femexchange_mod (femexchange_mod) wrote in fem_exchange, @ 2007-12-17 20:37:00 |
Entry tags: | bellatrix/luna, bellatrix/morag, luna/morag, nc17 |
Happy holidays, sappholococcus! (Bellatrix/Luna, Bellatrix/Morag, Luna/Morag, NC-17)
Title: Conversations In A Madhouse
Author/Artist: ???
Recipient: sappholococcus
Rating: NC-17
Length/Medium: 1,217
Pairing(s): Luna/Bellatrix, Bellatrix/Morag, Luna/Morag
Summary: Sometimes, you don’t need prison bars.
Warning(s): Noncon (impaired consent/drugging), bondage, blood/knife play, object insertion, mindfuck.
Note: I had never written Morag or Bellatrix before, so this was an interesting challenge. I tried to incorporate as much of the prompt as possible; I hope you like it, sappholococcus!
“Mother.... Mother...”
“She’s out of her head.”
“Of course she is. This is a prison.”
“Torture chamber.”
“Lunatic asylum.”
“It amounts to the same.” Bellatrix flicks a sharp, dismissive hand in the direction of her nephew. “Draco, go tell my darling little sister to have the elves hold dinner for us.”
Retreating footsteps; Morag does not bother to watch him go. Her gaze is focused on the pale figure caught like a mayfly in a spider’s web, suspended limply from the dungeon chains.
The eyes flick open; in the darkness of the dungeon, they have the glassy luminescence of silver pearls, and are directed with unerring unfocus at Bellatrix.
“Mother,” she says again, quite distinctly, “they think I’m rather mad, you know.”
Bellatrix smiles thinly, with no trace of real humour. “Precious pet,” she croons, “they think the same thing about me.” Her fingers claw into Luna’s tangled hair, fist in the snarled strands as Bellatrix yanks sharply, pulls Luna’s head back with an audible crack and palms a crystal phial, flicking it open and pouring a dose of sickly-sweet smelling blue potion down Luna’s unresisting throat; the pale eyes stare blindly, open but unseeing, and a sudden shudder wracks the waiflike body not long after Bellatrix lets go.
“It won’t take long to work.”
“I won’t take long to work,” the Healer says reassuringly, and she pets Luna’s hair and she smells of herbs and of green. The Healer has long dark hair and deep-set dark eyes and is very tall, much taller than a lot of people and certainly taller than Luna. Luna looks up at her.
“What is your name?”
“Bella,” The Healer says, “you don’t remember?”
“I don’t know.” A pause. “Bella. Beautiful Bella, bella bella beautiful belladonna bella bella beautiful...”
“That’s right.” Bella’s fingers linger in the hair at the nape of Luna’s neck. “You’re going to be all better, pet, very soon you’re going to be all better and you’re going to leave.”
“No!” Luna doesn’t understand the stab of alarm, doesn’t understand why it feels like there’s knives in her, all over her, no, no, she can’t leave, she can’t leave!
“Don’t you want to get better?”
“Let me stay,” Luna pleads, “please, please, don’t make me go!”
“Shh, shh,” Bella’s hands are sliding over the skin where the fear was, tracing along the hurts, and Luna shivers. Bella beautiful.
“Please, please.”
“I’m going to take care of you,” Bella says, and Luna whimpers like a kitten and lets her legs fall open as long fingers find their way inside her, and something is flooding Luna’s belly like the heat of the sun, like sunlight running in rivulets inside and over her skin. The blood is running in rivulets over her skin, oozing from the wounds, and Bellatrix has the handle of the knife pushed as deep into Luna’s body as it will go, gripping it heedlessly by the blade, push-thrust push-thrust, eyes black and sharp and gleaming savagely at the way Luna squirms and pants and whimpers please please please.
“MacDougal,” Bellatrix says, and grabs her hard with her free hand, pushes Morag to her knees on the cold stone floor and then hikes up the hem of her robe.
Morag knows better than to make Bellatrix ask twice.
“Good girl.”
“You’ve been such a good girl.” Luna feels so impossibly full. “Precious pet, would you like to come?”
“Yes, please, please...”
Stars burst behind Luna’s eyes, and she screams as Bellatrix rams the knife handle in one last time, so viscously Luna’s whole body is forced back to collide with the stone wall, and Morag’s eyes snap shut but she still hears it, hears the sickening crack of Luna’s skull and the shrieking cry and Bellatrix’s low hissing noise of pleasure as she comes, thighs gone tense.
Morag gets to her feet, and Bellatrix lets her robes fall back into place. “Dinner should be waiting,” she says, and sweeps out of the room.
[ Home | Update Journal | Login/Logout | Search | Browse Options | Site Map ]