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thezestyone · 2 years

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An Introduction: From The Ghetto (IkeSen Various! X Reader) (18+)

Author’s Note: MDNI, this series will cover adult themes.

This idea to do a sort of fusion of many different things concerning IkeSen came to me, and it stuck for a few weeks, so why not share the introductory results of this peculiar storyline idea with the rest of you?

NOTICE: The reader’s name is “Princess” due to me not wanting to use MC or (Y/n) throughout, I feel those descriptors break the story immersion, so yeah… and technically, we ALL are princesses, so it’s not inaccurate, lol

Additional Notice: As of writing this, the main pairing will be Hideyoshi and reader, but, like a Soap Opera, this is subject to change. Think I will stick with this, though…

Without further ado, welcome to this peculiar soap opera-esqe storyline’s intro… hope you like it!~

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Greetings, welcome to the ghetto.

Now, make sure to keep an eye on your group and on your items,

Because you must prepare yourself,

What happens here, is its own experience-

From rags to riches, from riches to rags, and everything in between, this land was an economic hellscape. From exclusive families living like high rollers, to a man barely being able to feed himself for the week, this land from the outside may seem all peachy keen, but it was anything but from the inside...

Let us go back in time, where it all began for a specific group... how their lives became connected, and how their tales all speak of both fortune and misfortune. How love can conquer all, and how it can in the same breath be used to break down bonds thought to last a lifetime.

This is the tale... of the people from the ghetto.

Saturday night, the perfect time to party for those that lived in the neighborhood. Every alcoholic drink imaginable was passed around amongst the group of inebriated individuals, their clothes worn passed their prime, and stained to the high heavens with old dirt, dust, and grass stains. Here in the neighborhood, everyone had to work themselves to the bone to be able to provide themselves and their families with the basic necessities. After their grueling work, why not liven it up with drinks to ease their aching bodies? Most of the people of the neighborhood were farmers, car mechanics, taxi drivers... any job they can find that makes money that does not need a degree, they were on it. Very few from a poor economic background were able to leave the ghetto, they couldn't afford the higher education, so many turned to the streets in a bid to become educated with other matters the best way that they can, such as learning the ways of the streets, defending your neighborhood, and so on.

Though it was a hard life, that did not mean they could not find joy in other aspects, such as in their friends and family. If someone did not have family, like many did in this particular neighborhood, they would forge their own sorts of bonds with each other since childhood... and this behavior was not exclusive to just the neighborhood, but our characters of this area would not know that fact until much later...

"Princessa! Ven aqui!" A woman called out to another who was currently busy sewing a dress, who sighed at being called.

"Voy!" She called back, putting the dress down, and going to leave her home to see her dear friend, Esperanza, who was sitting outside with the rest of the residents of the neighborhood, blaring some music and having a good time together.

"What is it, Esperanza? You know I have to finish up my dress!" The dressmaker whined, clearly not in the partying mood for tonight, though she seems to rarely be up for it, ever... She is usually too exhausted to do anything else but work, clean, and cook...

"I know, but look who is finally coming back from the farms... Hide-yoshi!~" Her densely-curly haired friend giggled, which caused the woman, Princess, to immediately blush as she looked around, her heart skipping a beat at spotting him.

Toyotomi Hideyoshi... How could one explain him simply? When their group was growing up, he always had such a sharp edge to him... he came across as abrasive as the other side of a sponge but could be as sweet as sugar when it was important.

So maybe the princessa had a big crush on him. So what? It never amounted into much of anything, and it probably never will...

...She wanted out of the ghetto, and it seemed like Hideyoshi had no interest in improving himself. He seemed almost content with this sort of living, struggling to scrape by, fearing for your safety if a particular individual became a bit too hostile... barely having any electricity... She loved her family and friends dearly, but she had to get out of there. It is why she took so many types of jobs that may have more prominent clientele, in a bid to get a job that could help her move to a better area, to be able to live a better life.

Yet, covered in muck, Hideyoshi always managed to shine bright like the sun without trying... and just like a planet with the sun, she felt drawn to him.

"Hideyoshi... welcome back..." She bowed her head politely, as he walked up to her with a big grin.

"Thank you. Did you manage to finish your dress?" He asked in turn, as Esperanza grinned mischievously at the two.

"I think I will dance a little and drink some sake... talk to you two later!~" Esperanza waved, before quickly leaving, as Princess internally cursed her for leaving the two alone.

They have dated off and on, but it never got serious. She liked Hideyoshi a lot, but trying to catch him was like trying to catch the wind, and she was so tired of trying.

"Princess... I got a bonus today for harvesting more grains of rice... Perhaps I can take you to that teahouse at the edge of town that you really like," He suggested with a soft smile, as Princess grinned gently at the gesture. His generosity... another lovely trait about Hideyoshi, but he was not in the position to be so generous... he should be saving up and looking to improve his circumstances, like she was.

"I would love that, but Hideyoshi... you barely eat as is, you need to save your money," She suggested softly, as his usually serene golden eyes took on a more dull sheen. "I get by just fine, Princess... I just need to work harder. Then, I can provide us both a good life, I promise."

"I am sorry, Hideyoshi, but we just can't do this right now... We barely see each other as is..." Princess frowned softly, as he sighed.

"...I know, but I promise, one day, I will be the man you would want to be with forever... I just need time..."

...That was what he told her all their lives. Even when they were together, things remained stagnant. As much as she adored him, she didn't want them to be stagnant. She wanted them to move forward, together... but she would not press him. It was his life, and he was going to live it however he saw fit, no matter how much she may disagree. Yes, he was a hard worker, but he didn't branch out to other jobs like she has, and how was a farmer in their area going to really drastically move up the economic ladder? If they ever got together for real, how would they be able to provide for their own family? They would be struggling even more than they were now.

"You should freshen up, Hideyoshi... You had a long day. Jump in the shower, I will get you a fresh pair of clothes and wash these," She motioned to his clothes, changing gears, as he nodded with a smile, looking at her fondly for a few seconds, before the two headed to his home... which had to be the most humble home on the block. Made out of worn wooden planks with a rusted tin roof, the two came inside, leaving their shoes near the entrance which were also equally worn to bits.

Princess immediately headed to Hideyoshi's bedroom while Hideyoshi headed to the bathroom, starting up the shower as he stripped out of his clothes, his sweaty body finding relief in the ice cold water pouring gently down on him, as he immediately started to wash his face.

After finding a change of clothes for him, she then met him in the bathroom, trying not to stare at his muscular frame much. Since they knew each other their whole lives, they were quite comfortable with each other, which meant this was not the first time she saw him in the nude. No matter how many times she saw him, however, she felt her heart race every time.

"I am going to put them on the counter here. You know, Hideyoshi... it would be no problem at all if I sewed new clothes for you... yours has more holes in it than some cheeses I've seen!" Princess told him as she looked in awe at his tattered work clothes, full of tiny holes and loose seams.

Hideyoshi, with no bashfulness at all, turned to look at her as he scrubbed his hair. "No, Princess, I couldn't afford to pay for your rightful skills... save that for those rich clients of yours, fashion designer.~" He grinned brightly at her, as she giggled in turn.

"With a smile like that, I feel as if I have already been paid off!" She chuckled, the both of them laughing softly together at her words.

"Need any help with scrubbing your back, or are you good?" She asked next, as he shook his head. "I will be fine. Luckily today, I haven't been bit by any annoying pests, so I don't itch..." He continued to smile, before grabbing a bar of soap and scrubbing his finely toned arms.

"I will be washing these in the meantime, then. Make sure to eat a little something, okay?" Princess told him, as he in turn pouted. "Oi, I am the one who is supposed to be looking out for you, not the other way around!" He huffed with a displeased frown, as she merely laughed in turn. With her, he was always so gentle hearted.

He loved her, so very much... if only their circumstances changed for the better, if only they were in a better off area... maybe they could finally be together forever...

...Maybe not...

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikemen series #ikesen hideyoshi #hideyoshi toyotomi #ikesen x reader #Ikemen sengoku hideyoshi

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frozenwolftemplar · 9 months

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Writer's Month Day 3: At a Festival

Fandom: Tangled: the Series (though Little Cass again, which I think is on its way to becoming its own thing...)

Rating: G

Summary: Cass, her dad, and former-Captain Williams are enjoying the horse races at one of Corona's (many, many) festivals, and Cass has an idea of something she wants to try...

2,100 words! How did this get to be that long?!?

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Corona had a lot of festivals. Too many, in Cass’s opinion. Those marking the changing of seasons ran together with historically important days that had become more of an excuse for a party than anything, both bleeding into days set aside to celebrate siblings or songbirds or (bleh) *love,* so the calendar was one indistinct blur of colors and confetti and days where her dad was busier than usual organizing security to combat the pickpockets and petty acts of thievery that were as much a tradition as footraces and bimberry wine.

So, no, as a rule Cass wasn’t a fan of festival days.

That being said, though, there were a handful she not only enjoyed, but looked forward to with all the eagerness of youth and Corona: the Harvest Festival (who didn’t like those?), the Day of Arms (an entire day devoted to celebrating the Guard and the sole festival her dad took the day off for), the Gopher Grab (because everyone liked that), the Hat Drop Festival (absolutely pointless, but someone always got drunk on bimbrry wine and fell into the harbor, which was always interesting), and, of course, the Fete of the Fleet, whose sole purpose was to honor that most hallowed creature Corona was built on: the horse.

That day offered every spectacle an aspiring horsewoman could wish to see, Breeders showing off their finest stock, farmers pitting their drafters against one another and the ponderous weight of a sledge laden with the Nim Quarry’s most pretentious boulders, steed capering demonstrations whose inherent frilliness was buried beneath the unmatched grace and elegance of the four-legged performers; for one entire day, all of Corona was a gymkhana of the grandest sort. As great as these were, though, they couldn’t hold a candle to the day’s centerpiece event: the horse races. The excitement of a half dozen steeds pounding neck and neck around the track always put that of every other diversion (or even watching the haberdasher’s apprentice get fished out of the harbor twice at the Hat Drop) to shame. Especially when Captain Williams was around.

“Come on!!!” Fist punching the air, Captain Williams urged the horses cresting the curve of the track on. “Faster! Fast- oh for the love of- that’s not how you jockey a horse!!!”

“Sir...” Cap groaned, shuffling a little to the right to try and put some distance between him and his shouting former commander in an effort to preserve his and, more importantly, his daughter's, hearing, Cass swaying with the movement from her perch on his shoulder. “Is this really necessary?”

“ 'Course it is!” Williams said indignantly, turning from the track just long enough to shoot Cap an affronted ‘don’t-question-me-son’ look. “Someone’s gotta tell King of Spades’ jockey how to ride a thoroughbred! Get up higher you yellow livered-“

Cap sighed (he didn’t know why he bothered...) then glanced up at Cass, one hand fisted in his hair to steady herself. “You good up there, sweetie?”

“Yeah Dad.” Cass had to shout to be heard over the noise of the crowd and Williams.

“You can see the race alright?”

"Yup!" There was a smug note to her answer, but she didn't care. Because she certainly could see the race alright, as well as Rupert, Marcus, and Simon over the way trying to stand on tiptoe to see over the sailors planted along his section of fence. As much as she hated being the shortest kid her age in town, it had its benefits.

An approaching rumble drew her attention back to the track. "Here they come!”

“Come on!" Cap joined in Williams' shouting, far from immune himself to the thrill of a horse race. "Come on!!!”

The noise of the crowd swelled like a cresting wave before crashing ashore in the sound of a hundred thunderclaps racing across the ground, the pack of horses galloping by in a blur of brown and black and rainbow-colored vests of the jockeys, sending Cass's curls whipping into her face with the wind that chased them. Then they were past, pounding towards the finish line, kicking up bits of mud and tufts of grass as-

“It’s Gopher Grab for the win followed by Knight’s Errand tailed by Rendezvous!”

“Dammit!” Williams spat as the town crier stationed at the finish line shouted the names of the horses that crossed, barely audible over the din of the crowd and clang of the bell marking the end of the race. He struck the top fence rail. “Jockey’s what did it. That ass-brained son of a-“

“SIR!” Cap’s scandalized cry cutoff Williams’ blue-colored tirade.

“What?”

Cap set Cass down to better preserve her innocence (hopefully) as he rounded on the man. “That was completely uncalled for!”

“Course it wasn’t.” Williams grunted. “I staked good coin on King of Spades!”

”That’s still no excuse for-“

Cass turned her attention back to the racetrack, letting her dad’s arguments against jockey-directed oaths and Williams’ justifications for lobbing all manner of profanities at the rider responsible for his chosen horse’s loss disappear into the surrounding between-races bustle. It really wasn’t necessary. Williams’ curses were nothing she hadn’t heard before, and Dad didn’t have to worry about her parroting them and being a discredit to his name and using them willy nilly; she intended save them for *good* reasons, better ones than complaining that the horse you placed a bet on lost a race (probably Marcus teasing her about being short, or those stuffy noble girls for just being idiots). But she didn’t complain, and in truth didn’t mind; this argument, and the betting that spurred it, was much a tradition as the drafters or steed capering.

Captain Williams *always* bet on the races. Usually he came out pretty well, but every now and then the jockeys were numbskulls or the track was bad and he went home with pockets a lighter than he would have liked. But it was all in fun, so he’d told her a few festivals ago; a bit of excitement that didn’t involve war or battle or have the kingdom’s fate hanging from his swordtip, harmless so long as he kept his debts what he could pay. And he always did, so even though Dad grumbled every time Williams peeled off to chat with Herr Printz at the betting box, she felt okay forming her own, more favorable opinion of the practice.

The victorious Gopher Grab trotted past, a laurel draped across his marbled neck and head held high with the pride usually reserved for the Captain’s horse. She watched through the fence slats, admiring, indulging in the woefully little-kid practice of fantasizing for a little about what it’d be like to go *that fast.* Talk about exciting! If she wasn’t committed to being a Guard, she’d like to be a jockey. Granted, it’d mean staying stupidly short for the rest of her life, but at least she’d get to spend her days riding the fastest horses in the kingdom.

Sighing, she leaned against the fence slats, thoughts drifting through daydreams of speed and excitement and wishing for the day they could be hers. Her stomach grumbled, and she reached into her pocket and the brown paper package of licorice she’d stashed there earlier. No paper greeted her fingertips, but what they found instead sent an idea to spark into Cass’s fingertips.

She may not be a jockey, but she could still make sure the next race was extra exciting!

Pulling her two-months-new coin pouch from her pocket, she turned up to her dad and Captain Williams, still arguing over whether or not bad jockeying warranted such a colorful condemnation. “Dad?”

”Yeah, hun?” Cap sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as Williams went on a diatribe that would have done the stablemaster Klaus proud on the sacred Corona traditions concomitant with horse racing, of which oaths were one (every year...).

“Can I put money on a horse?”

That stopped the men’s argument.

“Absolutely-“

“Sure thing, Cassie!”

“Sir!” Once again Cap turned, slack jawed and scandalized, to the former captain, whose earlier consternation had vanished completely as he beamed with unbridled delight at the prospect of teaching Cass the fine points of another sacred Corona horseracing tradition. “You can’t be serious!”

“Course I’m serious.” Williams shrugged off Cap’s incredulity. “Cassie has her own pocket money now, and she can spend it how she likes.”

“She’s eight!”

“A fine age to start learning how to put money on a horse. That’s how old I was.”

“Can I, Dad?” Cass pressed while Cap labored over how to diplomatically say that the world had changed in fifty years without insinuating that anyone whose memory stretched back that far qualified as old. “Please?”

”Of all the-“ Cap muttered as he dragged his hand down his face. “Cass, no. I know it’s your money, but gambling is a good way to get into a lot of trouble with it.”

“Cap.” Williams shot him a deadpan look, blue eyes flat and chiding. “It’s a bet on a horserace. It’s not like she’s wagering on cards.”

Cap ignored Williams, refusing to go down *that* tangent (since he knew Cass knew more betting card games than a girl her age probably should). “Part of why I agreed to pay you the coppers was to teach you how to spend money responsibly-“

“What about the silver?” Cass interjected. That didn’t come from polished swords and boots so shiny you could see your face in them; that came from a wrinkled old viscount who wanted the garden nook she was reading in for a dalliance with a miss young enough to be his granddaughter (grown ups could be really weird. And gross.).

“Especially not the silver.” (He still wasn’t sure if he should have even let her keep that, bribe that it was). “This-“ he gestured to the track- “is not responsible. Or educational,” he added in anticipation of the argument he saw building on William’s lips. “All you’ll learn is how to throw away good coin.”

Cass stuck out her lower lip as she stared at the toes of her boots peeking out from beneath her skirt. She shouldn’t whine and *knew* she should just take his order without question like a good Guard and perfect daughter, but, well, she *was* eight, and shouldn't *she* get to choose how to spend the coppers she *earned?* “But Dad-“

“Uh...Sir?” The debate was put on hold at the appearance of Isaac, just enlisted a month ago, an anxious hand pressed to his temple as his eyes jumped with a rabbit’s nerves from current Captain to retired to the girl he'd heard stories about (just because she was missing her front teeth didn’t mean she couldn’t still bite).

“Yes?”

“We’ve...uh, apprehended a man? Who seems to have been picking pockets? And, uh...do you wanna do something with him...?”

Cap gave a militaristic nod. “I’ll be right over. Cass:” He turned back to Cass, who quickly straightened out of the wilt she’d dropped into at Isaac’s quavering report. “Stay with Williams and no gambling with your pocket money. Understood?”

“Yes, sir."

“Good girl.” With that he rumpled her hair, exchanged nods with Williams, and left. Cass stared at her toes, twisting the cord of her pouch around her finger sulkily. This was the worst thing about festivals. She was proud of her dad being the Captain, but sometimes...she just wished, for once, he wasn’t always on-duty and he could spend festival days with her and have her be the most important thing in his life, not second to his job. Especially since that feeling, of not being important, of being an afterthought, pinched her heart in a way that caused something hot and snarling, so ferocious it almost scared her, to prowl in a way that felt far too familiar.

She shook her head, lessening the thought's hold if not banishing it, and looked up at Williams. He was studying her, thoughtful.

“He’ll be back, Cassie.”

“I know.”

They both heard what she didn't say. But not before the races end.

“Hey,” Williams said after a considering moment. “Your birthday’s in October, right?”

“Yeah...” An odd fact to bring up in April. What was he getting at?

“Here,” reaching into his pocket, he pulled something out, cocked his thumb under it, and flipped it into the air. “Happy half-birthday, Cassie.”

Cass caught the glistening object midair, eyes widening when she saw it was a half-silver.

“Now,” Williams leaned an elbow on the fence, sending a knowing wink her way. “Seeing how that’s a gift and certainly *not* the pocket money your dad gave you” (or that tryst-tinted silver), “anything you’d like to do with it?”

Cass grinned wildly, not needing to speak her answer beyond bounding off towards the betting booth, Williams striding gaily behind.

In the end, her Dad was proven right about betting on a horserace being an educational experience, as evidenced by the three half-silver strong symphony jingling in her pocket.

(Lady’s Favor really had been a great pick).

#writersmonth2023 #writersmonth #fanfic #tts fanfic #little cass #tangled the series #tts cassandra #cassandra #captain of corona's guard

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love-toxin · 3 years

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cw: injuries, yandere tohma, gn! reader

"so...how long do I have to play along with this little game of yours?"

the question spills out of his mouth without warning, yet each word is methodical, careful, like he's practiced it a thousand times before. the teapot clutched in your hands nearly slips out and shatters over the table you've laid out for the two of you, but the warmth of the porcelain fortunately keeps you steady enough until you can set it down in the space between you two. Tohma was kind enough to bring you a gift after spending awhile away, tending to his duties--so it's only natural that you would take him out for some tea in exchange. it's courtesy. it's expected.

but his question certainly is not.

"I...I have no idea what you're talking about, Tohma."

"really?"

he's sat cross-legged for some time now, waiting as you ordered the tea and offering you some idle chit-chat befitting a pair that haven't seen the other in a while. Tohma has always been your friend even when you were young, but as is custom in a place like Inazuma, your relationship has evolved throughout the years. there are things you can't say anymore, things that would ruin your life if you were caught doing them...and now, you fear, the glint in Tohma's eyes may be an omen that he's about to commit one of those unholy acts.

"come on now, sweetheart, everybody can see the truth for what it is. there's no need to hide it any longer."

he's purposely tiptoeing around the question, waiting for the pieces to click in your mind. he need not say anything at all, however--the way he looks at you in this moment, and the purpose with which he stands from his place at the tea table is enough to set your jaw tight and your eyes to darken.

"you know that I was always meant to be your husband. to be there for you through thick and thin, to care for you when we're both old and gray-"

he takes a few quick steps around it to get to you, to kneel at your side and reach out his hands to pull yours into them, and it's all you can do not to flinch away and risk the image of impropriety. but you've endured this lecture before, and the only thing screaming inside your head is for you to resist--just resist, don't listen to a word he says, and bite your tongue of any insult until he finally gives up and gets the hint.

"Tohma, stop."

"-to treasure you like no one else will. I understand your point of view, I really do--we're still young, and the world outside of Inazuma seems so big and grand...but you have to realize that the time to settle down is coming for us."

he rubs his thumb over your hand and smiles in your direction, but you can't meet his eyes. and then it's slipping out of your grasp and raising up to your face, and you feel yourself stiffen all over as Tohma gently cups your cheek, his gaze lowering towards your mouth as if he has an idea of what he wants to do. but that would be grounds for you to shriek for a guard, and you're entirely certain that that's the only reason he bites his lip to stave off the desire.

"you were always meant to be mine. you believe in fate, and you've always put your trust in me...so why not let me help you?"

that last part comes as a whisper, the tearoom private but the walls still thin. one of the many secrets you've entrusted to Tohma over the years is your disagreement with Inazuma's strict laws, as well as the etiquette that comes with being a member of the higher class. you've always despised being noble, and Tohma has always understood you, at least you thought so....but ever since he's gotten this ludicrous idea in his head, you've known even less peace than usual.

"I've said it a dozen times, Tohma, and I won't say it again. I'm not marrying you."

you do your best to spit the words out with as much venom as you can muster, yet you still feel the twinge of anxiety at snapping at him so informally. it could spell the end for you quite easily, but when your eyes are drawn back to Tohma's expression, all you can see is bliss written all over his face.

"...even laced with contempt, my name sounds so sweet on your lips. you've so much wit, so much grace, and your beauty leaves me breathless...I know how little you think of me, but-"

fury shoots through every vein of your body, and you know it's the wrong move when you slap his hand away from your face, the smack like a thunderclap in the small space of the little tearoom.

"enough, Tohma! enough. do yourself a favour and stop speaking to me--in fact, I dearly hope you never say a word to me again."

each finger on his hand twitches, only to close in a tight fist and sink back down to his lap. you try to avoid his gaze in this moment, but even turning your head away you can still feel his eyes staring right into your soul.

"you know I can't make that promise. you know that I love you."

that word makes you stiffen, your grip lock on your noble dressings, your blood turn to ice in your veins. you've avoided that for so long but it follows you like a demon, and it's eyes glow a verdant green as Tohma's words melt into your skin and eat you alive from the inside out.

"this feeling of yours....it's not mutual, Tohma. just leave it, and leave me."

you say so, but you're the one that stands from the tea table in the end, and Tohma jumps to get to his feet to follow you. he trails on your heels as you step with purpose towards the door and slide it open, the cool chill of Inazuma city in the night prickling your exposed skin. the blond hurries to get in front of you, and the moment you spot a few other citizens on the path this late at night, you tilt your head down and pray to the gods that Tohma won't force you into impropriety.

"...I see. you won't budge on this, then...I will have to accept that. but may I at least escort you home? I can't in good faith allow you to wander alone in the dark. I still care for you."

he looks down on you with a softness to his features, and you hate how easily you buckle under any sort of pressure from him. you prided yourself on not giving in before, but when you're not alone it's not nearly as easy--you have to piece your words so carefully together, and by the time you think of an excuse it will already be too late for you to reject his offer. so with as subtle of a huff as you can manage, you speak softly under your breath that you suppose that's fine, and grit your teeth as you thank him for the offer. and Tohma is all too relieved to stand beside you as you walk down the hill and leave the prying ears of the city, the silence near unbearable between you as you meander through the path cut down the middle of the farmer's fields.

"seems there's no one around. not a surprise for this time of the night."

it's not a terribly long walk back to your family's estate, but Tohma still evidently feels the need to speak up as you reach the end of the gently sloping hill. Konda village lies within sight in the distance, and you feel the tension weigh heavy on your heart as you count the steps closer and closer to safety. relative safety that is.

you're so focused on paying him as little attention as possible that you don't even take notice to his hand drawing closer to yours and his eyes wandering up and down your figure, practically salivating as the flames in his chest burn hotter and hotter, until the moment he can't take any more and he grabs you by the shoulders to stop you and force you to look him straight in the eyes.

"now, you're going to listen very closely. I'm going to give you a little gift, because I love you so very much. you get a minute's head start."

the shock catches you off guard to the point that you bite your own tongue, fear and panic shooting through you like icicles that make you freeze in place. Tohma's expression is so intense he nearly appears feral, pearly teeth glimmering in the light from the moon as he grins down at you like a predator examining their prey.

"here's the deal, sweetheart--if you can run all the way past Konda village, you win. but if I catch you, I win, and you must uphold your promise and marry me in a month's time. and if you win, you'll get your wish--I'll never speak a word to you again."

terror grips you even harder than Tohma is, and at his proposal you whip your head towards the village in the distance and then back to him. if he's seriously not making some kind of sick joke, then there's absolutely no way you would ever make it. you're not a fighter, you don't even know how to hold a sword much less have a vision, and you've seen the kinds of things Tohma is capable of....he'll catch you before you make it anywhere close.

"Tohma-"

his gaze lingers on you for a moment, before he turns you in the direction of the village and pushes you forward, only hard enough for you to stumble a bit. you want to question him, to try and talk him down from such an insane idea, but once you hear him start counting down aloud your feet move on their own and you take off in a pitiful run down towards your target. the night air whips by your face as you try to sprint as best you can, yet your robes that give away your nobility get caught on your sandals and trip you up enough that it makes your heart jump into your throat. your heart pounds in a cage that feels too tight, the air heavy and raw in your lungs the longer you fumble your way forwards in the night. even your tears feel cold as they stream down your face, and if speaking wouldn't expend your precious energy then you would surely be wailing for Tohma to stop, please, he's scaring you. especially once you hear his footsteps take off, and it feels as though his warm breath is right on the back of your neck.

but even so, you look up within moments to find yourself in the middle of the quiet little village, the lanterns dim and only the glow of the moon casting light on the humble little buildings. the panic ceases but resurges just as quickly when you remember that you're not safe yet, that the entrance to the village is still a few hundred metres away--and you can hear Tohma panting now, at a distance close enough that he'll make a grab for you long before you'll ever get there. but there's something you know that he probably doesn't remember, and it might just be your saving grace as you duck into the shadows and skirt around the mayor's house just as he skids into the path of the village. you fear in the pit of your stomach that getting the top off the well that you used to play near as children would make a great deal of noise, but you hurry forward and find it open--and just as you swing a leg over to climb inside and pray that Tohma doesn't think to look for you here, your foot slips on the stone that's still damp from the rain and your world is overturned as you fall through the air. it's not far enough that you can scream or grab for purchase on something, but when you land you hear the sickening crack of something breaking and pain that shoots through your leg so quick that it almost makes you black out.

but something worse is yet to come, and it's Tohma's voice calling out your name, before you look up to the sky and your heart just sinks as you watch his face pop into view over the side of the well.

"oh, archons--baby, are you all right?! did you hurt yourself?"

he hops over the edge quite easily and falls steady on his feat, not even having broken a sweat from chasing you as he hurries to your side and props you up in the crook of his arm. and despite still feeling that twinge of discomfort and panic from him touching you, the agony sets in so deeply that you cling to him without realizing as tears pour down your face and you struggle to breathe.

"let me see...yeah, that's definitely broken. c'mere, I'll help you up.."

just brushing the pads of his fingers over the rapidly-swelling skin of your calf makes you flinch and cry out with pain, and it's obvious by the deep bruising how bad you've hurt it--you wouldn't be able to climb out of here if you tried. but Tohma finds so little trouble in heaving you up into his arms that it's laughable....it would be funny how sincerely you thought you could get away in the first place, if you weren't experiencing the consequences now. and only now is it starting to sink in that you lost, even though he isn't rubbing it in your face. yet.

"poor thing--that was scary, wasn't it? aren't you glad I was here?"

despite how despairing you look, he rubs his cheek against yours as he holds you tight. you realize now how much he's always wanted to do this, and how he's dragging this all out while he has the chance to do it without anyone watching....it's such a rare opportunity, but you don't feel nearly as lucky as he does.

"I'll always be here, sweetie....in sickness and in health, right?"

he murmurs into the shell of your ear, before pressing a kiss to it right afterwards as he reaches out to get a foothold so he can lift you out of here. all you can think about now is how your chance of escaping him has slipped away....and now, your status is a death sentence in the hands of the man who saved your life, and will ask for nothing in return but your gentle hand in marriage. how romantic.

#tohma #tohma x reader #tohma genshin impact #thoma x reader #thoma genshin #genshin impact #yandere tohma #yandere thoma #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader

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immaculatetfs · 3 years

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Hey! I have a story idea. What if a group of bros decide to go cow tipping on a farm and the farmer is a wizard. He stops them and attaches cow bells to their necks slowly transforming them into cows. Their utters produce muscle milk which he sells in stores.

Can do (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖)

Muscle milk

*Animal TF*

Jaques Caleb and Chad had been best friends since starting school together. All three had been quick to meet on the football field, their loud, immature humour making the trio thick as thieves, all the while making the rest of their classmates dismiss them as egg-headed and obnoxious, stereotypical jocks. This bond between these three only strengthened as they grew into their late teens.They spent most of their time together either working out, playing football or partying. There was a rumour that back in the 50’s there had been a tradition for highschool leavers to go cow tipping on their last day, a practice that had been outlawed after perpetrators had mysteriously disappeared. Perhaps it was this that gave Caleb the notion at the school ball afterparty.

“YOOOOO BROOOO We should go cow tipping Broo” he slured

“What? Nah bro well miss the party” replied Chad as he made out with his girlfriend

“WeRe gOnnA MIss ThE pArTY, nah man. It's gonna be a RIOT. Don't you wanna uphold the Greenfield tradition?” Mocked Caleb

“Nah man, come with us , it's gonna be HILARIOUS” Jaques chimed in

“Ugh you guys are such idiots. Seeya babe” Chad gave his girlfriend one last long kiss and the trio left the party’s smell of deodorant and booming music, their heads swimming with fireball and beer and mouths chuckling as Caleb made ribald remarks of what they would do to the unsuspecting cows.

They chose a field that was about 20 minutes away from their school that just scraped the outskirts of town. They believed that nobody would be looking out as the last caught tipping was ages ago, but still wanted a quick escape.

After climbing over the wire fence, the three made their way up a hill to the nearest heftier, a large cow with swollen udders and belly, likely late in the stages of pregnancy.

“Nah guys we shouldn't do this, it's wrong” said Chad, having sobered up on his walk there, but both of his mates ignored him entirely as they usually did. The two snuck up to the side of the slumbering animal, creeping up until they had hands right against her hide.

Caleb looked left to Jaques, who gave him a stupid grin.

“One……..”

Twooooooooooo”

“STOP” a deep, mature voice commanded. They froze. Behind them a man had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere

“What are y’all doing on my property this time’a night” he said in a thick southern drawl

“You kids doin’ some cow tipping?”

They were unable to move, each standing like statues in the cold, night air.

“My bad, y'all can move now” he waved his hand

Suddenly they could breathe again

“Sir, We didn't do anything!” pleaded Jaques

“Yeah sir! Nothing!” Caleb paroted

The stranger sighed. Well I ca……..

“Well do anything, just don't call the cops on us! I have a scholarship and iy that happens...!” Caleb cried out, interupting

For a moment there Caleb thought he saw a sinister sparkle in the strangers eye, but it was gone as fast as it had appeared, if it was ever there at all

“Well i've been needing work done round here recently, how's that sound?”

The sobered younger men agreed, reasoning it was better shovel some hay than get caught breaking the law.

“Great, Follow me”

He led the group to a large shed, heavy with the pungent smell of animals. They could hear cows mooing

I’ll need y’all to stick these round yer necks” the farmer pointed to three huge, steel cowbells, attached to leather harnesses that laying together on the barn floor.

“What?” exclaimed Caleb

“Put it on or do I need to tell the cops what I saw tonight?” the man said darkly

Begrudgingly, the three men lifted up the heavy metal bells and clasped them around their necks, struggling with the weight.

“Don't we need better fitting ones? This is almost down to my belly button, and it's so heavy as shit!” complained Jaques

“Oh that's gonna right itself now don't you worry kid” the man clicked his fingers and all three of the jocks began to feel queasy. “Now y’all will stay here now wont you? I need to go get some things.” The man walked out of the barn, followed by an *click* as the door was locked.

The three jocks looked at each other, a mixture of fear and confusion on each of their faces.

Suddenly, Caleb moaned.

“Oh guys, I feel really fucking weird” he said. He felt his balls tight against the fabric of his underpants, and when he looked down he could swear his bulge was bigger

“Guys, what’s happening?” His bulge was definitely getting bigger

“I don't know, but it's happening to me as well!” Jaques stared in horror as his sack grew with exponential speed until became so large it was visible against his baggy workout shorts

“Ohhhh” moaned Caleb as his jeans tore apart with a RIIIP and his engorged sack spilled out, exposing himself for all his bros to see.

Bonus pic

“What the fuck is that!” he exclaimed “It looks like a, a …”

“An udder”

Behind them, the farmer had returned with two buckets in hand. He was grinning

“The fuck is happening? I thought we were just gonna shovel some shit and be done?” the panic was clear in Caleb’s voice

“Never said nothing ‘bout that, told y’all that I needed work done. I ain't had no new muscle milk cows for a while, bout time I got myself a breeding pair or two” he smirked at the terrified jocks

“Speaking of” he looked over at Chad, who was growing a bulge of an entirely different sort than Caleb and Jaques. While their balls swelled to inhuman size, his member was growing longer and longer while his balls dropped lower and lower. His dick’s tip thinned, losing its mushroom-shape and becoming slender and pointed. Chad stared at his new member in horror, “I'm becoming a Bull”

“There's a smart kid! and what are thems bout to be?”

“C..Cows''

The stranger walked over to Caleb, grabbed his member and gave it a firm tug. Orgasmic pleasure rolled over Caleb as thick musky cum squirted out his erect cock from his full sack, causing him to moan

“Hear that? yer gonna be a cow. Looks like you two are coming along nicely, rest of yer new nipples should be coming bout now”

And so they did, pushing out of the two jocks swollen new udders emerged round fleshy nipples, each was a size and thickness that made indistinguishable from what had been their loved cocks.

With the udders fully formed, the farmer tugged the two shell shocked jocks over buckets, his skilled hands milking them simultaneously. At first, hot jets of thick white pungent cum squirted out of their udders, but as the rhythmic tugging and squeezing and massaging continued, the content of these spurts became thinner and turned pink until what they excreted was entirely warm, creamy, muscle milk. The farmer dipped his finger into the liquid for a taste. Satisfied, he then took the entire bucket and chugged, with each gulp his already toned frame grew harder and harder, his muscles expanding. “ ahh always best fresh.” he exclaimed, wiping his mouth of the warm, rich, creamy substance.

the already muscular jocks began to bulk as well, though not solely with muscle. Their stomachs, pecs and asses swelled bulbously with muscle that was then smothered with a thick layer of wobbling fat. This expansion left the clothes of the men as little more than rags. Their fingers merged together, nails thickening and darkening as their thumbs sunk into their hands, all the while the same was happening to their feet concealed by their worn sneakers. Soon in place of hands and feet, the jocks had hooves

As his body bulked up further, Caleb’s centre of gravity began to change. For a precious few seconds he wobbled and flailed, until ungraceful falling onto all fours. Try as he might, he would never again stand up. Jaques had better luck, keeping balance until he felt a harsh shove on his thick muscle ass and he too fell on his new hooves, humiliated.

Chad’s bull cock had been hard and throbbing all the while watching this, pumping him to the brim with raging bull hormones. He was overcome by the tide of testosterone, surrendering to base animal instinct. Nothing mattered save eating sleeping and fucking. Gone was all of his higher brain functions His body expanded thicker and thicker as he grew to a size that put his two bros to shame. From his head he felt a splitting pain as horns flushed out through his skin. No longer capable of speech, he roared in pain, a sound that deepened as it went on, becoming entirely animal as his vocal chords rearranged. He fell onto all fours, his feet and hands having been replaced with hooves and raw muscle.

As all three stood on all fours, the transformation accelerated. They felt as their organs rearranged in their massive bellies, their stomach splitting into five chambers as to better digest huge amounts of food. They lost control of their bowles, leaving piles of filth behind the widened holes. The taints of Jaques and Caleb sucked into their bodies, changing into the fertile wombs of muscle milk cows. The pheromones that they released drove the new bull into a frenzy and he mounted Caleb, who had only moments before been his best bro.

“I’ll leave you three too it, see ya tomorrow bright an early for milking” the farmer left the barn, not even bothering to even close the door.

The skin of the young men began changing, it hardened, thickening into a rough and thick hide as short, pink hair sprouted across it. The last thing to change was their heads, noses moistened, becoming wide flat across their faces, eyelashes grew and hair fell from their heads. The men’s ears elongated into cow ears, being covered with the same hair that was now thick across their bodies. Their mouths pushed out, becoming snouts as their screams of lust as they mated lowered to base, animalistic grunts, moans then finally moo’s. Finally, Jaques and Caleb began to lose their minds, Chad having already succumbed to his base animal lust. Memories of being human disappeared from them, lives at school and at home, their crushes, their best and worst games everything was replaced with memories of gorging on grass, being milked (or mounting) and restfully sleeping in the barn.

Despite this, there is evidently still present a bond between the three .The two new cows are inseparable. The same might be said of our new bull, though his mind would treat anything with a hole as an intimate friend

The Muscle milk produced at Green Valley farms is the best protein supplement on the market. Made free range, muscle milk cows are cared for in their every want to get the best possible product for you!

#animal tf #animal transformation #cow tf #feral tf

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dwellordream · 3 years

Text

“...When thinking about the people involved in these activities, at least in most agrarian contexts, it is often important to distinguish between two groups of people: the shepherds themselves who tend the sheep and the often far higher status individuals or organizations which might own the herd or rent out the pasture-land. At the same time there is also often a disconnect between how ancient sources sometimes discuss shepherding and shepherds in general and how ancient societies tended to value actual shepherds in practice.

One the one hand, there is a robust literature, beginning in the Greek and Roman literary corpus, which idealizes rustic life, particularly shepherding. Starting with Theocritus’ short pastoral poems (called eidullion, ‘ little poems’ from where we get the word idyll as in calling a scene ‘idyllic’) and running through Vergil’s Eclogues and Georgics, which present the pure rural simplicity of the countryside and pastoralism as a welcome contrast to the often ‘sordid’ and unhealthy environment of the city (remember the way these ‘gentlemen farmers’ tend to think about merchants and markets in cities, after all). This idolization only becomes more intense in Europe with the advent of Christianity and the grand metaphorical significance that shepherding in particular – as distinct from other rural activities – takes on. It would thus be easy to assume just from reading this sort of high literature that shepherds were well thought of, especially in a Christian social context.

But by and large just as the elite love of the idea of rural simplicity did not generally lead to a love of actual farming peasants, so too their love of the idea of pastoral simplicity did not generally lead to an actually high opinion of the folks who did that work, nor did it lead shepherds to any kind of high social status. While the exact social position of shepherds and their relation to the broader society could vary (as we’ll see), they tended to be relatively low-status and poor individuals. The ‘shepherds out tending their flocks by night’ of Luke 2:8 are not important men. Indeed, the ‘night crew’ of shepherds are some of the lowest status and poorest free individuals who could possibly see that religious sign, a point in the text that is missed by many modern readers.

We see a variety of shepherding strategies which impact what kind of shepherds might be out with flocks. Small peasant households might keep a few sheep (along with say, chickens or pigs) to provide for the household’s wool needs. In some cases, a village might pool those sheep together to make a flock which one person would tend (a job which often seems to have gone to either fairly young individuals or else the elderly – that is, someone who might not be as useful in the hard labor on the farm itself, since shepherding doesn’t necessarily require a lot of strength).

Larger operations by dedicated shepherds often involved wage-laborers or enslaved laborers tending flocks of sheep and pastured owned by other, higher status and wealthier individuals. Thus for instance, Diodorus’s description of the Sicilian slave revolts (in 135 and 104 BC; the original Diodorus, book 36, is lost but two summaries survive, those of Photios and Constantine Porphyrogennetos), we’re told that the the flocks belonging to the large estates of Roman magnates in the lowland down by the coast were tended by enslaved shepherds in significant numbers (and treated very poorly; when a Greek source like Diodorus who is entirely comfortable with slavery is nevertheless noting the poor treatment, it must be poor indeed). Likewise, there is a fair bit of evidence from ancient Mesopotamia indicating that the flocks of sheep themselves were often under state or temple control ....and that it was the temple or the king that might sell or dispose of the wool; the shepherds were only laborers (free or unfree is often unclear).

Full time shepherds could – they didn’t always, but could – come under suspicion as effective outsiders to the fully sedentary rural communities they served as well. Diodorus in the aforementioned example is quick to note that banditry in Sicily was rife because the enslaved shepherds were often armed – armed to protect their flocks because banditry was rife; we are left to conclude that Diodorus at least thinks the banditry in question is being perpetrated by the shepherds, evidently sometimes rustling sheep from other enslaved shepherds. A similar disdain for the semi-nomadic herding culture of peoples like the Amorites is sometimes evident in Mesopotamian texts. And of course that the very nature of transhumance meant that shepherds often spent long periods away from home sleeping with their flocks in temporary shelters and generally ‘roughing it’ exposed to weather.

Consequently, while owning large numbers of sheep and pastures for them could be a contributor to high status (and thus merit elite remark, as with Pliny’s long discussion of sheep in book 8 of his Natural History), actually tending sheep was mostly a low-status job and not generally well renumerated (keeping on poor Pliny here, it is notable that in several long sections on sheep he never once mentions shepherds). Shepherds were thus generally towards the bottom of the social pyramid in most pre-modern societies, below the serf or freeholding farmer who might at least be entitled to the continued use of their land.”

- Bret Devereaux, “Clothing, How Did They Make It? Part I: High Fiber.”

#textiles #bret devereaux #sheep #shepherds #history #ancient #medieval #writing

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watery-lane · 4 years

Text

Raven (Prologue)

Pairing: Ivar Lothbrok x Reader

Summary: Ivar hears of a woman who is said to be able to tame ravens. Lost in his curiosity and thirst for power, the new king decides to choose her as his bride, with the hopes of getting closer to Odin.

Little does he know, it is not very wise to try and domesticate the dark feather creatures.

Warnings: Heavy angst

Words: 3K

A/N: This was supposed to be my entry for @dreamwritesimagines writing challenge “Not Today, Writer’s Block” with the prompts: “If I can’t be happy, I will be a Queen.” “Gods must have sent you as a gift to me.” and “You are nothing to me from now on.” back in October or so. It has been a while and it is even rude to post this as an entry for the challenge after all this time, but I had the complete series already drafted and I really loved writing it, so I am posting this as a completely non-related fict. I hope you enjoy one of the last ficts I wrote before taking my long hiatus.

There is a high cliff near the pier of Kattegat, a podium on Midgard, not tall enough to reach for the other branches of Yggdrasil but ideal for a pair of human eyes to watch over the coastal town. The thick dark green mantle of perennial trees guarding the crystal covered grass valley grants the visitor a discreet and intimate environment, while a lone stone resting mere feet away from the edge provides a place to sit and contemplate the seas. Your hair, painfully braided into a complex updo resembles the roots holding your universe in place. You bite your lower lip, eyes stinging ever so slightly, not because of the new hairstyle you had to wear from now on but because the idea of shutting your eyes close escaped from your mind. The vertigo you felt, the lightheaded sensation you used to take for granted was being torn away from you with each decision you took... or did not take.

Two dark figures fall from the grey sky next to you, deep croaks like vague greetings as the tempestuous birds land on a long branch right above your head. You smile solely with your lips, moving your hand full of fading claw scars out of the furs and into the little leather sachet hanging from your waist. At such sight, the two ravens fly closer.

“Eat slowly,” you playfully commanded, your feathered friends quickly picking the fresh berries you left by your side “nobody is here to steal your food.”

Your eyes return to the sea, a persistent reflex you developed since you could barely walk.

When you were little, you waited on this exact same cliff so you could be the first one seeing the boats sailing back home. Your father, a loyal and humble explorer, used to take you and your now deceased sister up there, apples and toys made with the most exotic woods hidden under his robe. He told you two to keep your eyes at the horizon, where the line between the sky and the sea seemed to melt and merge into one. You two were in charge of informing mother and the little ones of his return from every raid. He told you that if you were faster than him and reached home before he did, he would narrate his adventures like a tale before you went to sleep.

A few weeks after your sister passed away due to an outbreak of a ravaging plague, two ravens seemed to take her place at the cliff. You never knew whether they were there before you or not, but the newfound company seemed rather comforting while you mourned for the loss of your best friend and caretaker. They couldn’t talk, they didn’t show pity towards your broken self and their simple presence brought a certain warmth and protection that reminded you of her. Your new feathery friends would patiently sit on the nearest tree as you jumped around and collected berries for everybody while you waited for the boats to appear.

They didn’t use to get very close at first, their dark eyes observing attentively every gesture you made, a menacing shrill harming your ears when you made movements way too harsh for their liking. But one day you saw one of the ravens with their claw stuck in the cracks of an icy rock and you tried to melt down the ice with your own hands and furs. To this day you still had some of the scars from the attacks, their peaks and free claws digging into your flesh while you bit down and rescued the creature that kept you company when you needed it the most.

The new company and the fact that you used to spend more time in nature before you sister passed away —event that pushed you to take over the household responsibilities she left behind— made you find your peace in that hidden cliff, waiting for father surrounded by nature.

Soon you started to develop a routine away from your peaceful nook, where you would wake up before the rooster crowed. You would visit the farmers and fishermen instead of the town market and clean the house before the little ones woke up. In this way, you found the produces to be fresher and the words of the workers much kinder. Whenever you managed to cram your household duties before noon, you gave the rest of your midday to your mother, who worked as the healer of Kattegat. It wasn’t until you finished sorting out the herbs and cleaning up the pots when you would quietly remove yourself from the wooden hut and hide in the woods again.

You could spend hours out there, picking up flowers, berries and branches. Your skilled fingers would work on the collected wood with the help of a small knife as you snack mindlessly either waiting for the sun to go down or your father to come back. You waited for hours, days and weeks.

You waited until you saw the ships sailing back home.

But your father never did.

Your mother, with a broken heart and four offspring to take care of, had to move on quickly, passing down more and more responsibilities to your ten year old self. She remarried a few months after the disappearance of your father, feeding the viper tongued people in town, who spread the rumour of how your mother cursed her husband so she could get married to her lover.

That is why, as she braided your hair under the dim light of the fireplace early this morning, she lowered her lips to your ears with discretion after you expressed your concern about your imminent marriage and whispered:

“If you cannot be happy, at least be a queen.”

A wise advice coming from a woman who knew what was to live under the influence of the people. As a queen, her daughter would always be above sharp tongues and poisonous rumours and with a husband like Ivar, those pigs would never dare to raise their voices against her. You will be protected.

“If I cannot be happy, I will be a queen.” You whisper to yourself as the two birds placidly eat their berries, hugging yourself while you feel your stomach churn as if a worm was trying to make your tummy its new home. “If I cannot be happy, I will be a queen, if I cannot be happy, I will be a qu— “

“What are you whispering about?” You jump on your seat at the sound of a second voice right behind you. The ravens croaked, annoyed at the sudden intrusion. They let an angry squawk before flying back into the woods. “Talking to the ravens?” Ivar jokes as he approaches you with slow steps, tired from the ride uphill to your hidden spot.

You stare as he gets closer, wondering if it is the added height what makes him make your guts squirm with concern and reservation. You liked Ivar, all these months of courtship helped you grow fond of him little by little. Yet, as the wedding time approached slow but steadily, you couldn’t help but feel your legs shake with nervousness.

The callous hands of the King search for yours under your furs after he sits down next to you, chapped lips kissing your knuckles tenderly as he observes you contemplating the ocean.

“Spill your thoughts.” Ivar asks calmly, eyes never leaving your profile. His voice, with a slightly higher pitch than all his brothers makes him sound a little bit more childish, a little bit more demanding. However, he was the king after all. He could ask for whatever he wanted to and he would get it.

That is how he got you.

“Why me?” You responded with a shy voice, such question eating you alive ever since the day he showed up at your house and asked for your hand to your mother. That was mere weeks after talking to you for the very first time.

Ivar chuckles at the question.

He remembers the day he heard of you. He just returned from York, still a prince, the memory of that mysterious thrall sitting on his lap completely naked still lingering in his mind like the most precious thought. It was the first time he felt… worthy. Appreciated. Loved. Not useless, feared or despised. And, as much as he hated to admit it, something inside him was searching to feel the same thing all over again.

Ragnhild, one of his first thralls, was preparing him a bath when Ivar found himself spilling his thoughts to the young woman: how he was told that he was destined to great things and that he believed it too, how much he wanted to be closer to the gods and how bad he longed for a woman to help him with his legacy.

The strawberry haired thrall was not much older than the prince. She was probably ten years older at most, not very smart but wise and reliable enough for Ivar to trust her with his thoughts. Her hooded green eyes and freckled face had always had a calming effect on Ivar, who would let his guard down as soon as she got close enough to take care of him. Maybe it was because she worked along his deceased mother. Maybe it was because she raised him since he was a teenage kid.

To his surprise, Ragnhild agreed with him, unaware of her tight lipped smile while she told him about the daughter of a widowed witch, a wicked sorceress who killed her own husband. Said young woman was single and, as the thrall heard, never bedded.

At first, Ivar separated himself from the soothing touch of his thrall, his scalp growing cold at the places her fingers were massaging. He asked, with a menacing tone if she was trying to get him cursed too. Calmly the thrall shook her head, using her soft touch to mould him back into his previous vulnerable state.

She revealed that it was said that you could tame ravens, as people had seen you carry around two of them on your shoulders and forearms as if they were nests of food. She hinted that they could even be Huginn and Muninn, the eyes and ears of Odin in Midgard.

And so, Ivar went looking for you, asking oblivious guards and sharp tongued rumourmongers if they have ever seen you.

He found you, peeling an apple in a hidden spot on the highest cliff, crossing a forest not even his horse was willing to walk through. He stood behind some dense bushes, watching you. It wasn’t until you cut the fruit into pieces and let out a whistle when he could see two dark figures descending from a tree. You were talking to them as if you were waiting for a response, a serene smile plastered on your face making Ivar feel a rush of heat warming up his cheeks. What a sweet and curious creature you were. Such sight proved Ragnhild was not lying. The more he stared, the bigger was his desire of owning your gift.

He kept observing and noticed how one of the ravens carried a small stone on its beak before leaving it next to you. You picked it up happily, your fingers stroking the small head of the raven before handing them a slice of apple each.

At such sight, Ivar got angry. How dared you, a simple Midgardian, treat Huginn or Muninn like mere pets, stroking their heads as if they were hounds.

So intense was his annoyance he clenched his fist and hit the wet ground, making the bushes that concealed him shake with the impact.

“Who is there?” You asked abruptly, head turning towards his spot.

Reluctantly, after a moment of silence and stillness, Ivar showed himself, crawling to your seat slowly as you stood up, a little bit frightened at the sight of a crawler snaking slowly towards you. It took you a little while before noticing he was actually prince Ivar, your body a little bit more relaxed.

“I got lost in the forest and heard someone talking. I followed the voice and found you here, playing with... Ravens?” Ivar lied, voice booming with confidence covering any sign that could give him away. You didn’t talk, making him raise his eyebrow as he tilted his head. “You are not scared of a prince, are you?”

Truth is, you had all the reasons to be scared of this particular prince. Yet you shook your head, keeping your head high and nails digging into your palm while you tried to keep your composure. Ivar kept staring at your tense frame with a crooked smile until he snapped his head to the right to look at the two curious birds moving their tiny heads, staring back at the young prince. Slowly he crawled next to them, raising his hand to see their reaction. You held your breath, fully aware that any wrong move could mean the end of your beloved ravens.

The two little feathered animals could sense your nervousness, yet they remained calm and composed, eyes blinking slowly watching the little prince look at them with contained fascination.

“It is unusual for them to stay this calm before a stranger.” You blurted out, trying to break the tension. “They must like you, my prince.”

He smiled. The thought of those sacred figures favouring him making him feel good.

“You have a sweet mouth...” Ivar looked at you, expectant.

“(Y/n)” You answered, hands tidying your skirt. “(Y/n) (Y/l/n).”

“(Y/n)” Ivar repeated, enjoying the sound of your name rolling in his tongue. “Gods must have sent you as a gift to me.” Ivar whispered as he looked at you blush, side smirk and piercing eyes exposing his hidden intentions.

Ivar recovers his trail of thoughts and tilts his head, a wide smile parting his lips as he lets his words out. You looked expectant, as if you were waiting for him to return from his trip to memory lane.

“Because you were born to be queen.”

You blink slowly, drinking down his words carefully like a strong ale, burning you and bringing heat to your cheeks the same way the beverage does.

The thing is, deep down you know you are not fit to be queen. You never were.

But the way he stared at you when he pronounced those words, as if he truly believed, firmly, adamantly, that you belonged next to him made you feel... Wanted. Worthy.

Maybe a little bit loved.

All of the sudden you feel a wave of gratification washing over you, silently thanking your mother for veiling for your protection. Her good wishes may have convinced Freyja to spare you a little bit more love than you probably deserved.

You nod with a smile plastered on your face, looking at your future husband with newfound tenderness.

“Those are beautiful words, my King.” Ivar grins with satisfaction, his calloused fingers bringing your cold hand to his mouth, gifting you another kiss before departing to the great hall. In the background, two different incessant croaks started to sound, menacingly.

Ignoring the persistent screams Ivar takes a few steps back, nodding to you as a farewell before leaving you on the same spot he found you, contemplating the silver water sway calmly like a child in the arms of the moon.

The physical pain of the braids tugging your skin no longer felt as bad.

You know that in a matter of hours, the weight of a crown would take over it.

As the moon fell upon the streets of Kattegat and painted the town in silver, the usually calm atmosphere that came with the darkness never got the chance of manifesting itself. Slowly but steadily, the soft argent shade was killed by rows and rows of bright fire, the voices of the people drowning the cracking of the fires.

Tonight, the king is crowning his queen.

“Do not forget the sacrifice, my King,” Ragnhild mumbles to Ivar, hot breath caressing his neck and ear like the touch of a lover, words dragging slowly like a menacing snake. Her hands tuck on the fur she was putting on Ivar, positioning them comfortably over his shoulders as he observes another thrall working on the last details for his wedding silently at the other side of the room. “you must do everything it is in your hands to protect your new family.” Still sitting in his fur coated chair, Ivar frowns.

“What is it that I have to protect them from, hm?” He questioned, counting the men and sources he had in his hands as he prepared himself to reprimand the mouthy thrall. “You have seen the army I own. Nothing will touch anything that is mine. Not her, nor Kattegat.” In the middle of her task, Ragnhild pauses for an instant.

“You can protect your loved ones from outsiders, but you cannot protect your wife from your own people.”

“I can punish them.” Ivar doesn’t miss a beat.

“Not when the harm cannot be seen. Or proved.” At this, Ivar turns around, chest puffed out at the idea of such menace.

“Explain yourself, thrall.” Ragnhild observes him pleasantly before walking around and bringing her hands to his hair, ready to braid it back again.

“You must remember the nature of this marriage, my King.” Her fingers start to take strands of hair slowly. “You have heard yourself first-hand what they thought about your mother-in-law and her offspring.” Discreetly, she leans closer to him. “Snakes cannot do anything else but hiss.” Under her soft touch and swift words, Ivar frowns.

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laulink · 4 years

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Like Mother like Daughter

A.N : Katarina and her children are meeting her mother for an afternoon tea and talk about various topics.

This is mostly a way to introduce the kids I imagine for Katarina and Maria. I also imagine Katarina would renounce her noble title somehow, so her kids are not raised as nobility, hence some of the questions they ask in this.

Enjoy !

Duchess Claes : Your children are so nice and well-behaved, it’s really quite the contrast compared to how you were as a child.

Katarina : *laughing a bit nervously* Yeah, I do realise, in retrospect, I wasn’t really an easy child for you to handle.

Elina, 10 years old, Katarina and Maria’s eldest daughter who takes most of her looks from Katarina, including her light brown hair and the strands falling across her brow and to the right side of her face : Mom, you were a troublemaker as a child ?

Katarina : *a bit embarrassed* Not really in the sense you’re thinking of. I didn’t play pranks or that sort of thing. But… Well, I had some hobbies and mannerisms that weren’t befitting of a young lady. Mother tried so hard to teach me to act like a noble, but no matter what, I was a bit of a tomboy and I never gave up farming, so it was a lost cause.

Thomas, 7 years old, Katarina and Maria’s adopted son, sporting short brown hair and brown eyes : Huh ? You weren’t supposed to farm ? But why ? It’s such a useful skill !

Elina : Yeah ! Mama always says it too, that there’s nothing useless to know and you should always try to learn about a lot of things !

Katarina : And it’s true. But there are always things that are more or less important to know, you see ? For a farmer it’s very important to know how to farm, but not for someone who lives in the middle of the city and doesn’t have a place to grow a garden. For nobles, it’s less that they don’t have the possibility and more that there are a lot of things they should try to learn before farming. For example, dancing, embroidery, tending to flowers, eating properly, walking gracefully, and so on and so forth. So Mother was upset that I spent so much time on something that wouldn’t be as useful to me as learning to dance or to play the piano.

Thomas : Why is learning the piano more important than farming ? It doesn’t make sense !

Duchess Claes : That’s because the nobles value the arts more than farming. A young lady’s first duty is to be beautiful and graceful in everything she does. If she can be smart on top of that, it is all the better.

Elina : What is all this for ?

Duchess Claes : To find a good person to marry, of course. The higher the rank, the better. For a great Ducal family like ours, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine our daughter marrying in the royal family. But for that to happen, she needed to be well-educated, a true jewel standing out from the crowd of the other nobles.

Thomas : Then, does that mean Mom didn’t manage to find a good match ? In terms of nobility I mean.

*Katarina almost chokes on her tea and the Duchess looks at her, surprise clear on her features.*

Duchess Claes : You never told them ?

Katarina : Well, there was never really a reason to talk about such things until now…

Elina : Told us what ?

Duchess Claes : Katarina got engaged to the third prince of the country, Prince Giordo, when she was 8 years old. He was madly in love with her, though she didn’t realise it for the longest time. Then she met your Mama, Maria, and fell so head over heels for her that she decided to break off her engagement to Prince Giordo.

*Elina and Thomas are gaping and looking at Katarina like she had just grown a second head*

Elina : Mom ! Why did you never tell us ? This is like an epic fairy tale !

Thomas : Did you have to fight a dragon ? Save Mama from a curse ? With a true love kiss ?!

Katarina : *waving her hands in front of her* No way, no way ! There were some complications, but it mostly had to do with Prince Giordo being stubborn and continuing to try to seduce me instead of giving up, nothing like a dragon or a curse !

Elina : *crossing her arms* Well, if that Prince was being stubborn, then he deserved to get dumped ! Men who can’t take no for an answer are not cute at all !

Katarina : *suspicious* … You heard that somewhere, didn’t you ?

Elina : Yes ! Miss Rosario said that to Henry when he kept asking Anna for a kiss ! Even though she had told him she didn’t want to kiss him !

Thomas : *leaning toward his sister, listening intently* And then, and then ?

Elina : *proudly* He said that he was the best looking boy in class so Anna had to like him the best, but then Anna said that she liked me best and she kissed me !

Thomas : *gasping and looking impressed* That’s so cool ! Sis, you’re like a knight in a fairy tale !

Duchess Claes : *laughing behind her fan* That’s what they mean by “like Mother like Daughter” ! 10 years old and such a ladykiller already ! Careful Katarina, or she might end up with 10 suitors too !

Katarina : *already looking like her soul is leaving her just thinking about it* Please no…

Elina : Wait, Mom, does that mean you had 10 suitors ?! It wasn’t just Mama and Prince Giordo ?

Duchess Claes : Oh no, far from it ! Don’t ask me how, but your Mom managed to seduce all the people she made friends with as a child, and then some more when she was at the Academy, including your Mama ! 10 is only counting the ones I knew of at the time, but I heard there were even more.

Katarina : *grabbing Elina by the shoulders* Be very careful, Elina ! Don’t let people get the wrong idea and grow in a group of suitors around you ! Trust me, this is not something you want to see happening.

Elina : *looking resigned* Don’t worry about me, Mom, I don’t think I’m in much danger. *pointing to something behind Katarina* If there’s someone you should be worried about, it would be Amelia, since she’s so cute and angel-like.

*Katarina turns around to see Anne walking toward them, holding the little Amelia, 2 years old, rubbing sleep from her eyes after her afternoon nap. She was Katarina and Maria’s third and youngest child and took most of her looks from Maria, including her golden hair and crystalline blue eyes.*

*Amelia, noticing everyone looking at her, smiled brightly at her family and waved her little hand toward them. Everyone felt their heart being suddenly crushed with love for the angelic baby*

Katarina : Yes, you’re right… Definitely got to be cautious with her.

A.N : Putting that here because I didn’t want to “spoil” the kids before the beginning of the ficlet :

- Elina is a light magic user, like Maria, and while she likes farming with her Mom, she’s more interested in academics and studying magic. Like Katarina, her kindness and honesty got her a lot of admirers, but she’s far less oblivious about it than her Mom. She’s a bit mischievous, but never mean, especially when pranking her siblings (Thomas is her favourite target). When she has a goal in mind, she tends to forget everything else around her, so Thomas (and later Amelia) have to keep her in check.

- Thomas is a fire magic user. He was born in a commoner family, like Maria, but his magic manifested a lot younger than normal ; when he was 2 years old, he set fire to his family’s home. His father was furious, both because of the damage and because of the assumption that his wife had had an affair with a noble. So furious in fact that he hit his wife, who fell down the stairs and broke her neck, dying instantly. Katarina and Maria, who were in town for work, heard of the fire and intervened before the man could cause harm to his son. They arrested him and took Thomas home with them, then decided to officially adopt him. He is aware the two are not his birth mothers, but they haven’t told him the details of how he lost his birth family yet. They’re waiting for him to be a bit older.

- Amelia is a light magic user as well. She is already a total cutie and she will only get cuter when growing up. She is also very kind and soft, leading people to underestimate her intelligence. She doesn’t use it against them most of the time, unless there’s a very good reason for it. Elina and Thomas are very protective of their little sister, but sometimes it is Amelia who protects them and she can get really scary when she wants to be.

#my next life as a villainess #otome game no hametsu flag shika nai akuyaku reijou ni tensei shiteshimatta #hamefura #katarina claes #duchess claes #elina campbell #thomas campbell #amelia campbell #katarina x maria #katamari #my post #my writing

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lisinfleur · 4 years

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WYWTTS - Chapter 2: Ram

Author’s Notes | Electrical energy down. Back pain (for more than 2 weeks in a row!). All sort of obstacles. But here it is! Uff! I suffered to produce this one ha-ha I hope you guys like it!

Words | 3281

⁑ Warnings: Some cursing.

"Moðir, did you see the ram faðir brought to mate with the sheep?"

Sometimes Torhild would forget the truth about that beautiful woman coming to speak to her. It was easy to forget she wasn't the simple farmer girl she always looked like, with those beautiful hair strands spreading all over her head like Sif's golden hair remembering the noble blood into her daughter's veins: Siggy had grown into a gentle and simple woman, never asking too much from her parents, always smiling to anything, always solicitous to any ask, realizing her everyday tasks without complaints. Her hands would speak of her noble origins by the talent she had with anything that was given for her to learn but definitely not for the softness: Siggy's fingers were marked by the work with the needles and sometimes with the rake, or the ropes she would use to guide the animals through the field. She would never shied away from her work - and Torhild would thank the gods for the blessing of her arrival every day.

Now there she was - the hair poorly twisted in a bun behind her back, some golden strands falling through her sweaty face - searching for the new ram Dag had brought to mate the sheep: the animal was stronger than the usual rams and she couldn't really control the rope so Dag had tied it to a pole near the sheep yard intending to get him used to the local smells and noises. Exactly where Torhild sent her daughter in first place, but the girl frowned, cleaning the sweat from her hands on the apron and sighing.

"Yeah... Father told me it was there, but I found the rope and nothing more. I think the smart little thing fled after breaking the sheep's fence. I was able to bring all the sheep back to the yard but the ram is gone. Tell faðir I'll take a look near the river to see if I can find him and take the chance for a bath, but I'll be back before dinner. I won't go after him if the track goes towards the woods!" she signalized.

Torhild smiled: the girl was smart. She had learned pretty well from her father to deal with the sheep and knew pretty well when to give one of the pieces of the flock as a lost case: if the track was going into the woods it would be a dead end for any sheep and even the stronger ram would be nothing but pieces left by a hungry pack of wolves before they could find it. Better leave it behind than becoming the next prey for the pack or worse: leave a trail of smell to guide the pack towards their yard.

"Don't go too far," Torhild warned "I told your father that ram wasn't a good idea. He's too wild. If you can't tame it, don't try to bring it back, ok?"

Siggy smiled before kissing Torhild's cheek and leaving towards the door. Torhild smiled. That golden hair was surely Sif's gift to Björn's daughter. And her gentle voice was certainly a gift from Freyja. Her talented hands maybe blessed by Balðr himself. She never really understood why did he leave such a gift behind. He had never come for the girl or news from her. Maybe he didn't know what was done of his daughter. Maybe he just didn't care as lady Aslaug has said once.

Torhild just thanked the gods for blessing her family one more time and stopped wondering over the subject. It was better not to question the Norns - she didn't want any knots on the threads of their fate.

Siggy walked towards the yard once again, taking the rope from the pole and looking around. To fix the fence wasn't that hard: it was surely a failed jump trying to find a way out that resulted in that ram breaking the fence and releasing the sheep. It would be good if it had mated one of them at least before leaving like a storm, releasing the flock all over the field after it. With all those marks everywhere, it would be impossible to determine which one was the track of the ram.

Siggy sighed. Her father would be mad in the end of the day.

No... Not mad. Sad. Dag was never able to be mad.

But he also wasn't her father and she knew that.

Torhild and Dag never really hid from her who she was and where did she come from. And it had never really matter, to be honest. They didn't change her name but she never really introduced herself as Björnsðóttir even knowing it could bring her advantage in several situations where Dag's name never helped her. She was no princess. She never really craved to be one.

Everything Siggy could have she had found in Torhild's love for her as a mother and Dag's gentleness as the father she never had. They were her family. And she dedicated herself to be a good daughter and make them proud as a way to thank them for receiving her into their house as they did.

However, this time Dag would have to forgive her.

"I won't follow this animal into the woods, faðir... Oh, no way!" she sighed, walking towards the river while rolling the rope to tie it to her waist just for precaution: in case the animal was to pop out of some bush around the river she would be able to tie and drag it back home, but it definitely wouldn't be her main focus for the moment.

It was a tiring day and all everything Siggy wanted was a cold bath to take the sweat out of her body before coming home for a good dinner and maybe going to bed earlier to ensure she would be up before the sun next morning. It was close to the time to take the sheep to the field and if she could make it earlier it would leave more time for her to sew the new dress she wanted to have for the festivals at the town.

Thinking of the beautiful cloth Dag had bought for her to sew that dress, Siggy didn't notice the footprints on the mud near the river - someone had passed there before her and due to the direction of those footprints, the person was still around.

Ignoring the possibility of a presence around, Siggy started untying her apron. The mind flying on the details for the dress - maybe some crochet or embroidery for the sleeves, definitely something colored! Or a pattern! Or a...

The loud sound of a bleat called her attention towards a small cliff near the deeper waters and she saw the gods' damn ram, bleating and facing her as if it knew she had come to drag him back.

"Oh, seriously?" she cursed. "Couldn't you be devoured by the wolves in peace? I bet you headed one of them, probably the alpha! And then the whole pack fled from you, you little fence-destroyer goblin!"

Re-tying the apron, Siggy walked towards the cliff, trying to climb the small hill carefully. From where she was before, it wasn't possible to see the stones upon the hill but now she was starting to regret the decision to follow that ram there: the stones weren't firm, kinda mossy. Maybe it was safer to find a way to push the ram into the lake and then drag him out - she thought. But it could drown before she was able to drag it out... Were rams able to swim?

"Gods! Didn't you have a better place to climb, little thing? Uh?" she complained, trying another step further, being able to stand upon the higher stone beside the ram.

Siggy's eyes fixed down for a moment and she saw the darkened water below them. Her heart racing with fear for a moment. She knew how to swim! She was a good swimmer! But those were quite some deep waters down there.

"Come on... Let us go down, please?" she asked the ram as if it could understand her. "Listen... I won't tie you ok? Just let us go down and we can talk about your little fleeing journey later uh? Come down... Please!" she insisted, trying to wave her hands to shove the ram down the small bunch of stones.

"The stones aren't firm, lady, you shouldn't be standing over them!" A male voice warned and Siggy rose up her face a single second to answer to the blonde man standing at the margin of the lake, almost at the bottom of the small cliff.

But the ram beside her moved and his back paws slid through the mossy surface. Trying to jump for balance, the animal moved the stone under the two of them. It was able to jump down the small mound, falling clumsily near the margin.

But Siggy lost her balance and suddenly the deep and dark waters became closer like a mouth ready to engulf her into the depths of death's stomach.

The fall wasn't so big. The problem were the stones that fell from the mound right over her, one of them hitting Siggy's forehead, opening her eyebrow, and blanking everything out for her in a second.

"Fuck!" she heard that male voice cursing and the sound of someone diving into the waters.

The sounds became mixed, she couldn't really move properly nor see what was going on. She felt when someone embraced her body, and then everything became dark.

The last thing Sigurd was expecting was to find someone near that part of the river. Some few moments earlier and that woman would have found him fully naked into the water - not that it would be something so bad, she was pretty after all, but he could bet she would be shy and it would certainly turn into some kind of embarrassing moment. He wasn't Hvitserk after all - that lucky bastard!

However, that moment turned out to be something completely different even from the stranger things his mind could imagine. He who had folded his clothes so carefully to avoid getting them wet... It was the same man jumping into the river fully dressed without a single problem in leaving his oud behind near a ram that could destroy it completely in a matter of seconds.

That woman would drown. He saw the blood in the water.

One of those stones had hit her and she would certainly drown.

There wasn't time for him to ponder.

Sigurd swam towards her, embracing her waist and pulling her up, out of the water, so he could drag her back to the margin, trying to wake her up, to ensure she was breathing properly.

With her body supported against his chest and some delicate slaps to her face, he was able to wake Siggy up, watching with relief as she bent forward, coughing some water before recovering her breath, touching the bleeding eyebrow with a wince of pain.

"Don't touch it... It's open. Here..." he said, offering her a piece of his wet cloak to cover the wound, twisting it to take off the excess of the water before touching her face, cleaning the blood. "Press the wound. My horse is not far from here. I can take you back to the town."

"I'm not far from home..." she mumbled, looking at him. "You saved me."

Siggy's voice died on her throat when her eyes found the snake painted into his. "Fafnir," she thought.

"You're Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye," she mumbled, recognizing.

But he only smiled, unsuspecting about her identity.

"Yes. But you're bleeding, lady. We should take you to a healer," he insisted.

"Siggy," she mumbled. "Siggy Dagsðóttir." she completed, omitting her true name, not wanting to rise an alarm for him. "I'm fine, it's true. I just need to go home. Mother can help me with it, don't worry."

"Was that your ram?" he asked, pointing at the loosen animal sniffing around his oud, ready to start chewing the cords.

"Yeah... The little fence-destroyer goblin my father brought home today..." she mumbled, cursing as they got up.

Sigurd approaching the animal slowly.

"Can you give me your rope?" he asked, extending one of his hands towards her.

The other moving to attract the animal that was looking at him suspicious.

Siggy untied the rope from her waist giving it to Sigurd who took something from his pocket, offering to the ram what she could identify as some grains the ram started approaching to sniff on. Sigurd allowed the animal to sniff, opening the hand for the ram who licked his palm, taking part of the grains with its tongue, starting to chew on the treat as the prince tied the rope like a collar to guide the animal. Some more grains and the ram was meek beside him, accepting the collar and walking without too much effort closer to a shocked Siggy.

She landed her hand on the waist; the other still holding the cloth on her forehead.

"Oh, you cheap little bastard! You almost drown me, but for him is all gentleness and shaking-tails?" she joked.

To what the ram just snorted, almost answering to her voice, causing Sigurd to giggle.

"It seems I'm talented to something more than music, after all," he smiled. "Come. I'll take you home with this little one. I'm really worried about the wound in your eyebrow."

"It wasn't deep," she said, worried he could sound like a threat for her parents since she knew pretty well, he was one of them...

A Ragnarsson.

His brother.

But she didn't want to be unpleasant towards someone who was being so gentle to her after saving her life from a stupid action that could have costed her dear. Maybe she could explain everything...

"Sigurd!" another male voice kinda scared the ram who bleated annoyed with the sudden arrival of a second prince near the river.

"A busy day," Siggy thought.

She would think twice before bathing on that river once again.

"We were searching for you! Ubbe is like crazy walking through the woods and... Hello, smukke!" he charmed.

Beautiful honey braids, charming smile... Hvitserk, for sure.

Siggy bowed, respectfully, as if she wasn't royalty like all of them there.

"My prince," she saluted.

But her eyes didn't miss the smile vanishing from Sigurd's lips.

"I'm fine. See? Alive and whole." he answered, kinda angrily.

"And wet, from the head to your toes, what happened?" Hvitserk seemed to ignore the anger in his brother's voice.

But it was Siggy who answered to his question, attracting the pair of eyes towards her.

"It's my fault. Prince Sigurd saved me from my foolishness when I fell into the lake. And he managed to tame my wild ram and give me back the animal I was searching for. I'm really grateful, my prince," she said, turning herself towards Sigurd once again. "But you shall forgive me: my father and mother know I was searching for this ram and I might go home to avoid having them worried about me. I promised I wouldn't go too far after the animal and I don't want my mother to feel I could have disrespected her warnings."

Her gentleness seemed to click something on Hvitserk - she was too innocent, and wounded. And wet as well... It wouldn't become something good at least not in that moment so, better let her go.

"Let the girl go home and you come with me. Ubbe is searching for you. He wants to..."

"I know. He wants to speak for hours about how Ivar and I shouldn't be fighting each other and all that speech about brothers I'm tired to hear. I know, Hvitserk. I'm coming with you." he said, sighing and delivering the rope to Siggy gently. "Are you sure you can go home by yourself?" he asked.

And she smiled at the way his tone was terrifically different from his words to his brother to the ones he drove to her.

There was some real charm into his voice as well, but she could see it was something inherent to his self and not something he was impressing to conquer her or anything like that. Siggy smiled: he was a good man after all.

"I'm fine, prince Sigurd. Don't worry. Thank you once again," she said, sweetly. "Please, allow me to repay your gentleness. Your cloak is ragged because of me. Meet me here, five days from now, and I'll bring you a new one."

Sigurd was ready to tell her she didn't have to, but she raised her hand, gently touching his.

"Please, accept it. It's given in good-heart," she said, smiling.

"Take the chance, Sigurd. You can see her again and ensure she'll have the proper care for the wound," Hvitserk stimulated, noticing there was a good chance that the girl was finding an excuse to see his brother again.

Sigurd was blind as hel, he thought. Wouldn't be bad to give his little brother a small push forward.

"Fine. Five days from now, but please, not upon those rocks, ok?" he joked.

Dragging a small giggle from Siggy who couldn't help herself from smiling at the prince.

"Ok, prince Sigurd. Not upon those rocks, for sure," she smiled.

With a small wave of her hand, they broke apart from each other.

Siggy followed her way home thinking about what just happened. The ram was coming with her, meekly, still chewing some of the grains the prince had offered it to eat. And it entered the fence without a fight, meekly walking in the middle of the sheep, as if that whole rampant didn't have almost costed Siggy's life into that lake.

She went home, being received by a worried father and scared mother that took care of her wound hearing the whole story she told taking care to hide Sigurd's name from her words.

"And you promised him a cloak?" her father said, worried.

But she smiled.

"It's fine, faðir. I have enough cloth to make it if I make a simpler dress for me." Siggy answered.

"I'm not worried about this, my dear. This man, he said he'll find you in the lake. Are you sure it's safe? Do you want me to come with you?"

There it was...

The reason why so many times Siggy had thanked the gods Dag had adopted her. She could bet Björn would've never been so worried about her safety as Dag was.

He wasn't worried about her fate, after all...

Siggy smiled, caressing her father's hands.

"I'll be fine, faðir."

"It sounds like the Norns to me," Torhild said.

A sparkle into her eyes.

"What do you mean, mother?" Siggy asked seeing her mother's eyes glow as she smiled.

"Maybe they're tying your fates. He was there when you needed, now you want to see him again. And you said the ram came back meekly... Maybe it was all some kind of providence to cross your thread with this boy's fate."

"Stop trying to find marriages to our daughter in every corner, woman!" Dag joked.

"I'm telling you! It's fate! Our daughter is a beautiful woman, Dag... You'll see..." Torhild continued.

But Siggy lost her mother's words and the conversation, absorbed by the thoughts in her head. Her memory bringing back the image of that beautiful pair of blues, one of them stained, both crystalline...

She knew who he was.

But what if her mother was right?

Siggy decided to let the thread to the spinners.

She had a cloak to produce, after all.

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eternalstrigoii · 4 years

Text

Bittersweet

“It’s just gonna be a nice little fluff fic,” I say as I start this last night. I am. So sorry.

Platonic!Desert Warrior Dark Fey Reader + Diaval; Maleficent x Diaval; Borra x Desert Warrior Dark Fey Reader

As with all proper bonded pairs, there were times when you were not with Borra.

In the nest, those times used to be spent honing your skills, chasing captive deer through the tall, dry grass along the rocky outcroppings; scaling from the caverns to the plains using nothing but your wits, your talons, and your knees. You sparred with others, you sat with Ini in the rocky outcroppings of the nest outside, watching the cold and violent sea, and, from time to time, you entertained your kinsmen’s children with your strange ability to recall and emulate the sounds of the birds you heard on the moors.

These days, you spent an increasing amount of your free time with Diaval.

It wasn’t that you miraculously spent none of it with your kinsmen – you did, but Ini was always the curious sort, and the moors offered her a great deal of new stimulation, and Shrike had Percival. Udo always had his fledglings, and you loved him for it, but when Borra convened with Maleficent, it was in your best interest – and often also in Diaval’s – for the both of you to find something else to occupy your time.

For the moment, the days of war and battle plans were over.

So you wandered.

Whether he was a bird or a man didn’t matter, Diaval was good company. Sometimes he saved you shiny things that he’d thought you would like, and you did like them. Sometimes you lay together in the sun and you ran your talons through his feathers until he shivered (which was more amusing to watch when he was a man, and your smirk never failed to rile him).

And, sometimes, he took you to the kingdoms.

Perceforest was not a welcoming place. It better resembled a dumping ground when compared to Ulstead; the buildings were weathered and the stone streets uneven. Even its people seemed burdened by invisible forces. For a land that knew communal, council-based living (or some form of it), they still suffered. You didn’t like to go there because you knew if you went frequently enough, you would feel motivated to do something about it, and that would inevitably work its way back to Maleficent, and you would have to hatch some sort of plan.

You quite liked your free time, so you contented yourself with perching high in their trees and drawing shapes in the air until their crops flourished. Despite their farmers’ toil, it brought them some measure of relief, and there was almost always some left over for you and the raven to share.

The open-air markets of Ulstead were also a draw, with their ready-made sweets and shiny baubles, and you had yet to bother with the Midlands.

You stayed with him near Perceforest most often.

The farmer that nearly killed him twenty years ago was dead, and his daughter now owned the land. She was a pretty thing, round-hipped under her shift. Very clean. She kept house almost obsessively, and at first Diaval agreed with the thought that it was to keep nature from entering, but then she did something neither of you planned on.

She left pastries sitting on the window. In plain sight. Of you and anything else that just so happened to be looking.

You looked to your raven companion, who was, at the time, literally a raven.

He awk’d, partly flapping as his best approximation of a shrug. Do what you will, it won’t be my idea to start something.

“They smell good,” you replied. “We can share.”

He fluffed his feathers at you. No, I will not do your dirty work.

You pursed your lips so they quirked at the corner and thought for a moment. You could take one with your vines, or you could respect peace and not touch them at all, or you could find a third option that would please you both without having to cope with either extreme.

You resolved to do the latter, hopping down and quirking your fingers so that her squash vines continued to flourish while you strode up to the window.

You plucked one from the platter and made a mad dash back, going even higher into the branches than you were originally perched. Diaval laughed at you, and you swept your wing so he had to fly or be shoved off the branch by its wind.

Awk! You said something about sharing?

“You did nothing to help.” You took quite the bite only to pause and look down at it strangely. You weren’t sure what you tasted or if you liked it, so you surrendered the other portion to him.

He picked at it, and after several swallows, quirked his head back to you. Awk! Not much of a baker.

“It’s terrible,” you agreed.

Another few mouthfuls. Awk! No sugar?

You ate it, though it wasn’t as pleasant as you thought. Not pleasant like the molasses cake at the palace, or the stall-vendor with fresh raisin buns. You had no use for currency, and Diaval saw no problem with pocketing some for you from time to time.

“It’s just grain,” you said after a moment, nearly in disbelief. “Who eats just grain?”

Awk! Bread. It’s bread. Surely you must have had bread.

“That is not bread. That is…” Small and lumpy and wrong. Not much of a baker at all. “A rock.”

He quirked his head to the other side and made a low chitter of disapproval.

“What in skies do you want me to do about it? You never help.”

You swore before your ancestors if he tried to levy peace against you as an excuse, you’d smack him from the branches. Instead, he hopped onto your leg and scaled your side until he was perched upon your shoulder. And he nuzzled you, the conniving bastard.

“I will not be goaded into acts of kindness,” you hissed.

He chattered at you gently, and you could hear the honey in his tone. Oh, come on. She’s just a girl. No better than Aurora.

You scowled. Severely.

More chattering; if you help her, we can steal sweet buns.

“I should throw you in her window and see how well you manage.”

He gave you the full force of his beady, black little eyes, and you set your teeth and growled at him.

But he was Maleficent’s mate, and the scheming little brat knew you would do nothing of the sort.

“Where in skies does one find sugar?”

Awk! Awk! Don’t act like I’d make you farm it. Come on. We’ve got plenty of work to do.

He took off from the trees, and you did your best to quietly follow. You left the bread for the squirrels, though you figured if she had the guts to leave her concoctions unattended, she knew how palatable they were.

You came back several days after dropping off the sack of sugar with a note in Diaval’s marginally neater hand. From one neighbor to another, may sweetness always be shared.

You thought he was being too obvious. He thought it was a brilliant plan.

There was no bread that time, but something was certainly roasting over fire. You breathed in the smell and your wings nearly sagged against the thick limb of your perch.

“What is it?” Diaval, the man, asked.

You had to think of it. You ran your tongue across your teeth and tried to conjure up the memory of what it might be, though it failed you. “I don’t know. It smells good.”

He fluffed with pride, and pretended to wait patiently beside you.

But it took so long. You swore hours passed, and you began to ache with hunger as though you hadn’t eaten just that morning.

She put something on the ledge before you had to run off – narrowly before you had to run off, and, this time, Diaval had no hesitation about sneaking up to the window and grabbing one of them for each of you.

You waited until you were nearly halfway back to indulge yourselves. You found a nice spot in one of the sunny meadows full of flower sprites, and toasted one another to your success with the still-hot pastries in both your grasp.

You bit into it deeply, and promptly spit it back out.

Diaval actually choked.

“How hard is it to cook sweet bread?!” you yelled so loudly it startled the willow sprites napping in their tree. “Sugar, flour, leavening – sweet cream and berries!” It smelled so good, and you wanted to enjoy it, but it was half-baked at best and the gooey center was clumped with poorly mixed batter. You yelled in frustration, threw it halfway across the field, and promptly flopped backward into the grass.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day?” Diaval offered.

“I don’t know where Rome is,” you lamented. “Structural planning and baking are two entirely separate things.”

He patted the leather strap over your shoulder. “We can go to Ulstead next time?”

You were being stubborn. You didn’t want to go to Ulstead, and you didn’t want Perceforest to be a miserable little town. You looked up at the treetops, and the sky, and the vastness of it all to avoid looking at him, because then you would have to acknowledge what the horrible little bird wanted you to do, and you would rather eat handfuls of grass than be of assistance.

“Rome is a very famous city,” Diaval began, and you reached up to put your hand over his face before he could continue.

Skies. Awful, horrible, persistent little bird.

“Speak a word of this, and you’ll be missing a wing when I return you.”

He smiled at you, the beast, like he took pleasure in your kindness. “Oh no, wouldn’t dream of it. Suren of the Cavernous Dark, helping a human. So soon after peace. What would your husband say?”

“My mate would tell you to shut your horrible little mouth and keep it that way.” You got up slowly, brushing the grass and its creatures out of your hair, and turned abruptly on your heel to go back to the little farm near Perceforest.

“I don’t think he would.” There was a note of laughter in his voice as he got up to follow.

“He would,” you pressed. “Only without so many words.”

Are you a fool? was the introduction you’d settled on. It doesn’t take an army to bake a batch of sweet bread. You planned on the inherent sharpness of your tone to convey your displeasure.

But she was out in the fields when you got there, and you stopped short at the edge of the trees.

She was crying.

You turned around to leave, but Diaval was right behind you. You gave him a wide-eyed, furious look that implied he had better leave your path immediately or else he would never get the opportunity to be his beautiful bird self again, but he looked at you with the same manner of even-natured patience as he gave Maleficent.

You could’ve slapped the plumage right off of him.

You jerked your head quickly back toward the field. No. No! I am not dealing with this! This is the exact opposite of what I stuck around to do!

He sighed and leveled his gaze.

You could’ve beat your wings at him. Pushed him, smacked him, hurried him off. Instead, you flared and you quirked your head with a set jaw.

“Will it batter you so much to be nice?”

“Yes!” you whispered, much too fiercely. “Or did you forget that her father nearly killed you!”

He waited.

The things you enjoyed the most about Diaval’s company were also the things that infuriated you. He was lovely, intelligent, wholly without judgment and often also without reserve. He was a peaceful, good-natured bird, and there was even a part of you that would’ve admitted that you loved him the same as the rest of your kinsmen if he asked you directly.

But he could be a real bastard when he wanted to. Making you do things you didn’t want to. Having the audacity to ask. To propose you extend your kindness to a human. Skies. Disgusting. It spit on your fallen ancestors.

And yet, you turned back to her. Lowered your wings so you could actually see her. See her the way you’d seen Aurora on the battlefield, a child-queen with more heart than strength (though she grew into the latter). She was no more than a sniveling child, hardly much older than the girl you’d grown so fond of.

Beloved by all who meet her, you reminded yourself. Bitterly. Intentionally bitterly.

You waited until you were several paces away from Diaval to breathe out your fury. The warmth of summer left your body and made the lovely little flower grove perk with life anew, and the crying child looked up only to startle in fear.

“Your sweet bread tastes terrible,” you said by way of greeting.

She stared up at you with her mouth open like a fish plucked freshly from the river. You set your teeth to avoid laughing, and then you forced yourself to look away.

“You are very bad at baking, and I would like to understand why. It’s not a difficult task. Anyone can do it with the right resources.”

You heard Diaval sigh, and you beat your wing at him. Shut up. I’m being as nice as I am.

“…no one taught me.” She was crying again, for skies’ sake, and you really, truly, genuinely could’ve wrung Diaval’s neck like you meant to eat him for dinner.

Surely someone can, you meant to say. You meant to say it, but she went on before you could stop her.

“I’m trying. I really am trying. It’s just been so hard. I’m all on my own out here… the whole farm is mine to run and mine alone. And it just keeps growing.” She was…flush with her tears. She dabbed lightly at her wet face. “Now the cow’s calving and my goat’s getting old and I can’t harvest all of this by myself.”

“Have you no family?”

She gestured at the place where she left her terrible sweet bread, a plot of untilled yarrow and blooming sorrel. “I’m on my own.”

“No neighbors?” you offered. “No kin at all?”

“My neighbors don’t count for family.”

How strange humans were. How utterly, pitifully alone. Each and every last one of them made themselves into an island, as though the individual and the collective could not coexist.

“Your cow is calving?” You were more deliberate with your words. “Then they will soon have milk?”

“She already does.” She wiped her face again.

“Then you will also have milk for yourself. One calf won’t drink it all. Add it to your mixture before you bake. And stir it until it’s smooth. Whatever sugar you add that you feel is enough, add twice as much. And berries.”

She looked at you strangely, and you sighed so forcefully it made your wings move.

“I will help you harvest if you make edible sweet bread. Do we have a deal?”

“Why would you help me? You’re moor-folk. You have everything you need.”

You ignored the note of resentment you heard in favor of leveling your gaze upon her as Diaval had you. “Everything but sweet bread, which you will give to me in exchange for my help. That is how a bargain works.”

She was silent for a moment, studying you. You were no pixie-witted fairy godmother, nor was she some helpless child in need of your defense.

But she was alone, and your kind didn’t do that.

So you were pleased when she nodded, if only for the food.

“Then try your hand again. We’ll be evenly matched; everything I do for you is repaid in return.”

She nodded. “But…if I’m not good--?”

“You will improve.” It came out as much of a threat as you meant it.

“He’s gotten very attached to you.”

You nearly startled out of your skin at Maleficent’s voice, though, to your credit, your wings didn’t fold in defense.

“Who? The little bog-thing I shooed off?” Even you had to scrub your leather from time to time, and you put effort into the task. You washed it, dried it, re-sealed it with waxes and mended all the broken spots. “It kept throwing mud at me.”

She raised her chin, and the humanness of her expression gave you pause. You huffed back a lock of your hair from your face and tilted your head oddly.

“Diaval,” she replied. Her voice betrayed nothing.

You stared at her for much too long before you shifted back onto your haunches. “Romantically?” Your feelings on the subject were much too clear in the way you said the word – you were too fond of him to be disgusted, but that wasn’t by much.

She quirked her head at you in return.

“Skies, Maleficent, talk to me. He’s your mate.”

“And Borra is yours.” The cool evenness of her tone was so familiar and yet so frustratingly difficult to constantly have to decipher. “It would be a shame to tell him—”

“To tell him what?” No sooner had you asked than you realized the implication, and you laughed out loud at its mortality. “Do you think he would be jealous?”

She stared at you. You saw the swirl of power in her eyes.

“Are you jealous, Maleficent? You? Protector of the moors, Queen Mother to all kingdoms? Great skies.” You nearly threw your leather down on the riverbank. “Diaval is my friend, and we’ve been bothering a girl on a farm outside Perceforest for sweet bread for several weeks. She’s a terrible baker, and promised to try to do better.”

“You spoke to her?” Something told you she didn’t believe an ounce of what you said.

“I did. She’s the daughter of the human farmer who nearly killed your mate when he was just a bird. The man’s dead now. She’s by herself. No kinsmen to help her.” You left out the part where you were, though you imagined she’d be able to connect the mutually beneficial dots. “I’ll take you out there, if you like. You can endure her cooking with me.” And then, without thinking, you added, “And then you can tell me why the kingdom of Perceforest is in such disrepair.”

“It’s had more corrupt leaders than it’s had good ones.” She hid nothing from you in that respect, at least. “We’re working on resolving that.”

“We as in you and your daughter, or we as in you?”

You knew how easy it would’ve been for her to throw you headfirst into the river, and yet you still talked to her like your equal.

“You’re not one of them. You know that, don’t you? You can ask for help. We’re your people, Maleficent, your family whether or not we’re blood to you.” You picked up your leather and your leather-cloth and settled back on the shore. “Conall didn’t pluck you from the sea because of your great power, he did it because you’re you. Your place with us isn’t a matter of evening out a bargain or repaying a debt. You were one of us whether or not you fought at our side.”

There was a crease forming in your side that you’d have to reinforce before it split. You’d almost forgotten what you were getting at, only to have your head snap back up so you could reply with much too much vehemence, “And ravens mate in pairs. You’re the one he wants. That won’t change because he steals sweets with me.”

She was silent for so long that you’d almost thought she left without acknowledging you. But she hadn’t, and so you sat up without thinking to pluck the bird skull at her forehead and pull her leather wrappings off.

She let you.

“I never tell Borra that I love him as a reminder. I wish I didn’t have to say the same for you.” You closed her hands around the wrapping and brushed back a lock of her hair.

Whether or not she believed you, you thought she might’ve understood. Even when she took wing much too quietly, some part of you knew that she would eventually. She had just been on her own for far too long.

You grew nothing for the girl, but harvested much.

She spent most of her time helping you. She spent most of her time toiling still; you only came on occasion, and you had enough of a physical advantage over her to accomplish much in significantly shorter a time.

The next sweet breads she made for you were not terrible. They were not very good, but they were edible. You left half a plate for Diaval and pretended to be upset when he bounced along on raven-toes with a whole one in his mouth, just taunting you with it.

You did not help her clear the field after the second set. They were not very good, and you left the one you hadn’t finished. The squash you harvested you took with you, and it was roasted with herbs over your bonfire that night.

That was the first night Maleficent joined you.

She said nothing of your encounter at the riverbank, nor did you. She wore her hair down and Diaval the man was at her side, where he belonged.

You kept your smile to yourself for their sake.

“Try these.”

You gave a well-warranted pause. It looked like the girl – whose name you pretended not to remember, but secretly knew – had grown bold about how elaborate she could be. The bitterness of the last batch was still fresh in your mind, and you looked at her skeptically.

“Oh!” she huffed and felt around in her apron until she had their recipe in hand. “I got it from the baker. I told him that I was trying to refine my skills,” an understatement if you ever heard one, “and he offered me this. It’s very simple, and I think you’ll like it. It’s not a bread, it’s a cake. It takes much less time.”

“You didn’t forget about it?” you clarified.

Her cheeks reddened. “No, not this time. I sat there and did my mending while I waited.”

You took one of the small cakes from her plate and looked it over for scorch marks. The bottom was brown and firm, a little flaky, and the rest was a nice, spongy lump. You took a bite in front of her, and, for once, weren’t immediately repelled.

“It’s good,” you admitted.

“It’s good?” she repeated, much happier about it than she should’ve been.

You nodded. So, you could leave her be after harvest or pawn her off on the other moor-folk. You weren’t the only one in pursuit of a coveted sweet, and you imagined, lonely as she was, she’d enjoy the company of their many over just you.

“Oh, I’m glad! I’ll have to keep one and let him know how it turned out. Tell me if there’s anything special you want, will you?”

Molasses cake, you thought with renewed enthusiasm. But you shook your head fondly and watched her rush the plate back to the windowsill as though Diaval’s approval was as necessary as yours.

He wasn’t as rare of a help as you’d thought he’d be. So, perhaps, he deserved equal share.

The calf bleated, shoving his head into your hands.

“I know.” You rubbed the velveteen fur along the back of his neck. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You’d stolen the girl’s leather-brush to help the little creature itch the velvet fuzz from his horn nubs. Like any child, he was consumed with the thing that bothered him, and you took a surprising amount of pleasure in knowing how to help.

Surprising, considering you’d been dancing around the raw place in your heart that still burned like an iron wound. The raw place flared up again when you thought about your people’s own fledglings and the balms and tonics used to soothe their growing horns.

Harvest was coming. Your people had yet to decide whether you should stay in the moors or return to the nest for the winter. A great many of you believed the moors would stay unsullied; that you couldn’t just survive, but thrive if you stayed. The others worried about the change in seasons upon your elders and your fledglings, and called to make the journey before the headwinds changed and the sea became violent.

There were several reasons why you did not choose a side.

They were the same reasons why you refused to enter Ulstead even though Aurora’s young husband sent along casks of spiced cider and mulled wine. They were early, some of the first made, and the boy could’ve talked about the orchards near the sea where they were harvested all night, if you’d listened. You refused to acknowledge them, lest the raw place begin to bleed again.

“Are you alright?”

She stopped with her wash-basket on her hip, and you heaved a sigh that moved your wings. “Can you manage the work by yourself, now?”

There was a part of you, however small, that hoped she’d say no.

Instead, she beamed like Aurora as she rested her basket on the fence and leaned over it like a child. “Actually,” there was an edge of false shyness to her voice that made you bristle, “I won’t be alone for much longer.”

The ancestors enjoyed your torment, then.

“The baker’s name is John. He’s a very good man, and we’ve gotten very close. I told him of how well the farm has done, and he’d like to join me here rather than live in the village. I agreed.”

The calf rubbed his head into your palm, and the raw spot in your heart wept.

“I planned on telling you when the molasses cake was done, but I suppose now is as good of a time as any? You can still come for sweets, but I don’t suppose you’ll need to help me when I have a husband around.”

Diaval was your blessing, then more than ever. He flew down from his perch in the barn – he’d been mousing, the loaf – and plucked a garment from the basket to take to the line. She exclaimed with laughter and ran after him, uttering some gentle variation of silly bird, and you put the leather brush down.

You did not wait for the cakes. And you did not plan on going back.

“I’m not good company today,” you said as soon as the twig-nest rustled against folded wings.

Your warning didn’t faze Borra in the slightest. He joined you in your bed, folding a wing around your middle and using it as an excuse to pull you close. You tucked your chilly feet between his, since you’d already been laying there for a while, and got his face pressed into your hair for your trouble.

“Where do you run off to?” he murmured after a moment, certainly smelling the human in your hair.

“A girl in the valley makes sweets.” You told yourself that you kept your tone even, but you could hear yourself lamenting.

He waited, patiently, for the rest.

“Now she’s getting married.”

She was getting married and Maleficent checked in on her daughter at least a dozen times a day. Why she didn’t just leave to live in the castle, you’d ruefully considered asking. That lonely little thing would forge a life, Diaval would be a grandfather, and you…

You awoke with the dawn every morning and made your way down to the half-naked field of glowing blooms. A cemetery desecrated, countless lives robbed of their honor, innumerable families robbed of their memories generations-deep. Your little bloom finally opened during the summer. It was slow to grow, and very small, and you tended the rock-circle you made around it obsessively. Plucked the stray grass that dared attempt to bloom between them; replaced your shed pinfeathers when the ones sticking up out of the ground started to look weathered. Little Thing should’ve been inside you, growing. Warm and loved in the cradle of your body. Big or small, warrior or pacifist, whatever they would’ve been, you would’ve loved them so fiercely. You ached for them, and you would continue to ache for them even when the ache was, once more, an open wound.

You had done your share of crying. But the time for battle strategy was over, and you had no other outlet for your pain.

He pulled you close until you were so flush you could feel how he moved with every breath. Neither of you spoke for a long time; you trusted that he knew why you phrased it as you did, and he did, and so you lay there and navigated each painful reminder with the same inopportune dodging that you’d given the queen’s iron bombs.

“We can try again,” was how he broke that silence.

Your lips quirked half-heartedly.

When you didn’t respond, he propped himself up on his elbow and guided your chin until you were looking at him. You pressed your lips to his thumb when it brushed over them.

“If you want to.” He searched your face, and you thought it was entirely unfair for him to be so beautiful. You brushed your fingers over your favorite little decorative crack on his nose, breaking the respite of your misery to revere him. “If you’re ready.”

She left you alone for about a week. Then a paper-wrapped parcel appeared at the edge of the moors with your name on it, and it was full of sweet, sticky spiced rolls.

I’m hope I didn’t offend you, the note in her hand replied. I very much liked your company, and Diaval’s. You’re always welcome to come back. Sweetness is meant to be shared, after all.

The moor-folk bothered you for portions, and you ended up stealing three rolls and leaving them the rest. Four, you decided after a moment, before the hoard descended.

One for you, one for him, and one for the people you both loved.

Baker-John of Perceforest brought with him a cart well-stocked. He would not abandon his duties in the village, so he would simply have to go back and forth between the village and the farm. You watched them unpack said cart, your little human carrying big, stone dishes and sacks nearly half as big as she was. Her intended, not much older, brought heavier.

“And who is she?” Maleficent asked of Diaval, who told her all about Baker-John of Perceforest, who was apparently a kind and gentle, patient and loving man who your human was dearly, truly, madly in love with.

“Sarah,” you replied. John and Sarah, Sarah and John. The humans. Didn’t have the same ring to it as Maleficent and Diaval, Diaval and Maleficent or Borra and Suren, Suren and Borra, but it would do.

“They know about you?” Borra asked.

“She does,” Diaval replied.

She’d learned from you, you saw while you studied the little farm from afar. From both of you. Gone was the scarecrow, for the crows ate the pests more than the food; there was a little pile of what could not be used some ways away from everything, left to return to the soil where it could be used in the spring. The leather brush had been nailed to the fence and the calf, still shedding velvet, mooed in pleasure while he worked his head back and forth over it.

You were glad for her. Really, you were.

When she kissed him, it was warm and sweet and bright like the sun – brief, gentle, and almost always followed by delighted laughter. He brought firewood to the barn in droves, and as she gathered another satchel, she paused. Her hair fell in her face and she swept it back only to stop when she saw you. All of you.

You crooked your wing around Borra and canted your head toward Diaval and Maleficent. I’m not offended. You were the one all on your own.

She was not Aurora. She was human – just a plain, ordinary little person living a plain, ordinary little life. But when she smiled at you, at all of you…

Well, you had to stop yourself from smiling in return. Diaval would’ve never let you hear the end of it.

“Easy.” You patted the strong neck of the no-longer-calf that ran to greet you in his spring pasture. The fields were newly tilled, and your little human wore her hair up while she planted on bent knee.

Her eyes lifted, and you weren’t surprised at all by how eagerly she got to her feet. “It’s you!”

“The winter was kind to you.” She looked happy. Better fed.

Her feet sunk into the pliant earth when she ran to you, and you let her throw her arms around you like you were an old friend. Your wings even folded partially around her.

“I’m so glad you’re here. Diaval’s been coming for cakes, but he never tells me if you like them.”

“That’s because he didn’t tell me he was,” you admitted, though you could hardly be upset with him. Awful little creature, positively doting on his mate.

She laughed and hid her smile behind her hand. “Oh no.”

“I’ll deal with him later,” you joked. “That isn’t why I’ve come.”

She straightened, taking your unexpected presence seriously. Smart girl.

“With your permission, I would like to tell the moor-folk of you. They will help you with your fields in exchange for sweets just as readily.”

She glanced at the ground with her false shyness, her bright eyes glinting just like your child-queen’s. “Actually, I’d love the help. You know my husband travels back and forth, and it doesn’t give me the help I’d planned on.”

You nodded, all business. “Then I will. They are troublesome at times, but they understand gentle discouraging.”

“Of course.” She went to one of the buckets beside the well and washed the dirt from her hands. She knew nothing of your time rebuking poachers on the moors, and you didn’t feel the need to offer that information now.

“I feel I will be of little use to you this year. I also have business in Ulstead. The queen’s had twins, and I am to be their godmother.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Congratulations! Do you know her well, then? Aurora, isn’t it?” She was so pleasant, so calm. You could’ve told her that you’d taken fond to a seven-headed sea dragon and you doubted she would’ve been concerned.

“I do. She loves your village, and she’s doing everything in her power to extend the benefits of annexation across the kingdom.”

“Well, that will be lovely. I’d like to thank her myself when she visits.” She was gentle and kind, your little human, but she also wasn’t entirely foolish. She paused when you offered nothing else, and you let your smile betray you.

“Aurora’s fledglings will not be the only ones soon to discover the moors.”

You’d come all this way to tell someone you barely knew and shouldn’t have trusted, and yet the way she threw her kerchief in the air made you laugh out loud. She ran to you, pulled you close against her, and hugged you like you were kin.

She withdrew with an excited gasp, taking one of your taloned hands. “The man you were with was your husband, then?”

You quirked your head. In so many words. Your people didn’t rely on institution for a crutch the way they did.

“You – you stay right here.”

You laughed at her retreat, quietly for once. You were warm with joy and hadn’t come alone, not that Diaval could be pried away from his daughter or his grandchildren even if you’d asked him to.

Your no-longer-calf butted you in the arm, and you butted him back with your wing. “No.” Let the fledglings play with the farm animals.

Sarah waddled out of the house with a stack of nesting cloth nearly half as big as she was, as though she’d never felt the warmth of your skin and failed to notice that you could forage for your own materials.

“Here, feel free to keep or give away whatever you like.” She gave them all to you, and you had to push them down in order to see over them.

“Why are you giving me a gift?”

“Because you’ve given me one! Well, several, but if it hadn’t been for you,” and how terribly you’d confronted her about her lack of practical skills, “I never would’ve met John. They say true love is what woke Aurora, and you gave true love to me. You and Diaval.” She put her hands on the blanket-stack to help you squish them down. “I hope you both know true love in all its forms – with the people you love, and with the families you make.”

“Thank you,” you said before you could stop yourself. Aurora would get her peace yet. “I will see you again, Sarah of Perceforest.”

“I’d hope so. I wanna meet them. And your husband, when the time’s right.” You pretended not to notice that she pointedly did not glance over your shoulder, and you squished the stack of blankets against your side.

“And I, yours.”

Sarah beamed.

It was not a straightforward thing, happiness. Much the same way that peace was dependent upon the presence of war, you would ache over Little Thing for the remainder of your life – but, even though Borra didn’t say anything out loud, he still gave you a sidelong glance with just a bit too much of a quirk to his lips when you retreated into the woods with that stack of nesting-cloth under your arm.

You took one of the quilts out of the pile and flung it at him. “He goaded me into being nice.”

He caught it, folded it into a more compact form, and carried it under his arm. “As has Maleficent, I see. Aurora didn’t learn it from the air.”

If you liked this and want to see other work, click here.

#Borra x Reader #Maleficent x Diaval #Platonic!Diaval x Reader #Dark Fey #part of the U.W. Universe #post-M:MoE #Suren of the Cavernous Dark #That's Not An Ending And I Know It But Here #Fluff!There Is No Plot Only Zuul

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pocket-void · 4 years

Note

Care to tell us what's swimming around with the Suits AU, like what are the powers that are unique to each suit? Queens vs Kings?

Boy oh boy, I sure would! O///o Any AU I make will always be on an infinite “ask and you shall receive” basis lmao- >///< (Except Church Stop, which I plan on continuing when things settle down) You sent this ask at like a wild time but I finally wrote some stuff for ya so I hope it makes sense. o///o The Sleight of Hand AU is really heavy on worldbuilding so it may take some extra work.

So, here’s vaguely how the suit courts are organized and what each rank kind of entails (I say vaguely, but you know it’s going to be wildly long):

Diamonds - The Regal Suit

The Diamond court is known, or would like to be known, throughout the land as true royalty. They are opulent, noble, and unbelievably full of themselves. Their powers stem from their manipulation of worldly elements, able to craft their own visions of beauty into their surroundings. However they are also skilled in cunning and slightly underhanded methods to get their way. They are determined and headstrong folk who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty, which may explain why they are in fact the origin of curses in this universe. They are crafty and have keen eyes that are able to very efficiently determine things about someone’s character, and make excellent negotiators.

The common folk of Diamonds are a lot less uppity and posh, but they do have a semi-upper class feel to them. Not because they’re all well off or anything, the land they reside in is just very rich in resources and well maintained in appearance, and it’s within their culture to be on the more refined side of things. They’re skilled in crafting and producing various luxuries, with tailoring being a rather appreciated activity. Art is a huge part of their society, whether it be painting, sculpting, music, even things like landscaping and interior design, etc.

Spades - The Intellect Suit

The Spade court is full of the world’s greatest mages and scholars. They’re always on the search for higher power, and are deathly efficient at their jobs. It is a solid meritocracy in the Spades court, but it is also brutally unforgiving. Spades are proud folk, not of their status, but of their abilities. The work one must go through to reach the top is almost unimaginable by others, and so it has slowly grown corrupt by those unwilling to relinquish their position and admit they’ve been outdone. The Spade court is a terrifying force to be reckoned with, as they wield the most destructive types of magics connected to the forces of nature. They are rather intimating diplomats that take things very seriously.

Spades tend to be natural quick learners, and they adapt to changes in their environment rather easily. Though the enclosed space that is the higher courts have impeded this ability in some. The common folk of Spades are actually very open minded, although unfortunately are also heavily influenced by the court. Many take interest in sciences, research, invention, various types of craftsmanship, innovation, and more. They are knowledge loving and respectable people who seek to learn new things when they can. People good at multitasking or jack of all trades types tend to be Spades.

Hearts - The Angel Suit

The Heart court is full of healers and judges. They are considered the arbiters of justice and peace. Over the years however they have grown perhaps overly defensive, and the armor once used to protect themselves have now grown thorns to harm others. People of the Heart court have witnessed brutality and war, and their reactions have turned away from peace and instead towards shutting others out of their territory to protect only themselves. Harboring another suit is considered a high crime, and you will most likely be jailed and questioned for it if caught. Interlopers deemed spies likely face execution, but that is standard in most courts nowadays...

The people of Hearts are kind and genuine. They hold much empathy in their cores, and most citizens are somewhat attuned to the emotions of others. The idea of “soul mates” originated and was popularized by Hearts! Citizens here are down to earth and know the value of a hard day’s work. They respect labor and jobs that benefit the community, and as such farmers, medical workers, local guardsmen, and various others are very well liked. “Soul Smithing” is actually something invented by the people of Hearts; an amazing technique that has found a way to heal broken cores. Not everyone can perform it, but the people who can are basically invaluable.

Clovers - The Warrior Suit

The Clover court is full of people will strong wills and even stronger resolves. They will do the things they set their minds to, and their beliefs only compliment their strength. They are determined, persistent, and relentless in their quests to do what they think is the right thing. Unfortunately that belief has now been directed towards war efforts, and they’re stubbornness has done little but blind them to the suffering of common folk for the sake of the “greater good”. Perhaps they have become misguided, and they’re confidence prevents them from admitting they are wrong.

The citizens of Clover are free spirited and independent. They’re hard working and very self reliant, living mostly solitary but rather impressive lives. Clovers are natural warriors at heart, willing to fight for the things they believe in and the people they care about. The people here hold magic that serve to empower themselves, and it’s said that their cores glow the brightest in times of peril. There is a myth about the “Four Leaf Clover”, which is a story about a legendary hero who possessed strength beyond strength. Half of the legend has been forcefully erased by the court, but its original ending claims that the four leaves were not symbolic of the Clover’s lone strength at all, but rather how powerful the hero felt they came together with their companions to triumph over all.

*Quick note! The generalizations of the citizens of each court are of course very generalized and does not perfectly apply to every citizen. ^///^

Now on to Ranks! This is already kind of long so I’ll simplify a bit for this section. >///<

Every citizen is born with two things at birth: A core and a rank. Cores, which determines your suit, are determined by your parents and general ancestry. It is very rare for couples of different suits to be together, especially in the current times with tensions so high. Instead of hearts, the people of this world just have cores in their chests. They do a few things under select circumstances but I’m not going into that right now snsjbksjf, for all intents and purposes they are basically “souls”. How one determines rank is decided at around age 5-7, because it’s a more innate sense. You yourself will know what rank you are,

JOKER - Highest possible rank. A myth amongst the populace, since nobody’s actually heard of anyone with this rank. It’s said that JOKERs possess qualities and abilities of all suits. It is currently used as a symbol of revolution in the hopes of reuniting all the suits by an organization of the same name. All members identify as JOKER in solidarity to set aside their differences for the common good.

King - Highest rank in society. Kings are one’s with immense power and magic, said to be able to manipulate reality itself. They are incredibly rare, but those with this rank are seen as natural leaders, and will surely accomplish unthinkable things.

Queen - Queens are a diverse group of powerful mages, and are basically the ceiling for power level for each suit specific magic type. They have a very impressive and respectable amount of power, and tend to highly specialize in one to three skills/magics.

Jack - Typically high ranking generals or soldiers. Jacks are hardy and very durable, with cores as strong as their wills. They tend to be more physically impressive rather than magic oriented, but it’s not uncommon for Jacks to wield magic alongside their weapons.

10-2 - Are considered “citizens”. It doesn’t mean they’re just completely powerless, and yes the numbers do kind of dictate specific things you may be more attuned to, but in general these are the people who populate the land the most. The higher the number, the more likely you are to be naturally gifted in some way at some kind of specific thing, but that doesn’t mean lower numbers can’t be better than you at something. There are special meanings attached to some numbers, like how 7s are lucky or how 4s tend to be more grounded, but these are kind of more like your zodiac than anything.

Ace - The trick up one’s sleeve. Aces have long been the wildcard of society. They usually end up being really good at one thing, but in a way that nobody else had thought of. They tend to be much more closely related to the magic of their own suit, while also having some sort of spin to their magic. It’s a little difficult to describe exactly, but Aces are comparable to “geniuses” who are incredible in one aspect, but lacking in what many people consider more “common”.

I suppose that’s all I’ve got for now. o///o

#Oh no!! Questions about AUs! My only weakness!#If you ask me elaborate #I honestly will for like...basically anything #I love doing that a lot ^///^#pouring way too much thought into things is my specialty lmao #thanks for the ask tho!!#jadespeedster17 #mock talks #SoH au #ask

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mycreativereach · 3 years

Text

The Birth of Oron

Colossus’ raw power, wolverines’ adamantine claws, Captain America's unbreakable shield, the powers of the Greek gods, and the hierarchy of the archangels. These are but a few to name of the heroes I would watch growing up.

I was always a fanboy for superheroes, especially marvel. I had my time with DC, but I was always more drawn to the stories of the X-men or other superheroes within the realm of the marvel universe. Other means of fantasy such as Lord of The Rings and anime such as one-punch man and Dragonball Z played a part as well, but it was a few that stemmed from my childhood that allowed me to develop Oron the character you read today.

Colossus

To say that fantasy and heroes have had a slight impact on my novel is an understatement. I remember getting up early Saturday mornings, roughly around 8 am, to catch a list of cartoon shows that would appear on Fox. Over a few years, the shows had moved around and switched but I always remember waiting to watch the 90’s nostalgic marvel show x-men. The always progressive stories of wolverine’s trust issues and macho feud with cyclops, gambit’s Casanova chivalrous tendencies towards rogue, and Professor X’s forever dilemma of accepting the very humans who hate him while teaching mutants to be at peace with civilization was what I loved about the show. I couldn’t wait to rush to the carpet in front of my tv and sit for two half-hour episodes. At the time wolverine had been my favorite mutant and marvel character for that matter and still is. But the character that helped shape Oron was colossus. I remember seeing him for the first time, his mutant power of being able to enwrap himself in metal which tremendously increased his raw strength and power reeled me in. His character traits of being a humble Russian farmer with roots of loyalty and fighting for good is also what attached me to him even further. From that point on until this very day, colossus is still one of my top favorite marvel characters and has also helped pave the way for me to creating my character Oron. I knew I wanted Orons characteristics to be someone who came across as hard and cold on the outside because of the lore I had built around him, but I wasn’t exactly sure how I wanted him to look. Eventually between coming across colossus combined with my love for bodybuilding and the aesthetics that bodybuilders bring is ultimately the reason why I created Oron to have more of a menacing appeal to my readers. But as for the color of Orons skin, it’s funny that Oron turned to be blue. I have gotten feedback both negative and even some positive saying Dr. Manhattan has played a role in this decision I made. They are similar in some respects but in all honesty, it had nothing to do with that character. The sole reason is that I like the color blue and decided to go with a lighter or sky blue. Navy blue is my favorite to be exact, but I Liked a light shade of blue that looked on Oron and then decided to keep it. I had gone through several other stages of Oron with different colors and patterns and other anatomical appearances, but I felt none of them looked well enough as the color that he ultimately ended up with.

Sarevok

Another character that played a role in the creation of Oron was the main antagonist of the well-known RPG-pc game from the 1990s Sarevok Anchev from Baldur’s Gate. Still one of my favorite villains ever, Sarevok had the menacing appeal of height, increased strength, and malice that caused him to be feared. But it was his assured intelligence and allured determination that made me enjoy his character. Although I like the version of Sarevok from Baldur’s gate, it is the expansion to Shadows of Amn in Throne of Bhaal that was the version that piqued my interest for Oron. Sarevok at this point comes forward to help his brother, the main protagonist in the entire storyline. The evil aura still emanated from Sarevok but as you play out the game, or read the books, you, in turn, find out that even though this once archrival of yours had been your most bitter enemy was nowhere to help you even with the ominous characteristics he still had. This helped give me an idea to develop Orons past as being one of sorrow and negativity while helping Aurelia and although being a stern teacher, Oron meant the best for Aurelia. There were certain differences between the characters but also some similarities as well in the ways of how they displayed their care for the person they trying to help and the determination and confidence they expressed through their cold hard demeanors with Orons being more serious and Sarevoks attitude animating more of a serious but sinister malevolence.

Marvels Cosmic Hierarchy

Getting older I started to really dive into the cosmic hierarchies of Marvel. The vast powers in the universe always intrigued me as to how powerful they could become and how different beings would clash against one another. Being limited to the capabilities we have as humans always made these stronger beings look much more appealing because I knew it was physically impossible to achieve their prominence of power. Characters like Galactus or the In-Betweener from the marvel cosmic hierarchy would always possess jaw-dropping crazy abilities and crash with other beings of good or evil in the universe. I wanted to adapt powers such as this into my storyline, but I wanted to also make sure the readers knew that no matter how powerful one could seem, everything in my universe can be defeated. We might look at Oron and think that he’s a God of some sort, an undefeatable being with extraordinary abilities. But the truth is Oron could be matched by other relevant powers as well. In Marvels Hierarchy, the order of power is laid out for you to see who is the strongest and weakest of that order, although it's subject to change at times since some beings get stronger and others weaker. But what I enjoy is that even though there is an order of strength of power that doesn’t mean someone of weaker status can’t defeat another being of higher ranking. Because there are so many factors that help accumulate the ranking status of powers you are never fully solidified in that position and can be destroyed. As Marvel fans would know, we saw this when master order and lord chaos put aside their differences and joined together to destroy the living tribunal who was considered the second to the one-above-all who is the strongest entity in the marvel universe. Another example was how the Knull, the divine leader of the symbiotes, such as the one called venom from Spider-Man appeared from the multi-verse and decapitated a celestial, who were known to be some of the strongest beings in the multi-verse at the time. As much as there are hierarchies sometimes there are powers that seem to have been forgotten or hidden away to avoid detection. And even though there is a list of hierarchical power such as the one Oron is a part of you maybe never be truly undefeatable with other powerful beings that roam the universe.

Greek Gods of Old

Another form of lore that helped shaped my character Oron was the tales of the Greek Gods from Mount Olympus. The many stories and fiery battles between themselves and also the titans intrigued me the most out of the many legends they were a part of. Their supremacy and dominance over Earth and its inhabitants were similar to what I wanted to implement in how Oron was perceived. Each Greek god had a role to play in part to help civilization keep structured. They each had an array of followers, some more than others, and had cities dedicated to their names. They were worshipped and in term bestowed their blessings upon the strongest of their followers and warriors. But Out of all the gods I always gravitated towards Poseidon and Hercules the most. Poseidon’s because of the wisdom yet commanding presence the god held and Hercules because of the demi-gods valiant heart and brute strength. So, you can say these didn’t exactly correctly tie with Oron but there are similar traits from these characters and the motions of the Greek Gods that inspired some of the character traits in Oron. Although Oron is a hard-pressed individual he still flows with wisdom from the amount of experience he has gained from his years of life as Poseidon expressed through his many gatherings with other Gods and mainly Zeus. Oron’s strength seems to be unmatched and comes off as an omnipotent figure, similar to Hercules, to the people of Earth. As you read along in the novel you come to see Orons shortcomings and also weaknesses which were important for me to show. But whatever Greek God it was, even though they were far beyond mortals, they could have weaknesses emotionally and physically. You could be strong-willed and mentally equipped but even the Gods can be shaken just like when they had to battle the titans for their freedom.

Christian Biblical Hierarchy and its Powers

Growing up I was brought into a family with moderate practice of the Catholic Christian religion. Every Sunday for several years we would go to church and celebrate the name of God like a lot of other Christian families and live our lives as close to those religious morals. Needless to say, as I got older I drifted farther away from the specific ideological catholic beliefs when it came to how we were created. I still did and currently have a belief that there is some sort of greater being in the universe, but I have concluded that I have no idea what it is. For all I know it could be some greater intelligence that has no shape or form. It could be some superior alien race that decided to use humans as a test subject for their own means of biological experimentation. Or maybe we collided with other forms of substances and we weren’t the direct creation from any being at all, just a number of substances colliding together which then took billions of years to create our bacterial organisms that finally evolved into what we are today. Personally, I don’t believe in the latter of the possibilities, I think there is some sort of greater being or spirit, intelligence, or energy, whatever you want to call it, but have no idea what it is. But as I started to sway away from Catholicism the stories of the archangels and powers within the bible didn’t leave my mind so easily. Reading upon how God created the Earth and then the archangels and other stories such as Able and Kane piqued my interest. This was the foundation for the background lore of Illithesium and also my wanting to add Oron to a hierarchy of characters that belonged to the Christian religion but with my own twist. God's love with the strength of Michael and Lucifer's fallen grace would play a role in Illithesium and Oron but differently from how the bible displays it. Oron and these characters were beings of great power, yes, but they could be destroyed and were not immortal as we learned growing up in religion class. They had physical forms and could be spoken to although through a language far beyond our capabilities. Their legendary powers displayed in the bible also are showcased but in a way that it could be explained and understood in a more somewhat scientific down-to-earth method. Adding Oron to the lore of characters that I grew up reading about and knowing with adding many different featured twists was creatively fun. And the lore thickens as I’m currently writing the second book which you’ll get to see hopefully sooner rather than later.

My Love for Bodybuilding

As I mentioned up above, bodybuilding has been a part of my life since I was 18 and has allowed me to view life in a specific way. If you want results, then you need to go out and earn them by taking necessary calculated actions in order to have success. By doing this over years I build a physique I had once admired and still admire, for myself through hard work and dedication. Involving myself in bodybuilding and reading upon bodybuilders and strength lifters is what really caused me to adopt a specific look to my character Oron. Now not all my characters look as big as Oron as I want physiological diversity in my novels, but the results one can get from weightlifting and the many ways you can build your body are shown through all my characters. But the reason why I chose Oron to not only be tall and broad but heavily muscular was to give an idea of what a superior being far beyond human capabilities can look like at physical peak performance. But an even bigger and more lasting impression I wanted to leave on my readers was that even the mightiest and biggest beings have demons they have nestled inside them. The strongest of us also have skeletons in their closet they’d like to forget that always come back to eventually haunt us. It was to show that it's normal to have to face your fears and to overcome them. It was a combination of respecting the hard work and ethic that goes into building a body as bodybuilders do, whether they be natural or not, and the strength that has to be applied to overcome the adversity of everyday life obstacles, injuries, and more. And to know that a being that may be tall and strong with power none the likes have seen before can still be shattered as nothing in the universe was made to be perfect and will eventually break under certain pressure.

Last Thoughts

Oron became a staple in the Illithesium novel and to find out more you’d of course have to read up on the book to see what happens. I hope you enjoyed the character of Oron as much as I did create him and giving him life while watching him grow throughout the novel.

If you liked what you read here or have any questions, comment below or send me an email and I’d be happy to chat with you!

#adam zomparelli #oron #illithesium #illithesium: the awakening

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electronicdelusionstarlight · 3 years

Text

Here’s the idea.

An RPG where you play as the most passive character possible.

It’s turn based and JRPG in style, and it’s pretty simple in concept.

You have no way to defeat anything alone. You are a Support Character and you have only moves to buff, heal or debuff characters. You CAN, possibly, use status effect to harm something of course but even that’s super gimicky. You can also use Items on people but that’s also either gimicky or another buff/debuff.

You basically cannot do shit alone, but you also need to survive the harsh fantasy world you are in.

In order to do so you need to get someone to fight alongside you.

The Isekai setting makes this easier to achieve but basically the start would be you getting thrown into a random, wild starting area with low level enemies and no contact with traditionally friendly NPCs. You cannot possibly survive alone with your level 1 powers either, but you start one scripted battle against three generic enemies, a Slime, a Goblin and a Wolf.

This initial battle works as tutorial for the game of sorts. Via the use of contextual cues, items, speech, powers and actions on your part, you’ll need to calm down at least one of the three enemies and have them switch to your side. When they do that for the battle,

At the end of the battle the enemy will either leave you alone or do other action based on your actions during the battle and your reputation with their faction, among other things. The Goblin will have a reputation based on his tribe, while the Slime will have a race wide reputation since they are an hivemind. The wolf will have a reputation with his pack AND his race, and raising either of those will in turn lower other reputations and shit.

With enough personal reputation obtained in the first battle you meet them AND the post battle scene, you can gain them as a Minion. Minion will follow you in battle and will have their reputation of you fluctuate based on what you do from then on, and will be the ones who will do most of the damage in battle.

EVERY CHARACTER would be of course befriendable, not just hostile NPCs but also every single other NPCs in the game, but it’s all based on who or what you do during your game.

For example, befriending the wolf but not the slime and the goblin will lower the Slimes reputation of you since they felt their kin die through the hivemind, but the Goblin’s tribe will not lower their reputation until they find the body, and EVEN THEN they’d blame the wolves for it since it would have been the wolf killing the Goblin, lowering the reputation they have for the wolves. At the same time, the wolf you’ve just recruited (probably by using raw meat from your inventory) will in turn expect to be fed, groomed and sheltered by you from then on, and you’ll only gain a boost on the wide pack and wolf reputation when meeting other wolves, higher if belonging to the same pack, lower if just wolves, with a small gain on dogs or canid races such as kobolds or werewolves.

You cannot order the wolf to attack other wolves unless you’ve taken precautions for that (such as training, or creating magic items, or sending him against a rival pack for example) and at the same time it’s now difficult to recruit NPCs the wolf would attack on sight (so no bunny followers for you).

The NPCs you fight however also have reputations on an individual level of course. You can outright never recruit anyone and just convince any enemy you find that their friends are out to get them, or play on natural rivalries. You can also play on natural friendships between enemies to recruit multiple NPCs at once. You can for example convince the Goblin, the only one of the three first NPCs you can communicate with at first via its basic understanding of the common tongue, to join forces with you, and THEN have the Goblin tame the wolf since Goblins have a bonus on taming wolves. This way you don’t get two minions but you get the Goblin with a Wolf Mount, both of which untrained.

That’s all you can do. You can give some orders to the NPCs you get on your side but in the end they’ll do their own thing, and all you can do it either buff, debuff, heal, use item or act (Think of this as a generic, Undertale act) with anyone in the field.

Your character is of course customizable the way you’d like for them to present themselves. First playthrough however will be locked behind the human race without any other affiliation but on following playthroughs you’ll be able to play as a race and affiliations and even classes you’ve befriended during the game. This will still lock you behind your set of options but you’ll now gain different starting reputations as well as some racial and class passive bonuses you’ll be able to use.

Reputation on a certain class/race/clan etc will also grant you passive bonuses mid game. If you had the goblin with wolf mount and you train them while outside of battle you’ll be able to give them buffs or new moves to use in fights. At the same time you’ll get the ability to barter with the Goblin Tribe of your starting goblin, access to their village, and a better understanding of their language, for starter, based on your reputation with the goblin and his tribe, BUT at the same time you’ll also gain levels in Wolf Rider based on your reputation with the one goblin rider you have, which means you’ll be able to befriend and tame wolves much easier, and will allow you to ride one if you are a certain size.

Having multiple Wolf Raiders on the team will then grant you not only more buffs but also the whole team a buff, and will unlock you specific orders to the combination (For example, with 5+ wolf rider you can order them to run down one specific enemy) as well as formations and shit.

Again, you cannot do ANYTHING outside this, you just get them and they do all the job, the best you can do is direct them as best you can and try to either keep them alive or recruit someone. You can’t even outright control their relationships with one another either, they’ll hate or love their comrades based on what they want, in fact if you have enough minions around not only this will spontaneously generate your own faction in the geopolitical context of the game BUT also internal factions or clans within your faction, such as the Wolf Riders Cavalry I mentioned before. And you need to keep everyone in check least they started getting strange ideas.

If someone dies they die. They can be brought back via several things. For example, getting a necromancer class follower will allow you to get back something out of dead minions based on how they died or who they were and necromancer level and all other shit, but will not outright resurrect them.

For example, if the Wolf Rider is beheaded in battle a low level goblin necromancer from the same tribe will be able to get a zombie wolf and a zombie Goblin, and a flying goblin head, but they will all three lose the ability to ride, will have some of their skills and shit locked, and their stats will change. The goblin will also be lacking a head, which makes the minion blind and deaf to commands.

If you’d raise the Necromancer level a bit via training and shit however, they’ll be able to get an headless wolf rider out of it, but in order to do so some time will have passed which means the corpse, unless maintained, will have decayed. This is not always a bad thing since now you’ll get a skeleton headless wolf rider (with skeleton flying head) in turn, which is functionally immortal BUT unlike the zombie it will now be dependent on the Necromancer’s continued existence to not crumble into bones.

Otherwise you can just skin the wolf for the pelt and turn it into a item for someone. Gift it to someone you want to befriend, or maybe to someone you want to trick, after all a wolf pelt if worn will grant some buff BUT will also lower the disposition of every wolf who see it being used toward the wearer, with annexed factions thereof, so all you need to do is just... make the pelt and not let your wolves find you you did it, gift it to someone you need to get killed and then tell the wolves he’s wearing their dead comrade’s pelt.

Game would be, potentially, a roguelike, randomizing each following starting battle and zone after the first of course so not to get repetitive. You’ll lose all minions, items and levels, but you’ll maintain (other then the ability to change race and affiliation now, which will also switch up possible starting places) your own learned skills based on your own level and what you’ve met before (which only raises when you befriend something, while your minion’s level will only raise when they kill something or do something, split among everyone involved), but even those are just either buff/debuff/healing spells you can only use on NPCs never yourself, or non-combat spells or other abilities you can use to more easily befriend NPCs.

To take a page off of Konosuba, befriending enough water affiliated creatures and reaching a certain level will give you the “Dazzling Display of Waterworks” which will allow you to bedazzle NPCs with a water based magic trick, raising their disposition to you if not impressing them, especially if you manage to pull it off in battle against the correct type of NPC. Getting more plant NPCs as friends and then reaching that same level will grant you the passive ability to raise the quality of crops and other plants you can care for, thus allowing you to befriend farmers easier.

This way every new playthrough you’re pushed to befriend different people, while also maintaining a theme AND trying to reach as high a level as possible before dying. This will not punish you however if you, say, met only 4 crab monsters and befriended them but the fifth killed you before you could reach the level, since the game will carry over that statistic which means that befriending another water monster will grant you the 5 water monsters buff at level 5 buff, same for another crab monster on level 5 for the crab buff on the 20th playthrough after that (in case you really never met another crab till then).

So it’s a bit Darkest Dungeon, a bit Undertale, a bit a Pokemon Nuzloke, and a bit Overlord, so to speak, but I’d say this would be a great game.

#...#eh #hypothetical videogame

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lo-55 · 3 years

Text

Revel Ch. 10

Belated Birthdays

Things were peaceful, after their return from Imperia.

Even with the tightness in her ribs and the ugly taste of betrayal on her tongue Tori couldn’t deny that she was starting to enjoy her time with Katakuri. He was still a quiet man, all in all, but he didn’t avoid her anymore. Now and again he would even seek her out on his own, and take her on walks with him.

She also started taking on the administrative work. The day to day running of the chateau, and small disputes in the rest of the island as well. It was easy for her, it was what she had been raised to do after all.

Katakuri was a bit more at a loss for such things. He was a warrior, not a governer.

“So you see,” she said one day, sitting knee to knee with him in the office, “While these two farmers may be threatening to go to war over this strip of river, there’s about six other reports saying the same thing going back twenty years. So while it would be a good idea to set this to rights, it’s not an emergency, and we can set it to the back burner. Contrarily, these reports of polluted water should take absolute presidence, especially on an island of this size.”

“And the man claiming his wall doesn’t break any laws, is also unimportant,” katakuri set that file in the same pile as the farmers.

“Everyone under our protectorate is important,” she pointed out, “but yes, that’s not a priority. Besides, he’s not wrong. The code says that he can’t have a fence going higher than four feet off of the street. The five foot concrete base he poured before hand raises the street level, so his fence is really on three feet tall,” Tori had to fight a grin. She didn’t want to split her false lips, red decorated with fanciful gold roses.

It was getting harder and harder not to smile when she was around Katakuri. She liked to believe that, under that scarf, he smiled at her as well.

“You sound like you admire him for pushing the boundaries of a law.”

“Perhaps I do. I have been trapped in rules my entire life. ‘Victoria, you must wear this’, ‘Victoria, a princess stands at the correct angle.’” she rolled her eyes.

“You make a the rules now,” Katakuri pointed out.

Tori sat up, suddenly straighter. She made the rules now. She made the rule now. This was their home. Their land. She was not bound by the traditions of Imperia.

“I could wear jeans .”

When she looked back at her husband there was a definite curve to his eyes. A smile?

Business first. Business before pleasure, she turned back to the stack but her cheeks hurt from the smile pulling at her mouth.

Perhaps she could wear her jeans in full view of the court one day, and tell them all to fuck off.

As the year came to a close, with it came a day that Katakuri had almost forgotten even existed.

Victoria’s birthday.

Their life together, from one day to the next, had fallen into such a pattern that having something change didn’t feel quit right. They still slept in separate beds but they took long walks to the beach at dusk where Katakuri marvelled at her haki control. He had never seen anyone able to project haki like that before. She was a marvel in the water and the moonlight.

Their daylight hours were spent governing their lands and walking together in their home. Victoria was beautiful, she was a star in the shape of a woman and she was his bride. Her hand in his, while small, was warm and welcoming.

So, when he heard one of her ladies in waiting (who sometimes changed places with her, he’d found) mention that the birthday gifts should begin coming in, he realized that he had no idea when she was born. How old even was she?

So he listened and he looked over files that his mother had procured before they had joined their houses. It was the first time. Mama would tell him what he needed to know, and what he needed to know was that he was marrying this woman.

Tori was twenty three years old. Four years younger than him. She was born on Imperia, a summer island, in the scant winter months, on the twenty fifth of January. Her mother had fallen ill and died when she was seven years old. There wasn’t much about her. No scandals or information about her likes or dislikes. All there was was basic fact. It was one of the scantest reports he’d ever read in his life.

How could Tori, who was so interesting, have such a dull life?

She was a mystery that Katakuri was ever so desperate to unravel.

He doubted that would happen any time soon. Tori spoke to him, but even still, he struggled to form the right questions he wanted to ask her. Where was her passion, what did she love? Her own people. How different were they from his? Pirates and princesses.

What a strange story their life was going to be.

Katakuri had grown up as a pirate, and as the son of Big Mom no less. Their parties were massive and filled with food to feed their mother, mostly, but the rest of them too.

They had a feast of food and cakes as tall as regular men.

Yet, there was no part being planned for her, as far as he could see.

He didn’t understand. But he understood that he, at least, wanted to do something for it.

So he set about doing something he was good at. Something that didn’t involve fighting or skewering people on his trident.

He decided he was going to bake her a cake.

Katakuri sent the chefs out of the kitchen and chased away anyone who tried to come closer than that, a glare peaking over the edge of his scarf.

By the end of the day he had a cake made, big enough for the pair of them.

He frosted it and decorated it with careful blue swirls. It wasn’t a masterpiece but…

He didn’t know what else to get her. She seemed to have everything she could want, at least materially.

Perhaps there was something else he could do for her. Maybe one day she would tell him, what she wanted. Her dreams, her goals. What were they? She cared about people. Her people, his people, their people. She seemed to understand them so easily and know when something was important and when something was trivial. She knew everyone’s name, everyone's face, and things about their families, hobbies, and homes.

She even took him into consideration. He could still remember the warmth of her small body pressed against his from behind in the darkness of Imperia. And Brulee. She barely knew her, but she defended his younger sister.

People were important her.

And he had thought, before, that she was frivolous. But she had been delighted when she realized she could wear something as trivial as jeans.

Katakuri tried to clear his mind as he walked the way to his young wife’s room.

Finally he pushed the door open.

She was sitting at her desk, writing something in her fanciful, neat handwriting when he walked in. When she looked up at him her strange, false lips were missing and her real ones curved upwards in a smile.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, turning away from whatever she was working on to face him. Her fine dress was draped around her, hiding her from him in soft blues.

“It’s your birthday,” he said, and set the cake down on a clear space on her desk.

For a long minute Tori just stared at it. A strange smile sat upon her.

“This was so sweet of you. Pun intended. But… I can’t eat it.”

Katakuri frowned behind his mask. Was she on some sort of diet? Was that why she was so thin?

She must had seen something in his face. Something that gave his thoughts away.

“I can’t have any cake. Or bread, or ice cream, or anything fried at all. I’m allergic.”

“To cake?” he couldn't help the horror in his voice.

“To gluten,” she corrected him gently. “Wheat, barley, rye. Any of that, and it destroys me. If it gets too bad, they have to preform surgery on my internal organs.”

Katakuri’s mouth fell open. Wheat, Barley, Rye. That was in everything. Everything! On this island especially where Mama had tasked them with growing all of those things to feed her ever growing appetite. He was the minister of flour!

“Oh,” was all he could think to say. What else could he offer her? An apology? What good would that do to her allergy.

One so bad she might have to be cut open if she ate it.

“But I can have icing. As long as there’s only sugar in it, and no anti-caking ingredients. So, why don’t we share?” her smiled was sweeter than any desert. “I’ll even close my eyes, okay?”

Katakuri wanted to tell her not to. He wanted to tell her she didn’t need to. He wanted to finally give this facade up.

He wanted her to never see him.

When I was married, I had hoped that he might be blind.

If Tori had been blind, what would he have done?

“That sound nice,” he said at last, sitting down on the floor next to her. Her eyes lit up and her smile grew, unrestrained by the fanciful ones she wore regularly.

Tori went to her dresser and came back with a long scarf that she tied around her eyes, hiding them from him and him from her.

Katakuri was left in charge or splitting the icing from the cake and gathering it in a spoon for her. He was careful not to let a single crumb get into it. He got to see her smile, and listen to her laugh and talk to her.

It was the first birthday they spent together.

He hoped that by the end of the next one, he might not even have to ask her to close her eyes.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #katakuri #charlotte Katakuri #katakuri x oc #oc #victoria di Imperia

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adozentothedawn · 4 years

Text

Saint Waidwen The Musical The Justification

This is an explanation for something I wrote in this fanfiction. Go read it maybe if you haven’t? :) But if you don’t have the time or interest, the relevant thing for this is that I mention a controversial musical adaption of the story of Saint Waidwen in Readceras.

Yeah, so first of all, I just really wanted this to be a thing because musicals about weird things are just my jam. I can however justify why this could totally be a thing! I’m aware that I don’t have to, but I just really want to write this, so I will. Now sit down and listen.

(Also you might know a lot of these things already, but I don’t know what they teach in your countries so I’ll just explain the basics.)

Let’s start off with why anyone would ever do this anyway.

First of all, people make musicals about weird shit all the time in reality, so why not in Eora. Like look at Les Mis. Does that scream “musical” to you? And, yet it’s pretty cool!

Second of all, Art moves in cycles. To explain this, I’ll use german literature, because that’s what I learnt in school and therefore know a few things about. Let’s begin at the era of the “Aufklärung” (enlightenment I guess? It’s an era of literature from about 1720 to 1790. Note also that eras can’t be distinctly seperated, they do go on simultaniously for a while). This was the time of logic and reason first and foremost. Art had to be practical, without actually having to serve a purpose. So after a while of this going on, there were a bunch of young people who decided, fuck that. We want emotion to be important again! Among those people were for example Ghoete and Schiller, two names you might know, because they’re kind of famous. So there were these young men (and they were almost exclusively men unfortunately) who started writing plays and poems which are based on extreme emotion and the idea of the natural genius (genius is a relative term here, the characters were still kinda dumb, but they were very poetic about it), instead of sticking nicely to the idea of reason. This era is called “Sturm und Drang” (roughly: storm and urge, these are really hard to translate. Also they’re names, so they’re not really supposed to be translated anyway). Now these young people weren’t young forever though, so they grew up at some point (or died, but you get the point). Both Goethe and Schiller decided at some point that that stuff they wrote was kinda cringy and started writing other things, more focused on harmony, beauty and (as in the Aufklärung) tolerance, as opposed to the more forceful and often tragic Sturm und Drang. This was then called the “Weimarer Klassik” (Weimar being the cultural centre of germany at the time and Klassik as in classic). And then after a while, a new generation of young people decided that that was dumb and started someting called the “Romantik” (romance, not necessarily as in love, but more as in romantifying things). In this time, people wrote about magic, myths and fairy tales, the less realism the better. So you see what’s happening here. One generation says: This is great! The next one says: Fuck that, I’ll make it as different as I can. That generation grows up and decides: eh, maybe let’s tune it down a bit. Then the next generation comes and says: Fuck no! again. Of course there are always some that stick to their style, but that’s the general idea.

Now, how does that apply to my musical idea? For that let’s look at Readceras for minute. Readceras was founded by a bunch of farmers, though there was a tiny elite, as we know because Waidwen managed to win some of them over, most people were pretty poor. Poor people usually don’t have the time or recourses for literature or painting, with music, especially singing, being the most accessable form of art. That’s not to say that farmers don’t make art, weaving and the painting of furniture was a thing for example, but the poorer the people, the less they have to use, even when it’s winter and they’d have time, and Readceras was just pisspoor. Singing doesn’t really need anything, and instruments are reusable if they somehow managed to get one. So chances are, Waidwen and his generation grew up with music as their main form of art. Then the Godhammer happened, which sucked big time for them, and they probably wanted to distance themselves as much as possible from the time before Waidwen and idealize him, which in all likelihood lead to art changing a lot as well.

Because here’s the thing, art doesn’t just move in cycles, it is also heavily influenced be societal and political happenings (but you probably knew that). For example: the literature era that followed (roughly, it began a bit before the other one ended) the Romatik was the “Biedermaier” (which is a surname and not translatable, you might now it from a furniture style though, that’s pretty big in Austria, not sure how it is where you live), which is a style that was heavily aimed inwards. It was mostly, look how happy my little family is, everything is great, nothing is happening, nothing at all, and could be mostly described as idyllic and quiant. That was, because it was a time of political regression, with the empire getting more authoritarian again and literature being heavily censored. So when Waidwen took the throne art probably already started changing, though he likely didn’t notice much of that as he was kind of busy being king and GOD, and with another traumatic event it would’ve changed even more. So it’s completely feasible that 20 years later the youth would decide to fuck all of that over and go back to find their roots, while changing what they find to fit their style. Admittedly the existance of elves mucks up the timeline a bit, but since the largest group of people there are human anyway, I’ll ignore that. Also, in context with the fanifc I’m writing this for, the timeline is helped by the fact that my Watcher is an Eothas priestess. Might sound weird, but hear me out. Favaen came to the Dyrwood as a missionary, and though she got sidetracked a bit, that was still her end goal. So after everything was over and she was well established as Taynu of Caed Nua, she made it into a sanctuary for Eothasians started to spread the faith there again. Of course she didn’t achieve too much in 5 years, but she set a trend. With Adaryc spreading word about her in Readceras, that would’ve had an effect there too, at least insofar that the Dyrwood wasn’t completely off limits anymore and leading especially young people who hadn’t lived through the war to be more curious about it.

Now, why would the older people not like that? Well for one, it’s different, and different is bad in Readceras. Also, it reminds them of a time both worse and better. Worse, as in the Aedyran colonial times (because I refuse to belive that Waidwen didn’t change the economy at least a little for the better), and better when their god literally walked among them, which he doesn’t anymore, so it rubs salt into that wound.

Then how can they get away with putting it on at all? That I can answer with absolute certainty, because it is entirely rooted in canon. The Ladies of the Aviary. Worshippers of Hylea which work explicitly to help artists portray their art and avoid censoring. They convince higher up people, or if they cannot be convinced, help the artists avoid detection. They don’t discriminate between good and bad art, and only seek to spread it unchanged and as the artist intended.

And while we’re on worshippers of Hylea, the church of Hylea is known to comission plays and poems about Eothas and Waidwen, specifically as a way to mourn their dissapearance, which certainly had a hand in the musicals creation.

For the last point: why does Waidwen like it? Now, aside from a personal preference I just made up, we established that Waidwen grew up with music. While the rest of his generation may have distanced themselves from that sort of art, Waidwen never had the chance to grow up so to speak. His death was one of the factors in the changing of art and so he never got to experience that. Yes I had to end this post on a sad note.

Thank you for listening to my TED talk that I basically just did because I wanted to rant about literature for a bit.

Here the Soundtrack It’s on Youtube cause I don’t have Spotify. The last song was added after the events of Deadfire btw

#Pillars of Eternity #Waidwen #essay #kinda #Saint Waidwen The Musical #tl:dr young people be doing new shit #also i just love the idea

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