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gwaedhannen · 1 year ago

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[Excerpt from Sorrow Beyond Words: Collected Testimony of the War of Wrath, 4th Edition; ed. Elrond Peredhel. Archive of Cîw Annúminas, inaugural collection]

“Simply reaching Menegroth was a struggle. Doriath had become a twisting nightmare of overgrowth and rot and mists, as Morgoth’s power warred with the remains of the Girdle and our old songs. Ai, our home, our haven! I know the name of every holly in Region, before the exile. We found deadfalls surrounded by dozens of animals who’d lain down beside the trees and rotted before they died. Blind moose more antler than flesh staggered towards us even after a dozen arrows. Vines covered in dripping thorns reached for our eyes. The cherry trees were overladen with fruits that smelled like gangrene. Deildhod stumbled into a nest of maddened vipers, and only escaped because their tails were all tangled together into a festering mass and could hardly move. We never saw or heard a single bird. I’m amazed we lost no one in that whole push through Region. No, I speak a lie. I know how we passed through with nothing worse than scrapes. Elrond was with us, and the ghost of Melian’s love still recognized her kin.

“Esgalduin had nearly been dammed by one of Hírilorn’s fallen boles, but the bridge still held. We crossed and reached the ruined gates, wrought twice and broken twice. Within there was only darkness to be seen; we knew not what manner of horrors Morgoth had sent to infest the city, but Ingwion was unwilling to leave them at the rear of his forces as he moved north, if it could be helped. Celeborn stood at Elrond’s right and myself at his left. Far less an honor guard than the heir of Elu Thingol and Melian Besain deserved. Yet in those dark days it was all the honor we could muster. King Dior Eluchíl had known thirty-six summers when he was unrighteously slain. Queen Elwing Nimaew thirty-five when despair took her to the sea. Lord Elrond Peredhel beheld the city of Elu for the first and only time in his twenty-ninth summer.

“Elrond stood before his inheritance and Sang. He sang a lament, for the lost endless years of joy and peace, for deep halls lit by birdsong and echoing with wisdom, for the Forsaken People who awoke the forest and earth with many voices, for the works of beauty never to be seen again on this side of the sea. He sang a promise, that the glory of Menegroth will be remembered in the songs of Middle-Earth for as long as its children endure. He sang thanks, for the protection the halls granted us until it could shelter us no more. As his song at last ceased, I thought I heard nightingales answering him.

“Stars shone on his brow, and his hair glistened as the vault of night, and the memories of our once-eternal bliss in the woods of Thingol’s realm under Elbereth’s gifts arose in my mind. Let Oropher dream of a deep hall for his own; let Celeborn reign where he will at his wife’s side! I knew in my heart, as the echo of nightingale songs faded, that there was no lord or king I would ever stand beside save Elrond Elwingion.

“The living stone in which our kingdom once thrived knew his voice, and at long last laid down its burden and passed. The darkness over Menegroth was lifted, and we went forth into its corpse, and no beast or orc could stand before us. I do not sing of what we found and left behind when we cast down the bridge and gave leave for the river to flood the caves. It is not worth remembering.”

#silmarillion #the silmarillion #tolkien #silm fic #elrond #doriath #menegroth #war of wrath #my OCs #war of wrath: sorrow beyond words #stormwritten #the Second Kinslaying occurred on this day in FA 506 #you can observe the day of remembrance by burning a Son of Feanor in effigy #in remembrance I'm writing Sindarin Elrond because I've seen too much Feanorian Elrond recently #the narrator is a former senior Marchwarden who escaped the Kinslaying and brought refugees over the mountains to Celeborn and Galadriel #she'll never forgive herself for not being at Sirion for the Third Kinslaying #she becomes one of Elrond's chief counselors and one of the heads of Rivendell's forces along with Glorfindel #she and Glorfindel were definitely at each other's throats for years until Elrond yelled at them to chill #they may have hatefucked #sorry Erestor #she either dies when Celebrían is captured #or leads the search for Celebrían and sails west with her #in either case she'll never forgive herself for failing #“Nimaew” = “white/pale bird” I think #a name given to Elwing after her leap #she doesn't know about it yet

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mrsfrecklesmarauders · 8 months ago

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AN: Little post for Regulus's birthday that in my headcanon is today. 25th of June, Cancer child, obviously.

This one is a little sad but sometimes I need to write angsty things about Regulus to deal with my personal pain because I kin him so much.

Content warning of verbal and physical abuse plus mentions of self harm.

*****

Regulus had always been invisible on his birthday. It wasn't that people actually forgot. It was just not a big deal like Sirius’s birthdays for example. Sirius had always been the king. Even if he was the rebel. Even if he fought constantly with their parents. Even if he represented everything that the family didn't. Sirius Black was the heir. Therefore his birthdays were special. Regulus's were not.

It always mixed with the end of term exams as well. This year, Regulus had gone through his GCSE's with stress but hopefully successful results that would come out on August. Being a Black, Regulus had lots of expectations on him to get full marks. Like Sirius surprisingly did for his.

Regulus didn't have a party or a cake until summer officially began.

Regulus's sixteenth birthday was stained by Sirius's rebellious behavior. It was the summer before his eighteenth birthday, before he became an adult and he had to start behaving like the heir everyone expected of him.

So Regulus's birthday party became an excuse to invite "important people" over so they could meet Sirius. A business meeting with old people that Regulus didn't even know. Regulus didn't have friends besides Barty, he didn't expect much people of his age. But still.

Their Grandfather Pollux was dragging Sirius around to introduce him to coworkers, shakeholders and businessmen. Orion and Walburga were acting like proud parents. Everyone was pretending. Regulus was practically a ghost.

"It's okay" Regulus sighed as Sirius commented furiously how it wasn't fair, when he could escape from Pollux into the kitchen for some forbidden drinks "I hate my birthdays anyway"

"Grandfather is a dick. Heard his lung is failing, hope he passes soon"

"Sirius!" Regulus gasped but he hid a smile. Honestly it sounded cruel. But that man had been horrible to them their whole lives.

"I don't think I am ready for this, Reggie" Sirius added, looking around with disdain. The group of people chatting formally. Like a meeting in an office. Not like a teenager's birthday.

"I knew I had to be the heir one day. But that seemed far away when we were kids... Now I only have one year left at Hogwarts, and then my life is supposed to be this... Boring meetings, pretending to be perfect, talking nonsense about superficialities..."

Regulus was relieved he was not the heir. He had a plan with Barty to run away as soon as they finished school. Actually, they didn't even matter for their families. But Regulus didn't think about the burden Sirius actually had right now.

"There's no option" Regulus murmured as he had a sip of his drink.

"What if there is?" Sirius asked "What if I ran away with Uncle Alphard to Rome or whatever"

"He just left to make some businesses. He will be back"

"Are you sure about that?" Sirius’s eyes glistened revealing how much he missed Alphard "I think he got tired of this family and ran away"

Regulus panicked. He knew his brother well. And he was capable of going after Alphard. Maybe, if it wasn't for Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew, he would have already be gone. And Regulus didn't want to lose him. He didn't know what would happen if Pollux would lose his heir. But it wouldn't be good. Plus, Sirius was the only person that kept Regulus sane.

"If you leave, and Grandfather has a heart attack for your absence, this hell hole would be chaos. I don't want to be there when it happens"

Sirius twisted his mouth in a half smile "Good thing I'm bringing you with me when I leave"

"When? I thought it was a matter of if..."

"When, Reggie. When" Sirius winked.

They ended up their conversation as Sirius was summoned by their mother again. Sirius groaned openly as Walburga fixed his suit and tie.

"You look like low class lawyer, Sirius. I don't understand how people believe you can be a good heir. But hell, here we are"

"They say I take my gracious looks from you, mother"

Walburga answered by tying his tie tight. A little bit more and Sirius could choke.

"Now get over there and behave like a human being"

"Care to pay attention to your son on his birthday?"

Walburga flickered her eyes towards Regulus for a second. But fixed her penetrating gaze on Sirius.

"His birthday was days ago"

"But we are supposed to be celebrating today!"

Regulus could feel the tension building up between them. He didn't want to witness a fight. Those were horrible. And they were worse when they involved Orion.

Walburga just pursed her lips.

"Just go back in there before I lose my patience"

Sirius’s eyes were daring. He didn't move for a few seconds. Seconds in which Regulus thought he was going to lose it and do something dumb.

"Luckily we are not done with the celebration"

Sirius simply said that and gave a little wink to his brother. Then he walked away.

Walburga sighed with patience as she turned to Regulus. Now that Sirius was gone, she had a softer expression.

"Don't worry, love" she whispered in French only for him, squeezing his chin gently "I have your birthday cake ready for later"

"Thanks, mum" Regulus replied in French as well.

The rest of the evening passed in a numb blur. A feeling Regulus had been having lately. If you could call it a feeling at all. Usually, Regulus survived school with Barty. But summers were split into horrible social events of fake and superficial people and the constant fights of Orion and Walburga. Between each other. Or with Sirius. Regulus was drowned in a teenage angst. Youth didn't seem like the best years of his life. He wasn’t even excited to be sixteen.

"How much he is growing" people would say "He is as handsome as his father. Surely there are lots of girls after him... Maybe my niece would be interested. She lives in America"

"How skinny" another would say "Does he play any sports, Orion? It is good for young boys to be athletic. I was captain of my rugby team when I was his age"

"Oh, how adorable. He is shy, isn't he, Walburga? Not very suitable for businesses. Good thing you have Sirius"

"A handsome boy like him without a girlfriend? Maybe it is the piercings, son. See girls think that is weird. You don't want people thinking you're a puff, do you?"

These kind of comments made Regulus hate himself even more than he already did. He hated how shy he had sounded. How socially awkward he was. How he was seen as this baby, mummy's boy. While Sirius was natural with words, with presence, with the winning smile. Everyone wanted him for business, for recommendations, for making him their sons' model, their nephews' friend, their nieces' and daughters' future husband. It was sickening. Sirius could be the best heir for the Company and the family name. He just didn't give a fuck about any of it.

Regulus locked himself in his room when everything became too much. He had a knot on his throat. He just wanted to crawl in bed and cry. He was ashamed of himself and what he was. He felt guilty for not being enough. For not being more. For not being the center of attention, not even in his fucking birthday.

Regulus sat on his bed and opened up his drawer. Inside it, Regulus kept a large pair of siccors he had stolen from somewhere.

Regulus had been the angsty teen that not only related with depressing songs about how society sucked and everything was hopeless, that had had his embarrassing emo phase at thirteen when he covered his face with a fang and used only black clothes; Regulus also had cut his own arm.

It was a secret no one knew. Not even Barty who wouldn't be scandalized by these things. It was recent. And Regulus did it a couple of times to feel something. To focus the mental pain into a physical one.

Regulus wanted to do it tonight.

Luckily, he was interrupted by a knock on his window that made him jump. Barty was smiling through the glass. He had a new piercing on his nose.

Regulus hid the scissors inside his drawer and ran to open the window for his friend.

"Happy Birthday!"

"Don't you know how to use the front door?"

Barty crawled inside.

"And face the pretentious wankers from downstairs? No, thank you!"

Regulus smiled "I'm glad you are here"

He didn't want to hurt himself anyway. He felt worse afterwards.

"I brought you a present. And you are going to love me for it" Barty grinned as he took out something from his back pocket.

A big bag of weed hanged from his fingers.

Regulus grinned "God, I love you"

They smoked for a while on Regulus's bed. Barty asked him about the party. Regulus said it was shit. Barty didn't ask no more. Regulus loved him for not pressuring him. They smoked in silence only with punk music in the background. Barty commenting on weird facts that Regulus didn't need to know. But it was nice to focus on something else.

A few hours later someone bursted through his door and Regulus almost had a heart attack hiding his spliff, thinking it was his mother. But Sirius was on the door with a grin on his face and a bottle of gin on his hand.

"Look what I got for ourselves, birthday boy!" he chanted.

"Oh fuck"

"Crouch, you're here"

"Black" Barty said as he let out some smoke.

"Is that weed?" Sirius asked with his eyebrows raised. "Nice! Let's begin with the actual celebration"

"What about our parents?"

Sirius shrugged "Let them have fun with their little orgie of rich old boomers"

Barty cracked up laughing at that.

Regulus started to have some fun with his two favorite people smoking weed and drinking gin with him. It was funny that Sirius and Barty were so similar but quarreled about everything.

Regulus loved them. They made Regulus happy and they made him feel young and alive for a while. They tried playing Monopoly until Sirius threw the board away because he was losing. They gossiped and laughed about people at school, including teachers.

"Okay, hottest girl in school to shag" Sirius said, "Go!"

To Sirius’s surprise, both Regulus and Barty were silent. They had always said Hogwarts girls were too stupid for them.

"Don't you want to shag someone?" Sirius asked

Regulus actually didn't.

"Come on! I know both of you are virgins"

"I am not a virgin!" Barty exclaimed but when Sirius gave him a look he added "Fine! I'd prefer cutting my dick off than shagging one of those brainless princesses"

That was why Barty was Regulus's best friend. They were too similar.

"Me too"

"Come on! There must be someone you find pretty, sexy, hot..." Sirius insisted. Of course he had a long history with girls.

Regulus and Barty stared at each other. This was often something boys didn't understand. How they weren't interested in any girl. The boys in their class used to tease them for it. Calling them fags and each other's boyfriends. Until they got sick of it and arranged to have a default answers. Sirius was the teasing type.

"Emmeline Vance" Barty said.

"Alice Fortescue" Regulus said almost immediately.

Regulus chose Alice because she was the prettiest girl in school. And she was unreachable since she was dating Longbottom. So people left him alone with his "crush". Barty chose Emmeline because everyone thought she was a lesbian and they found funny how Barty didn't have a chance with her. Actually, they didn't care about those girls.

Sirius had the same expected reaction as everyone else. Teasing both for their silly crushes. He even mentioned that Alice and Longbottom were on a break and that his little brother might have a chance.

"You know, I lost my virginity at sixteen" Sirius winked "And Fortescue looks like a good shag"

"Sure" Regulus said. He didn't care.

Sirius was drunk anyway.

"I love girls" Sirius added, his mind somewhere else "I mean I'm very into girls, eh Reggie? No one else.... It is just weird that he is in my mind, yeh know?"

"Who?" Regulus asked amused.

But Sirius didn't answer. He placed his head on Regulus's shoulder with his eyes closed.

"He's pissed" Regulus laughed, turning to look at Barty and finding out he was fast asleep next to him as well. Regulus smiled.

These two. They had made Regulus's birthday worth it somehow. Regulus hated everyone else. Except for these two boys next to him. They made life worth living.

Regulus fell asleep thinking that was the end of the day. However he was woken up hours later by Walburga and her angry expression.

"What is the meaning of this?" She asked as she held the empty bottle and the rest of the stash.

Regulus's heart started beating fast in fear. His mother didn't know how he had drunk, had had drugs and wasn't the innocent lamb she believed.

"Mrs. Black..." Barty cleared his throat as he spoke "Let me explain..."

"I want you out of my house, Bartemius" Walburga snapped "I will call your father in the morning"

Regulus gave Barty an apologetic look. Bartemius Senior was going to punish his son hard. Barty knew it. He looked scared already.

"Regulus?" Walburga was staring directly at him.

"It was me, Walburga" Sirius said next to him and Regulus remembered he was there "Stole the bottle, bought the weed and even called Crouch here to make things interesting. It was my baby brother's birthday after all"

Walburga clenched her jaw.

"Of course it was you" she said looking at Sirius with disgust.

To be fair, Regulus was frozen on the spot. It happened a lot to him when he got too stressed and frightened to react. He wanted to tell the truth but he couldn't.

"I keep insisting to your father and grandfather that you're nothing but a waist" Walburga commented to herself "You are a disappointment. Probably going to end up in rehab or jail..."

Sirius was still drunk with puffy red eyes from the weed. But still what their mother was saying was hurting him. She didn't even care that Barty was there.

"But dragging your little brother into this?" Walburga shook her head "You might want to drown but don't bring Regulus into this"

Sirius chuckled.

"Maman..." Regulus began talking in French. He wanted to tell her it was all his fault. But his voice shook.

"Perhaps I just wanted to give your son a bit of fun, mother. You know, like a man" Sirius’s voice proved the alcohol was speaking for him "Not like the pussy that you had made of him"

Regulus closed his eyes to avoid the tears to fall. He hated to be this weak. To be this fragil. Barty was right there.

"Get up, get a cold shower and compose yourself before your Grandfather leaves. He would want to see you" Walburga sighed with patience.

"I can do whatever I fucking want" Sirius replied drunk as a horse "Didn't you hear? I'm the heir and I will own everything you see around..." he smirked evily "That pisses you off, doesn't it? To think you will have to respond to me like the little bitch you are"

SLAP! Sirius’s little comment caused his such a strong slap across his face, that Walburga's ring cut his cheek and it began bleeding.

Barty gasped and covered his mouth. Regulus, who was used to it, just closed his eyes and nailed his fingers on his palm so hard that it hurt.

Sirius was shocked as he touched the blood on his cheek. Regulus saw it in his expression. He was done. He hated this woman. He hated this life. He hated it all.

Regulus knew he would leave with Alphard. Forever. Regulus knew he was practically one foot out.

"I guess I will make an excuse for your Grandfather" Walburga said as if nothing had happened "I want both of you sober by the time everyone leaves. Or else, your father won't have mercy"

She was right. Orion was ten times worse.

"Bartemius" she turned to him "Get out of here, before I lose my patience"

"Eh... Eh.. Yeah..."

That was the beginning of everything. The beginning of the end as some might say. It easily became the worst summer of Regulus's life.

The relationship between Sirius and Walburga became worse. Sirius’s rebelty was worse. He went to Orion to the office and came back with a terrible mood. Dinners became a battlefield. Until the point when Sirius couldn't take it no more. And he left.

"I can't do this, Regulus" Sirius told him between tears the night he packed his things "I cannot be with them anymore. I cannot become what they want. I can't become like them. This life sickens me..."

Regulus couldn't hold the tears falling down his cheeks silently because he couldn't ask his brother to stay. It wasn't fair. How could he if Regulus himself sometimes wanted to leave.

"Please come with me"

"Where? To the Potters? With Alphard?" he shook his head.

"Doesn't matter! Anywhere but here" Sirius took a step closer, begging desperately "Reg, we can disappear. We can ran away together. They won't have a power over us. I promise"

Some part of Regulus wanted to follow his brother anywhere. But another part of him knew that The Black Family would not lose the heir. If it wasn't Sirius, it would be Regulus. That was it. All eyes would turn to him. They would follow them to the end of the world to make sure one of them took the place.

But Sirius didn't see the details. How by being selfish, he could hurt other people. The Blacks were like a Jenga. If a key piece was taken out, the whole tower would fall down. And Sirius was one of the most important pieces.

"I can't, Sirius" Regulus cried "I'm sorry"

He wanted to beg him to stay and solve this together. They needed to fix Walburga with her drinking problems and childish behavior. They needed to stop Orion from committing fraud and doing everything he could to keep the power. They needed to find out why Alphard left. They were family after all. They couldn't just abandon everything.

"Okay... Suit yourself" Sirius snapped angrily as he grabbed his bag.

Regulus watched him go and he knew once Sirius crossed the door, he was going to lose him forever. And that hurt.

#marauders #maraudersera #muggleau #regulus black #sirius black #barty crouch jr #the black brothers #walburga black

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rats-and-robots · 1 year ago

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Hi. This is gore for gore's sake. Dead dove. Do not eat. I am not kidding. Please trust me. Read the tags.

With that said;

Tervantias the Archmachinator, for all his pride, knows he isn't perfect. For all he boasts, there is always more to learn. New instruments begging to be tuned to his songs, his ever-changing collection of pitches and tunes. And yet his claws always ache to primal urges when something refuses to fall into place.

Bones crack and crunch.

Blood bubbles out of the poor thing's nose as the beast above it buries into its gut, coating its snout with gore.

Claws press at yet-unbroken flesh to give leverage as it pulls at muscle. It twists its head and yanks. Once. Twice. A third time and the meat comes free.

The body of the prey lay motionless, save for the motions of its predator. A sharp snort through reptilian nostrils and the beast lifts its snout to throw the meat back into its gullet.

The arena is filled with chatter and meaningless laughter about the show that has just finished. A few souls glance anxiously his way as he leans forward, towards the display. His head still, but his ever twitching, ever moving body continues its motions.

So that creation needed... Just a touch of tweaking. A metal hand taps rapidly on a flesh one, like the dancing legs of a spider. Interesting.

His mind is already spinning, never stopping, but it churns just a touch faster. A third hand raises to his face, metal claws slipping in and around the wet musculature. The sting is but a strum of a string to the symphony of sensation that plays in his whole self. A background song of pain and ache and burn and pleasure to every movement he makes.

Someone speaks to him. He mutters some words to appease them and urge them to leave him alone, his pitch eyes never leaving the beast and his imperfect creature's corpse.

He steps back, his gaze finally ripping away. The same gaze turns into a flurry of movement, twitching this way and that as he considers, contemplates... Not really looking where he is going but moving with a grace unusual even to those around him. His own... 'kin', would he even deign to call them that. He pushes a finger through his cheek-flesh-muscle and groans softly as the fresh puncture sharpens his thoughts.

He has an idea for how to improve his design. He'll need certain parts, though. And they are no cheap thing to get. His servants will scavenge what they can, but...

He slides back into his sanctum, his home, his orchestra hall. A sigh pushes out from his chest, the red muscles of his torso glistening as it relaxes ever so faintly. Frantic movements become more organized. His claw retreats from the wound in his face, a mere bead of blood expressing itself from the muscle. The sounds around him, the ever so faint hiss of mechanics, the groans of pain, the mad laughter, the... Everything. It's too much to put to words. It's not perfect. Perfection is such a boring state, anyways.

Claws slide through his hair, smearing the faintest of red through the silver, and three other arms make silent but strict orders to those around him. He has work to do and he will lose himself in it for a few hours more. First, however, is the poor soul who happens to be closest to his claws. He does like to think himself immune to the frustration of failure; a savage, beastly emotion so beneath one as he. Unfortunately, 'likes to think' does not make something a fact.

He moves without seeing, lips pressed into a thin line. A sharp jab silences the flesh-thing, a single tool cutting through armor, skin, flesh, fat, muscle, tendon, and cord. The screaming becomes hollow gasping. Viscera of veins bulging like blue and red spiderwebs, yet not quite bursting as he peels back layers. Cuts that look jagged, yet expertly avoid any major vessels to curb excessive bloodshed.

Yes, the scene is gory... But too much blood spilled would make this far too messy. What's the point in art if you can't see it? In music muffled under cloth so thick to drown it out? It's a song he has played many times before, one that may not carry the same joy as the first listen, but still instills him with some level of calm. So many layers of excess in these beasts, yet it was Aeldari who birthed Sai'lanthresh?

Epidermis peeled from dermis peeled from fat peeled from muscle. Tendons quietly clipped to free spasming and contracting musculature from bone. The creature wheezes and thrashes, but his cuts remain precise. This is no experiment, no delicate procedure. This is but a collection and dissection. No need to restrain or subdue the thing, much less waste any of his toxins to still them.

It twists and falls off his table. He merely blinks and turns to place the extracted muscles into a secondary pan. His claws click quietly and he glides around the table to pluck their spasming form off the ground, setting them back on the table. Some organ has burst so fluid and mucus leave a slime trail from the ground to the table. The stench is but a rise in the chorus and he clicks his tongue. Blood has begun to spill more readily, ripped from its veins by the thing's thrashing. All the more reason to finish quickly and--

The door beyond his curtain is opened, then closed. His lips peel back from his teeth in a grimace, but he chooses to feign ignorance of the visitor. He moves to instead begin extracting bone, the creature letting out a whistle-like noise as it arches... Then falls still. Shock, likely. Normally, he would reawaken them with a jolt or an injection, but his attention is more on the light footsteps drawing near to him as he recognizes them.

Ah...

This could be interesting.

"Aezyrraesh." He clicks his teeth with the name.

"Frustrated, Tervantias? At least this time your new experiment made it to the finale, ah?" The Dracon's words carry amusement and taunt, but it bothers him none. His eyes stay on his little project, only a slow blink to even acknowledge the man had even said anything.

"What do you want?"

"..." That isn't the response Marazhai had wanted, this he knows. The pause and the faintest sound of grinding teeth only confirm that, "I need a favor. A control worm--"

It's such a pathetic request that the haemonculus laughs. His head tilts up and finally twists towards the Dracon, "Is it truly so hard for one pathetic worm to find another?"

Marazhai seethes, lips curled back in a snarl, but catches himself, "I need one of custom make." His eyes flick over the haemonculus as the conductor straightens his back, "One for the mon-keigh who continues to predict our movements."

Tervantias tilts his head, contemplating this. Beneath him, without assistance, the creature under his claws expels its life and its previous meal. Boredly, he looks down at it, then carelessly hooks a finger under it and flips it off of the table, back to the place it had previously occupied on the ground. The smears left behind reek of bile and pus. He waves to an assistant to clean it and the body up, "Why should I waste my talents making something for some mon-keigh creature?"

Marazhai's jaw clenches, "The Reaving Tempest is falling out of favor and respect--" Tervantias turns towards him slowly, head tilting, mechanics twitching, muscle glistening, "--w-with the other Kabals because of its meddling, and if that happens then--" the haemonculus draws closer to him, one hand spinning a syringe of some kind, another cutting a fresh laceration into his own skin, the final two sliding behind his back, "--then... You do as well..." Marazhai doesn't realize he's been shrinking away, slowly stepping back until his heel hit the metal of the other table.

Marazhai has always been such an entertaining plaything. Had another been chosen as Dracon, he might not be so bold to approach the second of his patron's command. But that faint glimmer in the back of his eyes as the haemonculus towers over him. He was not one to own, but to be owned. He just has yet to realize it.

"Reason for you, yes... But I can find another patron. This bothers me little. So I will ask again." He leans over the shorter drukhari, his half-lips sliding into a smirk, "Why should I make this... For you?" The bloodied hand that left a deep cut in his pale skin comes forward and presses up under his jaw, the blooded finger swiping across the pale skin of his cheek and leaving a broken smear of red.

Marazhai squirms like the very wriggling grub he desires to commission from the Archmachinator. But his tongue swipes across his sharp teeth, "I could bring you more parts for your beasts," the hand tightens and Tervantias's expression doesn't budge, "gift you the others of the mon-keigh's crew," white hair falls in a cascade onto Marazhai's shoulder as Tervantias tilts his head one way, "...what else would you have from me for such a simple little request??" Marazhai hisses up at him, hands bracing on the table behind him.

"I will have both of these things... And I will have a revisit to your anatomy, Dracon. You ask me to lower myself to such a task and so you, yourself, shall also be lowered."

With a twist of his wrist and a swift strike, the haemonculus stabs the syringe into Marazhai's throat. He revels, for a second, in the shocked gag before his thumb presses the plunger down. He leans in, watching the green liquid color veins and open them up, spreading faster as Marazhai's heart quickens. He slides the tool out and sets it aside, watching the puncture hold the fluid well.

"Let us begin. Don't act as though you will not take pleasure in this." He loosens his grip, but his other hands abandon their post behind his back to come forward and begin to carelessly remove his armor, "You requested these depths before." He motions with the hand previously holding the syringe to a servant of his.

Marazhai hisses and curses him, his hands clawing at the haemonculus's arm, but... Tervantias knows he isn't really giving it his all. His blade is easily in reach, after all. Another table is brought forth, this one angled upwards. The Dracon's back hits the metal and hands swiftly secure him down.

The Archmachinator hums, pleased, and moves away to collect his tools, taking his sweet time as Marazhai fights the inevitable flow of the toxin. It's somewhat impressive that he hasn't screamed yet--

...Ahhh...

There it is. A smile twists the exposed muscles of his face into a grimace as the toxin finds Marazhai's heart and the man's scream rips through and echoes in the air of his Opera. His eyes slip shut for a moment, contemplating his options as his newest specimen thrashed and cursed him. He could check on his previous addition to the young man. See how well the new tissue was settled in.

He opens his eyes and turns to look at his subject--no longer Marazhai to him, but another project, another song to compose. He is on his back, it will be no small task to cut through his body to get to his spine. All the more fun. His claws wrap around three tools; A saw of some make, two clamps, and a gun-like machine.

His claws are his scalpels. He sets upon the man with practiced ease. Without fanfare, a Y-incision is cut. Skin peeled back. The gun-thing is put to use firing pins through the skin and into the table, holding him open like the wings of a beetle on a collector's wall.

Just as with the pitiful creature before, Tervantias ignores his subject's thrashing. This one is restrained, though, and it makes for easier cutting of muscle. Not for extraction, of course. No, this one will have to be put back together.

Sheets of muscle are pinned as well, the rippling striations and folded groups reminiscent of bird wings. A glance upwards as Marazhai stills. His eyes are distant, his jaw clenched tight. Drool trickling down in a steady stream from one corner of his mouth. Tears bead up in the corners of his eyes. He must be desperate not to let them fall. It isn't the cutting doing this to him. No, he has been wounded so before, gutted thoroughly before. He would not shed tears, even in pain, for something so simple as a wound.

No, it is the toxin. Causing certain glands to release more than they should. We, as humans, would call similarities to these releases as adrenaline, dopamine, endorphins. Tears simply follow suit and his drool is but a by-product. Marazhai is feeling everything... Tenfold. No, twenty. A hundred, if not ever more.

A whimper spills from the proud Dracon and Tervantias laughs, "So soon? A proud beast turned to mewling. And I've not yet touched your guts."

"Wh-what did you... What did you do to me...?" The tone was meant to be that of anger, or even fury... But desperation comes instead. He does not admit his sick delight in the haemonculus's claws.

The Archmachinator does not respond. Instead, the saw comes to its duty. It slices away the bone of the man's ribcage, eventually allowing their release on the subject's cavity. Marazhai gags on his screams. They bleed, in spades, they bleed. It spurts in wet fountains, painting the tool and the metal and gore of Marazhai's flayed hide.

"You make a fine distraction, Marazhai." His voice, calm and even, still cuts through the buzz of the saw. He stops only when he can remove the sternum as if a simple lid on a specimen jar. He sets it aside. His claws gently move through the man's organs, testing the connective tissue that holds them in place, his flesh hand soiled by the blood of his ribcage.

"A pathetic Dracon, but a deliriously fine specimen." He expertly carves one organ from the others, without disrupting its function. He twists it delicately to set aside, then moves to another. Again. And again.

And he speaks as he does it, "Truly, I have considered bartering with your sister for you. Every new request she has..." He slips metal fingers around Marazhai's heart, feeling its rapid pulse, unable to beat any faster. He leans over, "Your name dances on my tongue."

He pulls on the organ, watching the thick veins and arteries pull like a wet rope out of his body, blood drooling from any little nick in the membranes. He tilts his head, eyes flicking up to Marazhai's face. His turquoise eyes have paled with pain. Nearly a silver-blue. His pupils are mere pinpricks as he just stares back at Tervantias.

"You are no leading figure. You are but a toy." He presses the organ to his lips, teeth taunting the ever-moving muscle. His tongue slides over it. He could easily bite. Simply resurrect Marazhai after he bleeds out... But the expression on his face... He cannot help but revel in it. Blank. Obedient. Malleable. He chuckles, the sound reverberating in the opera house, before setting the heart aside.

He considers Marazhai's form for a moment. Almost mechanical, how his organs' connections--veins, nerves, tissue, and arteries, all--bend like cords back into his body. He can see the shimmer of his modification in the pool of blood that is the man's chest cavity, all but emptied of viscera. He turns to a small device, a pump of sorts, and begins to drain that pool, letting him have a closer look.

For all his fun, he does have a goal. His claws gently run along his spine. Tilts his head one way... Then another. The augment has bonded quite nicely. Though there is a bit of misalignment here... He clicks his metal claws and picks up a pair of forceps, cutting open the thin membrane protecting the shimmering white nervous augment and holding it open with the forceps. Delicately, he pulls four inches of tiny wires like worms out from the soil of Marazhai's tissues. They squirm in his grasp like them, too, searching to grasp onto something, anything. He moves them slightly upwards, and they shoot back in, spreading out and settling again.

Marazhai's right arm will function just slightly better. Not that the man would notice, nor appreciate it. Not that Tervantias does it for his benefit. He does it to see it put in its proper place. He releases the forceps and continues his slow examination of the spine through the chest. One nerve-set at a time.

His long hair falls into the cavity one strand at a time, a trickle of white stained with blood.

Marazhai groans above him. A claw flicks and stabs into the man's thigh, drawing that groan into a raspy moan. A thin tongue slips out and licks fresh moisture onto exposed fangs, but he says nothing. He continues his observations, but slowly drags that claw, carving the shape of the muscle beneath into the flesh. Marazhai's voice pitches slightly higher, cracking.

"I knew you would find yourself enjoying this." Metal clicks and chemicals hiss. He injects more of that concoction into the man's shoulder, causing him to spasm. His wrists strain at metal and his flesh tears at the pins--though they hold. His knees draw upwards, stopped only by two of the haemonculus's hands to keep them out of the way. He acknowledges it no further, but leans back a bit. One by one, he pulls the organs back to their places. Slides a fluid along them to repair connective tissues he had expertly severed. Pain slowly ebbs away from the man and he whines his protest.

"Be silent. This is for my enjoyment." He looms his face close to Marazhai's, "Not yours." A taunting smile, and he returns to his task. Diaphragm folded back into place. Bone seamlessly mended back to bone. Muscle tissue reattached. Marazhai began to snap insults at him, just now feeling the height of the second wave of the injections, but they have no sting. Flesh returns to its place, and no scar is left behind. He trails a finger down the man's chest, then flicks it away, snapping for a servant to release the man's binds.

He hears rather than sees Marazhai's body crumple off of the table as he turns his back.

"You will have your control worm, Dracon Aezyrraesh." He waves a hand, "Put your armor back on and crawl back to your Kabal. I will send you word when it is done."

"You fucking bastard, you can't--"

"I took my payment, Aezyrraesh. Be grateful I did not take more. I would happily risk your sister's wrath for more."

Silence. Well, as silent as the Anatomical Opera would allow in its gullet. He tilts his head as he plucks an egg from a jar, pulling various syringes and tools from different shelves to begin modifying the embryo within.

Silence is interrupted. The attempts that Marazhai makes to move under the influence of his toxins are amusing to listen to. He silently adds finding an extension to the toxin's effects to his eternal list of projects.

He doesn't even glance over his shoulder as he hears Marazhai finally move to attempt putting his armor back on. He knows the man desires attention, even a look of disgust or annoyance, and he will deny him even that. He will bask in the man's suffering for it. He does tilt his head a bit as he hears a heave and a splatter. A groan. He chuckles despite himself.

Marazhai hisses a final insult before stumbling towards the curtains, towards the exit. What a shame. He had somewhat hoped for some begging. He can only laugh to himself at the thought of Marazhai goring himself later to try and chase what he had given him. To satiate himself. His eyes finally turn, easily finding a hole in the curtain to watch Marazhai's back as he shoves himself through the door out.

His backplates are crooked.

Tervantias clicks his fingers in a snap, "Someone clean up that mess."

#cw gore #cw fictional self harm #cw vomit #cw surgery #cw body horror #cw sadism #cw masochism #cw noncon #as... consensual gore is definitely a thing in this universe to this species #tervantias the archmachinator #marazhai aezyrraesh #tervantias/marazhai #sub!marazhai #man *I* need a cigarette after this #lmk if i need to add more tags #i think i covered it all

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radsplin · 19 days ago

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REBRANDED BLOG!

hey, im rasplin, i also go by pris or imp here. im a factive of the mcyt by the same name. im 22 iirc and used it/they in private. im a headmate in an adult system that wont be disclosed for personal reasons. im also a filthy kinnie now hahaha this acc is explicitly radqueer and pro-endo!!!! tags and kinlist under the cut

kinlist

⭑ঌ🫀໒꒱⭑shrimpo/fighter 👁️ he/him 𓉸 hit/hits ꒰ঌ👁໒꒱agelessadult 💉 bi cis 𓆩𓁹𓆪coping kin 🩸 ▓🦐.text▓

⭑ঌ🫀໒꒱⭑(twisted)glisten 👁️ he/him ꒰ঌ👁໒꒱agelessadult?? 💉 gay cis 𓆩𓁹𓆪coping kin 🩸 ▓🪞.text▓

⭑ঌ🫀໒꒱⭑astro 👁️ he/him 𓉸 moon/moons 𓉸 sleep/sleepy ꒰ঌ👁໒꒱agelessadult??? 💉 gayce cis-ish 𓆩𓁹𓆪coping kin 🩸 ▓🌙.text▓

⭑ঌ🫀໒꒱⭑toodles 👁️ random prns ꒰ঌ👁໒꒱17 💉 omni aroace masc-ish gnc-nb 𓆩𓁹𓆪tism kin 🩸 ▓🎱.text▓

tags

▓🔗.text▓ rasplin posts ▓🦐.text▓ shrimpo posts ▓🪞.text▓ glisten posts ▓🌙.text▓ astro posts ▓🎱.text▓ toodles posts 𓉸calls𓉸 canon/tl calls 𓉸reblogs𓉸 𓉸textpost𓉸 𓉸spam𓉸 𓉸hoard𓉸 𓉸vents𓉸 𓉸inbox𓉸

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bigsoftmarshmallow · 3 months ago

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How would the Ganondorfs (Wind Waker, Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, Hyrule Warriors, and Tears of the Kingdom) & Demise react to having a nightmare? What would their nightmare be?

Each Ganondorf and Demise’s nightmares would be as unique as their personalities, reflecting their inner fears, insecurities, and hidden vulnerabilities. Here’s a look at what each of these Demon Kings would dread most in their sleep—and how they might react upon waking.

Wind Waker Ganondorf: The Tragic King

Nightmare: In his dream, he is back in the harsh Gerudo Desert, standing alone amidst the endless sands and relentless sun. The kingdom he built—the one he tried to save from its suffering—is a mirage, forever out of reach. He can see Hyrule prospering on the horizon, a lush paradise mocking him while his own people remain destitute and desperate. He tries to reach it, but no matter how far he walks, it never gets closer. He is cursed to watch his people suffer, powerless to change their fate.

Reaction: Ganondorf wakes slowly, beads of sweat glistening on his brow. His heart pounds, but he keeps his expression stoic. He sits up, silently staring at his hands, fists clenching as the helplessness lingers. Inwardly, he tries to rationalize it as a mere nightmare, yet a seed of doubt remains, reminding him of the despair that once drove him to war against Hyrule. He vows quietly to himself that he will never allow his people to suffer again, no matter the cost.

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf: The Ruthless Conqueror

Nightmare: Ganondorf dreams of being chained in Hyrule Castle’s dungeon, powerless and humiliated. The Hero of Time stands before him, sword raised, ready to strike him down in a humiliating defeat. But the twist of the nightmare is that as the blade descends, Ganondorf realizes he cannot fight back—his power is gone. He’s no more than an ordinary man, stripped of his strength, his title, his magic. Worse yet, he watches as Hyrule’s people cheer, celebrating his weakness, seeing him as a mere footnote in history, forgotten and ridiculed.

Reaction: He jerks awake, eyes blazing as he sits up, immediately summoning a surge of power to reassure himself. The very idea of being powerless horrifies him, and he spends the rest of the night in silent rage, pacing and vowing never to let his guard down. His pride bruised even by a mere dream, he silently renews his determination to crush anyone who would dare to strip him of his strength.

Twilight Princess Ganondorf: The Calculating Tyrant

Nightmare: Ganondorf’s nightmare is one of betrayal. He dreams of his own Gerudo kin turning against him, seeing him as a monster rather than a leader. He sees their faces twisted in fear and resentment as they accuse him of leading them to ruin, abandoning their trust. His closest allies betray him, leaving him alone in a cold, barren wasteland. Worse still, he can hear the mocking laughter of Hyrule’s royals, who seem to watch his disgrace with satisfaction.

Reaction: When he awakens, his eyes narrow, a flicker of hurt and anger flashing across his face. Though he won’t speak of it, the dream leaves a lasting impression, stirring his long-held paranoia. In response, he tightens his grip on his control, determined to never let anyone close enough to betray him. He reminds himself that trust is weakness and that he must stay vigilant against even those who claim loyalty.

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf: The Warlord

Nightmare: His nightmare is one of failure. In his dream, he stands on the battlefield, but as he swings his sword, he realizes his attacks do nothing. His enemies close in, unscathed, as his power fades to nothing. His forces fall one by one, his conquests crumble, and he is left kneeling amidst the ashes, defeated and alone. His legacy—a world united under his rule—disintegrates before his eyes, leaving only despair.

Reaction: Ganondorf awakens with a snarl, his fists clenched tightly around his blanket, almost tearing it. The notion of defeat burns in his mind, and he’s immediately on guard, as if prepared for a challenge that might come at any moment. In the days that follow, he trains twice as hard, making sure his strength is unrivaled. Failure is something he cannot and will not accept, and he silently vows to eradicate anyone who dares to challenge his vision.

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf: The Corrupted Demon King

Nightmare: He dreams of being consumed by darkness—not the kind he wields, but a mindless, devouring void that strips him of everything he is. He’s reduced to a husk, a puppet to forces beyond his control. Hyrule stands safe and unchallenged as he is left to rot in the dark depths, forgotten. He feels only emptiness, his ambition erased, his power meaningless, swallowed by the very malice he once controlled.

Reaction: He wakes, his breath ragged, a sliver of genuine fear in his eyes. He shudders, shaking off the cold feeling of the nightmare’s darkness. To reaffirm his strength, he immerses himself in rituals or displays of power, reaffirming his identity as master of his own destiny. The dream unsettles him more deeply than he’d like to admit, but it also strengthens his resolve to never let any force—not even darkness itself—claim control over him.

Demise: The God of Destruction

Nightmare: Demise’s nightmare is not one of loss or betrayal, but of a world without strife. He dreams of a realm where he has been defeated, where peace reigns, and the mortals live without fear of him. He finds himself trapped, unable to break free or create chaos, forced to witness harmony spreading across Hyrule. It’s a twisted torture, where his very essence is denied as he’s forced to endure a world in which his purpose—the domination and destruction of all—is meaningless.

Reaction: Demise awakens with a roar, fury coursing through him like fire. The very thought of such a peaceful world is abhorrent to him, and he feels a deep urge to unleash his power, just to prove he can. His rage would be enough to terrify any minions or allies nearby, and he would be relentless in his pursuit of destruction, eager to wipe away any sign of peace. To Demise, that nightmare is a reminder that his true purpose is chaos, and he’s driven with renewed fervor to ensure such a vision never becomes reality.

#mallowresponse #legend of zelda #ganondorf #ganon #demise #skyward sword #hyrule warriors #tears of the kingdom #wind waker #ocarina of time #twilight princess #ai use #use of chatgpt

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bipabrena · 6 months ago

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The King of the Ashes (Aegon II-centric Helaegon fic) Chapter 2

Praying to the gods, old and new, to release him from his suffering, Aegon is sent back to the morning of his coronation. He is still weak, he still does not know how to rule. But he has one weapon: information. And with information, comes power. He now knows how to learn.

Being burned and usurped by his brother has left him with no love or patience to spare, for anyone. Everyone he thought he could trust betrayed him, and so he will pay their cruelty twice in turn.

Read here.

Aegon was adrift in darkness. The pain in his body dulled, but it remained. Yet, the worst of it wasn’t the burns or his bones.

It was his head.

It felt as if it were spinning. Shadows danced before his eyes, shapes forming and dissolving in the blackness. It was dizzying, he felt he would faint.

The darkness gave way to the sky, open and cloudy. He saw everything, clear as day, but he did not feel it. He did not feel the wind, nor the warmth of the sun.

The darkness flickered again, and when it shifted, Aegon saw dragonfire light up the sky. A second shift, and Sunfyre was beneath him, his golden scales glistening. He plummeted, and Sunfyre cried. He cried. Aegon heard it all, but muffled.

Soon enough, he found himself crying with Sunfyre as one. He wished for this to end, for him to feel the pain again; the burns, the shattered bones, he wished for it to be given back to him, if only it meant he wouldn’t have to hear his golden love suffer like this.

His vision shifted again, and he saw the nursery. He saw Helaena, slumped before Jaehaerys’s crib, screaming her heart out as she rocked his headless body.

They came and went, again and again, and Aegon felt he would go mad. He saw a storm, figures beneath the dark clouds. Dragonfire, the gleam of steel. So much, all at once.

Aegon opened his mouth to scream, but all that came out was a strangled gasp.

He tumbled through the darkness. He saw dead, the living.

And then, he heard whispers.

King of ashes…

His world twisted and churned, the whispers yammering in his skull.

"A child of six, torn asunder... her blood on the hands of kin."

A young girl, and a mob, their faces obscured, their hands reaching and tearing. The child screams, mingling with the roars of the crowd.

"A queen of sorrow, lost to despair... her final flight from a tower’s end."

A high tower, familiar, he had seen it; but where? He could barely make out the shape. It was blurry, so blurry, all of it.

"A storm of fury, a pit of death... the winged ones fall, and a legacy ends."

Flames erupted around him, and roars, human and beast, rang in his ears. He saw the shadows of arrows, spears, and hatchets upon the concrete walls.

"A king of ashes, poisoned and broken... his realm in ruin, his bloodline ends."

Aegon jolted awake with a violent inhale, filling his lungs with air until he no longer could. He panted, eyes wide and unblinking on the ceiling. His vision, it was fuller. He wasn’t blind on his left side.

He lay still, chest rising frantically, disoriented.

And then he noticed it.

No pain. There was no pain. No burning flesh, no throbs of shattered bones–just the dull ache of exhaustion. He looked down at himself, dressed and covered by a blanket. He looked around the room, finding that it was dark outside. Almost midnight, most likely.

He slowly pushed himself up as he realised these were not his chambers. Or, rather, not anymore.

These were his old quarters. Not his real chambers, the ones he was meant to share with Helaena before, but rather the quarters he often elected to sleep in when he returned to the Red Keep late at night, after hours of drinking and whoring.

He swung his legs over the bed, and his knees buckled. He let out a cry as he looked at his left leg.

Healthy and whole. He was driven to his opposite knee, and he held his leg as tears formed in his eyes. He then touched his belly, and lifted his shirt, to find no burns. His left side was as perfect as the right one.

Immediately, he bolted to the mirror.

His eyes blew wide. He looked at his face, his hair.

He was perfect. He was healthy.

His mouth moved, but all that came out were little cries. He touched himself, as if to confirm the reality of what he was seeing.

“The gods punish me,” his voice quivered. “They play tricks on me.”

Panic set in, his breath quickening as he spun around the room. His gaze fell upon a flagon of wine. The familiar craving surged through him, and he lunged for it, his hands shaking as he poured the liquid into a goblet. He downed it in one motion, and nearly poured himself a second before deciding to drink straight from the flagon.

He chugged, but the taste felt bitter and foul on his tongue. He dropped the flagon, clutching his stomach as it retched violently. He stumbled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Wine, it had always been his refuge, his escape, and yet now it was tainted. He gagged.

Aegon fell to his knees. He clutched the edges of the table to steady himself. He lost his balance as he completely emptied his stomach’s contents. He vomited until all that was left were gags, and he could hear it again.

"A king of ashes, poisoned and broken... his realm in ruin, his bloodline ends."

“Poisoned.”

He held onto his stomach and screamed in pain. He collapsed on the floor, and welcomed the cold.

He panted, and slowly stabilised his breaths.

Aegon settled his palm on the floor. He stroked the cold tiles. “Gods… have you heard me?” he whispered. “Have you ended my pain? Or have you extended it, by playing tricks on me?”

He began weeping.

The door burst open, and Aegon gasped, trying to push himself up, but failing, falling back down from his hand slipping on the spilled wine. He hit his cheek on the floor.

It was Aemond, he panted. Aemond was here to murder him.

“My Prince, we heard screams!” two White Cloaks approached him.

“No!” Aegon cried when they reached out to touch him. He recoiled from their grasp, squeezing his eyes shut. He did not wish to die, not again.

The White Cloaks held onto him, one arm each, and they pulled Aegon up.

“I beg you, Aemond! Not again!” he cried.

“My Prince, what’s wrong?” Ser Arryk asked. He helped Aegon sit.

Aegon recoiled, hugging himself with one arm, and protecting his face with the other.

He remembered the flames. He could still hear Aemond’s dracarys . He could still see him tower over him, pressing onto his burnt flesh as he inquired what he remembered.

His voice juddered, his body trembled.

“I’ll fetch the Grand Maester,” Ser Erryk told his twin.

Ser Arryk’s eyes swept the room. He saw the remnants of the flagon scattered on the floor, and the spilled wine.

Aegon was just drunk again, he told himself. He always was, according to Erryk. Yet, never before had wine driven him to such panic, nor had it ever left him looking so vulnerable, as if harm might befall him at any moment.

Ser Arryk stepped back to give Aegon some space.

Had the Prince been harmed on his ventures?

“I beg you, Aemond! Not again!”

Ser Arryk frowned warily. From his understanding, Prince Aemond had retired to his chambers after the dinner. He had not been with Prince Aegon.

What happened, then? Surely the Prince hadn’t been harmed. If something had happened to him, Erryk would not have omitted that. Erryk had never liked Aegon much, disapproving of his drinking and whoring, but never would he dare voice this disapproval. He was still Aegon’s sworn shield, and he would never allow any harm to come to him.

That is, unless tonight had been one of the occasions the Prince had ordered Erryk away. Aegon did often like to be left alone for his ventures.

Ser Arryk offered Aegon water, but any time he spoke, Aegon would recoil further, hugging himself tighter, tucking his chin further into his chest. His shaky hand remained up in attempts to guard his face.

Ser Erryk arrived moments later with Grand Maester Orwyle, who was alert, but still blinking himself awake.

Maester Orwyle was careful in the way he approached Aegon, as if he were a cornered animal.

“I beg of you, don’t,” Aegon cried.

“My Prince, it is I, Orwyle,” the Maester said calmly. “You are safe, no harm will come to you.”

Aegon blinked rapidly, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Orwyle?

Grand Maester Orwyle had nursed him. He had worked tirelessly, along with the other maesters.

“Please,” Aegon whispered, “no more pain.”

Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk exchanged a wary glance.

Orwyle stepped closer. “You have my word, My Prince. You are safe here. No one will hurt you.”

Aegon slowly lowered his hand. His gaze darted around the room, settling on two familiar faces. He saw the Cargyll twins, at last. He frowned. Aegon was certain he was not drunk enough to see two Arryks.

So, why was Erryk here? He had defected to serve the bitch queen.

“My Prince,” Orwyle stepped in before Aegon could question whichever one Erryk was, “you are unwell. Perhaps something in the dinner made you ill. I can brew something for you.”

It’s then he at last noticed how they had been addressing him.

He was no prince. He was the King now!

Aegon’s mind raced to grasp the situation. “What dinner?”

The twins were puzzled, but Orwyle was more successful in hiding his confusion. “The dinner with your family, My Prince. King Viserys had to retire to his chambers, but it’s possible you might have fallen ill, too.”

Aegon’s brows creased. His head snapped to the Maester.

His father? His father had been dead for over a month.

His mouth slowly opened. “The dinner… before Father died,” he mouthed to himself as he slowly lowered his gaze to the floor. “I’m… back?”

The twins exchanged another glance.

“You have been through a great ordeal, My Prince,” Maester Orwyle said, not judging him for what Aegon imagined might look to everyone like a psychotic drunken episode. “But you are here now, unharmed. I will prepare something to aid in your sleep.”

“No, no!” Aegon shook his head. Larys had said milk of the poppy dulled his senses, he could have no more! “No, I…”

The realisation struck him.

If he’s back, then…

“Sunfyre…” he mumbled, and then his eyes widened. “Jaehaerys. Jaehaerys,” he rose to his feet.

His son must be alive!

Aegon sprinted from his chambers. He raced through the halls until he reached the nursery. He pushed open the doors, and two nursemaids jumped from their seats in fright. They bowed to him.

But all Aegon could focus on was the crib before him.

He slowly stepped towards it, and fell to his knees.

“Jaehaerys,” he whispered, leaning to the sleeping boy. He reached out, gently lifting his son.

The boy stirred, roused from his sleep. “Mother?” is the first thing he said.

Aegon placed his ear on his chest.

One, two, three.

Steady heartbeats.

Tears welled in Aegon’s eyes as he stroked Jaehaerys’s throat with the tips of his fingers. He then hugged his small body.

Jaehaerys now understood he was woken not by his mother, but his father. “Father?” he mumbled sleepily.

“My little son,” Aegon said. He wept openly, not caring about the nursemaids, or the Cargyll twins that had followed him.

Jaehaerys reached out to touch Aegon’s tear-streaked face. “Why do you cry, Father?”

His voice was so soft, so small. He was real, he was alive.

“I’m just happy to see you,” Aegon whispered, his cries ceasing. “Forgive me,” he pulled away. “Go back to sleep.”

Jaehaerys was confused. He rubbed his eye as Aegon tucked him back in. “Sleep well, Jaehaerys.”

Aegon looked at the nursemaids, now embarrassed. He averted their gaze, and walked past the twins.

“Grand Maester Orwyle will bring you something for your ill, My Prince,” Ser Erryk said.

Aegon walked fast. He felt lost. He was disoriented, he didn’t know what to do. He wished to go to the Dragonpit to see Sunfyre, to hold him and kiss him and confirm that he was unharmed, but he couldn’t afford to waste time. The ride to the Dragonpit would be long.

If Jaehaerys was alive, so was Sunfyre.

He stopped in the middle of the hallway, the twins stopping behind him. They exchanged glances over the Prince’s bizarre behaviour.

Aegon touched his forehead.

His head hurt.

“The, um…” he shut his eyes, tapping his forehead. He then turned to look at the twins. “Arr… Erryk,” he looked between the two, not knowing which one was his sworn shield. “The dinner. How long ago was that?”

“Three hours ago, My Prince,” the twin on the left answered. Aegon looked at him.

“And what did I do after the dinner? Might you refresh my memory?”

“You said you’d nap, My Prince. You told me to rouse you at midnight.”

“For what?” Ser Erryk looked around. He then looked at his brother, and Aegon exhaled with frustration. “It matters not if he’s here, speak.”

“... To go alone to Flea Bottom, My Prince.”

Aegon sighed hard. Of course that he was there. He remembered now, he thought. News of Viserys’s death had reached the White Worm, she had hidden him, then sold him out.

This meant he still had hours to spare. But his brain felt like mush. He was tired, he had a headache, and even though his body was no longer broken, he still felt he hadn’t rested in weeks.

His father would die soon. His traitorous mother had insisted Viserys proclaimed him King.

He had to confirm it for himself, but a witness or two wouldn’t hurt. Ser Erryk defecting to the bitch queen was a loss to them, although perfectly manageable. It would make little difference.

Princess Rhaenys was another matter entirely. She was still in the Red Keep, waiting for the Silent Sisters to ready Vaemond’s body, but what could he tell her? To accompany him to visit her cousin? She had made her support for the Blacks clear enough; she was on Lucerys’s side to inherit Driftmark. Her granddaughters were betrothed to the bastards. The woman was a lost cause, most likely.

He would take the twins, only. He needed to hear what Viserys told Alicent. Even if Ser Erryk listening resulted in nothing, at a minimum Aegon still needed to know.

“I wish to… see my father,” Aegon spoke reluctantly. “Accompany me.”

They followed him, and Aegon wondered what this meant. Would things continue as they had, before he returned to this point? Or was this a new event? What if Viserys wasn’t in bed, or didn’t pass tonight?

He stopped by the door, acknowledging the Kingsguards guarding it. “I wish to see my father,” he spoke up.

“His Grace is resting, My Prince,” the right kingsguard said.

“He had to be carried away from the dinner, I’m concerned about his state. Don’t deny a son’s wish to see his ailing father.”

The kingsguards exchanged looks. They nodded, stepping aside as they bowed their heads.

Aegon quietly walked into the grand chambers, the ones that had been his just moments before this witchcraft. When he saw that the twins stood outside, he ushered them in.

They hesitated, they were confused, but they had to obey their Prince.

Aegon slowly treaded towards the bed. He could hear laboured breathing, and moans of pain. “Father?” he called out.

Read the rest of the chapter here.

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd aegon #helaegon #house of the dragon #hotd fic

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edupiii · 10 months ago

Text

🦇The Cryptic Tales of Coppersfield Update!!💛

Now I’m not entirely sure how many people on here actually read my fic The Cryptic Tales of Coppersfield, but incase you do I just wanna give a small update!

I’m more than halfway through finishing Chapter 10 as well as beginning Chapter 11, however, I am in the middle of final exams and essays for my first year of uni so my attention is focused on that stuff. I checked the other day and realized I hadn’t posted a new chapter in a while so I just wanted to put out this PSA incase any readers were wondering what was happening.

I’m also finishing up the designs for Lizzy and Khan, and sketched out Alice and Beau (even though they aren’t gonna show up for a while, I wanted to draw them). I think I’ll be making a new design for Uzi and possibly Thad since they were the first ones I made and looking back I think I could do better on them. To thank you for your patience and understanding, here is the intro to the next chapter!!

(Uzi uses she/they pronouns interchangeably btw, just a heads up incase you get confused reading)

TW: mention of body horror

Chpt 10, Game Plan

It was getting closer, she was sure of it. They couldn’t hear it over the sound of her own laboured breathing and the crunching of fallen leaves underneath their heavy steps; but they knew it was coming. They had been running in the dead of night for…she wasn’t sure on the exact amount of time, but a long time would suffice for an answer.

She stopped in the middle of a clearing and spun around, feeling the distinct fear of recognition growing. She had already been here. They’d gone in some type of messed up circle. But how?

Without warning, the sound of whatever was chasing her had caught up. They could hear it’s own heavy breathing and it’s snarling grin as it approached the small, tired figure. She begrudgingly turned their form to face their enemy, feeling her gut twist as the moonlight glistened off its torn and broken flesh’s

The creature cocked its head while making some sickly attempt to laugh at its preys reaction. It looked like it could have at one point been human, but its length and height were far too unnatural of any persons. Where Uzi assumed its eyes would be was covered by greasy hair while its mouth hung open. It’s not that it was opening its mouth, it’s that it no longer had a bottom jaw to close its ever gapping gob.

Long, spindly arms helped it crawl its thin yet heavy body closer to Uzi, her feet trying to move but unable too. Finally this thing stood over the terrified teen, drool dripping from its hanging maw onto Uzis hair and face. Its head drew closer and closer, its features becoming more prominent with every passing second.

The filthy hair covering its eyes slanted as it smiled down at Uzi, allowing her to be able to see the creatures face. As they looked in horror, a tinge of confusion began to swell. What gazed back at them were not eye’s necessarily, but two sagging black sockets. In the middle of each empty hole was that strange three pronged symbol Uzi had seen so many times before. They were glowing yellow and shaking sporadically.

Uzi snapped out of their trance as the thing inched its putrid face ever so slightly to her own, causing them to try and retreat. But they couldn’t. She looked back up and gazed at the beast whose warm breath incapsulated their face.

“Wha-what the hell are you?” they asked in a shaking voice. “Some kin-kind of eldritch monster?”

The thing reared back slightly, almost like it was in shock. However, this feeling quickly faded away as it brought its face right back up to Uzis.

“It hurts our feelings you don’t remember us.”

Uzi tried to pull away once again while looking at the things mouth. “How can-can you talk!? Some psychic link! You don’t even-“

“Easier to assimilate then explain.”

A large claw seemed to almost emerge from the shadows, its skin black with webbing between the talons. It rose up quickly and came back down on Uzi who readied for their painful demise, when suddenly-

———

AGN!

Uzi shot straight up from their sleeping position, her alarm clock blaring it’s awful symphony. The noise hurting her very being, Uzi wasted no time scrambling over and slamming a shaking fist on the old electronic. It finally shut up.

Leaning back slightly, Uzi began to notice how much they were shaking. Their breathing was incredibly heavy with her heart rate sending small tremors throughout her body. She also began to notice how sweaty they were (gross! i hate waking up sweaty)

However, like the past week of restless dreams, it’s memory quickly faded from her mind. They couldn’t recall any of it. At least…they’d like to not recall any of it, because the one thing that stuck in her head were the unnerving words that were spoken to them before they awoke.

Spoken in that god awful, familiar monotone voice that chirped in their head.

______

#murder drones #murder drones fanfic #the cryptic tales of coppersfield #murder drones au #vampire au #murder drones uzi doorman #murder drones n #murder drones nuzi #md nuzi #mystery au #modern au #writers on tumblr #hope you liked it #lemme know what you think :D #uzi doorman

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