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lola-writes · 4 months ago

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Prince Regent

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Word Count: 8.6k

Synopsis: Aemond returns to the Red Keep after the battle of Rook’s Rest with a newfound vigor for his wife.

Themes & Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI!), POV first person (Aemond’s & reader’s), s2x04,05 inspired, enemies to lovers trope, smut, violence, blood, dark/possessive Aemond, breeding kink, swearing, mentions of rape, high valyrian, fingering, multiple orgasms, p in v, doggystyle, creampie, rough sex, hair pulling, choking

Song: Hide and Seek ~ Klergy, Mindy Jones

Latest oneshot: A Dragon's Lullaby

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Enjoy the read!

[gif @aemondstark ]

AEMOND

Smoke. Dragon fire. Blood.

It clung to me, acrid and sweet, like a perverse cloak of victory.

A primal urge, raw and unbidden, erupted within me, a hunger that transcended the battle’s end. It devoured my senses. It vibrated within my bones. It consumed my very being.

My adrenaline ebbed, leaving a hollowness in its wake. The battle was over. Victory was ours. Gleaming armor was storming the castle. But that victory hung hollow, a meaningless echo in the carnage. My flesh seared with defeat. A strange fire, unsatiated, stirred beneath my skin.

I needed something more. Something I could sink my teeth into, as Vhagar had. Something warm and living.

From the air, I watched the smoke curl skyward, soldiers scattering like startled ants, and Meleys red corpse lay vanquished beneath brick and dust.

The warmth of my kill was still writhing. It was a fresh, living ember, demanding to be tended.

The impact of my brother’s fall had torn the wood asunder, set the ground ablaze, smoke and cinders rising steadily towards the heavens. My gaze settled on the inferno, and I urged Vhagar, my reflection in scales and fire, towards it, my mighty beast beating the wind like thunder as we circled twice around the barrenness of the forest, before she heeded my command.

“Qubemagon, Vhagar.” (Descend)

I dismounted her and trod a path towards the inferno, my sword materializing in my grasp with a practiced turn of my wrist. Shades of red marred my vision. The air shimmered, thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.

Adrenaline trickled into my bloodstream.

Never had I been so close to my birthright, so close to erasing the past. My grip tightened around the hilt. Images swam up before me. A lifetime of humiliations, each one a searing brand in my retina. My brother getting what he wasn’t fit for, presented to him on a silver platter. But no longer. No more would he be the architect of my suffering.

But as a tremor shook the ground, a low rumble heralding the broken form of the golden dragon, a monument of smoke, blood, dirt, and ashes, none of it seemed to matter.

As I crested a rise, the world snapped into sharp focus. My gaze landed on him - my brother; melted into a nightmarish tableau of steel, flesh, and bone, encircled by his dragon’s golden body.

Resolution, cold and heavy, settled in my chest. Killing him would be fruitless. The Stranger had already requested an audience.

I had achieved what needed to be done. As I lifted the edge of my sword to its sheath, a voice echoed through the forest.

“Aemond!” Cole cried my name like a desperate warning. I glanced back, my weapon disappearing into its sheath with a final rasp.

I looked down at my sacrifice. The damage was raw, excessive. The damage that was wanton. A pang of unease twisted in my gut.

A glint of metal caught my eye, and I dropped to my haunches to retrieve the Conqueror’s Valyrian steel dagger from the bloodied earth. The dagger that was once Aegon’s. It was mine now.

Ser Criston’s rustling armor announced his approach. “Where is His Grace?” he asked, voice quivering.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I tilted my chin, allowing the glistening steel guide his gaze toward the grotesque sculpture of my melted brother encircled by golden scales.

Ser Criston crumpled to his knees without a word, as I rose to my feet.

A cold knot of regret twisted in my chest as I regarded my tribute. But it was fleeting, replaced by the icy fire of my ambition.

There was much to be done, and I needed to proceed if I were to achieve it. I turned on my heel and left Cole and my broken brother behind.

The battlefield and the devastation shrank beneath me as Vhagar’s powerful wings propelled us skyward.

A sharp thrill prickled my skin that was naught from the velocity, but rather that of my impending regency.

Upon returning to King’s Landing, I made my way to the small council chamber, ascending the stairs with slow deliberate steps. The air was thick with tension. The council was in disarray, engrossed in a heated discussion, but fell silent as the doors swung open. Eyes turned to me.

“My Lords,” I announced, my voice cutting through the sudden hush. I rounded the council table. “Mother,” I said, offering a curt nod of acknowledgement as I passed Alicent’s chair.

“Aemond,” she demanded, steel in her voice. “Where is Aegon?”

A heavy pause hung in the air before I met her gaze.

“Aegon has fallen,” I said.

The council erupted in uproar.

Cries of outrage and accusations.

Obscenities.

Scandal.

“How could this be allowed to happen?”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“We are doomed!”

The disapproval of the Lords sullied the chambers. This council was surely in lack of discipline. I already had my eyes on who I were to replace.

“The King is dead!”

“The King is not dead,” I countered, my voice calm and mellifluous, soothing the council members like warm milk. Voices dipped and eyes turned to me, an invisible shudder surging through the air. “He has merely sustained grave injuries and is being brought back to the Red Keep for treatment as we speak.” I began to pace around the table, hands slotted behind my back. “The King fought bravely,” I continued. “Landing mortal injuries to the Pretender’s cause. But the Red Queen cast him out of the sky before I could get to him.”

My pacing had brought me to the head of the council table, where I ceased my step. My hand reached out to allow my fingers to trace the chair frame, its iron vibrating with the power I so craved.

It was palpable.

It was mine for the taking.

I looked up at the members of the small council, my eye piercing each and every one of them until they quivered in their chairs.

“And in the coils of torment,” I spoke. “My brother, King Aegon, named me Prince Regent.”

A tremor vibrated the room, weary eyes glanced at each other, bodies twisting uncomfortably in creaking chairs.

“If anyone should be named regent, surely it should be me, his mother,” voiced Alicent.

I cast my gaze on her.

“Aemond is next in line,” came voices from the small council.

“Yes, but the King still lives!” Alicent implored.

“Who am I to contest the wishes of the King?” I said softly, casting her a look of pure innocence.

Alicent’s eyes welled like a tide of despair, her head dipping to the table with defeat. If Alicent could conjure words that had not been uttered to serve her own ends, why could I not?

“Aemond…” she started, her voice a gentle tremble. “Could we at least discuss this?”

“As prince regent, I vow to serve this realm, my Lords, and guide our path to victory against the Whore of Dragonstone.”

My gaze drifted to the platform in the center of the table, settling on the cold polished marble that remained. The King’s marble. I reached for it, and as my fingers closed around its smooth surface, I met Alicent’s eyes. A flicker of desperate plea danced within them, and I held it with a cold response. She exhaled with defeat as I seated myself in the King’s chair, placing the marble in its rocky nest.

“All hail Aemond, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm,” Lord Tyland Lannister’s voice came, and the words echoed across the table.

A smirk played on my lips. “My Lords,” I began, splaying my hands atop the table. “Let us commence.”

YOU

Mutters. Whispers. Gossip.

The news, carried on frantic breaths, was a tangled mess.

One moment, the King was dead, the next, grievously wounded. Some murmured of a crippled monarch, others of his mighty dragon slain.

It buzzed in my ears as I made my way towards the throne room.

Fear, a cold serpent, coiled in my gut.

The throne room pulsed with tense energy. Hundreds of courtiers jostled for position, their faces etched with a mixture of morbid curiosity and nervous anticipation. I descended the cold stone steps, the weight of each step echoing the growing dread in my heart.

The Iron Throne loomed before me, an empty monument of jagged steel. Its cruel beauty, forged from a thousand fallen enemies, held a chilling glint in the flickering torchlight. I observed it over the shoulder of the woman in front of me, the precariousness of my position suddenly amplified.

A shiver ran down my spine. Sometimes, I believed it was cursed. Promising to cast whoever graced it to a terrible fate.

My fingers, restless with apprehension, turned my rings about my fingers, pulling them off and on in a nervous dance. A prickling sensation spread through me as I felt countless eyes burning into my back. Disapproval mingled with a strange reverence. The room thrummed with unspoken questions, and I, too, yearned for answers, desperately seeking a foothold in the swirling vortex of uncertainty.

A ripple of anticipation surged through the crowd as a figure emerged. I turned to witness the gleaming silver armor of the King’s Guard announcing Ser Criston Cole, the newly appointed Hand of the King. Hundreds of eyes swiveled in his wake as he strode towards the Iron Throne, which seemed to gnash its serrated teeth at his approach.

My mind churned in chaotic disarray. Ser Criston had marched on Rook’s Rest, prompting Aemond’s hurried departure. Where my husband was now, remained a mystery. Perhaps still at Rook’s Rest, tending to the fallen King, or perhaps continuing on to Harrenhal, a destination he oft mentioned.

None of it mattered.

My marriage to Aemond had been a political maneuver, as cold and sterile as a septa’s cell. He held no affection for me, nor I for him. He was the absent, aloof prince I’d always imagined him to be. Carrying a frozen heart of a killer. Our union was no more than an alliance. Though I was hardly complaining. Married life granted me freedoms I scarcely thought possible for a highborn lady. But I would jest if I said I did not long for something more. Something warm. Something living. But in Aemond, either would be the last place I’d find.

Ser Criston swept a steely gaze across the court, his face unreadable. He chewed the inside of his cheeks curiously, the motion ceasing abruptly when his eyes met mine. Cold and dark. I met his stare head-on, until an odd feeling took root in my gut.

Unanswered questions swirled in my mind.

Ser Criston tore his gaze from me, his eyes flitting across the room. Then, with a voice laced with authority, he boomed, “I address this court as Hand to inform you that the King has been grievously wounded in battle!”

A collective gasp ripped through the court. Whispers, like startled birds, rose in a flurry.

Ser Criston continued, a steely edge creeping into his voice, “Rhaenyra the Cruel will believe she won a great victory this day. May believe we will cower and offer her the throne like whipped dogs. But the False Queen is sorely mistaken. For the throne will not remain empty.”

Whispers escalated into a commotion. An unsettling prickle danced across my skin. My mind darted to the dowager Queen Alicent. Surely, in Aegon’s absence, they would elevate her to the throne. But after usurping Rhaenyra, would they truly place another woman in her stead?

My thoughts, apparently, mirrored those of the court, for Alicent’s name drifted around me like a persistent echo.

Ser Criston’s voice rose to a commanding pitch, reverberating through the throne room, “I present to you…” The heavy oak doors of the throne room ground open, drawing every eye in unison.

My breath caught in my throat as a figure materialized at the stairs.

It wasn’t Alicent.

A frame, draped in dark green leather that shimmered with silver accents, emerged from the groaning doors. The Conqueror’s crown, a heavy circle of iron, sat upon their silver head, casting a long shadow across a face half-obscured by an eyepatch.

“Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen,” Ser Criston declared, his voice thick with forced authority. “Rider of Vhagar.”

Aemond descended the steps.

“Slayer of the queen who never was.”

Aemond’s footsteps, muffled by polished leather boots and the collective murmurs of the courtiers, made a predator’s approach as he stalked toward the Iron Throne. Two King’s Guard flanked him with stoic expressions.

“And Protector of the Realm.”

He ascended the iron steps with a chilling grace, finally settling upon the throne. A hush fell over the court, thick and heavy. Silence stretched as he molded himself into the seat, his lethal hands caressing the equally lethal rests, a small smirk playing on his lips. His voice, a honeyed drawl laced with a hint of steel, echoed in the sudden silence.

“My Lords and Ladies,” he began, the menacing glint in his blue eye accentuated by the play of shadows on his face. “His Grace, the King, has been wounded at the battle of Rook’s Rest, and will be incapable to rule.”

There was a power in his presence, an unspoken threat that left the court speechless. Not a cough, not a rustle of fabric dared to break the silence.

“Therefore,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over the frozen faces, “I, will act as your sovereign.”

Unease prickled at my skin. Something about Aemond’s demeanor, the unnatural sheen on his face, sent a tremor of suspicion through me.

Had this all been a carefully orchestrated play? What truly transpired at Rook’s Rest?

My eyes darted to the ornate dagger resting at his hip, the ancestral blade of Aegon the Conqueror. It was the same dagger I’d last seen clutched in the hand of his brother.

As Aemond spoke on, a knot of apprehension tightened in my gut.

“The tide has turned,” he declared, his voice ringing through the stunned silence. “Rhaenys Targaryen is slain, along with her dragon.” A small smile tugged at his lips, a low hum escaping them. “The largest serving the Pretender’s cause.” He said it like it was a jest. “Rook’s Rest has been claimed, leaving Dragonstone vulnerable.” His fingers tapped across the blades. “This is a victory for us.”

Scattered heads nodded in agreement.

Then, his gaze snapped to me, a rapacious glint in his single blue eye. It seemed to bore into my very soul, stripping away any pretense.

“It’s all going according to plan,” he murmured, his voice a silken threat, and for a moment, an eerie feeling within told me he was addressing me alone. The fire that danced within his eye flickered a touch too bright, and it felt like he could see every thought swirling in my mind, every flicker of doubt, every spark of fear.

It felt like he was about to eat me alive.

A violent terror surged through me, icy fingers gripping my heart. Adrenaline tapped into my veins, a primal urge to flee.

Frantic energy fueled my movements. I shoved dresses, jewelry, all of my belongings, into overflowing wooden trunks. Their straining hinges mocked my desperation. My handmaid, silent but swift, followed my frenzied instructions. I knew then, with a chilling certainty, that I owed her my life after this escape.

Aemond’s chambers, once a familiar haven, felt cold and sterile now, stripped bare of my belongings. Rain lashed against the open windows, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my heart. The journey ahead would be long and treacherous. Circumstances weren’t optimal, but there was no other choice at my disposal.

My husband was a murderer and a kinslayer twice over. And my intuition told me it would soon be thrice. He wasn’t just ruthless; there was an unsettling hollowness behind his actions, a chilling absence of remorse. He was a walking blight, a storm that devoured everything in its path. And I refused to be struck down by its lightning.

The apartment doors shuddered open, shattering me into distraught. My flight instincts flared, but I refused to cower. My hand instinctively shot out, grasping my maid’s hand tightly. We held our breath as a large, porcelain hand reached out and pushed the door wider.

Aemond entered, leaving the door ajar. His gaze, unwavering and cold, locked with mine. “Leave us,” he commanded, his voice a smooth, cold current.

My handmaid curtsied, her grip faltering as she pried my fingers loose. With a hurried glance back, she scurried out, the heavy door slamming shut behind her.

An oppressive silence descended, broken only by the frantic pounding of my heart against my ribs.

Escape seemed impossible; the air thick with a chilling dread.

“You sent for me, wife?” Aemond’s voice, a silken caress laced with steel, echoed in the cavernous chamber. He approached with a predative grace, each deliberate step shrinking the distance between us.

Confusion slammed into me. I hadn’t summoned him. This was, by far, the most he’d spoken to me since our loveless union.

“You are mistaken,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. My feet, traitors that they were, retreated with each of his advances. Then, it dawned on me, that it might have been his intention to put me in a state of dubiety, making me more malleable. A cutthroat, not only lethal, but cunning.

He stopped beside my overflowing trunk, a flicker of amusement playing on his lips.

“Travelling somewhere?” His single blue eye, unnervingly perceptive, held me captive.

Panic clawed at my throat. I clenched my trembling hands into fists, slotting them behind my back, forcing my lips into a gentle smile.

“I wish to visit my family,” I said. “With war looming, I wish for us to be together.”

Aemond took another measured step closer. “Ao issi aerēbas mirriot daor,” (You’re not going anywhere), he murmured, the High Valyrian rolling off his tongue like a sinister threat.

A furrow etched between my brows as I attempted to comprehend his words. My grasp of the ancient tongue was limited, and whether he intended me to understand was a cruel game. Perhaps, it was yet another tool to exert his dominance. But based on his relentless pursuit, I gathered me leaving wasn’t an option he entertained.

“I am of no use to you, Aemond,” I pleaded, maintaining a safe distance. “Me staying serves no purpose.”

“On the contrary,” he purred, his voice dripping with a dark promise. His head tilted covetously, venom flashing in his eye.

“We barely exist to each other,” I continued. “What difference would it make if I was half a world away?”

“It would make all the difference.” The warmth in his voice vanished, replaced by a glacial edge. “There’s the matter of heirs.”

Seven Hells.

Anguish twisted my gut. Intuition, a primal scream, roared to life. Images flashed behind my eyelids – Aemond sitting the throne, and Aegon reduced to ash.

Had this been his plan all along? Was he the reason for the King’s lethal end?

The pieces slammed together in my mind, a horrifying mosaic.

I gasped, my back hitting the cold stone wall. Aemond’s ambition stretched far beyond my naïve expectations. Loyalty to his house, to his brother, had been a carefully constructed facade. Beneath it, he schemed, a shrewd predator stalking his ultimate prize. The crown.

And the crown needed heirs.

He towered over me, his presence overwhelming. He was much taller than I recalled, every inch radiating a rapacious tension. A hand braced itself against the wall, inches from my head.

“What have you done?” My thoughts materialized into shaky words, laced with an enmity that surprised even me. My gaze raked over him, revulsion twisting my features. The green leather seemed to pulse, an illusion fueled by my churning stomach.

A flicker, a hint of something akin to uncertainty, crossed his single eye. It darted across my face, as if truly seeing me for the first time. Perhaps he was. In this desperate flight, we’d never been closer. Close enough to be enveloped by his scent, a foreign musk that did little to quell my churning nausea.

“Skoros iksin bēvilagon.” (What was necessary)

I frowned again, aggravated that he took to High Valyrian as an attempt to shut me out of his thoughts. My jaw clenched, frustration a bitter taste on my tongue.

Malevolence rose like a flood as I leaned forward, so close that our noses nearly touched, “I would not have your child in a million years, kinslayer,” I spat, my voice trembling with contained fury. I lunged forward, aiming to push past him, to escape his suffocating presence. But his other hand shot out, slamming against the wall beside me, effectively caging me in.

A venomous glint flickered in his eye as he narrowed it at me through his lashes. A twitch played on his lips, a cat batting at a cornered mouse. “Be that as it may,” he said mellowly. “But even a bad wife must obey her king.”

A scoff escaped my lips, my eyes sizing him up and down. “You are no king,” I hissed, defiance lacing my voice. “You are not even a man.”

His reaction was swift and brutal.

One hand shot out and grabbed my face, forcing my head against the cold stone. Pain erupted at the impact, but quickly subsided as he leaned in, his hot breath fanning against my lips.

“Speak such treason again, and I’ll show you what I really am.”

“What will you do?” I spat back, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and insurgence. “Cripple me, like you did your brother? Force yourself on me?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he growled, his voice simmering with barely contained violence.

A tense silence ensued, the air crackling with his restrained fury.

My suspicions, already simmering, solidified into a horrifying certainty. He’d orchestrated his brother’s downfall on purpose.

“Have you no honor?” I whispered, the words a ragged plea.

The silence stretched, broken only by our ragged breaths. His hold on my face loosened gradually, his hand falling away. But his gaze remained fixed on me, a storm brewing within its depths.

“You cannot stop me, Aemond,” I said, my voice shrinking. “I will leave this place, one way or another. You can play king in my absence, but it will be a hollow crown.”

“Kesan arghugon ao naejot se mōris hen tegon.” (I will hunt you to the end of the earth)

“Speak plainly,” I snapped, my patience with his cryptic pronouncements wearing thin.

A chilling smile, devoid of warmth, stretched across his lips. He pushed himself away from the wall, backing away, creating my long-desired distance between us.

“You may go,” he drawled, the amusement in his voice laced with a dangerous edge, that sardonic smile still plastered on his lips.

Acrimony filled my gut. What little I knew of this man, I feared greatly, but also told me this was a trick. He wouldn’t relinquish control so easily. He’d allow me to make my “escape”, only to have me snatched back by the King’s Guard, now under his control, a public display of his authority. There was no true freedom with him.

Maegor’s tunnels, a potential escape route, loomed tantalizingly behind me. If only I were alone, a simple push against the wall would send me tumbling into its dark embrace. But escape without a plan or supplies was a fool’s errand.

My mind spun, each possibility twisting the knife of despair deeper. Even if I reached my family, what awaited me there? Shame would be their welcome. Aemond, no doubt, would make sure of it.

The rain continued its relentless assault on the outside world, punctuated by the booming symphony of thunder. A flash of lightning illuminated the apartments, casting Aemond in a grotesque, menacing silhouette.

Exhaustion overwhelmed me. I slumped to the floor, seeking solace in the meager comfort of my arms wrapped around my knees. Here I was, a prisoner in this gilded cage, condemned to bear the children of a traitor until flames consumed us all.

Aemond crouched before me, his wrists resting on his knees. He regarded me with an intensity that bordered on scientific curiosity. A flicker of something, perhaps disappointment, played at his edges.

“I’d take you for many things, wife,” he cooed, the endearment dripping with veiled malice. “But weak was not one of them.” His words landed like a body blow. “If I’d known you’d crumble so easily, I would never have wed you in the first place.”

I sniffed and looked up at him, exhaustion a heavy cloak on my lids. “You did not have much of a say in the matter,” I countered.

A wicked smile twisted his lips and his head tilted to the side. “No,” he said softly. A sudden chill iced his demeanor. “And neither do you.”

He rose to his feet with predacious grace, leaving me pleated on the floor. He sauntered to his chair and seated himself, one leg propped up on his knee, his leather splaying atop the arm rests.

I watched him. His face was turned to the violent storm outside, immersed in contemplation, lightning whipping across his features. A vision of menace. A weapon poised to strike.

“So, what is your scheme, Aemond?” I started; my voice hoarse. His head turned slowly, his gaze locking onto mine with the piercing intensity of Valyrian steel. “Do you envision a period of mourning for the King, followed by a convenient acclamation in your favor? Or will you hurry along the succession and carry out the deed yourself before anyone suspects?”

A single corner of his mouth quirked into a cruel smile. “Suppose I have not yet decided.” His voice was like liquid.

Defiance flickered within me. “The court will never agree to this once they find out what you’ve done.”

Aemond hummed, a deep sound in the bottom of his chest. “Dragons don’t concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.” He leaned forward, resting his arms across his knees. “I am next in line to the throne,” he drawled. “None is better suited than I.”

I staggered to my feet and went to sit beside him. “With a legitimate heir,” I said carefully. “Your claim would be uncontested.”

He smirked, as though I’d read his mind. He leaned back, his eyes gleaming with dangerous delight.

“A woman’s pleasure is,” he began, a slow, suggestive smile playing on his lips. His blue eye drifted down my form in a way that made my skin crawl. “Of as much importance as the seed itself.”

A hot flush crept up my cheeks at his implication.

“Which is why submission must be a willing act,” he finished, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

I swallowed, provocation crackling through me. Did he truly believe I would succumb to his advances? He seemed to think he could manipulate anyone to his will, whether through seduction or brutality, though I had yet to see the former.

“And if I refuse?” I challenged, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands.

A low growl vibrated in his chest, his face soft. “Then you’ll find yourself counted amongst the sheep,” he drawled.

Deflating, I sighed and dipped my head. The only path forward seemed excruciatingly clear. Raising my eyes to meet his, I lifted an eyebrow in rebellion.

“Consider me sheep then.” With that, I rose from the settee and strode towards the apartment doors, the cold of the metal handle stealing the warmth from my fingers as I heaved it open.

It shut then, with a loud thud, and I jumped, a sudden heat radiating behind me. Aemond’s fingers splayed on the oak door above my head. My pulse drummed in my ears, Aemond’s lips grazing my lobe, urging it to pick up the pace.

“Jaelā naejot mazverdagon nyke jorarghutan ao, ābrazȳrys?” (You want to make me chase you, wife?) His voice rumbled into me, a low growl as potent as the thunderstorm.

The rolling, guttural words sent a strange warmth through my core. His air consumed me. A rich mixture of smoke, leather, and dragon, infiltrated my senses, intoxicating and unsettling in equal measure.

“I can’t understand you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I felt him smiling against my ear, a low chuckle reverberating into it, sending goosebumps erupting across my skin.

“You won't need to,” he said softly. His hand drifted away from the door and closed around my throat, surprisingly gentle, yet the warmth of his fingers felt like embers branding my skin. They snaked around the back of my neck, the pressure tightening as he turned me to face him. His single eye, a bottomless well of intricacy, held mine captive.

My gaze flickered down to his lips. They were curved into a wicked grin.

His scent became a suffocating presence. The heat radiating from his body, fervid as a dragon, made sweat bead on my forehead. My entire being screamed I was at his mercy. He could crush my life out with a mere squeeze, or worse, with his single eye, he could strip me bare without ever laying a hand on me.

But a strange fire flickered within me, a rebellion against his dominion. My hands, fueled by a desperate need for control, reached out and began loosening his doublet, my fingers slow and deliberate.

Aemond stilled, his eye falling to my movements. He watched, transfixed, as I unfastened the green leather halfway down his chest, then trailed my fingers lower. His gaze darkened and his breath grew uneven, as the bulge beneath his belt pressed against my touch.

A visceral desire flared within me, a response I couldn’t fully comprehend. My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, slowly drifting between my thighs at the sight of his desire.

His grip softened at my nape, and with a surge of defiance, I ripped myself free from his hold, and landed a heavy blow to his stomach. But a wave of terror washed over me when Aemond barely flinched.

Panic clawed at my throat.

Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, I flung open the chamber doors and fled, the sound of my pounding heart echoing in my ears.

AEMOND

The aftershock of her blow lingered, a dull ache radiating from my gut, while I allowed her to make her escape. Fury, a familiar companion, usually surged through me, promising retribution, suggesting to make her death appear an accident. This time, however, a different heat consumed me, a mix of surprise and… arousal.

Rarely did I misjudge a person. Yet, the meek mouse I’d wed had transformed into a daring she-wolf before my very eyes. This escape attempt, fueled by defiance, was a revelation. It made my dick hard.

A rapacious glint flickered in my eye. A grudging respect, laced with something far more primal, coiled in my gut. I had underestimated her, and the unexpected turn of events had ignited a spark within me.

A smirk twisted my lips, and I hummed with satisfaction, the thrill of the hunt coursing through me.

“Jaelā naejot tymagon?” (You want to play?) I murmured, the challenge laced with amusement. “Kesi tymagon.” (Let’s play.)

I started into the storm-ridden castle.

YOU

Immediate regret shot through me with a pang, a cold fist squeezing my breath.

To toy with a dragon was like asking to get burned.

My lungs screamed in protest, my legs burning with each step down the Red Keep’s slick stone steps. Blood, metallic and sharp, left traces in my mouth as I hoisted my cumbersome gown to avoid tripping. The castle shuddered from the storm, which groaned and wailed its onslaught. Guards stood stoic at their posts, their expressions unreadable underneath silver helms. Appealing to them was a fool’s errand.

None dared defy the one-eyed prince.

Driven by blind instinct, I found myself pushing through the massive doors of the throne room.

The Iron Throne, a monstrous silhouette of twisted blades, dominated the chamber, its edges flashing white-hot under the lightning’s fury. I stumbled towards it, chest heaving, gasping for air.

If it truly was cursed, could touching it offer some strange absolution, a release from the gilded cage that was my life? Surely, it couldn’t be worse than the fate that awaited me back in his clutches.

Ascension. My trembling legs carried me up the steps, each one a monumental effort. Reaching the top, I lingered to sit, an action so simple, yet it loomed so immensely in my mind.

“Waiting to make your peace with the gods?” came a voice, and I turned with a gasp.

Aemond stood in the middle of the room, arms slotted behind his back, approaching with slow, menacing steps, like a predator savoring the hunt. Thunder boomed overhead.

“No,” I countered, spite flaring hot in my chest. “Waiting for you to catch up so I can meet them myself,” I said, descending the steps.

“Once more, so quick to admit defeat,” he taunted, venom dripping from his words like the rain outside.

I studied his sharp features, while the burden of my reality settled like a weight in my chest. “There is no escaping you,” I gritted out, holding his heavy gaze.

His violence loomed heavy, and depravity flickered in his gaze. “Your perception waxes,” he conceded, and suddenly, the world tilted on its axis as he scooped me up and tossed me effortlessly over his broad shoulder.

The journey back to his chambers was a furious ballet of resistance. My limbs flailed wildly, desperate for purchase, and obscenities, laced with an untenable fear, ripped from my throat.

A sharp slap landed on my behind, eliciting a yelp of surprised pain.

“The more you struggle,” he growled, the sound a low rumble in his chest, “the worse it will be.”

A part of me recognized the truth in his words, yet a bestial defiance warred within, refusing to yield. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I lunged for his silver hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking with all my might.

He hissed through his teeth, followed by a guttural sound echoing deep within him. “Ilībōños,” (Bitch/Bastard) he cursed.

The apartment door slammed shut behind us as he entered, his movements purposeful. With a rough toss, I landed unceremoniously on the bed, the air whooshing out of my lungs on impact. Fury, a searing inferno, consumed me, each cell screaming in protest, my claws unsheathing. I wanted to hurt him.

Anything within reach became a potential weapon. Pillows, a discarded jeweled comb – I hurled them all at him, each item a silent scream of rebellion. But his movements were swift, each projectile dodged with practiced ease.

Frustration mounted, morphing into a desperate rage. I lunged at him, a clumsy attempt to push him back. But he remained immovable, an unyielding mountain. Undeterred, I pushed again, and again, fueled by a futile contempt.

Finally, as I drew back for another pointless shove, his hands shot out, lightning fast, pinning my arms to my sides. He moved swiftly, his body caging mine in a steely embrace.

“Lykirī,” he hummed, the word a low thrum against my ear.

“Fuck you,” I spat, my chest heaving from my ambush.

Did he mistake me for his winged beast that he could command to his will?

My attempt to wiggle out of his hold was a pointless endeavour. Rage crackled in my veins, but it flickered under his touch. My breath hitched as he leaned closer, the heat of his body searing through my gown. The scent of him, smoke and leather, filled my senses. And the undeniable press of his erection against my stomach sent a jolt through me.

This perverted man was enjoying my defiance. His grip tightened, a teasing hold that both frustrated and excited me. My body, traitor that it was, started to soften against him, a spark igniting beneath the embers of anger.

“Have you had your fill of my company?” he whispered, his voice husky against my ear. His hands trailed down my arms, sending shivers skittering across my skin.

Every rational part of me screamed to break free, to run for the tunnels, to fight back. But the intoxication of his touch, the heat radiating from him, the suggestive murmur against my ear – they all conspired to trap me.

Before I could think, my head slowly turned from one side to the other.

He hummed deeply. “Say it.”

Frustration warred with a strange vulnerability within me. My cheeks burned, and I clenched my jaw hard enough to taste blood.

“I haven't.”

“You haven't what?”

Fury flickered back to life, fueled by his smug grin and the realization of how easily he’d manipulated me.

“I haven't had enough,” I gritted out, the words a reluctant surrender.

A growl of satisfaction escaped him before he grasped me by my throat, pushed me back against the wall, and tasted my next breath on his tongue.

His lips, hot and demanding, devoured mine like a beggar, silencing the gasp that threatened to escape. Heat, a wildfire erupting at the junction of our bodies threatened to consume me. Fury, a simmering ember, still flickered within. I shoved against his chest and stomped on his feet; futile attempts against his unyielding form.

“Gaomagon vīlībagon nyke daor,” (Do not fight me) he said roughly against my lips, nipping at the bottom one. “Kesā botagon daor.” (You would not survive)

I didn’t understand him, and it urged on my fury. I opened my mouth with a quip in mind, but he used that opportunity to slide his tongue inside, hot and wet. The anger threatened to drown the blossoming desire, creating a tempestuous war within. I panted, torn between resistance and a strange, unfamiliar need, a fever writhing and pulsing inside my veins. My hands clenched in the rough leather of his doublet, a desperate attempt to maintain some sort of control.

I closed my teeth on his bottom lip, and he hissed sharply, encircling my throat with his hand, pushing me against the stone.

“Kelītīs,” (Stop) he growled.

The question of whether he even realized he was speaking High Valyrian was a fleeting thought. I melted into his rough hold, to his wicked mouth crashing against mine again and again, getting lost in the hot glide of his tongue. His rough kisses, the frantic press of his body, all contrived to unravel my carefully constructed defenses. A soft moan escaped my lips as my nipples brushed against his chest, sending sparks lower. He groaned low in his throat, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth.

With practiced ease, he untied the strings of my dress, letting the fabric pool around my ankles. I stood there in only my kirtle, breathless under his heated gaze. A dark groan rumbled from his chest as he slipped his hands beneath my thighs, effortlessly lifting me. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His grip tightened on my bare flesh, a touch too rough, and I retaliated with another yank on his silver hair. An angry sound erupted in his throat as he attempted to shake off my grip.

He carried us to the bed, the world tilting on its axis as he settled me on top of him. Our mouths met in a frantic clash, a tangle of tongues and heated breaths. We tore away from each other briefly, just long enough for him to pull my kirtle over my head.

Naked and exposed, I felt a shiver dance across my skin under the intensity of his gaze. Something dark moved through his eye, and my skin prickled with goosebumps.

He gripped the swell of my hips, his palms sliding upward, a slow exploration that sent sparks igniting in my blood. The fight drained from me, replaced by a heavy languor. His fingers, surprisingly gentle for a cold-blooded killer, traced patterns across my skin, before cupping my breasts into a rough grip. A soft moan escaped my lips as his thumb brushed a nipple, and pleasure rushed to my core. He leaned in and closed his mouth over a peak, drawing it in with a slow, gentle suck. My head fell back, a groan escaping my throat. My hands filtered into his thick silver, my fingers impulsively easing off the leather tie that kept it out of his face, and it went cascading around his features like spills of moonlight.

Awe mingled with desire as I watched him continue to explore my body, his mouth leaving a trail of wet heat across my skin. I cupped his sharp face in my hands, the rational, caged side of me screaming to tear him off me. I made weak, pitiful attempts to do so, but Aemond growled his disapproval and sucked my nipple hard. The wet heat of his mouth tugged between my legs as he moved to the other, flames curling low in my stomach. I ground down on him, my wet entrance dampening the dark leather of his breeches, the friction sending a delicious heat through my core. A moan ripped from his lips.

I was on fire, a confusing mix of desire and desperation clawing at me. I needed something more, something to push me over the edge. My body moved of its own accord, grinding harder, seeking that elusive release.

He released my nipple with a graze of teeth that sent a jolt of white heat through me, and looked up at me with his eye dark like the storm.

“Skoros gaomagon jaelā?” (What do you crave?), he rumbled.

Exhaustion gnawed at me, but a visceral need pulsed deep within. “Please,” I pleaded, the word a ragged whisper escaping my lips, the frustration of the language barrier a dull ache compared to the firestorm raging in my core. “More,” I begged, grinding against his erection with desperate mewlings.

When his hand lowered to palm my pussy, my skin caught on fire, burning me from scalp to toes. Desire inflated in my throat when he ran his hand up my neck, into my hair, grabbing a fistful and using it to arch my head back, his touch both possessive and arousing.

“Is this what you desire?” he rasped against my throat, his voice husky with restrained passion. His calloused thumb began drawing circles on my clit, a slow, deliberate exploration that sent frustration battling with a rising tide of pleasure.

I nodded desperately. “Yes,” I gasped.

He slipped two fingers into my wetness, and I arched my back, groaning in pleasure and a little pain, his fingers filling me up to the brim. My hands found purchase in his hair, anchoring myself as he moved his digits, flames of pleasure licking at my walls.

Ecstasy unfurled in my veins like milk of the poppy, mind-numbing, delirious, as he slid his thick fingers in and out of me, rubbing a sensitive spot deep within. Hot pressure expanded, and my eyes rolled back in my head. A throaty moan escaped my lips with every thrust of his fingers and a delicious rumble rolled in his chest.

His grip around my hair suddenly vanished and his thumb began rubbing circles on my clit as he fingered me. I cried out, the intensity overwhelming, and I braced myself on his leather-covered shoulders, a cold sweat starting beneath my skin.

“Sholīze,” (You’re so wet), he groaned against my skin, the word a brand that sent shivers lancing through me, the heat beneath the surface threatening to erupt. I rolled my hips on his fingers, and a satisfied growl escaped his mouth, his eye dropping to witness me riding his hand as my pleasure ran down his wrist, my leg and onto his lap.

“Shkelagon zhēdys,” (You’re making a mess), he whispered into my mouth, swallowing my desperate cries.

A third finger, bold and intrusive, slid inside, the added pressure sending me over the edge. My vision swam, black dots exploding at the edges. My heart pounded to the fire searing through every nerve in my body. Throaty moans tore from my lips over and over, as I clenched around his moving fingers. He groaned with dark satisfaction, encircling my waist, pressing me against him as I rode out my orgasm.

The storm within me subsided slowly. His fingers, once urgent, now moved slowly in and out of me while I caught my breath and the ringing in my ears faded. He didn’t withdraw until he’d coaxed out the very last tremor of pleasure from my body.

A languorous warmth, a deep sense of satiation unlike anything I’d ever known, bloomed within me.

Lost in the afterglow, I trailed kisses up his neck, small noises of contentment escaping my lips.

“Gevie,” he panted, slipping his fingers out of me.

I knew that word.

Beautiful.

AEMOND

I never thought the act of making an heir would be this… riveting.

So much pure heat, flame and pleasure, fueled not just by my own desire, but by the sight of her pleasure burgeoning under my touch. It was a new prospect entirely. I could have reached my own release simply from witnessing hers.

But this was not going to make an heir, after all.

She ran her fingers over my erection, her lips and teeth teasing a line down my neck as she came down from her high. My hand, forearm and lap were slick from her sweet desire.

She settled back into my lap, a vision of post-orgasmic bliss. Her eyes, usually bright and defiant, were now hooded with languid satisfaction, her cheeks flushed a becoming crimson. Her lips, slightly parted, breathed shallowly. I pushed my thumb between them, and she met the intrusion with a beckoning glide of her tongue, the wet heat settling in my groin. I pulled my thumb free, wiping the evidence of her touch across her lips.

This woman, this force of nature, was mine. My wife.

Lightning played across her features like she was its master. Like she embodied the raw power of the storm.

Untamed, fierce, fuckable.

She was molded just for me.

Her fingers, tracing a familiar path down my doublet, encountered the bulge straining against the fabric, my dick throbbing at her faintest touch.

“Take it off,” she said, working on the buckle. I reached my hands up my neck, loosening the doublet from my frame.

“Do not attempt any strikes this time,” I drawled, a playful challenge in my voice. I relished the smile that spread across her lips.

“You have my word,” she said softly.

The leather of my arms whispered down, discarded on the floor like a shed skin. Her eyes ignited with raw desire, a flickering flame that mirrored the inferno that had been building within me. Her fingers, hesitant at first, traced a path down my chest, my abs, further, until her hand slipped beneath my breeches and over the length of my dick.

I hissed through my teeth. The heat, a branding iron searing flesh, intensified as her hand, unsure but determined, wrapped around my erection, heat curling at the base of my spine. Her hesitant touch grew more confident as she stroked me from base to head with smooth, gentle motions, sending a low groan rumbling from my chest.

I grabbed her face and grazed her chin with my teeth, making her stroke me harder. “I’ll fill you with my seed, wife,” I growled, the words rough against her skin. A promise, a threat, a declaration of possession – all rolled into one.

Her sigh held a hint of resignation, contrasting the fire in her eyes. “As long as you’ll leave me alone once you’re done,” she mumbled, the words laced with quiet defiance.

Fury, a red-hot ember, flared within me.

I threw her down on her knees on the bed and yanked her head back by her hair until her head rested against my shoulder. The vulnerability in her exposed throat fueled a dark avarice within me. My erection pressed against the heat of her ass, restraint becoming an impossible enemy.

“You’re bound to me now,” I growled in her ear, the words a possessive vow. “You’re not going anywhere.”

A ghost of a smile played on her lips, a silent challenge that both frustrated and excited me. I leaned in, whispering a single word against her ear, “Ñuhon.” (Mine) I nipped her earlobe, making her hiss.

When I released her, she sagged forward, head hanging low. Her shoulders slumped, and she lowered herself onto her hands, the curve of her backside a sight that ignited a fresh wave of heat within me.

I discarded my breeches, the urgency a physical ache in my core. Kneeling behind her, I pushed two fingers inside of her. She clenched down on me so tightly. I groaned and pulled my fingers free. As I rubbed the head of my cock against her wet opening, the heat of it almost burned me. A tremble coasted throat her, and her fingers gripped the sheets, bracing herself.

I eased into her, and, gods spare me, she was so fucking tense, to the point she nearly resisted me entirely. I caressed her ass, her hips, running my hand up and down her back, attempting to relax her, uttering words I scarcely knew were the Common Tongue or High Valyrian.

“Vīrȳn (take it), you’re so fucking wet, gūrogon mirre yno (take all of me).”

Until her walls softened and I watched myself slide into her, until I was as deep as I could go.

Seven Hells.

The feeling was overwhelming. The way she clutched me like a wet fist. Every cell in me ached for more, to fuck her hard, relentlessly, but I gave her a moment to adjust, squeezing her, running my hands all over her.

Soon, she was rocking back against me, and I gave her what she wanted, pulling out all the way before slowly pushing back in, every inch of me vanishing. She groaned and dropped her face to the bed, fisting the sheets in her hands. I gripped the swell of her hips, guiding her warm, wet pussy onto my throbbing dick over and over, watching their salacious union, my sight darkening at the squelching sounds that ensued. A deep hum erupted from my chest.

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes hooded with lust, settling on each lazy thrust.

“Iksis ao bisa ijiōrtan?” (Is this pleasing you?) I rasped, but before she could answer, I fucked her a little harder. It occurred to me that she probably could not have understood what I’d been saying half the time.

Her head fell forward, and the sight of her biting down on her hand to quiet her moans sent a heady rush to my head, lighting me on fire.

Thunder rolled overhead.

I was completely lost in the heat of her, taking her hard, watching her ass bounce against me with every thrust. I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against my chest.

She was panting, fucked into soft compliancy.

“To whom do you belong?” I growled in her ear.

She didn’t resist any of my advances this time. “You,” she breathed.

“Say my name.”

“Aemond.”

“And who is your King?”

“Aemond.”

My grip snaked and tightened around her neck as I fucked her.

“Say it.”

“You’re the King, Your Grace,” she whined. “The first of your name.”

It set me on fire.

I pushed her back down and fucked her through her second orgasm, holding her hips up when her legs gave out. She shuddered and clenched around me, the pressure sending licking fires down my back, threatening to erupt. I gritted my teeth as I came inside of her, a white, hot fire shooting through me so hard, my vision went black.

My muscles shook from the aftershock.

I doubled over her, letting my forehead rest on her back as we came down.

When I pulled out of her, I watched my seed leak out of her entrance like white tears. I plugged it with my fingers, burrowing deep inside of her, and she gasped.

“Dragonseed is precious,” I rumbled into her ear. “Would not want it to go to waste.” I kissed her temple.

“Tepagon aōha dārys iā dārilaros, dōna ābrazȳrys.” (Give your king an heir, sweet wife)

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aroacenezhaanddainsleif · 4 months ago

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"demon child"

i think lmk li jing should have been worse :)

"Father-" Nezha's mech takes a step forward, metal clanging against the asphalt.

Li Jing swirls around, glaring with a gaze filled with both anger and fear. "SILENCE!" He snarls, lifting the pagoda in one bracelet-clad hand. "Do not make me subdue you once more, Nezha."

Nezha is no fool. He knows all of them can see him flinch, even through the layers of iron and steel. He knows all of them can see the spear waver in his mech's fingers, foot shifting backward out of defense.

Ever the savior, Wukong steps forward to his defense, brown-orange fur bristling. "Hey, what the fuck, Li?" He snarls, tail swishing in agitation. "Us I get, but your own son?"

Nezha's father raises his pagoda, glare tightening the wrinkles around his eyes. "You have no right to judge me, simian. Or shall I remind you-" the seal upon the circlet reactivates, and Nezha can only watch in horror as Wukong cries out in pain, dropping to his knees. The rest of his friends- can Nezha even call them his friends, with how little he knows of them?- try to resist the tug of the pagoda's magic, but their feet start to slip.

He doesn't want to go back to that lotus-painted door again. He doesn't want to be crushed and confined under a heavy floor again. He doesn't want his tongue silenced and his actions subdued again. He doesn't want to be trapped ever again.

...But isn't he now?

Trapped in compliance, frozen in time as he watches them lose this fight?

Nezha is no fool.

He knows he is a hound that has been muzzled and chained- he knew that when they took away his strongest weapons and raised a pagoda at him for harboring the slightest thoughts of disobedience. He has always known.

But for the sake of the trust MK talked of, for the sake of what Nezha once stood for- a two-handed spear breaks through the pagoda's cyclone, severing the magic. Nezha can only watch as the dragon girl yells for Mr. Tang, everyone staring at him with confusion and pity as a golden glow takes them far away.

He knows his punishment. He knows why the pagoda was created.

He leaves his mech, bowing his head before his father as he awaits what is due.

"...Return to the Celestial Realm."

He is given a mercy. An unexpected one, at that, but one that makes his bowed head sigh toward the asphalt with relief. As of now, his use outweighs his disobedience.

He watches his father take off toward the horizon, mumbling an apology as he disappears from the festively lit alleyway in a swirl of lotus petals. He knows what it's like to be a chaos child, destined for destruction- he can only hope MK will have a happier tale than he did.

"...So hey, are we just going to gloss over what the fuck just happened with Nezha??" Mei asks once she's back on her feet within the mountain cavern, gesturing wildly at Wukong to explain.

"He-" Wukong starts, then stops, scratching his arm. "His dad... I knew something about it, but I always thought people were exaggerating. Cause c'mon, Nezhy? I know he's got a temper, but that-"

"Monkey King, WHAT are you talking about?" MK scratches his head, leaning on Mei with a similarly confused expression.

Wukong hesitates, pacing against the stone ground of the temple, then sighs. He opens his mouth-

And is beat to it.

"That pagoda was created to subdue Nezha." Tang interrupts. He pushes his glasses farther up his nose, focusing his gaze on crumbling towers high above. "...I remember the story now."

When he's finished regaling the tale in a quiet tone, the Monkie Gang has reeled through a rollercoaster of emotions- anger, disgust, pity, sympathy, and rage. Pigsy rolls up his sleeves, marching out towards the nearest wall with a loud "I'm gonna go back and give that fuckin' 'father' of his a piece of my goddamn mind-"

Sandy lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, steering the chef back. "Pigsy. Not right now." He says, although nobody misses the clenched fist of his other hand.

Wukong sighs. "...I always thought people were playing it up, but... I guess not." He closes his eyes, trying to reign in the feeling of guilt bubbling up inside him. To think he bullied Nezha for it, not understanding just how conflicted he must have been... Most definitely not for the first time in Wukong's life, he feels like an idiot who failed a friend. But there's nothing he can do about it now- so he rolls his shoulders back, settling his bristling fur as he waves everyone towards the stone passageway. "Welp! Traumatic backstories aside, time to get the world-saving-adventure underway, everyone!"

As for Nezha... They'll all just have to hope he's alright.

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chinesehanfu · 10 months ago

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[Hanfu · 漢服]China's national Important Cultural Relics Impression Series By Artist @陆曼陀

China Neolithic Period:The Hongshan culture(4700-2900 BC)Relics<玉猪龙/Pig dragon>

China Shang dynasty / Western Zhou dynasty(1200–800 BC) · Shu state Relics < 太阳神鸟金饰/Golden Sun Bird>

China Western Han Dynasty (202 BC – 9 AD)Artifact Relics<长信宫灯/oil lamp in the shape of a kneeling female servant>

After the lamp is lit, the soot enters the base of the palace lantern through the sleeve to achieve the purpose of cleaning the air.

China Eastern Han Dynasty(25–220 AD)Artifact Relics<铜奔马 or the Galloping Horse Treading on a Flying Swallow (馬踏飛燕)>

China Eastern Han Dynasty(25–220 AD) Artifact Relics<摇钱树/Money tree (myth)>

China Tang Dynasty(618–907CE) Artifact Relics<女立俑/Female standing figurine >

China Song Dynasty (960–1279) Artifact Relics<汝窑天蓝釉刻花鹅颈瓶/Ru kiln sky blue glaze carved gooseneck bottle>

China Song Dynasty (960–1279) Painting<千里江山图/A Thousand Li of Rivers and Mountains>by 王希孟(Wang Ximeng)

China Yuan dynasty (1279–1368) Artifact Relics<霁蓝釉白龙纹梅瓶/Ji blue-glazed plum vase with white dragon pattern>

【Artist:陆曼陀 Social Media】 ————————

Twitter：https://twitter.com/LuDanling

Weibo：https://weibo.com/u/2846691957

Post Source：https://weibo.com/2846691957/NzQ9IyzKL

————————

#chinese hanfu #陆曼陀 #China history #chinese art #hanfu illustration #hanfu accessories #hanfu #hanfu history #china #chinese #history #chinese aesthetics #culture relic #汉服 #漢服 #heritage #civilization

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runaria · 1 month ago

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Not me getting inspired to create a modern wukong yaoguai hunter gang/mafia style au while having just gotten my feet wet with the JTTW/Black Myth storyline 😭

...

Imagining Wukong in a golden varsity jacket decorated with a classic black dragon, and a self-stitched "no.1" on it, but being only second in command cause he can't behave himself. The group "leader" will still be Tang Seng, because he's the "big boss's" favorite, and has a good head on his shoulders. He can't fight for shit, but he's got good magic, which is good enough.

They roam the streets as vigilante demon hunters, in comparison to the state sanctioned hunters, whom of course is lead locally by Erlang Shen.

There's always beef between them, but they also always watch out for each other, coming in clutch to help the other out when they least expect it. The two groups would up-end entire cities to get to the other if they're in need.

... That's all I have for now LOL.

Poster teaser be upon ye 🫳:

#wukong #oc #my art #surely its been done before #but alas i am only human #journey to the west #jttw #sun wukong #black myth wukong #i was literally mid comic when i was struck with The Visions (TM)#its cause im listening to the dandadan op probably #anyway comic update will be soonish! making it a bit longer since i want to get to the meat sooner than later

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liverbiver9 · 2 months ago

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The more I read danmei in my monthly book club that I otherwise wouldn’t have read or even known about, the more it becomes painfully clear that most of the mdzs fandom (and possibly the other 2 mxtx fandoms but I’m not as well versed with them) have not interacted with the genre at large beyond mxtx, and it shows in the meta analysis people make (especially westerners).

And I am not excluding myself here! So much of my initial assumptions and interpretations of mdzs has changed after reading other danmei authors, especifically the less western-internet-popular ones.

My point is this: when reading a book from a culture that is not your own and in an unfamiliar genre, it will be impossible to grasp all the intricacies and subtleties nestled within the narrative and characterization until you’ve become more familiar with the culture and genre itself.

Don’t limit yourself to mxtx. There are more and more danmei being translated into English by publishing houses and even more are fan translated.

If you’re looking for a place to start, I have some recommendations!

1. Golden Terrace by Cang Wu Bin Bai.

Literally one of my favorite books I’ve ever read in my life, and I’m an English major. It is only 2 books and both are already published, so you won’t have to wait. The most tender, loving relationship I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading about. The translation is phenomenal, and it feels very similar to Jane Austen in its diction, plot, and characterization. I literally cannot explain with words how much I love this book.

2. To Rule in a Turbulent World by Gu Xue Rou

This series is just being translated and published, so it may take a while for the other books (I think 3-4?) will be out, but don’t let that scare you away! Without too much spoilers, the vibes of this first book reminds me of Harvest Moon games. Also a very sweet and tender main couple. Plus, this book is written by a male author!! Pretty rare in danmei, at least to my knowledge.

3. Thousand Autumns by Qian Qiu

Pretty dense with lots of philosophy, poetry references, and a more traditional wuxia world. This series is finished with 5 books in total. I had a hard time reading the first book, mostly because I didn’t connect that much with the mc at first, but I loved the world building and all the information I learned. I did eventually start connecting with the mc and ended the series fully besotted! Not a quick or easy read, but a worthwhile one.

4. Ballad of Sword and Wine by Tang Jiu Qing

The first book is out for this series, with the second being published later this month. It’s going to be a long one like tcgf, so it is a commitment read—but absolutely worth it!! Lots of palace politics and more Taoist-focused martial arts (think Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon). It is both fast and slow burn (I know that doesn’t make sense now; trust me, it will later on) and the main character is SO FASCINATING!! I want to study him like a bug. The overall characterization is phenomenal. The cast can be… intimidating, as there are a LOT of named characters, but they’re mostly there for world building (and the world building is fantastic!). Also, the translation here is GORGEOUS. You can tell it was translated by a writer, or at least someone who’s read the whole text (you’d be surprised…)—everything is so vivid!

#mdzs #mxtx #mdzs meta #my mdzs meta #danmei #golden terrace #ballad of sword and wine #thousand autumns #to rule in a turbulent world

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itsabouttimex2 · 7 months ago

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My Alternate Universes

(AF) Primal Moon:

Twice a year; once in spring and once in autumn, a verdant moon rises to bring the bestial instincts of non-humans to light. Celestials and demons alike struggle to keep hold of themselves, something ancient welling up within them and shifting their thoughts and feelings to a more animalistic state.

The spring moon ends on the summer solstice, the autumn moon ends on the winter solstice.

Each week drives non-humans to feral or uninhibited states, leaving them struggling to control themselves. Violence and kidnappings spike during this time, humans as the usual victims. As a result of this, many people hold rather bigoted and fearful views towards demons and Celestials. Some even wish to oust them from society entirely.

(LMK) Monkie Glaive:

Long ago, monsters of terrifying might roamed the land freely. These beasts tore villages asunder and swallowed up the people inside, leaving naught but cinders of destruction in their wake. When a great Black Dragon came to wreak havoc upon humanity with wings spread wide, only one dared to stand against it- the legendary hunter, Sun Wukong! With his lightning-charged glaive held high, the Monkey King summoned a storm and forced the dragon down from the skies, where he overcame it in single combat! Today, in his honor, we hunters train monkeys as our partners to aid us on the field. With them, we overcome our opponents and forge a brighter future for all of humanity!

(Essentially, a Monster Hunter crossover.)

(LMK) Let’s Start Over:

It’s been years since MK’s story ended, and now yours is just beginning. Upgrading his nickname to ‘Monkie Knight’, he’s working hard to shape you into a worthy successor. As the new ‘Monkie Kid’, you are:

1. An everyday mortal, you were gifted a tiny fraction of MK’s power, allowing you to wield the staff and use his skills. Putting yourself in danger leads to the prompt removal of this privilege, and then you’re relegated to chores and stretches until MK thinks you’ve learned your lesson.

2. A Mystic Monkey in disguise, unaware of your true nature. If he finds out, he’s intent on breaking the news early, trying to keep you from having a breakdown like him. He considers you to be a kindred soul, and frequently offers to help with grooming and personal strife.

Given that MK still hasn’t overcome his trauma, he’s grown extremely protective of his successor, trying to force you down a safe and happy path. He dotes on you constantly, acting almost like a surrogate father. Instead of allowing you to explore and fight on your own, he tags along everywhere to keep you safe. He refuses to truly relinquish his responsibilities to you, instead vicariously living through the safety and security he forces onto you.

Until you get the chance to slip away and meet a resurrected villain that MK had hoped to never see again, allowing you to take the first step on your own journey.

(LMK) Taken Aboard:

Upon his visit to the sprawling Emerald Grove; a massive expanse of forest and rivers, Tang Sanzang finds a mischievous demon child living all alone- you. Taking pity on you, the Great Monk prays to Guanyin for her help, and receives two more tightening bands. Upon being ‘gifted’ these golden cuffs, you ask for the monk’s help to put them on- and are promptly dragged into a long and dangerous journey against your will.

Your fellow pilgrims come to view you as a mischievous little sibling, in need of both discipline and love. They won’t stop Sanzang from activating the bands, but are happy to help with the wounds and tears that come afterwards. They also engage in your tutoring, helping to teach you to read and write and perform basic arithmetic.

All the while, you try your hardest to escape and return home.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #Yandere RotTMNT #Primal Moon #Monkie Glaive #Let’s Start Over #Taken Aboard #AF means ‘any fandom’

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rottonfishie · 6 months ago

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AU Explanation : Ivory Girl

‐--------------------------------○●○--------------------------"Ivory Girl AU" is basically a swap au of the original show with a few extra bit and bobs, such as the story lines may be the similar to the original or completely different depending on where I want it to go.

Heroes :

MK (sorta) = Bai He (lady bone demon's host).

Mei = with Redson/Hong Hai'er

Pigsy = Queenie (Spider Queen)

Tang = Xiezi (Scorpion Queen)

Sandy = Bingo (Ao bing)

Mo = Mimi (Shar Pei dog breed)

The Monkey King/Sun Wukong = Lady Ivory/Baigujing (The Lady Bone Demon)

Nezha = Chang'e

Antagonists :

The Demon Bull King = the Dragon King of the West (Mr. Dragon).

Princess Iron Fan = Princess Yushe (Mrs. Dragon)

Redson = Xiaojiao (Mei)

Jin/Yin = Princess Jade Face

Macaque = "The General" (The Mayor)

Spider Queen = Lord Zhu Bajie (Pigsy)

Spider Demons = Zhu Bajie's Harem (give them name suggestions :))

Scorpion Queen = The Golden Cicada (Tang)

Villains :

Lady Bone Demon = The Monkey King

The Mayor = Macaque

Azure lion = Qi Xiaotian (MK)

???? = Master Yuzhiqin

Allies/side characters :

Chang'e = Nezha

Mr. Dragon = Mr. Gongniu (DBK)

Mrs. Dragon = Mrs. Gongniu (PIF)

Ao Guang = Immortal Ruyi

#lego monkie kid #au #lego monkie kid au #lego monkey kid #lmk #lego monkey kid au #ivory girl au #lmk au #lego monkie kid ivory girl au #lego monkie kid swap au #swap au

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niteshade925 · 5 months ago

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April 11, Xi'an, China, Xi'an Museum/西安博物院 (Part 2):

First up, the star of the museum, Tang dynasty (618 - 907 AD) sancai/唐三彩 pottery figurine of a rider on a horse (三彩腾空马):

More Tang-era sancai pottery horse figurines:

This one is a sancai figurine of a camel......screaming? That's a reaction pic worthy face right there:

Another reaction pic worthy face.....this time on a small gold tiger figurine (the head looks more like a bat tbh lol):

Qin dynasty (221 - 207 BC) kneeling clay figurine. This is how people sat before raised seats and chairs became a thing, and this position is called jizuo/跽坐:

Bronze parts from a horse chariot (because the chariots were wooden, it decayed, leaving behind these bronze parts):

Left: bronze crossbow (called nu/弩) trigger mechanism and arrow heads (may be from Warring States period, 403 - 221 BC)

Right: Bronze swords and daggers. If I remember right, the ones on the bottom left are yue/钺 heads

Qin dynasty (221 - 207 BC) and Han dynasty (202 BC - 220 AD) wadang/瓦当, featuring various auspicious motifs and phrases. These are part of the roof edge in traditional Chinese architecture, as shown in the diagram on the right (wadang is on the bottom left in the diagram). Honestly I think at least some of these wadang designs can be used on mooncake moulds:

A golden loong dragon, very fitting for the Year of the Dragon 🐉:

A (giant) pottery brick decorated with two loong dragons:

A pottery lantern, I believe this is specifically made to be buried in a tomb

Green-glazed pottery dog from Han dynasty (202 BC - 220 AD). It's speculated that this actually depicts a songshi/松狮 dog, which was the breed that the chow chow was developed from. Note the wide head, small upright ears, sturdy protruding snout, stocky build, and the tail curved onto its back. This breed can still be found in China today:

Left: pottery female figurines, probably from Wei, Jin, Southern and Northern dynasties/魏晋南北朝 (220 - 589 AD), since this cross-shaped hairstyle/十字髻 was one of the characteric hairstyles of that time period.

Right: pottery female entertainer figurines, judging by the hairstyles, these are probably from Tang dynasty (618 - 907 AD). The hairstyle of the musicians to the sides are banfanji/半翻髻, the musician to the left is playing a sheng/笙, while the musician to the right is playing a paixiao/排箫. The dancer in the middle has a feixianji/飞仙髻 hairstyle.

Tang-era bronze mirror decorated with auspicious creatures and grapes. Traditionally, grapes motif symbolize longevity and wealth. This is the back of the mirror, the other side is the actual mirror, which is polished frequently and meticulously so that it may serve its purpose.

Various Tang-era hair ornaments made of silver, gold, or jade:

Tang-era sancai pottery tomb guardians:

Northern Zhou-era (557 - 581 AD) stone sarcophagus from Tomb of Master Shi/史君墓, also known as Tomb of Wirkak, dating from 580 AD:

A close up at the epitaph on the sarcophagus, which is written in Chinese and Sogdian. Translation of the epitaph from Wikipedia:

(The period) Daxiang of Great Zhou, year 2, in the first month of a rat year, on the 23rd day. So: there was a man of a family from Kish, domiciled in Guzang. From the emperor he holds the rank (of) sabao of Guzang, in the land of the Sogdians, a landowner. He is named Wirkakk, the son of Wanuk, (namely) Wanuk, the son of the sabao. And (his) wife, born in Xinping, is named Wiyusi. And Wirkakk the sabao married (his) wife in Xinping in a pig year, on the 7th day of the 6th month, on a hare day. And afterwards, here in Xianyang (= Chang’an), he himself died in a pig year, on the 7th day of the 5th month. And his wife too died on the 7th day of the 6th month, on a hare day, in the same year (as her) marriage, the same month, the same day. There is no living being which is born which is not subject to death; moreover, it is hard to complete (one’s) period in the world of the living. But this is harder (still), that, without being aware (of it), a husband and wife see one another (for the first time) the same year, the same month, the same day, in the human world (and) also in paradise, (so that) the beginning of (their) life together (in each place) may be at the same period. This stone tomb was made by Vreshman-vande, Zhimat-vande (and) Prot-vande, desiring a suitable place for (their) father (and) mother. — Epitaph of the tomb of Wirkak. Translated from the Sogdian by Nicholas Sims-Williams.

A clay model of a building for burial, if I remember right this is from Ming dynasty (1368 - 1644), I'm not 100% sure.

Traditionally, Chinese people believe that spirits of the dead will continue to exist and "live", so the dead must be treated as if they are alive, a concept known as 事死如事生. This is why ancient Chinese tombs were often filled with belongings of the deceased, their favorite and most prized treasures, and (often clay) models of houses and possessions, etc. A very famous example of this is Qin Shi Huang's terra cotta army. This is also why Chinese people today still burn paper offerings in the shape of money (mingbi/冥币; colloquially called paper money/纸钱) and items (called zhizha/纸扎) for the deceased. The biggest difference is that today's paper offerings might take the shape of modern items like laptops or cars.

Ming-era pottery figurines, arranged in a procession

A landscape painting hand scroll, and if I'm reading the plaque right (there were a lot of people so I didn't get to take a picture of the plaque), it's by famous Yuan dynasty painter Zhao Mengfu/赵孟頫 (1254 - 1322). This particular style of landscape painting is called blue-green landscape painting (青绿山水画), and is so named for its characteristic blue-green color of the mountains. Since the color was produced by mineral pigments, it's long-lasting and does not fade. The most famous painting of this style is One Thousand Li of Rivers and Mountains (《千里江山图》) by Wang Ximeng/王希孟 in Northern Song dynasty (960 - 1127 AD).

And last but not least, this one surprised me too......clay water pipes from Qin dynasty (221 - 207 BC):

#2024 china #xi'an #china #chinese history #chinese art #chinese painting #history #art #archaeology #xi'an museum #西安博物院

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lunar-wandering · 1 year ago

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Kaiju's and Blankets

!!!Season 4 Special Spoilers are in this fic!!!

Summary: MK gets sick, and gets stuck in kaiju form as a result. Everything else that spirals from that point is nobody else's fault but Wukong's. (Who is DEFINITELY not sick, thank you very much).

Word Count: 6.6k

Read on Ao3

“MK are you… sure you’re okay to run deliveries today?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well…” Pigsy trailed off, uncertain, looking up and down at MK’s rather… unkempt appearance today, as well as noting how almost hoarse the kid’s voice sounded, watching as MK’s smile despite these facts remained unchanged- even as his whole body jolted as he flickered with a golden glitch. “You’re doing the thing.”

“What thing? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” MK glitched again, reaching behind himself just in time to grab his monkey tail as it appeared, holding it behind his back in an attempt to keep it out of view- an attempt that severely failed as Pigsy leveled him with concerned look, Mei even looking up from her phone game to raise her eyebrow at his actions. He sniffled, raising his free arm and rubbing his nose on the back of his sleeve, grabbing the takeout bags afterwards, partially disguising it as a more casual movement. “Aaaaanyways- I’ll just be out delivering these! Won’t even take that long! Be back soon!”

Both Pigsy and Mei watched in concerned silence as MK walked backwards out of the restaurant, giving the both of them a rather sloppy salute before turning off and sprinting down the street, leaving cracks in the pavement behind him- albeit he didn’t seem to notice. Mei sighed, pocketing her phone.

“He’s going to pass out, isn’t he.” She deadpanned, Pigsy nodding solemnly in agreement with her assessment. She stood up, stretching her arms above her head and rolling her shoulders, loosening up her muscles.

“You’d better go after him, Mei.”

“Already on it, Mr. Pig Dad Sir!” Mei bent down, getting into a ready to run position-

Only to be thrown off balance as it was like the entire world shook, the building trembling, a sound similar to an explosion resounding as both her and Pigsy got tossed into the air from the force. Mei, thankfully, oriented herself to land on her feet- using a touch of dragon power to zoom into the kitchen and catch as many objects as she could before they could shatter on the ground.

Pigsy wasn’t nearly so lucky, instead slamming down onto the floor, the wind getting knocked out of him. He remained on the floor, taking a moment to catch his breath, before groaning as he slowly pushed himself up, Mei quickly setting her objects on the counter and rushing over to give him a hand.

“What was that?!” He wheezed, giving Mei a pat on the shoulder as thanks before making his way towards the door. Before he could get there however, Tang was suddenly there, appearing in a golden flash of light, staff in hand and looking frazzled and panicked, not even letting Pigsy or Mei get a word out before he spoke.

“You guys are going to want to see this.”

With no further explanation, he slammed his staff on the ground, both Pigsy and Mei shielding their eyes, closing them against the light as they felt the now-familiar sensation of teleportation. When they opened them again, they both blinked, taking in the absolute destruction.

There were buildings that were literally flattened, pressed down against the ground- a few fires starting up in the remains of some of them. Thankfully, there had long since been a magic system put in place to automatically teleport people in danger out of the way in the case of possible natural disasters, and most of this space was an area that had been abandoned since Spider Queen’s attack the previous year, so there wasn’t that much concern about civilians, but.

There was a giant crater in the ground that most certainly had not been there before, one that they were currently standing at the very edge of.

And, at the middle of the crater, standing awkwardly at the exact center of all the destruction, with his tails swishing nervously… was MK.

In kaiju form.

“Well,” Mei put her hands on her hips, “That’s less than ideal.”

“You’re telling me.” All three of them jumped as Sandy suddenly appeared out of nowhere behind them, staring at MK with obvious concern. “He told me last night that he was just coming down with a little cold.”

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s very little anymore.” Pigsy sighed in exasperation, stepping forwards, about to jump down into the crater and approach MK, planning on lecturing him about the importance of not hiding illnesses again-

“Ah- wait!” Tang grabbed the back of Pigsy’s clothes, pulling him back towards him.

Just in time it seemed, as MK suddenly twitched, all three of his tails coming to a complete standstill as he inhaled, turning to the side to face more towards the uninhabited part of town-

Another sound like an explosion went off, and Tang just barely managed to get a shield up in time to protect them from the resulting shockwave as MK’s entire kaiju body jerked forwards. The ground shook, and all of them stumbled, barely remaining standing, a cloud of debris getting kicked up as more houses were flattened.

It was only when the dust finally settled that Mei fully processed what had just happened.

“Was that a sneeze?” She asked, as the shield slowly flickered away. “He did all this with just a sneeze???”

“It… appears so.” Tang said.

Mei wasn’t entirely sure if that was cool, or mildly scary.

After a moment of deliberation, she settled on it being concerning. Something like that couldn’t be good for MK’s health, obviously. (Even if his power level being well over what must be 9,000 was awesome as all hell).

“Yeah… I hate to say it, but I think we’re going to need Monkey King’s help on this one.” Pigsy crossed his arms, thinking. “Now, the only question is… how do we get a kaiju to Flower Fruit Mountain?”

The words “Flower Fruit Mountain” seemed to have somehow managed to catch MK’s attention, as he turned towards them, seemingly only just now noticing they were there, as his tails and fur stood up on end in what could only be best interpreted as shock at their presence. In mere seconds, he had crossed over to stand in front of them, kneeling down on the ground to be closer to eye level with them- the ground slightly shaking with the motion.

He looked… apologetic, a tiny noise akin to a whine escaping from him- Pigsy wasn’t even sure if he could speak like this- based on Macaque, he probably should be able to, but then again, Pigsy had never seen a sick Macaque kaiju (and, quite frankly, never wanted to). Still though, he gave his best disappointed stare up at him, MK shrinking back a little.

“Yeah yeah, I know all your excuses, kid. Right now, let's just focus on getting you out of kaiju form- don’t think you’ve escaped the lecture though.” He hastily added on the end upon seeing MK start to look slightly hopeful. MK, in response, slumped a little, his tails and ears drooping. “Do not give me the puppy dog eyes, kid. We’ve got, for lack of a better word, bigger problems right now.”

MK let out a small rumbling chuckle- and then instantly turned to the side to cough into his arm, the ground shaking again, but Pigsy focused less on his sudden loss of balance and instead on how… painful it sounded. Maybe that’s why MK wasn’t talking, he had sounded quite hoarse earlier, maybe it hurt more to speak now.

Either way…

“We need to get you to Flower Fruit Mountain.” Tang finished Pigsy’s thought before he could even speak it. “Albeit… I’m not entirely sure how. Sandy’s boat is way too small, and I’m not sure that I can teleport you when you’re like… this.”

MK tilted his head to the side, seemingly in contemplation. And then, a very familiar smirk appeared on his kaiju face.

Pigsy knew what that smirk meant.

It meant trouble.

“Kid, I swear-” Pigsy didn’t get the chance to finish that sentence, as, without any form of warning, MK was reaching down, scooping all four of them up into one hand.

Pigsy and Tang’s matching screams were nearly drowned out by the sound of Mei’s loud enthusiastic cheering.

MK slowly and carefully stood up, holding his hand close to his chest to help keep his hand stable as he slowly started walking his way out of the city, keeping a close eye on where he put his feet. Pigsy, subtly, used the opportunity to check the kid for fever- albeit, like this, with MK in this form, he couldn’t really tell. MK felt a little warm, but he had no idea what the normal for a kaiju even was.

It was only when they reached the beach- and MK just kept going, stepping into the ocean, that Pigsy realized what MK was planning to do.

“MK, this really isn’t the best idea, you’re just going to-”

“Make myself more sick?”

All four of them startled as MK’s voice came out in basically a whisper from behind them.

Turning around, they could barely make out the form of MK, in monkey form, hovering inside of his kaiju, where the heart would reside. His position perfectly mirrored his kaiju’s completely, his legs moving in tandem with it- almost like he was controlling a mech. He was looking down, and it took Pigsy a moment to realize that it was because his kaiju was looking down at them- MK must only be able to see through his kaiju’s eyes, then.

“I don’t think what happens in this form can really transfer to my physical state.” MK continued, voice somehow, despite being in a hoarse whisper, still sounding far more energetic than a sick person should sound. “I can’t even feel the water around my feet!”

Pigsy huffed.

“If this comes back to bite you, do not come complaining to me.” He mumbled.

The rest of the trip through the ocean was slightly slow, but mostly peaceful. (There was one point, where MK had sneezed again, accidentally dropping them in the process as he turned away from them, but thankfully, Mei had been fast enough to snatch them up in her dragon form before they could hit the water. MK had, softly, apologized as they were settled back into his hand, to which Mei threatened to steal all his copies of the Monkey Mech game if he dropped them again. MK had whined about it for the following 15 minutes).

When they reached Flower Fruit Mountain, MK stood still on the beach for a moment too long, the others turning back to him in concern.

“...I swear, you better not be about to sneeze again.” Mei threatened. There was a moment where MK didn’t respond-

And then they were all clinging to his hand as MK gave a full body shake, kicking both his legs, sending water droplets flying everywhere to the beach below.

It was only when they were steady again that Mei let out a strangled laugh.

“You’re like a dog!”

MK pointedly avoided looking at them.

“...I tried not to.” He mumbled, “Instinct took over…”

Mei cackled at him, MK finally looking back down at them with a pout. Pigsy rolled his eyes.

It took far faster than usual to climb the mountain up to the waterfall that led to Wukong’s recently rebuilt house, mainly due to MK not needing to take nearly as many steps. He gently lowered his hand to the ground, allowing the others to step off, before reaching out a finger, placing it in the water to split it in two, allowing a path of access through it.

It was only when all four of them had crossed through it that MK let out a distressed sound, causing them to turn back around to face him.

There was a beat, before they realized the issue.

“Oh.” Tang said, “You can’t fit.”

There was a slightly louder distressed noise. Sandy stepped back to the other side of the waterfall, patting MK on the side of the leg.

“Don’t worry MK, I’m sure Mr. King will have something that will, at the least, make you a little smaller!! I’ll just stay out here with you while the others go in, if that’s okay?”

MK glanced back at Pigsy.

“We won’t be long, kid.” He affirmed, and MK gave him a nod, before slowly pulling his hand back, the flow of the water once more slamming down and obscuring him and Sandy from view. Pigsy turned back to Mei and Tang. “Alright- sooner we get Monkey King out here, the better.”

Sun Wukong was not sitting out anywhere in his cave, unlike previous times that they had shown up unexpectedly. They would normally stumble upon him lounging on a sunlit rock or a shaded tree branch, usually either eating or reading something or other. Sometimes Pigsy wondered if he ever got up to much else (outside of training MK, that is).

Mei, the fastest of the three of them, zoomed right up the steps to Wukong’s house to knock.

“Mr.King!! We need your help!!” She called-

There was a loud crash from inside the house, and all three of them winced. A few seconds later, the door opened, Wukong panting like he had run to them, looking slightly panicked.

“What’s- what’s going on- where’s the kid?” He looked around frantically.

“He’s sick-” Mei started, having to stop mid-sentence to avoid biting her tongue as Wukong grabbed her shoulders and started shaking her.

“Sick? Sick like- dying sick? Does he need a peach??? I can go steal a peach for him-” Wukong let go of Mei, the dragon girl stumbling back to be out of his reach as he turned to try and move off his front porch, likely with the plan of stealing another immortal peach in mind. Tang and Pigsy stepped in his way before he could.

“The kid’s not dying, Monkey King.” Pigsy reached out to try and calm the monkey down, Wukong side-stepping away from his touch, but still pausing. “He’s just got a cold.”

“...Oh. Well, y’know, even mortal colds can be deadly-”

“It won’t be.”

“...Okay… Then what do you need my help for?” Wukong tilted his head to the side, staring at them in confusion as he leaned back against the wall of his house, “I’m not exactly the best when it comes to medicine nowadays- it used to be so much simpler when you could just use a flower and a spell.”

Tang mumbled something about having to teach the Monkey King about the advancements of modern medicine, and Pigsy sighed.

“The kid’s gone all super-kaiju on us.” He said, “He’s sitting outside the cave right now, we were hoping that… at the least, if you can’t turn him back to normal, you could at least make him… smaller?”

“Oh! Yeah, that’s easy.” Wukong smirked as he pushed off the wall, only to wince as it cracked behind him. “...Oops. Uh, I’ll fix that later, c’mon, let’s go see the kid.”

Pigsy and Tang instantly turned to start heading back towards the waterfall entrance, Wukong trailing behind them, Mei taking a split second to glance between the Monkey King and the crack in the wall with sudden suspicion before catching up to them, sliding to walk in time beside Wukong.

“Soooo, Mr. King. How’re you doing today?” She asked, leaning towards him slightly, raising an eyebrow as he leaned away, avoiding eye contact with her.

“I’m fine.” Wukong sped up a little, tail swishing as he moved around to be in front of Pigsy and Tang just in time as they arrived back at the waterfall. Reaching out, he activated the magic surrounding it, parting the waters before turning back towards them with an over-dramatic smirk, giving them a half-sarcastic little bow. “After you, guys!”

Pigsy and Tang simply rolled their eyes, walking forwards, but Mei made the point of making eye contact with the Monkey King as she walked past him, following it up with an ‘I’m watching you’ motion that made Wukong’s expression shift to one of nervousness, before he covered it up with a small laugh, stepping through the waterfall himself.

MK visibly brightened up when he saw them emerge from the waterfall, shifting to lean down towards them.

“Told you we wouldn’t be long, kid.” Pigsy said, lightly patting the side of MK’s face that he could reach. “...Where’s Sandy?”

“Right here!” Sandy popped up from MK’s shoulder, sliding down MK’s arm to be on the ground with the others. “MK was just letting me braid his hair while we waited.”

Sure enough, there were a few tiny braids throughout Kaiju MK’s hair- in all honesty, Pigsy was impressed that Sandy had managed to get so many of them done in such a short period of time.

“Right.” Wukong said, shaking out his hands and summoning his cloud, floating up to be able to touch the center of the kaiju’s forehead. “I… can’t say if I can change you back to normal, per say, but I’m pretty sure I can at the least get you small enough to be able to fit inside the mountain.”

There was a brief pause, and then Wukong’s eyes lit up gold, tendrils of magic swirling around the kaiju. There were a few small moments where the size of the kaiju fluctuated, getting smaller and then bigger again, followed by a bright flash of light that had the four on the ground shielding their eyes.

When they opened their eyes again, MK was much smaller than he was before. Still a giant kaiju, yes, but he’d be able to fit through the entrance if he crawled, and should be able to stand within the cave itself no problem.

“Well, at least that’s one problem solved…” Pigsy trailed off into a mumble, “We’re definitely going to need to find a bigger soup bowl somewhere though…”

“...Why aren’t they moving?” Mei questioned, and Pigsy looked back up to find that MK and Wukong seemed to have entered… some kind of staring contest, both of their tails swishing.

A full minute passed, the four on the ground waiting in complete silence, trying to figure out what was going on.

…And then MK raised a hand, snatched Wukong off his cloud, and slammed his palm onto the ground, sending up a small splash of water that the others only just managed to avoid as he pinned Wukong to the ground in the shallow pond.

“Kid!!! What are you doing?!?!” Tang yelled, as Wukong let out a wheezing breath-

And immediately broke into a loud coughing fit, the others watching as Wukong’s whole form seemed to flicker before restabilizing. Mei let out a loud gasp, pointing at him.

“Ohhhh- I knew there was something up with you!” She said, “You’re sick too!!”

“I am not!” Wukong managed to hiss out, before starting to struggle, using his free hand to smack at MK’s fingers, his one free leg kicking uselessly in the air. “Let me go!!”

MK didn’t move, and although his expression didn’t visibly change, everyone could just feel the tangible disappointment coming off of him.

It didn’t take very long for Wukong to give in, suddenly going limp in MK’s hold.

“Fine, kid. You win.” He let out an overdramatic world weary sigh, flickering again, only this time, once the flickering died down… well, to say it politely, he looked like an absolute mess. His fur, albeit now soaked with water, looked completely frazzled, like he hadn’t brushed it before getting out of bed that morning, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was slightly flushed. Pigsy would, honestly, be willing to say that he looked worse-off than MK did.

MK, in response to his mentor letting down his glamours, let out a somewhat-pleased sound, removing his hand, freeing Wukong. Despite this, Wukong continued to lay there, staring up at the sky- his view of the clouds unfortunately blocked as Mei leaned over him, blocking his vision.

“Jeez, you look awful.” She said, reaching down to press the back of her hand against Wukong’s forehead.

“Thanks for the compliment.” He said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not sick though. Just didn’t sleep too well, that’s all!”

“Mhm, yeah, tell that to your fever.” Mei huffed, reaching down to grab his arm, forcibly lifting him back up to his feet. Wukong, on instinct, shook, the water in his fur flying everywhere. “Hey!! You’re getting me wet!! Man, MK really did take after you a lot…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing!” Mei gave him her best innocent smile, dragging him over in the direction of the others- MK having used his hand to reopen the waterfall and let the others through again. “C’mon, let’s get inside before Pigsy goes full chaos mom mode on you.”

“Goes full what-”

Twenty minutes later found Wukong pouting, sitting cross-legged on top of MK’s head, MK himself having laid down on his stomach, curling up slightly like a giant cat. Wukong had been practically forced to change into a pair of peach-themed pajamas Pigsy had happened to find after rummaging through the Monkey King’s closets- and had a blanket draped over his shoulders as well (he had just taken a dip in the water after all- they were better safe than sorry).

“I’m not sick.” He mumbled petulantly, MK reaching up and poking Wukong’s head as gently as he could with one finger in response, sending him slightly off balance to the side before he re-stabilized himself, grumbling incoherently.

“Hmm, we’ll have to find some kind of blanket for the kid eventually…” Pigsy said, rubbing his chin as he thought. “Albeit, unlike Monkey King, he doesn’t seem to have a fever yet, so we can probably hold off on that for a little longer…”

“Don’t have a fever! Cause I’m not sick!” Wukong called down from his position, everyone dutifully ignoring him.

“I would like to find some way to get some form of soup fed to MK though.” Pigsy finished, “Which means we’re… definitely going to need some kind of large bowl… albeit I can’t think of where we’d find something like that.”

“Oh! Oh! I know!!” Wukong waved his hands to get their attention, before pointing up. “The guys up there have tons of giant bowls you could take and use!!”

“...Isn’t that stealing?” Sandy asked, Wukong shaking his head.

“Naahhhh, they won’t even notice if one bowl’s gone. I can take you all you guys up there right now!!”

“Ah- wait!” Tang’s shout only barely managed to stop Wukong before he could snap his fingers. “You’re sick, you can’t be transporting a large group of people- nevermind a giant bowl.”

“Not sick.” Wukong said, sniffling, but still lowering his hand.

“But who could transport a giant bowl for us, as well as the ingredients?” Pigsy hummed, the group falling into silence as they thought it over.

“...What about Macaque? He’s got that shadow-portaling thingy.” Mei suggested- Wukong immediately bursting out into hoarse laughter, mixed with a few coughs. “What’s so funny?”

“Please, like Macaque would ever agree to that.” Wukong said.

“Well, it’s not like we have much of a choice…” Tang muttered, before raising his voice so that the others could hear. “Alright, but who’s going to stay behind with these two?”

There was silence for a beat, and then Wukong scoffed.

“We don’t need a babysitter.” He said, “I can keep an eye on the kid just fine- hEY!”

He was cut off as MK reached up, grabbing hold of Wukong’s tail, dangling his mentor upside down, the Monkey King scrambling to grab the blanket that had been wrapped around him and hold it close to his chest to prevent it from falling to the ground.

“I’ll keep an eye on Monkey King.” MK’s hoarse voice whispered, slowly swinging his mentor back and forth a few times, before setting him on the ground, lightly putting his hand overtop of him again when it seemed like Wukong was going to protest- Wukong instead accepting his fate, laying on the ground with a resigned expression.

“Well, with that settled… I guess we’re off to see Macaque!” Mei said, turning to stand beside Tang as he got ready to teleport them to Macaque’s dojo.

“He’s going to say no!” Wukong called, Pigsy waving him off.

“We’ll just see about that.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Macaque said, immediately, leaning up against his doorframe, raising one finger to silence them before any of them could even speak a word. “Wukong and the kid aren’t here. Which means that whatever this is about- because there must be something going on, this many of you wouldn’t be on my doorstep otherwise, this must be about them, and I want nothing to do with it.”

“How do you know there’s not some kind of world ending threat going on?” Mei asked, slowly pulling out her sword behind her back, where Macaque couldn’t see.

“Please, if there was a world ending threat, trust me, I would know.” Macaque huffed, crossing his arms. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the giant kaiju incident this morning, I’m not blind. I want nothing to do with it.”

“Really now? And nothing will change your mind?” Mei’s smirk slowly grew slightly more dangerous, Pigsy, Tang, and Sandy stepping slightly to the side, knowing full well to not get in her way.

“Nope. No way, no how.”

Within the next split second, there was a sword embedded in the doorframe, just bare inches away from Macaque’s face. Macaque let out a slightly fearful breath, a few stray pieces of hair that the sword had managed to snag slowly falling to the ground.

“That.” Mei hissed, “Is your only warning.”

Macaque, for his part, recovered rather quickly.

“...Nice aim, kid.” He muttered, before sighing. “Fiiinneee, I’ll help you out, but just this once- and you better pay me back for it. What do you need me to do?”

Wukong stared up at the ceiling of the mountain.

It had been twenty minutes since the others had teleported away, and they still weren’t back yet. Or, well, he thought it had been twenty minutes. He didn’t exactly have a clock on him. It had felt like it had been an hour, but he wasn’t really the best at keeping track of time, so he was going to guess that it had actually only been twenty minutes.

…Twenty minutes were far too long though.

Groaning, Wukong pushed himself up into a sitting position, MK opening up one eye to stare at him. Dang it, he’d been kinda hoping that the kid had fallen asleep since he had closed his eyes about… ten minutes ago? Yeah, ten minutes ago was probably a good guess.

“I’m bored.” Wukong’s voice trailed off into something that borderlined a whine. Quickly jumping to stand up, ignoring the way it made his head spin a little, Wukong turned to the kid. “Do you want to watch a movie? I can go get my laptop!”

MK let out a small rumble, opening his other eye to focus fully on Wukong.

“The screen would be too small for me.” Was his response, “I wouldn’t be able to see it.”

“Mmm, I guess you’re right…” Wukong trailed off, tapping his chin in thought. “Oh! We could set up a projector! Get a giant sheet, set up like a movie theatre screen! I’m pretty sure I have a projector around here somewhere…”

“What about the giant sheet, though?” MK asked, and Wukong paused, thinking.

And then a brilliant idea struck him.

“I can just steal some blankets from Demon Bull King’s house!” He said, moving from standing to sitting up, grabbing the blanket that was resting on his shoulders, tying the ends of it together to turn it into a blanket-cape. “Demon Bull King’s blankets are huge, if I get enough of them, we can probably use one or two to cover you as well!”

“Ah- but you’re sick-”

“Psh, I’m fine!” Wukong waved him off- and MK, unfortunately, was not fast enough to catch him, Wukong having summoned his cloud and zoomed out of the cave before the kid could even blink.

It was only when Wukong was halfway across the ocean that the thought struck his ever so slightly hazed mind that maybe leaving MK alone by himself might not be a very wise decision, but, well, he was already almost at his destination, so there was really no point in turning back now.

By the time he was climbing in through the Demon Bull Family’s kitchen window, carefully making sure that his blanke- his cape didn’t get caught, landing silently on the floor, he was right back around to considering this to be the most genius thing he had ever done.

“Right.” Wukong whispered to himself, clapping his hands together. “Now, if I were DBK, where would I put the blankets?”

Probably the hallway closet, most likely, which meant getting past all the traps that Demon Bull King likely had installed. Wukong sighed, about to open the hallway door-

Only to pause, noticing the coffee-maker sitting on the counter.

Now, Wukong wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, it was a little bit too bitter for him. But he remembered hearing that coffee-makers could also make hot chocolate… surely this one could too? He was kinda in the mood for a hot drink… and hot chocolate sounded really good right now…

Blanket retrieval mission temporarily on pause, Wukong started digging through the small box of insertable coffee’s that was sitting beside the coffee-maker, hoping to find one for hot-chocolate. And, sure enough, he managed to find one. Giggling slightly to himself, he inserted it into the machine, pressing the on button-

He was not expecting how loud it was.

“Ah, no- shh shh shhhhhhh!!” Wukong waved his hands, panicking. If Demon Bull King heard this and found him now, he’d never be able to get those blankets. Quickly, he started pressing buttons, but none of them would seem to turn the damn machine off.

Making a split second decision, Wukong reeled his arm back- and punched it.

He paused afterwards, slowly shaking his hand clean of the bits of debris as he stared at the destroyed coffee-machine.

…Ah. That probably hadn’t been his best decision.

Well, at least it was silent now. Carefully, he swept the broken pieces together, opening a cupboard with his foot and depositing it in there. Surely no-one would notice that. Or, well, at the very least, it wouldn’t be noticed until he was far away from here. Nooo consequences for the Great Sage, Equal To Heaven tonight!

Wiping his hands clean of the whole mess, Wukong turned, opening the door to the hallway, deciding to return his focus to his original mission; stealing some of Demon Bull King’s blankets.

After a minute or so of staring, analyzing the many traps lining the walls, he took a deep breath and went for it.

Dodging the traps largely went without issue, Demon Bull King seriously needed to update his home security. (Albeit, there had been a point where a couple of arrows had flown a little too close for comfort when Wukong had stumbled, a wave of dizziness hitting him, likely from the fever- the fever that he definitely didn’t have, yep, for sure, he was as healthy as a horse, definitely).

He had also been right, Demon Bull King did, in fact, store his blankets in the hallway closet. He did have a bit of a struggle getting them out of the closet- one of them falling over top of him and causing him to have to take a moment to free himself from it’s horrible confines, but he managed to get about three, giant blankets.

Three should be enough, right? One for the projector, and two for the kid. That worked.

Slowly making his way back to the kitchen, dragging the blankets behind him, Wukong froze mid-step in the hallway.

And then turned to the side and sneezed- completely obliterating the wall that had stood beside him.

He blinked, as the dust cleared- revealing Demon Bull King, Princess Iron Fan, and Red Son sitting on the other side, in their living room, staring at him in shock.

“...Oh. Hi?” Wukong lifted his free hand to give them a nervous little wave.

Demon Bull King’s bellowing yell of “Sun Wukong!” was all the warning the Monkey King needed to take off running at full speed, the entire Demon Bull Family hot on his heels.

Fifteen minutes later, MK, who had taken to using his hand to draw shapes into the ground of the cave, jumped- before hissing as a bright swirling fire appeared in front of him.

“Relax, Noodle Boy, it’s just me.” Red Son said, the fire clearing away to reveal him standing there, carrying Sun Wukong over his shoulder- who was still holding on to the three blankets he had stolen. “I’m just here to deliver your idiotic mentor back to you.”

“Hey! I take offense to that!” Wukong struggled, getting unceremoniously dumped on the ground for his efforts. MK, instantly, grabbed him, lifting him up and holding him in his hand, to make sure he wouldn’t run away again.

“That taken care of-” Red Son clapped his hands, “I’ll be taking my leave-”

Red Son was cut off, as suddenly one of MK’s tails reached out, scooping him up off the ground.

“What- Oh come on Noodle Boy, I can’t stay here!I have stuff to do!” MK gave no response to that other than a small rumble, not making any move to put the fire demon down. Red Son huffed, adjusting slightly to make himself more comfortable, grumbling, “I hope the Dragon Girl is having a better day than I am…”

Mei panted, bent over, one hand against the giant bowl, the other against her knee, as she tried to catch her breath. The others were in similar conditions, Tang outright laying down on the floor of Macaque’s dojo like he was dead- the only sign of life from him being the way his chest quickly rose and fell with desperate breaths.

“That-” Mei inhaled, “That was-”

“Awful?” Macaque suggested, from his position of being down on his hands and knees on the floor. Mei shook her head.

“No, amazing!” She said, tilting her head back with a laugh that, in her state, made her seem near-insane. “We absolutely need to do that again!”

“Let’s put ‘doing that again’ to the side for now.” Sandy said, patting the side of the bowl. “We have the bowl now, but we still need to get the ingredients.”

“Oh, no problem.” Macaque said, snapping his fingers, various shadow portals appearing above the bowl, dumping various vegetables down into it. Pigsy stood up, grabbing hold of the edge of the bowl, leaning down over it to pick up a carrot and inspect it.

“...Where did you get these?” He asked. Macaque shifted nervously.

“Ah… you know, here and there.” He shifted his hands side to side, before letting out a sigh. “...From some stores nearby.”

“Did you pay for it?”

“Why would I need to do that?”

There was a moment of silence, before Pigsy groaned.

“Y’know what, I don’t have the energy to deal with a ‘stealing is wrong’ discussion. Let’s just get all this back to the mountain.” Pigsy didn’t need to say any more, as a dark shadow spread out under each of them, and within the next heartbeat, they were back on Flower Fruit Mountain.

…They all paused, taking in the scene in front of them. Somehow, there was now a giant white sheet of fabric hung up on one of the walls, a small projector on a table projecting one of the Monkey King movies onto it. There were also two blankets over top of MK’s kaiju body, and Wukong was curled up slightly by MK’s hand, as well as-

Mei blinked in disbelief.

“Red Son? What are you doing here?”

Red Son turned to face them, looking slightly irritated.

“I’m being held hostage.” Was his response. Not even a second later, Wukong popped up from his curled up position to turn and stare at them with a bright smile- despite his expression however, he somehow looked more frazzled and feverish than he had before.

“Oh, you guys are back!! You should join us- Red Boy over here makes amazing popcorn.” Wukong said, Red Son reaching over to smack him on the shoulder.

“...Yeah, okay.” Pigsy decided that you know what, today had already been so weird, he might as well just take this in stride. “We have to make the soup first, though.”

Getting things set up for soup-making shockingly didn’t take as long as any of them thought it would- Red Son’s presence ended up being particularly helpful, making it easier to get a fire started to cook the soup with. It didn’t take long at all for the soup to be ready, everyone getting their own small bowls before MK sat up and took his much larger one, the entire group sitting in a small semi-circle beside him.

Or, well, almost the entire group.

“C’mon Macaque, aren’t you going to join us?” Mei asked, looking over her shoulder at where the aforementioned monkey was standing a rather good distance away.

“No thanks.”

“Why not?”

“Cause I know what Wukong will do.”

“What will he do?” Mei tilted her head to the side in confusion, Wukong also turning around now that his name had been mentioned, albeit with a devilish smirk on his face.

“Yeah, Macaque, what will I do?” He asked. Macaque glared at him.

“He’s going to lick me.” He said, “He’s going to wait, until I’m distracted, and then he’s going to lick me, and then I’m going to get sick, and I don’t want to get sick. I mean- look at what he did to the kid! I am not dealing with that!”

Everyone shared a brief glance up at MK, who just stared back down at them blankly. Admittedly, up until this point, it hadn’t occurred to anyone that Wukong having worse symptoms- or, more likely, being further along in the stages of the illness, likely meant that he had been the one to give it to MK in the first place. Almost simultaneously, they all turned to Wukong to give him a light glare. Wukong held his hands up in self defence.

“Hey- it wasn’t me- I’m not even sick!”

No-one even bothered to argue with him, instead rolling their eyes. Mei, for her part, set her soup bowl down on the ground, and then, despite Macaque’s protests, zoomed over, picked him up, and brought him over to sit with the rest of the group- Pigsy setting a bowl of soup down into his lap.

For a blessed twenty minutes, there was silence, the group watching the movie in relative peace.

And then there was an ear-splitting shriek.

They turned, and, sure enough- Wukong had used Macaque’s complete entrancement with the movie to grab hold of his wrist and lick his hand.

“I told you!!! I told you this would happen!” Macaque yelled, pulling his hand away from Wukong, shaking it almost like it was on fire. “Gross-”

“Oh, c’mon you big baby, it’s not that bad.” Wukong rolled his eyes, sniffling a little and rubbing his nose on his sleeve. Macaque glared at him with visible disgust, before groaning, wiping his hand on his pants.

“If random shadow portals start showing up everywhere within the next few days, know that it will be your fault.”

#Monkie Kid #LMK S4 Special Spoilers #LMK Spoilers #Monkie Kid Spoilers #fanfic #my writing

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ehlnofay · 23 days ago

Text

One day – as far-off as a century, as near as tomorrow – it will all be a grand old story.

The stories will speak of a handful of champions, rushing headlong against time and logic to save the world; the last Blades, the last Septim, and his hanger-on Hero, carving a bloody path to the Temple doors. The stories will tell of skies like burned blood, of fire and ash and uncountable legions of monsters – hundreds, thousands, millions, the quantity rising with each telling – the city streets cracked and quaking, every civilian locked up in their homes and businesses and praying for deliverance. The stories will tell of the appearance of Dagon, red-hot and roiling, a gory perversion of the sun; they’ll tell that when all seemed lost, Martin Septim sacrificed himself in a blaze of glory, calling down the avatar of Akatosh and casting Dagon and his ilk back whence he came. They’ll tell that the golden dragon threw back its head and roared, and the sky cleared and brightened at its word; they’ll tell how it petrified in place, a magnificent pillar of stone, a sacrosanct statue. A site of pilgrimage. A shrine, to the grace and glory of the gods, and the bravery and benevolence of the last Emperor, the best of men.

It will be a good story. All splendour and triumph, a bittersweet victory right out of the epics; the pages closed, the crisis done, the world saved in as golden a resolution as could be asked for. It doesn’t get better than this, a perfect saviour, a hallowed end.

What the stories won’t tell is how, under clear skies and sunlight, the Hero of Kvatch falls at the statue’s marbled feet and howls like the world is still ending.

“You fucking coward,” Pax is screaming, as best as she can. Her mouth tastes like smoke. Her voice is hoarse. “Stupid worm, fucking – selfish bastard – what’s wrong with you?”

His head is swimming, a bit; he shouldn’t have tried to stand, but he – but – he’s dragged himself up to the dais, just about, and managed to sprawl himself over the edge, a snail’s trail of blood smeared along the floor behind him. The copper tang of it is strong in his nostrils. The statue stands, proud and silent, one marble claw dug into the cracked stone of the rostrum. His whole body is beginning to ache – just because of a stupid stab wound in his side, he’d swear he’s had worse, it’s not that bad, it’s not that bad. His throat burns. He isn’t crying. He isn’t.

The sky is so fucking blue.

“What’s wrong with you?” he demands, again, and brings the heel of his hand thudding against the clawed foot hard enough that he feels the impact down his arm, through his blurry head. “Why would you – piece of shit – sorry spit-gill – I thought –”

None of their thoughts will go through to the end. “I thought,” Pax says again, and she’s not crying, and it hurts so much it’s looped back around to not hurting, and it’s all getting fuzzy at the edges, all the world narrowed down to this and this and this and all fucking hell she’d rather be anywhere, anything else. The statue is cold. Her throat is scraped raw. “Come back,” she’s begging without quite meaning to, “come back,” and she drives her palm into the stone again, and the pain sets her reeling.

And all hell, the sky is so blue; the statue enormous; and here they are, at its feet, vision blurring, staring up at its cold marble face. It’s so fucking tall, so proud, face tipped up towards the new-appeared sun, away from them.

“How could you?” Pax says, and then they can’t even see it anymore, blood unspooling from them like skeins of madder-dyed thread. Red has never been their favourite colour. The shape of the dragon, glowing like the sun, is fixed forever on the backs of their eyelids; gold, they think, is worse. The world is detached and floating about them. They taste smoke and then bile. Stone digs fierce into their spine.

It burned like the sun, the dragon; like all the divine light of Aetherius come to earth just to sear the moisture from her eyes. Where it clawed Mehrunes Dagon, his blood boiled; when it screamed, the world moulded itself to its call. Pax hadn’t known what was happening, while it happened; sure as shit doesn’t know now. What they do know is that he’s gone. What they do know is that the dragon didn’t look at them once. They don’t taste ash on their breath, now; just fear, stagnant, sour, blood jangling bitter in their veins and seeping out to soak their gambeson.

It doesn’t hurt, anymore, there’s just this spreading, vague numbness. It doesn’t feel like their body. It’s just a thing they’re putting on. Their ears are still ringing from the crashing-in of the Temple, but there’s a faint buzzing of noise outside. They might be dying. They can’t be assed to get up.

Skeeving asshole. They’re getting blood on the dragon’s immaculate feet. The hollow sounds of voices feels distant. Could well be worse.

Then, “… a healer, here!” they hear, much closer than anything else had been before, paired with the faraway thudding of the door, and “Pax. Pax! It’s – where’s –” and there’s hands on him, a cautious manipulation of his neck, a shifting of his legs. Pressure on his sternum, and then his stomach, and a pained grunt slips out of his mouth, bound up with a slurred curse.

“Stay calm,” says an unfamiliar voice, soft and steady. “I’m just accessing the wound.”

“Go away,” Pax says, or tries to say, but his voice is whispering-hoarse and the dragon looms in the dark even still. He could open his eyes, but what would be the point?

The hands stay on him even when he bucks, holding him steady; they whisper over the stab in her gut, pulling at the drying blood, mumbling words that she can’t be fucking bothered to listen to, one voice known to her already, one voice not; pressure again on the injury, and they try, half-heartedly, to breathe out a swear – and then light, copper-bright, behind their eyelids, and burning heat, and pain pain pain eclipsing all else as something inside them wrenches back into working order, and then their eyes are open and the sky is blue and they are very fucking aware, thank you.

Pax sits up, fast enough to send the world dizzily whirling, and shoves the mage-medic away from them.

“Piss off,” he says – and it’s still hoarse, smoke-throated and scraped raw, but there’s more bite to it this time, more sound. The strange hands fall away from his side, and he looks down. His gambeson is hanging open, cords untied, the emblem of the wolf split clean down the middle. His undershirt is rucked up around his chest, too, so much of his skin is bared to the clear, bright air; all to get to the wound tucked just under their ribs. It’s an underwhelming thing – smaller than they would’ve thought, a thin short slash like a very red mouth has opened itself up in their gut. It’s stopped dribbling quite so much blood, gone scabby with rough healing, though the stuff is still smeared all over their skin, damn near enough to bathe in. It’s barely anything, really. They’re barely even hurt.

“I’m not done,” says the mage-medic, all stern. The wound itches, the taste of hasty magic gone sour in the back of their throat with all the rest of it. “I might have to find my suturing needle. It isn’t too bad, but it can’t be healed all at once.”

“Piss off,” Pax repeats – and all fucking hell it hurts, and he’s sitting up against the statue, legs lolling. He’s dizzy. He ignores it.

Ocato – his fine clothes sooty, face tight as a wound-up spring – says, “Calm down, please – he’s a skilled healer, he knows what he’s doing.” His eyes keep skipping around the room like he’s searching for another enemy lurking hidden in the shadows. “What happened? Where’s the Emperor?”

Ah – not an enemy, then.

Pax tastes bile.

“Not very quick on the uptake, are you?” she says, elbow braced against the statue’s massive marble claws (she hates touching it, she hates it, she hates it, she wants to set it crumbling apart, she doesn’t want to let anyone else touch it ever again). She can’t stop leaning because then she might topple back down again. Fuck, she needs to keep her head on straight – or lose it altogether, whichever happens faster. Her fingers feel cold. “How’re you going to run an Empire when you’re this fucking clueless?”

Ocato looks them in the face; his brow, high and slanted in that way elves have, furrows. “You’re hurt,” he says, in a tone like he expects Pax to argue with him. “Martin Septim–”

“Can’t you see him?” Pax demands, tone torn in half and uglier than they’ve ever heard it before, and they slam the back of their hand against the stone for echoing emphasis. (They want to shatter all the bones in their knuckles, break every piece in their hand one by one, like wishbones. They want it bloody and bruising. They want to scratch its polished-smooth surface until their fingernails tear. They want – they want – they want –)

Ocato, the Empire’s de facto leader, says, “Ah.”

In his plummy robes, all fruit-rich and stained with ash, he looks very stark against the Temple’s cracked marble floors.

“The Avatar,” he says. “If – the Amulet – joined blood of kings and gods –”

“Ocato,” says Pax, leaning heavy against the statue’s hateful foot, “shut up.” Their voice is bowstring-taut; he looks at them, his eyes too golden to meet. His mouth twists. They tip their head back against the stone, glaring up at the chips of blue sky shown in the crater where the roof once was, and try hard to ignore the tugging ache hooked behind their ribs.

It really fucking hurts. Worse than it did before, maybe, like some gauzy veil has been ripped from it. A veil has been ripped from the world. All the colours are too-bright, hideous. Pax breathes, because there’s no alternative, and waits for the pain to ebb.

(It doesn’t, really.)

“The Gates are sealed,” Ocato says, slowly, and he’s looking at her again, she can see out of the edge of her eye. “We will speak later. I’ll have you put up in the Palace until you’re healed. Ah – Quintus, does –”

“As long as she doesn’t go back into shock,” says the mage-medic, busily flipping through some kind of supply bag at his belt, “her odds are good. Lost blood, but I don’t think anything important was too damaged – get a proper examination, all I did was give her a second wind. Stitches, rest, fluids should do it, with luck.”

“Can she stand?”

“Can or should are –”

“Shut the fuck up,” Pax snaps, “I’m right here.” Her back pressed against the cold marble of the statue, her plait half-loose and knotted, filled with ash. The sky is so fucking blue. It hurts like hell – if the healer took her out of shock, then shit, she wishes he’d put her back in. She can see in too much detail. She can feel the skin, damp and ragged and angry. She presses the heel of her hand to the injury; her palm is crusted with dust, tacky with the same half-dried blood streaked over the floors.

Ocato, in the edges of her vision, shifts, all a blur of rich clothes and sympathetic eyes and solemn voice turned soft like he’s talking to an easily spooked horse. “I know.”

The mage-medic clucks his tongue. “Let me take another look first,” he says, and takes a step forward –

Pax kicks out at him before he even gets close. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Pax,” says Ocato – and why, why the fuck is the Empire’s de facto leader here, now, babying them like a whimpering little puppy instead of anywhere fucking else, why is he bothering to talk to them all patronising soft, why does he care? They’ve barely fucking met – talked twice, if you can call either of those times talking. Is it because they’re the Hero of Kvatch? Is this what they’ve earned – a bit of leeway as they throw a tantrum, bleeding out at the marble feet of that stupid bloody statue? Ocato looks so fucking tired; Pax wants to hit him in the nose. “You need care.”

“I need –” and Pax chokes it off in a puff of air. The statue looms behind them. There’s blood on the floors. (Traitor liar coward come back come back I hate you come down I’ll knock your fucking teeth in stupid selfish fraud come BACK. LOOK AT ME.)

Pax closes his eyes.

“My gratitude,” Ocato says, “ – our gratitude for what you’ve done cannot be overstated. The Crisis if over. The gates are sealed. Mehrunes Dagon and his ilk can never threaten Tamriel again.”

The knobs of Pax’s braid are pressing uncomfortably against their scalp. They can hear footsteps, coming closer. They don’t respond.

“It’s a great shame we had to pay such a price,” Ocato says, and Pax would fucking love to know who’s we here, “but it’s done. Dagon is defeated. We’ve won.” He’s much too close, now; his voice pitches softer. “Martin – is dead. But he died an Emperor – and a hero to rival Tiber Septim.”

Pax shoves him.

It’s a good fucking shove – knocks him right to the ground, his elbow hitting the marble with a painfully audible crack, Pax standing over him, shirt rucked up, their handprint on his shoulder marked in blood. “You useless, prattling jackass!” they spit, hoarse, and deal a swift, savage kick to his side. “How dare you act like this is a victory! It should have been me!”

Then their head swims, and they’re sitting again on the edge of the dais, palm pressed to their side, the sweaty cloth of their gambeson pushed half off their shoulder and its cord biting into their hand. The mage-medic is kneeling over Ocato, who still lies, stunned; Pax can’t see his eyes, now, but they remember them, brassy with shocked fear. Their bow is off by the wall where they left it. Pax’s palms are sticky with blood. The sky is so fucking blue. No matter how hard she rages the dragon won’t look down at them.

By the time the mage-medic has helped Ocato up, they’re gone. The Kvatch guard gambeson remains, smoke-smelling and crusted with blood, left like an offering at the statue’s feet. The Hero of Kvatch is never seen again.

#posting these two one after another is. fun :)#I lovee characters that just slightly misunderstand each other. causing pain and suffering for ever and ever #martin goes this will be sad for them... but at least I can apologise before I go. and at least there will be people to care for them #and I will at last atone for my many horrid sins (mostly existing and bearing witness to the terrors)#meanwhile to pax. the only person that cares about them + figurehead for their entire sense of purpose and confidence has abandoned them.#the Big Dragon Statue is apt because when martin died he made himself a monster #both the only good thing in the world and the thing that took it away #pax hates him. hates herself for hating him. loves him. hates herself for loving him. cannot fathom anything she knows to be true #about their relationship #If He Cared About Me He Couldn't Have Done This. so he never cared #so the dragon with its head arched to the sky is insult to extremely literal injury #so I will NOT be comforted or looked after thanks. I will die at your feet cursing your name and failing that I will lash out as hard #as I can and then disappear from historical record #(to go break into a physician's office and stitch himself up. pax says to himself that he's had worse but Worse was also major abdominal #trauma that caused hypovolemic shock. the perspective is skewed)#and everything is so so sad forever THE END thanks for reading :D #oc tag #pax #martin septim #the elder scrolls #tesblr #tes #oblivion #fay writes #my writing #hero of kvatch

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