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middaeg2019-12-01 10:21 am
curruid_coinchenn) wrote in middaeg2019-12-01 10:21 am
Entry tags:
The dream was now broken, though rudely awoken [closed]
Who: Diarmuid and Berserker
When: Early Deceuer
Where: Their apartment
What:Nightmare Dream sharing
Warnings: Trauma! Mentions of blood, mass slaughter, other fun stuff.
[ Sometimes it's difficult for Berserker to sleep. It's taken him months to get used to having a mortal body and limitations. Sleep doesn't come easily on most nights and, when it does, it's full of disturbing dreams. He runs himself to the point of exhaustion so when sleep finally comes, he's too tired to have the dreams. It's to keep him from inflicting his dreams on his Bonded (both of them). Diarmuid coming home to find him collapsed on the couch from running himself ragged made him change his sleep habits at least a little bit. He doesn't want to worry the one who stays by his side so faithfully.
So, on this night, he lets himself go to bed when he's tired. He lays alongside his Bonded, though not snuggled up with him. His familiar presence is enough to help ease him into sleep. The problem is, though, that the nightmares come again as he drifts off. A dreamless sleep would not happen tonight.
A cold, dark battlefield. The overwhelming stench of blood fills the air. Numerous dead already lay at Berserker's feet and he wrenches his spear from the body of another. Blood splatters stain his dark armor and bare skin, including his face. There's no emotion on his face as he continues to cut down person after person who opposes him. No motion of his spear are wasted, each strike either crippling or killing his target. He steps on the still struggling, screaming person he just cut down, armored foot on their head. ]
Please, I'm begging you, don't kill me! Spare my life and I'll never return here, just please let me live...
[ Their pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears. ]
Die with some dignity.
[ A sickening crunch of bone and squelching of brain and blood fill the air as he stomps his foot down, grinding his boot into the mess. He steps over the now dead body before him; he feels nothing for the corpse and felt nothing more the living person it used to be.
Nothing behind him but corpses, nothing before him but living who would become corpses.
Even those strong enough to strike him are calmly killed. An opposing army to take down this one man war shows itself in the distance. Survival is all that matters. Anyone he can kill with just his spear are taken out, but the numbers get to be overwhelming. His expression doesn't change as he prepares to throw Gae Bolg. A horrifying tearing sound, bone and muscle separating in his chest and shoulder can be heard as he hurls the spear at the remnants of the army. It hurts, it hurts, but his face shows no expression. Runes glow on his body, the damage done repaired. The army is no more, leveled by the superior show of force. He collects his spear and continues forward.
It never ends. It never ends. It never ends.
Exhausted, he stops. A petite, pink-haired woman in white approaches him. A sense of unease and resentment comes from Berserker, though he does nothing against her. He continues to stare at her with the same indifference as anything else. She puts a hand on his bloodstained chest and smiles. ]
Perfect, my love, my Mad King. [ She reaches up to cup his equally bloodstained cheeks in her hands. ] I knew you were the perfect King for me. I love you!
[ It never ends.
With that vision of Medb, the dream ends. Berserker doesn't stir from his sleep, though he does shift around. It's background noise. He feels nothing seeing this dream, just the crushing apathy that used to make up his entire being. Protection is what it is.
If he were conscious, he'd only hope that Diarmuid didn't experience what he'd just dreamt. Of course he couldn't be that lucky. ]
When: Early Deceuer
Where: Their apartment
What:
Warnings: Trauma! Mentions of blood, mass slaughter, other fun stuff.
[ Sometimes it's difficult for Berserker to sleep. It's taken him months to get used to having a mortal body and limitations. Sleep doesn't come easily on most nights and, when it does, it's full of disturbing dreams. He runs himself to the point of exhaustion so when sleep finally comes, he's too tired to have the dreams. It's to keep him from inflicting his dreams on his Bonded (both of them). Diarmuid coming home to find him collapsed on the couch from running himself ragged made him change his sleep habits at least a little bit. He doesn't want to worry the one who stays by his side so faithfully.
So, on this night, he lets himself go to bed when he's tired. He lays alongside his Bonded, though not snuggled up with him. His familiar presence is enough to help ease him into sleep. The problem is, though, that the nightmares come again as he drifts off. A dreamless sleep would not happen tonight.
A cold, dark battlefield. The overwhelming stench of blood fills the air. Numerous dead already lay at Berserker's feet and he wrenches his spear from the body of another. Blood splatters stain his dark armor and bare skin, including his face. There's no emotion on his face as he continues to cut down person after person who opposes him. No motion of his spear are wasted, each strike either crippling or killing his target. He steps on the still struggling, screaming person he just cut down, armored foot on their head. ]
Please, I'm begging you, don't kill me! Spare my life and I'll never return here, just please let me live...
[ Their pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears. ]
Die with some dignity.
[ A sickening crunch of bone and squelching of brain and blood fill the air as he stomps his foot down, grinding his boot into the mess. He steps over the now dead body before him; he feels nothing for the corpse and felt nothing more the living person it used to be.
Nothing behind him but corpses, nothing before him but living who would become corpses.
Even those strong enough to strike him are calmly killed. An opposing army to take down this one man war shows itself in the distance. Survival is all that matters. Anyone he can kill with just his spear are taken out, but the numbers get to be overwhelming. His expression doesn't change as he prepares to throw Gae Bolg. A horrifying tearing sound, bone and muscle separating in his chest and shoulder can be heard as he hurls the spear at the remnants of the army. It hurts, it hurts, but his face shows no expression. Runes glow on his body, the damage done repaired. The army is no more, leveled by the superior show of force. He collects his spear and continues forward.
It never ends. It never ends. It never ends.
Exhausted, he stops. A petite, pink-haired woman in white approaches him. A sense of unease and resentment comes from Berserker, though he does nothing against her. He continues to stare at her with the same indifference as anything else. She puts a hand on his bloodstained chest and smiles. ]
Perfect, my love, my Mad King. [ She reaches up to cup his equally bloodstained cheeks in her hands. ] I knew you were the perfect King for me. I love you!
[ It never ends.
With that vision of Medb, the dream ends. Berserker doesn't stir from his sleep, though he does shift around. It's background noise. He feels nothing seeing this dream, just the crushing apathy that used to make up his entire being. Protection is what it is.
If he were conscious, he'd only hope that Diarmuid didn't experience what he'd just dreamt. Of course he couldn't be that lucky. ]
no subject
"I love you."
Hearing him say it again, clearer, firmer, free from the taste of champagne- it spurs a fresh round of tears, though these are easily blinked back. He loves him. He loves him. There are so many questions he has and twice as many insecurities but, in the moment, all he can think is that it's his duty- no, his deepest wish- to make sure the man lying against him stays free.]
Worth what I've been through? I love you- I would endure anything for your sake.
[It's so breathlessly romantic as to almost sound trite but he means every word.]
It doesn't have to be your burden to bear alone anymore.
no subject
If those words had been spoken by anyone else, Berserker would have found them hollow. He knows Diarmuid's devotion and convictions are true and has no reason to doubt them. It would be unfair of him to doubt them when the Bonded has never given him reason to. He turns his head so he can speak clearly, though doesn't move away just yet. ]
I did vow that my burdens would be yours...And you've managed to impress me throughout all of this.
[ He shifts away a little bit, smoothing Diarmuid's hair back with a brief, if fond smile. ]
...Lay with me here until I fall asleep again. Your presence might...keep the dreams at bay.
[ He hoped, he truly hoped that would be the case. Sharing another one of his dreams would be unfair. ]
no subject
I'll stay as long as you need me regardless.
[With another flick of the wrist, all but a few of the balls of light he had sent forth earlier extinguish themselves. The ones that remain continue to float lazily overhead, occasionally bumping into each other or the walls as they cross the room.]
You won't frighten me away, a rún. Not even in a dream.
no subject
His eyes slowly shut and his breathing becomes steady and even. It's rare he looks relaxed and comfortable, but this is certainly one of those times. As much as he questions the decision he made to take on this Bond with Diarmuid sometimes and if the changes it brought are truly worth it, it's moments like these that solidify it. He trust him completely and loves him as much as he's capable of and that's good enough, isn't it?
A few moments later and he's asleep again, hopefully with no more disturbing dreams of his own to share. ]
no subject
Whether it's because the gates have already been opened or because of his own unsettled thoughts, another dream does manage to creep between them, silent and unexpected, though not in the same direction as the last.
When Berserker tips off the edge of sleep and into the world of dreaming, it won't be a battlefield that he sees but an ocean. Grey skies peppered with holes that let sunlight shine pour through in columns of golden light across the water, catching the wings of seabirds and rolling waves in flashes of white. The break of spring, perhaps. Wildflowers peek through the grass, greener than ever after what felt like years of snow, and dot the cliffsides. The air itself tastes fresh and salty, sweet and stinging all at the same time.
For all its unfamiliarity, though, there's one thing that Berserker will know with absolute certainty.
"Diarmuid, come and sit with me."
Why it's important to know the difference between a comhardadh slán and a comhardadh briste is beyond him- Cú? Diarmuid? Does it matter?- but he turns back towards the clearing. A man sits waiting with a book in his lap, a dog sleeping against his knee and a smile that creases eyes as bright as the newly breaking sun. Birds settle in the branches of trees over, as if eager to simply bask in his strange, beautiful presence.
A hand in curls, ruffling a loose strand free. The songs of their people are as ancient as the land itself, stretching back through countless ages of man and god. This one touched even the time of the Hound of Ulster, or so Aengus Óg claims, giving the stirring wolfdog a scratch behind the ears. Even a life as bloody as his must have been filled with melody. Had its own kind of lyrics. Erin is song, after all.
Ah, that's right.
Home. This is home.]
no subject
It's warm, it's welcoming, and it's inspiring a strange longing in him he hasn't quite experienced before. It feels like something he shouldn't be seeing, an intimate moment meant only for the dreamer. He's not sure if these are his own feelings he's experiencing, either. Like the setting itself, the emotions in him are both familiar yet alien. He can't put a finger on what's his and what's Diarmuid's; maybe they're all one and the same.
What he does know and what he's sure of, though, is this is surely a vision of home, what truly used to be his home. To be given this glimpse of it again, even through his Bonded's eyes, means more to him than he could put into words. Without as much of Medb's influence and the corruption of the Grail weighing on him, he can actually appreciate what's being shown to him. Unlike his own dreams, this is one he doesn't want to wake from.
How strange. ]