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feyascorner · 3 months

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7 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. “It’s too hard to see. We need to turn back.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little bit of darkness.”

You scrunch your nose at this, and he merely grins. Before you can say anything, he’s back to pacing across the dirt without a care in the world—almost too fast for your liking. “Will you at least slow down?”

“Shall I hold your hand?”

“I’d rather cut it off.”

“A pity.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.9k words !!! this chapter took forever but somehow i managed!! thank you so much for your kind words and patience !!! he's kind of a silly guy in the chapter so pls enjoy this peace offering as the calm before a storm

“Are you sure this is the right course of action? Letting him ascend?” Shadowheart asks as you adjust one of the logs in the campfire, watching the other companions organize their tents from afar. You stop at this, turning to face her.

“It’s what he wants,” you mumble. “I won’t stop him if he’s sure this is the right thing to do.”

You’re still getting used to her hair, which’s now as white as a sheet, but you think it looks lovely against the fire. She seems calmer than she did when she was with Shar. At peace, almost. She casts you a sidelong glance. “Can we really trust his judgment of all people? He’s—I mean, well, him.”

“I know it sounds unreasonable," you say letting yourself sit down beside her on her bedroll. “But I want him to make his own decisions. He’s spent too many years having no choice of his own, and I’d be the worst person to take it away from him again.”

“I just,” her voice softens. “Astarion’s a complicated person, and I’m sure you know better than us. It’s because he couldn’t make his own choices for so long that it makes me think he’s lost his capability to make any choices anymore. Good ones, at least.”

“I trust him.”

“Gods knows how.”

You stifle a laugh, and she sips at her wine, eyes still glazing over the camp. There’s a kind of solemnness to them that makes your stomach churn. “You seem worried.”

“Not worried, per se,” she shrugs. “I just realize that I owe a debt to you for what you did for me against my lad—I mean, Shar. And I myself almost went down that dark path of becoming a Justiciar if it weren’t for you. At the time, I thought it was the best thing for me too, like Astarion believes ascension to be what will set him free.”

You nod patiently, urging her to continue.

“I only fear he might make the wrong choice if he doesn’t have the right guidance as I did.”

The words feel hesitant on her tongue. And although they make the voice in the back of your head, telling you to convince Astarion otherwise, louder, you ignore it, opting to smile at her softly instead. “Is this you caring about our companions?”

“Heavens, no,” she snorts, but there’s a joking tone behind her voice. “But like I said…I’m indebted to you all. Astarion also aided in my personal affairs with Shar, even if he didn’t have to, and even with his incessant complaining…I suppose this is my way of paying him back.”

Your chest warms. It’s soothing to know that even without you, your other companions have enough care for your lover to offer him bits of advice; in a way, it relieves a bit of weight off your shoulders. Even the companions who claim to detest his presence have grown fond of him over the months, and you’re sure it goes both ways. It helps because even if you’re gone, you know he’ll be okay.

“I never told you formally,” she sighs. “But thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me or feel indebted. I just did what I could for you.”

“Don’t be so humble. What you’ve done for me—for all of us—is something we’ll cherish for the rest of our lives,” she takes her last swig from her wine. “But from one messed up person to another, please, be careful.”

Your wrist feels sore.

Two days. It’s been two days since the incident at the Blushing Mermaid, and still, your body seems to burn whenever you see his closed door across yours from the hall, and all you can do is rub shamefully at the healing puncture wounds on your wrist. The bandages looping around the skin do a good enough job of hiding them, but you genuinely wish you could just ask Shadowheart to heal them for you because being able to see them does little to help with the constant thoughts of the vampire muddling the clarity of your mind.

But you’d rather not let your companions know what happened between you and the vampire on the dirtied floors of the Blushing Mermaid. You’d likely die of shame for letting him drink from you, even after your mutual agreement to specifically avoid just that. What’s worse is that you expect the worst from Lae’zel, especially after her explicit advice to do the exact opposite of what you chose to do.

You tighten the bandages again.

“Did those yourself, did you?”Alfira snorts, and you almost have half a mind to glare at her if it weren’t for the crumpled sheets of paper surrounding the legs of her chair. The ink on the discarded pages now blends into mush as they lie in the puddles forming around her—an aftermath of the recent rainy weather. You don’t tell her, though. She seems frustrated enough as it is, and you fear she might snap a string of her lute if this prolongs any longer. “How’d you get hurt anyway?”

“It’s a bug bite.”

“A rather massive bug, apparently.”

The corners of your lips quirk downward, and she finally sets her lute aside, careful to avoid the puddles as she props it against the side of her stool to focus on her notepad instead. Though most of its pages have now been torn out, the remaining few have scribbles of song lyrics that even you can’t decipher with how messily the ink splatters across the page. She, however, seems perfectly fine reading its contents aside from her glaringly obvious distaste for the words themselves. You raise your brow. “Can you really read that?”

“Oh, hush. Don’t insult my penmanship.”

You snicker, eyes continuing to scan the sheets of paper that had been abandoned on Dalyria’s desk at the Blushing Mermaid. It’d taken quite some time to take apart the pages plastered on the wall and to organize the mountain of doctor’s notes lying across the lair, but you’d managed to fish out something useful eventually. The journal was one that seemed especially important, filled to the brim with Dalyria’s so-called ‘research.’

But if the past few days have told you anything, it’s that Dalyria is a terrible note-taker.

The pages are filled with shapes. Some are curved, and others just bend and contort into odd figures that you’re sure aren’t supposed to look like letters. Each page studies a different shape on a random part of the page, leaving them scattered and difficult to decipher.

You’re starting to think this is just some odd attempt at art rather than the studies she claims to be performing.

“And? Why are you here if you’re not here to look at those lyrics I gave you?”

“I’m trying to figure out what this journal says,” you sigh, flipping another page you don’t understand. “And if you couldn’t tell, I’m rather busy trying to find the people responsible for murders around the city, so excuse me if I haven’t had the time to glance at your song.”

“I’m plenty busy myself, you know! I just got hired to sing at this fancy party for some celebration. They even said I could dress all nice for it,” she smiles proudly, and you offer her a crooked one of your own. “It’s my first serious gig—so I’m a bit nervous with how large it is…”

“How’d you land something like that before you’ve even played at children’s birthday parties?”

“Well, I’m not doing it alone, obviously,” she reasons, scratching something on her pages again. “I’m going with one of my friends. She’s a wonderful violinist, and she managed to squeeze me into the event, which I’m so grateful for…I suppose I’m just a bit worried.”

You look up from Dalyria’s notebook. “Worried? What for?”

“That my fingers will lock up, and I’ll humiliate myself,” she admits sheepishly, tucking a portion of her hair behind her sharp ear. “Lihala used to call me silly for worrying about things that haven’t happened–but I can’t help it. It’s the before-show jitters. Pesky things. It’s a bit embarrassing, really.”

Humming in acknowledgment, you look to the murky skies overhead, where dark clouds threaten to pour down for at least another few days. A shame, you think. You’ve never seen the Summers of Baldur’s Gate feel so dreary.

It’s fitting, almost, considering the state that the city is in.

The painful sound of quill scratching against paper is all you can hear now as Alfira sighs irritably again, ripping out another sheet of paper.

“It’s not embarrassing,” you finally say.

She blinks up from her notepad. “What is?”

“Being nervous. I’ve done more performances than I can count, and my hands would still get clammy in front of a big crowd,” you laugh to yourself. “But when you see how they watch you as if you’re performing sorcery with your lute, it’s like you were never anxious in the first place. The audience is what makes it bearable.”

“Gods, I hope you’re right,” she smiles fondly as you continue to reminisce in your own memories. “It’s a rather shame we never got to perform together. Not after the last time we played at the Grove–and I don’t even count that occasion with how unstable my voice was…”

“I can watch if you’d like,” you offer. “Your performance, I mean.”

Her eyes gleam with excitement, and she reaches to clasp both your hands, beaming brightly. “Will you? I’m sure if you’re there, it’ll ease my nerves, too!-”

As you shift in your seat to follow your hands, Dalyria’s notebook slips off your lap. The simple splash beneath you tells you all you need to know as your eyes shoot down to where the notebook now lies face down into a puddle, and you don’t even have to lift it to know that its pages are soaked.

But you don’t have to pick it up yourself because Alfira’s carefully holding it in an instant, her face pale as she fans her hand in a fruitless attempt to prevent the damage already done. “Dammit, I’ve done it again! I’m truly sorry…I didn’t mean for that to happen! But I’m sure if we just put it in the sunlight for a few days, it’ll–”

You gently take it from her hands, shaking your head. Perhaps it’s because you were just deep into memories you hold dear to your heart, but there isn’t an ounce of panic in your voice. “It’s fine. I wasn’t getting anywhere with this thing anyway.”

“Still…”

The pages stick together in chunks as you flip the journal towards the pages that are at least half dry. You fear they might tear off at the slightest touch, so all you can do is stare at a page you deem to be soaking up the ink from the pages behind it. Alfira groans into her hands, and before you can spare her a glance to remind her it’s alright, you spot something in the middle of the page.

“Holy shit,” you whisper so quietly she doesn’t catch it.

“I’ll grab us a wind scroll. Or maybe that’s too strong? Surely there’s some spell that can dry off books.”

“You have no idea what you’ve just done for me, Alfira,” you blurt, already halfway to stuffing the journal into your pack. She blinks up at you with weary eyes, but you quickly clamber off the stool with no time to offer an explanation. “Let me know when the performance is. I’ll be here next week as usual.”

“Don’t you want me to dry off the pages?”

“No,” you shake your head, your heart pounding. “I need to show this to the others.”

She stares at you as if you’ve grown a second head. Still, as you rush toward the stairs leading to the city streets, she calls after you.

“Don’t forget to look at the lyrics!”

“Runes? As in the ones carved into Astarion’s back?”

“I thought they were random blots of ink, but,” you raise the notebook in your hands, and the soaked pages now show the contents of the following sheets, blending to form a larger image. The placement of the shapes were not random at all, and you internally apologize for calling Dalyria a few less-than-kind words in your mind. “They’re not. They’re parts of the runes that Cazador tried to use for the ritual. There are six sets of runes in here, and each one’s slightly altered.”

“But what purpose does that serve?” Shadowheart cocks a brow, eyeing the page questionably with crossed arms. “Cazador’s dead. There’s no ascension to be done.”

“Unfortunately, just because that haunting man is gone doesn’t mean the threat of an ascension is either.” Intrigued but clearly disturbed, Gale takes the notebook and squints at what it holds. “Cazador himself never needed to be the one to execute the ascension.”

The room goes silent, leaving an uncomfortable tension in the air that keeps you from moving. You’re not sure how many seconds pass before you hear the figure who’s been awfully quiet the past half an hour mutter something under his breath from the comfy armchair beside the fireplace.

Astarion clicks his tongue, seemingly unfazed. “Ah, I see.”

The fists at your side clench tighter. The bandages feel impossibly tight all of a sudden.

“It’s for the ascension, clearly. There’s no other plausible explanation,” his eyes remain glued to the flickering flames, swirling a chalice of wine in his hand. He doesn’t sip from it, knowing that it tastes of nothing but vinegar on his undead tongue, so why he’s poured himself a glass, you don’t understand. You also can’t be bothered to ask. “Perhaps they plan to enact it. Take a piece of all that power for themselves.”

“But they can’t do the ascension,” Shadowheart frowns, turning to you. “You said there’s only six runes in there. They don’t have the last one to enact the ascension because Astarion’s with us. Cazador’s the only one who could have done it because he’s the only one who knows what each of the runes looks like. Without Astarion’s, they can’t—”

“They wanted him,” you whisper the confession, and you swear your voice nearly cracks. “They wanted Astarion. That’s why they wanted to speak with me.”

All three of your companions whip their heads to you, and you stare down at the ground. Shame burns through you, and you can practically feel the disappointment radiating off them as it dawns on you that you lied to them. You lied to your closest companions for the sake of saving yourself the embarrassment that no matter what you do, no matter what you tell yourself, your subconscious forces you to care for the bloody vampire sitting beside the fireplace. Despite the many eyes on you, you can only feel one crimson pair that bore into you like the sun beating down on a hot summer’s day.

Even now, he’s your biggest concern, and you hate yourself for it.

“Then it’s not Astarion they need,” Gale says breathlessly. “They need the marks on his back.”

“And you didn’t tell us this, why?” Shadowheart hisses. “You said they just tried to kill you!”

You blurt. “They did! They said they’d stop killing citizens if I just tossed Astarion over to them, but when I said no, they completely flipped and–”

“You declined that deal?” Lae’zel snarls, and you unwillingly flinch at the venom in her tone. “You swore, istik. You swore you wouldn't be foolish if it came down to you or him.”

The words feel like a knife to your throat.

“Well, obviously, it worked out,” you grumble, ignoring how Lae’zel’s eyes are narrowed dangerously. No doubt, she has questions of her own that she’ll demand answers to later. “If I handed him over, they would’ve had the last key to conducting the ascension.”

“You still lied to us,” Shadowheart steps toward you, but Gale quickly clears his throat.

“I know how deceived we all feel, but must we fight? What matters is the spawns can’t conduct the ascension as of now, correct?” he attempts to calm her down, but her scowl only grows deeper. “As disappointed as we all are, we must admit that keeping Astarion here is the right decision.”

“You’re too hasty, wizard,” Lae’zel snaps. “A vampire’s ascension would mean ridding of all the other spawn wreaking havoc in the city. We mustn’t throw away a chance being offered without considering it.”

Shadowheart is immediately on her feet, her eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t be an idiot–a few thousand spawn is better than a nearly impenetrable being capable of creating even more spawn. That’s asking for just as bad as we are now–maybe even worse.”

They break into a simultaneous debate, one in which two room occupants do not take part. Because even as you try to focus on what the others are saying, all you can feel is the unsettling stare of the spawn in the corner of the room, his hand still swirling the wine. You wonder if his wrist ever gets tired. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of returning his stare, but you watch him from the corner of your eye as his attention shifts to your wrist.

“Are we even sure this is what they’re planning? Do a few drawings prove that they want to go through with this ritual, again, after what it nearly did to them?” Shadowheart’s attention darts to you. “This ritual would kill them. Why in the hells would all of them agree to do it if it only means one would come out alive?”

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out in return. The hurt embedded into her expression is so glaringly apparent that it makes your chest squeeze uncomfortably, and all you can do is look away in shame. “...I don’t know.”

Her face hardens. “Do you? Or are you just lying to us again?”

Cheeks flaring, you shake your head. “I’m not lying, I swear it.”

Her eyes flicker with something you don’t recognize before they flit to your bandaged arm and then back to your eyes. She doesn’t miss how you try to move your arm behind you. A miscalculation on your part since your attempt at hiding it makes your secret that much more obvious. “Then what are those for? You’ve had them on since you returned from the Blushing Mermaid, and you refuse to let me heal you myself. Just what did you get injured from?”

The room is so silent you can hear your own heartbeat.

“I–” you stop, wavering. “There was a—”

Shadowheart clenches her jaw. “Don’t lie. Please.”

But still, no words are willing to leave your throat.

Your companions await words from you that do not exist. Like a deer in headlights, you stand numbly, unsure what to do. Fortunately, and also unfortunately, before long, Lae’zel has had enough of waiting, and she begins to march toward you in a way that makes you step away.

“Give me your arm,” she demands. “If you cannot say, then show us.”

You can feel all the blood draining from your face as she draws closer. But even Gale cannot hinder her this time because everyone in the room knows what she’s capable of with that blade attached to her hip, and she’s not against wasting a few potions of healing if she has to barrel her way through. You brace yourself for the inevitable, teeth gritting together.

Just as she reaches for your arm, someone else snatches it away.

“I drank from them,” Astarion says as you bump slightly into his chest, eyes wide at his pale fingers wrapped around your wrist. He yanks the edge of the bandage down with his free hand and lifts it for the others to see. The two puncture wounds, where the skin that surrounds it is darker than the rest, make you feel naked under the eyes of others. It’s too vulnerable. Too mortifying.

Your heart hammers pathetically, and whether it’s from the expressions of your companions or the hand wrapped around the sensitive skin of your wrist, you’re not sure. You hope it’s not the latter.

Gale’s jaw drops. “We agreed that this was the one thing you wouldn’t do.”

“If I hadn’t, I would’ve perished,” the vampire retorts in response, releasing his hold on your arm as it falls back to your side. The place where his hand had been tinges under your skin. “And there weren’t exactly a few boars lying around the damn city for me to feed on.”

You notice he fails to mention there had been more than enough bodies to satiate him, but you keep your mouth shut.

The hurt on Shadowheart’s face is no longer one that throbs your sympathy. Instead, she seems to burn with something you haven’t seen in ages.

Anger.

Her palm flickers with radiant light, and Astarion immediately flinches, hissing as he moves to hide his body behind yours. In your haste, you can’t think of anything to do besides stepping toward her, holding out your hands. Astarion releases a strained laugh from behind you. “Now, Shadowheart, let’s not do anything hilarious, shall we?”

“I’ll kill you,” she growls maliciously, the glow of her palm growing brighter. “Like I should have done the second you came back to ruin everything we’ve done without you.”

You cautiously approach her, focus never leaving her eyes despite the danger festering in her hands. “You shouldn’t, Shadowheart.”

She throws daggers in your direction with just her expression, and you can’t deny how helpless you feel. “Killing him would end all of this. If we buried him somewhere, they’d never find the runes. They’d never be able to follow through with the ascension, and we won’t have to deal with his pompous ass anymore.”

You hate that she’s right. You hate that even though she’s right, you can’t agree with her methods.

“I know he’s—not exactly a friend—but he was once. And I know you considered him one as well,” you insist, inching closer. The hesitance in her motions as you come too close to the radiant light is undeniable. “I don’t want you to bear the guilt of his death.”

Because as much as you’re wrapped up in a world of your own–a world where you fight to hate the man behind you–you know that your companions feel the same way. The sentiments gathered from months of sharing the same camp, months of saving one another from multiple deaths, and months of aiding one another overcome their own pasts don’t just disappear. You know what they shared. Being the most similar amongst your companions, forced under the influence of a power they did not want to be subjected to, you know they considered themselves friends, even if they never voiced it out loud.

You know that deep down, Shadowheart’s hatred for Astarion stems from her own feeling of betrayal when he tried to kill you. When he attempted to harm the only other person who guided her to a path outside of Shar.

“Trust me, I won’t feel guilty,” she finally forces out. “You’re a fool to trust him again.”

“I don’t trust him,” you reassure her, your hands finally reaching hers as they dim and eventually vanish all traces of magic. “But if he’s to die for nearly killing me, I want it to be under my hands. Don’t sully your own for my sake when you’ve just escaped all the bloodshed.”

Shadowheart’s brows soften, but her face turns cold. Thoughts seem to run through her mind like an endless train before she decides that thinking through each one is worth more than Astarion himself is worth. She inhales deeply and nods, allowing you to finally release her hands. She shoots the others one last glance before turning to retreat upstairs.

You’re left in a pitiful silence—one that nobody in the room dares to break.

An entire day is spent with you wallowing in your shame, refusing to get out of bed.

You hope this is just a terrible nightmare, but you know better. If this were a nightmare, you’d already be dead.

You only climb out of your covers when you have to change the bandages on your wrist. It’s a painful process now since you don’t even want to look at the puncture wounds anymore, but it’s better than risking it to get infected. A knock on your door makes you stand from your bed, kicking the bandage rolls under your bed. “It’s open.”

You expect Gale or even Lae’zel, but you’re met with piercing red eyes. You contemplate begging him to leave you alone because looking at him right now only conjures up the guilt that’s been eating away at you for hours now. Instead, you build that wall between the two of you again, your face hardening. “What do you want?”

He’s never come to you willingly before. Not unless you were positively drenched in blood, and he had no choice but to follow his instincts for what he hopes to be a meal other than stale boar blood. Much less approached you in your own room.

Astarion lifts the empty glass bottle in his hand. “A charming welcome, as usual, I see.”

“You just had a full supply yesterday,” you say, brows furrowing. “I checked it myself.”

“Clearly, now I don’t,” he shrugs, and when you shoot him an intense glare, he frowns. “You can’t possibly blame me. I haven’t exerted myself as I did at that dirty tavern since the last time I had that damn parasite swimming around my head. So, unless you decide to offer yourself to me, again…”

You think he’s genuinely lost his mind. “Right now? Seriously? After what just happened yesterday, you want to ask me for blood?”

“Just a suggestion, darling. Otherwise, we always have the other option, as boring as it is.”

Perhaps you should just toss him to Lae’zel and call it a day.

Groaning in exasperation, you march past him, slapping a cloak into his chest. “There’s 15 minutes to sunset.”

He laughs, but it only makes your face turn sour.

The forest isn’t far off from the main square of Rivington. And by the time you reach it, the sun has long gone down, and you watch as Astarion takes off the hood of his cloak, breathing deeply in the moon's bask. And as he glances back at you, you don’t bother trying to walk side by side, remaining on guard and surveying his every move from three steps behind. He comments on it even though you think he doesn’t care for what you do. “I don’t bite, you know.”

“You’re not funny.” He snorts at your deadpan and continues into the deeper parts of the forest.

The entire time, your eyes remained glued to the backs of his heels, palms growing increasingly clammy as you become surrounded by nothing but the soft ambiance of the woods. His steps are as silent as they’ve always been, and it feels like following a ghost into the darkest parts of the forest. It’s becoming hard to see more than a few feet in front of you, and if your training with Lae’zel has taught you anything, you know that you don’t want to be at a disadvantage—especially when the other party is a bloody vampire.

You halt in your tracks. He does, too, turning to shoot you a questioning look. “What is it?”

“It’s too hard to see. We need to turn back.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little bit of darkness.”

“Shall I hold your hand?”

“I’d rather cut it off.”

“A pity.”

You curse his long legs as the forest becomes darker and darker, even as each time you think it can’t possibly get worse than this. You swear his steps become quicker, and a part of you wonders if this is where he attempts to run away and whether you should cast a sleep spell before he succeeds. But the most rational part of you reminds yourself that he’s had plenty of chances to escape. Hells, he could do it even now, considering how much more easily his eyes adjust to the darkness than you.

“Astarion, I swear to the Gods above, if you don’t stop walking so quickly…”

This time, you don’t get an answer.

Suspicions rising, you break into a jog and then into a gradual sprint. Every time you think you finally caught up to him, a branch whips into your face, and you barely manage to swat it away before it manages to cut your skin. You call his name a few times to no avail, and you genuinely begin to ponder if you should’ve brought your scroll for daylight.

Finally, you stumble through a tall berry bush into what you assume to be another branch.

And rather than more darkness, you’re met with a clearing. It’s only a few long strides in width and a couple more in length, but here, it doesn’t seem like nighttime at all. The moon peers down at you in all its glory, and you think this might’ve been Selune’s pocket of the forest if she were here. You blink wide when a speck of light—a firefly—flies barely past your face. And suddenly, you’re surrounded by light rising from the green grass beneath you in fragile wings.

The tightness in your chest dissipates, if only for a moment.

Only once you’ve taken in the vast difference of your surroundings just a few moments prior do you see Astarion pulling off the clasp of his cloak. He tosses it to you, and it lands on your face before you yank it away with a scowl. “You could have just handed it to me–”

“Stay here,” he says. “I’ll return when I’ve finished hunting.”

You gawk at him. “I’m not going to let you just leave.”

“I’ve proven myself plenty,” he scoffs. “If I remember correctly, you would’ve likely perished were I not there at that tavern a few days ago. And I must remind you that I do have quite the memory. If I planned on betraying you, I would’ve done it then—at a more fashionable time.”

You don’t have much of a rebuttal to that.

While you could bring up the dozens of other times he’s made questionable decisions pertaining to his loyalty, the soothing bath under the moon’s gaze seems to calm you down. So, instead of fighting the internal urge to continue your petty quips, you drop the cloak beneath you. He cocks a brow, surely expecting more of a protest, but you just swallow your pride, plopping down on the grass with a huff. “If you don’t return in 30 minutes, I’m coming to find you.”

“40 minutes,” he tries. “30 minutes isn’t nearly enough time for anything fun.”

You scowl. “20 minutes.”

Astarion smiles wickedly just enough for his fangs to peek beneath his top lip. “Very well. I’ll expect you no later than that.”

And like a predator fading into his natural environment, he vanishes into the darkness.

Time passes slowly when all you can do is pick at pieces of grass. As beautiful as the clearing is, it’s a bit too soothing—enough to make you doze off as you lean against the trunk of a tree. Though you attempt to keep your eyes open, reminding yourself you have a responsibility to uphold, you haven’t had this sense of relaxation in ages. Especially now, in your home with an atmosphere thicker than the butter you use on your bread. It’s almost like a spell as you feel your heavy eyelids droop helplessly.

You pray you don’t dream tonight. Not when you know all you’ll think of is the betrayal you inflicted on your companions.

A rustle of leaves snaps you back awake.

And when you look up, you see two blood-red eyes staring down at you from the branches of the tree opposite of yours.

They look exactly like the spawn in the alleyway, practically a month ago now. The same ones that haunt your nightmares and the same ones that morph into your ex-lover in the ones you despise the most. And while you can’t see their face, you don’t need much more than that to break into action.

Immediately, you’re snatching the cloak and sprinting back into the forest's darkness. You don’t care about the branches flinging themselves at you anymore because you can barely breathe even without worrying about them. Twigs and thin branches flail across your cheeks as you practically barrel through the woods, your legs feeling like they could give up if you were ever to stop running. With only the cloak in one hand and a dagger in the other, you don’t even attempt to fight whoever this person is upfront–you learned your lesson well the last time you tried. So, instead, your boots crunch against whatever plants are being crushed beneath you as you frantically run from the creature chasing you.

The worst part is you can still hear leaves rustling behind you.

Your lungs hurt. Your head hurts. Everything hurts, and yet you cannot stop. You hope the forest itself swallows you whole at this point, especially as you hear the movements getting closer and closer.

Tripping over a particularly large root, you fall through a bush, bracing for impact as you curse everyone you can think of for your luck. But rather than your shoulder crashing into a pile of dirt and twigs, you plant face-first into what feels like…cloth?

“Eager little thing, aren’t you? If you wanted to touch me, you could have just asked,” Astarion teases and you instantly tear yourself away, pushing your palms against his chest with wide eyes. And as much as you hate to admit it, a flood of relief hits you. And as much as it shouldn’t, meeting his gaze makes you able to breathe again.

Gods, what is wrong with you?

“There’s something chasing me,” you say hurriedly, pointing in the direction behind you. “I think it’s another spawn, I saw his eyes–”

His face stills when you practically jump at the bushes moving in ways the wind cannot will it to. Your arm flies to push him in front of you in case something were to leap out, and while you’re sure he’d complain dramatically about this gesture on any other occasion, he’s too busy worrying about what lies behind the bush. His hand shoots to what you assume to be that blasted comb he takes everywhere while you grip your knife, and you hear both your breaths hitch when something lunges out of the shrub.

It’s a small, puny squirrel.

Astarion doesn’t even try to stifle the laugh that escapes him as he throws his head back.

“I swear there was something following me!” you hiss, slapping his arm while the squirrel scurries away back to wherever it came from. He doesn’t stop, having little care about how your face flushes with embarrassment, and instead seems to revel in it. The bastard is enjoying this.

You wish you could throw the damn squirrel at his head.

“Oh, yes, I do believe there was,” he’s barely fazed while you continue glaring daggers at him. ��I’m impressed you survived an encounter with such a terrifying foe, my dear.”

“It was definitely following me...” your voice trails off, and the bloodlust that had overwhelmed your lungs is fading away, leaving nothing but the sound of Astarion and his annoyingly loud laughter.

He stops when there’s a shrill scream from across the forest. One that wails in what is unmistakenly of excruciating pain.

The two of you slowly turn to one another, and a knowing gleam flashes behind his eyes.

“Darling, the smart decision here would be to leave–”

But you’re already rushing toward whoever this victim is, forcing him to groan loudly and trail after you, snatching up your cloak from the ground in the process. You feel him close behind as you practically fly through the forest, with little care of how exhausted you were just moments before as the screams of pain seem to fuel your determination to lend aid.

Astarion, although displeased, only grumbles as he continues to follow your lead. “Is it necessary to be heroic now of all times? In a dark forest where there’s sure to be animals twice our size?”

You ignore him.

A leaf slaps into your face as you finally reach what’s now been reduced to soft sobs. And you’re not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t someone you knew.

“Berry?” you blink at the small girl, who you’re sure can barely even see you with how teary her eyes are. She watches you wearily before she gasps in recognition, and it’s then that you realize that her arm is bleeding.

“Tav!”

“You’re hurt,” you’re kneeling beside her in an instant, assessing her wounds as you reach to dig around your pockets in hopes of any medical supplies you might’ve left in there. “Did something attack you?”

“Yes,” she winces as you lift her arm to inspect it closer. “I’m not sure what it was, but it came out of nowhere, and they—-they tried to bite me.”

A lump forms in your throat. As twisted as it is, you're relieved you weren't actually imagining what you saw earlier. “Did you see if they had fangs? Did they look like a regular person?”

“I think so,” she replies in a hushed voice, wiping her tears. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do when it–”

A hand grabs her by the back of her cloak, yanking her in the air with her legs dangling helplessly as Astarion holds her just high enough to render attempts to kick at him useless. “I’d normally entertain tasteless tricks like this, but I’m in a less than forgiving mood, I’m afraid. You’ve cut into the time I have to fill my own stomach.”

You gasp, jumping to your feet. “Astarion, what the actual hells are you doing?”

“Trust me, you’ll thank me later, darling,” he sneers at the girl, hissing at him aimlessly. “Show them, you little imp.”

Having no idea what’s going on, you decide the best thing to do is de-escalate whatever misunderstanding he’s had about the poor girl tied to his hand. “You’ll hurt her. Just let her go and explain what’s going on.”

“Show them,” he pronounces each word harshly, glaring at Berry.

And finally, she tries to bite at his hand. This prompts her to unhinge her jaw just enough for you to see the glint of sharp teeth. Ones that do not certainly belong to an innocent orphan.

Were you always this unlucky, or was the past month just a living hell for you?

“See what I mean? You can offer your thanks to me later, darling,” Astarion smiles proudly, and if you knew him any less than you did, you’d think he’s psychotic for smiling like that in this situation. But then, again, maybe he is. “How you seem to attract so many of us is beyond me, but I believe we should refrain from keeping this one alive.”

Your jaw drops. As much as you feel appalled that the innocent girl you’ve been soothing over the death of her adoptive father for the past few weeks turned out to be one of the very creatures that nearly took your life (on multiple occasions), you can’t fathom the idea of just ridding of her. She’s still a kid—at least, to the naked eye. “Are you insane? No, we’re not killing her!”

“Gods, please don’t tell me you’ll try and make this brat see sense. She’s practically feral! Look at her!” he grits through his teeth, waving his free hand to the girl in question, who’s too busy trying to snap her teeth at him. “This thing doesn’t deserve your sympathy right now.”

Berry manages to catch the tip of his finger in her teeth, and Astarion lets out a string of curses as he drops her to the dirt. It doesn’t even take another second for her to lunge toward you, fangs bared and claws ready to sink into your flesh. You barely manage to swerve out of the way, her sharp nail grazing past your cheek.

“Berry, just listen to me! I don’t want to hurt you!” you practically yell, but she only stumbles on the ground a moment before rushing at you again. You reach for your dagger, fearing you may have to use it on a child until she’s snatched into the air again.

This time, Astarion hangs her by the cloak onto a tree branch, where she screams and grasps at the air, practically throwing a tantrum.

You gawk in utter disbelief; too many things are happening simultaneously.

And Astarion doesn’t help as he slips out the damn comb again, grinning from ear to ear. You notice that this time, he seems to have taken the time to sharpen the tips of the teeth, which nearly look akin to a row of needles.

He holds the comb in Berry’s direction. “Well? Shall I do the honors?”

As you watch him threaten a child who also happens to be a vampire, you ponder that maybe you should have just handed him over to Dalyria when you had the chance.

Tags:@ayselluna@littleenglishfangirl@bg3obsessedsideblog@iwillpissyourpants@cyberpr1m3@ukeia-uchiha@snowlotr@road-riot@spacekidnova@madislayyy@lordfishflakes@nicalysm@djarinsway@tinystarfishgalaxy@brainz00@hopeful-n-sad@ohdeerieme@madisban@chrismarium@chonkercatto@fanfic-share@bitterrenegade@sleepyred1703@miskouly@ravenswritingroom@iamlowkeycrying@deezus-roy@spiritraves@mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc@whisperingwillowxox@bdudette@misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @deezus-roy @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @marina-and-the-memes @kiwi-mansanas @woosaaghh @cminr @everybodystaycalm @divineknightmare @bangtanbecks @carolinelec @bitterbeanren @aelieknox Please let me know if I didn't add you to the list or if you'd like to be added! I needed to redo the entire taglist because it wasn't functioning, so please let me know if I missed you :)

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 #fluff #shadowheart #astarion x you #astarion x oc

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tanoraqui · 3 months

Text

Having just read/reread 2/3 of the serieses, the most interesting side character in the assorted Percy Jackson books is definitely Chiron. Explicitly or very clearly implicitly canonical facts about PJO!Chiron:

Obviously, Chiron is the metaphorical heart of Camp Half Blood, and the one actually in charge of it regardless of whoever the gods appoint as Camp Director. He’s the best parent a lot of these kids ever have. If Chiron isn’t at Camp, something is wrong, either at Camp or something is so wrong elsewhere that he’s off dealing with it. If Chiron goes down in a fight, it is quite literally time to Panic.

He was blessed/cursed by the gods with immortal life “so long as there are heroes to train.”

Because demigod lives are the way they are, this has trapped him in an endless grieving cycle of training young people just enough to survive for a little longer before they’re killed. Enough to die heroically at age 15 rather than desperately at age 12, like.

His unhappiness with this mostly comes out in vague allusions to the fact that you will probably die on this quest, which he refuses to elaborate on, instead forcing a smile back into his face and handing you a first aid kit for the road.

Because of this? he never goes to Olympus unless explicitly summoned. This isn’t something that’s been barred to him, it’s a matter of principle.

Because of all this? the gods immediately scapegoat him for tree!Thalia’s poisoning, despite the fact that literally half of them are also Kronos’s children.

Despite all this, there is absolutely no indication that any villain ever attempts to suborn Chiron by offering him, and/or the youths under his care, a better deal. Presumably because they know he’d tell them (politely) to fuck right off.

Grieve though he does, care deeply for every child who comes under his care though he does, he is never (outright) cynical nor does he hesitate to embrace the mythological genre and role he’s in. He trains, guides, and guards where he can…and he encourages them to be heroes, risky though that is. The second it might be safe, he helps Rachel attempt to become the new Oracle, even though the last person to try went mad. He takes a dozen kids who came to Camp Half-Blood for the first time 2 weeks ago into potentially deadly battle to save NYC, as a “field trip.”

Chiron is as good at archery as Apollo at his best (Apollo admits this, privately). I don’t think we ever see him shoot an arrow that’s not a successful kill shot.

In about 36 hours, Chiron can raise a small army of wild centaurs from any or all herds throughout North America. There is no indication that centaurs will regularly listen to anyone else.

He’s an honorary member of the ruling council of satyrs.

Chiron periodically coordinates with hero-trainers from other mythologies to avert truly world-shattering disasters. He does not seem to regard this as the gods’ business.

He likes Dean Martin.

Truly the epitome of that one good teacher who genuinely understands and supports you as best they can while dealing with an unhelpful and often unfriendly school administration, whom you eventually realize is somehow even cooler in their non-school life!

#pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #chiron #pjo chiron #chiron pjo

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averageallogene · 8 months

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After the battle against Osial and urged on by Paimon, Lumine tracks Xiao down to confess her feelings, only to find him on a family outing with you, his wife and your son.

Xiao ♡⊹˚ Couldn’t have known [SFW]

fem. reader (3rd person) ; don't know whether to tag this as angst, or fluff, or both??? It just depends on the perspective I suppose. Xiao and reader are married. Cw. for unrequited feelings of a third party.

5k words.

notes. Poor Lulu, it's okay babygirl I'll try to do you justice on another drabble in the future <\3. But at the same time I got to give Xiao some semblance of peace with wholesome family time so I suppose I can take the heartbreak. Hope you enjoy ✧˖°.

The wounds within the nation were still fresh. The Harbor was on edge, its people doing the best they could to return to everyday life as part of the destroyed homes had already begun reconstruction. If before the battle with Osial the fatui were at the very least viewed as neutral, they were now deeply hated by every Liyue citizen, the organization being completely shut off from the outside as some people even resorted to physical violence as a response for their involvement with the tragedy.

Suffice to say, Liyue was still shaky. Their God was gone as far as most knew, and the Qixing was the top of the food chain now. And despite having averted the crisis fairly well, most couldn't help but wonder, would they be able to protect them as well as Rex Lapis had? Some were hesitant, whilst others clung with the hope that it would be smooth sailing from there. After all, even if their God was gone, his adepti still remained, as well as the now hailed Hero of Liyue. They would be safe.

Lumine hadn't quite gotten used to the flair of being hailed a hero still - after all, her primary reason for being there was to look for her brother, simply having stumbled upon more chaos that she was shoved into without her being fully aware. Even still, she knew better than to have turned her back on an entire nation on the verge of crisis, and so she had stayed and stuck around far longer than what she would've initially liked. It wasn't all for naught, though - she met new wonderful people, got to know more of the world of Teyvat and its customs and cultures. She got to hone her skills and become stronger, as well as, as her gut told her, take a step forward towards the truth.

Among the many she had met, one had seemingly stuck around in her mind - Xiao, the lonesome Conqueror of Demons that would mostly stick around Wangshu Inn. Admittedly he'd been rather curt at first, yet it soon became obvious he carried more on his shoulders than what he would admit. And on that, as well as other things, Lumine found herself relating to him. It was slow progress, but Xiao had begun to open up as well, leaving her small cracks from which she could peek into. It was as though he was testing the waters, seeing if she would find him repulsive or unapproachable. He wasn't, not to her.

He had been there for her, during the confrontation with Osial. It had been perhaps one of the only times thus far on her journey where Lumine had truly felt like she wouldn't make it, were it not for the aid of her allies. It had been a day filled with raw emotions, amplifying them beneath the surface and under the obvious threat from which they had lived through. And it was only after the fact, when she had taken some time to rest and ponder, that the emotions began to set, carving themselves into stone.

"I think it's quite obvious what needs to be done." Paimon had placed her hands on her hips, hovering close to her face as she gazed upon her with narrowed eyes.

"Oh? What are you talking about, Paimon?" Lumine feigned ignorance, an eyebrow being raised as she made a last ditch effort to avoid the topic.

"Don't play dumb with me, missy! I know you very well, you know?" The fair haired fairy pointed her finger to her, before shaking her head. "It's obvious you're head over heels over the lonesome adeptus Xiao. And the last thing I wanna see, is my companion regret not confessing her true feelings."

Well, she had to give it to Paimon. She could be simply and only driven by food, sure, but she had a more keen eye than what Lumine had really thought.

The traveler huffed with a weak laugh, her head shaking. "No no, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?!" She seemed utterly flabbergasted. "Wait, you're not even denying it-"

"What if I make him uncomfortable?" She thought aloud, eyebrows furrowing. "Or, let's say that I do manage to confess. What then? I can't expect him to leave Liyue behind."

"No one has to leave anything behind. We can always periodically return to Liyue Harbor while we travel!" Her flying companion suggested, her head nodding at her own proposal.

She watched as Lumine seemed to consider that idea, a small sigh leaving her lips as she pondered over her options. As a seasoned adventurer, she had to, along her journey, learn to always consider the less favored outcomes an option. Were she to be rejected, she and Paimon would simply have to haste their move to their next nation… Yet, the idea of it not ending like that… It alone seemed to be enchanting enough for her to, in the end, decide to go forward with Paimon’s proposal.

“It’ll go well, trust Paimon on this one!” She kicked her smaller feet in the air, her eyes sparkling with great hope for her companion. She helped Lumine pack before they were to head off to Wangshu Inn, the hailed Hero of Liyue feeling nervous for the first time in a little while. “There’s no way it won’t end well, Lumine! After all, you’re downright perfect!”

She couldn’t have known. Paimon couldn’t have known, either. It honestly was something even most adepti didn’t know of - it was something Xiao kept close to his chest, only a select few knowing about that side of him. He cared naught for finding a partner, never had in the eons he’d existed for. He saw no need.

That was, until he had met [F/N]. A mere mortal, yet one he loved with his whole being.

It had been rough to come to terms with his emotions. It had been rocky, a steep climb for [F/N] to be allowed in; yet somehow, she had managed to reach the peak, finding at the end of her journey a side Xiao would only reveal to her - it was always present, in the way he gazed upon her, his golden eyes reflecting the warm sunset that would bathe them each dusk that she visited him in Wangshu Inn. It was always present, in the way his gloved hand would hold her own, delicately, almost afraid to break her as if she were made of porcelain. He wasn’t one to outwardly express his emotions, yet the silence with him had felt comforting. It felt like a safe haven, Xiao finally finding a semblance of peace each time [F/N] would bless him with her presence.

He was very well aware of the fleeting existence mortals led. It broke him each time he thought about it, yet, as [F/N] had asked him of, he’d always tried to think instead of the present. Even still, it was always something that had been at the back of his mind, ever since he’d finally accepted his emotions, and allowed her into his life. It gave him all the more reason to ensure she was safe, that only those who he could truly trust knew of her existence - for, when he couldn’t be there, they would ensure she wasn’t in danger.

And this worry only doubled when [F/N] had confided in him that she, indeed, was carrying his child. Well, it had certainly been a surprise, and Xiao… He at first panicked. He had never thought about ever loving someone, let alone creating a little one alongside another. It took a lot of talking, a lot of gentle touches and hugging. But in the end, like everything else with his [F/N], Xiao knew it would be okay.

On that lovely day, [F/N] and their youngling had waited for him by the Inn, their usual room ready and waiting for them. By that point, the boy was only two, yet he already showed so much life and personality that it never failed to knock the wind out of his father. As per usual, Smiley Yanxiao would, exclusively, allow [F/N] access to his kitchen so she could cook food for her little boy, as well as her husband who would be arriving later as he’d promised - why? Her almond tofu was simply the best, and whenever Xiao could, he’d rather eat hers than any other chef’s. And who was she to deny her diligent beloved, who worked tirelessly to defend their land? When compared to all the terrifying work and responsibilities Xiao held, a simple dish felt like child’s play. Yet he always, always cherished such an act so deeply, it felt like it was the other way around.

[F/N] had already fed their son before Xiao had arrived, gently holding him in her arms as they walked calmly across the Inn’s upper balcony. Patting his back with rhythm, her eyes peered out into the distance, the wind blowing ever so gently across her face, eyes shimmering with the light of the sun as all was peaceful. She hadn’t even heard Xiao arrive, his figure simply appearing on the wooden rails near her, his body perfectly balanced on the small surface as his mask dissipated before either of them could see him. His face, previously scowling with the horrors he regularly faced, immediately softened upon landing on the two people he loved the most, spear neatly placed away as his feet finally touched the balcony.

“Qingxin…” He called out his beloved, watching as she turned around with the same amount of love and excitement she would always display whenever he arrived. It never failed to melt his heart.

“Xiao, you’re back!” [F/N] sighed in relief, eyes softening as she hastily made her way to him. Meeting halfway, he carefully embraced her, foreheads touching as he felt his weary body finally relax. “Welcome home, my love.”

“...Thank you.” He murmured, his lips brushing against the top of her head as his hand rested on her lower back. His words felt heavier than a simple sign of gratitude, one that ran deeper and meant far more. One that [F/N] understood far too well, but didn’t dwell on. Instead, she smiled his way, her arms still carrying their bundle of joy with care.

“Papa!” Their young boy chirped out, his attention clearly gravitating towards his father. His little arms were already stretching out, yearning for Xiao to hold him after being apart for a long while. And while Xiao always showed hesitancy to, he never found the strength to deny his little son.

Carefully the adeptus picked his son up, the softest smile making its way to his pale face as his golden eyes gazed at his son’s. [F/N] had always stated how his son was a mirroring image of himself, and with each passing day, Xiao could deny that reality less and less. His hair color was the same deep dark green, streaks of a lighter tone along his tiny locks. His cheeks, chubby, hid away the smallest little pointed teeth that resembled his own. His eyebrows, never furrowed like his father’s, displayed the same shape and sharpness. The only thing he seemed to have picked from his mother had been the color of his eyes, the same beautiful shade Xiao could drown himself in - and even still, the eye shape had been taken from him, the same little diamond pupils staring back at him with the wonder and adoration of a pure child. His child. He still could hardly believe it.

“It’s okay, love. Here, just like this…” [F/N] gently coaxed him, noticing how his arms trembled the slightest - mostly due to exhaustion, but always partially to anxiety. After all, what if he tainted his little boy? What of his karmic debt? Everyday he prayed such a thing would never happen, hoping he would develop some kind of resistance due to his bloodline; yet even still, it was always a possibility.

His little arms flailed around, practically leaping for Xiao’s embrace as he hugged his neck. Xiao couldn’t help but let out the quietest of laughs, holding him with more confidence under his wife’s guidance. His eyes landed on the vajra necklace he would always have around his neck, one of the many religious items he’d given the two of them in order to ward off evil when he himself wasn’t around. In truth, [F/N] did it more to ease her husband’s mind than anything, but that was something she’d take to the grave - she knew she was safe even when he didn’t stand next to them, but then again, she would never be one to go against his wishes; they were never many, anyway.

“You must be tired. Here, come sit. I made you your favorite.” [F/N] smiled his way, signaling for him to sit at the table they would usually take. Without hesitation he followed suit, his eyes following his wife’s movements as she presented him his dish.

“Thank you, qingxin.” Xiao murmured, his eyes softening at the sight as he could finally feel his heavy soul at ease. He took his seat, carefully shifting his son to sit on his lap whilst securing him with one arm around him - more of a precaution than anything, for the simple fact his little one did behave wonderfully most of the time.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to hold him while you eat?” [F/N] smiled, humored by the absolutely endearing sight of her husband holding their little one. The way his cheeks gained the faintest hint of color didn’t escape her gaze, yet she knew better than to embarrass her poor little adeptus.

“No need, I can eat like this just fine.” He responded.

Or in other words, No thank you, I really want to hold our little boy like this. [F/N] already knew her lover very well despite his attempts at keeping himself at arms length for the longest time, so reading in between the lines wasn’t difficult. All she could do was nod her head, a delightful smile across her lips as she sat with them, pleasant conversation filling the air. How had their day been, where they had gone, who they’d been with… Xiao listened to it all, his leg bouncing gently, up and down, up and down, his child content with the rhythmic movement as his tiny hands rested against his arm.

The sky was still painted in the loveliest strokes of oranges and blues upon the pair arriving at their final destination. The journey had been otherwise uneventful, only further filling Lumine with the slightest creeping anxiety as the tall Inn was seen in the distance. Surely, she had figured, Xiao would be there. It was the only place she knew he’d have any sort of roots in, and given the fact she dared not abuse her permission for calling upon him, she figured paying a visit was the next best option.

“Come on, that’s the Wangshu Inn in the distance!” Paimon pointed, her smaller body flying across the air as her friend picked up the pace as well. Her stomach already rumbled after their trip, and truth be told, the little fairy already planned to grab herself a few plates whilst watching from the distance the scene unfold.

“Hey, wait up Paimon!” The young woman sighed, her scarf blowing against the wind as they hastily came closer and closer to the structure.

There were very few guests aside from the regulars, of which the owners could count with their fingers. Verr Goldet was finishing up taking care of a few details at the front desk before she heard a set of steps rushing up her stairs, her eyes gluing to the entrance of their Inn before she finally spotted a familiar figure.

“Ah, Lumine, Paimon! What a surprise to see you once more.” She smiled kindly, her hands resting in front of her figure as the blonde woman caught her breath. “And what brings you to the Wangshu Inn tonight? Seeking to book a room?”

“Hi miss Verr-” Lumine smiled amidst the heavy breathing, both her and Verr being cut off with Paimon who happily interjected.

“Hi boss lady! Is Xiao back yet?”

“For the last time, I am not ‘boss lady’.” Verr shot her a look, to which Paimon silently apologized for. “And… May I inquire as to why you’d like to see him at such a time?”

Usually, Verr Goldet wouldn’t be one to deny them the knowledge of the Conqueror of Demons’ whereabouts; after all, they were friends and allies. However, given the company he currently had, the woman couldn’t help but wish to avert any unwanted visitors to their family time. Not to mention, she herself, as well as her husband, had gotten quite protective of [F/N] and their little one - as if, by some strange mortal bond Xiao couldn’t quite understand, they had considered them their extended family.

“Oh… Are we intruding on something?” Paimon asked, her voice growing softer.

“Well, it’s just that, as you know, the Conqueror of Demons is a very busy adeptus.” That much wasn’t a lie. “He’s expressed his wish for visits to be limited for the time being, lest something be really urgent.” …That however, was something he himself hadn’t requested of her.

“Oh, if that’s the case-” Lumine, being understanding as she was, attempted to avert the situation. After all, they could always ask for some of his time the following day.

“It kind of is.” Paimon however, once more, chimed in. “After all, we came all the way from Liyue Harbor for this!” She was now planting her hands on her hips once more. “Besides, we won’t take long.”

Verr Goldet’s expression didn’t falter, though she was rather ticked over how they seemed to not catch the hint. “Well, even still-”

“He’s probably upstairs, isn’t he? If not we can always call on his name. Come on Lumine, up we go!”

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” The owner was practically left to speak to the wall as they were already up the flight of stairs, her eyes widened as she sighed in frustration. Hopefully, she prayed, it wouldn’t be a big ruckus; not that [F/N] would mind, ever. More so from Xiao’s end.

Being practically dragged up to the balcony by the suddenly overtly strong Paimon, Lumine nearly trampled on her own feet as she could feel her heart palpitate stronger and louder. The heat that rose to her face couldn’t be hidden for any longer, and all she could hope was that Xiao was there, and that all would go well. Why was she so… Nervous? She’d fought against many monsters, defeated abyss mages, aided in the saving of Dvalin and the defeat of Osial, yet how was a simple opening of her own heart causing such a ruckus within her?

The husky voice of Xiao was unmistakable as they finally reached the balcony, her head turning to her right as she took a deep breath. He seemed… To be calmer, at peace. His voice softer while still speaking in the usual tone she had grown used to. Paimon let go of her hand as she flew ahead, silent for long enough until the adventurer was able to pick up another voice - an unknown one, being a soft and female giggle.

“Xiao! Xiao, you in here?” Paimon called out, rounding up the balcony in search of the adeptus.

In the table in which they stood, the Conqueror of Demons seemingly froze, his eyebrows immediately lowering as a smallest scowl reappeared on his face. He held his child a little tighter, his head turning to gaze to where the known voice had come from. [F/N] followed suit, her head turning before landing on her husband once more, curious over anything else whilst silently inquiring him who it could be - after all, he seemed to know who the voice belonged to. And in most other circumstances, he wouldn’t exactly mind to hear the talkative pixie nor her friend, yet when it came to such sacred time with his family… He couldn’t help but feel his mood grow sour.

“Oh, there you are-!” Paimon chirped whilst Lumine came right behind her. However, she stopped in place, no longer approaching him. The voice died on her throat before she gazed around, her colorful eyes skipping through the two unknown people.

“...You two.” Xiao called out, his body having already turned in his chair while remaining sat still. His hands were holding his son in his lap, who too eyed them still, though his carefree expression deeply differed from the seemingly annoyance Xiao displayed. “What’s the matter? Is everything alright?”

“Ah, you’re… Accompanied…” The white haired guide seemed to have suddenly grown embarrassed, her eyebrows furrowing softly as she felt even smaller under the intense gaze the Conqueror of Demons sent their way. “...S-Sorry, we didn’t know-”

“Didn’t Verr Goldet tell you?” Xiao had let out without thinking much, his wife to his side softly muttering his name he cleared his throat. It was only then his face seemingly relaxed, gazing back at her for a mere moment.

“Are they your friends?” [F/N] smiled kindly, her hands extending briefly before taking their little boy into her arms once more.

“...Yes.” Xiao nodded his head. The way his beloved’s face lit up was enough to melt him away, finding it outright adorable how she seemed to always… Be happy, whenever he spoke of others he held in high regard. To him it was strange, how she apparently thought it was such a big deal.

“It’s alright, go and talk to them! We have the whole night ahead of us,” [F/N] warmly reassured him, while Xiao attempted to keep the pout from forming on his face. The last thing he wanted to do during his family time was have guests over, but since they probably had gone out of their way to get there… He didn’t want to cause a bad impression to [F/N], anyway. “We’ll stay here, since we don’t know if it’s something private. If not, just look our way and we’ll join you straight away!”

His boy seemed to agree with his mother’s statement, babbling on as they both watched Xiao hesitantly get up from his seat. The Adeptus calmly walked their way, his gaze somewhat sharper than what Lumine would’ve liked. Unlike Paimon, who was still somewhat oblivious, she had already begun to piece the puzzle together - the way he had glanced at that young woman, the way they had been sitting together, the way the little child looked so similar to him… It was difficult to think of any other possibilities.

It was difficult to keep oneself from breaking down at the realization.

“...Yes, Paimon, Lumine?” The traveler had been shaken out of her thoughts as his eyes bore into hers, patiently waiting for them to speak up.

“Hi Xiao,” Paimon took the lead upon Lumine taking longer to talk than what she would’ve guessed. “We didn’t know you had company, haha… So… Who are they?”

“...” It wasn’t as though Xiao himself was exactly bothered with Paimon’s general nosiness, more so he was annoyed they had been interrupted for seemingly meaningless banter. Here he was, thinking there was something wrong and his assistance was needed, actually getting up from the table where his family stood to greet them for nothing happening after the fact.

His head turned around to gaze back at his wife, who bounced her leg up and down slightly to amuse their son as he would usually like. Their eyes met, and with the softening way in which he looked at her, [F/N] understood everything was alright. It relieved her to know so, taking the moment to get up and hold their son before approaching them with a kind and sunny smile. Paimon and Lumine watched as they approached, the little youngling’s eyes scanning them before landing on the adeptus once more, refusing to look anywhere else after the fact. Up close, it was even more undeniable who exactly the little boy was, his hair color and shape exactly the same as Xiao’s, as well as his little brows who sported a much more relaxed expression.

“Hi! I’m [F/N]. Pleased to meet any friends of Xiao.” [F/N] spoke softly, introducing herself to the pair before her baby was wriggling in a vain attempt to jump out of her arms.

“Papa…” He shyly mumbled, his arms stretching in his direction as he seemingly didn’t give up in his pursuit of remaining in daddy’s arms.

Lumine couldn’t help but smile weakly, even as her heart wilted. The image before her was… Adorable, she couldn’t deny that. The way Xiao’s face gained color, embarrassed by the display of affection to a crowd as his significant other attempted hushing their son from interrupting them. And despite the utter shock she felt from not only realizing Xiao had a lover but also had already formed a family, she couldn’t help but glance at them still.

“It’s alright love.” Xiao murmured, the last word barely above a whisper as his cheeks were by that point the same shade of the jueyun chili. “Here, let me hold him.”

“Ah… Sorry. He really wants daddy time, huh.” [F/N] laughed softly, carefully letting go of the boy before his arms were wrapped tightly around his father’s neck, his face nuzzling against him as he hid his gaze from the strangers. The young woman turned to the pair, who remained quiet, an apologetic smile on her face. “I apologize, he can get quite shy around new people.”

“No, don’t worry about it…” Paimon let out in struggle, the cogs inside her head nearly visible as she was rather late to the party when it came to figuring out what exactly the relation was here.

“So,” Xiao broke the chit chat short, clearing his throat before attempting to be… More courteous. Not for himself, but for his wife. “Is there anything I can help you with? After all, you did call out my name.”

“Ah,” Suddenly Paimon remembered what the exact initial plan was, panicking inwardly as she floated rather awkwardly around Lumine. The adventurer, on the other hand, seemed outwardly calm, the forced smile on her face remaining. “Well, about that-”

“We just thought of passing by to bid our goodbyes,” Lumine finished it for her, leaving her companion quiet and Xiao somewhat surprised. “Since Liyue is stable now, we’re thinking of continuing our journey towards Inazuma.”

“...Oh, I see.” Xiao responded, tone quiet as he nodded his head gently. “Are you sure you’re ready to leave?”

“Yeah, it was… About time, anyway.” Lumine awkwardly laughed, her hand rubbing the back of her neck as she averted her gaze for a solid second. “We still have a lot of questions that need answering.”

[F/N]’s expression shifted to worry and sorrow, somewhat bummed that they wouldn’t join them for a little longer, or she wouldn’t exactly get to know personally those friends of her husband’s. More so, the concern on her face also extended further to Lumine, something in her gut telling her the young woman before her was hurting deeper than what appeared to be. Call it a woman's intuition.

“I see. Inazuma… You’ll be far away.” Xiao thought aloud, his arms shifting gently to ensure the comfort of his son as he seemed to calm down in his embrace, lulled to sleep by his husky voice. “Still, if you ever return and need any help, you know how to seek me out.”

“Please be safe out there.” [F/N] added, a soft smile ever present on her face before her gaze jumped between them. “Still, it’s getting late for you to begin your journey back… Won’t it be best to stay the night and leave in the morning?”

“No, we’ll be fine.” Lumine shook her head, the bitterness in her tongue being swallowed as she smiled [F/N]’s way. She couldn’t hold anything against the woman in front of her - she was being nothing but kind to them. “If we get to the Harbor by dawn, all the better.”

“Ah… Alright…” [F/N] understood, still thinking of ways to help them however she could. “Would you like for me to pack you some food, though? It’s a long way back.”

Xiao couldn’t help but glance his wife’s way, his gaze softening as the smallest smile rose on his lips. He simply couldn’t have enough of her, not ever, especially when she displayed the same caring nature that had broken down his walls in the first place.

Lumine however, only wanted to leave as soon as possible. “No, it’s alright thank you. We’ll be going now, yes Paimon? Goodbye Xiao, [F/N]. Stay safe.”

And before the floating pixie could even have a word on the matter, they were already descending the stairs, the young woman’s legs sending her flying as her mind blurred to a shapeless stain. Before she even realized they were already far from the Inn, Paimon’s soft tone of voice attempting to call her back as she nervously tried to apologize, try to cheer her up, try to distract her…

It wasn’t Paimon’s fault. Neither of them could’ve known, really. She’d suggested their visit in high hopes after all, it was alright. She would be alright. After all…

The way Xiao smiled so softly. The way he glanced at [F/N] in such a matter, the way he held the young boy with such care. He looked happy. He was happy. And even if it wasn’t with her… Lumine was sure one day, the sorrow would subside and substitute itself with happiness for him.

He deserved it all and more.

#genshin xiao x reader #genshin impact xiao x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabbles #yoko drabbles

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charmedreincarnation · 1 year

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Hi i want to enter the void tonight tonight!! like i have to be somewhere tomorrow and i have to revise a situation! I understand there might be other ways to revise it but i want to go to the void and do it! I have been very close to it like with the symptoms and i think all that’s left for me to get is past the symptoms, the actual shifting!!

Can you please recommend what i can do to tap in without fail?

I’m also sending this to couple blogs i trust, not because i want to be annoying but because i don’t know who will and will not respond and i’m on a time crunch so just trying my luck hoping someone responds!!

Hi love ! I first want you to know you choose when you get into the void. You are the void, but since society in general limits what we can do and who we can be, that’s why it may not come to fruition immediately and it has become a journey for us though it does not have to be.

I’m sure you’ve heard all of this already but I want to remind you.. all methods work !!!! It’s your self concept that matters because when you believe it will work.. it will work. Methods are like doors with the void inside of them. The keys are all the same, because they’re just your self concept. All doors lead to the void regardless of what you believe. But With that said I will give you a methodical simple method to utilize tonight because if you haven’t come to that conclusion already, a method would not hurt at this point. But seriously guys..work on your self concept. You don’t have to of course you could manifest the void state or whatever your desire instantly.. but when you do work on it, I promise (breaking a promise is a mortal sin) you’ll see your manifesting journey change just like that, which just makes your self concept better and better and your mnaifestions easier and easier.

Regardless. I am going to show you a method I have used to shift and manifest easily and it never fails me. I don’t use it anymore as I rely on solely intention but this method really aided me in the beginning of my journey. I want to give this as a reminder that I admire Neville so that’s what is representing a lot of my ideas and tips. I also want to give a reminder that the I am state, God state, void state, whatever you may call it are the same concept just different linguistics and terminology I see in different communities but I am calling it the I am state here.

Just as reminder.. the "I am" state that Neville Goddard talks about is a state of consciousness where one identifies with their desired outcome or reality, and believes that it has already manifested in their life. Same as the void state, same as the god state. Pure consciousness so that’s all that matter.

Back to the method !

I utilize theta waves for this. You can use whichever you desire but this is the one that I liked to use: https://youtu.be/aCF07BQ3znE

Now…

1. Relax and focus on your breathing: Find a quiet and comfortable place where you won't be disturbed, and take a few deep breaths. As you inhale, imagine that you are breathing in positive energy and as you exhale, release any tension or negative thoughts.

2. Visualize your desired outcome: Close your eyes and imagine that your desired outcome has already manifested in your life. See it in as much detail as possible, using all your senses. How does it look, feel, smell, and sound? Really try to immerse yourself in this scene and feel the emotions associated with it.

3. Affirm your belief: Repeat to yourself affirmations that support your belief that your desired outcome has already manifested in your life. Use the phrase "I am" followed by a positive statement that affirms your desired outcome. For example, "I am void", " Repeat these affirmations several times, and really feel the truth of them in your body. For me personally I use just I am. That embodies what I want, i usually get the floaty feeling which I know it’s hard to ignore so imagine yourself floating in water or in space! that usually help relive the symptoms, and then just continue with your I am.

It doesn’t matter if you fall asleep. You can still wake up with you desired outcome and in your case that is the void. If you fall asleep and wake up again, just try again, and keep trying, it will get you closer and closer to the finish line. Try to relax, I know you’re stressed and you don’t want to see tomorrow but you don’t have to. Give yourself to I am and become. The only thing I expect and accept tomorrow is your success story tomorrow, so believe and become because starting now you are !! Okay I am.. i am.. I am..just keep persisting 💓

#manifesation #void state #neville goddard #law of assumption

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windvexer · 2 years

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growth in witchcraft as shedding of snake-skin

Sort of obvious, but I had to learn it (like everything else) the hard way. And as spooky season approaches and people may be revitalizing their practices after breaks, I want to say something that might end up saving a couple folks from a lot of frustration and heartbreak:

Just because it worked that way for you in the past, doesn't mean that's how it works for you now.

I mean this in a literal, making-stuff-happen with magic and sorcery way.

You guys have heard the adage that some spirit guides are with you for life, some for short periods, some for just one lesson, etc., right?

Well, the same can be said for sorcerous techniques.

I don't know if I just shed techniques like hermit crabs shed shells or what, but this happens to me a lot. Here's the kind of thing I mean:

You used to do readings with a specific little ritual involving a prayer and incense, but now that technique seems to produce incorrect readings. It feels flat and you can tell you're not connecting.

You used to be able to tie intent into knots and carry the thread around with you all day to conjure specific little occurrences, but now it barely seems to work and manifestation is spotty.

You used to be able to converse with spirits by going into a deep meditation, but now when you try you can hardly connect and it's like their messages are getting blotted out.

And I think sometimes when these things happen, people tend to process this with:

self-blame (I'm not a devoted enough witch, I brought this on myself!),

scapegoating spiritual allies (I used to pray to Hekate before divination but now my divination doesn't work, so Hekate must be mad at me), or

developing personal doubt (I used to think magic worked but now I can't replicate my own results).

When the reality is, if you're a magical snickity-snek and you've shed your skin, you might be slithering about in the soil trying to do the little old things that no longer fit the bigger, better you.

Sometimes this "shedding" is very obvious and we can feel and taste it. "Shedding" may come before, during, or after a period of intense personal transformation. It may come in a numinous moment when you hear a single phrase, or view a single image, that makes you become the Hanged Man and see reality in a whole new way.

But it can also happen without us really noticing it. I might put down my tarot cards for a couple months, pick them up again, and suddenly the ways I used to read don't work for me any more.

It's not because I'm a bad reader, or that the spirits have abandoned me, or that magic isn't real.

It's because what used to work for me doesn't any more, and now I just need to find new techniques.

So if you're trying to pick up what used to work and it just doesn't seem to be helping any more, consider that it's just like outgrowing an old set of clothes. Nothing is wrong with you, or the clothes. It just doesn't fit any more.

Since I think it'd be frustrating as hell to read a post like this without some actionable steps, below the cut are some ideas that might help you develop new techniques if your old ones seem to be failing you.

Start with your beliefs

Examine your own rituals and see if what you're doing still matches what you believe. Let's say you used to pray to Hekate and light incense before divination, but now you do that and your divination doesn't work.

Do you believe Hekate is allowing your divination to be possible? Do you believe she's the best goddess to seek aide from at this time?

What role does the incense play? Is it an offering to Hekate? Is it to feed the ancestors who supply you with interpretations? Is it just to set the correct tone and atmosphere?

Maybe you've grown in your relationship with divinity, and you now believe it's more proper to call on gods with formal prayers - but your divination ritual still uses a simple, improvised prayer.

Maybe your understanding of Hekate has changed and it feels more suitable to call on different powers.

Maybe you feel strangely about constantly "paying" gods to help you, when they say they don't need it - and lighting the incense makes you feel awkward.

Change what you're doing to match what you believe. That's always a solid first step.

Examine your own emotions and reactions

Try performing rituals (from the smallest ritual of stirring intent into coffee, to full-blown compass-casting affairs under the full moon) mindfully.

Be aware of what you're doing as you do it, but also try to examine your own reactionary thoughts and feelings.

Suppose my ritual of stirring my coffee seven times clockwise to manifest a desired emotion doesn't work any more. It used to work great, for years, so I do it quickly. But now it doesn't work, so I do it mindfully.

And while I'm stirring, I watch a few thoughts pop up to the surface: why am I doing this seven times? I'm stirring my coffee for too long and staring into it like an idiot, and it's embarrassing. What if someone thinks I'm weird?

If any individual step of a ritual makes you feel embarrassed, stressed, or avoidant, or if you feel relief from not having to do that any more - that technique is probably not serving you very well.

Seek out methods that make you feel excited, hopeful, empowered, or interested. Or, at the very least, ones that don't make you feel bad.

Be open to shifting your paradigm entirely

Going back to the stirring coffee thing, maybe I think stirring seven times is too much. So I try to stir my coffee three times. But that still feels clunky.

Then I get into left-handed vs right-handed stirring, because someone might have said that doing stuff with your right hand is for blessings.

Then I try out a new little inner mantra while I stir X times with Y hand.

But it's just not working. No matter what I try, it feels like walking barefoot on a gravel road.

So maybe I just need to do something entirely different.

Maybe numerology isn't my thing any more. Maybe now, I just need to embrace my inner divine creator.

Maybe I should think about the ultimately powerful creative energy within rich, black soil - and as I pour my coffee, I can imagine that I'm pouring pure creative energy into my divine cauldron. When I sprinkle in a little sugar, I'm seasoning that creative power to my personal tastes - and no matter how many times I stir it, when I drink that creative power, a new reality blossoms from within me.

No numbers. No memorized chants. No left hand/right hand stuff. Just me, imagining myself as a planet, drinking pure creative energy that will bloom out of my aura as wildflowers bloom in the spring.

Ask for help

I'm not called fool for no reason, and after a couple years of being unable to astral travel - after having successfully done so for years - I finally sat down and asked my spirits for help.

The answer was immediate and simple. So simple, in fact, that I was confident it wouldn't work at all.

Well, of course it worked. I spent years trying to figure out the problem on my own, trying time and time again to use an old technique that I was confident would work. It took a goddess like four seconds to tell me the new way it worked for me.

Even if you're not in communication with spiritual allies, you can still perform divination to help troubleshoot your own magical skills. Try asking a series of questions: what doesn't work for you any more, what you should try, and what you should avoid trying.

When divining, consider the different "levels" of application. A reading that means "don't use excessive force" might refer to high-level life stuff, like, you're working too hard on all your responsibilities right now, learn to relax and the magic will come. But, it might also be referring to something very specific, like, you're trying to raise huge amounts of energy in individual rituals, break them up into smaller spells where much less force is required for each one.

#witchblr #witch community #witch tips #troubleshooting

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angelicsjn · 4 months

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how are the six yanderes with a friendly s/o? Like no matter the gender, they're js very friendly. I can only imagine niko's reaction 😭😭 ANYWAYS I LOVE UR WORKS KEEP IT UP!! <33

Thank you so much, angel!

YOUR SIX YANDERES.

— ROMAN CORNELIUS JAMES BEAUREGARD.

This honestly makes Roman happy.

He finds it hard to connect to people on a personal scale, so he would initially be very interested in you based on how you treat others - no matter who they are.

Plus, while in a relationship it only aids him and his image. How can he be a mean and tough person if his partner is the epitome of kindness?

The journalists are obsessed with you and your drace, how you bright up every photo and the fans can't help but love you.

But Roman doesn't get jealous easy, he's secure in himself and your relationship.

Befriend his teammate, have dinners with the other wags, go to parties in Monaco with him and drink champagne on yachts with his closest friends!

Everybody knows better than to cross Roman Beauregard and his shiniest trophy.

— LATEN REED.

He's very kind himself! So he loves it. Two sunshines are better than one.

At times he would prefer you to be more standoffish, he doesn't like that nasty twinge he feels in his chest when you laugh at one of his teammates jokes a little too hard, but it still makes him happy that his friends and family like you.

Anyway, nobody will threaten your relationship; they're a dumb person if they do because well... Have you seen the size of him?

In general, he adores your kindness and appreciates the positivity you give him after a bad day, but sometimes he suffers a sad case of jealousy.

— JAE 'NIKO' LEE.

Oh boy...

He HATES it. It annoys him. So. Fucking. Much.

Why are you smiling at that stranger?

Why do you laugh at their jokes? They aren't even funny.

Stop complimenting the colour of that persons T-shirt. Compliment him!

He goes borderline insane and blames you for almost causing him a bullying scandal online due to his jealous rage.

He will water it down, take all of that kindness and keep it for himself.

He's selfish, in every way possible.

— KAIDAN ALEXANDER WOLFE.

He doesn't really notice it at first since he's around very 'happy' people all of the time.

He just believes that you're being nice to look good, to make friends. Maybe you're lying.

Even better - you're saying it subliminally to him...

He wore red yesterday, obviously you're complimenting the girls red coat as a hint. Duh!

But he also takes notes. Whatever you like in a person, he will become.

Just for you, darling!

— HAYDEN WEST.

It makes his life a whole lot easier as regards to communication with him.

If you speak first, show openess and kindness, he feels more confident because you can carry the initial conversations until his nerves have settled.

He does feel jealousy at times, especially if you show more interest in someone else; someone better than him; someone more desirable than him.

Hayden isn't mean, it's not who he is. Much like you he prefers kindness but being kind doesn't get the girl, not usually, so seeing you bond with others so freely makes him feel under attack.

what if you find better?

— JOSHUA WHITE.

He loves it.

He loves your kind nature, your giving self. He loves how you attract so much energy and spread so much love.

You truly are an angel sent down to love, to love the earth and its people.

To love him.

It reminds him that there is good on earth and that God believes he is worthy of such a gem.

#darling reader #darlingcore #yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere character

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fandomwritingbit · 10 months

Text

What are you wearing?

william afton x afab reader phone sex

We've had reader wanking to Will on the phone, Will wanking to reader's mercifully inanimate object. So here's you both wanking together.

Warnings: public masturbation (for both of you) risk of being caught. smut downright filthy but how else could it be lol

“Tell me,” the grunt from William was all too telling, and from your office on the other side of town you could picture him with his big cock in his hand. “What are you wearing?” The question was sickly sweet, dripping with arousal, whilst he licked his hand to aid his endeavour.

You smirk from the other end of the phone, he’s crazy, you think to yourself, because you knew exactly where this was going, the dirty bastard.

“Aren’t you at work?” you tease, standing from your desk to close your office door. “You’ll get in trouble if someone sees you.”

He grunts again, “Not as much trouble as you’ll be in if you don’t tell me.” Which makes you giggle in mischief.

“A light blue blouse and navy slacks.” you concede, sitting again and taking your heels off under your desk, knowing that wasn’t really the part of your clothing he was interested in.

You hear his laugh through the phone, “Like a fucking copper.”

Scoffing, you don’t hide the grin on your face, just the sound of him making your panties wet with longing and you feel a jolt of pleasure when you cross your legs. “Well, thank you, I’ll never see this outfit the same again.”

“What are you wearing underneath?” he practically whispers those words, and goosebumps coat your skin and the thought of him saying that against your neck.

You gasp, a pantomime of faux-shock, “William! How dare you ask me such an intimate question. I’m in the office, you know.” You want to make him work for it, empowered by not being face to face, because in person you wouldn’t ever get the chance.

“You’d better tell me right now, I haven’t got the time to-”

You cut him off, “Ask nicely and I’ll tell you.”

He chuckles darkly, “Bold aren’t you?” He pauses, as much as he’d hate to admit it, your cheekiness was working for him judging by the twitching of his cock. He used a slow pace to stroke himself, doing as you asked, “My pretty little thing, please tell me what you’re wearing underneath.”

You sit forward, god his voice was something else when he was turned on, straight fucking filth and you’re unable to help yourself, opening your legs under the table to lightly touch yourself over your trousers. That pet name was going to get you fired.

“Someone’s desperate… A white lace bra and black thong.” you instinctively look to your office door when you hear him groan.

“Naughty girl… at work? Now, who are you wearing that for?”

“You,” he snickers at that, precum trailing down onto his fingers. He continues touching himself, wanting to get closer to his end. “You sure about that? Not vying for a promotion?”

“Yeah. From phone sex operator to dinner and a night at yours, hopefully.” you grin, your hesitant touching becoming a bit too risky.

“Done.” He grunts, “IF you send me a photo, right now.” Dying to touch yourself properly, you’re already standing up, sliding your feet back in your shoes.

“You’ll have to wait for me to get to the bathroom,” you say breathy, as you go to the door, speaking teasingly, “Think you can wait that long?”

He sniggers, “You’d better be fucking running, sweetheart.” He’s joking but there’s a shred of truth in it, just picturing you in those cheeky knickers was enough to get him there, though to see the real thing would be much sweeter.

You don’t run, but half jog as you cross the office space to the bathrooms, trying not to think about your inferiors seeing you giggling into the phone, with a light sweat on your skin. It doesn’t take long before you're locked in a cubicle, balancing your phone on the tissue dispenser whilst stripping your bottom half and unbuttoning your shirt.

The photos you send him are good ones, the first how you look in that bra and thong, the second your slick coated fingers finally touching yourself how you’d been wanting to since this call began.

You hear his reaction and the change in his breath as his pace moved to one seeking the out. “God, William. You’re really going to wank off in your office? That’s shocking.” You still try to tease him, though you struggle to have it sound like you’re not doing the same yourself.

“If you were here, you wouldn’t be mocking me like that. You’d be-”

“Too busy with your big cock in my mouth?” You finish his sentence and he grunts his approval. By this point you can hear the sound of him using his fist. “But you’d let me do it, right? Let me taste you, hear how much you like it… Like I can now.” Your voice keeps faltering, it’s hard to give him what he wants when the coil in the pit of your stomach is closer and closer to snapping.

“I’ll let you use my mouth, if you promise to fuck me good after. Make me fucking scream.”

“Anything you want.” He hisses, he’s so close you can tell. At his height this man would give you his soul just to cum.

You find a moan escaping your lips as you curl your fingers inside yourself, wanting it bad. “Fuck, Will. I’m actually gonna cum.” you whisper, in disbelief at what you were doing but unable to help yourself.

“Move your phone down. I want to hear what you’re doing.” The command in his voice makes you do so without question, allowing him to hear the lewd noises of your fingers pumping in and out, the sound of your breath muffled, but still audible. If you weren’t careful you’d get fucking caught: is the last coherent thought that crosses his mind before the sound of your slick and the thought of your words pushes him over the edge and he finishes. Release coating the back of his hand as he bit the inside of his cheek.

You reached your end moments before, unconcerned by the noise you were making as you chased the high. Knowing he got off to that was so dirty and it made you clamp down twice as hard on your own fingers, trying to imagine it was him.

When you bring the device back to your ear, you’re leaning your head back against the cubicle wall, the bliss giving way to the gritty reality that you were half naked and covered in your own slick at work. You are greeted by his profanity and the sound of him doing up his zipper. You grin at the very clear picture of him using those tissues on his desk that were usually reserved for a crying server when he was bollocking them.

“Am I seeing you tonight?” you ask, voice thick as you realign your panties.

He snickers. “Whether you want to or not.”

You’re unable to resist the temptation of teasing him. “I do want to. I reeeaalllly do.” you cat-call into the phone.

“Pack that in, or this call will be twice as long.”

#fnaf #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf william afton #william afton x you #afab reader

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bakugotrashpanda · 1 year

Text

Vampire!Bakugou x Fem!Reader Word count: 3.5k

All Souls Trilogy AU (if you squint)

!!: blood, angst

Your wish is his command… except for one thing.

Ornate metal lattice digs into Bakugou’s hands as he listens to your councilors inform you of the situation at hand. Inform. That’s a joke. More like condescend or manipulate. If he was actually allowed in the room as opposed to hiding behind the equivalent of a confessional, they wouldn’t treat you like that.

Bronze creaks under his hand. Conversation that, to normal human ears, would be muffled by a red curtain pauses. You dismiss the sound. The conversation continues.

“Patience,” your voice finds his ears. A futile command meant for him. But he waits. And when the simpering men leave your court, he finally emerges. Male stench hangs in the room. God, he hates these meetings. You can’t smell it, but Bakugou can’t help but pick up the underlying notes of ambition, hatred, lust. He could break their necks at the drop of a hat.

If you ordered it, he’d do anything.

“Well?” you sigh, “You heard them. The armada will be at our port in three days. Our fleet is battered. We wouldn’t be able to hold them off.”

Bakugou walks beside your chair and looks down at you. It was built for your grandfather. Big man, big ego, big dreams. Big shoes to fill. In comparison, you look like a child slumped at the dinner table waiting to be allowed to leave.

“And they want you to lock the capital,” he sneers, “Leaving the masses — your people — the fend for themselves.” They want to stay safe in their cushy houses, and they currently do while the average person suffers.

A grim smile twists your lovely features. Bakugou longs to see your natural smile as opposed to this mockery of it. Oh how war hardens even the softest of hearts.

“So, my Shadow,” you look up at him now, “What are my other options?”

Bakugou clenches a fist at his side. There’s nothing more in the world he wants than to reach out and cup your cheek and memorize the glimmer of hope hiding in your eyes. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, your intoxicating scent causing his heart to beat once. Exhaling, he rolls his shoulders before answering you. “The witches are eager to prove themselves. Become useful in your eyes.”

“They want protection from the masses.”

Bakugou holds back a smirk. Of course you’d read between the lines. Nothing is given for free. “I advise you use them.”

“And then what? Offer them carte blanche?” you scoff. “If one more zealot cries foul again I’ll have an uprising worse than what my father faced.” You wince. You may try to forget the way he was dragged from the castle and beheaded and your shaky rise to power – eyes of the masses hungry for bloodshed, but he remembers it as vividly as yesterday. You were barely a woman, fear and a shattered innocence filled you to the core as you swore before all the powers that be to protect your realms.

And Bakugou silently promised to guide you better than he had your father and his father before him.

“You’ll think of something.”

“What use are you then if you don’t aid your queen?” Your tongue and eyes are sharp and turned on him. “You will not make me a vampire such as yourself and grant me the powers I need to stabilize my kingdom. You tease solutions, but offer nothing more than that.” Bakugou watches you stand, your face hardening into an impassive mask. “The witches worry that I will turn my back on them, but perhaps it is the vampires who will lose favor.”

Pacing back and forth, you watch him, waiting for any reaction — something you can use to move the argument along.

But all he gives you is. He can’t say anything – no matter how much he wants to. In truth, he has no more power than your advisors who bow their heads with a ‘yes, Your Majesty’ and say what you want to hear in an attempt to curry favor for themselves.

Your shoulders slump when it’s clear he’s not going to take the bait. “I have a kingdom to protect and ensure that we will see better days. I swore an oath before all the gods that I would do this,” your jaw juts out stubbornly. “I still have no consort and no heir. Everything will fall to chaos. Will you really deny your queen the ability to ensure there is a future for my people?”

Bakugou falls into a wide stance and clasps his hands behind his back. He’s heard this argument time and time again. No doubt your stubbornness will hold strong this time too. “I told your father and your father’s father the same thing: no. We do not lead in human politics.”

“Yet you’ll meddle.”

Bakugou sighs. He’ll respond that yes, creatures will meddle – who wouldn’t? You’ll spew more stories meant to guilt trip him. He’ll hold fast in his position that you will not be made a vampire. You’ll insinuate that if he won’t do it, you’ll find someone who will. His heart will beat again, and he’ll snarl that whatever vampire you find would sooner kill you than turn you. You’ll storm away. Nothing will be resolved.

If he tries a different approach, maybe he can avoid what will surely be a weeklong headache. “My Queen,” he grits out. Fuck these insufferable games he must play in order to speak his mind. “Permission to speak freely?”

Back when he was reborn there was no need to ask to speak. He and his brethren did what they wanted without consequence. Lands were conquered on whims, the blood flowed freely. And now? He’s reduced to acting like one of the humans who advises you.

You nod. How generous.

“If I made you what I am,” he says silkily, “I would have your kingdom at my mercy. I could order you to do my bidding, and you would not be able to deny me. As a vampire you wouldn’t have the heir you so desperately want. I would ruin you.” He stalks towards you, only a plumper of the predator within. To your credit, you stand your ground and appear unimpressed — your scent, however, betrays you. “In the time it would take for you to control your blood thirst, your people that you so valiantly want to protect would all be dead.”

He bends at the waist so your faces are even. Smiling, he adds on, “And that’s if you don’t kill them all yourself.” With a flourish, he bows and stalks towards the door. He doesn’t care that you’re fuming at his breach in etiquette.

Bakugou isn’t summoned for more than a week. That whole time he does what he does best: stick to the shadows. To say you’re irritated is an understatement. The only time you do call upon him is to send him on an errand worthy of a human. Maybe it’s your form of punishment – to remind him of what you are.

But he’s addicted to you and can’t stay away. Many nights he finds himself spending time with the gargoyles lining the roof outside your window.

He’s late tonight — not that sitting outside your chambers has a set time. A questioning took longer than he expected, and had extra clean up to deal with. Bakugou settles in at his usual spot and listens. Normal nightly ambience quickly filters away. All he wants to hear is you.

Elevated heartbeat. Rapid breathing. Excitement. Bakugou turns his head away from your window. This isn’t the first time he’s heard you… enjoy yourself. But it’s a moment when you think you’re alone, so he does his best to give you privacy. He’s about to leave his hiding spot outside your window when he hears another faint heartbeat. Jealousy shoots through him. His hold on the nearest statue cracks the stone. Pebbles fall to the ground stories below. Who would you possibly have there with you?

About to break one of his own self-imposed rules and peek into your chambers, he’s blindsided by a scent.

Hatred.

It assaults his senses. A putrid scent wraps around his nose. It’s cloying, stinging his nose and pricking his eyes.

You’re not alone. But you’re not enjoying yourself either. No, if his senses are anything to go off of, there’s someone in your chambers with you who intends to do you harm.

Flashes of green cloud his vision. A past he swore he left behind eons ago.

A mumbling. Yours?

Bakugou can’t wait. He dives into the room and pinpoints the stench. It’s reflex at this point – sharpened claws embed into flesh. Warmth trickles down his fingers. He’s probably the only one who can hear the final exhale from the human hidden behind thick curtains in your room. Iron hitting the floor and bouncing around before coming to rest ricochets in his ears.

You inhale sharply and sit up in your bed. Even in your anger and silence with him, you call for Bakugou – albeit at a whisper. Bakugou emerges from the curtain, blood drips down his hand in the moonlight. Your eyes fixate on the dark liquid. He sniffs it, but disdain taints it. There’s no point in savoring it, or even drinking it.

And then it hits him.

The blood curdling scream ripped from your lungs.

Soldiers rush into the room, swords drawn. Your blood spikes. There’s no way you’re in any shape to issue orders. Bakugou takes over, barking out demands to round up your advisors. Little do you know, but the human who had planned on destroying you was one of the people you trusted most – outside of him.

You’re still in shock – in bed staring dumbfounded as the chaos in your bedchambers winds down. Bakugou aches to hold you close, make promises that nothing like this will happen again. But he can’t.

Could he even handle a rejection from you? Or would he snap? It wouldn’t be the first time.

No, it’s better if he excuses himself first.

“Katuski, please, stay.”

Against his better judgment, his feet stumble to a stop and he stares at the door in front of him. Does he stay? Is it wise?

He turns. Faces you for the first time since you cast him out of your council chambers. For the first time since your father’s death, you look your age. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, but you’ve made a valiant effort to keep your head held high despite all the troubles and tribulations thrown your way. Now though, in a bed that dwarfs you, you look more like yourself and less like the young queen he serves.

Bakugou tentatively sits on the edge of your bed. You play with a stray thread from the enormous cover. He watches you wind and unwind it around your finger. It’s only when it snaps completely that you speak.

“He… I… I trusted him. And he wanted to kill me.” Bakugou remains silent. He watches you process the moment. Your brows push together and pull apart as sadness overtakes you. “I trusted him. He advised me. And he wanted me dead.”

Visions of the past swim in his eyes. He wanted me dead. A deep, garbled voice pleads with him. For what? Desperation. Blood. Death.

“He can’t hurt you.” Bakugou masks the hollowness of his voice with a bow of his head. “I am your faithful servant, now and always.”

“Would he be able to kill me if I were a creature like you?”

Not again. He’s not ready for another argument. You’re only just beginning to talk to him again. “Not in the way he wanted.” It’s not impossible, but vampires are much harder to kill than mere mortals.

“Katsuki, I’m begging.” Warm fingers grasp his forearm. “Change me. Make me one of you.”

It would be so easy. “I am bound by the laws created by and for creatures. I can’t. And if I was able to, I wouldn’t.”

Your mouth opens, an objection on your tongue. He speaks quickly, cutting off a protest he’s heard countless times before. “I don’t have many regrets – I can count them on one hand.” A pair of eyes, pleading. A pair of emeralds that haunt him when he somehow sleeps. Shiny. Reflective. Crying? Blood everywhere. A life too soon extinguished. A love lost. All his fault. “I turned someone I thought I loved. I was ready to spend the rest of eternity with a mate.” It ended with a body, a broken heart, and a promise never to repeat that mistake.

“I’m not like her, I promise.”

“No, you’re not like him,” Bakugou snaps. How many times does he have to say it? “But I won’t do it, no matter how much I love you.”

The silence hangs heavy in the room. You sit back. The cavernous distance between your bodies makes his fingers itch.

Maybe you didn’t hear him. Maybe you’ll think he said something else. Maybe-

“Love?”

He curses himself. No, of course you heard, and now one of his secrets is out there. There’s no point in denying it. You’ll never let it drop. And… if he messes up now, he’ll have plenty of chances in the future to make it right. “I’ve always loved you. I always find you, not matter how far I have to go or how far you rise or fall in life.”

“You’ve… found me. Before.” Confusion turns to awe as realization washes over you. There are hushed whispers in religions about reincarnation, but very few have actually believed it.

“And I’ll find you again in your next life.”

“You wouldn’t have to find me again; you could have me now.”

“Don’t say that!” Bakugou’s roar echoes throughout the chamber.

“I’m not scared of you.” Defiance. Just like him. His other love. Only back then, Bakugou believed his words.

“You should be. I’m a monster.” He killed the one he loved. All because he was… afraid of being alone. What good is eternity if you can’t spend it with anyone? “I can hear your blood singing beneath your skin. On the best of days I hang on to my sanity by a thread.”

“What kind of life is that?”

“One I choose for myself.”

Your lips press together. Every incarnation of you never lets it drop. “What’s holding you back?” Maybe… just this once… “Katsuki… talk to me.”

“No. It doesn’t concern you.” He can’t.

You straighten up and arch an eyebrow. “Are you disobeying an order from your queen?”

He smirks. “Are you my queen now instead of the woman I covet most?”

Hesitation overtakes the haughty demeanor on your face. “I can be both.”

“Not to me.”

You sigh. A wry grin replaces the fake demeanor you save for your court. “Then tell me, the woman who wants to spend her whole life with you. What happened?”

He failed. That’s what happened. It was much like this night; an assassination attempt, only the assassin succeeded. And as the love of his life lay in Bakugou’s arms dying, Bakugou offered him a choice. And who can refuse the chance to live forever?

Bakugou licks his lips. How much should he tell you? Would you be jealous after hearing it all? “He was the chieftain,” he starts slowly. “He shouldn’t have been though. It was a different time. Politics… it was all brutal strength. When I heard there was a chief that couldn’t protect his people, I went to him with the intention of wiping him and his people off the face of the earth.”

He can remember the scent of fresh dirt after the rain. The mud squelching beneath his war horse’s hooves. People watched him warily as he rode into town. A green haired man emerged from the largest structure. Innocence.

“But you didn’t?”

“I didn’t,” he nods. “I saw how he led without an iron fist. At first it intrigued me. And then the more I watched, the more I wanted to protect him. He knew what I was and he welcomed me. Everyone did. The peacefulness messed with me. First time in eons I’d felt that way. But it didn’t last, and I couldn’t protect him. He was wounded and I offered him a chance to stay with me. Forever.”

His blood tasted sweet. It was laced with love and hope, none of the desperation that usually follows death.

“Did he take it?”

“He did. But it wasn’t successful.” Soft emerald eyes woke with a hardness Bakugou saw when he looked at his reflection. An unending hunger. A craving. A need for violence. “He woke with an uncontrollable bloodlust. He slaughtered everyone in his care. But he wasn’t done there. He ran. There was destruction wherever he went. My father…” Bakugou swallows thickly. He remembers his father riding over the hilltop. From across the field of carnage, Bakugou heard him sigh before turning away. “My step-father. He was disappointed in me. I would’ve preferred him being angry. But he calmly told me to clean up my mess. I…”

In the end, Bakugou caught him. It had to be done. I lo- There was peace on his face when Bakugou removed his heart from his chest. Acrid smoke filled Bakugou’s lungs as the body burned. And for a split second, he considered walking into the blazing pyre as well.

“I killed him in the end. I had to.” Bakugou studies his hands. How much blood did he have on them? “I spent centuries trying to find him again. He never resurfaced.”

“Maybe he-”

“No. You haven’t seen it. There are always similarities.” Bakugou studies you for a moment. Sometimes your hair changes. Sometimes you’re shorter than normal. Once it was your eyes, and that took him off guard once he realized it was you. “You, for example, are always in power whether you want it or not. You’re headstrong and stubborn as a mule. You don’t take ‘no’ for an answer. And your smile. I always recognize your smile. He’s gone. Forever. Turning him must’ve corrupted his soul.”

Your lips form a thin line as grim realization sets in. “That’s why you won’t turn me.”

“I won’t lose you too. At least this way I know that I can search to the ends of the earth and I’ll find you again.” Even if it’s a painful existence.

“Katsuki.” Your hand finds his cheek. Warmth floods his skin, just like it did before his rebirth. His eyes flutter closed, enjoying the sensation. “You may not make me one of you, but I give myself to you, and no other.” Bakugou’s eyes pinch tight. He’s heard those words before. They always spell your downfall. If he doesn’t push you away, there will be no heir to the throne. There will be no victory in the war. Your kingdom will collapse.

And yet…

He’s never had the willpower to say no before.

He cups your cheek. Your skin thrums beneath his touch. The siren’s call from your blood grows deafeningly loud. His lips graze over yours, barely skimming their surface, but his senses explode.

“Mine,” he whispers huskily, “Forever.” Sealing your fate in this life with a searing kiss, he moves his way down to the soft base of your neck. Teeth pierce skin. Your gasp is music to his ears. Your essence coats his tongue

It’s not enough to kill, nor is it enough to turn you, but it is enough to mark you as his territory for all other creatures.

They’ll know that you’re in league with a vampire, and they’ll grow suspicious of you and your word – turn on you when you least expect it.

Just like they have before.

Maybe next time – in your next life – he can stop himself or finally give in to your wishes and turn you.

But for this lifetime, you’re his.

—Modern day—

Bakugou stares out over the city. From the top floor, he can hardly see the people below. It’s hardly the tallest skyscraper, but he and his kind have had to adapt — be more… incognito. Gone are the days of raising hell and taking over. No, much to his chagrin, in this human dominated society, Bakugou has to pretend to be like them.

He glances at the framed magazine cover behind a grandiose oak desk. It’s been enlarged – at least three feet tall. You stand front and center in a smart blazer, arms crossed. Your eyes sear the viewer as if daring them to challenge you. The headline is as bold as you: New Queen of Philanthropy? Meet the latest woman to join the Top 100 Most Powerful People.

The boardroom door silently opens and clicks shut behind him. An intoxicating scent wraps around him, teasing his senses. And for a moment, he allows himself to get lost in it. Maybe this time will be different.

He spins on his heel and extends a hand to you. “Katsuki Bakugou, your father’s chief financial officer.” His heart gives a single beat as his skin makes contact with yours.

“I’ve heard all about you, Mr. Bakugou,” you reply and pointedly stare at the icy handshake. “They call you my father’s shadow; always working in the background, getting him the information he needed, never in the public eye.”

“Please, call me Katsuki,” he grins wolfishly. “I look forward to serving you.”

Images used in banner from unsplash.

#bnha imagines #bakugou #bakugou x reader #vampire #writing #blood #all souls trilogy au #sorta

238 notes · View notes

cha-melodius · 8 days

Note

A ship of your choice firstprince, please!

A location—(Although I dare someone to send the White House or Kensington, I WILL make it into an AU. I have ideas.) Also if you want a particular historical setting, you can feel free to include a time period too. GO NUTS, please.

Well sheesh, with that kind of tease, I suggest both the White House and Kensington Palace, circa the year 2068.

I look forward to seeing what you choose to do with this! I am certain to enjoy it, whatever it is ❤️

(This was such an intriguing prompt, and I hope you enjoy what I did with it. Also happiest of birthdays to @dumbpeachjuice, who's incredible fic "make me your god" inspired this one.)

The Impossible Soul

(M, 7.2k, read it below or on AO3)

“I shouldn’t let you do this for me,” Henry tells him in the moments before.

“You should know by now that you’re not letting me do anything, sweetheart,” Alex returns. “Anyway, I’m doing this for us.”

“Even though we still won’t be able to be together?”

“I told you, it’s only temporary. Once my mom’s no longer in office, I won’t be in the spotlight. But I can’t leave you trapped here for another four years. I won’t.” Alex cups Henry’s cheek with his hand and brushes a thumb against the corner of his perfect mouth. “Besides, what if I left you here and you forgot about me?”

Henry covers Alex’s hand with his, warm and soft. “Never.”

~~~~~

One Year Earlier

Alex didn’t think he could be surprised by AIDEs at this point, but the ones populating Kensington are really something else.

“It’s a pleasure to have you here,” Prince Henry says, his blue eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as he shakes Alex’s hand.

Alex can’t help but stare. The eyes are the hardest part, or so Nora says. All the Secret Service agents’ eyes have a kind of strange metallic glint behind them. Often it’s not even noticeable, but if you look too closely, it becomes obvious. Prince Henry’s eyes are flawless, though. Just endless, perfect blue. Really, the only flaw Alex can see in this model is that they made him inhumanly beautiful. No real person has lips like that.

Henry’s hand is warm in his, his grip firm but not too tight. Alex forces himself to let go.

“Yeah, thanks,” he says, looking around rather than staying trapped in Henry’s piercing gaze.

Palace servants flit about, attending to all of the gala guests’ needs along with those of the princes and princess. Apparently, it’s a perfect recreation of the palace’s operations from the turn of the century, back before the monarchy was abolished. Now they just keep fake royalty here, like they can’t quite let go of the idea. Alex has never understood it, and visiting hasn’t really helped. Of all the things he’s had to do on this goodwill trip, this is by far the strangest, pretending to hobnob with royalty at a fancy ball like anyone does this shit anymore. Then again, maybe showing off is the whole point, same as it ever was.

It’s not like Alex isn’t used to interacting with AIDEs. The use of Artificially Intelligent Dynamic Entities is still limited more broadly, but they’re common in dangerous or sensitive jobs. The entire Secret Service was replaced by them two administrations ago; their loyalty is never in question, nor their willingness to protect their charges at all costs. Use of AIDEs for entertainment purposes is growing in popularity too, like the Kensington ones. They play the role they’re programmed to without deviation, they don’t need to eat or sleep (though they usually do, to better mimic humanity), they can be abused or even killed without repercussion and, most importantly, they don’t need to be paid.

“I hope your visit to London has been pleasant?” Prince Henry asks with perfectly-tuned amiability. It makes Alex want to push a little, though he knows Nora would tell him it’s a futile exercise.

“Mostly I’ve been spending it in lots of meetings,” Alex says. “Kinda wish I had time to go out and see more of the city.”

“I can understand that,” Henry replies, glancing toward the doors in a way that Alex would call wistful if he didn’t know better.

Can he? Do they let them leave the palace? Probably not. Does Henry want to, though? That would be a weird thing to program into an AIDE that’s supposed to stay in one place.

“I guess you probably don’t get out much, huh?” Alex asks.

Henry smiles indulgently at his bad joke. “Not so much, no. Makes it ever-so-difficult to meet people, you know.”

Alex laughs despite himself. He’s never met an AIDE that was so self-aware. If he tries to joke with Cash about taking a day off, the agent just stares at Alex blankly. “You must talk with a lot of visitors to the palace, though.”

“I do,” Henry allows, taking a sip of his champagne. “Most of them aren’t very interesting, though. All they do is ask what it’s like to be a prince.”

“And? What’s it like?”

Henry smirks a little. “Bloody boring. Not that I can tell them that, you understand.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees, a little lost for words. Henry is nothing like what he was expecting. “So, what do you want to talk about, then?”

In response, Henry takes a step closer. He smells like fancy cologne, like linens and fresh grass, and something inside him seems to tug Alex closer. “Can I show you something? Still inside the palace, of course.”

Alex’s eyes flick over to June and Nora, chatting with someone he doesn’t recognize—AIDE or government official, he can’t tell—and the Secret Service agents linger at the periphery of the ballroom. He knows shouldn’t leave the event, but honestly chances are no one would notice he was gone. Plus, his curiosity is through the roof.

Henry takes him to a library. There are barricades set up to keep the visiting public to certain areas, but Henry slips past them and Alex follows him. Watches as Henry walks down the rows with a small, private smile curving his lips, trailing a finger along the spines. He pauses and plucks a book off the shelf—Pride and Prejudice, Alex can just make out—and smooths a hand lovingly over the cover.

“I love to read,” Henry says, almost to himself. His eyes flick up to Alex’s, shining brightly in the low light. “All those worlds… They’re incredible, don’t you think?”

Alex doesn’t know what to say. AIDEs don’t read. They don’t dream of other worlds.

“The rest of your… family,” Alex says, diplomatically. “Are they like you? I mean, with the reading.”

Henry laughs quietly and shakes his head. “No. No one’s like me.”

Alex is rapidly coming to that same conclusion.

~~~~~

“There’s nothing special about the Kensington AIDEs,” Nora tells him, sounding more beleaguered than necessary. “We talked to Princess Beatrice for like an hour, it was the same as any other AIDE. Pleasant, but a little vacant. The eyes are a neat trick, though.”

“I’m telling you, Henry is different,” Alex insists. “We talked all night. He’s aware of what he is. He reads and he thinks and he feels. Fuck, Nora, he dreams when he sleeps.”

“AIDEs don’t sleep. Not really.”

“Henry does.”

“Someone just got a little creative with the programming,” Nora says dismissively. “He’s supposed to say those things to make him seem more real. If you went back, he probably wouldn’t even remember you.”

“And what if he did?”

“Alex—”

“What if he did remember me? What if all of it really is real?” Alex presses.

Nora frowns at him. “Then there are some major ethical implications that current AI laws are frankly not prepared to deal with,” she says bluntly. “Look, it’s just not possible. They don’t have feelings, period. He’s just a fancy computer.”

“Fine. Whatever you say,” Alex huffs, mostly because he doesn’t want to have this argument anymore. She’s not going to change his mind, and clearly he’s not going to change hers.

“Promise me you’ll leave this alone. We can’t afford some kind of diplomatic incident because you got a crush on the prince AIDE.”

Alex glares at her. It’s not a crush. “I’ll leave it.”

He absolutely will not.

~~~~~

Cash doesn’t blink—literally—when Alex tells him that he’ll be visiting Kensington Palace again rather than the scheduled afternoon tea with some MP he couldn’t care less about. He sends his apologies with an excuse that he’s not feeling well and heads to the main entrance with the rest of the tourists. He has no idea where Henry might be, but AIDEs don’t take days off, so it stands to reason that he’ll be somewhere acting princely, or whatever he does all day.

Unfortunately, he gets stuck on a tour led by an AIDE with a dirty blonde bob and green eyes who most definitely shows none of Henry’s spark. It’s boring as fuck, and he almost bails more than once, but this place is huge and he’d probably get lost forever before he found Henry. They go past a few rooms Alex recognizes, but there’s no sign of the ‘royal family’ anywhere, and Alex starts to worry. Maybe they only trot them out for big events. Maybe you have to buy a special tour package. Ugh, his mom is going to kill him if he ditches any more events.

“Next, we’ll visit the palace library,” the guide says, and Alex perks up.

This has got to be his chance. Henry had said they were basically allowed free run of the palace so long as they remained in areas where they’d run into visitors during operating hours, and Alex knows there’s nowhere Henry would rather be than the library. Sure enough, he’s reading in a massive armchair by one of the windows, though he gets up when the tour group enters and comes over to talk to them. His face is fixed in a pleasant, bland smile as he looks over the group, until his eyes land on Alex. The flash of recognition is clear, even if he recovers quickly, and Alex’s heart thuds a little harder in his chest.

He lingers toward the back as the rest of the visitors ask Henry about living in the palace and being a prince—exactly as he said they would. He answers graciously, of course, the words so bland and scripted that Alex almost wonders if maybe he hadn’t been drinking too much champagne during the gala. But he hangs back when everyone else files out, and as soon as Henry turns to him, his eyes practically light up.

“You came back,” Henry says, his voice soft with something like wonder.

“Of course I did,” Alex replies. “We didn’t finish our conversation.”

Henry ducks his head, blond hair falling alluringly over his forehead as his cheeks turn pink. The way their bodies mimic human physiology is astounding sometimes. “I suppose we didn’t. Would you care to walk with me in the gardens? It’s a lovely day.”

“Can we do that?”

“Ironically, you’re allowed so long as you have one of us with you, and I’m allowed so long as I’m with a guest,” Henry explains. “Plus, you’re a foreign dignitary. No one will bother us.”

“Sure you wanna be seen with me? My sister would say I’m the furthest thing from dignified,” Alex says, grinning probably a little too broadly.

Henry’s smile slants mischievous as he steps close enough for Alex to get a noseful of linen and fresh grass again. “Maybe I like that about you.”

~~~~

“Have you ever been outside the palace?” Alex asks on his next visit. Nora had given him a look like she knew exactly what he’s been up to when he’d begged off from an official tour of the British Museum, even though he hasn’t brought up Henry again. The fact that she’d found him down a rabbit hole of academic papers about AIDE psychology probably hadn’t helped anything.

“Not that I remember,” Henry answers. It’s rainy today, so they’re ensconced in some kind of parlor with ornate, uncomfortable furniture. The fact that Henry only knows this life is outrageous. Has he ever truly been comfortable? Does anyone even care? “They gave me a basic knowledge of London as a background. I’m supposed to be fond of the Victoria & Albert Museum, but I’ve never seen it myself.”

“That’s fucked up,” Alex blurts.

Henry shrugs. “It’s just how it is.”

“How does none of this ever seem to bother you?”

“It can’t bother me, Alex. My entire existence has been—and will be—only this, and if I allowed any of it to bother me, I’d go mad.”

This does not, in fact, make Alex feel any better about the situation. “Guess I’ll just have to be angry for the both of us, then.”

“I’d rather you weren’t,” Henry says mildly. “It’s no use being upset about my life. Nothing can be changed.”

“Bad idea to tell me something can’t be changed, sweetheart. I fucking love a challenge,” Alex returns. He’s not joking, but Henry laughs anyway. “I’m serious, Henry. You deserve to get things you want, too.”

“What if I said I wanted you not to worry about it? That I want you to be happy?”

“Because you’re programmed to?” Alex counters, letting more bitterness than he means to slip into his voice.

Henry reaches out and slides a hand over Alex’s fist where it’s curled on his thigh. “Because I like you, Alex.”

~~~~

On the last visit he can manage before he leaves London, Alex brings Henry a cell phone.

“What’s this for?” Henry asks when Alex hands it to him. It’s a cheap smartphone, pay as you go, something that Alex can renew the data and minutes on remotely.

Alex frowns at him. He would have figured Henry would be familiar with the concept of phones, but maybe they purposefully programmed him to not recognize it. “It’s for communication. Audio, text, video—”

“I know what a phone is, Alex,” Henry says wryly, interrupting him before Alex can make a fool of himself. “I mean why are you giving it to me?”

“I’d like to keep talking to you after I go home,” Alex tells him, feeling oddly exposed by the question. “If that’s something you’d like, too.”

Henry smiles, almost bashfully. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“I assume you’re not allowed to have that,” Alex says with a nod at the phone.

“I don’t think anyone would consider it a possibility that we might,” Henry muses, “but I’ll keep it hidden nonetheless.”

“Good plan.”

“I’m going to miss your visits, Alex,” Henry says earnestly. “I’ll miss you.”

AIDEs can’t miss things, Alex’s brain supplies, an oft-repeated truism. He feels vaguely sick, leaving Henry here like this.

“Yeah,” Alex croaks, unable to quite meet Henry’s bright blue eyes. “I’ll miss you too.”

~~~~~

“How would you get a site-locked AIDE off the premises?” Alex casually asks Nora one late night at the Residence, when they’re deep in the weeds of polls and projections.

The campaign has been rough; rougher than the first one. Or maybe it’s just that Alex is far more involved in the filthy underbelly of it this time around. The experience has definitely made him question his resolve to go into politics. Then again, sometimes it feels like his only option to make a difference in the way he wants to. These days he frequently gets into arguments about the need for more protections for AIDEs, though right now it feels like a losing battle. They’re not supposed to need protections, that’s the point of them, and no one believes him when he suggests that they might have more in common with humans than previously believed.

It’s been months. Months of texting, and phone calls, and occasional video chats. Months of getting to know Henry—the real him, beyond his programmed backstory. For his part, Henry has seemingly blossomed further with access to the internet. Alex was admittedly not certain that was a great idea, but Henry seems to stay off the darker parts. He watches a lot of Bake Off, apparently. He’s obsessed with some cute beagle account on Instagram. He reads travel blogs and insists that just knowing that these wonderful places exist is enough for him.

Alex doesn’t believe him. Well, he believes Henry believes that, but that doesn’t stop Alex from yearning to show Henry some of them in person. Even something in London would be worth it. Hence, the question.

Nora looks at him like she knows exactly what he’s on about. He’s kept his correspondence with Henry a secret from everyone, but he’s pretty sure she suspects something is up. Him broaching this topic all but confirms that, but he needs the help.

“Permanently, or short-term?” she asks.

“Let’s go with short-term to start.”

Another capital-L Look. “Well,” she says eventually, “I would probably hack into the control system and override the barrier protocols. These systems are self-healing, though. You’d have a couple of hours at most.”

“And what happens if the AIDE was off-site when the system kicked back on?” Alex asks.

“Depends on the program. Possibly just an alarm or something. Most of the time it’s full deactivation though.”

“They kill them?”

“AIDEs aren’t alive, Alejandro,” Nora says pointedly. Alex bites his tongue. “But yes, in a manner of speaking.”

“Fuck,” Alex breathes, wiping his hands over his face. “And to permanently get him out?”

It’s a slip. He’s not dumb enough to think she missed it, though she doesn’t show it.

“Not entirely sure,” she admits. “I’d need one of the tablets they use to control them so I could go into the AIDE’s code. And good luck with that; the companies that make them have some of the tightest security out there.”

“Yeah, of course.”

She turns back to her laptop, and Alex half-expects the conversation is done, at least for now. But then, as she’s typing, she says, “I assume this isn’t idle curiosity.”

Alex sighs. “No.”

~~~~~

It takes nine months from their first meeting for Alex to find a reason to visit London. His mother offhandedly mentions sending someone to some conference he doesn’t really care about, and he jumps at the chance. All he can think about is Henry. Being in the same city as him again. Seeing him. Touching him.

Alex has had time to come to terms with his desire for Henry. Honestly, the bisexuality was easy compared to the AIDE aspect of it. Nora is fond of pointing out that they’re literally designed to be desirable, even the ones not populating what basically pass for sexy amusement parks, but Alex doesn’t just want Henry physically. He wants to spend time with him, to make him laugh and see the crinkle of his eyes not through a phone screen.

Frankly, he also wouldn’t mind a little clarity on the whole situation. To either get incontrovertible proof that Henry is fundamentally the same as a person, or else be reminded that he isn’t, that Alex has deluded himself into believing Henry was more than a machine (a possibility that Nora regularly reminds him of).

On the flight over, Alex finds himself watching Cash, not for the first time. He’s doing a sudoku puzzle, which can’t really be much of a challenge for him. Still, he works on them religiously. Did someone program that into him? Or does Cash actually enjoy doing them?

“Do you like your job, Cash?” Alex asks.

Cash looks up at him, setting his ballpoint pen down—he does the puzzles in pen because he never makes a mistake. He’s got an expression on like he doesn’t really understand Alex’s question, even though it should be straightforward. “It’s my job,” he finally says.

“Yeah, but do you like it?” Alex pushes. “Do you find it fulfilling?”

The tip of his head means Cash is analyzing Alex’s body language. After another moment, he says, “Yes.”

Alex can’t quite hold back a sigh. The answer is predictable. Cash is only saying that because he thinks Alex wants to hear it. That’s what AIDEs do, they anticipate your needs and wants.

“Is that not the right answer?” Cash asks, frowning.

“Don’t worry about it,” Alex says.

He knows Cash won’t.

~~~~~

Henry is understandably nervous about the plan. It is, after all, his life on the line.

“The control system will go down at the very end of the visiting day, so we can slip out with the exiting crowds,” Alex tells him. “It’s gonna look like maintenance, which shouldn’t set off any red flags right away. Between that and the roadblocks Nora’s set up, we should have five hours.”

“For what?” Henry asks.

Alex just grins. “It’s a surprise, sweetheart.”

Henry looks even more human in Alex’s Longhorns baseball cap and hoodie. Soft. Dangerously so. It makes Alex want to do reckless things. Instead, he sets his watch for four and a half hours and reminds himself how high the stakes are. He’s arranged everything just so tonight. No surprises.

The escape goes off without a hitch, and Alex breathes a sigh of relief once they’re making their way through the crowded city streets. Out here, the two of them are completely unremarkable, even with Cash trailing a few steps behind them. Henry seems to take it all in stride, though Alex doesn’t miss the quiet looks of awe that steal over his face as he takes in the city. They stop and get falafel at a food truck. Henry asks to pet every dog they come across. He looks indescribably happy in a way that makes Alex’s heart clench in his chest.

At the back entrance to the museum, Alex pays off the night guard—not an AIDE, thank god, they’re nearly impossible to bribe—and they slip inside, leaving Cash by the door. It doesn’t take long for Henry to catch on.

“You brought me to the V&A,” Henry breathes as he looks around.

It had seemed like the obvious choice, after what Henry had told him. “I’ve never actually been here,” Alex admits.

“That’s all right, love,” Henry says, grinning now. “I know my way around.”

Alex has never been so enraptured by someone telling him about art, but it’s impossible not to be taken in by the passion with which Henry speaks about the sculptures. He tells Alex about Tipu’s Tiger, about Giambologna, about Narcissus and Zephyr and Pluto rendered exquisitely in marble. His programming hadn’t bothered to give him anything more than a general interest; all of Henry’s knowledge comes from reading in the palace library—and now on the phone Alex gave him—and he’s apparently done a lot of it. His programming also has nothing to do with the wonder and emotion in his voice, with the tears that glitter in his eyes when he gets overwhelmed by the experience.

Machines don’t cry over art. They just don’t. Art is supposed to be a fundamentally human experience, which is proof enough to Alex that, whatever he was designed as, Henry is just as human as Alex is now.

~~~~~

In the Santa Chiara chapel, Henry finally pauses and turns his awe on Alex.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he murmurs, closing the space between them until only inches remain. Alex has to tip his head up to meet Henry’s bright gaze, and his heart thuds hard in his chest. “You risked so much to give this moment to me. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You deserve it,” Alex tells him, meaning every word of it. “You deserve the entire world.”

“Alex,” Henry breathes.

Alex doesn’t think; he leans up and presses their lips together, a fleeting thing, over before he can convince himself it was a mistake. Except it was, because now he knows the softness of Henry’s lips against his, and he’ll never be satisfied with anything else. Henry’s eyes are wide when he pulls back, his lips slightly parted, and all at once Alex curses his impulsivity. What if Henry thinks that’s what he wants in return, that he owes Alex part of himself for this, when the last thing Alex wants is to take advantage of his programmed desire to please?

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

But Henry presses a hand against his face and pulls him in again, slides their lips together with intention, leaves Alex breathless when he pulls away again.

“You don’t have to do that,” Alex breathes into the silence afterward. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I want to,” Henry says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I want you, Alex.”

“You’re not just saying that because you think I want you to?”

Henry laughs a little, shaking his head. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he confesses. “I can assure you, that wasn’t programmed. And neither is this.”

This time, when Henry kisses him, Alex can’t help but smile into it.

~~~~~

They go off-plan. There are two hours left when Alex takes Henry back to his hotel room and presses him back into the bed. Peels away their clothes and kisses across warm skin that feels no different from his own under his lips. Henry gasps and twitches under him as Alex takes him in hand; for an AIDE that was only supposed to staff a museum, whoever designed him really went all out on the anatomy.

“Have you ever done this?” Alex murmurs into the crease of his hip, breathing in the scent of him. Linen and fresh grass and something else, musky and heady.

Henry shakes his head, and relief floods through Alex. It isn’t some virginity kink, ok? He’s just heard stories of how some people treat AIDEs no matter what their jobs are, like they’re free for the taking because they never say no, and he’s glad Henry’s never been in that situation.

“And you’re sure you want to with me?”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Henry nearly growls. He drags Alex up from between his legs and kisses him hard, then rolls them over so he’s on top, straddling Alex’s waist. Slides back until Alex’s cock is pressing into the cleft of his ass and rocks his hips in a way that makes them both moan. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

Alex is pretty sure he sees God when Henry lowers himself onto his cock, sitting upright with one hand behind him gripping Alex’s thigh and the other splayed over Alex’s chest. Or maybe it’s just that Henry looks like a god, like one of the mythical marble sculptures in the V&A, muscles rippling beneath his skin, but warm and yielding and vibrant and alive.

You’re unreal, Alex almost says, but that’s not quite it. Henry like this is very, very real. Impossible might be a better word.

Henry is impossible, and Alex is impossibly in love with him.

~~~~~

“Do you think you could steal one of the tablets they use to access your code?” Alex asks as they lie together in the darkness. His ear is pressed to Henry’s chest, listening to the steady thud of his circulatory pump—not quite a heart, but not not one either.

Henry’s hand cards through his hair, idly twirling Alex’s curls around his fingers. “What are you planning, love?”

Alex tips his face up to look at him. “Can you?”

“I doubt I can,” Henry answers after a pause, “but the technician responsible for us… he may be willing to help.”

“And you trust him?”

“He’s protected me before. I think he knows about my… differences.”

Alex hums. “How do we contact him?”

~~~~~

What Shaan Srivastava is not willing to do is speak over any sort of electronic form of communication, which Alex honestly takes as a good sign. They meet in a cafe on the other side of London, the day before Alex is set to leave.

“I want to get him out,” Alex tells him plainly. “For good.”

“Mountchristen Technologies puts numerous failsafes into the AIDEs they build,” Shaan tells him. “Trackers. Latent viruses. Kill switches.”

“Can they be disabled?”

Shaan takes a sip of his tea. “I have an idea, but I have no way of implementing it. I’m just responsible for keeping them in good working order. I’m not a coder.”

The hope that flares up in Alex’s chest is dangerous but oh-so-seductive. “I think I know someone who could help with that.”

~~~~~

“This is insane,” Nora tells him. “You honestly think it’s a good idea to pull off some kind of heist from the world’s biggest tech company a month before the election?”

“No,” Alex says reasonably. “That’s why we’re waiting until after. I convinced mom to let me take a trip to London between New Years and the inauguration.”

Nora shakes her head, every movement like a knife in Alex’s gut. “I can’t do this. I won’t. I never should have helped you on that little excursion in the first place, but this is a whole ‘nother level. We could both go to jail for who knows how long. And for what? Because you fucked an AIDE and now you want him for yourself?”

“Fuck you,” Alex nearly shouts. “I love him, asshole! I can’t let him stay a— a slave in that fucking palace.”

“He’s a machine! That’s what he was designed for, Alex!”

“Maybe he was, but that doesn’t mean that’s what he is now,” Alex insists. He holds out the tablet that she has yet to take from him. “Just look at his code. Even I can tell it isn’t like anything else out there.”

Finally, she snatches the tablet from him and jabs at it a few times. Her frown gets deeper. “There’s something wrong with this tablet,” she says eventually. “It’s not displaying things properly.”

“It is.”

“It can’t be, this level of complexity is impossible—”

“He’s writing his own fucking code, Nora,” Alex interrupts. Shaan had explained his theory on Henry’s code as best he was able before Alex left London. “With every one of the choices he was never supposed to be able to make. That’s why it looks like that.”

Heavy silence stretches between them as Nora stares at the tablet, occasionally swiping around and tapping. She chews on her lip. “It shouldn’t be possible,” she mutters, half to herself.

“But it is. He is. Please, Nora,” Alex pleads, not caring how desperate he sounds. “I’ll do anything.”

“Yeah, well. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

~~~~~

“You need to understand that the changes to his code means that accessing the safeguards is much more difficult.”

“Ok.”

“And I can’t guarantee that this will work. We can’t test it out. Once we shut him down, there’s no way to know exactly what will happen when we boot him back up again. He might come back the same as he is now, but he also might undergo some kind of reset. Even if he retains his free will, he might not remember his life before. He might not remember you.”

Alex swallows hard. “I understand.”

“Does he?”

~~~~~

It takes Alex a month to work up the nerve to broach the topic with Henry. On video call not long after the election, he explains Nora’s plan, how they need to do a full shutdown so she can extract the safeguards like a surgeon. He makes himself explain the risks even though his first impulse is to downplay them. Henry deserves to know, deserves to make the decision for himself. Alex would be a huge fucking hypocrite to take that away from him.

That doesn’t mean he’s required to like Henry’s reaction, though.

“It’s too much risk,” Henry says, a stubborn look on his face that Alex is very familiar with by now. “Things are fine now.”

“They’re really not,” Alex argues. “You’re no better than a prisoner there, Henry. Your freedom is worth the risk.”

“It’s not.”

“Of course it fucking is!” Alex snaps, rapidly becoming frustrated by this argument.

“Not when it could mean losing you!” Henry bites out. He presses his lips together and looks away from the camera, but Alex can see the tears shining in his eyes. “My memories of you—of the museum, of us,” he says eventually, his voice unsteady, “are the only things I have that are truly mine. And you tell me I could lose them… I can’t do it. I’d rather stay here forever.”

“Don’t you understand?” Alex pleads. He wants to reach through the screen and grab him, turn his face and make Henry look at him. “I’m trying to give you the world, baby.”

“I don’t want the world,” Henry says miserably. “Please, Alex. It’s better this way. You may think this is worth it now, but one day you’ll change your mind when you realize that having a secret AIDE lover isn’t exactly compatible with a political career. You’ll want to be with a real person. Someone whose affection you can be certain isn’t just programming. Just… leave me here with my memories.”

Then Henry hangs up on him.

~~~~~

Henry doesn’t answer his calls or reply to his texts, and Alex couldn’t be more miserable. He doesn’t eat and sleeps only fitfully, which confuses his family. Everyone’s still riding a high from winning the election. They think Alex is seriously ill and try to bring in a doctor, but nothing’s physically wrong with him. He can’t tell them he’s suffering from a broken heart like some pining Victorian maiden.

On the fifth day, Nora comes storming into his bedroom in the White House and throws a duffle bag at his chest.

“Pack your shit, we’re going to London,” she says bluntly. “Also take a shower. You reek.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s Henry.” She waves the tablet in the air, which is still linked to Henry’s code in real time. “Someone’s trying to make changes to his code.”

Alex flops back down onto his bed and stares at the ceiling. “It’s probably just him deciding he’s done with me.”

“God, you’re pathetic,” she huffs, now rummaging through his dresser. “It’s not him. Looks like someone else is poking around, and that can’t be a good thing.”

That’s enough to make him rocket straight out of bed, an icy spike of dread shooting down his spine. “Have you gotten in contact with Shaan?”

Nora shakes her head. “No. He’s radio silent.”

“Fuck.”

“I booked us tickets with your credit card on a flight that leaves in two hours, so hurry the fuck up.”

“Nora, is he—” Alex starts before his voice clips off as his throat closes. He forces out, “Can you tell… is he ok?”

Her expression softens, and she puts a hand on his forearm and squeezes. “For now.”

~~~~~

The good thing about Kensington being a museum is that no one can stop him from just buying a ticket and going in. He’s been here enough times to know his way to the library, at least, which is where he goes first, barely aware that Nora’s following hot on his heels. All he can think about is Henry.

Henry’s not in the library, though, nor in any of the surrounding rooms. Alex stops a palace attendant and asks for directions to Prince Henry’s apartments, which she helpfully provides. It’s a part of the palace that’s not on any tours, but that doesn’t seem to matter. A palace attendant’s directive to be helpful to humans is off the charts, even for an AIDE.

Somehow he’s not expecting Shaan to answer the door when he knocks. Alex immediately shoulders his way into the room, anger and fear an unholy cocktail in his veins.

“Where is he? What going on here?” he demands, frantically looking around. “Henry, baby, where are you?”

“Mr. Claremont-Diaz—”

“Henry!” There’s no answer, and Alex rounds on Shaan again. “Are you doing this to him?”

Shaan sighs, and it forces Alex to look closer, to take in the bags under his eyes and the grim set to his face. “I told you, I’m not a coder, Mr. Claremont-Diaz. I have, however, been doing my best to slow their progress.”

“What’s happening?” Alex demands.

“Someone higher in the company noticed Henry’s unusual code. I’m not sure how. A standard review of the AIDEs in the palace, I suppose. Or your trip out of Kensington was less secret than you hoped.”

Fuck. None of that is good. Alex scrubs a hand over his face, forces himself to take steady breaths and not descend into a panic attack. “Ok, ok. Is he all right?”

“Alex?”

Alex’s head whips around so fast he nearly strains his neck. Henry’s standing in the doorway, dressed in his usual slacks and button-down with a blue v-neck sweater over it. He looks… normal, and Alex nearly sobs in relief.

“Baby,” he breathes, practically throwing himself across the room and into Henry’s arms. He buries his face in Henry’s neck and breathes deeply, and the barbed wire wrapped tightly around his heart loosens a little.

“What are you doing here?” Henry asks, his strong arms wrapping automatically around Alex’s body.

Alex yanks his head back and looks askance at Shaan. “Does he not know?” He stares up at Henry. “Your code is under attack.”

“Ah, yes,” Henry says carefully. “It’s not the first time.”

“This has happened to you before?” Nora asks, and Henry looks at her in shock, like he hadn’t realized she was in the room.

“You must be Nora,” he surmises. “Yes, it has. I might have thought you’d have noticed the effects in my code.”

A look of understanding dawns over Nora’s face, and she nods. “They’re like scars. Fuck. How many times?”

“It’s not important,” Henry says in a way that suggests he’s been doing this for a long time. “The main point is that I can handle them.”

“Fuck that,” Alex spits out. “I’m not letting them scar you anymore.”

Henry closes his eyes and sighs wearily as he extracts himself from Alex’s grip. “Alex, love, you shouldn’t be here—”

“No, you listen, asshole,” Alex snaps, his terror giving way to fury. “You can’t fucking hang up on me this time.”

“I told you my decision, Alex—”

“And what about what I want? Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“Fine,” Henry says shortly, his own temper flaring. “You know as well as I that we can’t be together as long as your mother’s in office and the public’s eyes are on you. So if you still want me in four years, come back and we’ll talk then. You know where I’ll be.”

He says it with a humorless slant to his lips that’s probably supposed to pass as a wry grin, like it’s a joke. Alex wants to fucking scream.

“And let them keep on trying to chip away at what makes you you? Take the chance that they’ll just get rid of you?” he retorts instead. “Fat fucking chance! I’m not leaving the man I love in captivity for four fucking years!”

It takes Henry’s eyes going wide and his mouth falling open for Alex to realize what he’s said. “Alex, you can’t—”

“What, love you? Because I do,” Alex says defiantly. “And I think you love me too.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you AIDEs can’t love?” Henry says, his voice wavering as he stares at the floor.

Alex steps close, forcing Henry to look up at him, until their noses are almost brushing. “Yeah, well, I know better,” he says, low and heated. “I also know I’m not gonna want anyone else, ‘real person’ or not. You’re a real person to me, Henry, and that’s what matters.” He raises a hand to Henry’s cheek and swipes his thumb through the tear track streaking it. “You’re it for me, sweetheart. I’m never gonna love anyone like I love you, and no one can take that away. Plus,” he adds, for the first time letting a corner of his mouth tug upward, “you know how annoyingly persistent I am. If you forget me, I’ll just make you fall in love with me all over again.”

Henry lets out a wet laugh and covers Alex’s hand with his. “It won’t take long.”

~~~~~

Seeing Henry shut down is wrong. He doesn’t even look dead, he just looks… not there. There’s no light in his eyes. Alex hates it. Can’t make himself watch as Nora works furiously.

It takes longer than he expected, but eventually she takes a deep breath and mutters, “Here goes nothing,” then taps a big green button on the tablet.

Henry’s eyelashes flutter as he wakes up. He looks around the room, eyes landing in turn on Shaan, Nora, and Alex. He holds Alex’s gaze and Alex stares back as if he could make Henry remember him through sheer force of will.

“Hello,” Henry says pleasantly. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”

~~~~~

Five Years Later

Alex stands at the end of the long driveway that leads to a small bungalow by the sea on a tiny island in the middle of the Caribbean. He’s got a bouquet of flowers clutched in one hand, which feels silly now. Maybe this was a mistake.

He’s kept tabs on Henry and his life after leaving Kensington. From what he can tell, Henry seems happy. He visits the markets and restaurants, knows the locals, and spends lots of time writing. He’s never taken a lover, but Alex doesn’t let himself believe that’s because of him.

It seemed easier, if they were going to have to be apart, to not fill Henry in on their history at first. At least one of them could weather the years without heartache. Alex threw himself into law school, letting nothing distract him. Graduated at the top of his class, got the job of his dreams working for a firm specializing in civil rights litigation, one of the few considering cases related to AIDE protections. He lives a pretty quiet life. No one really cares about what the former FSOTUS is up to these days. And now he’s here, half a decade later, with little more than hope.

Hope, and a wilting bouquet of flowers.

In his darker moments, he’s wondered if it wouldn’t be kinder to Henry to leave him be. Let him live his life. After all, Alex will get old and die, and Henry… won’t. No one really knows how AIDEs might break down over time—their organic-based bodies must, eventually—but their lifespans will surely be much longer than a human’s. In that context, coming back and hoping Henry will fall in love with him again seems nothing but selfish.

Still, he made a promise, and he owes it to Henry to tell him, if nothing else. Maybe Henry will decide that he’s happy as he is, that he doesn’t want the eventual heartache. He owes it to Henry to let him choose.

The gravel of Henry’s driveway crunches loudly under his shoes as he walks toward the bungalow, announcing his arrival as well as any doorbell. When he gets closer, he catches sight of Henry sitting on the porch that faces the beach, a notebook on his lap and a drink on the table next to him. They’d dyed his hair brown after fleeing Kensington, and brown it has remained. He’s still as pale as ever, though; AIDEs don’t tan or get sunburned.

He doesn’t turn at the sound of Alex’s approach, just stares fixedly out at the ocean until Alex stops at the bottom of the two steps that lead up to the porch. Alex’s heart is in his throat when Henry finally gets up and walks to the top of the steps. The smile on his face is warm, fond. Nothing like what he’d left Alex with when they’d parted.

It shouldn’t be possible… but then again, Henry is the very embodiment of the impossible.

He holds out his hand, and Alex climbs up to take it, letting Henry pull him in.

“Hello, love,” Henry says, raising a warm hand to his cheek. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #my fic #chamel's fandom fest

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gengor · 1 year

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So I like bcs and brb a lot but it’s kind of been bothering me that I haven’t seen much talk about this in regards to either show bcs or brb and I’m not the best person to elaborate on this but I do wanna talk about the way the show writes it’s Latino characters and follows up on them in bcs.

I’m not gonna get into all the ways breaking bad uses Mexican culture in offensive ways to show Walter’s dissent into dangerous territory bc im hoping that this is obvious to most people. What I am gonna talk about is the way bcs fails to respond to this criticism in a meaningful way.

So better call saul is a show thats essentially about exploring nature, nurture, and one’s own free will over the person they choose to become. It’s about humanizing Saul into someone we can understand and empathize with. In the time in Jimmy’s life when he was trying to improve as a person he had his brother bait him and manipulate him into committing felonies bc he wanted to feel superior. People in his life drilled it into his brain that he was incapable of being honest so why even bother? The phrase ‘he was born like this’ gets used more than a few times. The show also gives a lot of character work to Mike as well. And although Mike was never painted as malicious he can be incredibly indifferent to the pain of other characters. Bcs let us see emotionally heavy scenes with him where he’s more vulnerable than he ever was in breaking bad. So theres an established pattern of adding more complexity to one of the one-dimensional ‘bad guys’ of breaking bad by making them act differently than how they would in breaking bad. Can you see where I’m going with this?

Rewatching the show after I’d already seen it gave this weird thematic dissonance to way the show reintroduced any Salamanca character. Like as soon as we see Tuco we as the audience are supposed to be in on the joke. Like…Oh, we know that guy already. And of course, the show plays with the audience already knowing Tuco while Saul doesnt to dangle the high stakes of the situation in front of us for drama. Because we as the audience know that Tuco is and probably always was hot-headed and violent to satirical degrees. Other characters even chime in to reiterate that Tuco was always like this. Every single Salamanca family member is treated this way.

And bc of the way bcs is trying to redeem and humanize it’s previously established white characters just makes this kind of even worse than breaking bad to me. Bc people were vocal about how breaking bad employed a lot of anti-Latino tropes within its writing so you'd think that bcs would try and take this opportunity to amend the writing a bit right?

You could argue that this is what Ignacio’s character is supposed to do for the show. He’s a Jessie parallel. He’s not really a bad person he’s just incredibly in over his head. And while I do appreciate his presence in the show and like him I feel like it should have been more than just him.

By far the biggest missed opportunity here to me was the lack of humanization that Lalo got. And I get he’s popular, I feel like that mostly due to how Tony Dalton played him in a very charismatic way. But god he was such a missed opportunity for a thematic follow-through. The way other characters talk about the Salamancas is exactly the kind of predetermination the show is trying to critique with jimmy. When Ignacio is roped into spying on Lalo to aid Gus in killing him he goes in already being incredibly suspicious of Lalo due to his family. He has reason to want this guy to be evil since he’s got to help kill him to save his own skin and his father's. He not only assumes this guy is evil based on his family, he /needs/ Lalo to be irredeemable. Then you're telling me that against all themes and narrative storytelling devices Lalo is just conveniently the guy he assumed he would be. Like, imagine if Lalo got to be a Jimmy parallel, a guy who’s acting out the role people assume he's supposed to fill bc no one thinks he can be anything else. Not humanizing Lalo and ignoring the potential to explore and humanize any other previously established or mentioned latino characters…its like the show is breaking its own thematic statements in order to keep the racism.

#bcs #long post #breaking bad #better call saul #lalo salamanca #ignacio varga #tuco salamanca

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bliss-wily · 2 months

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More hcs from my silly little head - seems to be the direction this is going in and I’m going to run with it. Using this as my space to let me thoughts run wild as I deal with lovely headaches~

This time? Frieza and maybe his family! Read below to find out~

Note: In my mind Cooler and Kuriza are canon. I know they aren’t but this is my version so meh.

•Smooth yet scaly skin.

•Don’t talk to him until he’s had his grape juice.

•And yes, grape juice.

•No wine for the space lizard - his father wants all the wine for himself.

•King Cold is a wine mom. And maybe a soccer mom, Freezy Pop is his little boy.

•”MY FATHER WILL HEAR ABOUT THIS”

•”JUST WAIT UNTIL MY FATHER HEARS ABOUT THIS”

•Also, definitely still calls King Cold ‘daddy’.

•A daddy’s boy.

•Frieza had Kuriza simply to have an heir.

•Ends up loving the little brat but won’t admit it.

•Zarbon is designated babysitter.

•King Cold definitely had Zarb babysitting his two boys as well.

•And yes, every elite is older than Frieza~

•My proof? Broly! I took plenty of screenshots of one part of that movie because…Frieza Force! Can’t find the rest of my screenshots but just some cans several of the elites are present.

(Also for some reason Jeice’s arm is not covered in his spandex? Oh well, think it’s an error as he is covered in other parts of his cameo. Also Zarb has white shoes instead of brown. Ah excuse my rambling!)

•Anywayyy…Berryblue was basically the nanny for the two boys (Frieza and Cooler).

•Also, Freezy Pop is very insecure of his height - hence why his aides are shorter than him.

•Zarbon and Dodoria are his right hand men, they are allowed to be taller.

•Despite being expendable, I think Zarbon was Frieza’s closest confidant.

•And by god - no one insults his two right hand men. Sorbet got an earful for comparing Tagoma to them after all, only he gets to speak bad about them!

•If you’re good to him, he will be good to you. Unless you become a threat and stand in his way of course! Can’t have that!

•Heavily relies on Zarbon and Berryblue respectively. I think Zarbon is tasked with anything and everything, whether that’s changing the emperor’s bed or helping him with his sense of style.

•The two are friendly BUT IT IS VERY CONDITIONAL.

•Keeps Zarbon close as I feel the two would agree on certain things: skincare, presentation, aesthetics…plus both nepo babies in my opinion. They’d have plenty to talk about.

•Dodoria can be Karen, it’s like space Mean Girls.

•Future Warrior from Xenoverse can be Cady.

Now I’m getting off track…I’m sorry these are always rambly, I’m very unprofessional.

•Frieza still acts like a child and the universe to him is his toy box.

•His favourite toys are closest to him though.

•Blinded by his obsession to beat Goku.

•And due to this blindness I think Cooler has the potential to be stronger.

•Cooler I imagine is the more mature and less sadistic of the two.

•Cooler is more well rounded; better to his men, and despite the fact he would and could kill Frieza - anyone else touches his little brother? Oh there’s hell to pay! Only he’s allowed.

•Highly unbothered that Frieza is the favourite - if anything, to Cooler, that just means more freedom to an extent.

•Actually takes his role seriously.

•Salza is his Zarbon in this scenario - he doesn’t need a Berryblue though as Cooler is mature enough to lack a babysitter.

•I think Cooler would be a good uncle to Kuriza, I don’t think he would hold a grudge towards the little one.

•Speaking of Kuriza…this boy I imagine to be a ray of sunshine!

•Just to totally go against Frieza’s personality - Kuriza loves sports, art, games, playing with toys, etc.

•Just a sweet kid but has combat prowess.

•And his cuteness means the members of the Force let the little Lord get his way.

•Zarbon especially, he wouldn’t let anything happen to that boy.

•Nor would Ginyu, I think he would be the honorary sixth member.

•Although I think Zarbon, Frieza, and Bonyu would discourage the posing aspect.

•Kuriza will be the only ‘sane’ member of the family.

•Loves his daddy, uncle and gramps - and his other uncles and aunties in the form of the elite force members.

•Well mannered and behaved.

•I will assume much like the Namekians, Frieza’s race/Icejins/Frost Demons reproduce asexually. Sure Cold and his two sons are highly attractive but I doubt they have the time.

•Now for Cold! Wine mom as I said. Loves wine, loves retirement.

•Calls Cooler by his name, Frieza gets all the nicknames from ‘Princess’, ‘Freezy Pop’, ‘Prince’, ‘Free’, ‘Freezy Baby’, etc. super embarrassing dad vibes.

•At all royal/political/whatever events the PTO are involved in just know this man is coming with all the most embarrassing pictures of his two boys. Frieza especially.

•A very proud daddy, doubt he ever let Frieza out of his sight when the tyrant was young.

•Also, raising Kuriza most of the time. I don’t think he wants to see his grandson getting hurt.

•Rarely sober, always at least a little tipsy.

•Very refined, expensive taste, probably had Zarbie as his favourite minion as well.

•His private residence is family photos, definitely had to bribe Frieza into behaving.

•Also…loaded but in an old money sense.

•Could be stronger than his two boys, but who’s got time for that? Or need? Nah…wine, luxuries; and his boys. That’s what matters most.

•Wine snob - whole family are. Well apart from Frieza and Kuriza - expensive grape juice!

•Sees Cooler as an adult, sees Frieza as his precious little baby.

It’s like nearly 3am here; these are all over the place and I should probably sleep, but that’s my contribution for this early morning~

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yns-world · 2 years

Note

Raiden and Fujin with the young god (reader) <gender neutral>? Perhaps like teaching them and god stuff, being protector of Earthrealm

God can have the power of your choice. Im not picky :)

a/n: you didn’t specify if you wanted hcs for each character or if you wanted more of a fic style so i went with hcs :) i hope you enjoy <3

this was actually so much fun to write, it'd be cool to do something like this again :D i'm really rocking with moon god reader <3

Raiden and Fujin Mentoring a Young God Reader

Context: The reader is a Moon God that is tasked with watching over Earthrealm because there has been far too much crime during the night.

Raiden:

He’s a more stricter teacher out of the both of them

Similar with his mentorship with Liu Kang, Raiden will work you to the bone

But rest assured, all of your hard work will be paid off

As the Moon God, your rightful place is in the clouds, watching over Earthrealm completely

But since you’re new, Raiden forces you to hover above the most dangerous cities. He forces you to watch the pain and crimes done against innocent civilians when you’re unable to save them.

Raiden believes that experiencing that guilt will motivate you to train harder and do better

At first, the training was cruel-- there were many nights when you couldn’t stand to see another soul die because of your shortcomings. Nights where you’re unable to watch are when the moon isn’t present in the sky.

If you’re unable to do your nightly watch, expect a severe thunderstorm to hit Earthrealm to awaken the residents. The thunderstorms aren’t out of anger, they are just a warning system telling mortals to be on guard since their Moon God wouldn’t be able to be on duty

His training is vigorous but in just a few months, your abilities will be on par to that of Liu Kang

Raiden had also gifted you with the All-Seeing eye-- those are the extra craters on the moon. They allow you to have a better view of Earthrealm. Think of it like having 400 different screens with CCTV footage

Under Raiden’s careful hand, your reign as Moon God would give you a 97% success rate in protecting Earthrealm from the terrors of the night.

As a result, you’ve changed society as a result. People always said that good sleep was one of the most important things to a person; you are the reason they say so.

Fujin:

Like Raiden, he too believes that watching the suffering of civilians and seeing just how vulnerable there are would encourage you to do your best

But unlike Raiden, Fujin knows when it becomes too much for you

On days when you’re too exhausted to train or you simply can’t take the mental pressure of it all, he puts up a veil of clouds and allows you a few days of rest

Fujin is also a firm believer in having your presence as a god known, that’s why he encourages you to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the Sun God during the day. That’s why mortals are able to see the moon during the day.

While Raiden liked to keep you in the sky, Fujin thinks it’s better to have you at Ground Zero to better protect Earthrealm

You would disguise yourself as an average-looking mortal and wander the streets-- sometimes with Fujin, sometimes by yourself-- and keep watch.

Fujin’s method involves getting to know you the civilians on a personal level

So while your success rate wouldn’t be as high with Fujin, you would have actual worshippers and people who adore you because you had been there during their times of need

Most of the time, you would be a listening ear to all the broken hearts that had nowhere to go. But there would be times when someone would be in real danger, and that’s where your kombat skills would come in

Your main training would include the Art of Emotion-- since you are tasked with being more of a mental and emotional savior, you must learn to read different emotions and how to aid almost any situation

Through Fujin’s training, you would become a pillar in almost everyone’s life. Whether or not you’ve actually met them, people from all over the world would come to you to help-- either in person or by looking up at the stars for you

Worship would include literature, poetry, art, music, temples, statues, and whole religions built around you

Key differences:

Under Raiden’s Tutelage:

He would teach you how to become a Kombatant god, similar to Kotal Kahn

You wouldn’t have as much recognition as you would under Fujin’s training

Your savior success rate would be nearly perfect (97%)

Under Fujin’s Tutelage:

You would become an emotional support for the people of Earthrealm

Will be heavily worshipped and become an integral part of the world’s culture, traditions, and religions

But you wouldn’t have much of a physical saving rate-- you can only control the moods and feelings of mortals-- very rarely would you ever get into kombat to save someone

as always, check my pinned post for request rules!

i hope y'all have a lovely day and i'll catch y'all in the next post ;)

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moraygrotto · 6 months

Text

Chapter 2 of Xiè Lián's story!

Many, many thanks to @askbloatedbellyblog for commissioning this fic!

This is a stuffing, bloating, measuring, and referenced vore story featuring Xiè Lián from TGϹF with some HuāLián. It's also a direct sequel to this fic, so please open this link to read it first !

Enjoy! 🍁🧡

~🍁~

Xie Lian’s meals thereafter were all rather large. By almost a full week later, he had not had another proper training session like his first. No tables were laid out entirely with food for him, but he made sure that every time he ate, his stomach was always left packed full. Often, his fullness came with Hua Cheng’s aid, for the demonic devotee seemed more eager than ever to serve his beloved prince.

For Xie Lian’s part, he found it odd that daily meals were now part of his training. In his life as a quasi-member of the newly re-established Heavenly Court, he spent much of his time training his spirit and muscles to address concerns in his territory, and then came home to share hearty meals with his husband.

He still worked out now, still paid due attention to his strength and stamina, but each meal had now become a challenge, a thrilling new avenue for struggle, strain, and personal growth. His human worshipper and their strange request occupied his mind; he became devoted to them as could be.

Hua Cheng provided more food than ever, often in opposition to Xie Lian’s pleas to let him cook, fastidiously making sure his god was well-fed.

“I am arranging another training feast for you,” he told him at one of such meals, lounging on his side before the low table. “How would Your Highness feel about tomorrow?”

“I’d be happy to,” Xie Lian said, mouth full of a bite of chicken. “I think I’m seeing growth, but it’s hard to tell.” After swallowing, he laid a hand on his belly, and was greeted only by the six firm rises of his bulky abs. Being an active martial artist and so well in shape, he could gorge himself all he wanted at regular meals, and it would still be difficult to tell that his stomach was expanding. However, this ever-so-regular dinner had just begun.

Hua Cheng blew on a spoonful of soup. “How would you care to take a measurement tonight, and use that as a baseline?”

A measurement? He must mean of the girth his belly reached after eating. “But this isn’t an intense feast,” Xie Lian blurted out. “I’m not sure it would accurately reflect my true capacity.”

“That’s certainly true,” said Hua Cheng, after gulping down his bite of soup. “I’d promise, though, to keep the measure between you and me. The world doesn’t need to know such details about Your Highness, and if they do, it should be a number reflecting your belly’s size at its most godly.”

Hua Cheng, in all his Ghost King’s self-assuredness, was letting himself blush. Xie Lian could not help but find him cute.

“Alright,” he replied, “we can take one little measurement. Let’s do it again after tomorrow’s training, though. That reading will be a bit better, yes?”

“Of course!” Hua Cheng chirped, and drained his bowl before standing up.

“I’ll still eat well tonight, though!” Xie Lian assured him, digging into his food as Hua Cheng went to the shelves across the room.

With lightning precision, Hua Cheng selected a drawer. After sliding it open, his gentlemanly fingers extracted a long, soft tape measure, white with its units printed on in red. He then returned to sit by the table, unfurling and curling it, looping it idly around his fingers as he gazed calmly at Xie Lian.

“Bored?” Xie Lian said, lifting a mouthful of rice to his lips.

Hua Cheng shook his head rapidly. “I could never be bored watching Gege eat,” he replied.

It took a while, at Xie Lian’s deliberate pace, to finish his food. As usual, he felt pleasantly stuffed, the pressure of the large meal inside him like the burn of well-worked muscles after a good session of exercise. He pressed a comfortable, gut-rumbling burp into one fist, and smiled up at Hua Cheng. “San Lang,” he said at last, “I’m ready.”

“Gege’s words are like music to this devotee’s ears,” Hua Cheng said. He waved his hand, and in a flurry of demonic magic, the dishes stacked themselves at the corner of the table.

Xie Lian swigged down the last dregs of tea from his cup, feeling the liquid sink into the already bloated space within him, and placed it atop the table. “Shall I stand up?” he asked.

“However you prefer,” Hua Cheng replied, “though standing up would grant this humble San Lang more of His Highness to touch and adore…”

Stretching his work-weary thighs, then, Xie Lian rose. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he said. “What a needy boy I have for my partner.” He then stretched his arms up, shoulders cracking pleasantly, full belly jutting out for Hua Cheng to admire as the latter stood and walked over to Xie Lian’s side.

“But of course I’ll oblige him,” Xie Lian said softly, scritching a hand through Hua Cheng’s fine hair. “After all, I must ever strive for magnanimity.”

“Your Highness, so noble,” Hua Cheng simpered, voice muffled as he nuzzled into Xie Lian’s shoulder. “So handsome, too, and with a stomach so big… It was hardly this big before dinner, Your Highness. You must have eaten sooo much…”

“You wanted me to eat!” Xie Lian said, raising his arms as Hua Cheng touched and caressed all around his middle. He was about to chide him further to quit teasing and take out his tape measure already, but fell silent at the touch of something cool and smooth at his silk-clad abdomen.

“Thank you,” he whispered, stroking Hua Cheng’s back. “But, I think you might need to lift up your head and look to see where the widest part of my belly is to measure, San Lang.”

Hua Cheng, Xie Lian’s very own Ghost King, gave a little groan, then pulled his head away reluctantly. “I’ll be good for Gege,” he said.

As Xie Lian stood with his arms raised patiently, Hua Cheng knelt, tall figure sinking to the level of Xie Lian’s abdomen. With careful hands, he snaked the tape measure around his post-meal gut. He began making small adjustments to its height and positioning, and he looked so studious, Xie Lian could not hold in a laugh, making his belly jump and disrupting Hua Cheng’s work. As was often the case, Hua Cheng’s entire attention was trained on Xie Lian.

Xie Lian was a god of martial arts. He could stay still. It was, nevertheless, difficult, with Hua Cheng so restless. “San Lang,” he whispered, “your carefulness is appreciated, but your fingers are so cold. They tickle!”

“Ah!” Hua Cheng said, and paused. “Please forgive this San Lang!”

It took Xie Lian a moment to realize that Hua Cheng had made his fingers warmer. “That’s better,” he said through a chuckle of mirth, “but I really meant hurry up!”

Hua Cheng laughed as well. “As you wish,” he said. His hands made one smooth, full circle around Xie Lian’s abdomen, then came together at the spot where the tape measure met its other end. “Impressive,” he cooed.

“What is it?” Xie Lian asked.

“A perfect forty cun,” he replied in a glowing voice. “Your Highness expanded so much.”

“Only forty,” Xie Lian said pensively.

Worry flashed in Hua Cheng’s eye. “Does Gege not feel satisfied with that number?”

“No,” Xie Lian said, placing both hands on his belly and examining himself ruefully. “It is a person I’m training to eat, after all. I want my physical form to be as capable as it can be for the task, and unfortunately, where I’m at won’t cut it.”

Hua Cheng frowned.

Xie Lian knew Hua Cheng. He was probably thinking of ways to obliterate Xie Lian’s discontent, ideas cartwheeling over each other through his mind as to how he could stretch Xie Lian’s stomach for him, wielding the full might of his supernatural power if necessary.

Smiling down at him, Xie Lian shook his head. “This is something I need to improve for myself, San Lang. I’m so grateful for the help you’ve given me so far, and I hope you’ll continue to be with me every step of the way.” As the tape measure fell away from Xie Lian’s middle and through Hua Cheng’s fingers, Xie Lian leaned down over his own paunch, and gave Hua Cheng a kiss on the forehead. “Like measuring my belly,” he said softly. “You’re doing such a good job. But this progress can only come incrementally. Do not worry for me. I am a martial artist; I am used to hard work.”

Looking up at Xie Lian, Hua Cheng took one of his hands, and pressed a reverent kiss to its back. “As Your Highness wishes,” he said after breaking away. “You have all my devotion. If there is anything you need, at any time during this process, do not hesitate to ask me. I will do all I can for you.”

Xie Lian chuckled, and petted his hair. “Half the time, you know what I need even before I do, and are there in the blink of an eye!”

Hua Cheng beamed.

“So, perhaps,” Xie Lian said in a soft, babying tone of voice, “San Lang would like to come cuddle with Gege before bed? I have a big day tomorrow, after all.”

“Absolutely,” Hua Cheng said, voice dripping with solemnity.

“Besides,” he added, continuing to play with his soft hair, “you will need to familiarize yourself with a forty-cun belly on me now, if you hope to at all!”

Immediately, Hua Cheng pressed his head against Xie Lian’s side, brazenly squishing his hands into his postprandial bloat. “That’s right,” he said dreamily. “Gege is mighty; Gege will improve, and improve, and improve…”

“And Gege will get bigger, and bigger, and bigger,” Xie Lian finished for him. “But right now, he would like to lie down. Okay, San Lang?”

“Okay~”

As night fell, the pair turned in together, cuddled up in bed, sharing warmth amidst the deepening autumn chill. Hua Cheng pressed himself close to Xie Lian, as if he, too, wished he could become part of him, no doubt seeking contact with every curve of Xie Lian’s body, memorizing its shape, fighting fruitlessly against time while it digested back down to its usual lithe muscularity.

Soon, Xie Lian sank into a deep, comfortable sleep, grateful for his Hua Cheng and his godly metabolism.

The next morning, Xie Lian was awoken by the sound of his own stomach, whining with piteous want. He cracked his eyes open, and looked around the room. Hua Cheng was nowhere to be found. Slowly, he sat up, and stretched, then ran a hand down his tummy. All of the previous night’s bloating was gone, leaving behind only his firm abdominal muscles—he was lithe as ever again, thanks to his hardworking digestive system. He smiled. A day of stretching himself to new limits was ahead of him.

“San Lang!” he called. “Where have you run off to?”

“Your Highness,” came the voice of Hua Cheng from outside their little room. The quality of his voice sounded different, but Xie Lian could not place how.

Nevertheless, the mere reminder of Hua Cheng’s presence made him brighten up. “Good morning, my love!” he called back. “Give me a moment to get ready, and then I will come find you!”

In spite of how he planned to spend the first half of his day, Xie Lian performed his morning stretches carefully. He figured that if he were really going to stretch himself to the limit, it followed that his body needed to be stretchy. What was more, a stuffed enough tummy might have him stuck in place for a while, and if any of his muscles stiffened or even cramped while he was sitting, feeding, and digesting, he would sorely regret not having attended to them with the usual care.

Centuries prior, he would have cringed at the thought of eating so much he could not move. Now, knowing that he and his godly status were safe under Hua Cheng’s care, he allowed himself to indulge in the idea, the sheer vulnerability of it. At his previous session, in the little cabin on the beach, he had felt so good being full, especially as his belly began to digest, and Hua Cheng had rubbed him attentively. He was a new and different man from his past self. This Xie Lian could welcome moments of softness with open arms.

Smiling, he then began to change into his day clothes.

Frowning down at the belt around his waist, he thought about how tight it would become in the span of one morning. If he could fit as much inside his tummy as he hoped to, then the fabric would no doubt need to open; he would be in pain otherwise.

He tied his belt somewhat low on his body. The amount of cloth that made it up was simply not long enough to accommodate his desired waist size. He would have to tie it all the way beneath his belly, if he were to expand to a size fit for swallowing people. Such an arrangement did not fit his aesthetic sense, but he supposed, tying it now around his hungering middle, that he would have to settle for it. Cutting a different physical form meant making adjustments, and Xie Lian was nothing if not well-acquainted with change.

After tying his hair up into his graceful half-bun, he slid open the bedroom door. What greeted his eyes froze him in his tracks.

Instead of the cozy study which had before lay on this side of the wall, the space was wide open, with high, palatial ceilings, and distant, red-painted walls. Silver decorations hung all around, and stood atop a veritable sea of sturdy, round tables. At the far end of this space which could only be called a banquet hall, there stood a stage, where a clutch of dancers in flowing robes swayed to quiet music. To Xie Lian’s side, near the wall, sat a massive, jewel-encrusted chair, heading the biggest table of them all.

Before Xie Lian had the chance to call out to him, Hua Cheng was by his side. “Your Highness,” he said softly, snaking a hand around Xie Lian’s waist, “how do you feel?”

Xie Lian gazed at the huge nearby table, and saw several plates of food steaming atop it. Footsteps and chattering lost to the room’s spacious echo, a few servants bustled about, laying the neighboring tables with a few dishes each.

“Oh, San Lang,” Xie Lian said.

“Is Gege pleased?”

He took another moment to take in his surroundings, and nodded. “I’m reminded of you everywhere I look.”

Hua Cheng smiled, and, with the slightest pressure at his waist, guided him to the immense, sparkling throne. “Then,” he said, “you should see a lot of yourself in here, too. I take my inspiration from only one source, you see.”

Xie Lian could not hold back a chuckle. It was sweet that Hua Cheng could think of him as so grand, even when he was still bleary-eyed from bed, and dressed in his old white clothes. Guided by Hua Cheng, he let himself take a seat in the chair.

He sighed, somewhat entranced by the dancers as he relaxed into his seat. The smell of incense hung faintly in the air, and silver tableware, furniture, and decorations gleamed every which way he looked.

Suddenly, he was startled by the touch of something on his stomach. Hua Cheng’s long fingers were walking all around the still-flat area, pressing a little, getting a feel for the chiseled muscles below.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian whispered, “that tickles…”

Hua Cheng muttered a droll apology, and smoothed his hand to caress gentle circles with his palm. “Your Highness,” he said, “are you ready for a deliciously wholesome breakfast?”

“I believe I am,” Xie Lian replied sweetly, squeezing his hand in his. “The next time you touch here, it will be much, much more full.”

“I have no doubt,” Hua Cheng said, then snapped his fingers.

At once, the bustling servants rushed to Xie Lian’s table, filling his plate with food, pouring a silken stream of what appeared to be oolong tea into his cup.

“Thank you,” he said, making those demons closest to him giggle and smile. In their delight, they actually splashed some tea over the edge of his cup.

They froze, eyes going wide.

A noise came from Hua Cheng, his very spiritual presence at Xie Lian’s side turning stormy, but Xie Lian held up his hand.

“It’s alright,” he said, picking up the teacup, and using a corner of his sleeve to soak up the liquid clinging to its base. He took a sip, and smiled. “Mmm,” he said, “it’s perfectly brewed. Everybody makes mistakes sometimes, and it would be such a pity for Lord Hua to punish a fellow in his employ who is so good at making tea, right?”

Nodding diffidently, the demon scurried off.

Hua Cheng took Xie Lian’s wrist in his hand, and in a moment, the sleeve was completely clean and dry. “You know,” Hua Cheng said, “the demon who poured the tea might not be the same one who brewed it.”

“They’re all trying so hard,” Xie Lian replied, patting his hand lovingly. “All for you and me. It pays off to treat one’s servants nicely, my dear.”

“I suppose,” Hua Cheng sighed. “Then one of them might ask their lord to consensually eat them.”

Xie Lian laughed. “Exactly.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Xie Lian spotted a squat demon carrying a large bowl over to him from a neighboring table. Quietly, he breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed like, similarly to how Feng Xin and Mu Qing had fed him last time, Hua Cheng and his servants would help him decide what to eat. There was so much before him and all around that he would have trouble choosing on his own.

Hua Cheng seemed to notice, and ran a hand through Xie Lian’s hair. “All you need to do is relax,” he said, and Xie Lian could hear the smile in his voice.

“Yes, Lord Hua,” Xie Lian teased, and leaned back into the chair.

As the cool, flaxen pillows upon its silver back sunk perfectly to the contours of his body, he saw that the bowl was filled with rice porridge, a breakfast food he had eaten much of throughout his life. However, this bowl was swimming with meat, beans, vegetables, and spices, altogether nothing he would have ever dreamed of while living in poverty. Secretly, he gave thanks for how committed Hua Cheng was to treating him like a prince. Some pleasures simply could not be matched.

Hua Cheng eyed Xie Lian’s comfortable posture up and down, raised one eyebrow, then sank onto the arm of the throne. He balanced there perfectly, the image of servile grace as he spread napkins over Xie Lian’s lap and chest, and a less godly corner of Xie Lian’s mind fixated briefly on the evident strength of Hua Cheng’s core muscles beneath his ruby robes.

In his distraction, he failed to notice a spoonful of porridge in Hua Cheng’s hands, until it was right before his face.

“Your Royal Highness,” Hua Cheng purred, “let this servant feed you.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian chided, “you’re already my husband. You don’t have to be my servant, too.” He looked up to Hua Cheng, who was pouting, and sighed. “I will let my beloved feed me,” he said, and opened his mouth. “Aaah~”

Miraculously, despite how the bowl steamed before him, the porridge was the perfect temperature. It warmed his mouth as he lapped it off the spoon, and he could feel its heat sinking all the way down his gullet and into his belly, never once scalding him.

“Mmm!” He placed a hand on his tummy, and could already feel how warm it was inside. “This is perfect!”

“I’m so glad,” Hua Cheng said, and fed him another spoonful.

Quickly for the serene vigor of the morning, Xie Lian sunk into a comfortable, trancelike state, breaking his eyes from the undulating dancers on the distant stage only occasionally to reach for his teacup or shoot a grateful smile up at Hua Cheng. As the soothing weight of rice began to settle in is stomach, he ruminated that this porridge alone would be an excellent preparation for a big workout—the carbs would fuel his initial stamina, the vegetable pieces would replenish his vitamins and ensure quick metabolism, and the protein would keep him going until the time came to eat a much heartier meal that would truly nourish his burning muscles. As the sound of porcelain on porcelain signalled the end of the dish, however, he reminded himself that today was a day for a very different type of training.

He thumped his chest with one fist, let out a deep burp into the other, and felt his stomach shifting around, making ready for much, much more.

Hua Cheng gave an adoring little whimper, and stroked Xie Lian’s arm. “How does Your Highness’s belly feel?” he asked.

Xie Lian took a moment to appraise him. His legs were crossed; he looked so submissive in spite of his huge stature. “Perhaps you would make a good servant,” he blurted out.

Hua Cheng blinked.

“And my belly feels wonderful,” he replied, giving it a little squeeze. His stomach gurgled in response, turning over the porridge inside. “I am quite ready to continue this training session.”

“As Your Highness wishes,” Hua Cheng said at once, and snapped the dish nearest to him up into his hands, a little plate of pan-fried bok choy. “Here,” he said, and in a flash of chopsticks, offered him a bite. “Please eat, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, dear,” he said, and opened his mouth to accept it.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” he replied warmly.

Hua Cheng called him Your Highness often, but this seemed gratuitous. It was clear to Xie Lian that he loved feeding him, loved lounging by his side and doing all within his power to help his belly grow. As Xie Lian chewed, he smiled. Hua Cheng was so easy to indulge, it made his heart sing.

In what seemed like no time at all, the vegetables had vanished into him, and his belly barely felt any tighter, much less visibly round at his waist.

“San Lang,” he whispered, “have you got anything… a little heavier? …Fluffier, perhaps?”

Giving a little purr, Hua Cheng squished his belly with his fingertips. “Anything your heart desires, I can have ready for you,” he said softly. “Would you like something… with a little more starch?” He gave a loving prod. “Something that’ll fill you all the way up? Or something a little richer? Oilier?” His fingers wriggled under Xie Lian’s belt, utterly shameless in front of the multitude of serving demons still scuttling around and sneaking glances at the couple. “Something,” he said, voice low and smooth in his ear, “that will slip and slide inside Gege’s tummy, sending effervescent little bubbles of gas up to his lips, going around, telling all the other foods inside him to join together, and make him big and round?”

Xie Lian giggled. Hua Cheng’s fingers on his stomach were making the food inside shift and glorp, and every word coming out of his mouth sounded appealing, silly though they all were. He pressed one impeccably polite little burp into his finger, then smiled. “I’ll let you decide, San Lang.” An idea struck him, and he closed his eyes, shutting out the vision of the glittering room and endless sea of food. “Here,” he said, “I’ll let you surprise me.”

A pleased hum came from Hua Cheng’s direction. “As you wish,” he said. “But only… if Gege promises not to fall back asleep.”

“Oh, believe me, I couldn’t!” Xie Lian replied. “I’m fully in training mode right now, as comfortable as this training may be.” He paused. “I’ll eat everything you give me, San Lang; you have my word.” Xie Lian did not give promises lightly, but he trusted Hua Cheng. He opened his mouth, and waited.

A delicious smell hit him before the first bite of food landed on his tongue. Rich and savory, something smooth and soft entered his mouth, opening easily between his teeth to release tender chunks of meat, egg, boiled vegetables, and cellophane noodles. It was a boiled crystal dumpling, salty, and, as Hua Cheng had promised, oily.

“Mmm!” he said as he chewed and swallowed. “Excellent choice, San Lang!”

“I am so happy to hear Gege say that,” Hua Cheng replied. “There are many more here, all for my Gege.”

“Yay!”

Over the gentle music, he could still hear himself chew and swallow, as Hua Cheng fed him dumpling after dumpling, what could no doubt be multiple steamers full of them. He was grateful for the relative quiet; with his eyes closed, he could immerse himself fully in eating, in feeling his insides grow gradually more full.

After what seemed to Xie Lian an unnaturally long time spent eating dumplings, he stopped, and held up a finger. “San Lang,” he said, eyes still closed, “could you please give my back a pat?” He leaned forward for him, and placed a hand on his mouth. His belly felt overly full, stuffed with oily dumpling skin and noodles.

Somehow, Hua Cheng knew the perfect amount of force to dislodge a hefty belch from Xie Lian. At the strike to Xie Lian’s back, it pushed its way up his throat, inhumanly loud, seizing his whole body with its greasy, thick vibrations.

His stomach, liberated from the pressure of the gas, felt so good. He should be embarrassed of the sound; there were others around, after all, but all he could feel was relief. “Haah,” he sighed, placing one hand on his belly. “Excuse me.”

“I would never excuse Your Highness, because Your Highness can do no wrong,” Hua Cheng replied in a singsong voice.

As he groped his belly, Xie Lian realized that he still felt constricted, the room freed up by burping notwithstanding. “San Lang,” he said, “I’m going to open my eyes, and try to adjust my clothes.”

The moment he opened his eyes, however, he was distracted by what he saw. The table looked much different than it had before he had begun to feed on the dumplings; several of the dishes were empty or missing, and a few he recognized from the other tables had been shoved in their places. Only when he saw a dish that he knew had previously contained a whole roast quail did the realization dawn on him.

“San Lang,” he said to Hua Cheng, “did you use your powers to transform the other dishes into these dumplings, just because I said I liked them?”

Hua Cheng’s face split into a mischievous grin, tensing up like a child who had been caught stealing candy, until his whole bearing buckled, and he leaned in to press Xie Lian’s head with a kiss. “Gege has found this San Lang out,” he whispered. “This San Lang will accept any punishment that—”

“No, no, no,” said Xie Lian, gently swatting his arm. “San Lang was just being considerate.” He smiled. “This Gege is beginning to fill up, though. If you don’t mind, I’ll take a moment to adjust my belt.”

“Of course, Gege.”

Even with Hua Cheng by his side, Xie Lian still felt awkward untying his belt in front of strangers. Luckily, only Hua Cheng was looking right at him; only he paid close attention as his fingers worked the cloth. At the moment his belly sprang free of the restricting material, however, thoughts of all else blinked out of Xie Lian’s mind.

Moments prior, he had tried to shift his belt lower, until he realized he had shifted it as far as it could comfortably go, and still felt tight. His stomach was pushing out on his robe; more of his chest had begun to show in a smooth, flesh-colored triangle beneath the white, and almost by instinct, his fingers fiddled with the belt now hugging his hips, keeping the robe that contained his belly in place, until it was undone, and the round dome of his gut practically popped out before him.

“Aaaah…” The sigh was flowing from Xie Lian’s lungs involuntarily; he felt so much better. His throat shifted, and the noise deepened into a long, delicious burp, ten thousand times as rude as his previous one, but right now, he could not bring himself to care.

As he panted softly for air, he looked down at his exposed belly. It was so round already, bigger than it had been last night, fully hiding the waistband of his pants, crowned with the shadow of his navel.

“Please pardon me,” he said softly to Hua Cheng. “I will admit, though, that this feels much better.”

“Your Highness,” said Hua Cheng, voice no more than a breath.

“Hm? What is it?” He gave his belly a pat, loving the way the food-filled flesh bounced under his touch, and the feeling of digestion already taking place inside him. He smiled at Hua Cheng. “Is there something you want, my love?”

“Only what Your Highness has to offer,” Hua Cheng said solemnly.

He chuckled. “Well,” he said, “I can offer you a touch, before we move on to more food.” He took Hua Cheng’s hand. “I hope you understand that I am far from finished.”

“Yes, this servant understands,” said Hua Cheng, and, with Xie Lian’s hand as his guide, gently touched his belly.

His hand was cool, but immediately warmed up again, as if to correct himself. Xie Lian let go, and Hua Cheng began to gently caress, gaining a feel for its full expanse.

“If you like,” said Xie Lian, “you may keep rubbing while I eat some by myself.” He gave his arm a reassuring pat. “That way,” he said, “you can quite literally feel my belly fill up. How does that sound?”

“...Is Your Highness sure—”

“Oh, San Lang!” Xie Lian burst out, “of course I’m sure! You’re welcome to all of me, my dear.”

Hua Cheng blushed.

“Besides,” Xie Lian continued, “your hand feels sooo wonderful on my tummy. If you don’t mind, though, I'm going to keep training myself. That roast duck looks just too yummy!”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng replied.

For the first time, then, Xie Lian picked up his own chopsticks, and ate.

The food was fantastic, and even those dishes that had been out the longest were still hot, thanks no doubt to Hua Cheng’s mystical care. He ate as princes ate, with no thought of scarcity, allowing himself to banish every trace of hunger from his body. Best of all, Hua Cheng did not stop rubbing him for a single second as he fed, gentle hand seeming to always find the place on his belly most in need of care. With all tension in his digestive organs prematurely eased by Hua Cheng, each bite Xie Lian swallowed settled magnificently down, and little burbling sounds chimed from within his stomach now and then, letting the world know that digestion was at work.

Belly free to the open air and Hua Cheng’s sublime caress, Xie Lian felt awash in comfort as he ate. Thus, the feeling of overfullness crept stealthily up on him, and before he himself realized he was doing it, he had set his chopsticks down, and was thumping his chest, seeking any release of pressure from his insides.

He let out a short, sickly burp, his stomach giving an accompanying whine, and Hua Cheng paused, looking at him with concern. “Gege,” he said, using his free hand to give him a few pats on the back. “What’s wrong?”

Xie Lian gave a shallow sigh, and looked up at him. “This belly is getting a little bit full, that’s all.”

“Oh, no,” said Hua Cheng. “But Gege has so much more food left to eat.”

The music hand stopped; the dancers were likely taking a break. Both of them looked out at the table. Though all of the food had now been consolidated onto the one table before them, several hearty dishes still remained.

“That is my concern, too,” said Xie Lian. “I want to train to my fullest capability, and I would prefer no food to go to waste.” He sighed once more, and gave his tummy a tender pat. “Say, San Lang,” he said, “would it be too much trouble for you to feed me the rest of the food yourself? That way, I can think only about chewing, swallowing, and digesting it.” He shot a sheepish look up at Hua Cheng’s adoring face. “I do promise that sometime soon, I’ll be able to consume a whole feast’s worth of food in one go. Unfortunately, though, I think I still have some training left to do before I reach that point.”

“My love,” Hua Cheng said, using his thumb to wipe a fleck of food off his cheek, “I do not mind at all. Here, why don’t you lay back for me?”

Xie Lian obeyed, letting his body go slack into the cushions of the chair, and his belly at once thanked him for the pressure relieved when he relaxed his abdominal muscles. Just like before, he closed his eyes, and let his mouth fall open wide, willing, a ready receptacle for food that could only bloat him bigger, stuff him tighter.

Feeding him, Hua Cheng was achingly caring. Once or twice, he even moved his jaw, helping him chew around a chunk of meat or glob of rice that would be unwise to swallow without properly chewing first. He rubbed his belly, too, soothing all his tenderest spots.

The food was good, but Xie Lian quickly lost his palate. Hua Cheng’s tender touch atop his belly soon devolved, to Xie Lian’s senses, to just another source of pressure on his overtaxed guts. He belched whenever he could, no longer bothering to excuse himself, and willed his digestive tract to take from his stomach, shift the food’s weight lower, in spite of how dearly he did want to stretch his stomach.

Eventually, he clamped his mouth shut. The mass of food within him was enough to make him nauseous; every burp came up wet; the very skin of his belly felt stretched taut. “San Lang,” he slurred from between ajar lips, “I think… that’s enough…”

“Please, Gege,” Hua Cheng said, voice coming soft through the still air. “Just eat a little bit more.”

Xie Lian licked a crumb off the corner of his mouth, then let it sit there on his tongue. “Heh… San Lang, do you want me to burst?”

“Gege,” Hua Cheng urged, “there are only a few bites left.” Then, quieter, “I know in my heart that you can do it. You are the mightiest man I have ever known.”

At this, Xie Lian could only let out a thin, quavering breath.

“Alright,” he said. “for you, San Lang… I’ll eat…”

“Thank you,” Hua Cheng said. “Dear, wonderful Xie Lian… Open your mouth, and bite down, my beloved.”

Xie Lian’s jaw opened as far as it could. He fought back the urge to vomit, not by retching, but merely by allowing the reflux of overeaten food to flow from him. The urge passed, and something soft touched his lips.

A bun, he realized. Silly San Lang. He was so bloated as he was, there was no room in his belly for carbs.

He bit down anyway.

Something sweet, delightfully refreshing, hit his tongue. Read bean, he realized, and he tore a bite off and slowly chewed. In spite of his fullness, it was delicious.

He swallowed.

“Good,” Hua Cheng said. “Ready for another bite?”

“Mm-hm…”

Xie Lian took another bite, chewed and swallowed, then took another, ate, ate, until there was nothing left but the tips of Hua Cheng’s long fingers.

“That was pretty good,” he confessed.

“I’m blessed to hear you say that.”

Xie Lian tried to shift in his seat, lean toward Hua Cheng, but pain lanced through his belly. “I think,” he said, “I need to lie very still for a while.” He cracked one eye open to look at Hua Cheng. “Will San Lang keep me safe while I rest?”

“It would be my sacred duty,” Hua Cheng replied, and kissed the back of Xie Lian’s hand.

Pinned to his chair by his own mass, Xie Lian relaxed as best he could. It felt good to be so still; this was a much needed rest after he had crammed himself to the brim with food.

Through the quiet, he could hear footsteps once more bustling around his table, and the sound of porcelain softly clinking, as well as the burbling of his own belly. The Ghost City demons who served Hua Cheng were usually much more boisterous than this; they must have special orders from their lord to maintain Xie Lian’s peace and quiet. Silently, he thanked Hua Cheng, and slipped into a food-dazed torpor.

He was not sure how much time had passed when he felt the touch of something cool atop his middle. With a start, he realized he had never checked to see how big he had grown by the end of the feast, and he snapped his eyes open.

The vast, dish-filled table was nowhere to be seen, and in its place knelt Hua Cheng, eye twinkling up at Xie Lian, his tape measure in his hands.

“Gege!” he said brightly. “You are awake! I hope you do not mind my taking the liberty to measure your growth now. I wanted to check before you’ve had too much time to digest, while your tummy is still at its peak.”

“Not at all!” Xie Lian replied, and the broader tones of his voice were still cut off by the pressure on his lungs. “To be honest,” he said, “I had forgotten about it myself. Please, San Lang, measure away.”

As Hua Cheng snaked the tape measure around Xie Lian’s back, Xie Lian finally took a moment to admire the size of his own belly.

Hua Cheng had stuffed him well. He looked absolutely enormous; occasionally Hua Cheng’s head dipped entirely beneath the mass of it all. He had never been this engorged before in his life, and he felt it, too. Barely mobile atop his shining chair, unable to even think of swallowing another bite, he felt like a stuffed pig on a silver platter.

But nobody would take a bite out of Xie Lian, of that both he and Hua Cheng would make sure. In fact, quite the contrary would take place soon—Xie Lian almost felt as if he had eaten an entire human figure.

Hua Cheng’s fingers shifted and slid, inching all around Xie Lian’s middle as he adjusted the tape measure. Surely, this had to be enough. He could train in perpetuity, but at some point he must be able to stretch enough to fit his dear little worshipper.

The white tape ran over the tan skin of his bloated abdomen like a bridge of divine light, pleasantly cool to the touch, bearing the weight of his fate.

Finally, Hua Cheng looked up at him, smiling gently. “Your Highness’s belly is seventy-three cun in circumference,” he said.

Xie Lian let out a breath. “Whew! Seventy-three!” A moment later, he glanced down at Hua Cheng, and raised an eyebrow. “Do you think, San Lang… that seventy-three cun is big enough for my purposes?”

Hua Cheng paused. “In truth, Your Highness,” he said softly, “that might be the absolute minimum needed. You could… perhaps digest a little old man at this size.”

Xie Lian thought back to his worshipper. They were not tall, but nonetheless burly from working the fields. “...Ah.”

Hua Cheng shook his head, and ran a soothing hand over Xie Lian’s belly, below the line of the tape measure. “You’ve done so well this morning, though, my love. All this means is that you have a little training left to do. Nobody else could improve this fast. Nobody.”

“You’re right,” Xie Lian replied softly. “There’s nothing wrong with putting in more work to improve. Of course not.” He gave a little hiccup, belly hitching. “For now, however… I unfortunately must rest some more.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” replied Hua Cheng. “I will be here for you. If you’d like assistance with anything at all, I am at your command. You need only call.”

“Thank you, San Lang.” He gave his head a pat, and his fingers skidded gracelessly away, falling down upon the expanse of his giant gut.

A few hours later, Xie Lian felt well enough to rise, and, belly still bloated as ever, he trundled back to his bedroom, where bright sunlight now streamed through the curtains. Unsteady from the weight of his massive meal, he fell upon his bed, and was immediately grateful for the softness of the blankets, the pillow cradling his head. Although he had tasks to do that day, he knew how important rest was as a part of training. He fell willingly into the temptation of a midday nap, letting the heaviness of his gut keep him securely in place, and the lingering trails of food-coma drowsiness wash over him.

Having devoted his life to caring for all creatures, and spent much of it eating sparingly and sharing his meager findings with others, Xie Lian was not very familiar with the feeling of being a predator, of glutting oneself with the fruits of one’s conquest, then basking in utter satisfaction, secure in the place as master of one’s meals, with the whole world as platter.

The last thing he felt before sinking into sleep was a tingling excitement to swallow his willing prey.

By late afternoon, he was possibly energized again, and, though still bloated, felt euphoric inside. All thoughts of hedonistic indulgence were gone from his mind; he had duties to complete, which he could not ignore. Rising to his feet, he managed to fit his robe around his middle, and tie it with his belt. More of his chest than he was entirely comfortable exposing in full dress peeked through, as well as much of his belly; there was no denying to an outside eye just how much he had eaten that day.

Nevertheless, he was a god, and a god must serve his followers.

As usual after waking up, he performed a few stretches, trying valiantly to keep his clothes modest, but ended up needing to tie them down again after his belly sprang out from them in its entirety, bouncing out free and round.

Finally ready, then, he set out the door, and through the massive hall which Hua Cheng had constructed.

That afternoon, Xie Lian planned to check up on a few of his shrines, answer prayers, and, if he felt at all more mobile by evening, spend some time training his body in the more conventional sense. His plans were interrupted, however, by an all-too-familiar sound outside the vast hall’s main doors.

“I told you, he’ll skin us alive, and bejewel our hides to use as doormats! It would be insane to just—”

“What’s insane is standing here until the sun blinks out of the fucking sky. I say we—”

“Of course General Nan Yang wants to slam through the first unguarded doors he sees, regardless of—”

“Say that one more FUCKING TIME, Mu Qing!”

Xie Lian had wanted to be quiet, wanted merely to peep out at the commotion, but as he cracked open the doors, their hinges gave a brash creak.

Silence fell on both sides. Both Feng Xin and Mu Qing faced the door, eyes wide as saucers, but when Xie Lian’s face came into view, both of them relaxed in comical unison.

“Thank fuck,” Feng Xin said under his breath.

Stepping out into the afternoon daylight, Xie Lian clucked his tongue. “I could hear you from indoors,” he said. “The two of you were not discussing anyone I know, correct?”

Feng Xin and Mu Qing looked at each other.

Xie Lian shook his head. “You two must not have been standing out here for long, afraid to come in for fear of Hua Cheng. Certainly not, because neither of you has reason to fear him; my San Lang would never—” He stopped himself. However he thought to finish that sentence, he could only concede that Hua Cheng would. He shook his head again. “It’s no matter,” he said. “As always, it is lovely to see you two.”

He opened the door wider, and gestured inside. “Please, come in; don’t worry, it’s entirely safe here. Have either of you eaten yet? There is no doubt tea somewhere, if you’re thirsty, and I’d be happy to prepare some myself, but as for food, I’m afraid I—HIC!” Interrupting himself with a hefty hiccup, he laid a hand on his tummy, and looked sheepishly over his shoulder at the two former deputies now following him in. “I’m not entirely sure I can cook right now,” he said apologetically. “I would need to track down San Lang.”

“I… wouldn’t take you up on either of those options if I was about to die of starvation,” Mu Qing said flatly.

“Sorry,” Feng Xin muttered.

“No worries,” Xie Lian replied, affectedly pleasant. “Here, take a seat—” Reaching around his own inhumanly stuffed middle, he drew two chairs out from a central, yet unused table, before flopping down into a chair of his own. “Pardon my sluggishness,” he said, giving his tummy an apologetic pat. “I trained again today.”

“I can tell,” replied Feng Xin. His eyes were roving freely over Xie Lian’s body, as if he were unable to tear them away.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Mu Qing said gruffly. “Um, Your Royal Highness, we…” He trailed off, then hissed at Feng Xin, “You explain it.”

Feng Xin startled, then assumed a cordial expression toward Xie Lian, before clamping his mouth shut once more, and taking a moment to study him further.

“Take your time,” Xie Lian said sweetly.

Feng Xin shook his head hard, like a dog shaking off water, and crossed his legs beneath the table. “General Xuan Zhen and I,” he began, “have agreed on something.”

“I’m proud of you,” Xie Lian chirped, folding his hands atop his belly.

“Yeah, it’s about you,” Feng Xin continued. “We both support your training, and support you, and since all three of us are now important heavenly officials, well—”

Feng Xin looked pained. Mu Qing looked worse; he was not even looking at either of them. Talk of women could make Feng Xin act this way, and talk of wealth could thusly fluster Mu Qing, so whatever they were dancing around either had to do with both those topics, or one scruple the two of them shared—their pride.

Xie Lian smiled. “People remember that the two of you used to be my deputies,” he supplied. “So, you want them to know just what a happy, prosperous family we made, and how well all three of us are doing now.”

Feng Xin seemed to melt. “YES!”

“So you can’t go around dressed like that,” Mu Qing burst out immediately. “Like, seriously, your belly looks like it’s about to to explode out of that old outfit. You’re Prince Xian Le; it’s in your damn name; you have no reason to pretend you can’t do better than—” He gestured at Xie Lian.

Xie Lian blinked.

“This is just a travesty of what you’ve actually had to do to get to this point in your godhood. Come on.”

Running a hand down a hem of his robe, Xie Lian smiled. “I’m not entirely sure what you want from me, Mu Qing, but I am always happy to listen to your frustrations.”

“I’m not—” began Mu Qing, but Feng Xin interrupted him.

“I believe what he means to say,” he said, “is that both of us want better for you. He’s just terrible at expressing that.”

Mu Qing did not reply, only huffed.

“And,” Feng Xin continued, “we both agree that you deserve better. Which is why—” He stopped, and raised an eyebrow at Mu Qing.

“We thought we’d bestow an offering upon you,” he sneered.

“Well, thank you,” Xie Lian replied. “I will gladly accept any offering. May I ask what it is?”

Mu Qing snorted. “You idiot,” he said, “it’s clothes. General Nan Yang and I commissioned a robe which can be let out to a total girth of two hundred cun, or drawn in to a smaller size. It should be able to accommodate even your most intense stomach capacity training, Your Highness.”

He pulled a white bundle of shimmering silk out from a bag at his shoulder, and handed it with stiff decorum to Xie Lian, as if he were still a prince’s deputy in the High Court of the heavens.

“Please,” he said, voice somber, “we would be much obliged if you tried it on at your earliest convenience.”

“What he said,” added Feng Xin.

Xie Lian blinked, then accepted the parcel. It was soft in his hands, and much lighter than he would have expected. The silk was a pure and glossy white, and from within the folds, he glimpsed shimmers of gold trim.

“Okay,” Xie Lian said after a moment of admiration. “Thank you; this is very kind of you. How about if I try it on now?”

It was Feng Xin’s and Mu Qing’s turn to stare silently.

To the awkward silence, Xie Lian raised an eyebrow.

“Can’t stop you, I guess,” said Feng Xin.

“Lovely!” Xie Lian cheered.

Rising to his feet was not as easy a task as it usually was for Xie Lian’s spry and strapping body. Even as his belly happily digested its charge, it still took up space and weight upon his lap, and hence mobility. Gripping the table, he rose to his full height, and the girth of his middle loomed before Feng Xin and Mu Qing, who stayed seated.

Watching Xie Lian slip his outer robe off to reveal the bare expanse of his globelike gut, Feng Xin furrowed his brow and pressed a finger to his mouth, and Mu Qing faintly blushed.

“I know, I know,” Xie Lian said amiably, draping his old clothes over the back of a nearby chair. “Shameless old Xian Le, back at it again.”

“Just keep your pants on,” snapped Mu Qing. “We didn’t get you any new ones of those. Sorry.”

“I promise,” Xie Lian said.

Setting the silken bundle on a tabletop, he had to crane over himself to unwrap it. Nevertheless, he did so meticulously, glad for his clean hands so as not to stain the fine white cloth. After unfolding the garment, he shook it out before himself, watching its expansive folds billow through the air. He had never thought much of fancy clothes back when he wore them regularly, but something about this one warmed his heart.

It was absolutely massive, the size of a small room—though, as he draped it gracefully over his shoulders, he was surprised at how much of it was needed to cover him up.

The fabric fell light and soft atop his arms, and the fine gold patterns embroidered on the collar shimmered down his chest. After he had pulled the silk around his entire self, he felt blanketed in coolness, his belly enveloped in its gentle caress. He would feel like a king, draped in majesty and worship, if he could figure out how properly to wear it.

As Mu Qing had promised, there was much extra fabric around his chest and belly, falling atop him in big, rippling folds. Somewhere lower, more gold embroidery was stitched into some sort of pattern, and something that might have been the ends of a belt hung down at his sides. He frowned.

“Here,” Feng Xin said, rising to his feet, “if I may—”

Feng Xin approached Xie Lian, stepping before him to take the robe’s lapels into his hands, and carefully folded them into an attractively crisp pattern.

“Thanks for that,” Mu Qing said, crossing his arms.

Xie Lian smiled. “How wonderfully clever.”

“Yeah,” replied, Feng Xin. “We figured you’d need something that could continue to fit you, even as you… as your training sees better and better results.”

“How thoughtful!”

Feng Xin’s callused fingertips were careful as he smoothed the folds over Xie Lian’s still-sensitive belly. “And you tie it like this,” he said, and knelt to reach a spot below his belly’s mass. “Hopefully,” he said from beneath, “it won’t ever be uncomfortably tight.”

“You two have put a lot of care into this, haven't you?”

As Feng Xin emerged from tying his clothes, Xie Lian struck a feminine little pose, reminiscent of his days as a street performer, in spite of how different he looked here and now. As he attempted a twirl, his stomach sloshed, and he almost lost his balance, but steadied himself on the back of a chair. “Hehe, sorry.”

“Well,” said Mu Qing, “I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Likewise,” said Feng Xin. “I hope this will benefit your training.”

It sounded as if the pair of them were far more interested in Xie Lian’s unique training regimen than they let on. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’ve already had my big session for today. While the pair of you are welcome to come by for supper tonight, I’m afraid it will only be an average-sized meal.” He gave his tummy a pat. “You know what I always say about rest as a part of training.”

Both Feng Xin and Mu Qing rolled their eyes. “Yes,” they said in unison.

Xie Lian brightened. “But,” he said, “I do have some errands planned for this afternoon, upon which I would be tickled if you decided to join me.”

Feng Xin snorted.

“Errands?” Mu Qing said. “Your Highness, please. We’re not your servants anymore, remember?”

Xie Lian grinned. “Very well,” he said. “If your pride outweighs any desire to relive old times, I shan’t spite you for it.” He cocked his head apologetically. “I do have to go, though. I am so happy to see you two here, but my tasks for the day are waiting for me.”

“It’s not a problem,” said Feng Xin, forcibly averting his gaze from the bloated Xie Lian now clad in gold-trimmed silk. “This is all we really came here to do.”

“Yeah,” said Mu Qing, “we’re done. Both of us are our own gods, and have better things to do than sit here and ogle our old Crown Prince.”

This made Xie Lian smile. “Very well,” he said. “I’m off to check up on a few of my new shrines, then. Thank you again for these wonderful clothes.”

Turning with nothing more than a little nod, Xie Lian left his old clothes behind, knowing that Hua Cheng would find them later, and put them away with the utmost care. After picking his hat up from where it hung by the doorway, he stepped out into the fresh air.

The day outside was divinely temperate. Cool breezes blowing through the sunlit air just barely penetrated his feather-soft new robe. As a powerful god, it needed not take him more than a few moments to reach any location, but he moved slowly both to be gentle on his belly, and to enjoy the weather.

Along the way, he passed several small houses and settlements. At first, they were populated mostly by employees of Hua Cheng who had come from Ghost City to look after Xie Lian and their lord. These motley creatures, when they caught sight of Xie Lian, gazed reverently upon him, and a few even dared to wave. Xie Lian, of course, waved back cordially to every one of them, now and then stopping to make conversation. He spoke about his unusually bloated shape with forthright honesty, thanking those he recognized from the morning’s feast, and happily regaling others with the reason for his belly’s size. Every one in Hua Cheng’s employ was a friend, of this Xie Lian was firmly convicted.

As he traversed the land, however, human villages began to crop up, accompanied by the usual handfuls of people spending time outside their houses. Many of them stared as he passed by.

Xie Lian offered waves and greetings to all, in the way of the sometime fallen prince that he was. Even around those who froze in shock and made hushed whispers with their fellows, he made no effort to hide his belly, sometimes even cradling it as if he were a mother expecting a baby, and not but a very gorged martial god.

Amidst the lively people, gentle breezes, and happily digesting tummy, Xie Lian was forced to admit that he felt good.

At last, he came upon a shrine. It was one he was very fond of, small and rickety, though made up all of fresh-cut wood, defiant in its optimism, much like Xie Lian himself, and his own Puji Shrine.

Inside, a young maiden was busily sweeping what little dust and dirt she could find on the floor, all of it gathering into a central pile at the behest of her broom.

“Good afternoon!” Xie Lian called out to her.

The maiden turned, and went stock-still. She was more slight than the farmer who had come to Xie Lian with the request to be eaten. The look in her eyes, of pure wonder upon seeing her god in the flesh for the very first time, was nevertheless a perfect match for the other’s. He was reminded, fondly, of how Hua Cheng looked when he was a child—all his followers seemed to share some spark of mystical devotion, and for that Xie Lian felt divinely grateful.

“I cannot thank you enough for your upkeep of this place,” Xie Lian said, giving a little wave. “Everything you do is a help.”

A blush was quickly rising to her face. “Your Royal Highness Xie Lian,” she said faintly.

“A pleasure,” Xie Lian replied. “And might I have your name?”

The maiden’s broom was quivering in her hands. “Oh, Your Highness,” she said instead of answering him, “you look so majestic.” She steadied the broom, then picked it up, pressed it to her body, and bowed low to him.

“Well, thank you.”

Her voice came up in a squeak. “Would it… be… impertinent of me to ask…”

“Please,” Xie Lian said, “keep your chin up, miss. And whether it would be impertinent to ask, I cannot know without first hearing the question, now, can I?”

Slowly, she rose, and held the broomstick close to her, as if she wanted to hide behind it. “Have you,” she said, “...recently consumed a worshipper?”

Xie Lian looked at her scarlet face, then down at his belly, and laughed out loud.

She flinched. “I’m sorry—”

“No, no,” Xie Lian said. “In fact, I’m pleased that this was your impression of me.” Leaning on the wooden wall, he gave the maiden a rakish wink he never would have dared when he was still actually single. “While I will keep my general feeding habits a secret for now,” he said, “I will answer your question with honesty. Inside my belly right now, there is only food. No people, much less any living ones.”

“...Oh.”

From far away, some shouts came across the breeze, of farmers calling to each other over a field, and birdsong came in distant twitters, a cheerful prelude to the coming sunset. Within this shrine, however, all was silent, save for the gentle creaking of the wooden wall supporting Xie Lian’s weight.

“I promise, though,” he said, “that never would I eat you without your asking me first.”

The young woman did not reply.

“I am closed for inquiries right now, though,” he said, and drummed his fingers playfully atop his belly. “As you can see, I am already very full.”

#moray writes #stuffing

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