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aromantic-romance-writer · 4 years

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Tengen Uzui x Fem! Pillar! Reader

[I Value You The Most]

How many times have this gorgeous man made me jealous and straight at the same time, I have no idea-

So I made this to let those emotions all out lmao.

Pretty much self-indlugent though :((( sorry. And Tengen isn't married to his three unbelievably hot wives here too so double sorry-

Hopefully though, you would still be able to enjoy!

Tengen almost can't believe it. There you stood, in a pillar's demon slayer uniform (nothing really changed except the buttons were gold now, but still-), your legs wrapped in bandages. He remembers that day two years ago. He saved a certain girl whose rank was Kanoe from a Lower Moon demon.

"[L/N] [Y/N]. I'll do my very best." you say with a grin. After the Pillar Meeting, Tengen comes up to you.

"Congratulations on being a pillar!" he exclaims with proud eyes. You crane your neck to look up at him, your eyes wide with surprise.

"Y-you remember me?" You ask in disbelief.

He smiles broadly with a wink. "I do."

"Really?! Someone like me?" you ask yourself, feeling giddy. "Wow..."

"You've come a long way. We may be of the same rank, but you're not of the same flamboyant level as I am."

You laugh. "It's nice to see you haven't changed one bit, Uzui-san."

That fateful day, when the Sound Hashira have saved you and finished fighting off that demon, he gave you a proud smile.

"You did a flamboyant job staying alive all this time."

And he let you decapitate the demon's head.

Ever since, you worked harder than ever. He was your inspiration these past 24 months of relentless training and experimenting, until you yourself was able to defeat a demon from the 12 Kizuki.

And here you are now. Called the Blood Pillar.

° ° °

After every Pillar Meeting, Tengen gets more and more disturbed by the sight of you.

Almost after every meeting, you would have new bandages wrapped around your legs. And that was just your legs. He's sure that there could be more under that uniform. While some of the old ones were replaced with scars. At first, he doesn't mind. He thought that you were new to your position as a pillar and have some wounds from your missions, but it's been such a long time now. Why do you always have these new wounds and scars?

Then he remembers. Blood Pillar. Now that he thinks about it, what the hell? Blood Pillar? Exactly from what Breath is that derived from? Does that explain all these new injuires you keep getting?

After the meeting, you see him march up to you, looking all serious. Honestly scared the heck out of you. Did you do something wrong? But you aren't really interacting with him lately, much to your disappointment.

"[L/N]." he crouches to your eye level, giving you an intense stare. "Are you okay?"

You blink. "H-huh? Why wouldn't I be...?"

He frowns. Oh no, is that the wrong response? He straightens up and grabs your wrist, pulling you away. You weren't able to react correctly and even say anything as you stared at his grip on your wrist. You're not sure what to feel about it, but you can feel your cheeks grow hot.

"Where are we going?"

"I just want to have a little chat."

"Oh!" you exclaim as you understood what was the deal earlier back at the Ubuyashiki Estate. You were in an empty field, sitting on the fresh grass of spring. Tengen asked all about your breath style and wounds. You were seriously admiring how confident he is to just ask that to you when he knew you weren't really close. You can't even ask Sanemi about his own scars and where he got them.

"Actually, my father was a very skilled doctor." you start as he listened to you intently. "He taught me how to handle medicines and how this certain tool should be used, and the like. After the day you saved me, I wanted to become more useful as a slayer at the same time be an unexpected enemy to the demons."

"You see, I'm a marechi. And I met a demon whose Blood Demon Art makes their own blood explode or burn. And it gave me the idea, and started to experiment on my own blood. It was a painful process, but it was worth it. After I became a pillar, I learned some tricks from Shinobu-san since I spend a lot of my time getting treated at the Butterfly Estate. I learned how to make poisons painful to scabbard but painless to humans and stocked it in the sheath of my sword. But it's really pretty useless unless my blood is mixed with the poison."

You finish. You stare up at the cloudless sky, adoring the pure blue color of it. Tengen just stares at you for a moment.

"So basically, you have to cut yourself for each form you make with your sword covered in poison..." he concludes ismn a mutter. Why would you make such a breath style? And isn't it too dangerous for your wounds to get exposed all the time or for too long? Plus, demons' favorite food is marechi. Then there's also the threat of blood loss.

This was all irritating him for some reason. He never realized how he deeply cares for you. Every time he sees you with yet again a new bandage, he can't help but feela tightness in his chest.

"[L/N]." he says, making you look at him with a hum. You were taken aback at the soft expression he gave you. "Tell me every time you have a mission."

"Why though?" you ask with a curious look.

He averts his gaze, feeling sheepish. It was a first for Tengen to feel like this. He's never shied away before. In frustration, he abrputly stands. "Just because." and he scratches his head. He walks away, leaving you alone on the field.

"U-Uzui-san...?" you wore such a dumbfounded expression. Was that an order?

° ° °

You sigh in relief. You've finally managed to go on a mission without Tengen on your tail.

These past few months, he's been 'accompanying' you on your missions and it's been annoying you lately. You don't even tell him when that you'll go on a mission. You just get surprised that he's already waiting by your house. He's also doing most of the fighting as well. He wouldn't let you draw your sword sometimes. Somehow, you were able to escape from him today.

Although in those times, you enjoy his company. He doesn't really talk much and seems like he'd rather listen to you. From stories to things Shinobu tells you, to even your problems. He was always there, listening. You've noticed that the way he smiles at you have changed. He always had that reassuring smile. A smile that would tell you "I'm here, always". It reminded you of how your father would occasionally treat your wounds after playing outside. But your father have passed, and no one else would be there for you anymore.

Until Tengen came.

Truthfully, you didn't mind being lonely for a while. Your pride as a demon slayer would allow you to sacrifice your own life to save others. You believed that you lived a contented life already. Nothing more is going to make you happy nor sad. It's okay for you to die protecting others.

Again, until Tengen came.

It's always because of him, these beliefs and thoughts keep changing. He changed you to become stronger, to feel secured and reassured around him, and that something was missing in your life. You weren't sure what it was, but you refuse to pass away without it in your life.

You stop walking. The sun was setting, shedding its final rays of light on the surface from the horizon. The wind have become eerily cold. The scent of human blood was strong, but a stronger smell was coating it. You cover your nose in reflex. What a sinister smell. Pompous and confidence was strongly flowing in this demon's blood.

A 12 Kizuki?

But this scent was more disturbing than the last two Kizukis that you faced from the last two years.

You rushed to the scene, following the scent as it grew stronger and stronger. Soon, you find a distorted white figure growing from what it seems like a vase. His back were lined with infant-like arms and was humming to himself until he felt your presence.

He turns to you, widening your eyes in horror. His face was even more distorted.

"My, I think I smell a marechi." He seems to smile, though you really can't tell. "Fufu, and a pillar?"

You unsheathe your sword and took a stance. You read the kanji on his eyes that were placed vertically on his face.

Upper Moon Five.

All you've encoutered so far were Lower Moon demons, so you expect that this battle will be tough.

"Say, would you like me to show you a piece I've recently finished?" he asks, his tone sounding conceited.

You grit your teeth. "I am not interested." you cut your arm with your blade, making sure the edge is fully coated in blood.

The demon bobs his head to the side. "Since you caught my attention, I'll ignore your rudeness just this once." he grins. "What is the point of slicing your own flesh? To provoke me?"

"You'll find out soon enough." You say before charging at him.

° ° °

Tengen was running as fast as he can, and the closer he gets, the louder he can hear your sword clanging. Although he's a shinobi, so his speed is quite enhanced, he fears that he's too late. It took him this much time to figure out where you were.

He may have realized this later than he should, but you were precious to him. You gave him a reason to be stronger - to live. He won't allow himself to be weak and die before you. You were now his top priority, then the people, then himself. If he can, he'll force you out of the demon slayer corps. Oh, but he can, he just won't. Other than your safety, your happiness was also top priority.

After all those times you've talked together, fought together, he starts to cherish every single moment he spends with you. And he can tell that, although undeservedly, it was him who drove you to be who you are today.

The Blood Pillar.

Just a few more hours, the sun will start to rise. He was finally getting close, until he hears silence. The sounds of clanging and clashing stopped. His heart was practically beating out of his chest in suspense. What happened?

You were breathing deep and hard from exhaustion. Your body was littered with wounds and blood. You've ripped off your uniform's torso, showing a blood-stained bandage wrapped around your breasts. Gashes made by the demon were slowing you down up to the point where you couldn't swing your sword anymore.

"How foolish." he starts. "Your Breath of Blood will kill you. I can just wait here as you die from blood loss, you know."

You smirk. You shouldn't be underestimated. You spent two years shaping and creating a body immune to such threats like that. You can go for another 10 hours or more, if limitations didn't exist, of course. You were only human. You may be weak for a pillar at the time, but you'll get stronger. You have to. You might lose this battle, but you refuse to die.

Win or lose, you will abstain yourself from passing out. You won't die. Not yet.

"But then the sun will rise soon, and I should have a feast. A feast fit for a fine artist such as myself."

He attacks you, you dodge barely. He was taken aback at the fact that you can still move. He keeos attacking, and you just kept dodging until you were finally worn out.

He takes notice as a sinister smile becomes visible on his features. Just when his attack was about to land a blow on you, you felt broad arms wrap around you as you were taken away.

"Didn't I tell you to always inform me of your missions?" You start to tear up. You see Tengen's irked and perturbed expression. He was able to snatch your haori and covers you with the clothing. As he was about to stand, you clutch unto him. He just smiles that reassuring smile. "I'll be back with the same flamboyance." he winks.

As he starts fighting in your stead, you watch him with anxiety bubbling in your chest. As you watch him, you found out what was missing. Even if it was just for a day, just for a few hours, what was missing in your life was Tengen. Now that he's come into your life, he can't come out. You need him. You can't die yet. You still want to spend your life with him. He doesn't have to feel the same way, as long as he's alive and well.

The demon cussed under his breath in frustration and was able to escape just before the sun's rays hit him. Tengen quickly ran to you to see if you're still breathing. Fortunately, you were alive as you gave him a smile.

"[Y/N]..." he whispers as he carries you. He starts walking. "...don't scare me like that."

All you could do was hum in response, your eyes closed and just fully giving in to his warmth.

"Don't be stubborn next time and tell me when you'll go on a mission. I can't breathe easy knowing that my girl is out there cutting herself to kill a demon."

You open your eyes in surprise. "'My girl'...?"

He smiles slightly. "Mhm. Whether you feel the same or not, you're my girl and no one else's right now. You're the most valuable to me in my life. And if someone steals you from me..."

He gives it a thought. "...he has to be way better than me in every way so I have to approve, 'kay?"

You giggle lightly and snuggled against him. You didn't need to say anything to tell him that you also feel the same way, as he can hear your heart beating solely for him.

Tengen watches your sleeping face. He felt truly blessed as something as precious as your heart was beating for him. His heart was beating for you as well.

As if blessing your new-found love, the sun's blinding rays followed both of you walking home, feeling safe and secured and valued with each other.

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johaerys-writes · 4 years

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Witcher AU: Viper In Tall Grass

Chapter (2/3): Silver Is For Monsters

Summary: Tristan of Toussaint is a witcher, his life dedicated to following the Path of the Viper. It is curiosity more than anything that leads him to Emperor Emhyr var Emreis's court. That is where he meets Dorian Pavus, lead sorcerer and advisor to the crown of Nilfgaard, and his life as he knows it changes for good.

They say that destiny is inexorable. Tristan is starting to see the wisdom in that saying.

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This is the second part of the prequel fic I’ve written for the as-yet-untitled Witcher AU my beloved friendo @solas-disapproves and I have been working on! I hope you enjoy :)

Read here or on AO3!

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The acrid smell of drowner blood and the stale, murky waters of Crookback bog reached Tristan’s nostrils several hours before the low reaching branches of the marsh trees rolled into view. The ground had already started becoming slippery a good way back, after they had left Downwarren, the only village in that area whose occupants still dared to live that close to the bog. Brave bastards. Or foolish. Perhaps both.

Tristan steered Almond around a wide dip along the half-abandoned dirt road that led to the swamps, his senses perked up for any possible threat. Animal sounds had started to become scarcer the deeper the rode in, settlements and signs of human activity even more so. Tristan couldn’t blame them - the bog was said to be haunted, cursed, home only to witches, ghosts and monsters. He himself had killed a fair amount of them, but even he was always reluctant to stray too far, lest he never made it out again. Crookbag bog was treacherous, and its inhabitants even more so.

Even Pavus had stopped his merry chatting a while before, keeping to himself most of the time. It felt odd to Tristan that he was so quiet. The hours rolled on far more slowly than before, his nerves stretching thinner and thinner the more the light was obscured by the dense foliage and the shadows grew longer with the setting sun. It was with more than a hint of reluctance that he admitted to himself that perhaps he did, in fact, appreciate the mage’s teasing jokes, even though he rarely, if ever, responded to them.

Perhaps he had grown sentimental, after all.

It took half a day of riding before Tristan started noticing deep and heavy hoofprints that looked nothing like deer or fox or wolf prints. Few foxes or wolves would linger in these parts, and certainly no deer. When they passed through a small clearing and Tristan saw a tree deeply scratched by something that looked like stag antlers, only twice as tall and perhaps three times as thick, he pulled Almond’s reins and dismounted.

“The Fiend’s lair must be close,” he grunted, more so to himself than to the mage.

Pavus shifted on his saddle, his eyes following him intently. “How do you know?”

Tristan’s fingers skimmed the deep, ragged scars on the tree trunk. “It’s a young male, probably, judging by the smell,” he said. Relatively young, at least. Fiends could live for hundreds of years. “Its antlers are sharp. Fiends only scratch their antlers when they feel safe, and nothing speaks safety more clearly than a lair.” He looked around him, lifting his head to sniff the air. An intense smell of pheromones and relict glands reached him. He scrunched his nose, frowning. “That way,” he said pointing to the east. He returned to his horse, pulling her reins towards the west.

“Aren’t we going that way?” Pavus asked, lifting his brows, nodding towards the east.

Tristan scoffed. “We would be, if we were suicidal. Have you never heard that a witcher’s preparation takes time?”

“Ah, yes. I was wondering when you would start sacrificing roosters and praying to… which god do you witchers pray to, again?”

“None,” Tristan replied gruffly. “But if you do believe in one, you should pray to them tonight. Tomorrow we attack, and we’ll need all the help we can get.”

Wind and Fire, Water and Earth. Four elements, bound as one. Order and Chaos, Life and Death, each one a side of the viper’s forked tongue. When the winds are low, when the night is dark, beware the venom of the viper’s fang.

Tristan ran the chant over and over in his mind, going through each step as he sank into a deeper and deeper meditation. It was among the first things he had been trained to do, even before taking up a sword. He was barely ten years old, fresh from the ritual, when he’d been left in a cell at the top of the highest tower in Gorthur Gvaed, the Viper School’s donjon in the deep chasms of the Tir Tochair mountains. He had stayed there for days, weeks, until his mind was empty of all thoughts and all that was left was focus. Pure focus. The strength of the witcher, and the source of his power.

Skill at arms makes you a fighter, Heir would always say. Focus is what makes you a witcher. Sometimes it was like he could still see her from the corner of his eye, leaning against a wall and twirling a dagger between her fingers as she watched him train. He hadn’t seen her in years. He idly wondered how she was.

Tristan opened his eyes slowly, the faint light around him shining just that tiny bit more brightly than before he entered his meditation. Pavus hadn’t woken up yet, even though it was almost dawn, a stark line of grey peeking over the eastern mountains in the distance. Tristan approached their camp slowly, careful not to wake him. His features were soft, lids moving gently as he dreamt, his blanket rising and falling with his breaths. He looked so peaceful, so serene in his sleep. Without his clever quips and witty comebacks, or the wide teasing smile he usually wore like a suit of armour, he seemed… delicate. Tangible. Beautiful and vulnerable, and so very achingly real. Tristan watched him in silence, transfixed, listening to the beating of his heart as the seconds languidly rolled on.

A breeze blew past them, ruffling Pavus’ dark hair, stirring Tristan out of his reverie. He knelt beside him, carefully lifting the thick woollen blanket until its hem rested under Pavus’ chin. The sun was steadily rising, its golden rays slithering through the gaps in the thick foliage overhead, yet the night chill still lingered in the air. It would be a good time to start their journey to the Fiend’s lair, he knew, yet Tristan couldn’t bear the thought of waking him. Time of day did not make much difference to Fiends, yet it did to humans. No one knew exactly what they would be facing, or whether they would be getting out whole. Better let the man get some rest, now that he could.

Tristan took a step back, his gaze lingering on Pavus’s sleeping form for a breath before turning away. He sat by the fire, stirring the glowing embers. The fire crackled, flames licking up at a half-burned log, hungrily seeking the fresh wood underneath the charred edges. Tristan watched quietly for a moment before fishing a small pot out of his bag, along with a bag of tough rolled oats. The least he could do while he waited for Pavus to wake up was to prepare a decent breakfast. They both needed the strength. Besides, a warm meal could do wonders for one’s mood before a battle. Tristan was never one to care too much about food, but Pavus had evidently grown up in luxury. Perhaps it would do him some good to eat something wholesome after all the hard travel bread and cheese they’d been having for days.

He was absently stirring the porridge in the pot when Pavus rose from his slumber. He pushed himself up with a groan, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “Good morning, my delightful travelling companion.”

“Morning.”

“It’s so early,” he moaned, stretching his limbs. “Practically still night.”

“It’s late,” Tristan said flatly, banging his small ladle against the rim of the pot. He kept his eyes on the porridge, avoiding the mage’s gaze.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Figured you needed the sleep.”

“Ah, yes,” Pavus said, tossing the covers off him. “Beauty sleep is just the thing one needs before taking on a legendary beast.”

The laces at the top of his shirt had come undone, a swath of bronze skin peeking through the fabric. Tristan swallowed thickly, tearing his gaze away to rummage through his bag for a bowl and a spoon. He gave a small start when he realised Pavus had come close, peering over his shoulder at the porridge simmering in the pot. His scent, that heady, spicy, intoxicating scent, flooded his senses, making it impossible to focus on anything else. Now that he was so close he could make out the distinct undertones of his cologne, lingering on his skin from the previous day, but there was something else, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Was it aniseed? Or caraway? Or maybe...

Tristan clenched his jaw, fighting the sudden, unbearable urge to lean closer and bury his nose in his neck, let that scent fill his lungs. He dropped a generous helping of the porridge into the bowl, unceremoniously handing it over to Pavus. The mage glanced quizzically at it, then at him, hesitating for a moment before accepting.

“You cooked for me?”

“For both of us,” Tristan corrected. “Thought we could have something heartier than stale bread and cheese for a change.” He stood up to remove the pot from the fire, sitting back down a good distance away. He idly stirred the porridge with the small ladle, letting it cool down for a bit before bringing a spoonful to his mouth.

“Do you not have a bowl?” Pavus asked him.

“I travel alone. Why would I need a second bowl?”

“Yes. Of course. Thank you for giving me your solitary bowl, then.” Pavus smiled at him from across the fire, sniffing the porridge before trying it. Then his long, aquiline nose wrinkled in a disgusted frown. "My, is this bland."

A spark of irritation flared in Tristan's chest. "Next time, you cook the damned porridge. We're on the road, not in a bloody palace."

"Just because we aren't in a palace doesn't mean we need to suffer," Pavus replied before procuring a small pouch from one of the many pockets of his coat. He sprinkled some on his porridge, then handed it over to him.

"What is it?" Tristan asked, reluctantly accepting.

"It's a very rare spice. I bought it from a merchant who had just returned from Zerrikania."

"Zerrikania? I thought no merchants went there."

"Not the merchants you're familiar with, evidently," Pavus replied with a sniff, stirring his porridge.

Tristan carefully, almost reverentially opened the pouch, glancing inside it. Whatever it was, if it had come from Zerrikania, it must have cost a fortune. He had heard countless tales of odd items from that faraway eastern land making their way to the west, yet he had never seen anything up close. He caught some of the spice with his finger, then dabbed it on his tongue. And quirked an eyebrow at the mage. "That's just sugar and cinnamon."

Pavus's full lips widened in a grin. "I had you fooled there for a minute, didn't I?"

Tristan shot him a disgruntled frown as he sprinkled some of the concoction into his pot. He was loathe to admit it, yet the porridge did taste a lot better with Pavus's addition. He grunted silently as he chewed, gazing at the leaves stirring with the wind above them. The swamp air was rank and rancid, yet there was still wind coming from somewhere. He could sense the faint smell of sea water, drifting with the breeze. Perhaps they were closer to the sea than he had thought. Or perhaps there was a salt water lake nearby, that he had failed to notice the last time he had been there. Or perhaps…

Idle thoughts and musings were somewhat successful in distracting him from the mage’s gaze, that seemed to fall on him more often than not. He prayed his cheeks would remain their normal colour when he heard Pavus clearing his throat.

“I can’t help but wonder.” Tristan raised his eyebrows inquisitively, and the mage continued. “You let me sleep in. You made breakfast. Why is that?”

Tristan shrugged. “No particular reason.”

“You don’t strike me as a man that does anything for no reason.” Sterling grey eyes fixed themselves intently on him, the golden flecks in them sparkling with the light of the fire. “I’m starting to think that our quest is more perilous than I initially thought.”

“Possibly. If either you or Emhyr knew exactly how dangerous a Fiend can be, you wouldn’t have hired just one witcher to kill it.” Tristan’s lips tightened in a line. “Fiends are deadly. You should prepare yourself for that possibility.”

Pavus stayed silent for a long moment, peering at the crackling flames. Then, he glanced at the bowl in his hands and scoffed. “If you think that a simple bowl of porridge is a fit preparation for possible death, you are thoroughly mistaken.” He set the bowl down, fished his flask of brandy out of his bag and leaned back on his arm, a smirk playing on his lips. “I believe this is as good a time as any for a story. Don’t you?” Tristan gaped at him, confused. He opened his mouth to refuse, when Pavus held up a finger. “Before you say no again, remember that this might be your last chance. If what you say is true, that Fiend might well get the better of me. Or you. Wouldn’t you want to at least have imparted one of your precious stories to a -very- willing ear?”

Tristan frowned at him. He was ready to retort, then noticed the edges of Pavus’ mouth twitching just a hair. It was only for a moment, a blink of an eye, but it was enough for Tristan to see the unease hiding under his smooth, glossy surface. The expectancy. The hope. He snapped his mouth shut, his frown deepening. What was it that Pavus wanted of him? Why were Tristan’s stories so important to him? Why… why did he want to get to know him?

He looked stubbornly away, past the line of trees that surrounded their small camp, keeping them safe from view. He thought he heard Pavus sighing softly, then stilling as Tristan's voice broke the silence. “There was a contract I took up once. In Redania." Pavus' eyes snapped to him. Tristan stirred the porridge in his pot, that was now starting to get sticky and thick, letting the silence stretch between them before he continued. "It was for an alpor. Do you know what that is?"

"I've heard stories," Pavus said slowly, carefully. "They’re said to prey on the blood of sleeping people and creatures. There are tales of them using their charm to seduce handsome young men."

Tristan scoffed. “Have you ever seen an alpor up close?” He shook his head. “No. They’re not seducing anyone. Don’t need to. They move so soundlessly, sometimes not even witchers can hear them. They inject their victims with the venom of their fangs, putting them to sleep while they suck their blood dry.” Tristan paused, gazing into the distance as he recounted his story. "I'd heard the rumours while riding through Blaviken. That alpor had been terrorizing the countryside for months. Animals, travellers, some farmhands working late in the fields. Even children, straight from their beds. I stopped by a village and the townsfolk begged me to kill her. The reward they offered me was twice as high the normal pay. Alpors are vicious. Often, one person isn't enough to take them down. I agreed to take up the contract if some men from the village agreed to come with me, work up a distraction while I attacked her. Four of them did. Young ones, their blood boiling for a fight." He took a bite of his porridge, chewing slowly, letting the silence stretch. "We set out that night. I'd fixed my armour, prepared my potions, my poisons, sharpened my blades. Alpors need patience to kill. They appear and disappear on their own terms. We camped out close to where I had found her lair to be to wait her out. The hours went on and on, yet still there was no sign of her. Some of the men got impatient."

"Impatient?" Pavus blinked as he took a draught of his brandy. "I can't picture anyone being impatient to meet such a being."

"As I said,” Tristan scraped the last of his porridge from the bottom of the pot as he spoke, "they were young. Not the best help for a contract like that, but I didn't have much of a choice. One of them had brought a couple bottles of whisky he had made himself. It was foul stuff. It burnt its way down your throat, made your eyes water. A couple swigs and you were done for. I urged them not to drink too much, but they wouldn't listen. A couple hours went by and they were all sloshed." He gave Pavus a small smirk. "Me included."

Pavus' eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "Truly? You decided to get drunk with that creature lurking about?"

Tristan huffed a laugh, setting his empty pot aside. "It would have probably been fine if that was all we decided to do. Some of the lads got peckish. Decided to go to the nearest village to get some food. I told them that nothing would be open at that hour, but-”

“Let me guess. They wouldn’t listen.”

"Exactly. So, next thing you know, we are walking through the woods to the nearby town. We split, each one looking for an open tavern or inn. I scoured the place, yet the only tavern was closed. I went back to our meeting point, and..."

Pavus' eyes widened. "What happened then?"

"One of the lads had stolen a cart full of carrots from a nearby stable.”

“Carrots?” Pavus scoffed derisively. “Quite a feast that would have been.”

“I tried to get them to put it back where they'd found it, but they'd already started rolling it out. I guess I should have left them then, but…" he sighed. "I’d become quite fond of them, I suppose. And I was very, very drunk. So, I strapped the cart to my back and helped them get it out while they pushed from behind. We hadn't gone half a mile before a guard from the village stopped us. At this point I noticed that the cart was very heavy all of a sudden."

"The boys had disappeared, I take it?"

Tristan nodded, rubbing his mouth over the grin that threatened to slither to the surface. "They had all ran away to hide as soon as they saw the guard approaching. So there I am, in my full armour and all my daggers, strapped to a cart like a beast of burden, with a guard shoving a lamp in my face and asking me what business a witcher has rolling a cart full of carrots in the dead of night."

"And what did you tell him?"

Tristan cleared his throat, straightening up where he sat. "I have to remind you that I was very inebriated at this point. Redanians don't mess around when it comes to their moonshine." Pavus raised a brow and Tristan let out a soft sigh. "I told him I'd confiscated the cart because I needed the carrots to lure a mighty beast."

"A mighty beast?" Pavus asked, huffing an incredulous laugh. "What beast?"

"....a horse."

Pavus gaped at him for a long moment, blinking in confusion. His bewildered expression melted away to be replaced by a wide smile, his shoulders trembling as his laughter echoed through the small clearing. He really was beautiful when he laughed, Tristan noticed, joining him. His eyes that glinted and sparked with amusement, the tiny lines at their corners, soft and feathery as if they had been drawn by a painter's brush, the neat rows of teeth, white like peeled almonds. The sound of his laugh, bright and crystal clear like water from a babbling brook. Had he ever heard anything as pleasant? Tristan wondered.

“A horse? A dratted horse? Great Sun Almighty,” Pavus said after taking a deep breath, wiping mirth from his eyes. “You really couldn’t have thought of anything else?”

“It was the first animal that sprung to mind!” Tristan protested. “There’s no other beast I know that likes carrots as much as horses. Do you?”

“Rabbits do," Pavus shrugged. "Or groundhogs.”

Tristan rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Oh, yes. Because what other beast is more terrifying than horse, other than a rabbit or a groundhog?”

“Have you ever watched groundhogs fight over a pile of pears? I have, and I assure you it’s quite the sight. Blood chilling. Certainly more sensational than watching a drunk witcher try to bait a runaway horse with carrots, if there are to be comparisons.” Pavus leaned forward to offer him his flask, and Tristan took it gratefully. "If you tell me the guard believed you, I'm leaving you here and going back to Vizima on foot."

Tristan bit his lip, still chuckling. He tipped the mouth of the flask over his lips, savouring the rich taste of the brandy. He tried not to think of Pavus’ lips, that had closed over its rim only a moment before and were now quirked in a smile as he watched him. "No, he didn't," he replied, shaking his head. "Naturally. I guess I could have used Axii on him…" he noticed Pavus' brows furrowing, and he waved the thought away. "Nevermind. What the guard did was drag me to the sheriff's office in Blaviken and have me locked in a cell. Stayed there for two days until the alpor attacked again and they realised I was the only person within miles that could kill her. They agreed to forget about the whole incident if I took care of her. So I did. She was a tough one, though. Gave me a nasty scar." He pulled down the top of his shirt to show him a deep scar underneath his collarbone. It was ragged and pink, one of the many, many scars he had gotten along the way. "I've never set foot in that place since."

Pavus’ eyes slowly drifted from Tristan's collarbone up to his face when Tristan glanced at him. "That was quite the entertaining story, if I've ever heard any," he said. "It puts the palace bards to shame."

"I'm glad it was amusing,” Tristan said, rearranging his shirt. “That was the point, after all, wasn't it?"

"It was.” Pavus rested back on his arm and tilted his head to the side. "I'd love to hear more of your stories after we kill that Fiend. If you've a mind."

Tristan blinked at him, taken aback by the softness in his voice. The mage was watching him carefully, a dreamy expression on his features, a smile still painted at the edges of his lips. Tristan's heart thumped steadily against his ribcage as he handed him back his flask. "Perhaps. If we return in one piece."

"I'll hold you to that." Pavus reached out to accept the flask, fingers brushing gently over Tristan's. A shiver ran up Tristan's arm at the contact, and he quickly withdrew his hand.

"Right," Tristan said, clearing his throat and standing up. He kicked some dirt over the burning logs, putting the fire out. "I think this is as good a time as any to get started."

Pavus nodded, standing up as well. His gaze lingered on Tristan’s face for a breath before he turned away. “I suppose we won’t be needing any carrots this time, yes?” he called to him over his shoulder as he walked towards his bags.

Tristan chuckled softly, running his fingers through his hair. “I should hope not.”

***

Leaving their horses behind, they walked through the bog on soundless feet. Tristan had expected Pavus to be a hindrance at first, making too much noise, attracting too much attention from the bog creatures, but he was surprised to find out how nimble and agile he actually was. His feet barely made a sound as they walked through the marsh, even lowering his breaths to a soft, steady rhythm. Tristan caught himself eyeing him sideways on multiple occasions. Making his way through the unfamiliar terrain, hardly missing a step, he looked every inch the battle mage Tristan had hoped he would be.

After what felt like hours, Tristan managed to find enough tracks to lead them to the Fiend’s lair. There was a thin trail, leading up to a small mount, at what looked like a small clearing hidden behind a large, flat rock. The smell of Fiend refuse drifted towards him with the wind as they moved closer. He scrunched his nose and coughed, gagging silently. Yes, the lair was definitely close by.

Sliding his silver shortswords out of their scabbards, Tristan coated them with the relict oil he had prepared. He patted his pockets, making sure his samum bombs were in place and easily accessible. Just before walking ahead, he paused, turning to Pavus. He reached out and caught his arm, holding his gaze firmly.

“I’ll go in first and attract its attention,” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper. “You will attack it from a distance. Do not come close, and do not, under any circumstances, look straight into his third eye. If you do, it will hypnotise you. If you’re hypnotised, you’re dead. Get it?”

Pavus nodded slowly, his sterling silver eyes fixed on his. The morning sun washed over the contours of his face just so as he moved, illuminating his velvety bronze skin, catching in his dark, glossy waves. For a moment, Tristan pictured that beautiful face, mangled by the Fiend’s claws, and his heart clenched. He wouldn’t let that happen. Not if he could help it.

His lips tightened in a line and he turned away, when Pavus’s hand closed over his own.

“Be careful,” the mage whispered.

Tristan gazed at him for a quick moment, startled by the concern in his eyes. His touch was soft and gentle, surprisingly so. He gave Pavus’ arm a tiny squeeze before letting go, blending into the shadows.

A deep humming noise rumbled through the clearing as Tristan moved closer. Concealed in the dense shadows, he could examine the Fiend without it noticing him. It was large, perhaps not quite as large as a fully grown one, but that didn’t make its limbs any less thick than tree trunks. Its large, ugly snout was pressed against its folded legs as it slept, its curved back moving steadily with breaths.

Tristan moved closer, holding his breath, daggers at the ready, his senses fixed to pick up the slightest change in the creature’s heartbeat. He edged closer, ever closer, gliding through the shifting shadows of the leaves stirring with the wind. Just another step, enough to be able to plunge his shortsword straight into the base of its thick skull-

The Fiend’s eyes, dark and round like smooth, polished pebbles, fluttered open, its menacing gaze piercing him where he stood.

Tristan ducked back as the Fiend rose to his feet, a rumble coming from deep within its large body. Its enormous paws, the claws on them thicker than tree branches and sharper than fleshly whetted blades, scratched at the ground, leaving thick welts on the grass in their wake. Its third eye was still closed, but Tristan knew well that it wouldn’t be for long.

He rolled to the side, just in time to get out of the Fiend’s way before it charged straight ahead. He landed agilely on his feet - the ground was even there, thankfully,- and brandished his blades. A Fiend’s most vulnerable spot was its rear, all witchers knew this well, and that was where he would focus his attack. He dashed forward, slashing and hacking as quickly and deeply as he could before the beast turned on him again. It roared furiously as Tristan’s daggers tore through its skin, the poisonous relict oil burning deep into its flesh. It turned around in a flurry of moving antlers and sharp claws, ready to pounce, when the viper amulet by Tristan’s neck vibrated, as it always did when magic was being cast. A fireball crackled right past Tristan’s ear to land on the beast’s face with a loud whoosh.

“Take that, you filth!” Pavus exclaimed.

Tristan glanced at him from the corner of his eye before dodging out of the way of the Fiend’s whirling antlers. It shook its head furiously, trying to get the flames off it, before another fireball caught it in the rear.

The mage laughed from his spot atop an upturned tree. “I could do this all day!”

“Careful what you wish for,” Tristan grunted, taking several careful steps away from the roaring monster. Reapplying the relict oil would take no time at all, but it would mean taking his eyes off the Fiend, and taking your eyes from the target during a fight, even for a moment, even for a breath, could mean death - or worse. Witchers were trained not to fear death. Death during a fight with a monster was a natural consequence to their way of life. In fact, not many witchers expected to die in a different manner. Yet, no one was fool enough to seek it.

“Cover for me!” he growled to the mage, rolling away behind a tree. The relict oil was in its own little compartment in his specially designed belt, made for easy access during battle. He uncorked the bottle with his teeth, messily splashing the oil onto his blades. No time to be careful and thorough about it. Pressing himself against the tree trunk, giving as little target as he could, he peered behind him. Pavus was doing a good job distracting the beast, drawing its attention away from where Tristan was. Strong gusts of air and fire were keeping it at bay, but Tristan could see how close the Fiend was getting to reaching him.

“Get back!” he called to the mage as he threw the empty relict oil bottle away.

“Not a chance.” Pavus’ voice was a tad breathless when he spoke, cutting through the beast’s roar. “Someone has to keep that thing off you, yes?”

Gritting his teeth, Tristan stepped out of his hiding place, rolling soundlessly behind it. The Fiend’s ear pricked up, following the sound of the grass shifting under Tristan’s feet. It turned abruptly to him, brandishing its large incisors.

“Get over here, you ugly bastard,” Tristan grunted, reaching for the samum bomb hanging by his belt. The Fiend viciously pawed the ground, as if responding to his challenge. A deep rumble echoed through the clearing, making the stone behind Tristan tremble as the beast charged forward. With a smirk, Tristan pulled the bomb’s safety cap off before throwing it straight to the Fiend’s face.

An explosion of heat and sound. Bright white light, smoke and sizzling fire breaking free from the small, stealthy container. The Fiend reared, howling, bolting away from the bomb that was still crackling on the ground. Fiends disliked loud noises, intense heat, too bright lights- and this one was no exception. The edges of Tristan’s daggers glinted in the sun before he leapt towards the beast once more.

Blood, thick and bright red, sticky like glue poured forth from the Fiend’s wounds as Tristan slashed mercilessly at it, barely stopping to take a breath. He plunged his daggers into its rear and its sides, the fine silver of his blades and his own hands painted crimson. He cut through vital arteries, pierced thick hide and flesh to injure the sensitive organs underneath, slashed and hacked at tendons that were thicker than ship rope. It wouldn’t last for long, not with the multitude of lacerations Tristan had managed on it, and the relict oil working deep inside the creature’s flesh to undo it from the inside. He attacked in a whirlwind of slashes, taking advantage of the beast’s confusion, hacking deeper, deeper-

With a furious howl, the Fiend turned around, fixing him with a heated glare. A heated glare from the solitary eye in the center of its forehead.

Fuck.

Tristan backed away, almost falling flat on his back with his haste. He had been too careless, too greedy, attacking without taking care to cover himself from the Fiend’s biggest threat. The world started spinning, spinning, darkening, plunging into blackness-

And then there was nothing.

The sounds died away. The shifting of the leaves overhead, the wind, the sound of Pavus’ fireballs as they sizzled and crackled through the air, his voice, calling to him, the Fiend’s angry howls, all fading into a dull, hollow murmur. Tristan blinked, again and again, struggling to see something, anything in the expansive abyss that suddenly surrounded him. His pulse pounded in his ears while his stomach was gripped in a tight vice. He shifted and turned, fingers wrapped around the hilts of his shortswords like they were his lifeline. He spun around, hoping for something in the darkness - when he finally saw it.

A light, small and flickering at first, that slowly grew larger, steadier. The light at the end of an endless tunnel. Tristan’s first instinct was to move towards it, when his feet planted themselves firmly on the ground.

The Fiend’s burning eye, disguised as the only hope of escape in that never-ending darkness, flickered before him, drawing him in. Tristan gritted his teeth, holding on to his daggers for dear life, focusing on the weight of the viper amulet hanging by his neck, vibrating softly each time Pavus cast a spell. Watch the eye, Heir would have said. Watch its movements. Wherever the eye is, that’s where the Fiend is. You’re the hunter and it is the prey, not the other way round.

The light moved closer to him, slowly and steadily, but Tristan knew that this was only one of the Fiend’s tricks. Lulling its victims into this state of hypnosis, dulling their senses so they thought the light was moving at a snail’s pace, when in reality the Fiend ran towards them at full speed. He would not fall into yet another trap. He would not.

Drawing on his focus, Tristan let the power of Chaos suffuse him. It tingled as it spread through his limbs, pooling at his fingertips. He raised his hand and drew an upside triangle, calling forth a protective barrier around him. The Wind Blowing Through the Oak Trees, Heir used to call it, to help him visualise it when he was a child. The shimmering barrier settled on him like a second skin, and he rolled away, just as the burning eye dove towards him. Recreating the image of the clearing as accurately as he could from memory, he spun around, dashing forth to plunge his daggers in the Fiend’s flesh.

First try and he slashed at air, miscalculating. The Fiend was far more nimble that Tristan had expected, moving quickly and efficiently, using his disorientation to its advantage. His breath was almost knocked out of him when a large paw crashed against him, making his barrier explode, sending him reeling backwards.

“Fuck,” Tristan muttered, drawing himself upright on unsteady feet. The eye was moving again, a burning, menacing light in the darkness, the surety of death lurking underneath what looked like the last lingering hope for life. It sped towards him and Tristan dodged away again, this time plunging his shortswords deep in the Fiend’s flank as it rushed by him.

A hollow, distant howl split the nothingness that surrounded him. The dark lifted only slightly, enough for Tristan to make out the outline of his surroundings. The Fiend was a little way away from him, its coat glistening with fresh blood. The ground was riddled with long, ragged scars where the Fiend had raked it with its enormous claws, and a few of the trees that surrounded the clearing had been knocked down. Tristan blinked hard, forcing his mind to focus through the hazy mist, frantically searching for Pavus. How long had he been under the Fiend’s influence? Time got warped when in a state of hypnosis, that he knew. Even so, Tristan could swear that it wasn’t more than a couple of minutes that he was under the beast’s control, but one could never tell for sure. If it had managed to get to him while Tristan was out...

Beads of sweat ran cold down his back as he spun around, trying to catch a glimpse of the mage. The Fiend was already shifting, making the ground tremble with its angry rumbles. Tristan edged backwards, away from the beast. He was about to reach for another of his samum bombs and retreat while the Fiend was still confused, when he saw Pavus emerging from behind a tall rock. He looked pale and drawn, his brow glistening with the effort of calling forth another spell. Tristan didn’t know much about how sorcerers used magic, but he knew well that, no matter how strong they were, they could only use so much magic in one go without reaching their limits. And Pavus seemed like he was rapidly approaching his.

Tristan’s breath caught in his throat, icy tentacles of fear making their way up his spine as he turned to the Fiend, that had now forgotten all about him to focus its glare on the mage, drawn by the iridescent light that was gathering in the air between Pavus’s fingertips. It growled and pawed at the earth, sending big clumps of earth flying behind it. Tristan watched as if in slow motion as it braced on its hind legs and shot forth, charging straight for Pavus.

Tristan forgot his own exhaustion, forcing his trembling legs to carry him forward, towards the rapidly advancing beast. “Get back!” he growled at the mage, reaching for one of his bombs at the same time. The bomb exploded just as Pavus ducked behind the rock, making the Fiend stop dead in its tracks. It screamed and moved back, away from the sudden flash of light and the smoke that erupted from the bomb’s small pouch.

Taking advantage of the Fiend’s momentary confusion, Tristan leapt onto its back, grabbing its antlers. “Go away!” he yelled at Pavus, who blinked blearily at him, eyes red from the samum bomb’s smoke.

“Are you mad?!” the mage yelled back, emerging from behind the rock. “That thing’s going to-”

“Leave!” Tristan growled, gripping the antlers more tightly. “Just go!”

The Fiend screamed painfully, tossing its head left and right, furiously trying to get him off its back. Tristan held on for dear life, shifting his weight to the side to make the beast turn away from Pavus to the opposite direction. The beast staggered to the left, head drooping under Tristan’s weight, yet it still didn’t stop its frantic attempts to shake him off. He clenched his jaw, the sharp edges of the antlers digging into his sides, his palms raw and bloody from trying to hold on to both the beast and his daggers. His breath was now coming in short bursts from the effort of staying upright, sweat running down his forehead in small streams. He just needed to hold it together, just long enough for the beast to exhaust itself, and then-

With a sudden howl, the Fiend charged towards the tall rock at the edge of the clearing. Tristan watched, wide eyed, as the rock got closer and closer, bracing himself for the impact. Before he could realise what had happened, the beast planted its paws on the ground, sending him flying forward. The air was knocked from his lungs when he crashed against the rock and landed on the ground in a tangled heap. His head spun as he tried to push himself up, wheezing. A warm trickle of blood ran down his brow, mingling with his sweat, blurring his vision. His limbs were barely obeying him anymore, legs wobbling, arms trembling, lungs burning. He blinked furiously, scrambling to regain his focus, when the ground shivered beneath his feet.

He pushed himself up just in time to see the Fiend lunging towards him. The world moved at an unbearably slow pace as he was pinned against the rock, trapped between dense stone and thick, branch-like antlers. Pain such that he had never known burst through his focus, blocking out everything else. He peered down to see one of the antler edges piercing his armour, straight through his abdomen. Everything was red and unbearably sharp, the sunlight scorching his eyes, the Fiend’s vile breath overpowering his senses. The world around him flickered and tilted, spinning, whirling. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, not even to ease the antler out of him. Perhaps his time to die a witcher’s death had finally come.

He lifted his head, glancing at Pavus through his haze. He was standing perfectly still, watching him wide-eyed from a distance. All colour was sapped from his face, his features suddenly looking as if carved from pale stone. His beautiful face.

Tristan gritted his teeth, breathing through the agony. He turned his gaze to the Fiend that was still holding him fast, and tightened his hold on his daggers. He would be damned if he didn’t take the bastard down with him.

With the last dregs of his strength, he lifted his long daggers, plunging them straight into the Fiend’s eyes, piercing its brain. The Fiend howled one last time before it collapsed on the ground, taking Tristan with it. The feel of grass and dirt on his face, the warmth of fresh blood on his skin, and everything faded to black.

#dorian pavus #witcher #witcher au #dorian pavus fic #dorian pavus x trevelyan #dorian pavus/trevelyan #dorian pavus x inquisitor #dorian pavus/inquisitor #pavelyan #tristan trevelyan #dorian pavus x tristan trevelyan #dorian x tristan #viper in tall grass #johaerys writes

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makiema · 5 years

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For SNK Positivity Week Day 1 : Character Positivity Day ||

Zeke Jaeger : A Character Sketch

This is going to be a long rant in appreciation of Zeke's amazing character arc. He's not really my favorite character but the reason why I picked him for the character positivity day is because his character is often misunderstood and he gets a lot of unjustified hate. I did that too at one point; tbh I hated him with a passion but I'd grow out of it and even begin to feel for him eventually.

First off, let's run a background check on him. He was obviously neglected as a kid. His eyes speaks volumes here in this panel.

At the age of five, when all a kid looks for is love and care, his parents imposed the responsibility of the whole world on his shoulders. At an age when a child has a hard time spelling correctly, he was expected to infiltrate the government, fight for his brethren, become a double agent and what not. The psychological toll on a child who faces negligence and abuse at home is unimaginable. Paralleling that with stats of recent times, it's seen that bullies often come from abusive families. That's how psychology works. Once you've been victimized, you'll project that on others. That is exactly what happened with Zeke. The reason why he appeared so sadistic was because someone else put through hell before. The reason why he failed to love and empathize was because he himself was denied feelings of warmth and love. A child learns to emulate what he has learned from his parents. Can you really blame him for failing in the beginning?

But then, as the story of his life progressed, a more humane side of his character was developed with the coming of Xaver. Xaver was the first person to show Zeke parental affection. His contribution in shaping up Zeke's fundamental character is noteworthy. Even though he gave Zeke the love that he needed, his influence was not at all something appreciable, something better than before. If Grisha and Dina had wrongly used their son to meet their own selfish needs, Xaver was the shrewder one who showed affection on the surface only to permanently mould Zeke into becoming a pessimistic, merciless individual who had little to no respect for human lives. Zeke already bore the scars of his past; Xaver rather than inspiring him and guiding him decided to gaslight him into somehow believing that his whole life is a mistake and the same goes for all Eldians.

Imagine prevailing upon a teenager, whose personality is just developing, an idea that horrifying. If you sugarcoat the idea of genocide and instill that in a teenager, what do you even expect him to believe in? Drawing from our world, this was a tactic employed largely by Hitler in Germany. The only reason so many young people voluntarily took part in genocide was because they were spoon fed terrible ideas and convinced of false righteousness by their most trusted ones (often members of the family). The people we look up to for guidance are our parents and then comes our instructors. Zeke was unfortunate when it came to both. His instructor was the one who made murderous ideas seem okay to him. He's not at fault; he was only a teenager looking up at an older person for guidance and perspective.

So from there on we see how Zeke actually becomes a double agent serving in the Marleyan army. He has nothing to lose. He wrecks whole towns but deep inside he feels nothing. This lies in direct contrast with Eren who had an upbringing full of love and warmth. Remember how Eren couldn't accept even one soldier's death whatever be the cause? Again, both the character arcs follow the basic lines of human psychology. Environment, circumstances, influence -everything goes in the making of a person. However, this is true only until a certain point. You cannot forever be a product of your surroundings so once pubescence is reached, you're expected to make your own choices. Levi asking Eren to make a choice has a great significance in his life. It makes him responsible for himself. Similarlyen Zeke met Eren, he also made a choice - a choice to love someone. For the first time, he actually learned to love; for the first time he honestly wants someome to believe him and he feels like he understands Eren. Zeke realizes that he shares a common ground with someone and seeks solace in him. He's just a forlorn character seeking love and understanding.

He did love his grandparents before and also loved Xaver, of course, but that was more of being loved and then returning it. When it came to Eren, he made a choice of giving love to his sibling in spite of knowing his true intentions. His victim complex immediately assumed that Eren was also a victim of parental abuse and he chose to take care of him like a big brother. He never once doubted Eren. Even for someone as cold and sadistic as him, even for someone who had just murdered hundreds of SC members without a second thought, love existed; and with this a possibility of redemption; a hope of adopting a new perspective at life - one that is not inspired from hate, abuse, negligence or pessimism. From this point onwards, Zeke's character arc takes an interesting turn.

Ever since he met Eren and got to talk to him, we've seen him trying desperately to protect Eren. He's a product of negligence and he believes Xaver saved him. Therefore, he wants to save someone he loves too. He loves his brother and Eren is the only one who matters to him. He'd go to any extent to protect him. Hence the "Onii-chan is here" in the ending of Chapter 117.

He is adorable and his love for Eren is exemplary sibling love. It can be even compared to the likes of Itachi, Ace, Lelouch and Tanjirou - the famous big brothers in the animanga history. In 118, he knows Colt feels the same way but Xaver took away the feeling of empathy from a young, naive Zeke and so he goes on ahead with the Scream. Is it his fault ? No, not really. He was never accustomed with the meaning of life. He was a child growing up amidst war and devastation who looked up to a wretched cynical figure as his father. How can we expect someone to attach significance to life when all he was made to believe was that he is somehow at fault just for being born?

This directly contrasts how Eren was made to believe that he's special just because he was born in this world. The contrast between the brothers is never so eminent as in here, in this astonishingly different approach towards life.

There is a quote in Banana Fish that goes like: "You cannot be loved unless you love"

Ever since Zeke took it upon himself to save Eren, to shower him with love and affection, he showed us a more humane side of him ; a side I'm sure even he didn't believe he had in him before he came across his brother. He opened a portal to a kinder world when he learned to love. He was a sad, unfortunate creature unloving and unloved for most of his life. But now that he has so much love in his heart, even at the moment of betrayal, he gets to know how being loved feels like.

I cannot even begin to elaborate on the shock and the disillusionment that Zeke had to face when he learned the truth- that Eren was the one who manipulated Grisha and not the other way round. The good thing that came out of this was that Zeke learned that he was genuinely valued by his father and that he trusted him to stop Eren. However, Eren ruins it perfectly when he throws salt on Zeke's open wound.

Of course, years of negligence cannot be forgotten and/ or forgiven at the expense of one tiny moment and Zeke is hesitant to call Grisha 'dad' at times

but at least he knows now that Grisha regrets his wrongs and that he loves him. Isayama had granted Zeke what he was long due, when Grisha confessed to him. Zeke's love for Eren is so pure, so selfless. Even when Eren says he had only used Zeke, even when he is rude and nasty with him, Zeke is convinced that it is all because of Grisha's brainwashing. He is so upset when he learns of Eren's betrayal in this panel.

Of course, Zeke's love for Eren seems to be leading him to nowhere and this is sort of payback for all his crimes but at least, with Chapter 121, it can be said that Zeke Jaeger is no longer a tragic unloved character. He was loved by his father and he more than deserved to know this. His character arc is churned out wonderfully. He began as a villainous character but then Isayama gave us a glimpse of how tragic his story is; from there on Zeke's character evolved and his development reached its peak with his sincere and genuine love for Eren. Gradually his sad arc that made him to be a pitiful unloved creature is resolved with a confession of love from the most desirable person, not to forget that this new found love also came with Grisha's faith that Zeke would be able to stop Eren. He saw how in the impending future Zeke's plan will fail but even so he still has faith that he's going to stop Eren.

-×××-

Wow this became longer than I expected it to be. But I have been getting a lot of feelings for Zeke recently and I felt like I had to highlight him for the character positivity day because he is so misinterpreted in the fandom. I really hope people forgive him because basically nobody is evil by choice, it's the effect arising from cumulative traumatizing experiences as a child.

#snk #zeke jaeger #zeke yeager #snk positivity week 2019 #snk meta #snk analysis #snk thoughts #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk positivity week

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ranjxtul · 5 years

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Fire and Reign- Chapter 2: Another One

Witches AU Chapter Two. Possible TW for violence.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19249039/chapters/45910348

It was several days after Katerine had first been brought to the coven that she had rested sufficiently enough for any sort of ability assessment. Turns out being brutally murdered and bringing yourself back to life really took a lot out of a person. In that time, she’d gone with Jane and Anne to get things from her flat and she’d begrudgingly called her parents to let them know she was alive and that instead of living alone she was moving in with Anne. They didn’t know about witches, there was no need to change that.

On her sixth day at the house, Katherine announced over breakfast she wanted to test the waters with her powers and begin to learn the wards Aragon had discussed the first night at dinner. Truth be told, she wasn’t paying all that much attention to how she was physically. She was more focused on learning. The more she ruminated on the Henry situation, the more her anger and also fear increased. She feared for the coven and herself should he find them, and she was angry at his wanton massacre of innocent people (she’d be lying if some of that didn’t come from the fact that he’d almost killed her cousin).

Consequently, the girl was eager to learn, especially if it was from Parr or Aragon. Already she admired the two for their obvious intellect and skill. She’d also found herself searching for Cleves’ or Jane’s company at some points. Anna had an energetic but simultaneously laid back vibe, and had some of the best one-liners she’d heard in her life. Jane was maternal and the conversation with her was never dull. Even in such a short period of time, Katherine found herself relaxing into this new environment and maybe even growing a bit attached to her new friends. For that reason, among others, she was determined not to be the weak link in the event of a confrontation with Henry.

“How is this going to work exactly?” Katherine asked as she stood in the fenced in backyard wringing her hands admittledy a bit nervous. She understood this was purely assessment, and that knowing virtually nothing about witchcraft she shouldn’t be fabulous at anything. Regardless, she didn’t want to make a fool of herself.

“We’ll start with what you’ve been able to do, telekinesis and vitalum vitalis. We need to know how strong your raw ability is,” Parr explained coming to stand beside Katherine. Taking note of Katherine’s body language she added, “Don’t stress about it. This is totally meant to just be a baseline.”

Katherine nodded, “Yeah. Is there anything specific you want me to do, like with telekinesis,” she specified wanting to get on with it.

“Move one of the chairs across the patio,” came Aragon’s voice as she approached the duo. The brunette gave a short nod, turning to face the patio. She focused on the lightest looking chair and imagined it shooting across the gravel, like she’d imagined the glass flying last time.

Much to her surprise and delight, the chair did just that after several seconds, only with so much force that it careened into the adjacent wall. “Maybe with less force next time,” Aragon’s voice came from behind, caring a note of mirth.

Katherine felt her face flush a light shade of pink, “Sorry, yeah. Noted,” she said turning back to face Aragon and Parr.

“No need to apologize,” Aragon dismissed her. Catherine tilted her head pensively. If Howard had been able to do that so quickly then she wondered if she could do something a bit more detailed. It’d need to be something that wouldn’t break easily considering the lack of control with respect to the amount of force. “Can you make the rake that’s laying against the greenhouse move to the corner of the fence diagonal to us?” Parr asked nodding toward the aforementioned rake.

Katherine’s eyes followed Parr’s head until they landed on the garden rake against the house. She gave a short nod in Parr’s direction, unsure of whether or not she could in fact do it.

“Have the intention and don’t let your mind stray,” Aragon advised with a small smile. It didn’t take clairvoyance to discern that Katherine was still unsure of herself.

Katherine glanced back at Aragon, “Yeah.” Then she turned once and focused on the yard tool and did her best to envision it in the designated corner. Similarly to her first go, the rake flew with prodigal force, albeit it did land in its target, crashing against the fence and promptly falling to the ground from its impact.

Instead of commenting on the lack of control again, Parr nudged Katherine, a smile on her face, “Well done. That’s promising.” Parr imagined with a bit of training and practice, Katherine could rival her or maybe even Aragon in regards to telekinesis.

“Let’s move on then?” Aragon suggested moving so she was now standing on Katherine’s other side.

“Sounds good to me,” Katherine nodded. Her relative success at this first endeavor helped her feel a little bit more capable, but she knew that toying with raw ability was still far from being a distinguished mage.

“We were thinking you could start with a dead plant, that way it won’t drain your energy. Bringing something larger like a human back to life when you’re untrained can really tire you out, as I’m sure you’ve realized,” Parr explained starting toward her greenhouse with Aragon not far behind her.

Katherine quickly took the initiative and began to follow the two women. “Is this where you’re working normally when you disappear during the day?” Katherine asked remembering Catherine’s notable absence from lunch to dinner.

“Indeed. It’s peaceful and I love my plants. Being able to slip out and tend to them or work on spells or potions is nice.” While that was all very true, Parr kept all of her research out in the greenhouse. It was her space and usually only those she invited (along with the occasional unannounced visit from Jane or Aragon) were around.

The earthy smell of soil and leaves filled the air the minute the trio stepped into the greenhouse. Varieties of herbs and plants filled one section of it and a shelf of books and vials sat across from it. Further down were a few tables set in the center where Parr had put certain plants out for some reason or another, and right beside the door that led back into the house sat a small wooden desk whose surface was covered with stacks of notebooks and a closed laptop. Parr led Katherine to one of the metal tables in the center of the room.

“This is Devil’s Claw. We use this in spells for protection along with some others. I came in here the other day and noticed it was rotting, and figured I’d save it for when you were doing this,” Parr elucidated reaching across the table to pull a large pot closer to her and Katherine.

“How do I do this? I was unconscious when I did this last,” Katherine finally admitted after a minute of sizing up the plant.

“I’m not quite sure there’s a specific thought I can tell you to have to make this happen,” Parr bit her lip. “Every witch has different preferred methods to do this regularly.”

“It is possible though,” Aragon jumped in, “to do this without any magical aids. It has to do with your energy mostly. I’ve never met a witch with dark energy who could perform vitalum vitalis. Intention is also important here because if you’re ambivalent about wanting the thing to live then it won’t work properly,” she offered hoping her advice was apt.

Katherine gave the pair a contemplative nod before glancing back at the plant. Parr and Aragon watched speculatively as the girl lay her hands against the soil and closed her eyes. Nothing happened for the first minute or so but as Katherine furrowed her brow a bit and seemed to let her fingers move into the soil, the wilting plant began to once again blossom. It’s browning leaves started to turn green once more and its shriveling stalk shot upright once more. Before their eyes, a plant which had been rotting at its precious roots sprung back to life vibrantly and flourished all in one moment.

When Katherine opened her eyes again, she couldn’t help but grin when she saw the drastic change in the plant’s appearance. She carefully took her hands out of the plants soil and admired her work, “Wow,” she finally mumbled to herself.

“Very well done!” Came Parr’s now enthusiastic tone as she herself approached the table to inspect the plant. “Not only did you revive it, now it seems to be thriving,” she added after grazing its leaves and stalk with her hands.

“I’m impressed,” Aragon complimented offering Katherine a smile. The brunette’s cheeks blushed a light pink at the praise from both Parr and the Supreme. “Healing definitely seems to be your strong suit. That’ll be our starting point aside from the basic wards,” she decided aloud.

“Do you want me to try to do anything else like pyrokinesis or divination?” Katherine asked, her eyes glimmering with a certain energy no one in the house had seen before. She didn’t complain about it to anyone other than Anne, but the Henry incident weighed her down.

She talked to Anne because Anne could relate to it in some ways. Katherine hadn’t felt safe leaving the house and when she thought about what happened too hard, her chest got tight and phantom pains sparked through the raised scar. Now, being able to succeed and be productive at a task helped Katherine feel a bit more normal and gave her drive to keep going.

“Not today I don’t think. It’s best not to push for things you haven’t been taught,” Aragon shook her head kindly.

“Can I start learning those wards from Jane then? I want to keep going while I have the energy,” Katherine insisted.

“I suppose I don’t see a problem with that as long as Jane isn’t busy, just don’t push yourself too hard,” the Supreme cautioned with a raised brow.

“If you want to find her, Jane usually hangs out up in the attic if you don’t see her any of the normal places. She’s set up some research up there,” Parr added.

“Great! Thank you! I guess I’ll see you later then?” Katherine raised her brow, not leaving before some sort of final confirmation from Aragon or Parr. Parr gave her an encouraging nod before Katherine turned on her heel to seek out the blonde.

Quickly, Katherine made her way toward the attic after checking the kitchen and Jane’s room, both of which were empty. She stopped her hand hovering over the doorknob and thought better of it, rapping gently on the door. Seconds later, a quiet voice floated through the door, “Come in.”

Katherine stepped into the attic only to be hit in the face with lukewarm air. The only ventilation came from an open window and fans Jane had plugged in. Regardless of ventilation or lack thereof, Jane had made herself at home in the relatively open space. A small table stood off to the side and on it were several stacks of books. Off to one side, Jane’s divination stones sat laid out in formation and several candles sat nearby. Jane glanced up from her spot at the table, pouring over a text, “Kat! What can I do for you?” Over the few days Katherine had been there, she’d taken to call her ‘Kat’ as she traditionally called Aragon ‘Catherine’ so having a nickname for Howard made sense in her mind.

“Can you teach me those protection spells?” Katherine asked stepping further into the attic. On a second thought, she turned back to shut the door once more, assuming Jane would want some privacy.

Jane flashed the girl a smile. She wondered when she'd have a visit from Katherine asking her just that, “Of course. Let me clean up some of my space here then we’ll get started. How’d your time with Cathy and Catherine go?” She continued, beginning to clear books off of the table.

“Uh, it went well, I think. I threw things way too forcefully though, with my mind of course and I was able to revive one of Parr’s plants that was dying,” she nodded. Her voice betrayed a hint of pride at her accomplishments, especially with the plant.

“That’s great, love. I’m proud,” Jane smiled. Katherine’s face lit up at the praise. She almost hated that she so noticeably fed off of the praise of others, but for so much of her life, she’d based her self-image on what others said or thought. From her first music teacher and his greedy hands, her first employers demands, to her family’s expectations. Now in the coven she found herself falling back into old habits. The difference was that this time she was in an environment where people built her up genuinely.

“Thank you. Aragon said that I could start learning more about healing after I learned all of the basic stuff you’re about to teach me. I’m excited for that,” she paused to observe Jane and scan the spines of the books she could see, “what are you working on in here?”

“Some research on tracking magic, and I’m working on some spells of my own, nothing largely important. Come stand over here beside me. We need to get started,” Jane instructed.

Once Katherine stood beside her, she began to speak again, “The two most quintessential spells you’ll need to learn are a face morphing spell and a cloaking spell. They do exactly as you think. The face morphing spell can change the appearance of your face and the cloaking spell can make you invisible to others around you. They only work in short periods of time though. The same effects can last longer if produced through a potion but it isn’t quite practical to carry around a potion all the time. Transmutation would also be helpful to have for possible use along with these spells, but we can focus on that later. First we’ll work on the face morphing spell,” she paused to see that the girl had registered everything, “shall we begin?”

Hours later, after dinner Catherine retreated to the greenhouse Anne helped an exhausted Katherine up to her room insisting, “You wore yourself out when you weren’t at your fullest!” Aragon glanced at the two witches left in the kitchen.

“We need to talk in private you two. Once the kitchen is clean meet me in my study. I’d offer to help but I have a lot of things to think over. And girls? This is council business so it stays with us for now,” she added. Cleves and Jane gave affirmations which satisfied Aragon.

As she headed back toward her study, she pulled her phone out of her pocket to see a text from Maria. Maria was one of the witches on the other side of London who were technically a part of her coven, but not living with them. The text read: ‘We found another one. Different field than Howard, same style. Beheaded. She’s been gone for what looks like about a week so it’s too late to bring her back.’

“Damn it,” Aragon cursed under her breath. She entered her study and sunk into the soft desk chair with a sigh before texting a response to Maria. Then, she opened a small notebook on the inner corner of her desk which was filled already with her sloping script. On the next blank page she added, ‘Unknown beheaded victim found, probably Henry. Check on missing persons records and attempt to identify who. Call Maria.’

Just as she closed the notebook, Jane and Anna slipped into the room. “Thank you for joining me so quickly,” Aragon commented with a nod in their direction.

“No problem. It’s our job. Now what’s up?” Anna asked, always one to get to the point in situations like these.

With a sigh, Aragon announced, “There’s been another kill, which wasn’t what I was going to address originally but now needs to be. We also need to discuss any progress we’ve had on learning more about Henry’s magics.”

Anna sat up straighter, “Another kill? When? Where?”

Aragon held a hand up, “Hold on. I was getting there. Maria just reported it to me. The girl was beheaded about a week ago. We don’t have an identification yet. If Maria or one of the others discovers something on that before we do, I’m sure she’ll let us know. In the meantime I can work on ID and we can move forward to getting the root of the problem taken care of.”

“Do we know if Maria and the other girls are still flying under the radar? Henry seems to be rooting every other witch in London out and trying to, or succeeding in killing them,” Jane pointed out.

“Seems like they are. I think they’re aware enough of the danger and were fortunate enough to avoid him before they were aware. We’d get word that they were compromised if they were and they’d come join us here,” Aragon nodded. “Moving on though, Jane has any of your tracking magic research provided anything yet? And Anna, have we made any headway with the identities of his other victims?”

Jane spoke first, “I’m doing my best, but as you know, tracking the magical signature is much more complex that tracking an object or person. It’s not like I can traditionally divine a magical signature and place it locationally or its owner. I do have a couple spells in the works though. If they work out the next step would be getting someone in contact with Henry again long enough to cast one of the spells so we can find the origin of the magic.”

Anna spoke next, “I’ve only been able to identify three. They all came from central London though and they were young. Katherine’s age or younger.”

Aragon and Jane both visibly cringed at hearing Henry had been killing off those so young. “How young was the youngest?” Jane hesitantly asked.

“As far as I can tell, sixteen. It’s fucked, I know,” she added, shaking her head.

“That it may be, but that just gives us more motivation to deal with him right?” Aragon supplied attempting to move on from the uncomfortable and just downright depressing fact of the ages of Henry’s victims. Dwelling on it wouldn’t help, not when they could be productive about the issue, or at least attempt to be.

Jane and Anna gave nods in response before Catherine continued speaking, “Jane, how’d Katherine do today learning everything? It was clear over dinner she’d drained herself.”

“She picked up the spells well actually. She seems to have a natural ability for magic. My only worry is that in a fight she wouldn’t stop when she was drained even if someone could cover her, or that in practicing she’ll run herself into the ground. She’s reckless in that way,” Jane reported.

“Maybe next time she wants to learn something, we could work on control and pacing?” Anna suggested. “I think, and I could be wrong, that she’s throwing herself into this so hard because she wants to be useful. If we worked with her on control then perhaps we could implicitly say that she’s better off learning at a less rapid pace because that means she’s not running herself dead.”

Aragon contemplated the idea in her mind staying silent for a moment, “I think that’s a good idea. Anna, since it was your idea, can you be in charge of that? You’re also not strong in healing magic so learning from you she won’t feel like she could be learning about healing.”

The German shrugged, “On it.”

Aragon nodded in approval, “Lovely. Jane keep working on the spells and we’ll go from there. As I said before, I’ll keep you all updated on the situation with his victims. I think that’s all for this meeting, ladies,” she dismissed the other two with a small smile. Jane stood first, explaining she wanted to work on her research and Anna excused herself then, saying she had something to do.

Jane’s common sense told her she needed to sleep and check on Eddie about three hours of hitting dead ends in her work. On her way back to her own room from the attic, Jane couldn’t help but to peak into Katherine’s door when she noticed it open. Her original intention was to simply close the door, but when she caught sight of Katherine writhing on the bed, something pulled at her heartstrings and she slipped into the room. “Kat?” She addressed the girl attempting to shake her from her fitful sleep.

A hyper aware Katherine bolted up in bed moments later, clutching at her neck and panting. It took her brain several seconds to process her surroundings and her elevated heart rate pounding in her ears along with the unmistakable feeling of anxiety boiling in the pit of her stomach. It was only when she noticed Jane sitting at the edge of the bed and realized her hands were still wrapped around her own throat that she put the pieces together. Her nightmare had somehow gotten someone else’s attention. She glanced at the clock on the table to see it was about 1:00. “Sorry to have woken you,” she apologized in between breaths, immediately assuming she’d woken the blonde.

Jane tilted her head, “You didn’t wake me, sweetheart. I was up working and walking back to my room. Your door was open and I was going to close it for you, then I saw you flinching and jerking in your sleep, figured I’d wake you before it got any worse,” she said kindly.

Katherine nodded pushing back the covers damp with sweat. She blinked her wide eyes a few times still trying to chase off intrusive images and thoughts from her dream of her death. “Thank you-” she stopped, realizing she’d been about to unload all of her dream onto Jane. Something in the blonde made Katherine want to trust her, even if she’d only known her for a short period of time. That feeling frightened Katherine, when she'd carelessly extended trust un the past she got burned.

“You can talk about it if you want,” Jane hummed sensing wariness amongst the tide of anxiety running through Katherine. “You don’t have to, but I’m happy to listen.”

The room fell silent for a short period of time with Jane waiting patiently and Katherine weighing her options. She could trust Jane who radiated warmth and talk about it which could help set her at ease or she could decline and try to sleep again and risk falling back into a nightmare.The latter of the two options definately sounded least appealing. In a hasty moment, she decided to trust Jane. “It was the first time I’ve dreamed since it happened,” Katherine finally started, anxiously picking at a piece of loose skin on one of her nails.

Jane gave an encouraging nod and in some instinct of comfort, she reached out put a hand on Katherine’s wrist to give it a squeeze. “When he- my death kept playing on a loop and I couldn’t stop it, no matter what I tried and I could almost feel the pain again. I could feel him dragging me and crushing my knee, the whole bit, even up to the ax-” she stopped to try and force a deep breath as during her explanation her sentences and breaths started to come in rapid succession.

“It’s okay, you’re here. I’ve got you,” Jane reminded her quietly. Instead of verbally responding, Katherine took hold of Jane’s hand which had fallen nearby after it had squeezed her wrist. At the physical contact, Jane could even more intensely feel the fear coursing through Katherine at recounting her death. After several minutes of silence, the fear and anxiety subsided to a dull hum replaced by a hazing exhaustion. Once Jane registered this transition, Katherine released a shaky sigh. “There you go. That’s good,” Jane praised.

“Can I- I really kind of want a hug. I’d ask Anne if I thought she were awake, and you don’t have to of course,” Katherine responded her eyes darting up to look at the blonde for a fleeting second.

“Of course,” Jane nodded without hesitation, gently freeing her hand from Katherine’s, so she could open her arms to the girl. In a matter of seconds, Katherine wrapped her arms around Jane tightly, revelling in the physical comfort. The blonde allowed Katherine a hug as long as she needed, and simply took to running a hand through long pink ended locks.

Finally Katherine pulled away from the hug, visibly looking a bit more at ease, “Thank you, that really did make me feel better,” she mumbled looking down at her lap again.

“Anytime, really,” Jane replied with a dismissive shake of her head.

Katherine’s eyes widened for a moment, “You mean that?” she asked wondering why a woman she’d known for about a week cared about her already.

“I do, I promise,” she assured giving one of Katherine’s hands a squeeze.

“Thank you, again. It really means a lot,” the girl said giving Jane a small smile, though she was unsure how clearly Jane could make it out in the dark. “I think I’m gonna try and sleep again,” she decided aloud next.

Jane nodded, “Like I said, anytime. If you can’t sleep, Cathy is usually up late, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a bit of quiet company.” She would’ve told Katherine she could come fine her, but she didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Katherine said softly as Jane stood to make her way out. “Goodnight,” Katherine added as Jane was halfway out the door.

“Goodnight,” the blonde replied slipping away with a small smile on her face. Any reservations she’d had about bringing Katherine into the coven (due to security reasons) had nearly completely dissipated at this point. Not only did Howard have the potential to be a powerful witch, but she was also a kind soul.

That night, Katherine Howard was not the only soul unable to sleep. The Supreme rolled around in her bed, mind whirring at a dizzying rate. With a huff, she pushed her blankets back. If sleeping was a futile endeavor then perhaps she could be productive. A quick glance at the clock told her it was two in the morning, so Aragon padded her way down to the greenhouse, where Catherine Parr sat hunched over her laptop.

“Catherine,” Aragon called as she stepped into the dimly lit room, save for the lamp on Parr’s desk. The curly headed woman glanced up, her eyes wide and eyebrows raised until she saw it was only her godmother.

“Oh hey,” she finally greeted back, turning to face Aragon fully. “Why’re you up so late?” she asked curiously. Normally she and Jane were the last two to sleep.

“I could ask you the same question,” Aragon mused with a small smile. “But I also know it’s useless to try and get you to sleep earlier so it’d be pointless. For the record, I couldn’t sleep.”

Parr rolled her eyes goodnaturedly, unable to keep a small smile of her own from forming on her face. “I’m up researching what you asked me to, remember?” She said her voice carrying a ghost of jest. “Is there anything in particular keeping you up though?” She asked sobering back up.

“Just the situation I guess. There’s been some disturbing developments and I fear we’re running out of time,” she replied leaning against the doorframe. “Out of time for what? Some sort of confrontation?”

“I suppose. I just have a gut feeling, and I don’t like it. I hope I’m wrong,” Aragon added after a short pause. “I shouldn’t let this get out because it is council business, but someone else is dead. We have to figure something out, We’re dying and even if we six and the girls across the city survive, that’s not helping our kind survive. Jane’s progress with tracking magic is coming slowly and it doesn’t need to be.”

“I won’t press for more details on the new victim, but I agree, something needs to be done. Speaking of which, I may have found something. You asked me to try and figure out who was employing him and where he came from and such. Well, I did some digging to learn that’s from the UK but he’s been in other countries pulling similar shit. He’s been in Spain, France and Germany. There the murders were reported and documented though no one was ever convicted. It’s the exact same MO if you will: beheading in a rural area in one fell swoop. Plus the victims were consistently young women.”

“As for his associates, I’m coming up blank. I”ve even corresponded with the American supreme and she’s never experienced anything like him. She said they shut down the main company for hunters. My best guess is that it’s a family thing or he’s working in a micro group, which is smart. They leave less of a trace,” Parr finished.

Aragon knit her brows at this new information. This man had to be incredibly careful or have some sort of magic protection that helped him not get caught. It seemed like a Henry move. If he used wards to detect a witch’s power and protect himself, then it wasn’t a far stretch to wonder if he would use them to cover his crimes.

“You should tell the council. Maybe this would help,” Parr pressed in the silence that fell as Aragon’s thoughts whirled.

“No. That’s not a good idea. I don’t want to worry them any more, and truthfully? The less people who know this, the safer we are. We still don’t know who’s protecting him and if he knows we’re figuring out a pattern in anyway then he’ll move faster and we can’t,” Aragon shook her head.

Parr’s eyes widened, “Are you insinuating what I think you are? Do you think his aid is one of us?” She couldn’t help the prying tone that left her lips as the shock of the implications in Aragon’s statement hit her.

“I- I don’t think so, but you can never be too careful who you trust and we don’t know what he’s capable of. I’m not going to lose anyone else, at least not those directly under my protection,” the Supreme said with a firm nod, covering her falter toward the beginning of her sentence. This was her coven, and she was hellbent on protecting it, even if that meant withholding information or not blindly trusting everyone.

#catherine parr #catherine of aragon #katherine howard #anne boleyn #jane seymour #anne of cleves #six the musical

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ohhdarlings · 5 years

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𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝒶𝓅𝓅 ( reese witherspoon. cisfem, she/her, light on + maggie rogers. ) i heard CONSTANCE GODFREY singing the other night, though it didn’t sound like english… it’s so admirable that someone who’s only 46 can sing latin so fluently! heard they hang out with those LUX CIRCLE, that must be because they’re a CURATOR at THE GUGGENHEIM. i always see them going home to BROOKLYN by CAR under the moonlit night. (gracie,24,she/her,est) *godfrey leader, *eliot wc  hello its gracie here with my second small blonde ready to ruin your life or adopt you. Bio and info below the cut! Like and i will slide into your dms.  The house, she tells you, sits on a vital magical nexus and must remain with the family. You are ten years old, and it is cold. You do not want to be shivering in the yard waiting for the moon to slip into exactly the correct position to foretell the sex of your expected younger sibling. You definitely do not want a younger sibling, you and your older sister are enough. Huffing with the impertinence of childhood, you whine louder, but stop at the sharp words from your father. He likes your sister better, she’s smarter and more adept than you are. You want to resent her but are unable. She is all starlight and laughter, winking at you from across the circle, she makes you feel like you belong. She does not treat magic with the same deistic reverence your parents do, almost as if they are afraid of what they can do. No, Cassandra casts with love and enthusiasm, and she teaches you to delight in the possibility of the world. You don’t know what she plays with the nights she stays out later, you believe her when she says the scars were accidents. And two years later when she heads off to school, you somehow know she will never come back. Eliot grips your hand, unable to understand why everyone is so upset. You vow never to leave him. Magic, you learn, is about balance.  Steady Constance, once a command, a warning, became a mantra. You are steady like the river, feeling the pull of the tide in your bones and the rush of the water through your veins. Always moving, always going, but always constantly there. You stay in the city, get a degree in Art History your mother scoffs at. You try to bring some joy to the house, the coven. You teach Eliot to delight in the wonder of the world around you. Magic is not something to be feared, but loved. If you can love it for what it is, not fear it, if you are allowed to revel in the majesty - perhaps less and less witches will be drawn to the darker aspects. Defensive doesn’t mean weak, and teaching them to fear themselves will only drive more away. Your parents balk at this suggestion, but steadfast you remain. Steady does not mean boring, life can be beautiful and you wish to know it all. Heartbreak and sadness, exaltation and bliss. It all matters, and you want to revel in it all. Your sister doesn’t invite you to her wedding, and she does not come to your mother’s funeral. You only learn of your niece’s existence in a dream, and you aren’t entirely sure it is true. There’s a man who’s laughter reminds you of your sister, you let yourself fall for him. When your brother’s heart breaks, you let him tattoo the constellations on your back. Upon your father’s death, the last of the old way dies with him. In your first hours as leader, Eliot tattoos the upright empress tarot card from the deck your sister sent for your 15th birthday on your forearm. Family, you learn, is the most important thing to cherish.  You were not born to rule, and certainly not to lead. The anxiety and pressure nearly kill you that first year and you try to find time to delight in your children. Balance, that crucial piece of any magic, is much more difficult. Your desire to live and feel everything remain, and you give a bit of yourself to every witch or lost soul who walks through your door. Each individual you take in carries a piece of your heart with them when they go, and they return like the warmth of the sun peeking out from behind a cloud. You become the mother to them you wish you had - drink water, wear sunscreen, have you eaten today, come sit and tell me what happened. Steady like the river, steady like the seasons, steady like the perennials in the back garden. And there is the world outside your door to deal with, factions and politics and ancient feuds begun by those whose names no one can remember. It is, frankly, exhausting. And something has to give. You blink and your babies are not babies but boys, the older twin tugging on the strings of memory with the smirk like your sister’s, his brother following adoringly like you always did. You cannot give them as much as you need, you cannot be everything for everyone. But by god, do you try. You feel her magic begin to stir from the other side of the continent and learn of your sister’s death from a lawyer. And so, for the first time in your life - you cross the river and head west. The child you find in this arid land wears far too much sorrow for her age, jumps at shadows and flinches at her own power. For a flicker of a moment, you understand the draw to that dark offensive magic, the anger for the brother in law you never knew filling you with such an intensity it scares you. But you are steady, and you hold her shaking hand the entirety of the plane ride. The last of that terrifying rage vanishes as you watch your niece almost smile at her first spell. Leadership, you learn, requires sacrifice.  But no matter how steady you are, things still break. And sometimes - they completely shatter. You should have seen this coming, you should have recognized the signs. He was so like her, curiosity and boldness. Had you paid more attention to your own children instead of spreading yourself thin among all the coven, you could have stopped it. Maybe your parents were right, maybe magic should be feared, or at the very least you should have told him the possibility of fear. But your son left, left you and his twin and everything, and it feels as if one of your lungs has been ripped out. His brother pulls away from you too, not to the dark, but into himself. You should have told them, should not have spared them from the cruel truth of the aunt they never got to meet. She died because she pushed too far, threw off the balance. And magic, you have always known, requires balance. Now you fear he is headed the same way and you will move heaven and earth to prevent this. You feel more unsteady these days, plagued by an irrational fear that the river will run dry or the house will fall down. You try to delegate, to learn to let others help you with the wider world order as you struggle to maintain the family ties you still have. Steadiness, you learn, often demands loss. TL/DR : constance is the mama bear who is literally just doing her fucking best. Think molly weasley specifically in the ‘not my daughter you bitch’ mode combined with sandra bullock in practical magic (gracie you’ve mentioned this in BOTH do you maybe only know one witchy movie? Yes ok midnight margs forever). She has never touched dark magic, nor would she actively seek to harm another. But she will fight you and the entire PTA to protect those she loves - the embodiment of ‘do no harm but take no shit’. Curses like a fucking sailor because she’s a fucking lady. The house is in Prospect Park, an old victorian mansion that is for sure haunted, the door is literally always open. Witch, werewolf, vampire, hunter, human, whatever you are, you are welcome if your intentions are pure or if you really just need help. She has two poodles named Artemis & Apollo and they are the biggest attention whores, will follow anyone around the house for pets.  Wanted plots: Gimme all the collected children please! Other founding family leaders that Constance has to interact with. Someone to threaten her children/family. Friends! Exes! If anyone wants another character we would LOVE a husband/partner/baby daddy.

#nightsbound:intro #( constance / and im still dancing at the end of the day )#yesss come like and play with everyones mom #( constance / like the dam was breaking and my mind came rushing in )

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