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ilyuu · 10 months

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morning call.

the ends of the horizon stirs awake, and silks of gold drapes itself on the line that splits the skies and land. it just so happens that you wake along with it with the warmth of your other as a quiet promise. (or you wake up next to him.)

ft. albedo, ayato, childe, kaeya, kazuha & xiao.

warnings : a bit suggestive! (kaeya), fluff, kiths, a lot of kiths, soft times, blushy boys, descriptions of scars (childe), Imk if i missed anything!

albedo.

the delicate tandem of breaths shared is all you heard, the four corners of the room flooding back into your senses, filling you of all sorts of feelings and thoughts that fades as swiftly as it came. that and the cool touch of skin tightly on yours, fingers locked. his fingertips scratches the back of your hand every then and so, and every shift brings forth a calm wave, pulling you under as it crests and drowning you in familiarity.

you turn your head to the side, the pillow underneath you wrinkling, and held your breathe in when you saw him. there’s always a touch of eternity to him, how smooth and soft he looks, almost docile, whenever he sleeps. his lips slightly ajar, faint shadows of his lashes, strands of his sun-kissed hair in disarray. always the composed, and yet, not a silver of said composure is to be found in his side of him.

a pulse echoes, a bit louder - it may be his or yours, or both - as you lean in and peck the corner of his lips. a soft pink blooms on his pale cheeks, and it adds more color onto the dawn. the snow that slowly falls from the skies, clouded in its monotonous winter and bitter bite, seems to melt from his skin, almost fading all traces, as his eyes flutter just slightly to see you.

ayato.

a softness you felt familiar runs through your hair, untangling all of its ties and knots, brushing your scalp. as the tingly sense seeps in, the veil of sleep slips from you, and the world around starts to grow a bit lighter and brighter. it paints the room in a tender tint, yet frames the edges of his skin in its glow. his irises still held that solemnity that you seen in him a many times, yet faint - in lieu, a look of gentle content he gazes at you with - that air of cool collection that clings to him drifting elsewhere.

and he allows himself this small fracture of a morning as you close your eyes, lost in his touch - a bit crispy, yet soothing and ethereal all the same. there’s no pause, no slowing down, in the day ahead, as now is the only moment time can give him to spend on whatever is needed.

the world around him will continue on along with him, but, for now, he’ll ask for it to drag on a minute more as he moves his hand to cup your cheeks, stroking the corner of your eye as you, too, allow yourself this bit of the morning.

childe.

a scent tugged you out of your blanket of warmth, although the comforting tepidness you found yourself in as you do rouse awake might be a bit better - sandbearer, and a whiff of salt, albeit faded. it swirls around him and you, as you felt a tight tug of his arms, wrapped around your waist, to draw you close and closer to him. curled into the nook of his neck, hearing his slow, steady breathes, you’re almost lulled back into that sense of security.

it’s only when you spot scars, all faint and dim, a story, a chapter, marred across his figure, peeking out from underneath his shirt. a peek of his collarbone from a few loose buttons shows a strip of skin, starting from his shoulder blade and yet, not knowing where it ends. others as well, peppering from here and there, a few nicks that seems almost indistinct unless you know what you’re looking for.

of course, you shuffle a bit until the scar stands in front of you, and place a small kiss - it’s then that you feel him stiffen, his breath caught in his chest. he lets it out for it to only come off as breathless, a surprise puff of air that skims on embarrassment. and embarrassed he is, for his cheeks take on a crimson that fits him all the same.

kaeya.

a wintry puff of air drifts to the shell of your ear. you let it. it happens again. your brows furrow. it happens one more time. you pull the edges of the blanket overhead, and a muffled chuckle brings the room to life. a series of rustling ensues, that in the quiet, it sounds almost so and too much - you soon find that you’re not the only one hidden away underneath the thin cover of protection, from both the dawn and the cold.

a pair of lips that felt hot, yet cold all the same, pressed against your neck and a sigh left you at the prick of warmth shivering up your skin. his soft chuckle draws you from your daze, a carefree breath against your ear that drips with his usual allure. it wafts over to your lips where it met his - a slow exchange of heated breathes, and a small space of quiet names and murmurs.

until, there is no breath in either of your lungs, as you tug the blankets off of you both, letting the canvas of the day sift into the panels of the windows, bathed in a different type of warmth. as motes of dust floats around, you lie yourself on kaeya as his lips once more meets your skin - a chaste peck on the tip of your nose.

it still flusters you, as much as it amuses him as he chuckles, the sound pleasant and kind to the ears.

kazuha.

the tepidness of the morning does little to rouse you up. rather, it was the loose locks, splayed across the still surface of the pillows, that tickled you. your vision a bit hazy, trying to adjust to the sudden light, you only see what’s close to you - that is, kazuha soundly asleep, the occasional shift of his hands as he presses it in the small space between the two of you. be it a picture to capture a small, common moment as this, or a haiku to try and keep the feelings swaying in the air in words and letters, neither nor more will do justice to the sight that lies before you.

before you know it, your hands are already brushing his hair off to the side, tucking a few strands behind his ear for his own comfort and as lightly as you can to not rouse him awake. it’s only a few seconds in and that seems to be something to go awry, with your fingertips skimming his temple, and a sound humming in his chest. it’s then that his eyes flutter open, the light a bit too bright, aglow with the promise of a new day, before slowly adjusting to you.

and he smiles. he smiles a smile that seemed too soft, too tense, a phantom of all that is too kind living in the way his lips curved. one that is too tempting to kiss.

and so you did. (met with a surprised look, eyes slightly widened as his smile turns shy. welcomed into the realm of consciousness with a kiss - he finds that it’s quite cute.)

xiao.

a pair of piercing eyes is one of the first things you see, the settings a backdrop of melting canary and gold - it doesn’t compare to the shade of his irises, though, and you soon find yourself sleepily seeking it, a silent, slow moment of the morning spent on the crinkle of his eyes. it’s almost too soon that his skin starts to turn a faint pink, and that a sigh leaves his lips, as if to let go of the stress stiffening his shoulders. that alone sets a small smile on your face.

it’s that which prevents him from pulling away, from leaving a dent in the sheets next to you should he have left - it was a quiet yearning of his to see you smile, first thing in the morning. he has yet to understand that, out of anyone, anyone that would’ve fit with you as nicely, you decided that he was worth enough to become the very reason you light up.

for the day was already bright enough, with the sun sitting on the dot of the horizon, and you chose to brighten it up even more because of him. so he continues to stare at you, taking you in of this side of yours drawn out from the dark, the edges of the night left cornered in its crevices as you do the same.

(yes, even as his skin starts to heat up and that the smile on your lips grows in every second that it does.)

general taglist (open!) : @/zuyoo, @starz222, @haliyamori, @kazumist, @/tartaglia-apologist, @mikacynth, @angelkazusstuff, @doumalove, @kpop-and-otome, @emo-mess, @kissedbysilk . . .

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blissfulip · 29 days

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—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: Handjob

Words: 2k

[A/N: Happy Easter Sunday lmao, also whoever picks up all of the 'easter eggs' (get it wink wink) gets a kith and hug from me (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

III.

Viktor stood frozen, the voice that whispered those words echoing against the walls of his head as he gazed upon the creature before him, a figure blindingly bright yet of simultaneously all-consuming darkness. The sight obscured his thoughts and left him adrift in a sea of terror. How could he have been so blind as to believe that he could command such power without consequence? Or rather, was it the naivete of believing nothing would come of it that turned against him?

The very essence of his faith fractured—that earth-shattering feeling that had become all too common for him that day—threatened by this insidious presence. What had he unleashed upon the world? What horrors awaited him in the wake of his hubris? Viktor trembled, and his soul lay bare before the abyss, but something sinister took him out of this blossoming meltdown; she, the creature, looked familiar.

And achingly so, yet her form eluded him like a half-remembered dream. Faces swirled in the depths of his memory, merging and shifting like shadows cast by a flickering flame, but he was unable to put a finger on them.

"Do you not recognize me, Viktor?" Her voice cut through the air, eerily sweet.

Viktor recoiled in horror at the sound of his own name coming out of her mouth, the weight of her words crashing down upon him.

“I manifest to you as a reflection of your own desires, an amalgamation of every soul you have ever yearned for, sweet human.” She hissed as she offered Viktor a hand to help him stand, her touch oddly warm as they both sat on the bed. “Do you not see it? That young woman from the bakery, or the one you always look at for a tad too long while you buy turnips? You don’t even like turnips,” she smiled slightly. “What about that woman who comes to confess every week? The one with the slightly hoarse voice that you love, even that tan young man with the green eyes,. Yes, yes, I know about him too; I am him too.”

“Who…what are you?” He asked amidst a short-lived surge of bravery.

“My name is Legion,” she said with an off-putting tone of irony, “for we are many... or however that verse goes. Mawkishly sentimental if you ask me.” She chuckled and seemed to deflate in disappointment at her attempt at humor not being acknowledged. She sighed in oddly human-like resignation, “I don’t have a name, Viktor, but I know yours , and you know what I am.”

"I seek nothing from the likes of you, Demon, you don’t know me." he declared, though doubt gnawed at him.

"You do, and it is the truth that I know you; your biggest fear is to remain ignorant and blind to the truths that lie beyond the veil of your mortal existence; I can feel it. " She whispered against his ear.

"You are but a trick of the darkness; I will not succumb to your temptations."

"Oh, but Viktor, you already have ," she purred. "You summoned me here, drawn by your own curiosity. Your anger simmers beneath that stoic surface, against the silence of the heavens and the absence of answers to your prayers. But I answered, so why direct your anger at me ?"

“I have faith in Him; God will intercede in my favor.” He said, covering his face ith both hands, afraid his expression would betray something that confirmed her accusations.

“Yet you question his wisdom and his justice. You resent his silence, you doubt .”

“I love Him, and I will repent; I will.”

“Why? Faith without cynicism is a hollow shell. Will you let yourself be domesticated like a beast? A man of science like yourself?”

The spark of courage grew into embers inside Viktor’s chest at the mention of his work. Although he remained silent, not wanting to concede, she saw it in him, just like she experienced every emotion that grew within the transparent exterior that contained his soul.

“Embrace this fire, and you will obtain what you seek.” She said, gently laying a hand over Viktor’s.

His shoulders slumped in resignation, but even as he acquiesced to her demands, a seed of guilt still remained. What would God think of him now for consorting with a creature of darkness? Would he be cast aside and condemned for eternity for his folly?

"What do you fear, judgement?” Viktor nodded.

“Your god is nothing but an egregore," she declared, her voice a whisper. "A figment of mortal imagination, born from the collective beliefs of humanity, he only has power over you if you allow it."

“God is my shepherd, He…” He started to recite, but his voice betrayed him.

“Yahweh, Tetragrammaton, Adonai, El, Elohim, Shaddai, Tzevaot… it does not matter who you so fervently pray to! Ancient egregores hold no power over the ancient gods.” She started saying in a firm tone, her volume high in affront. “And you, my sweet, are so unfortunately Christ hunted…a lot of work to be done.” She continued, her voice tuning back down to her previously silky tone.

Viktor's breath caught in his throat, but simultaneously, the weight of her words lifted a heavy chain that had previously hung around his neck. Although this—his God’s identity and how much power He held—seemed to be a point of contention between him and his conscience, every word she uttered seemed to confirm things he had been long thinking about. But the smell of culpability Viktor emanated was pungent, and what she saw in his heart was a whirlwind.

She was proud that he had let himself be guided by his urges, that he had, even if only for a small moment, felt true freedom in pleasure. She felt his fear when he remembered he would need to face father Isidore and then she felt his rage. He felt so strongly against him that for a second she imagined he would be nothing short of a monster, his robust yet sweet face was an interesting sight to find framed in Viktor’s memory.

She felt sympathy and sadness and confusion, she felt worried for the young girl with the twin braids just like Viktor had, and felt intrigued as to how she had come in possession of her coin, but what mattered most to her in that moment was one problematic sensation; despondency. Viktor was close to giving up, he had nearly decided rage was useless and so was science.

“Let’s begin by working on the heavy guilt you carry.” She said, after a long silence. Viktor noticed an unsettling tenderness in her eyes when he, for the first time, looked directly into them.

“I made a vow.” He answered, his voice breaking as it turned into a whisper.

"Do not let the chains of guilt bind you, Viktor," she murmured. "The church may preach of purity and righteousness, but it is built upon a foundation of hypocrisy, and you don’t need me to tell you as much.”

“I know of the behavior of some members of the clergy, but why should...”

“I don’t speak of individual transgressions; the church as an institution seeks to negate eroticism and sexuality, yet it embraces them in its most sacred rites.”

The deeply puzzled expression in Viktor’s face prompted her to elaborate.

“Think about the things you do during sacrament; think of the smell of incense, the touching of beads, the kissing of sacred objects, the rubbing of oils... Think about consuming the physical body of the idol you adore, and think about what it makes you feel—enlightenment, apotheosis. Remember the deep pleasure you extracted from the pain of self-penitence? It’s nearly devine, is it not? That necessity to envelop all senses?”

Viktor nodded.

“And that feeling you get of being close to god in a way that nothing else will get you to—that sensation of being outside the perception of time and space—have you experienced it?”

“I have, in prayer.”

“Can I show you what true ecstasy feels like? One that starts and culminates in yourself without any divine intervention?

And once again, Viktor simply nodded. The air crackled with a tension thick enough to suffocate him, his breath shallow and rapid. A rush of anticipation surged through him, mingling with a primal curiosity that threatened to consume him whole as she slithered behind him. The shift of weight on the mattress gave him a strange awareness of the materiality of what was taking place, and the hot breath on the left side of his neck caused the last string of sanity holding him together to loosen.

For a second, he wondered if she was nothing but a very sly yet human woman that had somehow found a way into his room, but that idea was quickly quenched as both of her hands slowly glided along the sides of his still-clothed thighs, emanating that unnatural white glow that was clearly not of mortal nature.

Her touch was delicate and warm, her nails slowly creeping up to the hem of his cassock as she pulled it up to reveal the trousers underneath. If Viktor had any idea of what she planned on doing, he would have been of more help, adjusting to make his clothing easier to remove, but unaware of what awaited him, he sat there immobile.

After some mild struggle, she managed to get to the stubborn clasp, and the slight accidental touches ignited a fire within Viktor's veins, sending tendrils of heat coursing through his body. Soon enough, there was nothing in between them, and the cold air that came into contact with the streak of viscosity that had dampened his underpants sent goosebumps across his arms.

She hadn’t even made her way to his cock yet, but with each gentle caress around his stomach and thighs, Viktor's senses were heightened to a fever pitch, his body aflame with a hunger that burned brighter than any candle. With the first feather touch along his shaft, he felt as if he were teetering on the edge of a precipice, poised on the brink of a pleasure so exquisite it bordered on agony.

And then, with a slow and deliberate motion, her hand closed around him, sending shockwaves of ecstasy racing through every fiber of his being. A guttural moan escaped his lips as she began to move, her rhythm mechanic and intoxicating. With every teasing stroke, Viktor's breath hitched, his body responding eagerly to her touch.

"Ah…God!" he gasped, his voice a hoarse whisper of longing.

She froze on her tracks, drawing out a protesting whine from Viktor. “Do not call upon his name now; at this moment, you belong to me .” She spoke, her voice still sweet but laced with a tinge of resentment.

Viktor's mind swam in a haze, his thoughts fragmented and disjointed as he desperately nodded in agreement, before she resumed the pace of her moment. And then Viktor felt himself hurtling his head back onto her shoulder, his world reduced to nothing. She gently removed the sweat-drenched pieces of hair from his forehead and whispered words in a language he could not understand while her hand continued its path down to his neck and back.

For a second, he felt a reminder of the stinging pain on his shoulder blades, and then it faded. As he reached the climax of his arousal, he cried out desperate pleas, only this time to her and himself, finally surrendering to this intoxicating embrace. After letting him breathe for a while, she took one of his hands in hers and placed the copper coin on it. Viktor knew he was bound to her now.

And in that moment, there was no room for guilt or shame, only the unquenchable thirst for more.

#viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane #arcane au #arcane viktor #legion

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dragonologist-writings · 20 days

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Title: Crown of Fire Fandom: Pillars of Eternity Rating: G Status: One-Shot Characters: Original Character (Nona) Additional Notes: Backstory for TTRPG Character, Family Drama & Betrayal, Leaden Key Recruitment Word Count: 1200 Summary: “You have been praying for justice, haven’t you? We are the true followers of Woedica. Justice is what we deliver.”

read below or here on AO3

State your name and purpose.

My name belongs to the gods and my hand to their service.

Even as a child, Nona spends many of her days in the temple. At first she is taken there by her mother, along with her baby sister Decima, as they go to visit her father while he works. But even as time passes, after her mother stops taking her (after Mother is gone), Nona still finds herself returning of her own accord.

It's a wondrous place, with grandiose architecture, chants that feel like magic, books and words and history memorialized in long rows of heavy tomes. More than that, the place carries a sense of belonging, of certainty, of rightness, and though at her young age she doesn’t quite yet have the words to express it, Nona feels it all the same.

Her father encourages her interest, of course.

“Would you like to become a priestess one day, Nona?” he asks with a smile. “You could lead the temple and help the erl in court, like I do. It’s a lot of work, of course, and you’ll have to study hard. But the priesthood runs in our family. It could be your calling just as it was mine.”

And Nona looks up with wide eyes at the crowned statue of Woedica, so resplendent and wise. Once again she feels that belonging, that certainty, that rightness, and she eagerly nods in assent.

What company do you seek?

I seek the company of shadows, that our labors may remain secret.

Nona knows what the papers say. She knows what they mean. But still she checks her work, over and over again, until she can no longer deny the truth.

Her father doesn’t believe her at first. “The erl would not be involved in such things,” he insists, but Nona shows him her research, all carefully documented and organized. It’s all there, undeniable proof of her suspicions and accusations.

Corruption. Deception. Even animancy experiments, the kind that have been outlawed in Aedyr for decades. Nona doesn’t know exactly how long it’s been going on, but it’s clear that the erl is using any means he has to collect a very forbidden type of power. More than that, it’s clear he has no intention of stopping, no matter how many of the gods' laws he breaks along the way.

It is the type thing the Church of Woedica simply cannot stand.

“Let me take care of this,” her father says. When Nona tries to protest, he stands firm. “You do not have the authority to convince the court of such things. I do. My voice will not be ignored. I will see that the right thing is done.”

And Nona, fool that she is, believes him.

Tell me of your labors.

To see that the craft of kith and wilder does not disturb what bones the gods have buried.

Nona knows everything has gone wrong when the guards come for her.

She does her best to keep calm, even as she hears the temple-goers whisper loudly, even as she sees Decima’s terrified face in the crowd. She tells herself that this is a simple mistake, and that her father will ensure everything is sorted out.

But her father only watches, stone-faced, as the erl reads out the charges of treason. And when the charges have been read, it is her father who declares her guilty.

“He is protecting you,” Decima tells her later, in the short time they have together before Nona must leave the city for good. “Had he done nothing, you would be facing execution rather than exile.”

She says this as if it is a good thing, and Nona has never felt such anger in all her life.

How do we know your purpose?

You shall know it by the confession of my tongue, the deeds of my hand, and the oath on my soul.

When the cloaked figures appear, Nona wonders for a moment if someone has finally been sent to kill her.

But the leader of the group, a woman with a stoic voice and sharp eyes, only smiles at her. “We’ve heard tale of a city,” she explains, “where a man rules through corruption and taints the land with animancy. We have heard of a Woedican priest who ignores his duties to The Queen That Was. And we have heard of you.”

Nona can only stare, speechless, and the woman’s smile widens. “You have been praying for justice, haven’t you? We are the true followers of Woedica. Justice is what we deliver.”

And how is your oath guarded?

“What are you going to do now?”

Nona is startled by the question, and by the reappearance of the hooded woman that she’d assumed would be gone by now. Perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised- they are standing in Woedica’s temple, after all. Where else would Her servants be?

“I don’t know,” Nona answers honestly, and tries not to show just how much that answer scares her.

“Are you not planning on returning to your place here?”

“Here?” Nona laughs, but there is no humor in her tone. “There’s nothing for me here. Everybody in this city either still believes the lies or hates me for revealing the truth.”

The words leave a bitter taste in Nona’s mouth, but they cannot be denied. Nobody wants her here. Even her sister- (and she thought Des, of all people, would understand, would always be on her side)- even her sister is furious at her for destroying the façade of respectability her father had built.

But Nona destroyed it anyway. At the very least, she helped. And now, because of her and these strange agents, the erl is dead and his followers have fallen with him. Some had attempted a surrender, had begged for mercy, but there is little mercy to be found in The Burned Queen's justice. Nona does not claim happiness at this, but there is a catharsis in knowing that the scales have finally been evened.

(Father had fallen to his knees, had been one of the men to beg, and that was when Nona knew he had never been worth of a place here.)

Lost in thought, Nona nearly forgets the other woman’s presence until, after a long moment, she says, “Come with us.”

Nona looks at her, surprised and slightly alarmed. “With you? Where?”

“Wherever we are needed,” the woman answers simply. Her eyes continue to study Nona as she speaks, although she never loses her steady tone. “The Queen always has a place for those who serve her well, and you have proven your faith.”

Nona opens her mouth to answer, but before she can speak the woman holds up a hand in warning. “Be aware- this is not a responsibility to take lightly. This life is difficult, and dangerous. There are many places that do not accept the worship of our Queen, let alone our work for her. If you are to do this, you must be certain.”

Nona takes a moment, and thinks about what she will be leaving behind, and what has already been lost, and whether it will be worth it to keep walking down this path. She does not need long to find the answer. “I am certain.”

It is sealed by the Leaden Key.

#fanfic #pillars of eternity #oc: nona #despite what i put her through i love nona so dearly <3 #crown of fire

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dogydayz · 1 year

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i feel the absolute need to mention that I originally started practicing posing models of Sonic characters because I wanted to make renders of Shadow and Sonic cuddling and kissing and stuff like that without having to fuck around with drawing every scene. I started doing this shit because i wanted to smack them together like action figures and say "now kith."

this happened because i wanted to make them smooch.

this all started with me being desperate to see high quality renders of them absolutely aggressively in love.

#blender art #sonic #sth #sonadow #shadow the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #3d render

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years

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dunno if you got that ask but dang another god entity, violet sounds neat

can i meet them? give them a kith and a pat pat?

- 🤠

(tw: dereality)

Hands cover your eyes. A gentle whisper by your ear in the sane vein a passing wind.

"Can you hear me, Y/n?"

You nod. The voice chuckles, the trace of lips pressing against the back of your skull.

"Good. I'm glad our influence reaches this far, but it have to stop here. I'm going to show you something, okay? And you must to as I say."

One hand pulls back to stroke your hair. "When I lift my hand, I want you to focus on the first time you lost a baby tooth. That first scrape or bruise. Remember ever scar and blemish, and do not forget who you are. Do you understand?"

You nod again. The hand over your eyes moves.

You're in a pitch black room; shadows so thick you can barely see in front of you nor what you sit upon. A figure sits before you, dressed in white robes and hands folded in its lap. They fall to its side as it rises, slowly brining them upwards to lift the veil over its face.

You still cannot see it from the hood of its robes casting shadows over, but you can feel the weight of its gaze. A tender embrace that carries the structure of its entire being. Sadness, grief- yearning. These simple emotions make up the creature standing before you; the full strength of its adoration pushing at parts of your brain. You can feel its memories; memories its seen through the eyes of others, pushing against where yours once stood. They're all of you.

You do as the voice instructed; remembering all those moments from your youth. Any memory that made you, you. The figure stocks closer. It lowers its face to yours. You feel lips as cool as a summer breeze graze yours. You can feel its smile upon you.

"You can not remember me, or the infection shall spread, but if there is one thing you must recall - let it be the love I have for you."

#yandere #yandere god #yandere scenarios #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere blurb #yandere drabble #yandere teratophilia #yandere oc #tw yandere #yandere oneshot #This do be kinda ass #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #🤠 anon

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open-hearth-rpg · 7 months

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Hearts of Yokai: A PbtA Hack

For the last couple of years I’ve played around with a PbtA hack of Changeling the Lost. CtL’s my favorite setting across both Old and New World of Darkness. I love the core idea of a modern urban fantasy with people changed by their encounters with supernatural forces. I love that they have to band together to make sure those beings don’t threaten them again. I love exploring how broken people work through that trauma and accidentally perpetuate it.

My CtL hack could charitably be described as a mess. It blended together ideas from Urban Shadows, Masks, Fate, Hearts of Wulin etc. It discarded over iterations a lot of the CtL specifics and elements: the Kiths, Contract sets, the approach to the Hedge, Pacts, the more Fae elements, etc. Over time it became more and more about the core campaign and play I enjoyed. I don’t think I’ve gone back to look at any CtL sources in several years. It’s become its own thing.

So one of the three big projects I’ve been working on has been to revise my “fan fic” version of Changeling the Lost into its own beast. That’s meant going back and rethinking some of the base mechanics, reconsidering the story and cosmology, and revising the terminology. A lot of that has been about the conception of the world– one originally elaborated for me by Life and Times of Phillipine Gamer. He spoke about viewing the form and actions of the Gentry through the lens of colonialism. Potent forces coming in from outside, stealing resources & people, and those who escaped being changed by the experience and having difficulty re-connecting with their past lives. Kieron Gillen’s stretch goal mystery for Apocalypse Keys made everything click into place. It has the Faeries of old as a version of the East India company, magically fracking the world.

Below are some of the sketches I’ve made for this going into a fourth quarter playtest. I’ve used the term Hearts of Yokai as a placeholder, with the idea that this is a term the Changed have grabbed on to for themselves. I’m not sure yet about that. In fact there’s a chunk of terminology I’m still figuring out. If you want to check out the character keeper, you'll find it here.

#ttrpg #rpg #pbta

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railroad-migraine · 2 years

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Love your work! If your still in the blue bard feels could I possibly request Dorian confessing his real name to the reader? Thank you for blessing us with so much content ❤️

Baby blue bard boi deserves a kith :3

~ Poet

Notes: Just cozy soft fluff. Set early in Campaign 3. It's implied that Reader was part of the original Crown Keepers, and wasn't present for his name drop, but only vaguely implied. #AndThereWasOnlyOneBed #ButItWasTeeny #SoYouFindAnotherBed

"He Will Always Be You"

-> Dorian x GN!Reader

"Hey... hey, are you awake?"

"Mm..."

"Your leg-"

"Hm?"

There's a shuffle in the bed that jolts you out of your sleep, and you lift your head from the pillow slightly. The room is dark, and you squint your eyes in an attempt to distinguish the shadows and shapes in your field of vision. It's quiet, and with a lazy, defeated motion, you lay back down and curl into Dorian's side once again.

He's out cold when you rest your palm on the front of his shirt, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest soothing your newfound racing thoughts. His lips are parted ever so slightly, the soft inhale and exhale hardly loud enough to consider a snore. There's a smattering of freckles across his nose that you can barely make out in the dim lighting, but you begin to count them nonetheless, like stars across a blue canvas.

He's so pretty, is the only thought that crosses your sleep-addled mind as you reach across him and tuck in closer. Your eyelids soon grow heavy and flutter closed, a satisfied huff of air escaping your lungs. Slowly, slowly, you begin to give in to the warm embrace of the dark once more.

"Pssst." You frown and hide your face in Dorian's shirt. "Fearne?"

"Wha- what?"

"Your leg is digging into me a bit. Can- can you-?"

You fist some of the nightshirt tightly in your hand, your entire body tense and more alert than before.

It was bound to initially be awkward, sleeping in a bed together with Dorian when you evolved from friends to something more for the first time. It can take time to figure out boundaries, nighttime routines, and mutually comfortable positions. It's natural, but often a fun side of the other person to explore and understand. You both fell into a pattern, two people in love settling down after a day of busy events.

However -

"What, can I what?" Fearne's voice, thick with sleep, hisses slightly with irritation.

Even in the dark, you can imagine the sheepish, hopeful expression on Orym's face. "... Move?"

"Oh right, sorry. Old habit I guess."

Sharing a bed with both Dorian and your two other good friends makes a tight squeeze. But from what you've learned on your travels as a sub-party of the Crown Keepers, is that it is both safer and cheaper to all crash out on the same mattress and under the same covers. It became the norm to huddle close and share threadbare blankets on the road, easier to rent one to instead of multiple.

A night is only that; a few hours of comfort and composure, healing after travelling and skirmishes, and you're more than willing to share with your friends.

But with Fearne nearly hanging off on one edge of the bed due to her size, Orym hammocking between her legs and Dorian's, the air genasi squished in the middle, and you clinging onto his back so you yourself do not fall onto the cold floorboards below... you cannot help but fantasize about a spacious king-sized bed and a lack of late night pestering.

"... Dorian?" Your voice raspy once the others have settled down, so quiet you barely could hear yourself speak. Nevertheless, the pointed ears you've come to love much more than simply their aesthetic, twitch slightly at your words. "You up?"

There's a beat, and you start to think he's in too deep a sleep to be woken by your soft tone, until his breathing changes slightly and his body shifts under the covers. He replies with a groggy "Yeah?" and you have to bite down on the inside of your cheek to muffle a chuckle. You lean up on your elbows, glancing at the limited space in the bed.

"I think I'm about to plummet to my death."

He muffles a laugh with his pillow. "It's a tight squeeze alright." He hums lowly, eyes sparkling in the dark as he turns over to look at you. You share the moment of closeness, of intimacy, and you begin to think that you might be able to endure the sleeping arrangement for another night. That is until Little Mister, who is curled up underneath the bedframe, ruins said moment with a rumbling snore, and Fearne's leg twitches harshly, and Orym mutters something about pies.

The air genasi drags a hand down his face, trying to hide his smile while you simmer in your sleep-deprived frustration before he pries himself away from both you and the cuddle pile. "Come on then, love," he whispers, straightening his sleep shirt as he stands and gathers a few essentials from his pack.

You raise a brow but do not question his intentions, gently moving from the bed and taking his offered hand.

The inn is quiet this time of night, only one or two patrons sitting at the bar, heads hanging tiredly while they nurse their tankards. The bartender, a wizened but gorgeous half-orc, has a word with Dorian while you wrap your cloak around you tighter. She smiles with a warm, toothy grin, and the exchange of coin results in a brass key being pressed into his hand. After bidding her a good night, he shuffles back over to where you stand.

"Second floor - blackout curtains, scenic view in daylight..." he states when you question him. He passes you the key, and rests his other hand at the small of your back to shepherd you down the corridor. "... Double bed for two people, and only two," he adds a little shyly, adjusting the pack on his shoulder.

You stop in your tracks, mouth parted with surprise. He halts his movements, glancing over his shoulder as if to say 'what are you waiting for?' but he mirrors your expression when you hug him. "I don't think I've ever been so in love with someone before," you dramatically admit. You reach up, tangling a hand in his hair and looking at him with nothing but fatigued adoration. He's perfect.

His heart flutters at your words, but sinks slightly when you continue.

"You truly are a wonder, Dorian Storm."

You see him swallow thickly, bob his chin in a weak nod before drawing himself away. Your face falls, confused at his sudden change in demeanor, and follow at his heels to your new room. "What's wrong? Was it something I said?"

"What? No, no, no, it's nothing, really." His forced smile tells another story. He fiddles at the lock with an awkward haste, nearly dropping the key. You reach out and still his hands, causing him to look at you.

"You can tell me anything, Dorian."

There it is again, that cold, dull gnawing of guilt within him because you have been so patient and loving, and he still hasn't told you.

With a sigh, his shoulders sag, and he manages to push open the door to the room and close it quietly after you follow him in. It looks almost identical to Orym and Fearne's room, but you do not care because it just feels so spacious and luxurious with only the two of you. You relieve Dorian of his pack, setting his on the desk and hanging your cloak on the hook, noting that he still hasn't moved an inch from the doorway.

"... Brontë."

"Hm?" you answer, running your hand across the crisp, clean bedsheets. When he doesn't continue straight away, you glance over at him. "You okay?"

His mouth feels dry. He takes a careful step forward. "My other name is Brontë," he says.

You send him a quizzical look. He slides his own cloak from his shoulders and it pools to the floor in a blue and sunset orange heap. Without a word, you reach out. And he takes your hand.

You pull him closer and let him join you on the bed, your body resisting the urge to lay down and call it a night, but you know he has something to say. You tuck a lock of hair that had fallen in front of his face behind his ear, an encouraging intention behind it, and he relaxes slightly.

"You know that I was..." He pauses, wracking his brain, trying to find the right words. "... Someone else before we met. Before the- before I was the party's 'humble bard.' You know about my brother, my family." His eyes meet yours, almost pleading for understanding. "I come from a line of air genasi from the Silken Squall. And they know me as Brontë Secundson, of the Wyvernwind family." The tips of his ears feel hot when you look at him with that soft expression he knows all too well. You care. You appreciate learning this side to him.

You take his hand in yours, run your thumb across his skin comfortingly. "I get it," you soothe, "I do. You wanted distance from it all so you could just be you. That's a completely understandable desire, my love."

"I just-" he says, biting his lip. "I know how the others look at me. They know I come from money, they know I've got something to hide. But you never prodded or overstepped when we shared. I guess I liked the way you looked at me and... I didn't want you to think less - or more - of me, you know? I like the way you know me."

And you understand. There's no deceptive meaning behind his words.

"And how do you want me to know you?" you ask, leaning forward and nudging him to lay down. The first thing that registers in his mind is how much space there is, how vast the bed seems with only him and you occupying it. The sheets engulf you both, no legs or arms having to stick out and suffer the cold. He isn't afraid of disturbing anyone else's rest with a sleepy movement. His hands hover over your waist, and he clears his throat.

"There's a reason why you know me as Dorian, and so Dorian I will remain," he murmurs, his breath catching in his throat when you press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I just thought you should know. Finally know the truth. Of all people, you should know. It's been... it's been a lot this last year."

You move to pull the duvet across you both, your musings tired but with intent. "Dorian, Brontë, Storm, Secundson and Wyvernwind..." Even with the extra space provided without the others present, you and the bard still remain close, huddled next to each other, his hair a dark halo across the pillow. "No matter what name you choose or take, you are still the man I fell in love with."

Dorian flushes and smile bashfully. "Oh really? So I don't have to be afraid of any Maquesians whisking you away from me, do I?" he teases.

"They have nothing on my lover," you affirm with a smirk, raising a brow cheekily. "They simply have no chance against the man who dragged me with him across Exandria to Marquet. The man who has my back in every fight. The man who bought me my own bed." He chuckles at that, his chest rumbling with quiet laughter, filling the empty room with him.

You brush his chin with your nose, smile into his skin and manage to make a promise before sleep takes you both.

"He will always be you."

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princesssarisa · 1 year

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Character ask: The Ghost of Christmas Present (A Christmas Carol)

Favorite thing about them: Everything in general. I love his jolliness, the joy he both figuratively and literally radiates, his eagerness to share the pleasures and the peace and goodwill of Christmas, and his concern to the poor and how fiercely he champions them against the ignorance and selfishness of people like Scrooge. There's virtually nothing to dislike about him.

Least favorite thing about them: Hmm... well, in the book, if not in most adaptations, he can be a bit preachy. He's by far the preachiest of the three Ghosts, in contrast to the more subtle and graceful way Christmas Past urges Scrooge to come to his own conclusions, or Christmas Yet-to-Come's literal "show, don't tell" approach. But of course the sociopolitical and religious messages he preaches are powerful and important, and sometimes controversial to this day, which is probably why so many adaptations cut them.

Three things I have in common with them:

*I'm warm and cheerful most of the time.

*I love the holidays and love sharing their joys with others.

*I care very much about social justice and helping those in need.

Three things I don't have in common with them:

*I'm not a giant ghost.

*On principle I refuse to wear fur-trimmed clothes.

*I don't have a torch that sprinkles goodwill onto others (though I wish I did).

Favorite line:

His iconic first line from atop his throne of holiday food:

“Come in! Come in! and know me better, man!”

In reply to Scrooge's question if the blessings he sprinkles from his torch apply to any Christmas dinner:

"To any kindly given. To a poor one most... Because it needs it most."

This passage usually cut from adaptations, about people (i.e. clergy or religiously conservative politicians) who do heartless deeds in the name of spirit (i.e. in the name of God), in response to Scrooge's question about why the bakers' shops should be closed on Sundays when the poor depend on them for hot meals:

“There are some upon this earth of yours who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us.”

His foretelling of Tiny Tim's death:

“I see a vacant seat in the poor chimney-corner, and a crutch without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, the child will die.”

This speech – again, cut from most adaptations – after he throws Scrooge's words about "the surplus population" back in his face:

“Man, if man you be in heart, not adamant, forbear that wicked cant until you have discovered What the surplus is, and Where it is. Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die? It may be, that in the sight of Heaven, you are more worthless and less fit to live than millions like this poor man’s child. Oh God! to hear the Insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry brothers in the dust!”

When he reveals two horrifically ragged, starved children beneath his robe:

“They are Man’s. And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it! Slander those who tell it ye! Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse. And bide the end!”

brOTP: All humankind, especially the poor, and his fellow Christmas ghosts if they were to interact.

OTP: None.

nOTP: Scrooge, or probably any other human.

Random headcanon: The very first Ghost of Christmas Present (the "eldest brother" of Dickens's Ghost, as he would say) came into the world the day that Jesus was born, long before there was an actual Christmas holiday. This is probably canon, since Dickens's Ghost speaks of more than 1800 brothers The succession of Ghosts watched over Jesus and invisibly aided his mission throughout his life, then did the same for his early followers, and as Christianity spread and the celebration of Christmas took hold, they attached themselves to the holiday. Throughout the early years, each new Ghost manifested in the spring, on Jesus's actual birthday, but when December 25 officially became Christmas Day, they shifted their arrival to that date instead, and gladly, because the idea of bringing warmth, light, and joy into the darkest, coldest time of year appealed to their core values.

Unpopular opinion: I get slightly tired of the fact that when modern adaptations diversify the cast, they always seem to choose the Ghost of Christmas Present as the token black character. Not that I have anything against a black Ghost of Christmas Present in the least. It's not bad representation. But why not break stereotypes further and let the quiet, gentle Ghost of Christmas Past be a black person for a change, instead of always choosing the loudest and most boisterous ghost for that casting? Or why not other characters? Why should it always be the Ghost of Christmas Present?

Song I associate with them:

"I Like Life" from the musical Scrooge.

youtube

"Abundance and Charity" from A Christmas Carol: The Musical.

youtube

And my personal favorite, "It Feels Like Christmas" from The Muppet Christmas Carol.

youtube

Favorite pictures of them:

The classic illustration by John Leech:

This illustration by Sol Eytinge Jr.

Lionel Braham in the 1938 film. (@ariel-seagull-wings, do you remember him from the 1916 silent Snow White? He played the Huntsman.)

Francis De Wolff in the 1951 film.

Kenneth More in the 1970 musical Scrooge.

From Richard Williams's 1971 animated short.

Willie the Giant in Mickey's Christmas Carol, 1983.

Edward Woodward in the 1984 TV film.

From The Muppet Christmas Carol, 1992.

Desmond Barrit in the 1999 TV film.

#character ask #a christmas carol #the ghost of christmas present #ask game #fictional characters #fictional character ask

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fox4brains · 1 month

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i believe that my ghost/shadow person identity is an otherfix identity (an alterhuman identity caused by one's hyperfixation in the thing they now identify as) so in my case, ive been hyperfixated on ghosts and paranormal investigations for a little over a week now, and a few days ago i started feeling very ghostly myself. i still dont know if its an otherkin or otherhearted identity, but its cool to have a label for something ive been questioning :)

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jasper-pagan-witch · 2 years

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“Of Blood and Bones” >>> “Utterly Wicked”

I've never heard of either of these, anon! So I went to find their summaries and here they are for those that don't know.

Of Blood and Bones:

Learn to Work with the Magick of the Dark Moon Shadow magick occupies a critical but often misunderstood role in the rich history of witchcraft. This book explores topics such as the ethical use of animal parts and bones, blood magick, dark moon energy, and other rarely discussed aspects of witchcraft. With a focus on ethically sourcing materials and suggestions for plant-based substitutions, author Kate Freuler provides much-needed information and hands-on techniques to help you strengthen your witchcraft practice, connect to nature, protect yourself (and your kith and kin), and know yourself in a deep way. Within these pages, you will also discover methods for hexing, scrying, sex magick, and working with dark deities in addition to the magickal use of graveyard dirt and performing spells to assist the crossing of a dying loved one. The shadow work explored in Of Blood and Bones reminds us that not everything is love and light, and that facing the dark side supports the quest to achieve spiritual wholeness.

It has 4.9 out of 5 stars on Amazon and the reviews seem to be very favorable, even the 4 star ones. It was written by Kate Freuler with a foreword by Mat Auryn (I swear that guy writes forewords for everybody). It is, as expected, a Llewellyn Publications book.

I'm not a big fan of spelling magic with a K, because I usually read that as a holdover from Aleister Crowley into Gerald Gardner, but this book sounds fascinating.

Utterly Wicked:

Protect yourself (and maybe indulge in a little payback) with practical instructions from one of the most beloved figures of Wicca and the Neo-Pagan movement. “Utterly Wicked is one of the most important books I own and one that every serious witch and magickal practitioner should have on their shelf.” —Mat Auryn, author of The Psychic Witch Hexes, curses, and other unsavory notions—most magical practitioners won’t even discuss them. Why? Because they’d much rather find a positive solution that benefits all concerned. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Occasionally, though, our problems are such that nothing in the positive solution arena will handle them. It’s time to make a decision to stand tough, be strong, and take definitive action to defend ourselves. And if you‘re ready to do that—if you‘re ready to own that action and take responsibility for it—then Utterly Wicked is for you. Jam-packed with more than one hundred rituals, incantations, hexes, and curses, this is the quintessential primer for learning all the magical tricks no one wants to talk about. Do you know the proper way to enter a cemetery? Utterly Wicked tells you how, as well as the proper methods for collecting and using graveyard dirt. Explore the little-known secrets of the 11-inch fashion doll, and see why it‘s become such a valuable magical tool. Learn how to prepare Hot Foot Powder, Four Thieves Vinegar, Goofer Dust, and other magical components designed to obliterate your toughest problems. Most important, you‘ll find the tools to protect yourself, your family, and your home from ever being bothered with these sorts of difficulties again.

It has 4.8 out of 5 stars on Amazon and the reviews also seem favorable. It was written by Dorothy Morrison with a foreword by Amy Blackthorn, who also appears to be everywhere in the magic author and foreword writing scheme. I expected this to also be a Llewellyn Publications book, but instead it's Weiser Books.

I am wary of anything that claims to be teaching hoodoo or vodou practices written by someone who is not only white but also a Wiccan High Priestess (as the author is). And once again, I'm never fond of anything that spells magic with a K and I actively dock points from reviews of books that do that.

I'm not as optimistic about the quality of this one.

Do you mind sharing more about what you think each got right and each got wrong, anon? I'm very interested in the pros and cons of both!

~Jasper

#answered #anonymous #witch authors #books #of blood and bones #utterly wicked #kate freuler #mat auryn #dorothy morrison #amy blackthorn

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krahka · 1 year

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don't talk to me about how long it took me to figure out where ask buttons are these days. tell me about your child. 1, 3, 11 i want you to know that the 3 was granted by a confetti-filled d20

Wonderful, incredible, confetti all around.

1. Where is your Watcher from? How do they feel about their homeland?

Giovanni Giorgio (but everybody calls him Giorgio) is from Old Vailia, and will go on at length about how that’s different from the Republics and better and about how they are all greedy pretenders with gilt souls that when you scratch at, will reveal emptiness and shallowness, unlike Old Vailia, the true inheritors of Grand Vailia, who may lack the wealth of gold but lack not for wealth of spirit, of culture, of beauty, of blah blah blah blah.

He has gotten into so many duels over this, often with people who do not feel nearly as strongly as he does, but he could not be dissuaded and went into personal insults as well, so you might as well go through with it. At least Pellegina is smart enough not to humor him when he tries needling her with that.

People are often surprised to learn that he grew up very poor, given his over the top patriotism. He doesn’t see any contradiction in that. Where else in Eora would his skill in art have even been noticed, much less, lead to wealthy patrons providing him not only with a lucrative career with which he can support his family and even knighthood?

3. How did your Watcher feel about Caed Nua? Were they excited to have their own keep, or did they view it as more of an obligation?

It’s a bit complicated. Like he was aware that the whole thing where he’s now a Lord of the Dyrwood who also answers by oath to the Darcozzi family was politically untenable and would likely end badly for the Dyrwood, or, if they noticed that conflict of interest first, for him. Like it’s one thing for him as an unusually well armed painter to show up in the area because he thinks that maybe with the aftermath of the Saint’s War he’ll get some interesting ideas about light and shadow and ash and birth, quite another for an agent of a once imperialistic power to start claiming noble titles and arming abandoned keeps for himself.

He did his best to rule fairly and justly, but it was always going to be a temporary thing until he could find someone he could trust to continue to rule fairly and justly that he could fabricate a claim for.

11. Does your Watcher place more faith in magic or science? In kith or the gods?

Giorgio believes in kith, to a degree with which only the most zealous believe in the gods. When given the chance, people will be good and beautiful beyond the comprehension of the divine. This is where Thaos lost his way, in seeing people as the gods do, measuring them up to impossible standards instead of letting them flourish and surprise you. There is nothing, nothing more important than life. Everyone is sacred. If everyone could see each other the way he does, then there would be peace.

This isn’t the primary reason that he says he’s a worshiper of Hylea, that’s mostly because she’s someone you want to stay on the right side of in his profession, and he’s suffered without her blessing before. But at least she’s mostly benevolent? At least as benevolent as a goddess can be, which is to say, flighty and undependable in a way that fucks up the entire world, but like, at least she’s not usually doing it on purpose. Better than he can say for a lot of her brethren.

Also he’s pro-animancy, despite not knowing exactly how it works, for what that’s worth. He doesn’t know much about how magic works either. Someday someone will recognize this, because he’s extremely good at bullshitting about both enough to sound like he knows what he’s talking about.

#asks #amgeforms #oc: giovanni giorgio #did i name him after the daft punk song? the one that's in all the memes? yes absolutely

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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By the king’s hand 🐍 XVI

Warnings: noncon/rape, violence/death, trauma, allusions to torture.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The king proves himself and the reader must accept her fate.

Note: Welcome back, King Loki. Y’all better be ready because our little mouse will never stop suffering.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You felt like you were suffocating, slowly under a heap of rocks. Your return to the palace was a blur. You barely recalled the ride in the carriage or the flights of stairs between you and the chambers.

You were entirely consumed by your memories and their voices; Magnus, broken before the court, confessing his crimes. Thor, angry and brutal as ever, shouting back at the people as they cried out at their traitorous prince. Neither gave you peace; they were only trapped animals waiting to break free and lash out again.

Hal was a spot in your vision. His voice tickled your ears but you couldn’t answer him as you laid across the bed, clutching a pillow as you rocked frantically. As you calmed, spent from your fit, you rested on your side and quivered every now and then. The sobs would not come, only rattling breaths that seized your whole body.

Time slaked away like layers of ice melting into a puddle. The curtains were drawn back and revealed the shift of sunlight. A pale grey darkened to a dull slate and cast shadows around you, looming over you like the monsters in your mind.

You flinched as you heard the door, the hinges creaked and your fingers sank deep into the feather pillow. Hal greeted the king and firm footsteps marched across the floorboards. Loki’s figure appeared at the edge of your sight as you laid with your back to the hearth. He sighed as he came up behind you and sat on the edge of the mattress.

“You left rather suddenly,” he said as his hand settled on your side. You winced and hugged the pillow tighter. You hid your face against it, the feathers poking through and causing your cheeks to itch. “Mouse…”

You whimpered and curled your legs up. What had this man done to you that was any different than those two savages? You still bore the scars of his switch across your back and your only shield was the life growing in your stomach. It was him who had brought you to this; who had sentenced you to live as a piece of a flesh; who had exposed you to the barbarity of his kin and kith.

“Why?” You asked softly as you turned your head against the pillow.

“I thought… I thought you would want to see vengeance done.” He said sternly. “To see that I’ve brought those beasts to justice.”

You sniffed and shook your head. “I never wanted to see them again… I…” You shrugged and exhaled weakly.

“I did it for you, Mouse. I dragged that animal, Magnus, down to my dungeons and cut his flesh until he did confess. I watched his blood weep from his flesh and reminded him of what he'd done to you. I made him tremble at my hands. For you.” He sneered. “I’d do it again.”

“You did it for you. For your pride.” You uttered. “You’ve never done anything for me or any other. It is all for you. They humiliated you, took your plaything, kept from you your pleasures. It isn’t about me, it is about what I can do for you.” You wiggled away from his touch, “Do not lie to me, it not only makes me a fool, but you as well.”

“Do not presume to know my will,” he snarled, “Do not talk to me as if I am your subject and not the other way around. And look at me--” He grabbed your chin and forced you onto your back, “When you speak to me, mouse.”

You blinked as a lump lodged in your throat and let the pillow fall away from you. You braced yourself for what he would do next. You remembered the noise of the hinges, the heavy footsteps, the metal against your wrists, the stony touch of loveless beings, the violent claims to your body.

You grabbed the king’s arm and began to flail. “No, no, no,” You exclaimed, “Please--”

“Gods,” Loki said in exasperation, “Hal! Hal!” You heard softer soles on the boards, “Fetch Birger. Now.”

Loki wriggled his arm from your grasp and grabbed your shoulders. He pinned you down as you kicked out and clawed at the air. “Mouse, shhhh. Mouse!”

“No! No! No!” Your hand flew up and struck Loki’s jaw. He grunted and shook away the jolt.

He struggled with you until the door sounded again and there was a clatter of footsteps across the front chamber. Loki climbed over you as the physician appeared and touched your forehead.

“I don’t know what has come over her.” Loki said, “She has these… episodes.”

“Ah, well she is with child and only just returned from an immense situation. Her nerves are split.” Birgir rubbed your cheek calmingly, “Dear, tell me five things you can see.”

“No, no, no,” you chanted.

“Five things, dear. Five things you can see.” He urged.

“The-- The bedpost…” You wisped, “Y-Your cap… Hal… The ceiling… A chair…”

“Very well, dear, and five thing, “Three things you can feel.”

“Y-Y-Your hand,” you touched the back of his hand, “The bed…” Your eyes flicked back and forth, “The fire.”

“Great, great,” he took your hand gently, “One thing you can smell.”

“The wood. Burning wood.” You gulped.

Birger nodded and smiled at you gently. “Hal, my boy, bring my chest.”

“What is wrong with her?” The king knelt on the mattress beside you.

“I told you. It is stress.” Birger said staunchly and squinted at the king, “Have you…”

“Not in the last days.” Loki admitted.

“But since her return?” The physician prodded. The king rolled his eyes and glanced away tellingly. “And you expect you to be as she was after all that? Do you even know all that happened to her?”

“She does not speak of it.” The king huffed.

“And why should she? To you?”

“You tread a dangerous path, Birger,” Loki warned.

Birger tutted and caressed the back of your hand. “Alright, I’ll do what I can.”

“You have something which can restrain her,” Loki said, “That can calm her.”

“As her condition stands, not much.” Birger stood as Hal approached with his chest, “It is better if she is kept calm. You can burn lavender--”

“No, you will sedate her so she will sleep,” Loki ordered, “I’ve pressing matters and little energy or time for this nonsense.”

“With respect, your majesty, this nonsense is as much to do with you as it is your brother or his accomplice,” Birger insisted, “It will persist.”

“So be it,” Loki pushed himself off the bed, “Find one of your vials and do your duty. She needs sleep, not quackery.” Birger let out a long breath and tapped his fingers on the lip of the chest. “Well, you’ve something else to say?” The king challenged.

“No, your majesty,” Birger looked into his chest and stirred through the contents, “Boy, bring some milk for the woman.”

Your body was limp across the bed, suddenly without strength as you listened to the argument. It was your fault. All of it. If you could just control yourself. If you weren’t so weak and stupid.

“When you finish, you will go.” Loki neared the door. “And do not bother me on your exit.”

The king disappeared through the doorway and you looked up at Birger as he pulled out a glass vial. You saw the irritation on his face.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly.

“Why?” He asked bluntly, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

You clamped your lips shut and stared at the top of the bedpost. Hal returned and handed a cup of milk to Birger. The physician mixed in drops of the tincture and sat to hand it to you. You pushed yourself up and took it from him.

“Perhaps it is better you sleep for a time,” Birger said. “Are you eating well?”

“Yes, a lot,” you assured him and sipped the thick milk.

“Well, you make sure you keep on. Rest as much as you can.” He looked to Hal, “See if the boy is permitted to take you on walks. You must keep active as you can.”

You nodded and swallowed the milk tainted with the odd flavour of the medicine.

“Is the king rough with you? As he was before?”

You shook your head as you offered the empty cup. “Not since…” You nodded to your stomach.

“Good, good,” Birger set the cup aside and packed up his chest. “Take care, dear. I will be look in as I can.” He hauled his chest up and clapped Hal’s shoulder, “And boy, you will keep her well in my absence.”

“On my honour,” Hal promised and followed the physician to the door.

You felt heavy as you laid back and listened to Birger’s departure. The king was just in the next chamber and you heard the flutter of pages. Hal’s figure lingered as your eyelids shut and you sank down into the abyss. You were smothered by a sleep deeper than any you’d known in months.

🐍

You weren’t certain how long you slept. You woke in a fog. It was dark but for the glow of the fire and the shapes around you, the furniture shroud in grey, seemed distant and yet close. You felt light and airy and your body felt detached from your thoughts.

You lifted your head and peered around, trying to focus on the chair before the hearth. A wraith sat in it and as you sat up, you realised it was the king. You giggled and let the blankets fall away from your shoulders. He glanced over at you and tilted his head as the firelight limned his features.

“Mouse?” He said quizzically.

“Looookiiiii,” you sang as you turned your legs over the edge. He was visibly aghast at your use of his name. You only laughed again as you stood and wobbled. “Such an odd name.”

“Is it?” He lowered his brows and carefully stood to face you, “You should stay, mouse.”

“No, I’m not tired,” you argued and gave a long yawn. “I feel alive!”

“You can barely stay on your feet,” he rushed forward as you stumbled and caught you. “Come on, to bed with you.”

“Wouldn’t you like that!” You snapped and wriggled in his grasp. “But I’m hungry.”

“You’re deluded,” he rebuked.

You laughed and continued to struggle with him. “I’m perfectly well,” you slapped his chest, “I’m just…” You looked down as your stomach brushed against him and your mouth fell open. “Oh, gods…” You rubbed your middle, “I’ve already eaten too much!”

“No, mouse,” you heard a sliver of amusement in his tone, “You… you are just fine.”

“I’m fat!” You pouted and glared up at him. “Why am I so fat?”

He barely withheld a snicker and took your hand daintily. “I have some biscuits. Would you like one?”

“I couldn’t…” You shook your head as you felt your stomach. “I’m already-- but I am hungry. Just one, just one.”

“Well, you must sit if you want one,” he chided. “Understood, mouse?”

“Mouse! Mouse!” You mocked. “I hate that name. I am not a mouse.”

“Alright,” he nudged you back to the bed and you sat heavily, “Then what are you?”

“Hungry. I told you.” You crossed your arms. “Who are you?”

He grinned and looked around as if confused. “It is me, Loki.”

“Your nose is big,” you said sharply.

“Thank you,” he said rigidly. “Just wait here.”

He left you and returned with a small box. He took out a biscuit with currants baked into it and held it out. He set the box aside and sat beside you as you eyed the treat.

“What is it?”

“It’s a biscuit,” he said curtly. “Like I said.”

“Sure, sure,” you smelled it and cautiously took a bite, “Suppose it tastes like a biscuit.”

He was quiet. You flinched as you felt his hand on your back suddenly. He rubbed a circle there as you chewed and you clapped the crumbs from your hands as you finished.

“Good?” He asked.

“I told you,” you grabbed his arm and shoved it away. “No.”

He dropped his arm and nodded. He watched you as you balled your hands in fists. You stood and stomped like a child around the room.

“As good as it feels, no, no, no!” You swept your finger through the air. “But perhaps…” You stopped and thought for a moment, “No! No!” You sneered at him. “I don’t want your royal cock tonight, sir!”

At last he chuckled and you were startled by the noise. His features contorted in his mirth and you watched him with wide eyes. He stood and neared you slowly. He reached out tentatively and touched your arms.

“Fine. Not tonight.” He assured you. “But you must lay back down.”

“Why?” You quivered and looked at your body again, “Are my legs broken?”

He smirked and shook his head. “No, because it is the middle of the night.”

You frowned. “Oh.”

“So, bed?” He asked.

“Wait!” You stopped him.

“What is it now?” He sniffed.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged.

“Right,” he said and calmly led you back to the bed. “Time to sleep, mouse.”

“Hmmpf,” you grumbled at the pet name and let him lay you across the bed. “I’m not tired.”

“Oh, you’re not?” He taunted as you yawned again into your hand.

“No,” you argued and your eyes closed. “Not at all.”

“Not at all,” he echoed as he pulled the blankets over you.

He sat with you until you drifted off again though you were barely aware of him. You fell back into the warmth of the bed and the haze of your mind. The peculiar scene blending in with your senseless dreams.

🐍

You awoke facing the king. He slumbered beside you, his pale features unmarred by his waking thoughts. Your head was fuzzy and your limbs heavy. You sat up slowly and wiped the sleep from your eyes. The events of the days before slowly came back to you but did not hit you with the same force. You were anxious to think of Thor and Magnus but not terrified.

Loki groaned and reached out to touch your leg, as if assuring himself of your presence, as he stirred. You watched his long fingers as he squeezed you through the blankets and opened his eyes.

“Mouse,” he voice was hoarse as he retracted his hand and swept his dark hair back. “Is there something the matter?”

You shook your head and looked around. You didn’t like how comfortable you felt. You recalled his callous words the day before during your panic and all those times before he had been unkind. How could he sleep beside you as he would a wife? A wife…

You turned your back to him and evaded his reach again as you stood. You hugged yourself as you neared the dwindling fire and shivered. You heard the mattress move beneath him but he did not rise. You looked to the ceiling as you tried to clear your thoughts.

“Why won’t you give me an answer?” You asked.

“Excuse me?”

“What is to become of me when your wife is here?” You spun back to face him. He sprawled across the mattress as his shoulders and chest were bare above them. “I know this… will change. And I know once this babe is born, you will be done with me or cruel as you were before.”

His face darkened but he made no move to rise. He exhaled, a low growl, and rubbed his forehead.

“I needn’t tell you anything more than you need to know.” He sneered. “I will do whatever is best at the time.”

You gritted your teeth in frustration. You hated his riddles. You weren’t going to get an answer.

“My wife will do whatever I wish of her. And when I have a child on her, then you and the bastard will be of little bother.” He uttered. “And when you are ready, you will return to your original duty.”

Your chest knotted and your stomach grumbled painfully. Your anxiety mixed with your hunger and made your core a pit.

“And the child? I am to carry it to some unknown fate?”

“My child. I shall keep it safe.”

“And me?”

“You are its mother. But you are mine, first and foremost.” He bent his arms behind his head. “You will serve me before the child.”

You scowled in disgust but said nothing. He watched you and slipped his hand beneath the blankets.

“I will have a nursemaid for you. You needn’t worry for the child’s health.” He cooed.

“And my own? Do you care?”

He scoffed. “I’ve provided you with shelter, with sustenance, with a physician for your ailments. I’ve seen you well and I ask little in return.” He declared. “Remind yourself again that you are not my wife.”

“Yes, I am your whore. I am aware.” You hissed. “But you do seem to forget yourself.”

“I forget myself?” He sat up. “Oh, let us put things straight.”

You staggered backwards as he was off the bed in an instant. He seized your arm and you struggled with him as he tried to drag you back with him.

“The child!” You cried.

“Will be well,” he snarled as he grabbed a hank of your hair and twisted your neck painfully. “Come on, mouse, you want things to be as they were.”

“Stop! I only--”

He sat and you lurched against him. He pushed you back and forced you down to your knees and drew you between his own. His cock twitched and hardened slowly as he clung to you. You pushed on his thighs and wrestled with him as he gripped your jaw.

“My patience for you is spent,” he spat as he shoved your head into his lap. “Open up, whore.”

“Please--”

“Let me give you your answer.” He bit out. “When you have born my bastard, I will use those parts of you unruined by its passage.” He squeezed until you gasped and forced his tip into your mouth. “I shall have my wife’s cunt and your mouth.”

You gurgled as he pushed against the back of your throat and slid down it. You gagged and he pulled you back.

“Breathe,” he warned, “You don’t want to hurt the child.”

He forced you back down and you clawed at his sides. He moved your head steadily, up and down his length until he was entirely hard. You were dizzy and helpless against him. His groans and grunts added to the noise of you in his mouth and he clutched your head tighter.

He fucked your mouth until you were gasping and gulping around him. He wrenched you off of him suddenly and stroked himself to his climax, his seed stringing across your face. He released you and you fell back in a heap. He stood and stepped around you without concern.

“That is what you will be. Always.” He barked as he crossed the room. “Mine. To do with as I please.”

🐍

The days that followed were frigid and fraught. You could not forget that morning as the king’s former disposition returned fully. He left you in the morning without disturbance and you bided the hours silently, barely aware of Hal as he tried to cheer you. When Loki returned, the boy was sent away. He didn’t speak, only sat and stewed in whatever blight had angered him that day.

And when he wanted you, he had you. Hand, mouth, or cunt. You bore it and hid yourself under the covers when it was done.

Another week gone and Hal announced that the verdict had been dealt. Loki hadn’t said and you hadn’t dared to ask. You listened as the boy explained how the jury and judges had found Thor guilty and condemned him to death by the sword. Magnus, however, was to be hung like a common criminal.

But that did not mean you would be without a villain. Loki’s moods assured you that nothing had changed at all. It assured you that your life would be as it ever was. That the fate he’d promised you down in that dungeon would come to pass. You would never escape him and perhaps, though you’d not realised it, your time with Thor and Magnus could have been your only hope at an eventual end to the agony.

You sat in limbo. You could hardly believe that they would die and yet, you feared the future beyond. For all the certainty of their sentences, yours was still frightfully abstract. You could not decide if you were appeased by their demise or envious of it.

Your inner strife was interrupted as Hal stood suddenly and you turned to watch the door open. The boy bowed to the king as he entered, clothed in fur and his horned crown. You stood and the king looked between the two of you. He raised his chin and looked down his nose.

“Get her a cloak and boots,” he demanded, “You will accompany us to the green.”

“The green? Why--”

“Gird your tongue, woman,” Loki demanded. “Haven’t you asked enough questions?”

Hal glanced at you wistfully but did as he was told. He helped you into the fur-trimmed cloak and you pulled the hood up as he helped you step into the boots and laced them tightly. Hal snatched up his own cap as he followed you and the king into the corridor.

You walked behind Loki and his guards, Hal was at your side and foreboding set deep in your stomach. You could guess at the event on the green though you hoped it wasn’t as you expected.

You came out into the blustery winter light and a crowd gathered around a stage erected over the white yard. Just before the walls of Boulder Tower, housed tight within the borders of the palace, a platform stood awaiting the executioner and his victim. You stopped short and Hal quickly caught your elbow and urged you on. The king peered over his shoulder in a wordless reproach.

The people parted as the monarch approached and you were diverted into the crowd of onlookers by another armored man. You went unnoticed as the king passed to the front of the audience and you stood alone with the steely sentinel.

A hush went over the crowd as the king stood with his head high. The hooded executioner came out onto the stage and waited by the lever. Armor clinked and announced the arrival of the criminal before he appeared. Magnus had only rags wrapped around his feet and shreds of clothing barely hanging from his form.

He twitched nervously but showed little emotion as he was herded up the steps. The hooded man came forward to wrap the noose around his neck and a holy man offered muttered prayers to the condemned.

You froze as you gaped up at the scene. It felt like a horrid nightmare. The prisoner shrugged away the holy man and strained against the rope. He looked across the green and his eyes narrowed at the king stood among the masses.

“Fuck the king!” He shouted and the lever was pulled suddenly.

The heavy body plummeted downward and all could hear the crack of his neck above their gasps. It was a sickly sound that made your legs weak. You saw Hal, close to the king’s shoulder, lower his head and a few onlookers swayed before they fainted. You felt queasy but did not waver.

You only remained as you were as slowly, those who still had sense, roused those in shock and dispersed. Those who had fallen were carried away by their companions and you still did not move. It was only as the king’s figure retreated that you were woken from your trance.

“Shall I have his skull boiled and brought to you?” He asked as he neared with his guards in tow. You shook your head and looked away from him. Your eyes stung. “Do not act as if I’m the same as they were,” he lowered his voice as he leaned in. “They would’ve killed you and the child. Where do you think they were taking you?”

You shivered and pulled your hood low to hide your distress. Loki let out a breath that clouded before him in the cold. Snow crunched as an unseen figure neared and another armoured man came up breathlessly. You peeked from beneath your cloak and king frowned at the guard’s frantic energy.

“What is it now?” He poked the guard’s breastplate harshly.

“Your majesty,” the man caught his breath in rasps, “The prince--”

“What of my brother?” Loki tensed and fidgeted as he glared at the guard.

“He is gone. He has escaped.” The guard announced. “He--”

“What do you mean he is gone?!” Loki seized the guard by the mail that poked up around his cowl. “How could he be gone?”

“It seems there was a plot. Lord Fandral and his ilk--”

“Fuck!” Loki shoved away the man and punched his palm. “Fuck!!!” He shouted and looked around at the liveried guards, “Well, you fools, go find them!”

#loki #dark!loki #dark loki #loki x reader #the bitch is back #series #by the king's hand #dark fic #fic #dark!fic #au #medieval au #magnus #dark!thor #dark thor #thro #king!loki

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Note

!!!!!!!hcs of darling meeting holly SHES BEEN GOOD AND JOOTS BEEN FEELIN VULNERABLE AAAKK have a lovely day mwah kith 4 u

a/n: tbH it sounds so nice in theory but there’s so many dark undertones... like darling has kinda become a shadow of their formal self or something. also thank you for the kiss < 3 /// warnings: unhealthy relationships, implied isolation, and stockholm syndrome.

Even after moving away from Japan to study abroad, Jotaro makes a point of keeping in touch with Holly. His happy-go-lucky mother is sharper than he gives her credit for. She picks up on the tiniest of hints that he may have a significant other, and tries to cajole the truth out of him. He only ever speaks to her on the phone when you’re either not present or asleep, just as a precaution; since explaining your situation is the last thing he wants.

Jotaro doesn’t want to trouble her with these matters. Similar to when she was sick all those years ago, he reasons that what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her. When Holly broaches the subject of his “secret” partner too much he’ll just hang up the phone. It’s a flustering subject to him, and he despises how his mother’s teasing makes his face heat up. Should you make an appearance after one of those phone calls, you’ll catch him muttering vulgarities to himself.

There’s a solid chance that you found an old picture of Jotaro and Holly laying around somewhere. You often have to move where you’re living, and while Jotaro’s connections take care of most of the work involved with moving your possessions, mistakes are bound to be made. A box meant for Jotaro’s office ending up in the wrong spot or something of the like. When you’re digging through it you come across the aged photo, almost failing to recognize Jotaro in his youth. He looks so different, beaming. The uniform gives it away.

You’ll get a “Give me a break...” when you bring it up to him later. Figures. He’s gone through so much trouble of concealing his private life, only for you to stumble upon it by chance. Jotaro will have a word with the movers the next day, he thinks with a grimace. For now, he’s stuck running interference, trying to get you to drop the subject. Or distract you. Whatever works.

Jotaro has never liked talking about himself. Your “relationship” with him is already rocky enough, why risk making it worse by potentially saying something that’d set you off? Jotaro already considers you emotional and unpredictable. Would this newfound knowledge be upsetting to you somehow? Or worse, would you use it against him? He can already withstand your pleading for freedom, but should you ask what his mother would think of this... it’d cut to the bone. He’d rather avoid that.

The one and only way to get him to talk about his family is if he completely trusts you. That trust extends so far, but it’s a start. Months of no escape attempts or signs of resistance makes him decide to humor your past questions. Jotaro will bring it up on a random evening, unprompted. Giving a brief yet insightful look at a part of him he’s yet to show you.

Before you get the opportunity to meet Holly in the flesh, you’ll have to prove yourself further to him. It’ll be far down the line. You’ll talk to her over the phone, sticking to a story of Jotaro’s making. He’ll have a delay should it be necessary, not that you’ll ever know that. The conversations are sweet, Holly cooing over her precious son finally finding a partner! You’re just grateful for the opportunity to talk to someone who isn’t Jotaro.

When you meet Holly in person, you’ll feel Jotaro’s eyes observing your every movement. Prepared to even use The World should it be necessary, not that he wants to. You know better at this point. Holly would mistake any hesitation on your behalf as nerves. Feeling the warmth and being in the presence of a kind human being like Holly is a big boost to your moral.

Going and talking to Jotaro later, Holly mentions that she’s never seen him act like this for anyone. She tells him to treat you well. It’s an unusual interaction. Perhaps hinting that she’s noticed something? From your flinching, or meek demeanor... there’s no way her Jotaro could do that... right?. He’ll offer a dismissive response, but on the inside he has a lot of questions of his own.

The tense atmosphere will dissipate as Holly lightens up, returning to her usual bubbly self. Was he imagining things? That’s the best explanation for it. From there on out, your well being will be asked about over the phone. She’ll even insist on sending homemade food back with you, wishing you the best with your future with her son.

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adraveins · 3 years

Note

Same. If you find a good pickaxe please tell me where. As for prompts, 39 and/or 42 and/or 43.

(I’m trying to find Jordan’s voice and settle on backstory details, so, very early POE1 snippet. And some Watcher/Aloth since they’ll smooch... one day.)

-----

39. Accursed

“What’s wrong with your face?”

Jordan hadn’t expected a child’s voice out here near the temple ruins. He flinched and hoped to the gods that Aloth didn’t notice, but Aloth was not particularly gifted at concealing his sideways glances. Maybe he eyed Jordan when he thought no one was looking for the same reason that the boy did, peeking around a heap of crumbled stone.

“Surely you were raised better than that,” Aloth said sternly, stepping forward into Jordan’s view. “And I’m certain your parents don’t approve of you playing around the temple.”

The boy scampered away at once, footsteps swallowed by the gloom of early morning. Jordan didn’t want to begrudge children their honesty, but he might as well have not slept at all, for all of the good that last night had done him, and he scowled after the boy.

Aloth turned, consternation in his glance. “Does that happen often?”

Jordan’s eyes found the temple huddled nearby, the shadowed remains of divinity. “Not so much, back home.” Godlike weren’t an uncommon sight where trade flourished. “Not my face, anyway. Or, not most of it.” He blinked, realized what he’d added far too casually, and sighed, as Aloth appeared to go to war with a guilty curiosity.

“That is, of course, your business,” Aloth added, hasty.

Jordan scoffed. “Eh, it’s fine,” he said, and he lifted a finger to tap at the spiral growth crowning his forehead, its ever-present glow hovering always at the edges of his vision. The storm shape etched into his being. “A storm came when me and my sister were born. We’re twins,” he added. “Half our town was destroyed. My parents lost everything, and they already had three other children to take care of.” He offered a pointed look. “You can imagine what everyone thought.”

Aloth’s fingers played with the edges of the grimoire strapped to his side. “Yes, I can,” he said, the words rounded with a dark edge. “Your sister... is she also godlike?”

“She’s regular folk,” Jordan said absently, as the ache came sharp and twisting. Danua was the reason that Jordan had even survived, when things had gone wrong, the reason he’d been able to come here in the first place. He’d never been apart from her for this long.

She’d always defended him, when people had taken to blaming him for things that went wrong. Granted, sometimes it was his fault -- they’d never been able to resist mischief, and it wasn’t like he’d ever had an exceptionally skilled handle on his magic -- but Danua had defended him then, too. She’d promised to come get him when it was safe. But now he was hearing things, having strange dreams. Seeing things he shouldn’t.

“I’m wondering if, maybe,” Jordan said slowly, “the bîaŵac was because of me.”

Aloth arched a single, lofty eyebrow at him. Jordan had the distinct feeling of being examined. “Because you share a kinship with storms?” Aloth ventured.

Jordan nodded. It wouldn’t be the first time that disaster had followed in his wake. A moon godlike living on the shores of the Rauatai Gulf should have ensured blessings, but maybe Ondra just hated her children. Or him.

Aloth folded his arms, appraising. “Would you like an honest opinion?”

Jordan tensed, put on guard, if only because he couldn’t quite figure Aloth out. The things that Aloth said, not to mention his travel-worn appearance, weren’t always congruent with his prim demeanor. But Jordan nodded again.

“That sounds like horseshit,” Aloth said.

The sound of his own laughter caught Jordan by surprise, faint though it was. He imitated the arch of Aloth’s eyebrows and looked the man up and down. “And you’re a weather expert?”

“Not at all,” Aloth said, though his cheeks had a sheen of color to them, all of a sudden. “But I doubt that any kith has the power to summon typhoons and bîaŵacs, intentionally or otherwise.”

Well. It was sound logic, and Jordan had no argument against it. He heaved another sigh. "S’pose you’re right.” The notion didn’t hold up when put to scrutiny, and yet... of course things had gone wrong, the moment he set foot in the Dyrwood. “Anyway,” Jordan said. Swirling, troubled thoughts clouded him like humidity, but he shook off the clinging droplets of doubt as best he could. “I need to see about that tree.”

Aloth offered a delicate grimace, but he didn’t protest, following Jordan and picking his way gingerly across the mud.

Jordan had assumed he’d be alone out here, after leaving Rauatai. That he’d lay low and keep to himself. He’d been alone and disoriented, the only survivor of a strange storm, and the welcome to his new home hadn’t exactly been warm, nor did it seem likely that he’d find a home here. And yet...

Aloth muttered his opinion of the Dyrwood and its rank brand of justice under his breath, and despite the gruesome sight of the tree and its swaying bodies, despite the forlorn gray sky, despite the lackluster night’s sleep and the whispers at the fringes of hearing, Jordan smiled.

#thanks!#yanara126 #pillars of eternity #oc: jordan #watcher x aloth #fic #fic: mine #asks #mine: pillars

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