#and what better way than to directly serve the king of the beasts? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

Text

This is the Beat of My Heart

happy very early birthday to @jaskierswolf! have some soulmates.

new soulmate mechanic: you can hear your beloved’s heartbeat whenever you feel frightened

art by the always-talented @mawbwehownets

tw: mentions of the Trials, canon typical violence but it’s just the cave scene from Posada/Four Marks, minor emotional Geralt whump (self loathing witcher feelings), hurt/comfort with a very fluffy ending

---

Geralt’s fingers curl painfully into the tops of his legs. He’s trying to hold himself down against the rough-hewn seat of the tavern bench with all his mighty strength; there’s an irritating sound filling the small room that has activated his fight or flight response, and he can’t do either without drawing suspicion from the already antsy villagers. The haunting rhythm echoes through him, a soft but insistent thud thud thud that floods his senses and soothes his aching head. The sound is more familiar to the witcher than his own gruff voice. More familiar than his brothers’ voices, or Vesemir’s. This staccato beat has marked out every terrifying moment in the witcher’s long life.

The sound that pounds against Geralt’s ears is his soulmate’s heartbeat.

The poor, ignorant fool he’s meant to match in every way is wandering around this shit-hole tavern in Posada, totally unaware of the sad, unsavory fate that Destiny has bestowed upon them. Geralt never thought this day would come, really. Being bound to a witcher was bad enough but being in the same room with one, feeling the subtle pull of forces far beyond your control meddling with your life… drawing you towards danger and death...

It will be better for both of us if I leave as soon as possible, Geralt thinks to himself. He takes a quick inventory of his purse and swords and finds them all accounted for. At least I can spare them the tragic end they’d no doubt meet at a witcher’s side. They would likely hate me if I ever sought them out.

They must be terrified of him, whichever one of these people Destiny has saddled with the other half of Geralt’s soul. They’ve heard his heartbeat, too, in their moments of fear. As well as Geralt knows his soulmate’s giddy, fluttering pulse pattern, they have lived with his slow mutant heartbeat in return. Were they even more frightened when they heard how slow it was? Did the connection serve its purpose, calming them down and reassuring them of his presence, or had it made things worse, elevated their level of terror? How cruel it was for Destiny to chain this person to a living firebrand, to create them to be the perfect other half for someone who’s no more than a monster.

That heartbeat, vibrant and steadfast, is what had kept Geralt alive and fighting for survival during the worst of his Trials. When the poisons and tinctures and potions had crawled through his veins, turning them from black to red to black again and twisting his body into something other, that glorious beating had been there for him. The sound of his soulmate’s fragile mortal heart had measured out the seconds, giving him something to cling onto. That heartbeat had given Geralt something to love. To hope for in his worst moments. When they had dragged him back into those dark, musty rooms, seventeen and screaming with what little was left of his voice, all Geralt could do was pray for his future soulmate’s heartbeat to return to him. To comfort him.

In the relentless pain and terror of those added experiments, Geralt had kept that sound buried deep within his very being, like a candle in the center of a pitch-black room. Even when they said the Trials would take his emotions from him, that the additional testing would obliterate his humanity entirely, the sound of a stranger’s heartbeat never failed to stir the strongest feelings of love and safety he’d ever known.

Can ever know, perhaps.

Regardless of what might have been in another lifetime, Geralt keeps his fingers clenched and his muscles taut. He focuses all his energy on keeping himself sitting. He would have been content to stay there in the corner, his eyes trained on the grain of the worn wooden table before him, ignoring Destiny’s desires entirely… except…

Except for the damned bard. The novice bard swans his way over to the witcher’s corner table, lashes fluttering and face flushed. Geralt catches a faint whiff of arousal and writes it off as a boyish reaction to the rush of performing. The young brunette opens his mouth and the sweetest voice Geralt has ever heard playfully says: “I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

“I’m here to drink alone,” the witcher grunts. He can practically feel his fingernails biting through the leather of his gloves. The heartbeat is louder now, closer, and it’s driving Geralt mad.

“Good,” the bard nods, still leaning against a support beam. “Yeah, good. Nobody else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance except-” he takes a slow step forward “-for you.”

The bard is probably barely old enough to order his own vodka, and the bright, sparkling blue of his eyes makes the deeper blue of his doublet look incredibly washed out. Geralt tries to keep his face impassive, rolling his eyes and remaining silent. He’s still thinking about his soulmate… trying to block out the rapid thrumming of their all-too-human heart.

“C’mon,” the brunette urges. “You don’t want to keep a man with… bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me; three words or less!”

Geralt hears his soulmate’s heartbeat growing louder, more irregular and more excited, regardless of his efforts to ignore the hurried drumming. The scent of happiness grows thick and hazy in the air as the bard continues to grin and Geralt realizes, with a tiny jolt of horror, that the origin of the life-altering sound is sitting directly across from him. Geralt matches the rabbit-quick jumps at the junctures of the bard’s wrists to the soft rhythm thumping at the back of his head and finds them to be a perfect match.

It’s you, the witcher thinks, eyes widening slightly against his will. He takes a moment to tamp down his more obvious emotions, trying desperately keeping his expression neutral and under control. The bard is the one whose heartbeat kept me breathing in my very worst moments. Kept me fighting. Kept me…

Geralt suddenly remembers that he needs to answer a question: “They don’t exist.”

“What don’t exist?” the bard asks, eyebrows furrowing. The expression is halfway between a pout and an offended grimace, which infuriatingly verges on being adorable. Geralt’s heart lurches traitorously in his chest. He has never known such horrible yearning in all his many decades on the Path.

“The creatures in your song.”

“Why would you know?” the bard scoffs. Geralt prepares to stand, finally releasing his death-grip on his own legs. His fingers and palms are cramped and tight from holding himself still for so long; the bard is really testing his patience. The witcher is less than two seconds away from revealing the big secret and ruining both of their lives when the young man continues, eyes shining, “Ooooh, fun! White hair, big old loner, two very very scary looking swords…”

Geralt stands from the table and collects his purse.

The bard glances up at him, blue eyes wondrously wide and cheeks flushed pink.

“I know who you are,” he practically breathes. He stands, following Geralt halfway out the door. “You’re the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia!”

Geralt’s fists clench again. The retraction of his muscles keeps him from grabbing the foolish human by the collar and dragging him from the room for a proper chat about manners and soulmates. Thankfully. As the disoriented witcher hurries from the tavern’s main room, he hears the bard shouting after him: “Called it!”

---

Geralt snaps back into consciousness with a grunt. As frustration and fear weave themselves into a web of anxiety at the center of his chest, that soft thud thud thudding fills his ears. It soothes him and helps him focus; he is in a cave, it is midday or a little past, and the bard, Jaskier apparently, has been bound against him, back-to-back. He tugs at the ropes that bind their wrists again but it does no good. Behind him, the bard says quietly: “This is the part where we escape.”

Geralt fears for his soulmate’s wellbeing more than his own. He’s technically responsible for this stupid, fragile person who refused to stay behind despite his warnings. He lowers his voice, “This is the part where they kill us.”

“Unfortunate,” the bard sighs. The witcher listens, confused and a bit shocked, as Jaskier slowly starts to even out his breathing by matching his inhales and exhales to Geralt’s slow, methodical heartbeat.

“How can you hear it?” he asks without thinking.

“Hear what?” Jaskier replies, whispering.

“Your breathing,” Geralt says, as if it’s obvious. “You’re matching it to my… to my heartbeat. You don’t have a witcher’s enhanced hearing so how are you matching the rhythm so perfectly?”

“I was matching it to-”

Their conversation ends abruptly as an angry elven woman storms into the cave. She kicks at them furiously, spitting in the Elder tongue, “Beast!”

“Quick, Geralt!” the bard urges, “Do your witchering!”

“Shut up!”

“No!”

The woman doles out more swift kicks to the chest. One for Geralt and one for Jaskier. More muttering in Elder, insults that even the bard manages to understand and toss around. Geralt grimaces as he’s beaten by Toruviel and hears the thudding even louder than before. The witcher smiles when he notices that he can feel Jaskier’s heartbeat against his back, pulsing through the thin material of the bard’s light woolen doublet. It’s so much more intense, close up like this.

“Leave off! He’s just a bard.”

He’s so much more than that, Geralt’s own thoughts remind him. He’s everything to you.

A wave of urgent protectiveness swells within him and Geralt diverts the attention of the Elf King away from the foolish human, whose mouth has run away with him. Eventually Filavandrel tires of their chatter and pulls his short blade. The Silvan rushes forward, arms outstretched to stop his sovereign, “Wait!”

“Torque! Stand aside!”

“The witcher could have killed me,” Torque rushes to explain. “But he didn’t. He’s different, like us!”

Geralt watches with mild trepidation as the battle-hardened King pushes his subject aside, fury blazing in his clear blue eyes. He understands that this may be his final day alive. He wishes that Jaskier would have listened before and stayed at the tavern below. He wishes, with what may be his final moments alive, that Jaskier were safe and not bound to him this way. Literally and figuratively.

“If you must kill me, I am ready,” Geralt intones. “But the Sylvan is right… don’t call me human.”

The witcher tilts his head back, eyes open but unseeing, his entire being focused on the feeling of Jaskier’s racing heartbeat thudding against the back of his leather armor. The killing blow never comes. Instead, Filavandrel cuts the ropes that bind their wrists; Geralt ignores his initial instinct to check Jaskier for injuries and instead ushers the bard onto his feet and towards the mouth of the cave. “Wait!”

The witcher freezes in his tracks and glances back over his shoulder. Filavandrel holds out a gorgeously crafted lute with a beautiful gold design painted across the front. “My apologies for the loss of your instrument.”

“Your Majesty,” Jaskier gasps. “I couldn’t. You’ve already lost so much.”

“Then promise me to do right by him,” the elf nods at Geralt. “And consider it payment.”

“I swear it,” Jaskier nods, tone serious and face grim. Filavandrel lets his eyes flicker between the two unlikely companions and Geralt prays that the Elf won’t say anything out loud, if he indeed understands the bond between them.

“Be on your way, then, before I change my mind.”

Filavandrel winks conspiratorially and disappears back into the shadow of the caves. Jaskier pulls the lute strap over his shoulder and beckons for Geralt to follow him. “Your horse is probably worried.”

---

It takes nearly six months for Geralt to break down and tell Jaskier the truth about their seemingly uncanny partnership. If it weren’t for the rapid approach of harsher winter weather, he probably never would have said anything at all.

But on one particularly frosty evening, two weeks after Samhain, the witcher sits Jaskier down beside their fire and tries to remember how to speak from his heart. The bard is patient, warming his hands over the flames and waiting for Geralt to gather his words. Jaskier has never rushed him, and for that Geralt is eternally grateful. Taking a hint from his companion’s hunched shoulders, Jaskier speaks first. “What’s on your mind, my dearest White Wolf?”

“I… I have to tell you something and I don’t want you to be angry.”

“Did you spill ink on my new doublet?” Jaskier teases. “Because if you have, I promise to be very cross with you.”

“Hmm,” Geralt half-smiles. He’s terrified, and he can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat surrounding him from all sides. “No, I’m afraid it’s more complicated than replacing a doublet.”

“Oh, is this about us being soulmates?”

Geralt’s eyes snap up to meet Jaskier’s and his mouth drops open. “Wha-? When did you- When di-”

“You said it in your sleep maybe two weeks after we first met,” Jaskier explains quietly, like he’s the one who’s been holding back a secret all this time. He blushes furiously as he tries to apologize and extrapolate all at once, “I thought you were just muttering to yourself, really, or I would have woken you up! I swear! You were just…”

Now it’s Geralt’s turn to wait as Jaskier fumbles to speak.

“You hadn’t been resting well and I didn’t want to wake you up. You looked so happy and content that night, with your hair all loose and the moon so bright…” he shakes his head and giggles nervously, “Anyway, not important. You rolled over and reached for me. You chuckled a little between snores and said A bard for a soulmate, how lovely. It sounded happy, when you said it like that.”

“Was that… the only time?”

“No,” Jaskier smiles. He pulls his knees against his chest and rests his chin atop them, “You reach for me all the time in your dreams. Sometimes you say my name or call me soulmate or beloved. It’s rather sweet and I-” tears brim in his eyes and Geralt’s heart skips a beat “-I know that witchers don’t feel things the same way humans do. I didn’t want to get my hopes up and then-”

“I love you,” Geralt says. He takes Jaskier by the hands before he can stop himself and pulls the pale knuckles against his lips for a soft kiss. “You… You have saved my life so many times.”

“Geralt!”

“I mean it,” the witcher nods. “I know that the Path is treacherous, and I wouldn’t ask you to join me on it and risk your life, but I do love you and care about you. Ever since I was young I have marked my steps by the beat of your heart. I would be happy continuing to do so, whether or not you accept me in return.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier sob-laughs, flinging himself into the witcher’s embrace. Geralt falls backward, shocked, his arms full of emotional bard. His face is peppered with kisses between hurried words: “I love you, too! I thought you didn’t want me that way. I thought it was just… a witcher mutation thing.”

“Come with me to Kaer Morhen for the winter, Julek. You can learn more about my kind; you can meet my brothers and the old swordmaster for the Wolf School, my adopted father of sorts. We’ll protect you and I-” Geralt clears his throat. “I will hold you every night in my arms, if you so desire.”

“I would like it very much if you were to hold me,” Jaskier grins. “And of course I'll come with you to your witchery keep for the cold months, dear heart. I’ll never part from your side again.”

Geralt presses a firm kiss to Jaskier's forehead, their heartbeats echoing faintly in the witcher's trained ears. Something in his chest settles into place, contented at last. He presses another, even gentler kiss to the bard's chapped lips and feels his heart swell when Jaskier smiles into it. He breathes out his promise as they pull apart, "Never."

#geraskier #geraskier ficlet #art collab sorta #art collab #geraskier art #geraskier fluff #getting together #soulmate au #geraskier soulmate au #soulmates #you can hear you soulmate's heartbeat #heartbeats #tw violence #tw four marks #tooth rotting fluff #happy birthday wolfie #geraskier fluffiness

264 notes · View notes

lovextriangle · 3 years ago

Text

Imagine Thorin before The Unexpected Journey

a/n: early release draft, I’ll probably edit more later!

You were never one to fall for the brooding type, but there was no stopping for the inevitable.

The dwarves showed up out of nowhere. They were passing through Gondor on their way to Dunland where Thror, Thrain, and Thorin had decided that place was their best option. Many of their following had dwindled, most headed for the Blue Mountains or the Iron Hills. Dunland was a place of no importance, it was just a place for them to seek refuge. They had no plans of staying there, for the true goal was to take back their home, Erebor. Though a plan like that already had people grimacing for the bloodshed was still fresh and the loss was many. How could they overcome a beast that had defeated them so easily on their own home front.

They needed allies, they needed help, not from men, and definitely not from the elves, but from their own people, dwarves assisting other dwarves. That is what Thorin thought anyways. But with supplies running low and spirits at an all time downward spiral, they would have to start from the ground up.

About a month after the traveling dwarves had passed through Gondor and finally settled into the neighboring Dunland, Thorin seeked out work. The big city was the best place to look for it, though no one cared about the tragedies a person had been through, if you had no talent or skill, you wouldn’t find a job. Luckily dwarves were brimming with skills and their expertise was known for crafting weapons. The grandson of the King Under the Mountain, became a blacksmith of Gondor for the sake of putting food on the table. He had a perpetual frown on his face as if it was engraved there permanently.

He had all the reason to be, rumors spread fast in Gondor of what had happened to the dwarves and the almighty Smuag, the terror of their lifetime. Everyone was afraid of what the dragon would do next. Most thought that the dwarves would bring it with them somehow, as if they carried bad luck. So Thorin was well aware of how much the people of Gondor didn’t want him there. He wasn’t wanted anywhere. But the skills he possessed as a smith kept his employer from kicking him to the curb like others had done before.

“Another fine piece of weaponry Thorin. The next order is a pair of long swords,” grunted Izec the chief blacksmith of the establishment that Thorin worked for. Sweat ran down Thorin’s forehead as he leaned back to stretch out from the hammering position he had been in. His back ached, he had been finishing up the fine details of his last assignment, the entirety had taken three days, the last five hours he had just completed. He was tired and in need of a break. But Thorin liked pushing himself past that point nowadays. He didn’t really care much about his body at all, he was angry all the time, and it felt good to hammer down something that would bend to his will. If only other things in his life went that way…

“Take a lunch and be back before long, ya hear?”

Thorin only gave a nod as he wiped the sweat from his hands onto his pants as he took his leave from the shop. It was midday in Gondor and people were everywhere. The weather was hot and stuffy, no summer time breeze in the air, Thorin guessed it was just his luck. He had eaten at a couple of stands in the past, the food men served were at least better than elves but it was nothing like home. Weaving through the crowds, he ignored the glances he got, it wasn’t exactly rare to see a dwarf in Gondor but this was definitely the birthplace of men.

He hadn’t been to this particular meal stand before, he was complacent enough to try it since the others hadn’t left a lasting impression for him to seek them out. He just wanted a good, quick meal to regain his strength and head back to work.

“What’ll it be?” Thorin had to take a slight step back to take in the whole menu. “Roast will do.” His response was a curt reply, quick and ready to move on. “7 shillings,” you matched his reply, not really wanting to drag out the conversation either. This was only business after all. Out came a pouch from one of his pockets as he gathered the correct amount. You hadn’t exactly been looking directly into his eyes, just glancing over everything else about him.

He was dirty, a hard working dwarf. Long dark hair, that was thick but not matted. He took care of himself or at least his hair. His cheeks had what looked like dirt or maybe ash from a fire. Dwarves were usually blacksmiths around here so you took an educated guess. “You work with Izec?” you hadn’t intended to ask out loud but it seemed you couldn’t help yourself. There was a reason for asking after all.

Thorin met your gaze, ice cold irises told you one thing. That he wanted his meal and to be left alone. “Yes.” The one word reply, a clear warning to not ask anymore questions. “I’ve placed an order for a piece of metal myself..” it was a low response from you as you had gauged his reaction. He didn’t seem curious or to care about the details of what you had ordered at Izec’s. With that you gave him his meal and he gave you the shillings.

“Thanks.” He was gone, not stopping at any of the nearby tables set up to sit and eat. You watched as he parted ways, and wondered if he would come to your stand another day. Such cold eyes, you had the feeling he wouldn’t. Lunch hour was busy, and more customers took up your thoughts and as soon as the dwarf had came he disappeared from your mind.

A week passed before Thorin decided he had a particular craving. He had thoroughly enjoyed the roast from last time, and had wanted to stop by again. He had lasted a week only because he did not wish to be remembered, he simply wanted the good food and nothing more. Chitchat could wait until after he had reclaimed Erebor. But Thorin found that you simply couldn’t just hand him over the meal without at least one question being asked.

“How’s work?”

“What’s it like being a smith?”

“What do you think of Gondor?”

“You must really like roast, would you like to try our roasted chicken?”

No matter the angry stares or the frustrated sighs, Thorin would respond begrudgingly to each question. He liked the chicken now too, and from the four more times he had stopped by (on different days of course) it was quite apparent that this was his favorite food stand now. Because of the appetizing meals. Not because of your curious brown gaze. Our the sprinkle of freckles that were cast across your face. You had steady hands too, careful in passing and gentle in receiving. The few times your fingers had touched when he had exchanged his money had given him surprising chills. Your touch was quite cold and felt foreign from his hot temperatures.

It was getting a little easier to talk with one another. But Thorin didn’t make it to where it was ever a fluent conversation. He was only here for one thing after all. “Do you eat at Izec’s?” You decided to use up your one question on that this time. If you had counted right this would be your fifteen encounter and you still hadn’t caught his name, they just had so many other interesting things to know first, but you were getting pretty curious about that particular piece of info.

“Yes.” Thorin nodded, and the exchanged of meal for money transpired. You decided you weren’t satisfied, “Well isn’t it a bit stuffy to eat in there?” Thorin had taken one step away, “Sometimes” he agreed, not very happy that this was turning into more than the one usual question. “Well you could eat by the stand.. I give out complementary bread to my customers who do.” This was a lie, but maybe some enticing fresh bread would make him stay a little longer. “Maybe next time…” He wasn’t buying it, or maybe he wasn’t that hungry, or maybe he didn’t want to answer anymore questions. Whatever the reason, he was gone before you could talk him into it further.

Your sigh was obvious as it was loud.

“Maybe he’s just not into ya”

Your eyes immediately rolled, “Can it Howser.” The neighboring stand was a flower seller. He sold beautiful orchids when in season. But he was terribly nosy. “Well I’m just sayin, he’s only ever given you one-worded responses. Can’t get much dryer than that!” He laughed to himself at your misery. It was true you were getting nowhere in the sense of progress. Progress in what exactly? You weren’t entirely sure, maybe you could admit you had a crush on the recluse dwarf. “Any ideas then? I’ve tried to point out at least my interest,” you glumly stated, not wanting this to turn into some laughing stock at your failures.

“How about giving up?” Howser laughed, and the laughingstock it was. You glared at him as he tried to choke back his giggling. “Thanks.” You answered sarcastically and stopped paying attention to him, to which he tried to offer real advice but was left to be ignored.

Maybe giving up would become an option if the dwarf never came back. But he did come back, and it no longer took a week in between his visits. It was more frequent which had him occupying your thoughts more than the usual. The only thing that didn’t change was how uninterested he seemed in you. Which had Howser teasing you as soon as the dwarf departed. The game of chase felt like forever until that one fateful day.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, the sun taking its course to the west. It was unusual for the dwarf to come so late and even more unusual for him to be carrying a package. “What’s th-“ Your words were cut off with the thud of the item being placed on your counter. “Your order.” Thorin replied, already knowing the answer to the unfinished question. Izec was well acquainted with most in Gondor, which made him a good businessman. But once Thorin had told him about your stand and how good the food was, it was now tasked to him to deliver the finished product.

“Thank you for bringing them, you didn’t have to,” Thorin didn’t say anything as he had been told to do so it wasn’t like he was doing you a favor. With the silence, you decided to tear the parcel excited to see the results. Two beautifully slender long swords were revealed to you. Your breath was sucked in as you saw the fine lines and detailed swirls,

“Is it to your liking?”

This was the first question, he had ever asked to you. Just that had your heart rate accelerating. You assumed he had not only brought it to you, but had been the one to create such refinery. “It is, absolutely.” You beamed and he nodded, “To what name can I thank for such hard work?” You figured now was as good as anytime to finally ask the burning question. He was a mystery man, a stranger with no name, and you couldn’t continue to go on like such.

“Thorin.” He answered and had thought to himself that you had already known since most in Gondor knew from the rumors. “Thank you Thorin, I will treasure them.” He was never one for smiles, but somehow you knew he was at least proud of his work, and satisfied in knowing that you would be the one the wield them. You were positively optimistic in thinking that things would only get better with the two of you from here as he walked away. You let him go with no questions trailing him. With his back turned he held up his hand in departure, you couldn’t hold back your grin.

“Until next time,”

#the hobbit #jrr tolkien #there and back again #dwarves #dwarf #thorin imagine #thorin x you #thorin fic #thorin oakenshield #erebor #hobbit fanfiction #fan fic #imagine

68 notes · View notes

soranis-sunshadow · 4 years ago

Text

Hordak can’t catch a break even on his birthday...

Oh fandom, you really like this sort of drama don’t you?

A few days ago, on Hordak’s birthday, there was this ‘interesting’ post in the tag – since, apparently it’s impossible to get any peace even on that day.

I was too tired to answer it at the time after being on call the day before so, here’s my delayed answer to all of that:

First off: this post has this bit in it when asked what that person dislikes about SPOP.

He doesn’t need to get a redemption and he doesn’t get one in the show.

None of his actions constitute a redemption arc. The man merely acknowledged his personhood and freed himself from his master and God. That’s what his arc was about: the right to have a personal identity.

He gave himself a name and wanted to be his own person. That’s it. That’s all he wanted.

The man was merely freed from Prime’s influence- an influence he was born into since he’s been specifically manufactured to serve as a disposable mass produced soldier and worshipper of Prime.

If the argument that Catra was “forced” to commit crimes and thus she is not completely guilty of them since she was under duress – then the argument doubly holds for a person who has been directly programmed and conditioned to do so under the threat of death or mental rape (purification).\

Even while away from Prime, he was still conditioned to obey and brainwashed by Prime’s cult. He literally knew nothing else – he was not meant to. It’s how indoctrination works.

Prime’s clones aren’t people to Prime, they are tools. Those clones, while cut off from Prime still want to serve and please him: That’s what Wrong Hordak’s purpose in the show is- to show us just that.

Hordak is not considered “OK” because Entrapta likes him. Hordak is merely shown – by Entrapta that he could live apart from his cult and have worth outside what Prime tells him he has.

Just like real life cult victims, he needs an outsider to help him see a way out of the cult. The nature of indoctrination and brainwashing makes it impossible for the brainwashed person to know they are brainwashed unless someone points it out.

Now for my favorite thing:

and

oh and

Oh boy… this makes me just so damn uncomfortable.

To offer a bit of context as to why. I have never been on social media before SPOP or in any fandom and as such, I have never encountered the ‘all men are evil’ discourse that seems to infest these places. It’s been quite a bit of culture shock for me.

What is it that makes anyone think it is ok to judge a person because of an accident of birth? (being born male)

Why does hate for 50% of the human population get such a free pass on these platforms? Misandry is just as terrible as misogyny. You are being biased against another human because of their gender. I don’t care that males are perceived as ‘privileged’ – that doesn’t make it ok to be terrible to them unprovoked.

How does hating all men help achieve equity?

Do you realize that this sort of discourse is exactly how you radicalize people against the very cause you are championing? You breed hate and adversity for the rest of us who actually want to to have a discussion on the topic.

I’m a feminist myself (in a country where feminism is hard-work) and let me tell you, making all men hate us does nothing but push away potential allies and make it a lot harder for our voices to be heard.

Feminism is about equality, not women dominating.

Now onto the second post: the one comparing Catra and Hordak with the question of which of them is a better person.

This whole war orphans that were personally abducted and tortured into serving the horde HC that some ppl have is really starting to get boorish. This has been going on for more than 6 months.

I have no idea why everyone thinks he went down chimneys and stealing babies left and right while cackling villainously. The man had a busy schedule of brooding in his lab, wallowing at his inability to use insulated cables and having his device blowing up in his face with the occasional Skype call to Shadow Weaver to see what the Horde is doing.

And yet, to a part of the fandom, this is what he looked like:

( @bat-burrito made this one and it’s glorious)

And if you don’t believe me about the lab recluse thing, you don’t have to, the show pretty much states it for me.

and

Hordak is a recluse that stayed in his lab and let the running of the Horde and most operations to Shadow Weaver and later Catra. He did not personally abuse anyone and he is not the origin of the cycle of abuse.

Shadow Weaver was a child grooming manipulative woman before she even joined the Horde – she did this to Micah while she was not “evil” or presumably abused by Hordak.

Even if you want to HC that Hordak abused her somehow, he is still not the one who started the cycle: Horde Prime is.

The whole fandom seems to forget about the eldritch monstrosity that created a whole army of brainwashed slaves to worship and die for him. Prime is the one that sent Hordak to die and gave him the motivation to try to prove himself worthy of life and love. If you want to point fingers, point them at the origin of all of this. This fandom has a strange Prime blindness. He is never talked about when it comes to being the start of all of this.

If Prime didn’t exist, Hordak wouldn’t exist. If Prime hadn’t sent Hordak off to die, then his clone wouldn’t have accidentally ended up on Etheria. None of the things in the show would have happened.

Adora would have died of exposure in a field, the monarchies on Etheria would have continued as they are and the planet would have continued to exist in despondos.

He is a dictator, yes. So are the princesses. Monarchies are dictatorships where the ruler is born into power. Hordak gained his through military might while Glimmer was born with hers and enforced it with tradition. I don’t really care to play “who’s the better dictator”. The princesses have their power because of the runestones- magical rocks put there by the First Ones to channel the planet’s magic and use it as a weapon. How come no one talks about that?

Do you think a king/queen keeps their crown without effort or subjugation of their subjects?

Also, Hordak had never interacted with Catra before SW dragged her before him to be judged. He was indifferent to etherians in general and didn’t seem to care which of them were his underlings so long as the operations were running smoothly. He was more focused on his portal and returning home than on anything else. He did not set out to “ruin lives” or quest for power. What he wanted was to return to his deity and become a mindless part of the whole again – that is as opposite to power hungry as you can get.

Catra was directly abused by Shadow Weaver throughout her childhood. That makes Shadow weaver responsible for 100% of that abuse.

Catra was found in a box by Adora and adopted by Shadow Weaver. Hordak didn’t know or care that she existed.

He is responsible for the war, he is responsible for the war casualties and the property damage. He is not responsible for Shadow Weaver being a terrible person and mother figure.

Again with the orphan thing. We have 5 cadets in the show.

Adora was found in a field.

Catra was found in a box. Lonnie, Kyle and Rogelio are unexplained. The only lizard ppl we see in the show are in the Horde or the Crimson Wastes. The other two could just as well be the children of some of the soldiers.

I may harp on about what a bitch Shadow Weaver is – the reason I do so is because she is legitimately terrible to the two girls in her care.

I was the unfavorite growing up, I WAS the Catra in my family who could do no right while my sibling was the golden child. I don’t however hate Shadow Weaver. She is a cartoon character in a show and she does the things she was written to do. Hell, she is a very compelling and believable villain. Her motivations are clear and she is consistent. Her voice actress portrayed her splendidly and her character design is superb. I like her but that doesn’t mean that I don’t acknowledge her role in the story. I don’t however make up parts of the story to make her more evil than she was or treat my headcanons about her as absolute fact.

Again, sigh: Prime is the worst villain in the show. He is quite literally Nyarlathotep and does this to planets:

This to people:

and this to the people he created to serve, worship and love him:

How is that not worse?

I love Catra and it genuinely annoys me when people erase her agency or try to paint her as one-dimensional victim. Catra was an antagonist for most of the show and she rocked it! She was 400% more efficient at it than cloneboy. Give the queen some damn respect and recognition! Catra had a lot of agency and her actions moved the plot of the show more than those of the protagonists. (they were mostly reactive).

Catra pulled the lever of the portal in a moment of distress after a breakdown, a Shadow-Weaver related breakdown because that’s how trauma works.

Hordak didn’t make her do it, he didn’t send Catra after Adora either. These were Catra’s choices. They came from a place of hurt but they were her choices still.

The portal was a means of transportation, not a weapon. Building it was not Catra’s mission, it was Hordak’s. He built it so he could contact Prime and either summon him here or go home –whichever course of action Prime wanted. Again, Hordak wanted to go back to this:

...

The only person who knew the device was dangerous was Entrapta and she tried to warn Hordak about it. Catra was the one who stopped her, violently so, then sent her to die on Beast Island- the fate Entrapta saved her from a season ago. Catra then tried to have Hordak open the portal before it was ready.

When he wouldn’t – she pulled the lever herself because that is how desperate she had gotten at that point, to show Shadow Weaver how wrong she was. That is how hurt Catra was by her mother figure’s betrayal and abuse.

Don’t take that away from her. Don’t call it curiosity or naivete or whatever. She knew the portal was dangerous but she wanted to prove Shadow Weaver wrong so badly that she didn’t care at that point. She had been pushed that far.

Catra’s actions led to Angella’s death but she was not directly responsible for it. She didn’t activate the device to kill Angella, it merely happened accidentally. Catra was however glad it happened and wanted to profit from the aftermath of her death.

Hordak didn’t care or plan to kill Angella personally. There is no in-show moment where any of that is portrayed. Since he doesn’t care about the specifics of running the horde seem to know what they are conquering at the moment, it seems that that was usually a task reserved for his second in command.

^ - troop movement ordered by Catra

Hordak doesn’t even know what his own army is doing.

Again with the Hordak “drilling into orphan’s minds”… I seriously doubt that any of them had ever seen him out of his lab or that he came up with the propaganda himself.

Manipulation is more Shadow Weaver’s game not his. For all of Hordak’s faults, he is not deceptive or manipulative. If anything, he is woefully incapable of spotting lies. (it might have something to do with him being born in a society where lies were almost impossible because of the hive mind and Prime being able to browse his thoughts at a whim- as such, it wouldn’t be a skill he would have been able to develop).

Hordak canonically despises deception and lies. I really don’t understand where this image of a manipulative and cunning Hordak comes from. He wouldn’t be able to plot himself out of a paper bag if his life depended on it.

First off.. S4 Catra was his equal, not his subordinate. Don’t take that away from her. She earned it.

He doesn’t look that threatening here...

And again: Prime created the system. He made clone slaves and programmed them to serve. His clones have hardware installed for the express reason to facilitate his control over them. He has a religion in place to make sure their thoughts do not stray from his purpose. I am legitimately boggled by this fandom’s tendency to completely forget about his existence.Does anyone really think that these people that are born “prechipped” and programmed to know nothing but Prime’s Light are really knowledgeable about human morality?

That they would know that conquest is bad when that is the express reason for their creation?

If I were born in that situation, I’m not sure I would have known any better. Hell, if any of the clones even try to disobey Prime, they would get either mindraped (erased) or killed for the effort. They really have no choice, even if they knew that killing in Prime’s name is wrong (they don’t) they really can’t do anything about it. They have no choice but to be what they were made to be. I find it personally abhorrent when these designer slaves are held accountable for what Prime has made them do.

And to the people that say Hordak was free of Horde Prime once he was stranded on Etheria.. That is not how indoctrination works. The fact that I can’t go to church this Sunday because I’m locked in the house and can’t find the keys doesn’t make me an atheist.

Hordak was serving Prime even on Etheria. He keeps mentioning it to both Entrapta and Catra. He started the war because that’s what he thought Prime wanted of him and that’s what he’s been programmed to do. Personal and informed choice really doesn’t factor into his decision at all.

He is not sympathetic because Entrapta likes him. Notice how I haven’t brought up his relationship with her up to this point?

He is sympathetic because he literally had no choice but to do the things he was indoctrinated into doing. He was build and programmed for it, just like all the other clones. They are not able to deviate from that because of the way Prime functions and rules over them.

There is no point in the show where Hordak relishes over his status as a ruler or the “luxury” it affords him. He does not engage in the same behaviors his progenitor manifests.

There is no point in the show where Hordak relishes over his status as a ruler or the “luxury” it affords him. He does not engage in the same behaviors his progenitor manifests. He attempts to emulate Prime in order to project authority in the only way he knows how but since those are some really big shoes to fill, he is woefully inadequate.

If Hordak had been power hungry, he would have stayed in despondos and ruled his own faction. Being away from Prime is the most powerful and autonomous he’s ever been and yet, he wants to throw all of that away in order to be a powerless, nameless part of the whole. What Hordak wanted was to be enslaved by Prime because that’s what he had been created for.

“vengeful” – and how did Hordak manifest this vengefulness? Who did he take revenge on in the series?

“apologize” – when and where in his 3 minutes of screentime would he remember everything after 2 mindwipes, realize that the whole worldview he had since inception is wrong, realize that he had been mistaken into doing the horrible things he did and then go to all of the characters and apologize for it?

Would anyone be convinced of that had it happened in 3 minutes? I’d rather they don’t redeem him than do a shit job at it.

Very true. He’s not a better person. He’s just a person in an impossible situation. Both Hordak and Catra were handed a raw deal, I don’t understand why everyone insists on pitting them against one another. They both did bad things and they were both in horrible situations. The specifics don’t really matter since neither of them would have done the things they did had they been more fortunate.

This is the exact reason for which I don’t hold Cara’s actions against her. Catra’s only model of success was Shadow Weaver. She emulated her abusive mother figure because she had no other example and because she wanted to please that woman. It does not excuse the way Catra acted but it explains it.

I really don’t understand why some people want Catra punished. I’d rather she get love and help. That is what she needs. In time, she will want to do better and be better by herself. She doesn’t need to be forced, heavens know, she’s been forced enough as it is.

They are really different. Catra got an abusive, shitty and violent childhood. Hordak got this:

He was literally robbed of a childhood.

She was taught by Shadow Weaver that weakness gets you killed. Hordak was not allowed to have emotions to begin with, or thoughts of his own, or a name...

Comparing to victims of abuse to see which one of them is more likable is such a strange concept to me.

Catra was robbed in s5 too. I don’t hold that against her. I blame it on the writers. S5 could have been a lot better.

#Hordak #Catra #catra vs hordak discourse strikes again #can we please stop with this #it's been 6 months #my pixel is nicer than that pixel #a cartoon villain is not an actual despot #cartoon and fandom activism is not real activism #Cartoon characters can't apologize for their actions unless the writers make them #the writers in s5 were too busy with butchering the previous seasons to actually put any thought into the cohesiveness of this show's themes #everyone felt a bit ooc in s5 #spop critical #spop fandom drama #spop

195 notes · View notes

tyrantisterror · 3 years ago

Link

I did a four part series of trivia posts when ATOM Volume 1: Tyrantis Walks Among Us! came out, and that was pretty fun! You can see that set of trivia posts here if you’d like. I thought it’d be fun to do another now that ATOM Volume 2: Tyrantis Roams the Earth! is out - just one this time, because a lot of the trivia I talked about with Volume 1 still applies.

I’m gonna divide this into two sections: non-spoiler trivia, for things that really don’t give a lot of plot points away, and spoiler trivia, for things that DO give away major plot points. I recommend not reading the spoiler trivia until after you’ve read Tyrantis Roams the Earth!, for obvious reasons, and will put the spoiler trivia under a cut.

Ok, let’s go!

- So if you read ATOM Volume 1, you probably noticed that the book is split not only into chapters, but “episodes,” which consist of four chapters a piece. It’s kind of a nod to how the series owes a great deal of its DNA to various monster of the week shows, with Godzilla: the Series and The Godzilla Power Hour being obvious influences. It also allowed me to pepper in some illustrations and cheesy b-movie style titles into each volume.

- The first “episode” of Volume 2, Tyrantis in Tokyo, pays explicit homage to the giant monster movies of Japan, perhaps even moreso than the chapters that came before it. Given how much Japanese media influenced ATOM - from tokusatsu like the Godzilla, Gamera, and Ultraman franchises to anime like Digimon and Evangelion (hell, the title of this episode itself is a tip of the hat to Tenchi Muyo by way of one of its spinoffs) - it kind of felt obligatory that Tyrantis visit Japan and pay his respects.

- Tyrantis in Tokyo also fits in a tribute to another staple of Atomic Age pop culture: Rock and Roll.

- Kutulusca, the giant cephalopod that appears in Tyrantis in Tokyo, is one of the oldest kaiju in this series, dating back to the first iteration of Tyrantis’s story that I put to paper back in 2001 or so. It’s changed a lot since then, but its fight with Tyrantis goes more or less the way it originally did.

- Old Meg, the giant placoderm/shark, and Nastadyne, the bipedal beetle, both owe their existence directly to Deviantart’s Godzilla fandom. Old Meg originated as a dunkleosteus monster I submitted to a “create a Godzilla kaiju” contest held by Matt Frank, while Nastadyne is based on a Megalon redesign I made during the “redesign all the Godzilla kaiju” phase of DA’s kaiju fandom.

- The second episode, Tyrantis vs. the Red Menace, gets dark as we visit the USSR, which had enough REAL horror with atomic power in its history to make creature features seem a bit defanged by comparison. It’s probably the episode with the strongest horror elements - ATOM’s always been influenced by Resident Evil, and this is probably where that influence shows the most strongly.

- It also features the first fully robotic mecha in the series, the mighty Herakoschei! Its name is a combination of “Heracles” and “Koschei the Deathless,” with the former part being added by its Russian creators to make it seem a bit more international as they offer it to the U.N. in hopes of gaining aid for a very extreme kaiju problem they’ve developed.

- Most of Tyrantis vs. the Red Menace takes place in the Siberian Monster Zone. Its name is a reference to the Lawless Monster Zone in Ultraman, which is such a cool fucking name I wish that I wish I could go back in time and steal it.

- The next episode, Tyrantis’s Revenge, is... full of spoilers, so we’ll move on for now.

- The penultimate episode, Tyrantis vs. the Martian Monsters, is a love letter to MANY different sci-fi stories that involve life on Mars, though the most prominent of them is of course The War of The Worlds (one of my top 3 favorite books) and its various adaptations. From its tentacles sapient martians, the tripodal leader of the titular monsters whose name includes the word “ulla” which is uttered by said sapient martians, the plant monster made of red vines, the cylinder-shaped spacecraft the Martian monsters are sent to earth on, the copper-skinned stingray-esque flying martian who shoots lasers from its tail, and the fact that every chapter title in this episode is a quote from the book, the H.G. Wells influence is STRONG.

- The final episode, Invasion from Beyond!, is shamelessly inspired by Destroy All Monsters, although there’s a dash of “To Serve Men,” Godzilla vs. Monster Zero, and The Day the Earth Stood Still mixed in as well. It’s also sort of a tribute to my first “published” bit of a kaiju fiction - a rewrite of Destroy All Monsters that included EVERY Godzilla monster that had appeared at the time, which my middle school self wrote back in 2002 or so for Kaiju Headquarters, a kaiju fansite I’m not sure exists anymore. Invasion from Beyond! is just as ambitious (but hopefully better executed) as my DAM Remake, with dozens upon dozens of different kaiju duking it out, earthlings vs. aliens.

- There were three different documents I made to outline the final battle of Invasion from Beyond! It’s the largest episode of the series so far and more than half of it is that fucking fight. My inner child is pleased, though, so hopefully you will be too.

Ok, that’s all I can share without spoilers. READER BEWARE WHAT FOLLOWS BELOW THE CUT!

JUST MAKING SURE you know that SPOILERS will follow from here on out. Read at your own peril! YOU WERE WARNED!

(I’m gonna start with lighter ones just in case you scrolled too far and want to turn back)

- There’s a number of explicit Spielberg homages in ATOM Volume 2, from a “we need a bigger boat” joke during a chase with a giant shark to the fact that Invasion from Beyond! opens with a group of people flying to an island of monsters to review whether or not it should get more funding.

- When Tyrantis appears in the first chapter, I snuck in modified lyrics of The Godzilla Power Hour’s theme song. “Up from the depths”... “several stories high”... “breathing fire”... “its head in the sky”... Tyrantis! Tyrantis! Tyrantis!

- The two rock bands in Tyrantis in Tokyo have real life inspirations ala Gwen Valentine, albeit a bit more muddled than hers. The Cashews are inspired by The Peanuts (see what I did there), while The Thunder Lizards are a mix of The Rolling Stones, the Beatles, Buddy Holly, and the Big Bopper. I wanted The Thunder Lizards to be more akin to the myth of a famous rock and roll band than the reality - less the real Beatles and more the Yellow Submarine cartoon version of them.

- The song The Thunder Lizards write for Tyrantis was written to fit the tune of “The Godzilla March” from Godzilla vs. Gigan, though ideally if someone made an actual song of it it would be its own song. I got the idea from Over the Garden Wall, which used the Christmas song “O Holy Night” as a a starting point for “Come Wayward Souls.”

- Perry Martin, UNNO reporter and peer of Henry Robertson, is a nod to Raymond Burr, with his name being a combination of two of Burr’s most famous roles: Perry Mason, and Steve Martin from Godzilla King of the Monsters (1956).

- Dr. Rinko Tsuburaya is a few homages in one. Her name comes from Rinko Kikuchi (who played Mako Mori in Pacific Rim), while her last name is obviously in homage of Eiji Tsuburaya. Her being the daughter of an esteemed scientist is inspired by Emiko Yamane from the original Gojira.

- Nastadyne’s Burning Justice mode is named after a similar super mode from various Transformers cartoons, though it’s more directly inspired by the Shining/Burning Finger super move from G Gundam.

- Martians sending kaiju to different planets via shooting them out of cannons (with or without cylinder spaceships around them) is another War of the Worlds shoutout. So is martians living on Venus after their homeworld was made uninhabitable, actually.

- Kurokame’s vocalizations are described as wails in explicit homage to Gamera. His name can be translated as either “black tortoise” (a reference to the mythical guardian beast Genbu, which can also be construed as a Gamera reference thanks to Gamera: Advent of Irys implying Gamera and Genbu are one and the same) or a portmanteau of the Japanese words for crocodile and turtle - “crocturtle.”

- Burodon’s name is just a mangling of “burrow down.” It also sounds vaguely like Baragon, who Burodon is loosely inspired by. AND, since Burodon is sort of a knockoff/modified Baragon, that kinda makes him a reference to various monsters in Ultraman!

- The final battle of Tyrantis in Tokyo is sort of a hybrid of the finales of Ghidorah the 3 Headed Monster and Destroy All Monsters.

- The Japanese kaiju teaching Tyrantis the art of throwing rocks at your enemies is both a joke on the prominence of rock throwing in Japanese kaiju fights AND the tired trope of an American hero learning secret martial arts from a Japanese mentor ala Batman, Iron Fist, etc. In this case, the secret martial art is throwing rocks at people.

- When introduced to Herakoschei and its pilot, we are told that the strain of piloting this early mecha is so intense that many pilots have died in the process, with the current one passing out on more than few occasions. This is of course a Pacific Rim homage - sadly, no one invents drifting.

- Herakoschei’s design is a loose homage to Robby the Robot and Cherno Alpha, because big boxy robots are cool.

- The Writhing Flesh and ESPECIALLY Pathogen are both hugely influenced by Resident Evil and The Thing. Giant body horror piles of raw flesh, tendrils, mismatched mouths and limbs may be a bit outside the main era of monster design ATOM homages, but they fit the themes and bring a nice contrast.

- I came up with Pathogen long before Corona but MAN it definitely feels different in 2021 to have a giant monster whose name is a synonym for disease driving other creatures crazy in a quarantine zone than it did when I plotted out the story in 2016.

- The chapter title “Hello, Old Foes” is a riff on “Goodbye, Old Friend”

- Minerva, the kaiju-fied clone of Dr. Lerna, is meant to be an homage to Attack of the 50 Foot Woman, which is a genuinely good giant monster flick. I am sure many of you will also believe I included her because I’m a pervert whose into tall women, but you’d be wrong! I included the seven foot tall Russian mecha pilot Ludmilla Portnova because I’m a pervert whose into tall women. Minerva’s inclusion was just coincidental, I swear!

- Since Promythigor is a play on the archetypal ape kaiju to contrast Tyrantis as a play on the archetypal fire-breathing reptile kaiju, their fight has a lot of nods to King Kong movies. Promythigor attempts the famous jaw-snap maneuver of Kong (with less success), J.C. Clark paraphrases the “brute force vs. a thinking animal” line from the King Kong vs. Godzilla American cut, and Tyrantis slides down a mountain to knock Promythigor off his feet in a reversal of Kong doing the same in King Kong vs. Godzilla.

- Tyrantis sliding down a mountain on his tail doubles as a Godzilla vs. Megalon homage.

- Though Promythigor is the archetypal Ape and Tyrantis the archetypal Fire-Breathing Reptile, I think it’s fun to note that in some ways, Promythigor is the Godzilla equivalent in their matchup, and Tyrantis the Kong. Promythigor has a slight size advantage, was scarred by humans performing unethical weapons technology, and is associated with violent explosions. Tyrantis is a good-at-heart prehistoric beast who humanized in part by his unlikely friendship with a human woman.

- Of course, in the context of the famous quote from the American cut of King Kong vs. Godzilla, they remain in their archetypal lanes. Promythigor is the more intelligent of the two (though not necessarily wiser), and Tyrantis is in many ways a brute reptile. Their battle is a rebuttal of sorts to the assertion that Kong is the “better” animal because he is closer to human. Promythigor’s near human creativity and emotions don’t make him the kinder/more benevolent monster, but instead fuel a very self-centered and destructive attitude that makes him the far more dangerous threat. On the other hand, Tyrantis, who is less intelligent, limited in communication with others by his reptilian mindset and instincts, and simple in his thoughts and desires, is nonetheless a sweet creature that is easily dealt with when others consider his animal needs and mindset. There’s a quote from Hellboy I love that probably sums up all of my writing thus far: “To be other than human does not mean the same as being less,” and that’s what the matchup between these two in particular tries to illustrate: the “less” human Tyrantis is nonetheless more benign than the “more” human Promythigor.

- Kraydi the psychic lizard began life as a soft sculpture I made of the Canyon Krayt Dragon from The Wildlife of Star Wars. The sculpture didn’t look much like the illustration, but I liked how it came out, and so I made it an original monster named Kraydi (see what I did there). Figuring out an explanation for that name in ATOM’s world was possibly the most difficult kaiju naming task in the series, but it worked out in the end.

- Kraydi and Promythigor having psychic powers is a result of my time on Godzilla fan forums in my middle school years. Most of the forums had OC kaiju battle tournaments, and SO many of those kaiju had a wide array of beam weapons and psychic powers just to win the tournaments by beam-spamming and mind controlling their foes into oblivion. There’s a special kind of rage you get when your original creation is beaten by “Fire Godzilla” because he has a genius level intellect and the power of unstoppable telekinesis. Kraydi began as (and still is I suppose) my attempt to do a psychic kaiju well, while Promythigor’s villainy being tied to psychic powers being forced on him is sort of my passive aggressive commentary on people foisting powers on a monster without any real thematic reason for them.

- Henry Robertson and Dr. Praetorius chewing out the laziness of people giving kaiju completely unaltered names of mythic beasts will probably be seen as a jab at the Monsterverse and/or the numerous writers in the kaiju OC scene who do the same, but it’s ACTUALLY a jab at my past self, who had DOZENS of kaiju whose names were just Greek mythological figures verbatim. There are dozens of kaiju named Hydra, Scylla, Charybdis, Chimera, etc., past me, try to make the names stand out! Oh wait you did. I mean, don’t pat yourself on the back too much, you still went with “Mothmanud” as a canon name and never came up with something better, but, like, good on ya for trying I guess.

- Dr. Praetorius takes his name from the evil mad scientis in Bride of Frankenstein, who basically has all the wicked traits that Universal’s Frankenstein downplayed in their take on Dr. Frankenstein. Ironically, ATOM’s Dr. Praetorius is a bit less evil than his fellow mad scientists in ATOM. I really like how his character turned out, he surprised me.

- Isaac Rossum, the pilot of the USA mecha Atomoton, is named for Isaac Aasimov, whose robot stories are to robot fiction what Lord of the Rings is to high fantasy. His last name is a reference to Rossum’s Universal Robots, which is where the word “robot” came from.

- The unfortunate pilots of MechaTyrantis in ATOM Volumes 1 and 2 are all nods to Jurassic Park. John Ludlow = John Hammond and Peter Ludlow, Ian Grant = Ian Malcolm and Alan Grant, Dennis Dodgson = Dennis Nedry and Lewis Dodgson.

- A good way to pitch Invasion from Beyond! would be “what if the staff and monsters were able to fight back when the Kilaaks tried to take over Monsterland?”

- Ok, here’s a fun joke that no one will get but me because it requires a very specific chain of logic based on some obscure and loosely connected nerd bullshit. There’s a rocker in ATOM’s universe named Sebastian Haff, right? One of his songs, “Darling Let’s Shimmy,” is referenced right before a mothmanud larva emerges from the ground in both ATOM Vol. 1 and 2. Ok, so, in the Bubba Hotep, an aging Elvis impersonator named Sebastian Haff claims he is actually the real Elvis Presley, having changed places with the real Sebastian Haff as a sort of Prince and the Pauper deal that went wrong. Got that? Ok, so, in UFO folklore, a common joke is the theory that Elvis didn’t die, but was rather abducted by aliens (or he actually WAS an alien the whole time - the whole “Elvis didn’t die, he just went home” joke in Men in Black is a good example of this). Ok? Ok. So, in ATOM’s universe, we can surmise that their equivalent of Elvis, whose name is Sebastian Haff, WAS abducted by aliens, and that his song “Darling Let’s Shimmy” is subconsciously influenced by his repressed memories from his time aboard the Beyonder spaceships, which is why it accidentally awoke a Mothmanud larva in Volume 1. There’s a lot of bullshit jokes I put into ATOM, but this is perhaps the bullshittiest of them all.

- One of the most common bits of feedback on ATOM Volume 1 I got was “I kept waiting for something to eat Brick Rockwell, he’s such an asshole.” And I had to smile and go, “Oh, yeah, guess he never got his, huh?” the whole time without letting on that he was going to die here all along!

- Dr. Lerna and Brick Rockwell’s nature as foils to each other is probably most apparent in Invasion from Beyond!, where both are given fairly similar situations - a nonhuman approaches them with a solution to a global crisis - and react to it very differently. I worry that some people may think they both made the same choice and got different results, and that that’s hypocrisy on my part, but I hope I wrote it so you can see how their choices and situations actually differ in key ways, and why their decisions, while similar on the surface, are ultimately very different, and thus result in almost opposite outcomes.

- So, when I planned out this book in 2016, I swear I didn’t know about the Orca from 2019′s Godzilla King of the Monsters. Having the plot hang around Dr. Lerna deciding whether or not to use a sonic device to rouse all the kaiju to save the earth was not INTENDED to be a Monsterverse reference - it came about from me looking at Pathfinder’s take on kaiju, who are all explicitly influenceable by music, and thinking, “Oh, wow, music and songs DO have a major connection with kaiju in a lot of media, I should do something with that.” Whem KOTM came out a few days after Volume 1 came out I realized I was kinda fucked here, because the comparison was definitely going to be made, but I’d also set this all up already and you can’t just change suddenly to avoid looking like a copy cat and make a good story, so... I dunno, I leaned into it a bit, but it is what it is.

- While most people will probably think they’re a reference to the Reptoids of UFO folklore, the Reptodites are more inspired by the Dinosapien of speculative evolution fame and, even morso, by the Reptites from Chrono Trigger. Me wanting to avoid the “lizard people control the government” conspiracy theory trope is one of the main reasons why Reptodites have this non-interference clause with humanity.

- Lieutenant Gray is a bunch of different humanoid aliens rolled into one - a little Hopskinville goblin, a little classic gray, a little this one weird alien with five-fingered zygodactyl hands, etc.

- There’s some Beyonder Mecha in this volume that are basically kaiju-fied versions of the Flatwoods Monster. The species that built them ALSO engineered the Mothmanuds, because connecting Mothman and the Flatwoods Monster is fun!

- Pleprah is, obviously, a one-eyed one-horned flying purple people eater.

- Tyrantis’s brush with death, in addition to being so very anime, was inspired by my dad outlining how mythic heroes often have to travel to the underworld/land of the dead before they can finish their journey. It’s one of the plot points that I’ve had planned for this series since middle school.

- I’m sure some will view it as hackneyed and corny, but as a person who’s battled with depression for decades, having Tyrantis’s choice to live be the big heroic turn of the finale was very important to me. Tyrantis incorporates elements of a lot of imaginary friends I made as a kid, and in many ways he’s kind of the face of my more positive side in my head. He’s been telling me to choose to live for a while, and while maybe to an outsider it may seem hackneyed, it’s just... very Tyrantis. He chooses life and kindness in the face of pain and struggle. That’s Tyrantis.

- Tyrantis’s powered up form is called “Hyper Mode,” which is another Gundam reference. Originally it was a lot gaudier and involved him turning gold like a fuckin’ Super Saiyan. I opted for something a little more toned down here.

- Also, speaking of KOTM references, I decided to make Hyper Mode Tyrantis’s final duel with Pathogen be a sort of foil to Burning Godzilla’s final bout with Ghidorah in KOTM. Instead of ravaging the city, Hyper Tyrantis’s pulse of energy rejuvenates his fallen allies, and as a result he is “crowned” not out of fear for his supremacy in the wake of killing a powerful enemy, but in gratitude for his kindness. See? Leaning into it!

- And now I can finally reveal that Yamaneon is ATOM’s equivalent of The Monolith Monsters - that is, a kaiju that is also a mineral. I took the “strange continuously growing rock” thing in a very different direction, though, as unlike The Monolith Monsters, Yamaneon is actually alive.

- At various points in the pre-writing process, either Promythigor, MechaTyrantis, or both were going to die fighting Pathogen. I ultimately decided to let them both live, with MechaTyrantis even getting his flesh and blood body back, because I think it’s more interesting and thematically consistent that way. They get a chance to heal their wounds by changing their ways.

- The Great Beyonder and Dorazor both almost didn’t make the cut, as I felt they didn’t have the same pull as villains that Pathogen, Promythigor, and MechaTyrantis did. But then I thought that could actually be the gag - build them up as the final boss, only to have Pathogen take their crown. I want to explore post-face turn Dorazor a bit more, though. We’ll have to see about that in a later volume.

- Volumes 1 and 2 make up what I call “The Ballad of Tyrantis Arc” for ATOM. I call it that because Tyrantis’s storyline in these two volumes was patterend after Chivalric ballads like Yvain the Knight of the Lion. Tyrantis, a heroic warrior who is kind but dumb of ass, learns of strange goings on outside his home and investigates. During his journey into the unknown he falls in love with a powerful woman, whose favor he tries to win. Through happenstance he is separated from his love and, distraught, wanders around fighting various foes to prove his worth, before finally returning to his love a better hero. Invasion from Beyond! could even be seen as a sort of Morte d’Artur, with Tyrantis and a bunch of other kaiju heroes (including Nastadyne and Kemlasulla, who are built up as Hero Kaiju of Another Story) take part in a huge battle that threatens their idealic kingdom (of monsters).

- Volume 2 isn’t the end of ATOM, but it’s designed to work as an ending if you want to tap out here. As a reader I feel a definitive ending is important, but as a writer I’m always tempted to revisit my beloved characters, so I feel giving closure while leaving a few doors open for possible future adventures is a good compromise between these positions. There will be more ATOM stories, some (but not all!) following Tyrantis and Dr. Lerna, but if you want to know that Tyrantis and Dr. Lerna get an ending and the resolution to their arcs such a thing promises, here you go. An ending, if not THE END.

#The Atomic Time of Monsters #A.T.O.M. Trivia

23 notes · View notes

joezworld · 4 years ago

Note

What is the status of vehicle rights in places like China or Russia, with rather patchy (at best) human rights records? What was it like in the USSR, Nazi Germany, or the Empire of Japan? And did Mussolini ever get his locomotives to run completely on time?

Strangely enough, it was a lot better in those countries for at least a while.

To start, check out this post that goes into a little detail.

So, this post is going to not mention the United States or Canada - I’ve done posts on them before.

Interestingly, three of the greatest proponents of locomotive rights in Europe came from people with some of the worst human rights records in modern history: Hitler, Stalin, and King Leopold II.

Belgium has a long history of locomotive rights, stretching back to within 20 years of the introduction of the railway in the country. During the first days of the reign of Leopold II, the king declared that locomotives and other railway equipment were to be considered “on the same level as any Belgian citizen”. Official government histories say that this was because of the king’s desire not allow slavery to happen on Belgian soil, but the existence of the very inappropriately named Congo Free State puts this answer in a very bad light. The generally accepted unofficial answer is much, much funnier - Leopold II was born after the first railways were laid in the country, and as the future king, he was kept well appraised of any new technologies in the country. He also had many, many, many, mistresses. In case you can’t tell where this is going, it is entirely likely that several of his more private extramarital affairs were with locomotives owned by the Belgian state rail company. Locomotives were at the time viewed as little more than beasts of burden, and while Leopold was more than willing to commit heinous atrocities upon the Africans, he was not about to stand here in his own country and get called an enjoyer of bestiality - so he made locomotives people in order to get ahead of his critics should an affair be made public. This had the interesting side effect of making Belgium one of the more progressive countries in Europe as far as locomotive rights went, and Belgian locomotives were very dedicated citizens often serving in civil and military leadership positions around the country. During the first world war, Belgian locomotives actively resisted the Germans for the entirety of the invasion, and a not-insignificant percentage of German locomotives brought in to manage the chaos were brought over to the Belgian side by promises of citizenship.

-----------

This did not go unnoticed by other, much worse European leaders such as Adolf Hitler, who understood the value of a functioning rail network as far as war logistics went, and made significant strides in offering French/Dutch/Polish/Russian/Norwegian/Italian/Etc. engines Nazi citizenship if they served the Reich. Unfortunately for Hitler, Nazis are terrible people who lead out fear, and many of the locomotives who did sign up for this did so because they wanted to Not Die, not because they supported the cause. As a result, large portions of the Reichsbahn rolling stock fleet just ran away or defected as soon as the Allies started getting near, causing serious supply issues that hastened the downfall of the German war effort.

Also, because I know someone is going to ask about it, yes, those trains still ran. Please don’t ask me to elaborate beyond what’s here.

Because locomotives would see what was going on and objected, the Reichsbahn very quickly began staffing those trains with engines that were True Believers, or (even worse) Jewish engines. (Those usually made one way trips, and it’s just as bad as you might think.)

Following the war, many locomotives who had been cleared of any collaboration charges still possessed their Nazi-Era citizenship, and tried to get them turned into citizenship of their home countries. Most places said no (except Belgium) and were promptly glared at by the American service-engines who were rebuilding their countries from the ground up, and then agreed.

The impact on European Locomotive Rights by the Americans cannot be understated. Most European governments were totally prepared to resume the status quo if it wasn’t for the Americans rolling around with their US Citizen status on full display. This is also another reason why England is such a laggard in Locomotive Rights - the country was not as heavily destroyed as continental Europe, and was able to rebuild itself without US "interference".

----------------

Stalin also was a firm believer in Locomotive Rights, for many of the same reasons as Hitler was - locomotives have the ability to bring your country to a halt, so you’d better have them on your side. He’d made attempts to make locomotives citizens before the war, but the Soviet efforts really came into their own during the 1950s - Stalin’s purges had removed a lot of humans from existence, and most locomotives at that point had been built by the USSR in the USSR, and therefore had no concept of ‘Disloyalty to The State", so they were natural fits for many roles within the Soviet government. At one point in 1982, the USSR’s Ministry of Transport was staffed only by vehicles, with no humans present whatsoever. The total integration of vehicles into the USSR reached its zenith in the late 70s, when new buildings were required to have elevators capable of lifting locomotives and other extremely heavy vehicles to at least the third floor - this requirement has remained even to this day, and most eastern European residential structures have the structural strength of a nuclear bomb shelter as a result.

It should be pointed out that while the USSR might have treated locomotives well, it was still an authoritarian dystopia, and nothing here is an endorsement for the country or its actions/politics.

Following the dissolution of the USSR, the hypercapitalist state of the former Eastern Bloc meant that anything and everything was up for sale, including people and machines. One enterprising locomotive used his newfound wealth to create a formidable trade union/gang that covers most of the former USSR to this day. This organization is the primary driver of locomotive rights laws in the former Soviet Bloc, but it should be noted that a lot of the pushback against locomotive rights comes from politicians trying to shut them down specifically.

---------------

Japan is... weird. Locomotives have been fully adopted into their society for generations, and there was no loss or gain of rights during the Second World War, as they were already in place. Let me explain why:

Due to Japan's Shinto influence, locomotives were considered to be basically human from their inception on the island - the first law specifically related to locomotives in the world was an edict issued by the Emperor in regards to the three locomotives imported by English and European engineers for use on the upcoming Shimbashi-Yokohama railway - they were to be given the same rights as those locomotives built domestically. Since then, most Japanese laws have included locomotives by default, often making no mention of them unless specifically including them because of physical differences. [For example, locomotives are not required to partake in mandatory military service, as their service to the railways is often more valuable, especially during peacetime.] However, while locomotives in the West were free to work as they pleased, even off of the rail network, Japanese trains do so in remarkably smaller numbers, with over 98% of locomotives remaining in railway service until their retirement. Those that do not do so typically enter railway-related fields like locomotive construction, upper management in railway companies, or working in the Japanese Ministry of Transport.

In this sense, locomotives in Japan can be considered to be less free than their western colleagues, as the nation culture of "work until you die" meant that no attempt was made to allow trains to enter human society, forcing them to essentially be segregated from humans when not directly pulling trains, as land is too scarce to use for western-style 'locomotive cities' except in extremely rural areas and Nagasaki*.

*Following the atomic bombing of the city in 1945, Nagasaki was rebuilt by the American occupying forces - many of whom were USRA locomotives. The city’s bombed-out industrial areas were already layered with train tracks, making it easy to create a locomotive sized living area. Hiroshima, which suffered damage to its human-oriented urban core, was not rebuilt with trains in mind.

As such, locomotives are considered full Japanese citizens, but most Japanese humans have never interacted with them. Exceptions do exist, mostly in rural towns and villages, where a locomotive is usually considered to be the town's 'honored elder', as most locomotives on small branches have lived in the area for many decades, making them the oldest member of the town in many cases. This has lead to many culture clashes in larger cities, where residents may be apathetic to the desires their locomotive neighbors, much to the dismay and shock of a 'country bumpkin' who lives nearby.

Of particular issue to locomotive freedoms are multiple units. Since the 1960s, Japanese railways have put more focus into EMUs/DMUs rather than standard locomotive hauled trains. This has caused even more segregation amongst Japan's rail population, as permanently coupled multiple units cannot access the few existing locomotive/human developments, as they were designed for standalone locomotives. Urban sprawl and high land prices have made enlarging these developments is impossible. To date, the only MU focused 'loco-city' (other than one-track sheds in rural farming communities) is in the Fukushima Daiichi exclusion area. However, as the line accessing it is in the traditional Japanese 3'6" gauge, the community remains inaccessible to the 4'8.5" gauge Shinkansen trains, many of whom are almost totally isolated from anyone else - despite living in Japan's largest cities - as a result of their loading gauge restrictions.

Similar social isolation occurs to ships and aircraft, but as they are able to receive emotional support from friends and relatives across the planet, they do not suffer from this isolation nearly as much.

-------

At no point in Italian history has anyone been able to make the right decision in regards to locomotive rights. This is not to say that Locomotive rights (and vehicular rights in general) don’t exist in Italy - they do, rather thoroughly - but rather, the Italians have never once done so intentionally, instead implementing locomotive rights by having multiple laws, written on multiple occasions over multiple decades, that are so badly written that a train could and likely was driven through the loopholes that exist in them!

#ask response #long #locomotive rights headcanon #sentient vehicle headcanon #sentient trains #sentient vehicles #italy #japan #ussr #ww2 #belgium

21 notes · View notes

sepublic · 4 years ago

Note

I'm rooting for one of the scenes from the first episode of the second season to be Luz coming down from the room and saying "Good morning King, Good morning Eda ... * Deadly look * ... Lilith ..."

Lilith is DEFINITELY a mixed-bag for Luz, and it’s worth noting that in our shot of Luz with the others, Lilith is notably physically separate from the rest.

And… Lilith would be interesting for Luz. On the one hand, Luz is not exactly one to hold grudges and clearly isn’t used to this, and she’s just glad to have Eda back; On the other hand, Lilith is also directly responsible for Eda losing all of her magic, and Luz KNOWS how much magic means to Eda, especially since Eda initially tried to enroll in all tracks back when she was at Hexside! So even if Eda can still learn to live with the loss like she did her curse, even if it presents an opportunity for Luz and Eda to be closer and learn about glyphs together… It’s still not ideal.

Not to mention, Luz KNOWS how lonely Eda has felt, she noticed how angry Eda was when Luz was endangered by Lilith… Considering how selfless Luz can be, I’m not even sure if she even cares that Lilith tried to hurt her specifically, because to Luz, Eda was all that mattered in that moment! And Eda, well…

It’s weird. Lilith caused the curse, she served Belos, but she also helped SHARE the curse, and it WAS an accident, somewhat; As in, it was only meant to last a day and probably wasn’t supposed to even make Eda turn into an Owl Beast, as far as Lilith knew! Obviously Lilith’s handling of the situation afterwards for years to come was flawed, and I don’t think Luz remembers all too fondly the condescending way Lilith called her a ‘pet’.

…On the other hand? Eda seems glad to have her! And honestly, I think Luz would look to Eda for guidance on how to feel, especially since Eda knows Lilith more, Lilith is Eda’s sister and that’s her main point of connection to Luz, etc. If Eda is happy to see Lilith finally have a change of heart –and Luz is someone who is ALWAYS eager to support those who do- then that’ll definitely decide her feelings on the matter. As I said before, for a while Luz only really knew of Lilith through her connection with Eda, by what Eda herself said, and what Lilith did for/to Eda…

So just as Eda was the bigger priority even when Luz was being pushed towards a giant spike by Lilith, I think the same will apply here! And obviously Eda may have concerns about Lilith with Luz, but in the end, it all goes down to how Eda feels for Luz… And even if she DOES have her own personal resentment, I think she’d be willing to swallow it down if Eda asked Luz to. Of course, Eda would never force Luz to repress herself, but the sentiment is there. Eda knows Lilith better than anyone else in existence, so SHE’S the best candidate for judging Lilith’s character and Luz knows it.

And that’s not even getting into my speculation that Lilith’s change of heart lowkey inspired Luz to open up towards Camila about the truth (amidst other pragmatic reasons), so ultimately… Luz would TOTALLY have her dark, serious moments towards Lilith here or there. But in the end she’s willing to keep an open mind, it’s why she stopped trying to kill Lilith the moment Lilith herself admitted aloud that, YEAH, she’sthe one who deserves to be petrified, not Eda!

It’s worth noting that Luz already knows Amity, and while Amity never went nearly as far as Lilith… It’s still clear that she was also another kid who was given a very unhealthy, toxic mindset by the Coven System. Luz knows that while individual choices should still be held accountable, it’s ultimately the system that’s causing all of this chaos, betrayal, and madness.

Luz knows that Amity is inherently a good and sweet person and another dork like her, but abuse and circumstances pressured and convinced her to do some pretty terrible things. Granted, we don’t know what the Clawthorne Parents were like, and I can imagine Luz eventually bringing it up at some point, as she’s trying to figure Lilith out and WHY the Emperor’s Coven means so much to her…

…But generally speaking, Luz has already forgiven Amity. So it’s not out of the question for Lilith to redeem herself in the girl’s eyes. If she’s willing to consider Amity’s perspective, and already did the same for Lilith at least once… Then after the other things Lilith did and her previous remorse, I think Luz would keep listening.

#the owl house #owl house #the owl house luz #luz noceda #the owl house lilith #lilith clawthorne #the owl house eda #edalyn clawthorne #speculation #ask

85 notes · View notes

dreadwulf · 4 years ago

Text

Love is a Burning Thing

(part 1) (part 2)

He is riding away from her. Farther and farther away.

Jaime is riding at the head of his battalion across the Crownlands. Glory trots along quite amiably, at pace with hundreds of other horses around him. Without his needing to move a muscle, at every moment Brienne is farther away. He can feel the distance stretching between them like she is still holding onto him somehow and pulling with all her might, ever since she had left him this morning.

It hurts. Like a steadily increasing stomachache, only it’s some other organ down there in his gut. If there is a structure in the body that secretes devotion like eyes spill tears, it is surely there, somewhere in his belly, and it is contracting violently, whispering at him to turn around and go back. But his gut is perpetually wrong, and cannot be trusted. This is exactly what he wants, to be getting away from Brienne as fast as he can. If it hurts, well, Jaime is quite accustomed to being hurt by the things he wants.

They ride for King’s Landing, and the ache simmers inside him like a low fire. But there is enough else to occupy his mind, and surely it will fade into the background, unimportant, beside the urgency of a Targaryen invasion.

His squire is watching him worriedly from his palfrey nearby, and Jaime straightens under the young man’s scrutiny. Smiles back at him until his squire grins cautiously back, and spurs his horse to ride over to the flanks. There, that’s more like it. Lord Lannister is no lovesick boy pining after some maiden. He made a foolish mistake, but fortunately it has cost him little. A few days away from his post, some chagrin before his men, and this wretched ache in his gut. That is nothing he can’t recover from.

His squire is riding, he notes, much more smoothly than he did when last they rode the Kingsroad, leaving the capital. He has grown tremendously in these months. Just as he had told Brienne, he will have to knight him sometime soon, Peck. Else some other knight will do it, and deny him the honor. He has been a good squire, and Jaime will regret losing him.

Does he hope for it? Jaime wonders. At his age I thirsted for battle, and if there are truly Targaryens on the march there will be some promise of glory. If he knights him today, Peck will have to fight for his King. He will probably have to fight either way, but as a squire he will keep to the periphery, and a knight will be expected to charge on horseback, into the thick of the fighting. But Peck has not shown any remarkable talent at swordplay, not as Jaime had when Ser Arthur Dayne had knighted him. Not that, not yet. Let him squire a little bit longer.

His eyes drift to the wagon where the sons of the Riverlands are riding, where until this morning Podrick Peck had sat chattering and playing at dice with the other boys. What will he do with the hostages when they ride to battle? They could squire for his men. But if he loses any of them in battle, he will lose the cooperation of their parents as well.

I think Peck was sorry to see young Podrick go, Jaime thinks. His squire had taken the smaller boy under his wing, and the younger Payne had looked up to him with the kind of hero worship reserved by young boys for older, not-quite-grown boys. Peck enjoyed that attention, clearly. Podrick had a starry-eyed eagerness that his squire would be just outgrowing. An innocence.

Jaime had spoken with the child as well, the night they had caught him sneaking into the camp. A scared and reticent boy to begin with, with a fearful glaze and a pronounced stammer that made one wonder if he had lost his wits. But with only a little encouragement, he had turned into a fair chatterbox. He had been startled to learn that the boy had squired for his brother Tyrion during the battle of the Blackwater; it had been he that saved his life, though not his nose. Timid he may be, but the young squire does not lack for bravery. It seems he had left King’s Landing looking for Tyrion, and followed the Maid of Tarth in hopes that her quest would lead him there. His brother had been good to him, Podrick said.

As not many people have been, I’ll wager. Cast-off of a cast-off of House Payne, small for his age, and guileless as a newborn.

Jaime had offered the boy a berth in his army. He could squire for Jaime’s cousin Addam Marbrand, or at least apprentice to someone in his camp, earn his keep. He would not be a hostage like the Riverlands’ noble sons, but he could still run about and play with them, as he seems to enjoy doing. I suspect the boy has not done much of that either, he notes.

Pod refused his offer, however. He said, with some hesitation, that he hopes Lord Tyrion is well, and thanks Ser Jamie for the kind offer, but he would rather stay with Lady Brienne, wherever she will be. He has a fair cavalcade of praise for the lady, which Jaime endures without comment. All in all, he seems a good lad. Loyal. From what little he saw, they are quite tightly bonded, the boy and his lady knight.

He ought to feel better knowing that. If he was to be sacrificed for another, at least the other was a good-hearted and clearly beloved child. It could have been Lem Lemoncloak.

It does not make him feel any better.

He had gritted his teeth to look upon the boy, to be honest. Can one be jealous of a child? But Podrick very obviously had his lady’s love, and Jaime does not.

He has only just learned how much the wench meant to him, and how comparatively little he had meant to her in return. For her, at a moment’s notice, he had thrown over his family, his house, his responsibilities, to follow her into the Riverlands on the flimsiest of excuses, all because he thought she needed his help. It had been startlingly easy to do it, and as he walked away from his life he had felt lighter and merrier with every step.

What a fool he had been. As it turns out, she would not do the same for him - no, he was no more than a hostage himself, intended to free the companions she valued more. This boy, and that Hunt fellow, a hedge knight of some sort, who awaited them at the Dread Lady’s Gallows. Brienne had risked a great deal to come and find him, but the risk had not been for his sake.

But no matter. She is gone now and he will not see her again. He will return to his life and go about forgetting her. That should make these feelings stop. It will have to end sometime, the crawling betrayal, the creeping shame, the sharp sting of rejection, and that time will come much sooner without the constant reminder of her presence. With time he will stop thinking of her, and it will be like he had never met that stubborn, ugly beast of a woman.

This is not making him feel any better either. Cheer up, he tells himself, tomorrow you may die.

The Targaryen pretender has already taken Storm’s End in a rout. This “Aegon” has a band of supporters and a hired troop of mercenaries, the Golden Company, and at last word was riding out to face Mace Tyrell and the Crown forces. Of course it isn’t Aegon Targaryen - Jaime knows all too well the babe was slaughtered, skull crushed against the wall by his father’s creature The Mountain - but he looks the part, with the Targaryen hair and eyes. Perhaps he is some unknown cousin, some lost branch of the Targaryen family tree using Aegon’s name. Should Westeros be nostalgic for the relative peace of Targaryen rule, they might find the young man very persuasive.

He turns the details over and again in his mind. The Golden Company, a fearful force, and Targaryen banners stirring the populace to rebellion. They could be marching into a battle they cannot hope to win. Impossible to tell from the increasingly vehement missives he has received from the Queen Regent. She commands him to victory, but does she truly expect it? As has been amply demonstrated to him recently, he cannot expect even his closest allies to place much value on his safety. After all, what does anyone care if the Kingslayer should die?

My sweet sister would summon me regardless. She has shown that often enough. As coin she would spend me on a hopeless trial by combat merely to flaunt her purse. No doubt my beheading at the gates of King’s Landing would be just as gloriously pointless.

Though Cersei, it seems, wants him only to return to her side directly, to serve as her personal bodyguard. She is grown obsessed with some prophecy that the children will all be murdered and her choked to death at Tyrion’s hands. Hearing that Tyrion himself is approaching the city has sent her into a kind of frenzy. Her last letter was nearly incomprehensible, raving.

Yes, that had been the last bit of news the Spider had passed along, with the rest of his whispers: his own brother Tyrion rides with Aegon, and advises the Targaryen pretender how best to defeat their House in battle. That was the lowest blow, and it had knocked his usual confidence right out of him. Jaime does not fear battle, but he dreads this confrontation.

If one side wins, his sister and son are dethroned and probably executed. If the other side wins, he will have to kill his brother. Jaime loses either way.

He should not worry about defeat. The Crown forces are superior, the Lannister army vast and well-provisioned, and King’s Landing is by design a difficult city to take. But his brother is fearsomely clever, and he was Hand. He defended King’s Landing against Stannis Baratheon, and a man who knows how to hold the city will know how to take it. If he does, he will have his revenge for a lifetime of slights. He knows Tyrion holds it against him still, the lie he had told him about Tysha. After all the years they had been beloved brothers, after Jaime had set him free and saved his life, his little brother saw fit not only to murder their father but to conspire with their enemies to contest Cersei directly for the throne. He does not expect Tyrion will pull any punches now for old time’s sake. Not when they will face each other across a battlefield.

If there is anyone left who has not yet stuck a knife in my heart, they are running out of time to do it.

He mulls over such thoughts feverishly as the dimming winter sun lowers in the sky. For a time he considers pressing the Lannister troops onward into the night to reach King’s Landing. It will be only a few hours march from here, and their summons have been increasingly urgent. Still, he would rather rest his men so that they can arrive fresh to the fighting and not exhausted from the road, and he commands them to set camp.

“Milord,” a lieutenant interrupts him tentatively as he unhorses, “we have Thoros of Myr bound in your tent as you requested, awaiting interrogation.”

Jaime smiles thinly. They have captured Beric Dondarrion’s Red Priest, who had somehow turned Catelyn Stark into the apparition who had lead the Brotherhood without Banners to capture him. Somehow during the conflagration with the Brotherhood he had run away and vanished into the trees. But Jaime’s scouts found him in the night, Thoros, stoking a meagre fire near Maidenpool. There was no time to deal with him in the morning, so they bundled him up and brought him along on the march - though they gave him no horse, and forced him to walk along tied to one of the wagons, thinking it would make him more cooperative.

The Lord Commander’s tent is first to rise, and resplendent before ever he sets eyes on it, not that he notices. He leaves Peck to unsaddle his horse and enters it in full uniform. He will get through this interrogation before undressing and taking his supper.

He sits in the armchair they have carried across the Riverlands for him, and accepts a glass of sherry. The muddy priest is bound on the floor before his desk, and at his command his bonds are loosened, and he is allowed to sit in a wooden chair before his desk. Jaime observes all of this as he finishes the first glass of sherry, and requests another.

Once a huge man, both tall and fat, Thoros of Myr is now considerably diminished. His red robes are cavernous around him, his skin hanging loosely off his skeleton in great folds. Formerly a fierce swordsman, the fire that he once brandished by burning swords has seemingly gone out. The old Thoros could wear this one like a cloak.

Even before Jaime can begin to question him, the Red Priest is firing questions back. First among them, “What have you done with the girl?”

“Which girl?” he stalls, disconcerted.

“The maiden with your blade.” He may be physically smaller but his eyes are bright and sharp, and he holds Jaime’s gaze without flinching. The priest explains patiently, “the tall young woman with the king’s seal, she who brought you to the Brotherhood. I saw you strike her down. Where is she now?”

Jaime ignores this questioning; it is none of the man’s concern. Instead he asks him of his escape from the ambush that night, which quiets him a bit. He could have fought them, could have produced a flaming sword and defended his Lady Stoneheart, but instead he had fled. Thoros does not seem to be interested in explaining why, averting his eyes and answering him shortly with “yes” and “no”.

He questions the Red Priest about Catelyn Stark, about Berric Dondarrion, about remaining members of the brotherhood and the commonfolk who supported them. Still Thoros turns the conversation back and back again to Brienne.

“But what of the Maid of Tarth? I saw her nowhere in your formation, amongst prisoners or soldiers.” He pokes and prods, Thoros, and his brow furrows with concern. “It has not gone unnoticed that she is gone. Some here have it that you have done away with her.”

His patience at an end, Jaime snaps back, “And what if I have?”

Thoros puts on a perplexed expression, blinking at him curiously. “That cannot be. Surely even you are not so cruel as that.”

“Surely I am, ask anyone in the Seven Kingdoms.” Thoroughly tired of judgement, he decides to go along with the Red Priest’s poor opinion of him, if it will loosen his tongue. “The wench lured me to my barely-averted death. I am well within my rights to punish traitors such as she.”

“Brienne of Tarth never betrayed you for a moment.” The Red Priest is disturbed, shaking his head sadly. “That poor, brave girl. She defended you to a crowd baying for your blood, said that you were a changed man, that you were not responsible for your reported crimes. We called her your whore. But you never touched her, did you? Wouldn’t trouble yourself with someone so pure of heart, when you have your sister the Queen in your bed.”

Ah, so Thoros still has a sense of humor after all. Jaime snorts. “So pure of heart she would lead me to my death, while calling me friend. How is that not a betrayal?”

“She was forced to it. Our dread lady commanded her to kill you and she refused. The entire Brotherhood demanded it and she refused. We offered her a choice, the sword or the noose.”

“And she choose the sword to save her own skin.” Jaime swallows from the glass. “I understand it, of course. It is a hard lesson for one such as her. No one is pure.”

“No!” Thoros smacks the palm of his hand against the commander’s table, and Jaime cannot help flinching. “She chose the noose. Brienne said she would not betray you and they put a rope around her neck and hung her, hung her choking and kicking from a tree. She would have died there without relenting but for Podrick Payne, the boy.”

No. No, it isn’t true, he tells himself. But it tracks with what the boy had told him. She did it for me, my lord, you have to understand… He had assumed the choice had been a simple one. Podrick or Kingslayer. But had there been another choice as well? Hadn’t he seen the angry red marks around her neck, or decided not to see?

“They hung him from the tree next to her, and when she saw him dying, she called for a sword. Not before. Not for herself. She would have died for you.”

“Lies.” Jaime has gone very still. Only the muscles of his hand flex, where he holds tightly onto the drinking glass. “The Brotherhood’s Red Priest. Why should I believe anything you say?”

The priest raises his hands, palms beckoning to the air. “What reason have I to lie about this? What benefit to me? I care no more for factions or grudges. I have seen war render this land a hell beyond anything my lord R’hllor or any the Seven could dream up. So far as I care whoever is left standing at its end is welcome to its rotten fruit. All that matters is that in the ruins of honor and justice I met a maid who embodied both, and now she is dead. That, my lord, is a calamity, and I would have you know just how great of one.”

He hardens his heart. “In this world you are either faithless or dead. She is both, and soon enough we will be too. It’s no calamity.”

“You utter fool.” The Red Priest has the nerve to look sorry for him. “Let me tell you: when we found that girl she was dying of fever, battered and broken by brigands, and all she would do is talk about Jaime Lannister. She said your name in her sleep. She said she had to find your honor. She pleaded for you to come for her when she was next to dead. Not her companions, or her kin. Only you. No sword could have been more loyal to you, and no woman more true to anyone.

Jaime’s guts are churning now, his heart clenching painfully enough to turn him inside-out. What a stupid organ, the heart. If he could, he would carve it out himself.

It makes him snap back at Thoros tightly, “Gold will buy loyalty as reliably, and a woman too.”

“Not like her, not to you. You are only too cynical or too stupid to see it. That girl loved you. She loved you.”

The glass in Jaime’s left hand abruptly shatters.

Thoros jerks back, more at the noise of it than anything else, and stares down wide-eyed at the Lord Commander’s desk. His hand had squeezed and squeezed the glass until it finally popped, in a small explosion of shards and blood. Now his hand opens and stretches, and the Lord Commander examines it curiously. A few jagged bits of glass stick out of his palm and fingers. It hardly hurts at all, but it produces an impressive amount of blood.

Lannister guards burst into the tent at the sound of breaking glass, and the sight of blood makes them draw their swords. Jaime waves them back. “My golden hand holds drinking glasses not so well as I’d hoped. Stay at your post.”

“My lord…” Thoros, distinctly alarmed at his lack of reaction, darts his eyes between the bleeding hand and Jaime’s impassive face. “Your hand…”

“It’s nothing.” For a second he moves to pluck the glass bits out of his hand, but his other hand is made of gold. Not much good for that. He can only poke at the bloody shards with a strange fascination. His guards watch warily, not leaving but keeping their distance.

“You know I am a healer. Allow me.”

He shouldn’t allow it, and his guards are visibly appalled, but Jaime makes no move to stop him when Thoros kneels at his side. He moves aside the golden hand, taking his flesh hand and extracting shards of glass with careful attention.

“I can’t imagine why,” the priest murmurs, “but Brienne thought very highly of you. I owe her some kindness, for what we did to her. If she is gone, you will have to do.”

Then it comes again; the pain. Worse than ever. Jaime bows his face to the floor at the weight of it.

“I let her go,” he manages to say, hoarsely. “I gave her the sword and I let her go. Her and the boy.”

“Truly?” Thoros looks up at him dumbfounded, uncertain whether this could be another of his jests.

But of course he let her go. What else could he do? He couldn’t keep her prisoner forever.

He sees it now, too late. Brienne in the cell, wasting away. The tears she had shed when he denied her Oathkeeper. How she had hesitated so inexplicably when he allowed her to leave. The way she had looked on him, as though she would accept any punishment he would give her. He had thought it was her simple goodness that made her contrite. But it could have been more. It could be true; somehow, she had loved him.

When he could not bring himself to harm her, he thought it his own weakness that stayed his hand. Perhaps they share the same weakness.

He jumps up from his chair with that thought, snatching his one working hand back from the damned Red Priest and sweeping out of his commander’s tent. He strides rapidly to the stables and grabs the bridle of the first horse he sees. Honor, not yet unsaddled from their ride.

Jaime rides hard against the twilight, back down the trail they’d come. Back to the place where he’d left her. It was a day’s ride back as an encampment, but a single man riding as fast as his horse is able made the distance in a few hours.

She won’t be there. She could have gone in any direction with a day’s advance. But if she stopped there. If she stayed to rest, and to think out her next move. If she waited there. If she waited for me.

He urges Honor to run faster at the thought.

The Riverlands rush by headlong and the pounding hooves drive every thought from his head until he is pure instinct, animal-simple: find her.

The clearing is empty when he arrives, and quiet.

Jaime slings down from his horse looking around him wildly. It’s dark. There’s no sign of anything. No fire, no trail, no sign she had been there at all except that he knows this is where he had left her. He knows that in his bones. He will never be able to forget this place.

He walks aimlessly in one direction and then another. Which way would she have gone? East is Maidenpool, closest of anything, where she might find Tully allies. Riverrun in the other direction, a farther walk but where she might potentially find a ship, go back to Tarth. Or would she have headed singlemindedly North, towards the Vale, without even stopping to supply herself?

He takes not much time to decide. He thinks Maidenpool, then North. Climbing back onto Honor he rides East, alert for any campfires or single riders,scouring the forest hour after hour, and shouting out her name until his voice is nearly gone.

He reaches Maidenpool with the dawn and sees no sign of her there.

In a haze of desperation he accosts passers-by, one after another. Have you seen a maid pass this way, with a sword and a young boy? Riding a chestnut horse?

They all say no. They step back from him like he has gone mad; but of course it sounds a bit mad, doesn’t it? A lady knight with a Valyrian steel sword, as big as The Hound, with her own squire. While he’s at it, he should ask after Galladon of Morne, and mermaids, and the Crone with her lantern. But perhaps it is the stench of a cursed man they respond to, a man who has held riches and lost them. Such ill fortune is catching. They give him a wide berth, they murmur, they leave him standing in the street lost and alone. Perhaps they do not know a Kingslayer when they see one, but anyone can spot a man laid low by love.

Have you seen a woman, an absurdly large woman? With the bluest eyes you’re ever seen? A woman with a sword - a broadsword, two-handed? Looks like she knows how to swing it? Have you seen her? Big and strong as an ox but pure as a maiden? Straw-blonde, a hand taller than me, shoulders as broad as a barn. Has no one seen her? A knight? A true knight? The truest knight that ever walked this land? Tell me where she’s gone. Please, tell me if you’ve seen her. I saw her and I sent her away. She loved me, and I let her go.

******************************************************

The sun is marking mid-morning by the time he returns, and there are dark clouds looming in the distance, swirling up from the horizon.

He has hardly left the saddle before he is accosted by a barrage of debriefs and dreadful news.

King’s Landing is burning. Aegon’s forces arrived faster than anyone predicted, are thoroughly breaking Mace Tyrell’s formation, and their secondary forces sneaking up the bay have set Flea Bottom afire. The Goldcloaks have surrendered already, and the Red Keep will soon be under siege. Even if they ride full-tilt for the capital it will be a rescue mission now, not a defense.

“Ready us to ride directly to battle in an hour,” he instructs his captains. “Leave the camp set here, and I set my cousin Addam in command. Peck, you and your lady Pia will stay behind with the hostages and the provisions. If we face defeat see that they are returned to their homes - quickly as you can, the Kingsroad will be dragon territory before long.”

His squire’s face turns quite red and he looks ready to argue with him, and Jaime quickly turns his back to him. He hears the lad sputtering behind him as he throws the tent flap aside and goes into his Commander’s Tent.

Jaime sits alone in his tent for that hour and he burns. He feels the flames of wildfire in King’s Landing, hears the screeching laughter of Aerys Targaryen getting his fiery baptism at last. His most sacred oath is to guard his King, and his King is in mortal danger and he is not there. He left Tommen unprotected. Left his sister, his son, his duty. His doom awaits him there, is waiting for him still. He must go.

All around him his men are making ready for battle. He knows, with a dreadful foresight, that it is not a battle they can win. It will be glorious, and at the end of it he will be dead and he will never see Brienne again.

Brienne. Brienne. His heart blazes in his chest.

He should have kept her with him. He should have let her tell her tale. His stupid pride would not allow it and now she is gone.

Where is she now? Sheltering in some rain-soaked forest? Hiding in some Tully supporter’s house in Pennytree? Could she have seen him foolishly asking after her, and held her tongue?

He has been cruel to her. He has let her suffer. He denied her Oathkeeper. He had been badly wounded, his pride wounded, his poor sore heart wounded, and he had wanted to hurt her too. When he saw her tears some sleeping part of him wanted to take it back. He felt monstrous for doing it, and told himself it was because he was a monster. He had stood there and watched her with her shoulders hunched and fists balled at her sides, tears running down her face. What might she have done if he had tried to soothe her tears? He could have been kinder.

Now she will remember him as bitter and petty and hateful when he is gone, and there will be no one left in the world who thinks on him fondly.

But at least she will not see this battle; at least he gave her Oathkeeper to keep herself safe. She will have to think on him when she wields the sword, and perhaps she will remember whatever it was that had made her care for him. Perhaps she will know, when she holds the blade, that he had loved her too.

Mother, let her know it for certain. Give her my love.

When the hour is up, he leaves his tent, mounts Glory, and rides to battle.

#ring of fire #tumblr fic #oh hello there plot #middle chapters are tough - there's two more after this

131 notes · View notes

k7l4d4 · 4 years ago

Text

Kamen Rider Info and Ideas (Feel free to ignore)

As a huge fan of Kamen Rider, I always wondered about ways it could be expanded, and maybe not improved so much as become More. So, right now, I am gonna make a list of Kamen Rider Series, starting with Black and RX, and continuing all the way to the Reiwa Era! Everybody clap your hands!! *Cricket noises* Okay, here we go!

Kamen Rider Black, and its sequel, Black RX, details the journey of Kohtaro Minami, or Minami Kohtaro for those who prefer the traditional Japanese naming conventions, on his mission to defeat Gorgom, an ancient tribe/organization that has evolved into a cultic terrorist organization bent on world domination. While still holding to the Showa era’s tradition of having Cyborg Riders, Black and RX were the first in which, aside from Kamen Rider Amazon, the supernatural played a prominent part in the powers of the riders, as Kohtaro and his stepbrother Nobuhiko were the designated heirs to the leader of Gorgom, the Century King, and infused with the relics that contained his power, the Kingstones. Both Kohtaro and Nobuhiko were infused with the Kingstones, in the attempt to convert them into the Villains Black Sun and Shadow Moon, with only Kohtaro managing to escape.

One of the things that I felt could’ve been at least a little better in regards to the series was if Shadow Moon could regain his original self and rejoin the path of justice. It would’ve also been pretty cool if Shadow Moon gained his own upgraded form, which did actually happen in tie-in novels and manga, and if either or both of them gained the ability to unleash a final form that drew upon the power they wielded as the New Century Kings. Ah well, that’s what fanfiction is for!

Kamen Rider Kuuga details the battles of Yusuke Godai, the successor to the ancient warrior of justice, Riku, as the Kuuga. Kuuga’s powers are derived from Growth, allowing him to access a variety of forms and powers based on what he needs to grow into, and can be bolstered by mystical energy sources to ascend even further! Yusuke’s enemies are the Gurongi tribe, ancient monsters who abandoned their humanity to satisfy their love of death and conflict, and wished to have all of humanity become as dark and twisted as them, with the “honor” of being the Gurongi to start the process going to whichever of them managed to win their tournament, in which the Gurongi Tribal-members all battled to the death as a whole.

One of the things that bugged me a little, was that Kuuga never fully evolved all his forms, and that his true final form was even used in his series! I mean, seriously, what!? Once again, budget concerns limit the awesomeness of a series before it can bloom, sigh.

Kamen Rider Agito is the story of Shoichi Tsugami, a young amnesiac who belongs to an offshoot of the human race known as the Agito. Agitos possess incredible psychic powers and exist in a perpetual state of evolution, adapting to the changes in themselves and the world around them at an incredible rate.

My only real beef with this series was the limited number of forms Agito had as compared to Kuuga, and that one of the Extra Riders had the lazy name of Another Agito. You heard me right. All in all, not to bad, but a little frustrating.

Next up, Kamen Rider Ryuki, which also served as part of the inspiration for the list. Honestly, with how much I plan on covering JUST for Ryuki, I’ll probably leave this off after this and pick up more tomorrow. Ryuki is one of the first series in the franchise to fully exploit the nature of multiple riders, and basically invented the concept of Dark Riders, which I will also explain.

Ryuki involves the Rider War, a conflict taking place in the real world, and a parallel realm known as the Mirror World, populated by unfeeling monsters known as, you guessed it, Mirror Monsters, which must constantly kill when in our world in order to remain stable, or at least they are allegedly supposed to. The Rider War was a conflict set up by a man known as Shiro to revive his dead sister, under the guise of a tournament to the death for a reality-warping wish, which Shiro wanted for himself. The war brought together 13, yes you read that right, 13 Riders, all with variances in their styles and abilities. This selfish conflict is partially, if not entirely why I said that introduced Dark Riders properly to the franchise; Dark Riders are individuals who bear the same transformative powers of Kamen Riders, but instead of using them to fight against the wicked and monstrous, are instead put towards their own selfish ends, and none of them are the type of individual you wanna run into in a dark alley.

The Riders of Ryuki derived their power from two things, their Contract Monster, a Mirror Monster that they formed a bond with in order to exist without needing to bring about death, and an Advent Deck, a Deck of Cards that harnessed the power of the Mirror Monster it bonded to and allowed the Riders to survive in the Mirror Realm, which is inherently fatal for humans to be in. One of the key aspects of Advent Cards is how they work, each one draws and harnesses an aspect of the Contract Monster it is connected to, or wields a power specifically to fight other Advent Riders. Now, before I get to my thoughts and ideas, I am going to list each Rider from Ryuki, as well as the nature of their Advent Decks and fighting styles.

Shinji Kido: Kamen Rider Ryuki himself, and contracted to the fierce Dragon-Type Mirror Monster, Dragonredder. With a Dragon on his side, you’d expect him to be the powerhouse of the group, right? HAHAHAHAHA no. Shinji stumbled upon the Rider War by near-complete accident, and, being the nice guy he is, decided if he was going to be a part, he would protect the bystanders from the conflict and ensure as many of the Riders made it out alive as he could. Easier said than done. Out of all the Riders, Ryuki has the least straight-forward fighting style, not helped by his incredible clumsiness, with his deck emphasizing the ability to have as many options as possible; jack of all trades master of none, but better master of none than master of one.

Ren Akiyama: Kamen Rider Knight, and the contract holder of the Bat-Type Mirror Monster, Darkwing. He comes across as aloof, cold even, whose only in it for himself, but in truth he decided to enter the war to save the life of his ill fiance. Knight’s fighting style blends straight-up direct combat, and subterfuge based war tactics, with his deck emphasizing this by providing him with both weapons and special abilities that optimize getting the drop on his foes. Hmm... themed after a bat, a knight, and mixing close combat with dark and spooky tactics. Now where have I seen THAT before?

Masashi Shido: Kamen Rider Scissors, a Dark Rider, and the contractor of the Crab-Type Mirror Monster, Volcancer. A corrupt cop and detective, Scissors took bribes and cuts in illegal dealings, and used his Mirror Monster to liberally dispose of witnesses as he pleased. He ultimately died when his contract was destroyed and Volcancer turned on him. Despite his practices necessitating subterfuge, Scissors’ fighting style is rather extravagant, emulating that of a gladiator, with his deck providing cards that mix heavy combat with putting his enemy into an unfavorable situation to seal the deal, fitting for a backstabber.

Shuichi Kitaoka: Kamen Rider Zolga, one of the neutral and later heroic elements in the war, and the bearer of the contract for the Minotaur-Type Mirror Monster, Magnugigas, a colossal bio-mechanical behemoth. A shady lawyer with a lot of wealth, Zolga was diagnosed with fatal cancer, and desired to become immortal to continue living his lifestyle forever. While initially uncaring and selfish, he ultimately came to see the value in others, and lamented all the criminals that walked free due to his actions, hoping Ryuki would win. Cunning, intellegent, and crafty, Zolga’s fighting style favors both heavy defense and massive firepower, burying an enemy in a storm of blasts while he hunkers down, with his deck further emphasizing this with a bevy of long-distance combat cards and barriers.

Miyuki Tezuka: Kamen Rider Raia, a fortune-teller beyond compare, he enters the war to save lives and honor his deceased friend, and bears the contract of the Stingray-Type Mirror Monster, Evildiver. Raia’s fighting style places heavy importance on movement, offering cards that can offer him superior movement, and uses a whip as his principle weapon.

Jun Shibaura: Kamen Rider Gai, an utterly selfish and monstrous beast of a man, he wields the contract of the Rhino-Type Mirror Monster, Metalgelas. A prodigy of computers and gaming, Gai sees the death match that is the Rider War as nothing more than a game, and the fighters as players he can wipe out at his leisure. Gai’s fighting style is a straight up rush of overwhelming force, with his cards emphasizing interfering with his opponent’s options to force them to fight him directly and his brutal power of himself and his Contract Monster gives him an edge.

Takeshi Asakura: Kamen Rider Ouja, and the main Dark Rider of the series, holder of the contract for the Snake-Type Mirror Monster, Venosnaker. A sadistic monster to his core, Takeshi killed his own family as a child, and left a bloody trail in his wake for years, remorselessly cutting down anyone who falls in his path in his bloodlust. Despite his seemingly simple minded nature, Ouja is immensely cunning, favoring a sadistic fighting style that emphasizes causing as much pain to his enemy as he can before they die at his hands, and he is far from afraid to get his hands dirty. Ironically, Ouja has one of the weaker decks in the war, bearing limited options to fight with, Ouja thrives due to his sheer brutality, fighting ability, and utter ruthlessness. “Fun” fact, unlike the other Riders, Takeshi never realized that a wish was up for grabs, he was just having a good time! When he finally learned that the winner got a wish, he decided his wish would be to have ANOTHER Rider War, so he could kill another pack of warriors! Ouja’s deck does have two solid advantages over the other riders; Ouja possesses extra Contract Cards, meaning he can add other Mirror Monsters and their powers to his deck, ultimately deciding to save them to take the Mirror Monsters of the Riders he kills, with his other big trick his Unite Card, which allowed him to COMBINE his Mirror Monsters into the horrifying Chimera-Type Mirror Monster, Genocider (ain’t that a name).

Odin: Kamen Rider Odin, a Rider not designated Dark only due to the fact he doesn’t have enough of a mind to be one, and wielder of the Phoenix-Type Mirror Monster as his Contract, Goldphoenix. Odin is unusual, in that he is essentially a puppet, a brainwashed shell that acts as Shiro’s representative in the war that occupies whatever body Shiro gives the Contract to. Out of all the Riders, Odin has the greatest immediate strength, allowing him to overwhelm just about anything in ideal situations, and if things go wrong, Odin (along with Shiro) can REWIND TIME to reset the war until Shiro gets the outcome he wants, only giving up when he accepts that he won’t be able to bring his sister back.

Satoru Tojo: Kamen Rider Tiger, a man who wants to be a hero, and wields the power of the Tiger-Type Mirror Monster, Destwilder. Tiger is a broken individual, lacking a LOT of basic understanding in regards to people, he wavers between good and evil in his desire to be a hero due to his incomprehension of what it means to be heroic, ultimately becoming a hero when he selflessly sacrificed his life to save a father and son about to be hit by an oncoming truck, finally realizing what it truly meant to be a human in his last moments. A highly inexperienced fighter, Tiger often lost, which didn’t help his instability, forcing himself to rely on ambushes to win, his deck favored close-range melee and offered him support in the form of ice attacks.

Mitsuru Sano: Kamen Rider Imperer, a self-styled mercenary rider, and wielder of the multi-type contract allowing him to command the power of the Gazelle-Type Mirror Monsters, with Gigazelle serving as the leader of his horde. Imperer was raised to believe that wealth was what was most important in life, completely missing the fact that his idea to be a mercenary in the Rider War was impossible as all but one of the contestants must die for it to complete and you cannot quit either. After falling in love, Mitsuru seemed to be realizing that there is more to life than money, he tragically died before he could act on his new views, trapped in the Mirror World, reaching out to the image of his love, screaming in fear. Imperer’s fighting style makes use of boxing, and bum-rushing his enemies with his massive swarm of Contract Monsters.

And, because I am starting to grow tired and this is REALLY LONG, I am gonna finish this later today before I burn out.

#kamen rider #kamen rider franchise #kamen rider series #kamen rider ryuki #observations #feel free to ignore this

6 notes · View notes

erzherzog-von-edelstein · 4 years ago

Text

Unification - Chapter 1

The winter air was crisp and cold, but Prussia felt warmth in his chest that made him quite immune to the frigid weather. He would never tire of the sight of Berlin on the horizon when he was coming home. For so long, the reason he would be riding into his capital was that he was returning from war. But now, in the relative peace that had followed in the decade since the collapse of the so called “Spring of the Peoples”, there had been little reason for him to ride out in full array.

Nor was he in a position where anyone would dare to cross him without risking a response from more than one Great Power. For the first time in his long life, Prussia was not waiting for Europe to combust into war. It was interesting, he mused to himself, that the fervor that could burn brightly in spring could be so sedate in winter. He would be a fool to think, though he had been able to scatter the revolutionaries to the wind, that the sentiment was gone.

He had made his peace with the nationalist cause, even if he had not embraced it.The idea of unity in and of itself was not abhorrent to him, not at its core. But, Prussia would embrace it on his own terms and in his own time. He would not lower himself to taking it from the hands of Baden or Wurttemberg when they had decided through their democratic prattling that they needed him to hold a nation together.

That was the reason he had brushed aside the crown they had offered him and met the offer with gunfire instead. Betrayal they had called it. Betrayal of the fatherland for his own ambition.

But, if they had wanted Prussia to agree to take their crown, they should not have offered it like it was a flattery that he had not deserved. The offer had been so constrained as well. They had assumed his pride and ambition would be enough to accept the offer of a crown when it shackled him. Prussia turned his thoughts away from the way the uprisings had risen and fallen so quickly. It only brought a small smile to his face to remember the look on Baden’s face when he realized that this farce would not end as he intended. That felt like a little bit of triumph at least.

They could hardly guess at the secret he was keeping hidden away Berlin. There was one factor that made Prussia certain that German unification would come in time, no matter what any of them did to stop it.

Ludwig had grown so much in the years since 1848, and it seemed like he was a little taller each time Prussia saw him. When the time came, the boy would become a man, and at that time he would have to be the German Empire. Prussia intended to do everything in his power to make that possible, but only on terms favorable to him.

He could feel the city air in his lungs, thick and full of possibilities. If he allowed himself the time to contemplating it, Prussia remembered how the city had looked when he had been a duchy. Somehow, the town aside a mire had grown into a metropolis. He would call it a miracle if he did not remember the years of hard work, heart ache, and bloodshed that had established him as a Great power.

For every person who had said he would never be more than a insignificant duchy, he had worked twice as hard to prove himself. Some part of him wished it had been enough to get this far, and to be first among the German states save for Austria, but his ambition was a ravenous beast who demanded more. The plans for further glory were in their infancy, but their existence gave him ample reason to smile.

He urged his horse forward as he made the last turn towards home. He was so glad to finally be coming home, and escaping from the careful politics of the German Confederation.

It had been an uneasy compromise to keep everyone’s ambitions and desires in balance. That had quickly turned out to be an ambition too lofty for one body. The reality was that it had proved exceptionally inefficient gridlock.

The hours spent in council rooms shouting their own self interest at each other was not Prussia’s ideal way to spend a day. But, if he were to avoid even one of the meetings, then he would be abdicating his significant influence to Austria. And, no matter what Sturm and Drang might happen, he would not let Austria dictate policy. What benefited Austria ran directly counter to his vision of the future.

It may mean that he had spend weeks at a time facing his worst enemies, but he would gladly face it with unyielding composure, always a courteous nod or a smile for even the worst of them. A younger, less experienced man might show his disdain for so many people in the room. But, Prussia kept himself in control for now. He could smile to their faces and let them think that they had muzzled his ambition in this useless arguing.

But, it was better to be able to breath the air not thick with political intrigue. His own capital city was such a comforting escape, especially when he knew who was waiting him as home.

He rode through the gates of the city palace and let out a sigh. It felt good to be home.

By the door there was a blonde young man standing impatiently next to his tutor. He was trying to hide his excitement and hold the composure that he was undoubtedly being taught, but it was impossible for him to not smile or for him to hide the sparkle in his blue eyes.

Prussia would not let himself indulge in this excitement, even though he felt it just as strongly as young Germany. He had made a priority of making discipline and self control a part of the young man’s upbringing. It would serve him well when he grew into a man and a country in his own accord.

Holy Rome had been too temperamental and childish to rule the German states the way he should have. Prussia would not allow the same mistake for this boy who would be his successor. Even if Prussia knew from personal experience that it would not be easy.

His years in a far off monastery had never been easy, but they had taught him skills that he hoped Germany could emulate.

Now Germany was too old to run to him in childish passion, and he knew it well enough to hold himself still. Prussia dismounted with dignified speed, though he longed to go directly to his brother.

His boot steps filled an excited silence as he walked away from his horse and up the steps to where Germany stood. He stopped in front of his brother, and prepared to speak. But, Germany’s control had reached its limits, and he said, “Welcome home!”

No man on earth could have brought himself to scold a boy from being earnest when he had waited patiently at least this long. Prussia replied, “Thank you, Ludwig.” He turned his attention to the tutor and said, “How are his studies?”

He wanted to know how everything had continued without him, though he had always been sure to place his trust in the hands of the best people. The mortal responded promptly, “He’s progressing well. He excels in every subject.”

Prussia caught sight, out of the corner of his eye, of Germany straightening his back a little in pride. The tutor added, quite unprompted, “He has earned a day of rest. He’s been working very hard.”

This surprised Prussia, since he had not asked, but it left him with no doubt that Germany had gone beyond the bounds of what was expected of him. That made him smile and he knew that Germany saw it. Prussia said, directly to Germany, “I’m very proud of you.”

For a moment, he felt a strange awareness. Germania had never said it to him, and he had heard so many of his kings refuse to say those words to their sons. But, what use was his pride if he never told Germany? He would rather those words pass his lips freely than let his brother suffer the same uncertainty that had plagued him since he was young.

There was a little ruddy happiness in Germany’s cheeks that he couldn’t have hidden if he tried to. Prussia felt that this was more than enough formality for now.

He kneeled in front of his brother, now with a sincere smile, and extended his arms. In that moment, he realized that Germany had once again grown while he was gone. The boy would be tall when he was fully grown.

Germany understood what it meant, and abandoned all of his formality. He threw himself into Prussia’s arms, wrapping his own arms around his brother’s neck. He said, softly, “I missed you, Gil.”

Prussia felt a familiar happiness return to him, that feeling of familial belonging. He was so glad that he could return to this. He said, quietly so that only Germany heard him, “I missed you too. I would rather be home with you.”

He meant every word of it. He was always reminded when he returned how much he loved and missed his little brother. Prussia was reluctant to release his brother from this hug, but they couldn’t stay here forever. He let go gently and stood back up.

He offered his hand to Germany, who took it in his own. Prussia led him inside, away from the ears of the soldiers or Germany’s teachers. He hoped they would be able to talk openly. If there was any difficulty, he wanted to hear it without any risk that Germany would not be honest with him.

As they walked through one of the long halls, Prussia said, “Ludwig, how are your studies really going? Is it going well?”

He hoped that Germany could hear the tone in his voice and know what he was asking. If any tutors were overstepping their bounds, they could be replaced. Prussia had always been very clear on one point: No matter how badly Germany might act up, no one was to lay a hand on him. Some of the tutors had openly shook their head and muttered something about sparing the rod and spoiling the child, but Prussia had been clear that any corporal punishment was grounds for that tutor to be replaced.

Germany said, speaking more freely now, “I am learning so much. Yesterday, I did my drills so well! I wish you had seen it.” He smiled up at Prussia with such genuine pride that the elder man could hardly stop himself from smiling back. Prussia said, “If you could do them well once, then you can do them again and I can see them.”

There would be time enough for that before there was another meeting of the German Confederation that Prussia needed to attend. He added, “When I was your age, drills were the easiest part of my day. What about your languages?”

Germany turned his face away for a second and Prussia felt a swell of worry that it was a sign that his brother was struggling. But, then Germany said dutifully, “I am practicing one per day, but three in total. Russian is so much harder than French or English.”

Prussia nodded, satisfied with this answer. Germany was not done speaking yet though. He asked, “Why must I learn so many?” It was not an insolent question or a protest, and Prussia would not treat it as either.

He gave the honest answer as why he had included so many, “When you are a country, you will need to speak the languages of your allies and your enemies.” Germany replied, “And which is which?”

Prussia chuckled. He had always known that his brother was intelligent, but this quick response was not what he expected. It seemed that the boy was learning about politics and beginning to develop an interest. Prussia replied, “That we will see with time. Alliances can change and it is better that you do not think of anyone as a certain ally.”

He spoke from his own wisdom, earned through hard years of war. Germany said, “I’m sure I will not be alone. You will always be here.” Prussia smiled down at the young man, and said in response, “Of course I will be.”

It was not an empty sentiment, and he hoped that Germany understood it more deeply than childish trust. But, the boy changed the subject. He said, “How was your time away? Tell me a story.”

Prussia laughed and shook his head. He stopped at a small table next to the door to his personal chambers. He let go of his brother’s hand, and started to work on taking off the decorative parts of his uniform, starting with his cuffs. As he did so, he answered the question, “I am afraid diplomacy does not lend itself to thrilling stories. Maybe next time someone will throw something. That would be really exciting.”

He finished with the decorations at his cuffs and started at the epaulets. Germany was still looking up at him expectantly. He added, “It really is quite boring, Ludwig. One day you will see and you will hate it too.”

Germany seemed unperturbed as he replied, his blue eyes big and fixed on him, “Will you let me come with you next time? I want to see what it is like.”

Prussia succeeded in removing his last embellishment and put it aside. He then said, “Not next time, Ludwig. But, I will take you with me one day. The time has to be right.”

He knew it would be a disappointing answer, but Prussia had to calculate when he revealed Germany’s existence. So far he had been able to raise Germany the way he wanted to, but the moment the rest of the German states knew, they would demand a chance to influence him too. Having so many people wanting to mentor him would not be good for Germany.

Prussia had to be certain of his own position before he let that secret out. But, he knew that Germany was not thinking in those terms.

Prussia said, smiling at his little brother warmly, “Don’t worry about that for now. How about you show me what else you did while I was away?” Germany’s face lit up again and he nodded enthusiastically.

-Vienna- Austria arrived home as the sun was setting, with a weight on his shoulders that felt constant. The arguing had given him a nagging headache, and the fresh air of his ride back had done nothing to dissipate it. Perhaps sleep would help, but he had been unable to sleep restfully in almost a decade. The stresses of his position caused him unending restlessness and he found himself more often than not lying awake.

He felt more exhausted with every passing day, and he could confide in no one. His subordinates all wished for their own freedom, and would see any weakness from him as an opportunity. But, he could find no solace in his fellow German states either. They were looking to him to be a strong leader, and if he failed in that role, someone else would push him to the side.

Even the man who rode at his right could only see so deeply into his worries. He looked over at Bavaria, his brother and his closest ally, and wished that he could open himself up entirely. They were bound by blood, marriage, and treaties, but he could not bring himself to trust completely. He was glad to have the company beside him in this moment, though the regret lingered.

Austria wondered if the trauma of coming so close to collapse only a few years ago had closed the last of the avenues into his inner feelings. But, he had never been open or forthcoming. Perhaps it was just his nature.

As his horse’s hooves sounded on the street in front of the Hofberg, he wished this felt like coming home to a place he could be safe. But the wolves were everywhere, even within his own walls. They may smile to his face and hope for his collapse so they could pursue their own selfish, nationalist agendas.

He dismounted and let out a low sigh. He heard Bavaria dismounting next to him and he turned his head to look at his brother. The Bavarian turned to him and flashed him a smile, which made Austria’s headache abate for a moment. Austria said, falling into the familiar role as host, “Allow me to offer you dinner. Then, we can talk.”

Bavaria clapped one hand on his shoulder, which surprised Austria, though he knew he should have expected it. It was Bavaria’s way to be physically affectionate, and always had been. He said, his voice carrying as it always did, “I gladly accept! I could eat a whole pig! Nothing makes me hungry like having to deal with Preussen for days on end.”

Bavaria never tried to be so loud, but the combination of his broad chest and his distinct voice made it so it was impossible for his voice to not fill a room. Austria had often wondered how it was possible that they were brothers when Bavaria was so tall and broad and he was smaller and slighter. They had always been so different, but family meant that they were bound to support each other in the hardest times.

Austria was not oblivious to the jab at Prussia either. He knew that the albino was the main reason behind his headache, but he had long ago accepted that Prussia would be stubborn. He would be more perturbed if Prussia became more agreeable. It seemed to be a well worn habit for Prussia to disagree with him. He had even begun to wonder if all of the objections were genuine, or merely the result of habit.

Austria led the way inside, speaking as he did so, “Forget about Gilbert for now. He is disagreeable, but we can keep him restrained.”

Bavaria looked like he wanted to respond, but he held it in for the moment. Now that they were within the palace walls, he was conscience of the formalities. His voice would carry and it was not polite when it was this late.

Austria’s goal was to find any member of the household so that he could find out if the emperor would need him tonight. He was lucky enough to find one of the servants and wasted no time in inquiring about the emperor. He suspected from the time of day that the emperor was in his study already working.

Franz Joseph had kept to a firm schedule from the moment he had become emperor, and had never deviated from it unless there was an emergency. The servant confirmed to him that the emperor had already started his evening work and did not want to be disturbed.

Austria nodded and said, “Tell him I have returned. There is no news that cannot wait for tomorrow. We will also require dinner.”

The man nodded and walked away to carry out the orders. Only then did Austria turn back to his brother. He could tell just from looking at the tall man that he was yearning to speak, but was holding back out of good manners.

Austria could guess what it was about already. Bavaria was not happy that he was brushing off the problem of Prussia so easily. But, among the countless problems that were laid at his door, Prussia was the one that was familiar and easily managed.

He turned and led his brother to the dining room. The quiet was disconcerting; he could not help but wonder who was in the palace at this moment. Was Hungary here, waiting to see him fail? Was Czechia? His mind would not forget what they did in 1848 and that they still hoped for his downfall. He was beset constantly with the most stubborn kind of women, and they no longer even pretended at loyalty.

He couldn’t help but hope that they were both in their own homes, where he could keep an eye on them through bureaucracy and agents instead of having to stomach looking in their faces. It was tiring to pretend they weren’t his enemies, and his energy was already spent.

He led his brother to one of the many dining room and let out a long breath as he sat in one of the chairs. Bavaria sat across from him, and fixed him with his icy blue stare.

Austria spoke as two plates of roasted beef and potatoes were placed in front of them, “You might as well say it. You will eventually anyway.” Bavaria picked up his fork and knife and replied as he cut into the piece of beef, “You cannot really think that Prussia is not a threat.”

Austria took several bites before he spoke. He was tired of this same topic over and over again. He did not want to let Prussia take up so much space in his head when there were so many pressing matters to be attended to. He replied, sharply, “I know you do not like him, but he is contained. The Confederation keeps him in check and I am content with that.”

Austria looked down at his food, and tried to pretend that he really thought that would put the conversation to rest. It was satisfying at the very least to be able to have a good meal.

The silence was short. Bavaria’s voice hid none of his scorn, “You are underestimating him. He is just waiting for the right moment to try for dominance again. He is too stubborn to accept the situation as it is.”

Austria sighed and laid down his utensils for a moment. He felt so tired from this bickering already and he knew from experience that Bavaria would not let a point rest until he had won it.

He said, running one hand over his forehead, “Leopold, what do you want me to say about him? He is wolf playing at being a dog, and I understand that. But I cannot constantly be on my guard for him when so much else that could destroy me at any moment.”

He saw Bavaria’s expression soften at the tone in his voice. For all of his bluster, he was still Austria’s older brother, and had a compassionate nature. His response was more measured, almost kind, “I am asking you to be ready when he makes his next move. It is clear to me that you are the only one who can make him back down.”

Austria could not help but wonder how true that was. Prussia had never really deferred to him, even when he had the title of Holy Roman Emperor and Prussia had been nothing but a duchy. Even in those secure, happy years, Prussia had not been the kind to listen to anyone. It was charming and frustrating in equal measure.

When he had believed the words of his sycophants, Austria had found an indelible fascination in a little duchy who had spoken to him like an equal. Now, when flattery rung so hollow, that charm had turned into something comforting.

He shook his head and said, “Whatever power I had over him ended a while ago. The strength of the Confederation is a better deterrent than me alone.”

Bavaria was busy taking out some of the frustration he felt on his potatoes with the back of his fork. He looked up again and said, “You have stopped him from murdering Saxony. There is no doubt in my mind that he would have done it if you had not been there.”

Austria sighed again. For as ravenous as he had been before, the food seemed much less appealing now. He remembered the fury of the Napoleonic wars, and he remembered how Prussia had directed his rage at Saxony, the only German state who had stayed at France’s side at the end.

It had shocked him to hear Prussia call so openly for the man’s head, but it had been difficult to blame them. He had lost a brother in that war and he wanted to feel that there was some justice in the world. It was extremity, but not unfounded. It had been difficult to talk him out of it, and it had required some threats, but Prussia had eventually been satisfied with humiliating Saxony.

But, that was decades ago now. Nothing was the same as it had been then. Austria shook his head, denying the relevance of the example more than its validity.

But, Bavaria pressed on, “You have also kept him from dominating the Confederation more than once.”

Austria pushed a piece of potato around his plate as he listened. It was reasonable enough, but he could not take confidence in it. What good was retaining control of the German Confederation when his own home always seemed on the brink of disaster?

If not for his pride and reputation, he might have been receptive to the idea of Prussia taking German leadership. But, no matter how much the fighting tired him, it would be far worse to give in.

He said, hoping it would be enough to satisfy Bavaria for now, “And because of that, we should not treat him as such an imminent threat. There is a way to restrain his worst impulses.”

The blonde shook his head. There was something like pity in his eyes as he looked up again. He said, “Think with your head not your heart.”

Austria immediately bristled. He would not passively take the implication that he was turning a blind eye to Prussia because of affection for the man. He shot back, “I do not feel that way about Gilbert.”

His brother replied with an almost mocking smile, “That wasn’t convincing, but that isn’t what I meant. You want peace for the sake of your young emperor. I think you are sympathetic to him.”

The explanation was less insulting, but Austria still felt stung by the idea that his decisions were not rational. He said, “Franz was put in a difficult position at a young age. Of course I hope he can have some peace during his reign.”

The Revolutions had been difficult for all of them, and Franz Joseph had been only 18 years old and ill prepared when he took the throne. Austria couldn’t have helped but feel a strong compassion for the young man. He had been reminded strongly of himself when he had become the seat of the Holy Roman empire early in his life. Franz Joseph had grown into his years, but they had been such difficult years. Peace would be good for him.

Bavaria said, patiently, “I understand why you care for him. I understand why Sissi loves him, too. But, I doubt you will be able to give him an easy reign.”

The name of the empress, dropped so casually into the conversation, made Austria feel uncomfortable. She was a strange creature, and he had never succeeded in understanding her. She also seemed to be far too comfortable around Hungary.

He knew he should speak well of her, since she was empress of the empire, and since Bavaria considered her to be something of a troublesome little sister. But, there was so much he wished he could say about how easily she seemed to abandon her duties.

He said, seizing the subject as an excuse to avoid talking more about Prussia, “Is she the reason you insisted on coming back with me? You have likely seen her more recently than I have.”

The empress had the tendency to wander from place to place, and the Bavarian court seemed to always welcome her. She seemed more comfortable with her cousins than she ever was in Vienna. The city made her sick, or so she said. Austria detested her absences. Surely, an empress should know better.

Bavaria shook his head as he said, “In a way, yes. But also, no. We have all seen her recently enough. Her father wanted me to visit Rudolf, since Sissi rarely speaks about him.”

Austria nodded, more to himself than to his brother. It would be good for the crown prince to have a visitor, and having Bavaria visit the court would be a welcome joy.

Austria thought that perhaps it might even lift his own mood. Maybe there could be time for them to ride like they used to when they had both been young men. There should be, he hoped, enough time before another crisis for some frivolity. He said, smiling for the first time that night, “He will be happy for the company, and so will I. Let’s be brothers for a while.”

The dinner dishes had been cleared away and Prussia was sitting at a small table in the parlor with his brother on the other side. There was a chess board between them with the very beginning of a game set up. Prussia had already made his move and was waiting patiently for his brother to make his.

Germany was chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip. He would occasionally hover his hand over one piece and then pull it back, like he was uncertain about whether it was the right one. Prussia said, softly, “Remember, you should think about my next move and then the one after that. You need to leave me without a good option.”

Germany rubbed his temple with one hand in frustration. He said, “I don’t know what will be right.”

He seemed to be agonizing about finding the perfect move, but that was exactly why Prussia had chosen this game. There were a number of answers and a number of strategies, but Germany needed to find them on his own. He said, trying to be a calm guide, “Be patient. It is better to take the time to have a good strategy than to follow your first instinct.”

Germany looked up at him and seemed to understand that this lesson went beyond a simple game of chess. He was a bright boy, and it was clear enough that this was another lesson. The boy asked, “But what if I make the wrong choice?” Prussia replied, “Then you adjust your strategy. Flexibility is the key to success. It is only a mistake if you fail to adapt.”

Germany nodded and looked at the board again. Finally, he took one of the knights and moved him to the middle of the board. As soon as he put it down, he looked up at Prussia nervously.

He seemed to be searching his older brother’s face for some sign that this had been right or wrong. But years of battle and diplomacy had taught Prussia to hide his thoughts well. He needed Germany to know that in war the answer rarely came that quickly, and it sometimes took years to understand whether a battle was a turning point or merely a setback.

He could see a way to sweep away the defense Germany had set up around his king, but he would not take that option yet. It would be cruel to be so hard on a boy who was just trying to learn. There was a difference between a harsh lesson and cruelty, and neither was right for a quiet night together.

Instead of taking the most efficient option, he moved his pawn into a place where Germany could have a way to take the advantage if he could see it. But, within the next move, it would appear to be an aggressive move.

Germany stared at the pawn like he hoped it would come alive and divulge the secrets of the strategy to him. His eyes then flitted from piece to piece on the board. He was so painfully careful in trying to understand and see it all.

Prussia couldn’t help but feel proud at how diligent Germany was. It would serve him well in the future. Prussia was willing to wait all night for another move if it meant that Germany understood better by the end.

With amusement, Prussia thought of his own frustration with these matters when he had spent long hours discussing strategy with Fritz. He had been a younger man then, and been too enamored with the idea of leading a charge and asking questions later. He hoped that he could spare Germany some of the pain of learning from losses like he had.

The young man eventually made a decision and moved one of his own pawns. It was a clever move. Prussia made his own move and waited again.

But, Germany said, “Gil, how long are you going to be home this time?” His voice was earnest, and it made Prussia wonder how many nights Germany had hoped he would be there, but politics had kept them apart.

That thought was laden with guilt, but Prussia knew it could not be helped. One day Germany would know that all the hard work and the time away from home was for his benefit. Prussia said, “I hope it will be for a while. Unless something happens that needs my attention.”

Germany was no longer looking at the game. Instead, he was looking up at his older brother. For all of his pretense at independence, Germany looked very much like a child who was asking for a favor. Prussia felt a pang in his heart.

He wished he could promise that he would be able to be home, that they could spend time together. But, the volatile world would never allow him that kind of leisure.

He could not bring Germany with him unless he wanted to expose him to the callous world of European politics, and he would not do that. He would not make a boy the target of other countries who did not mean him well.

Germany spoke again, “I want to show you everything I am learning.” Prussia replied, with a look that he hoped would calm his brother’s anxieties, “I will. I am not leaving again for a while.”

The blonde nodded and looked genuinely happy to have that promise. Prussia added, “First you can show me what you are learning right now. Make your next move.”

Germany let out a frustrated sigh, but he dutifully looked back at the board. Prussia gave into the temptation and said, “You are doing very well so far, but you should not neglect your queen.”

He knew he was taking some of the confusion out of the game, but Germany’s quick smile was thanks enough. Prussia’s attention was pulled away from the game when he heard a door open behind him.

He had made it very clear that he did not want to be disturbed tonight of all nights, when he had set aside time to be with his brother. If someone was interrupting, then the only explanation could be urgent news.

He turned his head to see a man proffering him a letter. The only explanation he got was a very short, “From Graf von Bismarck.”

That was enough for Prussia to know that this was serious. The chancellor rarely wrote unless there was a good reason. Prussia took the letter in hand and opened it. It could not wait even until the morning. If it could, the messenger would not have been let into the room.

He read it quickly, attempting to retain all of the words. Germany had noticed what was happening, and he asked urgently, “What is it?” Prussia looked back up at him and said, an ambitious smile curling up the corner of his lip, “The King of Denmark has died.”

#hws prussia #hws germany #hws austria #hws bavaria

12 notes · View notes

thecleverdame · 5 years ago

Text

Gods of Twilight - 19

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Master List (posting schedule is there as well)

Summary: You marry Sam, The King of Lebanon, as part of an alliance between two lands. You soon discover that nothing is as it appears and that your husband is hiding a secret that may end your relationship before it can begin.

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking. This chapter does contain some non-con elements.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

*This story is complete. All 27 chapters are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

“Sam!” Dean bursts into the room, gasping in horror at the sight of your blood-covered naked body on the bed. Sam is laying beside you with tears in his eyes, and there’s a new born baby still on your chest. “Is she gone?”

“Yes,” Sam clears his throat, wiping his eyes with the heel of his palm. Giving your lifeless body one last look he places a kiss at your hairline and collects the squirming infant in his arms. “I can’t look at her like this. Have them clean her body. I’d prefer to say my goodbyes when she looks more like herself.”

“Sam,” Dean starts, looking from the tiny hand of his niece to his brother’s heartbroken face. “It didn’t have to be like this.”

“Don’t start, please. I can’t take another round right now.”

“Why are you so stubborn?” Dean’s at the end of his rope. “She wouldn’t have wanted this! To die before she knew her child! To leave you.”

“She was a gentle person,” Sam hisses, fresh tears springing to life along with his rising anger. “Even if she was able to survive the change she would have loathed being like us. I would never force this curse on her.”

“I don’t understand you.” Dean shakes his head, both arms folded across his chest. “Take the child and go. I’ll make sure she’s well taken care of.”

Dean stands alone in the room with your corpse. All the color has drained out of you but if you weren’t covered in gore it would be easy to think you’re only sleeping. He steps closer, coming around the side of the bed and taking a seat.

While he never trusted you, he knows of Sam’s unwavering love. This will break his brother, and he wishes he could have done something to prevent it. All he can do now is avenge your death and the other lives taken in recent hours.

The full moon is two nights away and his body has responded accordingly. All his senses are heightened. There’s a quiet thump and he hones in on the sound. He waits, counts to fifteen and then another gentle thump.

It’s your heart. The last beats as the final vestiges of life drain away.

“You’re still here?” he asks, inching back to the bed.

There’s a thought flickering to life, a treacherous idea that his brother may kill him for. Sam has never known what’s best for him and Dean has been doing their dirty work since they were children.

Thump.

He knows his brother, he’ll want a mother for his child and he’ll fill the void as best he can. Perhaps Ruby or some other doe-eyed girl who won’t ask questions. But he’ll always be broken. Losing you will change everything. Sam doesn’t handle loss well, he goes dark. Sam gets hard. That’s how he’s always been.

Thump.

“Forgive me,” Dean whispers.

He knees his way onto the bed, lifting up a limp arm and allowing the beast inside him to take over. With glowing eyes and knife-sharp fangs, he sinks his teeth into your arm and waits to see if he’s bitten you in time.

But as time goes by it’s clear he didn’t act fast enough. He should have swallowed his hesitation and done what your husband should have the moment he realized you were dying.

Shaking his head in earnest, Dean takes one last look and leaves the room.

Sam sits in a corner of the reading room, staring at the fire. Martha is huddled with a wet nurse who’s nursing his child at her breast. He can’t look at the baby for too long, she’s a beautiful little girl but his heart has been ripped in two. The love he feels for his daughter only serves to exacerbate the gut-wrenching loss of his wife.

You’re gone and Sam only has himself to blame. He told you long ago that bringing you here was the most selfish thing he’d ever done, but that’s no longer true. Allowing you to give him a child, to offer yourself up in the name of love was a far worse transgression. He wanted you beyond reason and now he’ll pay the price.

He didn’t deserve you and he certainly doesn’t deserve the perfect baby in the corner who will never know her mother.

“Would you like to hold her?” Martha asks inching closer with the babe in her arms.

“No,” Sam doesn’t look up, staring at the flames licking upward.

“I don’t mean to overstep my bounds, my king, but it would be good for you to have her close.”

Sam wants to throw Martha out, toss her into the hall and be done with any memory of what came before this terrible day. But his daughter’s small hand reaches upward and he can’t refuse her.

“Give her to me then.” He takes his daughter, settling back into the chair and Martha moves off to the side. The infant is tiny but alert, looking up at him with big, wide eyes. “She is a child with no name.”

“She doesn’t need one, not yet.” Martha scoffs.

“What sort of father am I that I can’t name my child?”

“A grieving one.”

Sam shifts, bringing the baby closer to inspect her face. You were so sure the baby was a boy and he was convinced there could be no better feeling in the world than having a son. But he was wrong yet again, because this small girl is enough to fill his heart ten times over.

There’s a timid knock at the door and Sam looks up as Golda slides inside. She wipes tears from her eyes, unable to look at him. She already thought him a monster, a wild brute of a man who assaulted his wife, but now he’s killed her mistress and friend as the grand finale.

“My lord,” her voice shakes. Wringing her hand together, more tears slide down her face. “Th-they’ve cleaned and prepared her. She’s been laid at rest in the Great Hall.”

Your body will be on display until the funeral. Many will come from far and wide to pay their respects, but he’ll be the first.

“Thank you.”

It’s well into the early hours of the next morning when Sam works up the wherewithal to say his goodbyes. He checks on his sleeping daughter and a snoring Martha in the rocking chair next to her before slipping out in the hall.

His personal guard is at the ready, following him to the Great Hall and waiting in silence as he closes the doors behind him.

Your body lies at the far end, on display in front of the tall, ornate fireplace.

“At least you won’t be cold anymore,” he mutters.

Taking a breath and closing his eyes he gives himself one last moment before looking directly at you. You’re beautiful as ever but unnaturally still. Arms carefully crossed over your belly and your hair has been washed and combed.

Sam thinks he may die here and now, the pain in his chest is too great and he falls to his knees, crying out in agony. He’s already lost more than his share of family, he’s not sure how he’ll bear this weight.

He’s still sobbing when quiet footsteps approach behind him.

“Leave me!” Sam shouts, wiping his cheek with his sleeve.

“No,” Dean’s voice replies. “I’ll stay with you. So you don’t have to do this alone.”

Sam nods, standing up and turning to his brother who embraces him with tight arms. It’s been years since Dean held him like this, perhaps since they were both children.

“I loved her,” Sam whispers.

“I know,” Dean pats his back. “And she loved you.”

Sam doesn't have the words to express the way his heart aches, so instead he holds your cold, stiff hands and kisses your knuckles, uttering barely whispered apologies and professions of love. With a kiss to the forehead, he touches you for the last time before stepping back next to his brother.

“Have you discovered who attacked her?”

“Not yet,” Dean hooks a thumb in the waistband of his trousers.

While they haven’t talked, Sam knows Dean’s been working diligently while he’s been drowning in grief.

“If she had not lost so much blood from the knife wound, she might have survived the birth.” Sam states calmly, rubbing his hands together as if trying to work himself up into action. “She was murdered, Dean.”

“Yes, she was. I’ll find out who and then you can decide how to deal with the culprits.”

“Gutted and hung in the town square should do just fine,” Sam spits, his blood rising. He’s not quick to violence but he’ll happily inflict pain and suffering on whoever is responsible. “Where do we start?”

“You should spend time with your child, take a day or two. Let me do the groundwork.”

“No,” Sam clasps a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “This is what I need now, a purpose, something to fill my head with thoughts of anything other than her face...it’s all I think about. The way she looked at me-”

“We can’t have you sitting around torturing yourself, now can we?” Dean slaps his brother in the ribs assuredly. “Ruby said they have a suspected poacher detained in the stables just outside the farm that sits near the southern border. I am going there now.”

“I’ll accompany you,” Sam confirms, grateful for a task to focus on. He’ll slaughter every last person who was involved with the attack if it’s the last thing he does.

Sam follows Dean through the winding halls of the castle, down and down, until they find the stables. He mounts his steed and grips the reigns, wishing nothing more than to put distance between himself and the death that lurks inside.

“My king!” A servant boy runs toward him at full speed. “My king, you must come right away!”

“What are you talking about?” Sam looks to Dean, his heart speeding up to a gallop.

“I don’t know, sir. The midwife has called you back. It’s urgent.”

He prays to God to protect his child. He’s suffered all he can and losing his daughter would be a lethal blow.

He pulls off his gloves as they sprint back through the wide halls, Dean and a fleet of guards trailing behind them. They’re headed toward his temporary bedchambers, when a cry can be heard from somewhere deep inside the castle.

“Not here, sir.” The boys leads them past the door where he left his sleeping daughter.

While it might not be loud enough for human ears, every wolf perks up at the sound of one of their own in distress. The blood-curdling screams get louder and louder, feral, ear-piercing cries that echo off the stone and reverberate along the halls.

Following the sound, the entire party enters the Great Hall to be met with a sight that Sam is unprepared for.

You’re laid out on a stone slab but your once dead body is now in motion, arching upwards at an angle that looks as if your spine may snap. Your neck is also snapped back and your fingers are curled up like the legs of a dead insect as you writhe and scream. Without warning your body falls limp and then almost immediately you begin to seize, entire body clutching and shuttering as white foam oozes from your lips. Open eyes reveal nothing but white as your eyeballs roll back into your skull and you grunt wildly, body jerking violently in terrible quakes.

Sam is frozen in place, his mind not yet able to comprehend what’s happening.

“I don’t know what to do for her!” Martha screams, trying desperately to hold your shoulders in place. This declaration jolts Sam back to reality. “What is this? She’s risen from the dead! We should call a priest!”

A thousand thoughts click into place.

“I’m sorry brother-” Dean starts.

“What have you done?” Sam bellows, charging Dean, one hand on his collar, the other around his throat.

“What you couldn’t,” Dean sputters.

Sam’s eyes narrow and for a moment Dean thinks he may snap his neck. He instead growls and releases him.

“Find Ellen,” the King points to a wide-eyed Philip.

Sam scoops you off the stone slab and moves toward the doors as you convulse his arms.

“What is happening?” Martha scampers beside him, skirts in hand.

“She’s been bitten. She’s turning.”

“Into what you are?” she hisses, looking back at the men following close behind.

“If she survives the change, yes.” He kicks open the doors to your bedchambers. “Find rope or whatever you can. We need to restrain her before she hurts herself. Her strength will build as the fever grows. She’ll be stronger than any of us at this stage, we need to make sure she’s immobile.”

There is no coherent thought. Only sensations.

The muscles in your neck are pulling your head side to side, shaking like the tremors of an elderly person, only quicker and more violent as your skull ratchets to and fro. You can’t open your eyes and it feels as if your body is tied down.

The heat of the fever inside your veins is all-consuming, a constant burn as if lava is coursing through your limbs. This must be what madness feels like, complete, consuming, agony-induced insanity devoid of thought and speech. Your body jerks and a single idea forms in your addled mind.

Fire.

A conscious you would be sure you were doused with accelerant and set aflame.

Your throat is the most painful of all, raw and open, head tipped back and the only sound is that of your beastial screams as pain consumes every last inch of your body and soul.

#alpha!sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester smut

190 notes · View notes

dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years ago

Text

The Red Well (Part 1) Putting God to the Test

More Ruri Action served up hot and fresh @rurifangirl

The Red Well is an immense hole in the ground where much of the water you’d seen flow through the vast Iron Dome hidden under Genji Heavy Industries was siphoned away from the City of Tokyo into the mountains near the Tama River. It was one of many of such wells. Each one of these storage tanks was actually an underground lake that was a kilometer across. The hole was just an access port. The hole was normally covered by a huge retractable lid, but it was pulled back. Along the walls of the hole, layers of scaffolding shored it up against earth movement and large lift elevators big enough to transport heavy machinery were installed on its sides.

You stood on the cross beam at the very top. The water of this well was far, far below you, looking like a round red eye. Far nearer to you was a circular maintenance floor where hundreds of members of the Devil Clan feverishly worked on this massive project that was finally coming to fruition after decades of planning. Between you and the water below were flow control gates.

Hydra had started this whole mess by drilling horizontally from the Red Well until they reached the Well of Bones: An underground crimson colored river that had mixed with magma and filled with nutrients to harbor the White King and its legions of minions. The river was diverted into the tunnel, that led to this well and thousands of dragonkin came with it. The pumps on the side of the well dumped a huge load of mercury poison into the water to weaken and kill the beasts. Then they dropped thermite bombs into the water to destroy what was left.

But Hydra had underestimated the so-called “God” as well as the Devil Clan. God survived and was swimming among the mercury and all the corpses.

While you had been happily standing on the bridge, getting married to Chime Gen, Herzog had prepared his own wedding gift. He replaced the mercury flow with a flow of deadpool fetal blood - and other nourishing chemicals - and dumped them into the well just as you were saying your words on the bridge of the Takamagahara Night Club.

The ‘God’ awakened and brought disaster to Tokyo by setting off a Mount Fuji eruption and massive earthquakes that sent a deadly tsunami right at you.

Still, you managed to survive, thanks to your newly wedded husband Ruri Kazama. Herzog summoned Ruri with the clapper and put Chime Gen to sleep. You had tried to awake Chime, but you were not enough. Ruri had carried you all the way here, because you were dying, turning into Deadpool. He pierced you with his bones, and gave you his blood that could restrain the raging dragonblood in you. But even he had to admit that only the fetal blood of this so-called God could save you.

But Herzog would never willingly share that divine fetal blood. Ruri would have to kill him for it.

On Herzog’s command, Ruri slit his wrist and dropped his blood into the water far far below. It wasn’t enough to fill a teaspoon but the God detected it and now rushed to the surface hungrily circling. The water below was stirred up by that frantic circling and formed a huge kilometer wide whirlpool.

Herzog had since moved to one of the engineering platforms to get a better view. "It can't wait! Let's give it some challenge and see how strong God really is!" The king general shouted, "Turn on the water turbine!''

The first test began with turning on the giant water turbine in the bottom of the well. It could spin up a powerful vortex which would drag everything swimming in the water towards the bottom of the well, but the huge target swam leisurely, completely undisturbed.

"Great! Bravo! See, now! That is something that can change the rules, and the current cannot bind it!" The King General exclaimed. "Let's give it more of a challenge!"

You lean your lips close to Ruri Kazama’s ear. “Ruri? Can I ask you? Does Herzog know all these people by name?”

Ruri Kazama didn’t move or look at you, but he did answer. “Yes. They are all Devil Clan Elites. Survivors of the purge. The best and the strongest are all that are left of the Devil Clan who aren’t rotting in the black prisons.”

You turn and look at all the people gathered and working the equipment. Some was scarcely older than you. Some looked younger.

The second test began immediately as the head of the engineering team pressed a remote control and a violent explosion set off in the water, sending thousands of tons of water and mercury rushing upward. The Devil Clan had put 12 plastic explosives in the water, mixed with tens of thousands of steel balls. The explosion, combined with the ball bearings, was no less than hundreds of military shotguns firing in unison.

But on the sonar screen, the whale-sized target once again ignored this test as it swam unaffected through the flames of the blast.

“That was beautiful! Beautiful! That's the kind of power that can change the world!" King General Herzog was so excited that his voice trembled.

“Ruri? Did they know Herzog all their lives?” You asked, resting your chin on his shoulder.

Ruri didn’t answer immediately. He just glanced at you.

For the third test, the gates at the bottom of the well opened. These gates were covered with metal mesh, designed to filter dirt. The gates were so strong and the mesh so flexible that the mesh could be compared to the toughest fishing nets in the world. A whale going at full speed would be entangled.

But the target broke through gate after gate with the ease of a heated knife slicing through butter.

You flinch as Ruri slides you off the spines sticking out of his body. As he settles you on the beam, your wounds immediately close up within seconds. “I think I know what you’re getting at.” Ruri said.

You nod silently looking down. Your heart is heavy. Some things never change in people. This was really Black Swan Bay, all over again. You feel something touch your arm. When you turn your eyes widen. “Where did you get that?”

Ruri smiled slyly, handing you your claw dagger. “I know where you’re staying.”

Your jaw drops. But then you shut it and snatch the dagger. “Rude!”

“You were stuck to me for an entire night. Your blood should be completely replaced at this point.” He said. The bones of his body snapped like someone popping the joints of their neck. The bone spines retract back into his chest. You shudder involuntarily.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven..." The engineering team leader counted the remaining gates as the target broke through the layers of obstruction and was about to reach the surface.

The operators at the bottom of the well were ducking into safety pods. They looked like the kind made of alloys, nanofibers and high-density polymers that could even block the shock waves of a nuclear blast so long as they weren’t at ground zero. You hum to yourself and make a note.

The thing in the lake was still swimming in the water, but its roar thundered through the underground lake. The vibrations were so violent that the storage well was on the verge of collapse. Cracks crawled up the metal sheathing of the well walls. People pressed their ears even over noise cancelling headphones. It was the kind of roar that seemed to cut through one's skull and pierce directly into the depths of one's mind. It was a kind of funeral dirge - yet joyful - roar, like the god of death cursing the world in hell.

Only you, King General and Ruri Kazama remained calm. King General stood on the platform in the middle of the well wall, looking down without turning away, like he was sitting in a VIP box enjoying a master's performance, while Ruri Kazama still stood in the rain like a lonely soul, rainwater flowing down along his long hair. You just felt sad for all these people, like a doomsday prophet on a street holding a sign that read ‘the end is near’, knowing that you were right and no one would listen.

The surface of the water burst. Grayish-white stagnant water mixed with mercury rushed up to the sky. Thousands of lung snails were driven up violently like bullets and ricocheted, hitting the wall of the well with a popping sound, their hard shells completely shattered, their bodies turned into a goo-like substance stuck to the wall of the well. A plain white shadow cloaked in grayish-white water rose up to the sky with the speed of a cannonball. But gravity quickly reduced its speed. It found support before it fell, by grabbing the layers of iron scaffolding on the wall of the well, and climbed upward at high speed. It was about the size of an orca, with an estimated weight of over ten tons, and those iron frames simply could not support its weight, crumbling in layers below it.

The King applauds vigorously, shifting from looking down to looking up, watching the large creatures devastating advance

Snowy lights came on with sharp thudding noises, and the beast was finally presented to all eyes. It was wrapped in white filaments, looking like a giant cocoon, but with a hideously long tail trailing below.

Its movements were so fast that no one could see how such a cocoon-like thing with a tail was climbing. The long, bony tail lashed against the wall of the well, sloughing off the metal plates on the wall in rows, and the metal fragments mixed with the bodies of the lung snails as they rained down.

The four Vulcan cannons set up on the maintenance platform roared to life, pouring streams of steel into the well that exploded in gray-green smoke.

“More mercury?” You ask.

“No. Anesthesia.” Ruri said.

“Uh…” You glance at him uncertainly. If Ruri Kazama’s rampage through the Takamagahara nightclub taught you anything, it was that dragons were something beyond any other life form. How could you knock out something like this with laughing gas?

The cocoon coat made of white filaments was torn by the bullet rain, and the pale white hatchling experienced pain for the first time and let out a shrill hiss into the sky.

Your heart starts beating wildly and you’re suddenly filled with dread. You remembered how fast Ruri Kazama was, how deadly. How helpless everyone was before him. And he wasn’t even a full blooded dragon! Up until now, you’d only faced lowly deadpool and were barely above deadpool yourself. But deadpool were always the toughest and most dangerous compared to humans, powerfully strong and near bullet proof. Only by specific strategy, proper weapons, speed and stamina could you hope to escape with your lives against lowly deadpool.

You’d never seen a real dragon before. This was a real dragon!

The Vulcan cannons predictably failed to slow the thing down and it broke away with an unstoppable tenacity. A few Devil Clan members below you shouldered massive rocket launchers and fired. These were not aimed at the god itself, but at the stairs it used to ascend, the iron construction scaffolding, all of which crumbled in the explosion from top to bottom. The god fell with the debris of the iron frame, and the Vulcan cannons were still raining down on it.

Something clicks in your head. If you stop this thing from climbing out, that means no one else could climb out either. Your eyes roll back to Herzog who waves at you from the engineering platform.

He’s aware. The bastard.

The dragon was furious. This time it let out a roar of rage instead of a scream of pain. Pale white tentacles burst the last of its cocoon coat and violently grabbed the smooth well wall.

"Yamata-no-Orochi!" The head of the engineering team said in a groaning voice.

The myth became a reality before his eyes. Instead of tentacles, what grabbed the well wall was eight curved dragon necks. The beast with eight heads and sharp teeth bit into the well wall. Its lower limbs are deformed and short, so it uses the eight heads as feet, climbing with movements like an eight-legged spider. Those long, slender snake-like necks curled and stretched. Eight pairs of golden eyes were like candles that flooded the well with their light. It is clearly climbing up, but in the eyes of everyone it is the devil from the sky.

Only Herzog saluted with a hand over the heart, excitedly exclaiming: "What a specimen!”

Although it had a huge body, because it is still in its infancy, that body looks withered. However, it is athletic and swift. As it crawled through cracks in the metal panels, rocks shattered, and red lwarning lights lit up layer by layer. Step by step it approached success, Vulcan cannons and rocket launchers kept blowing dazzling fire on it. Blood oozed from the god's pale scales, and part of its dorsal ridges were torn apart by the explosion, revealing the ghastly white spine. But it still climbed upwards without slowing down. It had just detached itself from the cocoon, and once it left this place, it only needed a moment's respite to regain more strength, and then it could easily destroy these tiny creatures.

“And this is a baby…?” You breathed. “God damn…”

“You understand now?” Ruri said. “You remember the history of the Light King. The Dark King took great pains to destroy her.”

“How could we ever do it? Yeah… I get it.” You answer. “Humans… can’t kill dragons.” You look down at the dagger in your hand. “Only… dragons can kill dragons.” You turn your eyes up at him. “Right? That’s why you’re here?”

Ruri’s eyes were fixed below. “We’re here…”

“But I’m not strong enough to…” You blink.

“Get ready, regardless.”

"Go! Go! Let me see how far the inquisitive creature can go!'' The king pumps his fist in admiration, his tone filled with divine wonder while also cheering like he’s at a sporting event.

A single missile exploded where the god was clinging to the wall, destroying part of the well wall. The impact caused the god to slump uncontrollably as it was unable to hold onto it. But the sharp teeth caused marks several feet deep in the wall, and it held on.

"Awesome! That's how it should be! How can a mundane weapon hurt a god's body?" The king high-fives the engineers around him, as if he had not formulated the plan to stop the god, and he sincerely expected the thing to escape from here.

White ropes bounced off the wall of the well and wrapped around the god. The ropes were no wider than a finger but the fibers weaving them were nanofibers. Each nano-rope can lift the Trieste and countless nano-ropes form a huge net strong enough to stop a navy destroyer. The god tried to break through several times, but failed, and a single missile focused on its abdomen and exploded, blowing it into a fountain of blood. The god could no longer rise even one meter. It was still struggling though and the more it struggled, the tighter the net became around it.

"It's working! It's captured!" The cheers of the engineering team came to your ears from below where you stood on the upper cross beam with Ruri.

"Captured it? Is capturing God so easy? Wrong, so wrong!" You whisper.

A floating arc of light flashed, brighter even than the floodlights illuminating the cavern, like the arc of a supreme sword. A second later, a neat slice severed the superstrong material and God was freed from his bondage.

Suddenly, the King started screaming in Japanese. It sounded like a rush of syllables you didn’t understand.

“In the legend, Susanoo killed Yamata No Orochi and pulled a sword from its tail. That sword was called Sword of the Gathering Clouds of Heaven… roughly.” Ruri said.

“That’s what that thing is?” You asked.

“It’s how humans chose to understand it.”

“I get the feeling I should be going to school with you and not Cassell.” You mutter.

Ruri suddenly moves as though a switch had turned on. The god had revealed its greatest weapon and was rapidly making its way up without obstruction. Nothing can stop the god's escape any longer. Above it is the mouth of the well and once it reaches that mouth, it is free. It dances its sword tail and continues to climb. Its scales audibly clatter like chainmail, sealing its body to resist the power of a missile blasts. It traversed the flames of the explosions, and its eight heads danced wildly, only yards away from you. Staring into those golden eyes you felt a confusing mix of joy, challenge, rage and hunger.

You had fought with Chisei Gen in awe of his great strength and brute unstoppable force, but Ruri Kazama was otherworldly, hardly human at all. It was a state of mind that you never really entered, like someone who ran through blood like a child splashing through rain puddles. You weren’t sure you wanted to go there.

But Ruri Kazama granted you no choice, shoving you forcefully into the well. The wind whipped by you and you descended uncontrollably toward a gaping maw.

A chant in an ancient and mysterious language descends behind you and passes you in a roaring white shadow.

Ruri Kazama had jumped from the steel crossbeam and landed straight towards that same gaping maw. Both of your bodies put together are only one percent of this god’s, and such tiny targets should have been ignored by the god or sliced away with a casual swing of that heavenly sword tail, but from the moment the chanting began, the narrow snake-like glowing eyes widened with awe.

Ruri Kazama’s blade spun in a horizontal arc and the pale white head that threatened to eat you a second ago rose to the sky with a gushing, spinning fountain of blood. He’d chopped that head clean off! He caught you on the crook of his arm and tossed you again.

In excruciating pain, the god released all the heads attached to the wall of the well and surrounded Ruri Kazama who landed on one, but Ruri Kazama swung his long sword and knocked back those hardened dragon heads towards you. You immediately understand and plunge your dagger into the beast’s glowing eyes. The hooked claw catches on the orbital bone. The beast drops its head, intending to throw you into the well, but you release and go sailing to the other side. A head is chasing you to devour you but Ruri Kazama’s blade makes a dazzling crimson flash in the dark and that head's eyes wink out like an extinguished candle.

The Deadpool’s claw is enough to dig into the armored scales. You gather courage and fearlessly score long bleeding lines as you slide down the limp neck towards the body and stab again and again and again! Both of you and the monster rolled together and descended, leaving large splashes of blood on the wall of the well. Ruri’s sword is sending blinding sparks on the scales. The god is roaring and wailing and Ruri Kazama is letting out a roar more terrible than the god every time it so much as snapped at you.

It wasn’t that Ruri needed your help necessarily. He needed an outlet for a feeling that he couldn’t understand. It was the feeling of having something and then a great hand coming to take it away from you. It was that sharp, offended feeling that brought out the greatest ferocity in the heart of every breathing thing.

To keep what one has, every living creature will draw blood!

It wasn't a dragon slaying at all. It was monsters entangled in a mutual slaughter to tear and chew each other up. It only took ten seconds to fall from the wellhead to the bottom of the well, but it was those ten seconds of roaring and wailing that no one dared to listen to, the sound of a lifetime of nightmares, like evil spirits feasting on muscles and tendons and bleeding between their grinding teeth.

Perhaps it was a greater mistake to allow something like Ruri Kazama to live in this world than to awaken a god.

The heavy body of the god fell into the water, splashing a giant wave more than ten meters high, and Ruri Kazama hung unflinchingly on the wall of the well, his long clothes dangling, like a ghost that had hung there years ago. You were back in his arms like nothing had happened, breathing hard, your head spinning with the thrill of it all.

But then your heart falls.

The battle ended with a tragic victory for Ruri Kazama. The god was already badly wounded before reaching the top of the well, and Ruri Kazama cut off four of its heads. But he himself paid a heavy price. His back muscles looked like they were plowed by iron, and his abdomen was left with a huge wound, but he did not show any expression of pain. He just hung there, looking up at the sky.

“He’s coming.” He said quietly. He turned to you. “You should hide.”

#Dragon Raja

2 notes · View notes

supernova1us · 5 years ago

Text

My finalized Bionicle series idea

after bringing together a lot of my bionicle ideas and fine tuning what i like, this is my final full idea for a bionicle series

The world of the endless ocean contains many islands, populated by biomechanical beings, primarily the matoran. The capital is the massive island city of Metru Nui and from there, two great beings; Mata nui, the spirit of light and Makuta, the spirit of darkness, emerge by the power of the mythical mask of life. Both are formed from the energy of their elements, encased in powerful protodermis armor. They coexist and rule together for a time, though makuta realizes that mata nui is more loved and revered by the matoran than he is. Shunned and jealous, makuta develops a hatred for his brother which explodes into a life or death battle between the two. Empowered by his creation, the mask of shadows, makuta triumphs over mata nui, casting him down.

With the end of mata nui heralding a series of natural disasters, the toa team of metru nui put all of the matoran into a deep slumber to protect them. Makuta confronts them, but having been wounded by mata nui and at risk of losing the battle, offers a bargain. He will rule the island and the toa are free to resist him, but neither he nor the toa will directly confront each other, but he will not directly threaten the matoran either; the toa reluctantly accept. 100 years pass, and the matoran finally awaken to metru nui in ruins and overrun by nature, and their toa protectors aged into frail turaga elders. The Turaga rename the island mata nui in honor of the spirit of light and the tribes migrate away from the darkened city to settle in the wilds of their regions. From the islands center, makuta sends out his corrupted rahi beasts and evil warriors to torment and keep the matoran in a state of fear and control.

This continues for another 900 years until finally the energy of mata nui spirit reawakens. Guiding the rogue matoran takua, he sets in motion the creation of legendary heroes. After his journey and apparent self-sacrifice, the energy of mata nui is released and merges with the elements of the island themselves and births 6 new toa heroes. These toa heroes must discover who they are, their elemental powers, how to work as a team and embrace their destiny in defeating makuta and restoring mata nui.

Toa

Nikila-Toa of energy. She has power over lightning, electricity and any form of raw energy. She is the leader of the toa mata, and is the most mature, brave and heroic, with a tendency towards over confidence. Her tools are her lightning swords and she wears the mask of wisdom.

Malum-toa of fire. The largest, strongest and most hot-headed of the group. He is arrogant, prideful and violent but has a surprising kinship with the wild rahi. He tends to clash with Nikilas leadership the most. His tools are his flame claws and he wears the mask of endurance.

Hahli-toa of water. Generally kind and gentle while sometimes shy, she quickly gains self-confidence and is the most intelligent and spiritual of the team. Her tools are a trident and protosteel talons/fins and she wears the mask of translation.

Pohatu-toa of Earth. He was the most focused and unwavering of the toa, though somewhat distant. He is wise and friendly when comfortable, but as fierce and unbreakable as nature when pushed. His tools are his enhancing foot attachments and his ruble shovels and he wears the mask of strength.

Matau-toa of air. The most free-spirited and easy going of the toa, he always went with the flow like his element; A joker and explorer who was only serious when the situation was at its most dire. His tools are his storm-o-rangs, which double as wings and he wears the mask of speed.

Zaria-toa of metal. The most creative and sporadic toa, creating weapons, armor and anything new was his passion. He was the free thinker and craftsman of the team. His tool is his giant meta-hammer and he wears the mask of shaping.

Takua-toa of light. Originally a matoran on mata nui from the lost tribe of light/shadow, he was well known and popular amongst the population. After he was chosen by mata nui, he seemingly perished to summon the toa. He was however transformed into a toa and returned much later but lost his memories in the process. He is ever inquisitive and fascinated by the world around him. His weapon is his sun staff and he wears the mask of light.

Other Characters

Mata Nui-the spirit of light, born from the worlds core along with his brother makuta. He is benevolent and loving but prideful and oblivious. After he is betrayed by a jealous makuta, he is rendered as an incorporeal spirit, who after 1000 years chooses takua as his champion to summon the toa and reawaken him and free the world of darkness.

Matoran-the largest and most numerous race of the world of the endless ocean; they are small but brave spirited, creative and peaceful people. They are separated by the elemental tribes of fire, water, air, earth, energy, and metal on mata nui. Notable matoran are jaller, Nuparu, macku and hewkii.

Turaga(kopaka, Lhikan, gali, lewa, onua, matoro)-the leaders of each of the elemental villages on mata nui. Each is wise and steadfast in their leadership. They were originally toa who stood with mata nui and witnessed his defeat and protected the matoran from makuta for 1000 years, with age having long caught up with them.

Keetongu-an ancient being of nature who watches over all rahi on mata nui and occasionally aids the toa. He is accompanied by the massive Tahtorak beast.

Strakk-a brutal icy warrior who claims mata nui’s frozen peaks as his territory and will fiercely battle any who trespass on it.

Ekimu the mask maker-a wise and ancient turaga who has mastered the crafting of powerful masks. He crafts special new masks for any matoran who prove themselves worthy.

Krakua- a mysterious toa of Sound, he is never quiet or still for too long and was fascinated with all the sounds the world made. He is very fond of music and was akin to a wandering bard on mata nui. He possessed super hearing, could create sonic booms and wore the mask of stealth.

Krika-a warrior of an unknown race, he is a cold but long serving and trusted agent of makuta but his conscience forces him to aid the toa. His armor was altered to make him able to morph into an insectoid form to move freely about the visorak horde.

Umbra-the cold and emotionless yet dedicated eternal guardian of the mask of life. He will only grant access to the relic by being defeated in battle, but refuses to fight matoran. Anyone who proves capable of gaining the mask he swears an oath of loyalty to and protects with his life.

The order of mata nui-a radical militia of warriors of varied races who fight a guerrilla war against makutas forces through any means necessary. They are led by the extremist Helryx, the first ever toa, who is the one who broke the mask of time after using its full power to stop her from aging. She comes into conflict with the more traditional views of the toa.

VILLAINS

Makuta-the spirit of darkness and the antithesis to his eternal brother, mata nui. Self-centered, ruthless and power hungry, he will go to any length to achieve greatness in the eyes of the matoran and be seen for the god he knows himself to be. He forged and wears the mask of shadows to which his spirit and power are always connected. He has spent years building an empire though exuding control over many islands.

Roodaka-a part serpentine creature and advisor to makuta. While appearing calm and charismatic, she is in fact cruel, cunning and a deadly warrior. She is completely loyal to and in love with makuta and devoted to achieving his goals and remaining at his side. She often manipulates makutas other agents to fit her designs.

Icarax-the leader of the vampiric phantoka race, he is a fierce and brutal warrior and makutas general. He is arrogant and strongly believes he is better agent of darkness then makuta and his schemes. Though he needs no help at being confrontational, he is often goaded by roodaka.

Sidorak-the oafish but tyrannical king of the industrial island of stelt. He is fiercely loyal to makuta and is always seeking his approval but is often made a fool or manipulated by roodaka.

Nidhiki – an insectoid warrior who act as makutas goon, muscle and enforcer, often menacing the toa in their quests.

Tuyet-a murderous former toa who has allied with makuta and often partnered with nidhiki.

Tridax-an alchemist, mad scientist and inventor, he is the brains behind many workings in makutas network of evil, working closely with sidorak and has considerable brawn to back up his brains.

Nocturn-a hideous aquatic creature, he is loyal to makuta but slowwitted, quick to anger and easy to manipulate or intimidate. He primarily acts as makutas messenger to his other agents.

Rahkshi-the main military force of makuta, they are deadly, fear-inducing armor suits built on stelt and possessed by shadow leeches makuta has summoned from the depths of the abyss. They number at 5000 and are all yellow in color.

Akmou-toa of shadow. A fellow matoran of the light/shadow tribe; a self-interested and shifty individual, he believes takua is responsible for all his problems rather than his own misdeeds. Though he has been an agent of makuta on mata nui for many years, after becoming a toa, he is unsure of his loyalty to darkness, wanting only to prove his superiority over takua.

Tuma-a battle hardened skrall warlord from bara magna, he leads his fearsome race in their attempts to conquer their homeland with makutas aid and provide theirs when he needs it. His loyalty lies solely on his people, keeping him skeptical of if the alliance is in their best interest.

Umarak the dark hunter-a relentless and ancient hunter and mercenary who peruses many bounties and prey and periodically works for makuta

Bahrag-the monstrous queen of the isle of the insectoids. She maintains a loose alliance with makuta with the promise that his rule will grant them passage to infest other islands.

Barraki(the drowned)-a trio of aquatic warlords who menace a group of sub-aquatic matoran and reluctantly aid makuta in the construction of his titan form.

Obviously there are many similarities to g1, but there are many intended differences as well.

-the change to the toa mata members and element line up

-like the glatortian, the toa will have armor that will represent or be based on their elements

-a mask with a similar ability doesn’t exactly mean the mask matches the look of its G1 counterpart

-there have been other toa, but this special group are the first with elemental powers

-like g2, matoran are uniform in design and masks beside element colors and rare mask exceptions

-there would not be multiple future toa teams, only a few special cases

-Romance would be canon, but not a large focus; macku and hewkii mostly with a few possible other cases(but not the main toa team)

Story Arks

1.With shadow creatures and rahi controlled by makuta having menaced the matoran for 1000 years, mata nui reaches out to the wandering matoran takua. Guided, takua sets off on an odyssey across the island to find the fragmented key to the kini nui temple. He has many adventures, aiding each of the matoran tribes and avoiding makutas threats. He finally unlocks the temple, releasing the power and summoning the toa, though apparently at the cost of his life.

2.The newly born toa, who must discover who they are, defend the matoran, and learn how to work as a team, and finally fend off makutas horde of wild rahi. Finally they travel into a sacred temple and do battle with makuta himself, triumphing.

3. The toa set out to find the mask of time, and must race against umarak, the dark hunter, to find it. They use its power to view the past to see the beginning of the brothers war and how the island became what it is. The island is then attacked on two fronts: a bridge of web allows swarms of insectoids from another island to attack while makuta summons undead skull warriors from beneath the earth.

4. Makuta, still weak, sets his rahkshi hoard loose to menace the island. The toa travel through the ruins of metru nui, which still stands at the islands center. They face many threats lurking in it as they make their way to makutas lair to confront him. They learn that makuta seeks the mask of life to regain his former strength and that it can revive mata nui as well. As the toa cannot defeat makuta, takua returns, transformed into a toa of light by mata nui, who defeats makuta, almost killing him.

5. Takua is left to guard the island and matoran while the toa sail to Voya Nui, but are trapped in the underwater realm of the barraki. When free, they make it to voya nui and must fight both makutas allies and Umbra, the mask’s guardian. After winning and receiving the mask, they return to mata nui to use it but makuta intervenes. Mata nui is nearly revived but the mask of life is shattered, the force of which destroys both spirits and scatters the fragments of the mask across the world. Makutas mask survives and he flees and has a new armor built for him.

6. With mata nuis spirit lost and only able to be restored by the mask of life, the 7 toa must search the numerous islands, leaving umbra to guard mata nui. They set sail and split up, each with a beast mount and new adaptive armor, to explore their separate islands to retrieve the mask fragments while battling makuta or other enemy forces on each one. After their separate adventures, each toa finds a fragment, which becomes a golden mask for them. Malum is seriously injured and in the fear that he may die, transfers some of his power to his matoran companion, jallar, who becomes a toa. In this time, makuta begins to realize his grand designs, while also dealing with a coup by his general icarax and also kills umbra.

7. The toa reunite and make their way to Karda Nui to reform the mask of life and revive mata nui, fighting past makuta and his minions, who steal Jallers’ mask fragment. The toa use the fragments they have and mata nui is revived, but only as a mortal toa, since the mask was incomplete and the toa had absorbed some of its power while using the fragments. Malum is healed and Krika, a former servant of makuta, betrays him and aids the toa.

8. The toa sail for a secluded island fortress of makuta on Krikas guidance but before they arrive, the island is shattered by a giant robot body that has risen from beneath the sea. Krika says its construction was makutas grand plan. Makuta has used his mask piece to fuse his spirit to the body and has trapped all the matoran within it. As makuta rules the matoran within his body, he decimates the other islands one by one. After witnessing the doomed last stand of the order of mata nui, the toa make their way to the ruined mata nui to find a way to enter the robot. On their way, the toa a briefly drawn into the mythical red star, where the spirits of the dead go, and both the toa and mata nui find revelations there. They also pass through the demonic netherworld, ruled by the insane Karzahni.

9. On mata nui, where makuta now stands guard, they are confronted by an army of enemy forces. They are joined by the allies they have made on their journeys and a massive war erupts. Krika shows the toa the way to enter the robot before returning to aid in the fight. The toa manage to enter makutas body, who is distracted watching the war. They fight their way through rahkshi, body defenses and a mutated and empowered roodaka. Takua is forced to return a large portion of his light energy to mata nui, who sends the toa away to ensure the safety of the matoran. The toa lead the matoran out and rally them to battle, turning the tide of the war. Mata nui reaches the core, where makuta reconstitutes his normal form and they battle. Makuta is the stronger but mata nui is able to recover the final mask piece and is restored to his full form. They are to evenly matched, so mata nui fuses the two of them together, killing both but creating a new spirit of light and darkness, who possesses the titan. With his power he restores mata nui and creates bridges connecting all the other now restored islands. Presenting the toa with the mask of destiny, a fusion of the masks of life and shadow, the new god vanishes into the stars. All the beings come together and begin rebuilding mata nui into a new city paradise.

#bionicle #toa #Makuta #mata nui

27 notes · View notes