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mashas-rotting · 6 months

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The Slytherin Princess

Chapter 1

Disclaimer, Everyone is 18+ in year 8 or 9 (Au where hogwarts has the option to go till year 10) MINORS LEAVE NOW

Tom riddle/reader

Chapter Warnings: pain, blood, orgasms at odd times, blood purity and discrimination, afab reader, orgasm count down (other chapters will have more warnings) maybe dead dove?? I don't think it's that bad but who knows

Description. Reader is a muggleborn Slytherin (with a pain kink among others) that pisses Tom off. She's given a week of detention where Tom terrorizes her. A fight leads her exposing some of her familial magic. After she confesses she's a pure blood but for reasons she doesn't say she has to keep it a secret. Tom agrees to an unbreakable vow and doesn't tell anyone either. He tries to forget about her after that but they are drawn to each other.

Y/n was sitting in potions bored and counting down the minutes till defense against the dark arts. Potions are fine, but they're just math at the end of the day, once you learn the formulas for the basics you can figure the rest out on your own. Defense against the dark arts is spontaneous, when the professor isn't a twat. It felt like true art to duel. Y/n always her toned magic down in school though, the professors get annoying if you show off. Most of the other Slytherins had no problem giving it their all especially since they heard you are a muggleborn.

As if on que, a paper plane slams into your h/c hair and explodes in green glitter, covering you and falling into your potion causing a small fire. You try to put it out quickly but professor Slughorn notices and sends you to the nurse to check for side effects after he puts out your cauldron.

On your way back to the dorms you pass Avery who smirks and says, "I figured you could use something to distract from your mudblood at the party tonight. Sadly, it seems the fire was out out before it could fix anything." He laughs and continues "I suppose if you put lipstick on a pig, it's still just a pig." You smile politely and calmly reply, "Very true. It's like when your parents pay the school to put you in the advanced defense against the dark arts, but you still repeatedly lose to a mudblood." Hs eyes burn through you with a rage and he draws his wand.

"I'd take ten points from your house for starting fights with upperclassmen, but I'd hate to punish the rest of Slytherin for your lack of etiquette. detention miss l/n. a week." Tom interrupts the two of you. Fuck. The last thing you needed was a week with the boy who hated you the most. The perfects took shifts holding detention each week and you were sure he'd see to it that he had this week. You'd never been paired against him in a duel but you suspected he was the only one you wouldn't have to hold back against. Tom turned to Avery and clenched his jaw before speaking. "It would serve you and those you associate with well to keep a low profile. I will not tell you again avery."

And that was how you ended up sitting in the transfiguration classroom with Riddle. "You'll be doing 5 write offs, then you may go to your dormitory." Tom said with a smile that made you uneasy. He'd always been handsome, dark curls, pale skin, almost black eyes, but his cruelty ruined any chance of an attraction. "What is the catch?" You ask carefully sitting down at a deck and pulling out your quill. Tom leaned over your desk slightly and handed you his own quill. "Use this one." Was his only reply. So you started coping the sentence he had written on the chalkboard.

"I will not start fights at Hogwarts with anyone, especially not with upperclassmen."

You got to the word "not" when a sharp pain on your wrist stopped you. Pushing your sleeve back you reveal the same words, in your handwriting, etched into your flesh as if by a razor. You gasp and look up. your e/c eyes meet his and he raises a brow. "Is there a problem?" Bastard. It wouldn't scar, you could just drink a healing potion, but without alerting the nurse you could only get a basic version that would take days to fully heal it and you wouldn't be able to get it till tomorrow. Of course he knew this, and of course he knew you'd never go to the nurse as that would be a sign of weakness.

"Not at all." You say with a smile, then continue writing "start fights at Hogwarts with anyone, especially not with upperclassmen." You rushed through. One. Each slice sending a new wave of pain through you. It wasn't too bad, it actually.... no it was just pain. You could separate this from other emotions. Regardless of what you told yourself, you were shifting in your seat. The room seemed to be getting hotter.

"I will not start fights" Your breathing was getting deeper. "at Hogwarts" Merlin help you. "with anyone" a shiver ran through you, your eyes glued to the paper. "especially not with upper class men." Two. There was a growing ache between your legs. You were in an internal battle to write faster and finish quicker, or write slower and feel it longer.

"I will not start fights" Your knees pressed together subconsciously. Did this fucker know what this was doing to you? you looked up to find riddles eyes locked onto you. His expression was blank. "Is it proving too difficult miss l/n?" Good, he doesn't realize. "No sir." Toms eyes darken at your reply. "Very well, finish quickly then." You hoped that wouldn't be happening. "At Hogwarts with anyone, especially" Shit shit shit. You could feel the dampness of your panties. Maybe you could use a cleaning spell without him realizing before you leave. "Not with upper classmen." Three.

Perhaps he wasn't the worst person you've ever met? Maybe this was a gift. Maybe he knew about your bloodline. "I will not start fights at Hogwarts with anyone, especially not with upperclassmen." Four. You whimper. Fuck you hope he didn't hear you. "What was that?" Tom asks, his face would appear genuinely concerned to anyone else, but you knew he intended to hurt you. "Nothing." You breathe the reply. Tom goes back to reading his book and you try to even your breathing and resist the urge to rock in your seat.

One left, you could do this. "I will not" your body felt like it was on fire. You wanted more. "Start fights at" you bit your lip to keep from making any noise. "Hogwarts with anyone" almost there. "Especially not with upperclassmen." Five. Electricity shot through you and you clenched you legs together as you came, biting your lip so hard you tasted blood. Waves of pleasure wrecked you until slowly, your body relaxed and pleasure faded and all you could feel was the sting of your forearm.

Once your breathing was under control you stood up putting your purse in your seat. Hopefully that would soak up any... mess... "Will that be all for today?" You ask. Tom closes his book. "Show me." You hand him the paper and he shakes his head. "Your wrist miss l/n." Asshole. You hold out your wrist to him and he looks at it for what seems like longer than he should. "I'm glad to see you can follow basic instructions. Yes, that will be all for today. Do not think tomorrow will be this easy. you may leave me now. " Gods he's such a dick.

You didn't know if you were more pissed at him for what happened or embarrassed by your own behavior. But that night you were thankful for the pain on your wrist/forearm.

#reader insert #tom riddle smut #tom riddle #pain kink #blood #harry potter #slytherin #fanfiction #smut

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karmatheprowlthra · 1 month

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Fuck it, today I'm going to go much more in depth about Karma, his backstory (kind of), his abilities and his personality.

CW: Fatal vore mentions, blood/gory images.

There ARE elements of safe/soft vore in this post but they're a little overshadowed by the darker stuff, I think. Don't read if it's not your thing

This post is the first lore-heavy one I'm making, and it's a decently long one.

Important terms to remember:

Ashrya/Ashryen: Karma's Nation, Western Forces

Mioshkal: A coalition of 5 countries, Ashrya's enemy, Eastern Forces

The Nexus Frontier/Borderworld: a new dimension and Karma's current battlefield

Prowlthra: Karma's species, large powerful felines

Biography

Personal Details:

Birth Name: Kairo Oshiro

Nickname(s): Karma, The Fucking Big One

Species: Prowlthra (Chilled Brute Variant)

Height: 8'6" (may be subject to change soon)

Weight: 700lbs (may be subject to change soon)

Gender: Identifies as male (he/they)

Sexuality: Asexual/Biromantic

Physical Features

Karma is a tall, imposing creature that looks similar to a tiger, called a Prowlthra. His fur is black, with gray patches stretching across his front from his muzzle to about mid-thigh, as well as one on the end of his tail. He has red stripes that glow with bioluminescence, including markings under his eyes.

His eyes are black with piercing red pupils. His insides are a blackish-gray. He has round fluffy ears, and his tail is nearly 3 meters long, dexterous and powerful.

When angered, retractable crystalline quills erupt from his back, as well as retractable razor sharp ridges and blades in his tail, triceps, knees, wrists and knuckles. Both quills and ridges are black with red edges/tips.

TIME FOR LORE SHIT

History

Karma was born in the year 227 AIE in the Snowcrown Mountain Range under the birth name Kairo Oshiro. He lived in the cavern cities of his species, the Prowlthra, until he left the mountain range at the age of 17. Having left with the intent of becoming a soldier, he received a small chemical dose from a bioengineer that would turn his future markings blood red, the color that symbolizes a specialty in combat within Prowlthra society.

(Pictured above is the northern hemisphere; Ashrya is the continent on the left, while Mioshkal is the continent on the right)

Upon leaving home in the year 244 AIE, he enlisted in the Ashryen military, specifically the Army, and was subsequently sent to an infantry battalion stationed in his providence, Northeastern Halotakla, after his training was complete.

Later that year, a coalition of Eastern Forces from the Mioshkal continent launched an invasion across Ashrya's eastern and northern coasts. Their exact reasoning is unknown, but many believe it was inspired by panic due to rapidly diminishing resources. Karma's battalion was pressed into immediate service to drive back the invading forces.

The war raged for the next six years, front lines continuously pushing and pulling as nations fought for dominance. Karma received a promotion and began to develop leadership skills, as well as a growing fondness for ambush tactics; many times he would pounce on patrolling enemy squads from the darkness and drag them off, screaming, one-by-one. It got him a reputation as a demon of the night, a ghost story or myth in many places across the battlefront. His tactics began to take on more aspects of inspiring terror to shatter enemy morale.

In 250 AIE, the Ashryen Science Division was able to successfully open a portal to a place initially dubbed the Borderworld, later renamed the Nexus Frontier. Mioshkal, having had spies within Ashryen's government and research teams, was able to replecate their results within weeks. Both sides realized that the Nexus Frontier has far more resources available than their respective territories and moved in to claim as much as they could. Given the environments and extreme dangers of the new dimension, however, specialized military branches had to be developed to traverse and fight within the borderworld. Within the Ashryen, this new branch became known as the Halitzka Corps.

Karma put in his papers and was quickly transferred to the Halitzka Corps as an Advanced Sergeant, with Sergeants Demetri Haldera and Inaya Vallen reporting to him. Over the next four years up to 254 AIE, the squad grew and shrunk but eventually settled with 5 members under Karma's command: Demetri, Inaya, Jun, Reo, and Vasya.

Karma has huge nutritional needs and has to consume a lot to meet standards. Before he left his native mountain range he consumed primarily wild animals gained from hunting, but when the war began he had to start taking enemy soldiers for sustenance due to lack of remaining wildlife in his area of operations. When the conflict shifted to the borderworld, the local fauna was either too dangerous to hunt or too nutritionally deficient, so Karma's diet switched entirely to whatever enemies he could hunt. Most of them died painlessly prior to consumption, but some who were captured for severe crimes received far more painful deaths melting. Karma reached a point where for every one prey he held safely, another 4 melted to sustain his nutritional needs.

(Pictured above is an early version of Karma in his combat uniform. The design has since been changed, but it shows an excellent example of Karma's brutality and methods)

Personality

Like I've mentioned in the past, Karma is extremely overprotective, going out of his way to keep his tinies safe. The one exception is on the battlefield; as soldiers, their role is to fight. Karma will watch their backs and keep them out of danger in the event that they're wounded or disabled, but will otherwise leave them to their responsibilities. He's a good leader that trains his soldiers to take care of themselves, and to come to him when they can't.

That said, protection is a two-sided coin. One side is the big cuddly sweetheart, the one who takes you in and gives you a hug or noms you so you can hide away from your problems. The other is the actions you have to take to keep danger away from your protectee.

Nature designed Karma to be a killer just as much as a protector. He has no shortage of abilities to mess your day up and he has the personality to match.

As a soldier, Karma balances priorities between keeping his subordinates safe and making sure his enemies are dead. He tends to have an aggressive approach to combat, getting involved with claws and fangs. He tears out throats, slashes enemies to bloody shreds and makes sure they won't ever prove to be a threat to his loved ones. When he's hungry, he'll find lone or paired Mioshkal soldiers and pick them off as snacks.

It is important to note that Karma has a brutal digestion process. He tends to kill his prey before he melts them, via a variety of mostly painless methods. This is not the case for every prey he has.

On days when Karma doesn't get sent out for one operation or another, he has to make do with what's available on-base. 90% of the time this means prisoners; the high security prison with the worst individuals (weapons dealers, narcotics dealers, traffickers, war criminals, etc) has Karma coming in to eat so often that the soldiers guarding it have nicknamed it "Karma's Snack Locker". These prisoners, the ones who have caused pain and suffering throughout their world, die brutal deaths in Karma's stomach. They melt, burn, suffocate, boil and are usually crushed. Karma enjoys this process, not because of the violence and brutality but because of his role in painfully removing scum from the world.

(commissioned from an artist I connected to through a mutual friend)

Karma is a hunter by nature. He stalks, he prowls, he pounces and slashes and bites. He's very good at it, especially against sentient beings thanks to many years of practice. If he catches you, how you're dealt with depends on how you react. Most cases will result in him gulping you down, and if you stay quiet and remain still he'll just hold you and take you with him back to his base as a low-tier prisoner (who are treated quite well). If you fight back and squirm, he'll squeeze you into submission or let you exhaust yourself, or stun you with a sudden burst of bioluminescence (like a flashbang, but without the bang).

The real tricky bit is when you sneak a weapon in. He'll always catch if you have a gun on you, but you can sneak knives and claws in fairly easily; however, Karma's insides are as tough as his outsides. Sharp things won't be able to puncture too deep before they're stopped outright; once that happens, you get squeezed down and melted alive for your defiance. Karma's insides are full of glowing scars from the many prey who have tried this in the past.

It's stories like this, and Karma's habit of hunting, that cause fear to spread within enemy ranks. For example, I have a character named Soha. He's a former Mioshkal infantryman with bad luck. While on a patrol, his fireteam was ambushed by Karma and his soldiers, who slaughtered everyone but Soha thanks to Mioshkal reinforcements arriving in the nick of time. However, Karma continued to haunt Soha for several more days before eventually destroying Soha's duty station and pursuing him into the forest.

Soha, in an attempt to escape, tried fleeing across a frozen lake and broke through the ice. After a moment of consideration, Karma followed and rescued him, carefully returning him to the surface and warming him before gulping him down to keep him safe.

This is where Karma's overprotectiveness flips back to the other side of the coin. Karma doesn't like to kill enemy soldiers who flee out of fear. He makes an effort to calm Soha and relaxes him for a while before taking him back to base. After a few months in a very nice prison cell, some rehabilitation efforts and daily visits from Karma, Soha became a defector and a secondary medic for Karma's squad.

Not all stories have happy endings, however. Soha still wakes up from nightmares of seeing Karma's glowing red eyes in the darkness, or the flash of teeth and spray of blood as the Prowlthra sinks his fangs into Soha's former squadmate. It causes him significant distress, and he rarely let's Karma eat him (though he does tolerate cuddles as long as Karma is gentle).

Abilities

Strength: Karma weighs 700lbs (currently) on his own. He can carry up to 300lbs of prey (though he doesn't like to carry more than 200 or so most of the time) and 400lbs of equipment with ease, while still being able to flip a light armored vehicle. He can crush bones, including skulls, with one hand and has a bite force of nearly 2200psi.

Digestive System: Karma has retractable fangs, a hinged jaw, a flexible throat and a two-stomach digestive system. The upper stomach is safe and rather spacious, while the lower is tight and full of hot water (which he can actually use to make his upper gut a sauna, as I explained in a previous post). An organ full of water surrounds his lower gut, allowing him to hydraulically crush prey inside. Likewise, he can also fill either gut with an oxygen/nitrogen mix (suitable for most creatures to breath) or withdraw that air at will, causing prey to breathe or suffocate accordingly. He can choose to withdraw specific components of the air like the oxygen, causing a prey to breathe pure nitrogen. As a result, they just start to feel sleepy, then go unconscious and die painlessly. This is how he kills most prey to spare them suffering.

Natural Armor: Karma's fat behaves more like a non-Newtonian fluid than most things. Soft movements can squish and knead it like dough with relative ease (tummy rubs are something Karma enjoys a lot uwu). Sharp impacts like those from bullets will cause it to harden, allowing him to outright tank most small caliber weapons. Medium calibers like those for rifles will penetrate but only a limited amount, usually a mere flesh wound. Larger calibers like those for mounted weapons will cause significant damage. This armor behaves on the inside just as it does on the outside, which is why prey with knives tend to fail at harming him; after their first strike fails, they are often crushed or suffocated by Karma before they can test soft cuts instead.

Hunter's Vision: Karma naturally has a second pair of eyelids that are tailored toward a different spectrum of light. When he squints, his vision switches to thermal vision, allowing him to see heat signatures of his prey. This lets him see through smoke, dust and darkness with ease. He also has two pairs of pupils. The first is his normal red set, geared toward regular vision. A second thicker pair resides in the dark portion of his eyes, capable of compounding his vision to see incredibly far! With his compounding vision and complicated brain, he is capable of plotting immense leaps and pounces to subdue his prey.

Dual Claws: Karma has two sets of claws per paw, an upper set and a lower set. The upper set is far sharper and equipped with neurotoxin glands, designed for combat. The lower set is strong but slightly duller, designed for climbing!

Neurotoxins: Karma can produce a neurotoxin in his fangs and sets of combat claws, which is difficult to produce but punishing to receive. Grade 1 (15 seconds to produce) neurotoxin will give the prey a light buzzing feeling, acting like a light narcotic to some. Grade 2 (30 seconds) is about equal to an anesthetic, causing numbness and/or sleepiness. Grade 3 (1.5 minutes) will cause temporarily paralysis. Grade 4 (6 minutes) will begin to cause permanent paralysis, especially in limbs. Grade 5 (30 minutes) will cause complete paralysis and imminent death. Anything beyond grade 5 is overkill and too time/energy intensive for Karma's body to produce in any necessary capacity. Regardless, a bite or a scratch is all it takes for Karma to bring a prey down.

Quills/Blades: The Prowlthra are a silicate-based species instead of a carbon-based one. Thanks to some unique genetic adaptations, most Prowlthra will grow sharp crystalline spines or quills on their backs, particularly from the base of the neck to mid-back. These kills will raise in anger and can regenerate if broken off; they're also very sharp when they shatter, so an enemy unfortunate enough to get stuck with one will find they have a considerable amount of bad lacerations to deal with. These crystalline spines are partially retractable and lay down flat when not in use. Likewise, retractable crystalline blades grow in the tail, triceps, knuckles, wrists and knees are also common (you can see some in the art where Karma ate Space).

Speed: Karma, while having slow acceleration, can reach very high speeds over open ground. This is both a strength and a weakness; he can't turn for shit once he gets up to speed.

Senses: Between his eyes, excellent hearing and powerful scent trackers, Karma is an incredible hunter that is difficult to throw off your trail. What he lacks in speed, he makes up for in persistence. You can run, but you can't hide.

Finally, to end on a light note, we're gonna discuss some of the more niche but fun details about Karma! It's been a long post with lots of violence so we need some cheering up uwu

Karma's favorite hobbies are eating (regular food) just for tastes, sleeping (usually on the floor), messing with parts to see what he can make (he's no engineer but he tries) and checking up on everyone he knows. He makes extra effort to check up on every soldier under his command after each mission, and will cuddle, nom or just talk to whoever is dealing with stress.

Karma's insides are very plush and very comfortable! His body is naturally warm so he's a good place to relax when cold, even by normal pred standards.

Finally, you know the thing where cats will get big eyes and pounce and bap if you move your foot beneath a blanket? About 10% of the time, as long as he's not hyperfocused on making sure you feel safe and comfortable, Karma will sometimes try to bap at anything squirming in his belly. Any bulge outward will immediately get smacked with a big paw, leading to many games of whack-a-mole started by Space when he's just chilling in Karma belly.

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And that's about it! I know this one is a bit of an infodump but I figured I might as well get it out there.

Also yeah the backstory is shaky and the map looks like shit, I know XD

#aiyk worldbuilding #karma's characters #oc: karma #nsx vore #vore talk #e a/t #implied fatal #digestion #soft vore #safe vore

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ashleyfableblack · 9 months

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The royal family cuddled in the gentle serenity of their New Canterot bedchamber. Chrysalis' forelimbs draped protectively over Twilight's much smaller form, her favorite way to sit together. Twilight nestled in the nook of her wife's lap, enjoying the cool of her chitinous body. Her mane waved about lazily in the currents of her power. The navy tresses lapped at the satin of Chrysalis' nightie producing a soothing, almost musical hiss, not unlike the relaxing spray of the ocean. The serenity of their love was only interrupted by the tiny changeling larva dangling awkwardly from her mother's horn.

Twilight giggled. She struggled to not go cross-eyed as their offspring flailed about, inches from her face. Their peace was idyllic. Chrysalis flicked her serpentine tongue. She was as much tasting the emotions in the air as she was taunting the little larva. It returned the gesture with a tiny playful hiss. "Do you want to know what she's thinking?" Twilight's wings ruffled in surprise. "What? But she's just a larva, barely out of her first molt. I thought she couldn't contact the hive mind just yet?"

"It's true, her mind is unformed, more a series of scattered impressions and feelings" Chrysalis regarded the tiny little face with a tilt of her head. "but they are there, nonetheless." Twilight craned her neck to look back to her wife, carefully mindful of the infant changeling perched on her horn. The curiosity in her violet eyes was offset by the comedy of the flailing wiggleworm. "But without conscious thought, how? I thought the hive mind required a level of clarity they didn't possess until their nymph stage?" Chrysalis leaned forward to touch her snakelike snoot to the tiny charge chittering back at her. Her lips raised into a slight smile as the larva patted at her muzzle, nipping ferociously with fangs the size of quill nibs. "Think of it as walking through a forest at night. The many other minds of the hive walk by or rest in the trees. Creatures such as little..." "Sooty Cutie" Chrysalis raised an inky razor-fine eyebrow. "Yes..." Twilight grinned playfully at her wife's annoyance. Chrysalis rolled her eyes with a chuckle. Twilight respected their differences, loved her changeling family for them but she did feel the bizarre need to give all their daughters ridiculous little pony names. "Little Sooty Cutie here is like a... fog, a patch of mist you walk by- or through. Swirling about your hooves, grasping for attention- more of a presence than a persona but still, her existence has effect, if not purpose." Twilight tilted her head back, drawing the dangling little grub closer to her face. She gasped in mock terror at the beaming face as tiny forelimbs clasped onto her muzzle and fangs nipped and nibbled. "Did you hear what she said? Your momma said you don't have a purpose!" She wiggled her head, gently shaking her child about like a sailor on a stormy shipdeck. The tiny life chittered gleefully. "You have a purpose. Yes you do! It's being so cute. Being so cute to your mommas." Chrysalis watched them play together, the smile broadening on her chitinous cheeks. Twilight was so unlike any of her pony kind, detached in many ways, distant, as is required of a ruler. Yet even so, for being so collected, so factual and practical, Twilight held such incredible depth of feeling, compassion, love. Watching her go 'baby-crazy' like this was adorable. Twilight paused. "I'd like that very much, yes." Chrysalis gave her pony wife a squeeze and sighed dreamily. "Your voice sounds funny. Your coat feels pleasant to her crochets. Your horn is fun and your magic hums like a heartbeat..." she pressed her chitinous lips to her pony lovers ear in a whispering kiss. "She loves you. You're her queen- and her mother." This was their family.

They should have always been like this.

#my art #mlp g4 #mlp au #twisalis #twilight sparkle #queen chrysalis #changeling larvae #love #lesbian #lgbtq #family #interracial couples #interracial family #eternal courtship #ashleyfableblack #traditional art #pencil drawing

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totaleclipse573 · 9 months

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Infinite has A LOT of hair. It gets to the point where its so much, he needs to find a way to deal with it, or not have it be in the way all the time.

Rouge wants to put him in fancy hairstyles bc he has the hair for it. He tries to avoid this at all costs, its just not for him

Shadow probably just passes him a hair comb and that's about it. A simple solution to a simple problem. Infinite grumbles it him for not being much help.

Eclipse proposes he cuts most of it off, mainly just because it would be funny to see. Being the chaotic little child he is, Eclipse sneaks up on Infy at random points of the day with a razor or something and tries to use it XD

Knuckles tells him he could tie it up into a ponytail or something. That's what he sometimes does with his...dreads? (what even ARE those??? They're not quills so what are they???) Surprisingly, that was a good idea. Infinite has his hair tied up into a ponytail more often than not now.

#chaos family au #sonic the hedgehog #infinite the jackal #rouge the bat #shadow the hedgehog #eclipse the darkling #knuckles the echidna #guys do you see my vision #i love them all so much #ponytailfinite supremacy

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breemationfun · 8 months

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Fact: The first drawing of Razor was made by me searching up the game"Megaman powered up", tracing megaman, giving him the color scheme and headshape of cut- man, making his spikes sonic's quills, and making his eyes the letter x across his face-

He was then nerfed into this in the span of 2-3 years. (Recent art)

@lunaglitchercc @kn1ghtr1dersthings

#originality #rpdworld

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floofgryph · 4 months

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Eighth OC for the Liam & Co Universe

Name: Olympiodoros

Species: Fairy

Birthday: Unknown (he doesn’t talk about it)

Age: 72 (chronologically), between 19 and 27 (biologically)

Sexuality: Demisexual

Occupation: Lóegaire’s henchman, woodworker (formerly, he might go back to it one day), prepress technician for The Cockcrow Gazette

Abilities: He can grow two pairs of spindly arms with razor-sharp claws from his back and he uses them to handle people and other things from a distance. He’s able to create portals to wherever he desires, but he has to vividly remember the place he wants to instantly travel to. Due to his extreme agility and speed, he can easily evade projectiles and obstacles and run noticeably faster than a cheetah at 0 to 42 miles per hour. As a fairy, he can use his insectoid wings to fly, and he’s able to teleport 10-20 ft away. He can turn himself invisible for about 2 hours and he possesses selective omniscience that is narrowed down to all of nature.

Personality: Olympiodoros is a reserved and prudently watchful individual who has difficulty trusting unfamiliar people. He’s quick-witted and has extraordinary reflexes, allowing him to think or respond quickly and effectively. He often prefers to take advantage of other people’s weaknesses in order to finish his tasks or give what he secretly wants. Olympiodoros usually appears to be unflinching and emotionless due to his stoic nature, which means that he endures hardship without showing his true feelings. He’s steadfast and possesses greater knowledge than his two most trusted coworkers, Achashwerosh and Božidar. As a result of this, he’s capable of making good judgements and firm decisions based on his current situation. He can be quite persistent in certain situations, especially if he wants to successfully perform his duties. He possesses unwavering obedience and he’s willing to do almost anything that is politely asked of him. Olympiodoros can be fairly snarky and critical of others in regards to things that he obviously doesn’t believe and/or care about. There are moments where he’s uncompromisingly forthright, but he often tries to keep his opinions to himself. He’s often calm and sensible in most situations as he’s well aware that rampant aggression will only cause trouble and unnecessary harm. His mind isn’t plagued by illusions and pretensions, which helps him to remain practical and realistic. He’s a tactful perfectionist, meticulously ensuring that his plans go right and tries to decrease the likelihood of anything going wrong.

Likes: Contemplating existence, his eldest daughter’s flower crown, his family, playing darts, and woodworking.

Dislikes: Those who try to hurt his family and friends, sizeism, dark forests, genetically modified organisms (GMOs), and porcupine quills.

Physical and outfit appearance: His height is about 4’ 10” (147.23 cm) and he has an ectomorphic body type with slightly broad shoulders and slim arms. His skin is a shady lady with a light orchid lustre and he has three moles: the first one is on his right eyelid; the second one is on the middle of his left cheek, and the third one is on the left side of his collarbone. He has slightly rounded eerie black claws and talons, toad-like warts covering his back, and medium-length, straight platinum blonde hair. He also has zambezi eyes, large wings that are designed similarly to black-bellied hornet, and pointed ears.

His most iconic part of his outfit is a large fur coat made from bison and it covers most of his body except for his head. Underneath his fur coat is a pair of wild willow pantaloons, a juniper waistcoat with horizontal sea nymph stripes, and a frost shirt. He occasionally wears a flower crown that his eldest daughter made for him and it consists of Hierochloe odorata, lavender, Paeonia × suffruticosa, poet’s daffodil, and Tagetes erecta. He has two rings on his right hand: a gold engagement ring with a radiant diamond on his right ring finger; and a wedding band on his right ring finger.

Equipment: Throwing knives, a photograph of him and his family, a lighter, a Lancaster pistol, and a jar of honey with a little spoon.

Family:

An unnamed father

An unnamed mother

An unnamed step-mother

An unnamed wife

Nymphadora (daughter)

Aristomache (daughter)

Evaristus (son)

Biography: He was born into a simple, nature-loving family from the Aicexutis Kingdom where his father was a royal guard and his mother was a biologist. His parents would get a divorce due to reasons he doesn’t want to talk about and his father would marry his step-mother. Olympiodoros’ father originally wanted him to become a warrior, but his step-mother noticed his passion for woodworking. She actively encouraged him to pursue his dreams as a famous woodworker. His father struggled to accept it at first, but he eventually learned how to come to terms with his son’s personal talents. By 27, he moved out of his parents’ home and established himself as a successful woodworker. When he was turning 41, he met his future wife and would eventually marry her after a year of dating. They would have three children named Nymphadora, Aristomache, and Evaristus respectively. He lived a wonderful life with his family, but he slowly lost interest in woodworking. It made things difficult for him and he decided to search for another profitable job. After a few days, he came across The Cockcrow Gazette and Lóegaire took personal interest in him. He convinced him to join his cause in exchange for a profitable job and he accepted it, becoming a prepress technician for The Cockcrow Gazette.

@ask-liam-and-co

#writerscorner #writing #creative writing #original character #fairy #magic #henchman #might go through a couple of changes and add ons but let's see

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spottedenchants · 1 year

Text

attempt 9: a curiosity

friend, companion, apple to your orange, you…

love him. you love him. it would be… simplistic, at this point, to ignore the thread of indelible connection so blistering and brumal and trussed taut between you that it can incidentally be shortnamed as ‘love’. but that bafflingly frigid tether, intangible yet tangled, it is not alone on the loom housed in your ribs.

so, then. one thing at a time.

why must this all be so hard?

the feeling in your chest is called ‘love’, so you think. that’s nice; you can stake that claim.

several many leaved vines climb the post, curl, further readying themselves to bloom.

pleased, you leave them be.

keeping your trowel, you stay working your garden, weeding and pruning with gifted gloves and a sunhat.

somewhere, a flock of birds sing.

through which plot of thought do you dig?

you do care, dearly, both for and about him.

in sickness, in heath. in similar pains of flesh and heart and mind. in differing joys spun by memory and present time. in presence. in absence.

by choice. as always, by choice.

and he cares for you- about you, too. so do they all and you them. what a delight it is, to miss and be sorely missed in return. it’s a rich life that they’ve offered, that you’ve accepted; succulent, well-prepared, modest yet fulfilling. you have a family, no had to be had, but now you’re entrenched in one anew.

you are ready for any surprise.

so you do let him love you.

it’s a lovely thing, to trust so deep, a willingness that catches in your bared teeth like greens. unbecoming, evidence of preference. something you can readily, excitedly laugh through with the ease of sincerity.

you’ve watched; you’ve learned; and my, how your face can ache; sweet-orange tang attacks the hinge of your jaw, a fair price to pay for making many smiles from a lone rind. a delicious grin bitter only in literal flavor, their potluck love quite suits your acquired tastes.

what is it that sets him apart?

you bask in his touch. indulgent, heat. thrilling, pressure. together, honey, metamorphic in your veins your nerves your lungs; you’ve never known a warmth quite like this- but so it goes in all instances; so it goes for all else. nothing but everything is new, amusing, enthralling, so what distinguishes one known novelty from the next? each heartcount tick, each stutter of air… once again you’ve passed a desperate second; you’ve come to learn how to breathe.

you lie in your truth, floating for a quiet moment, before cracking a new joke, oh so silly.

and he holds your heart with a laugh, sweet as a siren song.

success.

still, your mind swims.

you no longer shy from his stare. bright, ever so clever, he knew too much to stay, too little to flee, and what did that say about you? why would a backturned mirror care for another’s face once it chips, spiders, shatters against the seams of its own razor-veined web of damned lies?

dawn golden low in the sky, a spring-soaked harvest of hope once pled; fragments, too, can catch light.

in over your head and drowning, before, you thought no. no, never- never.

but now…

sky-wide and welcoming, shining in kind crescents, an outstretched hand smeared with rich earth…

yes.

now you can brave the sun’s gaze-

a sunrise, he cannot stay, not forever.

neither can you, nor the rest.

this is how the story goes; you have both set aside your glue-tack bones, your signatures left with half-folds; you’ve set alight your twine and spines, all in favor of sharing quills and the same metered pool of life’s ink. covers discarded, unbound sheaves await, your stack assumed higher than all- a generous supposition.

tabled and unnamed together, hands indivisible alive, you both write each, new, page.

fond days, long nights; sun and shadow stretch in cat tallies and clockwork candles, accompaniment to the dancing beats of your hearts.

contentment glows, bringing unaddressed concepts to light; you face a dog-eared inquiry head-on:

are you in love with him? are you in love with him?

‘you just know’, so they say. then- you aren’t if you don’t? just as you’ve opened your eyes to the spectrum of hues this wide world can offer, this is where black and white still rule? strange to say, but how much simpler this all was in your only birthland. bonds may last lifetimes, beyond; states of being weigh different from actions, the deepest stitches all threaded with choice.

maybe you’ve just missed a punchline. some grand cosmic joke. you’ve always had a particular sense of humor.

this answer is not satisfying.

#essek thelyss #shadowgast #ts!sg #chanse writing #poll weaving #tag for blacklisting ->#twdyoat #long post

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coffee-4-dinner · 20 days

Text

The Paladin and the Saint

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls - Oblivion

Scene: Hero of Kvatch kills Rufio at the Inn of Ill Omen

Hard rain battered the small wooden inn, tucked away along the forest roadside. Howling wind blew the squeaky, rusted old sign that hung by the door, a black raven and the words The Inn of Ill Omen carved carefully onto its face.

A small figure, cloaked in thin gray wool, cut swiftly through the grass and up the cobblestone path towards the inn. Entering, the wind pushed the wooden door, slamming behind her with the loud clanging of a bell.

“Hail!” A loud voice greeted her. An older man with thin blonde hair sat behind the counter in dingy light, smoking a pipe peacefully. He coughed as she approached, and squinted up at the guest. “Well I’ll be a spotted snow bear!” The man boomed. “A customer!” Kina flinched from the noise. He was the classic Nord- big, pale, and loud. Not unlike the snow bear, actually.

She kept her hood on, nervous eyes avoiding the man’s gaze. The less he saw her face, the better. “How much for a room?” Rain water dripped off curled black hair onto the countertop.

The innkeep coughed again, taking his feet down from the stool with a painful groan as he stood. “Oh, never grow old, lass. Ten Septims. I’ll throw in some bread and mead for three more.”

She silently passed over the gold coins, and he looked at her curiously. She was shivering intensely from the cold.

“Traveling alone, little miss? Off to the Imperial City I take it? Or is that where you’re heading from?”

“Yes. Visiting family,” she said shortly, not clarifying which it was.

The older man pushed a small pot of ink and quill towards her and she hesitated a short moment before scribbling a name into the heavy log book.

“Shouldn’t be traveling by yourself,” the man said kindly. “There’s brigands abound at every turn. But well, we got plenty of rooms, you can stay as long as you like! Don’t get too many guests all the way out here, as you can imagine…” He gave a wheezing, awkward chuckle when she didn't respond. “Ah, right well um, there's a room available right upstairs, first door on the left.”

The strange girl took the key from him wordlessly, her face expressionless, and swiftly headed up the stairs before he could engage her further in conversation.

The innkeeper shook his head, settling back down. This place seemed to get no one but weirdos.

Closing and locking the door behind her, Kina leaned against it with a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment. Alone, hidden and safe away from the city at last. She needed some time to think. Peeling off her soaked clothes, she threw them carelessly to a pile on the floor, pulling on a dry cotton shirt. Tousling her hair with a towel, she squeezed out the rain.

Feeling warmer already, she plopped down on the bed, crossing her legs as she rummaged through her pack. Withdrawing the Blade of Woe, she stared at the assassin’s gift, inspecting it clearly in the candlelight.

She ran her finger delicately along the dagger's razor edge, admiring its fine forging, its intricate gold detailing on ebony metal. “Beautiful…” she whispered.

But this was madness. The Dark Brotherhood? Working as an assassin? Who was she fooling? You’re a horse thief and a street rat, a skooma slinger and a pottery painter. Nothing more, nothing less. Surviving in the Arena pit was just luck, it had only been a matter of time before she was faced with someone more than just another terrified slave.

“You’re going to get yourself killed, you stupid little girl,” she whispered to herself.

She couldn’t relax, tense and anxious, she paced the small barren room, barely even taking notice of her surroundings. Memories swam through her head of the Arena. The roaring crowd screamed in her ears, their stomping feet shaking the wooden benches of the colosseum. Cheering for death, demanding blood. The look on the first girl’s face, a mirror of her own terror. What choice did she have? But this isn’t the Arena. You can walk away. You don't have to kill him. The Arena was self-defense, forced and in tears. Fights for survival, and a kill for freedom. But this… This would be murder, true murder. Kina wrung her hands. She needed to go to the bathroom. How long would it be til she dare return to the Imperial City? How long would the guards look for her? All her belongings… still in her mother’s house on the Waterfront, unreachable.

She took a deep inhale, giving a shaky long sigh. She tried not to feel the hangman’s noose close around her throat, or to imagine the planks beneath her splitting and giving way. If the guards caught her… Still, even death would be a blessing over being dragged back into that cage. That dim dungeon, with its nibbling squeaking rats. With that damn dunmer’s relentless, cruel mocking. And with them. With their rough laughter and dirty hands. She swallowed, feeling sick. She felt his calloused hand over her mouth again, the disgusting slimy wetness of forced tongues down her throat, their foul, hot liquored breath. She retched, stumbling to the dresser to shakily pour some dust filled, long sitting water, gulping it down.

The girl put a hand to her forehead. And what about this stranger? This Dark Brotherhood assassin. Was he lying? Could she trust his words? If she ran, would he kill her? She trembled as she pressed her fist into her mouth. She was entirely trapped. She had no idea what to do. She had nowhere to go. Terrified and alone, she was a child lost deep in the forest.

She stood there, still in the room for quite some time, listening to the rain fall quicken and hit her windows.

Choose now. Choose the rest of your life. Run, and keep running. Keep stealing, keep scraping by bit by bit. Gutter rat, and that was all she would come to. End up hanged, or to die an old pauper, to be buried in the dirt with no coffin.

For what? Honor? Innocence? Both had been stripped from her thoroughly.

The assassin’s earlier words came to mind, his velvety voice a seductive purr in her ear.

“Kill him. Innocence is life’s greatest illusion.”

This old man wasn’t innocent. Wanted for killing a young girl, he was in hiding from the law. The thought struck her for a moment. She and Rufio’s situations weren’t dissimilar.

The guards had failed to find him, but clearly, somehow, the Dark Brotherhood had. She thought of Lucien Lachance’s description of the father- that he had been on his knees, begging him for justice. “Should I have denied him this justice, this peace?”

“No, no you shouldn’t have,” she whispered aloud. Rufio had plenty reason to deserve to die.

Kina gazed at her reflection in the small, stained mirror propped up on the nightstand. The look in her pale blue eyes was not her own.

“I’m sorry Mama,” she whispered to herself quietly. “I just don’t want to end up like you.”

She had decided before she’d known she had. This was inevitable, and not even she could stop this now.

Alright.

She had to find Rufio.

Making herself as presentable as possible in the limited, dirty clothes she had, she practiced a disarming smile in the mirror before heading downstairs. “Showtime,” she whispered to herself. “Right girl?” Just like old times. Men were easy to fool, she shouldn’t worry.

The old wooden stairs creaked as she came back down to the tavern’s first floor. A woman was here now, an older Redguard with bushy brown hair, knitting at a table by the fireplace.

Plopping down casually on a stool at the bar, Kina struck up a casual conversation with the innkeep from earlier, who was now sweeping the room.

“Hey mister, can I get that mead now?”

He shrugged. “Sure, miss.”

“So, what's the story behind the sign?” she asked as he brought it to her. “Maybe you’d have better business if you changed it.”

The innkeep laughed, a deep hearty sound from his round belly. “It's a horrible name for an inn, I know.” He had a strong Nordic accent, distinct from the Imperials in the city. “But I just can't bring myself to change it. Besides, I like the sign.”

“I do too, actually. I like the raven.” Kina took a swig of the mead. Sweet. She looked down at the glass bottle, peeling its label. Her stomach tightened. Would this be the last thing she tasted?

“What's your name, anyways?” she asked, looking up at him with an innocent, friendly smile.

“Manheim. Manheim Maulhand, at your service my good lady,” he said good naturedly with a little bow.

“Maulhand?” Kina raised a playful eyebrow. “You’re full of bad names.”

“Ah, on account of this twisted old stump.” The innkeep waved his left hand, a mangled and gnarled ugly thing. “Gift from my old dog. You never would have guessed it too, he was such a good old boy…never would have hurt a fly. I don't understand it.”

Hm. So he wasn’t Rufio. Just another old man. Kina looked around the empty inn, at the woman sitting by the hearth. She looked up, meeting Kina’s gaze for a moment and smiling timidly before dropping it.

“Who’s she? I was beginning to think I was the only one here,” Kina joked.

“You are!” Manheim laughed. “Ain't nobody staying here. Well, ‘cept old Rufio. Minerva there lives up the hill. Says she got no place else to be though, comes ‘round a lot.” The innkeeper leaned a little close to her, a teasing twinkle in his eye. “I think the old gal is sweet on me.”

Kina smiled, but she barely heard a word past Rufio’s name.

“Who’s Rufio?” She asked as casually as she could, her heart pounding as she took another swig of mead.

“Bah, old codger. Been living here for a couple weeks now.” He leaned closer to the girl, lowering his voice. “If you ask me, he's hiding from something. But what do I care? He pays his tab.”

Kina hesitated to ask further. She would surely arouse suspicion when Rufio turned up dead. Before she could decide whether to ask anymore questions, Manheim took off to the back of the bar, carrying a tub of dirty dishes whistling cheerfully to himself.

Turning her attention to the Redguard woman, she waved hesitantly as they caught each other's eye, and the older woman nodded her over.

“Hello stranger,” the woman called as Kina approached, taking a seat at her table. “We don't get many visitors around here. The only people that stay here are stragglers on the Green Road.”

Kina flashed a rather sheepish smile. “Yeah, so I’ve heard…must get pretty boring.”

“Oh honey you have no idea,” the woman said. “Makes things pretty lonely for me, if you know what I mean,” she added flirtatiously. “It's good to see a young face around, this inn has been cheerless far too long.”

She introduced herself as Minerva, and it only took half a drink and a few honeyed words from Kina to have her spilling all of the personal business between Manheim and herself.

“Say,” Kina interrupted her irritating, meaningless babble, learning forward over the table to focus Minerva’s attention. “I think Manheim said there was someone else here?” She blinked innocently. “What was his name, Rex? Riley?”

“Oh you mean Rufio,” Minerva said, the disappointed change in her tone clearly indicating that she did not think highly of the absent tenant.

“Oh yeah, Rufio. So what’s he like? Isn’t he any fun?” Kina added with a cheeky grin, playing along with Minerva’s desire for gossip.

“By the Nine, no dear. Oh, there’s not a lot to tell. He doesn't much like company, and spends most of his time in his room. So don’t expect a warm reception if you try to talk to that old bore,” Minerva sniffed.

“Is he next to my room? I didn’t hear anyone else up there.”

The Redguard shook her head, gesturing dismissively over to a small wooden hatch in the floor that Kina hadn’t even noticed before, half hidden behind some large barrels. “His room is downstairs. Manheim calls it the Private Quarters but it’s really just the basement.”

Bingo.

Kina spent the rest of the hour entertaining Minerva and Manheim, laughing and smiling, but only half present. She had gotten all she had needed from them. Now they were just in the way.

At last, Minerva, having had enough drink and drama for one night, hugged Kina goodbye in an all too familiar way, staggering home. Manheim shook his head, walking her home, then exchanged goodnights with his new tenant and retired himself.

Kina feigned going to sleep herself, waiting a good hour before silently creeping back down the stairs. All was dark and quiet. Good.

Pulling the hatch up with some effort, she whispered a word of magic, fire sparking on her fingertips. She climbed down a ladder, and landed in a small dark cellar, lined with shelves of wine and bags of grain. A door on the opposite side beckoned her. Kina took a deep breath, then took the handle in her hand and turned. Locked, of course. Taking a knee to examine it, she withdrew a lockpick and made quick work of the amateur lock.

And then there he was. Rufio. A sleeping figure on the bed, turned away from her. Easing the door shut behind her ever so carefully, Kina crept towards the bed with a practiced thieves footing, his snoring masking her footsteps. She withdrew the assassin’s gift, the Blade of Woe flashing in her hand. Coming to stand next to the bed, she looked down at him, examining his face. Yes, this was surely him. The old man hiding in the Inn’s basement. The man wanted for killing someone’s daughter. A Breton, wrinkled and thin, nothing but a ring of white hair clinging to his scalp.

Standing over the old man a minute too long, she found herself paralyzed, uncertain as a child’s first steps. If she shoved this metal into his throat, would he really die? Would he wake, scream, overpower her? Could she stab him in the head, or would the skull be too strong to break? Should she cover his mouth? Stab him in the eye? How much strength should she use? Would she feel the flesh tearing, the bone and blood through the blade? How many times would it take? Should she stab or slash? Would blood spurt all over her? Would her fingers slip on the blade?

Overthinking will freeze you, she told herself. It was like thinking too hard about walking, the mechanics of it all, and suddenly finding yourself unable to take a step.

Just do it, do it. Whatever it takes, just get it done. Just make him dead.

Wiping off sweaty palms, she tightened her grip on the Blade of Woe. She lifted it above her head, ritualistic. A deep, shaky breath.

It’s you or him. You or him. Choose.

Down, the dagger plunged, the obsidian blade sinking into the old man’s soft flesh with ease like smooth butter. Rufio gasped, yellowed eyes bulging as he awoke in a panic, clutching a hand to his chest, bright red blood spreading across his linen shirt like a flower blooming. For a moment their eyes met and they stared at each other. Pushing his assailant away, he clumsily attempted to escape the bed. Sheets wrapped around his legs, tripping him to the ground.

Managing to scramble up as Kina faltered, unsure what to do, he pressed his back to the wall, a hand held to his bleeding chest.

"Who are you?” Rufio yelled. “What do you want? I ain't done nothin'!"

“Shh!” Kina hissed, holding a finger to her lips.

“Why, you…you’re not…are you? You’re just a girl…”

She stared at him. “Like the girl you killed, Rufio?”

“What? No, please. Please…I ain’t done nothin’” He repeated, a sure sign of the innocent.

He was beginning to back away, palms held up. “Just go away.”

"Look, look, I can pay you, ok? More than whatever Claudius is paying.” Rufio said shakily, as Kina approached slowly. “Name your price, anything, really!”

Claudius. The employer who Lucien had refused to reveal.

“You’re broke, Rufio. Everyone knows that. You’re on the run.”

"No, no I have gold! Hidden away, stacks of it!" He nodded eagerly, as if enthusiasm would help convince her. "I hid it, buried in the hills, just in case something like this happened. I'll give you all of it, I swear, you can have it all!"

"You're a liar, Rufio. A bad one."

“Oh, anything! Anything! Please, just let me live!"

Kina hesitated. “What is Claudius’ full name?” She asked.

“W- what?” Rufio blinked, confused. “C- Claudius Arcadia.”

She was curious, suddenly. Kina cocked her head at him, her gaze cold. “Apparently he’s in prison now, you know. For hiring the Dark Brotherhood, for performing the Black Sacrament.”

“Ye- yes, I've been reading the papers,” Rufio stuttered.

As usual, a brief jealous annoyance hit her. So he could read. Rich bastard.

“So do you feel guilty for that, or what?” The girl’s voice was flat, almost bored.

“What? Do I- ? Guilt?”

“Yeah, of course you don't. I don't think I will either, not really.” She said, adjusting her grip on the dagger and approaching him.

"No, wait! Please! I didn't mean to do it, you understand me?” Rufio cried. “She struggled! I... I told her to just stay still, but she wouldn't listen! I had no choice!"

The implication of Rufio’s words sunk into her, and Kina slowly turned to him, her teeth grit, lips twitching into a snarl, fury growing like fire in her stomach.

“Oh yeah? You want to rape me too, you dirty old bastard?"

"It wasn't like that!" He cried. "I swear, I- I told her! She just wouldn't listen to me!"

"Well Rufio, for the first time in too long, I do have a choice. And I won't stay still either. I choose this! You fucking die!”

She lunged, plunging the dagger deep into the man’s stomach, all the way to the hilt, growling in his face. Rufio choked, spitting out blood onto her shoulder. With Kina leaping back in disgust, the old man stumbled away from her, a hand held to his stomach, falling to the ground, he left a smeared handprint on the Inn walls.

“Manheim!” Rufio called raspily, weakly. “Manheim!” His hand caught the legs of a nearby stool, knocking it over, the clattering loud in the night.

Suddenly, everything was real again. This was murder. Prison was real. A noose was real. He was never supposed to wake. Blood was getting everywhere. Everything was going so wrong.

Kina panicked, the adrenaline of rage morphing into fear. If Manheim heard him… She couldn't go back now, couldn't stop now. He had to die, quickly! Or it would be her head on the chopping block. Leaping on top of him, she put a hand over his mouth, and they struggled together. She stabbed him blindly, over and over.

His thrashing and his terror only made his heart pump faster. Blood spilled over, over his shirt, the bed sheet, the floor. Kina’s forearms and hands were slippery wet. Blood was all over her clothing, her hair and face. To her own shock and horror, she realized she was grinning widely, her eyes shining with glee, a wild crazed smile spreading over her face at the pure excitement, high off the rush of sadistic pleasure, the disbelief of the moment, caught up in the smell of blood like a hound. This was what freedom felt like, full power, with zero restraint. What pleasure to have someone completely at your mercy. She was flying.

As abruptly as it had began, the man was dead.

Her heavy breathing was all that was left in the room. It was done.

The passionate climax of the kill faded rapidly, leaving her cold. Numb, Kina stood up unsteadily, standing over Rufio and gazing around the room for a few dazed moments.

She needed to clean this up.

It was all she could think of now, how exposed she was. She needed to get out of this room, she couldn’t be seen here. What in Oblivion had she done? She was no killer, she had no idea how to get rid of a body, how to scrub a room spotless. You fool, you damned fool, you’ve signed your death warrant!

Stumbling to the closet, she pulled shirts and linens blindly, falling back to the ground she attempted to soak the blood, already staining Manheim's cellar floor. She scrubbed harder and harder in vain, only spreading the red.

Her breath started to rise, anxiety brewing in her stomach. If she should faint...by the Nine, please do not let that happen. If she fainted now, it was all over. She might as well have taken her own life. Whatever you do, remain conscious. A killer didn’t have a single friend in the world, if anyone saw her-

The door opened.

She spun around, certain her life was over.

“By the Nine!” Kina choked. “I thought… you… I mean, I thought…”

“Shh,” the tall man said, putting a finger to his lips. He walked over to her carefully, picking past the body, careful not to step in the blood. He smiled at her, an eerie sight.

And there she was, sitting in a pool of blood with wet curls, newborn infant killer. She looked up at him, wide eyed and lost.

The assassin reached down and took her shaking hands in black leather gloves, bringing her up to her feet. “Well done,” he whispered. “Welcome to the family, Child of Sithis.”

“Hm,” the assassin said thoughtfully, a hand on his chin as he circled around the corpse, inspecting it. Torn up flesh, stab wounds all over his face, neck, chest, stomach, arms. Rufio was near unrecognizable. “Fear,” he proclaimed. “Rage. Manic, crazed, passionate. Amateur, but you’ll learn. Behold,” he said, casting an arm out to Rufio. “Your signature, young assassin. Your soul. Your art.”

“You…you do readings off blood? Like a seer off tea leaves?”

Lucien chuckled quite genuinely at that. “Alas, no. I leave the readings, crystal-gazing, and fortunes to the swindlers and scammers.”

He cast a careless, disdainful glance to the dead man. “I’m surprised you didn’t just suffocate him. Old man like him, everyone would assume he died in his sleep.”

“Oh…” Kina looked down at her blood stained hands. Oh. “Of course, why didn't I think of that? Stupid.”

“Ah, but what’s the fun in that anyways, hm?”

Kina was not enjoying herself as much as the assassin was, a wave of nausea hitting her, she groaned, doubling over to place her hands on her knees.

“Breathe through your mouth. There you go. Don’t vomit, it's a waste of good food,” he smirked. “Have no shame, the first time of anything is always the most unwieldy, is it not?”

She supposed that was the assassin’s idea of comforting.

"What do I do now? With him, all this?" Kina gestured around the room, to Rufio, to the blood on the walls, herself.

"Nothing," Lucien said promptly. "Leave the body. Let the Guard find him. The Black Horse Courier will have material to print for days. Rumors will spread, and the people will know the Dark Brotherhood kept its word once again. That we succeeded where the Imperial Guard had failed them." A proud, arrogant smirk.

"We should leave then," she muttered. She tried to brush blood caked hands on her shirt, only to re-stain them. "I need to change." She moved towards the door.

“Stop. Aren't you forgetting something?”

She stared at the assassin blankly.

“The innkeep.”

Kina’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. No… Again? He wanted her to kill again, already?

“He saw you.”

“Barely,” she lied, shifting uncomfortably. “And he said Rufio hardly ever comes up. By the time the innkeep finds him, I doubt he’ll even remember me.”

The assassin raised an eyebrow at her poor judgment. “This place doesn't see many guests. Let alone a young woman, traveling solo. He’ll remember you when the Guard comes knocking. Whether it's for Rufio, or for the runaway pit dog. Did you write your name in the ledger?”

She shook her head. “No, no of course not, I’m not stupid. I wrote a fake.”

"Hm. Even so, I would advise that you tear it out. Or else burn it. There are mages who can do magic with writing, you know. Change it, copy it. Perhaps even know who wrote it."

(Lucien kills Manheim, asks Kina if anyone else saw her here. She lies, sparing Minerva, at great risk to herself.)

—---------------

(Kina tries to backtrack, is panicking, tries to convince Lucien she isnt cut out to be an assassin-)

“I saw your face,” Lucien said slyly. “When you killed Rufio. You were smiling. You loved it, the rush, the power, the complete and utter control. And you don't feel guilty,” he sneered. You’re afraid that you do. You're afraid of punishment. You think you should. Others want you to, simply because they are afraid of you, because they see it as a sign that you are a potential threat to them. It is a selfish reason. But you don't, because guilt is a tool of social control, its a lie, it doesn't exist! The moment you embrace that you are free. Accept yourself as you are, in whole. Only then will you have the life you long for, be the person you long to be.”

Every word was painfully honest, unspeakable truth, hitting her directly in the heart. Never had she felt so exposed, just as caught in the act now as she'd been when he had opened the door to Rufio's corpse. The assassin looked directly at her then, obsidian irises drinking her in. She almost felt a pull, as if being dragged into a void.

"I see you now, Child."

#writing #oblivion #dark brotherhood #fanfic #lucien lachance

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