anonymoustrashbarge

[anonymoustrashbarge]

There is now more fic. Because hyperfixation is a fickle beast.

@anderseeds remember your post about grumpy mpreg anderson a lil while back? Well, that's actually been some of my comfort/writing practice nonsense over the pandemic so when I saw someone else talking about it---

I have conquered my social anxiety to give you FIC BASED ON YOUR POST

Hm. Anderson should have been awake by now, but Alucard hadn’t heard a sound.

Well, time to be a dutiful alpha! Quietly, he moved towards the bedroom, deciding how best to check on his ‘husband's’ condition.

“How is my lovely nemesis today~?” Alucard called, somewhat quietly, into the darkened room. He was already grinning in anticipation.

The blade that buried itself in his chest just made that grin wider. Ah, aiming for the center mass. The headaches must be terrible today.

Alucard needed no further cue to grab the glass off the bedside table and take it to refill with water, casually removing the blade as he went. There had only been so far he could push, lately, and Alucard had no desire to harm the man when he didn't want to fight back. By the time he returned, Anderson had struggled into a sitting position, and Alucard deftly sat the glass back where it had been, eyes automatically sliding to the mark on Anderson’s neck. Something even his regeneration could not rid from his flesh.

“You can stop smiling about this,” grumbled Anderson.

No, he couldn't, but Alucard wasn't about to admit that.

“Is it a crime to appreciate my work?”

Anderson scowled.

“Your work is why I'm like this, hellspawn, and you damn well know–ugh,” he stopped himself, looking ill, and focused on drinking from the glass. As he did, the hem of the shirt he slept in raised, just slightly.

Alucard noticed. He couldn't help but take notice. There was something deeply satisfying to seeing a softening to some of Anderson’s fearsome edges, a once chiseled plane being sanded smoother by the day, evidence his body was altering itself for Alucard’s offspring–a process so human Alucard had assumed it forever beyond his ability to witness it again, to say nothing of inciting it.

He made sure he wasn't looking when Anderson set the glass down again.

“You don't need to still be here.”

“No, I suppose I don't.”

“Brave man, being in bayonet distance from me right now.”

Alucard laughed, quietly, and took the hint, leaving the room and tamping down hard on the desire to stay and verbally spar a little more. No, not yet. For there was only one obvious target to hit, and Alucard's instincts itched at even the thought of pursuing it.

This… dynamic they had was new and tenuous. A work of impulse and haste and a lack of room to plan. Alucard had barely threaded the needle by listening to long dormant instincts now risen from the grave and using what he had in his reach to fulfill them.

Admittedly, Anderson was not happy with some of Alucard's solutions, and that had not been ideal, but Alucard had noticed one important thing: Anderson hadn't left.

Alucard was not keeping him here, in a house purchased as Hellsing employee housing (the work of a vicious argument between him and Integra.) Official word in the Iscariot order was Anderson had been enthralled, so it'd be possible to return to his life there. Alucard had placed no obstacles between Anderson and an open door, if he wanted it.

Instead, to Alucard's contemplative surprise, it appeared Anderson wanted this. A completely miserable list of symptoms to carrying Alucard's child, and a mundane domesticity with… Alucard. No matter how much he complained about what Alucard ‘did to him’, that fact stood out, and it fascinated him on a level he had not known he could feel. 

But pointing that out now? Anderson had a very typically Catholic tower of justifications for indulging in something he wanted, and Alucard wasn't going to topple it himself. That would undo everything he'd done getting the human he craved in his grasp. Best to let someone else make themselves a target. Let Anderson delude himself he wasn't settling into something he wanted for his future.

(And if, a few months later, Alucard comes to the realization he deluded himself in the exact same way–holding his newborn child and being hit by the feeling of no longer being unmoored from time and humanity–then it's his own fault for not noticing he had been planning a future with Anderson long, long before then.)

[anonymoustrashbarge]

me: I wrote one thing in a very short amount of time, I shouldn't push myself to do too much and force it, or spam these tags

also me: fuck now I've started thinking about this AU I can't fucking stop.

Takes place before:

When Alucard entered Integra's office, he'd taken one look at her, visibly angry and likely restraining herself from screaming at him unintelligibly, and understood immediately he was being called on the carpet. Why, he had no idea. He hadn't done anything as of late that would cause her trouble.

“Alucard. Do you have anything you want to tell me?”

“No. No I do not,” he said, flatly.

In response, she stood up to glare at him more directly.

“Well. Let me clear up why you're here, then,” she said

With that, she slammed her hand on her desk, and screeched in rage.

“You've been bloody fraternizing with Maxwell's bloody paladin!! What in God’s name do you think you're trying to pull?!”

Alucard took a moment to respond. The accusation was entirely accurate. Which meant something had gone terribly wrong.

“How, exactly, did you learn of that?” he asked.

“Maxwell just called, accusing us of enthralling the man! He said he had medical evidence of it! And apparently Anderson has fled Vatican custody because Maxwell demanded we return him at once! What did you do?!”

There was only one thing it could be, and Alucard felt the world tilt around him. How long had it been since he'd felt surprised like this? What an incredible feeling--what an incredible human he'd found!

He grinned at his master, which did nothing for her mood, and told her exactly what he'd done.

He would treasure the memory of Sir Integra Hellsing rendered speechless for decades to come.

[anonymoustrashbarge]

Trying to like things a normal amount during a hyperfixation feels like the fandom equivalent to shopping while hungry. And I've locked myself into at least three simultaneously. This may be hell.

[anonymoustrashbarge]

*keysmashes*

THANK YOU FOR THE PRAISE

A LOT of my comfort writing over the past few years has been trying to nail mpreg as--not a huge deal so I can just focus on the characters. It's. Hard. BUT DAMN ITS FUN WHEN I FIND A GOOD PROMPT.

@anderseeds remember your post about grumpy mpreg anderson a lil while back? Well, that's actually been some of my comfort/writing practice nonsense over the pandemic so when I saw someone else talking about it---

I have conquered my social anxiety to give you FIC BASED ON YOUR POST

Hm. Anderson should have been awake by now, but Alucard hadn’t heard a sound.

Well, time to be a dutiful alpha! Quietly, he moved towards the bedroom, deciding how best to check on his ‘husband's’ condition.

“How is my lovely nemesis today~?” Alucard called, somewhat quietly, into the darkened room. He was already grinning in anticipation.

The blade that buried itself in his chest just made that grin wider. Ah, aiming for the center mass. The headaches must be terrible today.

Alucard needed no further cue to grab the glass off the bedside table and take it to refill with water, casually removing the blade as he went. There had only been so far he could push, lately, and Alucard had no desire to harm the man when he didn't want to fight back. By the time he returned, Anderson had struggled into a sitting position, and Alucard deftly sat the glass back where it had been, eyes automatically sliding to the mark on Anderson’s neck. Something even his regeneration could not rid from his flesh.

“You can stop smiling about this,” grumbled Anderson.

No, he couldn't, but Alucard wasn't about to admit that.

“Is it a crime to appreciate my work?”

Anderson scowled.

“Your work is why I'm like this, hellspawn, and you damn well know–ugh,” he stopped himself, looking ill, and focused on drinking from the glass. As he did, the hem of the shirt he slept in raised, just slightly.

Alucard noticed. He couldn't help but take notice. There was something deeply satisfying to seeing a softening to some of Anderson’s fearsome edges, a once chiseled plane being sanded smoother by the day, evidence his body was altering itself for Alucard’s offspring–a process so human Alucard had assumed it forever beyond his ability to witness it again, to say nothing of inciting it.

He made sure he wasn't looking when Anderson set the glass down again.

“You don't need to still be here.”

“No, I suppose I don't.”

“Brave man, being in bayonet distance from me right now.”

Alucard laughed, quietly, and took the hint, leaving the room and tamping down hard on the desire to stay and verbally spar a little more. No, not yet. For there was only one obvious target to hit, and Alucard's instincts itched at even the thought of pursuing it.

This… dynamic they had was new and tenuous. A work of impulse and haste and a lack of room to plan. Alucard had barely threaded the needle by listening to long dormant instincts now risen from the grave and using what he had in his reach to fulfill them.

Admittedly, Anderson was not happy with some of Alucard's solutions, and that had not been ideal, but Alucard had noticed one important thing: Anderson hadn't left.

Alucard was not keeping him here, in a house purchased as Hellsing employee housing (the work of a vicious argument between him and Integra.) Official word in the Iscariot order was Anderson had been enthralled, so it'd be possible to return to his life there. Alucard had placed no obstacles between Anderson and an open door, if he wanted it.

Instead, to Alucard's contemplative surprise, it appeared Anderson wanted this. A completely miserable list of symptoms to carrying Alucard's child, and a mundane domesticity with… Alucard. No matter how much he complained about what Alucard ‘did to him’, that fact stood out, and it fascinated him on a level he had not known he could feel. 

But pointing that out now? Anderson had a very typically Catholic tower of justifications for indulging in something he wanted, and Alucard wasn't going to topple it himself. That would undo everything he'd done getting the human he craved in his grasp. Best to let someone else make themselves a target. Let Anderson delude himself he wasn't settling into something he wanted for his future.

(And if, a few months later, Alucard comes to the realization he deluded himself in the exact same way–holding his newborn child and being hit by the feeling of no longer being unmoored from time and humanity–then it's his own fault for not noticing he had been planning a future with Anderson long, long before then.)

[anonymoustrashbarge]

@anderseeds remember your post about grumpy mpreg anderson a lil while back? Well, that's actually been some of my comfort/writing practice nonsense over the pandemic so when I saw someone else talking about it---

I have conquered my social anxiety to give you FIC BASED ON YOUR POST

Hm. Anderson should have been awake by now, but Alucard hadn’t heard a sound.

Well, time to be a dutiful alpha! Quietly, he moved towards the bedroom, deciding how best to check on his ‘husband's’ condition.

“How is my lovely nemesis today~?” Alucard called, somewhat quietly, into the darkened room. He was already grinning in anticipation.

The blade that buried itself in his chest just made that grin wider. Ah, aiming for the center mass. The headaches must be terrible today.

Alucard needed no further cue to grab the glass off the bedside table and take it to refill with water, casually removing the blade as he went. There had only been so far he could push, lately, and Alucard had no desire to harm the man when he didn't want to fight back. By the time he returned, Anderson had struggled into a sitting position, and Alucard deftly sat the glass back where it had been, eyes automatically sliding to the mark on Anderson’s neck. Something even his regeneration could not rid from his flesh.

“You can stop smiling about this,” grumbled Anderson.

No, he couldn't, but Alucard wasn't about to admit that.

“Is it a crime to appreciate my work?”

Anderson scowled.

“Your work is why I'm like this, hellspawn, and you damn well know–ugh,” he stopped himself, looking ill, and focused on drinking from the glass. As he did, the hem of the shirt he slept in raised, just slightly.

Alucard noticed. He couldn't help but take notice. There was something deeply satisfying to seeing a softening to some of Anderson’s fearsome edges, a once chiseled plane being sanded smoother by the day, evidence his body was altering itself for Alucard’s offspring–a process so human Alucard had assumed it forever beyond his ability to witness it again, to say nothing of inciting it.

He made sure he wasn't looking when Anderson set the glass down again.

“You don't need to still be here.”

“No, I suppose I don't.”

“Brave man, being in bayonet distance from me right now.”

Alucard laughed, quietly, and took the hint, leaving the room and tamping down hard on the desire to stay and verbally spar a little more. No, not yet. For there was only one obvious target to hit, and Alucard's instincts itched at even the thought of pursuing it.

This… dynamic they had was new and tenuous. A work of impulse and haste and a lack of room to plan. Alucard had barely threaded the needle by listening to long dormant instincts now risen from the grave and using what he had in his reach to fulfill them.

Admittedly, Anderson was not happy with some of Alucard's solutions, and that had not been ideal, but Alucard had noticed one important thing: Anderson hadn't left.

Alucard was not keeping him here, in a house purchased as Hellsing employee housing (the work of a vicious argument between him and Integra.) Official word in the Iscariot order was Anderson had been enthralled, so it'd be possible to return to his life there. Alucard had placed no obstacles between Anderson and an open door, if he wanted it.

Instead, to Alucard's contemplative surprise, it appeared Anderson wanted this. A completely miserable list of symptoms to carrying Alucard's child, and a mundane domesticity with… Alucard. No matter how much he complained about what Alucard ‘did to him’, that fact stood out, and it fascinated him on a level he had not known he could feel. 

But pointing that out now? Anderson had a very typically Catholic tower of justifications for indulging in something he wanted, and Alucard wasn't going to topple it himself. That would undo everything he'd done getting the human he craved in his grasp. Best to let someone else make themselves a target. Let Anderson delude himself he wasn't settling into something he wanted for his future.

(And if, a few months later, Alucard comes to the realization he deluded himself in the exact same way–holding his newborn child and being hit by the feeling of no longer being unmoored from time and humanity–then it's his own fault for not noticing he had been planning a future with Anderson long, long before then.)