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imagineaworld · 2 months

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training season 🗡️ cassian

summary: cassian is overseeing your training, and despite his attempts to keep it professional, when he learns his desire for you is reciprocated, he can't hold back any longer

warnings: 18+, smut, implied r*pe/SA (off-page, in past), blood, unprotected sex, creampie, size kink if you squint,

word count: 1.7k

Your relationship was strictly professional.

At least, that's what Cassian told himself as he admired your body carrying out the manoeuvres he had instructed.

The way you moved with such grace despite emulating movements designed to end a life captivated him. It was impossible for him to take his eyes off you, partly because he was overseeing your training. But mostly because he was undeniably attracted to you.

Flustered from the exertion, you turned to him for feedback.

"That was good," he praised. "You're still holding your sword a little low. If you were fighting someone your own size, it'd be perfect."

Unspoken was the hint that the assailants you'd been training to fend off were male, thus much larger than you.

Cassian had offered to train you when he had spotted you at a fighting ring - not to place bets, but to watch the fighters' movements and tactics to teach yourself how to fight.

He'd known you for a while by then, and was aware of a traumatic event in your past that was the cause of your dedication to fend for yourself; to never be weak again. He saw that determination in your eye and found himself offering to train you before he had even a chance to consider it.

Over the past three months, you had thrived under Cassian's tutelage. From your own self-teaching, you had a good foundation to work with, and Cassian had a front-row seat for your transformation. Rather inconveniently, Cassian's attraction towards you had also thrived in that time.

Clearly frustrated with yourself, you began the movements again, making sure to hold your sword a little higher. Your two-hour session must have been over, because Azriel arrived to winnow the two of you back into the village.

"Looking good, Y/N!" Azriel called from his spot beside Cassian, eliciting a grin from you.

A spark of jealousy flared in Cassian at the affection.

You were Azriel's friend first. It was through Az that Cassian had met you, on a night out in a tavern. You had tried to keep up with the boys, but your lower tolerance left you requiring an escort home, which Cassian was happy to oblige.

Sheathing your sword in one swift movement - a vast improvement from the first few times, showing how quickly your training was becoming muscle memory - you made your way over to Cassian and Azriel. A sheen of sweat glistened on your brow as you caught your breath, causing Cassian's mind to wonder how you might look after a good fuck.

Nope. Cassian shut down that thought before it could alter his scent and make things very awkward. For the most part, he had done a good job holding the reins on his desire - only a few lingering touches and straying glances. To his knowledge and relief, you had not picked up on anything.

Guilt ate at him for his thoughts about you. You had trusted him - a male - to oversee your training, despite your experiences with males. He would not take advantage of his position just to get in your pants. It would be overstepping a boundary.

Az winnowed the three of you back to your village, dropping you off just outside your little cabin on the outskirts, before he disappeared again.

"Same time again tomorrow?" You asked Cassian.

He nodded in confirmation. "You did good today, Y/N."

Your smile at his praise was enough to put out the flicker of jealousy.

A knock sounded at your front door just after two in the morning, jolting you awake.

Instantly alert, you grabbed the dagger from under your mattress and clambered out of bed as silently as you could. As you stalked toward your front door, you monitored for any sound of danger - just like Cassian had taught you.

You pressed your ear against the door but could hear nothing amiss. Guardedly, you unlocked the bolt and opened up the door, dagger ready.

Cassian stood before you.

Your shoulders sagged at the relief, the possibility of threat gone. But once you noticed Cassian's face bloody and bruised, you tensed up again.

"What happened?" You asked him softly, ushering him inside and bolting the door behind him.

"Sorry if I woke you." He spoke quietly.

You motioned for him to sit down, dagger clattering on the table as you set about wetting a rag to wipe the blood from his face. So gently, you patted his bruised face, removing both dried and wet blood, his nose still trickling.

"You get in a fight, hm?" You asked absently, more focused on cleaning him up.

Cassian just said, "You should see the other guy."

You stood between his spread legs as he sat in a chair that was groaning under his weight. Each gentle touch of your skin on his sent shivers down Cassian's spine. He became hyper-aware of just how little you were wearing.

Used to seeing you in fighting leathers, Cassian's attention snagged on the gauzy nightgown you wore. The white flimsy material left little to the imagination, and he could see your peaked nipples in his direct eye-line.

He cleared his throat, shifting about and attempting to avert his eyes. But there was nothing else to look at, you were standing so close to him. The floral scent of you was overwhelming - far more overbearing than when he caught your scent outdoors.

"I hadn't realised you wouldn't be decent," Cassian said as you finished cleaning the blood off his face.

You looked down at your nightgown. "Am I not decent?" You asked.

Cassian's eyes trailed you as you retreated a few feet away, rummaging through a cupboard for a balm to put on the cut on his cheekbone, the bloody rag discarded.

"Your nightgown," he ground out. "Leaves little to the imagination."

"You like it?" It sounded innocent, but it was laced with something more. A challenge.

You made your way back over with some of the balm on your fingertip, returning back to your spot between his legs as you applied it to his bruised face.

"You think I don't see the way you look at me?" You asked. Cassian's stomach dropped. "I know you want me. I want you in the same way. Why do you hold back?"

He was dumbfounded. Language seemed to escape him. But you had said the words he had been desperate to hear. I want you. That was enough for him.

He let go of his restraint.

Wasting no time, he rose to his feet. He loved the way he towered over you, how small you were compared to his huge form. Fingers under your chin, he tilted your face up to his. He captured your lips with his own, hard and hungry. You tasted even better than he had imagined as he thought of you late at night by himself. The way you opened your mouth to let him in sent blood straight to his cock.

Eagerly, you fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them one by one. Once his shirt was off and tossed aside, you broke the kiss only to pull your nightdress over your head, leaving you utterly bare before him.

He let out a growl at the sight, his large hands roaming your body, soft under his rough touch. With a hand on your ass, he pulled you closer against him. The moan that escaped you as you felt how hard he was was like music to his ears.

Without warning, he lifted you as though you weighed nothing. You braced yourself, hands on the bulging muscles in his arms, as you wrapped your legs around his torso. With such ease, he carried you over to your bed, laying you down gently and kicking off his boots.

The sight of you bare beneath him had his cock straining against his suddenly too-tight trousers. You tilted your head back, exposing your neck to him. Seizing the opportunity, he pressed his lips to your neck, kissing, sucking, nipping with his teeth. Claiming you as his, marking you. Slowly, he worked his way down, kissing and licking your chest, between the valley of your breasts. Finally, he placed his mouth over your peaked nipples, which had been torturing him since he'd first noticed them. All the while, Cassian toyed with your slick pussy, dipping his fingers in and out in a motion that had you writhing beneath him.

You were so lost in the pleasure, you hadn't even noticed his trousers come off until his impressive length was lined up with your entrance.

"Say you want it," Cassian's voice was so full of lust you could barely think.

"Please," you murmured. "I want it."

Slowly, Cassian pushed inside you. You cried out at the feeling of his cock filling you, stretching you. He groaned at how tight you felt, aware of his size as he gave you time to adjust once he was fully seated inside you.

"Cassian," you breathed, fingers clawing at his back, desperate for him to move.

He began to thrust, gradually picking up the pace as your body adjusted to his. With each thrust, he hit that sweet spot that had your orgasm building already.

"Fucking hell, you're so tight," he ground out.

You dug your nails into his back and clamped your teeth around his shoulder to muffle your moans. His pace was unrelenting.

"I'm so close," you moaned.

"Cum for me, baby," he coaxed.

Obeying, you cried out as release barrelled into you, stars exploding in your vision. Cassian's pace did not slow down, riding you through your orgasm. At the feeling of you cumming around his cock, Cassian knew his release would follow suit.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he growled.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him close. "Cum inside me."

Your words pushed him over the edge. His pace finally halted as he stilled, spilling himself inside you just as you had asked.

For a few moments afterwards, the two of you remained still, chests heaving as you caught your breath. Slowly, Cassian pulled out of you, some of his cum leaking out.

With two fingers, he gathered up the leaking cum and pushed it back inside your pussy. "Since you asked for it," he said with a smirk.

Instead of leaving, like you thought he would, he laid down next to you, still catching his breath. You knew from the look on his face that he was not done with you yet.

#cassian #cassian smut #acotar #acotar smut #cassian acotar #lord of bloodshed #cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian x y/n #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses

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senseichaos · 4 months

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VALENTINE'S DAY SPECIAL

I'm crazy, but so are you,

I'm crazy, but you are too

Summary: Alastor surprises you with a Valentine's gift, causing you both to find out things about each other that would bring you closer than ever before

Genre: Romance, Angst

Warnings: Sexual themes, Angst, hurt slight comfort, psychopathic Alastor, implied sadism, self deprecation, talk of murder, let me know if you see any more!

NOT PROOF READ (YET)

Let me know your thoughts!

(tried to do my iconic 3 image banner but tumblr's formatting broke so it didn't work..)

"My fawn, I have a surprise for you!"

You look up from your book, face lighting up as you place the book onto the couch next to you. Currently you were just reading a book in the hotel lobby, mostly alone in the area save for husk cleaning the bar as usual. Niffty is currently fixing some windows that had been broken, Sir Pentious is in his room doing god knows what, Vaggie and Charlie are out getting dinner, and Angel is at work. Which leaves you.

"Hm? Really?!" You ask, not expecting a gesture from Alastor on Valentine's day. Alastor grins, reaching his hand out for you to take which you do politely. In an unexpected movement Alastor pulls you lightly so you come close to him, placing a hand onto the small of your back as he gives you a proud gaze.

"Yes my fawn, it's valentines day is it not? Come,"

Alastor leads you up the stairs, taking you to his room one one of the higher floors of the hotel. This is all a surprise to you, really. You'd never expected Alastor to get you something for Valentine's! Let alone a surprise. You can't hold that excitement inside of you at the fact that Alastor is going to surprise you with something! You practically buzz with excitement when Alastor leads you down the hall, looking up at him as you fiddle with the side of his overcoat.

"What is it, what is it!!" You ask with excitement, bouncing on your feet as Alastor settles in front of the door to his room, not yet opening it. Alastor laughs, adjusting his monocle and shaking his head.

"Patience, dear! Have I taught you nothing?" He utters with a grin, fixing his coat after you had meddled with it.

"I'm allowed to be excited Alastor!" You pout, folding your arms as Alastor rests his hand against the wall. He gives you a humorous gaze, laughing at your words with a grin.

"You are, fawn. But there is a difference between patience and greed~" He purrs, pressing hks microphone to your chin, tilting it up a tad; scowling at this action, you grab the top of his microphone and push it back to his chest. Alastor's lower lids rise.

"I am not greedy! You've never surprised me before..." You frown, looking at the ground beneath you. It wasn't wrong, at least you don't think. Alastor has never really given you a huge surprise like this before.

Alastor takes a step forward, hooking his finger beneath the leather of your collar.

"Now that is a lie. I surprised you just last week with this beautiful collar," Alastor speaks, pulling his finger away from your neck, dragging his claw down the column of your throat as he goes. You can't help but lean into that brief touch, flicking your eyes back into his as he stares at you with an odd adoration.

"I guess that's true.." You mutter, itching the side of your neck as you take your eyes from his own again. You instead look at the wall, focusing on the deteriorating wallpaper. Though you feel Alastor's claw press against your jaw, tilting your face back towards his own

"You guess? But it is true, my dear. I think you forget that I love you just as you love me," He says lowly, leaning in closer to your own smaller, meeker figure. You can't help but shrink backwards, feeling that odd fear buzz through your cold sinner veins.

"Do you really?" You ask, eyes blown as you stare. He chuckles, kissing your forehead and pulling away, leaving your skin burning on the area he kissed. Alastor quickly and deftly places his fingers onto the the doornob, twisting it with a neat skill. The skill of a man with property, you could describe.

"Hm, does this prove my point?" Alastor asks, pushing you into the room by the tip of his microphone staff.

You gasp, looking at the room. His room has a nice, neatly set table in the middle of his forest backdrop, which has cups of coffee and crumpets on it, along with some of your favorite sweet treats that make you drool to even look at. There's even a beautiful bouquet of dried roses set in the middle just near the edge of the table, meaning you can see Alastor completely when you eat.

"Oh my gosh! Alastor, this is.." You clasp your hands over your mouth, tears welling up in your vision as your heart swells from the pure kindness of the action. You watch as Alastor waltzes in front of you, prideful of his actions.

"And you say I don't know you.. I have your favorite music, your favorite food, your favorite drinks anddd" Alastor outstretched his hand, standing in front of the table completely with that grin of his that makes you melt. "Your favorite radio demon~!" He sing songs, causing you to laugh, running up to him and hugging yourself into his arms.

Though often you don't hug Alastor, but it's in these moments where he welcomes it that you value. He always hugs you warmly, as if his whole body is enveloping you in a swaddle. You feel small in his arms, almost like a baby.

You nuzzle yourself into his chest mumbling:

"Oh thank you Alastor this is so.. thoughtful. I didn't think you were capable of such a thing," You giggle, looking up at him with teary eyes as those butterflies swarm inside of you. That way he looks at you is so soft, before he laughs, tangling his fingers into your hair and pulling very lightly.

"Now don't ruin the moment, my fawn. It impolite," Alastor chastises, giving you that sadistic look that makes you fall to your knees and take what's given. Those dark eyes, that tight grip, that sharp smile, those piercing teeth. You bite your lower lip, laughing with a flustered blush as you push his hand away.

"Sorry Al' I just.. this is incredible! I'm so excited! I can hardly hold in my squeals," You squeak, jumping very slightly on your toes. Chuckling, Alastor folds his hands behind his back, though not before resting his staff at the side of the table. "Squeal all you want, my dear! You make a lot of noise anyway," He says with a lascivious smirk, leaning down to your level just to get a good look of your scowl and humor it as he feels necessary.

"Ew Alastor! I don't wanna squeal anymore.. but- EEEEEEE!" You squeal, flapping your arms with joy as Alastor sits himself down at the table. What you don't expect is for Alastors green magic to circle around your waist, effectively picking you up and placing you on your chair. He ignores your frightened squeak and flinch at this, instead leaning forward and resting his chin on his intertwined fingers.

"C'mon my dear, the coffee should be the perfect temperature!" He utters, nodding his head towards the cup of coffee at your side of the table. You nod, taking a small sip of the sweet coffee. Sweet? That's new. Alastor doesn't like sweet things.. which makes it all more surprising that he's given you sweet things.

"Oh actually! It's not huge but i did get you something," You interrupt your thought, remembering the Valentine's gift you had found on the streets of hell weeks ago. Alastor smiles wider, not expecting you to get him something in return. He feels gratitude that you did, though, not often does he get gifts.

"Hm? You did? How sweet of you, my fawn!" Alastor asks brightly, watching as you twist your body to grab something from your back pocket. What he doesn't expect is for you to pull out a light gray feather, a very slight shimmer against its surface. It almost looks like the feather of an angel with it's heavenly sheen.

"I found it on the street a couple weeks ago whilst on my outing, it's an exorcist feather!" You exclaim, passing it towards him with a proud smile. Taking it in his fingers, he examined it with a soft but peaceful smile, taking in every piece of it before smiling brighter.

"Ooh~ now this is a thoughtful gift!" He says, opening his mouth and placing it into his mouth, tasting it. He slowly drags it out, trailing his tongue around its entirety to taste every part of it. You give him a disgusted look, peering at him through your lashes before pulling it from him. Or at least attempting to, he pulls it away before you have a chance to reach it.

"Ew Alastor don't taste it! You don't know where that's been!" You scold, taking another sio of your coffee. Alastor holds it in his hand, tasting a little bit more of it by placing his red tongue against it kn random spots. You give him an exaggerated gag, causing him to finally pull it away with upturned, happy eyes.

"It's tasty, dear! Is that not part of the gift? A beautiful feather of an angel and the tasty remnants of death! I can't think of anything more delicious~" He pauses, lowering his lids seductively. "Besides from my fawn, of course.." He purrs, causing you to flush before swatting his hands.

"Alastor! That's gross...!" You exclaim, taking an aggressive bite from your (extremely delicious) crumpet. You almost forget that you're supposed to be mad before Alastor's condescending laugh rings in your ears, causing you to look back up at him with down turned brows.

"Oh come on dear, I know you just love it when I'm dirty!" Alastor says with a teasing gaze, before leaning forward and attempting to kiss you. You quickly move your head away, causing him to give you a short peck on the corner of your lips. When he pulls away, he seems proud, almost greedy with his affection.

"You just tasted an exorcist feather and you think I want you to kiss me with the same mouth, ew!" Alastor hums at your words, tilting his head.

"I guess you just don't like the flavour the same way as me," He says, taking a sip of his black coffee. Alastor can't stand sweetness, that's for sure. But it does still surprise you that he has a crumpet and a slice of your favorite cake Infront of him.

"Okay fine.." You sigh, leaning forward to invite Alastor into a kiss. He grins, clasping his hand onto your cheek and leaning forward, purring: "Lovely!"

Finally he presses his lips onto yours, quite literally immediately forcing his tongue past your lips. You moan surprised at this, gagging as he presses his tongue to the back of your throat - definitely on purpose - though you don't pull away. Alastor doesn't kiss you often, and that's a fact. So this moment, despite being uncomfortable with his sadistic ways is still powerful and makes your gut rearrange. The way he digs his claws into the back of your neck, twisting your head slightly so he can kiss you deeper, effectively taking away your breath. But you don't care if he suffocates you. You don't care if he kills you. Right now all you want is for him to continue massaging his lips against your own.

Or that was until he finally pulled away, licking a stray piece of saliva from his lip. You finally snap from your daze, flushing deeply and wiping your wet lips.

"Are you done?" You ask, taking a short sip of your coffee in an attempt to calm your fiery veins down. Alastor chuckles, taking a bite from his crumpet and only slightly flinching from the sweet flavour.

"Yes my dear, a kiss cannot last forever." He says, leaning his head against the back of his hand. Nodding, you bite your lower lip, finding something to say to take your mind from that intense kiss.

"So what are you gonna do with the feather?" You ask rather abruptly, chanting the subject with a swift execution of words. Alastor could detect as such, but he choses not to point it out to save your dignity. Instead he nods, twirling the feather between his fingers before speaking.

"Hmm, I will most likely place it at my bedside." He pauses, grinning and looking back up at you. "What do you plan to do with these hours of fun with yours truly? He asks, taking a neat sip from his black coffee. You can't understand how he drinks the stuff, being so strong and bitter. You can only have it sweet.

"I just want to talk with you, Al'. I don't remember the last time we just got to sit and.." Your words slowly jumble off into nothing's, realizing that you're rambling. Though when you look up into Alastor's eyes he doesn't seem annoyed, hell he even looks as though he's hanging off your every word with deep enjoyment. "Talk." You finish, pointed with your words as they drip from your tongue.

"Really, because I recall sitting down and having tea just last week," Alastor recalls, tapping his chin in mock-thought. You shake your head, taking a long sip from your coffee. "No I mean, I don't remember the last time we did something just for us. Just a moment where it's- just unbridled conversation between lovers for hours.." You utter, twiddling your fingers together as a pang of anxiety hits your gut. You swallow it down, not wishing to show your anxiety to your partner.

"Hm, I guess you are correct with one thing. We haven't done anything just for us in a while," Alastor answers, shrugging his shoulders as he looks down at the food in front of him. He seems content, cozy even. You don't often see him at such peace.. and you want him to be at such peace more often- hell you want to be at such peace more often.

"Doesn't it make you sad.. sad that we don't just have time for us?" You ask rather suddenly, looking up at him as he places his feather into his coat pocket. He lowers his lids, tilting his head softly as he speaks with a buttery tone: "Whatever do you mean?" Alastor asks, leaning his cheek on the back of his hand dreamily.

You sigh. "I mean.. doesn't it make you wish we could just be together for hours.. spend a whole day, even! Just us, laying in bed.. dancing to music, having tea.. cooking! Anything.. I just want to feel more connected to you sometimes.." You utter with a soft-spoken tone. Alastor almost seems sympathetic, hell empathetic for a moment. But he isn't, you can tell... But even still he leans forward, that smile across his face as he speaks with such an odd tone.

"Now now, dear. If you wanted a day like this why didn't you just say? Why leave it to the time we are supposed to be laughing and having fun?" Alastor asks, shaking his head softly as he moves his hands as to accentuate his words. You shrink into yourself in realization that all this time you felt a lack of deep connection with him you could have.. told him.

"I-I don't know I guess I just.. I only realize how much I need time like that now, when I have it.." You mumble, rubbing your palm across your eye before picking up the thin fork next to your sweet cake, wishing to take a bite to make you feel less sad. Though Alastor just smiles wider, giving you a soft look with his red intimidating eyes.

"Now why worry about the future when you have what you want right now? I promise you that spending time in the now will make this much more productive and enjoyable," Alastor says with such power, pulling at your strings to make your emotions mold to what he wishes. Though he isn't wrong, even with that later of manipulation with his tone. It is best to let this moment happen without worrying about the future.

"I guess you're right, Alastor." You finally say after a pregnant pause. Alastor chuckles to himself, watching as you take a joyful bite of your cake. After tasting it's sweet flavour you practically buzz with happiness, squeaking to yourself. "Thank you, my fawn."

You finish your happy 'squeeming', laughing softly at Alastor's words. "It wasn't really a compliment, but take it how you will." You say with a shrug, diving into another forkful of the delicious cake.

"You know," Alastor says suddenly, a grin churning on his face. You look up from your cake from big eyes, swallowing your mouthful of cake.

"Hm?"

"I recall this memory from my childhood sometimes when I'm with you, this memory from my childhood that is more pleasant than any other," Alastor begins, looking up at the sky-like roof above in thought and rumination as he speaks. Yet you hang into every word, leaning forward in your chair with such infatuation; You wish you were nestled in your lap to take in every huff of his breath as he tells his story.

"I was sitting beneath this tree reading a book my school had demanded me to read, for a project of some sorts. But the book was actually rather interesting! It spoke of love and loss, and it gave me this odd comfort," Alastor tells, Almost painting a picture with his hands as he describes the story to you. He moves his hands with every word that he annunciates, making everything he says seem even more rich and delightful for your brain as he goes on.

"It was like it was telling me that no matter what I do in my life, one day I will get this feeling again. And now, well now when I'm with you I get that odd feeling of comfort." He finishes, folding his hands in his lap as he watches your dumbfounded expression. He can't help but smirk.

"Alastor.. that's the most you've ever told me about your life on earth." You say with such a grin, kicking your legs in your chair with cheer. Alastor taps his pointer finger against his chin in a thinking moment before shrugging, giving you a sly smile. "Yes, I suppose it is, isn't it?" He asks, those buttery eyes of his low lidded. You bite your lower lip, poking your fork into your cake.

"You aren't lying are you? Please tell me this isn't a joke.." You beg, taking a piece from the cake with your dainty fork. You don't eat it, though, instead holding it at the end of the fork as you speak. "Why would I joke to my love about something like this?" Alastor asks, watching your body as your heart sits tremulous inside of your chest.

You look at the ground "I don't know, this whole thing it just doesn't feel real to me. And this- this childhood memory of yours.. I feel like I'm going to explode with happiness." You finish your sentence with a large almost painful grin, before dropping it down into a rather small smile. Alastor hums, poking his dainty fork into a piece of his own cake.

"Is that not good, my dear?" Alastor asks before taking a bite of the sickeningly sweet cake, he does make a bit of a face and the flavour, but he eats it all the same. You value that in this moment. Not often does he do something that actively makes him uncomfortable for you, so you feel as though he's sacrificing his life right now. You can't help but think of him as sweet for a small moment.

"It is! it's just.. this is the first I've ever heard of your past," You reply, drawing circles on the table with your hand as the other continuing to hold your fork with the piece of cake at the end. Once again you hear Alastor hum in acknowledgement, watching as he gives you a large unreadable grin.

"Would you like to know more about my past, my dear?"

You blink, biting your lower lip as your heart clenches beneath your rib cage.

"Please," You utter with glassy eyes, set on taking in every second of his story. Alastor replies to your enthusiasm with a chuckle, placing his fork down and clasping his hands together as he leans back onto his chair. He begins to speak, a whimsical propriety in his voice.

"Hm, alright then. You do have to understand that my life on earth may not be the most pleasant of lives," Alastor warns, tapping his foot against the grass beneath absentmindedly. You shake your head, dead set on hearing something more about his life as a person."I don't care."

He grins widely, eyes creasing with its largeness."Lovely, now," He begins, talking with such pride you can't help but sink into every word. "I remember this time, I was I think around my early twenties when I killed my first victim-" You interrupt with wide eyes and a tap of your finger against the table.

"Woah woah woah, why are you staring out with this?" You ask. You completely didn't expect Alastor to start out with his murder. You know that he was a cereal killer as a man, that is for sure- but you didn't expect him to tell you about it.

"Listen my dear, it's impolite to interrupt." Alastor chastises, brows high and nonchalant. You bite your lip, shrinking backwards into your seat. "Sorry Allie."

Alastor's smile grows. "Hm. I had killed this victim in the dead of night, it was an act of self defense I do admit. But, that feeling I got was like no other when his lifeless body laid dormant at my feet," Alastor describes, picking up his staff that he laid at the side of the table. Looking at the staff, Alastor drags his hand against its handle, his eyes dark and reminiscent, almost longing.

"I had this system after that. I would kill one person, eat them, and bury their bones in the forest behind my house. I was very good at giving no trace of myself, to the point where my killing became news that I had to cover on my radio show! How comical is that, hm?" Alastor suddenly perks up, laughing to himself as he finishes talking. He takes a sip of his coffee, one hand places against his staff as he watches you laugh awkwardly.

"I mean you are killing people, so not extremely comical." Alastor laughs again at this, swatting his hand in your direction. You finally take a bite of the cake on your fork, eyes pointed at Alastor as you do so in a judging fashion.

"Oh don't worry about that my dear, I promise if you were alive in my time I wouldn't have killed you. You most likely would have become my wife," His voice lowers as he speaks becoming flirtatious with his tone. At his words anxiety pools at your stomach, causing your skin to ripple into goosebumps; And yet you can't help but crave for more.

"In my life on earth I wouldn't have dated a cereal killer.. " You mumble, looking at the grass below as the goosebumps on your skin begin to fade with that fleeting adrenaline filling fear. But when you look back into those eyes of his, it comes back with a harsh waft. Those dark eyes, they send you into a trance.

"Well what are you doing now then?" He asks, leaning forward on the table with a sly gaze.

"..dating a cereal killer..." You utter guiltily. Alastor reaches across the table, planting his and against yours intimately. You feel tiny electric shocks of love go through you there, making you smile at his clawed fingers as they lay against your wrist. "Exactly, my fawn. Don't assume things about yourself, especially when it is just plain wrong. What have I done to hurt you?" You laugh at this, pulling down the collar of your shirt to reveal a healed bite mark across your shoulder.

"Exhibit A." You announce with a grin.

"Well that was during sex, darling. I wouldn't count that. And also you liked it," Alastor responds, taking your hand into his own. You shiver, feeling his claws draw a line from the bottom of your wrist to the middle of your palm. "Mhm.. touche! It still hurt.. and felt good.." Your words slowly jumble off into nothing, realizing that Alastor, in fact, has never really hurt you.

"Well then I didn't hurt you did I? I promise you I would never go out of my way to hurt you in a way you wouldn't enjoy," Alastor assures, tapping his claws against the bottom of your wrist as he grins.

"I love you, Alastor. I also really appreciate this cause I know you don't like sweet food but you're still eating this with me." Alastor chuckles, leaning over the table to ruffle your hair in a condescending way.

"Anything for my little fawn, hm? Anything I can do to make you smile is mine to give." Alastor says, pointed with his words. There is a confidence to his words, as well. Not that there isn't always but specifically when he said smile. He wants you to smile, and yet he loves to make you scream his name and cry out for him.

He wants to break you. And you let him.

"Can I tell you something about my past?" You ask, looking up as him with teary eyes. Alastor nods, taking another bite of his (now finished) crumpet. "Of course, I'm a very good listener." He replies after swallowing, blinking at you with an extraordinarily endearing gaze. You have to stop yourself from getting flustered.

"I know.." You mumble, fiddling with the sleeves of your coat. Watching with dark eyes, Alastor crosses one leg over the other in his chair, ears perking up at the silence. Sighing, you ready yourself to speak, biting your lower lip before just letting the words flow.

"I never liked anyone my whole life on earth, I mean.. I died early, I know that but still I have never felt any attraction to anyone. Anyone ever." The words come out anxious and almost scared, matching the way your hands shake in a tremulous way. And yet Alastor makes you feel better by laughing, humming at words.

"Ever? How odd, me neither!"

Your eyes widen. Never really asking anything about Alastor, you don't know why you are surprised. You often worry that you annoy him if you ask too many questions, so you guess this is your sign to ask him more.

"What, really?" You gasp, clasping your hands together as you lean towards him with attraction. Alastor just hums in affirmation, taking another reluctant bite from his cake. You think to yourself for a moment, before shaking your head and continuing.

"Well.. anyway. The only feeling I ever got towards anything was this idea of.. being with someone like you. And I know that's crazy, that I would feel attraction to the idea of dating a psycho but the label fit. I'd never changed, even into my 20s when I died I never felt attracted to anything but this personification in my head," You start, flushing deeply as you talk. You don't dare look into Alastor's eyes, too scared to see his reaction to your words. Whilst continuing to speak, however, you find that you don't feel any sort of distaste from his frame. "And I have to admit, that you are the embodiment of the personification in my head to a degree I can't even begin to explain."

Silence flourishes the air for a thin moment, making your throat clog up with regret. And yet to your surprise, you feel one of Alastors claws press at your chin, tilting your head to look at him.

"Why do you tell me this now, dear?" Alastor asks, looking into your teary eyes with an unreadably soft gaze. Your gaze shifts away from him and you bite the inside of your cheek, kicking your legs nervously beneath the table."Because I think that I completely understand why," You mutter, tone strangled as his claw begins to press slightly harder into your skin.

"Why is it, my dear?"

You sob, pulling backwards from his hand so you can shrink into yourself.

"Because I'm crazy! I just know it. All of this, this thing we have- it's all part of my delusional self. I can't love anyone unless I have this feeling like I'm in danger. I need to be on edge to be comfortable and feel this feeling I feel right now.." You cry, breathing beginning to become choked and ugly. Staying silent for a second, you take awful whiny breaths in, calming yourself. Not once do you look up at Alastor.

"I hate myself Alastor.." You utter out, another heap of tears dripping down your cheeks. To your surprise, Alastor is next to you in a flash, gripping your cheeks and making you look up at him. His smile is wide and sadistic and yet his eyes are soft and pseudo-empathetic."Now now my dear, do I look like I'm judging you? I'm crazy as well. We are both just psychopaths with a twisted idea of love." He assures, claws digging into you very slightly as he pulls on your cheeks, forcing you to smile.

"How so..?" You sniffle, pulling his hand from your cheeks. Yet instead Alastor just grips the back of your neck, ensuring that your eyes are on him at all times. He needs your full attention. "I like the idea of pulling on someone's strings and controlling them to submit to my every desire. You like the idea of being controlled and that thrill you get from the danger of it all." He says lowly, voice flowing into your ears with such tremor you can't help but stare at him with an adoration.

"Are you saying we're the same? Because I would never kill anyone.." You say softly, blinking at him. Alastor chuckles, shaking his head at your words. He almost tuts them, really, his chuckle being almost mocking in a way that you can't understand. You can never understand him, never completely. And perhaps that's the way he likes it.

"No no no, my dear. I'm saying that you and I fit perfectly into each other's idea of love. We are similar in those parts of ourselves, and that's what makes us fit so well together, hm?"

Your breath catches in your throat. He's right. He's so right. You are both broken souls that bring out the best you can out of eachother. Nothing will ever be normal with him, and nothing will ever be normal with you. And yet.. and yet your heart beats at such a fast pace you fear your adrenaline will spike through your skin.

"I guess this makes sense.." Is all you say, breathless with your words.

Alastor hums, trailing his hand from the back of your neck down your chest, until it reaches your hand. Pulling you by your hand to your feet, he brings you into a warm addicting hug. You moan into his embrace, shivering with goosebumps as his breath tickles against your ear.

"so do you really love me, really really?" You ask, teary eyed and tired.

"I really, really love you my dear. I'd kill every sinner in hell to keep you." There's a sinister tone to his words, and even yet you value them more than you can admit.

"That means a lot to me , Alastor."

"I'm glad, my fawn."

At peace, for now at least.

#proship #senseichaos #antishippers dni #senseichaosdrabbles #proship fanfiction #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x reader fluff #alastor x reader angst #hazbin hotel angst #alastor hazbin #hazbin hotel fanfic

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yuri-is-online · 3 months

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Hey, Yuri, do you think Yuu would ever run the risk of being put in danger by having a romantic relationship with any of the more high-profile members of the cast? I mean, we’ve got royalty, nobility, celebrities, and the very wealthy attending this school. I’ve just been rotating my brain about how these relationships would work out and Yuu is a pretty vulnerable target without NRC’s security. - 🦐

Hmmmmmm. I have a bunch of thoughts about this actually... I tried ranking them from least to most dangerous if that makes sense? But don't read too deeply into the bullet point placements they were mostly just a stream of consciousness thing.

Not that Risky (surprisingly)

Leona- we don't really have details about his brother's marriage, but I don't think his family has been shown to be overly keen on forming alliances with outside countries, the Savannah seems more concerned with itself. I don't think his family would be too fussed with his partner being a magicless person from outerspace, if anything this might be seen as a plus to the councilors that are always mocking Leona behind his back as his partner's lack of royal blood makes him even less fit for the throne. Not to mention Leona himself is more than enough to protect Yuu, he's the only royal at the school without a proper retainer (which you could argue is because no one at home likes him) but I doubt his family would let him do that if he was genuinely in danger.

Rook- he's Rook. His family does sound rather sweet from the very very very little we know about him (he also seems like he was kind of sheltered as a kid, something I should chew on sometime) so I doubt they would allow anything too bad to happen to Yuu.

Vil- his main issue is his contract, the Japanese Idol industry is cut throat and often sees things like bans on relationships as part of the contract. Vil doesn't want to risk his career or reputation, he mentions that he himself is a brand and I can't see him wanting to put that pressure on Yuu if they're not up for it. But... there are also celebrities who have really private personal lives and I sort of get the sense Vil is like that? And I don't think he would be too bothered if Yuu didn't want to be super public, it would certainly make it easier to keep you safe.

Idia- S.T.Y.X. might be a gloomy place but no one knows where it is

Medium Danger (danger is real but can be managed)

Jade and Floyd- we don't actually know what their family does, just that it's probably sketchy and that Mama Leech calls them every day, taught them self defense, and just generally seems to worry about them a lot. The danger is very real under the sea, but I also sort of get the sense that messing with the Leech family is skipping the fuck around and going straight to find out.

Azul- his business is going to make him enemies sooner or later, but at least during school Yuu should be more or less safe. Azul's able to keep on top of the students who mean Yuu harm, and Yuu is able to politely ignore their boyfriend's business (or maybe they have a knack for helping?) When you get older I can see Azul's need for a security team expanding, but he'll have money to get the best.

Riddle- ok so. I don't think his mom would try to kill you. But god she would be such a toxic person to manage. I'm actually working on a (very old) request atm that involves discussing what Riddle's mom might do if she finds Riddle with a partner instead of his studies (which I assume she's paying for) especially during his internship. She'd go full scorched earth and get very confused when Yuu doesn't back off like Trey did.

Huston We Have a Problem

Kalim- the amount of assassination attempts my poor boy has already canonically endured... I imagine there are probably going to be more in his future. I can see Yuu needing their own retainer (which could be a fun concept for an oc) to protect them and test their food. When Grim becomes a great mage I'm sure he could help with that actually, wouldn't that be cute?!

MALLEUS- acceptance of humans is virtually non existence in Briar Valley AND his mother hated humans so much she "blessed" her child to only be loved by fae. We don't actually know how the senate works but I imagine they would lose their ever loving shit if Malleus brought home a human as a friend and now he wants to make them his spouse? No. They say no. Time to show them what an absolute monarchy means I guess.

Assuming Yuu isn't in a relationship with Malleus I could see their friendship actually sort of being a boon to them, especially if Yuu was with Kalim or Azul. Pissing of the merchants is one thing, but the King of the Abyss? No thank you, they'll just take their losses and go.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #shrimp annon #it took everything within me to not add rollo to this list because we don't know if his family has money or not woirebtnoiewnrgoiewsmnygpi #lore in the tags for people who read it: i made some ocs for the fyuuture kid au #one of which was a retainer for the al asim family #who worked for a sibling of kailm's and was a friend of yutu's when he came to twisted wonderland

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ranticore · 2 months

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i actually drew these last year for my own self-reference and today i wanted to draw something in sai, found that sai was having a rough day, so instead i dug these up in procreate and coloured them. some kings and their fun faces

the winglets/ear wings/whatevers are not lift generating surfaces they're mostly for communication. they can hide their whole face under those things.

some of these expressions are inborn but some must be taught (i.e flinching, hiding the face, etc probably looks the same no matter what, but the more complex expressions conveying social dominance are copied from older harpies). human-raised harpies struggle to express themselves and are considered (ironically) very dangerous to be around because they won't give proper warning when they're about to be violent. and they are often violent; a major struggle of working with an imprinted harpy is their food aggression and resource guarding behaviour. most falconers in the classic tradition [taking and raising eggs] are missing at least one fingertip.

#ice storm over kosa #i rly like the poofy one i think i will keep him #there's two main falconry traditions classic and natural #natural is older it involves a human making a negotiated pact with an adult harpy who then fucks off when they get bored #classic is newer it's basically fancy kidnapping and imposed social deprivation #you get a really poorly-adjusted harpy at the end of it but at least they'll never ever choose to leave

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elerrinacrownedwithstars · 2 months

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Hot Takes and Conspiracy Theories About the Silm by Fourth Age Gondorians

(this post stemmed from the idea of the Silm as a part of some very ancient manuscripts Tolkien was just translating, and how it may compare to real world epics like Edda - stories that may have started as poems and songs written down centuries after the fact in a completely different mode and by someone with very different cultural background than the original context of the poems and possibly with motives about promoting himself or his ancestors. so what if this was how Fourth Age Gondorians regarded the Silm as well and had schools of thought and self-taught enthusiasts debating what the stories actually mean? what kind of takes would they come up with?)

The Two Trees

Valinor did not have some special light-emanating trees and they did not actually die, it's just a nature myth that metaphorically talks about a period when the sky literally darkened; this was caused by some unknown natural disaster (like the explosion of a supervolcano).

references to Tree-light and Elves being enhanced by it is just Noldorin propaganda.

The Silmarils were not real. At least not as they are portrayed in the Silm.

there are various theories as to what they really were (religious artifacts? some mandate of rulership? just really pretty jewels and everybody exaggerated how special they were? some kind of a super weapon?), but also more philosophical suggestions that the Silmarils are the elements of air, water and earth itself (hint hint that's why they eventually become part of these), and the struggle over them represents the struggle over rulership of Beleriand/Middle-earth. that in the end the Silmarils aren't really possessed by anyone reflects how all kingdoms eventually fall and nobody under Eru can be a master of the world.

Fëanor was not a real guy and the sons of Fëanor were not actually related to one another.

like who even is that great and perfect?

he's probably just some kind of a bogeyman made up by the Sindar

did anyone in Beleriand ever even see him? CONVENIENT that he spontaneously combusted almost immediately after he came to Beleriand

also who names their kid "the spirit of fire"??? what if it's not a personal name of any elf but more like a title? or a name associated with some entity that had religious following in Valinor?

there's a clue to this in how Fëanor's supposed sons are mostly referred to as "the sons of Fëanor" or "Fëanorians": it bears thinking that they were not actually related to one another, but "Fëanorian" was a title in a same way that "Fëanor" was a title. It doesn't mean an ACTUAL son to a guy named Fëanor but a devotee to whatever the entity or title named Fëanor represented.

(they couldn't be real brothers because there just can't be that many hair colours in one family.)

MAYBE FËANORIANS WERE SOME KIND OF A CULT

it was probably some kind of a death cult obsessed with blood and murder, considering their body count

also because of this they were kicked out of Valinor and all stories about how they WANTED to leave are propaganda.

Celeborn was at least three or four different guys.

How else do you explain the different versions about who he was?

the one who fathered Celebrían was Galadriel's real true love, but he died in obscure circumstances

this theory you don't really want to talk about much, because you don't want to insult Queen Arwen. Also the current Celeborn may come after you.

Beren did not actually die and come back

his first death is a symbolic one: he had been estranged from his relatives and people, but by marrying Lúthien he completely leaves behind that life and "dies" as a member of the House of Bëor to become a part of the House of Elwe

he did not come again among Men after marrying Lúthien, in other words he was dead to his original society

the sequence in Mandos where Lúthien pleads for pity was originally a description of a courting scene that got bastardised along the way; she had to go to the remaining members of the House of Bëor and ask for Beren's hand in marriage. They would not agree unless Beren gave up his claim to the title of chieftain, i. e. he has symbolically died.

Melian was actually Ungoliant

that's why Doriath lasted so long, Morgoth was still scared shitless of her and didn't dare go anywhere near her

Nan Dunghortheb was literally her backyard!!!

why else Lúthien would be able to weave weird dream cloaks???

Húan wasn't a dog, he was an Elf

the idea that he was a dog came from:

he was the best tracker in Aman, so in Beleriand he was called "The Hound of Valinor". Later generations thought this literally meant he was a dog.

whoever wrote down the legends about him was a wishful idiot who loved dogs and wanted them to be able to talk (understandable)

Something Weird Was Going On With Maeglin

aside from the obvious, of course

were Aredhel and Eöl really his parents though? was Aredhel even married to Eöl?

maybe Maeglin was a thrall of Morgoth, or was born in captivity and brainwashed to be loyal, and his task from the beginning was to bring Gondolin down

Aredhel did leave Gondolin like the Silm says, but stuff did not go down like the story tells.

-during her wanderings, Aredhel somehow found Maeglin and saw him as her shot to stage a coup in Gondolin by claiming he was her son (and male heir for the kingdom). Eöl never existed. Or if he did, he was a random guy Aredhel met and used to her own ends.

Turgon found out about Aredhel's plans (but not about Maeglin) and he was the one who actually killed her.

maybe she was a Fëanorian cult member in secret and was trying to take over Gondolin for them

Túrin son of Húrin, Mormegil, Turambar and the other aliases associated with The Children of Húrin were actually all different guys

nobody can get up to that much weird shit

the real Túrin probably died in Doriath and Melian covered it up

Elured and Elurin survived. They changed their names and became Elrond and Elros.

Maglor is the Bigfoot of Middle-earth. There is a dedicated fanclub that keeps track of sightings (which are as obscure and bonkers as you could imagine).

if you subscribe to "Fëanorians were a death cult" theory, then Maglor is actually an ominous cryptid that foretells misfortunes.

Thingol is alive and lives as a hermit somewhere in Mirkwood.

Thranduil is aware of it and in fact he has helped to keep it secret all this time.

There are also hot takes about Eärendil and Elwing and whether they were real people.

Eärendil is a half-elf, actual Star and God's favourite little guy. He has a flying ship and travels in space. He keeps an eye on Satan himself. His birth was foretold, he fought and killed the biggest dragon in history in a massive air battle that caused an entire mountain to collapse, and he may have killed Ungoliant. No real person is that special.

Elwing wouldn't do what bunch of men (who were maybe in a death cult) told her, she's obviously a villain if she existed. She can't die (was directly prevented by divine powers when she tried to) and chose to be immortal. Also being God's favourite little gal and having the ability to turn into a bird? Very suspicious.

Silmarien and her descendants were the true heirs of Númenor and if they had ruled, Númenor would still exist

the ruling line had many problematic characters that were not well suited to the role

it also culminated in Ar-Pharazon and all the tragedy that his actions brought

Silmarien inherited some of the most important heirlooms from the First Age, which proves that even her father thought she was the true heir

also Silmarien's descendants survived to maintain was what left of the culture and wisdom of Númenor; further proof of Silmarien's right.

#silm crack #Silmarillion #Silm meta #this is not a very serious post so don't kill me over Fëanorian death cult :')#long post

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alavestineneas · 2 months

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and if you are there, why do i feel alone in this room?

pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader summary: The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, mentions of sa (!), blood and other parts of body, very non-healthy relationships chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 !this work is part 2 to the i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest! word count: 7,3k

author's notes: hi beautiful people! today, I have finally finished this chapter and am thrilled to say that this fic requires part 3! be aware that this piece of literature is explicit and touches on some very heavy themes, including sa and child abuse. Please be mindful of it! As always, your opinions, suggestions, and critiques are welcome in the comments. Love you, and have a tasty read!

There are a lot of books stored in her memory, locked in the neurocytes safely. They are tucked into the cortex with love and tenderness that YN otherwise taught herself to suppress as a sign of her weaker self. But papers were non-living, so she felt like it was less dangerous for her to show warmth towards them; after all, if the objects can not acknowledge your love, does it really count as real? She read everything, mostly in an attempt to prepare herself for something she did not know the face of; she read to build the shield around herself, in desperate hope to be able to help at least her future self. YN read even now, although her foolish childhood desires were long gone, just to get a glimpse of the girl she was before the monsters escaped the pages.

The book she re-read the most was nothing special, nothing suiting the image she moulded herself into—a giant, relatively old encyclopaedia of animals inhabiting the furthest corners of Known Imperium. The letters inside, although faded a little, were left almost untouched by eyes—maybe it was what drew her in in the first place—to cherish something seen as unneeded. YN learned the small paragraphs almost by heart; she liked the idea of someone taking enough time to observe something as small as a roden to know its habits. She liked the idea of it happening to her one day. As it always is, it did not.

She chose her favourite animal without that much thought. Although even the notion of having something beloved was foolish, YN was made to choose; she and her sisters played the game of forest most often. The game was simple: pretend to be a creature you are not, forgetting the countless rules they had to follow. Pretending they have claws and teeth; pretending they can protect themselves not through intrigues and hidden motives but through open, bold force. Irulan was always a Katanga Lioness; she liked it because of the proximity to their house's symbol. YN did not; the grey pages of her beloved book described them as "observed to also scavenge on carrion of animals that were killed by other predators or died from natural causes''. What king of the animals steals the work of others simply to feed themselves? She did not tell Irulan that, of course—why would she?

YN chose a mountain lion for herself. Sure, she may have made a mistake thinking it was just another type of lion, but the game went too far to change anything, so she stuck with that. She even grew to love it—the drawing of the mountain lion on her character sheet, the way it prowled through the forest in her mind's eye. It had many names and many homes. Adaptive. Captivating.

She does not know why it came into her mind suddenly—maybe it was the dim light of the closed arena. The air circulated here freely, cooling through the complex systems of vents, even though it seemed to be deprived of any life—just a mechanical circle of the same molecules moving around her seated figure and returning to the hidden openings again and again. YN looked straight ahead; the two men were still sparring.

From her bench, they looked like one—two bodies moved so swiftly that one was unable to differentiate where the lines of their limbs ended. YN squinted her eyes; she was alone in the seating area, and still, she dared not move closer. The taller, thinner figure possessed skin so white it looked almost translucent underneath the cold light—YN wondered if she would be able to see the structures in his body through his clothed stomach. He moved well, almost too well for her not to press her lower row of teeth to the top one, hiding the tongue in a cave of pearl bones—she had hoped he was worse with his bare hands. YN had counted four hundred and five seconds before he made a mistake in his steps; it was a lot more than her own results, but for a man, he was good.

Feyd-Rautha had style; she had to give him that. He fought like a serpent would: calculated, precise. His fists knew the most effective targets, and his legs knew how to escape the blows of his opponent. If YN was to guess, he relied on muscle memory less than a usual fighter would, preferring to dwell in the moment instead. It made for a good show, sure, but it was not practical. She smiled to herself; of course, the na-Baron could not know what the real battle was like. How unfortunate for him—how delightful for her. YN still can't believe he let her watch his training every morning—was he really that stupid not to realise her motive? Was he too confident to consider having weaknesses?

Regardless, she saw what she needed to do - for three hours every day, she set unmovingly on the third bench in a small fighting ground, imprinting his every move in her mind. There are so many moves you can use and so many tricks you can do before she learns them all. YN did not care for the cold gaze thrown in her direction when Feyd-Rautha collapsed on the ground, taking a moment to rest before lurching onto his opponent again. She can wait.

Mountain lions are stealthy predators.

The days she spent here changed into months, their slow steps morphing into each other until time became a blur, a concept she did not grasp. Feyd-Rautha was a hard one to warm, but before she would mould him into something she wanted, YN needed to heat his DNA to a certain magnitude; otherwise, he would simply break. She would've gladly accepted this turn of fate too, but right now, keeping na-Baron alive is far more convenient for the Bene Gessarit. For her.

A concubine. A slap in the face: it seemed like life was determined to dissolve the small bits of her dignity in its endless pool of secrets. She was not a wife to Harkonnen na-Baron; no, she was to be his whore. If she was not too tired, she would've felt a pang of fear on her rising with oxygen lungs; a concubine's position is even lower here compared to one of a lawful wife's. YN remembers the words of her teacher as she prepared her for the union: Harkonnen concubines are killed after their first night in a position; if one is lucky enough to escape the fate by being with a child, she bears him until it's time for the baby to be born. One of the greatest honours for a Harkonnen is to take the life of his mother as soon as he enters the world.

She was to join na-Baron for breakfast today—a proposal YN waited long to receive, but part of her wishes she never did. It was worded like an invitation; YN knows it was not. Harkonnens rarely spoke when they did not give orders—a creature of habit, she supposed. So, she did what she had to: follow the slave to the chambers designated for the meal. The hem of her dress shone with a colour so foreign to the fort around her; YN needed to make herself stand out. Men are much like children, she learned—the more colourful the toy, the more likely they will want to play with it.

The walls were heavy here. They didn't bend in the shapes she was used to, preferring to stand tall. They didn't have to hide their strength underneath a complicated facade—quite the opposite. They paraded it, wearing it like the honour it is. Staying unremorsefully unbending. Maybe it's the air or a different measure of gravity; maybe it's her habit of soaking up the surroundings and letting them poison her insides, growing rotten in between the folds of her stomach tissue, but her legs are metal, stone-cold, pulling YN deeper and deeper into the floor. She tries so hard to ignore the three creatures in the corner.

They are hairless, much like the man in front of her, and dressed in matching black. YN would've mistaken them for Harkonnen royalty if it were not for the iron collars on their necks and the glowing black eyes that seemed to follow her every move. She would've been happy to have some company and not be forced into solitude with na-Baron if it were not for a still convulsing body on the floor. A body she did not recognise, but it could've easily been her own.

The creatures seemed to enjoy the involuntary moves of the soon-to-be corpse; they closed their eyes in delight and bared the sharp, black-coloured teeth in sheer pleasure as they lurched into the white flesh. They ripped it apart with only their hands, not bothering to use the prepared knives for more than a big incision from head to stomach. The sounds of chewing and gnawing filled the room, echoing off the walls and sending electric impulses down her body. YN was used to the metallic smell and the bright colour of arterial blood, but this was not a simple death. It was a show, and she was the long-awaited watcher.

Feyd-Rautha seemed unbothered by the sight near him. His hands, covered in thick streaks of blood, were deep to his elbows in the body. He dissected the corpse with precision, his eyes focused and his grip steady. He looked calm, even peaceful. Na-Baron was in good humour today. ''I must say, your arrival has graced us with much more than just the dowery; nothing could've made this union more auspicious—such a rare bird you are, daughter of our generous Emperor. A princess, yet treated no better than a common slave.''

Here it was: the thing she was thinking about all the way to this strange, garbage planet in the dress that pokes bleeding holes in her abdomen with each glass she downs. From his lips, it sounds even more bitter; even savages found the way the Emperor sold one of his daughters so easily strange. "Both of our houses have traditions far beyond our understanding," YN shrugs, scaring her thoughts away like annoying flies. Here, in a room so far from the comfort of her home, they moved too fast, bringing nausea to her throat.

She is here to secure the bloodline of House Harkonnen, to ensure the balance needed in the Imperium. YN does not notice how suddenly her gaze darkens or how tightly the hands that rested on the chair are now holding the pleated velvet of her ruby-red gown. Oh, the baby. The tiny creature inside her womb, the future head for the Baron's crown to be placed upon. The yet unconcieved child she could not feel love for. She was given no other choice but to risk its life before even giving it a chance to obtain its gift.

''Then you will find my present to be quite fitting.''

YN watches in silence as na-Baron reaches inside the rib cage of the corpse. He reaps out an organ with one swift motion, almost like plucking a harmful sprout from the garden. The organ is broun and rosewood, a weird mixture of shades that make it harder for her to focus on anything but the thing in his large hand. The gift he meant to give was a human heart.

She feels his walk long before she sees a figure departing from its place at the table; she guesses the end point of his manoeuvres too easily. It's almost funny—a cruel, senseless joke; how obvious the slight tremor in her hands is; how heavy her eyes become at the sight of Harkonnen black. The body positions itself near; if she squints, she can hear the hot breathing somewhere between her shoulder blades. His hand snakes around her neck quickly, positioning the organ right in front of her mouth. YN can detect the smell hitting her nostrils before she closes the receptors in them. She wants to scream, but the notes die in her throat. Who would she scream for? She hears the creatures hiss and whisper—the heart is a good part, from what she can make out. It did not need to be wasted on people like her.

''Will you not accept it?'' Feyd-Rautha's words are mocking, but his dark blue eyes stay virgin to the laughter. They drill small spots on her neck from behind with such force that YN can almost feel the burnt smell of her sweat-covered skin.

She takes a breath. Her own heart shrinks, its vessels beating with intensity twice as much as needed. Still alive, she notes absently. Still breathing. The feeling is natural and easy; the forced calmness in her body tingles the muscles, braiding her nerves into a pattern similar to the netting. Then, she opens her mouth.

"If I shall lick the blood of your hands, Feyd-Rautha, dare to make it your own."

That's it.

Maybe the Emperor was right to spare her none of the Sardaukars and a quarter of her dresses. She did not need more; she was not expected to survive long enough to use half of her clothes. YN chucked under her breath. Dead over diet preferences—how profound.

After a moment, the pale face behind her also twists, allowing the blackened teeth to escape the grip of thin lips. Like this, na-Baron looks less human and more like the evil he was said to be. He throws the heart to the creatures—they catch it greedily—and places a bloodied hand on her shoulder, the droplets of crimson going unnoticed on the brightly coloured cloth. ''Very well, then. Let us eat.''

YN nods. She looks around almost instinctively; nothing could make her eat a thing after the sight she just witnessed, but she refuses the na-Baron once; she is not about to do it again. The food is a lot, but her plate is almost empty: only a small amount of salad is here, sadly staring into the hunger in her eyes and a now featherless creature in an unnatural pose, suggesting its non-poetical death. The bird is small, almost delicate; its wings are pitifully glued to the body. YN does not want to let her mind draw the comparison, and does not allow her brain to admit a direct analogy; she dissects the bird with a dull knife and puts a piece in her dry mouth. The creature tastes good—almost too good to be expected in this brightly lit hall.

Most often deer is the mountain lion’s staple diet. However, they can survive preying on small animals as well.

The night covers Giedi Prime rather quickly; it never lingers, politely waiting for its masters to finish their daily affairs; it hits like a coward, from behind, trapping those not careful enough to hide before its arrival. The harsh, toxic waves of lazy winds hit the walls of the halls coldly lighted with a few sphears; they look like deep forest clearings, forming a system of endless options, ultimately leading to one, inevitable, end. His work chambers aren't big; he does not visit them often for them to be. The solitary metal desk before him is filled with letters, drafts of laws, and official documents, all waiting for his approval. It exhausts Feyd-Rautha to no end, the sheer stupidity of most of the advisers here; almost half of the documents were riddled with errors and inconsistencies. The forever present in his head dull migraine grows stronger when he opens the shortest letter; he almost busts his skull open when the pain heavies.

He ponders too much—the type of thoughts you can feel running on your tongue but never escaping. He is not used to being in the mist; all of his life is so painfully contrasted that no doubt of its nature can survive the sharp edge of his mind. There are things he can escape—forget, even—but some linger in his ribcage too long for them to vanish. Soon, they grow into his lungs with small, unbreakable threads, becoming him. He used to try to get them away from his heart, as if it held some value. Now, he is smarter, older, and more indifferent, he lets them pierce yet another piece of human flesh with no sorrow.

Of course, he remembered her face. The same face that haunted his sleep ever since she dared to appear before his eyes. Feyd-Rautha, naturally, found her little frolic that day. He spent an entire evening studying her work, analysing every move she could've made with her blade to achieve such outcomes. Sure, some things he would've done differently, but the sheer brutality of an animal he would not have guessed the girl possessed charmed him. Feyd-Rautha was a proud man, but he, too, held a love for beautiful things. For that, he hadn't told the Baron of the sight he discovered in the reading room. For that, he is now willing to pretend to believe her eyes when the fear fleshes in them.

Feyd-Rautha curses; she sickens. Like a bone stuck somewhere down his throat, not letting him live without a pang of mocking. She lurks, and whispers—Feyd-Rautha wants to smash her pretty head against the wall just to reveal the secrets she hides from him so he can finally understand the hold she retains. He is no stranger to the desire to own, or devour, but the fear in the back wall of his stomach is an alien in his body. He tries to hide it—to paint over it with anger or violence—but it remains a constant presence, gnawing at him from within. It's no use; the woman is a shark, designed to sense the fright. Maybe that's what brought him in in the first place—the steel eyes so similar to his own in a narrow hall all those years before. Maybe he was so used to the danger that he craved it subconsciously, looking for it to make him feel like himself again. A reoccurring childhood nightmare he can't escape; he doesn't want to escape.

Feyd-Rautha finds the chair to put his weight on and waits until the tingling, spinning sensation spreads from his temples down his neck, finding its way into his bloodstream and passing his organs one by one, until none are left uncorrupted. Of course, he expects it. The woman slipped into his brain and now chews her way into it like a parasite downs the rotten body. He knows he should be terrified, but instead, he feels a strange sense of relief. Feyd-Rautha can hear the whispers of his own mind fighting to remain the only owners of the secrets and desires buried within. He feels his eyelids heavy; a second later, the whites of his eyes are staring at the ceiling, the blue eye lenses dissolving in light.

Water. The first thing he feels is ice-cold water dripping onto his face, filling his lungs, and sending a shock through his arms. This body does not feel like his; it's too small, too narrow. His eyes are trying to adjust as fast as they can, jumping from one blurred spot to another until finally catching a glimpse of the surroundings. His brain does not have time to process the picture; his nose is filled with fluid again, and his open mouth is gasping for air but only taking in more liquid. He tries waving his hands around, but the stronger grip is firm on his nape, pulling him further down into the depths. The hand yanked him out just as he was about to fall into darkness again, the sound of water changing to loud screeching.

''How dare you hit me, devil child? Let the water wash away your dirt. Repent; beg for forgiveness for all of your rotten nature.''

The voice is unknown to him; it is harsh and filled with fury. The woman's face is twisted in anger; splashes of water on it match his. He can't tell if they are from his antics or tears. The woman's grip tightens, her nails digging into his skin. The black clothes on her figure make her status known - a Bene Gessarit witch. Feyd-Rautha tries to lurch forward and hit her back, but her strength is overwhelming. He feels panic coursing through his veins instead of oxygen—a sensation he did not think he could experience anymore. He wants to bark a response to show her that he is not afraid, but his voice catches in his throat.

Feyd-Rautha has no time to wonder what the woman wants; she brings his face to the bathtub again, and he opens his mouth involuntarily, frantically begging not to do it anymore. He says everything she wants to hear; he cries out and promises to wash his sins away. The voice does not sound like his at all. He is desperate to end this nightmare now, but some force holds him here. The woman is not satisfied; her ears are deaf to his pleas.

His face ends up on the water surface a moment later, his nose hitting the wall of the bathtub as the woman holds him down. He feels his body go limp with utter horror; this time, the shouting woman won't stop. Her voice grows quieter, replaced by the sound of small waves hitting the brim and spilling; from right to left, the water turns red, and his tongue tastes the iron he knows from sliding blades into his mouth.

''Echidna, what the fuck are you doing? Let her go; she is going to choke!''

''Get that spawn to me, for I will not let her ruin my life anymore! I must finish what I have started!''

Feyd-Rautha's head is filled with oxygen once again; his lungs take a desperate breath in, sending too much air to his blood system. He falls on his back, the world spinning. He does not care for the weeping woman in black or the chaos unfolding around him. His only thought is that everything is finally done and that the white floors are a magnificent place for drops of liquid to fall from his normally bald head's waterfall of hair.

He wakes up suddenly, the sensation long gone. His steps are heavy again; the body he inhibits no longer feels like a cage. The voices have left him for now, and the only thing on his forehead left is small drops of sweat and a pathetic, frightened, beating heart. The cold breeze from the darkened sands surrounding the city wishes to prove otherwise—it heavies and plants its spikes into his reddened cheeks. The horizon gleams at him, almost taunting; not a single star is to be seen under the imposing clouds. He will kill her; maybe he will even enjoy it. Feyd-Rautha can handle a lot, but not the shame of being seen. Not the guilt of being caught wanting.

There are only three ways to hunt a mountain lion: tracking, waiting in ambush, and with dogs.

The gliding motions of heavy fabrics across the wooden floors created a strange pattern of a song now centuries old. Here, in a room so long that the wind travelled through the hollows, her careful steps seemed to almost fall silent. Nothing was there for the preying eyes to see. YN closes her eyes; with that, even for a moment, the world stays still. She knows where the hollow staircase will lead her; she feels it in her stomach with every step she takes. YN knows nothing about the future, but the past lives deep in her memories, haunting her every move. She knows she shouldn't have done it. Travelling through one's mind is a sin she can't escape; she will pay the price for it in her blood, but the Bene Gesarit did not send her here to survive, so it's of no use to be afraid now. It makes no difference for the dead if you weep at their grave or not.

The burning sphere of light in the hall stops spinning; the doors open without any noise, although if the pounding eardrums had not stunned her hearing, she could've noticed the faint thuds. YN waits; there are no flashes of her happiest memories or the faces of her loved ones in her drained mind. No, in what seems to be her last moments, she thinks of what she could've been if the world had not given her a sword to turn into.

Feyd-Rautha appears in the hall; his steps aren't rushed, and his expression is stone-cold. She eyes him shamelessly: nothing. She sees nothing; she senses it deep in her crying bones. He drags her by the hair like a mother would with her misbehaving child; roughly, he pulls her towards the exit, his grip tightening with each step until the door behind them closes and her knees meet the cold ground with a nasty thud. The bruises will stain them soon, not that it matters now.

''You should've known better than to cross me,'' he hisses, his voice gruff. It's cold, chilling—the way his lips part to reveal a sinister smile. ''Now, you can think yourself vanished, little witch.''

YN does not answer—what fool would beg the deaf? The blade against her chin is sharp; she knows how attentive he is when it comes to inflicting pain. It pokes right into the Omehyoid muscle, a dull pain shooting through her body. If she has got to die, it may as well be from his skilled arms. How beautiful he is in the twisted pleasure he finds in her suffering. Unearthly, almost too perfect to be made of simple flesh and bone. Something was unnerving, unforgettable in the net of veins under his pearly skin; it was as if he were a work of art, meticulously crafted to bring physical pain and optical pleasure in equal measure. A silver glint under the defined cheekbones, a redness of lips filled with blood vessels. For a second, YN wonders what it would be like to bite into it, like an apple that lay too long under the golden sun; would the blood slip as generously as the sweet nectar? Handsome as poison, as a black sun on his forsaken planet, as death.

''Go on. Kill me, then; let me escape you once and for all.''

Under the deep sea of his eyes, something moved; his eyes dipped into her, part by part. Like the slow, deliberate dance of a predator stalking its prey, his gaze lingered on her, calculating and intense. YN lowered her head to push the knife a little deeper into the flesh. A strange thought lingered in her brain; she found herself on her knees in front of him, almost willingly. She has worshipped God all her life; who, if not her, can recognise his creation? The Devil. Lucifer. Satan. The man with horns so big they once touched the skies; a corrupt angel, fallen from grace so long ago he couldn't remember way back if he tried. They have warned her about him, but is it her fault that God has disowned her earlier than she could? Did it really matter to her, before whom to kneel, as long as she felt a sense of power and control in her submission?

All that mattered now was that he wanted to hurt her. He wanted her.

She sees the recognition flicker on his face. Caught. The blade slides quickly across her exposed neck, the blood sprouting out in a weak, painfully quick stream. Feyd-Rautha kissed her, biting her bottom lip till the stream of boldly coloured blood trickled down his chin. He did so like an animal would, baring his teeth and dragging them across the pulsating vein on her neck. YN's laughing cry echoes in the empty room; she is forced to admit that he felt good.

Never approach a mountain lion; most mountain lions prefer to avoid confrontations, so never approach them and make them feel cornered.

The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. The beautiful substance of her hair caught the light from the sun like a mirage in the desert, reflecting in his eyes with painful hits. The jewels, too, have found their way onto her clothes, but they were hidden beneath the layers of fabric. They shined brightly, impertinently, framing her figure in a glow that seemed to come from within.

To his surprise, the skills woman possessed spread out to politics as well, with her witch training proving useful in court. Feyd-Rautha did not miss how his advisors grew more uneasy when she entered the room, her careful eyes scanning their faces for even a hint of betrayal or deceit. Like a proud discoverer, he ached to share his new-found wonder with the blind audience, but something in him protested in a mare thought of showing the precious jewel of his eye to the cluster of unworthy. So, Feyd-Rautha did the only thing he knew how— all of his secret observations were done from afar, masterfully hidden behind the facade of casual indifference.

As he drags yet another blade across the surface of the whetstone, he thinks about her delicate hands on his neck, her ringed fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. It doesn't matter; YN is nothing of the sort. A concubine, a possession, a tool for pleasure and procreation—the Harkonnen way was simple.

''Are you done eye-fucking me now, or do you need more time with your blade?'' she sneers, her voice mocking. Only she could get away with such bold defiance in his presence, but she does not seem to care for the unusualness of it.

YN motions for him to come closer, her eyes studying the way his legs move. Feyd-Rautha has no control over them; the steps make themselves. She plays the game very well; the chase fuels something primal within him. Thirst. Hunger. It was the Harkonnen training talking to him—the wild, ancient sensation taking over his insides and imprisoning his mind in a cage of helpless desire. It spread its tentacles down to his fingertips, nesting in his abdomen. He positions himself in front of her, his body betraying him as he leans in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Feyd-Rautha's hands repeat the ritual almost instinctively, rolling the hem of her deep purple dress up to her waist.

''Stop for a second,'' she whispers against his ear, her breath warm and inviting. ''Can I give you a piece of advice?''

Feyd-Rautha can feel the anger creeping into his body; he does not like to be refused. ''No,'' he grumbles, turning her around forcefully. "I don't need your advice," he snaps, his grip tightening on her arm.

YN does not seem to care for it. ''Don't do it. It will only lead to trouble.''

''What?'' He stops, his eyes narrowing as he absorbs the woman's words. The doubts that had lingered in the back of his mind suddenly grew louder, echoing through his mind. He releases her arm, his expression stoic. ''You are insane, woman. What are you talking about?''

''You know what I mean.''

The unease boils in his stomach. How could she know? He was careful not to slip anything; she wasn't able to cast her spells anymore either. But her knowing gaze tells him otherwise. ''You can not know the future,'' he pronounces.

''I don't need to know the future to see the truth, Feyd-Rautha. Your judgement is clouded by rage, and your mind is not as sharp as it usually is. You are not as invincible as you think you are.''

She is bluffing, he thinks. He hopes she is. Feyd-Rautha almost wished there was no cloth covering her face, nothing to hide her expressions as she lay beneath him. He catches her flamed eyes and the way they circle his face in one swift motion before settling on the ceiling above. It unnerves him, but he refuses to show it. She is no master here; she is simply a servant. That is not what power looks like, if he ever recognised one, and Feyd-Rautha knew power.

''Get out, now.''

Nothing was portrayed on her face as she curtseyed; nothing was there when she turned and walked to her rooms, leaving nothing but the ghost of the human body's warmth.

Mountain lions are more at home in brushy areas than in open prairies.

And then, he disappeared. Like the sound of the morning birds falling silent in the cacophony of voices of the city on her home planet, there was no trace of na-Baron in the entire Harkonnen fortress. YN thought she was slowly but surely going mad; no one but her noticed the usual place by the window empty, and no one but her seemed to care enough to know where he went. She caught strange looks from a few, and frankly, she thought they were right. She looked like a mad woman, her hair quickly plated and her dress hurriedly laced, her eyes darting around the room in search of any sign of Feyd-Rautha's massive figure. Noon was dragged into the evening, and then night, for three, long days until she heard the long-awaited news: na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had tried to usurp his uncle and had failed.

She has told him so. A fucking brainless ram, with stubbornness bigger than his cock—why did he think he could outsmart the Baron? He will pay for his dumbness with his blood, perhaps even his limb—the thought brought nausea to YN's throat. She was lucky the Baron did not consider her important enough to be knowledgeable of such schemes; she lowered her head in the desert, hiding from the sand storms of Harkonnen politics; she waited for two long weeks until the announcement was made; Feyd-Rautha was forgiven. The celebration in honour of this news is to be today; she is to attend it. Not like his concubine, YN supposed, but more like the princess she still was.

Now, she took her time. YN chose a gown she wanted long enough to make even a tireless slave yawn, savouring each moment before their meeting. She was a victor now, in their small game of cat and mouse. He was a cat, but the mouse could still outwit him with grace and style. YN smiled at the wondering attendants; she looked good, and she was going to meet him.

The walk from her chambers to the Grand Hall wasn't too long; she would've walked a thousand more stairs if it was needed. The doors opened without a sound, revealing nothing but a mere celebration of yet another year under the reign of Harkonnens. The lines of slaves changed one another, the uneven circles of people dancing appearing and fleeing to the cheerful tone of strings. She was set somewhere between two Harkonnen lords she had no chance of knowing; she felt a sense of unease creeping up her spine as she tried to maintain a polite smile. Their gazes didn't look right; something sinister lurked inside them—hiding a secret she had no chance of knowing.

One of them turned to her, a chilling smile spreading across his face. "How are you finding the evening, lady YN? Or, what should I call you?,'' he mastered a fake confusion. ''Perhaps, darling? Concubine has a cheap wing to it; quite unworthy of a face so lovely as yours, don't you think?"

Dirt. The thing that crawled under her skin at his words was like dirt, making her feel unclean and exposed. She forced a laugh, trying to brush off his comments, the crown of her hair moving with muscles underneath her skin. "I am a princess, my Lord. Address me as such."

It would be enough every other noon, but today. The man's face twists, as if he just remembered something; he turns, the wine in his goblet splashing on the tablecloth. ''I think na-Baron wouldn't be too angry if I stole a princess for the night," he sneered, his eyes darkening with malice.

''Does it matter to you either way?''

YN watches as the smirk, so similar to Feyd-Rautha's, appears on the men's lips, although it doesn't feel the same. She fights back disgust as the man nods, biting into a hefty chunk of prey. His eyes, once focused on her, drifted away. YN chose to follow them; the string of fat streaming down the man's mouth onto the silver tablecloth made her nauseous. She looked from one unfamiliar face to another, until the cold feeling in her abdomen crept its way onto her chest.

There he was. His figure is unusually crouching as he sits on the podium reserved for members of the dynasty. The dark blue eyes are red now; the thin blood vessels in them are torn and emptied. His body seemed to suck the light out of the hall inside, casting a shadow over the room. There are no scars on his smooth face, but the sunken cheeks and hollow eyes spoke of a suffering that went beyond physical wounds. YN almost wished she saw him dead; whatever this was, it was surely much worse. He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers; something flickered in them before turning back to their empty state. Feyd-Rautha parts his dry lips to say something to her—she can't understand a word he draws with his breath.

From the place nearby, the Baron's voice booms, his low, almost whisper-like vowels mending into one. His face, covered with layers of skin and dead cells, twists into what was meant to be a welcoming smile—the corners of his paper-thin lips dance, lowering themselves only to jump higher, and his eyes travel from one corner to another, unable to be still even for a moment. He speaks of things YN knows nothing about court intrigue, power struggles, and alliances that shape the fate of their world, heavy with hidden meanings and unspoken threats. She does not listen until he gestures towards her, a scent of spice and decomposing flesh lingering.

''Sergeant Voss has served me well, and his loyalty at the right time is not to be forgotten. Here, I bestow upon him the highest honour of all; what was once mine, is now his. Do not let go of her if she screams, Sergeant; the girl is a fine one.''

No. YN almost does not recognise the hand as her own as the man drags her to the bed that appeared out of nowhere, freezing with horror as the people around her continue to watch in silence, their eyes devoid of any emotion or empathy. The tradition, she notes, is the one she learned so much about bedding in front of the entire court as a symbol of unity. She choked on her own tears as the man smiled at her pleas for help; they seemed to make him even more pleased.

YN looks, frantically, to the place she saw Feyd-Rautha sitting just a moment before. He would help; surely, he would not let them do it to her—his servant, his concubine, his. But the seat is empty. The scream echoing through the hall does not register as hers right away; he has sold her. For his own freedom, for a chance to be free from the consequences of his own stupid actions. Surely, the Harkonnens could not get rid of her openly—it would mean war—but she was not immune to the man who now owned her. His hands travelled her body with such audacity that YN wanted to cut them off—to cut her chest just so she could not feel the fingers digging into her skin. A sole reminder she was a woman first and a human second.

Mountain lions are solitary hunters.

The man undressed himself quickly; all of the soldiers were trained to do so. She should run; she should fight back, but the pair of unmoving hands pinning her wrists down was a stark reminder of her helplessness. The man lowers himself closer, his hot breath against her neck making her shudder in fear. She can feel him against her skirts; she can feel the weight of his body pressing down on her. The adrenaline is pumping through her veins; she will survive. Whatever it fucking takes, even if her body is bruised and broken, she will survive.

They prefer to ambush their prey from behind by swiftly and cleanly breaking the neck.

She bites—her teeth launch towards his cheek, feeling the warm flesh give way beneath her. She sinks them deeper, making holes big enough to draw blood. It's hot, and sickening on her tongue, but she does not have time for these thoughts; her next blow is in his stomach, with his knee jammed into his gut. She can feel his body convulse in pain, giving her a chance to throw him on the bed, his broad back facing her.

If they haven’t broken the neck, they will suffocate the animal.

There is nothing around that could serve as a knife; her captors made sure of that, and the sheets are too thin to wrap around his neck. She looks around the room, desperate for something to use, but the space around her is empty. YN curses as the man regains his composure and begins to struggle against her hold. Her elbow meets his nose with a sickening crunch, causing blood to spurt out. She takes a breath in; her hand wraps around his neck, forming a tight hold as she goes into the headlock. She chokes him, so desperately trying to live. And the man trashes against her grip, his white face turning a deep shade of purple before finally going limp in her arms.

Shame.

A thing that followed her after every life she took is now absent. Maybe the Giedi Prime's cruelty did have its effect on her; YN feels nothing but a sense of emptiness as she stands over the lifeless body.

''Do you have any more men to gift me to, Baron Vladimir? The night is still young.''

Her voice has changed. It holds a certain hiss now, a rasp that wasn't present before; it has matured and bloomed into half an octave deeper tone. It bites through the noise easily, cutting sharply.

The Baron laughs. His eyes gleam with amusement as he gestures towards the door. "Plenty more where that came from, my dear, but it's enough for today. Here,'' he throws something in her, a smirk ghosting on his lips. ''You've earned it.''

YN catches it and inspects the object in her hand. A small, golden broche catches the light, glinting in the dimly lit room. A head of the Bighorn ram stares back at her, the symbol of House Harkonnen. The taste of victory mingled with the metallic tang, leaving a bittersweet sensation in her mouth. Joy courses her veins—she isn't afraid. Finally, she is not afraid. Finally, she can look at her blood-stained hands without humiliation. Is it her fault she was born a better knife than a person?

Bighorn sheep are not a primary food source in most areas. However, when a lion does kill a sheep, they typically will continue to do so over and over again, until the herd is depleted.

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auncyen · 2 months

Text

Pre-incident Siffrin being actually a lot "stronger" than the other party members is a favorite pet theory of mine. ("Stronger" because they're not physically so, exactly, but there's a combination of experience and other things.)

Reasons:

Especially with Adrienne saying Sadnesses aren't ONLY due to the King and were around before (but the Curse is making things much worse) Siffrin has a strong case for having more practical fighting experience than the others due to scraps with wildlife and Sadnesses. Isabeau would probably be next closest but he even says himself that the worst Defenders see is burglary so Isabeau's experience would be mostly training/theoretical still.

They also might have given themself a slight "boost" by skirting Craft cooldowns at times. Like going off of above, pre-game Siffrin could have been that one post about classically trained wizard vs. self-taught wizard where the latter is terrifying for how much they've learned by practical experience while completely missing certain safety fundamentals (or. well. forgotten them). Since Craft cooldown has physical feedback, Siffrin probably never completely wrecked themself but like. I can imagine very early on Siffrin having a habit of pushing themself hard in fights to end them quickly and make sure everyone's safe and then at the campsite for the night they're just kind of. trying to keep going to at least get their share of chores done but ow ow ow. (They probably slowly learned to stop doing this with the combined experiences of 1) fighting with a team 2) fights with Sadnesses becoming much more common and thus making it worse to overextend themself every single fight 3) recovering from the incident probably forced them to respect cooldowns more which ties a bit into next reason--)

The incident with Bonnie is given a good amount of weight in narration but then doesn't seem to have kept Siffrin from being as strong a party member as the others in combat, which might seem slightly odd. ...Unless it was actually that he was stronger before and him being at the same level with them IS him having gotten weaker, which could also mesh well with him having seen three people fighting a Sadness and being like 'hey. obviously you need me to stab it.' (Counterpoint, I can easily believe Siffrin getting himself in a fight to help people even if he wasn't confident about the odds of winning. Like, I've written that. When he's not confident about fighting, he's confident in his ability to run like hell. But maybe he was confident about being able to kill the Sadness!)

Basically like. Pre-incident Siffrin in terms of party levels/gameplay coming off more as a overpowered guest NPC escorting your party and doing their own thing and skirting Craft cooldowns (I can just imagine part of Odile's 'assassin' suspicion being no normal person learns to fight like this? what the hell) and then the Incident happens and it's like oh they're a regular party member now. Okay.

#siffrin #in stars and time #in stars and time spoilers

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tsunami-of-tears · 2 months

Text

Mission Accomplished

Poly+ ACOTAR Week 2024 - Day 4 (Adventure)

Cazriel x Healer Reader

Summary: Despite the Inner Circle’s best efforts, the throuple continues to fight their affection for each other. To help things along, Rhys sends the group on a fake mission (unbeknownst to them). Of course - everything goes horribly wrong.

Pairing Masterlist

Wordcount: 1.4K

Warnings: angst; violence; injury; animal attack.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:

Reader

Weeks had passed since the incident with the love potion, and you’d given up on trying to figure out where it came from.

Despite the night of passion, your relationship with Cassian and Azriel remained mostly unchanged, albeit slightly more awkward. You were grateful to still be able to call them your friends - joking around with Cassian and your quiet chats with Azriel were your favourite parts of the day.

You felt torn. You loved both males equally and didn’t want to come between their longstanding friendship. You didn’t want to have to choose between them.

Their visits to your clinic had gotten less frequent, but Cassian insisted you needed some basic training.

“Let me at least teach you some self-defence,” Cassian pouts at you for about the fiftieth time.

You sigh, but smile as you roll your eyes. “Okay fine, it can’t hurt. But I’m no warrior, and I have no desire to be.”

“I know, the only thing you’ve slain is my heart,” Cassian jests. “But,” he says, taking on a more serious tone, “I don’t expect you to fight in battle, I want you to be able to defend yourself if Azriel or I’m not around.”

————

Rhysand

Mor waltzes into the office and throws herself on the plush couch. “Gods… They are even dumber than we thought,” she exclaims. “I really thought the potion would get things moving.”

Rhys runs his hand through his hair. “I know,” he agrees. “I’m sending them on a training exercise. Hopefully some time away will help them figure things out.”

————

Reader

You’re on your first-ever mission for the Night Court, camped deep in the forest of the Illyrian Steppes.

You’d been informed that there were some Illyrian camps causing trouble in the area. You weren’t sure how your skills would help, but you were on standby in case anyone got injured.

After a long day of hiking and scouting with little results, you’re setting up camp for the night. You stand over the small campfire, boiling water to sanitise your equipment.

The loud crack of a branch breaking sounds behind you, followed by a low growl.

You turn around slowly and find yourself face-to-face with a giant wolf. It’s enormous, towering over you. And those teeth… The sharp canines are exposed as it snarls at you. Your veins chill with fear and a sharp scream rips from your throat.

You cautiously take a step back from the wolf, narrowly avoiding the fire. You don’t dare break eye contact. You try to stand tall, holding the only thing within reach - a ladle - brandishing it like a sword, like Azriel and Cassian taught you.

You send a silent prayer to the Mother that one of your friends can save you before you become dinner.

————

Cassian

Cassian sprints from the other side of the clearing at the sound of your screams, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees you wielding a ladle against the angry beast. The terror in your eyes strikes something deep within him, stoking the golden embers to life inside his chest.

His soul erupts in fury, and the deep need to protect.

A battle cry sounds from Cassian’s lips as he charges towards the wolf with his knife out.

————

Azriel

Azriel hears your scream before his shadows alert him of trouble.

Adrenaline courses through his veins. The only thought in his mind is of saving you.

He winnows straight to you. Right in front of the wolf. Within a second of his shadows dispersing, Azriel feels something sharp in his left side.

He looks down and sees a hunting knife sticking out of his side, and a wide-eyed Cassian stepping back in shock.

————

Reader

You feel completely helpless as you watch the scene unfold in front of you.

One minute, Cassian was hurling his knife towards the creature. The next, Azriel had winnowed right in the path of the blade.

The wolf turns to look at the two Illyrians, who freeze under its yellow gaze. It huffs out a breath before turning on its heel and prowling back into the forest.

Azriel shakes his head, hand going straight to the blade protruding from his side, “I can’t believe you stabbed me.”

“You practically winnowed into my knife,” Cassian exclaims.

“Why didn’t you go for your sword? That knife would’ve bounced right off its hide,” Azriel bristles, irritation growing under his skin.

You leap right into action, stepping in as the tension between the males starts to rise. “Looks like you did need me here after all,” you say, trying to diffuse the situation. “Azriel, sit on that log. I’ll just gather what I need.”

Cassian stands back with his arms folded across his chest as you work on removing the blade and patching up the wound.

“It’s not too deep, look it’s already clotting. It might just be a bit sore tonight, but you’re going to be fine.” You attempt to give Azriel your best reassuring smile.

————

The rest of the night was strained. Both males were very quiet, only speaking in one-word responses. The silence was stifling, with the only sounds coming from the crackling fire and the scraping of cutlery on plates.

Unable to handle the creeping tension any longer, you retire to your tent early, leaving the males to work out whatever issues they have.

————

Cassian

Azriel could hardly look at Cassian, and Cassian couldn’t bear it.

His brother was staring into the dwindling fire, as he sharpened his blades. The sharp singing of stone on metal cut through the air between them.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened,” Cassian admits. “I was overcome by this need to protect. I was blinded by fear. I had to protect Y/N.”

Azriel finally looks up from his work, his expression unreadable before returning to sharpening his daggers.

Cassian runs his hand through his hair. He figured Azriel deserved the truth. “Y/N is my mate. The bond snapped when I saw her standing there, holding that damned ladle like it would’ve done anything.”

Azriel freezes, a mixture of confusion and shock in his eyes. “That’s not possible,” he says softly.

“It’s the truth, I felt it.”

“No… The mating bond snapped for me not long after I brought her to the Night Court,” Azriel states.

“How? We can’t both be her mates, can we?”

Azriels gaze is captured by something behind Cassian. Cassian turns to see what his brother is looking at and sees Y/N standing there.

————

Reader

You couldn’t sleep.

You tossed and turned, replaying the earlier incident over and over in your head.

You’re pulled from your thoughts by hushed voices outside your tent. The mention of your name grabs your attention, and you still your movements to glean what the males are discussing.

“Y/N is my mate,” says an exasperated Cassian.

Your entire world slows on its axis.

All thoughts eddy from your mind except one - your mate.

You quietly exit your tent, walking towards the males around the fire, when Azriel’s words stop you in your tracks.

“The mating bond snapped for me not long after I brought her to the night court.”

Both of them.

Both males whom you loved with all your heart were your mates.

Was this the Cauldron’s idea of a cruel joke?

You walk towards them, your mates, and the glimmering bond between you starts to appear. You can see the two strands coming from your heart, connecting your soul to each of the males before you.

As if they can feel your presence, they both look up at you.

“Y/N” Cassian murmurs, your name a prayer against his lips.

You touch your heart as you feel the deep longing flow down the twin bonds.

“Both of you?” you whisper.

“It’s rare, but I’ve read about similar occurrences,” Azriel admits, rising to his feet.

“But, how am I supposed to choose?” You say. Tears well in your eyes and your lip quivers at the thought of rejecting either male.

Cassian and Azriel exchange glances and a small nod.

“Who said anything about choosing?” Azriel asks.

“I know it’s a lot, you don’t have to decide anything here and now,” Cassian chimes in, reaching for your hand. “We’d be honoured to share you, if you’ll have us both.” Azriel steps forward, taking your other hand in his. “It won’t always be easy, but I’m willing to try for you. Truthfully, there’s no one else I’d rather be bound with,” Azriel finishes, meeting Cassian’s eye.

The tears that threatened to spill pool over the edge of your lashes. You nod earnestly as you send all your love down the bonds to your mates.

You pull them into a tight embrace, your bodies fitting together perfectly, like the final piece to a puzzle, the answer to a question you’d been asking your entire life.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Tags ♡ @littlestw01f @impossibelle @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @the-wall-willow @xasael @lilah-asteria @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe @therealmoonstone

#poly+acotarweek2024 #poly+acotarweek2024 d4 #poly!acotar #cazriel x reader #acotar #acosf #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #a court of thorns and roses #acotar oneshot #acomaf

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gg-pedro · 5 months

Text

can you hear the music (ch. 1) - joel miller x reader

masterlist

even here, at the end of all things, some things persisted. one thing in particular, throughout all the places you had been. music.

summary: everyone in jackson is trying to distract themselves from something. you teach ellie piano and find yourself trying to help more than one miller settle into their new world.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, platonic!ellie x reader, implied age gap, joel x reader, AFAB!reader, they kiss lolz, smut to come, pining, feelings.

words: 1.8k

a/n: a little sweet, a little bitter, a little self indulgent. I'm planning on this being a series! I hope you enjoy. warning tags only apply to this chapter.

Two knocks. Three. More knocking, hushed squabbling from outside your door. You got up from your seat at the kitchen table, a piling mess of sheet music and scribbled notes.

Opening the door revealed your newest student, Ellie, looking very much like Joel was leading her to the gallows with that scowl on her face.

“Can we just get this over with? I’m fucking hungry.” Ellie pushed past you, shrugging off her coat and kicking off her boots.

“I’m sorry… ‘bout her. She likes doin’ this, I swear. Always comes back talking about it. Just give her some time to warm up to you.”

Joel had this particular look on his face whenever he talked about that little girl. His dark eyes would soften and he’d push a hand through his graying hair, his thoughts seeming like they were somewhere else entirely from his surroundings. The most he ever said to you was about Ellie. Everything you knew about Joel was from Ellie, naturally.

He was from Texas. He was fairly older than you– you didn’t have much experience from when it was before the end of the fucking world. He sounded tightly wound. He could play the guitar, and he’d taught Ellie a few things. Once, she’d said that he only liked piano music if Billy Joel was playing it, whoever that was. That made you laugh.

You gave him a thin smile, crossing your arms over your chest to ward off the draft that was blowing through the open door. “I know. She’s a great kid, I can tell she wants to learn. I think it helps her– you know, keeping busy.”

Joel met your eyes for the first time since the conversation had started, something painful and poignant seeping into his expression.

“Yeah. I think so.” He was quiet for a few seconds before looking straight over you to grab Ellie’s attention. “I’ll be back in an hour. I’m down the street helpin’ Tommy with that old building. Be good,” he warned, before giving you a grateful nod and turning back.

And that was your routine. Joel was usually short with you, a little quiet, a little shy. You thought he was a sweet man– and a painfully attractive one at that. All southern and rough, broad shouldered, puppy-dog eyed. He seemed like he would do anything to keep that girl safe. You were glad the community had someone like him.

You had started teaching Ellie a few weeks after they had settled into Jackson. It was mostly because of Maria’s recommendation, who you were fairly close with. Ellie had hated taking lessons from you more vehemently in the beginning, but the more you worked at it, the more comfortable you saw her get.

“Come on, kid. This is good for your brain,” you would say, beckoning her to sit next to you on the piano bench.

She scoffed, but yet she obliged. “This is dumb. I could be doing something useful. Like shooting guns.”

“Art is as important, Ellie. More important than shooting guns. For you, anyway."

Her fingers tapped gingerly on the keys and she played a scale they had learned the week before. “How would you know? You aren’t even old,” she countered. “How long have you been playing?”

You glanced over at the clock. You two were wasting time, but at least she was talking. “My whole life, give or take. I tried to hold onto it whenever I could. It was my favorite thing in the entire world.”

She nodded, seeming to understand. “That’s cool. I get why Joel likes you.”

You didn’t think Joel was someone who particularly liked you. He didn’t dislike you, clearly, but if he had given any hints, they had been falling on deaf ears. You tried your best to keep your expression neutral. “And why’s that?”

She giggled to herself as she flipped through the pages of her sheet music booklet. “‘Cause you’re both fucking weird.”

You laughed too, punching her gently in the arm. “Fair. Now stop stalling and play me whatever you remember.”

Life was special nowadays. More precious than it ever had been. You would have to cherish moments like these. Loss was all around, and loving always risked the hurt. You were really, really fucking tired of hurting.

Walking back to your home, trudging through the snow, you were tired. Working in Jackson’s small clinic was easy enough, but it was draining. You saw to children mainly, bandaging up wounds and dosing out rations of antibiotics when needed. The kids liked you, the parents liked you, and that was rewarding, but plastering on a smile and a light-hearted tone all day sometimes felt like too fucking much.

So naturally, you were ready to pick a fight when you felt a broad hand consume your shoulder.

You turned around to match the disembodied hand to a face, only to see Joel Miller. He looked tired, more tired than you, and a little sad.

“Sorry, I wasn’t tryin’ to scare you. I saw you, and I…” He paused, looking down at the two sets of footprints that had outlined both of your paths. “Ellie isn’t feeling well. I think it’s best she skips y’alls lesson tomorrow.”

She released the breath she'd been holding. For some reason, he had the tendency to precede the things he said as if he was about to tell you that the world was ending. Again.

“That’s fine, don’t worry about it. Is she alright?”

“Yeah, she’s alright. This whole things a big fuckin’ adjustment, and I… I worry she’ll push herself too much if nobody stops her,” he explained. “She’s been with Maria all day. But yeah, she’ll be okay.”

Ah. He was worried about her. It seemed like he was always worrying about her. “I understand. Can’t imagine what it must be like for her. And you.”

She’ll push herself if nobody stops her. Who stopped Joel? Who looked out for him? His brother, surely, but was it like that? Did those two, hardened and stretched thin, have the time to be concerned about things like that? How long had he just been… going?

You reached a hand out to touch his upper arm, rubbing it a little before pulling away. “You’re a good man, Joel. I really think that, and I hope you know it.”

He laughed a little at that. “I haven't done any good, trust me on that.”

You dropped your gaze and looked away. You knew that everyone here, without a shadow of a doubt, had done things they weren’t proud of. Things they never would’ve done if not at the end of the world.

You were maybe 20 steps from your front door, standing out in the Wyoming cold with him. You tried to meet his eyes before speaking again, but he wouldn’t face you.

“Come in. Please, I insist. Warm up, I just traded for coffee.”

He looked like he was fighting with himself for a few seconds, raising his head and looking off to the side. “Yeah, alright. Why not.”

Joel Miller was sitting in your living room, sipping from a mug so carefully that you’d think he was afraid he’d break it. The fire was lit and casting warm shadows across the dim room. It was endearing. You hadn’t felt like this in a lifetime.

“I couldn’t do it. What you do. Dealing with all those kids,” he said after a long lapse of quiet.

You shrugged, sipping on your own cup. “I love it. I never thought I’d have the chance to play music again, much less teach. It’s not perfect, but it's something,” you said. “Ellie tells me you play guitar.”

Joel rolled his eyes and finally sunk back into his chair instead of hunching over. He groaned a little as he did it, as if he stored all of his tension in his back. “Yeah, used to. I ain’t good at it anymore.”

“But you used to be?” You pried.

He finally looked at you, his eyes infinitely more dark in this light. “Maybe. Don’t think I’d be able to forget how to play even if I tried, so might as well put it to some use.”

You smiled. “I know. Funny how things stick with you. Muscle memory.”

He nodded. “Somethin’ like that.”

And it was true. There were lots of things neither of you would forget how to do, no matter how much time had lapsed in between the before and the now. And sure, most of what you had learned happened after the world had ended, but that was irrelevant. The most important things had always been there. You’d known how to love for your entire life.

His eyes wandered over to the old upright piano situated on the wall in the living room. “Is she any good on that thing?” He asked.

You thought about Ellie, who would curse everytime she slipped on a scale, who would argue fervently about how that squiggly shit on the sheet music could possibly mean anything, who learned faster than any of your other kids.

“She is. She’s impressive. She picked up Old McDonald Had a Farm like that.” You grinned, snapping your fingers for effect.

He smiled thinly, his mind clearly somewhere else. “Explains why she won’t stop humming that shit. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“My pleasure, Joel.” You laughed. “You finished with that?” You gestured to his empty mug.

“Yeah. Hey, I’ll help you.”

You were elbow to elbow with each other at the sink, cleaning out the liquid and the scattered coffee grounds from the bottoms of your respective cups. Joel took yours and placed it on the drying rack, wiping his hands off with the towel you passed to him.

You leaned back against the island as he turned his back to the sink. He was so tall, so rugged, so handsome. His age only added to it. He had a softness around his eyes now, his features slightly obscured by the absence of much light.

“Should probably take off… Thank you. For the drink,” Joel began.

“Don’t thank me, I’d do it anytime. Tell Ellie that I hope she’s feeling better soon.”

He nodded, and he swallowed. He wasn’t making any moves to leave, save for his eyes on the door. They flicked back to you, watching you, scanning you up and down until he finally said,

“You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart, lookin’ at me like that.”

You weren’t really sure of how it all happened, but in an instant your bodies were pressed together with your lower back digging into the dull edge of the island counter, Joel’s lips pressed to yours like he was seeking oxygen.

His free hand felt up your body, and your skin was on fire. A match thrown onto a pool of gasoline. Everything was electric. He kissed you like he’d learned it in another life, back when love was free, when forever was a tangible thing, when strings weren’t attached. You felt it all on your lips and tongue, in the bonfire that was being fanned in your abdomen.

When he stepped back, you pulled him in for more. The opposite reaction to the Earth pulling down on you is you pulling the Earth back up. You tangled your hands in his soft hair, and his dug into the fabric of your jeans on your hips.

You both came up for air after a while, having migrated to the entrance of the kitchen. He had you backed up against the beam of the open doorway, tucking both sides of your hair behind you ear to see your face.

"Shouldn't be doing this," he mumbled, nipping at the warm skin on your neck.

"Maybe not," you conceded. I didn't mean you couldn't want it– what he could give you. You'd all done wrong things. "You could still stay."

"Yeah," he responded, pressing his body against yours and sweeping a hand over to cradle your lower back. "Still could."

Maybe it wasn't a lie. Maybe that glassy, far off look wouldn't be permanent. It could be like this. You could have a reason.

And yeah, maybe Joel knew more than he let on. Some things never really left him.

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