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Author Topic: The Sidhe or The Old Ones [M/f open for bondage-extreme]  (Read 441 times)

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Offline SainTopic starter

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The Sidhe or The Old Ones [M/f open for bondage-extreme]
« on: May 05, 2019, 02:24:10 pm »

With a giggle she had captured his heart. Enchanted the prince forever with barely half a shared moment of shared tenderness.

All who knew of the old things from before man knew to tell him no, do not chase her. Those had been the giggles of a wicked thing from the feyrealm, not a girl of this world. Not a woman for him to woo. They said she was nemedian, a critter borne from different rules, spawn of a world that bowed to a different law than nature altogether. He knew of things too, knew of what he had seen on her lips, and called their words jealous lies. What could the old fools know but watered down tales from the books? Who else lived that had seen her first hand?

Irony then was that he had to consult very same tomes in his chase to hear her just once more. Every fable he learned by heart, read poems until their words became ritual to his heart. Many things he tried until the path was found: the Road through Evening-star.

To be pure as a night sky's son he dyed his hair white. To walk the azure path he descended into the old brook behind the summer castle, treaded water past the confusion of servants. Onward he waded until the woods grew thicker. Until darkness ahead grew thicker than night despite the twilight above. Until every flower around him bloomed in patterns unknown to him and the woods grew in shapes not found even in the neighboring kingdoms, or in tales of exotic oriental. There, in that moment he felt it. A chill in his spine not borne from the bitter bite of the water, but a more particular sensation of wrong, of stepping beyond the forbidden line, beyond where mortals are to walk. The prince had found feyrealm - his chance to claim her smile.

What I want here:
  • Fairy tale, dark fantasy, romance, spirited away (willingly)
  • To go all out on an unholy amalgamation of nordic, irish, and middle european mythology of the fey, numidean, elves, and trolls. I want to explore a fragile mystery and make something more akin to traditional folk-lore and fables than copy the mainstream tropes of fey.
  • Romance between a greedy and possessive man driven beyond madness in search of his obsession. Someone whose love truly needs to be inhuman to handle his madness, and is really someone deserving such a crazy prince's adoration.
  • Plot could be about them reaching to overthrow the rulers of fey kingdoms, becoming rulers. Or maybe she just wants to trick the prince to give her his name so that she may become a mortal and leave the fey realm.

He finally found courage to confide his reality with another's. She refused with kindness, offered, "To find help he needed." Help? What help could he possibly need. The things crawling around them were not delusions to be drowned by sedatives or dispelled by biblical recitation. This was his reward for trust.

Their cold ethereal caress lulled his fury to calm. She called them things of dreams. Dreams? When one of them stood not two inches from her face? Still she insisted. Hah. No. They were no dream. Close, but not quite. Theirs was a touch that had always been half a step closer to real than dream, ever present at the corner of the mankind's eye, crawling, whispering. To him no longer whispering, now, no longer hidden. They screamed at the very center of his mind, shared with him the secrets of that black realm.

What were they, he could still not understand. Books gave them names, listed a litany of antediluvian nightmares that had haunted the men of yore. Each a truth and lie. They were much more, and their maddening promises far more seductive than any dooming prophecies found on the molding tomes.

How could he get her to understand their gifts? To perform the rites and see what he did so they could share and bask together in the eternal bliss of the mankind's new masters?

They knew of a way. She might not understand at first, but she would, given time.

What I want here:
  • To summarize in a couple of buzzy-buzzwords. Lovecraftian terror romance. A man is driven mad by the whispers of things from beyond. Someone special in his life does not understand and calls him crazy.
  • Plot could be an escape story, more horror than romance. Her fleeing something after having a close call with the terrors from beyond, losing him but luckily escaping. Or it could be a traditional plunge from which there is no return, the sort of story that ends with a last goodbye letter meant for mum and others as a warning.

PM if interested. Make sure to read through my O/o for more details on writing style, pairing, and kink preferences.