#<- will start tagging that i've been negligent about it

[masterkeynobi]

is there anything better in the world than Aabria Iyengar Wizard Arrogance. is there ANYTHING BETTER IN THE WORLD than aabria iyengar wizard arrogance!!! i don't fucking think so!

[text ID:

Aabria Iyengar I slam my staff on the ground, revealing it to be that tall, jagged glass spire of the citadel. [A sound of crashing glass] She's at her full 6ft tall, and pulled back a sleeve enough to see that, like, ring. This is a big enough city that they should know how to respond to this energy. Brennan Lee Mulligan Amazing. Go ahead and give me intimidate with advantage Aabria Iyengar Thirteen! Brennan Lee Mulligan What do you say to Oscar as he's standing in front of you? Suvi [Aabria] Move.

/end ID]

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

Hello! I'm back with another chapter of my Feyd-Rautha/Reader arranged marriage series.

AO3 link here for full fic: And I Don't Want Your Heart - Chapter 5 - ooihcnoiwlerh - Dune (2021) [Archive of Our Own]

Side post that has some of my headcanons for how I interpret Feyd-Rautha's own relationship to his sexuality: Hello, Friend - So I've been working on a Feyd-Rautha/Reader... (tumblr.com)

This fic and this chapter are 18+ up only. Tags, content warning, and full chapter below the cut

Tags/CW list: rape/noncon; graphic depictions of violence; dubious consent; arranged marriage; forced pregnancy; nature versus nurture; implied/referenced child abuse; implied/referenced sexual assault; implied/referenced incest; first time; rough sex; oral sex; vaginal sex; vaginal fingering; blood kink; pain kink; sadomasochism; period sex; problematic smut; inappropriate misuse of BDSM; slow burn emotionally but the exact opposite of a slow burn phyiscally

CHAPTER FOUR: A BLOODY GASH

You're fertile.  You’ve never had any reason to believe otherwise.  This union is contingent on giving him children–at least one son, and as many attempts as necessary to get there ( and you desperately hope that you’ll only need that first one.  You don’t want to raise a daughter in this place, amongst these people .)

So you’re horrified when you wake up the following morning to blood smeared between your legs, staining your chemise that rode up to your hips when you were sleeping, and leaving a smear on the sheets below when you move.

No.  No.  You pull up the hem of your chemise and stare at your inner thighs as if just looking will change the outcome.  Feyd-Rautha came inside of you four times in two days for nothing .  He’ll be furious.  He’ll question your very biology.  He’ll have you examined as thoroughly and cruelly as possible.

You scramble, trying to cover yourself, wondering what you can even do next when Idrisa comes in with fresh water and coffee.

To her credit, she doesn't drop the tray when her eye line goes directly to your bleeding crotch for the few seconds it’s still visible.

“I knew my time for it was coming up, I just didn't think it would,” you say to yourself as much as her and come to meet her gaze.

She glances back down out of respect, but the awkward tension hangs between the two of you for a moment.

“Do you…” you start, embarrassment flushing your face and neck, “do you have anything for it?”  You have no idea how menstrual care even works on Geidi Prime.  You’d just assumed that it wouldn’t be an issue for another ten months.

She composes herself again immediately.  “Why yes, of course, Na-Baroness.  I apologize for my negligence.”  Before you can tell her there's nothing to apologize for, she adds, “I'll help you get cleaned up first.”

“That’s alright, I can do it,” you tell her as you wonder for a moment who she served before that she’d assume you want her to clean between your legs when you’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself.

She inclines her head further.  “Thank you, Na-Baroness.  I’ll be back in just a moment.”  

As soon as she’s out the door you’re up and walking briskly to the bathroom. 

You’ll need to have the sheets changed.

It’s only been two days, you think, washing between your legs.  This doesn’t mean anything bad .  When he asks for you, you can just explain the situation and try again in a few days.  Until then…until then…   For a moment you draw a blank, before remembering a conversation you had a few years ago with a slightly older friend when you asked her if husbands still desired their wives when their wives were bleeding.

“ They honestly just want something warm, soft, and wet to bury themselves in, ” she’d told you matter-of-factly.  “ So most men just use their wife’s mouths .”

“ What do you mean? ” you’d asked, fairly certain you had an idea what she was talking about but still more willing to briefly embarrass yourself by asking than remain ignorant.

“ You know what goes on between a man’s legs, right? ” she’d asked in turn.

“ Of course ,” you’d said, a little offended that she’d think you so naive. 

“ When you’re bleeding and he still wants you to please him, put your mouth there instead, ” she’d told you.  “ Like he’s burying himself inside your mouth instead of your canal.  You can’t make babies that way, of course, but they often don’t care about that .   You can’t really make babies during your monthly courses anyway. ”

You wonder how she reacted when she found out who you’d be marrying.  You never got the chance to ask and assume, like many young women and their parents, that she was relieved that she wasn’t the one hand-picked for him. 

You also haven’t done that to him yet, nor any other man, for that matter, and you’re sure your lack of skill will show.  How are you meant to take the entire thing in your mouth when you can barely fit it where it’s meant to go?  What are you supposed to do with your teeth?  It also just seems somehow more daunting and personal than just having inside of you in the traditional manner.  

He’ll be aggressive with it, like he is in everything else. 

You can’t stop thinking about it as you brush your teeth and hair and try to ignore the discomfort in your lower belly before you hear a click and the door to your quarters opening.

Idrisa’s back with a basket made of some kind of black synthetic material; it’s covered to protect its contents from passing view.  You could kiss her for that, you think, and she starts unpacking.

She pulls out what look like thick handkerchiefs, going to your bathroom to stack them neatly on the countertop.  She also hands you a canister that you open to find a handful of circular tablets.

“They’re not as strong as what I left for your wedding night,” she says, “and they won’t put you to sleep, but they should suffice if you need them.”

You’d chalked up your cramps to nerves but now that you have your answer the symptoms couldn’t have been more obvious.  “Thank you, I think I will,” you tell her as you think about how you’ll likely be expected to join your new family, if one could call them that, for breakfast again.  The thought makes you want to crawl back under the covers.

“Can you also please tell Feyd-Rautha that I apologize for missing breakfast but that I'm feeling unwell this morning and wouldn't want to be poor company in my condition?” you ask.

Idrisa hesitates, nervous.  You realize that she's thinking, You know that your husband finds me far more disposable than he finds you, right?  He could easily kill and replace me and no one would care.  You also realize that she can’t and won’t say no to you.  But just that look reminds you that as frightening as this fortress is to you, it’s much worse for her.  You haven’t seen Feyd-Rautha kill outside of the arena yet, but you also barely know him; killing people who displease him over minor inconveniences, especially if they’re low-born and low-ranking, could be a common occurrence for him.  The Harkonnens didn’t earn their reputation for nothing.

“Unless you think they won't notice if I’m even there,” you add, thinking.  The Baron couldn't care less if he never has a conversation with you again, and outside of the marriage bed, Feyd-Rautha doesn't appear to have any real plans for you.  “I could just…stay here and if Feyd-Rautha has any questions he can ask them.”

Idrisa’s shoulders had been locked and tense but appear to relax just a little at your words.  “I can make a plate for you and bring it back here,” she says, already knowing your preference.  Given Geidi Prime’s incredible wealth and lack of natural resources other than fuels and metals there are imported fruits that you’d never had before coming here that you’re certain you’ll never get sick of.

“Sounds perfect, thank you,” you tell her, and take advantage of the new medication when she leaves.

When she returns with another tray for you, she’s accompanied by two other girls holding a fresh arrangement of sheets; the hems and necklines of their garb are cut a little different from hers and they look younger, perhaps the same age as your little sister.  You wonder if the difference in the way they’re dressed suggests rank?  They keep their heads down and don’t acknowledge you other than a silent curtsy before stripping your old sheets and setting down a new spread.  You look at them for a moment, wondering if it’s at the Baron’s insistence that no staff ever look a Harkonnen royal in the eye or if this rule’s been going on for generations when Idrisa snaps you out of your thoughts.

“I have a tea prepared for you as well, Na-Baroness,” she says, gesturing towards the tray that she’s set on your end-table and removing the cloche covering your plate.  “It’s not medicine strictly speaking but it has soothing properties.”

You turn and look at her.  She doesn’t look much older than you, but the same can be said of most of the female slaves.  Are they banished to where they won’t be easily seen when they reach a certain age?  What’s the life expectancy?  It feels more than a little insensitive to ask right now, so you just let them work as you take a seat at your end-table and take a sip of your tea.

After breakfast is over and you’ve found a comfortable position sitting up in bed, propped up by the pillows and headboards, you read a bit more on the Harkonnen lineage.  The more you read, the more you understand why Father always insisted that Geidi Prime is no place for a woman.  Women in high places, you find, have in history been assassinated more often than the men, or kidnapped to use as collateral and tortured.  You wonder if that’s why you saw so few at the wedding and reception, why they seemed so hidden out of view even while accompanying their high-ranking husbands.

You’re reasonably certain that your new husband’s concerned enough with his image as heir to the Harkonnen throne not to tarnish the alliance your marriage has created, that even if he doesn’t really know you and may never love you–you’re reasonably certain that he’s incapable of feeling such an emotion–he’ll still make sure to protect what he sees as his.  His uncle will likely be another story.  

The door opens unannounced and you look up, expecting Idrisa only to find Feyd-Rautha letting himself in without a word and closing the door behind him.  He doesn’t speak at first, but everything in his demeanor tells you that he did in fact notice your absence and wants an explanation.

You compose yourself.  There’s no need to panic.  “Good afternoon, husband.  To what do I owe the pleasure?” you ask, tone as light and cool as the weather would be on your home planet right now. 

He leans against the door as he folds his arms across his chest and looks you over.  “I missed you at breakfast,” he says.

“Yes, my apologies.  I’m not feeling well,” you tell him.  

He clearly doesn’t believe you.  You don’t seem feverish , he seems to think with his unimpressed gaze.  You seem fine .  “Still getting adjusted to the atmosphere on Geidi Prime?” he asks, and for a foolish moment you hope that he’s giving you an excuse.  Maybe he thinks you’re avoiding him because of last night, and you’re content to let him think that.

“Yes, husband,” you tell him.  

“That’s a shame,” he says, crossing over to your bed and sitting at the edge of it.  “It occurred to me last night that whoever taught you close-range maneuvers didn’t do their job right.  You should’ve been able to evade me.”

You wrinkle your brow and don’t have it in you to hide your insulted glare; your House’s military is considered a force to be reckoned with and a slight against your training is a slight against your House and your father himself.  “Did you want me to evade you?” you ask.

He seems amused by your sudden sharpness, and you realize that he’d wanted to hit a nerve.  He knew what he was implying and got the precise reaction he’d been hoping for.  “That’s not the point, wife.  You said yourself that you were out of practice and as soon as you’re feeling better I intend to rectify that.  Your cute little boot-dagger won’t serve you any good if you can’t correctly use it.”  

He places his hand on your leg, trailing it along your thigh and stopping just shy of your apex, his thumb brushing against it through the fabric of your skirt.  You give a sharp inhale that makes him smile.  You start to close your legs but his hand, now cupping your inner thigh, holds one open enough for him to continue to fondle as he pleases.

His hand stays there for a moment, stays over the light material of your skirt even as you're sure the soft flesh of your inner thigh heats his palm, as flushed as you feel under his touch.  He leans in, inhales as he leans over you and sniffs your hair.  It’s not even the first time he’s done it.  You wonder if he finds your hair to be a sort of forbidden fruit; something he can’t say he likes because to do so would disrespect Harkonnen hairlessness, but still something he finds fascinating or even enviable.  You’re not sure yet whether his lack of it is down to genetics or grooming but you assume the former, if it affects everyone including those who wouldn’t have such prime access to constant shaving.

But then he fully brings his hand between your legs, fingertips rubbing up against you and you flinch.  

Now?  Is he going to try and fuck me right here and now?   You shift, trying to hide what you’re sure is a look of panic on your face, trying to scramble for an excuse as Feyd-Rautha rubs a whimper out of you.

In the moments he does and you freeze, he watches your face a moment longer and then something shifts in his eyes, and he pulls back.

“I’ll call on you soon,” he says.  There’s something satisfied, almost smug in his tone.  He doesn’t wait for a response from you before he gets up and leaves, and you wonder what caused his departure.

Idrisa comes in a minute later with more tea for you.  “The Na-Baron seems mollified,” she says.  “He’s taken the news well.”

“I didn’t tell him.”

You catch Idrisa furrowing her brow-line, incredulous even with her head bowed before she can smooth over her expression into one of polite indifference.

“He doesn’t need to know yet,” you tell her.  “He said he’d call on me later.”

“My apologies for speaking boldly, Na-Baroness,” she says, “but the Na-Baron will still take you to bed tonight or whenever he decides is convenient.  Harkonnen men expect their wives to always be available to them, no matter how they’re feeling.”

You suppose you already knew this.  It certainly doesn’t help the gnawing feeling in your stomach even as the medicine Idrisa gave you has soothed the cramps for now.  

“It appears I can hold him off until after dinner, at least,” you finally say.  There’s that; you also appreciate having another meal without the Baron’s presence.

You wish you had someone you could talk to about this in which it wouldn’t feel weird to ask.  You look over at Idrisa.  She’s the only friend you’ve managed to make so far and while you don’t see that changing anytime soon, you haven’t forgotten that she keeps you company out of obligation.  You can’t be certain as to whether or not she actually likes you, or if she only tolerates you due to her heightened position within the Harkonnen Fortress as your personal attendant.  Still, she’s certainly better than no one to ask.  She takes your old mug and heads for the door.

“Idrisa,” you start.  She turns.  “You’ve…have you been with men before?”

She inclines her head in a polite nod.  “When it’s required of me,” she says.

Your second question dies in your mouth.  Oh.  Right .  Yet again you’re disgusted but can’t say you’re all that surprised.

And instead of asking for advice you’re struck by another thought.  “Has the Na-Baron ever…?” you start and she immediately shakes her head.

“Never, Na-Baroness,” she assures you.  “He has never been known to satiate himself that way with slaves.”

Are you being honest or telling me what I want to hear? you almost ask but spare her the indignity.  You’re reasonably certain that if Feyd-Rautha had taken advantage of her, he’d have gloated to you about it.  “Thank you,” you tell her.  You don’t want to know how men on Geidi Prime have abused her mouth.  “I was just curious.”

“Not at all, Na-Baroness,” she says.

As the hours tick by you wish you'd just told Feyd-Rautha your situation and gotten whatever awkward ensuing conversation over with.

In the evening Idrisa brings you dinner, more tea, and a glass of wine.  “The Na-Baron has given you two hours before expecting you in his bedchambers.”

You sigh.  “Thank you, Idrisa,” you tell her, not quite willing to add, you were right .  You eat, you have your tea, you bathe and clean your hair.  And in the remaining time that you have before you need to leave, you sip your wine. You’d be foolish to assume that it will truly settle your nerves, but it tastes nice. 

“I guess it’s time,” you say finally, looking at the timepiece on your nightstand.  “How angry do you think he’ll be?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, Na-Baroness,” Idrisa says as she opens the door to lead you to your husband.  “He’s never been married nor been instructed to sire an heir before.”

When you get to his bedroom he’s already standing in the middle of it, wearing only black pants with a relaxed fit that suggests leisure, maybe sleep.  And here you hadn’t taken him as the kind of man to own pajamas.

He looks over your shoulder at Idrisa, who seems just as surprised to see him as you are even as she immediately lowers her head in deference.

“Dismissed,” he tells her, and she curtsies and scurries out of the room, closing the door behind her, leaving the two of you alone and rather more dressed than you’ve been in this room.

You stand, awkwardly, playing with the sash to your robe as the two of you look at each other in silence.  Or rather, he stares at you and you look down, knowing what you’d rehearsed and still needing to force the words out.

“My apologies, husband, but it’s my time of month,” you finally manage.

“I know,” he says.  “I could smell it on you.  I could feel your rag in between your legs.”

Was that what he was doing?  You look up at his face and find nothing that you can really parse and pause, unsure what you could say to that, before you move on.

“I know it’s not ideal, but we can try again in a few days, and in the meantime,” you try to sound like you’re not as nervous as you are, fully aware that seduction was never something you learned, “I know that there are…other ways to satisfy you.”  A few days and we can resume trying to secure your firstborn .  

He gives a small smirk at the second part of your statement but comments only on the first.  “A few days?” he repeats, as if you’ve just said either the funniest or dumbest thing he’s heard all week.  “What makes you think I care to wait a few days?”

You’re not sure you heard him right.  “The blood,” you say slowly.  “I can’t control it.”

“You think a Harkonnen would be scared of a little blood?” he says.

You’re not sure what to say to that.  In hindsight, you’re not sure why you’d assumed that this man of all men would be too squeamish to fuck a bleeding woman.

“Strip down,” he says, after the seconds of silence that follow.  He sounds so casual as he says it, as if he just told you to have a seat.  You hesitate, still unsure if he’s being serious.

“Did you not understand me?” he prompts when seconds tick by and you haven’t moved.

“I do, husband,” say.  “But still, I have to warn you that it’ll make a mess.”

“Y/N,” he says, his tone somehow light.  There’s an element of danger to it.  “You’re not the one who’ll have to clean up afterwards.”

Nor you , you think.  “So you want me in this state.”  You don’t phrase it as a question but he can hear the confusion in your voice.

The smirk never quite left his face but returns in full as he crosses the few steps over to you that leaves you close enough that you can feel his breath.  He takes your wrist and presses your hand to his groin–it’s rapidly filling out.

“What do you think?” he says.

You gasp, almost giving an incredulous laugh as you glance between his face and back down to his groin.  Harkonnen men are built differently, you suppose.  

You pull away enough to unravel your robe and step out of your slippers.  He doesn’t object to your garments being left on his floor instead of neatly tucked on his dresser, so you keep going, pulling your chemise over your shoulders, pulling down your undergarment and letting it slide down your legs, until you’re bared entirely for him.

He looks down at the blood that gathered in the kerchief lining the gusset of your undergarment as it hits the floor and you step out of it, and then he looks back at you.

“Hold your arms out like this, wrists together,” he says, extending his own to demonstrate.

He still doesn’t seem angry, his tone suggesting patience that you know he doesn’t have, but you hesitate before mimicking him.

“Very nice,” he says, and you bristle at his condescension as he half-circles you before heading for his armoire.  You turn around to watch him open it, and your jaw drops when you see what’s inside.

It’s lined with whips, rope, chains, knives, scalpels, collars, and other items you’ve never seen before but if this is in his bedroom then it must serve one particular purpose, either on himself whoever has the misfortune of being with him when he wants to use any of these devices.  

He glances over his shoulder and looks if anything delighted by your stunned reaction, the growing sense of dread.  “I didn’t say you could drop your arms,” he says, and turns back to pick out a length of black rope.

You suppose you ought to be grateful that he didn’t pick out any chains.

You watch as he loops an intricate tie binding your wrists.  He does it with such practiced ease he looks directly into your eyes as he does it.  You manage to hold his gaze in defiance even as your heart hammers in your chest and you’re scared of what’s going to happen next.  You know that, like a true Harkonnen, he likes your fear, but it hasn’t occurred to either of you yet that he also appreciates your fire.

“Get on all fours on the bed, pet,” he says, tone light and playful as much as his gravely timbre can make it.

You try to keep your eyes on him as much as possible, making sure he’s never fully out of your sightline as you get on the bed, squirming but managing to maneuver the position he wants while your wrists are bound.  He knows that you don’t trust him, and if anything that seems to elevate his excitement.  

Good girl, he seems to be thinking.  He looks you over, turning and sauntering so he can take a moment to gaze first at your naked profile, then at your backside.

You have to keep reminding yourself that he won’t do anything that will risk you being able to give him children as he turns away and pads over to his armoire.  For a moment you’re not sure if he’s trying to decide what he’d like to use, or if he’s purposefully biding his time to make you more nervous.  His fingertips seem to dance over the whips, then the chains.  He briefly touches the handle to one of his knives.

Not the scalpel.  Please not the scalpel.

You see it–corded leather.  A black whip with multiple knotted tails.  He takes it down from his display but leaves the armoire doors open–undoubtedly to keep reminding you of what else he could be and very likely will be doing to you in the future.

You think about the Bene Gesserit Litany and try to repeat it in your head as you consider the tool? the weapon? clutched in his fist.  At first glance the whip looks like the cat-of-nine-tails your brother-in-law seems so fond of.  However, when you shut your eyes, take a breath, and think of the words– fear is the mind-killer –you realize when you open your eyes again that what Feyd-Rautha’s holding is a lot smaller than a proper cat-of-nine-tails and the tails thicker.  You have no doubt that this is going to hurt, but it doesn’t look like it will rip you apart.

“What, what is this?  A punishment for bleeding? ” you finally ask, unable to handle the silence anymore and because that’s the only explanation you can imagine.

And yet Feyd-Rautha looks amused that you’d suggest it.  “It’s because I want to use it on you,” he says, as if any further explanation would be silly.  “Ever since I first saw you, I wondered what that pretty ass of yours would look like after I’d taken this to it.”  He holds up the device for emphasis.  “I wondered what noises you’d make.  I wanted to know what you’d look like with your wrists bound, naked and helpless in my bed.  What you’d look like squirming and bleeding.

“ Yesterday was a punishment,” he adds.  “This is just fun.”

For you, perhaps, you think.  It’s no matter; you’ll just have to prove that you can take whatever he dishes out.  You just have to decide whether it’s better or worse that he’s not doing this out of anger. 

“Are you scared, pet?” he asks.

“ No, ” you lie in the most adamant and dignified tone you can muster, and once again he acts like what you’ve said is cute.  He clicks his tongue.

“You mustn’t lie to me in bed, pet,” he says, approaching the bed again, his free hand skimming over your ribcage, your side, your hip, as he finally stands beside the bed, and ever-so-slowly draws the corded whip up and down the backs of your thighs.  The tassels brush gently against your skin and it feels perverse, the anticipation he’s building within you.  On his second pass you inhale sharply, shutting your eyes, hips twitching away from the device, and Feyd-Rautha chuckles at that.

“Relax,” he says.

Fuck you.  You know I can’t.  Just do it and get it over with , you want to tell him with your sharp exhale, and one second later he draws his hand back and brings the whip down.

You cry out, rocking forward, your entire body clenching up as much from shock as pain.  Nothing could really prepare you for this; his hand from the first night had been easier, more personal.  The individual cords spread out like a fractal tree, like cracks in a block of ice fanning out. 

The second time is less sharp, more of a thud that reverberates through your body, the impact reverberating in your pulse.  Tears prick up at the corners of your eyes and for a moment you can’t breathe.  It would figure that this man has used this device often enough that he knows how to inflict different flavors of pain depending on whether he’s putting the movement in his wrist or his forearm.  You clench your fists, waiting for the next lash, and then the next.

Your nerves are on fire.  You can barely think, barely focus on anything but the exquisite pain on impact, the sharp sting of the air against your impacted flesh, the sweet moments you adjust, finding your breath, before he comes down again.  You don’t scream, not after the first blow, but the tears forming at the corners of your eyes start trickling down your face and then drop directly onto your forearms the covers below you when you bow your head.  

You don’t know how long he keeps going, don’t keep count.  The pain starts to dull but the intensity becomes overwhelming as he compounds on every lash.  Your ears are ringing.  You taste iron at the back of your throat.  The worst part is that you find, to your horror, your nipples feel stiff.  You start to feel wet.

It has to be a fear response.  This isn’t enjoyable .  It’s intense, it’s painful, and you can’t help but feel shame lance through you that your body would react this way.

Please.  I can’t take any more , you want to tell him, but opt instead to whimper through your clenched teeth.

At that moment the whip comes down and it sends you toppling forward, finally collapsing.  The covers are soft against your tear-stained cheek.  You shut your eyes, panting, waiting for him to haul you back up and continue the process.

But nothing happens.  You don’t try to look behind you and hope that he’s done.  You just take a rattling breath and listen for the sound of the whip and its tendrils slicing through air, and it doesn’t come.  

“You lasted longer than I thought you would,” Feyd-Rautha says, the first time he’s spoken in minutes, and you open your eyes and  turn your head to see him twist the coils of his whip and head over to the armoire.

“Come on,” he says over his shoulder.  “Back into position, pet.”  

You grit your teeth and force yourself back up on your hands and elbows.  “Good,” he adds softly, and it’s embarrassing how one single word of praise makes you flush, sends a pleasant tingle down your spine.  This shouldn’t have the effect on you that it does–maybe it’s because now that it’s over, you feel lighter, almost dazed.  All of your muscles had tightened into coils, but now you feel pliant to the point that your limbs feel rubbery.  You’re exhausted.  You’re hurt.  You don’t know what else he has on the agenda for you tonight but you just hope it doesn’t involve another one of his whips or ropes.

He sets the device back in the armoire and turns to face you.  He looks at your flushed, tear-stained face and smiles, mouth-closed before approaching the bed, his cock hard in his pants, and even though part of you wants nothing more than to melt into the bed and to get some relief for your stinging backside, you know he’s still going to chase his own pleasure.

‘He’ll want your mouth,’ you remember.  

You won’t wait for him to force it or grind your face into his privates.  If that’s what he wants, you’ll get there first, and so you drop your head and fumble as you reach with bound wrists for the fly of his pants.

You’re focused on what’s directly in your eyeline, so you don’t see his brief look of surprise, but you hear his voice, sounding pleased.  “Let me help you with that, pet,” he says, pulling away long enough to pull his pants down, stepping out of them.

It’s even more daunting when it’s this close to your face, but he steps back in, cradling your jaw, and you lean in and lick the tip of him.

For a few seconds that’s all you know to do, to lick around him, feeling the ridges and veins under your tongue.  It’s all the verification he could possibly need that you’ve never done this before, and that spurs him on, cradling your head in one large hand as the other guides himself past your lips and into your mouth.

It confirms what you suspected; he’s too big to take all the way and thankfully, doesn’t try to make you.  

Not yet, a part of you thinks.  You try to breathe, try not to get your teeth on him, try to relax and close your eyes as he controls the pace.  It’s easy enough at first; far from the rutting of the past couple of nights.  It doesn’t occur to you that, by his standards anyway, he’s being gentle with you.  Doesn’t occur to you to wonder why.  You just try to keep up as your backside and the backs of your thighs sting like hell and you hope Idrisa will have some sort of lotion for it when you get back to your quarters.

Feyd-Rautha appears to have yet another reason to like your hair, it seems, as he threads his fingers through it, guiding you onto him in slowly greater increments until he’s suddenly over halfway in and you freeze, nearly gagging, forgetting how to breathe.

He holds you in place for a moment, just long enough for your eyes to widen as you glance up at him and his heavy-lidded eyes and chest heaving with arousal.  He waits until you’re about to struggle and tear away from him before he relinquishes your hair and steps away, pulling out.  You take a deep breath, gulping the air down.  

“Stay right there,” he says, and settles in behind you, stroking your hindquarters like you’re a horse that he’s trying to calm down.  Will he put a saddle on you next?  You exhale hard through your nose, mouth pursing, waiting for what he’ll do next.  Will he mark up the stinging raw skin he’s already flogged with his hand?

Fine.  Fuck you again.  I can take whatever you’ve got.  I can handle it , you want to tell him out of spite.   You sense him shift, dipping his head, and despite your steeled nerves can’t help but gasp and feel something flutter in your core when you feel his breath against your lower back.

What exactly is he–? is all you have time to think before he dives in.

You jolt and wriggle in shock as he licks over one of your growing welts; you can’t quite tell but wouldn’t be surprised if he broke skin.  However, it’s how his tongue glides over your backside before shifting his weight to your folds that sends waves of shock, revulsion, and excitement as you cry out, stunned.

He’s licking my wounds .

You’re trying to wrap your head around how salacious it is that his lips and tongue alternate between licking the impacted skin on your buttocks and the backs of your thighs and dipping his tongue inside of you.  He has your hips firmly in place, which serves him well given that you’re torn between recoiling away from the heat of his mouth and wanting to press back against it.  You can feel him smirk at the sounds of your shocked moans.

He pulls away long enough to turn you on your back and you wince at the impact before you see him slide down along the bed and continue the onslaught.  You can hardly believe it as he grabs your still-stinging buttocks and buries his face against your bleeding pussy.

This is disgusting , part of you thinks.  Another part of you can hardly understand what’s happening.  In all your years you’ve never met a man who didn’t recoil hearing about monthly courses.  You’ve never heard of anyone wanting to taste a…a bloody gash .

Your wrists are still bound, and you grip onto the pillows above your head as he lifts your thighs to rest over his shoulders and dives back in, tongue pressing inside of you.  

It feels incredible.   You’d prefer it if it didn’t.  More than anything else, you don’t want to be enjoying this, wish the continuous whines and moans he’s drawing out of you were insincere, but he can feel as well as you do that you mean every sound.  You, Lady Y/N of the powerful and dignified house of Y/H, are getting your bloody pussy licked by the ruthless barbarian Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen and Great Mother and every forgotten old god, you’re enjoying every visceral and shocking moment of it.

He knows it, too, the smug bastard.  He probably feels even more powerful like this, on his belly and with his face between your legs, than he did when he was tanning your hide.

He raises one hand from your hip to your breast, giving one of your nipples a cruel pinch, smirking against your slit as you whimper in protest, and continues.  His nose presses and rubs against your bud in the onslaught and you finally admit to yourself that any last vestiges of resistance you might have had has caved when you squirm, rocking your hips upwards and desperately wishing that your wrists were free so you could press his face closer into you.

He keeps up his pace, bringing you as close to the edge as possible without reaching it until finally, mercifully, he shifts his mouth to your bud, his fingers replacing his tongue inside of you.  Your unrestrained cries fill the room, spurring him on, and then the force of it hits you as he brings you over the precipice for the first time.  It feels like it comes in shockwaves, especially as he keeps going through it all.

You’re still pulsing and squirming against his tongue when he stops, raising himself up and leaning over you.  Inky, sticky blood coats the lower part of his face, from his chin to his nostrils, and you’re a little surprised at how the sight doesn’t alarm you as much as it probably should, especially since that’s your blood covering his face.

There are far worse ways he could be smeared with your blood .  You gasp, still, at the striking color against the pallor of his face, reminded of seeing him in the arena. 

He presses damp, open-mouthed kisses against your stomach, your ribcage, your breasts and collarbone, as if to mark you with it.  Finally he sits up, bringing your legs over his as he guides himself into you with his bloodied fingers.

He stays upright as he pulls you onto him, and you watch his face as he looks down where you’re joined, his groan like a rumble in his chest as he sees himself pumping in and out of your bleeding pussy.  He won’t last long, you realize.  He’s been holding himself back from fucking you into the mattress since he visited you in your chambers hours ago. 

He curves in then, bracing one hand above your head to grip your still-bound wrists as his other hand grabs your hip to keep you stable.  You realize what he’s about to do a split second before it can happen.

He’s going to kiss you with that bloody mouth .

You tamp down on the revulsion of it and the coppery smell, again refusing to let him shock you or give you anything you can’t take and move in first, leaning up and capturing his mouth in a kiss.  

He groans into it, hips pumping, tongue invading your mouth as he speeds up, going hard, hips snapping into you.  He’s relentless; this would be agonizing if he hadn’t worked you open and pliant with his lips and tongue and even still, it veers on the edge of being overwhelming.  Your whimpers and cries only encourage him.

And then he finally comes, burying his face in the crux of your neck and biting down, not hard enough to draw blood but enough that it will leave a bruise later.

For a moment the two of you stay that way, then he releases your wrists and sinks down onto you, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder as he pulls out and takes a moment to catch his breath.  After a moment he raises himself back up on his forearms, pauses, and takes in the sight of your face and your lips stained red before reaching for your wrists again and untying the rope; once freed you notice that your skin’s been chafed rosy but still fully intact.  

He gets up, and you watch the lines of his legs, the slope and curve of his buttocks, the taper from his shoulders to his waist as he gets up and sets the rope back in the armoire before finally closing it shut.

Guess he’s done for the night .

But is he going to send me back right away? you wonder, turning to your side to watch the way he moves.  It takes some effort.  You feel as depleted as a rung-out damp rag.

He approaches the bed and wordlessly holds out his hand, and once you take it guides you to your feet and leads you into this bathroom.

Like his bedroom, it’s larger than yours.

He doesn’t let you wash your blood off your body; he wants it to remain on you until it dries and peels off on its own.  Instead he wipes his face, rinses and cleans out his mouth, and gives you a cup of water to do the same.  He wipes off in between his legs and then yours, quiet and strangely peaceful.  He takes another cloth and wets it, and then grabs a small bottle out of a drawer.  “Turn around, hands on the counter,” he says.

Fairly certain you know what he’s about to do, you acquiesce.  “Did you draw blood?” you ask over your shoulder.

He shakes his head.  “Not this time,” he says.  “Wasn’t trying to.”  And then he surprises you by getting down on one knee.

You give a small gasp.  It just seems…lewd?  Subservient?  And tired and sore as you are, you can’t help the twinge you feel in between your legs as he gingerly presses the cloth against your reddened skin.  You grip the countertop tighter as he opens the bottle of what you can only assume is ointment because after a moment his fingertips are smeared in a cool balm that offers such sweet relief you drop your head, trying to hold yourself together when your legs feel like they’re about to give out and you can feel Feyd-Rautha’s breath so close to the sensitive skin of your backside.

He seems to be applying the ointment to the worst of the welts, starting in silence and then adding, “You’re sensitive, but you have a decent pain tolerance.  I like that.”

You huff a laugh.  I bet you say that to all the girls, you almost tell him, and immediately think that that’s probably not true.  If it weren’t for the fact that he’s tending to your wounds you’d assume that he’d never do anything like this.  Something tells you that this small act of kindness isn’t to be taken lightly or for granted.

Once he seems satisfied with his work he gets back up, sneaking a glance of your face in the mirror.

Is he thinking about how much you’ve already changed since you’ve met? Since you’ve married?  When you see your reflection you don’t see the same person you did a week ago.  Of course he didn’t know you a week ago.  He barely knows you now.  Still, when your eyes meet in the mirror, he looks at you with something almost close to affection before he leaves the bathroom.

“Stay the night,” he says when you walk over to your abandoned clothes so you can gather them up, get dressed, and return to your chambers.

You look over at him.

“I’ll want to sample you again first thing in the morning,” he explains, “so it’s more convenient if you remain here.”

You huff, torn between incredulity and amusement.  “Taking advantage of the situation while we still can, are we?” you ask.

“I doubt it’ll come again for another ten months,” he says, and then strides, still naked, for the door.  He opens it, and a few words of battle-language later he shuts again.  He sees your confused expression and explains, “Your slave was still waiting for you.  I told her to go.”  He tilts his head in the direction of his bed, and after a moment you follow.  It appears that he doesn’t even want you to pull your undergarment back on.

As soon as you’re under the covers with him he tugs down your end of it to get one last look at your marked chest.  And after he’s looked his fill, he reaches for a switch that turns off the lights and even as the two of you can’t quite see each other, you still find yourselves on your sides facing one another.

“I wake up earlier than you’re probably used to and I’m a light sleeper.  Your slave assured me that you don’t snore,” he says.

“Not that I’m aware of,” you tell him.

“Once you stop bleeding I’m going to start having you train in my Halls,” he adds.  “I was serious earlier.”

“But for the next few days I’m chained to this bed.”

“That could be arranged,” he says.  “In any case you weren’t complaining when I was licking your cunt earlier.”

He won’t see your flush, but he must know that it’s there.  “So… is it safe to assume that none of this is…” you try to find the right words, “typical?  For a man, I mean.” And in quite possibly the biggest understatement you’ve ever made, “You’re not a normal man.”

You’ve adjusted enough to the dark to see his smirk.  “I think you've known that since before we met, Y/N,” he says.  And after a moment he lays his head, settling in and getting comfortable.  He doesn’t say another word to you that night, just closes his eyes and within a couple of minutes his breath slows.

It’s hard to imagine being able to let your guard down enough with this man to sleep beside him, even if he falls asleep first.  Like sleeping beside a wild animal.  

Sleep does come to you, though, after long minutes watching him sleep, waiting for him to wake up and scare you, lunge for you, and it doesn’t happen.

You turn to your other side, facing away from him then, and the only signal you get that he’s not entirely asleep is that as you start to drift off yourself, he reaches one arm to pull you in closer to him.

Tag list: @wo-ming-bai @blazeflays @richardslady121

Let me know if you'd also like to be tagged!

[jaozendry]

"Loving you is hard sometimes": PART 2

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Bat Family!Reader

Reader: Gender Neutral, has been part of the Bat Family for a while.

TAGS: @aesthxticneko

PART 1

Type: Mild-angst

Warnings: swearing, blood, wounds

OTHER CHARACTERS: Dick Grayson

Summary: The both of you have been avoiding each other for a few weeks now. One day, Damian confronts you and challenges you to a "friendly" one-on-one. Due to his anger issues, Damian accidentally harms you badly. After recovery, Dick decides to make the both of you attend therapy.

______________________________________________________________

"So, who would like to start?" a blonde woman asks after taking a pen and opening her notebook. Damian sits across from you, crossing his arms. An awkward silence occurs for a few seconds. "Why do you think you're here?" she asks again. Damian turns to you, waiting for a response. "Well, I guess I'll start." you sigh, attempting to break the ice. "Well, I think we're here because of some issues the two of us have been having... with each other." you explain awkwardly while Damian stares at you weirdly. "Would you like to describe what those issues are?" the therapist asks, turning her attention towards your friend. He remains silent. "This is a safe place, Damian. We are here to help you resolve your problems." the woman explains. You look at your friend, crossing your arms as well. He looks back at you and rolls his eyes. "This is a waste of time." he grumbles. The woman sighs and goes through her notes.

"Well, Mr. Grayson filled me in a little about what happened during the last few weeks." she adds. "The two of you have stopped talking after a mission and after training, Y/N was found on the floor, bleeding, with a wound to the stomach." Damian immediately looks at the ground. "Would any one of you fill me in on what happened on the mission first?" Damian patiently waits for your answer once again. "I tried helping him out during the mission and he just wouldn't accept it, I guess. He says he doesn't need help with anything when he clearly does. I mean, he almost died on that mission before I intervened." The lady nods her head while listening to you and taking notes. "And, in the Batfamily, we do everything to help him out and he pretends like nothing ever happened. I guess I just had enough of his bullshit."

The therapist finishes writing her notes. "I see." she says. "How does that negligence affect you?" she asks you. "I guess it hurts me because he just doesn't notice the efforts I do for him, or anyone's, really." Damian finally speaks up: "Shut up! I do notice your efforts. They're just... unnecessary." he declares while looking at the floor. "I don't need any help. At all. Just accept it." You turn to him in disbelief. "Can you just accept that you do need help?!" you finally snap. "I've been pouring my heart out for you all these years and all I get in return is shit! You may be the grandson of Ra's al Ghul or even the son of Batman, but you're not invincible! Batman needs help, Ra's al Ghul needs help, everyone needs help! You just accept it!"

Damian rolls his eyes. "God, you're insufferable." he grumbles. You turn back to the therapist, fuming. She has a shocked expression on her face. "Well... I think it's better for all of us if we just end it here for today."

______________________________________________________________

"So, how'd it go?" Dick asks you while driving. "Terrible." you reply. "He can be a real pain in the ass sometimes." Dick laughs. "Yeah, true." he chuckles. You look at the window. "Does it still hurt?" Dick asks. "What? The wound or my feelings?" you ask him, still looking at the window. "The wound." he replies. "And also, can I ask what even happened in there? A nasty wound like that doesn't just grow overnight." You sigh. "Well, he wanted to spar after a few weeks of not talking. I went easy on him, but I guess he didn't. I don't know, kid has a lot of unresolved anger issues." You turn to Dick, tears in your eyes. "I can't take it anymore, Dick." You lean on your arm. "Am I doing something wrong?" Dick turns to you. "No, you aren't. Damian's just a little asshole sometimes." You wipe away your tears.

"God, why am I still in love with him?"

[dustofthedailylife]

It's Always Darkest Before The Dawn

Chapter 5 - Conclusions

→ All Chapters || → Next Chapter (soon) → Main Masterlist || → Taglist

Summary: You’re a Fatui Agent, tasked with assassinating the one man who three years ago had almost succeeded to shatter the entire organization out of sheer hatred and thirst for vengeance. The best way to get close to someone? You make them fall in love with you - only that you didn’t plan on catching feelings yourself.

Pairing: Diluc x Fatui! Reader (gn)

Chapter Tags: Swearing, mentions of assassinations

A/N: I'm sorry for the cliffhanger I left you all with last chapter oopsie!

Care to explain what a Fatui dagger was doing under your mattress?

The sentence reverberated over and over in your mind, while your brain simultaneously failed to grasp the true meaning of it. You felt numb. Panicked. Hopeless.

What were you supposed to do now? There was no way you could weasel your way out of this mess. You had been found out and now you had to suffer the consequences.

"I've had my suspicions the entire time. That something was… off." He remarks, directing his gaze at the dagger and then at you once more.

"The way you didn’t want me to come with you to your inn room earlier, the run-in with the Fatui at the Tavern not too long ago, now this dagger bearing their emblem…"

Your heart thumped against your ribcage so loudly that you feared everyone in the room was able to hear it. Suddenly you also had trouble breathing as your chest felt constricted. 

All you managed to do were helpless yelps for air. You felt how your knees started to shake until they ultimately failed you and gave in. 

You were tunnel-visioned to the point you were unable to take in anything around you, except for the dagger that was lying exposed on the table. Sticking out like a sore thumb.

This is where it would all end.

This is where you would die.

I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die. 

You kept repeating the sentence like a mantra in your head. You had tried to make peace with the possibility of dying during this mission already when you received it. And you thought you did. Yet the quickly contracting muscle in your chest told a different story.

You should never have agreed to this mission. You knew you weren’t cut out for it.

Adrenaline shot through your system, igniting every nerve in your body and it felt like everything was crashing down on you. The card house you had so carefully stacked up over the past couple of weeks was destroyed by nothing but a slightly shaky move of your hand. 

By nothing but a minor negligence on your end.

Your synapses fired at high speed and the sensory overload caused you to fail to realize that you had started crying as well. Kneeling on the floor with a tear-blurred vision you transfixed your gaze on a single spot of the carpet below you, attempting to brace yourself for whatever it was that was about to come now. 

"Adelinde, leave us, please," Diluc commanded in a stern but somehow still polite tone to which she promptly complied and left the room with haste.

Diluc strode towards you. What in reality were swift and heavy steps, felt like slow-motion to you. As if you saw your life pass right in front of your eyes. Was it too early to say goodbye yet?

But goodbye to what exactly? If you looked at it objectively, you never had anything. No family, no friends, no true home. All you had were the Fatui back in the snow-covered loveless land of Snezhnaya. And if you were gone, who would even miss you?

You were nothing but a chess piece. A disposable pawn in the grand scheme of things.

Sure the Fatui had promised you the seat of a Harbinger should you succeed, but they knew as well as you did that if you failed this mission you would wind up dead. The inevitable outcome.

Subconsciously you had always tried to make peace with the possibility. But now that the situation you always wanted to avoid came into being, you started questioning everything you had ever known.

Ever since you arrived in Mondstadt, you tried to keep everyone at arm’s length. Tried to convince yourself you hated everything. This city. The people. All of it. 

But the truth was, that the hospitality and kindness of the people is something you had never received in your life before.

You were only telling yourself this because you didn’t want to get attached.

But you did. You got attached to all these people, to this land - to your life. And maybe that’s also why you were trying to prolong this mission as long as you could up until now. Because you finally realized it didn’t only have to be cold and bleak like the snowy landscapes back in Snezhnaya. There was more to it.

Why were you thinking about this now? You had no idea. It no longer mattered anyway.

Because the moment you felt how Diluc grabbed your shoulder and pulled you back to your feet your mind went blank.

“I have just received notice that the Northland Bank was able to retrieve the payments for the exported goods successfully.” an overly friendly voice echoed through the cold stone walls of the Snezhnayan church.

Pantalone, the Ninth and wealthiest of the Fatui Harbingers was in charge of all of Snezhnaya’s financial and economic affairs. He was currently stationed in Liyue at the Northland Bank where he took care of all commerce and economy of the Fatui. And while he always wore a smile on his lips and even though his voice always carried a friendly tone, he possessed an aura that radiated deceitfulness. Everyone who knew him made sure to not get on his bad side because there never was a way of knowing what he was plotting.

The man he spoke to knelt on the stairs in front of the altar upon which a statue of the Tsaritsa stood amidst at least a dozen candles and a pile of gifts. He slowly got up and turned around.

“That is good news.” Pierro nodded as he turned around to face Pantalone. "But that's not the only thing you came here for today. This news could've been sent through a courier."

"Perceptive as always." The black-haired man remarked in his ever so overtly friendly tone while pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle and index finger.

"I am indeed here today for something else."

"And what would that be?"

"Hmm." Pantalone hummed, his smile never faltering. "I've got word about a lower-rank agent you've sent to Mondstadt about the matters of dealing with the Ragnvindr boy. I was curious what might've elicited this decision?"

"Are you perhaps doubting me?" Pierro replied with a warning undertone in his voice. The Ninth's facial expression didn't waver for a second though. The conniving grin stayed the same as if it was carefully carved in marble for all eternity.

"Why, of course not. I would never doubt your judgment. Though, I must say I'm surprised you offered them a position as a Harbinger should they succeed."

The silvered-haired man intensely glared back at his subordinate Harbinger. The brief silence that followed Pantalone's words caused the atmosphere in the room to become so thick one would be able to cut it.

“You don’t really believe they can do it either, do you?” The black-haired man inquired with a calculating tone in his voice after a brief moment of silence.

“Do I, Pantalone?” Pierro assessed. 

Pierro slowly walked down the stairs of the altar, looking around the church before transfixing his gaze on the Ninth, folding his hands behind his back. His lips curved into an evil smile before he huffed in amusement.

A waft of cold air suddenly blew their way and the grating of the big wooden door of the church echoed through the stone hall. A Fatui agent returning from Mondstadt bowed his head upon spotting the two men before he strode down the aisle with long and heavy strides.

"Good day, Lord Harbingers," he bowed his head once more.

"Agent. You're right on time. I assume you bear news from Mondstadt?" Pierro inquired with an authoritative voice.

"Yes, my Lord. Our informant stationed in Mondstadt contacted them and we found out that they stayed the night at the Dawn Winery."

"Peculiar," Pierro uttered, donning a half-smile upon seeing Pantalone's eyes widen in shock. Pierro knew what he must be thinking now. Pantalone was assuming this meant Diluc Ragnvindr was dead and they’d have to promote some low-rank no-name agent to a Harbinger seat.  

"And let me guess. The Ragnvindr spawn is still breathing?" Pierro inquired as one corner of his mouth smugly curled upwards.

"Yes, I fear he is, my Lord." The agent replied with a voice that oozed nervousness.

"As expected."

"Oh and another thing, sir…" The agent cleared his throat, dropping his gaze to the ground in awe. "We've been informed that they have been injured. It is to be considered that they might have been found out. My apologies, my Lord."

"Thank you, agent. You may leave now."

The agent quickly bowed once more before almost sprinting out of the church, visibly relieved by the fact that Pierro didn’t seem to be angered.

As soon as the door fell into the lock again behind him Pierro slowly strode a few steps down the aisle before turning around with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"I hope that makes my intentions clearer now?" he poses the question at Pantalone who seemed to get the bigger picture now.

“So, you never believed they were able to pull this mission off.” Pantalone stated matter-of-factly.

“Of course, I didn’t. We’re talking about Diluc Ragnvindr. He killed dozens of agents, lower and higher ranks alike, on his own without his vision. This was a suicide mission from the start. Do you really think I would just offer some obscure lapdog the position of a Harbinger like that?”

“Of course not, sir.” the black-haired man replied without hesitation. “I was just trying to make sure.”

“I sent them to gather more intel about the current situation with the Mondstadt spawn and possibly open a window for someone more capable to finally strike him down.”

Pantalone nodded in understanding and folded his hands behind his back, slowly walking a few steps forward to stand right next to Pierro.

“On the very off-chance, they actually succeed; What do you plan to do with them?”

Pierro took his coat that hung over one of the benches and draped it around his shoulders. Signaling that he didn’t have much to say about the matter. 

Before making his way to the exit of the church he turned his head and sinisterly looked over his shoulder at Pantalone.

“Then we shall dispose of them our way.”

The next thing you knew was being shoved onto a chair with tears still streaming down your cheeks.

Your whole body was trembling in fear and your head felt like it was swimming. Everything was too much and you felt numb at the same time.

Diluc pulled one of the other chairs in front of you before sitting down on it and leaning forward, staring daggers at you.

You didn't dare to look at his face but you could feel his gaze burning holes in your scalp. He must've seen through everything by now and only wanted to interrogate you now to satisfy his curiosity before ultimately finishing you off.

"I'm sorry. I'm– I'm sorry." You whimpered without even knowing what you were actually apologizing for. For trying to kill him? For deceiving everyone? For being a Fatui? Or were you just sorry you were caught? You no longer knew. 

Pathetic.

A disgrace to the organization you belonged to. A sorry excuse for an agent.

"I always suspected that something was off," Diluc remarked in a sinister tone. "There were a lot of things that just didn't align."

This was the part where he would spell your entire plan out to you with a victorious smirk before finishing you off. That's how this always went in the books, right?

Killing your enemy and serving their head on a silver platter to set a sign.

"The way you never wanted anyone to walk into your room. The way you were so hesitant to share anything personal, or that you told me this wasn’t the first time you’ve been wounded. You're also not actually from Inazuma, are you?"

At the latter, you perked your head up in surprise. How did he find that out?

Oh, right. He knew you belonged with the Fatui now.

He just huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. 

"I knew it."

The way you didn't even have to verbally answer his questions was baffling. He had you figured out entirely.

"You're an orphan from Snezhnaya, aren't you?"

Now this had you baffled.

"How–" Your eyes widened in shock as you tried to coax words out of your hoarse throat.

"Well," he began, standing up from his chair once more. "You talk in your sleep."

He slipped the gloves off his hands and put them aside on the side table. Was it so they wouldn’t get stained with your blood for whatever he was trying to do with you now? You looked at him in fear, just waiting for what was to come.

“Additionally, you seemed out of it on the morning I first met you, as if you hadn’t slept all night. And when Charles asked you if you were from the ‘Land of Eternity’ you just looked confused. As if you didn’t know that it was an alternative name for Inazuma. No actual Inazuman would be confused about that name.” He explains rationally with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

He had analyzed you out of the shadows from the minute he first laid eyes on you. He outplayed you completely effortlessly without you even taking note of it.

Not only was he incredibly skilled in combat, but he also had the brain to go with it.

It was not a surprise that the Fatui hadn’t been able to kill him yet.

Diluc walked back over to you again, approaching slowly as tears still kept streaming down your face. 

You guessed that was it now. He had said his part.

Yet when he reached out his hands towards your face you instinctively covered it with your arms and screamed at the top of your lungs. 

"No! No, don't kill me?!"

You were prepared to use your remaining strength to fight him off even if you knew you would never stand a chance.

But at this moment you realized something crucial. Something that slipped your panic-riddled brain from the very beginning.

Your hands.

They were free.

When he pushed you down on the chair he didn't actually tie you to it. He did nothing to restrain you or keep you in place. He didn't lock the door either. You could've run out the door without an issue in the world at any given time.

There even was a box of tissues on the table next to you that you had been too tunnel-visioned to notice. He had put them there before pushing you down on the chair.

Looking up at Diluc's face for the first time since getting back here showed you an expression you didn't expect to see.

Worry. Distress. Instead of the flaming anger you expected to see in his crimson eyes, all you saw was a deep frown and genuine concern instead.

Visibly disturbed by what you just screamed, he sat back down on the chair in front of you. He hesitantly grabbed one of your hands with his and gently squeezed it.

There was no malice in the gesture whatsoever, nor was there any tension in the room either.

He threw you a sympathetic half-smile and wiped away one of your tears with the bud of his thumb.

Stunned by the contradiction of what you had expected would happen, you simply sat there completely petrified. Too confused to move a muscle you kept staring at Diluc who was still caressing you gently.

"What makes you say that?" He finally inquires with his brows still furrowed.

"W-what?" 

"Why would I kill you?"

Was he for real right now? 

Maybe this was some sort of brainwashing technique you hadn't heard of before and you were walking right into his trap yet again. You couldn't be too careless now. One wrong move and you would never leave this house alive again.

Yet despite knowing that, you had no idea what to reply.

You thought that he thought, you were an assassin the Fatui sent for him. Technically, you were. But obviously, you couldn't say that.

Noticing your confusion he picked up the dagger that was still lying on the table next to you.

Is this the part where he would finish you with your own weapon?

"Who gave you this?"

Answering this one honestly was probably the best idea. The emblem was on it and he wouldn't believe just any makeshift lie anyway. Not that it would matter now that he knew, or rather, figured out everything on his own anyway.

"The Fatui"

Now it was out. 

The look on Diluc’s face, as he picked the dagger up and twisted it between his fingers, was hard to decipher. You would say he looked pensive and still worried?

Could it possibly be that he legitimately was worried? There was no way.

"Are they threatening you?"

"What?" You utter in disbelief. So this wasn’t a scheme to get you to admit anything nor did he suspect you were actually a part of the Fatui. Was he stupid?

He saw through you right from the start and that was the conclusion he drew from all this? Maybe he wasn’t as bright as your intel on him stated after all.

And for the first time since returning back to the Winery from Mondstadt you no longer felt hopeless. Maybe you had a chance to get out of this alive after all.

You started to finally feel an ounce of hope bloom in your chest again. Forget everything you thought about earlier, this wasn’t the time to throw the towel yet. You could exploit his trust now.

"Are they threatening you?" He repeated, putting the dagger back down on the table and taking your hands into his once more.

What should you reply? If you would reply with yes then that would be a lie and it could possibly also result in the death of some fellow agents. On the other hand, if you said no it would make you look suspicious. Because why would you be in possession of this dagger then?

Diluc immediately noticed that you hesitated as well which you could tell by the way he squeezed your hand a little tighter again.

You scanned his face while your thoughts raced at light speed once more. You somehow got out of being suspected yourself only to run into the next issue immediately after.

Thinking about it, you would probably have to be egoistic here and go with saying yes. Even if it would end up costing the lives of some agents, the mission and your own life took priority to you. And the low ranks were replaceable.

But the Fatui could possibly see you as a traitor as well if they found out. They seemed to be on edge already because of the fact you stayed the Night at the Winery and Diluc was still alive. 

But either way, the end result would be the same. Either you would die right here by actually being exposed for being an assassin or you would die because the Fatui would somehow find out and think you betrayed them.

And that’s what you went with - the option to prolong your life a little longer for now. So you looked up at Diluc’s eyes with damp, swollen eyes and hesitantly nodded.

He nodded in acknowledgment and pressed his lips into a thin line while still holding your hands. Leaning to the side he grabbed one of the tissues from the box on the table and gently wiped over your eyes with them. 

Both of you sat there like this in silence, apart from some hiccuped sobs that were still escaping your sore throat from crying so much. It appeared like he had no further questions for you. At least for now.

“You’re safe here.” He reassured. “And you may reside here for as long as you wish. In fact, I think I’d feel better if you could stay here.”

Why was he suddenly so committed to this?

You could’ve probably thought of the answer yourself. It was logical. He hated the Fatui and with them supposedly being on your heels, you both shared the same enemy. 

However, moving in would probably be taking things too far. Where would you continue to do your research, the maids could walk into your room at any time and find some compromising things again. Just like today.

Just as you opened your mouth and were about to decline his offer, he lifted one of his fingers to silence you again.

“Before you say anything to decline again. There is an empty house from one of my former employees on the property. You’re free to clean it up and stay there for as long as you like.”

“But I wouldn’t want to endanger you or–”

“Please trust me. I can keep you safe.”

You just couldn’t stay somewhere where someone would be able to walk in without any warning, so maybe you could make staying in a separate house work. It had the benefit of staying close to Diluc at all times while also monitoring his routines and whereabouts, which in turn increased the chances of successfully accomplishing what you came here for.

“Okay.” You ultimately caved. This could work.

Diluc let out, what sounded like, a small sigh of relief, and the corner of his lips crinkled upwards ever so slightly. 

You still wondered why he was so insistent on letting you stay here in all honesty, but so be it. You weren’t one to complain about hospitality at the end of the day. Maybe he also still felt guilty about the wound he had inflicted the night prior, so that was why he was acting this way

“Great.” He uttered with a faint smile still painted on his lips. “I also want to apologize for scaring you. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“No, it’s okay. It was only fair, you don’t know me that well.” You retorted.

“That’s something that can be changed.” He said while looking down at his hands and playing around with his thumbs, very obviously trying to avoid your gaze. Did this mean what you think it meant?

He cleared his throat and got up from the chair with a prominent blush painted across his cheeks.

“Anyway. Dinner?”

Wiping over your eyes once more to get rid of the remaining tears still sticking in the corners, you got up as well with a smile and took hold of one of his hands, which only seemed to deepen his blush.

“Dinner.”

Maybe, things had turned out in your favor once again.

If you want to be added to the fic-specific tag list send me an ask!

Do not repost, copy, translate, or edit - © dustofthedailylife Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

[rcmclachlan]

20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @microcomets. Thanks, friendo!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

71 currently. I've orphaned a bunch, though.

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

526,242

3. What fandoms do you write for?

These days I write for whichever fandom strikes my fancy—it might be a new one, or it might be one that I fall back into every so often. My most recent fics have been a mix of new (Beyond Evil, Good Omens, Loki) and old (Cardcaptor Sakura).

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Long Live The King (DBZ, bulma/vegeta)

Stopgap (Good Omens, crowley/aziraphale)

100 Zeni (DBZ, trunks/goten, bulma/vegeta)

Named (Supernatural, dean/castiel)

Solve for X (MCU, tony/loki)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I've gotten better at this! I now make sure to reply to every comment on my newer works (sometimes it's a bit overwhelming, but I think the effort is worth it).

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably Oneiori. Like, Cas gets a happy-ish ending, but it's not going to last. Womp womp.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

These days, I try to end all my fics on a happy note! The happiest that comes to mind is Heritage Site.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I think I've gotten hate maybe twice since I started posting to AO3 in 2010? That's statistically negligible, which is kind of amazing!

9. Do you write smut?

Not often. I don't mind writing it, but it really needs to serve a purpose to the story for me to make the effort.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you have written?

Nah, not really my thing.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of, but I've had a fic's summary stolen! That was a trip.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I'm floored people like my work enough to put that kind of time and effort into translating it!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope. I tried, but it ultimately didn't work out (mostly due to writer's block and scheduling issues).

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

This is like asking me which of my children I love more. It'd take me a month to answer this question and I'd need someone at CERN to check my work.

I will say Kakashi/Iruka is my most enduring fave; I started reading them in 2005 and fall back into them every 3 or so years. I'm currently in a kakairu cycle (as if y'all couldn't tell).

15. What is a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Speaking of Kakashi/Iruka.... Hadopelagia. It was just far too big in scope for me to even think about finishing. I think I frightened myself out of it! For the best, though. I re-read it the other night and it's a MESS. This is why betas are so important, kids.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I've gotten a lot of comments about how I use metaphor effectively, as well as comedy. I don't think I'm particularly funny compared to other writers, but it always fills me with joy when someone mentions my dumb sense of humor.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Definitely smut. There's nothing worse than trying to keep track of where everyone's legs are.

Me: "I used the word 'cock' fourteen times in this paragraph......... well, maybe no one will notice."

18. Thoughts of writing dialogue in another language in fics?

I've done it! Named had a whole scene written in Spanish (I tried my hand at it and then had a native speaker edit it). I think when done well, it adds something really meaningful to a story.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The first fanfic I ever wrote was before I even knew what fanfiction was. It was an Animorphs self-insert fic and I wrote it on a legal pad at my grandparents' house in like 1997. The first fandom I officially posted fic for was Fruits Basket in 2003, followed by QAF in 2004.

20. Favorite fic you have written?

Probably A Twist of the Knife. I had an absolute blast writing Nie Huaisang, and I'm really proud of the story as a whole (which is rare for me).

Tagging: @sonatine, @lemonistas, @stitchyblogs, @dadvans, @ataraxetta, @nandalorian, and anyone else who wants to get in on the action. :-D

[clotpolesonly]

20 questions for fic writers!

tagged my @thotpuppy!! &lt;3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

209

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,195,283

3. What fandoms do you write for?

on AO3, i have posted for: Teen Wolf Merlin Raven Cycle Captive Prince Dark Rise Supernatural (crossover w/TW) once upon a time, back in FFN days, i also wrote and posted for Harry Potter (primarily) and then one each for Newsies, Little Mermaid II, and Twilight. none of these fics ever got finished lmao.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Metamorphose (Merlin, Merthur, 7750 kudos) Happiness is Effortless (TW, Sterek, 7746 kudos) Much Ado About You Two (TW, Sterek, 7046 kudos) I'll Dissolve When The Rain Pours In... (TW, Stackson, 6172 kudos) We Duel At Dawn (Merlin, Merthur, 4949 kudos)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i respond to all my comments!! (except for comments on old suspended WIPs that ask if i'm writing more, which i let sit in my inbox to haunt me like a beating heart under my floorboards slowly driving me insane until i figure out if i am writing more or if i can definitively tell them it's abandoned alkfdgh) i've been stuck recently though and have let my inbox get backed up for a month, so i really need to go on a reply spree soon 😭 it's just a point of pride, i guess? i made the decision that i would Respond To All Comments/Reviews I Ever Get when i first started posting back on FFN in ye olden days (like 2008 lol), and i've been pretty darn good at keeping that promise to myself. and i just think it's nice!! FFN had private messaging, and a lot of those responses turned into whole conversations and friendships that lasted for months. community engagement is a good thing and i like reaching back to the people who reach out to me.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

proooobably These Gordian Knots We Tie (Sterek)😅 though An Empty Glass Is An Ugly Mirror (Dydia) is also pretty bleak.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

uuhhh most of them??? i write a lot of fluff, LOL, i wouldn't know how to pick out just one that stands above the rest when the vast majority of my posted oneshots are sappy as fuck 😂

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i really don't, tbh. which i count myself lucky for, cuz i hear a lot of horror stories. but i've only gotten a small handful of negative comments, most of which were bitching about disagreeing with the characters' choices. i don't think i've ever fielded personal attacks or what ye olden FFNers would've called flames, lol. proportionally, they're negligible.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

on occasion. out of my 209 fics, only 13 of them are explicit, which is roughly 6% lol. including my 7 mature fics (not all of which are rated so for smut, i don't think) ups that to 9.5% 😂 i'm just not very interested in writing smut, not to mention it's both difficult and kind of boring and repetitive when you think about it. i feel like i'm notorious for romances that use one kiss as the climactic ending, if even that, haha. when i do (rarely) write smut, it's usually in dedicated pwp format, rather than integrated into a larger story, cuz i just feel like most larger stories (mine, at least) don't need it 🤷🏻‍♀️

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

the only crossover that i've written and posted was Teen Wolf/Supernatural, cuz i just could not resist the urge to have Allison call the Winchesters and tell them that her father had gone on a hunting trip and he hadn't been home in a while. i just needed that in my life, and i was offended that no one else had written it. also i thought that Dean "Easily Flustered By Flirtatious Men" Winchester should really meet Stiles "Doe Eyes, Witty Banter Someone Needs To Sex Me Right Now" Stilinski. for reasons.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i have! the reason that i teeechnically have a wattpad account is because someone yoinked To Be A King wholesale and posted it over there themselves, and i needed an account to be able to message them to take it tf down. weirdly, they changed some of the names, but not the distinctive names? the identifying names?? like Mordred or the names of my OCs. it was an odd choice. anyway, they took it down immediately with no other response. i think that's been the only time, as far as i'm aware.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

i've got 15 translations listed in my related works 😍 8 of them by the same industrious person, bless them.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

not since that one disaster of an attempt with a friend in early high school, lmao. that's when i realized that i am a control freak with high and unforgiving standards. she was writing her parts 1) badly and 2) WRONG and it drove me up the wall. i can't handle not having complete control of the narrative 😅 i write alone.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

that's not faaaiiiiiir, patently impossible to answer, next question

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

if i don't finish For Shell And Safety someday, it'll be a fucking tragedy, cuz i'm really proud of that one and i was so so invested in it when i started it and i've still got Thoughts on how it's supposed to end, i just got stalled out in the middle of it and never found my momentum again. but.....it's been 6.5 fucking years. however, i feel like, because i do still have those thoughts and plans, that one might have a better chance than REM-DAC, because THAT one stalled out right before it was supposed to be over due to the sudden realization that i actually wanted there to be a sequel and i couldn't tie up the loose ends in the first fic without knowing how to set up for the second one. but. i never figured out concretely what i wanted to happen in the second one. and it's been 5.5 years there too. still no concrete plans. so, despite that one also being a GREAT FIC that i'm VERY PROUD OF and deeply invested in, i will have to at some point accept the reality of how low the odds are that i will ever actually get back into the swing of it and finish what i fucking started. they haunt me.

16. What are your writing strengths?

i'm really not quite sure 🤔 strengths and weaknesses are easier to tell from an outside perspective, lol. i feel like i write good natural-feeling dialogue. at least, the professor in the one short story technique workshop i took in college told me as much 😂 said i had the best dialogue in the class. been riding that high for a decade aldkfjghf

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

idkkkkkk 😅😅😅 pacing maybe?? like, long form pacing in lengthier narratives??

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i have avoided it so far, lkajdfgh. objectively, i think it can be done well and it can be done badly, and different methods serve different purposes so it depends on the story which is most appropriate. the online medium provides more avenues for it than print, like the hover text translations that used to be more popular before phones/touchscreens without cursors became the most prominent way to read things, or superscript links to footnotes with translations. some people put the translation directly into the narrative like an echo, but that gets really tedious really fast, and it would be simpler and more streamlined to just cut out the other language entirely and say "XYZ" he said, in french instead. overall, my preferred method is to filter it through the understanding of the POV character and their potentially limited/imperfect grasp of that other language. if they don't know what's being said, we don't know what's being said. if they pick out some words and get the gist, we see their thought process of figuring it out. it informs our understanding of the character, as well as providing an obstacle and creating tension. if you want to include a full translation of the foreign text, you can in endnotes or a postscript, but i don't really think it's necessary. if people wanna find out what it says, google translate is free 🤷🏻‍♀️ probably best not to use google translate to write the thing, though. if it's not a language you speak, preferably find someone who does speak it to translate, to make sure it's accurate and not butchered. hence me avoiding writing anything that requires other languages 😂 cuz i'm a monolingual usamerican loser who doesn't want to go to as much trouble as it would require to branch out like this. i am a "so-and-so said something unintelligibly french" bitch.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

cut my teeth on Harry Potter back in the day

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

another patently impossible question, i have no answer for this, i love all my fics equally (or at least in tiers uwu)

.

i am tagginggg: @adamprrishcycle @flightspathfic @nooowestayandgetcaught @adrianfridge @nyxelestia and anybody else who wants to do it!!

20 questions for fic writers!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

[dangara2610]

(4/10) Young adult Ulla - Part 12

Hey hey hey

I have to hurry up for serious before I lost my objectives on real life xP

Let me remind you all , I enjoyed too much my 5 years of dayly participation here on Tumblr.

I'm going to keep posting here until I finish to tell you all my ideas, but sadly I've been stopping commenting and sharing other people posts.

I'm sorry but keep in mind that I love you all

Here I go again !!!

Where did I left?

Yeah right

Ulf earned paranormal powers of divination in order to fullyfill his hunger of social interaction sciences (do not mistake with gossiping thirst) So.....

He sended Donella to the location of her lost negligents parent, hopping she can heal her emotional anger wounds

Donella gets back to Cyrus to leave him a series of solid information about Ulla proyects made along with her brother Ulf , and also, all the supplies list

Why? the next step to victory is to convince the next town to invade Nesdernia, rob the supplies and start a figth.

The lie used to win, would be about this pale faces (Faber family) being traitors and being the ones calling the invasors to get in and take the supplies, wood, metals, water, medical herbs, animals for eating or decorations, etc...

So, Donnie is leaving in order to re-meet and work with her identity meaning leaving explosion and destruction behind.

Once again, Ulla and Ulf are trapped on the crossfire on a war that is not theirs

The wedding got cancelled, Faber's family and Sonia's family got a tag to be captured by any of the two belligerents, the locals to jail them and sentence them as criminals, and the invasors to keep the lie and later dispose them.

Ulf is convinced he needs the people to know he is innocent and search the culprit of this mess, and he will use what he knows, but for that, he needs one of the invasors to agree and have a voluntary session of readmind-ing.

But of course that's pretty much impossible, so, Ulla will use her evoluted power of Alchemy to have their own army, repel the invasors and prove their innocence, but, someone stole some of their inventions.

Donella is back at Ingvarr kingdom , not the capital yet, the mines are bigger, the borders too, she made sure to get a fake identity so her ex-prospects won't recognize her

Her few clients don't recognize her but she stops by there to watch the progress, the guy who buyed wifes? He has a mansion , but the deep inside is an hospital, lots of blonde girls and women are pregnant in here.

Don asks for a place to stay and pays to the guy, so that's her chance to get some information of the place, the owner then recognizes her and thanks her for the advices back them, he is rich and powerful

She thanks him back (not amused and not as friendly as he would have liked)

She leaves next day and goes to the capital, the older princess now is queen and the militar propaganda multiplyed

She finds a person who spies on pretty girls who are working on the mines, another one who robs food, probably from the kitchen asigned to the workers, and someone else who is sick and hungry on the streets.

She follows the one who spies on the girls, half day looks like got wasted on nothing, but she discovers this guy runs a brothel, as she suspected.

She trespasses his place and enters his office, the guy has enough money , and once he enters, she's going to make him a proposition.

Of course the guy doesnt trust her bad she make clear she had the upper hand and her intelect his superior to his, so she end up convincing him.

He will buy her weapons and armor to assault the mansion of blondes women and rob the business, so he will own everything.

Once the deal is done, he has to pay and she has to send a message to Cyrus, in order to hide the money and send them merchandising to the location agreed.

Dang!!!!! My advances after this got erased again

Hurry Dan, Hurry !!!!

🌀🌀🌀🌀🌀 Whatever 🌀🌀🌀🌀🌀

All the seven kingdoms, including Nesdernia no matter if its at a civil war, receive the news , princess Rapunzel of Corona kingdom has born.

Don warns to her client about an owner of a brothel wanting to steal his blondes live stock, so he better buy her some weapons.

Sonia asks Ulf to runaway to her original kingdom, but Ulla's parents suggest to let Sonia live with them in Pittsburgh, they came to the conclusion to get back each one to their homes and see if the wedding re-starts after all these mess is solved , Sonia and her family goes back to the borders of Koto.

Failed mission, they couldn't prove their innocence, but Ulf and Tenax (his father) made sure to give the royals a letter with their side of the history.

Donella finds her parents but there is not reconciliation, instead, they fight over who abandoned who and split up as with most dysfunctional families.

Then she enters Ingvarr capitol, with her new skills (and tools robbed form Ulla's alchemy inventions , everything is very easy, to find all the hidden passages, cross them safely, self defense and attack.

She was able to map everything and feed on the minimal, later, she would sell this information, but then, she found the Metal trial on her own, and tried to solve it but failed due to her cynical twisted morals.

I lost track of time

Seee you around

🌾🧶🎮🩷🧶👾🌾❤️🌾🧶👾🩷🪱🌾❤️🧶🎮🌾❤️🧶👾❤️👾🧶🌾🧶🌾🌻❤️👾🧶🪸🧶🩷🧶🎮🌾🩷🧶🌻🎮🩷🧶🎮🌻

[llycaons]

I've been negligent recently about tagging the q slur since basically every use of it on my blog is reclaimed and it's so so common these days and honestly overexposure has desensitized me to it so if you'd like me to start tagging it again please let me know!! if not I'll probably keep not tagging it but it IS a slur and I would never say it myself so I completely understand!!

[atthebell-moved]

Updated QSMP AO3 Work Language Stats-- as of August 13th, 2023

June 6 2023 stats, July 9 2023 stats

Another QSMP language stats update!! Not too much to update on this time, but still some nice numbers.

Fun tidbits/disclaimers to start:

QSMP has 3034 works as of today!! That's 887 more works from last month's 2147, about a 41.3% increase.

French fics have doubled from 5 works to 10!

PT Portuguese has now been tagged in two works!

We've dropped one Mandarin fic, likely due to deletion.

I used the same methodology as last time, which was to manually filter by each language I expected to have works, then do the math to make sure I wasn't missing any and check likely new languages. You can check the original June 6 post to see more about that.

I won't be including overall AO3 stats, as the monthly difference for them is negligible imo. In the future, if I continue to do this for the next year or so, I'll likely pick it up again to note the difference in the last year, or perhaps make a new series of posts about language statistics across the site rather than fandom specific.

Not much change this month! Most numbers have stayed fairly steady; I won't have much analysis as a result.

The numbers:

[Image Description: A table with three columns; the first lists languages, the second the number of works, and the third the percentage of total works. For the languages column, each language is listed first in that language and then in English in parentheses, and English, Spanish, Brazilian Portuguese, and French are all color-coded to indicate that they are spoken on the server. End ID.]

English has 2496 works and 82.27% of total works in QSMP

Spanish has 406 works and 13.38% of total works.

Brazilian Portuguese has 113 works and 3.72% of total works.

French has 10 works and 3.72% of total works-- the number of French fics has doubled since last month, although it's still quite low in comparison to the other languages spoken on the server.

New entry! European Portuguese now has 2 works and 0.07% of total works.

Mandarin has 2 works and 0.07% of total works; it previously had 3 works, one was likely deleted.

Russian has 2 works and 0.07% of total works, no change in number from last month.

The last three languages, Latin, Esperanto, and Malaysian Malay, all have 1 work and 0.03% of total works respectively, maintaining their numbers from last month as well.

Observations:

Like I said at the start, not much change here. The most impressive things to note are that French has doubled in number and European Portuguese now has works, neither of which are surprising. Kudos to those authors regardless, glad to see them gaining fics!!

I'll add my usual note that the stats for QSMP are interesting to compare to overall AO3 stats for the reason that we have far more Spanish and Portuguese works than the rest of the site. If you want to see numbers on total site stats, check out the previous stats posts to see those.

And that's pretty much all I've got!! I'll likely continue to post these every month, but when there's not a ton of changes they'll likely be short little posts like this with mostly just the numbers. Again, here's last month's stats and the 6/6/2023 stats. As always, if you have any data/observations on other fanfiction websites, feel free to let me know!

[tjerra14]

WIP Wednesday on a Monday

Because, y'know, any day can be Wednesday if you're scatterbrained enough.

Tagged by @foibles-fables, thank you so much buddy!!!

I'm still chipping away at a fic I started plotting two years ago, but I've finally making some real progress again, and I do hope that this one will be the last glimpse at it before I can release it into the wild in its entirety.

“Why not?” she asks. “What’s out there for us? Glacier after glacier, winter after winter, always the same trails? The same herds? They won’t sing about you for a Grazer or two. And one day, you’ll slip and disappear, like—like—” Like my parents. Verses cut short on a calm spring morning, a dissonance that echoes through the years. A rockfall, the Chieftain had said, and you had watched Mailen’s eyes widening trying to comprehend. Watched that crease appear between her eyebrows, the first time of many, they’re gone, her fists curl and knuckles whiten. We’ll keep them in our songs. Only they hadn’t, and soon their names were nothing more than final notes, the quiet that follows the last exhale. A vow made on trampled snow and broken arrows, born from negligence and spite: they will remember us, for we will be the best hunters of Ban-Ur. They’ll sing about us for all eternity. Together. Ever since, your stories have been foretold.

Going the easy way with the tags and passing one back at you, @foibles-fables, and also @finrays, @mehoymalloy and whoever else wants to do this!

[exrocist]

tag game: 3 books, 3 movies, and 3 songs

that changed your life or you just love.

Tagged by @zhabk4, thank youuu U__U <333 I don't usually do these (though it always makes me happy to get tagged!) but I was like. nnrrghhh must talk about Earthsea. soo.

(lots of rambling below the cut little bit embarrassed!!!!)

Books:

The Farthest Shore by Ursula K. Le Guin ; Nothing I say about this book (this series!) can do it justice honestly everyone on the Earth should read Earthsea. like really really read it patiently and intensely and with a savor because you will never encounter reality so closely and clearly ever again. everything about it is real to me but this book particularly struck me just because. well. lebannen. a force undeniable. I didn't know I was capable of loving so deeply and profoundly until I knew him. he is the best. I love you Lebannen 💥💥💥 I love everything about these books honestly. immense grace aside that shit also inspired perhaps the most intense and creatively demanding period of my life & broke down a lot of the mental partitions that I had constructed around what my hands are capable of. And I am still really bobbing through the wake of even now. Hopefully more marvelous things to come. There is much more strength to be drawn from this place yet if I can stomach it. sighs.

Death with Interruptions by José Saramago ; My words are failing me here but like. Saramago's voice and style have become real fixtures for me. I need to read a Saramago at least once every few months or my life loses its musicality. This is where I started with him so it gets to be on the list but Cain is also a great one for many many many more reasons that would be toooo much talking. for me to post.

I feel like by law I have to put Plato's Republic here which like. honestly not the most philosophically valuable work or even my drug of choice these days but was a thirteen year old's first inquest into the field that would become his only scholastic passion. so ! (He didn't even know he would have to read it seven times during his undergrad 😭) but if we want another novel to put here maybe We Need to Talk about Kevin by Lionel Shriver (mostly because of one sequence but also Shriver's great at writing in the voice of wry & cerebral women whose sentimentality is kind of shielded by their overt insight it gives them real internal lushness).

Honorable mention also to Isaac Asimov's I, Robot and subsequent novels of Asimov's future chronology which are currently fucking me up beyond measure. My recommendation here is read I, Robot (Or The Complete Robot!) and maaaybe Caves of Steel (tightly written marvel with only forgivable weaknesses of unprobed psychologies) and then stop. Just don't keep going okay. I've also had um Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore still swimming around in my mind despite having finished it a good while ago.

Movies:

Uhhh I don't w.atch. errr. Movies I can think of that I've watched just at all of my own volition: Raw (2016). good experience but didn't move me hugely taboo-pushing which is awesome conceptually but not in the right ways for me idk. not a bad movie at all though definitely some kind of stupid elements at play as well.

Uhhhhhhhhh.

?????????

Songs

Spent Gladiator 2 - The Mountain Goats ; I know I know I'm sorry I'm so trite and pedestrian but like. song with a non-negligible influence on me NOT killing myself <3

Wait List - All Get Out ; song with a non-negligible influence on me actively killisdukydhkuhldfhuik

I/m Not Here [missing face] - The Twilight Sad ; idk is this even a song I could live without. could I have the strength to do anything if not for this five minute dronefest. they need to start creating standardized ritual/ecstatic behaviors for the tracks off this album.

Honorable mentions: San Fermin's The Woods (if you were to ask me about artists they would most definitely be very much up there... Mr. Ludwig-Leone's artistry has been cradling me for a very long time), Say Yes to Everything by We Cut Corners (best band ever ever ever!!!), Topography by Civilian, Dump Your Dreams by A.S. Fanning (i love music).

I did badly at this but I think I made up for not having any movies by talking so much elsewhere. ermmm.

Only tagging @twilitfossil (Jesse Pinkman voice) do it bitchhhhhh also @ataliaf but only if you want to n__n <3333

[becauseanders]

Just because I am curious, why do you hate Arl Eamon? Lol

sorry i've been sitting on this for a bit, brain no work, lol

i am also sure others could explain this far more eloquently, and i know others already have, but also i do have a lot of feelings here so… (also i am terrible with tone in text so please know that i do just have a lot of emotions here and am at no point trying to come off as too over the top or aggressive or anything)

but anyway yeah, eamon "i am going to create a child who is so unloved and unwanted" guerrin is definitely not my favorite

i won't lie, i despise isolde far more for the fact she pretty much just hated alistair on sight purely for existing (i still scream every time she does the whole aggressive "what are you doing here" shit to alistair when you first meet her in redcliffe) while eamon was just a negligent pushover, but it still pisses me off to no end that eamon was charged with taking care of this child and then isolde came along as he was just like…nah, i'm good, i choose her, surely there will be no negative consequences to this child's psyche here (and i also find it a bit cringe that he would marry someone with so much disdain towards alistair to begin with; i mean who knows, maybe she hid that part in the beginning, but it very much has the same energy to me as when the kids hate the step-parent and the bio-parent just doesn't seem to care when they should 100% be putting their children first, if that makes any sense? and i get alistair wasn't actually eamon's kid and that it doesn't seem like he really had much choice about taking him in, but then how much of his own disdain was there already and how much more complicit in how isolde treated him is he? at this rate, would it maybe actually have been better if he'd never even tried to "raise" alistair?)

and the way alistair blames himself for the fact that eamon eventually just stopped visiting him in the chantry after they sent him away because he was sad and angry and acted out—which is honestly fair because he was a child who was straightup betrayed by his guardian—like eamon as the adult should be the mature one here, as alistair was, once again, a child… and yeah it was more on isolde as far as we can tell that alistair was just thrown to the wolves chantry to start with (the way "eamon guerrin bashing" was already an ao3 tag but i had to be the one to create an "isolde guerrin bashing" tag for my one alistair/warden fic is still wild to me, lol), but it really just bothers me so much that he met alistair's hurt and not knowing how to handle that hurt with basically just being like "okay i'm not wasting any more time here then bye"

i will also acknowledge there's potentially some fuckery here from bioware's continuity errors—eamon needing to hide his parentage because his existence coming as a result of king maric having cheated on queen rowan being in the da:o codex but then the calling giving us the background that rowan had already passed and fiona didn't want alistair to grow up burdened by the knowledge of his royal blood, which eamon then presumably went ahead and told him anyway since he still knew about it—so who knows how the story could have gone if they'd thought of the events of the calling earlier and if bioware could just be consistent about their own lore, but even with just the way alistair talks about his childhood in da:o alone i spent the game wishing i could end that motherfucker's life

long and short i just think the dude sucks and that alistair deserved better, and it is very much the guerrins' fault he may well never believe that

[dingoat]

Preacher

what's this about?

Ooh!

So this is a story I started a good long while ago, set when Ahuska and the crew she was traveling with (aka Nines' private army of Imperial and Republic Deserters) had cleared out the Imperial presence in a little Tatooine town and taken control of it. The basic premise was the crew finding a little animal hiding in what had been an Imperial officer's quarters - a shaupaut (a sort of possom-esque critter from Naboo) that had undoubtedly been smuggled in - and adopting it as a sort of squad mascot. They named the critter 'Preacher' (because they thought his habit of standing up to beg for food made him look like he was about to deliver a sermon) and did their best to see to his needs, with a very busy and flustered Ahuska in the background doing her darndest to guide them and impart what proper husbandry and training knowledge she was able. Unfortunately Preacher grows ill and dies, not due to any negligence but purely through being a foreign creature with no natural immunities to the diseases/parasites of the planet. The handful of rag-tag, rough and ready deserters around which the story centres are forced to deal with this unexpected loss and I think the overall tone I was aiming for was very bittersweet.

I started the story basically as a means of working through some of my own grief after an animal I knew passed away, and then it also became a bit of a stab at the illegal wildlife trade/exotic pet ownership, but since my own raw feelings passed I've let the WIP sit unfinished for quite some time. It's one that I still re-open time to time though, I liked the way it was coming together and would still like to return to it properly and actually finish it one of these days.

[late-nite-scholar]

WIP Whenever! (Thursday)

I was tagged by @mareenavee ! Leaving tags open for whoever would like to participate!

I'm actually posting something different today! This is original stuff, a little scene I've been working on for a project I want to expand from a shorter piece that I've kind of mentioned before. Now that it has a happier, non-horror ending, the characters keep wanting to do more stuff. So I'm tinkering with ideas for expansion.

It's about 500 words. Names are redacted for the most part (and I took out some spoilery bits) just cause I'm not quite ready to put that out there (but there is at least one person on this webbed site that may recognize them!).

cute picrews are the best! Look at these two!

***

The woman pushed up her glasses and smoothed her hair before bringing her hands in front of her and squeezing them tightly together.

L stepped forward, reaching his hand out. “I suppose you already know if’n you're [redacted], but I’m L and it’s real fine to meet ya.”

The woman’s bottom lip trembled. “You have to be. Your profile matches exactly. But your name is (L). Your father didn’t care for that, I see.” 

“Pappy never did tell me that. I only ever been L that I know of.” He paused. “If’n Pappy done come from this city, then how come he ain’t never talked like it? Cause he always talked like I do, but none of y’all do.” 

She sighed. “I assume he was using it as some sort of disguise. When he left, he didn’t want to be found.”

“Why not? Was he… was Pappy a criminal?”

“No. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you everything I know, I promise. But your father was not a criminal, I promise you that. Even if I did hate him for taking you away.” But she looked beyond him. “But where are my manners? We shouldn’t leave your friend just standing there.”   

“This do be M.” As M shook the woman’s hand, L smiled softly. "She’s my wife." 

"Wife? Oh, that's lovely! I’m so glad to meet you! I’m Beryl.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Where are you from, M?”

“I’m Fleet Folk. Formerly Mid-Atlantic Fleet, but L and I run solo, now.”

“Oh, that is brave! I’ve heard of Fleets, that is a tough life, especially by yourselves.”

“We do well at it.” M shrugged, but her hand slipped back into L’s. Something about this put her on edge, and she needed the safe feel of him right now.   

“Do you two have children yet?" 

"Gosh, mama, we ain't had ‘nuff time for all that! You done gotta give us a bit!" He laughed nervously, holding tighter to M's hand. 

"Have you two done panels yet? What's your compatibility? Any problematic markers? Because we have a lot of great options here in the city. Things have come a long way in the last decade or so." 

"Panels?" M's voice rose. "Do you think just because I'm Fleet I'm some kind of inbred?" 

"What?" She blinked, before smacking her forehead. "Wait, panels aren't common up top! Of course. I'm so sorry! They're so normalized in the city people usually do them before a first date. To ask is no stranger than asking where you met or what color you're thinking of painting your nursery." 

She looked a bit lost as her words ended, and M swallowed her irritation. "I know you didn't realize. But there are… stereotypes about Fleet Folk. The joke is you get a panel for your Fleet partner to see if their father is their uncle once or twice over. Or some variety of that." 

"But… but Fleet genetic diversity is almost negligibly different from the general surface population… and that difference is only from an extremely small number of outliers… it's statistically zero… But I'm sorry, M. I never intended to imply something so cruel."

She smiled wanly. “You didn’t know. But we shouldn’t spoil things with a little misunderstanding. And you two should be talking, not me!”

“Ah, of course!” Beryl flustered. “It’s all just a bit overwhelming, I guess. But yes, I would like to start off on a good foot. Let’s start again.”   

[bolcseszgoblin]

"my own post"

hey guys.

so i was inspired by a lot of nice people to write my own post about the mistreatment of disabled people by society. buckle up, it's gonna be a long one.

thanks for the inspiration , @tylenol-milk-tranny @anyroads@reverendyoda @ghostslip and others.

so. i believe that society as a whole is treating disability and disabled people with a lot of bias, zero tolerance and a lot of times hurting us, be it intentional, or unintentional. a lot of us are not well received in their spaces, or outright closed out of those spaces they are not accessible. and we are ridiculed, laughed at and hurt on a daily basis.

and by disability I mean physical and mental disabilities, autism, mental health issues, people living with chronic health conditions or learning disabilities, and I believe there's a lot more that doesn't come to mind now.

people are not educated about our problems, our experiences and that turns to hurtful comments, abuse, negligence, and way less opportunities.

we are belittled and laughed at, we are a lot of times hurt by our families, our peers, the people who should be helping us, taking care of us.

There are men, women, nonbinary and trans folks, kids and elderly people, and everyone in between who are struggling with this.

@tylenol-milk-tranny wrote a very nice post to support his fellow disabled men, I butted in with the notion that we are all in the same shoes, but I was not aware of their specific problems, and the discourse going on within their groups. my bad. i want to learn more about it.

he wrote (and I hope he will be not angry if I quote him here, because I've found this so powerful):

"Some of us just need a little extra help with stuff and that's okay. It doesn't make you a bad person, and it doesn't make you any less of a man. You deserve to get whatever support you need without being judged or belittled for it."

Disabled men deserve all the support, and all the respect. Disabled women deserve all the support and respect. Disabled people all along the spectrum deserve the respect and support.

and @ghostslip, You said "jfc advocating for "community" when disabled women are treated better than disabled men. Not everything is about YOU."

tbh some women (thin, white, cis women) might experience a little less harassment about their disabilities, but oh, they are hurting me a little bit less, is not the goal i believe. we can do better than that! (and I am actually a not too thin cis white woman, and believe me it sucks enough as it is. like. a lot.)

in fact i AM advocating for community. not for disabled women's community. a community of us all. and I am definitely not advocating AGAINST anyone. I don't know how I came across as disrespectful or hurtful, and I am sorry if it seemed like that to you. I respect all men who are struggling with stuff in their lives, and I would stand with you without question. As I would stand with anyone. if anyone is an asshole to you for being a disabled man, tag me and I will rip them to pieces if they are disrespectful.

we have a lot of people mistreating us, a lot of people not understanding what our experiences are in this world built for able bodied cis het neurotypical people. preferably white too.

and they are trying to turn us against each other.

we are divided, we are bitter, we are hurtful to each other too sometimes.

I would like to start a discussion. we could learn from each other, how our point of views and experiences differ. and how they are the same sometimes.

and how can we help each other.

I helped a lot of my guy friends take a look at their mental state and come to terms with how their "laziness", "inability to keep up with their chores and other stuff", "gross greasy hair and BO" might be coming from something that they were not aware of, and that they should have never been shamed for that. I helped them to get to a doctor, to therapy, to a psychiatrist and start a journey to understand themselves and heal.

(and believe me, I was called lazy all my life, my flat is such a mess most of the time that i cannot invite over "normal people", cause i don't want the comments. that includes most of my family. I was ridiculed by fellow women, who were supposed to be my friends for "being gross, disgusting" because i didn't get rid of my bushy eyebrows and didn't shave my leg. or i didn't shower for days. I've been there. a lot of us ladies been there too.)

so what I could do is that I sometimes cooked meals and invited these guys over, when I had the means and energy. and sometimes they picked up groceries for me when i was unable to get out of my flat. sometimes I went over to my gal pals and helped them get to an appointment they were not able to get to by themselves, and sometimes they came over to dig me out of the filth of my own apartment.

there are differences in our experiences but there are a lot of similarities too.

I would like us to work together, and at least don't hurt each other. we got hurt enough by everyone else.

Please don't accuse people of being hateful, who are actually agree with you, and would stand beside you against the mistreatment of others.

and you know what? it is actually fucking inspiring to see you guys standing up for each other. go for it! having peers who actually understand you is a powerful social net. we are way better off than disabled people 20-30 years ago without the internet where you can find people like you, struggling with the same problems.

I would just propose that if you don't want someone to interact with your discussion, please note it with a DNI.

we are not against each other. I am not against anyone.

so I would like to ask people to be as respectful with me as I was respectful with them.

peace.

[tiktaalic]

Hi, I know you've mentioned a few times about running prompt weeks and have been involved in setting some up yourself and I was just kinda curious about what the 'stages' of this would be? Or whether you could direct me to anywhere that has an overview of how to set up any kind of prompt or gift exchange without it instantly crashing and burning? Thank you!

I don't know anything about exchanges, sorry! I assume the timeline would be similar but there's more communication involved (with participants/discord/etc). I've set up 3 different prompt weeks and I like to get things outlined about two months out. By outlined I mean

-mod recruiting

-barebones planning discord

-picking a week

-setting up a blog with graphics and a faq page

-setting up prompts

-setting up ao3 collection

-setting up pinned post links (usually i put the ao3 collection, faq, prompts, and intro post)

usually what I'll do is snag a url, leave the placeholder stuff in there, then write out the faq. Once the faq is done i set up the ao3 collection. In the mod discord, I have a channel open for dropping prompt suggestions and I'll kinda prod it a few times for a few days as well as looking up different writing challenges/other event weeks i've seen. before i was into supernatural i was into bnha so i did a lot of scrolling thru bnhafandomevents on their week tag . i personally lean towards 2 prompts a day bc when i did interest surveys someone raised concerns about how when there's one prompt it can be pretty hard for them as a writer, so when making a prompts list i actively try to have a more visual prompt and a more abstract prompt. once we're all solid on them, i go ahead and start fiddling with the blog making pages for the prompts and faq and typing things in. after that is spiffying the place up (making header / icon / intro post graphics).

re: prompts, i try to go the extra mile and include suggestions on how broadly they can be interpreted either in the prompts page on the blog or in some of the promo posts made pre event. when i did feedback a non negligible amount of people said they just didn't know what to do with prompts that i felt were really broad, so i just make sure to somewhere have stuff thats like. its ok to get wild with it. with hypothetical examples.

once everything's set up, ideally me + other mods will type up and queue 3 posts a week for #promo (i usually tried to space them m/w/then a weekend day, and to vary the time they posted as well for timezone reasons), but usually this ended up being more like one a week because i really hated typing them up ansdfjdjfsdf. i was very very grateful for jo (unsure what their new url is, previously casjpg) when womenweek rolled around bc they went above and beyond by creating gifs once a week for our promo posts!

at that point its just like. rolling the dice and hoping someone picks up one of the promo posts and gets it rolling. i've seen other events do taglists in the post to #boost it but i never did that bc. idk. i just didn't.

when questions about the event came in, i was comfortable answering technical aspects off the top of my head (do we have to participate every day? do we have to use both prompts in our work? is there a minimum wc? etc etc) but thornier stuff i would drop in the mod server and ask what our take on it was. like for womenweek someone asked if trans woman sam was fair game and we talked about it and decided since the point of the event was to kind of get the content mill grinding for characters who usually fall by the wayside, transfem headcanons for men on the show weren't what we were going for, but of course transfem claire / jody / eileen / rowena / billie / etc was more than fair game. if you're doing an event for a known freak zone you HAVE to get very explicit about this not being an event for freaks. i felt like the faqs for pocweek and womenweek were very clear about no incest but still got... 4? 5? asks doing whataboutism for how wincest should be allowed. so.

about 2 days before the event itself i made a google excel sheet and made it editable for mods with asheet for every day of the event.this is how we kept track of submissions and what had already been reblogged.

this was also our tagging system. im not going to do it now but if i was to redo an event i would change how i entered urls on the spreadsheet and pop in the url for the post that the event reblogged (spnwomenweek/whateverpost) instead of from op because so many people deactivate or url hop.

if you have any specific questions feel free to message me!