#Sanguine Waltz

[plucky-belmondo]

1-3 with Mahito!

PERFECT ROTAT--*ahem* sorry, am listening to Party Crashers while answering this xD

I'm still watching JJK, so I'll answer based on what I know!

Gush about your f/o’s sense of style/fashion!

-I love how, despite being established as a main villain, Mahito's fashion sense is not that far-fetched. It's simple, but it's done in a way where, even if you're a newcomer to JJK, you can tell from a mile, "Ohhh he's got some EEEVIL AF vibes--". It makes you all the more curious!

2. Gush about your f/o’s voice!

-One of my favorite things about Mahito, tbh! From what I remember from EP7's Juju Stroll (Juju Strolls are humorous post-episode skits), he sounds like one of them affably evil villains. I have a soft spot for that; it's funny how it contrasts his appearance xD.

3. Gush about your f/o’s smile!

-"That smile. That damn smile." Seeing Mahito smile is like a critical hit on my dokis. MAHITO SMILING IS ILLEGAL BECAUSE IT'S TOO CUTE--

[charmspoint]

Sanguine Friday 2

Time to introduce the protagonist of my og story.

Art has been drawn by @lilleeboi who did such a wonderful job bringing my boy to life and you should go give them lots of love.

Name: Prinnsal

Gender: Agender

Pronouns: He/Him

Age: 280yrs

Height: 179cm

Orientation: Demiromantic Asexual

Affiliation: Rezasel (ex), Duchess Eliza

Belief faction: The hands of the New Brood (eventually and without contact with other members)

Personality: Having a personality is something Prinnsal is still getting used to. Having spent his whole life as a tool of someone else’s will, feelings and opinions are new and strange and not completely defined. To others he comes across as cold and calculated. He finds little merriment in things and a lot of annoyance in them and other people. He is acquainted with a position of a servant and that is about the only way he knows how to relate to people, which no longer works for him because the people left on this earth are those he doesn’t respect. Humans. Vampires. He feels like he is above both of those species and plenty of his own. While most ex-angels mourn their gods and plan on their return, Prinnsal absolutely despises his own. The very first feeling he developed independently was the stark relief of his god’s death. This makes him feel alienated from the others of his kind, so he prefers to avoid their company as well. He is a strict perfectionist and prefers to be self sufficient if he can, but also has a sharp mind for tactics and details. In the end he is a sword learning how to become a human being, cold, sharp, brutal and wrestling every new emotion into understanding and acceptance. There is a sort of stubborn pride to him that keeps him going and a self absorbedness of someone who is only now finding a self to be absorbed in. Despite all that, at his core he’s still an angel meant to serve. Meant to be used. No matter how much he tries for self-sufficiency there will always be a part of him searching for a new ruler. Someone to give his life direction and order, someone he could live and die for. He is far too proud to admit this core need to himself, far too stubborn in trying to fight his own nature and be a fully realized person without the shred of the baggage that comes with his origins. But it’s still a part of him. This growing, hungry, need for obsession. In the end he is angel through and through and he would burn himself inside out if the right person told him to.

Appearance: Prinn cuts a striking, clean figure, as sharp as the sword he carries. He’s meticulous to a fault about the way he presents himself, preferring unobtrusive black and white schematics for his clothes, as well as outfits that look professional and elegant. He cares little for jewellery and fluff and only wears Duchess’ red jewels as the sign of who he belongs to and why he mustn’t be messed with. As all other angels, his skin is pressed with long faded runes binding him to the service of his god. Once upon a time they used to be pure silver like his eyes. Now they are barely visible on his skin. He still prefers to keep his marks covered up and rarely shows more skin than his neck. When he chooses to extend his wings, they are silver with black tips, built more for speed than for power.

Interests: Swords and swordplay, art, architecture, fine food

Fears: Whips, being in another’s complete control again, dying from a blood drain

Habits and quirks: Tends to overly focus on the design of things when panicked as a way to distract himself, prefers the art that is long lasting (architecture) to art that is fickle and changes by the moment (music), genetically talented for all of it though.

Goals: Ensuring his own safety and survival in a world bent to get him killed, being in another’s complete control again

Lines in the sand: While he tries to strictly care for only himself and no one else, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone for his own survival, he does have a soft spot for what remains of his original angel cohort and doesn’t want them to come to harm as a result of his actions.

Nightmare of the body: Like all angels post deaths of the gods, Prinn is only just getting to know what free will is. For his entire existence he had been a little more than a tool and a weapon to be utilized in his god’s agendas and having the ability to make his own decisions is a strange and clumsy process. Like all the angels of Razasel that had been made to populate the city of Brilnant, Prinnsal had been changed from his core the moment his god decided to overturn it from the city of art and beauty into a war factory. It was a shoddy work, as Razasel’s mind had already started fraying, with the aggression and vigilance of a guard being carelessly shoved into flesh of a being made to be a muse and a teacher. It leaves Prinnsal anxious, jumpy and torn between who he used to be and who he’s meant to be now, never able to rightly fulfill one or the other again.  Between his new found free will and the ruined remains of his design, Prinnsal is amidst a struggle to finalize his identity as an independent person. Or to even realize what being an independent person is.

[umbrae-sortilegium]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 ℳ𝒾𝒹𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓈 𝒲𝒶𝓁𝓉𝓏 In the embrace of shadows, where darkness finds its throne- the moonlight weaves its silver threads, a tapestry unknown. Rubies adorned with sanguine kisses, passionate and deep: In the realm of dreams and demons, secrets they shall keep.

Red roses bloom in moonlight's pale and ghostly glow- drops of blood, like teardrops, in the garden's ebon flow. Mists waltz over graves like a shroud, a mournful, haunting veil: as black stars smile like burnt jewels, their secrets they unveil.

In the blackest witchcraft's grip, afoot in the night's embrace; they dance naked by firelight, an eerie, wicked grace. Unveiling mysteries of old, their incantations soar- to the heart of the abyss, where dreams and nightmares roar.

The shadows whisper secrets, in the language of the night- as rubies glisten like the stars, their crimson hue so bright. The demons' dreams take flight, through realms of endless dread while red roses weep their petals, like drops of blood they shed.

Mists encircle secrets, as they dance upon the graves: a shroud of misty sorrow, a requiem for lost souls' waves. Black stars, like wicked jewels, gleam in the midnight sky; the heart of this enchantment, where enchantments never die.

With the blackest witchcraft dance, the night is brought to life- the shadows move, like specters, through the darkness's endless strife. By the fire's flickering flame, their mystic rites unfold. In this gothic, haunting ballad, a midnight waltz of old.

© Dʏsʜᴀɴᴋᴀ/Oᴅᴇᴛᴛᴇ ₂₀₂₃

[verbenaa]

opus 4 (nothing compares to the sighs that fall from your lips)

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:

“Have I mentioned how absolutely divine you look, darling?”

“Well, you did make the gown.” Your hand tangles in his hair, pressing him closer as you arch into him. He buries his face into your chest, kissing and licking at the skin bared to him above the low neckline.

“It’s quite easy when you have such a lovely muse.”

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𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, 18+

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 6.9k

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: exhibitionism, frottage/thigh riding, clothed sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, vampire bites, blood, soft dom astarion, tailor astarion strikes again

𝑎/𝑛: if larian can't give us a masquerade, then i will! welcome to my current fixation which has been this masquerade ball fic. idk there is no rhyme or reason to this, its just fun and indulgent and glittery. i hope you enjoy and please like/comment/reblog etc ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

ao3 here

masterlist

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The chandeliers twinkle brightly from the cavernous ceiling above as you float across the polished ballroom floor, slippered feet moving swiftly as your dance partner twirls you around, an arm wrapped tight around your waist while the other grasps your hand as he leads you through the elegant steps of a waltz. 

Wine burns through your veins as it sings a siren’s song, the sanguine liquid slipping down your throat with ease this evening, the vintage aged to perfection. Melted wax drips from the tapers decorating the room, their flames no more than whirls of shining light as you spin around and around, gown fluttering with every elegant movement.

It wasn’t often you attended these sorts of events, despite the amount of invitations you’ve received over the years. Being the most recent hero of Baldur’s Gate had its occasional perks it would seem, and this ball was certainly one of them. 

It was the same routine every time. You would open the frequently ostentation envelopes, perfect calligraphy written with expensive pots of colored ink on the front and oversized wax seals in golds and reds and blues on the back. Inevitably, after a passing glance at whatever solicitation lay inside you would feed it to your hearth, letting the fire gobble it up as it burns to black.

This particular invitation, however, had caught your eye. The envelope itself was nothing of particular elegance, though the black of the envelope and silver lettering did stand out among the others in your post box that day. The matching silver wax seal on the back opened easily with a quick flick of your letter opener, and a singular word on the thick vellum piqued your interest in a way that few ever did on these inane things.

Masquerade.

You can easily recall the way the word made your heart jump, mind moving to the imagined scenarios of your younger years, the adventures of storybook heroines always featuring stories of flowing gowns and glittering masks.

Your own gown flows around your form as you dance the steps, soft fabric laying perfectly against your curves as braided straps of silk rest over your shoulders. The skirt flows down around a high slit up the thigh, velvet the color of the deepest ivy brushing against the marbled floors with every movement. 

The metallic threads glow in the candlelight, embroidered designs of liquid silver cascade in small clusters down the bodice and onto the skirt like little groups of stars falling from the sky. The low back of the dress leaves you uncharacteristically bare, almost everything above the line of your waist exposed, though the air is warm against your skin with all the bodies present this evening.

Your dance partner cuts a dashing figure, a vision of velvet and quicksilver in his own right. He looked made for the part—like some dark hero from a storybook come to life in front of your eyes.

Gods, he looked so handsome. 

Your cheeks flush as you watch him, following his lead as his hands tighten around you, that familiar knowing smirk decorating his elegant features even with the dark mask he wears obscuring the top half of his features, claret eyes framed with black and silver.

You pull yourself closer to Astarion, filling your senses with his familiar and comforting scent as he continues to lead you through the steps with sleek perfection, footsteps confident and head held high under his disguise.

The dance ends, orchestra moving on from the dreamy waltz you had just turned about to on the floor, a lilting concerto taking its place after a brief respite. Astarion leads you to the side of the dance floor, a hand poised on your waist as you walk to the fringes of the room. 

You touch his velvet-covered shoulder, the intricately embroidered doublet matching the color of your own gown to perfection, down the same argent threads. The two of you were certainly coordinated this evening, if nothing else.

It had taken little to convince Astarion to agree to join you, his own love for overdramatic and lavish debauchery too much to deny something like a masquerade ball. He had certainly wasted no time designing outfits for the two of you, spending extra moments throughout his evenings constructing and embroidering them until every detail was as perfect as he had envisioned.

“Astarion!” You whisper into a delicately pointed ear, an emerald earring glinting in the candlelight as you rest your hand on his bicep, leaning your weight into him. “Go get us more wine!”

“You absolute lush.” His smile is fond as he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, careful not to disturb the delicate lace mask resting over your eyes, satiny ribbon tied behind your head in a pretty, perfect bow.

It was hard to deny his comment, especially when there was that delightful fuzziness that occupied your every sense, clouding everything in a wonderfully warm haze. You had easily lost track of the number of glasses you had imbibed over the evening, though you are fairly certain you simply misplaced some still half full goblets on the random trays of servers who wandered through the space.

Your thoughts swirl as he walks away from you in search of more spirits, his retreating figure a vision. He really was too handsome, dressed in his finery like this. Maybe you were wrong all these years to give your regrets to so many an occasion, if seeing Astarion dressed in the rich velvets and silks he deserved to wear was to be your prize.

A hand on your shoulder draws your attention, and you turn a moment later, reactions slowed by the alcohol still dancing in your veins. Behind you is a man, handsome enough—if only in a rather ordinary way—his warm brown eyes looking out at you from behind a mask of bright crimson as he gives you a friendly smile.

“I must ask how such a lovely gem such as yourself is simply wandering around alone on a night like this?” The words are meant to be suave and charming, though you ignore them, as uninterested in the man now standing before as you are in his words or the meaning behind them. Your eyes draw instead to a overflowing vase of flowers on a table behind him, a downright gaudy display of cultivated blooms bursting from an equally ostentatious vase.

“Do you happen to know what type of flowers those are behind you?” You point at them, not addressing the man’s prior words to you. He turns to look behind him with befuddlement, taking in the large arrangement with barely a blink of his eyes before he turns back, scanning up and down your velvet-clad figure.

“I’m afraid flowers aren’t my specialty.” His answer is short and no-nonsense, he was clearly a man uninspired and uncreative if that was the best he could come up with, the roll of your eyes mostly obscured by the lace covering your face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting you before, may I ask your name?” He sidles ever a bit closer, and you take a measured step back in response as you cross your arms casually in front of you, head tilting to the side as you observe him.

“How could you know? We are masked, after all.”

“It would be my honor, my dear mysterious Lady, to have your next dance?” His words are polite, even with such blunt forwardness. 

You are saved from having to answer by an arm wrapping around your waist from behind, that wonderfully delicious scent of bergamot and brandy filling your senses with his presence.

The man across from you looks affronted at Astarion’s arrival, eyes falling to the arm wrapped tightly around your body and the angular face pressing against the crown of your head.

“Darling, won’t you introduce me to your new friend?”

“Oh! My love, you’ve returned!” Your smile is beatific as you turn towards him, eyes meeting his own you look for your promised goblet of wine.

“You never mentioned you were…partnered.” The man—what was his name again?—says before you two, a frown etched onto his features. 

“Well, you never asked. This is my—” Astarion cuts you off before you can finish.

“Husband.” There’s a prideful possessiveness to his words that strike your interest, though you fight the urge to roll your eyes all the same. You and Astarion may be life partners, but married you were not.

“Here you are, my sweet.” He holds the full goblet towards you as it dangles between his elegant fingers, wine threatening to spill from its silvered edges. “Now, let us continue our fête elsewhere, hm?”

You give the man a bored look before turning away, downing your wine quickly before moving to place the empty silver on the table behind him, the overlarge bouquet towering over you. Without a second glance, Astarion takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back before stepping away with you into the crowd beyond.

He leads you to a secluded corner, the area obscured by the shadows of the lofty space. Astarion’s footsteps finally slow as you near the wall and he notices your raised brow, an expectant expression on your face.

“Married, Astarion? When exactly was our wedding day, just so I don’t forget the anniversary.” You speak wryly, an amused smile on your lips. “I’d hate to not get you a gift.” 

“Well, we may as well be married. Don’t you agree?” 

“I certainly don’t see a ring on my finger.” You make to look at your hand, a playful smile old your lips as you tease him. Astarion’s frown deepens, a look of childish petulance crosses his features, obvious even with the mask hiding his expressive eyebrows.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous that another man was simply talking to me?”

“Darling, I think he would have done more than simply talk to you if you’d let him,” He rolls his eyes, exhaling a huff as his hands come to rest above the swell of your hips, bracketing your waist with those talented, nimble fingers.

“Besides, he wasn’t talking, he was flirting with you.” You could swear he was pouting, amusement building with every passing minute as you bite your lip to hide your growing smile.

“I hadn’t noticed, honestly.” Your shrug is a touch too put on, the casualness of the action at odds with the finery you wear as the smile you try to hide escapes, painting your features with a certain cunning that Astarion knows all too well.

“Oh, I think you knew exactly what you were doing, darling, letting that man flirt with you.” Astarion’s hands on your velvet covered waist tighten as he walks you backward, not stopping until your back meets the intricately wainscoted wall, the two of you partially obscured by the heavy drapery of a nearby balcony.

“You’re far too smart, my sweet, to be so unaware.” The rest of ball swirls on obliviously around you both, dizzying in its opulence as music from the orchestra begins its climb to a rousing crescendo.

A coy smirk is the only answer you give him, the incline of your head daring him to continue as the lace covering your eyes only adds to your mystique tonight. The wine running through your veins turns your body hot, your confidence brimming with the help of the alcohol.

“And so what if I did, Astarion?” His ornate mask does little to hide the spark flaring to life in his crimson irises, thumbs tracing circles dangerously high on your ribcage as he steps closer into your space, the flowing skirt of your gown brushing against his own finery as he pushes close.

“Then I suppose you leave me no choice but to give you a little lesson, dearest.” 

One of the hands at your waist skates up, passing over your breast before brushing up the column of your neck, hand wrapping lightly around your throat as you lean your head up to look at him. His fingers brush over leftover scars from feedings past, and the sudden pressure on your throat has your body on high alert, heat licking at the bottom of your belly as you inhale a shaky breath.

Astarion’s mouth crashes down onto yours, stealing your breath as he kisses you with abandon. You answer his kiss with your own hunger, opening your lips to welcome his tongue. Your free hand comes up to brush against his chest, fingers tightening in the fabric to pull his body closer as your lips and tongue move against his own.

Your back is pressed hard against the wall behind you, the molded wood cool as Astarion crowds you, his chest pushed tight against your breasts. You widen your legs slightly and he quickly fills the space, a covered thigh coming to rest in between the slight spread of your own.

Astarion’s lips move to your jaw, your head tilting for him as the hand on your neck gives one last squeeze before brushing down your side until it finds your hip. The thigh between your legs presses in harder, and you thank the Gods that Astarion had the wherewithal to design a gown with such a high slit as you feel the fabric of his pants against your bare skin of your upper thigh.

The hand on your hip pushes you slightly forward and your covered center makes contact, the hard muscles of his leg rubbing deliciously against your core. You choke on a moan, and you can feel his smirk against your skin as his lips caress that spot behind your ear you love so much. 

“Do you think you can do it? Ride my thigh with all these people milling about?” His words are spoken low into your ear as your eyes fall shut at the tone of his voice, the devious lust that permeates every word sending a shiver through your body.

You bite your lip as you tug him closer, burying your face into his neck. You move your hips, starting with a slow movement, barely enough to provide any relief. But you feel it, all the same, cheeks flaming as you focus on Astarion and his leg, the alcohol drowning out the noise of the rest of the ball around you. 

What must you look like, you wonder, to anyone who happens to look on? You hope that the image of you together is only that of a pair of lovers embracing closely, too lost in their own world to care about anything else.

You can feel your wetness growing with every pass over his thigh as your hips undulate in soft motions, Astarion’s body pressed as close as possible to your own, shielding you with his form as much as he can from your place in the shadows. 

The feeling is wonderful, enticing in such a public arena, but it is far from enough. Your arousal grows, the dampness seeping through your underwear and onto the dark velvet of his pants as his cock twitches against you, his length hard as it strains against the fabric.

You feel his hand come down from your waist to brush against the slit where it falls against your thigh, his fingers tracing up and down your skin in teasing passes.

Those fingers slide inside the skirt of your gown, grazing the outside of your thigh as they make their way towards your ass. Your skin is hot where his cool fingers touch, a blazing line of heat marking every movement they make as he caresses the flesh barely hidden by your underwear.

“How wet are you, darling?” His words are sinful as he whispers them in your ear, hand easing under the line of your panties to rub against your bottom, his fingers creeping ever closer to the place where your aching cunt connects with his leg. 

“Astarion,” You whine in his ear, hand gripping the collar of his doublet. “Please.”

You don’t even know what you are begging for, but as Astarion’s fingers finally find your wetness you are unable to conceal the moan that falls from your lips. His fingers move, just enough to gather evidence of your arousal on his fingertips. 

“Oh, you sweet thing. You like this, don’t you?” You can hear the smirk in his voice as his hand trails away from the center of you, brushing back past your underwear and out of your gown. He brings the fingertips up to press against his lips, tongue sneaking out to lick at the slight sheen that coats them. 

Your mouth goes dry at the sight, your breathing hard as your eyes trace his features.

Astarion’s hand covers your own where it grips at his collar as his other adjusts himself in his pants, hiding his erection as best he can from sight. He pulls away from you, helping you adjust your dress with quick fingers. Your eyes catch upon the sight of your arousal on his pants, catching the light as he turns. You cheeks burn at the sight, your swallow audible.

“Follow me, love.” You don’t question him on where he is heading as he makes a line for the closest set of ballroom doors, pace quick as he weaves the both of you through the sea of bodies that make up the cities’ finest members of society. 

“Are we going home?” You whisper quietly as you follow, unsure if you were ready to commit the incandescent aura of the evening to memory alone quite yet.

It had taken hours to get ready, time spent bathing together before pampering each other—applying scented oils on skin and through hair, Astarion helping you pin your hair into its complicated updo this evening taking almost an hour alone, his fingers applying the rouge to your cheeks and lips with care as he admired your features with the utmost affection. No, you certainly weren’t ready to leave quite yet.

“It would be a shame to end the evening so early, don’t you think?” Relief and joy spills through you in equal measure at his words, eager to continue tonight’s festivities, whatever they may be.

You walk through the main hall, hand in hand with Astarion, the wine still buzzing in your head as he draws you up the large, elegant staircase of swirling marble. Your presence goes unnoticed as you pass others dressed in their own finery, shimmers of glitters and gems, silks and tulles flowing past as you climb step after step.

You make it up the rise of the large staircase, skirt twirling as you spin around momentarily to take in the scene of the party now beneath you. Its a world of luster that takes your breath away, everything filtered with the heady glow from the candelabras and wine flowing aplenty. 

With a tug on your hand, Astarion leads you away from the center of the room, breaking off to go down a smaller corridor to the side before cutting aside on one or two more until you are isolated, the noise of the orchestra below now faraway and faint.

The hallway feels hushed and hidden away, safe from the prying eyes of society as the candlelight sconces adorning the walls flicker, dancing fragment of light illuminating the narrow corridor. Astarion walks you back with hands on your waist until you feel the half-paneled wall against your uncovered back, the wallpaper ornate with scrolling vines and berries, vibrant reds and greens contrasting against the darkness of your gown. 

Astarion’s head bends to your chest, pressing a tender kiss onto the swell of your breast, over the place your heart beats in three-quarter time.

“Have I mentioned how absolutely divine you look, darling?” 

“Well, you did make the gown.” Your hand tangles in his hair, pressing him closer to your breasts as you arch into him. He buries his face into your chest, kissing and licking at the skin bared to him above the low neckline.

“It’s quite easy when you have such a lovely muse.” His nose nuzzles at the flesh of your breast, breathing in your scent as he groans against you, pressing his hips against your own so you can feel the evidence of his prominent erection.

Astarion bites down into the flesh of your breast that rises above your gown without warning, fangs piercing the tender skin that heaves with your breath as he drinks in the sweetness of your blood. It flows thick in brightly colored streams, a surprised moan ripping from your lips at the sudden action.

He sucks from the swell above your gown, blood dripping to stain the bodice as he licks and tastes the rich claret of you made all the sweeter from the wine, his hand drawing down your belly before dipping lower. 

He finds that slit on your thigh, hand working its way underneath before moving to cup around your wetness as you cover your mouth with your hand, hiding your moans behind a palm as your eyes flutter shut.

Astarion moans at the dampness he finds there, fingers quick to push aside the gusset of your underwear to run his fingers through your slick folds, collecting your arousal on his fingertips, spreading your wetness up and down the expanse of your center. You can feel his erection pressing against you, still hidden by his pants as he relishes your body’s reaction to his actions, lips still licking and sucking at the skin of your breast.

The fingers at your core move to rub your clit, the light pressure a relief as you bite your bottom lip to keep quiet, eyes glancing to the side quickly before closing once more to indulge in the feeling, his mouth not letting up as he savors your lifeblood.

“Astarion, what if someone sees us?” Nerves make their way into your soft voice, barely a whisper as your body tenses slightly with unease at the prospect of being seen by another. Astarion’s head lifts away from your breast, fangs leaving twin pinpricks on your chest, blood pulsing from the wounds in time with your heart as his eyes draw up to your own.

“No one will recognize us, my dear.” A finger circles your entrance, and your knees threaten to buckle under the pleasure. “Though we can stop if you want to.”

You hesitate and Astarion’s fingers pause to give you time to think, his mouth still drinking from the blood leaking from your breast, tongue licking at any stray drops.

“No,” You shake your head, needing little time to ruminate on the decision. “Please, don’t stop.” You let the desperation you feel run into your hushed voice as you give him your consent to continue, your hands in his hair brushing through the strands as you buck your hips into his hand.

“Thank the Gods.” His finger pushes in, working its way into you with sinfully slow movements, your head hitting the wall behind you as you let out a hiss at the feeling. You can hear your wetness as his finger dives deep, the sound of it obscene in the otherwise silent hallway.

“Gods, you’re so wet,” He kisses against your collar bone, nuzzling into the skin there as he breathes in your scent. “Who knew you were such an exhibitionist? Absolutely filthy of you, sweetheart.”

You whine at his words, Astarion coaxing more quiet moans from your lips as his finger pumps deep inside you. His free hand trails up to your shoulder, pushing off the delicate strap of your gown before moving down to pull at your bodice. 

Taking care not to rip the velvet, Astarion succeeds in freeing the breast he had fed on, hand coming up to weigh it in a palm as his mouth licks at the exposed nipple. 

He sucks on the hardened peak as his finger pulls out of you only to be joined by a second a moment later, the stretch barely noticeable with your wetness aiding his smooth thrusts in and out of your cunt.

His fingers curl against your walls as his tongue licks at your nipple, laving the peak as he finds that special place, deep inside your body and presses into it.

He’s relentless as his mouth works your breast and his beautiful fingers fuck you, his other hand squeezing the breast still covered, fingers working underneath the fabric to brush at the nipple.

It would be so easy to come like this, a fact Astarion does not miss as he can feel your body’s reaction, the telltale tension building inside you. Slowly his fingers leave your heat, brushing up against your clit with slippery motions as you whimper at the loss of them. He presses one last kiss to the tip of your breast, still wet with his lingering saliva, before he lowers to his knees in front of you.

“Astarion, what are you doing?” Your words are breathless as your hands run through his hair, the mask on his face slightly askew.

“I still seem to be a bit peckish still, though for a slightly different taste.” Warmth rushes to your cheeks as they flush, the alcohol still floating through your body painting everything in that same warm haze that has surrounded you through the night.

Astarion’s hands glide up your legs, brushing over soft thighs as he grabs at either side of the underwear where it rests low across your hips. His eyes flick up to yours as he pulls it down, guiding the thin, lacy fabric down your legs. He’s unhurried, clearly not worried about being caught or seen as he takes his time while his eyes never leave yours. He steadies you as you step out of the panties, pocketing the damp lace with a roguish smirk and raise of his brows.

His hand wraps around your thigh, pushing it up and pinning it against the wallpaper as he holds you open to his gaze. Your pussy is absolutely dripping for him, the sight of his otherworldly beauty as he stares at the center of you, open for him, takes the breath from your lungs.

There would be no mistaking what was happening if someone were to come upon you now—Astarion kneeling before you, supplicant, as he bares you to himself—unmistakable to anyone gifted with eyesight.

Astarion leans in to press a kiss to the thigh he has pinned, lips moving across the smooth skin with the lightest of touches before skipping over your weeping core to kiss the opposite thigh. You whine at the blatant misdirection of his mouth, hips bucking in indignation with as much motion as you can manage.

“Oh, I’m sorry—did you want something, darling?” He moves his face away from your body to shoot a look upwards, his features smug as he sees the abject desire in your gaze tempering the glare you shoot down at him.

“I thought you were still hungry, dearest.” You keep your words sweet, not letting the aching want you feel bleed into your voice as your eyes narrow. 

“Patience, sweet thing. I’m sure I’ve taught you about it once or twice before, have I not?” His head dips forward once more, breathing in the scent of your essence with a performative sigh. “Now, ask nicely. And do use your words and tell me what you want.”

“Astarion!” You start, exasperation building as you contemplate the words to say to appease him. He could be so demanding at times like this, a trait you found yourself caught between loving and hating in equal measure, though ‘loving’ did usually win out in the end.

You briefly debate making him wait for your words, watching his own impatience grow as you play coy, but this certainly isn’t the time or place for what could be a long, drawn out battle of wills on who would break first.

“Fine. Pretty please, Astarion, will you do me the honor of licking my cunt until I come? Preferably before we get caught?” Your frustration mounts as you say the words though you find the strength to keep your tone as breezy and unaffected as his own, despite the slight embarrassment beginning to creep in as the elusive power of the wine fades ever so slowly with every minute that passes.

Astarion grants you your wish with a wide, feline smile, licking a stripe up the center of you, his tongue running through your folds before brushing lightly against your clit as he savors the taste of you.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

His tongue laps at your folds, taking his time to move up and down in languid strokes, never focusing on any one place. It’s a maddening feeling, a whine slipping from your throat as your hips roll, asking for more.

His tongue dips into your entrance, whorling around the opening as he tastes you, his moan against your cunt matching the one that leaves your mouth. Your hands tighten in his hair, hips writhing as his tongue thrusts inside you.

Astarion is eager to taste your essence, tongue flicking deep in your waiting wetness as hushed cries fall from your lips with every brush against your walls. You could sob from the feeling of the lightning hot pleasure that works through your body in time with every push of his tongue. He eats you out like a man starved, his mouth moving against your entrance as he works to plunge you closer towards ecstasy.

His motions are fast-paced, quicker than normal as he works to bring you to your peak, and you whine once more when he tongue leaves to lave at your folds instead. Two fingers are quick to replace his tongue inside you as he circles your clit instead, flicking the pearl simultaneously with perfectly timed thrusts of his fingers, curling up into that special spot.

“You really are so good when you set your mind to it, love.”

Your pleasure ratchets higher, a tremor running through your body as the leg supporting you grows weak with your impending orgasm, muscles in your thigh shaking slightly.

“Astarion, please don’t stop,” Your begging only serves to spur him on, tongue moving faster and his fingers curling faster with a repetitive motion that has your body tightening around him.

“That’s it, darling, come for me.” Astarion’s words are reverent, and you embrace them as you hurtle over the edge, euphoria rushing through your body, the feeling enhanced by the leftover wine as your fingers grip tight in his hair.

You come on his fingers and tongue, Astarion working you through the waves of your completion as they flow through your body, your cunt spasming tight as his tongue doesn’t stop licking at your clit. You bite the flesh of your lip, the delicate skin splitting under your teeth as you keep the sounds of your orgasm at bay, tiny dots of red spilling over your lips.

You uncurl your fingers from his hair, smoothing out the curls as your breathing evens out and your orgasm leaves you in a sense of pleasant euphoria. Astarion presses soft kisses against the skin of your inner thigh as his fingers finally slow inside of you before pulling out. He places one last kiss to your entrance, licking up the remnants of your come before he leans back and places your leg back down onto the ground.

He rises from the floor with a graceful motion, hands skating up your curves as his mouth crashes against your own. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue as he kisses you, the flavor of your own blood and come dizzying. 

Astarion licks at the blood on your lip, sucking on the mark as it bleeds. You open your mouth to him, his tongue tangling with your own as he deepens the kiss. Your hands work in a frenzy with his own to loosen his pants, the button finally coming free in your rush to free his cock from the confines of his clothing.

Astarion pulls his hardness from his underwear and you pump him, the velvety feel of his shaft warmer than normal as your blood courses through his veins. He moans into your mouth, hips pressing closer to you as you work his cock up and down, his precome shining in the light of the sconces as you spread the fluid on the heat of him.

His hands move down from your hips, brushing over your bottom as he grasps under the curve of your rear, squeezing.

“Up.” You are quick to obey, eager to feel him inside you as you jump up, Astarion catching you as his hips pin you in place against the wall, his hands supporting your weight in a tight hold against your ass. 

The half paneling of the wall presses into your back as you push your dress out of the way, the skirt easily parting around the slit as you guide his cock to your waiting cunt, still wet with your come. Astarion stares at your mouth as you lick at the precome that coats your fingers, pupils blown wide as you take a finger into your mouth and suck.

“Like the taste, darling?” Astarion’s erection finds your entrance, your wetness coating the crown of his cock as he bucks in shallowly, the head barely pressing inside you.

“Always. I think I’d like to have a little more.” Your arms wrap around his neck as you roll your hips against his cock, taking him slightly deeper inside your waiting warmth as you lick at his lips.

Astarion lets out a low growl as he pushes inside you in a single thrust, gliding home as hips meet your own. You both moan at the feeling of him inside you, the satisfaction of Astarion finally filling you euphoric as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Did you design this dress thinking about how you would fuck me in it?” Astarion sets a steady pace as he moves his hips, your own meeting his thrusts as best as you can with such a limited range of motion.

“Of course I did,” He licks at the blood drying on your lip. “I thought about how beautiful you would look coming on my cock wearing it, too.” 

He pumps his cock harder, hips rutting against your own as your arms around his neck tighten, bringing him ever closer to you. Your lips meet once more, pressing against one another’s to silence the noises of pleasure breaking from your throats with every thrust. 

“No one can make you come like I can, can they?.” His words come on an quiet exhale of exertion, tinged with the smallest bit os what sounds like possession, his lips brushing against your own with each syllable that leaves his mouth.

“Don’t tell me you’re still jealous, Astarion?” You can still feel the leftover fog from your orgasm, hands playing the hair at the nape of his neck, the strands soft against your fingers as you try catch your breath in vain, every thrust of his cock making it harder and harder to breathe.

“I want to hear you to say it.” The hands on your ass squeeze, cock hammering harder into your center. “Say: ‘No one can fuck me like you’.”

There’s a familiarity to the veiled desperation in voice, though its been years since you’ve heard it. You would know the sound of it anywhere, the cadence of his longing to be wanted and loved and cared for burned into your mind for eternity, settling there like a haze over your vision.

Your heart grows tender at his words, and you hold onto him tighter, pressing a kiss to his lips before giving him the words you know he needs to hear from your rouged lips.

“No one can make me come like you,” A kiss to the tip of his nose where his face rests close to your own. 

“No one can fuck me like you,” A kiss to one cheek, then the other. 

“There is no one for me but you, Astarion. Only you.” Finally, his lips—your love and passion pouring out onto him with the simple press of your lips against his, a hand coming to brush his cheek.

“Gods, I love you.” His thrusts grow sloppy as he grips your hips harder, mouth falling open against your own as his pleasure builds.

“I love you too.” You lips part with the tilt of your head backwards as Astarion hits a particularly deep place inside you, fingers curling hard into the fabric covering his shoulders. He thrusts faster, making sure to hit against the same spot on every push forward.

Astarion’s hand sneaks from behind you to press against your clit, rubbing quick circles as his thrusts grow frenzied, losing their rhythm as he chases his impending high, intent to bring you with him over the edge.

“Will you come inside me? I want to feel you.” You press a kiss onto the shell of his ears as you whisper the words, your tongue darting out to tease at the sensitive skin of the elegant point.

“Is that what you want, darling? My come?” His hips stutter at your words spoken so intimately as you clutch at him, the warmth of your cunt drawing him closer and closer to his peak.

“Gods, yes. Please!” You aren’t afraid to beg as his fingers strum fast on your clit as his thrusts hit deep, your vision clouding over as another orgasm nears.

“Then take it, love.” Astarion buries his face into your neck as he comes, hot spurts of his spend spilling deep inside your body as you ride him through his completion. The feeling of him coming is exhilarating, and his fingers don’t stop until you crest over with him, the contractions of your cunt drawing him in tight as you take all you can of him as he hides his moans into your skin.

You roll your hips on his still hard cock as you work yourself through your orgasm, Astarion still pumping his own shallowly inside you as he comes down, breath hot against your neck. 

Slowly, the world settles back down, both you coming back to yourselves from where you stand against the wall, breathing slowing. 

Astarion’s cock is soft as he pulls from you, his come sliding out with it to make a mess onto your thighs. Astarion watches as his come collects at your entrance, the fingers on your clit moving downwards to push it back inside you with a gentle motion.

“Waste not, want not, my love.” Astarion’s finger curls one last time to press against your walls as you squirm, your body overly sensitive in the aftermath of your orgasm.

He presses a kiss to your forehead before removing his finger, moving his hands to help you stand back on the floor with steady feet. 

He pulls your panties out of his pocket, bending down onto a knee as he helps you back into them, gently lifting one ankle after the other as you still catch your breath, before he raises the ruined lace back up your legs.

He adjusts the skirt of your gown, making sure the velvet falls perfectly before he presses a soft kiss to your covered stomach. He rises, fingers tracing your form as he does, dragging the long forgotten silk shoulder strap back where it belongs as you work your breast back into the bodice.

“Astarion.” You touch at his cheek, capturing his attention as he looks back at you. His gaze is clear as his eyes meet your own, the beautiful crimson red of them soft as he searches your face.

“You really are the only one, Astarion. You are the only one I will ever love, until my dying breath. There will never be anyone else.” You watch as your words settle over him like a balm, the love you feel radiating into him as he accepts them into his own heart.

His features soften even as he scoffs at your words, his hand coming up to cover your own on his face despite himself.

“Oh, I know. Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it.” You let him lie, willing to let him keep this facade in tact.

“I’ll say it as many times as you wish.” Astarion’s hand takes your own where it rests on his face, pressing a kiss into the palm before lowering your joined hands.

“I’ll be sure to let you know, darling.” Astarion adjusts his own finery, settling the velvet back to rights as his eyes draw to the bodice of your ruined gown.

“Did you account for potential bloodshed when you designed the dress too?” You remark as you eyes follow his own line of sight, looking down at the blood staining the velvet dark with wet, sticky blotches. 

“Let’s just be thankful that blood and wine look similar.” 

“Nothing we can do about that bite mark though.” You sigh as you attempt to pull up the neckline slightly higher to no avail.

“Everyone will simply have to be left to wonder, then, won’t they?” Astarion bends down to press a fluttering kiss over the marks decorating your chest, squeezing your hand.

“Think you have another dance in you?” You squeeze at his hand back in response.

“I suppose we still have a few more hours before sunrise to wile away.” Astarion walks, gently pulling you after him as the pair of you make your way back to the glittering ballroom below. “Let’s go have some more fun.”

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #84: Star Wars, but make it the Outer Rim

I've been reading a lot of Star Wars fic lately, much of it involving time travel in some shape or form. Most of it is wonderful, but after a while some of it starts to read as let's fix the Republic so we can bring the light and civilization of the core to the outer rim. Which, while possibly disingenuous, feels a little too much like the justifications made by Europeans for their colonial empires.

As I said, I'm probably reading too much into certain tropes, but can't help but wonder: what if one of these fics started in the outer rim as a way of bringing light and goodness back to the core? Or: Save Tatooine, save the galaxy.

Just imagine it:

Several years have passed after The Book of Boba Fett in the original timeline. While the New Republic calls Daimyo Fett's leadership just another crime syndicate masquerading as good government, anyone who's actually been to the planet knows it's the other way around. Most crime syndicates don't care for planetary infrastructure or public vaccination programs.

Boba has encouraged Din to use his palace as a base for his bounty hunting activities - and as a home planet for the small community of Mandelorians building around their Mand'alor. Ideally, this would be the start of a courtship that wouldn't be moving as slowly as it is if Din wasn't an oblivious idiot about 1) his feelings and 2) traditional Mandalorian courting, but it could also simply be vod'e being vod'e. Dealer's choice.

And so Din is on planet when someone tries to bribe Boba for one reason or another with an ancient Sith artifact.

Din calls in a Jedi from Luke's school to investigate - Cal Kestis, who is one of a handful of trained adults in the new Jedi Order and the most knowledgeable about weird force osik...

...which doesn't stop Cal from accidentally triggering the artifact and sending Boba, Din, and himself back in time to the year 53 BBY, shortly before Jaster Mereel is set to die in the Battle of Korda VI.

As if finding themselves on Tatooine approximately 66 years in the past - well before any of them were even born - isn't enough, all three find themselves in their teenage bodies. Boba and Din are somewhere between 15 and 17, when they have most of their adult height but none of their bulk, while Cal is disgusted to find himself a particularly short 12. This in no way reflects their real differences in ages, and they are forced to attribute it to more inexplicable force osik.

Despite their ages, this proves an opportunity to stop the Empire from ever forming. But how? None of them know enough about the precise course of events to begin to stop it, and even if they could manage to get the Jedi Council to listen to them, waltzing into the Jedi Temple and declaring themselves time travelers is bound to put them on Palaptine's radar in a way that is likely to end their painful deaths.

The solution, they decide, is to get the Jedi to come to them. After all, if they repeat Boba's actions from the future, overthrow the Hutts, and free the slaves on Tatooine, someone from the Jedi is bound to come and investigate.

Taking over Tatooine proves easier than their wildest dreams.

Killing Jabba the Hutt in his own throne room and transmitting a signal that jams slave chips across the planet is all that's needed to spark a general uprising against the slavers and Jabba's criminal empire.

It's a little less easy getting the representatives of the colonists, freed slaves, and native peoples to believe that a pair of teenage Mandos and a half-grown Jedi took out a member of the Grand Hutt Council, but once they hear Boba's plans to convert the planet's slave-based economy to a viable democracy funded in part by the wealth of Jabba's vaults, they're more than willing to vote him Daimyo. His actions more than make up for his apparent age.

The Republic is naturally less sanguine. Mandalorians on Tatooine? Is this the start of another war of conquest? (To say nothing that several of the more corrupt members are in the position to lose a lot of money if crime and slave trade is disrupted in the outer rim.) The Senate orders the Jedi to investigate.

The Jedi are also in an uproar. Not only do holos show a young force sensitive helping a pair of Mandos take over Tatooine, but one of those Mandos has a lightsaber the likes of which they've never seen. (Tensions between Jedi and the Mandalorians are such that no one recognizes the Darksaber for what it is or what it means.) Could this mean some dark side sect has sent some of their apprentices to help rebuild the Mandalorian Empire?

The Mandalorians are also unsettled - Death Watch because the Darksaber seems to have disappeared overnight, only to end up with a child in unpainted beskar half a galaxy away; the True Mandalorians because it looks to them that Death Watch might be sending children into battle to build the empire they're always going on about; and the New Mandolorians because this is exactly the kind of violence that gives Mandalore a bad name.

And all of this fails to take into account the Sith, who are naturally upset that the fear and despair they've worked so hard to cultivate on the edges of the Republic has been disrupted with something so light as hope.

All parties converge on Tatooine.

The Mandalorians arrive first. The True Mandalorians are just beginning to investigate when Death Watch decides to attack first and ask questions never.

Boba, Din, and Cal were expecting this and so have a plan in place that allow their forces to take down most of the terrorists while ensuring Jaster Mereel survives, thereby preventing Korda VI, Galidraan, and all that follows. Montross is killed in the fighting without his double cross ever being known.

This also manages to convince the True Mandalorians that they're just a bunch of kids trying to make their way in the galaxy, and while they ask why take over a planet? why not just join a mercenary guild?, Jaster can't deny that they're doing a good thing. He stations some of his people on planet and leaves them be, content Din isn't going to try to push his claim as Mand'alor and/or build another extremist terrorist sect around the Darksaber.

The Mandalorians leave right as a large number of Jedi arrive. In this party are most of their best lightsaber dualists, including a less jaded Yan Dooku and a young Qui-Gon Jinn (who is only a few months out from Xanatos' Fall and in desperate need of a mind healer). Forced proximity has made the later very clear to all the Jedi Masters involved, and this alone prevents many of the tragedies of Obi-Wan's early apprenticeship.

Qui-Gon's mental health aside, the Jedi presume they'll be attacked by dark siders the moment they touch down on Tatooine. Instead they're invited to the Daimyo's palace, given refreshments, and brought before the planet's new ruling council. Which includes two freed slaves, a wizened Tusken grandmother, a pair of moisture farmers, and a representative from one of the cantinas in addition to a pair of teenage Mandos and a young force sensitive.

This meeting goes a long way to convincing the Jedi that what's happening on Tatooine could be a good thing - particularly after Boba turns over everything they could find regarding some of Jabba's dealings with several shady senators and businessmen within the bounds of the Republic. Including one young senator, Sheev Palpatine of Naboo. While several are able to talk their way out of trouble, it removes the worst of Palpatine's future lackeys from power.

The Jedi also invite Cal to come back with them to the temple to "finish" his training. Cal invites them instead to build a satellite temple on Tatooine. After all, there's no reason why a religious order should be tied to the Republic government, and setting up a temple in the outer rim would allow the Jedi to help those on the outer rim more easily, without waiting for the approval of the Senate.

The Jedi obviously don't agree right away - but it does mean that they come back fairly often to discuss the particulars, meaning that someone is on planet when the Sith decide the best way to fix their plans is to try to assassinate the young Daimyo and his allies, revealing the Sith's continued existence decades early.

Which is where my plot bunny starts to fizzle out.

With Jaster Mereel alive, the True Mandalorians have a real chance of stopping both the terrorism of Death Watch and the cultural genocide of the New Mandalorians, leaving Mandalore in a position of strength versus the Republic. So long as this remains the case, plans for a New Sith Empire must be put on hold.

With the shadiest characters removed from the Senate, it's harder for a Sith to take charge of it - especially when a strengthening Tatooine continues to disrupt smuggling and slave trafficking in the outer rim, reducing the darkness and the funds he has access to.

And so though the details are up to the dealer, taking over Tatooine disrupts the Sith's machinations enough that they're forced to show their hands too soon, and thus defeated before they can ever give rise to the empire. It's not easy, but it involves a lot less suffering than the original timeline.

Bonuses include: 1) Merrin and Grogu also traveling through time as a result of the force bonds that they have with Cal and Din respectively. They wake up on the currently uninhabited planet Luke's school will occupy in the future rather than Tatooine and have to go through a quest of their own to get off planet and rejoin the others. This should involve accidentally helping the other's plans to prevent the empire, such as by disrupting a crime syndicate or blowing up the Trade Federation's first droid factory; 2) Teenagers being teenagers. These kids may have been adults in the future with all their adult memories, but they've got teenage bodies now and it shows; and 3) Boba and company never outright admitting they're time travelers, but dropping enough hints to the relevant parties that they eventually come to that conclusion on their own. Only then do they share the details of the horrible future they've prevented.

And that's all I have. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you do anything with it.

More SW Fic Ideas | More Terrible Fic Ideas

[skyrim-said-that]

do you have. mod recs. i need more mods and am having trouble finding ones which are not asscentric. my computer is shared i cant have ass mods.

ok i have a bit of time to do this, ill go alphabetically, but keep in mind that obviously most mods require SKSE and each have their own dependencys 

and also that i play legendary edition so i have all the DLCs (Even tho i haven't played them rly). also they like. are allegedly all compatable because my game does still work, but if they fuck up yours uh. my bad. im also omitting a bunch that like. i have them but really they dont make the list

also i have a lot of food mods, dont ask why because i dont have the answer. green highlighted mods are my favs

About Horses

Makes horses look like real horses. my inner horsegirl shines on

A Skyrim Kiss - Smooch that fictional character!

A Skyrim Waltz - Dance with them too!

Ur gonna need FNIS for these two

Babettes Feast - Improved Cooking

Adds a bunch of different immersive recipes to the game, i really like this sort of mod when im playing with hunger/thirst mods

Bandolier - Bags and Pouches

this is such a good mod if youre a huge packrat. adds a bunch of craftable wearable storage options like belts and stuff that up your carryweight!

Better Vanilla Hair - Mesh replacement

Just a visual mod that smooths out the blockyness of the hair, without changing it too much. it still like. fits in the game

Beards - Beard texture overhaul

Bosmeri Cuisine - Meat Based Recipies

adds a bunch of recipes inspired by the Green Pact lore, stuff thats completely carnivorous like fried eggs, pemmican and more

Books of Skyrim

Adds a bookstore in solitude so you can hoard more books

Breezehome - Fully Upgradable

I love this mod, it makes it so you can majorly upgrade breezehome with more floors, a whole blacksmith setup, bathroom, and a ton more!

Combine Potions

Corners of skyrim - More structures

i love mods like this, it just adds like different little cabins and shit all around for u to find when youre exploring

Cooking Expanded

Common Clothes

Adds craftable regular clothes for playing dressup

Daedric Shrines -  Sanguine

Adds a sexy man to my life

Flying Crows

Female Mannequins

Footprints - Adds npc/player/animal prints in the snow

Helgen Reborn - Rebuilding the hold

i have a thing for building mods, i love them. i dont know why but its so fun its like playing home improvement sim. but in skyrim. this one has a really fun questline too, its really fun and well written!

Ineed - Food, water and sleep

i mean, self explanatory again but adds a system for needs. I like that its really adjustable so if you find it harsh you can tone it down.

Immersive Armours

Self explanitory but also a really great mod! very immersive armors that look great!

Immersive Citizens - Ai Overhaul

Its like if the npcs actually were functional

Immersive Weapons

see above but for weapons!

Lanterns of Skyrim

ok technically i have the old version of this but im sure its the same, it adds a bunch of lanterns on the paths all around skyrim

Left Hand Rings

Lovely Hairstyles - Immersive hair

Marriage Mod - To have and to hold

this one updates the weddings so theyre a little more in depth as well as adds the options for multiple marriages. also adds a few quests!

Marks of Beauty - Freckles moles and more!

Racemenu - Player creation overhaul

I feel like most people have this one but if you love character creation this is the one, its so good and you can fuck with EVERYTHING

Relationship Dialogue Overhaul

Guys i really like this one, it adds a TON of dialogue for your spouses , followers, etc and they're all just ripped from existing dialogue so they don't sound out of place or anything! i love it

Sweet Mother - Night mother improvement

Sounds of skyrim - complete edition

i love these mods they basically overhaul the ambient sounds all over the game, i especially love how real they make the forests feel!

Scars of Time - a Landmark mod

more structures and landmarks across skyrim. im a whore for this stuff

Wintersun - Faiths of Skyrim

SUCH a good mod. adds a whole bunch of shrines for the different faiths in tes lore, as well as different benefits for choosing them. its so cool like i cant explain it

[zzombiecleo]

you've got my heart (won't you come on in close to me?)

yet another yuri week post! check this story out on ao3 and make sure to follow @mcyt-yuri-week for more!

fandom: hermitcraft smp, empires smp characters: ldshadowlady, pearlescentmoon ship: ldshadowlady/pearlescentmoon additional tags: romance, fluff, dancing, alternate universe - royalty, its not technically empires its just. a different royalty thing ig, knight pearlescentmoon, princess ldshadowlady, flirting, drabble, mcyt yuri week summary: she's a knight in shining armour, she's an elegant princess, can i make it anymore obvious? --- mcyt valentines yuri week day 2: royalty/knight

Pearl has trained to be a knight her whole life. Years of training, of blood, sweat, and tears, years of neglecting everything else to accomplish her goal. And now, it has finally led her to be given the honour of guarding Her Royal Highness, Princess LIzzie of the Great Sanguinepeak Kingdom. From a young unnamed girl living in a territory that barely counts as a colony of Sanguine to Dame Pearlescent of the Everlasting Summit, the capital city of Sanguine. It might be silly but this was all she had ever dreamed of and now that she has it, days seem to pass in a golden-hued blur.

Her days start early with morning prayers to the Lady, a service set at 5 in the morning just for the knights and squires of the Royal Palace. The tired murmurs of devotion and the light shining through the rainbow stained glass windows lets Pearl prepare herself for the day ahead. Then comes breakfast, which starts peaceful and ramps up into a loud affair the more awake everyone becomes. Afterwards she heads for training, though she only stays for half of it before it hits 9 and she heads to Her Royal Highness’ chambers to relieve the early morning guards of their duties.

When the Princess Lizzie steps outside of her chambers, she the most delicate and graceful woman Pearl had ever witnessed, as befits her station. Clothes of light silk, perfect for the summer days, hair beautifully braided back, and jewels glimmering in the early morning sunlight. Every morning, the sight inspires such sheer, utter devotion that not even her devotion to the Lady can come close to it. Somehow, the Princess seems to look more lovely each day.

Though the majority of Pearl’s day is then spent following Her Royal Highness at a distance, ensuring her safety through tutoring and garden walks and all else, once the evening comes, that is when the distance closes. When the light fades and the stars shine, the Princess’ chamber doors are left ajar and Pearl knows that it is an invitation.

She slips inside. Among all the other things her reputation is good for, this is certainly one of the best. Barely anyone checks the corridor with the Princess’ room nowadays, they trust that Pearl has it handled. She supposes she does, in a fashion. Doing this is a risk to the Princess’ safety but those moments they spend together are worth it. By the Lady, they’re worth it. She closes the door behind her as she enters and smiles softly at the sight. The sight of not the Princess, the composed angel of the Sanguine Kingdom, but the sight of Lizzie. Just Lizzie.

The soft moonlight shines upon her, illuminating her soft pink locks and the lovely dress she wore that day. Lizzie giggles when she sees her and the way she looks at Pearl makes every agonising moment spent unable to touch her worth it. But she’s not unable to touch her now. So she steps forward and bends down to press a delicate kiss to outstretched Lizzie’s hand.

Lizzie sighs softly, eyes twinkling, “You look beautiful tonight, Pearl.”

“Oh? Don’t I always look beautiful? What an insult, Your Highness.”

Pearl grins as Lizzie’s face turns red and she splutters out several incomplete answers before simply giving up and walking to her dresser instead. Pearl leans against the opulent bed posts of the bed and watches as she fiddles with a deep brown gramophone. A soft waltz starts to echo throughout the room and Pearl unhooks her scabbard and places it gently on the large wooden chest at the bottom of the bed before walking towards Lizzie.

Lizzie turns around in time for Pearl to offer her a hand and ask “May I have this dance?”

“Of course. You may. You absolutely may.” Lizzie smiles at her, cheeks as pink as her hair.

They step into a slow dance around the room, caught up in the stillness of the night and the feeling of being so close to one another. Slow, steady, starstruck. Pearl lives for moments like these in the wake of achieving her goal. This saccharine sweetness feels like a reward for all that she had to leave behind. Dancing the night away with Lizzie, her love, feels like coming home. It just feels right to look into those glimmering sky blue eyes and see nothing but overwhelming love. It feels like the only possible way this could have gone for them. Like a fairytale happy ending.

Lizzie notices her stare, as she always does, and reaches up to press a light kiss to her cheek. The song changes and Pearl twirls Lizzie in response before pulling her back in and holding her close, smiling herself silly all the while.

“You are adorable. Do you know that?” Lizzie giggles, “I think you should know that. You’re the most beautiful woman alive.”

Pearl laughs and kisses her forehead, “You’ve said that so much that at this point, I think I might even believe you.”

“You should.” Another twirl, “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Oh, I know. I just think you forget how lovely you really are.”

“That’s your opinion, Pearl. You’re biased!”

“And you aren’t?” She replies and dips her, just holding her like that, lips hovering centimetres from each other.

“Maybe a little, Pearl. But only a little.” She murmurs against her mouth.

In response, Pearl leans down slightly and kisses her. Truly, she believes that all those years of training would have been worth just for a single one of these kisses. A single one of these nights. Irrational? Maybe. But everything about Lizzie inspires not just irrationality but a sincere devotion that Pearl knows, deep down, she will feel for the rest of her days. No matter what.

[suitetarts]

mosquito bite

Astarion x Original Female Character, Dark Urge Tav (Good) Angst/Comfort, Blood No Bite, Kissing, Fluff (Link to AO3) On a peaceful night in the Elfsong Tavern, Astarion comes across a mosquito and sees himself: a blood-sucking parasite. He continues to grapple with his past traumas and future prospects. His lover, a strong-headed and good-hearted drow adventurer, tries her best to help him. Astarion and Delilah are both works-in-progress, struggling on their way to becoming better people and not giving themselves nearly enough credit. They talk and make out a little bit. :)

Now part of a (loose) series: [Next One Shot]

Gentle strums of a lyre filter through the bricks and beams of the Elfsong Tavern. Boisterous drunks and seedy patrons have long since found a berth to sleep, and only the wistful musician dreaming of lovers would dare to intrude on the silence of this twilight. The candles inside the second floor have been dormant for some time now. Long shadows from the oil street lamps drape over fine furnishings, reaching out with clawed hands at those who have yet to rest.

A familiar buzzing sound and a light whisper on his forearm brings Astarion’s attention away from the lyre’s muffled melody as he lies restlessly in his bed, a welcomed luxury even on another sleepless night. He watches the insect as it dances on his skin and prepares its proboscis to pierce him. Astarion smirks, then a flash of anger crosses his elegant features before crushing the bug under his index finger. A red stain is left behind, blood seeping into the crevices of his fingerprint. Astarion can’t help his body’s sanguine hunger pains at the find; a plump mosquito waltzing right up to him would have been a welcomed meal for the previous 200 years.

A creak of floorboards sends Astarion into a panic. His instincts scream at him; he’s fucked, he’s been caught. If it's Dufey or Godey, the elf will be fine if he can just lick the blood away quickly and try to keep his petulant mouth shut, lest they beat him for being a nuisance. If it's any of his abhorrent siblings, Mr. Favorite Leon especially, then he’ll be begged to share. And gods above, if it’s Cazador…

Delilah was on her way over to have a midnight chat with her pale lover, as they often did in the past few months since getting acquainted with each other and the tadpoles in their heads. Afterall, in addition to the rest of their shared misfortune, a drow and a vampire spawn had much in common: a lack of trust in and from others, and dashing good looks, for starters. As she gets closer however, a rustling and sudden stillness makes her pause. She carefully pulls the canopy back from Astarion’s bed and is greeted by wide red eyes the size of dinner plates. His breathing is short and stuttered, and he looks both defiant and terrified.

Astarion is only vulnerable for a brief moment however, before he forcefully sharpens his eyes and puts on a rehearsed smile as he whispers, “Oh, darling, I was just, erm–”

“‘Just dreaming of my sweet succulent Dellie, until I was bombarded with a thought of Halsin’s greasy hair?’” Delilah sings quietly in a mocking impersonation of his patented cheeky drawl. As playful as she sounds, the slant of her own maroon eyes and her limbs still frozen in place from when she first saw his state betrays her concern for him.

The gig is up, if it was ever even possible to lie to her anymore. Astarion shrinks as she sits beside him. “It haunts me that he uses the same soap bar everywhere,” he says halfheartedly. She knows how to get him to talk - sitting comfortably in his lying, sad sack house of cards until he’s ready to let it fall apart.

“Ew,” Delilah laughs, her eyebrows still stitched together in concern. His rehearsed smile fades into a quivering frown, and he turns to look at her through his dark eyelashes. Her heart swells with equal parts love and pity, as much as she knows he would hate the latter.

She leans towards him, moving her arms to hover over Astarion’s lean form. The body of a vampire is not the most conducive to cuddling, thanks to the lack of any mass that isn’t bone, muscle, or cold skin. And in particular, in her limited experience, Delilah has found vampires to be choosy and fickle when they want to be touched. Totally understandable situation, of course, with all that Astarion has been through, but it can be like reaching into a mystery box every time she seeks him out. Delilah has learned this careful dance of respect and waits for a response.

Astarion’s mouth turns slightly upward and he purposefully sways into her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as she clings to his torso. He opens his mouth to speak, pauses, and starts again carefully, “You startled me.”

“Sorry. Were you having a bad dream?”

“Not technically.” After a pause, he continues in a higher tone of voice, “But also, the damned idiot down there doesn’t know how to keep a tune. It’s rather hard to sleep like this.”

She smiles into his chest. “You’re in a goose down feather bed with silk sheets at the finest tavern we’ve seen in months, and you’re complaining about the music?”

Astarion sneers and clicks his tongue against his fangs. “Darling, you’ve been sleeping on too many mushrooms and rocks underground if you think this is silk. The finest tavern in the Lower City is still in the Lower City. I feel sorry for your lack of standards.”

“By the gods, not this again.” Delilah huffs, her cackles raising in defense. “Silk is silk. You surface dwellers are the ones who make it so complicated, what with this being from Cormyr or that being from Calimshan.” As she’s talking with her hands, she feels a rumble of laughter in his chest and it only angers her further. She spits venom as she continues, “And for the record, all of your taverns are lacking from what I’ve seen so far. I’m loathe to see what kind of embarrassing shit holes you show me in your beloved Upper City.”

Astarion practically purrs at the sight of his little love all worked up. “I don’t recall you showing me anything better when we were in the Underdark.”

Delilah very nearly calls on the Weave within herself to smite him here and now. “You are so annoying–” 

She cuts herself off. His smug, smirking aura is palpable, in stark contrast to the frightened look she saw on his face before entering this embrace. Delilah recognizes this: a careful replacement of his mask. She can’t see his face from where she’s tucked into his chest, and Astarion’s tight hold is nearly a confession. She playfully struggles against him to free herself and he puts up a valiant effort, but any amount of force to keep her controlled could wake the others.

As Delilah turns to face him, her vision catches a small dark patch on his usually perfectly white shirt. She moves her body out of the way to allow light from the street to bring color to it, and she’s rather unsurprised to see its blood.

Astarion follows her eyes down onto the sleeve covering his bicep and groans. He turns his other arm around to see the mosquito’s body and the blood within has been smeared off. A few months ago he would have nearly mourned the loss of perfectly good blood and sucked what he could salvage out of the linen fibers like an animal. Tonight, though, it's just an inconvenience. Even as he complains, a genuine smile in his voice seeps through, “Gods. I just bleached this too.”

She pulls at the fabric of his shirt with a sigh. “Come on then, my love. Let’s go take care of it before the stain sets.”

The pair make their way out of the tavern and into the street, stealing a washing board from some poor sod’s balcony on their way to the nearby public fountain and freshwater spigot. The late hour has Delilah and Astarion almost sleep drunk now that they’ve left the comfort and stillness of their rooms, although their whispers and softened footsteps are tame compared to the shadowy debauchery of the darkened Lower City streets.

Delilah clutches at her stomach as they approach the fountain, quickly finding a seat on the cold marble as she contains her mirth. “I couldn’t believe the look on Shadowheart’s face. She was so mad.”

“Ha! You’d think I stabbed her,” Astarion giggles.

They both work through the laughter, with her preparing the bleaching chemicals and him beginning to pull the stained shirt over his head. The streets are mostly empty, but not barren enough for Astarion to want to flaunt his infernal branding. Before he can even truly hesitate, Delilah hands him her outer robes to cover up with. His bashful glance is all the thanks she needs, and she quickly paws at him to get him out of his white shirt.

Delilah attempts to make quick work of the stain, being careful not to unnecessarily stress the aged fabric that Astarion has spent so many years tending to. His eyes twinkle boyishly as he watches her fumble with the washing board.

“Any harder and my poor blouse will burst at the seams. How old are you to be washing fine clothes so carelessly?”

Her head whips around murderously fast, her eyes on fire and her mouth already in a scowl. “Like I’ve told you a hundred times, I’ve never had to take care of my own clothes before, you ass!”

Astarion laughs at Delilah’s anger, although he quickly corrects himself with a series of “No, no, no!” ‘s as she appears to grind his shirt mercilessly into the metal. A smug smile emerges from her face as she reveals the shirt looking no worse for wear. He dramatically sighs, having been duped by her using his own sleight of hand tricks against him.

At this rather mundane affair, the world seems to pause. The soft yellow glow of dozens of oil lamps, the swaying of flower baskets as the sun’s light begins to set the horizon ablaze, the foggy echoes of jolly parties hanging low to the street’s cobblestones as the city gets ready for a new day, it all pales in comparison to her. Fiery passion but also seemingly limitless understanding and grace for a wretch like himself, and she’s an attractive, powerful drow? It’s almost something he could have expected to see in a porn pamphlet. Astarion can’t help himself from retreating to the hiding spaces of his flirts and creature comforts, but she makes it so easy to be real.

“Del, I–” Astarion starts, but he stutters and loses his steam. As far as she’s concerned, the whole city falls quiet at the sound of her name from his lips. He finds Delilah’s gaze, the deep red wine of her irises reflecting the world around her except the one thing she’s staring at.

Her lips pull sweetly into a smile as her wet, warm hand finds his icy grip on the fountain’s edge. Delilah takes her time before she breaks the silence.  “This is nice, isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever had anything this nice,” Astarion says with a bitter laugh. He pulls at the collar of her robe with his free hand, feeling the soft fabric shift over the scars on his back. 

“We can have this all the time when the brain is gone,” she coos.

Astarion shakes his head, taking her index finger in his hand and pointing it towards the sunrise. “Not this. Not when my tadpole is gone.” He pulls their hands back towards his chest and sighs.

Delilah hums in thought. She could be difficult in her bratty drow fashion, but instead she says mournfully, “This is so beautiful and warm. I'm sorry.”

“Before I got kidnapped, I’d forgotten. And being warm was just–” A parade of lovers flashes across Astarion’s mind, hundreds and thousands of warm kisses and steamy nights all ending at Cazador’s gilded doors. He grunts out of his nose, gripping Delilah’s hand tighter. “I learned to stop missing it. But to lose it again?”

“Everything is different now, Astarion.” She clasps her other hand over their conjoined hold, pivoting on the ball of her foot to kneel in front of him at the fountain. “We can travel the world by its shadows and find a way to cure you.”

“You have no idea how much I want to believe what you say, my love,” he murmurs, too tired to bite his words.

Delilah’s anger is a constant simmer in her blood, perhaps leftover from the black, murderous tar of Bhaal’s heritage. She has struggled against this part of herself in every way, shape, and form, but seeing Astarion like this gets her boiling.

“Believing is for children and liars.” Delilah’s soft features sour on her words, the acidity pulling Astarion away from his self-loathing. “Belief in shitty gods has done neither of us any favors. No, trust me,” she spits. He leans in towards her and hangs on every syllable, her breath hot on his face. “You helped me break my chains to Bhaal. I will cure you of this curse. Trust me–”

Lips crush against hers, Astarion’s grip on her hands loosened by the conviction in her voice and the sweet nectar of her mouth. Delilah gives a short muffled protest before pulling her hands up to cup his face. He opens his eyes briefly, seeing the morning sunlight dancing on her freckled gray neck and his blindingly porcelain arm. Two delicate creatures of darkness, here in the sun. Who is to say he doesn’t belong?

Astarion kisses her and kisses her and kisses her, until his teeth hurt and her hair is twisted in knots in his hands. She licks into him; her warm, pulsing tongue dragging across his fangs. He groans, his muscles tensing painfully like an over-tuned instrument. “You drive me mad,” he gasps into her mouth.

Delilah pulls away, touching a finger to her tongue and almost disappointed to find it unbloodied. The radiant flames she lit in his chest threatens to burn him whole. She’s wrecked and slovenly, a wretch at a public fountain with hair hanging loosely across her face and a muddy flush to her cheeks, and to Astarion she’s positively divine. He’s starving, pulling her in for more.

[croissantlover24]

"A walk," you declared to yourself, standing straighter with a feigned confidence you did not have. "A walk will clear my mind."

a walk!

You strutted off into the woods behind your house, pretending to be far more organized and sure of yourself than you were. The deep crackling croak of a distant raven echoed in your ears. The trees swayed in the wind, a network of mangled limbs that twisted and turned over each other. Leaves flourished from their branches and littered the floor. You couldn't help but feel that their unconventionally sanguineous color was an omen to… something. You weren't quite sure what, however.

blood probably

Little sunlight seeped through the heavy thicket. Ferns brushed against your legs. You took in a whiff of fresh air. Yes, this is what you needed: an opportunity to relax. You knew it wouldn't last long, though. After all, you needed to find a place of work—soon. You were on the brink of being unable to afford to live.

Beautiful descriptions of the natural world! also reader I am sorry about that :(

A sigh escaped your lips as you rubbed your temples, vexed and lost. The world was a sea, and your boat had sunk. The snapping of a twig dragged you out of your thoughts. Swiveling around, your eyes darted through the shadows for even a glimpse of what had made the sound. A flash of white greeted your scrutiny.

OHO? Moon?

You shifted to move behind a bush. You felt foolish, hiding from a sound in the woods, but you knew how dangerous waltzing through the ocean of foliage mindlessly could be. That was not a risk you were willing to take. You heard something puncture the soft mud a few feet away from you. A hammer then secured it into the ground. "This is a waste of time," a mechanical, bitter voice you didn't recognize hissed. "No one's going to come."

MOON!

You shifted beneath the labyrinth of shrubbery you had found sanctuary in, craning your neck for a better look of the speaker. A stick snapped beneath you, revealing you to the voice in an ironically similar manner to what revealed the voice to you. The person talking spun around. "Who's there?" he growled. You held your hands up in a sign of surrender as you stood and took a step back. "Hi," you said awkwardly, cursing yourself inwardly. The… person? narrowed his eyes at the sight of you.

nodding. yeah me too reader

He was an animatronic. You hadn't seen many in your time, if any at all. His faceplate was flat and split into two silver and blue halves respectively but could move to emote. His eyes were covered by mahogany-colored goggles with purple-glazed glasses. He wore a nightcap over his head that was a deep cobalt speckled with golden stars. For clothes, he adorned a long, white lab coat that met at the center with black buttons. You could barely see his matching black boots beneath the flora. He had charcoal gloves that went up to where his elbow would be if he were human. You had a moment to look at the sign he was shoving into the floor while he considered you. It read "Assistant Needed" with an arrow pointing towards a seemingly random direction further into the woods.

MOOON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"What are you doing here?" he snarled. "And before you ask," he added with a venom in his tone that made you tense, "I do own the land I'm placing these in. The last thing I need is the police after me again…"

yeah fair

"I went for a walk," you stuttered out, returning your hands to your sides. "Apologies, am I trespassing? I can leave if you need me to." He sighed theatrically, exasperated. "No, no," he relented, "it's fine." He leaned against his sign with his arms crossed and glared at a bird in a tree as it chirped. "Pesky fiends," he muttered under his breath. "Just wait; I'll get you, too."

Bird?! Bird!!!!!!!!

You began to question this robot's sanity.

PFEHEHE YEAH

"I should go," you stammered, muttering a variety of excuses beneath your breath. You walked backwards and eyed him like he was a predator about to pounce. "Wait," he said dully, gesturing for you to walk over, "come here." You hid your frown as you lumbered towards him like it was the last thing you wanted to do. His hat swayed in the breeze while he studied your appearance with a flat expression. He hummed mildly. "You could work," he murmured. You felt deeply unsettled. "Say," he began, "are you, perhaps, looking for a job?" "That… depends," you replied with narrowed eyes, "on what you're insinuating." "I'm looking for an assistant," he remarked, tapping the sign. "An assistant for what?" you inquired. "An assistant for—oh, how should I word this?" He drummed his fingers against his sign as he pondered what words wouldn't scare you away. "I'm a scientist, so to speak. I need an assistant to help me get materials, catalogue data, and so on."

OOoh science time!

Noticing your reluctance, he added, "The pay is 35 dollars an hour." "Okay," you swiftly agreed. He didn't need to know how desperate you were for that money. "When's the interview? And where? I can also—" "You're hired!" He ripped out his sign from the ground and shook your hand vehemently. "Welcome to the office!" You frowned. "I'm… hired? Already?" "No one else signed up," he stated with a shaky smile. "Come, I'll give you a tour of the office."

????????????????????? Moon??????????????????

You followed him deeper into the thicket, disoriented and utterly bewildered. You were hired? Just like that? It felt too good to be true. "I… sir?" you asked as you cleared your throat. He turned to face you. "Who are you, exactly?"

HDFHGHF READER!

You chided yourself mentally for your rude phrasing. "Apologies," you quickly added. "I-I meant, what's your name?" He didn't seem all that bothered. "Moon," he responded. "You can call me Moon."

MOON!

"Moon, okay." You nodded. You waited for him to ask the question back as most usually did, but he just continued his trek forward without a second thought. You guessed formalities might not be all that important to the job. "Here we are." A grin spread across his face. He seemed very proud of… whatever this was. A large block of white concrete met your eyes only marked as a building by the door and windows. The structure was stained from years of nature reclaiming it, the once pure stone now grey with flaking paint. Vines caged the majority of the exterior walls. Flowers budded out of the wooden windowsills.

Pretty.....

This looked far more like a haven for an urban explorer than a scientist's enclosure. "It's a beauty, isn't it?" Moon asked you, taking off his goggles and letting them drape around his metal neck. "A beauty indeed, sir," you replied, hiding your lie with a forced grin. He beckoned you inside as he pushed through the double doors. The first thing you noticed was the smell. The interior reaked of disinfectant. The second thing you noticed was the hospital-like white everything was. Blinding white lights. White walls. White floors. White doors. White, white, white. It was both overstimulating and under-stimulating at the same time.

yeah real. also reeked is spelt wrong /nm /info /I am pointing this out to be helpful sorry if this makes you upset

The last thing you noticed was the row of various machinery along a shelf. Moon rushed over to it with a crazed hunger in his eyes. You questioned your life choices as you followed him. "What… is this?" you asked. "Great question!" he remarked. "This is what I'm working on. My magnum opus. I'm studying how electricity stimulates different parts of the mind and how it can be used to ultimately control the mind." A maniacal grin spread across his face as he turned to you, giddy with excitement at the potential of your response. A shadow cast over his face when you took a step backwards and clawed at your shirt collar.

I guess we're doin' mind control now /silly

"You're… not going to test any of this on me, right?" you questioned in a quiet tone. You hated how your voice wavered. He relaxed at the realization that your concerns were so trivial. "Oh, heavens, no!" he exclaimed, laughing wildly as he ran a hand down his face. "No, no, no. I'd never!" There was a glint in his eyes that implied otherwise, however. You swallowed hard. What had you just gotten yourself into?

Oh dear....

Final thoughts: reader is so screwed lol (eating popcorn while I watch) /silly

BIRD BIRD BIRD /j

Yesss Moon

AUSHSKSHAKSHKSJSBBBS STUPID SPELLING MISTAKE UAAAAAHHH

[plucky-belmondo]

💙🩵 For the ask game (for Mahito!) ✨

[ Self Ship Asks: Before the Relationship ]

*I will refer to my JJK S/I with the name "Sanae"

🩵 do they both act different once they realize they’re falling for the other? maybe stuttering or fidgeting or daydreaming more often?

Mahito will not attack Sanae, even if he's an asshole (or if the other Disaster Curses are with him). Rather, he doesn't pull any tricks from his sleeves, and...actually acts sane for once! He even acts like a gentleman (GIGA GASP!)! While Sanae is annoyed at first, she begins to warm up to him over time.

DCs: "MAHITO WHAT ARE YOU DOING, SHE'S A SORCERER--OUR ENEMY!!" M: "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you~. Anyways~ (proceeds to be nice to Sanae)"

On Sanae's end, she starts daydreaming about Mahito. But when it clicks, Sanae keeps denying it, becoming flustered whenever she sees him out and about. Normally, Sanae's calm, collected, and all that...but the more Sanae and Mahito keep running into each other, that's when her feelings grow. Sanae was even caught daydreaming once, by Gojo of all people. Sanae insists it was because of a good thing happening (Gojo never stopped teasing her about it).

💙 do they pine and yearn for each other quietly, or can they not stop talking about the other to their friends/family?

For Mahito, he doesn't stop talking about Sanae and how lovely of a human she is, much to Jogo's dismay. The rest of the gang doesn't mind, however.

On Sanae's end, she's quietly yearning for him, due to being a sorcerer (and being friends with Gojo and Nanami). She keeps these feelings well-hidden.

[charmspoint]

Sanguine Friday 6

 Introducing the religious groups and beliefs of the world:

The worshipers of the Unwillting Rose - The main religion of the world and the one perpetuated by the vampires. They are followers of Lurza, believing in her visions of a beautiful, perfect and undying world and doing everything in their power to spread vampirism and fulfill her wish. Those who don’t willingly accept the undeath are seen as traitors to the goddess and freely treated as prey. Followers indulge in endless beauty and hedonism, often holding grand balls in their goddess’ name. They also perform blood sacrifices, mostly of angels of other gods, seeing them as the most fulfilling and beautiful meal they could offer to their goddess, just as they see consuming angel blood as a step towards becoming closer to her.

The children of the Earth Mother - They believe in the old Mother who had given birth to the world and the gods and had since fallen asleep. They believe that with time she will awaken and take her place as the rightful ruler of the world, defeating Lurza and restoring the world back to its old prosperity. It’s a relatively paganistic religion, concentrated on upkeep of the world and defense of that which still remains unchanged. They are gradually losing in popularity with each year the world falls to darkness and the Mother remains unresponsive to its plights. Most of the believers are human.

The hands of the New Brood - A group consisting mostly of former angels. They believe that what the world needs is a new batch of gods that will restore the balance of the world and overthrow Lurza. Despite this lofty goal, they are hard pressed to explain by which method they would create these new gods and are mostly viewed as young experimentalists with nothing to show for their grand ideas. Their numbers are small and a lot of them end up switching their allegiance with the Mortal Marrow instead. 

The keepers of the Mortal Marrow - unlike their siblings in New Brood, most of the members that make the Mortal Marrow are determined to work their way down, instead of up the evolutionary scale. Their goal is to make humans the dominant species in the world, elevating them to a godhood position without actually making them gods. Angels who had willingly fallen instead of losing their gods make a big portion of this group, as they see humans as gods that would be easier to manipulate and control in their own favor. Human members are generally left unaware of the darker plans of their companions. Mortal Marrow is an intensely scientific group, employing large numbers of alchemists and researchers as their belief is that the quickest way to godhood is for humans to partake in the creation of new form of life, just as gods had so many years ago. 

Vigil for the Fallen - Not exactly a firm religious sect on their own, this name is used for the former angels who still continue to uphold the rules of their dead masters and who wander the world trying to find a way to bring them back. They are mostly looked upon with pity as even the death of a god is a permanent, irreversible thing. And who is to say that if gods did return from the dead, that they would return unchanged.

[chaosprinceundivided]

The Silverspined Ballat

Their laughter was a song in the wind of battle. Their every movement a capture of the weak-willed and passionate. Their sword a keen baton that conducted the symphony. The curvaceous giant danced on dainty feet, crushing bodies and claws disembowled in their spiralling acrobatics.

Jaz'mahnn Silverspine was the eye of the wild storm. Intestines flung and arches of fluids were abnormal in their flight and twists. Yet none of it touched beautiful hide nor armour. Long fleshed whiskers were serpents in water, glowing with the spots of the bioluminscous adoration fit of the deepal abyssal beasts below the seas. The warriors of Khorne hollered and screamed as he stamped and bounded.

The parade of seekers and hellstriders on their steeds were shimmering of many colors from their armour and hide, chitinous spears and lances of beautiful making impaled hearts and swept limbs free.

O Mother of mine

I dance in your glory

Sweet of ichor and thundrous of voice

I hear you call onto me

The storm of souls scream o so sweet

Listen

The rhythmic crashes of their own hooves crashing with the landing of screaming hellcannon munitions.

Listen

Earth becoming scarred of blood-filling craters.

Listen~!

Hellscourges crack their heinous tendrils, carving into flesh, coiling throats and tearing sanguine free with spine-quivering screams of agony and rage.

O Mother, I give onto you my tribute

Of the Pain of Wrath and Excess of Their Souls Aplenty

The chorus of his armour-clad maidens danced and dueled with their blood-hide cousins, claws of gleaming keen blades and swords of envy-ensuring malice against burning swords of hell. Death of the body meant nothing, all dedicated to the art of battle between the two. Even their final breathes were of art.

Filthy Cousins Ours

Mud-eating Brutes

Monotonous callers of Throne-settled Bore

Gluttons of Bloods

Hoarders of Skulls

Each height of their vocals matched by their ferocity. The armies of garnished violet and pinks crashing and waltzing with scarlet and brass.

Mortal warriors smashing, their individualism becoming a heinous tide of true chaos into a sickening crash of rival seas meeting and melding with their blood becoming the paint that Jazmahnn stroked. The Exalted Keeper of Secrets danced in the mists of freed souls, inhaling it all while lifting a Chaos Lord in a hand. Their eyes looking as tender as a love and voice a woman's confession.

Deep, O Mother. Do we love them.

Deep we desire, Deep down...we desire their everything.

We shall take them...till there is nothing~

Her voice so beautiful, full bottom lip coming to kiss on the Lord of Khorne's warbands while her long clawed fingers splayed him out despite all of that musclebound struggle. A mere toy to her desire. The struggle weakening. A sigh before one opening of fingers crushing the lord like a canned perserve. The hellplate buckled and crumbled, puncturing and rupturing the muscles and iron bones, the sweet essence falling into the opening maw unhinging to reveal the twinned sets of teeth and the yawning gullet, flexing into each loud gulp.

The hate-burning fire of blessed blood glowing into his breast. The slide of violin strings and heightening vocals harmonizing to the sweet bliss as Jaz'mahnn leaned back to enjoy every drop, more of the chaos lord's essence being draining by the mere hold.

Then a great force slammed into the battlefield, throwing a torrent of earth and fire at Jaz'mahnn. Only to be parted by the daemon, eyes slowly blinking and greeting the inevitable.

A great being musclebound, clad in armour of war's truth. Wings screwed with plating and hanging with countless skulls and heads. A horned head thrusting forward, billowing a roar that shook the earth and resolve of lesser creatures, stirring its followers as true as the great axe in its popping fist.

Jaz'mahnn smiled sultrily with a slow lick of his flayed tongue.

O Mother of Ours,

I love you for your gift onto us

Give me your blood, O Hateful Cousin of Mine

The Bloodthirster howled, charging with the earth scorching under hoof. Man and daemon crushed under. Jaz'mahnn waved his hand and the body in his grip lengthening like melting wax, armour becoming coiling motif. Sword swaying in salute and claws splaying out in mating invitation.

Give me your Hatred So Pure!

The axe swung and Jaz'mahnn bowed without breaking his regality, arms swung out in a graceful flow outward whilst swaying from downward arc to cleave him from spine to nap. His own blade caressed gauntlet to summon beautiful sparks and sprayed it in the Bloodthirster's eyes. The snarl of frustration as a hand reached to rub the shards from his gaze, only to find a spiked knee crashing into snout.

Give me your Rage Unbound!

Deftly twisting and leaping into the air like an acrobatic elf, ribbons of ichor trailing after as the Bloodthirster howled with magmatic blood spewing from his pierced snout, already healing wound.

Why must we hate one another, O Crimson Cousin Mine?

Jaz'mahnn righted himself as the Thirster beated his wings to chase after the spindly rival, only for the impossibly light creature land on his shoulders and back. The morphed corpse-turned-whip snapped and coiled around the red devil's weapon-arm. Blade slipping between cuirass and pauldron, piercing tendons and joints. A great claw snapped around a horn, yanking the Bloodthirster around as he bucked and flung around like a wild bull.

Why don't you bow before your better, Dog of Khorne!?

You whom so obedient to your Master! Do you know when you are before Perfection Manifest!?

The Bloodthirster yanked, trying to dislodge the Keeper but Jaz'mahnn had him coiled to the point it started to climb the skies.

Do you love that collar on your neck so? Do you feel his chain yanking for you~?

Higher and higher, beholding the eternally stretching landscape of the realm chosen for this battle. Until the daemon twisted and two fell...fell...spiralling.

Do you love him or do you obey like a Good Dog, Slave of Khorne?

They were becoming engulfed into a twin-tailed comet of vibrant floral colours and roaring black flame.

We are the same, you and I ~

O Cousin, so passionate, how I love you sooo-

When the comet was about to tear the earth asunder, it suddenly twisted and tore through ranks of daemons and men before crashing into the mountain of reaching cavader of a god long dead.

I love the taste of your blood on my tongue.

From the burning ruin, Jaz'mahnn rose with a stumble of broken limb popping itself back right.

The Hatred distilled for my perfume.

The Bloodthirster, with his throat wide open and chest wide open by his own axe. Panting in the sensation of mortal exortion, a lie of sensation haunting his failing presence. Foot on its heft, pushing deeper. Claw holding horn and its twin snapping its glowing bladed ends open.

I will sing of this ballad, O Cousin Sweet.

Drawing back.

Deep in the Void, Remember Me O Cousin Mine.

Rage in the Blackness, Be my Tribute and Choke on Defeat.

[thetruearchmagos]

Marching O'er

Hey folks! Got bored, been stressed, and in a strange creative fit wrote a song. Well, adapted one, really. A funny little soldiers' ditty from the 12 Worlds, I present; Marching O'er, to the tune of Waltzing Matilda.

Tagging @lividdreamz @caxycreations @hessdalen-globe @theprissythumbelina @the-stray-storyteller @thatndginger @dogmomwrites @sanguine-arena

Once we were but young bucks, slogging ‘bout in barracks damp Under the eyes of the Sergeant Major And as we lined up in ranks, Ol’ Moustacheos hollered to us “Off we’ll go marching, just where to you’ll see”  Marching o’er far hills, Marching right ‘til midnight “Off we’ll go marching, just where to you’ll see” There they saw a fickle stream, winding past the country-lane “Hey!” roared our heroes, and jumped in with glee And they swam in the cold brook, cowering from that biting sun “Off we’ll go marching, just where to you’ll see”  Marching o’er far hills, Marching right ‘til midnight “Off we’ll go marching, just where to you’ll see” And they swam in the cold brook, cowering from that biting sun “Off we’ll go marching, just where to you’ll see” Down came the Cap’n, wrapped up in his mud-browns pressed  Up came the El-Tees, one, two, three “Where’ve you put your mess-tins, have you packed your wooly-socks Off we’ll go marching, just where to you’ll see” Marching o’er far hills, Marching right ‘til midnight “Off we’ll go marching, just where to you’ll see” “And where are your haversacks, did you bring your tin o’beef Off we’ll go marching, just where to you’ll see” Off the plank from creaky boat, we leapt ashore, the Colonel spoke “You’re all coming back alive”, said he And before the month was done, that promise was already broke We’ll all go a-marching o’er lands unseen Marching o’er far hills, Marching right ‘til midnight We’ll all go a-marching o’er lands unseen And the dead, they’ll not grow old, nor old age condemn their weary souls As long as they’re marching together with we. Marching over far hills, Marching right ‘til midnight We’ll all go a-marching, just where to you’ll see  And their ghosts may be seen sleeping all along those marching-paths, “Off they’ll go marching, just where to you’ll see”

---------

Author's Notes: Vocabulary

"Ol' Moustacheos" -> Term for senionr Non-Commissioned Officers

"El-Tees" -> A direct alliteration of "Lt.", short for Lieutenant

"Mess-tin" -> Portable cooking pot, somes with solid fuel cooker

"Tin o'beef" -> Canned meat products, short hand for rations in general

[evelicious]

𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒     𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃      𝐀      𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄     :               “        red  looks  good  on  you.       "     twirling  her  hair  rn  /hJ  kdfghkdfg @entides

head  tilted  back  ,  evelynn  stood  amidst  the  bodies  of  the  bloomed  [  …  ]  flowers  she  had  chosen  to  pick  and  watch  wilt  .  how  long  had  it  been  since  she'd  enjoyed  a  good  killing  ?  months  ,  perhaps  even  a  year  ?  there  was  an  attempt  at  reform  ,  the  idea  of  calming  down  floating  around  her  head  since  meeting  senhime  .  a  notion  that  she  was  entirely  unfamiliar  with  ,  being  the  kind  of  person  that  has  never  denied  herself  anything  she  desired  .  every  guilty  pleasure  was  given  into  ,  every  want  fulfilled  without  question  …  an  insatiable  demon  she  is  and  always  will  be  .  it  begs  the  question  ,  then  why  did  she  feel  so  dead  set  on  playing  house  ?  what  was  it  about  senhime  that  made  evelynn  want  to  be  so  tame  ?  the  answer  is  as  allusive  as  evelynn  herself  ,  but  it  was  worth  mentioning  that  she  did  not  hate  that  kind  of  life  and  it  was  something  that  the  sovereign  had  never  asked  of  her  ;  but  a  quiet  decision  taken  by  the  demoness  of  her  own  accord  . 

lashers  lay  limp  against  the  floor  ,  amber  gaze  hidden  as  eyelids  flutter  shut  ;  agony  taking  in  every  second  of  pain  those  around  her  had  endured  .  it  fills  her  ,  feeds  her  in  a  way  that  no  meal  ever  could  .  every  taste  of  terror  she  felt  swelled  in  her  soul  and  lead  her  by  the  hand  into  a  feeling  of  deep  hunger  that  she  had  been  fighting  off  for  some  time  .  keeping  composure  was  difficult  ,  hence  the  stillness  of  her  form  as  she  lingered  under  the  moonlight  ;  skin  shining  with  the  blood  spilled  .  maybe  to  others  she  seems  like  a  mindless  killer  ,  they'll  never  understand  how  these  men  had  it  coming  …  evelynn  is  providing  a  charity  service  to  the  world  ,  ridding  it  of  the  most  harmful  people  one  sweet  slaughter  at  a  time  .  quite  ironic  ,  if  you  think  about  it  …  to  take  away  those  who  she  deemed  to  be  harmful  ,  whilst  being  the  single  most  dangerous  thing  to  walk  freely  among  the  people  . 

the  thought  prompts  lips  to  tug  into  a  grin  ,  sullied  by  sanguine  .  eventually  ,  her  arms  lifted  from  her  side  and  were  held  out  ;  gesturing  briefly  to  the  death  laid  at  her  feet  .               “            ….  you  truly  think  so  ?            ”              the  words  come  quietly  ,  although  laced  with  what  could  only  be  described  as  mania  ;  a  deep  obsessive  happiness  that  she  derived  from  the  killings  .  it's  something  she  had  learned  to  control  ,  lest  the  demoness  unleash  herself  upon  humanity  like  a  deadly  storm  never  ending  .  a  sudden  laugh  springs  forth  from  evelynn  ,  eyes  reopening  and  attention  turning  fully  to  her  lover  .  with  a  new  spring  in  her  step  ,  she  waltzed  over  to  senhime  and  laid  her  hands  ‘pon  their  hips  .               “            well  ,  you’ve  always  had  indisputably  good  taste  .            ”              evelynn  commented  with  a  smile  ,  leaning  over  to  close  the  distance  between  them  so  she  might  gently  plant  a  kiss  to  the  very  corner  of  the  other's  lips  .   

𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐗      𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓   —   𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 

[ragesin]

“ you’re  going  to  get  yourself  killed  if  you  keep  this  up .  you  know  that ,  right ? ”

► DAREDEVIL

         ❝ Hehe, I’m pretty thick skinned. I don’t bleed so easily. ❞  Almost as if to immediately run counter to his impetuous shrug, the man proceeded to turn his head to the side and spit out the thick wad of blood trickling into his mouth, tongue passing over elongated canine to gathered any congealed drops missed. Yep, never a dull moment.

         Not to say understanding of her words remained absent. Ignorance did not see fit to allow pointed remark to slide thoughtlessly off his back. He's the definition of a right mess post the whirlwind of an altercation they waltzed out of alive. Dirt caked skin, layered atop tanned complexion adorned in the bruising kisses of the blows weathered, diluting to a muddied rust in places where sanguine drops of life saw fit to eke out of minor tears in the dermis and dye the frayed edges of the holes torn into his casual attire.

         …It’s a little embarrassing to admit, a foolish folly, but Meliodas had been a little careless there. If he spared a little more attention to his assailant’s skill set, perhaps his arm wouldn’t have almost risked sudden detachment. Evidence of the attempt curved along the thin cut line imprinted into his exposed shoulder. It barely stung, the dark red flow already sluggish compared to the initial spurt that still marked their haphazard environment.

         It’s all good !  Beyond the mostly minor scrapes and bruising, Meliodas bled surprisingly little after soaking in damage more than enough to send any ordinary human to their afterlife. He didn’t even seem winded.

         A thumb brushed off the red speckling his chin and he grinned, almost cheekily,  ❝ It takes a lot more effort to put me in the dirt. Enough about me though. Are you okay ? ❞

[azures-grace]

I was sitting around the other day thinking about how weird it was that the Daedric Princes just sort of sat around waiting for their champion to just waltz into their shrine and happen to finish their task. And then it hit me that they might actually have a hand in choosing their champions before they arrive.

And so I made this :)

L-R Lina as Sheogorath, Luna (at age like, 7), and Sanguine