#viilgefortz

[vanbredevoort]

for @viilgefortz ha ha HAsuffer.

"All of this area"

"All of it? You mean all of it?"

"Yes", the woman did not like repeating herself, "It's been going on for years and it's only getting stronger."

Lydia did the math quickly inside her mind. It was a perfect circle drawn in the map in front of her. They had to be wrong in their calculations. No curse was that big and expanding if not subjected to constant feeding-- wars, a graveyard, a tragedy (it had to be a HUGE tragedy). In fact, no curse expanded that much. Ever.

"Have you found out what is fueling it? Remains, crystals, jewerly...?", she asked.

"We have not been able to get that close to the center", the woman pointed at the middle of the circle, "Everything just... perishes inside."

"Everything?", Lydia asked, incredulous again, "And no one has any theories?"

"Not like the ones you sent on your letter. Look, few people understood curses like Lady van Bredevoort did. But your analysis--- it reminded us of her unique approach to curses. In her last book--"

"The Natural Obscurity of Curses. Yes, I've read it"

I wrote it.

"She speaks of preventing curses, how to act when they're there, but this one--- It's already beyond preventing and beyond acting. It's massive, it's expanding, and it's completely out of our hands. And you seem to understand them. Like Lydia did."

She had to muffle a giggle. After all, he was there, laying against a wall, and she could feel his smirk even without seeing it.

"I cannot promise anything, as I told you in my letter. But I can check it."

The woman smiled, and her brown eyes scanned Vilgefortz in a way that had Lydia raising an eyebrow.

"Is he coming with us?"

She did not like her tone. She did not like her smirk.

"Yes, my HUSBAND is coming with me."

Without another word, still carrying a stern look, Lydia guided the woman outside. The manor was protected against magic, so a portal would be unstable and dangerous unless placed outside. Once they were at a safe distance, the woman concentrated and created a portal. Vilgefortz stepped in first and when the woman tried to follow, Lydia placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't even---"

"I understood that the first time. Husband. I get it", she said. She did not like repeating herself.

"Oh, he's more than that. And he's mine"

"I already told you I get it, no ne---"

"You actually don't."

With a fake smile, Lydia stepped into the portal.

She did not recognize the place, but it was an abandoned tavern somewhere in Redania, if she trusted the woman’s map. Lydia waltzed up to Vilgefortz and entwined their fingers. Immediately she felt shivers and bolts of static running down her spine. The lady had clearly followed them but Lydia did not notice. Ten years of a new life, eight years of a life of happiness where his touch always reduced the world to HIM. Just him. His touch. His essence.

"As I told you before, it's expanding, so this is as far as I'm willing to take you with a portal", she said, and Lydia - begrudgingly - had to take her eyes off Vilgefortz. It made her shiver in disgust. "It's an hour walk away from here. Good luck, I guess— and thank you.”

Yet it took them more than an hour to walk there. After all, Lydia had a fit of jealousy to get out of her system. The rain that constantly fell on top of them did not stop her, or her promises of not being exactly done with the fit, with the cries of him being hers that at some point, became screams of her being his'.

They found shelter under a tree as they reached the limits of the expanding curse, her back pressed to Vilgefortz's front, an arm laced around his neck. His embrace was a double edged sword, for it brought clarity to her thoughts and fogginess depending on his actions. After recieving various threats to stop her squirming, she allowed her mind to focus entirely on the academics. Her whole posture changed when she entered that state of concentration.

"Air seems clear. The temperature feels colder", Lydia whispered, following the standard procedure, "The ground seems cracked and lacks nutrients. Dead animals, bones already, even when we're just at the curse's edge... It either affects the passage of time or kills too quickly. Wraiths?"

"None that I can sense"

"Then none", she said, without questioning or second thoughts, "Necrofages?"

"None as well. You knew that already."

"I figured as much but I needed the confirmation", she smiled. Lydia liked it when he read her flawlessly, and when he trusted her knowledge, and he had done both in one sentence, "I also like hearing your voice. What do you sense?"

"... Something I don't like."

That was worrying. No explanation, no arguments. And he was always right.

"... Do you think---?"

He nodded.

"It's...? It is! It's a first degree curse! I've read about them, of course, but I've never seen one! This is--- you're frowining, Vilgefortz"

"I don't like it."

"Vil, I will not put myself in harm's way. I promised that eight years ago and I am a woman of my word. But this could be a second or most likely a first degree curse--- and I have you"

Tugging at his clothes she pulled him closer, locking him into a kiss that tasted of pure devotion, one that surpasses the limits of what she can do with her body but has no other manner to convey. Soon her arms were around his neck, her hands pulled at his hair and if not for his own hands pushing her away softly, she would have spiralled deeper into the fire that did not diminish with the years but only grew. So, so much.

"Expanding curse, Lydia. Expanding."

She was tempted to pout, to somehow trick him into a kiss again, but something pulled her out of her fantasies.

"... I can hear something"

"I've been hearing it since we got there"

"... Screaming?"

He frowned again. He had not been able to pinpoint the nature of the sound, that just rang inside his ears painfully. But it was, as she said, a scream. A piercing scream that spoke of a pain no living creature could mimic, yet somehow familiar. The fact that Lydia, human Lydia, deprived from magic and means to analyze, had so easily named it—- it only added to his uneasiness.

"I don't like this, Lydia. I don't like this near you"

"Please?"

"You don't touch it. The moment I see it's getting closer---"

"We leave", she said, turning around again. "Will you hold me, Sir?"

He wrapped his arms around her again, from behind. His muscles were tense. She had no time to revell on his overprotectiveness, because something called-- over and over... her hands stretched and, against everything, touched the edge.

There was a spiral. There was darkness. There was cold.

She was suddenly alone in a throne room. There was a seat in the middle of it, empty, and a shadow laying just under it, and it seemed broken. Something like tendrils extended from the shadow, wrapping around the pilars and broken stones. She hated it, for some reason. Lydia’s eyes scanned the room diligently. The place had remarkable detail and only a powerful curse could summon her mind into an entire different reality.

It was beyond the first degree. It was something that books haven’t spoke about yet. It was fascinating--- And she had to get out. Quickly. She had to go back to Vilgefortz, focus on his warmth, on his arms wrapped around her, on his beating heart, but surrounding her there was only cold.

‘He's dead, darling’

The shadow spoke, but she wasn’t in the throne room anymore. A city. A study. A castle. And the voice, the cold voice of Philippa Eilhart. Then a laboratory, then elven ruins. Finally, a hallway. Thanedd.

“No…”

A pool of blood lay at her feet.

‘Yes. You.’ someone replied, a familiar voice, 'You. You looked at him while you STABBED your heart. You. You wanted him to be the last thing you saw. You. You died with his name stuck in your throat. You, you, you.'

With another pull she was standing in a place she immediately, far too quickly recognized as Strygga.

She was suddenly kneeling on the floor. Her eyes were open with inhuman strength, held by powerful forces, forcing her to look at a fight without the benefit of blinking. She did not want to, but she couldn't stop it. A sihil shined, reflecting the light from the moon. The metal slashed Vilgefortz's abdomen.

There was a ringing sound, so piercing she wanted to pass out only to stop hearing it. She wanted to gouge her own eyes off their sockets. She wanted to rip off her own skin. She wanted the sound to stop.

She knew what was next. The blade made a diagonigal cut, from his torso to his collarbone. He looked up. At her. The floor was painted red with his blood.

Why wouldn’t the ringing sound stop? She was dizzy and she was praying for death.

Lydia thought she would feel it too. That when the sihil slashed, she would feel the pain as if it was her own. It took her a few heartbeats to realise that would have been an escape. A way to suffer with him, and not just bearing witness to his demise, forced to drink it all in without the comfort of sharing the agony. In terms of torture, it was perfection. Meticulous. Measured to preciseness.

Suddenly, between her bent knees lay a head. His head. Trembling hands held it. Lifeless. White mismatched eyes, rolled to the back. Bloodied. Painful. Disfigured. Dead. Dead. Dead.

The sound did not stop. It took her an hour like that to realise that it was screaming— and that it was her own. An hour spent cradling a decapitated head against her own chest, back arched as if protecting it, or scared it would be taken away. An hour screaming. Uninterrupted, unparalleled screaming.

She did not move. She did not squirm away from the agony. She drank it all. She screamed.

An hour to hold what was once beautiful— her love for him. An hour to stain her white dress with blood, to look at his lifeless expression, allowing the stench of death to sink into her skin, her bones, her will to live.

Her love. Her master. Her patron. Her sun. Her king.

HE'S DEAD. HE'S DEAD. I LOVE HIM, I LOVE HIM SO MUCH AND HE'S DEAD. THEY TOOK HIM FROM ME. THEY KILLED HIM.

Dead, dead, dead in her arms. A head. An hour.

DEAD. HE IS DEAD. MY LOVE IS DEAD.

Suddenly she was back in the throne room. There was no blood of his own, no head on her lap. Yet red still stained the floor— because her arms bled, and she wondered why. Looking down, she saw she had been digging her own nails into her skin. She could see the muscle. The tendons. If the sight scared her, she did not show it.

Because she wasn't screaming anymore. Because there was nothing inside of her anymore.

‘You killed him. You were his undoing. It is your fault. You orchestated his demise. You.’

She materialized in front of her.

It was herself. The shadow sitting under the throne, whatever it was, looked like her. While she wore white, the shadow wore black. While her hair was braided, her shadow wore it lose, and it extended over the whole throne room, wrapped around the pillars, escaped through the windows. The hair dragged itself across the stairs as she walked. She was pale, she was beautiful, she was the night. An eternal night. She was the moon, like ancient legends, looking for the bits and pieces of her love. She was gorgeous. And she was nothing.

She thought she replied that she didn't. She was sure the words she said were about her love, her sacrifice, her need to be useful. That she didn’t mean for it to end that way.

But "Yes. Yes. I killed him. I did kill him” were the words that she actually muttered.

'Does not knowing serve as justification?'

She thought she said it did. She had no way of knowing-- Everyone thought her a person of no importance. Her death had to be nothing of true meaning. She had a job to do, and she was to do it to perfection. He deserved nothing less than absolute perfection.

"It doesn't, no. I should have known I was important to him. Not knowing does not justify my actions."

'You killed him'

"Yes. I killed him"

'You killed him.'

"I killed him."

'Say it again.' his voice!

"I killed you."

'Again, DOLL. Again.'

"I killed you."

She did not realise when the throne room became a laboratory. Her body lay on a stone slab, naked, unblemished until a dagger pierced it.

"He's dead, my darling. Dead. You threw away your life for nothing", Philippa said.

How could a human cry like that? How could a body as small and fragile as hers scream like that? How could a heart so wounded, stabbed TWICE, condemned to what she thought unrequited feelings love that much?

"Yes. I killed him."

A baby cries. Birds fly out of their nests, terrified. An elf squints at the moon, restless. A old woman slicing an apple sheds a tear. A scholar drops an antique book as a spasm of agony took over him. A blacksmith in Skellige screams to the top of her lungs. They all wonder why.

Silence. Darkness.

‘You should be dead.’

“I should be dead.”

'You do not deserve anything'

"I don't deserve anything"

'He's the sun'

"I'm just the moon"

'The moon shines,'

"Because it reflects the sun"

'Without the sun...'

"Nothing can live. Nothing should live."

Her hands were stained with his blood again. She knew it was his’, she didn’t need the confirmation. She stared at them for a while. Her eyes were usually expressive--- weren't they? Then why, why did they show nothing?

'If he's gone...'

"... Then everything should perish"

.

Vilgefortz felt the curse like tendrils extending towards Lydia, calling for her. His mind worked like clockwork, step by step. This was Redania. This was where Philippa's laboratory was. This is where Lydia had been brought back from the dead. This was the place she was told he died.

It took him less than a second to understand this was Lydia's curse.

This was her affection turned into agony. This was her devotion, turned into despair. Her love for him turned into hatred for herself. And he knew-- there was so much love.

He pulled her back immediately, at inhuman speed. He held her with one arm around her waist, while the other touched her face-- the face of a woman who looked lifeless. Who shed tears of blood that stained the pale skin, paler than usual. Eyes open but vacant. Lips parted but silent. Mind open, but empty. The rain did not stop. The feeling of life being drained didn’t either.

A pain so big. A curse so powerful. A hatred so hungry. A love so strong.

And he just fucking handed her to it.

"Lydia"

Not again.

The curse had merely grazed her. Not even a full second had passed.

"LYDIA!"

he should have known. he should have known, he should have known! he had heard that same scream, after all, a decade before!

[krwioholik]

Oh Regis of the crypt, please give me a wisdom

"If the wizard has a gem for an eye and his hands are on fire consider coming up with a plan rather than attacking blindly in a drunken frenzy."

"Except when your friends' lives are in danger."

@viilgefortz

[snarkomancy]

@viilgefortz

“You know, my dear friend, there are all of  t h r e e  words that I have to say to you. Bring. It. On.”

[snowhealer]

@viilgefortz

Her grip around the golbet filled with red wine tightened, unexpresive eyes fixed on his figure. Some voice inside her told she should stay quiet-- and other one, louder than the first, told her she couldn’t. "Don't correct me if I'm wrong, but I find it amusingly impolite that your gaze seems glued to that woman's lower back", she said, taking a sip of her drink while she used the bottom of her golbet to point at his assistant.

[bazookagirl]

♥ @viilgefortz happy birthday, sweetie

She was soaking wet once she stepped into the inn, softly cursing in nilfgaardian, a behavior that was only reserved to episodes were she was so away from her comfort zone that she retrogressed to her childhood. She was cold. She was upset. She was tired. She didn’t like Aedd Gynvael. None of that had any meaning the second she stepped inside, a warm, kind smile greeting her. A month away. She wondered if he had any idea about how much she missed him.

“I thought it’d take you longer” he spoke, and his voice sent electricity all over her body, like an addict getting another fix of a drug denied for too long.

“I managed to pass through the portals in less time”

“Figured as much, since that explains why you pushed your limits and then couldn’t perform a simple spell to cover yourself from the rain”

She desperately tried to hide the way her feet bounced as he frowned, scolding her for her lack of care, but his eyes told her her attempts were in vain.

“I know, sir”, she confessed, lowering her head slightly “I wanted to…”

Come back home, she wanted to say. Yet this was an inn. Not home. She knew it’d take a lot of explaining to let him know HE was the definition of home for her. But when her lips parted to speak, an old woman, the innkeeper, stepped inside.

“The bath you asked for is ready”

He smiled. Three steps ahead. Vilgefortz was always three steps ahead. He knew she’d do anything to be back to him as quickly as she could. What was the point in hiding her emotions, if he probably already knew she was in love with him? If he could forsee she’d skip all safety protocols and cast more portals than her body would allow her too, making her come back home in the verge of a cold, why wouldn’t he notice she was madly in love?

She had time to ponder that while bathing, yet she was trembling with need to talk to him. She bathed and dressed quickly, her muscles complaining about all the stress she went through. And an hour later, being cold was an old tale, even when she was now wearing much less than what she wore as she stepped inside. A light and short white nightgown hid her body. He was waiting in front of a fire, sitting on a couch while his bare feet lay on a carpet of his own. She sat beside him, her wet hair telling him the tale that she didn’t want to wait to speak to him. His finger made a twirl she understood quickly, turning to show him her back.

“The perimeter showed no signs of any magic activity”

She felt how he pulled her hair to the side, a palm resting over her back while he softly moved her.

“Our first thought was the hospital. It focuses enough willpower to curse an entire country by itself, if not for the local sorcerers”

She could hear cracks each time he moved her back and arms into different positions, relaxation washing through her like waves each time he did, “Yet once there, we didn’t find anything”

“Lay down”

He pointed at the floor, and she obeyed as quickly as the command was formed, lying flat on the fur carpet, chest pressing against it.

“It took me whole week to understand that the town people got it wrong, even when they told me over and over that place had no elven roots—there were elven ruins, back where their own cemetery was built”

The scent of the oil he was spreading over her back reached her nostrils even before making contact with her skin, her mind preparing for the sweet torture she was about to experience. Expert hands unlaced her dress, lowering it enough to expose her back to him.

“The tracking spells led me to a grave, and after a few days of digging, we found the ring I told you about when I sent you the dove with the letter”

First were her shoulders. His digits, so precise in their touch, pressed against her tensed muscles with the exact strength to massage them and not causing her any pain. How odd it was: to know what those hands were capable of, the inhuman strength they carried, yet they decided to stroke her like she was a string in a lute, so delicately and softly.

“I examined the ring. The rest thought the answer was too simple, yet researchers are prone to find difficult explanations more likely--- and sometimes, the simplest one is the right one. Jewelry. The first thing you learn in magic school: don’t wear jewels until you know how to charge them properly”

How could she manage to keep talking when his hands were making her melt, were touching it in a way that had every sense responsive to him, to his breath and movements, to his hands and entire body? And he slid down, and down, and pressed and touched, and handled.

“So I—I went alo… ne to the catacombs, and I found…”, and so traitorous her body was, that she sighed in a way  that couldn’t be told apart from a moan.

“Go on”

She turned her head, bright green eyes finding his own—and she despised the fact that she couldn’t read them. His beautiful sapphire eyes said nothing, as if a curtain was concealing the window to his very own soul. As much as it pained her, as much as she wanted to ask him, her priority was different. Lydia couldn’t ignore his command.

“I found a tiara on a sculpture--- I did the math--- it was a simple second degree curse, but one that could be very dangerous if empowered by elven magnification tools”

He smiled. She wondered if it was about her cleverness at finding the curse, or about the fact that she had managed to complete the sentence, following his instruction. She lowered her head again, letting his hands move freely over her lower back. She held her breath as he lifted the dress slightly, enough to fully expose her legs.

“But I coulnd’t--- there was no way I could study it if I didn’t know how worse the magnification made it… So I proposed that we saw the curse in full action”

She wasn’t ready for it, not when she felt his hands circling her ass and roughly handling it, not when her inmediate reaction was to perk it up, leaning into his merciless massage. A massage that actually worked, for her limbs were in pure ecstasy of relaxation. Her breathing wasn’t just harsh now, she was panting, gasping for air, yet he kept going, holding her still.

“So I wore it!” she yelled, hands tightly closing into fists.

“Keep going, Lydia.”

Fists closed tightly around the soft fur of the carpet, body shivering under his relentless touch, one hand on her lower back, and the other right under her buttcheek.

“Istredd said I spent two hours in silence and three in the trance where I was used as a medium. Since I’m not… I don’t have the strength to do that so each sentence took a few hours, but they managed to find the body with what I said”, she managed to explain, “The curse is lifted. But the ring--- I couldn’t take it off. I still… can’t---”

She stretched one trembling hand, showing him the encrusted golden adornment, a hand that never got to reach him, to touch him—for he pressed his palm and curled his fingers in gods’ know what position that drove her insane, knees fighting to press together.

“Vil, please…”

He stroke her sides, diligently, fingers grazing the corners of her breasts. Her nightgown was sticking to the skin between her legs, moisturized by her wetness, and she could feel the results of it staining the white carpet. She was out of her mind. She was prepared to ask for it, beg for him to take her—he was driving her crazy. Yet he saw that too. He saw that was her breaking point. And all it took was a quick, almost imperceptible graze of his index, like a soft wind between her legs—

And she reached climax. She tensed, she bit the carpet, she moaned and apologized frantically while at it.

The ring broke in half.

[vanbredevoort]

for viilgefortz.

It happened in the span of a few months. Far too quickly.

First there was lust.

It creeps up her legs, spreads from her chest, invades her head, shakes her to her very core like vines wrapping around senses she does not know can be stimulated.

She toys with the idea of suggesting he can have her against the surface of every piece of furniture available whenever he wants. She doesn't, but she likes thinking about it. It's entertaining. Her eyes follow the way his hand fidget - he has nervous hands - and she wants to know how they would feel like on her.

She does not say anything. She's his assistant. Saying something might change a dynamic that, from a professional perspective, it's already working flawlessly. He might find it counterproductive, for her to harbor those needs, and let her go. She doesn't want that. Standing near him, watching him and listening to him feels good. Like sunlight after a cloudy day.

Second, there was denial.

It comes quicker than she would have wanted it to. She did not think there was room for something else than the crushing attraction--- but suddenly there's longing. There's worrying. She wants to be ravaged, but she also wants to stroke his forehead until he stops frowning when he's overthinking. Now she wants to hold his hands steady. He has nervous hands, and she wants to take the worries away.

He's handsome. He's idealistic. He's a man of principle. He's tall. He has simple goals and complex thoughts about how to achieve them. He has a sweet tooth. He's curious above anything else.

She's frightened about it. She wants to know more. But she doesn't. But she does.

She doesn't want to think about it. It plagues her mind and keeps her from peak performance, so she beds as many as she can. Old acquaintances. Colleagues at an investigation. Strangers. She has never been one to do so, but she thinks it will give her mind clarity. It doesn't. She pants and her nails dig into the wood of another's bedpost, and she's thinking of him. And it feels wrong. Right. Wrong.

Third, there was panic.

It lasts for a short while, but she decides since she can't get him off her mind, she might as well run away. She does not neglect her duties to him, but she stays for longer periods in excavations that are almost wrapped up. She plainly disappears for a whole week under pretense.

She's sure that distance will make her see things clearly and get rid of the ever growing feeling inside her heart, one she doesn't want to name yet.

She has been staring at the sun directly for too long. But everything is dark when he's not there.

She cries. She misses his smile. She cries more. She misses the way he says her name. She clutches her chest with her hand because it hurts. Because running away is stupid--- she cannot be without him. She cannot be without him. She cannot BE without him.

And finally, with fourth came acceptance.

Because she is irrevocably, madly, desperately, stubbornly, relentlessly in love with Vilgefortz.

Helplessly too. She knows no one can say she has not tried to fight it. It all breaks when they're locked inside going through countless tomes and notes. It's not a grand gesture, not a soul clenching revelation moment with dramatic effects. It's silence and heartbeats. It's the product of everything she has experienced. She cannot deny it. She cannot hide from it. She loves him deeply, and that IS grand, soul clenching and bigger than anything she had experienced before.

He says something she doesn't hear because she's lost. Because there's no fighting it anymore. She just nods. That nod means everything, and it's a promise of always. Of never. I will always love you, she thinks. And I'll be helpless to stop it.

I'll always be yours and I'll never be claimed.

It's bigger than herself. It's beyond her reach. It's tormenting and beautiful. It's as close as his nervous hands, and as far as her ability to put them to rest.

She loves Vilgefortz. She loves Vilgefortz with a strength that no love poem can define, no painting can depict because there aren't enough colors in the spectrum of light to express the depths of her feelings. She loves so much that she puts romance plays to shame. She loves so passionately that her very soul dances to the rhythm of his heartbeat. She loves so deeply that his name carves into her very core and nothing, no one can occupy that place. She loves with jealousy, she loves with lust, she loves with worry, she loves with need. She loves enough to see from afar, don't meddle, don't talk, don't show, don't react, and she loves enough to suffer because of it. She loves enough to understand that he does not and can't love her back.

She loves enough to die for him. So she does.

[sorcerersxwidow-blog]

@viilgefortz

get rekt fckin NERD

@viilgefortz​

( you know who i wasnt nice to ) ★ ( the giant bat in my castle ) ★ ( HE didnt get nice )

[elderblooded]

TFW YOU ASSOCIATE CHRIS EVANS MORE WITH VILGEFORTZ THAN YOU DO WITH STEVE ROGERS THANKS A LOT @viilgefortz

[askbartthetroll-blog]

{ @viilgefortz has started following Bart! } “ Man norocks-has. Bart, err, man GIVE rock. Gooooood. ”

[eromai-blog1]

✨✧⋆ @viilgefortz​ hearted ✦

The hand on the his chest was not ungentle, but it served its purpose in halting him at the door.

“Not you again,” she said firmly, almost acidic. “Not after last time. You can’t come in if you can’t behave.”

[vanbredevoort]

☱ we been there but oh man do i love the classics

lyd’s journal

I think I’ve fallen in love with him.

And as much as the topic seems irrelevant to our cause and plans for the future, one could think I have to put it into perspective and deal with it like I would with any setback. It is of no importance the fact that his mere presence sends my soul into a hurricane of emotions that keep me from my peak performance, that the mere mental image of his smile and the sound of his laughter breaks my concentration and my breathing refuses to calm down when I specifically order ir too.

I am left with two choices then: leave him, as to not let my affliction become a burden on him, an obstacle in the middle of his path to glory for the whole continent; or bottle it up as much as my heart and knees allow me to, and remain by his side as long as he allows me to, or as long as I breathe. The problem is that they’re apparently not mutually exclusive, for the thought of parting ways makes me think if the first one doesn’t happen, it would lead to the other in no time.

No grand act of his has brought me to this realisation. I’ve always thought, considering my disbelief of things of romantic nature, that some important action would trigger this affliction of mine-- but nothing of the sort happened. I didn’t fall for him while he was giving a long speech about his dreams, I did not realise my feelings while inside his embrace.

--- I fell for him in silence. It had been weeks since we were shut down inside the manor, reading the records of the elder blood experiments. In front of us lay a huge piece of parchment that only now resembles a genealogical tree, but at the time only a few names, scratched and rewritten, tainted the page. Silence. The sound of books, the smell of ancient knowledge.

And it clicked. Some sort of puzzle piece fell into place as I realised my hand longed to reach out and stroke his forehead until the frown disappeared. That I wished nothing but to curl up against him in an intimate way. That I craved to be taken in a mess of books and soft carpets.

I fell for him in silence. And in silence, I will stay.

[snarkomancy]

"So, /poppy/ I wondered how much did you see or heard of Zoltan's intimacy while you were his pet & I must say I was a bit creeped out? Unless, of course, you grew to like the dwarf and felt like you were part of whatever it is he did between four walls in some sort of blind ever growing stockholm love~ IN which case, I think that's even romantic! We should capitalize on it. Tell Poppy's tale while in bondage -- I'm pretty sure it will make for a great ballad!"

“The  c r e e p y  thing here is not what I may or may not have witnessed, my dear friend Vilgefortz, but your imagination. In all honesty, I am in disbelief that you’re even asking me this!”

[ohwcrden]

questions 35 & 38

42 character development questions || no longer accepting

35. How and why do they internalize knowledge? What effect has that had on them?

          Experience. Kivari learns best through being hands on with new material. Testing it out for herself, having her experience to view and learn from. You can’t just tell/explain to her something and expect it to stick. She’s too stubborn to listen half the time and the other half she just can’t retain it based on it’s not directly in front of her and therefore not substantial enough to internalize.

          This method applies to everything from life events to academics. If there’s not some sort of visual to witness or if she can’t interact/do it herself it becomes incredibly hard to retain. God forbid someone advise her against something because of X reason because chances are Kivari will flat out ignore them and try it herself. She’s the embodiment of trial by fire.

38. Is there anything they wish they could change about their worldview or thought processes? What, and why?

          She hates being so cynical. Kivari wants nothing more than be able to form substantial relationships of any kind but she has so many trust issues and deeply ingrained paranoia that getting close to someone feels too dangerous. Even those closest to her, those from the Blight and her family, aren’t people she will open up to frequently. Being absolutely emotionally vunerable with someone isn’t something she’s ever been able to do save for two, maybe three people.

          Kivari wishes she could takes risks regarding people, wishes she didn’t have to be so harsh, wishes she could be a softer person in general. She’s so sick of all this anger and hate in her but it’s something that she clings to because it’s protected her so far. She yearns for softness but is too terrified to drop any defenses that would allow it.

[anivaraarchive]

[11:08:15 AM] ᴠɪʟɢᴇғᴏʀᴛᴢ: sails romantically through all this trash you send me ah yes, this is it. home [11:10:50 AM] Harbinger of Angst: Yes yes, good [11:10:54 AM] Harbinger of Angst: now go suck a cock [11:11:29 AM] Harbinger of Angst: Lovingly tells you to do as such [11:12:29 AM] ᴠɪʟɢᴇғᴏʀᴛᴢ: Bitch I might [11:13:49 AM] Harbinger of Angst: There he go