#not exactly like the skulls in their childhood home—but something akin to it.

[dreamcrow]

Hellouu dream!! Good aftermoon! ^^

How are you today?? I hope you are good hihi :3

Sooo.. I have a little question that has been on my mind ever since I saw your art..

•I wanted to know more about the relationship between bellroc and them familiar dragon (I don't know if that's the term...)

•how did bellroc kill him??

•how did he meet this Dragon?

•Skrael already knew about all this??

(I know.. it's more than one question.. but I was curious...) byeeee!!👋👋 have a nice dayyy :3

kitty you are so sweet. thank you for indulging me and my little headcanons; i hope the ramblings that follow were as fun to read as they were to imagine.

what is a familiar? it comes from the same root as "family," but in classical latin familia generally means the *slaves* of a household (hence the english sense, used elsewhere in toa, of "a magical servant"). which isn't why i headcanon that bellroc wears their familiar's skull, by the way, though it would probably add to their general bemusement at modern magic-users' concept of the relationship. i've had this headcanon for such a long time, now, but despite wanting very badly to write something about it i've never actually gotten anything to a publishable state. (the one thing i have written recently about this is currently. 100-odd words of snippy banter/[INSERT SCENE-SETTING HERE], which feels like it doesn't quite count.) so. some bullet points, while i kick around some thoughts in the microwave of the mind.

yes, bellroc killed their familiar. they did not know that's what she was. they did not mean to do it.

azherin was a giant fuckoff dragon, the distillation of everything stories say dragons should be: vain, cunning, arrogant, unfathomably powerful. because it's my oc and my hc and therefore everything is based on my terrible taste, she is (mostly) feathered, and breathes silver fire (and occasionally lightning). she's also got a wife and kids but god if we fall down that rabbithole i really will never get to bed

the first time they see her, a slip of oil-black bleeding up from the edge of the sky, they feel a flash of some vague, fleeting connection. they wonder what it is, just for a moment, before (they think) they realize: the old familiar coil of fear, twisting to settle bright and lazy into their gut. they think she's smoke, from a particularly vicious wildfire.

when they find out what she actually is—for the first time since dying, in a particularly vicious wildfire—they think on how how strange it is, at this age, to find something they may fear more than that.

(the thought of "a familiar" never occurs to them. to either of them. bellroc never knew magic before receiving it violently and unexpectedly; skrael has heard of magic users with companions of varying sorts but if he's ever seen one, it's only been a mundane-looking creature like a bird or a sable marten. they wouldn't know the word as we use it now, and probably don't, for a long time.)

but bellroc does by now know magic, and by now knows it very well. always conscious that their mastery is earned—that they've had to work for it—but conscious that they are a master, all the same. they're the only person in the world to wear so much (or any) metal jewelry, let alone have a metal staff almost as tall as them. they might not quite openly think of themself as a god—yet—but they are certainly thinking about gods and godhood as a general concept, much more than they did while within the span of a normal human lifetime. they think about power, sure, about improving their craft, about impressing a certain someone, improving their lives; but also duty, obligation, right.

so when they find out a literal dragon is going around terrorizing defenseless human towns—well. they'll catch the devil from skrael later, for being so reckless. but in the moment, they protest: what else could they do?

as it turns out: even the most op of magical cavemen does not simply 1v1 a giant flying murderlizard.

especially one that can breathe lightning.

especially when their primary weapon is a giant metal stick.

skrael meanwhile is watching all of this—what. rivalry? folie à deux? he's been having odd dreams lately, infrequent, but insistent and recurrent, from his own yet-unknown familiar/skull source, which maybe is making him less charitable than he could be. but after watching bellroc definitely get their ass kicked and definitely be way more torn up about it than he'd expected: when they notice him being so dubious he must admit, he is perplexed. he understands bellroc's stated reasons for why they (tried to) intervene, that first time; it would be a terrible thing, he agrees, to find yourself in a town that a dragon has now decided is her personal pantry. but terrible shit happens all the time. however admirable it may be to try and stop it (and he does think it's admirable, because he's a sap) he is always, at heart, a pessimist.

even if you could have saved that one village—he means it gently, even if it doesn't quite come out right—you know she'll just move on to another.

and bellroc blanches. for the first time in a long time: they have a (small, but) serious fight.

because—bellroc's perspective is: they have all this power. all of this life, after dying, terribly; all of this magic, after a life of nothing of the kind. perhaps one mortal effort would make no difference; perhaps, even now, their effort would not tip the balance. as it certainly did not in that hill-town, they mutter, bitterly.

but they are no mortal, now. what's the good of having this power, if they don't even use it?

anyway bellroc and azherin end up running into each other 6-7 times. the last time, azherin just loses her shit at this insolent, interfering child:

(please excuse the clumsiness here; this must be from. good god. twenty twenty-one)

...which ends predictably (though maybe not entirely so). and when skrael finds them, after, then he really lets them have it.

#q&a #trollhunters #wizards #wip tag #almost 900 words in like. an hour. @ myself where is this every other hour of every other day of the week #tldr: i wanted to think about what this 'familiar' relationship means #and i also wanted to explain why bellroc and skrael wore skull helmets but not nari #they're not trophies. skrael's is—possibly something else. not *just* a helmet #but bellroc treats theirs as a relic. #something sacred. something that reminds them of something important. #when they're not wearing it they keep it in a little shrine in their room #not exactly like the skulls in their childhood home—but something akin to it. #something they care for. that they would repair. if it were ever to be damaged. #long post

[brief-candle]

ᴡɪᴛɴᴇss - Yoshikage Kira.

this has been a hiatus and a half, huh?

first of all, i'd like to apologise for the wait on this. and a couple of other requests that i've yet to do, but this in particular. because this is a good couple of months old and,, omg i can't believe it. i'm so so sorry

a lot has happened. college is back, unfortunately, and i've just been taking a lot of time to myself to avoid writer's block! as well as having wrote like 3000 words for this chapter and hating it all so then purging the vast majority of it to make it like twice as dark and gritty. kinda. still kinda iffy on most of it.

hope it's at least passable, and apologies that my long hiatus resulted in,, this.

anyways! here's wonderwall everyone's favourite hand fetishist!

series: jojo's bizarre adventure.

notes: yandere, choking, minor character death, general lack of niceness here.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰ 

Work wasn't exactly stressful, but by god it was boring. Day in, day out; nine until five, nothing was ever different. Not that you'd expected anything different. It just came with the process of being an adult.

You almost snorted sardonically, thoughts wandering back to school. Back then, your head was full of dreams of grandeur, of something far better than some dead end job sat in an office, achieving nothing before death finally arrived. However those ideas were little more than delusions that would never be given the chance to develop to fruitation. Such were the realities of life, that childhood dreams very rarely were given the chance to become a reality. A truth. Something more than an unachievable, faroff pipe dream that could only be experienced through hard drugs or strange dreams that one would shrug off or forget by the time that a coffee is poured. Ah, speaking of, you could really do with one of those right now.

It was like he had read your mind, as per usual you'd found with him, as a cup of coffee exactly to your tastes had found its way onto your desk.

"Ah, thanks Mr. Kira."

You'd found yourself coming almost quite close with the man, despite him usually keeping to himself and separating home life from work. Well, as close as one could get to someone who seemed to distance himself from those who worked with him, anyway. In a way, you'd found it rather admirable. Some colleagues may have thought the same, or disregarded it entirely, with how they fawned over him. It was pretty gross to watch, but you tended to keep such thoughts to yourself. Life was easier that way, as less drama came from it.

Besides, you could see where they were coming from in a way. It was clear to anyone with functioning eyes that Yoshikage Kira was attractive, with immaculate taste that only seemed to compliment naturally good looks. Especially with his smile, which seemed so broad and genuine. You envied him in a way, with beautiful features and a smile that could make many a heart skip a beat.

Though you supposed that you were no exception.

Even now, after so many coffees brought to you and so many small sessions of idle chat, you could practically feel your cheeks redden as he spoke. Voice like honey and smooth as silk, with such a charming expression to match. You could only hope that your cheeks weren't as red as they were warm to the touch. As long as no one noticed, it would be fine. You feared you'd die of embarrassment if your little schoolgirl crush on your coworker was exposed, even at this stage in adulthood. It truly was a pathetic situation. Especially when you couldn't even dream of calling him by his first name else you'd immediately regret it from the sheer embarrassment it could bring upon yourself. Besides, no one called Yoshikage Kira by anything but his surname, seeing as he tended to keep to himself and no one was close enough to acceptably use his given name.

Then that smile emerged, and the revelation that your heart was not immune to the effects of his charm made itself known like a slap in the face. Oh, how the mighty do fall. Or how the pathetic fall further.

"You're welcome."

Just those two words, spoken like they were imbued with the very essence of charm itself, and he was gone. You almost sighed, whether from relief for your heart or some sort of wistful longing was beyond you. Perhaps it was even a combination of both, seeing as that would most likely be your only conversation with the man that day. Maybe even for the next couple of days.

That said, your cheeks felt like they were on fire. This interaction had been different, shockingly so, as there was something more than words there.

It was almost funny how things so quickly changed. From there you'd ended up in what felt like some sort of alternate dimension, as strange and silly as such a thing sounded.

"Don't kill me...! Please- please! I won't tell a soul, I swear!"

It was just a drunken night out; the first in a while and a chance to catch up with some old friends for the first time in a long while. Your separate careers had prevented you doing so for a good few months at the very least. And oh, how you'd wished it had been delayed for a few months longer. How nice it was to imagine how differently it could've all gone, to find comfort in the infinite possibilities of 'if', to seek shelter in it away from the harrowing present splayed out in front of you.

Or the lack of things splayed out in front of you, that is.

You were just a normal office worker who liked their morning coffees a little too much. This sort of strange, otherworldly phenomena were way beyond you. Was this some sort of dream? A sick joke that life had decided to play on you?

It was easy to believe that. Much too easy to fall into disbelief. And yet you couldn't do it, with your throat feeling like it was being constricted torturously slowly, closing in on itself little by little. Fraction of a millimetre by fraction of a millimetre. Tear ducts had long since dried up in your panic and sheer, unbridled fear. How useful they'd be now, adding any sliver of extra punch to your last resort: begging for your life from what you had believed to be your just-as-normal coworker.

His gaze was cold. Sharp as it seemed to pierce you completely, and only further convinced you that it was over. Useless to do anything but sit there on your just as useless, quaking legs and take the death he'd grant and hope to any and all forms of God that it'd be quick. Hell, maybe he'd just erase you completely. Like what had happened to the rest of your friends, drunkenly foolish in their suggestion to follow your coworker for the sole purpose of revealing your mundane, fruitless crush. How childish it was, and how unfathomably huge the consequences were. How what you'd stumbled in on, little more than a hand with no body in sight that he grasped so tightly onto, with a strange smell and thickness to the air. How quickly his head had snapped around as you'd all turned around the corner into the apartment's living area, bumbling and brainless as you'd almost literally stumbled upon such a horrifying sight.

The screams bounced around your head, echoing off each wall of your brain and skull and everything. Vibrating and reverberating through your skeleton, before crashing to a sudden, incomplete halting.

"You weren't meant to be here."

His voice was smooth as always, icy as it never was. You would've described it as uncharacteristically so, if you weren't so firm in your realisation that the Yoshikage Kira that you'd known was little more than a façade for this...

Whatever this was in front of you.

His eyebrows furrowed, perfectly groomed in their shape like every other immaculate thing about him, and you briefly wondered why he hadn't spoken about his obvious displeasure. You would've asked if you could, but the heaving movements of your body quickly told you the reason why.

You were laughing.

"Don't you think," and, as if you weren't already convinced your grave had been dug there and then, you decided to pipe up with your foreign, cracking and hoarse voice, "that I'd love to be anywhere but here, too? You think we followed you asking to..."

Asking to what? To continue that question, rhetorical or not, it'd require you to have an ounce of knowledge as to what was going on. You didn't even have a fraction of a fraction of a clue. And so, hysterical laughter finally grinding to a slow and weak halt, just like the rest of you, you abandoned that train of thought and speech completely.

"Just get it over with."

He was still silent, as if listening to the heightening of pride and lack of fear many humans seemed to have when realising that death at the hands of another was inescapable.

"I mean-" it wasn't even a laugh, more of a dry and desperate huff than anything else, "what are you even waiting for? I bet you're enjoying this, aren't you, you disgusting fuckin--"

Then you were cut off, a force akin to a truck at full speed crashing into your neck and

tightening

its

hold.

The prior panic and fear reared its head again in full force, limbs thrashing and clawing at thin air. You could feel the imprints of ghostly fingers around your neck, silently gasping in a greedy attempt for air and out of groundless shock as they pushed and slammed your already disoriented, powerless form into a wall and pinning you there. It was confusion, panic panic panic panic as you continued to struggle.

Air came just after the darkness threatened to invade, and your aching lungs welcomed it with open arms.

Whatever invisible, untouchable hand had grasped your neck was still present, if the grooves threatening to choke you within an inch of your life again were anything to go by.

"Now, now, now," he'd said, moving closer. Each step seemed to bring the already very present threat of immediate death closer, as if even one step into his shadow could wipe someone off the face of the Earth without a trace nor second glance. And, at this point, you'd believe it.

His mouth was moving, words spoken but drowned out by endless roars and waves of deafening white noise. You had to crane your neck to look at his face, and the hand around your throat used its thumb (? did it have a thumb? you didn't know, and didn't care to know at that point) to do so after noticing your lack of effort to do so. His eyes were daggers, and lip curled in disapproval.

You were looking at him, but all you could see were your friends becoming less than dust.

How their eyes, dull and lifeless, blamed you wordlessly with oceans of contempt. It was your fault for not stopping them, for having such feelings for such a monster. Even if you didn't know; you must've known! It was impossible for you not to notice something so inhumane lurking under that mask of pleasant smiles and warm small talk.

Even sharper than his gaze was the pain in your scalp as he wrenched your head to the side. When had he kneeled down? You weren't aware; you weren't present. But you were. Were you? Through his staring, you could see their tears and the unclosed eyes, wide and frozen in time. Doomed to shock and fear for an eternity.

"It'd be wise for you to start listening." They screamed at you, for you. To join them, that you would join them. To run, to lie down and just let him off you already. To scream for help, as if anyone who'd have offered help in the first place wouldn't have come running by now.

"What's the point?"

You were still snappy, it seemed. As if begging him to send you to meet your friends. Maybe you were. It would probably be better than teetering on the line of panic and terrifying calmness, seesawing between them with too much ease and swiftness.

"This is why you should've been listening."

He released your hair, cool and unsettlingly neutral eyes wandering to one of your hands. They were lay by your side now, having given up on your struggling some time ago. You didn't struggle when he picked one up, either, cradling it and rubbing soft circles into it. There was no reaction from you. Just apathy, letting him continue as he liked. It was easier that way, and would bring a less painful fate.

"It seems your manners need some work," neither of you were sure if you were even listening anymore. You doubted he even cared either way, with the way he tended to your appendage, "but there's time. We can improve it, can't we?"

Surely not.

Absolutely not.

If he was meaning what you thought he was meaning, you suddenly found that death seemed much more favourable. Desirable, even, rather than a resignation of yours.

"Don't stare so dumbly."

Yoshikage was quick to chide you there, and even quicker to strike you not-too-gently upside your head. Not quite enough to black you out, but definitely enough to daze you for a good while. Not that it mattered too much if you weren't fully unconscious; your chance of escaping was incredibly slim to none even if you did know the way. After all, Yoshikage's routine was perfect. Always followed meticulously. All he needed to do to make sure you didn't wander was to slot you in there as well.

Your hands weren't the most beautiful. Definitely not when compared to prior girlfriends of his, but (strangely enough) they weren't his main focus for once. It was everything else, too, from the curve of your smile to the lightening up of your eyes, to the way you styled your hair and the scent of your perfume. A combination of the small, meticulously analysed details that made you... you. And this strange fascination made you one of a kind. Dangerous, really, yet he couldn't yet bring himself to be rid of you.

Maybe one day. It would be easier to continue living that way, without you to confuse him so after a lifetime of being certain about everything he'd done. Having planned his whole life, only for you to upset it all and throw off the delicate balance.

He'd make it work. Until the day he could bring himself to rid himself of you, you'd stay no matter what. Even moreso after what you'd witnessed, after you saw what he hadn't planned you to.

Though you won't be seeing much of anything anymore, really. Three rooms maximum don't really offer much in terms of variation in sights.

#yandere #yandere kira #yandere x reader #yandere yoshikage kira #yandere jjba #yandere jjba x reader #x reader #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure

[storiesofwildfire]

@ofcharredbones​ said: Grand gestures made specifically for a commercialized holiday is stupid. He's said it before and he'll say it again, but it doesn't stop him from cooking up something every year. This time, Johnny took Loki out of the city for a midnight picnic in a forested area by the mountains. The night sky was incredibly clear here, bearing many stars for them to admire as they sat on a thick blanket. Talking softly as they ate and drank; telling each other stories. His were of his blurry childhood, the happier times he could recall. Places his father's carnival traveled to, all the interesting things he saw and all the mischief he got into- usually by ways of fireworks he stole from the carnival's stockpile. It wasn't a physical gift, but he thought maybe this romantic getaway would be enough, although, Johnny had one more surprise. “Hey, watch this,” he stands suddenly and his human visage melts away to the Rider’s. Hellfire dances along talons before gathering against his palm; swirling and alive. He grips it tight, then hurls it up into the air. It looks like a comet as it soars higher and higher...until it goes off. Fills the sky with something akin to fireworks- a beautiful display of reds, oranges, and golds dancing together and continuing even minutes after. As the concentrated energy dissipates, the lights dim and vanish slowly like dying stars. It’s nice, even then, Johnny thinks. “Happy Valentine’s Day, darling.” His glee doesn’t translate well in his Rider form; any expression really, but he hopes the warmth and adoration in his voice is enough, “I love you.”

random asks -- status; always accepting

♔—- After the years they’d been together, Loki could definitely give Johnny credit where credit was due. Despite being rather rough around the edges and with enough emotional baggage to almost match Loki’s, Johnny was always an attentive partner. He sometimes had difficulty expressing his feelings and didn’t always like falling into the romantic traps of cheesy holidays, but he always went out of his way to make Loki feel special. It wasn’t just reserved for special occasions either. Even if they didn’t go on lavish dates every time they were together, his partner did always do something to welcome Loki home.

Yes, home.

Loki might have been the king of Asgard and the protector of the Nine Realms, but Asgard didn’t feel much like home. The palace didn’t feel like home anymore--if it ever did, truly. Loki ever really felt at home when he came back to Midgard to see their... boyfriend? That term didn’t feel right, though they supposed on a technical level, it was accurate. They never really lingered on their title or what they would like to be in the future, they always just seemed so happy to be in one another’s company.

Boyfriend just didn’t seem to cover it, though. Johnny was so much more than that by now. So much more than some juvenile term could ever describe. Loki never anticipated it, never expected to fall in love. Gods, when they met Johnny, that hadn’t exactly been in the best place mentally to even think about a serious relationship, but somewhere along the way, amusement and mutual attraction turned to lust, and that lust turned into something far more serious than even Loki could have hoped to anticipate for. 

And eventually, love... As absolutely mushy as that sounds.

The trip out of town was a pleasant surprise. Loki knew this visit would include Valentine’s Day,  a horrible cliche holiday that mortals liked to harp on as an excuse to go on expensive dates and buy one another useless and overprices trinkets, flowers that would die in the course of a week, and mediocre chocolates in a heartshaped box. Johnny never went to the extreme with his cliches, often showing an open distaste for the over the top focus on the day, but he always did plan something. A little gift of some sort, a date. Sometimes he’d go out of his way to cook for Loki and dazzle them with baked goods. Sometimes the romantic evening hyperfocused on something rather R-rated--which was sort of what Loki anticipated as they made their way out into the woods.

Rather than strip under the moonlight and fuck like a couple of rabid animals, though, they shared snacks and finger foods, exchanged lighthearted stories about their past and some of the things they loved to do. Loki shared some stories of when the triplets were young and how Jörmungandr had grown so massive even as a small child that he could coil himself all the way around Loki’s body. The serpent was definitely nothing short of a hugger, he just sometimes squeezed too hard.

Loki even suggested going to visit Jor and Fenrir. After becoming king, Loki lifted their banishments and imprisonment and Fenrir immediately took to living with his brother here on Midgard. They were more or less inseparable, and given how long Fenrir spent in isolation, Loki was more than delighted to see that his brother was so willing to help him settle and adjust to life after the trauma. 

But Loki didn’t let any negative thoughts invade their mind or leave their mouth. Not tonight. It was too peaceful of an evening, too lovely of a night, and the last thing they wanted to do was ruin the mood by bringing up something sad. Instead, their magic pulsated invisibly around them in content, wrapping the space they occupied in Loki’s energy. While it couldn’t be seen, it could definitely be felt and it passed a warm, fuzzy feeling, almost like the joy of sunlight dancing across one’s skin to warm without burning or causing discomfort. It was almost as if Loki’s seidr responded to their enjoyment of the evening. In truth, that’s exactly what was happening, and as Johnny finally decided to shift to his Rider form, Loki’s magic coiled throw the energy that radiated off the rider, blending at the seams so it was almost difficult to tell where Johnny’s power ended and Loki’s began.

The personal comet display truly did take Loki’s breath away, though. Not much did that anymore. Living for centuries upon endless centuries and encountering such a wide range of creatures, places, and abilities kind of took some of the surprise out of most things, but Loki watched the comet break apart into beautiful shades of gold and red as if they’d never seen the colors before. 

That certainly beat the Hel out of the homemade desserts Loki made and brought from Asgard for them to share, though they were all delicious and they were all mostly different from things available on Midgard.

“You really are growing more and more advanced in your abilities, Johnny,” Loki murmured as the last bits of falling star finally died out. “Every time you show me something new, I’m even more impressed than I was the time before. You’ve really come into your own and you can bring such beauty to the world... It’s a real honor to see you blossom and even take pride in what you can do.”

As they spoke, they shifted across the blanket and finally closed the physical gap between them, though the way Loki’s magic settled happily about them both made it seem like they were always in contact even if they weren’t actually touching. 

The raw emotion that poured off of Johnny might have been difficult to see in Rider form. A skeleton on fire only really had so much range in terms of expression, but Loki could see it, and even if they couldn’t, they could certainly feel the radiating happiness that sang from the Rider. They hadn’t always known it, but they could read people incredibly well, partly because they could sort of feel the emotions of the people around them. Empathetic seemed like an incorrect term to apply to themselves, but it did sort of fit...

Sliding into Johnny’s lap, Loki made themselves comfortable by straddling Johnny’s hips. Anyone watching would have called them crazy for such a thing, and the sight truly must have been something to see. Someone willingly climbing into the lap of a six-foot-nine skeleton drenched in hellfire would have been a fun-yet-terrifying thing to watch, but Loki had no fear. No reason to fear the person who loved them so much. Even Zarathos didn’t scare Loki, though he was much less pleasant to deal with. He seemed at least willing to tolerate Loki because Johnny cared so deeply for them.

Besides, the number of things Loki let Johnny do to them while in Rider form sort of demanded there be no real fear between them, and Gods did Loki enjoy a lot of questionable activities...

“This has been such a lovely treat,” they murmured, hands coming up to cup each of Johnny’s cheekbones. Literally. It always reminded them in part of Hel, and how often they’d gone out of their way to cup Hel’s half-dead cheek rather than her living side to emphasize just how important it was to ignore those around her. “I expected something, but you’ve really outdone yourself this time. I don’t remember the last time I got to sit and stare at the stars without having to worry about what hid in the darkness between them.”

Leaning forward, Loki placed an almost too-gentle kiss where Johnny’s lips should have been. Nothing particularly sensual or inherently sexual to it. While they expected to get there eventually, Loki didn’t see a reason to rush right to it or to ruin such a beautiful moment. Just sitting in Johnny’s lap and sharing in the closeness was more than enough.

“Thank you for never failing to make each Valentine’s Day we spend together special. Even if this holiday is absolutely ridiculous,” they murmured, pressing their forehead gently against the solid bone of Johnny’s skull. They had to sit up a bit on their knees to reach comfortably, but it was worth it. “I love you too, Johnny.”

#ofcharredbones #ask Loki #answered prayers #c; johnny blaze #( main verse ; post tdw ) you've ruined everything #( ship ) loki x johnny #( long response ) if it were easy everyone would do it #valentines day 2020