#D+ parenting at its finest

[bougiebutchbinch]

I know it was bad and I know it was child abuse but it's still so funny to me that Yondu stole a child, experienced Cuteness Aggression, and told Peter he was so adorable he was gonna eat him. Only Peter (a traumatised and terrified eight-year-old, freshly abducted by aliens) thought he meant it. And Yondu thought that was fucking hilarious so he kept up the 'joke' for thirty years -

[littlemisspascal]

Creature Comfort

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Female Reader/OFC

Word Count: 7.6k

Summary: 

Waiting out there is General Marcus Acacius. A real man of flesh and blood, strength and power. The legendary Atlas Lion himself.

Your husband-to-be.

Rating: M / 18+ only

Warnings: Language, at least a million historical inaccuracies, referenced smut, references of blood + war + death, weapons, too many lion/animal references and metaphors to count, reader has self-esteem issues, arranged marriage, domestic life, cameo of reader's parents, switching povs,

- Reader has no name and no physical traits described in detail. Reader wears clothes such as a toga + wedding outfit

Author Note: This started as me simply wanting to write a fic where Acacius is compared to a lion and Reader's his wife and then it quickly led to me having a complete emotional breakdown that caused me to quit writing entirely for several months. Not one of my finest moments, but 🤷‍♀️ that's life I guess. It's nice to finally toss this fic out here, hopefully someone somewhere enjoys it 🧡

Special thanks to @wheresarizona for putting up with my emotional highs and lows and answering some questions about Rome for me and for just being an overall too-nice-for-this-world person I'm lucky to have met on here 💗

The morning of your wedding you can barely stomach your breakfast. Nerves are natural, your mother assures you, watching with a critical eye as the female servants of the house help dress you.

Your impending ceremony has severed your protection of your family’s household gods, leaving you spiritually defenseless until you’re officially wed to your husband. Maybe that is the true source of your worries, dark spirits playing wicked games with your heartstrings. Or maybe it’s your mother’s looming presence coupled with her stubborn determination to see you safely married off, analyzing every inch of your bridal outfit to root out the tiniest of imperfections, that has your stomach tied up in knots. 

The wreath atop your head is thick with summer blooms, their scent potent and almost sickly sweet, tickling the inside of your nose. You’d sneeze if not for the veil covering your face, attached to a headband beneath the tangled greenery, its deep yellow color identical to the slippers donning your feet. 

You’d personally woven your tunic on your family’s loom, a task expected of every new bride, intertwining every fiber into tangible proof to show your husband you were ready for the responsibilities of managing his household. Linen had been your initial choice, but your mother insisted wool was the better material to repel the forces of evil. The garment is heavy beneath your matching white stola, but rather than irritating there’s something oddly comforting about the weight. Almost like a warm embrace.

It’s tradition for weddings to take place in the home of the bride’s father. You can hear the arrival of guests now outside your room. Friends and relatives and other miscellaneous people here to witness and celebrate the union. Every minute brings you closer to a new stage of your life, and if not for the servants’ steadying hands, your weak knees might send you crashing to the floor. Fainting would surely be interpreted as a bad omen, derailing the whole ceremony before it even truly began.

You suck in a quiet breath, shoving down the worst of your anxieties. This day–your wedding–has been on your mind practically your whole life. You’d learned from a young age the importance of marriages arranged between families for political and financial purposes. You’d also learned you wouldn’t be the one choosing your future husband, that decision would be made by your father alone. 

Of course, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t imagine marrying someone who was your own choice. Someone kind and handsome and as loyal as your household’s guard dogs. Someone who loved you above all others.

But waiting for you out there isn’t the imaginary stranger who's starred in your most intimate dreams. Waiting out there is General Marcus Acacius. A real man of flesh and blood, strength and power. The legendary Atlas Lion himself.

Your husband-to-be.

When the pronuba arrives to accompany you to the ceremony, the servants disperse but your mother lingers a beat longer, running her fingers over your shoulders to smoothen out non-existent creases. Neither of you mention the shiny gleam of her eyes or the trembling of your hands. 

Then, with a firm nod of her head, your mother declares, “She’s ready,” and leaves without another look to join your father’s side.

Your mother is not prone to lying. If she says you’re ready, then ready you must be.

You take another deep breath before linking your arm through the elder matron’s, but it’s the gentle patting of her hand on yours which calms you most. A reassurance of good things to come.

Stepping out into the atrium, you’re met with a packed crowd, locals and soldiers mixed as one, craning their necks for a glimpse of you. Their clothes resemble yours and the groom’s, another tactic to confuse evil spirits, but human eyes only need to spot your yellow veil to recognize you as the bride. And as for Acacius…

Well. To mistake the Atlas Lion for another would be as foolish as mistaking fire for water. He is unique in all the world.

You see him standing at the altar with the high priest, clad in a purple toga embroidered with a lion’s head in golden thread. A reward in honor of the general’s triumphs in warfare. The placement of the lion above his heart is deliberate, you suspect. A warning of what lies beneath the surface. A guarantee all the tales of his savagery and blood lust passed from mouth to mouth from the battlefields to the city streets are true.

Is it terrible that a part of you–an inane, minuscule scrap of a thing you’ll never verbally acknowledge, not even under oath–is fervently captivated by the notion? You should be listening to the high priest’s prayers to Juno, paying attention to the omens he reads in the entrails of the sacrificed ram upon the altar. But Acacius’ brown eyes, burning with the radiant June sunshine and something else distinctly dangerous, put a flame to your focus and narrow your vision to one central, all-encompassing point.

Is it terrible that you can meet a lion’s stare without a modicum of fear? You wonder how many have been able to say the same, if anyone else at all.

The priest deems the relationship blessed by the gods, carrying on with the proceedings, oblivious to your state of mind. He asks Acacius to make certain his intentions, if you are an acceptable wife. 

Acacius draws himself up to full height, an immovable mountain firm in his convictions. “She is mine to me,” the timbre of his gravelly voice drags over you, eliciting a shudder down your spine you pray the elder matron does not notice. “I will want no other.” 

Then it is your turn, and your voice is only a little hoarse when you confirm, “He will be my husband. My only choice.”

The slightest quirk of a smile curls the corner of Acacius’ lips. Instinctively, you return it with a small grin of your own. And even though he can’t physically see your face behind the veil, you think, somehow, he does see you.

It’s only after signing the marriage contract with crimson seals that the pronuba places your right hand in Acacius’, officially uniting you as one. The general’s palm is callused, fingers thick and gnarled from past wounds, but you can’t find it in yourself to hate them, or recoil, or do anything else than keep holding on.

“Raise the veil,” the priest says.

You swallow, the fingers of your left hand spasming against your side, then slowly reach for a fistful of the yellow fabric. Pulling it up over your head, you carefully watch the lines of Acacius’ expression, heartbeat fluttering at the way those brown eyes widen, taking you in for the first time. Absorbing everything like it might be his only chance. Like you’re something wondrous worth memorizing.

Acacius starts leaning forward, sending every last thought in your head scattering with his nearness. He’s massive, radiating such intense warmth, thumb stroking a line of heat along your wrist. There’s a fire igniting in your chest, lungs choking on the smoke, yet you’re trembling when he cups your face, the quietest of whines escaping your parted lips.

Please, you start to beg, the whooshing of blood thundering in your eardrums, plea–

Acacius swallows the silent plea with his own mouth, kissing you like a starving man. This isn’t love–no, it’s too soon for such sentiment–this is carnal passion, roaming tongues and clashing teeth like you’re no better than animals committed to the hunt of this new territory, this new taste. 

The eruption of applause yanks you back to reality. You tear yourself away with a choked gasp, and it’s satisfying seeing the heave of Acacius’ broad chest with each ragged inhale as you both struggle to catch your breaths. You did that. You’re the reason for the flare of lust in his eyes and smear of spit across his bottom lip. 

You’ve heard people say no man’s looks can compete with Adonis’ striking beauty. A fallacy, you realize in that moment upon seeing General Marcus Acacius in purple and gold, dark curls caressed by the gentle breeze, a constellation of freckles along the tendons of his neck, hardened by violence yet holding your hand so heartachingly sweet.

The rest of the world can have Adonis. 

And as for you–boldly and selfishly, you’ll keep this man. The legendary Atlas Lion himself.

Your husband.

~~

The wedding feast afterwards is a blur of lavish food and wine, the jovial notes of flutes accompanying fescennine songs with interjections of salutations shouted from inebriated lips. Every touch of Acacius’ hand against your arm, your waist, everywhere sends sparks skittering along your nerves. It’s as bewildering as it is thrilling, like you’re balancing on the edge of a precipice, and you wonder if this is what Icarus felt moments before he flew too close to the sun. Falling, falling, falling…

You can only hope you meet a different, kinder fate.

When the sky begins to change and darken with the promise of encroaching evening time, you find yourself standing in the middle of your childhood home, trying to etch into memory everything from the slope of the roof to the tiny cracks in the stone floor. All the noises and voices seem to fade away, granting you this moment to yourself.

Once you step outside, there will be no familiarity to cling to. You’ll be escorted by the crowd of guests to Acacius’ secondary home—smaller, but no less grand than his main domus in Cosa. A port city to the south you’ll have to learn to navigate from square one—and then, once alone with the general, taken to his bed. His body will be another, far more intricate labyrinth you’ll need to learn and recognize the details of.

A new city, a new spouse, a new chapter of life with new expectations…

It’s overwhelming to say the least.

Your eyes cut to Acacius across the room, widening when you catch him already watching you. Something in your chest aches upon realizing you don’t know him well enough to read his face. If he’s angry, pleased, or just totally indifferent. But you can’t look away. Caught and cornered.

Like prey, you think, loathing the thought as soon as it forms. A lion cannot have a mouse for a wife. Imagine the shame of being an unworthy partner of one of Rome’s highest-ranking generals. Your name dragged through the mud, an embarrassment to your family and a blight on Acacius’ esteemed reputation—to say nothing of how the gods would react to your ruining of a blessed union. You’d be as insignificant as the fleas on a dog’s pelt in their eyes.

You must be stronger. Braver. Better.

Where Icarus fell, you must fly. 

Maybe Acacius senses this change stirring within you, or maybe he grows impatient with this lengthy staring contest, either way he suddenly draws closer, weaving between bodies until he comes to a stop in front of you. Purposefully within grabbing reach. The ache in your chest lessens at that, replaced by a spike of adrenaline as awareness dawns.

“Is it time to leave?” you ask.

“It is,” he answers. Then, quick as lightning and just as unexpected, he pinches your waist. 

You jerk away at the teasing touch, gaping like a fish. “Do you touch all women in that manner?”

“No.” A smug smirk spreads across his handsome face. Relishing his next words. “Only the woman who belongs to me.”

Possessive brute. Your eyes narrow even as heat envelops your body, toes curling in your shoes. 

“You haven’t taken me yet. My body has no claim.”

Acacius’ jaw clenches at that. Like he’s holding onto his restraint by a mere thread. It’s practically tangible, a siren song tempting you to flex your claws.

“Answer me this, general, because it remains unclear to me.” Tilting your head, exposing the column of your neck for his hungry gaze to feast upon, your tone is deliberately provoking. “Are you a passionate man of action? Or merely a man of empty words?”

“Bite your tongue,” his tone is low, closer to a snarl than actual speech. You almost believe he’s angry, if not for the glint in his brown eyes, aroused and impressed by your antics in equal measure.

“I’d rather you bite it.”

The fragile thread snaps.

Acacius is on you at once, his large hands seizing hold of your arms. You wrestle against his grip, delivering a solid kick to his shin that draws an irritated hiss. He puts up with your struggling for a bit longer, unaffected by your inexpert blows to his torso, then ends it with a harsh tug, pulling you flush against his brick wall of a body. He sticks his face in your neck, breath hot and ticklish, mouthing at your thrumming pulse with blunt teeth. Oh gods. You slump against him, letting his thick muscles take the brunt of your weight, mind sinking like a stone in the overflowing well of new and overwhelming sensations. Desperate for more, more, more.

The deep rumbling of his chuckling vibrates through your bones, and you have the deliriously greedy thought of cutting out a piece of yourself to store the sound there. 

“You’ve caused quite a scene,” he murmurs into the underside of your jaw, sounding just as wrecked as you feel. But beneath the raspiness, you detect the unmistakable lilt of amusement. 

“It’s tradition,” you breathe, conscious of the numerous stares watching your every move, including your mother’s. Your pretending of resistance must have been satisfactory enough for her to not intervene.

Acacius leans back just enough to look at you, cradling you in the cage of his arms and chest. You place your hands upon his waist, absently clutching the purple-dyed wool between your fingers.

“Tell me how to call you.” It’s not a request.

“What?” Yet another tradition to appease household gods is meant to happen later after you had arrived at the threshold of Acacius’ home and smeared the doorway in oil and fat. He would ask you your name, to which you answer, taking your husband’s and modifying it: where you are Marcus, I am Marcia. And at last, excluding the event of a bad omen occurring, he would carry you inside. Your brow furrows, not understanding why he’s changing the order of things. “Shouldn’t we—”

“Not the name tradition wants, nor the one your parents and the gods assigned you,” he interrupts. “Tell me how I will call you when we’re alone.” 

Oh.

You bow your head to hide your smile, pleased to have a choice. Your eyes fall upon the golden lion head.

Oh.

“Where and when you are Leo,” you tell him, trailing a finger along the perfectly stitched mane before tapping the spot where his heart resides. “There and then I am Leaena.”

~~

{His bride is too innocent, too unaware of the ruthless nature of the Empire’s politics to endure what is expected of her as a general’s wife. This marriage should never have been blessed by the gods.

Still, Acacius can’t stop his gaze from following her every movement, intrigued to know the thoughts running through her head. Can’t stop himself from touching her either, drawn to her warmth, the rightness of her body in his hold. The ceremony was mere hours ago, yet seeing her in his bed, flesh bare and soft and trembling beneath him, the woman has already become the most important treasure of his life. His to worship and protect for the rest of his days.

“Gods, you really are massive all over,” she blurts out, seemingly without thinking, feeling the press of his hard cock against her. Then immediately averts her eyes with a nervous giggle, insecure of her own inexperience. “Could–could we take it slow?”

“That’s fine, my leaena,” he assures her, kissing the corner of her mouth, addicted to her taste dangerously fast. She won’t last, he thinks, scraping his teeth along her neck. They’ll swallow her whole. “I’ll make you feel good. I’ll take care of you.” And he sees it, the exact moment the apprehension slips aside and trust rises to take its place in those big, expressive eyes. She wants this—wants him.

It’s an impulsive, raw need that has him leaning down to kiss her, licking deep into her mouth, craving something he doesn’t know the name of. Repentance, maybe, for the hell coming her way in the coming months. Or maybe he’s just a selfish man who wants this, wants her, more than he deserves. 

She rips him out of his thoughts by grabbing fistfulls of his curls, tugging until they’re even closer pressed together, opening up for him impossibly wider. 

Maybe he’s wrong in his initial assumptions of his bride.

Maybe she’ll be the one to take care of him.}

~~

Cosa matters a great deal to the Empire. A strategically defendable port with close connections to sources of timber and other supplies necessary for maintaining a vast army of fleets. The city itself was built upon a hill, high enough that on a clear day one could see miles of the Tyrrhenian Sea’s coastline. The crashes of the blue-green waves against the limestone cliffs.

Accompanying Acacius into the forum provides you with opportunities to observe the city’s layout. Enclosed within an imposing circuit of walls, the community has put careful thought into every corner of limited space, separating private houses from the sacred temples and civic buildings. Necessary architecture only, no spare room for the entertainment of a theatre. 

Cosa is significantly smaller than the size of your birthplace, drenched in the scents of sea salt and fish, yet there are elements of opulence if one looks close enough. Pearl necklaces adorning necks and solid gold bracelets fastened around wrists. Chairs carved from precious woods, embellished with touches of silver or bronze. Acacius’ curule seat in his tablinum is made out of pure ivory, its legs resembling a lion’s paws. A gift from the Senate after a successful military campaign.

The majority of Acacius’ hours in the public square is split between the basilica, the curia, and the comitium speaking with the aediles and magistrates. Offices of elected officials which exclude women from entry–not that you have much interest in politics anyways. 

The marketplace quickly becomes your favorite place outside of your domus. A variety of stalls clustered together bustling with activity. Haggling becomes second nature to you, and when you can’t get the price you want you make trades with your weavings. 

Still. Cosa is a small enough city where you’re easily recognized as someone new by the locals. More than once you’ve experienced lingering glances, examining everything from your clothes to your hair. More than once those eyes have made your shoulder blades curl with the instinct to somehow fold into yourself like the little crabs that occasionally wash up on the sandy coastline.

A week after settling in, a man in the bathhouse grabs at your palla before you can enter the women’s section, pulling harsh enough to send your mother’s brooch clattering to the ground. You press a hand over your pounding heart, scrambling backwards a few steps, all too aware of the heavy veil of silence that has fallen over the room. 

Acacius calmly appears at your side, soundless in his approach, filling the whole place with his commanding presence. 

A blink. That’s all it takes.

One blink and suddenly the man’s blood spatters the stucco wall as Acacius slams his skull against it repeatedly until he no longer resembles anything human. Just a gruesome muddle of scarlet and bone, life thread severed by the jaws of death. 

Acacius releases his hold, then points a bloodstained finger at you. “She is mine. Anyone who touches her will face my retribution. And I won’t hesitate to add another soul to Dis Pater’s realm.”

~~

Living under the roof of your parents, you’d thought of home as a physical structure. A place to stay in a world full of constantly moving parts. 

Marriage has taught you home is so much more. It’s the soft notes you hum as you spin and weave wool. A kiss pressed to your temple as Acacius moves past. The scent of fresh citrus each morning for breakfast and the sweet taste of fine wines. Plans to visit the coast. A bowl of seashells. Gazing up at constellations when the moon is high. Feelings bubbling up, spilling out, casting shadows on the walls and slipping beneath the bed sheets. It’s the warmth of another body, touching, feeling, familiarizing, until two halves become an inseverable one whole.

Home is learning to be loved and to be in love. 

~~

Acacius doesn’t receive many guests in his tablinum, preferring to settle his business affairs in the public offices, yet he still keeps a cushioned stool in front of his desk. You sit there, elbow propped on his desk and chin resting upon your fist, watching your husband search through his shelf of scrolls. The mosaic floors have been recently cleaned, colors popping vividly in the patches of sunlight sneaking in, and the painted scenes of nature adorning the walls are masterfully done, but you can’t bring yourself to look anywhere else except him.

“Where did your name come from?” you ask, breaking up the quiet.

Acacius pauses, glancing back with a raised eyebrow. “It was my father’s name. And his father’s name. And his father’s father’s name and–”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Your scolding is softened by the smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. Acacius keeps looking at you, smirking like he finds the whole thing amusing. “The Atlas Lion. A moniker as frightful as that, it must have an origin.”

He chuckles that deep, rumbling laugh of his. “Wondered when you’d finally ask.”

His tone is light, still smirking, but you see through the cracks of the facade. See the hesitation in the lowering of his eyes to the floor, see the slight furrow in his brow that only appears when he’s worried he’s upset you. He’s nervous—it’s so obvious and so dearly human that it aches. It looks absolutely wrong on the face of a man known throughout the Empire for his larger-than-life confidence.

You watch him warily, unsure what to do, what to say beyond his name. “Acacius.”

Your husband faces the scrolls again, and for a moment you’re afraid the fragile moment’s broken, but then he tells you the story behind his name. ‘Story’ is too soft a word though. Stories are for parties and entertainment, full of humor and unfolding drama and moral lessons. Acacius doesn’t tell you a story. No, he tells you his truth. 

Acacius doesn’t mince words, describing the hellish months of military training in grueling detail. He tells you, in an almost detached manner, how he’d been a different man back then. Scrawnier, unused to bloodshed, restless, but above all else, near feral with the need to prove his own worth. 

“It was General Meridius’ idea for soldiers to train as bestiarii.” There’s something about the way he says the name—full of respect. Admiration for a superior. But you think you detect a note of something else laced within the syllables too. Something almost…sad sounding. Grieving, perhaps. It’s gone in the next breath. “Face to face with wild beasts, you either become an expert with your weapon fast or you die an unglorified death in the arena.”

For all the nights you’ve traced meaningless patterns along the large scars gouged into Acacius’ shoulders, you didn’t ask about them. Assumed they were the result of a too-close enemy with a too-sharp weapon. A blade or spear, something man-made. Never occurred to you to think of fangs and claws as weapons too.

Blinking sharply, you sit up straighter, stuttering, “W-wait, are you…is that where…” There’s a swarm of questions buzzing in your head, stinging the back of your throat when you try to voice them. Finally, you manage to choke out, “So, that’s how you got your name? You actually fought lions?”

Acacius finally turns around at that, only to surprise you by shaking his head. “I did fight lions—and bears, boars, even a pair of hyenas once. But that’s not why they call me the Atlas Lion.”

He trails off, tension in the wrinkled lines of his expression your hands itch to smoothen out. You hesitate to rise from your seat, unable to tell if drawing closer would lighten your husband’s mood or worsen it. Moments like this–where he’s loosened the reins of his tightly controlled emotions, offering a glimpse of an ordinary, flesh and blood mortal man who’s been chewed up and spit out a dozen times over– are few and far between. Delicate like fine glass, requiring just the right handling.

“To prove I was ready for the army, I had to pass a test,” he explains. “I fought everything that attacked me. I stopped thinking, stopped feeling. Nothing mattered except the next stab of my gladius. And when they started throwing men into the arena, I didn’t even notice.” Acacius exhales a ragged breath. “I stopped seeing people as people.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, voice barely above a murmur. 

There’s another pause, time seeming to slow down, seconds stretching lazily like a plump housecat, and then Acacius crosses the distance, close enough your knees graze each other, head tilted back to peer up at him. He says nothing, even as his thumb brushes over your chapped lips.

“Acacius.” Your body trembles, edges of your vision starting to blur. You lean into his touch. The center of your universe.

“I mean,” Acacius says, eyes on your mouth. Your lips part unthinkingly, letting his thumb slip inside, pressing lightly against your bottom teeth. “We’re all just animals, my leaena. Red tongues and hands.”

~~

The air is cool this time of night, seems to press against your skin like a damp washcloth. Cleansing you from the inside out with each deep inhale. 

Acacius stands in the courtyard, bronze skin painted in streaks of moonbeams and starlight, hair tousled by fitful hands. His absence from bed had stirred you awake, and a part of you wonders if these midnight musings are a regular occurrence you’ve only just now become aware of. Not all dreams are sweet after all, especially for soldiers. 

“A nightmare?” you ask, a hushed inquiry disrupting the still of night.

“A memory,” is all he offers. 

“Oh.” 

He hasn’t looked at you yet, brown eyes boring holes into the distant moon. Maybe you should return to bed, give him space and privacy to sort himself out. But your bare feet stick to the floor and you can’t pull your eyes away. Noting the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his hands, the rising and falling of his chest with each breath.

You try to ignore the disappointment gnawing at your heart, hurt that Acacius won’t share his internal burden with you, even in the cover of darkness where it’s just you and him. 

He’s revealed the truth of his name with you. Encouraged you to lick and bite and mark every inch of his flesh as your own. But tonight he’s put up a wall you can’t climb over. 

Maybe that’s why you stay. You’re a glutton for punishment.

Somewhere else in the city, a dog begins to bark. It’s a harsh sound, all teeth, defending its territory from a threat, and you flinch despite the distance. Unsurprisingly, Acacius doesn’t so much as even twitch. 

What is surprising though, is that he chooses then to finally speak.

“There are victories yet still to come,” he mutters, a tremor to his voice you’ve never heard before, like he’s standing on unsteady ground. And there’s this look in his eyes that unsettles you, haunted by something only he can see. “That’s what they always say.”

They?

Stepping closer, you gently bump your hand against his. A knot unravels in your chest when he blinks back to himself, pinky hooking onto yours. A tether securing him home with you.

“Who says that?”

“The Emperors.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Don’t know what words will build his wall higher or what ones will knock it down–if that’s even possible. 

“What are they like?” Your mouth makes the choice for you. “Geta and Caracalla?”

You’ve never been to Rome, never seen the ruling brothers in person. All you really know about them are the stories and rumors from the mouths of travelers gossiping in the marketplace. Sometimes nice things are said, sometimes…not so nice things. 

“They’re…” Dark brows draw together, mouth pulling downward in a frown. Acacius finally looks at you, the brown of his eyes lost in the dark, but not the sharp glint of fear. Tumultuous and excruciating, you feel it cut deep. “They’re fire and water. Two opposing forces unfit to inhabit the same space. It’s only a matter of time before one prevails over the other.”

You swallow, nervousness swelling in the pit of your stomach at the flat, doomed sound of certainty he speaks with. “And then what happens?”

“The Empire will either burn or drown." 

“And us?” you ask tentatively. “What will happen to us?”

Acacius doesn’t have an answer.

~~

A Roman naval ship is spotted just as dawn breaks, drawing a sizable crowd by the time it docks in the harbor. There’s a sense of wrongness associated with the lack of an official fleet, and that unsettling feeling is multiplied tenfold when it’s announced there are numerous injured soldiers aboard.

Acacius attends to them, ensuring each gets medical attention while also gathering information from the head officer in charge. You stand at the back of the crowd, heart in your throat, seeing but not truly processing. Blood, so much red. Expressions of young men scrunched in pain. The grim, motionless bodies of those who didn’t last the final hours of the journey.

“Steel yourself.” A feminine voice warns, and you turn with a blink of surprise upon seeing the high priestess at your side, unused to encountering her outside her temple walls. The sea breeze ruffles the red and white ribbons in her braided hair as she holds your gaze, calm in an almost preternatural way compared to the surrounding commotion. “You are a general’s wife. To express your fear in public is to express doubt of the Empire’s dominance and your husband’s own prowess.”

Her words sink like a stone in your stomach. “I’ll be better,” you promise, the acidic taste of shame burning the back of your throat.

“Stronger,” she corrects, fierce blue eyes rivaling an ocean storm. “You must be stronger than your greatest fear.”

You can only nod, imagining one of the corpses wearing your husband’s face. 

~~

{With every inch of territory the Empire gains, its list of bitter enemies grows exponentially longer. Not every threat rising up in defiance stems from foreign soil though, Acacius was forced to learn that the hard way. He’s seen the effects Rome’s constant warfare and rotting politics have had on its subjects, witnessed people turn against their masters’ hands like rabid dogs hell-bent on stripping flesh from bone.

Rebels are dealt with just like rabid dogs, too. Caught and decapitated in a public spectacle. Crimson rivulets flow from their remains, discoloring the city’s streets reminiscent of a spilled wine stain, seeping into the very foundation itself. 

Then come the speeches in the comitium from Cosa’s magistrates. Addressing the huddled masses with sickly sweet, empty promises of better times to come. Lying through their teeth, scared the next outburst of internal strife will end with their own severed heads tossed into the sea.

Acacius’ attendance is mandatory, yet he only pretends to listen while standing on the stone steps behind the speakers. His wife’s shoulder presses against his, their hands firmly locked together, unbothered by the harsh ridges of his battle-hardened palm grazing against her smooth skin. A simple comfort he’d long believed himself unworthy of ever indulging in.

“It tears you up inside, doesn’t it?” His wife’s voice is just a faint murmur, so quiet there isn’t a chance anyone else hears her, but the knowing note in it has his chest tightening with a stiff exhale. “Like a thorn in your soul. Even from Rome, Geta and Caracalla control your tongue.”

“There is a time for a general to speak his mind and there is a time for him to keep his head,” he reminds her frankly, careful to maintain his facade of blank detachment. “It’d do you good to remember your place.”

Her sharp inhale is torturous to his ears. She reacts to his blunt discipline like a physical blow, shoulders sagging, lips pressed together in a thin line, practically rolling over and exposing her vulnerable underbelly. Acacius hates that look. Hates even more he’s the cause of it. He thinks impaling himself with his own blade would hurt less. 

Nudging her shoulder drags her gaze reluctantly back to him. And this is not the appropriate setting for levity, Acacius should bite back the smile curling at the corners of his mouth—but for his wife, his divine leaena, he’s a sinner on his knees desperate to be in the warmth of her good graces again. “You are fond of this general’s face, yes?”

It’s not the offering this goddess deserves, but it’s enough to begin mending what he’d torn, soothing the worst of the sting. She smiles, an amused, uneven little twist of her mouth she once confessed being insecure about before he kissed away all worries from her mind. There’s something undeniably perfect about it, like the first rays of sunlight after a bleak winter. 

“Of course I am. But…” She bites her lip, caught on something. He squeezes her hand, and it seems to be the needed boost to force the words out from the cage in her throat. “Even the Atlas Lion must want to roar sometimes.”

Acacius should be annoyed with her ability to read him–it’s a weakness, and any weakness in his personal experience is a promise of death’s swift arrival. It isn’t safe, for either of them. But she’s done the unthinkable, worming her way into his ugly, greedy heart, treating it like something tender, something lovable. And it was too damn easy how quickly she filled up every vacant space in his head. From the moment she lifted her veil he’s been enraptured by her essence. Starving for every scrap of attention she’s willing to give. His wife has become a critical piece of his life, as vitally essential as the breath in his lungs and the sword hanging at his hip.

It’s dangerous, what she’s done to him.

But it’s far, far more dangerous, what he’d do for her.

Her eyes widen with surprise when he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, but he feels the way she relaxes against him with easy acceptance. Believing she’s safe with him, ignorant of the threats closing in on all sides. Every day drawing nearer and nearer still. 

That will have to change, he swears to himself. Her survival depends upon it.

“Yes,” he says at last, and it’s the most honest he’s been with himself in years. “Sometimes he does.”}

~~

Acacius places one hand on your shoulder, the other settles on your hip. There is nothing delicate about his touch, no hesitation about maneuvering your body into a proper defensive stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, pugio held in a strong grasp.

“Lower your arm, always aim the blade at your opponent,” Acacius instructs, slipping into his alternate persona as a leader on the battlefield like a second skin, his critical eyes zeroing in on all the mistakes that will get you killed in a moment of danger. “When you hold that dagger, you must hold it with the intent to spill blood, my leaena. Words alone aren’t enough to protect you.”

You swallow, fingers flexing around the hilt. It’s a daunting experience, learning to sever someone’s life thread from an expert on the subject. You’re grateful for the privacy of your domus’ courtyard, concealing your clumsy movements from outsiders who’d undoubtedly laugh at each ungraceful slash and lunge. You resemble a fool, sweaty and fledgling, undeserving of your husband’s calling. The only women you’d seen fight with weapons were gladiatrices at festivals, an exotic and unusual form of entertainment which never failed to attract large crowds. Your mother claimed they brought shame upon womankind, yet when Acacius had asked you to learn, you’d accepted without delay.

She’d disown you immediately if she could see you now. The thought has your stomach churning, a sour taste on the back of your tongue.

“We’re wasting time,” you say, voice hoarse. “I’ll never be strong enough to pose a threat to anyone.”

Acacius clicks his tongue at you. “Never say never, my leaena. You’ll tempt the Fates.”

The courtyard is quiet besides your breathing, and the streets beyond the domus’ walls are empty this time of day. You’re keenly aware of Acacius’ nearness, the slight frown pulling at his lips, like he’s trying to understand your thoughts, and you want to fight him. Howl and claw and lash out like the beast he seeks to bring to light from your depths. But there is nothing there. 

“I’m not like you. I can’t be.” His head tilts, still uncomprehending. You gesture at him with your empty hand, the rippling muscles straining the fabric of his sleeveless tunic. “The Atlas Lion. Devourer of the Emperors’ enemies. Ferocity unmatched amongst Rome’s army of warriors.” You then gesture at yourself, forcing the ugly words past your teeth if only so he’ll give up this futile endeavor. “I’m just me.”

The air shifts between you and him, a thick, cloying tension weighing heavily upon your shoulders. It’s only the knowledge that there’s nowhere in all of Cosa you could hide from your husband that keeps you anchored in place even as your heartbeat gallops away. Acacius’ brown eyes darken, thunder clouds blocking out the sun.

And then his callused hands are on your face, palms rough along the underside of your jaw, fingers pressing into the skin, squeezing. Claiming. An inescapable hold. 

“Do not,” he starts, voice low and gravelly, a snarling darkness you’ve never heard before and never want to again, “ever speak so poorly of yourself again. How can you think of yourself as anything less than magnificent? How can you not know of the power you wield over me? You’ve made me live again. My heart, long cold and numbed by the trials of war, beats again only for you. There is nothing more valuable to me than your wellbeing–not wealth nor fame, nothing. Is it clear to you yet? You have tamed the Atlas Lion body and soul. This general heeds your every call.”

You shudder, dazed and captivated by his close proximity, his devotion. Intoxicated, that’s what you feel. So caught up in a fog of mindless pleasure you fail to notice him guiding your hand up, up, up until the pugio’s blade is put to his throat. 

“All that I am is yours,” Acacius says, hushed now, a secret between lovers. The dagger pierces skin, a thin trickle of blood oozing. You flinch, eyes widening, but his hold remains firm. “Which makes you the most dangerous creature of all. And for that reason, my leaena, you will and you must learn to fight.”

He shoves you backwards a step. It’s not his full strength, more surprising than hurtful, but something inside you uncoils, teeth gnashing. A feeling sparks in your bloodstream, erupting into a wildfire at the look of pride in Acacius’ eye when you reflexively point your pugio at his heart. 

You swipe at him, again and again, driven by this new source of power. And through it all he holds your gaze, the brown of his eyes as sharp as the blade in your hand. Neither one says I love you, I’d take a bite out of the world for you but neither one needs to. 

Actions have always been louder than words.

~~

“Do you ever think about what’s out there?” you ask one night in bed together. Acacius reclines against the headboard, staring at you through half-lidded eyes as you drag your fingertips over his bare, scarred skin in meaningless patterns. 

Would anyone believe this man was the Atlas Lion? A wild, virulent beast compliant and disarmed beneath the gentle stroke of your touch? 

No. You think not.

“Out where?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, thumb catching on a particularly rough patch of damaged skin left of his hip bone. Every battle he fought, every combatant he faced—Mars laid fresh claims to his body with each fresh cicatrix.  

Claims you challenge the only way you know how. Scrapes of your nails breaking skin and tender presses of your mouth licking up the crimson pearls of blood.

“Beyond the Empire’s borders. Somewhere without war.”

Acacius’ brow creases, gaze alert now, looking at you as if you’ve spoken a different language. “Without war…” he repeats slowly. “My leaena, there is no place such as that. Discordia’s reach is far, farther than the Emperors could ever conquer in their combined lifetimes, stirring up strife deep in the hearts of even the mildest of men, and it will always find an outlet one way or another.”

“Oh.” You clear your throat. It’s not the response you had hoped for, but it’s the one you should have expected. Acacius isn’t the type of man to indulge in far-fetched fantasies of softer living. Can’t be, not with all the horrors he’s witnessed and played a part in crafting. 

“But,” Acacius pauses, and his hand covers yours. Not holding or moving it, just staying there. Feeling. “If somewhere without war did exist…” he smiles, a soft and little thing reserved just for these quiet moments. “I’d do whatever it took to get us there.”

~~

The wool for your new palla has been carded and spun into yarn. It stretches and winds around the teeth of your wooden loom, weighed down by terracotta scales. 

You’re alone in the domus. Acacius had been summoned by the magistrates for an urgent meeting, and you try not to let fear interfere with your work, an aggressive wasp buzzing at the back of your mind. Your touch remains light when pulling at uneven sections, its intended shape coming together bit by bit. The whooshing of a racing heartbeat echoes in your ears.

So long as there is land outside the Empire’s borders, the Emperors will expect Acacius to conquer it in their names. His time in Cosa is trapped in an hourglass, never quite knowing when the last grain of sand will slip away, summoned back to the front lines for another campaign. Another brush with death. Another chapter added to his legacy.  

You feel the sand’s effects sometimes, a sinking sensation threatening to drag you down when you walk with him through the market. Coarse and gritty, scratching your skin as you fall asleep in his arms. Piling so high it chokes you, the cursed inevitability of it all.

Another loop of wool around teeth. Tension taut and held firm. The muscles of your arms burn with effort, left foot tingling uncomfortably from sitting too long with little movement. Cosa’s awake and thriving in the warm weather, echoes of voices drifting in with the breeze, but you’ve never felt more alone. A feeling you dread becoming intimately familiar with sooner or later.

Later, you pray selfishly, desperately, achingly to the Fates. Make it later. 

So long as Acacius breathes he will always walk two paths—the path of a general and the path of a husband. And it’s a priority of yours–a requirement as his wife–to find a way to be okay when those paths split and you’re truly left all alone. You must then nurture the tiniest flame of hope one step, one trial, one lonely night at a time. Burning fiercely until every last shadow of doubt is purged from your mind, and the only thing that remains is the steadfast belief he’ll return to your side.

Then you must prepare yourself to do it all over again and again and again…too incapable of challenging the Emperors’ insatiable greed, too mortal to stop the sands of time.

You roll your shoulders once finished, scrutinizing the piece for errors. Later you’ll detach the palla from the loom to cut and tie off the loose end-threads of dangling wool, and later still you’ll take it to the fuller to be washed then to the dyer to be colored. You wonder if Acacius will like the shade of golden yellow you have in mind. If he’ll even be in Cosa to see the finished product or a thousand miles away in the heat of battle. A tremor racks your spine at the thought.

But then the front door opens with a quiet groan, and the cheerfully hummed notes of Acacius’ favorite song float through the house. You smile, heartbeat settling into its natural rhythm with the knowledge he’s here with you. The war has not stolen him away just yet.

“Come, my leaena,” he calls out, and you can hear the grin in his voice without having to see it. “It’s a beautiful day. Should we spend it by the coast?”

There’s an urge to close your eyes, to sink into this moment for all its worth, but sand is rising around your ankles. A reminder of all temporary things. 

Your legs can’t move fast enough, drawn to your husband’s side. 

Just a little bit longer. Another hour, another day. 

You reach for Acacius’ hand, tangling them together, pulling him closer. Always closer.

Another call of my name.

“Let’s not waste a single second.”

[ogrepoppenangleaksofficial]

(waves hand) hi hello i . have no clue what this account is about, it's entertainingly incomprehensible as I scroll through it. could i have a quick rundown?

OK OK HERES AL ONG ANSWER ABOUT WHAT THIS BLOG IS

This account is a behind-the-scenes leaks account for the animation company Ogre Poppenang. Ogre Poppenang came out of the Bruva Alfabusa YouTube channel (see below)

The YouTube channel started off making comedic animations based in the Warhammer 40,000 (a.k.a Warhammer, Warhammer 40k) universe under the series name of "If the Emperor had a Text to Speech Device" where the titular Emperor of Man Kind spoke through a Text to Speech voice synthesizer. The Emperor was/is a key figure to the overall meta plot of the Warhammer 40k universe, and as such was the perfect vessel for alot of jokes and off brand humor as seen from the posts on this blog.

This is all SEVERAL years in the past (as of writing this explanation) and Ogre Poppenang no longer works on the If the Emperor had a Text to Speech Device project due to several long winded and exhausting reasons. The primary one being that the parent company that owns Warhammer 40,000, Games Workshop, has had a not so solid Fan Content policy in place for the last several years that acts as a great deterrent to anyone that wants to make long form and elaborate cool fan content.

In the CURRENT year, Ogre Poppenang has moved onto a few different series.

The first, and primary, of which being Hunter: the Parenting (HTP). Its an animated series that follows a cell of Vampire Hunters within the World of Darkness universe from Paradox Interactive and White Wolf. HTP follows the D clan which consists of Big-D the experienced hunter Patriarch, his son Door, an elder veteran and military man, and Door's son Boy, Marckus another son of Big-D and a self assured red-headed inventor and his spouse whom everyone likes much more then Marckus. The family is directly inspired by Ogre Poppenang's previous work with If the Emperor Had a Text to Speech Device as it was believed that many of the characters could thrive outside of the limitations set on them by the Warhammer 40k universe.

The second is Half-Life: Zero Viscosity. As the title suggests it takes place in Valve's Half-Life universe. Instead of grand adventures of The One Free Man, the series focus' in on Gus, a survivor and ex-forklift technician from the Black Mesa Research Facility as he tries to survive the extra dimensional Combine occupation of earth alongside Shock Trooper, an anxiety filled four armed and mono-eyed alien, Pit Drone, a dog, and Doctor Bags, another survivor from Black Mesa who has joined a Resistance movement against the Combine.

LASTLY Ogre Poppenang also produces Norfolk Wizard Game, a Mage: the Ascensions TTRPG live play chronicle set within the same World of Darkness universe as Hunter: the Parenting.

Norfolk Wizard Game follows four humans that have experienced their "Awakenings" where they find themselves now capable of altering the reality around them and plunging feet first into the deep end of inter-dimensional battles between demons, aliens, the Government, and other creatures of the night.

There is also a monkey, some juggalos, and Clippy featured prominently in the series.

[thesimquarter]

Quick appreciation of the slightly cursed renders in the GBA manuals for the sims: bustin’ out & the urbz.

Anyways, did you know? The handbooks for the first two handheld Sims games has some unique descriptions for many of the characters!

These are the ‘Meet Your Neighbors’ pages of of The Sims: Bustin’ Out (GBA) and The Urbz: Sims in the City (GBA & DS) in the official game manuals.

[TRANSCRIPTION UNDER CUT]

[page 1]

MEET YOUR SIMVALLEY NEIGHBORS For a small town, SimValley has a lot of colorful characters for your Sim to get acquainted with. This section gives you a peak at just a few of the people who populate your Sim’s new home town.

Dusty Hogg - This bad boy biker plays by his own rules. While rumors around town state that he still lives with his parents, we don’t recommend you tease him about that—or anything else.

Mad Willy Hurtzya - Mad Willy knows a thing or two about going 10 rounds. Quick to solve a problem by applying his fists, he's definitely more of a fighter than a lover

Eddie Renalin - Although some Sims say that Eddie used to be a skinny twerp of a kid, those allegations have never been proven. Though short on smarts, these days Eddie's the biggest and strongest guy around town.

Bucki Brock - Bucki is a straight shooter who was born and raised right in the Valley. This is one girl who knows a cow from a steer and that's no bull.

Daddy Bigbucks - Daddy is sure enough a big spender. Your Sim will want to keep on his god side a to ensure they're near the drainpipe should any of that wealth trickle down.

Det. Dan D. Mann - Detective Dan D. Mann is the police presence in SimValley. He prides himself on keeping the SimValley streets safe and boasts that jaywalking is down 25% since he took on the beat.

[page 2]

O. Phil McClean - While O. Phil McClean isn’t the friendliest fisherman your Sim will ever meet, he does know the best spots for reeling in the biggest fish. If your Sim can get to know this crusty angler, he might tell them just what he’s using for bait.

Ephram Earl - This otherworldly neighbor is very familiar with things that go bump in the night. A bit on the loony side, this ghost can still give your Sim some of the worldly belongings that he no longer needs.

Misty Waters - Misty is responsible for keeping swimming Sims from expiring in the watery deep. She prides herself on staying fit, all the better to save lives and look good in her work uniform... a swimsuit.

Chet R. Chase - No hoity-toity, fancy French cooking for Chet R. Chase. A SimValley native, Chet serves up a tasty plate o' vittles that’s pure down home cooking.

Olde Salty - Olde Salty is the SimValley fish monger. He's a grumpy old sailor so ye'd best be wary of what ye say!

Nicki Knack - This SimValley old timer has made it her business to put her nose in everyone else's. A devoted collector of this and that, Nicki really might have a use for some of the items your Sim can't use.

Uncle Hayseed - Thanks to Uncle Hayseed’s generous invitation to come and spend the summer in SimValley, your Sim has a chance to enjoy the slower-paced life of country livin’ at its finest.

[Page 3]

Giuseppi Mezzoalto - Some Sims are suspicious of this Giuseppi and think that he sometimes uses his van for moving people's things—whether he hired or not, But when it's time to relocate, his big, roomy van does the trick for toting a Sim’s possessions across town.

In addition to this cast of characters, there are many more Sims around town who can become friends, roommates, or more!

[Page 4]

Darius - King of the Streeties, Darius has moves on the court and is a straight shooter when it comes to darts. He can usually be found at his hangout, Club Xizzle. Remember to stay away from his hotdogs.

Kris Thistle - Kris Thistle is King Tower's janitor. Outgoing, with a touch of attitude, she's more at home in her darkroom than behind a mop.

Daddy Bigbucks - Sim Valley's big spender moved to Miniopolis with plans to buy the entire city! Keep your eyes and ears open—this cat is definitely up to something.

Polly Nomial - Queen of the Nerdies and Associate Professor at the university, Polly is one smart cookie. If you're lucky, she might show you her vintage dictionary collection.

Roxanna Moxie - Flamboyant and fearless, Roxanna Moxie is the Carnival ringmaster and Queen of the Artsies. Fond of the bizarre, she counts the founding of the carnival's first freak show among her greatest achievements.

Luthor L Bigbucks III - Luthor is son and heir to Daddy Bigbucks' financial empire. A jetsetter and King of the Richies, Luthor walks the walk, but didn’t quite inherit his father’s evil streak.

[Page 5]

MEET YOUR NEIGHBORS The city is full of people for your Urb to get acquainted with. This section gives you the rundown on some of the people you'll meet.

Darius - King of the Streeties, Darius can usually be found at his hangout, Club Xizzle. Remember to stay away from his corndogs.

Kris Thistle - The King Tower janitor is outgoing, with a touch of attitude. Kris is more at home in her darkroom than behind a mop.

Daddy Bigbucks - Sim Valley's big spender moved to Miniopolis with plans to buy the entire city! Keep your eyes and ears open—he's definitely up to something.

Futo Maki - This construction worker oversaw the renovation of Splicer Island before it was shut down. Maybe you can put him back to work.

Sharona Faster - Sharona had plans to operate a water taxi to Splicer Island, until Daddy Bigbucks squashed her dream.

Jack I. Deal - This big man used to work for Daddy Bigbucks himself, but now he's got different ideas on how to earn his living.

Busta Cruz - This guy is a born entertainer. He keeps the Urbz amusement levels up.

Downloads to the full manuals can be found in this archive.

[welcome-to-dragonshead]

冤冤相报何时了

Tw: kidnapping, human trafficking, implied s/a and csa (or intention to by others), physical abuse, animal cruelty, gore-ish stuff? , child neglect, mutilation, murder, body horror

run, run, run. 

You have been running for long. 

Through the trees, by the rivers stream, there's men looking for you. 

Hunting you.

Not for your skin, not for your meat, 

but for your use, servitude. Fun and pleasure, but you're too young to understand that. 

You barely left the forests, how are you meant to know anything else? 

You hide in a burrow, like you always do when this happens, silver tail following as they tail you.

You cannot find your parents. 

You cannot find your brothers, or your sisters. 

You hear them laughing as they come close, their hand reaching into the hole. 

You attempt to avoid them, but it's too late. 

They grab you by the ears like one that grabs a carrot, pulling from them with an unstoppable force. 

You smell poppy seeds, and fall into a heavy, sweet dream. 

˖๑‧˚꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖

You open your eyes. 

Outside of the narrow window, you see blue. 

It's all blue, that's what you can only see. 

The horizon line is infinite, and there's no land for thousands of kilometers. 

You're in a boat. With the men, trapped. 

You spend your days in a cage, in a room with many others like you. Foxes, Ghosts, and otherworldly beings such as yourself. 

It disgusts you. 

You're barely fed scraps. You fight against the others for measly crumbs, and all of you chained are made to become the men's show by night, as you're tortured by day. 

It disgusts you. 

They speak a language you don't understand, and they laugh and spit in your face whenever you try to learn. 

You attempt to rebel, but it always ends in beatings and abuse. Your eyes become purple, your arms scarred, your throat dry from screaming and your ribs shattered. 

Burnt, charred hands, deep slashes across your body.

It hurts. 

Yet, the others have gone through the same thing. 

It disgusts you.

˖๑‧˚꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖

You had a dream, once. 

You were in the forest you were raised in. A deer watched you intently, and you only saw it when it was too late. 

In a fit of rage, or hunger, it bore impossibly sharp teeth and it charged at you. 

Once again, you ran. Why is this mad deer trying to attack me? I'm the one meant to eat it!, you thought. 

So you realized–you must hunt it. 

It's survival of the fittest, after all. 

You hid in the foliage and threw it off the trail by spilling another animal's blood in the path. 

A stalking spot was picked out, a trap was prepared, and soon enough, the great deer came out to play. 

It all went down in a flash;

Your hands, the burnt and scarred hands of a child, ripped right through its throat with reckless abandon.

Its heart is taken out, and its body feeds you, fulfilling a hunger that had gone on for so long. 

Its blood is the most delightful ambrosia, its intestines and muscles are of the finest of meals. 

You are awoken by a painful sting in your palms. Your hunger is not satiated and you hear your stomach grumble painfully. 

You look down to your hands. 

There are burn marks on your skin. Sharp fangs and a shooting range, a tattoo representing the innermost urge you have

The urge to draw blood. Theirs, yours, it doesn't matter, but all you want is to make something bleed. 

Incredulous at the intrusive thought, you deny yourself of that. 

I'm not a murderer. 

Hurting yourself or others is the worst you can do in this situation; they will have a reason to hurt you and humiliate you further. 

For a while, you attempt to hide it, but it all becomes progressively worse. 

There is something boiling under my skin that aches to get out, you think. 

Prisoners and traffickers alike avoided you, uneasy by your presence. 

They don't make you do your nightly shows anymore, and somehow, you miss it; at least you had company. 

The abuse becomes worse because of their fear of you. 

The rest of the prisoners do not dare to look you in the eyes. 

And one day, you gave in. 

You bit into your skin.

Blood is drawn out, forming a beautiful shape like a flower, easily controlled, divided into strong filaments, or solidified to make a larger weapon. 

This feels right.

˖๑‧˚꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖

You keep the secret for weeks. No one can know of this. 

You have been reopening the scab of the bite marks to use the blood to pick the lock of the cage and get out to eat more. 

The first time you stepped into the kitchen while all the crew was asleep felt like a dream. 

For the sailors, there was hard tack, water, salt, stews thickened with more water; and while eating those seemed like the more rational option, your mind wandered to the meals you saw the captain eat; freshly baked bread, meat from live chickens and pigs, spices, flour, sugar, butter, canned milk and alcohol.

So you stole, and you cooked, and you ate; it was so delicious it kept you coming back for more. 

And more. 

And more. 

And you had the sliver of hope of being able to keep outsmarting them. 

But the captain found out about the food shortage. 

You hear him scream at the sailors, asking who stole the food. They all say no, of course they did, the miserable bastards. 

They investigate the kitchen, and find the proof of your crime; a strand of white hair. 

Your soul leaves your body when you see the captain trudge toward you, rage in his visage. 

He forcefully opens your cage, screaming words that entered one of your ears and left through the other; beating you, kicking you to the point you wanted to throw up. 

He held you down, and took a switchblade out of his coat. He plunges it into your face, carving against it as the rest of the men cheer him on. You scream in pain, trying to push him away, but he's bigger, and stronger, and you're just a weak, rebellious little girl. 

The blood gurgles in that flower-like fashion you've grown used to. It was as it had a conscience of its own, solidifying and stabbing the captain right into his stomach. You see regret in his expression, as he gasps for air and screams for help from his underlings. 

They take up arms and charge against you, screaming and calling you a demon from hell. 

The blood of the captain is seemingly absorbed into your own stream, allowing you to double the power that you had. 

It was all a blur; needless, reckless violence that only got you more hurt, but the more hurt you were, the more powerful you became. 

It was exciting, the power you were given; you were laughing and singing as you dodged the crew's blows and sunk your teeth and claws into that delicious flesh of what is barely human. 

˖๑‧˚꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖

[magistralucis]

Okay, your turn! Unhinged Character Bingo for… Zultanekh

Is Zultanekh an oddball? He is. Has he charmed his way into my heart? He has. Could I resist infecting him with all the angst in The Twice-Dead King and scores more? Certainly, I could not.

While one of the more reasonable characters in the duology by far, I do think Zultanekh has a spot in this bingo, since he is very weird. The things which motivated him to stick with Oltyx's voyage have almost nothing to do with necron ways of thought. He himself is quite well-adjusted, and narrowly avoids a full bingo on all fronts - but by canonically managing to collect both parental issues, from the same person no less, he merits a honorable mention. 😂

Also this made me scribble. Read more for Z/D angst. TDK spoilers.

-----------------------

Truthfully, he was close to giving up on the idea Djoseras could be entertained, at least in a way they could both share. Zultanekh is, therefore, astonished when the fair kynazh expresses an interest in the art of metallurgy - and even more so when he requests a presentation of Ogdobekh alloys, promptly if at all possible.

"At Vorronezh," is the core of Djoseras's short explanation, the prince retaining a stiffness of tone despite his curiosity. "The foundries - the metals you had in store. There was fine work being done there. Suffice to say my brother now bears the best of it in his hand, and good for him, as good as anything can ever be."

He's referring to an Ithakan victory back in the war. It makes Zultanekh smile. Despite the ages past, and of his brother's bitter exile, he can't resist tilting his chin proudly at the thought; that's all Djoseras, graceful, soft-spoken, and carrying a very big stick (metaphorically or otherwise) ready to strike out at any second. "This one will certainly attest to that glaive's quality, Djoseras, and may it serve the nomarch well. But what purpose would a scion of Ithakas seek in our alloys? The keenest blades? The sturdiest bastions?"

Djoseras defies expectations once more. "Precious metals. One tires of the fighting and the flux."

"So the kynazh appreciates his bright impermanent things!" Zultanekh laughs. Djoseras tenses, reflexively, though just shy of a bristle. Seeing this, the Crown Prince spares him further discomfort, resting a warm and powerful hand upon his shoulder. "Well, have you come to the right place? Yes, you have. For who has the right to the coffers of the Ogdobekh, the finest of our gold and the wealth of ages past? Anathrosis, of course, of the Black Star! … And, yes, well, Zultanekh too, by virtue of heirship to his matriarch. Come, and I will show you."

-----

Nothing about metal is permanent. Many have forgotten this truth, but the Ogdobekh live it still. Living or non-living, a metal is a thing with memory: it is fated to be shaped, and to perhaps hold that form for a long time, but eventually it must be made new again. The concept of memory implies survival. Through countless softenings and forgings it carries on slivers of what it used to be, no one fold nor join identical to one that came before it. A metal's past directly informs its future behaviour. Zultanekh would not call this trait heka - no form of silver can defy the laws of silverbeing to become a gold, nor can copper become silver, no matter how much one alters their proportions - but he and his metallurgists consider it the metal's will, and they have never been let down by observing it wherever they could.

Precious metals have it the strongest. By virtue of their utility they live closest to their wearer, and whatever they go through the metals also go through: a careful polish, the violence of the theft, excoriated shavings. The wisps of gold woven into Djoseras's necrodermis are a soft and holy thing, whereas the gold that covers his sire is most foul, the shell as ugly and tortured as the being encased within it. No jeweler worth his deben in buillons would ever go near it, unless Unnas were to endure the star gods' furnaces a second time - and since no one has nor should have to do that, the history of Unnas's gold might as well stop there altogether. Zultanekh is careful to say absolutely none of this as he takes Djoseras through the display.

"Electrum - spangold - the greatest deposit of metagold currently known outside of the solar cults," he says as he takes up two alloys, comparing them side by side. "Experiments with strangesteel. Yet so far nothing short of pure metagold seems to recreate living light, or so we call the insidious tricks of the Nephrekh." He puts them down again, though not before glancing meaningfully at the other. "I'd heard your metagold was sacrificed to Antikef's star, all those millions of years ago. I dare say it's a shame, Djoseras; I would have liked to call upon you for assistance."

Djoseras considers this information silently. Sadly the experiments will have to wait, for it is not gold which has captivated the kynazh's oculars tonight; no, it's silver he wants to see, his lithe body glittering like it as he contemplates its pure form. "Such a fussy thing." He comments, and Zultanekh catches not a small hint of self-deprecation. Djoseras tends to be so careful with his speech (the blandness of it drives the Ogdobekh prince mad sometimes), and he had not thought his vocal acutators were capable of such bitterness. "Ever since the flames of biotransference I have been loyal only to this vermeil. It is a mirror no one could bear. So clear, and yet so easily damaged, and the marks will never come out."

He looks up then, right into Zultanekh's oculars. "Have you an alloy for that?"

All of a sudden Zultanekh desires, painfully, to catch his breath.

"All the ones you'd already know."

In truth, silver is not favoured among the Ogdobekh. They like it fine, it's just that it's best off used as it is. The traits that make silver desirable are quickly lost in alloys - gold drowns it out entirely, lesser metals cut its value, whilst strangesteel lends it a sharp iridescent hue that has nothing to do with silver at all - it is a metal that dies, in other words, if it is anything other than itself. And the Ogdobekh so hate to murder. So does Zultanekh, standing beside the finest silver in all of Ithakas, privy to the cracks that lie underneath. For the silver is Ithakas and Ithakas is the silver. And Djoseras is silver. He mirrors equally all the things that surround him, and when Zultanekh stands close he holds all of Zultanekh upon his surface. But he is not visible unless Zultanekh steps away, the ruddy hue vanishing from his calmwater features, alone and exquisite in the ruins of his city. A lake he can never explore, droplets he can never hold.

He could bring the whole galaxy to its knees and Djoseras will never be his.

"You are right, of course. True silver is soft, too delicate to do much with."

But Zultanekh knows better than to bring any of this up, and when he finally finds the words for his vocal emitter, he keeps them objective and measured. Leaning down beside Djoseras, he chooses an alloy sample that looks the least like an alloy, tracing around the orb with a fingertip. "There are limits to what we can mix it with, but it does need a trace of something else to endure. And our ancestors knew, as you and I do, that the strongest silvers are braced with copper." (Was that a twitch from the kynazh? Zultanekh hopes it was. It is so much more interesting than his daytime stillness.) "Look at this: nine parts silver, one part copper, the best our jewelers will work with. But where you could avoid the physical damage, tarnish would follow, and some take that poorly. Fussy, as you say."

Djoseras buzzes quietly in irritation. For the millionth time he considers the other's copperclad attire. "You are so changeable."

"But present." Zultanekh counters. Djoseras might be bothered by the effort the Ogdobekh must put into preening themselves, but he does not feel it to be wasteful, nor would he apologize for what is natural. "Stains are a part of life, Djoseras."

Djoseras's interstitial link slides shut. It will not open again until they leave this chamber, or else the kynazh this planet, and Zultanekh tries to accept it for what it is. Zultanekh is the Crown Prince. Zultanekh is not a petulant child, he reminds himself, noting for the millionth time that it's nothing personal. It's just Djoseras is fragile, iron-brittle beneath his nobility, and he will break if made to bend too far. Zultanekh need not be the hammer. Anyone could do it, the kynazh's own brother has done it, and it will happen again. He could be welded back together, but since metals have a memory, he will never be the same - and there is nothing Zultanekh fears more than to lose Djoseras as he is now, beautiful and so proud, dying like his dynasty around him. Zultanekh is not a victim of melancholy, nor an indecisive wreck.

What Zultanekh is, however, is sorry. Slowly his hand reaches for the other's, pauses halfway, makes do with a comforting touch on the shoulder. Their oculars still fixed upon the sample alloy.

"This one would brace you well," he whispers, "if you'd like."

Probably for the best, he thinks, that neither of them are versed in linguistical ambiguities.

[dinthoqaf]

Never to your face, but from the shadows... 🥀 "If I could operate it perfectly, I'd assassinate you and anyone that justifies or contributes to your evils... You bring nothing but pain into the world, and this your atonement ought' be: death. An erasure from existence. Would you even put up a fight?"

The Fallen Reliquary is a place between all others, hidden from view and knowing except for all those gifted with its presence. Dinthoqaf sat here within this place; a grand study the likes of which grew at alien angels and foreign principles. A desk sprawled out with various inks, scrolls, books written in knowledge, and syllables constantly shifting in their forms to remain intact for none save for the Defiler who gave them shape. It's these pages that offer the shadow its place to whisper, crawling up from their folds and edges like uttered tones of a child scared to admit to their parents of their wrongdoing. This very sound, these words, causes Dinthoqaf to smile and give pause to his work, whatever it was. His hand puts aside the quill he had been working with, a gift given by one of his children some time ago and while it was not one of his finest, it need not matter here in this place. Fingers trace over the edges of a singular document before it's pulled free. The source of this whisper.

Dinthoqaf runs his fingers down its front tenderly as if it were the curves of a lover's jawline. "Oh how so many have whispered such sweetnesses when the back has been turned and they find there is no reprisal." He lifts the page, placing his lips upon its surface with as much care as one would grant the forehead of a dying parent in their final moments. "Such flaunted egotism, such astounding ignorance." His lips move, barely grazing the page as he talks back to it as if it was this very person's ear, a secret to be kept between the two of them that none of the world beyond dare learn or know. "You fear that which is different, that which you refuse to understand. One day, perhaps you'll have the courage to speak with me in person, to tell me such dreaded desires that you fail to admit openly out of concern of reprisal. But do not fear, for strong is the will that can take the criticisms without worrying about the cracks such a tool is attempting to form. Time will come when you just may get your chance, but remember, no matter how swiftly your desires come and no matter their successes or lack thereof, it's desires such as your own that sire people like me. People such as yourself are why people like me stand up to lead those who lack their own voice, who lack their own courage." He smiles and a wistful sigh comes from his lips. "Don't be confused though. Some people I may save and some I may champion, but do not become twisted in your emotions little fish. I am no hero in this story. We do as we are designed and intended to do and it is always the place of those in power to keep that power, to keep people like me and mine from rising above our stations. Be scared, let worry carry your thoughts upon them like a lazed river granting solstice in the fact you ride but do not realize the depths upon which you sail. In time, the storms will come, and the weight of your position will drag you down." Dinthoqaf kisses the page once more, rolling it up slowly in hand just to blow at it like a leaf. The wind of the Reliquary picks it up, beginning to carry it off to wherever this whisper originated from. Undeterred, lacking concern, The Defiler returns to his work and his creations of ink and quill. Now though, a comforting smile upon his face as he did so.

( Thank you for the Prompt Anon! I enjoyed this one quite a bit and I hope to see more like it! :D )

[h0n3yk1tt3n]

The origin story of my unhinged big bro Jake hc that exactly one person asked for like months ago

It spawned from an interaction with one of my friends during Pirates of Penzance rehearsals back in 2018. I made some sort of joke that prompted her to cover my mouth, which naturally I licked. She recoiled for a second before recovering my mouth and saying something to the effect of "Do it, I have younger sibling."

Blorbo brain activated and I thought "Huh, it'd be funny if this happened with the squip squad." The plan was for it to appear as a banter scene for a fic but that fell through, as did my mental health. I had decided that Jake would be the one covering Jeremy's mouth (projecting at its finest) and wanted to think of a surprising number of siblings for Jake to have that were spaced out in age in such a way that most kids wouldn’t necessarily connect them easily. So I landed on the line "Do it, I'm the oldest of five."

But Jake is all but canonically an only child! How does that make sense? THROUGH CONVOLUTED CONSPIRING AND WACKY CHARACTER ANALYSIS/PROBABLY MAKING UP SOME SELF INDULGENT BULLSHIT :D like i said, the origin was entirely ridiculous and was Not based in canon at the time, but I like to think Parts of it Could Make Sense Kinda based on certain aspects of his character.

The idea of Jake needing to grow up faster because he's on his own more often than not is solid on its own, but needing to take care of younger siblings too?? That's definitely gonna exacerbate the pressure to be good enough for others, especially kids that depend on you. We see that he can be serious and sweet when it matters ("I don't wanna do every extracurricular at school. I just wanna do yours.") but most of the time he doesn't take things seriously or responds to them in a childish way (big blowout parties to avoid being alone in a big empty house), both of which would demonstrate roles as caregiver and fun older brother to play with.

But wait, Jake says "the house is empty," during Upgrade. Where are four other kids gonna be? This is where it gets convoluted bc Nostalgia-Fueled Coping (aside from these kids having other friends.) So Jake is gonna have some other family that catches wind of what's going on, right? In the case of my fever dream, it's his grandparents. They see that this high school kid is Struggling™️ and just take the kids into their place because we can't have horses babysitting dogs right? So Jake should just move in with them and Be A Kid right?

Weeell now he's got a slight responsibility complex and has to look after their parents' empty house just to make sure nothing bad happens. And so that he can tell them whats up when they come home and only find 1/5 kids there. Featuring projected insertion of my friend's mastiff Alice that he also has to look after bc I based a lot of Jake's humor off of him + his sister ok I TOLD YOU IT WAS SELF-INDULGENT

But he's got a dog! He's not alone! Pets are great and all but they are Not a substitute for friends or parents.

So why does he get all reckless and start throwing giant ass parties if he's trying to be the responsible one? He's a teenager, he runs on hormones, poor coping mechanisms, and "fuck it."

Sooo where were the siblings on Halloween??? Out trick-or-treating :)

So they just came back to a burning house and a broken brother??? :)))

I know I'm tripping on EVERY DRUG with this but hey. I told you the origin. It didn't start out that deep. It just became a thought experiment that I got way too attached to.

[verecunda]

Heyy your morgoth posts are amazing ❤️❤️

Do you think eru genuinely loved melkor more than manwe because melkor was made first before any other valar and it's mentioned that he had a share in all the other valar's powers. Manwe may be close to eru's will but melkor was indulged and given all things and powers of others.

It seems like eru was an artist and melkor was first of his finest creations whom he didn't destroy even when melkor turned evil.

Hi, Anon, sorry for taking so long to get back to you. Hope you're still around!

lmao thanks. I didn't think I actually made that many Morgoth posts actually, but I'm glad they've struck a chord with you. :)

I've never really thought about it before, actually, but now that you've asked me... I don't know if I think Eru necessarily loved Melkor more than the others. More I think he created Melkor with the intention that he should be the Elder King, therefore by necessity he'd need that share of all the others' gifts. But I certainly don't think he was the outcast, unfavourite child. I do think that Eru loved him deeply, and if he didn't go so far as to tell Melkor he was meant to be the Elder King, maybe Melkor still picked up on it, even unconsciously.

I suppose you could argue that Eru's feelings during the Ainulindalë might be something akin to those of the parent of a spoilt, bratty teenager, who realises too late what their over-indulgence has unleased... :P

I really like your comparison, though! Eru as an artist unable to bring himself to destroy his finest creation, I love that. That is such an interesting view of it omg, and would tie into all the various themes of creation and sub-creation in the legendarium. :D

Personally, I think Eru must spend a lot of time (er, in a manner of speaking) sitting in the Timeless Halls, reminding himself his own words: "No theme may be played that hath not its uttermost source in me (etc.)". This wasn't what he'd planned at all, but now he'll just have to sit tight and trust that whatever Melkor does now, it'll all come back to be woven into the overall Music. Still, he mourns.

[coyotescribbles]

The lift was taking its time.

1 through 24, the consultation suites.

Neutrino tapped her fingertips impatiently against her thigh as she watched the numbers tick up.

25 through 40, the clinical labs.

Her energon ran cold, and she found herself swallowing against the knot of fear that formed in her throat.

40 through 49, the office spaces.

What was she even doing here again? She'd never wanted to come back after the incident in her mother's lab. And ever since she'd learned the truth about her mother and Megatron, she hadn't even been able to stomach looking at this place…

50 through 64, the server racks.

But something in the back of her mind itched and wouldn't be satisfied until…

65 through 74, the R&D labs.

The elevator came to a halt at the 74th floor, and she knew it would go no further; everything above this floor was private.

Everything above this floor was home.

"Home," what a joke.

Disembarking from the car, Neutrino stalked down the corridor that ran down the center of the floor, flanked on either side by banks of windows looking in on the various labs, all dark and silent now.

At the end of the corridor was another elevator, only accessible to those with the correct genetic imprint.

Pressing her thumb to the scanner, she waited for it to read her CNA - then stepped into the car behind the door as they slid open.

Her suite was the 79th floor.

She selected the 76th instead.

It was a completely impulsive decision on her part, choosing the floor where her parents had entertained guests and business partners. The floor that now represented, in her mind, everything terrible that her mother had done, that had led up to… this.

The static in her audials was a rushing roar by the time the elevator doors opened again, this time to a lavish open area carpeted in plush void-black trimmed with polished gold chrome. The walls were midnight blue, and the vaulted ceiling had been hand-painted with a view of the galaxy as seen from half a light-year above the galactic plane, and every star was a tiny light that twinkled even in the afternoon sun.

Every wing of the floor was furnished, too, with sets of exquisite chairs and matching tables, places for visitors to sit and admire the view of Cybertropolis while enjoying fine high-grade from cut-crystal decanters.

And the whole expansive space was decorated with art from the finest creators in the galaxy - massive paintings adorned the walls, hung between pedestals upon which sat sculptures, pottery, and hologram projectors depicting subjects ranging from the abstract to the historical.

Her mother always had fancied herself a femme of intellect and taste.

She'd never been allowed to spend much time in the space. Maybe that was why she was drawn to it now.

Now, with grief and hurt and hate and raw animal rage simmering in her chest.

Tears were welling up in Neutrino's optics as she made her way through the space, looking at her mother's most prized possessions.

She loved these things more than she ever loved me.

Her hands curled into tight fists.

I was never good enough for her, always kept hidden away upstairs where no one could ever see me.

Her vision blurred, then cleared, then blurred again.

And then an elaborate vase was swept from its pedestal to shatter against the floor, flecks of bright red enamel glittering against the carpet.

Another followed. Then another. A tall serpentine sculpture half as tall as she was fractured into a thousand pieces that she kicked aside. A whole shelf of carved marble figures was swept clean.

And Neutrino screamed, an anguished howl tearing itself from her throat in a flood of tears.

Blunt claws ripped into painted canvas, tearing paintings to shreds before smashing the empty frames against the wall. A sufficiently-sturdy piece of broken frame found itself being used as a bludgeon, smashing fragile ceramics and glass and stone. Broken material crunched underfoot (like her broken spark always being stepped on by everyone who was ever supposed to protect her) as she systematically made her way through her mother's little art museum, destroying as she went.

Her arms and shoulders ached from the exertion, her air filters burned, and her fuel pump hammered deafeningly in her ears as she took a lifetime of anguish out on her mother in the only way she possibly could now, leaving a trail of destruction in her wake.

Until she came to her mother's favorite piece.

The towering marble and bronze sculpture by Tenebrous was twice her height, standing in a position of pride on a wide pedestal squarely at the center of the south-facing wall of windows, where Hadean could shine on it through the entire day, gleaming on polished metal and stone.

It almost seemed to mock her - "Look how I was given a place of honor, while you were hidden away behind locked doors."

She didn't know what possessed her in that moment, but in the blink of an optic she found herself stepping up onto the pedestal and throwing her entire weight against the damned sculpture. It was heavy, though, and she was so small…

But anger drove her to keep trying, giving her strength that she couldn't remember ever having had before as she shoved her shoulder against the smooth cold surface.

Again.

Again.

And again. Until she felt it wobble and rock on its base. Until she felt it start to tip. Until she heard stone grinding against stone as it finally came unbalanced.

She lost her footing as it fell, hitting the floor hard enough to hurt even as the sculpture hit the window behind it, shattering it into thousands of glittering stars - and then plummeting out of sight.

(Several seconds later, it would crash to the ground just as Thrust was cruising by, missing him by mere inches.)

Neutrino just lay on the floor where she'd fallen, curling up on her side and sobbing bitterly.

It was dark, inside and outside, when the hum of antigravs reached her ears.

She recognized Scintilla before she even saw him, but couldn't muster up the will to get up from where she sat against an overturned chair, or even look in his direction.

Not until carefully lowered himself to the floor an arm's length away, chirping a wordless interrogative.

Only then did she turn tear-filled optics to him, feeling a wave of fresh grief crash over her; with a broken sob, she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his midsection and burying her face against the flexmesh there as she dissolved into wordless tears.

[eclipsecrowned]

OC INFO PACKET: VALAS D*VIR (Galdur Bait 3 PC / Companion)

NAME: Valas D*vir (assumed alias) AGE: 110+ HAIR: Snow white Eyes: Violet blue Height: 5'11" Occupation: Researcher ; Lifelong adventurer ; Menace to the Population Family: G*rion's Ward (father, deceased) ; V*conia D*vir (mother, status unknown) ; Bh**l (grandfather) ; Bh**lspawn (paternal relatives)

It was never going to be easy for him. Oh, his parents had their delusions, putting down their arms and taking up more common ambitions towards power and wealth after years shaping the Sword Coast, dreaming of building a dynasty in the famed city of B*ldurs Gate. And what good is a dynasty without endurance? Valas was born into both love and expectation, son of two of the most powerful figures in the known world. It was a boyhood of privilege, jewel-stitched velvet clothes and the finest tutors his mother could cow, his pride and potential honed to perfection. His father had turned to politics and his mother kept her whisper wars and ambitions burning from their fine manse. But all childhoods end, and as is the case with many Bh**lspawn, Valas' was severed by blood.

He doesn't remember what happened, really. He had been so young, still fat and jovial and exuberant, when his mother vanished. Some said she had been killed by rivals, and others by old enemies, and Valas' father would speak of his great love no longer. There were no more velvet clothes, no more tutors, no more mansion in the finest district. His hero father left it all behind, refusing to call the old manor a home in absence of his beloved wife. Father and son returned to the road that the hero had known so well, and what they sought, Valas can recall no longer. Only that his feet were blistered and his sleep fitful, and his father the only steadfast thing in those days. He nurtured Valas' innate magic and his endless questions with his characteristic patience, and saw his son grow to manhood with a quiet pride. The real tragedy is that the hero was only a Human man, and divine blood only bought him so much time. He passed quietly, and while his name is still sung in taverns and immortalized in tales, the only legacy that mattered to him by the end was Valas.

Valas has wandered alone ever since, with no fancies towards his father's heroics or his mother's grasping ambitions. However, their mark is stark upon him. He possesses his father's probing mind and intrigue, a man determined to understand the world that so changed and then stole his mother. He has fastidiously traveled every corner of the world available for him, and boldly stolen into what locations would bar him entrance. His notes are meticulous, his knowledge sharpened to a blade's cruelty. It has been enough, for a Half-Drow denied most comforts and companionship that many take for granted. A hero's son he might be, but his mother is always a Drow, and he will never deny her by look or by word.

Loneliness has its end, too. He had put his father's kin out of mind, until they crawled out of whatever Hell was put aside for Bh**l and his spawn. The woman in red had been many things to him, a fellow traveler, a rare friend, a child in need, but by the end, she was always herself. Their blood called to one another, and it needed to be spilt. But Valas has always been the escape artist. He had only just put some miles between he and that blasted woman when the ship caught him, dragging him out of one inferno and into a far less metaphorical one.

Joins the party out of self-preservation. Their odds are improved together, and if he must rectify the larval situation himself, he would sooner use his medical implements on a third party than default to self surgery. He is equal parts a mentor and a source of fury, not a team player but a great asset to have. A glory hound, a master mage, and a smirking pretty boy all in one, he's as divisive as he is divine. however, when the cards are down, proper effort might see his carefully crafted walls crumble when his companions have need of him as a man more than a myth.

A scholar, but never a gentleman. He can infodump with the party nerds one day and then have them ready to kill him the next. He's not here to be understood or please others, and while he has moments of sincerity, he smothers them almost immediately. He's spent so long running and surviving that it's hard for anyone to take root in his heart. Still, he feels a keen pull towards the cleric and her situation, and can match wits with the rogue and relish leaving him high and dry. More than anything, he pities the more heroic members of the party: he knows firsthand how their tales end, no matter their choices or strengths.

A prodigious Storm Sorcerer, built around high mobility and explosive damage. He's been on his own too long to really account for team tactics at first, aiming to act for himself alone as swiftly as possible. He can, however, be sufficiently persuaded to help more than he hinders, and to spread the thrill of battle around. Just keep in mind he will never stop preening and posturing about his prowess. He's chock full of Lightning and Thunder spells just waiting to be unleashed and enhanced.

His character is nebulous and his moral compass is a roulette wheel. He's haughty, but experienced enough that it doesn't come across as arrogance. He's rightfully proud of what he's achieved, but allows little more of him to rise to the service than his bit as a seasoned traveler and handsome devil. He refuses to yield to another's will, but a part of him longs to be part as a whole. He gets a read on others with relative ease just based on his age, there is nothing new under the sun, but Gods, he's waiting for someone to surprise him and prove him wrong. It's hard to get on his bad side/net disapproval, but it's also best to consult a walkthrough if trying to curry favor. Loves pragmatic self-service as it affirms his beliefs, but will feel funny and eventually approve of unpretentious heroism.

His arc is do or die. Either the apathy takes him and he ends the journey very much like he began it, he reawakens to being an active player seeking to save the world his parents gave so much for and he has so much to learn from, or he becomes ruled by his baser impulses and seeks conquest and power like the worst of his blood. It all depends on how the PC approaches him, and in fact, investing in him at all is the first step towards his agreeing to saving or damning the world.

He wants to understand the tadpole. Will do whatever it takes the understand the tadpole. Will volunteer to examine the PC's tadpole... which involves breaking out his medical implements. What sounded like innuendo of a 'private physical' is instead dead serious, he wants to basically trepanate the player. If they refuse him he'll later be found trying the same schtick on Astarion who also intuits this as a seduction rather than scientific curiosity. We love a creepy king.

[communion-dress-store-toronto]

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At La Rondine Occasions, the christening gowns are designed to be as timeless as the moments they commemorate. Where is Stoney Creek and Why is it Ideal for Shopping for Christening Gowns? Stoney Creek is a charming community located in the city of Hamilton, Ontario. Known for its picturesque landscapes and vibrant local culture, Stoney Creek has become a go-to destination for those looking to shop for special occasions like baptisms and christenings. The region offers a mix of boutique stores and high-end retailers, making it the ideal spot for finding a christening gown. One of the most appealing aspects of shopping in Stoney Creek is the convenience. With La Rondine Occasions being centrally located, it’s easy for families in and around the area to make a trip to their store. Whether you’re based in Stoney Creek or neighboring towns, La Rondine Occasions provides a one-stop shop for your christening needs. How to Choose the Right Christening Gown? Selecting a christening gown can be a deeply personal decision. The gown represents the start of a child's spiritual journey, and many parents want it to be perfect. Here are some tips to help guide your selection: Consider Your Style Preferences While traditional christening gowns are often long and detailed, modern designs may feature shorter cuts, simpler fabrics, or subtle embellishments. La Rondine Occasions offers a variety of styles, ensuring that there is something to fit every family’s preferences. Whether you’re seeking a vintage-inspired gown or a contemporary style, their collection has you covered. Choose Quality Fabrics The materials used in the gown can make all the difference in its appearance and comfort. Look for fabrics like cotton, silk, and satin, as these are soft against a baby’s delicate skin while still providing the elegance desired for the occasion. La Rondine Occasions prides itself on sourcing the finest materials for their christening gowns. Think About Future Use Many families choose to preserve the christening gown as a family heirloom. This means you may want to choose a gown that is both durable and timeless. La Rondine Occasions’ selection is designed to withstand the test of time, making it a great choice for families looking to pass the gown down through generations. Don’t Forget About Accessories Accessories such as bonnets, shoes, and blankets can enhance the overall look of the christening ensemble. Be sure to explore these options at La Rondine Occasions to complete your child’s outfit for the ceremony. What Are the Benefits of Shopping at La Rondine Occasions in Stoney Creek? Shopping at La Rondine Occasions offers several distinct advantages: 1. Unmatched Customer Service: The staff at La Rondine Occasions provide personalized assistance to help you choose the perfect gown for your child. Their experience ensures that every detail is accounted for. 2. Wide Selection of Styles: Whether you want something classic or modern, their vast collection has something for everyone. From simple designs to elaborate creations, La Rondine Occasions covers all the bases. 3. Quality Materials and Craftsmanship: Each gown is made with attention to detail, ensuring a high level of craftsmanship and comfort for your child on their special day. 4. Accessories Galore: In addition to gowns, La Rondine Occasions offers a range of accessories to complement the christening outfit, ensuring that every detail is covered. 5. Convenience of Location: For those living in or near Stoney Creek, La Rondine Occasions is easy to access, making it a convenient place to shop for your christening gown and accessories. Frequently Asked Questions 1. Where can I buy a christening gown in Stoney Creek? You can buy a christening gown in Stoney Creek at La Rondine Occasions, a boutique known for its high-quality selection of gowns and accessories. Visit La Rondine Occasions for more information. 2. What types of christening gowns are available at La Rondine Occasions? La Rondine Occasions offers a variety of christening gowns, including traditional, modern, and elegant designs. The store also carries baptism gowns and accessories to complete your child's outfit. 3. Are there any accessories available for christening gowns at La Rondine Occasions? Yes, La Rondine Occasions offers a range of accessories, including bonnets, shoes, and blankets, to complement the christening gown and complete the look. Read the full article

[skoolzedu]

" A World-Class Education in Bangalore: Your Guide to Top IGCSE Schools with Skoolz"

Bangalore, known as the Silicon Valley of India, is not only a hub for innovation and technology but also home to some of the best educational institutions in the country. For parents looking to provide their children with a world-class education, IGCSE schools in Bangalore offer an exceptional option. The International General Certificate of Secondary Education (IGCSE) is a globally recognized qualification that prepares students for higher education and careers around the world. Through platforms like Skoolz, finding the right IGCSE school in Bangalore has never been easier.

Why Choose IGCSE Schools in Bangalore?

IGCSE is a flexible and challenging curriculum that provides students with a strong foundation in a variety of subjects. The focus on critical thinking, problem-solving, and global awareness makes it a perfect fit for today’s dynamic world. The curriculum encourages students to explore subjects of interest, helping them become independent thinkers and well-rounded individuals.

Bangalore is home to some of the finest schools in Bangalore offering the IGCSE program. These schools combine the best of global education standards with local knowledge, providing an enriching environment for students to excel academically and personally. Here’s why an IGCSE education in Bangalore is worth considering:

International Recognition: The IGCSE qualification is recognized by universities and employers worldwide, making it an excellent choice for students who plan to pursue higher education abroad.

Broad Curriculum: IGCSE schools offer a wide range of subjects, from traditional sciences and humanities to more specialized areas like business studies, computer science, and design technology. This ensures that students receive a well-rounded education.

Focus on Critical Thinking: IGCSE emphasizes understanding over rote learning, encouraging students to think critically, analyze information, and apply their knowledge to real-world scenarios.

Holistic Development: Apart from academics, IGCSE schools focus on personal growth through extracurricular activities, leadership opportunities, and community engagement, which helps students develop important life skills.

Top IGCSE Schools in Bangalore

Bangalore boasts several top-tier IGCSE schools, each with unique strengths and offerings. Whether you’re looking for a school with advanced STEM programs, robust arts and culture initiatives, or a focus on global perspectives, there is something for everyone. Some of the best schools in Bangalore for IGCSE education include:

School A – Known for its commitment to academic excellence, this school offers a comprehensive IGCSE curriculum complemented by a strong emphasis on STEM education. The school’s cutting-edge technology and facilities ensure that students have access to the best resources to succeed.

School B – This school blends rigorous academics with a vibrant arts program, providing students with opportunities to explore their creative side while excelling in traditional academic subjects. Their focus on global exposure through exchange programs makes it a popular choice for international-minded students.

School C – Renowned for its focus on leadership and entrepreneurship, this IGCSE school encourages students to think critically and develop their entrepreneurial skills through projects, internships, and real-world problem-solving.

School D – With a strong track record of students securing places in top universities globally, this school offers a well-balanced approach to education, with an equal focus on academics, sports, and personal development.

How Skoolz Can Help You Find the Best IGCSE School in Bangalore

Choosing the right IGCSE school for your child can be an overwhelming process, especially when you want to ensure that the school not only meets academic standards but also aligns with your child's unique interests and needs. Skoolz simplifies this decision-making process by providing a comprehensive guide to the best IGCSE schools in Bangalore. The platform allows you to explore schools based on criteria such as:

Curriculum and Subject Offerings: Skoolz helps you identify schools that provide the right mix of subjects and extracurricular activities, ensuring your child receives a well-rounded education.

School Reputation and Track Record: You can access detailed information about each school's performance, including academic achievements, university placements, and extracurricular successes.

Campus Facilities: Skoolz provides insights into school infrastructure, including technology, sports facilities, libraries, and more, helping you choose a school that supports your child’s growth in all areas.

Teacher Expertise and Student Support: Understanding the quality of teachers and the support systems in place for students is essential. Skoolz helps you evaluate the level of teaching expertise and the support structures available at each school.

By browsing through the best schools in Bangalore on Skoolz, parents can make an informed decision that ensures their child gets the best possible education to thrive in today’s digital and globalized world.

Conclusion

Bangalore’s IGCSE schools offer a world-class education that prepares students for global opportunities and challenges. These schools not only provide academic rigor but also focus on developing critical thinking, creativity, and leadership skills. Through platforms like Skoolz, finding the right IGCSE school in Bangalore has become more accessible, ensuring that students get the education they deserve. Whether you're looking for a school with a focus on technology, the arts, or entrepreneurship, Bangalore’s IGCSE schools offer a wealth of options for every student’s educational journey.

[vikashhospital]

Best Pediatric Hospitals in Sambalpur: Why Vikash Hospital Stands Out 

Choosing the right healthcare provider for your child is one of the most critical decisions a parent can make. Sambalpur, a growing city in Odisha, offers various healthcare options, but if you're looking for the best pediatric hospitals in Sambalpur, Vikash Hospital is a name that truly stands out. With an unwavering commitment to providing top-notch pediatric care, Vikash Hospital is recognized as one of the finest choices for parents seeking quality medical services for their children.

Vikash Hospital Sambalpur: A Hub for Pediatric Excellence

Vikash Hospital, located in Sambalpur, has established itself as a leader in pediatric healthcare, providing comprehensive medical services to children. With a dedicated team of highly skilled pediatricians, specialized nursing staff, and advanced medical equipment, Vikash Hospital ensures that young patients receive the best care possible. The hospital's emphasis on compassionate care, combined with the latest medical advancements, makes it one of the best pediatric hospitals in Sambalpur.

Specialized Pediatric Services at Vikash Hospital      

What sets Vikash Hospital apart as a leading pediatric healthcare provider in Sambalpur is its wide array of specialized services that cater specifically to children's unique needs. Below are some of the key pediatric services offered:

1. Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU)

The Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Vikash Hospital is well-equipped with advanced technology to provide critical care to premature and high-risk newborns. The NICU team includes experienced neonatologists who ensure that even the most delicate patients are given the utmost attention, which is crucial during the initial days of life.

2. General Pediatrics and Outpatient Services

Vikash Hospital offers general pediatric services that cover everything from routine checkups and vaccinations to the treatment of acute illnesses. The hospital's outpatient services are geared towards providing a child-friendly environment, making visits less stressful for young patients and their parents.

3. Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU)

The Pediatric Intensive Care Unit at Vikash Hospital is designed to provide intensive medical attention to critically ill children. The PICU is staffed with experienced pediatric intensivists and supported by state-of-the-art monitoring systems to ensure the highest quality of care for children with severe health issues.

4. Pediatric Surgery

The pediatric surgery department at Vikash Hospital is known for its expertise in handling a wide range of surgical procedures specifically tailored to children. From minor surgeries to complex procedures, the experienced pediatric surgeons ensure that children are treated in a safe and child-friendly environment.

5. Vaccination and Immunization Programs

Vaccination is a key part of preventive healthcare for children. Vikash Hospital offers a comprehensive immunization program, ensuring that children are vaccinated according to the latest recommended schedule, which helps protect them from various infectious diseases.

Why Vikash Hospital is the Best Pediatric Hospital in Sambalpur

Parents looking for the best pediatric hospitals in Sambalpur often choose Vikash Hospital due to its commitment to providing child-centric healthcare. Here are some reasons why Vikash Hospital is considered the top choice for pediatric care:

1. Highly Skilled Pediatric Team

The pediatric team at Vikash Hospital comprises qualified doctors, nurses, and specialists who are dedicated to offering the best care to children. Their extensive experience and gentle approach help create a comforting environment for both children and their parents.

2. Child-Friendly Environment

Understanding that children require extra care and comfort, Vikash Hospital ensures a child-friendly atmosphere. The hospital staff is trained to handle children with empathy, making sure they are comfortable during treatments and procedures.

3. Emergency Pediatric Care

Children can fall ill or require medical attention at any time. Vikash Hospital offers 24/7 pediatric emergency care, ensuring that young patients have access to immediate and effective medical assistance when needed.

4. Focus on Comprehensive Child Health

Vikash Hospital takes a holistic approach to child healthcare. The hospital focuses not only on treating illnesses but also on promoting overall well-being, growth, and development through nutritional counseling, regular health checkups, and guidance for parents on child health.

5. Advanced Technology and Infrastructure

The hospital is equipped with advanced medical technologies and infrastructure to support accurate diagnostics and effective treatment. Facilities like NICU, PICU, and well-equipped pediatric operation theaters ensure that all medical needs are met efficiently under one roof.

Parent-Centric Care at Vikash Hospital

At Vikash Hospital, pediatric care goes beyond medical treatment. The doctors and staff believe in involving parents at every step of the treatment process. They provide detailed information about the child's condition, treatment options, and preventive measures, helping parents feel confident and informed about their child's healthcare journey.

The hospital’s parent education programs are designed to help families better understand their child's health and development. The focus on communication and family involvement further solidifies Vikash Hospital’s reputation as one of the best pediatric hospitals in Sambalpur.

For parents in Sambalpur seeking the best pediatric hospitals, Vikash Hospital emerges as an excellent choice due to its comprehensive services, child-friendly environment, and dedicated pediatric specialists. The hospital’s focus on quality care, combined with its state-of-the-art facilities and compassionate approach, makes it a preferred destination for pediatric healthcare in the region.

Whether you need routine health checkups, specialized pediatric care, or emergency services, Vikash Hospital in Sambalpur is equipped to provide the best possible healthcare solutions for your child. The commitment to excellence and holistic care truly sets Vikash Hospital apart, making it a leader in pediatric healthcare in Sambalpur.

[doonheritage]

Best CBSE Schools in Dehradun: A Guide to Choosing the Right School for Your Child

Choosing the right school for your child is one of the most important decisions a parent can make. With Dehradun emerging as a prominent educational hub, it has become home to some of the finest CBSE schools in India. The city offers a blend of traditional values and modern education, making it a top choice for parents. In this guide, we’ll explore the key factors to consider when selecting the best CBSE school in Dehradun for your child and highlight what sets these schools apart from others.

1. Understanding the CBSE Curriculum

Before diving into how to choose the best CBSE school in Dehradun, it’s important to understand the Central Board of Secondary Education (CBSE) curriculum. CBSE is recognized as one of the most trusted education boards in India. It offers a comprehensive and structured syllabus that ensures academic excellence while promoting critical thinking, creativity, and all-round development. The CBSE board also emphasizes skill-based learning, which equips students for competitive exams like NEET, JEE, and other future career opportunities.

2. Why Choose a CBSE School in Dehradun?

Dehradun, with its serene environment and top-tier educational institutions, provides an ideal atmosphere for learning. CBSE schools in Dehradun are renowned for offering holistic education that integrates academic rigor with extracurricular activities. When you search for the best CBSE school in Dehradun, you are looking for a school that not only excels in academics but also shapes young minds for personal growth.

Many of these schools boast excellent infrastructure, experienced faculty, modern teaching methods, and an overall nurturing environment. With the rise in competitive exams and career-oriented education, a CBSE school in Dehradun can give your child the best possible foundation.

3. Factors to Consider When Choosing the Best CBSE School in Dehradun

While the city is home to many prestigious schools, it’s crucial to evaluate a few key factors to ensure you’re choosing the right one for your child. Here are the factors to keep in mind:

a. Academic Excellence and Results

The primary goal of any school is academic achievement. The best CBSE school in Dehradun will have a proven track record of excellent board exam results, with students regularly achieving high scores. Look for schools that consistently produce top performers in both Class 10 and 12 exams.

b. Experienced Faculty

A school’s faculty plays a crucial role in shaping a child’s academic journey. Teachers in the best CBSE school in Dehradun are not only highly qualified but also experienced in dealing with students of varying abilities. Schools that invest in ongoing teacher training and development also ensure that educators stay up-to-date with modern teaching methodologies.

c. Infrastructure and Facilities

A school’s infrastructure significantly impacts the learning experience. The best CBSE schools in Dehradun provide state-of-the-art classrooms, science labs, computer labs, libraries, and sports facilities. A well-equipped school allows students to explore and develop their skills in different areas beyond just academics.

d. Extracurricular Activities

An important factor in choosing the best CBSE school in Dehradun is the emphasis on extracurricular activities. A balanced education includes sports, music, dance, drama, and art. These activities help in the overall development of the child, fostering creativity, teamwork, leadership, and discipline. Schools with a wide range of extracurricular programs are often better suited for holistic development.

e. Student Support and Counseling

Education goes beyond textbooks, and the best CBSE schools in Dehradun provide a robust student support system. This includes guidance counselors, mental health support, and career counseling services. A school that prioritizes student well-being will create a positive and supportive learning environment where your child can thrive.

f. Parental Involvement

The relationship between the school and parents is also crucial. The best CBSE school in Dehradun will encourage open communication and active parental involvement in a child’s educational journey. Regular parent-teacher meetings, feedback sessions, and updates on student progress are all hallmarks of a good school.

4. Top CBSE Schools in Dehradun: What Makes Them Stand Out?

While Dehradun is known for its array of excellent CBSE schools, a few institutions have consistently been recognized for their quality of education, infrastructure, and student achievements. These schools offer an optimal balance of academic rigor and co-curricular activities, making them the best CBSE schools in Dehradun. Here’s a look at what makes them stand out:

a. Doon Heritage School

One of the top contenders for the best CBSE school in Dehradun, Doon Heritage School emphasizes academic excellence combined with a focus on character building. Its state-of-the-art infrastructure, experienced faculty, and focus on extracurricular activities make it a preferred choice for many parents. The school’s approach to personalized learning and its excellent track record in board results set it apart.

b. The Asian School

Known for its disciplined academic environment, The Asian School provides top-notch facilities that cater to both academics and sports. It offers a wide array of extracurricular activities and focuses on the overall development of students. Its emphasis on modern teaching techniques makes it one of the best CBSE schools in Dehradun.

c. Kasiga School

Kasiga School offers a blend of traditional values and modern education, making it one of the most sought-after CBSE schools in Dehradun. The school is renowned for its international exposure programs, excellent infrastructure, and student-centric approach.

For more information Contact Us-

📞Call-+91–6395758075

🌎Website- https://doonheritageschool.com/

📧Email-doonheritageschool@gmail.com

[talksthesuccess]

MOST POPULAR MAN IN WORLD

MOST POPULAR MAN IN WORLD

DWAYNE JOHNSON ‘THE ROCK’

Born in Hayward, California, on May 2, 1972, Dwayne Douglas Johnson is also known by his stage moniker, The Rock. an American professional wrestler, businessman, and actor. He was exposed to the WWE, and he performs as a wrestler part-time. Along with he is also a member of The Bloodline.

Besides being multi-talented and versatile, his articulate professions made him reflect as the most attractive, influential, and qualitative man. He is in the co-ownership of the United Football League (UFL), He is pertained as a member of the board of directors of TKO Group. 

Holdings, the WWE and UFC's parent corporation.

Early Life

Johnson was raised in a household of wrestlers. After attending Glencliff High School and McGavock High School in Nashville, Tennessee, he continued his education at Freedom High School in Bethlehem Township, Pennsylvania, which is located in the Lehigh Valley section of the state.

He trained for the Muhammad Ali "Rumble in the Jungle" in 1974 by sparring with George Foreman. But at first, the younger Johnson seemed more interested in the mat than the football field. He played football for the University of Miami team that won the 1991 NCAA Championship and was a standout athlete in high school (Bachelor of General Studies, 1995). 

He went to wrestling after his career in the Canadian Football League was cut short due to injuries.

Emergent into Wrestling

Dwayne Johnson has the finest aptitudes or we can say gifts with an astonishing combination of size, speed, and agility as well as polished microphone skills. In the year 1996, he made his debut in the World Wrestling Federation (WWF). 

His emergence into the world of wrestling came to appear.

With the name Rocky Maivia, a name that praises his father and his grandfather. He was enthusiastically embraced as a “face” that was the crowd’s favorite. 

After a few months of stepping into wrestling, he captured the WWF Intercontinental title. The forceful push, however, caused a backlash from fans, and in later storylines, The Rock—an unrepentant “heel” or “bad guy”—was given more screen time than Rocky Maivia. 

The change brought about a rise in popularity. The Rock won the first of multiple world championship titles in 1998 and got into several high-profile feuds with the biggest WWF performers.

The Rock’s stardom and popularity accelerated to grow and the audience still encouraged him even though he was a heel.

The Rock is a wrestling legend, acknowledged by many as one of the greatest in history, featured on wrestling icons' "Mount Rushmore."

The Rock was called "for a long time, the WWE's biggest star and probably held the greatest international appeal" in Cable Visions: Television Beyond Broadcasting.  According to R. D. Reynolds, the author of The WrestleCrap Book of Lists, the Rock was "the biggest star for WWE from 1999 until 2004." One of the most well-known "I quit" matches in history, The Rock's 1999 Royal Rumble fight against Mankind is notorious for its ferocity.

Emergent into acting 

Johnson's notoriety in wrestling and his well-known work ethic helped him succeed early on when he entered Hollywood. He rose to become one of Hollywood's most lucrative and successful performers during his performing career.

While still a professional wrestler, In the 1999 "That Wrestling Show" episode, he made his on-screen debut as Rocky Johnson, the father of That '70s Show.

He made an appearance as an alien wrestler who faced off against Seven of Nine in the Star Trek: Voyager episode "Tsunkatse" almost a year later. WWE kept selling "The Rock" memorabilia and Johnson continued to be prominently featured in the opening montages of their TV shows even after he left the business.

As antagonist Mathayus "The Scorpion King" in The Mummy Returns (2001), Johnson had his debut part in a feature film. In the 2002 follow-up movie The Scorpion King, he reprised his major role. Getting paid 5.5 million dollars for the major role.

His roles as the title character in the fantasy comedy, the Tooth Fairy, a police officer, a cab driver in the science fiction movie,  a haughty famous American football player in the sports family comedy,  and Agent 23 in the spy action comedy, all brought him more success. At the 80th Academy Awards, he gave the Best Visual Effects Academy Award.

In 2012, Johnson forwarded his production company Seven Bucks Production. However, originally admired as a producer and star, Johnson will now act exclusively as the former in a film adaptation.

Business career

In March 2020, Johnson launched Teremana Tequila, selling 600,000 nine-liter cases in its first year of sales. The XFL was procured by Johnson and several investors, partners, and RedBird Capital Partners for about $15 million. 

Within a few months, Johnson was planning to relaunch the league in spring 2022 but it got delayed, and due to the delay in relaunching the league, the first games of 2023 lead off on time. 

The goal of combining the XFL and the US Football League into one league was spurred by the 2023 season's success.

On December 31, 2023, it was publicly declared that the new merged league would be called the United Football League(UFL). The league would give prominence to 8 teams and start on March 30, 2024.

Under XFL Properties LLC, RedBird Capital Partners, Johnson, and Dany Garcia jointly hold 50% of the UFL.

Johnson became a director of TKO Group Holdings on January 23, 2024. He gained complete ownership of his WWE-owned trademarked name "The Rock" during this procedure. As part of the settlement, Johnson consented to a new services and products contract with WWE as part of the settlement.

WRAPPING UP

We have gone through the life journey of Dwayne Johnson “The Rock” who has given his potential to different careers and professionals. Johnson has experienced multiple episodes of depression, beginning in his college years. He has spoken publicly about the importance of seeking help and being open about mental health struggles, advocating for increased awareness and support.

In today's era, he is one of the most popular and impressive men in the world. 

Read More:-

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