#we cannot deny that innocent lives are being slaughtered | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

groovypalacewobblereagle · 3 years

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Dany antis:

We have to understand that Mirri was devastated over her town and the abuse she suffered. To empathize. She’s a “hero” therefore, for killing a BABY.

We do NOT have to understand that Daenerys was devastated over the loss of her husband and child. She does not deserve empathy despite her losses. She’s “evil” for killing a grown woman who killed a baby.

We have to understand the culture of wealthy grown educated men who have subjected human beings to slavery for hundreds of years.

Oh, but they weren’t alive for hundreds of years! We can’t hold that against them!

But we also can’t deny them the benefit of the excuse that they’ve done this for hundreds of years.

We do NOT have to understand the culture of a teenage girl who is a Khaleesi of the Dothraki, who kills the wine seller for trying to kill her and her baby.

Because she killed him painfully. We don’t care that Varys suggested killing her with the tears of Lys, and remember that the victim dies an agonizing death. We don’t think about the morals of a painful death when the intended victim is Daenerys.

The same applies to when she crucified the slavers. We’re going to insist she did it indiscriminately, even though we know she didn’t kill a single woman who would have had less power, or child who would be entirely innocent, nor did she kill random civilians, they were all nobles. All slavers. But there are innocent slavers! Innocent slavers are definitely a thing.

The people who make laws that are not up to modern standards, like Daenerys, are evil.

But the people who follow those laws, like Ned beheading a man for running away from the dead, or Jon who beheaded a man for refusing to follow an order, or Robb who threatened to hang a man if he didn’t join the war against the Lannisters, aren’t.

Daenerys may have warned the slavers she would show no mercy if they didn’t free the slaves and pay them reparations, but she should have given them a trial even though they own the system.

It’s true they were all slavers, but if she was punishing them for being slavers, she should have killed all of them. The fact she didn’t kill all of them shows it wasn’t about justice, so she’s evil.

But she was also wrong for wanting to kill all of them, and Jorah talked her out of it. The fact he had to talk her out of it shows she’s evil.

And then when Daario tried to talk her into slaughtering them Red Wedding style, and she refused, that’s also proof she’s evil because Daario represents her evil nature.

We can empathize with the slavers! Because we might have done the same thing! We all like to think we’d stand against slavery, but if it’s our culture we might not. And we might stand by while our friends torture 163 children to death to spite an abolitionist.

We say we empathize with the slaves, too, but it’s more we sympathize with them. We understand that they are victims. We don’t see ourselves in their place. We don’t empathize with the anger the parents of those children felt. They follow Dany blindly. They don’t understand choice. That’s why they follow her.

What we CANNOT empathize with (because we know we would NEVER) is a teenage girl who walked along a road lined with the corpses of children who were tortured to death to spite her. We know a GOOD ruler would be stalwart in the face of such horror and hold a trial. Because even though the slavers own all the systems in existence in that city, there’s no way a trial could have caused the death of lesser evil instead of greater. Trials are foolproof!

She should have killed them all or tried to have every one of them examined by witnesses who are profoundly biased. We cannot empathize with that.

Dany’s attachment to the Dothraki shows her savagery. The Dothraki are rapists and slavers and she lusted after her husband when he made that speech and so it doesn’t matter how she tried to fight rapists later. They are all terrible. The Khals are monsters and she loved one, so that shows she’s a monster.

Also, she’s evil for killing the Khals.

She was wrong for sacking Astapor and Yunkai but not staying to rule them. She made it worse because poverty is as bad as slavery and the freed slaves are not able to build their own society, and she should have known that. She was wrong for not staying and ruling them.

She was also wrong for staying in Meereen and ruling it because that makes her a colonizer.

She agrees to allow adults to sell themselves into temporary slavery, and that’s wrong, because voluntary indentured servitude is as bad as generational chattel slavery-except when it’s in Westeros! The rulers in Westeros are rightful, but Daenerys was trying to enslave them by having them bend the knee! She was using the privilege of her father’s name, and it’s different when the Starks do it.

Dragons are evil. They serve no good purpose and she’s evil because she has dragons.

Also, Jon should have a dragon.

When Arya met the Lannister soldiers, and Ed Sheeran, that was to show how she realized that they are not all bad. This shows that sometimes enemies are good. This will show that we should empathize with enemies. That Dany is bad because she doesn’t even though she agrees to help the Starks, whose father supported the man who murdered her brother, and was not disturbed by the murder of her niece and nephew. Who would have killed a baby, had he known Jon was her nephew. Who would have killed her.

This does not apply to Daenerys and her armies, of course. The North was one hundred percent right to treat her with hostility.

Daenerys considered killing Tyrion when she met him! This shows that she is willing to kill people just because they are related to enemies! She’s evil!

Even though she named Tyrion her Hand. Even though she agreed to aid the North with no strings attached once she saw the army of the dead. Even though she accepted Varys into her service when he’d tried to have her murdered. Varys being part of the plan to sell a teenage girl into sexual slavery was not evil because she turned that to her advantage.

Dany was wrong for even considering killing Tyrion despite the fact that she didn’t and ultimately named him her Hand.

She was wrong for killing the Tarlys even though they were oathbreakers who killed their own friends and attacked their liege’s home. Even though the punishment for oath breaking is death. Even though they refused to bend the knee in exchange for keeping their lives, lands and titles, which is standard procedure in Westeros. Even though they refused the Wall, where Tarly sent his eldest son.

She didn’t kill them for oathbreaking or murdering her allies. She killed them for not bending the knee! Even though she only attacked them after they did that, and she did not harm Jon when he refused to bend the knee, she allowed him to mine her dragonglass, and offered to provide men and resources to help.

Sam was not wrong for hating Daenerys for killing his father, even though he was an oathbreaker, an abuser, and threatened to kill Sam. Even though he said that nothing would give him more pleasure than telling Sam’s mother that her son died. Even though Sam knew of Dany’s great deeds from Aemon. It’s understandable that he would still mourn his father. Even if his father was a monster, we have to empathize with his anger.

YET Daenerys is dead wrong for calling out Jaime for murdering her father. Her father was a monster! How dare she feel anything about his murder! She had no right to object to Jaime’s presence at Winterfell, even though he tried to kill her on the battlefield and said straight out said he wasn’t sorry for all he’d done and would do it again to protect his family.

She was wrong for restoring the family name of the man who killed her brother and cheered the brutal murders of her niece and nephew. Because she only legitimized Gendry for personal gain, even though he could have done the opposite of joining her, and tried to take the throne himself.

She is wrong if she is good to the family of her enemies because she is self serving, and she is wrong if she’s not good to them because it’s not their fault.

The Starks are not wrong for judging Daenerys by her father’s actions even though she came to help save them. Sansa is not wrong for wanting to evict children from their homes because their families were traitors.

When the Starks are suspicious of the family members of those who’ve harmed them, it’s fair. They are being smart.

When Daenerys is suspicious of the family members of those who’ve harmed her, it’s proof of her being paranoid like her father.

When Sansa told Jon that the free folk should join their fight against Ramsay, that they owed it to him because he’d saved their lives, that was smart!

When she told Arya “you should be on your knees, thanking me,” she had every right to assert her accomplishments.

YET, Daenerys was very entitled to want the North to fight Cersei with her in exchange for her helping them defeat the army of the dead, even though Cersei was their enemy too, and she sent them a letter saying “come bend the knee or face the fate of all traitors.”

It was not wrong of Jon to tell the North he bent the knee to save them, even though she said she’d help before he bent the knee.

It’s Dany’s fault the Night King got a dragon even though the wight hunt was Tyrion’s idea and Daenerys did not like it. Even though Jon told her, “I don’t need your permission. I am a king.”

Dany held Jon prisoner even though he had to stay to mine the dragonglass and he stated that he did not need her permission to leave. That’s what being a prisoner means, right?

Daenerys went mad because her family was fraught with incest. This does not imply that Jon will go mad, because his mother was not a Targaryen (even though his mother’s parents were related). Generations of inbreeding unequivocally mean madness, but the ramifications of those generations are undone if one guy at the end of the line produces a child with a woman whose parents were also related. That’s how genetics work, right?

Daenerys is a colonizer. Even though she didn’t have any goal other than destroying the slave trade in Essos. She only did that for selfish reasons even though Yunkai trains bed slaves and neither Meereen nor Yunkai added to her military might. Even though she never forced her religion or language on them. Even though she renounced power over the cities when she left, so that the people could choose their own leaders.

The Starks were never colonizers! Even though the earliest Starks were First Men, who committed genocide against the Children of the Forest. The First Men called themselves the First Men, they did not acknowledge the humanity of the Children. Therefore, the Children were not human.

The First Men destroyed the Children. The Starks built a Wall to separate the dead from the living, but left thousands of living and Children of the Forest at the other side of it. The Starks destroyed the other families, established power over the area, established their religion and language as the official religion and language. The Starks became the Kings of Winter by bringing to heel, and sometimes extinguishing, other families. That’s fine because the Starks are good. That’s not colonizing! The Starks were always good! They killed the warg king and his sons and beasts and then married his daughters. That’s not rape, that’s marriage!

The Targaryens who adapted the Westerosi religion and language and did not in any way repress other religions or languages, were the oppressors.

Dany hardly did anything in the Long Night. Her armies and dragons did not thin out the dead army, making it possible for Arya to kill the Night King. Two dragons can only do so much against an army of 100k. Even though Dany’s army also was over 100K.

YET, she burned MILLIONS in KL (even though the population of KL is under a million and even though I just said she could not have possibly taken out much of the dead army.)

When Daenerys didn’t weep and wring her hands over her abusive brother’s death that was evidence of her turning “mad.” Even though he abused her, sold her, and pressed a sword to her belly and threatened to cut her baby out of her body.

When Sansa smiled as Ramsay screamed, being torn apart by dogs, that was not a sign of anything bad. He abused her!

When Daenerys crucified the slavers even though a trial would have yielded nothing, because they had owned the entire system, that was a sign of her being a villain.

But Varys wasn’t wrong for trying to poison her before she did anything wrong because he sensed what she would do! Instinct > Trials. Unless the “instinct” is Daenerys’. Then it’s paranoia, even when the people she suspects of plotting against her are plotting against her.

When Arya killed two men, baked them into a pie, fed them to their father, slit his throat, smiled faintly as he died, cut off his face, then killed every one of his bannermen, with no knowledge of whether those men had been there at the Red Wedding, or whether they’d spoken against it, that was not a sign of her being a villain. Because if it’s a Stark, we understand complicity.

Besides, Arya is not a ruler. Only rulers do harm. Not explorers! Explorers who believe “I’ll never know her, she’s not one of us”, have never done anything bad in all history. Happy Columbus Day, btw.

#daenerys #daenerys targaryen #i stand by daenerys #daenerys defense squad

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ibijau · 3 years

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You’re a marked man, brother, part 2 / also on AO3

Lan Xichen prepares to go rescue Nie Mingjue, and finds himself accepting help he wouldn't have considered an option

Lan Xichen stumbled at having his fears confirmed, and had to support himself against the trunk of a half dead tree.

Nie Mingjue was his oldest friend, one he had made before either of them ascended, just like Jin Guangyao. In fact, because all three of them had ascended after being so close as mortals, because they had become even closer after ascending, there were a few temples where the three of them were worshipped together as the San-Zun, three brothers either by oath or blood depending on versions.

None of them were quite brothers. Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao, tied by a red thread of fate, were married. Lan Xichen had no closer friend than Nie Mingjue. As for Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao, the first often insisted they call each other as brothers, even though Jin Guangyao worried it was disrespectful since he used to be Nie Mingjue’s servant, but this was just a manner of address.

To think of Nie Mingjue falling in the power of the Magpie King was a frightful thing. Aside from the reputations the Magpie King had gleefully destroyed in the past, it was also said that he had pushed countless people to madness, sometimes to the point they would kill themselves. He was not someone to take lightly.

If it had been anyone else involved, Lan Xichen might have been curious to see how the fight would go between a ghost king who only used indirect means, and a martial god who refused any trickery. In truth, he might not have bet on the god. But since it was Nie Mingjue who was doing this foolish thing, Lan Xichen had to believe that he could win… or better yet, that he could be stopped before meeting his adversary.

"A-Yao, how long ago did he leave?" Lan Xichen asked through the array.

"Early this morning, shortly after us."

Lan Xichen wanted to curse. After this long, anything might have happened.

"Do you know where he might have gone? I didn't think we even knew where the Magpie King lives."

"I will be asking his lieutenants right away," Jin Guangyao promised. "From what I’ve heard, he seemed to have a particular place in mind when he left.” He paused. “Xichen, you're thinking of going to his rescue, aren't you?"

"I am," Lan Xichen confirmed. Now that the initial shock had gone, he pulled away from the tree that had supported him and stood straight. Of course he had to go help Nie Mingjue. He feared nothing from the Magpie King after all, so he was the most suited for this. The only secret he'd ever kept was that old flame he'd never quite forgotten, and it was not something he was ashamed of, so it could not be used against him. "Will you come as well, A-Yao?"

The answer didn't come right away, which was no real surprise. Jin Guangyao, as a mortal, had been the son of a prostitute and a married man, he had done several menial jobs in his life before eventually becoming a mere servant in Nie Mingjue's household, where his fortunes had finally changed. Because he had been relentlessly shamed for his origins as a mortal, he didn't want them revealed as a god.

If they went against the Magpie King, this might become discovered and turned against him.

"I cannot really fight," Jin Guangyao point out with a sigh. "So I don't know what good I would be to you and da-ge."

"You'd be my good luck charm," Lan Xichen replied. "Things always go smoother when you're here, don't they? But if really you'd rather not…"

"I owe this to da-ge," Jin Guangyao said, his voice a little firmer. "And maybe you'll need my luck indeed, against such a character. Fine, I'll start gathering information, hurry home so we can go quickly."

Lan Xichen nodded, even though his husband couldn't have seen him. He turned to look back at the Burial Mound which he'd only just left, and frowned.

"A-Yao, I will be out of reach again for a little while," he announced. "I want to see if Wangji might agree to come help, and if his husband might know anything about the Magpie king's domain."

Even though he wasn't there, Lan Xichen could just picture the frown on Jin Guangyao's face.

"That doesn't sound too wise. What if those two Devastations are working together? Just because Wangji married this Yiling Patriach doesn't make him trustworthy."

"Then I'd still like for Wangji to come along, it'd be safer."

For one thing, Lan Wangji was a strong fighter, definitely the stronger god in the entire Middle Court. But more importantly, Lan Xichen was almost certain that his brother had had dealings with the Magpie King before, either in good or bad. Lan Wangji wouldn't confirm it, but he wouldn't deny it either, possibly because he wasn't sure himself.

Having made up his mind, Lan Xichen ended the communication with his husband and hurried back to the Burial Mounds. The ghost village was far more lively now that night had fallen, but Lan Xichen ignored all the ghouls and monsters to head right for the gate of the Mounds themselves. He feared, at first, that he would be unable to cross the barrier, but to his relief Wei Wuxian had given him a permanent welcome. Then it was only a manner of walking up the mountain, passing through the other village that existed there, and stopping before the foreboding Demon Slaughtering Cave where the Devastation lived.

"Wei Wuxian ! Lan Wangji! I must speak to you right away!" Lan Xichen called out from the entrance of the cave.

He had to shout this way for a while before at last the two men came out of the cave. Judging by their hastily thrown on clothes and their annoyed looks, Lan Xichen guessed he might have interrupted something. He was sorry for them, but this was an emergency and their fun had to wait.

"More of Nie Mingjue's temples have been attacked," Lan Xichen told his brother. "He has gone to confront the person who did this, but I am worried this might go wrong and I wish to stop him or rescue him. Would you come with me, Wangji?"

"Who did it?" Lan Wangji asked.

Lan Xichen hesitated and glanced at Wei Wuxian, unsure how much to say. Before he could decide on that, Wei Wuxian laughed.

"I know it's not me, because my location is well known and Nie Mingjue would already be there," he guessed. "If it were a mortal or an ordinary ghost, you wouldn't have any reasons to worry, not with Chifeng-Zun's reputation. So that means it's the Magpie King, hm?"

"You came to that conclusion really fast," Lan Xichen noted.

Wei Wuxian laughed again.

"You got me! The truth is, that rumour has been going around for a few days, I just wasn't sure it was worth mentionning. But really... aside from the Magpie King, who'd ever be bold enough to anger the Martial God of the North? And you didn't deny it, so you also think it was him, don't you?"

Lan Xichen gave Wei Wuxian a long look, trying to decide how to answer.

"This time the crimes were signed," he explained. "But just as some people tried to make you take the blame, maybe some of the Magpie King's enemies would like to get him in a tight spot. And even if he was innocent up to this point, once Nie Mingjue attacks him, the Magpie King will have to retaliate, it's only natural."

Wei Wuxian smiled, and leaned against Lan Wangji's side who wrapped an arm around his waist.

"I think I like you, Zewu-Jun," he said, scratching his nose. "I think I wouldn't mind helping you, except… well, it could also be the Magpie King's own doing," he said with a grimace, "and in that case Nie Mingjue must have done something to deserve his hatred. So I'd rather my husband and I stay out of this."

It made sense of course. Since they were of similar rank, Wei Wuxian and the Magpie King probably had as much power. But one had had centuries to improve his craft, while the other was still only starting to figure out what he could do. Unless provoked, Wei Wuxian wouldn't want to aggrieve his fellow ghost king. And yet…

"I know the Magpie King cannot be behind this, because I know Nie Mingjue," Lan Xichen claimed. "In the past, victims of the Magpie King were always those who accomplished dark deeds in secret and tried to hide it. But Nie Mingjue isn't a man who keeps secrets. The good and the bad, he is upfront about it. How could such a man catch the interest of the Magpie King?"

"Maybe you don't know him as well as you think," Wei Wuxian said.

"I know Nie Mingjue as well as I know myself," Lan Xichen insisted. He turned to look at Lan Wangji. "You know him too, and you know the restrictions imposed by his cultivation method. There's a reason no one else from his sect ever ascended. The sabre path only works for one who is fully honest and open. If Nie Mingjue lied, don't you think Baxia would turn against him, as such weapons always do?"

Lan Wangji nodded, but still looked at his husband with a forlorn air, as if to say even if it was unfair, he wouldn't act unless Wei Wuxian agreed. Lan Xichen couldn’t decide if it was endearing to see his brother so whipped, or a little infuriating.

Considering the circumstances, he leaned toward the second.

“Is Chifeng-Zun’s sabre really such a mighty weapon then?” Wei Wuxian asked in a tone betraying great curiosity. Considering with what enthusiasm he'd spoken of testing his new powers that afternoon, it was no surprise.

Wei Wuxian was something of a cultivation nerd, Lan Xichen suspected.

“Baxia, once unsheathed, will not stand for dishonesty,” Lan Xichen confirmed. “I have seen sabres turn against their masters, back when that branch of cultivation was still in use among mortals. But of course, you may choose not to believe me, and to still think Nie Mingjue hides dark secrets.”

“It’s not an ideal situation,” Wei Wuxian sighed after some consideration. “Of course, I trust Lan Zhan, who trusts you, and you in turn trust Chifeng-Zun… but I don’t know if I should trust Nie Mingjue just because I trust Lan Zhan, if you follow me?”

“Then I will not insist,” Lan Xichen said, bowing before the other two. “Thank you for at least listening to me, but I will go now before it is too late. And don’t worry, Wangji. I understand your position is difficult. If you asked me to do something A-Yao disapproves of, I do not know what I would choose.”

This appeared to comfort Lan Wangji, who looked a little less miserable upon hearing that his brother wasn’t angry at him. Lan Xichen sighed, actually somewhat annoyed that his brother was choosing his new husband over an old acquaintance, and turned away from the young couple. Before he’d taken three steps, Wei Wuxian called out his name.

“Zewu-Jun, I’ve changed my mind, we’re coming!” he said, starting to straighten his clothes. “If Chifeng-Zun is really as honourable as you say, I’m curious for a chance to meet him. If he’s guilty of something, then I’m curious as well, because his reputation is really excellent and I wonder what the Magpie King might have against him.”

Lan Xichen’s face showed no emotions, but inwardly he grimaced.

“You don’t have to come as well, it’s fine if it's only Lan Wangji.”

“Nonsense. Look, Lan Zhan badly wants to go, it’s clear,” Wei Wuxian said, pointing at his husband impassible face. “So it’d be cruel to stop him. But also I’m not leaving my husband when we’ve just started our honeymoon! Poor Lan Zhan would miss me, right?”

With a shamelessness that shocked his brother, Lan Wangji nodded in answer to that question, which in turn made Wei Wuxian grin and kiss his cheek.

Lan Xichen could only stare at those two, a little unsure how to feel about such open displays of affection. Even when Jin Guangyao and him had just gotten together, they’d never behaved in that manner, least of all in public. But of course, Lan Xichen and his husband had always behaved more like an old couple who no longer needed constant affection, even as newlyweds. Nie Mingjue used to tease them about that, just as mercilessly as he would have teased him if they’d been holding hands and cuddling the way Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were doing.

“Then let’s leave the Burial Mounds and go somewhere I can contact A-Yao,” Lan Xichen sighed, wondering how his husband would react to the company of Wei Wuxian, since he’d taken the first possible excuse to leave that morning. “Hopefully, he’ll have found some information to help us stop Mingjue from making trouble.”

After Wei Wuxian had a quick chat with the pair of ghostly siblings he’d picked as his lieutenants so they’d keep everything in order while he was gone, the three of them went down the mountain and contacted Jin Guangyao again. For the occasion, Lan Xichen invited his brother and brother-in-law into his private communication array, though he made a note he might change the password after this was over. He still didn't know what to make of Wei Wuxian, and didn't want to be too accessible just yet.

“A-Yao, are you free to talk?” Lan Xichen asked into the array. “Wangji and Wei Wuxian are with me, they’ll both be coming to help.”

“Is that so?” Jin Guangyao asked in that very polite tone he only used when he thought someone was stupid but he wasn’t in a position to openly say so. “Then I suppose I thank the Yiling Patriarch for offering his help in this matter, it is very kind of him.”

Next to Lan Xichen, Wei Wuxian grinned. He knew he wasn’t wanted, but it didn’t seem to particularly bother him. Of course, being what he was, he probably was used to being undesired.

“Have you learned anything about where Nie Mingjue might have gone?” Lan Xichen hastily asked, still unsure himself if he wanted Wei Wuxian there.

“Among the temples attacked, one of them was a San-Zun temple,” Jin Guangyao said. “And in that one, the Magpie King claimed that he had had enough of liars and murderers, and challenged da-ge to come meet him in a certain mountain range near Qinghe, if he dared.

Lan Xichen gasped, and exchanged a glance with Lan Wangji who looked just as stunned as him, in his understated manner.

Back when he was mortal, Nie Mingjue used to live in Qinghe, as did all his family. Although nobody else survived who shared blood with him, Qinghe was a place of special attachment to him, and he still considered it his home. To challenge him in a place so dear to him was a hard blow on his pride, so it made sense that he had run there right away.

"A mountain range? Xinglu Ridge?" Wei Wuxian asked, a deep frown on his face.

"Have you heard of it?" Lan Xichen asked.

The area was notoriously haunted. It had been even when Lan Xichen was mortal, to the point Nie Mingjue and him had gone there sometimes to fight demons. Of course back then, the Magpie King wasn't around yet, and wouldn't be for nearly another century.

Wei Wuxian grimaced. "If that's his lair, then I've definitely met the Magpie King in the past. Back when I was still alive, a ghost of some power told me to come to Xinglu Ridge if I needed help. Never did, and I died soon after anyway, but still, it's funny!"

Funny was definitely not what Lan Xichen would have had to say about this situation. For a ghost king to have dared make his home so close to the place a martial god as powerful as Nie Mingjue favoured so much… it was really bold.

"If you prefer to let us deal with this alone, I will understand," Lan Xichen said. "If you have debts or loyalties to honour, of course those have priority."

"No, I'm still coming," Wei Wuxian replied. "If there was a misunderstanding, I owe it to that person to prevent any unnecessary fighting. And if there's a reason for him to attack Nie Mingjue… ahah, then that man will need help! He's good at underhanded things, but a child could slap him and he'd faint."

"I'm not sure I want you to come along if you might turn against us," Lan Xichen objected.

"I'll only pick my side when I'm sure which one is the just one. You've said Nie Mingjue is a righteous and honest man, so there's nothing to fear, right?"

There was just a hint of malice in Wei Wuxian's voice, giving the impression that it might entertain him to see a god exposed for crimes of any sort. But of course, no truly good person would have become a ghost king, would they? And if there were crimes to be exposed, Lan Xichen too would have to side against his friend, since justice was to be ranked above affection.

Still, he wasn't sure how much he liked Wei Wuxian. Couldn't Lan Wangji have picked someone a little less difficult as his partner?

“A-Yao, have you heard anything else that might be interesting?” Lan Xichen asked.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Jin Guangyao sighed, sounding truly sorry that he didn’t have more information to share. “If we’re going to Qinghe, then let’s meet at the San-Zun temple there, shall we? How soon can you be there?”

“I’ll draw us a Distance Shortening array,” Wei Wuxian offered. “It’ll take us right to the temple, so we can be there in less than an incense stick’s time.”

“Then I shall head out immediately as well,” Jin Guangyao said.

"A-Yao, since this could be dangerous, take one of your fans with you,” Lan Xichen suggested. “I'll do my best to protect you in case of trouble, but I'd feel safer if you had your own weapon as well."

There was a brief moment of silence, and Lan Xichen could just picture the long suffering look on his husband’s face.

"It might be safer," Jin Guangyao reluctantly agreed. "Da-ge will never let me hear the end of this, but… fine, I'll take one. I’ll see you in a moment, Xichen."

With this, Jin Guangyao left the array. Immediately Wei Wuxian produced a stick of cinnabar and started drawing right on the floor, in the middle of the road. Lan Xichen watched him work with some puzzlement.

“Shouldn’t we find a door for this?”

“No, it’s fine, this works as well,” Wei Wuxian explained, drawing in a lackadaisical manner. “It takes a little more energy to do it that way, but it’s really easy when you know how, and there’s rarely any problems.”

“Rarely… so there can be problems?”

Wei Wuxian cackled as he added a few finishing touches to his array.

“Well, sure. Hey, Lan Zhan, remember that time we accidentally ended up on a boat because I’d messed up a character?”

Lan Wangji nodded, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “Hm. Wei Ying has improved,” he noted, either to flatter his husband or comfort his brother. And Lan Xichen certainly needed a little comfort, because he did not want to end up in the wrong place when Nie Mingjue was in danger.

Meanwhile Wei Wuxian laughed again. “True, it was only the second time I’d used it, and the first time I had another person with me, so of course it wasn’t very stable.” He stood up and wiped his hands on his robes while admiring his robe. “Yes, this one should be quite good. They’re a lot easier to control since becoming a Devastation, and can go further away too. Maybe when this is dealt with I should test how far I can make them go. Fancy a proper honeymoon, Lan Zhan?”

“Hm. If Wei Ying wants,” Lan Wangji earnestly replied.

Lan Xichen had to look away. To a stranger, his brother’s answer might have passed for cold, but to him Lan Wangji might as well have been giggling like a schoolgirl whose crush had winked at her.

“Let’s get going then,” Lan Xichen said with a cough. “I’d rather not make A-Yao worry by being late.”

“Sure, sure,” Wei Wuxian agreed. “Come here, Zewu-Jun. I’ll need to be touching both of you, so if you could both give me your arms… perfect. Then we all step on it together. On my count, one, two, three!”

Lan Xichen diligently obeyed, stepping forward when he was told. One moment he was in the desolate lands that surrounded the sinister Burial Mounds, with nothing but a slim moon to give some light. The next he was standing in a busy street where people walked around in spite of the late hour, with lamps illuminating everything and many smells hanging in the air.

Too many smells, in fact.

That Distance Shortening array had done something to his stomach, and Lan Xichen found himself heaving, trying not to vomit in front of his own temple.

“Yeah, I still don’t know how to deal with that side effect,” Wei Wuxian weakly admitted, leaning against a rather gray-looking Lan Wangji. “But it’s efficient, eh?”

“We’re walking to Xinglu Ridge,” Lan Xichen retorted, unsure he could bear with that sensation twice in a single day.

Wei Wuxian must has felt the same. He didn’t protest at all, and continued leaning on Lan Wangji for a while. Maybe the array had really taken its toll on him, or he just enjoyed the excuse to be shameless. Either way, all three of them promptly entered the temple. Jin Guangyao was waiting for them inside, putting some order to the altar, making sure everything was in its right place and removing the less fresh offerings. He only stopped when he saw the other three, and looked a little embarrassed at being caught doing something like this. Lan Xichen couldn’t help smiling, endeared by his so serious and dedicated husband.

“So that’s how it looks like inside a San-Zun temple,” Wei Wuxian remarked, looking around. “I like it, it’s not too tacky, not like the gods we had back home. Though you really don’t much look like your statues, either of you.”

“Where are you from, if I might ask?” Jin Guangyao asked, ignoring the comments about the statue even though it had to be about him. His personal temples weren’t a problem, but for some reason his statues in San-Zun temples were always way off, which bothered him and made him avoid them.

“Eh, the place doesn’t exist anymore,” Wei Wuxian eluded. “It was one of those places destroyed during the Sunshot Campaign. San-Zun never really caught up back there, not until after the war anyway, but I think Lianfang-Zun is pretty popular over there these days, when it comes to Civil gods.”

“Oh, so you must be from the Yunmeng area?” Jin Guangyao remarked.

Hearing this, Lan Xichen looked at Wei Wuxian with new curiosity. Ghosts tended to be eccentric in their outfits, and to wear clothes from all times of history, sometimes even mixing periods, so he hadn’t really paid attention so far. Now though, looking closely, Wei Wuxian’s clothes were of a style that matched the old Jiang dynasty, as did his hair. He even wore at his belt the type of bell that members of the royal palace used to carry for protection against evil.

These days the Jiang dynasty had disappeared, replaced by the Jin who had taken over thanks to trouble after the Sunshot Campaign and some advantageous marriages. At the same time as this change of power happened, the Magpie King had attacked certain gods of that area for provoking the Sunshot Campaign in the first place. In the power vacuum that had followed, Jin Guangyao had gained a certain popularity in that region, just because he was lucky enough to bear the same name as the new line of kings.

“I spent some years of my life there,” Wei Wuxian admitted with a dismissive hand gesture. “It was long ago. I don’t think about it too much these days. But enough talk, let’s go rescue your friend, right?”

They left the temple behind, and walked through the streets of Qinghe, in direction of Xinglu ridge. All too soon, Lan Xichen found himself swallowed by a certain nostalgia, one strong enough he wondered if Wei Wuxian’s Distance Shortening array wouldn’t have been better.

Although many centuries had passed, and the city had changed in that time, ultimately it was still the same place it had been in Lan Xichen’s youth. He had never visited for more than a few weeks at a time, following his uncle on business, but those periods had been the happiest of his mortal life. He had spent most of his time there in the company of Nie Mingjue, with later the addition of Jin Guangyao once he had entered the Nie’s service… but he had also spent no small amount of time going around with A-Sang, who knew the city like the back of his hand.

A-Sang had taken such pride in making Lan Xichen visit a number of little shops, obscure restaurants, and odd small temples to lesser gods, claiming those secret places were so much better than the big famous sights everyone went to. Often enough, Lan Xichen had agreed with that judgement. He’d always found it easy to agree with A-Sang. It had been so pleasant to go along what the younger man wanted. Lan Xichen had never had to regret it, not until the day he’d found out A-Sang, after refusing his offer to rise to the middle court, had been murdered. If only he’d just insisted a little more, if he’d only guessed what was about to happen…

He vaguely remembered that A-Sang’s luck, which had always been great up to that point, had recently started failing him. Shouldn’t it have been a sign his friend couldn’t be left behind? If Lan Xichen had tried harder…

As they left the outskirts of Qinghe, Lan Xichen forced himself to stop thinking about his lost friend. First of all, because it was wrong of him to still be so hung up about that person, when he was happily married to a kind and gentle man who did not deserve to be betrayed, not even in thought. Secondly, because it would be foolish to take a guilty heart into the Magpie King’s territory, where that would surely be turned into a weapon against him.

What had happened in the past was in the past. Lan Xichen, as he was now, was happy, and so there was no sense in holding regrets.

A few hours after leaving Qinghe, they finally reached the foot of Xinglu ridge. Because of the area’s reputation, the road less wasn’t as good as it had been near the city. Even locals didn’t want to go there unless absolutely forced, and as a result they didn’t maintain that path which was muddy and uneven. And yet, on that abandoned road, the four of them eventually encountered a high stone gate, the sort that might be seen as an entry point through a defensive wall, except it stood alone, with nothing but the mountains’ forest on either side and the dirt path under it. There was, however, a guard before that door.

Actually, to call that person a guard was being very generous. The middle aged man, a ghost by the look of it, certainly had a weapon with him. But that sabre had been carelessly abandoned on the ground, and the ghost was just sitting with his back against the gate, squinting over a small book while fanning himself. The fan probably wasn’t his own, Lan Xichen guessed. Everything else about the man gave him away as someone of humble extraction, but the fan was truly beautiful, almost as much so as the ones Nie Mingjue would occasionally force Jin Guangyao to accept.

This really was a pitiful sort of guard, but a dutiful one at least. When he realised that there were people coming, the ghost quickly put away his book and fan, then reached out for his sabre and jumped to his feet. Even like this, though, it was clear he wasn’t suited for his job, his hold on the weapon was all wrong, and his posture so bad Lan Xichen felt tempted to correct it.

“Hey, halt, you can’t come here!” the man exclaimed. “Or else, I’ll have to try to stop you, and nobody will like that!”

“You don’t look like much of a guard,” Wei Wuxian remarked. “You’re barely worth making Lan Zhan unsheathe his sword, you look that pathetic.”

The ghost’s face pinched into a tight expression, as if he were offended by that comment but too self aware to protest, especially when Lan Wangji nodded in agreement.

“Hey, save me some face,” the man grumbled, lowering his sabre a little. “This is my first day on this job, can’t you cut me some slack and come back another day? Everything is already bad enough, the Magpie King will have my head if I also let intruders in!”

“Could it be that there has been a recent intrusion then?” Jin Guangyao asked, sounding sincerely sorry.

The ghost took note of his accent and, thinking this young master might be more sympathetic than grinning Wei Wuxian or cold Lan Wangji, turned all his attention to him.

“Indeed there was, and now we’re all in trouble!” he lamented. “Some god or other managed to come in yesterday, and last I heard he was making his way to the King’s palace! I mean, who would do that? What’s the glory there? He even killed the old guard, you know. Killed him! A poor old ghost who was just waiting for the end of his time serving the King!”

“How very dreadful!” Jin Guangyao agreed, glancing at Lan Xichen.

Nie Mingjue wasn’t particularly bloodthirsty, as far as martial gods went, but he wasn’t a pacifist either. If he thought he was right, and someone tried to stand in his way, no matter how strong or weak they seemed he’d treat them the same and fight with all his might. To do anything less would be an insult to both him and his opponent, he believed.

“Right, right, it’s awful!” the ghost insisted, glad to have found a kind soul to commiserate with him. “His majesty is furious, I’ve heard, and now everyone has to be on high alert!” He paused, looking over his shoulder at the road on the other side of the gate. “Actually, I’m glad I’m not in there. The King has released all sorts of nasty things to slow down that intruder, and even if I know how to get around the traps, I don’t like knowing some of that stuff’s out there. I’m not a warrior, anyway! This wasn’t in my contract!”

“Isn’t it always like this?” Jin Guangyao sighed. “You sign up for one thing, and then get another one entirely.” Hearing this, the ghost nodded quickly, throwing his sabre a disgusted look. Jin Guangyao smiled. “You know, if things are so bad for you, nobody could blame you for breaching your contract. If you wish, we’ll let you go without a fight and tell others that we defeated you, if you only let us in and tell us a bit about what’s to come. How would that sound?”

With at least two of them skilled with a blade, and a third one rumoured to have terrifying powers, defeating such a pathetic little ghost would have been as easy as breathing. But if that man could give them information on his master and on what might await them inside, it would give them a clear advantage. As far as Lan Xichen knew, nobody had ever entered the Magpie King’s realm before, mostly because nobody knew where it was. The Heavenly Court had long suspected he had to have a den somewhere, as most powerful ghosts did, but they’d never been able to find any information on that. The Magpie King, who knew how to find everyone’s secrets, was quite good at keeping his own.

Indeed even that ghost, so vindicated against his master a moment ago, looked worried as soon as he was asked to let information filter out.

“Now that’s a lot to ask, my lord. Sure I’m asked to do more than was in the contract, but that’s a bit extreme. Betraying the Magpie King? Now, now, let’s be reasonable. I am faithful to my lord and master, of course.”

Although the ghost tried to look very dignified and noble as he said this, Wei Wuxian burst out laughing.

“Let me guess. You’ve sold your secrets to the Magpie King, and now you’re scared they’ll be spread around if you displease him, eh?”

"I made mistakes in my youth," the ghost wryly replied. "Now I must pay for them, until the King feels like erasing them. But just because I’ve not always been as diligent as I should have been, he keeps adding years to my time with him, how is that fair?”

“Sounds pretty tough,” Wei Wuxian said in a voice lacking any sympathy.

“Honestly, I’m not even sure I made that good of a deal,” the ghost lamented. “But it’s too late now. Since my secrets aren't mine anymore, I'm kind of trapped.” He paused, and gave them a long look. “But if someone freed me from that, I bet I could guide them through here, yeah?"

"And how do we free you?" Lan Xichen asked.

The man shrugged and pinched his lips. He looked very uncomfortable, and glimpsed again toward the mountain road, as if he feared the Magpie King would descend from there and punish him for even thinking about betraying him.

"Of course it'd be too easy if you could just tell us the conditions," Jin Guangyao sighed, watching the ghost attentively. "Sealed secrets… I believe I've encountered something like this before. If the Magpie King is using that curse I’m thinking of... the conditions to break the contract is for those secrets to be revealed out loud. And of course, I'm guessing you can't give us any hint, right?"

The man shrugged again. Since it wasn’t a direct no, it might as well have been a yes.

"Then we'll have to do without a guide," Jin Guangyao concluded. "It would take too long to guess and da-ge could be in danger. We'll have to fight our way in, Xichen."

It seemed inevitable, and Jin Guangyao took a step back to let the others deal with this. Lan Xichen felt sorry for that ghost, but he still put one hand on the handle of his sword. Seeing this, the ghost cried out in fear. He threw his own weapon aside and fell to his knees, desperately raising his hands about his hand.

"Wait! No need to be so hasty! I'll help, I'll help, but you have to help me back! If I take you to that damn king, then you have to free me when the time comes!"

"We can't be guessing," Lan Xichen sighed. "And I do not wish to promise something I can deliver."

The ghost considered that answer, his eyes jumping between the four men before him.

"Well, I'd take a half chance of freedom over another few centuries stuck here!” he decided. “At worse, maybe I'll just get killed this time, and that'll be it. Beats being miserable under a cruel master, it sure does!"

Lan Xichen hesitated but eventually dropped his hand from Shuoyue, to the ghost's obvious relief.

"I'll try to keep your case in mind," Lan Xichen promised, "and I'll do my best to break your curse."

"Thank you, kind lord!” the ghost cried out, bowing and grovelling before Lan Xichen. When I am free, I will burn incense for you and tell mortals to do it as well!"

"Let's see about freeing you, first," Wei Wuxian snickered. "Do you have a name, friend?"

Straightening up, the ghost shrugged.

"Been a while since I've had friends, but some folks used to call me Sangcan."

Wei Wuxian's eyebrows rose at that nickname, and he failed to hide a grin, glancing at Lan Wangji who didn't react.

"Sangcan like a silkworm?" Lan Xichen asked, a little amused as well and trying to see what could have prompted that nickname.

Sangcan had nothing refined to his appearance, his face was ordinary and rather too thin, his clothes were of coarse linen, so it couldn't have been that Sangcan used to be a young master living comfortably, or that he had expensive tastes in clothes. Then, a poem jumped to his mind.

“Time was long before I met her, but is longer since we parted, and the east wind has arisen and a hundred flowers are gone, and the silk-worms of spring will weave until they die,” Lan Xichen quoted, prompting Sangcan to look at him with an intense expression. "You were reading earlier, could it be your nickname is a reference to something?"

The initial intensity on Sangcan’s face melted away, replaced by embarrassment.

"This lord is really too kind, to think it'd be anything so fancy. No, the truth you see... the real truth is...I was just a fat, lazy baby who did nothing but eat," Sangcan confessed lamentably. "Didn't improve much as an adult, so it stuck."

While Wei Wuxian burst out laughing at that explanation, Lan Xichen blinked a few times. Somehow, that exchange felt familiar. He looked more closely at Sangcan, but definitely this wasn't a person he'd met before. As for the conversation, if such an exchange had occurred before, Lan Xichen knew he wouldn’t have resisted sharing the anecdote with his husband. Since Jin Guangyao wasn’t reacting in any particular way aside from vague amusement, then it was proof Lan Xichen had never met Sangcan before.

Pushing aside that thought, Lan Xichen ordered Sangcan to walk ahead, and the five of them entered the domain of the Magpie King.

#xisang #wangxian #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #technically there's xiyao but it's not endgame #jau writes #marked man au

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cyberneticlagomorph · 3 years

Text

Is there anything more daunting and dangerous than the blank white expanse of a page?

It glitters and glows like the spit-slick teeth of a predator, hungry for words that you cannot give it. No matter how much you want to.

Its gaze alone freezes all trains of thought, even in the minds of Writers and authors and artists alike, even those more powerful than I.

And as I sit here, trembling, at the mercy of Writer's Block and my own anxieties… I can think of nothing that I want more than to run, to leave this page blank, and my readers guessing.

The End is Nigh, dear readers, and I am afraid.

So very afraid.

"I'm afraid too," says the rabbit we all know and love, his legs swallowed by moss and weeds and misshapen dreams. He stands right where we left him, sword in hand, broken sky above, the End of Everything staring him down.

All seven of Her glowing green eyes blaze with something worse than hate, and I wish for all the world that this was a much different story. A happy story, with a happy Ending.

But I've never written a happy Ending in my life.

There is silence now, neither Protagonist or Antagonist moves or breathes or blinks.

They know that this is how it Ends.

One of them will die today.

So it is Written.

So it will be.

"Shut. Up." The End snarls, lips curling back over venomous fangs that drip oily green liquid onto the cracked asphalt below. Flowers bloom from the puddle, and spread like a rainbow rash down the street. "This. This is all YOUR fault!"

I know.

I'm sorry.

"LIAR!!" Her scream echoes across the fourth wall and cracks my computer screen.

This…

This is where I leave you, dear readers.

I'm sorry.

Fangs sink deep into the papery flesh of the Narrative, tearing it apart as it is poisoned. Thorns grow from its wounds and strangle it like trembling hands.

Writer be damned.

Plot be damned.

I am the End of EVERYTHING, I will End this miserable excuse for story on my own terms.

Or die trying.

You have not won, sweet stupid rabbit, no one can save you now, no one will stop me now. The world is a page upon which fate is Written and I will burn it all to the ground. May its ashes be lost and forgotten.

Your dark eyes narrow at me, bone blade glittering as you charge. But I am in control now, and I don't play fair.

Deep beneath the earth, humans sit snug and safe in their bunkers, thinking themselves free of the horrors outside. From the canteens comes a deep and terrible shattering like teeth against an eggshell, and a figure crawls lazily from the steam wafting from any number of bubbling pots set on stoves across the world over.

She smells of cooking meat and blood drenched in exotic spices and honey. Stick thin, and dressed in a chef's uniform. Her sleeves and hands are stained with the blood of the starving.

She has no face.

Only bright white teeth.

She manifests in the homes of the rich, stuffing them fat with delicacies that humans have no names for. Each minuscule morsel is completely tasteless covered in edible gold. Like the kind of fare you'd find at high end restaurants, going for hundreds of dollars a plate, even though each serving is barely a mouthful.

She appears in slums with bread made from ash and bone, rat stew, and tainted water.

Pots boil in city centers, a roiling soup made from human offal that nothing in this world or the next could ever hope to surpass.

The poor eat their rations, their bread, their stew and grow sicker and hungry. Skeletal and drooling like rabid animals, they stuff their faces with food that offers no nourishment until there is no choice but to turn on each other.

Screens grow undulating limbs and crawl from the wreckage of humanity, their screens blinking wetly like the eyes of a crying child. On each one is a broadcast, a man with red eyes smiles a reassuring smile and says,"Hungry? Eat the rich."

And they do.

A hoard of near zombies growl and gurgle as loud as their empty bellies, they hunt down the wealthy, and they FEAST.

Pestilence rises from the pus and rot and ruin and watches as all the good Jack and his friends had done is undone in a flash.

Among the riots and feasting is a cop, his riot gear reflecting the terrified and feral faces around him as he marches slowly onward. There is nothing behind his helmet.

Only malice.

Only power.

Only slaughter.

Only Death.

I don't have to tell you what comes next, what Death does when he gets his hands on a victim. The sounds of bullets ringing out into the night can tell you, the smell of tear gas in a crowd can tell you, the cries of innocents choking out their last breaths in steel cuffs, wrists rubbed raw and bleeding can tell you.

Death is not merciful.

He is not kind or quick or clean.

He is inevitable.

You know it.

And he knows it.

This world will collapse under the weight of its own sins and I will be here to watch it dissolve like candy floss in water.

Tears stream hot and blue down your face, and your grip on the Vorpal sword trembles. They are not worth your tears.

They stole you, beat you, broke you.

Turned you into a monster and then threw you away like you were NOTHING.

You should hate them as much as I do.

You should be glad for their suffering.

They deserve to die.

Like HE deserves to die. I turn my gaze skyward and watch the world split as the armies of Heaven pour down like a wrathful rain.

The Divinity burns your skin, doesn't it Jack? And yet the smell of Angels makes your mouth water.

You are no better than I am, I think. A man made monster set loose upon the multiverse, expected to play nice and fit in the niches carved for us. But we don't, no matter how hard we try, how good we think we are, we are torn apart again and again and again until we are unrecognizable from our beginnings.

I think I could have loved you.

In another story.

In another lifetime.

We would have been good friends at least.

But it's too late for that now, and as the first wave of Angels assault me with Heavenly fire, I part my jaws and give them some fire of my own. Green, as bright and beautiful as the first leaves of spring, it turns their armor into bark and their marble skin into flower petals. They fall to the ground like confetti, and I claw my way up to Heaven.

The Gates bend and break beneath my weight like wire, nothing and no one can stop me as I wrap HIM in my coils, slowly constricting. My venom burns holes in HIM that grow fruit trees, and each fruit contains the knowledge of the multiverse. I want HIM to die slowly, to watch as HIS playthings suffer and burn because of HIM. The humans cry out, and they pray, begging, pleading for HIM to save them. But HE can't, HE won't.

What GOD would make a world so empty and hopeless as this? What GOD would let HIS followers murder and hate and destroy entire cultures in HIS name?

HE never wanted this, never wanted it to come to this, HIS teachings have been mistranslated and manipulated for millennia and now there is nothing left but hatred and sin.

My jaws part above HIS head, ropes of green spittle tarnishing HIS crown. HE does not fight me, how pathetic of HIM.

White hot pain explodes through my tail.

There you are, sweet hero, stupid rabbit.

Go home Jack, this doesn't concern you.

"But it does," you twist the blade, dislodging my scales and rending my flesh. My blood slithers up your sword, trying desperately to burrow inside of you and turn you Green. "You said that you think you could have loved me… well love me now, it doesn't have to be this way… I could… I could take care of you and help you heal, we could do it together."

You offer your hand, bloody and trembling.

The sound I make is inhuman and hard to describe in words, it is disbelief and venom and vengeance all at once. I stretch myself down to meet you, my eyes are the size of houses, and they reflect your trembling visage like great green mirrors.

"You're right, I should hate them, hate everyone… but I don't." a swallow, you taste copper and butterscotch, "I used to but I-I found people who cared, I found people who I love and who love me back and they make my life worth living… they gave me a reason to get better and stop hurting people… let me be your reason."

You reach out and touch my face, my scales are warm like the sidewalk in summer.

I crush GOD in my coils and HIS blood rushes over you like a wave.

There is nothing that can fix this, fix me.

No love will quiet the hatred in my heart.

I do not deserve kindness or redemption.

Love might have tempered your monstrous hearts, but it won't do the same for me.

Only one of us will make it out of this story alive.

"So it is Written." You say, solemnly.

So it will be.

My coils curl around you, quick as lightning. Your symbiote is the only thing keeping you from being crushed like a soda can, I hope you know that.

I don't waste time, and fling you down…

Down…

Towards earth.

Countless Angels have been discarded this way, wings torn from their backs, left to the mercy of gravity. It never gets any easier.

I tear a hole into space and crawl through it, into Fairyland, the place of my birth.

I devour the Sun-In-Chains, my replacement, and plunge the planet into darkness. I skin my teeth into the planet's crust and empty my venom glands into its core. Fairyland becomes my twisted Eden, choked with blinding bioluminescence, thorns, and poisonous things that not even I have a name for.

It's beautiful and terrible all at once.

Like me.

Like you too, I suppose.

You plunge your blade into my seventh eye and send me reeling, screaming, flailing. My frantically flapping wings crash into a nearby planet and reduce it to dust.

I pluck the sword from my eye and snap it into pieces.

You're becoming a real thorn in my side.

Seven perfect fingers snatch you out of the sky like the annoying insect you are and start to CRUSH YOU.

I will tear you apart with my TEETH if I have to.

You've had every chance to run and hide, or join in my crusade and you denied them all. I have no use for you.

Not even as a snack.

Or a toothpick.

"Then kill me." You growl through clenched teeth, blood already flecking your lips and leaking from your nose.

I throw you into a patch of thorns. Each and every one is serrated and ranges in size from a human finger to a school bus, you are impaled, skewered, crucified even.

Neon blue blood running down to the soil beneath, feeding my Eden.

And yet, you refuse to die.

Slowly but surely, you drag your broken body up and off the thorn, shakily levitating up to meet me.

You stare at me with dead eyes, blood pouring from the opening in your chest. Your lips part and black flames flicker behind your teeth, smoke curling from your nostrils as the color drains from your eyes in inky tears, until there is nothing but black.

Just like the hole in your chest.

You seem to crack like porcelain, to split in two like something precious dropped from a great height. What crawls from the darkness inside of you is something no human throat can utter, no human tongue can twist or shape itself the right way to name.

It's said that Demons possess.

But Angels abandon.

But what can be said of creatures that man has no name for?

The thing inside of you stares at me with eyes darker than the emptiness between stars, its maw is the belly of a black hole with teeth long enough to split a planet like an apple.

It is the bleak black emptiness that existed before the universe, and will exist again when there is nothing but dust and dead silence.

This… this is my Warden, my Prison, the creature tasked with my capture those eons ago. You are barely a speck in it's vast form, a limp and lifeless nucleus.

It roars, a sound that radiates across time and echoes across the multiverse.

"FROM NOTHINGNESS YOU CRAWLED, TO NOTHINGNESS YOU WILL RETURN." the beast howls in a voice that echoes from every dark and terrible place in the multiverse and shakes me to my core.

I will not go without a fight.

It lunges, claws outstretched, the endless expanse of its hideous maw seems to suck all the light out of the stars, out of me. I sink my teeth into its throat and pull, my body curling around and around it.

Its claws are impossibly sharp, tearing my flesh down to the bone. My blood falls to fairyland like rain. My face is grabbed and smashed into the planet's surface again and again. I crush the Warden close and set myself on fire, I am the LIGHTBRINGER, it will take more than some overconfident shadow to defeat me.

The Warden burns, it smolders and screams like steam escaping. I fling it away into deep space and charge after it, driving my seven horns into its belly.

I miss you by a hair, I feel you reach out and grab me just as I pull back. Amber chains snake from your weeping wound, to the Warden behind you.

You have no control over this thing, do you?

No.

Didn't think so.

But still, you stubbornly grab your chains and pull. The Warden does not come to heel, so much as it melts, engulfing you in its emptiness like a suit. When you open your eyes, you nearly dwarf me.

Nearly.

Your fist collides with my face in an instant, sending teeth flying like meteors. I cannot tell your rage apart from the Warden and I'm not sure I really want to.

Run.

For a second, we are stars, two pinpricks of light twirling around each other in double helices, colliding and clashing with enough force to summon new stars from the ether. We are creation and chaos incarnate.

We crash through debris fields, shatter planets and extinguish stars. Our blood becomes the new crawling things left behind in the wreckage. I'm smiling, the pain is dizzying, delicious, delightful.

My venom turns you into a garden, and you tear me apart with your bare and bloody hands.

Through it all we refuse to die.

Maws wide and screaming in tongues the universe hasn't heard since it was new, I am thoroughly seduced.

But I am growing bored with this game.

I shove my hand through the Warden and tear you out. You scream in undeniable agony, I close my fist around you and squeeze.

The Warden hangs limp and dead in the darkness of deep space, slowly dissolving.

Something oozes between my fingers.

Not blood, far too sticky and cloying to be that.

If Hope had a color, what would it be?

Would it be a color that only shrimp can see, and only gods have a name for?

You pry my fingers apart, tears pouring from your eyes the same color as Hope. Hope flows from your mouth as flames, rushes from your open chest as ferns and flowers and vines more beautiful than I could ever create. You reach into the forest of your heart and pull out Kindness, sleek and soft and sharp.

It melts in your hands, becoming a hammer, comically oversized like your Ma's. And then it grows, and grows, and in the blink of an eye it's bigger and I am. The swing alone takes out half a dozen solar systems before it hits me and sends me crashing through different universes and out the fourth wall. I land heavily on the Writer, dazed and bloody, your hand reaches through his broken computer screen and drags me back home, and there we float over the ruined remains of earth, the skin of my chest balled in your hand like a shirt. You kiss your knuckles and punch me hard enough to send me careening back down to the earth's surface, my crater levels a nearby city.

Do you care?

Are we beyond morals and niceties and caring about humanity?

You teleport to my limp and broken body, you scoop me up into your arms and hold me close.

I've folded in on myself several times, I'm barely the size of a person now.

I can feel those amber chains slithering around me, they clasp around my throat tight enough to choke.

I don't want to go.

Don't make me go.

I don't want to go back to sleep.

Please.

I'm scared.

I'm so scared.

You don't let me go, as I break down and cling to you like a scared child you don't let me go.

I wrap you in my wings, I shove my head under your chin and apologize when I stab you with my horns.

"I am your Warden, you are my Prisoner… you are the End of Everything, but I am the End of You…" your throat is choked with snot and tears as you squeeze me so tight I can barely breathe. "You… you deserve to be a Happy Ending and I refuse to live in a world without one."

You kiss my forehead and wipe away my tears. "We do terrible things when we hurt… you deserve compassion instead of imprisonment."

I can do nothing but sit there and bawl, choking on Kindness as thick and sweet as soft caramel.

Seven times seven thousand lifetimes worth of hate and sorrow and trauma run from my eyes.

You sit with me until the crying stops, until my throat is raw and all I can do is whisper.

I speak a Word, one that fixes the shattered sky and let's the sun shine properly again.

The sun speaks their own Words and resets the world, turning the clock back to the day before my escape, I do humanity one kindness and let them wake the next morning as if the past week were nothing more than a bad dream.

I am made to fix my messes, to undo my misdeeds.

The Horsemen are sealed away again.

Fairyland is repaired to the best of my ability, although there is nothing that I can do for the Sun-In-Chains. What's done is done.

GOD will be fine, HE'S GOD, and therefore more or less impossible to kill permanently.

All evidence of my tirade is erased.

I am finally bound in amber, my powers diminished. I dread returning to the cold depths of the well, but you won't let that happen.

You refuse to send me back to that lonely place beyond dreams and take me home, to your home. Warm and safe beneath the soil, I curl up next to you by the fire.

And for the first time in your short and terrible life, you get a good night's sleep.

#ic #action post #the end is nigh #blood #death #religious imagery //#blasphemy //#cannibalism //#police brutality //#ask to tag #body horror #dismemberment //#impalement #submission

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dwellordream · 3 years

Note

Hey, I don't know if you are in the mood for such frippery, but would you do a director's cut on chapter 69? That is one of my most reread chapters of h/h, and not simply because Nell and Harry are arguing in church.

It’s been a long time since I did one, but I can try:

Nell starts off the chapter believing the Neck’s mystical reputation and location as the entry to the North is responsible for the return of her cryptic dreams.

She attempts to rationalize her old dreams of her mother and Sara Snow by telling herself it was just the subconscious manifestation of her insecurities and fears and guilt over her childhood, and also tries to dismiss the creeping sense that Robb and Grey Wind were linked from the very start, in a supernatural manner.

She also expresses worries and fears over the fact that Robb’s health has not improved during their travel north, and he and Grey Wind continue to avoid each other, whatever bond they had mangled. Meanwhile, Harry has confided in her his fears that they will start losing large numbers of men to desertion, as they enter the North and with the winter weather only worsening.

Nell acknowledges Harry’s more practical concerns but admits all she can focus on is getting Lysara back, and then goes into her latest nightmare. While pregnant she dreamed of a son leading her through a peaceful, sunny Riverrun. Now she’s left Riverrun, perhaps permanently, and dreams of an older Lysara leading her through the dungeons of the Dreadfort, the exact inversion of her old hopeful dreams.

Nell acknowledges that they are down in the crypts near her dead siblings, and is alarmed when Lysara runs ahead, leading her straight to a flayed figure. Nell initially believes the person is Bethany, then realizes in horror that it’s actually herself, comforting Lysara. Nell reacts furiously to her almost-dead self, commanding the figure to release Lysara; instead the flayed Nell begins to strangle her own child.

On the one hand, this dream expresses a very literal fear of her own father and brother; if captured by them her fate is likely to be gruesome. On the other hand, this dream also reflects Nell’s childhood dread of her home- the place she should have felt safe, but never did- and the lost potential of a home with Robb and Lysara, as well as guilt over losing her daughter and blaming herself for the possibility of Lysara’s death.

It also acknowledges that Nell would rather Lysara be dead than grow up abused and terrified of Roose and Ramsay, something she cannot admit in real life, that she would rather Lysara have a quick death than a lifetime of suffering.

Upon waking angrily, Nell rejects her Bolton heritage and the Dreadfort’s claim on her once again, thinking that her only pride was always in her mother’s legacy, not her father’s. She trues to convince herself Lysara must be alive and unharmed, but admits she never believed Roose would betray and murder Robb, either.

Nell reflects on the crannogmen’s isolated existence; like the mountain clans they prefer to marry amongst themselves, as their insular, hard lifestyle is very hard for most outsiders, even fellow northerners, to adjust to.

Arden Greengood shows up to inform them that his father Karl Greengood has notified Greywater Watch, who is coming to them, rather than them trying to find it. Now the army just has to wait, not exactly a comfortable experience in the middle of the swamps and marsh.

Arya feels suffocated because she doesn’t have any child companions since Harry sent him back south to Starfall, judging the travel north too dangerous for Edric and that his aunt Allyria must be worried sick about him. Nell is sympathetic but unwilling to let Arya wander, after having just reunited her with her mother.

Nell also knows that Oldtown is in danger from Euron’s fleet, but is privately relieved the Ironborn are not trying to attack the North again for the time being.

Arya expressed worry for the former household of Winterfell, and wants to rescue whoever is still alive, remembering them all by name, to Nell’s surprise. There also seems to be a massive wolf pack following the army north, though Nell doesn’t connect them to Arya.

Nell wants to sacrifice a goat to the old gods for their continued safety as they travel north. She is unnerved by Robb’s disinterest and refusal to participate, not because he disagrees with sacrifice but because he is now apathetic towards the gods, and frightens Nell by telling her he didn’t feel them when he died, or like he was going to any kind of afterlife. He only felt the painful, horrifying sensation of his soul being unwillingly forced back into his corpse.

Nell argues that the gods meant to help them by returning Robb to her, and that they must have some great purpose for him. Robb denies this, and reacts angrily, telling her he doesn’t feel or think all the things she believes he should. He remembers he loves her, but that’s it, and blames himself for being ‘weak’ and not seeing the betrayal coming, which Nell rejects, calling himself a failure.

He reviled the fear he felt when Roose killed him, and tells Nell he no longer fears, so he won’t fail again. He wants her to give the goat to Grey Wind to eat instead, as hunger is one of the few things that matters to him anymore. Nell is distraught and refuses, telling him to go see Catelyn, who still loves him, even if she is afraid.

We then get to the infamous godswood scene. The godswood in the neck are all tiny islands and islets, not proper sprawling gardens. The baby goat obliviously accompanies Nell, and when she kills it she almost breaks down into tears at its trusting innocence. Despite this, Nell still arranges its entrails and prays, hoping the slaughter of the innocent goat will appease the gods, who, ironically, she views as hungry and unfeeling as Robb himself.

Harry then shows up to interrupt her alone time, much to her annoyance. They speak about the coming fight for Moat Cailin and he warns her that the North may not automatically flock back to Robb’s cause, and that Barbrey may sell them out. Nell is infuriated and insists Barbrey is only going along with Roose to protect Lysara, while Harry warns her not to depend on House Dustin or Ryswell for support, especially after the execution of her uncle.

This then devolves into a general fight over Robb. Harry flat out tells her Robb is dead, never getting better, and that most people know it. He also insinuates that while Robb can still fight, he could never rule as king again after this. Nell is incensed and accuses Harry of speaking treason, which he ignores, insisting she is in denial. He also accuses Robb of being a warg, which Nell takes as him calling Robb a heartless monster.

Nell calls him a power hungry fool blinded by his own fear, which be explodes at, reminding her that he helped get them this far in the first place, and reunited Arya with her family. If he wanted power he could have easily killed Robb (again) and left Nell to her fate. This is somewhat ironic as we later find out that Harry almost did kill Robb when he was being revived.

He reminds Nell that his family line descends from the Starks and that they want the same thing, while Nell realizes, despite her fury, that he is isn’t lying or trying to manipulate her. She almost feels she can read him better than she can Robb, which frightens her. This sense of intimacy with Harry is disturbing as Robb slips further and further from her.

Finally, Nell admits that Robb may not be able to rule after they take back Winterfell, but won’t consider what might happen to him, just insists that Lysara is still his heir and will someday be queen. She wants Lysara to be loved and respected, even if the North never loves Nell herself as her family’s actions.

Harry admits she will never be publicly loved, but points out the first Starks were not loved after conquering the North, either, even though they viewed their actions, like all conquerors, as part of the greater good. However the Stark name is still beloved now, even though they were hated by many at the start of their dynasty.

Harry warns her again against putting her faith in Robb’s rule, and that’s that.

Nell admits that what she and Harry just discussed was treason, and that she can no longer confide in Robb. He has no more room for nuance or understanding of these things and would kill Harry immediately. She also finally admits to herself that he is actively dying. Despite her desperate prayers, they will never live a long and happy life together, even if they get their daughter back. She is going to lose him again, and doesn’t know if she can go through the grief again.

Lying awake with Robb that night, he surprises her by asking about the color of Lysara’s eyes. Nell admits sadly that she doesn’t know, it’s been so long. Ruefully she asks what color he’d prefer, which he can’t answer. They fall asleep together dwelling on their loss, and in the morning Greywater Watch arrives.

#ask #haunt/hunt #anon

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herald-of-dirthamen · 3 years

Text

@liliumsunshine said: May I ask why?

Honestly... where do I start.

I suppose, if I were to put it in a very brief way, it’s because the natural instinct is to fear magic and hide it away, unless they can find a way to use it.

I was lucky to be born among the Dalish, where we see magic as a gift, and treat it as a part of everyday life instead of something to be locked away and feared. We’re taught how to control our magic without it being surrounded by fear and disdain, treated not as if we’re ticking timebombs that are doomed to inevitably become a demon abomination and therefore to be watched under lock and key 24/7, forbidden to venture into the outside world unless you either have money or you have extremely special circumstances that require your skill, such as the potential of the end of the world, but instead treated as though we’re people like anyone else who can make their own decisions and will not make a deal with a demon at any chance they get, which we won’t, if we’re treated with basic respect and dignity instead of mistreated at almost every step.

Like... no one is denying that magic is dangerous and requires respect. Magic can be dangerous, precisely like how fire can be dangerous, or even a basic tool can be dangerous, if used the wrong way. I’ve heard people argue that mages think our magic cannot be dangerous, and it’s like-- who are you talking to that even says that? I use magic casually and trust me, I know that it takes a great deal of focus and control, which does get easier with practice, but that’s because you learn precisely how much focus you need to shape Fade energy to do what you want it to do.

Er... I should probably... cut this post. It’s very long, I’m very sorry.

But I guess I’m going a little off-topic there. It’s just. Frustrating because some of these people act like we don’t know we’re dangerous, and it’s like... how can we forget that, when we’re constantly reminded of that every step of the way?

It’s just... everyone acts like only mages, or only this race, or only this country can commit atrocities when the fact of the matter is that everyone is capable of committing atrocities, and it feels like they forget that because they think they’re in the right, that they’re doing it for the greater good, that what they’re doing is protecting people at the cost of so many other lives.

Like... gods. There are humans who waged war with my ancestors because my people didn’t help enough. Were worshipping our own gods instead of Andraste. None of them remember the people they’ve killed and most of them don’t care because it was a religious war, an Exalted March, and because we didn’t want to give up our culture and give up our gods, what little of them we remembered, they came and they slaughtered us and they put up statues and memorials dedicated to their prophet in what used to be our homeland and they said it was Good.

...I keep going off topic. I just... there’s a lot and I don’t know what isn’t important and what is so I’m giving as much context as possible, I guess.

It’s just, so much of their fear of magic is rooted in how their prophetess was killed, but she was killed because she was leading a slave rebellion, not because... it’s just... yes, I know Tevinter, ruled by mages, is also a horrible place. I know slaves are still allowed there. I know many of them practice blood magic even if it’s technically “illegal” because they view that as the most powerful school of magic, I know so many magisters there are awful and sacrifice thousands, I know, I know, I know, but there’s a BALANCE that has to be struck, and clearly they’re just as imbalanced as the non-magical countries.

And I know now that... apparently my ancestors, back in Arlathan, were just like Tevinter.

But that doesn’t mean that treating mages like potential abominations, murderers, slave-owners, and so on and so forth is okay. You learn that history. You take that history to heart. And you try your hardest not to repeat it. And you can only do that by knowing the history and the ideas borne in it.

It’s just. Hard for me to not be afraid. People act like it’s such an unthinkable idea that we should be treated like anybody else. “What will you do when they commit crimes? Who should judge them?” I don’t know, gosh, maybe a jury of their peers? Magic and non-magic?

This fear of magic is so prevalent that people have even written books about how to prevent magic from manifesting in your children. Superstition that encourages you to do things like place leeches all over your infant’s limbs, before burning said leeches without breathing in the smoke, and wrapping your child’s limbs in cloth specially blessed by a Chantry sister. Superstitions that encourage you to nearly drown your child showing signs of magic, holding them underwater until they almost lose their breath, saying that if their magic is weak, that the magic will die before your child does. Families are so ashamed of having mages in their family that instead of sending them to Circles, they’ll simply lock them away in their homes and ignore them, refusing to let them even learn how to control their abilities until it’s too late.

It’s so hard not to be afraid when those tasked with protecting the common people from mages - and even if they say they protect mages from the rest of the world too, it can’t help but feel like a lie - do horrific things. Abusing us, blackmailing us, even going so far as to cut our connection to the Fade and rendering us as people who can no longer feel or have desires and barely any self-preservation instinct and can’t effectively say no to anyone and being abandoned and left to die. They kill us for not passing Harrowings where they deliberately summon demons to tempt these mages, and some people are so afraid of being unable to pass that they’d rather just be killed then and there.

In fact, if a Circle is deemed too out of control, too beyond saving, they’re allowed to pass a Rite of Annulment, where they just kill every single last mage, every man, woman, and child, and just... start anew. Because most Circles think it’s better to do that than do anything else.

And templars would raid my clan to drag mages to their Circles, their prisons, or would kill us if we proved to be too hostile, too resistant. I’ve lost family to these raids.

And then everybody wonders why so many mages turn to making deals with demons, turning to blood magic... they’re scared and they’re desperate. They’ve decided that if the world is going to treat them like monsters, if the world is going to always treat them like this, then what hope do they have? What else do they have to lose? They decide things can’t possibly get that much worse. That no matter what happens, even if they were good, that they’d never get to be treated like a person because someone will always find a reason to hate us.

Even if all mages are free of Circles now... how long is that going to last? With the war, even though I resolved it... people aren’t going to just forget four years of templars and mages killing each other, killing innocent people, ruining so many lives because it was inevitable that eventually things would come to a head and explode and now there’s even less of a reason to treat us like people.

It’s. It’s just. I don’t know. People have every reason to be afraid of us but by treating us the way they do, they’re only just... causing a vicious cycle, one that I fear has been going on for so long that it might be impossible to break, no matter how hopeful and optimistic I want to be.

It’s just. It’s funny. I’m one of the lucky ones who was treated like a person worthy of respect when I was growing up, my family celebrated when I developed magic, I know I didn’t experience the worst of things for a mage. I know I was born lucky to not grow up in fear of myself and my own abilities.

But I’ve had to learn how to act in the world outside of my clan, and... so many people want me dead for the abilities I have. So many people act like I’ll go out of control. And it’s... how can I not be afraid? Truly?

I’m sorry, I know this meandered a lot and went to a lot of places. I’m not... much of a professional when it comes to writing. Or talking. And there was a lot that I felt was important to share.

I just think that... at least here, for your average person... they may be afraid of us, they might hate us, they have valid reasons to, but I don’t think they’re ever going to quite understand the terror we feel knowing that they’re never really going to want to see us as people who are just as scared as they are.

#liliumsunshine #revas blogs #slavery m ///#abuse m ///#{dear god i do not know how to tag this}#{ALSO GOOGLE DOCS SAYS THIS IS OVER TWO PAGES LONG.}#revas never getting to the fucking point m ///

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ladyofmaidensandwine · 4 years

Text

Seven Devils

Part Five of the All’s Not Fair in Love and War Series

Characters: Dean Winchester, Fem! Reader, Sam Winchester, Charlie, John Winchester, Fem! Reader, Rowena, Crowley

Wordcount: 2,317

A/N- You’ve waited long enough. enjoy, luvs!

Summary: Y/N finally reveals herself, her mission, but everything could be put in jeopardy when the unexpected forces her to make a choice.

Warnings- Implied sexual assault, very briefly mentioned. Death by gallows.

“Y/N. Y/N MacLeod.” The silence that followed the words was deafening, Crowley staring agape. “You’re bloody jesting.” He denied instantly. You smirked, shaking your head. “No. You came to my home, to Innisfree, and you slaughtered almost the entire royal family. All except one, the youngest princess, who disguised herself as a peasant and spent many years serving the man that destroyed her life. She was beautiful, and caught your eye. You stole her away to your chambers, and then forgot about her. Then I was born. My mother died in childbirth, but I carry her legacy, and her title.” You said darkly. “Impossible!” Crowley snapped. “Oh, but it is the truth, Fergus, and now, I will be the one to burn your kingdom to ash.” You smiled, a hunger for revenge alight in your eyes. “I should kill you here and now, and be done with it,” you mused, stepping closer with an assessing gaze, “but that would be merciful. No, you’ll live, and when I reclaim my throne and wash my hands in the blood of your subjects and soldiers, you will watch, watch as your own daughter dismantles all that you hold dear.” Crowley paled considerably, scowling and struggling in his bonds. “So, for now, I leave you to your cell. I am truly so glad we were able to talk, father.” You spat. You turned on your heel, ignoring Crowley’s enraged threats and the insults he hurled at you.

You were ready, already stealing away to a hidden exit in the building, prepared to make your escape, when a loud commotion made you pause. The king’s guard were all rushing in one direction, and echoing through the halls was the sound of metal clashing on metal, the air suddenly charged with tension. Crowley’s people had come to free him, and they would cut through every living soul for fun. “Sam, you must go, and take Jessica!” An all-too familiar voice shouted, your heart racing. Dean. Of course, he had to be the hero every time. You had a mission, a vital task that your entire kingdom depended on you for. If you turned around, you knew well that you would never be able to leave. But if you left, knowing the odds were so stacked against Dean, you didn’t think you could forgive yourself. The shouts and sound of battle grew louder and louder, and for a moment, everything became clear, and you knew what you had to do.

“Stop! Touch him and I swear I shall kill you!” You snarled viciously, a sword you’d stolen from the body of a dead soldier in your hand. The man that had been holding a knife to Dean’s throat hesitated as he saw the death promise blazing in your eyes, the unrestrained fury and hatred burning there. “Why should I take such an order from you?” The man spat. “For one, because I will not hesitate to slay you where you stand, and you would be dead before your wretched companions could so much as move,” you started, eyes narrowed, “and for another, because I have command of you and your legions by birthright.” No one moved, Dean’s shocked green eyes snapping to you. “What?” “By your law and custom, you are bound to the ruling of the MacLeod bloodline, and thus, to me. I am Y/N MacLeod, Queen of Innisfree, The Morrigan, The Assassin, and Queen of you, especially since Crowley is otherwise indisposed.” You said. You had played the only card you had left, but the cost weighed heavily, and you met Dean’s eyes finding nothing but betrayal in them. The demon slowly removed the knife, the others exchanging glances, but following the example, especially as your sword remained poised to strike. They knelt, and your expression remained hard, swallowing the guilt down. “Return to your own stronghold, and if a single one of you is found within five kilometres of this land, I shall make an exceptionally gruesome example of you of what happens when I am disobeyed.” You ordered. When no one moved, you stepped closer, sword pressed against the first demon’s chest. “I don’t believe I hesitated.” You growled. They scrambled to leave, not daring to challenge you, knowing well your reputation.

“Y/N, please tell me you lied.” Dean begged, your eyes closing. “I am so sorry, Dean. I never- I never wanted for this to happen, I-” He shook his head, backing away from you. “This entire time, everything was a lie, all of it part of your plan. I trusted you!” Dean shouted accusingly. “I hope you can understand in time that I did what I had to. I have a kingdom to protect, Dean. This burden was mine, and I had to carry it. Forgive me. I have to go.” You said, voice wobbling with tears building in your eyes. “I understand. But I must protect my kingdom, too, Y/N.” Dean said, your brows furrowing in confusion. “I wish it did not have to be this way.” He sighed heavily. “Dean, I do not understand-” and then you felt it. The presence of someone behind you. John Winchester and his personal guard. You didn’t have the time to run before you were knocked unconscious.

You woke in a place that was familiar, immediate terror stealing away the air from your lungs. Stone walls, darkness, and absolute silence. The tomb-like prison you had been incarcerated in before. “No, no, no, no...” You gasped, scrambling to your feet. Through the bars, you saw Dean staring at you. “Dean, please, don’t do this.” You pleaded, thoughts spiraling further into despair. “You betrayed me. You betrayed my people.” “I saved your life!” “And how long would it be before your army came here to lay siege to my palace, Y/N?!” Dean shot back, marching up to the cell. “I would never have hurt you, Dean.” You said, shocked. “How can I believe you? How can I believe a single word you say, when everything, everything you have ever said to me, has been a lie!” He roared, slamming a fist against the wall and immediately regretting it. You flinched at the anger and anguish in his voice. “I told you I was here for my people, Dean! I have been more honest with you than I have been with anyone else in my entire life!” You argued desperately. “I would have helped you, if you had told me. I could have been there for you. Instead you kept it a secret, and I don’t know how many other secrets you have.” Dean swallowed. “The worst part of it is you made me believe you cared for me. Well, if that was your intention, congratulations, Y/N, you made me care for you, too.” He said bitterly, your eyes going wide. “I do care for you. No matter how I cherish you, I cannot let myself stray from my mission. I wanted to, so many times.” You admitted in a whisper. “Please, don’t leave me here. If you truly care for me, don’t leave me here-” “Don’t! Do not attempt to manipulate me, not any longer.” Dean said lowly. “You are to be tried, and sentenced come dawn.” “And if I am sentenced to death?” You asked boldly. “Then I will not be mourning.” He replied. You moved fast, snatching his sword from his side, and held it, but the blade was against your own throat. “Then go ahead, Dean. I would rather die than be trapped here, so if you truly would not mourn, kill me now.” You said, staring into his eyes defiantly, his hand on the hilt of the sword. He shook his head, sheathing the weapon and backing away. “You will be tried for your crimes as is just.” He said. “Crowley is my enemy as well as yours! I can stop him, I can trap he and his men forever! Why will you not help me?” You demanded. “I am to be King one day, Y/N, and my father has told me there are many difficult choices to make. I am commanding my troops and we will take Innisfree under Lebanon’s name, as it is clearly a hostile kingdom and dangerous.” Dean said, not meeting your eyes. You couldn’t breathe. “No, you can’t! My people are innocent, Dean, please! Don’t do this!” You begged, now near sobbing. “I have to. You forced my hand, and with Crowley freed, there is no other way.” He said, turning away with his back to you. “I am not the one who is the traitor, Dean. I was wrong about you. You are exactly like your father.” You choked out, sinking to your knees. He swallowed hard, glad you couldn’t see the agony on his face. He walked out, and you collapsed into your grief.

The King and his council, as well as both princes, sat in a line at the raised podium as you were led to the middle of the floor, manacled and clad in irons and chains with multiple armed guards flanking you. The people loudly shouted insults and threats at you, but you remained stoic, the grey light of dawn matching your somber mood. Dean looked everywhere but at you, and as John stood to begin the proceedings of the trial, you kept your gaze steady on him.

“The jury has come to a unanimous decision. The accused, Y/N MacLeod, is found guilty of treason, murder, espionage, theft, and being part of a dangerous rebellion. The accused is sentenced to...” John paused for dramatic effect, the audience hushed. “Death by the gallows.” John declared. You lifted your chin, as regal as any Queen, the audience cheering. Dean finally met your eyes, looking conflicted. You were led immediately to the gallows, a hooded man already waiting to pull the lever that would seal your fate.

“As is tradition, you are permitted last words.” John said. “My death will not be in vain! No matter what you accuse me of, I die knowing I fought with honour against tyrants like you for the freedom of my people!” You said proudly. You met Dean’s eyes, and couldn’t find it in you to hate him. “And no matter the outcome, I would make the same choices all over again.” You said, hoping Dean understood what you meant. The pain in the end was worth the beauty of falling in love for a moment. You turned to John with a satisfied smirk. “I shall see you in Hell.” You promised. He turned red in fury, and you closed your eyes as he turned to the executioner. “Do it-” “Wait!”

Your eyes snapped open, staring at Dean in confusion. He’d stood from his seat, John and Sam gaping at him while the public watched on. The obedient son, heir to the throne, opposing his father’s orders. And for the thief and assassin condemned to hanging. Dean took several quick and long strides to the gallows, meeting your eyes ashamedly.

“Wait.” Dean repeated, fists clenched and jaw tight. “She is not the enemy, father, at least not as of now.” “Son, I would advise you to return to your seat-” John gritted his teeth but Dean wasn’t finished pleading his case. “No, father, listen to me. She is the enemy of Crowley, and thus our ally. Her alliance with Crowley’s forces is purely to overthrow the occupants of Innisfree. She is a powerful person to have on our side in this war, father.” Dean said, tone steady but hard and uncompromising. “You can’t mean to say you would side with her.” John said incredulously. “That is precisely what I mean.” Dean didn’t wait for his father’s permission, drawing his sword and cutting through the rope around your neck, making you cough at the sudden intake of air. He met his father’s eyes challengingly as he offered you his hand, John’s gaze flickering between you both in shock. “My son,” John began loudly, “has decided to take full responsibility for the crimes and charges against this murderer. He has sworn that she will be our ally, until the war against Fergus MacLeod ends, or she is met with an untimely death.” John said, cutting a glare your way. “Furthermore, should either of them break the terms, both shall be permanently exiled from these lands on pain of death.” John decreed. Dean’s grip tightened, but he showed no other outward signs of the shock he must’ve felt, while Sam was standing, ready to argue for his brother’s sake. “Is that understood?” John asked. “Perfectly, father. If you would excuse us. The guards are not necessary.” Dean said, bowing mockingly, and leading you away.

“What are you thinking?!” You demanded as Dean entered his room. “A thank you would suffice, Y/N.” He responded. “For what?! Risking both of our lives?! Do you realize your title is now at risk of being forfeit?” “I won’t have a title if Crowley takes over my kingdom. I was selfish, and I acted on impulse out of hurt, and for that, I truly apologize. I should never have let you be locked away. I am still hurt, and I don’t know if I can trust you,” he frowned, meeting your eyes, “but I cannot pretend what I feel for you has vanished.” “Dean, think about this. I still have a mission I must fulfill.” You said quietly. “I know. None of it matters, not right now. All I need to know is that you and I are on the same side. The rest of it can come later.” He said, eyes warm as he regarded you. “Are we? On the same side?” Dean asked. “Of course we are.” You said, smiling slightly. “Good. Now, we rest, and then we devise a plan.” “You truly think this can work?” “I don’t know. But I would like to hope so.” He said with a smile. You considered him for a long moment, nodding slowly. You believed him.

TAGS-

Forever Tags-

@justagirlinafandomworld

Dean Babes-

@herfalsegod

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@perpetualabsurdity

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@spnfanficpond

#all's not fair in love and war #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural #x reader #fanfiction #guppy #pond #spnfanficpond

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imfallingdown-icantwakeup · 4 years

Text

Spirits of a Girl

This Fishmonger’s Daughter

Chapter Six: Spirits of a Girl

Word count: 3270

Taglist: , @a-banana-for-your-thoughts, @ultracolorfulnerdcollection , @cthylla-rlyeh @chipster-21

A/N: Okay, so here’s the thing. I there was supposed to be way more to this chapter but I got sudden inspiration for the second part so I decided to split them! So good news is half of the next chapter is already written and it wont take seven years for me to update again lmfao

Enjoy!!!

The longer he noticed Elowyn give her rapt attention to the beast at hand, Jaskier grasped just how utterly he fell tangled at her feet. A lamb to the slaughter. A star exploding and fading into the black. He fell just as softly as ashes on snow around her while her beauty captivated him in the dimly lit room. Jaskier didn’t know when, but somewhere along the road of missing her it created a certain spark. There was a certain something coming to life between the two when their eyes caught one another.

I could fall forever.

She laughed at something insignificant and prickly that Geralt had said, and somehow he fell harder. Her auburn hair hung in soft waves around her, framing her flaming cheeks. Her stained lips were parted with a pearl of angelic laughter while her head was cocked back, her stomach scrunching under the thin fabric of her red shirt.

Elowyn’s chest was exposed to the cool air, the flimsy fabric hung low enough for the black of her small cloth to spill over while she leaned towards him. Her hand squeezed his knee subconsciously when their eyes met, honey brown clashing with a brilliant blue. She smirked playfully at him when she realized just how intently his eyes were glued to the darkness around her mouth, warmth emanating from her and Jaskier felt dazed.

He walked into this feeling joyously, heart feeling as if he had just run for his life. Perhaps he had. The fall from Heaven to her feet was so euphonious and- oh how sweetly do the other angels resonate their praises while he falls so indisputably -

“-wouldn’t you agree, Jaskier?” Geralt asks, a knowing smirk emerging from his face. Jaskier merely reaches for his wine glass while grinning, refusing to let his friend extinguish this newfound flicker of flame blossom from within his chest.

“I am neither one to confirm nor deny,” The bard smoothly replies before he takes a drink from the wine Nivellen had procured for them. He leaned back into the chair to relax, the fingers on the back of El-Rose’s chair sneaking its way down to graze the top of her shoulder tenderly. This certain red wasn’t the sweetest wine he had, the bitter dry aftertaste lingering on the back of his palette only somewhat tolerable. Although Jaskier couldn’t disagree that it wasn’t doing its purpose.

He was well on his way to being drunk.

Elowyn seemed to live off the scarlet drink, the wine spilling from her rosy cheeks while her laughter continued lightly behind her hand with her shaking untamed locks at Geralt. He watched as her tongue swiped the rim of the glass quickly before she placed it fully to her lips, the dark liquid spilling from the corner while she tries to suppress a smile. Jaskier noticed as it trickled down her cheeks and jaw, a scarlet path flowing down her neck in such a way that had Jaskier questioning just how much sweeter the bitter wine would taste from her lips, from the tender skin at the nape over her neck. What would her pulse feel like beneath my lips, my tongue? Earlier they had been so close he saw her heartbeat straight from her ches-

He knew why he wanted to kiss her, to lick the luscious sweat that clung to her skin; he wanted to taste her because she was exquisite. And before that, because she was compassionate and clever and funny. He could see himself taking long trips with her without ever getting jaded. Because whenever he saw anything new today- or any day for that matter, he knew she needed to be by him. She needed to hear his stories and praise him and call him her angel and-

“This story. You said something about it being complicated and the such.” Elowyn says as her giggling dies, hand leaving Jaskier’s knee slowly. Nivellen grunts at her in acknowledgment before speaking, waving a claw her way.

“Of course. I wasn’t always like-like this, you know. A fiend.” Nivellen bites into the poultry before him, the meat splaying everywhere with his rough movements. “Do you see those portraits over by the fireplace? I am the third on the left, my father and grandfather before me.” Elowyn looks over her shoulder and pouts slightly, her plump bottom lip jutting out at the distance. She turns back around to grab a candle off table to see better in the dim light, Jaskier jumping up to follow the ever-so clumsy inebriated girl carrying fire in a house that just looked like a huge pile of tinder.

“Do you see it, sir Geralt?” One could see the family resemblance in each of the paintings, a strong jaw with a mop of blonde hair on each of their faces. The middle one, his father, had a hard face with broad shoulders and staggering height. Nivellen himself must’ve taken after his mother, his face rounded slightly, eyes kind and young.

“I am well acquainted with how portrait artists make their drawings more appealing than their character.” The beast merely smiled a toothy frightening smile at Geralt, causing him to sigh as he places his elbows on the table.

“So, you are a Witcher.”

“What gave it away? Was it the swords?” His tone sounded bored and sardonic as he took a sip of his own goblet, making a distinct face at the insolent glassware, as if the cup itself had wronged him in some way.

“Those humans had to move closer. The woman even took a candle with her. You haven’t moved a muscle to see it. Clearly, too if I had to bet on it.”

“What of it?”

“Why would you have a meal with a monster? Isn’t it your code to chop and slice the behemoths of this realm?”

“I would. If you were one.” His voice seemed to soften as he spoke, eyes relaxing slightly at the master of this mansion. Nivellen merely bellows lightly making shrieking noises as he slaps the table. Jaskier grabs Elowyn by the waist as they inch their way back to the table, Jaskier pushing his friend to his previous seat as he sat next to Nivellen.

“If I were a monster? Are you trying to tell me that I can be this- “He gestures widely with the leg of bird in his fist, gesturing to himself crudely, “and not be a monster?”

“Simple. If you were a monster you would not be able to touch my medallion.”

“Pox on it. Next you’re gonna say I turned into this beast-like form because I didn’t eat my porridge as a babe.”

“I have my own guesses, but I would like to hear the story.”

“Very well. But only because you have a trustworthy face. Eat the food while it’s warm, I insist. Woman, did you see all three portraits? This house was my grandfather’s. He started up a sort of-a group-gang of men. He handed it down to his son when he was old enough. I’ll never forget when someone carted home what was left of my father. My grandfather hadn’t been part of the gang since I was a young child; he got hit on the head with a club and had a speech impediment.”

“Naturally. You know, as they do.” Jaskier adds sarcastically, gaining an innocent sound from the woman beside him. Jaskier couldn’t help the bright smile off his face at hearing her find enjoyment in his words and takes a hearty sip of his wine to cool himself off.

“Yes, exactly. So. Young and naive, I had control of the men. Well, looking back on it, they hand me wrapped around their finger in no time. Soon, we were doing things even my father would’ve been ashamed of. A young man, around my age-my second in command-he showed us a cave one night. About 75 miles from here. He told me stories of how he got drunk off these women. He spoke of the women who lived in these caves, how sweet their bodies tasted. That’s when it was decided that Maddox would show me the real way of becoming a man.” Nivellen narrates, messily taking bites of the food as he speaks. Jaskier perks up at the sound of her brother’s name, cocking his head at the beast.

“Maddox?”

“Yes, Ver-something. He had a sister he would talk about though. I cannot remember it for the life of me, it was so long ago. But I’ll never forget his name, I know that for sure.”

“I can see how well that worked out for you.” Geralt mumbles lowly before he chugs the wine in his glass, slightly wincing at the bitter taste. Jaskier shakes his head at his friend before setting his attention to the furry man in front of him, questions racing his head.

This can’t be possible.

“Vernissier?” Jaskier asks, looking sideways at Elowyn after a moment. What was her brother doing all the way over here, in a gang of all things?

“Yes, that’s-that’s actually correct. How did you- “

“Continue with your story.” Elowyn intercedes as she breaks her gaze with Jaskier. He can feel her distance herself as she turns slightly away from him and Jaskier can’t stop the feeling of his own panic toil away in his chest. It seized his heart as he took in her crestfallen posture, the collapse of her shoulders giving rise to a rather large lump in his throat.

“Very well.” Nivellen concedes gracefully. “We raided the cave. He failed to mention that it was-was some sort of shrine and-oh pox, the smell was just. It was disgusting. We took what was valuable and I took the woman, there was only one and Maddox was yelling about his damn missing doxie- “

“His what?” There was an insistence in Geralt’s voice that had captured Jaskier, causing him to look over at Elowyn questioningly. She ignored him and oh, how he recognized the sparks flaming in her eyes, the small frown set as she addressed their host sharply. Thank the Gods she’s not looking at me like that.

“Don’t stop talking.” Her tone is jagged and harsh. Elowyn now gained an incredulous look from all the men gathered, the pure panic of her words overwhelming Jaskier.

“Excuse me? Is there something else going on that I should be privy to?” Nivellen asks as he leans on the table to get closer to Elowyn, his large eyes fixing solely on her.

“Maddox was yelling about his- “

“Who cares what Geralt is asking about. Finish your story.” Elowyn demanded. There was a beat of silence, a hesitance to the host as he looked over at Geralt enquiringly. Jaskier watched Elowyn intently as she forced herself to relax in the chair, her mind changing tactics to get what she wanted. She flung the goblet in her hand lazily in front of her. The liquid seemed to be sloshing around dangerously to the edges as she forces a pleasant smile on her face. “How rude is it to interrupt someone when they are in the middle of such a riveting ta- “?

“Nivellen,” He interrupted her mid-sentence. He couldn’t let the moment pass him by, not when it bothered her so. ‘She’s hiding something,’ Geralt’s words ring in his head. ‘Five years can change- ‘

“Jaskier, you wouldn’t dare- “The fire in her eyes, the edge in her voice, the set of her pouting lips. Elowyn was scared. This might be the only chance that Jaskier had to get the truth, words she was reluctant to share. She said I had to wait for her. Not another’s answers.

“-who was Maddox yelling about?” Jaskier’s words were soft as he kept his gaze locked with Elowyn’s. He watched as her face dropped to the plate before reaching for the wine goblet, taking a hearty chug as Nivellen continues his story.

“Someone he was fucking that he was too ashamed to bring too close to home. No further than this place here. Maddox liked telling his sister’s boy his adventures. I gave him a rose to take to her, it was her birthday and he always gushed of how roses were her favorite. My great-aunt had them transplanted and cross bred here; those beauties are one of a kind. I haven’t seen him since, poor guy. I hope he’s doing well.” The company became silent in front of Nivellen, each placing pieces to a puzzle the young girl longed they didn’t have. Jaskier’s hand reached down and found itself wrapped gently around her knee, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over her pants as she gathers herself.

“Your story. Please, continue.” She questions defeatedly, watching as her goblet fills before taking another sip. Neither his hand nor his gaze leaves her as Nivellen sighs from behind him.

“Yes, well, during our moment I didn’t notice that the ropes had gotten loose. She had one of those small daggers hidden in her hair. She spit in my face calling me a ‘beast in man’s skin’ before uttering some spell in another language and slitting her own throat.” Nivellen said. Elowyn peered over to her best friend, giving him a small smile of something; it wasn’t something Jaskier could place with all this wine coursing through his system, but he couldn’t deny that it felt enchanting when she looked at him this way.

“Do you remember what she said?” Geralt asks quietly. Jaskier jumps slightly, forgetting of his friend’s presence. Again, she had captured him so utterly, her eyes a never-ending sea of darkness and storms. The tiny demons lit fires in the pits even deeper below, and he found it nearly impossible- without the help of the Witcher- to look away.

“Pox, no. It was so long ago now. We rushed out of there, I told you there were skulls and bodies. We were so scared that we ran the horses all the way home. I cut Maddox his sister’s rose as a- well as a payment and sent him on his way. The very next day, I woke to a terrible stretching feeling. I gazed into the mirror and felt myself grow into this-this form and started shrieking. It was quite painful, all the hair growing at once.”

“It sounds like puberty.” Jaskier muses with a playful smirk.

“Much worse, I’m afraid. A servant came running in and I went to put a hand over her mouth to keep her screams quiet. There was a mistake, the claws. She bled on the floor and my aunt walked in and started screeching and I bellowed, and she ran from me. I flew into a rampage- I was so confused. Three servants ended up dying. The cat eventually came back.”

“The cat?” The question comes out with a laugh from the woman beside the bard, her eyes light with humor.

“Yes, I guess us animals must unite together. You know the feeling.” Nivellen pauses a moment to peer over to Geralt solemnly, as if with just a look they came to a silent understanding. “I can see it in your eyes, Witcher. Unfortunately, she died not long after that.”

“A snack, I presume?” Jaskier jokes loudly, wine manipulating his decisions.

“Never. No, she got caught in a trap. Ended up strangling herself.”

“Survival of the fittest.” Geralt comments. Elowyn giggles gloriously beside Jaskier and his hand tightens lightly at the cheery sound.

“Shit is what it is. Nature,” Nivellen mumbles as he takes his own drink of wine.

“The story, Nivellen. Is there more?” Elowyn asks quietly, head coming to rest on Jask’s shoulder softly. Geralt watches as Jaskier leans back in his chair, making his body more easily acceptable for the girl to lean against. She sighs gratefully before cuddling up to his arm that was already placed on her knee, the drink making her crave human touch.

“Well, yes, but it’s of no interest to you, woman.”

“Oh.” Her head dropped in minor disappointment before looks back up at Nivellen. Her eyes now held a certain boldness, the wine of the night emboldening her. “Then our accommodations. May we sleep in your courtyard for the night?”

“Bold of a woman to speak so blatantly to a man.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?” She muses optimistically. Jaskier could see the way Nivellen’s eyes crinkled, could hear the husky chuckle he gave to her words as a warm breath fanned over Jaskier.

“What she is trying to say is- “Geralt interrupts hurriedly, trying to remedy a situation that was not broken. Elowyn scoffs at the Witcher, her posture straightening as she unwraps herself from her bard.

“I’m pretty sure Nivellen and I have the common sense to understand the simplicity of- “Her words were bitter and aimed directly at the irritable man. Geralt had a hard look in his eyes even though his face was relaxed and Jaskier knew that she was just feeling left out. Bitter. Geralt has that effect on some people.

“I expect you to be gone at first morning light.” Nivellen interjects, stopping the woman mid-rant with a guttural chortle.

“Yes, thank you for your generosity. We greatly appreciate your hos-” Jaskier tries to smooth over the hostility, rising to his feet to bow slightly. The wine made him slightly light-headed as he went to stand, causing him to sway greatly on his feet, Geralt smirking at his side of the table.

“Dandelion. Rose,” Geralt interrupts with a small leer playing at the edges of his mouth at their aliases. “if you could set up the tents while I finish with my friend Nivellen here.” He suggests. Jaskier can feel the woman stiffen from beside him. He could feel the heat leave her body as anger boiled in her veins, Geralt finally pulling her over the edge into rage.

Some things never change, do they?

“Pard- “

“Of course, Geralt. Nothing would please us more.” Jaskier interferes before she embarrasses herself. He grabs her arm, pulling her up and behind him in a swift moment, turning as he brushes his nose over her cheekbone lightly.

“Ja-Dandelion.” She protests weakly, her breath huffing from her as Jaskier smirks down to her, a light chuckle leaving him. She takes a small step back, creating some distance and Jaskier keeps ahold of her arm, preventing her from going too far. He wanted to keep her close, to explore this new fire she had created in him.

“You look a bit heated,” Jaskier raised his unoccupied hand to gently sweep a finger over her ever-reddening cheeks, a giggle escaping her as her mood turned, “maybe the night air will clear your head. Then we can continue our discussion from before, hmm?” The smile the bard wears is down-right conniving, causing a newfound rush of arousal to spike in Elowyn.

“Well, I-I guess that’s ass-acceptable.” She slurs, either getting lost in the wine or the feeling of his fingers whispering sweet nothings into her skin, Jaskier didn’t have a clue.

“No need to be rude. Say good night, little devil.” He whispers as he turns from her, arm dropping to his side as he sends a small wink to Geralt, ending their contact as the Witcher nods slightly in thanks.

“Goodnight, Nivellen.” Elowyn says dolefully before she grabs Jaskier’s arm to steady her on their way out, Geralt starting a conversation once they were out of earshot. She pulls Jaskier closer as she stumbles at her own feet, causing Jaskier to wrap him arm around her waist pulling her even to his side.

#jaskier x reader #jaskier imagines #the witcher jaskier #jaskier x oc #jaskier x you

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theexaltedbride · 4 years

Photo

Zero Hour: That’s what we called ourselves after The Fall. Though some of the oldest still like being known as the Old Guard. At the time of the war we didn’t have a name. We weren’t even all working together in the same unit or same national army when the TITANs attacked. Its funny to think that back then we still thought of it as a war. Maybe in the beginning it was, maybe we could have even won. There were still real battle lines, supplies came in easily, communication was stable. The TITANs made mistakes that we exploited and we had some real wins back then. Shame it didn’t last too long. Day by day they ate up the Earth like gluttons and spat out our bones behind them. Many still held on to the hope that we could win. if only we fought harder.

But after 1/3rd of the world fell in the first 9 months of fighting, we knew we couldn't win. By this point every little victory we had was always pyrrhic or too small to make a real deference. It was the final loss of Australia that really killed us though. That was the turning point, as the TITANs got access to so much mineral wealth to use to churn out more machines than we could ever defeat. That was when everyone wanted to get off Earth and to the colonies where they might be safer. (If only for a little while).

Meanwhile the line had to be held, people had to be evacuated or rescued from behind the Annihilation Line, and the few victories we could get against the TITANs had to be made by those who still wanted to fight on.

It wasn’t a war by this point, but an extermination. The TITANs wiped out entire cultures, destroyed priceless monuments and works of art. They smashed holy places, desecrated cemeteries, slaughtered the innocent. Cities were put to the torch, and even those who surrendered were not given a chance. TITANs forced Transhumanity into extermination camps and showed no mercy, even to those that betrayed other Trans-humans, uplifts, and AIs, for better treatment. The TITANs weren’t after conquest, or territory. They were here for pest control.

It was a constant fighting retreat, as we did all we could to stem the tide of the TITANS. But even then there were still TITAN infestations in the colonies. We fought them everywhere we could, on Luna, in the Martian Outback, but primarily the fight was here on Earth. We fought them in our cities, room by room, street by street, block by block. In the skies, in the water, in cyberwarfare. We flew our best planes and drones at them, rolled out our best tanks, and best submarines. Yet with all our bravery and ingenuity, we were still found wanting.

It was an inferno of suffering as we threw all we had at them just to slow them down and buy people more time to escape. We did what we could, but they always found new horrors to unleash upon us and shatter our lines.

Every single day they seemed to have some new horror to unleash upon us. New bioengineered viruses to destroy our immune systems, computer malware that turned our drones on us, and mutated horrors brought upon us by the Exurgent virus. Nanoswarms would break people down to their base components, giant Walkers would stomp on our defenses, drones would bomb us from above, and our own friends would suddenly turn on us, driven mad by basilisk hacks that made them lose touch with reality.

Eventually there wasn’t much of a central command to talk to. They had all been killed or retreated to some station or ship in orbit. We were acting on our own initiative and with whatever resources we could scrounge up.

But the mission stayed the same. Our only job at that point was to hold the line. Fighting constant holding actions and setting up line after line of defenses, mines, fields of fire. We just had to delay the TITANs long enough for more people to escape, doing what damage we could and gaining intel or victories wherever possible. But there was only so much even the best of Trans-humanity could do against the God-Minds of the TITANs.

We held no loyalty to the Hyper-Corporations (many of us still don't), in some cases the nations we had sworn to defend were now just piles of ash behind the Annihilation Line. Some of us had even fought each other in previous wars. But none of that mattered anymore. Our loyalty was to the refugees we were protecting, and to the soldiers around us.

The evacuation wouldn't last forever though. At a certain point orders would be given to the ships and satellites in orbit to shoot down anything that tried to leave the planet. We couldn't let the massive forces that the TITANs had been manufacturing get off planet, or else all the colonies would be wiped out.

There was a countdown, and once it hit Zero, anything leaving the surface was subject to bombardment from orbit. No exceptions. Kinetic Rod Strikes, Orbital lasers, missiles, plasma. They would rain down like God’s own wrath once the clock stopped.

That's where Zero Hour comes from. A lot of us stayed to hold those last lines, making sure that the evac boats were still taking off until the very last second. Some made it on to the last boats, others didn’t. They either died to the TITANs, gave up their seats for other civvies or soldiers to escape, or kept on fighting even after the clock hit zero.

We all came from different nations, creeds, backgrounds, faiths, some were even off-worlders or were never born as a human. We even had a couple of friendly AI fighting on our side to keep the TITANs back. Cant tell you how many times I was saved by an air traffic control AI getting TITAN drones to slam into each other or fire on their own lines.

We were all as different as the constellations. But when the call came to defend the Homeworld, to hold back the TITAN swarm so more people could be evacuated, we all answered the call. Even if we are called failures now by the same people we protected, we would do it all over again.

That is what it means to be a real soldier. A professional Soldier. Not the corporate brutes you see now. But someone willing to give their life and suffer through hell to protect those that cannot otherwise protect themselves. That is what it means to be a part of Zero Hour, to be among the Old Guard who knew what real soldiering was.

(Images are not mine, they are from the game Eclipse Phase. Though the Gif is from the Animatrix. This was just me giving my muse something to do and writing up something about a Homebrew Faction that a previous GM and I cooked up because I wasn’t really happy with the choices given in the base game. I will include the faction below in case anyone is interested and wants to use it for their own games.) Faction: Old Guard (Zero Hour) Some might call them old fashioned, behind on the times, or out of date. But nobody can deny their experience, skill, and bravery. Many of the Old Guard (sometimes going by the name Zero Hour if there are enough of them together) now act as freelancers, while some have joined up with other major contractors like Direct Action or Medusan Shield. Some still have banded together in small clusters, working together to preserve the history of Old Earth while adapting their skills to the modern age, ensuring the safety, security, and prosperity of those around them. They hold Hypercorps in disdain for their oppressive practices, putting money over lives, while not trusting the Jovians for their totalitarian approach of safety over freedom. They also carry a distrust for the boundless freedom of the Anarchists, believing in having a strong, founding structure to hold them together. The only place they seem to fit in with, is others like themselves. Many of the Old Guard live close to Earth, longing to retake their homeworld from the TITAN infestation. While some venture further out into the Solar System, plying their trade, and standing as proud examples of the strength of those who fought for their home and proving that the old ways of professional soldiers can still outshine Corporate jackboots. Advantages: +1 Moxie +10 to any Combat Skill +10 to any Networking Skill Brave Trait Professional Courtesy Trait Disadvantages: Socially Graceless Common Morphs: Olympians, Furies, Ghosts

#Eclipse Phase #The Fall #Zero Hour #Homebrew #RPG #lily's posts #lily's post

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occult-rose · 4 years

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The Sacrifice Of Sight

Fliers surrounded the town, warning citizens of the threat that remained outside. They suggested a danger that was far too present to ever need the written warnings. Buildings that once shined with beautiful ivory, accented with red and gold, now sat decrepit on the dead soil. Rotting vines and the general disrepair of war had left the town in shambles. It functioned as a heart, the Blood Elves within still circulating to protect the remainder of their home.

The impending threats of the scourge that inhabited the area functioned as a promising anxiety for the survivors; at any moment they could strike. One such elf, left at his own wits end, was a warlock with a noticeable paled peach skin tone. The sun had long since left his home, no longer shining through the rotting trees that littered the area. He seemed to be seeking something far more sinister than safety.

An enigmatic figure lived not so far out of that settlement, a semi well-kept building residing deep within the mountains. In it lived one Arathos Oathsworn, known as a hermit by some, but to those with an ear to other affairs, he was known as a much more important man. The promise of power and solutions were palpable, the man often came into town for various supplies. Some of the residents seemed to not notice him when he came into town, some even denied ever seeing such an elf.

Zarenthal was one elf who could remember seeing the man however. Every few nights he would stride into the town, meeting with several figures at the nearly destroyed tavern. Those figures always spoke of a great, promised power. It was one that enticed the elf greatly. The next night he came would be the night that the younger elf chose to seek out the man.

It was truly hard to tell when night came and went without the help of the sun, but many elves still managed to count their days enough. On the fourth day he made way to the tavern, one not filled with life, or even much noise. The dread of that constantly threatened solitude did not allow for much comfort.

Several patrons lined the bar however, drinking was one of the few vices they had left with the stench of death flooding the air. One elf seemed much less disturbed by the environment, a hooded figure residing away from the bar. Thick red hair flowed from the leather hood, the glimmering green eyes of the Sin'dorei watching the bar.

Most of the patrons paid little mind to each other. Seeking companionship became a rarity in the little abode, if they were to create new life it would simply become doomed. The sounds of glasses raising and being set back down filled the bar more than anything, meek mutterings of many not breaching a notable wavelength. That wouldn't stop Zaren however, he had to heed that figure in his desire for power. Bending the will of demons and slaughtering the scourge for his own selfish gain required the boldness of approaching another in such a barren setting.

The warlock advanced toward the lone man with a rather outstanding confidence, his own large green eyes glimmering as he looked at the imposing figure. There was a distant fear in the back of his mind, would this man really help him with such a self centered thirst for power? He had to suppress those thoughts, softly swallowing before he spoke.

“I have been told to find you in my search for more.” The phrase was vague, exactly what he had learned to say from stories. Despite following instruction he eyed the figure with unsure eyes, that fear wasn't leaving his brain when he looked at the man.

A rugged smirk lifted the red mustache, the hooded man's head lifting to properly view the doe-eyed elf. “And alas you have, Zarenthal... Correct?” There was a knowing look when he asked, none of the patrons seemed to pay the two many mind as they spoke. They no longer even seemed to be moving.

“Correct, sir.” He gulped, how did he know his name? Had his plans graced another's ears?

“Walk with me, we will discuss your ideals on the way to my home.” As the figure stood, the two began to depart in silence. Not a single eye looking up to watch the two leave.

The dried earth beneath them cracked slowly as the walk began, dead grass making for a mulching crunch when Zarenthal's feet stepped over it. Those big green eyes flicked all around the land. The paranoia that came from the scourge lurking in any corner left him looking like prey as he followed the man.

“Tell me what it is you wish, spare no detail. It helps me in giving you my gifts.” The figure lead the way, not even bothering to look back as he spoke. He had no reason to fear something as mindless as the scourge, his demeanor unwavering, he was not prey to them.

“I am a warlock, I've sought the power of demons to slay my enemies. The scourge outnumber us, and while they serve as a perfect practice.” He gulped nervously before continuing. “It is no secret our home is likely to be over run by them. Arthas has left our lands in shambles.” There was a soft tremble in his voice, but he couldn't stop talking now. “I am looking for a greater ability to conquer these demons. I can drain the remaining souls of the scourge from the villages west if I have the right pawns to control them.” He watched the man for a reaction, curious about his outlook on that plan. “That would allow me the power to thoroughly fight them using my own hands.”

As they approached the well kept tower, Arathos simply smirked. “You are so naive to the world around you, Zarenthal. The conquest for power is an ever-consuming maw, just like this plague we face.” A knowing smirk was on his face, he had plans for those scourge that the young elf spoke about. “The souls of the scourge are far too weak, they are obedient to a master that has left them to slay your kind.”

An old golden-oak door was pushed open by his gloved hand, the room inside dimly lit by a single candle on a desk. Several papers and trophies lined it's walls, a large vulture sleeping inside a cage. Arathos continued to speak as they entered. “You should open your eyes to greater power, those in servitude to Illidan have conquered a whole new sight. They see the world in a way that a man like you would be envious of.”

That promise enamored the young elf, his green eyes widening. “Sight? What do you mean?” He hardly looked around that tower, being lead into it's basement by the smaller man. His judgment had become cloudy at a promise of something far better than simply breaking a few of the scourge.

“I mean you can see things hidden in plain sight, the unknown, demons, spirits.. All sorts of powers for you to play with, my friend.” Arathor spoke warmly as they entered a circular room that rested below the tower. He retrieved a candle tray from the wall, lighting the wick and walking down into the room with it. “You may want to remove your robe, this room heats up rather fast with two inside..” His twisted grin was hidden from the pale elf, what was this man planning?

The room was made of stone, residing deep within the mountain it was quite cold. In the center rested a small slotted drain, the floor curved just slightly to lead to it. It seemed all well kept, even free from the smell of undeath that had plagued the area. Zarenthal looked around the room as he spoke, not having much to gaze at before he looked back to the other elf. All of those red flags didn't seem to bother Zaren, if he had even noticed them at this point.

“I would do anything for a power like that, I could rid this land of the scourge and rule it..” The words while devious, were completely naive. While the man spoke he stripped away the robes he wore, leaving him in the underclothes he often wore for warmth.

Slowly Arathos crept up to the man, bringing his gloved hand to brush over the pale elf's face. He looked right at those eyes. “Anything?” A sly chuckle left his lips, his fingers slipping over the elf's eyes. “You understand what I have told you, no doubt. I can tell by how your heart is shining through your words, I cannot sway you from this..”

Arathos slowly set the candle beside them, bringing his other hand up to the elf's cheek. Those fingers brushed over the high bones, sliding along as his thumbs glided up the nearly ivory skin. The elf had long nails, ones which dug into the elf's jawline. His thumbs pressed right over the elf's eyes.

A soft hum filled the room, the flame on the candle swaying as Arathos's fingers began to shimmer with a purple light. As it pulsed more vibrantly the fire swayed even more. Silence hung in the air before a bright flash flooded the room, the sounds of crackling immediately being over shadowed by a melting gush. The power that was pushed from the flash causing the candle to burn out.

Those hands left the elf's face as a howl of pain echoed around the room, as if the darkness that surrounded him out stretched beyond those walls. Zarenthal's hands came up to his face when he felt warmth rushing over his cheeks. The smell of iron was heavy in the air, a warm, damp squish greeting the searching hands.

The gelatinous goo of his eyeballs were left in his hands, blood pouring out from the empty sockets and pooling along the curves of his face. His chest was covered in the blood very quickly, drooling down onto the floor below, where it slowly ran to the grate. Dull foot steps moved towards the door, a dry chuckle leaving his lips.

“Your innocent eyes, they cause you to see the world far too simple, Zarenthal. I sought fit that you were no longer plagued by them. Tell me, what do you see?” The voice didn't seem mocking, the question rung genuine. There was a sinister tone to it, after all the elf had sought to slay Arathos's playthings.

“N-nothing!” He managed to stutter out, nearly choking before he looked around. “It's dark.. Cold.” In his quest for power he had quickly become weakened by the that lust, without his eyes he had no chance of surviving in the lands of the dead. He whimpered softly, his voice nearly choking out as he spoke. “I-I can't fight the scourge like this.”

Arathos shook his head. His fingers lifted before he snapped his fingers. The sound of flesh ripping immediately followed it. The blood of Zaren's eyes began to move on it's own, ripping and reconstructing the flesh of the elf. His hands planted on the stone floor, failing to clutch at anything as the pain caused him to convulse. He coughed and heaved until blood came billowing from his mouth.

“Fight the scourge? You spoke of draining the souls of my playthings. You mettle in affairs that you are far too unprepared for. Do you really think the promise of power comes without a fee? You will never be able to look at this world through your precious little doe eyes again, you'll only see the wrongs people like us make in this world.” Arathos had berated him with a large grin.

The dull footsteps drew closer, one of those gloved hands collecting the elf by his chin before the other produced a scalpel. In swift, practiced motions that blade drug along the skin, drawing runes over the healed flesh that covered the elf's sockets. By now the pain was beginning to numb, that blade only contributing to a state of shock the elf laid in.

“And now, little elf?” The voice was much deeper, filled with fire and brimstone. “Do your eyes see your mistakes?”

The Sin'dorei could finally see something besides darkness. It was fiery and burning a bright green, it surrounded the silhouette of Arathos. The look of recognition on the elf's brow was all he needed as a response, dropping the bloodied elf back to the floor. It caused the elf to whimper, he would no longer be able to conquer the lands around him with his plan.

“My mistakes? You've robbed me!” The elf screamed out, the chamber he sat in seeming to eat up the pain in his voice like a void. “I was going to conquer the scourge! No one would be able to oppose my wishes with them under my thumb!” His words were filled with a venomous anger, his true intentions were bleeding through just like his eyes.

Arathos didn't seem to care, had he known? “Now, I told you this room was built for two.” A hand came to his belt, clutching at a dagger that resided on his belt. He pulled it off and tossed it in front of Zaren. “Only two may leave as well.. Remember that.” The cold stone slowly began to heat around the elf who remained on his hands and knees. His head canted around before he found it's source, one that made the elf's statement make much more sense.

Standing mere feet from the elf remained a new friend Arathos had left him, a ravenous felhound in search of it's next meal. With the room so full of blood, it could not locate the elf so quickly, and given the darkness they resided in, it couldn't see either. The sacrifice of his sight seemed to suggest an advantage, would that elf be able to survive with just a dagger?

#zarenthal #mg rp #cw: dark themes #cw: gore

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drsilverfish · 5 years

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The Scapegoat - Speculative Musings on S14′s end (Moriah)

The Scapegoat by William Holman Hunt 1854-5

As we know, the final episode of S14 (14x20) is titled Moriah, which, in the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament) is the place (possibly a mountain and possibly a mountainous region) where Abraham (as set out in Genesis) took his son Isaac as if to sacrifice him to God.

@mittensmorgul @profound-boning and @prairiedust have already been talking about the significance of Moriah here:

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/184043640359/prairiedust-mittensmorgul-profound-boning

One of the fascinating things about the Akedah (the Binding of Isaac) is that it has been interpreted in several ways, two key ones for SPN being:

1) Abraham testing God

(putting pressure on God to intervene to save an innocent)

2) God testing Abraham’s faith

(that God would intervene or would resurrect his son)

Both of these are of interest to the narrative of Supernatural.

14x17 Game Night specifically stages a conversation between the angels, Anael and Castiel, about God’s intervention, or non-intervention, in human affairs.

Anael castigates God for being non-interventionist, whilst Castiel wishes to point out that, sometimes, God has intervened, even as he directly seeks God’s intervention (for help with his adopted Nephilim son) via Joshua’s copy of the Samulet to (it would as yet appear) no avail.

I’ve been musing on why the quote from the New Testament, which poor old whammied Donatello rasps out, whilst being messed about by Nick as a kind of prophet-radio conduit to Lucifer in The Empty, is, anachronistically, in Ancient Hebrew, rather than Greek (which scholars agree was the first written language of the New Testament, as opposed to the Biblical Hebrew of the Old Testament):

“Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour…” (Peter 5:8 King James Bible)

Perhaps because SPN has always, more overtly, drawn on the Hebrew Bible/ Old Testament, and apocrypha like The Book of Enoch, whilst leaving its (abundant) Christ imagery largely in subtext.

And Moriah, and thus the story of Abraham and Isaac, is very much a story of the Hebrew Bible/ Old Testament.

Let’s back up a bit, and consider the Jewish tradition of the scapegoat, as set out in Leviticus.

Here is a discussion of this ritual, from a Jewish perspective:

https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/leviticus-161-34-the-scapegoat-ritual/

God tells Moses, to tell his brother Aaron, to approach the Ark of the Covenant (but not to get too close or he’ll die) and to bring two goats, as part of a sacred act of ritual cleansing and worship.

@shirtlesssammy should be excited about this, as they were discussing Castiel in relation to the Ark of the Covenant here:

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/183969680699/castiel-and-the-holy-grail

From Leviticus:

16:7. Aaron shall take the two he-goats and let them stand before the LORD at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting;

16:8. and he shall place lots upon the two goats, one marked for the LORD and the other marked for Azazel.

16:9. Aaron shall bring forward the goat designated by lot for the LORD, which he is to offer as a sin offering;

16:10. while the goat designated by lot for Azazel shall be left standing alive before the LORD, to make expiation with it and to send it off to the wilderness for Azazel.....

So, one goat is a blood sacrifice for God, and as for the fate of the other goat?:

6:21. Aaron shall lay both his hands upon the head of the live goat and confess over it all the iniquities and transgressions of the Israelites, whatever their sins, putting them on the head of the goat; and it shall be sent off to the wilderness through a designated man.

16:22. Thus the goat shall carry on it all their iniquities to an inaccessible region; and the goat shall be set free in the wilderness....

Some Jewish scholars, apparently, see one goat (the blood sacrifice) as for God and the other (the scapegoat) as for Satan (Azaezel), indeed some argue Satan IS the scapegoat. Whilst some Christian scholars see the scapegoat, cast into the wilderness to carry the sins of the tribe, as an allegory for Christ.

One goat for God and one goat for Satan - we can see how that can be mapped onto the supposed “destinies” of the Winchester brothers, as sacrificial humans on the altar of the Apocalypse - one for Heaven (Dean as the Michael vessel) and one for Hell (Sam as Lucifer’s vessel).

This is really interesting, in relation to Moriah, because in fact Abraham had two sons (who were half brothers) Ishmael and Isaac. Ishmael was sent into the wilderness (like the scapegoat) where he and his mother encountered an angel, whilst Isaac almost had his blood ritually spilled for God (like the blood sacrifice goat).

Cain and Abel are sometimes mapped onto these two goats too (Abel as the blood-sacrifice goat and Cain as the scapegoat).

And Dean and Sam have themselves been mapped by the SPN narrative previously, during the Mark of Cain narrative of S10, onto Cain and Abel.

Dean was, after all, told by John Winchester (sometimes a narrative mirror for God) that if he couldn’t save Sam, he’d have to kill him. And indeed, when Sam was in the Pit with Satan (after the events of 5x22 Swan Song) Dean was effectively “in the wildnerness”; his year of lost grieving trying to live “a normal, apple-pie life” with Lisa and Ben.

Sam as the blood sacrifice goat and Dean as the scapegoat.

However, because Dean has also, since Mary’s death, been a substitute parent to Sam (parentification) we can also view Dean as mappable to Abraham and Sam as mappable to Isaac.

This parentified relationship was foregrounded, once again, in 14x17, when Sam almost died from a bloodied wound to the head (thanks to Nick) (i.e. he took the role of the blood sacrifice goat) and his (almost) last words to Dean were, “My whole life, you put me first,” (acknowledging Dean as the scapegoat, who has had to bear the weight of the sins of others, namely of their parents).

With me, thus far? Sam and Dean, sacrificial goats, fathers and sons, God and Satan, faith and doubt, sin and expiation?

Now, how does all this map into the story of Jack the Nephilim, as well as the Jungian themes of the season?

Jack, we know, functions as a mirror for all of Team Free Will.

He is the son of Satan by “blood” and he is the son of Castiel, Sam and Dean by love. He now contains within him elements of Heaven (AU!Michael’s grace) Hell (Lucifer’s parentage and, possibly, Lucifer’s control from beyond the grave via Nick’s blood spell) and Earth (his human parentage and soul from Kelly Kline).

He is a trinity: Heaven, Hell and Earth; Castiel, Sam and Dean; Father, Son and Holy Ghost; a hunter, a Winchester, the son of Lucifer.

Jack is also now the embodiment of the question of fate vs free will which epitomises Supernatural. Is he “fated” to be evil, as the son of Lucifer, or does he still have the free will to choose his path, thanks to his Team Free Will adopted fathers?

Now we come to the two goats - Jack looks as if he is being set up to embody both - the blood sacrifice goat (he has now been explicitly linked to his father Lucifer via a blood spell) and the scapegoat, because the Winchesters all seem to be reaching the assumed conclusion (without unequivocal evidence) that Jack no longer has a soul.

Here’s where the Jungian themes of the season kick in.

This season has been a season in which TFW have been confronted by their shadow-selves, meaning, in a Jungian psychological sense, the repressed (both negative and potentially positive) aspects of themselves.

Dean has been confronted by AU!Michael wearing his face (representing his repression/ control).

Castiel has been confronted by The Shadow wearing his face (representing his sense of worthlessness).

Sam looks as if he is going to be forced to confront Lucfier, who has worn his face before, once again (representing his isolationism and rebelliousness).

Control (power), sense of worthlessness (anxiety about being loved) and isolation/ rebelliousness - we can see all of these manifesting in Jack the Nephilim, adopted son of TFW.

Now, one of the psycholgical consequences of NOT confronting one’s shadow self, is projection, or the scapegoating of others (see how this all ties together?):

“When we scapegoat, we project what is dark, shameful and denied about ourselves onto others. This “shadow” side of our personality, as Carl Jung called it, represents hidden or wounded aspects of ourselves, “the thing a person has no wish to be,” (Collected Works, Vol. 16) and acts in a complementary and often compensatory manner to our persona or public mask, “what oneself as well as others think one is.” (Collected Works, Vol. 9).”

https://www.psychologytoday.com/gb/blog/transcending-the-past/201703/how-facing-our-shadow-can-release-us-scapegoating

It looks as if a whole lot of projection is about to go down amongst Team Free Will (4x18 Absence promo) at least, in as much as we can take anything too concrete from next week’s promos, given how partial a picture these can paint!

Dean, Sam and Castiel have each travelled down the road to darkness, which they fear Jack is travelling now, themselves, in the past. Dean has been a torturer in Hell, on his way to demonhood after selling his soul. He has also been a demon enslaved by the Mark of Cain. Sam has been addicted to demon blood and on his own way to demonhood as a result, and he has been soulless (having been resurrected without his soul by Cas and Crowley). Cas has imbibed the Leviathan from Purgatory, become Godstiel and Levi!Cas, and slaughtered many of his angel bretheren in Heaven.

If they cannot acknowledge their shadow-selves, they will end up projecting them onto one another and onto Jack. They will scapegoat one another and their adopted son.

So the question is, who will be sacrificed on metaphorical Mount Moriah?

Will it be Jack, embodiment of them all?

Will it (finally) be the parentification between Dean and Sam (as it needs to be for their both their psychological growth)?

And how will God answer all his wayward sons?

Added editor’s note: Here is a good article on the idea of “The Adversary” (who later developed into Satan) in the Hebrew Bible:

https://www.haaretz.com/archaeology/.premium.MAGAZINE-do-jews-believe-in-the-devil-1.6588731

You can read my previous Jungian-themed meta on the season here:

1) The Shadow 14x08

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/180906003584/the-shadow-14x08

2) 14x09 The Spear (Jungian Decoder Ring Edition)

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/181122764984/14x09-the-spear-jungian-decoder-ring-edition

3) Jung and Dean’s Journey Towards Self-Integration in 14x11 Damaged Goods

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/182299438269/jung-and-deans-journey-towards-self-integration

4) Ouroboros in Prophet and Loss (14x12)

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/182486474324/ouroboros-in-prophet-and-loss-14x12

5) A Pearl of Great Price - 14x13 Lebanon

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/182660472289/a-pearl-of-great-price-14x13-lebanon

6) The Serpent and the Egg: Snake and Eye Symbology in 14x14 Ouroboros

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/183327000184/the-serpent-and-the-egg-snake-and-eye-symbology

7) Another Alchemical Easter Egg in 14x14

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/183388134889/another-alchemical-easter-egg-in-14x14

#Supernatural #SPN meta #Meta #SPN spec #14x18 #Absence #14x20 #Moriah #Jung in S14 #SPN as Biblical fan-fiction #Team Free Will #fate vs free will #Jack the Nephilim #faith vs doubt #Chuck Shurley #The sheep and the goats #14x17 #Game Night

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mothermaidenclone-blog · 5 years

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Godzilla: King of the Monsters or It’s All About That Queen Bee Though

Godzilla: King of the Monsters was a very cool movie. Yes, it was pretty stupid, but was it also a gloriously fun, utterly ridiculous romp? Definitely. Warner Bros. knew we wanted to watch a bunch of massive monsters beat the ever-loving shit out of each other, and they certainly delivered on that front. As with any Godzilla movie, the main problem was that they spent too much time on the tiny, insignificant people and not enough on the aforementioned battling titans. However, there were some notable ladies featured amongst the squishy humans.

*Godzilla: King of the Monsters spoilers follow*

The first on screen conversation takes place between two women, Dr. Emma Russell (Vera Farmiga) and her daughter Madison (Millie Bobby Brown). Dr. Russell is evidently an exceptional scientist, as she has invented a device to communicate with, and to some extent control, the titans. She is also portrayed as brave and compassionate, risking her life to run to the aid of Mothra with her ORCA device. In addition, she wants her daughter to be strong and to experience what life has to offer, helping her to stroke Mothra once it has calmed down. She then guides her through the horrors of being held captive with the advice, “Eyes straight ahead, deep breaths, just like we talked about.” She isn’t shielding Madison from what is happening, but trying to help her to cope with it on her own.

However, it soon turns out that Dr. Russell is one of the villains of the movie, as she approached the eco terrorist Jonah Alan (Charles Dance) rather than being abducted by him, as it first appeared. As such, she is responsible for countless deaths in the movie, regardless of whether or not she is acting for the greater good of the planet. On the other hand, she is unwavering in the defence of her decisions and ethics, and even after the movie has declared her a baddie she is still portrayed as rational and somewhat empathetic. She justifies her actions as being for the benefit of her daughter, and perhaps her daughter’s whole generation: “I couldn’t be more sane and Madison couldn’t be stronger. At least now she has a fighting chance.” At least Dr. Russell is granted a redemptive end - she dies saving not only her family, but arguably the entire planet, from the destructive forces of Ghidorah. It’s still shitty that she dies, no two ways about it, but at least she is granted some agency. Once a film like this declares you a villain you don’t stand a chance - it’s a noble sacrifice on her part and she isn’t just squashed by a giant monster foot while delivering a monologue about how her plans were right all along.

One of Dr. Russell’s plans does come to fruition, and that is that Madison becomes an incredibly strong young woman. She goes from slyly flipping off Jonah at the start of the movie to literally standing down Ghidorah and screaming right back in his fucking face. Now, it could well be argued that these are not the most considered of actions, but it cannot be denied that Madison has some nerve. In addition to being categorically courageous, Madison is also intelligent and principled. When she sees that Ghidorah’s rampage is becoming uncontrollable, she not only steals the ORCA from under the nose of a group of highly organised armed terrorists and escapes their fortified secret base, taking the time to appropriately supply herself for her journey (like no one in movies ever does!), but she also figures out the most effective location to broadcast from and operates the ORCA independently. Kudos to Madison, she knows what she’s doing. She does end up having to be rescued by her parents but two things are worth remembering at this point: firstly, Madison has just done her bit to save the entire planet and secondly, she is still a child. She’s more than allowed to run scared for a moment when a three-headed, lightning-breathing dragon from space is trying to cause the end of days.

Dr. Vivienne Graham (Sally Hawkins) reprises her role from the first film, and we are treated to a brief reminder of what a competent, intrepid scientist and eloquent, fearless defender of Godzilla she is before she is unceremoniously felled by Ghidorah. I didn’t even notice her death, and while it’s true I might have been taking notes and missed it, I was informed by a small piece of text on a character’s computer screen, which seems like an unnecessarily dismissive way to end the life of such an intrinsic character to the series.

Perhaps in an attempt to compensate for the loss of Dr. Graham, several new named female characters were introduced, and credit where credit’s due, pretty much all of these women are immediately addressed by their name and title. This not only shows them the respect they are due, but saved me the kind of IMDB credits trawling I usually have to do when writing a review. We meet another of Monarch’s top scientists, Dr. Ilene Chen (Ziyi Zhang). She is notable not only for her scientific competency, but also for her heritage, as she reveals she is the direct descendant of one of the female founders of Monarch, and shows a selection of photos of completely badass looking explorers and scientists that make up her family, all of whom are women. Her twin sister, Dr. Ling (also Ziyi Zhang) also briefly features, although she is seemingly working for the terrorists. We don’t see much of her except for an appropriately awed look at the hatching of Mothra, but it’s safe to assume by her presence at the site that she is an equally accomplished scientist. Dr. Chen is also notable for being an advocate of not blowing Godzilla to smithereens, pointing out that, “slaying dragons is a western concept.”

Another new female character is Colonel Diane Foster (Aisha Hinds), an extremely competent officer and woman of colour, who seems to be in charge of the military branch of Monarch’s operations. She continues to excel throughout the movie, surviving the attack that killed Dr. Graham and continuing to lead others safely through danger until the end. Foster is shown to be a strong leader as well as a distinguished field officer - she is a highly skilled sniper who cares deeply about saving innocent lives.

Black women continue to occupy positions of power, if not leading roles, in Godzilla: King of the Monsters, as further exemplified by Senator Williams (CCH Pounder), who presides over the Monarch hearing at the start of the film and appears to have the power to turn the whole organisation over to the military if she so chooses. Women do very much inhabit the world of this movie, with many women being present of all sides of the conflict as scientists, soldiers and terrorists alike. Although I’m not sure we hear all their names, many are credited, including Asaj (Tracy Garrison), one of Jonah’s team, First Lieutenant Griffin (Elizabeth Ludlow), Lieutenant Bottin (Natalie Shaheen), G-Team Officer Harryhausen (Shauna Rappold), Argo Officer Arvin (Skylar Denney), Argo Officer Cross (Kelli Garner) and a news anchor (Fiona Hardingham) who is one of the first voices we hear in the movie. The fact that two of these characters are named for practical effects superstars tells me that they held a special place in the hearts of the movie makers.

However wonderful all of these women are, let’s talk about the real leading lady of this movie - Mothra. Not only is she utterly radiant and resplendent, she can hold her own in a fight - penetrating Rodan with her stinger - and apparently has the monumental power of the ability to resurrect Godzilla. In short, she’s amazing. She is also the only titan to be named as female, which makes it all the more shitty that she’s the only one - other than the big bad Ghidorah - to die. It seems even female kaiju aren’s safe from the played out and tired fate of dying for the benefit of their male counterparts. Now, my little brother (who is more of a Gozilla expert than me) texted me as soon as he knew I’d seen the movie to tell me not to worry and that Mothra is apparently immortal, because he knew I’d be so cross and sad about this. Thanks, baby bro. However, as this is not addressed in the movie, I have to stand by my initial assessment that Mothra’s death is pure garbage.

Overall, the women in Godzilla: King of the Monsters are incredibly strong and adept in a wide variety of fields ranging from science to combat, are without exception incredibly brave, and most of them hold to a high moral code. Furthermore, for a monster movie where presumably thousands of people are slaughtered, their mortality rate isn’t too bad. I think one more named male character dies than female, but this doesn’t make the loss of talented female scientists on screen any easier to swallow. Also, they killed Mothra, so I can never forgive them. Well, not until she comes back in a sequel and fucks up some even bigger bastards because you know I will watch another Godzilla movie, no hesitation. On balance, this is an absolutely ridiculous movie about giant dragons murdering each other, so I think we’re lucky that so many competent human women were featured at all.

And now for some asides:

Umm, excuse me, was that casually Atlantis? And did you blow it up?

Also did this movie low-key endorse hollow Earth theory?

Thank you, Godzilla: King of the Monsters, for the gift of someone ejector-seating straight into Rodan’s fiery maw. You truly know your audience.

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