#pythus chronosson

[ethercollective]

kusakabe going to fight sukuna has the exact same vibe as hubris going to fight pythus

[minecraftfanatic]

As the writer of many fics, romantic and not, in a small fandom I adore knowing that people read my work.

That said, y'all have some thirsty appetites if my Pingus (Pythus Chronosson/Ingressus Voltaris) fic is any sign. It has only two chapters but the fact that it gets a near constant tick in the Hits box is impressive, endearing, and mildly morbid fascination.

[minecraftfanatic]

Merry Christmas @marsvs-thesun--Behold A Fanfic That May Never See The Light Of Day (Again)!

Chapter 1: Lament the Living, For They Haunt the Dead

Pythus had regrets.

He had many to be precise. Trudging through misty woodlands he opened old iron gates with an ear-cracking squeal, needing care he was unable to give. No, his attention was dedicated fully to the garden behind the Victorian mansion, one in remarkably good shape despite the decayed wood and peeling faded paint.

Mauve...the End’s arrogance knew no respite but just because they loved purple didn’t mean they laid sole claim to it.

On stone his claws clacked a rhythmic patter, crushing wayward foliage and twigs beneath dappled sunlight filtered through perpetual autumn leaves purple and red and orange. Overgrowth blocking his path was slashed aside by axe and limb, taking care to not damage more than necessary. In the garden proper was an entangling sea of every breed and color, thorns putting an impressive defense.

They had nothing against his fire.

As the dense greenery turned to ash Pythus waited, smothering flames to stride ahead when his goal cleared. The tree stood strong after all these years; trunk scarred but unbent, carpeted in vibrant patches of semi-luminescent moss, sparkling fairy lights. In front of the tree stood a granite monument untouched by time or erosion, a lone isle amidst a sea of piquant herbs, enticing blossoms, and dewy grass blades reaching up to his knees—a stone maiden whose idyllic features lit a smile in her viewers, kindling a tenderness matching her own. Not a single thorn marred stone nor did cracks exist to allow grasping roots purchase.

There he halted, tracing the statue’s cheek as a tear slid down his, “Hello love. I’m home.”

For ages Pythus stayed silent, wiping away the ashes and whatever sullied the grave. He had ensured some of the flowers survived and brought one to the base, a bouquet of orchids and dandelions tied together by a vine of star jasmine.

The weeds were a soft spot of his heart. He always scoffed when she claimed that their taste and persistence in survival reminded her of him—“On the outside you’re stubborn, bitter, intensely sharp. But inside? Sweeter than honey, purer than medicine, protective as the sun—there is nothing about you that isn’t incredible.”  

Nostalgia, he supposed, had a way of loosening tongues. “My death was impermanent,” he looked down at the base, unable to face her gaze, “for the longest time I wished otherwise.”

Why was he alive? Was this another sacrifice on her part, his heart giving away more for his sake? She had given up more than enough, more than he could stand. Amelie, Lazul, Mekane, Esme…a second chance is supposed to be that—second. “I have a father, brother, an entire kingdom where tragedy never happened. When I realized this, I thought I was in a lucid dream.” He still did in a way.

“I almost wished them away just for you. Why was I the only one brought back, when you deserved better?” A pebble is picked up, “Then the rest of my deeds caught up to my mind,” only to be swiftly crushed.

“Once I wondered what it would be like if the Nether was never touched. The answer was that I would’ve become a childish egotistical idiot.” Naught but self-loathing seeped in every word, his arms trembling from rage. “You must hate me,” a few centuries was all it took for him to grow into an unrepentant slaver. Him, who promised safety and freedom, had become everything he despised.

He was not perfect. He had little love for humanity aside from the few exceptions that spawned, but he refused to let himself become a hypocrite.

“My father—Chronos—went back to the Nether out of fear for his family and what do I do?” He gives a short laugh, empty of mirth. “I plot to kill him and take the throne.”

I failed you, are the words caught in his throat. I’m sorry, fumbles unmoving lips. All he wanted to say and yet his body unavailed. “You are not here,” is the only thing that comes out. Amelie was never reborn or else she would’ve come after him. This was no happy fable, no fair queen coming to save her king.

In a way Pythus was grateful lest she witness the mockery he’s become.

“It’s been hundreds of years since I woke and ever since I’ve looked for you. Once I feared the worst.” Had any Netheran, even his own blood, saw the prince they would’ve found him unrecognizable. “I would ask myself, “Did she die in the War? Was I the last face she saw? My father? Brother?”” Nightmares still haunted his waking moments.

“Father doesn’t know about us, same for Vulcannus. After all that transpired, I couldn’t face either of them.” Fixing past sins, the truth being crazier than fiction, a thousand reasons and more laid at the tip of his tongue but none of them were true. “I am afraid.”

It hung poignantly in the air, heavier than netherite. “I am afraid,” He breathed softly under silent branches, “of what they will say. Do. Think. I am afraid of so many things.” Of a father calling him mad, of a tomb desecrated, of a brother shamed, of a family scattered to ash.

In this silent home none could criticize his words to the dead.

He takes a minute to center himself, closing his eyes as a hand moved to clasp around stone palms. “I left Nazgard after finishing my duties. My brother will find no problems to his claim.” He left a note in his room, telling them that he needed time alone and assurance he would be back.

More example of his cowardice, to not say it to their faces. At least when he was dying, he had the excuse of not wanting his child to see his passing.

“I wish they met you,” Vulcannus would’ve loved her, same as father—then again, Amelie was wonderful at everything. “I know father wants a grandchild to smother, but he hides it well. I would volunteer but said granddaughter is currently having tea with you.”

Regrettably, his spark was human in every way other than distant ancestry. As much as Pythus wanted to be there for her accomplishments there was no other option that guaranteed her happiness.

His daughter lived and died in comfort; he made sure of it.

“Is she still calling coffee bean juice? Don’t let mother hear her or she might box her ears.” He let out a little chuckle as he imagined Pthelina’s scandalized face. She was a stickler for manners. In fact, he wagered she befriended his heart on sight. His little ember on the other hand was likely getting her cheeks pinched.

“I love you,” The forest felt lighter, brighter, noisier as its sole master rose. “We will have new neighbors soon if my plan works. They will treat their new home with care I assure you.”

There was a difference between sympathy and understanding, one Pythus knew all too well. The Voltaris were a mirror, a path to redemption and repaying old debts.

She would do the same.

======================================

A Protisium illuminates the forest, the man fixing the Sendaris with a genial smile as he lightly tosses the Song to its new owner. Technically Thalleous was also the previous owner but semantics. “As paid for. Did they suspect anything?”

“He fell asleep. That’s it.” Catching the Prime Thalleous frowned, the alluring hum doing little to the shred of guilt squirming in him. A shred his associate caught on. “Come now, I keep my word. Do you really think I’m that low?”

“There are more than enough orphans—”

“They’re a sweet child and I’d rather take in one I know.” Conversation finished the man walked away; his arms occupied by the slumbering Ardoni. The height difference would’ve been comical were it not for the obsidian armor he wore nor the enderdragon silently awaiting them.

“Farewell Thalleous. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

The champion stayed silent as the knight flew off, silencing his guilt in the greater good. Besides, this was the best (if unexpected) fate Senn could ask for. What child didn’t want adventure?

[minecraftfanatic]

Hey @marsvs-thesun, guess who got new brainrot?

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

"Do you want to sit on my throne?"

Senn blinked, tilting his head. "Sure?"

Beat

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

"...For you to move?"

Pythus chuffed, spreading his arms invitingly. "And why would I need to do that?" What? Wha-oh. OH. Ooooh. Oh no. Oh very very very no.

"You can't be serious-I'm not sitting in your lap! You've been telling me how much you didn't want to be obvious and-"

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

"I'm happy you came to see things my way."

Senn sat in his lap, flushed and refusing to look his lover in the eye. Said lover was smugger than when he first took the throne. Jerk. "I know it takes some time but in the end your stubbornness is endearing in the face of logic."

"Shut up," Senn's skin crawled, keenly aware of the guards doing their very best to pretend he wasn't there. Pythus' arms pushed him closer, snugly propping his chin right between his horns. His armor plates pinched at times but it didn't take long to make this tangle of heated limbs comfortable.

Emphasis on heat. His natural temperature resistance aided in evading heatstroke but Pythus' personal body temp was...cozy. He smelled the same as usual-metal polish and soot and sulfur tinged in blood-which combined with the extra heat and his internal clock out of whack made Senn drowsy. It was safe. It was comfortable. He was protected. He was tired.

And so, this was how Deltheus' first introduction to his long-lost brother was seeing him slumbering in the lap of the biggest arse Ardonia suffered, curling cutely despite the unfathomable amount of self-satisfaction radiating from his bed.