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aboveallarescuer · 3 years

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

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

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

Both believe they are destined for greatness

Aerys II:

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

Cersei:

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

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

Both are cut by the Iron Throne

Aerys II:

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

Cersei:

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

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

Both feel excitement and pleasure at the sight of wildfire

Aerys II:

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

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

Cersei:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aerys II:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cersei:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aerys II:

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

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

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

Cersei:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aerys II:

Cersei:

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he admitted. “Not them.”

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

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

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

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

Both are often cruel, rude and disrespectful to others

Aerys II:

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

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

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

Cersei:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aerys II:

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

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

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

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

Cersei:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aerys II:

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

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

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

Cersei:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your Grace, let me take Dragonstone.”

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

“I shall, Your Grace.” He rose.

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

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

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

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

Aerys II:

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

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

Cersei:

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

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

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

Both are unpopular with the common people

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

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

Cersei:

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

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

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

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

Both feel threatened by the shadow of Tywin Lannister

Aerys II:

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

Cersei:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aerys II:

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

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

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

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

Cersei:

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

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

“I am the queen. (AFFC Cersei IX)

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

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

This doesn't happen with Dany.

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

Aerys II:

Cersei:

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

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

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

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

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

This doesn't happen with Dany.

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

Aerys II:

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

Cersei:

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

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

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

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

This doesn't happen with Dany.

Comparisons in the text between Aerys II and Cersei

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

"Now you sound like Aerys."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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autumnsart22 · 3 years

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A Dream Come True: Shigaraki x Dabi x Reader part 1/2

So my friend wrote this fic but she didn’t have anywhere to post it so we decided to share it here! All creds go to her 🤪

I’ll post part 2 tomorrow, which is when it gets spicyyyy

“Y/N I am leaving for the night. You know what to do and your paycheck is on the desk in my office.”

And with those final words, a cheeky wink, and the slam of the back door, your boss stalked out of the empty bar. He wasn’t a bad person but a lousy boss and an even lousier business owner. Most of the liquor went into his morning, afternoon, or evening coffee sometimes forgoing the coffee altogether. You overheard some of the other workers in the area saying that this place was gonna go under pretty soon. Even without the boss’s nasty habit of drinking the alcohol, you’re are in a part of town that doesn’t attract many people. On a busy night you might have three or four people come in for a lonely drink. It was a lonely place and a lonely job but it was easy work and the boss always seemed to pay you more than what the job is worth. Just another poor business practice.

Tonight had been the same as usual. You came into work at 6 and set up the bar for opening at 6:30. It wasn’t until 9:45 that another soul entered the bar. He was one of the usuals and it was nice having another human being to chat with while you fixed his drink. He made the routine comments about how you’re still young and shouldn't be working in a run down place like this, and you gave him the same answer as always that you were saving up to finish school, and that it was a fine job. When he left it was back to mindless wiping of surfaces and organizing the glasses and no one to talk to. It was 11:30 now and no one else had entered the bar, but that was normal. It was almost closing time now, and the boss never minded if you shut down 15 minutes early.

You were locking up the liquor, back turned to the rest of the bar when two male voices came from the front door. That’s weird you didn’t hear the door. They seemed to be arguing, and one of them seemed to be in pain based on his frequent groans and strained voice.

“Sorry we’re closing up for the night.” you yelled, continuing the shuffling of bottles.

“And who in the hell are you?”

You had heard that voice before, but that was insane, just a coincidence. However at that moment you felt an arm roughly grab around your waist and a strong lock around your wrists violently pushing them into your back.

“OUCH! WHAT THE HELL?!”

You were violently pushed around, body finally turned to see the man that wasn’t currently restraining you from behind. If this was some dumb cartoon your jaw would have touched the floor. What the hell was going on? All logical thought swept from your brain. How could this be? This man could not be standing in front of you. No you’re dreaming. You must be. You fell asleep at work and you’re dreaming. Okay. Okay. You just need to wake yourself up. Yeah that's it. You tried pinching yourself but you couldn’t move your hands out of the tight grip. The only unrestrained part of your body were your legs. You violently landed a kick to your left shin.

“FUCKING SHIT!!” Was that supposed to hurt that much in a dream?

“If that was aimed at me, you’re pathetic” The deep voice behind you chuckled lightly at the self inflicted kick. You felt the reverberations of the low tone where your body was pressed against his. You knew that voice too! You looked down at the arm still gripping threateningly around your waist. Charred skin ran all the way down to the hand where a ring of staples held it to viable flesh. Oh my god. This can’t be happening. You continued to violently kick yourself, closing your eyes tightly before opening them again, persistently trying to wake yourself up and make sense of this situation.

“Hey. Hey. Hey quit squirming” You felt a leg separating your own, preventing you from further abuse to your shins. The arm around your waist tightened in support since your legs started to give out.

“Crusty come help me out I think she’s gonna faint”

When you opened your eyes, the lights of the bar were harsh against your blurry vision and foggy brain.

“That was a weird dream. What time is it?” you wondered aloud, looking up for the clock on the wall.

“And she’s back, and this isn’t a dream sweetheart.” the deep voice sent a shock down your spine.

No way. Your eyes darted to the two men standing next to the bar. It was only then you realized you were slumped awkwardly in one of the leather chairs scattered throughout the room, ropes replacing the rough hands from earlier.

“Now as I asked you before? Who the hell are you?” This time it was the scratchy voice that shot at you. The familiar lanky form of Tomura Shigaraki was leaning against the bar, this time the edges of his frame curved into shadow and his height adding much more presence than what you could have imagined.

“You… you’re Tomura Shigaraki” you stuttered in shock.

“I asked for your name girl, not mine. Now spit it out” He barked impatiently.

“I-I-mm Y-yy-/N-nn”

“What are you doing here?” He shot again.

“I-I work here” Eyes darting between the two men you’ve studied so closely before, but always through a screen. This can’t be real. They can’t be real. It was rather ironic how defiant your mind was being to the presence of two men you had spent hours watching, reading, and fantasizing about but this was insane.

“No you don’t.” Shigaraki’s voice becoming more and more impatient with your slow and stupid answers.

“This bar has been closed for years.” Dabi stated flatly as though proving you’re lying.

“I can’t believe this. This has to be a dream” you started mumbling to yourself quickly trying to understand how this was reality.

“HEY! This isn’t a dream, you stupid girl! Now tell us why you're in our bar!”

“You’re Tomura Shigaraki and you’re Dabi from My Hero Academia” you started calming down and succumbing to the fact that this was happening even if you were going crazy. Two villains from an anime you watch are standing in front of you seemingly real.

“From wha–– oh nevermind. What’s your quirk?” Shigraki continued to shoot questions at you but none of his words could cut through the hurricane of questions storming through your brain.

“How are you guys real? How are you guys here?”

“I am the one asking questions here. Now tell me what your quirk is?” He said annoyedly, starting to scratch his neck.

“I don’t have a quirk. No one here does”

“What are you talking about? Nearly everyone has a quirk.” Dabi questioned coldly.

“This is the real world. There are no such things as quirks here.” You continued finally allowing yourself to come to the ludacris idea that this was in fact reality.

“Very funny. Dabi what do you say we just kill her?” Shigaraki said with a sadistic grin evident behind the hand, taking a step closer to you. Dabi shrugged leaning against the bar, an air of unamusement lingering in his face.

“WAIT...wait...What if I can prove to you that this is a different reality?”

“Well go on then prove it” Shigraki teased continuing his advance on you.

“You’re Tomura Shigaraki leader of the League of Villains ––”

“Blah Blah everyone knows that” He said annoyed now looming over you, his deadly hands reaching out.

Closing your eyes and turning away from him, you continued to spurt out facts, waiting to be turned into ash.

“Your real name is Tenko Shimura, the hand on your face you refer to as father, you…”

SLAP! Your face stung but your body still seemed to be intact. When you dared to open your eyes, Shigraki’s face was inches from yours, murderous crimson glaring at you from between the fingers of his mask. Pinned into the chair between his two arms gripping the armrests, you were trapped.

“How do you know that?” He said through clenched teeth.

“You’re a character from an anime I watch. I’ve watched you guys for months”

“Liar. You must have hacked us or stolen or….” You could tell he was trying to figure out how you knew information that isn’t in any record or known by anyone.

“I promise. I didn’t do any of that. I am telling the truth.” you continued to plead.

“What about me? Do you know shit about me?” Dabi didn’t seem to be convinced.

“Ummm...Well I know your name is Touya Todoroki and you’re the oldest son of Endeavor and...

“You’re the son of Endeavor?” Shigaraki standing up and looking at him revolted.

“Hey I didn’t say that. She did.” Dabi seemed pissed behind the flat face.

“Okay but SHE seems to know everything about us so…”

“Fine. What do we do then? Kill her?” Dabi asked.

“Fine by me.” Shigaraki shrugs. You stared helplessly as the blue haired man turned back to you still tied in the chair.

“Wait! I know information about other people. I’ll tell you everything I know please”

“Sorry, but I’ve made up my mind”

The excitement was evident in his scratchy voice as he violently grabbed your face smushing your cheeks together uncomfortably. Shigaraki’s cold fingers dug into your skin, nails sharp and ragged. You could see his pointer finger still raised in your field of vision. You shut your eyes tightly as he slowly brought his pointer finger down to meet his others. You waited for something to happen. Were you already dead? Was it that simple? You opened an eye when you felt Shigaraki’s nails dig further into your skin. He was still standing in front of you with his hand still on your face, just as confused as you were on why you weren’t a pile of ash.

“I guess your quirks were erased when...”

SLAP! Where his hand had laid flat moments before was now red and stinging as he landed his second blow to your face tonight.

“Scar face any fire?” he shot, standing up straight again and turning towards Dabi.

“Nope. I am just as useless as you” Dabi returned.

You could see the annoyance fuming in Shigaraki’s eyes as the realization that what you had been stating was true. He was currently stuck in a different dimension with no quirks. You let out a sigh of relief, glad that you didn’t have to be worried about being turned into ash by either men.

“Alright brat” Shigaraki hissed turning back to you. “ What were you saying about information?”

“Well like I said before. You two are characters in an anime in this universe, and that means I know just as much about other characters... I mean other people in your universe. Of course not everything but just what’s been released”

“An anime you say. What’s this show called?”

“Um…” You hesitated knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer”

“Spit it out”

“My Hero Academia”

“Tch. Of fucking course it’s about the heros.” He said the last word with such disdain that it oozed onto the floor.

“Let me guess. All Might is the main character?”

“Well not exactly.”

“Then who the fuck is it?”

“Well….Izuku Midoriya”

“That annoying little green haired brat is the main character?! What makes him so special?”

“Well that’s kind of a long story and the whole premise of the show”

“Well we’ve got time, and we need to figure out how in the hell we got here and how the fuck we’re gonna get back, so keep talking”

“Fine, but first untie me.”

“What did you say?” Shigaraki questioned. A small chuckle came from Dabi who was now playing with the toothpicks you used in drinks, lazily moving them around with his hands, one already perched between his teeth.

“I told you to untie me” You were gaining some confidence since you realized you had the upper hand.

“There are no quirks here and I have no intent on trying to deceive you two, believe me I know what you’re capable of ” They could still harm you in many ways but you were a source of information and someone who understood their situation.

“So if you would please untie me. I promise to help you” At this point you surmised that they had somehow been warped here by someone else’s quirk either in or after some kind of fight. Shigaraki had a growing bloodstain seeping through his jeans, and Dabi had some deep cuts and few staples loose. Dabi and Shigaraki looked at eachother deciding whether or not to trust me.

“Look” You said exasperatedly. You were starting to lose feeling in one of your legs that was pressed awkwardly underneath you, and your shoulders becoming sore from the awkward angle of your arms. “I don’t know how you are here or why it was me you happened to run into, but you need help and are you really gonna try and explain this situation to someone else?”

“She’s right you know” Dabi said casually to Shigaraki who was obviously trying to come up with an excuse to hurt you.

“Fine. Go utie her”

With a heavy sigh Dabi slid off his stool dropping the toothpicks in his hand, the one still pursed between his lips moving idly as he chewed on it. He stalked over to you as Shigaraki sat on a stool at the bar from the growing pain in his leg. Dabi came up in front of you, and you couldn’t help but flush at how close he was. You thought back to the copious amounts of fanfic you’ve read as he reached around you to untie the rope. He was so close you could feel his breath on your neck and hear him chewing on the toothpick. He smelled of worn cologne with a musky yet slightly minty scent mixed with what you presume to be the scent of charred flesh. Once you were free and he was no longer in your personal space, you rubbed your wrists standing up trying to get blood flow back to your legs.

“Thanks” you say casually to Dabi as he walks back over resuming his seat at the bar next to Shigaraki. He doesn’t respond.

You start to walk towards the door at the side of the bar that leads to the boss’s office and the back room where you keep your stuff.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Shigaraki asks sliding off his stool threateningly, but he nearly stumbles when he lands on his ill leg.

“Don’t worry I am just going to grab my stuff”

“Dabi go with her”

“No. She’s not gonna go anywhere. Besides if this is anything like the bar then that room has no exit”

“Tch–” was Shigaraki’s only response. You take this as a concession and push open the door to the back room. When the door closes, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Dabi and Shigaraki from MHA were real and standing in the room next door. And you were going to help them?! Did that make you technically a villain? How were you supposed to figure out how to get them back? Did you want them to go back? After all you had dreamt of scenarios similar to this many times. Maybe if you figured it out could you go with them? That thought alone was enough to make your simp dreams explode. What weeb gods had blessed you?

Your brain was racing as you gathered your sweatshirt and bag. You popped quickly into the office attached to the back of the room to grab your paycheck. Like you suspected, he gave you a random bonus but you weren’t complaining. You stuffed it into your bag and walked back towards the bar. You took a deep breath before pushing open the door, half expecting to be met with an empty room, but there they were, talking in hushed tones. They immediately stopped when they heard you come back.

“Are you going somewhere?” Shigaraki asked, noticing your bag as you pulled on your sweatshirt.

“This place closed over 20 minutes ago and unless you want the other business owners around here to come poking around, since I always close on time, we should head out”

“And where exactly are WE going?” Dabi asked boredly, staring off at the ceiling.

“I live about six blocks from here. Think you can make it? I have first aid shit at my place” You directed the last part towards Shigaraki.

“Tch-”

“I will take that as a yes.” you said as you turned off the decorative lighting around the bar, and locked the register. You walked towards the front door and you heard the two men shuffle around to follow you. You open the door letting them walk out in front of you. Shutting off the main lights shrouding the bar into complete darkness cept the bright green exit sign above the door, you locked the bar door and turned to see Dabi and Shigaraki looking around at the buildings surrounding the bar. Shigaraki had stowed father into his pocket and Dabi popped up the collar of his jacket to try and obscure some of his scars. You also glanced around taking in the familiar scenery. You never really noticed how similar it was to the shots in MHA. Weird.

Anyways you can think about that later. You started the route back to your house the two men trailing closely behind you whether it was for their own comfort or to make sure you didn’t try to bolt, you didn’t know but you felt much safer with these two with you. Normally you would walk quickly, key in hand, always crossing the street to whichever side had the most light, but tonight you didn’t worry too much about the potential danger lurking on the streets. All of them seemed miniscule to the two men behind you.

You walked in complete silence for the majority of the time. You had so many questions but all of them could wait till you got home. I am sure they have just as many questions for you. You could hear Shigaraki grunt in pain every once in a while, walking becoming harder as time went on. You were about a block away coming up on the small 24 hour grocery/convenience store where you frequently bought snacks and food on your way home from work.

“Hey I need to quickly grab some stuff. I don’t have much food at home. Are you guys hungry?”

Neither responded.

“Okay then.” Neither one objected as you turned into the small parking lot walking up to the store. They both followed you inside like two overgrown shadows. You grabbed a basket and started making your way through the isles grabbing essentials like milk and cheese.

“Feel free to grab some stuff if it catches your eye. There’s Soba cups down that aisle and Shigaraki there’s chips and other snacks there too. I just need to grab something over here” you say pointing towards the other direction. Dabi and Shigaraki glance at each other and stalk off together.

“You know it's getting rather annoying how she knows all this stuff about us” You catch Shigaraki telling Dabi as you turn to go grab all the other items you need. When you return they’re both there, bags of chips and soba cups in hand. It was rather cute how they stood there waiting for you to return. You walked up to the counter to check out and once Dabi and Shigaraki dropped their haul for you to pay, they walked outside to wait for you.

“Good Morning Y/N”

“Oh. Hey Thomas” you say to the cashier you’ve come to know over the many late night trips. He always amused himself by saying good morning whenever you came in after midnight.

“Who were the two guys with you? They seem kinda rough. Is everything alright?” he finished scanning your items as you handed over your card.

“Oh haha. Don’t worry they’re some family friends. They came to visit me while they’re passing through”

“Oh alright then. Well I hope you have a good morning” He said with a cheery smile.

“Good morning” you returned, resistantly. You grabbed the bags of groceries and waved to Thomas, pushing the door open and stepping outside scanning for Dabi and Shigaraki.

You spot them leaning against the side of the store watching some teens try and pick a redbox movie.

“We only have a block to go,” you told them as they stood up straight to follow you.

“Woah!!! Jamie look that dude is dressed up as Dabi!”

We turned to see one of the teens staring at Dabi.

“Look at the guy next to him! That’s the best Shiggy I’ve seen”

You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from laughing. The look on Shigaraki’s face at a random teen calling him Shiggy was priceless. If only these kids knew. Dabi continued walking down the parking lot and Shigaraki looked like he was about to murder someone.

“Hey do you think we could get a picture with you guys?” one of the teens asked walking towards Shigaraki.

Oh no bad idea.

“Hey guys. Not tonight. Sorry” You intervened quickly, shooting Shigaraki a look that said don’t do it. He seemed to understand because he started to walk towards where Dabi was waiting.

“Aww man. Shigaraki’s my favorite character. Tell them amazing costumes.”

“Will do” you said with a smile and turned to walk towards where the two men were waiting for you.

The rest of the walk had an air of impatience as you all wanted to just get to your destination. You had finally made it to your apartment, unlocking the door and stepping inside. It was a fairly new building so the apartment was rather nice however it was one of the smallest models. There was only one bed and bath but the open concept living room and kitchen made it feel rather spacious. You walked into the kitchen putting away all the groceries as Dabi and Shigaraki looked around surveying your apartment.

“Feel free to make yourselves at home. I’ll grab my first aid stuff. There’s food and drink in the kitchen”

You walked down the hall to your room kicking off your shoes and taking off your sweatshirt. You grabbed the rather large first aid kit from the bathroom and brought it back into the main room. Both Dabi and Shigaraki had shed their jackets and seemed to have found some left over beers in your fridge. Dabi was sitting on the kitchen counter and Shigaraki was sitting at the dining room table, prodding at the wound on his leg.

“Don’t touch it. That's only gonna make it worse” you told him.

“Oh shut up. Don’t tell me what to do” he hissed.

“Fine I guess I’ll fix Dabi up first”

Shigaraki shoots Dabi a look of incredulity and annoyance, to which Dabi only raises his eyebrows and shrugs as he takes another swig of his beer. You set down the first aid kit and grab the extra stuff you bought at the store.

“Do you even know how to do first aid?” Dabi asks, watching you rummage for supplies.

“Yes. I had to get certified in order to work at a summer camp, so don’t worry I know what I’m doing. Although I’m not much help if it’s anything more than stitches. Of course unless you’re drowning or need CPR”

“Okay I get it” he said, taking another sip.

“Can you roll up your sleeves so I can see the cuts?” You turned to dampen a towel in the sink, and when you turned back around you were not expecting to be faced with a shirtless Dabi. You paused for a second, staring, before you heard Shigaraki ‘tch’ snapping you out of simp shock. You shook your head and started to address the wounds to Dabi’s arm and shoulder.

“(another name that’s close to Y/N) it’s time you answered some of my questions” Shigaraki said while sipping on his beer and propping his leg up on another chair.

“ It’s Y/N. Also if your gonna put your feet up at least take off your shoes”

“Whatever Princess” he said snarkily, dramatically kicking off his shoes. It took you a second to register the pet name he had just called you. No get your mind out of the gutter this is the real them, not the fanon fanfiction them. You continued to wipe away the dirt and grime surrounding Dabi’s wounds.

“So... we were recognized earlier by those stupid kids. Just how popular is this show you say we’re from”

“Umm that’s kinda hard to say since it’s within a specific genre but within that genre I’d say very popular, maybe one of the most currently”

“How do we fit into this show?”

“Well you’re the main antagonist as the leader of the League of Villains. The show introduces you through the USJ attack in season 1”

“What about me?” Dabi asks.

“Oh.. well you don’t come in till season 3 I think. Wait actually I think it’s the end of season 2 after the Hosu incident”

A small chuff came from Shigaraki, no doubt in whatever pride there was in being a more prominent character.

“Do you guys have any idea how you got to this world?” You asked.

“Hey I’m asking the questions here, but no. We were on an important recruiting mission when it turned ugly. I called for Kurogiri and we ran through his portal and you know the rest”

“Did you know any of the quirks you were battling against?”

“One guy had a weak poison quirk but I took him out in the beginning.” Dabi stated flatly.

“The two guys in front both had strength related quirks I think,” Shigaraki continued.

“There was that one tall girl in the back behind the pillar. Could have been hers but who knows”

“Hmmm….maybe somehow a quirk mixed with Kurogiri’s. Sorry this next part might sting a little” You said this last part to Dabi dabbing some rubbing alcohol onto the cuts to which he made no verbal reaction but his muscles tensed at the cold stinging.

“So you said the main character was the green haired brat right? So what’s the plot as you say? Why is it all about him and the heroes?”

You pause for a moment thinking. Is it okay to tell him this? He is a villain. Are there consequences to other characters?

“Hello?”

“Sorry...um basically the show starts with All Might choosing him to be his successor as the number one hero. Then it follows him through his path from being weak and quirkless to his journey through UA. That’s when you guys come in as the villains with all your attacks on the school and students��

“What do you mean quirkless? Green top has an annoyingly powerful quirk.” Dabi questions.

“Yeah… he defeated Muscular and that Overhaul bastard” Shigaraki continues.

Screw it.

“Well All Might gave his quirk to Midoriya”

Shigaraki’s eyes widened in interest, but kept silent in his thought process.

A few minutes pass in silence and you finish patching up Dabi and handing him a mirror so he can fix his own staples. He claimed to be pretty good at it now. You move the first aid stuff over to the table where Shigaraki sat.

“Your turn” you say looking down at his leg. He looked up at you defiantly.

“What are you not wearing boxers? Or do you not want me to treat it?” You said pulling a chair to where his leg was resting. He rolled his eyes but stood up and undid his belt and pulled down his black jeans. He was wearing red boxers that looked a size too big as they hung loosely around his lean muscles. You made sure not to stare after being caught earlier. You started to repeat the same process you did on Dabi but Shigaraki was much more vocal about the discomfort you caused as you cleaned the wound.

“You’re cut is deeper. It’s gonna need stitches if you want it to heal properly”

“Whatever” he said in response.“I wanna know more about how people here see us. That kid back there said I was his favorite character. How do people see us in the show”

“Well it depends. Everyone has their favorite characters for different reasons”

“Yea...yea.. answer the question”

“Fine. Most people like you as a villain and as a character. However you’re seen as childish.” A chuckle from Dabi that earned him a death glare. “Dabi you’re more popular and your past is a rather hot topic for fans. However both of you are pretty popular in the fandom. Does that answer your question.”

“What do you mean popular in the fandom?”

“Well you know like fan theories, fanart, fanfiction, etc. A lot of people like you guys. However a lot of it is fan theories, guesses, and headcanons, but people don’t actually know” you said threading the needle for the stitches.

“What kind of theories?” Shigaraki asks hesitantly

“Well for example for a long time it wasn’t actually stated that Dabi was the missing Todoroki child but fans believed it so much that it was basically thought of as fact, and then it became truth. Other theories are less intense like Dabi again for example is presumed that his favorite food is hot soba and yours is junk food or hand food like chips and stuff.”

“How the fuck do you people figure these things out?” Shigaraki asked, wincing at the pinch of the needle.

“Well the food thing was because you have the thing with hands so hand food”

“That’s so stupid” He hissed.

“But is it wrong?” You asked, already knowing the answer based on the grocery trip.

“Tch––”

“Why hot soba for patchwork overthere?”

“Oh because it was revealed that Todoroki, I mean Shoto’s favorite food is cold soba and the whole brothers thing. People connected dots”

“That’s so stupid” Dabi was the one who spoke this time.

“And again were they wrong?” You looked up at him raising your eyebrows knowingly.

“Also those aren’t even the stupid ones. People make up the weirdest shit, some as jokes, others as forms of comfort or just for imagination’s sake. Okay you’re all done.” You say standing up and clearing away the dirty gauze and other first aid supplies. Shigaraki pulls his dirty and bloodstained pants back up over his neatly bandaged leg. You take all the first aid stuff back to the bathroom and return a little bit later to find Shigaraki and Dabi arguing over who knows what. You hear some words like ‘She’ and ‘think’, so you assume they’re talking about you but just as before they stop when you walk back into the room.

“So I set out some towels in the bathroom along with some old clothes my ex boyfriend and my brother left here. They may not be the best fit sorry but it’ll do. If you leave your clothes in the laundry basket I’ll throw them in the wash tomorrow”

“I call dibs on the shower first” Dabi said, hopping off the counter.

“Bastard” Shigaraki muttered.

#shigaraki #dabi x shigaraki #shigaraki x dabi #my hero academia #my hero #shigaraki x reader #dabi x reader #shigaraki x dabi x reader #anime #fanfiction #fandom

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therewasatale · 3 years

Text

Dwarven Parenthood

On Ao3.

Peoples stopped and stared as Captain Carrot was walking down Cable street with a dwarf on his side. This in on itself wouldn’t have been such a surprise, what was head turning was the attire worn by said dwarf. Every dwarf wore armor, even the most liberal ones had at least some ceremonial chainmail and the more traditional ones walked around in full plate.

This dwarf was in a whole other level, he had such impressive amount of metal on his body, that one could have used him as an anchor for a navy vessel. And what armor, it was polished and gilded with gold, the absolute finest workmanship one could buy. Based on its archaic design it was probably passed down from generations.

Captain Carrot himself wore his best uniform, with all the bashes and kinks hammered out, polished to such a degree that when the sun hit him right he briefly transformed into a flash of light, dazzling any nearby passer-by. His hair was also combed, and he wore his sword on his side.

One could have assumed that he was doing his duty escorting some foreign dignitary, probably some general of the Low King, and showing him around the city.

The truth in fact, was, that after a long time apart his father has visited him.

"And this is Gimmlet's Hole Food delicatessen, it is the most famous dwarf restaurant in the city. " Said Carrot nodding towards a building nearby. Above the door a pretty good wooden sculpture of a grilled rat rolled perpetually above an imaginary fireplace.

"Yes, very good. " Said the older Ironfoundersson a bit strained.

Carrot has showed him most of the city, including the bread Museum which was quiet illuminating.

Amongst the common battle breads, it contained pastry products that, and he was quite sure, no living dwarf ever heard about. Aside from Carrot of course. He heard about everything in the city. He really got used to the city. It was clear he belonged here, and he loved talked about it. And that was one of the reasons the old Ironfoundersson just let him talk. Another reason was the fact that after all this time, he just didn’t really know what to say. Or what to ask for that matter.

Finally, he gathered himself and forces himself to at least try some conversation.

"So, erm, this Commander Vimes, I always imagined him shorter when you wrote about him." Tried the King fidgeting with the handle of his axe on his belt.

"Oh, a common mistake." Nodded Carrot "Most dwarf thinks so, it comes from him being quiet heroic about that stuff back in Überwald."

His father nodded as an answer.

When he read about the news, he could barely believe that it was the same drunkard his son wrote to him about back in the day. But his son would never lie, and when he met the man, he could see the truth of it. He was like a ndzoh-kar. A seemingly worthless lump of rock, hiding valuable ore inside. And by the look in his eye, that ore was probably a mix of very hard iron, and copper.

The older Ironfoundersson walked in silence for a while before he tried again.

"So, this Angua…"

"A Werewolf, yes. "

"I meant to say speaks really good dwarfish. And doesn’t have a beard." Said the dwarf as they rounded a corner.

Carrot considered this.

"Human females generally less hairy than dwarfs. On the other hand, there is the matter of the full moon…It sorts of evens out." Concluded the Watchman as he smiled at a passer-by. "Have a good day Mr. Nikkit, please have an uneventful day. " The man who got singled out like this, an unlicensed petty pickpocket, decided then and there that it would indeed good idea for this day to be uneventful, and promptly pulled his hands out from a merchant' trousers.

"Are you two, doing fine?" Asked the dwarf, aware that he was doing the conversational equivalent of wading into swamp water next to a very suspiciously alligator shaped log.

"Yes, we have an understanding." Smiled Carrot a bit." But I don’t think well borrow mother's ceremonial chainmail even if it comes to that. It would need too much of an alteration. I hope it's not a problem."

His adoptive father shook his head.

So, marriage was off the table for now. He wasn’t sure when humans usually did it, but before forty was quite scandalous in dwarf society so he hoped it was after that.

"Speaking of which, your mom would have come too, but one of the shafts have buckled in. Nobody was in it, but I needed somebody to keep things orderly and she was always better at these things."

Carrot stopped for a second before looking at his adoptive father with utter amazement.

"A feminine pronoun?" The dwarf huffed a bit at this, clearly embarrassed.

"Well even an old pickaxe like me should move with the times. We even get the newspaper in the mine now. With a month or two delay, but we always read it. And you know, reading your letters too…I just thought I could at least do this. And it's not like she started to dress any differently than before. She is just as set in her ways as I am." Explained the older Ironfoundersson saying more things in once than he did all day before. He felt his cheek becoming red under his beard from embarrassment.

"Thank you, dad." Said Carrot warmly, and for a moment his voice sounded the same as the small red-haired toddler who asked and received his second helping of stuffed rat all those years ago.

"Don’t mention it son. " The old Ironfoundersson's voice broke a little. It sounder brittle even to him but, no matter how hard he tried to steel it, it was a fools errand. The words bubbled up on their own. "We are very proud of you, son. We really are, you are not a miner, but you made your way in the world, and we love you. " Not it was the old dwarfs turn stop for a second. He had to rummage around his armor to find a very fine chainmail handkerchief.

"Dad…Thank you for being there for me, even though I'm different." Carrot stepped closer and awkwardly leaned down.

There was a sound of metal clanking as two armored dwarf, one big and young, and one small and old, hugged each other. The older Ironfoundersson patted his adoptive sons' shoulder now that it was in reachable height and smiled at him from under his bushy beard. The two of them continued on their way, the unspoken tension between them finally broken, just like any ordinary father and son.

#Discworld #discworld fanfiction #carrot #carrot ironfoundersson #captain carrot #The Emperor in Silver #gnu terry pratchett

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writtenonreceipts · 3 years

Text

The idea of this came quick and haphazardly. I meant to have it ready on thanksgiving, but then didn’t, haha...enjoy a last little slice of thanksgiving fic...

About 2K. Planning on doing a Christmas and/or new years addition with this one too.

Thanks so much for reading!

Friends Like These

Aelin cursed as she stared at the pan of green beans she pulled from her oven. Frowning she glared at the mess of crispy fried onions on top and the edges that were most certainly black instead of golden brown.

“Well this was a terrible idea.”

She didn't even like green bean casserole but Lysandra had insisted they needed green beans of some sort and Aelin was a mess of uncertainty. She wanted to bring an extra chocolate pie but Lys refused that front citing that she had all her pie bases covered.

Aelin did not believe her. For as much as she loved her best friend, Lys did not understand Aelin’s desires for chocolate and pie in general.

Back to the green beans however, Aelin was certain they were burned. Who the hell liked green beans anyways?

“A real, real terrible idea.”

Talking to herself wasn't going to fix anything, so Aelin grabbed her oven mitts and made for the door of her apartment. By some twist of fate and intense insistence, Aelin lived across the hall from her best friend and cousin. Lysandra and Aedion had only been married a few months and they were already intent on being the go-to couple for holidays and other occasions. As long as it meant Aelin didn't have to clean her place, she didn't care.

She left her apartment door open and crossed the hall to Lysandra’s.

"Open up bitch,” she called and kicked the door. Too late did she think that the neighbors would not appreciate her antics. She received far too many looks of exasperation from them anyways.

Despite how much she really didn’t care, she glanced down the hall. Maybe she could ditch this poorly made casserole on some unsuspecting soul. As she glanced down towards the elevators, she caught sight of a ridiculously good-looking man coming up the hall and he had most definitely heard her.

His silvery hair was stark compared to his bronze skin and his button up shirt strained against his obvious muscles. Oh he was very attractive. Aelin had quite often found herself fondling over the likes of Rowan Whitethorn.

It was highly unfortunate that he was already here, considering Aelin was still in yoga pants and an oversized cardigan stained with bleach from a misadventure in cleaning. Not to mention her hair was a failing top knot and she hadn’t even put on a coat of chapstick today. Oh hell, she was most definitely staring at him.

“Galathynius,” Rowan said, giving her a long, penetrating look. His generous mouth tilted into something akin to a sneer.

“Whitehorn,” she replied. She prided herself at least on the fact that she managed not to lick her lips while checking him out. Because holy hell it should be illegal for him to look so well put together. She wasn’t sure if she preferred him in this almost professional style as compared to the dark grunge that he was usually found in. Or both. Definitely both.

Aelin was saved from saying or doing anything else as Lysandra opened the door to her apartment.

“You actually brought something other than chocolate,” Lysandra said with an amused sort of expression

“Bite me,” Aelin snapped and swerved past into the apartment.

She missed whatever Lysandra said to Rowan, but it was clearly filled with more love and appreciation than what was extended to Aelin.

Aelin entered the kitchen and was immediately greeted by the scents of cooking turkey, stuffing, and rolls. It was wonderful. She stuck her still hot pan on the edge of the counter while she dug out another hotpad from where Lysandra usually kept them.

Aedion was busy setting things up in the small living room where he’d dragged out their table and an extra foldable one. It looked like there were far more place settings than Aelin had been expecting.

“Hey Aelin,” Aedion said as he settled a floral arrangement on the table. It was a cheapish plastic one—but it reminded Aelin of years growing up with him and tossing the abused decoration around the table to use it as a means of hiding from Aunt Maeve.

“Hey, where d’you want this,” she asked, holding up the green beans.

“Wherever should be good,” Aedion said with a shrug. He looked the pan over and frowned. “You burned the green beans?”

“No one even likes green beans Ashryver,” Aelin fired back. She slapped down the hotpad and the casserole and tried to pretend she didn’t care.

Truth was, she’d actually tried on the casserole. But she wouldn’t admit that. It would just make the end product all the more pathetic.

“Thanks so much for bringing pie, Rowan,” Lysandra was saying from the kitchen. “I tried asking Lorcan, but he was staunchly against it.”

“Nah, the bastard would never make such a commitment,” Rowan. Aelin glanced at him to see a crooked smile that did not help her feel any better about herself. “He will bring plenty of booze though.”

“At least he’s good for something,” Lysandra laughed. Her laugh was short lived though as she looked between Aelin and Rowan. It was no secret the two had nothing short of a hostile relationship. No matter how long their friend groups had been integrated for—they always found a way to be at each other’s throats.

Lysandra took the bag of pie from Rowan and smiled gratefully. “Also, I appreciate everything you’ve done in the shop, too. I don’t know what I wouldn’t do without the help.”

Just across the street, Lysandra was opening a clothing boutique that would hopefully expand into a makeup and hair styling salon as well. While Aedion was finishing his law degree and working full time in an apprenticeship, Lysandra had bitten the bullet to fulfill her dream of owning her own business. Even if it was a slightly inconvenient time to be an entrepreneur. Aelin couldn’t have been prouder of her best friend.

“Oh, until everyone else gets here, Rowan can help you move that dresser Aelin,” Lysandra said suddenly. Aelin froze in a sudden wave of panic. “She’s getting rid of that tiny little dresser she has and got a new one. You’ve been complaining about it all week.”

Rolling her eyes, Aelin brushed a few loose bits of hair from her forehead. “It hasn’t been all week.”

“Right, just the hours we’ve been together,” Lysandra said with an ironic sort of expression. In truth, the two had spent nearly every waking minute together in the hopes of getting the shop ready to open.

Scowling, Aelin made her way back to the door of the apartment. “Can’t believe you married her Aedion. C’mon, buzzard. I need help, apparently.”

“You can’t move a damn dresser by yourself?” Rowan groused. But he followed after her, shooting irritated looks over his shoulder no doubt.

“Be nice to each other!” Aedion called after. “It’s Thanksgiving.”

The door closed softly behind them. The hall was silent as they crossed the short distance to Aelin’s place. She was muttering under her breath the entire time about how annoying it was to have him in her apartment.

As soon as they entered Aelin’s apartment, Fleetfoot was on them. The dog, despite loving her mother to no end, went to Rowan with an excited flap of her tail. Rowan glared down at Fleetfoot in exasperation.

“Don’t you give your dog any attention?” He asked.

Aelin gave him the finger over her shoulder as she went to her room. “Get your ass in here and help me.”

Rowan cursed under his breath and followed. “Why do you need a new dresser anyways. The old one was fine.”

“Well someone told me it was too small. And someone said that how could a substantial amount of clothing even fit in the drawers I had. And that same someone told me that something had to change.” She leaned against her bedroom door and glared at him. “And that, dumbass, was you. So now I have a giant dresser that I don’t know what to do with. So really, this is all your fault.”

Rowan quirked a brow and looked down at her, but he said nothing.

For the past three months since Rowan had begun helping Lysandra in her shop, the two had started something. Something that neither knew how to define or explain. It involved quite a bit of kissing, sex, and staying over at one another’s apartments. And no one else in their friend group knew.

The previous week Rowan had made a comment about never having enough space for his things in Aelin’s place which had resulted in an uncomfortable conversation of defining what it was exactly they were doing together. It promptly led to ignored texts and phone calls.

“You got a new dresser,” Rowan said, finally.

Aelin dropped her eyes from his and turned slightly so she was leaning against the wall instead of the doorjamb. She looked into her room where the new dresser was standing at an awkward angle. She hadn’t quite known what to do with it so she’d left it half up against one wall and half blocking her closet. Rowan wasn’t supposed to find out about the dresser this way. Mostly because she didn’t want for it to be a big deal, even though it was...they’d danced around the idea of each other and being more than friends with benefits for so long that this—giving up space and a little bit of independence was huge.

Especially for Aelin.

“I just wanted some more space,” she said dismissively.

Rowan’s eyes were still on her. She could feel them burning into her. If she looked at him now, she was certain she would combust. There was always something about Rowan that made her feel different. That made her feel complete. It was strange to say. Especially after being on her own for so long. But being with him, even for the few short months, had given her a new sense of purpose and self that Aelin had never had before.

“More space?” Rowan asked, stepping closer to her.

Aelin chewed on her bottom lip and finally looked up. “Less space?”

Rowan grinned down at her, his body heat completely enveloping her as he pulled her to him.

Aelin went willingly, wrapping her arms around him and clinging to him tightly. It was slightly embarrassing how much she’d missed him. Even in this one week of being apart and not even texting had been unbearable.

With gentle hands, Rowan cupped her face and ran his calloused fingers over her cheeks. The feel of it caused Aelin to shiver and immediately want to burrow into him again. Rowan had other plans as he tilted her chin up and captured her lips with his.

Sighing happily, Aelin melted into his touch. She curled her fingers in his hair and pressed herself harder against him. Every other plan for the day went right out her head. None of it mattered when he was so close.

A loud knock sounded on the front door and Fenrys’ voice called out from the kitchen. “Have you two killed each other or what? Come on! Turkey’s getting cold.”

“We’re coming,” Rowan called out as Aelin pressed her lips into his neck, in part to suppress her grin and also because she wasn’t ready to let him go. “Galathynius can’t make up her mind.”

Aelin nipped at his skin with her teeth and his hands tightened on her hips.

“Finish after turkey, I didn’t spend all morning making yams for them to go to waste,” Fenrys yelled back. The front door slammed shut as he left.

Aelin couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her as she kissed her way back to Rowan’s lips. “I don’t want to go.”

Rowan pressed his forehead against hers, breath slightly uneven. “Unless you want to tell everyone about us.”

Shaking her head, Aelin sighed. “I’m not ready to share you.”

She of course already did share him with everyone, but Rowan seemed to grasp the underlying meaning of her words as he captured her mouth once more. The kiss was hot and deep and Aelin was ready to lock the door to her apartment and feign death or illness if it meant she could spend the day wrapped up in Rowan.

“Fireheart,” he whispered.

“Buzzard,” she replied.

He smiled against her lips before pulling back and running his thumb over her cheek. “Beautiful.”

“I look like hell,” she complained.

Rowan shook his head. “Beautiful,” he repeated before regretfully pulling away.

Aelin sighed before running her hands down his chest and interlocking he fingers with his, just for a moment.

“Stay the night?” she asked quietly.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “You just need help with that dresser.”

“True,” she admitted, “but I also missed you.”

Rowan nodded once before giving her a quick, chaste kiss. “C’mon or else we’ll really have to tell everyone about us.”

Sighing, Aelin pulled away completely. She left her room and made sure Fleetfoot was settled on the couch, and episode of “The Office” playing on the tv to keep the dog company.

Before they let her apartment, she looked back at Rowan with a determined gleam in her eyes. “Soon.”

“Soon,” Rowan agreed.

And they went back to being somewhat tolerable friends.

thanks for reading dears, i so appreciate the support and comments and everything!

tags: if i missed you let me know, by inbox/asks are always open

@tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @bamchickawowow

#aelin and rowan #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin au #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass #the fanfic no one asked for continues #aelin galathynius

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handlewcaare · 3 years

Text

Trauma was an indistinguishable characteristic for some. Not all, but some.

Like a drug, it was inhibited or it was amplified in demeanor. Some preferred to wear their bleeding hearts on their sleeves, others kept it tucked away in their coat pockets. Even in the midst of a dimly lit meeting room—The detective never understood why, it caused a strain to some peoples’ eyes—he could catch the slightest of lines that betrayed his peer’s discretions (or lack thereof).

The newest recruit was no different.

For comparison, Metal Bat is all attitude, barking at Sitch in the midst of the meeting, but his posture would slump over a chair and kick his feet atop of the table. Irritation and caution about being late for his little sister’s school play would often be a greeting. Yet, his arms never folded and there was no friend to accompany him.

The newest recruit—the Demon Cyborg, he was dubbed—was as guarded as the definition would put it. His mechanical arms would fold, securing the humming core trapped within his pleural cavity. Such private furor would only be reserved for someone who spoke out of line (not often, but it has happened) or he would entirely let the wires within his deltoid plating tense.

Once, the detective let his eyes stray too long. As soon as he felt the singeing caution of neon diadems lock onto him, he feigned immediate disinterest and lit up a cigarette.

Shelter was a natural response to guarding a bleeding heart. Said bleeding heart came in the strange form of a bald man wearing a mustard onesie who asked questions even Badd wasn’t bold enough to ask himself. The detective was joking about caped crusaders being part of the HA, but if Tatsumaki could run around without pants, judgment should be reserved.

“Shit!”

The hiss past teeth managed to inch its way from the mental list of chore the Detective had established for himself. His brow arched when he observed the caped Crusader vigorously Pat down his pockets, his mechanical marvel of a friend looking just as excited as he was.

“The coupon—! It—!” high risk red gloves, ones passable for washing dishes, laconically fished out his wallet and began to haphazardly toss expired cards into his friend’s outstretched palm. “—Did I leave it in the meeting??”

“I can go check-!” The Demon Cyborg sounded just like his age; an excitable nineteen year old who hadn’t fully grasped what being an adult entailed. Just as he swiveled to charge and search aimlessly for a piece of paper in a dimly lit room.

“Excuse me,” the detective’s interjection was as phantasmic as the smoke at the end of his cigarette, “you’re missing a coupon?”

In an instant, that guard returned. What excitability perished under the iron glare the detective was subjected to. Did you steal it? Was what the kid looked like he wanted to declare, but knew it was too ridiculous to take seriously.

Fortune came in the crusader’s sheepish murmur, “yeah, but hey- I can just go get it, it’s notta big deal.”

“It’ll be a hard find,” the detective remarked as he fished for his own leather wallet. It’s trauma just as extensive as his favorite black pants he stitched up constantly after his assignments. “You’d think they didn’t have enough money to pay for lighting in there.”

The laugh the crusader emitted was less than graceful, moreso tender over the aspect of him needing to use said coupon.

“Which store is it?”

“E-Z Mart,” just as the Crusader seemed to decline the offer—don’t worry about it, man—his brows raised when he was presented with a coupon that was 50% off all meat products. “No, it’s-!”

“I don’t shop in that place anyways,” the retort was enough to stun the duo, “I usually just get spam mail from them.”

“Did you used to shop there?”

“Only once,” the detective said, “and then my agency got torn to shreds while I was gone.”

The Crusader’s demeanor never flickered into anything but wonder as to how this would somehow backfire comedically. At least it was much more considerate than what heat the demon cyborg brought in his gaze alone. Once he accepted it, however, his incredulity simmered into astonishment.

“Hey, look-! This is a better deal than the one we got!” As those brown eyes lingered toward the detective, there was something borderline childlike in the crusader’s grin. It was unabashed, even when his company didn’t reflect the same radiance, “I seriously appreciate it, Zoombaman!”

The detective suppress the urge to outright snort a laugh. His shoulders lightly quaked when he chuckled. He might just propose that name to the HA, “not a problem.”

Even as he trailed off to complete a case, he hadn’t the slightest idea how imperative that meeting would have become later.

What started off as occasional small talk became something of an opened wound for Genos. He didn’t mind the one act of charity that was completely unwarranted, nor did he mind the sliver of scrutiny he and Saitama were subjected to. What he did mind was the falsetto of companionship the detective provided.

Little queries such as ‘how are you?’ had now lost their value. They were obsolete to what jokes Saitama and he had shared, one making his mentor practically be thrown into stitches as a little grin seared along Zombieman’s lips.

He knew not the name of his ailment, but only that it gave him a gnawing sensation at his base of his stomach. It made him wonder how soon Zombieman would witness Saitama’s power, how he would respond in awe or in pure desire to keep him harbored from everyone—from his own disciple.

He wasn’t irrational, not when his emotions could be shoveled to the side. However, avarocity only made him determined to keep such discretion buried in the yard outside. The need to discover the truth about his mentor’s power should be a task solely for him alone.

What humility The Carcass seemed to radiate could be no better than the masquerade an obnoxious idol hero adorned or the popular girl peer pressure Fubuki subjected into weaker heroes. It would have easily deceived his mentor, but it would have never catch him off guard.

“Hey,”

The voice was not his mentor’s. In an instant, the cyborg swiveled his attention fully on the corpse. He opted to be as polite as he could possibly muster; “what is it?”

Manners seemed to be in vain, as the brusque and sharp accentuation wrought a pause from the detective. His brow raised, almost as if he stepped an inch too close to a land mine.

“I was going to ask if everything is alright.”

“It is,” he was always fine. Genos wasted no time to grovel over what would soon be lost. The world continued to turn and so would he in response to it. He could prevent it’s reoccurrence onto another or himself, but the present was always a second too soon and a second too late.

Had it been another, they would have irritatingly prompted him to speak with his feelings—‘my feelings are saying I’m busy. Go away.’—or to reflect his frustration with a snarl and a seize of his hoodie collar. The algorithm often fluctuated, sometimes he was just tossed to the side by the momentum of verdant ESP and had to call Kuseno early.

The detective seemed to be an exception of that. What should have been a lecture of respecting his elders was met with a deflated sigh, “well, if you need to talk, just let me know.”

“I won’t need it,” another caution that the detective seemed eager to oblige with a nod and a retreat.

He didn’t need anything that could hamper him in a fight. He needed to become stronger, to become more adaptable in any fight; never just one he could scrape by the skin of his teeth. A pathetic excuse of a pep talk would have just grated on his nerves, moreso than any imperative meeting would have.

He could just never understand why Saitama spoke to him more frequently as of late. Why his greeting consisted of him referring to the detective by name and asking about new recipes that were cheap to buy. Just as Zombieman elucidated what sauces would go great with wagyu as he accompanied them to the food market, his gaze flickered toward the various egg cartons and seized his opportunity.

“Uh? Genos?” Saitama paused, “I don’t think we need eggs.”

“It is imperative for dinner tonight,” the authoritative baritone resounded vibrantly. No tone fluctuated beyond what would betray him of his avaricious misdeed. Had he known then that the detective already had a decent read on him, he wouldn’t have acted the way he did.

It was intrusive, to be read, as Genos never allowed his emotions to flourish and he felt defensive at the look the detective provided him. What did he know, what did he care for other than to know what power Saitama housed? All he wanted was something he could not have—that no one could have.

One could envision his astonishment when his competitor wholeheartedly agreed, “yeah- I guess you guys do need some egg yolk,” the detective paused as he rolled his shoulders into a nonchalant shrug, “a lot of people add it to the wagyu dish.”

Saitama’s eyes widened, “really?”

“Yeah, you can have it pasteurized as well.”

Such dismissive behavior shouldn’t have grated his nerves so severely. Yet, the handsome drawl of each note only made him want to refuse to accept the genorosity once more. Unfortunately, Saitama was too oblivious and bought the eggs anyway.

How soon would it be until Zombieman implored about housework. When will he start visiting their apartment and remark how the place wasn’t as clean as he would have made it. He might start recommending ridiculous cleaning techniques like using herbs to remove stains.

The ache anchored in his chest, weighing his core ten times heavier than it should be. He would become obsolete and his Sensei would never acknowledge the progress he made, only his failures. He could dismantle an entire army with nothing but his teeth and Saitama would only remark about how he was broken again. All because Zombieman would excel in what Genos lacked in: instant regeneration.

Even now, as he drifted off to let Sitch’s voice fade into obscurity in the midst of another meeting, he felt that future possibility become a reality. Zombieman would progressively win every fight, only to retire with the ability to swat his opponents with but the bite of his bullet. He would have been a hallmark and all because Genos let Saitama go.

“Hey,”

It wasn’t his mentor’s voice he heard again. He wasn’t aware that the meeting was over until he encountered the detective’s demeanor once again. He could pass off as anemic on a good day.

“Are you—?”

“I’m fine,” stop fucking asking me.

Whether the detective knew it was the same song and dance or he found offense in the rebuttal, neither prevented him from gently settling beside a neglected seat. It was unwarranted, considering how quick Genos was to inch away, but he didn’t cease there.

“About the market,” the detective said surgically, “I wasn’t sure if I was stepping on your toes or not.”

“You weren’t,” another hasty refutation, “you were helping my Sensei with cooking.”

“And that’s something you usually do, right?”

The faintest sound of a pin drop seemed to resonante between the two of them. Even when his mechanical phalanges burrowed and gripped at his knees, the Demon Cyborg was more candid than ever.

“It is,” he was a terrible liar, it would seem.

The detective’s simper was lethargic at the contours, his back eased against the chair. How could anyone be so casual around the likes of Genos? “I think you need to be more aware that people aren’t exactly as materialistic as you expect them to be. That includes yourself.

“At the end of the day, he’s still your friend, right?”

There was no contempt by Saitama this morning, nor was he eager to blatantly ignore his roommate. He wasn’t more irritated, nor was he frustrated that Genos didn’t know a thing about cutting Wagyu. He was Saitama; the same man who could mold the Earth’s core with his limitless strength had sprawled himself over the futon to play one of King’s game consoles.

The epiphany managed to hush his exacerbation, “Well, yes,” there was an eventual pause when Genos caressed his own chin, “he hasn’t treated me any differently lately.”

“I just thought it’d be a nice reminder is all,” the detective assured. Before the cyborg would interject with his usual declaration of being busy, the detective cut in, “I know, you’re busy. I won’t lecture you if you don’t need it.”

If he didn’t need it, Genos would have scoffed. Yet, he could only find a small semblance of reassurance that he wasn’t being replaced. It was minuscule, barely a flicker of submission, but it wasn’t enough to change his mind.

For a moment, he wondered if the detective was lying through his damn teeth. It would have been feasible enough to assume he would, especially to avoid a confrontation he wouldn’t win in. By the time the evening fell, Genos proposed a query past the plumbs of steam in the hotpot. His brow arched when he watched Saitama ground his teeth and comedically groan when he lost another pocket monster—Pokémon?—match.

“Sensei?” Maybe now wouldn’t be the best of times.

“Yeah?” The defeated sigh singed more than the chirping boiling.

“How would you describe our relationship?”

What acrimonious loss from the gym battle had been replaced by a combatative demeanor of perplexity and astonishment. “Well, I say we’re pretty good friends.”

“... even if I don’t have everything you need?”

The personification of an immovable mountain only sighed. Saitama might not have much credit when it comes to intelligence, but he could still hone in on the tirade of emotions Genos conjured. There was always a resonance as evident in how his outburst was diminished by the calm the blasphemous cyborg surprisingly radiated.

“You’re not my butler, man,” though he had a bad habit of thinking he was, “you have all that you got and that’s more than enough. I wouldn’t ask for anything more.”

What sprout of assurance bloomed at the root of his core. It couldn’t answer for Zombieman’s stunning humility nor did it provide Genos the promise that he could harness the world exclusively for his Sensei, but that he was enough. Maybe not for later, when his strength would progress, but for now.

Had Saitama not known him, he would have missed the small phantasmic smile, “dinner’s ready.”

Genos was himself

and that was okay.

#one punch man #what kendall writes.#genos #opm #saitama #Saitama OPM #Zombieman #zombieman opm #a.k.a. the envious housewife story

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ask-jaghatai-khan · 4 years

Text

Upsilon-28

A fanfic showing off my character, the Lord-Archmagos Chertovsky Upsilon-28, from my Sect of the Revelation Mechanism.

Read below the cut, or on my other blog.

Image of Quartermaster Rho by TomisJB

“Are you assured of this procedure’s safety, my Lord-Archmagos?” the adept asked, his half-modulated voice subdued yet still retaining but a hint of mortal apprehension.

Archmagos Chertovsky did not respond. Not at once. Like an inert golem of tangled metal, he stood with his inhuman eyes fixed on the suspension tank in front of him. Within the amniotic fluid of that arcane structure floated a figure in stark contrast to the elder tech-priest’s own. Whereas Chertovsky Upsilon-28 was a hunched being with an ill-defined silhouette broken by so many layers of intricate augmetics, the being within the tank was an unadorned human. More than human, even – perfection. They stood a head taller than any typical mortal, with a muscled physique somewhere between the lithe form of a trained assassin and the unstoppable power of one of the Emperor’s own Angels of Death. A dormant face like the visage of a masterwork statue, pale with fresh tissue and possessing a bone structure more fearsome than any living man or woman lulled atop the divine form.

Not one of the myriad trusted adepts within the operating room would comprehend the thoughts going through the Archmagos’ mind. Beyond the simple fact that the processors supplementing their more “youthful” brains were insubstantial compared to Chertovsky’s own databanks, they couldn’t know the depth of emotion felt by that otherwise cold and impassive tech-priest.

It was him. The figure in the tank, for how much it resembled no human who had ever lived, was him. Within the enhanced and perfected features of that vegetative husk hid the subtle markers of what the Archmagos had once been. He could remember, however dim those memories were – the shape of his nose, of his brows, the fine details of bone structure in those areas which had seen the least amount of modification. It was like those depictions of Imperial saints crafted by artists long after their subjects had passed into legend, idealizing the forms of men and women who had been but scarred wretches in their true lives.

The strange feelings that Chertovsky wrestled with in silent contemplation were made all the more powerful by the knowledge of his own current degradation. He had not been as diligent of late with the upkeep of his augmetics. Chertovsky Upsilon-28 was a being who preferred careful symmetry, efficiency, and greater thought given over to the aesthetics of his bionic enhancements than some more utilitarian members of the Martian cult. Yet in recent months, at the leadup to this procedure, he had focused on nothing more than ensuring he had the right tools for whatever task was at hand, his cyberized form lapsing more and more into an ill-defined morass of mechadendrites and layered servos. Not even of the highest quality, either, just simple factory-standards. This was his sacrifice – he’d waited for so long, he’d saved up so much, in resources and knowledge and all that was needed to perfect this great transformation.

What a shame, Chertovsky thought then as he pushed such mortal sentiments from his mind for the time being, fixated on the task at hand. You shall not be whole for long, creature. He spoke to his own un-twin. However fine that flesh was, it was still but a foundation for far greater enhancements.

—

Looking like a diminutive pest, a waylaid rat, the youth stood in the corner of the whitewashed room. They were an adolescent, almost an adult, but the with way they seemed so out of place, so fearful of their surroundings – they could not have looked more like a child if they’d tried. Robes of Martian red covered their wastrel form, but they were not the holy vestments of a tech-priest.

This place was so much different from anywhere that young boy had ever seen. Far removed from the brutal, industrial maze that dominated any civilized tract of Mars, this room was clean, sterile, almost comforting in its soft and bare décor. The youth had seen medical rooms before, but a handful of times, yet the quality of the Mechanicus’ own facilities was astounding. A simple waiting room in a surgical center was as a cathedral to the boy.

Sunken, flitting eyes darted to the steel door at one end of the room, as a prominent beep announced the arrival of the individual he’d been waiting for.

“Chertovsky – Germani—” the figure spoke as they entered, in a voice that was near musical in its synthesized smoothness, “You are the last one today. It is good that you made it.”

Compared to the wiry young human known as Germani Chertovsky, the being which now dominated the waiting room held little to reflect that it had once been human itself. This was Ben-Sheva Stith, though the use of his full name was reserved as an honor for those aspirants who managed to gain acceptance into the Mechanicus. To all others, he was Stith-E200, Magos Biologis and Ordinator to those myriad souls who sought to find purpose within the Machine God’s holy embrace.

Stith was a monstrous being, made all the more freakish by what parts of him were still in facsimile of humanity. Yet his charges did not fear him. Rather, they envied him. Stith had assembled his body in a bulky form that almost evoked the might of one of the Emperor’s great power-armored warriors, looking like a bronze statue come to life. From his back sprouted a mantle of servo-arms like the branches of a metallic tree, and his unmoving face was a mask of polished marble-hued stone with eyes like gleaming aquamarines. Yet where the tech-priest might have had normal legs, instead between the gaps in his crimson robes could be seen glimpses of his almost insectoid lower half. Stith’s centaur-like form, both majestic and intimidating, was a testament to what any mere mortal could become through the grace of the Omnissiah.

“Ave Deus Mechanicus.” Germani bowed, looking even smaller next to the grand form of the Ordinator.

“Against all odds you have completed your training as a novice and shall soon be inducted as a Rassophore within the holy order of Mars. This is a time for rejoicing, if ever such mortal emotions are to be indulged, Chertovsky!” Stith counseled the boy, “You shall soon be free of the frailties of your crude flesh and brought into the mechadendrites of the Machine God.”

The boy just kept his gaze lowered, though he gave a vigorous nod of understanding. Truth was, he felt as if he were about to throw up. It wasn’t all fear – the knowledge that his long transformation from a being of flesh to a being of iron would soon start proper via the most direct means was daunting, for sure, but he was still enthusiastic. Beneath simple red robes there was the form of a human who had seen ails beyond their years, and Germani longed to be free of the limitations of his base tissue.

“So tell me, Chertovsky, what will you give up?” the Ordinator asked then, instruments whirling about his head on their hydraulic stalks, funneling myriad unknown data-readouts into Stith’s processors, analyzing the charge in front of him.

“What?” the novice asked, somewhat dumb in his tone.

“Come, mortal, you know,” Stith waved his brassy hand, “Upon your ordination you shall receive your first core bionics. Spinal enhancements and neuro-ports and those basics which shall see your path towards enlightenment eased in these initial steps. But this is not fully standardized. You must choose something else to give up. A sacrifice of flesh to the Machine God.”

Germani looked about the room as if the answer might be written on the wall somewhere. He had indeed thought long about this choice, though now just as it was to be made, his mind had been flushed clear of all thoughts.

“M-maybe – maybe my legs,” the novice gestured down, “Like the Skitarii.”

He spoke of the Tech-Guard, the line warriors of the Mechanicus. To a soul they replaced their lower legs with durable augmetics, to honor those first nomads of Mars whose flesh and bones had been scoured on their long treks through the red sands. Germani himself just thought about the acute pain in his own legs. He was often in pain, though to the point where he had long since adjusted to the constant aches within his body, dulling them into one subconscious sense of weakness. Beneath his sturdy work-boots was skin afflicted with sores and callouses, bones compressed and tendons strained from an upbringing within a Martian landscape which was holy to the tech-priests but near unlivable to any normal lifeforms.

“A noble choice, and a popular one,” Stith might have grinned were his face not set in stone, “The prerequisite enhancements to your spinal column shall ensure you will not be hindered by these replacements, and they shall be only of benefit to you. But can you think of nothing else?” he asked then, trying to beckon some zeal out of the timid boy.

Germani thought again and considered how even now the world seemed lopsided. His left eye, which had been singed by a plume of sparks when he’d been but a child, and even now gave him little more than vague shadows in place of genuine sight.

“My left eye?” the novice offered, “So that my sight might be more pure?”

“Also good, and also common,” the Ordinator approved, “We may do both surgeries, if that is the offering you are willing to make?”

But Germani’s mind was racing now, and he was so aware of all the acute pains and ills which he had put up with his whole life, brought about by his growth on a world of poison, ash, sand, and steel.

“My hands, maybe?” he suggested, “Or my lungs? Maybe my stomach so I’ll no longer be a slave to hunger?”

Stith raised his hand, and the boy stopped at once. Yet when the Magos spoke, his synthesized voice was absent anything but pride.

“There will be time for such things later on in your journey. This is but one offering, one ascension which you shall make today. Though your ardor is laudable. Nurture that feeling. Couple it to your lust for knowledge, and one day you might find unity with the divinity of the Omnissiah.”

With that, the tech-priest beckoned for the youth to follow him to the next room. Though he had not yet been given his new name, Germani thought many times after, as all of his order did, that his rebirth as Chertovsky Upsilon-28 began not when he donned his clergy robes, but when he laid down upon that operating table.

—

The Lord-Archmagos oversaw the dissection of his own homunculus with exacting rigor. Half the time, it was not the ministrations of his trusted adepts or the automated algorithms of the surgical servitors that progressed the operation, but his own sterilized mechadendrites. These younger tech-priests were some of the best available, to say nothing of their loyalty – Chertovsky had contracted their services from Set-E299, apprentice to his old Ordinator and one of the few individuals on Mars the Archmagos could count as a true “ally” – yet still their skills paled when put up to some of Chertovsky’s most ironclad specifications.

Layer by layer the unneeded tissue of the grandiose clone-body was stripped away in preparation for its encasement in divine metal. Like any experienced Magos Biologis would confirm, not all flesh was so impure or antithetical to the Machine God’s designs. It was but one aspect of the myriad systems through which that holy Order expressed itself, though prone to failure and degradation. As such, but a handful of organs and the like would be kept from this corpse – the simplistic efficiency of such structures as marrow, certain neurons, and hormonal regulators. In time they would be upgraded by supplements of steel and copper and glass, but they would be left intact. The rest – the muscle, the unneeded bones, the vestigial tracts – would be recycled.

Cloning was in itself not a difficult task if one was not looking to create life. To grow a shell was simple, and drew upon long traditions of Imperial science dating back to the Emperor himself. Still, the procedure that Archmagos Chertovsky Upsilon-28 intended to undergo was not so standard. Radical, some might say. Yet it was necessary. All of his progress as a tech-priest had led to this moment. Some on Mars thought him dead, for how long he had been absorbed in his own calculations, cut off from the greater machinations of the Cult. It was time for his second rebirth. Like the emergence of the Omnissiah, and the crafting of the ancient warriors of Terra – Custodian, Space Marine, and the like – Chertovsky was preparing for a metamorphosis. Decades worth of valuable resources had gone into the gene-crafting and augmetic specs for this new body. It almost seemed like a waste, even to the Archmagos, but what was one masterwork body compared to all the industry of the Imperium? This was a form suitable to the ongoing work of someone as ambitious as Chertovsky Upsilon.

Flesh disappeared, replaced or covered by layers of technological augmentation. The corpse became a skeleton of metal and wire, before the outer plating was affixed. For how much the Archmagos had dwelled on this design, it was rather simple. At its core it kept a humanoid form, yet that was but the chassis for the true ingenuity of the shell. Numerous ports and mechadendrite-mountings would allow for all the adaptability and modularity a senior Magos would expect and demand, while the central unit retained a degree of strength, of majesty. This was enhanced further by the final addition – the Abeyant. Like the shell of an isopod, the outer casing loomed about the skull-like visage of the husk’s face, before arcing back in broad segmentae down to the waist. Not just a mechanism for locomotion and adaptation alone, equipped as it was with repulsor-stabilizers and even more servo-ports – it was the main housing of Chertovsky’s primary obsession…

A wise soul once said that the most key step along the Quest for Knowledge was in fact learning how to learn, and the Lord-Archmagos had taken that concept into his synthetic heart. Where other tech-priests might become enamored by more “impressive” technologies, Chertovsky’s earliest training had been as an augmeticist. Risking his very life, he had delved into the ways one could enhance their own brain, expanding databanks and supplementing processing power. From thereon, all other tasks had seemed simple by comparison. Once one could manipulate the very core of their being – their means of accruing knowledge – no further obstacles were ever so insurmountable.

As such, the Abeyant of Chertovsky’s awaiting shell was the home of its multi-brain. Not just a single casing with neuro-uplinks, but a chain of multiple wetware cogitators assembled with painstaking precision by the Archmagos himself. In a moment of rather base lust, Chertovsky wondered what that high would feel like – to leave behind this venerable but utilitarian body and jack-in to the computational power of that hardware.

It might kill him, but that was of little concern.

A great many hours later, and at least one changing-out of the assistant adepts, the work was at last complete. Or rather, everything but the final step.

The body had been crafted. From a being of cloned flesh had been forged a suitable masterwork of steel. Its core was almost reminiscent of a Skitarii warrior in its semi-skeletal armored form, though additional layers of plating in several sections gave the suit a more martial appearance. From a harness about the waist emerged the stumps of numerous ports that would soon be host to whatever tangle of mechadendrites the Archmagos might require, though still the body retained its arms and legs in honor of what it had once been. The face was like a hybrid between a skull and a gas mask, its goggle-like eyes unlit and dormant, flanked by several lenses to allow for an impressive range of enhanced sight. Despite being laid on its back within the operation-scaffold, the body was almost sat up due to the size of the Abeyant on its back, like an upended turtle. Coupled with the broad mantle of the form’s shoulders, the metallic hood of the mounted processor provided an impressive silhouette, while the port-studded and armored carapace gave the whole figure impressive size and solidity. It looked somewhat ungainly, but that would be fixed once all the needed mechadendrites were attached.

“It is time.” The Archmagos said, more to himself than the nearby assistants.

“A triumph of artifice, m’lord!” the lead adept lauded. His own form was reminiscent of a Sicarian guard, and far better assembled than the mess Chertovsky had allowed himself to become in his single-minded focus of late, yet even that younger tech-priest’s impressive shell could not hold a lumen to the creation that sat just behind a layer of sealed glass.

“Engage the final routines. I take my leave.” Chertovsky said, shambling over to the airlock.

“Are you assured of your safety, m’lord?” the adept pressed, though he did not stop his superior, “What are we to do in case of complications?”

“Irrelevant details. I have composed the final algorithms myself,” the Archmagos replied, stepping into the first hall of the sterilization chamber and turning to meet the glass eyes of his assistant, “The commendations for you and your associates have already been sent to Magos Set. If this operation results in my expiration, it shall not impact your rewards.”

There was a pause then, and so Chertovsky concluded that their exchange was over, and yet – quite against all etiquette of the Mechanicus – the adept asked a final question. A base question, but one that almost managed to halt the Archmagos in its sincerity.

“M’lord – are you afraid?”

Chertovsky paused for but half a second before he pushed the button to seal the airlock. Beneath a hooded miter of Martian red, a static face of wires and lenses could do nothing to convey emotion. Yet within the modulated voice of the Archmagos there was a timbre of something great. An almost human emotion.

“Not anymore.”

Lord-Archmagos Chertovsky Upsilon-28 pressed the button, and was alone. Within the next room, an operating mounting awaited him. Bending to his neural inputs, Chertovsky saw his various supplemental readouts go dead as he detached the case that contained what remained of his brain from all ports but his locomotive motors. He proceeded into the surgery theater and entrusted his mind to the pre-programmed hands of his servitors.

—

It was an uncommon thing for a tech-priest to dream. Periods of dormancy might occur, but to dream required that the core cogitator – the brain – should slip into an unconscious state. If they so wished, a cyborg of the Mechanicus might “sleep” and awake an indefinite amount of time later as if no time had passed at all.

With this sacrifice are you brought into the fold of the Machine God. With this augmentation of your body is your soul made more pure.

But Chertovsky indulged himself. There was no real way to regulate his sensory inputs as his brain itself was handled, and so a quick injection of some anesthetic helped to ease the process along. His mind swam within currents that had been long forgotten to him – as if he could dip for but a moment into the cerebral waters of the Immaterium itself.

How long until I am like you?

Are there any limits to the Omnissiah’s path? You say I must keep some of my flesh – but when is flesh superior to iron?

To have one’s very grey matter manipulated, even while under sedative, was a surreal experience. One did not “feel” anything, and yet they felt even the slightest disturbance as if it touched at their very soul.

Are you afraid?

This is but one offering – one ascension – which you shall make today.

Man and Machine. This union between our two empires. For from humanity are our souls born, and through the godlike Machine are they made strong.

You do not understand. I see the true potential of this crude matter. This was my first step. I have learned how to learn.

There was a change. A switch. Something connected, something came online. Chertovsky could not know yet how long the surgery had taken, but it was as if his mind had forgotten its own senses. Bare inklings of readouts – felt more than seen – were like breaths of pure air to a forgotten prisoner.

Are you afraid?

The flesh is weak. It is pain.

By the Omnissiah you are anointed. By the Omnissiah are you reborn.

Are you dreaming?

Awake.

Beyond the glass of the surgical theater, the assisting adepts watched the servitor arms retreat from their charge. Hissing and clanging sounded as stabilizers and therapeutic regulators detached.

[CONNECTIONS ONLINE]

The monitor readout was confirmed by one of the adepts.

[CORE REACTOR EQUALIZED. NEURAL SIGNATURE STABLE.]

“Finalize.” The lead adept gave the one order needed, and his compatriot entered the code to end the automated routines and release the Archmagos’ shell from its bonds.

Within the sockets of Chertovsky’s silver, skull-like face, electric blue lights flickered to life.

#warhammer #40k #mechanicus #oc #cyborg #short story #fanfic #homebrew

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gloves94 · 4 years

Text

Sunburn [Prince Zuko] 22

Warnings: None Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Zuko/OC Summary: “You have everything you’ve ever wanted.” “No.” He said softly. “Not everything…” His golden eyes looked at her with a melting intensity she had never witnessed before. “I guess not.” She responded with glassy eyes as tears welled up threatening to break the dam of her eyes.

My fanfiction: M A S T E R L I S T

Zuko tossed and turned in his bed in a fitful attempt at sleep. He didn't want to sleep. He couldn't sleep and if he did all he would have were nightmares. He would see his uncle's disappointed face and Tsai's twisted with pain. His eyes snapped opened and he turned to see the red head sitting next to his bed.

"Boo!" She said mockingly at the startled prince. He let out a small scream as he fell of the bed.

"What do you think of my new outfit?" She continued to mock him as she made a gesture to the servant rags she was wearing. Her hair was darker and wore her bangs combed back to the side. Her eyes didn't gleam with the same light anymore.

He turned away shaking his head and grabbed a cloak off a hook and swung it over his shoulders as he snuck out of his room. Her mocking laughter haunting his conscience.

He knew where he was going.

xxx

Tsai was in deep slumber. It was the first time she had slept in an actual bed in what felt like forever. It was stiff and would stab at a spot in her back, but she didn't care. It was better than the floor in prison. Besides, there were also no rats here.

She didn't want to think of the awful stuff that Azula would have in mind to her tomorrow. Knowing her she probably had a ranked list of humiliating tasks for her to fulfill. She had also succeeded in infiltrating the Fire Nation's heart. The palace. It would only be a matter of time before she could begin skulking around the palace and communicating with the others.

Zuko knew where Tsai was being kept. It was the room closest to the royal wing. One which was usually used for nannies, nurses and personal aides of the royal family during certain seasons. He stepped in quietly making sure he wasn't seen by any midnight prying eyes and shut the door behind him quietly. The room was small, windowless and austere. With a small bed and a desk and a wooden chair. Her brown dress was tossed over the chair. He knew she wouldn't run away. So did the Fire Lord. After all she had sworn her life and loyalty to the crown.

He approached the bed and took a seat next to her sleeping form. The mattress lightly sinking under his weight. He was hurting. He still couldn't believe they had hurt each other like that. Despite the pain it brought him, he smiled lightly when he heard her light snoring and couldn't help himself. He brushed a stray hair from her forehead and rested his hand there for a second. She looked so different from the morning. So, at peace. There was no pain in her rest. He couldn't believe that her conscience wasn't in turmoil like his.

Her drowsy eyes opened slowly, and it took her that same second to react. They blazed as she clawed at his arm ready to shout. She wondered who would be in more trouble if he was here? And just what Ozai would do to his son if he was caught visiting a servant's sleeping quarters during the late hours of the evening.

He pressed a firm palm to her mouth. "Shh!!!" He hissed silencing her.

He wasn't expecting her to actually bite him and hard.

"Ow!" He cried out really not expecting that and removing his hand. She shoved him off the bed and pushed him to the ground. He landed with a loud thud. Quickly jumping to her bare feet, she stepped on his chest pinning him down looking down at him. She didn't care if she was only wearing sleeping garments which consisted of a peasant top bandeau covering her chest and a pair of loose brown shorts. She looked down at him with judgement in her cold eyes.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't scream bloody hell and let your vile sister and maniacal father find you here." She threatened stepping harder. She wanted to hurt him. Make him feel the same pain she was feeling.

He looked up at her wrapping a hand around her ankle gently.

"Tsai," he said her name in a strained breath. Her weight pushing down on his lungs.

"You're a coward and a snake and above all a traitor! Get out of my room! I never want to see you again!" She cried out removing herself from him not wanting to even be touched by him.

"That's going to be a little hard," he rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. "You're right. Considering I'm your personal slave!" She lashed out in fury.

"You stood by them and did nothing! You choose them over the only person who truly loved and cared for you!"

Zuko's eyes widened. He felt something which felt like hope stir inside of him.

"You.. You love me?"

Her face scrunched up in an even angrier scowl. Her nostrils flaring in fury.

"I am talking about your uncle!"

"My uncle!" He connected the dots in his head. He was also probably the person she loved most in this world. Zuko had no doubt that she would always pick her uncle over him. After all they were both basically the same person. Her sudden betrayal to him and newfound allegiance to the Fire Nation. It still made no sense to him.

"You betrayed him too.” He let out in a hollow tone. “Why?” He asked in suspicion with narrowed eyes. Something was off.

She avoided his eyes and shrugged carelessly.

"I don't know what happened between you and Uncle, but I know one thing about you. And you would never go against him. You would never bow to my father like that- and all that talk about honor?" It wasn't her.

She huffed and shook her head. Her dark eyes meeting his concerned ones.

"You don't know me." She paused for a moment. "You don't know anything!" She snapped. Her voice louder. "You don't even know what you're talking about. You really think I would go against my nation? Betray my own family? For what? Because your uncle asked me to?" She lied through her teeth attempting to sound like Azula did when she spoke.

"No," he said softly. "You wouldn't do it because it goes against you. Everything you stand for." He explained calmly.

"Oh, you mean my 'socialist wet-dream' about equality?" She let out a cruel laugh attempting to push his buttons. She wanted to hurt him as bad as he had hurt her. Grab his heart and crush it in the palm of her hand. "I told you long ago. That dream was dead. It's trash. You said it yourself. I am never going to accomplish anything grand and you were dead right. I will now live the remainder days of my life as what you always saw me as - a colonial peasant."

"Tsai, no-" He pleaded. "I- I was wrong." He hesitated looking as if he was being split in two. He appeared distraught.

"Don't- call me that. You have lost the privileged of even calling me by my name. From now on you will address me as a slave or a peasant because that's what I am. That's what you made me!"

Each one of her words was like a ice dagger. Deeply burying and twisting painfully inside of him ripping at his insides slowly, painfully. She was beyond livid.

"Tsai it was-" She interrupted him again.

"After all. That's what you called me in front of your father. You disgust me. I can't believe I- I can't believe I-"

It hurt her. He had hurt her. The only promised he had ever made to her was that nobody would hurt her and how poetic and ironic was it that he had been the only person to do so? She was so hurt. Her heart and mind in shambles and now she had been entrusted with this dangerous mission from General Iroh?

"Tsai! It was the only way of keeping you safe!" He finally snapped his temper flaring to match hers in frustration. She ignored his outburst and continued in her furious spiel.

"And me?" she suddenly scoffed continuing her rant. "I understand. I get it. Hey, it was fun. You used me because you were bored and lonely and a pathetic worm!" She stomped down her foot in fury. "Let's not forget that colonial women are basically whores!'" She spat out venomously.

"Tsai," he pleaded his voice edging to a dangerous growl as his patience stretched thin. "It wasn't like that at all!" He stepped closer. How could he convince her? Tell her truth if she wasn't willing to listen? He wanted to take her in his arms, hold her close. Tell her how sorry he was. At this point he was willing to get on his knees and beg.

"I don't believe you." Her nose wrinkled as her brows knitted in a deeper scowl. "I don't believe anything that comes out of your filthy lying mouth!"

"Yeah?" He challenged. He moved so fast she was almost knocked back by the headbutt when he slammed his mouth against hers hard.

Zuko held his stinging cheek as he stepped back. His soul was on fire. He felt as if he had been brought back to life. She ignited the dying passion inside of him.

"Stay away from me," She breathed dangerously. Tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes. He knew she felt it too.

"I used to believe there was light and peace inside of you. That you could change. That you could let it out and become a better man. That we could change the world around us, but now I'm not so sure..." She trailed off sadly as a stray tear slid down her cheek.

"You sound like uncle," he lamented.

"Good." She said firmly. "At least one of us does."

xxx

It was strange… Her betrayal to his Uncle. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. He had replayed the events of that day over and over in his head and they still made no sense. She stood by it and admitted it to his father. Yet still defended the man's words. Something wasn't adding up.

He quietly snuck out of the palace and began the long trek towards the prison tower that was located inside a hollow volcanic crater northwest of the capital city.

The Fire Nation prince stopped at the base of the stairs that led into the prison and looked up, focusing intently on of the many darkened windows.

"Who's there?" The guard that had been patrolling one of the prison's balconies called out loudly when he spotted Zuko.

Without saying a word, the scarred prince turned and walked away, the guard resuming his patrol behind him.

Zuko walked slowly through the halls of the Capital City Prison, the hood of his cloak pulled low over his head. Ahead of him, the guard on duty stiffened at the sound of his footsteps and whirled around.

"You again?" The guard snapped furiously as he pointed his spear at the scarred prince, "Stop where you are!"

Zuko lifted his head and the guard faltered, his eyes widening.

"Prince Zuko..."

Zuko grabbed the guard by the collar of his uniform and slammed him against the wall roughly, his spear clattering to the floor.

"I'm going in for a visit. You're going to stand guard here, and no one is going to know about this." Zuko growled lowly then he released the guard and entered the cell.

His breath caught slightly in his throat when he saw his uncle sitting in the middle of the metal cell at the back of the stone room, his gray hair hanging in scraggly tangles down his back.

"Uncle," Zuko rasped as he approached the metal bars and lowered the hood of his cloak, "It's me."

Iroh shifted so his back was to the metal bars and his nephew, a faint scowl marring his face.

"You brought this on yourself you know." Zuko stated as he stood in front of the metal bars that split half of his uncle's stone cell, "We could have returned together. You could have been a hero!"

Iroh shifted slightly on the thin mat he was sitting on, keeping his back to his nephew and not looking at him. Giving him the silent treatment.

"You have no right to judge me, Uncle!" Zuko spat furiously, feeling the harsh judgement in his uncle's deafening silence. "I did what I had to do in Ba Sing Se, and you're a fool for not joining me!"

Iroh's shoulders tensed slightly, but he continued to ignore his nephew.

"You're not going to say anything?" The scarred prince demanded, his voice cracking slightly before he snarled and whirled around, kicking up a small stool before destroying it with a punch and fire bending.

"You're a crazy old man!" Zuko shouted angrily at his uncle's back, "You're crazy! And if you weren't in jail, you'd be sleeping in the gutter!"

Zuko stormed out of the stone cell slamming the door behind him. Inside the cell, Iroh's lowered his head slightly and closed his eyes.

xxx

Tsai hadn't been able to sleep after Zuko's night visit. So by the crack of dawn she stood at the side of Azula's bed awaiting for the princess to awake. It would be so easy. She could smother the princess with a pillow and make a run for it. However, that would be counter productive.

Sometime later she awoke.

"Good morning Princess Azula," Tsai spoke in a tone with no hint of emotion when she awoke. "Good morning pet," Azula's smirk stretched across her face maliciously. How was it possible for somebody to wake up and already have malicious thoughts at this hour?

"Fetch my clothing and dress me," She instructed.

Without a choice she nodded and went off to get her clothes and bring them to the girl. Azula sat on the edge of her bed bringing her feet down and stretched. "Now dress me," she ordered.

“Oh, these?” She said as she picked up her royal garments. “Yes,” Azula repeated growing annoyed at the way she was looking at her clothes.

“I had a similar outfit back home,” she said in the most stuck up tone she could muster. “Very last year.” She spoke using the most judgmental tone she felt her mother would use.

“What do you know?” Azula snapped angrily. “Afterall you’re just a peasant!”

Tsai shrugged with a sly smile as she turned away and walked into Azula’s walk in closet hand picking out another outfit.

“I think this… Would suit the princess much better.” She pulled out a similar outfit and brought it to Azula slightly bowing her head before her.

She hated this. Hated being like this. She still wanted nothing more than to bury that knife Azula had so gracefully given her in their last physical encounter into her shoulder. An eye for an eye. But for now, she had no choice but to play nice. Azula watched her cautiously with narrowed eyes before making the girl dress her.

“See?” She said adjusting the back of her dress. Tsai wasn’t sure what to say next. She was egg shelling around the princess. One wrong move and it was all over, but how would she accomplish this? How did one become friends with a person like Azula? Did she have any friends at all?

“I wish I was half as pretty as you.” The girl added stroking Azula’s already swollen ego. On par, satisfied, Azula smirked before running a hand through her dark hair.

Tsai felt dirty saying such things to such a horrible person. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t what she was supposed to be doing.

"I've also got an attire for you," Azula suddenly said said. "I won't let my pet be seen wearing such atrocious rags."

The clothes she had been given consisted of a crimson maroon skirt that reached her mid tight and had one part in the front that was longer than the rest. It had a golden embroidered trim like most traditional Fire Nation clothes and fastened at the waist with a thin gold string. Azula had made her wear a crop top which revealed most of her abdomen. Something she really wasn’t comfortable with and wouldn’t usually wear.

"Perfect," Azula said as her eyes snaked over her servant’s body.

"One final touch." She approached her and standing before her put an actual dog's necklace around her neck. The accessory was bold, thick and dark. It was meant to be both demanding and humiliating. A terrible way of dehumanizing her into what she was in Azula's eyes, a pet.

Azula smiled wickedly her hands lingering on the other girl's neck for a moment.

First Azula made Tsai go and fetch her breakfast bring it to her bedroom chambers, feed it to her and then return it to the kitchen. Afterwards she made her brew some of her ‘famous’ tea which she spit out in her face and claimed it tasted like “shitty leaf water” and made her brew the same herb combination all over again.

Tsai would’ve been lying if she didn’t admit she considered poisoning her on the spot.

Azula made her do this several times until she grew bored. Afterwards she made her sit behind her and brush every single strand of her voluminous midnight black hair at least one-hundred times. Then she made her massage her feet. Organize her closet just for her to state she hated it and have her completely re-arrange the entire thing all over again.

Azula had gone who knows were to do who knows what when Tsai lay outside of her bedroom chambers polishing the palace marble floors with a dirty rag.

Her eyes couldn’t help but wonder around the grand palace as she mapped out the structure of the building in her head.

“Be silent and observant. Take note of everything and all detail-“

She shifted uncomfortably stopping the torturous polishing for a moment.

“-You will know what to do when the time is right.”

She had an idea of what Iroh had meant by that, but how? How was she to get away from the palace? Sneak off and away from everyone without getting caught?

“Are you just going to lay there like a fat cow or are you going to finish polishing my floors?” Azula suddenly stood before her hands on her waist.

The girl swallowed her pride and retort and turned her attention back to mindlessly polishing floors.

"Come with me," She barked out a contradicting order.

Tsai sighed and dropped the rag following after her 'Master.'

xxx

Zuko lounged on the picnic blanket on a cliff watching the sunset over the ocean with Mai, leaning against him, a content expression on her usually blank face.

This was painful. It reminded him of his first date with Tsai in Ba Sing Se. It was like cutting an open wound and applying lemon to it. It stung.

“Orange is such an awful color." Mai mused idly as she stared at the sunset.

"It's so beautiful," He remembered the look of awe on the colonial girl's face as they stood watching the sunset in the Earth Kingdom.

Zuko forced himself to remain relaxed. He thought of the golden light reflecting against her skin and her vibrant colored her and how happy the two of them had been that day.

"Stay away from me,"She breathed dangerously.

Her cold words still stung him. Those four simple words weighted so much. He shifted uncomfortably and Mai noticed and looked at him quizzically.

Mai tilted her head to look up at him with a soft expression, "Don’t worry. I don't hate you," she said looking at her through her full dark lashes.

"I don't hate you too." Zuko murmured back, leaning forward slightly to kiss her as her hand came up to cup his unscarred cheek.

"Ahem." A voice interrupted.

Zuko pulled away from Mai, ignoring the faint feeling of guilt he felt and turned to glare at his sister with an annoyed expression. His eyes went wide when he saw Tsai standing behind her and the revealing outfit his sister had forced her to wear. He swallowed nervously. Regardless she looked pale, almost sick, her eyes bore no signs of a jealous fire.

They looked dead as they met his.

He could feel Mai hugging his arm tighter as she looked between him and Azula's servant immediately sensing the growing tension in the air.

"Zuko, could I have a word with you?" Azula asked with false politeness as she stood near the couple, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Can't you see we're busy?" Zuko demanded sharply and wrapped his arm tighter around his new girlfriend.

Azula narrowed her eyes then smiled slyly and said in an offhand manner, "Oh Mai, Ty Lee needs your help untangling her braid."

Mai pulled away from Zuko and reluctantly got her feet, "Sounds pretty serious," she spoke in the same full, emotionless tone she said everything and anything.

She walked past Azula and Tsai glaring at both of them her from the corner of her eye. Azula glanced over her shoulder at the other girl's retreating back then turned to look at her brother with a sardonic expression.

"So, I've heard you've been to visit your uncle fatso in the prison tower."

Zuko surged to his feet with a furious expression, "That guard told you!"

Tsai flinched slightly at the way Azula spoke about Iroh.

"No." Azula replied flippantly with a thin smile, "You did. Just now."

'Iroh.…' Tsai thought sadly. 'So he went to see him hmm..'

She thought about Iroh with worry. Concerned for his well-being. She hoped she knew what he was doing. That he was okay.

Zuko heaved a sigh and sat back down on the blanket, his arms resting on his bent knees, "Okay, you caught me. What is it that you want, Azula?"

"Actually, nothing. Believe it or not, I'm looking out for you." Azula said, her voice actually sounding sincere, "If people find out you've been to see Uncle, they'll think you're plotting with him. Just be careful, Dum-Dum."

Azula let out what sounded like a scoff.

"I smell a rat." She said. "There's rumors of a traitor amongst us. Somebody has been leaking out information from the palace. Just the other day they shot down a fire hawk leaving the Nation with confidential war plans."

She turned on her heel. "You don't want people to think its you, right?" She turned her attention to her servant. "Now, let's go." She ordered.

Zuko watched quietly as his sister walked back down the cliff. He turned to look at the setting sun. Tsai's sad eyes were lost as she gazed at the sunset. It saddened her heart. The memory of the last time the two of them had looked at the sunset. He looked at her and stretched a hand out to her. With a scowl and a sharp turn, she shifted away quickly and followed after Azula.

Zuko's eyes turned back to the setting sun. It was no use. No matter where he turned, he would see her. He now had to stifle the guilt that surged up inside him, making his throat close up and his chest feel heavy. Alone, he silently admitted to himself that he loved her. That Mai would never be able to replace the gaping hole she had left in his chest. That he had been happiest those last days in Ba Sing Se when he lived a simpler life with her and his uncle.

He then buried the feeling deep inside him, locking it away.

Xxx

'What did you expect? Hm.' She walked alongside him that night. The imaginary spectrum that had become his conscience. 'You really expected me to take your filthy hand and what? Watch the sunset with you after I see you KISSING ANOTHER GIRL?' The imaginary girl in his head said with a jealousy he was more familiar with.

"Listen." He growled out almost sounding like her. "I miss you and you won't have me back. So, I'm trying to forget you. Can you make it easier for me and just go away?!"

'Fat chance,' she clicked her tongue. Hands on waist. On that outfit her sister had been making her wear. "Besides, I'm not all that bad to look at right?"She smirked and toyed with the dog collar she had been forced to wear.

He felt the heat rising to his cheeks and again struck her imaginary embodiment making it vanish. An evil laugh resounding in his head.

Zuko walked into his Uncle's cell and crouched down beside the bars, sliding a small basket of food between the bars.

"I brought you some komodo-chicken." He said quietly to his uncle's back, "I know you don't care for it, but I figure it beats prison food." He sat back on his heels and stared blankly at his hands, "I admit it, I have everything I always wanted, but it's not at all how I thought it would be. The truth is, I need your advice."

Zuko gripped the bars, his knuckles turning white, "I think the Avatar is still alive, I know he's out there, I'm losing my mind. I'm hearing voices, seeing things. Azula has taken Tsai as her personal servant, I need to help her. I can't stop thinking of the malicious ways in which she is torturing her." He stared at his uncle's back pleadingly and his voice turned desperate, "Please, Uncle, I'm so confused! I need your help." He pleaded.

Iroh didn't move and anger filled Zuko, burning his chest even as his heart pounded painfully against his ribs.

"Forget it, I'll solve it myself!" The scarred prince snarled as he stood up and stalked towards the door, "Waste away in here for all I care!"

Zuko hesitated a moment and glanced back at, but his uncle didn't move, so he slammed the door behind him. In the cell, Iroh bowed his head, a single tear sliding down his cheek.

xxx

Hiding in the shadow of his cloak's hood, Zuko walked silently down a dark alley until he reached the middle. He lowered his hood and looked around calmly, turning his head slightly when a noise reached his ears. He turned around completely and stared impassively at the large man with a metal leg and arm standing in front of him.

"You sure you weren't followed?" Zuko asked coolly and the man nodded slightly, "I've heard about you. They say you're good at what you do, and even better at keeping secrets. The Avatar is alive. I want you to find him and end him."

The man stared blankly at Zuko, the third eye tattooed on his forehead briefly illuminated by the light of the moon.

Xxx

Zuko was making his way back to the Royal Palace when he saw a retreating form sneaking back into the palace. He lowered his hood as he observed from a safe distance.

He hid amongst the shadows and waited. Carefully observing. It was Tsai. He would recognize that mane of crimson shades hair just anywhere.

His eyebrows went up in shock as Azula's words from earlier resounded in his head.

"There's rumors of a traitor amongst us. Somebody has been leaking out information from the palace…"

He once again felt that sunstone burning in his pocket. Pulling it out he looked at it in the darkness of the night and prayed his eyes were playing tricks on him.

xxx

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CHAPTER MASTERLIST

#prince zuko #zuko #zukoxreader #zuko x you #Zuko x oc #fanfiction #fanfic #avatar #avatar the last airbender #avatar fanfic #avatar x oc #avatar fanfiction #atla #atla fanfic #iroh #azula #oc #original character #atla x oc

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a-long-walk-in-the-forest · 3 years

Text

Sasuke’s venus and ascendant degree exploration

I’ve done his moon, mercury and mars so far. I’m putting his venus and ascendant together because I’ve narrowed both of them down to 2 degrees.

Venus (cancer):

4-5:

It indicates a person of warm affections, but incautious nature; who confides, without sufficient grounds, in those around him; and is apt to misplace his trust. To those of the female sex it is a baneful degree. In general1 it shows a loving and trustful nature without much knowledge of human weaknesses. It is apt to be bent, and perhaps broken, by the storms of passion, and to lean where there is no real support. It is a degree of BETRAYAL.

In this degree there is a Libra-like strain coming to light as love of justice and truth. The native will be friendly and will feel the need to lean on someone else. A loving-or even passionate and sensual- temper might give the male native many a headache, and might lead a woman into trouble. No adequate prudence balances the intensity of feelings. The native is better suited to win new friends than to keep the old ones and runs the risk of being seduced or easily deluded about the firmness of the ground on which to build his existence. In any event, there is an inordinate imagination and a misplaced confidence.Confronted with the unfairness and double-dealing of the world, the native’s a sense of justice will champ at the bit and rise in arms; he will call aloud for justice, will demand to have things straightened and facts revealed at any cost. Also, this rebellion will be naive, reckless, untimely and might even make things worse for the already deceived native, who is unfortunately not acted well enough with human baseness.

A just person, one whose mind will spontaneously detect a falsehood, or an injustice, or any wrong.

Medical ability; music (sense of hearing); sociable but touchy; interested in everyone and has power of intuition, which enables him to detect wrong, injustice, or falsity; tenth to twelfth ribs.

Denotes one who takes too much notice of reports and who ventures before he has obtained enough evidence as to the nature of his speculations. This tendency, unless checked, leads him to a land of famine instead of a land of plenty. It is a symbol of Pitfalls.

This degree of Cancer, Capricorn is said to have domain over the sense of hearing. These natives are usually sociable but touchy. Interested in everyone and has powers of intuition which enable him to detect wrong, injustice or falsity.

15-16:

It indicates a person of much tenacity and strength of purpose; who by dint of extreme power, whether physical or mental, will overcome his greatest and most terrible enemies. The native will have much to contend with in life, and will encounter many dangers; but, as indicated, will finally overcome them. Together with this native strength, there may be blended a softness and gentleness of manner, which may induce others to attempt an advantage over him; but those Philistine who may have this Samson out (shorn and eyeless though he be) to make sport with him will rue the day. It is a degree of CONQUEST.

An eagle holding a snake in its claws.This degree will grant courage, toughness, ready wit, inner and outer strength, a scheming and adroit mind, an intelligence that does not exclude cunning; in a word, all the makings of a great captain and the requirements for engaging in a successful battle. These traits will be enhanced by courteous manners, great tact and a good deal of tactical ability.The native’s foes will be his matches as far as gallantry and doggedness in fight goes, but will be unworthy of him for their unfairness and wickedness. A clue as to whether he will leave the battlefield as a conqueror or a loser may be drawn from his horoscope at large. But even in the latter case, his enemies will not be able to make him bite the dust.

Business; music; good at mathematics, writing, or making money; a fortunate degree; taciturn; blindness or defective eyesight; gastric nerves.

Denotes one who is entrusted with a high mission and who is deeply inspired, having a spirituality entirely serene. To him has the mandate “Co forth and teach the people” been echoed from the heavens. He will be granted power and influence, so that the people will hear him call. The evidences of this peculiar mission are made manifest in his twelfth year and mature between the twenty-fourth and thirty-sixth years. It is the symbol of the Inspired.

These people are versatile, good at figures, counting, economy and finance.

Ascendant (capricorn):

21-22:

This symbol belongs to one that is capable of arduous and protracted labors. His inherent force of character will carry him through all difficulties and beyond all obstacles. He is endowed with much definition of purpose, determination and incisiveness, so that he will make headway against all obstructions and cut out a line in life for himself. He will in all probability find the recompense of his labor in association with agricultural projects, and in the utilization of old and waste materials, It is a degree of DETERMINATION.

A man engaged in deep spade work. This image can be taken both literally and metaphorically. In the former sense it will point to a heavy, steady, drudging work; obviously this work will in all likelihood be mining, digging up archaeological remains, and the like. The latter construction of the symbol would by no means bar the former. It points to a sharp and piercing mind, to a profound spirit, eager to pry into the unknown, and perhaps to a fondness for mystery. According to the different temperaments, there can be a religious sense bent on the esoteric, the study of abstruse sciences like archaeology, dead languages, paleontology; or a strange, undecipherable, hermetic temperament. At any rate, either with his brawn or with his brain, the native will have to work hard; will be patient rather than stubborn, or vice versa, as the other factors purport. As to his tools, he will be an extremist in either sense, will either put up with the roughest, nerly antediluvian, equipment, or will exact the most up-to-date outfit modem technique has evolved. The obstacles to clear will be great, but he will face them courageously, and luck will smile upon such strength of character and such unflinching will.

A scholarly degree; active mind; persistent in his efforts; studies the past to guide him in his future; usually has more than one hobby; women with planets here are usually hard to understand; music; muscle endings.

Adventurous, reverent, philosophical Sagittarius influences this Cancer/Capricorn combination, adding mental foresight, curiosity, and love of travel - would make a wonderful teacher for adults or children. Also a writer with a sense of mystery and excitement. Capable of mastering foreign language and dialects and understands other cultures. Perhaps an archeologist or historian - fond of anything “old”. Physically fit, patient and capable of hard work, but somewhat of a one-track mind.

23-24:

This denotes a steadfast and capable person, whose life will be orderly and useful, whose mind will be open to the reception of truth and knowledge and whose passions will be well regulated. He will display a frank and even blunt nature, being free from all craftiness and subtlety; and his mind will have a sincere regard for all that is simple and natural in human nature, and a rooted distrust of the non-transparent. It is likely that he will be disposed to seek his livelihood in the vineyard or hostel, but in the highest capacity he can be will aspire to become a teacher and purveyor of spiritual truths. In any case he is a man of the common walk and his sympathies are with the people. It Is a degree of SINCERITY.

What one may incline to call a head. An eminently constructive brain, an intelligence open to truth and at the same time bent on things of practical use; a mind where, in spite of its manifold gifts, tidiness and order prevail. A leaning toward medicine, applied or pure, toward chemistry, physics, engineering, arts and crafts, for trade at large and the purchase and sale of wine and oil. Self-mastery, character, straightforwardness. The native is as good as his word, sturdy, unfaltering; as most sincere and open-hearted people, he lacks diplomacy and abhors what he cannot see through; he will break, not bend. Therefore, the earthen pot ought not to enter competition with pots of iron. A plebian temperament; simple tastes, sound instincts, heady passions, though curbed by will power, a leaning for the people, though the native strives to reach higher and higher to make headway. Either literally or metaphorically, the native may run the risk of drowning (in a stream or in debts); the chart as a whole will have to tell in which of the two senses the omen can be taken. One ought to bear in mind that the wheel is also whimsical Goddess Fortune’s tool.

A blunt, steadfast, and militant person; music; gastric ulcer; from upper to lower legs.

Aries with Leo with earthy, “direct” Capricorn expresses ambition, and energy to accomplish the most demanding tasks - often risking fortune and life along the way. Sincere and open-minded (can afford to be) but can’t understand why others would ever disagree with it plans and ideas. Why? It makes no sense, because a belief that it concise, correct planning is the best! But, no one is perfect; it’s an imperfect world. Must be tactful and diplomatic in order to continue its successes. Outdoor activities favored; politics or religion cannot be ruled out.

#sasuke #sasuke uchiha #sasuke astrology #sasuke's venus #sasuke's ascendant #degree exploration #n-astro

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inheritance-cycles · 4 years

Text

Thorta Du Ilumëo

Trigger warnings for canon-typical graphic violence and torture.

Following the Siege of Dras-Leona, Murtagh and Thorn launch a successful attack against the Varden. During the fight, Eragon falls from Saphira’s back, and Thorn uses the momentary distraction to both wound Saphira and knock Arya unconscious. Murtagh, who originally planned to capture Nasuada, decides to take advantage of this rare opportunity, and during the chaos, Thorn and Murtagh manage to seize Eragon and spirit him away to Urû'baen. Canon non-compliant fic detailing Eragon’s capture, trials, and eventual rescue.

First chapter based heavily on Nasuada’s capture.

Part 1 || AO3 (parts 2-6)

Eragon opens his eyes.

The first thing he notices is the pounding in his head; an almost percussive agony that brings him more fully to awareness. His thoughts, however, feel thick and slow, as if he were drunk with exhaustion. Turning his head makes the pain worse, so instead he stares with detached interest at the roof above him.

Tiles cover the dark, vaulted ceiling, and upon the tiles are painted angular patterns of red, blue, and gold: a complex matrix of lines that trap his gaze for a mindless while.

The soft crackle of a smoldering fire draws his attention, and at last he musters the will and energy to look away from the intricate designs. A simmering glow emanates from a source somewhere behind him, and he senses more than sees that the illumination is due to a brazier nearby. The glow is just strong enough to reveal the shape of the octagonal room, but not so bold as to dispel the shadows clinging to its corners.

Finally, he looks down, and notices the surface upon which he’s been restrained. It’s cold, smooth, and uncomfortably hard; the rough stone chafes irritably against his exposed hands and legs. A chill creeps into his bones, and he finds himself wishing for something warmer than the tattered tunic and loose trousers he had been wearing whilst drinking with Arya. Eyeing his lower half, he also realizes that he is weaponless, a fact that is unsurprising but disappointing all the same. Chances are, both his bow and Brisingr still lay on the grassy knoll near Dras-Leona where he fell.

But where am I now?

With immense caution, he pushes his mind out- or tries to- but to his alarm, he only feels a soft, indistinct pressure surrounding him. It’s as if bales of wool are packed around his mind, and he finds that he can neither extend his consciousness outward, nor access the part of himself that houses his magic.

He’s unsure if he’s been drugged, but if this were done by magic, it was a magic that was completely unknown to him.

Eragon shudders, then tries to sit upright, but the padded manacles that he now sees encircle his limbs prevent him from moving more than a fraction of an inch in any direction. He furrows his brow and realizes that a thick leather belt holds his head firmly against the slab as well, preventing him from turning it more than a few degrees.

Even though he knows it’s futile, he strains against the bonds with all his strength, but they are too secure for even him to break. It’s this realization that causes him to truly panic.

Eragon allows himself a few moments of chest-heaving, muscle-trembling terror before he forces himself to calm, one carefully-controlled breath at a time. The only power he has in this situation is self-control, and he is not about to relinquish it willingly.

The pace of his breaths slow further. The regular, smooth flow through his throat and nostrils begins to crowd out all else. Then, once he’s reasonably certain he is not going to come undone, he allows his gaze to wander once more.

Turning his head what little it can, he glances out the window beside him, neck muscles straining with the effort. To his shock, he actually recognizes the landscape from a fairth he had studied while in Ellesmera.

He’s in Urû'baen.

His heart rate spikes once more, and he quickly loses what little hard-won composure he had gained.

Eragon is still working to calm his erratic breaths when he hears the footsteps in the hallway. His sensitive hearing picks them up easily: a group, some marching in rhythm, some not. The cacophony is so great that he’s unable to determine their exact number, nor their exact distance from him.

The second query is soon answered when the procession approaches, stopping directly outside the doorway to his chamber. There’s quiet murmuring, followed by two sets of clacking footsteps- the product of hard-soled riding boots, he guesses- then a single man enters the room.

The door closes with a hollow thud, and Eragon flinches.

Down the stairs the footsteps come, steady and deliberate. In his arms, the man carries a chair and places it somewhat near the brazier, his body only visible in Eragon’s periphery.

Silence reigns as he fills the copper brazier with charcoal, but then he moves it closer to the slab, closer to Eragon, and the motion produces a painful screech that drives into his ears like nails. Being well-restrained, all Eragon can do is cringe inwardly and watch, transfixed. The man takes flint and steel from the pouch on his belt and lights a nest of shredded tinder in the center of the brazier. The sparks smolder and spread, and the tinder glows like a ball of red-hot wires. Then, he bends, blowing on the incipient fire, and the sparks spring into lambent flames.

The man is not large: not fat, but broad-shouldered. A long black cape hangs draped around his well-built frame. Light from the coals cast his form in shadow, his features too dark to make out, even with Eragon’s advanced senses. Still, the shadows do nothing to obscure the outline of the sharp, pointed crown resting upon his brow, and they similarly fail to conceal the three long irons now resting in the heating coals.

Finally, the man drops into the chair with a near-silent exhale.

One by one, he tugs on the fingers of his gauntlets, then pulls off his gloves. Tossing them carelessly aside, they land with a soft thump of hide on stone. Underneath the gloves, Eragon notices, the man’s hands are the color of tarnished bronze.

Then, the man speaks. His voice is low, rich and commanding, and Eragon shivers again. His skin prickles uncomfortably and he finds himself thinking of Elva, of all people, and her authority over people’s minds. He has no doubt that he is now in the presence of the king.

“Welcome to Urû’baen, Eragon, son of Morzan,” Galbatorix intones. “Welcome to this, my home, ‘neath these ancient piled rocks. Long has it been since a guest as distinguished as yourself has graced us with their presence. My energies have been occupied elsewhere, but I assure you, from now on, I shall not neglect my duties as host.”

The fire crackles menacingly as if to underscore the hard steel underlying the king’s tone, his words. Galbatorix leans forward, and Eragon can feel the weight of his gaze: boring into him, assessing, scrutinizing.

“You are younger than I expected. I knew you had recently come of age, but still, you are no more than a child.” He pauses for a moment, as if in thought. “Most seem as children to me these days. Foolhardy children who know not what is best for them- children who need the guidance of those who are older and wiser.”

Eragon sets his chin, not wanting to show fear or vulnerability in front of the king.

“Such as yourself?” He asks in a scornful tone.

Galbatorix chuckles. “Would you rather the elves ruled over us? I am the only one of our race who can hold them at bay. By their reckoning, even our oldest graybeards would be considered untested youths, unfit for the responsibilities of adulthood.”

“And by their reckoning, so would you.” With each word, his fear melts away, replaced by pure defiance and bubbling fury.

The amusement in the king’s eyes angers Eragon, but he stays otherwise silent.

“Ah, but I contain more than my share of years. The memories of hundreds are mine, whispering their wisdom in my ears,” replies Galbatorix, smirking conspiratorially. “You especially should understand of what I speak.”

Eragon purses his lips and refuses to confirm what they both know is true.

Galbatorix allows the silence to settle for a moment, then gestures at the room with his gauntlets, continuing unperturbed. “This is a place for truths to be told… and heard. I will tolerate no lies within these walls, not even the simplest of falsehoods.”

The legs of the chair scrape over the floor, and Galbatorix’s breath suddenly wafts, warm against his ear. “I know this will be painful for you, Eragon Shadeslayer, painful beyond belief. You will have to unmake yourself before pride will allow you to submit. In all the world, nothing is harder than changing one’s own self. I understand this, for I have reshaped myself on more than one occasion. However, I will be here to hold your hand and help you through this transition. Although we do not have much time, you need not take this journey alone. And you may console yourself with the knowledge that I will never lie to you. Not within this room. Doubt me if you wish, but in time you will come to believe me. You may ask whatever you want, and I promise you, that I shall answer truthfully. As the king of these lands, I give you my sworn word.”

Eragon’s jaw clenches painfully, and from between clenched teeth, he spits, “I’ll never tell you what you want to know!”

A slow deep chuckle fills the room. “You misunderstand; You were not brought here because I seek information. There’s nothing you could say that I don’t already know. You have no secrets from me, none whatsoever; it is pointless to insist upon holding your tongue, for it will only cause you pain and suffering.”

“Why then?” he growls.

Galbatorix moves to better meet Eragon’s gaze with his own.

“Why did I have you brought here? Because, my son, you have gifts far deadlier than anything magic or man could create. You are here because you have proven yourself worthy of my attention. I wish to have you by my side. A new order is about to descend upon Alagaësia, and I would have you be part of it. Voluntarily, if I can.”

Eragon squints, not trusting the king’s words. “Are you not going to use your mind against me?”

He shakes his head. “I have other ways to break you, my son. I could easily seize control of your mind and force you to swear fealty to me, but instead, I would have you make this decision of your own free will, and while still in possession of your faculties. For now, I am satisfied to discover just how brave you really are, Eragon, son of the Forsworn.”

Eragon clenches his muscles to prevent the growing tremors in his arms and legs from becoming visible.

“The Varden are fast approaching, desperate to rescue their Rider, so I will have to do this efficiently, and in a much shorter time frame than I would prefer.” A wickedly devious smile stretches Galbatorix’ cheeks. “Take this, then, as a sign of my regard for you, Eragon, that I must inflict such suffering to assure victory.” His voice drops to a whisper as he leans in even closer. “I would not, however, wish to exchange places with you.”

This is my final duty: resisting my interrogation. I will not break.

“Now, before we begin,” croons Galbatorix. “I’ll ask you one last time: will you submit?”

Eragon thinks of Saphira, and his resolve hardens. “Never.”

“So be it. Let us begin.”

#Inheritance cycle #IC #Eragon series #Inheritance trilogy #IC fic #fanfic #eragon fanfic #The cyclists #Eragon shadeslayer #Eragon Bromsson #arya drottningu #Arya #saphira #galbatorix

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wordywarriorwrites · 4 years

Text

Chapter 9: On the Run

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn A03 Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration & Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge. Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities.

Instead of sticking to terms, Nick Fury was going for a hostile takeover.

It was a breach of contract, but from a business standpoint, it was the smart play. Hell, Bucky planned to do the same thing in the future, but the situation had gone tits up before he got the chance to put his own plans in motion.

They’d all agreed to the terms of the treaty, but as soon as Fury got back to his home turf, he unexpectedly declared Steve wasn’t the right man to handle their combined interests, and refused to work with someone he “no longer deemed trustworthy.” The Families didn’t have an alternate person who knew both businesses, and without Steve as a diplomat and go-between, the truce became strained.

In in an effort to maintain order in Brooklyn, dues were increased, funds were redistributed, and territories were rearranged. Tightening both the reigns and the purse strings helped for a while, but when people learned trade suffered because an outsider was badmouthing one of their own, they made their displeasure known.

It didn’t take long for whispers of disapproval to turn into deafening roars of outright dissent. The nature of the business had changed, but the foundation and principles had remained the same. In their world, unsubstantiated accusations still brought out visceral impulses, and after Sam went down, the gloves came off.

Bucky had Natasha and Bruce investigate and they’d both arrived at the same conclusion: Steve and Sam had been loyal and all roads led back to Fury. He’d been the origin of the treason rumors, was behind the unsanctioned hit, and wanted Steve cut out so he could wrest control and poach from their joint revenue streams.

The situation reached critical mass after the funeral. Sam had been in the ground less than an hour when another attempt was made. Steve had been ambushed and almost killed in the middle of his own living room, and not long after, Bucky learned the Families private homes had also been compromised.

Bucky knew it was only a matter of time before Fury tried again, and once the Families realized he was gunning for them all, everyone agreed to batten down the hatches and move to undisclosed, more secure locations.

The hotel suite he was holed up in offered privacy, security, and best of all, a well-stocked bar. Yet, even with the creature comforts, Bucky still felt feel like a caged animal. He really needed to get his house in order, and so far, no easy solution had presented itself, and the booze wasn’t helping.

“If you want to take Fury out, you’re going to need to do it from the inside,” Natasha opined over FaceTime. “You need to turn his crew, and in order to get to them, you have to go through Steve.”

“If he rallies Brooklyn and manages to get Fury’s people on his side, allegiances will be divided, and there will be mutiny here and abroad,” Bucky argued. “I can’t fight a war on two fronts.”

“You’ve always been stubborn, but I never knew you could be so ignorant.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Natasha leveled him with a hard stare, “Steve’s calculating, but he’s stalwart. You’re alive because he’s still in love with you, and that’s why he won’t ever betray you or try to oust you.”

Bucky sighed and poured himself another drink, “For the record, he’s not in love with me. And Steve may be steadfast, but he’s also unforgiving and prone to petulance.”

“Look, if you just apologize and set aside your ego, the two of you could--”

“My ego isn’t the problem,” he interjected. “And in case you’ve forgotten, his goon squad beat the shit out of me, and he left you for dead in an alley.”

“And in response, you had our guys torture him for a month. Then, you took away his choices, his money, and his freedom,” she retorted. “The time for posturing and tit-for-tat is over. If you don’t get Steve back on our side, our people won’t fight, Fury will bury us, and it will be your fault.”

Before Bucky could formulate a response, Natasha brusquely told him to, “get his fucking shit together,” and then, ended any further discussion of the matter by cutting off the call.

Partnering with Nick Fury had been a calculated risk, but Bucky could have never foreseen it going bad so quickly. The harsh, bitter truths Natasha voiced were difficult to face, but deep down, Bucky knew she was right. The wisest course of action would be to bring Steve back into the fold, but given everything that had happened, mending fences would be easier said than done.

Too exhausted to think about it anymore, Bucky texted his security detail, and let them know he was turning in for the night. He’d just started to undress when a response came through; thinking it was one of the men bidding him goodnight, he ignored it, but when his cell rang and one of the guards in the suit adjacent suddenly began pounding on the adjoining door, he knew something wasn’t right.

A rhythmic candace. Sharp, loud, repetitive snaps.

The sound was all too familiar and made the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck stand on end. Instinct and a flood of pure, high-octane adrenaline made him reach for his own weapon at the base of his spine. He could hear muffled, indistinct voices; see the doorknob being rattled; feel the grip of the gun against the palm of his hand; taste the fear and whiskey on his tongue.

Knowing he was next, he bolted for the exit, and looked through the peephole. When the hallway revealed itself to be empty, Bucky slipped the chain back, flipped the deadbolt, and opened the door. Both guards stationed just outside were down, and as he continued onward, the bodies kept piling up.

The culprit had taken them out one-by-one and managed to get into the suite next to his without raising any suspicion or alarm. Everyone had erred on the side of caution and the Families hadn’t revealed to each other or anyone else where they were hunkered down. If he was being targeted, it meant someone on the inside had sold him out.

A strange sound drew his attention away from his thoughts and back to the task at hand. When he approached the elevator, he saw the doors opening and closing, but a pair of legs sticking out from the inside prevented them from shutting all the way. Bucky didn’t know how many enemies there were or where they were all located, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

A flickering exit sign pointed toward the stairwell, and he hastily made a beeline for it. Twelve flights and another door saw him out of the hotel and onto the street. Without his phone, wallet, and keys, he had no way of reaching out to anyone or getting away quickly. Exposed, alone, and with the enemy on his tail, Bucky had no choice but to start walking.

Gun low and pressed to his thigh, he crossed the street, and made it about two blocks before a black SUV, headed fast in the opposite direction, suddenly pulled a U-turn right in the middle of traffic. There was absolutely no way to outrun a car, which meant he had little choice but to duck into the nearest alley.

Sweat pooled at the base of his spine and his pulse thudded in his ears, but he remained silent, and waited. The vehicle pulled right up to the sidewalk, but nobody got out. The tinted window on the front passenger side was lowered, which prompted him to ready his weapon.

Bucky was a hairsbreadth away from firing when the high beams were flashed and a familiar voice yelled his name. As he warily approached, the back door was thrown open; the interior lights came on and revealed Bruce riding shotgun, Natasha at the wheel, and none other than Steve Rogers in the seat behind her.

With the threat of death imminent, Bucky didn’t hesitate, and as soon as he was in, Natasha hit the gas, and drove like a bat out of hell.

“How did you know?” he asked.

Bruce turned around in his seat, “Ever since Sam was killed, I’ve been monitoring all communications, but there are a lot of phones and a lot of people. Fury managed to get to one of your guards. I just didn’t see it until it was too late.”

“And him?” he prompted, nodding his head toward Steve. “Why is he here?”

“Steve knows Fury’s playbook,” Natasha voiced. “He’s here to help.”

Bucky let out a sound of frustration, “You shouldn’t have involved him.”

“You want me gone? Fine,” Steve mumbled lowly. “Pull the fuck over.”

Bruce shook his head frantically, “Bad idea.”

Natasha glanced in the rearview mirror, “You’re in no condition to be out on your own.”

When the vehicle entered a tunnel and the car’s interior was flooded with light, Bucky instantly understood why Bruce and Natasha didn’t want to dump Steve on the side of the road. The evidence of Nick Fury’s brutality was on every inch of visible skin, and the sight of Steve’s injuries made his gut twist.

One eye swollen shut and the other bloodshot. Brow and cheeks marred with stitched up cuts. Jaw extremely distended. Bruises on his arms that hadn’t even begun to heal. Steve was pale and sweating, and his harsh breathing indicated there was probably something even worse going on beneath the clothes. A lesser man wouldn’t have been able to withstand the agony, never mind be upright, but Steve wasn’t like most men.

Ram-rod stiff. Vacant countenance. The composure and comportment of a soldier.

He may have been bloodied, but Bucky knew not to mistake it for weakness or surrender, and the cold, deadly look in his eye suggested he wasn’t going to let a few cuts and bruises prevent him from getting even.

Everyone in Brooklyn was baying for blood, including Steve, and war was inevitable.

Nick Fury started it.

And Bucky had a sinking feeling Steve would be the one who finished it.

Chapter 10: Behind Enemy Lines

Everything: @jennmurawski13 @nerdy-bookworm-1998

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @captain-rogers-beard

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interstellarflowers · 5 years

Text

señorita | peter parker x reader | part one

señorita

peter parker x reader

part one

a/n this is inspired by @loxbbg ‘s idea of basing a peter parker fic off of shawn mendes and camila cabello’s new song señorita which I also hadn't listened to yet haha so thank you for forcing me to listen, anyways this was just such stellar idea, i hope that this does it justice

t/w cursing

Peter Parker knew right from wrong. He knew that keeping his identity private was for the best, that it would protect everyone he loved. He knew this yet, he couldn’t help himself…he just had to have you.

It was a hot rainy day in July, Peter and his suit were soaked with rain and sweat, each indecipherable from the other at this point. He was doing the rounds, swinging about the city until it began to rain too hard, he had to come down to the street. That was when he saw you. It felt like love, even though he knew it couldn’t have been, it was too soon, or at least it seemed like it. You crossed over to his side of the street and that was when you said your first words to him,

“Excuse me, Mr.Spiderman, I’m sorry to bother you, but you look like you could use an umbrella.” You held out your umbrella, sheltering him from the rain.

Your voice was smooth like summer and singsong like rain. He loved it. He could barely mutter out a ‘thank you’ before he took your umbrella from you and held it above the two of you.

The way you made him feel was something like magic, he knew he should run, he knew the dangers. He couldn’t bring himself to leave.

That was a year ago, and here he is sitting in your bedroom another summer night. You had a small air conditioner in your bedroom window, which, let’s face it was just doing its best. Spiderman sat on your bed clearly overheated, the spandex of his suit not exactly helping the situation.

“Why don’t you just take it off?” He looked over in your direction,

“Oh, you want me to take it off, do ya?” He jumped off your bed and cupped your face.

Oh yeah, there was that too. You and Spiderman were…Well, you weren’t quite sure how to label it. Not quite friends with benefits, not quite friends…Who needs label anyways?

You pulled back from Spiderman slapping his hands away and scrunching your nose.

“Ew, get your sweaty hands away from me!”

“You know I can’t take it off…Telling me to get away from you. That’s so…mean (y/n), so cruel!” Spiderman collapses back on your bed dramatically with his hand over his heart, “The betrayal, the agony!” He sits back up, crossing his arms and giving you the stinkeye.

If someone had told you a year ago that Spiderman would be sitting on your bed giving you the stinkeye and throwing a fit the next year, you would write them off as insane. Yet, here he was, the great superhero, the protector of Queens, the civil war hero, the friendly neighborhood Spiderman…On your bed, pouting like a toddler.

“Fine, fine, calm down,” you playfully rolled your eyes and walked over to kiss his cheek, “Don’t be such a baby.”

“Hey!” Spiderman stood up towering above you, “It’s Spiderman!”

“Well, you’re sure acting like a Spiderbaby.”

Sure, Spiderman could be very isolating for Peter. Spiderman came with great responsibility and strict rules and regulations, yet, he just couldn’t leave you. He loved it when you would call his name from your window when you spotted him swinging across the buildings. He loved it when you touched him, and fuck, did he love the way your lips tasted, but above all, he loved the way you made him feel.

Was it love? It most certainly was. Would he ever do anything above it? He most certainly would not. It was too dangerous and besides-

“I’m glad that we’re friends.’

Owch, yeah, there it was. That word, “friends.” Of course, he was beyond grateful to be your friend, you were all he talked to Ned about, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling that this was it. That this was love.

“It’s getting kinda late Spidey,” you wrestled your way out of the embrace that Spiderman had had you locked in for the past hour one of the many activities that the two of you shared with your undefined relations, “You should get swinging on home.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“What if my parents come home soon and I can’t let them know that I’ve been hanging out with Spiderman behind their back?”

“Fine,” he sighs and makes his way over to the window, “Catch you later Señorita.” You giggle at him and raise an eyebrow,

“Ah, so we’re a sweet talker now, is that it?”

“Well, I do take Spanish, one of the three romance languages-”

“Get out of here.”

“Gone, I’m gone.” He blew you a kiss and you shook your head at him, catching it in the air before he swung off his suit mixing beautifully with the tequila sunset painting the sky.

Truth be told, you harbored feelings for Spiderman. Anybody could probably see this, well anybody except for a certain hero. Your classmates would constantly gush over the bigger names…

“Thor is so hot!” gushed a girl named Tiffany in Chemistry,

“Okay, basic. Have you seen Tony Stark?” another peer named Elijah argued,

“Alright, alright, but Captain America!” Skyler, who was usually quiet, shouted from the back of the classroom

Thor, Iron Man, Captain America, yeah they were all wildly successful and undoubtedly handsome, but Spiderman, he was the one for you. He was special. Witty and charming without being cocky, effortlessly adorable and awkward in the best way possible, he redefined hero and you adored it. Not to mention, he was actually not over the age of twenty. He was your age, and he was the absolute best thing to ever happen to you. He really was your favorite hero, but most importantly he was your favorite person. Were you in love? Head over heels. Would he ever know? No. You had no time for any real relationship anyway, and besides, there was-

“You’re the best friend ever!”

There was that. He was, of course, the best friend you could ever ask for, but it hurt simultaneously, especially that he felt the need to repeat it each time you saw each other. You swear this boy is going to be the death of you-

“Hey (y/n)!”

Besides, you knew Spiderman had his duties, he had rules, he had limitations, he had to protect. If you were going to be in a relationship you wanted it to be realistic at the very least, still, there was no harm in merely thinking about being with Spiderman, right?

“Hi, Peter!” Ah yes, Peter Parker, or as he first introduced himself to you, Parker Pete. What a nerd, you loved it.

“Spanish test?”

“94.”

“98!” Peter slapped your arm lightly, “In your face.”

“Mrs.Profe is out to get me, I swear.”

“Sure, she is. You owe me a coffee.” Peter teased reminding you of the bet on this test that you guys had set in place,

You groan, “Fine, let’s go-”

“No, no, no,” Peter grabbed your hand and then quickly let go, haha, dork, “Good coffee, not that cafeteria shit.”

“Where else is there to get coffee in school?” You whined,

“Maybe we should,” Peter hesitated for a moment, “Get some somewhere else, uh, after school?” You stopped dead in your tracks. Was he asking you on a date?

“Uh, sure.” You decided not to question it, why label it, it was just coffee anyways.

Peter knew that this was bad. Peter knew what he did with you as Spiderman, Peter knew that he shouldn’t be doing this. Asking you out, as him, as Peter Parker? Fooling around with you as Spiderman? He knew that he should probably stop, that he could end it all, that he should end it all….but he couldn’t.

“After school?” you asked to confirm the plans, pulling Peter out of his inner conflict,

“After school,” Peter knew he shouldn’t, he knew it was bad, he knew he should stop, but he- “See you then, Señorita.”

You froze. You felt like every part of your body died at once, came back to life, and then died again. You could not believe what you were hearing.

“Spanish?” you managed to squeak out,

“Uh,” Peter suddenly faltered any confidence that he previously mustered melted away completely. It was at this exact moment that Peter had realized…He fucked up. “Spanish, it’s a, we take Spanish.”

“Yup,” you speak slowly and awkwardly testing the waters of your new theory as to who the web-slinger you so frequently have rendezvous with maybe, “It’s a, it’s a romance language.”

“One of three,” Peter awkwardly laughed it off, “Why’re you so tense?”

“Oh, uh, no reason.” You also mustered a strained laugh

“I’m only teasing you since, y’ know, I’m the superior Spanish student and it shows.”

“Shut your mouth, you take that back right now Parker Pete.”

Perhaps that was it. It wasn’t like it was a specific word, it was a commonly used word, right?

You both took Spanish after all, sure, Spiderman took Spanish too, but lots of kids take Spanish in high school. Senorita was, in fact, one of the first words taught in high school Spanish curriculum.

You were overthinking this entirely. You told yourself that you would stop thinking about it. You told yourself that Spiderman was a mystery, but he was your mystery and that should be good enough.

You told yourself that you shouldn’t, you told yourself that it was wrong, you told yourself that it was a secret that you should leave between Spiderman and himself…Alas, sometimes words are just words.

a/n surprise this is a two-parter, part two drops soon ;) hope you enjoyed!

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quirkycombatants · 4 years

Text

Spoilers: Noburu’s Backstory

So I usually don’t tell people the whole truth about my muses, or give all the details about their backstory, because 1. they tend to be super long, and 2. it makes it easier to react more naturally to things when they’re not considering information they don’t have. This prevents bias, but also metagaming. In any case, I felt that enough threads have been done the last few days that it was time to put down Noburu’s actual backstory, with explanations of how and why he is strong, and how and why he is the way he is.

Major spoilers lie below.

First, let’s talk about Noburu’s family. He claims he does not have one, save for his brother and father, who abandoned him as the false heir, and will one day return to slay him for his weakness. This, Noburu believes. He believes this completely. It is also a lie.

First, his brother. Noburu never gives details on his brother; not his looks, not his fighting style, nothing. Only that he is stronger than Noburu and the favorite of his father for having a quirk. In truth, his brother does not exist. Noburu is an only child, and his brother is not real.

Noburu has dissociative identity disorder.

To quote WebMD:

Dissociative identity disorder is thought to stem from a combination of factors that may include trauma experienced by the person with the disorder. The dissociative aspect is thought to be a coping mechanism -- the person literally shuts off or dissociates himself from a situation or experience that's too violent, traumatic, or painful to assimilate with his conscious self.

Research indicates that the cause of DID is likely a psychological response to interpersonal and environmental stresses, particularly during early childhood years when emotional neglect or abuse may interfere with personality development. As many as 99% of individuals who develop dissociative disorders have recognized personal histories of recurring, overpowering, and often life-threatening disturbances or traumas at a sensitive developmental stage of childhood.

Dissociation may also happen when there has been persistent neglect or emotional abuse, even when there has been no overt physical or sexual abuse. Findings show that in families where parents are frightening and unpredictable, the children may become dissociative.

It is now acknowledged that these dissociated states are not fully mature personalities, but rather they represent a disjointed sense of identity. With the amnesia typically associated with dissociative identity disorder, different identity states remember different aspects of autobiographical information. There is usually a "host" personality within the individual, who identifies with the person's real name. Ironically, the host personality is usually unaware of the presence of other personalities.

Incorporating all that, Noburu’s brother is his second personality. It is the personality that allowed him to cope with the killing that he did during his childhood years in the underground arenas. Consider the details that Noburu gives about his brother:

Noburu’s brother is stronger than Noburu. Noburu’s brother is more brutal than Noburu. Unlike Noburu, who doesn’t like to kill, Noburu’s brother kills willingly and readily, and without remorse. Noburu’s brother is more emotional than Noburu.

In truth, Noburu’s brother is the repressed personality that covers the parts of Noburu that allowed him to survive in death matches. Noburu, forced to kill and do so to survive, separated himself from what was occurring. His ‘brother’ is thus responsible for all the blood shed. The deaths that Noburu caused he associates with his brother.

There’s another aspect to it. His brother is ‘strong’ while noburu is ‘weak.’ His brother is ‘powerful’ while Noburu is ‘careful.’ He is the opposite of Noburu, because Noburu has defined himself as the peaceful one, the one who possesses no malice towards anyone, while his ‘brother’ possesses only the urge for violence towards others.

In truth, Noburu’s brother does not actually have malice towards others. But that will be discussed later.

Noburu’s brother is Noburu. But the brother was a coping mechanism, and something that was encouraged to develop by Noburu’s father. It was specifically cultivated, in order to be controlled, because his father feared what would happen if the secondary personality consumed the main personality. Thus, the rules for his brother coming out, unknown to Noburu are:

In the arena, when you must defend your own life, or when you must defend something so precious that you cannot live without it.

It was his father’s belief that this would keep him safe; after all, it would keep it contained to the arena, and it would ensure that his father would be safe since he was something that Noburu would be unable to live without.

This would be his ultimate mistake.

Noburu was never meant to become attached to anything other than his father. He was never meant to feel anything like attachment towards anyone or anything. In reality, he became attached to a dog that would come by to where Noburu was kept by his father. Noburu understood that this animal would be killed, but it showed him affection, which was new to Noburu. and so he began to value the dog, and was careful to keep it away when his father was going to come around.

When his father found it, he attempted to make Noburu kill the dog. Noburu refused. His father then decided to kill it himself. This activated the last part of the indoctrination: defend something so precious that you cannot live without it. To Noburu, this dog was so precious because it showed him something unique, and thinking it was entirely unique in doing so, he could not live without these feelings of affection.

Thus Noburu killed his father.

Noburu does not believe he has done this. To him, both his father and his brother are alive and merely waiting to return to kill him. But Noburu, under the guise of his ‘brother’ slew his father. His father of course, had a quirk, that part Noburu is accurate about. His father’s quirk really was the ability to see into the future up to three seconds at all times. Which means that Noburu had to fight in a way which made it impossible for that quirk to stop him.

This brings us to Noburu’s strength. Noburu is quirkless. But Noburu is also a superhuman. It will also explain how Noburu’s ‘brother’ is stronger than he is.

Noburu’s father, realizing that noburu was quirkless, did in fact attempt to overcome this problem. But he did not try to ‘force a quirk’ as Noburu believed. Instead, he attempted to make it so that Noburu would be able to enter the ‘fight or flight state’ instantly.

In Japan, this is called ‘enormous strength during a fire,’ but in America it’s usually referred to as the ‘emergency state.’ Basically, think of how when their child is in danger, a mother can somehow lift a car to save them. Think about how when a person fell out of a plane without a parachute, they somehow survived with other minor injuries. Think about how the original marathon was ran by a man who then died as soon as he declared victory. The truth is that our bodies have limits, because otherwise we would destroy ourselves through exertion. We learn this as children and keep it to this day. For example, the density of a human finger is the same as the density of a carrot. We can easily bite through a carrot, but biting through a finger would be hard for most people. Why? Because our brains are conditioned to believe that we should not do one and easily do the other.

But there’s more than psychology to this. There’s biology too. To do the things in this state, the brain floods the body with endorphins. It then begins breaking down the base proteins that your body stores for emergencies. This is extremely dangerous, because your body is not meant to break down these proteins normally or even regularly. This is how people, even on the point of exhaustion, get a sudden burst of energy to act. It is the last gasp of your body.

Noburu’s father aimed to make it so that Noburu could act in this state at will. In truth, he got close. Noburu’s ‘brother’ naturally exists in this state. It is a state where he is stronger, faster, more lethal than a normal person. But it comes at the cost of his rational thoughts; your body cannot focus on rational thought while it is doing everything it can to survive.

There is one other thing which explains Noburu’s strength, even while he is not in this state. And that thing is myostatin. Myostatin is a natural protein that is produced by the body in order to inhibit muscle growth. Without it, muscles would grow endlessly without end. There are many examples of animals that lack this, and who end up with giant muscles. When working out, our bodies intentionally limit myostatin, and that allows us to gain muscle mass.

But Noburu’s body lacks the proper amount of Myostatin. However his body, rather than grow to extreme sizes, has compressed his muscles. This is why, if you were to compare Noburu with someone of equal height, he would probably weigh somewhere between 100-200 lbs more, though the reason isn’t entirely obvious.

Noburu, from the day he was born, has muscle fibers that are naturally elastic and dense, along with dense bones that are harder and more durable than normal. This is a result of his muscles being forced to endure intense amounts of strain.

This is why Noburu’s father put him through the training he did, and why he didn’t simply remove him. It is true that Noburu’s father wanted an heir. But Noburu’s father considered Noburu his real heir.

When Noburu was born, he weighed over 20 lbs, though was no larger than normal. His birth killed his mother, because Noburu was too strong and caused exceptional bleeding when he was being born, and she was not being born in a hospital.

Noburu, by virtue of birth, was a superhuman in a world of quirks. He was quirkless, but that didn’t matter. He had his powers by virtue of the old way, naturally. He would be considered a superhuman in a normal world. But he is not in a normal world, and so he seems normal.

But Noburu’s strength, reaction time, and durability are many times greater than a normal person’s. This was why Noburu’s father trained him as he did, and why Noburu’s father was unable to kill Noburu despite seeing three seconds into the future. The three second headstart didn’t matter, because Noburu could move faster than he could react.

But killing his father to protect something precious was the final break that caused him to need two personalities. Noburu was ‘weak’ so he had a brother who was ‘strong.’ Noburu was ‘calm’ while his brother was ‘violent.’ And because Noburu had killed his father, he was ‘wrong’ because he was not the ‘heir.’ Thus, he waits for ‘punishment’ for being ‘wrong.’ He is ‘guilty.’ And his brother and father will return to kill him. But he cannot stop growing stronger, because he cannot allow anyone else to deliver punishment to him.

Noburu’s ‘brother’ is a lie. His father is dead. But he does not believe this. Instead, his body and mind have undergone extreme trauma, which has created the ‘brother’ personality that contains all of the times he was forced to kill. It is the ‘stronger’ personality, because Noburu considers his ability to simply kill to be stronger. It is also the personality that formed when Noburu was on the edge of death by his father’s training, to get him through that terrible situation. Thus the ‘state’ of being near death, that state where the body has increased strength and speed to survive, is linked with his ‘brother’ who can achieve that easily.

Noburu is thus the ‘weaker’ brother who relies on martial arts to overcome differences in strength. But his ‘brother’ is actually the one who relies on pure strength. ‘Noburu’ is thus his body and mind’s ‘limiter.’ He is the result of the coping mechanism.

All questions about how he exists, how he can be as strong as he is despite being quirkless, and how he can use the techniques that he can, can now be explained. Noburu is the personality who has jettisoned his ability to feel most things, because the last time he felt affection it resulted in him killing his father. He had fear and anger removed from his mind by his father’s training. He has survived, through a combination of natural genetics and training by his father.

Thus does Noburu’s true story become clear.

#ooc #Headcanon #noburu things

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