Hiii
If you have time could you write Hastur comforting (or helping in his own strange way, he's still an eldritch god lol) overstimulated reader.
Sensory overload has been kicking my ass recently </3
Your work makes me so happy, and motivated me to start learning how to write in my free time
— To Be Human
ask box open | commissions open | hit the tip jar | Patreon
Fandom — Identity V Pairing — Feaster | Hastur/reader (suggest this takes place in the same universe as the Mouse and the Cats) Summary — Hastur's knowledge of humans is still lacking. You constantly confuse him — he adores that. Content Warnings — mentions of Hastur eating people Word Count — 532 words Author's note — when I got this in my inbox my heart bloody melted, nonnie. To be the person that motivates you to learn how to write is such an honor and I do hope to be able to read your stuff sometime in the future 💕
Endless knowledge, endless power, and yet Hastur always found himself to be confused by you. So tiny, so frail against his mighty form, one that you had grown close to despite the knowledge he had feasted on mortals, feasted on the innocent and guilty alike, yet you always sought comfort in his endless robes.
“For what does my most devote follower need?” He asked one day as he felt your presence against the back of his robe, feeling the way your arms came to wrap around the vast colours of soiled yellows and whites of his sins, your face pressed against the fabric that smelt of the sea. When you did not reply, he allowed his body to shift ever so slightly to look down at you, seeing the way your hands trembled and shook. Though his form of slightly involved his body contorting in inhuman ways, his spine audibly growing and shaping in order to allow him to commit the impossible.
Like a rabbit or sheep ready for the dinner table, your soul smelled divine to him as the two of you stood in the manor’s library.
“I cannot aid you unless you speak up, mouse.” His hand came to cup itself under your chin, raising your face away from his clothes, tentacles appearing from the abyss to slowly stroke at your legs. “Ah, have you been crying, little one?” He muttered, his thumb coming to caress your cheek. “I can smell your sadness,” he muttered softly, even if his voice may boom like the mountains in your mind, “who did this to you?” To make a devotee cry, to sadden the one thing that did not fear him besides the snake wrench that wandered the halls, it was a notch on his soul, one that fanned the embers of rage that constantly welled in his heart.
“No one…” You finally muttered, your words soft and meek in reply, “the world is just too loud, lord.”
“Too loud?” he questioned as you buried your face back into his robes, escaping the merciful touch of the Lord in Yellow as you weeped. “What thing do I have to silence to bring you peace?” For you, he would send any animal, person, god to the abyss, to the eternal silence and madness that was where he crept, but yet your fingers clenched tighter on his cloak and he knew all at once something that made his soul ache and burn.
This was not something he could squash with the weight of madness. He could not even grasp it in his feeble hands. “Talk to me, dear mouse. What is it that makes you cry so?” As you began to talk about the sound of the wind in the trees, the texture of food you dislike, the feeling of cuts and bruises on your skin that would not fade; it all overwhelmed you so, caused for your mind to whirl and your senses to increase.
“Stay for as long as you need, mouse.”
Wrapping the edges of his coat around your shoulders, he did not let you leave until your heaves softened and your eyes dried, you were his most devoted follower after all.
