#i love them as if they were offspring i spawned

[artinandwritin]

This comment from @otwdfanfic on the first chapter of Promises, Promises (the sad fic I've been working on) made me WHEEZE cuz you're so right, it sounds absolutely insane

So I decided to doodle some gussiri on their very chaotic, very cool, very insane Berserker honeymoon (and I think theyre effing hilarious personally)

(gonna put it under the cut cuz there are so many doodles LMAO)

First off, I'm headcanoning the wallmarket board is still stored somewhere and these two somehow managed to find it

Dagur being the best mentor ever and getting his apprentice out of bed in the morning (gussiri ain't amused)

They're being chased (by little Rune, who has a knife and wants to play)

They did end up exploring the caves together and did not have a good time

Theyre very tiny and very cute and they're my tiny children LOOK AT THEIR LITTLE FACES

Lastly, I think they deserve to be happy together but seeing where the fic is headed they won't be very happy or together :(

My style changed like 4 times while doodling these throughout today and hey I ain't mad about it

[dark-and-kawaii]

Who would babytrap you out of the bg3 men 🙈

୨♡୧ Baby Trapping ୨♡୧

Halsin - Gale - Haarlep - Raphael - Gortash - Rolan

⋆˙⟡♡ Notes: Yes. Absolutely Yes. I got you babes xoxo

⋆˙⟡♡ NSFW | Breeding | Creampie | Baby Trapping

╰› Halsin’s obsession with you reached dangerous heights, fueled by a possessive jealousy that consumed his every thought. He knows the depths of his actions are morally wrong, but his desire for you overrides any rationality that remains within him. The way that other Druid looks at you, their eyes hungering for your body, it stirs an animalistic rage within Halsin.

Feigning urgency on important matters, deceiving both you and the unsuspecting Druid whom he pulled you away from, Halsin leads you deep into the forest, where his intentions come to fruition. Overwhelmed by his uncontrollable lust, he takes you forcefully, ravishing you until you're reduced to a quivering, moaning mess. The ecstasy of the moment blinds you as he spills his seed inside you without restraint, his desire to impregnate you driving him further.

Halsin wrestles with the weight of his actions, he knows it’s wrong to wish you pregnant like this, but the beast inside him demands otherwise. You, his chosen mate, his partner, you are his alone and he’ll make sure all the others know this.

╰› Haarlep is both possessive & greedy, always wanting more, especially if you’re Raphael’s little mouse. Haarlep’s not afraid to claim you as their toy if you’ve truly caught their attention. Through a combination of enchantment and manipulation the incubus ensnares you, captivating your senses and dominating your every thought. They exploit your deepest desires, using their irresistible allure to draw you deeper into their web of possession.

Your mind becomes foggy, a euphoric haze engulfing you, but it feels so damn good. The pleasure is intoxicating, so intense that the means by which it is achieved becomes inconsequential. All you crave is more. Haarlep's beautiful cock slides effortlessly into your eager depths, fitting you perfectly, as if it were the only thing that could ever satiate your desires. They make you yearn for their touch, their love, their vile seed. They use you as they please, taking what they desire from your body while painting your gummy walls white, leaving you begging, pleading for Haarlep to cum deep within Raphael’s precious little mouse, “P-please~ Cum n’inside Raphael’s s’little m-mouse!~”

By the time you come to your senses it’ll be too late. You’re nice and bloated with the creatures cum, they’ve claimed you, your body belongs to Haarlep now, and you will serve them well as the mother of their demon spawn.

╰› Raphael is filled with insecurities and has been his whole life but never dares show it. Not until you feel how how desperate his thrusts become, it’s almost pitiful. He’s so desperate to fill you with his offspring, it’s his way of proving to the infernal realms that he is the strongest, capable of producing the finest progeny to aid in his conquests and ruling.

Master manipulator, skilled at using his charm he'll make sure to bend your will to his desires, will purposely breakdown your defenses, prey upon your deepest fears and own insecurities, exploiting them to gain complete control over your body and soul.

“You need me,” is all he says, his eyes fixated on the way your tight cunt accommodates him with each forceful thrust. Each time he goes deeper and deeper causing you to whimper and clench his luxurious sheets… You can feel the bulge in your stomach each time the head of his shaft brushes against your cervix. It becomes evident that he places his ambitions and pleasure above all else, including your own needs and desires.

╰› Gortash deeply adores and values your presence, which is why he indulges in serving you drinks until you reach a delightful state of inebriation. Although you had expressed how you don’t wish to have another child, Gortash holds a different perspective on the matter. Not only has Bane compelled him to father more offspring, but Gortash himself yearns to create more beautiful children with you. And so, he will pursue that desire.

You hate how good it feels to have his cock filling you up, how euphoric and mind numbing it is. The alcohol in your system heightens the pleasure, it’s what has you creaming and cumming around Enver’s cock as he violates you, fucking you as if you wanted this. Gortash thrusts into you with a fervor that momentarily blurs the lines of consent, disregarding your wishes and capitalizing on the intoxication he facilitated.

"My dear, you are meant to grant me the joy of having the children I long for," he grunts. You attempt to shake your head, genuinely striving to communicate your objections, but the overwhelming pleasure drowns your attempts, leaving your mind awash in a sea of pleasure. He captures your lips in a possessive kiss, his desire evident in the intensity of his embrace, while his fingers dig into the softness of your thighs, marking you until you bleed. Finally, he releases a torrent of his cum deep within your fertile womb, leaving the possibility of new life to blossom within you.

╰› Rolan never really liked the idea of children, especially to sire his own. They were loud, smelly and a massive responsibility. However, once you came into his life that all began to change… Especially after your precious visit to Lorroakan’s tower… The way that man took hold of your hand and kissed the back of it as if he was paying homage to a queen or goddess made Rolan want to tear him apart limb from limb, his tail whipping back and forth.

That night something snapped within Rolan, the tiefling wanted nothing more than to make sure you were his, not that he feared of losing you or anything but it was as if his body needed to ensure that no other male could take you away. After all, who would want you if you were swollen with a “Hell spawn’s” child?

Rolan had never released himself inside you, so you were shocked when you felt a thick warm substance coating your insides as well as the his cock. You gasped at the feeling, looking back up at Rolan who was biting his lip, he didn't look at all fazed by this. No, instead he looked as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Rolan held your hips tightly as he pulled out of you, a small bit of his cum escaping and sliding down your inner thigh before thrusting back inside you. one load wasn’t enough, he needed to be sure…

╰› Gale is obsessed with creampies and breeding along with the idea of you carrying his children. He becomes consumed by the singular desire to impregnate you, their beloved. The images that flood his mind of you and him walking around Waterdeep, his hand on your swollen belly, it drives him insane.

He’d tell you there’s nothing to fear, that he won’t cum within you, instead he’ll decorate your perfect tummy with his cum… Only for him to lie and actually release his seed against your cervix. His grunts fill the room along with false apologies.

The kind of man to spike your drink so you sleep soundly as he fucks you nice and deep. It only takes a few mere moments until he's cumming deep inside you. Don't worry, he always does his best to clean you up so you aren't suspicious. The next morning he'd feign concern when you awake drowsy not feeling the best, a new cup of tea awaiting you in his hands.

[faerievampling]

Miracle - Part 2

Summary: Astarion asks a pregnant Tav to marry him and settle down for a bit. Can be read as a stand alone story!

Word count: 2.1k

Pairing: Spawn!Astarion x F!Tav / Reader

Link to Part 1

Link to Ao3

My Masterlist

Warnings: 18+! Explicit! Astarion being a perv for pregnant Tav! Pregnancy kink. Breeding kink. PiV. Vaginal fingering. Cunnilingus. Body worship. Panty sniffing. Mention of body changes, symptoms of pregnancy.

A/N: Do y'all want more of these two? because I have more. I hope you enjoy!

You and your beloved continue to travel and work. Despite being expert adventures, you both had decided on taking low risk journeys and dealings. You were lucky to have found an enchanted ring long ago, one that allowed your vampire to walk in the sun, so there was no disruption to your living schedule.

Astarion insisted that you take it easy, and had even wanted you to stop traveling altogether, but he could only get you to acquiesce to directly participating in battles.

But you were starting to get rather big, and you weren’t so quick or nimble as you once were. The extra weight was daunting on you.

You are nearing the end of your pregnancy, now.

“Darling, you know I’m not one for…tradition, or convention, or any of that,” Astarion said one day as he massages your swollen hands. You were propped up in bed, your legs draped over Astarion's lap as he sat upright, working the fluids out with his strong digits. It was hard work, growing a baby, and strange things happened, like swollen hands. “But, I was reading something the other day…”

“Oh?”

“In one of my romance novels…you know the ones,” Astarion admits coyly, and you smile, nodding because he had shared this guilty pleasure with you before. “In one of them, the love interest wanted the mother of his child to share the same surname as their offspring. And he, the love interest, wanted to also share…this last name with them.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“What do you think of that?” Astarion inquires coquettishly, turning on an almost boyish, shy charm that makes your heart swoon.

“I think it’s romantic. The love interest wants his family united, and I think that’s lovely,” You say. “What do you think about it, Astarion?”

“I think I want that. With you.” Astarion turns your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “I don’t care to do it traditionally, I just want you to be mine. I’ve already talked to Wyll.”

Astarion moves your legs off his lap onto the bed, moving for his things across your suite. The two of you were quite wealthy at this point, and had found a lovely little inn to stay in outside of Athkatla, the capital of Amn.

Astarion produces an envelope, pulling out the papers inside before handing them over to you. Astarion, not having the patience for you to actually look them over, tells you that it is the paperwork for an annulment of his death certificate, an official acknowledgement of the destruction of a previous marriage, and a marriage license –

“Wait a minute,” You stop him.

Astarion has an ‘I’ve been caught’ look on his face. “Ugh, I had hoped you’d just ignore that part I sandwiched in there.”

You knit your eyebrows together, shaking your head at him. “I’m no stranger to your ‘sandwich’ tactics, Astarion,” You quip back. “A previous marriage?”

“One that I have no memory of and was contractually destroyed upon my first death. Now that I’m legally alive again, and they are still alive, it’s just to acknowledge that marriage is no longer legitimate, so that our marriage is.”

“Oh,” You say, digesting these two things at once; Astarion had an ex-husband or wife, and he was asking you to marry him right now.

“I figured we could go back to Baldur’s Gate for a while, get Wyll’s stamp of approval, and there was that midwife Shadowheart suggested to us…” Astarion trailed off, his mind wandering at all the things there was to do. “You should probably get a check up. It's been a while, darling, and my 'inspections' of you are hardly medical in nature.”

You give him a gentle smack on the shoulder, prompting a handsome smirk from him before you narrow your eyes at him. You knew he was going to tell you that now was the time to settle down. You knew it was coming.

“Don’t look at me like that. Not after what I’ve just asked of you.” His rounded eyes look away from you, like he’s embarrassed.

You change your tune, realizing you’re being a jackass. You ease yourself out of bed, Astarion rushing to help you. You take his arm, and once on your feet, you place your hands on his chest, looking up at him as he looks away from your cleavage, meeting your gaze.

“Astarion, of course I’ll marry you,” You say with a smile, bringing him into a tender kiss. Astarion cups your cheek with one hand and a breast with another: he has become rather obsessed with them lately.

“I guess I’m just not ready for our grand adventure to end.” You explain, tears in your eyes as you think about all the change that’s to come.

Astarion cradles you closer. “My love, this is just the start of a new adventure. And let’s be reasonable, we both know you’re terribly uncomfortable with all the traveling. Don’t you want to just rest your tired, but very sexy body for the last part of your pregnancy, my darling?”

You couldn’t help but agree.

He’s being cheeky, trying to hide the tears that have welled up in his eyes. Astarion has never known family. He couldn’t fathom having a wife, nonetheless a pregnant one. But here he was, with the object of his desire in his arms.

“I love you so much, Tav. I just want you and our child to be safe.” Astarion says. “Baldur’s Gate is the safest place for us. All of our friends are there, we have ample protection and resources – don’t make me beg.”

You’re back in Baldur’s Gate before you know it.

———

The night you arrive, you and Astarion stay at Jaheira’s house; the two of you are utterly exhausted from your travels, and you collapse in bed.

Astarion watches as you lie on your side, trying to find a pillow to place beneath your large, aching belly. Realizing how little options you had, Astarion lies beside you, snaking his hand beneath your belly.

“Ah,” You say in relief, earning a smile from Astarion, who just wanted you to be comfortable. He had seen how hard your pregnancy had been.

“I guess it’s alright if you use my pillow, darling. I wouldn’t be opposed to staying just like this, though.” Astarion’s voice is light and gentle, the smoothness filing your ears in a pleasurable way. “We have a long day tomorrow. We’ll likely be at the courthouse all day…”

Astarion shivers at the thought, giving a dramatic sigh, making you laugh.

“Could you imagine going back to that? Being a magistrate? Spending all day in the courtroom settling legal disputes and passing ‘Astarion approved’ laws?” You smile over your shoulder at him; a perfect opportunity to steal a sweet kiss, Astarion plants one on your cheek as he chuckles.

“No, certainly not. I love being an adventurer with you.” Astarion places another kiss on you, this time to your neck. “But I may have to find something to do in the meantime while our little one is…well, little.”

“What do you have in mind?” You ask as you intertwine your fingers with his, the warmth in your chest nearly bringing tears to your eyes.

“I’ve got a few options. You know that Jaheira wants me to help her recruit more Harpers in the city, but that sounds like far more trouble than it’s worth. Maybe I’ll work in the city with Wyll, continuing to help with the various outreach programs he's implemented as Duke," Astarion explains as he listens to the beating of the hearts of both his child and his beloved.

He can tell once you've fallen asleep, but he keeps talking, because he can feel the fluttering in your stomach as his child responds to his voice.

It takes everything in him not to choke up.

---

The next day, you try look as beautiful and bridal as you can being so heavily pregnant. But today was the day you’d become an Ancunín, and you wanted to look nice.

“A pregnant bride is so very scandalous,” Astarion teased as he watched you dress. Your husband-to-be was a bit of a peeping tom.

Astarion picks up last nights panties you discarded on the floor.

“Tsk tsk. You can’t be so messy, my wife.” Astarion was testing the word on his tongue, bringing the fabric that absorbed your carnal scent to his nose, inhaling as he gazed at you devilishly.

You blush, rolling your eyes at him as you slip on a new pair, but Astarion stops you, beckoning you to him.

Astarion sits on the edge of your bed, bringing your body between his thighs as his pretty lips circle the tip of your breast, gently suckling your nipple as he flicks his tongue against you.

“So sensitive…” You moan, but you make no motion to move away, so Astarion doesn’t stop.

“Mmm,” He moans back, his hand moving from the curve of your belly to your slick mound, which was also increasingly sensitive as you got further in your pregnancy.

Astarion tenderly massages the folds of your cunt, easing a finger between your walls as he brings his thumb to caress your swollen clitoris, the very one that he was dreaming of devouring with his tongue after he gave your gorgeous breasts the proper attention they deserved, of course.

Astarion loved you like this. Swollen with his child, evidence of being filled to the brim with his come. His sensitive nose could smell your ‘baby’ hormones that made your skin glow, made your hair thick and shiny.

It made him ravenous. You were absolutely gorgeous to Astarion.

He couldn’t even believe it, really. It had been nearly seven months since the two of you found out, seven months of adventuring, of watching your body change, and it awakened something within him.

Although you often complained how swollen you felt, Astarion loved the way you looked: your nipples and labia puffy, clit engorged, your ringed muscle puckered, your stomach rounded and full.

Not to mention how desperate you were for him; you quivered under his every touch. You were just so responsive, so sensitive, like your every nerve was on fire for him; he couldn’t help but indulge you whenever possible. He just wanted to touch you, to watch you squirm, to look at your body and know that you, your womb, is his.

Astarion stands up and gently pushes your back against a wall as he moves to get on his knees, lifting a thigh up and to the side as he kisses down your inflated stomach.

Reaching up to take a breast in his hand, Astarion brings his mouth to your center, engaging your core with his lips. He brings your folds into his mouth, sucking and caressing your sex with his tongue.

He just wants to worship your body. He needs just a taste of you, of your depths, and he plunges his tongue between your folds, gathering your juices on his lips before focusing on that sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of your mound.

You’re delicious, beautiful and maternal, pliant in his hands as he reaches two fingers into your depths, reaching behind your clitoris to rub your spongey walls. His motions have you seeing white, causing your breasts to heave and bounce as your body clenches around his dexterous fingers.

He loves the way you drag your fingers through his hair; feeling your nails on his scalp sends shivers throughout his body.

Astarion pulls away as you come undone, watching as you writhe above him. Astarion is fully holding you up with his strong hands, making him feel like quite the family man at this moment, physically carrying both his bride and his child in his hands.

He still can’t believe this.

Astarion brings the both of you to the bed, stripping his clothes off as you get comfortable, maneuvering yourself for his entry.

Being so large, you couldn’t lie on your back anymore, and riding him was far too difficult, so you opted to bend yourself over, putting pillows beneath you in all the right places to ensure your comfort.

Astarion moans at the sight of you exposing yourself to him.

“Fucking yes, my love. You’re so beautiful, Tav.” Astarion grasps his wet cock. He’s dripping with so much pre-cum that he’s almost surprised, and he uses it to wet his member, which so desperately needs to be inside of you. "If I could just keep you like this forever..."

Astarion pulls back his foreskin with his thrusting motions, moving the skin up and down his shaft, groaning as he admires you.

Parting your folds with his finger and thumb, Astarion lines himself up with your entrance before enveloping himself into your warmth, earning a gasp from him at the sensation.

“Gods, you feel even tighter, Tav, with my child in you…” Astarion drifts off, the squelching and slapping of skin on skin making him entirely forget himself.

Astarion felt your waves of pleasure wash over you as you coiled around the base of his cock. With two fingers, Astarion massages that sweet button of yours, causing you to gush even harder around him, your orgasm evident in your entire being: you cried his name as you convulsed around him, giving him your milky come.

Astarion followed soon after, releasing his seed deep inside you as he spoke a love confession in your ear. Careful not to collapse on top of you, Astarion rolled over, giving you space to catch your breath.

Your muscles were already exhausted, fatigued from pregnancy and your spasming muscles. Astarion starts to mindlessly rub your back as you lay on your side, giggling as he draws you into his chest.

“Well, now I’ve got to fix myself,” You say, moving to stand before Astarion pulls you back into him.

“Maybe you should go just like this. Full belly, looking freshly fucked and used by your husband-to-be.” Astarion kisses your cheek, nuzzling his nose into your face as he does.

“Ha. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You giggle as your beloved finally releases you. Once you’ve fixed your makeup and properly dressed yourselves, the two of you walk out into the streets of Baldur’s Gate, hand in hand.

A few hours later, you would be known as Tav Ancunín, and your stomach leapt with joy at the thought. It wouldn’t be long, now.

Masterlist

[thewriterwithnoplan]

THE TRAITOR'S SOULMATE (2/2)

Summary: Humans once had four legs, four arms, two heads, and two hearts. For humanity's hubris, Zeus struck them in two. You and Luke Castellan are determined to find your way back to each other, but before that can happen, there are things the two of you need to do.

[Part 2 to The Hero's Soulmate]

Soulmate AU: You meet the future version of your soulmate.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Word Count: 7378

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, I use the spelling 'mom' because the series is American but I - and I cannot stress this enough - am not American, she a long one.

A/N: I've loved reading your comments, thank you so much for all the support in part one. I hope you enjoy, because we all deserve a little Luke Castellan every now and then!

Masterlist

Amphitrite had been gifted a premonition and the world was all the worse for it. The dream had come from Apollo or perhaps the Oneiroi or whatever great heart pumped blood and Gods and monsters out into the world.

It did not matter to the Goddess from whom the vision came, for in this dream Amphitrite had watched her husband fall in love and sire a child to a mortal paramour. A precious boy that Poseidon might even one day love, with a taste for the colour blue and a heroism that would grow to rival his namesake. And for the Queen of the Seas, that simply would not do.

It would not be the child’s nor his mortal mother’s fault – she was not Hera after all – and so she would have to punish her husband for the blame would be his. But how was one to punish a King among Gods before his crime even came to be? Why to beat him at his own game, of course.

So, Amphitrite set out to sire her own demigod with the mortal man her husband would hate most. A devout catholic.

Amphitrite stayed with her mortal lover and their half-blood daughter until the girl was all but five.  Far longer than the greater Gods were wont to spend with their offspring. But what a precious babe she had bourn and what a traitorous husband she had back home.

But fate and prophecies and soulmates were such funny things. Inciting chaos. Inviting paradox. Introducing dangers untold.

It took Amphitrite all those years – though seemingly short in her immortality – to realise her fatal error. She had been the one to leave Poseidon. She had been the one to sire a child. She had been the one to drive her husband to the surface and his mortal. And so, the blame was hers to shoulder.

Amphitrite decided that she would be a self-fulfilling prophecy no longer. It was time to venture back below the surface.

In a last fit of guilt, she bestowed her first and final act of mercy unto her mortal lover. She told him everything.

When finally, she had gone back to the sea to reconcile with her husband, the catholic man took his turn to bestow his first and final act of mercy unto his young demigod child.

Against all the teachings of his faith. He abandoned his young daughter at Half-Blood Hill. And let the devil-spawn keep her life.

The Spirit of the Hudson River never did learn to like you. You with your greedy hands, snatching debris from its murky waters. You and your strange sea creature friends who would not dare brave such pollution were it not for your presence. Your pile of war spoils tossed aside like children’s toys. Your strange little bubble of air on the sandy floor of the river, where you stowed your treasures and slept bracketed by water. Were it not for the pollution that slopped against the edge of the river as if it were trying to escape you, the Hudson River Spirit might have chased you and your sea friends and your collection of trinkets out of his waters. But as it were, you made a strangely amicable tenant for a demigod. So, as long as you paid your dues the spirit let you keep your little underwater oasis.

For your first years living there, you made your way in New York City by selling lost things dredged from your river home. Bikes and old weaponry and tarnished jewellery and buckets of coins from across the world. You were careful and you coveted your few precious belongings, but with the rivers bounty, you rarely went hungry.

By the time you were fourteen, you found you could venture further into the city without as many questions. You had met an odd assortment of people whilst selling the lost and unloved things of the river; all who knew someone, who knew someone, who needed another set of hands and so you offered yours. You babysat and cleaned, worked in delis and sandwich shops, helped old women with their groceries and young families mend their clothes. A retired teacher gifted you packets of schoolwork and with little else to fill your hours under the river you took to learning. Your numbers came easier than letters and reading always gave you a hard time but the activities she gave you each time you tended to her balcony garden gave you something to do when the sounds of the city kept you up at night.

All the while you followed Percy Jackson from the recesses of the Hudson. Shuffling your little bubble and its blessedly dry treasures up and then back down the river as he was bounced listlessly from school to school. Watching over him as the mythosphere tried desperately to barge into his little mortal life. Feral harpies that tried to snatch him into the air, great snakes that tried to sneak through air vents and all manner of underworld-born sea creatures that sought to pull him below. You had wrestled and dismembered and slayed them all. Adding their feathers and scales and great weapons to your dragons-hoard.

You were sixteen when you finally knocked on Sally Jackson’s door to introduce yourself. You had spent weeks working yourself up to it, planning your outfit and then fussing over each piece. All your clothes had been gifts and were often a size too big or printed with some generic tagline like Spread peace not hate!; or made entirely from yarn that the old woman whose meals you prepped at the start of each week had gifted you after she had taught you how to crochet; or like the dress you wore now, were sown together from thrifted fabric scraps and embellished with pretty shells and baroque pearls. You had planned the time you would arrive down to the minute so that her oppressive husband would be out, but the hour would not be so late as to make an unexpected visit threatening. You had planned to keep Percy safe while you were away from him by entrusting your friends Clarence the Crab and Emily the Squid to supervise him for the evening.

What you had not planned for was the possibility that Sally Jackson would be the most lovely woman you had ever met. You had been struck dumb by it the moment she opened her door and greeted you with a kind smile. Couldn’t your mother have chosen a mortal as gentle as she to be your parent? Alas, the Gods had never done a thing for you.

“Can I help you, lovely?”

You tried not to burst into tears as you asked, “Mrs. Jackson?”

“Are you alright?” She opened the door wider, leant out and scanned the corridor behind you. “Is there something you need?”

“No ma’am. I’m here about your son, Percy. His father sent me.” A good ambiguous statement that would pique her curiosity but let on nothing about the Gods. Allowing you to spin your tale – that you were Percy’s long-lost step-sister, come to reconnect. 

“Poseidon?” Alas, the Gods had truly never done a thing for you. “Is something wrong? Is Percy, okay?”

“He’s fine Mrs. Jackson, I’ve been keeping him safe.” 

She scanned the hall behind you once more, “You best come in.”

Over a cup of tea, you told Sally Jackson everything.

You liked your home under the river. For lack of a better term, it allowed you to remain liquid. You could follow Percy wherever trouble took him. You could stay up until the city grew quiet for that brief moment before dawn. You could train with the Hudson River Spirit, even if he only entertained you because he enjoyed winning.

You liked your bed made out of stacked wood pallets and a mountain of blankets. You liked your wooden chest of draws stuffed full of trinkets and weapons and the precious few items you owned. You liked this place that you had carved out with your own two hands.

But you also liked your home in the Jackson household. Where there was always music playing. Where it was always warm and dry. Where there would always be some blue-ified food in the oven or blue candy in the mason jars by the sink.

It became your job in the summers to babysit Percy, to keep him away from Gabe and from danger while entertaining his endless need for motion. You took him to art galleries (which he hated) and aquariums (which he loved), to craft fairs (which he tolerated because he liked the things you made) and swimming pools (which he only liked when he won your swimming races).

“What even is a soulmate?” Percy had asked you one day at the park.

“The person with the other half of your soul,” You scrunched your nose up, “Or well, that's what people say.”

“You’re saying I’ve been walking around with half a soul?”

“I didn’t say I believed them,” You rattled your water bottle in front of his face until he took it. “Stay hydrated.”

He frowned at you, “You don’t believe in soulmates?”

“Of course I do, but it's a little more complicated than that, kid.” You took the water bottle back and played with the cap for a moment while you thought. “Think of it like this. You can have two different puzzles that are cut the same way, right? So all the pieces from one will fit with all the pieces from the other. But that doesn’t mean they belong together, the picture doesn’t come out quite right because even though the pieces fit, they don’t necessarily belong to the same puzzle. Maybe that’s what it was like for your mom, like she couldn’t find the pieces that made up her picture and so she went with the ones that fit at the time.”

“You don’t think my mom and dad were soulmates?”

“I never met your father.”

“But he’s your dad too.”

“He’s my mom’s husband. Maybe my mom and dad are soulmates.” Percy didn’t seem to like that answer.  “Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe your mom and my mom each have pieces that fit into your dad's puzzle but neither match his picture, or both. Maybe his picture is a year with your mom and a lifetime with mine and having you. Maybe he needs to collect all those little pieces at the right time when they’re the right shape or he’ll end up with a completely different picture at the end.”

“I kind of understand.” But he gave you a look that said he probably didn’t. “What picture are you making?”

You hid your smile behind the lip of your water bottle, “My soulmates about yay-high, pretty as a magazine cover with dimples and all. I’m collecting my puzzle pieces with you and your mom and this city so that I’ll have half of his picture.”

“If you know who he is, why don’t you just go find him now?”

“Still looking for some pieces, I guess.” You kicked a rock with the toe of your boot. “Souls are fragile. If you go rushing in and trying to jam the pieces in when they’re not shaped right just yet you could damage them.”

“What happens if you do that?”

“It’s probably harder to find each other in the next life. You’ll chip pieces away and your souls won’t fit right.” You shoved your hands into the pockets of your cardigan and pulled out a sandwich, you gave Percy the bigger half.

“Who taught you all this?”

“My mom used to tell me and well, I've thought about it a lot.” You tugged Percy by the back of his shirt so he didn't go stomping through a puddle, he glared. “But anyway, some people think it’s just fate. That you find your soulmate no matter what and it’s a perfect fit either way.”

“It would be easier that way.”

“Sometimes that’s just not how the story goes, kid.”

Percy thought that was the most important thing anyone had ever taught him, but he figured some of the other stuff you taught him came in handy too. You taught him the tricks you learned to work around your dyslexia. You taught him to skip stones and to not throw rocks at seagulls. You taught him to flip off the Empire State Building but only when his mom wasn’t around. You taught him to knit and do a cartwheel and make a good cup of tea to take his mother in the morning. You taught him to chew with his mouth shut and to sword fight with wrapping paper rolls. You taught him to braid hair and throw a punch and say all the swears in Ancient Greek.

And then one day, a Satyr came for Percy Jackson, and there was nothing left for you to teach. 

You wrote Sally a brief letter of warning, picked your way through seven years’ worth of belongings and collapsed your life into a backpack. You said goodbye to Clarence and Emily with a brief promise to visit, pushed a final wave of pollution from the waters and thanked the Hudson River Spirit for his hospitality. He gifted you sixteen perfect round pearls and insisted that he never wanted to see you again. You spent the bus ride to Long Island threading them into a necklace made of fishing wire, tying off each pearl with your teeth. 

It was a tentative tradition between demigod soulmates to exchange gifts upon their first meeting. So few and far between were the possessions of a half-blood that even the smallest bauble would likely mean the world. The practice had died out some over the centuries as the Gods received fewer offerings from mortals and turned to their children for sacrifices. Gift-giving to your soulmate as a demigod became all but synonymous with spitting at the feet of the divine and loudly proclaiming you would make offerings to your soulmate instead. A pearl necklace would be an excellent final addition to the collection of small gifts you had assembled over the years. Let the Gods weep at your feet and beg for scraps if they needed them so much, you would ignore them just as they had ignored you. 

You arrived at Camp far sooner than you might have liked, a few hours past mid-day when hopefully the rest of your ilk would be occupied with meaneal chores and activities. You considered waiting at the crest of the hill for someone to notice you only to find a pine tree planted firmly at its peak where you might have stood. Instead, you make the alarmingly easy trek down to the Big House.

“Chiron!” He had always been your favourite of the two men, currently sat on the porch drinking juice and playing cards. 

“Yes, my girl?” He barely spared you a glance as he shuffled his cards between his weathered hands. He stilled for a moment and then tossed his head back in the way a horse might toss its mane. “My dear!” 

You raised a hand, halfway between a salute and a wave, “Nice to know I haven’t been totally forgotten.”

“Au contraire.” Mr. D stuck his nose up at you. “Which one are you again?” 

“The little one that went missing some seven years ago,” Chiron stood as you climbed the stairs onto the porch. “How are you, my dear? Where have you been?”

“Shouldn’t you be at Yancy Academy?”

Mr. D’s eyes turned sharp in the way that had once made your friends whisper that some days, he was more maniac than man , “And how do you know about that little girl?”

“Percy Jackson is at Yancy,” You smiled at him, all teeth, “How did you think he survived long enough for your baby satyr to find him?” 

“You have been protecting young demi-gods?” Chiron asked wearily. 

“Percy Jackson is a full-time job, I’m afraid,” You tugged at the strap of your backpack, praying you could keep control of the conversation. You had a lot of time under the river to think and this was one of many things you had spent countless hours mulling over. Weighing and considering what story you would tell them – to tell the truth of both your parentage and put Percy in harm's way or to lie and balance your life on its sharp edge. “I found him in Manhattan, he was like a magnet for mythological activity. By the time I’d had enough of rebelling and wanted to come back to camp, I was protecting him from attacks every other week. He wouldn’t have lasted a month. I came back as soon as I could.” 

No matter how many times you played it out in your head, the lies won every time. 

“Kids.” Mr. D threw back the last of his juice.

“Perhaps you should settle back into the Hermes Cabin, dear.” Chiron smiled down at you, the corners of his eyes pinched, “You’ve given myself and Mr. D much to talk about. We’ll settle the issue of your paperwork tomorrow.”

“Of course.” You rustled through your bag, digging up a palm sized statuette that you set onto the table. “Before I forget, I brought you a gift Mr. D.”

“A toy,” He snatched it up. “Oh joy.”

“It’s you, as the mortals’ see you. It’s from the gift shop at the Met.”

“How kind of you, my dear.” Chiron softened, and you watched as even Mr. D’s temper seemed to ease, his hands gentle around the gift as he admired it. 

An unseeing piece of plastic for the God who served as no more than a silent observer over the affairs of the camp. Let him choke on his ego, you thought as you left the pair to their discussion. 

Cabin 11 was blessedly empty when you entered, but your old bunk was not. A pile of clothes was thrown haphazardly across the bedspread. You snatched a sleeping bag and a lumpy pillow from the storage closet and threw them down with your bag. If you could not have the bunk that had been yours at twelve, you would claim the corner that had been yours at five. As you shook out the sleeping bag and pulled out your belongings, you tried not to think of your bed of blankets under the river or Sally Jackson’s couch. 

Instead you turned your mind to the Big House and the conversation that was no doubt happening within. 

You had constructed a perfect image, if you did say so yourself. Grown in ways Mr. D could not have predicted but Chiron would insist he had foreseen. Still a rebellious young woman in the mortal sense, with your scuffed leather boots and ripped jeans. But the parts that had screamed ‘insubordination’ to the Gods were neatly tucked away. Your twin knives strapped to your forearms under the billowing sleeves of your crocheted top, your vicious tongue caged behind a sweet grin, your once sharp stare softened at the edges.

Once you had fashioned yourself so that the Gods could not paint you as a hero, now you fashioned yourself so that they might forget you were an enemy. 

Let Chiron think you were a misunderstood wayward girl scout come home from her self-imposed quest. Let Mr. D think you were a stupid girl who had seen the world beyond the Gods’ protection and finally accepted that you needed them. Let them all think wrong. You had left to protect your brother and returned for one reason only. 

“You’re here.” 

You turned, and there he was, “Luke Castellan.” 

He opened his mouth and then closed it, limbs jerking slightly as if he wasn’t sure whether to move toward you or stay put. He was almost certain you could hear the way his pulse was racing, his heartbeat clanging wildly in his chest as he searched desperately for a suave reply, but everything else seemed lack lustre when you said his name like that.

Your face twisted into something like anger and for a moment he thought he’d messed it all up before your lips curled and you practically spat, “I do like your scar.”

And then he was laughing at you, wild and bewildered and not the least bit contained. Before long you were laughing too, neither of you quite sure what was funny, just so wholly relieved as your chests were flooded with wonder and warmth.

It felt like fireworks and popping candy. Just as he had promised all those years ago. You resisted the urge to throw up on his Converse. 

You might have been crying and he might been too but you weren’t exactly sure because one moment you were both laughing at nothing and the next he was on the floor with you. He held you like he had never held a single thing in his life, like he was lost at sea and you were the only solid thing for miles. He tucked your head under his chin and sucked in great forced breaths that you could feel beneath your cheek. Because he was warm and there and real. And that meant the last seven years, the better part of your life, hadn’t been for nothing. 

 You and Luke make your way to dinner side by side. You had spent the afternoon rambling about your lives, about your meetings with your future selves, about your home under the river, about his responsibilities as a camp counsellor and yours as your brother’s keeper. He told you about Annabeth and Thalia and the rest of his siblings, you told him about your parents and Sally Jackson and your sea friends. You gave him his necklace which he lets you fix in place at the base of his throat – you do not spend a moment too long running your hand up the back of his neck and through his curls. 

He had been almost bashful when he gifted you a watch that matched his, inlaid with twin fragments of mother of pearl taken from the same shell – kind of like your soul had been, he had said. You swear you’ve never owned anything as precious. You let him strap it to your wrist as he tells you about spending a summer diving for it in the lake. And then softly, tentatively, he tells you about his quest.

Luke could have cried from the way you were looking at him alone, so very gently, like you could cradle him with your gaze alone. At a loss for words, you simply whispered, “I am so proud of you.”

His grip is iron-clad and you tell your next story with your face pressed into the side of his neck, pretending you can’t feel him shaking softly. 

When you make your way to dinner you’re both glowing with the soft exhaustion of emotion. You all but lean against one another as you collect your goblets and fill your plates.

The other campers steer clear of you, content to leave Luke to chauffeuring the new kid around. You count yourself lucky, it was only a matter of time until one of the older campers recognised you.

You were almost to the end of the Hermes table – that perfect spot at the end where you might just have a chance of holding a private conversation after dinner – when Chiron interrupted you. 

“Mr. Castellan, I see you’ve acquainted yourself with our newly returned camper.”

“That’s my job, sir.” You tried not to stare at the crooked smile he flashed the centaur. 

“Perhaps you ought to show her how to make an offering,” Chiron says pointedly, “She’s been away for a long time, and it’s your responsibility to treat her as you would any other incoming Camper.”

Luke turned to you, his boyish grin still charming but the mirth leaking out of his eyes, “Of course. Do you remember how it’s done?” 

“I do. Just not a lot of food to be spared in the mortal world.” 

You squinted, the corners of your mouth pulled up in what Chiron would likely mistake for sheepishness. But Luke could see it in your eyes. How your anger had made you pointy in all the places someone your age ought to be soft. He wondered how all the jagged edges of you would feel against all the jagged edges of him. He thought maybe if the two of you were careful, you could make something smooth as sea glass and twice as pretty, together.

You dump a clump of mashed potatoes into the fire with an unconcerned flick of your fork. Luke lops part of his own meal on top of yours, you glare enviously at the reasonable portion he had left on his plate. You hoped the food would burn at the bottom of the braiser. 

“Sorry, sir.” You mocked Luke. He stuck his tongue at you once Chiron had turned his back. 

You hurried to snag the seat at the end of his table, sliding into place across from each other. You flounder for a moment, wondering whether to draw your legs as far under your seat as they will go or bask in the gentle brush of his knee against his leg. You settle for the latter and try not to evaporate under his gaze, as he stares at you even as you start eating.

Luke realised he’d spent too long staring when you all but groaned, “Don’t tell me I have to sacrifice my dinner to you too.” 

He flashed you a grin, then tried to say as nonchalantly as possible,“Is that why you left? So you could enjoy a proper meal every once and a while?”

You stared at him for a long while, “You, future you, told me to leave, to find my brother.”

“Why would I do that? If you had stayed at Camp–”

“That’s almost exactly what I said to you.” You pushed your food around as you stared at a point just beyond his head, he thought for a moment that he could see the neurons firing behind your eyes, like a hundred tiny zaps of lightning, “But I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. And I think you were right to send me away.”

“I don’t think I’ll be hearing that very often.” He dodged the pea you fling at him with a grin. 

“I think maybe if I don’t leave, I won’t become this me or do the things I’ve done and maybe that’s important for us or our future or some past you rewrote by telling me to leave.”

“Seems overly complicated.” 

“I think it’s supposed to be complicated,” You couldn’t help but admire the quiet skill with which he wielded his cutlery, “If it were easy, we would find each other in every universe.”

He paused, knife aloft, “You don’t want to find each other in every universe?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” You speared a leaf of spinach onto your fork to hide your scowl behind as you said, “The Gods have made it this way to keep us separated.”

“We’re together now.” 

“Which means they lost.”

Luke watched you for a drawn out heartbeat, then leaned over to transfer the perfect squares of meat he’d been cutting onto your plate. 

You took a long moment to chew before you said, “So, your plan to send me after Percy worked.”

“I thought it was your plan.”

“I forgot to ask you whose plan it was.”

“I say it’s your plan.” He took a long pull from his goblet that left his lips tinted red. 

“It doesn’t matter what you think.” You passed him a napkin before he could ask, “It’s what you will think.”

“Sure, Precious.” He smothers a laugh into the napkin at the way you scrunch your nose at him, “You know, because you're so protective of your food. Like Gollum with the ring.”

“That’s the stupidest explanation for a pet name I’ve ever heard.” But you’re damn near head down on the table as you laughed. “I definitely got the smarter half of our soul.”

“Then it was definitely your plan.”

You’ve still got a hand pressed to your face to conceal your smile when you say, “What about when I meet you? Any words of wisdom?”

“Try not to fall for me. I can tell you’re pretty charmed but it’s really not appropriate. I’m seventeen, and you’re what? Twenty-four?” 

You launched your bread roll at him. You’re twice as incensed when he catches it whilst looking directly at you, “Asshole.”

“Smartass. See, two can play that game.”

Luke can’t help but think you’re just as pretty sneering as you are smiling, like no expression no matter how ugly could detract from your beauty. Maybe you’re like him, he scarcely dared to hope. Maybe you’re something better, another part of him whispered. The way you talk about the Gods and turn your nose up at them, and play their game only when it suits you. 

You weren’t vengeful in the way he was. You weren’t the spitting vicious thing the Camp had liked to pretend you were when you weren’t around to prove otherwise. You were worse and better and everything he needed. You were a storm on the horizon, a snake coiled tight. You were better than just angry. You were disillusioned. Not a product of juvenile resentment but true wrath born of awareness. Not the wild foaming-at-the-mouth kind that he had imagined when he had first heard your name. But the dark carefully contained kind he had seen in the face you would grow into.

This, Luke thought, you were the start of everything.

It’s some weeks later when you stick your hands through the grating of the bunk above Luke as leverage to lean over him and croon, “Up and at ‘em, Pretty Boy.”

He pushed his face out of his pillow, curls sticking up at odd angles as he looked at you half-asleep, “What?”

“Remember? Training?”

“No,” He scrubbed sleep from his eyes, “What did you call me?”

“Sickly.” 

“I don’t think that was it.” He propped his head up on a fist as he smiled at you sleepily. 

It was so disgustingly cute that you had to turn your back when you said, “Just meet me there.” 

Luke’s freshly showered and holding an apple core when he deigns to join you in the forest. He tossed the apple at you and you caught it without thinking. You fake gag at him as you throw it further into the forest. 

You wiped your hands against his shoulder as you say, “I’m not sure if an apple core counts but that was dangerously close to an Ancient Greek proposal, Castellan.”

“I got hungry.” He shrugged. You squared off across the clearing, stretching as you warmed yourselves up for the ensuing sparring match. 

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Is this you rejecting me?” He landed an open hand on his chest and staggered backward. “You wound me, Precious!”

“Was that you proposing? Because I’m,” You wiped your hand again for good measure, scrunching your nose up, “Disgusted.”

“You would be honoured if I had just proposed to you.” 

“You should be nicer to me.”

“And go easy on you just because you’re my soulmate? Unlikely.”

“Because, asshole, I’m the one who got you out of chores this morning, or have you forgotten already. You seemed rather grateful for your little sleep-in.”

He unsheathed his sword and twirled it round in his hand, “You’re a bad influence.” 

“Like you weren’t ready to worship the ground I walk on when I told Chiron you needed to get my training up to speed.” 

“Do you want me to tell you, you’re brilliant?” He pointed his sword toward you with that grin that made you want to hold him down just so you could admire it longer. “You’re brilliant.”

“You’re stalling.” You pull your knives out, one from your boot, the other from your belt. You miss your old clothes with their pretty sleeves and their personality, your camp shirt seems a poor trade in comparison. 

“Stalling? Me?” Luke scoffed. “Never!”

“Don’t you have a counsellor meeting at half-past?”

“I do, so please don’t feel bad when you lose. I only have half an hour to wrap this up. You understand.”

“Who’s fault is that Mr. Just-five-more-minutes?”

He gasped in mock offence and lunged forward, his sword swinging at you in a great arch. You leapt back, out of his range, then ducked low and rushed toward him. Luke was quick, in a viciously smooth move he swept his sword at you again. You brought your knives together, bracing as the impact ricocheted up your arms. Admittedly, you were at a great disadvantage given that you were reluctant to throw a knife at Luke’s head – even though he’d demonstrated an impressive ability to swipe your wayward throws out of the air – and that he had an additional several feet of reach on you.

Luke feigned to the right, you lashed out at his left side and narrowly avoided his sword as it came down at you. He whistled slowly as both of you backed up to circle each other for a moment. 

“You’ve got moves, I’ll give you that.” 

And so the dance went on. Luke struck, you parried or slipped out of his blade's path with a flourish. You struck, Luke swung his sword and slipped around your blows. Finally, you found the chink in his precious armour. He fell back to his right foot when he deflected a blow. You jerked forward. You jabbed the knife clutched in your left hand toward him as you moved in with the right. Just as you hooked a foot around the back of his leg, Luke’s sword made contact with your left shoulder slicing through sleeve and skin. Luke fell backward with a sharp hiss, his sword flying to the side.

In the end you had laid him out flat in twenty minutes. Luke Castellan had spent the last seven years fighting to win. You had spent them fighting to survive. You supposed it didn’t hurt that the greatest swordsman to enter Camp Half-Blood in nearly three centuries was reluctant to let anything sharp or pointed anywhere near you. You secretly thought he might have been going easy on you for being his soulmate after all. You collapsed on the forest floor beside him, your chest heaving to draw in oxygen. 

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” Luke huffed. 

“Orange isn’t really my colour.”

He turned to you with a wink, “Oh but it is.” 

You wave your hand through the air.

“I’ve gotten very good at putting broken things back together over the years.” He tried not to look at the line of stitching that ran from the ankle of your jeans to the rips at your knee. You tried not to look at his cheek. Instead you reached out and trailed your hands across his necklace where the pearls sat snuggly at the base of his throat. 

“You’re wonderful.” He brushed his knuckles down your shoulder and they came away red. “Even covered in blood you’re the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

You groaned, “Sweetness, you can’t just say–”

“You call me Sweetness when you visit me.” He whispered it like it was his greatest secret. You traced up his throat to his cheek and pressed your thumb into his dimpled cheek. “You’re still being wonderful. I can’t think when you’re–”

“Wonderful?”

“Okay, Smartass.” He sighed up at the sky, then pulled the both of you to your feet, “Enough lounging, we need to get that cut checked.” 

You let him dust the dirt from you and resheath your knives, one in your boot, the other in your belt. Silently revelling in the gentle way he tugs you this way and that. You were well on your way to the infirmary, shoulders bumping and fingers just barely brushing, before he spoke again.

“Where does it come from? The nickname.”

“Sweetness?” 

He looked away from you and squinted off into the distance, as if you were suddenly too bright to look at, “Yeah.”

“My mom used to tell me this story about meeting her soulmate. She probably meant Poseidon, but at the time I thought it was about my dad,” The back of Luke’s hand bumped into yours again, his fingers catching yours, his gaze resolutely ahead but you were definitely holding hands. “She said it felt like swallowing lightning and gorging yourself on popping candy. Like sweetness.”

“You like popping candy?”

“It’s my favourite.” You gave him a queer look as if to say, it’s not yours, you utter heathen?

Luke laughed at you all the way to the Apollo Cabin as he listed all the reasons it was the sub-par candy option. Nonetheless, when you emerge from the infirmary, he unloads a fistful of little packets he’d pinched from the candy bowl when the Apollo kids’ hadn’t been looking.

“Who has sub-par candy options now, Sweetness?” You teased, your mouth crackling merrily.

“Keep calling me that and you can have all the terrible candy you want.”

“Try some,” You shoved a packet toward him, because if he kept saying silly things like that and looking at you the way he was you were liable to do or say something equally as stupid. “You’ve got half my soul, maybe it’s our favourite.”

“I don’t think they had popping candy when we had one soul,” He flicks the packet held between your fingers. “And aren’t you the one who says we’re puzzle pieces not halves?”

“You have been listening to me!”

“Hard not to.”

“Asshole.” You flashed your teeth at him.

“Smartass.” He said, but the bite wasn’t there. He was watching you again, in that way he did sometimes before he said something stupid that made you want to throw yourself in the lake or run back to Manhattan or do something equally as stupid, like kiss him. “You–”

You twisted your hand in the front of his shirt and jerked him toward you, the little sachet crinkling in your fist. For a heartbeat, you were both silent, an inch away and staring as if you could will the other to be the one to press forward. But then he closed his eyes and Luke Castellan was kissing you. Like lightning and popping candy. With all the elegance of two lovestruck teenage fools and all the heat of two people who knew they had all the time in the world but still couldn’t bear to waste a second of it. His hand held you by the chin and then splayed lightly across your cheek and tucked hair softly behind your ear. You were only just reaching for the mess of curls at the back of his head when someone wolf whistles.

“My favourite.” Luke grinned, licked his lips and then turned. Hands stuffed in his pockets and a big stupid grin stretched across his face, as he shouted at you, “Stay out of trouble.”

You flip off the Aphrodite kid who’d whistled at you, and hurried back to the Apollo Cabin. You and Luke Castellan were going to need a lot more popping candy. 

You’re in the lake, encased in an air bubble, sprawled out side by side with your backs against the sand, when Luke tells you what he’s done. That mere weeks before your arrival he had done the unthinkable. He had robbed the King of the Gods blind and betrayed half the Pantheon in doing so. You weren't sure whether to laugh or cry.

You had simply laid there, silently, for what had felt like aeons to Luke but maybe that had only been because he had to keep reminding himself not to hold his breath. He wasn’t drowning. You weren’t going to turn him in. He hadn’t just blown his whole plan and his life with his soulmate in one fell swoop. He just had to keep breathing and wait for you to say something. He thinks that maybe your mother had passed on some divine knack for diplomacy as Queen of the Sea with the way you seem to turn the issue of his betrayal over and over in your head. 

After a while, you reach your arm toward the bubble and the sky. For a brief, terrifying moment, Luke thinks you’re going to pull the lake down on him. When you don’t Luke spends another infinite second wondering whether he would just let you do it. 

He tosses the thought aside and focuses on the coin weaving between your knuckles. Like magic, it appears and disappears around the bends of your fingers but it wasn't real magic, just you fidgeting. He pressed his lips together and tried not to think about you at the bottom of the Hudson River, flipping your coin and turning over the issue of your soulmate and your brother and the camp you’d left behind. What is it you had said? You’d had plenty of time to think about those things. 

Maybe that's what you need now – time. He’s about to offer it to you, offer to swim his way back to shore so you can think, even if he'd probably drown on the way. He’d give you all the time in the world if he had it. 

But then you finally speak, the golden drachma rolling between your fingers, “If you hurt my brother, soulmate or not, I will kill you.”

“I am your soulmate.” He insisted as the implication made his skin itch.

“You are.” Your smile was so gentle it almost felt sad. “So you understand that my love for him comes before my hatred of the Gods. If you have put him in danger wit–”

“We get married.” He blurted. “We have a future. I woke you, when you visited me. That must mean I win.”

“It means, if that’s the path we’re even on, if those people are even the versions of us that we become… maybe you don’t hurt Percy.”

“I won’t.” He swore and you weren’t sure how to ignore the half of your soul that lies so sweetly. “I wouldn’t.”

“Maybe.” You swallowed like you’d been chewing glass your whole life, and someone had finally offered you something substantial to sink your teeth into. “Maybe if we leave now, there’s a world in which I don’t have to pick between my blood and my soul.”

Luke was quiet for a long moment, “We could recruit him. You said it yourself, he’ll be more powerful than any of us.”

“He’s twelve.”

“He’s the son of Poseidon.”

“He’s twelve.”

“You were twelve when you left to protect him.”

“And look how that turned out,” Your grin was brittle, but he swore you were still the loveliest creature he’d ever laid eyes on. “I’m sat here planning to betray everything I was raised to follow.”

“You’re going to follow me?”

Your eyes traced the shape of his jaw, his nose, his scar. You looked pained, “I fear I would follow you into much worse, Luke Castellan.”

“I’m trying to lead you to something better.” He reached for your hand, took the drachma from your fingers, and pressed a slow, soft kiss to your palm. He smiled and there were dimples in his cheeks and tears in his eyes as he whispered, “We can try for better.”

“Leave Percy.” You pressed your fingers to his cheek, “Let him come to camp, let him join us when he’s ready.”

“You’re sure he’ll join us?”

“He will, I know it. We just need to let him see the Gods’ apathy for himself.” And you sighed. Luke wondered how many lifetimes your souls had seen, how many times you had searched for each other, how many times you had been torn apart. You sound ancient when you say, “You and I have seen more than enough.”

He turned his head and whispered in the scarce distance between you, “What do you propose?” 

“We leave. As soon as anyone catches on, we take anyone who agrees with us and flee.” You brought his hand to your mouth and pressed your lips to his knuckles firmly, “We can plot your revenge and plan my new world on the way.”

Luke feels ancient when he promises, “Okay, on the way then.”

But he swears, as you lean forward and kiss him, that no matter how many times you do it this lifetime or in all the lifetimes until this story – of you and Luke Castellan – became ancient, it would still never stop feeling like the first time.

Like lightning and popping candy.

Tag List:

@emelia07 @star611 @7s3ven @kissingyourgrl @myxticmoon @shermanno @moonsficrec @soleilgrec

[theyanderespecialist]

Base Yandere Hera Headcanons: The Gods Know No Wrath Like A Yandere's Scorn (Greek Mythology)

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! I am FINALLY Here with Yandere Hera! I hope that you all enjoy this chapter here! I hope that you have a happy early Mother's Day.]

(Disclaimer: Hera is not yandere in canon! This is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine, just do not be illegal or gross about it! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life. Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon!)

(Disclaimer!!! The Mythologies of the world were NOT OKAY in the day-to-day stuff, Family X Family stuff is NOT Okay, and Neither is them saying they are now 15? free real state! That is NOT Okay either. Or any of the other bad stuff in the Mythologies of the world, it is not okay!)

-Base Yanere Headcanons With Hera From Greek Mythology-

.Hera, now she gets a lot of poo! For mainly punishing the women who slept with her husband and their offspring.

.Now there is a partial reason for it, Zeus basically made it so she could not punish him for his affairs.

.So she is very angry, and cannot punish her husband, so that leaves the women and their children.

.That was until she met you, she did not know how a human like you could be so stunning, that your beauty even rivaled the Gods.

.She wanted you and she would have you.

.So she stopped caring about her husband's affairs and the spawns he produced.

.She was solely focused on you, and that was NOT A good thing.

.She would never punish you like she punished the others.

.But she will punish everyone that tries to win you over.

.May they be humans or Gods themselves.

.You belong to her, and Zeus supported this, he saw that his wife was less angry with you in her life.

.So he decreed that no God or Goddess would be allowed to harm or punish you.

.The Gods and Goddess like that Hera is much more pleasant to be around in Godly meetings and Mount Olympus.

.So they all are giving you blessings, hell even Zeus agreed to make you a God when Hera takes you as her second spouse.

.Hera wants you to be her spouse.

.Though when Zeus sort of jokes that he and Hera could have a threesome with you in the middle.

.Hera threatens to remove his cock and balls for good. If he even tried it.

.He has decreed no other Gods can smash you.

.She is super SUPER Possessive and VERY MUCH The JEALOUS Type.

.So when your rivals try to smash, she will legit torture them in some very ancient ways.

.She will confess to you, and if you say yes, she will be over the moon and have you as her lover and spouse, making you a god.

.If you say no, she will punish you, not as bad as her rivals, but she is for sure going to make you regret saying no to her.

.You are hers and you better be thankful. She chose you to be her spouse out of ALL The Gods she could have smashed and been with.

.You were the ONLY Mortal she saw as worthy and you better be grateful for that!

.She did not and could not have you reject her, she would not be able to live it down from the other Gods.

.So she will be underhanded and make you love her so that you cannot say no, and that way you will love her and be hers for the rest of time.

.She does not care if it is fair to you, you belong to her.

.To her, your soul's purpose was to be hers and hers alone and she will make it happen no matter what.

.You do not get a choice.

.Side not if one of the Gods were to harm you or take you from her?

.Well The Gods Know NO Wrath Like A Yandere's Scorn

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS another chapter is done! I hope that you all enjoyed this and stay sexy, all of my sexy muffins!]

[elliewritesfantasy]

Escape in the Night

A/N: I never thought I would be posting fanfiction on this account. However, Baldur’s Gate has captured my attention and my inspiration for months now. I don’t even know if anyone will see this, but I enjoyed writing it, and that’s all that matters.

Some protective dadstarion for you all. And strong boss Tav. Female Tav x Astarion.

Snow fell in great white clumps, blanketing the forest in an eerie silence. Cold crept up your fingers, reaching further with every moment that passed. You remained crouched under the boughs of an old maple tree, the bare branches leaning under the weight of the snowfall. You were burdened with your own weight; a greatsword hung between your shoulder blades, a relic of your paladin oath long forgotten among other worries, and a bundle against your chest. It was the one spot of true warmth on this winter night. Your baby. Astarion’s baby.

Armelle.

Boots shifted, crunching snow and dirt.

“Astarion?” His name was barely a puff of air from your mouth.

“I’m here.” He appeared next to you, and knelt. His silver hair shone even on this starless night, a mess of curls barely tamed. His eyes searched your face, his hands clenched around his longbow.

“Where are the vampires?” you asked.

“They’re close. I need to get you out of here.” Astarion placed a hand on your shoulder, guiding you to your feet. “I’ve lost a lot of my vampiric senses, but not all.”

“I wish they would see reason.”

“I know.”

You had found a wish scroll for him long ago, as part of your promise after the defeat of the netherbrain. The wish scroll brought him not only the cure for him vampirism, but the promise of a wide open future free of having to hide in the dark. It brought him hope and the freedom to finally say that he could marry you without feeling like he had trapped you in a vampire’s nest for life. And it had brought him his second-most precious gift of all - the wrapped child you clutched with the strength of a mother’s fierce love.

The vampires didn’t know Astarion was cured. They thought he had sired a dhampir, the offspring of a vampire and a powerful being with hungers rarely fully sated. A dhampir would be an asset to their coven, and they wasted no time in searching you out in the two weeks you have had her. You hadn’t meant to have your baby on the way to Waterdeep for a companions’ reunion. She was early. A surprise. But you were already so far from home, it wasn’t worth it to turn back.

Maybe that was a mistake.

“Y/N.” Astarion broke you from your thoughts. “Waterdeep isn’t far. If you run, you can make it while I hold them off.”

“I can’t leave you.” Your soul burned with your paladin’s oath, and your hands itched to strike the vampires down with all of your holy might.

“Just for a second. I’ll meet you there I promise,” Astarion said. His lips lifted in his slightly crooked smile. “If we can survive the Absolute and the attempted end of the world, we can survive this.”

You steeled your nerves, drinking in his familiar confident expression, though it wavered just a bit as the bundle on your chest let out a small, sleepy whine. “Alright”

“I can smell you. I can smell her.” The crooning voice of the vampire master Kazimir cut through the dampened night. Your heart quickened.

“Run.” Astarion notched an arrow, his breath coming in quick, clouded puffs. “Run!”

You didn’t hesitate. Your boots dug into the snow, into the frozen mud and you sprinted with all of the strength left in your body. The lights of Waterdeep twinkled on the horizon. It wasn’t much farther. You could make it.

“Ah, not so fast.”

You skidded to a stop, your throat lurching with fear. Kazimir stood before you, red eyes shining with glee.

“I can’t let you go, not with that creature you have.”

“She’s not a creature,” you growled. You drew your greatsword.

“Oh, but she is. And what a delicious creature she would be to have. She should be raised by a real vampire, not a pithy elf and a weak spawn.” He drew his own blade, a wicked sharp rapier. “Hand her to me peacefully, and I will let you return to your spawn without fuss.”

“No.” You swung your greatsword in an arc, poised to strike.

“A shame. Then I will have to take her from you.” Kazimir lunged forward, blade catching on the woolen edge of your wrap. You lurched back, narrowly escaping his rapier. You raised your sword, letting the anger in your stomach explode outward, lighting the weapon with a golden light. The vampire hissed and shrunk back instinctually at the light. With a cry, you leaped forward, bringing your sword down in a blazing arc. The vampire recovered just in time, spinning out of the way of your smite, his cloak billowing out behind him. He vanished among the trees, flitting between them like a ghost. You reeled, then recovered, and grounded yourself in the snow. You had to be ready.

Your eyes searched the darkness desperately, your eyes struggling to perceive anything beyond the falling snow.

“Behind you!” Astarion ran from the trees, an arrow whistling through the air. It found its mark in the shoulder of the master vampire. He screamed, turning from you to Astarion.

A blast of blue light blinded you all in an instant. A dimension door appeared just to your left with a familiar hand reaching through it.

“Gale!”

“Come with me,” Gale emerged wholly, his hair whipping in the wind of the portal. “Quickly!”

“But, Astarion-“ you looked back the silver elf now fighting Kazimir with his dagger, locked in an expert hand-to-hand battle.

“You have something more important to think about now, eh?” Gale gestured to you once again. You closed your eyes tight, sheathing your weapon. With one last glance at Astarion, you let Gale pull you through the gate and into the candlelit drawing room of his tower.

Shadowheart was the first to run to you. “Y/N, what happened?”

You couldn’t answer, your body wracked with violent shudders and shakes. Some of it was from the cold, some from the fear that made your very soul twist. Shadowheart wrapped you in a blanket. Through a tendril of consciousness, you managed to pull aside your wrap to check on your baby. You collapsed into a chair at the sight of her, eyes still closed, asleep. Safe.

“I’m going back for him.” Gale began furiously searching for a scroll through the precarious stacks upon his end tables.

Shadowheart laid a hand on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t risk it. What if the vampire comes through this time?”

Gale shook his head. “I can’t leave him to that master. I remember how strong Cazador was.”

“We have to trust him,” Shadowheart argued.

You could only sit, your arms holding your baby to you, her head cradled in your hands. A prayer of safety rang through your mind again and again. You had been a thirty minute run from Waterdeep before, and with the fight, maybe it would take him an hour.

“Please, I need you,” you whispered. Gale and Shadowheart retreated, letting you hold your child and warm by the fire while your brain was wracked with thoughts.

Please. Please.

I should have stayed.

Please.

The door to the drawing room burst open. You ran to it immediately, blood rushing in your ears.

“I’m here.”

“Astarion.”

He was here, his armor streaked bright red with blood. His hair was clumped with gore, and a cut on his cheek shone. He drank your face in hungrily, then reached for the woolen wrap, pushing it aside to reveal the perfect girl curled at your chest, her fine, newborn-soft silver hair glowing in the candlelight. Astarion placed a hand on her head, giving her a soft kiss right above her brow. He pressed his forehead against yours, tucking you both into his chest.

Even years after his cure, the feeling of his body warmth was novel. You soaked it in.

“He’s dead,” Astarion said. He twined a hand through your hair, pressing you into his shoulder. “He will never bother us again.”

“I can’t believe you killed him.” You drew back, studying his face.

Astarion laughed, his brows crinkling. “What, you doubted me? Hero of the world, slayer of the netherbrain?”

“You know it was my sword that landed the final strike,” you teased.

Armelle stirred, drawing Astarion’s attention. Oh, how much he had changed. From only being able to care about his own survival, to dedicating his whole existence to the survival of two others. It scared him more than the impending end of existence did.

“It doesn’t matter anyway.” He traced Armelle’s rounded, flushed cheeks, taking in the hair that matched his own, the nose that matched yours. “I have everything that I need right here.”

[one-idea]

Shanks raise ASL part 6

First - Previous - Next

So Ace squares his shoulders and raises his head to meet Shanks’ eyes. And he asks only one question. “What would you do if you found out Gol D. Roger’s had a son?”

The little boy braces himself. He’s ready, or so he thinks. He’s ready for this man to hate him. To tell him that his father was the devil and that his offspring are demons. That Ace shouldn’t exist. Maybe he’d kill Ace right where he stands. Tell Luffy and Sabo that Ace ran away for good and just continue on with life without the burden that is Ace.

What he doesn’t expect is for Shanks to walk towards him silently. The man’s eyes looking intently at his face, studying his features, looking for… something? Ace had no idea what. Did he think he was lying? Was he looking for proof? But then Shanks eyes welled up with tears and he dropped to his knees in front of Ace, throwing his arms around the boy and holding him close.

Ace has never been so confused. He expected to be shun or hit. Instead he was held like he was something precious. One of Shanks’ arms was firmly wrapped around his waist while the other hand was buried into his hair forcing Ace close to the man as he cried into Ace’s hair.

He could feel Shanks’ shaky breath as the man calmed down. “What would I do if I found out that Gol D. Roger’s had a son?” Shanks voice was gentle yet despite that Ace still tensed. He had no idea how Shanks was going to respond. Most adults mocked or hit him by now but Shanks was still holding him so tightly.

Shanks slowly pulled back just enough to look Ace in the eyes as he answers “I’d find him and protect him with my life just as his father protected me.”

“What?” Ace couldn’t understand. What did Shanks mean. Gol D. Rogers had never protected anyone.

Shanks could see the disbelief on the kid’s face. Which made sense. He had to wonder just how much Ace truly knew about his father. “Gol D. Roger’s found me in a treasure chest when I was a baby. He took me in and raised me as his own. I owe him everything.” Shanks said as he look Ace over again. Now that he was looking for it he could see Roger’s silver eyes. The dark hair was the same color as his captain’s, but the wavy texture was all Rouge, as were the constellation of freckles on the young boy’s cheeks.

“No that- you can’t be-” Ace didn’t know what to say. The man Shanks was describing, and the person that Shanks was were not compatible with his understand of who Roger and his crew were. “You can’t be a Roger’s pirate. They were monsters!” He couldn’t make his metal image of Roger and his crew and his memories of Shanks playing with his brothers and protecting them line up in his mind. There was no way this man who was so kind and doting to his brothers could be one of the bloodthirsty Roger pirates. He just couldn’t be.

“Now who told you that?” Shanks’ heart hurt to hear his captain’s son refer to their old family as monsters.

“Everyone. Everyone says that Roger was the devil and I’m his hell spawn.” Ace told him angrily. How did Shanks not get it. Ace was a monster and so was Roger. “I shouldn’t even be alive.”

Shanks pulled him close again, curling around the boy, shielding him from the world as best he could. Who did this? Who told his captain’s son all of these lies? Who told Ace he shouldn’t exist? Shanks was going to rip them apart for this. Ace should have been raised in the Oro Jackson surrounded by a loving crew that would protect him until death took them. But that wasn’t possible. He remembered why his captain handed himself over. Did Ace know about that?

“Your father was one of the greatest men I have ever known.” Ace started to argue but Shanks gently shushed him. “Let me finish. He was brave and kind and brought joy to those around him. And he fell in love with a wonderful woman, Portagas D. Rouge. But he was sick. He knew he didn’t have long. And when he found out your mom was pregnant he made a decision. He turned himself in to the marines.”

Ace’s heart was pounding in his chest. “What, what do you mean. He didn’t turn himself in he was caught by Gramps.” Shanks had to pause and breath through his rage at that one. Garp had been ‘raising’ Ace? That answered a few questions, but not all of them. After all Roger considered Garp a friend, but Shanks had disliked the man since he stood by and ordered Roger’s execution.

“He turned himself in to Garp, but he made him promise two things. One that the marines wouldn’t hunt down the rest of his crew after his executions, and two that you and your mom would be safe.” Shanks held the boy a little tighter. His captain gave up everything, and for what? If Roger’s could see them now would he think his sacrifice worth it?

“But why- how- I don’t understand.” Ace couldn’t wrap his head around what Shanks was telling him. Roger’s had been caught and executed for his crimes. What was this nonsense about noble sacrifices?

Shanks couldn’t blame the kid for not understanding it. He hadn’t understood his captain’s actions for a long time. But now as a captain himself, as someone who has a lover he would burn the world for, and as a freshly minted father of three, because these are HIS boys, he thinks he’s finally starting to get it. He would do anything to keep his crew, Mihawk, and the boys safe. Parting with his own life would be a small price to pay to guarantee their safety. But Shanks also knew the rest of his captain’s story.

“The marines lied kid.” He said with so much bitterness. “They lied to Roger. Promised they wouldn’t hunt down the crew and the people he cared for.” He let out a dark chuckle. “His body wasn’t even cold before they turned on us. Chased the crew all over the sea. Luckily we all disbanded before his execution or they would have got us all in one fell swoop. I was 15 and they chased me like rabid dogs. At the time I knew Rouge, your mom, was pregnant, but I had hoped that information was a secret. Apparently not as they launched a full hunt for you and your mom.” Shanks paused.

He was still furious he hadn’t been able to help Rouge at the time but none of them could have. He wasn’t lying about the marine pursuit being relentless for the first few years after Roger’s execution. It was a miracle that so many of them survived. But the price that he lost contact with his old family. He hadn’t talked to Buggy since Lougetown. He had run into Rayleigh a few years back and had sobbed like a child at seeing his second father again.

“I didn’t hear about the man hunt for the two of you until years later. By then I had to assume you both were dead.” Shanks tightened his arms around the silent boy. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

Ace sat there is silence processing the new news. His father had died….for him? That couldn’t be right. Roger was the King of the Pirates he was selfish, he wouldn’t sacrifice so much for them.

“Your mom, do you know what happened to her?” Shanks felt awful asking, he had a feeling he already knew the answer, but he had to know. If Rouge was alive she was coming with them. No if ands or buts about it.

His hope didn’t live long. “She died giving birth to me.” Ace’s voice was hallow. He was still processing all of this news. His mom’s death was a fact. He killed her. The very first sin of his existence.

Shanks sighed and held Ace close. “She loved you so much. I’m sorry you didn’t get to met her.” They sat there in silence for a bit. Just taking in all that they had learned in the past few minutes.

“I don’t understand.” Ace finally said. “Everyone says that Roger was a monster, but the way you talk about him….” Ace just couldn’t wrap his head around everything he had just learned. Shanks thought for a second. He had an idea but Ace wasn’t going to like it.

“Do you think Luffy could ever be a monster?” Ace’s head shot back and he shoved himself a way from Shanks.

“Never! What are you talking about. Luffy is the kindest person I know. He could never be-”

“King of the Pirates?” Shanks finished Ace’s sentence, but not the way Ace would have. The boy was going to say monster, but Shanks’ interjection froze the boy in his tracks. “I believe that Luffy is going to be the next King of the Pirates. And with that, there is going to come a lot of lies from the government. They’re going to tell the world that Luffy is a monster. That he deserves to die. So I’m asking you, will you believe them when they say that about Luffy?” Shanks looked Ace dead in the eyes. Never wavering in his question.

“Never. Luffy just wants to be free.” Ace responds unshakable in his beliefs.

“So did Roger.” Ace froze again. He hated comparing his father to his little brother, but he also finally understood what Shanks was getting at. “Look you don’t have to like your dad, but you should know the truth about him. And the truth was he adore you. Enough to die for you without a second thought.”

Shanks sighed as he stood up. This was good. He’s overjoyed to know who Ace is and that he’s alive, but he’s also full of fury and wants to hunt Garp down, because what was that man thinking? Letting Ace believe all of the government’s propaganda. He’s exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster he’s been on tonight and he can see that Ace is to. But there’s one more thing they need to talk about before he can end this conversation.

“And I would to.” Ace jerks to met Shanks’ eyes. “I would die for you and your brothers in a heart beat. Not because you’re my captain’s son. But because I’ve come to see you as mine. I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted all three of you on my crew. You’re my kids. I would fight the world for you, the government and anyone else who tried to hurt you. Because you are Ace and I love you.” Shanks never broke eye contact with the boy. “Not because of who your dad is and not despite of who your dad is, but because of who you are.”

Ace felt tears well up in his eyes as he rushed towards Shanks. The man bending down to scoop the boy up and hold him close as he cried into his shoulder. Someone wanted him. Someone wanted Ace around. Shanks knew who his father was and didn’t hate him. He loved him, he said he did. Has anyone besides Luffy and Sabo ever said that to Ace before.

“I got you. It’s okay. You’re never going to be alone again.” Shanks reassured the boy as he held him close. “One day when you’re ready to set out on your own you’ll have my full support but until that day comes I’ve got you.” Shanks promised as he started to make his way out of the little shack. “Even after that you’ll still have me. I’ll always have your back, until the day I die. If you and your brothers need me I’ll be there. I swear this to you.” Shanks looked up at the moon as he started making his way back Foosha village. Back to Mihawk, Luffy, and Sabo. Back the the Red Force and his crew. And he made one more promise.

‘I’ll keep your boy safe Captain. I’ll raise him as my own, give him all the love you gave me. I won’t fail him. I couldn’t protect you but I’ll protect him with my life. I promise.”

Finally the bonding moment the two of them need.

Next time:

The return of a mountain bandit.

Shanks promise gets put to the test.

[acearcane]

Random TUA Headcanons, Pt. 1

I was thinking about what sort of uncles (and aunt) the Hargreeves siblings would be. Since we may get to see those dynamics in s4 (the Klaus and Claire pic has got me hyped) it's time to share my silly thoughts.

This isn't speculation; I don't really do that. These are merely random ideas of mine (and all very soft because I can't be an angst writer all the time). Enjoy! ^.^

Below the break.

LUTHER

Helps teach them how to drive, and really enjoys it, too.

Has karaoke sessions in the car with his nieces when he drives them around. He tries to sing all the parts and makes them laugh.

Takes them to planetariums, rocket launches, and shows them how to work a telescope; he'll map the night skies with them for hours.

Was always the favorite when it came to playing hide-n-seek or tag; he invented a game called "crazy monk" where he makes scary faces and chases them around the house.

Could carry one niece on each shoulder easily; they loved it.

DIEGO

Is there for them after their first break-up. He takes them to a rage room and they have a grand time smashing things to bits.

Teaches them self-defense, as well as how to properly throw a knife. He may have gifted them their first knife a little too early, though.

Attends all of their sports games and track meets, and is there to scream and cheer from the sidelines (or shout at the ref if needed).

Learned how to style hair so he could give his daughter and niece all sorts of fun and dramatic hairdos; on speed dial for "crazy hair day" at school.

ALLISON

The one who takes them out for their first drink when they turn 21.

Likes to buy a lot of little presents for them, although they'll occasionally get jump-scared by something huge, like a new car.

Loves to go on trips with them; was definitely their travel companion for their senior graduation trip.

Helped them get ready before prom and took way too many pictures, all of which she cherishes greatly.

Would absolutely be the one to give "the Talk", because all of her brothers were too awkward to do it for their own children. Is excellent at giving a quick and concise sex ed course.

KLAUS

Would love to take his nieces to get their nails done (he'd get his done, too).

Loves to go get ice cream, boba, and other little treats with his nieces.

Is definitely the one bringing home puppies, kittens, hamsters, etc. as birthday presents.

If any of his nieces/nephews were to come out as queer, he'd be wildly supportive. He'd go with them to get their hair cut and buy new clothes if they were trans, or support them at Pride, or just overall be the coolest uncle ever.

FIVE

Acts like he could care less, but remembers all of the tiny, insignificant details such as their favorite color or favorite flavor of ice cream.

Will pick them up from anywhere, no lectures, no questions asked. Also won't tell their parents if they don't want him to.

Became very distressed the first time one of his nieces was bullied; his siblings had to remind him that he was not allowed to murder a kindergartner.

Unironically refers to them as his siblings' "spawn" and "offspring".

Asks his nieces for help when it comes to using his phone.

Would take his nieces to Starbucks or Dutch Bros (is this too niche to my area?), even if he thinks their coffee tastes like shit, because he likes to see them smile when they drink their overly sugary drinks.

(UMBRELLA) BEN

The absolute best at reading bedtime stories. He'd do goofy voices and end up keeping his nieces awake because they'd be too busy giggling.

Helps them study for tests and exams (they always get the best grades when Uncle Ben helps them).

Is an extremely good listener and gives some of the best advice. He never judges them for their mistakes, but always suggests how they might grow and move forward.

Happy to help his nieces on their curiosity voyages; likes to take them to museums and other places of learning.

VIKTOR

Would attend every musical, dance recital, talent show, and performance his nieces were in. He'd be in the back with big bouquets of roses and whistle and cheer at all the right moments.

Likes to take them to do the ordinary, menial things he wished he could do as a kid, such as going to the zoo or an amusement park.

Loves to talk and FaceTime with his nieces; he never misses a single call.

Is happy to pay for any artistic hobbies his nieces want to pursue, such as music lessons or drama camps.

Have any other headcanons about the Hargreeves as aunt and uncles? Lemme know in the replies or the reblogs!

[mothwingwritings]

Hi hi~ hope you are doing great today xD

Sooo First of all I love how you write and I have been binge reading yujiro stepfather serie(?) And absolutely love it; but stepdad yujirou + Baki and jack the yandere/siscon stepbrothers could you imagine like:

*Katsumi became her eternal friend but feels like he can't be with y/n, so ends up as her loyal/platonic companion or ends up as a teacher and friend and go on with life because yujirou is hell of strong and Sadie to pummel him again

*yujirou marries s/o and impregnate her, but y/n gives love to the child because she doesn't want him/her to suffer like her brothers

*yujirou wanted to rill up his son's and knowing their dark yandere side put the scenario on so the two end up taking her as well

*Baki and jack won't left her until she at least have s baby of each because hanma bloodline and a sense of twisted family

*and what would happen if pickle also gets interested? How would he reacts with y/n pregnant or with kids and with the scent of the hanma's? Would he tried to kill the kids like the lion in a new pride? Or just add them to the family and put his seed too? And the hanma's what would they do?

*oh and what happened with the ash tray

Sorry for the long feel free to ignore

I love your brain, darling~

Warnings: Stepcest, breeding kink, mentions of child rearing/being a mother, mentions of noncom, 18+ only please.

If the two Hanma brothers didn’t have any kind of breeding kink before, seeing their sweet little sister heavy with child is about to change that REAL quick.

Don’t get them wrong, it makes their blood boil to witness you carrying some other man’s child, let alone Yujiro’s spawn. Seeing you grow each day, swelling with the ogre’s unborn infant, is enough to make them go damn near feral. The whole situation unleashes a torrent of emotions -rage, disgust, pity, vexation, and sympathy, all swirling together within the two of them, vying for dominance. They don’t know whether they wanted to give this kid the world (it was your child after all, and it wasn’t that they weren’t sympathetic to its situation, they probably knew the tribulations and hardships that baby was to face more so than anyone else) or completely disregard it (they just couldn’t shake where it came from, what brutality was committed against you to conceive it).

On one hand, how dare Yujiro force himself inside of you, planting a seed that will bind you to him irrevocably? It was maddening knowing you were trapped by Yujiro’s side, saddled down caring for his offspring. The ogre had you right where he wanted you now, stuck between a rock and a hard place, trapped just beyond the brothers reach.

But on the other hand, two can play at that game.

It was easy enough to convince you to come to them. You loved Baki and Jack. You respected them and you trusted them, you had no reason not to come to them willingly.  You were always so eager to see them, so grateful for their companionship. The day they entrapped you, you approached the brothers with arms spread, heart bared, and eyes sparkling as you walked blindly into their trap.

The last thing they wanted was to hurt you, that was never their intention. But you just looked so beautiful when you were pregnant, full and round and glowing, like an angel had landed on earth. They were craving seeing you that way again, adamant that they would be the ones who would fill you with their seed, and you would be the one who would help them create a new life.

And you were such a good mother, doting on your baby with love and affection despite the circumstances of how they were conceived. Didn’t Jack and Baki deserve that too? Why did their monster of a father get the only honor? They certainly treated you better than he did, loved you far more than he ever could or would. And they would never treat their children the way the ogre had treated them growing up, disregarded, abused, or as petty amusements their whole lives. Yujiro was such a terror that the brothers tried to keep themselves from growing overly attached to the baby he had created with you, not only due to the mixed emotions they felt about the situation, but because they knew the likelihood of having an infant survive growing up around the Ogre was optimistic at best.

However Baki and Jack were not their father. Maybe they had to resort to underhanded methods to get to you, sinking down to Yujiro’s level to get you pregnant with their children, but the difference between themselves and that monster would always be the overwhelming affection they held for you. Even if you had trouble understanding what was going on, or couldn’t quite wrap your head around the fact that everything they did for you was for your own benefit and safety, they knew that the lives they were forging for you was what would ultimately make you the happiest and bring you the most joy, you just needed time to get used to it first to realize that. Seeing you waddle around fat with their baby’s is both brothers ultimate dream, and they will destroy anyone who tries to steal that from them, whether that be their father or otherwise. And unlike their father, any life they bring into this world with you will be cherished-the baby will essentially be half you, after all, how could they not adore it?

They know you will cry and feel betrayed and possibly even get a bit hurt should you try to deny them. But no matter what happens, they know you will forgive them because when it comes down to it, you love them just as much as they love you. They are ready and willing to give you all the time in the world to adjust, you are worth any amount of effort to keep happy.

(Also poor Katsumi, but I am glad he gets to be a homie at least lol. The eternal suffering that poor man receives through our prose…)

Now for our caveman situation…

Pickle knows there is something different about you, something that draws a family as strong as the Hanma’s to you. There’s a reason why they are all vying for your attention, eager to procreate with you, and your beguiling presence is not lost on him either. Should his interest become strong enough he’ll definitely snatch you away to create a brood of his own with you. He would become EXTREMELY overprotective of you while you were pregnant, monitoring you like a hawk to make sure you are comfortable and that there are no predators a foot to cause you any harm. When you are full of his children, he treats you more gently than you thought a beast like him possibly could. Were this a situation you were actually compliant in, you would almost call it charming how gently he handles you, or how quietly he tries to lumber his large body around you so as not to disturb you.

As for the other children you had previously… I feel like that is very dependent on the situation. He would not outright kill them by any means. Right now they are small, helpless, they don’t pose a threat to him and you care for them, he has no reason to take them from you nor does he really want to. Also, they have Hanma blood running through their veins and that intrigues him. What manner of person will they grow up to be, he wonders? The thought of watching such people grow, even have a hand in raising them or training them, was too interesting of a prospect to throw out the door.

THAT BEING SAID, his children with you will always take precedence over them. Should you find yourselves in a situation that requires him to choose who he needs to protect, you will always come first, followed by the children he sired with you, anyone else is nonconsequential. Though he has no true ill will towards the children, he certainly doesn’t harbor the love for them that he does his own offspring. He cares for the Hanma kids well enough, but base interest is about as far as it goes. If they starve, get hurt, or have to get sacrificed, so be it.

And Yujiro def still has that ashtray. For WHATEVER reason, even though it’s a shitty little trinket that was crudely made by the hands of your child self, he can’t seem to part from it. He even travels with it and uses it regularly. Weird, huh? I wonder why…

[lets-try-some-writing]

I can see insecticons and technoorganics being part of Conservationists.. Imagine Beastformers joining in or being born from Conservationists as next generation(s)  and those are closests in rhytm with nature and Earth maybe

Earth: *about Steeljaw*Wolf! He's a wolf! Metal wolf! Look at his lil ears!

Unicron: Wolves symbolize freedom, spirit of nature, resourcefulness and adaptability do they not? How intriguing

Earth: And are fiercely loyal

Unicron:*chuckle* Just like a certain someone

Moon: Thanks i try~

I really like this take! Maybe it is in large part due to Moon and Earth's influence that this happens. Titans can turn themselves into hotspots if they meet the right criteria, and Earth's connection to Moon must have had an effect. Beastformers I think would puzzle Moon a bit since his previous citizens were largely composed of racing units and flight frames, but since they are his and Earth's "children" he would love them regardless.

Although I can see him kicking the Beastformers born of him off his frame once they reach a certain size. This would not be out of cruelty, but rather as an excuse to get them to go hang out with Earth for a while. Moon is a living breathing fortress, not a wilderness fit for Beastformers and their needs. This would in turn lead to humanity and Cybertronians having to get along one way or another, because Moon isn't going to stop evicting his grown Beastformer citizens anytime soon and Earth won't stop influencing him for as long as she lives.

Mars I imagine will forever think Moon is weird because of his odd offspring. There weren't any Titans that had Beastformer citizens prior to the scorching of Cybertron. Most Beastformers preferred the nomadic lifestyle. Pluto wouldn't give a frag about whatever Moon is up to. He's got his job and so long as he only has to deal with a few troublemakers sent to him every now and then, he will remain content. Unicron though? Oh he thinks the Beastformers are funny. Mainly because half of them come out with personalities that mimic Moon and Unicron has never had so much fun messing with spawn of Primus.

Steeljaw: Is the world against me?

Unicron: *grinning* Well your mother would never do anything to harm you, but unfortunately for you, Grandpa is bored.

Steeljaw: Why do I feel like something bad is about to happen?

Unicron: *getting ready to call out the Fallen for funsies*

[y-rhywbeth2]

Some (in-game) people are going to be very disappointed in the Chosen of Bhaal ending:

Lord Enver Gortash: "Together we rule Faerûn as kings. No, more than kings - gods. We rule as the Absolute."

Nightwarden Minthara: "We believed we were all victims of the cult of the Absolute, but now we learn that one of us was an architect of this grand religious hoax. You helped to create this conspiracy. That means you may be the best person to help us control it, and the key to our victory."

Astarion: "You're going to sit nicely in my lap - perhaps naked - as I give orders to our nocturnal horde from my palace throne. Bhaal's army will be an unsurpassable dowry. I cannot wait for you to claim it."

Extra special shout out to Minthara, who wants a divorce if you reject Bhaal and the power he's offering. She's so fucking deluded, I love her.

Hang on guys, let me ask Daddy Dearest what he thinks about us (that is to say, me and him) sharing power with you. Considering that I just surrendered all say about the course of my life, and defiance will result in him immediately stripping me of all free will and reducing me to a feral wreck, so it's entirely up to him:

*When you level the world over, that dead world must be yours alone.*

Sceleritas Fel: "Of course [you can keep your lover], Master! We will always need to sire more Bhaalspawn! Although if they are not up to the task we may need to find you a breeding-mate. Or ten. Hopefully the near-slaughter of your partner taught them the wisdom of obeying your every command."

And interesting that Astarion talks about a dowry considering that the dialogue files describe the union of Bhaal and Durge as the "BloodWedding", and also your love interest is a "false bride".

Sceleritas Fel: "You and the Urge are wedded, now. One body, one mind."

Narrator: *Your darling would never agree to breed a spawn with you... The defiance begets death.*

Plus the stuff from BG2 where you should abandon all your companions and embrace Bhaal, and none of your mortal life matters...

Sorry guys, Dad says that I'm only to be committed to him as his self-insert and possibly worse, and that if you don't want to die then you have to be our obedient slaves and the surrogates for our murder children (alternatively referred to as "your" and "his" offspring in the narration). You have tadpoles in your brain, and we can seize control of them at any time: you have no say in this.

This is not going to end well for any of the overly ambitious villains involved in the alliance... Especially the ones who think they're the dominant half of this deal.

(I do love the horror of a good trainwreck narrative.)

I also find it fascinating that on some levels, the Chosen and Feral endings are much the same.

Durge: "My Urges are gone from me, as is any trace of Bhaal." Lord Enver Gortash: "I'm surprised Bhaal allowed you to slip away from his grasp. But this changes nothing. With me, you will have power greater than Bhaal could have given you, and you will bow to no master."

I like to think this translates to: "OH THANK FUCK."

[radioisntdead]

You mentioned doing Susan and Reader type things, let me bring up to you:

Reader is Susan's adult child or Niece/Nephew. How do you think that would go? Would she be boasting them up like she does to Rosie or would she be nitpicking them all the time? You decide!

Good evening my dear! I'm gonna scream about Susan now, we don't see much of her but I adore grumpy old people characters (in fiction)

Let's start with child headcanons,

You POOR POOR CHILD, Susan definitely has a key to your home, did you give it to her? Probably not she's the type to MAKE a key, or pick the lock, look me in the eyes [?] And tell me this old woman doesn't know how to pick a lock,

She's definitely seen and done some shit in her [After?] Lifetime, you could be making dinner and she just breaks in strolls on in and starts going on about her childhood and it's just the most messed up Parent Susan lore, she also doesn't care for boundaries, doesn't matter who you are, your boundaries are being invaded, she doesn't like when others invade your boundaries through, only she can do that after all she's your mother! She assumingly birthed you,

Or picked you up from the side of the streets

I don't know how she acquired you

If you have a spouse, Mama Susan does NOT like them, doesn't matter if they're the king of hell or whatever, No one is good enough for her baby,

Heaven forbid if it's someone she already doesn't like, like Alastor for example.

That being said she wants grandkids, you don't have to spawn them, just pick one up off the streets I'm sure there are orphans in hell! Especially after extermination day

She's definitely the type to grab your cheek, squish it and just go "Have you been eating at all?!? Fucking skin and bones!"

Then she just gives you some poor demons leg to munch on, yum!

I feel like when she can make a mean cannibalistic meatloaf, but nothing else,

Maybe soup, but who can't make soup?

[I'm so sorry if you can't make soup, Don't worry I'll make you some so your not soupless]

She's definitely the type of parent to send you to your room without dinner, or keep you at the table until you finished up your meal, or smack with the cane

Honestly if we go with if she was alive in the 1800's {?} And not hellborn {also Susan DOESN'T HAVE A WIKI PAGE? GIVE OUR MEAN OLD LADY A WIKI PLEASE- /j}

Depending on your gender you definitely get raised differently, because sexism was horrid back then, woman didn't get the rights to properly vote until the 1920's, She was long gone by then.

if you're born a gal she's all

"Be more ladylike! No man will marry you if you act like this"

She loves you, and in her mind it's for your own good because society is NOT kind to those who act different than the status quo, she cannot spare you the same fate she got, she wishes you were born in a different time, in one where you'd have more freedom.

she'd lighten up after death because, you know y'all are dead, and man fuck social status that's dead now, she prefers cannibal town as to wherever you were during life

If you were born a lad then you got a ton of

"Be a gentleman! Don't be a dick, don't duel people!"

A son meant she got a pat on the back, she was capable of producing an heir, or whatever old timey crap was going on, she hoped you did NOT turn out to be a product of your environment.

I feel like she'd be very active in feminist movements back then from the shadows, she definitely earned her rights to be grumpy old lady

ANYWAYS THATS OFF TOPIC,

All in all, she's not the WORST mom, but she definitely traumatized you, I feel like y'all healed your mother-child bond in hell {that's a sentence I never thought I'd write}

NOW ON TO THE NIBLING {?} Niece/nephew

She's the single probably wealthy Aunt that probably killed her husband but no one can prove it, completely different from above, she did NOT have a child with niblings [I think that's the right term please correct me if wrong]

If she did have a offspring, congratulations your cousin is often compared to you and y'all probably have a strained relationship.

Anyways any time she sees you she either goes in for the hug and if rejected makes a comment about today's youth and respect, or she doesn't go in for the hug and rambles about today's youth being too touchy,

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with this thing."

Susan when near you.

She gives great Christmas presents though, she just like throws it to you and says she got it last minute and then it's just like 200$ present,

Or if she REALLY doesn't like you, your getting one of those cringe tshirts that's like "look out ladies, I'm a gamer"

OKAY SO ANOTHER LOVELY ANON REQUESTED A THING WITH GRANDCHILD AND SUSAN I'M WORKING ON THAT NEXT, I'm gonna take a nap first though, Thank you for tuning in!

[dark-and-kawaii]

・✦ ʚ♡ɞ ✦ Breeder ✦ ʚ♡ɞ ✦・

ੈ Summary: Raphael has to admit, he was quite fond of you at this point. You were no longer just his little mouse. You were far more valuable at this point, far more useful than just a mere pawn in his grand scheme. You would make a fine host for his bloodline.

ੈ Pairing: Raphael x F!Reader/Tav

ੈ Content: NSFW - Breeding - Biting - Creampie - Raphael Being Raphael - His Little Mouse - Possessive Raphael

ੈ Notes: This is a thank you for @sassyandsodone for the lovely screenshots of Lofn, Zevlor, and Haarlep in her sims game ♡♡♡ I hope you enjoy this ♡♡♡

Your body was on fire from the way he fucked you, your lips red and swollen from how many times his sharp teeth had bit and pulled at them. And then there was the feeling between your thighs, the sensation that had made you moan so wantonly and cry out so desperately to him, a feeling that you never wanted to end…

Nor would it ever end.

A loud cry tore through your throat when he struck your core once more, his cock filling you to the brim making your toes curl. His wings outstretched as he groaned with carnal delight. Raphael had you right where he wanted you, pinned under his large form, his clawed hands gripping your hips, his long nails biting into your much more delicate flesh as he rammed into you over and over. That warm mouth of his leaving a trail of bruises up your neck, his tongue occasionally flicking over a wound he inflicted. The taste of your blood sweet and heady to him, his cock twitching within you at the mere taste it against his tastebuds.

This wasn’t the first time that he had taken you, not in the slightest.

And it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Not when his cock felt this damn good buried deep within you, not when the noises that spilled from your throat made his adrenaline rush, and not when the look in your eyes, the one filled with so much love and lust, made him want to pound into you all the harder.

No it definitely wouldn’t be the last, he’d keep you by his side forever. You were his now, his little pawn, his pet, his plaything, his lover… His breeder.

The thought made Raphael groan, his hips slamming hard against your own, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. It’s not what he originally planned for, keeping you and filling you with his spawn, but when you swore to bring him back the crown, signing his contract without hesitation, and when he tasted you that same night, he couldn't help himself. You were much more valuable, much more enjoyable to play with rather than that dreadful Hope. He had to have you, his little mouse.

Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer, your nails brushing against the crown of horns that adorned his head, the touch making him purr in content. A purr that made your chest tighten and your cunt clench around his cock. By the nine hells his cock couldn’t help but ache at the way your velvety warmth clung to his cock. It made his mouth part further, one of his hands traveling up to your still flat belly. Fear not though mouse, soon it would be swollen with his heir, his greatest creation.

You had no idea of the gift you were about to receive.

Not until his clawed hand caressed the lower part of your stomach.

Your eyes followed the action, watching as his long talons dragged across the skin of your belly, “R-Raphael? What’re yo-“

Your words were cut off when his other hand, the one that had been clutching your hip, moved, his nails dragging across the skin of your breasts before they settled on one sensitive bud. The action made your head fall back and a breathless cry filled the room, the sound making the devil above you smirk, “I can’t help but to wonder how you will sound when you feel the kick of my offspring inside of you.”

His words made you pause, the pleasure in your gut halting for a moment, your head rising so that you could look up at him, the look of shock making him laugh, a dark and rich sound that echoed off his walls, “I wonder, will the nourishment in your breasts become hot- something entirely new from a devil's seed invading your womb? Will your essence that coats my fingers nightly taste like my finest of wines once your body has changed?“

You whimpered when his tongue, that sinful thing, slid along the shell of your ear, the heat of his breath making a shudder run down your spine, “Will you scream when I impregnate you or will you simply cry out my name as if I were your savior?” Raphael’s tail swished back and forth behind him, the anticipation building, the very idea of taking you fully, making you tied to him, making you full with his child, making him want to fuck you until you begged him to stop, “To have such a wondrous and willing little thing like you at my disposal only makes me wish to tear your flesh asunder with my claws, to sink one’s teeth into your lips until they bleed and to take you again and again until you cannot bare to move- your throat raw from calling my name-“

Another thrust had you gasping, his cock throbbing inside of you, his words making you ache with a desperate need to cum, your cunt quivering around him, “R-Raphael~”

“Above all, I’ll indulge in you until I can be for certain that my child has found a nurturing home within your womb.” His hand pressed down onto your lower belly, he could feel his cock moving in and out of your cunt, the way it bulged against your soft flesh making him lose all self control.

It was such a lovely sight.

His eyes flicked up, looking into the mirror off to the side, admiring the way his body looked as he fucked into you, the way your breasts bounced, the way your head fell back, exposing the column of your throat. Such a delicious sight, the way his teeth marks decorated your flesh, the way some spots leaked that pretty crimson color…

Yes he would breed you and breed you well.

His tail moved, the tip curling around your wrist before pulling your hand away from where it clutched his arm, bringing it down to the area where his cock entered you. Your eyes flew open, looking at the mirror, watching the way his thick cock split you in two, your fingers brushing the skin, feeling the bulge.

He was so large, so thick and long, there’s no way you wouldn’t walk out of this room without a child in your womb.

A sharp thrust made you cry out, your hand falling away as the pleasure consumed you, your climax approaching at a rapid rate, your body becoming more and more sensitive, your cunt desperately begging to swallow his warm milky cum.

Your body was screaming for release, the coil in your stomach growing tighter and tighter. Your legs trembling, the pleasure mounting with each second, his cock ramming into your core. Raphael grunted, his hips moving at a brutal pace, the wet sound of your juices, the slap of his skin, and the squelching of his cock, it was too perfect. 

Your voice had grown hoarse from crying out to him, your fingers gripping the sheets below, your thighs shaking, and your vision blurring.

So close.

Raphael let out a loud growl, his nails taking root- biting into your skin as he held you, his tail wrapping tightly around your waist pulling you closer to him. The bed creaked under the force of his thrusts, the headboard banging against the wall threatening to break. His release was nearing, he could feel the familiar coil, the tightening of his balls, the burning sensation at the base of his spine, the way his cock began to twitch.

Then you felt it.

Your body arching off the bed, a strangled moan of his name leaving your lips, your cunt gushing and contracting around his cock, milking him for his cum. 

Raphael growled, his wings stretched as far as they could go, his hips stilling, his cock throbbing inside of you, pulsating and spilling his hot, thick seed, his mouth parted, a groan tearing from his throat. He could see in the mirror how his cum leaked from your cunt, the excess seeping out making a mess between your thighs, your own fluids mixing with his, creating a concoction of scents that made his eyes flutter and his body shudder.

He remained still for a moment, letting his cum fill you, allowing his seed to wriggle and seek out an egg. 

You felt so full already, so wonderfully full and the feeling only intensified when his taloned hands came down to rest upon your lower stomach. It made your cheeks flush, the way he held your belly, his fingers rubbing the skin, “I'm not yet satisfied, my dear.”

He couldn't wait to watch you grow.

By the end of the night you knew you were going to be nothing but a drooling, mindless, mess.

And you couldn’t wait to be at Raphael's side for all eternity, couldn’t wait for him to use you as he pleased further~

His little mouse.

His lover.

His breeder.

[abysswalkersknight]

Another late night drabble! I kept seeing all these wonderful fics and headcannons of Lilia interacting with his younger self so I thought to contribute something. Eventually I hope to be able to 'get the point across' in my fics or try to make more sense of them but right now I hope you like this piece.

.............

It was a horrible sight. Terrifying. Sickening! Never had Vanrouge ever imagined he would see himself cosying up to the humans of this dreadful school, let alone the offspring of their enemy, even going as far as to raise it. At least with Mallenoa’s son he could understand, he’d been entrusted with the egg’s care and all. But he could never wrap his head after the fact that his older self willingly chose to let the human live and care for it as well as embracing that cuteness that is utterly childish and unworthy of someone like Lilia. It was maddening even to see Malleus doting on the boy or that Baul’s child decided to marry a human of all things, the world has become madness itself. He couldn’t understand, looking at that face… All he could see was the killer of their princess what had changed in all those years for his older self to see something past that, to let that cold heart of his to melt into sludge for a mere human, a mere child! It was terrifying to see someone with his face and calibre act so carefree and loving with this child, to see that even someone like him could live a life of such tranquillity despite all that was lost. Of course he’s felt fear before, when your on the battlefield fear is bound to pierce even the most hardened of souls, and it was this same fear he felt as he watches his future self, this insatiable beast, whose very name strikes fear into the hearts of both man and fae, grow ever so daft, so soft. It was like watching a wolf become some house mutt, a blade with no edge, is this what I’ll become?!

An old thing of a fool doused in hot pink, weak and growing weaker by the minute, staring lovingly at the enemy’s spawn with the prince. He can only laugh, Vanrouge had thought this was a showcase of his downfall, a punishment for allowing his friends and family to die. 

Until that night.

As he had been stewing in similar thoughts, his future self’s human (he refused to say son) must have sensed his melancholy because he sat up from where he rested his head next Lilia’s shoulder watching him play a game on his phone, Malleus and Sebek were elsewhere, and suddenly he was in front of Vanrouge reaching out with a concerned expression, he didn’t know what was happening, he didn’t realise that Silver only meant to check on his well being, all he saw was the knight of dawn reaching out with hands stained with blood. Everything was blank until a cry of pain echoed in his ears, red filled his vision and a volley of black and pink suddenly descended upon him before the phone had touched the ground. 

‘Don’t you dare touch him!’ Lilia shrieked, gripping the general around the throat before dragging him away from the boy clutching the side of his bleeding face. Admittedly he’d been on edge ever since his boys insisted on housing the general in a secluded area of Diasomnia, he knew what he was like in his youth and he’d rather not have his son around such hostility only to be proven correct when Silver fell back and blood dripped between his gloved fingers. All that pent up anxiety burst into unrivalled rage which he regrettably unleashed upon the source of all his fears, slashing and striking without pause barely giving his younger self any room to retaliate. As they both scrapped Silver did his best to try to separate the two but with the flaring pain next to his eye he was merely shoved out of the way, eventually they stopped when it took both Malleus and Sebek to wretch them apart, Lilia with only a few scratches here and there while Vanrouge was thoroughly beaten, cuts and bruises everywhere and he had a slight limp when he shook off Malleus. No words were spoken until Lilia snarled at him ‘I don’t care if you're me or anything else, mark my words if you lay another finger on my son I’ll make sure they’ll never find your body.’ With that his features softened and he turned around to tend to Silver.

The boy hissed as Lilia gently pried his fingers away ‘alright let's get a good look at that’ he murmurs taking a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully cleaned around the wounded area with some water that was conveniently around ‘oh dear, well at least it’s not as bad as it looks’ he says. Two decently deep scratches marred Silver’s cheek, Lilia worried over the one closest to his eye, had Vanrouge moved just slightly it was sure to had struck the eye itself ‘hold still now’ diving into the his drying reservoirs of magic he drew a tender finger across the scratches and under his thumb the skin knitted itself back together until it was as if nothing had struck it at all ‘there good as new!’

As lilia cleaned the rest of the boy’s bloodied cheek, Vanrouge tended to his own injuries. Lilia had not been kind in his onslaught, each blow harder than the last, fierce rage burning in his gaze, yet he watches as Lilia oh so tenderly fusses over his child over such tiny scratches, he can’t help but take back his words. His older self may be stupid and soft, but he was not weak, in fact Vanrouge recalled a time when Malenoa told him about a parent’s abominable strength when it came to protecting their child, I suppose you may be right, princess.

Yet how could it be that I turn out just like that.

[guessimabasicnerdgirlnow]

On the subject of Symbrock children

I think there is a lot of focus on who is biologically whose children and I am not immune to this (having spent as long as I did waiting for a confirmation that Dylan is biologically Symby’s)

But we should remember that blood is not everything and so those two have not one, not two, but at least eight children together, biologically related or not

Sure, they never played happy family with Carnage or the Life Foundation symbiotes

But with Carnage specifically, while they both hate them and want nothing to do with them, they also both have this feeling of “it’s my fault that this monster exists”. So while Red is probably not biologically related to Eddie, and they were spawned when he and V were separated, Eddie feels like he is responsible for their existence (and they call him Daddy), and isn’t that fatherhood too?

And actually if you want to be picky about genetics, there is canon precedent for hosts and symbiotes messing with each other genetically (Symby copying Peter’s powers and passing them to their offspring, the original explanation for Dylan was that he was Anne’s and Eddie’s son who inherited the Venom codex from his mother, the whole codex thing) so it is entirely possible that any child either of them have in any way after being bonded for so long is genetically related to both!

(Not to mention that the lines between me and you when it comes to hosts and symbiotes are sometimes blurred)

It’s weird, and it should be! We are talking about aliens!

The truth is that Symbrock never had a child that went like, they had sex and then one got pregnant and gave birth to a baby that is perfectly 50/50 each

They experienced pregnancy and early parenthood together with Sleeper. Dylan descends from both and is seen by both as their son but he was also born from Anne and may or may not genetically descend from her too (but either way he sees her as his mother, even if he never met her). They both see Carnage as their worst mistake, and Eddie upon first meeting the Life Foundation symbiotes wanted to be a father figure to them, and and Symby called Mania their child recently, and when Toxin was about to be born they were both excited to be grandparents

I know Dylan and/or Sleeper work better for a nuclear family scenario because they’re both loved, but they have all those other children too, they’re all theirs! They have full alien children, a mostly human child, children they love, children they hate, children they tried to parent, children they didn’t, children they maybe wished they did, gendered children, genderless children, etc, etc.

And we should appreciate it

[il-predestinato]

i just finished and that's how i foksmashed dad's championship trophy and i wanted to drop by and let you know how much i adored it!! it's so cute and i think you captured sassy's voice (or literally any other cat's lmao) perfectly. the concept was perfectly executed and i love how charles eventually won her over. 10/10 would read again to cheer myself up when ferrari inevitably fucks charles' strategy up. thank you for blessing us and i hope you have a great day 💖

Thank you so much! Aww you're so sweet. I had way too much fun writing as Sassy. 😸 And yep, it's Charles - how could he not win her over by the end? 😜

Here's a snippet to cheer you up when Ferrari inevitably fucks our weekend (please let this be a reverse jinx):

No matter how many hints she dropped ("Leaving fecal matter on his clothes is not a hint," disputed Jimmy with a disapproving frown. "Dad is going to make you take those nasty probiotics again!"), Pappje just did not seem to get the hint. She would scratch up one pair of his hideous jeans, and the next day, it would be replaced by three more - each one more hideous than the one she destroyed. At some point, she was worried that they were reproducing in his closet, spawning ever more ugly offspring jeans.

It was aggravating, to say the least. Max had her spayed, which was just unfair because whatever offspring she could have had would have been ten times more attractive than those ... unspeakable textile disasters.

Most infuriatingly, Pappje thought she was the one in need of medical attention - suggesting to Max every so often that they needed to change her diet, see the vet, and so forth because of her "accidents." She wanted to howl that her bowels were just fine, thank you very much, but he was the one who needed his eyes checked!

She was working on her latest project, clawing fiercely at a pair of paint-splattered jeans, mewling with satisfaction as her tiny claws tore small streaks in the fabric when the closet door slid open. Oh no -

Dad had caught her red-pawed.

"Hey, hey," rebuked Max, dropping to his knees to reach for the fabric. "None of that."

Max tried to gently tug the garment out from under her paws. She hissed in protest, clinging on despite his superior strength. Why doesn't he understand? She huffed in frustration. She was only trying to help Charles. He deserved better than these ghastly outfits!

"I know what you're trying to do, snoepje."

She blinked at Max in confusion.

He teased her under the chin. Reflexively, she purred into his palm.

"But if we love him," whispered Dad, rubbing her patiently across the whiskers, "and of course we do - then we love all of him."

Oh.

"Ugly jeans included."

She considered it for a moment. It was Charles who always brushed her hair with the gentlest comb, played piano lullabies for her during scary thunderstorms, and baked her favourite mackerel treats.

Lowering her head and feeling a little silly and contrite, she mewled in understanding and allowed the odious pants to slip out of her claws. Max patted the top of her head.

"It's sweet how much you try to look out for him. But maybe no more pissing and shitting on his stuff, okay?" Dad tickled her slumped form. "He suggested a colonoscopy for you the other day -" He chuckled at her alarmed squeak. "After I refused to spend €2000 on that, he accused me of not caring enough about you and said he would pay for it himself."

No, no - please, anything but that! The neighbour's terribly basic tabby cat got one last year, and it took weeks for his gassiness to clear up! She pawed and licked at Dad's hand in supplication.

"Don't worry -"

Max's reassurance was cut off as another head poked into the closet.

Charles beamed at them, sliding into the small space with Jimmy purring at his heels.

"There you are."

Sassy blinked at the sight before her and - well, she needed a moment to recover. Pappje was wearing ... what was to-date his most abominable combination of clashing colours and patterns. She suppressed the hairball that her gag reflex threatened to upchuck.

"Well, what do you think?" asked Charles, gesturing to his outfit with an eager smile.

Sassy emitted a small cough. (She was quite proud of herself.) She shot a sideways glance at Max, who to his credit, smiled indulgently back at Charles.

Pappje blinked expectantly at them.

Remembering how pleasantly warm it felt to wake up curled up against Pappje's chest that morning - and not to mention, the stack of allergy pills in the bathroom with Charles' name on them, the ones he took every day over the alternative of banishing her and Jimmy out of their bedroom - she knew exactly what to do.

She meowed her approval loudly.

It was utterly worth it as he smiled widely at her and pressed a light kiss to the tip of her nose. It didn't even matter that he then did the same to Jimmy, just so he wouldn't feel left out. She licked his thumb affectionately.

"You look perfect," added Max, and thus received his kiss too, a little longer and a little more lingering, but never mind because Sassy got hers first.

When Charles pulled away, Dad shot Sassy a wink - a perfectly executed one that Pappje was never able to mimic - and mouthed to her: It's our little secret.

She sighed contently. Anything for Pappje.

-

(end)

P.S. Charles' clothes are not that hideous, but Sassy's formative years were spent learning fashion sense from Max.

P.P.S. Pappje = Charles. Dad = Max.

(original fic)