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amandaoftherosemire · 7 months

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Second Sight -- Part Eighteen

Fandom: Marvel Avengers AU/MCU AU

Pairing: Loki Odinson X fem!Reader

Characters: Loki Odinson

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5,718

Format: Series WIP

Warnings: Language, gambling

Summary: Loki takes you on a long overdue honeymoon on a pleasure planet. You can’t take your eyes off the spectacle while Loki can’t take his eyes off you. Neither of you notice the eyes on you both.

A/N: Since I started this fic years ago, I am going to be rebuilding my taglist with this chapter. If anyone would like to be tagged in future updates, or if you’re tagged in this and want to continue to be, please drop me an ask or a message to let me know. If you don’t want to be tagged, don’t do anything. I’m trying to get a gauge of who, if anyone, is still reading this. I haven’t got any feedback in a while, and the notes on this would offend me if I allowed myself to be offended by numbers, and I’m not sure updating this fic is the best use of my time if no one is reading it.

To be fair, I get it. I’m not even mad. 😉 Loki is doing fun stuff in the series and people are reading those fics, not novel length fics from the Infinity Saga. I don’t intend this to be a guilt trip as much as an attempt to gather information. I have multiple projects in progress (thank you, ADHD), including some original fiction, and as much as I hate to leave a fic unfinished, I also recognize the possibility I’m in the middle of a sunk cost fallacy. Know when to fold ‘em, and all that. Thanks!

<<Part Seventeen here

Second Sight Part Eighteen

Once through the doors and under a short entryway, the room opened into a spectacle that made the lights of the Vegas Strip look understated by comparison. The walls curved away from you to both your left and right, the room an enormous circle made up of multiple tiers. At your feet, a sea of creamy gold-veined stone under a high, high domed ceiling. You stood stunned for a moment, overwhelmed by the size and splendor of everything around you.

You kept your hand tight around Loki’s arm as he escorted you to the middle of the room, the stone stepping gently into a sunken center beneath the soaring ceiling. The top of the dome was three stories above you, where a bright golden light served as the main source of illumination. The golden globe was one of two hung in the sky of an elaborate sea scape mural covering the zenith of the dome.

The other globe was the tumultuous center of a whirling display. Upon closer inspection, the objects that swarmed in streaming patterns in and out of the center of the second sun were some sort of fluttering creature, akin to a butterfly. They fluttered around a core of flapping wings, soaring in swooping streams and waves. However they were incentivized to do so, they followed tight patterns, coalescing into tight clumps before exploding outward like a living pyrotechnic display. Their vibrant colors sent rainbow light scattering and shimmering over the people below.

From that globe came a light snowstorm of some feathery white substance. Though they spun and floated in the air, once they landed on a surface, the tiny flakes disappeared like cotton candy in water. The shimmering light and the light white flurry created a dreamy atmosphere that lifted you up and made you feel euphoric. You looked down at the flakes seeming to seep into your skin.

"A mild intoxicant, my love," Loki said when he saw you examining the little fluffy flecks. He spoke in your ear to be heard over the roar of the crowd and the clangs and bells and beeps and shouts from the tables around you. "As long as you remember that luck is ephemeral, you should be fine."

You grinned at him, taking the warning as it was meant and deliberately tamping down the oddly lucky feeling surging inside you that urged you to take whatever chance looked the most lucrative. To distract yourself, you went back to studying your surroundings, stunned by the pageantry. Loki had shown you opulent when he'd first dragged you into his personal dimensional pocket, but this was lavish walking the edge of gaudy.

Standing in the center of the room, on the burnished old gold carpet so rich and soft it seemed like velvet clover beneath your boots, you examined the enormous pillars of creamy stone that matched the floor. Too big around to fit your arms, they were adorned with more of the fluttering creatures. These glowed golden, their shimmering wings sending the light scattering and making the air itself seem to sparkle.

You were surrounded on all sides by people of all shapes, sizes, colors, limbs, etc. As you took in the spectacular, you tried to come to grips with your boggled mind. A veritable army of beautifully built, violet-skinned, black-haired beauties wearing short black shorts and matching crop tops with tank sleeves wove in and out amongst the tables. As much muscle was on display as possible and each person had plenty of muscle to display. The matching uniforms went with the trays of glasses full of brightly colored liquids, some fizzing, some sparking, some smoking. A frothy pink something with bright green leaves as a garnish caught your eye and sent one of those lucky rushes through you. Once you'd gotten your bearings, you were going to find out what it was and whether it would kill you. The white flakes urged you to go for it.

Looking up, all around you the walls were hung with silk in vibrant jewel tones, contrasting with the old gold of the floors and walls. Each floor above you had its own balcony, like a dress circle in a theatre, but wider and full of more games and people. The entryway you'd come out from under had been the second floor, open to the rest of the room so that each floor could see the dome and its colorful explosions. You wondered what differentiated each floor, though it seemed the main difference was the first floor was much louder than the others.

In every direction you could see boisterous crowds surrounding tables of dice, or spinning wheels and flashing lights, or in one section, a pit of what appeared to be fighting insects, the scantily clad croupier taking bets on which bestingered, hissing monster would kill the other. You deliberately turned away from that part of the casino.

Loki noticed the rejection on your face. "Are you not interested in wagering, my love?" He asked the question in silky tones, hoping that whatever had displeased you could be ignored long enough for him to dazzle you with the delights he'd already planned.

You wrinkled your nose and smiled at him, your back firmly to the hissing insects. You’d concluded that it was best not to see how that particular game ended. Your lips twisted wryly, but the spectacle drew your eyes in a thousand directions at once. "I didn't expect to come down on the side of the terror scorpions." You spoke the words with a wry twist to your lips and your voice, as surprised as anyone to find it to be true. "And I never gamble on games when I don’t know the rules."

Loki glanced at the fighting pits behind you, then laughed along with you. "Never?" He asked it with a skeptical eyebrow raised as he turned to offer you his arm. When you took it with an indulgent eye roll, he led you away from the bugs and toward a table surrounded by a crowd of cheering patrons.

"You are the very rare exception."

Loki lifted your hand from where it rested on his arm and kissed the back lavishly, enjoying you, appreciating your dedication to the evening, no matter the size of the stingers that tried to get in the way. The pits hadn't been here the last time he had, or he might have taken you to a different casino, considering your sensibilities. He didn't understand it, but you had a moral difficulty with blood sports that he would not have forced you to ignore for his sake if he could have helped it. You overlooked so much on his behalf, he hated to add even one more.

"Exactly as I prefer it," he tossed back as he drew you over to a large round fountain, elaborate in both the sprays of water that flashed and sparkled in the golden light, but also in the carving of the statues that sat atop the center plinth. Your eyes widened at the sculpture, both the subject matter and the detail. Like a Bernini, the creatures were so finely carved that the stone flesh seemed to give underneath gripping fingers in an erotic tangle of limbs.

"I know, dear," you retorted absently, your eyes wide as you watched the lavender water froth and sparkle as golden bubbles popped and fizzed beneath the provocative sculpture. The beauty here was unreasonable, so much so that there were moments you felt dazed by it. Your eyes swept the room, taking in the living light show, the crowded tables, the array of people, and your heart sped until it was pounding and pounding. This wasn't a new experience, a unique kind of panic attack that you experienced at Loki's side. You never knew if your heart was racing in fear or excitement, but his wicked smile always drew you on regardless.

He'd turned that wicked smile on you when he purred, his voice a temptation, "Come, throw some dice." He'd seen your eyes widening and your lips parting and knew the things he'd shared with you had overcome your stunning control. Nothing made him happier than watching your breath speed in response to the wonders he gave to you. "Since it’s a special occasion."

You smiled at him, grateful to have him to focus on. You concentrated on that mischievous grin and took slow, deep breaths. Knowing you were hand in hand with someone like Loki helped you stay calm when the universe was almost too much. Not only was he dangerous under all circumstances, but you also knew how highly he valued you, how careful he really was with you. Aside from the kind of danger that goes hand in hand with adventure, you knew you were safer at his side on an unfamiliar planet than you were when walking alone in an unfamiliar neighborhood in New York.

"Something tells me I shouldn’t give into that line of reasoning," you smirked at him, sliding your arm around his waist and pulling yourself in to burrow into his throat, "or everything will become a ‘special occasion’."

Loki laughed, wrapping his arms around your shoulders to squeeze you, exuberant affection bursting out of him like light. You smiled into his face, the sight of his happiness making your throat ache in joy. You loved making him happy like this, especially as so much melancholy had hung on him since you'd met. Grief had dogged his steps for a long time; seeing him look so glad and free made you feel like your heart was full and overflowing.

"Let me tempt you, darling." His joyous face beamed into yours as he enticed you. "Let me prove I can still persuade you to give in to your vices." His head dipped to yours and he nuzzled your mouth, his teeth scraping your bottom lip and making you moan a little, low in your throat. The sound shot straight to his groin, his body impatient for the last item on the evening's schedule. He fought his lust for you, but his hand slid down your spine to your tailbone, pressing you closer to his body the whole way down. "You know how it thrills me," he whispered against your mouth before taking your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss.

"I do, yes." You whispered the words back as soon as your lips were free again. Loki was in a surprising mood, one you were only vaguely familiar with. He seemed reckless, but young and wild at the same time. You wondered if he realized how stifling he found impersonating his father, if he knew how much happier he was when he was out in the universe, causing trouble. You gave in, happy to allow him to corrupt you, if only because it pleased him so much.

"If it will truly make you happy to talk me into gambling with your money, I will try." You looked around, and decided on a table with rolling dice, hoping the rules would be at least somewhat similar to any dice games from Earth. Loki gave you a wicked and wholly satisfied smile as he offered you several of the gold wafers that appeared to be the currency here. Taking his hand, you walked towards the table with the most exuberant cheering. "What are we doing here?" You directed the question at Loki as you watched the creature at the end of the table take three dice into a hook and toss them down to the other end of the table. "It kinda looks like craps, except are those eight-sided dice?"

Loki was watching you, not the table. He loved that he could see you trying to figure out the game, though the rules were opaque and the symbols incomprehensible to you. You watched the gameplay, seeking the pattern that would tell you enough about how the game was played for you to participate. "Two are eight-sided," he replied, the joy of having you with him in his world making his heart ache, "the third is twelve." You looked at him when you heard the exhilaration in his tone, a soft smile lifting the corner of your mouth, tempting him. "Why do you ask?"

You could see only happiness and excitement sparkling in his smile, so you shrugged and turned your gaze back to the gaming table in front of you. "I'm figuring the odds." Your eyes narrowed as you answered absently. Because your attention was entirely on the table, you gasped in surprise when Loki pulled you close to wrap his arms around you from behind, burying his face in the curve of your throat. He took your skin gently between his teeth and bit down, goaded past endurance by the look of concentration on your face.

"And you don't know how it excites me," he murmured against your skin, his lips soothing the slight prickle of pain his teeth had left behind. Truthfully, he hadn't known how you would excite him, how having you slip into his world like you belonged there would have him already quivering for you. Only his determination to drive you both to the brink of madness before he gave in prevented him from finding somewhere private to slake this thirst.

Though he couldn't see the smile on your face, the sultry expression came through loud and clear in both the way you pressed back against him, your ass brushing the erection straining at leather behind you, and in your amused voice. "I have an idea," you murmured as you snuggled back into his embrace, tilting your head to give him easier access to your throat.

"Excite me more," he growled before taking advantage of that access to close his teeth around the cord of muscle where your neck met your shoulder. Between his arms tight around you and your own motion to press firmly against his body, the iron bar of his cock snugged against you and taunted you with the reminder of his ever-present desire for you.

Loki's appreciation for the oddest things about you was a source of never-ending delight, something that made you feel exceptional. He loved things about you that you'd always assumed to be normal, or even mediocre, and you could not think of yourself as ordinary when he disagreed, and he so clearly was none of those things.

You watched as a large humanoid placed a stack of gold wafers on one of the pictographs on the table before taking the three dice in his giant hand. "As far as I can tell," you replied as the man tossed the dice down to the other end of the table, snarling when none of the upright pictures on the dice matched those under his wager, "they're trying to match certain combinations, based on their likelihoods." Your voice was shaking slightly, giving away both your laughter at Loki’s playful mood and your arousal at his touch.

"Delectable." Loki's breath was coming faster as he started placing light, brushing kisses over your shoulder, up your neck, smiling against your skin. He breathed into your ear as he fought his own cravings, trying to keep his hands somewhat under control. As you were wearing your ring, the people flowing around you didn't even notice Loki wrapped around his dark bride. He knew they wouldn't notice if he brought you to a climax in the middle of the casino floor. That knowledge was a constant temptation, one he'd never imagined when he'd been making the rings, but thanks to his love for violating rules and boundaries, had turned out to be an unexpected advantage.

"Loki…" Your voice was a warning as his arms had loosened so that he could run his hands over the sides of your body, up from your hips to directly beneath your breasts, pausing there an edgy moment before running back down. The firmness of his hands against you, like he was holding himself in careful check, sent a thrill running through you. His strength combined with his wildness sometimes made your heart race in something closer to anxiety than desire, but the tinge of fear only heightened the experience. A wild part of you loved him because he was dangerous, not in spite of it.

Loki swore, quietly and viciously, as his hands stilled on your hips, his grip tight enough to almost be painful, but carefully restrained. You could feel how he wanted you in the way he held you, but you also felt him deliberately rein himself in. His voice calm, but with an undercurrent of threat that made you shudder in desire, he removed his mouth from your skin and returned to the subject at hand. “That is the most basic of the wagering, yes."

You took a deep breath, aware that Loki was in a more dangerous mood than normal. He taunted and tempted you into madness on a regular day. How much higher would you soar at his suggestion? What depths would you plumb with his encouragement? In this mood, what outrageous deeds would you commit at his side, at his provocation? What wouldn't you risk when he was the prize?

You'd already done far more shocking things with Loki than gambling on dice. You could only be grateful that the evening's entertainments had started with something relatively ordinary. “And how much you win is based on how much and when you bet. But more important is when.”

Loki felt like he couldn't bear to not be touching you, and so he hadn't removed his hands from your hips. At your words, his hands tightened again as he leashed himself against the rising desire. There were moments it frightened him, what he'd done for you, what he would do. You had so much power over him, it could be terrifying. You'd inspired him to such heights, brought him to such lows, it was insufferable how much more he'd become in your hands. The only way he could bear it was that you were equally under his spell. You never used that power over him for anything but pleasure.

He may have been caught, trapped in the endless pools of fey eyes, but you were caught in his gravity, tidal locked with those compelling eyes on him and only him. He was content, or as content as he was capable.

Loki couldn't help himself; he leaned forward and closed his teeth around the nape of your neck. He was finally playing on the edges of the galaxy with you. Dazzling you, thrilling you, overwhelming you, was the priority. "You catch on fast, love," he murmured against your skin, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the back of your shoulders as his hands slowly climbed back up your sides. When you pressed back against him and rubbed yourself against him, he growled, "I could eat you alive."

Your face spread in a smile you hadn't had before you met Loki, something wicked and potent. Knowing that something about this trip had him even more unruly than usual, and that unruliness was expressing itself in lust, gave you a feeling of immense power. You grabbed one of the hands about to slide up to cup your breasts and stepped forward, out of Loki's arms.

"Then I'll start there," you said with a cheeky glance back at Loki, whose pale skin was flushed with desire, eyes glittering and smile wide with sexy menace. You felt cold once your body was no longer in contact with his, but you used your hand in his to pull him with you toward the gaming table. You'd been together long enough that you could see that he was planning to make you pay for teasing him. You'd been teasing him long enough that you’d known that when you’d started.

Well used to this part now, thanks to your sojourns on Earth, you tapped on the arm of one of the beings surrounding the table. The man was seven feet if he was an inch, and covered head to toe in what looked like very uncomfortable gray metal armor, giant pauldrons completing the space marine vibe. When you touched him and murmured, "Excuse me," he jumped a foot in the air and shrieked like a little girl.

Too used to this response to your sudden appearance, you smiled blandly at the giant gaping down at you and asked politely, "May I squeeze in here?"

You didn't know it, but Loki had tweaked the spell in your rings to make your appearance more potent and thus more intimidating. Though he didn't want you to draw undue attention, he still wanted the universe at large to know at a glance how significant you were, even if they couldn't put their finger on why.

You leaned forward and waved to get the attention of the croupier so that he would notice your bet as well. His eyes widened, but he was far better than the giant at your side at hiding his astonishment, years of customer service callousing his ability to feel surprise. After a beat, he shouted, "Got a new player!"

This time you glanced around in surprise when, with a glance from the croupier, the man next to you offered you the dice. You took the dice and looked up in dismay when the croupier then shouted, "Place your bet!"

"I've actually never played before," you said to the shockingly gentle looking man, for all his size and armor. He grinned, revealing a full set of shining silver teeth.

"You'll want to pick a Trieklah,” he replied, pointing at the trios of pictographs matching those on the dice. The giant had a surprisingly warm baritone; if he could carry a tune, he'd have made a fortune on Earth giving Hozier a run for his money. "That's the biggest payout, but the hardest to hit."

"One for each die?" You noticed everyone else around the table betting in threes and wanted to make sure that you needed to do the same. The silver-toothed giant smiled and nodded in encouragement. You played with the stack of wafers in your hands, clicking them together like thin dominoes. You quickly decided on a trio, but as you leaned forward, your necklace swung forward, and a glint of colored light reflected off the center opal. That shimmer directed your eye to a set of three that somehow reminded you of Loki. On impulse, you changed direction and placed your bet on the other rectangle. "Let's see if luck is on my side today."

The giant looked at you, his surprisingly light blue eyes in dark skin piercing. Loki's illusion was complete, and Odof the Merc hadn't survived all these years by being naïve. In addition to Loki’s spells, there was an aura about you that you couldn't hide, an aura that had become more and more apparent the more time you spent with Loki and in the wider universe. Even Loki's illusions couldn't hide what you'd become. "You got lucky eyes," he concluded and added his own bet to yours.

Loki, meanwhile, was standing back, watching you charm a dangerous mercenary with ease, a wide smile on his face. There was something deeply gratifying about the way you moved through the galaxy, with the same smooth ease with which you moved through your own world. He felt validated in his view of your extraordinary gifts, enjoyed seeing the way you gently dominated everything around you.

You cocked your arm back and sent the dice tumbling across the walled table. Luck was with you and the dice rolled onto what looked like purple baize on the three sides you'd picked. With a shocked cheer, you turned and hugged your new friend in the kind of exuberance that comes from an unexpected win.

The sheer, unmitigated pleasure on the giant's face when your arms closed swiftly and awkwardly around his bulky armor made Loki smile in an unfamiliar way. The feeling was sheer, uncomplicated delight, and he wondered that he should so enjoy watching another man go to mush over you. Something about the fierce warrior looking soft and bashful as you grinned and thanked him made Loki happy, though he didn't really understand why.

You collected your winnings, turning your head to laugh back at Loki in delight as you stuffed wafers into your pockets. He grinned wildly back at you, and if the croupier hadn't snagged your attention, you'd have been stunned to see the love he had for you naked on his face.

You turned back and threw three gold wafers on another set of three. Since you'd won last time, you evidently were supposed to retain the dice and roll again, like craps, so you cocked your arm back and sent the dice flying again. This time, however, only one of the dice matched any of the symbols that you'd picked on the board. Two of your wafers were collected by the croupier, but the third was handed back to you to pick another set. This time, the giant explained, you had to pick one that had the symbol that already matched yours, but you would bet again and reroll the remaining two dice.

You grabbed two more wafers and placed your bet on another set that appealed to you, but none of the rectangles of symbols grabbed you as the first wager had. You weren't feeling it, and apparently that showed on your face. The friendly giant set his bet on a different trio with an apologetic look. "No offense, girlie, but I don't think you got it this time."

You rolled again, then cursed when neither of your dice matched your bet. The croupier gave back an eight-sided die and you sent it tumbling, though you could only break even now. As you tossed the last die, you grinned wryly at your new friend and replied, "No offense taken, boyo. I did not have it."

Odof had never had a little thing like you sass him like this. His armor told the world who he was and what he did for a living. Most people gave him a wide berth, but here you were, seemingly harmless, but with the confidence of a goddess. He threw his head back and laughed out loud, certain you had hidden talents.

Boyo, he thought, tickled pink both by the familiarity and the sparkling smile you'd sent him as you'd said it. "I like you!" He shouted the words, then stopped the croupier when he started to pass the dice to the person to your left. "Let her roll again. The luck's back on her." He winked at you, and you grinned back, delighted with your social success in the wider universe. "Bet again, I'll wager with you."

The lady to your left was a shocking gold, with an oddly superior aura, but she handed the dice to you with a smile. Absently toying with your necklace, another flash of light drew your eye to a rectangle that held script-like symbols. They reminded you of the sigils that surrounded the portal from your linen closet to Loki's pocket dimension. You put nine wafers down in a stack and grinned recklessly at the giant.

The giant gave another boisterous roaring laugh, then threw down a matching stack of gold. As you looked back, you caught Loki's eye and winked, grinning cheekily. Loki thought you breathtaking, playing on the edge of chance and making friends with dangerous mercenaries. He saw more clearly than ever why he'd never been able to permanently walk away from you. He'd found his match in you, his mate, and it was the greatest treasure he'd ever found. Staying with you had become his highest priority. His revenge against his father and the petty usurpation of the throne had become his raison d'etre when his mother died. At some point since he'd met you, holding fast to you had overcome that focus, that need.

He could bear to have all the glories of Asgard torn away, as long as he was still at your side when it was over.

You turned back to the table, unaware of the fireworks of emotion that were going off inside of Loki, to match the bursting explosions of color above his head. You took a deep breath, shook your fist and cocked your arm, sending the dice tumbling over the table.

The table erupted into cheers, delighted and surprised to find that you'd done it again, you'd pulled off another Trieklah. Loki came over, a bag in his hand that he'd seemed to pull from nothing. Once you'd piled your winnings into the bag, a considerable amount after two rare hits of luck, you thanked the lady who'd given you the dice. She was delighted, as she'd hit on a side bet and won a decent amount herself.

Turning to the giant, you patted his arm and smiled warmly up into his oddly sweet face. "Thank you for your help!"

He smiled back and patted your hand on his arm, his hand a bear paw in comparison to yours. "My pleasure, little lady."

You enjoyed being called little, and lady, and your smile took on a sweetness you hadn't intended, but the giant found utterly beguiling. If you hadn't had an Asgardian escort at your side, he might have suggested you hang around, let him get to know you better. His face fell, however, at your next words. "Break a leg, friend."

His expression surprised you. Someone who looked like him seemed to be the sort who would enjoy a more violent idiom. You smiled reassuringly and explained, "That's how we wish someone good fortune on my world."

The giant's face relaxed, and he smiled again, thinking this was proof that you were more dangerous than you appeared. "You must live on a brutal world."

With one more squeeze to his forearm, you laughed up at him. Loki had taken your hand when you'd turned to him to walk away from the table and was leading you away as you tossed back. "You have no idea."

Loki drew you away from the table, grinning at your good luck and the warm happiness that animated you. Bubbling over with excitement, you smugly handed back the stake he'd fronted you. He tried to refuse, but you insisted, then taunted him that you didn't even need him now, because you could buy your own drinks.

The two of you explored the rest of the building, but you refused to play any of the other games, certain your luck had run out and uninterested in giving any of your money back to the casino now that you had it in your possession. Loki thought you were adorable, if a bit perverse, but he remained indulgent, especially when you told him you wanted to remember the night as nothing but fun and triumph.

Once he'd shown you the indulgence of greed, the two of you left the casino and wandered freely through the streets. Loki knew where he was going, however, and pulled you through a door in a side street into a small serving room. The two of you sat at one of the few tables beside the long bar and proceeded to eat the best food you'd ever tasted in your life. You couldn't explain why it was so much better than anything you'd had before, but you didn't question it. The why was unimportant when you were plowing through a pastry the likes of which you'd never had before. Perfectly flaky, the filling was creamy and fruity and smooth, and you’d swear your taste buds were in overdrive. By the time you were done, you were in love with Witter, the lovely purple man who'd made and personally served you the dessert that you were crazy about.

Loki pulled you away from the laughing Witter, telling him to ignore you, that you couldn't marry him because you were already married, dammit. Once you were in the alley, he pulled you into a dark alcove to kiss you, to remind you that he could give you so much more than pastry, no matter how delicious. His body shielding yours, he'd taken advantage of your skirt to bring you to a quick but shuddering climax with his fingers. His eyes burned as he watched you put yourself back together and he sucked your flavor from his fingertips. Knowing he had so much more planned for you, instead of easing the clenching in your core, the orgasm had only whetted your appetite for more.

Loki led you on into the night, you'd assumed to a room where he could unleash the sexual tension that had been building all evening. When he pulled you into what looked like a dive bar, you looked around in surprise and confusion. Accompanying Loki had taught you it was best to go along with him, as he usually had a reason for what he did, even if his reason was overemotional or hyperbolic. With a cocky smile, you shrugged and asked what the frothy pink thing was called and whether anything in it would kill you before swaggering up to the bar to get the tentacled bartender's attention.

Loki wanted you like air, was driving himself mad by waiting to have you alone. You'd blossomed in his life, at his side, as he'd known you would. Still, he’d never known how you’d shine, or how he’d feel about it.

As you'd walked away from the gaming table, however, Odof the Merc had turned back to the game, but for some reason he was seeing flashes of light that he wasn't used to. Like midges on the edges of his vision, the little flashes would draw his eye to particular Trieklahs. When he followed the flashes, his luck seemed better than when he didn't, so he kept following them. When he decided to quit, an hour later, he was up over five thousand credits and was ready to spend it on sex and sauce. Odof was thinking and appreciating that you must have thrown him some luck, whether you intended to or not and he was not certain either way, as he stumbled into the casino's biggest bar, looking for some companionship.

Four guards, each his size and armed, prepared to deal with him if he wanted to make trouble, surrounded him before he made it to the bar. Odof sighed. Luck never stuck around for long.

Part Nineteen here>>

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monster-of-master · 4 years

Text

lfc; Sekh’a Okohwe.

The Basics ––– –

NAME: Sekh’a Okohwe. AGE: Late twenties. BIRTHDAY: Twenty-fifth sun of the first Astral Moon. RACE: Keeper of the Moon. GENDER: Male. SEXUALITY: Heterosexual, polyamorous. MARITAL STATUS: Single.

Physical Appearance ––– –

HAIR:

Smoky-white, and bound in a neat tail bound by a leather strap, that lets it fall below his shoulder-blades. He keeps a relatively clean head of hair, though its cut is uneven in places and its ends somewhat frayed, as if he trims it with a blade that lost its bite long ago.

EYE:

They stand out, and are likely the first thing that one might notice upon meeting him. An eerily pale yellow shine sees them with a dull glow, and it isn’t uncommon for them to flit around erratically. It's no twitch borne from anxiousness or a lack of focus, but instead a desire to keep the goings-on of his environment tracked and well in the forefront of his mind.

HEIGHT:

Six fulms, or thereabouts.

BUILD:

Bitter conflict and bloody strife are abiding companions in the world beyond the civilized borders of man-made laws, and it was this savage crucible that bore Sekh'a. His shape is that of a consummate hunter, the dedication of his life in pursuit of martial perfection producing a physique trim and toned. Broad of shoulders and sturdy of limbs, with lean musculature packed tightly behind the stretch of swarthy flesh, Sekh'a's build satisfies the condition for an ideal predator's frame, suitable at stalking prey for long stretches of time, which is a source of great pride. From the jaggedly strewn scars that decorate his skin to the coarse, and calloused flesh of his hands, Sekh'a appears both well-seasoned, and well-traveled—and no stranger at all to turmoil.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS:

A mask of stygian warpaint smeared across his eyes, and he’s not often—if ever—seen without it. This is one of the few things that he’s meticulous about insofar as his appearance goes.

His wounds are left to heal on their own without the aid of magic to dull pain or whisk away evidence of a misstep, and are seen as a prideful thing, displayed openly. They serve as a roadmap detailing every deed—good or ill—that has shaped his life, and the gnarled, and jagged evidence of past encounters with both man and beast stretch over his arms, belly, and back. Claw, tooth and blade make up the bulk of the unsightly marks that bite into his flesh.

Tattoos are present and compete for territory with the above mentioned scar tissue, though these are far less prominent insofar as quantity. Fanciful line-work of markings that are just as easily mundane as they are magical encircle in his wrists and a wolves fanged and gnashing, bloodied maw that drips from a prior feast, sits over the space atop his right set of ribs.

Personal ––– –

PROFESSION: Hunter, trapper, tracker, collector. HOBBIES: Cartography, drawing, alchemy, gambling, people-watching. LANGUAGES: Eorzean common. RESIDENCE: Gridania, presently, though he travels frequently. BIRTHPLACE: Eastern Shroud. RELIGION: Menphina, the Lover. FEARS: Becoming complacent, loss of control, falling into a mundane routine, too much quiet in his life.

Relationships ––– –

SPOUSE: None. CHILDREN: None. PARENTS: Dead and buried, as far as he’s aware, or keen to speak of. SIBLINGS: Dead and buried, as far as he’s aware, or keen to speak of. OTHER RELATIVES: None worth discussing. ACQUAINTANCES: Sekh’a keeps the status and identities of those he has dealings with confidential.

Traits ––– –

extroverted / introverted / in between disorganized / organized / in between close minded / open-minded / in between calm / anxious / in between disagreeable / agreeable / in between cautious / reckless / in between patient / impatient / in between outspoken / reserved / in between leader / follower / in between empathic / unempathic / in between optimistic / pessimistic / in between traditional / modern / in between hard-working / lazy / in between cultured / uncultured / in between loyal / disloyal / unknown / in between faithful / unfaithful / unknown / in between

Additional Information ––– –

SMOKING HABIT: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

Flaws

Strengths

RP Hooks ––– –

Trophy Hunter

The thrill of the chase is what truly fuels Sekh'a, be his prey beast or man. Beast slaying and particularly bounty hunting are bread and butter, part and parcel of his life, the latter bringing him contact and working for unsavory individuals. It keeps him flush with coin however, to fund other aspects of his life. Though he ordinarily prefers to work alone—treating this endeavor like it's some intimate and venerated, holy rite—he has been known in the past to take on an accompanying of fellow warriors, if the target is of a particularly volatile nature.

When working with others however, he does demand first choice of trophy, only rarely waiving this perceived 'right'.

Chasing Shadows

When mindless beasts threatening the livelihood of the common folk and debtors skipping town with only the shirts on their backs fail to satisfy the itch, Sekh'a seeks to tackle more vicious prey—voidsent. It's of no surprise then that one of Sekh'a's primary interests is that of that great and fallen empire of eld, Mhach, and the legacy they left behind in this world regarding these otherworldly horrors. A rumor churning within the mill amidst the city-states' occult inclined persons state that there is an individual with an insatiable appetite for such relics, though the reasons behind this search vary person to person, day to day. Some speak of him as some ravenous, maligned beast that seeks to follow in the accursed footsteps of void-mages and demon summoners, gobbling up every speck of forbidden power he can, enslaving these eldritch abominations to do his will. Others describe him as a virtuous—if delusional—soul trying to save the world, by keeping the threat of this collection that he's amassed under stern lock and key. The truth may lie very well somewhere in the middle. Tomes, idols, and other paraphernalia or anything resembling a lead to where such items can be found are said to fetch a heavy purse of gil, they say—or a suitably acceptable trade.

Tribal Roots

Though by and large disassociated with his clan as of late—and rarely chatty about them if asked—some small part of Sekh'a does still enjoy the notion of reconnecting with others still adhering to the lifestyle.

Misfits & Malcontents

Sekh'a opens up to few, and allows even less to glimpse even a glimmer of his personal affairs. These types, however, tend to be the ones that he gets on with most; those that don’t fit into societal norms and who fall through the cracks. Pariahs and those deemed untouchable need look no further in their search of a willing ear to listen to their stories—their great tribulations—and if he's moved enough by them, they might find a helping hand on offer.

OOC Section ––– –

Hello, hi. Here’s the feller that I’m playing primarily on XIV, Crystal datacenter, and he’s going to be occupying this space with his WoW counterpart. Much of my OOC stuff is already detailed and or being added to on my carrd, so I’ll just go ahead and link that.

Link to carrd HERE

#sekh'a

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voyage-in-the-dark · 7 years

Text

departure

Oakclaw crept through the undergrowth, breath rasping harshly, ears straining to hear the slightest sound. He had carefully and successfully avoided SkyClan’s territory. The skills he had been taught by Darkstar himself had served him well. He was amazed by his luck; he was limping and bleeding. One of his eyes couldn’t see properly. The scent of his blood was unmistakable. It was sheer luck that he had not been spotted.

Up ahead, he smelled the SunClan scent borders. Oakclaw made himself slow down, so he was not crashing through the shrubbery. He found a stream and made himself stop, and used the water to wash away blood and groom himself as best as he could. He wished he knew some herbs. His injured eye burned. He remembered the events of the past few days. That faithful night: a small, frightened apprentice being pushed forward, a known ‘weakling’. Asking him to cull the apprentice. The moment spinning into eternity as he balanced on the knife-edge of a decision, two choices yawning like abysses on either side of him.

He chose.

Darkstar, reeling from a wound to his eye, bleeding profusely. Blackfang, yowling for his blood and charging. Cinderclaw, silent and already leaping for him. A fight. Being pinned to the ground. Burning pain as they marked him as a traitor with a slash across the eye. Being exiled. He remembered the rage and betrayal in Darkstar’s eyes and thought he was lucky to have escaped the way he did. Being numb with shock as he realized he inhabited a world where everything looked the same but there were fundamental and imperceptible differences. He had laid low for a few days at the edges of NightClan territory while his mind whirled through the few choices that were available to him now.

In the past few moons, Oakclaw saw the Clan he loved slowly turn into nothing he recognized. Ever since Darkstar was made a leader. Ever since Darkstar and his supporters rose to power. Ever since then, things started to grow awry. Now, the clan persecuted any who did not obey, and culled the ‘weaklings’. There was a line somewhere, between ‘right’ and ‘wrong’, and unnoticed by anyone, NightClan had slowly but inexorably crossed that line and deluded itself into thinking otherwise. Oakclaw found that more and more of what the Clan required him to do pushed him to the edge of that line. What they asked of him that night was impossible. He knew and they knew it was a test. They had sensed his wavering loyalty and the quiet resistance in his heart and had set a trap for him. They asked him to take an innocent life in cold blood. An ethical line was crossed. He would not be reduced by their unethicality. It was resist, or be co-opted into their midst. And so, he had fought.

And here he was. His only hope was SunClan. His chances were slim, bordering on nonexistent. Who would take in a cat who betrayed his own clan? He was a traitor. And yet, he had heard of the eccentricity of Lionstar. He might have a chance there. When he leapt at Darkstar, he had known – and resigned himself – to his possible fate as a loner. Yet it was better to live being able to face himself than to lose his very self bit by bit with every immorality committed, just like what he had seen Darkstar’s supporters become.

(And perhaps a part of him wanted to see Larkfeather for the last time. There could have been no future for them.)

He heard signs of life ahead, and he slowed down. This was the border patrol. They seemed unaware of him, but he picked up the signs betraying their presence – movement in the underbrush and the scent of unknown cats. He stopped and made himself sit still. He tried to make himself look smaller, but he didn’t know if he succeeded. He had never had to try to do that. Suddenly, finally, a cat yowled in alarm. Warriors whipped around, tails shot straight up, ears were pinned back.

Even in the midst of his emotional turmoil, he felt flickers of detached amusement as the patrol recoiled at the sight of him. He probably looked threatening – a big black cat sitting soundless and still as a statue in the midst of the shrubbery. The part of him who had taken charge of apprenticeship training was surprised at how easy it was to get so close. It had been harder to sneak up on his Clan members’ back home. A pang of loss hit him at the thought. He could never go back now. He did not want to, even if he could.

There was a lot of scrambling around as the sentries reacted to the strangeness of his request – a private audience with Lionstar. He remembered SunClan’s deputy. Sagefire. He had not seen enough of her at Gatherings to be sure whether she would oppose him or listen to him. …He was reminded again that he was riding on the slim and impossible hope of Lionstar’s eccentric leniency and compassion. Never had he gambled with the odds like this. But he had no choice.

As the sentries escorted him into camp, Oakclaw’s mind flickered through what he would have to do. He was going to have to betray his Clan. Again. They would want to know what had driven him away. He loved NightClan. But NightClan had betrayed him. He didn’t recognize the Clan he had grown up in anymore.

Cats were stirring at the noise the sentries were making and padding out from their dens to witness the source of the noise. He was surprised to find a part of him was amused that he was like the calm eye of the storm. All around him was turmoil, shock, and raised voices. Only he was silent and seemingly calm.

And then, he saw a familiar and beloved form. His beloved. His heart leapt. She looked like she had just woken up, and she was padding out from the low-hanging leaves covering the entrance to the warriors’ den. She was a slender and graceful cream-and-white she-cat, with delicate features and luminous blue eyes.

He thought she was beautiful, as beautiful as the dawn, just as she had been the very first time he had seen her, when she had been Larkpaw. In his eyes, Larkfeather was always beautiful.

He was anguished; he yearned to go to her side, greet her, and press against her and seek solace in her touch – but he counselled himself to be patient. He caught hold of his emotions and mastered himself. His two strengths had always been patience and self-control.

He saw the moment when Larkfeather saw him. She went still. A look of shock and disbelief crossed her face, followed by a look of concern at his injuries, and then it was replaced by a look of dawning horror. He knew what she thought. She thought that he had been caught coming to see her. He saw her frantically look around, wanting to do something – probably plead on his behalf. She kept glancing back at him as she looked for a cat to speak to. He waited till he caught her eye – a powerful charge passed between them, and he felt himself relax, just as he saw some tension leave her body – and he shook his head subtly. Trust me, his gaze said. She held his gaze and for a blissful moment, everything seemed timeless and suspended. She subsided and sat back. She was unhappy but willing to trust him. She kept her gaze on him. He wanted to keep looking at her because her gaze was like a lifeline, but he forced himself to look away. He was guilty of enough already. No need to drag her name through the mud.

Then, he saw a big tom headed his way. A smaller, tortoiseshell-and-white she-cat padded beside him. He recognized Lionstar and Sagefire. Lionstar was as big as Darkstar, and he looked massive compared to his other Clan mates. Sagefire, not particularly small herself, looked dainty next to him. He made an impressive and intimidating sight: he had a lumbering and imposing way of walking, like the lion he had been named after. His eyes frequently seemed half-closed, and yet he always seemed to know where he was going. Oakclaw felt himself tense. Here was his second test.

—–

(diplomacy stuff blah)

—–

A hostile warrior escorted him to the medicine cat’s den and sat outside, guarding him. Larkfeather rose anxiously at the sight of him. Seeing her was like a balm to his heart. Their eyes met and the effect was powerful. He instantly felt like he had shed his worries, like he had been transported into a better world and an intimate space. He wanted to relax, but couldn’t. He remembered the hostile warrior. He warned her with a look in his eyes and a flick of his ears that another cat was present. She looked frustrated with all that she could not say. Under the warrior’s suspicious glare, she gently examined him and patted poultices onto his wounds.

They had their first moment alone when another cat called out to the warrior guarding them for help with something. Looking visibly torn and after threatening him, the warrior left them.

Larkfeather immediately burst out, “What happened?”

Oakclaw pricked his ears for signs of another cat as he thought over how much he should tell her. He thought that it would take him too long to tell every event that had happened. He instead summarized it as briefly as he can, stating that they had forced him to kill another cat as a test, and he had refused and fought. They had subdued him and exiled him. And now he was here…begging…for help.

Larkfeather grew more and more alarmed with every sentence he uttered. “Will they take you in?” she whispered.

Her eyes clung to his face and he read in them worry, fear, love, and the small budding hope that they might have a future. He addressed her fear and hope directly. He said gently, “I don’t know. They are discussing it now.”

Larkfeather closed her eyes at his admission of uncertainty. He was never uncertain. She looked careworn and tired. Oakclaw regretted the necessity of putting her through this. Mustering a conviction and certainty he did not feel, he told her, “Things will turn out alright.”

Larkfeather looked more reassured. “Yes,” she agreed firmly. “StarClan watches over us.” She leaned forward and touched noses with him, and gently pressed her muzzle against his.

Oakclaw closed his eyes at the touch. And allowed himself to believe.

#my writing #warriors au #the wonderful unknown

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