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sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years

Text

garden (koh!harry)

Warnings: language

Pairing: king of hell!Harry x angel!reader

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: alright so!! this is an au a friend of mine and I thought of a couple years ago!! basically it’s demon!harry and angel!reader but with the added spice of harry being the king of hell!! the premise for this au is that it’ll kind of be an ongoing series/universe, like the hades!harry au!! so that means I’ll be posting a series of one shots and concepts in a non-chronological order, meaning that each one shot takes place in a different time and in a different order!! I’m really excited to write a series like this, in addition to the long stand-alone fics I do, and I really really hope you guys like it!! the last time I did a shorter one shot, it didn’t really get any feedback, and I thought longer stand-alone fics were the way to go, but I do really miss this format!! so. please. if you like it!! reblog it!! let me know you like it!! and let me know what questions you have about this au!! any concept or blurb ideas or thoughts you have!! I’m very excited for it and I hope you guys are too <3 also I originally wrote this au on my marvel blog last year, and have reworked and revamped it, so if it looks familiar, or sounds familiar, I promise I haven’t plagiarized lmao that was me!!

{masterlist}

When Y/N wakes up, the room is dark.

This, Y/N has come to realize, is normal, considering that the chambers she sleeps in have no windows. While this fact would normally have troubled her, she’s made her peace with it. After all, what is there to see? The palace, located in the center of hell, is surrounded by the flames of the underworld and the souls of the damned, and while neither of those things are a welcoming sight in the morning, they’re especially unwelcome for an angel such as herself. It had taken her so long to adjust to the obsidian stone walls around her, the heavy black and red velvet drapes that lined the frame of her bed, and the smell of sulfur that lingered in the air, even after she had placed herbs and flowers to burn in the fireplace and create a sweet smoke in the air. Truth be told, Y/N still wasn’t completely adjusted to the atmosphere around her, but this, too, doesn’t surprise her. An angel could never truly adjust to being in hell.

A rustling in the bed next to her pulls Y/N from her thoughts, and she lets her gaze shift to the muscled body nestled in the sheets next to her. This, she thinks, is another thing she may never get used to, even though it sparks a burning desire deep within her. While the king of hell may have once frightened you, the sight of him lying next to her brings a feeling of comfort to her, and Y/N allows herself a moment to admire the rarely relaxed state Harry is currently in. His curls, which are normally carefully styled beneath his crown, are tousled from sleep, falling into his face in an endearing way. His face itself is relaxed, the hard creases from the scowl that’s usually permanently etched into his features all but disappeared. The demon is normally a fearsome thing to behold, his power at the forefront of every one of his movements, but seeing him like this…these are some of Y/N’s favourite times.

Thinking him still asleep, Y/N carefully pushes his mussed curls back from his face, her fingers tracing down the line of his jaw. She can feel the stubble that’s unperceivable in the dark, and a soft sigh falls from her lips as she enjoys the rough sensation against her delicate fingers.

“Why are you awake, angel?” Harry’s low voice rumbles deep from his chest, raspy from lack of use. Although his eyes remain closed, his face half pressed into his pillow, Y/N watches him adjust himself in the bed.

“I don’t know.” She whispers back, laying her head back on her own pillow, her gaze still on his body. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“S’alright.” Harry gives a small sigh, opening his eyes just barely. “I was just resting. I’m fine.”

Yes, Y/N thinks, that’s another thing she isn’t quite used to. While her body functions like that of a human, needing sleep every night, breathing oxygen into her lungs, a heart pumping blood through her veins…. Harry doesn’t. It’s rare he sleeps, and even when he does, it’s never for more than a few hours. He had explained to Y/N once how his heart beat so slowly when he was created, and how it stopped completely when he reached full maturity. Although Y/N can see the faint blueish outlines of veins beneath his tattooed skin, she’s not exactly sure what runs through them. Blood seems too common for a being like him. And if he was ever to get hurt, Y/N’s quite certain that he wouldn’t bleed like she would.

The sensation of Harry beginning to play with her hair pulls Y/N from her thoughts. “Why are you awake, hm?” He keeps his voice low, his tone gentle. He’s gotten better at speaking softly for her. “What’s troubling that pretty mind of yours, angel?”

Y/N half shrugs as best she can while laying down. “Nothing. Just…thinking, I suppose.”

Harry quirks up an eyebrow. “Thinking? About what?”

The words hesitate at the edge of Y/N’s mouth before spilling out. “How…I don’t really belong here.”

A deep hum echoes from Harry’s chest as his deep green eyes close again. “’F course you belong here, love. Don’t be silly.”

“I don’t belong here.” Y/N repeats the phrase insistently, her eyes glued to the way his jaw tenses as she says it. “I…I’m not from here.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t belong.” Harry counters, eyes opening once again. They’re darker now, and Y/N can see the stubbornness swirling within them. “I’m the king. I want you here. That means you belong.”

Y/N chews on her bottom lip, contemplating the best way to explain herself. “I just…I miss it.” She says finally, her voice small as it slips into the space between them.

Harry’s pink lips pull down into a frown. “Miss what?”

Fingers twisting together, Y/N pauses before answering Harry’s inquiry. “Above.”

“Oh, angel…” Harry sighs again as he shifts his position, pulling her into his marked chest. His strong hands find her back in the darkness, stroking up and down over her cotton nightgown in a soothing manner. “What’s there to miss? Angry people rushing around all the time, destroying their own planet? Destroying themselves along with it? No, you’re much better off down here, with me.”

“There’s plenty to miss.” Y/N counters, pressing her ear into his chest to be greeted with the familiar sound of silence. “The smell of rain, sunshine, flowers growing, birdsongs…” She sighs as she trails off. “And I like people, you know that. They may destroy things, but down here…you destroy things too.”

“Only things that need to be.” Harry argues, his fingers continuing his tracings across her back, barely brushing over the two ridges between her shoulder blades where her wings usually sit. “Souls that deserve punishment, or souls that sold themselves to me. It’s part of the deal, angel.”

“I miss my garden.” Y/N’s voice is barely audible as she grazes her finger over his pentagram necklace. “My rose bushes, my sunflowers…I used to grow berries, too. Strawberries, blueberries…I would make delicious pies and scones…”

“If you truly desire those things,” Harry murmurs slowly, carefully measuring his words. “Then I can get them for you. I can send a demon to the surface for the fruits, and all the ingredients you would need to bake. I’m sure anything you create would taste…” The growing smirk is practically audible in his voice. “Sweet.”

Despite the light warmth that flushes her cheeks, Y/N shakes her head against his chest. “It’s not the same.” She sighs. “I miss the breeze. I miss the ocean. I used to run to the edge of the surf to dip my toes in the water…and I loved going to the beach at night. On clear nights, the moon would reflect on the water like a mirror, two glowing spheres, watching over me…”

“Are you not happy here?” Harry’s voice turns gruffer as he registers the longing in her voice. “You know why going to the surface is dangerous. The angels—”

“Would try to take me back. I know. And I don’t want to go back.” Y/N rubs her hand over Harry’s tensed muscles, trying to soothe him back into a relaxed position. “I just miss it. Isn’t there anything you miss? Anything that causes an ache in you, deep in your chest?” She presses her palm over his stilled heart to emphasize her words.

Harry softens at her touch, relaxing back into the sheets once more. “The only absence that could ever make me ache is yours.” He kisses the top of her head, an action so tender that Y/N almost forgets he’s a demon. “Sleep, angel. Dwelling on these matters will only cause you pain.”

Y/N kisses his collarbones chastely, the curves fitting easily underneath her lips, before settling herself back down and closing her eyes. Although breathing isn’t necessary for Harry, the familiar action soothes her as she listens to his breaths, the sound acting as her own personal ocean as she drifts to sleep.

…

The bed is cold when Y/N wakes up again the next morning, a sign that Harry has been long gone. Given his strange sleep schedule, this isn’t unusual. What is unusual, however, is the carefully folded note sitting on his carefully fluffed pillow. Y/N’s name is on the top of the note, scribbled in Harry’s messy penmanship. Y/N rubs the sleep from her eyes as she picks up the rough paper, a shiver rolling through her as she brings it to her nose. Although there’s the now familiar burn of sulphur initially, underneath sits Harry’s musky cologne, and the faint scent of it is enough to drive her mad.

Before she allows herself to get worked up any more, Y/N carefully unfolds the note, finding more of Harry’s writing on the inside.

Breakfast will be outside today, on the palace grounds.

Y/N frowns in confusion as she reads over the words repeatedly, trying to make sense of them. Harry knows that she hates going outside the palace walls, much preferring to spend her time inside the safety of the obsidian stone structure. Between the anguished sounds of the damned, the burning smell of sulfur, the agonizing heat…Y/N typically avoids the depressing area. However, Y/N has always had a natural curiosity to her, ever since she was created, and she knows that Harry is aware of that, which is why she finds herself making her way to the palace grounds as soon as she’s dressed. Although the idea of going outside leaves a pit in her stomach, she can’t help but wonder what would bring Harry to want to have breakfast outside. And, moreover, Y/N trusts Harry. Despite every one of her natural instincts telling her that a demon is dangerous, and the king of demons is even more so, Harry’s proven to her that he wouldn’t put her in harm’s way.

When Y/N reaches the palace doors, Harry is already waiting there, his arms clasped behind his back. He’s dressed in his usual attire of a suit, but this one is one of Y/N’s favourites. The black fabric is trimmed with red, and a pattern of intricate red and gold stitches decorates the body of the jacket. The pants are tailored to match, fitting his legs perfectly enough that they just brush the top of his black heeled boots. As Y/N’s eyes trail back up, she registers his usual rings on his hands—the silver skull, the ruby, the silver band, the onyx stone—as well as notes that his fingernails have freshly been painted black. His pentagram necklace, she knows, is carefully tucked under his shirt, hidden away between the black fabric and his tattooed chest. There’s a slight smile on his lips as he watches her walk towards him, and a satisfied expression glimmers in his dark green eyes. As he turns his head to the side to regard her, the gold and ruby crown that sits atop his perfectly styled curls catches the low light of the lit sconces around them.

As soon as Y/N is within his reach, Harry extends a ringed hand. “Good morning, angel.” He pulls her close to him, pressing her into his chest. “You look beautiful.”

Although enduring his compliments have become the usual, Y/N still hasn’t quite gotten used to them, and a light blush grows over her cheeks. Despite the embarrassment, Y/N’s glad that his words haven’t triggered the angelic blue light that sometimes radiates from her eyes when she feels something intensely (it had happened once a few weeks ago, and the smug look on Harry’s face had made Y/N swear to herself that she wouldn’t let it happen again). “Thank you, my king.” She holds up the note curiously, gauging the expression on his face. “What’s this?”

“I have a surprise for you.” Harry lowers his voice as he leans down to brush his lips over Y/N’s ear, speaking so only she can hear his throaty words. “And I really think you’ll love it.”

His tone of voice coupled with his breath on her ear makes Y/N shiver involuntarily. “O-okay.”

Judging by the smirk on Harry’s face, Y/N can tell that her reaction hasn’t gone unnoticed. “Come, angel.” Harry tugs lightly on Y/N’s hand as his smirk transforms itself into a more tender grin. “I have something to show you.”

Y/N’s curiosity is what allows her to allow Harry to push the front doors of the palace open and lead her outside. As expected, the moment Y/N steps into the muggy air of hell, her discomfort starts. Each breath seems to catch in her throat, and the very air around them feels as if it’s clinging to her skin, burrowing deep into her pores to start a slow burn. A small sound of discomfort escapes Y/N’s throat against her will, catching Harry’s attention immediately.

“You’re alright, angel.” He assures her instantly, squeezing her warm hand with his own icy fingers. “Come.”

Y/N continues to allow herself to be led by Harry, all of her steps falling slightly behind his own. After a few more minutes pass, she’s about to speak again to ask what exactly is so important for her to see, until she senses a change in the air. The more they walk, the more the burning smell of sulphur disappears from her senses. With relief finally on the horizon, Y/N’s pace finally speed up until she falls into step with Harry, her curiosity growing stronger as her discomfort slips away.

Harry squeezes her hand again, and the simple gesture is almost an encouragement as Y/N’s steps increase again. She begins to pull him behind her, leading the way on instinct alone. There’s an excitement in her curiosity and confusion, and Harry can feel it emanating from her as she gets closer and closer to his surprise. It brings a smile to his face, seeing her like this. Seeing her alive. Seeing her bring life to a place meant for the damned.

When Y/N finally sees the source of the sweet smelling air, she stops in her tracks, her hand moving to clutch Harry’s arm in shock as her mouth falls open. She gasps sharply, so in awe of what’s in front of her that the lack of pain from breathing hell’s hair doesn’t even register in her mind. Her mind has no space for it. All that she can think about is Harry behind her and the garden before her.

This is her surprise. A garden. A real, living, almost seemingly breathing, garden. At least, Y/N thinks it’s a garden. The dry earth beneath her spreads into scorched grass that fades into a delightful green hue, so vibrant that Y/N almost thinks that each blade has been painted with the colour. At the edge of the grass is a large hedge, at least three times as tall as Y/N and double as long. The darker green leaves that make up the wall of nature are dotted with wildflowers, adding pops of white and yellow every few inches. In the very center of the hedge is a large wooden door, built out of dark, sturdy wood studded with shining iron bolts. Although there’s a large wrought-iron knocker in the center of the wood, there’s no handle, and fear of not being able to see inside the magnificent structure seizes Y/N’s body as she turns to look at Harry with questioning and concerned eyes.

Harry seems to read the question in Y/N’s eyes, and the demon steps forward in response. “Here.” He says, taking Y/N’s hand from his arm and pressing it to the door, his own hand cupped over hers protectively. There’s a cadence to his voice that Y/N’s never heard before, and it takes her a moment to register it as excitement as he continues speaking. “It only opens to your touch.”

Y/N feels a shudder underneath her hand, almost as if the wood has registered that the palm pressed against it is her own. The force keeping it closed suddenly fades away, and Y/N easily pushes the large door open to reveal the garden inside.

The crisp and clear scent of fresh air hits Y/N first, almost bowling her over completely. For the first time in a long time, she’s able to inhale deeply and freely, not worrying about what the air around her may do to her body. The high hedge wall, along with the trees that create a canopy over the whole garden, seem to act like a barrier, blocking out the smells and sounds of hell. Y/N can smell various flowers and plants all around her, as well as the wonderfully earthy scent of dirt, and as she gazed around the natural enclosure, all she can hear is—

“Birds!” Y/N gasps in amazement as a small mockingbird lands on a tree branch, chirping happily. Without tearing her gaze away from the small creature, she poses half a question to Harry. “How—?”

Harry, still standing at the edge of the garden after closing the door behind them, knows her question before she even finishes. “I created it for you last night.” He says simply, his green irises glued to her every movement. “After our discussion.”

Y/N turns in a slow circle as she does her best to take in every detail around her. Birds, she realizes, aren’t the only creatures inside the haven; butterflies fly through the air, moving leisurely from flower to flower, and the chittering of squirrels scrambling up and down the trees mixed with the sounds of all the birds hidden in the leaves. A rustling in the bushes catches Y/N’s attention, and she manages to catch a glimpse of the cotton tail of a bunny before it hides under the foliage. A small frown tugs on the corner of her lips as she wonders why the bunnies are hiding away—heavenly beings are usually beloved by any living creatures—but like before, Harry guesses her question before she can ask it.

“They, uh, they don’t like me.” He clears his throat halfway through his sentence, his eyes gauging her reaction to his words. “Living creatures aren’t very fond of demons. Unlike your kind, we don’t smell like sunshine and cotton candy.”

Despite her delight in his gift, Y/N can’t help but roll her eyes a bit at his gentle ribbing. “I don’t smell like sunshine and cotton candy.” She says, reaching out a delicate finger to a butterfly floating near her. The tiny creature lands on her finger easily, without hesitation, and Y/N notices how Harry doesn’t receive the same treatment from the other butterflies in the air. In fact, now that she’s paying attention, she quickly realizes that every living being in the garden around them is steering clear of the king. She can’t quite blame them, she thinks, her eyes flickering over Harry’s closed off posture, dark appearance, and powerful aura. Everything about him radiates the energy of someone who is dangerous. And yet, Y/N’s never felt safer in hell than she does in this moment.

At the thought of safety, a new fear crosses her mind “Are they safe here?” Y/N asks in a hushed voice. “The animals? I don’t want them to get hurt, or…”

“This garden is its own ecosystem.” Harry finally makes his way away from the garden edge, taking Y/N’s hand in a reassuring manner. The butterfly on her finger flutters away as he gets closer, but Y/N’s attention is once again focused on the feeling of Harry’s cool fingers on her flushed skin. “As long as they stay in here, they’re safe. I swear it.” Harry says, sincerity clear in his voice.

Y/N’s heart pounds beneath her chest, every once of her senses alight as they bask in the fresh air around her. “Oh, Harry…” Her eyes widen again as she begins to catalogue all the varieties of plants growing around her. Not only were there flowers galore—fragrant roses of all colours, sunflowers taller than her, fragrant lilies, vibrant tulips, bright daffodils—all of her favourites, she notes—but past a grove of trees is— “Are those berries?”

The dimples that Y/N so rarely sees in Harry’s cheeks appear as he smiles at her excitement. “Yes.” He leads her over, his own excitement growing with every step. Y/N notices how he walks with care, making sure not to step on any flora with his heeled boots. It’s strange, seeing the king of hell being so cautious, but she appreciates it nonetheless.

Harry points to the various bushes around them with a painted finger, naming them as he goes. “Strawberries, blueberries…everything you’ve missed. There’s room for you to plant more, as well. If you’d like.” He glances at her for a moment, an unreadable look in his deep green eyes before he turns back to the plants. “And I set up a few stone benches throughout the garden, so you can come sit here when you need a break. There’s one under the willow tree, one by the rose bushes, and one by the—”

“The water.” Y/N whispers, voice barely audible. If Harry was human, he wouldn’t be able to hear the quiet gasp leave her lips. “Harry…”

When Y/N’s hand slowly slips out of Harry’s to walk to the water feature at the edge of the garden, she feels as though she’s in a trance. Perhaps it’s the water itself, she thinks, calling out to her to soak her hell-scorched skin within its cooling depths. Somehow, Harry had managed to make a small waterfall flow down from the top of the hedge into a crystal clear pool, which babbled delightfully with the motion. Although the pool isn’t large, it’s certainly big enough to swim in, and just the very thought of slipping into the water brings a feeling of relief to Y/N. Peering over the edge, she can see a few fish swimming around in the crystal clear water, and a new feeling of gratefulness mixes with the previous.

So entranced in the small pond, Y/N doesn’t even realize that Harry has followed behind her, keeping his distance by a few feet so she can admire the water. “Do you like it?” He asks, the excitement in his voice seeping out in exchange for a nervous and unsure tone. “It’s not…done yet. I just did it quickly, so it—I can still add more, or take out things you don’t like, or—”

“Harry.” Y/N turns to face him with tears in her eyes, a small shake of her head being the only action she’s capable of. “This is…wonderful. I don’t know how to thank you…”

Harry’s own eyes grow softer as he notices the tears welled in Y/N’s lash line, reflecting the light that seems to emanate from her eyes. “You don’t need to thank me.” He keeps his voice low, as if he’s worried speaking loudly will break whatever it is that’s growing between them. “I…I want you to be happy here. I want you to feel like…this is your home.”

“I do.” Y/N promises sincerely, taking both of his hands in hers as she speaks. She kisses his knuckles, her warm lips a contrast against the cold metal and stones of his rings. “Thank you. I truly mean it. Thank you.”

A new look passes through Harry’s eyes, more unreadable than anything Y/N’s ever seen before. His pink lips are just as much a mystery, no expression available on them as he pulls a hand from her grasp in order to cup her cheek. Despite the callouses on his fingers, and the cool temperature of his skin, Y/N leans into his touch, pressing her cheek into his palm.

“You’re welcome.” Harry’s thumb brushes over Y/N’s cheek bone, and the motion is so delicate and tender that Y/N isn’t quite sure what to make of it. “You’re…you’re so very welcome.”

Although he’s giving a polite response to her thanks, Y/N can’t help but feel like something deeper sits underneath the simple phrase as Harry repeats it. She’s welcome. So very welcome. But welcome where? In this garden? Into his life? Into him? The very thought of a double meaning causes her heart to pound, and by the flicker in Harry’s eyes, she knows he can hear it.

The questions bubble to her lips, but catch themselves on the tip of her tongue as her eyes detect a movement in the corner of gaze. The breeze around them (Y/N isn’t sure where the breeze is coming from, but she’s grateful for it nonetheless) move something she hadn’t noticed before. All questions about Harry’s intention fade away as her eyes focus on the sturdy branch of an oak tree, and the carefully woven ropes and wooden seat that hang from it. She drops his hands, stepping out of his grasp and towards the object of her attention. “Is that—is that a swing?”

A light chuckle rolls from Harry’s lips at the awe in her voice. “Yes.” He says, his amusement clear in the word. “Would you like me to push you?”

The offer is so casual, and yet, it brings a sudden shyness to Y/N’s reply. “Only if the king would like to.”

Harry bows his head, his crown sparkling atop his brown curls as he extends a hand. “It would be my honour, angel.”

Y/N matches his smile as she takes his hand once again.

2K notes · View notes

horrorslashergirl · 4 years

Note

The Collector finding and collecting his childhood friend because she was the only one who was kind to him as a kid.

The Collector x Reader- The memories that persist

Authors Note: Another Collector one? Well yes, because I have many requests with him, so gotta work on them.

Warning: Just some good ol’ kidnapping

Words: 1.8k

Asa had two moods that put people at distance, being socially awkward and having a stone-cold exterior were like protection, like a scorpions needle ready to pierce whatever got close to him. He never found the need to have friends or bond with another human being, for his opinion on humans and the society were that there are either predators or prey and he sure as hell wasn't the second.

The idea of someone being nice meant they wanted something, people don't do charity, there is always a secret reason for every action, be it good or bad.

He somehow had to thank his father for this unique education that he got until he was alone; it made him the man that he is today, untouchable.

Asa was waiting patiently in front of the coffee machine in the hallway of the university, he needed the caffeine after a night of no sleep and working on his collection; sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford, not when there was so much to do.

Usually, the hallways were filled with professors and students, chatting and discussing, but when he was near, people preferred to keep the distance and find another place for conversation. Maybe it was the way his black eyes would take glances at them and create an uncomfortable vibe without even trying.

Some of the more daring staffs of the university sometimes joked on Asa that he was close to forty and he should consider settling down, an aspect the Entomologist never thought about.

Now, he wasn't ugly or unappealing, perhaps on the contrary; he was tall, bulky, sandy brown hair and his eyes that at first, you might find intriguing, but once you meet his cold interior, his way of making anyone feel stupid using his superior intelligence, you would back away. None wanted to put up with him, none wanted to feel inferior next to him, so they all left him to be; alone.

He took the plastic cup from the machine, ready to head to his office, when someone called his name, making him turn around in the source of the voice.

Obsidian eyes looked at the person who called him; hair flowing down shoulders, eyes sparkling with knowledge and recognization, a big smile showing pearly whites.

"Asa? Is that you?" you asked, stopping in front of him.

His brows pulled into a furrow, confusion evident on his face.

"Do I know you?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Does 'Bugaboo' ring a bell?" you asked with a mischievous smile.

One minute passed, then two, then his eyes widened as memories from so long ago crashed back onto him. He was looking at you like he'd seen a ghost, like he believed what he saw was just a hallucination.

"[Name]?" He tested the name on his lips and tongue, it felt so foreign.

Your lips pulled into a grin and you nodded.

"So, you did remember?" you asked, chuckling at his shocked expression, which you found cute.

It's been years since he said your name, memories of two little kids spending their time on the edge of the forest close to the town, basking into the beauty of nature.

If Asa had to recall a good memory it would be that his little hands holding a book as he read aloud, you leaning on his side, listening to his voice as he read paragraph after paragraph. It was probably the only time he felt not constricted by his fathers' rules, in your presence he felt peaceful, not afraid or uncomfortable.

You were the only one who had the time and patience with his awkwardness, the only one not to judge, and the only one who was genuinely nice to him, never expecting anything in return.

As a kid, Asa was very shy and his self-esteem was just dust, the only ability he was very sure of himself was his academics, but even that if it wasn't molded to perfection his father would destroy.

Perfection.

All his life resorted around it, be it in all kinds of aspects, but that's what Asa thrived on, quintessence.

"What are you doing here?" Asa found himself asking.

Before the massacre of his family, probably one or two weeks prior, you left, your family left; you pretty much disappeared, leaving him alone and he could recall his father's mean words.

'People are temporary, son. They come and go, none stays forever. They seek you until they found you unneeded.'

"I'm in my last engineering year and they transferred me here, but I'm glad they did. I didn't expect to see you here, but I'm very happy so." you genuinely said, making him gulp down, nervous.

Asa wasn't nervous.

"I work here." Asa simply stated.

"Ahhh...So your dream to be a successful entomologist finally happened. I knew you would make it." you said with a grin, pulling your backpack over your shoulder.

You took one some coins and put them into the coffee machine to get your own beverage.

Now that you were closer, his eyes inspected you. He recalled when you were kids you were both the same height, but now he pretty much towered over you. Your hair used to be shoulder length, but now it was past your middle back in loose curls, a loose red wine-colored sweater covered your upper body, the material a little past your hips, your legs hugged by black leggings and brown Uggs on your feet.

"I really need some hot coffee. Its cold outside and I think it won't take much to snow." you said, but Asa was more so comparing your actual form to that of your younger self.

As a kid you were cute, he remembers that, but now you were a woman, and what little warmness he had for you as a child now it came back, but in a much different shape. Both of you were adults, no longer children.

"I guess I will see you around, Bugaboo?" you asked with a raised eyebrow, using the childish nickname and making him look away, but alas nodding.

You gave him one last smile and marched away down the hallways, his eyes trained on you until you disappeared around the corner.

Asa couldn't believe what just happened, he still debated if everything was just a very realistic dream, but his confirmation was made when he saw you around the university, always flashing him a smile and waving at him.

Some staff members even teased him, asking if you were his girlfriend or so.

'Emory! I didn't know you had a woman. You sneaky bastard.'

'She sure is a pretty one. Wonder what she sees in you.'

He wished he could take a scalpel and cut the brown-nosing idiots from neck to groin, but he had more self-restraint than most.

What he really felt towards you wasn't just an attraction; yes, he was attracted to you, but there was also a catch. Everyone who fell as victims to the Collector knew that if Asa Emory was attracted to you, it meant a death sentence or a complete nightmare.

He was patient, he was a strategist and planned everything with the utmost precision, and that leads to you being chained to a bed, makeshift gag to prevent you from screaming, although Asa doubted that someone will actually hear you, probably only his guard dogs and the collected ones that were still alive.

The hotel was isolated outside the city and not even cars passed by to wonder what odious things were going inside.

You had tears running down your face, and the bonds on your wrists created uncomfortable bruises that you knew will be purple by the end of this nightmare. Your attention was pulled from trying to break free to the door of the room as it opened slowly, revealing a tall man dressed in all black. He closed the door, locking it and putting the keys on the utility belt around his waist.

Even in the dim-lit room, you could make out some sort of his appearance; he was white, very bulky, so fighting hand to hand against him will do you no good. As he came closer you could make out his eyes from behind black carapace-like a mask. Your eyebrows were pulled into a furrow, these eyes looked so familiar, that certain spark in them, it was then that your body froze in shock, like you were struck by a lightning.

Maybe it was only your imagination playing with you. As he stalked oh so slowly towards you, his gloved hand coming up to take your gag out of your mouth, making you take a deep breath and close your eyes as a whimper escape your lips.

"A-Asa?" You tried to say his name, wondering if it was really him, although you could never mistake his eyes for anyone else.

"Not Asa." he replied, his voice all too recognizable, but what did he mean that it wasn't him?

"W-What?" you choked out, only for his finger to press against your lips and you swore you could taste the blood.

He looked over you, calculating eyes taking you in, then you squeaked as he swiftly got on top of you, his nitrile covered hand coming to gently cup your chin, his eyes absorbing every little detail that made you a whole.

"P-Please...T-This is not you. This is wrong." you tried to kick some sense into him, not wanting to anger for God knows what he is capable of.

"No. Of course not." he whispered, his mask brushing against your cheek as his breath hit your ear, the close proximity between your bodies making you feel anxious.

Eyes widened when you saw the glint of a blade, his hand grasping the handle of the weapon as the steel trailed up and down your legs, then between your breasts and resting under your chin, making your gaze never turn away from his.

"Please don't kill me...." you begged, closing your eyes to let around a set of tears fall down your face.

He tilted his head to the side, curious at your desperate words. That was a habit of Asa, you remembered how cute it was when he tilted his head in pure genuine curiosity when he saw something that piqued his interest, but now, it was downright disturbing.

"I'm not gonna kill you." he answered your beggings, his mouth against your ear, and you had to fight the urge to kick your legs when his tongue came out to lick behind your ear.

"I'm gonna punish you for leaving....little pet." your eyes widened, heartbeat stopping at the dark suggestion of his sentence.

Next thing, your ears were meet with the ripping sound of your blouse, a scream tearing from your mouth, only to be silenced by a hand around your throat.

"A-Asa..." you choked out, his lips pulling into a sadistic smirk, obsidian eyes sparkling with lust.

"The Collector."

#the collector #the collector 2009 #the collection 2012 #the collector x reader #Asa Emory #Asa Emory x reader #slasher x reader #horror movies

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pigeontheoneandonly · 3 years

Note

What's it’s not grave robbing about?

Also asked by @awhellstothejoe!

Alright so this is actually related to my Pathfinder RPG fan novel, Shallow Graves. It's a prequel story from before this little found family was shattered.

They are a group of archaeologists down on their luck who are taking a chance on a new and somewhat improbable site-- an underground tomb left behind by a civilization notorious for not interring the dead in an enduring way. The Pathfinder setting is named for Pathfinders, explorers who document their finds in a publication called the Pathfinder Chronicles. This team of Pathfinders desperately needs something worthy of inclusion so their financial patrons won't abandon them. If this site is authentic, it'll more than fit the bill.

Unfortunately for them, there is a reason why this site is so unusual, and they aren't the only ones curious...

Excerpt:

Weeks on the road wrestling with the issue had prepared him for a room full of elven bones. He did not expect beds.

Stone ones, to be precise, carved with yet more ornamentation. Each with its very own bony occupant. Their hands subsided across their spines, where they’d once folded over abdominal flesh. Their feet had collapsed in tidy rows of bones as the softer tissue gave way and failed to hold them upright. Every figure rested in the same precise position, uniform as a phalanx of soldiers, and beside each skull a knapped obsidian dagger sat square to the bed corner. Identical. Eight in all, laid out in two rows marching down each side of the room.

He’d stopped short. Corrin prodded him, and he managed to stumble out of the way, still half-paralyzed in surprise and dread, as she pushed past him.

Kel swallowed, mouth abruptly dry, as Gem entered after Corrin, and the pair of them began discussing their initial observations and how to proceed with documenting the chamber. This was… wrong, viscerally wrong, and everything in him wanted to flee back into the waning sunlight at the top of the ravine.

You are an archaeologist, he told himself, sternly, and forced himself to take a deep breath. Skeletons were nothing new. Neither were ritual knives, or carved stone. Why should this particular arrangement of those elements be terrifying?

Reaching for some of that clinical detachment, he approached the closest bed, and began to catalogue it, dispassionately noting each feature for future reference. Decay robbed elves of their most obvious identifiers, the ears, the iris covering the entirety of the visible eye, the hairless body, but more subtle markers remained. He’d seen more than enough elven bones to know, immediately, that these remains were indeed once elves. He bent over the corpse, making an inspection of the body.

“Perfect health,” pronounced Corrin, who had undertaken her own evaluation across the room. “All near the same age.”

“A mass suicide?” Gem hazarded. “Ahead of Earthfall?”

Lanna made a little sound, from the doorway. Kel’s head jerked up in time to see her twitch, a might have been shudder, quickly quelled. But her voice was steady. “Unlikely. This doesn’t appear… desperate. This is purposeful. This was a… a…”

Kel noticed then a nick on one rib, and his mouth thinned, glancing at the dagger. Eight inches by one, enough to get it done. “A sacrifice.”

Corrin squinted. “Whatever do you mean? What have you found?”

“Look.” He picked up the knife. Gem and Corrin crowded in behind him, Aldran reluctantly joining them, just as creeped out if not as uneasy as Kel. Lanna watched from the door, hugging herself and grimacing faintly. Ani had remained in the outer hall. Smarter than all of them, probably.

Kel aligned the blade with the nick, and slid it up towards the skeleton’s phantom heart. The upward thrust matched the blade’s edge to the groove in the bone exactly.

A long silence followed his demonstration. He set the dagger back where he found it, loathe to disturb it longer than necessary. Really, regretting having touched it.

“That’s insane,” Lanna finally said, leaving the doorway to draw closer. It wasn’t anything they weren’t all thinking. “These eight people were… murdered? Sacrificed?”

“Can’t rule out suicide.” Corrin sniffed. “That motion is readily accessible for an autonomous stabbing.”

Aldran’s brow scrunched up. “Then how did the daggers get to the corners of the beds?”

“That’s not the worst of it.” Ani had been following another line of thought. “There are eight other doors.”

Kel rubbed the bridge of his nose and said a word that caused Corrin to glare at him reproachfully. But Gem focused on the practical. “What is it? The potential for more bodies… victims… like this is disturbing, but hardly concerning.”

He gestured at the scene. “Eight people here. Eight rooms flanking the entrance chamber. Eight by eight is sixty-four. That’s a full phalanx in the ancient empire.” Kel glanced from face to face. “Don’t you see? This is a squad of soldiers.”

They all considered that. Corrin appeared to be thinking furiously, churning over the implications. Gem was a bit more sanguine, but only just. She set her pack on the floor and began to dig through it, crouching, searching for her site log. No doubt trying to correlate something she’d remembered from a previous expedition.

Corrin said something to her in Skald, and Gem just shook her head. Aldran was less taciturn. “They just… ritually executed a bunch of soldiers and left them here? What kind of sense does that make?”

Lanna started, her green eyes going wide. “The locked door. These people… This isn’t a tomb.”

Aldran gestured broadly, with a rising hysteria. “Are you kidding me?”

“This isn’t a tomb,” she repeated steadily. She glanced from Gem and Corrin to Ani to Kel. “It’s a vault.”

“They’re guards,” Kel breathed, staring around at the skeletons.

Ani had perked up at this. Her eyes gleamed with the potential for treasure—that maybe this expedition wouldn’t be such a waste after all. “Guarding what, do you think?”

Corrin spoke dryly. “At a guess, whatever is behind the ninth door. I believe we’ll find it locked as well, and probably even more cleverly.”

“You can’t guard anything if you’re dead.” Aldran had lost all patience. His hand sat on the pommel of his longsword, betraying his growing agitation at this entire situation.

“Perhaps they were not meant to,” Lanna said, slowly. “Think about it. Whatever elves lived here had something they couldn’t take with them to Sovyrian. Something they also couldn’t bear to leave behind. Something that needed to be protected. So this build this place. They lock it and ward it with their best technology, including a lock that can only be opened from the inside.”

“I got it open,” Kel grumbled, mostly to himself.

Gem chewed her lip. “They built this place for eternity. It’s not clear to anyone that the ancient elves ever intended to return from Sovyrian. Or that any of them believed there would be a Golarion to return to.”

“Yes,” Lanna agreed. She moved to the foot of one of the beds, and stared down at its occupant. “And they left behind guardians perhaps also intended—and prepared—to serve forever, in death.”

#ask me anything #pigeon pathfinder #honestly i started this to better understand some of the dynamic between this team and it gained a life of its own

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cecilspeaks · 4 years

Text

169 - The Whittler

Let us go then, you and I When the evening is spread out Against the sky And pick up some Dell Taco for dinner. Welcome to Night Vale.

Beyond our town, past the Sand Wastes, in the Scrublands, sits the old general store. An oaken cabin style A-frame with boxed windows and a covered patio. On the porch there sits a swinging bench and upon that bench sits an elderly man, his face crumpled like a discarded letter, his eyes like tire tracks hidden beneath the shady brim of a straw cowboy hat. The old man holds a block of Elmwood the size of a potato in his right hand, and in his left, a carving jack. He whittles away at the knot of food, shaving off small corners, making detailed lines and indentations. The wood is all his world. And this world is quiet in his lap, on his bench, on his patio, before his general store amid the Scrublands past the Sand Wastes, which curl about Night Vale like the gentle but calloused hands of a father holding a newborn. As the old man whittles, he whistles sad songs with no words. But all those who hear the notes know they are bout loss. That they are about loneliness. But no one hears those notes. Not yet. No one sees the old whittler, nor his general store far out in an uninhabited stretch of desert. Not yet. If they did, they would wonder how an old general store, which was not there yesterday, was suddenly here today, a shop that by all accounts had weathered decades of abusive heat, wind, and isolation. They would hear his sad song, and the universal language of wistful sorrow would hide from them their understanding of time.

Let’s have a look now at sports. This Saturday night, the Night Vale High School Scorpions basketball team begins the district tournament. The Scorpions, having finished the season 18-2, earned the number 1 seat this year, but face some tough competition in their bracket. In the first round, they must battle another basketball team. This is logical, because most basketball tournaments feature other basketball teams. But the other basketball team is considered weaker than the Night Vale Scorpions, because a series of accumulated numbers indicates this is so. Should the Scorpions make it out of the first round and into the semi-finals, they would likely battle the number 4 seed, Nature. A tougher matchup to be sure, as Nature is unpredictable and ubiquitous. Nature’s style of play is best described as capricious and random, sometimes showcasing an array of flashy skills like sunny days, crystalline lakes, and otters. But Nature is a lockdown defensive force with effective momentum stoppers like lightning, quicksand, and poison ivy.

And in the finals, the favorites to compete for the title are Night Vale High School versus themselves, perhaps the toughest battle of them all, as each player must confront their harmful secrets, painful pasts, and darkest nightmares. Themselves are able to match the pace and power of Night Vale’s offensive and defensive sets, and we expect an excellent game. Good luck, Scorpions!

Most days the Scrublands are absent of humans, unapproachable and hostile. Today is not most days, as a line of Night Vale citizens has formed outside of the general store to see the old whittler and his wood menagerie. Parents ask for photos of their children with his work, and he only whistles and nods nearly imperceptibly. It could almost be interpreted as a slight twitch of the neck, rather than an affirming nod, but interpretations grow liberal when want is high.

Fathers and mothers snap pictures on their phones of children accepting gifts of wood figurines from the old man. The kids stare into the thin black ellipses that pass for his eyes, searching for the charming smile of elderly approval. But instead, seeing every single constellation of the night sky inside slits as thin as thistles and as black as tar. The historic expansion of the universe cannot be fully understood in words or even human thought, but it can be comprehended in the eyes of the tanned, wrinkled stranger.

The old whittler does not charge a penny for any of his work. He does not smile nor accept the many thank-yous coaxed out of the young ones by their manner-minded handlers. Nor does he accept requests. Children have many mascots, heroes, and cartoons that they love to possess via keepsake totems, and they repeatedly ask the old man for whittled representations of their favorite things, like Pokemon characters or one of Pixar’s anthropomorphic cars, or even Ted Allen, host of Food Network’s long running cooking competition “Chopped”. But the old whittler only carves what he carves. And he carves tiny horses, little cowboys, old-timey wagons, armadillos, tigers, tractors, almost anything you can think of. He finishes his sculpture of a koala bear and hands it to Amber Akinyi, who looks at her husband Wilson Levy, who is holding their sobbing, screaming 16-month-old baby Flora. The couple smiles together, never knowing that this balsa koala is everything they could have ever wanted beyond a loving family. Wilson begins to cry at the simple beauty of this craft. Amber begins to cry at the feeling of being understood, and young Flora stops crying as she fawns over the 6-inch tall antipodean marsupial, cartoonishly gnawing on a eucalyptus leaf.

The whittler also carves people. Small human figures, yes, like firefighters and ballerinas and clowns, but also actual people. Harrison Kip told the old man he wished to be happier in his own skin, and the old whittler grabbed Harrison’s cheeks and brought Harrison’s round, soft face before his own crinkled countenance, and Harrison screamed. He screamed in fear of what the old man was about to do. He also screamed in joyous anticipation, and the two screams were discordant like adjacent keys pressed simultaneously on a church organ. The old whittler pressed his knife against Harrison’s chin and began to pull the blade back, using the force of his thumb and the trunk of his forefinger. He repeated throughout Harrison’s assenting and defiant shouts, and after a few moments, Harrison stopped yelling and stood. His jaw squarer, his nose thinner and longer, his shoulders broader. And Harrison smiled.

Soon, the whittler began carving houses, roads, and city buildings. They were larger than the koala, much larger, for they were full-sized renditions of these things. He sliced and sawed away at block after block of red oak, hackberry and peachwood, forming new arteries of city travel, whole blocks of residences, and even cultural landmarks and venues. And the town of Night Vale, in a single late morning, began to expand into the distant and uninhabitable Scrublands of our desert.

Let’s have a look now at horoscopes. Gemini. Bury yourself in your work today, Gemini. Pile that garbage high and rest your weary head beneath its odorous, but comforting weight. Cancer. No more Mr. Nice Guy, Cancer. Today you are Mrs. Disinterested Lady. Get out there and be uninvolved in everything. Leo. You’re the talk of the town, Leo. Word after word is about you, and it is juicy! Like a rare steak, like a blood orange. Juicy like 2008 coutoure. Whew! You should hear what they’re saying. Virgo. You are not what you seem to be, Virgo. You seem to be a blackberry shrub, overreaching and prickly. But really you are a human, squishy and small. Continue to be the thorny fruit-bearing bush, though. Libra. You seek balance, Libra, but you are as lopsided as wealth disparity graph in an economist’s classroom. Share your worth, distribute your value fairly and compassionately, Libra, for the villagers are sharpening their tools. Scorpio. Hey Steve, love you pal!

Sagittarius. Your (-) [0:10:42] in relationships is going to be your downfall, Sagittarius. You’re an obsidian monolith, towering over everyone, absorbing all light, except the faint reflection of those who want to know what glows inside your stony façade. You don’t have to be a diamond, Sagittarius, or even quartz. Just try for salt lick, OK? I think you can achieve that.

Capricorn. Oh the games you play, Capricorn, you wicked little sea goat! You naughty caprine ocean dweller with your horns and scales, vexing us with your riddles and labyrinthian logic! The stars offer no advice for you, Capricorn, only envious praise. Aquarius. Put your money where your mouth is, but wash that money first, Aquarius. It’s been in so many other people’s mouths, ever since we added Jolly Ranchers as legal currency. Pisces. You’re swimming upstream, Pisces. Figuratively speaking, of course. I mean you are a human who does not need to actually swim upstream for food or a mate. Get out of the metaphorical stream and avoid the damage you’re going to do to your body and soul. Except for you, Tim. You’re a woodchuck, who is literally swimming upstream. I don’t like you, Tim, because you are eating my tulips. You can drown. Aries. Fake it til you pretend to make it, Aries. Taurus. Don’t hide your feelings, Taurus! Frame them! Display them ostentatiously on the wall. Mount them on plinths behind velvet robed (-) [0:12:33]. Curate an exhibit of your feelings, Taurus. Charge admission.

And now the news. The Night Vale City Council deliberated today on whether the old whittler in front of the old general store in the Scrublands was friend or foe to our town. Those voices arguing in favor of the old man celebrated the huge municipal expansion he was creating so quickly onto undeveloped land.

“This new infrastructure would have taken us dozens of years and millions of dollars to deploy, and he has accomplished it all in half day!” these voices said in unison. “Plus,” they added, “he whittled a little army man for my kid, a bracelet for my wife, and a sweater for our cat. It’s everything we ever wanted!”

The dissenting voices, and they were few, could only argue that he failed to acquire proper permits for any of this construction, let alone an outdoor vendor’s license which is mandatory even for giveaways. Excepting restaurant samples, marketing promotions, and military dispersion of chemtrails. The many-voiced, uni-bodied creature that is the City Council, huffed in nearly unanimous support for this old man. His sad whistling, his prolific whittling, and his beneficence to our city. “Did you see?” said there of the voices, “that inside the general store there’s everything you could ever need. Cans, boxes, shelves, counters! Walls. It’s amazing. Everything is craved from a single block of wood, and it’s all connected! No glue or bolts or rivets anywhere.” “He’s a deft hand,” concurred four other voices. “How does he even find single blocks of wood that huge?” wondered a solo voice aloud. “Whatever!” the entire City Council roared in unison. “That old man is a superb whittler!”

And now financial news. [hysterical laughter Ha ha hahahaha hahaha every-everything’s fine! It’s just dandy! Uh, thank you for asking.

And now back to our top story. Out in the Scrublands, an entire wooden suburb has grown from the withered hands and sharp knife of the old whittler, who has for the first time today, moved from the porch of his general store. He stands now upon a stage, a round platform on the center of a great amphitheater, which he personally carved deep into the cracked, red rock of the desert floor. The people of Night Vale gather and sit on wood plank rows, which curve in a semi-circle around the old man on the stage. Each person in attendance holds in their hands a whittled object given to them as they entered the audience space. The items are all different, esoteric, and unique, each item and unexpected gift of the whittler. Each item the very thing they have always wanted, even if it was never what they thought they wanted. They hold gently their presents, protecting them with their very lives. The whittler, with his straw hat still shading his keyhole eyes and riverbend mouth, stands before the people of Night Vale who sit in an arena of his own making, each cradling a beloved statuette of his own making. The old man reaches out and takes the hand of his bride. She, of course, is of his own making as well. She is craved of weeping cedar. Her veil, though entirely wood, is somehow translucent, and her sorrowful eyes are faintly visible behind the intricate work of the whittler’s blade. The old man whistles once again, and the crowd whistles along with him. They know the song now. It lives in them like longing, like blood. Like a soul. They know every word of the wordless (-) [0:16:51], and the notes of loneliness spread across the Scrublands to the mountains’ edge and echo back in the key of hope, with a lilt of contentment and satisfaction. They will only be happy when he is happy and he is, indeed, happy. As the whittler clutches the hand of his newly carved betrothed, the clouds part, revealing the happiest thing of all: The weather.

[“Embroidery Stars” by Carrie Elkin http://carrieelkin.com/]

Into the Scrublands I went, myself already as happy as I could ever be for I was with my own true love, my husband. I journeyed to see the whittler for myself, as an effort of journalism, a chronicler of interesting events. I wanted for nothing. My happiness cannot be improved. Or so I believed.

When I arrived, the whittler more than 100 feet a way, and through a mass of thousands, greeted me with a nod so unobtrusive, I believed it to be a trick of the eye. But from the distance, I could see the whole of the universe in those dark eyes under dark shadow, behind the final violet of sunset. I knew he meant me.

Carlos and I stepped to the podium, and the old man opened his palm to reveal an original carving just for me. I had hoped it was a Nintendo Switch, but it was a [sea plane] [0:23:05]. Carlos, like a child on Santa’s lap, cooed and asked the old man for a superconductive supercollider. And the old whittler, his burlap cheeks heavy with gravity and history, reached into the breast pocket of his (-) shirt and handed Carlos a tiny wooden rose. Carlos hugged his rose to his chest, and I my (sea plane). The whittler took the hand again off his bride and gazed upon her, her veiled eyes met by his boundless stare. They stood like that for more than an hour, not speaking. The only sounds were the cicadas chirping and the crowd whistling.

But the tune faded, and soon only the cicadas cut through the silence of a still desert twilight. And one of us, Larry Leroy, stood and walked on to the stage. He touched the old man’s shoulder. The old man did not turn. He did not speak. He collapsed into black ash. Then his bride, then the seats beneath us, it all gave way to crumbling nothing. Then the buildings and roads and even the general store turned into ash. Finally, every one of our object dissipated, like Eurydice almost free from Hades. A gentle cool breeze arrived to sweep our hope away.

We returned home, wordless, with occasional whistles of the whittler’s tune, once again in a sad and lonesome key. Our cherished gifts, we told ourselves, were nothing more than baubles, ephemera, however blessed or magical. They were mere things, not love, not family, not true love, they were objects, toys. Props. Distractions. They were everything we have ever wanted, because we could hold them, see them, touch them. We can no longer do that, but we can remember what it was like. The rough of the wood against the soft of our hand.

Stay tuned next for our new game show: “Name all the nouns!”

And as always, good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Give a man and a fish and he’ll wonder what your deal is. Teach a man to fish and he’ll ask you once again to please leave him alone.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #wtnv transcripts #episode 169 #the whittler

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jace-the-writer-guy · 4 years

Text

Siikatsu

Appearance

(From an avatar maker app)

- Female half jungle elf, half panther ferakin with two inch long ears, two black furred ears atop her head, and a long spotted tail. She also has retractable claws on her fingers and toes, and she has a set of fangs.

- She has fairly messy but still tame black hair swept back that is just below shoulder length with multiple small braids throughout

- Deep, almost crystalline emerald feline eyes

- Five feet tall with a petite but fit, tough body

- 30D (Imperial)/ 65D (Metric)-cup breasts

- She has a dark skin color with numerous darker spots covering her arms, legs, and back like a panther

- She has the beauty of her elven side of her genetics, but the rugged features from being out in the wild for most of her life.

- She has multiple dark tattoos on her face in the form of multiple lines and dots. Two lines and one dot above each eyebrow, one straight down her forehead to nearly the tip of her nose, four lines and three dots below her eyes at the tops of each cheek, and one dot on each side of her nose next to her eyes.

________________

Outfits

Warm Weather (Adventure/Hunting): She wears a patchwork hide tunic covering her breasts with straps over her shoulders and a skirt made up of a leather belt around her waist and numerous hide and fur straps and feathers sewn into it and hanging from it, with more solid pieces of cloth over her crotch and rear. The belt has a pouch on the right side made of fur and hide. She wears a mantle over her shoulders made of brown fur along with fur bracers over her forearms and fur shinguards. On her left hip is the sheath for her hunting knife and over her back is a brown leather quiver for her arrows with one large pouch near the bottom of it and three smaller pouches along the along the length of it on tbe side with her hatchet hanging off the back of it above the larger pouch, with the feathered ends of the arrows sticking out over her left shoulder. Strapped to her right thigh is the sheath for her machete.

Cold Weather (Adventure/Hunting): She wears another patchwork brown hide tunic over her torso but this one covers her stomach as well as more of her shoulders. Along with that, she wears a longer, thicker skirt made up of more hide and fur straps along with patchwork leather pants under them, and she wears a pair of simple fur boots with slits in the toes for her claws to stick through when she needs to climb. She still wears her fur bracers over her forearms. The mantle she wears over her shoulders is made of thick bear fur, hanging over her back down to her rear along with covering her shoulders very well. Her knife, machete, and quiver are kept in the same places.

Warm Weather (Casual): She wears a much nicer outfit consisting of a nice, simple little cloth dress. The dress extends to her thighs with the very middle in the front and back extending a bit further down to a point. There are small leather straps over her shoulders. She keeps her knife with her at her left hip, attached to the belt around her waist.

Cold Weather (Casual): Her outfit is nicer than her other winter dress, consisting of a very nice dress of a leather tunic with short, soft fur lining the outside and inside and a long fur and leather skirt, all a mix of darker brown colors. She wears her usual fur bracers on her forearms, her fur boots, and her thicker bear fur mantle along with her hunting knife at her left side.

________________

Bio

- She is sixty four years old in jungle elven years, but is around eighteen in human/ferakin years

- She's commonly referred to as just Sika

- She is a hunter/ranger and is extremely skilled in using her shortbow and tracking her prey

- She used to mostly live by herself in the far western jungle continent of Oris after she left the tribe of wild elves and ferakin she was born into, but began to journey with Aurora back to Aerilon so she could explore the world

- Her current quiver, machete, hatchet, and casual dresses were all gifts from Aurora

- Much like Cronus does as a nickname for Aurora, Siikatsu calls her "Ara Ara" as an easy way to say her name

- Always speaks in third person

- She can't speak common. Aurora and Zennia enchanted an obsidian hexagon amulet for her to wear that lets her understand and speak common as best as she can while Aurora teaches her how to speak on her own. Even then, her common if very broken

- She loves to climb and jump around in trees, as it reminds her of her homeland.

- She doesn't like being underground, or in buildings with thick walls, especially made of stone

- After she made the decision for herself to join New Dawn, Aurora hired a druid to grow a large jungle tree in the garden of the keep and helped Siikatsu get the wood from her homeland to make a new house in the newly grown tree, with room for expansion as well

- She carries many snacks in her pouches on her quiver, ranging from jerky to candies that she likes

- Her hunting knife may be unremarkable, but it has a lot of meaning to her

- She quickly grew to be the best hunter in Dawnfire along with Ohan

- She is a follower of Unelanv, and makes sure what animals she hunts have quick and painless deaths

- She goes out to hunt almost all the time for Dawnfire's cooks to keep their food stores up, and makes gold for the guild by hunting for citizens of Aerilon as well

- It's not often, but she does purr at times when she eats something she likes

- Despite her size, she can carry and drag things almost twice her size very easily, and even drag them up trees

________________

Weapons

1: Heartbeat Shortbow: A shortbow enchanted to draw upon the power of her own heart, the string and shaft gaining more power the harder and faster her heart beats and pumps blood through her veins. It is a dual limbed bow with one longer base shaft and a shorter shaft in the front for added power. It is made of magical mithril wood that was stained a dark brown color with leather wrapped around the base shaft at several places and fur around the grip for her hand to wrap around. The string has two fur sound dampened at each end as well to reduce the sound and the vibrations the string makes when letting arrows fly. The weapon overall is four feet long.

2: Steel hunting knife: A simple dual edged knife with a six inch long, wide blade and wooden handle with string wrapped around the top of the handle and base of the blade. It is perfectly balanced to throw if needed.

3: Leaf-Blade Machete: A very well made, green mithril machete with the blade shaped like a leaf, with indentions in the blade like a leaf would have as well. The blade is a foot long with a dark oak handle and dark leather sheath.

________________

Abilities

Master Tracker: She can identify the footprints of nearly any animal she comes across and can track them for great distances to close in on her kill. This also helps her track down bounty targets.

Expert Hunter: She knows the spots to aim for to quickly take down animals she hunts in order to make it quick and painless for the animal.

Climbing and Tree Hopping: She is a master at climbing trees and jumping from branch to branch, tree to tree. She can climb up them extremely quickly. While some may be searching for the best ways to climb something, Siikatsu has already climbed to the top.

Animal Whispering: Siikatsu can speak to different animals much like druids can, but she can't speak to them right away and has to spend a bit of time with them to understand them

#oc #new character #siikatsu #fantasy world #the world of palara

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kat-hawke · 4 years

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Uull lwhuk h'iwn

(Following [Ul basha krix])

Only a few days had passed since her previous trip to Uldum, but the spread of darkness had shifted as if it had been a year. Stretching further across the sanders, the sky was now littered with platforms and towering structures of obsidian, all of which held that red glow and carved scripture. The sight alone sent chills running over Kat’s shoulders and down her spine, the power in the air nearly tangible.

"Kat...” Alyssa spoke up, no doubt feeling the shift in environmental power. “I think it's time to tell me what your goal is out here. I can't help if you don't."

"The same as it was before. There's already souls out here for the taking, little to no effort." Kat’s answer was vague as she stared at the gateway to Ny’alotha at the opposite end of the river.

"You're building to something. You need them for a reason.... My soul is as dark as yours. You can trust me. You have to, or I won't keep doing my part in this."

Annoyance quickly swept over her emotion at the vague threat. Pausing for a moment as her gaze shifted to the twisted fields below. Attempting to simply force the warlock into submission would likely yield poor results and she was right, some trust had to be given.

"Saving your soul will require quite a bit of power and untained essence to weave in the damaged parts that the fel would leave in it's absence. There's also the matter of my own, which... I'm still unsure of, I've tried in the past but was never successful." An honest answer, though lacking detail.

"Okay." A pause, as if she’d let the conversation end there. "Your soul has changed, noticeably. I'm concerned. Don't just dismiss it."

"It's always changing, a constant flux. I step too close to a Ren'dorei or Lightforged it spikes one way or the other." Kat clearly dismissive, against Alyssa’s warning.

"Not like this Kat. The outline has changed, the dark is darker. I've seen what more or less looks like. This is new."

A quiet exhale against the mask pulled up over the lower face as her gaze dropped to the stone beneath her feet. Alyssa was right and she knew it, everything she experienced during the dagger’s absence put the risks in a true perspective and her fears were becoming a reality.

‘Gag yoh'ghyl og hoq uul'gwa.’ The clawing whisper interjected.

"It's fine." She dismissed the topic, again, as she set off to descend upon the site of torment cells.

"Stop saying that!" Alyssa's voice comes with more force this time, anger bubbling up in it. "What did you say the other day? 'I should have listened to you?' Get out of your own ass and listen to me, I'm trying to keep you alive."

"What do you want me to say?!" She snapped back, nearly losing her footing on the crumbling walkway. "That this shit scares me? You think I don't know the risks? Or that I'd be out here for someone other than myself? I know, okay... I know. I'm trusting you to keep me safe, do I need to say that?"

"I want you to accept that this isn't normal, that you can't keep going the same way you are. Something came back with you from Uldum."

"Yeah, I uh...” Previous denial began to crumble as Alyssa spoke, realizing the folly in her former plan and giving into the whispers of the obelisk she restored within her own home. “I stole one of the cultists tomes. It's back at home though." Another half truth.

"Maybe that was it, but it's stuck to you more than just that." Alyssa held a hint of that fear in her voice. "It hears us and sees us. I'm sure of that."

"Darling, if you could see the world right now you'd understand just how much of an understatement that is." There was a hint of amusement in her tone, but no less serious than she typically was as she scanned the horizon of growing appendages. "It's rather grotesque."

"What do you want?" The way Alyssa asks is off.

"What?" Confusion and annoyance apparent as raven brows pushed together. "Are you serious? I already told you..."

No response came, just silence. Kat huffed softly as eyes rolled, muttering a quiet ‘whatever’ into the mask as she snuck across the rooftops of the abandoned farm hovels.

Dropping along the back wall she kept herself pressed to the bricks, side stepping to the corner as a knife pulled from the waist. Spinning the blade over in the fingers her grip tightened, peering around the corner to gauge her timing until the lone cultist would draw near. The internal clock ticked away, gloved fingers flexing one by one with each second that passed until the figures shadow approached the desired mark.

Pivoting out on one leg she struck, the blade darting through the air like lightning and plunging into the chest of the cultist, a female orc whose skin turned violet from the corruption. Kat’s free hand grabbed hold the robes, dragging the victim back around the corner and out of sight.

The slight misjudgment in height caused her blade to miss the heart by a mere inch, giving the orc the opportunity to struggle. The massive hand reaching out and locking onto the Director’s neck, constricting with the brutish strength. The runes on her bracers sparked and flared faintly in the moment, immediately triggering alarm as adrenaline began to flow.

“Buy a girl a drink first.” She spat out from beneath the choking hold, her knife repeatedly stabbing the orc’s chest in several quick bursts. The brute strength began to wane, the other arm spinning over to free her throat from the weakened grasp. Without hesitation she rushed forward in a headbutt to the orc’s nose, the bone breaking in the collision as it collapsed to the ground, life seeping away into the sand.

Rubbing at the leather around the neck Kat took a few larger breaths, the sense of alarm fading away as she stepped over the body. “Sorry, no’ my type.”

Sheathing the bloodied knife at the waist again she quickly inspected the bracers, concerned still by the flare. There had been no outward use of magic from the orc, yet they resisted something. Whatever it was had been unseen and it only incubated the growing fear in her mind. Swallowing the lump in her throat she moved along the building again, settling in between the two to further scope her destination.

Two torment cells, housing captured Ramkahen citizens, were now unattended only a few yards away. Their position along a low stone wall provided her cover to allow Alyssa to work, but patrolling beheaders and worms above were still an obstacle of timing.

Before she could move the bracers flared again, stronger and brighter this time, enough to cause pain in the soul as if something or someone had snuffed a cigarette against her very core. Panic and fear grew tenfold at the very thought of her bracers failing, allowing not just an outside influence to touch her soul but the enchantments held her in a balance.

‘Iilth ma paf'qi'ag sk'halahs.’

Fingers fumbled as they searched for the azerite crystal around her neck, pulling the chain to free the stone from beneath the leather armor. In a tight grasp she drew power from the crystal, expending over half its charge to fight back against whatever unseen force was attacking her only safeguard of the soul.

The opposing force diminished until it was nothing under the backlash, the flare in the runes of the bracers vanishing. With a relieved breath she fell into the wall, catching herself with one arm as her gaze quickly dropped to inspect the bracers, hairline cracks running from end to end. Her heart skipped a beat as the apparent damage had been done, minor as it was, a chink in the spiritual armor was a fatal risk.

"Kat..." Alyssa suddenly spoke, sounding drained. "You're right...you're going to get me killed."

"That—” It suddenly clicks in Kat’s head, anger and confusion mixing in an instant, thoughts reeling as she tried to make sense of it. “Was that you? I thought something was attacking my bracers. I didn't know what. I panicked, we'll both be dead if they fail."

"Maybe, I was fighting whatever this thing attached to your soul is. It says we'll betray each other, that it will await in the dark, that it wants us to see the truth...” There were hints on uncertainty. “Kat I don't know how to fight this. It felt like it started to draw my space into the Sleeping City again."

Suddenly it made sense, her gaze cut across the horizon to the Ny’alotha gateway again. "It's just fucking with your head, Alyssa. That's what it does. It was goading you to fight, don't you see? It wanted you to lash out, to break the safeguards I have around my soul."

"Guess it's good I couldn't reach my felfire then." Guilt hung in Alyssa’s words.

"Yeah..." Kat let the single word trail off as she began to isolate her emotions again. Realizing that if her counterpart could no longer separate the illusions from reality then she couldn’t keep her safe, that the way she fought would only open a more detrimental doorway.

"How do you know what's real?"

That inquiry was the confirmation she feared she would receive. Frozen in place by confliction she stared across the empty field at the torment cells, unable or just unwilling to answer the question.

"Already know 'be careful' isn't useful. We're riding the edge Kat. I don't want to die. Do better."

"You do better." Anger began to win the struggle as she retorted. "You realize what would happen if my bracers shattered, here, of all places? Not even you could prevent what would come next."

"I'm doing the best I can with the limited information I have."

"And I'm not?" Kat’s jaw clenched and the teeth ground.

"Nevermind," an irritated tone from the warlock quickly came in response. "We survived it. It's fine."

"What do you want me to say?" Also irritated now, Kat leaned further against the wall, forced to wait for a group of writhing worms overhead to pass. "I can't always tell what's real either, okay. I need you."

"I don't know Kat! I'm dead, I'm stuck in a damn knife, I don't know where I am, or what’s going on, and the only person I can talk to is one of the least open people I've ever met. I'm frustrated, angry, and confused, and I'm trying to focus on the one thing I can do which is try to keep you alive."

"Yeah, alright, fine. I'm sorry." Responding quickly she was caught off guard by the other’s response. Her jaw shifted from one side to the other as guilt and anger swelled again. No apology would ever be enough for what she had done.

"I need to recharge.” Alyssa finally broke the long silence. “I'm going to just...do that for a bit. Call me if you need me."

Another sudden realization of her insensitively struck, shifting that swelling anger and guilt into remorse and regret. Drawing Alyssa’s dagger from the sheath at the thigh the blade turned over in her hand, cradled in both palms as she stared down upon the weakened glow of the engravings. Hanging her head for a fleeting moment she didn’t think twice before expending one of her two vials of liquid azerite, pouring the blue and gold fluid over the engravings.

Unsure if it would even work there was a pleased breath as the substance was absorbed and the dagger’s illumination returned to full strength. Kat didn’t expect a ‘thank you’ or any sort of gratification, the fact her aid had not been rejected was enough. Swallowing a bit of her pride she broke the silence.

"Let's just go home. I'll find another way. I know I'm not the most open person, I just...I don't know how to be anymore. I hate this, the fighting. I thought you were gone and it was my fault, and I couldn't handle that. Then you came back and I just— It made me realize how much I needed you and now I'm out here fucking it all up again."

When Alyssa didn’t respond there was a brief feeling of pain across the heart, lips pulling to one side beneath the mask as she sheathed the dagger again. Perhaps that was deserved, after everything she’d done. Glancing upward towards the torment cells again she stared for a moment, shaking her head before turning away to retreat to the desert once more.

It didn’t seem to matter how many times Kat said something, the silence she continued to get in response was near deafening. The lack of conversation made the trek back to the secluded oasis camp seem long, more so by the fact she had to detour as a swarm of cultists and faceless ones had migrated into the path she originally took.

“I’m sorry.” Alyssa’s sudden return carrying like an echo on the wind. “I didn’t mean to snap like that I just... You keep saying you’re going to help me but then you don’t. I’m starting to doubt you really want to save me, or just use me like everyone else.”

That cut deep, deeper than Kat thought it would to hear. Pressing on through the sands she kept her head down, biting the lower lip as swallowed pride again to allow some honestly.

‘En'othk uulg'shuul.’

“Helping you get away from the fel was always my intention, that much has been true since I said it. Where to start is a mystery I’ve yet to solve. The risk of damaging you, killing you, I just can’t take it. Not again. Most of the rituals I’ve found would consume the dagger in the process, and by extension you.”

“But you still hesitate to collect enough power for a true effort?”

“It’s not that simple, Alyssa.”

“Quit making excuses, Kat. Don’t be a prisoner in your own body. I know you hold yourself back, I can see it. You’re afraid I’ll leave and disapprove but I’m just as dark as you. I still love you.”

She was right. Again. Kat held back out of fear, fear of abandonment and of the darkness taking control. Refusing to admit it she stormed around the corner of the cliff face, coming to a sudden halt as her eyes landed upon the large obsidian construction before her. A massive platform with stairs leading up from either side. Another pair of stairs upon the platform met at a single point before a dark altar, a towering obelisk on either side that stretched upward for nearly half a mile.

Several whispers invaded the mind as she stared upon the twisted writings in the blood red glow of the stones. Disorienting at first but her feet continued to move, step after step she drew closer to the blacken stone. Her heart beat faster, pounding in the ears as the boots climbed the stairs, subconsciously moving as if in a fog.

Pain seared across the shoulders, the carved scripture in her flesh breaking through the glamour, illuminating through the leather armor in a matching hue to the sigils of obelisks. Her methodical advance coming to a halt before the altar between the obelisks, gaze turned upward as the mask pulled away to collect around the neck.

A sudden weight pulled against her very core, like trees falling in a forest against her back it forced her to the knees. Fog of the mind clearing as the pain from the burning scripture across her shoulders was now her’s to bear in full, dragging a scream of tortured pain through her throat.

[ @alyssa-ward ]

(Chapter I: Dark Secrets) (Chapter II: Descent) ( [pt.I] [pt.II] [pt.III] [pt.IV] [pt.V] )

#ic #plotlines #Ascension #pt.VI

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nemossubmarine · 4 years

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Warhammer 40k: Wrath & Glory RP #42

Gimlet asks Vivek if he would like his brother told about all this, and Vivek says it’s probably not a wise move, considering he made him servitor in the first place. Vivek would like to talk with his brother at some point, provided there’s someone else standing between the two. Gimlet says two Space Wolves should do the trick. Gorm says he still needs stuff from the tech-priest, and Vivek agrees now’s probably not the time. Vivek mentions that his brother has all his stuff and he may want them back at some point, but also can wait. Vivek loans Uffe’s phone, so our heroes can contact him if needed.

With that said, our heroes begin their long journey downwards back to where they started, and in fact, down one floor more, where rest of the clean-up crew is, or should be. There’s lots more burnmarks around as well as some rot growing in the corners of the ceiling. Gimlet burns some, but it pretty quickly grows back, and indeed it looks like the rot is only growing. Our heroes hear some AdMech-y footsteps and find a Skitarius with a servitor. The Skitarius informs our heroes that the Sable Swords and the tech-priest have already gone downstairs, as they’re closing in on the seat of the infection and can’t contain it anymore. Noticeably the servitors no longer work downstairs either. Our heroes thank for the information (and Gorm tells the Skitarius may Omnissiah bless her, and she makes a happy beeping sound) and head downstairs.

The floor below is full of tight corridors, maintenance tunnels mostly. Our heroes walk forward, in the maze-like corridors. They spot some marks that someone has passed there not long before. They find several corpses, killed with an axe. Gimlet burns them. They find a small shrine for Omnissiah, which appears to be the only place untouched by the the rot. Going down a tight corridor, a creature suddenly hops onto Gimlet’s flamer, and begins to pull it apart. Gimlet attempts to shake it off, and Gorm attempts to grab it, but it only turns Gorm’s power sword off and disappears with a laugh. There is more bodies ahead, and one of them grabs Gorm by the ankle. Gorm slices the hand off, and a giant fly crawls out of its mouth.

They begin to hear static sound and come upon Z47r, the tech-priest, in prayer. He motions them to stop, and after finishing with the prayer gets up and informs them that the ship’s geller field generator is the start of the rot. He needs our heroes help in getting his hands on it, the Sable Swords are going to act as distraction. Having located both the room with the geller-field generator and the Sable Swords, they hatch a battle plan. Gorm makes a speech, which is very inspiring and stuff and hands out protective runes to the Sable Swords (and Z47r) as well. Then it’s off to get the tech-priest to a machine.

The Sable Swords get into the room first, attacking few big Nurgle boys. Saef, Gimlet and Uffe make their way to the room via a walkway above the room to distract more of the creatures, while Gorm (with the tech-priest dangling from him) jump-packs into the room and to the front of the machine. The tech-priest begins a communion with the machine, while the rest of the people battle. The Sable Swords and Gorm manage to bring one of the huge creatures down, only to have it stand up a moment later. Same happens with others, and people realize it’s because of the goop all around them. Gimlet’s flamer is really useful for clearing that stuff out, and Uffe helps as well with his plasma. It’s hard to bring Nurgle’s army down for good, but for the most part, our heroes have them locked in place. There’s a problem of one Sable Sword (Aaron) being brought down and the Nurgle’s people being toxic as all Hell.

One of the strange little creatures suddenly jumps the tech-priest and begins to pull his breather off his face. Gorm manages to kill it but the breather is gone. The tech-priest doesn’t notice as he is too busy communing. Also the machine is turning on and there are definitely flames starting in the grating beneath. The Sable Swords clear off the grating, but not before trapping one of the big boys into them. Gorm takes off his helmet and slams it onto the tech-priest and shouts at Uffe to shoot at a water pipe which he does, just as the flames start. The pipe douses both Gorm and Z47r, but the big Nurgle fellow is most crisped.

Thus mostly concludes this battle. Uffe rushes to check in on Gorm, who hacks up something fierce (toxic air). Uffe calls for Gimlet to loan Gorm his flask, which he does, and surprisingly there’s alcohol there and not water. Gorm asks if the tech-priest is okay and he speaks some weird gibberish and then straightens up, saying he’s fine. He lets Gorm know that he can leave in three hours and start on Gorm’s thing. Gorm asks if he should help, before coughing up something green and weird, and Z47r says he got this. Gorm asks if he and Uffe could talk with him as soon as possible and Z47r tells them to come by his ship when he’s done. And that is the end of this Nurgle infestation!

And now for something completely different...

While waiting for the AdMechs to finish on New Dawn, Gorm has time to chat with Carl. The Sable Swords are returning to Obsidia, and since it’s in the way of Santa Maria’s route, they’re hitching a ride. Gorm and Carl make their way to the bar, both having changed out of their armor. Carl wears monk robes which Gorm comments makes him stand out, and Carl shrugs saying he’s been away from home a while, and haven’t had time to do laundry. Carl asks to take a drink of Gorm’s mead (though not enough for him to get completely shitfaced). They talk about the medical properties of alcohol for a while.

Gorm asks where Carl is heading next, and Carl says that they’re going home first, and then pretty much immediately are going to be deployed to fight orks. Carl’s happy for the change, as fighting people turned monsters (such as genestealers and chaos cultists) gets a bit tiring. Gorm agrees, orks are always itching for a fight, so it feels fair to bring them down.

Gorm tells Carl about his visit on Terra and about meeting the Primarch, and getting his hands on Codex Astartes, telling him that Terra was quite of a change in him. Gorm talks about remembering his past on Fenris, and of the harsh conditions the people. (Carl says he doesn’t remember his own past, but supposes it’s pretty much the same story as everyone else’s on Obsidia) The Space Wolves very much keep out of the way of the people, but Gorm wonders if there is more they could do. Carl says that for the most part Astartes homeworlds are among the safest in the galaxy (though not lately, Gorm points out about the attack of the Thousand Sons on Fenris), but it is the duty of the Astartes to look beyond their own worlds’ and protect the people of the galaxy.

Gorm also mentions his recent medical endeavors, how he has tried to heal in addition to all the killing. He mentions the couple of successes he has and how good they have felt. Carl thinks it’s a fine endeavor, though there is a certain roughness in that as well, very low lows when one fails to save a life.

Carl asks what the new Gorm would like to do with his life, once all this is over, especially with all these changes coming around and Gorm says he hasn’t much thought about it. One thing’s for sure, he isn’t made for working alone, but he is unsure what the Space Wolves have in store for him and Uffe if they come back, whether they get a new pack or what. Carl asks if he had thought life as an apothecary, and Gorm tells him that it’s a bit different with the Wolves having rolled a chaplain and an apothecary into one, but yeah he got this necklace from a Rune Priest and is still quite unsure what it means. Carl comments on his speech back at New Dawn, saying it was quite inspiring. Gorm says he got it from Codex Astartes and there’s some more angry speeches in there as well, Carl says sometimes anger is necessary as well.

Gorm asks Carl where he came from, referring to his earlier comment about being the same as everyone else. Carl tells him that Obsidia is a harsh planet, not quite as harsh as Fenris, but harsh nonetheless. A mining planet, mostly. The Sable Swords’ headquarters resides within the mountain on Obsidia, and sometimes little kids wander far from the known tunnels, and if they’re brave and clever enough, they might reach the headquarters in the center and become Sable Swords. Obviously there’s nobles and such on Obsidia, but the Sable Swords think it best to stay close to the people of the earth, as their weapons are made from Obsidian minerals. (At some point Gorm talks derisively of noble humans and their desperation to not die by any means necessary, Carl seems to agree)

Gorm asks Carl about the swords of the Sable Swords, whether they make them themselves or what, seeing that he got a new Power Sword himself, which had a lot of trouble during the combat back on New Dawn. Carl mentions that not everyone does, but a lot of people do. Revan made swords for all his squad-members, apparently a common occurrence. Carl says that since he has received Revan’s sword on promotion, he has an extra sword, and he’d be quite happy to give it to Gorm. Gorm is obviously quite touched by this display of affection. (he gives Carl a “I <3 Terra” shirt in turn, which Carl puts on immediately over his monk robes) He tells Carl that he’d be more than happy to join his squad whenever, and Carl replies that he’d be more than happy to have him.

Gorm says that as he has now seen how the Sable Swords greet each other (back on New Dawn) (bumping chest with handle of their blade), and he would like to show Carl how Space Wolves greet. Carl is more than happy to learn, so Gorm tells that Wolves bump heads, and sometimes when people are really close, they touch noses. Gorm bumps his head against Carl’s and touches his nose against Carl’s. Carl returns the gesture with fondness.

Next time, our heroes start to head to Triplex Phall! And seeing that it takes few days and they’ve last been on the ship in session (checks notes) 27, there’s going to be a lot of conversations with NPCs next few sessions. A lot. So many.

#nemo roleplays #long post #wag rp #wag rp writeup #lots of interesting stuff coming up #gotta prep for all the conversations #(well not all)#(sometimes prepping for convo for me is just like idk this character rly wants nothing so see what pc has to say)#(and sometimes it's me writing 500 words about what's up)#looking forward to next couple of sesh #even tho im super excited to get to triplex phall #9 to go until ep 50!#campaign tag: some nurgle but mostly soap opera

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wildwhiskey236 · 5 years

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Character Interview Tag

I was tagged by @albarnesauthor!

We will be interviewing my OC’s from my NaNo WIP Embracing Shadows. (A/N- I wanna do this a little differently than what I’ve done before, so it may get long but stick with me.)

Our five assholes sit in the laughably nondescript room, scowls immediately crossing their faces, protests on their lips at the description. The author reminds them of their current behavior in their story and all protests die on their lips, several of them muttering an agreement that yeah, maybe they were assholes.

1: What is your full name?

“Hector Greatsnarl.”

“Lauren Rosewing.”

“Lindsey Hallowedstrike.”

“Davy Evenflaw.”

“Natia Stoutblossom.”

Eyes turn to Natia, Hector and Lauren giving her a flat stare while Lindsey smirked, Davy commented, “We all know that isn’t your real name, no need to lie about it anymore.”

“Fine. My real name is Aster- but I prefer Natia.”

2: What does your full name mean?

“Well Aster means star and Natia means light, which is why I chose it.”

“Ever the romantic. Lindsey means from an island, which is appropriate I guess but I think my parents were trying to pick the least elven name possible.”

“I like your name. Davy means beloved.”

“Lauren is vaguely based off of a tree, Laurel.”

“Not surprising for a fairy. Hector means to hold fast.”

3: What are your other names/nicknames

“Most of us respond to ‘that asshole’.” Lindsey leaned back in his chair. “I call Davy my vhenan.“

“You have literally never called me that.”

“Maybe I should start. It means ‘my heart’ in elven.”

“No offense,” Lauren cut in, “But you two are about as far away from elven as I have ever seen.”

4: What’s your gender?

Everyone glanced at each other. Hector, Lindsey, and Davy were all men, built like the soldiers they were. Natia was lithe and strong like the assassin and hunter she was, but she still took hold of her own femininity. Lauren, ever the academic, was softer and had the gentler curves of someone who didn’t spend her life training and fighting with weapons.

5: What’s your sexuality?

“In case you didn’t pick it up, I am Not Straight (TM). Men, women, elf, dwarf, fairy, human, nymph- but I’m taken.” Lindsey said, casting a soft look to Davy.

“I’m gay.”

“I’ve never been interested in romance or sex. What the word for it? Asexual?Aromantic? Yeah, those are me.” Lauren offered up, somewhat satisfied that she finally got to say it.

“I’m straight.” Natia said, followed by Hector’s “Me too.”

6: Where are you from?

“I’m from the Highlands, just East of Provda and Ebarria. I’m here to study human and dwarven magical practices.” Lauren perked up before quieting herself and rambling.

“I’m from Ilseburry up north. It’s much better here in Provda.” Lindsey said.

“Natia and I are half-Provdan half-Ebarrian.” Hector offrered.

“But you grew up in Provda and I grew up in Ebarria. They are very different places.”

“I’m also half Provdan- my mother was an elf from the Highlands, but I’ve never been there.” Davy added.

7: How old are you?

“Go ahead Lauren. Tell them hold old you are.” Natia smirked, heat rising to the fairy’s face.

“Fairies mature slower than humans or elves. Just because I’m in my forties-”

“Really? I thought I was the oldest one at 28.” Davy signed in relief. Lindsey smirked.

“I’m 27.”

“I’m 25.” Hector said, eyes turning to Natia again, who had sunken down in her chair.

“I didn’t realize how old all of you were.” She muttered. “I’m only 23.”

“So Lauren, how’s the baby-sitting going?”

“I’m going to outlive all you humans and elves.”

8: What is your magic form/what species are you?

“Well, I’m a fairy with a natural affinity for magic.” Lauren restated.

“I’m elven. But not a stuffy, traditional, better-than-you elf. ” Lindsey’s pointed ears twitched.

“I’m half elven. The worst kind of elven apparently.” Davy commented, a slight bitter tone tracing his words.

“Better than us humans.” Natia offered, her own tone lighter and more playful as she glanced at Hector.

9: What does your human form look like?

“I take offense at that.” Lauren joked, her long brown hair curled over her shoulder, green eyes practically sparkling with humor.

Lindsey also snorted, his own blue eyes rolling at the question. Above his brow his straight blonde hair was slicked back as he ran a hand over it, stretching out in the chair. Davy sat still beside him, brown eyes and curly brown hair speaking for themselves, his slightly pointed nose giving him an impish, elvish effect, the tips of his smaller pointed ears just visible through the curls.

Hector also leaned back in his chair, his longer black hair curling around his neck, his deeply tanned skin and dark brown eyes speaking for themselves. Natia’s skin was darker, her long dark brown hair pulled back in a braid and lighter brown eyes watching me with an exasperated face that said, “Move on to the next questions already.”

10: What’s your aesthetic?

Natia fingered her daggers, exquisitely crafted from silver and decorated with obsidian, heavily enchanted and small diamonds inlaid to represent the gods she worshiped.

“Beaches with gold sand and dark blue water. We didn’t have beaches like that in Ilseburry.” Lindsey said wistfully, longing to be there instead of answering more questions.

“The forests at sunset, the dark green and golden pink skies.” Davy added quietly.

“I miss the flowers that grew in the Highlands, with blue petals and pink centers. They were really pretty.” Lauren picked at her dress of the same colors.

“I like when night turns into a red daybreak before a storm.” Hector said, giving no other explanation.

11: Who’s your best friend?

“Lindsey,”

“Davy,”

The two of them said together, Hector poutning. He wasn’t sure what he expected from them but he muttered, “Davy and Lindsey,” anyway, sad still that they were his best friends but he wasn’t theirs.

“My brother Zach.” Lauren said.

“...” Natia hestiated. “Probably Hector.”

The group glanced at each other and then at me, indicating that it was time to move and make a sharp change of subject.

12: Would you ever get a piercing/ tattoo?

“I’ve got a few piercings.” Natia indicated to her ears with several studs placed up an down her ears. “I was never into tattoos.”

“I’ve got a tattoo of my parents names in respect for them.” Hector indicated to his forearm where the two names were inked.

“I always thought it would be sexy if-” Lindsey started, but Davy cut him off.

“No. I said I wouldn’t do that.” Blood rushed to Davy’s face and ears.

13: When are you happiest?

“In the tavern with my friends.” Hector was the first to speak up.

“With Lindsey, after getting back from a hunt or scouting mission and just getting to eat or fall asleep together.” Lindsey looked at Davy again with soft eyes, nodding.

“When I finally perfect a spell or potion or enchantment, seeing my effort turn into something.” Lauren continued.

“I don’t feel like answering this question.” The others gave Natia a look. “Fine, bickering with you all, you assholes.”

They awed.

“The baby enjoys our company.”

14: What’s your biggest secret?

Everyone looked to Natia.

“I mean, it's not a secret anymore.” She started, sighing. “I was part of a group of assassins and my kill count is somewhere in the hundreds. I ran away, changed my name, and lied to everyone about it for two years. Anyone else got a secret?”

“My parents were killed by said assassins.” Hector said darkly.

“This is supposed to be a light-hearted interview not couples therapy. My biggest secret is that my father was King of Ilseburry.”

“You’re just now mentioning this?!” Davy gasped, a grin breaking across Lindsey’s face.

“No, I’m just a notorious trickster. Davy’s secret is that he gets very cranky when his socks get wet.”

“It’s an unpleasant feeling!”

“Back in the Highlands, I’m actually considered to not be very pretty according to fairy standards. I’ve never told anyone that.” Lauren casually dropped, the others once again glancing to each other. Somehow that seemed unbelievable but no one knew enough about fairies to object.

15: What was your first impression of your S/O?

“What a giant dork.” Davy muttered, earning a laugh from everyone but Lindsey, who looked away, slightly embarrassed. “He was trying to flirt with me and tripped over a tree root, falling face first into thistle bush.”

“Thanks, babe. Here I was going to say you were the exact image of what I thought an elf should be- graceful, good looking, and into nature shit, if not just a little short. Are we done here yet? We have people to kill now.”

Lindsey didn’t wait before getting up and leaving the room, Davy and Hector following after him, Lauren profusely apologizing as she left, closing the door behind her.

I started gathering my notes before- hey? Where did Natia go?

“Don’t move.” I heard the voice after I felt the press of a cool blade against my neck, Natia grabbing my hair to hold my head back and expose my neck better.

“This is a warning. You better finish this damn WIP and you better give them a good ending. If not I’ll reach through the computer screen and give you the worst writer’s block you’ve ever experienced.”

In an instant the knife was gone and I sucked in air, breathing heavy before turning around, Natia just gone.

I, uh, I’ve got work to do.

I’ll tag @weathershade, @crypticsx, @emdop, @milkyway-writes if any of you feel like doing one of these!

#character interview #writeblr #writing #embracing shadows #tagged #was this even interesting or a good idea #or was it dumb #probably both #this was really just an experiment of how many times I can use 'said' without using 'said'#sorry its so long

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snarky-badger · 6 years

Note

Eddie/Venom finding out their S/O has a healing factor, after she was severely injured during a mugging, stabbed from behind or something. Venom is devastated for a few seconds thinking they failed, and their lover is dead. only to get a shock when she jolts up and starts wheezing and coughing up blood; begging them to pull the knife out venom reluctantly does so, and watches in awe as the injury heals.

*crawls out of Writer’s Block hell* I’m scrolling through Prompt suggestions trying to get the muse back. Kinda abandoned doing things in order for the moment, sorry. And sorry for the long period of inactivity. RL is sucking all my will to write at the moment :(

It had been a wonderful afternoon of playing hooky from work. You and Eddie had caught a matinee, then gone to lunch at his favorite buffet restaurant - you were sure they were low-key scared of him at this point. He and Venom ate a lot. Still, despite the horrified looks at Eddie’s fifth helping, the two of you had enjoyed your meal.

The entire day had been a godsend of calmness. Up until karma, fate, or just some little asshole at the Universe’s dealings decided to throw a monkey wrench into the whole thing.

“Whoa guy, you don’t wanna do this,” Eddie frowned as the mugger tightened his grip on you, the sizeable knife at your throat digging in a little.

The man’s free hand was painfully squeezing your left arm as he pulled you backwards into the alley. Eddie followed, a white sheen flitting across his eyes, and your dry swallow had your skin grating against the blade at your jugular.

“Wallet and phone!” The man’s fetid breath rolled past your face as he growled out his demands, and you clenched your jaw, not fear, but anger rising in you as Eddie obediently dug out his wallet and smartphone, handing both of them over to the mugger, who chuckled as he shoved both items into the jacket he was wearing. “You too, toots.”

You grimaced at the ‘toots’ remark, but reached into your small purse to retrieve the items, slapping them into the grasping hand to your left. The knife nudged you a little, maybe because of the force you’d used, and you saw Eddie’s gaze darken angrily.

The blade left your throat, and you finally let yourself breathe, before a dirty hand curled around your neck, holding you tight. The mugger at your back leaned into you, cheek brushing yours, and you wrinkled your nose at the smell that clung to his skin. “Sorry, toots, this ain’t personal. But, your boytoy there, he’s one of those that’ll try to be the hero once I let you go. Gotta distract him, got me?”

You opened your mouth to voice your confusion before white hot pain exploded in your back. Something - your brain said ‘knife’ - slipped in between your shoulder blades, slicing, cutting, stealing your breath from you in a horrible gasp. Blood flecked your lips as you met Eddie’s horrified gaze, and you stumbled forward when the mugger shoved at you, sending you staggering into Eddie’s open arms as you fell.

Heat and cold warred in your body as you struggled for breath. Something in your chest didn’t feel right, you couldn’t get in enough air. Eddie cradled you in his arms as he dropped to his knees, grief and anger warring in his eyes before blackness swarmed around him, Venom making an appearance.

Obsidian tendrils lashed out. You heard more than saw them gain purchase on the mugger, heard the wet snap of breaking bone and tearing flesh.

Something popped in your chest and suddenly blood filled your mouth, obstructing your airway. You gurgled, coughing, every spasm making fresh pain lance through you. You felt cold, felt sticky, hot, blood - such a contrast - wetting the back of your shirt and dripping to the ground below you.

Venom’s grip on you tightened, painfully so, tendrils curling around you to secure you to him as he leapt up the side of the building, more tendrils and his right hand digging into the brick as he scaled upwards. “MORSEL! FIGHT! THERE’S A HOSPITAL–”

You swallowed blood and shook your head, raising a bloodied hand to touch his face. “T-t-too late.”

“NO!”

Everything was fading. The sounds of the City, cars, people, pigeons, everything was just vanishing. All you could hear was your labouring heart and the gurgling breaths you were taking. Your vision blurred at the edges, even as you struggled to focus on Venom as he madly, desperately, leapt across rooftops, uncaring that he’d be seen in the daylight. “…s-stop.”

A pained, wounded, noise left him as he jerked to a halt on a rooftop, pale eyes fixated on you as a large taloned hand rose to cup the side of your face, his voice a low, mournful whisper. “MORSEL–”

“S’okay,” you rasped, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth, even as your vision faded, the feeling of your heart literally missing a beat thudding in your chest, like the final nail in your coffin. Weakly, you rose a shaking hand to cover his, unable to see, but hearing the low, alien, keen that left him. “…s’okay… love you… s’okay…”

“NO. NO NO NO! EDDIE! EDDIE, WHAT DO WE DO?! NIBBLE, MORSEL, PLEASE—”

His begging voice faded from your ears as your heart stopped, your hand falling from his.

For one long, horrible, moment, you ceased to be. That long second stretched out, an eternity of darkness and cold and emptiness.

Before it all slammed back.

Your body convulsed as life was forced back into it, your eyes going wide as you gasped for air. Sound snapped back into focus, the sky too bright to your eyes that had been sightless just moments before.

Venom’s grip on you loosened in shock, and you uncoordinatedly shoved yourself out of his arms, twisting to land on your hands and knees on the roof, landing with a grunt. He stood there, dumbly, eyes as wide as you’d ever seen, as you twisted your right arm back, fingers seeking the knife that was still in your back.

“…get it out…” you wheezed, your healing body struggling to repair the damage that the still present blade was creating. Your lung couldn’t reinflate with the intrusion in it, and you fought for breath, even as your heart beat rapidly, trying to send enough nutrients to mending flesh. “Venom…. take it the fuck out, please!”

Your pained cry finally jolted him out of his shock, his form dropping to one knee next to you as he gripped the knife by it’s handle. You felt the blade grate against rib and slice through newly healed flesh as he pulled it out, and finally, finally, you managed to take in a deep breath, coughing as your collapsed lung reinflated.

Dimly, you were aware of Venom staring at the skin of your back in a stunned awe as the skin knit itself back together. You waited until the unnerving sensation of your insides rebuilding and regrowing settled before sighing and slowly, stiffly, pushing yourself up until you were on your knees.

“So…” you started dumbly, avoiding Venom’s stunned gaze as you used the collar of your shirt to wipe blood from your mouth. “Questions? Comments? Yelling?”

None of those options applied. Instead, Venom grabbed you and hauled you into a crushing hug, arms tight around you as he buried his face into your hair.

You returned the embrace as best you could, your back protesting as he held you tighter in response. “Okay, o-okay, take it easy, I’m still healing…”

His grip on you loosened a little, taloned hands coming to rest on your shoulders as he leaned back to meet your gaze. “HOW?”

A grimace flit across your features. “I’m a mutant. I, um…. My body heals any damage it gets. If I get killed, I just… kinda, reset, like some goddamn computer. Everything goes away, and I think, maybe, I really do die - for a moment anyway - and then… bam! I’m back and everything’s healing.”

“MORSEL…” One large hand rose to cup the side of your face as Venom leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL US?”

“Because I’m a mutant. You know the rap mutants get. And… I’m… I don’t get sick, I heal from everything… and I don’t age the same way.”

He pulled back, curious. “AND THAT SHOULD BOTHER US, WHY?”

“Because I’m older than I said I was,” you admitted haltingly, glancing away. “I’ve been alive for a long time. And… I told myself that I’d never get involved with anyone again - it hurts too much to outlive them - but Eddie… and you… I couldn’t help it. I fell in love with you two so fast that it still scares me. And maybe you’d be okay with me being a mutant, but–”

Venom tilted his head, and you knew, knew, that Eddie was as hyper-focused on you as Venom was. “BUT?”

Fuck it. “I’m a hundred and sixty three years old.”

He blinked. Actually blinked.

You winced in the ensuing silence, certain that you’d just lost both of them, only to jerk your head up to stare at Venom in shock when he rumbled a laugh.

“EDDIE SAYS YOU’RE ‘ROBBING THE CRADLE’.” Venom told you with a smirk, and you felt your face heat with a blush. “ALSO, THAT HE HAS NO PROBLEM DATING AN ‘OLDER WOMAN’. AS FOR US, NIBBLE… WE’RE OLDER THAN THIS CITY BY A THOUSAND YEARS. A HUNDRED AND SIXTY IS YOUNG.”

Goddamn aliens. You hadn’t thought about that. “So… you’re not going to leave?”

Another laugh left him as he pulled you into another hug, and if you were a little weepy, he wisely didn’t comment. “YOU’RE STILL STUCK WITH US, LITTLE ONE. THOUGH, EDDIE HAS ENDLESS QUESTIONS.”

“Can I answer them back home? I feel kinda gross.”

“THE NEST IT IS.”

“…I love you.”

“AND WE LOVE YOU, MORSEL. BUT, PLEASE, DON’T EVER SCARE US LIKE THAT AGAIN.”

“I can’t die, Venom. I’ll always heal.”

His grip on you tightened, tendrils lashing out to curl around you as he rose to his feet, cradling you in his arms. “DOESN’T MEAN WE ENJOY SEEING IT.”

You reached up to wind your arms around his neck, pecking him on the cheek. You would have kissed him, but you still tasted blood on your tongue, and doubted he’d enjoy the sharp reminder of you choking on your own blood. “Okay.”

#snarky is writing #filled prompts #venom x reader #reader x venom #reader x eddie brock #eddie brock x reader

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oneandahalfwolf · 5 years

Note

//You asked for more, here ya go!!! 5 headcanons. Both Angel AUs, Dragon AU

send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons about it [x]

bless u friend! i went very overboard but oops. anything for the word count.

ANGEL REBORN AU: ROYAL VARIANT [x];

Ben has a diamond that was in the satchel of personal effects handed over to them by the angel who informed them of their exile. It is large and perfectly polished, and was a gift from their best friend up their - Ileyra. This diamond allows them to talk to the other angel despite their exile. They wake up early every morning and find the highest point in the area, be it a tree or a rock or building, and just sit, holding the diamond in their hand and talking to their best friend. They keep it a secret. Not even Orianna knows what they actually do - just knowing they go to a high point and that the diamond is very important to them.

Certain gemstones have very interesting properties when it comes to angels. If Ben comes into contact with Quartz it will enhance their angelic powers, while touching Obsidian will corrupt and poison them. (The opposite is actually true for Ori where Obsidian enhances her demonic powers while Quartz is deadly to her.) Rose Quartz can actually help heal an angel. It isn’t an instant fix, nor does it work incredibly fast, but it still eases pain and slowly start to mend any injuries. An angel can’t die per say, but they can get hurt and need time to heal, therefore Rose Quartz is incredibly useful.

Ben has some special angelic powers in this verse. Offensively they can create a ‘holy wind’ with their wings; an extremely strong gust of air that will knock opponents back and is strong enough to even crack (and sometimes destroy) walls. When they really have to they can also unleash ‘celestial lightning’ though it is classed as a ‘nuclear option’, something to only be used when absolutely necessary - given how destructive it can be. Passive powers include more durable skin, an ability to heal any wound (even those considered fatal, severed bones, as well as torn and ripped wings), and greater agility, speed and strength. They also have a halo (that is usually hidden from the naked eye). Part of having it allows them to feel other people’s emotions when coming into skin on skin contact with them, however this can be extremely debilitating and sometimes even painful (and possibly even distressing if it triggers traumatic memories of their own life) - though it is easier with Orianna who is their charge, as well as Missy though not as much. They can also heal other people’s non-fatal wounds and/or take away their pain (a la teen wolf) by holding their hand though again it can be painful and dangerous because not only will they feel their emotions but also expend their own energy/aura to heal them. Also while Ben normally bleeds normal red human blood, if they get gravely injured or go through extended trauma they will start to bleed a golden ichor (aka angel blood) which can burn human skin.

Ben's main weapon is a heavenly blade that is a large two-handed broadsword that they can pry apart into two dual blades. They will usually use the dual blades, since they are faster and also expend less energy, but when there is a need for some divine smiting or putting the fear of god into someone, the two will be fused back together and the blade will glow. Sometimes, if they need to or want to be showy, they will have the large sword in a scabbard on their back, between the wings, and will take it out then dramatically pull it apart, the two blades glowing for a minute before seeming to revert to a 'normal' silver. However they’ll usually just stick to the two scabbards at their hips. If someone who is not an angel accidentally touches the sword - hilt or blade - with bare hands in it’s larger form it will burn them extremely bad, so much so they will have a permanent scar or need a skin graft of some kind.

When reborn as Missy and Orianna’s children after being given a second chance, Ben and later Iley are now tieflings like their Mama. They have red skin but also speckles of white like freckles across their cheek bones and the bridge of their nose, as well as a more concentrated mottling where their wings used to be as a carry over from their angelic previous life. They have different horns, with Ben having more antelope style ones while Iley has ram’s ones.

ANGEL REBORN AU: MODERN VARIANT [x];

Instead of a diamond left to them by Iley in order to communicate with her, they have a smartphone that was given to them in a duffel bag of belongings from the angel who informed them of their exile. It seems to be affiliated with the network ‘Herald’ and has unlimited everything (texts, data and minutes), as well as not costing anything. If they can get to a high place, such as the roof of a building, they are able to phone Iley and talk to her. They can also text her but it takes a long time to get replies, though it’s still worth it as an angel can’t easily fly around in these modern times.

When Missy and Orianna convince them to come stay with them, since they clearly have nowhere to go, Ben insists on sleeping on the couch. It is extremely uncomfortable in general but especially for their wings, which they have to keep folded tight and inside the special harness the elder angel gave to them along with the bag. Eventually the girl’s convince them to take the spare room, but the angel still often sleeps (though sleep for them isn’t as often as a human if they haven’t exerted themself) or stays in the harness just to make sure the girl’s can’t accidentally walk in on them and see their wings.

Orianna and Missy do end up finding out about their wings by complete accident. The trio were caught in a sudden downpour, much like the day they met Ben, and the angel was entirely unprepared. When they returned home they went to their room to dry off and change, while Missy and Orianna did the same. The girl’s realised Ben was taking a rather long time and decided to see what was up, as well as bring them another towel and a warm drink. They walk into the room without knocking and see the wings in all their glory since the angel has them out of the harness as they attempt to dry their feathers. It's a massive shock and everyone is understandably freaked out, especially Ben. The girl’s end up taking it in stride though, and at least now they know where all those feathers came from and why things kept getting knocked over - especially when Ben was in the bathroom.

As a joke Orianna and Missy get Ben one of those paper bracelets that can’t be removed without tearing it that says ‘Fall Risk’, a homage to them being a fallen angel in a way and for saving their lives when they met. Ben is a little miffed but ends up wearing it with something akin to pride. When the angel disappears one day the girl’s realise they’ve been given a second chance by the powers that be because they find the bracelet still intact on Ben’s pillow.

Given when they died there are a lot of modern things Ben never got to experience, and (after feeling sad about their former life) the girl’s have great fun introducing the angel to these things - especially sweets and junk food.

BONUS HCS TRUE FOR BOTH ANGEL AUS;

Ben died at age 17 before becoming an angel. In the Royal AU, Ben was abandoned by Highlander family as a babe because they were too sick and weak to survive. They were taken in by another Highlander pair. During childhood they were teased and bullied because they looked like a ghost or a skeleton or a grim reaper because of their pale skin, grey eyes and thin body. There was a fire at age 11 that killed their adoptive parents, after which they ran away and were presumed dead. They were picked up by a slave convoy and auctioned off to The Queen. After many years of hell and abuse they end up dying when the carriage the party is riding in goes over the edge of a cliff, and their Mistress has to decide if she's going to rescue her favourite pet as they hang from the side over a crevice and risk her own life, or save herself and let them fall to the snow and rocks below. She of course she chooses the latter. In the Modern AU, Ben grew up in Victorian times. Again abandoned then adopted but when they run away after the fire they are picked up by some leader of a thief gang that uses small boys a lot (similar to Oliver but worse since they were beaten or whipped for not bringing enough in). Later a noblewoman (this verse/life’s Queen) who is actually in business with the gang leader comes in to peruse the stock for a new companion, and picks Ben. Then a similar life for hell before the same death. (Ileyra had a similar horrible life in both AUs, dying at 16. In the Royal one she was in an orphanage before she was given to The King and later murdered by him in a moment of passion, while in Modern she lived in France during the Second World War as an orphan and was chosen as a companion to a German General - this verse/life’s King - before again being murdered by him in the same way.)

In both AUs, after being reborn, it is revealed Ben and Iley aren’t just tiefling’s/human after they go through puberty. The two are actually nephilim, the angelic blood from before lingering even now. Both gain new wings in their late teens, though they are much smaller than when they were true angels. Also instead of being a pure blinding white, Ben’s wing’s are white with a number (many of which are hidden) tipped black, while Iley’s are white but tinged a golden brown around the edges much like the dawn light across clouds. The wings have a slight heavenly glow - Ben’s glitter like freshly fallen snow while Iley’s gleam like the morning sun. The parents are quick to tailor their children’s clothes so they can either walk around with them out easier in Royal AU or at least not have to hide them in the house for Modern AU. Plus, for Modern AU, they luckily still had Ben's old harness that they could modify for the diminished wing span.

Later in life after being reborn, Ben ends up losing their right arm and wing in either a battle (Royal AU) or an accident (Modern AU). In both AUs their parents, and other subjects/family members, help to create prosthetics (either with magic or technology depending on the verse) since as a nephilim their wings don’t grow back (unlike when they were an angel which did happen at least in the Royal AU).

Ben always slept on their front as an angel since it meant they could spread their wings out across the bed and not have them uncomfortably folded against them in sleep (or before they stopped hiding them in the Modern AU they weren’t lying on them and crushing them as they were folded in the harness). When they were an angel Missy used to sometimes nestle in between them their wings on their back and take comfort in the soft feathers. When they were reborn they still slept on their front even before their new wings came in, and when Iley was born she used to curl up on their back - both before and after their wings came in - much like her mother used to do when they were a Guardian. Also when Ben's wings came through Missy got a shock and also became very emotional when her son hugs her from behind while she's upset and wraps their wings around her. They aren't all the way around like they used to be but they this was something they used to do for her as a Guardian and it makes her tear up.

Ben loves to have their feathers groomed, and once they grow to trust the girl’s (especially in Modern AU) they allow them to do it if they need or want. It doesn’t matter if they’re the ones who need it or the girl’s do, it comforts and relaxes everyone involved. When they’re reborn and their wings come through Iley (both before and after her own wings come in) with often groom them, sitting behind them as they sit shirtless drawing or playing video games - often while making comments about how she used to do this when they were angels.

That isn’t the only time there are comments about their past lives. Both kids remember, at least in some way, their time as angels and will often say things that would make many others pause - such as four year old Ben proudly stating that they saved their mama’s life before, five year old Iley saying how much she missed her brother when they were down looking after Mama and Mummy, or seven year old Ben finding all their old things (and harness in Modern AU) and confidently stating when asked what they’re doing that they are ‘looking through my old clothes’. Ben also remembers having wings and in both AUs have an accident where they try to jump off a wardrobe in order to fly but instead of course falls and breaks their arm.

As an angel Ben often has horrific nightmares about their time alive. Both girls are concerned but do not push at first, simply providing comfort, and when they do finally ask they are immediately sympathetic to the terrible things the angel tells them happened, always ready to help them calm down if something triggers them. When reborn both Iley and Ben have nightmares and sometimes panic attacks about memories they don’t remember living but know they happened - first when they are young, between 4 - 12, and then again when their wings come through, which don’t go away but do end up lessening as their own new identities of this second chance at life become the superior focus. The parents are always quick to reassure them, though do sometimes get sad and grieve for the normal life the children could have had when they find Ben curled up around Iley in her bed telling her ‘the bad man can’t get you now’ or discover Iley hugging a crying Ben and whispering that ‘the bad lady is not coming back’.

When reborn, Ben and Iley actually have different FCs for a change (Colin O'Donoghue instead of Dylan O’Brien and Katie McGrath instead of Crystal Reed respectively). Since it’s very uncommon for the kids to have a different face, since it’s a part of fate and the string that binds them for them to have the same face. So the pair, especially when they’re older, will look strangely at their sibling and make an odd comment of some sort - such as ‘you’re hair colour is a little off’, ‘your face doesn’t look right with a beard’, ‘your freckles are in the wrong place’, ‘some scars are missing’ - since they remember what they used to look like as angels in the back of their mind. The parents will associate it with only that, though it does run a little deeper.

As an angel Ben has a large number of scars from their life but also many from their time as a guardian angel. However, some scars are a different colour. A silvery white, like polished marble, rather than a normal pink or such. These scars are specifically wounds from where they saved Ori’s life before they were exiled. Basically occasions where she should have died but Ben took the fatal wound instead.

Ben has a true angel form but they don’t take it as much (especially in the Modern AU). Here their eyes will be completely white and glow, their halo will appear above their head, gold ichor will bleed from their eyes, and they will be surrounded by a holy wind as well as sparks of celestial lightning.

DRAGON AU [x];

As a dragon Ben is obsessed with gold. Or rather anything really shiny. The first time they see Orianna hold a gleaming gold coin they will be enraptured. She ends up giving them their very own special coin just to nibble on. Eventually they will even get their own little coin purse where they can count out money. Sometimes, especially when Ori is having to hold them and calm them down or their feeling abnormally clingy/cuddly, they will nibble on some form of the tiefling’s jewellery.

Ben enjoys playing games and doing jigsaw puzzles, quiet things that don’t require more than one hand (since they only have one). Their favourite is a set of rune stones that Ori gets them. Runic is their base language and the stones are smooth so they can stim and play.

They don’t like beds or mattresses so often make nests on the floor to sleep or sit on.

The outfit they eventually get and wear the most is based on the Thirteenth Doctor, especially the coat. They spied a jacket in the window of a tailor with a hood that was the same pale blue as the wing membrane of their primary form. Their eyes light up but they don’t admit it. But Ori of course notices and buys it for them, along with the rest of their wardrobe (including spare items) as well as other things. She loves to spoil them given their terrible life, something that takes the dragon a long time to get used to and not feel guilty about.

Ben lost their arm when their Mistress wanted a fancy new staff. Whilst in their dragon shape she forced them to change from their white form to their black one. As the blackness spreads down the scales of their arm she severed the limb at their bicep, leaving a half white, half black dragon arm. She shrank it to a more human height (where she could wrap her hand around it and hold/use it easily) and fixed the length by fusing it with the bottom of her old wooden staff. FInally she placed a red crystal ball in the palm, making the dragon hand hold it, before using magic to preserve the limb so it would never rot. She thrilled at her new staff and was pleased to have punished her pet for whatever reason she had made up.

In this verse Iley exists and was in the castle with the King with Ben. Here while Ben is a dragon, she is a phoenix. She also has two forms; one classic phoenix one as well as a more human one where she still has talons as well as multicoloured feathers in places (including at the ends of her elbows, along her eyebrows, and in amongst her hair). Ben can remember her but only vaguely as the Queen tried to steal their memories of her, which might have succeeded if she had done the procedure right the first time but a mistake ended up instead leading to their escape and the spell only half working. They know someone very important is at or was at the castle, and can sometimes still hear her singing - the thing she was mainly prized for but only did truly for Ben. When the dragon is healed and doing better, they will return to the castle with Ori (because they tell her they have to do it, they have to find what’s missing, have to see the rulers perish) and find out that Iley isn’t even there anymore. She escaped the same day they did, using their destruction to flee. She hasn’t been found and is presumed dead. Ben knows better however, hoping one day to hear her singing again and that they can be reunited.

#scruffy werewolf (self)#devilish rogue (orianna)#mother time (missy)#heavenly warrior (angel reborn au; royal variant)#winged guardian (angel reborn au; modern variant)#two shades of scales (dragon au)#myths and legend (headcanon)#hellishtrickster #sniffing around (ask)

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zeciex · 6 years

Text

Obsidian & Angelite Ch. 2

Oya has spend centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting. He comes with an offer she can’t refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes, Strong Language, sexual tension

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previous ch.

@lostsomewhere93 you wanted me to tag you so here you go

A prison is a Prison

For hours she’d been up, long before the storm seized and returned to a calm humid. The time had been spend on collecting her things into an old leather bag, mostly seeds, books and the trivial jewelry collection she had gathered throughout the years, payments from her visitors. She hadn’t come anywhere near Langdon, his presence both a burning curiosity and a danger. Weather he had slept or meditated she didn’t know and honestly didn't care to find out.

It wasn't until the sky had turned to orange morning before Michael showed his face, hair still impeccable. Maybe, just maybe he put a hex on it.

“You sleep like the dead,” Oya noted when she pushed the bag towards the open door with her foot.

“And you didn’t sleep at all,” he mused back, fixing his jacket to sit properly. “Too busy doing small spells.”

So he knew, he knew she had looked for answers. The feeling had been there, that he could feel her flexing her powers, much like she’d feel his own. Without a hint of remorse she abruptly turned towards him, her black dress fawning out like a flower, blossoming and then withering.

“Yea, well when a mysterious stranger shows up holding the key to your cell, you want to know who holds it,” she rebuked. As much as everything about him lured her in, she also mistrusted him. How could you trust someone you didn’t know? Let alone someone that had secrets woven into his seams.

“And what did you find?” He asked knowing very well she hadn’t found anything but wax and smoke.

“I don’t trust you Mr. Langdon and you haven’t given me anything to trust. I’m a curious person and you,” She wiggled her finger at him. “Are one big question mark.”

He chuckled at her biting tone. “You don’t trust me but still you’re willing to let me change your binding to this plot of land to another, a place you know nothing about simply because I gave you a promise?”

“Something about you tells me you’d keep your promise and I’m willing to risk it for freedom,” she said walking closer to him. With her magic she reached out and pulled at a knife, it’s blade cutting through the air until it landed in her hand. The blade met the soft skin of Langdons neck who only reacted by lifting his brows at her. “If you break the promise I’ll turn your life into living hell.” She closed in further, her lips inches from his, eyes burning. The threat pulled at the corner of his lips, eyes turning sultry. “And trust me, Mr. Langdon, you don't want to piss off even a bound goddess.”

His eyes all but rolled in enjoyment.

Oya stepped back, threw the knife that once more cut through the air and dug into the wall. She might be bare for spilling her past but she’d cut down every layer he had like he did her.

Langdon stood at the gate of her prison, a statue out of time, out of place. It was fascinating how alluring he was, and concering at the same time. He waited patiently for Oya to finish her ritual, putting various of herbs and oils into a bowl on her porch, symbols marked in chalk around it.

She blew out the candle and let the smoke dance up around her before setting it beside the bowl. With one last utter of words, she stood and turned to Langdon. Behind her the content of the bowl lit up in blue and green flames, ashy smoke rising from it to mix with the air. And like that she had locked away her prison, her house, with a hex that’d make any intruders turn around.

“Are you ready?” He asked, opening the gate for him to step out. Oya came to stand in front of him, the two of them looking at one another through the invisible barrier that surrounded her.

She clutched her bag in one hand and dried the other on her dress, suddenly nervous. Her first attempt on escaping had burned her, quite literally. If she tries to pass the barrier she’d start sizzling like a piece of bacon and recovery is long and painful.

“I’m ready,” she answered, determined for this to work. It had to. Michael smiled down at her, his golden hair a halo in the sunlight. With withheld breath she took it, the sensation of his hand in hers leaving her skin warm and tingling. The energy around him engulfed her in a burning darkness, whirling up the dust at their feet.

With one step backwards, Oya was forced to move forward. One step, her feet hit ground it hadn’t stepped on for what felt like eternity.

Her dark eyes snapped to Langdon, who simply smiled at her before stepping backwards once more. This time her feet hit warm concrete, the green around them replaced with blinding whites and dark greys.

From one prison to another.

Buckling, her knees hit the concrete, hand leaving Michael and instead falling over her mouth as realisation hit her. Tears stung in her eyes.

It might have been strange to celebrate a switch of cells but when you’ve been trapped in one place for centuries, forced to stay out of time, forced to only see as long as your eyes can, kept from society and luxuries, you’d eventually lose all your hope. And that was exactly what she had done, lost all hope.

And then Michael Langdon came and promised to not only free her from a version of her hell, but give her hope for freedom to the fullest.

Langdon crouched down to her level.

“Y-you have no idea what it’s like to have been trapped in the same place for what felt like eternity,” her voice shook with strangled sobs. Looking up at him there was a mix of gratefulness and spite on her face. “I’m grateful even if it’s stepping from one prison into another.”

With strange softness Michael took her face in his hands, using his thumb to wipe the salty tears from her cheeks. Even stranger was the light in his voice, almost a careful tenderness. “I hope you’ll eventually see this as a home rather than confines.”

“A home is not a prison,” she uttered, voice barely a whisper. “It doesn’t matter what luxuries it holds.” Standing she gripped her bag once more, holding it in front of her as a shield between Michael and herself. With a chuckle Michael walked further into the room, not bothering to turn around when he called her over his shoulder.

The two walked through the space, an open plane with concrete floors, open white kitchen and walls of glass overlooking green forest and a dark blue lake. She found that most of the sparse furniture there was looked rather uncomfortable but luxurious.

With quick stepps she followed him up the stairs, through a hall that ended in matted glass door. Inside were a bed bigger than the one she had in every aspect, height and most certainly width, covered in dark silk pillows. One wall was like most others in the house, of glass. Two openings in the wall lead to what she could glimpse, the bathroom, bigger than her house. And another opening lead to a room darker.

Curious, she dropped her bag at the door and walked into the darkened room. As soon as she entered the room lit up, revealing rows of silk, chiffon and lace dresses, shoes in all hights, some covered in glitter and other edged with gold.

“This will be your room,” Michael said from behind her. Almost, just almost did she snark him with the line ‘Obviously this isn’t your room’ but instead she took a rather revealing silk dress between her fingertips, turning with a raised brow at him.

“Is this leftovers from your previous captives?”

“Bought specifically for you.”

“You were certain I’d come with you?” She asked walking to the island in the middle of the room, the top of the disk glass revealing all kinds of jewelry. She pulled open a drawer and raised her brown once more, scrunching her nose at the content.

“Yes,” he answered, leaning against the island with his hands in his pockets. There were an ease to the way he stood.

Oya hummed and pulled out a lace bra that was barely fabric tisking with her tongue. “I don’t know what you imagine but this,” she shook the bra in the air with a disgusted and slightly entertained look on her face. “Is not going to happen.”

“What do you assume would happen?” Langdons voice were thick and rich as dark chocolate.

“I assume that if you so much as try anything I’ll wrap my hands around your throat and squeeze until your breath leaves you.” Oya pushed him away from her backing further into the room and folded her hands behind her back. The coil in her stomach tightened.

“Does the thought of that excite you?” From the looks of it, it excited him, but she couldn’t deny the pulsing beneath her skin and the drumming in her chest. It was like dancing around a fire and at one point someone would feel the lick of the flames. The thought excited her more than she cared to admit and yet mistrust was a perfect restraint.

Michael hummed walking backwards towards the exit. “I’ll leave you to get used to your new surroundings.” With his presence the pull of his power followed out of the room, leaving an odd emptiness in its place. Lingering were a need but a quiet one that didn't reveal itself any further than a cold longing.

Oya smilled for herself with a look of mischief on her face. In her hand, hidden behind her back were one single strand of golden hair taken from Michaels jacket. With that she had something of his and a way of connection.

The strand was carefully placed in a colorful scarf and hidden in one of the many drawers. A secret to be explored later.

For now the exploration she’d do was of the house.

Much like Langdon himself the house were clean cut. There was nothing out of place, everything was a vast open space with the exception of a few rooms. The library on the second floor had three walls filled with books and an old antique chess board in the middle of the room.

It was a contrast to where she previously lived. No dried herbs and plants hanging from the ceiling, no collected trinkets and hexes lying around, no clutter at all. In fact every room was stripped of familiarities as if it were just a place you visited, a museum. Even Langdons own room she had peeked into looked much like her own and gave no evidence of who or what he was.

The only thing that stuck out was the only wooden door in the house made of dark oak and locked shut.

What surprised her was the greenhouse, a vast glasshouse in the form of a hexton. An addition to the house no doubt and for her she supposed. Langdon doesn’t seem like a person who’d spend time on his knees digging in the dirt to make something grow.

By the time she had finished exploring the world outside the windows had gone dark. The day ending rather quickly which meant that she were no longer in Korea.

“Smells delicious,” Langdon commented when he entered the first floor and took another deep breath.

Oya took the meat off the frying pan and put the pieces on the plate beside the salat. Langdon had made sure the kitchen was fully stocked and she couldn’t help herself but to try out the new stove, one that didn’t need wood.

“I assumed you’d prefer rare,” she said and handed him a plate. “Don’t expect this to become a habit.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

The two of them sat down across from one another each with a glass of wine to go with the meat. Oya’s mind reeled, trying to decipher the mystery of Michael Langdon. What exactly did she know of him? Only the perception and his name.

“Should we play a game?” She asked watching him intently.

“A game?”

“You know far more about me than I do you, I’d like to even out the score, even if just a little.” Langdon motioned with his hand for her to continue, intrigued by the sudden display of familiarity though he knew very well what she was after. Oya licked her lips before continuing. “I will ask you two questions and you will answer as close to the truth as whatever secrets you have will allow.”

“And what’s in it for me?” He mused at her again with a voice of velvet and silk. Following his movement with her eyes, Oya watched him take the glass of red wine and bring it to his lips. She looked away.

“For every second question you may ask me one of your own.”

“Very well, what is your first question?”

“Are you a trust fund kid?” She asked too quickly to formulate a proper question. It should rather have been ‘where do you get the money to afford such a place like this?’ And she winced at the stupidity of it.

“No,” Michael answered truthfully with a slight chuckle. His fingers tapped against the glass in rhythmic silent clinks.

“Where are we?”

“America.” This surprised her quite a bit. It’s one thing to move from one place to another in the blink of the eye but it’s something else entirely to move from one continent to another and with a binding spell no less.

The outside world was lit up by cold moonlight, silhouette of trees forming a sea just outside the windows. Not a single light in sight.

“Do you get excited when I’m near you?” Playfulness tugged at his features, head tilting in curiosity.

“Yes,” Oya answered truthfully with only a hint of annoyance in her voice. “I think there’s no soul out there that wouldn’t get excited by your presence and I think you already know this. You use your… beauty? Sensuality? as a weapon to both lure in and dominate. You know very well what effect you have on people, what weapon you hold against them. As much as it intrigues me I’m not about to fuck a knife, Mr. Langdon.”

“You’re very intuitive, Oya.” Michael laughed, his hair dancing in the air and smile reaching his eyes. They were both aware of one another and when one moved the other did too. It was a dance of souls, of words being said and meanings hinted. But as with all dance partners there had to be an honesty between them and for now honesty were only in bits and pieces. Michael was after all laced with secrets, many of which Oya guessed she’d never know. “Please, rather than calling me Mr. Langdon why don't you use my first name.”

“I’d rather not,” she said with a shrug. “That’d give us a form of intimacy I’m not sure I’m willing to give you. How did you find me, Mr. Langdon?”

“I suppose I’ve had glimpses of you throughout my life,” he began, eyes watching her closely. Oya shifted under his gaze, puzzled to the core by what that all meant. She’d been alive longer than he had by centuries and she had never in his lifetime ever set foot outside of her land, not even by astral projection.

And yet there was a tug at the corner of her mind.

“Eventually my curiosity got the best of me and I asked my father about you. You do make quite a legend. It didn’t take long through a locating spell to find out where you were exactly.” Something within the tone of his voice send shivers down her spine and when a invisible tendril of energy wrapped around her wrist, a trail of goosebumps rose over her skin.

The game made her heart drum violently against her ribs and adrenaline shoot through her veins, making her skin burn with warmth.

“Why are we out in the middle of nowhere?”

“Privacy.”

“So it’s not because you’re afraid that when my binding spell is broken that’d I’d accidentally unleash it on the world?”

“That’s three questions but I’ll answer you anyway.” How generous of you, she thought bitingly but kept it to herself. It was after all her own rules she broke and she was all to curious. “I like privacy, away from the rest of the world and your potential is far too big for me to risk anyone finding out about you through an...accident of yours.”

“Fair enough.”

“Did you feel lonely? Before you were bound.”

Oya licked her lips and rose from her seat, taking her empty plate with her to the sink. The question was loaded, it was much more than just ‘did you feel lonely’ it was filled with other questions, ‘did you feel shut out?’, ‘did you feel loved?’ and ‘what was your only wish?’. It felt like that. Heavy, a question containing many more questions and questions that seemed to be ones he himself might have experienced.

It was strange, indeed.

“Yes, any child of parents who do not want them would feel lonely.”

“But that is not all.”

“No.” She turned to him. He had come to stand beside her at the sink. She looked up at him, drawing in a breath that felt her lungs with spite. Spite was an motivator that could move mountains and one that she was familiar with in the sense that she wanted to punish her family for ignoring her, then using her and then stripping her to the bone.

“Power comes with a loneliness that can only be removed when you find someone who can look past it,” Langdon all but whispered to her.

“Have you found that someone?”

“I did.” There was a sadness in his eyes one that forced her thoughts to fall from her mouth in quiet words.

“I suppose loneliness is a constant battle until you find that someone. I never did, not before and especially not with my powers and not after.” It was like looking in a mirror, even if it was just a moment. She let her mistrust fall an inch, let her spite against him seize and her guard fall, because there was something recognizable.

“What’s in it for you, Michael Langdon?” The question had been asked before but just maybe by playing this game he’d be willing to show a flash of his cards that was kept closely to his person.

“A friend, maybe,” he mused.

Half truth, that was what it was. The moment of openness passed quickly and Langdon stepped back from her making the air between them cold.

“Thank you for dinner and the game but I fear I have work to do.”

Oya was left standing with the same emptiness she had when he left in the walk in closet. The game was meant to reveal more about him but for every question answered only more came up.

What was most revealing was a glimpse behind his mask of sensuality, a fragileness. And what frightened her the most was that she recognizes herself in him.

Michael Langdon was an enigma.

Salt was scattered in a fine ring around the freestanding tub and candles placed along the border of that ring, small yellow flames rising from the stem. In the water floated a mix of herbs, Bearberry for psychic awareness, Catnip for trance work, Blue Sage for meditation and Mugwort for scrying, along with a few drops of her potion mixture.

Oya sank into the bath, warmth embracing her in a calming way. For a moment she thanked the gods for the luxuries of Langdons house and in this instance for warm water she wasn’t forced to heat up by the stove or over the fire. Her raven black hair floated at the surface.

Musing a few words she held a long thin candle just above the water. The candle lit by itself, flame shooting up. The piece of Langdons hair was fed to the flame, letting it turn blue, this would help focus her vision.

Slowly she sank beneath the surface of the water, air held in her lungs and her face disappeared.

Her entire body with the exception of her hands beneath the water, she let her mind go.

At first there were only darkness surrounding her. Then slowly she felt water beneath her feet, her body appearing before her in an emptiness. In this place there were nothing, blackness all around her, water to her ankles, no light and yet she could see herself. It was a place out of time, out of form and she hated it. It scared her more than anything else.

And so she began to walk until shapes began to form around her, a sky red as blood, withered grass crunching beneath her feet rather than water, woods towering up around her.

A coldness crept up her spine and set her heart drumming rapidly against her rips. This place felt hollow and painful. Everything was blurred and no matter how hard she blinked the blurriness wouldn't go away.

A sudden bask of wings and crawking turned her eyes towards the sky. Black feathers against the red sky, crows circling around screeching things she couldn’t catch onto. There were a whisper of malevolence in the air.

Looking down again a boy with blond curls stood a few meters before her with his back turned to her presence.

“Hallo?” She called to him and finding her voice falling short. In an attempt to move she found her feet locked in place, cold fingers gripping at her legs, digging into her skin in a bruising manner. Half skeletons looked up at her with hollow eyes, hissing and screaming,

Oya fought panic ridden but found there was no way out of their grasp. Pain shot up through her body, tears stinging in her eyes, strangled sobbs tightening her cest.

“Help me!” She screamed to the boy and found him turned to her, now older and taller, blond locks in a mess around his head. Black eyes stared back at her and she screamed.

The crows broke through their circle with a screech, wings basking violently as they dived for her, sharp claws heading towards her soft skin. Again she looked at the boy and this time, his eyes were blue and filled with sorrow, filled with fear and confusion.

Gasping Oya broke through the surface of the water, the candle in her hand now suffocated by a wave of water. Her hands dug into the sides of the tub, holding her up as she coughed and coughed, mind trying to understand that it had broken out of that place and were now safe.

The stub of the candle were long forgotten, fallen into the abyss of the water.

Within her chest, her heart strained painfully, feeling empty and hollow. Tiredness clung to her, energy all used up from her spell, suffocated by the chains around her neck.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she kept repeating over and over trying to calm the jittering in her body, trying to connect her mind to the now. She had done this many times before but none of them had left her so confused. Usually there’d be more substance to understand, more to follow, but this… had been blurry and scattered.

Often you’d have to intrepid the meaning of the vision and it’d oftentimes be easy and a breeze to understand. But this, was strange.

The boy with blue eyes haunted her memory. It was Langdon yes but at the same time he felt different.

Leaving the tub she walked the counter in from of the mirror, leaning on it. Her hair stuck to her wet body, small streams and drops of water sliding down her body in uncontrolled patterns.

Looking at herself, her dark eyes studied the poutyness of her mouth, red rosepeadels blooming against sun kissed skin. She got her appearance from her mother, a beauty that seemed otherworldly and had caused her more than enough trouble at times. Her frame was slender and edged, breasts plump and perky in the change from warm to cool.

The dark tattoos stood out against her skin, wrapping around her neck, around her wrists and ankles.

With a hussed sigh she turned to observe her back over her shoulder. A large round mark was tattooed into her skin, symbols that bound her. If she didn’t know better her tattoos looked like jewelry, fine and perfect. But they held onto the part of her she desperately wanted to release.

Once she attempted to cover the tattoo on her back with two crows in flight but the spell wouldn’t allow such a thing and her curse burned through the tattoo, dismembering her birds.

Crows were her birds… and apparently Langdons birds too.

Maybe they were more similar that she wanted.

Looking down at her legs she noted the red lines that had been drawn over her skin, remnants of her vision. They wanted to tell her something, the skeletons but they were unable to do so. The crows were both a warning and for protection. But Langdon himself, he remained a question.

The darkness and malevolence were evident in him shown by his black eyes, but the blue ones, they were something else entirely. -And it was the blue ones she had seen so far.

#michael langdon #michael langdon fic #michael langdon imagine #ahs #ahs fic #obsidian & angelite

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classlesstulip · 5 years

Link

Just realized that I never posted a link here (either that, or it got ate by the Great Tumblr Tiddy Ban of 2018.) I’m not only including a link to the posting on my AO3 account but also posting it here below the cut. Enjoy!

Time Out

Lucio was not having a good day.

He had slept in to his usual noon. He would have slept in longer, if Mercedes and Melchior hadn’t decided that the best way to wake up their Daddy was to jump onto a very sensitive body part.

(It’s not their fault, they just wanted their morning cuddles.)

Then, he took his morning (afternoon) bath, just to learn one of the bath attendants had dropped his usual oil mix. After bathing in his second-favorite mixture, he found out that his sweet little pups had chewed through eight (EIGHT!) pairs of his boots.

(No, he cannot just get replacements. Ever since Drakar and Iriq got into that trade tiff, the pigment used by the designer to paint the bottoms of his boots is wrong. Candy Apple Red is not a good match for his Scarlet wardrobe!)

Next, after changing his outfit four times, was his breakfast. The Winegirl was sick, and her replacement was not nearly as fetching. Then, Noddy’s owl Chicken (or Chakra, or Chipotle or whatever the damned thing is called) decided that his hair would make for a wonderful nest.

After that shitshow, he went to pay his lovely Valerius a visit. Just to have the door slammed in his face. After getting a full glass of wine dashed in it. And yelled at. For no reason.

So here he is, having changed for a fifth time, and stomping his way down the hall.

(He Did Not like this coat. The color clashed horribly with his prosthetic. Either the coat goes, or he does!)

In the back of his mind, he vaguely recalled Noddy telling him that a representative from the Citadel was going to be in. Something about setting up a Vesuvian Chapter?

His trademark smirk appeared. Members of such a prestigious guild are well-known for their combat prowess in a number of disciplines. He’ll need to see about getting a duel. That will certainly put him in a better mood.

***

One quick stop to the Armory later, and Lucio was strutting his way to the Court Wing. If he remembers correctly, Noddy usually hosts merchant meetings on the Western Porch, overlooking the Hedge Maze.

Midway down the hallway running the length of the Wing, two white blurs dashed passed. The sound of excited yipping clued him in that the perps were his pups, but they bypassed him completely.

(He was quite miffed: anytime they see him, they are overcome with the Wiggles and are not satisfied until pet. He’s NEVER been bypassed!)

Walking thru the open door they dashed into, Lucio could see why they were so excited. His beautiful Noddy was sat, radiant as always. Across the tea table from her was a massive gentleman. Sitting, Lucio thinks he would be as tall (if not taller!) than the Scourge. He was relatively broad, but was built more for speed than strength. He was clad in the leather armor of a Journeyman Citadel member, the supple material clinging lovingly to a sculpted figure.

He gave the stranger a long once-over as he approached them, noting the blades and accoutrements. As he got closer, he could see just how well fitted the leather was.

(If he wins the duel, he will take great glee in peeling that thick material off a struggling, muscular body. He may be able to get Noddy to join!)

Once a few feet away, both turned to look as him. Briefly meeting his wife’s eyes and throwing a saucy smirk her way, he turned fully to their guest.

“So, you are the representative from the Citadel? I am Count Lucio.” He held out his hand to shake, pointedly ignoring the sigh and eye roll he got from Noddy.

Their guest spent a few moments evaluating him, a blank look on his face. The moments stretched into a full minute. Lucio kept his hand out, seeing the gesture (or lack thereof) for what it is: a power play. One that he intended to win. Noddy and Valerius say he has no patience, but this is untrue. He has plenty of it, he just doesn’t waste it on unnecessary things.

(He will allow that what he thinks should require patience and what those two think are different. Not his fault that he has his priorities in order and they don’t.)

His eyebrow flicked when his generous gesture was met with a sniff. His eye twitched when he was turned away from. His jaw clenched when their guest dismissed him utterly.

“As we were discussing, m’lady, the Citadel is looking to have a fully operational Hall in approximately five years. However, we ack-”

“How DARE you dismiss me in such a manner! Did you not hear me introduce myself? I am the Count Lucio of Vesuvia! Who do you think you are, to act in such an uncouth manner!”

Lucio was furious. One does not treat a man of his station in such a way. Even the ill-mannered peasants had more respect for him, and most couldn’t tell the difference between a dinner and a salad fork!

(Well, neither could he. But it’s the principle of the matter!)

He made to step further into their space. He could hear the dainty *clink* of Noddy setting down her teacup. Before he could complete his step, the guest abruptly stood up.

Lucio’s earlier estimate of the man was correct. Only a few inches shorter than the Scourge, and not nearly as broad. His build would be described as being ‘athletic’ over bulky, but he still had quite a bit of power to his frame. He was stunningly attractive. High cheekbones, a long sculpted nose, and large hooded eyes. Lucio’s eyes traveled his face, also taking note of the wide, generous mouth and the strong chin. He looked young, at most 25. A thick thatch of obsidian curls was pulled away from his face in a long braid. Lucio would be lying to himself if he said that he didn’t want to pin this guy. However, he makes it a point to only lay with brats, NOT disrespectful degenerates.

The tension was broken by the sound of scrabbling claws and happy yips. Trotting up the porch steps with a big stick held in between their jaws was a set of large dogs. Hanging from the stick in the center were his sighthounds, their smaller, juvenile frames wriggling in glee. Their hind legs were scrambling, entire backsides a blur from how fast their tails were going. Lucio could hear their happy yips, even as muffled by the stick as they were.

“Hey Mazel, Tov! You girls having fun?” The representative bent over, a large smile on his face as he vigorously rubbed the larger dogs heads. He devolved into ‘doggie talk’ as he rubbed, voice pitched high.

Looking closer, Lucio realized that this was a set of Principia Standing Hounds. Originally a wolf hybrid, these dogs were later crossbred with the Ovcharka Bear Dogs. Now, a fully grown specimen weighed more than most adult men, and stood taller on hind legs than an average adult woman. Thanks to their heritage, their coat wasn’t as long as a Bear Dog, and their legs were quite long.

Most had a mottled coloring, but the ones used by their war-bands had a very distinct pattern. The back was a black or deep brown, with their bellies, inner legs, and faces being a pale cream or white. They are called ‘Standing Hounds’ for the sole fact that they have a propensity for standing on their hind legs. Get a group of them standing, and any Principia can blend in with them.

(Ever since he was a child, he wanted one. Alas, Mama could never get her hands on one, as no self-respecting Principia would dare give one up.)

Both of these dogs had that coveted coloring. This man went from being a nuisance to a Big Deal. If he plays his cards right, he may be able to get a pup.

He stepped back, opening his mouth to start schmoozing.

“As I was saying, Countess, the Hall will be fully operational in about five years. The only issue is that some things that we’ll need are currently illegal in Vesuvia. As you can see, this presents a problem to what services we would be able to offer.” With one last rub to shaggy ears, the rep sat down. He lent over to give some belly rubs to Lucio’s own puppers before picking up his cup.

“Then we will give a special dispensation to allow the Citadel to buy and import the necessary items. After all, it wouldn’t do for you to function on a sub-par level.”

Both Noddy and the rep turned to face him. Noddy was giving him That Look, and the rep had raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

(He has no idea why Noddy is looking at him like that: he knows she also wants a piece of that. The rep on the other hand doesn’t know what he’s missing, but will soon be educated.)

Lucio pasted on his most handsome and charming grin. He shifted his stance a bit, putting most of his weight on his right foot, popping out his hip a bit. A minute twitch of his shoulders resettled his cloak. For the final touch, he flexed his chest and cocked his head, arms crossed.

“We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot.” He pointedly ignored the very unlady-like snort that emerged from Noddy. “Let’s start over: Welcome to Vesuvia! I am Count Lucio.” After this proclamation, he tossed his hair a bit, knowing that his spun locks were very eye-catching. “After you finish up with my Lady Wife, why not join me in further discussion in my quarters?”

He felt rightfully smug when the stranger raised both of his sharp brows at the offer. Even more so when he rested a chin upon a coiled fist, giving Lucio a slow once-over.

Looks like they’ll be doing more than discussing in his quarters tonight. Check and mate Noddy!

***

He sat pouting on his armchair, a snifter of brandy loosely clutched in his hand. His pups had curled at his feet, snuggled together after a long day of play with the two new dogs.

Nadia sat across from him, a smirk of glee on her lips. She didn’t even have the decency to hid it behind her wine glass.

“…I don’t like you right now,” he grumbled. Her smirk only got larger. He sat for a few moments more, glaring at the unlit fireplace. His brows furrowed more the longer he looked.

“At the rate you’re going, one would think that you were trying to light a flame from will alone.”

“Hmph.”

Nadia rolled her eyes. “Please, you cannot still be put off from the fact that your blatant invitation for sex was shrugged off.”

“Yes. Yes I am. I’m gorgeous. I’m charming. I have great battle prowess. AND! I’m quite humble.”

He most certainly did not appreciate the uncultured noise that emerged from his captive audience. He can be humble, dammit!

Noddy put down her wine glass, picking up the bottle on the side table to refill it. For a few moments, the only sounds to be heard were the gentle *glugs* of the wine and the soft breathing of the dogs.

“So,” she continued. “Did you ever think that he might not like dick?”

“Noddy! Such language!”

“Pfftt! As though you haven’t said worse as I worked your bratty ass over.”

“Be that as it may! Have you seen his hair? No heterosexual man can be bothered to keep such long hair looking so nice.”

“Oh, please. If you hadn’t gone off to pout after he rebuffed your advances, you would have learned that he’s a warlord. An undefeated one, going from the length of his curls and young appearance.”

Lucio would normally concede the point at this time. Noddy had a much firmer grasp of the other nations and their customs. He just refuses to believe that a fine specimen such as their guest doesn’t like a bit of man meat.

Absolutely! Refuses!

***

He should be crowing in victory. He was looking at undeniable proof that Mr. Citadel craved man-flesh! Lucio is just pissed that he doesn’t want his man-flesh.

(Preferably down his throat or in his backside.)

Leaning on the wall further down the hall, was Mr. Citadel. He was resting on his right shoulder, legs crossed at the ankles. He was facing away from Lucio, and had his hair free. The red ensemble he was wearing looked to be made from Drakarian silk, and was loose. It looked very similar to an Atreian toga, but not as thick or bulky. Nice and slinky, with slits going high up the hips.

(Drakarian silk was renowned for its lightness and drape. Lucio’s mouth started watering, seeing how the sheer fabric overlay strong muscles. It was so light, he bets you could get a nice shot of dick shadow/print thru the materials.)

He was talking to another person, one only a few inches shorter. Judging from the voice, another male. The uniform they were wearing was one that the Palace doctors and researchers wore.

He clenched his jaw as he saw their guest lift a hand, gently running the backs of long fingers over pale cheeks. He may have chipped a tooth when those same fingers buried themselves in thick auburn hair. He wanted to punch something when the shorter male gave a light laugh.

Before he could get closer, they disengaged. The doctor walked passed the other, a rosy blush on his cheeks and small smile on his lips.

One that disappeared quickly at the glare Lucio gave him. Picking up speed, the doctor turned the corner, leaving Lucio’s sight.

(Normally Lucio would be all over that. That uniform can’t hide those long legs completely. However, he had a more important piece of ass to nail.)

“You there.” He brandished a finger. “Your name. I want it.” So he knows what to growl as he cum’s later.

Mr. Citadel turned, proving Lucio’s theory about the fabric right. After appreciating the view, he met dark eyes squarely. “Unfortunately, I never received it yesterday.”

“The name’s Tiberius Principia.”

Well, there goes his hopes of getting a pup.

Lucio came to a stop next to the newly named Tiberius. Even with his heels, he still had to crane his neck.

“I must say, you and that other fellow seemed awfully familiar for this being your first visit to Vesuvia.” He got a feral grin for his question. One that made a delightful tingle run down his spine, and a fire light in his groin.

“Why my dear Count. Is that… jealousy I hear?” Tiberius snorted. “We met briefly a few years ago, during the Battle of Thunder Gorge. He was the medic that sewed my leg back together. Just wanted him to know that his fine stitch-work let me heal without a scar.”

That was the same battle that lost Lucio his arm. If he had had that medic…

“I must say, just where was this injury?”

He got a lusty baring of teeth, and a devious grin. Before Lucio could press on, Tiberius moved to the side the front split of the toga, high up and just under his groin. His hand ended up resting just over where his cock would rest, and turned his leg out.

Lucio wouldn’t complain about have such a nice view. Alas, he had no idea where the scar would be. He lifted a brow, a smirk caressing his lips.

“Ah, while I do not deny your claims, I cannot fathom just where such a dastardly scar would reside! Could you, perchance, point it out for me?”

(Oh yeah, Lucio. Get that ass, boy! He won’t be sleeping alone tonight!)

Thoughts of muscular legs thrown wide dancing about his head, Lucio was shocked back to reality when the hand holding the material aside started running up and down a smooth and toned inner thigh.

Once Tiberius knew he had Lucio’s attention, he pulled back his hand, letting the fabric fall. He didn’t miss seeing the pout he got for it. “I’ve promised the good doctor an…opportunity to get an up close look of the sight. If he wants to replicate the results, multiple examinations may be required.”

And with that remark and a jaunty wink, Tiberius turned and strode away, sandaled feet making nary a sound. This left Lucio alone to stir in his lusty thoughts, now more determined than ever to get that man into his bed.

(The view he was blessed with as Tiberius walked away made him feel marginally better.)

***

For the next week, Lucio did his best to make good to his word. He had a simple goal. And one would think that a simple goal needed only simple steps, completed in a simple manner.

That would be a fucking lie. It was anything but simple.

Tiberius was in constant meetings with his Noddy. Normally he had no compunction about interrupting them, but lately she started getting That Look every time he did. And, when he did catch Tiberius, he was on his way for another meeting with some official or other.

Normally he wouldn’t care so much. However, Valerius was still in a huff, and he didn’t want to get laughed out of Noddy’s quarters again.

He really needed to get laid. It’s been a week. His molars are floating!

(He is pointedly ignoring the fact that he was being obnoxious in his constant presence in regards to Tiberius.)

Lucio’s nasty attitude was not only obvious, but had set the entire Palace on edge. More so than usual when he is in one of his moods. The servants (such good, attentive servants) were going mad trying to contain him. Every meal consisted of his favorites: snacks and treats were readily available. His usual drinks were on tap, regardless of time of day.

Unfortunately, nothing helped. Even being presented his usual favorite…pets hadn’t brightened his day. He has sucked and fucked like a champion every night (and most days), but he still had a large ball of dissatisfaction burning a hole in his belly.

And all because some two-bit warlord from the Umbral mountains wouldn’t bend over!

(The only bright part was managing to corner that red headed doctor. Let’s see Tiberius try and tap that, knowing Lucio got there first!)

At the end of his rope, he stormed down the hall, making his way to Noddy’s bedchamber. She may not have anything to add, but sometimes spewing his innermost thoughts in her presence helps him think.

His heels clicked as he walked, trying to somewhat organize what was currently floating about in his head. He passed two giggling serving girls, hands to their mouths to smother their mirth.

(Hmmmm…smother…)

Approaching her door, he kicked it open. “NODDY! I NEED YOUR ASSISTANCE!”

No one can say he doesn’t know how to make an entrance. One can say that he doesn’t do astonishment very well.

Early in their marriage, Lucio and Nadia came to an agreement: sleep with who you will, but no. children. At least, no children with other people. And so far, it has worked well. Lucio is having fun plowing any and all, and he knows Noddy has had her flings. They still diddle each other, of course.

(Shivers still travel down his spine every time he remembers their last get-together.)

It still doesn’t mean he can’t be shocked. He called dibs!

“Noddy! How can you betray me so? You know I called it first!”

Lucio, while still shocked that his breathtaking Noddy got the jump on Tiberius first, will be honest and admit that they made a striking picture. They must have been out riding before, well, riding.

His Noddy’s suit was a mess, wrinkled and folded. The jacket and inner layers were completely undone, allowing her well-formed breast to bounce freely. Her riding pants and boots were off entirely, giving Tiberius’s cock easy access to her wet folds. They were sat in one overstuffed chair, Noddy on her knees with her thighs working to move her up and down the thick cock buried within her.

She was moaning loudly, Tiberius having wrapped his lips around one dark nipple. Lucio could see Tiberius’s large hands cupping her firm backside, helping her move. Upon a particularly loud suck, Nadia started trembling, her hands clawing on bare, muscular shoulders. A few more bounces atop the dick she sat on and she came with a sweet sigh. A loud, rolling growl accompanied her sounds, the hips below her pummeling up before grinding hard as a load was deposited inside her. The large hands on her ass pushed and pulled her a bit more, helping Tiberius draw out his orgasm.

Each grind caused an already sensitive Nadia to twitch, giving out a hitching sound. Eventually, Tiberius stopped, sucking his swollen lips to the fluttering pulse-point in the elegant neck below him.

“…really, Noddy? You can’t even be bothered to share?”

Both individuals tensed, before Nadia twisted around glaring. “Are we seriously having this conversation now, Lucio? Tch. It’s not my fault that your lack of personality kept you out of another’s bed.”

Tiberius snickered at Lucio’s offended ‘Noddy!’. He leaned back, enjoying the show. He grinned, not failing to notice that Lucio’s eyes were glued to his bare chest the entire time.

Lucio stood there, mouth agape and his hands hanging. “Nu-uh!” He pouted. He’s a delight, dammit!

“Really, Lucio?” Nadia arched a shapely brow. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? For thou hast no class.”

Tiberius hissed, a look of ‘oooooh, no’ crossing his face.

“I’ll have you know, dearest Wife, that quite a few in this Palace enjoy my presence! Both inside and out of the bedroom! Look at Valerius! He has such high standards, and I exceed them all!”

“Valerius is so drunk, he mistakes your cock for a bottle neck. Hence why he’s always eager to get on his knees.”

“And what of that stable boy? Hmmmmm? I never would have thought you needed additional ‘riding’ lessons?”

“Well, Lucio. You know what they say: a rider is only as good as their mount.”

Damn, Tiberius winced in sympathy. Way to kick a man when he’s down, Nadia.

“I grow tired of this insult match!” Lucio leaned on a leg, one arm crossed. He made to look at the clawed tips of his prosthetic, inspecting them for dirt. As nonchalant as he portrayed himself, he couldn’t hide the blush on his face or his reddened ears.

“Then by all means, leave us.”

With a dramatic swish of his cape, the beleaguered Count left.

***

A few days later found our Princely Playboy in one of the smaller courtyards, playing fetch with his pups. It was late in the evening, and the sun was setting. Dinner had ended not even an hour previous.

It was important to tucker-out the dogs, otherwise they would do their best to lick him awake (or worse) during the night. While he loves his dogs and would forgive them anything, he loves his sleep more.

(He throbs in remembered pain. One night after he acquired them, he learned the hard way how important it was to have them expend all their energy. They now know that Daddy does not keep the fetch stick in bed.)

After a few more tosses, he could see the drooping ears and low tails. He dropped to his knees, lavishing them with praise and pets.

Lucio walked up the steps into his quarters, debating what to do next. He grinned as he watched the pups try leaping onto the foot of his bed, paws unable to gain traction on the slick sheets. The young animals failed multiple times, causing him to snicker. It was only when they started whimpering that he helped. He bent over, each arm scooping up a dog. As he deposited them, he got a few doggy kisses. They settled down, curling upon each other before grooming themselves. He took a few moments to brush a few errant dog hairs off his coat.

Lucio turned out of his bedchamber, heading out to his sitting room. After he finished shutting the door, a loud and resounding CRACK! was heard. An instant later, something wrapped around his ankle, before tugging sharply. As his leg flew up, he fell backwards. He slapped his arms back, trying to absorb more of the impact of his fall to the floor and prevent his head from slamming into it.

Simultaneously, he rolled onto the side of his caught leg, swinging the free leg as a counterweight to his now being dragged. As he was pulled, Lucio dug his claw deep into the plush rug, creating long furrows. He tried to reach down with his other hand and unwrap his ankle. An extra sharp tug jerked him, and the dragging sped up. Teeth clenched, he looked up. His eyes widened when he saw his would-be assassin was Tiberius.

A Tiberius that had a wide, predatory grin on his face. Wrapped around his hands was the lead and handle to a long, thin whip. After another tug, he started pulling in the lead faster.

Knowing a challenge when he saw one, Lucio threw the other a bloodthirsty smirk. Cantilevering his free leg, he twisted to the other side. He flung both hands out, grabbing a heavy table leg. He jerked to a stop, hissing as the force from his actions pulled at the muscles under his arms. Biceps burning, he tried to pull himself over the table leg.

He let out another hiss, ankle burning as the lead pulled tighter. He stopped pulling, instead curling his free leg up. After ensuring he had a good grip, he reached his hand down, fingers twitching. If he’s fast enough…

Curling his hand, he pulled. A thin dagger was always kept in each boot, the sheath designed to allow a quick-draw. He slashed thru the taught leather, the stranglehold on his ankle releasing almost immediately. Not wanting to give Tiberius a chance to pounce, Lucio rolled, seeking cover behind the table proper.

Once sure of his cover, he grabbed the other dagger, prosthetic fingers fumbling slightly with their lack of fine dexterity. Each dagger now grasped firmly, he stood in a hunch, leaving only his head and shoulders above table level. Tiberius stood on the other side, also with daggers drawn.

Taking a chance, Lucio hurled himself over the table, using a chair to clear the tabletop. His hand shot out, twisting the blade for a backhand-strike. It met metal, screeching. He kicked out his opposite leg, aiming a kick to an unprotected armpit. A muscular arm locked around his thigh mid kick, before Tiberius spun hard.

Lucio’s stomach dropped at the force, before he was completely airborne. After a few moments of flying backwards thru the air, he landed on a couch. Using the energy of his bounce, he flipped himself over the back, just missing a singing blade. He danced backwards, fists up high. Lucio had just enough time to readjust his dagger grip before Tiberius met him again, this time going low for a kidney shot. Lucio brought both daggers down and then up in an x-formation, catching the others blade. Giving a hard and fast twist, he wrenched, sending the caught blade flying.

Tiberius made a fist, swinging down to hit a grinning mouth. Lucio moved out of the way, but not fast enough. Instead of getting the full force of a haymaker, he got clipped on the chin. His teeth snapped together, just missing clipping his tongue. He could feel skin split and saw stars.

(Tiberius was no Scourge, but he still hit with the power of a horse.)

Backing up and shaking his head, Lucio aimed a kick at an unprotected knee. He was foiled when Tiberius jumped, swinging up his legs to plant both feet in Lucio’s chest. The dual-kick landed, knocking the wind from Lucio. He landed on the floor, skidding.

Once coming to a stop on his back, he twisted to the side. Tiberius had jumped high, legs pulled up tight before shooting out in a jackknife as he landed in Lucio’s previous position. If his feet had connected, he would have collapsed the Counts chest.

Scrambling to his feet and disarmed, Lucio was grinning like a loon. It had been so long since he had an actual fight for his life. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the burn of battle, the heart-thumping adrenaline. He was breathing hard, eyes wide and fixed on his opponent.

Glancing around, Lucio spotted an overstuffed cushion. Ducking, he grabbed it. Tearing thru the fabric with his claw, he threw it at his opponents face. Using the billowing feathers as a distraction, he ran in, hooking his natural arm in a lariat. He used the momentum of his swing to ride up on a strong back, wrapping his legs around a thick set of hips.

Going to put Tiberius into a choke-hold, he grasped his hooked wrist. Before he could complete the motion, a large hand reached back, grabbing him by the scruff of his jacket. One hard yank later, and he was airborne once again.

Crash landing on a table, Lucio spun himself off. If he had been a few seconds too late, he would have paid dearly. As it was, he got a front row seat to a gloved fist punching thru solid oak.

Using the opportunity presented by a stuck Tiberius, Lucio swung his fist. He connected a kidney shot, relishing in the hard gasp he wrought. He next swung his clawed fist, but Tiberius moved to the side. Claw skidding uselessly along thick leather armor, Lucio hooked an ankle, trying to tug his opponent off balance. He nearly succeeded, had Tiberius not planted his free hand on the ruined table and flipped himself over it. In order to escape being ensnared by long legs, Lucio ducked out of the way.

Swinging his arms back and forth a few times, he brought his clenched fist up high. He turned sideways, trying to minimize his profile and thus target area. He widened his stance a bit more, before settling into a light crouch.

Tiberius did something similar, tossing his remaining blade to the side. Both predators stood, evaluating each other for a few moments before exploding into movement once again. Lucio came in low, leading with his natural arm. He faked a punch, instead wrapping his arms around a hard torso. He twisted to the right hard, trying to pivot the other. What should have been a throw, devolved into an awkward hug. Lucio had grossly underestimated how much the other weighed.

(If a 400 pound man decides he doesn’t want to be moved, he will not be moved, Newtonian physics be damned.)

Long arms wrapped around Lucio’s own waist, before he was ripped up and away. His vision spun, before refocusing on a quickly ascending ceiling. Before he could make sense on just why the ceiling was doing that, his back met a muscled front, followed by his upper back being slammed into the floor as Tiberius executed a textbook suplex.

Stunned, Lucio wilted. While trying to relearn how to breath, Tiberius took the chance to tie up his opponent. Pulling a length of cord from his belt, Tiberius got to work. In short order, he had the salacious Count tied up in a series of shibari knots.

Lucio had his arms bound in a box position behind his back, the length leading down to his hips. His legs were arraigned in a frog-tie, with the final length of cord traveling up his front to spiderweb over and around his shoulders, a loop going over the back of his neck. This forced him into a crouched position, balanced on his knees and upper chest/shoulders, face smashed to the side in the plush rug. The length of cord that tied his legs split at the apex of his presented ass, pulling tight over his trousers and framing his bulging arousal.

(Lucio was in heaven. Only his Noddy could ever fight him into submission. If he doesn’t get fucked hard, he’ll commit murder.)

“Well,” he breathed, chest heaving. “You have me where you want me. Aren’t you going to enjoy your spoils?” He moaned like the slut he is when a large and heavy hand slapped over a cheek.

“Keep your pants on *snort*. We’ll be joined shortly.” After finishing that sentence, a single knock was heard, before the door opened. Lucio could hear soft footsteps, along with the sounds of creaking canvas.

“I see you already have him in position. Tell me, was he his usual bratty self?”

“Ohhh Noddy!” The glee contained in that statement was palpable.

“Well, he certainly needs a spanking. Little bitch needs to learn his place.”

Lucio wiggled his hips, anticipation high in his blood. He could hear the heavy tread of boots walking away, stopping momentarily before returning. As they stopped, he could hear the *thunk* of something being set down. This was followed by a zipper being undone, and then a series of lighter *thunks*.

He moaned as hands returned to his buttocks, massaging. He moaned louder as he got a few swats, one hand rubbing down his clothed cleft to firmly cup and massage his cock and balls before being removed.

“Hey! Come back! What do you thi- oooohhh! ~”

Lucio was very familiar with the delightful sting of a riding crop. Noddy was a master of its use. Normally, the pain was much sharper, but the fine cloth of his trousers dulled the sensation somewhat. At each blow, he let out a loud groan, loving the feeling of being vulnerable at the behest of a superior predator. Each smack of the crop caused him to squirt out a little more precum. Soon, his smalls were clinging wetly to his groin.

Eventually, Nadia came to a stop. Breathing a bit heavier than normal, she adjusted her robe. Walking to stand beside Lucio, she lifted a heeled foot. Placing the balls of her foot firmly on his hip, Nadia gave a hard push. Lucio tilted, landing with a loud *whump*. Cocking her head, she looked over her husband before giving a decisive nod. “Tiberius, would you kindly move him to the couch?”

Tiberius strode over, fingers hooking into the ropes between the arms and the hips. Tugging hard, he lifted the bound Count easily, giving a little swing. He savored the hitch in Lucio’s breath as he did so. “Anywhere in particular?”

“Hm, on his knees, facing the back. Be sure to put a folded towel down, he likes to bite things, and I don’t need teeth marks embedded in the wood trim.”

Tiberius did as told, tossing some of the decorative cushions aside. He growled when Lucio started wriggling in earnest, trying to be difficult. Fisting golden locks, Tiberius yanked his head back.

“If you want to get dicked, stop moving and do as you’re told. Nadia and I have no problem leaving you like this all night.” After a few token grumbles and a pout, Lucio did as told.

“Thank you, Tiberius. Although, we seem to have a problem: he’s still clothed. Your knotwork is superb and I would hate for it to be undone just so we can strip him. It must have also taken considerable effort to properly bind his prosthetic…”

“Easily solved, m’lady.”

Lucio jolted when large hands slapped onto abused cheeks, before dragging to his hips. Strong fingers dug into his trouser waistband before giving a hard jerk. He groaned as he heard and felt the finely woven material part like butter under a hot knife.

The trousers parted down the center seam, a few sharp tugs helping. Once the rip reached the front, a large palm rubbed harshly against his still-clothed cock as they went to unbutton the pants. Moments after, Lucio gasped as those same fingers roughly slid between his underwear and his perineum, hooking into a fist and ripping the crotch out. A few hard smacks followed, pulling lusty grunts from his chest.

Behind him, Lucio could hear the sounds of shifting fabric along with the distinct metallic sound of buckles. He tried to cant his head back, but a fist to his hair stopped him. Pulling his head up, Lucio could see a disapproving topless Tiberius looking down on him. After shaking his head, Tiberius shoved a flat pillow under Lucio’s face before forcibly planting his blushing mug.

Lucio shook his head, trying to get comfortable. He opened his mouth, about to make a comment about keeping him waiting when a heavy weight planted itself on the small of his back. He wriggled his fingers, trying to feel what was on him. He got more smacks to his already flaming cheeks, before the same hands grasped and pulled them wide, exposing his hole for the room to see.

“Furniture is to be seen, not heard,” a deep voice growled out from above him. Lucio blushed hard, now realizing Tiberius was using him as a fucking chair. He wiggled his hips, biting his lips hard. His cock became harder, being used in such a degrading way doing so much for him.

Lucio, being who he is, just had to push the envelope. “Fuck yeah, sit on me Daddy.” He added a few more squirming motions, moaning when he could feel the underside of an erection get rubbed at the crest of his ass.

“AH!” For his impertinent actions, Lucio got a double-handed spank, before those same hands started soothing him. He let out several enthusiastic moans as thick oil-covered fingers ran up and down his cleft before one was shoved in fully without ceremony. The hand holding his cheeks spread traveled down, cupping his full sac roughly. Hard and heavy massage on just this side of pain followed.

The rough pumping of the finger buried deep within him, while nice, was not enough. Lucio wanted his legs quivering, breath hitching, and to be unable to keep his head up. He opened his mouth to start bitching when a second thick finger joined the fray, causing his eyes to roll back and to moan like a pro.

“That’s right, bitch. Don’t think I didn’t see you try to mouth off.” A third finger was shoved in, the pain and pleasure from the action causing Lucio’s cock to give a hard twitch. After a few pumps and brushes against his prostate, he came in a great gush, shouting. As he pulsed, he could feel long delicate fingers wrap around his cock, pumping hard and fast, fingers catching on his piercings. Soon, he was bucking hard into Nadia’s fist, the slippery cum from his release helping in her motions.

“Na-, Noddy!” Long after his release finished, she kept pumping him. It quickly became painful, his hips shaking as he moved into overstimulated territory. The piercing directly under his head received the most attention, each brush on it pulling whines from deep within his chest.

“Now look at what you did, Lucio. The servants won’t be able to get the stains out. How shameful.”

“I have to agree with you on that one, Nadia. And to think, for all of his bragging, he came quicker than a boy having his first tumble in the stable.”

Lucio flushed deep, the curl of humiliation dug deep into his belly. He licked his lips a few times, before opening his mouth.

“I, I- oh FUCK!” Before he could finish his sentence, the head of something thick and blunt pushed in. As it moved deeper, he could feel it flex and bulge oddly. The final clue that he got was the feel of a leather harness butting up against abused ass.

“There. That should keep him from doing more than just talking.”

His Noddy had brought out her strap-on, and was using his favorite attachment. While not too long, it was a tapered ball-dildo. The widest ball was at the base, with four other bulbs going up the length. Each bulb as it pushed in caused him to buck hard with a groan. By the time she had come to a complete stop, fully seated, he was a shaking mess.

“Pardon me, m’lady.”

Lucio could feel hands move below him, along with a length of something satiny. Moments later, he could feel something wind and twist around his semi-erect cock, from head to base. It was threaded delicately between his hardware before moving down, then being tied off. He could feel the ends of what had to be a ribbon brush his inner thighs.

“What a lovely gift. Thank you, Tiberius. The bow is a fine touch.”

After a bit of shifting, Lucio could feel his Noddy curl her elegant fingers into the ropes folding his ankles to his thighs. After pushing him back and forth gently a few times, she got to business. Each hard pull pushed the tip of her strap hard against Lucio’s sweet spot, wet and obscene sounds of the insertion and withdrawal of the toy providing a backing track. He groaned hard at each thrust, at times trying to wiggle his hips for more prostate stimulation.

Soon after, Tiberius started flexing his own hips back and forth. Using his perched position to his advantage, his rolling motions helped Nadia in her thrusting.

Lucio was a panting, growling mess. Being speared upon Nadia was always an experience, but being used as a fucking seat by Tiberius, feeling the flexing of his strong thighs and muscular ass propel him onto Noddy’s shaft was something altogether new. Soon, Tiberius’s motions set the pace. While hard, it was neither slow nor fast.

Soft, wet sounds soon became apparent, along with moist panting. A few moans could be heard as well, as Tiberius and Nadia attacked each others lips and mouths. A fight for domination of the kisses soon followed, with Tiberius tangling his fingers in Nadia’s loose hair. His rolling motions soon picked up speed, forcing a mewling Lucio onto Nadia’s shaft faster and harder. At the apex of each roll, Tiberius ground, trying to give more stimulation to his still-trapped erection.

Eventually, the thrusting and rolling became hard and fast enough to cause the couch to start walking across the rug. Lucio had bitten hard and deep into the pillow his face rested on, the fabric doing little to muffle his moans. On particularly hard thrusts, he let out an ecstatic shout.

Nadia was nearing the end of her endurance, growling lowly she upped her pace. The rubbing of her strapped dildo against her wet clit was finally getting to her. Her thrusting was becoming sloppy and unhinged, her hips losing pace. Ripping her lips from Tiberius’s, she let out a low cry, grinding her pelvis against Lucio’s red-hot cheeks. After a few more sloppy grinds, she stilled.

Slowly, she pulled out one bulb at a time. On quivering legs, she walked backwards, sitting heavily on the edge of a destroyed table. She leaned back, a shaking hand slowly undoing her harness buckles, pushing the leather contraption down. It met the floor with a heavy thunk, the high tinny-sound of the buckles jingling lightly. She debated pushing her robe off fully, but decided it was too much effort.

While Nadia was settling, Tiberius decided it was his turn. Dismounting a shaking and unfulfilled Lucio’s back, he rounded on the Count. Unlacing the high waist of his leather trousers, he pushed them down to the tops of his thighs. Reaching to the side, he picked up a discarded bottle of oil. Pouring a liberal amount over his swollen dick, he slicked up before slamming home.

“Hurgk!” Lucio was not expecting the harsh mounting, nor the fast and hard pace. After flying wide, his eyes drooped, back bowing low. Biting his lip hard, he moaned loud and low before popping his hips. He spread his knees, trying to get the thick dick now claiming his sloppy ass home to slide in deeper. Each hard thrust fucked a grunt out from his chest. A hand fisted in his hair, pulling harshly. The other curled in the knots surrounding his bound arms. He could feel a booted foot plant itself in the cushions of the couch seat, forcing cock deeper into his ruined hole.

“Fu~uu~uck…” each bounce that forced him up and down a hot shaft caused Lucio’s neglected cock to throb. “Oh shi~it! Fuck! Hard~er…!”

“Look at this cockslut, Nadia. Does he always beg so nicely?” Despite the calm tone, Tiberius was breathy from his hard work. He gave a particularly hard thrust, making sure to grind hard against an abused prostate. He sighed in pleasure to the wail he got in return, before returning to his initial pace.

“When you peg him right, he mewls like a bitch in heat. Numerous times he’s dropped to his hands and knees, ass up and begging for it when I bring out the crop.”

Lucio groaned at hearing Tiberius��s chuckle. Listening to Noddy air their dirty laundry caused him to clench, Tiberius bucking hard into him. The loud and sloppy squelching sounds of his used hole were becoming more frequent, and his heavy cock was dangling low, unable to expend its load.

After a few more thrust, Tiberius hooked his hands around Lucio’s chest, lifting him. Spinning, he sat, pulling a dazed Lucio down hard upon his dick. This pulled a moan from the other. Lucio was made to bounce hard and high, the hips now below him giving him no choice. Hands tangled at his hips, using the knotted material as handles in his lusty endeavor.

Eyes rolling, Lucio’s back bowed backwards at the new depths of his dicking. His cock slapped against his flexing abs, straining against the ribbon keeping him from completion.

“Just…fucking nut me already!” Lucio got a meaty smack to his cock and balls for his attitude, pulling a startled shout from him. He growled as the shirt and jacket he was still bound in was grabbed just under her collar. Pulling down, the buttons popped off, leaving a torn and warped mess. Lucio’s newly revealed nipples were grabbed and twisted hard, forcing his head to loll and eyes to cross.

He could feel soft hands smooth over his thighs, moving the torn pieces of his trousers away before pulling up his ruined underwear. A loose fist curled around him, give a few half-hearted strokes to a now painful erection. The hands currently at his hips moved, molding to his inner thighs before forcing them wide.

After a few short moments, He could feel why: the flap tip of a crop was being gently smacked on his cocks underside, in the area between cock and ball. It alternated between soft and gentle and firm with a snap. Regardless of what level of force was used, each time the crop met his flesh pulled a full-body jerk from him. Every jerk squeezed a trembling moan from the man currently buried balls-deep in his ass, and soon Tiberius’s thrust also became sloppy.

“Look at you, poor man. You look like your having a hard time.” The crop trailed up to a sensitive head, before delivering a hard flick to a metal bar. Lucio could hear gentle footsteps, unknowing of when he had closed his eyes. He could smell musk, before Nadia’s fingers grabbed his hair and forced his head back. Slick lips dragged over his chin, before a wet cunt made its home on his panting mouth. He cracked watery eyes open, seeing a smirking Nadia gazing down as him. “Be a good boy, and suck.”

After blinking, Lucio did as he was told. Curling his tongue and keeping eye contact, he pulled it up from between wet lips to swirl it around a swollen clit. Flattening his tongue, he laid it over her entrance before laving it up and down in broad strokes. Each upward pull brought it closer and closer to her clitoris, eventually covering it. He shook his head like a dog with a stick, before sucking his lips around it. After a few hard sucks, he returned back down. He lightly dipped his tongue into her core a few times, before returning to the flat licking he did earlier.

Nadia stood above him on quivering legs, hips rotating slowly. They twitched on particularly hard flicks of his tongue, releasing a little extra juice as she did so. Soon, one of her hands traveled up to play with her breasts, the other going back down to the locks trapped between her legs. Once secure, she started grinding hard against a talented mouth, reveling in the wet slurps of a talented pussy-eater. Soon, lips and tongue were working her clit over exclusively, moving quick.

Her second orgasm was quick and sudden, pulling a pleasured scream from her throat. Both of her hands locked in Lucio’s hair, pulling and tugging him every which where. During the whole event, his mouth kept moving and his tongue kept dancing. He moaned at the thick gush she produced, shaking at the combined sensation of her slick traveling down his chin and the pounding his ass was taking.

As she dismounted from his face, she lent down, pulling the bow at the base of his cock loose. Instantly, his dick started spewing cum, thick streams going up his stomach and chest. The thick pumping hand that wrapped around him pulled loud and lusty yells from his chest. Each spasm caused him to get tight around the dick still beating into him, and he could soon feel a throbbing shaft shooting thick and heavy warmth deep inside him.

“Oh FUCK yes! Fucking hell…”

After a long and hard orgasm, Lucio sagged, only being kept somewhat upright by his binds. The hand around his shaft had slowed its pumping, the large cum-covered palm moving to cover and massage his spent sac. The gentle squeezing caused Lucio to make full-body twitches, breath hitching loudly each time.

“Ple-, please stop! No more.”

The hand stopped. Looking to his side, Lucio could see Nadia slouching bonelessly on her side, her hand curled around the wrists of Tiberius’s cum-covered hand. Her lips were sucking each digit clean, savoring the emission like a fine dessert. Her eyes cracked open, focusing on his. Once sure she had his attention, she added more tongue to her show, licking a broad swath up the palm she held captive. At the apex, where palm and finger met, she sucked one slick digit into her mouth, plush lips locking tightly.

Lucio moaned at the show, trying to lean in and participate. His bindings kept him in place, pulling a whine of denial from high in his chest. After feeling some scrambling behind his back, there was a jerk, then his bonds slacking.

Before he could make do on his desire to lock lips with Noddy’s cum-covered ones, his face was forcibly turned in the opposite direction. A thick tongue forced itself between his lips, pulling a gasp from him. Soon, his tongue was engaged in lazy brushes and passes with another one, lips locked. He could feel the hand on his jaw move up, fingers digging into his hair. The kisses soon became open-mouthed and sloppy, both tongues licking up the leftover wet from Nadia. Someone moved Lucio’s legs from their folds, settling him into a more natural sitting position.

The motions reminded Lucio that he still sat on dick, the movements causing the buried shaft to reawaken. He raised his hands to brush along the face attached to his, being mindful of his claw. He panted into Tiberius’s mouth, feeling the minute flexing of the hips below him.

Lucio would normally be up for another round, but being worked so hard by two demanding tops would exhaust anyone. He whined, unable to verbalize his issues.

(One would never be able to get Lucio to admit that he also wasn’t as young as he used to be. A few years ago, he would have been saying ‘Next!’. Now though…)

“Don’t worry. Just lay back and think of Vesuvia.”

Before he could retort, Nadia had thrown her hips over his messy lap, sliding down a half-erect shaft. She curled her arms around the shoulders behind Lucio, burying his face in her breasts before grinding slowly. It was only the work of a few minutes before an overstimulated Lucio pushed up and in her, moaning softly as he released. He sat panting as she sat back, fingers lazily playing with her clitoris before he could feel her clench around him.

Lucio could feel Tiberius shift a bit, before large hands curled under the blonds thighs. Showing great strength, Tiberius pulled, raising Lucio’s thighs up whilst Nadia still sat on his cock.

Holding two people up, even just slightly was hard work, so Tiberius had to be quick. Planting his feet firmly on the floor, he worked his hips and abs. Minute thrusts and grinding were all he needed, Lucio doing his best to flex and help Tiberius to a final orgasm.

“Ummmmm…just…ohhhh that’s it…”

After a few more shallow thrusts into a clenched hole, Tiberius came with a purr. He let go of the thighs in his grasps abruptly, grunting loudly as the ass around him planted firmly into his lap.

They lay in a panting pile, unable to do more than quiver and tremble.

“So,” Tiberius panted. “Do I get that Writ of Royal Patronage now?” A clawed thumbs up was his answer, along with a breathy chuckle.

#the arcana #count lucio #nadia satrinava #tiberius principia #apprentice #fic: time out

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