#slaves of the siren song

[bellmandi86]

The end of their arc is upon us

After months of reworking and many o’ dice roll, the penultimate chapter of Siren Song is uploaded. Thanks to all that have been reading, and we hope you hang tight for the final chapter.

[pawnshopbleus]

𝐋𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐜 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐞

Doctor!Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader

Summary - After a busy day at the hospital, all Abby wants to do is go home to her pretty wife.

Contains - lesbians being lesbians, domestic fluff, kind of erotic, reader is giving top energy

Authors Note - I wrote this at 2 am. Let’s hope I don’t regret this when I wake up. Enjoy.

AS soon as Abby stepped into the threshold of your shared home, she sighed as the scent of freshly baked cookies hit her nose. The familiar scent of snickerdoodle cookies enveloped her in warmth.

This is exactly what she needed after the day she had. Several hours of code blues, angry patients, sick babies, and a lost tampon can cause someone to go a little bit crazy. Abby has constantly reminded herself of the reason why she chose this profession. She likes helping people. Mean or nice, young or old, everyone deserves the right to health care.

Abby slipped her shoes off and placed her coat on the rack. Abby’s bare feet padded along the cold floor as she walked over to you in the kitchen. She stood there in the doorframe just watching you, admiring you. You looked absolutely stunning as you followed the same steps over again.

Abby’s presence was too strong for you not to notice her standing in the doorframe, but you simply chose to ignore it, focusing on the task at hand. Your hands worked as they rolled dough into little balls, dropped them into the cinnamon-sugar mixture, placed them on a baking tray, and added that tray to the warm oven. A batch of cookies was already baking in the oven, making the house smell like a bakery.

“How was your day, Doctor?” you asked without looking.

And suddenly, all the stress from the entire day washed away as she heard your voice. It was like a siren’s song: sweet, melodic, and alluring. She could listen to you talk all day.

“Busy,” Abby sighed.

She wrapped her arms around you and placed her head on the open space between your neck and your shoulder. Abby closed her eyes and just enjoyed being close to you after being gone for so long.

One would think that Abby had been away at war for twelve years by the way she clinged to you. You were her lifeline, her soul, her everything. She slaved away at work so that you wouldn’t have to work another day in your life. You never went without anything. The four birkin bags in your closet serve as a testimony to that.

You swivel around in Abby’s grasp. Now, you’re face to face with her, your lower back is digging into the counter. Your hands are covered in cookie dough and specks of cinnamon and sugar. Your left hand cups Abby’s cheek as your thumb swipes over her lips. The look in Abby’s eyes tells you that she knows what you want. She opens her mouth, swiping her tongue over the pad of your thumb. Cinnamon and sugar coat the inside of her mouth and she closed her eyes in satisfaction.

You retract your thumb from her mouth, giving her cheek a light pat. You walk over to the sink with a little pep in your step and wash your hands, letting the rest of the dough, cinnamon, sugar, and saliva run down the drain.

Abby watches as you walk away. She’s a little tired and dazed, but she doesn’t know if it’s from the hospital or from you. Either way, she’s not complaining.

You turn around from the sink, hands still wet. There’s a glint in your eyes that she recognizes all too well.

“Abby, honey, can you get me the glasses from the top shelf? I want to open the wine we’ve been saving.”

Abby frowns, not expecting that. “I thought we were saving that for a special occasion.”

“This is a special occasion. It’s the day you finally let me top you.”

[mixtape-racha]

boyfriend!yang jeongin thoughts

(a/n: this is for u anonnie !! enjoy <3) | sfw and nsfw below the cut

warnings: phone sex (ish), fingering, recorded sex, unprotected sex loss of virginity, oral, 69'ing, anal fingering

sfw

boyfriend!jeongin who paints your toes nails for you and help your shave your legs when you're feeling down/under the weather

boyfriend!jeongin who always wears gold jewellery and buys you matching pieces to his, but in silver

boyfriend!jeongin who lets you design his first tattoo, so he'll always have a part of you with him

boyfriend!jeongin who makes you advent gift baskets each year instead of a normal advent calendar

boyfriend!jeongin who always come back from a job with alexander mcqueen with gifts for you, shrugging it off like its no big deal

boyfriend!jeongin who spends as long as he can learning your love language if it isn't the same as his, just so he can truly show you how much he appreciates you

boyfriend!jeongin who takes you to the animal shelter to adopt a pet together for your first anniversary

boyfriend!jeongin who gets you photocards of your bias, even if it isn't him, but Especially if it is him

boyfriend!jeongin who got an extra foxi.ny who he sews hair extensions onto and says it you - so now you have to get matching outfits with your foxy/n

boyfriend!jeongin who sings you to sleep most nights, and its honestly subconsciously - he just knows you sleep better when he has, and wants that for you every night

nsfw

boyfriend!jeongin who spends hours fingering you, drawing as many orgasms out of you as he can before it gets too much for you

boyfriend!jeongin who loves fucking you in doggy, watching the way your ass bounces with his thrusts and when he spanks you

boyfriend!jeongin who can make you wet from across a room just by giving you those dangerous siren eyes, and knows full well because he just smirks after

boyfriend!jeongin who uses a soundbite of your moans in the first freaky song he writes himself, and of course he had to fuck you in the studio to get it

boyfriend!jeongin who constantly sends you videos of him jerking off when he's away on tour, but cuts the video off before he finishes if you've been a brat

boyfriend!jeongin who has only ever cum inside you raw once, and it got him so turned on you ended up going at it literally all night

boyfriend!jeongin who took your virginity and lost his to you, and wholeheartedly believes it will always be the most loving and intimate thing you'll ever do together

boyfriend!jeongin who prefers giving head to receiving it, to the point where you only ever really blow him if you're 69'ing

boyfriend!jeongin who asked you to finger his ass while he was fucking you one time, and never looked back holy shit he's never cum so hard

boyfriend!jeongin who will never have a threesome because he believes no one else should be lucky enough to see how pretty you look and hear how pretty you sound during sex

(a/n: scheduled post!)

-> don’t forget to reblog or comment if you like my works ♡ please refrain from modifying, translating, or copying my work. - © mixtape-racha

tags ✮⋆˙ : @pretty-racha @chubbyanarkiss @taeriffic @mits-vi @chanssmiles @5kayzee @queen-klarissa @torixx80 @fawnpeaks @bangtanmix73 @savluvsmingi @boi-bi-ahaha @skz-streamer @demetrisscarf @manj1ro @linocvpid @alextheweeb7 @chans-american-slave @unsweetenedpeatea @carpioassists @bangtancultsposts @reiheis @happilydeepestwonderland @leemidnightmoon @watariisbestboy @hwangrimi @weedforthoughtz @ivyisnotokay @yevene @puckmaidens @poody1608 @vampcharxter @ilcveyouu @yeetmehome @prettymiye0n @bratty-tingz

[succulentsiren]

🐆Ways to Feel like a Dark Goddess🖤🩸

I. Embrace your ‘Black cat energy’ — Adopt or start acting like a Cat (beware when adopting that you’ll become their slave lol) but you’ll learn a how to carry their Royal (DGAF) energy, just from being around them.

II. Listen to sultry, slowed music. Find the song that represents you, listen to it slowed and play it whenever you want to feel sexy or confident. (The song is more impactful when it has a strong bass or an addictive melody).

III. Wear Black. The color black represents supreme authority and power. Black also pulls and absorbs all energy towards it. So when you wear it, it’ll allow you to absorb the energy around you and feel more powerful.

IV. Learn your Dark Feminine Archetype. Are you the Siren? Are you the Lilith? Are you the Gold digger? Or are you the Witch?

V. Don’t chase, Attract. Never beg people to be in your life. Never beg people to support you. Never force friendships or relationships. Be your authentic self and your connections will form effortlessly.

VI. Stay unbothered. It’s a fact that, you age faster when you’re stressed and overextending yourself, so be stoic and poised and observe more than you react.

VII. Wear your favorite lingerie.

VIII. Try Dark Feminine makeup looks. {Here’s my Pinterest board on DFM looks}

IX. Learn a new skill. Knowledge raises your value and protects you from making dumb decisions.

X. Have a Confident Presence. Never enter any room with you head down. Learn the importance of confident body language and teach yourself the basics.

XI. Be assertive. Add some spice [bite] to your language and character. Let people know your not a wilting flower in any way.

XII. Be unpredictable. When people think they know your next move, switch that shit up and surprise them.

XIII. Practice your Siren Gaze. The eyes are a tool of hypnotism. You can communicate through them, influence through them and seduce with them.

XIV. Worship yourself like a Goddess. When you recognize your value, you raise yourself up to Goddess-hood and others will begin to see your value as well.

XV. Spoil yourself. Don’t wait for anyone to make you feel sexy, self activate it. Buy yourself roses 🥀 Take a romantic baths with flower petals. Tell yourself “You’re sexy.” in the mirror. Write yourself love letters.

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Husk with gender-neutral!reader relationship headcanons

Special thanks to @isuckatwritingsobenice, @nixie-writes, and a few other writers in the Hazbin Hotel community for helping me create a piece for one of my favorite characters from the 2019 pilot episode, Husk! :)

Warning: Husk's potty mouth and this is Hell, so indecent things are bound to happen but nothing to imply NSFW content.

Husk gave up on the idea of love years ago, preferring to drown himself in cheap booze and try his luck at the casino before Alastor pulls him away to do a job for him or some other shit because of his contract with the fucking asshole. Why else would he and Nifty be wastin’ time slaving away in a hotel that’s supposed to rehabilitate sinners? Least the pipsqueak gets to clean this place from top to bottom and away from the clients, and he’s stuck handling their drunk asses in the lobby bar.

Angel Dust has been the one who’s been trying to get into his pants since day one, but that’s a different story entirely. He’s persistent, Husk will give the prissy punk that much credit.

Though…he supposed it isn’t all too bad being here. Least since Vaggie hired you. Initially, the job offer she and Charlie had posted online was to manage the front desk, handle phone calls, and all of the other tasks required to be the hotel’s conceirge. However, since there still wasn’t enough staff to do everything, he would see flitting about carrying baskets of clean linens or giving tours around the hotel to potential clients, helping Vaggie with organizing meetings with the press, and so on.

He might be a drunk asshole, but if there’s one part in his body that’s still functioning besides his dick, it's his hearing.

He’s lost count of how many times he’s heard a snide remark from potential or current clients about your polite demeanor, if you’re actually a freak in bed, and a whole lotta other bullshit he did not want to hear when he’s still sober. He didn’t want to care but god fucking dammit it made his skin crawl at the idea of some asshole thinking they had a chance with you. You, who never seemed to lose your smile and would go out of your way to make Nifty’s day by belting out Broadway songs on top of the banister, completely lost in the character you were playing and not giving a shit about anything else.

Not gonna deny it, you had one hell of a voice. You could change the pitch of it so easily. From a high tone all the way down a low, smooth baritone that almost sounded like a siren’s song luring sailors to a watery grave.

When he actually musters the fucking courage (thanks to a lot of booze from earlier in the day) to ask if you’d like to go to a bar or even the casino, Husk thought you would reject him. After all, why would a someone like you would even want to hang around an old fucker like him?

But when he saw your face turn as red as a certain deer bastard’s suit and sputtered that you weren’t very good at the slots, though you were willingly to try your luck at the blackjack table as long it wasn’t a high stake one, Husk thought he had actually achieved the state of inebriation to where he was hallucinating.

However, he was proven wrong when you told him that you’ll be ready by seven to go to the casino. Since he’d been on good behavior and Charlie never had any issues with you as of late, the princess wouldn’t mind the two of you being out for a couple of hours as long as you kept your phones on you in case anything happened.

Alastor could care less since watching a tormented, loveless war veteran being bewitched by a beguiling songstress provided him with much needed entertainment~.

Upon arriving at the casino, Husk pulled you over to the slot machines. He showed you how they worked and how much money you should put in them, so you don’t lose all of it in under an hour. The old-fashioned ones with the levers weren’t so bad, though the rounds would go pretty quick if you weren’t paying attention to the denominations; same thing applied to the new tech ones, betting could go from 88 cents to up to two dollars.

In the end, you quit after trying three different machines and went to go find the restroom. Husk decided to go find a bar and order a couple of drinks. One for himself, and one for you. A couple of fellas, hellhounds by the look of ‘em, asked him if the ‘pretty little thing’ he was with earlier is with him or if you were single.

“They’re with me, so fuck off.” He grumbled.

“Ya sure about that, old man?”

Husker growled, feeling his hackles rise at the provocation, half of it he blamed on the booze. As much as he wanted to teach these punks a thing or two about showin’ respect….they weren’t worth ruinin’ his first date with you. First impressions made all the difference, least when he’d been alive. So he made a rude hand gesture and sat at the bar until he heard you call out to him.

“Everything all right, Husk? I hope I didn’t interrupt anything between you and your friends. The guys you were talkin’ to before they took off.”

He smirked. “Nah. If I knew them, they’d know how to play poker.” He stood up and grabbed his drink, handing over yours. “C’mon, let’s hit the blackjack tables and see how good you really are.” He said, leading you to your next stop for the night.

Turned out that you weren’t all talk. You were able to win five out of seven rounds, never showing any anxiety or indication that your hand was either good or bad. For kicks, Husk asked if you wanted to try the poker table. You agreed, but just to two rounds. If you weren’t comfortable continuing to play, please allow you to walk away. Husk agreed, opting to watch you from the sidelines as moral support instead of joining you at the table.

Three words could only describe what he saw next: holy fucking shit.

All you could do was smile sheepishly at him when he asked how the ever living fuck were you this good at gambling and didn’t say anything as the two of you left the casino with a hefty sum of cash.

“Would you believe me if I said I’d gotten banned from more than one casino when I was alive because I was just good at card counting?”

He stared at you for a long moment before he grinned widely, clapping you on the back. “I knew I had my eye on ya for a reason!”

‘Course, you’d never know that he wanted to show you that he’s one hell of a gambler at the casino instead of the other way ‘round. How he knew to play his cards right and treat you to something nice, show those little shitheads that a real gentleman knows how to win the game and a good-lookin’ partner all in the same night.

Still…gettin’ spoiled at a nice restaurant for a change wasn’t too bad…so long as no one from the hotel saw them. Especially Alastor.

And that was how your first date went. Nothing too crazy, least the two of you didn’t run into any trouble on the way back to the hotel. Husk walked you to your room, wished you good-night, and went to drink a little more before passing out in his own room.

Husk hasn’t been with anyone in an incredibly long time. There will be moments when he might seem harsher than usual towards you and tries to brush everything off, or chug it down with alcohol. He struggles to communicate with his feelings to someone else, so patience and respect for boundaries is key.

He does not tolerate any disrespect towards you, even if you try to tell him to ignore the sinner who is catcalling after you when the two of you are walking through the Pride Ring to pick up stuff for the hotel. If it happened at a bar while you’re on a date? Be prepared to have chairs go flying or Husk tearing a new hole in the poor bastard who pissed him off.

He is not a fan of PDA. He has a reputation to uphold in the hotel and on the streets. Behind closed doors, however, he will be more lenient. Cuddles and midday naps are exceptional, with him pressing against your body with his tail loosely coiled around your thigh and one of his wings acting as a shield or even a blanket.

Speaking of feathers and fur, he does need to groom himself periodically, especially when it's molting season. You need to be gentle if you want to help him since his skin can be especially sensitive around this time of the year.

Actions speak a lot louder to him than pretty words. If you show him that you do care for him and will never betray his trust or loyalty, he will return it tenfold. He will do everything in his power to make you as happy as you have made him in this shithole.

Taglist

@angelltheninth

@isuckatwritingsobenice

@selineram3421

@nixie-writes

@dragonempress18

@ceoofdabicorpsensfw

@lbcreations-blog

@chroniccorvus

@food-theorys-blog

[ciphykiss]

< incubus (iii)

blade x f!reader; nsfw, mdni (pls) somnophilia, slightly graphic violence

Love escapes Blade the same way dreams do, lost to hellscape, a curse, and raining swords; each one a reminder of his betrayal, her curse, and him, vengeance immortalized; it is the only thing he is allowed to feel, tastes as bittersweet as liquor once shared by brothers under moonlit nights, the reflections of crescent halos carved into bleeding rivers of a world long destroyed…

He hangs about the other stellaron hunters as a poltergeist; though Kafka trusts him (with her life, he’d presume, but also less), and the young one pesters him to pursue her games, Blade finds himself incapable of forging the bonds that haunt his sleep; the sword of a friend, the back of another, the scabbard of his master, and all the wild blood his brethren shared when they raced through the skies of Cangcheng before it befell calamity to the world-devourer, Rahu;

Why did you do it, he wants to ask, daydreams of asking; he is almost-afraid (he no longer fears, not really), facing eyes of seaglass in mourning.

For love, he who had once held his soul will reply; for love, time and time again… 

—all for a promise.

The promise of his own death, as destiny’s slave had foretold—there is nothing else of want, nothing else of need. There is nothing else he desires as man would, nothing more than a wound to fester and rid him of his misery—fin.

Or so he thought.

He tells himself it is but a fleeting twinge; not quite longing, nothing more than a tug of his fate-strings, toying with him once more.

But he is from a time before starskiffs and the banishment of desire; he can recall the legends of his great-grandmother, besotted with a man destined to live a fraction of her own, the birth of her bloodline done through the dreaming; and though he has never quite experienced it himself, he is well-acquainted with both the stories and instinct of passion, enough to know the dangers—how it drives men and women alike to madness, the brink of insanity, and back to adoration once more. He doesn’t understand it, not really, until the day he meets you.

It is all very banal, he thinks, because he doesn’t even have to look at you to know you are his. He feels it in the air—the hurried, impatient clack of your heels, sweetness of your words (even when you assail him with your questionnaire, as grating as nails on a chalkboard, he’s more annoyed at the fact that he doesn’t want you to stop talking) and the scent—

He doesn’t consider himself particularly Foxian, not after generations of outmixing had thinned the blood of the old. To his knowledge, his predecessors had only passed down their knack for artismanship; apparently, desire was part of that package, because the moment your fingers brushed over the side of his face, he could smell the aftermath of your frustration and solo-pursuit of pleasure, a lingering fragrance no amount of hand-washing could cover up. He knew he had to have you then, one way or another—something had shifted inside of him, like the maw of a wild beast being lured by first blood. Yes, he would have you—if not in the waking world, then in the dreaming, and if not your flesh, then in spirit. You’d made him realize a starvation that he hadn’t known existed; neither love nor affection, more carnal than a means to an end.

He knows this is not love; love is lost to time and his curse, gnawing away at the cadaver of his heart. Yet, he can’t help but bury his nose into the phantom of your flesh, teeth grazing your nape as he opens his mouth to devour—

Your legs curl around him in a vice that eclipses both wedding bands and vows, fingers awry in his hair; he has to bite back a sigh when you yank, sinking deeper into the skin of your collarbone to mask it. Both your strangulated hiss and whimpers have his blood rushing to his head, as distant a song as sirens ashore; he feels as though he’s in a haze, lost in a tangle of hair, threaded fingers, and not-quite flesh, and how long had it been since he’d laid in the embrace of arms—

They could not compare. A body would no longer do; it had to be you. Youyouyou, and only you.

So when you cease your pouting and opt to gather around his neck for a kiss with strands of his hair slipping past your face, he doesn’t refute—how can he, when he feels how you would’ve been his whole had he met you those long years before his demise, how he would’ve chased you to the moon just to crown you in jade and silverwing (would’ve could’ve should’ve), but now all that’s left of him is hollow and bone, and you? You’d just have to make do with a corpse.

He tells himself he’s had his fill, then finds himself chasing your sulking mouth the next night. You ask questions, you throw your fits; you demand answers, bite his lips, draw blood, and everything else under the moon. He tells himself he only needs you for your body, your kiss, but finds himself indulging you, time and time again; your more vapid queries, hazy, slow-blinking eyes, and oh, he’ll give you the illusion of domestication, letting you braid his hair, pulling you up by your waist when he wanted to taste, your lashes fluttering low at the spontaneity of his wanting.

But he won’t let you think (even for a moment) that he is something he isn’t—never whispers of sweet nothings, never a kiss to quell your nightmares (he is your nightmare), only the cold press of his mouth over your pulse, bruising teeth, and kisses that sought to devour, not guise as tenderness.

He doesn’t hope it is enough; it doesn’t matter. You have him (what is left of him), and it will have to be enough, because neither can he change, nor can he let you go.

ꨄ︎

You don’t fail to consider your demonic rendezvous could be the result of a faulty product, so you discard your fantasia for a new one; and so you sit, splayed on your bed (in proper nightwear this time), keeping vigil at your nightstand. The incense burns through the holographic figure of Lan; your room fills with the scent of ambrosial-root and alien flora, the former previously shunned amongst the commonfolk of the Luofu until Tingyun had parrotted the benefits of the immortal root as a soft drug for anxiety and insomnia; you’d made a note to chide Whistling Flames’ production quality the next time you met up with her for lunch if this dream… panned out…

The drop to your dream world is unceremonious; perhaps it’s the result of your previous night, but you find yourself with more heightened awareness than ever before (you wonder if this is what those medicus loonies refer to when they boast of “lucid dreams”). A world bathed in fog-mist and the herbal decay left by smoking pipes, your head resting on silk sheets, feathered pillows, with kiln sake cups identical to the ones bartered at Tingyun’s merchant guild resting an arm’s length away.

You sit upright, scanning your surroundings; no sight of cracked skies, rain, or the pungent blooming of spider lilies.

“...hi?” Your voice echoes through your dreamscape. You feel stupid.

Perhaps it had been a fluke; maybe Tingyun had been right. You begin to doubt yourself, gnawing on your lower lip, before a metaphorical lightbulb beams in the recess of your mind;

“...the fisherman would marry, and the Foxian, enraged and heartbroken...”

“Of all men,” he hisses into your ear, the bite of a wolf from a dark fairytale, “him?”

A fifty-fifty shot, you decide; he’d failed to kill you the last time he’d seen you riding Jingyuan’s face, allowing enough bravery for you to conjure up an imitation of the general.

It’s harder now that you’re not, well, as needy as you were when you’d first met; you envision the hair cascading over his shoulder, long and curling, a single, aureate eye, hands, calloused from battle and gripping the hilt of his war-spear,

“Enough.”

Your stomach drops. So it hadn’t been a fluke, and you were being haunted by the spirit of some deceased Foxian posing as an intergalactic war criminal you’d just so happened to think was bangable. That, or—

“So you really are stalking me,” you accuse, turning to your side. You observe him from where he stands, towering over you with his hands crossed over his chest; he looks more irked than truly jealous, maybe because you’re not half naked and in the process of climbing to a dream-climax; you rest your cheek on your palm, propped by an elbow, and sink a jade-collared foot into the water at the edge of the bed. He stares (or so you assume; it’s hard to tell by the blindfold), unamused when you flick at him, the droplets dematerializing into the fabric of his trousers. “What? Not joining me today?”

For a long while, he says nothing—in silent contemplation, while you pretend to pick at your nails in mimicry of indifference. Please don’t look at me, please just walk away, please let this be just a real—dream—you hear the ripples indicating his footsteps, crowns of spider-lilies rebirthed in his strides until he rests on the edge of the bed, black hair pooling into the silk.

You suck in a deep breath, gazing up at the now storm-cracked skyscape. You hadn't exacted the details of your so-called “plan” this far, half-expecting the circumstances of last night to have been explained by a crumpled club receipt or markered-star hidden away in some crevice of your body. You sit upright, swallowing the pounding of your heart, and brace yourself for a change of course;

He makes no movement of protest when he feels you crawl over to him, throwing the weight of your arms over his shoulders. Not even a compression, you sulk, feeling unyielding, lean muscle. Experimentally, you rest your chin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, breath fanning over his bone-like pallor; you draw circles into the water with your feet, brushing against the flower stamens, willing the thrum of your heart to quiet.

“You’re awfully quiet,” you observe, voice muffled against the fabric of his coat; he smells the same, smoke and rain, the perfume of his hair an aquatic floral that has you near-salivating and Aeons did you wish you’d meet a man of his allure in the Luofu (without the homicidal package). “Need another projection of the general to get you going?”

It’s meant to be in jest, but also to test his limits; your eyes flicker up just in time to see his jaw flex. The spindles of a lily curl around your ankle and bite, causing you to squeak and fold your legs into the bed. Okay, maybe too far. You can’t help but glare at him (not like he can see it), rubbing the now crimson splotch. Bastard.

“Not cute,” you comment, tugging at the tassels of his collar. He makes no effort to stop you, even as your hands roam his hips, pausing right below the navel, and then working up to his chest, the other tangling in the fabric holding together his garment; it doesn’t take you long to to unassemble his shirt, mouth working down his nape, uncaring of the roadblock of his bandages.

Your fingers arch at his collarbone, having spidered to a two-fingered tilt; he feels you smile, tapping a nail over his skin.

“Aren’t you being too good today?” You wonder, eyeing the faded scars scattered along his torso like a belt of heliobi; you wonder if they belong to the demon-spirit or the space criminal himself, and could he possibly be the real Blade?

Only one way to find out; and you’re determined.

“Not entertained?” You hook your legs on either side of him, then, sliding down to rest on his thighs; you feel him at large, breath momentarily catching in your throat—eyes on the prize, stay focused—before you rest on the blindfold separating the wonders of his eyes from yours. He feels incomplete, unreal; he is, but not like this. You refuse to have him like this.

“Let me see you,” you whisper, and before the weight of your words can sink in, you reach out to yank the knot fastened behind his head.

What you see has your blood turning to ice, the hairs on the back of your neck standing pin-straight, and both your hands flying to your mouth to quell the scream that threatens to perforate the dreaming; because there, where his eyes should be are inky, sightless orbs, no sign of pupil nor sclera; twin voids, like staring into the end of the world. His thighs shift, and you nearly choke out a sob.

“What do you see?” He murmurs. “Is it all you dreamed of?”

There is something sickening in his voice, encapsulating darker hues still; you squeeze your eyes shut, urging your heart to recover from its whiplash. When you open them, you stare at his mouth instead. It’s prettier, despite its velvet cruelty.

“What are you?”

He doesn’t answer, not for a long while; a stray wind blisters your cheek, enshrouding you with dark hair and the scent of him once more. You don’t remember a hand caging your hip, nor the one that had wound around your ankle, only now when he toys with the jade ornament that dangles off it; his grip doesn’t slacken, however, as if afraid you’d take off running at any given chance (he’s not wrong).

“The eyes are incomplete,” his answers are as vague as the real one, and you’re beginning to wonder just how accurate a Foxian’s charades can be. “They only see as far as they know; the rest is filled by imagination.” He smiles, then, wretched and alarmingly beautiful; “Did you see something monstrous?”

“You act as though that pleases you,” you rasp. At that, your dream demon leans in, smile taking a sharper turn as he forces eye-level contact. You have half a mind to scream, cry; conjure up a physical wall, render yourself blind. Anything to not have to glimpse into that void once more.

“Make no mistake; I am a monster.” His breath ghosts over your mouth like claws from inside a coffin. “That is what I am, what I always will be; do not dare dream otherwise. There is no prince waiting for you under this beast, no declarations of love and adoration; I am not like the ones they paint in stories. Do not expect a shelter from your nightmares; in time, you may find they and I become one in the same.”

And though staring into his eyes is akin to being swallowed by the void-whales that drift across the stars only in search of things to devour, you do; you ignore the fear that gropes your stomach, has your hands clammy with cold sweat.

“My little nightmare,” you simper, praying you come off more coy than deathly afraid, “you overestimate yourself. Did you truly think I’d deluded myself with such grandiose? That I’d expect you to fill the void of a real man, buy me a picket-fence complex, and take some revoltingly cute children to late-night starskiff drives on the weekends?” You tug at a strand of his hair, twirling it around your finger; it slips, pliant as silk, and you drop your hand in search of something more entertaining.

His fingers turn bruising; your hand dips past his navel, tugging the loop of his belt free. Absently, you trace the silver of his armor-like garter. “Don’t forget your purpose—here, you are nothing but my dream-concubine, pretty as you may be. You exist to starve me of my fantasies so that you may bring me pleasure yourself, do you not? Fighting words, for one with a goal so…”

Your hands are frigid compared to the heat of his length, giving it a shallow, experimental tug. You hear him affected for the first time, breathing ragged in your ear, and you think he might as well break your hipbone with how tightly he grips it. It is an oddly rewarding sting; you stave off the pain with a giggle, lips brushing over the shell of his ear.

“...endearing,” you finish, teeth catching the flesh of his lobe. You’re only slightly out of practice; gone are the days of experimenting with more than a sloppy, quick fuck in some alleyway of the red-light district, but having a man—spirit, whatever the hell this thing was—of such indomitability crack under your ministrations served the necessary power-high to follow through with your teasing.

You remind yourself it’s all for a greater plan; the plan that suddenly looks as hazy as your fourth shot of tequila on a holiday cruise as you fall into whispering filthy nothings into his ear.

“You poor thing,” you gloat, boring your eyes fearlessly into his; they are half-lidded now, much more tolerable to look at. He presses a thumb warningly down on your pelvis when you arch, knees planted on either side of his hips to support your weight. You grin. “Relax.”

Confidently, you brush his hair out of his eyes—sweat clings to his forehead, jaw worked so tight you know his teeth are gritted. Your hand trails off the side of his face, adoring; “How long has it been since you’ve been cared for? Months? Years? Decades? Why do you deprive yourself?”

He is much too prideful to relent, this you know; because you are not all cruel, you smile, allowing him reprieve in the comfort of your neck. Your dream demon stills at the gesture, muscles growing taut even as he allows you to move him as you please. You laugh, patting the back of his head.

Because he is wholly unused to affection, you kiss the side of his cheek, his hair, base of the throat, and everywhere else when he likely fractures both your pelvic bone and wrist in response to the pace you set. Surprisingly, the wrist he grips is not the one that tugs at his cock, but the one that soothes him by sifting through his roots, as if he is more cautious of adoration than he is lust; you curve your thumb over the tip, and you know he’s close, abdomen constricting, all but cutting off your hand’s blood supply;

Focus. Now’s your chance.

It’s only under the guise of utter sweetness that you manage to pry his fingers from your wrist, lacing your hand with his and releasing him from your other at the same time. He snarls, hips bucking forward at the loss, sounding more animal than man; you use your now-free hand to capture his jaw, the other still tightly wound, and plant a searing, punishing kiss.

It’s humiliating. Would have been pathetic, even, had he not lasted so long and after such a lengthy period of abstinence; and had you been a tad more sadistic. You feel him shudder, the warmth of your mouth and hand-holding too much.

You bite down on his lip. Hard.

It’s difficult, teetering the border between a kiss and mauling his lips off; a plight that has to be overcome, however, as you scrape over the wound and taste blood in your mouth. It’s done. You separate from his person with a gasp, scanning the small, but fresh (and most importantly: noticeable) graze; it would undoubtedly redden and scar, just as your welts had.

Now, all that’s left to do is waltz into your daily session with the space criminal and examine him for a matching wound. Then, you can be sure—

“You.”

…okay, you definitely hadn’t thought this far.

“…we can talk this through,” you laugh nervously, raising both hands in surrender. “Let’s—talk, yeah? Like civil people. Iwaswrongpleasedon’thurtme—”

You squeak when your jaw is tucked into his vice-like grip; you shut your eyes, screeching a mantra of wake up wake up WAKE UP—

“You have some nerve.” He chuckles darkly (yes, chuckles; you’re reciting your final wishes at this point, coupled with a few bastardized prayers to Lan, because Aeons, this had to be the last thing you heard), arm crushing you against him; he feels the same as before, relentless, unyielding, rendering you completely at his mercy.

“What did you expect,” you protest, because if you’re going to die, you might as well go out with the last word; “—when you left me so callously last time,” you finish, chin jutted in defiance.

The world above you begins to splinter; you see the fabric of your blackout curtains, spy the string of polaroids dangling from your ceiling. A wave of relief washes over you; you smile, beguiling, and roll over so you’re no longer pinned under him.

“Well, this has been lovely, but it’s getting late—early—and would‘ya look at the ti—!”

He grips your ankle, tugs; your world blurs from the sudden movement, and you drown in the scent of rain and woodsmoke once more.

His mouth brushes over yours, cold, soft—an almost-kiss. You find yourself with an insatiable yearning for those lips once more—the taste of iron and something sweeter.

Your eyes remain half-lidded in want for only half a second; the next, you find yourself letting out a noise torn between a moan and a hiss, feeling the pads of his fingers circling pressure around your clit. Your thighs clamp on instinct, shocked at the surge of pleasure; you can only stare, horrified, into dark hair and the lightly-scarred pallor of his neck.

“What’re you—”

The words die on your lips as easily as the bloom of a strangulated whine; the rare power-trip over your dreamvader had left you rather malleable, and it didn’t take long for him to deem you prepped enough to split in half. The drag of his fingers is haunting; a slow-burning candle, a lull, bandaged thumb working on your nerves while he curls two more inside.

“Entertained?” He breathes, teeth grazing over the shell of your ear the same way you had; but he bites where you had kissed, devours instead of adoring. Your dreamscape spins; you hear the phantom of your own voice in an echo chamber. “Not entertained?”

In response, you can only grip the back of his hair.

“Not quite.” You bite down into the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

“Entertained,” he rasps, and your world is collapsing; vibrations of bent, gleaming white and silver-blue; the surface below you pools, turns to void-stars. You move only with the rise of his chest, the ripple of his throaty voice; your hips move sluggishly against his thigh, knee parting you open, as if you’re in a trance. He sets a brutal pace, dragging your hips up to meet his, and the friction between your clothed heat and his is enough to have you drawing red down his back, pushed to a state of delirium you didn’t think was possible with mere grinding.

Your response is a cacophony of undulated whimpers; you keen, eyes wet and red, every nerve lit on fire, and the very backdrop of your dream world burns behind your eyes;

You search for his lips like a prisoner starved; the stars fall out of his mouth, and you catch them, outpouring into the constellated belt of a dipper.

Entertained? You feel him mouth against the flesh under your breast, voice drowned by the bell of your morning alarm and the purr of early-morning starskiffs making a beeline for breakfast courts. You’re all but a ragdoll now, held up by a single arm. You twist your neck to glare down at him, eyes itching for the waking world.

“Whore,” You accuse, a half-slur; you blink rapidly, eyelashes fluttering over cheekbone, and swear you feel him smile against your rib.

When you come to, you have ten missed calls from Jingyuan, a barrage of worried messages from Tingyun, and a notice from the Luofu’s government hospital on behalf of the reigning High Elder, Bailu.

ꨄ︎

He hears you before he sees you; Blade doesn’t have a chance to look up before you have your hand at his neck, near-strangling; a pressure that likely would’ve had the average man nearly knocked out. Your breath comes out in harsh, sobbing huffs, and you smell salty, as if you’d been crying; that, and of something sterile—rubbing alcohol?

“What did you do?” The break in your voice tells him everything he needs to know. When he doesn’t answer right away, you tighten your hold, and he finds himself both smiling and unable to breathe. “You fucking bastard, tell me what you did to him.”

“Whom?” 

You let out a shrill, and he laughs, feeling your nails mark over the old scars along his throat, vessels restricting under the abuse; you land a rather solid one across his cheek, enough to have him snap to the left, though unfortunately not enough to break posture. Rather amateur in combat, were you?

“Did you kill him?” You’re screeching now, voice hollowed-out and black with rage, and a small inkling in him whispers that maybe, just maybe he’d taken it too far—but he remembers what Kafka had relayed to him, the script foretold by destiny’s slave, and his own promise, and cannot find it in himself to care. “Did you fucking kill him, you—”

Your words fail you; there’s nothing horrible enough to scream. You want to beat him bloody and tear his hair out from his scalp and kill him, twice as cruel as he had been to Danyin, but—

You fall to your knees, hands flying to your mouth.

“That’s… no, that can’t—that’s not—”

Jingyuan’s hand on your shoulder is a painful tether to reality, and you can only watch as the High Elder rubs her hands over your coworker’s molting form in desperation. The poor Vidyadhara girl looks exhausted, sweat clinging to her forehead as she tries to reanimate a body long gone.

“We found him bleeding outside his post,” Jingyuan says gravely, but you can’t hear him anymore; can’t hear anything, can’t see anything, wishing you could unsee everything. “He had… strangest look on his face… as if he’d seen a ghost… so much blood…”

You spy your own wristwatch coming undone from his now-waxy arms. It clatters to the floor; you stare at it blankly.

“I’m counting on you, friend!”

If only you hadn’t. If only you’d shut your mouth. If only you had. If only—ifonly, Aeons; would he still have been alive?

“[Name]!” Jingyuan shakes you; you wonder how long he’d been doing that, and turn to stare up at him, bewildered. This had to have been a dream, some terrible nightmare. Things like this didn’t happen on the Luofu. It was an era of peace. Things like that didn’t happen to you. Not people you knew. “...Tingyun is heading over as we speak; I do not know what has transpired, but I assure you, [Name], I will do everything in my power to get to the bottom of this, and no harm will come to you, this I swear—”

You want to laugh and cry and tear open the very fabric of reality at the same time. You? How could you possibly have been worried about yourself when you had all but caused someone to die? When you were the reason that—

“...was not something Diviner Fu foresaw. I’ll be taking you off this case, [Name], for time being, and you will be compen—”

“No.”

“...I don’t believe you’re in the right headspace—”

“No,” you repeat, and you’re already standing up, legs moving before your brain can process your destination; Jingyuan makes a motion to grab your arm to stop you, but whatever face you’re wearing has him frozen in his tracks. “I’ll see to it I see this job through. All the way. On behalf of him.”

“Did you like your gift,” he wonders, and suddenly, he is nothing short of hideous—a beast in human skin, scum, something that existed to die; you gnaw down on your bottom lip and taste iron, anything to quell the traitorous tear that dampened his blindfold and ran past his own cheek. “Had you truly let down your guard so prematurely?”

“You monster,” you whisper, finally. “How could you take someone’s life so—so—”

“Life,” he murmurs, “is only made precious through death. A lesson not all learn early, a paradise unreachable for me… ah,” he chuckles, words catching in his throat when you try your damndest to suffocate the piece of shit in front of you.

“Do you think yourself nature?” You grit, voice a clamor; “Do you think yourself above life? What gives you the right to rob another of theirs—are you even human?”

“On the contrary,” he sighs, “I give them a gift of the highest honor—the gift of death. It is all predestined, those I kill; a slave to destiny is what I’ve become. I can only yearn for the day he returns my favor—the day I may walk over the blood I’ve spilt to welcome the end which I’ve sought for… all this time…”

You feel like vomiting. You’d never understood them, neither the woes of the soon-to-be marastruck or the elders, who viewed life as more a chore than something to be cherished; something to squash under their soles. They called it the curse of the abundance, but they had become the true curse—an enemy of life itself. 

“One day,” you promise, “you will fear death. One day, you will find something—someone—worth living for, and even your cruel, unbeating heart will take form, mimicking that of a real one. And I pray—I will make sure of it—you die that day, the day you fear death. Until then, I hope you wander. I hope you roam every corner of the galaxy, pushed to the brink of death and reviving once more; I hope you are always unsettled. I hope you never find peace.”

You hear the general’s men burst through the door a second later, ripping you away from the creature. He sits there, in silence and contemplation, and you’re unable to rip your eyes from his form;

His last words are amused, a murmur; the shade of summer trees.

“How odd of you to curse me with what is already reality.”

ꨄ︎

When he dreams, your hands are at his throat once more; you might be crying again, he can’t tell; your tears are corporeal, and he still can’t see you. He comes to the stifling realization that some part of him—a part that should be impassive—does not wish to see you in such a state, your sniffling drawing his ire.

“Change,” you spit, imagining your hands to pop that godforsaken throat open like it should have in the waking world, “stop looking like that. Change. Now.”

He makes no effort to move, as if your ministrations do not bother him in the slightest—just like in the real world. You let out a snarl.

“I warned you,” he says, as you begin beating down on his chest with the ferocity of a dozen wolves, “in time, you would find that your nightmares and I become one in the same.”

“I don’t care,” you howl, fists going raw in their onslaught; “Stop looking like that—that thing. It’s revolting.” 

He doesn’t respond; you wail and howl until your throat runs dry and the skin of your palms ache, seemingly, an eternity; you collapse on his chest, and he feels it turn wet with your tears. You’re shaking from exhaustion, anger, something more—too much.

And despite it all, through your rage, you reach an epiphany—a welcome one; for whatever demon may haunt you, it isn’t him. Isn’t Blade. You’d seen him at your altercation, lips unmarred and sporting not a single bruise he would’ve gained in your dream world; and despite the healing prowess of Xianzhou Natives, not a single one sported regenerative abilities to that degree.

You raise your face to meet his, and cup his cheeks—slowly, softly, unlike your prior treatment. It’s a shocking change, one that has him reeling from the whiplash.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, a hoarse, scratchy apology. “I’ve been taking my rage out on you, but you—you are not him. You don’t deserve it, not really. I—I don’t know your circumstances, or why you’re here… but I don’t think you would have chosen this face. Not if you could’ve helped it.”

He says nothing. He should tell you the truth—observe as something shatters inside you once more, and have you reeling from the impact. He should break you cleanly.

But he doesn’t.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you say, sounding dead. “Just—make me forget. Please. I don’t want to think of anything anymore.”

He finds you completely pliant when he shifts your form on his chest, lacking your usual bite—you say nothing when he moves you under him, hand cradling the back of your head so he can tilt you for a kiss.

Your lips don’t move against his, merely open—you shudder, curling your legs inward instead of at his waist, and he finds himself despising it. You. Him. Everything in between.

You’re crying again. He finds himself unable to do anything other than mouth away your tears, even as you whisper for more, beg, even; an excuse to kiss you once more, again and again, repeatedly; catches them right over your mouth, sweeps that can almost be considered gentle, despite that being the last thing you want (need).

“Fool,” he murmurs, blanketing you in darkness; of hair, fabric, and his hands. You close your eyes, lulled into an even deeper sleep—a dream within a dream.

Before you doze off, you wonder if this is his own way of showing kindness—an effort made so you would not be forced to bear the torment of seeing his face once more.

taglist: @aliceu, @hypernovaxx

a/n: this was so painful to finish mostly bc I had to adult and do actual life things >.> lmk if anyone wants to be added to the taglist! (provided ur not a minor!!) ill probably edit this a lot bc god knows i did not proofread

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

Replica (Part 3)

Summary: It seems even the primarch doesn't understand who you are to him.

Perturabo/fem!Reader

Warnings: incest (kinda), possessive behavior, manipulation, hint of masturbation.

Word Count: 2397

While I was writing this part, I was listening "Darren Korb - Song of the Sirens". Hope you enjoy it.

Song: Mitski - Washing Machine Heart

Perturabo fulfilled his promise. No one else dared to offend or touch you. All serfs knew this and even the Space Marines had to reckon with it. You still couldn’t figure out how you managed to earn such an attitude from the Primarch of the Iron Warriors. But you don't want to complain, just enjoy your new life.

You began to live next to the Iron Lord in the next room. It had already amazed you with size and wealth, but this was not enough for the primarch. He began to reinterpret it, adding new details that, according to him, you should like. No, he knew you would be delighted with them.

Even your wardrobe has undergone changes. No more gray serf robes. Although you weren’t able to wear such strict and sophisticated outfits as the girls from Olympia. Instead of complex hairstyles, your hair was always loose or tied up in something simple. When Perturabo first saw you like this, he was about to reprimand you, but in the end he changed his mind.

You even got two servants. You tried to resist such innovations, but the primarch refused your request. After all, a girl of your position is supposed to have maids. Besides, if you refuse, the serfs will be sent to do hard work. You didn't get to experience such life, but you heard enough from the other slaves to make your skin crawl. Seeing the fear in your eyes, Perturabo grinned, noticing that you were always kind.

Sometimes you forget about his other side.

You were also aware that the primarch continued to attack Imperial worlds, taking resources in the form of fuel and people for the Iron Blood. He consumed all living things and left hell behind. It was frightening and devastating. You should have felt disgust and pure horror towards him. But as soon as you saw the primarch again, only tenderness remained in your soul. Perturabo continued to pamper you in every possible way with an absolutely stoic face.

Although sometimes you were puzzled by him. Once he told you about the customs of Olympia, when mature young men chose a new name for themselves. Perturabo, of course, refused to follow this rule and you shook your head and whispered his name. At this moment, the man tensed and looked at you. Closely and deciding.

“Perhaps you would like to undergo this ritual?” - the primarch began carefully. You became nervous at how slowly he chose his words. As if afraid of your reaction. And it’s not clear which one exactly. - “I know a suitable name.”

“But I’m not a young man. Besides, I like my name. Do you like it?” - You smiled softly at the man, gently placing your small hand on his. The Iron Lord looked at it and then into your eyes. Did you imagine or did you see a mixture of disappointment and relief? It was as if he himself was not sure what answer he wanted to hear.

"Yes. It's very beautiful".

Finding yourself in the primarch's favor, you nevertheless spent all your time only with yourself or with the Iron Lord. But soon Perturabo completely forbade you to leave your room under any pretext. According to the lord, Iron Blood will have to go to a rather dangerous place and not alone. Moreover, the primarch's companion is an extremely pretentious person whom you should not have met. You soon learned from the maids that he was talking about Fulgrim.

There was a strange tension in the air. Unnatural. It tastes disgusting. Your slaves told you that Perturabo's guest behaves absolutely terribly, throwing away his own and Iron warriors as well as toys. As for the Emperor's Children, they no longer looked like perfect warriors. You tried to find out the details, but the serfs fell silent.

You think that was the last time you saw them. Later they disappeared and a servitor began to serve you. All you could do about this was cry into your pillow. You really didn’t want to be alone and you hoped that you could protect these girls. You disered to befriend with them. Now your only company is a slave of flesh and metal. And your food has acquired a reddish tint and a strange iron taste. But you had to give it credit, you felt much healthier after every meal.

This went on for some time and you got used to the new daily routine... until one day the primarch came into your room. Only it wasn't Perturabo.

“I knew that he was hiding something valuable from me, but I could not even think about it,” Fulgrim spoke with a grin.

You felt the stench. A sickeningly cloying smell, as if the primarch had gone too far with perfume. And not only with them. His entire face was covered in powder, and his whole appearance screamed defiantly. He stood and looked at you like you were a bug, barely holding back his laughter.

“So many worlds, so many solar systems. Billions, trillions of lives. But still he met you.” - an evil grimace painted the primarch’s face, and a long tongue crawled across his lips. You cringed. He reminded you more of a snake than a demigod. - “But you are different. I wonder what he does to you.”

"Nothing. We're just talking. I-I,” you started to stutter, unable to handle the pressure. And how could you explain to Fulgrim your relationship with Perturabo if you yourself did not fully understand it. You couldn't say that you were his friend? It is unthinkable for a demigod to be friends with a mere mortal girl. He had his own reason for keeping you with him and you would never dare ask him about it.

“You, you.” - The primarch knelt down and took your chin. It was as if he was feeding on your fear, enjoying your trembling and appearance. - “Don’t whine. Give me your attention, which my brother lacks so much, imperfect replica.”

“Get out.”

Fulgrim didn't even have time to turn around or stand up before the Iron Lord picked him up by the scruff of the neck like a kitten and threw him into the corridor. You covered your mouth with your hands, holding back a scream. Throwing an unreadable look at you, Perturabo walked out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. You saw no more of the primarch of the Emperor's Children. But you heard his groans and cries of pain while Perturabo beated him.

You've never been so terrified. It seemed to you as if all the Iron Blood was rusting from the surge of emotions. Once again you heard the sounds of beating, but this time you were not the cause of the quarrel between the brothers. A couple of times the ship entered into battle, but you couldn’t even see them because your window was tightly sealed and you were hiding under the blanket. But you heard, you felt. It was driving you crazy.

And yet, after some time, everything calmed down. It was as if everyone had died. Until the primarch came to your chambers. He sat down loudly on the bed and your heart bled with pity. He looked so tired, as if every second he was carrying a huge stone on his shoulders. The already gray eyes dimmed.

“He betrayed me” - you didn’t even have to ask who exactly. Your hands began to tremble on their own as soon as you remembered that carnivorous look. - “My brother wanted me dead. He didn't receive it. Lost honor. But he became perfect.”

The man whispered the last word with contempt and looked at you. His face took on a strange expression and you thought he was going to cry.

“But you won’t leave me?”

"No, of course not". - You couldn’t hold back your tears. You began to sob even more when the primarch's hand began to stroke your hair. He did it so carefully and easily, trying not to break you. Surrounded by nothing but iron, you were now nothing but flesh and blood. Alive.

Everything was supposed to return to its place, and the meeting with Fulgrim was to be forgotten like a bad dream. You started visiting his workshop again, talking about everything in the world. You didn’t bring up the topic of your slaves, strange food, and especially not about his brother. You just couldn't make him sad. Or angry.

Moreover, every day the primarch became gloomier and depressed. You heard how he took out his anger on everything he could get his hands on. The screams of the serfs. And once he scolded the Iron Warrior right in front of you. You felt in your gut how the Space Marine felt shame while Perturabo humiliated him in front of a mortal girl.

You didn't know how to explain it, but your relationship had also changed. Perturabo has let you into his life again. But it was as if he had built a wall. Even if you now had lunch with him. And he carefully made sure that you ate all your rations. He let you take a nap in his chair. Taught you how to make simple things. He started asking you to do other duties. And you were only happy to please him.

You didn’t notice how only you two were left.

The primarch was very tired. He didn't tell you much about his research. But all you cared about was that he finally rested. So now you served him fruit and wine while he took a bath. The murmur of warm water and puffs of steam completely engulfed the chambers, creating the illusion of safety. There was no war, no suffering and no smell of burning iron. Just completely calm.

While the primarch was soaking in the bath, leaning his elbows on the bars, you sat next to him on the pillows. He remained silent, and you continued to chirp about the recent book he gave you to read. You were delighted with the Olympian poetry, but this did not surprise Perturabo at all.

"Help me". - the primarch croaked. You, relaxed, looked at him. Without the implants on his head, he looked less intimidating. In addition, he recently decided to grow a beard, as was customary at Olympia.

Seeing him pointing at the oils made you smile. Iron Within, Iron Without? You were ready to argue with this statement as you soaped the man’s shoulders, feeling him relax under your touch. No, he is not alien to softness, but he is trying to hide it behind seven locks. You understood that you loved him as a friend. Like a brother.

Suddenly you felt the man tense. You looked at him perplexed until you heard his whisper.

“Come down.”

You involuntarily licked your lips. You carefully lowered your feet into the water. You didn’t want to get your dress wet, but you didn’t want to be left without it even more. Even if many serfs could go without clothes and there was a demigod in front of you, you could not cope with shyness.

The man was reclining and you could almost reach his chin. But only almost. You felt his eyes touch you and pursed your lips. Trying not to pay attention to the strange tension, began to soap his shoulders and torso. Gradually, the awkwardness passed and you almost decided to continue the conversation, but made a mistake.

You looked straight into his eyes.

Can steel burn? The primarch's gray eyes turned into two lights. The man clenched his jaw, but he didn't look angry. With your palms you felt his body tense and he leaned towards you. A shadow fell on your face, absorbing your entire insides. A little more and you will fall into the abyss.

Breath hitched and a squeak escaped your lips. The man continued to take your space. His hand landed on your back. It almost hurt. You tried to say his name, but only one syllable came out.

“Bo.”

Suddenly everything stopped. Few would have believed you, but you clearly saw the shock on the primarch’s face. He was dumbfounded, his lips trembling. You could almost hear his heartbeat.

"Leave me." - Perturabo was still holding your back, loosening his grip. Seeing that you were still standing, he frowned and turned away from you like a child. “NOW!”

Stunned, you had no choice but to leave the primarch alone with himself. Alone with thoughts.

***

He couldn't get this image out of his head. Rosy cheeks, gentle eyes, small hands on his body. That tousled hair and those clothes falling awkwardly off your shoulders. He saw you, but he also saw her. He heard you sigh, but he heard her say his name. You both merged into one.

Perturabo didn't know how to describe his feelings at that moment, but he wanted to break you. Strangle. No. Squeeze in a hug. Save her image or, on the contrary, destroy her so that only you remain. You're almost the same. Almost. You are imperfect.

“She’s not your sister, you know that, right?”

“So pretty.”

“Imperfect.”

Yes, you were imperfect. You were supposed to be a copy, a replacement. You had her eyes, facial expressions, body, voice. You even loved the same things. But it was still different in some ways. Be it the way you wore your dresses and carried yourself at ease. How you remained silent when he said things she didn't like.

You won't contradict him. You support. You respect. You obey. You love him.

He hated you for it.

He adored you for it.

Perturabo still could not throw out the words of his traitor brother, continuing to replay them in his head. He knew this. He couldn't explain the desire he felt. He loved her. And he loved you too. But differently. Quite different.

The primarch felt not only his hearts, but also his body being overcome by a previously unfamiliar desire. He had no choice but to surrender to it and throw out the accumulated tension. Take relief.

He was grateful that you left. You should not see him in such a state, in such an action. The primarch took a deep breath, remembering your voice like a siren's song. How deeply you have sunk your roots into his soul.

Yes, you were more than a replica.

[viablemess]

I researched Polites history / myths so you don't have to

I wrote an overview of what I can find about Polites in the Odyssey, other source material, etc.

I'm hoping this is helpful for folks who are curious, looking for inspiration for fanworks, new and returning Epic fans alike. This was intentionally done very casually so all mistakes are my own. I’m also not a mythology/history/Greek scholar in any capacity, so my sincerest apologies for any catastrophes I committed. Did I copy paste some Google scholar work cited without fixing the errors? Yes. Am I okay with that for a Tumblr post? Absolutely. Lmk if you need help finding any referenced texts :)

To preview what I will be covering—first I’ll go over mentions in the Odyssey and how they vary across translations. Then I’ll get into some other content that folks have written either about the Odyssey / the Greek language in more academic circles, or other works that are less formal (they’ve published and I think they’re fun, and they relatively are similar in content to the Odyssey). Next, I’ll add in some more “out there” published works that are more loosely inspired. Finally, I’ll do a deep dive into two specific concepts that I have seen (werewolves, ghost story, taken from an acadenic article about vampires) which relate to Polites.

Before we get started, a few disclaimers: Polites is a type of butterfly, so there’s that. There is also a Polites called Polites of Troy. He is King Priam and Queen Hecuba’s legitimate son and Hector’s brother. So, there is a Polites who is related to Hector, and is likely one of the “kill the brothers of Hector” that Neo is tasked with in Epic. So, when you’re looking up Polites info, if you’re new to the realms of Greek literature (like me) those are some weeds to dig through. The deity Iris does at one point speak through Polites (Hector’s brother) as a side story.

Now, transitioning to the Odyssey…

So in the Odyssey Polites is briefly mentioned at best; some sources say he is "The dearest friend of Odysseus" others say "the dearest to me of my crew" etc. The translations vary. Also, he lead the group into Circe's palace, and he eventually talked Odysseus into leaving Circe's Island. This would mean that in comparison to Epic, Polites lived longer in the myth figure. So, it is ambiguous when he died based on the Odyssey alone.

That said, Polites feels like an ambiguous person based on the Odyssey as source material. He cares about Odysseus (closest friend) and wants him to return home to his family and people (gets him off Circe's Island). That's about all we got.

And now for the other materials:

Odysseus by Geraldine McCaughrean is fascinating. I've not read the whole thing but again my goal here is to connect source materials for inspiration for the sunshine character. Polites gets much more screen time here than in the Odyssey. He is still odulysseus' best friend, and he commands some of the fleet at the time. He still shows respect for Odysseus calling him "captain, my lord" But also "master" in some instances, perhaps hinting that he is/was a slave? He and Odysseus are the only ones who know about scylla, which creates a new dynamic and is the one to tie Odysseus to a poll and try to calm him down during the sirens, so he does not jump overboard. Polites does, however, drown to his death in this version having gotten tangled in ropes and swept overboard.

In Goerne, N. Gender Roles in Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome: Odyssey and Aeneid in Comparison. the author mentions that Polites did fall victim to Circe's song specifically and walked into her hall, Eurylocous was the one who was able to return to Odysseus because he hung back.

In Moorman, C. (2014). Kings and Captains: Variations on a Heroic Theme. University Press of Kentucky. Polites is acknowledged as Odysseus' favorite in contrast to Eurylocous who serves as Odysseus' foil.

Cole, D. R. (1976). 'ASTY'AND'POLIS':" CITY" IN EARLY GREEK. Stanford University. Brings up the good point that POLIS as a word is representative of a city, as is the word ASTY. Polis only shows up in Polites' name, asty shows up more frequently including but not limited to Astyanax. Other scholars have mentioned how this is a geopolitical tension of what makes a city, but I'm not sure if I'm reading those scholars correctly and welcome other opinions. This is by no means my area.

I'm chomping at the bit to find a copy but Polites is frequently mention in The Odyssey: Missing Presumed Dead by Simon Armitage. The pages I can find on Google are slim but I think Circe mistakes Polites for the captain? Or Polites is referred to as captain because he has a position of leadership within the fleet.

TRIGGER WARNING TO SEXUAL ASSAULT BELOW. Based on Daniel Ogden, The werewolf in the ancient world. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2021. Pp. 288. ISBN 9780198854319. Daniel Ogden's book argues that Polites is one of the original depictions of a werewolf in Greek literature, more specifically, the ghost of a werewolf. Pls note that I am getting this material based on a review written by Scott Bruce of Fordham University, “Chapter 5 argues at length that the wolfskin-wearing ghost of Polites, a crewman of Odysseus, should be considered a werewolf.” this also refers to the Hero of Temesa by Pausanias of Magnesia, if you want to Google that story. I believe they are the same. I also got material from the article Ogden, D. (2022). Did the Classical World Know of Vampires?. Preternature, 11(2), 199-224. The story goes that in Temesa Polites got drunk and raped a local woman and as a result was stoned to death (other stories depict a different crew member raping a woman and being stoned to death). Then Polites comes back and haunts Temesa as a demon/ghost, and an oracle says if the townspeople sacrifice a virgin to him once a year he won't kill them. Then, Euthymus of Locri fell in love with the woman intended to be sacrificed and chased Polites into the sea, ending the curse. Other readings if the same story say that Polites eats the victim, not just murders and or SAs them. Some readings also mention him wearing a wolfskin, which could be an early nod to him doing these activities under the influence of being a werewolf.

If I find more sources I will be back, but for now that's all folks.

[nellasbookplanet]

Book recs: merpeople

Everything from pretty, magical sirens and selkies to eldritch monstrosities and murderous, scientifically plausible fish-people, merpeople as a whole have a special allure and surprising versatility to them. Allow me to share with you some books!

(Also, did you know that a lot of mermaid books are very queer? If not, you're about to find out!)

Continue under the readmore for details and my thoughts on the books!

Other book rec posts:

Really cool fantasy worldbuilding

Really cool sci-fi worldbuilding

Dark sapphic romances

Vampire books

The Shape of Water by Guillermo del Toro & Daniel Krauss

Surely this one needs no introduction on tumblr dot com, the monsterfucker site? In 1960s America, Elisa works as a cleaner in a government laboratory when a strange fish creature is brought in to be studied, and an immediate connection sparks between the two.

Black Sun (Between Earth and Sky trilogy) by Rebecca Roanhorse

This isn't so much a mermaid book as a fantasy book in which one of the main characters is of merpeople heritage. In a pre-columbian inspired world, sea captain Xiala travels with a mysterious scarred passenger toward a dangerous goal. Also features bisexual and nonbinary leads!

Ice Massacre (Mermaids of Eriana Kwai trilogy) by Tiana Warner

Young Adult. A small island is forced to defend itself against intruding forces of vicious mermaids. As all men trying to fight them get lured in by their siren song, a ship filled with warrior girls is sent instead. However one of them, Meela, had a complicated past with one of the mermaids, which is brought back to life when the two reunite on the battlefield. Sapphic romance. This one is also available as an ongoing webcomic.

Into the Drowning Deep by Mira Grant

A research vessel heads towards the Mariana Trench in search of answers of what happened to a ship which mysteriously lost all its crew some time earlier. In the deep dark, something intelligent and hungry awaits them. Very much mermaids of the horror variety. Sequel to a novella. Also contains a sapphic romance, however that is a pretty small part of the plot as a whole.

Our Bloody Pearl (These Treacherous Tides series) by D.N. Bryn

A siren who's been held captive by a pirate is freed, but too injured to survive on their own as their tail has become paralyzed. Another pirate captain decides to help them out and has to work to win their trust. Fairly fluffy and light on worldbuilding and plot (though there is a bit of a revenge story in there), with a focus on character and recovery. m/nb romance with an asexual love interest.

The Deep by Rivers Solomon

Novella. Yetu holds the memories of her people, descendants of pregnant African slave women who were thrown overboard, a past forgotten by everyone but her. But holding the memories alone is slowly destroying her, and she flees to the surface. A look at inter-generational trauma and the scars it leaves.

The Mermaid's Daughter by Ann Claycomb

A continuation on the classical fairy tale. Kathleen, up and coming opera singer, has suffered from a lifelong and unexplainable stabbing pain in her feet. As both her mother and grandmother died from suicide, possibly due to a similar condition, Kathleen's girlfriend convinces her to try and find out more of her family history. More of a magical realism than a full on fantasy (with a lot of focus on the intricacies of opera) but very beautiful.

Winter Tide by Ruthanna Emrys

Lovecraftian fishpeople! Aphra and her brother are the only survivors after the government raided their home, Innsmouth. Their only living family are the amphibian people of the deep, whom they will one day join, but until then they are bound to land where they struggle to build new lives for themselves after the great loss of their home and loved ones. Then rumors start to spread of a russian agent seeking dangerous and ancient magic, forcing Aphra to involve herself as they try to stop it. Does contain horror elements but is generally a much more optimistic look on cosmic horror than most lovecraftian stories, told from the perspective of one of his monsters. Lots of focus on found family and rebuilding of community. Asexual main character (however I don't think that becomes in-text confirmed until the sequel).

Eelgrass by Tori Curtis

When Bettan, a selkie, has her skin stolen by a man and gets forced into marriage, her best friend Efa is determined to save her. The other selkies however refuse to help, and so Efa seek out the help of dangerous mermaids in the hopes of rescuing her friend. Atmospheric and beautiful, with a very nice balance of platonic love between friends and a (sapphic) romance, both portrayed as equally important.

The Moon and the Sun by Vonda N. McIntyre

You can't go wrong with a Vonda McIntyre novel just, like, in general. This one is set in 17th century France, where a young woman and her brother travel to live at the royal court, where they are to care for and study a strange captured sea monster fabled to have the ability to grant eternal life. A lot of focus on court politics as well as the cultural and biological differences between the humans and the mermaid. Also available as a movie (but it's not very good, please just read the book).

Sommaren 1985 by John Ajvide Lindqvist

Including this on the list feels a little mean because it's not yet available in english, but all of the author's other works have been translated (fun fact, he's the writer of internationally acclaimed vampire novel Let the Right One In!) so odds are this one will be as well. It follows a group of young teens in 1985 finding a mermaid tied up on a beach and hiding her in a bathtub in a shed. While the mermaid is important, it's more of a coming-of-age story with few supernatural elements. The author generally writes horror, and while I wouldn't classify this as such it certainly has an ominous atmosphere throughout. Gay main character but no romance (other than sideplots involving other characters).

The Girl from the Sea by Molly Knox Ostertag

Young adult graphic novel. Morgan, a young girl living on an island, meets a selkie with whom she quickly sparks a connection. But Morgan has yet to tell anyone about her feelings about girls, and the selkie has secret motives of her own as to why she chose to come on land. Sapphic romance with enviromental themes. Very pretty art.

Bonus AKA I haven't read these yet but they seem really cool

The Mermaid the Witch and the Sea by Maggie Tokuda-Hall

Young adult sapphic fantasy featuring not only mermaids but also pirates!

Out of the Blue by Jason June

A young merperson must leave the sea to undergo a coming-of-age journey - and risk getting stuck on land forever.

Teeth by Hannah Moskowitz

A boy living on an isolated island befriends a merperson with dangerous secrets.

Honorary mentions AKA these didn't quite work for me but maybe you guys will like them:

The Seafarer's Kiss by Julia Ember (sapphic little mermaid retelling from Ursula's perspective), Weird Fishes by Rae Mariz (enviromental novella), The Fate of Stars by S.D. Simper (fantasy, sapphic enemies to lovers)

[bellmandi86]

It all comes down to this

Ladies, gents, and other friends, this is the moment you've waited for: the final chapter.

[katerinaaqu]

I’m nodding along with your posts cause the thunder saga ending just didn’t sit well with me at all. I feel like once again Odysseus is being characterized as a villain and a totally ruthless, selfish person when that’s just NOT who he is in the Homeric myths. I really enjoyed the start of the musical and I admire Jay’s talent for making music. But it’s missing Odysseus’ character by a long shot and it’s missing the heart of the Odyssey

It wouldn't be the first time. Many post-homeric sources depicted Odysseus as an amoral bastard who would sell anything and anyone to achieve his goals. For instance post-homeric sources have HIM instead of the will of the gods be the one to orchestrate the sacrifice of Iphigenia and leading her to the altar.

Unfortunately Odysseus seems like free game to be turned into the villain of the story since antiquity. And that is because his methods were going against what ancient Greeks considered honorable (aka direct fight) so they strifed to use Odysseus as an example of what one shouldn't be doing plus many who created anti-war plays like Eurypedes wanted Odysseus as the symbol of anything going under the table in a war. Basically the shady aspects of war. In a way it made sense in antiquity even if it was overplayed.

Romans were also divided but many depicted Odysseus as the absolute villain because he is the taker of Troy. The ancient Roman progenitor is Aeneas who runs away from Troy after the massacre. In a way Odysseus is portrayed as the villain by the romans because he took their mythological ancestral city.

However indeed what bothers me is that this musical was not supposed to be some rewrite of Odysseus's persona. It was supposed to be an adaptation from HOMER'S Odyssey and homeric Odysseus is in my opinion the most solid Odysseus. He is not a goodie guy of course. He has tons of flaws and he made many gray decisions but he was still the hero. Not the lowkey villain. He was incredibly loyal to his friends and crew and didn't abandon them before any danger.

The Musical I think ruined his potential. Not just the thunder saga but almost everything from the end of Storm till now. Odysseus does not speak his name to Polyphemus out of his fatigue anger and insult after a week of seclusion and torture. He speaks it out of spite because he just lost his friend (that same friend that was killed off for the sakes of dramatics given that Polites is mentioned only once in the homeric poems and that is on Circe's island), he doesn't sell himself to Circe to save his men apparently no price needed to be paid. He didn't remain a slave for one year close to her. He doesn't get strikes by guilt by ACTUALLY talking to his mother in the underworld or by fear by talking to Achilles or by doubt by talking to Agamemnon. He gets zero definitive answers from Tiresias. He gets no advice from Circe he gets not his experience with Sirens. He didn't gear up to protec his men from Skylla even if Circe told him not to because she was immortal and there would be no point...

Why would anyone claim that they make an adaptation if they do not follow literally anything from the plot?

I absolutely agree. I got my hopes way too high at Troy saga because I loved the way he actually used the Iliou Persis half-saved phrase and turned it into an amazing dilemma. Those first songs were amazing and spoke volumes for the characters. However the more we move in the more disappointed I get.

Yes I still feel happy that a fellow artist shows such passion over music and how he started everything by himself and all but now I feel like he just seeks to change everything from the original and I fail to see why...why must this potential masterpiece be turned into yet another "loosely based on" thing like every typical mainstream Hollywood film? I think my expectation at first increased my disappointment now.

Quite frankly I got a glimpse of Calypso too and they seem they want to turn the story of the poor man practically being raped for 7 years and held prisoner into a bubbly romcom...seriously no...

[adelheidvonschicksal]

I’m ready for pain at the end of Rafayel’s new myth card. Judging by the trailer, it should tell the story about how Rafayel and MC meet and got married. “My heart dost thou want it,” is the memory Princess MC unlocks when she reads the Sea God Tome at the Island of Songs.

By the start of their previous Myth, she lost her memories and became princess to the humans while the Lemurians (or at least Amund) think she tricked Rafayel and the seas dried because of that, with the issue sparking even more animosity and killings between humans and Lemurians.

And the only way Rafayel could see her again was by getting himself captured and hoping the human nobles would gift him to her as her pet/slave. (Rafayel really took a gamble here considering one of the first things Princess MC asks him is if they cut out his tongue since he’s a siren.)

So, it’s going to be mystical and stuff, but it’s going to end in pain. Rafayel losing a portion of his powers, the sea, his people, and MC missing. Then, possibly Rafayel getting himself captured 30,000 years later to see her again or going into slumber.

It could also be that Princess MC and Rafayel make it to Whalefall City and that this myth is told as Princess MC’s memories return.

[sillyabtmusic]

Bit's fave releases for the first half of 2024! -> Honorable mentions : Bye My Monster - ONF • Fallen Angel - Ryu Sujeong • Jackpot - Vanner • Tasty - B.I

okay i lamented over this for like two months and it was originally going to be ten songs but i struggled too much and let myself increase it to twelve. i enjoyed a lot! my biggest struggle though is i liked a lot more b-sides than i did title tracks :'•) so i've also prepared a fave b-sides! i've also allowed myself 12 here, because my b-sides list is longer than title tracks ..... woops

1. Gundam - The KingDom 2. Slave to the Rhythm - ONF 3. Kiss in the Rain - Onewe 4. Worst Thriller - Cravity 5. Heart Attack - Purple Kiss 6. Night of Fireworks - Xdinary Heroes 7. Until the End of Time - Xdinary Heroes 8. Siren - Ateez 9. Supercalifragilistic - Xikers 10. Give me the Love Bitxx - OnlyOneOf 11. Lie with you - Ten 12. Boomerang - Loossemble

^ sort of ranked but also shift around a lot i'm not good at ranking

and bonus: here's the colouring for the xdh one. cuz im proud of it 😁

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: Thousand Ends

“-and so you have sinned” said the pearl-laden emissary as the shutters crashed open and the royal court became a tumult of wind “You have trespassed my realm and plundered foreign lands, making me accessory to your slaughter”. The figure rose, throwing aside their moral guise and those assembled said it was as if the sky itself levelled an accusing finger at the sovereigns. “You sought riches, now you shall pay.”

The remnants of a great treasure fleet scuttled in an act of divine wrath, this palisade of masts and reef of broken keels has been collecting the vessels of the greedy and the wayward ever since. The locals got tired of warning folks about “the cliffs of a thousand ends”, so over time the name was worn away just as the sea has worn away at the surrounding land.

In addition to becoming a home for all manner of sealife that now nests within the shattered ships, a covey of sirens now roosts among the nearby cliffs, their songs carried by the wind to ensorcell the minds of sailors and navigators passing by and draw them off course. ( Blame @5ecardaday for the excellent monster)

Hooks:

Driven below deck by of rain while travelling from one port to another, the party have only a few days to notice that more and more of the crew are acting strangely as they fall prey to the sirens’ enchantment, becoming sluggish and uncoordinated as they each drift off into their own fantasy land. If they don’t figure it out they’ll end up crashing on the rocks and having to fight their way through the periphery of the dungeon and then to shore as the sirens pick off the sailors.

Piled high with the fruit of slave mines and plundered temples, the ships of the treasure fleet carried tribute to fuel an empire across the sea. More than just wealth, there are any number of cultural treasures up and down the coast that the party could return to their rightful owners for great renown. 

Even before they were sundered by the wrath of a seagod, there were damned souls aboard the fleet, the blunt instruments of imperial ambition all too used to bleeding people and entire nations for the sake of feeding the royal coffers. Now they haunt the depths protecting their gold from thieves, bound by greed or fanatical loyalty to a long-fallen crown. Should the party REALLY piss them off, they will band together animating the surrounding dredgewood and perusing them even back to their vessel.

Perhaps the only thing that could dissuade a group of adventurers from seeking out what might be a motherload of sunken treasure would be their inability to breathe underwater

Because this dungeon is so expansive and atypical of layout, consider using my system for running large scale dungeons with an abstract floorplan. It’ll be far easier than trying to map out dozens of vessels above and below the waterline.

[frillsinadress]

CONFESSIONS : REDSONG

characters : akagami no shanks , pearl belon , benn beckman , captain aoi (oc) , sakazuki (mentioned)

warnings : fluff , confessions , drinking , slight mentions of slavery

word count : 1k 

authors note : OKAY i am slowly posting my drabbles from the opoc world discord server run by beloved moot @discordantwritings ! this is one of the first i cooked up for my oc x shanks ship!

the two were drunk again- a phrase beckmen was slowly getting used to saying alongside calling his captain a drunkard. ever since the red haired pirates had become acquainted with the song pirates it seems the crew’s ability to party doubled. everyday was a grand show with live music and copious amounts of booze- and at the helm of it all were them. 

pearl was a showy woman, beautiful and charming. her looks alone caught shanks like a fish deprived of food. one would’ve thought the two would simply be a careful fling, simply looking for the company of someone beautiful or powerful and move on. but they kept meeting, over and over. pearl wasn't a bad person, quite the opposite. their first meeting with the song pirates was pearl freeing a field of slaves and ushering them onto her ship.

he knew something between them was brewing. with too many longing gazes when the other wasn't looking and the way they simply giggled ‘one more dance wouldn't hurt’ and swayed to the beat for minutes that turned into hours. beckmen was sure at first it was all superficial,  when he caught pearl tenderly caring to shanks when he was experiencing a bout of phantom pain, whispering soothing words that eventually boiled into genuine, vulnerable talk he began to wonder if the seas most famous womanizer would eventually be anchored down.

but tonight merriment continued. pearl and shanks were elbow locked, twirling and whirling about the deck. her crew were personally celebrating a massive victory in freeing several slaves. no doubt the entire grand line would hear them! 

shanks laughed, tugging pearl to sit atop his knee after almost six songs of straight dancing. pearl shared in the joy, leaning into him immediately and gracefully taking the tankard of some random alcohol he had handed her before taking his own. with a quick clink the two set to drinking. 

“what a day!” she said with eager excitement, looking at shanks as he looked out at the crew. 

“i’ve never seen my men this merry, you’ve truly cast a spell on them *siren songstress of the sea.~*” shanks teased as she rolled her eyes and playfully scoffed. 

“blame your men for being so easily swayed!” she said, sighing happily at the noise and energy that surrounded her. the two kept their tankards filled and their smiles bright. as the night raged on the two were absorbed in a conversation raging between them and their peers about which marine admiral they could beat in a race. pearl was white girl wasted, leaning against shanks and practically melting. hell he wasn't much better.

“pearl, my pearl you truly are something, challenging that evil sakazuki!” shanks said sloppily, nuzzling his cheek against her own.  pearl had proudly declared herself the winner of the hypothetical marathon. 

“because! if i were to win and he got angry i know my emperor would swoop into save me!” she giggled back as shanks nodded and then loudly enough for his voice to travel said,

“i would never let that - that *brute* lay a hand on you, my love! mine alone, id make sure you’re the safest woman the world has ever seen.” as he spoke he began to pepper kisses across pearls soft skin, causing her to yelp and laugh at the sudden affection. the two had never passed heavy petting, and suddenly this was welcomed. 

“no one— shall hurt my woman, the one i love.” shanks rambled, his words slurring as he moved to press kisses across her face. pearl felt her heart race at his confession, panic lacing her hands as she gently tried to push him off. his lips touched dangerously near where that heinous scar lie— something she feared he would see and find repulsive. she whined softly as his lips moved, the tankard he once held discarded to hold her cheek with such delicacy that her heart was at war. 

his lips brushed against her right socket and he froze, pulling back to stare at her. this was it, he would shove her off his knee and leave. but then he brushed her bangs from her face and pressed his lips firmly against her eyelid. she gasped, freezing up until he began to speak.

“like this, that captain aoi. he should count to ever lucky star, pray to every god — simply cuz of your mercy. i wish you’d let me handle him for you. i'd bring him to your feet and let you watch as i behead him for hurting you.” he confessed, words that soothed the pain that coursed through her. his words while in a drunken stupor were genuine, he always was. she pushed his head back and her hands reached up to grab his face and smash her lips against his. shanks eagerly reciprocated, wrapping his arm firmly around her waist. her arms linked behind his neck as a chorus of cheers erupted from around them. they had been wondering if this song and dance was ever going to amount to anything. 

the light and music kept up into the early night, but eventually lulled into more natural beauty as many headed to bed. pearl found herself joining shanks, immediately face

planting drunkenly upon his mattress with shanks almost smothering her into the pillows. the hangover the next day was miserable, and the day had begun with a fresh clear morning. 

pearl and her crew were set to go towards another island as per their typical schedule, and once the ships were ready to depart she met him on the plank between their ships. her graceful hands rested at her hips and she beamed at him. 

“you love me?” pearl started, 

“i do.”

“and you mean it?”

“every word.”

“okay.”

“okay?”

“mhm.”

“well then my love, until next time?”

“of course, i already miss you.” pearl finished, taking the pocket watch that had her vivre card and kissed it gently before turning and stepping onto her ship. she turned to wave him off as the ships split apart. but as he watched them go he swore he heard the familiar girlish squeals of pearl and her crew as they no doubt celebrated the new relationship.

[lwde-encrusted-sideblog]

Rusted knight jaune sings sexy back.

Whick girls pass out from nose bleeds?

RWBy and Jaune have decided to bathe after the days of events that have occurred. They aren't too far from each other, just hidden by some local flora.

Weiss: it's nice to get our of those clothes. We've been wearing them for, what? a Week?

Yang: Yeah Something like that.

Ruby: ... I'm worried about Jaune. It seems like he's been alone for a while.

Blake: Well, We could check in on him? if you wanted to?

Ruby: Right now?

Blake: Well why not? He's just singing right now.

Yang: Are you suggesting my little sister goes and stares at a naked guy old enough to be our dad?

Weiss: If Ruby does decide to check on him we could all go with her. Not to be Rude, but it's Jaune. If he for whatever reason decides to do something uncouth we can beat him out of it.

Yang: ... Fine.

Ruby: Then let's go check on him. Better sooner than later.

They all scooted towards plants that separated Them from Jaune, his voice now clear to them.

Jaune: Dirty babe (uh-huh)~

Jaune: You see these shackles baby, I'm your slave (uh-huh)~~

Jaune: I'll let you whip me, if I misbehave (uh-huh)~~

Jaune: It's just that no one makes me feel this way (uh-huh) ~~

Jaune: Take 'em to the chorus!

Weiss: W-well that's an interesting song choice.

Weiss: *internally* He's off key! Why is it so ... Alluring?

Yang: 'Never though he'd like those kinds of songs.

Ruby: Yeah. It's ... Surprising ... *Internally* Ruby! Don't fall for the Siren song! There are bigger things to worry about! like his pecs DICK Mental state!

Blake: Well, are we going to talk to him?

Ruby: Y-yeah! Yes. Let's go *She Parts the leaves*

As Ruby parts the leaves, Jaune is brought into sight, Water glistening on his broad chest, running down into a blonde snail trail of messy pubic hair.

Jaune: Come here girl (go 'head be gone with it) ~~

Jaune Flexed, singing into his brush like a microphone, His muscles covered in battle scars, large and small telling a tale of a long, duty filled life

Jaune: Come to the back (go 'head be gone with it)!

His hair whipped, loose and wild, making even Yang impressed with how good it looked.

Jaune: VIP (go 'head be gone with it)~~

Jaune Fully stood out of the water, intending to pour a bucket over himself, giving the unknown patrons to his show a full view of His Long Sword.

Jaune: Drinks on m-EEEEH!

Ruby: *Clinging to his chest* Oh Jaune~ There's a beast I need you to slay~

Ruby: And only one of your Swords is going to be able to reach it~

Weiss: Ruby! I get to go next! Just let me take care of Yang and Blake!

Blake: *half unconscious* B-Big! Want To suck Dick~

Yang: *Unconscious*

Weiss: Now, now blakey~ You'll get your turn after we make sure He's Good and Ready~

Ruby: AH Jaune! You're so big!

Weiss: *Rubbing her Breast* ... Maybe we could both go at once~