As a valiant writer in the Songs of War community who treaded the ancient arts of shipping, fanfiction, and fan-shipping it has come to my attention that my equally ancient Discord fanfics have not proliferated across fandom. You can of course look it up on my AO3 fic Where Pythus Wins And Everyone Suffers but that's not the point! The point is, none of y'all on Tumblr except one person knows of the fine-tuned craft of PINGUS!
This crime will be amended.
Behold, the crackiest ship SOW never asked for!
I bring two offerings. One is realistic, bounces politics and war, wrapped in in a pretty blue bow with a feast.
The other is pure mayhem.
=+=Where Vulcannus Is Faced With The Ultimate Betrayal=+=
A stoic Ingressus and a Pythus radiating unfathomable levels of smug stared at the intruder in the bedroom. Ironic, as that was his bedroom they were in. “Why.”
“Whatever could you mean brother?” At this point Vulcannus was seriously considering making himself an only child when Ingressus intervened. “My apologies. I had no clue this was your room.” He casts a meaningful look at his partner, only to be ignored by the smirking little brother. “Don’t be. Besides, we’ve put it to good use.”
Before Vulcannus could heed the Cain instinct of editing history Ingressus once more spoke, practically elevating himself to sainthood. “That does not excuse the fact we used his room instead of yours. At the very least we should have done that.” It also reminded Vulcannus that he needed to change his sheets. Actually, make it everything, he refused to sleep in the same bed that his brother used to consummate his marriage. Now, how to resolve this…
“Er, my lord?” A guard awkwardly walked in, unsure of what to say. “There’s reports of a Wither outside that’s, er, screaming.” Vulcannus suddenly had an ominous sensation creeping down his spine. “It’s-it’s saying something about the horror? And needing lava for its eyes?”
That’s it. Screw being the elder prince, he wasn’t murdering Pythus until he fixed everything dammit.
=+=Where Politics Ruin This Chapter=+=
Adjusting to the Nether had taken time, albeit less than he had expected. The Voltaris were thankfully better adapted to the heat compared to the other Clans, especially the Primal members of his kin. Those from the desert camps were quick to adapt, and taught the rest the best they could.
It made the pit in his stomach lessen slightly, the sight of his Clan. They would survive and thrive even when (unofficially, willingly, fleeing) exiled from Ardonia itself.
Now he just had to converse with his deputies and elders on how he secured this in the first place.
><><><><><><
“…Apologies Ky’Ingressus, I think I misheard you. He what-.”
Ingressus sighed as the Voltaris around him either gawked, yelled, or generally questioned their Master’s sanity. Granted, all things considered this was a rather calm response.
“At least he only pushed to court than marry.” Marius consoled, giving Ingressus a worried look. “That said, is this not extreme? Ky’Ingressus, there was no reason to go this far, especially in a loveless relationship.” The concern in the various red eyes he witnessed soothed his soul, the wrath less so.
“It is…unorthodox,” He put gently, “but ultimately necessary. Whereas before only the Clans hunted us, now the Overworld and End would follow. With the way the War was going we would have nowhere to go other than scatter, becoming easy pickings for Ardonia.”
He tilts his head, a determined glint in his eyes. “I entered this War for your sake, and I refuse to have us return to the life we once had.” Shame, understanding, even love flickered through the crowd. The idea that their Master had willingly agreed to court the youngest Nether prince for their sake roiled deep in their soul.
Still, how did this even start in the first place?
><><><><><><
2 Months into the Great War
He’ll admit, it was a massive beast. As he stared at the unfamiliar pig-like hide proudly displayed in the back of the tent, he distantly wonders if this was an intimidation tactic or some strange Nether tradition he was unaware of. The strange blue-gold table literally choked with food seemed to point to the former, with Pythus’ calm demeanor. “Ingressus, I do hope this is to your liking. I am unfamiliar with the Overworld and wanted a taste of home before the next conflict.”
“I see.” He didn’t. When invited over he had assumed it was to discuss strategies for the next battle or even logistics. Not this small banquet. “You caught quite the beast.”
For a moment Ingressus swore he saw the prince straighten, only to return to his usual stance. “It was a difficult hunt. A sow with hoglets to protect will fight harder than any other, even with my axe buried in it’s skull. Then again, that makes the hoglet taste all the better.” He chuckles to himself, not seeing the slight frown on Ingressus’ face.
This whole debacle dripped of luxury and influence, like Pythus was purposely demonstrating how much the Nether had over him. All this food, this wealth, all thanks to the Nether. And all of it reliant on the Nether’s continued goodwill.
Politics. Wonderful, just wonderful. Exactly what Ingressus needed as he slid into the seat.” Any good parent would protect their children, even at the cost of their lives.” The various meals in front of him seemed to be mostly meat-based, aroma of fresh blood and spices wafting around him. Hesitantly he settled on a small bowl of what he assumed was a dark red soup, mushrooms floating on the surface, and took a bite.
Blood was the first to greet his tongue, overwhelming and rich. Surprised he bit down, soft mushrooms and the most tender and succulent meat he’s ever had danced in his mouth. It was undoubtedly delicious and before he knew it he was taking another bite.
It was the image of Pythus, a satisfied smirk on his face that caused him to still his spoon. Of all the times he had to lose control of himself… “I’m glad you liked it. I was informed of your regular diet and was worried it would be too much.” It took a truly prodigious amount of willpower for Ingressus to not only explode in embarrassed rage, but to also resist stabbing Voltar into the smug prick’s face.
The rest of the meal was little better, with veiled comments, mostly neutral responses, and political posturing that the food barely made up for. Once he finished, and defied the temptation to use Primes to leave as swiftly as possible, he attempted to get up from his chair. “Wait.”
“What.” He bit out, his sour mood leaking through his tongue. The confused frown he got wasn’t expected, nor the small item he offered. “A token, in thanks for your aid in the Overworld.” The token was a long stout tusk, carvings of war and victory covering every surface.* “Did you make this from the mother?” Ingressus’ mind returned to the massive Nether creature whose skin decorated this tent.
“It seemed like a worthy trophy to bring from my hunt.” With sudden speed and grace the taller Netheran firmly grasped Ingressus’ hands, wrapping them around the tusk. Stunned he was speechless at the gesture, eyes twitching.
Stars damn it all. And the worse was that there wasn’t a good way for him to disagree without insulting the prince. Silently he put the tusk into his inventory. “Thank you.” As the Ardoni walked out behind him Pythus frowned, eyes never leaving ‘til he could no longer see.
Perhaps a different approach was needed.
