solumscorpius

[solumscorpius]

Short Haitus

Since I’ll be out of town this next week for the holidays, I won’t be very active on my RP blogs. I know the last couple days have been spotty for me already, but hopefully a nice week away from work will get my butt into a good writing mood when I get back!

I’ll be available on discord though if anyone wants to talk or plot in the meantime--happy holidays! :D

[solumscorpius]

Just letting everyone know, I might not be on much today and certainly not tomorrow--I’m finishing up a commission that really needs my attention, and tomorrow is the ‘Log Off’ protest for tumblr that I will be taking part in. (More info about it here!)

I’ll be available on discord though if anyone wants to chat! c:

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Everything was on fire. The touch, the pleasure, the sounds--even their auras. Tyrian could sense it, could see it in the little moments that he cared to look away from Mercury’s flushed face. Gold and silver burned, twisting around one another in inethreal tendrils, motions growing more and more fervent with every hard thrust of Tyrian’s body against Mercury’s own. 

It was like nothing the faunus had ever felt before, a sweet combination of physical pleasure and deep emotional satisfaction--who was he to not enjoy it, after all? Not when he could feel legs around his waist, nails clutching his back and such a lovely expression painted across his partner’s face.

“Don’t try to think,” Tyrian purred, lips against the hot, sensitive skin of Mercury’s throat. “Just feel. So perfect--want to make you cum around my cock like this.”

He wasn’t sure how long the man would last, not with how beautifully listless he already was, body writhing and voice filling the room’s air with such wonderful moans of want and need--regardless, Tyrian was more than excited to test his curiosity, if only to know what it would feel like to have Mercury clutching him in the throes of ecstasy.

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“That’s typically how one describes feeling restless, yes,” Tyrian’s voice is tinged ever so slightly with amusement, but it hovers over the line of being subtle or overt--he doesn’t hide the fact that Mercury didn’t answer his question, but he certainly doesn’t feel the need to prod deeper if the man wasn’t willing to talk about it. “I suppose I’ve gotten used to being in one spot, though how I miss the excitement of Mistral’s capital city.” He took in a slow, careful breath. “--Or perhaps even Vacuo. I was born there, after all.”

When Tyrian glanced towards Mercury, he couldn’t help but linger on the soft heat in his aura. It...was off, different from normal, though different in a way that Tyrian couldn’t yet identify--his newfound familiarity with the man could only help him so much, and there was so little to compare the flickering color to. Annoyance? Worry? He could at least detect that it was negative--and certainly not an emotion that the faunus felt comfortable in prodding; he didn’t want to risk the carefully-placed kinship between them if it was an issue Mercury cared not to talk about.

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“I’m hardly worried for my life,” Tyrian said, voice low and nearing a growl as pain lashed and licked against his nerves. “I’ve dealt with....worse...” Well, that was dependent largely on what he was comparing. Nevertheless, not even Tyrian could hide the occasional flash of pain across his features--every damn step was agony, a bolt of hot lightning straight up his spine.

Words of gratitude hung in Tyrian’s mouth as he all but limped into the woman’s home. They stuck to his tongue even as he looked about, unsure if he felt comfortable enough to let his guard down, to settle, to--

“Fuck,” he hissed, tensing up when he pressed down just hair too hard on his broken leg, making his body well up with pain. “Damn it all, cursed thing.”

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The entire thing must have lasted but a minute at most. From screams of confusion to glares of anger, Tyrian knew that it was nothing more than a few held breaths of time--he could feel eyes stabbing him, like daggers; the only time that he didn’t was when he knew those eyes were upon Blake, the only one that seemed less-than-terrified to see the face of a man who had once tried to kidnap a member of their group not even full months prior.

Maybe it was the gingerness of how he handled Blake, leading her to the trailer--maybe it was just the confusion numbing their understanding on how to respond to such an odd turn of events. Regardless, Tyrian knew it wasn’t mercy that stayed their words and hands as he climbed upon the trailer and pulled the weakened woman behind him, arms gentle around her body as the bike started up and, in a blur, the trailer moved off so that the farm was nothing more than a shape of red heat growing smaller in the distance.

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“I’m no fool,” Tyrian growled, eyes narrowed for a moment as he felt the firm prod of their words against him. “The last thing I need is to piss Ozpin off because I sliced up the only medically qualified individual on academy grounds.” 

He tried not to seem perturbed by Valentine’s outright brazenness--a lack of care for their own safety, perhaps? Simple hubris? It wasn’t something that knocked the wind out of the man, but it was odd to see, suspicious even--he narrowed his eyes, still pressing the weight forward to keep the other pinned up against the tree behind them.

“And what about you?” the scorpion faunus asked, voice tinged with caution and annoyance. “You did nothing to get out of the way--I’ve seen children dodge better, why aren’t you trying to fight back?”

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Tyrian can’t help but chuckle, letting the king set his head against his shoulder. Careful fingertips pressed into those soft, fiery-red locks and combed through them with wordless intimacy. It didn’t take a genius to feel the king’s thread of annoyance, but Tyrian was one of very few who knew some ways of soothing it, and one of the fewer still who could indulge in the touch without being tried for an attempt on the king’s life.

“Then the boy will be able to grow into them,” The adviser said, gently leaning into the idea that Roman seemed most apt to like. “I’m certain that Veronese would appreciate the gesture at any rate. Maybe it will stop the man from scowling all the time when he meets with you and the other counsel seats.”

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“What filthy words from your lips,” Tyrian teased, one brow quirked in curiosity as he felt her fingertips tickle down the front of his body. He couldn’t help but shiver from the woman’s light touch, finally purring as he shifted, lips once more to her jaw and nipping along the delicate shape. 

“Would you prefer me to move, my dear? I can’t think the angle all that comfortable for you.”

He didn’t end up giving Hyde much time to respond. Before she could even open her mouth Tyrian turned the two of them over, switching positions in little more than a breath--leaving his body beneath hers, still at the mercy of her gentle touch.

   Her heart fluttered in her chest when his eyes met hers, at this point she didn’t care about the small sparks of embarrassment. There was a crushing weight in her soul that just wanted him. All inhibitions seemed to wash away. For once her heart yielding to her fears was cast away. 

   Hyde’s held breath finally withdrew shakily, the ghosting of his lips over her sending goosebumps over her body. She maneuvered her head to nuzzle and nudge his lips closer to her own, hand gently assisting with the task. Soft lips gently melded against his own, in slow thoughtful pecks as her hands cupped his face. It felt so right to be held, to hold him, the weight of loneliness no longer a concern. 

   “I think it’s only fair that I return the favor,” her lips only a breath away from his as her hand slide further down to palm closer to his erection. There was a hint of curiosity to her sultry voice, “to make you feel gratification.” 

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“If only it was that easy,” Tyrian all but spat into the air, anger and annoyance evident in everything from his tone to the tension of his body. He shrugged his shoulders over when the stranger steps back, feeling no awkward tightness anywhere it wasn’t supposed to be--though quick-handed, the other’s work in bandaging him was better than what he could have done himself (assuming Tyrian could have gotten his hands on supplies in the first place).

He took in a breath, then let it out. When golden eyes glanced towards the stranger, Tyrian couldn’t help but look annoyed by how goddamn bright the curiosity burned from the other’s aura.

“You could say I’ve been....” he tried to come up with a word, a phrase, anything so that he didn’t sound as desperately miserable as he truly felt. “...left to my own devices for the foreseeable future.”

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Tyrian moved quickly enough to his feet--he couldn’t act as if the wind wasn’t somewhat knocked from his chest, but he’d dealt with longer falls and a rougher landing so, honestly, he wasn’t much phased.

Now, Valentine’s taunting, on the other hand, did enough to earn them a slow grin.

“You don’t strike me much as the fair sort in a fight,” he said, voice smooth, but with barely a moment for Valentine to offer a witty retort when Tyrian quickly dropped low to the ground and made a sudden dash towards his opponent. His plan was largely to pin the other--he had next to no intention of doing any actual damage (not yet anyway), but Tyrian figured that a few bruises and scrapes wouldn’t matter any.

The set of blades he wore for the sparring were dulled, but they could still cause serious pain if used correctly--and Tyrian fully intended on using them as such.

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Oh, the next most dreadful thing to deal with, but not for a reason one may expect. Tyrian adored Carmine, the young boy was practically his own son (he could remember rocking him to sleep as an infant) but it was always so hard to know the right thing to say and do. Being an adviser to battle and tactics? A familiar challenge. Helping Roman understand the nuances of his words when spoken to the people, or the right gifts to offer other kingdoms? A bit of a riddle, but one with an answer.

How to answer Carmine’s most simple of questions? Oh, how Tyrian wished he knew what to say half the time without worry gnawing in the back of his thoughts.

“My dear,” Tyrian started, hand still gently upon Roman’s shoulder. “To give money directly to those who need it, while a good and worthy gesture of kindness, is but a temporary solution. While your father does not give them coin directly into their hands, he has created avenues in which they can help themselves--they need a stable income than anything else, jobs so that they are able to feed their families even if your father has not the coin to give them. To give a man a coin may feed him for a day, but to give him a job is to give him stability, self-worth and pride in what they do for others; that isn’t something you can give them with mere money.”

Tyrian squeezes Roman’s shoulder once more, his gaze looking firm, careful and serious as his words try to find their mark.

“...Though you may know that Veronese does not need the coin as badly as others in our kingdom, we can never say the same for a common thief. When you present yourself in such a way, even when your intentions are pure, people can misconstrue it into what they want to see; by stealing from someone of bad character, you inadvertently give someone the permission to steal from someone who is good.”

Kneel On My Arrival

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Tyrian felt tempted for a moment to pretend that he didn’t hear her, soft pleas and all. He was even moreover tempted to see if he could pull out a second orgasm with his mouth alone--but when he glanced up, saw her flushed cheeks and pleasure-filled eyes, the man felt his resolve start to crack right down the center. It was Hyde’s eyes, he figured, something about them that made the man absolutely weak to her.

After a breath, Tyrian crawled onto the bed, gently hovering over the woman’s body as he settled himself between her legs.

“Then kiss me,” the man purrs, pressing his lips in soft, barely-there kisses across her jaw. “I’m right here for you to have.”

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Me: Want to write

Body: TIRED

Me: But-

Body: T I R E D

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"How does he outgrow clothes so fast? I swear, I spend more money on Carmine's clothes than I do my own." Have a very exasperated Roman.

Tyrian tried not to laugh as he watched the king comb his hands through his hair, voice tense and expression filled with stress to spare. After a moment, even he couldn’t hold in a bit of a chuckle, finally stepping just behind the man and carefully reaching a hand to adjust the crown gently laid upon the crest of his forehead.

“He’s still a young man,” the adviser offered, trying to keep his tone level even as he saw the king look over the pile of clothes that the young prince had rather quickly outgrown in only the last few months. “He’s going to have spurts like this--perhaps one of the counsel members have a son we could offer these to? Or we could even donate them to the orphanage, the one run by Mother Auburn--it would make for a wonderful public gesture.”

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If there was anything that Tyrian was good at--something that he was discernibly proud of--it was in his stealth. Subterfuge. Silence. He may not have been the strongest man to ever traverse the forest or walk upon Beacon’s campus, but he certainly liked to think that he was one of the most agile, dexterous and--...well, he was quite the perfect tool, but Tyrian did his best not to dwell on old thoughts and older pain, even if it was sometimes hard.

He’d been waiting in the Emerald Forest at first without trying to hide himself, a bit confused and only a little lost in exactly where Valentine wanted to meet at. The forest was expansive and still so new to Tyrian, as he hadn’t yet been able to be all that close to the training of students or their initiation (to which he couldn’t blame Ozpin). Nevertheless, Tyrian didn’t spot Valentine until the other was already in the air, launched from the cliff side--obviously looking for Tyrian.

That was when mischief clouded his better sense. If the other hadn’t caught sight of him, well...? Best to make use of the temporary advantage, after all. Tyrian crept as quietly as he could, focusing on muffling his steps until he was but one single movement away from the other faunus, who was turned away from him. 

And so Tyrian lept, jumping from the branch with full intent to tackle the other off the trees and towards the ground (which wasn’t that far below them).

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The entire scene was chaos. The screams of the creatures echoed painfully in Tyrian’s ears, but he managed at least to take the opening presented to him and bound towards Blake, grabbing her in his arms and her weapon with his tail. The weight of the Grimm’s presence was like a cold, icy stone in the center of this thoughts, numbing away everything it touched. The man only barely managed to carry Blake to the foot of the stairs, ready to assist the blonde girl’s attempts to punch open the doors up to the house--

But he didn’t get the chance. There was yet another flash of bright, white light that filled the room. It felt warm, blindingly so, and the feeling of numbness melted away. When Tyrian was able to open his eyes again, he was Red was sitting up, the room largely devoid of those Grimm--but more were quickly peaking in from the gaping hole in the wall.

He turned, met the lavender eyes of the woman at the locked doorway, and quickly realized that she recognized him. Anger filled the look, but at least she had the quick-thinking and sense to realize that Tyrian wasn’t a distinct danger at that very moment.

The sound of the door being forced open was deafening.