#abyss/obsidian/midnight

[grim-echoes]

if flight rising has taught me anything it's that the sheer range of difference in my favorite colors is very funny

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

THERE WAS NO PLACE IN NATURE WE COULD MEET ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; it’s never fun to run into an ex; especially when the ex in question is your unfairly handsome high school sweetheart. and just so happens to also be a wanted mass murderer.

word count; 3.3k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, geto-typical angst, exes to [redacted], lots of longing, geto is kind of a cunt but also disgustingly charming, reader is understandably upset, biblical imagery (i just think he’s so serpent coded), curse user geto is his own warning tbh

a/n; i wanted this to be a drabble so bad but it ended up just a little too long for me to get away w it so … :’3 yeah. i hate suguru geto (said w affection)

the moon is out.

in the shadows of the street corner you find yourself in, seated comfortably on the sidewalk, it’s a welcome distraction. something to look at, in the midst of your loneliness; the evanescent glow of the moon, illuminating your solitude.

a solitude soon to be broken. shattered into pieces, battered and bruised beyond recognition, jagged shards littering the asphalt. digging into the soles of your shoes.

”hey.”

for a second, you think you must be dreaming.

the figure obscuring the light of the lamp post in front of you is familiar. too familiar, a little too dear for your liking. as you grasp your shitty cup ramen, seeking the warmth seeping through the polystyrene, all you can do is stare. blinking dumbly, drowsily.

geto looks something like a bad omen.

sharp facial features, even sharper eyes. so dark they almost shift from an amber-tainted cedar into an obsidian black — two abysses, staring into your soul, beckoning you closer. they were always enchanting, but now you think they look almost hypnotizing. not at all in a good way. dark hair frames his face, cascading down his back, longer than you remember it being. and he’s wearing robes.

still has those fucked up bangs, though. of all the things to keep.

the gears of your mind turn, endlessly, untangling the mess of thoughts inside your brain. ensuring you that no, you are not hallucinating, and no, you didn’t fall into a deep slumber somewhere between the moment you exited the convenience store and sat down by one of tokyo’s empty street corners. this is real. a reality you can’t comprehend, can’t even begin to process.

what stands in front of you is a ghost. but ghosts don’t exist, can’t be seen, can’t touch the living.

(so how is he able to haunt you like this?)

what eventually jolts you out of your silent stupor is not the questioning tilt of his head, nor the suffocating sensation of your heart crawling up your throat, but the feeling of soft fur against your leg. the stray cat you met further down the street meows at you, sweetly, trying to get your attention. you think she must be asking for more grilled fish.

so, completely ignoring the apparition in front of you, you turn to reach for the little plastic bag you bought as a midnight snack — digging out a bit of fish for the kitty to enjoy. she seems happy, settling down by your feet. purring softly.

geto watches, eerily silent. 

(maybe he’s upset that you’re ruining his dramatic entrance. you hope so.)

finally, you have no choice but to look at him. a lump forms in the back of your throat, clogging up a little more for every second spent falling into the trap he’s laid out for you, trailing over his moonlit features with your tired gaze.

mouth full of noodles, staring holes into his attire, you narrow your eyes. suddenly disgruntled.

his lips quirk up. ”something the matter?” he asks, and you can’t even begin to describe how much you hate his voice. how devastatingly deep it is, during the late hours of the night, even deeper than it was back in high school. 

slurping up the soggy noodles, you lean back a little, licking some broth off your lips. finally meeting those abyssal eyes. 

”… i was gonna say those robes look like shit on you,” comes an exhale, weary, ”but you actually kinda pull them off. that’s…” 

a beat. you struggle to find the right word. 

”annoying.”

geto’s lips curl up, smoothly, and you find a hint of familiar amusement in the vague crinkle of his eyes. barely visible crows’ feet. then he’s moving — plopping down right beside you, robes fluttering with the breeze.

”well, thank you.” he hums; crossing his legs.

the silence that festers around you is odd. not quite suffocating, nor especially fragile. definitely not comforting. it’s familiar, yet different, and it hurts a bit more than it should. but you choose to look at him, out of the corner of your eye, and he looks right back at you. still smiling that eerie smile.

when your eyes settle on the particular cloth wrapped around his torso, you just barely manage to bite back a taunting chuckle.

”a gojo-kesa, huh?” you grin, and geto doesn’t flinch. he doesn’t miss the meaningful glint in your eyes, either. ”you miss him that much?”

”just a coincidence,” is all he answers. smiling, but you think it looks a little stiff.

your grin widens, for a second, before settling back down. a sad transition. you let it go. 

”whatever you say, geto.”

at that, he visibly reacts. barely noticeable, but it’s there — a twitch of his lithe fingers, an unknown something that flickers through the scope of his iris. when he looks at you, a neutral smile is playing at his lips. 

”ah. i take it we’re not on first name basis anymore, then?” he asks, casually, hiding a tinge of something mildly displeased.

a shrug. you pick at what’s left of your ramen with your chopsticks, a little too nauseous to enjoy it. ”call me what you want. i just don’t see suguru when i look at you, y’know?” leaning forward, you begin to pet the kitty by your feet. ”he was sweeter.”

geto smiles. almost a grin, but not quite there. a chuckle spills out from his lips, and something about it irritates you. ”was he?”

”yeah,” you nod. without hesitation. a summer-stained memory blooms behind your eyelids, but you try not to look at it. all you catch is a glimpse of cherry blossoms. ”you just seem bitter.” 

the grin that finds its way onto your lips is self-deprecating. a shadow falls over your face.

”guess we’re in the same boat, huh?”

a hum buzzes in his throat. he casts a meaningful glance towards your hand, scratching behind the cat’s ear. ”oh, i don’t know about that.” his smile grows with the drawl. ”.. you seem just as sweet as always.”

to your grave annoyance, you can’t control the way your face changes at his words. a twitch of your lips gives away your discontentment, and something sour settles on the tip of your tongue.

(your blood begins to boil, beneath your skin.)

geto sighs, suddenly, filling the tense silence between you — a little theatrical. ”ah, but that’s a shame.” he turns to you, soft pout playing at his lips. ”i was hoping i could hear you call me suguru again…”

”— i was hoping you’d come back.”

a beat.

somewhere outside your vision, a crow takes flight into the night sky. swallowed by darkness, melting into that sea of black. no longer perceivable, by you or the world.

”but you never did,” the polystyrene of the plastic cup crinkles beneath your fingers. your eyes look dull. ”so what the fuck do you want, exactly?”

…

”i heard.” geto rests his jaw on the heel of his palm, gazing at you with those piercing eyes. like he’s trying to see inside your brain. ”… about your decision.”

”ah,” a grin splits across the curve of your lips, showing off the white of your teeth. ”of course. that’s what this is about, huh?”

with groggy movements, you throw away your nearly-empty cup of noodles, haphazardly aiming towards a trash can across the street. it bounces off the steel cover, landing on the ground with a soft thud. leftover broth spilling out across the pavement. geto doesn’t bother to hide his amusement, lips twitching upwards before he sends a curse to eat it from the asphalt.

you furrow your brows in embarrassed annoyance.

a moment passes, and something in you knows that he’s waiting. it’s like you can practically sense it, like it’s etched into your bones. the same way you always knew exactly when he would begin to get impatient during your nightly convenience store runs back in high school — after you had spent about ten solid minutes struggling to decide what kind of chips you wanted. 

”what can i say?” you lean back, palms against rough concrete, breathing in the midnight air. ”you inspired me.”

geto tilts his head. smiling. always, always smiling. he smiled at you the day before he massacred that village, too. ”oh?”

with a deep breath, cool air courses through your body. burning your lungs. ”i realized being a sorcerer is completely fucking meaningless,” you exhale through your nose. ”and that trying to change that fact is even more meaningless.” 

a wicked, rueful grin rests on your lips. ”so i left.”

geto doesn’t say anything. you continue, voice dripping with venom.

”i’m a civilian now,” you purr, mocking, a sardonic coo on your tongue. ”does that bother you? feel like killing me?”

…

his smile looks a little off, now. tilted in a direction you don’t want to recognize. you don’t care to examine it further, don’t care to figure out if it might look just a little bit sad, because that’d only hurt more.

so you look away.

a click of his tongue. then he speaks, with that honeyed voice, raspy and husky. almost a groan. ”well, i can’t say i approve.”

he’s looking at you. sharp eyes digging into your skin, dissecting you, a million words he expects you to grasp from that look alone.

”you’re better than them,” he states, matter-of-factly, and you try not to squirm when his eyes trail over your features. ”worlds better.” his voice sounds almost motherly, a twisted concern that makes you cower a little. like he’s scolding you. a crease between his brows.

”i don’t like the thought of you surrounded by these animals.”

a huff pushes past your lips, but it sounds shakier than you’d like it to. you hope he just chalks it up to the chill of the air. then again, when has he ever made anything easy for you?

”what, you got a problem with cats now?” you reach for the little furball licking grilled fish off the concrete, picking it up. cradling it close. ”gonna go on a cat-killing spree?”

an amused exhale. geto narrows his eyes. ”funny,” he hums, but his eyes say you know what i mean.

it takes you a moment to regain control over your breathing. there’s still something tense in your shoulders, and your heart still feels a little like it might jump out of your throat and crawl into his lap. the stray cat slips from your grasp, moving towards geto, curiously sniffing at his robes. he looks at it with no ill intent, and it puts you at ease.

”well, i appreciate the concern, buddy,” you pat his back, trying not to flinch at the contact. trying to appear relaxed. ”but frankly, i don’t give a shit. i actually like my job, unlike literally every single sorcerer on planet earth.”

geto stills.

”.. buddy?” he echoes, ignoring every other bitter word you just graced him with. for some reason, he actually seems visibly bothered. ”i’m buddy now?”

you click your tongue. muttering, tiredly. a little exasperated. ”.. what else would you be?”

and then he smiles, again. only this time, it looks oddly genuine. the same as you remember, framed by cherry blossoms and the fizzle of youth.

his movements are smooth. like he’s completely unguarded, like this situation doesn’t bother him in the slightest. elegant, in the way he leans back, palms on the concrete to support his weight. keeping eye contact with you, all the while.

when he speaks, his voice has a sweet tinge to it. nostalgic, maybe. wistful. if you hear a touch of longing, you choose to ignore it.

”i seem to recall you calling me baby quite a lot,” he hums, and you stiffen. gritting your teeth. eyes darkening, but he continues. ”what else was there? angel, i think… it was sweet.”

then he’s leaning forward. scratching the cat under its chin, gently. ”ironic, though.”

an inhale. then, an exhale. they’re a little shaky, a little meek, but at least they make the lump in your throat feel less like it’s blocking your windpipe. air fills your lungs, but it tastes like nothing at all. 

something like sorrow simmers in your eyes. or maybe more like fatigue. god, you really want to cry.

(you wonder if he gets some sickening satisfaction out of seeing you like this, out of breaking you. maybe it just makes him feel rotten. you don’t know what you’d prefer.)

”suguru,” you murmur, at last. voice dripping with exhaustion. defeated, the sigh that flows from your lips. ”why did you come here?”

…

”join me.”

the words spill out into the open air, slicing the silence in half. heavy. a request, not a question. against your better judgement, you turn your head to meet his gaze.

”we could use you,” he says, and there’s hope in those keen eyes. he maintains his distance, but for some reason you still feel like prey being sized up by a predator. like he’s weighing your value.

a chuckle slips from your lips, but there’s no humour to it. ”use me…” you echo, a tired murmur under your breath. ”you're just straight up admitting it, huh? kinda refreshing.”

”that’s not what i meant.”

he inches closer. slowly, as if trying not to scare you. reaching out, to brush through your bangs, his fingertips ghosting over your skin. tangling them between your locks, inserting himself into your space. testing the waters. 

you don’t look at him, completely still. barely breathing. like a wounded animal.

”i want you there,” he says, and it comes out almost as a whisper. ”with us.”

unable to resist the temptation, you indulge in a single brief glance his way. his eyes look warm, and his lips look soft as they part.

”with me.” 

there’s a devotion to his voice when he continues, one he’s always had. one you thought you’d always be able to trust. ”i’ll create a world where you can be happy,” he vows. ”i swear it.”

a moment passes.

(you swallow thickly. it takes everything you have not to burst into tears. when you remember how he brushed you off, back then, it gets a little easier. when you remember all the skipped meals.)

”.. like you give a damn.”

geto smiles. you loathe how soft it looks, how similar it is to the one suguru always had. when you used to eat your ramen too quickly and started choking on it, and he brought a palm to your upper back, patting it gently. he’d chuckle, and tell you to slow down, and the softness of his smile would almost be enough to distract you from the amusement in his eyes. 

”my love.”

you flinch. breath drawing back at the base of your throat, heart screeching to a halt, and some part of you emerges; the shy, sweet kid you used to be. hanging on to his every world. like he was your sun, your guiding light. back when that purr of my love had you blushing furiously, not choking back a string of curses.

it’s sudden, and you can’t react the way you want to. you want to kill him for calling you that. for thinking he has any right to call you his, anymore.

but that sweet, naive, innocent little kid still exists. even if you want to pretend otherwise. it’s there, somewhere, that part of you — peeking out from behind the curtain. and it stops you from saying anything that might hurt him.

(it’s so hard to hate him when he calls you that.)

if geto notices your inner turmoil — he must — then he doesn’t mention it. you don’t say anything, but you hope the amused, harsh exhale you partake in is signal enough for him to cut it off. now.

yet he continues. there’s love in his voice when he speaks, barely contained. if he’s trying not to hurt you he’s doing an awful job.

”… i never stopped thinking of you,” he whispers, so low you almost miss it. ”not once. i left for you, not just for myself.”

and, despite every part of your being resisting it, a sweetness settles on your tongue. so sweet it’s sickening; the thought that maybe he’s telling the truth, maybe he really has been thinking of you. maybe you’re more to him than just a means to meet an end, or a memory yet to be buried.

geto looks at the moon. bathed in moonlight, he looks a little like a god. like something reverent. his voice is honeyed. low, like a secret.

”this world doesn't deserve you.”

silence.

a subtle anger trickles through your veins, a kind of fury, subdued, carefully tucked away. sparking to life inside the depths of your eyes when you look at him. bitter, given everything. but your voice still comes out sounding something like a plea.

”and you think you do?”

another smile. this time, it looks a little sad. remorseful, maybe. ”… let me prove myself.”

his touch burns. the pads of his fingers against your cold skin, cupping your cheek. slithering down to grasp your hand. and you’re pliant, unable to react. just sitting with that aching hollow feeling in your chest.

”i wasn’t worthy, back then,” he hums, bringing your hand to his lips. ”but now…”

a kiss to your knuckle. featherlight. reverent. you try not to shiver, but when he says your name, dragging each syllable out, like they belong on his tongue —

a chill runs down your spine.

when he speaks, you feel his warm breath on your skin. it’s dizzying. ”i’m not the same suguru you once knew,” he admits, a forlorn look in his eyes. and devotion, frighteningly sincere. ”unlike him — i’ll never let you go.”

what a twisted desire. he wants to take you with him, drag you down to hell. the suguru you knew wouldn’t put you through that. but maybe you’re even more twisted, for wishing he had; for wishing he had taken you with him, ten years ago, instead of leaving without a single goodbye.

geto’s voice is soft. coaxing, like he's handling a frightened mouse. join me, he whispers, and you think of eve. when you look at his mouth you think you see serpents’ teeth behind his lips.

(you're almost sure he notices it. and you're almost sure his smile widens, lips curling up, as if preparing to open his maw and swallow you whole.)

a sickening sense of resignation roots itself somewhere in your gut. 

you pull your hand away, and he lets you. the loss of warmth hits you like a freight train, but you aren’t sure you could think clearly with his skin on yours. when you part your lips to speak, only air comes out, just barely forming a sentence. like there are no more words to say. like the world stopped spinning around you both a lifetime ago.

”i don't love you.”

…

for just a second, his smile falters. 

”no?” he hums, and you wish it didn’t hurt so bad to see him hurt. his eyes carry a kind of patience, something gentle. ”it’s fine… these things take time.”

a bitter chuckle. ”like you’d know anything about waiting,” you spit, and it comes out sounding venomous. a phantom ache sprouts in the spot where his lips touched your skin.

geto closes his eyes.

”you don't need to love me,” he says, finally. kind. you hate that he still sounds so kind. so understanding, like nothing you do could be wrong in his eyes. ”as long as you're beside me, that's enough.” 

he turns to look at you, and his smile looks very real, for a moment. impossibly fond. ”i have two daughters. i’ve told them about you,” he smiles. ”my family… you’d like them. i know they’d like you.”

dark clouds cover the moon, suddenly, and a shadow falls across you both. illuminated only by the streetlight. in the distance, you hear a car whooshing by.

”don’t stay at the bottom,” he beckons, and your name slips from his lips again. soft, his tongue bending around the vowels. coaxing. stirring your heartstrings like a puppeteer.

then he’s standing up, dusting off his robes, large hands smoothing down the fabric. turning around, towering over you; obscuring everything else. all you see is him, under the glow of the lamp post. a halo of artificial light.

”come. let me show you the world we can create.”

he gives you a sweet smile, two abysses gazing into you. the promise of something twisted, new, forbidden. you think of red skin and yellow flesh; the bite of sin.

and for a second, you see it. the world. a world where laughter comes from the bottom of your gut, and the trees are always ripe for picking, red apples hanging from the branches like glowing rubies. a world where sweetened fruit never give way to rot.

paradise.

geto stretches a hand out towards you. fingers unfurling, one by one, like a blooming camellia. close, right there in front of you, so close that you’re tempted to take his hand in yours, let him carry you away. burn everything else to the ground. 

(you think of the serpent. you think of god.

only one of them banished eve.)

”so,” he smiles. ”what do you say?”

[lionsongfr]

Was scrying for another Auraboa pair and stumbled upon this dreamy combo...which looks better on the hatchie than the adult. Figured I might as well share the scries to inspire other lairs!

Abyss/Azure/Radioactive -Midnight/Splash/Robin

Obsidian/Wisteria/Orchid -Blood/Raspberry/Raspberry

Coal/Oilslick/Yellow -Eldritch/Steel/Pear

[delta-pavonis]

Ficlet: Naga's Boon

For @amielot (Apparently? Like, I started this AGES ago and only have vague recollections of the server conversation that started it... Could I search the Discord? Yes. Am I lazy? Also yes.)

Dreamling AU || rated G before the break, rated E after the break (cw: nagas have hemipenes (two penises, kinda) like all snakes and lizards, but not the more, uh, horrific looking options if you Google it, monsterfucker Hob Gadling, description of non-human genitalia, Hob is a bit of a size queen and a cumslut and we love that for him, Dream has to be restrained during sex for Plot Reasons™️, naga Dream wearing a leather chest harness might be one of the hottest images I have come up with recently ngl)

----------------

"You return." His voice rumbles out of the depths. It may have been more than a lifetime ago, but Hob remembers well His voice.

Hob's immediate vicinity is brightly lit thanks to the high quality of the candle in his lantern and yet the way in front of him still looks like an endless abyss of starless midnight. "Well. Yes. You said that you wanted to know what it was like. That we should meet again on this day in one hundred years. I will keep my end of the bargain, if it provides me this gift."

The susurration of scales along damp stone is amplified by the cave's mouth as He approaches. "You name it a gift? So you still want to live?"

"Oh yes." He nods vigorously enough to cause the lantern hanging from the end of the tall staff he carries to swing.

The light sloshes wildly back and forth between the rock walls, causing a small grouping of bats to hiss and squeak before they take to the air. Hob ducks as they flitter overhead and when he turns back to the inside of the cave He is there.

For a moment it is as if a torso hovers in the darkness, His bone-pale skin almost as reflective as a cat's eyes. He embodies an ideal that only the greatest artists and students of the human form could conceive of... except where hips should dip to thighs and groin, is shadow and fire.

Human-appearing skin gives way to wide horizontal belly scales, each bright flame yellow in the middle fading to ember orange then to ruby red at the edges. Everywhere else, serpentine coils of which Hob sees no end, is the shining black of obsidian.

Hob holds the lantern-staff aside as the ancient naga approaches to within arms reach. He has to look up to meet those hypnotizing eyes, blue-black, just as he remembered. "What must I do," he pauses, breathless, "to keep this boon?"

"You are more than passing brave, Robert Gadling, to return to my lair, apparent promise of renewed immortality or no. What have you been doing for the last hundred years?" He lowers his torso as he speaks, until their faces are more of a height.

"Oh, same as before, soldiering mainly. Bit of banditry now and-wait" Hob's brain catches up with the conversation. "Did you say apparent promise?"

The naga's smirk, the barest curl of rose-pink lips, makes Hob shiver. "Well caught." He shakes his head, long black hair falling over one shoulder, and if Hob did not know any better he would think the ancient creature amused. "Your so-called boon is not subject to my whims nor those of any other. You earned it fairly and so it will not fade until you will it so."

Earned it fairly. What Hob had done was save the life of another naga from a pitchfork and torch-bearing mob. She was dark of skin, hair, and scale, yet this one had called her 'sister.'

"Oh, so I..."

"May leave, if you'd rather."

Hob pauses, bites his lip as he considers his options. This creature must have knowledge beyond his wildest imaginings, stories of things forgotten by most of those alive today. He wants to know more. "And if I'd rather not?" The naga's head shifts backwards on his neck, surprise widening his eyes; that was clearly not an answer he considered possible. "I do not know when you last went and saw the outside world, but I could tell you my story..." He hesitates before adding, "If you would be willing to tell me a bit of yours?"

The naga rushes towards Hob, stopping only a hair's breadth away, mouth open and forked tongue flickering out all around Hob's face, brushing against his forehead and cheeks and chin. Hob is so close that the naga's fangs are visible in his open mouth even though they remain retracted, pulled backwards by thin membranes that glint almost silver in the light.

The tongue disappears into a scowling face, brow drawn in confusion. "You do not smell of lies."

"That would likely be because I am not lying." For a moment Hob worries he has overstepped, been too casual, but then a glimmer of mirth softens the naga's expression.

He nods his head once, accepting the answer. "Then tell me, what has changed in your world since I saw you last?"

So that was as far as I got with the intro. Then there was this bit of gratuitous pornography...

"Hob," he hisses, "I do not think I can..."

"Love," the human soothes, reaching out to grab the naga's neck and pull him up for a kiss. "You can. I know you can hold yourself still. The only way to restrain your smooth body any more than it already is would be to loop hooks into the flesh beneath your scales. And I refuse." Dream whimpers, eyes closed as he trembles. "Just think of the reward, darling. Imagine one of your cocks buried within me, the other gripped in my hands. Think of it."

Hob tries to let some of his own breathless excitement bleed through. Because after seven hundred years of meeting with this gorgeous, awe-inspiring, witty, fascinating creature - not to mention eight decades of being lovers - finally, finally he will have what he has wanted since year two hundred and one: Dream screaming his pleasure as he empties inside him. And Hob is goddamned excited.

Little did Hob know when he first desired this that he would get to have Dream come on him at the same time.

Dream, while equally enthusiastic, is terrified that he will hurt Hob. And he isn't wrong: the majority of his body is a long tube of extremely strong muscle that thrashes around when he is near and at his climax. Hob has watched as Dream has whipped his tail around fast enough to gouge cuts eight inches deep through dragon hide, so he doesn't begrudge Dream's hesitation.

If Hob were another naga their snake-bodies would be intertwined and therefore kept from wild movements by the other's strength. But he is not. So they have had to come up with other options.

Dream's body, both human and snake, is being held down by an elaborate series of straps and chains. On his snake end, which they have found runs a full forty-seven feet in length, are a dozen foot-wide leather collars that tighten around the body if pulled. Each are anchored via chains to iron rings buried deep into the stone of the cave floor. His human form lays on a mattress, but is also held down with a harness that loops around his shoulders and chest and has a very short chain to the floor. He cannot fully sit up, but he can stretch enough to touch Hob as he is riding Dream.

Hob is perched on his lover's pelvis, along the transition from skin to scales. Behind him, three belly scales back, far too low relative to the jut of what appear to be hips to be human anatomy, protrude two slick, gleaming cocks.

Their proportions are also too exaggerated to be human, with a more pointed head that transitions relatively smoothly into the shaft. The shaft is widest at just below its middle, making it shaped almost like a flower bud. At the base of each, right before they connect into a 'Y' shape, are a series of gentle ridges that make Hob groan just looking at them. No part is wider than Dream's hand, so there is no doubt that Hob's body can accommodate.

Hob slides backwards until the two cocks press up against his ass and nudge into his lower back.

While they have never done this specific sexual act before, Hob has sat between the two dicks and rutted back and forth until they both came. It absolutely drenches Hob in cum, both front and back, and Dream takes great pleasure in covering his lover as much as possible.

"You ready, love?" Hob asks as he reaches behind to grab one of the two pricks.

He beams down at Dream, maneuvering so that he sits in the space between the twitching, leaking members. He takes a moment to rock forward, his own cock sliding against Dream's, making them both groan. Then he rises up onto his knees and starts guiding one of Dream's impossible cocks into his body.

Dream stretches and gets one hand on Hob's thigh. "As much as I can be." His voice is steadier than it was before.

Oh fuck, it is better than Hob thought possible, that long gentle taper just gliding into him until it is stretching him open, stretching and oh oh oh!

"Yes! Hob!" Dream snaps his body up as much as he is able, chains clinking as he reaches their limits, popping his prick into Hob to the base.

Hob lets out this long, drawn out wanton noise, more than a moan, not quite a howl; he is so full he almost wants to cry with how good it is.

When he looks down, Dream's chest is heaving, shining with sweat, his mouth open and slack, his lids heavy over dark eyes. He looks like he wants to devour Hob and in that moment Hob probably would let him, if only it kept this glorious prick buried within him for a minute longer.

Hob runs his hands down the cock arcing up between his legs. It twitches into his touch and presses Hob's cock and bollocks against his belly and oh yeah, that's gonna be fantastic. He rolls his hips forward once, rutting himself into those ridges at the base of one of Dream's pricks and lifting him off the other.

Dream hisses, fingers gripping bruises into Hob's thigh, and his hips snap up to fully sheathe himself again inside Hob, making them both cry out.

Hob wants to tell his lover how good it is, but he can't figure out words, so he keeps stroking both his hands up and down the cock in front of him, rolling his hips and fucking himself in time with it, and Dream sobs through it all, but his body eventually picks up the rhythm.

Hob's cum gets smeared all over Dream's cock under his hands and it is only a few more thrusts before Dream peaks, a shriek of unintelligible sibilants, stripes of searing hot white covering Hob's shoulders and neck and the side of his face. At the same time the cock inside him pulses over and over and Hob can feel the spend leaking out of him and down his legs and across Dream's belly.

If Hob had his way this would last forever, but he can already tell he is close, Dream so fucking deep inside him it hits every pleasure spot Hob knew he had and then some. He can hear the heavy chains behind him rattle and groan as Dream's long body thrashes in its confines, attempting to twist and roll. It makes every third or fourth thrust become a wild buck that hits harder than the others and Hob's vision whites out for a moment each time.

The bucking gets more frequent as Dream reaches his own peak, and Hob has already been holding himself back, so once every thrust is one of those uninhibited snaps of Dream's body, he lets himself go. "Dream! I'm gonna oh yessss!"

When he collapses forward Dream's cocks are flexible enough to go with him, still everted and full, and isn't that just lovely. They will retract eventually, out of Hob and all the way back into Dream's body until they invert internally. Perhaps Dream will let Hob fuck into his inverted pricks for a second round.

But that will be later. For now Hob feels their breathing sync as he drifts into sleep.

[buntress]

｡𖦹°‧ Void ID Pack ‧°𖦹｡

[PT :: Void NPT]

Req By :: No One // Self Indulgent

｡𖦹°‧ Names ‧°𖦹｡

[PT :: Names]

Abyss // Blackwell // Blair // Blank // Blake // Branwen // Bootes // Coal // Corbin // Crow // Draven // Dusk // Ebony // Elvira // Howl // Ink // Jett // Kali // Keir // Layla // Lilith // Melanie // Midnight // Night // Noir // Nulo // Nox // Obsidian // October // Ombra // Onyx // Ozul // Raven // Renwick // Sable // Sagittarius // Shadow // Slate // Twyla // Tynan // Umbra // Voide // Winter // Wolf // Zilla

Note :: As domr of these names are from various cultures, please be mindful when picking a name for yourself! Do your research and such <3

｡𖦹°‧ Pronouns ‧°𖦹｡

[PT :: Pronouns]

Blank / Blanks || Cold / Colds || Dark // Darks || Echo / Echos || Em / Empty || Hx / Hxm || Ink / Inks || It / Its || Night / Nights || Noir / Noirs || No / Non || Null / Nulls || Sha / Shadow || Shx / Hxr || Space / Spaces || Vae / Vaer || Vast / Vasts || Voi / Void || X / X's || ? / ?s

｡𖦹°‧ Titles ‧°𖦹｡

[PT :: Titles]

The Watchful Void // [prn] Who Walks In Abyss // The Abyssal One // The Shadowed Visage // [prn] of the Dark // The Dark One // The Night Walker // The Black Hole // That Which Consumes // The Darkness Incarnate // [prn] Dark Abyss // [Formal] of the Dark

｡𖦹°‧ System Names ‧°𖦹｡

[PT :: System Names]

Void Inc. // The Night Walkers // The Abyss // Midnight Menagerie // Bootes Void (System / Collective / etc) // Shadow (System / Collective / etc) // The Watchers // The Dark Collective // Binary Black Holes // The Blank (System / Collective / etc) // The Empty (System / Collective / etc) // The Void (System / Collective / etc)

｡𖦹°‧ Labels ‧°𖦹｡

[PT :: Labels]

AbyAB // Abyss Eiment // Arissovoidface // Beyondix // Darkvoidic // Gendervoid // Gendervoidborn // Kenovoicomfic // Litvoidgender // Neagender // Novaity // Solitaria // Transvoid // Vocivian // Voiadic // Void Attraction // Void Eiment // Void Emotum // Voidachronal // Voidaffectis // Voidballgender // Voidboy // Voidgirl // Void-heavy // Voidhoardic // Voidic // Voidipsese // Voidmate // Voidplurid // Voidpunk // Voidroleic // Voidxenstic

Notes :: Been forever since I've done one of these and I am finishing it at *checks watch* 5am! Wahoo! Sorry if the system names aren't great, it's my first time doing them and I learned quickly I ain't the best at it orz. Anyways! Hope this helps whoever needs it! <3

[snapmite1998]

Nightsister Great Mother: Syla, the Enchantress of the Abyss

Background:

Great Mother Syla is a venerable and powerful Nightsister who sits alongside Mother Talzin, Klothow, Lakesis, and Aktropaw. Her mastery of the dark arts and her profound connection to the mystical forces of Dathomir set her apart as a formidable leader and wise counselor within the Nightsister hierarchy. Her ancient knowledge and exceptional sorcery make her a guardian of the Nightsister clan's deepest secrets and most potent spells.

Appearance:

Syla exudes an aura of otherworldly power. She is adorned in a flowing robe of deep midnight purple, almost black, decorated with intricate patterns woven from golden threads. These patterns depict mythical creatures and ancient runes that shimmer with dark energy. Her headdress is crafted from the bones of ancient beast lizards and adorned with obsidian-colored feathers that cascade down her back, adding to her commanding presence.

Her eyes glow with an ethereal light, shifting between hues of green and violet, a testament to her deep connection with the arcane. Her skin carries the marks of ancient rites, with glowing tattoos that represent her bond with the spirits of the Abyss. Her long, dark hair is often braided with talismans and enchanted stones that amplify her powers.

Powers and Abilities:

Great Mother Syla's abilities are vast and formidable, reflecting her status as one of the foremost practitioners of Nightsister magic:

1. Abyssal Sorcery:

- Syla has explored the darkest depths of Dathomir's magic, allowing her to wield spells that can control shadows and channel the primordial forces of the Abyss. Her sorcery can create portals, summon dark entities, and envelop enemies in shadowy tendrils.

2. Ancient Rites and Rituals:

- Syla is the keeper of ancient Nightsister rites and ceremonies, ensuring that these powerful rituals are passed down through generations. She conducts dark ceremonies that can enhance the abilities of her sisters, bind spirits, and unleash catastrophic spells.

3. Spirit Conjuring:

- Syla possesses the rare ability to commune with and summon powerful spirits from the Abyss. These spirits can serve as guides, protectors, or harbingers of doom, depending on her needs. She can also channel these spirits to heal or empower her sisters.

4. Mastery of Illusions:

- Syla can create powerful illusions that deceive even the most perceptive foes. She uses this ability to conceal her clan, create false images, or terrify her enemies with nightmarish visions.

Role as Great Mother:

Syla’s role within the council of Great Mothers encompasses both leadership and mentorship. She oversees the training of young witches, passing down the darkest and most potent spells to those who show promise. Her wisdom is sought in matters of strategy, magic, and the spiritual well-being of the clan.

Great Mother Syla is often consulted in times of dire need, particularly when the Nightsisters face threats that require the most powerful and forbidden of spells. Her calm and composed demeanor belies the immense power she wields, making her a central and stabilizing force within the clan.

Legacy:

Syla is deeply committed to preserving the Nightsisters' heritage and ensuring their survival amidst the galaxy's tumult, more so after the Nightsisters' previous massacre at the hands of General Grievous and his droid army. She works tirelessly to safeguard their secrets and to empower her sisters through knowledge and magical strength. Young witches look up to her not only as a mentor but as a symbol of the depth and mystery that embody Nightsister magic.

Through her leadership and guidance, Great Mother Syla, the Enchantress of the Abyss, remains a pillar of strength and knowledge, ensuring that the Nightsisters remain a formidable and mystical force within the galaxy. Her presence within the council of Great Mothers reinforces the Nightsisters' unity and their unwavering resolve to protect their way of life.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Flesh and bone (the sky above the earth below)

This doubles as both a gift for @yuzanrath (happy early birthday!) and the fic title chosen in this poll.

Trigger warnings for: body horror, horror in general to be honest, sentient Burial Mounds, and overall creepy and unsettling vibes

------------------------------------------------------------

Darkness, Wei Wuxian has come to realize, is not all the same – nor does it look, sound or feel the same. He has never been afraid of the dark – neither when he slept alone in the street as a child, with moonlight and hunger to keep him awake enough to fend off savage dogs, nor when he shared a quiet, (far too quiet) room with Jiang Cheng in Lotus Pier, unable to shake off the feeling of being unwanted.

The dark never scared him as he slipped in and out of consciousness in the Xuanwu Cave, a distant song lulling him awake whenever his mind strayed too far, and his heart never faltered even as the enemy hid in the night during the first days of war. Wei Wuxian had never feared the dark, not even as his vision faded into nothingness with the pain of having his core ripped out of him.

But this darkness is different. The darkness at the bottom of the Burial Mounds is different – it is not a result of the natural succession of day and night, nor is it caused by light being unable to penetrate into a space dug too far into the ground, into rock, into mountains.

The darkness in the Burial Mounds is alive in a way that is almost organic, moving, feeling, craving. It slithers like formless snakes, coiling like the appendages of a mythical beast around any living prey that steps into its territory – everywhere and nowhere at all, suffocating yet elusive.

It is hard to say whether it is one being or many beings fused together – perhaps it is both, or something else entirely, something beyond human understanding, perhaps even something defiant of the laws of nature itself.

Whatever it is, it is the one kind of darkness Wei Wuxian is terrified of. Be it midday or midnight, it roams the Burial Mounds freely, unbothered by daylight or fire, floating like heavy, putrid smoke when it rests, and attacking like sharp, obsidian blades when it hunts.

And Wei Wuxian has come to realize neither when it is dormant, nor when it is hungry is the beast merciful.

The first time he fell into the abyss, the Darkness caught him – but it did not make his landing any softer. Instead, the impact with the dry, rotten earth had been punctuated by large, formless limbs tearing at his flesh as he stared upwards and screamed, unable to move. His body, fractured in more ways than it could have been possible for him to be alive to witness, could only serve as the Darkness’ meal, perhaps its toy, even.

And though Wei Wuxian had screamed and screamed for help, for mercy, for death, the heavens remained unimpressed, as did the Darkness, prodding at him only to heal him again and hurt someplace else. There had been a point when the pain had been so great, lashing at his subconscious like an unforgiving whip, that Wei Wuxian’s brain lit up with adrenaline at the thought of ending his own suffering.

But the Darkness had not let him, breaking his arms until he had none left – and so he had once again laid onto the ground, flesh and bone, pain with a voice screaming out its soul.

However, Wei Wuxian came to realize, death was a merciful end the Burial Mounds rarely granted. The Darkness hated loneliness, and company had always been scarce – so, it could not have destroyed its own source of entertainment.

It is hard to say whether the Darkness has consciousness or thought. It talks, it screams in thousands of senseless voices, clarity a rare treat – but one thing is for certain, even as it screams in Wei Wuxian’s brain like it is trying to split it open: it is capable of attachment. Love. Obsession.

And Wei Wuxian knows this from his own experience.

Surely, to be tortured, torn into until nothing but blood and echoes of broken cries are left, only to be magically put back together at the brink of death – is not proof of any semblance of feelings, at least not in the healthy, human understanding of the concept.

But Wei Wuxian had often awoken alive when he should have been dead, his body rebuilt though he’d watched it be destroyed, with dead, featherless birds and tainted water left by his side like an offering. He had been enveloped into a thick blanket of Darkness when the nights became too cold and the creatures haunting the Burial Mounds too bloodthirsty – protecting him from harm.

And the many times he lived and died – he did not remember them in detail, the Darkness erasing and blurring the trauma until it felt like a dissociative dream.

But now, as he walks the Burial Mounds freely, the Darkness writhing by his feet like a wanting lover pulling at the ends of their beloved robes, Wei Wuxian realizes he has not been the only one the Darkness has loved obsessed over.

It has built a shrine.

In a tall, large cave, much like a temple, moonlight manifests brightly, bathing the place in haunting, silvery white.

There is no opening for the moon to shine through, and it is the middle of the day. But the light still casts a ghostly glow over the place, the rock glittering like crystal.

Along the walls, lined like the statues of forgotten, ancient gods in a lost temple, the Darkness works at persevering an endless row of bodies, ashen, shriveled complexions and sunken, half-lidded eyes staring emptily ahead, eyeballs broken like glass marbles. The colors of their robes have long washed away, vague stains of yellow, purple, red, blue and green barely still visible, more like impressions rather than pigment.

Men and women, some young, others old, held to a glittering wall by an unseen force, like butterflies pinned on a wooden board, a collection of beautiful corpses.

“Is this where you’ll keep me?” Wei Wuxian asks, his voice level, as the Darkness gathers around him, enveloping him like it is embracing him.

You are not like them, Wei Wuxian. The Darkness replies in a sweet, purring voice, You are our beloved. They are not.

“What are they, then? Trophies?”

Memories.

Wei Wuxian stares at the wall, at the corpses that almost seem to stare back at him. Their blank expressions, their thinning robes, the shriveled skin of their hands. He sees himself held above them like a master, in mockery of his status as a servant’s son, above them in nothing more than placement in a morbid collection of a monstruous creature.

A memory. A memento.

Dread raises on his skin, slithering up his spine to bloom into goosebumps all over his body – and his eyes glint red, summoning enough resentment not to feel defenseless. He thinks he almost hears them, the people displayed on the cave wall – scream.

Just like he has.

He lifts a hand, green fire manifesting at his fingertips as he stares at the row of bodies before him. People that have lived in the Burial Mounds, just like he has. People that have tried to survive, just like he has.

People that have died.

But he will not.

Not yet, not like this. He will not be the Darkness’ prize, its morbid souvenir. When he dies, he will leave nothing of himself to pin.

The Darkness writhes around him, anxious, as if sensing his intentions, but it does not fight him. Instead, it covers him gently, the smoke taking the shape of human limbs, a human body made of wisps of smoke.

The cave is soon enveloped in ghostly fire, burning without heat. Wei Wuxian bows in respect to the corpses, their bodies dissipating into the phantom moonlight like lanterns ascending to the sky.

How cruel of you, to deny even our memories… A saccharine voice says against Wei Wuxian’s ear. It sounds almost familiar, like afternoons in the library and running over rooftops, like a song he cannot name and feelings he cannot understand.

“Those were people. Not your memories. And not your trophies.” He replies, voice harsh, reprimanding. The Darkness does not fear him, he knows as much – but he also knows it will not be insolent or daring. Not with Chenqing at his fingertips, the leash he has used to tame the formless beast.

Will you be, Wei Ying?

“A trophy?”

Of course not. The voice replies, its lilt low and seductive, the human form taking now a distinct appearance, Not a trophy. Will you be Ours?

It whispers against his ear, convincing enough for his heart to spasm painfully against his ribcage. The almost-human hands trace over his neck, enticing but dangerous, tempting, l’appel du vide over a tall abyss.

Will you be mine, Wei Ying?

[idrisofficial]

Hi my name is Her Majesty Brinne Freyja Alistair and I have royal platinum blonde hair (thats how I got my title) with a headband braid and jagged tips from where I cut it myself and soulless black eyes like an abyssal vortex and a lot of people tell me I look like Halcyon incarnate (AN: if u don't know who that is get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to the gods but I wish I was because they’re major fucking hotties. I'm a paranoiac but I wear a veil so nobody can see the scars on my face. I have pale white skin. I'm also the monarch of Idris and I live in a huge castle called Halcyon's Palace where I've ruled since I was seventeen (I'm twenty two). I'm a prophet of Halcyon (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly black. I hate all those poser nobles and I never look as fake as them. For example today I wore a midnight black capelet and imperial court dress to match the dark circles under my eyes, obsidian wrist gloves that covered my first degree burns and my white gold halo-diadem so everyone remembered I’m the monarch. I was wearing no makeup because I had a mental breakdown while getting dressed in the morning. I was walking in the palace gardens. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of nobles stared at me. I put my middle finger up at them.

[ask-lord-morgarath]

With Exquisite Taste And Unyielding Ambition

Greetings, inferiors! At the recent behest of @peapodsinspace of the Tumblr realm, I, Lord Morgarath of the Mountains of Rain and Night, have deigned to grace you with a guide upon mastering the art of attire befitting a true sovereign of darkness. Know that this guide merely scratches the surface of a topic that is as boundless as the abyss itself, for each facet discussed herein deserves an entire tome of its own. But for now, prepare to elevate your sinister presence to unprecedented heights- a transformation that will leave even the most stalwart of peasants trembling in awe.

Let us begin with the foundation of any distinguished ensemble: fabrics. Only the most exquisite materials should be considered. Velvet murmurs of opulence and refinement, while leather proclaims dominion and vigor. Silk, satin, and brocade drip with extravagance and decadence, while chainmail and armor exude the icy breath of mortality itself.

When it comes to colors, one must fully embrace the myriad shades of darkness in both heart and wardrobe. Deep, commanding hues such as obsidian black, blood red, royal purple, and midnight blue are essential staples of the discerning dark lord's palette.

But let us not forget the importance of lines and silhouettes, for they are the language of fashion, speaking volumes without uttering a word. Broad shoulders, tapered waistlines, and elongated contours create an aura of strength and dominance while asymmetry, sharp angles, and clean lines imbue your ensemble with a sense of ruthless precision. Remember that every stitch and seam must be executed with the utmost care, for even the slightest imperfection is a stain upon the canvas of your impeccable image.

A true connoisseur must be astute in discerning the appropriate garments for every occasion and possess a wardrobe suited to all eventualities. Apparel for the palace should be sumptuous yet pragmatic, allowing for fluid movement while still projecting an aura of regal authority. Opt for luxurious fabrics such as velvet or silk, and don't shy away from bold embellishments such as intricate embroidery, high collars, and flowing sleeves, trains, and cloaks.

For occasions requiring a more overt display of power, practicality must take precedence over pomp. To venture onto the battlefield is to embrace the use of leather and chainmail. Your garb must be plated and reinforced, your armor forged from the finest steel, meticulously crafted to withstand the onslaught of your adversaries while striking fear into their hearts.

Lords or otherwise, we must all take heed of the elements when selecting attire. Cloaks of fur-lined velvet shield against winter's chill, while lightweight silk garments protect from the sun's searing rays, ensuring comfort and resilience in any climate.

Even the ground upon which you tread should tremble in awe of your presence. Choose footwear that commands respect, whether striding through the corridors of your stronghold or trampling over the vanquished on the field of battle. Polished black leather boots are suitable for traversing both castle halls and treacherous terrain. Spiked heels, high and imposing, shall elevate you above the common rabble and leave indelible marks upon the earth, a reminder that you walk where others fear to venture.

For those brave enough to gaze upon your countenance, let your makeup be a testament to your unearthly charm. With a subtle touch, employ deep and dramatic tones to highlight your features, commanding attention to eyes ablaze with the fires of ambition and lips, crimson as spilled lifeblood, that murmur of dominion. You shall simultaneously intimidate and captivate, ensnaring all who behold you in the spell of your allure.

Next, we turn our focus to accessories to complete the ensemble. Leave behind trinkets and baubles fit for peasants- your ornaments should be as formidable and majestic as your reign. Beautifully-wrought jewelry crafted from precious metals and gemstones. Rings adorned with the sigils of one's house. Chains of blackened silver, each link a testament to the bonds of servitude that bind your subjects to your will. A finely wrought dagger, besides making a statement of elegance, can be a captivating plaything and an instrument of coercion. The ever-effective poison ring, a subtle yet stylish tool for dispatching adversaries with a mere flick of the wrist.

As a ruler of darkness, it is only fitting that you acquire for yourself a crown befitting your station. Choose one crafted from the finest materials, adorned with menacing spikes and intricate filigree. Whether it be decorated with faceted jewels or fashioned from the bones of your fallen foes, let it be synonymous with exquisite taste and unyielding ambition, and wear it with the aloof dignity befitting one who holds dominion over all they survey.

Lastly, but perhaps most importantly, never allow your façade to slip. Keep your garments immaculately tailored, your accessories polished and gleaming, and your demeanor calculating and elegant. Remember, it is not enough simply to look the part of a dark lord- you must live and breathe it, until even the shadows themselves dare not cross your path.

In conclusion, my dear acolytes, remember that true power lies not only in the wielding of swords and sorcery but also in the mastery of one's own image. Embrace the darkness within, let your wardrobe serve as testament to your malevolent magnificence, and revel in the fear and awe that your presence inspires. Now, go forth and conquer the world of fashion with the same ruthless determination with which you seek to conquer all else.

[dddragoni-drabbles]

Harlan descended into the cave, the flickering light of his torch seeming more and more inadequate with each step he took. He could feel the guardian's steadfast gaze on his back, watching his every move. His footsteps echoed off the cavern walls, the only sound besides the faint flickering of the torch and the pounding of his own heart.

He lost track of how long he walked. The sunlight had long been lost behind him by the time the tunnel walls started to open out into a wider space. His breath grew tight in his throat. This was it. His steps slowed, each one measured and deliberate.

Suddenly, a massive reptilian face loomed out of the darkness ahead of him. Obsidian black scales absorbed nearly all the torchlight, and its deep purple eyes were nearly as tall as he was. Twin horns twisted back from its brow, and sharp, blade-like fangs lined its jaws. When it spoke, its voice was smooth and deep, filling the entire chamber without the slightest hint of echo. "Who are you, that walks so boldly into my domain."

It took all of Harlan's composure not to scream. Instead, he knelt and bowed his head. He was glad he'd had time to practice what he was going to say, otherwise his mind would have gone completely blank. "I-I am Harlan Walder, a humble tailor."

A second face emerged from the gloom on his left side, identical to the first except for its deep red eyes. It spoke in perfect unison with the first. "And why have you come here, Harlan Walder?"

He dipped his head lower. "I have come to entreat your aid, O wise and mighty Queen of the Depths."

The Queen's third head appeared on his right, midnight blue eyes looking down at him with what he hoped was curiosity and not contempt. "And what is the aid you seek?"

"My wife has taken deathly ill, Your Majesty." Harlan said. "The healers said she only had weeks to live. I beg of you, Your Majesty, please restore her to health. Our daughter needs her mother."

This time the right head spoke alone. "This is within Our power to grant."

"But Our aid comes with a price," added the left head.

"I-I know, and I am prepared to pay it."

All three heads laughed, the triplicate sounds threatening to overwhelm Harlan. The middle head's eyes staryed to glow as it spoke. "Then the pact is sealed."

One of the Queen's talons rushed forth from the darkness, driving itself through Harlan's chest with enough force to lift him off the ground. He gasped in shock, but there was no pain, no blood whatsoever. Instinctively, he tried to grab the talon, but he found his arms refusing to obey him.

Harlan felt a strange force as the claw pulled forward, something deep in the core of his being being stretched to its breaking point. He tried to cry out, but his mouth was as unresponsive as his arms.

The talon suddenly lurched forward, tearing itself free of Harlan's body and vanishing back into the dark. Harlan heard the sound of something fall to the ground as he stumbled forward, nearly topping over himself. He recovered, then looked back to see- himself. Lying there in a crumpled heap, eyes glazed over and mouth agape. He looked down at himself and saw no flesh, no skin, no blood- just an ethereal blue glow around him.

Then he turned back forward to see the Queen's jaws yawning wide in front of him, a cavernous abyss of infinite darkness and shadow. He let out a brief involuntary cry of terror before she lunged forward, her jaws snapping shut around his soul, and Harlan Walder ceased to exist.

[naphiatra]

Curious Parasol

Obsidian/Abyss/Midnight

[lionsongfr]

Some big bugs with Cinder/Flair/Monarch!

Abyss/Radioactive/Oilslick    -Midnight/Blue/Orca

Eldritch/Green/Jungle     -Obsidian/Blood/Ruby

Blackberry/Raspberry/Grape     -Maroon/Teal/Clay

Tarnish/Spearmint/Chocolate    -Nightshade/Iris/Ultramarine

[alicelilwolf]

'Shadows Embraced'

Here is a poem I wrote based on women embracing darkness after being failed and betrayed by the light of the world/ society

In shadows deep, where light once danced, A tale unfolds, of women entranced. They walked the path of daylight's grace, Yet found betrayal in its fleeting embrace.

Once bathed in beams, so pure and bright, They soared on wings of radiant light. But as the sun sank beyond the hill, A darkness whispered, an eerie thrill.

Betrayed by beams that promised day, These women chose a different way. Embracing shadows, a cloak profound, They sought solace where silence is found.

In moonlit realms and starlit skies, They found strength in the night's disguise. No longer bound by the deceit of day, They ventured where shadows held sway.

Their eyes reflected the midnight hues, As they embraced darkness, and gently bruise, The wounds of promises, once so bright, Now healed in the solace of the night.

A sisterhood formed in the obsidian abyss, They discovered power in the shadow's kiss. No longer prisoners of the betrayed light, They blossomed in the stillness of the night.

In the tapestry of shadows woven, Their resilience and grace were proven. For in the darkness, a strength unveiled, By women who thrived when the light failed.

[everyones-story]

making aether scries until the price goes down to normal [i hope] instead of sleeping

obsidian cinder/blaze/monarch w/ faceted plague eyes. based on... the mothman. and my planned dragonsona. gestures to my username

radioactive cinder/rosette/monarch w/ glowing lightning eyes

oilslick/bronze/orange lionfish/butterfly/monarch w/ faceted fire eyes. based on the monarch butterfly

midnight/splash/abyss jaguar/butterfly/monarch w/ faceted ice eyes. based on the blue morpho [though inaccurate to the actual butterfly due to the fact that if it were accurate this would be its more drab side]

[umbrae-sortilegium]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 ℬ𝓁𝒶𝒸𝓀 ℛ𝑜𝓈𝑒𝓈

Amidst the shadowed garden, where black roses unfurl their obsidian petals, I find solace under the spectral gaze of the moon. Its pale countenance, a mirror to the depths of my tortured soul, reflects the melancholy that has taken root within me. Each night, I wander this haunted realm, a creature of both darkness and longing, with the abyss of my mind as my only companion.

The black roses, their petals as dark as the secrets that bind me, whisper tales of forgotten dreams and shattered hopes. Each thorn upon their stem, a reminder of the pain that courses through the labyrinth of my thoughts, drawing forth the sanguine drops of my inner torment. As I reach out to caress their midnight blossoms, I am reminded of the fragility of my own existence, like the delicate beauty of a rose in the moonlight.

Beneath the silvery crescent, my steps echo through the night, a haunting melody that only the stars bear witness to. I am a vampire of my own desires, feeding upon the shadows of my past, yearning for the crimson nectar of redemption. The moon, the eternal keeper of my secrets, watches over me, casting its soft, ghostly light upon the black roses, as if seeking to reveal the concealed depths of my fractured psyche.

In the depths of the night, I ponder my existence, wondering if I am but a specter, a phantom of my former self. The darkness wraps around me like a lover's embrace, concealing my sorrows and desires, while the black roses stand as sentinels, guarding the gateway to my tortured mind.

© Dʏsʜᴀɴᴋᴀ/Oᴅᴇᴛᴛᴇ ₂₀₂₃

[pronoun-checks]

; hullo !! Could we please get some names and pronouns related to like 2000s scenecore and like void vibes ?? More androgynous pleaseee. And also names and pronouns themed around angelic / angel things, and like berries .. ?? ( like strawberry / strawberryself kinda thing !! ) Preferably feminine !! :]

Sure thing!

Names:

Bo/Rainbow

Neon/Neo

Ghost

Zero

Kandi

Void

Nero

Abyss

Onyx

Obsidian

Crow

Ink

Jett

Nyx

Midnight

-

Berry

Angel

Angela

Angelica

Seraphina/Serafina/Sera

Evangeline

Gabrielle/Gabriella

Rose/Rosa

Juniper

Cherry

Blue

Holly

May

June

Pronouns:

scene/scenes

rawr/rawrs

kandi/kandis

rainbow/rainbows

color/colors

colour/colours

neon/neons

XD/XDs

voi/void/voids/voids/voidself

void/voids

null/nulls

abyss/abysses

ink/inks

night/nights

bow/bows

-

berry/berrys

strawberry/strawberrys

straw/berry/straws/berrys/strawberryself

blue/blues

blue/berry/blues/berrys/blueberryself

rasp/berry/rasps/berrys/raspberryself

raspberry/raspberryself

goose/berry/gooses/berrys/gooseberryself

leaf/leafs

cranberry/cranberrys

angel/angels

wing/wings

halo/halos

divine/divines

div/divine/divines/divines/divineself

holy/holys

hymn/hymns