#mod serval
Two more requests to go, and then I’ll post about the new system and open requests back up!
You spin your words carefully the way you spin your web, to the boy who cannot escape the trappings of string you’ve created just for him, and you slowly but surely find that he is getting caught in your words as well. You feed him, care for him, wrap him in all of your many limbs and whisper sweet words as you use his immobility to find his sweet spot and make him shiver. The little shudders are so much different than struggling. And that dies down, too, eventually. The poor thing, so completely and hopelessly trapped, both physically and by your love.
His stares take on a different tone, a different look, his words become less as knives to cut the threads and instead he begins to build a web of his own. You are so proud. You have loved him for so long, and now, finally, he sees you in the light you were always meant to be seen. Good, how very good of him to finally understand– especially considering there was never any other option. And now he is yours, even if you cut the threads. Even if your web was gone, he is yours. And when he tells you he loves you, you wrap him in all of your limbs once more, and you hold each other tightly as lovers do.
Magic was not his forte, but to his credit, he was doing quite well regardless. Sure, he got some of the ingredients mixed up a few times, and couldn’t tell an adder from a newt, but he was diligent in his quest. A small smile flitted across your face– you supposed, after all, that was simply in his nature as a knight. The familiar chink of armor alerted you to his returning presence, metal boots heavy upon the creaking wooden floor of your simple cottage. “This is it, then,” he said, voice heavy with relief of reaching a goal you’ve yearned so long for. But it was also a question. Not just of the ingredients, no, but asking for confirmation. Consent. Moral reassurance. “For the ingredients, yes,” you confirmed, your own voice taking on a strange air and a near-hollow sound, though not fully reflective of your mood. You hesitated. Not for yourself, but for him, your love.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this? Necromancy will leave a stain on soul that can spread if ever you go astray. And a stain, too, on your reputation should it ever be found out.” Gravely you said so, as your voice, as the chill in the air around your thin and light-letting-through form. Your love, your brave knight, took a shaky breath, and it echoed through his helmet. He was hiding within it, you knew, but bravery was not an absence of fear, and certainty was not excluded by its existence. “If I can do this right, I will. It was not your time. And I am confident the stars will agree, and help me on this quest.” It was nearly a mantra. You smile, and he lets your ghostly hand cup his helmet. “When you do this, my form here will disappear,” you tell him. “I have guided you all I can. If this works, you won’t see me. If it doesn’t, the same shall happen.” He nods, solemnly, and it’s poetic in he way he’s knelt upon the ground. “I love you,” he says, just once, before it all begins (and maybe ends). You press your forehead to his, let your essence chill his helmet. “I won’t say it back, my love. I’ll tell you in body when the ritual is complete.” Your knight stands, all business and power, and begins the ritual. And you are, suddenly–
“It is nice, to have guests,” you admit to the stranger sitting beside you, the only occupied seat other than your own at the long and expensive table. He sits elbows on the table and chin in his hands, but even his improper etiquette is preferred to the dread silence of a hollow silent hall. “I have tried to invite nobles, but they will not come unless there is anoccasion– and even the commonfolk think there is a sort of taboo against such.” You sigh wistfully, absently swirling the drink in your glass. You were trying not to let the loneliness seep into your voice, though probably to no avail. “–But tell me– where have you travelled through? What have you seen? And, if I may be so curious, what inspired you to so boldly visit a king of your own volition?”
“Ah, your majesty, it’s refreshing to see someone of your stature seek knowledge of the outside world.” His eyes are entrancing. What has he seen? What does he know? You are fascinated. You need to know more. “I’ve traveled everywhere my mortal feet can take me, and seen cultures so strange you would think they were borne of the fae.” You find yourself leaning into his every word, quite literally, abandoning your own etiquette and your meal to tilt your lavish chair to the side and lean across the table corner. “As for you, I heard you never had company. It must get lonely.” You’re nodding against your will. You may be a king, but it’s so… “I have an idea,” he tells you, interrupting your thoughts.
“Every week, I shall visit you for a night and tell you a tale of a different place I’ve been and what I saw there. I’ve been so many places that surely it will last the rest of your lifetime. But I’m afraid in order to do so, I must ask something in return.” You hesitate. As a king, it’s your duty to be wary. You do your best to become kingly again in manner. “And what is it you want?” You ask sternly. “Jewels? My throne? A piece of the kingdom? Power?” He laughs, and it’s such an interesting sound. You can’t place its tone exactly, but it sounds like something beautiful placed in a haunting, empty night. “Of course not. None of that. Nothing like that at all, actually.” Relief washes over you. How thrilling, to have the company of such a stranger every week! “Then I don’t see why not! It’s a deal.” The stranger’s deep eyes glint from anticipation, and they glint as well almost yellow from the flickering flamelight of your hall as he shakes your hand.
Then suddenly, your face slams against the ornate table. Stunned, you take a moment to process what’s happening, and luckily the stranger lets you. Entire upper body bent over the table, hand you shook with twisted against your back, he is flush against you and pinning you down hard. Gently, the stranger removes your crown and sets it aside. “Wouldn’t want to cut yourself on its edges, love,” he hisses. You never realized until now how physically weak you were. And, in your attempt to struggle using your lower body instead, you manage only to grind your rear against his crotch and feel his hardened length in painful detail. “I– I– I am a king! Unhand me this instant!” You say, in a very desperate, un-kingly manner.
“As a king,” the stranger says, voice unwavering in tone and steadiness, “It is your duty to learn of the details of every deal you will ever make, before you make them.” You feel the blood drain from your face and your limbs go slack with shock as things start to dawn on you. “Especially when dealing with the Unknown. Any consequence that comes after can only be your own fault.” He intentionally grinds against you, now, and color returns to you as the heat of embarrassment. You dare not move, choosing instead to listen. Even this, you realize with a sad sort of dread, is preferable to the vast loneliness you’d had before. He tsks. “I even threw in something about fae as a warning! Though, I’m a bit worse.”
Despite yourself, you speak up. Your nature will always get the best of you, even at the worst of times. “Unfortunately, I’m still fascinated. What have I traded, and to whom?” The stranger laughs again, in the same way as before, alluring and otherworldly. “Your body and pleasure in exchange for stories of afar. He toys with your crown for a moment with the hand that isn’t pinning you. Then he sets it on the table and uses it to lean over you and look down, meeting your eyes. It was no trick of the light, earlier. His eyes are yellow and he now sports horns as a wild goat would have. “I do hope,” he says– as you can feel the intensity of his bodyheat, and it’s so much more contact than you’ve had in a lifetime but you don’t want it to stop, not at all– “That your reign isn’t considered a holy one. If it was, well. It won’t be for much longer.” He grins. As far as deals with strangers go, you’ve made worse.
