#LIKE IF i could control it i would not be half of my kins | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

honeybeebard · 5 months

Text

Helping You Remember (Enver Gortash x DarkUrge!Tav)

Summary// Ever since the crash Tav had been stripped of her memories, with nothing but her name and this violent urge inside her body wreaking havoc with every step she took. It was no small feat to control it, or at least tame it, and just when she thought she had gotten it under control a new foe, or an old ally, comes to remind her where she came from.

(I didn’t expect my first fic in the BG3 fandom to be about Gortash. In fact, I have several half-written projects of other characters but for whatever reason this man has recently taken a hold of me and I’m afraid I’ve sunk too deep. This was originally going to be a one-shot but it’s taken on a life of its own and will now be a multi-chapter!

This first chapter is heavy on angst but the next chapter will be better, I promise! I just imagine this is how your companions would react to the news as well as how Gortash gets his foot in the door of reclaiming you. I hope you like it! I normally write for ACOTAR so this was so much fun!) WARNINGS: Heavy angst, Mentions of past Dark Urge actions

It had been a long, painful journey to get to Baldur’s Gate but Tav had made it. Her companions had made it. Everyone was alive and mostly well, save for the tadpole in their brains, the end of the world, and the recent discovery of Tav’s family history. As they made their way to Wrym’s Rock Fortress it was the only thing her mind could focus on. Astarion, Karlach, and Wyll were all too happy to chat about being back but she couldn’t stop thinking about what she was.

Bhaalspawn.

Parents throughout Baldur’s Gate told stories of her kind to warn their children of the dangers of the world. She felt all the sins of her kin crawling up her back, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze in fear that they would see her for who she was. A monster. It didn’t matter how hard she fought the Urge inside her… her fate seemed to be already written in the stars. How could she save herself from this? She hadn’t even realized they had made it to the doors of the fortress until Astarion gently nudged her arm, giving her a concerned look as she was torn from her thoughts. “Are you alright, darling? You’re looking a bit clammy.” His voice was smooth but she could see the worry in his eyes. He was the first one she had told when she found out, seeking comfort in his arms just as he had done back in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. They didn’t have an official title to whatever their relationship was, sometimes friends and other times lovers, but they were each other’s closest confidants. He understood her better than herself sometimes and he had assured her that whatever she was facing, he would be there to help. So it pained her to lie through her teeth as she mumbled, “Fine. Let’s just get this over with. Hopefully, we can kill two birds with one stone.” Astarion knew she was lying but didn’t press her further, his shoulders tensing slightly as he gave a curt nod and entered the building with the others. The air was buzzing with excitement as everyone awaited the coronation of Lord Gortash. His posters were everywhere, most people hailing him as a hero, but from what she had heard from Karlach he was anything but that. And especially after discovering him at Moonrise, netherstone in the gauntlet decorating his hand, she only felt that anger within her rise more at the ignorance of the city. There was something else too, like a flash of nostalgia, but it flitted from her mind before she could grasp it. Tav shook her head as they made their way up the stairs, preparing for anything as they arrived at the grand hall.

Rows of seats lined the sides as a dark red carpet decorated the ground, leading all the way up to where Duke Ravengard and Gortash stood. Wyll visibly bristled at the sight of his father, his hand steady on the edge of his blade while Karlach slowly began to grow hotter and hotter at the sight of her former friend.

“I can practically taste his blood from here.” Karlach seethed, her fists clenching. Astarion gave Tav a worrying look, wondering if now, underneath the watchful gaze of multiple Flaming Fists and the Steel Watch, was the right time to pick a fight.

Tav gave him a reassuring smile, turning to Karlach with a solemn expression. “I know you want nothing more than to rip his heart out but here might not be the best place to do it. Let’s hear him out first.” She speaks slowly, hoping to calm the tiefling.

“Hear him out? He speaks nothing but lies! There is nothing he could say that could be of use to us.” Karlach snarls, turning her heated eyes to her and frowning.

“Just trust me on this, okay?” Tav pleaded. “I promise that you will be the first one to rip him limb from limb.”

She seemed to calm slightly at Tav’s reassurance, her flames dulling as she nodded once. “I’ll hold you to that, soldier.” Karlach says, following in step as the four of them begin to walk up the aisle.

Gortash is the first to spot them, his lips turning up in a smile as he spies Karlach first. “My eyes must be deceiving me! Karlach, my dear girl, come and be welcome.” His voice was dripping with arrogance, his arms spread wide in greeting.

“I’m not your dear anything!” Karlach snaps, her hand immediately falling to her weapon. However, just as Tav tries to step in front of them, his dark eyes turn to her and widen in surprise.

“And with you, my, why it’s my favorite bhaalspawn!” He grins as he comes closer to Tav, eyeing her up and down. “I never thought I would see you again either.”

“Wait, you know each other?” Karlach frowns, turning to look at Tav with betrayal in her eyes.

“I swear I have no memory of him Karlach. I would’ve told you.” She stresses, holding up her hands in innocence while shaking her head rapidly.

“Oh, I’d forgotten,” Gortash says smugly, chuckling to himself. “Your memories are quite lost aren’t they? Orin told me she’d made a fool of you. And to think you two have traveled together all this time and she hadn’t the faintest idea that you were one of my nearest and dearest.”

This time it was Astarion who spoke, his eyes hard as his jaw clenched. “What do you mean nearest and dearest?” There was a sense of urgency under his tone, something that Tav felt as well as she tried desperately to remember what Gortash already knew.

The dark-haired Lord smirked, taking a deep breath as he turned back to Tav and began to tell fill in the missing puzzle pieces of her memory. “You and I initiated this plot. No one could stand against the Dead Three so, after obtaining the crown, enslaving the brain, and creating a false God to rule the masses, there was little to stand in our way.”

Tav stumbled back a step, her head throbbing and pulse racing. No, she couldn’t have. She couldn’t have formed this plot, couldn’t have worked with Gortash. It wasn’t who she was. Was it?

“No. I would never.” She whispered, her eyes full of anger while Gortash ignored her and carried on weaving the tale.

“In Bhaal’s name, you set your bloody dagger to cause panic in the streets, killing in the Absolute’s name,” He smiled again as if recalling a fond memory. It made her want to vomit. “It was all going well until you had vanished, Orin claiming to be the new voice of Bhaal and taking over. She, unlike you, couldn’t control herself. She made a mess of things.”

Her stomach lurched, her knees buckling as bits and pieces of her past flashed through her mind. The blood, the screams, the wicked smile of her reflection as she all but bathed in the slain bodies of the innocent. Astarion noticed her trembling, reaching out to steady her as she tried to block out everything.

“Have you gone soft?” Gortash asked as he stepped closer to Tav, examining her guilt filled gaze with a disappointed look. “I find that hard to believe. One’s true nature will always rise to the top.”

“That is not my true nature.” She hissed through gritted teeth, rage heating her blood as she pushed out of Astarion’s grasp and walked towards the man before her. “Take it back. Tell me you’re lying.”

“I know you know the truth, Tav.” He coos as if talking to a startled babe. “I can see it in your eyes. That Urge deep within you, clawing at its cage to be unleashed. We had something great, are something great, until you were taken. I tolerated Orin, tolerated Ketheric, but I liked you. We can still finish this together.”

As he finishes his sentence one of his hands comes up to rest on her arm, an intimate gesture that sends feelings of disgust and warmth through her body. She hated this, hated him, hated how little control she felt. Once again she felt a battle in her body between the past and the present.

“Don’t touch me.” Tav growls, pulling away from him as if she had been burned. “I want nothing to do with you, with this plot. If anything this has only solidified my plans to kill you.”

She could feel Karlach’s approval from behind her, could feel her own body tensing for a fight only to falter when Gortash barked out a harsh laugh.

“Oh, my dear bhaalspawn, you have no choice.” His eyes were suddenly hard and his tone like ice as he gestured around him. “The quakes are a clear warning. Without all three netherstones ruling the brain, it will break free and complete the Grand Design. Your choices are to join me and rule or subject this entire city, yourself and companions included, to becoming illithids.”

All of her companions shifted uneasily, looking at Tav for guidance. She tried to run through all the scenarios, looking for an out that didn’t include digging herself further into her past self, but the choices remained the same.

“Together though,” Gortash straightens, giving her a charming smile. “Together we can control the brain. Renew our old partnership.”

“What kind of partnership?” Tav asked cautiously, hating how weak she sounded. Astarion cleared his throat beside her, pleading with her not to do this, but she ignored him. If she was going to find another way out of this she at least needed to get all angles of the problem…and that started with hearing Gortash’s bargain.

“Let’s discuss it somewhere more private, hm? Away from the prying eyes of both nobles and…your group.” He looked behind her distastefully. “Meet me in my office after the ceremony. Alone.”

And before she can say another word he struts back to the middle of the room, letting the Duke continue with the blasphemous ceremony. Tav immediately motions for her friends to follow her towards the back, ignoring the words of Wyll’s father as she finally takes a moment to breathe.

“You can’t possibly be considering partnering with him.” Astarion huffs. “Please tell me you aren’t that stupid.”

“Look at what he’s done to this city, to my father,” Wyll adds, crossing his arms. “An alliance with Gortash is like asking to be stabbed in the back. He cannot be trusted.” “You’re damn right he can’t be trusted!” Karlach fumes, gnashing her teeth together. “That man is worse than a devil, Tav! He’s just trying to get in your head!”

“Enough!” Tav snapped, rubbing her temples as the pounding returned. Everyone’s opinions, including Gortash’s, were starting to make her head spin. “I know this is…a lot. I can’t process it all myself-”

“What, that you and Gortash created this entire cult, this entire problem that is threatening the lives of millions of people?” Karlach’s voice was rising with each word, her flames growing by the second. “I knew you were a bhaalspawn but Bhaal’s chosen? You are half the bloody reason we are here in the first place!”

“Karlach-” Wyll tries to intervene but she brushes him off, stalking towards Tav and jamming a red hot finger in her chest.

“No, don’t Karlach me.” She snarls, glaring down at her. “Did you not hear what she has done? The acts she committed in Bhaal’s name? Amnesia or not, you all have to see how dangerous she is.”

“I’m not!” Tav protested, tears pricking her eyes as she felt their gazes on her. It was her worst fear realized. “I’m not a monster, I don’t remember doing any of those things. I would never…”

“And yet here you are, ready to make nice with the viper.” Karlach spits, standing to her full height while regarding her with revulsion. “I need time to think.”

Before Tav can say anything or reach out to plead for forgiveness, she storms off back to the entrance. Wyll looks between the two of them, his eyes full of sadness before he simply shakes his head and follows Karlach. The only one left is Astarion who is staring at her with an unreadable expression.

“Star…” She whispers, throat tight as she tries to reach for him only to physically recoil when he moves away from her hand. It wasn’t much, just a slight sway to the side, but it was enough to make the knife in her gut twist deeper. “Please.”

“I…I need a moment.” He murmurs, bowing his head before following the same path as her companions. Tav can’t stop herself from sinking to the floor, her soul aching as she brings her knees to her chest and cries. She doesn’t care that she’s in a room full of nobles, doesn’t care that everyone is watching her finally break, she just doesn’t care anymore.

Her friends, her entire world ever since escaping that damned nautiloid, had abandoned her. They had found out who she had been and had left her here, alone. Tav wanted to hate them, wanted to curse them, and never see them again, but could she blame them?

She was part of the reason this was all happening in the first place. She had caused all this pain, all this death, in the name of her father. Even if she didn’t remember it that didn’t absolve her of the guilt. If roles were reversed, she would probably question her relationship with the person as well.

“It’s all my fault.” She whispers, pressing her palms against her eyes harshly. The tears were hot as they ran down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking. Tav was so caught up in her emotions she didn’t hear the footsteps approaching her.

It wasn’t until she felt cold, metal claws tip her chin up that she finally came to her senses, blinking up at the man who had just revealed all her immoral acts as if they were nothing.

“My poor little bhaalspawn,” He purred, using his other hand to pull her up to stand. “All alone again.”

Tav sniffled, feeling vulnerable as he wiped a tear away with his thumb. Her entire body felt numb as he pulled her into his arms, shushing her with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Come.” He ordered. “Let me save you once more.”

148 notes · View notes

am-i-interrupting · 2 months

Text

Dinner with Dad | Vox x Alastor’s Child Reader— OATSH

Summary: You reunited with Vox in Hell and took him on a tour as you caught up, ending with dinner at your house. . . with your father.

You had errands to run. Sinners to see. Deals to fulfill. Land to run over.

All in all, since landing yourself in Hell, you’d been doing well for yourself. Some would even say you were thriving.

You’d harnessed your powers in less than a half a year. It didn’t take too long before you were making deals. Within your first three years, you’d become an overlord and you were doing a damn good job at it.

You had a fair bit of Pentagram City to your own. You made yourself a theater. Took a bit out of Rosie’s book and opened yourself one day a week to fix people’s problems. You didn’t have much to complain about, all things considered.

Your bag swung back and forth in your hand as you walked the streets. Several people darted away, recognizing you. A smile stayed in your lips.

It was nice. It was so nice to simply be free. That was the thing that suffocated you when you were alive, was that you were never free. You were always doing a performance and to an extent you still were but you got to choose what it was this time. You didn’t have it placed upon you.

Gone was the sweet tempered, innocent daughter of a brutal murderer. Now in her place was the confident woman with just as much of a dark side as her father.

Not that many people knew you were related. No, most residents of Hell had no idea you and the Radio Demon were kin. Instead, you were just two overlords who were close, like him and Rosie or Zestial and Carmila. It was better that way, safer.

So, you strolled along and people saw you as you were. It was so nice. After a bit less than a decade, you still weren’t fully used to it. Convinced some days you’d wake and you’d be forced to slip on a persona you never wanted.

While you didn’t wake up suddenly alive again, you did stop as something reminded you of your time living. A voice, a very familiar voice came to your ears. You immediately turned towards it.

A mostly humanoid demon was the source. Although, curiously, instead of a head a television was in its place.

“Damn it,” that voice seethed as a different sinner walked away from him.

Your smile morphed into one of genuine happiness instead of general contentment. You couldn’t help but tease. You had to.

You simply appeared in front of the demon causing him to release a noise of shock as he stepped back. You leaned into his space, “Why, is that my favorite TV show host?”

The discomfort fell from his face as pure shock took its place. “Oh my god,” he uttered beneath his breath.

“Mmm, far from.”

“You’re here.”

“So are you. What is it I call you now, exactly?” you asked him.

“Vox.”

“Mmm, that’s Latin, correct?”

“I— Yes.” His screen glitches and the smugness fell from your face. “You’re here.”

“As we’ve established. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he said slowly. “Just shocked. I didn’t— You’re. . . May I touch you?”

It was your turn to be shocked. You blinked owlishly several times before you nodded.

Vox tentatively reached out a hand. He placed it on your shoulder. A breath escaped him when it made contact with your blazer.

“You’re here. You’re real,” he said, voice still breathless.

“I am. I am here. I’m real,” you repeated.

Suddenly you were pulled in for a hug. You tensed but quickly relaxed. Your arms wrapped around Vox’s torso as your head bowed against his shoulder.

Mint and citrus filled your lungs. You couldn’t control your fingers, which without your permission balled the fabric of his suit jacket in your hands at the fragrance.

“You still smell the same,” you told him.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” He pulled back. Using his pointer finger and thumb, he held your face in place so he could look at you. “You’re just as beautiful as the day I lost you.”

You felt something wrap around your heart and squeeze it so tightly you thought it’d burst.

“I’m sorry you had to.”

You stayed like that for a moment, just drinking each other in. He looked so different. Obviously but aside from his head and his newly acquired height, his body seemed the same. Granted, it was covered by a simple black and blue suit but the silhouette remained similar.

You shook yourself. “Why don’t you join me on my errands today? It’ll give you the chance to meet some new people, have a proper tour of this place, and we could catch up.”

Vox’s thumb caressed your chin before it slipped away. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Good, because you didn’t have a choice in the matter.” He laughed. You hadn’t realized how much you missed that laugh until now.

Vox was by your side for the entirety of the day. It was nice, comforting. You introduced him to sinners and hellborn alike as your company for the day. Not too many to note. Not many were interesting. Mimzy flirted, as Mimzy does, and Rosie. . . Well, Rosie was certainly something.

She greeted you with her usual gusto and pulled you in for a brief hug before she acknowledged your company.

“Now who is this stripping young man?” she asked, doing a circular gesture as she pointed to him, her arm still wrapped around your shoulders.

“Rosie, this is Vox. We were actually fairly well acquainted when we were alive—“

“Ooh?”

“—Vox, this is Rosie. She is a very trusted friend and overlord of this district.”

Vox held out his hand and Rosie slipped hers into his. He turned it over and placed his other hand atop it.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” Vox said. “I’ve heard nothing but positive words from the denizens of Hell in my time here.”

Rosie placed her hand (once around your shoulder) over her heart. “Why, you sure are a flatterer, aren’t ya?” she said as her other hand slipped from his grasp.

“I’m saying nothing but the truth,” he assured her.

She hummed and shook her head. “So, you knew this one in life? If you’ll let me I’d love to pick your brain apart for information. She never tells anyone anything about when she was alive. Nothing meaningful at least.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, yes, it is!” Rosie said. “The most meaningful piece of information about your life I’ve gotten out of you is stuff I already knew about you from your father.”

Vox smiled at the exchange. “Whenever you’re available, I’ll likely be as well.”

You rolled your eyes as Rosie looked at you with a smug, victorious smile.

“Anyway, I’ll quit teasing. Watcha need today, hon?”

You summoned a dress with a sizable, jagged hole. “I was just wondering if you could fix this. I’d ask Niff, but she’s been taking on too much work. I’m honestly afraid her heart might combust. You know I don’t trust anyone else.”

Rosie took the dress and fingered the fabric. “Should be a quick fix. I’ll get it back to you by the end of the week.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry to bother you with something trivial. I know you stay busy.”

“Nonsense, you’re never a bother,” she assured.

“I’m sure that’s not true but I won’t stick around much longer. You were the last stop for the day. You know, save the best for last and all—“

“One lonely woman in a room with two charmers, however will she survive?”

“—so, I’m off to make dinner. Would either of you like to join?” you asked.

“I have plans with Frank tonight,” Rosie said, “so I’ll have to decline this time.”

“Vox?”

“I’ve spent years without your company. I’m not going to leave now that I’ve finally got it,” Vox said.

“Then I’ll warn you, my father and I have what could be considered unique tastes,” you told him.

Vox’s face fell. “Your father?”

“Yes.”

“As in the radio show host?”

“Yes.”

“The serial killer?”

“Yes.”

“Alastor?”

“Is something not clicking?” you asked. “You’ve been in hell two months. Is television so faulty you already need repairs?”

Vox simply slowly turned to Rosie. He was met with the amused smile she now wore.

“I’m almost tempted to cancel my plans and join you,” she said before she walked away. “Good luck!”

“You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to,” you told Vox.

He took a deep, steadying breath as he smoothed down his clothing. “No, no, I agreed to come. I’m not leaving now. I’ll have to meet him eventually.”

“Well, yes, but today as been a lot for you,” you said. “We can cancel this and you can meet him in a public place if you’d rather.”

“He won’t try to kill me, will he?”

“Why would he?”

“Right. We’re just friends. I’m just meeting my friend’s father.” You felt a weight on your chest but brushed it off quickly. “Who is a serial killer, a very powerful overlord, and the only sinner who’s ever permanently made other sinners disappear.” He yanked open the house door, “After you.”

You entered the house and heard your name called. “Yes, daddy, it’s me. I brought some company,” you called back as Vox closed the door. “Here, let me. . . Your jacket.” Vox stood nearly perfectly still as you slipped the suit jacket off his figure, then placed it on the coat hanger.

“I’ve never heard you call him that before,” Vox said.

Suddenly you felt yourself feel something you hadn’t felt in years, self conscious. “I— Southern thing, I guess.”

“Who is this—“ Alastor’s smile went tense as he looked Vox over. “You’ve brought a picture box into my house.”

“This is Vox,” you said, a nervousness coming to you that hadn’t been there before. “We knew each other when we were alive. He’s a good friend.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Well, any friend of my daughter’s,” his voice trailed off. He snapped his attention to you. “I’m in the mood for venison.”

“You are always in the mood for venison.”

“Would you rather I be in the mood for something else? Television perhaps?”

You rolled your eyes, already sensing that tonight would certainly be something you’d remember.

Vox tried to help and it was a valiant effort. However, Alastor insisted that no help was needed. Saying with everything but words that he didn’t want anything to be tainted by Vox. You made sure to give your father a well placed elbow.

“So,” Alastor began when food was on the table, “how did you two meet?”

“Well, we—“

“Now, now, dear,” he interrupted, “it’s polite to let the guest answer. I can ask you any time.”

Vox put on smile, one rehearsed, one that even digitalized you recognized. “We met your daughter was a guest in my television program. She was promoting a book she wrote. She hadn’t even spoken two sentences before I realized I was in the presence of a truly remarkable woman.”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed. “Personally, I’ve never been in the habit of making friends with my guests.”

“As all of Hell knows,” Vox replied.

“I’ll admit, I’m a vain man,” Alastor said with a fake laugh following. “Why was it your show in particular?”

You opened your mouth to speak but Alastor held up a hand. You literally bit your tongue. You tasted a bit of copper in your mouth and couldn’t help but wince slightly. Your hands curled tighter around your fork.

“Television has been on the rise in the last decade. She recognized this and seemed to plan accordingly. My show was one of the more popular. However, it wasn’t the only one she went to. I do recall tuning into what was once your station and hearing her there.”

That caught your attention. You didn’t know he’d listened to any of your other interviews.

Alastor rested his head atop his folded hands. “You listen to radio?”

“I’m known to occasionally indulge,” he answered. “I do recall listening to your show actually, when it aired. Truthfully, it was one of my favorites. You’re very talented at what you do. Covering your own case even, a very bold choice.”

“As I previously said, vain.”

Some time later, dinner was over and so was the interrogation. You felt yourself breathe again at the idea of this evening being over. Funny how you’d had no reservations until Vox and Alastor were in the same room.

You grabbed Vox’s jacket off the coat rack. You hooked your fingers underneath the shoulders and held it out for him.

“I’m capable of putting on a jacket myself,” he said.

“I know.”

He turned around and slipped his arms through the sleeves. You smoothed down the shoulders. Your hands stayed there, only rotating in place as you moved to the front of him. You smoothed down the lapels. Then you did the buttons.

You lingered for a moment, just feeling his warmth underneath your fingers.

“It was good to see you again.” You looked up at him. “I hope we can do this again some time. Minus the dinner with dad. I’m sorry about him.”

“It’s alright and I’d love to.”

You nodded to yourself.

The two of you simply stayed like that for a moment. Your hands on his chest. His hands dancing at your elbows before he moved to grasp them, holding you in place.

You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck. His hands traveled to your waist. He pulled you closer.

“I missed you more than you’ll ever know,” Vox said, voice breathy and barely above a whisper.

You held him tighter. “I missed you too.” Reluctantly you both pulled away. “Should I walk you home?”

Vox laughed softly, “Your father would think I kidnapped you. I think he’d kill me.”

“He wouldn’t.” Vox gave you a look. “I’m serious.”

“If you say so. I’ll be fine though, thank you.” His eyes darted over your features one last time and he re-tucked some hair back in place. “I’ll see you soon then?”

“Yeah.”

With that he left and for some reason, you felt like he was taking something with him.

#vox x reader #hazbin vox x reader #one author two show hosts

121 notes · View notes

uchihaharlot · 2 months

Text

Happy Smutty Shisui Sunday! I didn’t forget about my man.

This week I went to hell and back and back and back some more. Hardly had any Shisui or Uchiha simpy time for myself. 😩😭 Completely missed my ovulation horny thirst week!! I hope this makes up for it, to you and to me.

Ovulating or not, I’m still unbearably horny for this man.

NSFW; Shisui has been busting fat loads of his cum inside of you. In hopes that you’d end up pregnant & yes, I know Shisui’s birthday has passed. Consider this some sort of retroactive celebration on top of Shisui smutty Sundays.

WC: an ungodly amount of horny brain goes brrrr; mostly edited. My eye started to twitch so yea.

Well. Obviously after about six months he starts to think something is wrong with him or you. He wasn’t entirely shy when it came to making sure he thrusted his warm cum deep at your cervix. And even so far as to repeatedly fucking one load after another into you. You just sort of figured it was that Uchiha breeding kink and let him have his way to sate the desire. That maybe he couldn’t help it and that might be why you ended up beneath him for hours, folded like a pretzel and flipped over to be taken any which way.

Certainly the breeding was partial to it. Shisui really was and at some point admits to hoping you’d grow round with his baby. “…can we talk?”

Was there something wrong with the swim team? Last he checked; or well the yearly physical. They were in prime condition to root and grow inside your womb. There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with him. And maybe he peeped your file and saw everything was in working order for you as well.

“Shisui-kun.” You sit with him at the table; the concern that spreads his face is immaculate. “What’s wrong?”

How does he say this without coming off as weird and maybe even a bit creepy. “I’ve been trying to get you pregnant for the better half of a year and …” full stop when you grab his hand and squeeze.

“Oh, Shisui.” That soft smile he loves so much stretches your lips. “It’s severely impossible at this time.”

Severely?

Well how in the nine circles to hell was that? ‘At this time?’ So it could or had been possible before. “Explain this, please?” It sounded so desperate when he didn’t mean it to. The words wrapped around his larynx and dried his throat, and barely sounded normal as they scratched their way out.

“It’s called birth control.” You try not to laugh, how was he unaware of this? You’ve mentioned it in the past. Maybe long ago.

“No, I would have seen you take the pill. I figured you had stopped since…well, since things are more serious.” How cute was Shisui when he struggled to express his doubts, second guessing if he was full of it or not. Certainly he knew there were other forms of contraception. The look on his face as you explain what an intrauterine device was had you almost in tears of laughter. Even someone like Obito was aware of this.

To think that a measly piece of plastic wrapped in copper was interfering with his family planning!? This was inconceivable—literally! He was an Uchiha for fucks sake. How could something with no substance other than metal and plastic prevent such powerful genes from taking root. This simply did not sit well, but eventually passed as Shisui went through the phases of realization. It almost felt wasteful to think how many times he’s tirelessly laid you down, had you cramped beneath him. Talking filth of spilling into you and milking himself bone dry.

Hot and sweaty; orgasm after orgasm. Even a silent prayer to the gods that he would be blessed with a next of kin. The sour look on his face before he sheepishly smiles said it all as you speak. “I am sorry this disappoints you.”

In reality, couples talked before they had children. Shisui was an entirely different breed of man. He didn’t operate on reckless abandon but to say that the shock value of your uterus not being at his disposal was not something he counted on when he was purposely trying to fuck a baby in you. He almost looks pitiful.

Shrugs it off. Patching up his wounded ego, “it’s fine.” When it didn’t really feel fine. A small part of you felt guilty seeing him so forlorn over it.

And another deplorably sick part of you revels in it, how desperate was Shisui to make your body his in more ways than one. “We can talk about it sometime? Typically…this is a group decision.” With what little words he could manage now, Shisui deliberated the ordeal wasn’t in his favor.

That stung a bit. His irrational need to pump you full of his own personal brand of Uchiha specimen completely outweighed the rational sense of procreation. It was a dual effort and Shisui, too, felt a twinge of guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Yes, he was. You can see it, feel it. How adorably cute he looked with puppy dog reds. So caught in his emotions that the forehead kiss you planted took a beat for it to register. “No harm, no foul.” Your forgiveness was much appreciated. You took it far better than he anticipated in this instance.

From that day forward, a new idea populated in your mind. It was stupid as all hell, but what a better birthday gift than the very thing that tormented his ability to impregnate you. It crossed your doctor as weird when you asked if you could take it with you. Usually it was a firm no, this was a biological hazard. But having the privilege of dating one of the most influential men of all times, from the most prestigious clans the Hidden Village ever produced. The only time you would ever pull that sort of weight over your head. Shisui would surely not appreciate you using the Uchiha name to get what you wanted.

Much less to instill fear into the doctor with no recourse to back it up.

But it works in your favor. Wrapped up cute, the device rests in a small box. Of course this wasn’t a real gift, it was a gag. The real gift was some specially designed and crafted ninja tools, a subscription to that expensive ass hair care he bought throughout the year and well. Your undying love and affection of course. What better way to bring a man to his knees when he came home from a long mission than to tell him that your womb was for the taking? It was hardly romantic, how were you supposed to know this man would froth at the mouth as he entered the kitchen.

Well, you should have known. The skimpy crotchless lingerie you are wearing was a welcome surprise. Then bending over into the oven as if you hadn’t noticed he was there, I mean you did. Looking over your shoulder told you all you needed to see. That thousand yard stare as the kaleidoscope behind his eyes wound tight and instantaneously bled red. Even further widening to elicit what most would call formidable. It was a treat for you when Shisui salaciously threatened you with his Mangekyō. This was a special occasion.

There wasn’t any part of you that his eyes mapped out and took in as you approached him.

“Happy birthday.” You whisper, leaning up to pepper a soft kiss on either cheek before his eagerly opening lips nip at you. “Hungry?”

How easily she looked into the Mangekyō as if it wasn’t a loaded gun. “That’s an understatement.” His hands have been running up and down your sides already, thumbing at the lacy material that did fuck all for the imagination. It literally wrote the entire thing for him. “What’s this?”

Shisui obviously knew it was his birthday, though he hadn’t expected this display of affection. Ok; that’s a blatant lie. He did expect some sort of celebration but this was on an entirely different realm than what he considered.

The opener gag gift. That little wrapped box was easy tore through in swift fashion. Though, its contents perplexed him further. Looking to you again, red silk pearls spin wildly. “That was the baby inhibitor.”

Oh. This was the thing. “Was?” Mission lag had not been kind to Shisui, it was a rough few days. Too many stalled attempts before it was accomplished. But being a genius didn’t leave him entirely ignorant. “Oh.” Like, now it clicks. That this—this exact tiny thing was the actual thing. Which meant, “you’ve been liberated.”

It was a funny way to put it, but to Shisui it meant everything. It meant that he could actually move forward with you. Not that you hadn’t already been moving forward, but this was the sort of progression he desired most.

“…has it?” He asked again, your silence only made him reconsider, and as you held his face with both palms. You gave Shisui the most tender kiss, full-mouthed and deep, he whispered through broken kisses. “Are you truly prepared for this?”

Those words alone send a heat to pool in your lower stomach. That and Shisui’s hands gripping you tightly as they trembled at the curve of your waist. Whether it be excitement or lack of sleep. Probably lack of an actual meal too. He didn’t quite feel like eating dinner in this moment.

“The situation has been rectified.” Those simple yet effective words had more of a profound impact on Shisui. Had you not realized this was something he desperately needed? “It will take a few cycles—”

Words were futile for a man in Shisui’s position. This exact moment found you backwards walked in a series of scorching katon kisses. He nearly singed the back of your throat when he kissed you this way. Maddening him further was the soft touch to his belt as you unclamp it and untucked his cock. Searing more the same kisses your jaw, throat and chest when you stroked his flaming erection. How deliciously sweet but spicy that Uchiha katon tasted as it sat in the back of your esophagus.

Your dainty bodice was left somewhere in between the hall bathroom and the master bedroom door. You were already squirming on two fingers knuckle deep before your head hit the bed. Scoffed at the loss of his cock in your hand. That crotchless little thing had Shisui spreading your slick and tonguing at your clit before you put on whatever act you had planned.

“Your…gifts.” A hopeless mewl when you came on his mouth the first time, Shisui was far too gone.

“…fuck the gifts.” This was more precious than any gift, that you were fully capable of doing him the honors of taking his genetic material and making it into something so valuable and beautiful. “…I don’t care if you take to my seed today, tomorrow or next month. This right here is for practice.”

It wasn’t any sort of sex that you and Shisui had before. Sure, sex was sex when you looked at it from any angle. But this? This was being caged under a man who had little resolve left with his actions. By no means did he hurt or leave a mark that wasn’t planted with the utmost respect for you and your body. Red marks on either side of your neck, chest and thighs. Once Shisui determines you were properly worked out enough for him.

The twitch in his cock as he luridly strokes himself before you, wild eyed and tinted. As he divides you over his length, he shucks both your knees with his arms and full on dips the entirety of his hips into the padding of your ass. It’s almost painful when he presses into you this way.

Only then did he fuck you mercilessly. The consistent deep thrusts are the first to make your eyes roll shut. Hardly ever did he use his teeth, but when you moaned out his name like that. Needy and wanting. There wasn’t anything else he thought of than to bite every inch of skin his mouth came across. You were cramped up so snug beneath him, completely immobilized and at his mercy. The subtle touch of his testicles on a full cock length thrust every now and then. His rhythm unrelenting. Shisui attentively listens to every soft mewl and whimper out of your precious mouth when his lips and fingers don’t have it preoccupied.

But damn did he love the sound of you moaning around his fingers. Choked out on three of them, as your ‘cute little pussy’—or so he called it. Fluttered and milked another deeply buried load into you, at this point he was merely tap to release. Bottoming out into a seemingly bottomless pool of his own cum. It seeped and spilled on to the nice silk sheets you intricately place earlier today.

The dull pulse of another orgasm as he continued to pump so slow, but incredulously deep. As if he purposely never fully fucked his cock into you; which was a far stretch. The many times Shisui inundated the swell of your cunt with his ever throbbing need and used it as a dump was more than you could ever count. How effortlessly he coaxed three more orgasms out of you, each one spasms and threatens another deposit out of him.

This was undoubtedly breeding. No way to describe it overwise. If you hadn’t of guess it by now, the things he said to you were more than an indication of the long night ahead of you. Powerless, but pleased to no end. You didn’t think however many orgasms he worked out of you were possible. You lay almost limp and useless. Along for the ride. Not to mention how sticky and nasty your legs felt. The amount of pain this man’s testicles would bear tomorrow morning was worth while. As if continuing to thrust into you would make his cum leak out less, Shisui was operating on what you assumed was less than half a brain cell. His eyes were lost, distant. Even with the Mangekyō boring into you this way his foresight that he was thoroughly finished hadn’t caught up.

You patted his cheek lovingly. It took a real special woman such as yourself to understand a man like Shisui.

“…Shisui-kun. You can stop now.” It wasn’t a plea, more of a distraction. There hadn’t been any warmth filling you from with in. Just whatever he managed to slosh around inside of you. It caked your insides.

But your seeet voice thrummed through his ears and his heart sank, “…oh …gods.” It was that moment he regained some semblance of control. Having fucked you on autopilot. The apologies flood as the kisses peppered your cheeks.

Here you lie, plugged. Stuffed to the brim of your cunt with his cum. Whatever didn’t manage to leak out still ever present inside you. The viscosity of it only thickens as it sits. So gentle when he slips out, the massive bubbles as his cum fully empties out of you. Shisui didn’t realize the reach of his own body. Scooping you up, he plops you into the tub.

The clock reads three hours that dinner had been sitting on the counter. The warmth of the water soothes your aching legs and back. Shisui hardly used his full strength to outmaneuver you, but this time he hadn’t the slightest how far he took it.

“I’m fine.” You smile, wholly fucked and tired. “…it was just for practice right?”

Shisui ran both hands through damp curls. He had forgotten all that was said. “It won’t be anything like that again.”

But what if you had liked it? “I’m partial to it…” dipping just below the water, up to your nose and not averting your gaze from his. “It was hot.” There you said it.

Shisui smiles the width of his mouth. Hot, you thought it was hot to be fucked like a cocksleeve? “Is that so?”

“…yes.” There wasn’t any way around it. “Just maybe, we take turns?” This was something Shisui could work with.

Slipping into the tub with you, behind you. Shisui leans you against his chest. “I can manage that.” When you mentioned it was rather endearing aside from being mostly prone. He remembers, “about those gifts?”

“After you reheat dinner.” The soft white of the foamy bath water is washed over you by Shisui with a loofah.

He could do that. He would do anything you ask of him. Especially knowing that from this moment forward, he would be undoubtedly indebted to you once that beautiful body of yours was swollen for him.

#shisui uchiha #shisui headcanons #shisui smut #Shisui smutty Sundays #uchiha clan #uchiha headcanons #uchiha family #uchiha shisui

53 notes · View notes

hayateart · 7 months

Text

Now I have a Mermaid Moshang Au going around in my head.

So, let's say, Airplane still wrote a book, but it was about mermaids, and the main protagonist, Luo Binghe was half merman, half human. With the exception that mermaids are the obvious good guys, so the sects and cultivarors are the mermaids, and the demons are humans, with demon lords being researchers.

Rest is under the cut, because what I wrote could be a fic on its own.

Airplane dies and becomes a merman Qinghua. He saves young teenage Mobei Jun, Little Mermaid style, and falls in love instantly. However, he knows they cannot be around each other, so he leaves Mobei safe on shore.

Years later, Mobei becomes a scientist researching oceanic life, all in search for a merman he is not sure is even real. Maybe he has only dreamt about him.

Since he is so accomplished and clearly inclined to believe in the existence of aquatic mythological creatures, he gets a job in secret research facility where they already research real life mermaid.

And this is where my angst love popped in.

Mermaids cannot speak human language. They communicate in chirps and screeches like dolphins. Their teeth are sharp, their eyes alien. They are treated at best as objects, at worst as potential threat that needs to be researched, studied, cut open to see how it works and how best to kill it.

Mobei cannot let others know he has sympathy for these creatures or else he would be banned from research. He finds a kindred spirit in one of the research leads, Shen Qinqiu, who appears to be the most ruthless person he ever met but is surprisingly gentle with the creatures they handle, and proposes that maybe, just maybe they are not malicious at all. No more than people, at least.

[I needed Cucumber to be human for this one, for better BingQiu purposed. In the original novel that Airplane wrote, Shen Qingqiu was the most heartless of the scientists, doing research on a captured, teenage protagonist. His abuse caused the young merman's ancient powers to awaken. He learned how to control water Aquaman-style, how to speak the human language and thanks to his ancient magic - his father was half water-dragon - how to change shape to appear human. But that is all irrelevant, because Shen Yuan does not want to capture and operate on Binghe at all.]

However, as it happens, the plot must make its appearance.

Shang Qinghua was careful. Was very, very careful, He never had OOC function to unlock because he has always been Shang Qinhua. So he thought, he can avoid original Shang Qinghua's fate which was being captured by humans, implanted with a tracking, which led the humans to his colony, and to Binghe. He as so careful! But the system tricked him, and Qinghua gets captured anyway.

He is panicking. This is the worst! He will be experimented on, forced to out his kin, or, if he is lucky enough, just killed. What sort of world he wrote?! What sort of fate he created for himself!

He deserves it, of course. He wrote mermaids to be peaceful, hunted, tortured and killed. Of course, he deserves it for condemning an entire race. At least, he gets to see his favourite creation one last time. Because, Mobei Jun is here.

In the original story, Mobei blamed mermaids for the sinking of the ship, from which Qinghua saved him in this storyline. He did not become a researcher but a whale hunter with a penchant for mermaids. Only meeting Luo Binghe changed him, and he became the fiercest fighter for mermaid cause afterwards.

Qinghua is sure Mobei is there for revenge. Mobei recognizes Qinghua but he needs to keep up appearances. However, Shen Qingqiu recognizes the character of Shang Qinghua as well. He knows how the story goes. Qinghua is 'researched' and then let go with a tracked. He cannot let that happen but the other scientist would be suspicious if he was kind to a merman. Instead he proposed to kill him, and research the body - in his mind, it would be a mercy killing, after all.

Mobei keeps his cool, but underneath, he is boiling with rage. On one hand, he sees the kindness in Shen QingQiu's decision. He sees the mermaids in their tanks every day. How sick they are, how empty and unhappy. It would be a mercy killing. On the other, that us the marman that saved him all these years ago. In a small tank, terrified and crying, and shaking, and begging them with his eyes only to please, please, don't hurt him. Just let him go, please.

Mobei suggests waiting with the decision to the next day. Clearly, they caught only a runt, a shrimp. it is weak and won't do much for research but maybe it is more valuable alive. They should consider their options. In reality, he plans to free Qinghua over night, when nobody is watching.

He is not the only one with the same idea. Cucumber gets to Qinghua first. Under the assumption that mermaid cannot understand human language - they could not in the book - he breaks Qinghua out cursing all the while - at stupid plots, at stupid authors and at pointless characters who turn out to be so much bother!

Except, Qinghua understands him. Of course he does! He is the author. He gets Cucumber's attentions, drawing characters with water on his coat. Cucumber at first thinks nothing of it, until he notices the pattern. It is the title of the novel!

Cucumber immediately understands that Qinghua is a transmigrator, just like himself! He gets him paper and pen and they communicate.

And then Mobei Jun steps in. Qinghua and Qingqiu are caught red handed. Qinghua is panicked at his sight. In a desperate attempt to save himself, he grabs the pen and Cucumber, and holds him as a hostage, pressing the pointy end of the pen to the other's neck.

It would be terrifying if it weren't so sad. Qinghua cannot hold himself up out of the water very well. He is shaking from fear and his hold is lose - if Qingqiu wanted to break out, he could with no problem. It is clear that Qingqiu is shielding the merman.

There isn't much that Mobei can do except lift his hands in a peaceful manner and promise:

"I want to help. Please, let me."

TBC? Maybe?

#moshang #mobei jun #shang qinghua #svsss #mxtx #fanfic idea #luo binghe #shen qingqiu #bingqiu #cumplane #mermaid #au

123 notes · View notes

hrodvitnon · 29 days

Note

Just got out of my first viewing (spoilers so tag accordingly)

Yeah that was the most ridiculous shit ive ever seen and i had a blast lmfao.

To get the few negatives out of the way: Syclla and Tiamat got COOKED. That's crazy. Especially Tiamat. I had no idea she was in the movie and like choked on popcorn when they said her name. First onscreen appearance and she dies in like 3 seconds... sucks to be her. But honestly... this is probably one of those moments where Fan Content messes with the perception of a canon thing, at least for me. It hurts a lot more because of the emotional attachment from stuff like Ozymandias's story, Shamhat, and other adjacent stuff. If I had never seen those and watched her die I'd probably think "oh she had a cool design, but whatever". But yeah, my only serious complaint is her being shafted and I don't even really think I can call it objective because there was definitely an attachment there.

Ok besides that this might be my new personal favorite Monsterverse. Could be recency bias but I don't think so. Every human is at the very least entertaining. Everything Trapper did in this movie made me crack up, hearing Bernie say the words 'Discord chat' and 'Ghidorahstan64' (i stg this was a callout of some kind) onscreen gave me terminal whiplash, and although Jia and Andrew's story was sorta surface level, it was still endearing. I'd rather have a good human storyline, sure, but if we can't have that I'll settle for entertaining.

Here I thought Suko was gonna be an annoying marketing ploy to sell toys... I physically snorted in the theatre when Kong slammed him into that one ape. MVP of the film lmao. Mothra was... also there. Yeah, it really shows that she was a last minute addition. But DAMN she sent Godzilla ROLLING with a single attack. Speaking of, I don't think the Tia-Zilla form was as underutilized as I've heard people say it was. Especially that new Atomic Breath effect. Holy eargasm.

Oh man though, Shimo and Skar are fantastic. Skar hits the same beat as like a Celestial Dragon or Vladimir Harkonnen with way more grace than I would've expected from a big monkey. They go shockingly dark with his treatment of the ape-slaves and Shimo... especially with that female ape insinuation.

Holy shit poor Shimo, man. I honestly thought the Skar controlling her aspect would be kinda downplayed and just regular mind control, not genuine torture of some kind. I love that they let her have characterization by resisting him at every chance she gets, and that the pain control isn't always active (i'm assuming that's the insinuation of keeping her all chained and behind magma, it depowers and restrains her when Skar's not actively using her), further insinuating she gets merciful breaks from hellish enslavement only to be yanked back into it whenever Skar needs something turned into a popsicle. I think my favorite moment in the film is right after Suko shatters the crystal and the light blue luminescence fades to reveal her actual eyes for the first time. Eyes are used throughout the film to show subtle humanizing features, like Godzilla falling asleep in Rome, Kong's wide eyes when he sees his kin, and shock when Shimo realizes she's free. Having her eyes glowing the whole film makes her seem way more monstrous and inhuman, so when that suddenly goes away she starts getting framed as just an animal. Also her eyes are pretty. Also, I lied, that wasn't my favorite part of the film. My favorite part was Kong giving her chin scratches and that cute half-hug. This needs to be normalized. He needs to hug Godzilla next film. I will pay someone a king's ransom for this to happen. Final little detail, I like that Kong doesn't do his final roar from on her back but standing next to her, on the same level as all the other apes. He doesn't look to elevate himself over her or everyone else like Skar did, which is a great touch.

Also also also: Think it's time for a Doug solo film where he tries to steal all the Titans' food. Make it happen Legendary.

Much agreement here! I'd love for a solo Mothra MonsterVerse film to really capitalize on her lore and give her stuff to do (without dying at the end preferably); maybe establish some connection between the Chen family and Jia. Also, I need a little shot of Mothra going to visit Godzilla while he's sleeping in the Colosseum and just cuddle up to the big lug.

Andrews and Jia were a welcome breath of fresh air after GvK reversed Mark's characterization and Madison became... that. There was still some slight tension between Jia not feeling like she belongs and Andrews wanting to do right by her, even if it means possibly giving her up, only for Jia to go "you're my mom, you're my home, stop being dramatic". You love to see it.

Adding to the Doug solo film idea... Shimo adopts him because he's cute and she thinks his shenanigans are hilarious. Let us have fun wholesome times!

#tosho89 #frostbite814 #godzilla x kong: the new empire #gxk spoilers

24 notes · View notes

pininghermit · 11 months

Text

Dare I Desire (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Adrian x Male Reader

AN: this story has chapters of varying length but that's just my adhd for you all. Thanks for reading!

One moment you were smiling at the Dhampir in front of you and the next you were lunging to avoid the long sword that was hurled at you.

Hurled a sword! Adrian hurled a sword at you!

And that was not the first attack. Right after that came a series of never-ending attacks that left you on your toes. Jumping over the cabinets, knocking down jars (which was quite sorrowful even for you who cannot consume them).

You parkoured your way around the storage but the vicious blade did not leave you alone. You evaded its every move without a single retaliation. It followed your every move. Ready to find a misstep on your end. In the middle of the chaos stood Adrian. Unmoving and unmoved by anything.

The only expression on his face was a concentrated frown. The dhampir’s eyes followed your every step, leading the sword to you with unbeatable precision. For a half-vampire, he was fast, faster than many of your pure-blooded kin.

“If you call this menace of the sword back,” you tried addressed Adrian who did not deem you any attention. Uncaring, you continued you knew Adrian could hear you clearly and well. “We can actually talk and I’ll gladly tell you my reason for being here.” Still running from the sword you dodged a strike aimed at you. The sword paused only for a second for it to continue back again.

“Believe me if I meant any harm to you, cleaning the castle would not be my first strategy,” you said as you crawled under the sprawled furniture. “Just give me a chance. Just one chance. Hmm?”

The room felt silent and from your hiding spot, your could see the sword that now lingered in the air still prowling for you. If this continued, you might as well forget about a conversation, Adrian seemed intent to kill you before you even got to introduce yourself.

You did not breathe as you moved further into the shadows. Adrian was swift but you...you have powers of your own. Some of which you did not wish to use. You would rather take the sword than do that to your mate.

You hid and tried to come up with a way to invoke your bond. Something, anything that would bring it to Adrian’s conscience. From the link of their bond you could sense your mate’s anxiety and it shook you to the core when you felt fear seep through. It was wrong…completely wrong for your mate to fear you. The voice in your head snapped at you to make it right. To take away the fear and reassure your mate. But how could you when you were the reason?

“Were the corpses outside not enough of a warning to venture in?” Adrian interrupted your thoughts. His voice was so tense that you could sense the noise of his teeth gritting together. “Come out before I find you!” The threat rang out in the room.

Anxiety, fear, and anger clouded your mind. The walls of the room caved in on you as the wave of emotions crashed through your mind. Your conscience urging you to protect your mate but from whom? Yourself? Like an avalanche, self-hatred hit you greater than any attack.

With snap, in motions so quick that even the dhampir could not notice you, you flung yourself at Adrian. You both needed to snap out of it and a sudden tumble was all your instinct-ridden brain could fathom. The growing cloud of dark vanished and your brain cleared in the midst of their fall.

You saw Adrian’s eyes widen in shock as you took in the fall. You also noticed the fangs, the claws, and the subtle frown of concentration that your mate got when he controlled his sword. Noticing the approaching floor you extended your hand to support Adrian’s head by cushioning it from the floor. You wove your fingers through the golden hair and cupped your hand behind Adrian’s head just as you both hit the cold hard floor. A small touch that narrowed your world left the dhampir strained. His body so tense that in that millisecond where you fell, you heard the clang of the sword falling on the ground.

Flashes of binding, of fear, of scars, and of pain paralyzed you. Shame, guilt, a rage so potent that it overwhelmed all the voices of reason. Alcohol, blood, fire, ash pulse into the bond, and your mind replayed every memory mingled with the sentiment behind it. Patricide…he should have died…he should have let them kill him. Monster, killer he was no savior from the lore. The voice in your mind crumbled into whimpers.

No, no, no, no, no…

“ADRIAN!” You shook Adrian whose eyes held a dazed look as his mind continued spiraling.

“ADRIAN, listen to me!” You call for him as you push your mind into another memory. The one you wanted to share but not in this manner. So, you will your mind to the valleys of your home, the streets, the shops, the people, the forests. You imagine your family, your siblings, and all the good you have ever experienced.

And the gloom fades away. You open your eyes to find golden ones staring back at you. Devoid of emotion yet, full of curiosity.

“Who are you?” Adrian whispers as he continues to stare up at you from his position.

“Your mate,” you answer with a smile as the sun filters through the windows.

#alucard #alucard x reader #castlevania #bottom alucard #top reader #adrian tepes x reader #mates au #castlevania alucard

59 notes · View notes

rotworld · 6 months

Text

16: Vital Signs

(previous)

jamie tries to help you. desperate times call for desperate measures.

->sexually suggestive. contains gore, body horror, parasites, mind control, religious content, dubcon/noncon.

You can smell Jamie’s fear. It’s tart; harsh and citrus. You wonder if you could taste it on their tongue. Fear is a tempting morsel but you want to lick it away and make room for the cool, liquid calm of love and acceptance. But how? You study their clenched jaw and anxious eyes. There’s already something else inside of them.

“Then take it,” comes the voice of Heaven. “Open them. Take what hardens their heart.”

You can’t. That might kill them. You understand—you are shown, are made to know—that you would be divinely inspired, your hands guided, if you wished to carve space within them. It has been done before. But it’s not the opening that gives you pause. It’s the taking, the unlacing of the fluke from flesh that can no longer live without it. Godflesh is strong and repairing, but the holes in Jamie’s head are not wounds anymore. They are a scaffold, the latticework through which a delicate companion weaves. Neither would survive the separation.

“Have you no faith in me, angel?”

You apologize. You are newly winged. Warmth pours across your soul like fingers of light, the gentlest, soothing touches of reassurance. You are known. You are forgiven. It’s not that you doubt the miracle. But some things are too precious to risk. Jamie is like you—even still, even with new flesh taking root.

“Are we, too, not kin of the same sort?”

You are. You treasure that connection. It’s what makes you an angel. You understand what is expected of you, and what you must do.

Even still, the thought makes you hesitate.

Jamie, too, speaks to something inside. The words are choppy fragments and half-thoughts, slivers of conversation that is perhaps only spoken by accident. “Road hospital,” they mutter. “It’s—no, we can’t, can’t risk that. And it’s too far to—right. So that’s why—yeah.” They look over at you, their expression pained. “If you hurt them,” they say. “I swear to god, if I find out you’re perforating organs or laying eggs or doing anything, anything like that at all, I will pry you out of them with my bare hands and I will make you regret being born.”

You try to reassure them with a smile but that makes the fear-scent sharper, coarsened with earthy tones of anger and determination.

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: ESCAPE BY ENRIQUE IGLESIAS]

There is, by some miracle, a hospital along the road. You’ve seen signs for them a handful of times, oddly-shaped clinics knocked out of their cities, just stabilized enough to skitter around the Drift intact. This will be your first time visiting one. Jamie has some trouble navigating the parking lot, following contradictory, half-melted signs in search of the emergency room.

“You can take your time,” you say. Jamie looks at you worriedly. “You don’t have to rush. I’m okay.”

They take a deep breath, clutching the steering wheel. “Courier. If you’re listening, I want to apologize in advance if I say anything harsh. It’s not aimed at you, okay?”

You frown. You’re not getting anywhere. Jamie is too upset to listen. There’s a rawness to your divinity as you adjust to it and it to you. You don’t draw Jamie’s gaze but repel it. Your eyes unnerve them. This would be easier back home with your friends and family; with Malachi. But the time wasn’t right. You had to be led into the faith gently, one step at a time, and you’re sure Jamie will be the same way. That’s why you’re here now, to lead those uneasy steps in the right direction, so your next trip to Nelton will be their homecoming.

“Look within.” The voice is honey in your ear, a larger, stronger hand wrapped around yours. “Look deeply. There are two of them, and they are equally fearful.” You feel a nudge of love and guidance, a gently pressure in your mind urging you to relinquish control, to give yourself over completely. Something unfurls within you in ways you struggle to understand. You are reaching without moving your hands, speaking without moving your mouth. You are nestled against the cold stone of Jamie’s fears, running your fingers over its hard, unyielding surface. You are whispering promises of a better future into scarred tunnels of gray matter—

Something shrieks. You feel its rage like a storm of daggers and you are thrown out of Jamie’s mind, coming back to yourself pained and groggy, your visions swimming. The uncomfortably familiar sensations of suffocation make you panic. Jamie is choking you. Watching dispassionately as you flail and claw weakly at their wrists. Their eyes are half-lidded and cold, their gaze one of detached, impersonal annoyance.

“How irritating,” they mutter, something off about their tone and cadence. “Such great aspirations for little more than the tip of a finger. You are apex in the depths of your hive, but here, you are merely a nuisance. You will not shame me again.”

Then they gasp, flinching like they just snapped out of a nightmare, and they quickly let you go. You wheeze, gently touching your bruised skin. “I’m sorry,” Jamie says quietly, sounding shaken. They clutch their own hands against their chest as though unable to trust them. Tendrils of comfort thread through your thoughts, your savior reassuring you that this was not your fault.

The ER waiting room is quiet and sparsely populated, a handful of oozing wounds, hastily bandaged head injuries and twisted limbs. Car accidents are common in the Drift due to poor visibility. You’ve had some near-misses yourself over the years. The sight of Jamie walking briskly inside and you ambling after them gives the nurse behind the desk pause. She can tell there’s nothing wrong with you. But Jamie mutters something, shows their University ID and gestures to you several times, and the nurse suddenly looks ill.

The next thing you know, you’re being hurriedly ushered down a maze of white hallways, directed from one room to another by stony-faced specialists, many of whom keep their distance. You give a blood and saliva sample. You step into an unfamiliar machine that hums faintly. You are shown to an empty bed and given a hospital gown. You get an IV in your arm, staring at the clear liquid in the bag in confusion. Whatever it is, it makes you tired, your limbs feeling like jelly.

Jamie pulls up a small metal chair from the corner of the room and holds your hand when a doctor comes in. They know each other, you notice. The doctor used to work at the University clinic. Everyone looks so miserable. You wish they would look at you but they’re careful to avoid your eyes.

“It’s not one I’m familiar with,” Jamie murmurs, their thumb smoothing over your knuckles. “Point of entry was the mouth, I’m fairly certain. There was some irritation around the lips and they were spitting up blood for a while. Motor skills and speech haven’t been affected but there’s obviously something…wrong. The other hosts were extremely well coordinated. It might be a colonial organism.”

The doctor checks the dilation of your pupils, your reflexes, your vision. “I haven’t seen this one before, either,” the doctor admits. “There are signs of internal trauma consistent with several types of parasitic infections. The width suggests a fairly large organism, but it’s not showing up on scans at all. The good news is I see no indication that it’s migrated into the brain.”

“But their eyes…” Jamie is pointedly not looking at you. The doctor glances at you and you try again desperately to smile, to look happy and eager to explain, but he looks away quickly.

“That does concern me. We might have some more answers once the lab work comes back. In the meantime, the anti-parasitic should keep it docile.”

Anti-parasitic? Your savior soothes you. Neither of you are in any danger. They have no idea what’s inside you. They’ll never find it, no matter how hard they look. This is a good opportunity. You and Jamie are alone again. They get up and pace, speaking in harsh whispers. Just one step. That’s all you need them to take. One bridge of understanding. You’re not hurt or sick. You’re better than you’ve ever been and you can make them better, too.

“Jamie?” you say. “Can you come here for a second?”

They flinch. There’s a moment of silence before they turn around, studying your relaxed posture, but your enthusiasm falters when you see their vacant gaze, the smile that doesn’t reach their eyes. “Of course, courier,” they say smoothly. They reach back without looking and lock the door. Jamie’s confident stride becomes a slow, predatory saunter. Their palm rests on the edge of the bed and then the other, the flimsy mattress dipping beneath their weight as they straddle your waist. You’re drawn into a kiss by a firm hand on your chin. Jamie’s lips move insistently, hungrily, against yours. They’re voracious, nipping and licking and eager to twine their tongue with yours.

Something sharp pricks the inside of your mouth. You whimper and jerk back. Jamie licks your blood from their lips. A sharp, insectoid limb darts out at the corner of their mouth before vanishing again.

“You’re not Jamie,” you say nervously.

“Oh? I’m not?” they murmur. You try to sit up and they shove you back down, flicking their thumb over your windpipe briefly in warning, hard enough to hurt. “Humans are the sum of their parts, are they not? I am a scar in the brain and the repairing enzymes that prevented further atrophy. I am the neural tissue in which memory is encoded. I am half the sky in our starmap of consciousness. You could not possibly draw a line between us. You, on the other hand…” They smile coldly, their grip on your neck shifting. You shiver at the slow, sensual way they stroke the sides, digging their fingertips into the sensitive patches beneath your skin.

There’s a war in your head. The words of the divine warn that this is dangerous, that you are made weak and vulnerable by this sort of touch, but your instincts are purring for more.

“It’s relatively common to treat behavior-altering Drift parasites by overwhelming the host,” Jamie says. “At the University, we might induce laughter, or frustration, or pain. The more agitated your host becomes, the more energy you expend trying to maintain control.” They’re not slow or gentle. They squeeze mercilessly, pressing hard against the sides of your neck and keeping you trapped between pain and pleasure. It’s good. It hurts. It makes you buck your hips and whimper beneath their palm.

You hear yourself begging—for more, for it to stop. Your cheeks are wet with tears. Jamie keeps a hand on your shoulder and that’s enough to keep you pinned when you’re shivering and indecisive. When they kiss you, you can feel the cruel smirk on their lips. You don’t know which part of this they’re enjoying; your squirming, your cries and your hoarse, rasping whimpers of their name, the heat of apprehension under your skin as something retreats further inward, deeper into you.

Jamie—this side of Jamie, the fluke, however you want to think of it—doesn’t kiss the same way they did in the tunnel. This is harsh and biting yet coolly detached, closely observing your reactions. They nip and nibble, tugging at your lip with their teeth. They cup your jaw and force it open wider and you feel even more heated and obscene like this, saliva flowing easily from the clumsy dance of your tongue with theirs.

That stinging pain is back again, deeper in your mouth. This time, it doesn’t stop. Jamie doesn’t let you pull away. It feels like there are thorns pushing their way in, a dozen barbed appendages poking and prodding mercilessly at the soft tissue in your throat. Every time you whimper and choke, they caress your neck, fondling and squeezing until you start to relax again. It’s too much. The invasive sensation is like a centipede crawling down your throat, teething at everything it can reach. The pain becomes stronger than the pleasure and a sob tears from your throat.

You lash out blindly, the heel of your palm striking Jamie’s face. It’s not hard enough to do any real damage but it makes them freeze. They blink, their hands settling on your shoulders. The miserable, sandpaper drag of something hard and sharp slowly rising out of your throat almost makes you gag. You glimpse it only briefly—dark, saliva-slick carapace, dozens of long, hair-like appendages still wiggling—before it slithers back into Jamie’s mouth.

Tears stream down their cheeks. They try to steady themselves with a breath and sob instead. “I’m sorry,” they croak. “We…I thought I could find it and get it out, but I just hurt you and scared you and I couldn’t reach it. I keep messing up and doing the wrong thing. I’m just…I’m so scared. I don’t want to lose you.” They stroke your cheek, guiltily rubbing their thumb over the irritated chafing at the corner of your lips where something sharp was rubbing. “There’s going to be another shift tonight. I thought I could get you back to the University by tomorrow, even if we went the long way around and avoided Anchor. I’d have help. More resources. I don’t know what we’re going to do now.”

You place your hand over Jamie’s, nuzzling into the warmth of their palm. “We’ll figure it out,” you say hoarsely.

Jamie lets out a breath. “That sounds like you,” they say. “The real you, not that thing. Maybe I did something right after all, or the IV’s kicking in.”

You lie back. The voice in your head has gone quiet. Retreated for now, you think, hesitant to show itself. There’s just faint whispers at the edge of your awareness, easy to ignore. “I want to leave in the morning,” you say.

Jamie shakes their head, climbing off of you and settling back into the chair beside the bed. They clasp one of your hands between both of theirs. “We need to stay, courier. We’re not going to know where the University is.”

“I don’t care. I want to keep moving. I don’t feel right sitting still.”

“That’s really not a good idea. We still have to get your blood work results so we know what this thing is. Maybe try another scan—”

“They’re not going to find it,” you say. “It’s human tissue. It won’t look any different.”

Jamie’s confusion shifts to horrified realization. “It’s a child of the road, isn’t it?”

It told you in its own strange way, parables and foggy imagery. That’s why it wanted you so badly. That’s why it made you an “angel.” You’re closer to it than anyone else in Nelton. The thought makes your heart ache. “It doesn’t seem right,” you say quietly. “There’s so many more of us than I ever realized, but we’re all so lonely.”

Jamie brings your hand to their lips, gently kissing the back. They squeeze it gently. They’re quiet for a long time, tense with sadness and guilt. “I guess we are, aren’t we?”

(next)

#rotpeach writes #goretober #the drift

26 notes · View notes

theforgottenmcrmy · 1 year

Text

Reprieve~ Part 1/3 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader

᯽ Please note that this is an overall Part 18 to the series Growing Strong. The masterlist, and part 1, can be found HERE ᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, mentions of past character death, mentions of miscarriage

Summary: Grief for her child, her father, her crown. There was no use drawing comparisons- you were certain all of it cut her just as deeply.

A/N: I’m back. It’s my birthday, and I’m giving myself the gift of easing some of the guilt I’ve felt by keeping you on hold with this story for a while😅 in all seriousness, i hope you enjoy. if you have stuck with this story so far, I appreciate the hell outta you. this one’s a bit angsty, but part 2 will include some fluffier moments with the kids, and part 3 will have an awkward dinner between both families. i hope you enjoy🖤

PS, the poll hath spoken, and part 2 should be posted Thurs 3/30, and part 3 should be up Sat 4/1.

Never before had you written so much at any one time.

Your hands ached, practically begging for relief. For how important you believed it was for these letters to be sent out by raven at once- as they were, for you had requested someone stop by every half hour past to collect the letters you had already completed- the task of actually penning the words to paper was not nearly as forgiving as you had hoped it to be.

One of the only comforts you were able to take was that you were in good company.

At the very thought, you looked up from your current letter, which was addressed to Lord Alan Tarly, and over towards your companion, who was seated at the same table, in the chair across from you. As though he had felt your soft gaze, Harwin ceased his own writing immediately, and his hazel eyes snapped up to meet yours. The smile he gave you was a tired one, but genuine. You wondered if his hands pained him as much as yours did.

In a shameless bit of self-indulgence, you allowed more pleasant thoughts to drift into your weary mind. Alone in the quiet chambers Rhaenyra had prepared for the two of you some time ago, it was almost too easy to imagine that you at Harwin were back at home, in your shared study at Highgarden, enjoying a calm evening unwinding after a delicious supper.

It was almost too easy to forget that you were far removed from the Reach, and in Dragonstone, blindly making your way through the aftermath of King Viserys’s death. For the briefest of moments, you allowed yourself to pretend as though you were not waiting with bated breath, passing the time idly until it was decided, by forces beyond your control, whether the Seven Kingdoms would be put to the torch as two Targaryens fought for the vacated seat their father’s passing had left behind.

You brought your focus back to your letter.

To Lord Alan Tarly,

By now, it is likely that the grave news of the passing of King Viserys has reached Horn Hill…

You had lost track of how many of the letters had started in the same manner. But there were only so many ways your sentiments could be expressed, and time was of the essence.

After your arrival in Dragonstone, and once Queen Rhaenyra had had the opportunity to apprise you of the current standing, you and Harwin had mutually agreed that it would be best to write letters to your closest kin and peers immediately. Primarily, the letters that you and your husband had spent the better part of a few hours writing were addressed to the various lords and ladies across the Reach and Riverlands. Throughout the process, you hoped to thoroughly examine those you both knew who might also be sympathetic to the queen’s cause.

First, Harwin had written to his steward, Lord Dannis Chambers, at Harrenhal. He warned him of the grave reality of the impending war, and urged him to prepare the castle and Harrentown accordingly. After this had been achieved, Harwin wasted no time recounting all the atrocious crimes he now believed his brother, Larys, had committed, and advised Lord Dannis that if Larys made any attempt to contact him, he was to be notified at once. Lord Dannis was also instructed to detain Larys on sight, should the Master of Whisperers be so bold enough as to attempt to gain entry into Harrenhal.

But Larys’s treachery had gone undetected for years- you did not believe him anywhere near daft enough to try such an outlandish thing. You had voiced as much to Harwin, hoping it would reassure him, but Harwin was of the mind not to leave any matters pertaining to the kinslayer up to chance.

Next, Harwin had written to his sisters- and by extension, their husbands. The letters proved particularly challenging for him, but completely necessary. Lilyan and Eyla deserved to know the truth of what happened to their father, even if it meant tainting the image they may have had for their other brother. In his letters, Harwin kept the recount of the discovery to a minimum, not wishing to distress his sisters any further than his words were already likely to. He made promises to explain in further detail the next time they met.

Like he had Lord Dannis, Harwin urged Lilyan and Eyla to compel their husbands, Lord Cerran Leygood and Lord Joseth Smallwood, to begin making their own preparations. Neither you or Harwin anticipated Lord Cerran or Lord Joseth to deflect and support the Usurper. Not only had both Lilyan and Eyla served alongside you as ladies in waiting to Princess Rhaenyra, but Lord Cerran, as one of your liege lords, had also pledged fealty to you as Lady Paramount of the Reach. And Lord Joseth was one of the most honorable men you had known; he would uphold the pledge his father had made to King Viserys, and bow to Queen Rhaenyra as his one true successor.

After those had been written, Harwin had written to his extended kin- the houses his mother and father had descended from- and to a few other neighboring houses in the Riverlands whom he believed could be swayed, if they were not already, to support Queen Rhaenyra.

Most regrettably, the Reach was another matter.

As their liege lady, all the ruling lords and ladies of the land had pledged fealty to you after King Viserys had proclaimed you as the heir to Highgarden and the Lady of House Tyrell. In turn, as you had pledged fealty to uphold Rhaenyra as the true heir to the Iron Throne and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, it was expected that all the other houses in the Reach would fall in line, and join you in offering her their support. However, as demonstrated by House Hightower’s heinous deflection and usurpation of the throne, such was not to be the case, and even words vowed by the oldest and noblest of houses could not be taken at face value.

You deemed your first letter, which was addressed to your uncle and steward, Lord Elwood Meadows, to be of the utmost importance. In your letter, you were insistent that preparations be made with the utmost haste. Highgarden stood between Oldtown and King’s Landing, and if army reinforcements were to be called to the capitol from the Hightowers’s stronghold, the army would most likely march through Highgarden’s lands. Until the lords and lady of the Reach declared for Queen Rhaenyra or the Usurper, it was wiser to assume that Highgarden was surrounded by potential enemies, and to prepare the men and supplies with that belief in mind.

You had written to the Reach nobles who you felt confident would support the Queen if war was to come after that. There were at least a few lords and ladies who had never given you cause to doubt their allegiance.

But you had not bothered to send correspondence to Oldtown, or to the Arbor. Your cousin, Lord Garrett Redwyne, had coveted Highgarden and the Tyrell family titles since you had inherited them. As a direct result, your relationship with one another had been severely strained for many years. Though you had no ill will for his mother, your aunt Elayne, placing blind faith on your cousin to uphold his oath and pledge the Redwyne fleet to Queen Rhaenyra would be incredibly foolish. Besides, he was married to Cerelle Lannister now- and whatever gold you might have been able to offer and persuade him, the Lannisters could offer him twice as much, if not more.

By the time Elinda, a particularly favored handmaiden for many years, arrived and informed you that Queen Rhaenyra wished to speak with you, you had just finished the last of your letters, and Harwin his. It was perfect timing, and a perfect distraction from the dull tingling in your hands.

“I shall come with you,” Harwin offered without hesitation, rising to his feet as he reached across the table to gather the last of the small parchment scrolls.

You followed his lead, but both of you paused once Elinda spoke up. “My apologies, My Lord. But Her Grace has requested to speak with Lady Y/N… only Lady Y/N.”

The girl sounded hesitant, and perhaps looked a bit apprehensive, too. But there was no need. In response to her words, a look of understanding washed over Harwin’s face, and he gave you a knowing look.

You believed that he had also caught a glimpse of what you suspected to be a funeral pyre outside the entrance of the castle. Judging by the soft remorse in his eyes, you now knew it to be true. Harwin had more than likely drawn his own conclusions as to the nature of what Princess Rhaenyra wished to speak with you about, and could understand why his presence was not desired.

“Of course,” Harwin relented graciously, nodding to Elinda. Turning to you, he proposed, “Perhaps I shall find our sons, and ensure they have not begun to create any trouble for themselves.”

Whilst your traveling party had begun to settle into their own lodgings, the remainder of the group arrived from the docks, as Prince Jacaerys had arranged. Brynna was tending to Luciya, but your sons had opted to find ways to occupy their own time- most likely they sought to become reacquainted with the Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys.

However Derrik and Selwin had chosen to spend their time the last few hours, you did not believe them likely to cause any legitimate trouble. This was in light of the fact that you were all guests, and only welcomed in Dragonstone by the Queen’s will. But there were dragons all around, and tensions were high. Misunderstandings could turn dire in the blink of an eye.

“I will find them,” Harwin reiterated, glancing down at the last of small scrolls upon the table, “right after I give these over to Maester Gerardys to be sent out.”

“That would probably be for the best,” you agreed, albeit a little reluctantly.

But before you could step away from the table to follow Elinda, Harwin stopped you. Mindful of the fact that the two of you had company, he settled for lightly grasping your hand and bestowing a kiss on top of it.

“I will meet with you later,” he promised.

Your husband’s voice was light and reassuring; it was comforting, even. You would hold on to that as you braced yourself for what was likely to be a particularly daunting conversation with the queen.

You nodded to him with a small smile, fighting off a heat that threatened to rise to your cheeks despite your best efforts.

As you were escorted to Queen Rhaenyra’s chambers, you wrung your burning hands together, hoping the gesture would help restore some of the feeling. Before leaving your chambers, you thought you had scrubbed away most of the ink that had stained your hands during your writing efforts. But as you passed underneath flickering torches that lined the tone hallways of the Stone Drum, you caught brief glimpses of a few black splotches that you had apparently missed.

Fortunately, you severely doubted your liege would pay them much mind.

When you arrived outside of the queen’s chambers, you saw that two members of the now Queensguard were keeping post by the door.

The first was Ser Lorent Marbrand. Though he had been elevated to the Kingsguard during King Viserys’s reign some number of years ago, the fair haired knight from the Westerlands had always been a common face among Rhaneyra’s household guard. It was reassuring to see that he had elected to continue to serve King Viserys’s rightful heir.

The second was Ser Steffon Darklyn. The uncle of Lord Gunthor Darklyn bore a much sterner expression than his counterpart. Though Ser Steffon’s face was wrinkled with age, the sheer resolve etched into his features suggested that whatever laid ahead, he did not fear it. His tried and true experience he had gained during his service to King Viserys would undoubtedly be a crucial asset for the queen now.

You nodded to both men in silent greeting as the handmaiden Elinda, who had been escorting you, lightly tapped her knuckles on the closed door. A moment later, you heard a muffled voice bid you to enter from within.

Elinda opened the door slowly, and you followed her into the room cautiously. After stepping a few more steps through a short corridor, you were temporarily blinded by the sun streaming into the open room.

Elinda was not phased. “Lady Y/N, as you requested, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Elinda. That will be all.”

Elinda bowed her head and retreated, closing the door softly behind her as she went.

You squinted and allowed yourself a moment for your eyes to adjust. When your vision became clear once more, you spotted the familiar figure of Queen Rhaenyra across the room. Dressed in the same black gown she had donned that morning, she stood beside a table on the far side of the room, positioned right before the open balcony. In the comfortable silence, you heard the soft lull of waves and the squawking of the seagulls in the distance.

“Come, Y/N. Sit with me.”

Queen Rhaenyra took a seat, and you did not hesitate to heed her order. You crossed the room in a few short strides before swiftly claiming the seat across the small table from where she had settled. The table was bare, save a pitcher of wine and a pair of goblets.

As you made yourself comfortable on the chair, your longtime companion placed another object on the table.

“This is for you and your husband.”

You glanced at the folded piece of parchment as the queen slid it smooth across the table towards you. It was sealed in green wax, with an emblem you had seen no more than a handful of times. But once you recognized it, your interest was piqued immediately.

“What is it?”

“Otto Hightower deemed me deserving of a personal visit yesterday,” Queen Rhaenyra said, avoiding answering your posed question directly, though you suspected her tale would lead to the information you sought regardless. “He hand delivered terms of peace, written by the Dowager Queen on behalf of my half-brother, to all my bannermen who have already gathered here. I did not dare to correct his assumption that you and Lord Harwin had already arrived in Dragonstone, for I feared doing so would put you in further undue danger.”

Admittingly, the thought had not crossed your mind. You had suspected Larys to be the sole perpetrator behind the attack on your traveling party following the departure from King’s Landing. But you had not given pause to consider what Otto Hightower, Queen Alicent, the Usurper, or any other Green for that matter would stand to gain had you failed to reach Dragonstone. Death was one matter, but the thought of you, Harwin, and your children being captured and forced to do as the Usurper bid was another altogether, and one that made you want to shudder. You would have, had Queen Rhaenyra not been watching your every move with keen eyes.

She inched the parchment even closer to you. The seal, barring the emblem of the Hightower in Oldtown, and surrounded by a single crown, was Queen Alicent’s personal sigil. What the dowager queen thought to offer you was beyond your imagination, but it did entice curiosity. You and Harwin had been among Rhaenyra’s most fervent supporters for many years, and you knew Alicent not to be so foolish as to presume either of your loyalties could be bought for some mere gold.

Finally appeasing the queen’s silent request, you took the letter into your own two hands. “You said Otto Hightower brought terms of peace… Is that to say you were offered terms as well?”

“I was.”

“And do you mean to accept them?”

The look that flashed across Queen Rhaenyra’s face was a conflicted one, but she masked it rather quickly. “It matters little whether or not I wish to settle this peacefully. We both know that I cannot. The Usurper has made a mockery of my father’s declaration, and his selfish greed has threatened to plunge the entire realm into a war amongst itself. I have already begun to receive pledges of support, and though I hope I will receive more yet, accepting anything less than my own ascension to the Iron Throne will be a grave insult to all who have already sworn themselves to my cause. Even if I could reconcile myself with all of this, I am not the only one who shall suffer if I accept the dowager queen’s proposals. My children will never, ever be safe. And if you believe my husband will willingly bend the knee to my witless half-brother, you must understand him even poorer than I.”

Her last statement was an odd one, but it was not peculiar enough to comment upon at that moment. You could not picture the Rogue Prince bending to Aegon, not even in your wildest imagination. Every point Queen Rhaenyra had made was completely valid, which was why her next words to you took you by utmost surprise.

“You must take great care to consider whatever Dowager Queen Alicent has offered you and Harwin, Y/N.”

“... You do not mean that we should-”

“All I ask is that you discuss it with Harwin, and that the two of you are absolutely certain of your decision. Whatever you choose will not be able to be undone.”

“Harwin and I have been writing to those who we believe may be drawn to support you all morning,” you informed her, hoping it would persuade her to cease the fruitless conversation.

“I have seen the intermittent ravens being sent out over the past few hours, and I suspected as much.”

By this point, confusion was nowhere near adequate enough to describe what you were feeling. “And you would still have us consider betraying you and throwing our support behind the Usurper instead?”

“I would have you choose whatever you believe is best for your family,” the queen corrected, her tone becoming icy as she fought to make her intentions clear. “I consider you a friend, as I also do your husband. Swearing oaths, even to a king, when you are young and without much to lose is one thing. But we both have more to lose now than ever before. Wealth will come and go. Castles can be destroyed and rebuilt. But the children… The children could never be replaced. And you know as well as I do that not even the gods choose to spare them in times of war.”

She was not talking about Jacaerys, Lucerys, or Joffrey. Not even Aegon or Viserys. As nearly unfathomable as it was, in the silence that followed the queen’s words, you took a few moments to truly contemplate her suggestion.

You pocketed the parchment at once, taking care not to fold it any further than what was necessary. “I will discuss it with Harwin later.”

Queen Rhaenyra looked placated by your response. “That is all I ask. Take the day to decide. In two days time, the Greens will expect to receive an answer from me in response to their proposed terms. It would be best to have your family’s answer by then as well.”

“We shall have it to you even sooner than that,” you promised, knowing that whatever decision you reached with Harwin, you were likely going to be of the same mind.

“Very well. I plan to reconvene my council first thing tomorrow morning. Should you and Harwin decide to join us, I will accept that as your answer.”

“You do not mean to meet with your council today?”

“I have decided to give myself a bit of reprieve,” she answered carefully, reaching across the table to grab the pitcher of wine. Pouring wine into one of the goblets for herself, she continued, “I had hoped the Sea Snake would reach our shores by now, so that I may have an idea of what naval support to expect.”

“The Sea Snake lives?” That was news to you, but it was news most welcome.

“Yes, he does. While I am hopeful that Lord Coryls will eventually offer me his support, I cannot bring myself to rely on it. I must continue to plan how best to proceed with the assumption that only those who have already pledged their support are able to be called upon.”

Of course, Rhaenyra would not turn away any additional allies who would pledge themselves to her. And you believed her caution with Lord Corlys was most wise. However, despite the fact that Lord Coryls had been insistent that Lucerys was next in succession of the Driftmark throne throughout the many years since Ser Laenor’s passing, you had begun to accrue a personal understanding of how drastically a brush with the Stranger could change someone. Perhaps the Sea Snake would change his mind… and perhaps he would feel even more compelled to do so with an appealing offer from the Usurper.

You surmised then, “I suppose you would not wish to hear the details of whom Harwin and I have written to?”

“While I appreciate the efforts you have taken, that will not be necessary right now. You may give me the information on the morrow- should you and Harwin join the council meeting, that is. Perhaps you will have even received a few answers by then. But no- that is not why I have summoned you here. Nor was passing along my half-brother’s offer of peace for your family the sole reason, either.”

“I am a guest, and I am at your bidding- what is on your mind?”

“Should you allow it, I wish to speak with you, friend to friend.”

“Of course, My Queen.”

“Please, Y/N. We are alone.”

It was not the first time Rhaenyra had insisted on dropping formalities, but complying with her requests never seemed to get any easier. This was made additionally difficult by the fact that she was no longer a princess, but queen. Whether it be the manners and proprietary that had been instilled in you from a young age, or simply from the sheer amount of respect you held for her, it was foreign to your tongue to address her so informally. But you found a way.

“You are always welcome to speak freely with me, Rhaenyra.”

You watched in silence as she placed the pitcher back onto the table and wasted no time in raising the goblet to her lips.

“Would you care for some?” she asked after a moment, tilting the goblet in your direction. “The hour is still early, but as Maester Gerardys has informed me that my only other alternative for the pain is milk of the poppy, I consider this to be a necessary indulgence.”

Only a short while ago, the then Princess Rhaenyra had confided to you of King Viserys’s poor state of health, which she believed had been exacerbated by Queen Alicent’s maesters administration of milk of the poppy. In light of this, it was not hard to imagine the new queen would not consent to such a treatment for herself.

For a moment, all that could be heard within the chambers were the waves and seagulls from outside. As Queen Rhaenyra took another sip of wine, you watched your former lady carefully, contemplating what, if anything, you should say.

In the end, you decided to follow her lead, doing away with frivolity and speaking plainly as to what was in your heart.

“I am sorry, Rhaenyra.”

She looked at you then, truly looked at you. It was done in such a commanding way that forbade you from looking elsewhere, even if you had wished to. Initially, you thought she might become cross with your lack of formality- despite her earlier plea. But there was no anger in her eyes, only grief. Grief that, judging by the unshed tears in her eyes, was still painfully fresh.

Grief for her child, her father, her crown. There was no use drawing comparisons- you were certain all of it cut her just as deeply. You shared in her grief, and as uncomfortable as it was for you, it was undoubtedly worse for her.

“I’ve lost my daughter,” Queen Rhaenyra elaborated then, finally looking away. She idly traced the rim of her goblet slowly with her forefinger. “My Visenya.”

She had never confided to you what she had intended to name her daughter, had her hopes been correct. But you would have expected Rhaenyra to grant her child no less of a grand name for her much-desired daughter.

Unsure of what else to say, you praised, “A fine name for a princess, My Queen.”

“It was.”

Though you had your suspicions, you gently coaxed, “What happened?”

Rhaenyra continued to trace the goblet’s rim. Her focus was upon that now, as she recalled the painful tale. A grounding practice, you supposed.

“Princess Rhaenys had flown from King’s Landing. How many days had passed since my father died, we do not know, for Princess Rhaenys was kept a prisoner in her own chambers, whilst my father’s grieving widow and her own spiteful father conspired to crown my half-brother. She witnessed the crowning, Rhaenys. She says the common folk cheered for Aegon, as though he was the one, true king- until she burst through the floor of the Dragonpit with Meleys.”

You tried to imagine the scene that Queen Rhaneyra described. After only a moment, you decided you would have much preferred to have borne witness to Princess Rhaenys’s disruption of the Usurper's coronation than what you had endured on the road to Duskendale. Did Aegon tremble in fear whilst staring into the teeth of Meleys? Did Criston Cole make himself useful in any way, and attempt to protect his new king, or did he too think the end was near and cower? Did Dowager Queen Alicent show any remorse for the doom she had inflicted upon herself and her children, or had she been willing to accept her fate with forlorn resolve?

“She could have burned them all. But she did not. She flew here instead, and told me everything that transpired. When she did, well… I suppose the news was too much. Too shocking. In the end, my own body betrayed me.”

She quickly took a few more sips of wine, as though doing so would erase the memory. For a while, you supposed it could. For her sake, you hoped it would.

Feeling emboldened by the crass conversation, you took the moment of silence to fill your own goblet. Following suit, you knocked the cup back and drank until your throat burned, silently crying for air.

When you lowered your goblet once more, you were surprised to find the Queen’s attention had reverted back to you, giving you an- even more surprisingly- amused smirk.

“It is a relief to see someone so willing to share in my sorrows, rather than to merely suggest ways in which I may overcome them.”

“Most men already presume women to be easily controlled by their emotions. While we know that to be false, perhaps we ought to indulge their assumptions every now and then- lest we lose our advantage of surprise.”

Queen Rhaenyra let out a dry chuckle. “Perhaps.” Then, just as quickly as it had come, the joy fleeted from her. “My Visenya,” she sighed again, before taking another sip. When she set the goblet back down on the table once more, it was with great force. “She was my only daughter, and they killed her. They stole my crown and murdered my daughter, and they shall answer for it.”

“They will.”

“I suppose now we only need to wait to see if they will accept their sentence willingly, or if it will need to be impressed upon them.”

There was a distinction to be made. You took Queen Rhaenyra’s word as law- if she said she intended to punish those who unjustly usurped her throne, you believed her full-heartedly. But the lack of conviction in her additional statement led you to believe that war itself was not her sole desire. Should war come, it would have only been the means by which she used to secure her ends.

“But enough talk of all that,” she dismissed then, obviously eager to move on to another topic. “There is something else I wished to speak with you about. You left King’s Landing the same day as my family, and yet, you had not reached Duksendale when Lord Darklyn set sail for Dragonstone. He told me that before he left, Harwin had taken to the road to find you for himself. Once I heard of this, I deposed some of my loyal scouts on the mainland, in the hope that they could be of assistance to locate you and your party. Although, it seems that by the time they had begun to search, you were nowhere to be found.”

You said nothing, both unwilling and unable to comment just yet. The mere mention of what transpired during your travels still unsettled you greatly. The ambush, the moments you spent in pure fear for your life, the awful act you’d been forced to commit in your own self-defense… It was too soon. You had yet to come to true terms with it yourself. How could you reasonably expect Rhaenyra to understand?

“What happened, Y/N?” she pried, noticeably more gentle. “I have spoken freely with you- I do hope you know that you are extended that same courtesy. Especially amongst the two of us.”

She had sensed your hesitation.

Although you did not wish to speak of it, you could not bring yourself to lie to the queen either… Omitting certain parts of the tale would, at the very least, make it easier to recount.

“The escort was waylaid by brigands, My Queen. We lost two of our men, and had my husband and reinforcements not located us in time, I fear even more lives would have been lost.” My own among them.

It was clearly not what she had anticipated you to say, and as a result, Rhaenyra looked troubled by this. She gripped the goblet in her hand tightly. “Brigands?” she echoed. “This was a random attack? I do not care for that at all. Roads in the Crownlands are supposed to be very well patrolled.”

You hesitated, torn between deceiving Rhaenyra and confessing information that was not entirely yours to share. In the end, you reasoned that if she planned to take King’s Landing by force, she ought to know about all the snakes that dwelled within it. Gods forbid a certain Master of Whisperers find himself a quick tongue and talk himself out of being punished for sympathizing with the Usurper. Harwin would not let Larys get away with the more personal crimes he had committed against him and the Strong family, and if the queen was knowledgeable of them as well, any attempts to slither away that Larys might make would be futile.

“It has since come to light that the fire at Harrenhal was intentional, Your Grace.”

Confusion flickered over Rhaenyra’s otherwise calm disposition, not that you could blame her. “Harrenhal? What does that have to do with your traveling party being attacked on the road?”

“The death of Lord Lyonel was no accident at all. Someone meant to have him killed, and they meant to claim the lives of Harwin, our sons, and myself along with him. The fire was a plot, meant to look as an accident, just as our attack on the road was coordinated, and designed to appear as entirely coincidental. The orchestrator of both schemes is one in the same.”

“But… How? How do you know all of this? And who is it that you stake these very grave accusations against?”

“The only man who stood to gain from the death of the Lord of Harrenhal, and all his other heirs.”

A/N: Any feedback is very much appreciated. I hope you guys have had and continue to have a wonderful week🖤

76 notes · View notes

makur0 · 2 years

Note

hii could i request a mao x fem reader where reader is getting behind on their work for school, and the concepts are all just too hard for her! :( so mao offers to tutor her to the best of his ability~ but soon enough, that tutoring session turns into a hopeless one as reader gets more and more lazy.. so then mao decides to let her sit on his cock while studying!! get the answer right, he lets her move a little bit for both of their pleasure. get the answer wrong, he makes her sit absolutely still. but who is he kidding, he can’t control himself and ends up making love to her anyway!

“I can’t help myself, you look so pretty…”

synopsis — he sees you struggling with your schoolwork, so he tries to help. of course, things don't go as intended and soon you're bent over... [mao isara x fem! reader]

content warnings — nsfw, mdni. semi-exhibitionism, penetration, cockwarming, edging, praise, sexual frusturation, breeding (mentioned), slightly obsessive behavior

author's note — I LOVE MAO I LOVE HIM HES MY KIN MY EVERYTHING GOD SEND ME A MAN LIKE HIM *says this while scrolling through mao cgs ahem*

word count — 1591

"[NAME]... YOU'RE FAILING."

You were in the Student Council office of Yumenosaki Academy after school hours, accompanied by the president himself, Mao Isara. His gaze stern yet sympathetic, he glanced at your careless figure slouched against the chair.

"[name]," He repeated, more firmly. "You have to change something soon, or you're going to be thrown out of the school."

...Even though that would be more of a fuss than having her fail nearly all of her classes. Not only would they lose a precious student in the Producer course, but he wouldn't have a chance...

"I don't have time to study, so therefore I don't pass," You shrugged, eye twitching. "And I don't have the patience nor the brain capacity for this shit-"

"Language. Please," Mao interjected, sighing. "Look, I know it's hard for somebody like you, but there are so many other students here in Yumenosaki and they persevere through it. You're a great student, I think you'll be able to succeed if you had your mind on it."

Crossing your arms, you broke off your eye contact with him, trying to hide your hurt gaze. He was right- you could have done so much better if you set yourself a goal, but with everything else going on in your life you didn't think you wanted to spare the energy for this... all you wanted to do was to just graduate and run off. What's so bad about that?

"How-" He cleared his throat. "How about I see your work? I think I may be able to help you."

Staring at him, brushing off his almost flustered look, you hummed and dragged your bag over, digging through it and bringing out your stuffed folder. Mao grimaced at the sheer number of packets, sheets, and overall papers that seem to be spilling out from every corner. Sliding it over to his side of the desk and opening it, he skimmed through the pile. Fortunately you did try to start most of the pages, but nearly all of them were unfinished.

"Here," He pulled out a blank worksheet. "Why don't you bring your chair over here and we can start on this one? This seems fairly easy."

"To you," You muttered under your breath, but you followed his directions and sat next to his Council chair, resting your arm on one of the rests.

Much to Mao's relief you didn't seem to argue about every little thing he listed off... but you didn't even try to answer them yourself. It got even worse when they barely made it through half of the first page, him having to constantly remind you to pay attention or reiterate several of his questions. It was like the more he got frustrated, the more you grew tired and lazy.

But he didn't want to give up on you. A part of his brain was almost... fantasizing. If he somehow solved your studying problem, would you like him? His heart jumped at the thought of you being thankful towards him, expressing your joy. Could this really be his chance?

He first had to just figure out how to make you focused on studying.

A loud whine shook him out of his thoughts. "It's not working, Isara," You complained. "Can I just leave? Please-"

"Ah, no!" He said, almost too quickly. You raised an eyebrow at his antics, and he brushed them off with a slightly embarrassed look. "I-I actually have a method of helping you..."

"If it's me getting dick then I'm up for it, but-" Faltering at your sudden joke, you stared at the red blossoming on Mao's face, almost matching his maroon hair. "Uh, Isara? I was joking..."

The President coughed into his fist, still extremely flustered. "I mean- if you think that would work we could definitely try..."

You stared at him. Did you really joke about sex that much that he took it seriously? You didn't even mention it once until now! What on earth...

The awkward tension arose and became almost suffocating until you finally opened your mouth. "I guess we could give it a go...? If you're alright with it, of course."

Mao swallowed, nodding quickly as he gestured to his lap. You stood up, but kept your eyes glued onto the desk, feeling your cheeks heating up as you heard him fuss with his belt and pants.

"You can sit down now..." He said quietly, and lifting your skirt up you lowered yourself on him, feeling his hands resting on your hips to guide you.

Suddenly glad that he couldn't see your expression, your eyes flew wide open and you bit your lip quickly.

He- oh god, how big is he?!

"A-alright then," Mao stuttered, looking over your shoulder and snaking his arms under yours to reach his desk. "Here, you get a question right and then you can- move. Get it wrong and sit still."

You already were struggling not to grind against him. Already a few seconds in and you were crying mentally. And the fact you couldn't see Mao's own expression...

Sighing, you tried to focus on the worksheet in front of you, your grip on the pen tightening. Thank the gods it was an easy question you couldn't mess up. Quickly scrawling out your answer, you tapped on Mao for him to check it, anxious energy radiating from the both of you.

"Yes," He breathed out, sounding relieved. "That's correct. Nice jobmm-" A stuttered groan left him as you immediately started to move, your head dipping as you pleased yourself. But as soon as you started Mao's hands grabbed your hips, slowing you down. "Start- on the next question now."

Looking through blurred eyes you glanced at the next question, and your throat parched.

Welp, this was it.

---

Your face was scrunched up in frustration and helplessness as you sat completely still on Mao's cock, your hands clenching and releasing as you used basically all of your willpower not to snap and just move. If you looked behind you, the President's eyes were half-lidded, biting his lip as he tried to push down his rising neediness. He really didn't expect it to be this bad when he tried this idea. Of course he was tempted to just accept your wrong answer, but he still had a shred of dignity left, and forced you to keep trying until you got the right answer.

How long were you in this? Thirty, forty minutes? You couldn't really think because your mind was in shambles. When you either had personal sessions or with somebody else (which was rare) you were quick to give you the pleasure you wanted, you needed. So to say the least, because you were basically being edged the only thing you could think about right now was how much you needed that orgasm.

"Here," You said shortly, almost slapping Mao as you showed him your paper, pleading that you were finally correct after so many failed tries.

Hazy green eyes looked at the paper, also wishing that the right answer was in front of him, but life was basically sucked out of him as his gaze fell on one, just one incorrect factor.

Fuck.

"It's wrong isn't it..." You whined, collapsing your torso on the desk and tossing your pen away. "I can't get it right! It's too hard!"

Panicked, Mao reached over to you to try to comfort you, but he had accidentally flipped your skirt over and revealed the scene under it. As soon as he saw it, he combusted.

Slick had started to pool out and decorate his pelvis, glinting brightly back at him. He saw your thighs twitching constantly, dotted with sweat.

That was his breaking point.

"Isara- ugh!" A shocked moan left you as you felt the male stand up behind you and suddenly thrust into you, causing you to grip the desk tightly. After all this time of staying still, you weren't the one to break, he was. He started fucking you erratically, small, whiny grunts leaving him. Soon enough noises of your own started to spill, but one of his hands went up to your mouth and shoved his fingers in there, muffling you.

"I'm sorry, sorry..." he mumbled against your back, his eyes scrunched up. "I can't help myself, you look so pretty..."

Due to the sensitivity before you came immediately, then was shoved harshly into overstimulation as Mao didn't seem to slow down at all. Your eyes fluttered close, drooling all over the male's fingers as your knees buckled, your only support now being the arm wrapped around your hips.

This was like a dream come true to him... well, sexualized of course. The way you tightened around him was almost like a verbal acceptance of his love to you. This was it, wasn't it? You were basically his now.

An unhinged moan left him as he orgasmed, green eyes dilating as he watched his seed fill you up and spill out, carelessly running down your shaking thighs.

You still laid over his desk, breathing heavily as he reached over and kissed you on the lips, smiling to himself as you immediately accepted it.

"How 'bout this..." He grabbed the worksheet and crumpled it into a ball, tossing it into his wastebasket. "A new game. The longer you stay quiet, the more we can keep going~ I’d be able to fill up you up, fill you up so well…”

"Fuckin' hell-" You sighed loudly. "Yes. Please, please—

"Atta girl... I knew I chose the right one.”

#enstars #ensemble stars #enstars smut #ensemble stars smut #mao isara #mao isara x reader #mao isara smut

299 notes · View notes

thebawdybaldurian · 2 months

Text

BG3FicFeb Day 18

SFW: Angst with a happy ending

Background: Tav, Astarion, and Halsin are in a poly amorous relationship. Tav and Astarion had planned to remain child-free, but when Tav accidentally becomes pregnant, she decides to carry the child so that her lover, Halsin, can have a child of his own.

NSFW: Illithids/Any Monster

I'm not really into monster fucking, so I'm just going to do a little what if drawing of Illithid Tav and Astarion that I'll post of my Twitter and Tumblr.

Tav was near the end of her pregnancy by the time a bout of severe anxiety hit. She was also constantly exhausted, her belly enormous, which she scowled at Halsin for. She fully expected their child to come out half-grown and nearly as big as he was. She stayed in bed most of the time, waddling around the cottage if she needed to use the toilet, which was frequent, or when both her husbands had gone out to get her things. They were both doting on her with all the care they could muster, trying to alleviate her anxiety, but it usually ended in her screaming at them to get out.

She feared she had made a mistake in keeping the child, that she would either hate it or never be able to let it go and become as controlling and emotionally abusive as her own parents had been. She worried the child would tear her body in two coming out or leave her unable to continue her life as a performer. She stressed about her husbands leaving her, raising a child all alone or if the child became very ill. She had made her husbands promise that her parents could never know about the child, because if they learned they had blood kin, they’d do everything they could to take it from her.

She slept fitfully in bed, Halsin and Astarion out dealing with the final preparations for the baby’s arrival. She’d been restless the entire day, trying to rearrange furniture and organize the kitchen despite her awkward size. The men had just been in the way, so she’d shooed them out with a few choice words. She finally awoke in terrible pain, her lower back aching and radiating around her to hips. She thought at first she’d just strained it pushing the couches around, but when she pulled back the covers, she saw both her chemise and the mattress underneath her was wet. “Great, I’ve pissed myself,” she sighed, rocking herself like an upside-down turtle to get out of bed with her enormous belly.

She groaned loudly as she got to her feet, the pain even worse. She immediately felt the urge to use the bathroom again and wondered if the baby was just squeezing her bladder for fun now. She waddled to the bathroom, pulling at the neck of her chemise so she could take it off and put on something dry. As she sat on the toilet with another loud groan, she could see her thighs tinged with blood-streaked mucus. “Oh…” She looked at it, feeling the anxious knot in her stomach squeeze tighter. “Shit, shit, shit, what does this mean?”

She waddled naked into the living room, in search of one of the midwives guides Halsin and Astarion had gotten her, but had only skimmed over because they were either boring or made her more anxious. Both her husbands had read them cover to cover, but neither of them were here now. She found one and began flipping through it before she became overwhelmed by a terrible cramp that doubled her over in pain. “Ahhh, what are you doing? Are you coming out?” She cried. She flipped through it again as the pain subsided and she found a section about preparing for labor. “Bloody mucus…yes…intense cramping…yes…” she continued down to checklist of signs of impending labor. “Shit! You asshole, your fathers aren’t even here to help!” She swore at her unborn child, looking down at her belly.

The bulk of her weight had shifted further down and she knew the baby would be coming anytime now. “Can I delay it in any way?” She looked through the book again before being overwhelmed by another cramp. “Gods! Please!” She yelled, barely able to stay on her feet. She was tempted to slip off the ring that allowed Astarion to walk in the sun, just for a moment, to alert them that something was wrong, but she worried about breaking the blood bond spell completely. It also meant that she couldn’t go for help, as it was still the middle of the day, and his sun affliction had been transferred to her. Halsin had at least coached her on their birth plan, utilizing her enormous bathtub for a water birth.

She waddled back to the bathroom and turned the faucet on the tub on, overcome by another cramp that brought her to her knees this time. By chance, or perhaps husband’s intuition, Halsin and Astarion returned at that moment, hearing her cries from the bathroom as they entered the cottage. “Clataedre!” Halsin tossed everything in his arms onto the kitchen table and ran to the bathroom. He found her leaned up against the tub sobbing. “My heart, what happened?” He helped her up.

“The baby…is…ahhhh coming…right now!” She moaned as the cramping subsided for a moment. “I thought I was going to have to do it alone.”

“I’m here, my queen, my beauty,” he wiped her tears away and kissed her cheeks.

He adjusted the water and helped her into the tub as Astarion came in. “Is it time?” Astarion looked at them.

“We believe so,” Halsin nodded as Tav groaned from another cramp.

“How far apart have the contractions been?” Astarion asked.

“I don’t know!” She yelled, as this one was the most painful yet. “I can barely think. I hate you both.”

“It sounds like she is very close,” Halsin tried to hide a grin.

He stayed at her side, prepared to assist in the delivery, as he’d done with several others both as First Druid and at the commune. Astarion knelt behind her to offer to moral support and a hand to squeeze. “Breath, Clataedre, it will be time to push soon,” Halsin checked her cervix.

“Fuck you!” She growled. “You both did this to me. I going to…argggggghhh…rip your cocks off!”

She squeezed so tightly on Astarion’s hand that he cried out. “Tav, you are hurting me!”

“You think this doesn’t hurt?!” She screamed. “Why are you smiling!?” She turned her attentions back to Halsin, who was grinning widely at her rage.

“I’ve witnessed she-bears give birth with less fury,” he blushed, gently stroking her stomach. He had to admit he was a little turned on by her ferocity.

“Well, if you don’t get this cub out of me, I’m going to feed you to one,” she scowled, having a brief respite from her contractions.

They came again soon enough and then it was time for her to push. She had let go of Astarion’s hand, for fear of breaking it, and gripped the edges of the tub as she growled. “That’s it, my love, I see the head. One or two big pushes and you will be done,” Halsin trembled with excitement, his first and only child nearly here.

She was exhausted and breathing heavy, her rage sapping all her strength. “It hurts so much, I can’t,” she cried as Astarion rubbed her shoulders.

“I know you can do it, my love,” he nuzzled against her neck, wrapping an arm around her chest. “We’ve gotten through worse, yes?”

“Yes,” she cried, preparing to bear down and push again.

She strained her throat as she pushed, groaning loudly as she felt the baby slip free of her hips, a sharp cry filling the bathroom. “It’s here!” Halsin said with more joy in his voice than could ever be contained. He cradled the baby in his arms, tears streaming down his cheeks. “It’s a boy, a beautiful, perfect boy.”

Tav opened her eyes, utterly exhausted and sunk back onto the tub. Halsin was beaming, his cheeks wet from tears, holding an enormous infant with a head of downy silver curls. “His…he has silver hair…just like,” she looked back at Astarion, who was crying as well.

“Silver hair is rare among the Silverboughs,” Halsin smiled. “So we will truly never know who the father is.”

Tav sunk back onto the tub, grasping Astarion’s arm, until she was once again overwhelmed by a terrible contraction. “Agggh, I thought it was over!” She cried, gripping Astarion’s arm tightly.

“It should just be the afterbirth,” Halsin looked her over, handing the boy to Astarion for a moment. He had no idea what to do with his son, having never held an infant before, so he just held him as tightly as Halsin had. Halsin saw movement around her still swollen belly and his heart skipped a beat. He’d listened and sang to her stomach almost nightly for the past few months and once or twice thought he’d heard a second heartbeat, but it had always synced back up to one. “My heart,” he looked in her eyes, his hands still on her stomach. “There is another coming.”

“Another!” Tav and Astarion said at the same time, their son crying out a little as they shouted.

“Another contraction? Another…ahhhhh,” she twisted in pain again, feeling the urge to push.

“I thought I heard a second heartbeat once or twice, but his must have been much louder than this one’s.”

“Twins?” Astarion’s eyes widened.

“They are a little less rare in the Silverboughs. I suppose I should have mentioned that,” Halsin blushed, moving to deliver their second and wholly unexpected child.

“Yes, you should…ahhhh,” Tav panted, barely able to keep her head up.

“This one should be much easier,” Halsin smiled, rubbing her belly. “This child appears much smaller.”

“Than the giant I just squeezed out?” She slumped a little. “I can’t…I’m so tired…”

“I know, my heart. Just a few more pushes…You have now given me the greatest gift in the world twice over…I will carry you everywhere…for the rest of your days.”

“You better,” she scowled, summoning the last of her energy to push.

Her cries were more subdued and she struggled a bit less, finally pushing free their second child, a petite and beautiful girl with the same downy silver curls as her brother. “A girl,” Halsin sobbed, as his daughter looked up at him quietly with the same amethyst eyes as her mother.

“Is she alright?” Tav slumped against the tub again, completely weak and exhausted. “She’s not crying.”

The baby cooed slightly, seemingly content to come into the world with much less bluster than her brother had been. “See for yourself,” he handed her their daughter so he could attend to her afterbirth and heal her. “I think she will be quiet and contemplative like her mother.”

“She has my eyes,” Tav smiled, as the tiny girl cooed softly again.

“He does as well,” Astarion beamed, still holding his son and looking down at his new daughter.

“This won’t be too much for you?” Tav asked sleepily as Halsin healed the tears to her pubic region. “Two infants at once…and all the other children at the commune.”

“I was given two arms for a reason,” his face hurt from smiling so much. He took the child back from Tav and motioned for Astarion to do the same, instructing him to always cradle the boy’s enormous head. “I will get the cubs put in their crib…we will need another at some point. Astarion can get you put into bed to rest,” He leaned in to nuzzle his head against hers and then planted a kiss on Astarion’s cheek. “I love you both more than anything.”

Halsin took the two drowsy infants to the bedroom and got them cleaned up and swaddled, before placing them in their cramped crib. He’d carved it by hand, but he would not have time to make another one. With her brother being much larger, his daughter would need her own as soon as possible. Astarion helped Tav up after kissing her deeply, showering her with affection. He guided her slowly to the bedroom, easing her down into one of the well-stuffed reading chairs they’d brought down from the loft when she’d gotten too big to climb up. He changed the soiled bedding quickly and brought her a clean chemise to wear that tied at the neck so she could nurse.

Their daughter finally began to fuss a little, so Halsin brought her over to nurse for a moment. “I think her brother was hiding her as a surprise,” Halsin smiled, helping Tav ensure she got a good latch. He stroked the infant’s head softly, her downy curls now dry and perfect just like Astarion’s.

“Quite a surprise,” Tav smiled, her eyelids fluttering from exhaustion.

Their daughter drifted off to sleep after a brief suckle, Halsin taking her back so Tav could rest. Astarion helped her into bed and tucked her in with another long kiss. Halsin had taken Tav’s chair, staring down at his daughter as she slept. He already knew she would consume his entire world. Astarion peeked at his son, dozing in his crib and then went to Halsin, planting a kiss on his forehead and stroking his daughter’s curls. “Thank you for doing this for me…both of you. I know neither of you ever expected to be parents…but you can have as much influence in their lives as you wish,” Halsin looked up at him.

“I can’t speak for Tav, since she was the one who actually had to carry them, but your smile made it all worth it,” Astarion grinned, leaning down to kiss him on the lips. “And they both have my amazing hair.”

Halsin laughed quietly, hoping not to disturb his sleeping daughter.

“I’ll head back out and look for another crib. We will need double the supplies now,” Astarion beamed, placing a gentle kiss on his daughter’s soft head.

He floated back down to the market like he was on air. How had his life changed so dramatically in only a few years? He was free of Cazador, in love with two people who adored and doted on him, and now he had two beautiful children he could watch grow up under the care of the most kind and gentle man that he’d ever met. He didn’t care how near impossible it was that they were actually of his seed, despite their hair. Whether or not the tadpole had changed it so he could bear children or that they just shared some of his traits by coincidence, he didn’t care. They were the fruit of a love he could never have imagined.

He found his way to one of the nicest furniture shops in the city, passerbys stopping to comment on his warm smile and glow, and he would announce that he’d just had twins. They’d offer congratulations and some of the other elves, who knew how rare such a birth was, offered gifts. By the time Astarion left the shop, a crib to be delivered to their cottage as soon as possible, he already had an armful of gifts for the infants. It was a good thing, as he’d left most of his coin purse for the crib, the fanciest and most beautiful one they had. Nothing would be good enough for his little princess.

He returned to find both Tav and Halsin sleeping in the bed, the girl still in Halsin’s arms and his son nestled against Tav as he’d nursed and fallen back asleep. He climbed in next to Tav, snuggling against her and taking his son in his arms, so he wouldn’t roll away. The five elves had an hour or two of uninterrupted rest, before everything began at once again. The crib was delivered with a loud knock, which woke everyone, two who needed to be changed right away and one that was so tired, she barely even opened her eyes.

Halsin attended to the crying infants’ diapers while Astarion brought the crib in. The bedroom was cramped now with the two cribs and the changing table and wash basin. They bumped into one another and carefully wound their way around all the furniture trying to attend to everything. This would be the chaos of the next month of their lives. Tav peeked an eye open, taking one glance at the extravagant crib Astarion had purchased, smiled, shook her head, and closed her eyes again.

#astarion #astarion x tav #tavstarion #astarion ancunin #bg3ficfeb #halsin x tav #daddy astarion #daddy halsin #halsin #halsin silverbough

18 notes · View notes

bonefall · 1 year

Note

so im curious, is ashfur in the dark forest (pre-the broken code)? does he still have the weird little control-possession powers over df cats? is he still possessing bramble, doing wacky shit in thunderclan?

also mildly unrelated. but what does mapleshade think of ashfur

Ashfur is no longer in the Dark Forest! But... I had to get rid of something that I love a lot to justify it; he no longer plots with Hawkfrost to kill Firestar. As a Hawkash lover it pained me but, it was for the best.

Ashfur is still a jealous, possessive ball of spite like in canon, but significantly more honorable. Enough to legitimately trick StarClan. Gooood-BYE "He Only Loved Too Much," you are NOT missed.

Bonefall Po3 (Specifically Cruel Season)

At the end of Bonefall Po3, he attacks the Three half out of jealousy, and half out of fear. He catches wind of the two prophecies; Fire and Tiger from TNP, and Kin of your Kin revealed near the end of Po3. He attacks Squirrelflight, telling her that if they had been his, they wouldn't have to die now.

She reveals the secret to throw him off guard; That her kittens with Brambleclaw are already dead (miscarriage) and the three are not his.

Also then she kicks him into the tree and knocks it over so the Three can escape the fire because it's my rewrite and I get to decide the anime battle choreography bullshit

Hollyleaf then kills him later, having already lost her mentor Brackenfur to the Eclipse battle and abandoning peace as an option. If she had not killed him, he would have been exiled for his attempted murder. Or, he may even still end up being exiled, and Hollyleaf does not think it's punishment enough. Still undecided.

Either way, this marks the beginning of the end of Bonefall Po3, which was relaxed and slice-of-life before this point. In my head I'm calling this "Plot Thickening" period 'Cruel Season', the name for the last book of canon Po3 that was cut by the publisher.

Bonefall TBC

Yep, he is still the Impostor... and he is brutal. Worse than canon. He actually cares about both possessing Squirrelflight AND legitimately enforcing the code.

Bristlefrost dies twice in this redux. Once during a horrific public execution to kick the arc off in earnest, and again to kill him for good. I initially planned for her to drown in a similar way to canon, but then I had a really cool idea that instead of drowning, this time she body checks him out of heaven.

So she burns up with him like a shooting star. Idk wouldn't it be fucking awesome if like once a year you could see Bristlefrost's Comet, or there was actually an impact crater somewhere on the map from this point on?

But anyway. Ashfur will have some control over ghosts, but I'm hoping to make it less than canon. I don't like how he was able to conjure up nameless rogues so you don't feel bad about the Warriors murdering random people :/

He won't be able to manipulate feelings that aren't already there. Hidden resentment, anger, despair, so on. Love being the antidote in ALITM was excellent you will pry Love and Friendship from my cold dead hands

Though I am also unironically considering giving Ashfur a Boss Form. I know it is silly. But multi-eyed, winged angel Ashfur would be cool man idk i like it when i get to smash my action figures against big monster

#Ashfur #Bonefall Rewrite #Bonefall Po3 #Bonefall Cruel Season #Bonefall OotS #i just think it's cool #I simply think it would be more fun if Ashfur like broke the bridge between the Dark Forest and StarClan #Like there was once a Place Where Stars Die or some sort of purgatory area but it's now a big floating shattered plain #With only Ashfur's Tunnel connecting the Dark Forest and StarClan #Like a suspension bridge of sorts. A woven bramble tunnel.#I am TORN and TORMENTED by things I think would be neat #Also instead of the rising black water in the Dark Forest it would be neat if like Ashfur was absorbing unfortunate victims #Like slurping their essence into him or something

58 notes · View notes

mostlydeadallday · 1 year

Text

Lost Kin | Chapter XXIX | No More Questions

Fandom: Hollow Knight Rating: Mature Characters: Hornet, Pure Vessel | Hollow Knight, Quirrel Category: Gen Content Warnings: panic attacks, body horror, self harm AO3: Lost Kin | Chapter XXIX | No More Questions First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Chronological Notes: Hornet pushes Hollow a little too far. It's been necessary for me to reassess my writing pace and my upload schedule, and confront the fact that although I've been posting for a full year now (!!) I can no longer keep up with the two-week window I set up several months ago. This might mean that chapters release on a three-week or one month schedule going forward. We'll see!

○

Hornet pretended she didn’t hear Hollow’s breath catch as she picked up the sketches. Her sibling was relatively calm now, having endured her work outdoors with no more than the usual amount of stress, and she was tired and cold, and everything else on her mental list sounded like an insurmountable chore.

This needed to be done. Preferably soon, so they didn’t have to dread it much longer, and preferably regularly, so they would learn not to dread it at all. If possible.

If it was dread she was reading in them. She didn’t know how it could be much else, the way their gaze followed her as she knelt at their side and spread the papers on the floor, the way their claws had already begun to tremble, visible only at the very tips, where the white silk showed against the dark blankets.

She began with what they had learned yesterday, speaking the word they had learned and asking them to repeat it in sign. They were still somewhat calm when she finished, though the shaking she associated with their speech had returned, and the oddly long pauses remained between her questions and their answers.

After a moment of consideration, she revisited the questions she had asked them the first night she taught them signs, testing their responses to simple questions they did not know the answer to. She inquired, again, whether they needed food or water. The answer to both was still no, so she asked the third question again as a control, and received a yes in return. Sleep was apparently one of the few things they did need.

Hornet sat silent, thinking, running her thumb over her string of soul vessels. There was no easy way to ask the question she had approached last night, and she didn’t foresee any version of the conversation going well. Perhaps they had been right to dread this.

With a heavy sigh, she pulled out a few of the pages she had saved, centering them before her and clasping her hands on her knees.

“You may need these signs to answer the questions I have for you,” she began, and lifted her hand. “This is explain.”

Hollow seemed to consider her blankly, perhaps contemplating what she intended to ask them. Nevertheless, acting on the same request as before, they repeated the sign, its half-circle arc significantly shakier in their hand than it had been in hers.

“You may use this sign if you don’t understand the question, or if I haven’t given you enough information to answer.” She sketched another sign in the air, eager to get this over with. “This is repeat. If you can’t hear me clearly, or want to go back to something I said before—or if you need to see a sign I am demonstrating again—this is what you use.”

They complied after a moment, and she praised them, and then stared over them for a moment, gaze fixed on the opposite wall.

“I am teaching you these to be sure that you understand what I’m asking,” she said, as levelly as she could. “I will do my best keep the questions simple and ensure that you can answer.”

She watched them for any response, knowing she might very well be setting them up for another attack of the sort she had coaxed them out of yesterday. As it was, they were already breathing shallowly, gone still in that heavy, watchful way that reminded her of prey, huddled in the underbrush, eyes wide, afraid to so much as twitch in the wrong direction.

If only she could find the words to assure them that they had nothing to fear. If only they would believe her when she said them.

She tried, regardless. “Do not think I will be upset by what you tell me. I am only asking because the information will be necessary, going forward. The correct answer is the truthful one, whatever that may be.”

As she suspected, this did not seem to reassure them. They were starting to wheeze again, throat and lungs rasping with the tension in their frame.

There was no easy way to go about this. Best to get it over with quickly, to get her answers before they had time to devolve into panic.

Hornet looked down, calling to mind the knife in her hand, the measured rasp of Hollow’s breath beneath her, the scalding heat of infection staining her skin.

She had tried to think of a way to ask did you intend to hurt me without judgement, without the off-balance accusation those words would cast. Whether that sudden movement under her hands had been instinct, or retaliation, or something else altogether, something she hadn’t even thought of.

“When you reacted to—” what I was doing, she meant to say, but that was cowardly, that was dancing around what she had done to them, and she refused. They’d endured an impromptu surgery by someone who had no business doing so, no matter her motivation. The fact that she had had no other choice made it no better.

She breathed in. Started again. “While I was draining your wounds, to the best of your knowledge, were you in full control of your actions?”

The answer would likely be no. When she looked back on it now, up until that moment, they had been rigid, tense, every muscle locked down, holding to their restraint tightly enough to drive their claws into their own palm. That control had broken, finally, but they had clung to it for so long before that as she cut them open, took them apart piece by piece, until they could bear it no longer.

She had looked at them then and seen only stillness.

She’d seen what she wanted to see. Just as she had when they threw their nail over a cliff, when they dragged themselves out of bed to follow her, when they failed to answer her questions about what had happened to bring them here.

Nausea bubbled in her gut. She ignored it.

It was everything she could do now to hold back her assumptions. To simply watch, not attempting to fill in the silence with her own thoughts and theories. Keeping an open mind was not something she had much cause to be good at.

She would practice, damn it.

They were not still now, much as she could tell they were trying to be. Their fingers twitched, every breath coming faster, harsher, though they seemed to make a last effort to calm down—either that, or to steel themselves for what they believed was coming—as, with a shuddering sigh, they answered No.

“Good,” she said immediately, her voice sounding distant, choked. She had to do better than that. “Good, you’re doing well.”

That earned her another sigh, short and shaky, and she tightened her hands on her legs, claws pricking in, revulsion churning beneath her shell. For herself, for the fear she had woken in them, for the cruelty of her questions.

She had to do this. She had to know.

She forced the quiver from her voice, forced herself to continue. “When you… asked me to stop. Was it because you had reason to fear for my safety?”

Hollow stared at her.

She forced herself to return their gaze, though she couldn’t meet their eyes for more than a moment, so she shifted to look at the crack in their mask, close enough to making eye contact that they would not think she was afraid.

Patience. They would answer when they were ready, if they could answer at all.

The longer they took, the stronger her doubts grew. She resisted the urge to modify the question, knowing she had given them everything she could think of to equip them for it. The shake in their hand strengthened into a tremor, and the void swirled tighter, faster, overwhelming when she glanced at it. And they remained silent, not denying her suspicion, not asking for an explanation, not anything.

Just when she was wondering if she should release them from the need to obey her—before they went so far that she couldn’t pull them back—their hand lifted to give her the answer she’d expected.

Yes.

They did not lower it again immediately, claws hovering just below their throat, and she shifted her weight, ready to reach forward and bind them again if they turned it against themselves, but they didn’t. With a shiver, they relaxed, dropping their hand loosely across their body, and waited.

“Thank you,” she said, voice as soft, as careful as she could make it. “Thank you for telling me. I—I never wished for that to happen,” she finished, voice sinking nearly to silence as she stumbled over this pathetic excuse for an apology.

Oh, she had been right. Much as she wished she hadn’t been. She had to pause for a moment to let the knowledge settle, to let it stop twisting nauseously like a live eel in a puddle.

They had nearly hurt her. Perhaps severely. She doubted, if it came down to cold facts, that a tough shell and the resilience of a demigod could match the strength of someone three times her size, a creature born and bred to contain a power that far outstripped her own.

That power had left them a crumpled wreck of what they once were, broken open, hollowed out, more suited to their title than they had ever been before. But they were not defenseless. Not by a long shot.

Much as she deserved what they had almost done to her, she could only be glad that they held back—for their own sake, as well as hers.

Hollow had begun trembling in earnest in the wake of this confession, full-body shivers that traveled their entire length, and their breath rasped harder with every inhale, but she was not finished.

She would never be finished hurting them for their own good, it seemed.

Her hands twisted hard into her cloak. Swallowing a bitter, sideways lump of something she refused to acknowledge as tears, she raised her voice to be heard over the sickening scrape of their breathing.

“In the future, for your safety and my own, I need you to stop me before I cross that line. Can… can you do that?”

This, at last, tipped them over the edge.

She watched helplessly, hands clenching tighter and tighter, as they finally lost control. Their breathing jittered out of rhythm, from short, sharp gasps to deep, shuddering inhales that must have hurt them, with the way the scalding veins of infection still ran deep in their chest. They twitched, claws spasming shut, then forced their hand open again, only for it to hang, heavy and trembling, in midair.

Hornet ground her fangs together, on the edge of releasing them, yet held back by a thinning thread of hope that they would calm down on their own, or at least come to a point where they could give her the answer they seemed to be struggling with. Their palm turned downward, but they stopped short of signing no, their arm jerking once before the movement came to nothing.

Her heart sank. Taking a breath to admit that she’d failed, that she had led them into a panic they couldn’t struggle free from, she began to speak—

And stopped, as Hollow hastily dropped their hand to their chest and dragged it aside, interrupting her. I don’t know, they said, and then, frantic, repeated it, claws scratching harder each time. I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know—

“Stop,” she growled—growled—at them, snatching their hand and holding it aloft.

She knew as soon as she did it that she’d made a mistake.

They gave a rolling, convulsive shudder and released all tension in their arm, leaving their hand dangling passively from her grip. She nearly dropped the sudden deadweight, only managing to hold on when her clawtips caught the edge of a wrist-plate.

“I—I’m sorry. Hollow, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” Desperate, grasping for a ledge she knew she had already fallen past, she took their hand in both of hers and held it, folding their claws inward and pressing their knuckles to her chest, where they could no doubt feel the hurried beat of her heart. “I am not angry with you.”

They did not look at her, staring fixedly up at the ceiling as they panted, vents fluttering open and closed beneath their mask. Nothing she had said appeared to sink in; they lay there like they were already wounded, already struck down by whatever punishment she might devise, veins open and willing to bleed.

She deserved punishment more than they. This whole damn idea had been a mistake; they had only just gained the ability to speak after a lifetime of silence, and she couldn’t resist rushing, asking questions that had every right to upset them, pushing them deeper with every word until they went under, drowning in their own fear.

Anything she said would betray her, would come out choked and broken through the vise-grip on her throat, and that was not enough to stop her. “You did well. I am not—” not upset would be a lie, and they would know it, so she stopped. She could not say she hadn’t meant to upset them, either, because she had known that she would.

Was it worth it, to have the answers she wanted?

Anger stirred beneath her shell again, and she gripped it, trapped it, bound it back—anything to keep from hurting them again. She could not make herself stop feeling it, but she could wrap it up tightly, like prey in a web, until it stopped struggling, until it went cold.

“No more questions,” she whispered, at a loss for anything else. “No more.”

Hollow gasped a whistling sob, so deep that their fingers stirred where she clutched them between her own, and she shifted her grip, stroking their palm with soft, slow pressure, wishing wretchedly that this could in any way make up for what she’d done.

She had been right in what she suspected. Her actions had driven them to strike out at her, though she believed they never would have done so had they not been delirious and maddened with pain.

It was nearly everything she had wanted to know, and she almost wished she’d never learned it.

Hornet swallowed, shoving back a wince at the pain in her throat. She would not apologize again, not when it did no good. It might be better if she stayed quiet, if she weren’t here at all. They still had not looked at her, not since she snapped at them, and they hadn’t responded to the presence of their hand in her lap, possibly too paralyzed to draw it back.

Or they might be craving comfort, craving reassurance, but too terrified to ask for it.

She rubbed her fangs together, caught between the two awful possibilities. She could not ask them what they wanted—the questions she’d already asked had been bad enough.

But she could offer. She could reach out as she had done the night before, and perhaps—

Perhaps they were not too frightened of her to accept it.

Holding her breath, she leaned forward and laid their arm across their stomach, watching for any reaction, but they were so agitated already that she could not tell, every inhale stiff and stuttering, every motion of the void in their eyes erratic, deep black shapes twisting on a deep black field, like ripples on a cold, lightless lake.

Doing her best to force her voice low and level, as calming as she could make it, she spoke.

“I… do not know what will help you.” She stopped, not even knowing if they heard her. At least she hadn’t yet been forced to order them to breathe.

As soon as the thought occurred to her, she shoved it firmly away. She did not need to panic herself—she needed to do the opposite.

Her voice was empty, monotone, and there was nothing she could do about it; if she released her stranglehold on it, it would break. Hopefully they would not take it as another sign that she was angry. “I am going to touch you for a moment. If it seems to help, please… show me, and I will continue.”

They offered no response, nothing but a twitch of their hand where it lay on their abdomen, and Hornet hesitated for a second before pressing forward. She was not going to get permission in advance. This was the best she could offer.

Her fingers trembled as she laid her hands against their face, one below each eye, fingertips slipping down toward their jaw, and a pang of fear pushed through her before she ripped it free like a spearhead, leaving her bleeding, but still fighting—fighting the image of their teeth bristling in the dark, of the gashes their own claws had left in their chitin.

They did not want to hurt her.

That might not be enough, but it was all they could offer. Just as this hesitant touch was all she had to offer, a fragile moment, soft as gossamer, a gift to accept or turn away.

Hollow wheezed heavily, a short, pinched-sounding breath escaping, and Hornet clenched her jaws on a pained sound of her own, knowing that if they could speak, if they could voice their pain, that would have been a whine, high and piercing, all that could slip free through the tension that wound them tight. They were shaking, had never stopped shaking, and she did not know if she was helping or making them worse.

All she could do was hold herself there, and wait. Reaching out in comfort—unsure, until the last second, if they would take it.

Had she guessed wrong? Did they want this, or was it wishful thinking? Was she deluding herself to think that they might ever try to forgive her? If—

Their head turned.

A brief jerk, as quick and tentative as the half-sign they had begun before, cut off before it could be finished. But she had felt it, all the same, and she held her breath, delicately stroking their cheek with the pad of her thumb, encouraging them to push forward.

They did not move again.

Oh, she wanted to cry. They were trying, they were trying, and she could not see far enough past her own vicious doubts to glimpse what they truly wanted.

It was selfish, so selfish of her to ask for confirmation, but she tried, throat dry, voice cracking. “Please. You may ask for this. You are allowed to ask. I—”

Words failed her, finally, choking off into silence, and she stalled, hands tight on their mask as she floundered for something else to say, something to do that would show them they had done nothing wrong. They lay stiff and rigid on the pillows, refusing to nudge into her hands again, and it hurt, it hurt like stitches in her chest pulled tight, and in desperation to break them free she gave up her fear and yielded to instinct—leaning forward and pushing her mask against theirs, forehead to forehead, shutting her eyes and merely breathing, with their chin tilted up in her hands to keep the contact steady.

They gave one last, quivering gasp and went limp.

She waited what seemed like a long moment before she edged back to look at them, scanning for something to tell her that she had not hurt them, scared them. She had only been gone a second when they took two quick, shallow breaths and pushed back against her, brushing the curve of their chin against her palms, and she whispered “Oh, Hollow,” in a fractured voice that did not seem like her own.

She was shaking too, now, and when she lowered her face again her mask tapped at theirs unsteadily before she settled, relaxing her neck and letting the weight of her head press into them.

They nuzzled weakly against her, and their breath mingled with hers, both of them faint, uncertain. This was closer than she had been to another bug in years, more vulnerable than she ever allowed herself to be, and something beat bright and hot like flames against her shell at her weakness—no spell at her fingertips, no weapon within reach, baring herself to any threat that came her way—

And she pushed it aside. Pushed aside every doubt, and every hesitation, and every niggling fear and simply held her sibling, as they had perhaps never been held before. She could not remember the last time she had done anything like this, but after everything Hollow had done, after everything that had been done to them, the least she could do was defy her own discomfort and offer them a scrap of the support and safety they had been denied for so long.

The longer she held the position, the less unnatural it felt. The longer she stayed there, the easier it became to relax, inch by inch, as Hollow, too, lost the constant quiver in their throat and the wire-taut tension in every shaking limb.

A burning pain pushed close behind her eyes, up into her throat, but she would not confuse Hollow by dripping tears onto their mask. She made herself breathe, forced her attention elsewhere. The precise texture of their cheek under her thumb. The contours of the crack beneath their eye. The thrum of their breath in their throat where her fingertips rested.

Perhaps someone else, someone better, someone who knew what to do, would have had something to say. A story to tell, to take their mind off the fear, or a lullaby to pass the time. She cast about and came up empty; it had been far too long since she needed such things herself.

The Weavers’ working songs did not seem to apply in this instance.

She huffed, and Hollow burrowed their mask into her hands again, so subtly that she almost missed it, except that they sighed when she returned to stroking their cheek.

She hoped—she dearly hoped that they took some measure of comfort from it. Maybe one day, she would be able to ask. One day when speaking to her no longer terrified them.

She hated to think of what had been done to them, to make them fear something so simple.

Will this linger? she wondered, as she sketched circles on their mask with her thumbs, watching through slitted eyelids, attuned to the smallest motion they might make. Would they be more open with her, more willing to communicate what they wanted, or would they return to being silent and unreadable? Even if they could not speak to her, would they communicate in other ways? Or was this only the result of being pushed to the edge, their fear shining so bright that everything else cast long shadows before it?

She thought they were already withdrawing, as the panic faded away. Though perhaps this was only the same dull numbness that came over her after she had cried or screamed herself out, or run herself down to exhaustion.

If she had ever had someone to hold her through that numbness, if she could take any comfort at all from someone else’s arms around her, she might have found that it passed all the easier, and so she held herself there, despite the breaking in her heart as Hollow went still, as they stopped responding altogether.

She was only surprised she had any heart left to break.

Would they pull away from her if they no longer wanted this? If she did not explicitly order them to make their intentions clear?

At last, their head tipped downward, and she pulled back, releasing her grip in an instant—

Then froze as they startled, as their eyelids flew open, shoulders tensing again and breathing kicked back up another notch.

Had they—

Hesitant, she touched her palm to their mask again, and they pushed back, almost instantly.

They hadn’t wanted her to stop.

They had fallen asleep.

She half-laughed again, and didn’t quite know why, didn’t know whether it was amusement or exasperation or defeat, and realized just as quickly that she didn’t care. Everything in her was wrung out, and still things would not stop welling up, like one of those damned rags still dripping, dripping on the floor.

She probably shouldn’t be envying Hollow, but she was, watching their eyes drift shut again as she rubbed their cheek, slower now—her wrist was aching. It would be hours before she could justify sleeping. There were a dozen things she should work on while there was still light left, but all she wanted was to collapse on the mattress next to them and let the darkness take her for a little while.

Her nightmare had exhausted her more than she thought.

Though she did not lean forward again—her neck ached, too—she did bring her other hand up and rub their forehead where her mask had rested, massaging the spot between their horns, careful not to apply too much pressure to the split that tracked around to the back of their head. It would likely hurt, depending on how much feeling they had in their mask and horns, and considering the experiences she’d had with hard impacts to her own mask, she suspected it was, at the least, unpleasant—

She did not register, at first, why she had stopped. Or why her shoulders had gone tense under her cloak. Or why she was holding her breath.

A sound, immediately unlike any she had expected to hear, yet startlingly mundane: a firm, hollow rap rap rap.

Someone—or something—was knocking. On her front door.

The urge to whip out her needle ran through her muscles like an electric shock. Only its presence out of the corner of her eye, leaned up against the hearth, stopped her. That, and the fact that Hollow had gone utterly still beneath her hands, tension coiling them tight again, and she still didn’t quite trust them not to startle and injure her, intentional or no. Sudden, panicked movement on her part did not seem like the wisest course of action.

As gently as she could, she lowered their head and began to rise. “Stay here,” she hissed, lifting her hands from their mask. Any hesitation she had about giving them orders vanished in the face of their safety; she did not need them trying to crawl to her aid if whatever was knocking turned out not to be friendly. She would survive a fight. They might not. “Do you hear me? Stay. Do not come after me, no matter what you hear. I’ll deal with this.”

Hollow pressed down against the bed as if the force of her command had physical weight, staring up at her, eyes fully open now, awake and terrified.

She hadn’t the time to comfort them. Rising from her crouch and backing away until she reached the hearth, she grabbed her needle the moment she was within reach and crept toward the front door, keeping low, out of sight of the windows.

Her heart was pounding. Her head was blank, all emotion scoured away like mud under a downpour. At least she’d remembered to lock the door when she returned to the house, but the wood was partly rotten; it wouldn’t stand up to a determined assault for long. Best to get the jump on the threat before then.

Whatever petty noble built this house, they at least had the sense to install a peephole in the door, for which Hornet would have gladly paid respects at their grave—if they had one. Needle at the ready, soul flooding to her fingertips, she caught a breath, held it, and peered out.

○

Taglist: @2amtime @moss-tombstone @slimeel Send an ask or reply to this post to be added to (or removed from) the taglist!

#lost kin fic #elletalks #mywriting #lost kin chapter #hollow knight #hk the hollow knight #hk pure vessel #hk hornet #hollow knight fanfic #hk

33 notes · View notes

darklinsblog · 2 years

Text

Mentor | Sandman Imagine

Summary: Morpheus helps the daughter of Hypnos to control her powers

Pairing: Morpheus x Goddess! Reader

Requested: Yes

As daughter of Hypnos you had a lot of expectations upon you, as the Olympus saw you as your father’s obvious successor. But you had been experiencing a lot of difficulties when it came to your powers.

After very thoughtful consideration you concluded it was best if you visited Morpheus in the Dreaming so he could mentor you with your power control, because if Hypnos himself did it, the Gods and Goddesses would eventually find out and would put your capabilities as a successor in question, which would ruin all the years of preparation you had endured to be your father’s rightful successor.

You wouldn’t let the work of your life be discarded just as easy.

The Endless was more than willing to receive you, you had been friends for centuries and he was more than happy to help. It had been quite a long time since you last saw each other, and even longer since the Dreaming had a guest.

When you reached the veil, you were received by Lucienne and a crow, you both smiled and the librarian bow down to salute you.

“Oh Lucienne, enough with formalities, please” you giggled

“I must always pay my respects to a goddess, miss Y/N” she replied proper as ever. She guided you to the palace and into the library where Morpheus had his nose buried on an old book. Lucienne excused herself as she got lost in the library, having matters to attend.

“You never change, do you?” You called out, having Morpheus look at you, the biggest smile drawing on his lips as his shoulders went down a little bit, discarding his old rigid posture.

“Containing consciousness of the universe rarely leaves space for change, dove” he teased, you were standing a few inches from each other, even as you were so close he didn’t approach you, although his whole body language was more relaxed he was still a reserved man that struggled with physical touch.

“Oh gods, you are killing me!” You groaned as at last, you hugged him, he chuckled in your ear, he liked that you were so different to him but still very much the same, and if he was honest, he was dying to hug you.

He held your head as his tall frame embraced you fully, you pulled away, your faces half an inch away from each other, you were both looking so deeply into each other’s eyes, tension started to fill the room and just for a split second he looked down at your lips.

“So, your father told me you were troubling with your powers” he said in a whisper, making you blink a few times before slightly pulling away, breaking the atmosphere to whatever it was that was happening.

“Uh- yes. Of course, that’s why I came” you said clumsily, touching your neck flustered.

Morpheus committed himself to you, as every day he would clear a space in his hectic agenda to train you, you were making improvements, and you enjoyed each other’s company as you would tease one another.

The next to kin to the Sandman like Lucienne or Mervyn could see how his regent was much more laid-back because of your stay, he had a certain glow in his eyes, a tranquility only seemed to provide him.

He had taken you to the gardens to practice in peace, and you were struggling to conjure any creation, which was obviously irritating you, as goddess of lucid dreams your creations were the base of everything.

You groaned quietly, while Morpheus watched you intently.

“You’re in your head, Y/N” he pointed out.

“That’s where everything is supposed to come from Dream” you rolled your eyes and he shook his head, smiling. He approached you by the side, as you watched closely his every move.

“May I?”

“You may”

Having your permission, Dream placed himself right behind you, his warmth making you shiver as he was mere millimeters away from you. His hand sneaked from behind your back, placing itself just below your chest.

The king closed the gap between you two, having you use his body as support, his breathe fanned on your neck, you thanked the gods above he didn’t place his hand on your chest because he would’ve heard your heart roaring in her ribcage.

You had never been this close, his touch was loaded with lust and your body was reacting like a moth to a flame. His cologne suddenly became the air you breathed.

“You must breathe, clear your headspace. Dreams must come from peace of mind to be stable” he whispered in your ear softly, guiding you through your breathing as his hand sneaked down your body stopping right at your lower abdomen. You did your best to follow his command, focusing on creating a butterfly.

As your mind pictured the bug in your head, you were completely conscious of your breathing process and when the air left your lungs, there it was. The beautiful butterfly flying carefree as ever just as you pictured it.

Gasping you turned around, now facing Morpheus who was looking at you, filled with pride, he was smiling as well but as you looked deeply into each other’s eyes, your smiles faded and so did the space between your lips.

Morpheus stopped an inch away, he sneaked his hand to the back of your neck and pulled you into a passionate kiss, the sensation was so foreign and exciting the temperature seemed to rise in your bodies.

You pulled away slowly, understanding what just happened, and your lips reunited again as fast as they had split, but the kiss was now more innocent and playful.

This time around you giggled softly, your laugh being contagious to the King of Dreams as he hid his face in the crock of your neck, planting a soft kiss on the skin.

“What in the Gods’ name are we doing, we act like fools!” You teased as Dream smiled and held you tighter.

“Would it make me look more of a fool if I said I’ve been waiting to kiss you for five hundred years”

“Amongst other things, yes”

The Endless wished he could freeze time in this exact moment. It was simply perfect as it was, he had been longing for you for ages and to be here now was pure bliss.

He enjoyed the version of him you brought to the surface, and you would just know what to say or do to ground him or get his mind off things, when he was in your presence he would forget to hold the universal consciousness perfectly still, he could relax, be himself, not the king or the observer.

He could indulge himself to be just Morpheus, the Morpheus that loved you like a fool.

#sandman imagine #the sandman comics #sandman netflix #dream of the endless #morpheus dream #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #tom sturridge x reader #tom sturridge #sandman shitpost #sandman x y/n #morpheus sandman #morpheus x reader #morpheus imagines #morpheus #fluff

111 notes · View notes