#winged sentry

[linterteatime]

Fancy bugs and cool bugs and-

More gijinkas here!

[cupcakeshakesnake]

AU memes: Lurien & co. edition (mostly)

[pan-perkozeq]

[ Sentries ]

Cause I love them and nobody shall take thy bugs from me

[hollow-knight-fights]

Hollow Knight Fight Round 2, Wave 1

Submit your propaganda here or in the tags/comments/reblogs!

Like what I'm doing? Give me a coffee!

[zed-makes-stuff]

In light of the realization that Kai from Ninjago and Flash from MLP: Equestria Girls have the same voice actor-

One is beloved while the other is widely despised. Leave it to Kai to light up the haters.

[comicwaren]

From Sentry Vol. 4 #002, “Legacy: Part II”

Art by Luigi Zagaria, David Cutler and Arthur Hesli

Written by Jason Loo

[came-out-of-the-coffin-desisted]

writing dragon age fanfiction is so so so so hard for me because every time i spot another historical inaccuracy that’s like “i don’t care that it’s fantasy they have the same level of technology this is WRONG” i have to have a moment of like. “kaed NO ONE ELSE will EVER care about this. you watch ‘ranking period dramas on corset accuracy both in construction and writing’ videos on youtube for entertainment normal people simply do not give a FUCK about medieval castle layouts!”

and yet this cycle continues, because the dragon age devs so so so so clearly DID research but they did BAD research and it HAUNTS me. like WHYYYYY is there only one courtyard that isn’t even really a courtyard in castle cousland WHY is the “main hall” huge with no furniture while the great hall “dining room” is tiny as fuck and in a horrible to access spot WHY are there no ovens in the kitchens where the FUCK do they bake the breaaaad!! like ok fine cool servants get beds in thedas i’ll bite. that fucks hard, actually! but WHY are there more servant rooms than rooms for visiting nobles do you honestly think anybody in the middle ages fucking had servant rooms???? they slept on the FLOOR in the GREAT HALL! and WHY is there a fucking library and a ‘treasury’ (which what the fuck is THAT there should be a DON-JON in there you locked your valuables in the TOWER at the TOP, not in ONE room centrally located on the first floor with TWO guards!!) like i KNOW it was for level design i KNOW it was but oh my fucking g-d it’s gonna KILL ME to write out creeping through corridors when there WERE NO CORRIDORS! like look at this. look at this.

castle cousland: stupid, awful design, honestly they kinda asked to be coup’ed with their garbage unsurvivable castle that supposedly nobody sieges regularly even though it’s literally a death trap. there is ONE main exit, no way to trap your enemies, and only one official guard post that i can see. fuck awful.

harlech castle in wales: it took 115 years for someone to successfully take this castle, and it’s withstood COUNTLESS sieges, you can go visit it right the hell now if you go to wales (not at all getting into the evilness of the english building castles in wales, that’s not the point i’m trying to make.) see how the outside makes it so that even if your enemies breach the walls, to actually reach anyone important they have to survive the volleys of arrows from the ramparts? and then presumably kill everyone ON the ramparts, or the minute you go to open a door or try to drag someone out, you’re going to get shot full of arrows. that’s after breaching TWO heavy doors (which would require a battering ram both times) which would wake up the entire castle LONG before they got anywhere NEAR the heir to the castle’s wife and child.

and before somebody says “oh well kaed maybe you just don’t know your castle building periods very well” think again. i know my castle building periods. that style above is concentric (harlech castle’s initial construction was finished in 1289 and was one of the first finished castles in england in this style,) which came after the keep and bailey style, which came after the motte-and-bailey style, which came after the burh (which arguably WASN’T a castle but whatever,) etc. there are no fortified castles in english history that look like castle cousland, because it’s fucking indefensible. now, this does lead to the question of “oh, well, what is the timeline for the game, maybe there’s something you missed!” so let’s examine the time period of origins:

at the very, very latest, origins could be based off of the BEGINNING of the british “wars of the roses” (the civil wars between the various members of the house plantagenet) which began in the 1450s— this is personally what /i/ think origins is based off of, for a couple reasons. 1) trevelyan was a real person— g.m. trevelyan was a british historian who wrote about the wars of the roses, and in one instance there’s a quote of his the devs almost verbatim used for the design of the free marches: “the Wars of the Roses were to a large extent a quarrel between Welsh Marcher Lords, who were also great English nobles, closely related to the English throne…” they ixnayed the part about the marcher lords being ferelden nobles, i imagine because it was too complicated, but trevelyan? marcher lords? a close relationship with this country? (i.e. like somewhere that might take in their refugees after a catastrophe?) cmon. 2) because ferelden is fucking huge and the histories are kinda weird, because they aren’t 1 for 1, i’m gonna say that we have to use the norman conquest of england as our unification date. in other contexts i wouldn’t try to argue this, but in this one, i’m saying 1066 is the unification date of the anglo-saxon kingdoms into england. calenhad gives us a hard unification date for ferelden— the first landsmeet was in 5:42 exalted, ergo origins is 388 years later. the wars of the roses started in 1455, 389 years after the norman conquest ended. 3) the wars of the roses happened because of a succession crisis— admittedly, these two succession crises are very, very different, but there are definitely parallels between loghain and henry vi and alistair and edward iv. henry vi was crowned at a young age (loghain largely ruled for maric at various points in his life, starting when he was very young,) and was very ineffectual— he suffered from an unknown mental illness which made him extremely unstable and unable to rule for large periods of time. loghain, on the other hand, ruled when the /theirins/ weren’t stable, so you argue he had the opposite— meanwhile, his policies WEREN’T sustainable, whatever you might think of him. loghain is too shaped by his own experiences to be a truly good leader, and by the time his rule/anora’s rule is threatened by cailan, he’s sacrificed enough of his principles that he’s willing to commit atrocities (notably, margaret of anjou ruled during the worst parts of her husband’s mental instability, which again could apply to loghain OR anora, as they ruled fairly jointly after a certain point.) edward iv was the son of richard of york, who was eligible for the throne at a very young age (18 to alistair’s 19) because his father was dead. he was coaxed and led into battle by his cousin, the earl of warwick (also known as the kingmaker— sound like a protagonist you might know?) that’s about where the similarities end, but that’s largely because alistair is a grey warden— if he weren’t, he’d probably be able to have kids and end the question of succession. but he can’t, which, assuming the devs eventually remember, WILL lead to another civil war. hence why i say this is at the BEGINNING of the wars of the roses.

another option that could be argued but makes much less sense and i have no evidence for is that alistair has similarities to edward ii (second son who only became king because his brother died, married a more powerful woman to consolidate power, not very good at ruling, no offense to alistair,) but that still puts origins at like 1307-1327. in either case, they would have been using concentric castles— and given what time period castle cousland was originally built in, it would have been built as a motte-and-bailey, which would NOT have lasted four hundred years. so the castle had to have been rebuilt, and bryce cousland would have had to update that rebuilt castle, because no one lived in it during the orlesian occupation. so where the hell does this winding, weird multi-level design come from?

i GUESS— and this is SO charitable— they could have designed castle cousland based off of a country house design from the mid 1500s, but none of them look like that, either. they’re exclusively rectangular, for one thing, and one of the huge bragging rights of owning one was that they weren’t fortified— they came into fashion during a period of relative stability under the tudor rule, when it was considered guache and maybe even treasonous to build a fortified castle. ferelden is NOWHERE NEAR a period of stability, if anything at the end of origins they’re entering their greatest period of INstability, given what happens in inquisition, and that no matter who ends up on the throne, there’s no way for them to have children. so there’s NO way this castle is a country house, or inspired by one.

leaving us with the final conclusion that a) the game devs definitely did do research into the time period because i can fairly directly trace a line between the event i think inspired origins and the plot, but they didn’t do enough research to figure out what the everloving fuck the BUILDINGS looked like. so these castles make no fucking sense and can’t possibly be called historically accurate even with the fantasy defense, and b) i care WAAAY too much about this for somebody who isn’t even a medieval historian. my area of expertise is the paleolithic, i have no clue why this bugs me so bad i spent four fucking hours writing this post.

[the-n3w3st-g1rl-g1rl]

there are multiple things in Undertale that the narration describes as "illegible" and I just wonder if maybe Frisk or the narrator are really bad at reading handwritten messages

[xboxissues]

New Xbox Games for October 7 to 11 2024

[silksongeveryday]

Journal Entry 57: Winged Sentry

(Drawing Hornet everyday until Silksong comes out - Day 603)

[shadowqueenjude]

The most disturbing things portrayed in ACOTAR

Victim-blaming: Lucien tries to help Feyre and gets physically abused by Tamlin as a result. Feyre then proceeds to call him a dog despite Lucien doing everything he could in a difficult situation. And we're supposed to...support Feyre on this? And Rhysand throws around words like "can never forgive" man stfu you prick.

Sexual Assault: The most disturbing thing is not that Rhysand sexually assaulted Feyre. It's that he's never held accountable for this and never even apologizes at ANY point in the series. There are so many examples but this is the one that is the most disturbing.

Double Standards: We have Tamlin locking Feyre up for her own good being vilified, yet Rhysand is championed for locking Lucien and Nesta up in houses for their own good. Huh? WTF.

War Crimes: What Feyre did to the Spring Court, manipulating the sentries with the whole Ianthe thing and basically getting them killed, then weakening the Spring Court rulership which resulted in all those villagers in the Spring Court getting killed, then laying the Summer Court bare to Hybern as well, are nothing short of war crimes. And...instead of feeling regret, we have the main characters saying "Hybern's actions are their own." Like bitch what? Hybern wouldn't have been able to do shit if it wasn't for you! Have some damn accountability! And the fact that Tamlin and Tarquin are vilified for this never ceases to irk me.

Grooming: Rhysand groomed Feyre. He made excuses for everything he did with trauma, then sent Feyre out to do tasks for him like she's some kind of weapon he can use. WITHOUT giving her proper information, there is no choice. And everything he does is constantly explained away, until eventually Feyre becomes his trophy wife. Rhysand basically assigns Cassian to do the same for Nesta. I'm holding out hope that Elain will be saved from the Night Court.

The pregnancy debacle: the whole thing with the baby having wings and Rhysand withholding information from Feyre is just...disturbing. Idc if you're not telling her FoR hEr OwN gOoD, it is HER life at stake and she deserves to know. They didn't even try to shapeshift her to try and save her life? Like why is everybody seemingly more concerned about the baby than the mother? Disgusting. And why is Nesta vilified for being the only one to tell Feyre? She said it to hurt her, blah blah blah. She also wanted to show Feyre that their situations are similar. That they're BOTH being shit on by the Night Court. And when she's close to a breaking point...Nesta is forced to hike a mountain? That is physical abuse. Also, Rhysand being extremely territorial putting a shield over her and barely letting Feyre go anywhere is beyond weird.

Suicide baiting: What Rhysand did to Tamlin in ACOFAS is nothing short of suicide baiting. And...only Lucien seems to really be that concerned about it? Like...are you telling me I'm supposed to be supporting Rhysand after he basically told a depressed male to kill himself?

Segregation: Separating the Hewn City from Velaris IS segregation, no matter what excuse you try to come up with. You can't claim they're all shitty people, since your bestie Mor comes from the CoN. So, there are good people stuck in the CoN unable to get out of their torment because Rhysand decided that only certain individuals are allowed in Velaris.

Performance Feminism: Establishing laws to help women and not doing shit to enforce them is performance feminism. If he's as powerful as he says, he can 100% stop wing-cutting and r*pe. But, he's a goddamn virtue signaler so he doesn't fucking care. The thing is, SJM could've handled these topics in a much better way and it would've been fine. But she completely fucked shit up here and it's crazy that some people don't see it. Part of me is still waiting for the final book where she says, psych rhysand was the villain the whole time. If so, I'll take everything back.

[vincentvalenfine]

bite of the beast

vincent valentine/afab!reader nsfw, 18+ word count: 9400 warnings: canon-typical violence fighting monsters, partial galian beast transformation, explicit piv intercourse, knotting, blindfolded because vincent is a goddamn mess, mostly clothed sex, don't focus too hard on the where and when of setting honestly read also on ao3!

Not every transformation goes as smoothly as Vincent would like it to. That you're there when it goes sideways becomes a prime opportunity to get very close, very quickly.

It was getting to be routine, staying behind with the busted up Bronco while most of the others went off to take care of the important business of trying to save the world, one stop at a time. If anything you were glad for the chances to get some peace and quiet considering how much chatter could go on while on the move. At times like this it was just you keeping watch, Cid doing what he could for his poor airship, and the mysterious Vincent, keeping to himself but never straying too far away.

Ah, Vincent Valentine. He was fascinating to watch, you couldn’t help it. The aloof demeanor had mostly held up during his time with the group, but nonetheless you’d spotted the cracks and what hid underneath, which turned out to be a much kinder, softer man than his first meeting would’ve led anyone to believe. He had a protective streak, a subtle sweetness when he hid his smiles behind the high collar of his cloak, and… well, you hoped he was glancing at you with some measure of interest every now and then.

Finding reasons to get him talking wasn’t easy, but you had managed to garner a few conversations from him, and he always seemed surprised that someone wanted more than a few brief observations from him. But he at least appeared to be warming up, if slowly. Hopefully he wasn’t just trying to avoid any social friction. He was also a hard man to read…

Today’s scenic view was the humid, tangled jungles of Gongaga. The others had gone off down the lone dirt path that led away towards the village, while you had settled yourself in to get some reading done, Cid had gotten back to work on the Bronco, and Vincent… well, he was around here somewhere. Probably hiding in the shade to avoid the worst of the heat.

“Hey, I'm gonna catch a bit of shuteye real quick! You mind keepin’ watch?”

Looking up from your book, you gave a nod and a thumbs up to Cid, who grinned and returned the gesture before retreating to the Bronco’s interior. Well, that left you to be on the lookout for any monsters that might show up - in a remote place like this, the possibility was unfortunately high. Better to put the book away and get some little lookouts summoned up, then.

Picking up the length of rope coiled by your side, you gave the spiked metal hammer head attached to the end a few twirls around before deftly striking a few spots on the ground before you. Each little crater you made sprouted forth a miniature drake in dusty yellow, shaking dirt off their hides before flapping their wings and beginning to circle the Bronco in a broad radius. They didn't need to be strong, just alert in case of monsters, or unexpected visitors.

One of them squeaked out a noise you'd learned to associate with Vincent, somewhere on the other side of the Bronco. The indistinct, velvet murmur of his voice barely reached your ears, but you knew he was distracting one of your sentries from their job. It drew a little grin to your face.

He had shown a surprising fondness for the fiends you could summon to fight on your behalf, and it made you smile every time you caught him interacting with them.

One of the drakes let out a curious trill and your gaze shifted in that direction. The little beast was beginning to make its way into the foliage of the jungle, drawing an annoyed grumble from you - that wasn’t in the instructions at all, but maybe it had found something useful? They did like the scent of mako. A quick glance at the Bronco (Vincent would keep an eye on it while you followed after for a bit, right?), and you coiled your meteor hammer around your arm before hustling after the vanishing drake.

Tangled was an understatement regarding the underbrush of the jungle. You quickly found yourself stumbling over roots, shoving past vines, and cursing the little sentry that had simply gone flitting through the branches ahead without a care in the world. You’d think it would have some willingness to wait for its summoner before flying off! A damn shame you didn’t have a blade to help with hacking your way through the foliage, but it was a bit late to turn back for one and you didn’t want to lose track of your summon anyway.

As you struggled through, a brief flicker of red caught your eye up above and ahead, so brief you weren’t even sure you had seen it. Maybe that was what had drawn your sentry away? With more cursing for each vine and branch that slowed you down, you did your best to catch up with it. At least it looked like there was a break in the jungle ahead…

Which, upon bursting out into that opening, you realized your abrupt entrance was a pretty terrible idea.

While across the clearing there was indeed a mako spring welling up out of the earth with a gentle burbling, between you and it was a trio of Gagighandi just beginning to lift their heads from sleeping. And they were huge too - one of them snapped its jaws at your summon as it darted by, catching the poor thing with only its tail and some of its wings sticking out from the fanged maw that closed with a crunch. You winced at the sight of its lifestream wisping away and began slowly backing up. Maybe if you just moved slowly enough…

Your heel snagged on a root and sent you sprawling onto your back with a whoosh of air from your lungs, followed by a bout of coughing as you struggled to catch your breath. By the time you got it back and scrambled onto your feet, all three of the beasts were staring, long tails swishing behind them.

“Uh - nice lizards…?”

A loud growl was the response you received. Well… shit.

Before you could get your meteor hammer twirling, a trio of shots rang out that forced the beasts to leap back from their resting places, dirt spraying from the impact of bullets. You glanced up with wide-eyed surprise as a familiar cloaked figure emerged from the canopy above you and twirled neatly midair before taking another series of shots to force the fiends further back. His landing was impeccable too, seeming to hover just a moment before his sabatons touched down in front of you, facing forward towards the threat. Vincent glanced over his shoulder to you and gave a slight nod.

“You shouldn’t be so careless about wandering off alone.”

You couldn’t help but huff as you readied your weapon, “It’s not my fault the little bugger decided to go exploring!” He didn’t respond aside from a slight hum, though you were certain you could see a glimmer of amusement in his eyes before he returned his gaze back to the Gagighandi that were now readying themselves to attack. Vincent had bought just enough time for you to prepare for a fight though as you stepped up beside him, and you began spinning the head of your hammer at the highest speed you could muster before slamming it to the ground.

Dirt exploded outwards, and with it the craggy, rocky shape of a golem hauled itself up out of the earth. You’d put more effort into the summon and this one was a good ten feet tall once it clambered to its feet, its ‘voice’ the scraping and gnashing of rocks as it lumbered towards its opponents. It would make a good shield to tank all the blows while you and Vincent took potshots from a safe distance.

At least, that had been the plan in your head until a fourth, even larger Gagighandi pushed through the trees, over the mako spring entirely with a single step. Oh, that just had to be mako mutated! Its gaze locked onto you as your body suddenly began to stiffen up - shit, Stone Stare was a bitch, and you knew you didn’t have a Soft or Remedy on you. Maybe it was time to try and book it before you both found yourselves petrified and eaten…

“Hm.”

Vincent’s voice drew your gaze, and you looked to find him withdrawing a golden Soft needle from a pocket with two gauntlet claw-tipped fingers. Without hesitating he flicked the item at you - it pierced your shoulder before you could think to reach for it, and you heaved a sigh of relief as the magic loosened up your tightened muscles. Okay, now was definitely the time to book it-

“Do not move.” His velvet voice was dark in warning, and you couldn’t help gaping as he stumbled forward suddenly. The beasts in front suddenly seemed uneasy at his approach, even more so as the sudden snapping of bones and popping of joints filled the clearing alongside Vincent’s voice choking out a scream. Oh, okay. Damn. It took an eternity and an instant before his form exploded outwards into the nightmarish beast you’d only seen once before, when Cloud and the others had beaten it down into submission with great difficulty. This was going to be intense…

The Galian Beast roared.

The Gagighandi recoiled briefly, before the largest one gave a shrieking hiss in response and lunged.

The battle was swift and terrible in its duration, and you were glued to the ground with fascination and a small measure of fright - how could something so massive move with such speed and agility? Your golem was giving its best to the smaller fiends, but its time was suddenly up as the Beast wrapped golden claws around it, lifted it high, and smashed it down upon the monster with more force than you could imagine. It stood no chance of surviving and crumbled away to dust afterward, while the great lizard stumbled back with a dazed look before screaming and lashing out with teeth and claws once more.

In less than a minute the smaller ones had succumbed to gaping wounds from the Beast’s claws and axe-tipped tail, and the larger one was well bloodied with a front leg dangling uselessly while it struggled to grapple with its foe.

You held your breath as the two strained against each other’s bulk… and then sighed in relief as the Gagighandi was wrenched from its feet and thrown down, the Beast descending upon it to tear it apart rather messily.

It was eating the fiend… well. It must’ve worked up an appetite during that fight.

You froze as it suddenly halted in its meal and lifted its head to look at you, bright eyes eerie even in the sunlight that filled the clearing. Your breath caught in your throat, gaze darting away to the ground to avoid staring. The last thing you wanted was for Vincent to feel threatened and turn his attention to chowing down on you instead. But aside from a low rumbling noise that seemed to roll through the air and your bones alike, the sounds of flesh being rent asunder and eaten resumed for another minute until silence fell over the clearing finally.

You were nervous about looking again, but you dared to anyway and found the Beast sat back on its haunches, licking the blood from its claws and face.

Those red eyes turned your way again, and you felt pinned by them. This time the Beast shook itself and dropped its head, another low rumble intermingled with a note of pain as its massive frame shuddered and began to shrink. Oh, thank goodness, he was changing back and you wouldn’t have to play hide and seek with the Beast.

You looked away again, out of courtesy this time, and waited again until the sound of footsteps told you Vincent was back to himself. Or at least that was what you assumed, but another surprise awaited when you looked.

“Vincent?”

Almost normal, but not - the Beast’s tall horns still curved up over the dark mess of hair, his eyes seemed fever bright with energy, and he carried himself several inches taller than usual on golden clawed feet like the Beast. More obvious still was the long tail that swayed behind him, bearing that golden axe like a macabre banner. With his face still speckled with blood, his expression was troubled, alarmed even. The claws that tipped his fingers seemed to be shaking as they rose to his face even at this distance, one that was being closed fast by his uneven steps.

“You need to leave,” he huffed out in a hoarse voice, the velvet traded for harsh gravel. He sounded frightened - you felt a bit frightened yourself at the unexpected change, but steeled yourself and shook your head after a moment.

“No, it’s alright. I want to help you, if I can.”

His expression twisted with fear - not for himself but for you, clearly. You mustered up your courage and took your own steps towards him, tilting your head slightly as he took a fretful step back in response. He really was scared of hurting others, of letting the Beast get the better of him… well, you needed to prove that fear wrong, then. It was only right to help him.

You kept your pace steady, tucking away your meteor hammer as you went, and offered him a smile when you grew close. While Vincent was already a relatively tall man, the additional height now made him tower over you the closer you got, though his hunched posture hid some of that height and made him appear like a distressed cat of sorts, especially with his tail swishing about erratically.

“You shouldn’t… I don’t want to-”

“You aren’t going to, don’t worry about it. Let me just take a look, okay?”

You were close enough to reach out and touch him, but he shied away from your hand with a sound caught somewhere between a whine and growl. Talk about stubborn; you heaved a sigh and stepped closer still, too close for him to lean away when you placed your hand on his arm. “See? I’m fine, you’re not hurting me. Let me help out.”

He let out a ragged breath, still looking fearful, but as you stood there and nothing happened he seemed to slowly relax. You smiled at him again to reassure him, letting your hand rub up and down lightly to prove that he wasn’t about to go attacking you just because of a touch. A low rumbling began to build in his chest, subtly different from the warning rumble the Beast had given you before… some kind of purr, in a way?

Vincent looked nervous still, and a touch confused by his own reaction, but he wasn’t pulling away. If anything, he seemed to be unconsciously leaning in now, dark hair spilling over his shoulders - the ends had taken on a deep red hue unlike usual, and you found yourself watching his face, realizing it matched the color of his right eye. The left eye was more vibrant than ever, and his gaze seemed to draw you in, the muddled swirl of emotions in his eyes beginning to settle down as he watched you in turn. The furrow in his brow slowly eased away, his expression softening as he halfway hid behind the collar of his cloak. Was he… starting to blush?

You couldn’t help reaching up with your other hand and touching his cheek to see, the warmth of his skin quickly intensifying under your fingertips as his eyes fluttered closed. The rumbling grew louder as well, and in a sudden movement his right arm slipped about your shoulders to drag you up against him, a squeak of surprise escaping you in the process.

“Vincent...?”

His eyes flicked open quickly, an intensity to their gaze different from the fear he’d held before, pupils dilated and a frenetic energy setting them aglow. It was your turn to feel a measure of confusion as he leaned down, his exhales ruffling your hair with a few deep breaths.

“I did not notice before,” he murmured as if to himself, low voice back to rich velvet. “Your scent… it is pleasant.”

And now it was also your turn to blush, words catching in your throat as you struggled to come up with a response to that. You came up empty-handed, even more so as his nose nuzzled down against the crown of your head. His rumbling was especially loud when you were pressed up against his chest like this, and the combination of sound and touch was flustering you almost unbearably. The feelings you had begun developing were now suddenly unfurling with a vibrant, giddy warmth in your chest, but with it came an unbearable twist of nerves. Was Vincent really comfortable with this, or was it the Beast affecting his behavior? Would he shy away as soon as he realized what he was doing?

“Vincent, I-!”

You didn’t get the chance to ask, as he brought his face down to yours and blocked any further words from escaping your lips with his own.

His movements were hungry, surprisingly bold from someone otherwise so reserved - you found yourself melting into the kiss in spite of your worries, stomach flipping about with giddiness and hands having no choice but to grab onto the front of his cloak to keep themselves in check. His own hands had no such concerns apparently, clawtips pricking through cloth as he drew them down your sides and settled on your hips with a light squeeze.

That rumbling of his still going strong, his height had him stooped over until his grasp started urging you down toward the ground. You couldn’t help but oblige, especially considering the strength in his grip that made it feel like he was doing pretty much all of the work to move you.

With your back quickly meeting the ground, you were properly pinned under him now. A gasp escaped you when one of his hands left its perch to slide up underneath your shirt, claws dragging delicately along your skin and drawing a shiver from you. The uncertainties you wanted to voice had nowhere to go, swallowed by his mouth needy against yours every time you tried to speak them.

One of his thighs slid itself between yours. The warm leather pressed up firmly to your crotch drew a surprised moan from you, another noise muffled by his lips still hungry for your own. The hand that had slid upward beneath your shirt this time drew downward, the same light scrape of clawtips provoking another shudder before they caught on the cloth further down.

Vincent’s lips paused just briefly as if he'd found something to hesitate over, but the moment was fleeting and he renewed his fervent kiss while his hand tugged insistently at the clothing in his way. You found yourself doing your best to oblige his efforts by lifting your hips up with a wiggle that helped send everything sliding until it met with the thigh still pressed up against you.

That drew a brief growl from him for having gotten in his own way. A quick lift of his leg moved it out of the path of your clothes on their journey downward before he settled it right back into place, this time rubbing up against bare skin. You couldn’t help moaning again, especially when the hand still holding onto your hip drew you up along the length of his thigh. Trailing slick as you went no doubt, the friction quickly set your guts ablaze with need and had you squirming in short order.

Your hands tugged sharply at his cloak in an attempt to draw him closer even though he was limited by his own height, having to curl his back to both kiss you and keep his leg well-positioned. Another low rumble built in his chest, and he finally freed your lips to instead latch onto your neck with both lips and the lightest press of fangs. That made you gasp and go still, pulse fluttering against the warmth of his lips and tongue that laved over your skin slowly. It wasn’t a threat - it was downright possessive, claiming you for his own. The thought of it made your legs weak, and it was a good thing you weren’t standing on them right now. Still…

“V-Vincent, is - are you…?”

He paused for longer this time, giving you a chance to catch your breath in spite of the thigh still held between yours and the tightly coiled desire in your gut begging for him to keep going. Finally, with a grunt that betrayed his internal struggle, he withdrew his mouth and took a deep, ragged breath. His head lifted just enough that you could meet his gaze again, still fever bright and burning with a mix of emotions. Desire, chiefly, but tempered with his growing uncertainty, and a touch of fear. That same fear as before - he didn’t want to hurt anyone, let alone you.

“Tell me to stop if…” he uttered hoarsely, the rest going unspoken. It would be too easy for you to do just that, to likely pretend this never happened if you were both so inclined… but he’d swiftly drawn out feelings that would have otherwise taken their time to grow, and possibly hastened feelings of his own as well. And you didn’t want to see what devastation looked like on his beautiful face.

Despite your nerves you raised a hand to touch his cheek once more, watching his eyes slide shut the same as before. This time you trailed your fingers down to his lips, brushing over them slowly and watching a shiver pass through him as he sighed. As they parted slightly for the motion of that sigh you gently slipped your thumb between them, watching his eyes flicker open with surprise and confusion - he clearly had no idea what you intended. He looked nervous as well, as if afraid he might suddenly bite down for no reason. You wanted to soothe that fear, running your thumb over the neat line of lower incisors to the much sharper canine that protruded upward and testing its sharpness with a light press. The action made him shudder, closing his lips around your thumb tentatively with the tiniest touch of his tongue tip to your skin. It was so comparatively shy when just moments ago he’d been licking your neck, you couldn’t help the amused smile that set his face flushing with embarrassment. He was so pale, it was impossible to miss it.

“I’m… more worried about you, okay? I’m good with this if you are.”

His eyes darted away, as if aware of how much they gave away about his feelings. Likely a whole flood of them about being afraid, of insecurities you weren’t privy to that would nonetheless give themselves away if he looked for too long… all of it at war with the Beast’s instincts that pushed him in more simple, primal directions. Even without making eye contact you could see his internal conflict.

You curled your fingers under his chin, using a gentle grip to draw his face close to yours again.

“I already liked you, Vincent. I don’t know if you felt that way too, but… if you don’t want anything that’s okay.” Heavy words to have to say in such an intimate position, but if it would make his choice easier then that was what you needed to say.

Another shudder ran through him, eyes closed to avoid looking at you for the moment before he seemed to summon his strength. His lips worked around your thumb with a brief sucking motion, tongue stroking gently over the tip before he tugged just a little to withdraw from your grip, licking his lips while he found his response.

“If you would accept a monster…”

You leaned in to kiss him, setting your own pace this time. He briefly stiffened with shock, then slowly began to relax down against you. This was less about urgent desire, more careful exploration as you gave him a proper feel for what you wanted him to have. His movements were cautious in return, but a soft rumble was beginning to build in his chest again as his gauntleted hand found its way up to your cheek and ghosted the sharp tips along, back over your scalp pleasantly.

A sigh escaping through your nose, you settled your hand on his shoulder to hold him closer, even still curled over you as he was. It wasn’t near the level of intensity which he’d brought to bear just earlier, but this kiss was pleasant in its own right, giving you the chance to grow confident with the new closeness… though it still didn’t prepare you for his thigh slowly shifting, as if testing whether he was still allowed to be so intimately pressed to you.

He needed the encouragement, so you gave him a soft little moan and parted your lips for him, the openness causing a brief hesitation before he accepted the invitation to send his tongue exploring. The hand on your hip flexed, digging clawtips in just for a moment before easing up and starting to draw them up along your side, giving you the freedom to move as you wanted to. You took the opportunity as it was given and began canting your hips into his thigh with another moan, this one muffled by his careful, methodical mapping of your mouth.

When he was in control he was so cautious, so nervous about making a wrong move that you were starting to miss the dominant eagerness of his bestial impulses, but figuring out how to get him to loosen up without scaring him… that was the challenge. And you wouldn’t be able to find out without a little experimentation.

You hadn't yet tried to touch any of his new ‘additions’, and decided it was time to give it a go; your free hand shifted upward, first to stroke at the messy black hair spilling over his shoulders. He hummed quietly, another deep rumble swelling from his chest, and that encouraged you to continue petting for another moment or so. Then you rose further, pausing at the base of one of his horns before touching the craggy, tough surface. Vincent’s rumbling stuttered for a moment, exposing his nerves once more.

You withdrew for a few seconds, just enough time to catch some deep breaths and whisper to him, “You're okay.”

He shivered, then gave the slightest nod and tilted his head towards your hand, the surprisingly broad girth of his horn pushing into your palm. It wasn’t wholly rough in texture, a few smooth areas found by your fingertips, and with a quick breath before leaning in to kiss him again, you gave it a tug to pull him closer. Vincent growled at that - another shift in demeanor, his teeth now latching onto your lower lip with a harsh nip. You gasped, another moan fluttering out, and tugged again to provoke him further. That seemed to bring him right back to his earlier mindset, and once again his movements grew hungry, taking the previously careful pace and ramping it up to a feverish rush.

Vincent’s mouth pulled away from yours and found its way to your neck again, and this time you felt no need to disrupt him, shuddering at the fangs dragging along thin skin like he wanted to make a meal of you. At this point you wanted him to do just that, consequences be damned - you’d look good with his bite marks all over you, no doubt.

“Vincent, please..!”

Another low growl escaped him, lips and tongue working their way downward to the join of neck and shoulder where muscle would make a nice, safe place to leave his mark. But he was holding back it felt like, the sharp points pressing down but not quite hard enough to break skin, and combined with the growing tension in your gut as you continued working yourself against his thigh the wait was almost unbearable. A whine slid from your lips - and he hummed in amusement, tongue glazing over the skin caught in his mouth almost lazily. Dammit, he was actually teasing you!

“Please,” you rasped, “I want it.”

He let go in order to speak, exposing damp skin to his exhaled breath and making you shiver. “You will have to be specific.”

Specific - fuck, that’s just embarrassing! You huffed indignantly, about to start pouting when his thigh began pulling away suddenly. On reflex you clamped down on it with your legs, giving him an almost offended look. That provoked a low huff that could’ve been a laugh, and he dipped his head back to the base of your neck, nuzzling with just his nose to take in your scent again.

There was a low thudding off to the side, and craning your neck over you caught a glimpse of that new tail of his, the gleaming axehead thumping against the dirt. Wagging his tail… dammit, that was so cute you could almost forgive him for being a tease right now.

You groaned a little and gathered your words. “Please, I… want you to bite me.”

Vincent hummed again, and then in one swift motion opened his mouth to bite down firmly, fangs sinking through skin with ease and causing a warm burst of pain. You couldn’t hold back a little cry, one that suddenly pitched upwards with surprise and pleasure as his hand found its way down and pressed the heel of his palm firmly against your clit. Those claws wouldn’t be a good time in such a delicate area, yet he’d found a good enough work-around to set you writhing even while he remained firmly latched on.

The heady mix of pain and pleasure made your last few ruts against his leg rushed and jerky before you hit a swift climax, gasping his name as you clung tightly to him and rode out the waves.

His hand remained in place until you were limp on the ground, though at some point during your orgasm he’d withdrawn his fangs from your skin and had settled into licking at the blood that streamed from the wound. The bite mark ached, throbbing in time with the receding pleasure in your core. Even then the only thing you regretted at the moment was not doing anything for him in return so far, and as you worked on catching your breath and wits both you gave his horn a light tug to try and bring him back up for another kiss. He resisted for a moment with a soft growl, closing his mouth over the mark he’d left for one more taste, then allowed you to redirect him.

There was something both wicked and irresistible about tasting your own blood on his lips, and even though you’d just come your guts were already growing tight with desire again, this time for more than the thigh he was slowly withdrawing from between your legs.

You kissed him needily and he pushed back in kind, the occasional lap of his tongue trying to catch what blood he was smearing across your lips. His fangs nipped in turn and had you whining petulantly, free hand seeking its way to one of his belts and giving it a tug. Vincent shuddered in response, hesitating for a moment as if arguing with the Beast’s instincts before giving in and arching his back up to let his hips more evenly drop down against yours. One of his hands found its way to your hip to bring you up against him as well, and the distinctive bulge trapped under tight, warm leather had you squirming with want, legs quick to hook around him and give you leverage to grind up against him.

This time he was the one to moan, a deliciously soft, wanting noise that sent your desire out of control, tugging again at his belt like it was a handle to steer him with. Dammit, if only there wasn't so much fucking leather in the way-

“Wait,” he whispered hoarsely against your lips, and you pulled back to give him the room he needed. He looked so conflicted again, even with pupils blown wide open and a thin strand of spit still trailing from his lips down to yours. As much as you wanted to drive the uncertainties from his mind and kiss him breathless, you didn't want to scare him away.

“Take your time, Vincent. I can wait.”

He took that time as offered, trying to slow his breathing down and closing his eyes for the time being. You dropped your hand from horn to hair and started petting gently - a soft rumbling rolled from his throat in response even as his cheeks grew pink from the affection. His hair, though messy, was still silky to the touch and honestly a pleasure to comb your fingers through.

Finally, he gave a shaky sigh and opened his eyes to look at you once more, still fraught with uncertainty but also holding a measure of desire… a touch of affection? You could hope that you weren’t mistaking lust for its less common counterpart. You'd gotten this far with him, though.

“I am… not sure this is right. I'm still - half a beast. You couldn’t…”

“Couldn’t what? Stop you? You're the one stopping yourself right now.” You gave your hips a brief grinding movement up against him and watched his lips part for an airy moan - so damn beautiful, both to look at and listen to. Again, he had to close his eyes, this time to escape your smug little smile. He was too easy to rile up behind all that aloof calmness.

“Or if you mean I couldn't possibly want this - I do. I want it a lot.” Surprisingly your voice didn't crack, even though you felt like it ought to from such a confession.

Vincent opened his eyes again, this time with a flustered confusion so clear in them you couldn’t resist leaning up to give him a kiss on the tip of his nose, making his eyes cross just briefly and prompting you to giggle. Further confused by that, he frowned - pouted really. “I don't understand… why you would accept such a thing.”

“Because you're still you. And… it's kind of hot? Not that - you're still handsome normally! Just-” And now you were the one blushing while his expression grew more confused, as if he couldn't even conceive of being called handsome, let alone hot. Your words died on your tongue with embarrassment, suddenly struggling to look at him directly and turning your head aside only to peer from the corner of your eye. He only seemed further mystified by your response, averting his gaze with a soft murmur, “If that is your opinion.”

Opinion? Oh, no, that wouldn't stand, you needed him to know it was a fact.

“I mean it, Vincent, you really are. If everyone didn't already have a million problems to deal with, they'd probably be staring at your pretty face a whole lot more.”

At those words he sunk behind the comfort of his cloak collar, not that it hid how red he was turning. You could face him again now that your focus was on getting him to understand how pretty he actually was, lifting up again to kiss his forehead this time. “And being a beast or a monster or whatever you feel like you are, that doesn't change what I think or feel about you… I'm not turning away.”

When you sank back down you found him looking almost distressed, as if he didn't know what to do with genuine affection. He dropped even further behind the collar like he could disappear if he tried hard enough. You snorted, hands finding their way to his cheeks to gently coax him out of hiding, slowly but surely until you could see his pouting lips. His face was still incredibly warm under your touch, only growing hotter when you drew him down into a kiss - gentle and affectionate this time to reassure him that you were being honest about everything.

Slowly he melted out of the confusion and embarrassment until he was pressed down against you once more, that rumble of his beginning to pick up when your thumbs stroked over his cheeks slowly. What a complicated mess of a man you’d picked out by accident… hard to say no to such a pretty face, though.

Confident he was getting back to the right mindset, you carefully moved your hips against him and found yourself rewarded with another moan of his, caught by your mouth so it vibrated against your lips. Keeping one hand cupping his cheek and caressing it with your thumb, your other hand made the journey back down and slid between your hips and his, paying no heed to the stickiness as you began looking for ways to get all the damn leather out of the way. One belt slowly unbuckled, a war of attrition against the pieces keeping his skin from touching yours began but paused when one of his hands snagged your wrist; you blinked your eyes open and caught him staring right at you, still so intense. This time he didn’t pull away though, and just gave one of his little hums before lightly nipping at your lips. You ended up squeaking, briefly forgetting your attempt at undressing him at least a little.

That gave him the chance to grasp your other wrist and bring them both up over your head - his long, elegant fingers even with claws now tipping them were perfect for catching both wrists in one hand and pinning them to the ground. Oh, no fair! Now you had no chance to get at him properly, and you made your displeasure known by squirming up against him with a muffled whine.

The friction made him groan, but what followed was an even more delightful sound: a low, rusty sort of chuckle escaped, like he hadn’t really laughed at anything in forever. But it made a pleased chill roll down your spine. He pulled back and you chased his lips as far as you could, prompting another soft little laugh from him that made your stomach flutter from how nice it sounded.

“Impatient, aren’t you.” Vincent said it as a statement instead of a question, and you decided (very maturely) to stick your tongue out at him.

He raised an eyebrow, snorted, and used his free hand to caress your cheek in a mirror to your own actions earlier. You couldn’t help leaning your head into his touch even with clawtips prickling against your skin as a reminder of his current form. It didn’t matter - at this point you trusted him not to hurt you (at least, not any further than you had already asked for).

“Close your eyes. Please.”

At his request you nodded, sliding them shut and relying now on your sense of touch to keep track of him. His hand trailed its way down onto your neck, to your chest and further down over your stomach. The light nature of his movements made your stomach suck in a bit with ticklishness, but thankfully he didn’t seem to think of pursuing such a reaction and kept moving downward. As his clawed fingertips hit the bare skin of your lower half and trailed over your mound you began shifting with poorly restrained desire, only to find yourself disappointed when he slid up along one of your thighs and carefully disengaged your legs from holding onto him.

“Vincent, please…”

“Be patient.”

That was a subtly commanding kind of tone, and not a request. You nodded again, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from opening your eyes when he hadn’t yet said you could. His hand left you and you had to start listening for what he seemed to be doing next - the subtle but distinct sound of a zipper struggling along its path, a sharp inhale from him, and the rustle of leather sliding against cloth.

So it was a surprise when the hot, sticky weight of his cock dropped down onto your mound. Your breath hitched as you tried your best to gauge girth and length from what you could feel… and it felt pretty damn big. It had to have hurt like hell, trapped under those tight leather pants. All sorts of thoughts flew through your mind, from how badly you already wanted him to bend you in half to whether it would even fit in your mouth if he let you try. You swallowed, trying to get them under control so you could say something.

“Can I touch you…?”

Vincent was quiet for a moment, then huffed as if faintly annoyed. Maybe he’d momentarily forgotten your eyes were closed. “You may.”

His grasp on your wrists eased up just enough to let one of your arms slip free, though he kept the other caged for the time being. One was all you needed really, bringing your hand down and carefully setting it down where you felt his cock atop you. As soon as you made contact a quick breath followed by a groan left him, the girth under your fingers twitching eagerly. Damn, he was pretty thick, though you mapped out a taper as you slid along its length to the tip. It reached a slender point rather than a human-like head… another Beast trait, it seemed. Sliding back the other way, the thickness of it became somewhat daunting the closer to his hips you got, especially considering how long it felt as well. The heat radiating from him was especially intense too, but the way he kept twitching and shifting under your hand was irresistible - you felt reasonably sure you could handle this, given some opportunity to adjust.

Before you could get too handsy you felt him grabbing your wrist and drawing your arm back up to be secured again, prompting a little whine from you that was followed by an amused huff from him. “I told you, be patient.”

“Fine,” you sighed dramatically, hoping it made him smile. “Can I open my eyes at least?”

He paused for a longer moment than felt comfortable, and you were about to open your mouth to retract your statement when he finally murmured a response.

“I would… prefer you not to look. Please…”

You kept your mouth closed, thinking for just a second before nodding in agreement. He was always buried under those layers of his, it seemed likely that he had some sort of issue with his self-image that would no doubt be made worse by his partially transformed figure. It was probably miracle enough that he had exposed himself this much.

“Okay. Could you blindfold me then, maybe? So I won’t look by accident.”

Vincent gave a grunt of affirmation, and after a few moments passed a piece of cloth draped itself over your face, still warm with body heat - wait, was this his headband? It smelled like him, tickling your nose with how it draped over the tip, and cracking your eyes open just a touch confirmed your suspicion with the red fabric that blocked your view. You blew some air through your lips to push it up off your nose, giving him an awkward smile that rewarded you with a soft hum.

“Hold still,” he commanded in advance, then released his grip on your wrists so that he could deftly fold the cloth and tie it around your head. You considered being bratty for a moment, but that could chase him off, or delay what you wanted so badly… better to behave right now for your first time.

One hand shortly resumed its post keeping your hands up and out of his way, while the other slid back down your front, slipping past his cock and carefully sliding two fingers between your folds. Though you moaned, you held still to avoid any accidents with the claws that were so easily capable of causing a nasty scratch on such delicate skin. They only lingered for a few moments, and you realized he was catching some of your slick to lube himself up with, retreating without any harm done. From where he was touching you it was easy to feel him shudder; he didn’t seem all that eager to touch himself, but it was necessary considering he was still holding your hands hostage. His slick covered claws grazed over your stomach briefly and provoked a small shiver from you, and now you felt safe enough to squirm under him impatiently, hoping to at least distract him from his own body. You managed to win a small hum from him at least.

“Vincent, please, I need you.”

His lips pressed to yours for a brief kiss that you chased after again, a second hum of amusement leaving him. Though he gave another little shudder, you felt the slim tip of his cock press up against your folds and held your breath, hips tilting up slightly in an attempt to coax him into continuing.

“I do not… know if I will be able to stop myself,” he whispered by your ear, sounding almost guilty about the admission. “If you do not want this…”

“I want it. Every last inch,” you replied fervently, and swore that you could feel the blush burning on his face in response. You turned your head to kiss his cheek, then the corner of his lips. A low sigh escaped him, and he withdrew from kissing range in spite of your pout, though your expression shifted as his cock began to push inside. Already wet from your first orgasm, the light coating he’d given himself to start with made the initial entry easy enough. Halfway was where the stretch began, your pulse pounding in your throat and eyes fluttering behind the cloth covering them, a stuttered breath rattling out of you. Fuck. Maybe every last inch was a minor exaggeration.

Vincent was going slowly enough not to hurt you, but he also wasn’t stopping even as your walls flexed around him. His moan was tinged with a growl, his hand clasping your hip now, fingers still sticky with your juices.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, swearing you were almost at your limit when you finally felt his hips settle against yours. How he fit all the way you weren’t sure but the stretch of him, length and girth both was almost too much at once, legs shaking from from the overwhelming sensation tinged with just a little pain. For the moment it was good enough to take one shaky breath after the next, waiting for your body to adjust to his cock pushed so deep inside you.

Finally, you gave a small nod to him. “Slowly - please…”

“I will try,” he replied. He sounded just as breathless as you felt.

The intensity of it eased as he slowly withdrew, giving you the chance to catch a few deeper breaths, and the second slide in was just a little more bearable even when he pressed to the hilt again. Your legs were still trembling some, and you doubted they’d be of any use for the next few hours. He’d probably have to carry you out of here, and if he was still caught in this form then there’d be questions to answer and probably a lot of suspicion and fuck, you were letting him rail you right out in the middle of nowhere in the open-

Vincent kissed you again with renewed hunger, and his slow thrusts began to pick up speed in short order, chasing away the thoughts beginning to derail you with each burst of intense sensation every time he stretched you out. A series of soft cries and moans went straight into his mouth unheeded, fangs nipping before his tongue brushed your lips and coaxed your mouth open for him once more.

He was starting to rumble again, short intervals interrupted by his hips now slapping against you with increasing roughness. The hand on your hip kept you to his rhythm without fail, and as it tilted you up further for his convenience the changing angle helped his cock find just the right spot inside - your voice choked on how much pleasure came from the repeated presses along and against your g spot, overwhelmed once more and feeling another climax come crashing down through you.

But in spite of the shuddering and writhing beneath him, Vincent’s thrusts continued relentlessly right through your orgasm, snapping in and out with enough force to push your breaths from you. He definitely wasn’t about to stop, likely couldn’t stop even if he wanted to when the Beast’s instincts were probably driving him toward a very simple goal: mate.

His mouth remained ravenous pressed to yours, his grasp somehow still relatively gentle on your wrists despite his otherwise rough treatment - some part of him was at least doing its best not to hurt you, though the rest of him was making sure to fuck you as thoroughly as possible. Another orgasm built up quickly and rolled through your body, overstimulation already starting to take hold as he still kept up a brutal pace while your walls spasmed around him and you were starting to lose track of where your legs had gone off to in spite of being attached to you. He couldn’t keep this up for much longer, could he? 

The already snappy rhythm grew even more frantic as if he’d heard your thoughts, and what had become a bearable stretch suddenly started to become more intense again - was he starting to swell up? Oh, fuck, did he have a knot? You couldn’t speak up with him still devouring your mouth greedily, and even if he wasn’t the intensity of his pace was leaving you mostly breathless anyway. It was all you could do to simply try to brace yourself as the last several thrusts first tested your body’s willingness to stretch just a little more, then sank to the hilt one last time with a slight pop that made your head almost jerk down against the ground and sent stars through your vision for a moment.

His knot continued to swell for a few more seconds to firmly lock him in place, and the deepest rumble you’d heard from him yet rose from deep in his chest, hips jerking forward against you while spurts of cum surged hot and deep inside.

Vincent finally released his grip on your wrists and withdrew his mouth, breathing hard and fast the same as you. With your mouth free you could gasp for air, shaking from the intensity of the stretch that you had no choice but to endure right now. Though your limbs felt like limp noodles, you blindly lifted one trembling arm up to try and touch him, though it seemed to take a longer moment than expected before his warm cheek settled against your palm. You quickly urged him close to you again, seeking any sort of diversion to help occupy your mind.

“Bite me again, please.”

Your voice was just as shaky as the rest of you, and the tone of it seemed to spur him into action quickly - he dropped his head down to the opposite side of where he’d bitten before and quickly sunk his fangs into your shoulder. The warm, sharp stab was a welcome distraction even as it made tears well up, and you made no effort to stop them from leaking down the sides of your face and soaking into the bandanna still keeping you blind. Your hand slipped around to the back of his head and tangled fingers in his hair to hold him there, a low whine in your throat as his tongue lapped up the blood spilling into his mouth.

It was only a few minutes, but it felt like forever before the stretching eased up. With a lewd, slick sound you felt his knot finally pop free along with a gush of fluids - you couldn’t stop the moan that slid from your lips, muscles fluttering weakly as he withdrew and gave them the freedom to relax. The empty feeling was both a relief and made you wish he would sink right back into you, but you knew that you probably couldn’t handle a second round after such a rough first time.

Vincent groaned quietly against your shoulder, teeth pulling free and tongue licking slowly at the puncture wounds he’d left behind. He was trembling a little himself now, and you wondered if it was from being just as overstimulated as you, or if his half-transformed state was taking a toll. Or maybe he was just coming back down from the Beast’s instincts and realizing what he’d done… you couldn’t find any words to try reassuring him with, but you could at least turn your head to kiss the messy dark hair draped between your lips and his forehead.

A thin sigh escaped him, and then a grunt of pain - you felt the claws on your hip beginning to shrink. The rest of his bestial traits were following suit no doubt, and you did your best to soothe him through it by petting the back of his head and nuzzling your face against him gently. What had to be his horns disappearing was giving off a grinding sound that made you wince in sympathy. That had to hurt.

“Vincent, are you okay…?”

You couldn’t bring your voice above a whisper even if you wanted to, but this close it wasn’t really necessary anyway. Another grunt, and he began to lift his head up away from you, seeming to pause for a moment before his hand left your hip and there was the soft rustling of cloth and leather, then a distinctive zipping before you felt him carefully pulling off the makeshift blindfold.

Compared to the warm darkness now everything was quite bright - you squeezed your eyes shut to adjust to the sudden light, slowly squinting them open to finally get a look at him again. The horns had vanished, and his eyes no longer glowed with energy aside from the usual yellow ring in his left eye. Instead they were dark with concern, fear, guilt, and his face was tucked down to hide behind his cloak collar as if he couldn’t quite handle being seen yet.

“I hurt you,” he mumbled.

“I asked you to,” you countered, watching surprise flicker across his expression. “And I enjoyed it. You don’t get to feel bad about something I enjoyed.”

He had the grace to blush about that, his gaze flicking further down your body briefly before a much more vivid red overtook his face. Oh, yeah, you had to be a total mess down below… with a soft sigh you pushed yourself up on shaky arms and watched him rear back nervously in response, eyes looking well away from you now.

“I’m gonna need some help, Vincent. I don’t think I can feel my legs right now.” You made the admission with a measure of ruefulness, and he gave a small cough as if he’d almost choked on his spit. “I-.... Very well then. I will… help you clean up.”

And with an abrupt swiftness you were suddenly up off the ground, aloft in his arms and clinging to the front of his cloak in surprise. You could still feel his cum oozing out of you, silently hoping you weren’t going to drip all over his nice leathers… but he didn’t seem to be thinking about it, merely securing the clothing dangling off your ankles as he set off. Hopefully to find some running water for you to wash up with, because you sure as hell didn’t want to put your clothes back on yet.

At least there wouldn’t have to be an explanation for why Vincent had half a transformation going on anymore. No, you’d just have to explain instead why you weren’t about to go walking around outside the ship for the next couple of hours. Boy was that going to be interesting.

(Worth it.)

[hollow-knight-fights]

Round 1

[barbieaemond]

A snake in the bosom

Moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: Prince Regent Aemond x Lady!reader

WARNINGS: dark Aemond, angst, public humiliation, semi public sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), religious kink, knife kink if you squint, overstimulation, light choking.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

Author’s note: House Peake were green loyalists during the Dance. Shout out to @zae5 who helped me brain storming this filth 🫶

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @chompchompluke

The skies rumble as they always do when preluding a storm. But it’s different this time. The thunder echoes in your chest, sliding through your ribs and then rattling them to break free.

A warning, the Gods’ way to seal what cannot be undone. They greet this new day, this new order, with blinding lightning. The Wood seems bathed by the early morning light, and yet the owls will soon resume their sentry task on the branches of these ancient trees.

A new flash forces you to look up and you think you can see them, the Seven, leaning out from their perches, pointing a finger at a woman like any other, with her bowed head devoted to obedience and her tight corset to choke to death any desire inside her heart.

And you did.

You stopped going to the library, you kept your eyes faithfully down, weeding out the need to caress the silver through your gaze, to feel the cold alabaster carved into angles so precise and sharp as to be exhausting.

You stopped lingering on the delicacy of long white fingers turning pages, on white knuckles around the sword, rippling with veins, blue and green as snakes crawling underneath. 

Not looking didn't do much good.

It's all burned into your eyelids, and the more you don't look the more your mind betrays you like a stab in the back, evoking slender hands and an arched mouth that lazily pulls itself up into an omniscient smirk.

It happens so often that you've come to terms with it. Desire is a shadow that follows you step by step, crawls into your bed as you lie with your husband, makes you close your eyes as you peak and in the darkness that shadow is finally flesh, pulsing and weighing on you, but it is not.

It shouldn’t and it will never.

The lightning tells you can no longer hide, there is no way to stall now, no way to trick the King about the allegiance of your family. It is easy to fool a fool, more so when he’s willing to make himself one in front of a woman. But the King is burned. His cries of pain can be heard outside Maegor’s Holdfast, until the Maesters are merciful enough to give him milk of the poppy.

The throne is empty, the Kingdom has no ruler. But the Gods are snickering with thrill and dread.

Not for long.

“My lady, there’s a storm coming.”

You turn and see your maid clutching a cloak to her chest to shelter from the wind. "Please, you should go back inside.”

You nod tiredly, walking on the thick grass, dragging yourself back within these walls in which days seem to pass following two different times.

There’s the real, urgent one, a military up and down of whispers and promises, pawns moving and ravens coming and going, breaking or forging alliances as easy and quick as their wings flapping. And then there’s your time, dilated, obscenely slow, like molasses. It sticks to your fingers, prevents you from picking up ink and parchment and write, cheat, whisper what you have easily spilled from the worn out lungs of your husband.

“Men sing like parrots in their final throes, remember that. They’d tell you anything when they think with their cock.”

Samantha had been right. But your sister is playing her game in Oldtown and Old Town is not the Red Keep. There are no eyes on the walls there, or ears behind the portraits. There’s no shadow trailing on her path, clouding her mind enough to look away from the game. A game of life and death, your father reminded you in his last letter, the scolding clear in the way the feather had pierced the parchment in some points. The answer was nowhere but in your head, and you were too ashamed to even confess it to a Septa, let alone put it on paper. There’s a snake crawling in your garden of lies and instead of chasing it away, you’re nursing it in your bosom.

You slow your steps upon glimpsing your husband. He’s striding towards you along the corridor. There’s a slight furrow between his brows, one that you have been able to recognize on the faces of many within this fortress. But it's more severe now, or maybe it's just that shadow that makes you see a new man, a stranger.

Has his hair always been that dull and mousy? Has his posture always been so unassuming?

They have since that night in the library, the sin whispers.

“Husband.”

“I’ve been looking for you. We have been summoned to the throne room.”

“Is something the matter? Is the King—"

"The King lives. But the Maesters believe it is best to confine him to bed. Come, Prince Aemond is waiting for us." he grabs your arm and you walk with him, glad that he can’t see the shadow falling on your face at the mention of the King’s brother.

The throne room is so dark that servants are hurrying themselves to light more candles. Every now and then a new lightning flashes from the large windows, making the Iron Throne an eerie sight at the center of the Hall.

There are a few Lords of the court with their ladies, and they seem just as lost as you as they see you and your husband halting before the ancient seat.

Whereas not more than a moon ago, Lords and Ladies would have had to wait hours to be received by Aegon, the new ruler is not long in coming.

The huge doors open and Aemond Targaryen stalks the room carrying the same storm breaking outside. He makes a striking figure, ominous; the lighting pours on his long silver hair making them look like moon rays.

A dreamy picture, were it not for the conqueror's crown on his head and the sapphire in plain sight.

It is the first time you see him without the eyepatch, the first time anyone has seen him without it. They said he wore it so as not to frighten the ladies, but the one-eyed Prince is done hiding. And if fear is all he can muster, so be it. It serves him well for what will come.

He halts before the Iron Throne and takes a good look at the little gathering. You can’t help but trail your eyes on his lean and tall figure, wearing a dark green doublet made of velvet. But it’s the sapphire that catches your eye, and the long scar marring his marbled face.

You remember that one. You remember it shamefully clear while disappearing along with his head beneath your gown.

“My lords” he starts lacing his hands behind his back “As you may know, my brother is in no condition to rule. Thus, according to the law, in case of physical or mental incapacity of the sovereign, the younger brother must bear the weight of the crown.”

There is a shy, almost uneasy passing of glances between those present, but Aemond ignores them altogether. “I will not style myself as King. You will address me as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm."

Silence falls upon the huge Hall until a loud thunder seem to awaken one of the lords who hurriedly bends his knee before the Prince. "My Prince, I renew my absolute loyalty to you and your—“

"Get up, my Lord, I did not summon you to hear you pledge your loyalty.” He says in a bored tone, darting his eye at the man “Rest assured, if I had any doubt about it, Vhagar would be feasting on your corpse as we speak.”

Silence falls once more and Aemond revels in it. He can smell fear, just like the creature he rides. “But you did raise an interesting subject.” he tilts his head and looks at Lord Peake, your husband, with a benevolent expression stretching on his face. “Lord Peake, if I asked you to pledge your loyalty to me and my family, would you do it?”

You dare not to raise your head, keeping your eyes glued to the ground, but you can sense your husband’s uneasiness, the sound close to one being insulted as he addresses the Prince. “Prince Aemond, my loyalty to your Grandsire and the Dowager Queen has never wavered and it never shall.”

The Prince nods slowly, seemingly pleased by the answer, and keeps his gaze down for a few moments before casting a sharp glance at you. You can’t see it but you can feel it.

“That is very noble of you, Lord Peake. But I can’t help but wonder, is your lady wife of the same mind as you?”

Lord Peake looks puzzled, shifting the weight on his feet “My Prince, my wife is—”

“No.” Aemond cuts him off, darting a single look at the Lord before returning on you “Let her speak.”

With a deep breath, you look up, shrinking under his violet eye and the sapphire ominously glinting of his own light. “My prince, I am saddened that your Grace would think I’m nothing but loyal to your brother, the one and only heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Every day, I pray the Gods to heal him from his burns and give him strength to—”

“Hush.” He says, raising a hand to stop you. “That’s enough.”

You shut your mouth nervously, tensing all the more as he looks at you, unblinking, for a long moment before his lips stretch into a slow, cunning smirk.

“You know, I spoke to your distant cousin once, Lord…something Tyrell. He said something very interesting to me.”

You keep a blank face even when dread starts to run down your spine. Despite the distant kinship, there’s always been bad blood between Tarlys and Tyrells. 

“He said to be very careful with Tarly women. Pretty vapid things, he said, hiding a viper’s bite.”

“I am neither my prince.” you state calmly “I’m just a woman like any other, serving my husband, my house, my King.”

“Hmm.” He ponders, the smile lingering still. Then, he picks something form his pocket and asks “What is this then?”

Despite the darkness, you could recognize that seal with eyes closed. And that seal, now, in this room, clutched by Prince Aemond’s fingers, is a death sentence.

“This is not the seal of House Peake.” he rightly says.

You look down, mustering your courage, and say “No, your Grace. That is just a silly token of love between two sisters. I use it to send ravens to my sister in Oldtown.”

“I see. And why do you hide it?”

“I do not, your Grace.”

“Lying to the King may cost your head, my Lady. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Wife…” your husband takes your arm, searches your face with an anxious stare “What is going on?”

“The White cloaks found it.” The Prince informs him “when I made them search your rooms.” He looks back at you and raises an eyebrow “For a token you’re supposed to be so fond of, I may suggest placing it somewhere else than the bottom of an old trunk.”

“Am I on trial for sending letters to my sister?”

“Yes. Considering the circumstances under which these ravens were sent. Ladies give letters to their maids, they do not go personally to the rookery, more so in the hour of the bat.”

Courage leaves you like a gust of wind. You thought you had been clever, careful. Why would anyone take notice of a court lady simply taking a walk in the early hours? And even if they had, they would have dismissed the thought at the first distraction. But not him.

“You think I would not notice? I may be half blind but I can assure you, my lady, I see everything.”  He throws the seal on the ground and resumes his soldier-like posture, standing tall and domineering with his arms laced back. “What did you tell your sister? Knowledge about our war plans? Are you secretly siding with the Blacks? I’d advise you to choose your words carefully. From them depends whether you’ll see the next dawn or not.”

Your shoulders slump a little, like a doomed creature sticking its head in the noose.

“My father asked me to spy on my husband to gather knowledge about the green army at Rook’s Rest. But I did not send any raven. I stopped since—"

“Since what? Do continue, my lady, I think your Lord husband is keen to know why his wife stopped playing him like a fool.” He leans his head forward, like someone desperately willing to hear a big secret, but your tongue is a dead thing in your mouth.

“No?” he inquires as silence stretches “Fine, I’ll tell you. You see, Lord Peake, recently your Lady wife seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the library.” the prince says with a little grin “I’m aware of this because I am myself an avid reader. In fact, your lady wife and I have been keeping each other company lately. A rather…intimate company.”

Some of the ladies start to whisper at your back, and you know what kind of words they’re labeling you.

“Wife.” Your husband calls, and this time his voice is steel “What is the meaning of this?”

You open and close your mouth, unsure whether it is worse to tell your husband how you’ve played him or to confess your sin.

“Come, don't deny it now.” the Prince goads you “All the hours you've spent, all those late nights did bear fruit, did they not? You've betrayed your house and the Crown, yet what sweetness it was to have gotten a taste, I'm sure your husband would agree.”

Lord Peaks looks utterly bewildered, shifting his gaze between you and the Prince like a dead fish.

“Oh, so he hasn't after all.” Aemond laughs “A pity, for your treacherous essence reeks of the most bittersweet nectar. Tart, but delicious.”

Your husband’s face is whiter than a sheet for a moment, followed by a red veil of anger and shame. The latter is in plain sight in the way you keep your head down; the Gods have stopped pointing their finger at you and left you in the claws of a much crueler creature. Namely, your own desire.

 “Search her.” Aemond orders returning to a stern face “And search her thoroughly.”

“My prince?” asks one of the guards.

“Women can be sneaky with all those veils and layers. Lose the corset.”

The cloaks look at him puzzled, just as you and your husband and anyone else in the room, but the guards know better than to disobey the King. 

One of them goes to stand behind you and starts pulling the laces of your dress, another is busying himself with lowering your sleeves.

Your eyes bore to the ground with the purest humiliation as your chest gradually grows exposed. You could raise your hands to hide your breast, but you have nothing to hide, not anymore.

You know it and Aemond knows too. He’s not doing this because he thinks you’re hiding something. He’s doing so for his own pleasure—to see you bare, to finally make you come out of your den and stop hiding from him. 

You dare not look at him but you can feel his eye lingering on you, on your body; you can sense the ghost of a delighted smirk on that wicked mouth. 

He takes an unreasonably long time before he gives a short nod to the guards, at last satisfied with your public humiliation. What drives your husband to move is not regard for you, but for his own dignity. What are women if not property of men? And however ruined you are now, Lord Peake will not have talk of his wife standing with her breasts out in the Throne Room.

But just as he leans down to you, the Prince speaks “You may go, Lord Peake. All of you.”

The Lord stalls, looking lost at his Prince.

“You can wait outside. She stays.” Aemond commands.

His eye is boring into you as he walks down the few steps with leisure, lingering on the sole of his boot before resting it on the ground. “She needs to learn the price of her disobedience.”

Your husband hesitates, looks at you with lingering disdain and a veil of fear that keeps his eyes wide open, but he can only bow his head.

When you’re left alone the Prince, save for the guards on the four sides of the hall, you dare to look up and see his eye blazing, a cunning edge to it.

He starts circling around you, and what’s left of your dignity makes your hands fly up to cover your chest.

“You said you stopped writing to your sister. And you stopped coming to the library.” he starts with a collected and calm voice. “Why?”

“You know why.” you mutter.

“You better drop this condescending tone if you want to leave this room with your head on your shoulders.”

“Apologies, my Prince. I did not mean to offend you. But I dim you wise enough to understand why I thought it was best to keep my distance from you.”

He stops his circling for a moment “Enlighten me.” and then he’s pacing again.

You swallow, smelling ashes and smoke on his trail. “It was a sin.”

“Hmm. Which one?” He asks somewhere behind you. Out the corner of your eye, you see him slightly leaning towards you, silver rolling past his shoulder as he cocks his head to one side “Your betrayal or the fact that you let me feast on your cunt like a common whore?”

You swallow again. Shame is still coiling in your belly, but there’s also something else on hearing those words coming from his mouth, recalling that night. This man has just humiliated you in front of the court and yet you crave for him to get closer.

“Both.”

“Both?”

“I did not want to.” You say and it’s true. And this, this is the last chance you might have to avoid the pike, or worse, Vhagar’s fangs. “My father forced me.” You say turning your head left and right as he resumes his pacing behind you “I don’t know which kind of deal he has struck with Prince Daemon but I swear it, my Prince, I said nothing about Rook’s Rest, I—“

The word dies on your tongue along with your breath as you feel the coldness of a sharp blade against your throat.

“I should slit your throat here and now.” He whispers dangerously, you can hear his teeth gritting. His arm is pressing on your chest, keeping you locked against him. “What else Lord Tarly ordered you in all his great wisdom? Mh? To seduce me? To play me like a fool, like you played my brother and your husband to gather knowledge about our armies and report it to my uncle and his whore?”

“No, I—" you try to say, but he presses the blade firmer and you choke a gasp, unconsciously grabbing his arm.

“You will speak when I say so.” He seethes, pulling your arm back with his other hand, painfully twisting your bone until a moan of pain escapes your mouth.

It awakens something inside him, something savage that makes him collide his body against yours “Hmm.” He coos darkly in your ear “This brings me back to that night.”

He swiftly twirls the dagger, sheathing the Valyrian steel, but his hand is quick to resume his caging, sliding on your half-covered breast, looking down your shoulders at your bare chest.

His fingers are cold as they slowly travel up, but they lick flames on your skin, making your nipples harden. “Do you remember, little snake? I do.” he runs the tip of his finger on the hard sensitive skin and you whimper softly “It was hard to forget the sounds you made.” He speaks to your neck, his breath scorching “I could hear them when I fucked my hand at night. You made me sin so many times. Was that part of the plan too? Did your father force you to moan my name while you peaked on my tongue?”

“Please…” you sob quietly, feeling fire nestling in your belly at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his bulge against your lower back.

“Do you moan like that when your husband fucks you? Mh?”

He wants an answer, and he pinches one of your nipples when you don’t please him.

“No…”

“No? I thought so.”

Your body reacts on his own, clenching for how his voice in your ear pools like liquid fire below your stomach. You can see his delighted smirk out of the corner of your eye. “You better speak now, little one. Not even the Gods can save you from the spike. Why would they? They turn their backs on traitors and sinners. And you dared to sin with a Kinslayer. You have only me to beg for mercy.”

“You don’t want to kill me.” You choke when his hand laces around your throat.

He would’ve done it already. He might still do it, but his pressing hardness on your back tells you otherwise.

“No. I have a better use for you.” he says squeezing your neck “I will make an example out of your treacherous mouth. They will look at you and be reminded of the mercy of my crown.”

He steps back and you have little time to catch your breath as he sits on the Iron Throne with the confidence of a God on his perch. The candles mix with lightnings, making the blue of the sapphire and the obsidian of the crown shimmer in a disturbing way.

He rests his arms along the forged swords, his long legs almost sprawled out on the ground. “Come and pledge your loyalty, my lady.”

Your heart hammers in your throat as you swallow. This is a game of life or death, but not now. Your two times have merged into a perpetual dizziness and you’re sinking into the claws of your desire like quicksand.

“No.” he admonishes with a voice like honey when you dare a step closer “On your knees. Like the sinner you are.”

You sink to the ground and his eye goes down with you, smirking with something savage flashing on his face. “Go ahead.” He says spreading his legs around you. “Take your blessing.”

You raise your hands slowly, close to his belt but when you start unbuckling it you find there’s no tremor in your fingers. And he’s too quick to notice. “You wanted this, do you?” he asks “Did you close your eyes and pretend to suck my cock instead of your husband’s?”

The buckles clink together as you finish the unbuckling but he suddenly leans over you, gripping your cheeks with a hold of iron.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” You quickly, shamefully say.

The left edge of his mouth pulls up tiredly, omnisciently. “How? Like this?” In a blink his long fingers breach your mouth, hitting the back of your throat until you choke on them. He pulls them back just slightly, grazing your tongue, and he looks at you with a lustful blaze in his eye.

“Suck.” he orders, and you oblige, keeping your eyes on him as your mouth close around his two fingers, sucking gently and twirling your tongue around the skin.

“Hmm.” He croons with pleasure, leaving your mouth abruptly to lean back against the throne, sliding a little on the ancient seat to push his crotch before you. He makes haste of pulling his cock out, giving it a few tugs while he keeps looking at you, at the longing darkening your eyes and wetting your gowns.

You take hold of his hard hot length, all veiny and leaking from the tip and it’s only natural for you to close your lips around it. You have obscenely dreamed of this.

He lets out a loud gasp, gripping the throne with his hands as your head goes down, taking him all in. It hits the back of your throat with a lewd choking sound; you breathe through your nose, resuming your holy punishment once you have adjusted to length and girth, sucking hard and fast.

"Greedy little thing.” He praises with his eye growing heavy with pleasure “Easy. Easy, now.” he goads you to slow down, and you do, looking up to see him watching you closely, his lips parted, his breath slow and puffed.

“Fuck—” he curses, titling his head back but keeping his eye fixed on you. “See? This is the only good use for your cheating mouth. And you look so pretty.”

The ache between your legs is unbearable, you’re swollen and wet, you can feel your undergown dampening.

“Are you soaked for me, hmm? I bet you’re dripping all over the Conqueror’s swords.”

You have no way to answer as you keep bobbing your head up and down, a sinner worshipping her own sin.

“Open your mouth—wide” he orders and you do, drooling all over him as he starts to thrust harshly in your mouth.

“Yes. Like this, yes—fuck” He pumps in and out, bucking his hips, hitting your throat on and on while he moans helplessly and loudly, as only a King on his throne can.

“Hollow your cheeks.” And when you do it, something snaps inside him. He grabs your hair, pulling at the roots painfully while he keeps fucking your mouth frantically, choking your breath. But you don’t mind. This could be your last day, your last hour breathing. The snake is sucking at your bones and you welcome the poison.

“Enough.” he croaks when he was starting to breathe too fast, too close to the end. “Get up.”

Your knees ache as you pull yourself up but he’s so quick in lifting up your skirts and grabbing your waist to make you turn and sit on his lap, facing the Throne Room. The Guards are exactly where they’re supposed to be, blind and deaf to what they can perfectly see and hear.

“Let me give you my blessing, now.” Aemond says spreading your legs on the throne, making you wince as you feel his hot fingertips on your wet aching folds. “You’re soaked.” he states proudly, smiling with victory next to your ear.

He draws lazy circles on your bundle, sliding down your dripping lips, slowly, too slowly. You buck your hips against his hand and his chuckle travels up and down inside you, rattling your bones like thunder.

“Please…” you cry when his fingers brush your swollen lips once more.

“I should summon back your husband. So he’d see how his pretty wife begs to be fucked by her Prince like a whore. Shall I?”

You grab his hand, pressing it to your core and he dips a finger inside, spilling a loud moan from you that makes him bite your ear as he feels your hot walls clenching around him.

“Fine. We shall let him hear it.”

He brings his soaked fingers to your mouth, sticking them inside to make you taste yourself, and then he takes your wrist, trapping it on your stomach with his hand. He easily slides his cock inside you, moaning along with you into the haunting silence of the hall. His thrusts are deep and quick, desire has consumed him too, for too long. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh are only barely muffled by your frantic gasps. Your eyes are closed in a painful bliss, his hot labored breath dampens your neck as he fills you to the hilt.

Your throat is sore with lack of air as you turn your head and he slams his mouth against yours, filling your mouth with his scorching tongue, biting your lip and sucking until it’s swollen. All of this while relentlessly rutting into you, giving you violent bursts of pleasure that make your moans high-pitched and loud, so loud that everyone outside these walls can hear them. Your husband will hear them, the guards are definitely doing so.

“Fucking Gods, you feel so good” He pants in your mouth “You really wanted this. Your cunt is squeezing my cock like a vice. That husband of yours never fucked you this good, did he?”

“Gods—” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut but he grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to turn your head. “The Gods cannot hear you now. They’re deaf to the pleas of sinners.” with his free hand he clutches your bundle and he starts to torture you, drawing fast circles, while his length keeps rutting harshly. “Lucky for you I’m more merciful than the Gods.”

The tension in your belly is unbearable, it makes you cry obscenely and the sound only pushes him to go harder, faster.

“Please—I—I can’t—Gods—”

“You can’t what? Mh?” he nothing but growls, thrusting once more and then again. “This is your retribution.” He says baring his teeth “You failed your family for this. You lied and cheated. Now fucking—take—it” his last words punctuated with three deeper thrusts that make you whimper and roll your eyes back.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your peak, letting out a long moan matched with sloppy shakes of your body against his. But he doesn’t stop, chasing his own pleasure as you whimper and sob with overstimulation. His hand keeps moving on your apex, all sticky with your pleasure and you grip his arm, trying to stop him. “Please—I can’t take it anymore—please my Prince—"

“You can and you will.” He promises “Give me one more. Come on, little traitor, just one more.”  

You’re not late in granting his wish, trembling all over him and curling your toes with spasms in your muscles.

He groans loudly beneath you, teeth clamping down your shoulder and he stills completely, coming inside you with a choked sound of relief vibrating from his throat.

You whimper softly, feeling him pulsing inside you, but he grabs your waist and forces you to stand up. You waver on your weak feet, his hand is around your arm but only to firmly push you away from him. Falling on the ground, you look up to see him fixing his breeches, hair all disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Guards.” He says hoarsely, catching his breath, and two white cloaks stand at attention, their faces blank, pretending to be oblivious to what they have just witnessed. “Take her to my chambers and have the maid give her moon tea.”

Then he looks down at you, his face is wild and yet viciously focused. “We’re going to find a way to send your husband back to Starpike.” He says grazing your lips with his long fingers. “You’re not leaving my chambers anytime soon. In the time being,” his hand grips your mouth harshly, his voice eerily calm “You will write to Oldtown in your own hand, and ask my uncle to send me the head of Samantha Tarly.”

You widen your eyes with terror and he smiles, sweet and poisonous. “And remember, little snake. If I find you near the rookery at odd hours again, I will cut your throat in your sleep. Such a waste it would be. I’d rather have you choking on my cock than your own blood.”

He leaves without another word and you’re left on the ground. You can’t beg mercy to the Gods now, you will have to beg for his and his alone.

thank you so much for reading!! 💕

[knuckleblaster]

On some level I understand the rejection or outright denial of V2's death: it was jarring and brutal, especially for a character who, at least in laws of traditional video game rivals and the rule of thirds, seemed like it'd stick around for longer. This said, inferring from in-game lore as well as dev statements, I believe V2's death, tragic that it is, is not unwarranted; and that it is commonly pigeonholed into a characterization it does not fit into due to its assumed role within the game.

This is long, so it's going under the cut.

Considering its name, it's easy to assume V2 is a new and improved version of its predecessor; but it is more heavily implied that it's simply a version of V1 with thicker plating, and nothing more. [1] V2 was an attempt at salvaging V1's design after war became irrelevant, to capitalize on the resources wasted on a highly advanced war machine by rebranding it as an adaptable worker, for security and (theoretically) other peacetime activities (...not an innuendo). This was a failure; there's no reason to invest in something so refined when a handful of lesser machines could do the same job [2].

If V2 is contextualized within its backstory, it makes a lot more sense why it ate shit so quickly. It is, out of any in-game machine so far, one of the least suited for survival in Hell. Sentries and Streetcleaners were created for war. Swordsmachine(s) and Mindflayers are scrapheads, constantly adapting to create (and protect) their perfect, lethal body. [3] If anything, it's on the same level as a Drone, able to defend itself in a limited capacity, but not intentionally programmed or built for combat. Faced with V1, something built for perfect, swift destruction, a machine made for peace would stand even less of a chance than normal, even with an equal level of mobility and build.

V2 is also doomed, in a very literal sense, by the narrative. In a meta sense, it does not matter to the game story whatsoever [4]. V1 is the butterfly whose wing flaps set Gabriel's story in motion, but V2 has no such connection to his story, and is thus irrelevant. Even its lore entry is overshadowed by information about V1/its connection to V1. A third fight, as well, was never in the running, not necessarily due to anything in the game lore, but because its first and second encounters are all it needs: a third rematch would be repetitive and messy [5]. The reason for its extremely violent death sequence is to ensure there was no question as to its fate [6].

In regards to its personality; it is oft-headcanoned as loud, irritable, and competitive, but this characterization is more likely due to its color as well as its assumed role as a "rival" to V1; rather than based upon its in-game actions. Although its initial intentions are up to interpretation [7], comparing its actions and mechanics to other enemies fully rationalizes its anger. Although it's fairly easy to enrage in-fight, the criteria for its enrage state is much more specific than other enemies, and it's quite easy to not trigger it at all. Cerberi will enrage after one of its kind dies, Malicious Faces and Mindflayers after a certain amount of damage has been dealt (on Violent). Most notably, as the only other character with a rematch, Gabriel begins his second fight enraged after his first defeat [3], which can imply by extension that even though V2 is taking its second fight more seriously [8], it is still not outwardly angry. Its enrage state is only triggered when its patience is depleted (the player avoids it for too long), or in its second fight when it has been punched with the Knuckleblaster. These can be interpreted as indicators that V2 likes it when the fight is "fair": when it's not being avoided and picked at from a distance, or being hit with its own arm; which is frankly pretty fucking mean. A side note: Returning to its creation, it can also potentially be inferred that V2 was intentionally programmed with a rational, controlled, and even marketable personality, easily suppressed or overwritten for ease of use.

In another game, or if V1 was the protagonist, perhaps V2 would not be dead. Instead, V2 is doomed by its creators, both in-game and in reality. It mirrors V1 in action and Gabriel in mind, but unlike them, it has no place in this story beyond a truly fantastic duo of fights. Although its story has any number of potential rewritings or epilogues [9], its doom was always intended. It's easy to mourn lost potential, and its end is intensely tragic; but I believe it is a tragedy that meshes nicely with the rest of the game's story. V2 is dead, and not a second too soon.

Footnotes:

1.

Along with the lore entry for V2:

V1’s planned production was cancelled and an updated model, V2, was developed instead, using the standardized plating, since durability was far more important during times of peace when no bloodshed was necessary.

2.

twitter.com/HakitaDev/status/1538313328715513857

3. in-game lore entries, can be read on ultrakill.miraheze.org or here in one document: steamcommunity.com/sharedfiles/filedetails/?id=2245904838

4.

5.

twitter.com/HakitaDev/status/1538336055681863680

6. "And then V2 dies as hard as anyone could possibly die to make sure people understand he's fucking dead and is not coming back" - dev commentary, 05:08:09 (youtu.be/kaImho5JioI?si=v4_m90nfLOY-DyEZ&t=18489)

7.

8.

9. Notably, Dream's End Come True / v2isdead.com.

[theegemini92]

Americans are you sure you are ok?

What is this?

You couldn’t pick someone like Beron? Why is it always Tamlin? Like seriously at this point I don’t understand the hate or the psychology behind it. Grown ass women even defend ferrets actions.

The fact that this male took in refugees aka illegals, opened his own manor home for them to work and live, physically interreacts with his people, has so much loyalty from his sentries that they are willing to die to break his curse… he invoked that kind of loyalty and respect. This male burnt the world for a female who didn’t want him. His court was basically destroyed Infact his whole life. He didn’t even want the crown yet he got it and all he’s done was follow the rules because that’s his nature as compared to Riceman and he’s demonized for his actions. This is very disrespectful at this point. There are actual villains like ianthe or amarantha who you could’ve put against him.

Riceman literally put up a wall cage so no one enters velaris, he has not stopped wing clipping, we have seen him constantly in his mansion and only associates with his IC and constantly invades other peoples territories without permission or curtesy.