#immortals who through their own will or the wills of others become mortal enough to love and are ruined for it my love

[cemetery-baccanal]

finishing the last unicorn got me goin. ohhh purple immortals who become mortal due to love and that being what ends them but its about lady amalthea who must live now and forever knowing what it was like to love when she was never meant to, and knowing that the world would have been worse off if she had gotten to keep that love but still hurting so, so much for not getting to have it. and its about rem who found herself experiencing love that she knew was inconsequential to the universe but that consumed her so wholeheartedly that the idea of the one she loved no longer existing was more terrifying than the thought of herself no longer existing.

[literallyjusttoa]

Friendship is Magic (Post-Toa Version)

About a year ago I made a couple posts about some niche gods I wanted Apollo to become friends with and now I’m back at it! Have some more post-toa relationships for our dear boy. (Warning, this is really long)

Prometheus: Ok, so I actually already said I want Apollo and Prometheus to be friends, but over the last year I have only grown to find this idea to be so interesting. I see the two of them as being so similar, with a strong love and respect for mortals, and a bleeding heart that ostracizes them from their family, who are more easily able to turn a blind eye to any tragedies that occur. But while I think their base personalities and motivations are similar, I think their tactics differ just enough to cause conflict. But the two respect each other so much that they can push and pull at each other enough to find a middle ground. Apollo has always been impressed by Prometheus’ craftiness, and lengths he’s willing to go for his own beliefs. Prometheus has held affection for Apollo for a long time, mainly bc he’s Leto’s son and he pleaded with Zeus to let Prometheus out of his punishment. Recently tho, Prometheus has been relieved to finally see another immortal who is just as against the state of Olympus as he is.

Idk if I’m explaining this right, but like. Apollo’s going to spend a lot of time trying to bring his family around to accepting the flaws of Olympus and the way they treat mortals. And that’s good! And he wants to do that! But when you’ve been a victim of a corrupt system, and then you have to spend a lot of mental energy helping other people realize how much this system hurts people, it can be such a relief to talk with someone who already agrees with you that things are fucked. LIke, “yeah, you don’t have to convince me that you’ve been hurt, I’m not going to challenge you on that at all, or try to justify it, I just believe you, and I agree that things need to change.” That’s what I want these two to be for each other. 

Menoitios: The brother of Prometheus, and Titan of violent rage and rashness. If Prometheus allows Apollo to air out his hurt, Menoitios helps him to work with the violent, and often terrifying responses he’s had to the trauma he’s ignored. Apollo has not been a good person, and he is often horrified by the actions he’s taken in the past. Instead of letting him spiral, Menoitios tells him that he can’t stop these behaviors until he finds the reasons behind them. He also tells Apollo that the emotion that often led to him lashing out and hurting or even killing others, that feral rage that came from being raised up in such a toxic society and being harmed on such a deep level, does not have to be inherently harmful. They work through coping mechanisms, and work on using that rage to make real change. Oftentimes, Apollo and Menoitios can be found sparring, no holds barred. They go until their energy is spent, and then Menoitios carts Apollo over to Prometheus and caringly forces him to talk it out. 

Aporia: Aporia is one of Nyx’s kids! I picked her specifically bc while there are a lot of Nyx’s children that I think would be interesting for Apollo to interact with, Aporia’s domain is especially interesting to me. Aporia is the personification of want, difficulty and powerlessness. These are three things that Apollo has definitely struggled with, and will continue to struggle with as he goes on post-toa. It’s especially hard for him because these three emotions are so heavily looked down upon on Olympus. Gods are not allowed to desperately want, or to struggle, or to be powerless. Apollo has hidden these feelings away for so long, and then he was forced back into them during the trials. It’s jarring, and he hasn’t really found peace with it yet. So when he starts getting visits from a literal representation of the parts of himself he wants to push down the most, he freaks out. But Aporia is not there to make him more powerless, or wanting. Instead, she wants him to embrace these parts of himself, to understand how they make him whole. The two of them struggle to connect, but when they do, their friendship is so impactful. 

Boreas: I have been introduced to this ship and I actually love it oml. With Boreas, Apollo gets the one thing that he really needs after the trials. REST. Boreas pulls Apollo away from Olympus, and lets him get some good rest in his palace. It helps that the two of them have a very peaceful, slow and steady sort of relationship, where there are very little expectations on either side. (Basically, you’re hot, I’m hot, we wanna make out sometimes, let's just do that and be chill about it) Boreas is calm, but can be very stern at times. When he knows what needs to be done, he gets it done. Oftentimes this no-nonsense attitude helps Apollo to start moving too. When Apollo wants to give in, Boreas is the type to be like “You can rest for a while here, and when you get up again, I’ll help you figure out what to do.” And especially post-toa this is really helpful for Apollo. They cute <3.

Euphrosyne: Apollo’s half-sister! She’s the daughter of Zeus and Eurynome. She’s also one of the Kharites (Charities, or Graces) and she’s the goddess of Mirth. I think after Jason, Apollo reached out to some of his half-siblings, honestly just wanting to make sure they’re all doing ok. He and Euphrosyne hit it off quickly, and the two of them really just have fun together. Apollo is a person who feels his emotions so strongly, both sorrow and joy. So while he needs people around him to help him through his tragedies, he also needs someone who can match him at the levels of wonder and delight. These two hype each other up a lot, and while that might be two much for others, it’s what the two of them need to work through the emotions they have. They watch movies and listen to music that they rant about for hours, gush about their closest friends and family, and just sit and bask in it all sometimes. It’s just a lil bubble of joy and comfort. 

Haha psych! Got you! I disguised this as a friends post, but it’s actually my roundabout way of giving Apollo therapy while there’s no god of therapy!! Heehee I’m such a prankster!!

[idolsummons]

Side Muse: Valerie Jones

A woman with an unextraordinary life growing up, Valerie began dating her childhood sweetheart, Victor Jones, at 15, and married him some four years later, at the age of 19. The marriage was a beautiful occasion with smiling faces and cheers all around. None could be happier, particularly not sweet, young Valerie, who fell pregnant with their first child, a daughter named Elizabeth, that same year, and had another child, a son named Lee, some two years later.

Life was perfect until she became curious.

It was through socialisation and networking during her career as a fashion designer that she learnt of a little-known belief: gods from other universes, bringers of both hope and despair, both peace and destruction. At first she thought it was a ridiculous notion but was invited to a ritual and attended nonetheless, and it was what she saw there which caused her to become enamoured with the idea: the very same woman who had invited her making sacrifice to Vh'durho, the deity of time, to extend out her youthful appearance. The years literally melted off her face and the age she had accumulated being given instead to the sacrifice.

Under any other circumstances, Valerie would have thought it was plastic surgery or an extensive skincare and make up routine. Now that she had seen this, however, she wanted it for herself.

Her own rituals began identical to that which she had been witness to, wanting, like many young women, the benefits of eternal youth. As she learnt more of La Cour de la Lune and the eight gods which inhabited the Tribunal, Valerie began to experiment: an extension on her own natural life from Ql'zalusz, the deity of life; the sprouting of plants from seeds instantaneously from Vh'g'rgero, the deity of new beginnings.

And yet, it still wasn't enough.

Valerie, despite having the secret to being beautiful forever, having already extended her natural life, wanted the one thing humanity had sought from the very beginning: immortality.

She conducted a ritual to the deity of life but her prayers fell on deaf ears: they had no desire to grant a human such a wish. To the deity of time she went next, but she was not willing to stop time for the selfish desires of one creature.

In a last ditch attempt, Valerie performed a ritual to Vh'thra. At first she thought it might all be hopeless, until she saw it: a creature which loomed over her, with claws that could tear her apart with the slightest touch and eyes which were reflective in the moonlight, and though it spoke in a language which shot fear through her heart, it was as though she could understand every word.

'Be grateful, mortal, for Our Lady Vh'thra has heard your pleas and deigned to give you what it is you desire, but such a boon is not given without giving something in exchange. For life eternal you must carry her child who, once born, will harbour a small piece of your soul; and with each descendant you have, you shall grant them yet another fragment of your soul. Would you agree to being given life anew in exchange for immortality?'

Nine months later, Valerie gave birth to William, a child who Victor entirely believed - and does still to this day - to be his own, and perhaps such belief was for the best, as not too long after their second son was born, Valerie fled in the night with naught but the clothes on her back.

Perhaps it was the loss of a small part of her soul, the very thing which made them human, but she wanted more and more and more of the favour of the gods, and she knew that their family could not be dragged into it.

It became more and more frequent that she conducted these rituals for favours from the gods: a "kiss of death" from Yi'xazeth, capable of causing those who cross her to fall ill to various degrees; the ability to stop time from Vh'durho, albeit for very short periods of time; the ability to create new flora with a flick of their wrist, though they do not last for long or otherwise become twisted, unnatural things, and so much more.

Despite being human in appearance to anyone who sees them, when Valerie looks in the mirror, they themselves - and anyone who might be looking at them - no longer sees a human; instead, it is a horrid, twisted thing, a parody by the gods of what it might mean to be human. To Valerie, who has now lost two fragments of their soul (unaware of the grandchild they have in Jacob, with only Will's children able to pass down this curse), this form feels right.

In the current day, they live in a penthouse apartment, having goaded Yi'al-trul into twisting their fate and turning their fashion label into a multi-million dollar venture. They are, however, a hermit, venturing out only in necessity, though turning heads with their overwhelming beauty each and every time.

As time goes on - as their grandchildren have children, and they themselves children of their own, and as they continue conducting these rituals and receiving boons from the gods - they will continue to lose themselves, becoming a husk of what they once were, but never regretting the decision they made; they lost the ability to do so when Will was brought into the world.

[sebastianshaw]

@dcmonshcad -  “The flight will be awhile, I’m afraid,” Shaw said, crossing the spacious cabin of the luxury jet in a leisurely fashion to join the other man by the window, “I’m quite fine passing it in silence—I’ve any number of pressing projects that could occupy my time from a laptop—but I would hate to be an ingracious host. Even if your presence here as my guest is more one of necessity than pleasure.” Indeed, these men were not friends. Far from it. But both understood the importance of putting aside personal disagreements for greater matters. Selene, who had been a foe to Shaw’s life since she’d first set foot in the modern world, had found out about the existence of active Lazarus Pits. She’d known of them in the past, but had believed them long gone. Learning that they still existed, and that another had laid claim to them, well. . .it had perturbed her. Galvanized her. Immortal though she was, her eternal youth relied upon sucking the lives of victims; countless had fallen to her through the centuries to sustain her unnatural longevity with equally unnatural beauty and vitality. And while she did not have any moral qualm with this—quite the opposite, she enjoyed it IMMENSELY and considered it her DUE—it did fill her with a fear as eternal as herself: What if she should ever be unable to sate her need in time before, horror of horrors, growing old? To merely take the lives, the energy, of mortal beings. . .it was delicious fun, and they should be proud to offer this to a goddess like herself, to gain immortality themselves as a part of her. But to NEED it? To NEED it did NOT befit a goddess. To become immortal and eternally young in the bargain, without reliance on any outside source. . .that had long been her goal, and she believed these Lazarus Pits were the solution to that goal’s success. No longer would she need to hunt to sustain herself—though she would still prey for the sheer pleasure of it!--but instead would be in a constant state of her ever-youthful glory as she SHOULD be, with no fear of withering should she wait too long between meals! But in discovering the existence of the Lazarus Pits, so too did she discover the tales of their guardian, their master, the “demon” who jealously guarded them for his own use. She would have NO such creature sharing in her divine ablutions! Even if this “Ra’s Al Ghul” had been willing to let her partake freely, she would still seek to slay him simply because what belonged to Selene must ONLY belong to Selene. Otherwise it just wasn’t SPECIAL enough! As for Shaw. . .his life wasn’t eternal, but it hadn’t lasted as long as it had by NOT keeping well abreast of what the sorceress was up to. And he didn’t like it; Selene’s reliance on life energy was one of the few trump cards with which she could be kept at bay or placated into passivity. If she no longer was hobbled by this, he might well find himself in LITERAL hellfire before long. There was no question about informing Al Ghul and offering his aid in stopping her. Shaw thought the other man a fool for wasting his own elongated life and resources in such a way that he did—really, the ENVIRONMENT?!-- but he didn’t regard him as an enemy at all. Certainly not the way Selene was. Of course, Shaw was planning to kill him at the first opportunity after Selene was handled, but that was nothing personal; the Pits simply held too much profit potential to leave in another’s hands, was all. So here they were, in one of Shaw’s many private jets, on a flight to Uzbekistan that would normally take over 10 hours, but with the speciality engineering of Shaw Industries, was down to five. But that was still, as Shaw had noted, quite a bit of time to get to know one another. “I’m not a needlessly verbose man myself,” he continued, “But since I may never get another opportunity to ask you—why do you waste your life, your money, your obvious brilliance, in the way that you do? I suspect it’s simply madness, but I’d still like to hear it straight from your mouth.” Did he truly care? Well, he had to a little bit, or he wouldn’t have bothered inquiring. Some part of him was just sure maybe he was missing some angle through which Al Ghul was getting personal gain through all this, and if Shaw could get in on that too after eliminating him, so much the better.

[readblogdescriptionandleave]

Oh baby, propaganda time. Small bit of propaganda but!

Dracula Castlevania Games is literally the cause of every tragedy except two deaths of his two wives. (And a few things in the first chronological game)

He's literally the reason the Belmonts (family, his archnemeses) are hunting him. In the grief of losing his first wife, he got this vampire named Walter Bernhard to kidnap Leon Belmont's fiancee Sara Trantoul (understand that Leon and Dracula - that this time Mathias - were actually best friends)

So then Leon goes off to kill Walter! He ah. Is given a whip from a guy named Rinaldo Gandalfi who lost his entire family to Walter and had to kill his own daughter.

Leon eventually makes it to Walter who can't be hurt but returns Sara who's been bit, and is already turning.

There is nothing even Rinaldo can do once Leon returns. Sara has to die - would rather die than become a vampire. But see. There was a way to make the whip Leon has do damage to Walter - who couldn't be damaged because of a special stone he has - the ebony stone - that protects him from all damage and makes eternal night in the areas around him.

By fusing the whip with the soul of a corrupted but willing person - IE SARA. WHICH IS WHAT HAPPENS.

YES THERE IS GRIEF. SO MUCH GRIEF.

But it... Walter dies. All is well, right?

I'm sure you've noticed someone... Missing.

Mathias... He comes out into the open later, to speak with Leon. Mathias has taken Walter's soul, using the Crimson Stone. Granting him power of said soul and to be affected by it - and too control over Death (both technically metaphorical and the Castlevania Grim Reaper.) Mathias is a vampire at this point - saying that if it was God's plan for mortals to die then he would forsake God - his antithesis - by becoming immortal. (Fun thing! Dracula later on is treated as a God by some, ie Order of Ecclesia. [18xx] Mathias implores Leon to understand that grief of losing a wife- that they are now one in the same.

Mathias orchestrated everything.

He is behind most of the tragedy that we have seen strike here, and then.

Leon calls him nothing more than a wretched fool. That [Leon] and his kin would forever hunt the night.

Mathias flees. Leaving Death to Leon as the final boss. Leon never gets the closure of fighting Mathias himself. Even though he spends the rest of his life searching.

Leon did not lie when he said his family would forever hunt the night - though he did not know just how long it would go on.

That legacy went on for nearly 1000 years.

Two main Belmonts are shown struggling with this legacy. One who denies those feelings, buries and buries about not feeling good enough, worrying about living up to the legacy. Whose friend wanted to save him from that legacy by reviving Dracula and killing him himself, and became possessed and nearly died to the hand of the Belmont, though unwilling. (Juste, grandfather/father to Richter, grandson to Simon. 1748.)

The other. Knew he could live up. His issue came when his duty was done. When there was nothing more for him. That he was nothing more than the legacy itself at this point. Trained for it since birth. To the point he took action through being possessed - though very likely unwilling - is still shown to be based off of his own emotions. That there was nothing more for the Belmonts than to fight Dracula and then be forgotten as nothing more than another Belmont. He seems terrified of being forgotten that way. And so through being pushed with possession. Revives the castle, take lordship of the castle, and revive Dracula. He is saved by Dracula's son Alucard. But succeeds in reviving Dracula.

But still. He has done something no Belmont would ever think to do. (Joking. Simon Belmont revived Dracula to kill him to fix his curse and further free the countryside of the curse of Dracula. Clearly however, this is not the same.) But still. None ever went the way he did. Which lead to a 200 year gap as the Belmonts pulled away from the legacy (good!)

But all of this. Still, every tragedy I have spoken of.

It's all because of Dracula. All because, and all connected to Dracula.

Ok I'm tired today so my adhd brain can't read this but sounds cool

[cruelprincae]

@bloodmoonborn requested for cardan & nyx to go grocery shopping !

The grocery store is unusually empty as Cardan navigates the deserted isles with a small, plastic at hand and a list full of items in the other; other than the rather bored-looking clerk stands behind the counter, scrolling through his phone with an unreadable expression, the only other people within the store are a group of ( judging from their height presumably older than he is ) kids standing before the grand refrigerator where they eye a patch of alcoholic beverages ― and even though they certainly do not look the age to clarify for alcohol consumption, Cardan, in his one year in the mortal land has learned that teenagers often use something called a fake identification card which is a plastic card that is specifically designed to lie about their age in order to make them appear older than they are ― and Nyx, his Faerie caretaker, who stands at attention three isles down in search for the items in her own, seemingly bottomless list. The cart she is dragging before her is nearly filled to the brims with items ― none of which being the honey-flavored cornflakes he asked her to purchase prior to her stationing her car in the parking lot, he notes with dismay ― and yet, she keeps adding to the pile; a pile so tall that perhaps, it can even outnumber his height and so big that it's near a miracle that it hasn't yet collapsed to the floor.

His own basket isn't nearly as bad; he has a few items in it ― shampoo, milk, sugar, floor, and conditioner ( which in addition to keeping his dark curls soft Cardan has noticed also acts the same for the black tuft of fur at the very end of his tail ) amongst other things but, as he carefully makes his way across the aisle responsible for holding the organic house maintenance products in search for powder for the washing machine, black eyes rimmed with gold befall on a yellow, small bottle labeled rat poison. And, although its desired use is to keep rats from overpopulation the house as the label says, Cardan's brain is already whirling, making plans about how to best use it on a rather immortal nuisance that has taken interest in his caretaker.

He would be making her a favour, really; it was less than a year since Nyx had ended the relationship tying her to his eldest brother, Balekin ― even if, to this day, Cardan still cannot comprehend what exactly she saw in him that qualified adequately for relationship material. She certainly does not need another immortal possibly abusive boyfriend and, even though Sage has not given any reason to believe he is anything like Balekin, the youngest Prince is not willing to trust him enough to find out.

It's best to be rid of a problem before it becomes a problem, the Fae tells himself as he grabs upon the rat poison and places it in his plastic basket, hiding it beneath the big box of the washing machine powder that is soon to follow. With his list finally complete, the young Prince carries himself to the cashier where Nyx is awaiting, her own items catered in plastic bags by the foot of the cashier's desk and, when the clerk scans the items only to pause and give him a perplexed look when it's time for the rat poison to be scanned, Cardan fixes him with a hard, unnerving stare.

It would be easier if he could lie about the rat poisoned desired purpose, but alas, since no untruth word can cross the Folk's lips, the eleven-year-old boy merely shrugs and decides to toy with words instead, as he can masterfully do.

❛ I have a project in school. ❜ He says, gaze darting to Nyx who is now eyeing him with extreme suspicion. It isn't a lie, per se; he was assigned a project in school, but since no question was made clearly asking for the rat poison's purpose then he deems it only fitting that he answers with a vague truth, even if said truth doesn't concern such an item. When it's his time to pack his bags and Nyx is, however, still eyeing him with distrust, Cardan continues; ❛ It's for scientifical purposes, un-mother. ❜

The scientifical purpose being seeing if Sage can survive the experiment.

[uroborosymphony]

THE GREAT WAR AGAINST THE WITCHES, THE BATTLE OF THE KHANGAI MOUNTAINS. For @MYTHVOICED ⬩ 07 OCTOBER 1845 

"Well, well, well. Isn't it She with her little bow."

Her tone is condescending, her eyes, inhabited with fires from a thousand hells. The lamia is standing, strong, proud, at the top of the Hill of Sihege in the Valley in the east in Mongolia. Miles down her hill, the battle was still exploding, the swords, the spells of her soul eating creatures, her army of vampires and ghouls destroying, eating, exterminating under her command, following her anger like a prayer, worshipping it. She is the heart of the war, the core of this rage, the mind behind this insanity that have spread across the realms for fifty years already. Calixtus Orion. A name that was spoken, whispered in fear and hate as the creature was decimating both the World of the mortals and the Underworld. She had to be stopped, put down, judged and executed in order for the Worlds not to reach that point of non return Calista was, step by step, approaching. It was the reason why the Order of the Knights was sent, to chain her down. And oh, how amusing it was to the undefeated Queen of the Night. The leaves of the trees were chanting in a sky that was darkened with blood and doors wide opened on Hell. And the screams, and the fires were only fulling Calita's passion and insanity. In front of her, that archer again, The Huntress. It was their second time facing each other in this canvas of terror. A wind made of desolation and ashes was blowing as Calista's white hair tainted with the blood of her enemies was floating under the rising moon."I cannot have One massacre for myself, now can I? You and your little troup of minnesingers have already lost against me and my ghouls. What do you want then, you Irrational Little Being? Another round of my blood spilled against your skin? Oh...? " Her head mechanically bend to the side, like a robotic doll from a cursed heaven on a background of flames, her pupils sparkling in madness in the anticipation of fighting the Knight again.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA.

IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? FOR ME TO DESTROY YOUR BODY AND SOUL BACK INTO MORTALITY HUH?"

The lamia shouts, her eyes widening in mania as her dark blood is pumping through her veins. If it was infuriating, for the Order to constantly come and ruin her battles, she however knew they would send their most talented soldier to face her, over and over, again and again until Calista teaches her the right lesson. Their first battle have been a revigoration for the lamia, one that however ended in a tie in between her and the Huntress, both immortals enable to die under each other's sword. An inconvenience Calista was willing to work on to change.

"You do have talent, Archer. A Wasted talent, being on the wrong side of History, don't you think? If your wish is to perish under my sword however, it's nothing I will ever go against. Mmmm I've never been so hungry Ohhh I will eat you alive." The lamia then adds, deranged eyes fixating her prey, her tongue sticking out, licking over her fangs like the beast she is.

Speed. The lamia was a beast indeed, of both cruelty and elegance, and speed was one of her many abilities. In two steps, she runs through the grass and the dirt, her frame like a sharp blade cutting through the air, the fabrics of her Commandant apparel made of black and red velvet is floating around her limbs. Like a manic dancer, her hand extends as she spread her fingers and her palms firmly wrap around the handle of a sword that takes shape out of her own shadow. Acerola. Her legendary blade made of gold and forged in Hephaestus fires that becomes the lamia's arm extension. And she slams it, at full force, at full speed against the Huntress's blade. Their faces, only separated by a inch now, the lamia's red and golden eyes linking with the other's, eyes of thirst for blood and power, eyes filled with unstability and yet fascination for the only being who made it far enough to get a taste of her blood. "Tell me you missed me." She whispers in a deranged tone, her teeth greeted, pressed into a wide grin before shouting.

"SHOW ME YOUR HUNGER!"

[senatushq]

NAME. Diana AGE & BIRTH DATE. Prehistoric & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Aspect OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Tristin Mays

biography

First born to a king of creation, emerging only seconds before her brother, their twin light was the radiance to quell all the darkness around them. Artemis would dance among the cosmos, the stars tangling in her essence, divinity’s touch leaving a platinum light in her wake. Where Ulthar’s daughter danced, Titan ichor spilled as her joyful steps turned purposeful. But as darkness bows to light, so does light bow to darkness and even the twin light of Artemis and Apollo would be smothered by the great war of the Titanomachy. So when she awoke again, Artemis baptized her new high elven body in the blood of the enemies of the divine. Her family were gods, and there would never be anything that the goddess would not do to usher in an era of peace and prosperity for the divinity and their kin. It seemed as though that era was finally upon them when the Titanomachy finally ended. Elysia, Hyperborea and even the Otherworld seemed tranquil enough that Artemis might’ve put down her weapons if she so desired. But weapons and warcraft had become the goddess’ first purpose and so she took to it by honing her skills with the seraphim and teaching the high elves what it meant to hunt and battle outside the peace of their home. Then Eden was created.

With the emergence of both demigods and immortal humanity, there would be no shortage of vessels for her and her family to take. For them, Artemis took great care of the precious demigods and humans and kept a close eye on them by making her home in the paradise lands of Eden. It was there that she found many new purposes among the humans: protecting and empowering the females and female-presenting among them, particularly Lilith and Eve, as well as falling in love with the call of the wild. Artemis would also run through the forests and mountains in pursuit of Epimetheus and Oztalun’s creatures, both learning to hunt them and keeping her most treasured among them as friends. Prometheus’ crime and gift to humanity would be an obstacle that would present itself in ways such as Lilith’s rebellion and free-spirited humans that would refuse the Gods, but there wasn’t yet cause to worry for the abundance of willing vessels that still lived peacefully. Then, when Lucifer’s rebellion launched conflict between the seraphim, Artemis’ hunting bow and leathers were put down to be replaced by her armor and metal once more. The Goddess took to a great divine war for the second time in her life and fought on the side of the Blessed Seraphim, fiercely protecting Eve with every intention of using her as her own new vessel one day. When the conflict ended, humanity had lost its viability as divine vessels and the number of demigods had vastly depleted. For Artemis, there was no choice but to travel the new world in search for the remaining demigods and any bodies that might become viable vessels one day. Once found, they had to be protected and kept safe in Elysia. 

Unlike many Gods who remained sequestered in Elysia or slumbering in uthenera, Artemis made many names for herself among the mortals. Her truest purpose remained to bring her divine family as many demigods as she could find, even when it became nearly impossible to sense them. The Goddess had found other ways of contenting herself as well: protecting women, warriors and wildlife alike. Loneliness did not plague her immortal life once she had taken to finding women of both fey and human offshoot species to partake in her hunts and her journeys, wise and talented women that would one day by called valkyries. With her valkyries, Artemis searched the endless wars and battlefields for warriors who were worthy of her favor. Some would be unstoppable with her blessing and others, unfortunate men or women who had fallen, would be deemed worthy enough for their souls to be granted eternal rest in a paradise realm of their choosing. The huntress goddess was worshipped and honored for millennia, but Artemis had grown weary of failing to find more vessels for her family in the vastness of the mortal realm’s space and time. Artemis and the few of her valkyries that remained took their hunts to the Otherworld until word reached her of the Necronomicon’s impending war and the awakening of her godly family. Artemis returns to the mortal realm as Diana, once more poised to fight for the victory of the divine. Demigods are no longer hidden from her gaze. When victory is called for her side once more, Artemis intends to bring Oztalun’s murderers to justice and then bring the potential vessels home to Elysia.

personality

+ dutiful, loyal, inspirational – illogical, spiteful, inconsiderate

played by dany. est. she/her.

[bates--boy]

At this point, Peter was no longer going to let his guard down in this apartment until he left, because clearly Raivis wanted to push this issue, no matter how much he tried to cover it by coddling Peter. Or how much emotional damage he was willing to take to push a matter that didn't need pushing. He has to be a glutton for punishment, Peter mused, wondering how much of that was a joke.

“Oh, I’d tell her about them," Peter said plainly. It was yet another thing Peter had thought about as he plotted his and Sadaf's "escape" from this life. "I mean, as ideal as it would be to hide every single aspect of this existence from her, I know that she'd pick up on immortals existing eventually. Especially since it's damn near impossible that her family will become mortal in her lifetime." Of this airtight plan Peter had of entering a human life with his daughter and leaving no trace of their immortality, this aspect was the only one Peter would allow some leeway. "It would simply be like any other mortal being close enough to know about the existence of their type. "There are plenty of humans who are close to you nations to know of immortals' existence, right? It won't be any different for her if I told her that her granddad is an immortal who got bored and wanted to raise a couple kids."

And that was the beauty of micronationhood, that Peter had realized too late, but had finally realized nonetheless: it can be thrown away. Nothing, micronations especially, is permanent. Sure, maybe some of the conventions of a micronation falling is the same as a full nation, that the government has to fall and the land annexed or totally cleared of inhabitants, but all Sealand would need for that is its princes dropping this fort like a kid selling his trading cards or a magic kit collecting dust in a closet. It was easy for Peter to be detached because, really, what else was there to Sealand?

Forget being kicked out of the table or turned away at the door for not being a real nation; forget constantly being mocked or, worse, being humored while patted on the head; forget being put in the back of his birth family's mind half the time until they needed some amusement. Sealand simply had outlived its purpose. No war was being fought that Sealand could be used in, nor was there any illegal radio that needed broadcasting after the advent of podcasts. The royal family had no plans to renovate Sealand into a "floating" city when sea levels climbed too high and made most of the land uninhabitable, so there was another avenue closed to them. The only purpose the fort had now was to keep Sadaf alive long enough to get stronger. And when it seems safe enough, they can leave. They can leave all the nonsense behind like Hutt River and Niko, and Peter can finally have the human life he so desperately craved.

The detachment came with hope.

So, Peter wanted desperately, through his smoldering frustration, to assure Raivis that there was nothing to worry about, but with the way the conversation had gone to shit so far, Peter was certain his friend would take it the wrong way. Besides, there was more important stuff to talk about.

"It's tiring!" Peter laughed, throwing his hands in the air. "Oh, god, feedings all day, diapers all night, crying every hour on the hour because she doesn't know how to pass gas on her own yet. And when I do change diapers, I don't know if I'm gonna get an easy clean or the grossest, nastiest, soupiest diaper known to man. She cries if I make the bath too hot, she cries if I make the bath too cold, and she cries if I make the bath just right but she needs to voice an opinion, anyway.

"And I love every minute of it." Peter leaned back and folded his hands over his stomach. He stared off across the room, smiling to himself. "Every day that I have her, I find something new to love about her. I love the funny faces she makes when she's trying to pass gas or try to voice her discontent. I love how her cheeks get rosy like mine when she giggles, and her toothless little smile. I love watching her sleep, and feeling the peaceful dreams she has because she knows that I and her mother are there to keep her safe. And her fingers and toes! They're too small, because she's too small, but they're so... perfect."

He lifted a hand, only to let it fall back down on his lap. "She's so... perfect."

And there it was: a way for Peter to squash this whole talk of keeping this awful secret away from his child. He looked over to Raivis. "I'm supposed to be having a video call with her in a while. Do you want to meet her?" What harm was there, since Raivis knew about her now?

cryingyetcourageous​:

“I do not think you’re an idiot, ‘complete fucking’ or otherwise.” The response was immediate and, aside from his ever-present stutter, firm. With the moment to cool off helping him clear his head, he was able to rethink the situation. Maybe Peter was right, or maybe Raivis explained himself poorly. Either was possible, so if he could just manage to express his concerns without being pushy or upsetting Peter, maybe he could leave this conversation with a more firm stance. Either Peter would show him the error of his ways or Raivis would manage to get in a few good points.

The key was to stay calm. Not exactly his strong suit. It was silly, wasn’t it? It was silly how much a simple 'I love you’ affected him, how his chest tightened and eyes watered. “I love you, too. I love you very, very much. Always remember that. I, um-” He gulped, hands folding on his lap so one thumb could rub circles on the back of his other hand. He kept his sights on the coffee table. Table. That was another word he could have listed.

“I-I want to try again. I’m not sure what I think. I-I think maybe I agree with you, but I also still have some, ah, concerns. I want to tell you them, but I am not trying to pressure you or to upset you, a-and if things are getting heated again for either of us, w-we can say something and - and be taking a break again, alright?”

Raivis peered at his mug of tea, and seeing the cup half empty, it seemed safe enough to pick it up even with his tremor. After a little sip, he set it down and took a long, shuddering breath. “My concern is that - that this is still something she is having to deal with. Whether or not you tell her she’s a nation, she is one, a-and that will impact her. If she… if something happens, either to Sealand itself o-or because of Sealand’s ties, it may affect her, and she will be left not knowing why. Does that make sense?” The words were carefully controlled, mindful of not speeding up lest he make himself frantic again, tone soft but still serious.

“And maybe you already planned for that. I-I know you thought about this very much. Like I said, I don’t think you’re an idiot. I just want to be sure that we are understanding each other’s views. You can tell her what she is without having her be part of - o-of all this. Of us. Y-You can have it exist as information she knows, that you can point to to explain things, all without her having to experience the, ah, l-less than great parts. Or any parts. You can tell her and keep her out of it… I-I think. Maybe.”

He’d been sure beforehand, but now he wavered under the weight of Peter’s certainty. He almost felt a bit proud of himself for managing to keep calm through the whole explanation, only for that success to be knocked down by the reminder that this was, in fact, a normal thing that he should be able to do all of the time.

“Sorry, I kind of rambled a little. I probably could have been finding way to say that in f-fewer words, but, uh…”

Ah, fucking hell. And here, Peter thought that Raivis had finally found the good sense to drop the subject so they could enjoy each other's company before Peter had to set off into the world once more. He did have to hand it to Raivis, though: the guy's persistent when he feels that he needed to be. It didn't change the returning frustration that had him scrubbing his hands down his face. What would it take for Raivis to stop? To just... stop? Maybe Peter should have been more forthright, told him straight and clear, I do not give a shit what you have to say. Or, I do not want to hear anything else about my kid. Because I'm not going to reconsider shit clearly was not enough.

But pushing back against Raivis, and making sure it stuck, required some righteous rage. But a mood swing like the one he just recovered from was tiring. He was too drained. Only way to be sure to drop this was to leave the apartment. Maybe even block Raivis's number for good measure. (Okay, let's not get extreme, here.)

He moved his hands up to the sides of his head, to rub the tips of his fingers into his temples. There goes that sweet, touching moment they had, one Peter had hoped meant they had moved on. "She's not a nation..." Peter said, though he knew what Raivis meant, and that was not the point. When he massaged the headache away, he rested his elbows on his knees and folded his hands in front of his face. He looked down at the table, thinking, He could have said table, in his brief moment of distraction.

"And... and she would be too young to understand why Sealand's failing is hurting her." Goddammit, was he actually going to discuss this further with Raivis? It was too late to snip this nonsense in the bud, but it didn't mean he had to encourage it. As he thought of ways to redirect this conversation so he can keep Sadaf's name out of Raivis's mouth, he said, "Sealand's government is gonna dissolve long before Sadaf is old enough and aware enough to know what's happening to her. Once that happens, Arthur and his little monarchy can blow that fort to smithereens for all I care. I won't let us end up like Kugel.

"Until then, I'll shield her from it. I'm sure there's, like, some magic spells or something my Uncle Lukas has that can channel the worst effects of Sealand's failing government to me. Or..." Peter sighed and rested his chin on his interlocked fingers. "Or maybe she'll become human before that happens."

[blzzrdstryr]

Signed in blood

Yandere!Zhongli x Yaksha!gn!reader

Wordcount: 2541

CW: Yandere themes, mentioned violence and death, unhealthy power dynamics

Long before Liyue’s borders had been established and the harbor bloomed into the prosperous city that it is today, the Geo Lord, Rex Lapis gathered all lesser deities and spirits dwelling in the current nation’s territory and concluded a contract with most of them, ensuring the protection of his country and people. Some of them signed a contract out of fear before archon’s power, some did it for mutual benefit and some out of gratitude and deep reverence. You are in the latter category, a simple forest spirit that was saved from the distorted monsters left after the archon war by his grace and power alone.

It was a simple day when you felt an enormously malicious energy surrounding your green abode, and soon they showed up, killing intent and will of dead archons seeping out of them. You were fast and agile enough to dodge creatures' hits, which couldn't be said about the others. Your fellow spirits and animals with whom you were sharing this forest soon fell victim to the perpetrators' attacks. Dark energy entered and desecrated the lands, poisoned the waters and even possessed the bodies of your old friends.

You were running away, fatigue finally catching up to you, despite the inhuman nature and you soon fell to the ground. There were a myriad of thoughts and feelings reeling inside of you - grief for your now dead friends and home, anger at the monsters and most importantly frustration with yourself. You aren’t human, not a single part of you is, so why were you so weak and helpless, unable to do anything as you left your loved ones for slaughter and massacre?

Guilt and shame washed over you, as you allowed tears to burst free - you were bad, you were disgusting for not doing anything, not helping anyone. Monstrous roars and growls got closer, a promise and a threat of what will happen to you. You closed your eyes, accepting the imminent end and bracing for the upcoming pain. And then the most unexpected thing happened - the earth underneath you vibrated, tremors knocking the beasts off their feet, as a tall basalt pillar rose from the ground.

Soon the stranger appeared, ending the monsters in one swift and elegant slash of his spear. He donned an otherwise simple white attire adorned with golden threads, with a long ponytail showing from the hood, but the most eye-catching details were piercing amber eyes and the glowing patterns all over his body of the same colour. You forgot how to breathe for a second as you watched your unexpected savior - he was beyond handsome, possessing the kind of beauty that would have mortals blushing and stuttering.

He then looked around, finally noticing your sprawled form. “Are you all right?”he asked, his tranquil and calm voice tinted by the shadow of concern and lending his hand. “I am”, you sputtered out and took an outstretched limb, feeling infinitely clumsy and ugly, face heating up from embarrassment. “That is good”, his voice despite still possessing the same serenity took a warmer tone.

As you learned later, you were saved by one of the seven remaining archons, a lord of geo. Filled with shame for your dishonorable escape and gratitude for your unforeseen salvation you signed the tightest contract with Rex Lapis - a blood written pact.

Unlike the contracts mortals establish, a contract between two immortal beings lacks the parchment or ink or a signature, they use magic and techniques that echo directly into their soul, preventing even the possibility of the terms' violation. Blood written pact binds to the vital essences of one, an ancient magic flaring up once the contractor intends to break the agreement, stopping and warning them of what's to come once they do breach it.

Your blood sizzled and boiled as you pledged your life to Liyue, magic singing in your veins and resonating with your soul - Rex Lapis saw the potential in you to be a great warrior and designated you to serve him as one of the yakshas, so you obeyed, training your body and spirit to withstand the endless calamities you no doubt will have to face. One day, after a grueling training you almost gave up, but forced yourself past your limits. I must redeem myself and repay Rex Lapis, you thought, gritting your teeth and taking a battle stance again, and then a miracle happened: a blue glowing orb materialized in the air - a vision bestowed by the hydro archon.

Sometimes you still reminisce about this moment and recite the oath you gave back then - I pledge my life to the protection of the Liyue nation and the will of Geo Archon, Rex Lapis for all the centuries to come.

Soon, you ended your training and started to protect Liyue just like other four adeptis all of whom were also saved by the Geo Lord. For centuries you five defended the nation as it bloomed and grew into something that you couldn't even imagine. And even after centuries of slaughter as your karmic debt started to slowly eat you from inside, slowly, but surely devouring your sanity by the smallest pieces you always found strength to move forward by recalling your first meeting with Rex Lapis, reverence before your God and guilt before the dead driving you further and further.

With time a dull, yet constant pain made its way into your bones. Sometimes it would make your eyes fill with unshed tears, sometimes wake you up in those rare times you slept without nightmares, sometimes it made your hands tremble, almost dropping the weapon in the middle of the battle. You couldn’t suppress and endure it like Xiao does, letting out a pained whimper here and there, yet you still upheld your duty to the Liyue. It almost felt like routine, until two awful events happened: the death and defection.

The fear and hatred of all those who fell victims to your weapons were slowly seeping in your minds, driving you mad with bloodlust. It all happened so quickly: you were watching out for other demons as Bonanus and Pervases were patching up Alatus after the intense battle, while Bosacius looked at the other front, weapons ready, and then Bonanus lashed out, aiming for Xiao's neck. The anemo yaksha quickly darted to the side, but the weapon still grazed the copper bird's neck, his blood forming a quickly growing pool underneath. You had to put the bloodlusted yaksha yourself, something inside of you breaking as you did so - it was one thing to stand against hordes of demons and monsters and it was another to kill your friend.

You couldn’t talk or look into the eyes of the other two after that, despising yourself for yet another failure - first your forest, then your friends, you were helpless to save anyone. And then Bosacius left, you had no idea where he vanished, but these two events prompted Rex Lapis to visit both you and Xiao, as yakshas shrinked in numbers from five to two in less than a week.

You kneel before the Geo archon when you notice his tall figure between the ancient trees - unlike Xiao, you prefer to live in the woods, the familiarity of nature reminiscent of a home you once lost. Your Lord ushers you to stand up, his face solemn and grim.

“[First]”, he starts, exhaustion evident in each syllable: "For centuries you protected my Harbor, and despite turbulent times passing you still uphold your duty. I find that admirable".

Your eyes go wide and you turn your head, unable to receive such high praise from your God, you feel your cheeks heat up at the compliment, acknowledgement of your hard work, and even constant pain or the death and disappearance of your colleagues became less serious of the issue for a mere moment.

"I am not worthy of such praise, my lord, I am only doing my job, fulfilling the contract", you deflect, looking at him again. Archon's eyes crease a little and a small frown appears as you say "contract", yet he quickly wills his face into an impassive mask.

"I suppose I made a mistake when I asked you to be my yaksha back then, I have misjudged your worth ", he continues, voice becoming distant and strangely tense, as he reminisces about the days long past, amber eyes looking both at and through you.

"My lord, I…", you start and then stumble over the words, unsure what to say next. Is this his way of telling you that you're bad at your job? You cast your head down, eyes lowered in shame, hands that spilled adeptus' blood trembling and burning. "I am deeply sorry for letting you down in that way, I will do my best to redeem myself from now on” .

A warm hand touches your shoulder, squeezing it slightly in a comforting manner. His palm is warm and firm, comforting in its steadiness like a tall cliff standing proudly against the raging tides, indestructible and reliable.

"You have no reason to apologize for this. Something like this would inevitably happen sooner or later, you have no fault in the events that occured. I suppose karmic debt would drive one of you insane eventually".

He sounds calming, reassuring, like a parent soothing a child. You still don’t lift your head to meet his gaze - you’re too guilty and unworthy to do that. There are no words you can speak now, not when you have been so thoroughly destroyed by your lord’s kindness - how can he look at you and see someone innocent?

“No, I meant that all those centuries ago, when I first met you I didn’t discern the gem hidden in the crude ore” he adopts reminiscent tone again, his hand now moving on your shoulder in slow and steady rhythm: “I knew I wanted you to be by my side, I didn’t know who I wanted you to be though. I needed time to understand my own feelings and the way I viewed you, and then I needed some more time to accept those sentiments”.

“What sentiments, my lord?”, you ask, finally looking up to him, brows slightly frowned in confusion and curiosity - it’s rare to see the Geo archon talk about his inner workings so openly, as he usually prefers to keep a cordial distance or masterfully redirects the conversation into a completely different direction.

“Over the years, as you protected my nation and my people, I finally understood it”, his hand shifts from your shoulder and now he cups your own two palms in a firm yet gentle hold: “I cherish you, [First]”.

The sudden declaration leaves you stunned and speechless for a good minute: you look at your god with wide eyes, mouth opening several times like a fish out of water. A myriad of thoughts and feelings go through you: confusion, disbelief, inferiority.

“I… That is very sudden for me to… learn about your affections”, you finally utter, forgetting to add respectful “my lord” at the end. Your voice comes off as small and hesitant as you say so. Rex Lapis doesn’t seem to mind your confusion as he takes a second to collect his own thoughts.

“The yaksha title I have burdened you with takes a toll both on your mind and your body. I severely miscalculated, so I want to redeem this mistake”, he sounds regretful now, one hand moving to caress and cup your face. You go stiff, still overwhelmed by the whole conversation. “I can free you from your contract if you decide to become my life companion”.

“But, my lord, it’s so sudden I can’t just..”

“Hush, I won’t pressure you into an intimate relationship right away. No, we will wait and learn about each other and once you will be comfortable enough to let me enter your life and your heart we will marry, uniting our fates with a contract that shall never end”.

You lower your head again, but this time in contemplation instead of guilt and shame. What do you feel for Rex Lapis? Admiration - he is a powerful deity, capable enough to flatten mountains and raise new ones with a single slash of his spear. Gratitude - he was the one that saved you and sheltered you, until you grew strong enough, he gave you a reason to live when you had none. Respect - he is a capable leader, smart enough to build a foundation and guide people of the most magnificent nation in Teyvat.

You feel no love for him, not the kind of love he wants anyway. You know about his patience and how affections sometimes take years to finally mature and bloom, but the thought of spending decades, maybe even centuries in hopes that one day you will reciprocate is nauseating to you.

How do you feel about it? A part of you wants it - it’s an easy way out to get rid of the pain, of the fear and bloodshed, of the death that clings to you at every waking moment. You remember how you spend most of your nights sleepless, drowsiness leaving you the same second you dream of blood and carnage and massacre. You remember your whole body throbbing and burning on especially bad days, when even Remedium Tertiorum can’t do its job. You remember crying and gasping for air after the weight of the slaughtered gets too heavy for you to handle.

You almost say yes, out of these reasons alone, but you stop yourself - you think of Xiao, of how lonely he will become once you leave. You think of heartfelt smiles that mortals gift you with on those rare occasions you have to save them. You think of the slaughtered spirits before whom you still have to atone to.

“I am sorry, my lord” You look him straight in the eyes, bracing yourself for the words you are about to say: “I can’t match your feelings, nor can I accept your offer, not now at least”.

Amber eyes lose their warmth in the instance, the comforting aura he was exuding earlier replaced by the weird tension between you two. Looking at this image, you suddenly remember how ruthless Rex Lapis can be on the battlefield as for a fraction of the second he looks at you as you’re an enemy.

A horrible pain shoots right through your body, and your short scream follows. You fall on the floor, gasping for air, deaf and blind from the overwhelming pain. Geo archon quickly takes your form, carrying you to your sleeping place, as you try your best to breathe and not cry.

“It must be a blood pact acting up, the magic must have taken your refusal as disobedience to the contract”, he says once the agony lightens, enough for you to focus on the conversation, “you did pledge your life to my will”.

You try to half sit on your elbow, to look him in the eyes and say something other than the pained groans and whimpers, as his next words instill a sense of quiet dread in you:

“I hope you will rethink and take back your words out of your own volition, [First]. I would hate to order you to”.

[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part I

Ahh I can’t believe it’s finally done! After a year of working on this beast, it’s finally ready for me to share. This is something I started way back last summer, and I decided to finish it as my project for this year’s @geraskierbigbang. It will be ten parts in total, and I will post one part per day until it is complete! There are several art pieces that were created by the wonderful @herostag​ and Miranda.draws for this story, which I will link when the appropriate section is posted. For a summary and further links, please see the masterpost.

Next | Ao3 | Masterpost

“Alright,” Geralt said. “Don’t laugh at me.”

Yennefer looked up at him with bright eyes, curious and already mirthful. She was sitting across from him in his quarters, reading through a tome she’d found in Kaer Morhen’s disheveled library. Geralt had just come from a bath after hours spent training Ciri in the yard, and the room was filled with the warm evening light, supplemented by the fire crackling in the hearth. Yennefer had insisted on carting dozens of tapestries and drapes to hang around the drafty keep, and the room was nearly stuffy with their bulk keeping the heat in.

Yennefer gave him an amused smirk. “I will make no such promises before I even know what you’re going to say.” The gentle teasing brought a fond smile to Geralt’s face. After the events of the mountain all those years ago, things had been understandably tense. Yennefer had been reluctant to join them when she had finally met up with Geralt after Sodden, but had eventually agreed to seek refuge in the witchers’ keep and teach Ciri to control her magic. Once she’d met the girl it had all been a wash; it was clear as soon as their eyes met across the room that Yennefer was as much a part of Ciri’s destiny as Geralt was.

Geralt had expected that to either mend the rift between them enough for things to go back to the way things were, or make things even more awkward. Instead, they found themselves in a sort of in-between. Over the years his affection for Yennefer had only grown, but he found himself looking to her more and more as a friend—maybe his best friend. After Jaskier, of course.

Speaking of. “I was thinking about Jaskier.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes obviously. “As you are so frequently wont to do. The thaw will come soon enough, dear, and you can run off in search of your bard.”

Geralt felt his ears grow warm. Witchers couldn’t blush, not truly, but he still felt the tingle of it as he fidgeted with embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, absently tracing a finger against the grain of the wooden table. There were two goblets of wine sitting between them, but so far neither of them had begun to drink. “Do you know how many winters it’s been since I found Ciri?”

If she was confused by the odd turn in subject matter, Yennefer didn’t show it. Instead she looked thoughtful. “Two, perhaps three? You know I don’t follow the seasons with diligence.”

“Neither do I,” Geralt agreed. “I was thinking the same though, two or three years since the fall of Cintra. Which means Jaskier is…” He paused, trying to do the math. “He was a few years past forty, during the dragon hunt, I think. He must be closer to fifty now than not.”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow at him. “I recall mentioning something about his crows feet. What of it? Humans age. Are you only just discovering this?”

Geralt forced himself not to grumble. In a way, he was only discovering it. He’d known humans across the years, of course, and knew that many that he’d once been acquainted with were no longer alive or were in their twilight years. For decades Geralt had wandered through the world, changing no more than a ghost would, touching the lives of regular mortals for a brief instance, maybe a few times if they were particularly unlucky. No one had stayed by his side, dedicated themselves to a relationship with him, the way that the bard had. The amount of devotion that Jaskier showed to him had made Geralt antsy, in earlier years, and then confused and angry by turn. He had hated the idea of someone needing him, had hated needing someone in return. The way his chest felt heavy when he and Jaskier parted ways had left him furious with himself and the bard.

And then Ciri came into his life, and everything had changed so quickly.

With Ciri, it didn’t matter whether Geralt felt like he should care for her, or if he wanted to. He needed to. Without him, the girl would die, or be kidnapped by Nilfgaard for who knows what purpose. He had to feed her, and clothe her, and teach her, and he had to love her for her to thrive.

She made it very easy. It was only afterwards that he realized how much of an idiot he’d been to Jaskier, and the thought of how he’d treated the bard over the years had plagued him. It had been months before he could find him to apologize, but Jaskier forgave him almost immediately—which Geralt found both relieving and infuriating at the same time. This was the first winter they’d spent apart since. Geralt left the keep more rarely now, heading out on the Path only when the months grew truly warm and returning at the first hint of falling leaves. Ciri was safe on her own, he knew, but he missed her when he was away. And he could admit now that one of the forces driving him back into the world over the last few years had been the itching desire to find Jaskier again and settle the yearning in his chest for another year. He was less inclined to venture forth when his bard, his daughter, Yennefer and his brothers were all in one place.

This winter Jaskier had begged off, saying that he had “work in the south,” which could mean anything from spending a decadent winter in the court of some noble or sludging through the front lines as a Redanian spy. Geralt had learned not to pry too deeply into Jaskier’s business when he wasn’t around. It was often either too explicit for him to stomach or too confidential for Jaskier to share freely.

It worried him, being away from the bard for so long. He could get hurt, or captured by Nilfgaard, or worse. But what really terrified Geralt was the idea that he would find Jaskier in a tavern along the Path and realize that the bard had grown old, to find silver in his hair and wrinkles beside his eyes. “He’s getting too old,” Geralt said to Yennefer, who looked at him with sympathetic eyes.

“You must have known when you started travelling with him that he would eventually leave you,” Yennefer said, not unkindly. “Humans are so short lived.”

“I didn’t exactly get a choice about becoming his muse,” Geralt said with a huff. Despite his improved relationship with Jaskier over the past few years, he still found it difficult to admit that he had always been more than willing to let the bard tag along. If he’d wanted to travel alone, he would have. But he never had. “I just didn’t realize…”

“It always comes sooner than you think it will,” Yennefer sighed. She set her book aside and picked up her goblet of wine, turning to look out the large window their table sat in front of. It faced west out of the keep wall, towards the mountains and the forest beyond. The sun had set below the craggy peaks, throwing the snow covered valley below into darkness. Geralt could just make out the ruins of the old tower, its stones dark against the white landscape. “You can’t cure his mortality, Geralt.”

“We did.”

The look that Yennefer gave him was sharp, almost angry. The firelight in the room turned her violet eyes darker, like mulberry wine. “At great cost,” she snapped. “I can’t imagine you would put him through the Trials.”

A stab of panic shot through his gut at the thought. “No. Of course not. He wouldn’t survive it anyways. Only children stand a chance at all.”

Yennefer nodded, apparently satisfied that Geralt hadn’t completely lost his mind. “The boy hasn’t got an ounce of Chaos in him, in spite of his rather chaotic nature, so I highly doubt they’ll accept him as a late trainee at Ban Ard.”

“There must be other ways,” Geralt said, feeling petulant. “Less conventional.”

“I cannot believe we are actually discussing this,” Yennefer said, rising to her feet. She picked up her book from the table as well as her glass. “There is no way to achieve immortality, especially not without sacrifice. You know that, Geralt. Drop this foolish line of thought.”

Geralt rose after her, reaching out to catch her retreating wrist. A grasp loose enough that she could break it, if she wanted, but Yennefer paused. “Please, Yen. Just… look into it for me? I can’t—the thought of—” He cut himself off, dropping his hand away from her arm. The look she gave him was more pitying than he would have liked.

“I’ll do some research, but nothing more. Don’t get your hopes up, Geralt. There’s a reason there are so few of us,” she said. Her face softened slightly, as much as it ever did. Despite Ciri, Yennefer was still made of more glass and fire than anything else. “I know you love him, even if you can’t admit it to yourself. I promise, I will do my best.”

Geralt nodded wordlessly as she left and wondered if Jaskier's eyes would be as bright next time he saw him.

*

For weeks Yennefer said nothing about his request, and Geralt refocused on spending time with Ciri and preparing to depart for the spring. Lambert and Eskel had already left a month before, as soon as the road down the mountain began to thaw, but Geralt had hung back. The roof needed repairs, a difficult job to do in the midst of winter, and it was a hard task to leave for Vesemir alone. It was always like this, now—him looking for odd jobs to keep him at Kaer Morhen, with Ciri, making excuses until Jaskier’s jitteriness or Vesemir’s raised eyebrows forced them on the road again. Some of that was mitigated this season by the silence he heard when he found himself listening for the sounds of lute strings strumming gently in the background, and Geralt’s increasing anxiety about Jaskier’s wellbeing. Even so, it was hard to leave Ciri behind.

The girl was progressing rapidly as she entered her teen years, the chubbiness of her youth morphing into lean if awkward muscle as she continued to work on her swordsmanship. When Geralt and his brothers weren’t pushing her through drills, she was studying monsters and alchemy with Vesemir, or practicing her magic with Yen. She never seemed to tire, eagerly absorbing any lessons passed on to her and desperate to prove her worth. The only person she seemed to let her guard down around was Geralt, who found himself often goading her into mock wrestling matches (which he refused to throw on principle) and humoring her when she became restless and wanted to explore beyond the keep. Kaer Morhen was dangerous in the winter, but as spring approached and the deep snows on the surrounding mountains began to thaw, the duo spent more and more time trekking through old ruins and sleeping beneath the stars.

He could put off his journey south no longer.

“I’m going to be fine, Geralt,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. He wondered if he’d been this petulant as a teenager. Certainly Lambert had. “I can take care of myself, and Yen will be with me.”

Geralt tapped her wooden training sword with his own, indicating that she should prepare to go again. When he was a boy he’d trained against the other foundlings, stumbling around like pups through drills and sparring matches. Ciri trained against full witchers, and only Eskel ever faked a misstep here or there to allow her to get in a good hit. When she won a fight for the first time, it would be on her own merit.

The girl raised her sword into a decent fighting stance, and Geralt moved to correct her footwork. Her sword work was exceptional above the belt, but she consistently forgot her stances, throwing herself off balance. They’d begun putting her on the pendulums to force her to focus, dancing between posts to attack the dummies. Geralt had spent many a night rubbing salve into her bruised shoulders, gained from taking fall after fall from the low poles. No one forced her, but if there was one thing Ciri hated, it was admitting to weakness in herself. “Sword up,” Geralt said, and launched into his attack.

He stayed on the offense, forcing her to practice the defensive drills they’d started going over recently. “I know you’ll be fine,” he said, continuing their conversation. His breathing was relaxed, almost meditative through the slow exchange of blows. “Just seems cruel to leave you with only the old man and Yennefer for company.”

Ciri giggled despite herself, and Geralt found himself grinning back before he smacked her lightly in the ribs with the training sword. She swore—Lambert, Geralt thought with chagrin—and danced back a few paces. “Gotta focus,” he said, still smirking at her.

She poked her tongue out at him childishly and reposted off of one of his blocked attacks. He easily swayed out of the way, but the movement was fluid and smooth, which meant someday it would be fast, faster than he could dodge. He gave an encouraging nod.

They continued to spar for another half an hour or so before breaking, heading to the well to fill their water pouches. Geralt sat on the short ring of stones and Ciri slumped on the ground beside him, leaning against his leg. The simple trust and familiarity she exhibited around him still took him by surprise, sometimes. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said, rubbing a hand over the top of her head. Her hair was almost as white as his.

She sighed, wiping dripping water from her chin as she tossed her water pouch down. “I figured,” she said. “Say hello to Jaskier for me, when you find him? I missed his songs this time.”

Geralt’s caress turned into a playful ruffle. “I will. Any requests for books?”

“Ones about Elves,” she said immediately, “and Skelligan alchemy. It’s different from ours, did you know? The Druids—”

Geralt chuckled. “I know. You’ve said half a dozen times. No fairytales this time?”

The girl hummed, reminding him for a brief and touching moment of himself. “Just bring Jaskier back. He tells about your adventures so much better than you do.”

“He’s certainly made a career out of it,” Geralt grumbled, feigning annoyance. “I’ll do my best. You know how he is.”

“You missed him too,” she said, hitting his knee with one closed fist. “I know you did. You get all…Well, more grumbly and mopey than usual, when he’s not around.” She wrinkled her nose up at him in exaggerated disgust. “It’s gross. But I do want you to be happy.”

Geralt knocked back against her gently with his knee, swallowing around the feelings that rose in his throat. “You just think I’m a boring old man who won’t help you put toads in Eskel’s bed. But you never even ask. I’m the expert, not Jaskier.”

Ciri laughed, bright and crisp in the morning air, and Geralt felt warm despite the fading winter chill. Tomorrow he would leave, and he would find Jaskier, and next winter he would tell Jaskier that he had to stay at Kaer Morhen. For Ciri, if nothing else. And if it was more for Geralt’s sake than anything, well, no one had to know.

*

Yennefer found him before he left, saddling Roach in the stables.

“Go to Triss,” she said by way of a greeting. Geralt knew what she meant by the gravity in her tone and the tension sitting in the corners of her mouth. “Ask after Ida. I don’t know where she is or if she’ll speak with you, but a Sage is the only one that might be able to give you anything.”

Geralt reached out to grasp her hand firmly in his own. “Thank you, Yen,” he said honestly.

The sorceress sniffed. “Well, you owe me one, I suppose. I hope you find what you're looking for. But be careful.”

“I won’t do anything that might put him in harm’s way,” he promised. “I swear it.”

“Good.” She gave him a slight smile before leaning in to brush a kiss over his rough cheek. The simple touch warmed him from inside out. “Say hello to the bard for me. Tell him I heard about that disastrous competition in Vizima. Ought to have him stewing for a good long while.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I’ll give him your love as always.”

“Goodbye, Geralt,” she said, patting his arm lightly. “Be safe. You know how to reach me, if you have need.”

“I do,” he said. “I will. Take care of Ciri.”

“It’s more the other way around, I’m afraid,” she said with a soft smile, and Geralt understood exactly what she meant. Ciri had saved them both, in more ways than one. Every time he left her was more painful than the last. Someday, he knew, they might travel the Path together, a witcher, a sorceress and their daughter. Maybe even a bard, if he was extremely lucky.

Geralt hoped he would be.

[stuckybarton]

Immortality

Summary: The only thing missing in their relationship was time, time that was not set as he could live for a thousand years and you could only live through a fraction of it.

Warning: Slight Angst? Mostly Fluffy moment with a sort-of philosophical question? (lol what?). Spelling and Grammar mistakes cuz English isn’t my first language. Not Beta’d. All mistakes are my own. Characters: Unnamed Female Character (reader insert?) x Loki Laufeyson Words: 1,160 A/N: Unironically, I was actually listening to Immortality by the Bee Gees ft. Celine Dion while I was writing this. So there’s that. ~

You could only smile and stare at the man besides you. Reading had not been your favourite hobby, but if it means spending time with him, even for just a couple of hours before he is pulled back into yet another mission that wouldn't guarantee he'd come back unharmed or worse, alive, you would take this moments. So you like to make the most out of the time that the two of you had.

Away from the noise of the compound, away from pestering of one Tony Stark or Thor Odinson, and away from the very idea of their relationship only being temporary.  Not because you had no faith in him but the reality that he wasn't human but a God, and you were merely the human who would be lucky enough to reach your eighties with your unhealthy eating habits and lack of exercise. Whatever time you could make with him, you make the most out of it.

The silence of the library that Tony had installed in the compound was comforting. Nothing much was heard between the two of them. The sound of the pages being turned and the grunt from him if something in the book was displeasing him.

"Your thoughts are running and I can hear it from here, my love." Loki's voice brought you back to the present.

"Will you mourn for me when I'm dead?" You asked, just idea of what life would be like for him when you were gone always made you curious.

Thor had always said there was a difference in Loki since meeting you, since you two had become a couple, since you had made those vows of faithfulness to each other. A difference that you could see even to this day. He was still the same ol' Loki that everyone still grows cautious and wary of even when he had proven himself as part of the Avengers. But you believe had become more mellow, more open to talk to anyone especially the Spider Kid that he could do no wrong to.

"What kind of question is that?" He hissed, the book he was reading now shut with a sharp thud before his focus was now on you. "Are you not feeling well? Must I force you to go see Dr. Banner again?"

You smiled, being reminded of the cold you tried so hard to assure Loki was nothing. But after a box of tissues empty and your lack of will to stand up from the bed, it was in his best interest to carry you--in your protest, to Dr. Banner's office just to have him check on you. You have now vowed never to let even a sniffle be unchecked by Bruce or any other doctor available in the compound.

"One of this days, I will shove a Golden Apple of Idunn to stop myself from worrying about you." he muttered realizing you weren't sick with the smile still playing on your face.

"What's that?" You inquired, leaning towards him more. The coolness of his skin permeated and you found comfort as he had pulled you closer into his arms., until you now rested on his lip, facing him in the same manner eyes gazing at you.

"A fruit in Asgard." He began, with a flick of his wrist, an illusion of a golden apple comes floating between the two of you. "It grants us youth, vigour and sometimes even immortality to Midgardians."

So there was a way for you to experience that kind of life.

"But..." You trailed off. You know there would be a catch with this sorts of things. Knowing life, the general balance that came with life and death, there will always be a condition to this.

"No catch. You will not lose a limb or lose your sanity." he smirked, the apple fading away as his cold comforting hands now cupped your cheeks. "It is a matter of if one mortal is willing to throw away their humanity, their family and friends for the sake of an immortality and the uncertainty of it."

Would you really be leaving anyone behind? You never had a good relationship with your parents growing up, and the last time you talked with any of your siblings was years now. You barely even know at this point how their life was at and what you were doing besides being a freeloader in the Avengers Compound, like they had bluntly told you one call during Christmas.

The friends you had now, mostly the Avengers, had a higher life expectancy--unless death comes to them in another way. But they were all that you could really call as family. The only ones that actually matter.

"Do you have one with you?" You inquired. Such a change was profound, something many would think more than twice about, but seeing him, seeing what you have in store in the form of a Trickster God that had vowed to worship the ground you walk in.

"Depends." He cupped your cheeks. Thumb caressing against your bottom lip. "Are you going to take it if I do have one?"

"Will you let me?" You smirked leaning closer to him now. The warmth of his breath and the coldness of his touch was a perfect contrast.

"My want and what you may need maybe completely different from one another, My Love." The way his blue hues fall from your face, now a deep thought lingered just as much as you had come to terms about the difference it may be. "I cannot make you choose to stay even if I want to. I accept the curse of immortality, making the most of what we already have."

"What if I want the apple? Will you give it to me right now?" You asked again.

"More than ever."

'

"Will you not get tired of me?"

"Never." he shook his head, once again meeting your eyes. The brilliance of his azure eyes only made your decision more evident.

Maybe it would be a selfish decision, but you wanted this, you wanted this little things. This little moments with Loki wouldn't be limited. Forever seems like such a long time, but with him, with him in your life and by your side, maybe it wouldn't be so scary as many would try to convince her as such.

"Forever with you doesn't sound too bad." you assured finally standing back up to your two feet, Loki's hands now held onto your hands, refusing to let you go. "I've got you and everything else doesn't seem too bad."

"Even when you have to also live just as long as the oaf Thor?" he smirked, the seriousness of their conversation was long gone now.

"Don't make me change my mind Loki with such an argument." you snapped, walking away from the library to the cackle of your loving boyfriend.

What you had failed to realize that in the evening, you would get what you want.

[rockislandadultreads]

Romance & Epic Fantasies: a booklist

checkout these ebooks on Hoopla with your local library card!

The Night & Its Moon by Piper C.J.

Farleigh is just an orphanage. At least, that’s what the church would have the people believe, but beautiful orphans Nox and fae-touched Amaris know better. They are commodities for sale, available for purchase by the highest bidder. So when the madame of a notorious brothel in a far-off city offers a king’s ransom to purchase Amaris, Nox ends up taking her place — while Amaris is drawn away to the mountains, home of mysterious assassins. Even as they take up new lives and identities, Nox and Amaris never forget one thing: they will stop at nothing to reunite. But the threat of war looms overhead, and the two are inevitably swept into a conflict between human and fae, magic and mundane. With strange new alliances, untested powers, and a bond that neither time nor distance could possibly break, the fate of the realms lies in the hands of two orphans — and the love they hold for one another.

King of Battle and Blood by Scarlett St. Clair

Their Union Is His Revenge. Isolde de Lara considers her wedding day her death day. To end a years-long war, she is to marry vampire king, Adrian Aleksandr Vasiliev, and kill him. But her assassination attempt is thwarted and Adrian threatens that if Isolde tries to kill him again, he will raise her as the undead. Faced with the possibility of becoming the thing she hates most, Isolde seeks other ways to defy him and survive the brutal vampire court. Except it isn’t the court she fears most — it’s Adrian. Despite their undeniable chemistry, she wonders why the king — fierce, savage, merciless — chose her as consort. The answer will shatter her world.

Songs of the Wicked by C.A. Farran

Fear is not my master. I will never submit. A grave threat looms over the mortal world. The veil that separates the realms has weakened over time, and monsters-Undesirables-claw their way out of the Netherworld to torment the living. What once dwelled in whispered stories now stalks the shadows. The only guard against chaos is balance. Reapers are duty bound to uphold that balance, tasked with guiding mortal souls to the afterlife. Lark secretly dreams of shedding her immortal chains and forging her own path. She's captivated by the humans and envies their freedom, their passion, their anguish. Her master, Thanar, god of death, forbids this fascination and demands her utmost loyalty. When Lark encounters a mortal whose fire and suffering awakens something in her, she denies fate and saves him, refusing to guide him to his death. To escape Thanar's wrath, Lark makes a deal with the witch-queen of the Netherworld and is remade as human-trading her power for mortality. She flees through the veil and enters the land of the living, unaware she isn't the only one freed from the clutches of the Netherworld.

A Promise of Fire by Amanda Bouchet

KINGDOMS WILL RISE AND FALL FOR HER... Cat Fisa isn't who she pretends to be. She's perfectly content disguised as a soothsayer in a traveling circus, avoiding the destiny the Gods—and her dangerous family—have saddled her with. As far as she's concerned, the magic humming within her blood can live and die with her. She won't be anyone’s pawn. But then she locks eyes with an ambitious warlord from the magic-deprived south and her illusion of safety is shattered forever. Griffin knows Cat is the Kingmaker—the woman able to divine truth through lies—and he wants her to be a powerful weapon for his newly conquered realm. Kidnapping her off the street is simple enough, but keeping her by his side is infuriatingly tough. Cat fights him at every turn, showing a ferocity of spirit that burns hot...and leaves him desperate for more. But can he ever hope to prove to his once-captive that he wants her there by his side as his equal, his companion—and maybe someday, his Queen? Discover the white-hot fantasy willing to break all the rules.

[youryanderedaddy]

♡100 followers special♡

Guys, I would like to thank all of you for all the support since I started this blog, you are the best <3 Btw this is the fic Elon Musk doesn’t want you to see lol, jk jk 

Title: Humanity

Words: 3.6k 

Summary: When you get sold to an odd looking robot after the last failure of a rebellion, things go better than you had expected. Until they don’t. 

tw: robot/AI apocalypse au, dystopia au, slavery, slight non - sexual public nudity, discrimination, vulgar language, mention of death and child abuse (in the past), obsessive behavior, non - consensual touching, angst 

              AD 3061y., 14 September

 Your hometown was in ruins, shattered by the Forces and left without any source of food, clean water or reliable manpower. The rebellion had failed just like the first ten attempts and as much as you had wanted to believe this time would be different, your dreams stayed nothing more than a way to cope with the harsh reality. Any intelligent individual had either managed to flee before the prosecution or died in agony while trying. You could still hear their pained screams ringing in your ear, the desperate look in their pupils sealed forever in your mind along with the sound of heavy breathing slowly fading into the background like your own hopes for a better future.

 The ones who decided to play meek and close their eyes to the inhuman torture happening in the area were spared, but what awaited them could potentially be worse than death itself. You were part of the flock of pitiful weak humans who had surrendered to the heartless machines wanting nothing more than to see mankind squirm and kneel underneath their mechanic heel like a bug. And now you would face the hour of judgment – tired and exhausted, heavy rusty chains around your bruised ankles making every next step a little harder than the last one. But you were certain that the most painful humiliating event hadn’t taken place yet and the thought made your blood run cold. You could recall the countless stories you used to hear on the streets from your friends about androids stealing kids and selling them like cattle to the most powerful leaders of society. Back then you would laugh at them, finding the ideas ridiculous, better fit for a conspiracy theory or a legend rather than an actual threat. But during that time life was easier – the robots were still your friends, just your average citizens, equal to the humans in every manner. It wasn’t until ten years later that some of them realized just how much better, stronger and smarter than the people they really were. That’s how the apocalypse started and that’s how it was going to end. These days the mortals were becoming extinct with the population cut down to one million. You didn’t have names or rights to any possession. Your mere survival had one purpose only – to entertain the machines so they could feel human again. And right now you were being dragged to Soraq, also known as the biggest slave market in the country.

----

 It was just as terrifying as you had imagined it to be. The Capital was supposed to express wealth, luxury and maybe even happiness but your old human views were easily opposed when faced with the mud  covering what was left of the pavement and the pale exhausted bodies of the mortals wandering the streets searching for a hot meal and a little bit of kindness it was clear no one wanted to provide. You reached out to help a young girl sobbing all by herself on the ground but the Officer roughly yanked your shoulder back and ordered you to keep going – his cold hard touch was enough to bruise your skin.

 After a few long minutes of uncertainty your keeper finally stopped, pulling you up some black stairs leading to a small stage and if you weren’t too busy looking around for the others who were captured, you might have noticed the crowd gathered inches away from you. Soon enough you were forced to redirect your attention as you heard the approving screams and cheering below. There were hundreds of robots staring at you, smirking maliciously, pinning you with their cold calculating gazes. You finally realized that this wasn’t just a bad dream or a nightmare, something unreal you could easily run away from by opening your eyes. You were about to become property and the worst part was the way the cruel machines perfectly resembled people – they looked the same except for the dark red pupils each possessed which glowed when going into a fight mode. But unlike humans the androids had gotten rid of their most intimate emotions and fears, turning themselves into empty shells, shiny and murderous with no way to experience anything properly, be it pleasure or pain.

 “Ladies and gentlemen!” The Officers started off with a low chuckle, his heavy hand wrapped tightly around your arm. His voice should have been programmed to be monotone but now it had a playful edge to it. “Today our dear subjects have decided to be feisty yet again. They still haven’t learned their lesson it seems.” He grinned eerily, quickly followed by the mocking laugher of the crowd. Some even shouted slurs and insults but you tried to focus on controlling your feelings. You needed to stay calm if you wanted to survive. “We really can’t expect more from the mankind. They are primal after all, they just can’t learn from their mistakes.” The male robot paused for a second to fix his microphone. “It’s in their DNA code to be foolish and pathetic. That’s why we need to take better care of them.” He whispered the last line down your neck and despite knowing that the machines didn’t have actual lungs, you could swear you felt his cold breath on your sensitive skin.

 “The woman is in her early twenties. Her background is unknown, but she certainly looks like someone you would want in your collection.” The android continued talking as if you weren’t there, his hands all over your tinier frame. The mass was yelling, but you only made out the words „down”, „strip” and „human”. Your eyes watered involuntarily and you let the tears stream down your cheeks in spite of the weakness they showed. It didn’t matter – it couldn’t get any worse so you could at least let yourself experience such little bits of comfort. In the next moment the Officer ripped your old ragged t-shirt, exposing your breasts to the cold autumn air. The hot red humiliation washed over you as the degrading whistles pierced trough your heart. It was such a cruel unfair punishment and you couldn’t even keep your composure long enough to not break down ugly – crying right there.

 “The bidding starts at one thousand eros!” The robot’s evil voice echoed through the area, reaching the market borders. Suddenly all the attention was on your scared vulnerable half-naked self. More than ten androids raised their hands, making your stomach turn in terror. Most of them had unpleasant appearances, resembling old people, usually men. “Do we have two thousand eros?” The officer added quickly afterwards having seen the shown interest. This time there were only five bots willing to buy you for so much money – but the show was far from over. “Am I seeing three thousand eros?” Your keeper kept going, determined to drain your bidders off their wealth, but to his utmost surprise now there were only two robots with their hands in the air – one seemingly younger and the other looking all wrinkled and bitter at the world. You silently prayed that fate would work in your favor only this time and hand you over to the man who would treat you more like a living being and less like an object.

 “Ten thousand eros.” Suddenly the android with a kinder appearance declared out loud, his cold stern gaze fixed onto you. The other male hesitated for a moment, probably wondering whether or not you were worth so much money, but at the end he cursed under his breath and slowly put his hand down with a sour expression. “Sold to K-010 for ten thousand eros!” The automatic voice of the Officer was ringing in your ear like an alarm while the crowd was shouting and cussing, some going as far as to criticize your new owner for giving up his monthly salary for a “cheap human whore”. Next he was invited on the stage to sign off all the needed documents leading to your freedom being ripped away forever and you were injected with a tiny chip which would make your location visible to your buyer at any given time. The android looked at you soon after and in one swift move he managed to place his leather coat on your shoulders, muttering at you to cover up. You obeyed, embarrassed by the reminder that your upper half was still fully exposed to all the hungry prying immortals. When the chains were finally removed, the robot took you by the hand and led you to a small white flying car with a yellow lily drawn on top – the brand was popular among the most powerful members of the Forces.

 “Don’t even think about running away.” K-010 growled when he noticed the way your attention drifted to the nearby road before finally taking your seat. You knew it was pointless now that the tracking device was deep into your skin but deep down you still couldn’t kill the last bit of hope screaming at you to do something before you were too far away to find home again, wherever it was. “If you so much as look outside while we drive, I will use my lasers to turn you into ash. Okay?” You nodded meekly and sank into the soft comfortable seat, wishing that your body would stop shaking in fear but to no avail.

---

 The journey was long and silent but it made you remember the days when music was still allowed and you used to turn the radio all the way up in your mother’s car. You would sing loudly until your throat hurt and your friends would ask you to just shut up and focus on the road. Everything was so normal and happy back then. The stinging nostalgia threatened to overcome so you tried to focus on something else. You finally faced your owner in an attempt to study his appearance. He was probably in his late twenties, his hair white with some black locks here and there, a fashion trend you usually didn’t care much for. You couldn’t afford to bother with your hairstyle when you were constantly running for your life after all. The robotic male had sun-kissed brown skin, he was taller than most human men and his lips seemed softer than most robots’. But the biggest mystery laid in his deep dark eyes, they looked scarlet at first but the more you stared, the easier it was to realize the color was actually brown.

 “Are you a cyborg, K-010?” You asked in a small voice out of the blue, breaking the peace and quiet in the air. The android didn’t spare you much attention with his gaze fixed onto the open sky serving as a road, still he opened his mouth slightly to respond. “My name is Kyle, the numbers are just a formality.” He inhaled sharply as if he was reminiscing a bad memory. “And yes, I am biologically human – just with a few practical upgrades.” You had heard of such people before, the ones willing to become an experiment so they could join the high society oppressing their own neighbors, friends and relatives, setting the lands on fire and destroying the dying environment but you had never met one until today. Honestly, you felt betrayed. It was one thing to be some unfeeling machine’s plaything and entirely another to be owned by someone with a functioning heart even though they weren’t too keen on using it properly.

 “Why would you do that?” You couldn’t stop the question from leaving your lips in the next moment. “You should know what humans have to go through just to stay alive. Today hundreds of us were crushed and sold like some animals! Yet you changed yourself to appeal to their disgusting standards.” You raised your voice, the hot tears already spilling down your cheeks yet again, your fists clenched in pure anger at the foolish greedy man. He simply shook his head and leaned back. “I had my reasons, sweetheart. You don’t know anything.” With that the conversation had ended, you could try and argue or even blame him for being a selfish bastard but it wouldn’t have done you any good so you decided against it. It didn’t matter much anymore.

----

 A few months went by slowly even though time meant little to someone in your position. Living with Kyle wasn’t as terrible as you thought it would be – his mansion was big and spacious, luxurious even. You had your own room and you were allowed to explore the house in your free time. You didn’t have many duties to attend to, your work mostly revolved around cooking, cleaning and keeping company with your owner when he was too tired to keep the robotic mask on and just wanted something sweet, something weak, something more human around. He didn’t want much out of you so you tried to do your best and stay on his good side – there was always a warm meal waiting at the table at night, every window was carefully wiped from the previous dust and the glass was now shining brightly, and you would listen for hours on end to the cyborg’s ramblings no matter how dreadful it could be sometimes.

 But it couldn’t be denied that the man had some odd habits, even if you were to overlook him buying a living being instead of simply hiring a maid. For example, you knew how thin the walls actually were because you could hear him cry almost every night. The half-robot would hold you close any time the news were too loud or a bottle of beer had fallen and shattered on the ground. Still you weren’t allowed to leave his home so all the doors leading to the outside world were locked while he was away or at work. And there were these weird long cuts on his shoulders you had managed to take notice of the first time your master had asked you to bathe him. You hadn’t meant to prey upon his naked form, but the task had been so awkward you needed something to focus on to drive the unpleasant thoughts away. The injuries looked deep and the man would close his eyes any time the soap made contact with them. Finally one day you gathered the courage to ask him what had caused the raw scratches. You were messaging his scalp gently, applying jasmine in his roots, trying to soothe his nerves and get to the information.

 “ ’S not important. ” K-010 answered lazily while arching his back into your touch. More often than not the male would melt under your care and you couldn’t help but wonder just how lonely it was to be neither a human nor a machine. “She is dead now.” He whispered darkly, secretly hoping it wouldn’t reach your ear, yet it did. “Who is dead?” You questioned him after a while, stroking his wet locks until you heard him moan. You were getting better and better at provoking a reaction from the cyborg and despite knowing it was manipulative and a little devious, he was still the ruthless owner who held your one and only life in his palms. You needed to be sneaky if you wanted a safe, comfortable life.

 “My mother.” Kyle added quickly before looking at the blue ceiling, the glossy material copying both of your reflections. The mention of the woman made the sensitive skin of his nape crawl but he kept talking. “The crazy bitch used to beat me every. She even tried to kill me a couple of times.” A slight smile appeared on his full red lips. “It didn’t work out in the end, unfortunately.” So that’s where the cuts were from – he had been violated in his childhood by no other than the person supposed to look after him. You had always hated abusive parents taking advantage of their authority and even now your own imagination made your heart ache at the picture it painted. A small boy being hit over and over until there his whole body was bruised and bloodied. A child with no one to turn to. It didn’t excuse your master’s evil doing but it certainly explained a lot. “Don’t make such a sad face, darling.” He cooed at you, reaching out to pinch your cheek. “I will always be grateful to the Forces since they gave me the power I needed to finally free myself from her grasp. I even buried her myself after everything was said and done.” Kyle grinned from side to side like a little kid waiting to be praised for the picture they had drawn, except now the man was speaking of the way he had murdered his mother. You were at a total loss of words, suddenly too frightened to respond.

 “What’s so special about being a human anyways?” The cyborg grumbled, sounding almost offended of the words you still haven’t said but were definitely thinking deep down. You were staring forward unable to draw away from that one crack in the wall, his words flying above your head. Your confusion was interrupted by the man quickly raising to his knees and catching both of your hands with his strong robotized ones. The cold touch of the metal combined with the camouflage of a soft skin was enough to mess your mind even further into the maze that was his dark gaze. Next thing you knew the male had you pinned on the hard ground, spotlessly clean and reeking of abstergent. You tried to squirm away but the hold of your wrists was too tight and strong to even make your struggling worth the trouble. “Just look at how weak you humans are.” K-010 taunted you, smirking teasingly, cruelly, yet there was something desperate in his eyes, something hidden. “You are so fragile I could probably break you if I were to press harder on your flesh.” He whispered into your ear, breathing down your neck as he dug his icy fingers into your collarbone and made you whimper pathetically at the dull pain. “People are foolish creatures, illogical by nature. They try to fight authority yet the moment they are left with a free choice, they find a way to run from their responsibilities.” The cyborg chuckled maliciously while digging his nails further into your skin.

 “We might be doomed forever because of our emotions but there is something you fail to consider.” You finally spoke out despite your rapid heartbeat and fear so great it could defeat death herself. The predator already had you in his sharp claws and there was no pointing in playing coy anymore. The worst had come to worst. Your words caught the attention of the half-robot and he licked his lips in anticipation to hear what you had to say. “Unlike the androids we can still experience love. And at the end a life without love is a life wasted in the big picture. We might be mortal but you are the ones waiting to die instead of living.” You spat at the man fiercely, ready to face any punishment he would bestow upon your weak tired body for the sheer honesty. Instead he started laughed maniacally, the sound so loud it hit the ceiling and echoed through the house like a pained scream and so violent his shoulders shook to the sides. For the first time his eyes were glowing in a bright red color so saturated and vivid you couldn’t stand to look at them.

 “This is really funny, my little human.” Kyle pronounced carefully, having calmed down. He lowered his head so that his lips were ghosting over yours, just brushing against them. “I belong with neither humans nor robots so why does my chest ache every time I look at you? Tell me, darling, am I in love?” His voice was harsh, husky – as if he was purposely trying to sound evil but the tears in his eyes pointed at another feeling. A raw painful feeling.

 You couldn’t reply not only because you had no idea what to say after the confession but also because you couldn’t breathe properly with his pretty, wicked face so close to yours. Your silence only managed to stir the cyborg up further into his madness and he kissed you roughly, hungrily lapping and biting at your lips until they were sore and bruised, the robotic man more than happy to lick the small drops of blood off. For a moment you considered kicking or shouting for help but there wasn’t anyone willing to in the radius of kilometers. No one of significance cared much about the few remaining mortals. “I could never love you.” You uttered weakly, half – heartedly pushing the man away. You were all alone in this and there wasn’t really a point in fighting someone so much bigger and stronger, yet a sad little part of you hoped that Kyle would leave you alone if you made it clear enough just how much his actions were hurting you.

  “It’s fine if you don’t love me by choice.” Your master replied calmly in a cold piercing voice. His hands were wandering through your form stopping at your hips to draw them into his. The pretty dress you used to like so much was now crumpled and reeking of him, torn apart from your shivering body and thrown away. You wished you could cry but all the adrenaline had left you too uneasy to process the pain and fear. Kyle whispered in your ear while stroking your hair gently and it made you feel like a trembling sheep before a starved butcher. “I own you, little human.” He placed a small kiss on your hot sensitive neck. “And I have enough love for both of us.”

[skellebonez]

Who Do I Go To? (Monkie Kid Fanfic)

I totally did not accidentally post this early before I edited it or added everything from my wip file... no... but anon, you gave me so much FREEDOM with this that I just went absolutely off the rails. This is not only set in a post S3 scenario where everyone survives and most of the villains have some kind of at least semi-redemption (except LBD, rip), this does feature a crackship or two of mine (you can read the tags to see the ships before you read)! Sun Wukong also has all of his immortality and some of his powers, I am writing this with the idea that he transferred most of them to MK and some of that was permanent once LBD was defeated and MK got his own back.

So... what if Sun Wukong did start communicating with the others in S3... but still has been bottling up his emotions about the past for so long he doesn’t feel he can talk to anyone because of their shared experiences? And what happens when that guilt and grief finally has someone willing to listen?

“What are you doing here, Si-SUN Wukong?” The Demon Bull King asked slowly, stumbling over his usual insult for the one once so close to him. They still weren’t close, and it was doubtful they would ever be as long as the sworn brothers they once were, but they were no longer at each other’s throats anymore.

That didn’t change how bizarre it was to see The Great Sage Equal To Heaven just... sitting outside his new home with no warning.

“DBK!” Wukong exclaimed, more startled than the larger demon was expecting as he jumped up and turned and if he didn’t look like he’d been hit with a truck metaphorically DBK didn’t know how to describe the way his fur stood on end and the redness in the other’s eyes. “I. UH. Was. Just stopping by to say hi!”

“No you weren’t,” DBK said, face falling into a deadpan glower. “You don’t do that. Even after 500 years I know you don’t.”

“I can start!” Wukong defended, crossing his arms and looking away with a wide teeth showing smile.

Too wide.

Even after everything that happened between them, from Red Boy to what happened when he needed his wife’s fan to sealing him in the mountain and everything that transpired with the Little Thief, he recognized that unhappy nervous smile.

“You can,” DBK said with a nod, gesturing to the smaller being. “You can also be here for a reason. Like what I heard you muttering to yourself behind the door.”

“And that’s my cue to leave!” The Monkey King announced as he turned to walk away before a large hand, with shocking gentleness for the one attached to it, wrapped around his shoulders.

“If you need to talk-”

“No, haha, I most certainly have no need for that!”

“-you know we’ve already made peace. I-”

“You don’t need to do anything,” Wukong insisted, struggling only a little before freeing himself from the other’s grip with an even wider nervous smile.

“-am willing to listen.”

“Don’t have to!”

“Are you at least talking to anyone?”

Neither of them said anything, The Demon Bull King staring down at The Monkey King with both frustrated annoyance and genuine concern in his expression.

The former he could deal with, but the later was so new again that...

Sun Wukong panicked.

“.... OKEY BYE!” He yelled, jumping and allowing his cloud to catch him and take him off.

"YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM YOUR FEELINGS FOREVER SUN WUKONG!"

"I HID FROM THE WORLD FOR 500 YEARS AND I TURNED OUT JUST FINE, I THINK I'LL MANAGE!"

“He turned out fine, he says,” Princess Iron Fan called from behind her husband as she emerged from their home. “So fine that it took him losing his invincibility and his successor nearly being killed for him to admit he needed help.”

DBK grunted, nodding in agreement at her words.

“He needs more, still, my dear. Even I can see that.”

“Let’s call in some reinforcements then, darling. I think there are two people who may be able to get through to him.”

~

Sun Wukong sat on the beach of Mount Huaguo’s island home, clearly trying not to think about what had just transpired.

“Hey.”

“How did you even know to look for me here?” Sun Wukong asked, not nearly as startled this time. He’d heard the footsteps coming for a long time, the other apparently wanting to make his presence known.

“Bull King called Pigsy’s asking for MK. MK called me since he’s working. I remembered where you like to sulk. Hence: I’m here.”

Wukong groaned, wrapping his arms around his knees and burying his face in them. “I shouldn’t have even left the house today.”

“But you left,” Macaque said with a shrug, watching the other stew in his frustration at himself. “And you went to see DBK... and I guess Princess Iron Fan too? But you ran off. Why?”

“I can’t check up on an old friend turned enemy turned less enemy to ‘not exactly friend but we’re not trying to kill each other’ without being questioned?” Wukong grumbled into his arms.

“Not when you make him sound as worried as he did when he talked to MK,” Macaque continued, voice becoming more tense. “You didn’t go to apologize or explain anything, I was there when all that went down. So... did you finally go to talk about everything e-”

“No.” The word was said with such coldness that Macaque knew it was put on. It wasn’t out of malice but something else, something more worried and fearful. “No. I can’t talk to him about... I told him everything that explained what happened. I apologized. I don’t need to talk more.”

"I don't understand why you're so opposed to to just talking about, you know... how you’re doing," Macaque said with a concerned frown. It almost felt odd on his face. Almost. He was still getting used to the whole "not being mortal eternal enemies and now being friends and kinda sorta caring about each other again" thing. "I know it's been centuries and all and you're out of practice but like... it's been centuries."

"I just... can't, Macaque," Wukong rebutted as he refused to lift his head from his arms. "I just can't."

"Why?"

"Don't."

The single word stayed in their air between them, heavy and hard and meaning more than the immortal would ever admit to.

"Come on, there has to be a reason," Macaque insisted as he sat down beside the other immortal. When no response came he sighed, tail flicking absently and flipping over some of the rocks on the beach as they sat in silence for few minutes. "You know... I started talking to someone."

"What?" Wukong turned his head, just enough to look at the other monkey from the corner of his eye.

“Sandy’s a good listener,” Macaque continued, falling back down to lay flat on his back and gaze up at the clouds. He remembered that Wukong felt better, sometimes, when you looked away when talked to. Didn’t know why, but he remembered. “Not exactly the kind of therapy he thinks I need, but he lends me his cats and he lets me talk and sometimes asks if I want advice. Sometimes I say yes, but when I say no he understands. Sometimes I just want to rant at that one little one eyed cat he has and she listened to... I think. She’s a cat so I wouldn’t know. He thinks I should see someone more experienced, an expert. Maybe he’s right, I dunno, but this helps enough for now.

“... who are you and what have you done with the Six-Eared Macaque?” Wukong asked with a soft glower, one that was clearly in jest from the tiny smile the other could see.

“Same Macaque,” the other said with a laugh, sitting back up with a theatrical flourish. “Just realized that talking to someone isn’t as dumb or useless as I made it out to be in my head. A lot of the stuff I thought about alone wasn’t exactly the best. Or healthiest. But now I can get that out there and sometimes it makes Sandy look like he ate a whole lime which probably means it’s good it’s not in my head anymore.”

“You ramble a lot,” Wukong said with a chuckle, tail swishing softly beside him before nudging against Macaque’s. He tensed before it slowly wrapped around the other’s. “It feels odd, having you try to cheer me up again after... everything.”

“Bad odd or good odd?”

“Good.”

“That’s.... good,” Macaque said, squeezing Wukong’s tail with his own. “Feels odd for me too. Like I’m out of practice too. But it’s good odd...” The two sat in silence for a moment, just enjoying each other’s company before he continued. “I do think you should talk to someone. Anyone.”

“I don’t know who, though. Every time I try I just... clam up and run away. I’ve put so much on MK already,” Wukong said, tail squeezing around Macaque’s loosely in return. “And Pigsy and Sandy... After all that came out, that Sandy is Sha Wujing and Pigsy is Zhu Bajie’s reincarnation... I just... I can’t talk to them either, even though Pigsy doesn’t remember anything at all. And you... DBK... everyone... who do I go to that knows enough about me to know what they’re in for but I won’t have those memories floating around in the back of my head toward making me run away?”

“Well, you could have Sandy help you get a therapist. Prepare them in advance. Or, if you’re not ready for that, you could talk to Tang?” Macaque suggested with a shrug. “He listens to me when I’m not talking to Sandy... but that’s probably because we’re dating, that’s what it is now instead of courting, right? So he kinda has to I think? Pigsy and MK talk to him too but with me I think it’s different.”

"I don't think that's how it works," Wukong said with a half hearted chuckle as he finally raised his head all the way. "Besides, I've known Tang longer."

"By like 3 months."

"3 months more is still enough to know that if he doesn't want to listen to you he won't. The man knows how to make a speedy exit."

"Guess that's one more thing that sets him apart from his great-great-great-great-great-whatever uncle," Macaque admitted with a shrug and a chuckle of his own. He squeezed his tail around Wukong's, smile softening when he felt it being returned.

“Feels... weird though,” Wukong said with a shrug. “The two of them looking so much alike.”

“Yeah, but that’s it,” Macaque rebutted. “He’s Tang Sanzang’s great-whatever nephew 5 times removed or whatever and he looks like him. Other than that? He knows pretty much all of your history. He’s mostly out of the hero worship zone but he still respects you a lot. Aside from everything that happened with LBD and MK you two have the least history out of everyone so maybe whatever’s in your head making you clam up might not stop you. And it couldn't hurt to try. It’s not therapy, it’s just talking about something that’s bothering you. Worst that can happen is you get nervous and fumble and he takes the opportunity to ask you 40 questions about the times you were almost incinerated by a baby."

"That was one time!"

~

“Uh,” Tang started, staring out the open door with wide eyes at the being before him. “Hi. I didn’t exactly expect to you see today.”

“I didn’t exactly expect to be here today,” Wukong said awkwardly, nervous smile taking over his face as his tone became far too jovial for what he was about to ask. “Macaque sent me to... talk to you. About me?” His smile drooped bit by bit as he said these words, slowly starting to lose his determination to go through with this. “Oh second thought, maybe I should-”

"No," Tang said, reaching out to put a hand on the immortal's shoulder. It was nothing, really, not to someone as strong as he was. Not when he could brush it off and walk away. Go home. Just sit on his couch and watch Monkey King The Animated Series again and just think about how no one deserved to be saddled with his problems anymore. But Wukong didn't. "Whatever it is, we’re going to talk about this now. I know I’m not trained like Sandy is, but I know how to listen. And if you need someone to listen to you, I can. You wouldn't have come here to talk if you didn't."

“... ok...” Sun Wukong said, letting Tang wrap his arm around his back and guide him inside his shared home with Pigsy and Macaque.

It was... odd. Being inside this place for the first time. He’d been outside of the door more than once, invited in as well. But never inside.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Tang said, stopping his guidance once they reached the sofa. “I’m no Sandy, but I was making myself some tea and it is a batch of his own anyway. I’ll grab us some snacks too.”

“Snacks would be great,” Wukong admitted, watching the other disappear into the house’s kitchen before he sighed and gripped his thrashing tail and muttered to himself. “What am I doing..? I shouldn’t put all this on Tang... I should have gone with Macaque’s first suggestion, I’m-”

“Do you prefer lychee or persimmon?” Tang asked suddenly, startling the immortal for the second time that day. “We’re out of peach bao, but MK’s been making them out of lots of fruits and we have so many that I was planning on eating them myself.”

The scholar returned, faster than expected, with a full tray in hand. Teapot, two tea cups, and a steamer box that presumably held the buns he was asking about.

“Uh... persimmon,” Wukong answered, and he watched as Tang poured each of them a cup of tea and removed some clearly fresh (or at least made some time earlier in the day and freshly steamed), pieces of fruit laden bao to put on a plate for his guest before taking a seat in a chair across from him. “You were... getting lunch?”

Tang shrugged, laughing as he took a bite of one of his own. “Just wanted a snack. But,” He smiled, gesturing to the Monkey King. “We’re not here to talk about snacks. What’s on your mind?”

“Awfully forward start.”

“I try to be forward with the people I consider my friends.”

“... You consider me... a friend?” Wukong asked slowly, turning the bao over in his hands. It was well made, perfect he would say. You’d think MK would have been making them all his life, not that he’d learned how to on the drone ship while on the run from an evil super demon bent on erasing his mentor from the world.

“After everything we went through, how could I not?” Tang said, putting his food down to sip his tea and then putting that down as well and looking at him seriously. “You’re here because it’s the anniversary of the day you sealed away the Demon Bull King, aren’t you?”

The bao in his hands wasn’t perfect anymore. Instead the red lychee inside dripped from his claws from where they punctured it in surprise.

“How did you-?”

“My specialty study is your history after all,” Tang said, smile returning with a sad tint. “I’ve known the date for years but I felt it was something to keep to myself. For some reason. Now with you and DBK back I think that was a good choice. It feels too personal to have out in the open for everyone to make a spectacle of.”

“Is it selfish of me to be thankful for that?” Wukong muttered, gently placing the bao on the plate to lick his claws clean.

“I don’t think so,” Tang answered.

“I feel selfish though,” he continued, not managing to take note of how Tang sat up straighter and turned more toward him. “I went to DBK’s to... I don’t know. I wanted to apologize again? But I already did and he accepted it and it feels selfish to want to again. Then I just. I froze.”

“Why?” Tang asked, scooting closer.

“It felt wrong.”

“Because you would make him feel awkward?”

“NO!” Wukong groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I just. I feel...” He took in a shaky breath, claws digging into his skin slightly.

“Don’t,” Tang’s voice came soft and closer than Wukong expected, as did the hands on his own slowly pulling his claws away from his face. “Don’t hurt yourself. And don’t bottle it up. I’ll listen to you. No matter what it is. It’s not selfish, feeling things isn’t selfish.”

“I miss it,” Wukong breathed out, shaky and choppy as his throat tightened as the words started to pour out of him. “I miss him. How things used to be between us and Iron Fan. I miss that I never got to meet Red Son when he was Red Boy. I miss Beng and Ba and Ma and Liu and how things used to be. I miss Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing even though they’re here. I miss my Tang Sanzang. I’d been alone for 500 years and I missed so much and I did that to myself and it’s selfish to miss like that...”

He didn’t realize his cheeks were wet until his hands had been let go and one of Tang’s rubbed a cloth against them. Tang cupped his cheeks softly before wrapping his arms around him and tucking the Monkey King’s head into the space between his neck and shoulder.

“No... no it’s not. You’re allowed to miss things, Sun Wukong. Just like anyone else.”

Sun Wukong started to feel better.

He didn’t know why that was what did it, but the dam broke. It broke and his tears came pouring out as he hugged the man who reminded him so much of his Master. He didn’t know if anything he said in the mean time made any sense, if he was just blubbering and finally letting himself mourn what he’d lost and never had, but Tang didn’t ever chastise him. He let him weep and hold him and for the first time in years...

~

“Oh!” Princess Iron Fan startled as she opened the door to see who had knocked, finding herself face to face at sunset with one Great Sage. “You’ve returned.”

“Are you and DBK free?” Sun Wukong asked, smile no longer too wide. “I... kinda just wanna talk with you for a bit.”

“Well... I think that would be lovely.”

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

What Cristabel Did

EXTENSIVE SPOILERS for Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth below. If you haven’t read both books, skip the rest of this post. In fact just get off tumblr and go read them instead. I guarantee they’re better than anything else you’ll find here. 

I think I know why John Gaius didn’t tell his disciples about the perfect Lyctorhood, and I don’t think it had to do with sharing power or with AL. I think it’s the same reason why Augustine and Mercymorn hate each other, why Anastasia was the only one to figure out the Eightfold Word, and why Mercy doesn’t want to hear her cavalier’s name.

tl;dr I think Cristabel and Alfred tried to kill some number of the original disciples, forcing them to try for lyctorhood before the ritual was fully understood, and John kept quiet because he didn’t want to tell them they’d killed their cavaliers for nothing.

The handwritten note at the end of the sermon on cavaliers and necromancers says, “valancy says one flesh one end sounds like instructions for a sex toy. can’t stop thinking about that so can someone stop cris and alfred before the sex toy phrase catches on, thanks.” This early in the Nine Houses’ history the entire concept of necromancer and cavalier is still being figured out. It sounds like Cristabel and Alfred were the main drivers behind the idea of the cavalier-necromancer relationship as a formal, sacred oath, coming up with the phrase “one flesh, one end” in the process. Much much later Silas Octakiseron brands the ritual of lyctorhood a mortal sin and heresy as soon as he hears what it entails, because he treats the cavalier-necromancer bond as a sacrament akin to a holy marriage. To trespass against that bond, he declares, was to sin against the Emperor himself. The sermon before the handwritten note backs up that idea, talking about the combination as having all sorts of profound religious symbolism.

Therefore: what if the disciples were working on the ritual of lyctorhood and hadn’t yet figured the cavalier didn’t have to die, when Cristabel and Alfred decided they had to take action to keep any of them from trying? What if, like Silas in Canaan House, Cristabel decided the idea of the adept killing their cavalier was rank heresy and had to be prevented by any means necessary, and convinced Alfred of it as well? Cristabel was from the Eighth House, though early enough that it may not have taken on its hardline personality - then again, perhaps Cristabel’s actions are why it did take on that hardline personality. Augustine calls her an idiot, but also “a fanatic,” and his own brother someone who “regretted that he wasn’t.”

Augustine says that he became a lyctor “under scrambling pressure,” and when Harrow tells the Emperor that she became a lyctor under duress, he replies, “You aren’t the first.” Then when Augustine is talking to John about Alfred, he says, “I have built an entire myriad on the idea that I could’ve made him come around, given five minutes.” That’s in response to John saying, “No one could make him do anything he didn’t want to.” That could mean either Augustine thinks he could have talked Alfred into willingly dying to perform the ritual, or that he could have talked Alfred out of doing something else dire. The way John phrases it makes me think it’s the latter, because in the context of the conversation they’re discussing Cristabel’s influence, and John knows that the lyctoral ritual can be performed even if the cavalier is unwilling. 

So: Cristabel and Alfred decide that they need to do whatever it takes to keep the other disciples from performing the ritual. Either by accident or design, they put Augustine in a situation where he’s facing imminent death - maybe not intentionally on Alfred’s part, but it happens. Augustine chooses to kill his brother and take in his soul to survive as a lyctor, becoming the first to ascend. This fits with Augustine’s loathing of Mercymorn, who in his mind forced him to murder his brother; of his own immortality, since it was gained at the cost of murdering family; and of necromancy in general. He has to convince himself that he could have talked Alfred into making the sacrifice if there were time to ask because otherwise the guilt will destroy him.

After ascension, Augustine’s probably fighting Alfred’s soul, but he’s a powerful spirit magician. Like Ianthe he may be scattered but he’s still present. So now he rounds on Cristabel and probably mortally wounds her. He means to finish the job but Mercymorn intervenes, alerted to what’s happening by all the chaos. She finds her cavalier dying. Cristabel asks her to avenge her and kill Augustine and, since she’s already dying, to use her soul to do it. Mercy finishes Cristabel off and swallows her soul, becoming the second lyctor. So from the very beginning Mercymorn is absolutely set on Augustine’s death and blames him for Cristabel’s death and, in an indirect way, forcing her to become a lyctor as well.

After that it gets a little fuzzy. Events could go several different ways and we just don’t have enough info. I favor the idea that maybe the rampage continues - or maybe Cristabel and Alfred had set all of them up to be in mortal peril (possibly in space, where an adept’s powers won’t work but a lyctor’s would) - because of Mercy’s quote at Cytherea’s funeral: “I never saw her cry except once. The day after. When we put together the research. When she became a Lyctor. I said, There was no alternative. She said, We had the choice to stop.” Mercy saying “there was no alternative” and Cytherea answering with “we had the choice to stop” makes me think everyone was in duress. Mercy saying, “the day after. When we put together the research,” makes me think that they hadn’t fully pieced together the ritual even though six people had already ascended; Augustine improvised. “The day after” also makes me think that most of the lyctors ascended in a single night. If Augustine through Cassiopeia ascended in a group, only Cytherea and Anastasia would be left. Loveday volunteered for the rite in hopes of curing Cytherea, so that’s a non-distress motive for them to ascend as well. That leaves only Anastasia, who now has plenty of time to figure it out on her own.

Where’s John in all this? Remember what Ianthe said when she was trying to regrow her arm? She thought John would tell her to try it on her own first to build her own skill. Maybe John was letting his disciples work out lyctorhood on their own, expecting that they’d figure out the full ritual in time. If they’d planned to try the imperfect ritual, he probably would have stepped in and said, “No, no one has to die, yes now you’re mad at me because I knew the answer all along but it was a learning experience okay.” But because Augustine had to make a scrambling improvisation, John didn’t get the chance to intervene. So before he can do anything, Augustine and Mercy, plus some number of the middle four, have already killed their cavaliers and swallowed their souls (meaning no resurrection). He’s faced with the choice of telling them that those murders weren’t necessary, or keeping the secret and letting Loveday and Cytherea go through with the imperfect ritual. John tells himself that it’ll hurt them all too much if he tells them they killed their cavaliers for nothing, and Loveday’s willing to die already. He stays quiet.

That leaves only Anastasia. With the benefit of time and the others’ experience, Anastasia realizes the ritual can be done without killing the cavalier. She plays this close to the vest, uncertain of her results and unwilling to traumatize the others unless she’s sure. Just in case she’s right, she bans everyone except John from watching her attempt. If she succeeds and Samael lives, they can figure out how to break it to the others. But something goes wrong - or John sabotages her - and Samael dies, leaving Anastasia thinking she didn’t have it right after all.

A myriad later, John and the other lyctors have yet to allow or invite any other adepts to attain lyctorhood, believing the cost is too high. But now they’re down to four lyctors and three Resurrection Beasts, and those four lyctors are showing the strain. So John invites the heirs and their cavaliers to Canaan House. He knows his first disciples left the necessary information behind to put together the rite - only the imperfect rite, but that’s okay because this time there won’t be anyone making the choice under duress. As he tells Harrow, “I intended for the new Lyctors to become Lyctors after thinking and contemplating and genuinely understanding their sacrifice—an act of bravery, not an act of fear and desperation. Nobody was meant to lose their lives unwillingly at Canaan House.” If the cavaliers are okay with it, he’s not on the hook, he reasons. He’ll keep his secret and get new lyctors without any fresh guilt on his conscience.

Except of course it doesn’t work out that way. As usual, John’s future plans are sabotaged by his past plans coming back to haunt him. He ends up gaining one and a half lyctors at the unexpected cost of one old lyctor, so that’s a net gain of half a lyctor with several heirs dead in the process. And then an even newer plan gets sabotaged by an even older plan, leaving him with one and a half, possibly two functioning lyctors. Meanwhile Camilla and Palamedes are out there probably as a functional lyctor-cavalier pair that he doesn’t know about, because Palamedes has been stuck in freeze-frame hell for long enough to come to the same conclusions as Anastasia. It’s not gonna go well for John, ey?