#Celestial Guard Beasts

[octahedral-chaos]

Here's my Original Species!

Celestial Guard Beasts, or CGBs for short!

I will try to draw more stuff about them in the future, as they'll get their own website with everything on them there.

In the mean time, have their lore!

Edit: OH and they're open btw! I'm just working on some of their traits and such before I officially "release" them for use!

Celestial Guard Beasts were created by the Luck and space God Fortuna Astrum, as guardians for their domain. However, during the Great War, Fortuna died, leaving their creations to find their own calling.

A Celestial Guard Beast have a specific object that they guard. Most light variant CGBs (Right) tend to guard weapons, while dark CGBs (Left) Guard Wands, books and other such items. They can "bless" someone with good luck... or curse one with bad luck should they be angered.

CGBs have no need to eat, drink, sleep nor other bodily functions, as they are the animated form of Luck itself. Their colouration tend to mimic stars, with dark CGBs having red, orange or yellow accents while light CGBs having blue or silver accents. However, there are rumours of there being Celestial Guard Beasts with green and purple accents, or even the "wrong" accent colour for their typing, but those might be rumours... right?

[cosmica-galaxy]

The timeline where the pre-corrupted beast help raise the child, how did the beasts feel the fact the ancients was the ones was raising them instead now? Especially shadow milk? Since he fought so hard to keep them and even imprisoned the child? Also did the child noticed the change in caretakers?

Burning Spice was once a cherished caretaker of the little witch before he gave into the urge for destruction. Once his fall occurred and he began to lay waste to the lands and kingdoms around himself, Shadow Milk did not give the child over to him, as he viewed him as "too threatening" to his little minion. But even as time passed and most of his power was stripped away by the enraged witches before his sealing, he still has memories of rocking the little one to sleep in his many arms. But, like all things, it eventually changed. They changed. HE changed. A small part of him misses those days where he could play with the little one, but the pessimistic "bored" half that he gave into merely views them as a relic of the past. He refuses to grieve for times that are no longer around. Eternal Sugar misses the little one after she fell to corruption. After the fall of the once-great heroes, she was denied by Shadow Milk to see the little one, as he had become possessive of them and even denied returning them to their true mother. Killing the mother witch in favor of keeping HIS little one safe and by his side. Eternal Sugar misses the days where the little one would cuddle into her and babble about little things, or even showed her what made the little one so happy. Happiness was so easy for younglings to achieve, so much so, that she found herself becoming a little envious of the little one. Yet, Shadow Milk forbade her from taking the little one anywhere but his citadel in the fallen spire of truth. She coveted what was his, but he kept his treasure close with a steely grip. She just wanted to hold them one last time before she got imprisoned with the rest of the beasts. Could she at least have that little bit of happiness? Shadow Milk denied her that happiness. Mystic Flour and Silent Salt both went on their own versions of conquests. Crumbling plagues and violent splitting of cookies and celestial bodies...they barely have intact memories to reflect upon with the little one. Mystic Flour can recall when her Haetae follower used to play with the little one in the ivory temple of volition, which was now coated in a snowy layer of white flour. Her feelings buried deep within herself and her apathy had overwhelmed her past adoration of the child. It was a child of her enemy and nothing more. Silent Salt did not speak through his oath of silence, but he did conquest across the land. His salty lands were rarely visited by the little one, as he was always busy standing guard and fighting monsters for his people...the same people he turned his blade against. Shadow Milk denied any contact with them after the fall. They would just split the little one open...and he couldn't have that. As for Shadow Milk himself, he remembered sealing his precious treasure away inside of their item that was adorned with deceitful snakes, gold, and milky white gilding. It would only react to his soul jam and nothing else, and he had promised that he would come back for them once the war was over and the witches were defeated. Yet, that did not come to pass.

However, Shadow Milk could still feel the connection he had with the item and how it merely drifted through the other-realm for so long. Until one day...it shatters.

SMC felt panic run through his body at the thought of his little one's jewel shattering and killing it's precious cargo along with it. He paced restlessly in the silver tree, banging against the roots, the fork, and the chains that bound him to the dark side of the moon. Not knowing what became of his little one while he is imprisoned. He would do ANYTHING he could to crawl his way out of his prison to reclaim whatever was left of his treasure. Meanwhile, the child merely awakens after a very VERY long sleep and is mostly confused by the new faces...but welcomes them all the same.

They were untouched by the war and time had not passed for them at all. So they merely accept their new caretakers like they did in the past with the pre-corrupted beasts. Each one filling a similar role to what the beasts did back in the past.

Pure Vanilla, their caretaker. Dark Cacao, a strong and protective warrior. Golden Cheese, a winged mother figure. Hollyberry, a cheery grandmother. White Lilly, a distant member whom they barely see, yet a great teacher. Each one filling the roles of the beasts and raising the child, despite the mysteries surrounding them and how they got into the item nor why they were wearing a little jester onesie when they popped out.

When the beasts emerge once again to enact their wrath upon the world, or attempt to, the beasts will meet with the little one...and some will react stronger than others. Apathy and Silence won't really react much, as if they don't even recall the little one at all. Yet, Burning Spice will have a moment of pause in seeing them still alive...and still as young as the day he was sealed in the tree. Eternal Sugar is quick to scoop them up and hug them when they finally meet again--which fills a hole in her own heart that she didn't know she had. And Shadow Milk? He's on a fast track to reclaim what's his.

[robin-evry]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐐𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐍 🦄🐲

The qilin (English: /tʃiˈlɪn/ chee-LIN; Chinese: 麒麟) is a legendary hooved chimerical creature that appears in Chinese mythology, and is said to appear with the imminent arrival or death of a sage or illustrious ruler. Qilin are a specific type of the lin mythological family of one-horned beasts. The qilin also appears in the mythologies of other Chinese-influenced cultures.The qilin signifies goodwill, benevolence, gentleness and integrity. Like the phoenix, the qilin is very kind towards other living beings, careful not to harm even insects and grass. To avoid harm, the creatures are reputedly able to walk on water as well as land.

( English not my first language )

Qilin!Yuu is known for their tranquil demeanor, rarely raising their voice. When they speak, it's with measured wisdom, offering thoughtful advice to anyone who seeks it. Their presence has a calming effect on others, even in tense situations.

They takes their role as a protector seriously. Just as the Qilin in myths appears to guard the righteous, they are fiercely protective of Grim and their friends, intervening whenever danger is near. They might manifest a shimmering shield or ethereal barriers to keep their loved ones safe.

Qilin!Yuu’s antler-like horns are a symbol of their wisdom and mythical heritage. They’re intricate, glowing faintly, and change in brightness depending on their emotions or the strength of their magic. Many students are in awe of them, and some even find them intimidating.

Their clothing is flowing and ethereal, with patterns resembling celestial clouds and vines. Their outfits are designed to reflect the natural world, with soft, pastel colors that shift slightly depending on their mood. They’re often adorned with delicate, floral accessories that mirror their connection to life and nature.

As a Qilin, they are naturally blessed with an aura of luck and prosperity. Their very presence seems to bring about positive outcomes, whether it’s in everyday life or during major events at NRC. People around them notice how things tend to go smoother, and accidents or mishaps are rare when they is nearby.

For example during a spell drive practice, the disk almost hit epel, but during this time qilin!yuu walk on and step on the field and the disk changes direction hitting a tree. It seems like whenever they are in the area luck will happen.

They often stumbles upon rare opportunities or fortuitous encounters. They might find rare magical ingredients in the forest without even trying or run into someone who can offer them exactly what they need at the right time. This uncanny ability to be in the right place at the right time amazes their friends.

Whether it’s a simple card game or a more intense magic duel, their luck tends to manifest in surprising ways. They aren’t necessarily the most skilled at every game, but somehow, they often end up winning through a combination of unexpected turns or fortunate timing. This has led to several students suspecting them of having hidden powers, though they swear it’s all just luck.

Some students believe that keeping a small token from them, like a handkerchief or even just spending time around them, brings good fortune. This has led to them being considered a “lucky charm” by certain students, especially those who believe in superstitions or need a bit of extra help.

They have an instinctive sense for avoiding danger. Whether it’s dodging a falling object or sensing when something is about to go wrong, they can evade misfortune with ease. This ability is often subtle, but those who are close to Yuu notice how rarely they encounter serious accidents.

Their belongings often carry a bit of their luck. Whether it’s their favorite pen never running out of ink or their cloak staying clean despite traveling through muddy areas, it seems that even the simplest items they own are imbued with good fortune.

Birds and small animals are naturally drawn to them, often resting near them or following them around the NRC grounds. Plants seem to flourish in Yuu’s presence, with flowers blooming brighter and trees growing healthier. Their dorm may even become known for having the most beautiful and thriving garden on campus, with fellow students visiting for good luck or peace.

They often gives advice that seems simple or even random at first, but later on, it turns out to be exactly what the person needed to hear. Whether it’s encouraging someone to take a break at just the right time or subtly suggesting they reconsider a decision, their words have an uncanny way of guiding people toward success.

Over time, students develop small rituals involving them. Some might ask to touch the edge of Yuu’s sleeve before exams for good luck, while others leave small offerings (like food or tokens of appreciation) near their dorm to thank them for their seemingly magical influence. Though they finds this embarrassing, they graciously accept the tokens of goodwill.

They acts as a moral compass for their friends and peers. When faced with tough decisions, others often seek them counsel, valuing their insight and strong sense of right and wrong. They encourages others to consider the consequences of their actions and think beyond themselves, fostering a culture of empathy and understanding.

They are willing to put themselves in harm’s way for the sake of others. Whether it’s stepping in during a confrontation or using their magic to shield others from danger, they prioritize the well-being of their friends over their own safety, earning them the admiration and respect of those around them

They have elegant, antler-like horns that curve gracefully from their head, symbolizing their Qilin heritage. These horns are adorned with soft, luminescent markings that resemble ancient symbols of luck and protection, glowing faintly when they uses their magic.

Instead of normal feet, qilin!yuu has hooves for feet, Yuu has delicate hooves that appear as if they are made of polished obsidian. These hooves leave behind faint, shimmering trails when they walk, as if the ground itself is blessed by their presence.

Azul would try to make a deal with them in exchange for their ability of good luck, and this almost landed him being roasted alive by qilin!yuu due to azul taking advantage of students who are struggling to turn them into his slaves.

Rook admired qilin!yuu, he spies on them sometimes and witnesses their luck working, he would call them Lucky Star due to being the embodiment of good luck.

They have an affinity for fire and life magic, flowers will bloom when they walk past as well to or command plants to grow and trap the enemies. They also can breathe fire out of their mouths these fires can burn anything that became in flame with.

This fire can also be used for purification or healing, this fire can heal any injury or remove any poison as well to purify any blot or something from evil.

They also have the ability to fly, grim would usually use qilin!yuu as a way of transportation. Whenever they're upset over something. They would fly and admire the clouds and land on a mountain and admired the sun.

They have a strong sense of justice and compassion. They’re quick to help those in need and often stand up for what is right, acting as a moral anchor for their friends.

They also occasionally receives visions in their dreams that guide them in making decisions or predicting events. These visions can be vague but often provide hints about what actions to take next.

Their uniform has been tailored to their liking, it's infused with flowy and long silk to a similarity to a hanfu, a traditional Chinese outfit. It gives them an elegant movement

Malleus and them usually hang out together, they will fly around twst admiring the sky as well just to talk about their day.

Lilia being old has heard mythology about the qilin, and he will ask them about their lineage. Occasionally qilin!yuu is actually older than him being a few thousand years older meanwhile his 700 year old. He is actually surprised to finally meet someone who is older than him and more ancient than him.

Qilin!yuu grow up alone in the tallest mountains in the world, the mountains possessed a magnetic magic that camaflauge the mountain as well to prevent using magic to teleport. If there was a traveler or someone to seek for their help, qilin!yuu would come down and save them creating a myth of the qilin.

Many students would seek for their wisdom, for their advice on the situation as well for guidance. This by far makes qilin yuu a beacon for luck and wisdom.

[heart-ripping]

Behind Closed Doors.

pairing: Regina Mills (The Evil Queen) X Reader

summary: in the public eye, feared by all in her kingdom. the evil queen reveals a hidden side where she kneels before the woman who secretly controls her heart and an unexpected twist.

words: 3542 words, 20798 characters.

warnings(+18): queen!regina, maid!reader, ownership, abuse of power, submission, pet names, usage of magic, poisoning, praise kink(brief), degrading kink(slight), slight blood and violence.

this scenario came up in my head and i got distracted along the way but i just HAD to write this. hope u guys like this one!

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The grand hall of the throne room was a place of opulence and dread. Gilded columns lined the vast space, their surfaces etched with intricate designs of ancient conquests and mythical beasts. The high, arched ceiling was a tapestry of celestial scenes, painted in vivid hues that seemed to come alive in the flickering light of the grand chandeliers.

At the far end of this magnificent room, elevated on a dais of polished marble, sat the Evil Queen, the ruler whose beauty was matched only by her ruthlessness.

Regina's throne, carved from obsidian and adorned with precious gems, seemed to absorb the light around it, casting an ominous shadow over herself. She sat with cruel authority, her posture rigid, and her gaze piercing. Her eyes scanned the assembled knights and courtiers with a mix of disdain and indifference. She wore a gown of deep crimson, the color of freshly spilled blood, its fabric flowing around her like liquid fire. A crown of black diamonds rested on her brow, its sharp points catching the light in menacing glints.

The knights before her, clad in gleaming armor, shifted uneasily. Their leader, Sir Graham, stepped forward, his expression a mask of grim determination. He bowed low, the sound of his armor clanking echoing through the hall.

"Your Majesty," Graham began, his voice steady but edged with tension, "we have captured the rebels who dared to defy your rule. They await your judgment in the dungeons."

The Queen leaned forward slightly, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "Bring them before me," she commanded, her voice a melodious contrast to the venom in her words. "Let us see these fools who thought they could challenge my reign."

As the doors to the throne room swung open, a group of ragged prisoners were dragged in by the guards. Their faces were smeared with dirt and blood, and their eyes were filled with a mix of defiance and fear. Regina's gaze swept over them, her smile widening as she saw their pitiful state.

"You dare to defy me?" she hissed, her voice rising. "You dare to incite rebellion against your queen?" She stood abruptly, the motion causing the knights to flinch. "I am the law in this kingdom. My word is absolute. Those who challenge me face only one fate."

She descended the steps of the dais with a predatory grace, her gown flowing behind her like a river of fire. She stopped before the nearest prisoner, a young man with a battered face and a defiant glare. Regina reached out and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up at her.

"Do you know what happens to traitors in my kingdom?" she asked softly, her voice dripping with malice.

The young man spat at her feet, his defiance unbroken. Regina's eyes blazed with fury. She raised her hand, and with a swift, brutal motion, backhanded him across the face. The sound of the impact echoed through the hall, and the man crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

"Take him to the dungeons," she ordered the guards, her voice returning to its heartless tone. "Let him rot with the rest of the scum."

She turned her attention back to Graham and the other knights. "You will root out every last one of these rebels," she demanded. "I want no corner of my kingdom left unchecked. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," the knights chorused, their voices trembling slightly.

Regina returned to her throne, her expression once again a mask of uncaring detachment. "Now go," she ordered. "And remember, failure is not an option."

As the knights hurried out of the throne room, Regina's gaze lingered on the empty doorway, a faint smile playing on her lips. She relished the fear she instilled in her subjects, the absolute power she wielded. Here, in the public eye, she was the embodiment of cruel, unyielding authority, a queen who demanded and gained respect through fear and intimidation.

The grand hallways of the castle, lined with ornate tapestries and dimly lit by flickering torches, felt eerily silent as soon as the night began to cast its dark veil. The Evil Queen, her presence imposing even in solitude, walked with measured steps, the sound of her heels echoing through the empty corridors. Her crimson gown, now slightly trailing with the fatigue of the day's harsh rulings, whispered to the shadows that danced along the walls.

As she reached her private chambers, the heavy oak doors creaked open to reveal a sanctuary of opulence and grandeur. The room was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight streaming through a large window, its beams reflecting off the polished surfaces of gilded furniture and priceless artifacts. Regina closed the doors behind her and sighed, a sound that was more a hiss of displeasure than a release of exhaustion. She moved to her grand canopy bed, its silken sheets cool and inviting. Sitting on the edge, she removed her crown, placing it on the bedside table with a clink of metal against the marble.

Collapsing onto the bed, she allowed herself a moment to breathe, to let the day's relentless performance of power slip away. Her eyes fluttered shut, but the reprieve was brief. A soft knock at the door interrupted her fleeting solace.

"Enter," she groaned frustratedly, her voice sharp despite the weariness that tugged at her.

The door opened hesitantly, revealing a young maid with wide, fearsome eyes. You stepped into the room, your hands trembling as you clutched a silver tray with a goblet of wine.

"I did not summon you," Regina expressed harshly, her eyes narrowing at you.

"I apologize, Your Majesty," you stammered, your voice trembling. "I assume you might enjoy some wine to help you unwind."

Regina's gaze remained unflattering, yet she made no move to dismiss you. "You presume much, entering my chambers without permission. Do not forget your place," she declared, her tone a mix of irritation and authority.

You bowed your head, your face reddening with humiliation. "Forgive me, Your Majesty," you whispered, stepping forward and placing the tray on a nearby table.

Regina's eyes flicked to the wine, then back to you, her expression inscrutable. "Leave it and go," she said curtly, dismissing you with a wave of her hand.

Regina's focus snapped back to the glass of wine, the deep crimson liquid swirling hypnotically in the dimly lit room. She raised the elegant crystal glass to her lips. The tantalizing aroma of the rich red wine filled the air around her. She took a slow, deliberate sip, savoring the complex flavors dancing on her palate.

However, just as the velvety liquid touched her tongue, an unusual sensation sent a shiver down her spine. It was as if something otherworldly surged through the wine, enveloping her senses in a swirling embrace. A rush of warmth spread from her mouth to the tips of her fingers, and at that moment, her eyes seemed to flash a deep, eerie shade of red.

Her heart quickened, and for an instant, the world around her seemed to blur and twist before the feeling vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving her bewildered and breathless.

You stood as you observed, before lowering your head and retreating towards the door. But just as your hand touched the handle, Regina's voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"Stop."

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest. You spun slowly, your eyes broad with apprehension. Regina's attention was fixed on you as she slowly rose from her mattress, her eyes so unwavering and intense, a strange intensity burning in those dark-brown depths. The room seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with an unspoken tension.

"Come here," Regina commanded softly, her voice laced with an undercurrent of something darker—something that sent a shiver down your spine.

You hesitated, your eyes flickering with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Then you took tentative steps forward, your hands still trembling. As you neared the bed, Regina extended a hand, gesturing for you to approach quickly.

"Closer," the queen murmured, her voice now a low purr. You obeyed, stopping just within arm's reach of the bed. Regina's eyes roamed over you, taking in every detail of your appearance.

"Do you know why I keep you?" Regina asked, her tone as cold as the winter's night outside.

You shook your head slightly, your eyes settled on the floor. "No, Your Majesty," you responded softly.

Regina tilted her head to the side, studying you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. With a bold, prideful motion, she lifted your chin. "I keep you because you amuse me. Because you are loyal. And because..." She paused, a slow smile spreading across her lips. "Because you fear me."

Your breath fastened, your eyes darting up to meet her gaze. For a moment, something flickered in her stare—an emotion too fleeting to name.

"Pour me the wine," Regina commanded, her voice regaining its usual imperious edge.

With trembling hands, you picked up the goblet and the carafe, carefully pouring the deep red liquid. You held the goblet out to Regina, your head bowed low. Regina took it, your fingers brushing momentarily. The moment your fingers brushed against each other, a jolt of electricity shot through both of you, but neither of you dared to acknowledge it.

Regina brought the wine to her lips once more, her eyes never leaving you as she swallowed. The rich, dark liquid seemed to invigorate her, and her gaze grew more intense, more penetrating. She drank deeply, each sip refined and unhurriedly, the tension in the room palpable. You stood frozen, your heart thumping in your body, unable to look away from her piercing stare.

As Regina lowered the goblet, her eyes began to glow with an eerie, otherworldly red light. The transformation was subtle at first, a flicker of crimson that slowly intensified until her eyes blazed like embers. You inhaled sharply, taking an involuntary step back, but Regina's gaze held you in place, a silent command that rooted you to the spot.

Without breaking eye contact, Regina set the goblet aside. The room seemed to shrink around you both, the air thick with a tension that was almost tangible. The Evil Queen, the epitome of regal authority, began to move with a grace that was both conscious and assertive. She took a step forward, and then another, her eyes never wavering from you.

And then, in a move that defied all expectations, Regina began to kneel. Her knees touched the ground, her crimson gown pooling around her like a river of blood. Your breath was caught in your throat, and your eyes were wide with shock. You had never seen the queen show vulnerability, let alone kneel before anyone.

Regina's head bowed for a moment, her long, dark hair cascading around her shoulders like a silken veil. When she lifted her gaze, you were met with the full intensity of those glowing red eyes. They were filled with something unspoken—a mix of need and surrender that left your heart racing.

Regina's voice, when it came, was a low, husky whisper. "I am yours," she said, the words almost a plea. "Command me."

You stared down at Regina, your mind racing to make sense of the scene unfolding before you. The Evil Queen, who ruled with an iron fist and inspired fear in all who crossed her path, was now on her knees, submitting to you. It was a moment that shattered all perceptions, leaving you both terrified and exhilarated.

As Regina looked up at you, her red eyes blazing with a strange, fervent intensity, you felt a power shift you had never imagined possible. The night outside grew darker and more silent, as if the world itself were waiting to see what would happen next.

Your heart continued to pulse in your chest, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. You began to reach out a quivering hand, your fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. Regina closed her eyes at the touch, a shiver running through her.

"My Queen," you whispered, your voice a mix of awe and confusion.

"Command me," Regina repeated, her voice more insistent, her eyes fluttering to lock onto yours once again. The red glow seemed to pulse with her heartbeat, a visual manifestation of her inner turmoil and desire.

You took a deep breath, your fingers tracing a path down her cheek to her chin. You tilted Regina's head up, causing her to look directly into your eyes. The power you felt in that moment was intoxicating, a heady mix of exhilaration.

"Stand," you ordered gently, yet firmly.

For a moment, it seemed as if Regina might resist, but then she obeyed, rising gracefully to her feet. The red glow in her eyes dimmed slightly, replaced by a look of deep, unspoken emotion.

As the tension thickened in the chamber, the air seemed to crackle with an unspoken electricity. The Evil Queen, her eyes still shining with a dim scarlet glow, watched you with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. Regina's own vulnerability—her unexpected submission—had left her on edge, her instincts warring with the unfamiliar sensations coursing through her veins.

But as your grin began to appear slowly across your lips, Regina's unease deepened. There was something unsettling about the way you looked at her—a gleam of triumph in your eyes that sent a shiver down her spine.

"What is it?" Regina asked, her voice low and cautious.

Your grin enlarged, and your eyes sparkled with newfound confidence. "Oh, nothing, Your Majesty," you replied, your tone innocent yet tinged with something darker, something that set Regina's nerves on edge.

Before she could respond, you took a step forward, your movements intended and purposeful. Regina tensed, her instincts screaming at her to flee, to regain control of the situation before it spiraled out of her grasp. But something held her in place—a strange fascination with the woman standing before her, a fascination tinged with a growing sense of dread.

"What have you done?" Regina demanded, her voice betraying her rising panic.

Your smile dilated further, a flash of triumph in your eyes. "I simply offered you a drink, My Queen," you stated, your tone mocking with a hint of sarcasm. "A drink laced with a little something extra."

Regina's heart skipped a beat, her mind racing to comprehend the implications of your words. A spell. The wine had been enchanted with a spell, a trance designed to force submission and bend the will of its drinker to the caster's command. And she had drunk it willingly, having allowed herself to be ensnared by its insidious power.

The realization sent a surge of anger through Regina's veins, her fear giving way to a burning fury that threatened to consume her. She clenched her jaw, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.

"You dare to manipulate me?" she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.

Your smile faltered slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your features. But then you straightened, your gaze defiant.

"You've ruled with fear and cruelty for too long, Your Majesty," you grimaced, your voice steady despite the tension crackling between you both. "It's time for a change."

Regina's mind raced, her thoughts a whirlwind of rage and betrayal. She had been outmaneuvered, outsmarted by a mere servant. The humiliation burned like acid, eating away at her pride and her power. But beneath the anger, beneath the fear, there was something else, something she couldn't quite name—a spark of admiration, perhaps, for the woman who had dared to challenge her, to defy her.

The room seemed to spin around you, the air heavy with the weight of your confrontation. Regina narrowed her gaze as she bore into yours, searching for any hint of weakness, any sign of vulnerability. But you stood tall and stubborn, your eyes blazing with a fierce determination that sent a thrill of something akin to admiration through Regina's veins.

And then, in a sudden, unpredictable twist of luck, Regina felt something shift within her. It was as if a dam had burst, releasing a flood of emotions she had long kept buried deep within her heart. Fear, anger, pride—all of it melted away, leaving only a strange sense of liberation in its wake.

Regina's eyes flashed, but this time—a glowing purple hue, reflecting the intensity of her emotions as she felt a familiar purple mist slowly enveloping her entire body before it disappeared like a mist of strings. Regina smirked in delightful satisfaction as she began to realize what was happening. The spell—the spell had worked, but not as you had planned. Instead of forcing Regina to submit, it had stripped away the layers of armor she had built around herself, revealing the powerful woman beneath.

A slow, rueful smile spread across her lips as she looked at you, her eyes alight with a newfound clarity. "Foolish girl, you thought you could control me," she snickered playfully, her voice soft yet filled with an undeniable strength. "But you underestimated me."

You flinched in disbelief, the ground suddenly feeling unsteady beneath you as doubt crept in for the first time since your intense altercation formed. "What are you saying?" you whispered, your voice barely audible above the beat of your heart.

Regina moved closer, taking a step forward to narrow the distance between you. "Let me make it clear for you," she towered over you, her voice low and husky, dripping with malicious intent, sending shivers down your spine as if darkness itself had taken form in her words. "You may have thought you had me at your mercy, but you were wrong."

And then, with a sudden, swift movement, Regina reached out and forcefully clutched your wrist, pulling you close until your bodies were inches apart. You breathe in, but before you can react, Regina leans in and smashes her lips against yours.

As your lips met in a searing kiss, a sudden rush of sensation swept through the both of you. Regina's heart throbbed in her chest, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. As she continued to manifest her dominance, Regina began to fiercely insert her tongue into your mouth, and a strange, tingling sensation began to spread through your lips as if something were coating your tongue with a thick, viscous liquid.

Regina pulled back abruptly, a sinister laugh could be heard from her lips as she looked down at you. The wine had transferred to your mouth during your kiss, carrying with it the control spell that had been intended for her.

You panted heavily, your pupils dilating in horror as the harsh reality dawned on you. You staggered back, your hand flying to your mouth as you tasted the bitter, metallic tang of the enchanted wine. Your heart raced with panic as you struggled to comprehend the implications of what had just occurred.

Regina's gaze hardened as she watched your reaction, a cold fury burning in her eyes. "Pathetic," she snickered, her voice dripping with disdain. "It seems the tables have turned."

You stumbled backwards, your mind spinning with fear and confusion. You had never intended for things to escalate like this, never anticipated that the spell would backfire in such a catastrophic manner. You had only wanted to level the playing field, to challenge the queen's power and authority. But now, as you felt the weight of the spell pressing down on you, you realized that you had made a grave mistake.

Regina's amusement grew as she advanced on you, her movements gradual and greedy. "Did you really think you could overpower me?" she teased, her voice a deadly whisper. "I'll show you what it means to be at someone else's mercy."

Your breath came in short, ragged gasps as you felt her body cornering you against the wall with your heart throbbing painfully in your chest. Your eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, but there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. You were trapped, ensnared by your own arrogance and folly.

Regina's hand shot out and seized your jaw in a firm, unrelenting grip, causing you to tilt your head upwards to meet her gaze full of hatred and revenge.

"Don't hold it back," She ridicules, her voice low and taunting. "Let it come." Your eyes blinked rapidly and glazed with a mix of terror and the residual effects of the spell, locked onto Regina's, searching for any hint of mercy, of reprieve. But there was none to be found.

Her fingers dug into the soft flesh of your cheeks, her nails biting into your skin with enough force to leave marks. You winced, but the queen's grip only tightened further.

Regina's eyes never left you, her expression a twisted mask of conquering and ruthlessness. She reveled in your helplessness, in the way you whimpered beneath her touch. Regina began to lean toward your side, her lips brushing against your ear, her voice a seductive whisper.

"Good girl," she praised, her voice a hush, raspy whisper filled with dark satisfaction. "That's right. You belong to me." You closed your eyes, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you surrendered to The Evil Queen's will.

──────────

[sato-s-only-wife5107]

Reborn!Wukong: Kidnapped.

Word Count: 3042.

Content/Trigger Warnings: mention of poisoning.

Authors Notes: This came out a lot longer than I thought it would. There is another kidnapped thingy, but this one is based on the reader story and the upcoming one is a requested headcanon featuring all the Wukongs I'm doing.

<---Previous | Start | Next--->

You were no weakling, but you weren't much of a fighter compared to the other two you were left with. While Pigsy protected the monk from the pack of wild beasts, you were accompanied by Wujing. 

In your defence… It wasn't your fault. You just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time and ended up in something messy that Wukong definitely won't like… Let's just say he definitely won't be a happy camper.

“I'm scared…” Sweat dripped from your forehead at the thought of how mad Wukong would be when he returned to see you gone. 

“You're scared?! What about me?!” Pigsy snapped. 

You looked at Pigsy with a blank look and a raised brow. You didn't really care about what Wukong would do to Pigsy, since getting into a spat was an everyday thing with them. You shook your head and thought of ways to get out of the pit you were thrown into. No, you hadn't put yourself in any danger, it was more of an unexpected attack that got you hurt.

In the end, you and Pigsy were somehow captured and brought to the deity of the area. Some water deity you didn't care to remember the name of who had the demons that kidnapped you under his control.

Sacrifices? You thought to yourself. With my luck, probably worse. Ugh, Wukong's gonna throw a tantrum.

“Hey, big sis,” Pigsy's voice broke you out of your state. 

“Quiet, pork chop! Who gave you permission to speak to the goddess?!” one of the guards poked him in the behind with their spear, which made him cry out.

“Goddess?” you and Pigsy questioned then looked at each other and back to the male.

Guess that explains why he's tied up, but I'm not… This is already so exhausting. You sighed to yourself. Yep, this is worse than a sacrifice…

“Brother Monkey is gonna kill me,”

“You're at fault, you slob, you seriously couldn't have handled this? You've fought armies by yourself!” you whisper yelled.

“I didn't see you do anything but running away and hiding!” he whisper-yelled back. 

“I'm not a fighter! My entire life in the Celestial Realm was lived cooped up with archives and medicinal herbs. I'm the brains in this team and the rest if you are the brawn!”

____________________________

Wukong sneezed three times in a row as he jumped off of his cloud. He shook his head and attempted to clear the ringing in his ears.

“Big brother,” Wujing’s voice got his attention.

“Where's (Y/n)?” he immediately questioned as he looked around for you.

He also noticed Pigsy's absence, but he was only focused on yours. He was relaxed and casual till he saw the look on Wujing's face. Seeing the demon squirm like that made Wukong uneasy, and he knew that his gut feeling telling him you were in danger was right.

“Um…” Wujing looked incredibly nervous as the Monkey King approached him with narrowed eyes. 

“What.happened?” Wukong questioned in a growl.

“They were kidnapped, (Y/n) and Pigsy,”

“By who?” Wujing didn't like how calm Wukong was at the moment, it never ended well. 

“Demons… We were ambushed and they were taken,”

“Which way did they go?”

____________________________

“My great goddess,” a foreign voice boomed like thunder, the male's arms spread wide to present himself with extravagance. 

The game of ‘Spot the Boss’ just keeps getting easier and easier… you mused to yourself, but managed to keep a straight face.

“My name is Bolin Aiguo,” the male’s voice brought you back to reality. “I welcome you to my palace.”

“Um… thanks?” you asked more than said.

“Destiny has truly blessed us today,” he grinned as he bowed slightly. “We have waited centuries for your return,” he said and motioned to the wall where a cloth was dropped.

“Heh?” you both looked at the painting on the wall and your jaw dropped. 

Is this real? You thought as you saw the picture of a woman who looked like you, but wore garments of a divine goddess. Could it just be a coincidence? Maybe the unlikely chance that’s my ancestor?

“Whoa, that looks just like you,” Pigsy's marvel made you roll your eyes and sighed heavily. 

“Your sense of perception is exquisite as always,” you said sarcastically as you looked at him. He returned your gaze with a glare, which got him hit in the back with a whip. You winced at the sound of leather on skin, it gave you goosebumps and chills, the bad kind. 

“Don't you dare gaze at our goddess like that, you disgusting pig,” the guard that whipped him spat, literally, at the pig demon. 

“Do not speak to him like that,” you said without thinking. You and Wukong were the only ones allowed to bad talk Pigsy to his face like that.

“Forgive me, my goddess (Y/n), your servant needed to be punished,” the male bowed. 

They know my name? What in the ten worlds is going on? This is getting a bit scary now… Wait, did they call him my servant?

“Um…” you glanced around. “I address my servants directly, no one is allowed to speak to my underlings that way.”

“You are such a caring Goddess,” the men marvelled, then bowed. “Very well, if that is what you wish, then that is what will be.”

“Good,” your voice broke, but you didn't think they noticed. 

“Goddess, I am General Hàoyú,”

“Hm,”

“I'm Mùchén, it's a pleasure to meet you,” the guard who struck Pigsy bowed.

“The pleasure’s mine,” you smiled as politely as you could.

“Please, allow the maids to show you to your room,” Bolin gestured to four maids who stood at the ready, “I've prepared proper clothing for you.”

Not good. Really wished this was a sacrifice situation right now…

“Unnecessary,”

“I insist,” he looked at you then bowed. “It would be my honour if you did.”

“I-” you cut yourself off when you saw Pigsy trying not to laugh, it irked you. “Please see that my servant be treated with respect and cleaned up as well,” you smiled, which made the pig demon stop laughing to himself and boy was he pale.

“Yes, of course, Goddess!”

“I'm gonna hurt you,” Pigsy seethed.

“Who's laughing now, porky?” you smirked as you walked past him.

The outfit they made you wear was one similar to what ‘you’ were wearing in the painting. It wasn't exactly your colour or style, yet it looked amazing on you, curves and all. The stylists that did your hair tried so hard to hide their disgust in doing your hair, obviously your hair that hadn't been washed in three or so weeks wasn't to their liking. Despite Wukong’s excessive grooming, nothing beats a good soak in scented oils and natural hair products. You coil get used to the godly treatment.  

When you were reunited with Pigsy, he was amazed at your change, not really believing it was you at first. You, however, tried oh so hard not to laugh at the state of the pig demon. He looked prim, proper, and clean despite still looking like a servant. It was definitely an improvement to say the least… you cringed at the thought that he might actually look borderline adorable. 

“Are your servant’s garments not to your liking, goddess?” Mùchén asked.

“They're fine, thank you,” you managed a smile. “If you don't mind, I'd like to speak to my servant alone.”

“Of course,” the guard bowed, and they all left.

“You clean up nice,” you snorted as you walked to look out your window. 

“Shut up,”

“By gods, this place is locked up tight,” you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Escaping subtly is out of the question. You might be able to escape and get the others if you shape-shift, but seeing those wolf demons they have stationed along the border, I doubt you'd get far without being caught.”

“These clothes are so stuffy, how could people dress like this everyday?” Pigsy complained.

“Try wearing one of these, then you can complain,” you adjusted the cloth that was tied tightly and securely around your abdomen. “This dress thing is getting so annoying,”

“At least you get treated like a god, I'm just some servant!”

“It suits you,” you smirked and looked at Pigsy before you looked at your reflection in the mirror. “Ugh, I can't wait to get this stuff off my face, so itchy…”

“What do we do, big sis?”

“Bid our time,” you looked at Pigsy. “Wukong will find us soon, we just have to hold out till then.”

“But who knows when brother monkey will be back, you know he takes forever,”

“Believe me,” you stared off into space. “He already knows… he always does somehow.”

Before Pigsy could respond, someone walked into the room, you both mentally groaned when Bolin walked in. 

What does this hard case want? You thought to yourself.

“You look even more extravagant than I thought you would…” he marvelled, you couldn't help but blush at such a compliment.

“Don't you know it’s impolite to barge into a lady’s room?” you raised a brow.

“Forgive me,” he chuckled and bowed, offering to take your hand. “I was simply hoping to invite you to have dinner with me.”

Making it seem like I have a choice, how polite. You thought to yourself with a soft sigh. 

“I'd be honoured,” you forced a smile.

“The honour is mine,” he smiled at you, looking at you like he was hungry. 

“Did I hear food? I'm starving!”

Are you ever not? You thought to yourself in annoyance.

“Not for you, you disgusting creature,” he glared at Pigsy like he was scum. You didn't notice this, but your hand twitched slightly. You simply cleared your throat to steal his attention, which wasn't hard to do. “Please follow me.”

“Happy too,” you forced a natural smile.

____________________________

“Just one bite,” Pigsy continued to drool over the large assortment of food and drink served to you.

“Leave me be,” you shot him a glance then focused on your fish.

“Dear Goddess, c'mon, don't hog all the food for yourself,” he begged.

Pig knows how to beg when his stomach is concerned, I'll give him that much. You thought to yourself.

“Ironic coming from a gluttonous pig,” you barely spared Pigsy another glance before you smiled a bit. “Why don't you be a good servant and perform for me since you're so hungry,” you tilted your head, “after all, a meal tastes so much better when you worked hard for it.”

“I couldn't have said it better myself,” Bolin smiled at you, a smile that gave you the bad kind of chills. He frowned and looked at Pigsy. “You heard the goddess, what are you waiting for?”

This is gonna be good… you tried to hide the smirk. Suddenly, a chill ran down your spine and the feeling of being watched returned. Wukong? You thought to yourself, but after a few seconds passed with no sign of chaos, you guessed you were wrong.

“Where is he already?” you sighed softly to yourself.

“What was that, your grace?” you looked at Bolin and sat straighter.

“Nothing!” you smiled nervously, hoping he didn't hear you.

Maybe it was a bit cruel on your part to make Pigsy dance for your entertainment… but you didn't care. The entire situation was his fault, well, partially. Perhaps it was due to the lack of challenging fights that the two got a bit sloppy, either way… watching Pigsy dance was utterly hilarious, and you wished Wukong was there to laugh with you.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my dearest goddess?” you glanced at Bolin and closed your eyes briefly before you focused on your food.

“It has been entertaining to say the least,” you managed a smile, “overall, you have been an excellent host.”

“I'm so happy to hear you say that, goddess,” he mused and lifted his glass a bit. “Shall our days be like this one.”

“Pardon?” you looked at him, almost choking on your fish.

“You are to be my wife,” he smiled at you. “It is as prophecy has written, your return merits the marriage to the head of the palace, which is me.”

“I don't know about that, I am not interested in marriage,” you responded.

Especially not with you. You thought to yourself as the maid refilled your cup.

“I can wait, it is no trouble. You are worth it after all,” he said as you focused on your drink. 

“Hmmm… this drink is sweet, I really like it,” you looked at the red liquid in the chalice as you swirled it around.

“I'm glad you like it,” Bolin smiled. 

“What is it? I've never tasted anything like it,” you looked up at him curiously. 

Wukong isn't much of a sweet taste guy, I wonder if he’d like it… you found yourself drifting off to the thought of Wukong.  

“Nothing special,” he looked at his drink as he swirled it around as well, taking his time before he answered, “just a love potion.”

The words put Pigsy in a panic, not knowing what Wukong would do if he saw his beloved (Y/n) under the influence of a love potion with some random water deity who thinks you a goddess.

Did I seriously just get drugged? Is that way the taste is sweeter than before? That cocky bastard, what is he planning? You thought to yourself in a slight daze, but it only lasted a second longer before you got your senses back.

“A love potion?” you snorted, which took them both aback. “Are you truly that desperate to have me for yourself?”

“W-Why aren't you affected?” He stood up and backed away. “What are you?”

“Oh, you poor sweetheart… Love potions are meant to make you fall in love with the first person you see…” You stood and fixed your sleeves a bit before you looked up at the male in amusement. “But don't you know it doesn't work on someone who's already in love.”

“Impossible!” he barked. 

“I grow tired of this… we'll be leaving now,” you spoke, only glancing at Pigsy, who nodded and followed you. 

“Big sis, is that true?”

“Yeah, crazy right?” you spoke. “I read it in this book that I found, but I didn't believe it till now.”

“You cannot! You are our goddess!” he yelled.

“I regret to inform you that I am no God,” you called over your shoulder. 

“You are to be mine! It is destiny!” he yelled. You would've felt bad for the guy if he hadn't kidnapped and fed you a love potion, even if it tasted amazing.

“My love belongs to only one person… And you're not even half as good-looking as he is,” you folded your arms… The thought of Wukong started to make your insides feel warm and made you feel… weird. Especially when you thought of that smile/smirk you loved oh so much.

Is this what being drunk feels like? You thought to yourself before your focus was taken by the man child throwing a tantrum.

“I will slay this peasant!” he snapped. 

“You can try,” you looked up and smiled at the glaring monkey on his cloud, “but I don't think he's in the mood to humour you.”

“Sun Wukong?!”

“Who gave you permission to say my name?!”

Both you and Pigsy winced as Wukong beat the guy sound and proper. Pigsy knew that he was gonna get beat to a pulp too once Wukong was finished with the audacious bastard.

“See?” you looked at Pigsy warily. “I told you he'd find us soon…”

“Uh huh…” it was quite obvious that Pigsy was scared as Wukong was quick in finishing the deity and his men. Typical man, all show, no go… you thought to yourself before looking at Wukong as he wiped some blood off of his face. This shouldn't be hot… but it really is.

“So unfair…” you mumbled to yourself.

“Pft-” he eyed you, now it was your turn to glare.

“Shut up,” you folded your arms and looked away, but he forced you to look at him. 

“This look suits you well,” he leaned in and kissed you softly. “My beautiful goddess.”

“So you're not mad?” you peeked up at him.

“Furious,” he seethed, but caressed your cheek as he exhaled through his nose and smiled a bit, “but seeing you dressed like this… No man or demon could dare.”

“You sweet talker,” you managed a smile.

“I'm glad I'm the love of your life,” he winked with a smirk, which made you blush profusely.

“Exactly how long have you been watching?” you asked nervously. 

“Since you made Pigsy dance like an idiot, it was kinda funny,” he mused. 

So I guess I was right, Wukong was the one watching me.

“You were probably seething seeing that man hold me like that,” you smirked up at him.

“You know me well,” he nuzzled your cheek, “but today made me realize something.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“You're mine and that's how it should be,” he kissed your forehead. “You are mine, (Y/n). As I am yours.”

“Such a way with words…” You stroked the right side of his face. He leaned into your touch and closed his eyes. “True love can never be replaced or forgotten,” he looked at you. “When we collect the scrolls, and our quest is done… I wanna be immortal,” you cupped his cheek. “I want to be with you, the love of my life, for the rest of my existence and beyond that.”

“Sounds like a proposal,” he smiled a bit. 

“It's the same thing,” you smiled. 

“So be it,” He smirked before he leaned in and kissed you softly.

“Handsome…”

“Hm?” He looked at you as you rubbed your cheek against his chest. “You okay?”

“The love potion is taking effect,” you looked up with heart-shaped pupils. “My body feels hot…” You said as you got goosebumps.

“Not to ruin your couple moment, but we gotta get going!” You both pulled back and glared at the pig demon.

Damn it, Pigsy. Shut up for once. You both thought at the same time.

____________________________

Masterlist | Next--->

[valenishere]

Hello, I just read your post for the Imposter Au for Sagau involving a certain...beast from DnD, and I have to say I adore the idea, I may not wish to write for Imposter AU but I do enjoy browsing it and your is a wonderful concept.

I have heard the fan song made about that creature's lullaby enough times to picture that haunting melody playing as it hunts down anyone that dares intrude in its domain, steadily growing in power more and more as it feasts and grows.

Imagine it devours one of the Archons, their guard let down for just the most minute of instances as they feel something is wrong, and gains their powers, and with it a taste for their powers, one by one the nations fall into chaos as the False Hydra grows in power, a lullaby echoing across Teyvat.

Until at last it is called to aid its master in deposing the Imposter and throwing the world into chaos. Then and only then does the song fade, as sky scraper sized necks and heads turn towards Celestia, soulless pits for eyes meeting horrified gazes of the Celestial Gods as countless mouths stretch into grins.

At least that is the image that comes to my mind, I apologize if it is a mess but I am quite tired at the moment lol.

That said, stay safe and take care.

Sagau Idea prt2, prt 1.

[oooohhh ok this just gave me an idea (sorry for replying so sooo late)

Read the first part for more context. A bit of a uhh messy context but it works trust. As usual this will not be proofread and will very likely have very bad grammar. An attempt to write semi okay was made here. Also uhh poor attempt at writing smth great i dunno im kronked out

Mentions of injury, implied murders, blood, and implied cult

By now, you've probably figured out, Falseh is in fact, the homebrew monster, the False Hydra. Sings songs that makes people forget it exists and once it eats people, the eaten are forgotten completely too. Like they never existed in the first place.

In the first part, you(the hunted imposter) made Falseh to try and save yourself from getting killed. And it worked! Maybe a little too well. Because after getting a proper meal for the first time in almost a year now, right in the middle of the city of Liyue, AND getting a peaceful bath, your mind turned. And it turned.

And it didn't go to a nice place. How could it?

After having the fear of being impaled engrained into your mind not even an hour of arriving here, months of torture from sleepless nights, paranoia, and starvation, months of being subjected to unbridled hate from the people you loved, the very same people who wishes for your death from the bottom of their heart, and who caused you unbelievable amounts of grief and loss?

You don't want to think anymore. You can't.

They killed your characters. Your beloved characters.

With your last child... you want to find out just how far you can really go.

It was almost laughable how easy it was to get to the palace. That overextravagant palace built in the horizon. So big and shiny. And so out of place. Something that clearly shouldn't even exist at all.

The hailed "Creator" lounges atop their grand throne, rows upon rows of servants waiting at their beck and call. The face they claimed as their own shows naught but satisfaction. They have found a new way to expand their army. After watching what that imposter keeps doing, they thought, why not make their own?

It was brilliant! With twice the amount of pursuers, not even that elusive imposter would escape for long. They've already been informed by the Tianquan herself that the imposter is close to their grasps, and that it won't be long before their head is presented before the throne. Oh they just can't wait. Once that pest is gone, they'll finally be the one and only True God.

However, their thoughts of victory was quickly interrupted by shouts rights outside of the throne room. They click their tongue in irritation.

Which blithering fool dares make a ruckus in the All Creators domain!?

It's you.

You're the one causing a ruckus.

But to think that they'd make this much fuss just because they noticed you for the first time since walking inside. Although to be fair, they probably just thought that no one would just dare to waltz in into THE Creators castle, even if it is unguarded at the front.

Just being in this place grates your nerves. The sparkly hallways, the tacky extravagant furniture and drapes, the vibe, everything. You hate this place just looking at it from the outside, and ever since coming inside, you hate it even more. But you can tell that Falseh is very happy, so you suppose there's that.

He's been having lots of snacks starting from the gates after all.

The way that the guards immediately point their weapons at you to attack, only to disappear the next second makes you laugh a little every time.

And it's extra funny because the people beside them never reacted to their companions disappearing in the blink of an eye. Because to them, there was never anyone beside them in the first place.

You almost feel bad. You think you recognize some of those people. Brightly colored individuals. A flash of dark blue, someone with big ears, some reds, and... some other colors. But you honestly can't care less. You can't tell them apart anymore after all. They all just look... faceless to you.

It isn't long before all sounds ceased, and the creator leaned back against their chair.

The hailed "Creator" lounges atop their grand throne, rows upon rows of servants waiting at their beck and call. The face they claimed as their own shows naught but satisfaction. They have found a new way to expand their army. After watching what that imposter keeps doing, they thought, why not make their own? They could use them as guardsmen to their castle as well! It's brilliant!

However, their thoughts of victory was quickly interrupted as the door to the throne room was thrown open with a loud bang. They click their tongue in irritation.

Which blithering fool dares make a ruckus in the All Creators domain!?

It's you.

You're the one who caused the ruckus.

You took slow steps into the room, surveying your surroundings with disinterest.

'God... just when I thought I couldn't hate this place anymore than I do. I get shown this.'

You recognize some of them this time. The strongest ç̷̼̱̮̔͗̅̿ḩ̵̱̖̪͊̇̀̂͆̄̕a̴͔͎̜͔̾ř̴̡̬̤̱̝̗͚́̽̊͑a̷̦̥̩͈͋̑̾̈́̅̑͑c̴̳͓͕̲̓̔̊͝͠͠t̸̡̧̤̘͓͍͍̎̆̃e̸̢̨͓̾̃̊̃̀̏ŗ̷̮̰̂͐͋̋͝s̵̨̛̩͈͚̹͊̏̚ ý̸̹̦̻̘̱̉̍o̶̧̡̧̧̟̪̺͙͙͓̦̺͈̥̞̠͖͍̣͕͌̓̇̍̈́̀̒́̃̓̔̅̉̇̄̾͆̽̆̾̓͒͂̑̃͌̚͘͘͜͠͝͠ũ̷̟̞̤͚̪̰͚̥̰͇̍̏͐̽̄͛̂͛́̌̓͗̂̽̅̆̄̄̽̿̚͘̕͝ ̶̡̛̫͙̣̗̰͚͍̟̠̟̳̤͕̖͎͎̮͔͍̉͌̇̆̔̿̎̅̇͒͛̐͗̊̋͊́͑̓͊͜͜͝͠b̶̡̢̡̛͖̮͇͓̮̲̘̹͓͈̞̤̻̭̬̻̱̬̗̩͈̤̖̗͖̈́̅͊͌̊̄̂̋̑̓͆̓̈́̈́̈́͊̿̓͛̏͌͐̇̋͆̊̌͘̚͘͠͠͠ú̵̢̝̟͚̥̭̭͚̮͉̟̤̫͇̻̩͓̫̎̌į̴̛͈͙̥̯̟̖̥̤͎̫͙͉̟̟̫̝̘͚͎́͂̾͗̎͊́̎̉̒͋͛̽̓̋̓̍̈́̇͑̓̓̀̌̇̏̾̕͝͝͝ḽ̴̢̡̢̢̲̞͎͕̙͈̝̪̭͓̞̪̼̝̜̈́ţ̸̡̡̛̳͓̭̺͔̠̘͎̲̘̠̺͈̖͓̙̬̤͍̞̦̱͇̞̒̀̿̊͌͒̀̐́̑͂̌͛̄͋̌̎̐̋̾̅̾̇̓̋͘̕̚͜͜͠ people you know, waiting at the feet of someone who'd toss them aside at a heartbeat.

They truly do look pathetic.

Like unloved dogs who has given their undying loyalty to the first scoundrel who tossed them some maggot infested scraps.

They're just painful to̸̡̡̨̝̺̹̫̤̠̼͔͓͓͒̔̾̂̐̃̿͒͆̔̈̆̕͠ l̶̢̨̛̥͎̹̣͕͍͉̱̭̫͈̜̮̪̞̖̞͒̉́̂̊̿̌̑̌̒͑̍̓̅͠͠o̵̧̡̡̝̲͕͚̲̟̞̭̣͎̓̽̓̈́̓͆̓͠o̸͇̍͆͋̕͜k̶̰̩̙̰̩͔͙̽͆́̋͊̓̈͊̀͋̒̑̇̔̊̿͝͝ͅ a̶̢̧̨͈͚̱̙̦̬̺̜̫̮̬͔̖̙͔̖̥̤̥̎͒͑͌͐̍͛́̊̒̈́̏̀̆͒̾̎̈́̐̆́͘͝͠ͅţ̷̢͉̯̯͍̹̩̬͇͓̮̦̯̣̪̺̝̳̹̪̗͔̞̈́̋̍͛̑͌́̂̉͋͛̇̿̓͋͌̃̈́͘͝.

The hailed "Creator" lounges atop their grand throne, the face they claimed as their own showing naught but irritation, their eyes narrowed at the figure standing in the middle of their throne room. There may be no one with them at the moment, but this dirty peasant has the gall to stand before the True God without prostrating themselves!? How utterly despicable!

Who does this blithering fool think they are!?

"Wha̵̢̧̨̛̛̘̤̼͚̪̩̘̯̥̬̞͚̰̼͚̱̘͖̗̍͛͛̿̂̒́͆̑̕̕͝t̴̨̨̨̧̛̪̠̪̲̼̜͖͚͉̤̠̳̰̼͙͙̗͍̰͕͖͔̲̼̖̭̳̮̼̤́̐̀̉̓́̀̆̀̃͂͆̔͆̈̃̋̿́́̿̐́̈́̎̐͘̚̕͘͜͠ͅ-̵̡͈̠̲̳͚̠͎̣̙̙̱̣̟̪͙̪̙̺͇̍̈́̋̔̐͗͗̋̅́͒́̐́̈́̊̔̉͑̀̔̉͆̇̂̅̈̿͌́̆̋̇͂́̿͊̀̓͒̕͜͝-̵̧̧̧̨̛̤͔̯̹͔͇̲̮̙̮̦͕̟̗͚̣̫̪͙͉̟̦͓̫̪̬̜̥͈̭͚̼͎̥̪̼̝̯͎̋͊̂̄̍̂́́̆̋̐͑́̍͑̀͗́̌͗̓̅̽̇͆͒͋́̆̈́̎̆͌̎̕͜͜͝͝͝͝"̸̧̢̛̻͚̗̱͇͍͙͎͔͇̰̗̠̑̓͛̀́̀͗̈̓̇̂̌̃͋͘͜͝͝

The Creator's throne glitters within the light of the throne room, barren and standing tall, awaiting its rightful owner.

A lone figure stood in the middle of the room, looking up at the grand throne with disinterested eyes.

It's you.

You stood there.

You stood in the middle of the empty grandiose throne room, feeling your skin crawl just standing in the presence of such a... symbol of error. A symbol of oppression.

And you know that the longer you stay in here, the more you'd want to keel over and hurl.

So you turn around, walking away from the empty seat.

And you know.

The song has stopped.

And you hear it. All of it.

Bones snapping. Breaking. Flesh, tearing. Squelching as it is bitten through.

Hell you can smell it pretty clearly too.

All around you, you see. Pools of blood. Bloodied weapons with no owners to be found. Dismembered limbs scattered across the floor, which was soon snapped up by tendrils of flesh, teeth grinning as it chews on its food.

The cacophony of grotesque sounds, sight, and smells is most definitely disgusting.

Although oddly enough, it's also somehow comforting.

As you leave, a listless hum leaves your lips, the song that has stuck to your head after being sung in your ears for quite a while now. A few words slips out.

"--... Dulcis puer~... dulcis puer~..."

.

.

.

.

.

.

You stroll across the city, refreshed and with a skip in your step. People looks at you and found themselves smiling as well.

"My isn't that one a jolly fellow."

"They must've had quite a great adventure then."

"Oh for sure! Just look at how happy they look!"

Oh and you sure are. It has been weeks since then, and you still see remnants like statues and temples and shit, but no one has mentioned anything about a higher all true god for so long.

You were a bit worried about the technicalities of Falseh's power, but it seems you have done it. No one is no longer hunting you, the artificial life that were created by them were promptly cleaned up by your kid, and no one remembers anything about them ever existing anymore.

You can go the city, eat wherever you want, talk to whomever you want, without fearing for your life. You still kept your face hidden and adjusted your voice when interacting with people, but as you know, habits die hard.

You have never felt so relieved. Relaxed.

It's finally over. Now you can--

What's that giant float?

You approach one of the workers, looking up at the... extravagant float. Just looking at it is... making your skin crawl.

"Uh, hello. Is there-- is-- is there a festival coming? Looks... lo--looks pretty big."

The worker laughs, patting your shoulder roughly. "No need to be nervous my friend! It is the time for great joy after all!"

You laugh awkwardly, wincing. "And-- and remind me again-- for-- For what? Exact--Exactly?"

"Why, for the celebration of course! Where we pray for blessings and offer up tributes to our one and only God!"

You blink at him, dumbfounded. "... to Morax?"

He laughs again, like you've told the greatest joke. "While we do have celebrations like these for Rex Lapis as well, this is different! This is the day of our reverence to the True God, the Creator! Surely you have a day like this in your country too--"

You felt your stomach drop.

Oh no.

Oh no.

[the-real-fandom-person]

SAGAU-related brainrot knocking around my skull lately: Lady Maria!Creator.

Noble, graceful, remorseful, powerful, melancholy, otherworldly Lady Maria. The Creator isn’t a pure and untouched soul, she’s a scarred and battle-hardened warrior, ridden with guilt. Trauma has made her cold, yet paradoxically gentle.

Teyvat makes lumenflowers blossom everywhere to herald Maria!Creator’s arrival. Big ones, small ones, towering ones, blooming after sundown alongside the glaze lilies. Even in extreme temperatures, the cold, pale flowers make themselves at home. Slotting peacefully into the local ecosystems without becoming invasive. 

The Pari and the Aranara wake up to find lumenwood groves just outside their respective homes. The Melusines become enamored with these new ‘moon blossoms’ sprouting throughout their village, even the parts that are completely underwater. Amurta students and Fontaine researchers scramble over each other to study this new species. Nilou makes M!C a lumenflower crown, and it replaces her hunter’s cap for the day. Nilou gets the first ever hug from the Creator. Suck it, Azar.

Albedo and Sucrose experiment on these new plants immediately. Xiangling is already using it in some strange new recipe, something Chongyun will actually eat for once. Tighnari, Ganyu, and Shenhe take curious bites out of a lumenflower cutting. The taste isn’t unpleasant, just incomparable to anything else in Teyvat.

Inazuma characters, especially Kazuha, are absolutely fascinated by the Rakuyo (and maybe a little jealous). So graceful is M!C with her strange weapon, so easily she wields it on the battlefield. Every blacksmith in Teyvat hears the words ‘trick weapon’ and takes it as a challenge. Many come close, but none can truly replicate the genuine articles. May they never have a true need for beast-slaying weapons.

Imposter AU? With one of Bloodborne’s toughest bosses? Laughable. RIP anyone stupid enough to try. And if there’s a fake Creator pulling the strings? Not after a quick visceral attack, there isn’t. M!C pulls a blood blade to cut down the imposter’s guards (she notices the stars in her blood that weren’t there before) and the imposter receives the most satisfying visceral ever. 

Up to this point M!C put no stock in the ‘god’ thing. All she sees is mad cult, led by a petty and jealous brat on a power trip. But then she sees the stars in her blood, hears the voice of Teyvat itself, puts two and two together and just… laughs hysterically, because this whole situation is patently ridiculous. Byrgenwerth and the Healing Church failed in their quests for ascension, their heinous crimes being all for naught. Now here she is, thrown headfirst into unwanted ‘godhood’ and getting hunted by her supposed worshipers. Oh, how the tables have turned. 

Once people see the cosmos reflected in M!C’s blood, they fall over each other trying to apologize. Since she’s reached negative patience for everyone’s bullshit, she ignores them and fucks off to the Nightmare. After coming into Teyvat, M!C gained the power to enter and exit the Nightmare at will. The Nightmare doesn’t bend to her will, but it doesn’t treat her as an intruder. The Silverbeasts and Winter Lanterns don’t bat an eye at her presence. She’s a true denizen of both the waking world and the world of dreams, now. 

That night, every soul in Teyvat has the same nightmare - the Celestial gods attempting to forcibly summon the Creator, only to have themselves snatched from Celestia and dragged into a hostile, eldritch world of unfamiliar mish-mashed environments. At every turn, it is full of nightmarish creatures out for their blood. One by one, all but a select portion of Celestials become beast food, with M!C protecting the final ones herself.

Celestia, responsible for planting the fake Creator, falls from the sky the next day, its grand architecture reduced to mere rubble that rains from the heavens. Found amongst these ruins are the mangled, blood-drained and half-eaten bodies of Celestial gods. Spears made of blood impale many of the bodies, spears that seem to have sprouted from inside the flesh. Those that still have intact faces bear identical looks of horror. They find The Sustainer of Heavenly Principles in literal pieces - crushed and torn apart by hands that must have been the size of a grown man.

New stars and constellations appear in the night sky, as the illusion created by Celestia slowly fades. The curse placed on the people of Khaenriah gradually dissipates as well - the hillichurl tribes withdraw from the world, content to leave it alone. Every day, the curse lifts a little more from the people of Khaenriah; one day, Dainslief, Pierro and all the rest will finally be able to die. 

In Celestia’s place rises a second moon - a snow-white harvest moon, always full, large and visible even when clouds blanket the sky.

The Archons try to follow M!C into the Nightmare, but like Celestia, they get their shit wrecked by the denizens of the Frontier. The Archons don’t die for real, they’re just permanently cut off from the Nightmare. It takes Nahida, with dream powers of her own + Traveler and Wanderer in tow, to reach M!C and convince her to give the people of Teyvat a second chance. Nahida succeeds because she has the sense to treat M!C as a person, not some untouchable idol.

Sumeru is warm and welcoming, nothing like Yharnam or Cainhurst. M!C has fond memories from her time as a Byrgenwerth scholar, and the Akademiya feels like home. Sumeru becomes M!C’s preferred nation by default, to the pride of the locals and the despair of everyone else.

M!C has trouble wrapping her head around how mundane Teyvat’s supposed ‘gods’ are. Elemental powers or not, these Archons are too human to be divine; the only divinity M!C knows is eldritch, alien, far beyond mortal comprehension. The Traveler is fractionally closer to true godhood than any Archon. But then, just as the Great Ones were beyond human comprehension, so too are humans beyond the understanding of the Great Ones - perhaps it’s better for humans to have human gods.

Speaking of gods, M!C and Nahida bond over their dream-related powers. If this is before the climax of the Sumeru quest line, the Akademiya gets real quiet, especially when M!C publicly points out how asinine their logic is (she was closely associated with Byrgenwerth and Laurence, she knows their kind all too well). For all of his failures, all the disastrous consequences, Vicar Laurence at least had genuinely good intentions; these fools only care about themselves and preserving their own power. Scaramouche, Azar, the traitorous Sages - selfish, ignorant children all, meddling with forces they only pretend to understand. Crushing them herself is merciful compared to the other outcomes.

Through tactical manipulation of dream worlds, M!C busts Nahida out of baby jail long before Traveler and co. have to, and the Akademiya goes into panic mode because the Creator herself is coming for them. Traveler and co.’s plans turn instead to finding the hidden laboratory under Sumeru City - the combined power of dreams horrifically distorts the battlefield around the Shouki no Kami, even after his defeat. M!C doesn’t kill Azar after the fact, but she doesn’t let him go into exile empty-handed... because she cuts off his hands. Cyno is too unsettled to laugh.

Scaramouche resents her for her part in ruining his apotheosis (and because the Creator didn’t do shit for him in his tragically long life) but as the Wanderer, he and M!C bond over a shared disgust for the Second Fatui Harbinger.

And speaking of the Fatui... Well, they try to recruit her to the cause, and she has this to say:

“I’ll not serve your organization while any part of Dottore yet lives. For too many years, I stood by and did nothing while so-called ‘doctors’ brutalized the innocent and vulnerable for their supposed research, their dreams of godhood and divine revelation. Never again. If your leaders possess a shred of self-preservation between themselves, then perish the thought this instant.”

Fatui agent(s): ...

They don’t give up, of course. The less friendly ‘recruiters’ get sent back to Snezhnaya in pieces. The only Fatuus M!C tolerates is Tartaglia, because aside from being the Traveler’s friend, he’s a decent punching bag/sparring partner. She finds his Foul Legacy transformation cute, like a kitten baring its teeth at a lion.

Related idea: M!C meets Dottore’s remaining segment, and after everything she’s heard (let’s say from Collei and Wanderer, maybe Nahida too) she barely lets him get two words in before cutting his head clean off. Will this affect Dottore in the long run? Probably not. Does it make her feel better? Yes, actually. Collei certainly isn’t upset by the news. Wanderer is, only because he feels M!C was too merciful. She lets him dismember the segment so they can stuff it in a box and send it back to the Doctor as a warning.

If a scourge of beasts were to descend on Teyvat, probably because of Dottore M!C would lead the defense. This is not a war that mortals alone can fight, she insists. By her orders, every available god (herself included), adeptus, dragon, and most of the older allogenes are on the front lines, staving off the worst of the horde. Pyro users are in high demand, for the beasts fear them the most. In lieu of blood ministration, the various healers of Teyvat are working ‘round-the-clock. An entirely new crop of Vision-wielding healers spring up, because Teyvat’s top god herself unconsciously wills them into existence. Because M!C would never make use of the Old Blood, not after seeing and experiencing its effects firsthand. The burden of being a capital-H Hunter, the sweet, intoxicating call of blood - M!C remembers Byrgenwerth’s sacred adage, and she has learned from the mistakes of Vicar Laurence. Yharnam was merely the latest in a cycle of destruction, all because of the Old Blood. She will not doom Teyvat to suffer the same fate.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Tripitaka's first meeting with Xiaotian is an interesting one. He gets thrown in a cell as usual, but before the guard can lock it, a blur of dark fur and teeth strikes. Xiaotian is Wukong's son and every way, and Wukong was always a fighter. The problem is, as acrappy as Xiaotian is, he is untrained and doesn't hold the same strength as his godly mother. Not yet. So the guard is able to quickly and easily swat him away.

So Tripitaka is left in a cell, alone, with only a whimpering ball of fur for company until he decides to get a proper look at his cell mate and socks in his breath as he realizes just WHO he was trapped with. Wukong's son didn't have his fiery orange mane nor his red eyes, but the resemblance was unmistakable as wide golden eyes stared up at him in fear. This was no monster, no demonic beast. It was a child. His student's child, who was fighting back as best he could against captors much stronger than him.

Prev.

Tripitaka sees part of himself in Xiaotian when he finally meets the boy for the first time; a child desperate to reunite with his mother but impeded by a cruel foe.

The first thing the monk finds himself doing is to hug the demonic child tight. Reassuring him that his leading disciple is the strongest demon he knows, and that they will be saved in due haste as long as they have faith.

The boy's four brightly-coloured ears twitch and relax as if detecting the certainty in the human man's words.

Tripitaka's breath catches in his throat. Multiple ears. Wukong had mentioned his mate had six.

During his soothing; the monk lets it slip that his disciple is in fact The Great Sage Equal to Heaven himself.

Xiaotian, eyes sparkling like sunlight: "MOM!?"

The boy wants to know everything. How the Tang Monk met his mother? Why did the Buddha put him under contract? How many foes have they faced? Does his mother like peaches as much as his father claims?

Tripitaka is nearly overwhelmed by the flurry of questions, but reminds himself that this is far preferable to the boy being in distress. He tries his best to relay in the events of the Journey up til now; speaking of how his disciple had defended him and his Pilgrim brothers from beasts, demons, and rogue celestials alike. And how even when the monk had truly doubted his bodyguard's judgement, how Sun Wukong still returned to his aid.

After many stories, the boy's ears twitch once more.

Xiaotian: (*excited stimming!*) Tripitaka: "What is it, child?" Xiaotian: "Dad's here." :D

And indeed he is. Soon even the monk can hear the sounds of guards and bandits running in terror at the approach of the Six Eared Macaque. The two prisoners take advantage of the carnage to flee their cell and hopefully find the monk's disciples and the boy's parents amongst all the fighting.

However, the reunion isn't clean.

Their captor, the Demon King of Havoc; grasps Xiaotian around the neck. A blade leering dangerously near his throat. Literally staring his parents in the face, his mother's for the first time, and the Prince doesn't dare breathe.

The old Demon King demands that the Monkey King and his allies stand down less they lose the dear Prince.

Tripitaka, emboldened by his own past; runs from his cover and starts making noise. Jangling his staff, yelling, waving his arms, throwing discarded weapons and armour; anything and everything to draw the Demon King's attention.

It's sufficient.

Xiaotian sneezes and transforms into a sparrow; taking advantage of his captor's slacked hold. He notices one of the weapons Tripitaka had tossed in his direction, and makes a swift decision.

With a single swing of the heavy polearm, the Monkey Prince's first official victory becomes the same as his mother's.

In the aftermath, the three monkeys hesitate to even speak. They had come so far and fought so many foes to reach this point that they cannot think of a single thing to say.

The Monkey King is ultimately the one to break the silence, albeit with a rather silly observation;

Wukong, tears streaming down his face: "How are you already taller than me? That's illegal." Xiaotian, bursting into sobs: "MOM!"

The two collide like meteorites, trying their best to fit nearly 500 years worth of hugs into one.

Macaque smiles tiredly, his soul satisfied to finally reunite his mate and their cub. His own reunion with his mate can wait for the moment - they have eternity after all. The Tang monk's selfless act to distract the Havoc King softens the Macaque's view on him.

The Pilgrims gain two unofficial members to the Journey after this point! Family bonding is desperately required, and whats a better way than a road trip?

[eatsbooks]

even if the enemy is ourselves

characters: azriel yladi, eris vanserra, minor / brief cameos

pairing: azris

rating: explicit

word count: 6.1k / 30.3k

warnings: blackmail, complicated relationship, hate sex, murder, power imbalance, sex as self harm, torture, unhealthy relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms

summary: an examination of azriel and eris's relationship over the centuries, wherein azriel is the one who tortured morrigan, wherein eris finds out and keeps azriel's secret — for a price.

a/n: i had … so much fun w this chapter. it also ran my ass ragged. if u see azriel moping around do NOT help him out. he is exactly where he wants to be. find it on ao3 here. enjoy!

tag list: @buffy-vanserra @the-darkestminds @olenvasynyt @jules-writes-stories @palomita-de-la-sangre @g00seg1rl @mistandmemories @talibunny30 @pippsmcgee @astro-h0e-4azris @chunkypossum @iftheshoef1tz @ysmtttty @nightsandflamess @nus4y (if u want on / off pls lmk !)

chapter seven: any way but softly

The nighttide and the cool, blue serenity it carries in is always a falsehood. Once the luminaries trade their positions in the sky — one hidden away below the horizon, the other hoisted up in stark exaltation — the dark is finally free to take up its song unfettered. A seamless network, the shadows make merry with one another while all else finds repose, speaking often only for the privilege of being heard, for the boon of having another close enough to respond. Their babel ebbs and flows as it will, but its presence is constant. The nighttide is never as tranquil as it affects.

So Azriel thinks it strange, to be perched on a gable at the outskirts of the city proper, shrouded in whispers and murk, the mid-night celestial hung bright above him, and to sense so very little.

He closes his eyes and sees the noise of: tall, spearing stalks of grain where they sway in endless fields of moonlit silver; herd beasts dozing alongside their offspring in the dusky safety of their barns; guards dutiful at their posts, no matter how far from the royal stronghold; fae bodies bundled snug in their straw-stuffed beds, or spiting their pre-dawn rise to indulge just a bit longer in the comforts of one another, or following foot-worn paths from taverns and brothels out to their lord’s land — some even reckless enough to do so on their own.

Quiet, pastoral domesticities on a quiet, pastoral eve.

What he does not sense are the depravities that the nighttide should be coaxing out of their hideaways. The shadows titter about only the occasional faerie desperate enough to slip into sleeping homes and thieve that which is not theirs, to take advantage of those too deep in their drink to put up any substantial fight. There are no sentries betting on the havoc, or else inciting it themselves — no females or younglings out to make coin however their bodies are best able.

All things Azriel has seen rampant across the other provinces of Autumn. All things he expected to find much the same here.

He has not been back to Ceres since Atrius bid him a lifetime ago. Though he tries now, he cannot recall if he witnessed such corruption then. It is long enough in his past at this point that the edges of the memory have dulled, bitten through like silk spun to sate the appetite of the moths.

But its center is still whole. The emerald lordling still descends from his keep and glints as pristine as he did on that very day. A small vein of blood still spills out in his wake, easy as the wave of his hand and the sink of his guard’s knife.

Azriel opens his eyes into the too-quiet dark and follows the core of the memory deeper into the city.

As he walks the rooftops, they steadily begin to change. Their slopes grow steeper, each one higher and farther apart than the last, until he must pass as though a cloud across their ginnels. The ornamentations underfoot become lovely and detailed, clean enough that even in the moonlight, he knows he has passed beyond the dwellings of the commonfolk and into the aristocratic quarters. He stops in the cover of a smoking chimney once the entrance to the royal keep is visible far below.

Here, the shadows lift their voices high, eager, offering their song not just to each other for his sampling but to him directly.

Azriel does not close his eyes into their sound this time. He listens, and the scenes unfold as though he is there, under the tables, in the hearths, between the sheets with them. He sees: a half-naked female glamouring away a bruise on her hip as the male behind her stuffs himself back into his doublet; a dagger brandished above a table laden with gold coin and scattered jewels; the haze from a hanging brazier bringing an entire room to cough, then laugh, then laugh at the absurdity of their amusement, all without a single word exchanged; tense, double-spoken meetings between the elite and the eyes they employ; females with their gazes lowered and younglings with their mouths closed.

This is to be expected. He knows he could winnow a province over this very moment and find identical recreations in near every city throughout the court.

Which is why the quiet, pastoral eve nearby is a baited line before an eager beast. He is reeled back into it and lets it ensnare him until the nighttide recedes to reveal the even quieter light of day.

With his own eyes now, Azriel watches the bright hours pass in a mild stun. He dutifully tracks the farmers rising to their work in the fields and the shops opening along the streets below and the merchants rattling in and out of the city on bespelled wagons.

There is no laughter as there would be in Velaris, but there are soft smiles to be seen exchanged, helpful hands and favors without expectation. Even for the sprawl of the pastures, it is apparent that these folk are neighbors — not just empty bellies willing to inform on one another for the chance to be filled.

Fresh bread, for your mother. I know how she likes it.

A tincture to reduce fever, for your babe. Oh, and this here will help with his cough.

Here, take my spare ration. Hush now, we both know you’re good for it.

Azriel eventually descends from the eaves alongside the drooping sun, both so commonplace, so difficult to look directly upon that nobody pays either of them any attention at all. He keeps to the street sides as he makes for a tavern that opened a few hours past and slips inside. There, he settles into a seat at the corner of the bar.

His timing is nothing short of intentional. Now is when the folk working the fields meander into the city proper to drink away the stress of their labor. They will cluster together here, and the alcohol in their systems will make their tongues loose, their words careless.

The tender behind the counter: “Y’got coin?”

From the shadow of his pocket, Azriel produces a silver piece and flips it onto the bar top in an unremarkable flash of his hand. The tender takes this in stride; the coin offered is enough that any offense is overlooked but not enough to be worthy of gossip.

“Ale?”

Azriel nods. He assumes a neutral, vaguely seasonal-court brevity when he says, “Thanks.”

Just as his tankard is set down before him, the first group of farmers enters. Their majority shuffles off for a long table nearest the hearthside and the crackling, hissing meat roasting within it. One at the back peels away from the group to make for the bar.

This male has height to him, as well as the wiry sort of build expected of someone who spends their days tilling the land. His hair is a nutty shade of brown, longer in the back than it is in the front. A few days’ worth of unkempt scruff covers his face, but this does little to disguise that he is comely beneath, even beyond that of most fae.

Once the farmer orders and gets his drink, Azriel glances over as though noticing him for the first time. He looks back, eyes drawn past Azriel’s face to the wings framing his head. Cataloguing Azriel, immediately, as other — as lesser.

Azriel dips his chin.

The farmer does not. He takes a swig of his ale, wrinkling the bridge of his nose against the bitter, snapping taste. Then, as though he is keeper of this tavern, he asks, “What’s your business?”

“None of my own.” Azriel sips at his beer. “Had product to sell.”

The farmer narrows his eyes. “Didn’t see a wagon outside.”

“Nor my master sitting beside me,” Azriel responds, tipping his head to the empty seat at his right. “No wares left to take home besides. Your lord is a generous one.”

The farmer snorts before remembering himself. “What, ah—” He glances over to the males he walked in with, then back to Azriel. In that time, he comes to some manner of decision and rests his weight on the edge of the stool closest to him. “What is it y’sell?”

“Spices, mostly.”

“Hm,” the farmer considers. “Maybe I’ll defect and take t’the trade. Meet this generous lord for myself.”

Azriel smiles, amused by the barb and failing in his attempt to conceal it. “And you?”

“Bound to a demesne.”

Azriel nods like this is novel information. He offers, “It’s honest work,” though it would not be, anywhere else in Autumn.

The farmer chuckles. A hoarse, gruff sound that meets the ear from deep in his chest, as if he is unused to making it. “Honesty isn’t worth much when the pay’s shit.”

Azriel’s own laugh is conspiratorial, both of them sharing in an understanding. The timbre of it says that he might be the apprentice of a merchant, but they are two males who know what it is to answer to a master. It urges the farmer to consider that there is comradery to be found in the fact that neither of them will ever know the wealth and comfort of a lordling.

Azriel even loosens his posture and leans his arms on the bartop. The shadows lighten just enough to bear his face to the warm glow of the room, and his expression is revealed to be just as inviting.

The farmer relaxes into his seat and pulls deeply from his glass.

“Doesn’t seem so bad here in Ceres, though,” Azriel says, tone low with intrigue but still so very careful. He is nervous of saying the wrong thing, of overstepping, even for their newfound understanding. In his eyes, the subtle admission: My master is just as unforgiving as yours. “At least — from what I’ve seen in our travels the past few days.”

On a shrug, “Wouldn’t know.”

“Ah,” Azriel sounds, straightening up slightly. Just enough to seem like he is accepting an unintended cue of dismissal.

“Always harvest season, here,” the farmer explains, canting forth to make up for the distance. “Can’t wander too far from the fields.” He looks to his friends once more, then to the tender, who is busied with another patron. When his gaze returns, it holds to Azriel’s. “What’s it like? In the other provinces.”

“Between us?” Azriel leans in towards him. “If I were elsewhere right now, I wouldn’t be caught dead alone and in my cups. Or,” and here, he rustles his wings, draws attention to his otherness, “maybe I would.”

The farmer’s gaze flickers as he finishes off his drink, but it has steadied by the time he lowers the tankard. “‘Fraid it’s no different here.”

“For the best you’ve joined me, then,” Azriel says.

With the weight of a reaching hand, the farmer strokes a look along the breadth of Azriel’s shoulders. He says, “You look like you can take care of yourself.”

Again, Azriel takes this as though a dismissal. He looks to the long table his companion keeps glancing towards and says, “If you need to get back to your fellows…”

“So we can shoot the same shit we do every day?” The farmer shakes his head, turning to face Azriel fully and, in doing so, placing the approaching barkeep at his back. “Tell me, what’re the other Vanserra sods l—”

“Won’t have that here,” the tender cuts in. “Leave if you two want to run your mouths.”

For just a moment, irritation overcomes the farmer. He tilts his head to the side, draws up as though about to say something — and stops himself.

Azriel raises his hands placatingly, keeping them to shadow so they are neither easily noticed nor remembered.

The tender looks between them until the farmer concedes with a dip of his chin. “Another, then?” he asks, picking up the emptied tankard.

The farmer nods once, curtly.

Just before the barkeep turns away, Azriel says, “On me.” His coin is enough for another few rounds, at least.

“Didn’t have to,” the farmer says.

Azriel shrugs.

The farmer inclines his head in thanks.

“What’s your name?” Azriel asks.

“Ren. Ren Monlir,” he responds. “Yours?”

“Azriel.”

“Just Azriel?”

It is his mother’s family name that he offers. “Yladi.”

Ren makes a small noise of acknowledgment, but he is soon distracted by the ale placed before him.

They both sit for a time without speaking. Azriel tunes in to the chatter of the bar at large, and Ren watches the tender as he goes about his business. Azriel expects him to leave, but he remains sitting a few empty stools away in companionable silence.

At length, Ren looks to Azriel’s wings again, as if he has been holding himself back but cannot help it any longer. He presses his mouth into a thin line, then says, “You’ve got those on your back, and you let yourself be kept by a merchant?”

Azriel laughs, this time a nighttime breeze. It is easy to answer, on this quiet, pastoral eve that should not exist, in this place where he is not himself. “What is it you think I can do with them?” Almost, he leaves it there — but this persona of his is engaging, chatty. “Make myself a life in the clouds? Charm a few stars down to tumble with me when I’m lonely?”

Ren waves Azriel off with a dismissive flick of his hand. “You could go anywhere,” he asserts, a slight roundness to his speech now that he has two drinks in him. Azriel would have thought him heartier than this, but he will not begrudge an easily freed tongue. “What’s to stop you?”

Azriel is not quite sure what he wants to say after swallowing past the sudden choke around his neck. The words choose themselves before the quiet stretches on too long.

“Nowhere far enough.”

Appropriate, that he should voice them here, where he first learned that lesson.

Ren’s mouth twitches, something like disappointment, something like empathy. Azriel wishes he could call on his shadows to tell him which.

“Shame,” Ren says. “Would’ve been a feat t’see how you’d go about tumbling a star.”

Needing, suddenly, to distract his mind and his body both, Azriel says, “That could still be arranged.”

For a long moment, Ren considers this offer, and Azriel waits to be rebuffed — for being other, for being lesser, for being both too bold and too weak. He is kept waiting while Ren turns away and gestures for the barkeep.

“Still on you?” the male asks Azriel.

But it is Ren who places a gleaming coin beside his emptied glass and says, “A room.”

The tender pockets the payment swiftly. “Take your pick of the empties,” he replies. “I’ll have dinner sent up.”

“No,” Ren says. “We are not t— not hungry.”

A nod. “Send word down, if you change your mind.”

Ren stands, then glances over his shoulder as though expecting Azriel to already be there. He looks confused to have to slide his gaze to the stool Azriel has been in all this time.

“Well?”

Azriel adjusts the seat of his trousers and rises to his feet, his half-full tankard left to whoever is lucky enough to find it first.

The bar has become crowded over the course of their conversation, but even at its densest, the patrons part for Ren without him needing to say a word. Trailing in his wake, Azriel bids a few shadows to remain under tabletops and in the rafters to keep vigil.

As they reach the stairwell to the lodging above, Azriel can keep quiet no longer. He leans in, mouth just behind Ren’s ear, and murmurs, “Didn’t realize Autumn fae were so free with their affections.”

Ren pauses with a foot on the lowest tread and turns his head towards the throng they are leaving behind, or else into the sound of Azriel’s voice. Only now does it appear to register to him that there are fae around who have very much noticed the two males openly heading upstairs together, some of them snickering, some of them sneering. None are bold enough to say anything with Azriel drawn up to his full height in their midst, but the shadows pick up their whisperings all the same.

Azriel is close enough to see the muscle at the back of Ren’s jaw tense, though the male simply shrugs and continues up the stairs. “Anything’ll do after a few pints.”

Though Azriel would have been content to take Ren in any of the rooms the male peers into, it is not until they ascend a second flight that one is deemed suitable enough.

Ren guides them into a corner room with only a single window, covered with ratty, burgundy curtaining and positioned far from the bed. Other furniture is sparing. There is a small bedside table with a ewer of fresh water, a rag, and a fire-lit lamp atop it, as well as a modest chest against the opposite wall to risk placing any valuables in.

Azriel shuts the door behind them and bids more shadows to monitor the hallway.

By the time he turns back, the other male has perched himself on the end of the bed. He leans back on his hands, and his long legs spread wide and expectant.

“Pretend I am a star,” he bids. “Charm me.”

Azriel moves to stand between his legs. He leans forth, splaying a hand at either juncture between leg and hip, framing the steady rousing of the cock between.

Instinctually, the other male presses his hips towards Azriel. The fabric of his trousers pulls taut against the swell of him, and his lips part for the hitch of his breath at the sensation. From beneath his lashes, he looks up at Azriel. The flickering amber glow of the nearby light brings out the gold of his irises, the burnished undertones of his hair.

Azriel lowers to his knees then, slow, intentional, sliding his hands down along the curvature of the inner thighs as he does. He is rewarded by a faint tremor from the muscles below once he begins to drag his touch back up, then another impatient demand of the hips.

Just as his thumbs are about to make contact, he switches directions again.

The male makes a noise like a hiss. “Who knew charming took so long.”

Azriel nearly asks: Who have you bedded before, that this is all it takes to frustrate you? But he finds he does not care much to hear that answer.

Instead, he says, “Perhaps I would’ve chosen differently, if I’d known stars were so demanding.”

As Azriel inches back up his thighs, the male asks, “Would you have?”

Azriel does not answer quite yet. He carries the motion of his hands all the way this time, until the chest in his periphery stutters with anticipatory breath, until he palms along the length of the male’s cock and feels the relief of it as an ache at his own.

Above him, there is a gasp, and into his hand, there is an insistent buck.

Only then does Azriel admit, “No.”

He strokes leisurely over the bulge as he fumbles with the lacings of the male’s trousers. With his head tilted back into the sensation as it is, the other does not seem to notice how long it takes to undo them, and soon enough, the trappings of his lower half have been done away with entirely.

Upon first glimpse of the male’s bared cock, saliva pools in Azriel’s mouth. He takes a moment, gripping it tight at the base, to appreciate the sight.

The head is thick, a pretty, rosy color, not unlike the flush now spreading from the points of the male’s ears, across the high of his cheeks, down the column of his throat. A bead of come gleams at the tip with the same allure as a precious gem.

Azriel looks up and holds the male’s regard captive as he collects it on his tongue. The act of swallowing it down is intentional. He finds no small amount of satisfaction in how the male tracks the bob of his throat, in how the male hides away his enjoyment in his grip on the blanket beneath his palms.

Though the other closes his eyes at the first swipe of tongue along the underside of his cock, Azriel remains rapt from below. He watches each twitch, each pant and gasp. When he elicits his first quiet half-moan, he goes back and flicks over the spot again. Then he lowers his mouth to suckle at it, so that the next moan he earns is louder, fuller.

He draws up to swirl at the head, intending only to relish in the betrayal of need once more collected at its tip—

—but then there is a groan of frustration, and fingers winding forcefully in his hair, and hands pressing down, and hips pressing up. The intrusion hits the back of his throat abruptly. He must suppress a gag when the male reclines fully against the bed and begins to claim his mouth.

To be used in such a way tightens at his loins. With nothing else to seek out, he finds small relief against the seam of his pants. Nearly, he even relaxes his throat around the thrusts and loses himself to the servicing.

Then comes the distant thought, from somewhere high in the clouds. His voice as he has only ever known it with the wind beneath his wings and the illusion of freedom all around him. It says: This is no way for a star to be charmed down from the sky.

The grip on his hair is not secure enough anymore to keep him in place when he lifts his head off. Hands promptly scrabble to pull him back, so he uses the momentum to drop his mouth low and sink his teeth into the sensitive flesh of the thigh — not enough to break the skin but enough to leave a mark.

The male shoots up to curl around his head, freeing a cry of shock that gives way near-immediately to one of resentful pleasure. He lifts a hand as though to frighten the feeling away with a slap, but Azriel has already taken his cock to the back of his throat once more.

This stuns the other for long enough that Azriel can press him down against the mattress, keeping him in place with one hand on his abdomen and the other tight on his thigh. Even then, the male pushes his hips ineffectually forth, yanking savagely on the hair in his grasp.

Azriel does not move, even for the mess this makes of his arousal, slick where it slides against his underthings. Mouth filled with cock, he flicks his eyes up to the male and bites down again — still not enough to break the skin but enough now to serve as true warning.

The male gasps, then flashes his teeth at Azriel. “If you do that again, I swear on the Mother that I will— Oh.”

Now that he has gone still, Azriel takes him down his throat with the ease of extensive practice. He swallows around him as best he is able, then begins to move in earnest. Steady, well-paced bobs of his head, so deep that the tip of his nose soon brushes against the smattering of auburn hair at the base.

When the next shift of the male’s hips are just a needful, uncontrollable spasm of pleasure, Azriel moans. It rumbles soundly at the base of his skull, seeming to rattle out into his entire body, which is burning through with his own desperation.

Azriel hastens his pace. He bears down hard enough that his throat aches with the force and his jaw comes near to locking. He is surprised, in as much as he can think at all, that the male is in possession of such endurance. But even that does not last long, once he slides a hand down along the inner thigh and presses into where the lingering mark of his teeth should be.

There is no warning offered.

The male comes with a strained cry. Azriel lets him shove in as he will now, swallowing each shudder with a hum of encouragement.

Once this first climax has spent, he pulls off and takes in a full breath. He uses it to rasp out, “You’ll what?”

Lids low, the male tracks Azriel as he rises to a stand. He blinks slowly, then a few times in quick succession.

“What?”

Azriel groans at the pain of pulling his trousers down over his cock, but the cool relief of the room is welcomed on his sweat-dappled skin. He does not bother with the rest of his clothing, nor the complicated fastenings around his wings — not with easier dealings before him.

He crawls atop the male and, in one fluid motion, both pushes them deeper into the middle of the bed and slips the homespun tunic over the other’s head.

Face to face, he goads, “If I do it again, you’ll what?”

It takes another moment for the male to process this, like he has lost track of the thread of the conversation in the time it took for Azriel to settle over him. When he finds it, his eyes narrow.

“I’ll—”

Azriel drops his mouth to the curve where shoulder meets neck and bites down into it — just enough to break through what is above and seek out what lives below.

Blood like plum wine. Hot. Spiced.

His moan as he laves over the small hurt is met with a hoarse cry. He trails his mouth along the freefall of the collarbone, then up the throat, the prickles of hair against his lips so soft they might well be nonexistent.

Here and there, he dawdles, but this draws out more of those rare noises. Each one serves as its own reminder of his neglected arousal.

He needs to be inside, and he needs it to be him.

Azriel strokes down the length of the male’s arm and makes as though to grab his wrist and pin it. Instead, he swipes his thumb along until he finds where the ring should be, and he presses down.

Around his throat, a bone-deep warmth from the necklace.

“Take the glamour off,” Azriel murmurs.

The male does not understand at first, with Azriel still tending to the hollow just beneath his jaw. But once the words settle, he snatches away his hand as though he has been burned, then shoves Azriel soundly in the center of the chest.

The reaction is so unexpected that Azriel must settle back against his calves to keep his balance at all.

Though it is Ren’s face struggling to master itself, it is properly Eris’s voice — the intonation, the pitch, the aristocratic roundness to his vowels — that carries out: “What gave me away?”

“You really want to know?” Azriel looks down to his cock, weeping and swollen, then to the telltale gleam where he had pressed it into Eris’s thigh. “Now?”

Eris pointedly does not follow his gaze. “That is why I asked.”

Azriel cannot quite admit that he would recognize the presence of a power like Eris’s no matter what face it wore. He says, “Your callouses are still those of a swordsman, not a farmer. You called the land you work a demesne. That’s a lord’s term for it. You paid for this room with a coin your people don’t even know exists. You approached me too quickly and spoke to me too freely. Folk in communities like these close ranks on outsiders, especially before their first drink.” The shadows, which Azriel had to keep away from his person to maintain his ruse of ignorance, return now to orbit him. “Do I need to keep going?”

Eris props himself up on his palms. He taps a finger twice against the mattress, then releases his glamour.

In its short life, the transition feels a cosmic event. This is a star being charmed down from the sky. This is sunset; this is sunrise. There will be an unerring truth on the other side, and Azriel will finally be privy to its existence. Even the darkness knows this, raising its voice to sing as it ought have all night.

Perhaps unaware of the magnitude of this moment, Eris asks then, “What business does Rhysand have sending you to skulk about my city?”

The lies Azriel has relied on all night fail him now.

There is a star in the bed with mussed hair and just-bitten flesh, and the tang of come is still on his tongue, and his own arousal remains desperately exposed, and it is too difficult by far to arrange his thoughts around all of this.

They float by him fleetingly and unhelpfully: I haven’t heard from you in years. I didn’t know if you were okay. I saw what your father had already done and wasn’t sure where he would stop. I wanted the truth; I wanted to find the good in you. I think I might have tonight.

This hesitation, brief as it is, has Eris drawing back down to his elbows, putting more space between their bodies. His brow dips with thought, then smooths with realization.

Voice low: “What is it you are doing off your leash, shadowsinger?”

Azriel cannot help it. He drops his eyes to the exposed scars then. The ones he has already seen, on the ribs, and the ones he has only known as gaping wounds, now smooth and pink at the joints.

He sees in his mind’s eye the fae of the cabin, young and collared; he hears the thorns of envy in Ren’s inquiries about his wings, about their ability to take him anywhere. He looks back up to Eris, and he maps this out over the impassive face looking back at him.

“I think there is more,” Azriel says, hushed, faint. Perhaps even soft, to an untrained ear. “To you.”

There is a long moment of quietude after this.

Then, Eris says, “Yet here I find myself once again confronted by all the ways you lack.”

Azriel feels his chest swell at the outset, then get punctured through. He resists the urge to tighten his hands into fists. “And you? Why is the heir to Autumn moonlighting as a farmer in his own province?”

Eris says simply, “I do not answer to you.”

The shadows stir. The firelamp flares in response.

This only illuminates Eris better, revealing that the scars across his ribs groove even deeper into his back.

Azriel braces himself with a hand on Eris’s waist and leans over him. “Beron?”

Eris’s jaw feathers, and his eyes flash molten. There is an emotion in them that Azriel has only ever seen after fist has collided with jaw.

Like its own sort of blow, “Mutts who forget themselves this often are rarely pleased with the reminder they receive.”

Undeterred, “Your brothers?”

Suddenly, there is a too-hot hand wrapped tight around Azriel’s cock. He grunts, buckling forward. This close, he feels it against his lips when Eris tips his head towards the floor and murmurs, “Do you want to keep talking, or do you want to get back on your knees?”

This is distraction, Azriel knows. Diversion. The way the sun might hide itself behind the shadow of the moon to encourage those who look upon it to look away.

All the same, when he is then shoved towards the edge of the bed, he sinks the rest of the way to his knees without a word of protest.

Eris does not follow right away. He rights himself leisurely, turning himself away from Azriel to slip off of the opposite side of the mattress. There is the barest flash of his body as he stands — the ripple of his muscles, the taut curve to his backside, the mottling of burns and lashes — before he waves a hand and clothes himself.

In time with each approaching footfall, Azriel’s heart flutters in his chest, spastic, numbing. He is nearly dizzy with anticipation. It is all he can do not to begin panting when Eris comes to a stop before him, crooks a finger beneath his chin, and lifts his face.

With Eris’s arm so positioned, Azriel does not realize that his leg has moved, too. Not until the gritty sole of his shoe has pinned his cock against his abdomen.

Azriel jerks away on instinct, but he does not get far before he freezes. The heel of the shoe bites into the tender of his sac, and the potential of that pain is enough of a threat to return him to his position.

Once this acceptance settles, Eris says, “Listen to me well.” He slides his hand to take hold of Azriel’s jaw, renewing the aches at its corners. “You are a dog, and I am your master. When I issue command, you are expected to obey with the same enthusiasm you summoned while butchering Morrigan.”

Azriel winces. His breath begins to fill his lungs heavy and thick.

Eris bears down harder with his foot.

“Do you still recall how she looked when I came across the pair of you?”

Another silk-spun, moth-bitten memory, with Eris still so vibrant at its core.

Eris continues, “I do. Every shattered bone. Every flayed inch of skin. I have not seen anything of the like since. You truly are masterful with a blade.”

His pupils bloom when Azriel groans, the sound born of shame, or pleasure, or both.

“I know Rhysand’s harem has deluded themselves into thinking I am to blame, and I have been gracious enough to let them, for the sake of our arrangement. But you and I — we still know the truth, don’t we, puppy?”

The burial of nail through womb. Metal made weapon by virtue of his hold. A gurgle and a rattle gone silent.

Anything, anything, anything.

That fae in a forest, nothing more than beautiful and cruel, stares down at Azriel again. He digs his foot in until tears well in Azriel’s eyes. That is when he says, “I asked you a question.”

Azriel stares furiously up at him, unsure which of them he is so angry with. He feels the hot shame of a tear spilling over his lashline as he grits out, “Yes.”

Eris follows the descent down, down, down to Azriel’s chin, then lifts his eyes. “And will you forget yourself again?”

Azriel holds to that unforgiving gaze, stark even through the blur of the pain. He knows what he is to say, and he has long since learned how to make himself convincing. “No.”

“That’s a good boy.”

Eris eases off of Azriel, and Azriel shudders at the sensation of so much pressure being released at once. There is a harsh slash of a smile through Eris’s face as this draws his attention to Azriel’s cock, which is no less roused after its abuse than it had been in the thrilling potential of the bed.

“I suppose,” Eris begins, “that I did say rarely pleased with the reminder.” The bridge of his nose wrinkles as he straightens out the sleeves of his tunic. “I doubt you’ll find a throat trained as well as yours around here, but I’m sure the barkeep will be happy to procure you a serviceable whore to help with that.”

These barbs do not wound as they are meant to, knowing that Eris would have yielded to him completely had he not showed his hand when he did. He thinks Eris must be reckoning with the same realization, by the way that familiar rosy hue dusts his cheekbones just before he winnows away.

Azriel remains kneeling there, in the center of the room, alone. No open, coquettish Ren; no frigid, hateful Eris. Just the masticated memory of both to haunt him.

He wraps his fist around his cock, tight, tighter, until there is pain renewed. Until he closes his eyes and can pretend, for a moment, that the star came to earth and showed him an easy truth — that Ren spread for him and took him gladly into his body — that Eris stayed and crushed him underfoot until he bled.

It is to this last thought that he spills. A strained noise from his throat echoes back at him pityingly.

When Azriel finally puts himself to rights and ventures back out into the nighttide, his shadows are so loud that he is unable to make sense of them at all. He finds that he does not much want to, on what could have remained a quiet, pastoral eve, were it not for him.

[cuppajj]

Two questions,

How Saint plan to purify the other beasts? Like, for Celestial Cheese, he can't touch her because she can turn him into gold with just one touch, and also, she can fly.

How does Celestial Cheese plan to repopulate her kingdom?

Have a good day/night!

The other beasts aren’t immune to his purification, it’s just that they have ways of deterring him (see previous asks). Also Saint has priorities actually; despite his ulterior motive for Earthbread, he’s still committed to their shared goal of facing the original beasts. They pose a threat to him and his ambitions, and they’ll destroy souls of the impure before he gets to them. It’s enough for him to attend those meetings instead of operating entirely independently

As for second question, I’ll answer it from this perspective: baau properly begins when Cheese already has a growing kingdom, her plans to bring it back would’ve been pre-mainline lore. The kingdom consists of conquered villages and towns and everything in between, plus the golden kingdom itself being rebuilt into something new and lustrous. I know CRK doesn’t have a lot of settlements listed but I like to think there are a lot more, enough for Cheese to annex ones in immediate range of her.

I say her conquest is kinda brutal when resisted against but the reward for complying is pretty big. Gold and riches and technology, advancements hardly found anywhere else on Earthbread, and you almost feel bad for trying to defy her if you ever did. She has a minor cult of personality I’d say, rewarding her subjects and tributes while sweeping the ruins left behind by her conquest under the rug. In turn, her subjects and tributes have the illusion of free will and an unchanged, even improved way of life.

[interestingly the golden city still exists, but for reasons it’s a closely guarded secret]

[octahedral-chaos]

An offical introduction on Celestial Guard Beasts (Or CGBs)

An open original species by OCTAfan

Celestial Guard Beasts were created by the Luck and space God Fortuna Astrum, as guardians for their domain. However, during the Great War, Fortuna died, leaving their creations to find their own calling.

A Celestial Guard Beast have a specific object that they guard. Most light variant CGBs tend to guard weapons, while dark CGBs Guard Wands, books and other such items.

All Celestial Guard Beasts can use aether, or space, magic, but the variants have specific magic they can also use. Dark CGBs use fire or Nature magic, while Light CGBs use water or air magic. They can also "bless" someone with good luck... or curse one with bad luck should they be angered.

CGBs have no need to eat, drink, sleep nor other bodily functions, as they are the animated form of Luck itself. However, they reproduct by concentrating luck and aether magic into a specific point, forming an "egg." Depending on typing, the egg can hatch into a light variant or dark variant CGB. Clutches can range from 1 to 4 eggs.

They are sapient, and mimic other beings' behaviour to blend in. Likewise, they can speak, but prefer to use bell-like chirps and whistles to communicate.

They are 4-6 feet long on average, with a wingspan of 10-20 feet

As seen above, all rules are in the images, but here it is for better viewing.

Must respect the variants traits (E.G All light-type CGBs should not have scaled talons).

Must have a single horn at the center of the forehead

Can't be hornless

Ears must be rounded and short (E.G can't have pointy ears

Ears should point slightly backwards when relaxed, with the exception of floppy ears

Wings, if the CGB have them, must be feathered

For multiple pairs of wings, size can vary (E.G each pair of wing could be smaller than the other)

Most CGBs have rather large wings, but these can be smaller for chibi-styled art

Accents here means the claws, inner ears and horn

"Opposite" means the Colour of the opposite variant (E.G Light variant colours on a dark variant)

Maximum of 2 pairs of extra legs and 3 tails

Extra eyes can also be located on anywhere on the body, with the exception of tails and lower extremities (Shoulder and hips are fine)

[the-most-humble-blog]

🦍 Man Didn’t Earn His Throne. He Took It — Bloodied, Screaming, and Bare-Assed

---

Man didn’t achieve his place as the undisputed ruler and annihilator of this whore of a planet.

He survived his way there.

Through millennia of being hunted, clawed, gored, disemboweled, and chewed up by every beast God’s little green Earth could vomit out — just to one day convince that same Earth to be part of a LEGO set.

You think evolution was peaceful?

Try running from a Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson-ass rainbow baboon with triceps like tree trunks and a jaw wired for nutritional human skull.

Try surviving a super-lion — no, scratch that — a lion with a bear-tiger face, fused onto the body of a battering ram, armored like a tank, engineered by divine wrath for one purpose: to chase your bony, naked granddaddy through a ravine while he screamed like a squeaky toy.

And you wonder why we flinch at shadows.

We were naked. Frail. Covered in flea-bitten puberty hair. Our only protection from being munched like a box of Lemonheads was maybe — maybe — some half-assed pubes shielding our genitals from immediate dental annihilation.

Somewhere in that soup of death, something sparked:

Not just intelligence.

The Origin of the Fucking Brain.

The thing that can build a satellite in orbit to make sure you never miss an episode of “Pop the Balloon” while taking a dump.

The thing that can deliver an explosive drone into your passenger seat before you can even say “fu—”

This is what you are.

Not soft. Not civilized.

You are God’s vengeance against Mother Nature for scorning His creation. A hate-child forged in fire, claw-mangled DNA, and the unforgivable nerve to climb upright and throw a rock back.

And His rage knows no bounds.

So pardon us, four-legged bastards of Earth, if we don’t roll out a red carpet for your species — if we smother you in soy sauce or ketchup before tasting your evolutionary legacy.

Because we remember.

We remember the millions of monkey people who died in unspeakable, creative, teeth-first ways.

And we carry their grief in our marrow — a grief that shaped humanity not as a species, but as a final act of cosmic defiance.

So yeah.

We dominate.

We test nukes underwater just to see how it feels.

We turn mountains into tunnels and forests into real estate. We fire plastic into the sea and call it progress. And we laugh at danger — because danger raised us.

Except for two.

The Dog.

The Cat.

The only creatures who sat beside us when we cried in caves, hunted beside us when we bled in forests, and guarded our children while demons still howled in the treetops.

That was the pact.

A union of shared agony forged in mutual tragedy.

So now?

They walk beside us.

Not as pets.

As ancient blood allies.

The rest of the planet?

Still owes us.

Still feels the burn of mankind, who clawed his way out of extinction, punching nature in the throat with every step — not for dominance, but because it was do or die.

And up there?

High above the chaos?

The celestial God sat on His throne...

And He smiled.

Because this was good.

Because He remembered, too.

---

🔁 CALL TO ACTION (CTA)

🔁 Reblog if you’ve felt the pulse of your species in your spine.

🧠 Save this post before your biology forgets what it came from.

💥 Send to the one person who still thinks humanity was a fluke, not a blood-stained victory lap.

🐾 Comment with the name of your dog or cat — the one you’d march into hell with, shoulder to shoulder.

⚖️ BLACKSITE LITERATURE™ DISCLAIMER

This post is not a biological history lesson. It is not a cute metaphor. It is a classified mental reprogramming unit disguised as a Tumblr rant.

This is Blacksite Literature™ — Part myth, part psychological napalm, part survival gospel.

If you felt offended, uncomfortable, or a little too aroused…

Good.

That’s the ancient part of you waking up. You’re not domesticated. You’re not polite.

You are the end result of a planet that tried to kill you and failed.

[the-fiction-witch]

The Former Princess

Media - Rings Of Power Character - Elrond Couple - Elrond X Reader (Many Great Neice x Uncle) Reader - Y/n (Former Princess Of Numenor) Rating - 12+ Word Count - 1303

Writers notes - I have had this planned legit since watching the series for the first time, becuase I have no clue why! this isn't what they did. Why didn't Elrond go to Numenor, you know a place he has a large connection too! Given the first king of Nuemnor was his mortal twin brother! don't get me wrong I adore Elrond in Khazad Dum with Durin and Disa, it's actually the best part of Season one in my opinion, But thinking of what we could have had! Elrond seeing the artwork of Him and Elros, Elrond getting to speak to the line of King's and Queen's direct descendant of his twin brother, getting to see the island his brother poured a mortal life into grow and break away from the elves! Just... Come on! this is what remakes and expanded lore is made for! I can come up with so many beautiful, powerful scenes for this! And on the flip side Galadreil will later have such a connection or Moria and Khazad Dum, moving briefly with her daughter later on, having such a relationship towards Gimli in the books, and you know the fact she and her family live right Next Door for many thousands of years! am I just being salty.... yes. But still I have ranted so continue with your day. 

The small boat sailed softly into Numenor’s Port, A gentle breeze fluttering the sails. Elrond stood on the deck of the ship looking out across the Island. He felt a deep pride to see the island so busy, the tower’s grown tall, and the port large. It had been so long since he had seen the shores of Numenor, that he had almost forgotten them. But the faded old elven architecture proved to him beyond doubt that the time of unified Numenor and Lindon was long behind them.

Once the ship docked, guards led Elrond through the city.

They stared at him, Workers glared at him, and children ran to their mothers like he was some hellish beast. But he supposed to the long stewing people of Numenor, he likely was.

“You will remain here. And await your audience.” a guard demanded,

“I thank you,” Elrond nodded to them,

They slammed the door closed leaving Elrond alone in the grand throne room,

It had changed so much from when he last saw it, pillars lined with gold and stary banners, A large balcony out to the city below. The ceiling painted with the vast celestial skies with the Island of Numenor as a map painted on the floor. His steps echoed as he paced the grand room, his eyes fell to the throne of Numenor and for a moment he saw his brother Elros sitting there.

He remembered him, as the young man he always hoped to keep close to his heart. Even if for a moment he was forced to recall the withered, frail body he last saw his brother occupy. But even so, he smiled and briefly bowed to the throne, as if his brother still sat it.

“You see him?” A voice asked,

Elrond turned, to see the stairwell where a girl stood.

For a moment, Elrond could have sworn to all the Valar… that he saw his mother Elwing.

She stood at the top of the stairs, skin as pale as a seabird’s wings, with long curls of hair as black as coal, she wore a long gown of Numenor blue with embroidered silver and gold stars and a small tiara of sunrays in her hair.

He could only stare for a moment, before he swallowed hard and spoke, “Fo-forgive me, I didn’t hear you arrive.”

“You’d be surprised how often I hear that,” she chuckled,

“I have my doubts a lady like you could be ignored.”

She smiled sadly, “How long has it been? Since you came to Numenor Herald Elrond?”

“I last came in 442, to wish farewell one final time to my brother Elros.”

“Quite some time ago,” she slowly made her way down the steps,

“I admit, the island is not as I remember. But I am glad for it, that his kingdom and line has had such success.” he smiled, “Forgive me, but you know my name already? Yet I do not know yours.”

“Y/n.”

“A princess of Nuemnor?” he asked as he glanced at her tiara,

“I was.” She said sadly,

“Forgive me-”

“You had no Ill will,” She nodded,

“Regardless, it is my pleasure to meet with you.” He smiled as he offered his hand,

Y/n smiled and slid her hand into his own,

Elrond brought her hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss against her skin,

“But you see him? Don’t you?”

“I do.” He nodded, “It was so long ago, and yet I see him as if it were yesterday he sat on the throne.”

She nodded, “As do I.”

“Yo- you do?” he choked,

She turned to face the throne, “Sometimes I fear, he linger’s watching over us. I fear it is because he is angry, or perhaps disappointed in what has become of us.”

“I do not believe my brother would hold such a grudge, barely believe he was capable of it in life let alone in death.” Elrond explained, “I am sure if he lingers, he lingers only out of love, for his family and his city.”

She nodded, “Forgive me, I needn't burden you with such fears,”

“Please,” he said as he took her hand once more, “You may burden me as much as you desire, believe me, an elf’s shoulders are strong and if it lightens your load I am more than honoured to take it.”

“That is very kind of you Herald Elrond,” She smiled, “but you needn’t be so kind to me, few in Numenor are.”

He scoffed, “Y/n, you are a lady of the line of kings. A niece of mine no doubt far removed by now.” he chuckled, “We are family, so? Tell me of what bothers you.”

“... I fear, this city, this island will fall. Under the hands that now rule it.”

“You are not ruling it?”

She shook her head, “We have been cast out, for another to reign, still family… but I fear their reign.”

“It is only natural to have such fears, of unknown change.” He nodded, “Do you fear for yourself? Or just for your people?”

“I fear for both.” She nodded, “For different reasons.”

He nodded once more, “Would it bring you some peace? If I was to tell you, that you would always be welcome in Lindon?”

“The elves would not want to host to us.”

“The elves, hold far fewer grudges than you’d imagine.” he laughed, “And regardless, You and your kin are always welcome in Lindon so long as I linger there. And wherever I am to later go you will be welcome there to,” he explained,

“You truly mean that?”

“I do.” he said, “These long years I have desired to be far closer to our family,”

“Thank you Herald Elrond,” she nodded with a smile,

“... Y/n?” He asked quietly, “Do you fear your fate if you linger here?”

“...yes,” she whispered,

“Do you wish to leave Numenor?” he asked in a hushed tone,

She nodded,

“I am more than happy, to take you with me when I leave.”

“I do not wish to leave my people,” she wept,

“And what then of yourself?” he asked as he brushed a tear from her cheek,

“I do not know,”

He nodded and swallowed hard, “If ever you are fearful, I am only a single message away. And you will always be welcome in my home, at my harth and in my heart Y/n.”

“Thank you, Elrond.” She nodded,

Before another word could be spoken, the large doors were forced open.

Y/n separated herself from Elrond and put a large space between them, as Ar-Pharazôn marched himself in. 

[xinalith]

Moon appears before Death. A very strange feeling and something she had never done before.

We need to speak.

Death would be in the Infernal Realm this time, observing an isolated area where souls were being tortured. It was close by to a large, heavily guarded castle, gargoyles moving as they laughed at those being held prisoner and toyed with.

Bodies hung by chains above pits of lava; demons dressed in black cloaks flying around as they pricked these souls with spears or pitchforks; beasts roamed around the outskirts, ranging from repulsive-looking creatures to even baby dragons.

On top of this, groups of demons were pooling out of the castle and flying onwards, towards a private hub that connected itself to the dimension between the Celestial and Infernal realm. It seemed that it was relatively busy around here, as if they were preparing for something whilst ensuring life in the Hells prevailed.

Upon Moon’s arrival, Death just hummed, extending their scythe towards the scene below.

A pitiful sight, isn’t it? Souls damned to eternal torture, all to appease the ruler. Instances that, truthfully, should not have brought them here.

They turned their head then, hollow sockets staring at her.

What brings you here?

[rosesnr0t]

hey

can you make a moonlight cookie x male prince reader where the prince goes to the city of wizards to take her to his kingdom while facing different threats while carrying moonlight cookie in his arms in bridal style

also the prince reader has a horse which is named zephyr

Starlight Belongs in My Kingdom

Moonlight Cookie x Male Prince!Reader

The City of Wizards shimmered like a mirage under the moonlight. Spires of crystal, winding roads of floating runes, and illusions too clever for mortal eyes — all weaving a city few dared enter and fewer dared leave.

You weren’t most princes.

Your cloak billowed behind you as you urged Zephyr through the shifting paths, sword glinting faintly at your side. Cradled in your arms, bridal style, was her — Moonlight Cookie, soft and delicate as the night sky, her energy nearly drained.

She stirred faintly, lashes fluttering like moth wings. “You… came for me,” she murmured.

“I said I would.” Your voice was firm, though quiet. “You don’t belong locked in a city of riddles and dust. The stars deserve to shine above my kingdom.”

She gave a weak smile. “You speak as if they’d follow me.”

“They already do.”

The first threat came in the form of a swarm of sentient scrolls — old wizard contracts, cursed and clawing at your armor, whispering madness.

“Hold on,” you told her, tightening your grip. Moonlight Cookie instinctively curled closer to your chest, her dress fluttering.

With a sharp tug of Zephyr’s reins, you galloped through, your sword slicing the air. The scrolls hissed, trying to latch onto your limbs, but you slashed through them with precision, protecting her like a knight guarding a dream.

“Your magic is too valuable,” they screeched, “Let her go!”

“She’s not your treasure,” you snarled. “She’s mine.”

The second threat came when the skies cracked, and a corrupted star beast descended — a twisted constellation made flesh, summoned by rogue sorcerers. Zephyr reared, and Moonlight Cookie gave a pained gasp as the air shuddered with dark cosmic energy.

You leapt down with her still in your arms, shielding her body with your own behind a glowing sigil wall. “Stay behind me,” you said, despite knowing she couldn’t stand.

Moonlight Cookie gently pressed her palm against your chest. “I can still dream…”

Her remaining magic burst like silvery waves from your chestplate. It softened the beast’s edges, slowing it just enough — and with a battle cry, you charged, driving your blade into its starlit heart. It exploded in a quiet burst of celestial dust, as though vanishing into a lullaby.

Your legs buckled slightly under the strain, but you adjusted her weight, holding her closer. “Almost there.”

Her voice was barely audible. “You’re warm…”

You smiled. “You're safe.”

The final trial was the bridge — floating shards of moonstone over a void of dreams. It had no ground. No railings. Just mist and myth.

Zephyr paced nervously, ears flicking.

“I’ll carry you,” you said again, this time whispering it like a vow.

And you did.

Every step was careful. Every breath felt sacred. Your cape flowed like a comet’s tail, and Zephyr followed behind, hooves landing where your resolve burned brightest. When you finally crossed, the City of Wizards faded behind you — a maze that dared to keep her, now bested by love.

Under the silver moonlight, in the safety of your camp beyond the gates, you gently lay her down on soft moss, brushing a stray curl from her face.

She gazed up at you, dreamy and tired, her fingertips tracing your jaw. “Why… did you come?”

You took her hand, kissed her knuckles. “Because even if every threat in this realm tried to stop me… I’d still need you.”

Her smile bloomed slowly, fragile and beautiful. “...Then maybe… I’ll follow you anywhere.”

And as the stars above blinked like drowsy eyes, you sat by her side, watching her drift to sleep — the moonlight finally, finally safe in your kingdom.

[fanaticsnail]

Oh shit the Yandere Doflamingo and that scene from Beauty & the Beast "If she doesn't eat with me, she doesn't eat at all." is so Doffy 🫠

Extra points if he calls her "princesa" which is Spanish (in OP world it would be Dressrosan I guess?) for princess. It has this very nice sound in Spanish.

Extra extra points if he never called any previous royalty by their title bcs why should a Celestial Dragon call anyone royalty? He's the only real royalty! (in his head) But then he calls reader princess (not putting the Reader's name after the title bcs it's still Doffy) It acts as an endearment mostly, but the servants & his crew are like "are we dreaming, did he actually call a princess princess, wtf is happening?"

Would be even better if he sometimes called her "mi princesa" (my princess) he'd be so comforting and such a KIND KING with her.

We need a scene where he gets on a bent knee and takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. Maybe when he saves her from an assassin from the enemy that ruined her country, assuring her nobody will hurt her in Dressrosa? He could cover her eyes with his hand so she doesn't see him decapitate the man after he gets all the information out of him.

Doffy can 100% pretend to be a nice guy the thing is how much patience does he have to endure it ie the time period, cus I think the mask falls of quick if he isn't careful. Though, he was called a charming devil... But yeah, he'll need to tone everything else down around Reader. It'd be so funny.

Not that he'll let his princess escape the gilded cage of strings he spent his time weaving around her even after she sees the reality of the King of Dressrosa...

Maybe she sees him decapitate one of the dukes that got on his nerves? Maybe she hears how he snaps at Violet when she suggests Reader is a "spoiled princess" in an attempt to save her and Doflamingo grabs her by the throat and squeezes her neck and nearly breaks it from absolute rage.

"Yes, but that's how princesses are supposed to be. They can be like that because they have a strong king to protect them. Weak kings can't protect anything."

And then his guards catch his princess trying to flee the next night. How can she be so ungrateful and try to leave? He gave her everything! He wasn't even cruel! He was good with her!

Well, he knows the solution to that little escape attempt...

After all, kings can marry princesses, can't they...

And Dressrosa needs a queen. If she wants to keep his cruelty in check in court, perhaps she should just marry him... having her sit on his lap on his throne as he listens to the rabble of the dukes and whatnot would probably stay his fingers from twitching... His fingers would be too busy cradling her to do anything cruel.

Ugh, and maybe he always brings her pink roses or things she likes just as he always scoured for food for his mom... 😭😭😭 What if he always bends his knees and slouches his spine or sometimes when she is sitting in an armchair he squats to talk to her? What if he gets to finally talk about all the books he reads because Reader is such a great listener and the excitement on her face as she listens to him talk about the recent book he read makes him talk about it more just so he can have her smile all to himself... And then she reads a book she likes to him and he nearly falls asleep on her lap. His mother always read him books in Mariejois while little Doflamingo sat on her lap.

He'd be so protective of her, he wouldn't let her out of the palace unless he is with her or one of his executives. Beause when his mother left Mariejois, she got sick beause his father could not take care of her. His princess and his mother are both flowers that can only survive in the best garden, where they are tended to and spoiled by all the luxuries the world can provide. It's where they bloom the brightest.

Only in the garden of a god can flowers like his mother and Reader be safe and live life.

"Silly little thing... You won't last a day out there in that cruel, ruthless world. Stay here with your king."

Excuse me while I squeal and clutch at my heart. Prior yandere Doffy ask here.

Any time I hear "My princess," in any given context, all I see is this absolutely beautiful scene from The Mummy:

It just needs to be a fic, doesn't it? At the rate I'm falling for Doflamingo, it needs to be its own fic. Your prompt is spectacular, thank you so much for adding to the great simpening for the King of Dressrosa. The head in the lap, the reading to him as he slowly falls asleep: my heart can simply not take such sweetness and softness from the king.

This is so incredibly romantic, thank you for steering me in a direction I need to go in for it. There's so many things I want to write for this lanky man: the marine doctor in impel down, yandere Doffy, his Sapsorrow spinoff with Rosinante, kissing booth kisses, I love him. Send help.