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Sekah
Star
- Joined
- Jul 25, 2021
- Location
- Your mom's house.
Fae have true names, their most jealously guarded secret. With the possession of their true name, they can be held in thrall, forced to do anything within their power. To have a fae's true name is to control them completely. YC, a changeling, was taken by the fae centuries ago [or years; you do you]. Those centuries ain't passed easily; they ain't passed quietly. Honestly? Hell has a name, and it's Beyond the Veil. He was turned into a monster by the fae, and tortured, day in / day out he was tortured. Made a hellhound, a creature with teeth for tearing and claws for ripping, his body was for one purpose: to protect the fae.
And then he destroyed them instead. Well, his Master/Mistress at least; and he finally escaped.
That should have been the end of it.
Only nothing was the same, he didn't fit anywhere, everything was noisy and smelled awful and food tasted like ash in comparison. There were other changelings, a whole society of free changelings, but fuck if he fit in there, either. Most were so tender-hearted with each other and help me help you and touchy-feely. He wanted to hunt. He didn't want to help humans, he wanted to eat them. Whatever he was now, whoever he was, he wasn't this weak little soft loud bad-smelling thing infesting the once-green planet anymore.
Then he got one very, very interesting scent.
Fae. Fae playing human. Fae living with humans. He was going to crush their sculls. Drink their spinal fluids from the tap. See if they could heal that. No; too fast. He'd regretted killing his master fast, regretted it deeply, it had torn him apart!
He had suffered centuries.
So would this.
Anyway, yadda yadda, he finds out Crow's true name the old fashioned way: by threatening his family. Now, unimaginable power—and a beautiful but unwilling faerie—is held in YC's grasp.
Three variations of this plot up for grabs, and other riffs on it perfectly acceptable.
Possible plot addition: He also took Crow's sister Hana - and to punish Crow, he rapes her, creating a child this fucked up family ends up raising.
Version One: Historical fantasy, set in India in the year about 1508. Early age of the sail. Historical accuracy is neither needed nor desired! I welcome historical laymen!
Version Two: Modern day, set in Maine in the US in cabins on the edge of a national forest. As much as he's motivated by revenge, your character is probably younger—if you'd like, maybe centuries passed beyond the veil, but only a few years over here, or it was just a few years all-told—and he'd like to Get Rich Quick, and Crow is the ticket. Very Rags to Riches tale, except a very bad bad person becomes rich. Have you ever wanted to build a manor with a secret, very bad room? "This is my personal assistant Crow. No, don't offer him a seat. He'll be kneeling." Also, Crow would make a terrible PA. He has severe dyslexia and nobody's bothered to take the time or assistive technology or teaching so he can read or write.
That only makes it better, in my mind. For example, imagine someone with a library telling Crow, "Beast, go back to my room and get the book x."
They realize they haven't seen him for three hours and go to find him for a Very Special Trip to the Very Special Room and find him crying in frustration, with every book in the entire room in piles around him and the one he asked for right on the top of a nearby pile as Crow is trying hard to concentrate and sound out the first word "the" in the book he's holding's title when his ass never got far enough into hooked on phonics Hana got him for the day they use to celebrate his birthday to get to th = thhh because everything kept jumping around no matter how hard he tried and it gave him a wicked headache trying to concentrate and he decided he really was just too stupid to learn, felt acceptance with that, and got up to do something else which was probably work three jobs to put food on the table as an illiterate adult without abusing his magic to manipulate global stock markets, forge documents so nobody could ever tell they were forgeries, spelled so anyone suspicious who reads them is immediately convinced they're perfectly legitimate, including the person they're forged as being from, and skiv from major banks with technopathy as YC has him do.
Anyway. Apropos of nothing. That 'un would be probably more the flavor of rich and lavish lifestyle for your character who probably would be something like was born dirt poor and has suffered deeply and views it as Crow's fault. Faes' fault. Whatever.
Version Three: This was something I did with someone that was kind of fun and with the same sort of vein, it was werewolves but I'd probably flip it to be changelings. Gang of dudes who don't like fae. Fae gets dragged in after losing dudes someone they wanted to kill. Hi 911 my name's Crow and I'm in distress.
[size=18pt]ALSO I KNOW THESE MIGHT FEEL PRETTY SKETCHED OUT FOR YOUR ROLE, THEY'RE NOT, TAKE THE PROMPT AND DO WHATEVER THE HECK WITH IT. THESE ARE SOME READY-MADES TO SLIP INTO, TAKE THE FLAVOR AND DO SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT AND I'LL LOVE IT JUST AS MUCH. I WELCOME WRITER CREATIVITY!
It can be done a hundred thousand million different ways—any story can. Basically, dude was hurt by faes, finds a fae's name, now has control over a fae, bad days ahead for that fae. Take that formula and do whatever with it.[/size]
It can be done a hundred thousand million different ways—any story can. Basically, dude was hurt by faes, finds a fae's name, now has control over a fae, bad days ahead for that fae. Take that formula and do whatever with it.[/size]
[size=18pt]Desired Kinks:[/size]
—non-consensual, particularly if it's done realistically and respectfully.
—stockholm's syndrome is great
—lima syndrome is an all-time fav
—poly relationships, because I firmly believe every good love triangle should end in a threesome.
—pregnancy, either for Crow or for Crow's sister Hana.
—I have a massive size kink that can run with any combination of genders, though a large, burly man with a slimmer, smaller man or woman (trans or cis), genderqueer or intersex person, just a small character, often makes me the happiest
—knotting and inhuman cocks, because hey, monster fucking's a party.
—spanking, whipping, paddling, some kind of beating with hands, belts, crops, whatever moves you (MC recieving)
—erotic-asphyxiation (recieving)
—humiliation (submissive behaviors like boot-licking, lowering one's eyes, kneeling for master, abasement in general) (MC exhibiting these behaviors)
—rough sex
—blackmail is a big fave
—torture is never an issue
—stark, often brutal realism is generally my go-to writing style
—petplay is love
—really any kind of bondage
—the sub fearing for his life/life and death situations
PLOT STARTER ONE
It was a busy port city, and so many traders came and went from all over the world that it was easy to fit in. Easy to hide. Easy to escape notice. There was always work by the docks, too. Wages could be paid in pearls, in Calicut coins of kingly metal, in Spanish pieces of eight brought in by the Portuguese with their new fort, which were minted, they said, in the New World, in the square coins of the Qing Dynasty, a Manchu-led, newly created empire in China. Ships sailed in from China and princedoms from all corners of India, even sometimes from the coasts of Africa. In the last two decades, there'd been a flood of interesting new ships from Europe, bringing a new kind of foreigner who were now, all these years later, not all that uncommon a face to see in the market. The novelty had worn off.
Crow and Hana lived in a paupers' house, on stilts at the edge of the city. It was one precarious room reached by spindly wooden stairs, teak floors Hana swept out daily. They cooked in a communal oven for the whole neighborhood, next to the well, a good walk away. Their bedrolls they rolled and tied up during the day, a familiar morning routine in Mio as much as here. It wasn't a glamorous home, but it was comfy enough, hung with cloth and relics of their travels, and faeries had powers that made a pauper existence more bearable: Crow was now old enough to be able to grow most any fruit or vegetable he wanted without expending too much energy. Except for the desire for meat, which could be debilitating, he kept both him and Hana fed without a cramp. Hana was still not as able to grow food without becoming tired, hampered by her human half, so Crow eagerly took over the growing.
It was not a bad life.
He was on his way home from a day of dock work. He'd been aching and itchy from dirt and sweat when the foreman called off work for the day, but he'd also been paid—the foreman was a fair man, and it was a reasonable amount for the work he'd done—so before he went home, he took a detour to the nicer baths.
When he walked to his home, it was already dark, but he was clean, his skin smooth, his beard and hair carefully trimmed, his lean torso smelling faintly of fragrant oils from the bathhouse. He had a cloth bag of dates he'd bought Hana from the market, for a treat.
He rubbed the sore muscles on the back of his neck, turning down the right street. For the last little while, he'd been getting this prickly feeling, like he was being watched. It had always been easy to dismiss.
The street was so dark it taxed even Crow's vision. This neighborhood was poor, and it was late. Most who had candles had already blown them out and resigned themselves to sleep. These houses, with wood floors, had no hearths to make a fire. Unlike some places Crow had lived, though, it was almost never cold. Fire would have made houses smoky and uncomfortable.
He was quiet, thinking of nothing at all as he approached his house, swinging the bag of dates. He hoped Hana was already asleep. He would surprise her with them in the morning, if so.
PLOT STARTER TWO
The walk back home was long, and Crow wasn't thinking of anything at all during it. He had a small bag of ground chuck for hamburgers and the brie rounds Hana loved so much. It was so convenient that Quick Away gas station stayed open so late.
As he neared the house, he felt the plants calling to him in the garden. They were drenched in magic - deep magic, deeper than Hana usually did. Defensive magic.
His eyes snapped up from the moss on the roadside and the leaves on the way to his window - smeared red like someone had doused it with paint.
He ran, the fury of a fae running with him. The wood door sprang open, the whole forest began to move for miles around. A bear who'd been peacefully tearing a rotting log a half mile away suddenly began loping this way, its lips curled back from its teeth.
PLOT STARTER THREE
The early morning sunlight was dancing through the windowsill, as were the local birds flitting in and out. Nothing impeded them, since the glass was broken years before Crow bought the shack, only a shattered rim surrounding the wooden frame. They had plank boards to block the hole during monsoons, but on this languid morning they were still shunted to the side.
A thick rug woven in Kashmiri designs stained from rain was pinned over the wall next to the window, which didn’t look out on anything lovely—only a canal sluggishly winding between the rickety buildings of the Klong Toei slum, carrying non potable water the locals used for washing and bathing anyway, since what else was there? Vines spat out the broken window licking the canal, and crept up the side of the two-story shack Crow and Hana inhabited. A phantasmagoria of flowers, vegetables and herbs in a kaleidoscope of hues and pigments blanketed the cramped space, poking through the floorboards, dripping off the rafters. The house was alive. Animals were there, too—lizards lazily clinging to the plants, a black cat washing his paw in the corner, a white-coated pitbull with a cow pattern of brown spots napping in a sunbeam, nose whuffling into some jasmine while she slept. She only had three legs, by the look of it, a stump where the fourth should lie.
A young man who’d tell you his name was Crow, if you asked him, was bent over the cramped stove with a pittas on his shoulder, the bird’s black head swiveling to watch him cook, riding his holey wife-beater like a dignitary on a palanquin. Its teal wings fluttered occasionally to correct itself, but the young man was mindful of the bird, and careful not to bend too much or put it in the path of steam. The beat-up old rice cooker he’d brought from China had the top flipped up, showing fluffy clumps of white rice, while he stirred some glazed fish and tom kha gai coconut soup letting off wisps of sweetened steam. It’d been simmering for forty-five minutes—it was done too.
Crow judged the fish was ready, so the food was ready; the floorboards creaked and groaned as Crow expertly plated the breakfast onto beat-up plastic plates with obvious chips, setting the old pots aside to be scrubbed with ease of habit.
Crow had a mournful face with delicate, artistic features. Soulful black eyes were framed by arched black brows, the faintest worry line folded between them. An immaculate beard the color of midnight with no stars and moon smoothed down his strong jaw. Crow’s black hair had a satin look, textured and flowing like corvid feathers. He was proportionate and strong, with a frame and economy of movement that a Grecian statue would show if brought to life. The broad, clear definition of his muscles suggested a quiet strength that could only be countered by the shy slump of his shoulders, and a weakness in the back of his eyes.
“Hana!” he called up the rickety stairs, alive with creeping orchids and trailing wisteria. “Breakfast is ready!” The plates, bowls, spoons, chopsticks were set out and waiting for them.
He crooked his head, patiently awaiting her response, but instead heard faint sounds of music from her headphones. He shook his head and smiled, starting upstairs to call her down for breakfast when his head turned to the door. He’d heard a knock.
He stepped around the low table in the middle of the cramped room, sweeping his hair out of his eyes and swallowing hard, and opened the door. He looked down at the stranger’s feet, avoiding his face out of habit, expecting a package, a new customer for his side-business selling herbs, fruits and vegetables, or another innocent request.
“Yes, sir?” he asked. “How can I help you?”
The dog woke up with a wuffle and a snort. Well-trained, she trotted to the door to greet the newcomer, her tail thumping enthusiastically, her frame well-fed and coat healthy and glossy. She ambled up behind Crow to push a blunt nose into the newcomer’s hand. She had the short, thick coat of the dogs used in local fighting rings. Crow warned her back with his powers, since he didn’t know if the stranger liked dogs, and she took a step back, snorting, and sat.
“I’m sorry,” Crow said, “Do you—like dogs? I can put Sukhi away.”
Hana appeared just then, stampeding down the stairs, a young woman with silken black hair cropped to ear-length, newly out of her teenage years, with a much more stubborn hint about her delicate face than her shy-looking brother. She cradled a tumble of chemistry book, pencil case, journal and scratch papers under her arm. Apparently she heard Crow’s call, but came down on her own time. She grunted out a general greeting and sat down abruptly to scribble at homework she should have finished last night while shoveling fish and rice indiscriminately into her mouth. A faded tortoiseshell cat was draped around her neck like a scarf.