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aboveallarescuer · 3 years

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Parallels between Aerys II Targaryen and Cersei Lannister (and why they are both foils to Dany)

In this post, I gathered all the parallels I could find between Cersei and Aerys II after recently rereading Cersei’s chapters and Aerys’s section in TWOIAF. While a lot of people have made good points criticizing how Cersei was written (namely, as incompetent, misogynistic and irredeemable, at least in the canon timeline where her fate is already sealed) considering her special place in the narrative (namely, as arguably the female character who most frequently and openly questions and challenges the validity of Westerosi patriarchy, as well as the only major female villain of the story and the only woman among the three Lannister siblings), it’s also true that GRRM intended her to be paralleled with Aerys II in many ways, which will be laid out here.

Recognizing how Aerys II and Cersei are alike is particularly important for emphasizing that both characters were written as foils to Daenerys, so I will also explain how Dany doesn’t share their similarities.

Both believe they are destined for greatness

Aerys II:

Aerys II did not lack for ambition. Upon his coronation, he declared that it was his wish to be the greatest king in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, a conceit certain of his friends encouraged by suggesting that one day he might be remembered as Aerys the Wise or even Aerys the Great. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

The Lord of Casterly Rock deserved rainbows. He had been a great man. I shall be greater, though. A thousand years from now, when the maesters write about this time, you shall be remembered only as Queen Cersei’s sire. (AFFC Cersei II)

That’s not the case with Dany. Her titles (the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Mhysa, Azor Ahai, etc) were given to her by other people, she doesn’t think she’s special despite birthing dragons and receiving multiple prophecies and she’s incredibly hard on herself for every mistake she makes. She simply doesn’t have an exaggerated sense of her importance or abilities like Cersei and Aerys II do.

Both are cut by the Iron Throne

Aerys II:

Yet still the blades tormented him, the ones he could never escape, the blades of the Iron Throne. His arms and legs were always covered with scabs and half-healed cuts. (AFFC Jaime II)

Cersei:

The barbs and blades of the Iron Throne bit into her flesh as she crouched to hide her shame. Blood ran red down her legs, as steel teeth gnawed at her buttocks. When she tried to stand, her foot slipped through a gap in the twisted metal. The more she struggled the more the throne engulfed her, tearing chunks of flesh from her breasts and belly, slicing at her arms and legs until they were slick and red, glistening. (AFFC Cersei I)

While Cersei was only cut in a dream, this moment is still significant because the Iron Throne is infamous for only harming and ‘rejecting’ the bad rulers. GRRM could have written a similar dream for Dany if he wanted to make her and Cersei follow the same direction, specially in AFFC/ADWD where he noted multiple times that they’re meant to be paralleled and contrasted. Instead, while Cersei’s first chapter in AFFC begins with her dreaming of being on the Iron Throne and being cut by it, Dany’s first chapter in ADWD begins with her dreaming of a house with a red door. Also, while Cersei wishes she could sit on the Iron Throne but is unable to because only the King and the Hand can sit on it, Dany willingly gives up on the privilege to sit on an elaborate throne and chooses an ebony bench that "did not befit a queen" in Meereen. So, not only the author emphasized that Dany doesn’t want power for its own sake (but rather to help people) and that she wants to be at the level of her people, he also didn’t take the chance to portray her as a bad ruler (because she is a good one) like he did with Cersei and Aerys II.

Both feel excitement and pleasure at the sight of wildfire

Aerys II:

Frustrated, Aerys turned to the Wisdoms of the ancient Guild of Alchemists, who knew the secret of producing the volatile jade green substance known as wildfire, said to be a close cousin to dragonflame. The pyromancers became a regular fixture at his court as the king's fascination with fire grew. By 280 AC, Aerys II had taken to burning traitors, murderers, and plotters, rather than hanging or beheading them. The king seemed to take great pleasure in these fiery executions, which were presided over by Wisdom Rossart, the grand master of the Guild of Alchemists...so much so that he granted Rossart the title of Lord and gave him a seat upon the small council. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

The sight had filled him with disquiet, reminding him of Aerys Targaryen and the way a burning would arouse him. A king has no secrets from his Kingsguard. Relations between Aerys and his queen had been strained during the last years of his reign. They slept apart and did their best to avoid each other during the waking hours. But whenever Aerys gave a man to the flames, Queen Rhaella would have a visitor in the night. (AFFC Jaime II)

Cersei:

Cersei thought of all the King’s Hands that she had known through the years: Owen Merryweather, Jon Connington, Qarlton Chelsted, Jon Arryn, Eddard Stark, her brother Tyrion. And her father, Lord Tywin Lannister, her father most of all. All of them are burning now, she told herself, savoring the thought. They are dead and burning, every one, with all their plots and schemes and betrayals. It is my day now. It is my castle and my kingdom. (AFFC Cersei III)

Cersei felt too alive for sleep. The wildfire was cleansing her, burning away all her rage and fear, filling her with resolve. “The flames are so pretty. I want to watch them for a while.” (AFFC Cersei III)

Jaime knew the look in his sister's eyes. He had seen it before, most recently on the night of Tommen's wedding, when she burned the Tower of the Hand. The green light of the wildfire had bathed the face of the watchers, so they looked like nothing so much as rotting corpses, a pack of gleeful ghouls, but some of the corpses were prettier than others. Even in the baleful glow, Cersei had been beautiful to look upon. She'd stood with one hand on her breast, her lips parted, her green eyes shining. She is crying, Jaime had realized, but whether it was from grief or ecstasy he could not have said.

The sight had filled him with disquiet, reminding him of Aerys Targaryen and the way a burning would arouse him. (AFFC Jaime II)

That never happens with Dany. She does describe the flames positively during the ritual to hatch the dragon eggs, but so does Jon Snow and GRRM himself. She does claim the fire as hers, but it has to do with her magical intuition as she puts two and two to birth her children and is ultimately validated. Most importantly, unlike Aerys II and Cersei, Dany a) never feels excitement while watching things burn for their own sake, b) never takes pleasure viewing or imagining her enemies burning and c) is never compared to Aerys II to highlight any disturbing behavior from her part. She is called the Mad King’s daughter by her enemies (the slavers and Mace Tyrell), but the characters around her and the ones who have nothing to gain by defaming her (Barristan, Tyrion, Illyrio, Quentyn) reiterate that she’s nothing like him. Meanwhile, two of the people who have known Cersei the longest (Jaime on the quotes above, Tyrion) compare her to Aerys II.

Both grow paranoid with time; they imagine implausible scenarios in which their perceived enemies are working (often together) against them, accept their baseless fears as truth and make hasty decisions based on them

Aerys II:

The march of the king's madness seemed to abate for a time in 274 AC, when Queen Rhaella gave birth to a son. So profound was His Grace's joy that it seemed to restore him to his old self once again...but Prince Jaehaerys died later that same year, plunging Aerys into despair. In his black rage, he decided the babe's wet nurse was to blame and had the woman beheaded. Not long after, in a change of heart, Aerys announced that Jaehaerys had been poisoned by his own mistress, the pretty young daughter of one of his household knights. The king had the girl and all her kin tortured to death. During the course of their torment, it is recorded, all confessed to the murder, though the details of their confessions were greatly at odds. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

The birth of Prince Viserys only seemed to make Aerys II more fearful and obsessive, however. Though the new young princeling seemed healthy enough, the king was terrified lest he suffer the same fate as his brothers. Kingsguard knights were commanded to stand over him night and day to see that no one touched the boy without the king's leave. Even the queen herself was forbidden to be alone with the infant. When her milk dried up, Aerys insisted on having his own food taster suckle at the teats of the prince's wet nurse, to ascertain that the woman had not smeared poison on her nipples. As gifts for the young prince arrived from all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, the king had them piled in the yard and burned, for fear that some of them might have been ensorcelled or cursed. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Captivity at Duskendale had shattered whatever sanity had remained to Aerys II Targaryen. From that day forth, the king's madness reigned unchecked, growing worse with every passing year. The Darklyns had dared lay hands upon his person, shoving him roughly, stripping him of his royal raiment, even daring to strike him. After his release, King Aerys would no longer allow himself to be touched, even by his own servants. Uncut and unwashed, his hair grew ever longer and more tangled, whilst his fingernails lengthened and thickened into grotesque yellow talons. He forbade any blade in his presence save for the swords carried by the knights of his Kingsguard, sworn to protect him. His judgments became ever harsher and crueler. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Once safely returned to King's Landing, His Grace refused to leave the Red Keep for any cause and remained a virtual prisoner in his own castle for the next four years, during which time he grew ever more wary of those around him, Tywin Lannister in particular. His suspicions extended even to his own son and heir. Prince Rhaegar, he was convinced, had conspired with Tywin Lannister to have him slain at Duskendale. They had planned to storm the town walls so that Lord Darklyn would put him to death, opening the way for Rhaegar to mount the Iron Throne and marry Lord Tywin's daughter. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

And when the triumphant Prince of Dragonstone named Lyanna Stark, daughter of the Lord of Winterfell, the queen of love and beauty, placing a garland of blue roses in her lap with the tip of his lance, the lickspittle lords gathered around the king declared that further proof of his perfidy. Why would the prince have thus given insult to his own wife, the Princess Elia Martell of Dorne (who was present), unless it was to help him gain the Iron Throne? The crowning of the Stark girl, who was by all reports a wild and boyish young thing with none of the Princess Elia's delicate beauty, could only have been meant to win the allegiance of Winterfell to Prince Rhaegar's cause, Symond Staunton suggested to the king. (TWOIAF The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring)

When the news reached the Red Keep, it was said that Aerys cursed the Dornish, certain that Lewyn had betrayed Rhaegar. He sent his pregnant queen, Rhaella, and his younger son and new heir, Viserys, away to Dragonstone, but Princess Elia was forced to remain in King's Landing with Rhaegar's children as a hostage against Dorne. (TWOIAF The Fall of the Dragons: The End)

Cersei:

“I am counseling you. If you will not yield the regency to me, name me your castellan for Casterly Rock and make either Mathis Rowan or Randyll Tarly the Hand of the King.”

Tyrell bannermen, both of them. The suggestion left her speechless. Is he bought? she wondered. Has he taken Tyrell gold to betray House Lannister? (AFFC Cersei II)

“Lord Manderly hacked the head and hands off the onion knight, we have that from the Freys, and half a dozen other northern lords have rallied to Lord Bolton. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Where else can Stannis turn, but to the ironmen and the wildlings, the enemies of the north? But if he thinks that I am going to walk into his trap, he is a bigger fool than you.” (AFFC Cersei VII)

“No doubt. Tell me, was it our little queen who commanded you to kill Lord Gyles?”

“K-kill?” Grand Maester Pycelle’s eyes grew as big as boiled eggs. “Your Grace cannot believe ... it was his cough, by all the gods, I ... Her Grace would not ... she bore Lord Gyles no ill will, why would Queen Margaery want him ...”

“... dead? Why, to plant another rose on Tommen’s council. Are you blind or bought? Rosby stood in her way, so she put him in his grave. With your connivance.” (AFFC Cersei IX)

She knew Joff was too strong for her, Cersei thought, remembering the gold coin Qyburn had found. For House Tyrell to hope to rule, he had to be removed. It came back to her that Margaery and her hideous grandmother had once plotted to marry Sansa Stark to the little queen’s crippled brother Willas. Lord Tywin had forestalled that by stealing a march on them and wedding Sansa to Tyrion, but the link had been there. They are all in it together, she realized with a start. The Tyrells bribed the gaolers to free Tyrion, and whisked him down the roseroad to join his vile bride. By now the both of them are safe in Highgarden, hidden away behind a wall of roses. (AFFC Cersei VI)

Cersei’s case is complicated in that she has valid reasons to be anxious: prophecies come true in her world, the Tyrells did kill Joffrey (she’s right in that regard, at least) and the coin found in the cell could be evidence that the Tyrells were involved in Tyrion’s escape. The problem is how she deals with her suspicions. To defeat Margaery, she projected her experiences on her (every widow definitely has sexual appetites, so Margaery definitely has lovers), held on to the few dubious signs that she was cheating on the king (Margaery asking Pycelle for moon tea or having a lively court), tortured an innocent man to confirm the story she needs to incriminate Margaery and arrested several innocent people. Besides that, Cersei also: alienates Kevan by avoiding his recommendations and giving important titles to other cousins based on her hunch that he was bought by the Tyrells (quote above); avoids giving the Tyrells help when the ironmen attack the Shield Islands based on her baseless suspicion that Stannis made an alliance with the ironmen and was, therefore, behind the attack on the Shield Islands with the intention to turn Cersei’s eyes away from the Storm’s End and Dragonstone (quote above); forces Pycelle to "confirm" what she wants to believe because of her guess that he helped the Tyrells kill Gyles Rosby (quote above). And these are just some of the major examples.

Dany has moments when she is unsure of whether the people around her are reliable or not. She questions if Reznak is trustworthy or if he, Hizdahr and the Green Grace joined forces against her or if Groleo could be one of the three prophesied treasons, but she remains willing to listen to their advice and never undermines or punishes them solely based on her suspicions because, unlike her father or Cersei, she has a healthy distrust of others.

Both choose to be excessively and needlessly brutal against their enemies and the people who offend them (even when their offenses are relatively minor and/or not supported by facts)

Aerys II:

When one such reported that the captain of the Hand's personal guard, a knight named Ser Ilyn Payne, had been heard boasting it was Lord Tywin who truly ruled the Seven Kingdoms, His Grace sent the Kingsguard to arrest the man and had his tongue ripped out with red-hot pincers. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

By 280 AC, Aerys II had taken to burning traitors, murderers, and plotters, rather than hanging or beheading them. The king seemed to take great pleasure in these fiery executions, which were presided over by Wisdom Rossart, the grand master of the Guild of Alchemists...so much so that he granted Rossart the title of Lord and gave him a seat upon the small council. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

When Darklyn and his family were presented to him in chains, Aerys demanded their deaths—and not only Darklyn's immediate kin but his uncles and aunts and even distant kinsmen in Duskendale. Even his goodkin, the Hollards, were attainted and destroyed. Only Ser Symon's young nephew, Dontos Hollard, was spared—and only then because Ser Barristan begged that mercy as a boon, and the king he had saved could not refuse him. As to Lady Serala, hers was a crueler death. Aerys had the Lace Serpent's tongue and her womanly parts torn out before she was burned alive (yet her enemies say that she should have suffered more and worse for the ruin she brought down upon the town). (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

"M'lord, begging your pardon, Her Grace said those as didn't meet their numbers would have their hands crushed," the anxious smith persisted. "Smashed on their own anvils, she said."

Sweet Cersei, always striving to make the smallfolk love us. (ACOK Tyrion III)

"Y'Grace," he said quietly, "the boys caught a groom and two maidservants trying to sneak out a postern with three of the king's horses."

"The night's first traitors," the queen said, "but not the last, I fear. Have Ser Ilyn see to them, and put their heads on pikes outside the stables as a warning." (ACOK Sansa VI)

“I hope you did not wake them, Ser Boros. Let them sleep.”

“Sleep?” He looked up, jowly and confused. “Aye, Your Grace. How long shall—”

“Forever. See that they sleep forever, ser. I will not suffer guards to sleep on watch.” (AFFC Cersei I)

“His Grace should send the Wall a hundred men. To take the black, ostensibly, but in truth …”

“... to remove Jon Snow from the command,” Cersei finished, delighted. I knew I was right to want him on my council. “That is just what we shall do.” She laughed. If this bastard boy is truly his father's son, he will not suspect a thing. Perhaps he will even thank me, before the blade slides between his ribs. “It will need to be done carefully, to be sure. Leave the rest to me, my lords.” This was how an enemy should be dealt with: with a dagger, not a declaration. (AFFC Cersei IV)

“Send some of your whisperers to these shows and make note of who attends. If any of them should be men of note, I would know their names.”

“What will be done with them, if I may be so bold?”

“Any men of substance shall be fined. Half their worth should be sufficient to teach them a sharp lesson and refill our coffers, without quite ruining them. Those too poor to pay can lose an eye, for watching treason. For the puppeteers, the axe.”

“There are four. Perhaps Your Grace might allow me two of them for mine own purposes. A woman would be especially ...”

“I gave you Senelle,” the queen said sharply.

“Alas. The poor girl is quite ... exhausted.”

[...] “Yes, you may take a woman. Two, if it please you. But first I will have names. (AFFC Cersei V)

“I cannot have Falyse spreading tales about the city. Her grief has made her witless. Do you still need women for your ... work?”

“I do, Your Grace. The puppeteers are quite used up.”

“Take her and do with her as you will, then. But once she goes down into the black cells ... need I say more?” (AFFC Cersei VII)

Dany doesn’t act like this. She burned the masters in Astapor to protect her retinue and punished the Meereenese leaders who ordered the crucifixion of the slave children, but she also spared all the Yunkish masters and most of the Meereenese masters. Her leniency is the root of her problems in ADWD, since it allowed them to retaliate against the abolition of slavery. Additionally, Dany doesn’t punish Ghael for spitting on her, she doesn’t punish a boy for trying to attack her, she doesn't punish Xaro for threatening her to her face, she chooses not to follow her councillors' advice to punish the former slavers indiscriminately and so on. You can read more about how Dany's tendency is to avoid using violence in this meta.

Both use torture to get people to confirm what they believe or what's convenient for them

Aerys II:

Cersei:

“Tell us how you pleasured the little queen. [...] How many of them did you have carnal knowledge of?”

“None of them. I’m just a singer. Please.”

[...] Lord Qyburn ran a hand up the Blue Bard’s chest. “Does she take your nipples in her mouth during your love play?” He took one between his thumb and forefinger, and twisted. “Some men enjoy that. Their nipples are as sensitive as a woman’s.” The razor flashed, the singer shrieked. On his chest a wet red eye wept blood. [...]

By dawn the singer’s high blue boots were full of blood, and he had told them how Margaery would fondle herself as she watched her cousins pleasuring him with their mouths. At other times he would sing for her whilst she sated her lusts with other lovers. “Who were they?” the queen demanded, and the wretched Wat named Ser Tallad the Tall, Lambert Turnberry, Jalabhar Xho, the Redwyne twins, Osney Kettleblack, Hugh Clifton, and the Knight of Flowers.

That displeased her. She dare not besmirch the name of the hero of Dragonstone. [...] The Redwynes could not be a part of it either. [...] “All you are doing is spitting up the names of men you saw about her chambers. We want the truth! [...] Horas and Hobber had no part of this, did they?”

“No,” he admitted. “Not them.”

“As for Ser Loras, I am certain Margaery took pains to hide what she was doing from her brother.”

“She did. I remember now. Once I had to hide under the bed when Ser Loras came to see her. He must never know, she said.”

“I prefer this song to the other.” (AFFC Cersei IX)

Dany doesn't act like her father or Cersei in that regard either. She allows the use of torture (which is normalized in her world) to question people regarding the murders of former slaves, but she stops it once she realizes that the results are unreliable because, unlike her foils, she cares about punishing the actual perpetrators, not about having her beliefs confirmed at any cost.

Both are often cruel, rude and disrespectful to others

Aerys II:

At the great Anniversary Tourney of 272 AC, held to commemorate Aerys's tenth year upon the Iron Throne, Joanna Lannister brought her six-year-old twins Jaime and Cersei from Casterly Rock to present before the court. The king (very much in his cups) asked her if giving suck to them had "ruined your breasts, which were so high and proud." (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Over his Hand's strenuous objections, the king doubled the port fees at King's Landing and Oldtown, and tripled them for Lannisport and the realm's other ports and harbors. When a delegation of small lords and rich merchants came before the Iron Throne to complain, however, Aerys blamed the Hand for the exactions, saying, "Lord Tywin shits gold, but of late he has been constipated and had to find some other way to fill our coffers." (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Tyrion, as the babe was named, was a malformed, dwarfish babe born with stunted legs, an oversized head, and mismatched, demonic eyes (some reports also suggested he had a tail, which was lopped off at his lord father's command). Lord Tywin's Doom, the smallfolk called this ill-made creature, and Lord Tywin's Bane. Upon hearing of his birth, King Aerys infamously said, "The gods cannot abide such arrogance. They have plucked a fair flower from his hand and given him a monster in her place, to teach him some humility at last." (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

Cersei stared at her, aghast. “Your lackwit sister gets herself raped by half of King’s Landing, and Tanda thinks to honor the bastard with my lord father’s name? I think not.” (AFFC Cersei II)

She wanted a storm to match her rage. To Jocelyn she said, “Tighter. Cinch it tighter, you simpering little fool.”

It was the wedding that enraged her, though the slow-witted Swyft girl made a safer target. (AFFC Cersei III)

“Would Your Grace honor her white knight with a dance?”

She gave him a withering look. “And have you fumbling at me with that stump? No. I will let you fill my wine cup for me, though. If you think you can manage it without spilling.” (AFFC Cersei III)

“Very well. Get off those saggy knees and try to remember what it was to be a man.” Pycelle struggled to rise, but took so long about it that she had to tell Osmund Kettleblack to give him another yank. (AFFC Cersei IX)

For the vast majority of the time, Dany is kind and courteous. Her detractors tend to question that fact with two main arguments: a) she laughed at Quentyn; b) she is intolerant about Meereenese culture. Their first argument is very weak. Dany didn't laugh at Quentyn, she laughed about the reason why Quentyn is called frog and then forgot to explain why she did so in the Common Tongue. Even then, though, Quentyn is so overwhelmed by her kindness that he only remembers that "the queen had always spoken to him gently". Their second argument is also unconvincing because Dany's dislike of several aspects of Meereenese culture has to do with their ties to slavery (case in point: the fighting pits) and, even then, she makes several concessions to culturally adapt. Additionally, unlike Aerys II or Cersei, she doesn't express her critical thoughts (which are way less common and way less derogatory than Cersei's) verbally.

Both give rewards and promotions to those who blindly obey and agree with them, regardless of whether they’re experienced, competent or trustworthy

Aerys II:

He was also vain, proud, and changeable, traits that made him easy prey for flatterers and lickspittles, but these flaws were not immediately apparent to most at the time of his ascension. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

His father's court had been made up largely of older, seasoned men, many of whom had also served during the reign of King Aegon V. Aerys II dismissed them one and all, replacing them with lords of his own generation. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

The king replaced him as Hand with Lord Owen Merryweather, an aged and amiable lickspittle famed for laughing loudest at every jape and witticism uttered by the king, no matter how feeble. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

The Mad King could be savagely cruel, as seen most plainly when he burned those he perceived to be his enemies, but he could also be extravagant, showering men who pleased him with honors, offices, and lands. The lickspittle lords who surrounded Aerys II had gained much and more from the king's madness and eagerly seized upon any opportunity to speak ill of Prince Rhaegar and inflame the father's suspicions of the son. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

"A weak ruler needs a strong Hand, as Aerys needed Father. A strong ruler requires only a diligent servant to carry out his orders." (AFFC Jaime II)

The Kettleblacks would charm her, take her coin, and promise her anything she asked, and why not, when Bronn was matching every copper penny, coin for coin? Amiable rogues all three, the brothers were in truth much more skilled at deceit than they'd ever been at bloodletting. Cersei had managed to buy herself three hollow drums; they would make all the fierce booming sounds she required, but there was nothing inside. (ACOK Tyrion IX)

My councillors. Cersei had uprooted every rose, and all those beholden to her uncle and her brothers. In their places were men whose loyalty would be to her. She had even given them new styles, borrowed from the Free Cities; the queen would have no “masters” at court beside herself. (AFFC Cersei IV)

Grand Maester Pycelle had wanted an older man “more seasoned in the ways of war” to command the gold cloaks, and several of her other councillors had agreed with him. “Ser Osfryd is seasoned quite sufficiently,” she had told them, but even that did not shut them up. They yap at me like a pack of small, annoying dogs. (AFFC Cersei V)

"She would have done better to leave the tower and burn her Hand. Harys Swyft? If ever a man deserved his arms, it is Ser Harys. And Gyles Rosby, Seven save us, I thought he died years ago. Merryweather ... your father used to call his grandsire 'the Chuckler,' I'll have you know. Tywin claimed the only thing Merryweather was good for was chuckling at the king's witticisms. His lordship chuckled himself right into exile, as I recall. Cersei has put some bastard on the council too, and a kettle in the Kingsguard. (AFFC Jaime V)

Besides the Kettleblacks (as shown above), Cersei rewards many other people that are rarely, if ever, willing to question her - Harys Swyft, Orton Merryweather, Aurane Waters, Gyles Rosby, Meryn Trant, Qyburn (the only one who doesn't turn his back on Cersei after she falls from power), etc. The only one that disagrees with her decisions regularly is Pycelle, which is why she rebukes him quite a few times throughout AFFC. Also, while Cersei considers Aerys a weak ruler, they both believe that their Hands should be servants that know their place and follow them blindly.

Dany doesn't restrict herself to only listening to the people she agrees with. She welcomes dissent multiple times throughout the books and so, consequently, her council gives voice to multiple groups (from the Unsullied to the freedmen to the former slavers to the Dothraki).

Both alienate and undermine important allies because of disagreements that could have been mended and fears that lead both rulers to perceive these potential allies as enemies

Aerys II:

The growing rift between the king and the King's Hand was also apparent in the matter of appointments. Whereas previously His Grace had always heeded his Hand's counsel, bestowing offices, honors, and inheritances as Lord Tywin recommended, after 270 AC he began to disregard the men put forward by his lordship in favor of his own choices. Many westermen found themselves dismissed from the king's service for no better cause than the suspicion that they might be "Hand's men." In their places, King Aerys appointed his own favorites...but the king's favor had become a chancy thing, his mistrust easy to awaken. Even the Hand's own kin were not exempt from royal displeasure. When Lord Tywin wished to name his brother Ser Tygett Lannister as the Red Keep's master-at-arms, King Aerys gave the post to Ser Willem Darry instead. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Perhaps seeking to gain advantage of His Grace's high spirits, Lord Tywin chose that very night to suggest that it was past time the king's heir wed and produced an heir of his own; he proposed his own daughter, Cersei, as wife for the crown prince. Aerys II rejected this proposal brusquely, informing Lord Tywin that he was a good and valuable servant, yet a servant nonetheless. Nor did His Grace agree to appoint Lord Tywin's son Jaime as squire to Prince Rhaegar; that honor he granted instead to the sons of several of his own favorites, men known to be no friends of House Lannister or the Hand. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Lord Denys, seeing that Aerys's erratic behavior had begun to strain his relations with Lord Tywin, refused to pay the taxes expected of him and instead invited the king to come to Duskendale and hear his petition. It seems most unlikely that King Aerys would ever have considered accepting this invitation...until Lord Tywin advised him to refuse in the strongest possible terms, whereupon the king decided to accept, informing Grand Maester Pycelle and the small council that he meant to settle this matter himself and bring the defiant Darklyn to heel. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

Garth the Gross on the small council and his two bastards in the gold cloaks ... do the Tyrells think I will just serve the realm up to them on a gilded platter? The arrogance of it took her breath away.

“Garth has served me well as Lord Seneschal, as he served my father before me,” Tyrell was going on. “Littlefinger had a nose for gold, I grant you, but Garth—”

“My lord,” Cersei broke in, “I fear there has been some misunderstanding. I have asked Lord Gyles Rosby to serve as our new master of coin, and he has done me the honor of accepting.”

Mace gaped at her. “Rosby? That ... cougher? But ... the matter was agreed, Your Grace. Garth is on his way to Oldtown.”

“Best send a raven to Lord Hightower and ask him to make certain your uncle does not take ship. We would hate for Garth to brave an autumn sea for nought.” She smiled pleasantly.

A flush crept up Tyrell’s thick neck. “This ... your lord father assured me ...” (AFFC Cersei II)

Cersei had named her cousin Damion Lannister her castellan for the Rock, and another cousin, Ser Daven Lannister, the Warden of the West. Insolence has its price, Uncle. (AFFC Cersei III)

“I have been remiss. With a realm to rule, a war to fight, and a father to mourn, somehow I overlooked the crucial matter of naming a new master-at-arms. I shall rectify that error at once.”

Ser Loras pushed back a brown curl that had fallen across his forehead. “Your Grace will not find any man half so skilled with sword and lance as I.”

Humble, aren’t we? “Tommen is your king, not your squire. You are to fight for him and die for him, if need be. No more.”

She left him on the drawbridge that spanned the dry moat with its bed of iron spikes and entered Maegor’s Holdfast alone. Where am I to find a master-at-arms? she wondered as she climbed to her apartments. [...]

Aron Santagar was Dornish, Cersei recalled. I could send to Dorne. Centuries of blood and war lay between Sunspear and Highgarden. Yes, a Dornishman might suit my needs admirably. There must be some good swords in Dorne. (AFFC Cersei V)

He had even had the temerity to object to her sending to Dorne for a master-at-arms, on the grounds that it might offend the Tyrells. “Why do you think I’m doing it?” she had asked him scornfully. (AFFC Cersei VI)

“Your Grace, let me take Dragonstone.”

[...] No one had given Cersei such a lovely gift since Sansa Stark had run to her to divulge Lord Eddard’s plans. She was pleased to see that Margaery had gone pale. “Your courage takes my breath away, Ser Loras. [...] Swear to me that you shall not return until Dragonstone is Tommen’s.”

“I shall, Your Grace.” He rose.

[...] Pycelle had to struggle to keep up. “If it please Your Grace,” he puffed, “young men are overbold, and think only of the glory of battle and never of its dangers. Ser Loras ... this plan of his is fraught with peril. To storm the very walls of Dragonstone ...”

“... is very brave. [...] I have no doubt that our Knight of Flowers will be the first man to gain the battlements.” And perhaps the first to fall. (AFFC Cersei VII)

Dany doesn't do this; instead, she makes plenty of concessions to appease her influential allies, from wearing the tokar to marrying Hizdahr by Ghiscari rites if he gives her ninety days of peace to allowing Hizdahr to reopen the fighting pits to accepting a deal between Meereen and Yunkai that allows the latter to reinstall slavery. All of these decisions are ultimately mistakes since they unwittingly prioritize the privileges of the former masters over the rights of the former slaves, but they still show that Dany is capable of making alliances in a way that Aerys II and Cersei aren't due to their black and white thinking.

Both are extravagant rulers who plan grand schemes that are never realized

Aerys II:

His Grace was full of grand schemes as well. Not long after his coronation, he announced his intent to conquer the Stepstones and make them a part of his realm for all time. In 264 AC, a visit to King's Landing by Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell awakened his interest in the North, and he hatched a plan to build a new Wall a hundred leagues north of the existing one and claim all the lands between. In 265 AC, offended by "the stink of King's Landing," he spoke of building a "white city" entirely of marble on the south bank of the Blackwater Rush. In 267 AC, after a dispute with the Iron Bank of Braavos regarding certain monies borrowed by his father, he announced that he would build the largest war fleet in the history of the world "to bring the Titan to his knees." In 270 AC, during a visit to Sunspear, he told the Princess of Dorne that he would "make the Dornish deserts bloom" by digging a great underground canal beneath the mountains to bring water down from the rainwood.

None of these grandiose plans ever came to fruition; most, indeed, were forgotten within a moon's turn, for Aerys II seemed to grow bored with his royal enthusiasms as quickly as he did his royal paramours. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

“Would that we could do the same to the rest of this foul castle,” said Cersei. “After the war I mean to build a new palace beyond the river.” She had dreamed of it the night before last, a magnificent white castle surrounded by woods and gardens, long leagues from the stinks and noise of King’s Landing. “This city is a cesspit. For half a groat I would move the court to Lannisport and rule the realm from Casterly Rock.” (AFFC Cersei III)

A group of merchants appeared before her to beg the throne to intercede for them with the Iron Bank of Braavos. The Braavosi were demanding repayment of their outstanding debts, it seemed, and refusing all new loans. We need our own bank, Cersei decided, the Golden Bank of Lannisport. (AFFC Cersei VIII)

That's not the case with Dany either. Throughout her reign, she only makes reasonable and attainable decisions to improve Meereen's economy, such as planting grapes, beans and wheat, replanting olive trees, making an alliance with the Lhazareen and freeing the slaves of the hinterlands to bring crops to the city.

Both are unpopular with the common people

Aerys II: (note that Tywin himself is unpopular with the smallfolk)

They cheered Father twice as loudly as they cheered the king, the queen recalled, but only half as loudly as they cheered Prince Rhaegar. (AFFC Cersei V)

Cersei:

As she made her way through the ragged throng, past their cookfires, wagons, and crude shelters, the queen found herself remembering another crowd that had once gathered on this plaza. The day she wed Robert Baratheon, thousands had turned out to cheer for them. [...]

No one was smiling now. The looks the sparrows gave her were dull, sullen, hostile. They made way but reluctantly. (AFFC Cersei VI)

Thrice that day she heard the sound of distant shouting drifting up from the plaza, but it was Margaery’s name that the mob was calling, not hers. (AFFC Cersei X)

We have yet to see how the common people in Westeros will view Dany, but she is very popular among freedmen and slaves from all over Essos, so she doesn't fit this either.

Both feel threatened by the shadow of Tywin Lannister

Aerys II:

By this time, King Aerys had become aware of the widespread belief that he himself was but a hollow figurehead and Tywin Lannister the true master of the Seven Kingdoms. These sentiments greatly angered the king, and His Grace became determined to disprove them and to humble his "overmighty servant" and "put him back into his place." (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

“Lord Tywin was a great man, an extraordinary man,” he declared ponderously after he had kissed both her cheeks. “We shall never see his like again, I fear.”

You are looking at his like, fool, Cersei thought. It is his daughter standing here before you. (AFFC Cersei II)

She was tired of Jaime balking her. No one had ever balked her lord father. When Tywin Lannister spoke, men obeyed. When Cersei spoke, they felt free to counsel her, to contradict her, even refuse her. (AFFC Cersei V)

This is not a perfect parallel because Cersei alternates between hero-worshiping and drawing inspiration and strength from Tywin to resenting the control he had over her, so much so that she lists her father alongside her enemies and takes pleasure in the fact that he's now dead. Even so, both Aerys II and Cersei feel that they were owed the treatment that people gave Tywin.

This doesn't happen with Dany because she doesn't feel threatened by anyone nor does Tywin play an important role in her story.

Both feel threatened by a younger, more beautiful, more popular would-be king/queen

Aerys II:

The cheers of the crowd were said to be deafening, but King Aerys did not join them. Far from being proud and pleased by his heir's skill at arms, His Grace saw it as a threat. Lords Chelsted and Staunton inflamed his suspicions further, declaring that Prince Rhaegar had entered the lists to curry favor with the commons and remind the assembled lords that he was a puissant warrior, a true heir to Aegon the Conqueror. (TWOIAF The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring)

The lickspittle lords who surrounded Aerys II had gained much and more from the king's madness and eagerly seized upon any opportunity to speak ill of Prince Rhaegar and inflame the father's suspicions of the son. (TWOIAF The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring)

Meanwhile, King Aerys was becoming ever more estranged from his own son and heir. Early in the year 279 AC, Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, was formally betrothed to Princess Elia Martell, the delicate young sister of Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne. They were wed the following year, in a lavish ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing, but Aerys II did not attend. He told the small council that he feared an attempt upon his life if he left the confines of the Red Keep, even with his Kingsguard to protect him. Nor would he allow his younger son, Viserys, to attend his brother's wedding. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

The memory was still bitter. Old Lord Whent had announced the tourney shortly after a visit from his brother, Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard. With Varys whispering in his ear, King Aerys became convinced that his son was conspiring to depose him, that Whent's tourney was but a ploy to give Rhaegar a pretext for meeting with as many great lords as could be brought together. Aerys had not set foot outside the Red Keep since Duskendale, yet suddenly he announced that he would accompany Prince Rhaegar to Harrenhal, and everything had gone awry from there. (ADWD The Kingbreaker)

Cersei:

Her mood was not improved when Mace Tyrell arose to lead the toasts. He raised a golden goblet high, smiling at his pretty little daughter, and in a booming voice said, “To the king and queen!” The other sheep all baaaaaaed along with him. “The king and queen!” they cried, smashing their cups together. “The king and queen!” She had no choice but to drink along with them, all the time wishing that the guests had but a single face, so she could throw her wine into their eyes and remind them that she was the true queen. (AFFC Cersei III)

“Your Grace, she ... she is the queen ...”

“I am the queen. (AFFC Cersei IX)

It was a pity that Maggy the Frog was dead. Piss on your prophecy, old woman. The little queen may be younger than I, but she has never been more beautiful, and soon she will be dead. (AFFC Cersei IX)

Cersei's case is more justified in that she believes that, by defeating the YMBQ, she'll also prevent her children from dying and the valonqar from killing her.

This doesn't happen with Dany.

Both lost a child (children, in Aerys’s case) and fear for the safety of their remaining child (children, in Cersei’s case) to the point that these concerns become intertwined with their fears that someone is out to get them

Aerys II:

Cersei:

I am dreaming still, Cersei thought. I have not woken, nor has my nightmare ended. Tyrion will creep out from under the bed soon and begin to laugh at me.

[...] A dream, that’s all it was, a dream. I drank too much last night, these fears are only humors born of wine. I will be the one laughing, come dusk. My children will be safe, Tommen’s throne will be secure, and my twisted little valonqar will be short a head and rotting. (AFFC Cersei I)

Cersei had a sudden vision of the dwarf crawling out from behind a tapestry in Tommen’s bedchamber with blade in hand. Tommen is well guarded, she told herself. But Lord Tywin had been well guarded too. (AFFC Cersei I)

The younger queen whose coming she’d foretold was finished, and if that prophecy could fail, so could the rest. No golden shrouds, no valonqar, I am free of your croaking malice at last. (AFFC Cersei X)

Like in the previous parallel, Cersei's bad reactions are more justified due to the fact that prophecies come true in her world and due to her understandable sense of self-preservation.

This doesn't happen with Dany.

Both had unhappy marriages and believed that their spouses weren’t the right ones for them

Aerys II:

What Tywin Lannister made of this is not recorded, but in 266 AC, at Casterly Rock, Lady Joanna gave birth to a pair of twins, a girl and a boy, "healthy and beautiful, with hair like beaten gold." This birth only exacerbated the tension between Aerys II Targaryen and his Hand. "I appear to have married the wrong woman," His Grace was reported to have said, when informed of the happy event. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

“...Your father will find another man for you, a better man than Rhaegar.”

Her aunt had lied, though, and her father had failed her, just as Jaime was failing her now. Father found no better man. Instead he gave me Robert, and Maggy’s curse bloomed like some poisonous flower. If she had only married Rhaegar as the gods intended, he would never have looked twice at the wolf girl. Rhaegar would be our king today and I would be his queen, the mother of his sons.

She had never forgiven Robert for killing him. (AFFC Cersei V)

The major difference in this parallel, of course, is that Aerys raped his wife and Cersei was raped by her husband.

This doesn't happen with Dany.

Comparisons in the text between Aerys II and Cersei

"Let all of King's Landing see the flames. It will be a lesson to our enemies."

"Now you sound like Aerys."

Her nostrils flared. "Guard your tongue, ser." (AFFC Cersei III)

The sight had filled him with disquiet, reminding him of Aerys Targaryen and the way a burning would arouse him. (AFFC Jaime II)

"Westeros is torn and bleeding, and I do not doubt that even now my sweet sister is binding up the wounds … with salt. Cersei is as gentle as King Maegor, as selfless as Aegon the Unworthy, as wise as Mad Aerys. She never forgets a slight, real or imagined. She takes caution for cowardice and dissent for defiance. And she is greedy. Greedy for power, for honor, for love. Tommen's rule is bolstered by all of the alliances that my lord father built so carefully, but soon enough she will destroy them, every one.” (ADWD Tyrion VI)

Again, as I said above, the comparisons between Cersei and Aerys II come from two of the people who have known Cersei the longest (Jaime, Tyrion).

Meanwhile, Dany is only called the Mad King’s daughter by her enemies (the slavers and Mace Tyrell). The characters who actually know her and the characters who have nothing to gain by defaming her (Barristan, Tyrion, Illyrio, Quentyn) reiterate that she’s nothing like him.

#aerys ii targaryen #cersei lannister #daenerys targaryen #asoiaf meta

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frostahesmegabite · 3 years

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The Judgement of Carrion

@daily-writing-challenge - Day 4 - Accomplish/Macabre [ Content warning: Blood, Guts, Gore, Bits of Torture, That sort of stuff. While there aren't pages and pages of it, it is present in this short story. I tried to find a balance of detail and keeping things light without going into ‘Hostel’ territory. ]

Human forts were a dime a dozen, easily found and half of them forgotten or falling to ruin due to the numerous war fronts that were constantly moving across the face of Azeroth to fight one force or another. Some lost to time, others to ruin, some to marauding forces and others simply abandoned because they were no longer needed. It was one of these Forts that Megahes had put to use for himself and probably his most comprehensive and long lasting pastime.

Clever little devices put into play to keep things looking abandoned and misused, neglected and falling to ruin. The place had not only been repaired but also reinforced with Magical and Mechanical Goblin ingenuity that was built upon with knowledge gained over the past several decades.

Inside of this fort, despite the fact it was never intended to receive an actual willful audience, was decorative furniture made of fine dark woods embroidered with rich velvets, soft silks and the finest wools and cottons coin could acquire. Tables stretching about with plates and goldware that no man or woman other than Megahes would ever see sat to present an atmosphere of riches on display. Trophy cases and stands line the walls with numerous weapons of both magical and mundane descent that perch over Armor Stands holding protective metal layers meant not just for Goblins, but all races.

If any ever came to somehow find the place and took the time to inspect any of it, they’d find that all of these items weren’t as ‘pristine’ as they may appear at a distance. Damage came to them all at some point or another. Blunted blades, shattered axe heads assembled to look presentable. Armor with gashes, pierced helmets or chest pieces, greaves with shorn metal by the thighs that most likely led to bleed outs.

The more one could look, the more they’d note that all of the gear was like walking through a museum of deathly wounds. All that stood or hung from the walls had a story of defeat and loss and probably before then, great triumphs, valor and victory… just to have their stories end here.

Megahes pays no mind to these things now though as he walks with his back rigid and straight, his arms back behind him with hands clasping the other arms elbow in some overly formal glide across the stone floor. His bright white and gold attire is a stark beacon amongst the dark colors and atmosphere of the room that one should have found comforting, but for some reason, only brought worry and dread with it as he moves about his untold business.

[ Artwork by the Magnificent Fishadee. No Fire or Light Shards floating about in this scene, purely put for clothing example. https://twitter.com/fishadee ] He stops, not worrying to look around for any watchers, for he knows there are none as he stops at a small wall just behind a staircase. “Rehorur decno Kudex.” A series of flashes occur around our Goblin and once completed a small stone panel slides off to the side and Megahes puts his hand into the slot. A sudden sharp ‘shing!’ sound is head and Mega’s neck tenses but for a moment before his hand is withdrawn. A mechanical but feminine voice perks up from the slot. “Welcome back.” “Hmm.” The only sound Megahes makes before he takes a step back and then to the left. The stone wall jars forward at an alarming speed, spikes erupting from her stone crevices meant to impale and kill any would-be intruders while giving Megahes the solitary moment that was needed to pass behind the crude defense into the wall beyond. Whether by measured practice or perhaps sensors, the trap quickly retreats and returns to normal, giving off no telltale signs of a hidden door or of Mega’s earlier passing.

The reason for all this secrecy? Hidden at the end of the staircase Mega was already descending. Humans had their specialties sure, jacks of all trades those people. But the one thing they never fail to make well?

Jail Cells and Prisons.

It was this singular reason that Megahes took over this once ramshackle Fort for himself. Though there weren’t many cells, there was no need. Three of them sat in a row at the bottom of the stairs, each outfitted with custom Arcano-tech that allowed for the arrival of a singular occupant that was soon set to magical and electrical suppression to keep them docile and incapable of action while time slowly allowed them to become dehydrated and starved to where strength or speed was no longer an issue either.

The work put into this place was one of Mega’s hidden creations of pride and in the past, its use went towards a sorted pastime of torturing whoever was unfortunate enough to get caught by one of his traps. Times change however and with Mega’s newfound religion, came the need to change how and why he did things while applying them to old hobbies. Today’s hobby however, only involved one other person beyond himself and Mega comes to stand right before him as electricity pulses through his frail, nearly starved frame.

“Brother Abacus.” A stupid name, false to be sure, but one that Megahes didn’t really care about either way. “I realize you don’t know who I am and that’s quite alright.” He leans in, voice dialing down as he speaks through the bars just as another tide of electricity bombards the ‘Brother’, causing him to whimper and whine in pain. “You have been found guilty of being a member of a Twilight Cult, one in fact, that was run by Dinthoqaf the Defiler.”

The cultist looks up, arms shaking in heavy tremors as he tries to look his would-be captor in the eye. They give out however, causing him to hit the ground with an exhale. His cracked and bleeding lips wobble, trying to say something, but the lack of strength made their efforts near useless. It was sad really, or at least it would be if Megahes cared about the man's condition in the slightest.

Megah glides over to a control panel on the wall and proceeds to flip a series of switches and dials which cause several mechanical tendrils to tear from the wall in Abacus’ cell that soon lash him to the same wall they originated from. His body was quickly drawn into an ‘X’ shape with limbs pulled tight and to their limits.

“You see. Your former… Employer? Boss? Leader.” Megahes hands lift and tumble in slow methodical circles as he tries to find the right word, but leaves it be. “Him and I don’t get along very well and thanks to his efforts, I find myself needing to improvise my tactics a bit. While I know he’s dead, face turned to slag and glass, I wanna make sure I get the job done correctly, meaning none of his followers try to take up his mantle. I’m sure you understand.”

He turns around and heads into the cell, worry of electrocution now gone thanks to the current state of affairs. “You see. I have this…” He pauses. “...Macabre little ritual I have to do every so often and believe me.” The Goblin laughs while looking up at the man while proceeding to straighten up his clothes, as if it mattered. “As much as people might want me to say I hate doing this… I don’t. I’ve been doing this to people way before you all found me and now. Now I get to put my hobbies to better use.”

Megahes’ hand comes up, his index finger pressing to his lips to tell Brother Abacus to be silent. His smile fades with the gesture and he reaches up, pressing his black and gold painted claw against the clothing of this man's thigh. Downward, slowly, it runs. Fabric quickly turns from a peasant-y brown to a heavy red and brown as flesh below seems to split before the clothing itself can.

Magic? Possibly. Insanely sharp claws? Not likely. But whatever it was, the man's thigh split open as if by scalpel and despite his starvation, he thrashes weakly in an effort to pull away. The machines holding his wrists tighten and continue to do so until the sound of bone is heard crunching.

This process continues on not just for mere moments but stretches of hours, lines drawn across flesh like sand. Megahes had nothing else to say and so, despite the protests and pleading, begging to let him go and he’d tell no one, Mega continued.

Soon, details were carved away, facial features, scalp and its rooted hair, ears. Nearly anything that could be taken and removed without outright killing this poor cultist was taken in some macabre movie of silence and torture and finally, when the man was nearest his end, Megahes opens his own shirt.

The metal embedded into his Chest that shines with the Light like a beacon in this squalor, practically vibrates as Mega runs his blood coated hands across its surface. Red blood made semi-translucent by the sheer shine, soon was baked and cooked black, all Vitae devoured, leaving Megahes to sigh in relief.

“I would ask you to tell the Defiler thank you for giving me this. But… we both know you’re never going to have that opportunity.”

Megahes runs his hand up from Brother Abacus' groin clear up to his collarbone, shearing clean through flesh and muscle alike. What came next was a grotesque shower of innards that began to fall and slop to the floor, leaving our would-be cultist inanimate and lifeless.

“Now to clean up and go home. Tonight’s my date night and I have so many things to accomplish before She gets home…” Soon, the jail cells were left dark and eventually the slow trickling of blood and various other liquids came to silence in the dark, waiting to be cleaned up and for a new subject to be taken.

#blood #gore #gif #warning #torture #goblin #daily-writing-challenge #Megahes #Day4DWC #Macabre #murder

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avversiera-writes · 3 years

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‘till death do us part - chapter 4 [tobirama senju/you]

Chapter 4 - Look to the Horizon

Summary: It starts with a bad dream. And then everything going wrong.

Words: 4.1k

A/N: Idk about you guys, but the way I wrote this chapter makes me laugh. Also, ptsd nightmare at the beginning.

this work is also on AO3.

<< Chapter 1 - Allegiances // Chapter 2 - Union // Chapter 3 - Love Like you

“It has been a while since we’ve seriously sparred,” you comment as you sidestep out of the way of Tobirama’s bokken.

Swiftly, you turn, and you meet his wooden sword, making a cross between the two of you. In the gaps, your eyes meet each other. You give his sword a nudge, and Tobirama gives in a little, and the space between the two of you rapidly decreases.

Tobirama smirks, looking very pleased as you two dance around each other, the golden light rays of the sunset smiling upon the two of you with warmth. The light hits his face just right, and you can see his red eyes clearly, seeing flecks of black and white in his irises. Tobirama watches you with eyes wide in wonder, and he lets you counter by effectively dismantling his sword from his hand with a twist of your blade.

The bokken clatters to the ground, and Tobirama bends down to pick it up.

“No fair,” you tell him. “That was too easy.”

Tobirama hides a smile and he shakes his head. “What if it was a trick?”

“Huh?”

Tobirama wastes no time as he strikes from above and you counter at the last minute. Your arms shake from the sheer force, but you are trained in speed and precision, not brute strength and so you kick back at his knees to get him off.

Tobirama draws back, and in the last second, he slaps his hiraishin seal on to your blade. You widen your eyes, and Tobirama is suddenly right in front of you, zeroing in for the kill.

Tobirama cannot stop, it is like his body is being controlled by a divine force. No matter how much he screams in his mind, he is going, and going even faster. The look in your eyes does not even make him stop, and somehow, the wooden sword has turned into a real one, and he hears the metal sing for blood.

“Tobirama!” You screamed, your face completely changing to horror.

Sickeningly, he feels the blade go through flesh, and his ears ring from your raw screams.

Tobirama wakes with a start, and cold sweat soaks his body and through his sleep yukata. His chest heaves with the effort to get air into his lungs, but he can hear himself breathe shallowly. His mind feels light, and his hands are cold and numb, and the feeling travels up his arms and then his chest, paralyzing him for a moment. Spots dance in his vision and he closes his eyes to will them away.

Finally, he is able to sit up and his body shakes as if his organs are jolting and crashing against each other like an earthquake intent on rupturing the ground, and blood pumps through his arteries like the rush of a flood, making his pale skin red. He lets out a shaky breath and he takes his trembling hands and presses his palms against his eyes.

What was that? He thinks.

He glances at your sleeping form, and another cold, numbing wave rushes through him, and this time, it feels like a thousand needles pricking every microscopic opening of his skin. It is on his eyes, his cheeks, his whole body, each pinprick so painful that he is tempted to tear his skin off until his nails crack and blood is finally released to offer him some relief.

All was well. He was with you, alone and as his wife. He was learning to get along with another person besides himself and his family. He was learning to express his love and discard his fears and his worries. He was learning to accept all the good things that were withheld from him as a child.

Why must all good things come with a price?

And to him, you are too good.

He knows that he is being irrational, that it is probably nothing, but his nightmare sits on his chest and the more it replays in his mind, the more it upsets him. He will never hurt you, so why is he doing that in his dreams?

His paranoia is getting to him. Maybe he is looking for a fight, or something his hands can busy themselves with.

Tobirama sighs heavily, and recalls that his dream is eerily similar to the way he had killed Uchiha Izuna.

He moves away from you, unable to bear the contact of another body against his own. He takes out his things, and he starts to rearrange everything until he deems it perfect. Then, he takes to his journals and his scrolls, catching up on his reading and writing his ideas down.

Occasionally, he glances at you, and he tries to swallow and kill the feeling of dread.

Your husband is too quiet for your liking. He is also avoiding you like a plague, and he does not look at you when speaking. You figure that he is having one of his moods, so you let him be, only addressing him when needed and asking simple yes or no questions. Currently, the two of you are heading to your next destination, which is a little farther from Konoha, but it is also known for its vast hunting grounds, mountain ranges and booming towns.

The two of you did not have a set itinerary for your travels, which was surprising–since Tobirama is a huge planner–but you both have the common goal to travel to other places in the country without the strings of a mission. Sometimes, you miss out on huge details when you are not there to take your time and enjoy the sights.

You glance at Tobirama, who is scowling at the air in front of him.

Ahead, you hear angry shouts and horses whining, followed by the whipping sounds of a lash.

Tobirama snaps alert, and his eyes narrow to focus. With a nod, the two of you take to the trees and land silently on the branches to view what is happening. You conceal yourselves behind the thick trunks of the trees and peer downwards to a rough passage cutting through two tall hills, one of which you and Tobirama are situated on.

You watch the procession of children, young adults, women and men that are able bodied toil through the rocky terrain, their wrists shackled by train of chains to ensure that no one breaks line. Some of them are missing shoes, or have discarded them along the way.

Supervising these were ruffians, carrying a variety of weapons, and they are shouting and whipping at those who are lagging behind.

You narrow your eyes, your intuition telling you that something is very wrong.

"What do you think?" You mouth towards Tobirama when your gazes meet simultaneously.

Your husband points down, and the two of you quietly descend to the ground.

"You've seen this before?" You query, watching his wary gaze.

"Slaves to be sold, probably," Tobirama replies grimly. "Most are kidnapped."

"We can't just turn a blind eye on this," you say as you take another look. “They are just children.”

Tobirama says nothing.

You narrow your eyes, and you see, at the end of the line, three familiar faces, who look too clean and too conspicuous. They do not look as dead tired as the others.

"Oh gods," you murmur under your breath.

"What is it?"

"What was your brother thinking?" You hiss.

Tobirama follows your line of sight and he frowns. “They are Chuunins now. They need the experience. Stop coddling them.”

“Tell me that again without being perturbed,” you snap in a low voice.

Tobirama looks pissed, but you know it is not directed towards you. His jaw tightens, as he watches one of the watchers whip a child. Then, he meets your gaze again.

“We have to do something with those face tattoos of yours,” you suggest. You ignore your feeling when he seems to flinch when you make a move to touch his face, and drop your hand.

The day fades into the night when the string of kidnapped people have arrived into their final destination. It is a booming town, with streets alive with the early hours of the night life–rowdy men who are already drunk from day drinking and women in full make-up outside of the love hotels they work for, eager to welcome in any customers. No one takes notice of the procession, which makes you think that this is the norm for this town, or that everyone is afraid to voice their objections because this group of people are a part of something bigger and more powerful than them.

You glance at Tobirama, who looks way younger with his face tattoos covered. Up ahead, the motley crew flood into what seems like an amphitheater, and the two of you blend in with the prisoners after they got released from their chains.

The women you are with are shaking with fear, and some are staring at the ground with a blank expression. You try to talk with them, but they refuse to do so, only glancing at the guards with fear.

You find Tobirama talking to a few kids, and it seems like he is reassuring them. Your heart softens at the sight, but your attention is taken away when the screaming starts. You try to find your students in the mayhem, but you still cannot find them.

It is not exactly dark, since there are pyres of fire lighting up the whole amphitheater, but the screaming is not of fear–it is of excitement and instigation.

First, you watch as stick thin women are lined up in the center of the audience. They are half-naked for men to ogle at, and then, somebody comes up to auction them off, calling for bets and announcing who is sold to whom.

Then, after the women are sold off, various weapons are pulled into the arena. They line the walls, ranging from spears, to swords, to knives and an assembly of mismatched armors that will never work unless one is trained to wear them in battle. One would be a fool to try them on now. You watch as the crowd roars, impatient for entertainment. Money is being collected by teenage boys from the aisles, while you and the people who were brought in are pushed nearer to the ring.

You have no doubt that you and your husband can fight and win, but that is not your objective. The two of you are supposed to collect intel and infiltrate and somehow rescue your students, but their faces are still nowhere to be found.

You meet Tobirama’s eyes and he gives you a small, imperceptible nod, meaning that your students are alive and nearby.

It isn’t hard to comprehend what is going on here. Either the daimyos of this part of the country are profiting from this, or this town is run by a strong gang who make their money by providing these kinds of services–pitting children against each other and selling slaves.

You suppose that this is what shinobis still do, but the difference is, it is legalized and approved by everybody.

Then, cheers erupt again, louder this time, as three figures are thrown into the ground.

“Everyone, we have some special guests!” An announcer shouts. “Three Konohagakure shinobis!”

Your heart drops to your stomach, but you keep to yourself, lest you give yourself or Tobirama away.

Damn it , you curse at the gods, anyone, really.

You regret not giving your students opportunities to infiltrate properly, or being distracted by your other duties as a shinobi and not spending enough time to drill them. You understand that being a shinobi means dying on the mission, but it is not like that anymore, but you are naive to think that just because the village you live in has acquired some peace, does not mean that the rest of the world is also at peace.

Outside of your life, children still die because there is no one to fight for them. They are rounded up like this, and they learn how to fight to live another day.

You observe, looking for some opening. You put your hopes in your students that they have enough wits to gather and keep themselves alive.

“They will fight against our champion,” the announcer continues.

A man wearing a demon mask appears, carrying a naginata with a blade that curves wickedly. You know that this blade is no ordinary blade by the way the air around it seems to hum. However, a man is only as good as the blade he wields. You hope that your students are better, and can make up for lack of strength with their brains. You know that they are more of a tactical team than an offensive one, but they do well when they work together.

“If they are Konohagakure, one should be enough to defeat him!” Someone aggressively shouts from the crowd.

A cold shiver runs through your spine and you hope that they do not pick Mieko. When she became part of your genin team, you refused profusely to the Hokage that she should not be a shinobi as she was not inclined to battle at all. Her instincts are all over the place, and her skills are quite clumsy. However, you know that her mind is sharp, and with training, she greatly improved.

Still. You are very hesitant.

Some people start to express their disapproval, and you see Tobirama signal you to be ready.

“The girl!”

The rest follow suit, their voices growing ever stronger. They are not individuals anymore. Shrouded with the loud volume and the anonymity the night offers, they become one body. They will prey at the small and weak. Like children.

There are no such thing as scary beasts. The real monsters are the people.

The crowd cheers as the Kai and Taiyo are dragged off, blindfolded and tied.

Well, it looks like the plan for flooding the arena is off the table.

Tobirama begins to move, and you make yours as well.

“The people have spoken!”

The match begins, and you spectate with the crowd. Tobirama disappears to follow the boys, and you focus your attention to Mieko.

The masked man swings at Mieko, and you feel a surge of pride as she ducks and goes forward to attack. The man is taller than Mieko, and with her size and speed, she can make up for it. She goes for the vital spots and slices at the back of the knees, and you begin to make your way closer, despite garnering looks. Tobirama is probably done already, and you need to make this quicker.

The two of you can report back to Hashirama and send another team to save the people here later on.

The crowd boos, and you see Mieko get hit with the blunt end of the naginata. Disoriented, she distances herself.

Despite the bleeding on the back of the man’s knees, he is still able to stand upright. He makes his way towards Mieko and draws the crowd with him.

You lunge out and grab at a sword nearby, and parry the oncoming strike away.

“Sensei?!” Mieko exclaims. “What are you doing here?!”

You grin, as the crowd boos again. “Long story, kid. Don’t worry, the boys are alright. But we need to go.”

You frown at the sword, hating how unbalanced it feels. It seems like anyone who gets pitted against this man is already at disadvantage.

The arena immediately floods with men, their swords out and glinting under the orange glow of the fire.

“Watch my back,” you tell your student, and give them a reassuring smile. “We have to fight our way out.”

“But sensei–”

“I trust you,” you cut her off, deciding to dispense your doubts against her from before. “I know you know what you are doing. You just lack experience, that’s all. Now, chin up.”

You charge at the masked man, keeping low and close so that his long weapon is at disadvantage. You aim upwards, and you manage to hack at the mask, splitting it in half. Then, you go after him as he backs away.

The rest of the theater is thrown into chaos, with the prisoners running around to get away. Since most of the men are on your back, there is no one guarding them.

The naginata swings and you back away, and it almost cuts away at your neck.

Mieko screams, and you turn and ward off the man who just managed to wound her arm.

“It’s okay,” you tell her, keeping your eye at the man.

There are three Tobiramas clearing an opening efficiently, and you push Mieko towards it.

“Just in time,” you murmur amusedly.

You cut and hack, not minding the warm spray of blood on your face.

The man follows, but there is too much going on.

“Almost there,” you urge.

Suddenly, Tobirama shouts your name at the same time the sharp piercing of a blade embeds itself into your side. It comes out to your front, and you feel yourself pale and grow light-headed. The naginata was pushed into you, and you stare at the tip of the blade, in disbelief that a part of it is now inside you.

Mieko drags you, and you attempt to take it out. You rather bleed than slow down the escape.

The situation has turned ridiculous, and maybe you are dying, because you find it hilarious that you are dragging a long weapon using the sheer will of your probably eviscerated organs.

The naginata lightens as you hear something break, and suddenly, the real Tobirama is placing your arm around his neck, and the three of you leave behind chaos. You are aware of the loud gushing of water behind you and men drowning, and Tobirama’s harsh breathing as he curtails you out and into safety.

“Stay with me,” Tobirama commanded, his voice hard and taut.

You feel hands all over you, trying to do damage control by controlling the bleeding and stabilizing the blade that is stabbed through you.

You feel the warm, blazing feeling of basic medical ninjutsu being used, and you keep still, focusing on being conscious.

You reach for Tobirama’s hand, which is sticky with your blood, and you give it a squeeze, proving to him that you will be alright.

“What in the gods’ names, are you three doing here?” Tobirama demands. “This is too far out from the village for newly Chuunins to venture to.”

Mieko replies calmly as her ninjutsu covers your wound. “Lord Hokage approved of this mission for us. He thinks it is suitable for us young Chuunins. It was just supposed to be recon.”

Tobirama’s jaw visibly hardens. “How long until the bleeding stops?”

“I am almost done,” Mieko says. “But the blade–”

“Take. It. Out,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Are you out of your mind?!” Tobirama barks. “You will die.”

“I won’t,” you reason. “I’m...in good hands.”

Mieko swallows nervously. “Maybe if we do it slowly...but we have to be in a cleaner place.”

“Your lack of concern over your disposition is shocking,” Tobirama deadpans sarcastically.

“It is my lack of concern over my disposition that got us out,” you try to laugh, but the piercing pain travels upwards your torso.

“Be quiet,” Tobirama scolds. “Your life is not a joke.” He sighs. “And mind you, I got us all out.”

“Yes, yes,” you say, dismissal. “Genius inventor and savior of the universe, Senju Tobirama–”

“If this injury does not kill you, I will snuff you out in your sleep,” Tobirama threatens.

You roll your eyes, even though every movement hurts. However, bantering with your husband is a comfort and a welcoming distraction. “The bar is so low for good husbands.”

Tobirama rolls his eyes as well, and he crosses his arms together. You can tell that beneath his annoyance, he is frantic. “Stop being dramatic.”

“Take your own advice,” you bite back for the sake of having the last word.

Kai and Taiyo glance at each other uneasily. It is not strange for the two of you to argue relentlessly in front of people, but it does become quite a chore for everyone to hear.

“I stopped the bleeding,” Mieko sighs with relief.

You give her a smile. “You sound like you weren’t sure and I’d die bleeding out on some random forest floor.”

“If you can talk so incessantly, I think you’re better off putting that energy into walking,” Tobirama interrupts, his tone not exactly irritated. You can sense his concern under his sassy comments.

He helps you stand to your feet, and you wince.

“I don’t think I can walk,” you tell him slowly.

“Like I would let you,” Tobirama snaps, already putting your arm around his shoulder. He is fuming, and though that is probably enough to make others run, you find it adorable.

He glances at you with a scowl, realizing that you actually said adorable out loud.

Maybe you are slowly dying.

After the kids booked a room, you all set to the task of removing the blade.

You know you cannot scream out loud, so there is a towel in between your teeth to muffle your screams. Tobirama is scolding your ear off, and you suppose it has its perks. His voice distracts from the pain, and little by little, your student pulls off a field surgery that can put an experienced Chuunin to shame. It is not perfect, but it will do until you can get to the hospital.

Tobirama does the bandaging and he dismisses the kids to go fetch supplies. Weak and still in pain for the lack of anaesthetics, you feel heavy and groggy. It is like you are about to tear apart any second, but your senses are fried and you are unaware of the scope of damage.

“You shouldn’t try to move,” Tobirama says, his fingers quickly tying the bandage.

You stare at him, and give him a wan smile. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Tobirama deadpans. “Not watching your own back? Not being alert and anticipating any kinds of attacks?”

“Right, right,” you let out a small chuckle. “Lecture me some more. I could die from infection tomorrow.”

Tobirama stops and he turns rigid. He collects his hands resting on your stomach. “Do you have a death wish?”

You slowly reach for his hand, and coax it to hold yours. “You were worried for me.”

Tobirama scoffs. “As you said, the bar is so low for good husbands.”

“I love you,” you whisper.

Tobirama stares at you, caught off-guard. Then, he lets out a small breath that sounds like he is more amused than angry. “You say the worst things.”

You roll your eyes. “You said it first.”

“You should sleep,” Tobirama suggests, and he takes your hand to plant a soft kiss on your knuckles. “Tomorrow, we’ll get you home.”

The suggestion of sleep weighs on your eyelids, but another thought enters your mind.

“What will you and your brother talk about?” You ask, your words disconnecting from your mind and the syllables rolling off lazily. “This whole situation is a misjudgement of his, not that I’m questioning his ability to rule...He is a good man.”

Tobirama smooths your forehead with his palm, and you close your eyes.

“We’ll see.”

Midnight comes, and Tobirama stares at the night sky in the engawa of the room they have settled in. His heart is heavy, and even more so with your unexpected injury. He cannot help but think that he may have a hand in this, but that is simply irrational. Dreams are just dreams, and they will stay dreams if they are not spoken of and put to action.

Dreams are not his forte, after all. It was his brother who had a vision, and he was the one who lay out the groundwork for it to happen.

If his dreams are to come true, then he is selfish and afraid, qualities that a shinobi should never have.

He squints at the night sky, and finds a hawk circling in.

The heavy feeling in his heart does not abate.

Tobirama holds out his hand, hoping that it is delivering good news, but that is unlikely. He knows Konoha can hold its own for a few days without him.

This must be something worse.

The hawk lands, and Tobirama uncovers the scroll attached to its leg. He sends the hawk away, and he rolls the tiny message out.

It spells a sentence that makes Tobirama flare in rage. He recognizes his sister-in-law’s elegant hand-writing.

Madara has returned to destroy the village.

To be continued...

Chapter 5 - Return >>

#angelica writes #Tobirama Senju #Senju Tobirama #tobirama x reader #tobirama x you #'til death do us part #you never said goodbye timeline/au

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pernatius · 3 years

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Lost in Space Part 12: Ch 2

Summary: The fate of the universe will be decided in the final five chapters.

Lost in Space on Tumblr

Lost in Space on ao3

Two pieces. Two halves dropped to what was once an empty, white floor. A golden pool of their blood spilled out from the gash and rippled as my watery eyes met with it. I stepped away, stomach-churning, seeing One’s added reflection. The Lord’s ring and middle fingers pressed against the cigarette and raised it to where their lips should be. Somehow the Lord sucked in its toxic chemicals. A greyish ball spun inside their eye, then seeped out and blew away with a smile.

Something is vibrating from the tension. As I am slowly realizing, those are the tendons from what I thought I killed seconds ago. They’re reconnecting, twisting, and pulling the halves back together. I take a step back. I take another when the revitalized corpse pounces. Its blood seeps back into its body. After a deep-throated cough, the Watcher looks up at me with dirty yellow eyes. The fragments of my sword spun around my arm one moment, and the next, they’re lunging at the ominously silent Watcher who’s sprinting, seemingly teleporting from left to right, without losing eye contact.

Both their whips reappear in their hands and come zipping through the air and at me. I outmaneuver both and am about to respond with a heated ball of rich, golden light, but they vanish.

Looking around the room, I try to sense where the Watcher went. I try focusing to the best of my abilities, but to no avail. So, I wasn’t able to stop the knee to the face, and both straps of electric currents tightly looped around my body, electrocuting and spinning me about as they slid off my frame.

Above me, the reminiscence of the guard’s commander is charging their hand. It glows. Rays shone between their fingers, but my focus turned elsewhere. One mouths that I have thirty seconds left. Looking up at the opposing figure, I tell them, “This isn’t the end, and I’m sorry about that. I wish I could’ve done better than me that brought you here.”

The blazing light disappears from their lowering hand. “I can’t forgive you because I won’t forget.”

“I understand. I don’t think I could either. I am the monster.” Two hands charged, I release a massive energy blast that finally puts to rest the still Watcher. Two summons a shield that absorbs the explosion before it could hit One and Five. The Lord struggled a bit, arms shook, and they were pushed back as they fought to best the roaming energy. When they do, the Lord looks at me with a mix of interest and respect as the both of us are exhausted, I am a lot more so, but it marked the end of my one-on-one fight. The outnumbered fight continued on with the return of hundreds wanting to blast my limbs off, hundreds more wanting to tire me more out with hand-to-hand combat, and eight of them hoping to slit my throat with a solidified, sharpened aura.

I survive it all not because I’m a fighter but because of this cheapened state. So, I don’t take pride in what I’ve done. But I don’t feel disgusted either. With each blink, I can still see and hear them. They’re crawling onto me, piling up, covering the light, pushing me deeper into the emptiness beneath, and moaning in agony. The flames of my gleaming light envelop us, killing not only them but my emotions as well. My vision, too, apparently, because I can see a familiar red-headed figure lifting me up from my collapsed state. She looked like an angel with how the light circled around her edges, softening it too. The blinding, heavenly sight brings me to push myself once again as I reach out towards her. Resting my trembling hand on my love’s face, wiping the tears with my numb thumb, brings her to rest her other hand above mine. It’s warm, unlike mine. For me, it’s only been minutes since the last time we touched, but for her, it’s been years. Her eyes are baggy, and wrinkles are prominent. There’s a thick, white strand of hair at the center of her synthetic red hair. Most associate the color with seduction, but I switch it with blue’s symbolism. It brings me sorrow and tears in my eyes because I left her alone in this confusing place we call the universe for far too long.

Instead of me forcing out an apology, it’s her letting her heart out, “I’m sorry for everything.” She then proceeds to hug me. It hurts, but not because I have hardly any strength left. Instead, I’m in pain because I love her so much.

One dismisses their cigarette as they get up from their throne. “A minute off.”

Raising a single finger, they shoot, and I try creating a shield before her. Something sparks in front of her, but it poofs out of existence. I’m far too weak to do anything but cling onto Ashley, who’s looking confidently directly at the spinning light. I shut my eyes, and with the ringing, loud resonant sound that followed after, I reopened them to see a large blue shield between us and the attack. Turning my head back, I see Saamuki with a rich blue coat, brown boots, and a red sash to tie it all together. Her arms are raised, holding up her makeshift shield. On her ring finger is a ring sparkling because of the blue light. Two Tauvoxes, one a long-time friend and the other a prisoner the last time I saw him, are on either side of her. Like Saamuki, and now that I notice Ashley too, Mikrovos is wearing Quadrant Forty’s fifth battalion uniform and has a prosthetic horn. He also has a ring on, which has me crack a smile. The four of them aren’t the only ones here. Sakhra, Bichak, and that leafy, fearsome giant from the fallen Zeq’s town are here too, with the same clothing as well. Syco is not matching. He’s also the least clean, having scuff marks and untamed hair. An odd reunion, but a welcome one.

“So, this is where you’ve been. I knew it would take a lot more than that to kill you,” the musty Tauvox professed smugly.

The smaller Tauvox rolls his eyes before replying with, “We can do the whole ‘I told you so’ after we beat the Lords. Bichak, what’s your status?” Bichak, who’s quickly skimming through the floating book Four gave to him, slides his free hand into his coat and takes out seven dull crystals. Three, Five, and Six join with One. Saamuki encases us in a bubble as Two separates from the Lords and teleports behind us with a battle cry and a flaming fist. It cracks but holds.

She’s gotten a lot stronger but not all-powerful yet. It’s the reason why she blurts out, “We are all going to die if I’m the only one defending us against four Lords.” The silent vegetation presses his hand on Saamuki’s back. Soon after, she burst with a blue glow, which is almost blinding. Blue symbols etch onto her skin, peeking between her scales, as well. They’re the same ones I’ve seen plenty of times, and as I learned not too long ago, they are words from the very first language. Finally, with Saamuki overflowing with her powers, he pushes past to get to me. He motions for Ashley to hand me over to him. She hesitates, looking into his eyes as she tightens her grip on me.

“Kaishi,” Sakhra hissed.

Ashley has changed her name. Of course, she’s changed a lot, but she’s still the same woman I’ve grown to love. Respectfully feisty as she grabs hold of the green alien and orders, “Don’t do anything that will make me regret bringing you along with us.” He slowly nods. “We’re all going to make it out of this.” She lets go of him before turning to Bichak. “We only have one chance at this. The Nantos won’t be giving the second time.”

“Just a quick memorization,” Bichak assured.

“Right. Saamuki, the bubble.” Coming from her back, liquified metal slides down to her hands. They solidify once they cover them and shoot through the newly formed opening. “Syco. Sakhra.” The two nod to her. As the Lord stumbles back, holding their wounded eye too, the three dart towards the rest of the Lords. They easily dodge Three’s, Five’s, and Six’s blasts. While the three of them are against the four Lords unless Four and Seven decide to stop being spectators, it’s Saamuki and Mikrovos against the one beefy Lord who’s been trying to smash through.

The bubble does, but it smashes against Two. It flew towards the Lord, who could’ve just moved out of the way but trying to push it back towards us interested them more. A shield comes flying towards the Lord and then another. Another comes. Each time Two tries to punch through it. It takes five times until they unleash a solidified, sharp aura in the shape of a sword to cut right through the sixth time. Mikrovos, with two blades from his gauntlets, blocks the colossal sword. Two’s much greater size pushes Mikrovos back, but Saamuki quickly returns to the fight by transforming her sash into a sword again. It floats next to and follows her as she runs across the makeshift, see-through blue staircase. She jumps the final step and thrusts the barreling long red blade towards Two with its tip pointed directly between where the Lord’s eyes should be. The Lord sidesteps away but is cut by Mikrovos in the process.

Saamuki strikes the floor. Her sword comes back right next to her. It spins in the air as it once again tries to contact Two, but it clashes with the Lord’s sword. Mikrovos proceeds towards Two’s weaponless right, jumping over Saamuki’s blast, but Two realizes this between having their sword gliding against Saamuki’s, and so forms another one. Both of the Lord’s hands are preoccupied with the lover’s swords, and they are also busy swerving away from the serpent’s blasts. The trio seemed to match until the titan’s right foot stomped across the floor, causing the floor beneath Mikrovos to rip open. A pure black hole appeared beneath him, it swallowed him, but he didn’t disappear for long because he came crashing into the ground from the newly conceived tear above.

Five is about to grab Kaishi, but because of their weight, it slows them down, making it easy for Sakhra to defend her with a ferocious punch. Amazingly, the collision didn’t crack the stones that makeup Sakhra’s right arm. Sakhra’s other arm grabs the Lord’s wrist and, with ease, throws the figure who’s more than four times his size and weight. Five’s fats jiggle as they spin in the air, going between the recently distanced One, Three, and Kaishi. The three watch the bulbous Lord land at Four’s feet. The landed Lord asks for Four’s hand, but Four peaks up from their book for just a moment and then slides it back up, ignoring Five’s continued pleas. The two reconvene when One and Three send disembodied fists, which Kaishi shoots. As for Six and Syco, the two are engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Like with Sakhra, Syco cannot yield against the far more powerful force that is Six. Nevertheless, he’s holding his own.

Everything seems to be going well. I thought it was until I noticed the subtle look Four and Seven give to each other as Seven’s crusty fingers stroke against their chains. I feel my body revitalized. I’m glowing brighter than ever before with symbols from the ancient language I’ve grown accustomed to pulsing across my skin, so with the boost thanks to the nameless hulking figure over my shoulder, I set myself towards the suspicious Lords until I’m scolded by Bichak. “What do you think you’re doing?” The seven crystals are spinning around the small four-eyed figure who also has the same symbols across his arms and face, coloring, no longer a hideous gray.

“Helping my friends.”

“Commander Kaishi ordered us not to get in the way. Well, you weren’t a part of the order as everyone assumed you were dead, but she’d see it best for you to stay here. Protecting these crystals until they’re ready is everyone’s priority. Besides, I’ve seen how angry she can get. So I don’t want to be on her bad side this time.” All four of his eyes side-eyed the green giant.

I turn with the snap of One’s fingers. With it, all around us, Watchers appeared. I tried looking away to not be reminded of the atrocities I committed, but they are all around. I covered my mouth and began to quietly cry. The two enemies turned allies just looked at me, but I wasn’t expecting sympathy from either. I sure wasn’t expecting Saamuki to be enraged. Well, The Speaker is the one enraged as they punch through Watchers left and right in what I assume is them freeing the blood.

#235 #lost in space #my writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr

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yeahinoticed · 4 years

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Trimberly Pirate AU

There are Very Many ideas in my head. If you’re interested in them, take a look at my feeble attempt at fic writing below.

Perhaps they were fated to meet, or maybe it was simply chance. Either way, there was no turning back. Their story was an inevitability - its movements as sure as the tides themselves.

A Pirate AU wherein Trini is a notorious pirate captain, and Kimberly just wants to be free.

Read it on AO3 here!

She had never expected to be here. Though Zack’s plans were wild to be sure, she had to concede that more often than not, they worked. Still, she’d rather it was him in her place. But as great a strategist as he was, Zack was terrible at keeping his cool. His excitement was likely to get the better of him, and if it happened here, it would spell the end of their careers - and most probably their lives. They just couldn’t risk it. Trini fiddles with the gaudy looking brooch pinned to her lapel. It looks like any other - a brassy little trinket engraved with a crown, vibrant red gemstone studded proudly in its centre. They’d picked it up in Havana last year, not long after their first success. Trini had been adamantly against spending their newfound gold on such frivolous things, but Zack would insist it was a token of celebration, a small purchase he’d treasure forever. It was hard to say no to such blinding enthusiasm, so she’d simply rolled her eyes and turned away, which he’d obviously taken as approval. Trini thought he’d get bored of it and sell it at the next port for some other shiny thing, but true to his word he’d held on to it, and the cocky grin he’d worn when brandishing it at her this morning had her reconsidering their partnership. Nevertheless, it was becoming useful now, so she supposed she couldn’t really fault him.

She’d always thought such things were kind of tacky. Blatant shows of wealth and title weren’t really her style. They make you stand out. And in her line of work, standing out makes things a whole lot harder. Yet here she is, clad head to toe in a flashy formal ensemble. The mustard coat, the breeches, the stockings, the dastardly wig and feathered hat - the whole lot. The frills of her shirt tickle her neck and hands, a constant irritation in the back of her mind even as she peers up at the garish manor before her. Rendered cream walls, framed by extravagant trimming reflect the bright midday sun so brightly that they almost glow. The dark gravel path up to the manor is edged with smooth stones, dividing it from verdant garden beds which are somehow both calculated and unruly at the same time. At the base of the path, two uniformed guards flank an ornamental wrought iron gate. Its bars twist intricately to resemble thorned roses, and its top edge is studded with spikes. They glare at her, suspicion evident in their faces, hands gripping their rifles ever so slightly harder - imperceptible to an untrained eye. She understands their wariness - while her linen garments give the impression of status, she isn’t their typical wearer - no woman is. Trini might be accustomed to the blade, but it was time to put her sharp tongue to use.

“State your business ma’am”.

“Isn’t it quite obvious, good sir?” she replies. The accent doesn’t come easily to her, and if the guards notice, they give no indication of it.

The one who had spoken looks to his comrade, visibly apprehensive. It was a difficult situation for him. If he gave the wrong person trouble, he’d be out of a job before evening. Yet he couldn’t simply stand aside, for then he wouldn’t be doing his job at all. He hadn’t signed up for such dilemmas. He sighs.

“Your invitation?”.

“This is all hardly necessary” Trini remarks as she slips the folded letter from her inner breast pocket. The guard scans it over, thumbing the seal that identifies its sender. When he scans it a second time, his eyebrow quirks.

“Forgive me ma’am, but you don’t quite look like an ‘Oliver’ to me”. His partner scoffs at this, before clearing his throat and making to smooth the collar of his regimental red coat, directing his gaze somewhere in the distance. Trini replies without missing a beat.

“My father was quite set on the name before I was even born. Though I do wish someone had talked him out of it, I don’t very well mind being named after my grandfather”.

The guard squints at her, before his frown eases in thought. Her reasoning wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility.

“Very well, Miss Bennett. I’m sure Governor Hart will be glad for your arrival. I apologise for the inconvenience. I do hope you enjoy the party.”

At the guards nod, Trini makes her way through the gate.

“It’s quite alright, I get it all the time”.

---

As she steps into the main hall, Trini is struck by the atmosphere. A low chatter echoes off the stone floors, intermittently joined by the soft clanking of cutlery. She can still hear the familiar whispers of the ocean in the distance, beckoning her back sweetly. Around her, the guests are dressed much the same as she is. They converse with false smiles, many holding silver goblets filled with what she can only assume is a fine wine. A guard stands at the foot of the main stairs, rifle up against his shoulder. She passes another who stands at the entrance to the dining room. There were more than she thought there would be. How bothersome. She isn’t two steps into the room when the idle noises of the manor are joined by the gentle moan of a violin. A grand wooden dining table is set against the main window, adorned with an assortment of food, though she’s sure it normally resides front and centre. As tempting as it looks, it's not what Trini is here for. She lets out a quiet chuckle. Zack would’ve been right squiffy by the day's end, if he’d come along. The people in the room begin to pair up, swaying slowly to the violin’s song. While she’d prefer not to partake, she’s sure to arouse suspicion just standing here - and she’s not sure she could hold a real conversation without giving herself away.

Trini glances around the room. Standing by one of the large windows is a woman in a silken, rose coloured dress. She’s strikingly beautiful, with her dark brown hair in an elegant updo. It catches the afternoon light in a way that steals Trini’s breath for a moment. She’s about to look away, find someone else, when the woman turns, meeting her eyes. After a pause, the stranger smiles faintly, tilting her head in silent questioning. Rats. With one deep breath, Trini slips back into her persona. It was time to dance.

---

Kimberly Hart has attended many a party in her twenty three years. Her father’s parties, his friends’ parties, his enemies’ parties. It was expected of her really. Don a pretty dress, be receptive (but not too receptive) to her potential suitors. Gossip idly with girls who have far too much time on her hands. She didn’t mind it, most of the time. She had to admit though, it could get a little boring. This was her father’s third ‘dance’ of the year and it was only February. He had to keep up appearances of course. How else would his peers know of Port Royal’s thriving trade if he did not celebrate it with fine wine and finer appearances. Even so, Kimberly could only tolerate the advances of so many men. Nobles, with promises of glamour and comfort back in the motherland. Merchant sailors who weave tales of wealth and adventure that seem just a little too crafted to be true. Naval captains who think their pride and ranking should have her swooning at their feet with nary another word. Every so often, there’d be one or two who would have her attention. Whose silk tongues and vibrant eyes would draw her in, if only momentarily. But she’d find soon enough that her biting wit was never appreciated for long, and the smooth talking would always give way to frustration. It seemed she was simply a prize to be won, a hill to be conquered. Bragging rights. Quite frankly, she was sick of it.

And so, Kimberly finds herself standing by the front window of the dining room, eyes ensnared by the gentle ebb and flow of the waves upon the beach. Her mother used to tell her stories of the ocean - stories far grander, far more fascinating than those of her suitors. Stories of sleepless nights in raging storms. Of brilliant new lands and people and creatures. Of days spent in song and nights spent in stupor. She’d always wondered what it was like out there, beyond the confines of her father’s estate and everything it represented. Would she go? If given the chance? The thought is at the forefront of her mind when she feels the familiar pressure of a set of eyes, trying and failing to be inconspicuous. Turning quickly she seeks them out, finding a woman who seems just out of place. She’s wearing an embroidered suit, woven linen in a yellow far too green. The hair of her grey wig is pulled into a ponytail beneath her feathered tricorne. Her attire is interesting, yes, but Kimberly does not recognise her. She recognises most of her father’s guests. She feels her lips twitch upwards at the woman, holding her gaze from across the room.

Something flashes across her watcher’s face, gone too quickly to identify. The woman strides towards her, light on her feet. There's a vague slant to her hips, an unfamiliar swagger that Kimberly thinks might betray some unknown truth. What secrets were held in her small frame? She presents her hand, palm upturned. “May I have this dance?”.

Kimberly takes her hand, finds it unexpectedly rough and calloused, but gentle. As if their union was a cue, the music picks up, the rest of the band joining the violin as its pace hastens. They begin to dance a casual rigaudon, Kimberly following the stranger’s lead. She waits for her partner to address her, watches her eyes flick about the room. They’ve stepped around each other three times before Kimberly breaks the silence. “The strong silent type then?”

As if only just remembering where she was, the woman’s eyes snap towards her. Her brows knit together. “Pardon?”.

This was unusual. Kimberly’s suitors would usually rush to fill silences, trying desperately to keep her eyes upon them. It seems her current partner barely cares for her existence. “You haven’t spoken a word to me since you asked me to dance”. She’s surprised at the venom that laces her words - it hadn’t been intentional.

“I’m quite sorry madam”. With a turn, they dance in the reverse direction. “I was simply admiring the Governor’s manor. It’s quite beautiful. Have you been here before?”

Kimberly almost stops dancing. She searches the other woman’s face for any sign of jest, finding nothing but honesty and vague inattention. It was absurd to think a guest to this party would not know her name, though she supposes it could be possible. Her irritation fades quickly, replaced by a mounting curiosity. “My family is close to the Governor’s”, she lies.

Her partner’s only response is an idle hum.

With their next step, Kimberly’s eyebrow quirks. She pulls the woman into a twirl under her arm. “And you are?” she inquires.

Seemingly startled by the movement, the other woman stumbles slightly, before regaining her footing and resuming their dance. “Bennett. Oliver Bennett”, she replies firmly. Pulling Kimberly into a twirl of her own, she smirks. “Merchant extraordinaire”.

Kimberly mulls the name over. Oliver Bennett. It sounded vaguely familiar, but any recognition she might have had was fleeting - as out of reach as a feather in the breeze. Though the woman had said it quite confidently, it had a strange sort of inflection. In fact, now that Kimberly thought about it, the woman’s accent was unfamiliar. It sounded vaguely English, but her words were more rounded, had a rich and intriguing depth to them, like they were dripping with such experience that it bled into their very sound. Kimberly’s stomach dips in a way she’s sure could be addicting. She returns her attention to Miss Bennett, only to find that her eyes are once again fixed elsewhere. She follows her gaze, finds it trained on the staircase in the entry hall. With a tilt of her head, Kimberly drapes an arm over her partner’s shoulder, pulling her closer with every step. “Extraordinaire, hmm?”.

The woman drags her eyes back to Kimberly’s and holds them there for a long moment. Her smile turns upwards. “You sound surprised, Miss…”

“Clarke”, Kimberly supplies, flinching internally. It had been the first name to enter her mind. She banishes the thoughts that surround it. Not now. “It's not every day I meet a woman merchant” she admits. “You’ve piqued my interest Miss Bennett”.

Though it seems the other woman’s attention is now firmly upon her, Kimberly makes no move to increase the distance between them again. This close, she can see the depths of colour within the other woman’s eyes, reflecting the light of the setting sun. They glint with unspoken secrets, not unlike the pieces of foreign jewelry often brought by traders upon the tide. Promises of a world much larger than anything Kimberly had experienced.

“Some would say my methods are...unconventional”. The merchant’s words bring her out of her reverie. They serve only to deepen her curiosity.

“However do you mean?” Kimberly presses.

“Trade secrets, Miss Clarke - I can’t simply give them away”, she replies with a wink. “But I have to be smart you see”. Another twirl brings their faces impossibly close together, and she whispers her next words carefully. “There are pirates out there you know”.

Kimberly is about to press further, when the sharp ringing of the town bell cuts through the manor, signalling another day’s end. The music begins to fade, and the woman detaches and spins away from her with a sly smile, disappearing amongst the meandering throng of people moving from the dining room into the entrance hall. She scans the small crowd, but any traces of the woman’s yellow coat and devious grin are gone as swiftly as they had come. It's only once she turns back to the window that Kimberly notices how fast her heart is beating.

#trimberly #trini x kimberly #kimberly hart #trini not kwan #trini kwan #trini gomez #Power Rangers #power rangers 2017 #pirate au #liketheocean #art #my art #sketch #sketchbook #this might not be the most engaging story #its more a diary of my headcanon #which involves a lot of descriptive writing #painting pictures with words eh?#i am more familiar with the picture medium after all

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wanderingworldwarrior · 3 years

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Of Twisted Emotions - Chapter Twenty-Six: The White Witch and the Golden Sorcerer

The fates smile upon them, Sigrid is sure of it. The day has finally arrived and there’s not a cloud in the sky. She had fretted over nothing, just as Asmund had told her.

She smiles at the thought and turns to look at the man in question, and he gazes back at her with an expression so familiar it threatens to bring tears to her eyes.

Sigrid is undeniably stunning in her dress and bridal crown. There are strands of white flowers and golden ribbons woven through her dark locks. She’s swathed in fabrics of gold, her jewelry matching. It had cost them a fair amount of coin to have the dress made, but all those who are present find it worth it.

Asmund looks dapper in his ornate wedding attire, as close to regal as he’ll ever be. He has forgone his sorcerer’s robes for the occasion, which is admittedly unorthodox for a master sorcerer. All ceremonies are carried out in their guild’s attire, as representation of their dedication. But the way he sees it, he’s marrying this woman – the love of his life – as Asmund, not Master Asmund. If the guild wishes to have words with him on the matter, so be it.

But not today.

The wedding party is gathered in a small courtyard just outside of Brenna’s home. Sigrid and Asmund’s new house will be across the city, closer to the sorcerer’s guild. Master Hammond had helped them procure it, and while it is not a large house, Asmund knows they’ll have no trouble making it feel like home.

There’s a tree within the center of the courtyard, its leaves a beautiful green. This is where the attendees have gathered. This is where Asmund and Sigrid are to be wed.

It is a Friday, as is customary. With their friends and family so few, the gathered group has no trouble finding room to sit or stand. Golden bubbles of magical origin float through the air, and calla lilies bloom around the courtyard where none had grown days before.

From underneath the tree, Sigrid and Asmund look from one another and briefly scan the small crowd.

There is Brenna, smiling broadly with tears in her eyes. Also present are a number of their old friends and fellow servants of the palace, as well as a few members of the sorcerer’s guild. Lady Freydis has shown face to support Sigrid, although the duchess looks around the courtyard with poorly concealed distaste.

The ceremony begins, slightly different from Asgard’s norm, as each is missing important family members of such a union.

They quote ceremonial texts and ask blessings of the fates. The crowd bears witness to their vows and turns to Brenna when it is her turn to give her approval of the union. Her words are solid and sure, her eyes clear of the confused haze that once plagued her. After years of helpless confusion, at last she is living in the present, and she is happy.

When Brenna falls silent there is no one else to continue this part of the ceremony. The lack of other family members to bless the marriage does not seem to bother the couple, who both beam happily at Asmund’s mother.

Asmund does not skip a beat as he moves on to the next ceremonial tradition. He draws a sword from the scabbard belted around his waist, eyes back on Sigrid.

“I present to you the sword of the family Brennason,” Asmund claims. He flashes the blade towards the crowd – an old silver sword, ornate but dull, with metal spirals and filigree covering its handle. Runes are etched down the blade of the sword; ones of prosperity and luck. “It is to be a symbol of our union, and the joining of our families.”

He gives the sword to Sigrid, who holds it in one hand, its tip dipping close to the ground. Asmund speaks once more. “It is to show that I swear to protect you. To love you. To cut a path through this life together, until we reach the end of our days. And then ever on, come what may.” He gazes at her while he speaks, and as she sniffles, he says, “You have the strongest will of anyone I’ve ever met. Talented, strong, and beautiful. Oh, so beautiful, Sigrid. I am honored to take you as my wife.”

Sigrid’s truly crying, although her smile is the biggest and brightest thing Asmund thinks he’s ever seen. It warms his heart like nothing else ever could.

Sigrid takes a moment to compose herself and then meets Asmund’s gaze. “I’ve no family sword,” she tells him. “The only blade I own is this.” She draws a dagger from the sheath attached to her dress belt. When she holds it up, it is clear that this is the dagger you made for her, so long ago. “Will it suffice?”

“Of course,” Asmund says.

“Then I present it to you,” Sigrid tells him, “in good faith, as a symbol of our union.”

Asmund takes the dagger. It is a blade of darkness. It saved Sigrid’s life, and it was left unburnt in the flames of Asgard.

He knows what it means to her.

“Asmund, you are truly the love of my life.” Sigrid’s cheeks are flushed, although she does not waver in her words. “I admire you. From your wit and intellect to your adorable admiration for all things magical. You cared for me when no one else did. I was not an invisible servant girl in your eyes. I am proud to name you not only my friend, but my husband.”

Asmund’s grin is one unburdened, all else set aside and forgotten.

As they exchange golden rings, thoughts flash between their minds, images and feelings that come unbidden.

Memories.

Talking and cleaning together in the kitchens. Asmund’s boyish smile and Sigrid’s flushed face. The pair sitting across from one another in the gardens right before their first kiss.

Embroidering a handkerchief with Asmund’s name. Working side by side in Brenna’s shop. Learning magic and practicing enchantments.

Tearful hugs and feelings of safety.

Through it all – through war, blood, and death – they’ve kept faith in one another.

And ever on, Asmund repeats in Sigrid’s mind.

As the party breaks to adjourn to the wedding feast, Sigrid and Asmund both cast their gazes around the courtyard a final time. They search the darkened alleyways and peer into the shadows.

Congrats, kiddos, your voice whispers through their thoughts. I’m really happy for you both.

Sigrid smiles and Asmund takes her hand. They never doubted you, even if they would not have begrudged your absence. They’re well aware you are not supposed to be in the city.

Asmund and Sigrid never do spot you in your place on a nearby rooftop.

It’s as Willow always says: No one ever looks up.

---

You’re aware you’re risking everything by coming to the wedding, but even so, you had always intended on attending. Your unstable portals were the only thing that made you hesitate, but your power had been functional enough to get you to the outskirts of the city.

You stand and gaze over the empty courtyard. A few of the golden bubbles have floated up to your level, and they pop one by one as the magic dissipates.

You wonder if Heimdall has alerted Odin of your presence in the city. You have no doubt he knows you’re here, although you hope the Watcher will spare you on this one occasion. You’ve kept your word until now, and you’ve been playing nice.

“I’m leaving,” you say aloud, just in case.

You hop down from the rooftop, lightly pushing your energy towards the ground to soften the impact. You take a few steps down the alley, blanketed by the harsh shadow of the building. You intend to go back the way you came. You can step into your shadows once you reach the edge of the city and be back in time to report to Destin.

You tell yourself you’ll do this, but you find your feet won’t listen to you.

You instead walk into the courtyard, eyes traveling up and up until you’re staring at the top of the distant palace, its golden walls gleaming in the setting sun. You’d done a fantastic job of avoiding it from the rooftop, focusing intently on the proceedings below.

You grimace and bite your lip. The wordless thought escapes before you can get a hold of yourself.

Loki?

Warrior.

His answer is instantaneous. A short laugh escapes you, born of shock instead of humor. The situation seems quite surreal.

Here you stand in Asgard, a prince’s voice in your thoughts, as if no time has passed at all. No decrees or betrayals, no tesseracts or scepters.

You…. Are you in the city? his voice asks. Breaking your agreement with Odin, are you? It took you long enough.

I had a thing to go to, you reply as you turn away from the palace. Worth it, even if I get smited or something.

Odin is quite fond of smiting, Loki notes, amusement curling around his words. How long have you been here?

A while, you say.

Then perhaps you’ll make it out whole.

You navigate the streets of Asgard, sticking to the shadows and doing your best to stay out of sight. It’s easier than you thought it’d be. You remember these streets, after all. You’d ran them repeatedly after Asgard had burned.

What is on your rebellious agenda, then? Loki asks.

Currently, I’m leaving, you say. I might be dumb enough to risk being here for a bit, but I’m not quite dumb enough to press my luck.

A shame, Loki says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

What sort of smile, you wonder. Is he sad? Perhaps a bit wistful? It doesn’t seem right to make such assumptions.

A shame, you echo back to him. You turn a few corners to avoid the market. You sound… better.

More like myself, yes, he says, the words coming slower this time. There’s a beat of silence, and then he adds, As do you.

I am, you say, moreso in hope than belief.

You’re well, then? he asks.

You scale the side of the building next to you when you hear voices a little too close for comfort. Well enough, you think to Loki as you take a seat on the side of the sloped roof.

You’re facing Asgard’s palace again.

I’d ask to see you. His voice is hushed, and you almost confuse it with thoughts of your own.

You mean you want me to bail you out.

He laughs. A soft noise, familiar and… it makes you think of green.

What a tempting offer that I know you have no intention to make good on, he says, his tone dry but not unfriendly. I wouldn’t ask you to do so.

Sure, you say. I definitely believe you. A hundred percent.

There’s no cell keeping you here, however, Loki adds. I’ve been waiting for word of your disappearance, and it has yet to reach my ears.

You don’t answer, turning away to see how far from the city outskirts you are. There’s still a decent way to go, but at least the voices below are fading.

Loki says your name. Why linger? he asks.

You want me to leave?

No, he says evenly. I’m simply curious.

I don’t know, you answer.

Well, we both know that’s a lie, he states. It would be easier for you, if you quit Asgard and rid yourself of Odin’s law.

You jump to the next roof over, landing as quietly as you’re able.

I know there are other places for you to go, filled with people that would undoubtedly welcome you with open arms, Loki muses. The Healer has remained on Midgard with your… companions.

Next roof. You think your feet thudded a bit too loudly this time, but you continue moving.

And if you don’t prefer the mundane, which I know you don’t, then there’s always your home to return to, Loki continues.

My home, you say, the phrase repeating and overriding everything else. You see the palace in your mind’s eye, the training grounds, Loki’s room.

You can’t shake the visage fast enough, and you know he’s seen it, too.

Even now? Loki asks, his voice quiet as it floats through your thoughts.

You don’t answer for a while, and he doesn’t press. You focus on the sounds of the city as you jump to the next rooftop.

Until, at last, you cave.

Stupid, I know, you think to him. But you’ve always called me a fool, so it shouldn’t be a surprise to you.

There is no laugh this time, no banter like you expected.

I don’t understand, he says instead. When you don’t reply, he asks, Why?

‘Why’ what? You’re stalling.

You need to jump down to the street, but you’re frozen in place. He’s asked the question you’ve been refusing to ask yourself, and you don’t know if you’re ready for the answer.

This time, he’s the one that remains silent.

I…. Your gaze is drawn to the golden palace yet again. Its windows accuse you of lying to yourself, its gardens and halls holding ghosts that aren’t quite ghosts anymore.

He’s alive, and so are you.

You can’t help but think of the wedding. Siggy and her half-pint, making vows and doing ceremonies. You’d never been to such a thing on your home world.

Your thoughts stutter to a stop when you realize they might unintentionally slip to Loki. Marriage has never been an easy subject. And yet…. At this point, what would it matter? What would it change? You feel like your fear is almost laughable.

You want to know why I’m still here? you ask.

Indeed.

You worry your lip. What if it’s because of… what if it’s something… awkward?

Those are the best sort of secrets to discover, don’t you think?

You shake your head and decide you have nothing else to lose. May as well get it all out. Look… I… you already know that where I’m from, my people don’t have ‘marriage’.

There’s a beat of silence, and before you can continue, Loki says, Well, I can’t say I expected our conversation to take this turn.

Shut up, just listen. Your heart is pounding in your ears. My race of people don’t have marriage, we have bonds. You try to focus your thoughts so faces won’t flash in your mind’s eye. This is hard enough already. Bonds don’t have to be romantic. Like me and Will, we’re bonded. But when they are romantic… it’s a thing that just… happens. It’s when your life changes because of that other person. It’s when you choose to spend your time, your life, with them. It’s why Willow chose to stay on Earth with Rogers. And… it’s why I’m still here.

You wait on him to say something – anything – and surprisingly, you don’t have to wait long.

The bond you speak of…. ‘While you live, I want you.’ Your stomach pinches at his words, and you hear them repeat in your memory, when he first spoke them to you. Loki’s thoughts swim through your mind again, saying, Am I right in suspecting this sentiment could be the beginnings of such a bond?

That’s all you have to offer him on this topic. At least for today. I don’t want to talk about it, you tell him, words fading to a soft whisper. Not yet. Maybe not even for a long time.

I see, he replies. And his tone is soft, too. But one day.

One day. Yes.

You rub at your eyes. They sting, and it makes you tired. Or perhaps it’s the emotional toll. Either way, you’re exposed by your own doing. He could really hurt you right now. He has hurt you. And yet….

I… can’t make myself give up on you. It feels strange to finally tell him.

You force yourself into motion, moving away from the past and its ornate palace. You continue through Asgard’s streets on reflex, your thoughts busy.

I cannot fathom why, Loki tells you.

You’ve slowly been feeling more… normal, you say. When you try to talk to me, each time, you’re kind of… you again. Like you mentioned earlier.

I was always me, he reminds you. Through all of it.

I know, you say. I was, too. You hesitate, and then add, I guess in a weird way, I’m glad I can understand. Still hurts, but at least I’m not as confused.

He doesn’t reply for a beat, and you lose yourself in the methodical rhythm of your footsteps.

I’ve wrongs to amend. His voice breaks the silence, his tone somber. There’s more battles to come. More war. I’ve seen it, and was almost a part of it…. Was a part of it.

We still need to know more about all of that, you say. It’s something you’ve been thinking about, too. And I feel like you know more than you’re telling.

There’s no use repeating myself when my warnings fall on deaf ears, Loki says tightly. Odin does not care to listen. Not yet. But it’s inevitable.

Foreboding, you tell him. Maybe Thor can convince him to do something about it.

Ha!

You roll your eyes at his laugh and shift your weight, preparing to dash to the next alley. The sunset has bathed Asgard’s streets in red.

Hopefully we’ll have things… sorted out, or settled, or something before worse comes to worst, you say.

If we want to live, I suppose that would be a good start, Loki says, his thoughts laden with snark.

I think… we both want to live, you reply, ignoring his attitude. Right?

He’s silent, and you realize you’re standing still. This trek through Asgard is taking forever, and you’re not interested in getting caught.

Will our lives ever fall back into step, murderess?

You can sense no ill will behind the old nickname. You dart around the street’s corner, plotting your course in your mind. Loki silently waits, probably seeing your mental map as you focus.

When you’re back on track, you sigh and turn your thoughts to the conversation at hand. Maybe? I don’t know…. It’d have to be a slow walk. We’ve been through… well…. It’s a lot. You pause a moment, your mind providing you with a plethora of unwanted examples. I know what you did… and what I did. But the scepter isn’t a viable excuse for those actions. So, right now, I’m just… not sure.

I don’t expect your forgiveness, he says quietly, his voice almost fading completely for a moment. I hope you know that wasn’t what I was implying.

You grimace, fighting back another heavy sigh. I know. As far as forgiveness goes… I’ve gotta forgive myself, first.

Your actions were nothing compared to mine, warrior.

You bite at your lip as you glance at your gloved hand. But it’s not a comparison.

I see.

You tug on your glove, pulling it farther down your wrist so that you cannot see the metal embedded in your skin. It truly is remarkable magic. Maybe Asmund will be able to persuade Sig to join him in the sorcerer’s guild. Or maybe Frigga will take an interest in her – she’s seen your hand with her own eyes, after all.

You still aren’t quite used to it, but you know it’s strong, protective magic. And you will always wish the best for Sigrid.

I’ll be around, you tell Loki. You and I both know this is just the beginning. I don’t plan on letting some space jackasses get away with all of this.

I believe we may count among these ‘space jackasses’, depending on who is asked, Loki says.

You snort and roll your eyes.

You figure the conversation is over, but after a minute or two, Loki speaks again. It is good to hear your voice.

It reminds you of being half-asleep in his bed, late in the night, when it is easier to say such things. Yeah. Heh. I guess it is. Maybe we… can talk again.

I’d like that.

You must be really bored in there, then, you say, tone light.

Dreadfully so. Though, I suppose I’d speak to you regardless.

Always the charmer, you think to him. You drop the sarcasm and realize that the teasing banter is nostalgic and… almost normal. You haven’t felt such a normal in over a year. It’s… good to have you back, Loke. I don’t expect everything to be the same, but….

The silence stretches, until at last he asks, Are you suggesting we start over?

No. Your answer is immediate and blunt. It’s impossible to start over at this point. We’re not really wiping the slate clean…. There’s stuff on our slate that isn’t gonna come off. But we can still wipe it down, and whatever stays… well, I guess we can go from there and see what happens.

You think on your own words, and it makes you feel as if you’re at the beginning of a mountain trail, preparing for the long trek to its peak. Intimidating. It’ll take work.

Naturally.

Such a thing will be quite the hike, yes… but you think it might be possible.

Is that what you want? he asks.

You know Loki’s question encompasses everything. Everything, including him.

To be soft, even through the hurt. To relearn one another and fall back into step on the road ahead.

Is that what you want?

Yeah, you decide. Yeah, it is.

Then I thank the Nine.

---

You hear his approach, the whoosh of air and heavy thud of his landing. You’re surprised at just how familiar the sound has become since you first arrived in Asgard.

“Warrior.”

You stop in your tracks, not two steps over Asgard’s city border. “Thor.”

You turn and face the god of thunder. He’s a few strides away, but neither of you moves closer. It takes you back to the first time you saw him, a mystery man on the back of a horse, across a bloody battlefield.

Emotions war across his face, and when he meets your gaze, your heart hurts.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I know I’m not supposed to be here.”

His expression slowly clears, and he gives you a small grin. “And you aren’t.”

“Heimdall?” you question.

Thor shakes his head. “No. I’d heard of your previous servant’s nuptials and came to my own conclusions.”

“Yeah,” you say, “couldn’t miss their ceremony. I figured I’d risk it.”

“I’d expect no less,” Thor says with a chuckle. “And I see I’ve caught you on your journey back.”

“Yeah…. I don’t want to push it. Not supposed to be here, and all that.”

“Which you aren’t here,” Thor reminds you.

“Exactly,” you agree, matching his brief grin.

But the smiles fall, and the two of you are left staring at one another with too many words left unsaid.

“I’m… sorry,” you say, not referring to your presence in the city this time.

A cool breeze whips the flags posted near the city border. You get the urge to tug on your glove, so instead you squeeze your hands into fists and wrap your arms around yourself.

Thor shakes his head. “It has been too long. These absences… both you and Loki… it reminds me of the time just after he left. I do not care for it.”

You wince. Of all of your blurry, distant memories… that one is painfully clear. “I… don’t either. But there’s nothing to do about it, really. I’m going to keep… doing what I’m doing.”

“Fighting with our army, just as before,” Thor states.

“We both know there’s still something bad coming,” you tell him. “Gotta stay ready. Just in case.”

“Is that truly why you choose to stay?” Thor asks.

“Yes.”

The answer comes quickly, but it’s hollow. And you can’t lie to Thor.

You drop your gaze as you say, “… No. It doesn’t matter.”

“I want you to stay. I am glad you have made such a choice, more than once now.”

That makes you look up. Thor’s eye is filled with somber determination, and though he appears calm, a low rumble of thunder echoes in the distance. His red cloak swirls with the wind, his silver armor and winged helm reminding you that he is both a warrior and a prince.

“I’m going to change things,” he says solemnly. “When I am king, I will welcome you home.”

You uncross your arms, tug at your glove, and then adjust your sword belt. Any excuse to blink your tears away.

At last you look up at Thor Odinson. The man that had carried you, broken and bleeding, into a new life you’d never anticipated. The man who had become your friend. Your almost-brother.

You turn away and tear a rift into the dark, the edges fuzzy and periodically sparking with light. You aren’t sure how to answer, your feelings so scattered, but at last you land on, “I’d… love to see that day.”

You hear footsteps, and when you look back you see Thor walking to you. You face him, and he comes to a stop with his hand extended.

You watch him for a moment, hesitant. He seems so sure of such an unsure future. It is hard to admit that you want that hope, too. You want it so bad it hurts.

At last, you hold out your hand, and Thor grasps your forearm firmly. You mirror the action, wrapping your glove around his forearm as well. It is a gesture that has never made you feel as grounded as it does now.

Secure.

Hopeful.

“I swear it,” Thor says.

And you believe him.

---

And that's a wrap, my friends.

I'll post an epilogue, which will briefly go over a few things regarding Loki and our warrior's future, but this is officially the last real chapter of this series. I can't believe we're finally here!

Thank you all for reading, whether you were here from the very beginning, or if you're just joining us now. I can't thank you enough for taking this journey with me.

I wish the best for all of you, and thanks again.

With love, W

@littlemisssyreid @thedoctorlivesthroughbooks @imthinkingaboutthis @verryfuckingpunny @shadows-echoes @auria223 @white-chocolate-mocha-fan @agentpiku @bookscoffeeandracoons @lokibarncs

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#loki x reader #loki odinson #loki fanfiction #fanfiction #loki/reader #reader insert #marvel #OTE update #of twisted emotions

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im-the-king-of-the-ocean · 3 years

Text

Rose Puppetry Ch5: Caught in the Web of Mr. Spider

Summary:

A century ago or so, Atlas set out to conquer the world. Penny was built to be a spy, an infiltrator meant to find weaknesses in Vale’s defenses before the invasion.

She did. Then she fell in love. And rebelled against the kingdom that had created her.

Ch1. Ch2. Ch3. Ch4.

Chapter Content Notes: graphic imagery of spiders, violence, character death, attempted murder, stabbing, references to actual character murder, mind control/possession, comas

I would like to take a moment and remind everyone that this fic is roughly inspired by the Mechanism’s album Once Upon A Time (In Space) and that that narrative’s climax is rather gruesome. Additionally, this chapter especially was influenced by the Magnus Archives, which is a horror podcast.

Please take those facts into consideration prior to reading.

I would also like to remind you all that there is one more chapter after this one, and thus the fic does not conclude here.

“Ruby?”

Penny speaks her beloved’s name over and over again. Her voice, a cracking repetition of a broken, almost hopeless recording caught on a looping tape. The mechanical girl who had come and fought so hard can do nothing but stare. She hopes the sight before her isn’t real, that she’s mistaken, that this isn’t how their story ends.

Some history books will say it is. They will narrate the story of a miserable failure of a military project. One who rebelled against her creators, her masters, and cost not only herself, but the one she loved her life. These history books will be produced in the harsh, cold printing presses that remain loyal to the faltering Atlesian throne. A desperate attempt to rewrite history in their favor, but not much more than that really.

Other books, ones with a bit more accuracy, will know better. For even if there is a ‘happily ever after’ or a ‘the end’ to a story, there’s always a moment after that. Something that happens next. Right up until the final end of death comes for the characters.

And neither Penny nor Ruby are quite dead yet.

So it really would be a sad, sorry tale that reaches its conclusion here, wouldn’t it?

The rebels infiltrate the menacing fortress to save the innocent girl and are felled by her hand, now corrupted by the darkness that had ensnared her. No hope of a happy tomorrow. Simply a brutal, violent end and a laboratory awash in blood.

For that’s what happens when you wander into a spider’s web. You tend to get caught by the spider. And, you know, eaten.

The thing, the crucial detail, that must be taken into account about this tale, though. The one thing those Atlesian history books will try to wipe away and conceal and keep the public from knowing. The little detail that keeps this ending from being the true ending of the story.

It’s simply that Ruby Rose is not the spider.

Of course, she is something, and historians (and, after them, archivists) will have quite a wondrous time debating amongst themselves what exactly she is. But, what she is not, is the spider. The hungry arachnid who waits so long for its prey to come, who binds its meal tightly in silky thread for later consumption.

Some, and they will have fairly strong evidence for their cause, will argue Ruby was simply the first caught in the spider’s web. Those ones have a valid, if not entirely understanding of the circumstances as a whole, point.

A spider’s web is a sticky, tricky thing. When you’re all alone in it, you may see little hope of escape, of anything but the spider’s looming, menacing legs, its snapping jaws, or its eight dark, beady eyes. But that’s only if and when the spider chooses to focus on you. They are, after all, creatures that can be distracted. Ones that can decide to eat something—someone—else. So, maybe Ruby was the spider’s first chosen meal, but she was one left unfinished due to the arrival of an enticing, delectable follow up.

A spider’s web also happens to be a delicate thing and, if put under too much weight, may potentially collapse.

Let us now return to the scene and become observers, ceaseless watchers, to what happens when this particular web takes on quite a bit of weight.

Are you scared yet? You’re probably wondering if you should be. It’s natural, of course. Debating whether or not you should trust the words you read. Should you stop here? What if it gets worse? But, it’s pretty bad here. Do you really want this ending to be the ending?

What happens when you don’t stop, though? When you continue reading the words, bringing them into the reality of being Known? Didn’t expect to be trapped reading a tale without recourse on how to know if the true end is horrible or not without going along with it until it reaches it’s natural conclusion, did you?

Have you considered that, perhaps, it is you who is trapped in the spider’s web?

So, tell me, how much do you really want to know? You’re curious, aren’t you? Driven. Eager to witness all that happens here. Why would you remain otherwise?

Let’s see how it goes, shall we?

Our story, our statement, resumes.

Ever so slowly, Ruby turns her head and looks at Penny. There is no recognition, no emotion of any kind on her face. Ruby blinks, or, rather, she closes her eyelids and opens them again in a movement that could be perceived as a blink. A movement that makes her a stranger to Penny.

“Ruby,” Penny repeats, as if the simple utterance of the name will break the spell. No such enchantment that can be so easily undone exists. Not here. Not now.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?”

New footsteps echo through the laboratory. Penny spins around. Dr. Watts makes his way over from the door. Each step he takes is measured and calculated. His past projects, those horrible menaces whispered about in fear, file into the room behind him.

Cinder looks at the scene laid out before her and smirks. Tyrian laughs. Hazel blocks the doorway with his bulk.

“For a super weapon, I expected you to be smarter than to simply walk into what was so obvious a trap.” Dr. Watts chuckles at Penny. “Foolish of me to underestimate the weakness of love, I suppose.”

“Let. Ruby. Go.” Penny clenches her fists. She raises her daggers. She doesn’t have the advantage here, but that won’t stop her.

“If you insist.” Watts waves a dismissive hand. With his other, he takes a remote out from his pocket and clicks a button on it. The clasps around Ruby’s wrists and ankles snap open. He turns to walk away, but pauses before he exits the laboratory. “Do try to leave at least some of them intact,” he tells Cinder, Tyrian, and Hazel. “It would be a pity for so many good bodies to go to waste.” He exits.

Penny turns to Ruby one last time. “Ruby…” This time it’s a begging sob that escapes her lips. “Please, no.”

Ruby stands. She reaches around herself, to the sheath attached to her belt. Her fingers wrap around the hilt of the blade there. Ruby withdraws the weapon. There’s no sign she recognizes the desperate plea in Penny’s eyes.

The sword slashes through the air.

Penny dodges. She retreats away from Ruby’s attack. Her daggers hover around her. She can’t bring herself to command them to retaliate.

“Ruby, please, it’s me, it’s Penny! You have to recognize me!”

Ruby draws back. For a brief, hopeful second, Penny thinks she’s gotten through to her love. A small smile appears on Penny’s lips. It almost immediately falls away.

Ruby lifts her hand not holding the sword. Around it, thick, black sludge forms. It branches out into a limb all of its own. Bleached white claws emerge at its tips, like grotesque fingers. There’s a second where the Grimm arm moves and shifts, as if adjusting to its own weight. A twisted smirk appears on Ruby’s face. She looks between her new appendage and Penny.

Penny’s daggers come to bear a defensive position in front of her without her telling them to. The Grimm arm tries to dart around them, but the daggers cut through it like butter. It disintegrates into dust. Ruby screams. Her voice is loud, hoarse, and pained. Penny hesitates, doesn’t take the opening. She can’t… she doesn’t…she needs to…but it’s Ruby! RUBY!

She can’t just kill her. Penny glances behind her, at where she knows her team is, but there is no aid to be found there. Cinder, Tyrian, and Hazel are on the attack. The less said about that carnage, the better. Penny is on her own. She turns back to Ruby and, with every fiber of her being protesting, she prepares to fight.

I’ll make it quick, Penny tells Ruby in her head. You don’t deserve this suffering. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

Penny ducks Ruby’s sword, and feigns to the left.

I’m sorry that this is how it ends.

Penny commands her daggers to cut through the Grimm limbs Ruby keeps painfully forming and sending at her. She refuses to allow herself to wince at the agonizing screams.

I’m sorry you didn’t get to live a long and happy life.

Penny sees her opening. Ruby has faltered. Penny allows herself a second to take a breath, and then she lunges. Her daggers all are pointed forward, ready to complete the death blow.

I’m sorry you ever had the misfortune of knowing me.

Penny’s killing blow doesn’t make its target. Ruby faked her out. Midway into Penny’s attack, she dodges. Penny has no time to change course. Her eyes widen. Ruby’s Grimm limbs surround Penny, grab her, hold her.

Horror takes over Penny’s face. She knows what’s going to happen right before the final Grimm arm makes the plunge into her chest. Her mind goes blank with the pain. Whether or not she’s screaming, Penny has no idea.

Ruby’s darkness, her corruption, seeps into Penny, worming its way to the mechanical girl’s heart, her core. For Penny can only be destroyed if it is. The Annihilation reaches its target. It circles its prey, completely surrounding it. It surges in for the kill.

In that dreadful moment, Death doesn’t come. It was never going to. It has, shall we say, a feel, for these things. It knew, all throughout this battle, how it would end. Death knew it would not be necessary to send its Reaper here.

The Silver Eye, which had protecting Ruby’s soul and had waited and waited and watched for its opportunity finally found its chance. When the Grimm entombing it reached out to destroy the one its guardian loved, the Silver Eye, for the first time in its existence, felt something.

Remember, the Eye, on its own, had never been a whole. It was forged, by the King of Vale, out of the remaining half of the Staff of Creation. Though it could exist on its own, it never truly stopped longing to find its missing, stolen part. And, when its prison made that final, almost deadly attack, through those dark tendrils ensnaring it, the Silver Eye finally felt that echo, that reverberation, that it had ached for for so very long.

In that moment, it wakes up and reaches.

Blinding silver light shines out through the laboratory. Every vestige of Annihilation’s power, every bit of Grimm, inside a person or out, is disintegrated. For those who have long since opened their arms to Destruction and allowed its influence into themselves, this means Death finally comes for its dues. For Ruby, who the Silver Eye loves and cherishes, this means purification from her corruption. For Penny, this means her life is spared and, from within her, the Silver Eye is answered.

Once upon a time, the General King of Atlas found the blueprints for an old inventor’s creation. He saw it as a grand opportunity to build a great weapon for the glory of his kingdom. To fuel it, he saw no better resource than his kingdom’s relic itself. He split the Staff of Creation in half, stored one part away for later use and fashioned the other into a core for the new automaton.

Unbeknownst to him, in doing this, the General King created a mirror to the Silver Eye; the Winter Soul. A new entity all of its own, it was. One curious, fascinated about the world around it, and ever so willing to learn.

Is it such a shock then, that was built to be a weapon of immeasurable power turned its back to this objective and instead chose to attempt to understand and love the world it found itself in? Is it such a shock that it came to love one who would be later chosen to preserve life itself?

Much has been written and recorded about the Fall of Atlas. There are numerous accounts of the sudden surge of blinding light that shone across the kingdom. Many theorize, but they do not know the truth of its source. What they do know is that it wiped out the city’s mainframe and, for the first time in history, Atlas was left vulnerable. It didn’t take long for the Rebellion’s ships to rise from Mantle and begin that final, gruesome attack after that.

Later, the Rebellion’s charge into Atlas Academy, of their slaughter of the robotic forces of the Atlesian Military, will be dramatized into something far more glorious and far less bloody than it was. The retellings will focus on the storming of the throne room, of the General King being forced to his knees in surrender, the capture of the notorious Dr. Watts. They will applaud the victories of the day, and blatantly ignore the executions of the weeks to follow.

And so, Atlas’s web of power collapses, crumpling into a thousand twisting, tangled threads. The spider, the warmonger, who sat at its center, weaving and warping the world into something that suited him and only him, and growing fat off the results, is squashed.

Those two who were responsible, who gave the world the chance it needed to rid itself of the boot pressing down upon its throat, they were never known.

For Ruby, now saved from the Grimm but forever scarred by it, looks down upon the sleeping form of her fallen beloved, sees the full extent of Penny’s injuries, gathers her up in her arms, and steals her away to where she can be repaired.

In peace.

#rwby #nuts and dolts #ruby rose #penny polendina #grimm!ruby #rose puppetry #whirls writing #if you're thinking the title is a reference #you'd be right #😏#im gonna regret posting this in the middle of the night #but it also feels like the right time too #so here we are

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enithinggoes · 3 years

Text

The witch’s teachings, lesson 7.1- Leave something behind

I followed the witch’s plan, driving the cart we’d commandeered to a small nearby village and going with my companions to buy the required supplies, including wooden stakes, torches and lamp oil. But something in the back of my mind, call it an intuition, made me ask the witch for some time to visit the local church, to wich she raised an eyebrow and commented “huh… didn’t think you were the religious type, still, if you need to make peace with god, be my guest, just don’t take too long.”

When I got to the church, it was dark and there was a lone priest attending to it, almost bald but for a few grayed hairs forming a circle around the sides of his head, when our eyes met, his kind gaze turned to one of shock that, to his credit, he did his best to hide when he asked “what brings you here?”. Still, I was unconfortable with the way he looked at me and now something about the crosses and symbols bearing down on me seemed threatening so I merely said “5 coins for a bottle of holy water, please, and 3 more to not ask more questions” as I handed him the money.

Seems that was enough, as the priest quickly grabbed a bottle with a cross drawn on it and handed it to me without a word, maybe he wanted me to leave as much as I did. As I got out, I really felt that now, for better and for worse, I’d permanently moved from one side of the veil to another, and I wouldn’t be welcome back.

Next we took off towards the capital, now more aware of the dangers of being seen closely I brought down the brim of my hat, thankfully the cover of night would protect me until we got close to the center. With my crossbow at my side and the clarity of the watcher, I honestly felt more confortable her on the road, with the company of the night and the forests and the creatures they would hide than I would with the stone and people of the towns, especially our current destination.

Nevertheless, duty called, and by 3 in the morning, we were at the entrance to the castle, it was decorated with drapes of red and purple and large, bright torches, like the eyes of a terrible monster with the large gate as its maw, I untied the horses, at the end of the day, they had nothing to do with this, so they were free to run if the bloodshed started sooner rather than later.

I rapped at the wooden gate, yelling “delivery from the inquisition!”, in just a few seconds two heavilly built and armored men opened the door, coming out and inspecting the wagon, their faces were covered by large helmets, clearly made to be imposing, painted red and purple much like the castle itself, there were only two thin slits for the eyes and I could not see anything inside. Nevertheless I could sense their intent, they saw through me easily, these wagons are never to be driven without security accompanying them, and all individual drivers are registered and known.

That was fine and expected, the plan was never for the ruse to go very far, I hit the wood of the wagon as hard as I could and yelled “Go! Now!” as I dove behind it for cover, Morgana and Lyssa busted out, ready for battle, they fought the guards, though maybe outmatched in raw physical strenght and weight behind their attacks, they could beat them in agility and swordplay, Morgana gripped the middle of her blade tight with her off hand to move it with precision into the slit from which he saw and Lyssa used a distraction I created with a crossbow bolt to strike where the main part of her opponent’s armor connected with the helmet, taking advantage of the need for a joint for flexibility, master likely advised her on fighting oponents in plate armor during the ride.

The three of us headed deep into the castle, it was dark and surprisingly empty of any guards or servants, must have been because of “feeding time” as Morgana said, she asked me to try and “sense” the vampire through the many walls and rooms, and I could definetly feel something at the center of the building. “figures,” she snarked, “I could have guessed he’d want everything built around him,” we moved as efficiently as possible through the catacombs and soon came to a tall metal door with a heavy black padlock on it, with two men, also in heavy armor, holding halberds straight up, still as stone.

We engaged them in combat, though Lyssa and Morgana did most of the heavy lifting, these seemed even stronger than the last guards, when she saw an opening, the witch dove between them and gripped the part of the padlock that connected it to the latch, I saw the inside of her hand glow red-hot, in less than a second the metal had dissapeared and she turned to us, ordering “stay here and fight them until I come back!” and moving into the darkness.

Lyssa and I were capable of holding our own against the knights, but scoring a killing blow seemed almost impossible with them covering each other’s openings, she turned to me and said “you’ve gotta go ahead or she’s going to die. I’ve got it here.”

“Wait what? What do you mean?” I asked, too focused on dodging a halberd strike to look at her.

“Are you kidding me? Telling us to stay behind, purposefully not telling us how she’s going to fight him, trying to tell you you didn’t need her anymore before we came here? Come on Cato, I don’t need weird eye powers to figure out her intentions here, she wants to die killing that vampire.” She half-scolded.

“Will you be alright?” I asked, preparing to find a way to get past the guards.

“Just. Trust me with this, ok?” She turned to me and gently smiled before charging forward with a battlecry.

In that moment, while she attacked one of the guards, I focused my mind on the other and managed to stun him with a psychic attack before dashing between them, yelling back “Stay safe and don’t die!”, to which Lyssa answered “You too!”

As I ran in search of my master, I could sense where she was before being even close and watch the battle through her eyes until I got there, in front of her there was a man, he wore a powdered wig and had arresting red eyes and a devilish smile, as he looked at Morgana, his eyes didn’t meet hers, but were fixed above her, like he couldn’t be bothered to confront her directly, he was lazily holding a golden scepter with a purple sphere on the top, “isn’t it nice when your inconveniences come straight to your door asking to be dealt with? Now, before we begin, do you have anything you wish to say to me?”.

Morgana didn’t answer, she just stared at him with killing intent, untill she extended her hands towards him, spouting flames in his direction, he lept upwards into the shadows of the high ceiling, laughing as he taunted “very well then.”

He moved unbelievably fast, attacking the witch from all directions, she was able to keep him at a distance by firing short bursts of flame whenever he swooped close, but I knew it hurt her to use those powers for long.

Eventually she switched to using her shortsword, barely able to block his strikes with the scepter, after a few skirmishes she quickly stepped back, dodging an attack before slicing the vampire’s hand off, unfortunately he didn’t even flinch, just clenching his other fist and punching inhumanly hard straight at Morgana, she had just enough time to try to defend herself with her off hand, knocking her into the wall at the back of the room.

She did her best to get up as Lucius nonchalantly walked towards her, clapping with a hand that was already growing back as he moved, “Most people would have been splattered on that stone right now, you’re strong, too strong.” He grabbed her by the neck, pushing her agains the wall, “I don’t like it.”

"Still, is that all? You came into my home, with the intention of killing me, with this?” his laugh reeked of venom as he tried to quickly choke the life out of her.

I could hear a powerful thought in Morgana’s mind, “Oh I’ve got a lot more to show, I just needed to get us close to the far wall before I did this, I’m only getting one shot, sorry Cato.” And her arms started glowing again, white and bright like a star as she held onto the vampire’s arm tighter, tighter, she’d make sure he wouldn’t survive this by releasing all the power she held at once, blowing both her and the tyrant to smithereens.

#the witch's teachings #Magic #Original Work #original writing #original story #fantasy #chapter #enni

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babineni · 4 years

Text

Harmony (part 1 of 2)

aka the polyamory thing

link to part 2

A spontaneous dance aboard the Defiant prompts Edér and Gaura to reflect on how their relationship changed over the years and on what they really feel for one another.

The ocean's breeze felt cold against Gaura's skin. The Defiant was anchored by a long abandoned island to make some repairs after a storm, and on the last night of the brief stop the crew decided to throw a spontaneous celebration. The Watcher spent the better half of the evening dancing and singing, and once she stopped to catch her breath, the contrast between the heat of her body - and, in a way, her soul - and the cool night air sent shivers down her spine. She took a step as she looked for a spot where she could rest, and a faint, dull sense of pain spread over her feet. Her gaze eventually fell to the shrouds of the ship. Edér stood there, with his back against the ropes, smoking, eyeing the happenings around him. He gave the Watcher a warm half-smile when their eyes met, and Gaura couldn't help but beam back at him as a response.

'Lend me a hand, please,' the Watcher said once she made her way to him. Edér put an arm around her waist without hesitation, and she held onto his shoulder as she hummed the tune of Ancient Memory to herself.

'Getting tired?' Edér teased.

'I still have a few dances left in me,' Gaura placed her weight on her feet again, and smiled when she felt none of the sensations left on them by her exertions. The veteran let his hand drop off her and moved to give the Watcher some space beside him. She had a different idea, however. 'Care to have one of those dances?'

Edér blinked at her in surprise. A moment went by as they stood silently looking at each other. Then another. Then the farmer burst out laughing.

'That was a good one,' he said, wiping a tear away.

'Oh, come on, you never dance with me,' Gaura complained, and pinched him on the shoulder. 'Please?'

'Not much of a dancer, is all,' Edér shrugged.

'That's fine, I can lead.'

'Yeah... Figured you'd say that,' he gave an approving nod, but he otherwise didn't move. When the Watcher offered her hand with a pointed and questioning look, he sighed. 'Can I finish this?' He gestured at his pipe.

'Sure,' Gaura took the space the farmer offered her. Her upper arm brushed against his, the flames bursting through her skin fluttered where they touched. Edér didn't seem to notice or if he did, he wasn't bothered by it.

A moment later, the music changed to a messy but harmonious tune that strangely enough sounded both like The Sea and Her Love and Faithful Sailor. Gaura was almost certain it was just her fatigue playing with her hearing. And yet she liked what she heard.

Edér, however, frowned and exhaled a large puff of smoke. 'Was hoping for something... different,' he turned to the Watcher. 'You sure you don't wanna dance to this with Aloth? Sounds like something... well, fitting for y'all,' he shrugged.

The mention of the name put a smile on Gaura's face. It did sound like something they both would like, although not to the same degree. And yet listening to the melody by Edér's side felt right too.

'Don't worry, he gets the last dance. In private,' she winked at him with a faint but impish smile.

The veteran nodded to himself and turned away. His face, bathed in the light of the Watcher's flaming hair, seemed faintly flushed. 'That's uh...' he cleared his throat, 'that's good to know.'

'You're still not used to the thought of us being together, are you?' Gaura elbowed him in the side gently. Edér didn't look like he felt it.

'It's not that... It's just... Well, it kinda is,' he tried and failed to explain. 'I dunno. Life's been pretty stagnant for me back in Gilded Vale. And it was more likely there for you to get lynched by a friend than being kissed by one... Guess, deep down, there's a part of me that still moves at the pace I did back then, a part that thought... we would always stay the same as we were five years ago,' he chuckled ruefully and shook his head. When the Watcher merely continued listening intently, he hastily added. 'Not that it's any of my business what you do, and as long as you're happy, so am I.'

'I am happy. Well... the closest to being happy I can be considering... everything,' Gaura absent-mindedly scratched her chest right above her heart, right above her chimes, her gaze set on the empty air in front of her. 'But I do love Aloth,' she said with a smile reappearing on her face,' and I do...'

The words that were supposed to follow got stuck in the Watcher's throat. She cautiously glanced back at Edér, who tilted his head slightly, waiting for her to continue.

'Nothing. It's not important,' Gaura said eventually.

'Alright then,' Edér emptied his pipe and pocketed it. Then he took a step away from the Watcher, and offered her his hand. 'If I crush your foot, that's on you.'

'I can manage a crushed foot,' she laughed as she took his hand, and moved past him to lead him to the rest of the crew. However, the veteran pulled her back.

'Don't wanna embarrass you in front of a crowd.' Edér placed his free hand on her shoulder blade. Gaura placed hers on his shoulder and let her arm rest against his. She sensed some tension in him as she took the first step.

'And I almost thought you wanted a private dance of your own,' the Watcher teased.

Edér scoffed. 'Good one,' he said but his voice didn't rang of amusement. He watched Gaura with tenderness as they danced and she couldn't help but notice that his eyes were the same shade of green as the hedge maze near Caed Nua. Her lips curled to a faint, wistful smile at the realization and she didn't even notice that she moved closer to the farmer. Nor did she notice that he unconsciously moved his hand lower down her back. Just as she was about lose herself in his gaze, Edér looked away. But he seemed to have relaxed a bit regardless.

'Sorry about that,' he said, then sighed. Gaura couldn't tell if he did so out of exhaustion or relief.

'It's fine, I didn't mind.'

Edér looked back at her again. 'I didn't mind either.' And yet a moment later he shook his head and let out a quiet groan that still sounded like years of frustration was condensed into it.

'You know me,' he said. 'Never been good with feelings, and I like to keep things simple. Didn't want more than what we've had going on all these years and... I guess I just didn't really bother questioning what I feel for you, until you started asking about it. Didn't see the point. But now I...' Edér stopped and his gaze drifted to somewhere over the Watcher’s shoulder. His face reflected the same concentration that she only ever saw in combat, right before the farmer charged at their enemies. Then the moment passed and when their eyes met again, she saw nothing in them but utmost sincerity. 'Now I don't know what you mean to me, only that you mean a lot. Maybe everything, even.'

Gaura stared at the veteran, with her eyes wide and her heart racing. She no longer heard anything aside from Edér's words echoing in her mind, and she didn't move, she didn't let go, she didn't think...

'I love you,' she blurted out and the hand she had resting on the farmer's shoulder now darted to her mouth. When he didn't reply aside from giving her the same puzzled look that she had on her face as well, she continued cautiously. 'I love you the same way I love Aloth.'

Edér spent a moment processing her words, then joyful laughter bubbled up from him. The Watcher got a terrible feeling, the feeling that this all might have been a joke, but a moment later Edér spoke.

'Guess, there was a point to my rambling, after all.'

Gaura laughed with him at that. A sense of relief washed over her so overwhelmingly, she could barely stand. She clumsily took a step forward and rested her head against his broad shoulder, careful not to singe the farmer.

'What happens now?' Edér asked after holding the Watcher for what felt like hours. She pulled away to face him hesitantly.

'I don't know. This isn't just up to me,' she reached up to his face and ran her knuckles along his jaw, enjoying the softness of his beard. He in turn sunk a little into her touch, filling her with reassurance. 'All I know is that I can't choose between you and Aloth. And… I think I wouldn’t want to even if I could. Can you...accept that?'

'Hmm,' Edér pondered the question, but there was unmistakable spark of mischief in his eyes. A moment later, he chuckled. 'I could accept you seeing dead people and chatting with gods regularly... would be pretty unfair if I drew the line here, don't you think?'

'That's different but... I'll take it. Now I'll just have to ask Aloth the same question.'

'Don't think his answer will be all that different, but...' Edér leaned in and left a sloppy kiss on Gaura's cheek, his beard tickling the corners of her lips. 'For luck.'

The Watcher took a moment wrestling with the urge to kiss him properly, then another convincing herself to leave the veteran's side. She flashed one last smile at him before she made her way across the deck. Even as she was closing the door leading belowdeck, she felt Edér's gaze on her.

Then the door closed turning the revelry aboard distant, faded, like a hazy dream.

#pillars of eternity #edér teylecg #team gilded vale #it was gonna have aloth in it too #but it was getting long #so he gets part 2 lmao #poe fic #oc fic: gaura #gaura sélfolgh #Wrytinge™

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buns-with-a-book · 4 years

Text

The Night of the Long Vigil

For Day Three of DMCWeek2020, the prompt filled this time was Fight! And there is a fight here alright! Just thrown waaaay in the past.

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: OC, Kyrie, Vergil, Kyle, Julio, Carlo (mentioned) Dante (cameo), Nero (cameo), Sparda (flashback) Tags: @furyeclipse @nimnox @i-write-fanfics-to-procrastinate @queenmuzz @astral-space-dragon

Summary: One Christmas Eve, Cassandra tells the tale of the Midnight Vigil to Cordelia, Julio, Kyle, and Carlo (with the rest of the crew listening in)

Cassandra would never get tired of Christmas celebrations. And this Christmas Eve was looking to be the best one yet. The cool winter nights of Fortuna was a far cry from Red Grave City, blanketed by snow. Cassandra watched as the three boys, Julio, Kyle, and Carlo, ran around Dante and Nero with their limitless energy. Cordelia was helping Kyrie with making the cake for dessert. Cassandra knew Cordelia was easily overwhelmed by too much energy and the three boys Kyrie and Nero were fostering were nothing but high energy.

“Dove? Is it done now?” Cordelia asked, looking to Kyrie. On the counter was the cake tin, full of chocolate cake batter and ready to be cooked. Kyrie smiled and nodded.

“It’s ready to go into the oven.” She hummed. She pulled on oven mitts and carefully took the cake tin to place in the oven. Cordelia stared out the kitchen window, watching Dante and Nero play with the boys.

“They’re a bit much…” Cordelia murmured. Kyrie gently stroked her hair.

“I understand. But I care about them deeply. I wouldn’t give up their energy for the world.” Kyrie smiled to Cordelia.

“And their energy can tire out Dante and Nero. I’ll take sleepy Dante anyday.” Cassandra joked. “Hmm...man, this brings back memories.” She murmured.

“Memories of what?” Kyrie asked. Cassandra blinked.

“Er...well…” She looked to Cordelia. “It’s a tradition from Eternis Brillia.” She began. Cordelia looked at her in confusion. Relaxing, Cassandra continued. “In Eternis Brillia, the concept of Christmas being all holly jolly isn’t a thing. Christmas Eve is known as The Night of the Midnight Vigil while Christmas Day is known as Dawning Day. It’s to celebrate the founding of the city, the day where the titular saints defended what would become the city from the Prince of Darkness and his armies.”

“Oh my…” Kyrie murmured in awe.

“Well, I should add an ‘allegedly’ to that. The only primary source of that time is an epic poem, The Night of the Midnight Vigil. Whether that poem is a legitimate primary source or propaganda is anyone’s guess.” Cassandra shrugged. “Regardless, the whole event is somber to remember those who died to help found the city. It’s also to ‘keep vigil’ for an incoming army of demons, just like the first watchers did long ago.”

"Demons like me and our family?" Cordelia asked sadly. Cassandra grimaced before looking out the window.

“...yes. But! They believe so fervently that everything outside of their walls is evil that they don’t even think about stepping foot outside. I doubt they’ll come all the way to Red Grave City or Fortuna.” Cassandra smiled at Cordelia. She knew that the people of Eternis Brillia never dreamed of stepping outside their walls, content with their lives behind them. “We’ll be just fine.”

“Okie.” She nodded. Cassandra looked out the window, watching as the boys stumbled on in, tired from their roughhousing. Dante and Nero flopped down on the couch, flanking Vergil (who had been quietly sipping tea Kyrie offered him). The three boys ran to the kitchen for water to rehydrate. Cordelia got off the stepstool she used to help Kyrie make the cake and ran over to Dante, curling up in his lap. Dante let out a pleased hum, holding the spirit child close and purring happily.

“Cassandra?” Vergil asked. She perked up, walking over to him. “Perhaps you can regale us with more of Dawning Day. I have never heard of such a celebration before.”

“Makes sense.” Cassandra said, making a cup of warm tea. “It’s basically Christmas but somber and serious. As Dante would so eloquently put it, boring. It’s all ritual, Latin songs that are older than all of us combined, and all in a freezing cold cathedral with no heating.”

“It sounds much like the Winter Solstice celebration.” Kyrie added. “But now that Fortuna has opened up to the world, that includes the Christmas traditions. I vastly prefer being here than at the church.”

“I think you mentioned that you had to sing for the ceremonies?” Cassandra asked. Kyrie nodded. “I can see how Nero would come and attend, just to hear you sing.” She ignored the awkward squawk she got from her adopted son. Kyrie laughed and nodded.

“I remember Nero always giving me a chocolate orange after my performances.” Kyrie hummed nostalgically. “He’s so sweet.”

“I know right?” Cassandra chuckled, taking the warm mug of tea. She walked over to the plush chair, ruffling Nero’s silver hair as she went. Taking a seat, she let out a sigh.

“I’m more interested in this epic poem you spoke of.” Vergil spoke up again. Cassandra raised an eyebrow.

“I suppose you would, considering it deals with the defeat of the Prince of Darkness.” She looked to Dante, knowing full well his inner devil revealed her saying his true name. “The Tale of the Midnight Vigil is basically the Anead of Eternis Brillia. Allegedly, it comes before the Legendary Dark Knight awoke to justice. I know some even say that this moment was when that awakening happened but…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I do know the tale…”

Demons and humans screamed out their battle cries, rain pouring around the armored saint. Mud splattered from the combat around them, tainted red and black from blood.

But for Deirdre, armored in silver and white silken filaments, her golden hair braided with silk and silver spikes, there was only one object between her and the Prince of Darkness: Sparda, the prince’s favored general. Infernal simmering red met calm determined blue. Deirdre tightened her grip on the divine rapier Astra, faintly glowing with the power of the Earthmother. Sparda let out a low growl, tightening his grip on his eponymous sword. The world seemed to freeze around them, as if demons and mortal affairs mattered little to the two warriors, trying to intimidate the other into stepping down, into giving up and letting the demons rip apart the last bastion of humanity in the Highlands.

Then, a booming voice behind Sparda, speaking in the demonic tongue. Deirdre glanced up to the demon prince, his stone form reaching over and uttering a command to his general. Sparda charged forward, Deirdre deflecting the greatsword with Astra. The two blades strained against each other before Deirdre thrust her shield forward, breaking the stalemate between them before she thrust Astra forward. Sparda deflected the thrust and countered with his own thrust, to which Deirdre dodged by jumping to the side. Sparda swiped his blade to her, deflected once again by Deirdre’s Astra.

‘There’s no way I can defeat Sparda! Unless…’ She glanced back before smirking. She let Sparda push her back, flipping backward. Sparda thrust forward with his blade. She leapt up, landing on the edge of the blade before using it as a springboard. She turned, facing Mundus, before blazing blue stars hovered next to her hand. She threw the stars forward, striking Mundus’ wings with force. The prince roared in indignation, his wings cracking and visibly breaking off. Deirdre fell, her bloodied Clydesdale Fionn leaping out from the mass of demons to break her fall. She clung onto his bloodied mane as he rode through the demon masses and trampling them underfoot. Mundus roared out some sort of command. Whatever it was, the demons began to retreat enmasse. The soldiers of Eternis Brillia followed, slaying the stragglers.

Deirdre watched as Sparda looked back at her, still standing, still strong as ever. She felt the rain wash the sweat off her, her chest heaving. She patted Fionn’s neck with a tired smile.

“Good boy. You did well.”

“And thus, the demonic armies were sent away and Eternis Brillia lived to see another sunrise.” She finished the tale. She looked down at the three boys, eyes wide at the tale. “Of course, that’s just an epic poem. Who knows if the battle happened as it was written? That poem was written down centuries after the battle.” Cassandra rubbed the scar on her hand, the scar of Astra’s shattering.

“Wooow...that was so cool!” Julio said.

“What happened to Miss Deirdre?” Kyle asked.

“She became the first Archbishop of the Earthfaith. She ruled Eternis Brillia with her fellow Maidens: Eirika, Sigrun, Leanne, and Julia. She became a saint-like figure in the mythology of the Earthfaith.” She explained.

“Do you think she’s proud of you?” Julio asked. Cassandra made a face. She hadn’t even considered that sort of possibility, even when they met in the Green Fields. She was quiet from the question. “Miss Cassandra?”

“I don’t know. But I’m not going to vy for her pride. The choices I made were all mine and I’m not going to apologize for them.” Her eyes caught Vergil’s, who she noted was staring quite intently at her. The oven suddenly rang out, earning a cheer from the three boys.

“Cake’s ready!” Kyrie called, leaning down to take the cake out of the oven. Dante let out a whoop, lifting up Cordelia in his arms. Nero followed the boys into the kitchen, leaving her and Vergil where they sat.

“Vergil?” Cassandra asked, standing up. Vergil did the same and walked over to her, giving her a hug. “What’s with the sudden affection?”

“Do you ever regret anything you did?” He asked softly. Cassandra lowered her head.

“Well...probably that I didn’t see Cordelia sooner. That’s the only thing I really feel sorry for. Perhaps she would’ve been less lonely if I had seen her before...you know, everything.” He hummed, lowering his head to rest his lips against her head.

“There are many things I regret in my life…” He admitted, so soft she could barely hear him. “Key among them being absent for Nero. Your bravery still inspires me.”

“Bravery?” Cassandra asked, a smile on her lips. “Well, you can’t change the past unless you wanna fuck up the future, so I said to myself ‘make the most out of every day, because you can’t change what you’ve done’. I can’t change the fact I ran away from home for the unknown so I made the best of each day I had out here.” She explained. “You just...have to keep going. No matter what happens. Because when it’s out there, you can’t take it back. Words and actions.” Vergil nodded.

“I see.” He looked up. “Shall we go have cake?”

“Before the boys eat it all? Yes.”

#dmcweek2020 #devil may cry #devil may cry oc #devil may cry vergil #devil may cry kyrie #devil may cry sparda

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u-jin · 3 years

Text

IT’S ALL DARK

status: headcanon ft. @lockekatirci situation: first meetings location: somewhere near market zero time: hour unknown, the streets are swept black, even the late crowds have quieted TRIGGER WARNINGS: death, blood, mutilation, gore

DEMON CAT OPENS, POURING TERROR ONTO THE STREETS:

It’s like an animal bent over prey, a darkened image of a not-quite man bent over a not-quite corpse, a carving knife in one hand, fingers stained red and face sprayed, blood dripping from the ends of his hair as he works in the back alley of an abandoned pub. This, he thinks, is art. He reels back and slices down again, a horrible tearing sound, a dull thud. He leaves his knife protruding for a moment, bare hands reaching into a gaping crevice, past bone, past the squishy, slippery texture of human insides, seemingly searching for something, a growl of frustration. He pulls back again, the cold air freezing the wet texture of his skin, and is stopped by a feeling like ice, a slow prickle running up his back, a sensation familiar to one thing -- someone is watching him.

Then he looks up, red up to his elbows as he draws the knife out of the body's ribcage, the air moving and transforming, a face somewhere in the darkness. He stands slowly, making the shadows writhe and shift around him, the light cascading into the dark, his own person being revealed like a feral dog, eyes wide and face beautiful in it’s stoicism, it’s in freedom from hunger in the one moment after hunting, covered in blood and chunks of flesh. He finds him, a being more wraith than man, appearing as if conjured. The knife hangs loosely in Ujin’s hand, curious and open, he takes several steps towards the shadowed figure, face cast like the undead in the way the darkness hangs over his eyes. He pushes light closer, plays with his own mind in the form of illusions, the slow, clandestine drip, drip, drip of scarlet falling past his arms to the concrete, a mutilated corpse lying motionless in the background.

He’s curious, treacherous, he creates the illusions and yet he isn’t sure if he conjured it himself, sanity sometimes slipping in his ache for blood, his draw to the macabre, then the light reveals a face and he realizes that it cannot be a creation of his own because he doesn’t make beautiful things. He draws closer, eyes narrowed, knife heavy in his fingertips, something in the back of his mind saying that he must take this one too, that he has to reap every last creature he sees, he has to devour, consume. He can’t stand the sight of something that appears so clean despite the way the blackness clings to him, something untouched despite the intensity in his stare, but there is no fear, not exactly, instead something that looks as starving as he is, and Ujin wants nothing more than to slice him open and chew on his bones.

The shadows are domain to the beasts and the butchers, and the man appears well at home, he steps closer, eyes molten gold and tinged velvet, narrowed and curious. Who are you? What can you do for me? How he loathes pretty things, hates those that mirror himself, delicate features and dark dispositions, is it possible to be this empty? This angry? He sears molten lava, mouth spitting ash, the ground rumbling with the tightening suture of an oncoming storm, a building intensity in the locked stare of two monsters, two unholy creatures, one caught feasting in his right and the other a watcher, an onlooker, an uninvited guest.

His head turns carefully to the side, his mouth opens his mouth as if to speak, reaches out as if to touch when behind him there’s a clatter, and he turns, paranoid and sharp. He sees a rat scurry from beneath a heap of trash and just as quickly he turns back, greeted with only the image of a brick wall and, for a moment, he appears thoughtful. Eventually his tongue clicks behind his teeth, as if this occurrence was nothing strange, as if performing for an audience of one. He still feels the presence nearby, but worse things have burdened him, far worse has happened, and he turns back around, head cocked and smile returning, wild and wrathful. Another monster in his midst, one he does not recognize, one he’s surely meant to hunt. The features linger, transparent, almost crystalline, not solid or definable but just as vivid.

He’ll be back, he decides, before drawing his knife up and returning to his art project.

AND SO RETURNS HELL HOUND ( @lockekatrici ) , WATCHING FROM THE SHADOWS:

Through static darkness; suspended in the shadows like an invisible fly on the wall; obscured by all living creatures, Locke almost becomes the dead in the way existence no longer stands tangible. Only the nearly inaudible breaths whisper his presence in amongst the night and he’s simply watching. It’s not clear how much time has passed, but in the veil, there’s a weightlessness that keeps time as an illusion; a figment of reality that no longer cares for such trivial cogs in a clock. Not even the metal hands under the steel of Katirci’s watch can attract his attention when such a display of vehemence captures his admiration. A sickening snap echoes; evidence of tendons tearing from tissue, an explosion of liquid bursts from the hacking of meat where silver carves deep, splits open the disfigured animation like a fountain and allows arteries to spurt red and paint the streets in colour. Like a mosquito that pierces with the same necessity to thrive; saps life; energy from a being, a strange obsession with needing to inch closer starts crawling under Locke’s skin. It’s as though that craving for a knife to cut open his own flesh overpowers reasoning; he wants to be in the place of the canvas currently being maimed to forge a new entity. It evokes a memory, the harsh sound of bones cracking a small boy’s shoulder blade in youth; a wail that’s fast silenced when another comes down and drives deep the venom that in elder years swarms the man’s veins like a parasite; a poison that builds him to something beyond becoming ruination.

He’s the god of the night and deities like to be seen; worshipped and offered sacrifices as favoured by most sentients; Lokman as a divinity is an image formed entirely of delusion, though, diluted by his own deep rooted belief he is greater than his own beasts.

Because he stares in awe at the one before him; sees everything in the hues of the man – if he could be called such a thing, the frenzied ghoul that appears to be the reaper of offerings; such a beautiful thing that Katirci’s own false illusion of playing silent spectator falters and he steps out to meet the other; as if only to see his face close up, marvel in the features that are blessed with the sangria that peppers warm skin, melts down perfected features; a jaw that even belonging to something with ferocity; untamed in the actions of the blade he holds can only belong to something of primal nature. Would you take my hand if I wiped red from your face, if only to see deeper? A madman’s misconception, because he already sees it all.

And above that, the stranger sees him. A kind of outlandish stare that’s a myriad of perplexion and the hunger behind the man’s eyes; matches Locke’s own if only by a single shade, so he believes. There’s no shift of eyes to the knife in the other’s hand, knowing that Locke’s own is sheathed in the rear of trousers; a personal measure, opposed to that of protection. For a moment, both men are still, admiring each other and any third eye could assume a standoff, but it’s nothing of the kind; there’s only a drawn need to the grisly and Lokman’s lip ticks in one corner, not as a taunt, but as an unorthodox manner of greeting. It might have been as prominent as firing a bullet, the only shift that begins the shift of the two that’s evident past the two heaving chests that indicate they’re alive.

An abrupt clatter of tin resonates, tears the other’s gaze away, offers Lokman opportunity to disappear; create a new diversion in the beams of black that shape inconsistent waves between the pub’s alleyway. He’s become a ghost again; once more opportunist, stealthy in becoming absent to the other who’s own speed is admirable. But it’s never quite fast enough, he can see the momentary flicker where lowlights project amber street lights over the features of the stranger. It could easily be a dream manifested from hauntings; memories that plague Locke’s head from years prior. But it’s far too real, he can sense it like a false sixth sense that is all in his mind, the need to still capture a streak of red on his own fingertips if only to become closer to the man; so Lokman can be seen by him as Katirci plays witness to his misdeeds.

Then, like it never happened, the brief encounter of two monsters in the dark, the other begins hacking at the mutilated mass, unhinged and ignorant perhaps to any ghosts gracing him. It seems so pitiful to be disheartened, that Locke’s not accustomed anymore to feeling forgotten so swiftly in situations with such merciless intentions. The stranger’s got something better in the dead in front of him. A demon in the rear of Locke’s head, coaxing lies; truths? Into him like sweet pumps of that delicious poisonous venom he’s drowned in.

The briefest emotion, unrecognised – entirely unfamiliar; so fast to fleet from his body like a powerful force uses him as a conduit to another world for just a split second. More so that it’s such an old feeling, he’s forgotten what it’s like; rejection; being unknown once more to the person he’s spent perhaps hours staring at in the mists for the other man to only see him for seconds.

Unlike the stranger who’s hijacked his thoughts; all rationality – if there ever was any, Lokman does not forget such a moment and there’s no denying the bloodied face that he’s memorised isn’t the last painted picture he’ll leave with; a promise. He’ll be the ghost that haunts the man.

#ii. headcanon #ft. hell hound #blood //#death //#gore //#mutilation //#lockekatrici

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korkisobsessions · 4 years

Text

The Oath

VI. The Storm

I´m sorry for late update. My kid didn´t want to sleep this week, so i was kind of busy :/ But this chapter is much longer so I hope you will forgive me :) Feel free to leave few words at the end, if you like it or nah :D

Storm was coming. He heard thunder in the distance, but it was quickly approaching. He was walking back to infirmary with bowl of strong soup, when he saw Beom Pal. He was running towards him with unusual serious face.

“Something is happening.” He shouted.

Yeongshin put down soup for Nilah and took his trustful rifle.

“What is going on? Disease is back?” he light ignition cord and blow on it to heat it properly.

“No, it’s soldiers from Sangju. It looks like they are leaving.” They walked fast next to each other, but Beom Pal was slower. Yeongshin felt his guts twisted with bad feeling. He was almost in front of the infirmary when he heard loud voices. In one of them he recognized Nilah’s.

Sang-Ho was standing in the courtyard with Nilah facing him. She was leaned over crutch and lightly trembling. First few raindrops fell on pavement.

Captain of Sangju soldiers looked angry. “Nilah! Stop this!” He shouted at her making few steps closer, he was standing too close. “We are leaving in the morning!”

“I wanted to stay.” She spoke calmly. But Sang-Ho looked like she punched him in the guts.

“You are still soldier of Sangju and good soldiers follow orders!” He growl through clenched teeth.

“Then I’m probably bad soldier...”

Several things happened in that moment. Sang-Ho slapped Nilah hard across her face. She gasped and almost fell.

Beom Pal shrieked with shock.

Yeongshin point his rifle on Sang-Ho his heart beating fast. “Touch her again and you will lose that hand!” He growl menacingly.

Sang-Ho looked in his direction with disgust, and then back on Nilah. She was holding her red cheek with tears of betrayal in her eyes. Captain’s shoulders was raising and falling with heavy, angry breaths.

“It’s because of that chakho?” He pointed his finger on Yeongshin. “Is it? You want to leave your people again, because of that man?” Loud thunder thrilled walls of palace. It was raining and people were hiding in the buildings, except couple of nosy watchers. Yeongshin didn’t move. He was like statue still pointing on captain.

Nilah looked him in the eyes with fear. “I did not leave them, I was...” her voice was trembling. She was standing in the rain and looked lost.

“I know what you were doing.” He spat like venom. “You were protecting him...I heard you and Lord Ahn...But Ahn Hyun is dead, you don’t have to serve him anymore!” he had despise in his face.

“No, don’t...” Nilah made move forward pleading him.

“What is he talking about?” Yeongshin was confused. He slowly lowered his gun.

“Don’t you tell me, you thought that she was protecting you, just because she cared about you?” He was laughing cruelly.

Rain was cold on his skin but that words were colder. He felt like someone put dagger through his heart and twisting with it.

“Sang-Ho, please don’t.” Nilah was crying, making slow limping steps towards Yeongshin. Her face was full of pity. “Don’t listen to him. I will explain it.”

“She took the oath, that she will protect you. Lord Ahn made her swear it!” He was shouting, because the rain was heavy and loud. “She saved your life, but it wasn’t her free will.”

“Ahn Hyun wanted you to protect me?” Something ugly was boiling in his guts. It was painful and for a moment he thought he will throw up.

Nilah bow his head with shame. “Yes that is true. But that was just in the beginning.” She was trying to touch his hand, but he flinched.

He felt betrayed.

“Yeongshin please!” She pleaded with tears that were washed away with rain.

“I didn’t need protection!” He shouted at her like it was all her fault. She hunches her back, like he was the one who hit her. “He should protect people who needed protection! Not me! He betrayed his people in Sumang!” He felt angry tears in his eyes. He wiped them away and turned to leave.

“Please, don’t...I didn’t know, why he wanted that from me! He didn’t tell me why...please don’t go!” she catch his hand but he tear out his arm from her grasp. She looses her balance and fell to the ground with painful cry. For a moment he wanted to catch her and help her, but she hurt him so bad. He felt like there was huge bleeding wound in his chest.

“Stay away from me!” he whispered with broken voice and leave.

On his way he stopped next to Beom Pal and pushes something to his palm.

“Give Seo-Bi this one.”

Beom Pal looked to his palm with pain in his face. He never saw something so heart-breaking.

It was little wooden swallow.

He watched Yeongshin leaving through the gate and then he run to Nilah. She was siting on the ground with face in her hands, crying. Beom Pal carefully hugs her and helped her stand.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside and get some dry clothes.” He looked to her face and his heart stung. She looked like something inside her died. “And I will find Seo-Bi.” He adds when he saw blood soaking through her shirt on her side. She probably ripped her stitches when fall. “Let’s take care of you.”

~Sangju, one month ago ~

Dreadful feeling was twisting Nilah’s guts when she runs through field of tall grass.

Sun was gone.

Dark was coming.

Something terrible will happen.

She looked into Deok Sung’s eyes. They were scared too, maybe more, like he knew what is waiting for them. And it scared her to death.

She saw men ripped flesh out of other men. Blood and decay.

She stab man into the heart, but he keep fighting like nothing happened. She was terrified. He jumped on her and they both fell to the ground. She was trying to fight but he was too heavy. His skin was dark and eyes pale. He looked dead but wasn’t. He was trying to bite her to the neck and Nilah was struggling to get his bloody teeth away from her.

Suddenly there was a glimpse of blade and attacker’s head fell off. Deok Sung grab her by her shoulders and lifted her up.

“Cut of their heads!” he commands and threw himself back into the fight.

And then she saw them. One woman and four men were fighting against undead. One of them was clumsy still falling to the ground, but trying to protect fearless woman. Second man was wearing noble dress and was fighting with expensive sword. He had guard by his side. They looked like royal man and palace guard. Fourth man was fierce fighter. His moves were skilful and mortal.

They won. Lord Ahn then kneeled before the royal looking man and all soldiers including Nilah followed.

“It’s Prince Lee Chang.” Deok Sung whispered to her.

“And the others?” She can’t get eyes off that skilled fighter. He was standing aside, breathing fast and watching surrounding. He looked prepared for everything.

Deok Sung was watching the same man like Nilah. “I don’t know them.”

And she knows, he lied.

After the return to the fortress she was still confused. What was that? She would swear that they were fighting against corpses. Against men who were dead...but still moving, still fighting, no matter how much she stabbed or cut them. Until they cut of their heads and burned their bodies.

And what scared her most was that Lord Ahn, Deok Sung and other soldiers knows how to fight them. Deok Sung wasn’t surprised when they saw them.

Nilah was wiping blood from her face when Sang-Ho touches her shoulder. He always found chance to touch her, even if he don’t have to.

“Lord Ahn wants to talk to you.”

“Me? Why?” She sleeked her uniform but it was unnecessary. She was covered in blood and filthy of ash and mud.

“I don’t know.” He wiped smudge of blood from her face. He was in love with her and she knows that. But Nilah not felt the same way. She liked him, but as friend. He always seems too hard, too merciless. Maybe it was because he remained her Harlan. His cruel and violent soul.

She smiled at him and took a long breath. “Wish me luck then.”

She walked through the door and came face to face with prince. He was leaving Lord Ahn’s room. She felt sympathy to this man. He was royal, but fight like one of the soldiers. He was really brave.

“Your highness...”she bow her head. For a moment their eyes met and his sadness hit her like wave. He was tired and looked so lonely it almost broke her heart. He nod to her and left to get some rest. At least she hoped he will.

Ahn Hyun was standing by the window watching courtyard. He looked much older than he really was. He was worried.

“My lord, you were looking for me?” Nilah bow her head. She felt more respect to Lord Ahn then to her own father. Her father enforced his respect by fear and violence. Lord Ahn by trust and justice.

He looked her in the eyes with so much sorrow, it scared her.

“Nilah. He came closer and laid hand on her shoulder. “You are only woman between my soldiers and jet, you are the bravest. Maybe not strongest, not best fighter, but you are bravest soul I ever met.”

“You are too kind my lord. I’m honoured to be one of your soldiers.” She smiled and felt ashamed, receiving such compliments dressed in so dirty clothes.

“You met crown Prince?” he sat by his table and pours two cups of water.

“Yes I did. He looked very tired.“ she gratefully accepts water. She still tasted ash in her mouth. Even though she was wearing mask, she still breathed the smoke from burning bodies.

“He came with companions. With Moo Yeong, his personal guard. With female healer from Jiyulheon and magistrate Beom Pal from Dongnae...”

Then he was silent and looked tired. Like something was on his mind.

“My lord...” She was nervous. She never saw him like this. Maybe just after the war...but He was after long fights, it was usual. “Is it about the last man he came with them? Should I keep an eye on him? Is he dangerous? You know him?...”

Lord Ahn stopped her with his lifted hand. “Too much questions Nilah and so little time.”

“I’m sorry my lord.” She bite her tongue.

“When we saved you and you became one of us, you swore to me, that you will do anything... I’m afraid I will need you to keep your promise.” It hurt him to give her such a burden to bear.

“I swore, and I will, no matter what it is.”

“I need you to do it, without questions. You will be confused, maybe angry, but you will do as I say. You swear?” He stood up and came to her. His face was face of commander, but his eyes were eyes of loving father.

And she trusted him. “I swear my lord.”

“I need you to protect that man. Be his secret guard. There are hard times before us, and I don’t know what will happen, but I need you to help him.”

He was right, she was confused, but nod. “I swear. I will protect him, with my life.”

“I’m not done yet. This man will probably want to kill me. You will let him, and he can’t be punished for it. I forbid you to avenge me.”

She was terrified. Her heart was beating like wings of scared bird. And tears were forming in her eyes. “What kind of Oath you made me to took my lord? What have you done?”

“I said no question. You must follow my order soldier.” His voice was suddenly cold like ice, but it was still him. Wise and righteous Ahn Hyun.

“I swear my lord, but it breaks my heart.” She pulled out little dagger and cut herself to tip of the finger. Across her heart she drew symbol he never saw. “On my blood.”

When she was leaving, she almost bumps into Sang-Ho, she thought he needed something to discuss with lord Ahn, but truth was, he was listening behind the door.

~o~

It was easy to find Lee Chang. Yeongshin was skilled and found him in a few days. He was already sitting by fire with Min Chi Rok, staring to the flames, tired as usual. Yeongshin come out from the dark shadows of the forest quietly like a ghost. Prince gripped his sword, but when he saw, who is coming, his face was full of relief.

“It’s you...” he breath out and sat back.

Yeongshin just nodded and sat with them.

“You are here sooner than I expected. Is everything alright?” He wanted to know all news from Palace, but Yeongshin didn’t want to talk at all. His stomach was like tight knot and felt like he is struggling to breath. Like he had a heavy stone on his chest.

“Soldiers were treat, fed and they are on their way back to Sangju.”

“That’s good news.” Chang throw little stick to the flames and look to him again. “Is it all? You look...”

“I’m sorry your highness, I’m a bit tired.” He laid down back to the fire and closed his eyes. He still herd her cry in his ears, like some curse. He was hurt, betrayed...heartbroken. He didn’t want to think about her, but when he closed his eyes, he saw her. When he fell asleep he dreamed about her. He never had a trouble to sleep in the forest, grass and soil was his usual bed, but this time he can’t. He felt cold inside, even though he lay close to fire.

He felt alone.

It was his personal rule when he became chakho. No strings attached! People often die and they left wounds that can’t be seen or treated.

And than he felt for this woman like fool. What he thought? Even if she was dressed and act like a soldier, she still was noble lady. How could he be so naive and thought that she will cared about him? About chakho, about outlaw who had nothing? What could he give her? He had no house, no fields. He had no family or village to return. He can give her just stupid wooden swallow.

He stood up maybe too harsh, because Lee Chang jerk and catch his sword.

“Sleep your highness. I will take a watch.” He whispered not to woke up snoring Min Chi Rok.

Prince was looking into his face with concerns. “You don’t look good. You should rest.”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.” He took his rifle and disappeared in the dark.

Lee Chang followed him with his eyes until his silhouette was no longer visible. He doesn’t know this man well. But he trusted him like no one else. He proved to be very loyal and can be trusted. He knew that Moo Yeong would disagree, but where is his guard now?

But the man who returned from Hanyang wasn’t that man he saw last time. It was just shadow of the brave and strong hunter. Something happened to him. Last message he gets from Beom Pal was full of optimism so he thought everything in Palace goes well. But Yeongshin looked, like everyone just died. He must wait for Seo-Bi and he will see.

Yeongshin return when sun was coming up, with fresh water and news from nearest village. They were untouched by disease, but there were rumours that villages in the south struggle with attack of dead.

“Seo-Bi will meet us at Jiyulheon, she wanted to get some medical supplies and then we will travel north.”

They travelled slowly, they don’t need to rush. Sun was merciful and days were warm enough to keep them calm. After what they had been through, cold was their enemy.

They choose paths near villages and listened to the rumours and gossips about disease, plague, or resurrection, anything that can bring back chaos.

Seo-Bi joined them near Jiyulheon, on the road to Dongnae. She was with two soldiers from Sangju which wanted to join them. They followed her to Jiyulheon and helped her to find things she will need. Diaries of physician Lee, tools and dried herbs.

Yeongshin was in one of the rooms, going through things they might need. He didn’t want to stay in Jiyulheon longer than was necessary. Be there and see the blood brings back bad memories. He was here twice and every time he left with dead bodies behind.

Seo-Bi was quiet, but he knew about her. She was standing at the door, watching him.

“She is back at Sangju. Safe.” Her voice was trembling with nervous.

He didn’t say anything, but held tighter grip on his pouch. Seo-Bi took his silence as a good sign and continued. “She gets bad fever on the way to Sangju. Her wound gets infected, we thought she will die, but she beat it. She is strong.”

He felt lump in his throat, when he imagined her siting in the cart on the road to Sangju, cold and weak.

“You were with her?” he whispered his back still facing Seo-Bi. He can’t look her in the eyes. She will recognize how much it hurts him. His stomach hurts and twisted he felt like he will throw up.

“Yes, I can’t let her go in such bad shape.”

He was silent again. Seo-Bi made few little steps towards him, like she was approaching wild animal. “She was calling you in feverish dreams.”

Finally he turned to face her too harsh, she almost yelp. His eyes glossy, but his face hard and cold as a stone. He pointed a finger on her and growled with tight voice “Don’t ever talk to me about her! I don’t care!” And with that, he left shaking Seo-Bi. He stormed to the forest to catch his breath and wiped tears away.

Seo-Bi was standing in the courtyard of the hospital watching the forest where Yeongshin disappeared with sadness. Beom Pal told her everything that happened in Palace. And she saw damage left on Nilah. She was always smiling, her face gentle and warm. But after Yeongshin left, she was like dead. Her smile disappeared and her eyes were empty. She loose will to heal.

“Something is wrong with him.” Came Lee Chang’s voice from behind. She didn’t noticed him and he scared her. “I think he is sick.” He came closer, to stand next to her watching the same spot like she did. “It’s possible, that worms survived and his body is...”

“It’s not that your highness.” She interrupted his theory.

“I think he’s in pain. I saw him holding his stomach or chest like it hurts him.” Lee Chang was really worried.

In the meantime Min Chi Rok joined them with serious face. “I know this disease.”

“What is it? Can you treat him?” he turned to Seo-Bi with hope, but she lower her eyes with sadness.

“No, your highness, we can’t help him”

“How so? What is it?” Lee Chang was scared. The idea of loosing another companion...another friend terrified him.

Min Chi Rok spoke and it surprised Chang.

“It’s broken heart, my lord.”

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