Watchmen Kink Meme 3. Weeeeeeee.
Rules of the meme:
1. Anonymously post a pairing and prompt you would like to see written. Since this is a kink meme, there is supposted to be a kink involved, but normal well-written prompts should work just as well.
2. Anonymous will respond to your post and write it for you! Art and such is also acceptable/awesome. Multiple people may respond to ( Read more... )
It's noon and he's about to turn back when she rises out of the grass like a vision, smiling serenely with hate burning in her red eyes. Albinism is rare on the plains, but not unheard of. Among the Hyperborean upper castes, it's more common than it really should be. He freezes like a rabbit, and Horse rears in fright.
"There you are." A blast of wind nearly knocks him to the ground, but he grips with his knees and hangs onto Horse's mane as she screams in rage, trying to trample her opponent like a snake. Her hooves strike a shielding spell, and Ghost Rat barely keeps his seat, guiding Horse off and away to keep her from breaking a leg. He slides off her back and slaps her haunch, sending her back to the others, war fans out as he faces the witch. He can feel the weakness on him, and he can see it reflected in her eyes. A woman of any description is the last thing in the world he should be fighting right now, and they both know it.
"If you just gave up and knelt at my feet, it would spare you a fraction of the pain I have in store for you."
"Wasn't whelped to give up." He hurls one fan and has the satisfaction of making her dodge it, and then it's all over because every bit of strength goes out of every limb. It takes five minutes of bone grinding, tendon strumming horrible screaming effort for Ghost Rat's knees to give out. He can barely breathe, eyes wide and taking in every detail of her deep-green leather boots as she comes to stand over him. It's a stupid move, which just makes it more infuriating that she can get away with it.
"I'm going to take your heart, little savage." She says in a voice like poisoned honey. "And I'm going to take it slowly."
"W-why?" He growls, still unable to raise his head. "Partner got cleaner death than he deserved."
"He. Was. My. Brother." Every word hurts in a way nothing has since he was old enough to get out of his mother's tent and fend for himself. "And you pawed him over for trinkets and left him to rot in the forest." Ghost Rat would deny this if he could, but something seems to have knotted up his insides. "You will kill your friends for me, and I will tear you apart." Making him stand is like trying to pull a gold ingot from the mud of a river, but soon he's on his feet, and by the time the others come for him, he's moving as smoothly as ever.
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I really love the little bits of magic you're weaving into the whole story, especially the level of detail of the magic and how much it all means to Ghost Rat. The "blood of a man whose mother loved him" bit from the previous part really delighted me.
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If a male ghost with this problem dies without certain healing rites, the earth itself refuses to recognize him and he doesn't get recycled back into the whole groovy animate universe. As a matter of fact, no one knows what happens to the poor bastard. Ghost Rat has just been Not Thinking About It, and now, what with almost dying and finally having the necessary ingredient (a woman who loves him, aw) he'll finally pull his head out and get right with god, because I'm way too much of a happy-junkie to let him bleed to death.
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Ghost Rat goes for Asmoleda so fast that Daniel hardly sees him move, and the shock as the edge of one fan bites into his arm guard leaves him numb past the elbow. William drags Asmoleda out of her saddle and shields her with his body as Daniel and Laurel do their best to hold Ghost Rat off. Byron goes haring after the witch, Laurel nearly loses an eye, and Daniel feels sick to his stomach when her cry of terror has no effect. Sometimes you can reach a person through this kind of working, but this is too strong. He gibbers and howls and Asmoleda's shrieking only adds to the tumult as she struggles to get out of William's arms, as desperate to help as most people with no real combat training.
Daniel catches another blow with the same arm, and the pain isn't any less for his having orchestrated it himself, but the light spray of blood hits Ghost Rat right across the mouth and something flickers in his eyes. In a moment he's yards away, hidden in the tall grass, only rustling and fierce, pained noises letting them know where he is, writhing and kicking up clods of earth as he battles himself just as hard as he's ever fought anyone else.
The witch gets a hand free of Byron's grasp to make a hard, clawing gesture, and Ghost Rat screams, the sound disconcertingly bubbly, as though there's blood in his mouth. "Wicked, wicked harlot!" Asmoleda screams, her face glazed with tears. She snatches off one boot and hurls it straight and true, the wooden heel striking the witch's skull and giving Byron the instant he needs to snap her neck, slowly stepping back. His hands are steady, and so are his eyes
It'll be hard for any of them to lose any sleep over her when Ghost Rat is still writhing in agony. Daniel runs to him and drops to his knees beside him, cradling his head and calling for William and Byron. William consigns a shaking Asmoleda to Laurie's care and they go to Daniel.
"Your mothers." He croaks. "Did they love you?"
"Mine took a beating trying to keep me from getting clipped."
"Mine hid me when I was working with the Iron Moth."
He shows them how and where to anoint Ghost Rat, covering him in little red marks, the first spray drying on his mouth. While they're thus occupied, Daniel buries his face in amongst the grass roots, his magic hurting him a little as it stretches out, reaching for anything even vaguely like itself. He doesn't usually use it for this kind of thing, and the buffeting of spirits against his consciousness is always something of a shock. The gleam of a shaman in the distance is so bright it burns. It feels familiar, but more than that, competent and strong.
He lurches back toward the material plane, and lands in his body with a horrible smack, scrabbling onto his knees to vomit, reminding himself to fucking work on his scrying. "Oh god." He muttered. "How long was I out? Is Ghost Rat--"
"Sleeping." William says from close beside him. "Not easy, but sleeping." Looking up, Daniel can see that it's been an hour. "You all right?"
He nods. "We need to keep going north." He groans, absently scrubbing dirt from his face. "I think... I think we have a friend there, but I'm not sure whether or not it's anyone we've met. If you know what I mean. God, I'm tired."
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captcha is thinking of Sally: Devoted polak.
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Second the love for how everyone had their own system of magic.
The thing I was thinking though, earlier, before Rory was bewitched but after he noticed Asmoleda watching him after the incident, was well, the folklores about men catching animal spirits or even minor goddesses bathing, and in stealing their robe, or coat, in the case of the one about the seals/daughters of the sea who bathe nude in human form, he wins/own them in marriage.
...and I also remember, back in elementary school, when I asked a classmate of mine, a beautiful girl with golden hair, why she started covering it up, and she told me she's old enough now that only her husband is suppose to see it.
So, see = possess.
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On the evening of the third day, Daniel is kneeling beside the travois and pouring a noxious tea made of fever grass down Ghost Rat's throat when lucidity flickers into his eyes. He finishes the cup dutifully, and then very politely and calmly asks for Daniel to kill him.
"We're most of the way there, Ghost Rat. Don't start this shit now."
"Burdensome. Sick. Unclean." He coughs, and makes a tiny, restrained sound of agony.
"Goddammit, just stop it." Daniel whispers fiercely, letting the cup drop to stroke Ghost Rat's bright hair. "You're not going to die." He laughs weakly. "Not after even Asmoleda helped save your life."
"Don't feel saved."
"We're working on it." Daniel says, and presses a clumsy, tender kiss to Ghost Rat's forehead. "We're working on it."
"Always so kind." He mutters, and drifts into merciful unconsciousness. Daniel wishes he could do the same, feeling unreal. He probably hasn't slept much more than two hours at a stretch in days, and reality is starting to wobble. He picks up the cup and climbs back into the saddle, because there are miles to go and he can sleep when he's dead.
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"Mother." He says, kissing her hands. Spirits like to pretend you don't know who they really are, and it doesn't hurt anything to play along, since whatever they're pretending always becomes at least half true. "What have you come to say to me?"
The voice is exactly right, warm and soft. "The Rat and that Outlander friend of his are coming this way wounded with more behind. If he doesn't die, you can finally set up a Song Lodge for him." She smiles. "I hope you can. He's too good to lose."
They talk a while longer, and then he's waking up in Sick Wolf's arms, to the sound of muttering in the northern tongue about shamans and their cold feet and the way they disappear at night. He springs up and starts laying out everything he'll need as his husband groans and pulls the robe over his head.
"Beloved?"
"I've killed three Akontet in the past three days, woman. Think carefully before you ask me for anything."
"I was only going to ask you to set up the other tent. You won't actually have to build anything for at least a few days."
Sick Wolf groans again and doesn't wake fully until Thinks Ahead has finished his preparations and put together breakfast, giving it to him with a kiss and providing two reasons to regain consciousness. Of course, after that he has to set up the other tent and then ride south to look for Ghost Rat and Daniel. He used to resent running around every time Thinks Ahead had a dream, but over the years he's come to realize that his wife is usually right, and that resistance only complicates things.
It's late morning when he finds them, the iron horse thundering along, the travois cushioned by magic, and the man responsible for both trying to stay awake in the saddle. Sick Wolf figures that if the Hawks saw them, they must have just let them go on by. He stops them cautiously, and therefore avoids a sword to the gut. Once Daniel recognizes him, Sick Wolf can tell him where to go and follow at a natural pace, muttering to himself again.
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But outside she takes his hand and calls him Mouse, the first part of the first name he had ever been given (having been too sickly to be called anything but Stay until then), and he knows she's there with with the Voice of the South Wind, who has come to tell him something.
SOOOOOURCEBOOK
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When children on the plains are born good and fucked up, adults do their best to heal them of their primary physical problems, and then call them Stay, and hope they do.
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