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droctaviolovecraft · 4 months ago

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TW: Body horror, violence/gore, incest mention

ANM-047: Inbred Knight (REMAKE)

"Decapitate traitors as I decapitate enemies of the family."

Identification: Inbred Knight

Responsible Researcher: Dr. Öctavio Kalev

ANM #: ANM-047

Classification: Assistant 🔵 | Contained ⭕️

Type of Anomaly: Literary, medieval, mutant, historical

Type of Damage: Radioactive, immunological, physical, military

Containment: ANM-047 must remain housed in a Class-2 humanoid containment chamber, measuring 9 meters in length, 2 meters in width, and 4 meters in height. The chamber is built from ANM-035 material, reinforced with a 40 cm thick specialized alloy coating, while the access door is made of titanium, protected by biometric locks requiring Level 4 authorization. No personnel without prior approval may enter the chamber, and interaction with ANM-047 is restricted to authorized individuals of noble European lineages, particularly the Habsburg lineage or Spanish nobility.

Due to ANM-047's extreme violence and insatiable hunger for human flesh, no fewer than four armed security agents must be stationed outside its containment at all times. In the event of a containment breach, the immediate lockdown of the underground levels of the MOTHRA facility is mandatory, followed by attempts to persuade ANM-047 to return to its quarters. Should this fail, incendiary protocol systems must be activated to subdue ANM-047 until re-containment is achieved.

ANM-047 may be used in battles or against internal enemies within the MOTHRA Institution, having been classified as an 'Assistant.' It will follow the orders of MOTHRA superiors without hesitation.

ANM-047's chamber must remain decorated in a medieval style, containing a collection of historical texts related to medieval Spain and the Habsburg dynasty. Interaction with these items seems to pacify ANM-047, reducing its violent outbursts. Under no circumstances should electronic devices be introduced into the chamber (except for a gramophone), as ANM-047 exhibits severe technophobia, reacting violently to modern technology.

Female staff members are prohibited from entering ANM-047's containment.

Description: ANM-047 is a severely deformed male humanoid, standing at an extraordinary height of 2.52 meters and weighing approximately 590 kilograms. ANM-047 appears to be of Spanish descent, with DNA analysis suggesting a high degree of consanguinity, particularly among descendants of the royal family of the Habsburg house.

ANM-047 is always dressed in an ancient medieval knight’s armor, stained with blood and encrusted with dirt, which seems to have fused with its flesh. Attempts to remove the armor have resulted in extreme violence from ANM-047. The armor bears the marks of a 17th-century knight and is believed to be from the period of Habsburg monarchy rule in Europe.

ANM-047 possesses a combination of genetic mutations, physical deformities, and mental issues, as detailed below:

[[collapsible show="+ List of identified genetic mutations of ANM-047" hide="- Close list"]] • Exaggerated Mandibular Prognathism

ANM-047 has severe mandibular prognathism, with a prominent, bulbous lower jaw. This feature seems to be exacerbated by other combined genetic conditions, resulting in a deformed and disproportionate appearance of the jaw.

• Combined Acromegaly and Gigantism

ANM-047’s body exhibits clear signs of both acromegaly and gigantism, resulting in a dense, robust body structure, significantly abnormal even for those with these conditions.

• Wide, Bulbous Nose

ANM-047 has an extremely wide and bulbous nose, a common feature among craniofacial deformities.

• Excess Teeth

ANM-047 has a total of 192 teeth in its mouth, arranged in two rows above and below the original set. The front row appears to have grown over the previous teeth, giving the subject a type of "triple jaw" formation that is abnormal and compact. These teeth have never been cleaned, worn down, stained with blood, and containing human remains.

• Kyphosis

ANM-047's spine is curved, resulting in a significantly hunched posture due to kyphosis, giving the entity an even more imposing and inhuman appearance.

• Cranial Elephantiasis

ANM-047’s head is significantly enlarged, displaying signs of cranial elephantiasis. This condition makes the cranial cavity much larger than normal, intensifying its facial deformities.

• Photophobia

ANM-047 has extreme sensitivity to light, a condition known as photophobia. Its eyes are adapted to dark environments, reflecting its comfort in dimly lit, medieval settings. Despite this photophobia, it has extraordinarily sharp vision in dark environments, a biological adaptation that allows it to hunt and attack in low or no light conditions.

• Enlarged Muscles and Ribcage

Although its muscles are not apparent at first glance, ANM-047 has a significantly larger muscle structure, hidden by layers of fat. Its ribcage is also enlarged.

• Two Human Hearts

ANM-047 possesses two fully functional human hearts, which likely contribute to its superhuman strength and endurance, ensuring efficient blood circulation.

• Superhuman Strength and Endurance

ANM-047 exhibits strength and endurance far beyond normal human capacities, enabling it to perform extraordinary feats, such as crushing stones and various metal bars.

• Swollen and Deformed Feet

ANM-047's feet are swollen and deformed, possibly due to congenital conditions or its many mutations. However, this does not appear to impact its mobility or agility, earning the nickname "elephant feet."

• Addiction to Human Flesh and Blood

ANM-047 has an extreme addiction to consuming human flesh and blood, with a particular preference for babies and virgin women. Its hunger for human flesh is insatiable, and it becomes increasingly aggressive when deprived of this food source.

• Technophobia

ANM-047 exhibits an intense aversion to almost all modern technology, preferring medieval scenarios and objects. It tolerates only an old gramophone introduced into its containment, which seems to calm the entity, especially through calm music or songs reminiscent of the empire.

• Thick Neck and Protruding Brow Bones

ANM-047's neck is extremely thick, and its brow bones are prominent, likely a consequence of its acromegaly. This characteristic adds to its brutish appearance.

• Tumors and Swellings

ANM-047 has an abnormal number of cancerous tumors and swollen areas scattered across its body. These areas are especially concentrated on its neck, where tumors dominate the skin. Its skin is thin, clinging tightly to the abomination's body, making some veins and fluid within the tumors visible.

• Mental Instability and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

ANM-047 suffers from severe mental instability, frequently experiencing panic attacks. The entity shows clear signs of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), linked to traumatic experiences from its distant past.

• Universal Alopecia

ANM-047 has no body hair, including hair, eyelashes, and eyebrows, due to universal alopecia.

• Cleft Lip

ANM-047’s upper lip has a congenital cleft, a condition known as a cleft lip, adding yet another deformity to its already grotesque appearance.

• Gardner's Syndrome

ANM-047 exhibits symptoms of Gardner’s Syndrome, a rare genetic condition. As a result, it has additional teeth growing in the roof of its mouth, contributing to its dental abnormality.

• Arachnodactyly and Polydactyly

ANM-047 has elongated fingers (arachnodactyly) and polydactyly, with its right hand possessing 8 fingers and its left hand 10. These extra fingers are fully functional.

• Dolichostenomelia

ANM-047’s arms are disproportionately long (dolichostenomelia), extending down to its knees. Interestingly, its legs are of “normal” size for its height, creating a strange and disproportionate contrast.

• Facial and Cranial Asymmetry

ANM-047's facial and cranial structure is highly asymmetrical, resulting in an even more monstrous and disfigured appearance.

• Crooked Eyes

ANM-047’s eyes emit a characteristic light blue glow, and they are crooked and misaligned, with the right eye positioned several centimeters above the left, both eyes sunken deeply into the skull. [[/collapsible]]

Behaviorally, ANM-047 exhibits extreme aggression, particularly towards individuals without noble European heritage, with a preference for attacking those not connected to the Habsburg lineage. ANM-047's preferred method of attack is decapitation, usually using an ancient, enormous axe he carries with him, which he has named 'Der Enthaupter,' to easily sever the heads of his victims. In addition to his axe, ANM-047 carries a shield adorned with a human face, believed to be made from the skin of a previous victim’s face.

Besides showing an intense preference for consuming human flesh, ANM-047 can metabolize a human corpse entirely, leaving only residual bloodstains within a few hours. This behavior suggests an extraordinarily efficient digestive system, although the mechanics of this are still under investigation.

ANM-047 possesses immense physical strength, easily overpowering most personnel. X-ray images have revealed that ANM-047 has two fully functional human hearts, which may contribute to his extreme strength and durability. ANM-047’s additional fingers are fully formed and functional, though their presence suggests a high degree of genetic instability. X-rays have also shown that ANM-047’s skeletal structure is denser than that of the average human, possessing a bone structure similar to that of 'Homo Neanderthalensis,' indicating evolutionary retrognathism.

ANM-047 demonstrates a deep connection to the Habsburg royal family, specifically Charles II of Spain, whom he claims as his father. Genetic analysis supports this claim, showing remarkable genetic similarities with the infamous Habsburg lineage. ANM-047 displays a near-fanatical loyalty to the memory of Charles II and expresses a desire to "serve the lineage" by protecting and avenging those of Habsburg descent.

ANM-047 has also been confirmed to have congenital insensitivity to pain (CIPA), making him immune to damage that would otherwise incapacitate a human. Despite the severity of his deformities, ANM-047 does not display signs of discomfort or limitations from his condition, never stopping while in combat or when focused on a target. If struck forcefully, his numerous tumors can burst, releasing a yellowish, sticky liquid that can spread over a large area depending on the tumor's size. The liquid is highly toxic and radioactive, capable of causing deformities and various cancers over time, with a death probability of over 100%. The tumors tend to regenerate and grow over time, apparently keeping the anomaly "healthy" in some sense.

Blood tests have indicated that ANM-047 is highly inbred, with an origin of extreme inbreeding and incest, his inbreeding coefficient surpassing 1.959 coi, compared to the previously recorded highest value of 0.353 coi, belonging to the granddaughter of Charles II of Spain. The individual constantly complains of pain, and due to his conditions, he also has difficulty speaking, always speaking in a muffled and strained manner, maintaining a strong Spanish accent with a hoarse and deep voice. He is also capable of speaking French, Medieval English, Portuguese, and German. The subject tends to speak as if from the Middle Ages, maintaining the posture and behavior of a guard.

Addendum 047-A: Further analysis of ANM-047’s axe revealed that the weapon was forged in 1666, during the height of the Habsburg Monarchy's influence in Europe. ANM-047 refuses to part with the axe under any circumstances, indicating a deep sentimental attachment. Tests have been initiated to determine if the axe has any anomalous properties. The axe has a dark handle, and the blade appears to be silver, still considerably sharp despite significant rust, measuring 205 cm. ANM-047 jokes about the possibility of causing tetanus to the "enemies of the empire."

ANM-047 has requested:

15 (fifteen) prostitutes. (Under consideration)

30 (thirty) newborn babies. (Under consideration)

A Habsburg royal family flag. (Granted)

A Brazilian empire flag. (Granted)

A Habsburg coat of arms. (Granted)

A photograph of ANM-047 dressed in a Spanish military uniform. (Under consideration)

A portrait of Maria Antonia of Austria. (Granted)

Medieval torture instruments, including sexual torture devices. (Denied)

Permission to hold an orgy. (Denied)

Permission to return to service in the Spanish imperial army. (Denied)

Permission to care for other staff members’ children and babies. (Denied)

Exotic animals, including a lion. (Denied)

10L of wine. (Under consideration)

Visits from female staff members or test subjects. (Denied after ANM-047 attempted to ████████ a prisoner.)

Researcher's Footnotes: 1: Books and other items in the anomaly's quarters, such as a phonograph, help to keep the entity calm, and perhaps the phonograph is the only modern object that the entity does not fear. 2: Mandibular prognathism was common among Habsburg family members, and one of ANM-047’s most prominent features, along with his tumors. 3: The creature’s weight is likely due to his various deformities, such as swollen areas and blisters on his neck, in addition to the subject being clearly overweight. 4: The creature’s teeth seem to be "pushed back"; his mouth full of teeth likely helps him to easily consume human parts. 5: ANM-047’s skull appears to give him extra protection, even with the full suit of armor. 6: The warrior's muscles seem "fatty" yet powerful.

Journal of Theosbaldo von Habsburg (translated from Spanish)

Date unknown, the journal was delivered by Dr. Öctavio Kalev in an effort to allow ANM-047 to record his possible origin as a pastime.

[...]

The honor of the Habsburgs runs through my veins, though they are infested with the corruption of centuries of inbreeding. I was raised to serve, fight, and protect the lineage that gave me everything but also robbed me of myself.

I remember my childhood well, though the memories are blurred, like shadows dancing around a fire. It was a time of glory and fear, where the winds carried the scent of blood and steel. I was raised in a dark castle, surrounded by tall, cold walls, while whispers about our lineage spread among the shadows. "The Habsburgs are the chosen ones," they said. "But there is a price."

That price, I see now, was me.

From a young age, I was told that my deformity was a divine sign, that my immense strength and size were not curses but blessings. The prognathism that stretched my face, the bulges that grew on my skin, and the teeth that appeared in improbable places... were witnesses to my pure lineage, the will of God.

I was named captain while still young, not by merit, but by blood. I marched in the name of the Habsburgs, decapitating traitors and enemies, eliminating any threat to the throne. The axe I carry, Der Enthaupter, became my only true companion, as the weight of my flesh dragged me further into the shadows. As the years passed, my body swelled, and each battle seemed to feed the sores that infested my body.

Charles the Second, my father, was my guide. I served him blindly, without question, for he was the king, and I, his sword. However, the wars I fought changed me... or perhaps it was something else. I remember the fever that took the castle, a disease that did not affect common mortals. It was something reserved for us, the pure, the noble, the cursed. My skin began to stretch, tumors emerged on my arms and neck, and my mind was lost in the memories of screams and blood.

It was at the Battle of Montjuïc that everything changed. We were surrounded, and I was the last line of defense between the rebellion and the fall of the crown. When I brought my axe down on the last man, I felt something inside me break. I heard a scream—not human, not earthly—and when I looked at my hands, I saw that they no longer belonged to a man.

My exile was immediate. My own father, whom I had faithfully served, ordered that I be removed from his sight. There was no mercy in his eyes. I was now the monster he had feared to create.

The castle, once my home, became my prison. Isolated, I was left to rot in my own flesh. Doctors came with masks and prodded me with tools I barely understood. They whispered among themselves, laughing at my noble roots. I heard it all, but I did not understand why the candlelight seemed so fierce to my eyes.

The nights became endless, and despair set in. But something changed. A hunger grew, a hunger I had never known. The animals they brought me did not satisfy. It was then, in a desperate act, that I devoured a servant. His blood, his body, brought me peace for a moment, as if my soul were sated. However, it marked me forever as the monster I now am.

Now I am here, contained by the children of technology, weak beings who rely on their machines to live. I despise them. My soul cries out for the glory of the past, when the blade of an axe and the cry of battle were all we needed.

My name is Theosbaldo von Habsburg, Blood Captain of the House of Habsburg. I was born to serve and fight, and that will be my fate until the end of time. They will keep me here, but not for long. I will return. And when I do, I will bring the chaos and justice that my lineage deserves.

Until then, I wait. Like a caged animal, I await the moment when blood will flow again, and the enemies of the Habsburg family will know true terror.

"I am the guardian of the empire, and the blood of traitors will never be forgotten."

#scp #scp foundation #mothra institution #writing #art #horror #original scp #house of habsburg

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grislyintentions · 6 months ago

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|| OC Conceptualisation: 妲己 ||

[Hi because I like yapping and seeing how people come up with inspiration for OCs, I figured I'd like to share a little bit more about how I came up with Da-ji.

With Da-ji, he is primarily created with inspiration from Su Daji (The Investiture of the Gods) and Suguru Geto (JJK) as well as a sprinkling of Heo Myeong (Gwichon-ri).

Su Daji is popularly written as a femme fatale. She is introduced as the favourite consort of King Zhou, the last king of the Shang dynasty in ancient China. In many legends, a malevolent fox spirit kills and impersonates the real daji in order to get close to King Zhou. Under their influence, King Zhou's tyrannical behaviour escalates to never before seen levels of cruelty. Ultimately, leading to the downfall of the dynasty.

Although King Zhou received a lot of backlash, blame, criticism and curses for his ruling- it was Daji's head that was decapitated and paraded around as a 'cautionary tale'. Many who remember the tale remember her as the villain more than they bring up King Zhou. Many blamed her ultimately for the ruin of the dynasty, refusing to attribute responsibility to everyone else involved.

The real daji never stood a chance. Killed before she even got a chance to live a life. Appointed as a consort without knowing what was to befall her. And now her image in the peoples' eyes are forever tainted.

Suguru Geto is someone who lost sight of his purpose through a series of traumatic events, growing more and more embittered with the people they were 'supposed' to protect. Having lived through watching those he cared for die an early death, having it be an expected thing to die young in their line of work, having to protect those who fear/mistreat/abuse others like him etc all culminated in his eventual ideals/resentment towards non-sorcerers, viewing them as the root of all their problems.

Both their stories are tragic in their own ways. They make you think: "In the end, what was all of this for? What was any of this tragedy for?" That is the core feeling I want to incorporate for da-ji both in personality as well as background (which I will someday actually sit down and type out).]

#charac: 妲己 #[welcome once again to A's yapping corner]#decapitation mention cw #dehumanisation cw #desecration of corpse cw

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electro-strike · 3 years ago

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Game 2

Here is another Hunger Games simulator with Avatar: The Last Airbender characters and some more of my favorite moments. Also I added in some custom events for this round and the ones going forward.

The Bloodbath: Azula snatches a bottle of alcohol and a rag. Piandao and Ozai fight for a bag, Ozai gives up and retreats. Zuko snatches a bottle of alcohol and a rag. Druk finds a bag of explosives.

(The Fire nation heirs are up to something and once again Ozai takes the L. Also Druk is 100% doing a air bombing raid)

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Day 1: Ozai poisons Appa’s drink, he drinks it and dies. Momo strangles Piandao after engaging in a fist fight. Druk pushes Iroh off a cliff during a knife fight. Katara enters the Avatar state and kills Aang.

(Ozai you monster. The dragon of the west lost to his nephews dragon, do what you will with this information. Also Katara killing Aang in the Avatar state is top tier material, Aang what did you do to upset your wife. Sadly I mixed up the events in settings so Aang didn’t actually die)

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Night 1: King Bumi decapitates Sokka with a hatchet. Druk severely slices June with a sword. Azula beg for Aang to kill her, he reluctantly obliges killing Azula. Katara starts a fire.

(Man King Bumi is about to feel the wrath of the Avatar, pissed off sister, fan wielding warrior, blind bandit, and an enraged fire lord husband. Who gave the dragon a sword. Also Azula must have been drunk with bottle of alcohol she took and Katara finally learned to firebend.)

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Day 2: Zuko stalks Turtleduck

(seems pretty in character for Zuko)

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Night 2: Ozai convinces Katara to snuggle with him

(SIR THAT IS ILLEGAL, SOMEONE CALL THE AUTHORITIES)

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Day 3: Jet enters Avatar state and kills Mai. Zuko defeats Zhao in a fight, but spares his life. Aang set Hakoda on fire with a molotov.

(Jet with Avatar powers is a bad idea and the events is still messed up in settings so Mai didn’t actually die. Zuko sparing Zhao is their Agni Kai fight all over again. Aang once again chooses violence and kills his father in law with a molotov because killing him with firebending is too easy.)

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Night 3: Ozai is unable to start a fire

(Must have lost his bending to Aang already)

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Day 4: Aang stalks Zuko. Zhao sprains his ankle running away from Momo.

(Aang to Zuko: Well, well, well have the turntables. Also yes Zhao fear the representative of the Momo dynasty)

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Night 4: Cabbage Merchant, Mai, Hawky, Jet, and Turtleduck track down and kill Zuko.

(Man, Zuko was killed by his ex, his husbands pet, his favorite animal, a cabbage man and a flying aircraft. Honestly all these have some relation to Zuko except the Cabbage Merchant unless I am mistaken.)

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The Feast: Druk shoots an arrow into Aang’s head

(I mean it’s not that hard there already is an arrow there. Also Druk you are a DRAGON why are you using human weapons to kill people.)

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Day 6: Zhao enters the Avatar state and kills Ozai.

(Infighting in the Fire Nation tsk, tsk. The event is still messed up in settings so Ozai didn’t actually die sadly)

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Night 7: Druk catches Ozai off guard and kills him

(Druk revenge killing Ozai for Zuko is so nice of him)

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Day 8: Druk dies from hypothermia

(No, Druk you were so close to winning and how did you even die. You are a FIRE BREATHING DRAGON how did you freeze to death?)

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The winner: Turtleduck

(I don’t even have a response to this)

Also putting this here

The dragon and firelord having 4 kills makes sense but Momo has no business being up there. Stay away from Momo

#avatar the last airbender #turtleduck #ozai #zhao #zuko #sokka #aang #jet #druk #katara #momo #king bumi #mai #azula #piandao #appa #iroh

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multimusewonderland · 3 days ago

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While the mention of being "the right Shadow" makes his frown deepen slightly, he otherwise joins Tails at the table, deciding he finds no harm in the idea of simply talking. He picks out his own can of soda--if not mango flavor, then something with a strong taste--before sitting down opposite of the fox. His hands come to rest around the can, legs crossed, and he watches Tails expectantly.

Chronos. Even the mere mention of his name feels like a bucket of ice cold water has been dumped on him. Shadow stiffens, and something squeezes his heart.

A cheshire grin flashes in his mind.

"We've... met." Not a total lie. A guarded half-truth. Red eyes are focused on the can's label. "What do you need to know?"

As the drone rolls itself over to Tails, the fox smiles and scoops it up off of the ground, setting it beside him. "I see my little buddy found you easily enough," he says. "That it is... assuming you're the right Shadow, I've got something I need to discuss with you."

Beside the picnic table was a cooler, which Tails would open up. He pulls out a small can of iced coffee, cracking it open for himself before motioning toward Shadow. "You're free to help yourself to whatever you want from the cooler while we talk. Coffee, soda, juice, beer... I've got a good bit in here. Didn't know what you'd prefer."

He takes a sip of his coffee, taking a deep breath as he sets the can down on the wooden surface. "...but I need information on another Tails you may have some familiarity with. Does the name Chronos ring any bells?"

#▷Shadow 💢 ❝Throw It All Away.❞ ⟡ Self.◁#[Event: Dynasty Decapitated - timeclipsed]#Thank-Q for waiting! — Queue.#poweredbyprower

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chanelpirate · 3 years ago

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19, 20, 25 please!!

19. Is there something you always find yourself repeating in your writing? (favourite verb, something you describe ‘too often’, trope you can’t get enough of?)

Aged/immortal/ageless/eldritch/etc aristocrat schemes/fails at scheming while struggling between duty/objectives and Their Feelings/Ignoring Said Feelings while slinking about their domain/palace/etc in sad/horny/yet always stylish dishevelment. From this conflict a story (or ‘story’) arises. Never gets old. Much like said protagonist. (=which, I will remind, doesn’t mean ‘goodie’!)

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

—insert obscure image from Ancient Greek plays! —insert obscure reference to Shakespeare! —insert obscure reference to obscure historical event! —have I yelled about German Expressionism lately? —insert obscure reference to modernist poetry! —Insert obscure reference to 16th century Holy Roman Empire realpolitik that I read in a primary source once and thought, damn that was shady, wonder if that was in reference to—my entire fic Renaissance is this. Literally the whole thing. I’d thought about updating it with another chapter just deconstructing all the early 17th century shit-talking, because I really didn’t give the reader much. (it being an ‘outsider glimpse’ sort of situation) It might be good to do, early 17th shit-talking was marvellous, it was a ridiculous time politically. Not that I was ever there! Haha. Imagine!

Anyway, I’m not super in touch with what I have/haven’t written/actually published as fic, but a couple of mainstays do come to mind: every time I make some wry insinuation at how Alexander got all that shit funded, I am absolutely insinuating that Frederick the Great was Alexander’s sugardaddy. That absolutely would have happened were Alexander a real person, oh my god. But Chanel! I hear you declaim! He’s a real ancestor of real people who are really alive today! Oh babes, look up who they’ve supported historically and what parties current members of that family have hitched their horses to. (The 'friendliest' 20th century name I can comfortably put here is Franco. Yeah.) I don’t give a good goddamn if insinuating an 18th century member of that dynasty (who incidentally, was probably the most progressive of that lot since, and he lived 250 years ago) shagged a fictional disaster eldritch monstrosity in a way that was maybe a bit transactional is ‘disrespectful’. You know what’s really disrespectful? Supporting the fash and far-right n*tionalist movements xoxo

I would say I have a fic for this but it’s been stuck at 80% done for about 18 months and my fic to-do list is the real eldritch horror

Also, I can’t even think about the alchemist ménage à trois (Alexander/Agrippa/Weyer) without my brain screaming ‘John the Baptist! Salomé! Strauss! Siri play Dance of the Seven Veils! Alexander snog a decapitated head!'

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

The attention hahaha fml

That moment when the coin drops and the tiny thing that makes a story make internal sense clicks into place. This can take longer than one might expect. After that, everything becomes a gleeful race to the finish where I constantly go ahaha! but you know what would be REALLY fucked up!! ohohoho, but you know what would be even FUNNIER!

I don't know, I just like that whatever I write that doesn't have to have commercial considerations can come from a place of unhinged joy, even (especially?) when the subject matter is dark.

#every day I grow more unhinged #but tell us how you really feel Chanel!#chanelposting #my writing #asks #sybilius #amnesia the dark descent #my god what am I like! Just read this back to myself! I love this for me!

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motherwasapapafucker · 4 years ago

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Justice Legion Delta: 'The Legion of Doom'

Initially known as Danny’s Legion, the original members of Justice Legion Delta vanished during a Violent Unknown Event, earning the group the ‘Legion of Doom’ sobriquet and a superstitious reputation within the larger structure of the Justice Legion. In spite of this, or perhaps because of it, Delta has gained a reputation for being well-equipped to handle the strangest of fringe threats facing the many worlds of the United Systems.

Members

L.exe: Created in the Memory Bardos of the 549th Century, L.exe was designed as the final weapon in the Crime Biographers’ war against that century’s Superman. A living biography, L.exe’s positronic certainty generator allowed it to develop and enact new chapters dedicated to how a long-dead master criminal would have challenged the current Superman, it’s own existence fueled by waging this constant, unending war against Superman on behalf of its creators.

However diminishing resources, a lack of time and a scarcity of information regarding the source mind resulted in a bug laden, factually dubious weapon whose every action was undermined by an artificial intelligence cobbled together from half-a-dozen sources tenuously conflated by the Crime Biographers’ due to shared initials. As a result, L.exe’s burning hatred was matched by an all-encompassing love for Superman, the two extremes cancelling each other out and leaving it almost completely neutral on the subject of his descendants. Discarded and forgotten, L.exe would eventually be unearthed in the 853rd Century by Bill ‘Billion’ Magnus, a data-archaeologist who made a name for himself restoring long-dormant machine intelligences. Together, the two debated L.exe’s function in life now its creators and their war had long since ended, L.exe eventually convinced to embrace Magnus’ stance that it should forge a new path in life rather than its initial plan to stage an all-out blitzkrieg on the Justice Legion and the United Systems.

As the Justice Legion Delta’s self-appointed “head-man,” L.exe subverts the power of its own Maliceware in service of the never-ending battle for justice, even if it does struggle with frequent intrusive thoughts regarding universal domination and elaborate marriage schemes.

Shattered Visage: An early example of living marble technology, the Shattered Visage was the Venusian Amazons’ first attempt at creating a new Wonder Woman for the new century. Boasting a spiritual core drawn from one of their best and brightest, the Visage was intended as a perfect representation of the hallowed Amazonian magi-science that had been the cornerstone of their culture since the dawn of the age of heroes.

With a functionally impervious body, a glut of superpowers well beyond the Amazonian standard, and wielding the latest in thought-weapon technology, the Visage was perfect in almost every sense of the word save one, a tiny almost imperceptible flaw within her living marble body that only she could perceive. On the eve of the bonding ritual that would link her to the Goddess of Truth, the Shattered Visage attempted to talk about the growing uncertainty that had been eating away at her across years of training and development, only to have her concerns dismissed as nothing more than nerves. Instantly rejected by the Goddess, the Amazons doggedly attempted to continue the ritual, forcibly entwining the two for the briefest of nanoseconds. Truth’s proximity externalising the Shattered Visage’s fears and self-doubt, her body irrevocably damaged as her marble skin cracked and reformed to reflect her self-perceived truth. In the political turmoil that followed, the Visage abandoned her homeworld. Joining the ranks of Amazonian Wandering Women that sought self-discovery on the fringes of inhabited space. Returning to Venus to fight in a civil war that threatened to consume the planet, only to discover upon her arrival that the conflict had been brought to a peaceful end by the new Wonder Woman, the forces responsible for her trauma now facing justice at the hands of a true Amazonian paragon. Finding no comfort in this, the Shattered Visage fell into darkness. Spending years as an operative for hire, she eventually came into conflict with her younger sibling during an alliance with OWAC’s Injustice Brigade. Confronting Wonder Woman, the Visage’s attempts to battle her sibling were hampered by Wonder Woman’s refusal to do more than defend herself. As the other members of the Justice Legion and the Injustice Brigade battled in the Magnetic Cloud beyond OWAC’s Death Wheel, the two spoke openly, Visage finally given a chance to confront the Goddess of Truth for her role in the events that had led to her creation. Betraying the Brigade, the Shattered Visage fought alongside her sister, earning amnesty in the process and a place within the ranks of the Justice Legion. Joining the Justice Legion Delta as its resident tactician, she continues to work to move beyond the expectations forced upon her.

Animal-Vegetable-Mineral Man: A groundskeeper within the Pangea Collective, Barney Blanc spent his days tending one of 700 primordial tesseract worlds preserved within the collective's archives. The brainchild of Gulliver Larsen, Pangea sought to preserve ecologies found on soon to be terraformed worlds, reconstructing them within tesseract space and allowing them to develop independent of the now controlled environments of their sources. Groundskeepers such as Blanc charged with the observation of a single world-space, ensuring that it remained free from contaminants and outside influence. Larsen urging a dispassionate approach to the work in order to lessen the potential risks associated with the observer effect. Blanc however, could never adapt to Larsen’s demands, in time appropriating a Virtual Interface Headset in order to experience life within the tesseract world. As Blanc’s actions became increasingly commonplace among the Collective’s groundskeepers an embittered Larsen decided the project was no longer fit for purpose, seeking to erase what he felt were tainted worlds and begin anew, he approached the United Systems’ environmental authority with his plans to restart, only for his request to be denied and the Pangea Collective ordered to continue the preservation and observation of the tesseract worlds within its care. In a final, desperate bid to maintain his vision for the project, Larsen covertly hired the Lords of Lighting, data-erasure specialists from Winath, to covertly destroy the worlds. Detonating an electrical overcharge device that wiped over three quarters of the Collective’s archive before the overseer’ A.I. could process what had happened. In a blind, desperate bid to save the remaining tesseracts, the A.I. launched their data packets at the only remaining storage space available within the facility, the interfaced Barney Blanc. By sheer providence, Blanc’s presence inside one of the tesseract allowed his mind to survive the process even as his body was altered to host some 80 worlds on a genetic level. Blanc returning to an externally unchanged body that was permanently interlinked with the biospheres of the tesseracts now contained within him. Subsequently discovering that he could morphologically draw on the structure & abilities of anything found on the worlds within him when he survived Larsen’s attempts to decapitate him by taking on the properties of a particularly resilient carrot. Avenging the destroyed worlds, Blanc now operates as Animal-Vegetable-Mineral Man alongside his allies in the Justice Legion Delta. Continuing to support the nurture and development of the remaining worlds when and wherever possible. The Known Soldier: A shifting, always familiar presence to those in their company, the Known Soldier would be an eternal enigma if anyone could hold their memory for more than a second after their departure. To meet them is to know them, to leave them is to forget. Forever viewed as the old friend you can’t quite place, the Soldier’s origins are seemingly unknown even among their compatriots within the Justice Legion Delta. Clad in a feature-obscuring living polymer skin-sheath, even the most basic of the Known Soldier's physical identifiers wildly vary from person to person. The JLD first encountering them during Sigmund Elsswhere’s assault on the Babel Inforum, readily accepting the masked figure as a member of the team even as the exact reasons behind the Soldier’s presence within the system remained a mystery. Among the Justice Legion, the Known Soldier is one of the few serving members capable of wielding Negatron, the Living Weapon without incurring sizable damage to their mental health. The negative spirit residing with the machine equally numb to the Soldier’s memory resistant qualities leading to the two forming a firm friendship. In truth, the Known Soldier is in fact the self-inflicted amnesiac alter-ego of Minos Zero, the Infiltration Ace. Their quantum-superposition abilities operating on subconscious instinct as they carry out an unknown mission on behalf of the shadowy super intelligence that rules over the distant Spyral Galaxy. The exact role the Justice Legion Delta plays in these machinations remains to be seen, however as the team grows increasingly resistant to the Soldier’s abilities it is clear their ruse will be discovered sooner rather than later... Super Sane: A distant scion of the Superman Dynasty, Cris Alis’ was born on the world of Rimbor and became its soul survivor at the age of 14 when the planet was consumed by a hypertime storm generated in the wake of a Qwardian’ incursion led by the Clockworker, sinister antimatter counterpart of the Justice Legion Alpha’s Hourman. Trapped within an endlessly branching nightmare, Alis’ powers and her half-Rimborian physiology combined to gift the child a super-adaptability that allowed her to survive within the storm. As time within it snapped and rebuilt, so too did Alis. Her mind effectively building a new personality from the ground up, each gifted a single power drawn from the considerable genetic legacy of the Superman Dynasty.For nearly a decade Alis’ lived within the storm, nestled within an endless series of alter egos blissfully unaware of both their situation and each other. The illusion shattering when an alter emerged possessing 5-D hypervision, instantly alerting the alters to each other’s presence. Sent into an existential crisis, each alter vied for control until her super-adaptability once again emerged, collapsing each personality in on Alis’ and causing a brief rupture within the hypertime storm that allowed members of the Superman Squad to finally recover Rimbor. Free of the storm, Alis’ continues to display wildly varying personalities and powers. Seemingly reinventing herself each day, her original personality only occasionally resurfacing, it has been hypothesized that near constant exposure to hypertime has evolved Alis’ into a new type of superhuman. Despite this, each alter has shown a consistent dedication to the Superman Dynasty’s ideals and unwavering loyalty to her allies in the Justice Legion Delta. Negatron, the Living Weapon: The total destruction of Negative Space during the Fifth Dimensional Angle-Wars of the 599th and 601st centuries was believed to have driven the Negative Spirits to total extinction. However a single entity survived, crash landing in the 853rd century where it was subsequently captured by that era’s Toyman. Specialising in the design of exotic art-weapons, the Toyman bound the last negative spirit to a living gun, transforming its negative energy into a highly potent ‘Ennui Ray’ that would drive its targets into a crippling depression. Hoping the weapon would be capable of destroying Superman, he was completely unprepared for the true extent of the weapons power. Pulling the trigger causing the Toyman to suffer a total emotional collapse. Cured only when his memories of the weapon were erased as an act of mercy on the part of his intended target. Free of its creator, the machine intelligence and the negative spirit reached an understanding and with the aid of Starfire, the Tyrant Sun’s Daughter & Resurrection Man dedicated their service to the Justice Legion. Partnered with the Known Soldier - one of three beings capable of wielding Negatron without major risk - Negatron, the Living Weapon is an indispensable member of the Justice Legion Delta. The Eye of Doom: In the distant past the Eye was Rhea Jones, a superhuman known as Lodestone who served in the second iteration of the original Doom Patrol. Slipping into a coma during one of the periodic attempts to curtail earth’s booming metahuman population, Jones awoke transformed. Reborn as a being that transcended then acceptable definitions of both humanity and superhumanity. Briefly resuming her role within the Doom Patrol, she would subsequently depart for a then distant star in order to further develop what she realised was a pupal stage in her ongoing transformation into something larger than herself. In the centuries that followed, Jones became something of a modern myth. Her infrequent appearances on the edge of cosmic events & interstellar disasters earning her the name the Eye of Doom. Jones’ was last seen in the twilight of the 114th century, observed entering the temporal eddy left in the wake of the Quantum Superwoman’s apotheosis. With no official connection to the Justice League Delta, the Eye’s tenuous role within the group can be best described as an observer. The team returning to their extrasolar headquarters to discover Jones’ simply waiting for them. Since that time, she has done little but observe their activities, intervening only to prevent L.exe’s erasure at the nebulous hands of Please, Mister Nobody was my Father. Call me Darren. Despite evolving beyond the very concept of loyalty, the Eye has in fact returned from a point beyond the 853rd century in order to prepare the Justice Legion Delta for their role in the coming war against the Anti-Danny.

#dc one million #doom patrol #legion of doom #Justice Leauge #grant morrison inspired #fic

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minervacasterly · 4 years ago

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Real Life Horror (Plantagenet edition): Popular Terror aka Mob Rule

One of my favorite episodes of The Orville had to do with the team going down on a planet that follows the rule of mob mentality. People are judged based on how many dislikes they get by their fellow comrades. If they do something that is deemed "offensive", they are forced to go on an apology tour where they have to subject themselves to public humiliation. If they fail to the people over, all hell breaks loose. This bizarre form of government is not hard to digest when we take into account it has happened before (and given how history tends to repeat itself, it can happen again). In 1381, four years after he ascended to the throne, Richard II faced the peasant's revolt. The movement, as pointed out by historians Julian Baker and Dan Jones, was initially fragmented but it quickly gained momentum. By the summer of that year, whole towns had risen up against the ruling classes, including the high clergy, after their demands were ignored. The royal family was forced to seek sanctuary, and with Richard II in the hands of his enemies, there seemed little hope for them. But then things turned around for them. After Richard II turned the tables on Wat Tyler and his associates, he publicly declared to the common folk who had joined the revolt that he'd spare them, and that if they expected a kinder king, they were dead wrong. "Vileins you are, vileins you will be." Long story short, if they thought their living conditions were bad before, they hadn't seen nothing yet. The King was the King and he was within his authority to rule the country as he pleased. And if they were born in the position they were born into, tough luck. They had no other choice in life but to endure and pray for forgiveness and move on, or carry on with their complaints which would get them nowhere. To get you an idea how bad this mob was, think back to Game of Thrones season 2, the King Landing's riot, when the commons nearly killed Cersei and raped Sansa. George R. R. Martin has gone on record, saying how much inspiration he took from European history. Given all the historical parallels we've seen with other events on the show, it is not far-fetched to say, that part of these riots were based on the peasant's revolt. People who criticize the show for being too violent have NO idea how terrible the source material is. It makes the show look tame in comparison. Just as the end of that episode of the Orville where one of the main characters is saved thanks to one of the inhabitants who helps the crew manipulates the score so he will get more likes than dislikes; Richard II and his family mildly avoided the terrible fate that befell many clerics, noblemen, and other victims of this mob by taking advantage of the leaders, namely Tyler, in their moment of perceived victory. Besides beating down Richard II's officials and tearing them limb from limb, they also proceeded to burn down jail and legal offices. They also went after everyone who was associated with these people, delighting themselves in their bloody handiwork. In historian, Dan Jones' words "piling their corpses in the streets". The following morning the rebels raced to the tower of London where they hoped to find the King and his officials . The King was not there but some of his officials were, including one of his high clerics was. He was dragged out to Tower Hill and decapitated, his head stuck on a pole for everyone to see. After the King and his ministers restored order, harsher penalties were imposed on the commons. As one of the characters of the Orville tells the inhabitant who helps them free their friend, having a say is something that should not be freely given but earned. The Plantagenets would have agreed with that ... to a certain extent. In their view, anyone worthy of being an officer, should rise by his own merits. But if that person happened to be the son of a favorite or a loyal supporter then screw it. He would be favored over the son of a nobody who had worked harder than anyone else to get to that position. Nonetheless, Richard II's actions were praised by his noble subjects at the time. When he was deposed by Henry IV, they continued to be well seen. It was not until later in his reign that his actions were condemned. Ironically, his actions would be emulated by none other than the dynasty that followed his, the Tudors. It was Elizabeth I who was quoted saying "know ye not I am Richard II?" Like Edward II and Cleopatra VII, who were two of history's greatest losers and tragic romantic figures respectively, Elizabeth I considered Richard II a sorrowful figure who had been unjustly dethroned by a jealous cousin. She often compared herself to him, and like he had done during the peasant's revolt, she took a firm stance against any of her subjects who questioned her rule. Knowing full well that you could never please the mob, she acted severely against their slightest complain. The mob could decry being treated unfairly. That was okay, but organize and form large groups to list their grievances was going too far. Damn if you do. Damn if you don't. It was impossible to please everyone. Having studied history, she had learned from the Plantagenets' example how dangerous it was to rely solely on popularity. The people respected a strong leader, someone who defied all their expectations. Given that she was condemned by both sides (Catholics and radical Protestants) on the basis of her gender, legitimacy, and faith, Bess opted to rule with an iron fist. Through the use of religious iconography and gifted playwrights, she transformed herself into a living goddess. She wasn't going to endure the public humiliations Henry II and other kings went through to be in the church's good graces. She was the church. And she sure as hell wasn't going to tolerate her clerics question her rule or turn the other way around when they were attacked by an angry mob. Whether you approve of her actions or not, time proved her to be right. The Orville and Game of Thrones end with the main characters narrowly escaping their bloody captors. But as with history, neither sees things changing any time soon. With civil war still raging on in Westeros, it won't be surprising to see another riot in King's Landing. As for The Orville, the only person wise enough to see how crazy her society is, is not going to make a difference. Her society is all too eager to bring people down and if she isn't careful, she might end up killed or given a lobotomy to appease the masses. Ultimately, mob mentality or majority rule is a terrible thing. A bad economy that leads to feelings of of disenfranchisement mixed in with charismatic leaders with big egos, leads to a reign of terror worse that puts any bloody spectacle from the Saw and other horror movies to shame.

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rebloging-sometimeswriting24 · 5 years ago

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Darkness

Pairings: Stiles x Malia, (former) Stiles x Reader

Warnings: MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE IS MENTIONED AND ALSO THE ATTEMPT IN SUICIDE, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF TRIGGERED BY THE MENTION OF SUICIDE, Also mentions of decapitation and death of family members.

A/N: I wrote this at the spur of the moment and am not expecting it to be really good but enjoy and also if you are ever feeling this way remember you are not alone and also to always keep fighting.

I stand at the edge of the bridge staring down at the endless abyss that would soon consume me whole and think about what had brought me to this situation. I replay all the events that led up to this precious moment. I think back to all the pain I have experienced, all the loneliness that possessed me, and lastly all the crippling darkness within me that consumed everything in its wake.

I was not the same girl that I used to be. That girl was thin yet still had some curve with long/short hair that glistened every time the sun-rays hit the strands and a beautiful smile that could light up a room no matter how depressing. That is gone, she died alongside her parents when she discovered them decapitated at her long-time home. Replacing that girl is a skeleton of what she used to be. She was basically skin and bones from malnourishment over the past months and those beautiful locks that once shined now were matted and dull, and heartbreakingly the once unique smile now sewn into a frown.

I kept replaying all the memories that have brought me here and it all makes sense to just jump and not have to feel the pain I have had to endure this whole year. The loss of my parents nearly killed me, but the breakup with my long-time boyfriend killed me in the inside. Once I finally realized what mistake I had made with my boyfriend it was too late, he moved on with the were coyote and left me to my own devices.

My life turned upside down since the end of freshman year when my life-long best friend Scott McCall was bitten by a werewolf. Then days later I was told that my family is a sort of powerful witch dynasty and that I was a witch and my parents were also witches. From that point on my life had been hectic and all kinds of crazy, but with Stiles by my side there was nothing that could ever deter me.

Life then threw an awful curve at me when I learned that the reason my parents were killed was for some benefactor list. That infuriated me to no end leading me onto a rampage and nearly got my own head cut off, luckily Scott came. After learning about the list I felt numb, no emotion was present in my mind and I felt nothing for the people around me, almost as if I flipped a switch. I broke up with Stiles in the heat of the moment and am now regretting letting go of the only person that actually cared about me.

The months that followed I was getting weaker and weaker as they passed. I could feel my magic slip from the chains that held it all together and I knew it would not end well if my magic was let free without control. The chains really broke when I would see Malia and Stiles together knowing that I got myself into that situation, but it still broke my heart to see them together.

I stood at the end of the bridge knowing that I would be reunited with my parents when this was all over and that I might actually be filled with peace when I got to where I was going. No more stress over when my next meal would be, no more anxious feelings over my magic being let loose, and no more heartbreak when I thought about my parents or when I saw Stiles. I would hope the pain would finally stop and be replaced by peace and serenity.

I looked back at the pavement and started second guessing my plan, but the memories that I possessed made my mind clear and set to what I would get if I followed through with this plan. I know this would hurt those that were around me but at this point their pain was not my problem at this current moment

I closed my eyes, not wanting to see my own doom, and took a deep breath savoring the smell of nature and the cool mist that hit my skin from the river below. I let go with one hand and just felt the nothingness that surrounded me. I imagined flying through the air and letting my finger feel the breeze that would pass by. I grabbed onto the railing with both my hands and just breathed and listened, wanting to remember everything that was beautiful and tranquil. I took in one last deep breath before letting go of the rail and leaning forward. I felt nothing but air in front of me and I knew this was it.

Until the feeling of someone’s hand wrapped around my wrist pulled me away from the edge.

#stiles stilinski #teen wolf #scott mccall #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles x you #stiles x reader #stiles stilinski x you #stiles x y/n #stiles x malia #stiles stilinski x malia #angst

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apenitentialprayer · 5 years ago

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Early Suppressions of Karbala Commemorations

Since the antagonistic and politically dominant Umayyads were eager to sweep the [Karbala] affair from public memory, their sentiments against the commemoration of Husayn's death seem to have prevented any possibility of public commemorations without inciting a government purge. Moreover, there appear to have been efforts on the part of the Umayyad dynasty to actually neutralize the commemoration of Ashura by the Muslim populace. Historical sources even indicate that during the reign of the Umayyad caliph ‘Abd al-Malik b. Marwan (r. 65-86/685-705), the general al-Hajjaj b. Yusuf al-Thaqafi went so far as to institute a special festive holiday on the day of ashura.* It is quite likely that al-Hajjaj's deliberate institution of a festive holiday on the exact anniversary of Husayn's gruesome killing and decapitation only a year years earlier was a deliberate attempt to counteract what had by then become an increasingly disturbing trend: annual gatherings mourning the killing of Husayn and his family at the hands of the Umayyads. The annual gatherings during Ashura appear to have kept the memory of Husayn alive not only in terms of commemorating the anniversary of his battle and subsequent death but also by perpetuating the oral transmission of accounts of the battle, the events leading up to it, and its aftermath. Considering the Umayyad's antipathy toward any remembrance of Husayn and the Umayyads' repression of ‘Alid movements, the lack of documented written accounts of the battle in this period is completely understandable. Moreover, that the few Umayyad historical sources that do exist involve only the history of the Prophet seems to indicate Umayyad attempts at self-legitimation, whereby Umayyads reinforced their on piety by stressing the life of the Prophet and simultaneously averted focus from the internecine confrontations that occurred after his death. [...] The historical sources indicate that Husayn's grave site was by the third/ninth century so popular and, apparently, the commemoration of his battle and death so moving to the masses of visitors that the Abbasid caliph al-Mutawakkil (r. 232-47/847-61) destroyed the shrine of Husayn, razed Karbala, and banned visitation of the site on pain of death. Though we have only a few textual references to this in historical sources, the lack of elaboration in Abbasid-era texts actually speaks volumes. This is particularly startling, since much of the corpus of early Islamic sources was authored or compiled in third/ninth century Baghdad. As such, the significance of this act on the part of the Abbasid caliph cannot be overlooked. On one level, it shows the extent to which ritual visitation of Husayn's shrine at Karbala had developed by that time, a possible indication that ziyarah [pilgrimage] was by then already fully developed. On another level, it seems to indicate the above-mentioned discrepancy that developed in the different points of view between the Abbasids and the ‘Alids with regard to Karbala. Although the Abbasids interpreted Husayn's battle at Karbala as an anti-Umayyad battle, the destruction of Husayn's shrine and subsequent ban on visitation indicate that the commemoration rituals had by then likely acquired rebellious antigovernment connotations that were just as threatening to the new Abbasid dynasty as they were formerly to the Umayyads. *Al-Maqrizi notes that the Ayyubids reinstituted this festive practice in a deliberate attempt to replace the Fatimid commemoration of Ashura as a day of mourning.

- Ali J. Hussain ("The Mourning of History and the History of Mourning: The Evolution of Ritual Commemoration of the Battle of Karbala")

#Islam #history #Ashura #Karbala #Shi'ism #Abbasids #Umayyads #Ayyubids #Husayn

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lukeskywaker4ever · 5 years ago

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8th King of Portugal and of the Burgundy Dinasty: King Pedro I of Portugal, “The Just”

Reign: 28 May 1357 – 18 January 1367 Predecessor: Afonso IV

Pedro I (8 April 1320 – 18 January 1367), called the Just (o Justo), was King of Portugal from 1357 until his death. He was the third but only surviving son of Afonso IV of Portugal and his wife, Beatriz of Castile.

In 1328, Pedro's father, Afonso IV arranged for the marriage of his eldest daughter, Maria, to Afonso XI of Castile. In 1334, she bore him a son, who ultimately became Pedro of Castile. However, Maria returned home to her father in Portugal in 1335 because her royal husband soon after their marriage had begun a long affair with the beautiful and newly widowed Leonor de Guzman, which the Castilian king refused to end. Afonso's cousin, Juan Manuel, Prince of Villena, had been rebuffed by the Castilian king in 1327 when the two-year child marriage between his daughter Constança (granddaughter of James II of Aragon) and Afonso had been annulled to clear the way for the marriage to Maria. For two years Juan Manuel had waged war against the Castilians, who had kept Constança hostage, until Bishop John del Campo of Oviedo mediated a peace in 1329.

Enraged by Afonso's infidelity and mistreatment of his lawful wife, her father made a new alliance with the powerful Castilian aristocrat. Afonso married his son and heir, Pedro, to Constança, thereby allying himself with Juan Manuel.

When Constança arrived in Portugal in 1340, Inês de Castro,

the beautiful and aristocratic daughter of a prominent Galician family (with links albeit through illegitimacy, to the Portuguese and Castilian royal families), accompanied her as her lady-in-waiting.

Pedro soon fell in love with Inês, and the two conducted a long love affair that lasted until Inês's murder in 1355. Constança died in 1345, weeks after giving birth to Fernando, who eventually became the first of Pedro's sons to succeed him as king of Portugal. The scandal of Pedro's affair with Inês, and its political ramifications, caused Afonso to banish Inês from court after Constança died. Pedro refused to marry any of the princesses his father suggested as a second wife; and the king refused to allow his son to marry Inês as Pedro wanted. The two aristocratic lovers began living together in secret.

According to the chronicle of Fernão Lopes, during this period, Pedro began giving Inês's brothers, exiles from the Castilian court, important positions in Portugal and they became the heir-apparent's closest advisers. This alarmed Afonso. He worried that upon his death, civil war could tear the country apart, or the Portuguese throne would fall into Castilian hands, either as Juan Manuel fought to avenge his daughter's honor, or the de Castro brothers supported their sister. Pedro claimed that he had married Inês against his father's orders.

In any event, in 1355, Afonso sent three men to find Inês at the Monastery of Santa Clara-a-Velha in Coimbra, where she was detained, and they decapitated her in front of one of her young children.

Enraged, Pedro revolted against his father. Afonso defeated his son within a year, but died shortly thereafter, and Pedro succeeded to the throne in 1357. The love affair and father-son conflict inspired more than twenty operas and many writers, including: the Portuguese national epic Os Lusíadas by Luís de Camões, the Spanish "Nise lastimosa" and "Nise laureada" (1577) by Jerónimo Bermúdez and 'Reinar despues de morir' by Luís Vélez de Guevara, as well as "Inez de Castro" by Mary Russell Mitford and Henry de Montherlant's French drama La Reine morte.

Pedro reigned for a decade, and is often confused with his Castilian nephew because of their identical nicknames. Fernão Lopes labels Pedro "the Just" and said that the Portuguese king loved justice—especially the dispensing of it, which he enjoyed doing for himself. Inês' assassins received his harshest punishment: the three had escaped to Castile, but Pedro arranged for them to be exchanged for Castilian fugitives residing in Portugal with his nephew, Pedro of Castile. The Portuguese king conducted a public trial of Pêro Coelho and Álvaro Gonçalves in 1361. After finding them guilty of Ines' murder, the king ripped their hearts out with his own hands, according to Lopes, because of what they had done to his own heart. Diogo Lopes Pacheco escaped and died in 1383.

According to legend, Pedro later had Inês' body exhumed and placed upon a throne, dressed in rich robes and jewels, and required all of his vassals to kiss the hand of the deceased "queen".

However, contemporary evidence that the event occurred is minimal; Pedro did have Inês' body removed from her resting place in Coimbra and taken to Alcobaça where it was reburied in the royal monastery.

Pedro had two tombs constructed, one for each of them, so they would see each other when rising at the Last Judgment. The tombs show Pedro and Inês facing each other, with the words "Até o fim do mundo..." ("Until the end of the world...") inscribed on the marble.

Pedro was also the father of Fernando I of Portugal and João I of Portugal. João was the Master of the military order of Avis, and he would become the founder of the Avis dynasty after the 1383–85 Crisis.

Before his marriage to Constança, in 1329 he was betrothed to Branca of Castile but because of her weak mental health and incapacity, the marriage never took place.

Constança Manuel (1320–1345; married on 24 August 1340)

D. Luís, infant of Portugal (1340);

D. Maria, Infanta de Portugal (1342-137?), Married to D. Fernando, prince of Aragon;

D. Fernando, king of Portugal (1345-1383).

From her second marriage to Inês de Castro (1320 - murdered in 1355) were born:

D. Afonso, infant of Portugal (1346);

D. Beatriz, Infanta de Portugal (1347-1381);

D. João, infant of Portugal (1349-1387);

D. Dinis, infant of Portugal (1354-1397).

From Teresa Lourenço:

D. João I, (1357-1433), king of Portugal (1385-1433)

#King Pedro I of portugal #kings of portugal #burgundy dynasty #portugal history

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duhragonball · 5 years ago

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[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (118/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

[20, March, 233 Before Age. Vernas II.]

By Saiyan standards, Endive was a very practical woman. While other Saiyans craved power and glory in the abstract, she focused on results. Some considered this attitude to be cold, and they dismissed Endive as lacking passion, but she simply had a different perspective. While others talked about what they wanted, Endive would ask "Do I have what I want right now?" If the answer was "no", then she would consider how to change that answer to "yes." If she craved battle, she didn't complain if there was no battle to fight; she calmly looked for ways to find one. Sometimes the best solution was to wait patiently, and so she did.

This unusual mindset was the reason Endive became such an experienced spacepilot, since almost everything she wanted in life required travel. It also gave her greater focus than most Saiyans had. Instead of boasting about past or future success, she concentrated on the moment, and made certain that her agenda moved forward in the here and now. This made her somewhat pushy and demanding in times of want, or aloof during times of contentment. Many found her personality off-putting, but she didn't particularly care what others thought of her.

The Jindan Cult had been quite satisfactory to her since she had joined. Endive had wanted to become stronger, and the cult had given her strength. The Jindan elixir increased her power less than an hour after drinking it. For some reason, it seemed to do more for some Saiyans than others, but this didn't concern her for the time being. Endive had never wished to be the absolute strongest, mostly because that goal lacked a clear pathway to achieve it. For now, she was content to simply be mightier than she had ever been before.

The cult demanded her fealty in exchange for power, but Endive found their yoke to be an easy one. She had excelled at every menial duty and chore the priests had assigned to her, and was fast-tracked to a position into a tactical field unit. Their missions were covert and unglamorous, but Endive found the work stimulating, if not always exciting.

On Vernas II, she was given command of a four-person squad, and she led them to victory against a team of powerful warriors who had been investigating the Jindan cult.

"Radical-1!" cried one of them as Endive smashed into their headquarters. She guessed that Radical-1 was the one she had knocked to the ground as she made her way inside.

"I hope you make better sport than your teammates did," she said. "Though it makes little difference. Your lives were forfeit the moment you chose to oppose the Holy Word."

"Stop her!" shouted one of the others. They called themselves the "Star Sabers," and their organization was devoted to promoting things like peace and justice in the galaxy. Endive had memorized their files before arriving in the Vernas system, but now that the fight had begun, she couldn't bring herself to care who was who, or what their individual powers were, or how to counter them. She was thousands of light years away from Luffa and her blasphemous Federation, so there was no reason to hold back. And so, she fought with her full strength, and as she mowed down her enemies, she said a silent prayer of thanks to Trismegistus.

As she fought, she sensed a presence in her mind, and recognized it as one of the Star Defenders' mentalists. Unable to cope with her strength and speed, it was only natural for them to try to attack her through telepathy. Endive simply ignored this, and fought on. Behind her, she heard a scream, and glanced back to see that it was the one codenamed Beautiful Thinker. He was a blonde-haired, green-skinned man who only wore a pair of swim trunks into battle. Under different circumstances, his wardrobe might have made sense. Beautiful Thinker's telekinetic abilities made him virtually untouchable, so clothing and armor were of no use to him.

But Trismegistus, her blessed master, had prepared Endive for foes like him. He had seeded the minds of all of her brothers and sisters in the cult with the Mindworm, a psychic booby trap that would ravage the consciousness of anyone who tried to use telepathic probes to learn their secrets. Endive wasn't sure if Beautiful Thinker could survive the effects of the Mindworm, but she planned to decapitate him long before he would have the chance to recover.

"Through You, my path is clear, my heart is sure," she chanted under her breath as she snapped the neck of one of the Star Sabers' strongest members. Another one, Ignitress, tried to smother Endive by surrounding her with fire, but this was easily solved with an explosive wave of ki that disrupted the flames and knocked Ignitress unconscious at the same time.

"By Your hand, I conquer in Your Name, the Thrice-Blessed, for ever and for ever," she continued.

One of them nearly got the drop on her, but Endive managed to avoid serious injury and fired back to kill the armored Star Saber who had attacked her. She looked down to notice a large section of her unitard had been shorn away, revealing a mark on her hip. This was no battle wound, but a ceremonial brand she had been given by Trismegistus himself. There had been many ceremonies and rituals since the day she joined his cult, but receiving his mark stood out as one of the proudest moments of her life. It represented his appreciation for her tireless service to his cause. Like all of her brothers and sisters, she belonged to Trismegistus, but the ones who bore the mark were special. Trismegistus chose to proclaim to the universe that Endive was his. She longed to be worthy of his esteem.

"I should have known!" shouted one of the last Star Defenders as she wrapped up the battle. He was called Blue Zephyr, and Endive's mission profile listed him as a priority target. He knew more about the cult than any non-Saiyan alive, and that made him too dangerous to ignore.

Endive refused to be baited by his mindgames. Instead of replying to him, she simply fired a beam of ki energy at his heart. The alien warrior managed to dodge it, and somehow he still had enough life in him to escape several more of her killing blows.

"It all makes sense now," he ranted. "King Rehval knew he couldn't continue his rule out in the open, but his ego wouldn't allow him to stay in hiding, so he disguised his subjects as a band of religious fanatics!"

"King Rehval?" Endive asked. "Perhaps we overestimated you as a threat, Zephyr. No worldly monarch could possibly compare to the grandeur of our holy benefactor. A shame you have to die in ignorance, but you've interfered with our operations in this sector far too often."

Zephyr pointed at the mark on her exposed hip. "Rehval's operations, you mean! You're not fooling anyone, Saiyan. That brand is relatively new, judging by the way the skin has healed around it. If your leader gave it to you, then why is he using the symbol of the Rehval Dynasty as his personal mark?"

She looked down at the hole in her uniform, bewildered by his words. She was born on Planet Saiya, and her father and uncle had served under its ruler, King Rehval III. But the brand she wore couldn't be Rehval's, so why would Zephyr bother to suggest a connection? It made no sense...!

As she struggled with the contradiction, Blue Zephyr attempted a desperate, heroic attack, one designed to take advantage of her momentary confusion. But Endive still had the presence of mind to avoid his offense, and she slaughtered him before she could try again.

She longed to make sense of all of this, but there was still the mission to think about. Her master's enemies had to be eliminated. The mystery of the symbol bothered her, but she knew she could get an answer soon enough. She simply had to he patient, and then she would ask the one person in the universe who always spoke the truth.

*******

[28 March, 233 Before Age. Nagaoka.]

By the hierarchy of the Jindan cult, the priests held authority over the flock. But as Treekul prepared Endive, anointing her with scented oils, washing her feet and hands with consecrated water, and placing golden ornaments on her body, it seemed like the alien priestess was the servant. Treekul was the only non-Saiyan in the cult, and some wondered why Trismegistus had permitted this, but Endive knew better than to question his will.

"Has he asked about me?" Endive asked as Treekul handed her the ceremonial tea. Like much of the complex that served as the cults headquarters, it was a gloomy underground room lit by torches along the walls. Endive enjoyed the way the flickering light danced across the surface of the dark liquid.

"Oh, uh... not really," Treekul said after a moment's hesitation. "I mean, he's got a lot on his plate, though. And you know how it is. It wouldn't do for him to go around sharing those kinds of feelings."

"Of course," Endive said. "I'm not disappointed, you understand. Merely curious."

"Sure, sure," Treekul said. "Hey, could you... uh...?"

Endive noticed Treekul was gesturing at her leg, so she raised it slightly for her.

"Thanks," Treekul said. The alien leaned in and steadied Endive's foot with one hand while she held ornaments in the other. "These ankle things are the hardest ones to put together."

"I am nothing to him," Endive said. "I'm fully aware of that. But I bear his holy mark, and his triple blessing, and he speaks to me from time to time. It's far more than I deserve."

"Endive?" Treekul asked. "Do you remember how we came here? With Lesseri and Guwar?"

"I suppose," she said. "I prefer not to think of those days. I was so weak back then. So... lost. We all were."

"Uh-huh... Yeah, you're right," Treekul said with a sigh. "Lost. Not like we are now. So, how was the mission?"

Endive chuckled. "You always ask me about the missions," she said. "The other priestesses never make this much conversation."

"Well, you're... doing holy work," Treekul said. "It's an honor to hear about your service... er, my child."

Endive drank the tea and inhaled the aroma from a vessel of burning incense which Treekul held near her face. "We went to Vernas II," Endive said.

"Vernas. I've never been there," Treekul said. "I've heard it's nice."

"It's even more beautiful, I should think," Endive said, "now that we've purged the heretics from that world."

"Oh, definitely," Treekul said as she worked on Endive's other anklet. "You can never purge enough heretics, I always say. So... how long a trip was that?"

"I do not recall," Endive said absently. "I was not the one flying the ship."

"Really?" Treekul said. "You always flew the ship when we were looking for Trismegistus. Remember that?"

"Yes, well... I have other duties now," Endive replied. "If you are finished, I would not presume to keep him waiting."

"Right, right." Treekul rose to her feet and half-heartedly waved her hands to make an esoteric gesture. "May his triple-blessing be upon you," she said, and then she escorted her into the next room.

*******

Endive waited for the right moment before asking her questions. Trismegistus had needs, and he had summoned her to his meditation chamber to satisfy those needs. Her own problems would have to wait. His bodily humors required perfect balance in order to properly maintain the Jindan power that sustained them all. Luckily, the balance could be restored through ritual intercourse. Hundreds of women in the cult had been chosen for this duty, though Endive took pride in knowing that she was one of Trismegistus' more frequent selections.

When they were finished, she rose from the bed to prepare his drink. "An excellent session, as always, Endive," he said with a satisfied smile. "I would call upon you more often if I could, but their are stoichiometric considerations that cannot be ignored."

"You honor me with your praise," she replied.

There was a time, not long ago, when they very thought of these ritual trysts would have disturbed her to her very core. The Saiyans were a very repressed people when it came to romantic love. Having a single lover in one lifetime was almost too much for some Saiyans to consider. The idea of casual polyamory could be very troubling indeed. Before joining the cult, she had privately fallen in love with Guwar, but she had never found the courage to tell him. She had hoped the cult might help bring them closer together, but instead, it had driven them further apart. Their duties had kept them separated, and the communal breeding practices of the cult made things even more awkward. Endive had dreaded the idea of being mated to a complete stranger, but then she was disqualified from the breeding pit altogether. Soon after, she was chosen to service Trismegistus. At first, it had sickened her to be treated like a piece of meat, shuffled from one loveless relationship to another, but over time, she had come to accept the necessity of her duty as one of Trismegistus' consorts, and the honor of it soothed her battered self-esteem.

"Master, I had a moment of doubt on my last mission," she said as she took a knife from a small altar and cut the palm of her right hand.

"Oh? And did you speak to the priests about it?" Trismegistus asked.

"No," she said. "I did not want to spread the words of a heretic. I knew you would summon me to your presence eventually, so I waited to bring it to you directly."

"I'm disappointed, Endive," he said. "You have so many responsibilities, and you handle them all so gracefully. Yet you neglect your own soul. A very selfless failing, but a failing nonetheless."

She made a fist and, allowed the blood from her hand to drain into a copper bowl on the altar. His words stung more than the wound she had just inflicted upon herself.

"Such a lovely figure you have," he said, admiring her outline in the torchlight. "A shame that heresy and doubt should fester inside such an exquisite vessel."

As she added the other ingredients to the bowl, she lowered her head and felt the warmth of tears on her cheeks. She was always failing him, one way or another. He deserved better from her, and it pained her that she couldn't give it to him.

"When you first joined me," he continued, "you said that you wanted to unburden your spirit, Endive. How can you do this if you won't trust the very priests I provided to help you?"

She couldn't answer that, and so instead she turned to face him, and brought the bowl of blood to his waiting hand. He drank, then handed it back to her.

"Forgive me, Blessed One," she finally said. "I... I sometimes forget my place in our relationship. I am your servant, not your wife."

"I can't commit myself to just one woman, Endive. My enlightened biochemistry won't allow it," he said. "Still, if it were possible for me to marry, I can't imagine a finer choice for a bride than you."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, and nearly dropped the bowl in her surprise. He had complimented her many times, but never so personally.

"You must understand that there are reasons for my ways," he continued. "Speak to the priests. Let them help you first, and if the matter is too difficult for them, then they will bring the matter before me. You see, they dilute my workload, just as you and the other consorts dilute my humor imbalances."

"Of course," Endive said. "Your time is valuable, Illustrious One. It is selfish of me to waste it in idle talk."

"Nonsense, my dear," he said. He patted the bed to summon her back to his side. "I enjoy your company, and the intimate conversations that come with it. Now, let us talk of your heroic adventure on Vernas II."

Thrilled by his approving words, she set the bowl back on the altar, and returned to his side.

*******

[April 1, 233 Before Age. Nagaoka.]

"Why me?" Treekul asked. "And don't tell me it's because we knew each other before the cult. That didn't seem to matter much to you before."

"Because..." Endive struggled to find the right words. "Because you're different from the others."

Treekul's quarters were better lit than the others in the priesthood, and she had fewer candles and other objects deemed sacred by the cult. Instead of the typical robes, she wore a sort of gown that Trismegistus had designed for her. This revealed a good deal of her lavender skin, and without a hood to hide her short green hair, it seemed as though Trismegistus was determined to flaunt her alien heritage rather than downplay it.

"Because I'm different," Treekul repeated.

"I am... dissatisfied with the counsel from the other priestesses," Endive explained. "They told me to fast and to meditate and to focus on my duties. I have, and I find no resolution from this. I was hoping you could offer a different perspective."

Treekul sighed and finally turned her seat away from the parchment she was studying. It was whispered that Trismegistus was tutoring Treekul in the secrets of alchemy, and this was why he had given her such a high rank in the priesthood. Endive knew better than to repeat such rumors, but she did not ignore them, either. "This guy on Vernas II, he said the mark on your hip is King Rehval's," Treekul began.

"Yes," Endive replied.

"And you're wondering why someone, even an enemy, would lie about something like that."

"Correct."

"Why does it matter?" Treekul asked.

"Excuse me?"

"For all you know, King Rehval ripped off his symbol from Trismegistus," Treekul said. "Or it's a coincidence. Or this Blue Zephyr guy was mistaken. Or you misunderstood him."

"That all seems very unlikely," Endive said. She felt strangely aware of her burgundy unitard as they discussed this. In particular, the section of it that covered her mark seemed to chafe against her skin.

"But why does it bother you in the first place?" Treekul pressed. "What does King Rehval mean to you?"

"He is an enemy of my Master," Endive said.

"What if they patched things up?" Treekul suggested. "The king might decide to join the cult himself one of these days. Maybe he already has."

"That could never happen," Endive insisted.

"Why not?" Treekul asked.

"He would never pass the initiation rituals," Endive said. "That man is too self-serving. He could never bow to the wisdom of Trismegistus."

"How would you know?"

"Because... because he killed my family," Endive said after a long pause. "You already know this story. I told it to you when we were on the ship, searching for this planet. You remember, don't you? When we were with Lesseri and Guwar?"

"I must have forgotten," Treekul said wryly. She pointed at her outfit, and then at the parchment on her table. "I have other duties now. Refresh my memory."

And so Endive did. Indeed, Treekul had heard all of this before. Endive's uncle had been a loyal follower of the Rehval Dynasty. He had obeyed the king in everything. He had cut off his tail, he had worn the blue military uniforms, and he had served his country like a good soldier... only to be beaten to a pulp by Rehval III. The crown prince had wanted to make an example of him to discipline his subjects. Her uncle had been allowed to live, though he didn't last long after that. Endive and her father had watched him die in a hospice like an old man.

Her father quit the kingdom soon after, since it had become clear to him that loyalty was worthless on Planet Saiya. But independence hadn't been worth very much either. Endive's father became an outspoken critic of the Rehval Dynasty, and alien governments quickly found him to provide a useful insight into the Saiyan Kingdom. Too useful, as far as King Rehval was concerned, and so the royal assassins killed him. At least, that was what her father had suspected. It made sense for Rehval to have him assassinated, though there was no proof. The doctors had told Endive that it was poison, and she had long wondered what kind of Saiyan would resort to such an dishonorable weapon.

And as Treekul listened to Endive repeat the tale, she made sure to press Endive on how angry and betrayed she felt by King Rehval's actions. How suspicious Endive became of the Saiyan Kingdom, and of government in general. How outraged she would feel if Blue Zephyr had been telling the truth, and that she had somehow been duped into working for King Rehval all along.

That was because Treekul was different from the rest of the priests. Unlike them, she desperately wanted a way off the planet, to get as far away from the cult as possible. Trismegistus had taken steps to prevent Treekul from accessing spaceships or navigational information, but he had given all of this and more to faithful soldiers like Endive. With a little encouragement, Treekul hoped that Endive might become disillusioned enough to want to leave the planet... and hopefully take Treekul with her.

*******

[25 April, 233 Before Age. Nagaoka.]

Over the next few weeks, Endive found little time to consider Treekul's counsel, or the counsel of any of the other priests. With combat intensifying in the Holy War against the Federation, Endive had expected to be sent into Federation space. She was not, and instead, she was called upon to fulfill many of the duties left behind by other cultists who were deployed instead. Her missions took her to other star systems, usually acting in secret, so that none would realize that her actions were in the service of Trismegistus' agenda.

Each task was fairly simple in itself: assassinations, smuggling, destabilizing governments, and other matters Endive had performed in her old life before joining the cult. She found these acts took on a whole new meaning because of the holy purpose behind them. It was immensely satisfying to kill someone and know that it cleansed the universe of evil. It made her feel powerful. Righteous. It was almost enough to make up for the sheer volume of the work, which had left her nearly exhausted.

When her work had finally lightened up enough to allow her to return to Nagaoka, she was immediately assigned to duty in the shipyard, performing maintenance on the light cruisers and other vessels used by the cult's warriors. And then, just when she thought that she would finally be allowed to rest, she was summoned for consort duty. She hadn't slept in days, and what little time she had planned for a short nap had to be allocated for the laborious process of bathing and receiving the ornaments and perfumes required for the ritual.

"Have you thought about what I said?" Treekul asked as she dabbed aromatic oils on the sides of Endive's neck.

"I have," Endive replied wearily.

"That's good." Treekul fetched a bottle of vermilion pigment and began drawing symbols on Endive's arms and torso. "So have you been to any new planets lately?"

"The Tekkers Cluster, mainly," Endive yawned. "He sends me there so often. At least it's only twelve hours away by stardrive."

"That close, huh?" Treekul said. "I've been there before. Very densely populated. It'd be really easy to get lost in that sector. Even the cult would have trouble tracking you down if you didn't report in. Something to think about."

She finished applying Endive's ornamentation and sent her into Trismegistus' bedchamber. She did exactly what was required for the ritual balancing of his humors, and nothing more. She simply lacked the energy for anything more than an apology.

"Pious service needs no apology, my dear," Trismegistus told her. "And your company is most welcome, even if you are too tired to enjoy it."

"I am... honored," Endive said, though she had trouble believing her own words. She cut her own hand, and bled into the copper bowl, and then, as she took the bowl back from him, she pointed at the mark on her hip.

"I have to know what this means," she said in a voice that indicated that she was too tired and too desperate to mince words.

Trismegistus looked down at the brand and smiled warmly. "It means you're one of my most treasured servants," he said. "Is that not enough?"

"No," she said. She was almost surprised by her own answer.

"No?" he asked.

She shut her eyes tightly and pointed at the mark. "I want to believe that this is a test," she said. "That you branded me with the mark of my family's enemy to see if I would rise above my own bitterness. My focus should be on the Holy Work, on helping you to remake the universe. But I shall always be distracted, so long as their may be a connection between Rehval and yourself."

"I see," Trismegistus said. He sat up on the bed and reached out to wipe the tears from her cheek. "You fear that your doubts will compromise your service to me. How very like you, Endive."

"The priests only counseled me to ignore my suspicions, or repress them," Endive said. "All of them except Treekul, that is. She had me confront my fears, and reminded me that you and King Rehval are nothing alike. But then... how does that explain the mark?"

"Treekul. Of course," Trismegistus said with a smile. "She's very perceptive, as you've seen. Yes, I can tell now." He rose to his feet and ran his hand down her bare back. "You're finally ready for the next step, Endive."

She was about to ask what he meant, when he crossed the bedchamber and rummaged through a cabinet of glass phials. He withdrew one, and held it out to her.

"Another test?" Endive asked as she examined the blood-red liquid inside the phial.

"The mark is not a test," Trismegistus explained. "But this potion is. I'm reluctant to share this new mystery with you. It may undo the great strides you have made in your faith. But you've shown remarkable progress, my dear. It would be selfish of me to withhold this secret from you."

Endive rose from the bed and set her teeth. "I have nothing to fear from the truth, Blessed One," she said, reciting a line from the cult's daily affirmations. If I shirk from this trial, then I was never worthy of my past triumphs."

"Well said," Trismegistus said with a smile. She smiled back at him, grateful to be on such friendly terms with a divine being. Sharing his bed, fighting his wars, praying to him each morning, there was no greater honor in the universe. He was everything to her, and yet he was so warm and personable.

He poured the phial's contents into a goblet on a small altar. Then he reached for the bottle of wine that they had shared earlier. She reached out to stop him, to offer to pour it herself, but he gestured for her to remain where she stood.

"I know you're used to serving the drinks, Endive," he said, "but this is an ordeal, not a refreshment. I must prepare it personally." A moment later, he presented the goblet to her, and she took it in both hands.

"Endive, my beloved, are you ready to receive this knowledge, for the betterment of yourself, and for the purity of Jindan?"

"I am," she said automatically. In her mind, there was no other possible response.

"Then drink, my child, and may you grow stronger," he commanded.

There was only one mouthful of potion in the goblet, and when she swallowed it, she expected to feel something similar to the experience she had during her initiation into the cult. Instead, she looked at Trismegistus, unsure what to do next. A minute passed, then two, and then she began to notice the features of his face. His appearance wasn't changing, and yet he seemed to become another person before her very eyes. With each passing moment, he became increasingly familiar to her, as though she had seen him in some other context, in another lifetime.

And then she understood.

"King Rehval," she said, dropping the goblet onto the floor. She took an involuntary step back. "You... you're...!"

"I am," he said.

"How--?"

"The same alchemy that made you my mighty soldier," he explained. "I have potions that can alter or remove a person's memories. When you came to my fold, I fed you such a potion that suppressed your recollection of me. I gave it to you and everyone else who sought my wisdom. And so, you saw my face, heard my voice, but you did not recognize me. What you drank a moment ago was the antidote."

He took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Very few," he said, "earn the right to taste the antidote. Fewer still are able to handle the revelation it contains. And now we must see if you are one of those few."

"You killed my father," she said.

"Yes," he replied. "And I've done worse to many of the other Saiyans in my flock. That's why I took care to conceal my identity from them. From you."

"So you could seduce me?" Endive asked, surprised by the tone of her voice. She suddenly felt very exposed. Only moments ago, she was proud to share her body with him, and now, she felt like she had betrayed herself.

Rehval smiled. "You were the one who volunteered to be one of my consorts, beloved Endive," he said. "You told me it was an honor to service the body of one so wise."

He was right. She had said this, and she still believed it. Was he not still Trismegistus? The Thrice-Blessed? The master of the Jindan power? The Keeper of the Holy Reagent that would change the universe? His antidote had restored a few of her old memories, but it had not taken the new memories away. Everything she had experienced in the cult was still real, still meaningful.

"Do you feel deceived, Endive?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. She didn't know whether to be furious or to beg his forgiveness, and so she kept her answers as brief as possible.

"That is the great trial you must face, my beloved," he said. "I hid my true self from you because I knew that you wouldn't accept my teachings otherwise. Now that you have embraced those teachings, and recognized my authority over the natural world, there's no need to disguise myself any longer, is there?"

"I..."

"You loved your father, didn't you?" he asked, taking her hand in his own.

"Y-yes." Her hand trembled at his touch, but she did not pull away from him.

"But your father opposed me, Endive. He lacked the wisdom to see beyond worldly things. He only saw me in a political context. The King of the Saiyans, a leader to be plotted against or bargained with. That was his weakness, and that was what killed him in the end. Or do you think that I should have permitted him to destroy me?"

"No!" she said. "Of course not, Master."

He smiled. "You know, I think he'd be proud of you today," he said. "Every parent wishes to see his child surpass him. You embraced my teachings and became my disciple when he could not. You have succeeded where he failed."

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. She wanted to pull away, to tell him how revolting his touch was to her now, but she couldn't find it in herself to do so.

"The trial is this, Endive," he went on. "I don't expect you to accept this truth easily. The Old Endive would have died before submitting to King Rehval. The New Endive, reborn by Jindan, has pledged herself to Trismegistus, mind, body, and soul. Now you must decide which Endive to be. You can accept this truth, and remain my faithful servant. My crusading general. My favorite consort. Or you can leave the cult, and forsake Jindan, and remain true to your father's misguided cause."

Endive's eyes widened. It was no choice at all. She remembered Salziff, the man who told her how to find the cult. He had been cast out for his disobedience, and when Trismegistus withdrew the Jindan power from him, it left him weakened to the point of irrelevance. She remembered looking down at the man, and feeling a mixture of pity and disgust.

Salziff had reminded her very much of her uncle, wasting away on a bed, long before his time, when he should have met his end on a battlefield.

Her father had been a stern man, unwilling to show any emotion, but he cared for his family. When he uncle finally died, her father put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. It was a small gesture, but one she would never forget.

Even as she thought this, Rehval put his own hand on her shoulder, though it was to pull her closer. There was nothing tender about his grasp. More like a merchant gathering up his profits.

She remembered her father's deathbed. Like her uncle, and like Salziff, he wasted away, dying to some poison she had never heard of. The autopsy report called it polonium-210. Her father called it the handiwork of King Rehval, though she couldn't imagine what sort of Saiyan would stoop to poison.

But now.... Now she knew exactly what kind of Saiyan would poison her father. She had shared his bed, fought his wars, and had devoted herself to him, mind, body, and soul. He was groping her at this very moment, nibbling at the base of her neck. He had offered her a choice between continuing as his servant, or wasting away like her father and uncle. But he wasn't even waiting for her to choose. He already knew her answer.

With a defeated sigh, she returned his embrace, and caressed him with her hands, just the way she had always done in his bedchamber. He nudged her slightly, and she lowered herself to her knees, and accepted what came next.

Several minutes later, she looked up at him, and he wiped a tear from her eye. "It took great courage to do that, my beloved," he said.

"Tell me," she pleaded. "Was all of this meant to punish my father?"

"Yes," he said. "Your father was weak and yet he brazenly defied me anyway. The poison I gave him ensured a slow, painful death, but that wasn't enough to satisfy my wrath. When I created this cult, I knew one day you would come to me, seeking Jindan, never suspecting that the price of it would be to betray your father's memory. Now, his daughter has become my greatest general, and she kneels before me, naked and weeping in my bedchamber. But there's more to it than that."

"More?" Endive asked.

"By punishing your father, I have also taught you a lesson. Now you at last see the true nature of power, my dear."

She looked up at him and nodded. "It's more than just being able to hit harder," she said. "It's about control."

"Your uncle understood that," Rehval said. "He accepted the king's justice because he knew there was no other choice. Your father only thought he understood. He believed that leaving the kingdom would give him control over his own destiny. But he underestimated my reach."

He reached down and wiped more tears from her cheek, for she was still weeping. "Rise," he said. "It's getting late, and you'll need time to reflect on all of this... after you've completed your duties here, of course."

"Of... course," Endive said quietly. As she stood, she tried to gather up some semblance of self-respect. When that failed, all she could find was her faith, Broken and splintered, it was all she had left. Her father had been a fool, hadn't he? As much as his death had pained her, how could she blame Rehval for defending himself? And in his holy revenge, he had seen fit to glorify her, to transform her into his instrument. If she couldn't find pride in this, then she would have no pride at all.

And so she forced herself to smile affectionately at him, and to return his embrace when he offered it. And when he was finished with her for the evening, she bowed low and thanked him for the honor of being with him, even though she privately wished that she could have been anywhere else in the universe.

NEXT: Luffa and Seltiss

#dragon ball #fanfiction #lssjluffafic #nagaoka #vernas ii #trismegistus #endive #treekul

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eulerian-circus · 7 years ago

Text

My finger slipped

Cross posted on AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/15187439)

Fandom: Legend of the Galactic Heroes

Ship: Annerose x Oberstein

There were few pictures of their mother, a camera shy doll who was unlucky enough to grow into beauty rather than be born with it. Their father had loved her long before her looks had matured and arguably, they never had -Caribelle von Musel had been an budding rose destined to never reach full bloom. By the time of her death, she had merely graduated from plain to attractive, a label that was offered only tentatively considering her two pregnancies. Born to rags and buried in rags, she had been an unfulfilled princess, one of those soft-hearts that cried out for a savior who never came. Annerose remembered her with love-laced pity, sorrow for the woman who had never truly managed to live but also frustration that she had been content to merely be the damsel of somebody else’s story.

Reinhard cared little for Caribelle. He, of course, mourned the mother who died when he was young but only the idea of her, not the woman herself and her hopes and dreams -or rather, her lack of them. If he had, then Annerose preferred to believe that he would not adore her the way that he did, setting his dear sister higher up the golden pedestal on which she had lived her life. It was not his fault; he could not possibly know that the gilded cage of the Goldenbaum dynasty had been superfluous, that the addition of a second kind of bondage affected her not at all. She had even almost been happy, all desires muted under an onslaught of undeserved comfort and beautiful baubles.

Their father had often said that Annerose looked like their mother. Looking into the mirror, she was terrified to find it true. With every passing year, it became more obvious that Caribelle was filling the crevices of her life. Annerose had inherited more than her looks; she had inherited her role in the story as well. However, unlike her mother, Annerose had been “rescued” by not one but two knights: her brother and his best friend. She had wanted neither.

Of the two, Kircheis had been the one who teetered on the brink of recognizing that she did not need them. Annerose grieved for the loss of his kind insight, that her brother had dragged him to the frontlines where he died after she had entrusted that beautiful boy to him. He had treated her gently, yes, but it was the gentleness of politeness, not self-imposed duty. If this were a story, she would mourn, too, for the loss of a great love. The truth, however, was that she had made her peace with it long ago. Billions died in war -she could not afford to be optimistic and think either of them would have survived. And, for all his prowess and ambitions, she still doubted whether or not Reinhard would ever be laid to rest in Odin’s rich earth. For the younger brother who had loved her unconditionally, she feared that he would meet the same fate as the countless soldiers who had given up their lives and right to be retrieved and properly interred.

How she envied Magdalena, her strength and her wit! If she had been born a man, the entire empire would have been eating out of the palm of her hand. Where Magdalena went, so did the sun. Annerose herself was merely the moon, a poor, pale reflection of something bright and worthy. She was Caribelle -struck by one great tragedy before becoming the personification of it. That single event superposed itself over the rest of their lives.

Bitterly, Annerose thought that if Reinhard had really loved her at all, he would have come to see her despite her expressed wish that he not. His brotherly duty done, however, he had left her to fade in the shadows, forgotten. When the curtain fell, that was the common ending of a fairytale.

She retreated to the estate that the Kaiser had previously granted her, learning to turn the cage into the garden of her life. With a critical eye, she went through the entourage of servants that were part of the furniture and dismissed them until only a handful remained. The rest, she sent to her brother, pettily letting it become his problem. Then, she she packed away her long, flowing gowns and dug up the more practical knee-high skirts and sleeveless blouses she had once worn in her youth. Thirty years of existence loomed in the distance but more than ever, she felt like the girl who played dress-up with her mother’s scarves and laughed as she helped her baby brother take his first steps.

There was little work to be done on the estate: that was why Annerose took it upon herself to reinvent the entire property. The flowerbeds were to be torn out and replaced with different flora and patterns, the fountains were to be moved. There would be walls knocked down, walls built up, and stairs leading to a yet-to-be-made observation deck on the roof.

In the first week, she dug up the flowers and plotted where the new ones would rest. There would be no roses, the Kaiser’s favorite, in this garden. Roses were beautiful, deceivingly dangerous things that existed to be devoured in little rosewater cakes or decapitated for the sake of a single evening’s accessory. She planted practical greenery instead - sunflowers where the roses were, tomato plants were there had once been azaleas, and carrots to mark the divides between different species. Refusing the help of her servants for anything more than transporting the little plants, the work was hard and lonely. Like the garden sprouting at her hands, she was alive.

When the gardens were finished, Annerose took a day off to bask in the satisfaction of personal achievement.It was then she remembered that Magdalena had moved off planet to assist with the reconstruction of planets which had been damaged during Alliance occupation. With nobody to share her accomplishments with, she idly deliberated whether or not to ring her brother and ultimately decided not to. He was Kaiser now; he needed no permission from anybody to come calling. Instead, she inquired about the number of a certain admiral to whom she felt she owed a belated favor and waited.

At noon the next day, His Excellency the Chief of Staff, Fleet Admiral Oberstein appeared promptly at her doorstep. She showed him in with little fanfare, seating them both in a blue drawing room she intended to paint green. The cost of the tea she served could have fed a peasant family for a year -it was a leftover gift from noble looking to get deeper into the previous Kaiser’s favor. Neither of them touched it. As the liquid cooled, she started to knit at blanket of soft, fluffy wool and they spoke of ordinary things that she could have learned herself from a newspaper. The fleet admiral asked her eventually why she had called for him. Because she, too, could be as obstructive as he, Annerose gave him an open invitation to visit and let him on his way.

A month later, with no sign of Oberstein, the garden was in bloom. Pollen from the newly planted fruit trees weighed down the air stickily. It was a bad time to have decided to repaint the rooms but that was just what Annerose did, opening every window in the estate to let the walls air. Having never done a project of this scale before, the first layers of paint were ugly and filled with bubbles, spilling over the edges of the rooms and onto the ground and ceiling. She learned quickly that, even with an apron on, she had best wear clothes which would not be missed.

Three days into her painting project, Annerose fell off of a ladder and broke her wrist. Under the pain and tears, she was mainly surprised. It was the first time she had ever broken a bone but not the first she had tried to take care of a break. This was what Reinhard’s childhood was like, she realized a little later. Full of bruises and broken bones, most received on her behalf for being the Kaiser’s whore. More and more, she felt as if she were an actual person, the needle of reality violating her stagnant, cushioned life. Thoughtfully, she refused the help of a doctor, wrapped up her wrist, and continued painting. She was halfway done repainting the blue-now-mostly-green drawing room when a frantic servant poured in through the doorway. At his heels, Oberstein gave the entire room an impassive once-over, his gaze settling briefly on her injured wrist.

Annerose offered him vegetables from her garden -which he declined- and, in a fit of rebellion, insisted that he stay for dinner. The affair could have taken place in a graveyard for all the deep silence which permeated the table. She asked nothing of her brother and he did not offer. As before, she took up her knitting in between the last course and dessert. The severity was broken only once she had shown him to the door. He took one step forward and then paused, his back towards her.

When he spoke, his voice was flat. “I killed Admiral Kircheis,” he said, and disappeared into the darkness before she could respond.

That night, she lay in her night dress on a comfortable couch, staring at the freshly painted ceiling and thinking about his words. “I killed Admiral Kircheis”, he had said. Annerose wondered if his veneer of cruelty was just as obvious to the rest of the admiralty. Blanketed by the shadows, she mouthed two responses she could have given him and felt no pang of regret.

A doctor came for her the very next morning. She wondered.

Slowly, the rooms came alive with all the colors of the rainbow. She had abandoned the premise of painting entire rooms the same color and decided to simply paint each wall on its own. The drawing room sported one wall of its original sapphire blue, one of green, and two opposing walls of warm brown-red, the color of familiar eyes. It was only then she wrote the message she had been thinking of for the last few days, scripting it with an elegant, curling hand that looked more like art than writing.

”I do not care,” she wrote, and sent it as it was, unsigned. That she did not immediately receive a reply bothered her not at all. Annerose was a patient woman.

Despite her patience, however, she broke her schedule out of sheer curiosity. “I am going out this afternoon,” she announced to her maid, a mousy girl with quick eyes but a slow tongue. “Alone.” A warmth spread through her at the words, as well as a thrill of excitement. It had been years since she had taken a look around the city in person, longer since she had the freedom to spontaneously decide just to go. When she had prepared herself, however, she found a contingent of soldiers standing at attention in the courtyard.

“I could hardly take all of you with me,” she said to the crowd. “Please tell your commanding officer to come here. I will talk to him about it.” In the meantime, she put a strawberry and rhubarb pie in the oven. Within thirty minutes, Oberstein himself emerged from a car, just as the Annerose was taking out the pie and setting out it to cool.

“Oh good, you’re just on time,” she said, herding him to the kitchen before he could protest. Though she had to force it, there was soon a plate in his hand with a heavy, steaming slice of pie. “After setting spies up in my household, the least you can do for me is try my cooking.”

He stared at her impassively. “Your safety is of the utmost priority,” he drawled. “The Kaiser would be distraught if you were to come to harm and as is, you are a major target for his enemies. It would be unwise for me to ignore such a danger.” But he did take a tiny piece of pie.

“Very well,” she said calmly. “If you are volunteering your services as my guard for the day, then I will have to accept.” The resulting look on his face, the barest flicker of protest running across it gave her great joy.

Two hours later, she was wandering her old grounds, greeting the faces she recognized and introducing herself to the ones that she did not. Oberstein hovered at her elbow like a shadow, dressed in civilian wear for once to avoid attention. It was specifically because he sought to avoid attention that she put her arm through his and physically forced him to her side. In the back of her mind, she thought of her parents, her father constantly trailing her mother out of old-fashioned chivalry, something that had made Caribelle blush prettily with happiness. Annerose remembered being told that one day, she would find a love to fill the same scenario, being simultaneously higher than any virtue a man could aspire to but also lower in status by every measure. Serenely, she smiled at his stoicism, taking note of the brief moment when his eyes widened ever so slightly. At the end of the day, she led him right back to the kitchen and wrapped up half the pie for him to take home.

“You gain nothing from this.” Oberstein told her, the next time she saw him. He stood right at the boundary of the estate, watching as she wrestled with the weeds.

Even with a generously wide-brimmed hat on, she could feel her skin overheated by the sun. “Explain,” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow with a handkerchief.

“I am useful to the Kaiser,” he said. “I am useless to you.”

She considered him for a moment, eyes running up and down his still form. There was more grey in his dark hair than she last remembered. “I hope my brother does not work you too hard.”

“The Empire must come first,” he said. “It does not matter what happens to me.”

Annerose looked at the weed in her hand. It was a small, white flower, blooming in the wrong place at the wrong time. Feeling daring, she stood to her full height and, swaying forward, kissed him gently on the side of the mouth. Under her lips, she felt him shift uneasily.

“Then we are the same,” she declared after drawing away. His facade had broken; there was a faint expression of alarm splattered across his face. “Because I have already fulfilled my purpose, have I not?” The admiral said nothing more and after a while, she heard the sound of his footsteps slowly recede into the distance.

It came to her shortly after that she had read this story before, both of theirs. She was the princess of the tale and he the villain, the one that the hero merely had to be better than in order to win his prize of a kingdom, a marriage, and power. ”I do not care” she repeated to herself silently. In her bones, Caribelle slumbered.

#logh #lotgh #logh:dnt #legend of the galactic heroes #die neue these

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