Fugue State

a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity

 

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 Devil, Devil, Bones Of Metal, Metal, Loki's DVLP
Jan 2 2018, 02:45 PM
107
posts
1975 demon assassin, pimp, information broker
archdemon
Mercy, mercy. Chains all wrapped around me, around me. Try to break free from the darker part of me. Mercy, mercy, please. All I see is a monster in me.
Hell
in love with his brother~
shipped & taken by his brother
Loki

awards

The Gatekeeper
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
Loki Ciniath Irbson
Basics
Name: Loki Ciniath Irbson
Birthday: April 18th, 43 AD
Nickname(s): Ciniath, which is in fact his birth name and over the years he's always found a way to include it in his full new, however many times he's changed it, a homage to a place that he burned down perhaps but he did have an emotional connection to it.
Home Town: it was a village, a Pict village in modern day Scotland and it ceased to exist, leaving no evidence of itself behind-- his doing.
Nationality: you could call him British, but he identifies strongly as Pict.
Languages: English, Welsh, Scottish Gaelic, Pictish and some others naturally, French namely, some Nordic languages, Spanish and Portuguese and similar.

In Depth
Occupation: he's a mixture of things. Most obviously he runs a brothel, which makes him a pimp. In official documents he's a personal trainer since he's got a public image of a nobody for his own amusement. it really just gives him an added drive to fill up his day with shit since he likes being busy. It stimulates his mind and oddly helps him keep his own demons at bay. Also, his brothel mostly yields him intel, making intelligence work his true focus. You can call him an information broker mostly, though this knowledge isn't public even a tiny bit. Also, he's a hit-man. His situation is a bit specific, he's been around a while and he's got a hundred percent success rate without exception due to how he kills them-- he opens a gate of hell underneath his victims and drags them under, literally. He can do that. But he's also ridiculously expensive and infamously impetuous. It's known that if a client enrages him in any way, Loki will kill also them. No exceptions.

Father: Irb
Mother: Coblaith
Siblings: There were five children altogether in their family. At the time of Loki's death, these were their ages: Derile (male, 25y), Drusticc (female, the sister to him, 22y), Eithne (female, 20y), Ciniath (Loki; male, 19), Ninian (Matthias; male, 9y)
Children: one. He's aware of her. He doesn't care. His MO is to force abortion of any child of his that he finds out about, he didn't find out about her 'cause she was kept from him very smartly until he did inevitably, since nothing can escape his attention for too long. This did for seventeen years also since it never occurred to him it could happen. He turned punishing, brutally killing her mother for it, and then going through his old lovers and killing them off one after another just because he could. Just as brutally.
Pets: None.

Sexuality/Orientation: Complex, he used to be a whore and as a regular demon he did commonly possess women too, and he's so old that he's moved on from physical attraction an excessively long time ago. More attracted to what is between your ears, he's demi-pan-romantic where he's capable of romantically loving everyone after developing a solid connection first, of course he doesn't develop those easily since he's more driven by his obsessiveness than romance. Sexually, he does prefer women for his companions, and is very dominant around men that he doesn't bother with actually, and barely glances over. In his case, it is also because one man has come to eclipse the rest of men for Loki, his younger brother Matthias who's been a thorn in Loki's side for a long time. Basically, in Loki's eyes (though he's not aware of this and denies it) no other man compares to his brother so he essentially doesn't bother because they're all garbage in his eyes lmao

It's also pertinent to mention, still on the topic of Loki and sex, that while he's capable of fucking people vapidly, he doesn't because he's not sexual at all, he's more sensational and reliant on a deep emotional connection. You'd not guess it of him, and there's a red-blooded side to him that will look at a buxom woman and want, but being more cerebral focused is almost necessary in his case; old as he is, bored as he is when it comes to just sticking his dick in wo/men, he's developed very concerning proclivities over the years that reflect well what kind of a person he is: obsessive. And also cannibalistic. Loki's naturally a very obsessive man who takes his relationships and desires to great extremes-- he's ruled by his obsessions so much that if he does fuck someone vapidly, he might eat them just to entertain himself. And if he does fuck someone he likes, he might eat them because he's so stupidly obsessive and possessive he'll want to have more of them beyond the usual kind of taking.

Again, the urges are all there and perfectly intact, the need never was a problem but his own huge expectations of people put breaks on sexual ventures, also he used to be a literal whore so he's kind of experienced everything flesh can yield, inspiring his cannibalistic urges also in given time due to how he mentally matured; more and more obsessive with every next year. So all in all... if you want to fuck him, I'm going to say: no, unless you don't mind him taking a bite out of you. He's turned on by flesh, blood and the act of eating. In his obsessive, fucked up mind he views it as an expression of love.

Status: single but his ship is in the works~

Details
Height: six feet, yo
Hair: blond and groomed nicely. He keeps a fringe and doesn't like combing it back. Though keeping a fringe can make him look younger, which he hates by default, it also does build this unassuming appearance he's come to personally adore. It makes him feel a bit human which actually satisfies a very well-hidden anger of his that he died so young. He knows he made a deal with a demon and his life was taken as par its details, but he just hasn't forgiven it. He died super young, so he keeps this as a very subconscious memento on his side, even though in reality he hates this side of him, what little of he's aware of. Basically, he hates looking young and he hates the reminders he was a human and he hates being human, but he also has almost this bizarre fetish for it, almost like he adores torturing himself in a part and feeling angry over his early passing, as he always comes to feel eventually.
Eyes: very pretty blues that he technically hates because they always betray he died very young. His experiences and attitude to life have tacked age to his appearance, which he's very thankful for, making him appear in his mid-twenties but his eyes have a habit of giving out he was exceptionally young at the time of his death.
Tattoos: this depicted tattoo~

Extras
Likes: He does actually personally adore opium as a substance, as a drug, and also the cold. He loves Nordic countries because of their unforgiving cutting chill. Also the color blue, it gets to him. It was commonly featured in his Pictish heritage and so many years down the line he still adores it. He's got an almost obsessive attachment to the color. Almost... not almost. Definitely.

Dislikes: anything Roman/Italian due to historical reasons, also the Brits technically and his accent is known to adopt a subtle Scottish twang on occasion. He speaks in a lilt actually since he mixes a couple of accents, the posh received pronunciation English we all love listening to but also the cadence of the old Pictish and Scottish Gaelic that preceded it.

Quirks & Habits: this will be going in a separate list of interest facts about him but he loves blue, and can always be seen wearing something blue. The fact that his eyes are blue tickles him and also disgusts him since they go give out he died young, but also blue~


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user posted image
Jan 2 2018, 03:02 PM
107
posts
1975 demon assassin, pimp, information broker
archdemon
Mercy, mercy. Chains all wrapped around me, around me. Try to break free from the darker part of me. Mercy, mercy, please. All I see is a monster in me.
Hell
in love with his brother~
shipped & taken by his brother
Loki

awards

The Gatekeeper
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
#themasochist
#thesadist

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user posted image
Jan 2 2018, 03:30 PM
107
posts
1975 demon assassin, pimp, information broker
archdemon
Mercy, mercy. Chains all wrapped around me, around me. Try to break free from the darker part of me. Mercy, mercy, please. All I see is a monster in me.
Hell
in love with his brother~
shipped & taken by his brother
Loki

awards

The Gatekeeper
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
#a whore for a hundred years

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user posted image
Jan 2 2018, 03:33 PM
107
posts
1975 demon assassin, pimp, information broker
archdemon
Mercy, mercy. Chains all wrapped around me, around me. Try to break free from the darker part of me. Mercy, mercy, please. All I see is a monster in me.
Hell
in love with his brother~
shipped & taken by his brother
Loki

awards

The Gatekeeper
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
#the devil's suffering
#meetthedevil

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user posted image
Jan 2 2018, 04:00 PM
107
posts
1975 demon assassin, pimp, information broker
archdemon
Mercy, mercy. Chains all wrapped around me, around me. Try to break free from the darker part of me. Mercy, mercy, please. All I see is a monster in me.
Hell
in love with his brother~
shipped & taken by his brother
Loki

awards

The Gatekeeper
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
The Gatekeeper
Powers
As the Gatekeeper Loki has a number of unique abilities other Arches do not share-- similarly, they have their own set he doesn't have. He's only forbidden from manipulating one hell's gate-- the one in San Fran. Otherwise, Loki may open and close gates of hell anywhere he pleases to drag people under, provided he's not dumb enough to create one as large as San Fran itself-- mass genocide is strictly forbidden, he's waiting on the order from hell to use that one. Anyway. The gates may be numerous and differently sized and open for however long he pleases, but inevitably they all cause death to those who walk through them unless the people are eternals themselves. Angels and other demons do not perish upon entering through, and this permits him to navigate through the depths of hell with ease, but also send on a path with a blind or very bad end.

The gates may appear as quickly as he wishes, and visually are perceived as literally black holes of sticky tart opening across flat surfaces. This is a misconception actually and which he's never bothered to explain but in reality a hell's gate has its own gravity of sorts, drawing people in if they come in closer vicinity of it. This power is normally cancelled out by anything holy, which is why the heaven's gate in San Fran sisters the hell's gate; where the former expels strong, positive energy, feeling as an aura of encouragement to people, hell's gate have a narrow gravitational field which expands as the gate does. This means that a large hell's gate could not be created unsupervised but Loki's never tempted to attempt this-- he has before, he's created large, large gates that hell has ordered-- after all, the one in San Fran is his doing and he's all aware he's got every ability to even cause another thing.

Loki may decide just how well the influence of hell bleeds through, or in other words he can create a gate with an in-build barrier that keeps hell's influence behind it, or not, which would spread the influence outwards in form of an evil energy would soon poison the space and anything living around it. And it would spread on further, not stopping. Obviously, he's not permitted to let this happen since large scale damage would be impending, but again he's not tempted. He can, of course, he doesn't have to be in vicinity at all to close or open a gate, he's got a mental link with each and every, permitting him to manipulate them from any distance but also giving him awareness of who approaches them and who walks/slips through.

Back on the point, the true face of a hell's gate doesn't actually involve tart-- it looks like an actual tear in space and if you peer within it looks like there's a black, noiseless storm raging beyond its event horizon. If you lean too close-- it will suck you in. That he's got little influence over, but he can technically turn it off a gate at a time, it's just a conscious and willing choice on his part that does come at the cost of some energy, so he's not particularly interested.

Overall, his gates are used to interfere with people's lives, to kill and then to do as hell wishes. He actually bows down to hell a lot and is tasked frequently to open or close gates for hell in different parts of the world. He's that one pawn of hell who could never avoid teleporting via hell even if he wanted-- he's just too tied to hell, being that he literally controls the wall before the worlds that separates hell from us all.

As for the tart itself, it's an augury to a hell's gate about to be opened, but it fades naturally on its own and is typically overwhelmed by the size of the gate itself if it's permitted to grow, aka it marks the beginning of a gate but is outgrown. Normally, people don't see a gate without the tart stage, but the one in San Fran doesn't have it so anyone curious is free to take a look. It's also possible to predict a hell's gate is about to be opened by the smell of sulfur and the temperature randomly spiking. The bigger the gate, the stronger the auguries.


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user posted image
Jan 2 2018, 04:19 PM
107
posts
1975 demon assassin, pimp, information broker
archdemon
Mercy, mercy. Chains all wrapped around me, around me. Try to break free from the darker part of me. Mercy, mercy, please. All I see is a monster in me.
Hell
in love with his brother~
shipped & taken by his brother
Loki

awards

The Gatekeeper
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
trivia~


-- a sensitive bitch when it comes to stabbing; as a human, he made a deal with a demon who claimed it by stabbing Loki to death, breeding this bizarre, intimate relationship with stabbing. As a result of it, he never stabs people unless it's personal or he feels something for them. It's just a very heat of a moment thing for him, he'd never otherwise plan to personally stab someone.
-- was stabbed 36 times.
-- would take horrible offense if stabbed.
-- also, because of his sister's rape, he's incapable of personally bestowing such a misfortune onto someone else... well, only personally.
-- when I say a sensitive bitch I mean it turns him on.
-- is in love with the color blue. Actually considers it the most beautiful color in universe because of how blue was used typically in his culture. He'd not admit it, of course, and generally--
-- doesn't talk about his past, though it continues to remain very important to him. He'd not admit it-- he's just a private person in this case.
-- when he came back as a demon, he gravitated immediately to his old home. Demons typically either immediately seek out where they lived before death or forever avoid it. Loki had had such a strong emotional tie to it, since he basically died with heavy regret on his mind; regret that he was dying so young. But he did also have relief on his mind, relief his sister was going to be alright. It was these emotions that were warped down under, and though they remained to create an early bridge to his humanity, long before he bothered to walk it, they also caused him to go back to his old home and wipe out everyone except for: his sister, his sister's husband, his sister's children and his youngest brother, Matthias.
-- died feeling: regret, shame and relief in this order.
-- loves pretending to be a human and going out into clubs into such parts of the city where he won't recognized. Revels in the anonymity. In both nobody fully comprehending who and what he is, what he's capable of, and being able to shake his duties for a moment. In feeling young and harmless again.
-- vivacious. Doesn't look it one bit, but he's a huge thirst in him to be wild. Likely stems from his early passing, which he's legit never quite gotten over due to how it humiliated him to be stuck like a pig behind his sister's home.
-- a wild child as a human, he had an incredible appetite for life that's never quite left him. See the point above.
-- remembers how exactly the sky looked when he was dying: dark blue clouds against a pale blue sky. A slit of bright white along the horizon. Then, the night dawned. The visual - click.
-- as a demon, took female vessels commonly and consciously, preferring them over their burly and inelegant male counterparts. It's only as self-care became more of a point for a common man too that he begin taking them as vessels, mostly those from gentry and nobility, though before this could spread properly, he became a greater demon.
-- never possessed any leader of any bigger group directly-- always their right-hand or a family member to poison their decision making and destroy the group inside out.
-- was a whore. Enjoyed it. Shhh~
-- he was a greater demon then, and prostituted himself for around a hundred years, working at a proper brothel in Constantinople. Every now and then someone fell in love with him and he wasn't sure he understood the point of that emotion.
-- still doesn't.
-- was 397 when he became a greater demon, and 955 when he became an Archdemon.
-- hell knows him under two very specific nicknames: Devil's Bitch, and The Right-Hand of the Devil, with the Banker being the Left.
-- obsessive, obsessive and again-- obsessive.
-- romantic love? Not really, not exactly. He's very possessive and not in that cute way you can fan yourself over-- his romantic target becomes his obsession, and Loki's driven by it, turning him deranged such that he'll actually believe everyone in the world has their eyes set on what is his. And his, his, and his alone.
-- possessive over anyone that's his in any measure; his blood, his workers, everyone working beneath him and even his 'friends' that his human identity keeps, they all belong to him. It gifts them his protection, and his unspoken oath he'd vindicate them if something happened to them. He actually would.
-- his possessiveness's not the concerning one. It's his obsession.
-- defined by his obsessiveness.
-- cannibalistic.
--with an actual kink for being repeatedly and brutally stabbed, such that he'll find it better than sex, it comes as no surprise he dishes out a matching interest in the flesh of his lovers. Though it's crucial for him to involve some emotions so he gives a shit enough about them not to eat them, add too much emotional interest and it'll twist around into an obsession and then he will definitely nibble when they are together.
-- loves the smell of petrichor.
-- loves grapes. They're luxurious, juicy and sweet and he uses them as comfort food actually to stay his urges and better his mood.
-- love storms and rain.
-- dominant AF, he doesn't bottom for people. He will only for one person.
-- obsessed with his younger brother, to the death of the world. Don't come near it.


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user posted image
Jan 4 2018, 11:51 AM
107
posts
1975 demon assassin, pimp, information broker
archdemon
Mercy, mercy. Chains all wrapped around me, around me. Try to break free from the darker part of me. Mercy, mercy, please. All I see is a monster in me.
Hell
in love with his brother~
shipped & taken by his brother
Loki

awards

The Gatekeeper
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
Some of Loki's songs


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user posted image
Jan 4 2018, 01:42 PM
107
posts
1975 demon assassin, pimp, information broker
archdemon
Mercy, mercy. Chains all wrapped around me, around me. Try to break free from the darker part of me. Mercy, mercy, please. All I see is a monster in me.
Hell
in love with his brother~
shipped & taken by his brother
Loki

awards

The Gatekeeper
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
The Face of Evil
evil deceptive playful trickster
Emotional baggage
mask veneer emotional mess

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user posted image
Jan 5 2018, 12:53 PM
107
posts
1975 demon assassin, pimp, information broker
archdemon
Mercy, mercy. Chains all wrapped around me, around me. Try to break free from the darker part of me. Mercy, mercy, please. All I see is a monster in me.
Hell
in love with his brother~
shipped & taken by his brother
Loki

awards

The Gatekeeper
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
Obsession I
younger brother silver-tongue whore corrupter
loki's forever matthias obsession
Obsession II
obsession younger brother forever his forever
matthias ninian loki's everything darkest secret
lust his

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user posted image
Jan 5 2018, 01:15 PM
107
posts
1975 demon assassin, pimp, information broker
archdemon
Mercy, mercy. Chains all wrapped around me, around me. Try to break free from the darker part of me. Mercy, mercy, please. All I see is a monster in me.
Hell
in love with his brother~
shipped & taken by his brother
Loki

awards

The Gatekeeper
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
We all have a Monster within; the difference is in degree, not in kind.
Douglas Preston
Evil begins when you begin to treat people as things.
Terry Pratchett
Well, that's an evil smile...
James Patterson
Clever as the Devil and twice as pretty.
Holly Black
The greatest trick the Devil pulled was convincing the world there was only one of him.
David Wong
The Devil pulls the strings which make us dance; We find delight in the most loathsome things; Some furtherance of Hell each new day brings, And yet we feel no horror in that rank advance.
Charles Baudelaire
You want to be bad, angel? I can teach you every position it comes in.
Debra Anastasia
That wasn’t blood. It was love. It pours out of you when you lose faith.
Debra Anastasia
In his youth, he was electrified. The stars were moving in his bloodstream. He would not have been cowed by the customs of an earthly monarch. When he loved, it was with a heat and a desperation that he carried like a sword. He loved in the way that Greeks burned cities.
Brenna Yovanoff
A rebel adult often seems like a glorious savior, whereas a rebel child often seems like a little devil.
Criss Jami
If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I would be your slave.
Emily Brontë
All extremes of feeling are allied with madness.
Virginia Woolf
I love the ground under his feet, and the air over his head, and everything he touches and every word he says. I love all his looks, and all his actions and him entirely and all together.
Emily Brontë
I love you so much that nothing can matter to me - not even you...Only my love- not your answer. Not even your indifference.
Emily Brontë
Color is my daylong obsession, joy, and torment.
Claude Monet
This isn't a crush, it's obsession.You are never not in my thoughts. Your scent carries across a room and paralyzes me with longing. I don't want to hold your hand. Part of me wants to set you on fire and hold you while the flame consumes us both, to eat your heart so I know that only I possess it entirely.
Gwen Hayes
...an obsession is a way for damaged people to damage themselves more.
Mark Barrowcliffe

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user posted image
Jan 5 2018, 01:49 PM
107
posts
1975 demon assassin, pimp, information broker
archdemon
Mercy, mercy. Chains all wrapped around me, around me. Try to break free from the darker part of me. Mercy, mercy, please. All I see is a monster in me.
Hell
in love with his brother~
shipped & taken by his brother
Loki

awards

The Gatekeeper
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
Mattie: the Obsession
Basics
Loki's absolute love of life is none other than Matthias, his younger brother. It's incest, it's wrong, but Loki's been maniacally obsessed with Mattie for over a thousand years; it's so deep-seated in him he's beyond the point of salvation-- he's not missed it, he sped past it a million miles ago when he was circling Jupiter. Loki knows. Loki's presently in denial.

Returning to his home village as a demon, he left behind a site of carnage, viciously murdering anyone sans his sister, her husband and her children-- and his youngest brother, Matthias. At that time named Ninian, Ninian was a boy of eleven that Loki had adored prior to his passing, because Ninian had been too young to judge Loki badly. As a young man, Loki had had too much appetite for life, culminating in a treatment from his surroundings that ostracized him almost even from his own blood. Only his sister had stood by him, supporting and teaching him where the rest gave up; his verve was simply too much. It was why Loki spared her, and his brother Ninian was pity-mercy, left in his sister's hold as Loki the demon departed. They met, naturally again. It was only as Loki connected his brother had taken after him to track him down, seeking justice, that Loki first began obsessing. Since that, it's only progressed on to this point.

Calling Loki obsessive and possessive over his brother wouldn't do it as much justice. Loki's madness and mental instability had naturally shoved the emotion to an extreme. His level of obsession is truly wrong, such that he both contemplates carving himself to the inside of Mattie's lids and wanting to kill everyone around him. At the present, he is in a pretty heavy case of denial, meaning every his urge so far has remained ignored. Loki's however aware of them. He's obsessed to such a degree he cannot be fussed to nurture his ego; prideful, egotistical, he'd give it all up to get what he wants, and then write himself in the mind and body of his brother, whose reciprocation is only going to double what black flames already lick at Loki's core. He's irredeemable, wicked and wretched, anointed in the deepest powers of Hell and the Devil's right hand. And Hell's shoved them together because together they're lethal and unbeatable. Loki doesn't think Matthias is he.

He knows it, because he'll facilitate it. He is in love with him. In every way that Loki's capable, he's in love with his brother, but he's far too twisted and damaged of a person to manage any healthy take on the emotion. His love is accordingly sick and worrying, very violent, aggressive, and suffocating, demanding almost all of that Matthias can give him and then portions beyond. Loki doesn't know how to hold back, and considering how long he's been obsessed with own blood, loving him, wanting him, there's basically no chance he'll ever get tired of Matthias. He'll always love him in a very worrying and even disconcerting way. He'll always feel possessive over Mattie, since Mattie's destruction was inspired by Loki's creation, always entitled to everything Matthias has to the point if it was denied, he'd simply take it. He wants to consume his own flesh and obsess over everything Matthias has. And Loki cannot stop himself.

He dedicates himself wholly to his sibling and his obsession with him, wishing nothing more than the sight of being together. He'd like to take a needle and thread to their in-seams, and make them joined physically. He wants to ride him until all of the world has turned away to vomit. He wantsto be depraved. Cruel and dangerous, possessing Matthias for everything the man is on his own and then to Loki; his, everything about him. His eyes, his lips. His cock. His insides. Loki's a victim to a need to devour Matthias, and he will, owning his brother in every way. He'll be public with him, possessive, disturbing, and latched irreversibly to his brother for everything the man is, family, support, certainty, wicked. Cruel. A torturer. Matthias is Loki's terrifying punishment of himself, the repeat return to mouthfuls of that bit of wrong that's in abundance in Loki's life. He knows his desire is wrong. It hurts his obnoxious little humanity, sawing through his focus like a blade drenched in blood. Loki's hysteria could resurface only when it comes to Matthias. But he'll never stop. Matthias is something that Loki would always find himself walking down to, and his actual violent choice.

And forever his, ever.


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user posted image
Jan 13 2018, 04:06 PM
107
posts
1975 demon assassin, pimp, information broker
archdemon
Mercy, mercy. Chains all wrapped around me, around me. Try to break free from the darker part of me. Mercy, mercy, please. All I see is a monster in me.
Hell
in love with his brother~
shipped & taken by his brother
Loki

awards

The Gatekeeper
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
March 7th 59AD, Scotland
The Boy Who Loved Rain


The world rained like it would never again.

A bundle of nervous energy, Ciniath paced in their home. He heard thunder. He heard the crackling of the fire maintained in the center of the round, stone house he and either eight called home. Him, his parents, the rest of their children and then his grandfather and his aunt. The fire was low. He could barely focus as it were. Everyone watched. He wrung his hands like he didn’t know what to do with them. He was sixteen, just turning seventeen and he stood on legs a bit too long and with hair a bit too blonde. He moved to and fro like he worried about their corps.

The hard pounding of the rain was some kind of a song beyond these walls, tempting him to keep glancing at the doorway open to any invading or leaving frame. It made his throat dry. He worried if he grew thirsty, he’d not be able to drink. That the water would not find a way around the lump in his throat, and he’d parch himself sooner with all the falling water lashing at the ground between the homes of their settlement, and all the water available in every homemade pot and bowl that his family could offer with a failing hope to kill his struggle . Ciniath excited more at the thought.

Glancing everyone’s way, he tensed at their tight, narrow gazes, warning him not to indulge his need that he so very often did when the night didn’t yet sink but the rain did. It pounded. And it was pounding almost as harshly as the blood in his ears, making him worry if he didn’t sate his desire to run out and chase the dark clouds, his heart would rip through his skin and jump on a road to chase its want. The thought left Ciniath giddy.

Moving to the door, if he couldn’t leave he would tease the option. He lowered himself an inch away from the door frame, sitting with his back pressed to the wall that felt cold and softly rumbled. It must be the rain, he thought, it must surely be the rain. It was so hard even their home hurt. Ciniath breathed heavily. His darting eyes weren’t lasting.

Closing them, he focused on his quickened, excited breathing like he could silence this need with thoughts of an early rise to feed the animals, and another wet trip to the woods to pick up wood. When he caught sign of noise to his side, Ciniath looked there at once. He felt pride. His smallest brother, Ninian, had shuffled closer, his pretty blue eyes looking up at him with a wideness to them that Ciniath found adorable. He smiled at him, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

C’mere, he whispered almost audibly, thrilled that the rain muted it. Ninian was brought into Ciniath’s hold, and just like that for a moment, they remained. Their appearance of calm was on a timer.

Ciniath’s heart pounded with a guilty.

C’mere was whispered again, his little brother tucked right between his legs. Ciniath tightened his hold on him, and placed his lips such only Ninia would hear.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he was whispering. He felt Ninian’s skin bloom in goosebumps. He must be cold. Ciniath’s grin spread again. He felt his little brother’s face on himself. There, on his neck. It was a bit exciting, as well. Ninian must have been scared.

Chuckling into his ear, Ciniath chided, “Don’t be scared, little brother, big brother knows what he’s doing.”

A little moment would pass before Ninian dared to speak.

“And what is big brother doing?”

“Big brother is going out.”


Ninian smothered his gasp. Tensing, he tried glancing around them to see if anyone was looking at them, but Ciniath just wrapped his arms around him so tightly he left Ninian no room for movement. It was tight enough to feel a bit unpleasant; their chests rubbed against each other with every breath taken, and Ninian’s delicate body warmth did something horrible and beautiful to Ciniath’s mind that Ciniath was almost shy to bring up; it stoked that protective, passionate fire in his core that would have seen all of the world burn down if any harm came to Ninian. Ciniath hated that he’d one day grew up. He hated that these short and small limbs would one day be too tall for Ninian to accept protection from Ciniath's palm. That he’d be tall enough, big enough and strong enough not to need any of his older brother’s touch.

Derile was already that age; he’d stopped accepting the help of their father, and wooed a lovely woman in their settlement. It made Ciniath briefly imagine how it would look with more of their blood spreading outwards from this place; they lived nearby a cliffside that overlooked the roiling ocean to the east. There was a forest to the west. And a tall, wooden fencing wrapped around their settlement that was a smattering of houses all similar in size; the same stone walls, the same hard rooftops that puckered slightly in the middle, looking convex in form. Sometimes, it made Ciniath wonder what on earth they had to defend against; the seasons were merciless regardless of how they defended themselves, and there was no real threat in this land. Sometimes, Ciniath heard whispers.

Sometimes, their traveling men returned with fables of short, ambitious men from the far south where Ciniath had always imagined the skin would be purple. He thought it fit. He thought if he and his family had been born there, surely the weather would be as hot as in the valleys as he had heard again. The sun would burn ten times hotter, and their grass would grow even taller. Ciniath almost laughed at that thought.

With a puce color to his cheeks, he made sure his lips were at Ninian’s ear and only for the boy to hear.

“Don’t tell mother,” he warned. He felt Ninian gulp and slowly nod his head.

“I will not,” promised the boy. Ciniath heard the pale excitement in his voice.

“When?” asked Ninian. “When the rain abates?”

“No,”
whispered Ciniath.

“Do you know when?”

"Before."

"As the storm goes on."


Ciniath didn't answer. He buried his lips in Ninian’s soft baby hair, in the brittle strands on him awash in the scent of the last contact with the ground he’d had. Ciniath decided that Ninian didn’t smell earthy enough. That they had all this great ground around them, begging to be discovered, but Ninian smelled mostly of sweat. Ciniath closed his eyes, and rubbed his lips over his brother’s hair.

“Come with me,” he whispered into him.

Ninian was trembling by this point. With a smile, Ciniath loosened their tangle, and took Ninian by the shoulders so he could widen their distance. Though the fire was low, mostly sparkles kept for the hint of warmth, and the outside boasted with a dark bruise frowning at the below, Ciniath could still see Ninian’s blue eyes. He was sure Ninian could see his in turn. With a warm, compelling smile, Ciniath pressed his finger to his lips, and shushed at his brother, warning, “Shh… quiet now.” It just widened his smile. He leaned over their distance and pecked Ninian sweetly on his forehead.

“One, two… run to your mother, my sweet boy. Big brother’s up to no good.”

Niniah stood on shaky legs, but he followed. His cheeks, perhaps not visible in this pale lighting, were red, screaming with the color of shock and excitement, and Ciniath stood himself on his legs with an unassuming glide of his figure over the wall that nobody trusted. When he did move, it earned him attention. His father disapproved.

Irb was a stocky man, a feat even considering that the food wasn’t plenty, and the winters so typically harsh they always spent most of the warmer days preparing for the cold ones. But Ciniath looked him in the eye with a great portion of courage and daring, prompting the man’s weary peer to open widely.

“Ciniath, don’t,” warned the man so everyone could hear. Ciniath’s grandfather stirred. The poor man had lost his woman just the last winter. Ciniath felt deeply for him.

Ciniath grinned.

“No.”

“Ciniath-- CINIATH!”


Ciniath ducked out of the house. He rushed into the beating, felling shower outside, slapping his bare feet into the muddy pathways that had formed naturally between houses. They were soft, and cushioned his footballs. He heard how he splashed all their puddles. How he disturbed all these shallow waters. How the rain beat into him instead, but he felt no pain. He felt only the crying joy to relish in everyone moment.

“CINIATH!!”

Nobody would peer outside. Nobody cared to. Nobody doubted at this point that the quaint boy of Irb and Coblaith was up to no good again. Ciniath sometimes parroted what they said; I am up to no good, brother, he often told. Often, it was Ninian that Ciniath made his audience. Sometimes, Derile droned on and on about what it meant to be a man. Eithne, their sister, was no different, and her husband was a man of a short, unimpressive stature whereas the children of Irb and Coblaith had shot out so tall that Ciniath didn’t doubt Ninian would be the tallest of them. He looked forward to the day that Ninian kissed his forehead in jest.

He ran.

Ciniath ran long and unbridled, right down the middle of their settlement that was one broad nasty dirt road. He often picked up pebbles that he saw. Often, he arranged them how he preferred; he’d build them like an actual physical framing of the road, like he’d seen on the houses, a new, frighteningly novel touch that nobody appreciated. He still felt the burning stare of his smaller brother on himself as he ran. In the middle of the fence was an open hole. They’d not yet build anything in its middle like a door. Ciniath imagined a gate. He imagined something impossibly, impossibly tall and maybe made from the very cold stone like their homes.

He hated the very thought.

He stood in place of the door. Where they should have been a gate of sorts and where there was a void the land sloped a bit down, and the moat they’d build around their settlement ran shallow and harmless, supporting the wooden fence that apparently grew right out of it at a mild degree. Ciniath would have never thought that such a situation could naturally create a brook. It made sense when he gave it a thought. The rain, coming from the right angle, slipped down the backs of the fence like a loving, and kind palm, sliding down to the moat and filling the space with water. It overflowed from the fury of the weather. Ciniath’s breath faltered.

Gasping, he jumped over the narrow brook, and turned around to watch closely the view he left behind. He knew he’d not be running far. He knew he wanted to. Sometimes even forever just to see if he had the strength to run himself dead.

And thus he ran once more over the untouched and green land between his home and the forest. It wasn’t at all vast, but when Ciniath closed his eyes, for the few seconds that it took him to cross the distance, it felt that way. He was used to feeling the wind in his face. It liked to get cold here. It took him thirty seconds to get from his settlement until the outline of the forest. If he ran the fastest his legs could carry him, it took even fewer.

Ciniath closed his eyes.

He ran, and he ran as fast as he could like he was running away from the storm. He ran. And he felt the disapproving, shouting glare of his father and mother who’d rushed out after him, and the hunger of his little brother, contained protectively in the hold of one or the other. He ran. He stopped breathing for a moment, or at least he didn’t hear any sound from himself. And he ran until he felt bold. He tripped and he fell in under a moment.

He slipped over the soft muddied world of the grass below, stinking so freshly of rain and wet soil that he hungrily inhaled it the moment he hit it post fall. He buried his face into it like he had into his brother. And sat himself up, his legs folded underneath himself and his body bent forward in reverence. He was stuffing it full of the earth’s scent, the slippery, sticky wet that stained all of his clothes and soaked him through with its fragrance. He’d smell like this very ground he sat on, green as it turned in spring. He’d smell, too, after a hint of the ever pounding, stubborn rain, making vision hard but not impossible. Ciniath had no need to see, however. He kept his bow, and when he finally did sit back on his haunches, it was with a smile.

His face was turned up, his smile a wide, reverent celebration of life. His cheeks were red, and would remain it both from the rain, and that warm wild energy he emanated. He left his arms to hang by his side. He’d look up only when he felt the rain lessen its touch. When it tamed, and one impossible likelihood was that it had needed his beatific attention.

Ciniath was smiling when he opened his eyes. He had raindrops stuck to his lashes and sneaking under his clothes. He was sure he and the rain were making love. It was more exciting than any woman that he’d begun to notice with shy smiles; better than any long-legged brunette, than Drusticc’s kind, patient gaze.

Than Ninian’s curious, wide-blue eyes.

Ciniath just widened his smile, and watched the dark, raining sky.

“There,” he whispered, seeing a hint of the peeking sun in the silver that lined the clouds. There. Widely, Ciniath smiled.

“Even the darkest storms bring a piece of light.”

And to that again and until the storm ended-- Ciniath closed his eyes. This gentle rain would caress his cheek like the only love of Ciniath’s life.
@Sarah

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