your breath now caught in your throat as he silently enters your bedroom.
He’s naked. For the first time he’s not erect.
You stare, frozen, your book folded open on your lap.
He looks at you and your obvious fear in your wide eyes and it doesn’t seem to amuse him this time. It doesn’t change anything, though. He’ll get what he came for.
After a moment he says, “Strip and get on all fours.”
You stare, almost incredulous at his coldness. It had been fading so rapidly over the past week you hadn’t even realized it was gone. His cruelty before came with a level of interest. His gaze is impassive, but then there’s that glint not of lust, but anger. At you, at the Baron, at his circumstances, whatever it is, you don’t want to bear the brunt of it.
“We don’t have to do this tonight,” you tell him. “We’ve done it enough that there can’t be any doubt and even if there is, we can try again later when…”
“I won’t repeat myself,” he says before you can say anything that reminds him of his past, his uncle.
You can’t really mean this. You’re not any more in the mood for this than I am, you want to tell him, as you set your book beside you and slowly unfasten your robe. You keep your eyes on him, anticipating the attack. Maybe he’ll lunge for you, you think as your heart pounds and your robe falls open. He’ll let out some inhuman noise and pounce. Your nipples pebble against the bedroom air and you notice his gaze fall there, to the exposed skin bared, but he doesn’t move.
You don’t give his cock a second look; you don’t want to know if and how aroused he is by this. You just keep your gaze on his face, impassive as ever, as you remove the robe completely, hesitating and wanting to stop, wanting to suggest that maybe the two of you talk about this.
You open your mouth, not sure what you can even say before slowly turning over on the bed, taking a deep breath, and sinking, humiliated, down on your knees and forearms.
He doesn’t move for a moment, just stands where he is, and you resist the urge to turn your head to look at him and yet you’d give anything to know what he’s thinking right now. Soon, though, you feel the weight of knees sinking into the mattress behind you. You shut your eyes, waiting for him to say something, to do something. For a moment, nothing, but then you hear him begin to stroke himself, breath hitching. His other hand moves along your hip, briefly squeezing the cheek of your ass before sliding his cock along your slit.
You’re not wet enough for this to be comfortable, and he doesn’t appear to care in the slightest. You wince at the first push of him inside of you, a hiss escaping your clenched teeth. It doesn’t hurt as much as it has before, and yet you hate it more and you whimper as he bottoms out inside of you. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t seem to respond to your noises, just thrusts again into you, deep and hard.
He can hear you finally sob, head bowed, tears pricking up, wriggling away from him before he yanks you back onto him. His breath is harsh and his hands bruise your tender skin.
I hate this, you want to tell him. You don’t know how to explain it; it’s not even the position he’s taken nor the roughness, because you can handle both. It’s the contempt and the coldness; he doesn’t want this, would probably prefer to be alone while he’s inside of you and that bruises your ego as much as it does your sensitive insides.
If you were more experienced and more confident and not completely blind-sided by the wealth of horrific information you’ve gotten today, maybe you’d try to moan, buck your hips against it, seem like you can enjoy this to try and raise his enthusiasm but you can’t. If you knew how to play seductress to make this easier for both of you, you would.
This is what you expected on your wedding night; the cruelty in his lack of real desire, but until tonight he’d been utterly transparent about his attraction to you and it’s taken until now to understand just what a difference that makes. You’d take having your wrists tied and your ass struck and his cock cutting off your airflow any night over feeling like this.
He comes with a grunt of completion inside of you like he might as well be coming into his own fist.
The tears roll down your cheeks and as you bow your head, onto the sheets below you.
I am Lady Y/N of Y/H and the Na-Baroness of Harkonnen. I am your wife . I’m not just some hole for you to penetrate and I’m not someone you can punish for existing because you can’t punish the person who really hurt you. The words die in your throat before you can even think about saying them, and you gasp as he brusquely pulls out. Some of his seed trickles out of you and starts to dribble down the inside of one of your thighs. You don’t want to look at him. You want to slap him. You don’t understand the depths of your own anger as it builds.
He pulls away, and for a moment you think he’s going to just head back to his room as you right yourself and turn onto your side, but instead he turns back to you, sitting down on the edge of the bed and cupping your chin and cheek in one hand. He forces you to look up at him with your red-rimmed eyes, your tear-stained cheeks flush with hurt and humiliation and he sees it with that same lack of emotion that makes you want to scream. White-hot rage flares up within you, and he seems to realize what you’re about to do before you do it, before you realize you’re doing it.
You’re still crying as you spit a wad of saliva directly into his face.
He doesn’t even blink.
Instead he grabs your hair roughly, jaw tightening, and you can’t help the fear lancing up your spine, but it doesn’t completely replace your anger. He has you in his grasp and your mind draws a blank on how to apologize, maybe beg for mercy, when you’d almost rather remain in furious silence.
It’s not quite anger in his eyes, not quite lust, but it’s not that same furious look he had early this morning or the coldness he exuded before he pushed his way inside of you. He brings your face closer to his as he leans further in. He presents his cheek now coated in your spit.
There’s so much you don’t understand. No one taught you this language and this man is hard to decipher, but you’re pretty sure you know what he wants without him having to say it.
You hesitate for a moment, your lips against his cheek, before darting your tongue out and licking your own saliva off of him. They’re tentative, almost kittenish licks against his skin; you sense his breath even out and feel the fluttering of his lashes as he briefly closes his eyes, feel his jaw relax as his lips part.
I don’t get it. How does a gentle touch infuriate you but being spat on calms you down? you want to ask, as his hand relaxes in your hair and he lets you withdraw. How do you forgive a decade of being violated but not me finding out about it? How do you forgive the scars on your back but not me touching them?
He looks at you another moment.
“Your training resumes tomorrow,” he says.
“Fine,” you tell him, your voice shakier than you’d like, your anger extinguished. He seems wearier than you’d first thought.
He gets up, starts to walk away, when you remember that neither of you exchanged a word about what he’s been through, and that won’t do. Not with everything left unsaid, the horrors you’ve discovered that you know, in the quiet moments in your bed, that still haunt him.
You reach for his wrist. He looks back at you. The coldness is replaced by resignation. “There’s nothing to discuss,” he says. He’s not talking about your training. It leaks through the cold edge in his voice, the finality of it. “It’s done.”
How, though? You reopened an old wound that never properly healed, and he just wants you to quietly let it fester?
You release his wrist and he leaves, disappearing back into the bathroom and beyond to sleep in his own bed tonight.
You’re not sure what understanding you just reached. It’s not something you could have prepared for, and there’s a part of you that persistently assumes that even though he won’t talk about it, this will come up again.
You’re sinking back into bed, hoping that you’ll be able to sleep tonight after everything that’s happened, when it occurs to you: once you have a son, you can’t allow the Baron anywhere near him. Even if Feyd-Rautha has learned to live with what happened to him, and maybe even loves his uncle in a twisted sort of way you can’t really comprehend, you can’t allow the same thing to happen again. So that leaves you with several options, each seemingly more impossible than the last but no matter: you’ll have at least nine months to figure out a plan.
#feyd rautha#feyd x reader#feyd rautha harkonnen#feyd x you#dune part two#dune part 2#feyd rautha fanfic#austin butler
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hi, I saw your tags about wanting to watch dungeon meshi! it's a very cool story, and I think you might really enjoy the characters because just about all of them are very well-written and well-developed and have a lot of interesting nuance to dissect! but just to give you a heads up, dunmeshi is basically like a cooking show for the most part, especially at the beginning, but themes to do with eating and food as they relate to community, cycles, ecosystems, class, and power do come up frequently throughout. one of the key themes is eating as a means of asserting your right to exist and to take up space in the world. that theme comes up repeatedly, though I think it's emphasized especially at the beginning and the end of the story. also re: cannibalism, there's a running gag that the main guy wants to know what demi-humans (mermaids, orcs, etc) taste like, and the other characters treat it as him wanting to do a cannibalism. it's played for laughs, but it only comes up a few times, as I recall.
if you do end up watching/reading dunmeshi, I really hope you enjoy it, but be safe! (also sorry if you already knew all that, just wanted to make sure you had all the info before you watched!)
Haha thank I appreciate the info <3 a friend of my also gave me some warnings about stuff related to Body Things that may be triggering for me and has given me a heads up so. I am well warned o7 and am aware going in that there's so Stuff Going On
Def something I'm only planning to look into when I'm in a decent headspace, appreciate folks looking out for me
#im generally okay if i know what its going to happen ahead of time#so i will set aside Specific Times To Watch if i feel up for it#and thats part of why i want to engage with it because i feel like i have an interesting perspective on it with my disability pov#asks
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I love how I was finally starting to recover and my dad says that as of next week I’m not allowed to draw anymore between 8am-3pm and can only do “productive things”. Like what? I don’t have a job. It was the only thing that was keeping me productive and happy. I know it’s not taken away from me completely but those are big hours for me.
And I don’t think I need to explain how art is so emotionally important to me.
#yay I am back to being fucking miserable and wanting to kill myself every 5 seconds! I’m not even joking!#I want to fucking rip my limbs apart is the most violent way conceivable.#but I will internalise this urge because people really don’t like me when I’m weird and suicidal!! people ojly want to see me at my best.#*only//#maybe not anymore. maybe not you all#but my family does. they want the old me back. I can’t be her anymore.#I will not do it because I will be in so much trouble.#I’m probably going to get reported and shadowbanned for this — there goes my clout#but I’m too - idk what to call it — dissociated to care#I will tag this in hopes of not triggering others#tw s/h#s/h tw#tw s/h mention#s/h mention tw#vent tw#tw vent#tw sui ideation#sui ideation tw#tw negative#negative tw#parental mention#ask to tag#I could conceivably rally my family against it but he wouldn’t listen and I’ll be told to shut up and stop telling others and obey.#I remember when things used to be good.#I’ve been fucking coerced into a position where I need a job badly and will take up literally anything#tw self harm#self harm tw#cw self harm#self harm cw
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🕰️
#rest well toriyama-sensei#i hope wherever you are now it has more cigarettes and dirty mags and model cars than one man could ever smoke or read or build#chrono trigger#art tag#i know he was only the art director on ct but its my strongest personal connection with him#so much of my design sense can be traced back to it and other jrpgs#and i wouldnt have gotten into old jrpgs if i hadnt played it as a teen#thank you for everything youve done for mankind!#(btw click this the quality got nerfed for the crime of being horizontal)
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TJ MIKELOGAN’S HALLOWEEN 2023 EVENT
↳ Day 12: Found footage
Sinister (2012) dir. Scott Derrickson
@lgbtqcreators creator challenge - black & white
#sinister#sinisteredit#mygif#sinistergif#halloween 2023#horroredit#flashing gif#death tw#hanging tw#jump scare tw#halloweenedit#filmedit#horrorgifs#userbbelcher#i hope i got all the appropriate TWs#if anyone needs this tagged with any other triggers#please lmk!!
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#63
tw: guns
The hero didn’t know that the receptionists at the agency had guns. He learns this fact incredibly fast when the villain wanders through the main doors to find several barrels aimed at her chest.
The hero’s on his feet immediately. “You shouldn’t be here,” is the stupid statement that comes out in the confusion. The villain throws him a lopsided smile, unbothered, as she puts her hands up in surrender.
“So where would you suggest I be?” she asks lazily.
The jail in the basement, obviously. The hero wastes no time marching her downstairs, and the villain is quite happy to trail along with him in cuffs. “Ooh, did you revamp in here?” she questions once they get downstairs.
“I think they might’ve redone the walls,” the hero tells her, and carelessly throws her into the cell to admire the paintwork.
Two hours later, he’s in the interrogation room on the superhero’s instruction, opposite the villain. She looks positively ecstatic to see him.
“Do I get a lollipop for cooperation?” she asks sweetly, and the hero scowls.
“No.”
“Aw, shame.” The villain leans back in her seat, obnoxiously more relaxed as a prisoner than her interrogator. “I’m sure your boss would love to hear all my secrets, huh?”
If looks could kill, the villain would be naught but ash. “I’m sure,” he says through gritted teeth, “but we’re going to focus on what he’s asked for, okay?”
The villain shrugs idly. “I imagine he’s got some real head scratchers.”
The villain’s working in a network, nothing the agency didn’t already know. Her co-workers, as she so lovingly calls them, are hiding all over the city. They have turf, different areas each villain is in control of. The supervillain watches over all of them, keeping them in check, running operations, from a secret spot somewhere in the hubbub of the city. She laughs when the hero presses for a location.
“Ah, that’s the one secret I can’t give away.” She gives him a cat-like grin that is frankly unnerving. “You’ll need better questions than that to get anything juicy.”
The superhero’s happy after an hour, and he trusts the hero to throw the villain back into her cell. The hero turns off halfway there, shoving her into a corner where no one can see them.
“What is wrong with you?” the hero hisses once they’re out of sight. His hand is anxiously tight on her arm. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I was under the impression I was being interrogated,” the villain says with an innocent frown.
“You walked through the front doors,” he points out savagely. “Why– why are you risking this? You have as much to lose as I do.”
The villain tuts like he’s disappointed her. “Yeah, no, I don’t have shit to lose. You, however…”
She hums thoughtfully, and the hero looks impressively distraught at her nonchalance. “You could– we could lose everything if anyone finds out, [Villain]. We agreed we wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“I haven’t told anyone,” she defends lightly, and the hero recognises that smug smirk on her face. She’s playing a game he could never hope to win. “Not my fault if someone figures it out on their own. You don’t help yourself when you act so obviously agitated.”
“I’m not—” The hero forces a deep breath that does nothing to settle his nerves. “We have to do this together, like we promised. We only have each other to do this.”
“You only have me,” the villain corrects slyly, and her smirk only gets more elated at his horrified confusion. “I know how to make a plan b, unlike you.”
The hero’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “We’re supposed to help each other.”
“And I’m getting close to helping myself.” The villain wriggles her arm out of his ever-tightening grip, pushing past the hero with a content sigh and starting on her own way back to the basement. Her heels echo damningly against the pristine tile.
“I put it in his head that something was happening between us long before I got here,” she continues brightly. “I suggest you find your way out before I say too much to [Superhero], huh?”
#creative writing#writblr#writers on tumblr#writing#writing community#heroes and villains#hero x villain#tw guns#me: hm. i need to edit this its a lil wonky#me: *doesnt edit it*#snippet: *is wonky*#also i know i said it in the ask the other day but if something is triggering and i miss tagging it please please please tell me#ive found a list but i might not be 100% on all triggers so if you need something tagging tell me and i will sort it#i love yall and i want you to enjoy my stuff without having to worry <3#that being said thank you anon for bringing it to my attention i hope youre doing ok
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Hey, for any of my little sibs trying to learn to eat salads/vegetables but running into a lot of unhappiness/failure/sensory issues, I recently started learning to eat veggies after a lifetime of struggling due to autism and sensory issues, and I have some tips that I’ve collected along the way!
Forget all about the “healthiest varieties” or “most nutritional salads” elitism.
A lot of that talk is based on bogus science or half-truths to begin with, but even for anything that’s true, you’re trying to eat in a way that is sustainable for you. You don’t need to be like anybody else. If you like iceberg lettuce, screw the people who say “well that doesn’t have any nutritional value”. It’s fiber and roughage if nothing else! You like a lot of dressing or add ins and people tell you that isn’t a real salad/isn’t a healthy salad? It’s more vegetables than no vegetables! It gets the greens in your body! Do your thing, you don’t deserve guilt (external or internal) for figuring out your own path.
This is about habit forming and breaking bad associations to form better ones.
Think of this as practice! I eat salads nearly daily when available because I genuinely look forward to them now, but I used to want to retch at just the thought of salad. When I used to think of salads, I always thought of being a kid and trying not to gag while forcing sensory hell so that adults wouldn’t get mad at me. It was punishing for me, and it took a lot of gentle work to change that association! So if you hate salads, really try to identify why. Are they bland and tasteless to you? Conversely, are the bitter flavors too strong? Is it a textural thing? Do you have some highly negative experiences with them in the past?
Don’t force yourself to keep trying something you know you hate.
I personally can’t stand a lot of “ultra healthy” salads that have a lot of different textures/flavors mixed in, and years of trying to suffer through salads like that never made me like them more. Back to the first point again, forget about what you’re “supposed” to be eating and eat what you find the least repulsive tbh.
The greens you choose can make a massive difference, so try a lot of different things!
This is especially important if texture or flavor is an issue for you. Personally I find iceberg lettuce the “easiest” because it has a very mild taste. I started out my adventures in learning to eat salad eating EXCLUSIVELY iceberg lettuce. Butter lettuce or romaine (especially romaine hearts) are others that are popular for being pretty palatable, and I’ve come to love them! And you don’t even HAVE to have lettuce! You can have cabbage, beets, carrots, whatever! Pick a vegetable you like and search for salad recipes using it!
Find a dressing you really like and drench that bad boy if you need to!
Some people really like ranch, or poppyseed dressing, or vinaigrettes, or even sweet dressings with honey and fruit! You can use mustard or honey in dressings! Look up different types of salad dressings and try them all out if you want. Personally, I really like zingy dressings like Italian vinaigrettes or blue cheese, but everyone’s different. You can make a lot of dressings at home, too, and if you have the stuff already it can be a cheap way to find what you like. I know dressing freaks some people out, but referencing my very first point again; some salad is way better than no salad. You may even eventually find yourself able to use less and less once you’re more accustomed to eating salad! So use as much as you need, whether it’s just for now or forever.
Toppings! Salads are allowed to be goodies with obstacles!
Use a protein like chicken or fish (I like tuna a lot) or crumbled bacon, use croutons, hummus, little cubes of cheese or shredded cheese, sliced hard boiled eggs, whatever! If there’s vegetables that you know you like, put those in! I love some sliced cucumber or shredded carrots in my salads. Some people do nuts like almonds or cashews in their salads, some people use chickpeas and corn from a can, and if you’re feeling super adventurous you can try some fruit to sweeten things up! If you like variety then mix warm foods and cold foods, creamy textures and crunchy textures! Make it totally your own. Personally, I’ll sometimes eat around my croutons so that once I’ve eaten all of my greens I have a big, crunchy reward. There’s no rules for how you have to eat something!
Conversely, be as simple as you need to be.
If you need to get used to salads by eating just iceberg lettuce and ranch for a while, you don’t need to be embarrassed! You don’t have to throw the kitchen sink at your salad, even if that’s what helps some others! This is about what works for you.
Don’t be afraid to have salad ingredients… not as a salad!
You can make a green smoothie by blending ingredients if texture is your big issue! Or make a fruit smoothie with some spinach or lettuce thrown in to help you ease into it. Or try dicing up some lettuce, cabbage, and a preferred vegetable or two (avocado, bell pepper, tomato, or cucumber would all work!). Drizzle that with a generous amount of dressing or sauce, and you can use it as a chip dip! Tortilla chips work especially well for this. Or maybe make a vegetable wrap in an actual tortilla? Or throw some chopped up vegetables in your next soup. Even if it’s as simple as putting some lettuce, carrots, or tomatoes into a sandwich, that’s awesome too!
Even outside of salads, experiment with texture for vegetables!
You can roast most vegetables on a sheet pan in the oven (or in an air fryer) for a crispy and crunchy experience! Or you can boil or steam them on a stovetop (or in the microwave) to different levels of softness; you can get most vegetables pretty mushy with enough time, if crunchy textures are hard for you! Looking up vegetarian versions of your favorite meat-including dishes can sometimes also offer great ideas for getting different textures out of vegetables! Try everything that you think you might like: grilling, griddling, roasting, steaming, boiling, sautéing, braising, stir frying, and blanching (which also helps reduce bitterness!) are all different methods to look into, and different methods have different results with different vegetables!
Big takeaway…
Be patient and kind with yourself. Working through food aversions is hard. The goal is gently pushing/testing your boundaries and expanding your comfort zone, NOT forcing yourself. Forcing yourself into extreme discomfort, distress, or pain typically only makes aversions worse! So it’s in your best interest to be patient and go as slowly as you need to. Be proud of yourself for trying, and don’t let anyone (including yourself) make you feel shame for doing what you can.
And obligatory disclaimer:
Please don’t get discouraged if none of these tips work for you! This isn’t an exhaustive list, and I’m not any kind of professional. This is just a mix of tips I’ve seen online, and what worked for myself and my own sensory issues, and I’m still learning more about myself all the time! If you’re struggling, there’s still more out there! You can achieve your goals, I believe in you. 💖
#mod static#food tw#food aversion#autism#sensory disorders#healthy eating#nutrition#long post#text heavy#please let me know anything else that you’d like this tagged as!#I know that this is a sensitive topic for a lot of people#I hope that I address it with enough tact that nobody feels bad#also to anyone looking for ideas for preparation methods#I really like Nutrition By Kylie on YouTube!#she’s a dietician and she is EXTREMELY positive in her outlook and doesn’t shame anyone#and her content is some of the only Healthful Eating type content that not only doesn’t trigger any of my disordered thoughts with food#but actively helps me combat my struggles with it#I really hope that this helps someone. and thank you for reading all of this if you do!#any of my followers with other positive and non-shaming resources or tips that I missed are very encouraged to add onto this btw!!
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Hey y'all!
After a few minor delays I've finally posted the first chapter of my serial killer fic, Pretty Little Thing!
This is much darker than my usual fics, so please read the tags and chapter specific warnings carefully before jumping in! This story tackles a lot of dark subject matter so please be wary.
If you see anything that you think needs an additional tag, please let me know in the comments so I can add it.
Also this fic is non linear! We will be jumping back and forth in time before syncing up the two main story lines near the end. I'll be putting dates for each chapter to help you all follow along.
Summary:
Captain Marvel has gone missing and the whole world is looking for him.
Billy Batson has also gone missing and no one has noticed.
#shazam#billy batson#dc captain marvel#dc comics#my writing#i cant believe i finally am posting this!#y'all have no idea how nervous i was#im really excited for this story but it is a high key dead dove type fic#i hope you all like it#its nothing like my other stories but hopefully in an interesting way#but please read the tags on the fic before you start#i dont want to trigger anyone
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I have begun to ponder about Lana and Rena in Hades II... All the witches stuff suddenly makes it so fucking easy to add them in.... Hopefully some art to come about all this will come......
#Lana is ; ofc ; a witch#Very recluse ??????? like the other witches know her but they haven't seen each other in millenniums or sth#Rena is a witch slayer :)#gameplay wise you'd probably get to choose an alternate path to get to Lana's hut#the first time you get there (or everytime???? you have to fight Rena#When you get to the hut proper Lana would be prob very welcoming if a little ominous...#BUT it makes the boon*#i think to fit her magic Lana would be able to 'overload' one of your boon / upgrade#BUT#it makes it *unstable*#Which means it's good to go for like X minutes and then it has a growing chance to fucking explode#(she can prob also do minor tweaking which is more stable)#(but she's disappointed when you play it safe and if you do it too many times in a row she'll only offer you dangerous choices)#also like Charon there's a way to trigger a fight with her :)#(in phase 2 Rena joins in)#beary talk#beary rambling#oh boy i hope I'll find some energy to at least do doodles of all this#Lana#Rena#Hades#Hades 2#Hades II#the tags were a mess holy shit i'm never writing so many tags on phone ever again
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I’ve decided to do a Bad Things Happen Bingo!
My goal is to get at least one (1) bingo, but honestly I just want to write some suffering
How this is going to work:
Send me an ask with one (1) prompt + the character(s)/media.
I’ll mark that prompt as “claimed” on this post by editing (so check the original post before you ask).
When the writing is done (and published), I’ll shade the prompt in completely.
Prompts that are shaded in or claimed cannot be asked for! So if there’s something here you like, grab it quick!
Things I’m willing to write:
My original characters. See my #dear cassedy tag, but I also have some OCs who have yet to be formally introduced on this account (a vampire nurse with a werewolf bf and plural chemist who makes LSD - they're not from the same universe).
Drabbles of characters created solely for the situation/prompt. In this case, the asker has to propose the characters themselves. Please don't use this as a roundabout way to get writings of your OCs.
Psychonauts
Sky: Children Of The Light (Elders and Spirits, I’m not big on writing skykids)
(Maybe) Hazbin Hotel
Hollow Knight
[I can't think of much else right now, but if it comes to me I'll add it.]
Things might get a little homoerotic (especially with the cannibalism prompt), but I won't do straight-up NSFW, since I'm still 17. Gore though? That's fine.
As always, I retain the right to refuse a prompt if it squicks me or it's just not something I'm interested in writing, in which case I'll respond to the ask privately stating as much.
Prompts are listed in the alt text for those with screen-readers. Below divider by @/cafekitsune. I don't remember where I got the snake dividers, sorry :(
#brick wall#bad things happen bingo#dear cassedy#putting this in main tags but also tagging triggers hoping i dont jumpscare anyone with my fucked up bullshit sjhdshgd#psychonauts#sky cotl#sky children of the light#hazbin hotel#hollow knight#cw whump#cw medical#cw medical abuse#cw surgery#cw drugs#cw abuse#cw stalking#cw kidnapping#cw possessiveness#cw mind control#cw eye gore#cw ear gore#cw cannibalism#cw guns#cw slavery#okay i think that covers all my bases. jeez. that was a lot of cws#sometimes i dont wanna write all that but then i remember how annoyed i get when shit isnt tagged#so i want to do unto others as i want done unto myself. even if its annoying.#thanks for reading this far lmao
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Glarthir doesn’t realise it’s beginning to get bad again until he finds himself dropping to a crawl whenever he walks by the mirror. (He’s crawling underneath, should he be crawling underneath?)
It’s high, on the wall, hung up by a hook, dangling; the frame is nice. Black wood. It isn’t normally a problem, out of the way in the hallway, in the shadows, but now he’s thinking about moving it because it’s inconvenient to have to drop out of its view every time he tries to move around his home (can’t a man be safe, secret, secluded in his own home?) and the shadows make it worse because it’s hidden. It needs sun, so it can’t hide, so it has to be seen or get out – but is it even daytime? When will the sun be out next?
Anyway, to put it out in the light he’d need to carry it out – and he’s now realising that it’s been some time since he left the house.
(It felt too much. In some ways it’s better not to go out, because if you’re out and about and among the people you can see who’s looking at you, staring eagle-eyed, and it’s worse when it’s just people, when it’s just people who should be on your side; and on some level he knows, and he doesn’t want to go out and start worrying all about the people because he’s worked so hard not to be afraid of them and starting again would ruin it all. Better to stay in, curtains drawn, skittering across the floorboards under the mirror; he still has an audience, he knows, he can hear the chattering, feel the prickling on the back of his neck, but at least this way he only has to worry about the most secretive watchers and not the people he’s trying so hard not to mistrust.)
(It’s hard to keep his worries reasonable. But he made a list of things some months ago – a year? Some amount of time – when the windows were uncovered and he was making sure to go for walks every day – that were never true, could never be possible, all the never-evers that he can’t believe no matter how believable they are because he knows he’s not good at finding that line that others seem to see so effortlessly. He knows that the boundaries of reality are shifting for him, spongy, like the surface tension of water. Everyone else leaps in from a great height and gets hit by it painfully; but Glarthir has spent what seems like his whole life swimming. And he knows that he wrote that list and no-one else because he put the code at the top, secret, secure, and no-one else knows that one, no matter how loud his thoughts get it’s locked up tight. And one of the things on the list is that people can’t see what you’re doing through stone walls. Not without a spell, and his neighbours aren’t mages, he’s already checked. So he knows they’re not the ones watching him when the curtains are drawn. It’s all the ones hidden in the shadows, the cupboards, the warped glass of the mirror. It’s why he hasn’t opened the pantry.)
Maybe he should check the list. Gauge where he’s at. But it’s pinned to the upstairs wall and that’s where it’s flimsy, why would he put it upstairs, that’s not a good place, that’s not where it should be. It should be in the basement with the old notebooks, and now he can’t go look at it because the walls are too thin up high. He knows that no-one can see him even through the upstairs walls, but that doesn’t mean he believes it.
Now what?
What to do? Glarthir sits, hunched over, (he’s sitting all squished) in the shadows below the mirror, notebook in his pocket – oh, he’s been writing in it more than normal, hasn’t he. Damn.
He’s been writing more than normal and he hasn’t left the house and he hasn’t looked in mirrors, which combined is likely not good. None of it ever stops, always there, lurking, incontrovertibly true, in the background, but recently he’s been better able to set it aside. When did he stop setting it aside? Why didn’t he notice? He has no idea what time it is because the curtains have been drawn so long. Is it really a problem? He knows it’s bad sometimes but he doesn’t feel bad, not now. He doesn’t feel swimming, hazy, like the lines are so blurred he can’t see what he’s stepping on. He feels fine.
Well, he feels a bit terrified, but he’s a bit terrified all the time.
It’s so hard to tell when it’s different.
What to do? He doesn’t know what’s to be done. There was something he was going to do before he got distracted thinking about hiding from the mirror but he’s forgotten it in favour of moving hastily around the ground floor of the house, trying to get his bearings, thoughts moving in circles (he’s gone behind the armchair, look, he’s in the corner now) – he hasn’t stood up, still crawling out of view of the mirror, there’s dust on his hands, why didn’t he stand up? He doesn’t stand up. He stays hunkered on the floor.
There’s a plan for this, he knows, he remembers. They made a deal. Bernadette made him promise he’d come see her if he started getting nervy again, if he wanted to barricade the doors of the basement, which he hasn’t wanted to but thinking about all of it is only making him antsier and honestly it sounds nice to be in a comfortable private space, dirt and cobble beyond the walls, no windows, no points of entry except the door, barred and blocked with the dresser. Shit. Bernadette would definitely want him to go see her.
But what time of day is it, anyway, where would she be? He can’t just open the door or draw the curtains without a plan, go out among the strangers pretending like he doesn’t know they’re talking about him, like he doesn’t know someone is keeping tabs. He needs to know what he’s getting into, be prepared, stay calm. Going out in a crowd like this makes it worse, he knows that much, he’s sure of it; because if it’s not as real as he thinks it riles him up, and if it’s just as real as he thinks it puts him in danger, keeps him observed. So that’s a bad idea regardless.
But he promised, and he knows he trusts Bernadette even if he doesn’t believe it (he didn’t think it at the time, but why did she convince him to make that deal? Why was it so important that she know when he’s confused and vulnerable?) He knows he trusts her, or tries to, and she always leaves when he says to go away, and when he had a cold she brought food. That was sweet. He was a bit worried but he ate it and there was nothing wrong with it, just a pot of vegetable soup. She’s never shown him anything but kindness, at least to his face, and she doesn’t push, and he’s mostly sure that she’s safe.
Not completely sure, but when is he completely sure of anything?
He promised, and he’s mostly sure, so he should go to see her; he promised. And now that he thinks about it he would like not to be lonely. He would love to be alone, but somehow he’s never alone and always lonely. It’s all mixed up, everything.
Should he look out the windows? Or just open the door? On the one hand he would like to be prepared. He needs to know what to expect. He hates being surprised. But on the other he’ll have to open the door to get out – the windows don’t open, and he can’t smash them, then he could never close them again and everything that should be out will get in and everything that should be in will get out – so he has to open the door already and isn’t that enough trouble? If he draws the curtains first that feels doubly unsafe. He’s already opening the door to all and sundry – letting the curtains gape too is practically an invitation.
Just the door. Better that way, more private, he can slink through the crack and close it behind him before anyone notices. So it’s settled.
Glarthir nods, decisively, and moves toward the front door, crawling under the mirror but standing up when he’s far enough away it can’t see him. The doorknob is hard to turn – has it rusted shut? Is he not supposed to go out? – but then it turns, and the door swings open – too quickly, honestly, wider than he meant it to – and he sees outside. (He’s standing, now, stiff and still, in the open doorway.) It smells nice, nicer than his house. And it’s dark.
Nighttime. That’s good. The roads are uncrowded and the only light he can be seen by are the streetlamps. (It’s easier for people to hide. To shadow him. But he can be sneaky when he wants, he’s learned well enough to avoid them, and he’s only crossing the road, it will be fine –)
He crosses the road (he’s going across the road), cobbles wet under his feet, acting like he can’t see the shadows shifting out the corner of his eyes. They’re too fast, run and hide when he looks dead on, but he’s used to that, has learned to keep his focus on his peripherals. (He’s not looking at them. He’s going to Bernadette’s house across the way –) There’s a window in her door. With the light of the streetlamp winking behind him, the wobbly glass looks mirrored, a staring silhouette reflected back at him. Glarthir ducks (he ducks) and crouches, out of view of the window, and pounds on the wooden door, hands bleeding into the rectangular carvings, until he feels moulded with its graven face. The sound echoes, vibrating through the wood of the door and the stone of the house and the damp ground and his skin, like it’s all just one thing. The door to Bernadette’s is better than the mirror in his home. That just hangs, watching, and at least the door is part of something. It never goes outside but it can always see outside. The mirror’s only ever been in the hallway shadows. (He’s knocking on the door.) He likes doors. They never make him nervous. Never take up too much space. He could do without the window, of course, but sometimes they say windows are good things.
The door swings open and he almost falls (he’s falling!) into the hallway, too much weight leaning on it. He looks up.
Bernadette’s face looks a little wobbly, same as the glass, lit by flickering light, a little candle held in her hand, above his head, wax threatening to drip into his hair. Her face contorts.
Glarthir shouldn’t have come. What to even say? He’s not even sure that anything is wrong, yet, really, just the mirror thing, and now she’s staring and he can’t have that. Can’t put up with it. Why is she staring so? He wishes she wouldn’t – he hates it. He wishes he’d never come, because now he’s crouching on her porch and she’s just watching him crouch, all the things that might-might-not-be wrong written so clearly on his face, screaming all round the inside of his skull. She’s going to know. No she won’t, he thinks to himself fiercely. That’s on the list of never-evers too; people can’t hear his thoughts, not ever, no matter how loud they are. It’s on the list.
He's crouching, and Bernadette says, “Glarthir, what are you doing?” and he doesn’t know how to begin answering that question – the mirror or the notebook (not the notebook, that’s private, it’s all the privacy he has) or the rattling nervousness that’s been building in his chest – but she doesn’t even give him a chance to try before she says, “Get in out of the cold! Julianos preserve us, you’re going to freeze yourself to death.”
(He’s thinking, you know. He’s not sure whether to go in or not.) Glarthir stands and follows her into the hallway. “Careful,” she says, “you’re dripping on the floor,” and oh, she’s right. His nightshirt was wet from all the rain on the cobbles and when he crouched right to the ground the hem was drenched. “You can’t go out in this weather in your nightclothes, love, you’ll get a chill.”
Bernadette’s bustling around her kitchen now (he’s standing still in the doorway, out of view of the kitchen window). She stacks some kindling in the hearth and gets it lit. (He’d forgotten he was in his nightclothes.) He watches the little candle she’s set on the table. Bernadette isn’t looking at him.
“Are you feeling cold?” she asks, throwing a glance over her shoulder. He thinks hard about it. Shrugs. She sighs and crosses the floor over to the table. “Right. Sit down?”
Glarthir looks at the table, the little dancing candle, wax trickling into the wood grain. (He’s talking to her now.) “Can you close the curtains?”
Bernadette turns her head so she’s looking out the window. “There’s no-one out there,” she says, and he opens his mouth, and she cuts him off before he can start: “I know, I know, I don’t have Bosmer eyes, I can’t see so well as you can. I’ll close them if that’s what you need to feel safe.”
“Can you close the curtains?” Glarthir repeats, and she does.
He sits, traces a hand over the tabletop, eyes on the spiralling patterns of the wood. He wishes she’d given him the other chair, so he could see the door. It’s behind him, and now he feels like he has to keep looking over his shoulder, but he also feels like he shouldn’t, she won’t want him to, and if he sees something she won’t and it could turn into an argument and he doesn’t know if he should have come.
(He’s touching the table.)
Bernadette smiles.
“I was hoping you’d come by,” she says, which takes him quite by surprise. He didn’t expect – well, that she’d be glad to see him. She giggles a little and adds, “Though I admit I didn’t expect it to be past twelve.”
Glarthir’s head twists to look at the window, though of course it’s covered by curtains. (Purple ones. They’re nice.) It had been nighttime, outside – he hadn’t fully realised it, he was focused on the shadows inside the house more than the shadows out. “Oh. Yes, it’s late. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise. I was wondering where you were, I hadn’t seen you in a while. I knocked on your door, the other day, but you didn’t answer.”
He doesn’t remember that. Perhaps he was in the basement – he likes it there, it’s comfortable, no windows and walls on all sides – or perhaps it was drowned out with the other noises. There’d been a knocking under the stairs, and scratching. And the chatter. It’s thicker, outside of the house. Makes him have to strain his ears to understand what she’s saying.
“Oh,” he says, hands tracing the gnarls and creases of the worn tabletop.
The fire is crackling, chasing the shadows from the corners of the room. Glarthir taps at the table. His nails scrape at the grain. Bernadette rakes her fingers through her hair and asks, “Was there anything you wanted to talk about? Specifically?”
(He’s sitting staring at the wood of the tabletop.) Where to even start? It’s hard because there isn’t, really – not anything specific – just the mirror. Just the feeling, agitated and antsy, like some animal’s gotten loose in his chest, scratching at his ribs. Something’s just not right, but when is it ever? It’s so hard to explain.
“I’m not feeling quite right,” he manages, but any elaboration gets stuck in his throat. He doesn’t know how much he should reveal, how much is too much, how much he can say. Whether he can talk about the ragged feeling he thinks he’s getting again, like his edges are fraying; how his thoughts are huge and fast and slip like fish out of his grip, take up too much space. They seem to exist outside of his head. He just doesn’t know how to explain it in a way that will make her understand. People don’t ever seem to understand.
Bernadette is silent for a while, doesn’t speak until his tapping at the table grows faster, a rapid and unruly tempo. “I’m glad you came by.”
“Well.” Glarthir shrugs, then kind of stays like that, shoulders hunched up around his ears. “You asked – I said I would, didn’t I? I’m a man of my word. My bond. I don’t go back on it.” He prides himself on being reliable. Others may mess about, confuse him, say one thing and mean another and never follow through, but he would never stoop to their level, he keeps his word.
Bernadette is looking at him in a way that makes him want to hunch his shoulders until his face is tucked behind his collarbones. Squinting, tongue poking out between her teeth, she says, “You think you’re having a bad spell again?”
“That’s what you’d call it.” That’s what she always calls it, though he can’t often see much difference. Maybe he’s always in a bad spell. Maybe he is a bad spell. All he knows for certain is that he’s covered the windows and avoiding the mirrors and spending all day writing again. “I, ah, I noticed I was crawling below the mirror again.”
Bernadette’s long hair is falling in her face. She makes a soft tutting sound in the back of her throat. “How are you feeling?”
Glarthir tries and fails to shrug his shoulders higher. (He’s sitting all hunched in the chair in the shadows. He looks quite silly.) “I mean – normal. Nervous, but normal. But the windows, and everything – and you always say about holing up in my house – but I didn’t want to go out, because I know they’d be watching, and it’s too much to be watched by people who are supposed to be doing other things. It’s better inside. Watchers only in the corners. But, I mean, I don’t feel too wrong. Just nervous.”
He's got his fingers dragging over the table in a simple pattern, now, not following the grain, just back and forth, back and forth. It’s calming. Nice. Anchors him to the chair and the table and the wall. His thoughts won’t fly off this way.
“Have you been forgetting things?” Bernadette asks.
It’s a bit of a stupid question. “How am I to know what I forgot?”
Bernadette laughs. He drags his fingers back and forth over the table. “Fair enough,” she says. “Have you been sleeping?”
He thinks.
He actually doesn’t know. It’s hard to keep track because he doesn’t know what times it’s been, the curtains have been drawn, the only light his lantern. He doesn’t know if he missed a night of sleep or not. He can’t actually quite remember what he was doing an hour ago.
“I don’t know,” he admits. He’s pretty sure that’s not a good thing.
“Eating? Keeping the house clean?”
“I couldn’t open the pantry.” He didn’t like the look of the kitchen shadows. He didn’t like the jars.
Bernadette pulls a face and stands. “Right,” she announces. “I’m getting you some food.”
Glarthir digs his fingers into the table, drawing back into the wooden rungs of his chair. “Thank you. I’m not hungry.”
“Then I’m making us both some tea,” Bernadette says with finality. “I’m tired. You need to get some water into you. Do you think you’ll sleep tonight?”
He barks a laugh. Sleep. Even if he were tired (which – is he, actually? It’s awfully hard to tell), where would he sleep? He doesn’t want to go upstairs, which is where the bed is, but the chatter is louder in the basement, keeping him awake. Anyway, something always happens, someone always says something to wake him up. He can’t sleep even if he tries.
Bernadette laughs too, ruefully. “Honestly,” she says, hanging the kettle over the fire, “I didn’t think so. Mind if I draw the curtains for a moment to get some mint from the window box?”
Glarthir lets her. She pushes the window up. He stays a bit behind the purple drapes and looks out.
He can feel them there, blurred in the dark, bright eyes fixed on his house.
But they mostly don’t know he’s here, and they leave Bernadette alone.
She locks the window again and draws the curtains and sits, toying with the sprigs of mint in her hands. She asks, “Do you want to tell me about it?”
(He’s got a hand on the notebook in his breast pocket.) People never listen – say he’s rambling, say he’s wrong, say he’s off his head. They’re either in on it or they’re clueless – maybe both – he can never decide which – but he’s learned not to say anything. Not worth it.
But Bernadette’s asking, and she’s not clueless, and she isn’t part of it, she’s not.
(He’s thinking about talking about it. That’s a bad idea.)
He tells her a little – not much. Maybe one notebook page’s worth. Just while the kettle boils. They soak the mint leaves in her pink mugs – he watches the leaves curl up in the hot water – then Bernadette spoons honey in from a jar, amber-gold and slippery, and he watches the spiral patterns it makes in the yellow-green water. Same as the pattern of the wood grain. He pinches the shrivelled mint leaves out with his fingers.
He only ends up drinking half the tea, but it’s sweet, and the steam smells nice.
“I think you are having a bad spell,” Bernadette says. “That’s how it looks from where I’m standing,” – and Glarthir shrugs, hands curled around the warm mug. Bernadette asks if they can make another deal that she can come and see him in the mornings and make sure he talks to somebody; he’s not sure if he wants to go and have a conversation on the porch; she says they can talk through the door.
He's not sure. Not in the mornings. People might notice Bernadette on his veranda, talking through his front door, and if they start watching him when he tries to talk with his friends then there’ll never be any peace. But Bernadette gets up early, she says. She says she can get up a bit earlier. She won’t mind – it would mean she could relax on her trip to work.
“Really,” Glarthir tells her, “You don’t have to. I feel normal.”
Bernadette smiles over the steaming rim of her mug. “I know. But that isn’t the same as feeling well, is it? I want you to feel well.”
Glarthir has not felt well in a very long time, perhaps ever; but as he watches the patterns of the curling steam and Bernadette asks if she can tell the grocer at the market that he’s doing all right, just taking some time away from people (the man he buys his vegetables from was worried about him, she says, in his absence, and he wants very much to believe her), he thinks that maybe, in a roundabout way, he’s getting there.
#ATTENTION: this is stupid long. be aware#I just. have a lot of FEELINGS about them. and the game quest is GARBAGE. and if you want something done right do it yourself#and all that#so I wrote almost 4k words of Glarthir Being Treated With Compassion By The Narrative And Also Other Characters#hope you like it! hope this soothes the righteous fury which I assume is likewise burning within you!#my writing#microfic#fay writes#oblivion#the elder scrolls#skingrad#tesblr#glarthir#bernadette peneles#cw delusion#I don't really know what to trigger tag this but I don't want to make anyone's brains act up#if there's a tag you think I should include lmk. I'm all ears
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hey. huge hug for everyone who was traumatised by the chip fandom. y'all fucking deserve a big hug and i hope all of you are doing okay now. care about you guys 💙💙💙
#sorry for seriousposting in the tags but there's shit that's been on my mind#knowing people don't want shit to do with chip anymore breaks my heart. how did a small fandom hurt so many people#and how did a loud minority completely fuck everyone up#the other day i realised i had been abused by gremlin through her posing as yuzu (thank you nure for telling me this). and ive just been.#i will probably make a better post about this but it's 1am and i do not want flashbacks tonight#chip is a partial trigger for me thanks to that and another thing (personal shit)#and i only really interact through the discord and through gijinka content now#i am really happy that there's a fandom that's thriving now and the fandom has had my back (love you chip discord)#but that mark is still there#i hope everyone who was affected by the fandom is doing okay now#this post goes out for everyone affected by the fandom#harmony sings#harmony rants#chipspeech
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NEW USERNAME STEPCHILD????
Yeahhhh !! Not the best circumstances but I’m being brave and it feels fitting because it’s named after one of the wholesome little small joys of my life :) I also feel like it’s fitting to the energy I’m going for right now since trying to get rid of that constant feeling of underlying guilt in favour of like. Not feeling that lol. It’s been going pretty well I got my shit together most of the time :3
#Yeah trigger warning but uhhhh#Someone I was friends with a while back that I haven’t texted in like 6 months (was acc gonna block her bc I don’t get on with her like I#used to and talking to her didn’t make me feel good anymore. wish I did now tbh) made a post saying she’ll be dead in a few hours and then#made a comment tagging me :/// so it destroyed the whole nice vibe for me really#Sorry I know ppl probably don’t wanna hear it. Neither do I really but like I need to get it off my damn chest cause like who even does tha#As much as I’m worried for her and I hope she’s okay that was shitty. That was really damn shitty and I can’t see any other purpose than to#Make me feel like shit#It’s worked!
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I can't stop thinking about that Wing AU and Sticky plucking his feathers...
(Weird, angsty ramblings that might require some knowledge of bird anatomy to fully understand to follow)
(Basically, when birds grow feathers they start as "blood feathers" which are basically just little sacks of blood and growing cells. After this, they are "pin feathers", and the blood is all inside where it belongs, leaving the feather all rolled up and covered in this papery stuff that rubs off and leaves a fully grown feather. Also, Primaries are the big "pointer finger" feathers at the tip of the wings, Secondaries are the medium sized ones from the "wrist" joint to the "elbow", where they get smaller and are referred to as Tertiaries. That should be it :>)
Because, in real life, it's quite common in pet psittacines (Parrots: so, macaws, cockatoos, budgies, lovebirds, etc.) especially when they are stressed. And it can get out of control really fast and take a long time to train the bird out of even though it's very obviously hurting it.
And I just keep thinking about how young he was when he started being on TV. And for a while the fluffy little baby feathers were cute but an entertainment industry seeking engagement instead of connection demanded he grow up too fast.
And so the make-up/wardrobe department for any competition he was on started pulling some of the downy feathers. There weren't that many left at this point regardless, but they assured him it would make him seem more mature and appeal to a wider audience. And it would be fine, it wouldn't really hurt him, especially since he was growing in big feathers anyway.
So it went. With Sticky being so self-conscious and anxious anyway, he probably kept his wings tucked in tight behind him no matter what people thought about them.
He had never put that much consideration into how he looked, but now he can't stop thinking about it. He doesn't know why it's so important, but apparently it matters to people. He doesn't want it to matter. He doesn't want to be seen or recognised. He just wants to be left alone.
He starts fidgeting with the pin feathers that will one day unfurl into adult primaries, and even though he knows it's counter-intuitive because removing the casings will only free the feathers sooner, he can't help it. A few times he goes too far and starts picking at blood feathers, and even though the red coats his finger tips more often than he'd like, he still can't stop his hands from scratching and pulling and yanking as he grows more and more agitated.
And then he ran away
He ran and he couldn't keep his hands off his wings for more than a few minutes. Tugging and raking his fingers through the feathers in a futile attempt to calm down. The first couple of times, it's an accident.
The first couple of times he's so caught up in soundless panic and all he can hear is his own breathing, it's only later that he notices a small cluster of secondaries, close to his body and almost never seen with how rigidly he holds himself, are missing. Small pieces of the night sky littering the alleyway ground where he'd been hiding.
His wings are so dark in colour, not to mention unkempt after a few weeks hiding and running and flitting from place to place trying to find safety, that the other kids don't even notice anything wrong.
It isn't until a few days later, when they're all in the backyard attempting to practice their Morse Code, and Kate does something that startles him that they really see what kind of a state his wings are in.
Most birds, when scared or on edge, will carefully spread their wings. Maybe not a lot, but they are preparing to fly away or make themselves look bigger in hopes to scare off the threat. (I imagine Milligan having great big owl wings that he puffs up to try and guard the children when the Recruiters come after them in the maze)
But Sticky just draws them in closer to his body. When he is scared, which Constance would note is often, he holds his wings so tightly to his back that they seem half their size. This would be considered odd and in some ways handicapping himself or keeping him from being able to react properly.
But this time, as Kate wobbles unstably out of her cartwheel and lets out a shriek of laughter, landing on the ground right next to him, Sticky jumps. He starts off the bench he had been sitting on, hunching his shoulders and reflexively spreading his wings.
And instead of the fully extended mix of fully grown flight feathers and occasionally wayward piece of down the other kids have, Sticky's wings are a mess. They have a skeletal quality, with just enough plumage that when they are folded in it's hardly noticeable, but when they are extended it's clear there are significant gaps. The remaining feathers have the dull, stunted quality of someone who has been under an incredible amount of stress without nearly enough nutrients to fuel them, and indeed Sticky looks rather like a feral cat in that moment: Spooked and curling in on himself as if expecting a fight.
He quickly realises his overreaction, and then processes that the girls are staring at his wings (Reynie's eye did dart up, but quickly returned to looking at Sticky's face), so he jerks them back into a resting position. Though there's nothing particularly restful about how stiff his posture is, back ramrod straight and muscles so tight he's beginning to shake.
However, this is something that the others know he doesn't want to share yet. And he doesn't need to. Not until he's ready.
So, Kate grabs the flashlight from where it had fallen to the ground, a sheepish grin on her face as she apologises for scaring him.
Reynie suggests they all go inside, take a break and get something to eat before they begin again.
Constance glares at Sticky suspiciously, but right as she opens her mouth she seems to think better of her questions and simply shrugs.
And Sticky is grateful for his friends, grateful that he has these people who love him enough to trust him with his secrets, even though they don't know each other very well yet. So he follows them inside, and if Kate dumps a little bit more food on his plate, and Constance doesn't try to swipe his juice glass this time, and if that night (for the first time) Reynie shyly asks if the two of them could take turns preening each others' wings, when it's just the two of them alone in the room, Sticky thinks he might be able to trust them too.
#Anyways#I wanted to get this idea out of my head so I could actually think about other things#Because it has been crowding out a lot of other thoughts lately#That's what I get for getting all excited about bird anatomy I guess :/#I hope it isn't too annoying or weird#But it's a super real thing that lack of proper nutrition can mess up a bird's feathers too#Birds are kind of ridiculously delicate#In other ways aside from the hollow bones I mean#But at least they're not as bad as horses#All this is mostly based off my own experience with anxiety and doing stuff like pulling on my hair or pinching myself?#I don't really know anymore if that's a common anxiety thing or something I should tag as a 'trigger warning'?#I thought it was normal but if anyone has an issue with it please tell me#Anyways like I said#Lots of feelings about wing aus and birds and a TON of feelings about Sticky#Whoo I finished that now I can retreat to the safety of my phone and leave the clown behind#the mysterious benedict society#mbs#sticky washington#mbs wing au
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