#hk vore

[scketchorinopop]

Hey! Thank you guys so much for really liking that H/ollow K/night commission I posted a few days ago!

Before that I did a few other Q/uirrel Noms so I hope you enjoy these ones!

[nompunhere]

Knightly Security (H/ollow K/night Vore Fic) (Illustrated)

Voretober promp- y’know what, maybe I shouldn’t even bother trying to link it back to that But it’s finally hereeeeeee! Collab with @scketchorinopop , he made art for this!!

Characters: H/egemol (going off of the maggot!H/egemol headcanon), O/grim (aka the D/ung D/efender or, more accurately to this fic, W/hite D/efender) Word Count: 6,310 Warnings: Anxiety, H/ollow K/night Spoilers, Bugs, Implied/Referenced Bug Racism(?), and Safe Soft Vore (I’d call this quarter-sized, probably). And in the same vein as the bug racism, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism(? sort of?? You’ll know what I mean if you’ve read the H/unter’s J/ournal entry on maggots) Other Notes: Yeah this was originally gonna be for Voretober 2022, either for the Bubble prompt or the Blanket one. College kinda threw that plan out the window. But hey! My cool good friend Scketch wanted to collab, so you get ✨art✨!! and also me starting to love the maggot!H/ege headcanon. it’s got Potential. now blease take this fic I can’t stand to look at it for another minute

Fic under the cut

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Hegemol was usually happy in his workshop. It was his safe space, a room filled with the tools and materials to bring his ideas to reality, a place where the maggot was free to express his ingenuity in a constructive way. The King had truly been generous in granting him this boon along with his knighthood.

At the moment, however, he couldn't find the focus to work on his creations. He was too distracted by the anxiety creeping under his skin. A room couldn't protect him from the fears that plagued his mind.

His armor was missing. No one was sure of the who, how, or why of the matter, but they at least knew when it was taken and where from. He found himself running through the details once more.

The Great Knights were reasonably certain that the set had been stolen while Hegemol was asleep in the City barracks, resting after a day of being stationed in the capital for an assignment. He had gone to bed in the room set aside for the knights or other important visitors. The Five didn't exactly like the separation, feeling like they were being treated as above all the other sentries and guards in more than just rank, but Hegemol did require the privacy that the room afforded. He did not need it getting out to the public that he was a maggot. Many theorized about what he could be, but of those guesses, few ever put forth the idea that the armored knight could possibly be "such a lowly creature," and those that did were scoffed at, regarded as delusional.

Back to the point, he had gone to bed, and though he could sleep in his armor, it was not the most comfortable, so he generally didn't if he had the choice. He'd gotten out of the suit, packed it into its space-saving form, and made sure it was within line of sight as he tucked himself under the blankets. He should've heard if someone tried to move it, or even enter the room, and yet, he didn't. Somehow, someone or something got past the locked door (or windows), took the heavy block of metal that was Hegemol's armor, and left with it, all without making a sound as he slept. It should've been too dense for a single bug to lift without immense effort. Maybe there was more than one perpetrator involved? Or perhaps magic was used? It had to have been stolen. There was no way it just- disappeared.

All these thoughts led to the tinkerer being highly distracted as he worked. He was abruptly dragged back to the present when the bracket he was welding loudly cracked. Quickly, he cut off the flame and set his blowtorch aside, peering closer at the damaged metal. He'd overdone it, the maggot realized with a groan, planting his masked face on the tabletop. That was what he got for letting his mind wander while using dangerous tools, he supposed.

He left his head on the table for a few long moments, until a quiet knock at the door made him flinch. He looked up, hesitating. The retainers knew not to come in without his express permission. If anyone was going to enter his workshop, it'd be someone who already knew his secret.

"What is it?" he called, just loud enough to be heard.

"It's me," came the response, gentle and friendly, a toned-down version of that familiar jovial tone. Hegemol made a sound of acknowledgement, and the door slowly clicked open, revealing the face of his close friend and fellow knight, Ogrim. Currently the only active knight within the walls of the White Palace, as the other three were in the City, guarding the streets and searching for the all-important tool that would allow their fifth to perform his job.

"Hello," the Defender greeted, leaning into the room, "Just checking in. My patrol brought me to this area of the halls, and I figured I should see how you're faring? Wouldn't do to let you feel abandoned when- well, I'm sure you're well aware." He gave an uncertain chuckle, tapping a claw against the doorframe and glancing into the hall. When he looked back at Hegemol, his gaze was colored with curiosity. His eyes lingered on the maggot's small form perched at the workstation, clad in only his welding gear.

The armorless knight cleared his throat and stared at the tools in front of him, prompting Ogrim to do the same. "Heh, yes, I'm- I-I'm alright. Thank you," Hegemol tried. He winced at the stutter. It was so much easier to hide it when making use of the artificial confidence the suit provided. His friend merely nodded, though he looked unconvinced. The tinkerer sighed and pulled off his welding mask to give the other a weary smile, getting one in return.

He set the mask down as Ogrim stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him with a quiet 'click.' The beetle came closer, gesturing to the bracket and other bits of metal spread over the workspace. "So, what were you working on, if I may be so bold?"

"Oh, just- some.. locking mechanisms. F-for the armor." He leaned forward to pick up the bracket once more, glaring at it with a huff and turning it over in his hands. To his side, Ogrim tilted his head, giving an inquisitive hum to prompt him to continue. Hegemol glanced at him, then back to the table. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was okay for him to go on about his work. His friend was offering him the opportunity.

"T-the suit itself should be too heavy for a bug to lift, especially when condensed as it was, but if it were unfolded, it could be moved piece by piece, or even w-worn out of the room. Only the King and I know how to unfold it—though I could teach you if you'd like—but it's theoretically n-not impossible for another bug to have f-figured out the mechanisms." He gestured to the bracket and the other metal pieces before them, the other knight following his movements with interest. "I was thinking of adding these extra locking parts, to make the set more difficult to unpack if you don't know the exact process. They would also offer more surface area for further spellwork to be inscribed, particularly if I can add pale ore to increase the efficacy of the magic. I plan to work with the King to design some that would reject anyone who isn't the proper owner or a trusted ally, w-when he has time," the maggot finished, quieting to a mumble at the end.

Meanwhile, though Ogrim was genuinely interested in what his friend had to say, he still found himself focusing on the smaller bug's state more than the words themselves. Hegemol was a lot harder to hear than normal, despite the lack of metal shell to cover his mouth—or perhaps because of it. The Defender didn't know the specifics of how the helmet worked, but he distantly recalled hearing about how it amplified sound in both directions, making it easier for the wearer to hear and to be heard. It gave Hegemol's voice a resonance that was strange to hear him without after so long.

Aside from that, the technically-smallest knight was always rather soft-spoken, but rarely to this extent. Ogrim nearly had to strain to pick out his words. His voice picked up a little as he talked about his passion, but otherwise faded to something anxious and uncertain. In fact, as the beetle watched, his body language screamed of anxiety: the constant fidgeting, the unfocused gaze, the shifting of weight on the stool. Hegemol was actually quite expressive when not covered in layers of thick metal—Ogrim just wished he could see those expressions in better circumstances.

The tinkerer looked up at his compatriot, waiting with bated breath for any sort of response to his ideas. The larger knight stared back, blinked, and after a moment, offered another bright smile. "That all sounds very impressive!"

Hegemol waited another second or two, then let out a short sigh, half disappointed and half relieved at the generic reply. "Thanks," he intoned.

Ogrim, seeing the half-hearted acceptance of his own lackluster response, tapped a claw to his chin in thought. "I do believe the idea has potential," he elaborated, moving his forelimb to rest gently on the other's shoulder, "I just can't say how much, precisely, as it's not my area of expertise. I have hope it will prove effective, though. You’re very good with this type of thing." Hegemol slowly nodded. It was then that the beetle noticed just how tense his friend was, even as he felt quite squishy under his own hard, chitinous claw. He turned it so that the sharper bits were angled firmly away from delicate skin and used the flat side to slowly rub the maggot's shoulder, keeping the pressure light while still trying to offer some sense of comfort.

His friend bore it for a few moments before shuddering and nudging the claw, signaling him to stop. The Defender quickly removed the offending limb and tilted his head in concern. "Are you sure you're alright, friend? It's not like you to shy away from contact."

"Yes, it's just," the tinkerer hunched in on himself, "when outside of my armor, every t-touch feels overwhelming, you know? I'm not used to feeling so.. exposed."

"Oh! Of course, of course, my apologies, I should've realized-"

"I-it's fine, you meant well, I know." He huffed and gestured loosely with an arm. "It's as if.. everything's so sharp, a-and cold, and defined out here. Like anything could p-pierce through me at any moment. Not that it hasn't happened before," Hegemol muttered, pulling off his welding gloves to stare at his callused hands, and the old, jagged lines that criss-crossed up his arms. The results of years of learning his craft the hard way. Ogrim hummed sympathetically at the sight. The Five all had their scars—his just came from a different source than the others'.

"I k-know I can handle myself without the armor," the maggot continued, squeezing his hands shut, "but after so long being r-reliant on it, when it's not there for me to retreat into, everything suddenly feels like so much. It's not that I've forgotten how to feel—I still c-can, through the metal, thanks to His Majesty's enchantments—but it's usually dulled. Like- like going from a shell with all setae shaved off to one freshly molted, or so I imagine. A-and usually, when I do come out, it's only for short spans, or for rest. It's just- it's all-" He fumbled for a moment before slumping with a sigh.

"No, I understand. You've explained it quite well, I think," Ogrim chuckled softly, suppressing the urge to reach for his friend again. Hegemol offered a brief tired smile in return, then went back to fidgeting with his tools, picking off lingering flecks of dirt. The beetle tilted his head at how worn-out the other seemed, noting the droop of his antennae and darkness beneath his eyes. It made sense; the tinkerer was highly distressed at the loss of his armor, and it had been missing for over a day, not to mention that he had been in his workshop almost the entire time since. The Defender found it hard to believe that he would've gotten any sleep last night. "Is there anything I can do to help, my friend?"

"Hm? Oh, uhm," Hegemol tapped at the table, contemplating, "N-nothing that I can think of, at the moment. I'll.. let you know? Though I w-wouldn't want to keep you from your duties." He paused. "Speaking of which, shouldn't you be getting back to those, soon? Not that I don't appreciate your company, b-but…"

"Ah! My patrol, yes. I should, shouldn't I?" The dung beetle rubbed his horn sheepishly. "It just feels wrong to leave you unsupported when you're struggling like this. I don't suppose the King would mind a few minutes' break too badly, would he?"

No, he'd likely be far too absorbed in his own work to notice. The maggot scrunched his face a little, then snorted at a joke he kept to himself. He wasn't certain the most loyal of the Five would take as much humor in it. "You're probably fine," he mumbled, absently scrubbing at his eyes. "And I'm not completely unsup- supported. The others are doing their best out there to help."

"Still, I feel as though there's something more I could.. do…" Hegemol looked up as Ogrim trailed off. The Defender had a thoughtful look in his eye, a claw tapping against his chin. "...I may have an idea."

"Mm?"

"It would allow me to give you comfort and respite, while still being free to perform my tasks," he continued. There was a cautious air to his voice, quite unusual for the boisterous knight.

"I'm listening." The other's hesitance made Hegemol rather nervous himself, but he was open to ideas. He got a sense that he should know where Ogrim was going with this, but whatever it was, it eluded him. His friend was rarely one to choose his words so carefully.

"What if.." The beetle clicked his forelimbs together, glancing toward the pile of prototypes in the corner of the room, then back at their creator. "I could share my armor with you, in a manner of speaking? Just until your own is found."

Okay, he knew the larger knight didn't mean that in the literal sense, but what did he mean? The answer teased frustratingly at the edge of the tinkerer's mind, just out of reach.

Seeing his smaller friend’s look of confusion and concentration, the Defender gave a quiet laugh. He could practically watch the thoughts churning behind the maggot’s eyes. Might as well make it easier on him. “I’m sure you remember a.. particular rescue tactic, that I sometimes employ? Very effective in emergencies, but unrecognized by the public, due to its, er, taboo nature?” At Hegemol’s dawning comprehension, Ogrim released the breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. He hadn’t realized it would be so nerve-wracking to tiptoe around the subject like that! He should’ve just ripped the bandage off. It wasn’t as though he’d ever gotten to ask before, not in a casual setting such as this. Of course, he’d been planning out how to bring the idea up to Isma, but- heh, no no, that could come later. A good.. good while later. “I know it’s.. odd… but it should serve our needs quite well, I think.”

“I… ah.” The smaller knight slumped back on his seat, leaning against the table as he processed. “Could- could I have a moment to think about this?” “Of course, my friend, of course! I wouldn’t want to pressure you into anything you don’t truly want, or frighten you away from something that may help.”

Slowly, Hegemol nodded, grabbing a drill bit to fidget with off the workbench while he considered the offer. Ogrim was asking to- to eat him. His immediate instinct was a shot of fear through the chest, based upon childhood lessons specifically intended to help him avoid such a fate. Of the few things he could remember about his parents, those instances were what stuck out most—their desperate attempts to ensure his survival in a world full of predators that would take any chance they could get to sate their hunger with a maggot’s succulent flesh. Even those among Hallownest’s noble class weren’t above such desires, much as they claimed to be.

Focusing on the weight of metal in his hands, he pushed the fear down. It wasn’t a life-or-death situation. This was Ogrim. Loyal, honest Ogrim, dedicated to his friends and kingdom above all else. The knight who’d sooner make himself completely vulnerable to a terrified citizen than let them come to any harm. This was something the beetle did on an almost regular basis, protecting those in need with his own body when the situation called for it. Of course, the average Hallownestian had claws, or horns, or at the very least, a hard shell, of which Hegemol had none. He'd be entirely at the mercy of his friend's gut. Still, the Defender had experience. He knew how to do it safely.

That's not to mention, the maggot had done something similar himself, two or three times before. Only in absolutely dire situations, of course, and only when he could be certain that the citizen in need of protection was unconscious and wouldn't be waking up anytime soon. He wasn't taking the risk of letting a stranger in on his secret. Not a chance. Though, tucking them into the hollow space at the center of his armor's torso was.. not the safest, he'd admit, what with all the exposed mechanisms, the only cover from such being haphazard platforms and sheets of metal installed to make the inner workings more accessible for maintenance. Perhaps he should improve that a little, add some padding to it. It'd make it more comfortable on him for routine cleaning and repairs, at least…

He repressed a jump when Ogrim abruptly shifted, glancing toward the door. Right, he should make his decision. He tapped the table a few times, both as a means to grab attention and to expel restless energy. When the beetle turned back to him, Hegemol voiced his concerns. "So- erm. You say it would be- it would be until my armor is found, yes? But.. w-what if it isn't found? I would need to get back to working on a n-new suit."

His fellow knight gave him an understanding look. "Should that be necessary, I'll let you out to continue your work. I'll let you out whenever you ask, really! The goal is to ease your mind and allow you some rest, not to trap you. Once you feel ready, you can get right back to it. I'll even let you back in later, if the need arises," he finished with a wink.

The tinkerer obliged him with a laugh. Yeah, Ogrim would never want to hurt him. He was far too kind-hearted, not to mention a dear friend. Giving the situation one last thought, Hegemol weighed the pros and cons. There weren't all that many cons, truthfully. He would be putting his life entirely in the Defender's claws—in his stomach, even—but he knew he could trust Ogrim. And there would be little to no privacy between them, but again, he trusted his friend not to abuse that. The courtesy would extend both ways, of course. And it would be strange, and new, and scary, but isn't everything, the first time around? He couldn't have gotten this far in life without taking a few risks.

As for pros, it would be… comfortable, supposedly. Dark, warm, and soft—ideal sleeping conditions. He didn't know if he'd be able to get past the other traits that defined the inside of a digestive organ, but he supposed he'd simply have to find out. But, most importantly, he'd be shielded from the world. He would have to relinquish all control, but in exchange, he would gain full protection. The thought gave him pause. It would only be for a resting period, and then he'd be released, he reminded himself. In sleep, he would have no control either way, so he wasn't sacrificing much of anything in that regard.

In the end, it all came down to trust. Trust, and willingness to try a new experience.

Finally, Hegemol looked up, meeting Ogrim's gaze head-on, and gave a single, firm nod. The dung beetle brightened considerably. "You accept?"

This was his chance to back down. He fought off the urge to take it. Be brave, o Mighty One. "Yes."

"Excellent! And, er.. Just to clarify, you do know what, precisely, I am offering?"

The maggot nodded again, more shallowly, expression revealing little. "Y-you wish to… ingest me. And hold me harmlessly within y-your stomach while I rest. Is my understanding correct?"

The Defender leaned back a bit. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't at least somewhat looking forward to this, but it didn't seem like the time to admit that aloud. "Ah, heh, 'wish' might be a strong word for it, but, er. Essentially, yes. That's my offer. Knowing that, you'd still agree to it?"

"Mhm."

"Good, good, that's good. I just wanted to make certain you knew what you would be getting into. Now!" He grinned and clacked his claws together in a clap. "Let's get to it, shall we?"

Hegemol let out a slight huff of relief. If his friend asked him if he was sure one more time, he was almost certain he would've changed his answer. He scanned the beetle's face, considering. "So, how do we.. go about this? I'm not too familiar with the process."

"Right, right. Well, to start, we need to get you into my mouth, which- hm. That's a good question, actually! We have a couple options for that. Would you be alright with me picking you up? That would be the easiest way, I think. Otherwise, I could hold my forearms out, and you could climb onto them yourself. Oh, or we could use the table! I could rest my chin on the edge, and you could crawl in of your own volition."

Ah, another chance to lose his nerve, how lovely. Still, with how excited his fellow knight looked over having the idea, the tinkerer could hardly find it in himself to turn him down. "T-that last choice sounds, um, acceptable."

Once again reminded of his comrade's hesitance, Ogrim tried to tone down his enthusiasm. Keeping his expression and tone light, he provided directions, wanting to make it easier on the smaller bug. "Alright. Go ahead and hop up, and I'll be ready whenever you are."

The beetle backed up a little to give Hegemol room as the tinkerer moved his tools and materials out of the way, shuffling them aside to be put away properly later. That done, he pulled himself from the stool onto his workbench. Cautiously, he turned back to his friend, who had gotten to one knee and was already lowering his head onto the surface.

Gods, even at eye level, he was.. big. Big, and yet not big enough, or so it appeared. His mouth was larger than the maggot's own, yes, but their eyes were around the same scale. There couldn't have been much difference between the sizes of their heads, even. Ogrim gave him an easy grin, then everything else stopped as his maw opened wide.

Oh.

The anxious knight couldn't help the shudder that ran through him at the yawning cavern. No, Hegemol. Calm. Focus. It's just Ogrim. Just Ogrim… He steeled himself and crept closer. Those jaws could open further than he expected, honestly. He eyed the saliva starting to pool alongside the beetle's tongue with trepidation. He was hoping there'd be less of it. Leaning forward on his forelimbs, he took in the sight of the Defender's waiting mouth, shivering as humid breath washed over him, antennae flicking back. It was so still, so patient, and yet he could see all the little twitches of each muscle, held taut in anticipation. He sat back, just enough to lift his upper hands and tap them together nervously.

This didn't escape the other's notice, of course. Ogrim let his face fall into something more relaxed and reassuring. "I promise you, this is safe. I won't let you come to any harm, and certainly not from my own body."

Hegemol heaved in a breath and straightened up, rubbing his arm, brushing over his scars. "I-I know. I trust you. That's.. that's not it, e-exactly, it's just…"

"Mm?"

He huffed and blurted out his concern. "Just- are we- we sure I-I'll fit? Not that I d-don't trust your judgment, it just- i-it seems- …improbable."

The dung beetle blinked. After a moment, he put a claw to his mandibles, eyes squinted slightly in thought. "Hmm… It shouldn't be a problem! I've never ingested anyone quite your size before, true, but your, er, malleability should more than make up for that." To prove his point, he carefully pressed down on the maggot's head, watching the flesh bounce back into place as he released it. Hegemol shook himself out and nodded, eyes squeezed shut. Ogrim chuffed apologetically. "The process of getting you down might be rough, but I assure you, it should be quite comfortable once you're safely inside."

"I-I'm sure. Could- could we..?"

"Of course, friend, of course."

Once more, the maw was laid open before him. Once more, Hegemol inched forward, until his vision was almost entirely taken up by the shadowed green inside of his fellow knight's mouth. Once more, he steeled himself for what was to come. And with that, he pushed forward to immerse himself in Ogrim's depths.

Or he tried to, anyway. In reality, what happened was that he flinched back as soon as he felt mandibles scrape against the sides of his face. Sharp, sharp, far too sharp. As he crouched there, panting and staring, those perfectly innocuous chunks of chitin seemed all too threatening. He could feel lingering points of contact where they had just barely brushed against him. As the larger bug closed his mouth to tilt his head in concern, Hegemol gasped in a breath and let his eyes fall shut. Scarab mandibles aren't sharp, you blubbering fool. Where's all that courage it took to get here? He barely touched you.

"...You don't have to do this if you're not comfortable, Hege-"

"No, no," he shook his head and sat up, meeting the beetle's eyes with a determined look. "Th-that was just- instinct. I want to do this. I-I just.." Ogrim gave him a questioning look, waiting patiently. "Could," the maggot started. He huffed, frustrated with himself. "Could you.. put me in your- your mouth? I- You have experience with this, and I- I'd rather this part b-be over with."

Somehow, the Defender's voice fell to an even gentler tone. "Of course, I understand. Just relax, close your eyes if you'd like, and I'll take care of it from here."

With one final nod, Hegemol went still, his eyes falling shut as instructed. He couldn't bring himself to go entirely limp, but this would have to do. He couldn't keep himself from tensing slightly as large claws came to rest on either side of his face. Thankfully, Ogrim provided him a moment to breathe and resettle himself before gently tugging him forward. The solid chitinous appendages squeezed ever so carefully to reshape his head into something narrower. He took one more deep breath, and with that, he was finally guided into the maw of his brother in arms.

The beetle tried not to gasp as Hegemol made contact with his tongue. The taste… He wasn’t normally one for meat, but by the gods, his friend tasted divine. He couldn’t help the saliva that rushed in upon detecting such a delicacy entering his mouth, but he could at least make use of it. He promptly began to slather the maggot with fluid as soon as his head was engulfed in his jaws. The sweet, savory flesh was still highly malleable, conforming to the limits of Ogrim’s mouth, giving so easily to the ministrations of his tongue. He stayed mindful, of course. He didn’t want to startle his friend any further, let alone make him feel like a mere morsel, Wyrm forbid. No, no, of course not, he was just.. slicking him to ease the trip down, that’s all. He’d just have to make sure to clarify that once the tinkerer was settled. Along with, perhaps, a brief, tasteful compliment to his flavor. The Defender couldn’t exactly lie to his fellow knight, now could he? Especially when- ah, it seemed he was humming his enjoyment aloud. He let the low sound peter out, gave the other a short pat, and eased him further inside.

The smaller knight would've very much appreciated it if his friend could have gotten this part over with. He didn't need his thoughts spiraling out of control again before he was even fully inside. Nearly holding his breath, he hunkered down and let everything happen around him. It was difficult not to struggle, but he managed, keeping himself limp. Luckily, it seemed that the brunt of the.. tasting was over, though he couldn't help tensing as his head met the back of the throat. His antennae twitched against the damp surface. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, it was easy to feel when the flesh before him parted, opening into a yawning void that he didn’t dare gaze upon. The sparse moments before it pulled him inside seemed to last an eternity, until finally, Ogrim swallowed.

The scarab couldn't help but grin as his comrade began to slide into his gullet. He'd never gotten the chance to really enjoy the process before, especially not with anyone so squishy. Now, he could finally be slow, gentle, rather than rushing to get his charge down and out of danger. He could feel every little detail of his friend's form, taste every little subtle flavor. Every twitch and squirm was clear to him, even as he could tell how much the smaller knight was trying to keep calm, keep still. Without his input, another hum kicked up. His claws met his chest, hardly able to detect the near-formless shape past his own flesh and shell and armor, but distinctly feeling the mass pushing outward against the muscles of his esophagus. His tongue flicked out against his mandibles, seeking more of the exquisite taste. Such a wonderful little warmth, being squeezed down, down, deeper into his body.

Despite the discomfort of being shoved around like a helpless ragdoll, Hegemol was grateful that at least this part of the process was smooth and efficient. The esophageal muscles’ actions were involuntary, simply performing the job they were made for and giving him no special treatment. He was shunted downward at a steady pace. Fast, but not so much as to be disorienting. The mechanicalness of it all was almost a comfort to the tinkerer. More examples of automation and consistency became clear to him as he was pushed deeper. The regular pounding of his friend’s heart, pushing blood through the beetle’s hemocoel. Breaths drawing air through the spiracles to spread into tracheae, carrying oxygen to tissues throughout the body. Soft gurgles of the lower digestive tract processing food eaten long before his arrival. The rhythm of life was overwhelming, when heard all at once, but as he broke it down in his mind to its component parts, it became a sort of reassurance. Things still made sense, even when made up of complex organic matter rather than raw elements or simple minerals.

All this self-soothing focus was enough to occupy his attention until he was dropped unceremoniously into Ogrim’s stomach. He quickly pushed himself upright and shook himself out, scrubbing at his face with his upper set of hands. He had barely a second to orient himself before the wall behind him squeezed inward, making him gasp.

The Defender hugged himself tightly as his fellow knight was deposited safe in his belly. So soft, so warm, just barely weighing down the organ. The perfect size to make him comfortably full, while still having a fair bit of wiggle room. He wasn't sure if the maggot really was as warm as he seemed, or if it was just his own fondness and contentment making it feel that way. And the softness… With how pliant Hegemol's exterior was, it was hard to make out his outline, discern where the smaller bug ended and his own flesh began. He could only determine his friend's exact location by the movements against his inner walls. It made every shift of the limbs and flick of the antennae feel special, ephemeral, giving him a fluttery sensation as though his gut were full of lumaflies rather than a comrade. He gave another small squeeze, then loosened his hold to instead pat lightly at the hidden form. This was lovely, every bit of it. He'd have to see if Hege would ever be willing to do this again sometime.

“Make yourself at home, dear friend,” Ogrim sighed, a blissful smile on his face. “Are you alright? How is it in there? Comfortable, I hope.”

Hegemol shuddered a bit as the wall retracted. Sitting up, he looked around, not that he could see anything, exactly. His antennae waved about in the darkness. It smelled.. odd. He wouldn’t call it gross—as a maggot, he’d be hard-pressed to find much of anything disgusting—but it was certainly new. Not impossible to get used to though, given enough time. He reached out to touch the enclosing flesh. Damp. Slippery. Dragging his hand along it, he felt out the space around him. There wasn’t much. The walls kept closing in on him, rubbing against him, kneading him. He wasn’t food. There was no acid, he- he wasn’t food, it was just- the organ was investigating its new occupant, that’s all. Breathe, Hegemol. He was fine. …He’d be fine.

“..Hegemol?”

Slowly, he turned around to face the front, resting his forehead against where Ogrim’s claw was with a sigh. “I-I’m alright, yes.” He was safe, he knew. No stinging, burning, or tingling, and he was certain he’d notice a lot faster than most other bugs if there was. As for comfort… He moved a hand to rub back at the beetle’s innards. It was.. soft, yes, and warm. That was to be expected. Arthropods’ interiors tended to have far less defense than their exteriors. And there was plenty of padding to hold in heat. The walls were slick, but covered in thick fluid that clung to anything it touched. It… he couldn’t say it was unpleasant, really, not when he knew it couldn’t hurt him. Perhaps if he viewed it as a warm bath..?

“I-it will take some g-getting used to, I think, but it- it should d-do nicely.” After all, it did provide the one thing he wanted. The outside world was entirely blocked out, hidden behind layers of muscle and one of the toughest sets of armor in Hallownest. There was nothing sharp or cold or hard, deep in the dung beetle’s gut. Nothing to possibly hurt him but for the acids that could threaten to escape the walls, kept inert by Ogrim’s sheer force of will and care for his wellbeing. He knew the larger knight was experienced in this, and that his will was strong. He could trust him with his life. He was safe.

The tinkerer did one more loop of the space, trying not to shudder as the surrounding muscles brushed against his side, then settled right in the center, lying down in the pit of the stomach. He shuffled his limbs a bit, adjusting his position to root himself more firmly amongst the ever-moving tissues. At least he could be somewhat stable. The organ still kneaded and pressed at him curiously, not quite knowing what to do with him. The front wall, especially. He shut his eyes tight and tilted his head down as something rubbed at him from the outside. Ogrim’s claw, right. Rightrightright. His friend was merely checking in on him. He leaned into the show of concern, just a bit. Just to confirm that he was doing well. He appreciated knowing that the scarab wouldn’t forget about him so easily.

Ogrim rubbed his stomach, satisfied. The little engineer really hit the spot. He flushed slightly; he shouldn’t be thinking of his comrade that way. He was so delectable though, and so filling-! His breath hitched as Hegemol nuzzled(??) back at him. That’s what it felt like, anyway. He quietly chuckled at the abrupt show of affection. Always full of surprises, that bug. Though perhaps this shouldn’t have been quite so unexpected. Hegemol was plenty tactile with his fellow knights when safely concealed in his armor, after all. Maybe this was a sign that the method was working? Was the maggot feeling more confident, thanks to the experience? Thanks to him? Oh, he hoped so. He so adored being able to successfully assist others with their needs and problems, particularly those he cared for. It always left him with a sense of fulfillment.

“It’s time for me to go back to my patrol now, but you try and get some sleep, alright? I’ll wake you if there’s any news regarding your armor, or if the King requests your presence, but otherwise, you should remain undisturbed. Just let me know when you want out, or if you need anything else, and I’ll be happy to oblige.” Somewhere under the layers of his body, he felt the up-and-down movement of a nod, as well as a small vibration from Hegemol’s hum of acknowledgement a moment later. With one more good pat, he stood and began towards the door of the workshop, trying to keep his steps smooth and steady for the tinkerer’s sake. It felt as though the smaller bug was already nestled right in. The occasional shudder or shiver came through, but those were starting to die down. Hopefully they would dissipate in full within the next few minutes as the maggot adjusted.

The White Defender paused as he reached the exit, one claw on the handle. He gazed fondly downward, towards where his brother in arms currently resided. Inside, Hegemol would hear one last reassurance as his sleepless nights caught up to him. “Rest well, friend,” came the hushed murmur, “I’ll be your armor for as long as you need.”

***********************************

And there we go! Thank you to everyone who stuck around during these. massive gaps between posts;; And again, a big thank you to Scketch!! This has been fun, I'd love to work with you again sometime. Or merhaps another friend who would like to collaborate?  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also also! I have been granted permission to share these other sketches as well, from earlier in the writing/art planning process:

(That last one was a little what-if scenario of Hege getting unwillingly nommed and not really having a way to effectively struggle, eheheh) (it’s not like I have a fic outline where THAT would ever happen. ahaha. ha,,, ha)

Thanks for reading! Feedback (and reblogs) are greatly appreciated, and criticism is welcome, so long as it’s constructive/respectful. Asks are open.

—————

DNI NSFW blogs, blogs that post exclusively hard and/or fatal vore, weight gain blogs, mpreg blogs, proshippers, TERFs, ace exclusionists, etc.

[cardnompfs]

Aside from the constant complaint and suffering from summer heat-

It gave me opportunity to draw often now..! And to be ate by a giant bee-

Atleast it isolated and comfy tho- .////.

[autistichornet]

why is he full of bees. how did they get there. husk hive is understandable but they are coming from his mouth. are there just bees inside of hive knight? is this a grub father situation?

vespa i think there's something seriously wrong with your knight.

...

he has no wings. therefore he cannot buzz. he makes a buzzing sound though..

IS IT FROM THE BEES?

[miraclecherryblossomsblog]

Why do the grubs have such fucked up lore

[palisadewasp]

d

did divine just vore someone

[lizbot]

MACRO/MICRO GIANT WYRM SNUFF + ADULT BABY MOMMY DOM - FIND HORNEY TREE MILFS NEAR YOU!! NOT CLICKBAIT!!1!

I'm telling y'all, HK is a really horny game when you start thinking about it. You pay a character to poop lol. there's willoh and leg eater vore thing too, and WL and the little fool are really into being tied up.

[ernamarielog]

30.07.22-01.08.22

Afg. Orø 06.30 Ank. Ballen 21.40

Ombord: Kasper, Abel og Johan

Det er blevet tid til at genoplive den digitale logbog. Meget er sket siden sidst, hvor Erna Marie blev flyttet til det, som vi dengang troede var hendes nye permanente plads i Svendborgsund. Det var det ikke. Min trofaste Granada 24 blev i stedet afhændet til Thomas Brus, som også er ophavsmand til forrige indlæg, som efterhånden er tre år gammelt. Han har omdøbt hende til Erna Mary og istandsat hende efter alle kunstens regler.

Siden 2019 har logbogen af samme grund ligget død i vandet, selvom Astrid og jeg de sidste par år faktisk har sejlet en del. Mens vi endnu boede i København, købte vi sammen Sunes svenskbyggede Triss Krydser (Årets Båd i Sverige anno 1970, kom ikke her!) Gerda Marie, som er cirka samme størrelse som Erna Marie og hidtil har ligget på idylliske Orø i den sydlige ende af Isefjorden. Et smukt farvand, men efter vores flytning til Odense og dyrt og besværligt at komme til. Af samme grund har det længe været planen, at Gerda Marie skulle til Fyn – og hvilken bedre lejlighed at flytte den end den første Skarø Festival i tre år?

Lørdag oprandt så den store dag. Til at sejle med mig havde jeg hyret en besætning, som ad mange omgange tidligere har vist sit værd ombord på den gamle båd: Abel og Johan. Sammen havde vi lagt en ambitiøs plan om at nå helt til Ballen på Samsø på turens første dag. Det er en rute på cirka 60 nm, og det krævede derfor også det rette vejrlig – ikke mindst i form af en gunstig vind – at nå det mål. Vejrguderne var dog med os, og vinden var frisk og i øst store dele af dagen, hvilket jo et drømmescenarie, når turen først mod nord ud af fjorden, så mod vest langs Sjællands Odde og til sidst mod sydvest i retning af Samsø.

For at nå til Ballen i dagslys planlagde vi at stikke ud allerede klokken 06. Aftenen før gjorde Sune og vores nu forhenværende genbo på ”fattigmandskajen”, Nicholas, ellers deres for at hælde øl og rom i os i en grad, som jeg erfaringsmæssigt ved besværliggør tidlig afsejling. Det krævede derfor stor viljestyrke at forlade Sunes båd klokken 00.30. Det lykkedes dog.

Vel ude af havnen tog vi den op gennem løbet for motor, før vi satte begge sejl og skød en god fart mod Hundested. Her måtte vi grundet gårsdagens alkoholstrabadser gøre wc-holdt, da min mave led gevaldigt. En halv time senere var vi dog afsted igen, og kort efter var Gerda Marie for første gang under vores ejerskab ude i rum sø i Kattegat. Det gik forrygende, og med en Abel i trimningsmæssigt hopla kom vi frem med en fart på den gode side af fem knob meget af tiden. Der var god bevægelse i båden, og man blev mindet om, hvorfor de fleste både man møder i åbent farvand er 5-10 fod større. Det gik dog fint, og motoren spandt, når vi måtte have den i gang.

Vel gennem det snævre løb nær spidsen af Odden, Gniben, var vi for første gang i regulært åbent farvand. For Abel var det ikke helt første gang, da han både har sejlet sin egen båd til Aalborg og senest til Kertemind – store dele single hand – men for både mig, Johan og altså også båden var det uvant at være på så åbent hav. Det gik fint, og med en kurs mod sydvest var der fortsat gang i sejladsen for sejl. Sidst på eftermiddagen løjede vinden dog, hvorfor motoren måtte stå sin første længere prøve. Det kan godt være svært for en 5 HK-motor at klare modstrømmen i Kattegat, hvilket vi erfarerede, da vi efter grundige overvejelser krydsede rute T og fulgte racon-fyrene i trafiksepareringer mod Samsø. Strømmen var stik imod os, timerne gik, og solen gik ned. Ballen forblev i timevis en fjern prik, og der var lidt stille ombord, mens vi koncentrerede os om ikke at være i vejen for skibstrafikken.

Efter omkring fire timers motorsejlads i modstrøm ankom vi ti minutter efter solnedgang til Ballen. Der var, som der altid er i Ballen, fuldstændig proppet med både. Da Gerda Maries design besværliggør manøvrering med motor og rorpind på én gang besluttede jeg at lægge os yderst i havnen, så vi kunne komme nemt uden dagen efter. Vi fik lov at lægge os uden på en stor båd, som i forvejen havde fire andre naboer på indersiden mod molen.

Efter en kort ankomstøl på Restaurant Dokken, som Abel og jeg i fordums tid har besøgt sammen, strøg vi direkte på køjen for at kunne komme afsted i god tid og i overensstemmelse med den aftale, vi havde lavet med vores naboer, der også gerne ville tidligt afsted.

Afg. Ballen 07.30 Ank. Kerteminde 14.30

Ombord: Kasper, Abel og Johan

Søndag morgen stak vi ud på turens anden etape, som oprindeligt skulle være gået hele vejen til Skarø via Kerteminde, hvor Lasse ville påmønstre. Med 15 timers sejlads in mente blev vi dog enige med hinanden om, at det måske var federe at tage en overnatning i Kerteminde. Det skulle senere vise sig at være den helt rigtige disposition.

Vinden var ikke helt, hvad meteorologerne havde lovet, så sejladsen sydover blev mestendels for motor. Den var ret begivenhedsløs, men endte alligevel med at tage syv timer. På sidste ben ind mod Kerteminde – efter at have rundet pynten ved Måle – satte vi sejl igen og ankom i fin stil.

En ”kort”, begivenhedsløs sejlads, som i grunden var rigtig rar ovenpå lørdagens langstrakte og til tider lidt strabadserende tur. Det tærer, som mange sejlere vil vide, lidt på kræfterne at trimme sejl (tak, Abel) og være på roret, når der er træk i det i mange timer i streg.

Afg. Kerteminde 08.10 Ank. Skaræ 18.10

Ombord: Kasper og Lasse

I Kerteminde afmønstrede Abel og Johan for at sejle Abels egen båd, Granada 24’eren Fleur De La Mer. Den havde Abel lagt i Kerteminde, selvom den oprindelige plan for ham var at nå helt til Skarø fra Aalborg. Vind og vejr betød dog nogle dages ekstra ophold i Ebeltoft, og derfor nåede han kun til Kerteminde. Her sluttede en anden gammel kending sig til holdet, som nu blev fordelt på de to både. Lasse sejlede med mig, og Johan og Abel sejlede altså Fleur syd på.

Vinden var temmelig frisk fra en nordvestlig, og vel ude af havnen skød Lasse og jeg hurtigt 5+ knob. Fleur De La Mer fik indhentet os, og så gik det ellers over stok og sten ud i Storebælt, hvor Storebæltsbroen blev vores pejlemærke.

Som tilfældet også var lørdag, var der gang i det åbne farvand, og massive dønning, store bølger og skæve søer betød, at begge småbåde blev kastet noget rundt. Det var ret anstrengende, og tingene fløj rundt om læ på Gerda Marie, hvor der ikke var søsurret sådan helt efter forskrifterne. Det blev også til en dramatisk tur på fordækket for Lasse, da sejlet skulle rettes ud. Fordi storsejlet på Gerda Marie har tovværk i stedet for slæder på forliget og er et mareridt at trække op, nøjedes vi med forsejlet, som er en lidt slidt genua i størrelse 140. Det var rigeligt, selvom Fleur De La Mer med to trimmede sejl trak fra os uden at bruge motor.

Turen mod Storebæltsbroen foregik altså for sejl, men var henset til de voldsomme bevægelser en kende nervepirrende, og da vi nærmede os det brofag, vi agtede at gennemsejle, mistede vi næsten al styrefart. Igennem kom vi dog, men nu begyndte strømmen så at drille en smule. Motoren blev startet op, og så sejlede vi ellers videre med både motor og sejl hele vejen ned langs Fyns østkyst og Langeland. Det meste af tiden skød vi en god fart, og turen var i det store hele udramatisk i læ for vinden, som stadig var i hvert fald otte meter i sekundet fra en nordvestlig retning. 

Ud for Nyborg (som bliver Gerda Maries nye, permanente hjemhavn) spottede vi en havørn! Efter hundredevis af marsvin og sæler var det en ret fed oplevelse. Det kan godt betale sig at holde øjnene åbne og se på andet end vandet, når man stikker til søl.

Tæt ved Thurø strøg vi lidt for tidligt forsejlet, da vinden drillede, og vi løbende ramte vindlommer. Vi kunne og burde måske have haft lidt mere tålmodighed, men vi endte ikke desto mindre med at klare resten af turen for motor alene. Da vi slog over på en vestlig kurs syd for Thurø var vinden ret imod os, og det blev nødvendigt at give motoren mere at leve af.

Astrid og jeg har løbende haft problemer med de påhængsmotorer, vi har haft på båden – det bliver måske til et helt indlæg en anden dag – men på denne tur har vores Hidea-motor været uhyre pålidelig og meget beskeden i sin benzintørst. Det var den også i massiv modvind, og da jeg dristede mig til at øge omdrejningstallet, lykkedes det os at skyde omkring fire knob. Ikke helt skidt for fem heste i stærk vind. Op gennem Svendborgsund fik vi sågar medstrøm, og så er det pludselig ingen sag at komme hurtigt fremad. På dette tidspunkt var gutterne på Fleur De La Mer dog mere end halvanden mil foran os, så de blev tasked til at samle fadølsanlæg op i Vindeby Lystbådehavn, hvor en venlig brygger fra Svendborgsund Bryghus stod klar til at lange fem fustager plud fadølsanlæg over på båden. Efterfølgende ventede de på Lasse og jeg, og da vi havde passeret Vindeby, fulgtes vi igen ad ud ad sundet og mod Skarø.

Også på benet stik mod vestenvinden havde vi medstrøm. Vinden tog lidt af farten, men vi holdt alligevel fire knob. Da vi kom helt ud af det snævre farvand og medstrømmen forsvandt, dalede farten en anelse, og vi blev for en kort bemærkning ramt af bølger, som truede med at få os til at gå i stå. Abel så rigtigt i at trække over i løbets nordlige side, hvor der var lidt mere læ. Vi fulgte efter, og fik igen lidt fart i skøjten før det sidste lange træk mod indsejlingen til Skarø. Her var der ingen genveje eller tricks, men blot lidt ekstra gas på motoren at gøre godt med.

Ind kom vi til sidst til en fyldt havn, hvor Abel og Johan lagde til ved broen helt inde i bunden af havnen. Gerda Marie blev lagt uden på, og nu forestår så et arbejde med forhaling, når der bliver ledige pladser. Ikke desto mindre var det skønt at være tilbage på øen, hvor festivaleventyret begyndte.

Kort efter ankomst dukkede Mark op og hilste på, før Lasse, Johan og jeg for en kort bemærkning tog hjem til Fyn for at restituere. Abel blev på Skarø, og ham slutter vi os til igen onsdag, før selve festivalen begynder torsdag. Billeder fra turen tilgår, når vi har fået udvekslet dem indbyrdes.

[lookitsahinkle]

Turns out the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree...

[scketchorinopop]

I have been gone for a while,,,,,,,,

Here have a commission from a friend💖💖

H/ollow K/night vore!!

[nompunhere]

ayyyy guess what, it's another reupload of an old fic to ao3

took me a bit but I figured out how to put the related art piece I made in there too. as with the previous reupload, it has some edits made. nothing too fancy, rephrased some sentences, added a couple more. gave Ghost a few more thoughts and actions

[hapalopus]

cupcakerusu

[cardnompfs]

Just a few doodles I figured i draw..! Mainly about H//ollow K//night voor eheh-

And featuring Ikala and Faust at the bottom left side! Ikala having eaten Faust..! (Love birds/mantis-)

[old-castlegachi]

The issue with HK's writing is the tonal shifts. We have characters that have been traumatized and it being framed as traumatic, with long lasting effects; or we have characters who are traumatized and it being framed as comic relief or 'not that bad'.

Like Shouto refusing to use his fire because it scared him / he didn't want to be like his Father (his abuser), and this hurting himself is standard for a victim of abuse to feel. He will do anything to distance himself from his abuser because we, as people, don't like to be hurt and distancing oneself is a common defense mechanism.

Then, in literally the same arc, Bakugo is chained and gagged on live television, and it's framed as comedic. How is physically restraining a minor at all comedic? This isn't to say you cannot have humor in your story if there are heavy subjects, it's simply that the narrative that frames 'abuse as bad' also frames 'abuse as comedic'.

How is the audience (of mostly impressionable minors) meant to see how extremely damaging End*vore's literal crimes of domestic violence, child abuse and child neglect are; when in the same brush traumatizing another child is just a 'funny gag'?

This can also be said about Izuku's 'anxiousness' often being played up as comedic relief, when it's actually a result of years of bullying and grounded in a very real fear that someone will hurt him for simply daring to exist.

How did Aizawa personally promise to protect the students of 1-A to each of their guardians after the USJ incident; but then allow unknowing minors to 'intern' at an active and literal warzone without their guardian's permission. (Though if those guardians had given permission, call CPS.) 

I don’t know how anyone could think it’d be safe to allow children to be at the outskirts of an active warzone, and not realize how deeply traumatizing that will be.

Look, if none of the traumatic incidents had lasting consequences, then I wouldn't be up in arms about it and making this post. But we have multiple storylines which depict a traumatic event and do have conclusive effects on multiple characters emotions, motivations, and next actions. Incidents that have changed the lifestyle of multiple characters; such as after the USJ incident, Bakugo's kidnapping, and Eri's entire life.

If multiple incidents are depicted as traumatic and inconclusively bad; then the severity of those that aren't are immediately being downplayed. It's a conscious choice to have your villains suffer continuously with no relief or sympathy*; while heroes who are also literal criminals be the focus of sympathetic redemption arcs.

Like, you cannot continuously make light out of some severely traumatic events and then expect people to treat them all with the seriousness they deserve. HK and his editors make a conscious choice each issue about who they want to be viewed sympathetically, and which actions they wished to be swept beneath the mat.

[hkfuckabilityranking]

Official Hollow Knight Boss Fuckability Ranking

Grey Prince Zote (#31) The Ultimate incel. This guy is so obsessed with himself that he can’t comprehend anyone else having a personality. He pounds you for one minute without lube, comes, and immediately falls asleep. I cannot describe how little I want to fuck him. 

Galien (#30) This man is not to be trusted. You know he’d open the door for you to be “chivalrous,” complain about feminists, and say you owe him sex because he paid for dinner. 

Traitor Lord (#29) I don’t know how else to put it— this man is a sexist homophobe. He was so threatened by his own sisters’ authority that he went and sucked on some toxic orange goo to be better than them. This man is an incel. 

The Collector (#28) Look, normally I’d be into a black amorphous blob, but the man is Obsessed with grubs. I don’t want to fuck something that likes kidnapping kids. 

Gorb (#27) Classic example of ‘being intelligent doesn’t mean you’re interesting.’ Obsessed with himself. Would Not treat me right. 

Flukemarm (#26) Look at all those sexy, sexy hol— nope, I can’t do it. Maybe some people want to fuck those holes, but I’m still stuck on her living in the sewers. 

Massive Moss Charger (#25) This is. A Bush. I do not want to fuck a bush. 

Nosk (#24) Would eat me and not in the sexy way (unless you’re into vore). Nice legs though. 

Winged Nosk (#23) Every benefit and drawback as Nosk, except that it has wings, which gives it a slight edge. 

Dung Defender (#22) A nice guy, but he’s senile and bathes in literal shit. Sorry dude, but you’re not fuckable. 

Elder Hu (#21) Sorry folks, I don’t have an old guy kink. Even if he’ll literally smash me to bits, that doesn’t make up for his age. 

White Defender (#20) Dung Defender, but before his fall. Decent combatant, devoted to his friends, but you know he’s just going to end up rolling in shit. 

Vengefly King (#19) Looks like he’d be hard to kiss, but he’s a literal king AND he can hold you up while he fucks you on the ceiling. Unfortunately, he’s emotionally unavailable. How can I tell? I just Know. 

Enraged Guardian (#18) Same benefits and drawbacks of the crystal guardian, he’s just faster 

Crystal Guardian (#17) Slow, screams a lot, but decent color sense. 

Soul Master (#16) Powerful, can fly, can do magic. Unfortunately, he’s obsessed with power and won’t spend enough time on me. He’ll lock himself away in his study instead of locking me to the bed. 

Markoth (#15) Classic shield, skilled at magic, nice cape, good color scene. Unfortunately, he likes to make you follow him around, and that’s not sexy. 

Brooding Mawlek (#14) Social, loving, with an orange goo hot tub on top of its head? It might not be the most fuckable, but it’s a decent hookup 

Uumuu (#13) Normally, I’d be down for tentacles. Unfortunately, with uwu there’s nothing TO fuck— the tentacles are too short. Electricity is Very sexy though

Soul Warrior (#12) Look at him— classy, althetic, has a sword. It’s everything I look for in a dinner date and hookup. 

False Knight (#11) Big. Strong. That’s a bear right there. Also, the armor? Very sexy. -2 points because he doesn’t fill out his armor. 

God Tamer (#10) This lady loves her pet, and I can respect that. Unfortunately, she’s also not an incredible fighter. Nothing special, nothing terrible. 

Xero (#9) Now THIS is a man with swords. Two swords? Four swords? Six swords? He has it all. Not to mention his impeccable fashion sense. I’d trust this man to rail me right. 

Watcher Knights (#8) Look, I like a good gangbang as much as the next person, and there are eight of these fellows. Not so sure about the whole roly-poly aspect, but so long as there’s at least two of them focused on me, I’m into it 

Nailmasters Oro and Mato (#7) Look, these guys are absolute units. They’re combat masters, thick as hell, AND there’s two of them. Hell yeah. 

Hive Knight (#6) Cute, devoted, and master of an army. What’s NOT to like? This guy would take you home, make you dinner, and give you oral until you scream. He’s a sweetheart! Unfortunately, he has nothing visually to make him sexier than some of the other characters. 

Hornet (#5) Bicon. Has a sword. Can and Will step on me. What’s not to love? (except her flighty tendencies). She’d fuck me and run, but my god what a fucking it would be. 

Mantis Lords (#4) These are powerful women. They’re competent politicians, incredible warriors, and have some gorgeous horns to boot. Not to mention that there’s THREE of them. These women would take care of me. I’m talking chained to the bed and fucked until I can’t even think. 

The Hollow Knight (#3) This one has it all. Long legs, combat capabilities, horns, a sword, AND a bondage kink. The hk would make love to me, and they’d make love to me WELL 

Grimm (#2) Okay. Okay. This man? This man right here? This is a goth KING. He’s the lord of nightmares, the keeper of the heart, AND he wants to coparent. He’s lithe, slender, an incredible opponent, and he runs his own business. I can’t describe how much I want to peg him. 

Radiance (#1) This woman is a literal Goddess. This woman saw what she loved, and became it. And when an invader came into her land and tried to wipe her out, she destroyed his kingdom. She is beautiful, she is powerful, and I love her more than anything. I would worship the floor beneath her feet, but she’s so powerful she doesn’t even stand on the floor. If she loved me, she would peg me, and I can’t imagine anything sexier than that.

[dunderklumpen]

A man and his dream -- Ud & Se interview (Danish)

Full text behind the cut for archiving purposes.

En mand og hans drøm

Som ung fantaserede han om at arbejde sammen med de bedste skuespillere i verden. I dag må NIKOLAJ COSTER-WALDAU kæmpe sig gennem horder af fans og er selv en, andre gerne vil spille sammen med. Men der er stadig nok at stræbe efter for den viljestærke dreng fra Sydsjælland, der fægtede sig vej ind i Hollywood. For eksempel vil han gerne være med til at redde verden.

TEKST: JACOB WENDT JENSEN FOTO: JONAS BIE

HANS TELEFON RINGER. Det er Nikolaj Coster-Waldaus datter Filippa. I telefonen bliver hun guidet af sin 50-årige far:

”Jamen, den ligger i dåsen, inde på skrivebordet. Eller æsken. Den der ’Game of Thrones’-æske. Der ligger sådan et sort kort. Det er faktisk en bilnøgle. Kan du se det? Har du sko på? Så går du ud til bilen og låser dig ind … Jeg synes, den bipper ret meget. Har du sele på? Er du ved at ramme et eller andet? Bare parker den foran skuret, når du kører den anden bil ud, ikke, og så kør den ind igen. Ellers risikerer vi at få en bøde. Vi ses, hej hej.”

Det er første gang, Filippa skal køre i familiens nye elbil, der snart skal erstatte den 13 år gamle Skoda Fabia. 

Nikolaj Coster-Waldau tænker på miljøet, når han sætter sig bag rattet som privatperson, men også når han optræder som goodwill-ambassadør for FN’s udviklingsprogram UNDP. Med et ansigt gjort verdenskendt af ’Game of Thrones’ er danskeren et nyttigt blikfang at sende ud, når FN gerne vil have pressen til at rette opmærksomheden mod et bestemt land. Dog er det ikke altid, ambassadøren er enig i den turplan, organisationen har lagt for ham.

”De lokale kontorer vil altid gerne vise alt det, de laver. Men i virkeligheden fungerer det bedst, når jeg bare møder almindelige mennesker fra de forskellige lande på min vej. Og glem det med at stikke en tale ud, jeg skal holde. Sådan bliver det ikke med mig. Jeg møder folk i øjenhøjde,” siger skuespilleren med en friskbrygget kaffe i hånden og et stort smil.

Vi møder ham i agentens loftslokaler tæt på Rådhuspladsen i København. Dybt inde i baggården, fire etager oppe ad en kringlet trappe sidder en mand med en rar aura. Det er sjældent at møde en skuespiller, der gider være så meget i øjeblikket, at han ikke kun gør sig umage med at svare på spørgsmål, men også interesserer sig for, hvem han sidder over for, selv om det blot er endnu en journalist i strømmen.

Sidste år bragte ambassadørarbejdet ham til Rwanda. 25 år efter folkemordet i 1994 mødte han et land, hvor man tænker langsigtet, når det gælder miljø og bæredygtighed. Et land, syntes han at kunne se, som er undtagelsen fra reglen om, at det normalt tager mange årtier at komme sig over en borgerkrig: 

”Og hvis et fattigt land i Afrika kan have så store ambitioner, når det gælder klima, er det forbløffende, at vi ikke kan i de vestlige lande. Vi har alle ressourcerne og gør rigtig mange gode ting, men vi gør det alt for langsomt. Og jo længere tid der går, før vi laver de grundlæggende strukturelle forandringer, jo dyrere bliver det.” 

SPRÆNGFARLIG FILM

I Ole Christian Madsens ’Krudttønden’ spiller Nikolaj Coster-Waldau den politimand, der gør det af med enmandsterroristen Omar, der dræbte dokumentarfilmmanden Finn Nørgaard og synagogevagt Dan Uzan i København i februar 2015. Karakteren er en sammenblanding af flere virkelige personer, så han findes ikke i virkeligheden, selv om han godt kunne være en virkelig person. Men kan man overhovedet tillade sig at lave en film om et åbent sår fra i går? Nikolaj Coster-Waldau mener, det vil være en fejl at være for hensynsfuld.

”I Norge er der allerede lavet tre film om, hvad der skete på Utøya, og de er blevet set af rigtig mange mennesker, fordi der var et behov. Jeg tror ikke, man kan lave for mange film om sådan nogle traumer. Tværtimod er der en fare i, hvis man bevidst lader temaerne ligge, så de bliver fortrængt. Det hænger ikke rigtig sammen med vores selvbillede, at vi havde en dansk statsborger, der skød andre danskere, fordi han grundlæggende ikke syntes, de skulle have lov til at leve.

Vi bliver stærke, hvis vi skaber et forum, hvor vi kan tale om alt, og forhåbentlig giver filmen anledning til en god snak og til, at vi ikke glemmer de voldsomme begivenheder i vores historie, og et lille bidrag til, at vi ikke maler os op i et hjørne, hvor ekstreme holdninger, om så de er til venstre eller højre, får fodfæste. Jeg er selvfølgelig spændt på, hvordan filmen bliver modtaget, men det værste, der kan ske, når man laver den slags film, er sådan set bare, at man laver en dårlig film.”

’Krudttønden’ har premiere 5. marts.

FØRSTE SMAG for at spille skuespil fik Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, da han i 5. klasse var med i et teaterstykke på skolen. Stykket handlede om nogle drenge på telttur, og i en bestemt scene skulle de spise smørrebrød. Men på scenen brasede teltet sammen, og kammeraterne gik i stå. Nikolaj sansede, at han skulle improvisere og spille videre. Han kastede blandt andet nogle regnorme ud til publikum, der begyndte at skrige, og hele optrinnet blev kaotisk og sjovt på en uventet facon.

”Jeg kan bare huske, at jeg tænkte, at nu måtte jeg altså finde på noget. Bagefter kom min lærer Torben hen og sagde, at det var skidegodt reddet. Det husker jeg vildt tydeligt. Jeg var meget stolt,” siger Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, der til juni træder frem på en teaterscene for første gang i 15 år, når han har titelrollen i en opsætning af ’Macbeth’ på Geffen Playhouse i Los Angeles. 

Instruktøren, Matt Shakman, har lavet et par episoder af ’Game of Thrones’, og Nikolaj Coster-Waldau har længe villet spille teater igen, så da Shakman ringede, tog han det som et tydeligt tegn på, at nu skulle han sige ja.

”Men jeg må indrømme, at jeg er ved at skide lidt i bukserne over det. Jeg har læst stykket nogle gange nu, men én ting er at læse det på dansk, noget andet er bagefter at skulle spille det på engelsk med amerikansk accent.”

Efter Nikolaj Coster-Waldau blev student fra Næstved Gymnasium, flyttede han til København og begyndte at tage privat dramaundervisning. I 1989 kom han ind på Statens Teaterskole, som han blev uddannet fra i 1993. Han debuterede i rollen som Laer­tes i en ’Hamlet’-opsætning på Betty Nansen, men det var hans Bodil-nominerede rolle i Ole Bornedals ’Nattevagten’ fra 1994, der bragte ham ud til et bredt dansk publikum. Den unge skuespiller drømte imidlertid større. Han ville ud i verden og se, om ikke det kunne lykkes at spille sammen med nogle af sine helt store helte. De bedste i verden. De Niro, Pacino, den slags. 

Ved ihærdighed, flid og viljen til at lære nyt er han nu selv blevet en helt for andre håbefulde skuespillere. Vejen derhen har været brolagt med hårdt arbejde, målrettet arbejde med finmekanikken i det engelske sprog og en god portion fantasteri. 

”Selvfølgelig var der et element af total naivitet i den drøm, men jeg skævede til Sverige og tænkte, at når Greta Garbo, Ingrid Bergman, Max von Sydow og Stellan Skarsgård kunne, så kunne en dansker måske også, selv om jeg var nervøs på grund af sprog og accent. Her i landet har vi et enormt mindreværd. Det ville jeg ikke ligge under for,” siger skuespilleren, der i 2011 fik rollen som den lumpne ridder Jaime Lannister i ’Game of Thrones’, fantasy-serien, der blev et fænomen, ingen på forhånd kunne gætte omfanget af. 

”Jeg tvivlede ikke på, at det ville gå. På den baggrund er det ikke sådan, at jeg har lyst til at sige: ’Hvad sagde jeg!’ Jeg var bare nysgerrig og drønheldig.”

 STORESØSTEREN

Dorte Coster-Waldau, den ældste af to storesøstre

”Jeg er otte år ældre end Nikolaj, og min søster Rikke ligger midt imellem os to. For mig var han indimellem bare en irriterende lillebror. Han gik sindssygt meget op i sport. Det ene øjeblik skulle han være cykelrytter, det næste fodboldspiller og senere speedwaykører. Han er altid gået efter det, han brændte for. Mere end mig. Nikolaj kunne være meget temperamentsfuld, da han var lille. Decideret hidsig til tider. I min og min søsters verden var han jo den møgforkælede lillebror, der altid fik sin vilje. Jeg er ikke sikker på, han selv ser sådan på det.

Vores far var alkoholiker og havde måske dybest set ikke lyst til at have en familie. Det var ikke et sted, han kunne give noget. I dag griner vi ofte ad, at vi flyttede så meget som små. Og vi synes, det er ret utroligt, vi ikke er mere rodløse, end tilfældet er.

Da Nikolaj kom i Suså Ungdomsskole, spillede han hoved­rollen i ’Oliver Twist’. Han var 13-14 år, og jeg var med i sminken. Folk, der så stykket, sagde, han havde talent og var rigtig god. Som ung ville jeg selv gerne en overgang ind på Teaterskolen, så jeg syntes, det var vildt sejt, da han kom ind.

Man har altid bestemte roller i en søskendeflok, og de ændrer sig ikke. Jeg ser stadig Nikolaj som min lillebror. Jeg glemmer, han er Hollywood-stjerne. Han er ekstremt ydmyg, synes jeg. Og enormt ordentlig. Selv om han til daglig er et helt andet sted, end vi er.

Efter ’Nattevagten’ begyndte jeg for alvor at tro på ham. Men derudover har jeg ikke set så meget af det, han har lavet. Enkelte afsnit af ’Game of Thrones’, hvor han godt nok er superfed. Jeg er egentlig mest imponeret over hans klimaarbejde. Jeg synes, det er cool, at han er ude og snakke så meget om, at vi bliver nødt til at gøre noget. Det er her, jeg tænker: ’Hey, det der er min lillebror.’

Hvert andet år tager vi tre søskende med vores familier på ferie i Spanien. En stor flok på i alt 26-27 mennesker. På de ture viser Nikolaj ukendte sider af sin konkurrencementalitet. En dårlig taber kan man godt forstå, men en dårlig vinder er sværere at acceptere. Vi spiller brætspil, bordtennis eller badminton og har kæmpestore turneringer. Alle går efter at vinde, men hold kæft, hvor er han irriterende. Han er storskrydende og har sådan en typisk måde at gå væk fra spillet på, når han har vundet, hvor han mere end antyder, vi andre burde have øvet os meget mere.

I mit job som karriereuddannelseskonsulent i HK er jeg i kontakt med mange mennesker, og et par gange om ugen bliver jeg spurgt, om jeg er i familie med Nikolaj. Og jeg svarer gerne. Men når de vil høre sidste nyt, svarer jeg, at jeg ikke ved, hvad han laver. Selvfølgelig vil jeg da ikke fortælle, hvad han har gang i. Heldigvis er han kun kendt for noget godt, og han får jo mange roser. Dem tager jeg gerne imod på hans vegne.”

I DAG kan Nikolaj Coster-Waldau stadig af og til glemme, at han er gået hen og blevet en verdensstjerne. Det skete for eksempel en dag, da han i 2017 indspillede nogle scener til Brian De Palma-filmen ’Domino’ på en lille italiensk ø. På øen var der en biograf, hvor de viste ’Shot Caller’, en lille amerikansk independent-thriller, han også er med i, men som ikke havde fået meget opmærksomhed. Coster-Waldau fik den idé at sende en hilsen til instruktøren, og derfor skrev han på Instagram, hvor han efterhånden har mere end tre millioner følgere, at han ville komme ned i biografen samme aften for at hilse på.

”Jeg tog så derned med ’Domino’s producent, og jeg tænkte nok, der ville komme et par fans, så måske kunne vi sende en sjov video derfra. Da vi hopper ud af bilen, kan vi se, at der er samlet i tusindvis af mennesker. Jeg får med møje og besvær kæmpet mig op på et bord og laver en kort video til instruktøren, og derefter var de nødt til at få fat på politiet. Jeg havde sgu ikke lige tænkt det hele igennem. Men heldigvis var det jo bare glade mennesker.”

Når han spiser på en restaurant, sker der ofte det, at andre gæster omkring ham kigger på ham, begynder at google og derefter af og til henvender sig med noget i retning af ”Excuse me … are you Nikolashh?”

”Jeg lader ikke folk tage billeder, hvis jeg er ude med min familie, for det kan pludselig blive til mange billeder. Det er simpelthen for træls for familien,” siger Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, der sammen med en kollega fra ’Game of Thrones’ har oplevet at være nødt til at skifte hotel i Spanien, fordi de var blevet spottet af seriens fans. I hotellets lobby havde der samlet sig en stor gruppe af dem, og kun med hjælp fra en af seriens producenter blev Nikolaj Coster-Waldau gelejdet væk fra hoben og tilbage i elevatoren, hvor han kom fra. En lille håndfuld fans slap dog med ind i den.

”På hotellet var de slet ikke vant til den slags ting, og der gik lidt hysteri i den. Så står man der i elevatoren efter skrigen og råben, og der er tre fans tilbage. De kan se på mig, at jeg overhovedet ikke synes, det er fedt, og jeg kan se på dem, at det synes de egentlig heller ikke, når det kommer til stykket. Det var bare akavet.”

Hysteriet omkring ’Game of Thrones’ var nogle gange absurd, særligt op til premieren på en ny sæson, og Nikolaj Coster-Waldau havde svært ved at se sig selv i det. 

”Det virkede jo som en omgang selvskabt hysteri, når det for eksempel tog længere tid at komme igennem sikkerhedssystemet og ind på filmsettet i Belfast end at komme ind i en amerikansk lufthavn. Hvem ville gide lave et attentat på en tv-serie?”

 INSTRUKTØREN

Ole Christian Madsen 

”Første gang, jeg arbejdede sammen med Nikolaj, var i en øvelse, mens jeg gik på Filmskolen, og han gik på Teaterskolen. En polsk instruktør underviste i mise-en-scene, og vi skulle lave en scene sammen med Kim Bodnia, som kommer hjem til sin kone og finder hende i seng med en anden mand, Nikolaj Coster-Waldau. Nikolaj var meget ung, måske 20-21 år, han kom tidligt ind på Teaterskolen. Jeg kan huske, jeg tænkte, at han hurtigt ville komme til at lave film. Hans ansigt var skabt til at være på billeder. Han skulle være halvnøgen, for scenen handlede jo om at blive afsløret midt i akten, og selvom studiet, vi optog i, var afsindig koldt, beklagede Nikolaj sig ikke et eneste øjeblik. Jeg kunne godt lide at arbejde med Nikolaj, vi svingede ret godt, men som det er med øvelser mellem elever, bliver det let kaotisk, fordi ingen rigtig aner, hvad de laver. Nikolaj har altid haft et exceptionelt godt udseende. Han er bare genetisk foran de andre. Der er mange teorier om, hvorvidt det er godt eller skidt for en skuespiller. Grundlæggende er det godt, fordi han så ligner en klassisk filmstjerne som Clark Gable og James Stewart. Man vil simpelthen gerne være til stede i Nikolaj Coster-Waldaus ansigt. Når man er meget smuk, kan det omvendt være en byrde i forhold til at træde ind i et almindeligt ensemble, men det er det ikke for Nikolaj. Han vælger sine roller med hjertet og ikke med karrieren for øje.

Ingen kunne forudse, at ’Game of ­Thrones’ ville blive et fænomen. Den var på vej i 10 år og var længe den evige taber, når der skulle vælges projekter på HBO. Da den faktisk blev lavet, var det tydeligt fra starten, at den var et opgør med mainstream-tv. Den er en af de mest voldelige, pornografiske, incestuøse og voldsomme tv-serier nogensinde. Et opgør med alt, hvad vi troede kunne lade sig gøre at sende i fjernsynet, og forståelsen af mainstream-tv har flyttet sig meget derefter.

Det var også tydeligt, at Nikolaj havde fat i noget, som meget få danske skuespillere har fat på. Han har en varm menneskelig kerne og er samtidig en meget elegant skuespiller, der hele tiden raffinerer sit kartotek af små virkemidler og blikke.

Nikolaj er enormt disciplineret, flittig, pågående og vedholdende. Det er en vigtig del af hans talent, at han bliver ved og ved. Før ’Game of Thrones’, hvor det gik mindre godt med karrieren i USA, arbejdede han også meget hårdt. Jeg føler mig beslægtet med hans flittighed. Vi er begge to fra Sydsjælland og opvokset tæt på en pløjemark, og det gør én pågående. Ønsket om hele tiden at gøre sig gældende og udtrykke sig er underhundens metode. Jeg ved ikke, om han vil kaldes underhund, men det kommer af en bestemt social baggrund.”

 17. MARTS 1997 oplevede Nikolaj Coster-Waldau kærlighed ved første blik, da han mødte Nukâka Motzfeldt under optagelserne til radioteaterstykket ’Ørnekaldet’, hvor han spillede en helikopterpilot, der bliver forelsket i en grønlandsk pige. 

Bagefter skulle han videre til prøver på stykket ’Love Story’ på Mungo Park. Da han kom ind ad døren på teatret, proklamerede han: ”Jeg skal giftes!” Også selv om han på det tidspunkt stadig ikke havde talt med Nukâka.

”Det har helt sikkert givet os en masse problemer senere i vores liv, for jeg var overdrevet forelsket, og vi kendte nærmest ikke hinanden. Nukâka fik derefter rollen i en film, jeg skrev på sammen med Simon Staho, ’Vildspor’, hvor hun spillede min kæreste. Vi blev også kærester ret hurtigt i virkeligheden. Filmindspilningerne i Island sluttede med, at jeg friede til hende.”

6. juni 1998 skiftede Nukâka efternavnet Motzfeldt ud med Coster-Waldau. Op til brylluppet havde Nikolaj Coster-Waldau boet i London i månedsvis, hvorfra han arbejdede på at få foden indenfor på det internationale filmmarked, og han kom til Danmark fra Estland, hvor han havde været med i filmen ’På fremmed mark’, kun tre dage før den store fest. 

”Vi kørte af sted på bryllupsrejse dagen efter festen og havde stort set ikke set hinanden. Vi skulle hele vejen ned gennem Europa, og det hele var bare så mærkeligt. I Prag havde vi et kæmpe skænderi. Hun løb den ene vej, og jeg løb den anden vej. Når jeg tænker tilbage på det i dag, hvorfor skulle det så gå så stærkt? Men det skulle det bare. Jeg var jo helt væk i hende. Jeg husker det som noget, der var ude af kontrol, men jeg var samtidig sikker på, jeg skulle gå hendes vej.” 

Efter skænderiet blev det lidt bedre, og efter en dag i bjergene i Østrig kom de til den første by i Italien, hvor de fandt en restaurant klokken 10 om aftenen og tog i døren. Den åbnede sig, og med sin charmerende hæse stemme sagde ejeren: 

”Hello. Welcome. You are lucky. This is the best restaurant in Italy!” 

Den livsglæde satte stemningen for de næste tre ugers bryllupsrejse. Da de kom hjem, begyndte hverdagen.

”Jeg var sådan en, der hele tiden ville ud, og hun ville helst bo derhjemme. Hun syntes, London var grundforfærdelig. Jeg boede da også et rimelig klamt sted, så det kan jeg godt se, når jeg kigger på det i bakspejlet. Dengang tænkte jeg bare på, at jeg lige om lidt ville få et fedt job.”

I dag har de dannet par i næsten 23 år og har de to piger Filippa og Safina på 19 og 16 år. Selv om det set udefra er Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, der er i vælten i film- og tv-serieland, er det ikke det, han og Nukâka taler mest om.

”Vi deler kun vores arbejdsliv meget lidt. Min hustru har nok kun set omkring halvdelen af det, jeg har været med i. Jeg går virkelig meget op i mit arbejde, så det er egentlig en meget rar modvægt til det. Nukâka har accepteret det og bakker op om det, men hvis det hele kommer til at handle for meget om min karriere, bliver der nedlagt veto.”

Hvad er hemmeligheden bag, at I kan holde sammen?

”Tusindvis af små detaljer. Jeg kan godt lide, at man har delt noget historie. Det har en enorm værdi, at jeg har delt mit liv med Nukâka i så lang tid, fordi mit arbejdsliv er så fragmenteret. Men fundamentet er, at vi elsker hinanden.”

 MEDSPILLEREN

Skuespiller Katrine Greis-Rosenthal

”I Christoffer Boes ’Smagen af sult’, der får premiere i januar 2021, spiller vi et par, hvis drøm er at åbne en Michelin-stjerne-restaurant, samtidig med at vi skal få en familie til at fungere. Nikolaj er kok, og jeg er en slags restaurantchef og interiørdesigner og hende, der også står for at få familien til at hænge sammen. Hun føler, at han glemmer hende. Og så falder parforholdet fra hinanden.

Nikolaj var helt uselvisk og meget generøs til at sætte sig selv i baggrunden og lade mig komme til i de scener, hvor det krævedes. Det er en stor tryghed at arbejde med en, der har lavet så mange film, som han har. Jeg kunne mange gange læne mig op ad ham som en ekspert i, hvad der manglede i en scene, fordi han har et langt større overblik på en filmindspilning. Mens jeg var langt nede i min rolle og stod og krængede mit hjerte ud og ikke havde så meget overskud til det tekniske, havde han styr på alle kamera-optikker og vinkler. For eksempel rykkede han umærkeligt lidt på mig, hvis han mærkede, at man ikke kunne se mig i billedet. Uden at sige det. En sød og fin lille opmærksomhed. I mine øjne er det den slags ting, der gør ham til en rigtig stjerne.”

 SELV OM ’Game of Thrones’-kulten kan være hysterisk, er Nikolaj Coster-Waldau gennem tv-seriens ni sæsoner blevet så fascineret af den, at han har valgt at undersøge fænomenet nærmere i den kommende dokumentarfilm ’Cons’, som han er med til at producere, og hvor han bruger sig selv som hovedperson. Han besøger tre forskellige såkaldte fan-conventions med et filmhold i hælene for at forstå, hvorfor mennesker bruger så meget tid på for eksempel at klæde sig ud som deres idoler og på at stå i kø for at få autografer, selv fra skuespillere, der kun har været med i ganske få scener af ’Game of Thrones’.

”Det er for nemt bare at sige, at de er tossede. Vi finder ud af, at det er mennesker med en hobby, som de går vildt meget op i, og det giver dem en identitet. De har fundet et stærkt fællesskab og har fået dybe venskaber ud af det. Frem for at sidde i chatrooms og være fan synes jeg, der er noget grundlæggende rigtigt i at være fysisk sammen med andre mennesker om interessen,” siger Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, der i filmen blandt andet besøger en computerprogrammør, der klæder sig ud som Jaime Lannister og tager til fan-convention i Knoxville, Tennessee, med sin kone klædt ud som Superwoman og en ven klædt ud som ’Game of Thrones’-karakteren Jon Snow. 

Ikke alt ved fan-miljøet er dog ren hygge. Conventions er nemlig en voksende industri, med hvad deraf følger af mindre kønne sider såsom skuespillere, der tjener ekstra penge på fan-dyrkelsen, samt arrangører og promotorer, der også får deres bid af kagen. 

”Nogle af dem er hæderlige mennesker, men de seneste fem til syv år er fænomenet eksploderet. Enhver større by har et comic-con af en slags, så der er også brodne kar i branchen,” siger Coster-Waldau. 

I dokumentarfilmen møder han en skuespiller fra ’Game of Thrones’, der betaler det meste af sin husleje ved at skrive autografer og lade sig fotografere med fans, samt Sam J. Jones, der i 1980 spillede hovedrollen i en ’Flash Gordon’-indspilning. Selv om filmen langtfra var et mesterværk, er det blevet en betragtelig indtægtskilde at stille op som Flash, når og hvor der er publikum til det. 

 NIKOLAJ COSTER-WALDAU er ikke bange for kun at blive husket som Jaime Lannister. For tiden har han mange roller i mindre amerikanske filmproduktioner og også igen i danske film, lidt som det var før ’Game of Thrones’-eksplosionen. På den måde mener han ikke, at serien har betydet alverden for karrieren. Til gengæld har den givet økonomisk ro. Huset i Lyngby er betalt ud ligesom sommerhuset på Orø. Et hus på Grønland er kommet til, og en lejlighed tæt på Hollywood er en praktisk form for pensionsopsparing. Samtidig har den solide bund i bankbogen givet større kunstnerisk frihed. 

”Når jeg vælger en rolle, spørger jeg altid mig selv, om det er en sjov rolle at spille. Det er det vigtigste,” siger Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, der dog aldrig bliver en Leonardo DiCaprio eller Daniel Day-Lewis-type, der sparer på sig selv og kun spiller én stor rolle en sjælden gang imellem.

”Michael Caine har sagt, at man forsøger sit bedste hver gang, og hvis man er heldig, bliver en ud af 10 film gode. Fire ud af de 10 bliver måske okay, mens fem bliver dårlige. Sådan er det. Og det er i orden. Jeg elsker bare at arbejde.”

 GAME OF ROLES

Fem karrierevalg

’Nattevagten’ (1994) I sin anden rolle efter uddannelsen på filmskolen bragede Nikolaj Coster-Waldau igennem i en sjældent godt gennemført dansk genrefilm instrueret af Ole Bornedal. Gyserfilmen blev set af 465.529 danskere, og herefter var ingen i landet i tvivl om, hvem Coster-Waldau var. Her kom en ung fyr med energi og ambitioner.

’New Amsterdam’ (2008) Efter mindre roller i store internationale film som ’Black Hawk Down’, ’Wimbledon’ og ’Kingdom of Heaven’ blev det til hovedrollen som udødelig kriminaldetektiv i en habil tv-serie, der dog kun levede en enkelt sæson. Den slags irriterende beslutninger er uden for en skuespillers rækkevidde.

’Game of Thrones’ (2011-19) Som Jaime Lannister fik Coster-Waldau sin mest iøjnefaldende rolle som skuespiller, fordi ’Game of Thrones’ fra at være en fantasyserie over gennemsnittet blev til et verdensomspændende fænomen. Ud over en saftig rolle førte det verdensberømmelse og en god løn med sig.

’Gods of Egypt’ (2016) Der var lagt op til et dommedagsdrøn i biograferne, da Gerard Butler og Nikolaj Coster-Waldau tørnede sammen i en storfilm om de gamle egyptiske guder i en sovs af vilde special effects. Var filmen blevet en kunstnerisk eller kommerciel succes, havde det ført i alt mindst tre film med sig, men sådan gik det ikke. Spillet i Hollywood er ikke let.

’Selvmordsturisten’ (2019) Rollen som deprimeret mand med stålbriller, der bestiller et selvmord, stikker en ny retning ud for Nikolaj Coster-Waldau. Filmen bliver et symbol på en tid, hvor skuespilleren kan og vil vælge mindre filmprojekter i grøftekanten langt fra Hollywood, om så de er danske eller internationale.

 I DAG ville Nikolaj Coster-Waldau ikke sætte alt på standby for i én enkelt scene at komme ind med et brev til Robert De Niro. Det gider han ”sgu ikke”. Men selv om han er forbi det punkt, hvor han selv var fan, nærer han stadig professionelle fantasier. For eksempel at få lov at arbejde sammen med store jævnaldrende stjerner som Christian Bale eller Joaquin Phoenix. 

”Hold kæft, hvor er de gode, altså.”  

Og så er der det andet projekt. Projektet med at bremse fattigdom, skabe lighed mellem kønnene og skabe en mere sikker verden, som er den forkromede forhåbning bag arbejdet som FN-ambassadør.

”Jeg kan ikke rigtig se noget alternativ til FN,” siger Nikolaj Coster-Waldau nede i baggården, mens han finder sin racercykel, som han er ankommet på, og som han skal videre på til et frokostmøde med en filmproducent ude i byen:

”De, der er størst, stærkest og rigest, har et ansvar over for dem, der er svagest. Nu har jeg så fået den her globale genkendelighed gennem en tv-serie, og den bruger jeg gerne. Også selv om der er meget lang vej at gå. Man kan jo også vende situationen om og sige, at netop fordi der er så lang vej at gå, så er det vigtigt at gøre noget.”