#YOU ARE SO FUCKING LOVED TRULY PURELY AND INNOCENTLY YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY PERFECTION INCARNATE AND PURE PASSION TALENT GENIUS AND WHY WOULD I

[ibvix]

SIGNAL BOOSTING FOR A POSITIVELY AFFIRMING OPPORTUNITY !!!

While I am open for requests and do take them often, I am also always open for commissions if folks want art. However, if you can't afford a commission or want to give back and help me afford my dog's surgery, you can pledge to my Patreon for as low as $2 a month. You get updates and WIPs on my art, get to see the spicy stuff, can read my fic chapters before I post them, and even recommend what I draw.

[hati-skoll]

Fuck(!) Divine Intervention (2/3)

[AO3] [Part One]

The astrals may denounce him an unruly, ungrateful bastard – and they're well entitled to their wrong and completely hypocritical opinions – but let it never be said that Ardyn Izunia (previously Lucis Caelum) is a sad, boring dullard of a villain.

If there's any bigger insult to the way they've ruthlessly stripped him of his birth right and cast him aside as one would soiled diapers, it'll be to pigeonhole him in the role of the pathetic, maniacal incarnation of pure evil, bent on total destruction for no reason other than just that. How trite. How mundane. How dreadfully lazy.

No, Ardyn's had centuries, twenty of them actually, to help that stuffy prick Bahamut set the stage for a brilliant grand finale. It will be glorious, a beautiful, tragic swan-song that'll go down the ages. But then of course, it only takes the gods ten minutes to derail the carefully crafted climax he's been meticulously planning for ten years.

"I see you're still struggling with human colloquialisms, my dear," Ardyn says, when Shiva appears in his office on the top floor of Zegnautus Keep, unannounced – no appreciation for locked doors, that goddess, "There's no shame in that, I consider modern language rather tricky myself. But I'm sure you meant to say, 'it's a pregnant moment', as opposed to 'he's pregnant'."

Shiva narrows her eyes at him, slighted by the correction no doubt.

Ardyn continues. "You see, the former would mean that you are emotionally invested in the outcome of your little King's pathetic struggling. And the latter would mean-"

"He is with child," Shiva says.

"Well, yes," Ardyn waits for Shiva to tell him he's right, waits for her to avail him with divine knowledge of whatever has brought her to his little shoebox of an office and when none of that is forthcoming, he resists the urge to stamp his foot. "He is a boy. How is he with child?"

"The oracle-"

"Put a baby in him?" It must be Jester's Day; the astrals must be playing an awfully tasteless joke on him, there must be some other reason for Shiva's visit other than the ludicrous notion that the Chosen King is pregnant, "I've always been under the impression that females carried the offspring."

"I'm afraid my brethren misconstrued Lunafreya's intentions when she prayed for life."

"They thought she wanted her husband-to-be pregnant," Ardyn says, voice uncharacteristically flat.

"By his lovers, yes, you can see how the vague wording allows room for misinterpretation."

No, no he doesn't see how the vague wording allows room for misinterpretation, not when Noctis is, for all intents and purposes, a boy – as in male, as in lacking the right organ for childbearing purposes hereafter referred to as a womb.

Shiva continues talking, perfectly reasonably as if the gods haven't just made the most colossal, imbecilic gaffe known to Eos in the past five centuries – only rivalled by the time one of Ardyn's own grandnephews thought it possible to drink the sea dry (he wonders how they've managed to keep their rule for so long). "I understand your agenda involves delivering the Chosen King to the crystal. Should you wish to see your plans to fruition, it would be wise to keep in mind that he is… less sturdy than you might have imagined."

"Can't you… magic the foetus away?"

"Not at the moment," Shiva says, "Not without great risk to the Chosen King."

And with that she vanishes. Without so much as a by your leave. How unspeakably rude. But then the gods were never one for niceties.

Right scoundrels they were, going around impregnating people and leaving others to deal with the repercussions, like… like deadbeat fathers! Oh, that was a thought. Ardyn almost feels sorry for his great-grandnephew. He may even be developing some unwilling sense of solidarity, since they're both being made to host foreign, life-draining entities in their bastardised bodies.

Between the two of them, they've a wailing bundle of petrifying, nightmarish terrors and… a fairly decent cacophony of daemons.

Ardyn is very nearly certain that Noctis has drawn the shorter stick on that count.

-

He spends the next couple of days corralling his scourge-infected and magitek underlings in the facility, because it won't do to have the Chosen King��� expire from shock or whatever it was expectant fathers do.

It's a terrible pain, to have to rework his intricately planned masterpiece almost in entirety, but needs must. The Snagas will almost definitely have to go – they're notoriously dreadful at listening to instructions. There's a possible correlation with their scourge-shrunk stature and diminutive brain size, although there hasn't been enough research in the area to prove the theory factually sound.

He's right in the midst of sending those ankle-biters out when he's rudely reminded that Aldercapt and Ravus are inconsiderate buffoons who have the absolute worst timing ever. An altercation in the throne room, Shiva's disproportionate tits, on a weekend? They're not even paid for overtime!

Aldercapt sends Ravus flying a few stories down, just before Ardyn arrives on scene. The old man always had a flair for cheap theatrics, nothing as polished as the beautiful punchlines Ardyn delivers. But one can hardly expect perfection from a mere mortal, especially so deluded a one. Ravus is struggling to stand as Ardyn approaches him. And Ardyn briefly considers sticking to his original plan of ending the Oracle's line, but… the Chosen is now pregnant, and unfortunately, Ravus may still be of some use.

"At last you've arrived Noctis," Ravus says as Ardyn draws near. Hm, not very lucid, he's probably lost one too many brain cell in that fall. Maybe Ardyn ought to kill him after all. Let that annoying brat of a great-grandnephew find his almost-brother-in-law's corpse.

Ardyn calls a blade to his hand, before remembering that mood swings may be debilitating for pregnant mothers according to the internet, and they shouldn't be subjected to unnecessary emotional upheaval. Ugh. Bahamut's puny balls.

He dissolves the blade and offers Ravus a jaunty wave instead. "High Commander, I'm afraid I don't have the time to deal with your adorable little rebellion, if you could have it rescheduled to next week that would be just lovely."

"You-" Ravus starts, hackles rising, but it only takes a casual flick of his wrist, and the Oracle's boy slumps like a puppet with its strings snapped.

That ought to do it. Ardyn casually steps over Ravus' prone form, humming that incredibly catchy victory tune that's been stuck in his head for weeks- a veritable hit in the daemon's Billboard charts, that one, perhaps they've come to associate it with absolution. He none-too-gently prods Ravus with the toe of his boot and Ravus slides sideways, head thumping against the metal railing at an odd angle. The lad's going to get a crick in his neck sleeping like that. A terrible, terrible crick.

A pain in the neck for his pain in the neck. Oh, how delightfully, poetically evil. Slightly cheered, Ardyn heads back to his Snagas.

-

And then the Chosen King is on his doorstep, separated from his Shield, his Hand and his armiger, and looking rather miffed. Ardyn hasn't seen fit to dismantle the Wallbreaker Wave, not when one of his great-grandnieces somehow induced an early labour by warping too much. He is not about to take that risk with Noctis. This leads to Noctis flailing about and swearing like a sailor, when Ardyn recalls too late that in his haste to clean out the keep, he's swept all the extra daemons just outside their door, so the welcoming party for Noctis and his band of merry men is… a bit… much.

No matter, Noctis manages to tuck roll his way through the mess. Ardyn is reluctantly impressed, how is the brat not hurling yet? He's practically turning cartwheels and he's pregnant!

Thankfully, Noctis ends up in the somewhat safer confines of Gralea's imperial facility none the worse for wear, although clearly out of breath. Ardyn waits as his great-grandnephew pants and curses and pants some more, it goes on for about a minute- does pregnancy affect one's stamina? He'll have to search that up on the internet later. Assuming the servers are still operational. Although, he supposes it's just the extra weight around the middle that might throw someone off. But Noctis… Ardyn squints at the surveillance feed, hm… doesn't seem to be showing yet.

Oh, now he's dry heaving. And he's taken to abusing a trash can.

Ardyn's been expecting some moping, some tears maybe, but he hasn't expected a tantrum. "Step away from the innocent trash can, Your Majesty. I assure you it has nothing to do with your current affliction."

"It's just the flu," Noctis snipes, not very convincingly.

"Flu? Your Majesty, I'm sure you mean the morning sickness – very common symptom in the first trimester of your pregnancy. Do they not teach you these things in Lucis? What happened to all that extra government budget your father pumped into the education sector?"

"I'm not pregnant!"

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You-" Why is he arguing with the brat like an astral-forsaken five-year-old? Ardyn sighs, "Oh, you don't have to keep the bun in your oven under wraps, Shiva's told me in no certain terms that I'm to be mindful of your delicate condition."

"Bun in my- what?"

"The baby," Ardyn says slowly, "In your womb. Magical, astral-blessed womb."

Noctis is beginning to look rather pale again and Ardyn's about to politely suggest the brat visit the bloody toilet before he pukes all over Ardyn's shiny, clean floor when an awful, brilliant thought strikes him. "They haven't told you."

"They- You're lying!" the brat accuses – which is rather rude, really – but Ardyn sees the flicker of uncertainty on his face and he knows Noctis is slowly joining the dots to reach an altogether impossible conclusion. Oh, this is amazingly dastardly. It truly is. The astrals are simply masters at being callously cruel brutes. Ardyn's thought he's gotten the hang of their wicked ways, but no, no, the Six are just so effortlessly vile it's utterly spectacular.

"Why don't you put on that ring of yours, O Chosen King, and ask daddy dearest yourself?"

The brat makes a face like he's considering tossing the ring just to spite Ardyn, but his better sense eventually wins out, and he petulantly removes it from his pocket – oh such indolent disregard for millennia-old family heirlooms – and shoves it on his middle finger, pointedly at the camera.

He zones out for exactly eight minutes and thirty seven seconds.

After which, he's kicking the poor trash can with renewed vigour.

"You're not taking news of your pregnancy very well," Ardyn observes.

"I-" the brat starts, before doubling over and gagging with a hand over his mouth.

"Room to your right, first door on your left," Ardyn tells him and the brat actually listens for once.

He makes it to the toilet bowl just in time, regurgitating water and stomach acid. The brat ought to be grateful that Ardyn has had all the toilets cleaned spotless just prior to his grand entrance. But of course his pampered, cloistered great-grandnephew takes things like properly sterilised sanitation facilities for granted. And oh, fine, if Ardyn's giving him the benefit of the doubt, he may be a little too preoccupied with puking his guts out to marvel at the perfectly polished porcelain surface of that toilet bowl he's intimately making an acquaintance of.

"You know, this wouldn't have happened if you'd just kept your legs closed," Ardyn says as his pregnant great-grandnephew clings desperately onto the toilet bowl.

"Are you," the boy gags and coughs for several seconds before he continues, "slut-shaming me?"

Slut-shaming… he's unfamiliar with the terminology, but it's clearly a complex predicate of slut and shame, which makes it fairly self-explanatory. Noctis is a slut, and he's shaming Noctis – that seems accurate enough. He quite likes the word, actually. "Yes, I am."

"I'm going to kill you," the brat yells into the toilet bowl, "You tricked my dad, you hurt Luna, you stole our crystal, and now you're criticizing my sex life!"

"Oh astrals, do refrain from hysterics. It's bad for the baby."

-

Ardyn's supposed to be having the time of his life, watching the astral's pathetic Chosen scramble through Zegnautus' winding pathways like a rat in a maze, but instead, he's babysitting an increasingly testy, pregnant great-grandnephew, who's making excruciatingly slow progress because he's rushing to toilet every five minutes.

"I thought they'd invented this nifty thing called condoms. Apparently, you put it on your penis – or well, you have your lovers put it on theirs, since you're evidently not on the penetrative side of things – during intercourse and it prevents unplanned pregnancies. Also the transference of sexually transmitted diseases, a serious concern considering your obviously promiscuous lifestyle."

"Who's pregnant?"

"Why, you are," Ardyn sighs, "Is memory loss a symptom of your pregnancy or have the gods sent an idiot to fight for their cause?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Ardyn double-takes at the screen, belatedly realising that he has it switched to the wrong feed, so it's Noctis' paramours who are staring up at him through the cameras, from all the way on the other side of the keep, looking both mortified and aghast.

"Oh. Wrong number."

It's thoroughly satisfying to watch the confusion and horror dawn on their faces as they began to 'demand you tell us what that means, at once!' He's chortling to himself as he turns his attention back to Noctis.

"I may have accidentally let the coeurl out of the bag, so to speak – about your being pregnant, to your paramours."

"Paramours," the brat repeats, making a face.

"Ah, I forget you younglings speak in a completely different vernacular, I believe the term you use is 'main squeeze'."

The brat shudders and looks ready to vomit again. Oh, dear.

"The nearest toilet is down the corridor to your left," Ardyn supplies helpfully.

The brat glares at what he thinks is a camera, but is really just the automatic air freshener, and enunciates very pointedly, "Fuck you."

What an odd way of thanking someone. Honestly, the younglings' slang is growing more inconceivable by the day.

-

If anyone were to ask Ardyn what he considers the three most romantic words in all of Eos, his answer will likely be– no, not the entirely overused, plebeian 'I love you', he'll have to go with the much more unconventional, 'blast the astrals'. It perfectly encapsulates the passions of his vengeful, scourge-riddled heart. But at this precise moment, he'll make an exception and say, 'blast Gargantuas'. Which is only two words, but conveys his passions just as thoroughly.

He swears he's gotten rid of that Gargantua. Seriously, he has, right with that last group of axemen he shepherded out just the other day. But here it is, clumsily slashing at his pregnant great-grandnephew, who's now falling a hundred feet or so, oh good gods. Who in the name of Ifrit's burning asshole let that bloody thing in again? He'll find them and kill them, but they're probably already dead what with the chaos going on outside.

Nevertheless, this is an excellent time for Ravus to make an appearance. He knows he's kept the Oracle's boy alive for good reason. With a flex of his magic, he propels Ravus awake and up, while changing Noctis' trajectory through a stitch in time, just so that he'll land right… there. Right in Ravus' open arms, beautiful, he really couldn't have timed this better – only the force knocks Ravus off his feet, so they both end up skidding across the metal walkway for a few metres, before coming to a halt in an ungainly sprawl. Well.

At least Noctis appears to be properly cushioned by Ravus' fancy robes.

"Ravus?" Noctis groans, "You're hurt!"

Yes, clueless great-grandnephew mine, that's what happens when people fall from an indeterminate height, after which they're assailed by random kings falling from platforms of other indeterminate heights.

"My thanks," Ravus says stiffly as Noctis cracks an elixir over him.

Noctis shrugs – good gods, has no one taught this boy basic royal etiquette. "No problem. And, uh, thanks for catching me. And for keeping dad's sword safe."

"Now that we've all shaken hands and put the past behind us, perhaps we'd like to make haste back towards the elevator, preferably before Noctis requires another detour to the toilets," Ardyn suggests.

His great-grandnephew clambers up to his feet clumsily, oh dear astrals, he's not miscarrying, is he? Or throwing up? No? Ravus steadies the Chosen King with a firm hand on his elbow, just as Noctis waves an angry fist at… he's not sure what Noctis is waving his fist at, but it's about thirty degrees left to where the cameras are actually placed. "You said you'd cleared that floor of daemons, you liar!"

"I did," Ardyn sniffs, affronted, "I've no idea where that one came from. Stubborn thing. I just shooed it out two days ago!"

"I knew you can't be trusted."

Ravus looks at their Chosen King, and then at the cameras, before turning back to the fuming king at his side, and questioning, "Noctis?"

Ardyn rolls his eyes. "Oh, don't worry, he's the real Noctis, albeit an overly emotional Noctis due to the hormonal fluctuations that come with pregnancy."

"Will you stop announcing to everyone that I'm pregnant?" Noctis snaps, just as Ravus says, "I'm to be an uncle?"

Noctis gives him a look.

"Well, if you're pregnant, it stands to reason that the baby must be Lunafreya's as well."

"Tenebrae didn't invest much into sex education," Ardyn stage whispers over the speakers.

Noctis groans and makes a helpless sort of gesture at Ravus. "I'm a guy. Guys don't get pregnant."

"I know," it's Ravus' turn to sniff with affront, "But the gods will what they will, and my sister had been soliciting their blessings."

"Wow," Noctis says.

"Oh my," Ardyn says, "You're being remarkably level-headed about this, High Commander."

"I am of the blood of the Oracle."

Ardyn purses his lips, before adding gleefully, "Then you must know it is not the Oracle's child His Majesty bears."

"You have been unfaithful to my sister?" Ravus accuses.

Noctis glares at the not-camera, before making a face at his almost-brother-in-law. "Technically, yes, but wait, hear me out. I told Luna, before… before everything happened. And she encouraged me to-"

"Cheat on her?"

"I was going to say 'follow my heart', but if you want to put it that way… Well, yeah."

Ravus stares hard at him for several seconds, before sighing. "As much as I'd like to rake you over the coals, that does sound like my overly generous little sister. And you have always been rather naïve and impressionable-"

"Hey!"

"So it thus falls to me, your only living male family member, by marriage in spirit if not in name, to champion and reclaim your virtue from the knave who has so ignominiously trampled upon your trust and good faith outside the sanctity of holy matrimony."

"Knaves," Ardyn corrects, at his great-grandnephew's frustrated cry.

"Astrals," Ravus says, "I… am terribly sorry, Noctis."

"Why."

"For so many of your people to harbour designs on the purity of their monarch, and worse, to act upon those baser desires of the flesh, it is the gravest felony imaginable. Tell me who the riff-raff are and I shall deliver justice expeditiously."

"Uh, okay," Noctis stalls, "Yeah, um, you don't need to do that," Ravus raises a brow and Noctis quickly continues, "Because! Because… they, uh, the fall! Yeah, when Insomnia went down-"

"They ferried His Majesty away like the good paramours- ah, I mean, crownsguard, they are, in a fancy automobile dearly deceased Regis relinquished, to embark on an incredibly licentious road trip en route to His Majesty's wedding in Altissia."

Ravus snarls. "You have been canoodling with Scientia and Amicitia!"

"And the blond one," Ardyn says.

"Prompto," Noctis corrects, before slapping a hand over his mouth.

"A commoner is mayhap not taught to be reverent of his king's chastity, considering the state of Lucis' public education, but a nobleman has no excuse for such insolence!"

"I like them insolent," Noctis petulantly mutters.

"And for the matter, where are they?" Ravus huffs, "How are they to protect you, as is the duty of Shield and Hand, when they are not present and accountable?"

Ardyn takes that as his cue to hurry the duo along. They've spent far too much time arguing about the Chosen King's virginity – or lack thereof. But it's been so terribly amusing he'll have to forgive the delay in his timetable. With a few quick adjustments to several buttons and switches on the main console, he has a new path made available to the last scions of Lucis Caelum and Nox Fleuret. "Up the elevator, gentlemen."

-

Noctis and his paramours are reunited in a gloriously demonstrative, maudlin, sentimental episode that'll thaw the weariest of hearts – save for ones ravaged by daemons over two thousand years and counting, or ones set on protecting the questionably-existent virtue of the Chosen King. There are hugs all round, and several misty-eyed confessions, maybe a tear or two, slightly wet laughter and quiet, discreet kisses which fail to escape Ravus' unrelenting eagle eye.

The Oracle's boy holds out for all of nine minutes and fifty three seconds, just enough time for them to infiltrate the throne room, shut down the Wallbreaker Wave with extreme prejudice – honestly, great-grandnephew, what has that machine ever done to you – and trace their steps back to the hangar where Ardyn's originally planned a grand confrontation.

Seeing that Ravus is still alive and untainted by daemonic scourge, the confrontation has unfortunately been shelved indefinitely. Ardyn's mourning the death of his ingenious masterplan, when Ravus bursts out, "You… You three have impugned the King's virtue, and I am unable to hold my silence any longer."

Oh, this is… this is an acceptable substitute for the woeful, heart-rending battle that's supposed to take place. Ardyn leans forward in his seat and pulls up the feed across multiple screens. Now, if only he had some popcorn, but the downside to having devastated an entire city is the sad lack of easily available sweet treats.

There's a length of stunned silence, before Noctis' paramours rally around him.

"I assure you any act of intimacy between Noct, Gladiolus, Prompto and myself has only been completely consensual," Ignis Scientia says, slightly defensively.

"Yeah, he wanted his virtue impugned," adds Gladiolus Amicitia, to Ravus' mounting fury and his lovers' obvious exasperation.

"Not that there was any impugning at all, Gladio means," Prompto Argentum squeaks, "No impugning whatsoever."

But the damage is done, and Ravus points an armoured finger at them. "We will duel at dawn."

"I'm not sure if that'll be forthcoming anytime soon," Ignis mutters, and Ardyn finds himself unwillingly amused, ten points to Scientia. "What I mean to say is, Noctis' conduct is outside your purview, Prince Ravus, although your opinions have been duly noted."

"Outside my purview? He was to marry my sister, as his brother-in-law, I find it a mild concern that he is carrying another man's child!"

At that entirely explicit confirmation of Noctis' condition, the three fathers-to-be, defilers-of-monarchs, plunderers-of-royal-virginity gape at Ravus, then at their king's torso with varying looks of bewilderment and resignation.

"So Noct's really pregnant?" Gladiolus balks.

"I'm too young to be a dad!" Prompto wails.

"For once in my life, I'd like my suspicions proven wrong," Ignis says.

Noctis crosses his arms in front of his mildly swelling pecs – his great-grandnephew is going to start lactating soon at this rate – and pins them with an impressively stony glare. "If you don't want the kid, I can take care of him myself."

"Aw, of course, we want the kid, buddy!" Prompto quickly reassures.

"Yeah, we'll help raise the sprog, what sort of fathers do you take us for?"

"I would love any child of yours, Noctis, no matter who his or her other parent may be."

Oh, astrals, Scientia. No. Ardyn quickly grabs for the mic, poised to say something witty, or scathing, he's not sure, just anything to distract the brat before… oh, Ramuh's inappropriately sexy beard, now he's done it. The brat's blubbering like how the little menace pressing on his bladder is going to blubber, whenever they deliver him to terrorize all of Eos. Noctis reaches out to grab whoever's standing closest to him – which turns out to be his Shield – and hiccups. "I love you guys so much."

"We love you too," Prompto replies.

Then they're all holding him and petting him, with nary a care to the exceedingly chagrined Prince of Tenebrae not five metres away, or the impressively intellectual, illustrious Imperial Chancellor who's been guiding them the entire time they've been in this bloody keep, watching them over the cameras – which is terribly insulting, Ardyn thinks.

Titan's shapely butt-cheeks, now there's tongue – he doesn't need to see this – way too much tongue for a two-thousand-year-old great-granduncle, or well, any person remotely acquainted with any of them. Good gods, have some dignity, boys, you're the astrals' Chosen. "Gentlemen," Ardyn coughs into his mic, "You have an audience."

They're still kissing. Why. Why are they doing this? Gladiolus rucks Noctis' shirt up above his swollen nipples, and Prompto slides a hand in between their bodies to palm Noctis' arse. Ignis is placing reverent kisses along his king's jawline and down the line of his neck. Ardyn turns up the volume of his mic. "Boys, that's enough. We know that's how you made the baby."

Astrals, are they unbuckling his belt? And is Noctis smugly grinning at the cameras? He… He is. Oh, that infernal brat. Ardyn's absolutely had enough of this. He slams the heel of his palm down on the giant 'DO NOT TOUCH' button in the middle of the console, and all too suddenly, daemons flood into the hangar.

"Oops. Perhaps His Majesty should run along to the crystal while the rest of you clean up over here."

There is an expected amount of grumbling from Noctis and his paramours, although Ravus looks entirely grateful for the interruption. Clothes righted, his great-grandnephew speeds away to the hangar's exit and Ardyn feels an inexplicable twinge of worry at all that excess warping Noctis is using to get to the doors, while he prepares to leave for the crystal's chambers. Well, then, as amusing as it's been, they both have a long overdue date with destiny.