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localcuttlefish · 15 days

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A Theoretical Lore Bible of Caesar’s Legion as a Nation

Hello good citizens of Tumblr! I’ve been on a Fallout: New Vegas kick lately, and I recently graduated college with a bachelors degree (major illustration, minor history of art and western civilization). So now that I’m certified to draw dick AND talk about Ancient Rome, I have things to yap about.

Have you ever looked at Caesar’s Legion and wondered how the more intricate aspects of their society model after the Roman Empire? Because I have! And because of those very musings, I have come up with a little dumb idiot theoretical lore Bible on how The Legion might function as a more developed nation, using my back knowledge of western civ and Roman art and culture. Nomenclature, societal structure, industries, imports and exports, the whole nine yards!

DISCLAIMERS: I have not looked through the writers’/directors’ social media accounts thoroughly enough yet to confirm if any of the information I’m bringing to the table is already solidly canonical or solidly non-canonical in the lore of Fallout: New Vegas. There is a nonzero chance I may say something that someone in charge has already said, or something that’s already been disproven or denied. If you catch something I don’t, let me know! I like worldbuilding for fun like this, and I want to keep everything as lore-cohesive as possible to challenge myself. I’ll come back to edit this every now and then if I come up with more cohesive lore pieces, or if you guys have any suggestions that would tie in the lore better. In addition, Caesar’s Legion is an inherently totalitarian nation that supports itself on some pretty sexist and bigoted social structures. There is no universe in which I support, condone, or otherwise encourage any of the ideologies of Caesar’s Legion in real life. Don’t become a tyrant dictator of a military slave nation, kids!

CONTENT WARNINGS: Discussion of slavery, sexism, physical and verbal violence, unsafe medical practices, brainwashing/psychological abuse, and death.

Without further ado, the absolute wall of text that is the theoretical lore Bible of Caesar’s Legion. Enjoyyyyy!!

CHAPTERS:

I: Citizenship

- How To Become a Citizen

- Social Castes

- Names

II: Everyday Life

- Common Social Customs

- Household Structure

- Settlement/Town Structure

- Clothing, Hair, and Accessories

- Languages

III: Industry

- Jobs

- Imports and Exports

IV: Politics, Education, and Religion

- What Senate?

- In The Unlikely Event of a Transfer of Power

- Common Political Beliefs

- Male vs Female Education Standards

Walk and talk with me about the ways The Legion mirrors, juxtaposes, and takes inspiration from Ancient Roman society in a post-apocalyptic setting.

The first time I encountered Caesar’s Legion in game, my initial thought was “What about the American West makes these people think this is the perfect spot to reinvent Italy?” it’s a barren, land-locked desert with only one or two significant water access points. Italy is a peninsula in a temperate climate with high mountain ranges and verdant forests. Most of this was a jokey thought, but then it struck me that a phalanx would actually be an insanely powerful force in a flat landscape. It all started coming together from there in a most dreadful shape

I: Citizenship

- How to Become a Citizen

Caesar’s Legion is a colonialist nation. They gain land through conquest, typically, and have a tendency to try and homogenize the culture to their liking. Generally speaking, after a town has been conquered, people who willingly surrender or submit to The Legion are given an opportunity for citizenship. Any survivors of conquest that aren’t willing to surrender are either executed or sold into slavery. Slaves are not considered citizens, because the rights and freedoms of a slave do not reflect the rights and freedoms that The Legion offers to those who can be put to better use or are complacent with the mission of The Legion.

Once one is offered a chance for citizenship, the highest ranking general in whatever battalion just took over that person’s land will evaluate if the person can be put to work, put on the battlefield, or is generally useless. Remember, an offer isn’t a guarantee. There is a chance someone who is offered citizenship may be evaluated as useless and sold into slavery regardless of their complacency. Protesting the verdict typically increases the chance of spontaneously being executed, or, if one doesn’t like their proposed role of worker or soldier, being demoted from potential citizen to slave.

If the general regards one as fit to work or fit for the battlefield, these “half-citizens” (media populi for plural, and media persona for singular) will be assigned a new legal name after a record of all new media populi is sent from the general to the regional Vilicus (overseer ;) we’ll elaborate more on this in chapter II), and given the task of minimum 400 hours of what we would understand as “community service” before the Vilicus confirms their citizenship. This “community service” is called pentimento, or repentance. It’s a form of brainwashing in which The Legion is in a position to repeatedly reaffirm that the media persona has more value here helping The Legion than they ever did as a free settler in New Vegas before, and instills dynamics that empower and encourage violence against people of “lower status” (slaves and women, usually). Kinda like a Stanford Prison Experiment that’s purposely designed to cause power dynamics instead of accidentally stumbling to the conclusion. Pentimento may include anything from helping re-pave and clear trade routes in Legion territory, to catching runaway slaves. Each media persona is given a number of tasks to complete per month, and each failed task results in more hours being added onto the total pentimento before citizenship is granted. The number of initial hours of pentimento a media persona needs to do may vary depending on the whims of the Vilicus, how much they resisted Legion control in the past, how many tasks of pentimento they leave incomplete per month, and whether they are masculine or feminine presenting, but is never less than 400 to start. Most media populi end up with starting numbers in the 600s or 700s.

Once the pentimento hours are complete and approved by the Vilicus, the media persona becomes a citizen and is expected to continue the service to the growing empire through either the trade they work in, or through service in the army. However, there is a several-month-long window of time in which spies occasionally visit the new citizens’ homes to monitor them for suspicious activity. In this window of time, spies may be looking for signs that indicate the new citizen is an agent from a rival faction sent to infiltrate The Legion. Only high-ranking officials know about this window. One can lose their citizenship and be returned back to status of media persona if they show suspicious behavior during this time, or worse, be demoted from citizen to slave. In cases where there is undeniable evidence that a new citizen is an agent for a rival faction, the citizen is immediately put to death, and their citizenship is revoked (though revoking the citizenship of someone being put to death is a little redundant).

A baby born into a family of two Legion citizens is automatically also a citizen, and must be given a name in line with Legion naming conventions (which will be discussed next segment). A baby born into a family in which the mother is not a citizen and the father is a citizen will also be considered a citizen. A baby born into a family in which the mother is a citizen and the father is not a citizen will not be considered a citizen at birth. A baby born to a family of two media populi or two slaves will not be considered a citizen at birth.

A person who willingly enters Legion territory and requests citizenship will follow the same steps as how a person from a conquered land would be evaluated for citizenship.

- Social Castes

Social Castes in Caesar’s Legion are determined by how useful one is to the empire, and whether one is male or female. The more sexist aspects of the caste system stem from the fact that women in The Legion can’t serve in the military, and the military is a notably higher status than most other castes since Caesar’s Legion is a military state.

Of course, Caesar is the highest on the social pyramid, followed by his chosen officials (take Lanius for example), then chosen guards (praetorian guard). The military comes next, with the social hierarchy of the military following that which was established in the Roman Empire in the early establishment of Caligula’s reign. After that, religious officials (which act as pseudo-indoctrinators into The Legion, and therefore are pretty essential to brainwashing the next generation of Legionnaires). Then, the Vilici, the overseers of each region/settlement. Next, the average male citizen and then, the average female citizen. Media populi come next, and following that social caste is performers (which serve very little purpose in the eyes of Caesar and the goal of conquest), with male performers having marginally more respect among the populous than female performers. Second to last is slaves, once again with males being just a little more respected than females, but what does that matter when both are going to be abused by the upper castes anyways. At the very bottom of the social ladder is outsiders and criminals, which need to be broken before earning even a sliver of humanity in the eyes of The Legion.

Caesar > Chosen Officials > Chosen Guard > Military (with sub-hierarchy of Ancient Roman military) > Religious Officials > Vilici > Average Citizen > Media Populi > Performers > Slaves > Outsiders and Criminals

- Names

The average citizen in Legion territory wouldn’t need to immediately use their new assigned name (since there’s not enough force immediately available to actually push that, the nation is still growing), but The Legion will give them a “legal” name that they’ll be addressed by formally, and in the best case scenario, the original name will be effectively waned out because it simply doesn’t matter in comparison to the new one.

A praenomen acts effectively as a first name one uses around close friends and family, while a nomen (while acting as a last name) becomes what one is more commonly known by in public. The average citizen will usually have a nomen at least, and a male citizen will have a praenomen and nomen.

- MASCULINE: A classical Latin praenomen will be assigned equivalent to the meaning or phonetics of the new citizen’s first name. The nomen will be determined based on either phonetic/meaning equivalent of the last name, or based on the new citizen’s occupation.

- FEMININE: No praenomen will be assigned. The citizen’s title will be a feminized variation of their father’s nomen, differentiated in generation by number nomenclature (Major, Minor, Tertia, etc). If they have no father, they will assume the feminized nomen of a living male partner that is already a Legion citizen. If they have no living Legion family, they will be assigned the name “Romana” and likely be either sold into slavery or auctioned to a bachelor to gain a proper nomen.

For example: Marcus Gaius has two daughters. The eldest daughter is Gaia Major. The youngest daughter is Gaia Minor. Gaia Minor meets Decimus Junius, and they get married. Now Gaia Minor is named Junia. Gaia Major remains unchanged.

Legion soldiers have more dignity in society, and therefore have all the previous conventions, plus a cognomen. Since all Legion soldiers are masculine, differentiation between masc and fem naming conventions is irrelevant from this point forward. The nomen of a soldier may be akin to the structure of how an average citizen’s would be given, or if the soldier shows exceptional prestige and has no remaining male family, a nomen referencing warfare or combat will be assigned to them (Marcus, Augustus, Drusus, etc.).

A Legion cognomen acts effectively as a Roman military callsign. Cognomens follow classical Roman conventions. The cognomen will be used most frequently in a military setting.

II: Everyday Life

- Common Social Customs

Many Roman social customs are adopted into Legion life. For example, the entertainment at the colosseum is mimicked in the tourneys in the various arenas scattered throughout Legion territory. However, because of the key difference in that The Legion isn’t even pretending not to be a totalitarian dictatorship, there are a number of drastic differences between Roman social customs and Legion social customs.

Because of how respected the military is in Legion society, it is commonplace to show soldiers with utmost reverence. It’s customary to allow soldiers to stay in a citizen’s place of residence if the soldier requests it, and it’s customary to refer to the soldier by their military rank, not their nomen or cognomen (especially if the soldier in question is on duty). It’s considered rude or inappropriate to question the motives of a soldier, or prevent a soldier from accessing areas of a citizen’s property. Such transgressions can potentially be met with violence.

One may frequently see slaves struggling to keep up with workloads. It’s taboo, but not punishable to help them, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the productivity of one’s own work. After all, The Legion gains nothing from incomplete work. If helping a slave means increasing efficiency, then it’s appropriate, but a citizen may get strange looks from others for doing so.

Utilitarianism is the ideal philosophy under which everyone should function in an ideal Legion society, but this is clearly not the case nor the environment to foster it. Social norms are based strongly on class, and in most cases, selfishness prevails because selflessness can be seen as weak (or worse, suspicious) by trigger-happy soldiers and spies.

But hey, at least sex isn’t considered a super taboo topic or activity in Legion society. Got that much going for them. Granted, it’s seen more like a conquest, but at least it’s not seen as a sin. Woohoo? Lets go? Kinda? One step forward two steps back.

- Household Structure

A household in Legion territory for a citizen of average means will likely be similar to any other household in New Vegas (with the addition of slaves in wealthier households). Where things start to get confusing is the aforementioned situation of soldiers being allowed to invade households at will. Psychologically, these soldiers are deprived of a lot of comforts the average citizen may have. There is a decidedly nonzero chance that soldiers can show up like stray cats and keep coming back in the event that a citizen is interesting enough to them. Soldiers sometimes “claim” houses or small patches of territory they frequent as a substitute for the emotional interaction they lack. Humans are social creatures. The soldiers might not know why they want to keep coming back, but they do keep coming back. Parasocial.

Generally, a woman’s domain is the household in Legion territory. While the society is by no means matriarchal, it’s customary for a woman to maintain control over most happenings within a household. This often means a woman will need to interact with stray soldiers more frequently. Among female citizens in Legion territory, these soldiers are called catuli (singular catulus) for their presence and tendencies, though this is always in secret due to the harsh punishment of misrepresenting a soldier’s status to his face. A household can sometimes have up to three catuli claim it before fights start to break out among them about perceived territory.

It is expected for a couple in a household to have children. Cultivating multiple generations of soldiers is part of how The Legion grows most efficiently, because children are impressionable enough to instill Legion values without struggle. If a household does not have a child after several years of partnership, it is considered suspicious and the male of the partnership is encouraged to be unfaithful or open the relationship. While there are no consequences for not having children, there is intense pressure to do so.

- Settlement/Town Structure

As mentioned before, the equivalent of a mayor in each region is called a Vilicus, or an overseer. The Vilicus is responsible for tallying the census, assigning names to media populi, approving the pentimento of media populi, keeping track of production rates of resources from citizens, keeping a lookout for disease outbreak so a region can be quarantined if needed, and monitoring the citizens in each region for minor suspicious activity to report to those higher in status. Each town is also occupied by a heavy military presence, to intimidate citizens into productivity and complacency.

Most of the time, Legion towns are made of the previously conquered settlements now added to Legion territories. Building more houses is an avoidable expenditure if they just repurpose the structures already there with a few modifications. Despite the multiple depictions in-game of Caesar’s Legion showing little to no care about what damage they cause, it would make sense that the depictions in the gameplay are actually the outliers in the situation, since it’s far more efficient to leave the settlements intact and just gut and reconfigure the purpose.

There are also multitudes of mobile scout settlements, mostly made of fabric, tarp, and hide tents that can be easily condensed and moved in the event that the camp is compromised. In many cases, these camps are set up as a base to return to in order to stage an invasion of new territories. If possible, The Legion sets them up close to large landmasses like plateaus or mountains for additional cover in the event of an ambush. If that’s not available, The Legion makes settlements like this close to preexisting towns in order to make the wordless threat of “push us back, and innocents die”. Generally, very few citizens are taken on these excursions, but if the plan is to stay out longer, citizens who are medics may be involuntarily drafted into going with the scout team.

- Clothing, Hair, and Accessories

The Legion isn’t a necessarily materialistic society that allows a lot of room for personal expression. Since the goal is to create a homogenous society and culture, self expression through visual cues is often muted at best and absent at normal. Makeup, perfumes, and hair styling products are prohibited if they have any synthetic qualities or materials. In many cases, beauty products are exclusively reserved for performers, and even still, only natural pigments and materials would be permitted. Think the same pigments Ancient Egyptians would make for their makeup.

Protective updo hairstyles are common for long hair, both for practical purposes and for purposes of keeping hair out of reach and harder to pull. Efficiency is key, so in the event of a raid or a threat, everyone is expected to be able to hold their own to some extent. Part of that standard is remaining on guard, so keeping hair up while out of the house is customary.

In the military, hair is expected to be cut short, again, for efficiency. Any soldiers with long hair are expected to keep it in tight braids or cornrows to maintain the same level of efficiency. As long as it stays out of the face.

Most clothing is dull, salvaged from the wastelands. The only exception is clothing reserved for high ranking officials and Caesar, which is quite literally dyed in blood of enemies. Because blood fades to a blackish-red hue over time, high ranking officials will often appear to be wearing darker colors, when in actuality they’re wearing clothes that were soaked in blood as a symbol of power and debt paid to the gods (namely Mars).

Widows are permitted to wear part of their fallen husband’s bloodsoaked clothes through the mourning process, if The Legion can recover and identity the body. With this in mind, as soon as the widow finds a new husband, the bloodsoaked garment piece is burned.

Slaves are deprived of all aspects of individuality, given rags or scraps to wear and marked with red paint. A citizen may give finer clothes to a slave voluntarily, but those clothes must also be marked with red paint.

Jewelry, while rare, is often made of scrap metal salvaged and re-forged from battlefields or old weapons without any further use. Which is why jewelry is so rare. There is seldom ever an instance in which metal can’t become a weapon, so making jewelry is a waste of time and energy.

- Languages

Basically any language can be spoken in Legion territory as it stands, because as The Legion is currently, it doesn’t have enough power or force to totally instill a whole new language system. With that in mind, the groundwork is being laid for an eventual push to make Latin the official language of Caesar’s Legion. Between the commonly used Latin terminology to address people and the Roman theming of The Legion, it’s primed to eventually enforce Latin as the primary language. Highly educated citizens may be fluent in Latin, and most soldiers know commands and codes in Latin.

III: Industry

- Jobs

There are two types of jobs in The Legion, excluding military and slavery. One can either be a worker or a performer. Medics and nurses are highly valued, both on the battlefield and off, since chemical substances are prohibited in The Legion. Carpenters, metalworkers and blacksmiths, engineers, and tanners are some of the more important standard worker jobs, since all of them play directly into expanding the empire more efficiently, making more weapons and armor, or repurposing old material to make new. Tailors, glassworkers, weavers, technicians, and chemists are less valuable to The Legion to some extent because they either involve industries less geared towards conquest, or involve industries beyond the scope of what The Legion finds socially acceptable. Despite the amount of emphasis Roman polytheism puts on naturalistic sculpture, The Legion actually doesn’t find the arts very useful in the immediate future of the empire. What’s most important is conquest, not expression.

On the topic of the arts, performers were seen in a very poor light in The Legion, often oversexualized into objectification or framed as clowns. Most performance art is often seen as a waste of time or an avoidable expense, but it does keep soldier morale up since it gives them something to target that isn’t their fellow man. Being a performer in The Legion is marginally better than slavery, because one can at least have a house as a performer, but the physical and verbal abuse is often daily and unrelenting.

- Imports and Exports

The Legion is definitely not known for being friendly to neighboring factions, so any concept of import and export is often very loosely based in barter (namely, The Legion demanding tithe to barter for leaving a region alone, similar to how some mafias demand payment in exchange for protection from themselves). The Legion has a semi-steady stream of imports from their commonwealths which they pressure into helping them in trade for leaving their towns unburned and their people free from enslavement. However, this is decidedly not a permanent arrangement. This is a way to bide time to grow the nation a bit more before making moves on settlements and regions with more useful resources.

They export nothing unless it’s a strategic play. They pressure neighboring regions into paying them, even though they honestly don’t need it as much as they want the general population of other factions to think they do. Middle school bully nation.

IV: Politics, Education, and Religion

- What Senate?

The big difference between Rome and The Legion is that The Legion doesn’t try to pretend it’s not a dictatorship. There is no senate, there is no board of people to vote, no forum. The only voice that matters is Caesar’s, and it shows in every aspect of how the society is structured, from the strict rules on self expression, to the patriarchal hierarchy of Legion society. Ultimately, this makes the nation weaker, because in the event of Caesar’s death, it creates a power vacuum. No, I don’t think there’s a secret senate. No, I don’t think there is a solid backup plan. I think the closest thing there was to a senate was the two-man power-team that was Edward Sallow and Joshua Graham. We all know how well that worked out. And I think Caesar’s been running on fumes ever since that point, taking this as a sign to expand the nation faster before anyone sees him bleed. Hubristic in nature.

The closest thing there is to a senate are higher officials (such as Lanius) that Caesar hand-picked from Legion ranks to be his personal cabinet that all agrees with him. There is a distinct instability of power when recreating Rome without a senate, and there is the distinct air of trying to hide that open wound.

- In the Unlikely Event of a Transfer of Power

Let’s say, hypothetically, Caesar, the praetorian guard, and all his higher officials suddenly died. The role of Caesar would be up for grabs. In the event that there is no clear successor to Caesar, there is no real backup plan aside from an arena battle between the generals that could potentially succeed Caesar. A simple solution that will clearly show who can spill the most blood for Mars without hesitation or question.

With this in mind, there is one thing distinctly Roman about the potential of a transfer of power. There is always a nonzero chance that Caesar’s killer, be they foreigner or Legion, could become the next emperor. All that matters is who can devote themself to Mars in a way that would honor the fallen Caesar.

- Common Political Beliefs

Politics and religion go hand in hand for Caesar’s Legion because of the cultish way Caesar built the nation. The idea of Mars being the patron deity of The Legion instills a level of gratuitous and overzealous love of warfare among the people. Military expenditures are met with great support, and very little infrastructure on public service is supported as adamantly because of the instilled value of “we are all independent cogs working in a well oiled machine, we don’t need help”. Then again, it’s not like any other voice mattered anyways, since Caesar is the be all end all of political power.

There is a generally nationwide extremism when it comes to dealing with criminals, however. Criminal activity in The Legion is more often than not punished by torture and death, and nobody seems to really protest it to the degree that other factions do. As many of the travelers and traders in Fallout: New Vegas have said, the roads in Legion territories are incredibly safe. There is a level of patriotism in The Legion specifically regarding how safe their lands are, but in exchange, those lands also have an active military presence.

Conquest is also a pretty intrinsic pillar of Legion political beliefs, since the motivation to create a homogeneous society and usher in a new era of perceived piece may make some people accept the totalitarian power for what it is and hope it pans out right.

- Male vs Female Education Standards

Due to the intrinsic divide between male and female Legion citizens, the education of male and female Legion children is vastly different with the only exception being the uniform brainwashing. Male and female children are not only educated on different topics, they are also educated in different locations.

Similar to Spartan men, most male children (even including orphans from freshly raided towns) are give combat training just about as soon as they can hold a stick and swing it. The male children that show combat proficiency continue to become soldiers, and the male children who aren’t strong, but are intelligent are instead divided into training as either spies or medics, depending on the specifics of their skill sets. Male children who aren’t good at any of that end up becoming armigeri (singular armiger), the people who sharpen weapons and tend to the needs of more proficient soldiers. It’s a social tragedy to become what is essentially a pathetic sidekick to some far better soldier. Thankfully, since most of these children are trained from an incredibly young age to be strong, cunning, fast, and durable, very few people end up becoming armigeri. Generally speaking, no boy in The Legion goes without military training. The Legion can capture their blacksmiths and carpenters, there’s no need to train them in-house.

Female Legion children are not given formal education. They are expected to grow up to be housekeepers and produce the next generation of warlords. However, a family still has the liberty to educate a daughter at home with a tutor so long as it doesn’t interfere with the family’s productivity. Usually, female children are given medical teachings more oriented towards patching the injuries of their future husbands. However, girls aren’t left entirely defenseless. Girls are taught how to use ranged weapons and how to escape grapples in the event of an emergency. In addition, girls are given more of an education on finances and practical skills that tie into long-term survival, such as how to use every part of a killed animal for resources, how to patch clothes, and how to cultivate plants.

A Thank You And Some Concluding Comments

Hello hello to anyone who’s made it this far through my ludicrous ramblings! Thank you for reading! This is really just me throwing nonsense in the air and seeing what floats, and most of what I’ve written here will probably be subject to edits every now and then to keep building up what I’ve already put down.

Feel free to use this lore for any fan fictions, fan art, original characters, or whatever else! Please keep building on it!

I hope y’all enjoyed my insane chattering!

#fallout new vegas #fallout #fallout: new vegas #fallout: nv #fnv #fnv oc #caesar’s legion #fallout legion #the legion #fnv legion #edward sallow #joshua graham #vulpes inculta #legate lanius #legion #the things I write for fun

67 notes · View notes

peachyloveswriting · 1 year

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Hey! Hey! Hey! I just really wanted to say that your trigun writing is soooo good! Especially that of Knives. So could I get Nai and Vash with a plant reader (platonic). The reader is the first independent (they even came before Tesla) and are around 580 years old. So they've seen alot of stuff. They absolutely love humanity but aren't against it if they have to be killed (but only with a good reason). They love their siblings (Knives and Vash) and cares for them. They are just an extremely loving older sibling. I just want these two boys to get the love they deserve. So how about an AU where the ship still cashed but instead of Nai being the cause, it was something normal, like the thrusters failing or something. So Nai and Vash are still on good terms and Nai isn't on his killing stuff. So the boys wander around the desert and meet the reader. They take them in and raise them. I just want a oneshot of little Nai and Vash raised normally and among humans. Bonus points if the reader works at a brothel as a dancer (but if you're not comfortable that's ok too), so Nai and Vash get raised by their older sibling and the female workers there. Just fluffly stuff with the little boys. I hope this is ok. Have a nice day/night!

Ps: If this ask landed in your ask box please give a sign that it did bc sometimes tumblr doesn't send my ask. I hope I'm not too annoying I just wanna make sure. Thank you!

I really like the concept of this, I also really like the idea that Knives might react differently to being raised by a plant instead of a human. Writing this almost made me cry, I'm not even joking I'm on the verge of tears rn.

Wanderers Of the Sands --- Vash & Knives

SUMMARY: After the crash you find Vash and Knives wandering the desert alone and take them in as your own.

The desert sand is relentless against the twins skin as they wander throughout the barren landscape, ever since the crash they haven't stopped walking. Alone by themselves out here, they stumble upon a lone figure out in the sands. At the first sign of life, Vash grabs his brother's hand and begins to chase after it, knives fights against him. "We don't know who we can trust!" He cries.

His brother ignores him and rushes forward, there in the distance, shielded from the winds by a cloak, is you. Hearing the shouts of a child you turn around, Vash can see the layer of clothing that each him and his brother wear, the designs of a plant wrapping all around.

"Hey!" He shouts. His hand slips from his brothers and he keeps running, scared of his brother being hurt Knives runs after him again. As Vash reaches your side, he collides with you in a hug, his head pressed against your stomach. "Thank goodness we finally found somebody."

You were surprised by how eager he was to latch onto you, yet you welcomed him happily. Behind him, his brother cautiously stepped up to you. "You're a plant too?" He glared at you wearily. With a hand on the top of Vash's head you smiled at his brother.

"I am. It looks like you are too. What are your names?"

Vash steps back to his brother's side. "I'm Vash, this is my brother Naï." His brother suddenly elbows him. "Knives, it's Knives." He stares at you intensely, Vash rubs his side in pain.

You offer a hand to them. "Come with me. I know a place where we can stay."

Vash was eager to follow you while Knives stayed at his brother's back, his eyes never leaving your figure. He didn't trust you in the slightest and even debated hurting you a few times just to keep Vash safe. Between the two, you were overjoyed to have another independent by your side, even more so to raise them as your own. Taking them home was no easy task, people have always been weary of you but most of them trusted you, it would be hard to make these two trustworthy as well.

Being the only face they knew, both of them clung to your side for the first few days. Vash was the first to venture off and meet others, Knives only followed to keep him out of trouble, he never left Vash's side. It only took a few weeks before everyone was absolutely in love with the twins. You honestly thought that at the end of the day they might stay with someone else, but every night the two of them would come crawling into bed on either side of you.

It would be pitch black and then the bedroom door would open. A smile would curl at your lips as you feel the bed dip on either side of you. Very quickly the twins would reach your sides and you would open your arms to both of them.

"You boys came home late tonight, huh?" You would jab. They would quickly settle in, tossing their arms over your stomach and resting their heads on your chest.

"Did we wake you?" Naï would ask. You would chuckle and shake your head. "No, of course not. I was waiting for you. I honestly thought you wouldn't come home."

You feel Vash lift his head from your chest. "Why wouldn't we?" In the dark you rest your hand on the back of his head. "Because, there's more to life than clinging to me at the end of the day." You softly pull Vash's head back to your chest. "One day, you won't have to come home anymore." The idea of them being able to go out and do their own thing one day makes your heart swell with hope, at the same time your chest squeezes and tears begin to fill your eyes.

"We'll always come back." Naï pipes up from your other side, his hand clinging to your shirt. You sniffle sharply and lift your other hand to his head as well. "You'll change your mind someday."

The two fought back with you about it, they swore they would never leave and that they would stay with you forever. Deep inside you knew the day would come eventually so you strapped yourself down and cried all the tears you had to cry while they slept in your embrace. Even as much as you wanted to stay here forever, time moved on, and in just a couple of months the boys were almost as tall as you.

They had chores that they would run for people around town and babysit the children for others while they were busy. Even still, at the end of the day they would curl up at your side and a quiet discussion would follow. Naï was more independent than his brother yet he still slept by your side without any complaints. This was surprising to hear, especially with how he was with Rem. Since they had grown, the rest of them had too.

Naï had unlocked his gate, he could create blades from his skin while Vash had yet to unlock his, you nurtured them both in their differences. It didn't matter to you if one could do something but the other couldn't it was all the same to you.

In only a few months, the boys were parting ways with you. They stood at the entrance to town looking at you with fondness in their eyes. Tears began to sting your own eyes as you opened your arms and pulled them both into a hug.

"I'm going to miss you both so much." You cried. When you pulled away they both smiled sadly at you. "You should come with us." Naï offered. You smiled but shook your head.

"Not yet. This town needs me for a little longer. I'll be sure to join you then." Naï nodded. Leaning forward he presses a small kiss to your cheek and looks back at his brother. They exchanged glances before Naï moves to walk towards his Thomas.

Looking up at Vash, you grabbed his hand. "I have a present for you." You reached back into your small bag and pulled out a hefty pistol. It was the one you were given before you descended upon this planet, the very one you taught Vash how to shoot with. Placing it in his hand, you smile. "This is so you may protect yourself and your brother. I'm counting on you to use it wisely."

"Thank you." He envelopes you in another hug, tears slipping down his face. "We'll see you again right?" He pulls away, a hand firm on your shoulder.

"Once I'm done. Yes." Grabbing his hand, you squeeze. "I'll come find you and Naï, together we can go wherever the sands might lead us. It'll just be us, together as it's always been."

You sobbed for hours after they left, everyone across the town could feel your pain and empathize. They each banded together to get you back on your feet before you finished your business in the town. The time came for you to find your family. There, surrounded by all the people who brought you in and helped you out when you needed it most, you stood satisfied with yourself. You finally returned the favor.

Enveloped by a beautiful white light, two wing-like structures spread from your back. One was like a blade, sharp and shiny in the sun. Intertwined like the roots of a tree, the other was dark with blue spots all about. You said your final goodbye to the people before you ascended into the sky. For seven days and seven nights you traversed the desert searching for two you longed to see. It was finally on the eighth night you spotted them below.

Tears blot your vision as you descend to the ground at their side, both were asleep when they heard you land. "Vash! Naï!" They awoke with a start, tackled into a hug by you. Immediately recognizing you, Vash called out your name engulfing you in a hug. "You came!"

Upon seeing you, Naï froze. "Y... you're here." He stared in disbelief before he burst into tears, hiding his face away in your shoulder. You held them both tight, crying silently between them before you pulled back. You rest a hand on either of their cheeks, a smile tugging at your lips.

"I told you I'd find you."

#vash imagines #vash imagine #vash x you #vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #millions knives x you #millions knives x reader #knives x reader #trigun x reader #trigun stampede x reader

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nathaniel-underwood-is-an-intj · 30 days

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A very shy Kitty Jones cosplay

This fandom is absolutely starved of content as it is but it's absolutely barren when it comes to cosplay content so shy as I am imma put these here. I figure Tumblr is a safe space for healthy dose of cringe right? 😅

I know these are a little 90s / 2016 grungy for Kitty, but those are the vibes I got from her while reading the books.

Starting from the top are the sort of things I imagined her wearing in the early days of the resistance at about 13/14 - I always got soft punk and very tomboyish vibes from her.

(I always think of Krysten Ritter as Jessica Jones when I think of Kitty, and as she gets older Jane Margolis from Breaking Bad in terms of looks)

Going down- at about 15/16 after the resistance is disbanded I imagined her to be more into grunge clothes and a little more feminine.

And at the bottom at 18/19 when Kitty is working in the Pub as quite a bit more feminine and quite early 2000s Camden Market kinda girl. (I know her hair is short by this point in cannon but oh well)

In an ideal world these would be set against the backdrop of Camden or Brixton but alas I had to make do with a garden.

Maybe I'll redo these at a later point with slightly more 2000s girlie vibes but for now please enjoy (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

Music to match the vibes:

Cherry Bomb by The Runaways for younger Kitty

And LDN by Lily Allen for older Kitty

#Please be nice 😅😅#this is so not my style whatsoever #i was a 2016 grunge girlie though #i hope i did her justice #my style is way closer to Golem's eye Nathaniel #make of that what you will #I also don't have her eye colour but oh well #bartseq #bartimaeus trilogy #bartimaeus sequence #kitty jones #bartimaeus #Bartimaeus cosplay

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cdragons · 7 months

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Procesión de la Muerte (Procession of the Dead) - Druig x Hecate!Eternal Reader Halloween Oneshot

Pairings: Druig x Hecate!Eternal Reader, Druig x Kaetlyn Word Count: over 4.0k Summary: How a wife's love for her emo-pacifist mind-controller husband accidentally created a centuries old legend of the Amazon Rainforest, ended up bringing to light one of the most sacred and honored celebrated traditions in South and Central America. Warning(s): Words that are bold and italisized indicate spoken in another language bc I can't speak nor write Spanish & don't want to offend anyone by using Google Translate, Angst, mention of death & genocide & war (fun stuff y'all), mentions of depression and PTSD, slight mention of blood, necromancy practices, probably really inaccurate descriptions of magic and magical practices, Kaet is seriously so gone for Druig (i fucking love these two dorks), Cerberus is the goodest boi,

Notes: Yes, I know that Halloween has technically passed, but I had midterms and projects during the time so I'm using the rest of the season as a Free Fall fics pass until December. So this oneshot was beta read by the ever-so lovely @ethereal-athalia, who has so graciously sacrificed herself agreed to beta read all of my fics for the upcoming future while my usual beta reader @valeskafics, is currently really busy with law school until the foreseeable future! Even so, please go visit her blog because she is one of the best writers on Tumblr, especially if you are a fan of Ewan Mitchell, and the HOTD/GOT universe! If you have read any of my past works, you know that my girl @ethereal-athalia is pretty much the co-parent of this Eternals AU idea, and I absolutely love sharing ideas with her, and making connections to make these fics more interesting. Anyway, please be kind and enjoy!

There was an energy that encompassed the autumnal season’s high holiday that made its ancient magic so enchanting and powerful. It was a time known across practitioners of the mystic arts of any field that autumn was a season known more than for its abundance and harvest. It was a time of transformation, of when summer’s green fertility gave way to winter’s bleak barrenness. It was when the veil between the physical and spiritual planes was at its thinnest. A time in which both magic practitioners and mundane were able to catch the slightest glimpse to the other side. This was the time where magic was at its peak, and it was all because of you- his love; his wife; his angel of shadow & death who was also his harbinger of light & life.

Although the environment of his home rarely changes throughout the year, Druig still felt the unmistakable chills that danced on his bare skin that came with transition from summer to autumn, and from there approached winter’s foreshadowing. Despite the abandonment of summer’s warmth, the mind-controller Eternal was often teased by you for being considered an avid enthusiast for the unforgiving seasons by the standards of their family. However, it was Samhain that made your husband greet the year’s end with such glee. Furthermore, it was a day that would forever be etched into the bareness of his being by the testaments of your love and devotion towards him. Each act from you followed from an event that harrowed him.

But the only way to best understand was by starting at the beginning.

It was no secret that you worked best at night with the only witnesses to your work being the moon and stars. Although you adored the bustling livelihood that thrived in the village you and your husband created, there was something about the darkness and solitude of the night that made Kaetlyn feel more connected to her magic than the garish light of day could ever dream to accomplish. It was common for Kaetlyn would burn the midnight oil conducting experiments and immerse herself in research to secrets that still remained a mystery to her – even after 7000 years of existence.

Meanwhile, Druig would fall into a deep state that vaguely resembled a still corpse if it were not for the subtle rising and falling of his chest in tandem with his breathing. When the lily-pale mind-controller fell asleep, there was little that could get him up from his slumber. Too many times Ajak had lectured him for how late he would sleep into the day – not to mention the staggering occurrences in which he would accidentally sleep through a natural catastrophe. It became commonplace for their former leader to ask his lover to awaken him in the most compromising acts. It was inconvenient, but it got the job done.

But since the couple separated from their family as a result of witnessing the fall and horrific genocide of the once glorious Aztec civilization centered around Tenochtitlan from the Spanish Conquistadors, there would be nights where Druig would be unable to fall asleep. It did not matter what he would do in attempt to tire him, his memory of fire and screams plagued his mind in an endless cycle of misery and devastation. It did not matter that he prevented further bloodshed by taking over the minds of the humans; it mattered even less when he and his angel led the horde of mortals south from the ruins to the land that they now call home. Sleep always evaded the somber Eternal, and whatever sleep he managed to get would be afflicted by memories turned nightmares of the horrors he had been forced to witness as a bystander to humanity’s cruelty by orders of their former leader.

The sight of your dearest in such agony tore your heart in the most brutal manner. Although you had also been long tormented by watching 7000 years of destruction, your heart had been hardened as a consequence to the multitude of deaths that you had to personally oversaw as a physician and a fighter. While you still carried hope for mankind, most of the naïve idealist dreams expired with time. However, this was not the case for Druig. You knew more than anyone that the strength of your lover’s will was overshadowed by the tenderness in his heart for those weaker than him and his family. It was that persisting quality of the beautiful mind-controller that drew the impulsive shadow wielder into his orbit, and eventually what caused such enduring steadfastness from your part.

It was not without tremendous effort from his wife’s part to get the immortal insomniac to get some rest. But all of your efforts were wasted on her part. Every night you would lead Druig to your shared bed, and whisper sweet words of comfort, as well as voicing your desperate pleas for him to finally rest. You would carefully stroke the firm lines of his frame with the tender touch of her fingertips, quickly finding areas of taut muscle to knead away any knots with your skillful hands. You had created countless versions of sleeping draughts that would calm his mind, and thousands of potions that would prevent him from dreams. But memories held more power than dreams, and so all of your efforts were met with the continued grief of your beloved.

Not being able to bear the sight of Druig’s turmoil, you decided to take further action. With your talents in the arcane, you designed a complex ritual that could only be completed at a grand scale- one that would take over an entire continent. It involved a form of magic that took up so much power and energy, it was only to be used as a last resort in any form of situation- necromancy. A magic that was only possible in theory, its crudest form was born before the outermost Walls of Babylon had yet to be constructed. You were approached by a shaman that was outcasted by her tribe when her husband discovered that she had been sacrificing their livestock to Ereshikigal, the Mesopotamian Queen of the Dead that ruled the Underworld. The woman had thought the Eternal to be the goddess herself, and begged you to allow the woman to see her late son that died in a raid.

Replying with only that her son was in peace in the higher dome in the heavens, you advised the shaman to return to her husband and perform a cleansing ritual to purify their home from the anger of the murdered animals. However, the shaman only pressed further, blurting out that the spirit of her son had been calling out to her in dreams. She revealed that she would stop until her son was at peace in the arms of Anu in An. Against you better judgement, you allowed yourself to be swayed by the mother’s grief, telling her that she would try her best to guide her son to the heavens so that he may rest in peace, but there would be no guarantee of success. After the woman gave her thanks by kneeling to the ground in a deep bow, you set off to work.

The Eternal spent months scouring over texts that theorized the use of magic manifestation, and detailed dreams of the dead rising. You recruited Makkari to search for more artifacts and texts in efforts to make the poor woman’s request a reality, a favor the silent speedster was more than happy to fulfill. It was only when winter was soon to be upon them that you were able to summon enough energy to prepare the ritual. Tracing a circle into the earth to serve as a temporary portal to the spiritual realm, the Eternal carved in the symbols that would allow you to put greater focus into directing the energy in the circle to attract the spirit’s energies before trapping it within its boundaries. From there, you would use the symbols that you painted on your skin to allow the magic around you to deconstruct the spirit’s current form into unbound electromagnetic particles, before reconstructing the matter into a more visible form. This flow of energy and change in the state of matter could only be achieved by physically placing your hands in the center of the circle. Using a mixture of your blood and the mother’s as a medium for the spirit to bind to so that there would not be such a large gap in the energy needed to activate the spell, it was finally complete.

It should have not have come as a surprise to her when she lost consciousness towards the end of the ritual. The raw power that connected her body to the earth felt as if liquid fire was coursing through her veins. The painted symbols became carvings as they dug into her body with searing pain as blood poured from the wounds. And though her body collapsed and she was too exhausted to keep her eyes open, Kaet knew that she was successful. As she laid on the ground, two words belonged to a young man’s voice echoed in her ear.

“Thank you.”

And from a budding magical practitioner’s too soft heart, came forth the rawest and crudest form of one of the most innately unstable and powerful fields of magic- necromancy.

From that day, the symbols took permanent residence on your skin, along with the ability to see the dead that were tied to the physical world, unable to move on for whatever reason. And although you adored your newfound power, Druig made you promise to never commit such acts on your own ever again. The ancient witch was met with screams of panic from Sersi when she and Sephia ventured out in search for you after seeing that you had not been in your room that morning. The site of you lying in a pool of your own blood with unfamiliar symbols etched into your skin was haunting to say the least.

The risk of your husband staring at you with glaring disappointment and furious worry was one worth taking if it meant that he could finally allow himself to rest. It took years of careful preparation; painfully precise attention to detail and timing; and endless travels across the globe to scour for masters in various fields of magic that specialized in divination, transformation, and theology. After nearly 10 years, when the veils between the two worlds finally overlapped for magic to reach its peak- along with the aid provided by the appearance in the hare moon’s rarity (when the earth was in perfect alignment with the Sun and Moon)- you knew that there was no time better than now.

That night, you sent out your shadows to search for any souls from the same genocide that haunted her beloved, and if they were in a state of unrest. You handed the village’s Head Weaver a small leather bag filled with ebony wood beads strung together and red string. While you hated to keep secrets from Druig, you knew that he would be able to sense the shift in the energies that surrounded them if you were successful. When the preparations were finally completed and your oldest shadow informed you of the location of the ritual, you left the bracelet that the Weaver finished – enchanted with spell that would be activated the same time of the ritual – on your pillow of their bed as you laid a tender kiss on his brow before setting off with only Cerberus by your side.

When Druig rose from his slumber – still wrought with gunpowder and fire – he instinctually reached for his wife, only for his fingers to feel a smooth, rounded texture. Opening his eyes, he noticed that your pillow was cold, but showed signs being slept in from the previous night. While such a sight would cause a much more panicked reaction from the man, he was comforted by the small note that laid carefully next to his gift. Picking up the parchment, a sense of calm washed over Druig as he took in the notes of jasmine and myrrh that come from your natural parfum.

Contents of Letter Below it:

My dearest Beloved,

I am sure that my absence from our bed must have been a rather awful shock to you. Please know that I am more than well, and have only been informed of unusual occurrences full of malicious whispers and daunting sights. And as much as I adore our home and your company, you know more than anyone of how my curiosity cannot be satisfied with only rumors and tales. No, I decided that it would be best to see it with my very own eyes. And although it would bring me nothing but joy to have you by my side, I could not bear wake you from your slumber. Rest suits my love, and it has been decades since you have slept so fitfully. Your dreams have been a constant source of your misery, and I do believe that this area may hold some promise to show me of how to ease your mind.

Rest assured my darling that I have travelled alone in my endeavors, I would never be so careless as to travel so far from you without the company of our sweet boy. Do not dare tell another soul of this, but I believe that the trek will do our boy some good. He has grown very lazy as a result of your spoiling. Yes, your spoiling, Druig- all coddling of Cerbie has been solely enacted by you, and none whatsoever committed by me. Do not dare attempt to argue this matter with me, for I would deny it till my final breath (and you know how stubborn I can be).

What did you think of my gift? During one of my many wanderings in the woods surrounding our home, I spied a dying tree with jet-black lumber. It stood in solitude from its thicket, but that only made its splendor even more enchanting, so much so that it reminded me of you. I used one of its branches to make some wooden beads, and asked for some leather to bind them. Please make sure that you wear them at all times, as they’ll reveal a little secret that will be revealed to you on the night of the full moon that will be arriving soon.

All of my love for you and your heart,

Kaetlyn

Despite the overall lack of sleep over the years, all of Druig’s anxiety seemed to wash away at your thoughtfulness. The bracelet was very elegant in its simplicity, but he could tell that it was made to last for lifetimes. Placing it on his wrist, a blanket of subtle warmth washed over him as he admired the little symbols carved into the wood. Tracing his finger over the design, he certified them to match that were etched into his angel’s lovely form. He would recognize the markings anywhere; it would be shameful if he didn’t after spending hours tracing their outline with his tongue. The knowledge that the full moon’s rising would begin tomorrow, and last for around 2-3 days. Relieved that he would not be without the company of his love for very long, Druig prepared himself for another day in protecting the compound and the humans that reside within its boundaries.

After you managed to track down the location of the largest gathering of souls, you set off preparations for the ritual immediately. A ceremony of this magnitude would shift the energies between the two worlds for the rest of eternity, so it was imperative that there would be no mistakes. Sephia already had instructions of ensuring that pathways that followed the ley lines in her journey would remain clear of any natural obstacles. It seemed too perfect that the fall of such a grand civilization that met its end with war and genocide would be at the center of such innate hidden supernatural energy. Tracing the circle around the entire city, you sat at the top of the very same temple where she and Druig had last seen the others. As the time of the moon’s rising grew shorter, you could feel the power felt only like a whisper gradually grow into a rumbling growl. You could hear the spirits that surrounded her being pulled toward inside the circle.

Wrath

Grief

Betrayal

Woe

Pain- so much pain

But they would all be at peace in the end.

Before long, twilight passed and dusk had come and the stars glittered in the endless expanse of the darkness. But all had paled in comparison to the illustrious light of the moon. Every month during the full moon, you and your husband would spend the nights locked in each other’s embrace, frozen in their admiration of its ivory glow and taking in their heightened emotional energies.

You wondered it was natural to feel so much pleasure from the power that came from being bathed in the blood red rays that came from the rare eclipse. Cerberus watched in silent obedience, not daring to move in fear of disrupting his mother’s spell, and thus ruining all of her work.

As the moon’s shadow hit the circle, the outermost boundary began to glow. As the celestial body inched across the sky, the faint howls echoed until it ascended into a deafening roar. When the moon reached it apex – directly in the center of the circle – the symbols engraved to her skin glowed while the ground beneath her feet rumbled and sang as her body collapsed from the overwhelming pressure. You could faintly hear your beloved hound’s frantic barking in the distance, trying to scare away all and any threat that came to his mother and savior. But soon they lessened into panicked whimpers at the sight of the millions of forms that were appearing before his very eyes.

In a village far away, a certain brunette’s enchanted bracelet’s beads with identical scores began to hum and glow against the lily-petal pallor on his wrist.

Before the power could tear you apart, the moon passed the circle’s boundaries, and it borders and symbols no longer sang and glowed. And when you lifted yourself with as much strength she had, you couldn’t stop the smile that took over her your as tears streamed from your eyes from the overwhelming joy that flooded your heart.

“I’m sorry for the pain you’ve had to endure for so long, but I’m happy to tell you that it will not be for much longer.”

While normally Druig wouldn’t need to be so intensely involved in matters of the village, it allowed his mind distracted him from missing his wife enough to just through the day. In any case, the earthquake from last night frightened the residents of the compound with how close they were to winter. The days were getting shorter, and this meant that they needed to prepare for the harshness that would come for their crops, their families, and eventually their way of life. Multiple people came up to Druig to ask if last night’s earthquake was a sign of larger disaster brought by the gods. While he did his best to placate their concerns, the patience he had was wearing thin. Luckily Sephia managed to intercept their line of questioning before he would lose his temper, and he was able to take a short rest.

It wasn’t until he heard a familiar barking in the distance that immediately caught his attention. Dashing out the hut he shared with you, he saw Cerberus sitting on his hind legs as his little tail wagged in glee and the little taps echoed in his ears.

“Cerberus,” he exclaimed in joy as he gathered the black Doberman in his arms, “where have you been? Where’s your mum?”

At the mention of his Mum, Cerberus immediately began tugging on his Da’s dark blue robe. While it wasn’t enough to cause any tear or inspire any panic, it did tell the man enough information to know that something or someone was coming- and it would be best that Druig gave his entire attention over it. Following his wife’s hound over to commune’s outermost edge, he was only met with the familiar chirps and song of the forest. A few minutes passed by and Cerberus remained still, as if he were just waiting for something great.

Suddenly, the fine hairs across Druig’s body stood up straight as an overwhelming presence of otherworldly beings began to approach close to where he and Cerberus stood. Sensing that they were no longer alone, the hound starting howling to the moon that hung above them. Running toward the strange energy, Druig watched in awed rapture at the figure that stood front center with familiar designs that glowed gold down their arms, leading the army of apparitions with a singular torch. Recognizing the haunting designs, Druig was engulfed in frozen wonder at the army that you managed to summon, and the control and strain your body had to endure to stage such a feat.

When the two ancient lovers reached one another, with only pockets of space between their bodies, Druig launched himself to embrace his angel. Gladly reciprocating the act, you made sure that the torch you were holding remained in the air as you let yourself be enveloped in the security of your husband’s arms while taking in the sweet smell of his sweat.

“I should have known that little rumble was from you,” he whispered while laying small and frequent kisses across her neck, “nothin’ you do can ever be done halfway, can it?”

“Never,” she whispered back, “are you ready for my surprise?”

You stepped aside so that her husband could truly understood what you had done. Although Druig was initially upset by the loss of warmth that came from you leaving his embrace, he stopped and stared at the sight ahead of him.

Hundreds of thousands of specters that held a pearly blue glow that went as far out as his eyes could take him. But instead of fear, Druig felt…warm, and strangely…at peace. Taking a step closer, he slowly reached out his hand as a way to ask for permission. The nearest spirit was that of a child, going no higher than his knee, eagerly taking his hand before a wide smile overtook his face.

“Hello Mister Druig, it has been so long.”

Eyes wide in shock, Druig turned his head to stare at his wife in disbelief.

It couldn’t be…it shouldn’t be possible. Then again, you always took the label “impossible” as just a simple label.

As Druig turned back to stare at vision before him, familiar faces that he thought were forever gone flooded his sight.

Before him were all the souls that were lost so young at the fall of Tenochtitlan over 10 years ago.

You did this…you brought them all back. As his body failed to support him in shock, all Druig could do was openly weep in joy at the knowledge that his love- his wonderful, incredible, truly magnificent marvel of a woman- risked everything so that these people could have just the slightest chance of closure and peace.

Taking your husband’s frame in your arms, you softly turned him until he could face you.

“Do you think there might be some space in our home for our guests, my dearest?” You asked with bright eyes and youthful mirth as you knew full-well his answer.

Druig could only let out a wet laugh – his tears hadn’t stopped, but he never felt so at peace and happy for so long.

“Kaet my darling,” he started, “nothing would give me more pleasure.”

500 Years Later

‘The Procession of the Dead had been a tale that has been passed down by the many indigenous tribes located in the Amazonian Rainforest for over twenty generations. They say that the first procession began as an act of mercy from Mictecacihuatl, who was known as the “lady of the dead.” Legends state that it was Mictecacihuatl who summoned the spirits of tormented souls, and led them on a journey across the Amazon rainforest so that the souls may find fulfillment and peace in order to move on to the afterlife. The earliest record of the procession stated that the procession began with a ritual of a cursed city, followed by a powerful earthquake. But it was granted by the Guardians of the Forest, as the trees and rocks cleared the path in order to make the journey easier for the merciful goddess. Although there have been multiple cases of alleged sightings of the legend even now, many of the tribes that still reside in the forest celebrate October 31st as the day where the dead would find peace in the physical world, before finally finding peace in their next life. It is for that reason that multiple towns in countries of South America will build a straw monument of Mictecacihuatl holding a burning torch, so that the spirits of the lost was make the journey for peace.’

A small boy with large aquamarine eyes and patiently sat in front of a large easel in his art room, gleefully listening to his favorite educational podcast. He loved to listen to the origins of how his birthday started out, even if he wasn’t there when it started.

“Hamish,” he heard his Da call out, “you wanna get ready so that we can make it to your Tio Phastos’ house in Chicago to meet with everyone! It’s rude for the birthday boy to arrive last!”

Making the finishing touches to the canvas, Hamish silently grabbed his Mimikyu costume from his bedpost before racing down the stairs. He couldn’t wait to show his Mami his painting when they got back tomorrow, she was going to love it!

I hope you enjoyed reading this fic! Please drop a like if you did enjoy it, and also a reblog or comment if you look forward to reading more!

Tagging: @valeskafics, @ethereal-athalia, @aphroditesmoon, @its-actually-minicika, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @asa-do-your-thing, @3vergr3en, @themeanestlittlewitch, @sunphyre, @karimac, @hypnoticmistake, @tacorice, @angelnyx, @heliosphere8, @deanthomaswhore, @vikingqueen28, @getawaycardotmp3, @spacetalbot, @siempre-bucky, @diaryofapillowprincess, @littledoveofchaos, @snowprincesa1, @prettyvintageafternoon

Let me know in the comments if you would like to be tagged!

#marvel eternals #marvel x reader #druig x reader #eternals x reader #druig imagine #divider #druig x oc #druig x eternal!reader #druig x female reader #druig x y/n #druig fanfiction #halloween #halloween is a lifestyle #at least until december #halloween fic #fall fic

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arcielee · 1 year

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She Walks in Starlight

Summary: He is the darkness and she is the light. Paring: Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone Word Count: 4615 Warnings: Mention of character(s) death. It’s HotD and Greek mythology, so there will be incest. Author's Note: Thank you @aspen-carter for being my beta reader! Her work is absolutely amazing, so when she says it is good, I post. The artwork is by brina ♥ Also! Gō vys is Valyrian for Under world and Doru-borto valītsossa is dumb boys. Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon @annikin-im-panicin @schniiipsel @watercolorskyy @aaaaaamond @iiamthehybrid @deltamoon666 @dahlias-and-marigolds Series: Act I - Act II - Act III

ACT II

Aemond remembered how his brother’s silver words spilled so seamlessly from his lips and he, in return, wore his own apprehension on his aristocratic features, always sharp and always untrusting when it came to Aegon.

His brother was unfazed by his stoicism, undeterred as he continued to paint the pretty portrait of possibility with the Gō vys. He had sworn he only meant to honor the sacrifice Aemond had made, that ended the Titanomachy that had ravaged the cosmos for the last decade.

“It would be a kingdom all your own,” Aegon had finished with his always rakish grin.

The sacrifice. The word ignited the subtle burn that would flit the length of his scar; it would be just a dull ache beneath the sapphire stone gifted by Helaena, but more often it spread with a fiery vindication. Right now, it paired with a sense of ambivalence with what was said, but Aegon added how he would remain in Mount Olympus and Daeron would rule the seas, so of course order must be brought to the shadowed realm.

Aemond accepted this and left to find the pathway that weaved into the depths of the cosmos, towards the infinite void of the Underworld.

It seemed barren, only littered with the damned, both good souls and the bad, along with the spirits of the gods who lost more than just an eye during the war. All of them were just shadows of their former selves and all equally aimless in the tenebrosity of his new kingdom.

He watched and one wafted past him, through him, and he felt a shuddering cold that cut into the bone.

My kingdom, was the grim thought to his mind. All my own.

With his lordship came the condition and he heard the only other occupant he was aware of.

Their grandsire.

It began with the flutter of unease that gripped him when he heard the guttural cries that rose from the infernal abyss below; the throb of his scar from the endless dissonance that spewed from Tartarus. There was no structure, nothing for it to ricochet and return, just the ceaseless roar for vengeance that began to permeate within him.

His unease, the pain, grew into an overwhelming hold, the anxiety tight in his chest and a searing fear that burned alongside his own ichor.

It did not stop; it was a wrath that was palpable, a sound that buried and began to rot. It was his constant reminder that though they managed to usurp their grandsire and he was imprisoned below, he lived still.

“It is maddening,” a velvet tone spoke one day. “Almost.”

Aemond remained stoic as always, despite the lurch in his chest to hear another voice within the Gō vys, and he turned to see a woman standing, her kohl-smeared eyes watchful. Alys, he assumed, the goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, and the aimless spirits that surrounded them with their gelid presence.

His iced kingdom.

“His unceasing wails have brought me to you, Aïdōneús,” she continued, her painted lips smirked. “I come to help you, my king.”

This was the realization of his burden, the exhaustion to claim the unorganized chaos of the Underworld and instead it pushed him to the precipice of his own sanity.

Aemond said nothing and left.

Time, he realized, was different in the Gō vys. He recalled the warm tones of autumn back when his brother presented his gift and now noticed the floral scents that accompanied spring. He relished in the warmth of the sun that settled over the mortal realm and the vivid colors of new life for the healing cosmos.

The quiet was almost unsettling, but it allowed him to find clarity with his thoughts, to decide on what he must do.

He would go to Mount Olympus and he would beg Aegon for another role, to tell him he could not return to that dreary realm.

What he had not expected was his sister, Rhaenyra. Though the bloomage that surrounded him should have given her away, it still took a moment before he realized how she teetered the edge of the plane of the mortal realm to where it touched the shadows.

She watched him, her brow quirked over her lavender eyes.

Aemond stepped towards her and into the sunlight. “Mandia,” he greeted her, a forced smile to his lips. “What brings you here?”

Her expression was similar to his own, a severity in that moment. She was aware of how the bit of color to his complexion had blanched since he had gone, how the shadows were more prominent to his sharp features. “I had come to check on you, lēkia,” Rhaenyra took a tentative step closer, still wary of the imaginary border.

Brother.

Her hesitation aside, the familiarity of their old tongue spoken warmed his chest.

“I came to see how you were, how it is in the Underworld,” but her words were slow, her eyes still searching.

She softened with the spoken concern and it bloomed the hope that perhaps she would be able to rescue him from this dark fate. He shared his embittered thoughts of the shadow realm, the so-called kingdom that Aegon claimed to be a gift.

Rhaenyra listened to him, wordless and her eyes glassy. When he finished, her palm slipped into his own and she pulled for him to follow her. His steps were slow and she looked back to admire how the sun soaked into his ethereal beauty, how his silver hair glimmered in the sunlight. They continued to walk throughout the garden of Herspirdes until she was satisfied to see his godly aura returned.

“I had not realized I had been gone so long, I had not realized it was spring already,” Aemond breathed, his eye wide to admire as Rhaenyra continued her flowering and the lavender of laconian thyme that now sprouted in her steps. “Truly, this is your best work, mandia.”

She smiled with his compliment. “I believe that beauty was forgotten with the war,” her eyes sparkled. “But I thank you.”

They did not go to Mount Olympus, but instead remained so he could relish in the life that sprouted around him.

As the day waned away and the golden glow of the setting sun began to roll over, she looked to him. “I cannot imagine this burden our brother has placed on you, Aemond.” They were back at the edge and she turned to face him and placed her hand onto his shoulder; he almost shuddered from the touch. “Aegon and Daeron do not carry the strength, they lack the omnipotence that resides with you, lēkia.”

His gaze dropped, his arms crossed and his one hand cupped his elbow, his fingertips careful to touch his jaw and trace until he came to the bottom of his scar.

“They could have just asked it of me,” there was a tightness to his tone, the hint of betrayal. “They know I would have done this for them, for all of us.”

She nodded her head and her golden waves spilled onto her shoulders. “I know this and so does Helaena, but Aegon needs a sense of control. Allow him to remain in Olympus as some ornate for the mortals to fawn over, but,” she stepped closer, moving her palm to rest on his chest, “know you are not alone. I know Alys came to you. Myself, the others, we do not wish for Otto to ever return and we will help you create your kingdom.”

Aemond hummed. “Can she be trusted?”

“Helaena sees that she will be a powerful ally for you,” and her lavender eyes shone with her words.

He returned to the shadow and was greeted by Alys, her expression as smug as earlier. She held up her hands to present a crown, iron and ruby, and gestured to him.

Aemond leaned forward, the silver spill of his tresses with the movement, and he allowed her to place it on top of his head.

“Fit for a king,” she declared. “Shall we get started, Aïdōneús?”

Aemond would grow grateful for the companionship and all that Alys offered. She showed herself to be the mediator of the other inhabitants of the Gō vys; she managed to convince them, to coerce them to recognize their new king and they served him as such.

Rhaenyra returned with the others, as she had said she would, all with the same visceral shudder entering the realm, the same he was growing accustomed to.

All seemed willing to assist him and help organize the eternal chaos of the Underworld. They created and built until the cries were smothered below; the grey earth was dug into and it allowed the Styx to meet with the Lethe and Lamentation, while slate stone was stacked within the marsh, creating a castle worthy for a king.

+ + + + + + +

There was a sense of pride from the eerie beauty that now loomed from his created kingdom, but it was lonely still.

His sister returned to the grey shores of the Styx and gifted him Vhagar, just a pup with a large set of eyes for each of the three heads. In return, he followed her to the surface, finding comfort in the consistency of spring and wanting to admire the new sea of bloomage that would be spread over.

Though there was a twinge of pain with how it came to an abrupt end to the edge.

“It cannot bloom in the shadow,” she spoke as if it was obvious and he nodded his head with solemn understanding.

Aemond had come to accept his role within the cosmos. He was the god of many monikers. Hades. Aïdōneús. The king of the Underworld and the god of the dead.

He was all too aware of the hushed whispers and the skittish looks of the mortals, the nymphs, and the new gods, but it did not deter him from this annual endeavor. Every new spring seemed to coincide with the heartsick, the ennui that would settle into his bones from the company of death and he would go.

His steps were slow, deliberate as he allowed the warmth of the sun to revitalize him, pressing the boundaries to see how long he could go before the ache would come with its ice grip, its pull back below to continue his role, dutiful as always.

On this day, something caught his eye.

Peonies.

He marveled how their red bulbs were vibrant still in the shadows, only a few that lined the pathway that led towards the sunlight.

Aemond gazed around and realized that this new season looked different, felt different. There was a vibrance of color that engulfed the realm and a sweetness to the air he never noticed before or else it was lost to his dreary jurisdiction.

“Lēkia!” He turned to see Aegon walking towards him, a gilded goblet in his hand and red stained lips to frame his smile. “Have you come to celebrate this new era of spring?”

His brow quirked at his words and Aegon was quick to further explain. “Our dear sister has finally revealed the goddess of spring and she is a gift to the cosmos!” His arm clasped around his shoulders, his other arm gestured towards the vibrant swell of gloxinias and begonias and more.

This was the moment that Aemond saw her.

She did not flit like the nymphs that trailed in her wake nor did the earth blossom with her steps, as her mother would do for show, but instead she walked with purpose. Her brow was furrowed with her concentration and her touch deliberate with each bloom.

He found himself enraptured with her subtle movements, the grace of the goddess of spring.

“I believe she is another bastard from that mortal Rhaenyra had kept,” Aegon made a show to whisper, his exhale was the bittersweet wine. Aemond was grateful they were far enough to avoid any prying ears with where the topic headed. “Those same dark curls, but it suits her more than her brothers.” He giggled.

His jaw tightened as he stole another glance, admiring her curls that cascaded enticingly on her milky backside that showed through the peplos that was wrapped around her curves, how the freckles dotted in stark contrast to her porcelain skin. “I suppose,” was all he managed to say.

Aegon only continued. “I pitied our sister when Daemon decided to put an end to their tryst. Do you remember how he annihilated that temple? If anything, I am sure you remember the soul intake on that day.”

What Aemond recalled were the tears that spilled from their sister’s eyes when she came to him and begged him to bring Harwin back to life. Comfort was never his strong suit, long before his isolation to the Gō vys, but he was patient to explain that once a soul crossed his threshold that the body began to decay and it was irreversible, even if the spirit was returned.

He remembered the horror on her face when he explained how it would corrupt the soul, how bitter it would become as they finally had a true understanding of their mortality. She was rooted in his throne room and he allowed her to stay, while Vhagar lapped her tears until she had no more to spill.

Rhaenyra looked to him and all he offered was, “Kesan jorrāelagon ziry.”

A promise in their family tongue, I will take care of him.

“Kirimvose,” her voice was hoarse, but grateful with new tears that glittered.

Thank you.

And she was gone.

“What is her name?” Aemond asked, his gaze remained.

Persephone. The goddess of spring, the embodiment of vitality. A comely contrast to their sister’s golden hair and lavender eyes, but a beauty all her own. A grace with her motion, in tandem with the breeze that allowed the sweet blossom scent roll over the cosmos.

A new era of spring.

He was watchful, etching the details of this moment, down to the pink hues that glowed and complimented her complexion, for something he could revisit when he returned below and when the swell of the dead would begin again to erode away his psyche. This moment would be cradled to his chest and remain with him until he would resurface the following spring, returning as a shadow amongst the living and quietly enjoying the serenity she ardently created.

Aemond was pleased to see more peonies that littered the pathway, but he had not expected Aegon to be waiting on the cusp.

“You are very predictable, lēkia,” he teased him, his brows raised and his rakish smile on his lips. “I assumed you would return to pluck the perfect flower.”

His jaw steeled in response and Aegon only laughed, pulling him to the sunlight again so he could renew his vision of spring, to savor, to rekindle this moment until the following year.

+ + + + + + +

There was comfort back within the slate walls of his forged castle.The day had ended, though there were no differentiating features to his pallid realm, but still he leaned onto the ornate balustrade and looked below, reflecting.

He felt a tightness in his chest from his brother’s jest, I assumed you would return to pluck the perfect flower, but he pushed the words from his mind.

Alys was at his side, as she often was, quiet with her own contemplation but he never would ask what was on her mind. Ahead they saw a golden beacon that striked through the shades of grey.

He peered at her and she had a mischievous smile on her painted lips. “It seems your fate beckons you, my king,” Alys said to him.

Aemond left for the shores of the Styx.

Fate was a fickle thing from what he learned from the Moirai, with far too many variables that must align and allow something to fall so perfectly into place. He had scoffed before when they spoke of the inevitable golden glow for him but now he choked on their words when he saw her and how she walked in his realm, her soft steps that allowed indents in the grey sand.

With his role within the cosmos, all too often he found the pitied looks more tiresome than the scornful ones, but she held neither. She looked at him with a sense of reverence, an almost awe, as if her dark eyes were etching the details of him into her mind.

Perhaps to revisit when she returns to the mortal realm, was his wistful, intrusive thought.

The same serenity he felt when he watched her above followed her proximity; there was a warmth, a comfort with the lilt of her voice to the golden halo that danced around her irises. He noted that with the sweet smile splayed on her pink lips, that she also had a veil of sorrow that seemed to drape over and touch her subtle mannerisms.

“Who did you lose?”

He had seen this loss, in the eyes of the living, in his sister’s eyes. Though he mourned when she left, he could not help but admire the sway of her hips with her every step.

Aemond returned and found Alys awaiting him, smirking still. Though he knew that Persephone would never dare return to the Gō vys, he still wished to do everything within his power to find her friends, to remove the burden that she so blatantly carried with her.

“She will come back, my king,” Alys whispered to him, before she left to do her part.

And Persephone did just that.

There was an intimacy of the moment that was not lost to him; he brought her to the Asphodel, to bring her a sense of comfort for the afterlife her companions would have, something he would personally see too. His chest swelled with pride when she asked for more, to see his kingdom and how she so willingly went to his arms. His touch was firm, but gentle to cradle her and he could feel her ichor thrum beneath as they toured the Underworld, the genuineness as she admired his kingdom.

“It is beautiful, Aïdōneús.” She had said before she left.

He was left to curse himself to not correct her, to not offer that she could simply refer to him as only Aemond, just as she said to call her Kore. He wished to see her again and hoped he would be given the opportunity to correct this.

She would return to him and time seemed to slip so easily between his fingers, moments so perfect and now a plethora to choose from, something he would revisit when he would inevitably be left alone. He was still aware of her sorrow, the guilt? How it shadowed behind her dauntless gaze and he knew he had to ask, that he needed to understand what brought her to his realm to begin with.

To see if fate was what the Moirai claimed.

He listened as she shared her grief, her sorrow spilled from her lips and she paused to swallow her tears.

“A flower,” Aemond had hummed, the white sear of anger that scorched through his mind.

I assumed you would return to pluck the perfect flower.

“It should have been me.” She finished and he knew he could not correct her.

Persephone agreed to return the following night and when she left, he began at once. The mortal names, Baela and Rhaena, were given to Alys with the explicit instructions for when she found the souls. She nodded, doleful as she listened, and left when he finished, quick to do her king’s bidding.

As well as her queen’s.

Aemond then placed his crown, iron and ruby glowing, on his head, his cape to his shoulders and checked the pin of the snapdragon he now always wore, before he left for Olympus.

His movements would match the anger he felt; a flash of white, the streak of fury that landed at the steps with such force, the marble splintered beneath. He stopped a moment, his fists clenched with his ire, before his gaze slowly rose to see Aegon, who was wide eyed at the arrival.

A nymph was pushed from his lap as he stood, forcing his same rakish smile as he greeted him with, “Lēkia! Have you come to thank me for the gift I so graciously gave to you?” His hesitation had a hint of hope, which diminished as Aemond’s gaze darkened.

Fate, he now knew, was such a fickle thing that was filled with happenstance to allow happy endings throughout the cosmos.

It would be a fate that would elude him, he now realized.

“You have killed the granddaughters of Corlys, Aegon,” he replied, his tone was low and lethal and his eye narrowed onto his brother.

Aegon paled with this news and then he scoffed. “What are a few mortals in exchange for the happiness of a king?” Though his words wavered, the same arrogance remained on his features as he dared to press closer to Aemond. “Surely, you know, as I know, that you would have spent eternity to silently pine for the goddess of spring? You should be thanking me for allowing you the opportunity to know her more intimately.” Aegon raised his brow.

“Doru-borto valītsossa.”

The venomous hiss took them both by surprise and they turned to see Rhaenyra, storming towards them. Her golden hair billowed with her steps and reflected the gold fire that enveloped the lavender of her eyes; her sharp features narrowed from one to the other, before settling on Aemond.

“I have come to demand your witch to release the hold you have on my daughter.”

Aemond fell back a step, the accusation cut into him and his own anger abated. “Rhaenyra, I do not know what you mean…” he began, but her tone was hot and cut through.

“She returns to me and babbles this idea of love, Aemond,” she cried.

Aegon took the moment and slipped away, abandoning his siblings to quarrel alone in his throne room. Aemond grit his teeth, his jaw worked as he listened to her accusations thrown.

“She returns to me and smells of death, with these foolish ideals of living in the Gō vys-” she stopped, her hand pressed to her mouth.

As hurt as he felt, he also understood the unspoken fear. Rhaenyra was well aware of the burden that came with the realm of the dead, the constant fear that Otto, though captivated and chained away, still lived and how his evil forever tainted the realm.

“Aemond,” she exhaled and his attention returned to her. “Please, you cannot truly believe Kore would be content with such an existence. You are the darkness and she is the light. Do not damn her.”

Her words cut deep, but his expression remained stoic, as always, and he hummed to acknowledge her cruelty, the truth spoken. “I have a debt I must repay her, mandia,” his voice was still low. “After I right this wrong, I will let her be.”

Her lips were pressed into a thin line, then she gave a quick nod and left him alone.

Aemond knew it was laughable; the goddess of spring dare love the king of the damned, to give up her life and birthright only to become queen regent of the dead? His steps were slow to return below, his thoughts a dark and suffocating cloud that followed.

There was the echo of her words. You are the darkness and she is the light.

He knew what must be done.

He returned to find two small vials waiting, an iridescent blue glow emitting through the glass, but he was more surprised to be greeted by the aura that Kora held. She turned at the sound of his steps, her eyes bright with the golden fire that danced around her pupils when she looked at him. “I know we did not set an exact time,” she seemed flushed with her rush of words. “You said to return at nightfall so I came as soon as the sun set.”

Aemond hummed, his jaw steeled as he reached for the vials and tucked them away. He looked and saw how her brow knitted with his silence, so he choked, “You have impeccable timing, Kore.” He faltered, then reached for her hand. “Please, come with me.”

The glee on her features caused a hitch in his chest, the spark of their touch when her fingers interlaced with his own, a perfect fit. He accepted he would never see her after this night, save the shadows that crept with each spring, and he chose to indulge, allowing himself to pull her to his chest. She nestled close to him and he moved, the gleam of white of two gods escaping the shadows and embracing the night.

The moon was full and its silver light touched everything, lighting the way as he brought her to the east pillar of Hyperion, to a ledge that bore from the mountainside. They came to the edge and admired the view of amber hues of the manmade lights that rose from each kome settled throughout, while above the stars competed with the moonbeam radiance.

When he stepped back, she turned to look at him. “I am right here,” he soothed. “Trust me.”

She remained but her head tilted to watch as he pulled the first vial; he poured the silky smoke that fell into a misty form of Baela, then Rhaena. Aemond saw her lips part, her eyes wide as the spirits smiled from seeing their friend once more.

Kore looked at him and he focused on his hands, rubbing his palms together until the familiar glow pooled between. He reached forward, the bolt of cold to touch and laughter filled his ears as the girls began to run towards the edge and then leaped, each metamorphosing into a ball of fire that shot out against the night sky.

She watched, her eyes still wide. “They are comets,” she whispered, turning to face him.

He nodded his head and his tongue wet his lips. “I did not want them to aimlessly wander the Asphodel.”

In this moment, he felt he truly saw her; the veil of sorrow had been removed and tears stilled in the corners of her eyes. There was a serenity that smoothed her features and she was graceful to curl her legs beneath and sit, her head tilted back and it allowed the silver light to emphasize her beauty.

Kore looked at him again and beckoned to him.

There was a reservation that held him still for a moment, the thoughts that he should go and allow her the privacy of this moment, that he should just return to his kingdom and yet…

His steps were deliberate and brought him to her side before he sank down next to her. His posture was rigid, with a newfound tension with her proximity, but she seemed unaware. Instead, she lifted her hand from the grass and rested it on top of his own, her head turning to look at him and he dared to look back.

There was a flush of pink that touched her porcelain skin, an inviting sight, and her eyes bore into him, the golden flame bright. She then shifted, pressing closer, and he relished in the soft touch of her body as she melted against his chest.

Aemond remained rigid, still as stone and unwilling to pressure, to coerce her into anything outside her own volition.

And then he felt the fullness of her lips touch to his own.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x oc #greek mythology hotd au #hotd au #aemond!hades #hotd fanfic #slow burn #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond fanfic #thanks for reading #♥

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fushic0re · 2 years

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─ 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐈𝐂𝐄, 𝐈❜𝐌 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝗟𝗟𝗢𝗬𝗗 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗦𝗘𝗡 𝗫 𝗙𝗘𝗠𝗠𝗘 𝗙𝗔𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗘!𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗔𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 – “BEING A BITCH IS MY KINK, WHAT THE FUCK ELSE DID YOU THINK?”. In which you are the only thing Lloyd Hansen is scared of.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 – 18+ ONLY; MINORS DNI. sociopathic and psychopathic behavior. murder. sexual themes. lloyd refers to himself as “daddy” once.

if you enjoyed this piece, please, please, please reblog it! the writing community is slowly dying out due to tumblr’s algorithm being ineffective and reblogging our fics is our bread and butter. support fic writers! ♡

“ARE YOU READY to order yet, ma’am?”

Your jaw twitched as your lips forced themselves into a dazzling smile.

“Just a couple of more minutes. My guest will be here shortly.” You purred. “I’d love another glass of Merlot though. Thank you, honey.”

The poor boy was a stutter riddled mess as he scampered back into the kitchen, tripping over his own feet like a newborn foal. You laughed softly to yourself before your expression fell. You didn’t need to check the time to know that Lloyd was extremely late. The notification center of your phone was barren; no text, call, nothing. Nothing to notify you of a possible delay. No, you sat in the middle of one of the finest French restaurants clad in one hundred percent silk all by your lonesome. Rummaging through your purse, you fished out your tube of lipstick and compact mirror for a touch up. Your boyish waiter was right back at your side, topping off your glass with a shy grin and flush cheeks at the sight of your plump puckered lips.

Just as your body picked up the minuscule shift in energy, you shut your compact. There in front of you sat Lloyd fucking Hansen with that stupid grin on his face.

“Hi, baby doll.” He spoke charmingly. “You look absolutely stunning, is that the dress I bought you?”

Narrowing your eyes with contempt, you crossed your arms across your chest.

“You’re late.”

Chuckling, he rose from his place in front of you and dragged the chair he once sat in with him and positioned it right next to you before seating himself once again. His muscled frame shuffled closer to yours until his chest was pressed against your side. Refusing to acknowledge him and still filled with simmering rage, you kept your gaze forward. Endeared at your behavior, your fiancé took your hand in his and began to dote on you.

“Oh baby, daddy’s sorry.” Lloyd cooed. “Some of these fuck knuckles really don’t wanna go down. I made them pay extra for keeping me from my woman.”

Excuses and buttery comments continued to spill from the man’s mouth. Rolling your eyes, you reached for your glass of wine and took a generous gulp.

“But on the bright side, we have this private dining area all to ourselves. How about I make it up to you before the main course gets here, pretty girl?” He whispered, that damn mustache tickling your skin as he began to press feverish kisses to your neck.

Lloyd stopped his ministrations when he glanced down at your hand in his, his lips turning down into a frown.

“Who made my woman chip her nails—”

Growing tired of hearing his voice, you snatched your hand back. Before Lloyd could protest, your hand darted in between his legs.

A low growl rumbled in his chest. The frown that grazed his face was replaced with a mischievous smirk.

“Princess,” He hummed. “If you missed me that much, all you had to do was say s— Jesus, fuck!”

With his balls literally in a vice grip, you finally turned to face him. Your deathly stare rivaled Medusa’s. It was only when he was caught in it that Lloyd Hansen felt fear. Pure, unfiltered fear.

“I hope you at least have progress for me to make up for your inability to follow through with simple tasks such as showing up on time.”

Lloyd hissed sharply; his eyes squeezed shut as your grip tightened.

“We got him to talk,” He panted. “We know where the drive is.”

“And where is it exactly, Lloyd?” You interrogated lowly, looming over him dangerously.

Sputters of nonsense fell from his lips, prompting you to constrict around him more.

“Did I hire an incompetent man, Lloyd?” You taunted, slithering a bare leg around one of his sensually. “Hmm?”

“N-No, ma’am,”

“Then answer my question or so help me God, Lloyd Hansen. Where is that drive?”

“London! It’s in a warehouse in London! The boys are extracting it as we speak!”

You exhaled deeply, shooting your man your best smile.

“Good boy.” You praised. “Get me that drive, Lloyd.”

“It’ll be on your desk by tomorrow morning.” He swore, his heart rate slowing down.

It was his turn to sigh with relief when his balls were released from your death trap. Your palm traveled from in between his legs to his broad chest. Nuzzling your nose against his cheek, you hummed with content at his answer.

“This shirt makes you look so sexy,” You whispered, pressing a kiss to his face, leaving a lipstick mark behind.

Lloyd, still too stunned to reciprocate your affection, released a satisfied grunt. Boy were you insane, but that’s exactly why he loved you so dearly. Upon first meeting you, Lloyd Hansen was equally as aroused as he was intimidated. You had heard everything about your subordinate. Afterall, word travels fast when you’re a sociopathic government weapon. There was nothing you loved more than a man who could get things done. Lloyd Hansen was all about getting things done. He was your prized possession, your secret weapon. He too knew this and lived for it.

Never in his life had he ever liked following orders. The man knew from the second he left his mother’s womb that he was destined to devour every weak, measly being in his way and dominate. It was natural instinct for Lloyd. He was an alpha. The monster in your closet that kept you in line. No one had ever challenged his primality without ending up in pieces buried six feet underground. That was, until you. You knew how to get him where you wanted him, how to grab his reigns and take over. Serving you came as naturally as killing.

And that was dangerous. You were dangerous.

He had found someone more demented, deranged, and crazed than him, of course he was bound to worship you with no limits. To prove his fealty in bloodshed. You were his Goddess.

“You’re paying for my manicure.” You murmured, scarlet lips traveling from his cheek to his neck.

“Who else was going to?” He teased.

“You did leave me waiting here,” You challenged. “Step it up, Lloyd, or someone else will.”

His thick brows furrowed, darkening his hard gaze at the threat.

“Like who, huh princess?”

You shrugged nonchalantly.

“The waiter is cute.”

Over the date night shenanigans, you unhitched your leg from around his and stood up. Finally getting a chance to look you over, Lloyd felt his groin stir in his designer slacks. The silk dress he had purchased looked just as heavenly wrapped around your body as he imagined it to look. The slope of your exposed back tempted him. He wanted to maul you, to leave his mark. You were his. No one else’s.

Before you could turn around to beckon him, the waiter entered your private room once more. And before he could take another step, two gun shots were fired to his chest. Spinning around on your Jimmy Choos, you met your lover’s intense gaze with pure adoration in yours.

“And they say chivalry is dead.”

#lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen x asian!reader #lloyd hansen #the grey man #asian!reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n

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kirain · 3 months

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I've been on this site for over ten years and I've never had to do this, but sadly the time has come where I feel forced to make a call out post, if only for the safety of my blog.

Please do not harass this person. PLEASE DO NOT HARASS THEM! That is not my goal here. That said, I do suggest you avoid them at all costs, for your own safety and sanity.

A few days ago, I made a post responding to some anonymous hate I received regarding Gale Dekarios, a character from BG3. An account named Turtwg, who has now changed her name to Shdowheart, took issue with the content and tone of my post. Instead of simply blocking me, she attacked me and several other people in the notes, and accused me of sending the anon to myself.

I responded, arguing against her accusations and a few other remarks she made. Just typical fandom discourse. Or so I thought.

I regret it now (only because I've lost some evidence), but I deleted many of her and my messages. They were clogging up my post and veering extremely off topic, but eventually she admitted I didn't send the anon to myself. When I asked her how she knew that, she said she traced the anon to a Gale-centric account. You see, she believed the anon wasn't sent by an Astarion fan, but by a Gale fan trying to create discourse. In a normal situation, I'd say that's a fair assumption for anyone to make, but something seemed off.

First of all, despite several people telling her it's not possible to track down blogs through their anonymous messages, she insisted she found the user responsible—which honestly made me wonder if she sent the anon herself, hoping to create drama. If she did, then mission accomplished, I guess. We messaged back and forth in the notes for a while, with me commenting on both the impossibility and morality of tracking down an anonymous user. During that time, her responses to me were lightning fast. Constant. Remember that for later.

Second, she soon told me she had the anon's IP address, which she said she'd "happily send me". I told her an IP address doesn't prove anything because it can be photoshopped and a lot of people use VPNs. I also pointed out how utterly insane it is to dox/cyberstalk someone over a post about a video game. It's really not that serious. But out of sheer curiosity, I told her to give me the blog name. Not because I believed her, but because I was curious to see if she'd accuse a popular blog or someone who could defend themselves. The moment I asked, she went silent for nearly an hour. 🤔

When she came back, she gave me the name of an account called Dekariosbf. She told me to message the account, so I did, though I made no accusations against them yet. As I waited for a reply, I accused Turtwg of making the account herself, as it was barren with no activity whatsoever. No likes, no posts, nothing. She easily could've created the account during that hour of peace. Moreover, after she gave me the account name and I accused her of creating it, her responses were once again lightning fast. 🤔

As we argued, I sent my brother-in-law and a friend of mine a link to my blog and had them read through the discourse. They don't have Tumblr accounts, but they're both computer nerds and my brother-in-law literally works with computers/programs for a living. I asked them if anything Turtwg said was valid, and they (along with someone else in the notes who claimed to work in UI/UX) confirmed that no, absolutely nothing she said was valid. Tumblr pays for a service that protects their users, and the only way to trace anons is by using extremely unsavory and illegal methods ... and even then it's extremely unlikely to work.

Speaking of, my brother-in-law eventually messaged me and told me he found the actual account that sent the anon. I stupidly believed him and jumped the gun on that, because it turns out he was just being a shit disturber. That said, I used this information to call Turtwg out on her lies. In response, Dekariosbf miraculously (and in a rather timely fashion) responded to me. Unfortunately I don't have any screenshots of this interaction, but I'll explain why in a moment.

Dekariosbf was chatty and cordial at first. I asked them for their main account name, but they refused to give it, saying they only use it for poetry; which, as you can see from the screenshot, directly contradicts their bio, but I digress. I was suspicious, but also kept in mind the possibility that this might've been an innocent person Turtwg accused. For a while we shot the shit, talking back and forth about BG3, reading, teaching—but I did this for a reason. I wanted to get a feel for their writing style. Sure enough, they wrote exactly like Turtwg. Same spelling mistakes, same pattern of punctuation, same use of lower case letters instead of capital letters, same abbreviations, etc.

Finally, when I was sure it was her, I dropped the bomb. I very gently told "Dekariosbf" that someone named Turtwg accused them of sending me a hateful Gale anon, but that I didn't believe it. Low and behold, they did a complete 180.

"Yes, it was me. It was totally me. I just LOVE your blog and RESPECT you so much. I LOVE Gale and I wanted to know what you'd say if I sent that anon. It wasn't meant to be hateful. Please don't write a call out post about me. Please don't tell your followers. I mean, I understand if you do, but please don't. Turtwg messaged me and threatened to dox me and sent me a photo of my IP address. She's so smart, I don't think you should mess with her. Oh and my mom can't speak English. If we get doxxed, I think it would kill her."

Right...

I said I didn't believe them and accused them of being Turtwg on a sock account. They kept insisting they weren't, begged me to believe they sent the anon (and I mean they were desperate for me to believe it), and very strangly didn't express any anger or confusion over the situation. When I brought up the accusation, they completely changed their tone from friendly to "oh yeah, that was me". I kept saying I didn't believe them, particularly because of what my brother-in-law said, but promised not to call any attention to them. I was happy to simply let the matter rest. Suddenly, mid conversation, they deleted their entire blog. Poof. It's gone now, along with all our messages.

I thought that would be the end of it, but not even five minutes after Dekariosbf flung themselves into the void, Turtwg herself DMed me out of nowhere and accused me of trying to hack her account, presumably because I told "Dekariosbf" that my brother-in-law is computer savvy. Keep in mind that before this moment, our entire conversation took place in the notes of my post. I never DMed her, nor did I have any intention of doing so. I also had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, I just knew she was lying to me. Now it looks as though she's ramping up to lie to the Tumblr admins in order to get my account deleted.

And all because my post about a video game made her angry.

I really hate drawing attention to this. You can see in my other posts that I always censor people's usernames, but as I said at the beginning ... I don't feel like I have a choice this time. I want this up so the Tumblr admins or whoever can see it.

Turtwg has attacked other people for posting their opinions as well. For example, she attacked this person just because they expressed their opinon on wyllsterion. She went so far as to call them racist when Wyll is literally one of their favourite characters. She just got mad because they don't think Wyll and Astarion make sense together; a perfectly valid opinion. And I only know about this because I received messages warning me about interacting with Turtwg/Shdowheart from someone who recognised them in the notes of my post.

I guess I should've blocked her from the start, but I've said many times in the past that I enjoy a good debate. Plus I was genuinely curious to see how far she was willing to take her lie. Unfortunately, I underestimated just how unhinged she truly is. On her own blog, she's even admitted that she's had to make a new account seven times, likely due to other drama she started.

I was very hesitant to put this in the BG3 tags, but since that seems to be the fandom she interacts with the most, I figured it would be a fair warning to anyone else she might harass. She's particularly active in the Astarion/Wyll/Wyllsterion tags. Stay safe, everyone. I think I'll sign off for a while. I'm tired, and this has somehow become the most toxic fandom I've ever dared to be a part of.

Please do not harass this person. PLEASE DO NOT HARASS THEM! That is not my goal here. That said, I do suggest you avoid them at all costs, for your own safety and sanity.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #wyll ravengard #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep

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random-introverted-blog · 6 months

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His Star - His Queen [Chapter 4 - What Was / What Is / What Will Be]

There you are!

Summary: You wake up in a strange bedchamber alone, in a wing of a strange palace that you are forbidden from leaving and meet your personal Royal Steward and Chamberlain... What is a morning room?

Link to the Tumblr Chapter Index

Warnings/Advisories: Nothing except creepy, possessive and controlling terminology and a very mildly horny Ascendant Astarion. Oh, and some threats here and there.

A/N: The outpouring of support and love for this story could honestly melt me down to goo. Thank you guys so much for the likes, reblogs, replies. If you read on AO3 thank you for the kudos, bookmarks, comments, all of it. Knowing you guys are enjoying reading it as much as I enjoy writing it is what I live for. If I can make someone's day in this little way, it's all worth it to me.

I spent the ENTIRE DAY editing this. My apologies if it's still not perfect, I did the absolute best I could.

I woke up yesterday sick and Christmas is this weekend so I'm not sure when the next chapter will be. Maybe next Friday.

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The darkness swirled and lingered, filling every corner and crevice without a definitive end. But when it all became clear, you almost wish it hadn't.

As you slowly peel your eyes open, you are greeted by the luxurious top of a canopy bed. The sheets were so soft and smooth that they felt like a dream in your fractured memory.

Then it all rushed back to you.

Your body jolted forward, and you leapt out of bed with lightning speed. In a split second, your instincts took over, and you reached for your weapon, but instead, your hand brushed against something soft, and not your belt. Or your padded trousers that made up your leather armor. No, you were dressed in a refined, off-white satin gown that elegantly draped over your knees. The dress boasted a crew neckline and short sleeves with delicate ruffles, exuding an air of sophistication.

You've never felt more vulnerable in your life.

Why did that feel rapidly subject to change?

You vigorously shake your head, banishing the thoughts clouding your mind. Focus on getting out of here. However, that's supposed to work... The memory of trying to kiss Astarion resurfaces, and you can still hear his voice telling you to save it, creating a bittersweet ache in your heart. Then the journey through Cazadors palace. You remember it all, the journey that brought you to this point, every step and decision replaying in your memory. The Ascendant...

This isn't your home. Not your world. Hells, how were you supposed to come back from this? And what about the tadpole? No, you won't let yourself panic and allow your mind to be overrun by wild thoughts. You won't. One step at a time. Get out of this... very expensive "I shouldn't even be breathing in here, it'll put me in debt for three of my reincarnated lives" bedchamber.

And that starts by finding some godsdamned shoes.

In a huff, you search the room until your eyes land on a wardrobe overflowing with countless pairs of shoes. With little regard, you carelessly throw the ones you don't like behind you, surely leaving a chaotic mess of mismatched slippers, sandals and boots that look like they'd crumble to ash at the slightest whiff of rough terrain. All too... blegh... What happened to practicality? Does that not exist in this world?

Finally, you come across a pair of simple black dress shoes. Considering most of the shelves are now barren, you decide it'll have to do. You sit on the ground with a soft grunt and pause when you lift your leg to see your foot.

Wrapped around your right ankle is a small band, its silver and gold hues giving it an almost ominous allure. Reminding you far too much of a shackle for your liking, though you see nowhere to leash a chain. You're now keenly aware of how perfectly it conforms to your skin as you absentmindedly run your fingers over it, hoping to find a way to remove it, only to feel a sense of tension when you discover no breaks. You're not even sure how anyone could have fastened it on you. There's no discernible latch or hinge along the band and it rests too snugly against your ankle to have smoothly fit over your foot.

Regardless, it wasn't there before, which means he had it put on you and that means it's nothing you want on you.

With a sigh, you resume slipping the shoes on, noticing how they conform perfectly to the shape of your feet, and rise off the floor. You tentatively approach the door, half-expecting it might come to life and smack you away. Or it may simply be locked. Then spit lightning in your face.

None of those things happen.

The door simply opens.

Somehow, that's not reassuring.

You cautiously poke your head out, taking a quick look in both directions. An open archway leading to a sort of indoor courtyard and fountain is straight ahead and a skylight streaming in sunlight. To your left there's a grand hallway that opens up before you, showcasing ornate hallway tables, exquisite floral arrangements, captivating portraits, and enigmatic busts of faces you don't recognize. And to your right is more of the same, but with doors lining both sides.

But it was eerily quiet, with no sounds of activity. Good. With a sense of anticipation, you place one foot in front of the other and step over the threshold. No invisible forcefield knocks you back, instead your shoes touch the red carpet that flows down the halls. How tacky.

Each step is slow and soft, filled with uncertainty and trepidation, as you creep onward. The sound of your shoes clicking against the white tile of the courtyard made you flinch, a sudden jolt of sound in the silence. It's wider than you expected, stretching out before you like an expansive canvas. Colorful flowers and green plants are carefully placed along the walls and in the corners, adding a burst of life to the empty spaces. A comfortable distance away from the large, white, three-tiered fountain, a bench beckons visitors to sit and enjoy the view.

You recall wishing you had your own...

Refusing to let your thoughts stray, you give the room a final swift once-over before pivoting and making your way back to the expansive hallway. That led literally nowhere.

This time, you turn left and round the corner a moment later. Another set of double doors, flanked by two muscular men, one a human with scarlet eyes and the other a tiefling with black and blue eyes. Initially, they appear unfazed by your presence until you make a move towards the doors. "Good morning, Lady Ancunín." The human greets you with a gentle nod. "You're up early."

Lady...? Oh no, absolutely not—Ugh, focus, Tav... "Where's this lead?" You ask with a gesture of your chin toward the doors.

"The southwest wing, ma'am." The tiefling answers this time. "We've strict orders to ensure you remain here in the northwest wing. And only approved staff may come and go." He says it so simply, so respectfully, it infuriates you more.

Don't be stupid.

Don't be stupid...

"Well," you exhale softly, your eyes fixated on the space between the two men. "How unfortunate it is that I simply don't give a damn," you conclude just as politely.

Just as you move to charge the doors and they close the gap to bar your way, another voice rings out behind you. "Let's keep our heads, shall we?" The voice, deep and resonant, interjects.

On instinct, you spin around and face it. In the center of the hallway stands a tall, imposing human man with jet-black, nearly cropped hair and piercing red eyes. He stands with an air of authority, his hands firmly clasped behind his back. "Lady Ancunín," he addresses you respectfully, his voice carrying a hint of formality. "The master deeply regrets his delay, as matters pertaining to the staff and estate have tied him up longer than he expected, but he assures you he will join you in the morning room shortly."

"First off," you snap, your voice sharp and piercing, "stop calling me that." Your hands wave in the air, a flurry of movement, emphasizing your frustration. "Second, what the hells is a morning room?" The words tumble out, filled with confusion. "And third, pray tell, who are you?" Your hands continue to move in a mix of irritation and curiosity.

"My name is Malacai, ma'am," he responds, his voice smooth and poised. He bows his back gracefully, a sign of his professionalism. The scent of polished wood and fresh flowers wafts through the air, mingling with the soft sound of servants bustling about. You briefly note that they must be out and about now, performing their duties for the day. "I am your Steward and Royal Chamberlain, entrusted with the responsibility of overseeing and ensuring that your servants maintain the impeccable standards that the master expects of those in your esteemed service." Sensing your confusion, he elaborates further, his words like a soothing balm, clarifying any doubt that may cloud your thoughts.

Malacai's eyes twinkle with an apologetic smile, his lips curving gently as he adds, "Regrettably, I am cannot comply with your order, for it would directly contradict the will of His Almighty Majesty." he states, his voice laced with conviction. "However, if you permit, I can enlighten you on the purpose of the morning room as we make our way." He extends his arm, a subtle gesture inviting you to follow. Reluctantly, you comply, the soft thump of your shoes against the carpet floor flowing through the spacious hallways.

As it turns out, it's just a small room to have breakfast in and lounge and it's not that far from where you already were. It doesn't escape your notice that the open window at the end of the hall, near the doors to the room and streaming in sunlight, does not faze Malacai.

A wave of discomfort washes over you as you take in the sight of two girls dressed in servants' clothes, standing in front of the open doors to the room. Brown and blue eyes. Not spawn. Interesting. So he really doesn't turn them all. Once you set foot in the room, they close the doors behind you.

Malacai moves with practiced ease, effortlessly gliding around you. He pulls out the chair facing the window for you. The drawn curtains create a soft filter of light as he watches you expectantly.

With a groan, you begrudgingly go along with it. Taking a deep breath, you roll your eyes and reluctantly occupy the chosen seat. Only to flinch near instantly when your ankle snaps to the wide leg of the chair. Instinctively, you glance down and try to move your foot. It doesn't budge. You can move the rest of your leg, but your foot remains fixed to the leg of the chair...

Hells below, it really is a shackle...

Just as you open your mouth to verbally assault Malacai behind you, the door swings open, interrupting your words. A chill runs down your spine as your blood turns icy. "Ah! Sorry, pet." With a smirk, he confidently strides in, exuding an air of nonchalant swagger. Like this is all fucking normal. "So much to do to accommodate your arrival." The closer he gets, the tighter your hands clench in your lap.

Leaning down, the Ascendant tenderly presses a soft kiss into your hair, and you feel the warmth of his breath against your head, sending a delicate shiver down your spine. A firm, grounding reminder that this isn't him. This isn't your Astarion. "I will stab you with a fork." You grumble, silently wishing you could.

He snorts quietly, his laughter tickling the strands of your hair, before straightening his back. Adjusting his short tailcoat that is practically screaming 'I melted a bank to pay for this'. His dark blue attire, adorned with a white trim, provided a polished and coordinated appearance, complete with form-fitting trousers. "Gods, I've missed you." With a sigh that carried a sense of longing, his eyes shimmered with a mischievous twinkle.

Right before you can retort, Astarion turns away, his tailcoat trailing behind him like a fleeting shadow, and he squints at the table with a perplexed expression. "What? They've kept you waiting?" His lip curls and he suddenly lifts his hand with a resounding snap of his fingers. "Malacai, I know it's been some time since you've served any meaningful purpose, but I did expect better of you."

A flurry of activity follows the sound of his nonverbal command. The room was bustling with staff of all shapes and sizes as Astarion settled into his seat across from you. With an air of indifference, he scans the room, his eyes darting critically over each person while he casually crosses his leg over his lap.

Suddenly, his eyes flit to yours. "Would you like the windows open, my dear?"

It crosses your mind, and a tug of desire catches you by surprise. Genuinely, you would.

Before you can even utter a word, Astarion's eyes twinkle with understanding as he flashes a brief, knowing smile, and then snaps his fingers a second time. "Windows, now." Disinterest replaced in his voice with authority and a glance over his shoulder.

As fast as it all happens, they're gone. So much so that it almost makes your head spin. Situated right in front of you is a tempting display of piping hot pastries and other delectable treats, accompanied by a steaming cup of tea. Sunlight streams in through the windows, casting a warm glow on the room. And besides the presence of Malacai behind you, you're alone. With Him.

It dawns on you. You're not sure what to say. What to do. There's food, and your stomach makes what it thinks you should do known with a silent, dull ache. But you can't will yourself to move. The only thought that remains consistent in your mind is home. Your friends. Your freedom.

Your Astarion.

This isn't your Astarion.

"Simply gawking at it won't satiate your hunger, darling." The Ascendant says, returning you from your thoughts.

"I'm going on a hunger strike."

"I wouldn't recommend it." He replies, though his tone is simple, the faint edge of a warning doesn't fail to reach your ears.

But you haven't come this far in life by backing down from a challenge. "If only I gave a fuck what you recommend." You sneer, shifting in your chair, itching to be free of it.

"Language, my treasure." The Ascendant scolds, and you lift your eyes from the plate to him. "Such a foul vocabulary is unbecoming a woman of your immense stature."

"Stature?" You echo, face grimacing in mild disgust. As you recall what he said before he took you, the air around you feels suffocating, as if the words themselves have become a tangible presence. "I'm just me. I'm a simple adventurer with... admittedly tainted blood—"

"You were." He interjects, the look in his eyes hardening. "Were. But are no longer. What you are now is my treasure. My dark consort—"

Each word strikes your chest like a hammer hits a nail and you try to interject. "No," but your tone lacks force, falling softly to the table.

"And what you will become... is my beloved, faithful and obedient queen." The Ascendant declares firmly, leaving no space for disagreement. "Hmph. I wish we could wed tonight and spend the rest of the evening... consummating our marriage,"

With every word he adds, his voice dances gracefully, like a captivating melody, beckoning you deeper into his presence. His eyes become eclipsed by a shadow, cloaking them in darkness, as his gaze betrays a disquieting blend of adoration, obsession, and desire. Causing an unsettling sensation to crawl down your spine.

Your stomach churns. The rest of your body yearns... No. This isn't your Astarion. This isn't right. "But patience is required." He exhales deeply with a subtle heave of his chest. "Waiting a little longer, so we may plan a proper wedding and coronation ceremony worthy of us is trivial by comparison to how long I've waited already." Says the Ascendant, adjusting in his chair to sit more comfortably. Paying no mind to your baffled, stunned staring.

"Before anything else, we must make your arrival in Faerûn known and declare your position by my side. And we have a mere tenday to organize our engagement announcement." Now he just seems like he's delivering a presentation, not seeking your input. "Don't fret, little love. I will take care of it. Just as I will take care of you."

"Coronation?" You repeat the word, its echoes bouncing around your mind like the distant sound of trumpets. The image of a grand ceremony materializes in your thoughts, with opulent decorations adorning the regal hall. The scent of fresh flowers fills the air, intermingling with the aromatic aroma of polished wood. Apprehension fills your heart, fluttering like a trapped bird. You can almost feel the weight of the crown bearing down upon your head, and a sickening feeling creeps over.

Suddenly, another word emerges from your memory, perhaps one you misheard, "wedding??" Reluctantly, you find yourself envisioning the scenario, as if trapped in a vivid nightmare. The image materializes before you: a pristine white dress drapes over your form, its delicate fabric brushing against your skin, the ethereal music guiding your path. Each step down the aisle sends a shiver down your spine, as your gaze fixates on the Ascendant, patiently waiting for you at the altar. Dread consumes you, tangible and suffocating, as if crawling beneath your very flesh.

A gentle, airy laugh escapes from him, echoing in the room. The sound is painfully familiar. It's not your Astarion. "Naturally, my love," he murmurs, his voice as velvety as a midnight breeze. "How else are you to join my side," he muses, a wicked smile playing on his lips, "and reign as my sovereign queen?" As he leans his elbow on the armrest of his chair, he idly runs his fingers along each other. "But we can discuss such matters after you've had your fill."

"I'm on hunger strike." You remind him, crossing your arms and leaning into your chair. You adamantly refuse to comply with any of this under any circumstances.

With a raised eyebrow, the Ascendant silently expressed their skepticism towards your defiance. "Is that so?" He stares, his intense gaze never wavering from yours. So much about him was the same, even his mannerisms. As you gazed into his eyes, a flicker of affection could be discerned. Your Astarion's feelings for you, but barely. This thing was a grotesque, twisted, and nightmarish imitation.

And it threatened to consume you if you don't get away in time.

Your body stiffened in a way that was becoming all too familiar to you. "You will eat your breakfast until your hunger is completely satisfied." Astarion's words command authority, delivered with a tone that is both warm and firm. His lips betray a hint of amusement as he observes your hands obediently move at his behest, disregarding your own desires.

"That was rather adorable of you, sweetheart, thinking you could resist me." His lips curl into a smile as he purrs, his fingers lazily draped over his lip.

With his other hand, he snaps his fingers; the sound resonating in the silence. "Malacai, be a useful little lark and fetch me a goblet."

"Of course, your majesty."

Astarion casually adds, with a dismissive wave of his hand, "And have someone arrange the offerings from yesterday in Orchid Hall." He regards you intently as you continue to eat steadily against your will. But says nothing further.

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With a wave of his hand, you felt the confinement of your ankle release, allowing you to leave your chair once you've had your fill. You grumble at him, likening his behavior to that of Ethel, a name that doesn't ring a bell for him at first. When he does remember, he's just amused. It annoys you, but you're not quite ready to start another protest with him.

Astarion walks with you through the wide halls of the wing. His eyes catch sight of the open door to the bedroom you woke up in and as you pass, he peeks inside. With an exasperated sigh, he scoffs "hells below...!" and abruptly changes direction, entering the room. You entertain the thought of turning around and leaving, but the piercing intensity of Malacai's stare dissuades you from taking any action.

Confused, you trail behind the Ascendant and take in the chaotic scene of countless boots, shoes, slippers, and sandals strewn around on the floor. Oh, here we go. So much for not protesting, but you're not going to apologize either.

With a disappointed and vexed expression, he looks up at you. "Why didn't you let me know sooner that you weren't satisfied with your wardrobe?"

The more you blink, the more you become aware of his penetrating stare, and the realization creeps in that this is far from a weird joke. "...What?" But you ask anyway, unable to hide your audible bewilderment.

"Little love, if none of these selections are to your liking, I will summon the most accomplished and esteemed shoemakers and designers in the Gate to create something that suits your taste."

"Wait—" You stammer, flinching at the thought, but the Ascendant dismisses your hesitation.

He snaps his fingers, and as if they were mere extensions of his will, three servant girls gracefully glide into the room. With a disdainful gaze, he gestures towards the footwear, conveying their unworthiness. "Gather these and dispose of them," he commands, his voice oozing with a haughty demeanor. "My treasure deems inadequate."

As he straightens his regal attire, the fabric brushes against his fingertips, emanating a luxurious texture that matches his grandiose presence. "Tell Cirrus to ensure that only the most skilled shoemakers are summoned to the palace," he commands, his tone emphasizing the crucial role of expertise. "And a seamstress, while we're at it."

With a confident posture, he stands tall and looks down at them, his gaze filled with a subtle sense of preeminence. "If I discover any of these in your possession or, worse yet, on your wretched feet, I will personally ensure that you never need them again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, your Almighty Majesty," they answered, their voice quivering with a mix of fear and reverence for their all-powerful sovereign.

He gives his jacket a quick tug, ensuring it fits just right before facing you. "Now then To the Ballroom." The Ascendant says, the tone of his voice changing from terrifying tyrant to a tender, dare you say, doting lover. He moves past you, silently ordering you to follow.

But your curiosity gets the better of you. "Can I ask you something?" Your voice comes across as more timid than you expected or intended.

Astarion pauses in the doorway and turns again to face you. "Anything, my love." He smiles with a warmth that seeps into your heart, annoyingly melting it just a teensy bit. Stupid of you, you know it's a lie.

Though you ignore your irritation for now, to continue with your question. One that had started to bother you at breakfast. "It's just... they fit my feet and all perfectly, I... where did they come from?" As the words leave your lips, you realize how pointless they are. What purpose does this information serve? It won't help you get out of here.

His smile somehow warms, deepens, creating a sense of familiarity and ease. He approaches you with deliberate, unhurried steps, and lifts his hand to tenderly caress your cheek with the back of his fingers, his intense stare holding you in a trance. "Once upon a time... they were yours." The fervor in his eyes could make your knees tremble. If you weren't consciously coaching yourself that this isn't him. This isn't your Astarion.

Then, the Ascendant takes your hand in his free one, closing around yours, and you feel the strength and warmth of his touch as he intertwines your fingers together. "But what was... is no longer. Isn't it, my pet?"

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Thought it different to not lock you into a bedroom and instead confine you to a wing of the palace with a magical ankle bracelet lmao. I flip flopped on your Stewards name (yes he is yours personally, Astarion just habitually bosses everyone around) and couldn't decide if Malacai was too odd a name.

More Ascendant next chapter? Or do we peek in on Astarion? ...decisions, decisions, whichever will it be?

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thepenultimateword · 2 years

Note

Can you please write a part 3 of prompt 42? I know part 2 just came out, 😍😍😆 but I absolutely love this unique storyline! If possible, villain x supervillain fluff please? 🥺

PS. This is my first time sending an ask to anyone on tumblr 😆

I'm you're first ask? I'm so flattered! Of course, I can write part 3, and there most certainly will be villain x supervillain fluff 😏

Part One, Part Two

The sheets rustled softly in the silence as Supervillain rolled over and took Villain in their arms, kissing the back of their slender neck and nuzzling their face into their shoulder.

"Villain?" they murmured muffled into their shirt.

"They're in our living room," Villain responded coldly.

Supervillain paused a moment, letting the gap in conversation be filled with the soft harmony of their breathing. There wasn't really a good response. They'd sort of assumed that once Villain actually talked to the heroling they would soften up, after all, they were a sweet kid, but that obviously was not the case. But they couldn't just throw them out, could they? They'd already promised them shelter. And in any case, how did they turn anyone so helpless, even an enemy, into the street and get over it?

"I'll protect you," Supervillain finally murmured, squeezing Villain a little tighter.

Villain sighed. "That's not the answer I'm looking for. I don't need precautions, I need my home back." They suddenly flipped over, eyes glinting hard in the dark. "This isn't just your house; you can't just invite in whoever you want."

Supervillain swallowed. "I know, but I wasn't sure what you'd say, and I needed to get them out of the cold fast. Their lips were blue, and--"

"And so you brought them home." Villain sighed again, even deeper this time. "Look, I know you're a softie, and I love that about you, but you should have talked to me about this. This is..." they swallowed. "This is the only place on earth where I feel okay, and you made it...not okay."

"I'm sorry."

"But you're not going to ask them to leave."

Supervillain shook their head. "Not tonight."

"Tomorrow?" There was no hope behind that inquiry, simply dry, barren syllables. Villain must have already known the answer.

"I'll start looking for a place," Supervillain said. "If you really hate having them here, then they don't have to stay. I just want to find somewhere for them to go first."

An agonizing pause stretched between them.

"Ok."

Villain flipped back toward the wall.

"Villaaain."

"I already said ok."

"But your still upset."

"I think I have a right to be; it has nothing to do with you."

Supervillain ran their nails up and down Villain's arm. "I'll be as fast I can. And I won't leave you alone with them again. I'll try to get them out of the house during the day too. Maybe they have a knack for infiltration and beating people into submission. I mean they have the skill set--"

Villain reached behind to clap their hand over their mouth, though they missed a few times, fumbling over their ear and their nose before finally blocking off their lips. "They're a hero."

Supervillain gently peeled Villain's fingers free, smiling mischievously. "Right now. But if herowork hasn't treated them well maybe they'd do better on the other side. They could at least give it a try."

"If this adoption idea of yours was to gain a new protogee--"

"It wasn't! It was just a thought..."

Suddenly Supervillain's face was cupped between a pair of cool hands.

"Supervillain," Villain said, incredibly gentle. It was always a wonder to them how their lover could be two drastically different people when it came to their home and work life. They wondered if the world would ever believe that the villain they knew for ripping sinew from bone and bone from joint could be so affectionate. "We're where we are for a reason. Things...twisted us up and made us this way. Don't drag the kid into that mess. They're good where they're at. Maybe not with the agency, but...at least with their morals."

Supervillain raised their brows in the dark, surging against Villain's hands to hover just a breath over their face. "You almost sound heroic."

Villain shoved their face away, but a smile tinged their voice. "Shut up."

"Standing up for people, giving heartfelt speeches, you're a natural."

"Are you going to be quiet or am going to have to do it for you?"

Supervillain smirked. "What are you going to d--"

Villain cut them off with a kiss, long and gentle and a little minty from their toothpaste. When it ended, they snuggled into Supervillain's chest.

"The kid needs some new clothes."

Supervillain blinked. "What?"

"All they have is that hero suit, they can't wear that every day. Or keep sleeping in it."

"I suppose I could pick something up somewhere. How much do they need? Like an outfit?"

"At least two so they can switch between them. And some pajamas. Possibly a coat. Oh, and some underwear."

"Villain." Supervillain felt their face go warm.

"What?"

"I'm not telling them they need new underwear. That's... They barely even know us."

"It's not a big deal; everyone uses it. When you had your oh-so genius idea to adopt them were you just not going to get those things? They're a kid, not a puppy."

"Obviously I know that, it's just...how do I even bring it up? Do I just give them the money and say go pick it out? Or do I sneak it into the cart and avoid the conversation?"

Even in the dark, Supervillain could sense Villain's eyeroll. "Forget it, I'll just have to go with you. Are you busy tomorrow?"

Supervillain gaped. "Not really--"

"Good. I can push off my work, we can go after breakfast."

"But--"

"It's fine, Supervillain, I'll handle it if you're going to make it awkward. You just focus on finding any good deals."

No, it's not that; it's the whole shopping trip. Isn't that going to be confusing? Buying them clothes but also trying to get rid of them?"

"Not if we're upfront about it. I mean...we're a pair of villains. It's not like they actually want to be here permanently, right? They're just taking advantage of the situation until they can get out. We're not so much kicking them out as doing them a favor."

"I guess you're right."

Villain stroked their cheekbone with their thumb. "They'll be fine. And way better off. And I'm not just saying that because I don't like them. What could two villains even do for a hero?"

Supervillain felt what little idealistic hope they had left escape with their heavy exhale. "Nothing good."

Part Four

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia @bouncyartist @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany @distractedlydistracted @saspas-corner @echoednonny @perilous-dreamer @blood-enthusiast @randomfixation @alexkolax @pksnowie

#villain x villain #found family #writing snippet #villain parents #supervillain x villain #hero x villan #but not really #creative writing #hero + villains #heroes and villains #heroes and villains community

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lakesbian · 10 months

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thots on the abyss?

ITS GOOD. getting a lot of little nightmares vibes from this. getting a lot of naissancee vibes from this. that's a lie naissancee is about an environment which superficially coincidentally at times resembles human architecture but is fundamentally not hostile but uncaring to and untethered from humanity--the drains, on the other hand, are influenced by human structures & human lives. absolute grinding maw of nothingness slowly warped by human or human-adjacent influences. i am right about the little nightmares vibes though. love the concept of where you go if you fall thru the cracks of reality being portrayed as Literal Drains, sewers, overflow for rot and dampness and pure cold dark. pact is rlly good at nailing coherent + specific aesthetics & themings for constructs it's depicting and like. yeah! reality eternally draining down into the Sewers of Nowhere is exactly how the concept of "what nothing looks like" would be expressed thru human mindsets & influences. LOVE green eyes wandering out of reality and ending up in a grocery store lot w/ a grocery store that has no entrance sooo much. like the uncanny vibes of being Behind a grocery store, in an empty lot, the sort of shit that would do Notes on liminal tumblr, the lack of human presence, the barren in-between space--and then you can't walk out of it, you realize the barren in-between space is all that's left for you. (and then you slide even further into the below spaces, a grimy useless penny in the sewer grate of existence.) bonus points for the infinity train tape ass "relive all your worst memories" feature. i love when characters relive their worst memories. Its so good man. like blake is scrabbling for purchase so desperately, and then he falls and lands at the literal rock bottom of the universe, and he finally has nothing to do but sit down there and Reflect. with the bonus added horror that it's not even that Digging is an option, but that Learning To Be Okay With Living In A Hole Forever is an option. giving up is an option, and it's one terrifyingly tempting to him. obsessed w/ him having the characterization of like. literally being self-aware that a semi-peaceful kind of suicide via embracing oblivion of his self-identity to stop the pain is dangerously tempting to him. HES SO SOPPING WET. he begged to go back to the cult to stop carl then, and he knows he might let himself fall into nonexistence to stop carl now! sopping fucking wet! also i like the witch ♥

#pact time #ask #pactblr #<- on 10.1 i want attention but not spoilers

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suffarustuffaru · 9 months

Note

Just wanted to say thank you for the ottosuba posting you've done lately. The English speaking fandom is absolutely barren with Otto content, let alone ottosuba content. So to have someone as awesome about it as you post via Tumblr posts, fanfic, fanart, etc. on a good(-ish) website like Tumblr is like finding a diamond in the rough. Anyhow, looking forward to any future ottosuba content from you!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

anon you made my day fr these are very high compliments T^T <3 i appreciate it a lot pfft a part of me is always like "I CANT REVEAL HOW MUCH MY BRAIN IS ROTTING OVER THESE CHARACTERS..." bc i get a little embarassed a little shy bc what if i am posting the same things too much...??? but then i simultaneously go "lol my blog my rules anyway im gonna make a gazillion billion content *clicks post*" which is how all the otto and ottosuba content gets churned out alsdflj. especially bc - like you said - the english speaking fandom is a BARREN DESERT when it comes to otto and ottosuba content T^TT ive been thinking about it lately bc they seem to be a lot more popular in the japanese speaking fandom i think, but theres next to Nothing with the english speaking fandom :o interesting difference there.

but regardless :o yeah i keep making otto and ottosuba content bc i am in Desperate need of it... its a desert and i gotta feed myself too HAH theyve always been interesting to me but in the years ive been into rezero that Interest has skyrocketed bc of all the interesting developments pfft (and also the lack of english fancontent for them HAH). i just think theyre so underrated in the english fandom.... thank you for liking my stuff anon <3 :DD

#ask #also you made me remember that ive been otto(suba) posting in like so many mediums lajdfljsl #i ended up sneaking a bit of meta into these tags oops aljsdfljsf but.#also i just think otto and ottosubas feralness is super interesting and my taste in characters totally isnt predictable (i say this as a p #five shuake fan also. cries.) but also like. people in the english speaking side of the fandom dismiss otto a lot which is interesting to m #like its u know that typical fandom tendency to sometimes only see characters for how they look on the surface. and its also interesting b #ive also been seeing a few people like. almost kind of miss how toxic ottos being in arc 8??? and also ottos general. subaru obsession #things yeah. like why do people miss this stuff??? he literally says his reason for being / existence is to oppose subaru??? what sane #person does that lajdslfjsldfj what sane person is so ride or die theyd rather leave a whole country + their bffs daughter figure to die??#what sane person manipulates all their friends in order to save them??? understandable motive but literally insane lajsdlfjsld #yeah so anyway im super curious on why english vs japanese fandom have different attitudes towards otto and ottosuba HAH #being an emilia otto AND astrea fan is so weird bc people are so kind with the astreas usually and then being an emilia fan means suffering #through all the sexism and then being an otto fan is just going “YOU GUYS WERE FOOLED BY HIS SOFT BOY AESTHETICS???” and begging people to #remember that he cares about subaru. but that goes for many emilia camp members treatment in fanon.#and also yeah being a fan of almost any character in this fandom is suffering i think alsjdfljsd #granted i was also fooled by the soft boy aesthetics but that was way back when okay. i know now. hes my silly fucked up little guy now HAH

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s-creations · 2 years

Text

He Took My Place - Chapter 1

Wukong was so close to winning. To finally defeat the Lady Bone Demon and end this absolute nightmare. Not ready for her to get an advantage Wukong was not prepared to face.

((AKA: What if MK was possessed by Lady Bone Demon.))

This is based off a comic from Twitter, by @weaponizedbird Also here on Tumblr! @birddlord Link

Fandom: LEGO Monkie Kid Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationships: Shadowpeach, MK&SunWukong, Warnings/Additional Tags: Everyone’s going to be here at one point or another, AU, What if MK and Wukong swapt places, but not in a good way, Shadowpeach, I will continue to make this a pairing for my stories, Hurt/Comfort, will have a happy ending, based on artwork.

Wukong was fully aware of the situation presented before him. Knew the Lady Bone Demon had sunk low enough to claim an innocent child as a vessel. Using an innocent soul as a shield, but the golden monkey couldn’t think about that. It would haunt him later. But if Wukong wanted this to end for good, he’d end this with innocent blood on his hands. He was impulsive, it was a quality (hindrance) to his personality. Act first, think about the full consequences later. This whole trip was a testament to that aspect. And now he was staring down the worst of the outcomes.

Wukong could only hope the little girl couldn’t see what was happening. That for her…it was just going to sleep. A peaceful passing…

“Do you feel as if you can justify these actions?” LBD’s voice hissed out, both in pain and to sound intimidating. “Taking an innocent life, so easily? I thought heroes were supposed to keep everyone safe?”

“Don’t you dare,” Wukong bared his teeth, “You’re aware of what you’re doing. If you thought you were going to make this a difficult choice for me, you’re wrong. You need to be stopped. No matter what.”

LBD glared, no doubt feeling as if her final plan was falling apart. More so when Wukong’s grip around her throat tightened. The moment of defeat passed quickly as, eyes flashing to something behind the Monkey King, the poisoned smile returned. “No matter what, you say. What if a person you were so connected to stood between us?”

“You mean more than they already are? You’re a constant danger, nothing you say is going to change my mind.”

“I suppose my actions will have to speak for themselves…”

Wukong wasn’t able to spew out his question when a familiar cry was sounded. Coming from behind him, a good distance away, but one that sent a chill over the golden monkey. More than what was already there. Because Wukong had only heard that sound once and, this time, it sounded more painful.

Dropping Lady Bone Demon without a second thought, Wukong turned. Golden Eyes flashing as they scanned over the barren land and it didn’t take long to find what he needed. Stomach sinking hard.

Miles away from where the mech stood was Nezha and MK. Wukong could only assume they had followed him (after he told them not to) and they had remained back to see how the Monkey King would handle this situation. But the distance didn’t change the fact that they were both in immediate danger. Wukong felt numbing fear overtake him as he saw a familiar sigil formed behind MK, who was trapped against it. The teen’s body glowing an eerie blue, the light pulsing as it was seen traveling through him. Mouth opened with an agonizing scream pouring out, eyes wide, changing from the warm brown colors to icy blue.

Nezha stood to the side, frozen in no doubt fear and the unknown. Not knowing how he was supposed to help with the teen in pain.

“KID!” Wukong started moving before realizing he was leaving Lady Bone Demon free. Calling his cloud and darting down, eyes focused on MK. The sigil disappeared before the Monkey King was anywhere close, the teen starting to drop. “I’m coming, just hold on!”

MK was fully collapsed to the ground, Nezha still off to the side with his eyes wide in fear. Wukong couldn’t be bothered to worry about the prince, reaching out to the teen who had started to move slightly. “You’re going to be okay kid, I’m right here!”

Hand reached out to grab MK’s shoulders as the teen was now back on his feet. “MK? Hey, kid, say something! …Anything?”

No reply, MK’s eyes closed still.

“...Talk to me MK, what did she do to you?” Wukong looked down at his hands that were still resting on the teen’s shoulders, realizing that frost had started to form on his fur. Heart hurting as a horrible truth of the situation entered his mind. “...MK?”

The worst was realized. The teen now standing tall, MK finally opened his eyes, revealing full icy blue light encompassing them. His face was blank, no emotions showing as the veins on his face and neck started flashing a faint blue. Similar colored mist escaped from MK’s mouth when the teen breathed out.

“Kid…MK, no-”

“Thank you, Monkey King, for such a wonderful idea.” Lady Bone Demon laughed, eyes narrowing on the distraught Wukong. Who’d still not let the kid go. “You created such a wonderful successor…why not make him my perfect champion?”

Wukong let out a low growl, shaking with growing rage. “Just when I thought you couldn’t sink any lower…”

Letting out a yell of absolute rage, the Monkey King turned, fist formed to attack LBD once more. Only for MK to finally move, standing between the golden monkey and skeleton demon. Wukong realizing that the teen was doing nothing to even defend himself, that MK was planning on taking the full force of the attack. The golden monkey only had a few seconds to change the direction of the blow. Having to follow through so it landed off to the side, but didn’t spare anyone from the force wave that was created by it. Nezha and Wukong being pushed away from MK and LBD.

Wukong was shaking furiously. Both from anger and absolute fear in knowing he could have just killed MK if he had not responded fast enough. The stupid laugh sounded again, Wukong’s eyes narrowing to the skeleton demon. Who was overly pleased with herself as she floated right behind MK. “You absolute witch!”

“I thought you wanted to stop me, Wukong, no matter what. No matter who stood before me? What’s changed, dear Monkey King? Have you lost your bravado now that your dear successor is under my command?” LBD’s voice was sickly sweet, reaching out to place a hand on MK’s head. Who was unmoved, face still stoic.

“Don’t you touch him!”

“Wukong,” Nezah whispered out, “We need to leave.”

“I am not leaving-”

“What exactly do you plan on doing, Wukong? Attack your successor? You didn’t seem that fond of the idea a few moments before.”

“Keep your mouth shut or I swear-”

“Wukong, we need to leave now!�� Nezah reached out to grab the Monkey King’s arm, holding the other back from doing something stupid. “We need to fall back and create another plan.”

“I’m not leaving MK behind, not like this.”

“We don’t have much of a choice. If we don’t leave now-” Nezha was cut off when a solid punch landed on his cheek. The prince was knocked away a few feet before being slammed into some rock rubble.

Wukong, eyes wide, was focused on MK. Who took the prince’s place when MK landed the punch easily. Eerie blue eyes turned to face the king. “Kid…”

That was all he could get out before having to block MK’s next attack. Dodging the next and able to grab the teen’s wrist. “MK, listen to me, you need to stop this! This isn’t like you!”

The teen didn’t reply. His free hand landed an uppercut on Wukong’s gut. The Monkey King let out a guttural cry as he was knocked away, gasping for air quickly in time to block the next attack. “K-Kid, stop… Fight back, you’re better than her!”

“Please keep talking, this is so entertaining.” Lady Bone Demon laughed again, eyes gleefully following the fight. MK clearly going all out while Wukong refused to raise a fist. “I’m missing that determination from you Wukong. Worried about hurting your successor? Surely you trained him well enough that he could take any attack you deliver.”

“Do you ever shut up!” Wukong shouted back.

“The irony is amazing…”

Wukong wasn’t able to reply to that, MK grabbing the front of his garments and throwing him to the ground. Perhaps it was the fact that he wasn’t prepared for the sudden shift or that he was holding back to not hurt MK. Whatever the reason, the harsh landing caused the air to be knocked out of Wukong. The few seconds he remained still allowed MK to slam his foot into his mentor’s chest.

“M-MK…” Wukong choked out, hands reaching up to grab MK’s leg. Eyes widened as the teen raised his fist, building up a collection of energy to deliver another harsh blow. Only to be knocked away by the prince, Nezha making sure to push himself and MK further away from Wukong. “Nezha-”

“Get out of here, now!” The prince called out, doing what he could to keep MK away. The teen’s face finally showed emotion. That of anger and frustration.

“But-”

“You’re not in the right mindset to fight right now. You’re handing yourself on a silver platter to the kid and her if you keep this up.”

“You’re not in the best condition either!” Wukong attempted to argue back.

“I’m well enough to give you an out. Now go! Find the fire and your friends!” Nezha was knocked away once more. MK, with his path cleared, made his way back to his mentor.

Wukong took a step back, mind racing, trying to land on some sort of plan- does he flee, does he fight, how was he supposed to help MK? -when the ground suddenly disappeared. The golden monkey let out a short noise of surprise as he sunk into the shadows. The last thing Wukong saw was MK’s possessed face looking surprised before all the Monkey King saw was darkness. Just as he was getting used to the floating free fall, gravity returned.

The landing was hard and disgustingly dirty, Wukong sitting up in the large puddle of mud. Letting out noises of discomfort as he stood. The Monkey King shook off the caked mud before looking around. He was in a dense jungle, in what section of the world, the golden monkey had no idea. The area was filled with the noises of different animals that called his place home. The sky was a brilliant blue, a stark contrast from the icy blue Wukong had just left.

Frustration built up, the nearby tree getting the full end of that emotion. “Take me back, now, Macaque.”

The nearby shadows twitched, soon forming the familiar black-furred monkey. The Shadow Warrior cautiously inching closer. “No can do.”

“Do not play with me, get me back there now! I’m not leaving the kid-”

“And what would be your plan after that, huh?” Macaque growled back, “From where I was watching, you were getting your butt handed to you. You didn’t even try to fight back. So why would returning be a good idea?”

“You aren’t allowed to make that call.”

“I am when you’re acting like an idiot. But please, explain to me what you think you’ll be able to do if you go back.” Macaque crossed his arms, frowning as he watched Wukong struggle. Clearly trying to give some answer, but unable to land on one. Or at least one that sounded logical.

The Monkey King merely let out a growl and turned away from Macaque. Getting out of the mud finally before walking off. “I don’t have time for you. I need to-”

He wasn’t prepared to be tackled to the ground. Recovering quickly to pull Macaque off his back, both pushing before Wukong was pinned to the ground.

“You can’t even fight me right now!” Macaque argued, “You’re just going to make things worse if you go back.”

“I don’t care!”

“Yes you do… I get it, this is not what either of us want right now.”

Wukong let out a snort, looking away. “You, concerned? Please-”

“Just shut up and listen. You’re tired, you were already in not so great shape before you went to fight the Lady Bone Demon, and you’re holding yourself back if you won’t even try to land a punch. We need to find the rest of your weird little family group and come up with an actual plan. Together, not on your own.” Macaque waited when there wasn’t a reply, hoping that he’d actually got through to the other. Only for Wukong to let out a low growl before trying to break free again.

“Let me go!”

“Wukong, stop.”

“I need to get to MK!”

“You can’t-”

“Shut up!”

“Stop fighting me on this!”

“Let go!”

“Wukong just think about-”

“I need to fix this!”

“You need to calm down!”

“It’s my fault!”

That gave Macaque pause, anger turning into shock but not letting Wukong up. “What are you talking about?”

“I was an idiot,” Wukong continued, “I just thought I would be able to pull off another stupid stunt. I’d just take the fire and run, leaving everyone behind while I took Lady Bone Demon down. Keep them safe. Keep…Keep the kid safe…”

Something shattered in Wukong upon saying that. Letting out a choked breath, shutting his eyes tightly trying to keep him somewhat together. “I told him not to follow, and he did… I wanted him to stay as far away from that place as possible… And now…”

Macaque remained quiet, not wanting to interrupt, hoping this was good for the other to get out. Becoming slightly scared when Wukong let out an absolutely animalistic cry of anguish and anger. Quieting down after a few seconds, baring his teeth while tears started to fall. Macaque let out a slow breath before pressing their foreheads together. Startling Wukong enough to open his eyes once more, looking up in absolute desperation.

“It’s not your fault.” Macaque said calmly.

“H-How is it not?”

“You did what you could.”

Wukong let out a weak laugh, taking another shaky breath. “That is such a lie.”

“Okay, fine, you were an idiot. You kept fooling people into thinking you had a plan when really, you were just throwing together what you thought would work. Then, when your ‘grand plan’ didn’t work, you went off to face your enemy. Hurt and still with no plan. You let your defenses down, allowed Lady Bone Demon an upper hand, and MK had to pay for it. Is that what you want to hear?” Macaque was half expecting for Wukong to go on a rampage after this. But was surprised when the golden monkey fell limp, eyes looking away.

“...Why are you here Macaque?”

“Making sure you don’t do something stupid.”

Wukong snorted at that. “Little late for that.”

“It’s going to be ‘late’ when you decide to not do anything about it.”

“So what, you’re going to be my conscious now?”

“If I have to be.”

“Your track record isn’t the best. Why in the world should I trust you? Why should I believe you’re not just throwing me off so Lady Bone Demon can do something.”

“You’re just going to have to trust me.”

“I’ve dealt with too much right now to just down right believe you.”

“Ugh, fine, but you asked for this.”

“What are you-” Wukong tensed when hands cupped his face gently, not fighting back when lips covered his easily. Tail giving away his emotions, thumping against the ground with happiness, as hands reach up to cling to Macaque’s arms. Letting out a slow breath when the Shadow Warrior pulled away, Wukong’s fur puffed up. “Uh…”

“More where that came from Peaches.” Macaque smirked at the golden monkey’s dumbfounded face. Laughing when a blush erupted upon hearing the nickname.

“You’re cheeky.”

“Oh, just slightly.”

Both jumped hearing a loud roar sound close by. Looking up to see a large, red dragon seeming to be made of flames. Remaining in the sky for a few seconds before disappearing. The area had fallen quiet due to it.

“What the heck was that?” Wukong asked.

“You should recognize that flame. It’s the Dragon Girl and, if I’m correct, Redson will be with her.” Macaque answered. Climbing off and offering the golden monkey and hand up. Which Wukong took, letting out a small grunt and he stood.

“You found them?”

“The fire wasn’t hard to track, to be honest. Redson did his best to keep them hidden, but that fire is hard to really hide away now that it’s been reforged. So, we’re gonna grab the kids, find the rest of your family, and think of a plan.”

“Rather level headed thinking.”

“Someone has to, because everyone is such a mess right now.”

“Try everything is a mess.” Wukong huffed, rolling his eyes. Attempting to remain casual as a familiar arms was draped over him.

“Hey…”

“...Yeah?”

“You okay?”

The golden monkey frowned, pressing his cheek against Macaque’s. “No…I’m rather numb. I just…I’m worried about the kid.”

“MK will be fine, we’ll get him back.”

Wukong let out a deep sign and nodded. “Okay, let’s get everyone.”

#lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk mk #lmk sun wukong #lmk macaque #s-creations #based on art #also on ao3 #hurt/comfort #shadowpeach #birddlord

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