Archive of Our Own

When Avery wakes up, the sun is glowing in the window. The light casts shapes across the ceiling and the silk draped around the bed; the shapes dance and flicker like flames. There’s no warmth, though. The room feels cold with Avery’s exhaustion. His whole body aches even if he doesn’t have muscles to give him pain.

Hastur is already awake, pulling on armor at the foot of the bed. For a moment, Avery wishes that he’d just listened. That he ran. That he never met the King in Yellow. Worse, that Avery never even existed. At least then he wouldn’t have to live with this.

Avery flinches when Hastur reaches out. He doesn’t ask Avery anything, just helps him to his feet and reaches for a robe that’s sitting on the sofa. Avery doesn’t even fight as he’s dressed. Even if his skin burns every time Hastur’s fingers brush Avery’s skin. Even if Avery flinches every time.

Avery doesn’t fight the fog in his mind as he’s led through the palace. Even when grass crunches under his feet. Even when Hastur leads Avery right to the church and to the pulpit. Even when a book is placed in Avery’s trembling hands.

“I don’t want to read this,” he whispers, tears beading his eyes as he looks up at Hastur. Avery is... so tired. It’s only been two days; he can’t survive more of this. Not more days. Not more months. Not...

Not years.

Slimes can’t die of old age. Avery can’t picture an eternity of this. The thought makes his chest feel tight, and he feels tears dripping down his cheeks as he tries to pretend he hadn’t even had it. Avery doesn’t want to be trapped here with Hastur until the end of time. Avery just hopes that the King gets tired of Avery. Then at least he’ll be free. Death... death would be more merciful than thousands of years of this.

“I cannot recall asking. You will worship me, my vessel. You will do it willingly, or I will make you.”

Avery’s tears fall as he shakily flips open the book.

“Page one. Begin from the top.”

It’s not the same as the book from before. It’s... an actual worship book. Prayers.

And Avery is forced to read them for hours. Even as he chokes on his words. The satisfaction in Hastur’s gaze is torturous, and the pride is even worse. When Hastur finally steps forward and closes the book, Avery’s barely able to talk between sobs.

“I did not want this,” Hastur sighs, as if he’s not the one who had chosen this. As if he hadn’t trapped Avery.

Avery doesn’t even fight it when he’s gathered into Hastur’s arms and brought back inside. Avery only glances helplessly at the courtyard that he had once run to for comfort. The signs aren’t even there anymore. The whole area is tainted with the King’s presence, festering and filthy.

Avery’s quiet at breakfast. The food is good, at least. Hastur doesn’t rush Avery, so he’s allowed to take his time slowly nibbling on fruits and pinecones. There’s pinecone jelly, which is good. The sweetness lingers on Avery’s tongue, and he wonders if Hastur still tastes it when he pulls Avery into a kiss once they finish eating. Hastur didn’t even eat that much; he mostly just watched Avery eat.

Lunch is the same. And dinner.

Avery doesn’t know why he’s surprised when Hastur starts stripping him when they get back to the room. When tentacles loosely curl around Avery’s limbs and position him on his stomach, body arched just enough to seem inviting. He doesn’t bother fighting it, so they don’t tighten. He can almost pretend that this is inviting or welcome or sweet, but whenever Hastur speaks, he just reminds Avery that this isn’t love. It’s just… possession. The King wants Avery. Not as a person; as an object. As a prize. Avery is Hastur’s prize for taking over Derek’s body and making this place. Avery is nothing but a reward to be taken and raped as Hastur sees fit.

So… Avery doesn’t fight Hastur. Not when every other attempt has just hurt him more. The next day is no different; Avery can’t help but wish that he could just escape from here, but…

It’s not going to happen. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever. He spends his time locked alone in the room between meals lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Sometimes he wanders to the window and stares out of it, but other than that there’s nothing else to do. A few times, Avery finds himself idly wishing for Hastur to come back already. The boredom wears, even if bent around Hastur is enough to make Avery feel horrible. Not nauseous anymore, but… less than. Like he’s not worth anything. Like there’s a pit in Avery’s stomach, and it whispers that he’s just a toy. That this was all he ever was. Something to please others. He’s always tried to make other people happy, to help, even at his own expense. Is this the culmination of that decision? Becoming the toy for an eldritch god?

Maybe I should just try to like it. At least then I wouldn’t be this miserable.

The thought makes Avery nauseous, and he pushes himself up. He wanders to the door and tries to open it, but just like the last thousand times, it just rattles slightly. Barely even that. The knob doesn’t even turn all the way.

It’s only… he doesn’t know what time, actually. Lunch was only a few hours ago. Avery could go back to bed, try to sleep…

Avery opens the wardrobe and eyes the clothes inside. Maybe he could just mess around for a while. Exhaustion tugs at Avery’s limbs, but just having fun and dressing up a bit… if he pretends that this isn’t here and now then maybe he won’t feel so awful. Any break from the reality that he now lives in would be appreciated.

Avery takes a breath before slipping out of his robe and lying it on the couch.

There’s mostly robes in the closet, but there’s a few dresses, too. They don’t look awful, although most of them are either sheer or a bit revealing. Still, Avery pulls out one that’s sheer and ends at his knees. It’s cinched at the waist, and the frilly, slightly lacy design is cute, even in the pale-yellow color it is. Avery relaxes a bit as he turns and admires it. The outfit is nice, and it feels nice to wear. A little less revealing than the robe. Avery tries on a few other things, too, before eventually realizing he’d worn everything.

He hesitates as he reaches for another dress, only to find none.

Just more robes.

His heart sinks, and he takes a deep breath. It was fun while it lasted, but… now all that’s left for Avery is to go back to the bed and… wait. Wait for Hastur to come back. Avery swallows hard and steps back, eyes squeezing shut.

He’s just waiting to be used again. To be torn apart and left to fix himself. To…

To be the King’s toy again.

The door opens, and Avery panics, trying to cover himself with his arms. He presses his legs together and crosses his arms over his chest, even though Hastur has seen every part of Avery, inside and out. There’s no part of Avery that doesn’t belong to Hastur. And if he wants to see it—

“You would look lovely in one of your dresses,” Hastur comments as he steps over, and a freezing hand cups Avery’s hip. He flinches, but Hastur’s hand only tightens a bit and pulls Avery closer, metal fingers curling against his skin. “Should you wish to wear one.”

What I wish was never part of the question.

It was never a question in the first place.

Avery pauses, letting the cogs turn in his brain before reluctantly resting his head against Hastur’s chest. If he really is so desperate to meet Avery’s needs and wants…

“Can I have a bath?” He can’t have one with water, but… “You could fill a tub with lava and give me fire resistance. Please? I’ll… I’ll wear one of the dresses.”

There are a few seconds of silence before Hastur hums and leans down, pressing his lips to Avery’s. They’re just as cold as normal; Avery feels nothing as he lets Hastur’s lips move against Avery’s. They’re not loving, not in any way that Avery will ever believe. Not in the way that—

Don’t think of him.

Avery’s heart drops even without the name. The last time he…

He can still remember the pain. The begging. The bitter words that still sit on his tongue, filthy enough to make Avery feel sick.

“As you said, it will be,” Hastur murmurs once he pulls away. Avery feels the King’s hand slip lower, resting on Avery’s groin. “Though I have another demand. As your King and as your lover. I do not care what genitals make you more comfortable, but I wish to pleasure you just as you pleasure me. You act so timid in bed.”

Because I don’t want to be there, Avery thinks, but he knows he’ll need say anything like it aloud. He doesn’t want to give himself any genitals. He’s never cared about having them, and he certainly won’t when Hastur just wants them so he can pretend that Avery is enjoying being assaulted. It’s easy to go limp and just take whatever he’s being forced to take; it’s not as easy when something keeps forcing Avery’s mind back.

Avery already regrets asking for anything, but he can’t take it back. His body feels fatigued as he nods. Hastur wastes no time starting to lead Avery out of the room, even if he’s completely naked. Avery’s chest feels tight—what if someone sees me?—but Hastur doesn’t slow for a moment. He leads Avery into a room that Avery hasn’t seen before. It’s attached to the hall that the bedroom opens up to, but… it hadn’t been there before. It couldn’t have been; Avery only saw the staircase to the courtyard.

Avery’s led into a bathroom with glossy quarts floors, though the main feature of the room is the deep basin in the middle. It sinks into the floor, with a little lip at the edge to keep lava from spilling out, Hastur pulls a lever and thick lava starts to spill out into the basin before he grabs a bottle on a shelf and steps back over to Avery by the door.

Avery glances down at the bottle as Hastur pulls the cap, but he doesn’t hold it out. Instead, he cups Avery’s cheek and tilts his head back a bit. Avery can take the hint. He reluctantly parts his lip, and Hastur presses the potion bottle to Avery’s lips, letting it slowly spill down Avery’s throat. It tastes sweetened; Avery has had fire resistance potions, and they’re bitter and smoky, even for slimes. This tastes… surprisingly good, though. Like honey and sugarcane. Avery finds himself starting to willingly drink it, even if it prompts a pleased sound from Hastur.

Avery can’t help the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips when the glass is pulled away. For a moment in the dim room, he feels like he’s back home. Like one of his siblings will burst in and asks to share the drink. They all shared whatever they would find; Avery can’t even think of all of the times that he traded for sweets or found sugarcane and brought it home for his family. His heart sinks when he remember that he’ll never see them again. Will his siblings grow up thinking he ran away?

“You may bathe now, my vessel,” Hastur hums before pressing a kiss to Avery’s lips. It’s invasive; Hastur’s tongue slides into Avery’s mouth and gently traces the contours before sliding away. Avery can feel a tentacle settle around his hips, pulling him forward against Hastur while the man caresses Avery’s cheek. It seems like it’s supposed to be affectionate, but it just leaves a poor taste in Avery’s mouth. The sweetness quickly sours, even if it’s nearly intoxicating.

Avery carefully steps into the lava and shudders at how warm it is. The heat is just mild enough to make Avery’s body relax but not start to boil and literally melt; he lets out a tired moan as he slowly sinks up to his neck. There’s a little ledge to sit on, and Avery uses it to keep himself from going under as he leans his head against the rim of the tub. It’s big enough that he could probably swim in it, but right now, Avery can only relax, even when the King’s eyes linger on Avery. Hastur is sitting nearby, but his presence isn’t enough to… completely ruin the moment. He’s not doing or saying anything.

Avery reluctantly reaches down to rest a hand against his groin as he lies in the bath, and he solemnly wonders what he would really prefer.

A dick feels right, but… Hastur is probably expecting a cunt. He’s always fucking me like he expects to find one there. Like he’s trying to…

That thought makes Avery nauseous, so he chases it away and sinks up to his nose. The lava is welcoming, and it caresses his skin like a real lover. Avery just sits and enjoys it for a while before eventually, reluctantly, starting to mold his body. It’s a feeling that’s not uncomfortable, just… new. It’s been a while since Avery worked on his form. He’s been so accustomed to this one that he never cared ti make changes.

Avery leans back in the tub after and just enjoys himself for an hour. Occasionally, Hastur will wander over and make Avery drink a potion, adjusting the flavor every time and settling on a spicy, creamy sweetness that reminds Avery of the time he kissed a magma cube. The potion is cool, and the cold contrasts the heat around his body wonderfully.

When Avery finally starts to pull himself out of the lava bath, his body feels relaxed from the heat, and he feels drunk off of it. His slime is soft and malleable; Avery’s brain isn’t much better off. He feels drunk off the warmth.

“Do you feel better, my vessel?” Hastur chuckles, and Avery nods a bit, even if he flinches when Hastur steps closer. Avery groans softly as he’s pulled to his feet, and he slumps against Hastur’s cold armor, even if most of him is disgusted with the proximity.

“Mhm…”

“You chose an excellent form, my vessel,” Hastur murmurs, and Avery’s face starts to fall as a hand cups his cock. It still feels weak and soft from forming, especially from all the heat, and Avery tries to flinch away, but tentacles draw him close. Just give in. You know that he’ll just take what he wants, anyway. You knew this would happen. “Such a beautiful cock for such a beautiful man. My lovely consort…”

Hastur’s hand starts to slowly pump Avery’s cock, and he fees the heat drain from his body, leaving him with a bone-deep chill. Avery tries to remember the warmth of the bath, but it already feels like it’s farther and farther away.

Avery knows after weakly tugging that Hastur won’t give in.

So… so Avery gives up.

He never would’ve done this, but he’s gone. He’ll never be back. Meanwhile, Avery is stuck here, where even something that’s supposed to be a reward is twisting into something grotesque.

Avery’s eyes droop as he leans against Hastur. The handjob doesn’t… it doesn’t feel the same as the fucking. It feels… good. Shamefully so. Avery’s brows knit, and he clutches Hastur while choking down the acid that bubbles in a slimy throat as Hastur’s hand moves up and down. Avery feels like he’s going to be sick. He starts to push away, but tentacles hold him still and Hastur’s lips meet Avery’s, swallowing all the sounds that leave Avery.

Avery shudders and tries not to retch as he cums across the King’s hand. It’s slime-colored and thick, and drips of the fluid spill onto the floor.

Hastur don’t even clean Avery up before helping him put on a dress. Cum smears on the pretty fabric, and Avery can’t believe but be ashamed before the disgust catches up.

“Bed, please. Please, my…” Avery feels sick even thinking about it. He has to swallow a gag. “Please my King. If you’re going to fuck me, I want to be conscience fully for it.”

The room feels safer.

Safer and… comfortable, in a way. Not in a way he understands. But it’s not as hard to stay there than it used to be.

Avery gasps as he’s scooped up and brought back to the room. He reluctantly goes limp when Hastur lies him in the middle of the bed and starts to knead his hips.

“You’re made for me, my vessel. Have I told you that prior? Your body fits every one of my whims. My desires…”

Hastur kneads Avery’s dick with one hand but holds onto his love handles with the other. That’s what he means. I’m a slime; my body is soft and malleable. He can do whatever he wants to it. Plus, my body is extra weak from the lava.

Avery starts to tune it out as he lies on the bed, although it’s… hard. Harder than before. His body still reacts by welcoming the cock that presses into him. His body won’t do anything but relax, comfortable with what’s happening even as a numb horror settles in Avery’s chest. No more. No more…

Avery tunes everything out as Hastur fucks him, but something in Avery feels pleased. His hips jerk occasionally as Hastur’s tentacle replaces his hand and starts to ripple and squeeze.

“My dearest vessel… it shall not be long now. You welcome me like such a perfect consort. Though you break my heart, you take me like a true bride…”

Avery…

Avery can’t remember the rest.

His brain goes hazy, and he just—just shuts it out.

All of it.

When he’s brought out of the room for dinner, dress brushing his thighs, his insides feel sore. Avery doesn’t bother lifting his dress—he can already see the gold staining his thighs.

Avery’s head droops a bit, and he looks down at the fork being offered to him. Salmon, glistening with juices and sauce. It’s…

Most of the food has been rich. Things that slimes would practically drool over if offered, yet things that make Avery feel nearly sick when that tilted, armor-clad head is directed at him.

Avery takes a slow bite and chews as he looks down at the table. He hesitates when he sees the honeyed pinecones. They’ve been there at almost every meal, as if Hastur noticed Avery’s enjoyment of them. He probably did. Eldritch god and all…

Avery reaches out to eat one as he finishes his bite of salmon.

“If you should crave it, I could keep a jar of your pinecones in the room for you,” The King croons, and Avery frowns. He does crave it, but…

… Hastur did allow for the bath. But it came with a cost. Avery’s chest feels hollow when he thinks of the cock tucked between his legs, hidden under the skirt of his dress.

A hand cups Avery’s cheek, and Hastur adds, “Calm yourself, vessel, I shall not offer any bargain. I may be your King, but I am generous, am I not?”

It’s… a trap. Avery’s had to mumble praise dozens of times while worshipping the King in the past couple of mornings.

“You are gracious,” Avery mumbles, unthinking. “Thank you, my…”

Avery blinks slowly as he catches himself, but Hastur is already chuckling lowly.

“It pleases me beyond words to hear that from you, vessel.”

There’s a jar of pinecones in thick jam by Avery’s side of the bed when they arrive back at the room. Avery curls up on his side and nibbles on a few as his lids droop and his body aches after Hastur finishes using Avery. It’s…

Avery laughs to himself quietly, even as tears burn his eyes.

It’s funny in a way. Maybe. Ironic at least. The longer Avery spends here, the more times Hastur…

It feels more and more normal. To just… let it happen. No matter how much Avery could fight, he’d never win, and he finds that he doesn’t have any strength left to try. All of the gifts to win his favor… they don’t mean much when he’s still back here every night, naked and stuffed with cum next to Hastur.

Short periods of rest, though… they help remind Avery for even a moment who he is.

He falls asleep clutching the jar close after closing it, clinging to the only comfort in this cursed room.

Avery’s still groggy when he wakes up the next morning, antennae slowly unfurling to…

Antennae?

Avery sets the jar next to the vase of forget-me-nots to grope the top of his head.

Antennae. He has… he’s seen other slimes with them, but he’s never had them. They shy away when his hands come close, and he can feel the movements. It’s… odd. It’s like a signal straight to his brain. Movement. Closer? Closer. Me. Safe.

Quickly followed by, movement—danger! Danger. Bad movement.

Avery looks up to see Hastur coming over with another dress. This one isn’t as decorative as the one from yesterday, although the glossy yellow silk is a shade too close to Avery’s skin to feel comfortable. His stomach, anyways. The… the gold isn’t fading. It still shifts inside of Avery as he sits up, and he can feel his insides squelch.

“Mh…”

“There, there. You’re alright, my vessel,” Hastur murmurs, setting down the dress and reaching out to cup Avery’s face. “I find myself growing fond of this new appearance, worry not.”

I wasn’t worried about you.

Avery’s fear doesn’t take long to turn to apathy, though.

… of course. He should’ve expected his body to change. He’s… he’s already been forced to change it manually; it should’ve been expected that there would be unwilling changes.

Avery just feels exhausted as Hastur helps him dress and brings him down to the church. Avery once more prays at the feet of the god he hates before he’s brought back to the room; he mindlessly rifles through the room once the door clicks shut and locks. There are more than abundant blankets, although most of them are hidden around the room. In a cabinet, in the bottom of his closet, on the couch, under the bed…

Searching for all of them pleases a part of Avery as he numbly goes through the motions. He bundles them around the bed before climbing inside, then stares at the shape he made for a while.

… a nest. Avery made a nest. It’s not good, and it’s… he doesn’t know why he did it it, but it makes him feel safe. Well—he knows why. He has nesting materials and abundant food, which means that realistically, he should be somewhere safe. He’s not, but… by all of his instincts’ demands, he is. He’s warm and comfortable and fed and safe.

And constantly being tormented.

But his body doesn’t particularly care about whatever mental anguish he’s in. His antennae droop as he snuggles against the blankets, eyes growing heavy.

Avery is startled by a deeper realization, and he sits up, fumbling to pull up his dress and peer at his stomach. His heart drops as he stares at the slightly darker circles throughout his lower belly, barely visible through the slime and barely developed. Still, the sight of them makes Avery feel sick, and he drops the dress to instead clutch his hair.

He can’t let Hastur know. Avery just—needs to wait until they’re ready to come out and then get rid of them. He sees me naked daily, how am I supposed to hide this?

It’s not exactly hard to see further along. The eggs are a much thicker slime than Avery’s skin, so they’ll be much darker than the rest of his slime. Not to mention that Hastur seems to know… pretty much everything that happens here, if not everything. He always seems to know what Avery is doing.

Avery pulls up his dress again to peek at the eggs, but they’re still there. The slime is still congealing, so they’re not very visible, but…

Avery holds the dress down and lets his head fall, disgust sitting heavy in him. Hastur has mentioned pregnancy. Having kids. If the… Hastur can have sex while Avery is carrying the eggs, and they’ll technically be fertilized. Slimes are asexual, so they’re already fertilized, but… but hybrids are possible. Is this what he’d meant? ‘It shall not be long now’? It’s not hard to cater to slimes’ instincts, but Avery didn’t… the room being dimmer, warmer… he didn’t even realize it.

Avery pulls his legs up to his chest—even if it squishes his cock awkwardly—and curls in on himself.

No, no, no…

He wishes Derek was here.

Derek was smart, he—he would know how to do this. How to hide this. How to get rid of them. Avery just feels useless. He sobs and presses his head against his knees, antennae pressing back. Was that why they’d grown? Because he…

He needs to hide. He needs to go somewhere safe. The nest isn’t… the nest isn’t safe. Hastur can see Avery as soon as the door opens. Maybe…

But wouldn’t the way to avoid the eggs being found be to act normal?

Avery doesn’t know. He doesn’t…

“Fuck,” he whispers, just to convey his anger. His fear. Then again, trying to force his rage out so he can focus better. “Fuck!”

Where does he go from here?

… Hastur will find the eggs. He will try to have sex with Avery for some sick pregnancy fantasy or something. To make Avery a real consort. Avery can’t do anything to stop it. All he can do is pray that he can tune it all out when it happens. But how many times? How many times will Hastur hold Avery still and fuck him? How many times will he force another round just to fill Avery up further? To ensure that, somehow, the eggs are Hastur’s?

It’ll be an endless cycle. Hastur already makes them have sex together every night. He’s a god; he doesn’t have limits. He’ll just keep going and going until there’s nothing left of Avery that isn’t gold.

Avery can’t even say ‘Until there’s nothing left of Avery that isn’t Hastur’s,’ because every part of Avery is already claimed by the King in Yellow.

…

Avery’s eyes catch on the light coming in from the window.

He fights back tears and stands, stepping over to the window. The thought makes him feel sick, but…

Avery’s eyes skim the courtyard before coming to the pool of water.

The lava would be a better option, but he doesn’t know for sure if he’ll even be able to get into there window Hastur. If it’s night…

He doesn’t lock the bedroom door when they come back from dinner. If Hastur is there, then he should be able to keep Avery from leaving, but if he’s not awake…

Derlord would’ve thought of this ages ago.

…Avery tries to dismiss that thought. Because of course Derek would’ve. He’s… he probably would’ve gotten out by now, honestly. He wouldn’t be trapped here anymore. But Avery isn’t Derlord, and if Avery gets out, it would be just his luck to get trapped again. And then he won’t get ever get out again. At the rate everything escalates here…

He was lucky to even get what little freedoms he has. He doubts Hastur would even hesitate to take it away.

Avery glances at the forget-me-nots and takes a deep breath before walking over to them and taking one out of the vase.

“I’m sorry, Derlord,” Avery whispers as he sinks onto the bed and holds the flower close. “I’m not you. I was never… I was never you. I can’t figure this out, and I can’t keep going like this. You waited for me so long in that library, you waited so long in this place just to keep me away and I... I’m just sorry that I made that all for nothing. I’m sorry that I ruined your plan and I’m sorry that this place costed both of us our lives.”

Avery’s voice wavers and he reaches up to wipe his eyes. He doesn’t even have the energy to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Derek can’t hear him. He never could, not after they met on that platform. Hastur said it himself. Derek is gone, and Avery keeps telling himself that, but he keeps reaching out like that will change everything. Derek is gone, and Avery will be lucky if there’s anything after he dies and they meet again. But most likely, it’ll be nothing. Will Hastur make me a grave? There won’t be anything to bury. If everything goes right, then Avery will be completely dissolved in the pond. Any bits of him left is a bit of a risk that Hastur brings him back, which Avery can’t have. Death is the best-case scenario. Endless nothing is better than staying a toy for a demented god.

Avery cries himself to sleep clutching the flower as close as he can. Because in truth, it means more to him than anything else. That church had been the place where Avery was saved a second time by Derlord.

It seems fit that it be the last place I’m saved by him. Well—not by him. By my own design.

Avery is saving himself this time, but... it doesn’t hurt anything to just say it was Derek’s idea. It makes Avery feel less alone.

After lunch, Avery asks to go down to the courtyard.

Hastur hovers nearby, but Avery is mostly given free range. He wanders around a bit before taking a deep breath and walking beside the church to the patches of forget-me-nots. They grow in clusters and patterns, and he starts to carefully pick some before looking around for the graves. Avery can feel the King’s eyes following as the flowers are deposited one-by one, carefully placed on the graves.

I never knew any of you, Avery thinks as he sets down the flowers. His eyes linger on the name engraved on the headstone, but it slips from his mind the moment he looks away. But you were still people. I’m sorry that you never got out of here.

Maybe they were never trapped at all. Avery doesn’t know. And he never will. Derek would’ve probably memorized their stories and names by now. It’s only been a few days, and yet Avery feels like he’s wasted an eternity.

When he finishes placing flowers, he comes back to Hastur and sits down on the grass, looking around at the courtyard. It’ll never feel perfect again. Never feel safe. It had been that once, but no longer, and now it’ll never be fixed.

Avery hesitates as Hastur wraps an arm around him.

“You’ve made yourself comfortable?”

He could tell the truth. He’ll never be comfortable in this place. He'd rather die than stay another day. He’ll never be Hastur’s consort. But he says nothing instead. Just nods and drops his head against Hastur’s armor. It makes him feel sick. Avery feels like crying just from the light touch around his waist. He doesn’t cry, but... he wants to.

Avery squeezes his eyes shut and swallows hard, just listening to the quiet movements of the leaves and the water. There’s lily pads wading on the surface when Avery finally opens his eyes, and beautiful yellow flowers sprout from them. The golden light from the sky makes it seem nearly majestic, but Avery knows the truth. This place is a curse. It could be the most beautiful place he could think of it, and yet it’s ruined by the god that rules over it.

I won’t miss it.

The only thing he’ll miss is pretending that Derek is here. As... few times as he’s been able to do that.

He could try to ask someone to help him escape, but what’s to say that they aren’t just cultists? Or under the King’s influence.

"I know about the eggs,” Hastur says eventually, and Avery’s heart drops, but he just offers another shallow nod. Of course Hastur would know. Hiding it was a... pretty pathetic idea. Avery’s chest aches as he sits there. The grass is cool at least. It's soft.

Avery tries to scoot away to lie down, and Hastur narrows his eyes, looking down at Avery through the armor. It makes Avery’s heart stop for a moment before he whispers, “Can I lie on the grass?”

“Were the blankets not satisfactory?” Hastur huffs, but he releases Avery. In truth, they were, but this... reminds him of home. He wants to enjoy it one last time. Thinking of home. He doubts he’ll want to after this, and he won’t be able to after tonight. Avery spreads out and stares at the sky, antennae slowly twitching. They’d still recognize, wouldn’t they? His family? He’s worn the same clothes since he was a kid, and he’s always looked the same. Would they know it was him if he showed up in yellow robes with antennae and a tail? Slimes aren’t... well, it’s hard for appearances to overlap, but certainly not impossible. Not even incredibly uncommon in families. Hard because slimes can customize and come in other colors, but not so much just because they look different.

Avery lifts a hand and inspects it before immediately dropping it. In this lighting, he looks golden when held up to the light. Golden-green, anyway. It makes Avery’s eyes burn, and he blinks back tears.

He's... really not going home. Unless dying in this place frees him, which he doubts. Derek would know. But he’s not here now.

Avery takes a deep breath and forces a weak smile onto his lips. It’s fragile as porcelain.

“I love you.”

The words nearly make him gag. Avery’s throat burns with acid, and his stomach feels like it’s being tied into burning knots. He hates saying it. It might actually be worse than anything Avery has said. Although... maybe not. Avery has had to call Hastur all manner of praise. Had to say that he appreciated him. That he actually cares about Hastur.

I won't let you have these eggs, and I won’t let you have me. Not any longer.

“Is that so?” One of Hastur’s hands cups Avery’s face and lifts it slightly. An armored thumb brushes Avery, but he feels nothing. Nothing but disgust. Even when he parts his lips slightly. “I am not easily fooled, my vessel. What caused such a rapid change?”

“The eggs,” Avery whispers, speaking quietly to keep his voice from trembling. The contact is starting to wear on him, making him feel hazy as he starts to tune out everything going on. It feels like yesterday, after the bath. Even the end of the bath is fuzzy now, and he can’t remember anything after. Not much of it, anyway. Snippets. Maybe he should be worried about that, but if everything goes right, then Avery won’t have much longer to care. “I want to be your consort, and if... if I’m going to be having your heirs, then I want to love you. They’ll be our children, and they deserve parents that love each other. And you... you treat me well, my King. I just needed time to think about it, and with the eggs... it just helped me realize it.”

Avery feels like he’s going to cry just saying it. But he manages to get the words out, and Hastur leans down to pull Avery into a kiss after.

“I hold all of the knowledge of the universes, and yet, I cannot express how greatly this pleases me, my vessel.”

Avery meets Hastur’s eyes before squeezing his own eyes shut and looping his arms around Hastur’s neck, pulling him in for another kiss. Convince him. Convince him and you’ll never have to kiss him again.

Avery almost gags as the kiss deepens, but he forces himself to stay still. Even as he grows so nauseous that his head feels light. Even as hands slide into Avery’s and lift them.

Hastur doesn’t break the kiss until Avery feels like he’s going to pass out. Avery almost gags as the fresh air hits his system; he has to swallow hard and choke out a whimper to mask any disgust.

“I’ve always loved you. Maybe just because of him, but my love has grown to be consuming, my consort. I cannot stand the thought of being without you. Spending time away to rule is a burden. If I could trust you, I would wish for you to stay at my side. Your throne sits next to mine and yet remains empty. Do you understand how deeply it hurts me to see you longing for another man? To have you fight against me?”

“I won’t do it again.”

It’s... not a lie. He can’t fight if he’s dead.

“I love you, my dearest Avery.”

“I love you, Hastur.”

Avery feels sick. He wishes he could just dissolve the eggs right now and be done with it all, but he knows that his body wouldn’t listen.

Avery’s carried back into the room after a while. Hastur doesn’t rape Avery again, but his hands rest on Avery’s stomach while they lie together. Is he feeling for the eggs? Is he protective?

I don’t know everything about him, and he knows everything about me.

It makes Avery take an unsteady breath. What can he even do? Nothing but wait it out.

At dinner, Avery tries to make some small talk. Who are these people who are in Hastur’s court? Who is going to remember me when I’m gone?

He doesn’t mean for his hand to brush someone else’s, but he watches it go right through. He watches it go right through, and suddenly the room feels so much more empty than it did before.

There was never anyone else, was there?

Avery’s face falls, and he slowly lowers his hand into his lap. Hastur helped him change into the robe, and he clings to one of the ribbons. The whole palace, the whole... it was only ever Avery and Hastur. Are the other people illusions? Hallucinations? What are they? Who are they?

Avery squeezes his eyes shut and reaches out for a pinecone. It crunches softly, and Avery tries to focus on that as Hastur’s hand comes over to rest on Avery’s stomach. The sad part is that it really does seem... affectionate in a way. Some sick power fantasy, maybe. Maybe Hastur believes that Avery really does want this. Because when he leans over to kiss up Avery’s neck before ending at his lips, Avery doesn’t do anything but let it happen. I guess I was a good consort in that way, wasn’t I? If I don’t fight back, then I’m practically just a toy for him. I let it all happen.

Avery follows Hastur with a blank gaze as he stands. They’re not done eating yet, so where is he...

Avery’s insides feel hollow as he watches Hastur lift a glass of wine. He waves a hand and a glass of a swirling green fluid that Avery immediately recognizes as a potion of poison appears in front of Avery, then Hastur taps the edge of his own glass with a fork. Is he calling a toast? Does he expect Avery to drink, too? That... would explain the poison. Fermented products are completely edible to slimes, so alcohol doesn’t work on them. Avery’s parents would sometimes use bottles of poison as a substitute since the toxins are enough to make a slime intoxicated but not actually kill them. What would he be toasting to, though?

The answer hits Avery like a stone before Hastur even speaks.

“To my consort and vessel,” Hastur calls as silence settles in the hall. Is that what it always sounds like outside of the illusion? “And to my heirs that he carries. They’ll be an honor to have in the kingdom.”

The hall erupts in cheers, and Avery can only sit there, his body rapidly going numb. His face burns, although he isn’t sure if it’s from embarrassment or the tears beading his eyes. Hastur carefully pulls Avery up and against his side, and the contact is enough to make Avery nauseous. Hastur pulls Avery into a deep kiss, and all Avery can think is, I’m going to die without ever seeing Derek’s face.

It’s.... painful to think about. So, Avery doesn’t. He lets himself be kissed and held until Hastur sits down and they finish the meal. Avery reluctantly drinks his potion of poison, and the taste is similar to the fire resistance potion. Hastur had to have changed it, or maybe he’s just making Avery think that it was changed. It makes his head feel full of cotton, which isn’t nearly as unwelcome as it could be given Hastur keeps invading Avery’s personal space. Avery doesn’t know what he expected; Hastur had seemed... excited about the eggs. It’s not really surprising that he’s fawning over Avery so much. Hastur refills Avery’s glass once he finishes it, and it’s easy to clear his mind and just keep drinking. Maybe he shouldn’t, he doesn’t want to be hungover when he’s sneaking out, but...

He can have this, at least for now. If he’s going to die, doesn’t he deserve to live for at least a short while?

Avery’s barely able to see when Hastur finally starts to help him stand. Avery slumps against Hastur and sighs, letting green antennae sway and flick, trying to map out where everything is. Avery’s brain isn’t processing it right, though, and he stumbles as Hastur leads him from the dining hall. Can gods get drunk? Avery’s not sure, but at the very least, Derek’s body must be able to get drunk, because Hastur is swaying, too. They barely make it back to the room. Hastur wastes no time making away with the robe, and Avery warbles but doesn’t fight. He whispers a plea for mercy, but it’s short and muffled. Hastur doesn’t seem to hear it.

Avery’s head is muddled, but he still remembers his goal. He needs to… get Hastur to relax. Make him think Avery’s given in.

So, Avery does the one thing his poison-addled mind can think of: he smashes his lips against Hastur’s, even if it makes him gag.

Hastur’s hands grip Avery’s waist, and he whines from the roughness as he’s brought to the bed. Mh… he’s with eggs, Hastur should be more careful. Avery doesn’t focus on that long, though. A hand grips one of his antennae, and it sends shocks through Avery. He clings to Hastur as his legs give out, and Avery is swiftly moved to the bed.

Jus’ gotta make him relax. It’s a plan. It’s a good plan. Yeah. Derek would be proud of me.

“Please fuck me.” The words aren’t as dainty as Avery probably should’ve gone for, but he doesn’t care. He carefully wrestles himself up and pulls himself into Hastur’s lap, squeezing shut dark green eyes as Avery grinds and clings to Hastur. All of it makes him feel dizzy and filthy, but he knows it’s working when Hastur groans and starts to rid himself of his armor. “I wanna be your consort. Wanna be yours. Please, need you in me—my eggs, please… I need you to fertilize them. My King, please, I’m begging. I want to be your obedient servant.”

“P… hah—patience is a virtue, my vessel,” Hastur growls, but he wastes no time pulling Avery onto Hastur’s cock. It hits deep, and Avery feels it knock against one of his eggs, drawing a sharp cry from Avery. The numbness is crawling in, but Avery needs to be a good distraction. Even if the feeling is making him cry. Even if Avery gags as often as he moans as he starts to ride Hastur. Avery feels himself starting to zone out, but he forces himself back by slamming down on Hastur’s cock. He keeps moving voraciously, no matter how much he wants to just leave the moment. No matter how much he wants to just go through the motions. Avery feels exhausted as a hand wraps around his cock and starts to pump in time with the thick spurts of cum that full him. Avery could feel each little movement of the eggs, and now he can feel the way they shift as their father is filled with golden filth.

Avery feels vulnerable in a completely barren and filthy way when he whimpers and cums into Hastur’s hand. He thinks that it’s the end of it, but he hears a soft hum and is pulled off of Hastur to instead be pinned on the bed.

“Has’ur?”

“Calm thyself,” Hastur breathes, hair falling against Avery’s back as tentacles pull him into a familiar position, arched against the bed. “I wish only to make sure that these eggs are ours, my consort. You’ll carry such beautiful children for your King. Such beautiful heirs. I find myself ever grateful for the rate at which slimes have children… you’ll look wonderful constantly carrying my sons and daughters.”

Hastur doesn’t stop after the next round. Or the one after that. He only stops when they’re both spent, cocks unable to drip any more. Even then, Hastur pushes himself to fuck Avery again once more. Avery’s completely out of it, and his belly is round after between the eggs and cum. Not by much, but around the same size as the little bulge in Avery’s belly whenever Hastur fucks him. Cum spills out of Avery, but Hastur mumbles, “Seal yourself, lest I need to fill you further, my vessel…” so Avery does. His stomach and thighs are a mess, and Avery can feel all of it, even drunk. Finally, Hastur lets himself fall asleep, unbothered by the mess in the bed. Avery’s cum is in thick, slimy puddles against the bed and against his own skin, although it’s outside, rather than everything the king put in him.

When Avery starts to fall asleep, he pinches himself. Hard. It startles him awake a bit, which is exactly what Avery needs right now. He needs to stay awake and wait out the poison. Hah. Literal poison. The absurdity is enough to make Avery giggle, and he tosses an arm over his eyes as it devolves into soft sobs.

He’s going to die tonight. Avery and Derek—they both died for nothing.  Avery’s body is stained with gold, and that’s how he’s going to look before he dies. This is what he’s going to look like when he dies. It’s pathetic. He doesn’t even get the dignity of dying in his own clothes. He could toss on the robe, but that isn’t his. It’s Hastur’s. It always was, just like Avery.

Avery takes a shuddering breath and tries to calm himself, but he can feel the eggs pressing against his stomach and it’s enough to resume his crying. He tries to make it quiet, but Hastur is passed out, anyway.

Avery’s not sure when he blacks out. When he wakes, though, Hastur is already sitting up. The endless golden sky leaves only for the night, and the room is dark right now. Everything is shadowed in a midnight haze. It must be late into the night.

“... Hastur?”

He’s crying. Does he regret this? Everything he’s done to Avery? Why is he crying?

Hastur jerks before turning, and Avery hesitates. His helmet is on, but... his eyes aren’t golden. The tears that roll down his cheeks are, but his eyes...

“Avery—Avery I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I wasn’t supposed to survive, I wasn’t—”

It’s not Hastur’s voice. It could be a trick, but...

But Avery would give anything right now to believe it.

“Derek?” Avery whispers, and his voice cracks as he sits up and pushes himself closer. He reaches out before jerking his hand back, heart racing. “You’re...”

“I’ve seen everything, Avery. I’ve seen everything that he’s done to you, and I’m so, so sorry. Avery, I was supposed to die—he was never supposed to do this.” Derek reaches out, but Avery finds himself tensing before he can react to anything else. It’s Derek; he knows it’s Derek, but part of Avery still expects him to start trying to touch Avery again. Derek’s gaze softens, but Avery can see the tears grow faster. Derek’s voice is hoarse when he whispers, “I never meant for him to do all of this to you.”

“I’m just glad that you’re back,” Avery laughs, but his voice is wet with the tears flooding his eyes. Derek saw all of it. All of the times that Hastur took Avery. All the times that he made Avery pray. All the times that he fed Avery. All of it.

Avery wants to hug Derek, but he can’t make himself move. His muscles feel locked in place, and he’s shaking.

“Avery, I don’t...” Derek sighs, and he looks like he wants to move closer, but he doesn’t, “I don’t know if I’m coming back. I might never be free again. This might be the last time we ever see each other.”

Derek starts to reach for his helmet, but Avery grabs Derek’s hands and holds them there, even as the touch makes Avery’s skin burn and his breathing shudder with fear.

“This won’t be the last time, Derek, it can’t be! I spent so long searching for you, and I spent so long wishing for you to be back—don’t take that helmet off. You can show me next time. There has to be a next time, Derek.”

Derek sighs, and it hurts Avery to his core.

“He... told me that you wouldn’t look at my face unless it was me. So I want to show you, Avery. Please. If I have to lose you forever, then please, Avery, let me give you this. I’ve done... he’s used me to do so many things to you, Avery. I’ve seen thousands of people, Avery, I’ve seen thousands of universes. Avery, watching what the King in Yellow did to you hurt more than any weapon. I can’t take what he did to you, so please,” Derek’s voice breaks, and Avery’s heart breaks with it, a weak sob falling from his lips, “let me give you this.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Avery lets his hands fall. He can barely see through the tears in his eyes.

“Derek please don’t do this,” Avery whispers. The silence between them, broken only by sniffles or sobs, is endlessly loud. Don’t do this. Don’t make it real. Don’t make it final. I can’t live through more of this alone.

“If I come back, I promise we can plan something. We can get you out of here. Please, Avery... don’t die on me. Get out of here, don’t die. Don’t kill yourself.”

Derek takes his helmet off and sets it aside. His skin is an inky black, just like it had been under the helmet, but Avery can see that his eyes are actually faintly red. A deep color, darker than blood. They’re beautiful. Avery has felt Derek’s hair dozens of times, brushing Averys’s skin as Hastur looms over him, but... Avery couldn’t have predicted just how curly it is. Hastur must have been magically keeping it maintained, or he’s been treating it while Avery has been alone, because the curls look well cared-for. Avery admires them for a moment before looking away.

“Derek...” Avery whispers, unable to stop the tears.

“Avery.” Derek cracks a smile, but Avery can see just how fragile it is. “You’re a pretty hard guy to get to.”

Avery feels sick. He wants to hug Derek, but the thought of touching him has been soiled by Hastur, and even thinking about it makes Avery feel worse. He can only wrap his arms around himself and sob, looking up at Derek. He looks like he wants to reach out, muscles semi-tensed as he chokes on his own tears. But Derek doesn’t. He must know how little it would actually help Avery.

“Please... if... Avery, if I never come back, please, I just ask one thing.” Derek’s trying to have a serious conversation, but golden tears patter to the bed, and Avery’s heart is wrenched by each one. “Live. Find some way to keep going. Let me be selfish this once. I’ve seen endless things, Avery, don’t make me...”

His voice cracks and he tries to steady himself, but Avery can see Derek’s composure crumbling. Avery covers his mouth with one hand and keels over on himself as he heaves. He can’t take more of this. He can’t take more pain.

“Don’t make me see you kill yourself.”

The rest of the night is spent crying. Derek tries to reach out eventually, but Avery jerks away, pushing himself to the edge of the bed and fighting the shame that he’s terrified to let the man that he loves touch him. Avery barely knows anything about Derek, but that little bit is enough for Avery to be completely enamored.

“I can’t, Derek,” Avery cries eventually, and he can’t help how hysterical he sounds. How hysterical he feels. Avery would’ve thrown up already if he was able to. “I can’t. I can’t live through more of this. Please don’t make me live through more of this.”

“I’ll try my best to come back, please, Avery,” Derek pleads, reaching out even when Avery’s heart drops out of his chest and he whimpers, pushing himself away. His body is still stained gold from Hastur’s cum. It stains Avery’s insides like dye, refusing to leave. “Just hold on. I can try to help you get out; I can do everything in my power to get you away from Hastur. Just don’t kill yourself. If you... Avery, I need you to kill me.”

“You can’t expect me to do that,” Avery shouts before he can even think, standing even if reminds him of what he wishes he didn’t have. Even if it reminds him of just how rough Hastur had been. “You can’t expect me to kill you, Derek! Don’t ask me something like that, just...”

Avery wraps his arms around himself, shuddering. Derek tries to follow him, but Avery panics. He stumbles away, backing away until his back hits the wall and startles a panicked warble. Derek visibly flinches before deflating. Does he know everything about slimes? Does he understand the situation that Avery is in? If he doesn’t die, then he’s going to be forced to lay these eggs, and Hastur is going to force Avery to raise them. Eggs Avery has never wanted in the first place, and ones whose father would be the one who killed Avery’s lover and repeatedly raped Avery.

Avery’s other option is to actually kill the man that he loves. Kill Derek and both risk losing him forever and freeing Hastur. What if he’s just released and can take whatever form he likes? What will he do then? Avery can barely take it as is, but if Hastur was free?

If he could possess Avery?

Avery’s blood runs cold, and he presses himself as far away as he can, shielding himself with his arms.

“Please don’t make me do this,” Avery sobs as he sinks to the floor, legs finally giving out. He feels hopeless. Helpless. Useless when the man that he loves wants Avery to be an executioner. “Derek I’m not you; I can’t take this. I can’t take living like this. I’m not strong or smart—I can’t, Derek! Please, I can’t...”

There’s silence for a few seconds. Then Avery hears a thump. He’d been praying to Derek, just like Avery did Hastur. The thought makes Avery nauseous enough to sway, but he still slowly opens his eyes and unfurls, looking over at Derek. He’s fallen to his knees, clutching his head and...

... and sobbing.

“I’m not strong, Avery,” Derek whispers, and hearing him so fragile feels like a knife to the heart. “I’m not strong. I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t stop this all from happening. I couldn’t stop all of the times he’s assaulted you. I’m anything but strong. You’ve survived all of this so far—I just need you to hold on for me. Just... just until I can get you out. If you won’t kill me—please just do that. Survive for me just a bit longer.”

Avery doesn’t want to promise that. He doesn’t want to live with Hastur another day. Doesn’t want to carry the eggs of the man who raped him. But Avery nods.

“Just a bit longer.”

“Just a bit longer.”

They stay there for a while. Sitting on the floor, slowly shedding burning tears. Each one carves away a piece of Avery until he feels too exhausted to fight it anymore. He shuffles forward and collapses against Derek, letting the man wrap his arms around Avery. Even if Avery hates how it feels. Even if he’s shaking and lightheaded from it. Avery lets it happen. It’s so much easier to just... pass out, honestly. Let his body assume this is like all of the times that Hastur has touched him without permission. It’s so easy to keep himself from fighting if he assumes that.

Avery is exhausted.

When Derek carries Avery to bed, it feels familiar. Familiar in the same way that hands gripping his hips does. Familiar in the same was that crying for mercy but saying nothing does. Familiar in the same way that a cock pressing him open does.

Derek presses a forget-me-not from one of the vases into Avery’s hand, and he clutches it as he rests against Derek. It’s not a promise. It’s a gift. In case this is the last time they see each other.

“You hate this,” Derek whispers, and Avery can tell that he wants to let go, so Avery just drags his arms back tighter.

“I hate this. Just... just please let me have it. Please don’t let go.”

Derek’s half-tense, but he nods and rests his head on the top of Avery’s.

Avery doesn’t know how long it is until he falls asleep, but the darkness of his empty mind is welcoming