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hkss_kinkPost your prompts and fills here!
Please read the rules on the main page before posting and follow the template below.
Prompt subjects:
PAIRING TAGS, BRIEF SUMMARY/KINKS, WARNINGS (IF ANY)
[example: Hornet/any, masturbation]
Fill subjects:
FILL: "TITLE" (PAIRING TAGS, BRIEF SUMMARY/KINKS) (WARNINGS IF ANY) (chapter count)
[example: FILL: Hornet/Lace, Lace walks in on Hornet 1/2]
Please read the rules on the main page before posting and follow the template below.
Prompt subjects:
PAIRING TAGS, BRIEF SUMMARY/KINKS, WARNINGS (IF ANY)
[example: Hornet/any, masturbation]
Fill subjects:
FILL: "TITLE" (PAIRING TAGS, BRIEF SUMMARY/KINKS) (WARNINGS IF ANY) (chapter count)
[example: FILL: Hornet/Lace, Lace walks in on Hornet 1/2]
Quirrel/Hornet, Somnophilia Dubcon
Date: 2026-07-14 09:14 pm (UTC)FILL: Quirrel/Hornet, Somnophilia Dubcon
Date: 2026-07-15 12:13 pm (UTC)Hornet hadn't been able to stop thinking of the strange warrior-traveler. On the surface, it was simple. He carried the mask of the Teacher, and thus was as bound by duty to Hallownest as hornet herself was. That should have been the end of it. Of course the Teacher would have entrusted her mask to one skilled with the nail.
Still, Hornet could feel something brewing in the kingdom, and the mask-bearing bug would likely play a role. It unsettled her to not know what exactly it was. She'd heard the cry of the false light emanating from the temple of the black egg shortly before unusual events had started happening, and that could mean nothing good.
First, another wave of vessels had become active. Drawn toward the temple, they'd fallen infected as they made their way there and she'd had to cull them. She expected to do the same to the traveler if the seals on his mask failed and he too became infected. As a common bug, it would likely be much more straightforward than dealing with the strange vessel that had been following her through Greenpath. That one seemed impossible to kill for good, leaving behind a shadow of itself when its mask shattered and returning to challenge her again and again until exhaustion wore her down and it finally bested her.
She would track that one further, though for now she sought a place to rest and restore her silk and shell. Nearby was the temple at the lake of Unn, which she occasionally visited. It might have seemed odd for a daughter of a god to seek solace in the domain of another god, but in an ailing kingdom where most gods had fallen silent, what did it matter?
When she stepped across the threshold, she realized she was not alone. The traveler she had met at the western border of Hallownest was laid out beside a rock at the far edge of the structure. He was asleep, the teacher's large mask tipped down over his own fitted one, his nail within easy reach beside his claw.
Normally, Hornet would have simply left and found another spot to recuperate. However, he seemed restless. Whatever dreams plagued him -- she needed to check. If his dreams had already been infiltrated by the false light, she would need to extinguish that insidious flame. Silently, she crept closer. Still several steps away, she matted his nail to the rocks with a few strands of silk. It wouldn't do for him to lash out.
The simplest way to do so was to wake him and check for traces of orange within the dark sockets of his mask. But as she watched, he continued shifting in his sleep. She would have said he was writhing if his movements hadn't been so sluggish. He sighed (relieved?), the sound muffled by the Teacher's mask. Twin tips, both a pale blue-grey, began to emerge from between the plates of his shell, between his walking legs. They were shiny with wetness, a strand of it stretching between the two appendages as they twitched.
By now, hornet was close enough to see that the fluid, at least, lacked an orange tint. Though, since it took severe infectious burden before the color seeped into a bug's fluids, it was hardly definitive.
Still, Hornet had to admit she was fascinated. The simple bug was not unattractive to her, and in both the wilds and the ruin of this kingdom, it was not unusual to seek fleeting companionship, moments of pleasure before whatever hardship came next. Before she could think better of it, she caught the glistening liquid on her claw. Another instinctual roll of his hips rubbed one of his cocks against the back of her claw before she could pull back. He whined, and Hornet paused before taking him in her claw and stroking him again more firmly.
This time, he groaned loudly. He fucked into her grip, then froze. He must have woken himself up, because his claws jolted toward the Teacher's mask, missing once before catching its edge and lifting it. His gaze, still reassuringly dark, met hers.
"Sentinel--"
To Hornet's surprise, he hadn't even gone for his nail. Perhaps Hornet should have believed him when he claimed not to be a warrior and only a combatant by necessity. He was clearly no simple bug, affiliated with the teacher as he was. Then--
"Peace, scholar. Is this amenable?"
He laughed gently at her term of address, though he understandably seemed bewildered as well. "Scholar? perhaps I was, though now I consider myself but an explorer. I'm Quirrel. This is certainly amenable, you're quite a marvel yourself, sentinel."
How droll to be insisting on proper introductions while his genitals were being fondled, Hornet thought wryly, though it was probably more civil than her fondling said genitals and bypassing introductions completely.
She wasn't here for a conversation, though. She slipped her claw under her mask, tasting the other bug's secretions. It tasted neutral, but the richness of the soul burst across her mouthparts. It was potent, in a way that only developed after being exposed to pale power for a long time, and it was exactly what she needed for her depleted stores of soul.
He watched as she unslung her needle and set it aside, then ducked down. With one arm holding him down and supporting her own weight, Hornet gripped his cocks again. She flared her chelicerae, catching the tips of his cocks between them. Her fangs crossed, harmlessly caging him in. Her pedipalps stayed firmly tucked under her mask -- he wouldn't fit in her throat, and she needed to grip him with something, but she didn't need to display the full intricacy of her mouthparts.
Like before, he was delightfully responsive to her touch. The dream must have left him sensitive, already. His hips bucked, and he was so loud it made hornet wonder how he'd ever survived any such relations in the wilds. She could feel something full at the base of one of his cocks, bright with soul, and she craved it. She sped up her claws, wrenching another series of moans out of him.
"Sentinel, I, I'm going to--" his claws scrabbled at her horns, trying to push her off, but Hornet just growled and held fast. The vibration of her voice must have pushed him over the edge as he let out a wordless cry. She sucked as his cocks pulsed, one side spilling more of that viscous clear lubricant right down her throat, the other shooting the spermatophore into Hornet's mouth, which she caught neatly between her mouthparts.
She held him there until his shudders subsided, then sat up. Out of habit, she ducked the bottom part of her mask into the collar of her cloak as she liquefied the spermatophore and swallowed it as well. The soul suffused hornet's shell, invigorating her with its power. Quirrel watched the whole process in fascination, though he could see little of it.
"Thank you," he said, voice breathy but with a hoarse grit. "I cannot guarantee I'll match your skill, but would you like me to return the favor in kind?"
So busy had she been with acquiring soul that she had barley noticed the wetness leaking from her epigyne, though now that she was aware, she realized her arousal was almost uncomfortably intense. Her clit throbbed, having lengthened and swelled without her notice. She wanted.
"No need. If you are not fully finished, yourself, there is something I wish to attempt."
He made a sound of assent, then a surprised "oh!" as she straddled him and pressed her sodden epigyne to his cocks. Hornet shuddered. It'd been so long since she'd indulged in something like this with another bug; the wetness that met her own felt utterly different from the pillows she satisfied herself with when her own claw wasn't enough.
Her cloak fell over most of his torso, and though he couldn't see what exactly was going on as she began to move, it felt incredible. She'd accused him of seeking to desecrate Hallownest and threatened his death for it, yet now she was all but begging him with her shell to desecrate Hallownest's daughter.
Hornet had known he wouldn't fit, but each slender tip of his cocks caught her undersized openings with each thrust and felt like a tease anyway. She wanted to be fucked; she was grateful he didn't even try. She reached under her cloak and palmed her scape, rubbing at it the way she liked as she frotted her cunt on him.
That was enough to have her clenching her legs around his midsection and arching her back as she rode him. She clenched down around nothing, silently cursing her anatomy for bestowing her with desires she was physically unable to sate. His claws came up to her hips, spurring her on. She braced a claw on his chest and bore down, gasping when one of the tips just barely penetrated her before slipping back out.
His cocks were slender, tapered, but even that had hurt. The raw burst of pain only enhanced the pleasure, though, driving Hornet into a frenzy. She struggled to suppress the sounds that threatened to burst from her throat as she approached her peak, but she couldn't hold back her growl as her orgasm ripped through her. Her clit pulsed in her claw, and she felt her openings gush her release over his cocks.
Another burst of wetness matched her own. In the middle of it, another spermatophore. Shamelessly, she scooped up his release and consumed it, the burst of soul that flowed through her body coinciding with another wave of pleasure.
She tightened her grip around her scape, groaning as another shudder wracked her. It wouldn't take much to bring her off again, though the bug under her seemed quite winded already and she didn't want to exhaust him so much he could no longer defend himself. In any case, his cocks were already starting to retreat between the plates of his shell.
Almost reluctantly, she dismounted from him. In a roundabout way, she'd gotten what she'd come here for, and she needed to return to her hunt before the trail of the strange persistent vessel grew stale. Her legs trembled as she stood, their combined wetness cooling on her thighs. No matter.
"Safe travels. Quirrel," she said, the name an odd intimacy in her mouth, before she threw her needle at the exit and zipped after it on a line of silk.
"Perhaps our paths shall cross again?" Quirrel mused, to the now empty doorway.
(The silk he had to disentangle his nail from reassured him it hadn't all been just a bizarrely hot dream.)
i am a pillbug quirrel truther, so pillbug anatomy references below:
Hassan, M., Albogami, B., Mwabvu, T., Hassan, M., Awad, M., Sabry, A., Ismail, M., Farid, M., & Elsharkawy, M. (2024). Morphological, Molecular Identification and Genetic Diversity Assessment of Three Terrestrial Isopods from the High-Altitude Region. Journal of Biobased Materials and Bioenergy, 18, 656–666.
Nunomura, N. (1990). Studies on the terrestrial isopod crustaceans in Japan V. Taxonomy of the Families Armadillidiidae, Armadillidae and Tylidae, with taxonomic supplements to some other families. Bulletin of the Toyama Science Museum, 13, 1–58. https://cir.nii.ac.jp/crid/1050019302702320128
Wilson, G. (1991). Functional Morphology and Evolution of Isopod Genitalia. In Crustacean Sexual Biology (pp. 228–245). https://doi.org/10.7312/baue90796-014
Re: FILL: Quirrel/Hornet, Somnophilia Dubcon
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2026-07-15 08:21 pm (UTC) - ExpandTraitor Lord bottoms to The Hunter
Date: 2026-07-14 09:27 pm (UTC)Fill: Traitor Lord bottoms to The Hunter, noncon, art
Date: 2026-07-16 06:17 pm (UTC)Re: Fill: Traitor Lord bottoms to The Hunter, noncon, art
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2026-07-16 10:31 pm (UTC) - ExpandRe: Fill: Traitor Lord bottoms to The Hunter, noncon, art
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2026-07-19 02:59 pm (UTC) - ExpandHornet/Pure Vessel, Sex Pollen/Secret Relationship, Incest
Date: 2026-07-15 09:19 am (UTC)FILL: Hornet/Pure Vessel, Sex Pollen/Secret Relationship, Incest
Date: 2026-07-15 06:05 pm (UTC)Featuring:
Hornet had an appetite. Her mother had warned her, when she was young - Weaver and Wyrm, beast and pale, there was an ancient hunger within her that would never be sated no matter how much she fed. And the Palace certainly made no room for her to sate this hunger.
Almost no room.
There were moments in the dead of night, where she was finally alone. Delicate claws ran down a newly-adult body, down the faint ridges of scars left from spars, down the harder shell of her groin, until they met soft, humid tissue. There weren't enough Weavers nor enough Wyrms left to know what they'd have looked like; but her body worked well enough still to make her legs twitch when she carressed her scape, to make her breath threaten to turn to moans.
It felt nice. It wasn't enough.
The pace of her strokes picked up, but the growing tension in her belly died regardless. She groaned, quietly. No mate wanted her yet. The Great Knights of her father were old, or already claimed. She would only depart for the Hive once the Vessel was to be sealed.
The Vessel.
She let the thought simmer long enough for her to shake her head, disgusted with herself. There were risks. There were taboos. People would be appalled, not to mention how thoroughly she'd thwart her father's plans.
She let that same thought simmer even more, until justification for it came to her.
It was no sibling. If such a tool could be useful in such a way, then that would be one of the uses that such a tool would offer.
She wiped her fingers on the bedsheets before carefully crawling out of bed, towards the chambers of the King, where her non-sibling would've stood guard. The halls wound and slithered in the dark, but Hornet had learned to navigate them eyes closed over her stay - and though she did not like walking through them so late, that starved desire in her left her no other choice. And soon enough, in the penumbra, she found the Vessel, tall and slender, empty gaze wide-open peering at the closeby nothing.
"Vessel," she whispered carefully to it, "I desire your help."
The Vessel cocked its head to the side to look at Hornet. Her womb-gut rumbled.
"May you follow me to my room?"
For a moment, Hornet doubted it would obey, but eventually it sheathed its nail and started walking to where Hornet came from. She spun her fingers on the way. The Vessel did not ask any questions.
Once in the room, it stopped its march. Hornet tapped on a lantern to wake its lumaflies. The Knight seemed to stand guard, still unaware of what she'd ask. She could feel her softer tissues throb in anticipation, felt her blood pool into them, felt her scape rise up discretely. Her cloak hid her erection, until she took it off.
Her fangs clicked while she thought of what to say. "Vessel," she figured it would not take offense despite how clumsy her words may be, "I desire intercourse."
The Vessel remained still for an instant more. She thought it didn't understand. Her narrow mouth opened to elaborate, but with certain and steady hands the Knight unbuckled its cape, that it let fall to the ground. The shoulderguards fell along, and clattered loudly. Hornet winced. "Quiet," she hissed. "Father cannot know of this."
The Vessel did not move.
Hesitantly, Hornet walked up to her bed, and laid onto it on her back. She splayed her legs wide open. "Please me," she stuttered, before falling completely silent as the Vessel climbed on top of her.
She had not anticipated its size. The empty weight of its shell was enough to bend the mattress under her; she felt its face graze the very tips of her horns and its knees trap her feet. She shuddered, and a shallow breath prematurely blew out of her chest. And with no command, the Vessel lifted one of its careful hands up, and caressed her lower body.
A strange smell could faintly be felt in the air Hornet breathed in. A sickly sweet one, like baked goods, or like honey. She clicked her tongue to swallow excess hungry saliva. Her lungs buzzed and tickled strangely, and she nearly didn't notice the soft touches on her cunt. Her limbs felt cold and numb and jerked with every subtle press. She couldn't really suppress her noises, she found - and would've felt afraid if she didn't feel so good.
Her eyes closed, and she relished in the feelings, until they stopped abruptly. A whine escaped her as she peered angrily at the Vessel, but gasped when her gaze met it: it was shaking, its legs had shifted to let its crotch overlap with hers; and she understood the emptiness of its eyes. It had a hunger, too.
It wasted no time pressing itself into her. The texture prickled on her scape, powdery and soft like moth down, and the pressure completely hushed her. Its pace and strength were near frantic; rocking her back and forth, making the bed creak. Neither she nor it made noise. Saccharine scent drowned the air she choked on. Her head reeled, her world spun. Her vision nearly came dark but her body couldn't muster the strength to feel anything but pure ecstasy.
The half-spawn trembled as her entrails writhed and pressed inside her, wringing slick and silk and soul out of her like a soiled rag. She couldn't stop it. Her throat screamed, with every pulse of her body, her own sweetened breath going right back into her with each frenzied gasp she took. The Vessel held her tight. She could let this go on for hours, far beyond what she could push out.
Eventually the Knight let go of her, and stumbled off the bed. The faint glow of her bedside lantern showed abyss-dark powder set deep in its shell's bark; and all over her bed, and her cunt, and her belly, too. Her breaths were labored, but she wasn't suffocating anymore.
Metal scraped on the floor of her room. She heaved her head up, and saw the Vessel dressing itself back up. Anxiety ran ice-cold blood through her buzzing limbs.
"D-do not tell anyone what happened," she foolishly ordered.
Her body felt well spent. Her head fell back down on her bed, and she rolled to her side.
"You may come back tomorrow night," she added on. "You did good."
Re: FILL: Hornet/Pure Vessel, Sex Pollen/Secret Relationship, Incest
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2026-07-15 06:50 pm (UTC) - ExpandRe: FILL: Hornet/Pure Vessel, Sex Pollen/Secret Relationship, Incest
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2026-07-16 11:10 am (UTC) - ExpandHORNET/SHAKRA, HEAT/MATING CYCLES OVIPOSITION VENOM, RAPE/NONCON
Date: 2026-07-15 04:38 pm (UTC)Shakra went missing. Hornet goes looking for her, and upon finding her, realizes she made a horrible mistake even looking for her in the first place.
The Pale King goes through a forced molt
Date: 2026-07-15 05:25 pm (UTC)Some time before the Pure Vessel is to be locked away in the black egg temple, the Pale King loses track of time in his workshop of osha violations and gets a case of void-poisoning so nasty even his pale nature can no longer handle it.
Fills can be nsfw or sfw and include any extra characters and tropes the writer/artist likes. The more painfully detailed and drawn-out the molting process and its consequences the better. I have no squicks except for underage, so go wild!
FILL: The Pale King goes through a forced molt
Date: 2026-07-27 01:43 am (UTC)There were several ways to avoid this outcome.
He could've never founded Hallownest in the first place. He could've ignored those fantastic visions of a bright and exciting future and continued his dull, monotonous life as a vast beast with nothing to do besides destroy and consume. He could've never tampered with Void. He could've relegated his jewel of a kingdom to the end he foresaw, never using that blasted substance to alter fate itself in a desperate gamble to preserve what he'd claimed as his own.
He could've, at the very least, invested in a more durable set of gloves. That would've been easier. And more realistic.
Alas, even foresight could not stop regular shortsightedness. It could not stop his natural tendency to push towards his goals ceaselessly, no matter the cost, no matter the price. It could not stop a damnable personality that refused to take 'no' for an answer. It could not stop him digging too deep, dabbling with his very antithesis until an inevitable precipice was crossed. A natural buffer of Pale light reached its capacity and broke in a runaway reaction of pure, smothering darkness.
It was a terrible issue with a terribly simple countermeasure.
Alas, the Pale King of Hallownest did not invest in a more durable set of gloves for his subterranean workshop. Now the piper was coming to collect its dues.
Void exposure was deadly to anything that possessed Soul...
... and none possessed more Soul than a Pale being.
He hunched over the workbench; upper set of arms braced against it, lower curled around his waist. Organs beneath his divine carapace roiled and dissolved in the presence of so much Void. A shattered jar of the substance lay adjacent on the floor, puddle thankfully avoiding his lower half. Seven pairs of legs proved useless when one's body was quite literally being eaten from the inside out. He could scarcely unfold his tailfin, let alone stand to leave the contaminated workshop. The Wyrm's tail simply curled sadly around itself, spindly legs twitching in involuntary jolts of pain ignored for the sake of rationality.
He made a mistake. That was the simple truth. Thus, the Pale King desperately tried to formulate a plan for survival before Void hollowed his shell until nothing besides a husk remained.
The Wyrm flinched. A particularly nasty cramp sent a splurt of dark fluid dribbling past panting jaws. He knew without looking that white flecks spotted the emission. He had to be quick. He had to be precise. He had to take action with not a single moment's more of delay, lest the poisoning reach his most vital organs. The fact it'd already reached his digestive tract was a sign of imminent doom.
The Pale King was not a normal bug by any means. Abundant Soul was his most defining feature— his very title stemmed from that fact. But it was his also being a Wyrm, not just Pale, that gave an answer to this disastrous plight.
The White Wyrm was a curious creature. He was enormous in size, enormous in hunger, and wielded foresight like no other. However, most curious was the Wyrm's uncanny ability to simply not die. Even when life threatened to leave his form, he could turn inwards—condense as a star might before a supernova— then discard his prior shell as something else. Something beautiful, something new, something brimming with potential to defy the Abyss itself.
He'd shed his shell once before. A death avoided, a life regained. But that had been with years worth of foresight. Years of preparation, even if he'd lost nearly all sense during the actual death throes. Could he manage it once more, under such short and dire circumstance? Did he have enough time? Was there even enough Pale flesh remaining that hadn't fallen victim to Void's harrying jaws?
Well.
He didn't exactly have much of a choice.
To do, or to die.
The Pale King's eyes closed with an air of finality. Sensation dulled all around; the dim light of lumafly lanterns disappeared, as did the faint fluttering of their wings, the loud wheezing of his lungs. All stimuli known to his reduced form steadily dripped away, like wax pooling beneath a sconce.
The air lost its bitter chill. The table beneath his claws lost its form. The very world sunk beneath layer after layer of thick, impenetrable fog, Soul drawn inwards in such a fashion that had the Wyrm eyes opened, they wouldn't see a thing.
They'd be vacant sockets soon enough.
Pain, too, was lost as he condensed himself. Loud pops echoed off cavernous walls as internal muscle detached from external carapace. Fourteen legs ceased their incessant twitching because there were no more nerves left to twitch. Organs liquefied. Flesh putrefied. Only the Wyrm's shell evaded bodily transmutation from 'bug' to 'thing', its lost mass a small price to pay for living another day.
Its shell couldn't be broken. Not yet. Not before that squishy, vulnerable thing made a new shell capable of protecting its squishy, vulnerable insides.
The squishy thing pressed upwards, near where its 'back' used to be. Suddenly lacking any tissue to permeate, internalized Void pooled downwards. Down, into the hollowed-out, spindly tail. Down, into the hollowed out, spindly legs. It didn't have much time. The plating there was thin. That much Abyssal fluid in one spot would eat through its corpse-egg in minuets.
Somewhere far away, the body fell to the floor.
Within that shell, a globular mass that thought itself a King desperately tried to reform. It clung to memories of a body it used for form, not function. For apparel, not proficiency. A body with a purpose. A body with a goal. A body known and loved by the bugs that served beneath it, they themselves becoming the King's teeth and claws when might must be shown.
A body the Wyrm barely recalled the sight of, for it could not stand to look at it, nor call it truly its own.
But it did not matter what it thought. It mattered what it could do.
First, it was nerves. Thin filaments of white reaching and arranging, synapses forming and neurotransmitters accumulating. They spilled forth in a shape roughly aligned with what the mass recalled it to be. Fourteen legs, six wings, four arms. In some places the nerves grew thin— locations purposefully deadened, for it would be easier to endure if no sensation could be felt there at all. In others they condensed— locations purposefully enhanced, for it would be easier to be useful with greater reaction speed. They grew most dense in what would later become the head of the Wyrm. The spot of the mind. The spot of the self. The spot that must survive above all else.
Second, it was organs. Those beyond the nervous system, ones that circled and enveloped sensory scaffolding to fill gaps only additional tissue could provide. Eyes, to see. A digestive system, to consume. Reproductive parts, to— to—
The mass undulated. It didn't need them. It didn't want them. Those could be discarded. They weren't needed. Not anymore. Not ever again
Distantly, fledgling neurons felt the chill of Void for the first time.
It moved further on. Muscles, to give form and shape and movement to the newborn creature. They enveloped in lattice-like structures, criss-crossing this way and that in layer after layer. Densest near the upper half of its anatomy— for the Wyrm was two distinct parts, one for delicate manipulation, one for locomotion. Tendons spread into pulley systems. Claws to grip, claws to write, claws to decree. Two matching sets, with matching arms and shoulders attached, powerful yet fragile in their own, limblike way. Legs and wings followed suit, but were given much less attention, much less musculature. They were unimportant by comparison.
A King could do without those and manage just fine. A King could not do without its claws.
Void burbled. It corroded. It ate. It threatened to breach through the amniotic oasis within the corpse of the Wyrm's past self, carcass and egg and cocoon equally threatened all at once.
Just a little more. Just a little faster. Death would be evaded once more.
A new shell was last. Pulpy, Soul-white biomass slid across muscles like crude oil atop a lake. Supernatural chitin hardened like armor. Plates interlocking, plates intertwining, a thin layer of tissue adhering them to the body beneath without leaving it wholly exposed. Flesh was sealed inside like flowers preserved in wax. Seven horns solidified in a crown above its head. That feature could never be curbed, no matter how inefficient its preservation might be.
Nascent limbs twitched within the egg-shell-thing. Soon, it would be born once more. Soon, it would be alive once more. Entropy incarnate had almost eaten through former legs. Mere seconds were left before it would enter the world not voluntarily, but in a putrefied expulsion of Soul and Void.
The Wyrm's arms extended. They pressed against the hard surface in front of it, back arched and tail curled beneath itself to try and gain enough leverage to escape a womb festering with death. It strained, it pushed, it wriggled and writhed and entered a frenzy to break its bygone shell.
Panic burbled. No. No, it couldn't die like this. It couldn't die before it'd taken its first breath. It had a kingdom to save, a purpose to fill, a role to uphold no matter the cost, no matter the price, it had to live it had to escape it had to, it had to, it had—!
A loud, wet crack echoed throughout the workshop. Tearing followed suit. Globs of Soul clung as the White Wyrm forced itself out through its back, dorsal line torn like a pulse whose pod was split. Soft, nymphlike plating collided with air for the first time, nerves seizing at the drastic shift in temperature. Newly exposed wings flinched, soddenly curled and unsuited for use.
A little more wriggling, and the Wyrm's head popped out too. Like a beast bursting from murky depths, splattered amniotic fluid tainted tiled flooring, spots glowing faintly from residual Soul. Four hands gripped the edge of the fissure, soft plates bending against jagged edges. Squelches accompanied its movements, shimmying its tail free with copious gushings of white and black fluid. A final, sodden pop found its nascent form flopping against the floor, oozing and emitting Pale, pulsing light.
A cough. A hack. It turned to its side, clear fluid forced out of newborn lungs, spilling past still-hardening jaws. It pawed uselessly its mask, trying to clear away the membrane covering its eyes, yet lacking the coordination to do so.
Legs scrambled frantically against tile. Pliant scales gained scuffs and scrapes. Movement was unbearably arduous, newfound limbs unaccustomed to use. It flopped pitifully on stone, blind, bestial terror telling it to get as far away from its corpse-egg as possible lest everything be for naught.
By the time the Wyrm scraped the membrane off his eyes— by the time he remembered he was a he— his old body had all but rotted away. Where once the Pale King's former form lay was a puddle of Void. Only half-digested chunks of the King's cast-off shell remained. Their faint glow had been totally subsumed by the darkness around them, bringing to mind images of great beasts drowning in tar pits.
The Pale King's eyes narrowed. Involuntary shivers pulsed through his new body, but instinctual terror was suppressed with an iron fist. Unfortunate. He wouldn't be able to do that again. And he'd have to get his entire wardrobe resized to accommodate the reduction in mass. The important part, however, was that Hallownest's King still lived, and could still find a way to save that shining jewel from a Dream gone mad.
Unsteady legs stood for the first time. Their plates had hardened enough to not bend beneath his own weight, which was sufficient for him. There wasn't time to waste on more recovery than necessary. A few stumbles, then even steps, a steady pitter-patter of shell on tile. The Wyrm made his way to the impromptu tomb's exit, grabbing a spare robe near the door. It was on the larger side, but that could be dealt with later.
His first decree would be to clear out his workshop.
His second would be for a sturdier pair of gloves.
And then he would continue. Day in, day out, until the Old Light finally fell, cursing and shrieking his name.
Re: FILL: The Pale King goes through a forced molt
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2026-07-28 08:29 am (UTC) - ExpandRe: FILL: The Pale King goes through a forced molt
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2026-08-01 11:38 am (UTC) - ExpandISMA/OGRIM, SCAT/COPROPHAGIA
Date: 2026-07-15 06:21 pm (UTC)FILL: ISMA/OGRIM, SCAT/COPROPHAGIA
Date: 2026-07-15 10:07 pm (UTC)https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HKSS_kink/works/88624156
Re: FILL: ISMA/OGRIM, SCAT/COPROPHAGIA
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2026-07-15 10:18 pm (UTC) - ExpandLACE/CORPSE, NECROPHILIA
Date: 2026-07-15 06:24 pm (UTC)FILL: LACE/CORPSE, NECROPHILIA
Date: 2026-07-16 04:38 pm (UTC)Organic bugs were strange, pathetic things.
No silken pulleys animated their shells. Flesh, blood, and chitin moved via fine-tuned mechanisms of muscle and sinew. Nerves conducted locomotion, not the spiritual direction of Soul itself. Whenever a bug moved, Lace couldn't help but be fascinated by the paradoxically stable yet fragile nature of their squishy, meaty forms.
She examined the dead pilgrim before her. It lay flat on its back with limbs splayed at unnatural angles, broken and mangled like gnarled twigs. Another piece of trash left to sully Mother's slumbering tomb. Another fool who thought there was anything in these Choral Chambers besides abandonment and death. A gilded cage was the blasted place's true nature. One that choked and strangled Lace as surely as this pilgrim had died by Mother's strings.
The pilgrim wasn't all that impressive. A simple beetle clothed in rags, mask long-since knocked away in its struggles to survive. Caked filth crusted its shell. Clawmarks, too, indicated it crossed paths with other Haunted bugs before meeting a similar end. Mother's threads would animate it if provoked, but Lace— being made of the same substance— didn't trigger any false life in the corpse. She was free to poke and prod to her hearts content with no fear of it turning on her.
It was something to do. Something to experience. Something to stave off the eternal boredom of waiting for Mother's full awakening.
And didn't bugs have such fascinating insides?
Lace teased its genital plate with her pin. With a little prodding, the stiff muscle beneath gave way, tearing slightly and exposing the corpse's sex. Female, apparently. A divot indicating where a respective phallus would enter during acts of copulation. Such a small hole for such an important task. Lace aligned the pin's tip directly with its opening, pressing inside with a delicacy uncharacteristic of the weapon. Fencing was one thing. Impromptu postmortem penetration was another.
The construct squatted, gaining a better angle to watch gilded metal slide another centimeter inside. This close, she could see thickened hemolymph streak her pin's shaft. Weren't those canals supposed to be self-lubricating? Hemolymph hardly seemed the right liquid to ooze out. Perhaps the thing had been dead too long, and none of those supposed fluids remained. At the very least, it'd been dead long enough for its hemolymph to take a more sickly, paltry hue.
A silken hand absentmindedly palmed her crotch. Female. A daughter. A receptacle. A hole there, intended to be skewered, intended to be filled. Mother called her 'daughter', yet didn't give her anything of the sort between her legs. Perpetually the child, never the adult.
The pin shoved deeper inside. It emitted a squelch that might've been sickening to a bug made of flesh and shell. Lace instead surmised that her pin had punctured its canal and now lay half-embeded in its guts. Did she have any guts? Her throat went nowhere. It ended in a sealed off tube somewhere in her upper chest. What use did a construct running on silken Soul have for guts?
Her hand pressed deeper against null flatness. A phantom sensation; fibers squishing and rubbing inwards in ways that sent faint signals of Soul fluttering throughout Lace's fabric like the faint static of voltworms. Metal drew back— sticky whiteness covering its length, tip barely resting within the poor pilgrim's abused hole, like a hammer poised to strike— then shoved back inside with a muffled grunt of exertion.
Clawless fingers tore at threads. That ghostly pleasure, denied since they day she'd been spun. Hips ground against her palm, chasing excitement like a starving beast. Her pin thrust deeper. Something wet popped within the beetle's shell. Two more thrusts— two more grindings of palm to groin— and an acrid scent soon permeated the Citadel's pristine, corpselike halls.
Digestive fluids, Lace thought, panting. She'd fucked right through its guts. Gross, disgusting bugs with gross, disgusting smells. Yet that was the difference between them. Sullied by their very nature, they couldn't lose their impurity. Lace, on the other hand, could find her threads suffused in grime, her divine form rent and torn and defiled and debased and ruined over and over and over and over—
Squelching and moans rang in equal measure. The pilgrim's crotch was but a pulpy, oozing mulch by now. Broken genital plating was forced within the ground meat of its former vulval cavity, pincushioned digestive tract sliced further by chitin and a haphazardly thrusting pin. Tacky hemolymph stained tile, getting dangerously close to Lace's immaculately spun, pure white soles. How dare it have the capability of living. How dare it have the capability of being. How dare it— so pointless, so beneath her, so gross— have what she was never given, what she could never have, so dependent on Mother as she was?
With a choked-off cry, Lace curled in on herself, hand trapped by legs clenching like a vice, hopelessly grinding and hopelessly clawing whatever coughed up scraps of pleasure one could find in a body as performative as hers.
A sickening crunch accompanied her paltry orgasm. Pin at last sheathed to the hilt, its deadly tip poking out the pilgrim's eye socket, scrambling whatever structures that made a mortal's mind function.
She came down from her high after a time. Lace's fabric eventually stopped shimmering, minute vibrations strumming her silk with humming aftershocks of pleasure.
Eventually she stood tall. Eventually she looked down at the carnage beneath her. Eventually she delicately pulled her weapon from the pilgrim's desiccated husk, flicking sticky white rivulets off its slick shaft. She made sure not a single drop sullied her threads. It wouldn't do to make Mother more angry than necessary.
Eventually Lace turned away and left; another day spent waiting, another day spent prowling, another day spent wandering those terribly, terribly haunted halls.
Re: FILL: LACE/CORPSE, NECROPHILIA
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2026-07-16 05:31 pm (UTC) - ExpandRe: FILL: LACE/CORPSE, NECROPHILIA
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2026-07-18 02:22 pm (UTC) - ExpandRe: FILL: LACE/CORPSE, NECROPHILIA
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2026-07-19 04:44 am (UTC) - ExpandHORNET/LACE, SOUNDING WITH NEEDLES, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE
Date: 2026-07-15 06:27 pm (UTC)LACE/GMS, RUT/MATING CYCLES/BREEDING, DUBCON/MOMCON/UNHEALTHY OBSESSION
Date: 2026-07-15 08:35 pm (UTC)To be loved, to be cherished by her and only her. So Lace wouldn't love anyone else but her.
To be a perfect replica of a living bug, only with her paleness running through her threads.
Too bad she hadn't thought about certain things all bugs go through.
Or;
Lace goes into her first rut, confused, scared and having no idea what is happening to her aand her body, she goes to the only one she can trust to help her and make her feel normal again.
GMS, seeing that her daughter is going through what the mortals call a "rut", decides that the most perfect mate for her perfect daughters first rut, of course, would be GMS herself.
tldr; Lace goes into rut, GMS obsessive ass decides that she herself is the most perfect mate for Lace to breed, whenever Lace wants to or not.
Lace breeds her mom <3
No squicks except underage, so feel free to go wild!
Detailed descriptions of GMS' obsession/manipulation over Lace and the breeding is appreciated.
LACE COCK.
Pale being bullfuckery of being able to change forms (like PK becoming a manlet) so GMS can be size compatible with Lace is welcome.
We need more Lace/GMS
Lace breed your mom and you'll be reincarnated as a rose...
Thanks to anyone who'll be willing to fill this prompt in advence <3
Hornet/Lace, bodyswap
Date: 2026-07-15 09:50 pm (UTC)Hornet/White Lady, Mommy Kink/Comfort Sex/Tentacles, Pseudo-Incest
Date: 2026-07-15 10:29 pm (UTC)Re: Hornet/White Lady, Mommy Kink/Comfort Sex/Tentacles, Pseudo-Incest
Date: 2026-07-16 10:07 pm (UTC)Re: Hornet/White Lady, Mommy Kink/Comfort Sex/Tentacles, Pseudo-Incest
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2026-07-16 10:29 pm (UTC) - ExpandPHANTOM/LACE, JOINT SUICIDE, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH & INCEST (& possible RAPE/NON-CON)
Date: 2026-07-15 10:31 pm (UTC)DNW phantom aggressively initiating, coercing or assaulting/raping.
No other squicks :)
Phantom/Lugoli, vore/farting
Date: 2026-07-15 10:42 pm (UTC)FILL: Phantom/Lugoli, vore/farting
Date: 2026-07-17 11:39 am (UTC)https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HKSS_kink/works/88716096
Re: FILL: Phantom/Lugoli, vore/farting
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2026-07-17 02:51 pm (UTC) - ExpandLord of Shades/Grimm, dub/noncon
Date: 2026-07-16 12:10 am (UTC)HORNET/LACE, MUTUAL MASTURBATION FIRST TIME
Date: 2026-07-16 01:40 am (UTC)Re: HORNET/LACE, MUTUAL MASTURBATION FIRST TIME
Date: 2026-07-26 11:40 am (UTC)Re: HORNET/LACE, MUTUAL MASTURBATION FIRST TIME
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2026-07-30 11:35 am (UTC) - ExpandHornet/Shakra, sex pollen
Date: 2026-07-16 07:30 am (UTC)Iselda/Cornifer/Anyone, Polyamory! Not Cheating!!!
Date: 2026-07-16 08:48 am (UTC)Pale King/White Lady, Ageplay/ABDL/Mommy Kink
Date: 2026-07-16 10:46 pm (UTC)Hollow Knight/Radiance, First Time/Dubcon
Date: 2026-07-18 01:40 pm (UTC)Re: Hollow Knight/Radiance, First Time/Dubcon
Date: 2026-08-11 11:54 pm (UTC)Re: Hollow Knight/Radiance, First Time/Dubcon
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2026-08-13 08:41 pm (UTC) - Expandhornet/skarr, compelled sex
Date: 2026-07-18 06:35 pm (UTC)FILL: hornet/skarr, compelled sex
Date: 2026-07-18 11:35 pm (UTC)her head swims. some senses dull. others intensify, beating and throbbing at her insides like a heart. she can still hunt, still fight, but this other sense is expanding inside her and clouding out her higher judgment, the delicate strings of motive and reason that separate her from lower species. her legs slow. they feel heavy, unreactive, as if tied to some unknown post and refusing to take her away from it. what does she want? she can't remember how she got here.
there, behind her, one of the red beasts. she sights it without startling. though it brandishes a weapon, her own needle stays placid at her side. the warrior watches her - one moment, then two - moments in which she would have stripped it of life had she been herself, had her instincts not failed her. but the aching, swelling heaviness inside seems almost an instinct itself, one she does not recognize. the skarr kneels and places its blade on the dirt.
hornet is moving now, dragged by her legs toward this warrior for which her body had longed but a minute ago. had it been a minute?
as she approaches, the ant nods in recognition and reclines, blade forgotten. its black legs spread. hornet WANTS. her thoughts reduced to splinters beneath the sudden weight of this WANT, she finds herself stepping over the ant warrior until the gleam of its red face blackens under her shadow. it hisses. their eyes meet.
now she knows. now she understands. or - "she", whatever this spellbound hornet could be called, a far distance from the hornet that would suss out such a trap. the ache consumes hers, spreads from deep below to the tips of her setae, prickling.
the ant reaches up and its slender fingers find a hold at the junction of her limbs, just beneath her cloak. she does not startle - she BURNS. she FILLS. the scent of ink, of a spent fire, red motes of ash whirling through her senses. she spreads her legs. the gesture provokes her scape, so long unused. it rises stiff and small to reveal.... this, twin openings, all but forgotten but now the center of everything, the ONLY thing
so summoned, the skarr has only a small distance to close before its mouthparts reach her.
wet shock like lightning meets her as the skarr's mandibles part and press to hold her legs apart and its labrum sinks gently beneath her scape, lifting, revealing. she gasps with a voice that is still hers, recognizable - she WANTS this. all of her.
its glossa circle, pressing, smooth, wet against her openings. a sharp new ache - as though pricked - and hornet can feel herself exude a liquid, the tiniest drip from each twin pore.
the pressure inside builds as the skarr laps relentlessly, her scape twitching without conscious control and slapping against the hard chitin of her consumer's labrum, each tiny impact sending a shiver through her legs - it is a wonder she can still stand. no, not a wonder. she was MADE for this. this is her PURPOSE. soft cries escape her with every breath. pleasure, pressing harder now against her pores, its glossa slipping inside to taste her nectar, one and then the other, and she sucks in her breath without release - holding it there - something is building, the ache, the pressure, the WANT the NEED - MORE -
one, two more laps with its glossa, left and right, and hornet's insides cramp and sting - her breath still held tight - and she can hear the fluid release before she even feels it, a hot gush that sprays and warms and BURSTS, bringing with it her held breath and a cry that pulls her throat ragged.
more, more - MORE - the skarr warrior seems frenzied now, digging its claws into the slim meat of her thighs, kneading as if to work out the full gift of her liquid. she holds herself steady with both hands on its grey-cloaked shoulders and presses HERSELF onto its mouthparts, desiring more than it can give, faster - NOW - NOW - and the pinchsting brings more shuddering, warm release from her pores, slickening the contact between the ant's face and her opening with a wet noise.
hornet's black knees buckle with the last gush as though her body had emptied itself of every sensation it was capable of holding with one double-burst, trickling into slow streams parted only by the furious glossa of the hungry skarr. it holds her from collapse with impossible strong limbs, lifts her like a ragdoll, her cloak fluttering behind her. her head hangs upside down as the skarr laps with the flat of its black glossa over every inch of her, every gleam of wetness on her surface.
she wails, legs trembling, body helpless to move in its grasp and yet - she holds the power. the skarr is HERS. it gave itself to her longing, her urge. she could command it. then
"more," she snarls, breathless. "deeper."
yes. the skarr belongs to hornet. it acts at her command. muffled against her slick, swollen skin, it groans in response and extends its glossa inside a pore - circling, propelling her fluid gift into its mouth, scraping for nectar-honey.
with juddering legs, hornet feels each tiny residual burst of nectar as it pushes out from inside, rolls along the ant's glossa and drips wasted from its mandibles as it seems to lose its purpose in a frenzy of hunger.
endless sprays, pulses of fluid, and she can hardly hear her own voice anymore as it fades into the pounding in her head. the skarr finishes her second pore and, suddenly, parts itself from her with a growl.
hornet crumples to the dirt, slender legs crossing at the knees as though to preserve a modesty she does not feel. the skarr positions itself over her on all fours - she senses no danger. a puckering of its shell, tiny, revealing an opening. and the skarr roars. splatters of viscous liquid cover her prone body - the ash smell from before, but sweet, so sweet
ant stuff bc fun:
ants have acidopores that spray many different pheromones to track their trails. "when an ant finds something interesting, whether it is food or an enemy, it excretes a chemical substance...and drags it along the floor to the colony". not a stretch to imagine that hornet can sense these pheromones sprayed everywhere in skarr territory, or that they might disrupt her brain chemistry temporarily. this was my in-game excuse for sucking so badly at hunter's march early on in the game bc I straight up felt like hornet was breaking the fourth wall and judging me I'm so sorry red lady it's the ANTS I swear 🐜🐜
Re: FILL: hornet/skarr, compelled sex
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2026-07-19 04:42 am (UTC) - ExpandRe: FILL: hornet/skarr, compelled sex
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2026-07-20 06:52 pm (UTC) - ExpandPhantom/Lace incest+noncon+silk gore+unconscious sex
Date: 2026-07-21 08:12 am (UTC)The Pale King/Lugoli, food kink
Date: 2026-07-23 03:28 pm (UTC)---
nsfw or sfw.
WLPK in an open marriage, as they don't see mortals as competition. In fact I bet WL would arrange this...
Bonus points for really getting into speculative gastronomy of it all.
More bonus points for giving PK many-legged invertebrate anatomy and scary mouth parts.
I also offer to illustrate a scene from the fill...
hornet solo or hornet/lace, piss
Date: 2026-07-24 06:30 pm (UTC)Hornet/Lace, Breathplay/Choking+Facesitting
Date: 2026-08-04 11:37 pm (UTC)PURE VESSEL/PALE KING, POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOR/AGE PLAY/MALEVOLENT CARETAKING, INCEST/DUBCON
Date: 2026-08-23 01:31 am (UTC)