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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 8 months

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Delicously dark! Aemond x OC (Snow falls, Chapter 16: Await our turn.

CONCEPT: You are Willa Wyldewoods, lady of Wyldecrest. After being denied your hand in marriage, Aemond murders your family and makes himself Lord of WyldeCrest, out-powering you. He claims you as his wife and spoils, He commands and goes over your home now and as you will learn right now: No one is safe under his reign. Not even you.

WARNINGS: Painplay, smut, rough sex, himulation, aemond being an asshole to his wife, dom/sub themes, cussing, torture, pleasure control and denial and other dark smuttish things but its consentual, spankings, choking, aemond getting off on willa/oc's pain and being a sadist, oc being a sub. NECROMANY AND MAJOR CHARACTER DEAD AS WELL AS LOSS OF A CHILD

You will never forget the day that you found out that your mother had died. It was snowing as always. Aemond was just a guest. You weren't married to him yet.

Until he took hold of the castle and everyone in it. You remember crying when he married you, and you remember mourning your parents. You felt alone and scared. The duties forced upon you were heavy. You were not only a wife now, you were to be a mother, a plaything and a whore to him as well. He was not gentle and kind, and the first few times hurt.

You wished you could have your mother to hold you. And here she is. Alive and well. She smiles at you, lowering the hood from her head. "It has been quite some time, Willa." She speaks your name as sweet as usual but you fear her.

You back away. What you are seeing can not be real. Your mother is dead. Aemond is dead. This must be a trick. Or worse... It has to be ungodly magic. "Aemond killed you." You mutter.

You do not understand. Aemond did not only kill her, Aemond cut her body into pieces and send it to your enemies. How she is standing right in front of you should not be possible. "Mother, I do not trust you."

The former lady of WyldeCrest grins. "I did not expect anything less. Let me explain a few things to you." She gestures to Aemond's dagger in your hand and to the bloodmoon above your heads.

"What do you know of my old family home?" You feel your face frown in confusion. What does her house have to do with any of this? Yet you anwser.

You heard stories that your mother was injured when she was young by a fire. Her family was killed. Your father took her into his house for shelter and the two of them fell in love. They had your brother Mychal, your brother Brand and finally later, you.

Your teeth are clenching as you speak. You do not like that she is avoiding the questions. "That it was in the riverlands. It was called the Beakers and the sigil is a seabass."

There is that scoffing smile again. But it is almost painful and breakable. "I see you remember the tales I told you." She sounds proud.

You are insulted that you think you would forget that. "Of course. You are my mother." At least you hope so. "Can you tell me the brief version?" Your mother smirks.

Your head is hurting. "All you need to know is that you are lady Willa WyldeWoods. But you are also part of my house. House DolkBurg." That does not explain enough to you.

It is not enough for you. "And the fact that my husband was dead and you were too?" You demand an answer. You grab her arm. You stop when there is blood on your fingers. From when you cut her.

She sighs. "I studied with a witch, as is common in my house. In Ashai. We learned forbidden magic. But all magic has a price. Only death can pay for life. I knew your father was dead. So I bonded his soul to mine. I lived, but Aemond thought he had killed me." She used your father as a weapon to survive.

There is one thing that sits uneasy. If only dead can pay for life; how come Aemond is alive? Who paid that price? And there is one other thing bothering you...

She did not come back for you. Not once. You feel tears sting. "Then... Who paid the price this time?" You eye Aemond uncertainly. It can't be you. You would have been dead by now.

She reaches out and touches your belly. "Your son did. I linked the two of them when I heard Aemond was dying. Your son withered away and saved his life." Withered away. As if he was a mere weed.

You glare as you bawl your fists. "Your son was going to die either way." She reassures you when you glare at her through tears. "He was going to be a stillborn. You are lucky he got cut out before you had to tell Aemond that his precious son had died. I am not sure he would've taken that well." She chuckles to herself, but you are silent. There is truth in that.

You see the truth now. Your mother is a witch. "It was you, wasn't it? Who saved my life all those years ago? When I was ill?" They called it a miracle. You know better now. It was dark magic.

She caresses your face. "Yes, my darling. I did." She speaks sweet as your sigil, but her eyes are full of warnings and threats.

There is another thing you don't understand. If she cared enough to keep you alive, why bring back the man that hurt you time after time? "Why did you revive Aemond?"

She sighs dramatically. "I like the idea of my daughter sitting that throne. The king is not bright. He is unloved, and tragedy is not done playing with them yet. Move at the right moment, and the throne will be yours."

"What if I don't want the throne?" She shrugs at your choice of words.

There is one last thing to be asked. "Who paid that price when I was sick?" You ask. "I died. Who saved my life?"

You already put two and two together, but you need to hear it from her lips. She grabs your face to manipulate you further into thinking that she loves you. "Your brother did." You just know whom she is referring to. Her own boy of four summers old died mysteriously the same winter you were born.

She killed your own brother. Her own flesh and blood. "You killed Mychal?" You can't believe it. He was only four summers old and innocent.

Your mother rolls her eyes whining a bit. "Do not look at me like that, Willa. I was raised differently. Men are incapable of carrying on our tradition. Therefore, we either must give them away or put them out of their misery." You think of Brand. Your other brother. Was she planning to kill him as well?

You let your tears fall. "I will never use this magic." You vow.

She sighs as if she pities you. "Willa, that is good because you can't use that magic. You were born during the northern full moon during a snowstorm. It clouded the bloodtree. Our sigil."

She takes two steps back. "Take good care of your husband, Willa." She vanishes yet again.

---- You slept terrible. Nightmares of the assassins haunted you. But also nightmares of Aemond and your stillborn son. Of Your mother and her dark magic.

When the first few rays of daylight shine, you sit up in the bed. Aemond is gone. Your first instinct is to panic, but you know he is safe and already up.

You get dressed, accepting that you won't be sleeping anymore. The door of your room is opened. You sit up straight and proper like a lady. Your husband enters.

You wish him a good morrow, but you notice there are new walls between the two of you now. His voice cuts through you as if it is a blade made of steel. "We are leaving." Leaving?

You shake your head, terrified of that thought. "Aemond, wait..." You rapidly get out of the bed and rush to him. You pull him into your arms and just feel his heartbeat. "It is early."

There is a dark smirk on his lips. A smirk you haven't missed at all. His hands reach for your ass squeezing it tightly beneath your gown. "O, I am well aware."He groans in your ear. "Grab a small bag. We are leaving this frozen shithole." You gawk insulted.

You can't bear the thought of leaving home. "No. We will talk about this." You promise him and yourself. "I am not your plaything. I am your wife. You will listen to me as well." You two made too much progress.

He chuckles, amused as he slowly steps forward. "I see how it is. One little act of kindness, and we are right back where we started with your training." Fear grows in your belly as well as excitement and wetness.

You force yourself to be brave and to glare at him. "Aemond, I understand that you are scared..." You try to see it from his point of view. He was attacked here. He died here. He lost his son here.

He growls before taking hold of your throat. He applies more pressure than usual. He wants to hurt you. "I am not scared!" Aemond raises his voice at you when you try to break free. He leans in and whispers in your ear. "You are. You always have been. I bet you never set foot outside these woods! You have no one left but me, little wife. You will obey me and follow my orders!" He is so angry that there is a bit of spit in your face.

You whine pathetically. "Aemond, you hurt me." You mutter, and you know it is no good.

He finally drops you as if you are something dirty. Something rotten. He clicks his fingers at you as if you are a dog that he tells to lay down. "Good. Bed. Now." He commands you, slightly narrowing his eyes when you do not obey right away.

You do not move an inch. Your mouth tells him something dangerous. Something disastrous. Aemond hates setbacks. Aemond hates disobedience. Aemond hates everything that might interrupt his perfect plotted plans. "No!" You speak. "You will not have me. You will sit down and we will talk about this as is the right and healthy thing to do!"

There is not a single muscle in his face that moves. No smirk is made. No smile is cracked. No eyes bat or blink. He just stares at you calmly. Without any emotion. "Undress." He says as if he did not hear your protests. He folds his hands on his back and waits for you to strip. He thinks you will do the right thing and yield.

Perhaps you can distract him. He was on the edge of dead. "You said you wanted to leave? Shouldn't I pack?" You ask him.

He pins you down on the bed. You struggle. You try to fight him off as he pins you on the matrass. He rips off his eyepatch and forces you to kiss his scarred socket. You whimper weak and terrified. "The only that you should be wrapping is my cock when your whore mouth takes it in." You struggle as he keeps pressing you down, bending your arms causing tears in your eyes.

He smiles and makes sure his erection is known to you. "You feel that, little wife? You feel my cock press against your little legs? You must be so fucking pleased. You are exactly where you want to be, aren't you? You want to get fucked. You want that little cunny sticky and dirty." He rips the gown open; revealing your breasts. Your nipples tell enough. You lower your head in shame and cover them.

He leans in closer to your breasts and takes both of your hands. He rips them from your breasts, exposing your nipples to him. He chuckles as he sees the effect he has on you. "My little sinful pet. Your cunt must be wet too. I think, I think I'll take a little look myself." You are wet. There is no denying that. You won't make this easy for him.

You are, however, pinned down easily, and your gown is ripped from under now, too. You feel the cold air from the window tickle your sensitive cunt. He leans in closer and closer until his lips leave a soft teasing and core shaking kiss. There is a weak sound leaving your mouth.

He is amused by you."Yes, I bet your little cunt just cries for gentleness. I haven't been gentle with you, have I now, pet?" You think of the fucking and the spanking. Gentle is not a word to describe him.

He grins at your anger and your pouting lips. He knows you are well stimulated and ready for his cock. He is waiting on purpose. "How does your master fuck you?" He whispers in your ear. "Show me. Show how beautiually you can obey me." You shiver at his requests. He begs for you in a way.

But you won't bow. He licks his lips, tasting your wetness as he moans."O, a silent pet. I like silent pets. Father used to discipline me when I was a child. You know what he told me when I once ripped a page in his old history book on accident?" He grins. "He told me that everyone has a breaking point."

Your legs are spread as you end up on your ass, legs in the air. Your legs are spread as wide as possible before he slowly blows hot air at your entrance. Your body likes that.

Aemond chuckles. "Keep them spread." He warns you with a soft slap on your cunny. You want to tear up in pain but instead keep obeying him like a good girl, keeping your arms wrapped around your legs.

He returns briefly. Your cunt clenches when you see your husband again. He holds an exciting new toy, a pair of handcuffs. But they are not for your hands. He clicks them with a smirk, causing you to flinch.

He smiles. He chains your feet together so you can't close them anymore. And your hands are next. He watches you intruged. "How does my little pet feel?" He asks, gently stroking your entrance, dipping just the top of his finger in. You feel your wet hot cunt swallow it eagerly and you fight every instinct to roll your hips to let him sink in deep. To statisify that need deep inside of you.

His finger makes little circles. "I am upset with you. Your defiance is disappointing. Especially since I granted you such a big reward..."

Your scoff is interrupted as he eases the finger down slowly stroking you, eagerly scrapping you out as if you are bottle of honey he can't wait to taste. He brings his soaked fingers to his thin lips and licks off your drips. You moan at the sight.

Aemond does not allow you to enjoy it for long. "Yield, little pet." He tells you instead.

You lower your head. He is pleased with your surrender. "Good girl. Do you accept me?" He asks, taking off his belt. He drops it before working on his pants. You start to pant and nod.

Your response is weak. "Y-yes, I accept you."

He laughs as if he has gone mad. "Good. But now I need to hear one last sentence." He rubs his cock. You watch in awe. You should be doing that. With your tongue. You should taste his precum and you should be the one to make him come.

You beg, once more. "I accept you, my master. Please fuck me." You beg. You are still angry. Of course you are. But you need him. He smiles. He has won.

He takes off his coat and his vest. You watch as his expensive clothing ends up on the floor. "I will fuck you. Close your eyes." He tells you. You wonder how he will do that, with you in that position. He takes hold of your chin and releases only when your eyelids are closed obediently.

You hear nothing but the silence. The wind blowing outside and your own breathing. Until you hear something rapidly being swinged and the sound of leather cracking on skin.

The pain is unrecognisable and humiliating.Your cunt hurts as if someone lit it on fire. "Ow!" Your eyes burst open as tears fall down your cheeks. Aemond has taken his belt and it howers over your cunt. He hits again and somehow seeing it happen makes the pain even worse.

Aemond grins when you sob in pain. "I never wanted to fuck you. You like that. You deserve to suffer." He tells you. "Now, my little pet. I have seen enough of this hell. You will pack a bag, because we will leave before sundown." He promises you when putting his clothing back on. He is going to leave you here. Like this.

"H-husband? Aemond? You forgot the cuffs." You remind him awkwardly. He smirks.

"Your maids can help you with that. I like the sight of your little cunt red and swollen and just begging for me."

He leaves with a heartless chuckle.

--- Bertha finds you. She has unchained you like you asked but she is clearly judging you. You tell her that Aemond wants to move back to King's Landing and that your heart tells you to remain here. "My lady, you should flee him. Just run." She tells you when you pack your favourite dresses for the journey. You also pack your stuffed little fox.

You dryly point to your sapphire eye tattoo. "Yes, because that went well the last time. Aemond will find me no matter where I go. He is determined and stubborn."

You watch as hope and light die. You are handed a familair blue leather covered book. "Your drawing book, my lady. You always were drawing." You haven't glanced at your drawings for years.

The first few pages are full of attempted foxes. It was the first animal you wanted to draw. The next page is full of hearts and stars and other shapes. You smile as you watch your artstyle improve and quickly browse the pages.

Until you see it. Your smile dies. The final page of the book resembles a terrifying drawing. You try to make sense of it as you sit down watching the book. You see a large bloodred tree. You never saw it before. But you know that is your mother's sigil.

You ignore it for now slapping it shut. You shelf the book. "I don't need my drawings in King's Landing." You at least hope so. The drawings are not good enough to even ask stones for.

-- Aemond waits for you by the carriage that evening. You have a bag with you and wear your favourite fox coat. He opens the carriage for you and helps you in. He follows inside himself. Guards escort the carriage. The carriage is an old heirloom from your family.

Your husband either does not know, does not care, or has no desire to wait for a Targaryen carriage to arrive.

You put your bag by your feet and sit down on the cold fabric of the carriage. Aemond sits on the other bench. "I asked Bertha to keep an eye at the house." Aemond tells you. "A few guards will remain here as well. We don't want that whore to take this hell." You know he refers to his sister. The Queen Rhaenyra.

It is odd. The assassins said she was behind this. They said it themselves. But you have the feeling, based on what your father told you about her grace that she would never even entertain such a horrible thought to kill a child.

That is more Aemond's style. But you know he wanted heirs. He can't shut up about it whenever you two fuck. He boasts about impregnating you as if you are his little pet and fucking you until you birth him seven sons, for every kingdom a son.

You saw his surprise. You saw him bleed and die. There is no way he could have planned that.

Or could he?

He breaks from a lusty stare at your breasts. He puts his legs up, and with just his knee, he stimulates you through your clothing. He winks and pats his knee. "I am glad she finally has learned some manners. Now, will you show me what you learned, or do you like the spankings?" You are still wet with desire. You know he can make you feel delirious with lust.

Your cheeks burn with shame and desire. You want to crawl on his leg and feel that knee fuck you through your clothes. You want to feel him softly slap and spank your ass. "It's alright to admit it, my little pet. Just tell me that you love my spankings, and I am more than happy to spank you." You won't make this easy.

You think of how he spanked. How hard he smacked you with a belt. "You already spanked me." You remind him with a eyeroll.

That was a mistake. Aemond's good eye narrows in displeasure. "Ah, she talks." He smirks slyly and victorious. "I thought I married a mute for a moment there." The mute and the half blind. You would make a lovely couple.

Another silence follows. The carriage ride is unpleasant and uncomfortable. Aemond uses this time to make up for what you refuse to do in the morning. He oggles you as if he is a little boy with his hands in the sweets he can't wait to taste. You look at your hands and refuse to pay him any mind.

Hours later, Aemond suddenly sits up and watches you as you play with your necklace. You are nervous from his gawking. "I bet you never been this far from home before. Have you?" He asks.

You are surprised by that. Why does he even care? You shake your head, letting go of your necklace. "No, I have not."

He eyes the window. "Hm. What do you think of the view?" What is there to think of? You passed hundreds of little villages and countless trees. They will never be home. The air, the clouds even the way the carriage rocks is different than WyldeCrest.

You do not respond. He growls. "Shall I tell you what you think?" You like to see him try. He does not understand anything about you.

You scoff. Let's see him try "You are welcome to try."

Aemond looks out the windo, judging the better clothing of the people that have come out to see what is happening. "You think: This is far more civilised than my own home. You worry you will stand out. You will stand out. We are from different kingdoms, you and I." You do your best to not sigh scoff or roll your eyes.

He smiles at that. "But, if you keep being a good pet and shut up that little mouth of yours, I might be able to sell the story to my family that I finally tamed you." He says. You will not be paraded around as his pet.

He notices your displeasure. He reads you as if you are a book. He sinks back on the bench and pushes his crotch up a bit before slowly unlacing his trousers. You gulp.

You watch anxiously as if a monster can come out any moment now. "I am a little bored. We have hours left. I think I have a fun little task for you to keep you occupied." You once were innocent but not anymore. You know what he thinks of.

You grab a book from your bag and show him the cover. The pirate princess. "I brought a book for me to read." You tell him excitedly. Aemond takes the book from you, pretends to read it, and throws it out of the window. You yelp, staring at your beloved book as it lands within your reach.

You open the door. "My book! Please get me my book!" You beg the guard riding close to the carriage. "Please, it's a heirloom." The only thing left from your grandmother.

Aemond chuckles amused as you panic and start crying as a little helpless girl. "You are begging the wrong man for your book." Him. You should beg him. You would rather not, but you want your book.

What is more important: reminding him angry you are from moving or getting your book back?

You swallow your pride and fears and beg him. "Please, husband, return me my book. Please." You beg pathetic just as he likes. Aemond clicks his tongue and points to his feet. You sink off the bench, begging at his feet. "Please, my good sweet master. Return my book to me."

His voice is heavy with lust and arousal as he smirks, slowly unbuttoning your vest so he can see your breasts poke through your gown. "What do I get in exchange?"

You have nothing left for him to take. "My gratitude and a kiss?" You ask.

He scoffs, getting in your face with his own. Your nose is pressed against his as he forces his lips on your left ear. He hisses. "I am Prince Aemond of house Targaryen. Do you think that will statisify me?" No.

It was all the ideas you had. "No." You admit, hanging your head, eyes stinging with little tears. You avoid looking at him when the tears roll. You know it's stupid, but for a while, that book was your only friend. And he threw it out as if it was nothing.

He sighs. "I would act quick if I were you. You can pick up your little book, and when you get here, I will collect what you owe me." He tells the guards to stop the carriage, and they obey him.

You rush out of the carriage, jumping out and running down the road following the traces of the carriage to find your beloved book.

You find the book near a river. It is not soaked, but there is sand on the cover. You whipe the cover clean before rushing back to the carriage. You quietly wonder as you approach if Aemond is that cruel to tell his horses to speed it up so you end up running behind him.

You don't see him near the guards near the carriage. Your heart sinks. Until you spot him lecturing a guard. The guard seems embarrassed as Aemond grabs him by the throat. You overhear just a little bit, but it's enough to understand. "Do not fucking dare to aim your pathetic crossbow at her, unless you want to have it showed down your throat, you scum." He warns the guard.

The guard is quick to nod and even drops his crossbow. He trembles. You remind your husband you are back. "My prince. Shall we continue our journey? Surely your time is better invested elsewhere?"

Aemond chuckles as if you challenged him. You quickly mutter. "His commander should discipline him. You are above him." He nods as if approving that. He sees the book in your hand. You clutch it tightly.

He smirks, scoffing. "Ah. The little book that is worth so much trouble." He says. His brow briefly twists with confusion before rising slightly above his socket. He rereads the title and the author. "I think I know this one." He says, finally.

You hand it over. "You do? You read?" You ask, surprised. You know he can read. But you did not know that it was a hobby of him.

He flips the pages and eagerly reads the words. "Of course. Reading is combat training for the mind, little fox." He stops reading halfway in the book, and a small sly smirk grows on his lips.

You remember reading the book when you were little but also when you were a woman grown. You remember the tingles your belly made when reading how the pirate and the princess finally made love.

Judging his smirk, he is reading that right now. You worry what he'll think of it. He must think you are improper and a slut.

You receive a soft spanking on your behind, causing you to yelp as Aemond grabs you. Guards respectfully turn their heads away, granting you as much peace and privacy as you are going to get.

He leans in before kissing your mouth, muttering something in your ear. "O, you dirty minded little thing." It is an insult, but you feel praised and loved.

You blink. "What are you talking about, husband?" You act as if you do not know. Aemond sees your shaking legs and your trembling hands. He notices the change in your voice and the way you play with your necklace, avoiding his eye.

Aemond chuckles. "There's profanity in here. Quite the inappropriate reading material for any lady, especially highborn ones. I will think about this."

You find it unfair. He gets to fuck with any woman he wants and you are punished for reading a book. "We'll talk in the carriage, little pet." He warns before forcing you in. You hang your head and obey sitting down as Aemond holds the book.

He pats his leg. You sit down on his lap as he holds you close, sighting deeply. "My naughty little pet. You keep surprising me." That does not sound good.

He is going to throw it out. "Please don't throw it out, Aemond. This book is maybe sinful and against what you want for me, but I am quite attached to the story." You beg him.

Your fox coat is pushed off your shoulders. He takes off your necklace, too. He makes sure you sit comfortable before rubbing your back. "Did it make your tummy tingle when you first read it? Was this the first time you felt as a woman?" He groans darkly in your ear.

Your mouth opens, but you hold back the whimpers. He wants to know about the first time you enjoyed the book more than you should have. You nervously touch your dress, pulling a loose treat. "As a woman? You confuse me, husband.' You lie smoothly.

He knows you are lying and avoiding his question. "Let me simplify: Did this little book make your little cunny wet for the first time?" He sings softly in your ear, enchanting you and turning your mind to dust with every single tune.

You do not dare admit it out loud but nod with an ashamed red blush on both your cheeks. He likes hearing that. "Describe that experience to me."

You bite down on your lip. "It was confusing and scary at first. But it felt good..." Your voice is soft as a whisper. You doubt he even heard it.

He rubs your knees to comfort you. "Yes, it usually is, isn't it? Tell me, when you picked up the book, did you know you would stumble upon that filth?" You would never even dare to look at books that improper.

You often blushed and felt uncomfortable as your Septa prepared you for marriage life by telling you patiently what a man does with his wife on his wedding night. She did not prepare you for Aemond in the slightest.

You shake off that memory. "N-no, it was a surprise, and It shocked me, husband. I hoped they would marry first and perhaps defeat their foes and live happily ever after." You confess. You feel foolish right after that confession. He must think you are not only lusty but also stupid.

Aemond smirks. "Tell me, did you know what a cock was when it was described to you?" He firmly rubs your back. "Did you learn another word for it?"

You wish. Your father used that word a lot to insult man who would not listen."No, husband. My father had a..foul mouth. I am afraid I know more improper words than a sailor." You admit softly.

You expect him to lecture you but instead he laughs at that. You allow yourself to smile as well. He becomes serious again. "Did the pirate ever disciplined his princess?" He wonders.

You think he did not. Not once. Not ever. Not the way Aemond disciplines you. "Why would he, husband? He is her true love." You say. "He loves her too much to hurt her."

You want to say something else, but Aemond silences you as he leaves a trail of kisses on your neck. You shiver. He sucks on your collarbone before leaving a bit of possessive little kisses. "Oh, little pet. So deliciously naive." He moans.

You nod but stop that the moment he possessively bites in your neck, leaving a mark. You whimper and moan at the same time. You like the pain but love the pleasure.

Your husband makes sure you understand why he disciplines you."Sometimes we don't discipline people because we hate them, sometimes we discipline them because we love them." He gives you a lot to think about.

Your husband leans back and pulls you on top of him before gently tapping your nose. "Now, my little pet. Your master wants his promised reward for giving you your book back."

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amatres · 1 year

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got tagged by @demandthedoodles, thank you! I only filled out Surana for now because I think way too hard and also little on these sort of things and I couldn't do this for all three of my mage girls off the top of my head lol.

I switched between stuff that's her favorites and what represents her because I wasn't quite sure what I was doing :') still I hope it makes sense lol.

putting it under the cut because it's... too long

Unusual OC Associations: Surana Edition

Seasoning: Tragically as someone who grew up in the tower, which definitely doesn't feed the mages more than easy to mass produce food, lived in the middle of Ferelden, and never left Ferelden before she died, she doesn't know anything about spices and probably doesn't have that great a tolerance for them. One more crime the Chantry has done unto Thedas; deny mages knowledge of seasonings.

Weather: Rain and Snow. She never got to interact with it in the tower, so she took every chance to savor it, much to the occasional set back to the group. Especially loved thunder storms, and had to be held back at least once from cast her own lightning during one.

Colour: She likes anything not blue. I associate her a lot with the color yellow.

Sky: She likes watching the sky change at sunset or sunrise, again because she never really got to see it so clearly without having to strain her neck to look up at the windows.

Magic power: Out of the magic she can cast, her favorite is probably shapeshifting. It's old magic, she gets to be sneaky, gives her more freedom to escape from situations, and also she got to spend a lot of time with Morrigan to learn it.

House plant: Herbs for her potions. Don't get me wrong, she's happy to see nature, plants just aren't something that hold her attention much.

Weapon: A dagger, because it's easy to hide, and Zevran and Leliana were nice enough to teach her how to fight with them before she got her Arcane Warrior specialization. Always good to be able to defend yourself without magic when you encounter a Templar.

Subject: History in a broad sense, she doesn't find much interest in war, but studying cultural and religious history is interesting to her. She was very excited to find the Temple of Sacred Ashes, sorry Sten, she totally dragged you guys there just because she wanted to see it, not to heal Arl Eamon. Entropy Magic and Spirit Magic, she's the origins version of a necromancer and she enjoyed studying it. Poisons, and was very excited at Zevran's offer to describe the effects of poisons to her.

Social media: Surana, even in a modern setting, has the inner peace granted only to those who never have a social media account.

Make-up product: Face cleanser and moisturizer, if that counts lol.

Candy: She never got to try them, but I imagine she would have loved any numerous types of candies from Orlais Leliana would have given her.

Fear: Being confined with no way out.

Ice cube shape: Crushed.

Method of long distance travel: Flying as a bird.

Art style: Baroque and Rococo. She can't escape the chantry church aesthetic, but she would have had fun with the elaborate styles of Orlais with Leliana had she lived to see it.

Mythological creature: Very standard option but a ghost, both because her grief haunts her until it leads to her own death, and also because her death haunts many different characters after she is gone.

Piece of stationery: The little journal she was given shortly after being conscripted by Duncan. She wrote down much of her experience and thoughts during the Fifth Blight there, and Leliana kept it after Surana passed away.

3 emojis: 💀💍🔮

Celestial body: Sagittarius, for the zodiac symbolism. They're known for being curious and crave freedom, which suits her well.

#surana (oc)#amas ocs #long post #tag game

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missinghan · 4 years

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「 what am I // stray kids 」

❖ genre : sci-fi; superpower au; platonic relationship au

❖ word count : 3,9k (bullet points only)

❖ warning : explicit language, most likely ain’t scientifically true at all

❖ summary : superpowers manifest in certain individuals once they hit puberty and naturally, those odd abilities will vanish as soon as adulthood occurs; but how will those teenagers protect themselves from the curiosity of science?

❖ a/n : this isn’t a proper fic since I don’t think I’ll actually write smth decent out of this but I don’t want the idea to rot inside my dungeon either- so yea, bear with me through this character intro post(?)

— bang chan ↠ locating ability-wielders & teleportation

· sometimes when he’s running errands for his parents, chan can feel a distinct ‘zing’ ins his bones if someone else with unusual abilities is nearby and can describe their power perfectly to the t; he ignores it at first but learns to make do with it eventually; can teleport another person with him and also needs to calculate carefully before teleporting because he once ends up in the middle of a freeway instead of school resulting from lack of sleep.

· looks intimidating but is the first to talk to a new kid in class and show them around as he’s president of the school’s student council; smiles and laughs a lot once you get to know him, and is also very caring, reliable.

· he wishes to apply for a music production company after his college graduation but his family turned the idea down almost immediately and sent him to a boarding school in Europe.

· chan starts taking notice in strange things at his new school after the first few weeks; for example: how they unreasonably force students to have a daily health checkup, how their food taste like medicine most of the times, teachers don’t really seem to care about what they’re teaching and some of his classmates mysteriously ‘move away’ whenever security shows up at their dorm in the middle of the night.

· after finding out where they actually are via photos of students being locked up inside cells, arms and legs chained up like domestic animals, injected with odd substances on a daily basis which were taken by an anonymous individual, chan secretly packs his stuff and decides to ditch this so-called boarding school for good.

· he works hard to hide his identity ensuing flying back to his hometown for a solid three weeks and the fact that there are more people cursed with supernatural abilities begins dawning onto him; cutting off contact with his family completely, moving from one crusty apartment to another every month, chan tackles this crazy idea of assembling a group consisted of extraordinary people to give him a hand with creating a safe environment for the ‘gifted’ youths.

— lee minho ↠ collapse

· law major, quite the loner, raised by a single mother; didn’t have much since little but his mother’s love and affection make up for everything.

· looks intimidating, is actually intimidating; the only person he talks to in college is his dance coach, doesn’t like school nor has many friends; his slightest glare is as cold as a wife trying to win custody of her children in court.

· minho can make his surroundings crumble and fall apart with his mind, which shouldn’t be confused with telekinesis since he can’t physically move objects to his will; this deadly power is triggered whenever he’s experiencing extremely negative emotions like fear or anguish and he’s not (still isn’t) very good at getting a hold of it.

· a group of suspicious men shows up at his house one day as he returns home from dance practice; they claim to be an agency looking for up and coming talents but by the way that his mother is staring at the ground nervously with her legs trembling, his institution tells him that something’s off.

· he firmly declines their offer with a stiff “I’m uncertain that I’m the talent you gentlemen are looking for, but you should know that when the cops are here to fill out their reports, I’m gonna be very helpful, as helpful as possible.”

· “what other random merry of fucking misdemeanors are going to pop up once they go through your records? domestic violence? illegal substances and weapons possession? human trafficking?”

· with a gun to her head, his mom scrambles to her knees and begs him to go with them, admitting that she’s already signed the contract; if he follows their orders and agrees to become an experimental subject, she won’t have to worry about any financial problems for the rest of her life.

· in the heat of the moment, they ultimately force him to activate his power for the very first time; as a result, his house collapses, the death of his only family and the group of men following suit.

· “I’m too late.”

· chan manages to find minho under the aftermath, severely injured and is hanging by a string of life so fragile that can only be saved after undergoing a twelve-hour operation at the hospital.

— seo changbin ↠ sound waves manipulation

· a good student, reputable within his social sphere at school, and comes from a pretty well-off family.

· changbin is able to bend and control sound waves to his advantage; whether it’s simply for his musical instruments or moving objects around, he can also use something as minor as his own heartbeat when he’s emotionally unstable; using the ability continuously for too long can give him severe migraines and potentially damage his brain to a degree if he’s not mindful of it.

· he stays up late at night to write and produce his own songs, keeping it a secret from his parents; posts his own songs on a SoundCloud account, or performs even live at a random underground club under the alias SpearB if he has the chance to.

· an organization full of outlaw scientists comes across a video of his performance on the web, analyzing how he can enhance the beat, his vocal cords without the help of any form of technology, and just like that, he easily tops the list of their targets.

· having no choice but to do what they want when those men hold his parents hostage inside his family’s mansion, changbin gets sent to the same boarding school as chan but they’re being observed in different buildings for his power is on the more useful and dangerous side; hence, his classes consist of a smaller amount of students and they are put through checkups more constantly.

· he doesn’t really pay attention to the skepticisms that reek off all over the place as he’s too busy being homesick and studying because he fully believes that the harder he works, the more obediently he acts, the sooner they’ll let him go; all hell breaks loose when those photos are scattered everywhere, from the hallways to the bathrooms; changbin takes advantage in the riot to get himself out of there as quickly as he can possibly run to the airport.

· changbin swears to never trust anyone again until chan and minho find him sleeping inside an abandoned grocery store with a pistol inside his sleeping bag, two daggers concealed in his sleeves at all times.

· “are we seriously going to contain some headass who was this close to blowing my brain out of my head?”

· “huh, funny, last time I checked, you almost smothered me to death under a gigantic block of cement when I was trying to save your life.”

· “who are you guys and how the hell did you get in here? I don’t recall not locking the door.”

— hwang hyunjin ↠ permeation & memory manipulation

· a true theater kid, meaning he knows almost everyone but every single student at school knows him; naturally, becomes the Prince after playing one too many male lead roles because of his godly features; rather well-mannered and diligent though he doesn’t look like it.

· mistaken to be a player by every new batch of freshmen that only ever gets to watch him practicing his lines from afar, swooning tremendously whenever he ties up his hair; always carries a camera around, doesn’t like to have too many friends but if you get close enough, he’s probably the most fun to be around, won’t ever judge your questionable life choices.

· hyunjin’s ability allows him to walk right through walls as well as any other solid matters but it will drain his stamina painstakingly, causing him to run short on breaths after using his power to change his costumes faster between scenes; the thicker the wall is, the more strength it takes for him to pass through completely.

· he can also erase a certain chunk of memory from someone’s mind but he needs to physically touch them; has only used this ability one time to wipe his existence out of a childhood best friend’s mind before moving away from his hometown.

· his interest in photography sparks the moment his uncle comes back from a business trip and gives him a toy camera, it’s nowhere near the real ones but the ten-year-old hwang hyunjin sure takes it very, very seriously; after a decade or so, he has replaced it with cameras that actually work and developed quite the talent for taking photos of sceneries and people (jisung is his number one victim but he can’t care less as long as he looks decent and that hyunjin won’t save any crack ones to blackmail him).

· suddenly gets a sketchy summer scholarship to a boarding school in London (the same so-called school that Chan and Changbin went to), his mom encourages him to go after looking it up on the internet without knowing the chances of her own son being exploited for twisted science is shockingly high.

· and the culprit who takes those photos during a wandering around school after curfew is none other than hyunjin himself; he knows damn well posting those photos means getting himself into trouble but heck, his conscience forbids him to leave this hell-on-earth place without alerting these innocent people.

· so the night before those photos are spread everywhere, in every corner, every edge of the building, hyunjin smashes his camera completely with a baseball bat and burns the broken bits in the school backyard; he tries getting through those sleep-deprived men in their fifties who aren’t likely paid enough with his ability and flees.

· surprisingly, he comes rushing into his best friend’s house right after his horrendous flights only to find him being surrounded by three mysterious men.

— han jisung ↠ plunder

· the jokester of the class, takes great joy in stressing the living daylights out of his professors with irrational questions that aren’t necessarily relevant to the lesson, procrastinates, and sleeps through lessons like there’s no tomorrow but still keeps that shiny ‘A’ on his report card nonetheless.

· being friends with hyunjin results in occasional admirers here and there for him but he does kinda have his own fandom base after being pulled upstage out of the blue in the middle of last year’s spring music festival, musing him an opportunity to show off his rapping skills; because of that event, he takes writing music more seriously with the stage name J.One.

· if jisung is being honest, he hardly uses his power since it’s basically taking over anyone’s body and mind for a maximum of five seconds meanwhile his own body is immobile; and if any physical effects occur (for example, a basketball hits him on the head spontaneously), he’s obligated to endure that pain for that person until they become conscious of their own body again.

· he’s not a creep, he swears.

· and who knows? what if his body gets kidnapped within those five seconds?

· hyunjin and jisung know about each other’s ability but don’t really discuss nor talk about them because they don’t find walking through walls or temporarily possessing someone’s body cool.

· well, that’s that until chan, minho and changbin show up at his house the same day when hyunjin returns from his summer exchange program with a cut lip and bruised knuckles.

· “han jisung, you’re going to have to come with us unless you want to live inside a cage for the rest of your life.”

· “I’m sorry, are you threatening me?”

· “we’re trying to protect you, smartass, you’re far too dangerous to be roaming the streets so freely.”

· “....me? I’m dangerous?”

· jisung not knowing the slightest bit about his own ability downright baffles chan—he’s only scratched the surface of it at this point; his true potential is if he’s taking over another ability-wielder’s body, he will then take their power for himself; and jisung can’t remember the last time he properly uses it either.

— lee felix ↠ imperfect invisibility

· initially lives in Australia but after finding out about his ability, he moves to Seoul with his parents to live a quieter, more covered-up life without being surrounded by too many relatives.

· an absolute sweetheart, smart, kind, honest, a little slow to read in between the lines at times; can concentrate relatively well on an empty stomach, but gets drowsy quickly after eating, especially big meals.

· lix is also homeschooled up until high school in order to avoid any unwanted situation; later on, applies for a course that can be taken online for the most parts at an average-ish university to not draw so much attention.

· since he stays at home most of the time, he spends lots of time playing different video games, experiences random cooking recipes without burning the house down, and teaches himself how to dance through online tutorials, getting awfully good at it fast partially thanks to his natural flexibility.

· he can disappear from a single person’s field of vision for as long as he wants to but it’s still limited and considered flawed since felix can only disappear from the sight one person of his choice at a time; although it can come in quite handy whenever he gets shoved into a dark alleyway by random people varying from cheap pickpockets with a box-cutting knife to muscular men dressed in black.

· learns boxing during middle school so he can still kick asses to preserve his own life.

· felix once punches jisung in the gut and slaps hyunjin in the face with a cabbage after seeing them follow each and every one of his movements the moment he steps out of the supermarket—he’s got used to listening to people’s footsteps over time.

· “okay, first of all, ow, and second of all, why did I get the punch and he got the cabbage?!”

· “oh, don’t be such a baby.”

· “you two don’t look like those balding dudes in money-dripping black suits...what are you on? crack? what do you want from me? money? food?”

· “of course we’re not balding men in their forties! I take personal offense to that! and please, who do you take me as? a total creep who only ever knows how to follow people with his stupid sidekick tagging along for background noises?”

· “HEY! I NEVER AGREED TO BE YOUR SIDEKICK!”

· “well, it’s time you fucking did then, han.”

· “you know, I suppose this is the part where you two put me to sleep with some kind of drug and bring me back to your excuse of a headquarter.”

· “oh, did you bring the anesthetic pills?”

· “I thought Changbin gave it to you, no?”

— kim seungmin ↠ time-leap

· born in a middle-class family, very studious but also enjoys playing baseball during retreats, takes time to open up to people so he has more acquaintances than close friends but he doesn’t mind, that way he has more time for himself.

· definitely and never will be the kid who lets his classmates take advantage of his wit, he does do a good chunk of every group project but makes sure everyone has at least one decent thing to do (low-key loves bossing people around); can be pretty distant at first, but he just weirds people out after getting closer and doesn’t hold grudges.

· seungmin is capable of bringing himself back to a specific past event to alter the future outcome though it won’t work most of the time unless he really, really has to for safety purposes or the situation gets out of hands; time-leaping won’t activate if he wants to retake a test but works like a charm when he tries to save a kid on the street from a car accident.

· actually does deep, proper research into other ability-wielders and often stays in school during nighttime to read the news, articles or anything that he can find on the web to learn about how that one cryptic boarding school in Europe that’s accused of abusing their students got shut down all of a sudden, the students never return and family members never bother to look for them.

· hence, he adapts to hiding his ability and himself fairly well—never takes the late-night buses, doesn’t try to become close and bond with other people, asks his parents to change the door lock every month, burns bills each time he purchases something but he tries not to go out as much as possible.

· seungmin has seen hyunjin use his power once by accident but decided to say nothing about it; eventually finds chan’s headquarter (which is just his crusty apartment) by following jisung and hyunjin after their practice hour, baffles them all a little but joins in no time.

· after asking hyunjin to erase his parents’ memory about himself, seungmin gives everyone a hand for their plan of building a school and campus, completely safe and under the radar for other ability welders until their adolescence is over; he time-leaps back to back in order to collect as much information about lottery tickets as he can.

· another flaw occurs when he travels to the past for the third time: his eyesight gets weaker and weaker every time he time-leaps so he starts wearing glasses as a temporary resolution but chan stops him when he tries to do it for the fifth time, saying that they would rather work hard for a little longer than have seungmin lose his vision forever.

· after over a year or so, they successfully repurchase an education organization and officially establish an exclusive academy for ability-wielders, reaching out to those individuals before scientists can get a hold of them.

— yang jeongin ↠ superhuman speed

· the quiet kid who most likely won’t talk unless the teacher asks him to answer a question or someone tells him to let them copy his homework; has his earbuds in most of the time to pretend he can’t hear what people are saying so he won’t have to interact with them.

· joins after you when chan finds him hitting a wall head-on at an abnormal speed while trying to save a kitten in the middle of the streets.

· jeongin has extremely enhanced agility and reflexes but he still lacks accuracy for he is naturally a clumsy person; therefore, changbin tells him to wear a protective layer under his uniform so even in the worst-case scenario, he can jump off a building and make it out with minor scratches.

· reluctantly buys lunch for every member of the student council (aka 00 liners + you) on a daily basis although he can’t really see which kind of sandwiches he’s grabbing at and they end up being mushy most of the time.

· and for those people who say his resting face is scary, he’s mainly just frustrated because of his friends.

· also usually is the one who returns with the most injuries because of his own ability—he always flees like his life depends on it to save jisung’s ass from being hit by a truck and hyunjin’s camera from being crushed (the sole purpose of the student council will be explained more thoroughly later).

· has single-handedly saved everyone inside a bookstore when a sudden fire breaks out.

· minho scolds him and felix a lot for spending too much time at the arcade after school instead of doing their required tasks.

· acts all tough and mature since he’s the youngest of the squad, loves to make fun of jisung for his height but still is and probably will always be a complete child who hates eating vegetables with a passion; gets yelled at a lot whenever there’s a BBQ party since he only ever eats meat.

· “corn? why are we raiding the Asian market for corn at one AM?”

· “an outdoor, wholesome BBQ isn’t complete without corn, duh.”

· “do you want to get us caught?!”

· “oh please, they’re going to show up either way.”

· “YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE!”

— y/n (reader) ↠ telepathic manipulation

· president of the student council, stubborn, slightly less bossy than seungmin, appears to be apathetic and cranky mainly because you can’t sleep that well; with that being said, you don’t feel too tired during ungodly hours when people are tossing around in the comfort of their bed but snap at irritating people a lot in the morning if they’re making too much noise.

· your ability allows you to control people to your will, from something as meaningless as slamming their head through a wall to life-threatening actions like forcing them to point a knife at their own throat; it’s somewhat similar to jisung’s power though you don’t have to physically feel what your target is going through and you don’t need to worry about taking over their body.

· the only downside to it is that you easily fall asleep the moment you set your target free.

· minho is the one who gets you out of the laboratory where your parents were working on a huge, secret project about individuals with supernatural abilities for an unknown organization; you’re unfortunate enough to become their first-ever experimental subject which only nourishes resentment slowly, gnawing at your sanity while you’re dreading each day behind those cold metal bars.

· perhaps joining the student council is what makes your life less depressing, perhaps; you’re far too busy facepalming at the beautiful monstrosity of their friendship and feeding them ensuing returning to the dorm after school since those boys only know how to eat, cooking is too much for them to comprehend (albeit felix).

· when your family was still… normal, your parents sent you to martial art classes every weekend so like felix, you don’t actually need your power to save yourself from some random mobsters on the streets.

· you’re also the only person who eats vegetables properly and even tries to incorporate more fiber into their diets but as always, they never listen, especially hyunjin when it comes to green onions.

· don’t have the best reputation in the academy because the idea of letting the new girl with a seemingly useless ability become president of the student council isn’t very appealing to many people, and it doesn’t help when every member of the council is exclusively allowed to drop out in the middle of a class to ‘collect’ any ability-wielders that chan manages to locate that day since he’s always worn out with changbin and minho from boring paperwork as well as other businessy stuff.

· even when your ability is considered almost perfect, you’ve only used it once when you thought minho was going to sell you off to another place and almost made him put a bullet through his own brain; you’ve refrained yourself from using it since that day.

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senaar-ika · 4 years

Text

All Sorts of Skills (Kylo Ren)

This fic was requested by @originalposter-96. Due to the sort of AU that I write (Empress!Reader/Kylo) I had to change it up slightly, but I hope you still enjoy it, darling! This is also not super smutty, just a bit of fun really with a hint of teasing at the end!

CW/Tags: ~sexual tension~ and smooching, inappropriate use of galactic titles (you’ll see), canon divergent bc I can, a teensy bit of soft/tired Kylo this man is just worn out from chasing the resistance smh

Kylo had just returned from a grueling few days tracking a wiley band of Resistance spies across several systems. He was exhausted and frustrated that most of the group had gotten away. As soon as he disembarked from his shuttle you had pulled him into you for a long, deep kiss and then told him to go get cleaned up. Even without a sensitivity to the Force like Kylo, you could sense his chaotic mix of emotions was close to boiling over.

He had hesitated at first, but you’d given him that firm commanding look that said “Listen to your Empress.” He couldn’t resist your eyes. The power in them. The beauty in them. But perhaps your thinking very hard about how good making love to him tonight would feel helped him along as well.

Kylo had strode off to your personal quarters to freshen up while you discussed the results of the mission with one of the officers on his ship. Another transport had landed in the middle of your informal debriefing, and you saw a team of troopers lead a Wookie prisoner away. You had thanked the officer sweetly, reminding her not to mention the conversation to your husband. He always worried so much about you knowing the details of his excursions.

When you returned to your quarters, Kylo was still in the refresher getting cleaned up. You smiled to yourself when you noticed his discarded clothes in a pile of dirty black fabric on the floor next to the bed. It was small childlike things like this that amused you. You stopped smiling when you noticed that his saber was laying amongst all of his clothes. Something must have really shaken him up to be so careless as to leave that just lying on the ground, even if it was in your private quarters.

Gingerly you picked up the saber and set it on the table next to Kylo’s side of the bed. Although the chambers of one of the most feared men in the galaxy were far and away the safest place onboard, he had an old habit of preferring to sleep within arm’s reach of his saber. You couldn’t blame him.

While waiting for Kylo to finish up in the shower, you ambled into the white walled room in which your husband kept special artifacts. Your shared quarters extended beyond just the bedroom and refresher, and both were incredibly secure. This room, however, was particularly well guarded. Only those closest to the Supreme Leader were permitted entry to deposit items for him to study.

You frequented the room without question. Kylo knew that your well-traveled eye could be helpful in understanding some of the things he brought back, and as his Empress you were free to go just about anywhere on the ship without consequences. Today it seemed you’d just missed a drop off of the Resistance prisoner’s weapons.

You didn’t dare touch any of the items laid out on display for fear of altering anything about them. Kylo could read Force imprints held by them and you wouldn’t want to interfere with his process.

There was a crossbow, a bandolier of ammunition, and a dagger which you were particularly drawn to. The blade was in impeccable condition and inscribed with ancient characters. You leaned down to get a closer look without picking it up, attempting to decipher the archaic text.

“‘The Emperor’s . . . Wayfinder? Is in the - the imperial vault?’” You didn’t even realize you were whispering the words under your breath as you read them slowly, “‘At delta 3-6, transient 9-3-6 … darling where did you get this?” The coordinates meant nothing to you really, just numbers, so you called out to your husband. The shower had stopped a few moments ago.

When you heard no response you straightened up and turned around to see Kylo standing just inside the door staring at you with some combination of dumbfoundment and curiosity. His brow was knitted and his mouth slightly agape. His freshly washed hair clung to his head and he seemed to be clutching at the towel around his waist for dear life.

“You can read the blade?” He closed the distance between you in two fast steps, his voice barely audible. The scent of his soap, of him, so close to you brought butterflies to your stomach.

You nodded, turning your attention back to the dagger. “Yes, it’s absolutely ancient, but I think I can make it out I just don’t understa -”

“That’s the language of the Sith.” Kylo cut you off, something he rarely did since the two of you were joined together. His eyes darted between you and the blade, unable to settle on either.

“Yes, I know.” You sighed, trying to resist rolling your eyes, “I never thought to tell -”

“Who have you been spending time with that speaks Sith?” Kylo’s tone almost sounded hurt, and he kept searching your face with that expression of simultaneous concern and bewilderment. You bit back a laugh, but you couldn’t help but smile at him. His big brown eyes were so focused on you, so serious.

“I had a life before you, darling, and it was a strange one. You know that.” You gently placed a hand on his cheek as if to steady him. “I’ve picked up all sorts of skills over the years.”

He didn’t relax much, but brought one of his enormous hands up to rest over the one with which you were cradling his head. “I studied all kinds of paths over the years.” You said quietly, thinking back to your odd upbringing in the Outer Rim. “The Jedi, the Sith, it’s all part of the larger history of the galaxy that I was raised on.”

Kylo nodded slowly, turned his face into your hand, and pressed a light kiss to your palm. You smiled, leaning up so that you were right in his ear.

“And language skills aren’t the only tricks I’ve picked up in my time, you know?” You felt your husband’s back straighten and your grin widened. Then you thought very hard about a particular acrobatic move you’d learned during a bizarre stint you spent on Dathomir. The move involved an incredibly suggestive contortion of your hips and legs, and your memory included the lucky warrior who’d taught it to you.

Kylo’s mood snapped from soft to lustful in an instant. His hands dropped to your hips and pulled you flush with his body. You gave him a wry grin, knowing that your eyes must be glinting with that mischief he secretly adored. His head dropped down to your shoulder.

“You enjoy the intimate company of Darkside masters, my Empress?” He growled, nipping at your earlobe. You chuckled, low and sultry, running your hands up his back and tangling them in his damp hair.

“Perhaps,” You breathed, gasping a bit when Kylo began kissing along your jaw and down your neck. “Though nowadays, I mostly prefer the intimate company of you, Supreme Leader.” Using your honorific titles always got the two of you more impassioned, and Kylo practically keened when you hissed out his superlative.

His lips left your neck and crushed into your own as he swept you up into a bridal carry. The doors to the artifact room whooshed shut once you passed through them and the lock sealed with a clank. Kylo tossed you onto the bed and you landed softly on your back. For a moment he just stood above you, looking down at you all sprawled out for him.

“Now, your excellency,” you made sure to accentuate the title, “what would you like me to do?”

A devilish smile bloomed across Kylo’s face as he let the towel fall from around his waist. “Well, my sweet, I would love to see some of these skills you’ve been bragging about acquiring.”

#request #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren/you #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren fanfic #star wars fanfic #star wars au #canon divergent #supreme leader kylo ren

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bruisedbell · 3 years

Photo

Hungry for the rush ( aching to be thrown in the ring ).

bio. || insp. || closet. || face.

Character name: Katherine “Katie” Emery Bell

Age / Birthday: Beltane Babe—01 May, 1979.

Gender: cisfemale

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Katie is bisexual. She was taught to see the beauty of a person within as a child and has since applied that to all aspects of her life. She has no preference—instead she weighs on the depth and value of the person on the inside.

Occupation: Hit Witch within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. ** ( I love that all hit-wizards have their own assigned beds at St. Mungo’s. How ridiculously appropriate for Katie. )

Affiliation: Katie exudes positivity and always stands up for what she believes is right, so it is really no surprise she considers herself a beacon for the light.

3 Positive Traits:

Adventurous. Daring. Makes up her own rules as she goes. She neither asks permission nor for forgiveness, unless caught red handed. Life is a game and there are no rules, only victories. Katie is competitive in nature and intends to seize as many victories as she can. Carpe rebus.

Kindhearted: Generous. She loves to give—not receive. Katie would give the shirt off her back to someone in need and never expect a favor in return. There is nothing she wouldn’t do for the people she loves. She would travel to the depths of the earth if asked of her.

Resilient: Tough as nails. Like titanium, she does not break easily. She rolls with the punches and rides on waves of fury. Katie is mentally very strong. Quidditch has vastly helped her develop this fortitude. She is a lover above all else, but there is no denying the fighter that reels inside her. It goes hand in hand with her desire to always be winning, or achieving success in any way she can.

3 Negative Traits:

Distracted. Head in the clouds. Plucking shapes and painting stars the way she thinks they should twinkle. Dream on little dreamer, unmoved by the falling reality and fragility that comes from this life. Katie is detached and a bit impersonal at times, especially when she has no skin in the game. It’s hard to hide the vacant look in her eyes when her mind has journeyed into a far world of its own.

Overzealous: Dangerous enthusiasm. Questionable optimism. Lethal tools in the wrong hands. Katie often needs to be reminded to slow down her pace and release her death grip so they don’t become just that when in her possession. Her heart is usually in the right place, but she has the tendency to get in way over her depth without realizing it. Her high energy can be all-consuming and, if she isn’t careful, may drowned whoever gets in her path. It also doesn’t hurt to mention that too much positivity can be toxic, and Katie certainly teeters between dangerous boundaries.

Detached: Katie frequently finds herself separated from reality like she is just a fly on the wall, or a stranger peering through someone else’s eyes. Reality can be a tricky concept to grasp at times. She finds it easier to throw herself into perilous situations with that made-up wall built between her and whatever unknown obstacle the day holds. Originally a coping mechanism she established to help aid with the daily traumas of working in the DMLE, it has since become an increasingly alarming problem slowly tainting other aspects of her life too.

Headcanons.

Katie is often underestimated by those around her. Many say she is too soft; teased and called a princess by others. Her kindness is usually misinterpreted as weakness, but she weaponizes this misjudgment turning it into one of her greatest assets. She isn’t mad at anyone for calling her a princess because they aren’t necessarily wrong; her crown is simply set with daggers and claws versus jewels, and she intends to have it on display for all to see.

Olivia Bell nee Fraiser, Katie’s mum, is muggle-born witch. She married a muggle man named Rhys Bell shortly after graduating. She then began her career at HM Treasury just like her father did before her. HM Treasury is the UK Government’s economical and financial ministry maintaining control over public spending, budgeting, and other fiscal aspects. Public service has always played a vital role in Olivia’s life, and subsequently Katie’s life as well. She witnessed how important it was to her mother and eventually was inspired to lead into her own career within the Ministry of Magic for this exact reason.

Katie is an expert dueler. This is illustrated in Prisoner of Azkaban when she teaches Harry Potter the full body-bind curse (switching that to Neville feels very applicable in this setting though? ). She was in the dueling club for the majority of her Hogwarts career, which is where she first established a solid foundation to nurture her skills. She later joined Dumbledore’s Army during her sixth year when Umbridge briefly reigned over Hogwarts. Having an older brother who loved to torment her as a child also helped play a key role. Once they were at Hogwarts together, there was no stopping her from getting retribution. In fact, she started making an abundance of friends which came with unexpected connections in the form of unique pranks and other jokes to help further her crafty and scheming nature.

Katie is currently working on her ability to cast both wordless and wandless magic. She favors wordless magic. It comes much more natural and is far easier than wandless magic in her opinion, however, both are thoroughly trained and implemented throughout a hit-wix’s career as it aids in the secrecy of capturing their suspects. She is also currently studying occlumency and legillimency with her mentor and fellow hit-wix.

Katie is an expert baker. Strudels. Pies. Puddings. Cakes. Croissants. Macaroons. Alfajores. You name it, she can whip it up in a heartbeat. Baking is her comfort. The alluring aromas of brown sugar and vanilla wafting across her kitchen remind her of a quaint and happy childhood. Present-day, she consumes an irrational amount of sweets, but nothing in comparison to the heaps she has to throw away at the end of the week due to the fact that she simply cannot eat them all. She makes cute little burlap wrapped packages tied with colorful ribbons, which her senile owl Blazer delivers to all her friends… but there still always manages to be more dessert left on the countertop.

Katie is quick, not just on her feet but a broomstick as well. She is known for making fast getaways. A skill she takes great pride in.

The looming war and undeniable political tensions have been anything but pleasant for Katie, and the entire Bell family. Bellatrix Lestrange’s rise to political power was alarming from the beginning for the lot. Katie’s mum maintained a position within the muggle division of government. The muggle-born witch immediately feared for a worst case scenario for someone like herself, or her muggle husband and two half-blood children. One needn’t be overly creative to fill in those lines. Katie had held a position within the DMLE ever since graduating from Hogwarts. Her older brother worked with various quidditch teams across Europe. It’s in a mother’s nature to worry, but perhaps she had more reason and experience in doing so when all their lives were so intricately designed with such chaos.

Plot ideas: Same plot ideas from the previous group. I want Katie to be confronted with unlikely challenges. I want to see her get involved with those she wouldn’t normally do so. She is everything radiant and positive, so her leaning toward the Order is too obvious in my opinion. I want to see her manipulated and forced into doing things she would have never thought only because there is the risk of losing something greater. Katie would do anything to protect her family and friends. Especially Fred. She has a savior complex. It goes hand-in-hand with her desire to fix people and things, even if a good handful of them turn out to be unfixable. I want to see the closest of friends push each other away and have incomprehensible falling outs because of the unspeakable circumstances and lingering tensions they’re affected by. War changes people and I am anxious to see how it sinks its claws into the vibrant and kindhearted girl we all know—and how maybe just perhaps it transforms her into someone entirely unrecognizable.

Bonus Material: Gryffindor quidditch power team dynamic, angsty!angst, darker threads with purpose and tangibility, lighthearted threads, friends comforting friends, rogue punches, and other comedic content.

#about.#this is a hot mess??? whatevs #when is it not? that’s probably the better question

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grailfinders · 4 years

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Fate and Phantasms #35: Mephistopheles

Today one Fate and Phantasms we’re making someone from who the greatest magicians have something to learn, the magical Mr. Mistoff- sorry, wrong one. We’re building the demon of deceit and clown prince of crime, Mephistopheles! This is a very unusual build. Some characters are held back by restraints like “ease of play”, “being powerful”, or “not peaking at level 5″, but Mephistopheles laughs in the face of all of them.

There’s a spreadsheet if you want to rip this band-aid off right away, or you can savor the pain with a level-by-level breakdown below the cut. I’m sorry.

Race and Background

Homunculi aren’t a player race in DnD, so if we can’t be accurate, we can at least be thematic. You’re doing a very good impression of an Asmodeus Tiefling, adding 1 to Intelligence and 2 to Charisma. This also gives you 60′ of Darkvision, Hellish Resistance to fire damage, and an Infernal Legacy, which currently lets you cast the Thaumaturgy cantrip.

You’re most certainly a Charlatan if I’ve ever seen one, dragging down anyone you can get your hands on. This gives you proficiency with Deception (saying you didn’t slip a bomb into someone’s jacket) and Sleight of Hand (slipping a bomb in someone’s jacket).

Stats Your highest stat is your Intelligence: you’re clever enough with clockwork to make bombs that run around on their own. Next is Dexterity: you’re a clown after all, capering around is what you do. Third is Wisdom, which should be lower, but we’ll need it for multiclassing. Your party will probably thank you for this: they’ll be within blast radius enough without you getting charmed too. Next is Constitution- you haven’t blown yourself up yet, so you’re probably at least a bit tougher than that bore, Andersen. After that is Charisma: you have a forceful personality, but honestly when was the last time you convinced someone you weren’t up to no good? Finally, we’re dumping Strength. You may have some pretty good pecs in your final art, but that’s nothing by servant standards.

Class Levels

1. Rogue 1: You general lack of strength and habit of ending up on the wrong side of morality make you quite a roguish caster. At level 1, rogues gain proficiency in Dex and Int Saves and four rogue skills, here being Acrobatics, Perception, Stealth, and Intimidation. Your capering and sneakiness let you slip bombs into places others might not notice, and let’s be honest, a clown in a skintight leotard is just plain terrifying.

Rogues also gain Expertise in two skills (Sleight of Hand and Acrobatics), a Sneak Attack (1d6 extra damage if you’re using a ranged or finesse weapon and have advantage or another enemy is within 5′ of the target), and Thieves’ Cant, a language indecipherable to anyone who isn’t a rogue. A dagger can be reflavored as a giant pair of scissors easily enough, so sneak attacks work fine for you.

2. Rogue 2: At second level you have a Cunning Action, letting you dash, disengage, or hide as a bonus action for extra mobility.

3. Rogue 3: Arcane Tricksters can blend their love of breaking the law with magical skill, learning wizard spells to augment their natural skill. Most of those spells aren’t explosions though, so we’re not taking that. You are a Thief, which at third level means you have Fast Hands which adds sleight of hand checks, thieves’ tools uses, and Use an Object actions to your list of Things You Can Do In Your Bonus Action. You also learn how to do Second-Story Work, enhancing your capering by adding your dex mod to running jumps, and climbing no longer costs extra movement. Also, your Infernal Legacy kicks in again, and you can now cast Hellish Rebuke as a second level spell once per long rest. All spells from your Legacy use Charisma as the casting ability.

4. Wizard 1: I mentioned we’re peaking at level 5 earlier, so it’s time to wrap this up. You studied under (and then killed) a skilled alchemist when you were alive, so you have some magical knowledge as well. As a first level wizard, you learn Spellcasting, using Intelligence as your casting ability, and Arcane Recovery, which will let you recover a 1st level spell slot on short rests in a level.

When you first gain your spellbook, you get three cantrips and six first level spells. Create Bonfire and Thunderclap are mere firecrackers compared to what we’ll get next level, and Mending will come in handy in the second half of the build. Cause Fear and Tasha’s Hideous Laughter play up your clownishness, Color Spray, Earth Tremor, and Grease will make it much harder for your enemies to get around. Finally, Chromatic Orb is a very versatile spell that can play into your strengths without leaving you locked into only fire and thunder spells.

5. Wizard 2: At second level, your Infernal Legacy kicks in again, and you can cast Darkness once per long rest. You also become a Conjuration Wizard, becoming a Conjuration Savant for cheaper conjuration spells, and more importantly, you learn Minor Conjuration. This lets you use your action to make an inanimate, nonmagical object appear in your hand or within 10′ of you. There’s a limit on the size and weight of this object, but not its cost. That’s important, because things are about to get a little silly.

In the Dungeon Master’s Guide, there’s optional explosives you can add to the game. You’ll need help from your DM if you want these to be viable at higher levels, but they’re very strong at level five, which is where you are right now. With Minor Conjuration, you can create a Bomb, Horn of Gunpowder, or a full Bundle of Dynamite as your action. Then you can use your Fast Hands to use these explosives as your bonus action. The bombs and gunpowder aren’t that strong, but Dynamite can deal 10d6 Bludgeoning Damage to creatures within 20′ of it, and its dex save only halves damage. It can even be made with a fuse if you want to get to a safe distance first. That’s a silly amount of damage to have every turn, for free, this early in the game. This even beats fireball, and doesn’t require a spell slot.

6. Cleric 1: You pursue your goal of making people explode with religious fervor, which is just enough of an excuse to make you a Zeal Cleric. At level 1, clerics get their own Spellcasting, using Wisdom as your ability. You also become a Priest of Zeal, giving you some bonus proficiencies with heavy armor and martial weapons, as well as letting you attack as a bonus action after attacking with your main action a number of times equal to your wisdom modifier per long rest. If someone’s attacking you in melee range, you should probably put the bombs away. Or don’t, you have fire resistance after all.

Clerics can prepare their spells, but as a zeal cleric you also get Searing Smite and Thunderous Smite to make your scissors really cut deep. For your cantrips, you learn Sacred Flame and Toll the Dead (which despite the names, neither of them do fire or thunder damage), and Light, because the best thing to do to someone after they stumble out of a cloud of darkness is shine a flashlight in their face.

7. Cleric 2: At second level, you can Channel Divinity in one of two ways. Turn Undead sends undead packing with a wisdom save, and Consuming Fervor is why we’re here. With this feature, you can use your Channel Divinity to maximize any fire or thunder damage you cause. You can only channel your divinity once per short rest.

8. Cleric 3: Third level clerics gain 2nd level spells, and yours include Magic Weapon to further improve your scissors and Shatter to start using up your Divinity uses.

9. Cleric 4: You finally get your first ASI, and we’re using it to get the feat Flames of Phlegethos. Whenever you cast a fire spell, you can now reroll any ones in the damage, and also wreathe yourself in flames until the start of your next turn. This causes any melee attackers to take 1d4 fire damage when they hit you. You’re going to be the epicenter of explosions anyway, but some extra protection never hurt.

10. Cleric 5: Your Turn Undead becomes Destroy Undead, instantly killing any undead of CR 1/2 or lower when they fail their wisdom save. You also get third level spells, including Haste, so you can attack and throw bombs in the same turn, and the ever-popular Fireball, which at this point is still outclassed by dynamite.

11. Cleric 6: You can now channel divinity twice per short rest for extra powerful fireballs, and you can make a Resounding Strike. This means that every time you hit a large or smaller creature with thunder damage, you can push them away from you up to 10′.

12. Now that we’ve taken all the best goodies from the clerics, it’s time to head back to a more reasonable class: Artificer. First level artificers can use Magical Tinkering to add minor magical effects to tiny objects, like making sounds, shining a bit of light, or displaying small pictures. You also get a third kind of Spellcasting, this one using Intelligence as your casting ability. You get two cantrips (Poison Spray and Shocking Grasp are rather clownish), and can prepare first level spells from the artificer spell list.

13. Artificer 2: You learn how to Infuse Items, turning them into magical items. You know four infusions from the infusions list, but can only have two of them active at once. They’re all very useful, but none of them are bombs, so I’ll let you decide which ones will work best in your campaign.

14. Artificer 3: You know The Right Tool for the Job, letting you create one set of artisan’s tools over the course of an hour. The tools are nonmagical, and last until you make another set. In more fun news, you become an Artillerist, gaining Shield and Thunderwave as class spells. You can also make an Eldritch Cannon, a small or tiny construct that you can command as a bonus action. You can make a Flamethrower, which shoots 15′ cones of fire, dealing 2d8 fire damage on failed dex saves, a Force Ballista, hitting targets with spell attacks that deal 2d8 force damage and pushing them 5′ away, or a Protector, adding 1d8 + your intelligence mod temporary hit points to nearby creatures. Regardless, the cannon has 18 AC, HP equal to five times your artificer level, 10 in all abilities, and can be made once per long rest or by using spell slots. It’ll live for an hour or until you dismiss it.

15. Artificer 4: Use your second ASI to round out your Intelligence and Wisdom for more and stronger spells.

16. Artificer 5: You can now tactically carve your wand, turning it into an Arcane Firearm. This adds an extra 1d8 damage to a single creature hit by each spell. You also gain second level artificer spells, including Scorching Ray and Shatter. Again.

17. Artificer 6: You now have Tool Expertise, doubling your proficiency with any check involving tools. You could mix this with your rogue expertise if you wanted to be obscenely good at breaking into places, but I’ll leave that to your discretion. You also gain two more known infusions, and have have one more item infused at once.

18. Artificer 7: You now have Flashes of Genius. When you or another creature within 30′ of you makes a check or saving throw, you can use your reaction to add your intelligence modifier to the roll. You can do this a number of times equal to your intelligence modifier per long rest.

19. Artificer 8: Use your last ASI to add some Dexterity to make yourself harder to hit and harder hitting.

20. Artificer 9: Your capstone level turns your cannon into a proper ticktock bomb! You can command the cannon to detonate, dealing 3d8 force damage to creatures within 20′ of it. All other damage is also increased by 1d8.

Pros: Mephistopheles is very adaptable, with a great deal of low-level spells that can be swapped out each day. The sheer number of things you can make out of thin air is also admirable. He can also be a very strong damage dealer at low levels if your DM doesn’t remove bombs entirely.

Cons: This build is overcomplicated even by my standards. You have four spell lists using all three spell abilities, divinities and infusions to keep track of, and even a second body to deal with in combat! This build seems almost designed to drive you mad trying to play it (which would be in character, admittedly). Summoning explosives is nice, but you have to wonder if it is worth removing any chance at higher level spells. Finally, the most annoying drawback is the lack of consistency in explosions. The DMG uses bludgeoning damage, the cleric uses thunder damage, and the artificer uses force damage, all to represent the same thing, meaning they don’t quite mesh together if you’re playing rules as written.

#fgo #fate grand order #mephistopheles #dnd 5e #Fate and Phantasms

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ffxivaltaholic · 3 years

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LFRP Makael eir Vari

The Basics ––– –

Age: 29

Birthday: [Redacted]

Race: Viera

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

Marital Status: Single (widower)

Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: Raven black and long, almost always in a braid or low ponytail

Eyes: Left Violet, Right White

Height: 6'4" (Not including ears)

Build: Slender and athletic with minor muscle definition, a bit lanky. At times he can look somewhat feminine..

Distinguishing Marks: A scar across his chest from an encounter with a traitor, and three small bullet-wound scars.

Common Accessories: Various weapons from daggers to senbon needles and multiple vials of toxins, poisons and venom to lace his weapons with, sometimes a garrote wire and a small pistol. Depending on the mission he can carry items to match a persona he's using.

Personal ––– –

Profession: Frumentarius - (Assassin)

Hobbies: Gardening (Growing poisonous plants), science, reading, cooking

Languages: Common, Garlean, Hingan

Residence: Shirogane/Garlemald

Birthplace: Dalmasca

Religion: None

Patron Deity: None

Fears: [Redacted]

Relationships ––– -

Spouse: Deceased

Children: None

Parents: [Confidential]

Siblings: None

Other Relatives: None

Pets: Umbra - Raven

Traits ––– -

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient (Very situational)

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information ––– –

Smoking Habit: None Drugs: None, unless science related. Alcohol: Rarely - Low tolerance. Maybe wine on occasion, as he does not like to be in a situation out of his control.

RP Hooks ––– –

GARLEMALD: As a Frumentarius, Kael does not reside with only his Legion. While he prefers the IVth, and started there, he can be a part of any that might need his skills. This makes it very easy to cross paths with other Garleans/Conscripts. Being raised and educated in Garlemald, there is also the chance that you may have met him in passing, or studied along-side him. Being a male Viera, he certainly stood out and would be easy to recognize from home.

RESISTANCE: Everyone needs an enemy! Being that Kael is often dispatched to Eorzea, he comes across allot of resistance fighters. Often he is undercover and difficult to discern and may even become a 'friend' to some, using his charm to win over some of the more discerning individuals. Perhaps you need someone for a plot or event that can cause some trouble? Or maybe simply a little drama in your character's life? (Note: See disclaimer)

UNFORTUNATE ENCOUNTER: Kael is a man who enjoys the entertaining social aspects of life, and often his work has him in an area for anywhere from a few days to a few months, which means when he's not hunting a target or gathering information, he has time to entertain himself with the world. Kael enjoys playing games with others and will often visit taverns and inns to listen in and socialize with random people. You never know what mental competition could be had or what interesting things one can learn when you simply talk to another. Sourcing random information on people is a hobby and leads him to speak with all kinds of individuals.

ASCIAN: Kael has been seeking to find one after learning about them in his search for perfection and immortality. Meeting one would be ideal and he hopes to learn from them and gain a similar power to extend his existence and continue his scientific research unabated by time and aging, and with the power to protect those close to him.

Disclaimer ––– –

Disclaimer: -I do not ERP, please do not ask -I do not consent to killing off this character, maiming is fine, death is not. -Mature content RP is fine as long as it does not have a sexual nature or involve underage characters. -I prefer in game rp, but discord is fine as well. -Shipping is a limited option and would have to occur over allot of time and rp to be possible. -I am normally on afternoon/evenings and weekends, Mountain Standard Time (MST)

Contact Information ––– –

You can poke me here or in game on Makael Vari.

#Makael eir Vari #balmung lfrp #ffxiv LFRP

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ritamordio19 · 4 years

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A Court of Steel and Fire (3/?)

Summary: Post-ACOFAS. My take on Nesta’s banishment to the Illyrian camps with Cassian and her corresponding recovery process.

Alternatively, a reminder that hardened steel doesn’t melt easily. ~~ All the characters/locations are owned by Sarah J. Maas :).

Chapter 1 Here

Chapter 2 Here

AO3 Link Here

Cassian hesitated at the entrance of her room, still questioning last night’s decision to have her accompany him on his rounds throughout the campsite. Her reactions were still unstable, and the fact she hadn’t been ready to go right at 5, despite his note, should have made him decide to abandon his plan altogether and make his rounds himself, if only to avoid the inevitable conflict between her and the Illyrian warriors. The operative phrase was, of course, “should have,” as he knew what that decision would mean on a deeper level, that abandonment of hope that she might find herself again, that willingness to give up on her that he couldn’t allow himself to accept. So he raised his fist to the door all the same, ready to knock.

He needn’t have bothered; the door swung open hard enough that he had to dodge to his left to avoid being crashed into. His resulting, exhausted glare was met with those familiar steel eyes staring him down, before Nesta Archeron dismissed him outright on her warpath through the living room, calling behind her and waving her arm. “If you have all this time to waste in front of my door, I don’t see why I had to be ready promptly at 5.”

“My days are long here, and it’s the only way to guarantee sunlight for most of them. Not that you’ll last more than a few hours in that state.” For she was still in her clothes from the previous day, eyes dark and hair unkempt. He doubted she’d slept a minute the night before.

“And what state would that be exactly?” She turned on her heels at the entrance, staring him down. “I wasn’t aware I had to meet your grooming standards.”

He growled in annoyance, closing the distance between the two of them, her gaze locked firmly on his the entire time. “That state would mean being able to stand up for more than an hour without passing out from exhaustion; I feel that’s a fair bare minimum to ask for. Go out naked for all I care about your grooming standards.”

“Maybe I will.” Her retort came as he passed her on the way out of their cottage, and her eyes met his again in challenge, stopping him in his tracks with her endeavor to bring this to an accustomed fight, one where she could argue from their past, where she could use his jealousy to misrepresent his motives, to get out of the day’s tasks. So he didn’t bite, despite the roar of familiar feeling that flared in his core, instead exhaling his retort into air as he tossed her a spare coat from the foyer closet and reached for the front door handle.

“Then I fear for the Illyrian who would be the first to leer; his torture would be an example to many.”

The biting cold that struck him as he passed through the wards blanketing the cottage spared him the process of wondering which of the two of them would be responsible for that consequence.

“I’m surprised you deigned an appearance today, with the hatred you seem to harbor for this place.”

Nesta flashed a poisonous simper in Cassian’s direction at his opening barb. Three hours. It had taken Nesta only three hours to get under the skin of Prythian’s most cunning and powerful warrior, she noted internally to no small amount of debased satisfaction. Sure, she had interjected the cold comment here or there, but it was her silence, the power in following him but ignoring him, that was ultimately her greatest weapon. She had watched as it ate and ate away at his resolve, until her desired scene had reared its head at the edge of camp, far away from prying ears after his morning inspections of the training rings, where she could make her finishing blow and end this day early.

“I wasn’t aware there was much of a choice.” She kept her body angled away from his, but glanced ever so slightly toward him, barely locking eyes before continuing. “Besides, why shouldn’t everyone hate this place? Your men are despicable, your women near-desolate.” She swept her arm across the campsite. “If you ask me, I don’t see much difference between Hybern and here.”

The words hung in the air, a blow to his gut as powerful as any her powers could summon. It would be a lie to say the predictable blanching of his face didn’t revolt her to her core, that the pursing of his lips didn’t cause an instinctual, subtle aversion of her gaze, but he couldn’t be a part of her life anymore. Telling him that to his face hadn’t worked; avoiding him hadn’t worked. So if the only way for him to learn that was for her to strike low, to assault the very core of his identity, then she would do so; she would make the point clear that it was not his job to push her forward. After letting a few moments of stunned silence pass between them, she waved him off and turned on her heels, striking again before he could recover. “I’m heading back to the cottage.”

“Where do you want me to take you?”

She hadn’t expected the reply, having known the emotional effects her words would exact, but she masked her surprise with her continued stride. “I,” she spoke curtly, “don’t need you to take me anywhere. My legs work perfectly fine.”

His pace sounded quickly behind hers, and she spun on him before he could cut in front of her. She opened her mouth to speak again, but he was faster. “No. Not here. Not this camp.” He matched her respondent daggered glare and pressed further. “Where do you want me to take you?”

She let the words settle in, her chin risen in defiance at his persistence, before dismissing him abruptly and turning to walk away again. This time, he succeeded at blocking her path, and she turned wildly to him in incredulous anger. “And where,” she seethed, “could I possibly choose? This is your world, and mine doesn’t want me anymore.” She pushed him aside, grateful for his final lack of resistance as he drifted to the side. “Just leave me alone.” His hand grasped at hers desperately, but softly; she pulled sharply away and continued to storm off.

“I know how you really feel.”

That was her final straw. Her insults aside, their dysfunction aside, that was not to be discussed, and he knew it. For him to break their code, after all this time...even with their fights, it was inexcusable. Cheeks reddening, Nesta halted in her tracks. “I. don’t. care.” She laughed grimly as she wheeled on him, hands and eyes darkening in black and crimson flares she carefully wove around her body. “Do you think I’m scared of this?” She took a step toward him, amplifying the effect further and darkening her laugh. “Do you think I can’t handle this? Do you think I need you to help with any of this?”

He studied her slowly, his stance unchanged. “No.” He took a step toward her, but paused as she increased her flames even more. He crossed his arms nonchalantly in response. “But you can’t make me hate you.”

She met his unimpressed stare for a few seconds, black fire licking at the air around her, before cooling off her flames in quiet irritation at the lack of impact. “Find someone else to torment, Cassian.” She turned away from him again, and shot back a line of black fire at the briefest sound of his movement. “NO.” This time, as she disappeared within the canopy of the surrounding forest, his presence did not follow her.

Nesta knew she’d made a massive mistake the moment she'd summoned that abhorrent power. That eye had appeared – that eye that opened from deep within her, that called to her from far away. She’d immediately changed her cabin plans, bolting for the woods in case it decided to pay another visit to her location, but she began to wonder if that had been an error as well, with the sensation of its eye opening wider the deeper within the forest she dove and the sense of foreboding filling her further and further, regardless of what change of direction she cut.

She’d lost her cool with him; she’d worked so hard for months to stay disconnected enough, drugged and sexed enough, unfeeling enough to prevent this very reoccurrence, only to have it dashed with a single, vexing sentence from him. And now this feeling, her magic boiling over, filling her past the brims of her body...she collapsed to her knees as she broke into an open pasture and screamed, slamming layer after layer of her power into any and every inanimate object she found and turning several large boulders into elemental mist that swirled around her. Tears swirled down her face as she collected her power as strongly as she could, dissipating it around her in a spherical structure to drain the overflowing energy from her body. Her hands bristled as the leaves and grass beneath her turned to ash, a perfect circle of blackened death surrounding her. A metaphor for her life, she noted solemnly to herself.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

She shot to her feet, uneasy, at the clipped voice to her left. The elemental mist floating around her from the boulders began to spiral in a tight oval a few meters away, before settling slowly into an undeniably male shape. The figure, a mass of sparkling dots, jokingly marveled at his limbs before settling into a mock bow. Nesta threw black fire at him the moment his head dipped, only for the flames to pass right through him, hitting a tree on the other side of their clearing and slowly spreading those black veins through its healthy bark. The figure chuckled at the sound of the tree collapsing under the disintegration of its trunk, before he straightened once more.

“Did you hope to use my own power against me? Surely you understand you cannot kill me like that–” He raised his arm, and ashes from the ground shaped into black daggers and flew directly at her body. Nesta rolled to the side in anticipation, only for the ashes to divert course immediately. She covered her head, then raised it when the expected pain did not arrive. “–just as I cannot kill you with mine.” And indeed, the ashes swirled through and around Nesta’s body as if she were air, piercing no skin and causing no pain.

“Leave me alone.” She crawled back slowly onto her feet, giving the man a death stare. “You can have the power back for all I care.”

“Oh?” The elements swirling around the man quickly flew into the air, before reappearing right before her, the figure’s head leaning toward hers; it was an effort for her to maintain her ground, stance, and glare. “But you see, I’ve had time to think since your last...adventure with my powers. It would be quite troublesome to find a way to kill you, what with us sharing the same carbon-based source of power.” He shifted rapidly to her left, her eyes moving to match. “And believe me that I would have to kill you, for certainly Beron would’ve taken his power back from your sister already as well otherwise, would he have not?”

Her lips pursed in anger. “Don’t talk about her.”

“Why not?” The man dissipated again, and the elements swirled around, kicking the ashen leaves up in an orchestra that sounded chillingly like laughter. “She’s not the sister you truly care about, after all. Besides--” His body reassembled a few feet further away. “--neither of us can do much about the other’s existence, so perhaps you should hear me out, after all. I need a favor from--”

“No.” Her deadpan reply caused the elemental man to swirl three times as large, towering over her as he shone brightly.

“You don’t have much of a choice, Nesta. You think today was bad? I may not be able to physically harm you, but I can make every ounce of your power feel like blades cutting into your skin from inside; I can make your blood burn as if molten lava itself courses through your veins. Hm? How long do you think you’ll be able to escape from me through drugs this time, Nesta, before I can latch on again, before you’re forced to endure me again?” The form shrunk down to its previous size and moved as if brushing off its collar, sending bright sparks in the air. “Oh dear, you’ve made me lose my temper. Again.” Its eyes narrowed. “So perhaps we can come to an arrangement, being that you possess my stolen power and yet, ironically, pose to be quite valuable to me alive after all. I’ve had quite a lot of time to think about this, after all, in the year that you’ve laid waste to the body I so graciously gifted you. So, what do you say? Do one simple task for me, and I can ensure you will never be bothered by my power again, forever living dormant in your body.” He tilted his head expectantly.

“I don’t even know...what you’re asking for.” She grunted out the words, as the previous, rapid usage of her powers finally began catching up to her.

“But you will, when it matters.” The figure appeared inches in front of her again. “Trust me.” The flickering lights in the man’s face tilted upwards in what Nesta chillingly realized was supposed to be a smile, then the figure shrugged. “And I assure you that I will be dropping by again to check in on you.”

“I’d rather die than hel--” Nesta screamed as electric current flowed through her body, collapsing to the ground and clutching at her skin. Just as suddenly as it came on, it ended, and sure enough, she found her body completely unharmed, although she lay panting in her field of blackened leaves. She gave a vulgar gesture to the figure, earning another scream from a second blast of current.

“We are connected, Nesta. Neither you nor I can break that, whether we want to or not. I am as much a part of you as you are of me. Though...perhaps it is beneficial that I can’t harm you.” The figure cupped her chin with his glowing hand, before passing it harmlessly through her skull. “After all, my deal wouldn’t be nearly as incentivizing for either of us if I could.” He paused in a mocking posture of contemplation, then stood up and began walking away. “Either way, I’ll wait here with you for awhile while you think about what I’ve said; what you stand to gain...or lose...from your choice. There’s not much--”

The figure paused and glanced up as a swift gust of wind flurried through the clearing and kicked up the ashen floor, and Nesta seized on its distraction, pulling out the Illyrian blade she’d hidden from her ankle and thrusting it upward. It barely grazed skin before a force barreled into her from the side, and she quickly found her head pinned to the forest floor as she heard the quiet clanks of the knife bouncing away from her. Her instincts, against good wisdom, tried summoning her power in protest, but it was as if she were mortal again, her core empty of force.

“Binding amulet.” The gruff, unmistakable, condescending voice of Devlon sent adrenaline coursing through her veins, and she struggled and bit at him until he lifted off her. “As much as I’d love to kill you for what you did to me--” She gasped as he turned toward her, his face intermittent with large spots of rotten flesh, twin amulets at each of their necks growing brightly. “--I don’t feel like dealing with Cassian. And speaking of which, the next time you try that--” He gestured at the knife laying a few feet away. “--try not to scream, would you? Prevents me from looking away.”

She glared at him, but her retort died in another powerful gust of wind as Cassian abruptly landed a few feet away, scattering a wide arc of ash. Devlon held up his hand at Cassian, the latter Illyrian’s face red from more than just exertion.

“Relax, General. Her scream wasn’t from me.” He pointed at the knife on the ground. “Your little witch here tried to take her own life. I was merely intervening on your behalf.” He shrugged as he flexed his wings in preparation for departure. “I assume you can manage her from here.” A quick smirk followed from Devlon before he continued. “We can discuss my payment later.”

Nesta glared at Devlon, though she wouldn’t deny her true motive in avoiding Cassian’s eyes. Not that she needed to look to know what she’d see. She heard his voice distantly. “And her shoulder?” She blinked as she checked both shoulders, finding her right one sticking out at a sickly angle. She gently touched it, feeling no pain.

“Couldn’t help it; had to make a hard tackle.” He gestured vaguely toward her. “She’ll be a mess to deal with when her amulet’s power wears off shortly. Unfortunately, hers barely has any magic left; I had to save our stronger ones for our soldiers, after the war you put them through.” He stared down Cassian for a long span before taking off, blasting the ashen floor in her face in a move she knew was intentional.

She didn’t have much time to dwell on his patronizing departure, however. True to Devlon’s words, the amulet’s glow almost immediately died, and she stifled a yell as she collapsed, her shoulder beginning to burn with hot fire. She felt Cassian’s hands around her arms, and she tried to shove him off with her left palm, earning a muted, but exasperated, grunt.

“For Gods’ sake, Nesta, let me do one thing. Please.” His eyes tore into hers, and only the agony she saw piercing back at her caused her to relent, reluctantly allowing him access to her arms as she scanned the pasture, noticing the elemental man had disappeared as she had assumed. And as she bit her tongue down to keep the yelps and curses down when Cassian shoved her shoulder back into place, tasting the coppery tang of blood as her eyes watered from the blistering pain, she realized how restricted her life might become in the coming weeks.

And how unbelievably screwed they both were as a result.

Author's Note

I apologize for the [very long] delay!! I know 18 months is a long time to restart updating a fanfiction, so I hope it reads continuous for everyone. As always, comments and critiques are appreciated. I hope everyone enjoys, and thank you for reading!

#nessian #acourtofthornsandroses #acotar

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draculaurennn · 3 years

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1; jun 50; cress, 29; luc 43; pad 2-; fuu 10; siona

—Super detailed questions about your OCs— jun-ki — 1 ;; what’s their full name? why was that chosen? does it mean anything? Jun-ki’s full birth name is Tsutsumi Junko. She was born on the border of the Tokyo-Kanagawa prefecture and spent most of her childhood in Tokyo’s better hospitals. Most kids in her class, when she got to see them, just called her Jun. Jun-ki was a name assigned to her by the Fujiwara Technologies Oni-ki project, which she unwittingly paid her way into around the age of eighteen. Her full assigned name was Type-05 Jun-ki, following the four others who were built in her specific hybrid bio-tech format (depending on their degree of human degredation.) One was developed for each of the grand demons said to have been tamed by Fujiwara no Chikata, and each were designed with combat prowess and technique in consideration with that. Jun-ki’s was actually the only one to have no pre-existing oni, but she was not going to be the last in this project line.

However, she abandoned the project by literally breaking her way out of headquarters before her complete redevelopment was complete. For some time, she operated under the online handle of Sxrapper Midori, and typically does not disclose either her project name, and even less so her birth name. She has, however, chosen to continue using Jun-ki as her identifying name. She feels it best represents her now, both herself and her reality. For Jun-ki, it represents her current state of degredation, a human beyond repair with an almost fully obsolete robotics system operating inside of her. It’s put together with scraps and junk, all of which she painstakingly harvested and reworked to continue powering her Fuji-tech without support from the company or its project. It represents her strength, as a berserker and front-line combatant, an ironically demon-like strength in her small, once-fragile body. Keeping it speaks to some semblance of her self-loathing and self-respect, all at once.

cressida — 50 ;; if they could only take one bag of stuff somewhere with them: what would they pack? what do they consider their essentials? Cressida is a very materialistic girl, so this is definitely a hard question. She values her intelligence and her appearance above all, and which she values more is not really clear. If she has them, immediate essentials for her bag are rouge and a kohl tin. Keeping her unruly curls under control is also important, and difficult without supplies. Secondary to those are a mother-of-pearl comb, pressed rose oil, and some herby hair powder. Those would probably be the most immediate options if the apothic suite of personal hygiene is not available to her (and, as Inquisitrix, it has often not been).

In terms of fashion, she’s not so vain that she feels she has to pack a different dress for every event of the day, thank the gods. In an immediate need to move, Cressida is fine with a change of clothes and something else to sleep in, as long as she’s given some opportunity to wash things. Otherwise, she does prefer two or three outfits. A hat is also an essential need, partly for fashion, but mostly to protect her very fair skin. (Luckily, if there’s no bag space, this can just go straight on her head.)

The other bag essentials for Cressida are a journal, an entertaining book to read, a dagger, and a non-functional compass. Journaling helps her organize her thoughts for the day and plan her next steps, so often it looks like some bizarre mix between a diary, a day planner, and a to-do list. For books, she usually prefers novels of the picaresque sort, but she is prone to rereading the Black Fox tales over and over. Extra weapons as a given, the most unusual piece in her bag is of sentimental value, and she has done well to not lose it after sixteen years. It was her father’s nautical compass, which she’d stolen from his quarters to play with the night he passed away. She was lucky to have kept it in her pocket, though it was waterlogged when she finally got herself to shore, and no longer works. She keeps it in her travel bags for safe keeping, but if she isn’t sure her bag will be safe on its own, then it’s always removed and placed into her pocket instead.

lucid — 29 ;; what do they do when they find out someone else’s fear? do they tease them? or get very over protective? It could depend on the fear, but more than likely, a fear is something Lucid will keep to herself unless discussed with the person who possesses it. Somewhat frosty though she may appear, it has never been in her nature to hurt others or belittle them for the way they feel. That being said, she isn’t always the most tactful lady, and her attempts to address a problem (if the fear is really that critical) can often come off as hurtful or insensitive. Her other short-coming is her occasional inability to understand exactly what the fear or problem may be, which has led to accidental dismissal or downplay of the severity. But regardless of her fumbling ways, Lucid’s care and concern for others who would confide that information in her has always been with their best intentions at heart, and she would take the information to her grave if it was asked of her. Her nature is to protect and nurture first, and her determination to maintain love and trust for her companions can outweigh the value of her own life, at times.

padrika — 43 ;; are they religious? what do they think of religion? what do they think of religious people? what do they think of non religious people? Padrika’s family was religious. Her parents were casual worshippers of Verna, but she didn’t really live long enough to fully understand the concepts of religion or to make an executive decision on her beliefs. In Litwin, they had very little in the way of organized religion save for what drifted over from the Skelligan collections, but there was a small cult formation following the usurping ruler’s enthusiasm for Padrika’s visions, which was off-putting for her. It was never a fully developed religious practice, or anything, but idea of people putting such fantastic veneration in visions that were, in her opinion, just mystifying and unclear dreams from no one was scary. Most popular in this perception was Freya, goddess of clairvoyants, speaking words of conquest and glory through this unassuming water-being. Less common was her connection to Melusine, as a fellow siren (even if that was also incorrect.)

Unsurprisingly, religion tends to make her uneasy. She never, knowingly, lived with less erratic devotions. Litwin was a clutter in major part due to her own presence, which has caused Padrika to recoil from the concepts of greater beings out of fear. She wants no grand destiny, no great mission or job that she must fulfill for a greater god who hand-picked her for what she represented. She also doesn’t know if that means that divinity and monstrosity are something that are codependent or mutually exclusive. How do you explain a divine monster? Where is the line for goddess and a child who drowned in a mire?

All of that said, she doesn’t necessarily use that as a judge against others, nor does she fault people for having beliefs - Padrika also thinks that having no beliefs is a belief, and admittedly, she herself does believe there must be some strong presence in natural phenomenon. The greater questions of it are ones she just doesn’t feel keen on answering, or having an opinion on. Whether or not others do may be something that makes her wary, but it does not always define their character, and she can look past differences. A belief in something is not the only thing about others that makes them them.

fuu — 20 ;; do they like musicals? music in general? what do they do when they’re favourite song comes? Fuu likes music to what she considers a normal extent. She was classically trained in piano as a child at her parents’ insistence, but her interest in that was passable since she didn’t find it engaging, and when she took up swim, she managed to weasel out of those lessons all together. She’s spent money on high-tech buds that actually work under water, and likes to listen to her favourites while she studies, works out, cleans, or is on her commute. (She’s also been known to put in earphones to avoid conversations she’s not engaged in or to deliberately ignore someone out of annoyance, boredom, or complete disagreement.) She isn’t the liveliest person in a lot of ways, and that extends to her musical enjoyment, though, but if the song is one she really enjoys, Fuu doesn’t mind turning the volume up over a speaker or tapping the piece out with her fingers.

Despite that, her interest in musicals is practically non-existant. Besides her struggle to sit through films, she finds the insertion of musical numbers in a narrative actually erases the tone the film was setting and breaks a greater immersion for her. They’re just jarring and almost upsetting, even if she understands most people don’t perceive them that way. She watches them at the behest of friends or if, for some reason, they’re assigned for an arts course, but otherwise will not pick one up or go see one of her own volition.

siona — 10 ;; do they like children? do children like them? do they have or want any children? what would they be like as a parent? or as a godparent/babysitter/ect? Siona loves children, but most children don’t like her. She tends to find children charmingly curious, thought-provoking, and squeezable. However, Siona is often perceived as one of two things by children - a fairy or a monster, and depending on the local perception of fairies, both can be bad things. In Castle Town she was very uncomfortably received by local children (and adults, but that’s par for the course at this point), though in Vazaar, many of the little girls thought her small stature and pale hair meant she was just a sickly Gerudo sister.

Siona has never personally given children much thought. The circumstances floating around her existence have been a little more pressing and dire, and trying to lead a life of some sense of normalcy hasn’t been at the forefront of her imagination. But if asked, she’d certainly be agreeable, and Siona’s cautiously optimistic, adventurous, but ironically grounded disposition makes her a very loving and communicative mother-figure. Alongside that, her protective nature is counterbalanced by her indecisiveness, allowing her child to explore and experience while still receiving guidance when asked or needed.

#teethoc #silverblighted #ask memes #jun-ki midori #cressida levoie #lucida del sol #padrika venris #siona

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noxianwilled · 1 year

Text

"Seven generations of the Du Couteau family wielded this blade. And it shattered in my hand."

katarina as a character always had the strong theme of going against her family, more specifically her father. her failure in her first mission and subsequent disappointment in him and his response to it drive so much of how she acts after, of the rebellion against his way of doing things. but one of the most fundamental things when it comes to my portrayal of her is that, after the whole fiasco that leaves her disgraced, the lesson katarina learned was that the cause she fought for was bigger than herself. she had failed noxus, and that was the unforgivable part. her mistake had been in the blind loyalty to her father and desperate need to be acknowledged by him and make him proud.

so after that, i always thought she dedicates herself to noxus entirely, and that she believes swain's noxus entirely. she doesn't care for nobility, despite her noble background; in fact, she doesn't want anything to do with the du couteaus and their legacy. i think she sincerely believes the propaganda — in the value of strength in all its forms, in the value of each person by who they are and what they offer and not for their birth.

i don't really think the daggers will stay broken, but i love the symbolism of them being family heirlooms, passed on to the one who should have been the heir, only to end up broken in her hands. it is what she does, initially in an honest mistake, later on purpose, towards everything she inherited. she doesn't embrace that legacy; she refuses to return to the du couteau home even after marcus is gone, she refuses to hold on to old allegiances to their house, she refuses his teachings and training by breaking the little rules he enforced in shaping her to be his blade. katarina embraced noxus so wholeheartedly, for what she believes it is, for what she is in it — not someone who should be respected by her family name but someone valued in her own right, for what she can do. breaking away from her family heritage entirely would just feel right.

#me: i love the katarina comic for the most part #also me: i just think it fundamentally failed the moment kat was supposed to care that swain would target nobility or her family #marcus: he wants to destroy nobility and ruin our house!!!!#kat's reply should've been 'lol good for him i'll ask if he wants more help'#» out of character — ⌜main sup irl.⌟#» character study — ⌜fear is as powerful a weapon as any dagger.⌟

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dishonoredrpg · 4 years

Photo

Congratulations, JEM! You’ve been accepted for the role of STRENGTH with the faceclaim of MICHIEL HUISMAN. I think you best stated it yourself -- Roland is kind and cruel in equal measure, willing to break the tenets of his own moral code for a little bit of kingdom. I found myself drawn to him in a way I wasn’t expecting, which is exactly what I wanted for a character like Strength; in spite of his constant contradictions and struggles with the work he’s doing and his willingness to acknowledge he might have been led astray by Septimus, he’s still real. Still fathomable on the larger scale. He has the potential to be a real power player with the Sons of Argos in his hands, and I’m more than excited to see how things play out with the plots you’ve provided and concepts you’ve so kindly shown here!

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

OOC

NAME: Jem.

PRONOUNS: She/her.

AGE: 26.

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: EST. I’d say my activity level is about a 6/10! My work schedule is a little wonky right now, but I always try to carve out some time for writing, and I’m usually able to crank out replies consistently throughout the week.

ANYTHING ELSE? Not a thing!

IN CHARACTER

SKELETON: Strength.

NAME: Roland Alexander Bishop.

FACECLAIM: Michiel Huisman (1st preference) or Can Yaman (2nd preference).

AGE: 33.

DETAILS: I fell in love with about 10 different skeletons before it dawned on me that Strength is, in fact, my one an only!!!!!! I’m so completely fascinated with the dichotomy of Roland’s character. He’s somehow kind and cruel in equal measure, a man of conscience willing to break his moral code for the right price. With no parents to speak of, he raised himself by virtue of naught but teeth-bared survival, and he’s carried that instinct for perseverance with him well into his adulthood in a way that I think has perhaps blurred the lines of what he believes to be right and wrong, or at least blurred his willingness to cross those lines. I wouldn’t say he’s altogether without integrity, because his stomach yet turns when buries his dagger hilt-deep in the belly of the King’s enemies, but his moral compass certainly isn’t working the way it used to these days. He’s whip-smart, too (he must be to have assembled a legion of Tyrholm’s nastiest, most ruthless bastards and foster loyalty and obedience among them). By that same token, though, he’s prone to foolishness in the face of profit. A boy raised by the street urchins of Tyrholm knows better than to trust kings, and had he used his head to consider his contract with Septimus, and not his deep-running pockets, he surely would’ve seen all that gold for what it really was: a gilded cage. Not all that glitters is gold, and not all that’s gold glitters. Here we have him, then: a man kind and cruel, bound by integrity and bound by greed, moral and immoral, clever and foolish. A ruffian mercenary who’s now finds himself under the King’s thumb. An avaricious profiteer who will do almost anything for the right price, but a fair and just leader devoted to his men. A self-made king of Tyrholm’s rapscallions and reprobates, but a servant to a King with no principles to speak of. He’s a living, breathing paradox, always walking a fine line between two versions of self. But in Septimus’s Tyrholm, there’s no room for fair-weathered allies, and if Roland plans on terminating his contract with the King, it’ll be a bloody affair. He didn’t exactly read the contract’s fine print, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have to honor a treaty with a King whose head in his a basket, right?

BACKGROUND:

He never knows his parents. His mother leaves him on the stoop of a small temple in Hightown when he’s a babe. An Emissary finds him, and for some time, he’s looked after by acolytes of the Undying. They’re kind, mostly, from what he can remember, but he never takes to faith the way they all hope he will, and as soon as he’s old enough to run, he does—he runs far, far away, straight into the underbelly of Lowtown.

The streets of Lowtown raise him, and later in life, when he’s asked about his heritage, he’ll say that Tyrholm is his mother, and she may well be, for the man he is today is due in full to her lessons.

The seaport town raises him brutally, with an iron fist. He’s a boy with only ten years of life on him, lean and fresh-faced, when he takes to the streets of Lowtown, and in his first months of independence, he’s so gaunt that you can see each divot of his ribs, and he counts them over and over again to pass the time. He’s a fast learner, a living, breathing study in survival, and he realizes in no time at all that he’ll have to earn his right to life.

He does just that. He watches the other street-dwellers, men and women of all ages and shapes and sizes, each hungrier than the last. Some fight for coin. Some beg. Some dance. Some sing arias. Some charm snakes. Some sell looted treasure, others sell their bodies. Roland watches them all, tries to map out a viable plan of action for himself. He tries his hand at magic tricks, but his sleights of hand are nowhere as advanced as the smoke and mirrors of the veteran illusionist that performs at high noon every day at the marketplace. He tries fighting, next, and he’s good at that, even at a young age, but he’s skinny, weak from hunger, and he spends what little coin he wins on herbs and medicines from the local botanist to patch himself back up. Theft is his next venture—he’s a natural. He has good, quick hands that dart in and out of pockets less intrusively than a dove’s feather carried on a springtime breeze, deft and steady. For a few years, this sustains him. He loots coin, jewels, and treasures of all sort straight from pockets and purses and holsters, and he never gets caught.

When he’s fourteen, he steals a dagger straight from the belt of a fisherman selling his catch at the docks. The hilt is carved from ivory, and the blade shines like molten moonlight beneath the dawning sun. It’ll sell well, he thinks, only… He likes it. It feels nice in the palm of his hand, lightweight enough for a fourteen-year-old to wield with no trouble at all, and he spends the next week twirling it between his fingers, sharpening it against sea-worn rocks, practicing parlor tricks. He finds he has otherworldly aim, and he hits every target, from sandbags to trees to peaches to peach pits. And so, like any man well-versed in the trade of survival, he takes his Undying-given talent and turns a profit from it. He begins performing in Lowtown’s streets, and word of the boy who can slice a pomegranate in half midair while blindfolded spreads like wildfire.

They say that idle hands are the devil’s playthings, and it isn’t long before the devils come crawling out of every corner of Lowtown in search of Roland’s hands, eager to lay claim to a boy who will no doubt make a fine weapon to be used at their discretion. A boy young enough to appear unassuming to targets and old enough to get his hands dirty. The first to find him is a headhunter named Argos, a surly bastard with scar that stretches from his left temple all the way down to the right corner of his mouth, ugly and red. The look of him makes Roland tremble, and years later, he’ll laugh at his boyish fear of a man beloved to him, a man kinder and with thrice more heart than any of the pretty-faced, rosy-cheeked nobles Roland had ever robbed.

By the grace of the Undying, Argos takes him under his wing before any of the other leeches can latch onto him. Roland isn’t a particularly religious man, but he thinks, sometimes, that maybe the Undying is real, and that maybe she does favor him, because he can think of no other reason why he was delivered into the hands of Argos, and not any of the other ghouls of Lowtown who would surely have preyed on his inexperience and whittled him into a fine weapon with an expiration date of five, maybe six more years. As it is, Argos teaches him to kill just the same as all the others would have, but he teaches him how to kill honorably, quickly. He teaches him to respect life and death in equal measure, and he warns him that what he takes from the world, he must give back to it twice over. He teaches him how to fight well and how to fight dirty. He teaches him how to fight with his hands bound, with his eyes blindfolded. He introduces him to the Warrior’s Guild, where Roland’s career as a mercenary begins.

He does as he was taught, and he gives twice over for every life he takes. In spite of the dirty work he does, humility and honor flourish impossibly within him like a garden of desert roses in dead, dry soil. He donates a portion of his coin to brothels, street performers, pickpockets—the lowliest of Lowtown, those without places and people to call home, those who can’t put a name to the feeling of love. He never forgets his roots, and though he earns his weight in gold, enough to leave Lowtown and never look back, enough to dress himself in the wares of a proper Hightowner, he never leaves. Lowtown, the Warrior’s Guild, the docks, the street urchins, the baker’s son who sneaks him scraps of burnt bread, Argos—these are all home.

He’s twenty when Argos dies on a job gone wrong, and as the underwolders of the Warrior’s Guild and Lowtown mourn the death of Argos, a night king in his own right, beloved by those who love naught, they turn to Roland with expectant eyes. Roland, the boy who Argos affectionately called “Bullseye.” Roland, the boy who Argos raised to kill well, and meaningfully. Roland, the man, now, who Argos preened to inherit his legacy, to lead the mischief-makers and nightmare-makers, to protect Tyrholm’s underworld. And so he does.

It’s no easy feat, to be sure, wrangling a group of soldiers of fortune, kingslayers, outcasts, thieves, killers. But Roland is stubborn in his determination, and he works tirelessly to weed out the evil; to foster trust between himself and the good; to create a legion of Lowtown’s meanest bastards and make something special of them. Leadership becomes him. His humility, a rare quality in Tyrholm, and his charisma inspire ironbound devotion from a breed of people who know nothing of loyalty. He’s fair and kind in equal measure, and the men and women of the Warrior’s Guild take to him like the drape of midnight sky takes to the north star. For all of Roland’s goodwill, his ruthlessness is never forgotten. A killer is a killer is a killer, and those who mistake his kindness for weakness learn well that his honor knows some bounds. He goes to great lengths to instill that same notion of honor in his host of mercenaries, and he teaches them the same lessons that were taught to him. He teaches them to kill quickly, cleanly, and honorably, and he teaches them to give the same way that Argos taught him to. They resist, in the beginning, as all creatures of habit do, but in the end, they become a fine brood of noble killers, if such a thing exists. They’re vicious bastards, all of them, but they learn to respect life and death in equal turn. In his mentor’s honor, he calls his troop of sellswords the Sons of Argos, and in no time at all, Roland and the Sons are notorious for the dirty work they do—and how well they do it.

Roland and the Sons of Argos become so notorious, in fact, that word of Tyrholm’s them reaches King Septimus himself, and he promptly offers Roland a deal that he ought to refuse. He doesn’t. Greed and the promise of prosperity for the future generations of the Sons blind him, and the moment the ink on the contract dries, dread washes over him, and he can nearly picture Argos rolling over in his grave, fixing him with that look of grim disappointment he used when he was displeased with Roland.

In the beginning, the King’s assignments aren’t so bad. Roland and the Sons are asked to tie up loose ends, eliminate political threats, clear out bandits. Easy. Roland obliges, and the dirty work he and the Sons do is immaculate. But the King’s orders grow bleaker as time passes, and soon enough, Roland can hardly sleep through the night without waking from nightmares of his own making: screams that could crack glass, the sound of weeping broken up by choppy sobs, enough blood on his hands to fill up the Sahrnian. You must give twice over what you take from this world, Argos had told him, and he’s beginning to feel the weight of a debt long overdue. He’s taken so much, lately, life after innocent life, and his moral compass whirs in protest every time he plunges his dagger into the belly of an enemy not his own.

PLOT IDEAS:

Roland breathes and bleeds for the Sons of Argos, and there’s little—no, there’s nothinghe won’t do to protect his legion, even if that means compromising his honor. The Sons of Argos is his legacy, his life’s making, and he’ll sell his soul to highest bidder to ensure the continued prosperity of his ragtag battalion. It’s why he signed the King’s contract, and it’s why he yet serves the insufferable oaf. The coin Septimus funnels into his pockets is enough to sustain the Sons for generations, and not even Roland’s stalwart honor could sway his resolve to preserve the Sons. But a life bought and owed is not a life worth living, and Roland has learned well the cost of servitude. He’s spent the last decade assembling a group of fine men and women, teaching monsters the rite of nobility, preaching the gospel of life, taking and giving it. Nothing in this world is as beloved to him as the Sons, and he’ll be damned if stands by idly and watches Septimus sic Roland’s lot of honor-bound sellswords on his enemies like a pack of rabid dogs. The Sons of Argos are a proud brood of beasts; they are not pawns to be used to wage and win the King’s infantile wars. Septimus thinks he’s bought the Sons’ loyalty, but he’d do well to remember that loyalty bought can be outbid. Loyalty earned, contrariwise, is everlasting, Roland has earned enough of the Sons’ loyalty to last lifetimes. The Sons of Argos may well serve Septimus, but it’s Roland they’ve sworn an oath to; it’s Roland they answer to, it’s Roland they kill for, and it’s Roland they bend a knee to. Should the benefits of revolting against Septimus ever outweigh the benefits of serving him, it will take only a look from Roland to rally his Sons of Argos against the King.

Do you know who’s good at rebellion? A man who’s spent years squashing the very notion of it. Since the beginning of his arrangement with Septimus, he and the Sons have been charged with eliminating uprisings of all sorts. Some fires have been more difficult to put out than others, some rebellions have been organized better than others, and some have been led by insurgents quicker and braver than others. Roland’s well-acquainted with the many shades of revolt in Tyrholm, and I’d say that makes him a damned good asset in the bid to overthrow Septimus, wouldn’t you? Roland and his Sons are a hell of wildcard if ever there was one, and as the revolters of Tyrholm begin to coalesce, they’d do well to entreat the Sons’ Captain. Let us not forget what happened to Agamemnon’s army when the King of Mycenae waged war without Achilles and his Myrmidons.

Roland, for all his vulgar mannerisms and bold-as-brass behavior, isn’t stupid. He knows he’s sitting on a small goldmine made up of The Hanged Man’s secrets—he just hasn’t decided what to do with that particular treasure trove just yet. Roland is uncannily good at playing his hand close to his chest, and he thinks he’ll wait this one out a little longer before he shows the head servant his royal flush. Perhaps he’ll reveal what he knows and use it to leverage The Hanged Man as a resource. Perhaps he’ll take the information he’s filed away and sell it to the highest bidder. He’s not sure yet, but for The Hanged Man’s sake, he hopes the poor bastard folds soon, because Roland doesn’t think they’re very good at playing this game.

Conscience, thy name is Judgment. It’s strange, really, the way the Cleric amplifies all that goodness in Roland tenfold, in turn amplifying all the guilt that goodness births when compromised. His conscience has never been particularly content with the dirty work Septimus pays him and the Sons handsomely to do, but ever since he began attending Judgment’s sermons, his remorse has made a home in the marrow of his bones. He knows what he’s doing isn’t just or good, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s Judgment who makes him feel the truth of it all, every grain of it, and he finds himself growing sick with guilt these days. You wouldn’t think a Cleric has much pull in the dawn of a war on the horizon, but it’s Judgment who has Roland’s ear, and it’s Judgment who’s beginning to make Roland wonder if, perhaps, a revolution would make for a fine penance, coin and contract be damned.

There’s a reason the moon and sun never share the sky at the same time, and there’s a reason Roland and The Fool don’t often share a room at the same time. It’s not that Roland has no respect for the King’s Captain of the Guard, because he does, but cleaning up The Fool’s messes and tying up the loose ends of their army’s incompetence is getting old, quick. Still, the sun shines favorably on The Fool, paints them in the gold of heroism and leaves Roland and his Sons to bask in the muted silver of moonlight. The Sons of Argos are in this for gold, not glory, so he doesn’t terribly mind The Fool and their men acting as frontmen and taking undue credit for the dirty work Roland and the Sons do, but the bastard has the audacity to parade around Castle Tyrholm like they’re the Undying’s gift to man. It’s only a matter of time until the tension between the pair of captains comes to a head, and when it does, Roland is sure the fallout will be catastrophic, with far-reaching repercussions. A pity, really, because if The Fool could swallow their pride and Roland could swallow his prejudice, they could do great, terrible things together.

CHARACTER DEATH: Yes, absolutely!

WRITING SAMPLE

He dreams of his life’s small joys. He dreams of poppy fields in southern Tyrholm and figs stolen from the sweet shop next to the bakery in Lowtown. He dreams of the smell of sea salt, the sound of low tide crashing against black shale rock. He dreams of the baker’s boy, who used to sneak him scraps of burnt bread when he was naught but a half-starved child. He dreams of the boy’s kind smile, and his impossibly kinder eyes: one brown, one blue. He dreams of Argos, how the corners of his eyes would crinkle when he’d laugh at Roland, face warm with a rare fondness seen once, maybe twice in a lifetime. He dreams of the Sons, the lot of them gathered in this brothel or that tavern, heads thrown back as they all boom a chorus of boisterous laughter that draws more than one sidelong glance. He dreams of JUDGMENT, the way their voice rolls like the drip of warm honey, sounds something like absolution, atonement. He dreams of a time when he was proud of the man he was, of the work he did, even the dirtiest of it, because it was done meaningfully, with honor.

He wakes with a start, and the world returns to him in pieces, slowly. First light filters dimly into the barracks, and he huffs a quiet sigh as pushes himself up into a sitting position and swings his legs over the side of his cot. The Sons sleep soundly around him, and here, like this, they look nearly…peaceful. Roland catalogues the memory and stores it somewhere in his mind it won’t soon be forgotten. The rest of Castle Tyrholm, save for those of the King’s Guard working night patrol, won’t rise until sunup, at the earliest, but Roland’s always been a bit of a bastard when it comes to the Sons’ unforgiving schedule. They’re welcome to fight and fuck and drink their weight in ale until the moon sets, but come dawn, the day’s work begins. A fair trade-off, if you ask Roland (and one that inspires good behavior without Roland having to explicitly enforce it).

Soundlessly, Roland reaches over to the bunk next to his and gives Galen, his most trusted lieutenant bar none, a solid smack on the cheek. “Up.” The command is quiet, but it carries the weight of a king’s authority all the same. Brow pinches, Galen opens his eyes halfway and makes a vulgar gesture at Roland, who only laughs. “Fuck off,” Galen hisses as he turns half of his face back into the plush bedding of his cot, one eye closed and one trained on Roland. “Fuck off…?” Roland prompts, crooking his forefinger expectantly in a silent come on gesture. Galen rolls his one open eye. “Fuck off, Captain,” he amends. A low, throaty chuckle rumbles somewhere deep in Roland’s chest. “Better. Get dressed and gather the lot. His Grace has a job for us.” The way Roland says “His Grace” doesn’t sound particularly blasphemous, but Galen, who knows him so well, will surely have no trouble at all undressing the resentment that manifests in the way his lips curl hatefully around the King’s title. Galen passes him a long-suffering look, and Roland returns it empathetically, but they say no more on the subject. Roland dresses quickly and stands to leave, and Galen salutes him with his middle finger, but he nonetheless complies, and he, too, makes fast work of dressing.

The Dining Hall is… Well, it is as it always is. The Sons, loud and full of life even in the early hours of first light, earn more than one glare from other guests in the Hall. They’re outsiders, here, cawing ravens flying among a flock of singsong blackbirds, and the good people of Castle Tyrholm never let Roland or his Sons forget it. They don’t belong here, and as Roland catches dual sets of narrow eyes fixed on him, one belonging to THE HANGED MAN and the other belonging to THE FOOL, he wonders if they ever will. He doesn’t particularly care, so he tosses THE HANGED MAN a sly wink, and for THE FOOL, he presses his index and middle fingers against his lips and blows him a kiss. Neither seem particularly impressed with his flip, decidedly Lowtown behavior, but he cares not. Some things in this world are absolute. The sun rises each day, the sky is blue, and Roland Bishop will never balk in the face of judgment. He is as sure of the man he is as the Clerics are of the Undying. He will never waver from his spirit, his honor, his nature, and he will never know the shame of others. He is the legacy of Argos and Lowtown, a good man and a good city, in his estimation, and though he’s not always proud of the things he does, he is proud of the man he is, and he’s prouder yet of the legion he’s created. Wolves don’t lose sleep over the opinions of sheep, and the Sons of Argos don’t lose sleep over the opinions of a fucking cook and a Guard-Captain whose track record leaves something to be desired.

The meal is a quick one, and Roland thinks fortune might favor him today, because the Sons enter and exit the Dining Hall without brawling with any of the King’s Guard, and by the time the sun has fully risen, Roland and his men are well underfoot. They travel by horse to the northernmost point of the farmlands, where the King’s Spymaster has evidently caught wind of a budding rebellion. Roland stopped wondering long ago if there’s any truth to the Spymaster’s claims at all, or if THE DEVIL spoon-feeds the King lies just to keep the tyrant of their back.

Their journey is short, and so is the battle (if you can even call a massacre a battle) that ensues. It’s violent and bloody, but the Sons are trained for this brand of dirty work, and their victory is swift. At the end of it all, only one remains: the leader of what was a poorly organized coup that never stood a chance against the King and his cronies.

“He’s inside the barn,” Galen says as Roland kneels to push down the eyelids of a boy of no more than fifteen years. Roland doesn’t have to look up to know that Galen’s face is grim, and neither does he need a mirror to know that his own face is pale as driven snow. His gut knots and double-knots with throngs of unease, and guilt begins to gnaw in earnest at his well-meaning heart. Still, he yet goes through the motions: wipes the blood from his dagger, helps his men make a pyre of the bodies, closes the eyes of all the dead and prays that they’ll be better off in their next lives than they were in this one. When the dirty work is done, he joins the rest of the Sons in the estate’s small barn, where they wait with the self-crowned king of what was a novice mutiny at best and a botched rally at worst.

In the chaos of carnage, Roland hadn’t gotten a good look at the rebels’ fearless, foolish leader, and seeing him now, the knots in his stomach tighten tenfold. He’s on his knees with his head hung low, held at either of his arms by two Sons and stayed by a third, whose sword is pressed flush against his neck. He looks about the same age as Roland, maybe a few years his youth, with sun-soaked hair that looks reddish in places wet with blood. The Sons wait patiently for Roland’s command, the quiet of the room a stark foil to the noisy bustle of the Dining Hall earlier that morning.

“What’s your name?” he asks, voice soft as a slip of cotton hung out to dry. The man doesn’t answer; he doesn’t even look up. Roland looses a quiet sigh. The King has instructed him, as he always does, to gather whatever information he can—by any means necessary. He and the Sons are meant to gut villagers bloody and cut out their tongues if they don’t divulge their secrets. They’re meant to exterminate the hope of revolution and send a message to neighboring revolters. They’re meant to be hounds that bite at the heels of a people who have everything to lose and risk it yet for naught but the meager chance of a Tyrholm free of Septimus’s plague of pride and greed. But the Sons of Argos are no dogs. Killers they may be, but they’re a proud brood, the lot of them, and they do their dirty work with as much honor as they can. If it’s gore and bloodletting Septimus wants, let the old prick get off his throne and terrorize wives and sons and husbands and daughters himself.

Roland was taught to kill honorably and quickly, to respect life and death in equal measure, and he pays homage the lessons of Argos daily. It’s clear that the rebel-king isn’t feeling particularly chatty, and if he won’t loosen his tongue, there’s not much to be done about it. There’s not much to be done at all, really, except to give the man a quick and honorable death. “You fought well,” Roland murmurs. He means it. Galen is sporting what Roland can only assume is a broken nose given to him by the man, and it had taken more than one Son to fully bring him down. Death, too, must be earned, and this man, with all his lionheart courage, has earned his. Distantly, Roland thinks that this very man could’ve perhaps toppled Septimus’s rule himself, if given the proper resources. He has the grit for rebellion, to be sure, and the spirit, too, but he lacks the wherewithal, the time, the training. A pity, he muses. He could’ve made history, the poor bastard.

Out of the corner of his eye, Roland catches Galen staring at him intently, curiously, like he knows exactly what he’s thinking, and maybe he does. Galen opens his mouth, maybe to ask something, maybe to say something, but Roland gives him a fractional shake of his head, and Galen presses his lips into a tight line, no doubt making a mental note to badger Roland about it later. Eyes full of mourning and mouth set in steel, Roland looks over to Myra, the Son with her sword pressed against the man’s neck, and gives her a curt nod. She returns the gesture, and after drawing a deep inhale, she rears the sword far back and up, ready to deliver the final blow. The man, surely sensing his impending death, at last lifts his head, and Roland lets out a swift, sharp whistle that cuts through the air like broken glass. It’s a command to stop, and Myra, knowing the sound of the pitch for what it is, obeys, lowering the sword non-threateningly as Roland stares at the face before him: a man roughly his age, with one brown eye, and one blue.

The baker’s son.

Dread washes Roland’s face a shade of white impossibly paler than before, and he makes a punched-out noise as he remembers hot summers and cold winters spent starving, the sickly feeling of tightness clenching a stomach unfed, the thick fatigue of near-death staved off by the baker’s son, who had been the first person in Tyrholm to teach Roland well-learned lessons of kindness, charity, compassion. The boy who, even in his youth, radiated the kind of warmth and generosity that Roland has never seen in men and women who have lived full lives. His first friend, if you can call breaking bread together and stealing water from Callia Lancaster’s well and playing card games and chasing each other around on the docks friendship.

Recognition spark’s in his once-maybe-friend’s eyes, and the sea-glass green of them shifts from hate, to grief, to nostalgia, and then, finally, to something that looks remarkably like…understanding. Understanding, even now, even on the brink of death. This, Roland thinks, is honor. This, Roland thinks, is what he has perhaps forgotten in his years in the King’s employ. Idly, he thinks JUDGMENT would like this man. His endless reservoir of kindness is something divine, something reminiscent of faith, something that JUDGMENT would take to with overwhelming fondness.

Roland draws forward and places his hand over Myra’s, which remains gripped tightly around the hilt of her sword, and pushes it down, a silent command to lay down her arms. It’s said that the one who passes the sentence should swing the sword, but in the business of sellswords, that’s hardly ever the case, and in Tyrholm, that’s never the case, for the King is far too cowardly to do his dirty work himself.

This, though… This responsibility belongs to Roland and Roland alone. It’s personal, not business, and he can feel the heavy weight of his duty in his pockets, where the King’s coin rests. Argos had always warned him of the looming dangers of this trade, the threat to one’s honor, one’s soul, one’s spirit. Are you worth your weight in gold? he’d often asked him. I will be, Roland had always answered, because he’d thought, then, that Argos had been asking him if he’d grossed a sum of gold equal to his weight. Now, he thinks, he at last understands the question: is it worth it? Have you earned your weight in gold? Is the man you are today worthy of that coin?

Gently, nearly tenderly, Roland cradles his hand against the side of the man’s face. The baker’s son doesn’t flinch. The irony isn’t lost on Roland: he must give back what he takes from this world twice over, and here he is, about to take the life of a man who gave him his. You should’ve let me starve, he wants to say. You should’ve let me die. He wants to apologize, he wants to explain himself, but he won’t do this good man the dishonor of wasting his last moments of life assuaging his own guilt, so he instead reaches into the pocket of his breeches and pulls out a pouch of gold. He tosses it to Galen, who catches it reflexively. “There’s a bakery in Lowtown south of the bay, with a red roof and green door. Bring it to them.” Galen raises an eyebrow in silent question, but he turns on his heel, exits the barn, and mounts his horse all the same. “You’re family will be looked after for generations,” he promises. He knows it won’t be enough to absolve the blood on his hands, not this time, but he hopes it’ll be enough to bring the man some peace of mind. He thinks maybe it does, because the baker’s son smiles. He dies smiling. Roland strikes quick and fast, drives his dagger straight through a heart of gold. It’s a quick, painless death that lasts the span of a few heartbeats, at most, and it stays with Roland for the remainder of all his years.

That night, when Roland lays his head down to sleep, he doesn’t dream.

EXTRAS

Pinterest. MBTI: ESTP. Astrology: Aries (April 19th). Moral Alignment: True Neutral. Enneagram Type: Type 8. Headcanons:

He isn’t best fighter in Tyrholm, but he may well be the most adaptive. In his boyhood, Argos taught him combat techniques that he’d observed in the east, and the west, and the north, and the south. Roland has killed men from all over the continent, from all walks of life, and though many balk at his nontraditional manner of bloodshed, he’s quick and efficient, and he and his Sons always get the job done. They say it’s uncouth, the way he fights, the weapons he uses, but The Fool’s etiquette (knighthood proper, that one) hasn’t exactly done them a whole lot of good, has it? Roland is as quick as lightning and twice as hot in a fight, and he’s been known to use exotic weapons when he’s doing his dirty work. Of all his tools, his favorites are his decade-old ivory dagger and a sickle-shaped pair of handheld scythes.

Roland doesn’t share the King’s low opinion of magic. Raised by Tyrholm’s streets, by whores and beggars magicians and street urchins and musicians and muses, Roland learned young to embrace all walks of life, and his schools of thought are all considerably flexible. His opinion of magi is no exception. People fear what they do not understand, and as a mercenary with a moral compass, a man who’s been misunderstand by the masses his entire life, he can empathize.

Because he was looked after by worshippers of the Undying in his boyhood, he’s considerably literate for a man of his…lifestyle, and he’s actually quite smart, despite appearances. He’s well-read and well-taught, but the true nature of his wherewithal is known only to Judgment and the Sons.

Roland and the Sons reside permanently in taverns in Lowtown, and impermanently in the barracks. Though the lot of them have more than enough coin to afford taverns in Hightown, Roland prefers to keep the company of Lowtowners, and he finds that he and his Sons fit in far better there than farther north. He supposes that the King is fond enough of him—or the work he does, at least—to allow Roland and the Sons to occupy Castle Tyrholm’s guest quarters, but Roland has never asked such a thing of Septimus, and he never will. When their services are needed, Roland and the Sons stay in the barracks alongside The Fool’s soldiers, partly because Roland wants the Sons to remember their humility, and partly because he wants to piss of The Fool. Whether in Lowtown taverns or the barracks, Roland sleeps right alongside his lieutenants and soldiers, intent on remembering his own humility, too.

Whistling. It’s how the Sons communicate without speaking, and it drives just about every resident of Castle Tyrholm mind-achingly mad. Their secret tongue was initially created as a way to signal one another for help, but since signing on to work for King Septimus, Roland will often whistle to deliver commands or messages to the Sons in order to keep confidential matters from reaching the ears of bystanders. Different pitches have different connotations, and more than one Castle Tyrholm has bellyached about the secret smiles and obnoxious laughter exchanged between the Sons when Roland lets out a low whistle after a meeting with the King or The Fool. Still, even the loudest critics of the Sons’ nonverbal lingo can’t deny the sheer impressiveness of the way the Sons fall in line with naught but a whistle rendered from their Captain.

Though looked after by Clerics and Emissaries for much of his early boyhood, Roland never quite took to faith the way his caretakers had hoped he might. But he’s taken to Judgment the way most people take to religion, like they’re something absolute, something worthy of his hard-won devotion, and he can’t help but feel like some of their lessons are beginning to rub off on him. He thinks the Emissary who took him in would faint if she could see him now, knelt quietly in the foremost pew of the Sanctum, hands clasped as he listens to Judgment’s sermon with a look on his face caught somewhere between reverence and admiration. Life comes full circle, he supposes, and he finds himself growing increasingly fascinated by the idea of the Undying, of goodness, of life’s purpose. He wants to learn more about it all, he thinks. Or maybe he just wants to learn more about Judgment.

#accepted #accepted: strength

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Character Profiles

ROMAN PRINCE (16)

Son of Apollo, god of...let's just say the arts, archery, and medicine.

Apollo? God of music? Theatre? The arts? And just all around extraness?

Yeah he's the son of Apollo.

Roman is skilled with anything involving missile projectiles, from archery to basketball, and is a natural musician and actor.

He can actually charm people with his singing voice and, if he is focused enough and has the energy, can almost cast spells with songs. For instance, when he used it in the forest incident to lead him and Virgil out of the woods.

For weaponry, Roman is the only one with a magic weapon. Most often it's a double bladed sword, but it can be separated into two swords, used as a spear, or melded into one single sword.

Also, for some reason no one can explain, it's actually made of Imperial Gold instead of Celestial Bronze, but there's red detailing in the hilt and designs on the blades.

Of course he also has a bow, he's the son of Apollo, but his sword is his signature weapon.

His smile is like sunshine and he has ALL OF THE FRECKLES

He has Auburn hair and is the second shortest of the main four, much to his annoyance, though he's still tall at 5’10 (177 cm)

His eyes are green and he's the pretty boy of camp, giving all of the Aphrodite kids a run for their money.

Roman has been going to Camp Half-Blood for 10 years, ever since he was six.

Roman knew since he was brought to Camp Half-Blood for the first time for the summer by his mom when he was six, because he was immediately claimed by Apollo.

His mom told him early on that he was a demigod but it wasn't until the golden sun with it's arrows for rays that he knew exactly who he was.

But knowing he was a demigod he became obsessed with the magic and fantasy of Greek mythology, and as a kid who had already heard so many fairy tales, he had...strong opinions on the gods.

And their children.

And that included his brother.

He's getting better, especially since the forest incident, which resulted in him befriending and pining after Virgil.

Him and Patton fangirl over Disney and dashing heroes and stuff such as that.

Him and Logan it's all sass battles and such and they act like they hate each other but literally the entire camp knows that's die for each other in a heartbeat. You boys aren't fooling anybody.

LOGAN BRADFORD (17)

Son of Athena, goddess of wisdom

He's??? So smart??? Like there's Athena Cabin smart, and then there's Logan smart. The dude is on a whole nother level.

When it comes to weapons Logan uses twin landsknecht daggers, as they are weapons that require you to be precise and calculating. They aren't really anything special, with navy blue hilts and Celestial Bronze blades, but that's perfect for him.

Logan has black hair and blue eyes, and is the second tallest of the main four, at just over six feet. (182 cm)

Logan was the second most recent to arrive to Camp, arriving at 12 and having been at Camp for four years.

Logan took, surprise surprise, a much more logical standpoint on things than Roman.

He was from a long line of legacies. No one, even his father, knew he was a true son of Athena not just her legacy

So you can imagine his surprise when he got to camp and was properly claimed.

He adapted to this new development rather quickly and got on with his life, electing to, with the support of his family, to stay at camp year round and visit his family once in a while, usually for holidays and such.

It was actually so that his friend and totally not crush Patton wouldn't be lonely most of the year.

As a legacy, Logan dove into Greek Mythology similar to Roman, but rather than focus on the story elements Logan memorized as many stories, weapons, and monsters as he could.

He's like a walking Mythapedia.

The counselor of Aphrodite, Valerie Torres-Rosario, once set him up with Patton as a sort of joke (but everyone at camp low-key shipped them) and Logan was so astonished.

How can anyone be so happy? And pretty? Wait pretty? Wait, shit, 404 error, Logan.exe has shut down.

Nowadays…

Well can you say POWER COUPLE?

Battle couple, leader couple, just all around the most badass couple at camp that literally everyone loves.

Random fact: Logan has a southern drawl that he often dials down, worried it'll cause people to not take him seriously. But sometimes he let's it out with Patton, and yes it makes the poor boy melt.

PATTON HAILEY (16)

Son of Hebe, goddess of youth

Patton is kind of the definition of “looks like a cinnamon roll, and is a cinnamon roll” but when it comes to his abilities he's probably the most powerful of the bunch.

He can manipulate age, sucking the youth out of people and monsters with only a touch. He can almost always control it, but he usually wears gloves anyway. No one actually knew the extent of this until Capture the Flag one day.

Logan ran afoul of an orthrus (a two headed dog the size of a pony) and Patton without even thinking ripped off his gloves, holding on until the monster aged into dust.

He tends to not his powers much after that, so he instead studied with the Apollo cabin to be a healer and learned to use a slingshot and crossbow.

Also while not having a magic weapon persay, Patton does have a magic pouch with Celestial Bronze spheres for his slingshot that can hold way more than it seems. It's not bottomless but it can hold way more than you'd think.

Patton, poor baby, is the shortest of the group at 5’8”. (172 cm)

Patton and his brother were the second to arrive, Patton being 10 when he arrived at Camp, therefore being at Camp 6 years.

Patton also stays year round with his younger brother Dennis but that's because of a less happy reason.

See Hebe is a beautiful woman who Mr. Hailey fell in love with, but only for her beauty and they only had a one night stand. So he was not happy when a baby showed up at his door.

He got even worse when it happened again (although with a different goddess).

One day Patton took Dee and just left. Thankfully they were quickly found by a satyrs, Talyn, who escorted them to camp.

They stayed in the Hermes cabin for quite a while, Dee even longer than Patton, before being claimed.

Patton fit in quite quickly with his cabin mates. The children of Hebe are “highly sociable, take pride in community service and happiness of others, enjoy parties and feasts, tend to maintain a youthful appearance throughout their lives, are known to be fast healers, and are very good at planning social activities and parties.

That sure sounds like Patton to me.

Obviously is the dad of the entire camp.

Him and Logan, though Logan won't admit it, totally are mom and dad of CHB.

Random fact: Patton is next in line for counselor of the Hebe cabin.

VIRGIL CAMDEN (16)

Son of Phobos, god of fear

He can instill fear in people, as well as make them see their worst fears. He can look at someone and know what their afraid at that moment and their worst fears. He can also sort of sense fear of all kinds, from nervousness to anxiety to terror.

Virgil has a sword made of stygian iron, with a hilt of onyx inlaid with amethysts.

Also, he's the only one who had the sense to have a freaking shield. He doesn't always use it, but it's usually at least on his back if he's going into combat. He also has a small hand crossbow, but he doesn't always bring that with him.

Virge has brown hair, dyed purple, and actually tends to not wear much eye shadow, since the sweat from training can make it run.

He also straightens his hair but has Hobbit hair that only the other three have seen because he's kinda self-conscious about it, and each time was an accident. (Aww that might the a cute fic idea. “3 times Virgil accidentally showed his curly hair and one time it was on purpose”. Might write that if y'all want, idk.)

Moving on from his hair, he's got brown eyes, and while he doesn't wear a lot of eyeshadow (think the much less intense eyeshadow from his first few appearances) he still tends to wear white foundation and such. Idk anything about makeup.

Virgil is actually the tallest at 6’3” (190 cm) but is often so slouched he seems to be as tall as Logan if not shorter.

Virgil arrived at camp at 13, the last to arrive, and he has been at Camp 3 years.

Virgil and his parents didn't even know he was a demigod, not until a satyr named Joan showed up at his doorstep on his 13th birthday.

So he shows up to camp for the summers although when everything at home becomes too much he is known to stay at camp for a week or two.

His family situation is okay, but it's pretty tense and that just overwhelms him sometimes.

Him and Roman didn't get along at first, Roman convinced he was the son of an “evil” god. Then the forest incident happened and Virgil released maybe Roman wasn't the stuck up brat he seemed to be. They became friends and now Virgil is slowly falling in love. Curse those damn freckles.

Him and Logan get along pretty well and tend to hang out when everyone at camp is being a little too much. When they just need some practicality.

Patton is his best friend ever, they're totally bffs.

They're like the most wholesome friendship ever and honestly, even before Roman became Virgil's friend, people were starting to question if Virgil was really that bad, because if he was how could he befriend someone as precious as Patton?

Random fact: He somehow always manages to wear black and purple? He somehow even managed to get a hold of a black Camp Half-Blood t-shirt, something no one can explain considering they we're all supposedly bright orange.

DENNIS HAILEY (14)

Son of Apate, goddess of fraud, deceit, trickery, and lies.

Children of Apate aren't known as being powerful in a flashy way. They can't raise the dead, or summon hurricanes, or call lightning from the sky. Their powers are incredibly subtle.

Obviously they can lie their way out of almost any situation, they can blend into crowds easily, they can sense weakness, motivation, and lies. They can twist people's words around.

But just as some children have Aphrodite have charmspeak and some children of Hephaestus can control fire, certain children of Apate have another ability I'm calling Mimicry.

They can take on the form of another person to a level somewhere between an illusion and shapeshifting (meaning they can get stuff wrong), and mimic some speech patterns, quirks, and mannerisms. But not memories.

Dennis uses a rapier. The handle is black, but the area around the handle is gold (if you look up a rapier you'll know what I mean). The blade itself is the usual celestial bronze. That's his signature weapon but he's also good with various knives and daggers, including throwing knives.

He has black hair like Logan, but his eyes are grey, and he has a nasty scar on the side of his face from when him and Patton were fighting a monster before Talyn found them.

He's even shorter than Patton, but he's also not done growing yet, so cut him some slack.

Okay now the good stuff. You already read the gist of his back story with Patton, but once Patton got claimed their stories kind of separated.

See after Patton got claimed Dennis was still stuck in the Hermes cabin for a while. But while Patton was getting to know his other siblings, Dee was kinda left behind.

He took care of the rest of the distance when he was claimed by Apate.

It's a mostly one sided hate, because despite what Dennis has done, Patton just can't bring himself to hate his brother. And, no matter what he tells people Dennis really just misses his big brother but feels betrayed and can't risk that.

So instead he befriended a son of Eris, a boy also scorned by his brother (more on him soon). Although honestly, it's more like Dennis is the one keeping the older boy even semi under control.

Other than that, Dennis is still the manipulative, lying, GOOD INTENTIONED snek we all know and love.

He still causes chaos, but he's kind of true Neutral.

He's like this because that's how he came to believe was necessary for survival.

He was a child of the god of lies.

They wanted a snake?

He'd give them a snake.

But Patton won't give up on Dee. So maybe, just maybe, Dennis won't give up on himself either

Random fact: The one night (after Dennis was out of the infirmary for his injury) while the Hailey boys were still in the Hermes cabin, Patton and Dennis managed to sneak into the kitchen and Patton made chocolate chip cookies. Much to his annoyance, even to this day Dennis's ambrosia and nectar tend to taste like those cookies.

REMUS DUX (16)

Son of Eris, goddess of strife and discord

Remus is stronger in chaotic times, can create a golden apple that can cause people to fight over it, and cause fights between weaker-willed people.

His most powerful ability is a Strife Storm which causes things within it to break, change, or warp.

Remus uses a mace. Plot twist, right? He uses a sword more often than his signature weapon though.

The Mace is black with green designs on the handle. The head is celestial bronze, but Remus painted it black.

By the way, the following actually happened:

Thomas: What do you have?

Remus running wildly: A MACE!

Thomas: NO!

Roman: Oh my gods, why does he have a mace.

Remus has Auburn hair like Roman, but has black eyes and dyed lime green streaks into it.

He and Roman are the exact same height, and this annoys the shit out of both of them.

So now the family stuff. It seems complicated but it's really not, I swear.

So remember Roman's mom? So she met Apollo and had Roman.

But on the exact same day as Roman, Remus appeared on the doorstep of Mr. Dux. He knew it was his child, based on the note from Eris. So yes, the two have the exact same birthday.

But THEN, like not even a year later, Ms. Prince and Mr. Dux met and soon, they got married.

Roman and Remus got along like real brothers, and were the best of friends. Until, they were six years old.

You may remember that six years old was the first summer the boys arrived at Camp Half-Blood.

Roman was claimed practically as soon as they crossed the border. Remus was claimed in a few weeks, but during those weeks something...something happened to him.

He began to...change.

He began to become more chaotic, cruel, just plain old mean.

Roman was trying so hard to excuse this. Maybe his brother just missed their parents? Maybe if he spent more time with Remus than his cabin mates?

But then Remus was claimed, and Roman finally snapped, turning his back on his brother for good.

This was the last straw for Remus too.

The two finally decided, subconsciously and unanimously, that despite their parents love for both of them, despite their marriage, despite their childhood, they were no longer brothers.

Both boys cried that night.

But now Remus channels his energy into destruction, pranks, and honestly horrible things.

Dennis is quite honestly the only thing keeping him from actually killing someone.

That orthux that attacked Logan? That was Remus.

The forest incident? Remus.

Random fact: Remus loves bananas, and of his favorite things to do is eat a banana and leave it on the floor of the dining pavilion right before the dinner rush and watch an unsuspecting demigod slip and fall.

THOMAS SANDERS (20)

Son of Iris, goddess of the rainbow

Okay I know what you're thinking, but I SWEAR this isn't a gay joke. Honestly it started that way but I did actual research and I decided to actually keep it.

Okay so children of Iris have good communication skills, are often nice and good at making friends, are creative, have good color coordination, and are good with animals. Sounding familiar yet? YUP IT SOUNDS LIKE THOMAS FUCKING SANDERS.

Sorry I'm just so excited this worked out so perfectly.

Anyway onto the next part: powers.

Thomathy over here has the power to generate and manipulate light and color, he can change the color of things with just a touch (people suspect he's behind Virgil's black Camp t-shirts), he can see the whole spectrum of light (thankfully he can turn this on and off), and because he's special, he can summon rainbow wings that he can use to fly.

Thomas uses a bow and arrow. There isn't much special about them. It's a recurve bow that's a magenta color, the feathers on his arrows are all different colors, the arrowheads are celestial bronze but there are celestial bronze bits on the ends of his bow just in case a monster decides to get up close and personal.

He has a short sword as well, but he prefers to use the bow.

Thomas looks the same as our Thomas: brown hair, brown eyes, 5’10” (177 cm), etc.

Thomas honestly has a pretty good family life, and actually has been known to bring campers home with him for a week or so if needed? His family is welcome at camp, people call Mama Sanders “mom” even more often than they do Logan, it's pretty amazing.

As for demigod stuff, well Thomas was on watch for a while.

He was special for a child of Iris already (the wings ain't normal), but his best friend and his protector (Joan obviously) could tell he had potential to be a leader and a role model for all the kids at camp.

So at twelve, Thomas arrived at Camp Half Blood for his first day at camp.

He wasn't the best when it came to the physical attributes. He could fight, otherwise he'd be dead by now, but he wasn't exactly gifted at it.

Yet somehow he was counselor of the Iris cabin by the time he was 15?

He is just great at making friends. Even the Ares cabin likes him! He can actually talk them down!

No one understands it!

Literally the only one he can't control is Remus.

Soon, Dionysus was able to somehow cut a deal that got him out of camp director. That title went to Chiron and Thomas, at age 18, became the activities counselor, taking over Chiron's now vacant spot.

Literally the entire camp cheered when this happened.

There wasn't a single unhappy camper in sight.

Random Fact: Thomas's eyes actually change color sometimes, like a holographic image. They're usually brown, but campers swear they've seen them multiple other colors, even colors that shouldn't be possible like red and purple.

Tag List: @coconut-cluster @stop-it-anxiety @wizzo-the-motherfucking-wizard @planetkookie @winterrs-child @thgjclw @dragonsaphirareads @jessadamsdraws @landofsaltandshade @just--potato @that-one-sunfish-with-a-wig-on @withspaces @demoncrownqueen

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imagine-loki · 5 years

Text

Pride and Prejudice

TITLE: Pride and Prejudice CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 17 AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths. RATING: Mature NOTES/WARNINGS: Forced Marriage, not all fun and games. My first real step back into the Loki scene in over a year.

Tags - @skulliebythesea @asimovethroughthisworld @blackcherry26-blog

Ella sat in her rooms with a new sense of purpose. She set all of her gifts from her father’s travels back to their previous spots before pausing for a moment and smiling, and looking around. It had been more work than she would have wished, but she felt it was the right thing to do.

She was in the middle of her resettling when there was a polite knock on her door. Curious, she walked over and opened it, startled to not see a far taller Jotnar, but Loki. “Oh, hello.”

Loki looked slightly awkward in front of her. “Hello.”

“Come in.” Ella moved to the side to allow Loki into the room, which he did before standing there and look around. There was a moment of silence. “Is there something you require me for or…?”

“No, no. The reason I am here is that I wanted to thank you, for your promise to keep the Casket on Jotunheim first and foremost, but also for staying. I know the Allfather is less inclined to ignore you than others, but I truly did not think he would allow it.”

“For a moment, so did I, but he is a wise man. He sees the needs for allowing things at certain times.” Loki frowned. “But, of course. I could never have allowed it to leave, Jotunheim needs it first and foremost, but also, it is just right. It is not a trinket to be displayed.” She looked at the small items around the room. “These are keepsakes, not your realm’s life source. In itself, taking it and keeping it from you as a trophy was one of my father’s worst acts.”

Loki smiled slightly at how she saw it so clearly. He brought his hand from behind his back to reveal some of the flowers Laufey had shown to her before. “Father mentioned you liked these.”

Seeing them, Ella’s smile brightened. “I am so envious.” Loki frowned. “I wish I could touch them.” She looked sadly at them. “I tried, even with my seidr, but it melted immediately. Laufey told me that Nal…” She paused at his reaction.

“That what?” Loki looked at her in confusion, his mother’s name piquing his interest.

“That when Nal carried you, she loved being able to touch them.”

Loki looked at the flowers in his hands. “I never knew…”

“Sorry.”

Loki inhaled and shook his head slightly. “No, you could not have known. I thought ...since you could not touch them, that you…” He extended his hand slightly.

Smiling at his attempt of extending a means to talk with her, she conjured up an ice vase and brought it towards the flowers.

Loki looked at the vase and its design. “You…you’re quite good at that.”

“I like to design things. That is why I took an interest in the sculptures here. I love well-done designs.”

Loki recalled her comment to him on the ability of Jotunheim’s people and his nasty retort to such. She had, like so many other times, simply tried to find some manner to communicate with him, or at her most benign, simply tried to compliment the realm. “Yes,” he cleared his throat. “Well…” He looked at the design more. “It is supposed to be my father’s shield?”

“Yes, and no. It has elements of it, but it is altered. I added the Vanir arms to it, and I noticed you use ice daggers in your training, not longer weapons like most others do, so I added them too.” She indicated to them on her work. “I also added this…Ice Beast because of its ferocity and how it obeys you, that is why it is on its hind legs beside your symbol, in many realms, that is why leaders are shown to be on a rearing horse, it is to indicate control of the beast as one does the realm.”

“Did you just design that right now?”

“No, I...I got bored before and…”

Loki bit his lips together and looked to the ground. “I never realised...I thought you did not want to associate with us.”

“That I thought myself above you?”

“Well, yes.”

“Why would you assume that?”

“Your brother…”

“Never start a sentence of your judgement of my character with my brother as a reference. There is more alike between here and Muspelheim than there is between him and I. Yes, he thinks himself above others, for Norns’ sake, he is to be Allfather, Vahalla help us all. But I am not him. I am not him, my father, or my mother. The same as I would not judge you, your brothers or King Laufey as one.”

Loki noted the sheer insult she seemed to exude at being likened to her brother. “I apologise.”

“I know my family did you wrong, I do. And I know my realm is frowned upon here and other realms, but I cannot help that, I can only help how I am and I endeavour to be better than people’s opinion of me.”

Loki nodded slightly. “May I ask you something?”

“By asking that question, you have.” She joked. “But please, feel free. I will answer it if I am able.”

“Why did you elect to stay, why did you fight to be here. The Allfather was going to void everything, you would have been free.”

Ella gave a small laugh. “Free? What freedom had I to look forward to? I guess I fear the unknown, as all do, I fear what man I could risk having to call husband after this.”

“He probably would not have left you alone in your room to suffer.”

“He could do far worse to me than leave me alone.” Ella retorted. “I stayed because my very being told me it is the right thing to do. I stayed because I like it here. I like that on this realm, I am not the forgotten unrequired second child. That my brother and the idiotic accolades he does that define him are not something I have to endure, I like Jotunheim. I studied it for years and I fell in love with aspects of it long before I ever set foot here and I have a great fondness for your father. He is a good man and a good king, as you will be.”

Loki was startled by her words. He had become used to her speaking well of Jotunheim since she woke from her illness, but the passion she spoke of it and the reference of caring for his father startled him. “He was your father’s enemy. The Allfather lost an eye to him.”

“I know.” She acknowledged. “But so too was my father the man that ransacked any chance of Jotunheim being a power again for a thousand long years, yet he embraced me, took me into his home and has treated me with more respect than I ever could have expected.” She looked at him. “I know you loathe my father. I know you will never forgive his actions and I respect that that is your opinion and I will never argue it, but he is my father and he treated me with love and kindness for so long as I have memories, and though I do not agree with his actions in many ways, he will always be the man that used to sit me on his knee and tell me of stories from the years long gone and who taught me Tafl, who sat for hours and talked to me about court matters, since my brother was too busy trying to fight some form of peculiar beast or another, and I am not entirely sure if it was to mount it as a trophy or mate.”

Loki was interested in her words of her father, of the man she knew as she aged as opposed to the man they knew, but on her reference to her brother, he found himself laughing at her comment.

For her part, Ella was startled by his genuine show of amusement in her company. She realised then that she had never heard him laugh before. With a slightly proud smile, she enjoyed the moment.

When he ceased laughing, Loki noticed her smile and found himself smiling back. “You have a very smart wit.”

“Thank you, many think it unbecoming of a woman but I find it the quickest manner to disarm a rude or egotistical man, so I think it to be that some simply do not wish to be outdone by the fairer sex.”

Loki thought back to their wedding day, to her scathing comment with regards to how she would not be able to ascertain his abilities through lack of knowledge of the act and how it silenced him immediately. “I think it to do so, yes.” He thought again to everything that occurred, but also to the things required of them. He did not know how to broach dealing with the requirements of their station again. He recalled how when she woke from her illness and saw him, she thought he was only interested in attempting to fulfil their duty and tried to disrobe to simply do it. He recalled her exhausted and ill state and how she still tried to force herself to do what was expected of her. It told him that she had been doing so while ill for a time before that day too, but she simply said nothing. He looked at her again, feeling uncomfortable.

Ella noticed the change in demeanour and looked around awkwardly. “Thank you for the flowers. I am so glad everything is getting to be as it once was.”

“Yes, I always swore I would do what I needed to return it to this way. I never realised I was throwing it all away.” He looked down guiltily. “My father spent so long teaching me everything to be a good King and a good Jotnar, I never realised the whole process meant nothing if I was not good to those in my life.”

“I know you never wanted this.”

“It does not excuse my treatment of you. You never asked for it either.”

“I was not even born when this agreement took place.” Loki stared at her in shock. “My father had learnt I was a girl, apparently noted Laufey had a son that was very young when he came and saw a union to create peace once more.”

“Yet, you never fought any of this?”

“I was always going to be for a life like this, I knew that since before I was told who I was to marry. Fighting it only would have insulted my family, myself and indeed you as my betrothed.”

Loki noted her consideration for him in it all. “It’s such a peculiar concept.”

“What is?”

“Marriage, this flimsy ribbon meaning you are tied to someone when there’s is no affection, no caring.”

“Most everyone who goes through all of it has some manner of affection for the one they are married to,” Ella commented sadly. “It was unfair to force this way of life on someone who neither knows it or accepts it.”

“Yet to remain here, you insist on it?”

“I stated that you could choose to have it that we both could seek companionship elsewhere, just whatever you choose, I will be given the exact same liberties, it’s only fair.” She pointed out. “I understand this is not easy for you, Prince Loki, honestly, I do. But of the two of us, who is not on their home realm? Who is not in the home they have known all their life? Who is the outsider? Who looks nothing like any other being here? And who is the child of the brutal man that took everything from this realm?” She questioned. “To all of the above, the answer is me. I do not say this to fish for sympathy, or to make myself a victim, I never once allowed this to shape my opinion of you or Jotunheim, if anything, I thought it to be a reason to accept some of the animosity I would get here, yet the greatest of it seems to be from you. Everyone else seems to understand how what my father did was not my fault.” Loki looked slightly guiltily. “So, do only the male Jotnar get to have multiple mates? Can a woman not have multiple ones?”

“No, it is fair, both may have any they wish.”

“Bar myself, of course.”

“You’re not Jotnar, though.”

“But I am now of this land by this marriage. I am forced to adhere to the rules of being of this land, the laws of which it is governed, am I not?”

“You are.”

“So too must I keep to its traditions.”

“You are far differently dressed to any other woman here.” Loki pointed out.

Ella looked at her clothes, most noticeably, how she covering her attire was. “I know, but I do feel cold from time to time and I was raised to have a different view on modesty that I do wish to alter to my settings, but it does not mean I do not feel awkward with regards to it from time to time.” She gave a small smile. “I am learning through this. My study only got so far on Asgard. I was fortunate to be able to find literature, I was unfortunate in that I did not have a Jotnar to discuss said literature with. His Majesty and Counsellor Arden have been so gracious and patient with my questions to date.”

Loki did not know how to respond. “Have they answered them all? Your questions, I mean?”

“The ones I have asked.” She smiled with a hint of embarrassment in her features. “I did not want to bother them too much.”

“What else do you wish to know? Perhaps I could assist?”

“I fear I would take up too much of your time.”

“Let us see.” He looked to a chair. “May I?”

“Please.” She sat across from him.

#Loki #others #Submitted fic #submission #wolfpawn #chapter 17 #pride and prejudice

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wolfpawn · 5 years

Text

Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 17

Story Summary - Based on an idea I had that I submitted to Imagine Loki. Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths.

Chapter Summary - Ella and Loki start to actually talk.

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Tags - @peppermint-j @damalseer @perpetual-fangirl @tinchentitri @inspired-snowflace @raphaelaisabella @alexakeyloveloki @caffiend-queen @devilbat @nonsensicalobsessions @skulliebythesea @majoringinlife @salempoe @lotus-eyedindiangoddess

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