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ikemenomegas · 2 years ago

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Nightmare for Gojo? Because he's kind of a nightmare 😂

He is kind of a nightmare [affectionately] isn't he XD. Hmm how about in a nightmare?

You wake with a quiet gasp, alone in a room that is familiar but not yours.

Throat feeling too thick, you sit up and fumble for the cup of water on the bedside table. It is stale, but it forces you to hold your hands steady and you grip it just a little tighter than normal while you slowly cycle cursed energy through your body.

It warms your limbs and wakes you up. You're unsure whether to be disappointed about that. It's still dark outside and the dull white numbers of the clock in the bookshelf read some time late after one in the morning. Too late to be wandering but you shrug a thick oversized shirt over the clothes you had put on - too wary of being woken by more than your own mind to change into pajamas - and pad out the door, into the chill November night.

You can't sit still while images, real and imagined, tear around your mind. The path before you goes up and around the mountain the school is built around, and you start to climb, lungs tingling with cold.

No one stops you.

You weren't there in the barrier on Halloween. You're not on trial. You're not under arrest or even truly censured. You're just... remanded to the school. Waiting. While they decide whether or not you're enough trouble to execute outright.

Satoru has made enough of a nuisance of himself that you're fairly confident they'll ignore you in comparison. Especially once they won't be able to prove any binding connection. It makes you wonder for a moment how intentional it is the way he pushes away everyone but the college's dozen wayward teenagers, and how much is just his bad personality.

Children he can protect. The world of sorcerer's is a harsh one, but it has still learned to excuse youth and its inexperience.

It makes you wonder again why he has you.

Your nose is cold by the time you run out of road and end up at your destination. Night washes out color and it hasn't helped the constant replay in your head, like the pages of a book flipping back and forth: bodies surrounding a bed, moving the bare figure on it, dead to the world.

When you enter the infirmary, the familiar scent of antiseptic and medicine just makes you shudder. The lights are low, half of them turned off given the late hour, tiled walls and floors gleaming dully. You move deeper into the building, listening, but the only footsteps are yours.

At every corner, you're apprehensive of what you might find.

The infirmary is dim and gray as the vision that woke you where pooling light doesn't touch. You hesitate once, just the tip of your finger on the door to a room you have been in before, and then steel your nerves and slide it open.

The fact Shoko can't describe how to create or use reverse-cursed energy used to frustrate Satoru. You'd thought she was enigmatic, since then you've come to understand.

Even when you can lay out the rules of a technique in perfectly comprehensible terms, the feeling is not so easy to describe.

How does Gojo Satoru make something that literally shouldn't exist? The answer lies in mathematics. The way Shoko repairs the human body is based in biology and physiology. Your own technique is only an answer to certain laws of physics.

Even Suguru, whose power was the closest to the kind of pure and terrible magic that you used to think existed only in storybooks, who didn't want to explain himself...

You'd guessed over a decade ago that his physical form was acting as some kind of barrier but the truth is you still don't understand it.

Even knowing what you know, maybe you don't understand any of the people around you.

Just like how Shoko can't quite explain herself, she can't explain why Nobara hasn't woken up yet. The curse called Mahito should have rent her to ribbons like it had done to Nanami but sorcerers are good at subverting what should happen.

Instead, she like so many other things, is simply a secret here, her injury frozen while Shoko carefully tries to augment whatever technique Nobara discovered at the edge of death.

She'll be fine, that's the verdict, but with nothing else to do, you come here to see her, to remind yourself of what it is you're protecting.

You sit on a hospital's version of a some kind of padded bench, and rest your elbows on your thighs and drift into an uneasy sort of vigil.

ii.

"Nightmare?"

Megumi's voice jolts you out of your doze. You can't have been here long because you don't yet feel the chill, but you hadn't heard him approach the door. He doesn't look convinced when you try and smile at him.

"You always did know. Even as a child."

"You shouldn't try to hide it."

You just give him another smile and Megumi sighs, settling down next to you on the bench. It's familiar the same way you sat down was familiar. The heaviness is a mirror to your own. You've seen him here and have left him alone while he works out whatever he has to at his healing teammate's side, silencing your steps to give him privacy.

"I'm proud of you, you know."

Megumi starts. He's been different, since Shibuya. You all have been, the world has changed, but there's a weight to his steps that's just... different.

Megumi rests his head against the wall, disordered hair even messier at the back than usual. He must have been here before you and stepped out. You must really look worn down if he broke the unspoken rule you'd both been abiding by. Or maybe he just wanted to be around a familiar face for a while.

The light in Nobara's room is turned down, and it's like the scratch of discordant strings, the screech of a train, the way the grey false memory of your dream cuts through your chest.

There's no such thing as prophetic sorcery. Nothing is set that far in stone.

And yet.

"I know what you're trying to do. The strategy is good, but if it's a choice between your lives and accomplishing your mission--"

You trail off while Megumi looks curiously down at where you're still hunched over your folded hands. You have just enough courage to let your hands shake a little in exchange for meeting his eyes and seeing the guard there, and the trust.

You turn away before you can see that most precious thing break.

"Take your lives."

You can feel the way Megumi stiffens beside you. He's been raised by the Strongest sorcerer in the world and told more than once that he has potential to be that equal. He can be forgiven the hope and arrogance that one can win it all.

Although... they'll be with Hakari, so maybe not.

There's always a price to be paid though. If the kids don't come back, if this kid you've known since he was six and far too serious--

"Gojo-sensei has done a lot for everyone," Megumi says, voice dark and low.

He tries to keep you out of it, is what you don't say. There's lines he won't cross. The spirit possessing our old classmate's body found one of them.

Even though the kid's taken up the mantle, clan head at his age, it's still worlds cleaner than it could have been.

"The world needs him," Megumi adds, and you say nothing to the slightly desperate edge. The world needs a lot of adults to do more than they are and some adults to do less than they've done.

"The world might be able to rise to the occasion," you reply, and you're trying for dry but even to your ears you just sound tired.

"Don't you want him back?" Megumi finally asks, quieter. He doesn't talk about the thing between you and Satoru. It's been what he knows most of his life even when he hated the "lanky layabout teenage delinquent" that showed up in front of him like some kind of criminal. He's old enough now to assume what is still, for the time being, true.

"I think that Gojo is a little safer in there than the rest of us out here." It's stupid to be this emotional about it, it was just a dream. "Don't you think?" you try and joke.

He gives you the kind of look he sometimes give Satoru when he does something to try and derail a conversation in the worst way possible.

"Well whatever Megumi-kun is going to do, is what Megumi-kun is going to do," you say, leaning back so your head touches the wall too, the chill seeping through your skin as you speak blithely into the air.

Megumi leans back and sags a little sideways, sighing. "You shouldn't worry so much," he finally says.

I wouldn't worry so much if you valued your own life a little more, but how can he? A sorcerer's life is lived in the service of a world which barely knows they exist, fighting the kind of battles that barely hold the line against curses. Protecting people from their own creeping self destruction.

You had normal friends, once upon a time. Sometimes you still see those people. You make excuses for your absences and fend off well meaning attempts to get you to try and date someone, to come out drinking and catch up, to see them more often than middle school reunions.

Satoru doesn't get it. He's never had any of that. A normal life? It's pointless to try and you don't miss it. Being a sorcerer is what you can do. It's just a hard truth that you have to do it alone.

Satoru wants the students strong enough to be an indispensable threat, to fill the ranks and tip the balance of power. You want them strong enough to stand together.

Sometimes you think that makes you the worse of the two of you.

"You don't have to take it all on your own. I know I'm not around a lot, so it's okay if my words don't carry as much weight. If it makes you feel better though, you all are the plan, so you can't go around dying. Satoru knows you're important to changing the world so--" don't let him ask you to die for him.

The mark between your shoulder blades burns.

"I'll be careful," Megumi says, but his voice is weird, too close, and you know why a second later as his head lands on your shoulder, curling up a little into himself like when he was younger. "I'll make sure Itadori is careful too."

He's hidden his face in the high collar of his jacket but your own embarrassment is harder to hide up close. "Well," you settle in, moving the bare minimum so Megumi can rest a little more comfortably without being embarrassed into leaving completely. "I'll be here. Probably."

His elbow digs into your side hard enough to knock your breath out.

"Ouch. I think Nobara is rubbing off on you. You know she's going to be insufferable about the reverse cursed technique once she wakes up."

Megumi hummed, amused, but went quiet after that. You felt as his breath deepened and more of his weight dropped against you and he eventually fell sleep.

iii.

"You smell like him," Shoko says, leaning against the wall. She doesn't have to say who. You are wearing a piece of clothing you'd left in his room for far too long and your old classmate has always had a sharp nose.

"Hmm," you distracted yourself by checking on Megumi again. You want to smooth the unruly hair from his forehead like you had done when he was a mistrustful boy, tug the wrinkles from his collar like you had when he was an angry middle schooler.

Now he's a sorcerer, somewhere between a man and a child, steady and kind and tired. You can see the dark circles under his eyes and the way he slouches when he walks has to do with that new weight he carries.

When you look up, Shoko is still looking at you. She hasn't given you a look like that since first year when none of you liked or trusted one another further than you had to.

You incline your head towards Nobara's bed anyways, giving her permission to enter the room. She doesn't need it. The infirmary sits squarely in your mind as part of Shoko's territory. When she's administering to her patients, she is the only one in charge.

Still, she gives you a wide berth on her way to check on Nobara and it gives you an odd sense of relief. You want to say it's because you came to talk to her as much as checking on the injured students, but begrudgingly you admit she's treating you like she would treat any Alpha guarding their pups. She comes close only to the one you've granted permission until you feel safe around her again.

They're not your kids, you remind yourself guiltily. You don't have that kind of right, no matter how protective you feel.

If I am ever incapacitated, look under the loose floorboard in his old room. You know the one where he kept Shoko's--

Cigarettes, yeah.

As if any of you could forget. It was so long ago, more years spent apart than together, but that year still haunts you like a ghost.

Earlier in the afternoon, you'd followed those instructions and found your own piece of Satoru's contingency plan. Then you'd watched it burn between your fingertips, turned to less than ash.

You wonder if Shoko is here for Nobara or for you.

She checks the girl's pulse and you watch her close her eyes in concentration, a golden glow filtering through Nobara's veins.

You're glad to see her chest rise and fall a little easier.

When Shoko finishes you use a tiny bit of your technique to draw her scent towards you on a breeze. She smells like smoke.

The scent flashes grey over those old memories of delinquent days.

What the hell are you two doing?

It's disconcerting to be left out of the loop, but as Satoru's letter proved, maybe it's the right thing to do. You do have your own part to play after all. It won't do to die yet.

You don't want to wake Megumi though. It's been a long time since the last time you've been able to take care of him. It's the only thing that's felt right since Satoru was sealed, since Nanami died.

It's not going to be yours much longer in any case. Maybe that's why Shoko quietly sits down at a desk in the corner and starts making notes in Nobara's chart.

He's not your kid. He's not even Satoru's kid, he was never adopted as a ward, the clans just didn't fight the sponsorship. And he's a few years too old to be able to pretend, which is probably a good thing. What kind of parent wants this kind of job for their child, for children to meet early deaths? Some of the students grew up being told there was honor in it, some that this was what they were born to do.

Megumi's smart, loyal. He could have found a way into the world of non-sorcerers and to a normal life. But he would never leave his sister behind or the promise he made. You don't think he's capable of leaving behind the people he's decided to care about. It would carve out his heart.

That more than anything reminds you you're not his Appa. He had a father and Satoru killed him.

"Megumi-kun" you say softly.

He stirs, but doesn't open his eyes. A muffled chuffing chirp is all you get as he turns his head into your arm.

Shoko's pen stills on the paper for a second before restarting. Still it's a second too long and it's probably the tension in your body that makes Megumi blink open his eyes before you call for him again.

"Sorry to wake you," you whisper.

Megumi sits up slowly, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"You should go sleep in a bed. I'll come get you if anything changes."

He tips his head around your body to see Shoko, probably doodling nonsense right now to keep your instincts at bay.

Maybe he gets it because he nods sleepily and stretches when he stands.

You shrug off the oversized shirt, leaving you in your typical sorcerer blacks. The shirt is more like a jacket anyways, with a thick weave and heavy material, and it will help keep him warm on the walk back. "It'll be colder now, so don't linger, okay?"

He takes it with a little bit of red in his cheeks, but you already guessed he was leaning on you at least partly because it smelled like Satoru. Satoru who's always been there no matter how much Megumi didn't want to ask too much. He puts his nose in the collar as if he's cold.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

You hope your expression is a little more convincing this time. "I'll be fine. Get some rest."

When he leaves Shoko stays. She sits heavily beside you, her fingers tapping on her thighs like they want for something to do.

People don't look at Shoko. She is, like the school, a secret kept with silence. She keeps her own counsel the same way.

Once, you thought you would always know where to find her, but sitting here, in the pre-dawn dark, she is both familiar and a stranger.

The dream is fading, as dreams do. Already it has slowed so that it is no longer a familiar body, limp, spare, Hellenic muscle of his naked flank and thighs dimpling under some masked, gowned creature's handling. Turning your mate so that he lies lateral, faced away from you while horror yanks you back like a hook through your navel.

The scene turns to snapshots and the dull, ill feeling remaining to thrum through your body. It's a bitter match to your resolve.

"How's Toge?"

Shoko shrugs. "The wound is sealed but it's still resisting my technique. We have to wait for his blood supply to build back up before anyone tries again."

"I'll see him when he wakes up then."

"You're planning to stay the night?"

"You expect me to sleep after this?"

Shoko sighed, looking suddenly more tired. "You're really going through with it then? It's only been three days."

"They made the declaration this evening. Against any argument that this Getou isn't Suguru, the higher-ups have decided. Satoru's conditions have been met."

"Being his mate could still give you some pull," Shoko said, "even mated to the exiled clan head, you'll carry weight with some of the factions."

"They're already hunting Yaga. If I want to live long enough to make any difference at all, it has to be before they start sincerely going down the list and assigning bounties."

Her lips twist in distaste. She might be aware of sorcerer politics but you've always gotten the distinct impression she tries not to be.

"I didn't expect you to try talking me out of it." Aren't you in on whatever he's planning? Either way you're getting close to dangerous territory.

"It's not exactly a standard procedure but you should still know what your options are."

You carefully pressed the tips your fingers into into your left palm. You'd never thought of yourself as having pride exactly in the bond-mark. People in the non-sorcerer world could show theirs off but it meant something different in the sorcerer world.

Even though both of you typically had it covered, it's been there for almost four years, a constant reassurance of the promise you'd made to him. One hand comes up to grip your own shoulder.

Will he feel it?

"It's what has to be done," you say. You remember Satoru's wide hand coming to rest on your back, steering you clear of the Harajuku crowds. You remember brushing against the mark with the tip of your nose as you leaned over the back of the sofa, arms wrapped around his shoulders. You remember talking with him about it in the weeks before you'd bitten the mark bloody and deep at the very base of his neck. You remembered the way you own spine had bent when he placed his own mark on you.

"Ready?"

When could anybody who has made this choice be ready?

When you nod and Shoko's hand slips down the back of your neck and under the hem of your uniform to where your bond-mark hides.

The three steps of mating in the sorcery world are each a binding vow.

The bond vow is a less formal, more emotional tether, and the fear of loss makes one stronger. The emotional difficulty of leveraging that fear lending a sorcerer increased power. A marriage vow is a declaration, saying that this was someone important to you whom you would protect as family placed a target on each sorcerer in the bond and heightened the sense of risk. In the mating vow, the bond-mark that goes with it claims ownership and power, one over the other, sealing the other two bonds so that no one else could easily break them.

In return, its destruction destroys all physical evidence of the other two.

The bond-mark is a seal and can only be broken by the death contingency or by cursed and reverse-cursed energy being used on the seal at the same time. It's intentionally difficult, meant to protect the powers achieved by sorcerers entangled this way.

Shoko sets her fingers into the faint indented marking of the bond-mark bitten over where your heart chakra would be pierced through.

The mark resists her, but the crawling of your skin lets you know that the scar is already changing.

Better not to draw it out.

With your hand on the other side of your chest, you push cursed energy into the mark, swirling slowly around the elliptic shape. It feels hot and cold and like pins and needles as you break the muscle and collagen apart and Shoko knits it back together.

She presses her fingers into the smooth skin, checking on her work. But you can feel it. The bond-mark is gone.

As if it were never there at all.

It doesn't make any difference. You couldn't feel Satoru's presence before he was sealed or after.

It shouldn't make a difference, but you feel both lighter and heavier, like Gojo's gravity is still rooted somewhere in your body.

You drop your hand back to your knees.

Shoko doesn't leave.

You listen for Nobara, for her still-human breathing.

When you look over at her, Shoko is also looking down at the ground.

"I didn't think you'd do it."

You look back at the black and white pattern on the ground. You weren't sure you would either. It had felt too much like admitting defeat but then...

"I dreamt of him."

You shouldn't be saying anything. Shoko doesn't do this. But she's staying even though she should leave so you can make your confessions to a comatose fifteen year old who won't ever know you've been here.

"A bunch of scientists, rolling him on a table," you say, wry and feeling ridiculous. The dream doesn't sound terrible when you say it aloud. "Just... faceless people manipulating him while he just lies there." Unable to stop it. You, unable to stop it because you'd been as frozen as that day in the city, and then you'd woken up.

The dream might be fading but you feel like it's still happening.

Shoko straightens up and you know she's finally leaving. You know what she's thinking too because you made sure to say it that way, in the way that would make the dream a metaphor of what's happening right now. If you'd hinted at your simply literal horror, she'd be within her rights to laugh at you.

"So it's not like a vow will be useful anyways," you force your voice light and slightly self mocking. "He can't do anything from in there so why not pretend it never happened."

You raise your head only meet Shoko's apprehensive expression and falter. There aren't a lot of people who know for certain that Satoru is your mate. Now your place by his name in the family tree will be burnt away. The sealing ink on the marriage documents will fade to nothing. The bond itself might still exist, but any promises intentionally attached to it are blown away like so much sound in a gale.

There's a pinched edge to Shoko's usually cool expression. It's too bad that even with this, you can't promise not to leave her all alone. "Let me know if you need anything for it," she says before spinning on her heels and clicking away down the hall.

iv.

You bury your face into your folded hands, thinking of that body, his body, knuckles pressed hard to your forehead, while the vision shifts slowly to Shoko, to the dead-limp body of the students, to Nanami's hellbent flesh, and back.

You hadn't told Shoko everything.

The only part you can't shake was the way that grayscale atrocity began - with Gojo Satoru torn open and bloody like that day, something bundled and birthed dead being taken from him, and how you knew even while he was turned away from you that he was back to being as pristine as he was when this began.

Megumi leaves again in the morning and you don't say goodbye from the window where you're watching. You didn't go back to sleep, there's too much to do. Your power courses like a livewire inside of you.

You started cycling it to see if your typical energy was still there. You should feel weaker without the vows and restrictions weighing you down, but for now you don't. Anger pours molten through you, fear slinks under it like ice. Grief lays over it all like it lays over everyone and the black and white terror of truly losing what Megumi really means when he talks about the world needing Gojo Satoru is both more stark and more abstract in the morning.

You've never thought of yourself as living in Satoru's shadow. Suffering that particular misconception was thankfully prevented by having a good insight into the reality. You hated that there were so many things he took care of alone.

Megumi doesn't think you have it in you to burn the world. You'd seen the faint disbelief in his eyes when you'd told him to give up on Satoru if it meant surviving. And maybe he's right.

But what he doesn't see, behind the mask Satoru wears and Shoko's distance and Suguru's death and your silence is that you all became monsters. Maybe Gojo Satoru chose to keep you close because for a while you were the only one left.

If the kids don't come back, you think it might just be enough.

Gojo Satoru isn't the only nightmare in the world after all.

#In case it wasn't clear because this isn't that good the implication is that mating marks between sorcerers are a binding vow #i'm aware vows between people aren't typically done. but it was explained that this is because it's difficult not impossible #the mating vow is particularly strong because of what is signifies and therefore leaves a physical mark that is connected to vow's existenc #mates don't have to take on the mark but Gojo has spent a lot of time implicating such to the world at large that you both have #as a binding vow the mating vow does two things #one: it prevents a bond and a marriage from being broken by outsiders #(this does not limit the number of people one can bond/mate/marry in the sorcerer world)#two: the binding vow gives each person an option of control over the others' power and actions #the risk of giving someone power over you in turn increases your own power like another layer to the first order bonding vow #which is another reason sorcerer's have the mating vow #it has been abused in the past of course. this is jjk. but because the bindings must all be “consensual” they're still used in modern times #satoru's instructions were for his mate to break the mating mark if he is ever implicated #because if they're “under his control” the elders won't hesitate to execute them along with him and if he's gone he can't prevent it #if it makes anyone feel better his mate doesn't actually thing satoru doesn't love them #but like everything in this world it's complicated.#jjk #gojo satoru x reader #prompt fill #a/b/o dynamics #omegaverse #mating bites #gojo satoru #reader insert #edited #shoko #i am so sorry #for some reason i convinced myself that ieri was her first name #what convinced me the boys were being so polite i have no idea #io.omegas

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gaylittleguys · 1 year ago

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hey guess who was reminded that killing time exists and is losing their mind about it again

#killing time the Star Trek novel #infamously released with no editor at the publishing house at the time #so it’s gay as hell and they had to recall the books and heavily edit all layer printings #I have a first forbidden edition that I rebound into hardcover #it’s not like. good. I’m sure there’s better fanfic or whatever out there #but the fact it exists at ALL #oops we accidentally officially published a k/s au book where they’re soooo homoerotic #hilarious #.doc #Star Trek

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potential-fate · 1 year ago

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Ellie sat back down next to the other two girls, being careful to put her phone on her side that was not in danger of falling into the pool. For a moment sat and stared as her sister and Kira continued talking.

She picked up her phone, scrolling quickly though her social media pages, “Hold on, let me just find the cat pic I wanted to show—”

She frowned at her phone instead of showing it to Kira.

#arkhelios #sims stories #sims 2 #sims 2 stories #sims 2 gameplay #ts2 #my posts #Arkh Ch4 #Kira Lee #Eliana Munoz #Liliana Munoz #me editing the leggies of these sims like "wow that doesn't look realistic at all #only to turn off the layer and go “oh wait nvm they're so twisted and broken before this looks great in comparison”#not that I have poses in this scene but every time I make poses and think “this isn't good enough”#all I have to do is look at what eaxis did to make myself feel better lmao #in short.... when sims sit like this in the hangout option #their legs twist like lil pretzels in the sockets

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silkjade · 11 months ago

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WICKED DRAGON, LAY WASTE TO ME

⤀ synopsis: neuvillette has always been the gentlest of lovers—and so tonight you ask him not to hold back ⤀ cw: afab!reader, unprotected + rough sex, size kink, praise, overstimulation, breeding + creampie, marking, monsterfucking (dragon cock), cervix fucking, multiple orgasms, dumbification, mentions of mates, lil bit of dom!neuvi (??) but he is still sweet — mdni || ꒰ 8.4k wc ꒱ ⤀ notes: leviathan fic for leviathan neuv ( i’m not talking abt his constellation ) rbs + feedback are always vry much appreciated ♡

“Well? What do you think?” You come home, twirling before him in a gown, different than the one you had left in. The short hem at the front lifts mischievously, teasing just a peek of what lies underneath, while the longer, flouncing layers of skirts behind you, wrap flirtatiously around your legs. Neuvillette feels his throat run dry.

“Navia and Clorinde thought it was high time I changed my look, and you know I can’t ever say no to Chioriya Boutique.”

While he’s spent the better part of the night reviewing court documents in the parlor, you have been out with Navia and Clorinde, who he thinks have perhaps plotted to kill him. ‘Girls’ night,’ you had called it.

Draped in a vivid palette of the finest fabrics, decorated interchangeably with delicate metalwork and dainty ribbons, the blush on his pale skin is ever-present as he rakes his eyes up and down your body. The dark, patterned stockings, squeezing your thighs just enough, so that supple flesh spills obscenely over the top, the tight, whale-boned embrace of your corset, accentuating the curves of your waist, and pushing upwards the swell of your breasts…

A coy smile graces your features when you catch how his throat bobs in his silence. Giggling, you lean down, tracing the tip of your finger up the contours of his neck, skimming the gentle curve beneath his chin until you’ve tilted his gaze to yours. “Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, got nothing to say?”

How can he even think, much less find the right words to say, when the familiar scent of your perfume fills his head with indecent, lascivious thoughts? Everything about you is intoxicating, almost insidiously attractive, so would it suffice to say that he’d much rather see your pretty, new dress abandoned somewhere on the floor?

That first pulse of arousal translates into the first twitch of his cock, and oh how he wishes to kiss away your teasing little grin, but his lust-driven eyes are drawn to the miniscule movements of your bodice sleeve, predatory as he watches how it begins to shift, ever so slowly, off your shoulders.

“If you don’t like it, then perhaps…” You loosely roll your shoulder, letting the sleeve slide right off. “…you’d like to help me undress?”

That, he will gladly do. His hands fly to your waist, dragging you down into a straddle over his hips.

“Temptress,” he murmurs into the skin of your neck, distracting you with a featherlight kiss as his nimble fingers waste no time in undoing the delicate clasps of your bodice, leaving the heavy outer garment to tumble off your shoulders, abandoned in a pile at your waist.

Cool air licks at the now exposed skin, though it’s nothing compared to the warmth of his lips as he slots his mouth against yours, gently coaxing you open with a subtle swipe of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut in honeyed complacence, allowing Neuvillette to kiss you slow and sweet; impassioned, ardent, each kiss an oath of love and longing and lust.

Desire blooms like romaritime flowers upon water, and you just know the tension underneath his placid exterior, is ready to burst. It’s prevalent in the way his muscles grow taut, tense beneath your every touch, fighting to hold himself back as your legs squeeze around his hips. Demonstrated, again, by how he pulls apart your corset, impatient and haphazard as he unlaces each cross, before tossing it to the ground, forgotten. And of course, only you can attest to the searing sensations of his escalating kisses—gentle wisps, once faint and docile, now wanton and heated with depravity.

You can already feel it in your chest, in your bones, in the wetness that’s begun to form between your legs; maybe it’s the anticipation, but despite the layers of clothing you’ve already shed, you find it even harder now to breathe, especially as he holds you so close, body pressed against yours, while he traces the bare curve of your neck with his lips.

For one with such a carefully crafted visage of elegance and poise, Neuvillette becomes sloppier as his restraint fades and lust seeps through the cracks. Something about you drives him wild, draws out the more carnal side of him that he so desperately seeks to hide away from you, who he could never even dream of hurting.

But perhaps he’s spent too much time amongst humans. Or perhaps he understands their nature more than he had initially believed, for he makes the most human mistake of all in letting his control slip—enough that his fangs graze upon your sensitive skin, sending a shiver that reaches all the way down to your core, eliciting a moan so mellifluous, he cannot help but utter a sigh of strained content as the undeniably sweet sound reaches his ears.

“If we don’t stop now, I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold back,” he mutters, tongue laving over the spot in apology. It doesn’t help that you voluntarily crane your neck, offering him even more access in your heated bliss. His fingers dig into your waist in a silent plea to still your rolling hips.

“So don’t,” you breathe. “Don’t hold back tonight.” Desperate to have him closer, you arch into him, the loose material of his shirt firmly clasped in your hands, deepening the kiss with a quick tug, a silent request for him to let go, but he immediately halts his movements, pulling away in hesitance.

Oh Neuvillette. Your sweet Neuvillette, who in spite of his stern exterior, is the gentlest of lovers—always so tender with you and steadfast in placing your pleasure before his. You know of his draconic origins, know that he holds back in fear of hurting you, but for all the times he’s pleased you to the fullest extent, you only wish to do the same for him.

Your hand reaches to cup his face and he leans into your familiar touch, steely eyes soft. “It’s okay, I trust you.”

It’s already difficult denying you anything on a normal basis, so how can he, now that you sit, straddled over him, determination colored in your bright eyes, and with nothing but flimsy cloth left between the two of you. His eyes linger at your chest, the scooping neckline of your lace slip doing nothing to hide the smooth crests of your collarbones, begging to be marked.

Neuvillette sucks in a breath, and attempts to swallow his doubts, before exhaling. He can no longer ignore the tightness in his groin, and to you, it’s clear that the obvious erection poking from beneath his trousers, speaks much louder than the uncertainty storming in his eyes. Perhaps he just needs one more push…

Your fingers come to curve around the sharp lines of his jaw, unwavering as you tilt his head up into your gaze. “Don’t worry about me, I can take it.”

His heart threatens to leap out of his chest in a flash of excitement, gratitude, desire; it’s far from the first time you’ve lain together, but to choose to bear such vulnerability before him, to surrender yourself to a full-fledged dragon… He glides his hands over the round slopes of your shoulders, easily sliding off the straps of your slip as he goes. The silk garment collapses down your torso, piling atop your forgotten dress.

“If that is truly what you wish…” He presses an openmouthed kiss to the bare skin between your breasts, and the warmth of his breath runs a chill even colder than the night air. His whispers hide a growl, and despite the blush apparent at the tips of his pointed ears, his hold on your waist tightens. One hand slides down to grasp at your rear, and you can feel him smile against your lips, the rattle of a faint chuckle rippling in his throat before your breath hitches as he picks you up in his arms, and carries you off to the bedroom.

He sets you by your shared bed, tearing off his now wrinkled shirt, while you wriggle out of whatever’s left of your dress, until both sets of clothing are discarded somewhere on the floor, and you’re finally left in only your panties and your stockings.

Immediately, his hands find your waist, roaming up and down over your curves as he smothers you in hungry kisses, herding you along until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your shared bed. This Neuvillette nips at your bottom lip, not asking for, but demanding entrance into your mouth, and you have no choice but to let him in, what with the way he makes you whine as he sneaks his hands down to knead the globe of your ass, before lowering you onto the bed.

The tingling sensations bloom in your stomach, buzzing with excitement while you ready yourself to surrender completely—pliant to his will, whatever it may be. Arousal swallows you like the sea and he has yet to even really touch you. Impatient, your hand wanders, though not far down enough before you’re caught in his grasp.

“Patience…” he mutters, pinning your wrist beside your head, broad shoulders caging you in between him and the sheets. His other hand follows the natural lines of your body, tracing along the edges until he stops to fondle one of your breasts.

It’s impossible to relax your speeding heart at this side of Neuvillette: less reserved in his touches, more candid in his wants. The untreated heat in your body makes sure to touch on every part of you, running like water through your veins, until you’re sure your dripping cunt is pulsing with a heart of its own. Unable to stand the ache any longer, you wriggle beneath him—rolling your hips and squirming until your knee unwittingly brushes against his crotch, eliciting a choked grunt from him, only slightly muffled by the fact that his teeth have dug their way into your exposed flesh.

He immediately pulls away at the sound of your surprised yelp, eyes darting to and fro across your features in frantic search for even the smallest semblance of discomfort, completely missing the way your entire body had seemed to arch into his touch. His eyes finally settle at the light indentations now displayed upon your once unblemished skin.

“Forgive me,” he begins, “I should have been more careful.” Neuvillette is ever the gentleman, but his voice is clearly strained in a poor attempt at fighting back his instincts—instincts that demand a dragon to mark what is his.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” A soft smile graces your lips as your hand reaches to cradle his face, curling around his jaw in hushed reassurance. It’s so easy to read the thoughts that plague him so. “It felt good, I promise.”

True to your word, his heightened senses easily pick up on the scent of pure arousal that drifts from between your legs, swirling in the air, and lulling him into a state he’s kept buried for so long, he’s unsure of whether he’d be able to hold himself back even if he wanted to. He admires your bravery for daring to poke at the slumbering beast; bravery he knows stems from a place of passion, but how can he release such inhibitions upon a mere human? So physically… fragile.

“I meant what I said: I can take it. And I know you won’t hurt me so…” Your fingers clasp around his shoulders, pulling your lover down just far enough to whisper, low and sultry, in his pointed ear.

“Don’t you dare look down on me, o’ hydro dragon sovereign..”

You lurch forward, manicured nails drawing light lines down his bare back, and he meets you halfway in a long, drawn out kiss. A quiet growl rumbles from deep within his throat, clearly aroused by the way you had drawled out his full title. He nips at your bottom lip, dragging out a single, short gasp before leaving to trail wet kisses down the column of your throat, never stopping until his lips hover over the very spot where he had previously made his mark.

He doesn’t even have to touch you, just his presence, tangled with your own anticipatory excitement, invites a shudder so deep, you can feel it in your bones. The sharp edge of his fangs scrape along that still-sensitive patch of skin, lightly, as if testing the waters, though this time, he makes sure to take note of the quiver in your pretty little mewls.

Slowly, he bites down again and a moan slips past your lips, forced out from the very depths of your chest as your fingers fly to tangle in his moonridden tresses. His hot breath seeps past the barrier of your skin, leaving every nerve privy to his effect, and combined with the building pressure, you’re left open for the stream of soft whimpers that leave the perfect ‘o’ of your parted lips. As he sinks his teeth deeper, you squeeze your eyes shut in the midst of all the pleasure.

“Do it again,” you gasp, “felt good… ”

And oh, he has absolutely every intention to, what with the way you’re putty underneath him. However, he must do something about how distracting your hands are when you tug at his hair: hard enough for him to groan with an ache so wanton, it sends tremors echoing down until his trousers feel far, far too tight.

Neuvillette is neither here nor there when he alternates between kissing and sucking and biting at your tender flesh—anywhere is fair game when you’ve relinquished yourself to him like this. With how attentive his lips are along your body, you hardly even care for the absence of his hand when he reaches around to untie the ribbon in his hair… at least not until it’s too late and you're left bemused by the uncharacteristic display of boldness; after all, it’s all you can do when your wrists are suddenly so tightly bound overhead.

You whine as he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, suckling and swirling his tongue, while he ravishes the other between his fingers. Heat surges through you and the aching desperation congregating in your belly begins to boil; you’ve never felt so sensitive, never been more pervasive to his touch.

Inside. You need him inside of you. But with your hands currently incapacitated, you’ve no other choice except to buck into him, beckoning him with your hips in the hopes of redirecting his attention to where you throb.

“Inside. Please. I need you. Need you inside.”

He hums in acknowledgement of your wishes, tugging at the hardened bud with his teeth, successfully wringing another shaky cry from your throat, before he finally pulls at the delicate lace of your panties, and guides them down the length of your legs. You easily kick them off, but in his observation, his piercing gaze catches every thrum of your muscles as they tense underneath the hand that finally trails between your thighs. He drags his lithe fingers between your folds, coating them in your slick, while his thumb rubs your clit in slow, but firm, circles.

“My apologies for the wait.” Neuvillette kisses you right above your heart, where his acute hearing easily picks up how it palpitates as he dips his fingers into your velvet walls. “Allow me to make amends, my love.”

With the way your cunt gushes so copiously, it’s easy for him to slide all the way down to the last knuckle. He flicks his wrist, pumping fast and hard, scissoring you open before slipping in a third digit, drawing out mewl after pathetic mewl, as you fail to pull yourself together. The bedsheets twist beneath your incessant movements: simultaneously squirming not only from the initial stretch, but also to feel him deeper.

The discomfort is all too familiar, but with just the curl of his fingers, it washes away into unadulterated pleasure, just as it always does. But with your arms tethered, leaving you open and powerless, everything—every touch, every twist, every curl—feels tenfold.

Plus, no one would even believe you if you were to say that the chief justice had such a playful side in the bedroom; his fingers have explored your insides far too many times for him to just miss the little spot that he definitely knows by muscle memory. Whining, you buck your hips, senselessly grinding into his hand, hoping he’d get the message, hoping he’d quell your heat right at the source.

But something dangerous and wild and primordial shines in the blue-violet glow of his eyes. For all the times you’ve made love together, he’s never seen you like this: so desperate, so needy for him. He pinches a nipple, hard, before locking your jolting hips down; a show of strength to remind you of your place.

“Please, more.” Your voice rises in congruence with how you struggle against your ribbon-bound wrists. His fingers tease the spot again, this time with more force, and he watches as you keen and clench around him—helpless and at his mercy.

With a curl, his fingers crook inside your silken walls, pistoning in and out, fast and hard. Arousal continues to build, turning the low squelches into distinct suctions. Every nerve in your body is ignited, seared by the heat as he laps at the overflowing wetness that seeps out of your entrance. A satisfied purr sounds in his throat, and the vibrations dare your hips to buck in spite of the iron grip that holds you down.

It thrills him to see you steadily fall apart like this, coming so undone before him, dissolving under the weight of your pleasure. It’s just as you had wanted. More. So you can take it, can’t you? You can take more?

Neuvillette slots your throbbing clit into his mouth, hot tongue relentlessly striking the swollen nub with viscous lashes, while his fingers continue to bully your insides with no intention of slowing down. Sucking harder, fucking faster—you keen at the added stimulation, back arching clean off the bed in blinding pleasure, unable to do anything more than let out jagged sobs as you cum.

Your entire body grows taut as he sees you through the end of this high, before finally drawing out with one last sleight of his hand, so that his fingertips might graze along the velvet top of your walls, bidding farewell with another shudder-inducing wave of euphoria. He exits his soiled digits, clearly pleased as he inspects the amount of slick that coats his elegant hand.

“You’re absolutely divine.” He hums whilst licking up the side of his wrist, so as not to waste a single drop of your liquid pleasure. It’s intoxicating how exquisite you are, more decadent than even the most pristine of waters. “Perhaps you’d like a taste?”

His offer is rhetorical at best, as he answers for you, already slipping his slender fingers into your open mouth, tangling them with your tongue, until the first bits of drool begin to dribble from your lips.

He unties your wrists, releasing them from the ribbon’s hold; time and experience have proven that you’ll need something to grasp onto. In a haste, Neuvillette discards what remains of his clothes, and his cock springs forward in all its glory: long and thick, pale tip leaking and thrumming with desire.

“You’re absolutely sure… ?” he mumbles, voice trailing off, almost embarrassed. He can no longer control the way his hips twitch in excitement, begging to bury his cock into your warmth, but for his gentle heart’s sake, he needs to hear you say it again.

You laugh out a soft ‘yes’ but just for good measure, you rake your nails down his chest, applying just enough pressure to tickle his nerves. “Use me,” you goad. “Come on. Be wicked, my dragon.”

Neuvillette exhales, chuckling softly at humanity's arrogance. Wicked dragon. If that was what you wanted... “I wonder if you’d still say the same after I’ve finished with you.”

He pins you back down in one fell move, and aligns himself to your entrance, stopping after inserting only the tip. A delicate whimper leaves your lips as you wince at that familiarly sweet stretch, but you and your little cunt are both so eager to please—the continued arousal you churn out, weeping nonstop, and already clenching around just his cockhead. You wriggle into him, trying to fuck yourself deeper on his fat cock as you adjust to his size.

Reaching up, you pull him into a seemingly reassuring kiss, hands smoothing over the framing pieces of his hair, before curving around his jaw. His lips follow yours, but as you pull away and the short pieces of his hair fall back into place, you notice how his slitted reptilian pupils are dilated almost round.

“You wish for me not to hold back,” his voice comes in a low growl as he inches further into your cunt, “so please show me how resilient you are.”

It’s all the warning you receive before he slides the rest of his length to the hilt, burying himself in your creamy insides. A shattered sob tears through the room, and your arms fly around his neck in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself, but it only pulls him closer as he leans more of his weight into you, pressing down and reinforcing the heavy plow of his merciless hips.

Taking him all at once like this burns like wildfire. Pain from the sudden, rough stretch spreads hot and fast, the small embers bursting into a blaze of arousal as pleasure breezes through just as quickly—like air infinitely adding to an already devouring flame.

“You’re taking me so well,” he praises, turning his head to reward a small kiss to your cheek. Your hole gushes, rushing to quell the heat, and the added lubrication helps you settle into his pace. Still, the dual sensations wash over you like the tide. It pulls you under, drowns you and consumes you with absolute ecstasy.

And just when you think you’ve grown accustomed, Neuvillette lifts your hips, aiming for the spot he knows will drag out the most wonderfully broken cries from your throat. Your nails dig into his back, and he groans at the vice grip as you clamp down around his cock. With each powerful thrust, he buries himself balls deep with a force that has your tits bouncing along to his rhythm, letting the wanton sound of your sobs ring throughout the room, loud enough to almost drown out the lewd noise of skin slapping upon skin.

The coil in your belly is wound so tight that you’re sure it won’t be long until it collapses into itself. That it won’t be long until you yourself are about to implode, like a star ready to burst.

“I’m going… going to…” Between the ragged breaths and the overwhelming sensations of ecstasy, you can’t even find it in yourself to think straight.

Neuvillette hums, his liquid smooth voice doing nothing to hide his amusement. “You’d do well not to break so soon.”

He thumbs your clit, drawing tight circles, ignoring the way you convulse beneath him. As your back arches, he drags the flat of his teeth from the edges of your collarbones, down through the valley between your breasts.

Your entire body quivers, legs jolting by reflex to the intensity of your orgasm, vision blurring white as your lover continues to pound relentlessly through your high. There’s a layer of fuzziness over your mind that leaves you feeling as if you’re floating atop calm waters, but the fingers still thrumming on your abused nub are quick to drag you back into the salaciously dangerous depths of your own pleasure.

A string of pitched whines follow in the aftermath, but the pretty noises you make has him throbbing even from within your tight hole. You ask him not to hold back, yet here you are before him, so small and pitiful, already writhing from the intensity—and he hasn’t even cum yet.

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes, your body struggling for a break from the stimulation, but Neuvillette finds it quite adorable, in the way that a predator might toy with its prey. He slows his thrusts, but reaches deeper with every roll of his hips, each languid stroke hitting the exact spot that fills your sight with stars.

The lascivious sounds of your soaked cunt perfectly swallowing his cock, followed by the slap of his heavy balls on your ass—he’s mesmerized by the way he disappears and reappears, and disappears again inside of you. His heart skips, and he bucks, breaking his rhythm. You undo him like no other, and it spurs him on that he too, seems to have the same effect on you. The way your pussy holds on to him so tightly, the helpless cries of his name amidst your hiccuped whimpering…

He lets out a small chuckle, breath hot and ragged in your ear as he sucks at the inch of skin below. “Surely you can give me another,” he murmurs, the low grumble of his voice reverberating all the way down, until you can feel the vibrations in the hollows of your collarbone.

Your eyes flutter, desperately blinking away the wetness that has begun to gather at your lash line. Sweet Neuvillette, your Neuvillette who reveres you more than he ought to and touches you like you’re made of glass. Even through the numbing haze, you know that for him, you’d give anything.

A long, stuttered moan breaks out from between your lips. As if biding his time, he drags the entirety of his cock along your walls, the large vein that wraps around the length gliding along just right, that your back arches and your knees bend. It’s not that he means to move so tortuously slow, but you squeeze him to such an extent that in spite of his aching need to cum, he cannot help but try and savor the delicious way your walls are gripping for dear life.

Neuvillette pulls out with the sticky squish of your slick. His throbbing cock, long and flushed, glistens with the sheen of your juices. In the emptiness, you think that perhaps he’s taken pity on you and your now overly sensitive cunt, but that just isn’t fair. Not to him, nor you and your once again looming orgasm.

“You haven’t even cum yet,” you gasp, trying to argue through baited breath. The whole point of this was so that he could feel just as good as he always made sure you did. So why would he—

“I know.”

You can feel him as he lifts you, flipping you over like you’re nothing more than a doll, and manhandles you onto all fours. Limbs weak, mind frazzled, you’re barely able to hold yourself up, so when he realigns himself at your entrance and slams back through your folds with just as much power as before, you quite literally fall apart.

“Too much?” The low chuckle in your ear is dangerously taunting, wickedly amused and with no sign of its usual sweetness. You’re able to muster a pitiful whine, but the way your entire body trembles tells him everything he needs to know, as he reangles you mid-thrust.

“I believe you said you could take it.” With a particularly powerful snap of his hips, your arms buckle, and you collapse onto the mattress. The intensity continues to send you jolting forward, but his reaffirmed grip on your waist holds your hips in place.

Nothing deters him as he ruts into you, hitting deep new angles that have your fingers grasping at the sheets while your cunt grasps onto his cock. With every slap of his skin against yours, his tip threatens to kiss your cervix, the aftershocks rippling through you until they’re released as broken sobs, muffled into the bed.

How unfortunate that such noises, so very sweet to his ears, would be hidden from the world. Tangling his fingers along your scalp, Neuvillette tugs at your hair, lifting your head back so as to hear the pretty melody you sing when your cries ring around the room. Good. Just as the whole of Fontaine should recognize a dragon’s mark on your skin, they too should hear it’s he who pleasures your body so.

Little bits of drool trickle out of your open mouth, your eyes rolling back as he keeps up the brutal pace. Everything feels too overwhelming, yet so tantalizingly good, that your back curves and you’re creaming around him again.

Electricity shoots through your veins, your lungs desperately racing to catch up with the rapid beat of your heart. The stars painted across your vision drop down to your stomach, exploding with an intensity that rattles you to your core. It’s a flood with no remorse—taking and leaving nothing in return, easily washing away any and all thoughts, until you’re left mewling the name of the only one who could ever give you such a sweet taste of heaven.

But Neuvillette continues to thrust into you, and as he, too, nears his peak, his tireless strokes finally melt into something a little more forgiving. Just a little. The long drag of his cock slides so smoothly against your slick walls, gentle enough to fool your delirious mind into loosening your grip around him.

What trickery from the wicked dragon who slams his hips forward with enough force so that your body jostles with every push and pull as he hits all the right spots again and again. Trapped under the weight of his body, all you can do is feel: the heat of the room smothering all your senses, the fervorous thrusts pushing you to your very limit—all you can do is feel and take it as he kisses the spongy head of your cervix, leaving you without a semblance of sanity, blabbering indiscernible nothings that beg to milk him dry.

“Want more,” you keen, voice as broken as the crystalline tears that roll down your cheeks and melt into the pillows. “Inside. Wan’ it inside.”

Neuvillette laughs, low and airy, strained as his grip tightens, fingertips digging into your hips hard enough that it’d be sure to leave bruises come the morrow. “Is that what you want?”

“Please, please I–” You stop to let out something between a pant and a moan. “Want you to, h-hah, cum inside, wan’ your cum inside me.” Your walls clamp down even harder, as if attempting to trap his cock deep inside you forever, as if you weren’t already tight enough around him.

White fills his vision, and white fills your womb as Neuvillette cums to the knowledge that you love this. He takes in the sight of you, his precious treasure, now reduced to the likes of a common whore: legs quivering, ass in the air, cunt filled to the brim and leaking from where the two of you merge. All for him. By his doing.

Such splendor automatically evokes the instinct to claim you in a way far beyond that of human understanding… but you’ve already let him indulge more than enough tonight; he couldn’t possibly ask for more.

You whimper when you feel him stir again inside you, careful as he brushes past your too-sensitive folds, but even such simple movements hazard to relight the flicker of arousal once again. Every ridge and vein, drawn out so agonizingly slow, sends an inadvertent shiver down your spine until he finally pulls out with a squelch.

There’s no hope in tearing those sharp, reptilian eyes away from your puffy cunt, abused and messy and leaking with your combined fluids. Neuvillette sucks in a breath, trying to suppress his urges as much as he’s trying to swallow down the desire quickly boiling over in his belly again. Cumming inside you—no, breeding you—was a privilege. For dragons such as he, it’s a ritual reserved only for mates, and given the difference in your physiology, he had never allowed himself to do so—at least not until now, that is.

In his defense, you had begged for it, and how could he ever deny the very one whom he has entrusted his heart to—especially when you were so beautifully fucked out and unraveled on his cock like that. And perhaps he’s lived among humans long enough to forgive this indulgence as a paradigm of fleeting desire, though nothing of what he feels for you could ever be considered fleeting.

He parts your folds with two slender fingers, giving himself a better view as his cum now seeps out with suent access. You whine again when you feel him drag his digits down the sides of your pussy lips, catching the overflow before it can fall onto the sheets, and stuffing it right back into your little hole. No point in stopping now, if he’s already committed his sin.

From your half-lidded gaze, you manage to steal a glance at your lover, and judging from the erection that still stands stiff as a rod, he has yet to be satiated. In the attempt to break through the shadow of delirium, you lift your head, shifting your weight back onto your elbows, and forcing your battered body to turn just the slightest bit over.

“You’re still hard,” you note through staggered breath, “We can go again if you want.”

Neuvillette looks down as if he hasn’t already been feeling the near painful arousal throbbing in his groin. Of course he’s still hard—how could he not be; you’re so complacent before him, offering yourself to him like that. But perhaps he is too soft-hearted, for he only lets out a reassuring hum as he leans forward to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“You were beyond perfect tonight,” he murmurs. “It… might not be pleasurable for you if I continue anymore. I can finish myself.”

Lovestruck, you shake your head. “I can take it r’member?” Your large eyes, red-rimmed and dreamy, plead for him to use you—use you to his own content, use you so that he’d feel just as good as he always makes you feel. You nibble at your bottom lip, bashful. “You can even use your other form if you'd like...”

Your words catch him off guard, and he immediately stills in a half-hearted attempt to collect himself as another wave of pure, unadulterated desire pulses through his entire being. Neuvillette swallows hard before letting out a slow, shaky breath. His cock twitches and his muscles tense beneath the creamy skin that now seems to gleam with a soft shine, revealing scattered patches of effervescent cerulean scales. You affect him more than you could possibly know, revitalizing such carnal urges that ignore his will and allow his body to react so enthusiastically.

“You’re sure…?” His normally polished tone is husked in a defiant strain. Despite the way his pupils are blown wide and wild with lust, conflict still swims in the shallows of his expression, made clear by the way his voice rasps as he desperately claws to retain even a semblance of his composure.

The tips of your fingers trace the blue streaks that protrude from the crown of his silver head, now hardened into twin ribbons of ivory; his horns, delicate but strong, glow a luminescent azure—so warm and inviting in its radiance… You grasp them tight, pulling him down with you, as you fall back into the bed, his lips pressed against yours. Of course you’re sure. He’d never hurt you, your Neuvillette would never ever hurt you.

“Devious…” he whispers between kisses, your tongue and teeth clashing in a waltz of their own, as his body drapes over yours.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen him in this form, crossed somewhere between a human and a dragon, as beautiful as he is powerful. But it’s certainly the first time you’ve ever attempted to take him like this. He’s bigger in this form—you can already feel it as he grinds up between your legs. Longer. Thicker. Ribbed and embossed with the same pearlescent blue scales. Beautifully intimidating, just like the dragon sovereign himself.

And as you continue to marvel, he lets his cock rest across your lower stomach, sizing you up. His fervor shines through in the way he’s already leaking a mess of sticky precum atop the smooth skin of your belly. A satisfied hum vibrates in his throat, clearly enthused.

“This is how deep I’ll be,” he muses, almost apologetic of the incoming stretch you’d have to endure. “I’m beginning to wonder if I can even fit inside you.”

Would it be wicked of him to admit, even to himself, that he enjoys the way you wriggle and cry just taking him in his human form? And yet… he’s forced to steady his breathing in a poor attempt at grounding himself—a task near impossible as you roll your hips up, ardently shaking your head no, outright ignoring the last out he offers.

“I will… make it fit.” They’re the last words you manage to wrangle out before being overtaken by the need to be full and filled. There’s no reason you should be so terribly, terribly hollow, when he’s right there. Neuvillette chokes back a laugh; your unyielding determination sends blood rushing to his erection, desperate to feel your velvet walls crowd around him again.

Finally relenting, he teases your entrance—running his cock up and down your slit, spreading your wetness, before slapping your clit with the tip—reminding you just how sensitive you still are. Gasping, you jerk away from the stimulation that once again taunts your nerves. Your hole, however, clenches around nothing, eager to please.

But perhaps you’ve greatly underestimated just how big he is, because he barely makes it past the threshold of your folds, before the pleasure pain of the stretch begins to take over. That, and the overstimulation from your previous orgasms, already have you instinctively trying to snap your legs shut, but the firm hold on your thighs forbid you from doing so.

“Ha-ah N-neuvi—” A twisted sense of pride swells in his chest at the way you can hardly speak as your breath hitches and your lungs desperately search for air. “’s too big,” you sob.

He gives you a momentary reprieve to adjust, while his hand snakes down to run sloppy circles over your clit.

“More?” he whispers.

It takes you a minute to respond, but he waits until finally your voice shakes with the violence of each hiccupped sob. “More.. please…”

A baritone hum sounds in his throat as he pulls forward, pressing wet kisses to your jaw in a quiet reassurance, effectively sliding a couple inches deeper, as he does so. “You can take it, my love. You’re so pretty like this.”

Your arms wrap around his neck, your hold eliciting a long, low groan from the dragon. Wherever you squirm, he follows, pressing more of his weight onto you, burying more of his cock into you. Each ridged inch that slides past your folds, seems to push the thoughts right out of your head, letting them dissipate into thin air until you’re left mindlessly moaning sweet praises to his name.

Desperate to accommodate the unfamiliar enormity of his dragon cock, your walls ripple and tense around him, back arching into him, wanting to feel ever closer to the love of your life, determined to push your cunt to its limit for him. For your Neuvillette.

Neuvillette. Neuvillette. Neuvillete. He’s all you can think about; him and his monster cock that seems to split you so deliciously open. It’s wave after wave of heat that sets your insides ablaze, soothed by the waters of arousal that have you begging for more, and restarting the cycle until he finally bottoms out, and you feel as if you’ve been electrified. You squeeze your eyes shut, but with the way his bulbous tip prods at your cervix, your mind goes blank, and the tears fall regardless.

“There…” you pant, eyes glassy from the euphoria of feeling so incredibly full. “’s all in.”

“Yes,” he praises, softly. “Look at you, so nice and tight for me.”

He wipes the salt from your cheeks, distracting you with a delicate kiss. His fangs are more prominent in this form; you can feel them as he grins against your lips, whilst whispering breathy nothings that tell of how good you are for him, how perfect, how he should be so lucky to have you like this, to have you as his.

When your body eases enough, he pulls away, though the subtle shift of his cock still drags a pitched whine out from your lips. If he’s to be honest, he cannot tear his gaze from where the two of you are joined. It’s mesmerizing, hypnotic, to see how he splits you open, to feel how you mold into the shape of him, to imagine just how much your little cunt had to stretch so that he might rest comfortably inside.

Though, comfortable might be an overstatement due to the way your muscles tense and release so tightly around him, clamoring for more of his attention. Eyes darkening with lust, Neuvillette smooths a hand over your abdomen, cerulean scales cold upon your skin.

“Can you feel me right…” He draws a clawed finger delicately across the skin of your belly, where his cock rests parallel underneath. “Here…”

He leaves more than just a faint line of red where his talon rakes. Yes, you want to say. You can feel the faint prickle of his claw on your skin, you can feel how the sharpness sends a shiver ringing through your body, and of course you can feel how he’s sheathed his dragon cock right into the very depths of your cunt, deeper than anyone’s ever been, deeper than he’s ever been… But the only sounds that spill through your lips are another stream of broken sobs, fever touched by how close you are to cumming just from being filled.

“Go on, darling. Cum for me.” He can feel you pulsing around him, clenching and unclenching in search of sweet release, yet he makes no additional moves to help you, leaving you to your own devices.

At this point, you can no longer tell if you’re making things better or worse, as every little movement knocks you into reaction—like dominoes toppling over until every piece of you has been unraveled. You writhe atop the soiled sheets for any sort of friction, but it’s too much when his tip knocks against the entrance to your womb. So you shift away, letting the ridges on his shaft graze against your syruped walls, inciting another wave of need. The scales continue to tip between ‘too much’ and ‘more’, until you finally work yourself into a delirious orgasm, on nothing but his cock inside you and your own incessant squirming.

As you continue to ride out your high, Neuvillete finally begins to move, tearing himself away from your fluttering vice grip with a tremulous moan, because fuck you’re still so tight around him, still so warm and wet even after cumming for what? The fourth time tonight? Pressure lands heavy over your frame as he begins to rock into you, folding you in half as he does.

He fucks you slow and even, stretching you out even more with every new stroke. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as this new position affords him the privilege to reach impossibly deeper. Despite his shallow thrusts, each drag of his cock still blooms an ache from all the hidden spots that he has no choice but to touch, though it’s quick to pass, as pleasure continues to coil in your belly.

It’s so much all at once. You can’t take it, it’s too much. But the soul-shattering euphoria of being so utterly full, is unparalleled. You want more, you need more.

“My pearl,” he whispers, though his voice is gruff, “my heart… I want to hear you.”

And so you oblige him, wailing something broken and pitched and strangled, at the sudden snap of his hips, at the way he bumps into your cervix and seems to rattle your organs about.

“F-fuck,” you cry, without thinking. Not that you can anyway, when the push-pull tide of his thrusts raises you to new heights of delirium. “H-ah god, fuck Neu–”

Another sharp, jutting thrust cuts you off as the dragon above you snarls, clearly agitated by your crass choice of words. “There are no gods to help you here.” Not in Fontaine where he rules, and certainly not here in his home.

There’s a feral wildness that shines in his bright vishap eyes, and his possessive streak flares—dragons have no natural inclination to share after all. It’s clear in the way his pace changes: faster, harsher, more ragged—a ferocity befitting of an elemental dragon ruler. But titles aside, he’s still your Neuvillette, and every move he makes is still laced with a tenderness, so as not to break you more than he already has.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he commands, dragging his tongue up the length of your throat.

“Yours. ‘m yours, Neuvillette.”

In and out, in and out. His long strokes guide the ridges of his cock back and forth through your tender muscles, leaving you to mumble mindless nonsense as you convulse and keen beneath him. Whatever pain you had felt earlier has long chipped away into undeniable pleasure as you near the precipice of yet another orgasm. Eyes glazed over in all consuming ecstasy, all you know to do is to chase your lust, and so your hips grind back, rolling together like waves in a storm.

Amidst the flagrant wet sounds of your rabid fucking, you cum again, lashes fluttering as your eyes roll, muscles tight as they tremble from such rapture—so lovely, so beautiful. Your siren call of pretty cries spill from your lips, intermingled with weak babbles of his name. You’re so breathtaking like this in your post-climax haze: fucked out and cloudy-eyed, panting into the cool air as his slowed thrusts still rack up an aftershock of shudders.

Neuvillette bows his head, once again trailing wet kisses across your collarbones, before pausing to hover his lips right over the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his warm breath a familiar spot of comfort in this maddening pleasure. Perhaps it’s some sort of sixth sense unique to only the most attuned of lovers, ones whose souls seem to harmonize in perfect resonance, but there’s hesitance in the way he suckles at the spot, fangs ghosting over your tender skin.

“S’okay… you can do it.” Your soft, dreamy sighs of approval are accompanied by the languid tilt of your neck, jeopardizing more of your delicate skin to the dangers of his teeth. “You can mark me… w’nna be your mate…”

Choking back a moan, Neuvillette pistons thrice more into your cunt—pulling out until just his tip remains, and then plunging back into your gooey insides, sending you into another round of dizzying convulsions. His own orgasm follows, seeing stars as he places an amorous bite to the crook of your neck using only the flat of his teeth.

With how deep he’s buried, ribbons of his cum shoot right into your womb, spilling out into every cavity, and painting your interior white. Warmth blossoms from the inside out. Your heart is full, mumbling happy nothings of ‘mates’ in between sniffles, while a creamy ring forms around the base of his cock, thick liquid oozing from where he ends and you begin. His own chest rises and falls in jagged patterns, but his only want is to seek your lips, to drink in your mewls, and exchange sweet kisses, so that your soul and his, may meld together as they dance in the shape of your breaths intertwined.

He strokes your hair, planting easy kisses all around as he unplugs himself, letting loose the flood of cum that seeps out of your hole, but you whine at the loss, wanting nothing more than to be ever close to your newly consummated mate. Neuvillette only nuzzles into your neck, deep purrs of content reverberating from his chest as he lazily rubs his scent all over you. Meanwhile, a quick swish of his sapphire tail up the sticky underside of your thigh, teases another pulse from your cunt, and by reflex, you push out another dollop of white.

A small tap tap to his shoulder distracts him from his scenting, and he looks up with a tilt to his head and a small furrow to his brow, his normally sharp eyes full of earnest concern, relaxing only once he finishes reading through the bleary, dulcet tones of adoration that glow in your half-lidded eyes. You poorly suppress your little giggles—although he often disagrees, your lover really can be quite adorable.

Fontaine’s Iudex Neuvillette is elegant, poised, and meticulously polished… but here in the quiet night hours, in the privacy of your hearth, your Neuvillette is unruly-haired and damp-skinned from satiating the beastly desires of his still tender heart. You reach out a tired arm, first brushing back the pieces of hair that cling to his skin, then wrapping your palm around to cup his face.

“Was I a good mate?” Your hand slips down from his cheek to play with the tips of his silvery hair. “W’nna be the best for you.”

“You already are the best for me.” His hand, no longer clawed nor scaled, brings yours back up for a kiss to your knuckles. “The only one for me.”

He rolls off of you, sweeping you into his embrace, as he carries you off to the bathroom. Your head rests heavily against his chest, but your happy hums and quiet murmurs of ‘good,’ tell him that you have not drifted off into slumber just yet.

“You truly are a wonder,” he breathes, dipping his head to place a soft kiss to your forehead. “And it would be my honor to have you as my mate… but not tonight.”

His instincts had urged him to do it, to permanently claim you as his, and mark you as a dragon would, but his heart vehemently disagrees. The most sacred bond known to his kind is an ultimatum in your relationship, and it is one he refuses to be the sole architect of, so perhaps the two of you can revisit this conversation again once you’re more clear-headed; his answer would remain the same anyways.

edit 10/2024: please Do Not Follow this blog after reading this fic. this is NOT!!!!!! a writing blog anymore, thanks.

notes2: writing this took years off my life, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless ! as always, thank u sm for reading, and reblogs + feedback are very much appreciated ♡

notes3: here is a little visual of how i imagine the dress at the beginning to look like, but of course you can always imagine it however you like since i’ve purposely left it rather vague : )

#— 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓙. ༯ #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette smut #neuvillette x reader smut #genshin x reader #genshin x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin thirsts #neuvillette x you #genshin x you #tw monsterfucking

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celestiamour · 3 months ago

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‧₊˚✧ ❛[ it's a gift (you keep those) ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ giving him a plushie that reminded you of him┊1k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: fluff, crushes, probably ooc but he’s so cute & wade is hard to write for, written for dp&w logan so idk if he got gifts in xmen, i forgot about laura, they are in touch and have a wonderful father-daughter relationship, i’m so sorry, edited

➤ author's note: i have so many thoughts but too incompetent to write

logan’s never sure who will appear when he opens the door as wade’s quite the extrovert, either vanessa or one of his many other friends whom he’s now become somewhat acquainted with, but he certainly wasn’t expecting to meet the familiar eyes of the cute neighbor who lived a few doors down. he nervously scratched the back of his head, suddenly becoming aware of his shabby appearance, “uh, are you looking for wade?”

“no, i was actually looking for you!” god, your smile is so bright, it’s blinding. he normally hates perfume of any sort as it’s so overpowering to his heightened senses, but the one that you wore smelled so lovely like always. is that a new shade of lip gloss you’re wearing? it really suits you. (why on earth is he noticing all of these details out of the blue? he needs to snap out of whatever spell you put on him after being introduced when he first showed up and only interacting in passing since then).

“looking for me?” he repeated, in disbelief, trying his best not to allow his surprise to slip into his voice. considering he isn’t from this dimension and not the most agreeable person to be around, he had no friends of his own yet and hasn’t been visited by anyone since he got here. a beat of panic struck him, thinking that he was in trouble for something and you came to complain. he really couldn’t think of any other reason you were here for him even though you were so cheerful.

you were carrying some shopping bags with you, dropping them on the ground before reaching into one and pulling out a large fuzzy plushie of a gray cat hidden under layers of glittery tissue paper, “i saw this cutie when i went shopping with my friends and thought it looked like you!” you held it out for him to take, looking so proud of the stuffed animal.

he hesitated for a second before accepting it, trying to take in the fact that you were reminded of him in your day-to-day life. it made his heart flutter, and he found himself dumbfounded by the feeling. he was frequently teased by his roomate about his little “crush” on you, claiming that it was oh so obvious and that the sooner he accepted it, the better, but he never realized until now how pathetic he was when it came to you. was the wolverine really getting butterflies like a fucking schoolgirl in his old-ass age? thank god no one was home right now to bully him about it, he would never hear the end of it.

“it does not look like me,” he scoffed playfully after a quick examination.

“no, it definitely does! it’s a big, grumpy kitty—” you took a step closer to hold it with him, pointing at all the similarities you observed, although it was clear you were exaggerating for laughs. “see the little frowny face and ears? it could be your identical twin separated from birth! willy mentioned that you act like a cat most of the time, and i think it fits perfectly!”

the smile he didn’t realize was plastered on his face faltered at the last piece of information, grateful that you didn’t notice. that idiot has been talking about him to you? he might as well forget about any chance of getting with you, because knowing how he yaps without a filter and loves to play matchmaker, you probably think he’s a freak of some sort. “only good things, i hope…”

you giggled, the sweetest sound he ever heard. “of course, he’s really fond of you… well, maybe a bit too fond, but you already know about that!” you opened your mouth to continue the conversation or say something else, but your phone started ringing and you excused yourself, looking a little shy as you grabbed up your bags. “i’ll talk to you later!” you sounded so excited about the prospect of it before leaving, your voice and footsteps becoming fainter as you walked back to your place.

“wait, you didn’t take back the cat—”

“it’s a gift! you keep those!”

“oh… right…”

he lingered for a moment, unable to say much in response since you left in such a rush. when was the last time someone gave him a present? staring at this brand new item, he still couldn’t see the resemblance in any way, but knowing that it was a gift from you gave him a rare feeling of happiness which returned every time he looked at it from then on among his few possessions.

“oh my goodness, what is this adorable thing?!” wade exclaimed when he saw it sitting on the couch where logan slept, picking it up to gawk at before tossing it up in the air and catching it before it hit the floor. “ooh, let me guess, it’s a gift from her, isn’t it?”

the mutant groaned at his mocking tone. “put it down before you ruin it with your grubby hands,” he commanded, snatching it from his grasp (rough enough to make his point clear, but carefully enough not to tear it apart). his roommate didn’t even bother pretending to be offended like he usually would as he was simply overjoyed that his “ship” was coming true. “it doesn’t mean anything, don’t make it weird.”

“it doesn’t mean anything?! how can you say that when it’s going to be the first gift you give to your first child together—”

“first what??”

“nevermind, what are you gonna name it?”

“i have to name it?”

“have you never owned a stuffed animal before? you have to name it! how heartbroken is she going to be when she asks what you named it and you say that you haven’t done that?! she’s gonna think that you don’t value her gifts!” you would think the world was going to end if he didn’t do so if you heard the way he was speaking.

“fine, i’ll name it…” he looked deeply into the toy’s soulless eyes, noting how soft the outer material was against his calloused hand, “... fluffy…”

“that’s such a shitty name—”

“shut the fuck up, it’s been decided.”

#📜. her works #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #wolverine x reader #hugh jackman #x men #x men x reader #marvel #marvel x reader

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mrchoppedslefthand · 8 days ago

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[SPOILERS] Homicipher Is Actually Romantic, Convince Me Otherwise [Analysis/Opinion] [SFW]

Word count: 3,332

Edit: 11/7/2024

[Feel free to skip to the last objective "Individual route discussion + what made it romantic" if you want to get straight to the point]

Homicipher is truthfully a romantic (or platonic) game. It is a game that has to be looked at from a different perspective when it comes to love/romance. A game where you have to take in consideration of the characters and the nature of their 'other world'. Today's post will discuss into what I believe made Homicipher an oddly, but romantic game, despite its shortcoming and abrupt ends.

⚠️[MAJOR LORE/CHARACTER ROUTE SPOILERS] ⚠️

Discussion Objectives:

Definition of Love & how it plays into Homicipher

The nature of the 'other world' and ghosts

Individual route discussion + what made it romantic (thoughts)

What Is Love & How Does It Play Into Homicipher?

Love has many layers of definition and associations. Maybe, that is why some may deem Homicipher to be "unromantic" and some disagree on that thought. It also varies based on the type of content/exposure you had consume in the category of love [whether romantic or platonic]. Socially, from a common standpoint, love is a strong attachment or affection for someone. Often from a social standpoint associated with dates, affection, and intimacy. However, love is always changing, since it is a social script on what its suppose to be, and changes as society progresses. Some notions stay the same but some begin to change (just like how language and certain concepts begin to change in the other world, a different society from our own). For the sake of a "true" definition of love. I will be using the definition offered by the Oxford Language Dictionary. So, what is love?

Love as a noun is...

"An intense feeling of deep affection"

"A great interest and pleasure in something"

"A person or thing that one loves"

Love as a verb is...

"Feel deep affection for (someone)"

"Like or enjoy very much"

Not long after its release there had been a fair number of comments/reviews criticizing Homicipher for its lack of romance. This claim is NOT entirely wrong. From the expectations of a "normal" Otome/dating sim it doesn't necessarily meet the requirements because of its lack of intimacy, affection and interest from a HUMAN/SOCIETAL perspective. We must remember that romance/love does not necessarily equate to kissing, hand holding, and intimacy especially considering that these are the HUMAN (societal) views on what romance/love is. A concept that had become lost in the 'other world'. So how can we call Homicipher romantic if we have to cross out the influence of our society? The answer is that we can't fully avoid it, HOWEVER, we must be open to a different perspective of what 'their' version of love is (platonic love/or romantic). No matter how lacking, dense, twisted and grotesque the moments we have spent with these ghosts are. In some shape and form it CAN equate itself to love (platonic/ or romantic). I think a lot of people forget that time itself can be equate to some complicated level of love. The fact you spend time with someone, and it develops to something further for worse or better, something that even love may not be able to name, is what this game demonstrates.

Homicipher has a consistent theme, the loss of truth, the acceptance of ignorance and the concept of eternity. Which shockingly is where the romance comes from. When we allow ourselves to rot in that world. When we ignore the exit and choose to stay, is where the romance comes through. Love is complicated. What can I say?

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:··:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:··:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

The Nature of the 'Other World' & Ghosts

Alot of the ghosts we encounter can be friendly, but also just as deadly. We hear it from almost all of the casts warning or discussing about how dangerous a lot of the ghosts (including themselves) roam in this world, and in different endings, succumb to this danger ourselves. The longer we stay in this world, we soon start to become no different. As we, a human, begin to slowly transform into a different entity. We begin to react more violently (though it can be argued that since our MC is a serial killer, she might have just been violent and cruel in general). When angered, or things start not to go her way, she gets filled with bloodlust and takes it out on who she's with. Killing is a common thing to do in this world, especially when experiencing anger, sadness and even boredom. The concept of death is a little complicated as they can easily regenerate themselves back to "life". As the game progresses, we learn that some of these ghosts cannot grasp certain concepts (such as love), remember their own name and self, and don't have exact words (sometimes none) for items.

When sometimes even confessing that you like some of the ghosts they question you, and state that they cannot understand you or that feeling (platonic/ or romantic). We are in a setting that is beyond the mortal realm, there aren't any exactly "ideal" dates in a place different from the moral realm... so you're going to be stuck in a scary place, having a scary "date".

However just because they cannot understand the concept of love, doesn't meant that they can't feel it. It is something that the body may still feel, and the mind not being able to put an identity to that feeling or even situation, since meanings and concepts get lost within this realm. The fact that we are allowed to spend an eternity in this realm, with our handsome casts of ghosts. Is oddly and sadly romantic. For Mr. Crawling it is his devotion and loyalty to you, it is how he worries and cares for you, it is his affection and attempts to soothe you. For Mr. Silvair it is his care for you (as research of course lol), your usefulness (which is why he is attracted to you), but even then, one of his endings he keeps you as a head, when you had become useless to him. For Mr. Gap he finds you intriguing, he wants to play and follow you around, always asking for parts of you with consent, loves to brag about himself to you. For Mr. Chopped it is his want to rely on you, to feel safe with you, to protect him, to spend time with him. For Mr. Hood it his willingness to help you for an eternity, to roam with you forever, keeping you away from danger. For Mr. Machete it is the fact you both spend an eternity searching for a home together, to suffer boredom together, to suffer within each other's presence. For Mr. Scarletella it is his obsession for you and his willingness to spend an eternity with you.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:··:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:··:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

Individual Routes + What Made Them Romantic

[Not in any particular order]

Mr. Crawling

If I had to rank who had the most "romantic" route overall, it would be Mr. Crawling. With the definition usage of love from the Oxford dictionary, verb and noun he checks all the list. Not only that, but we spend time with him the most out of all the other casts. He was the very first ghost we meet (briefly in the beginning) and got stuck with. We are like a baby bird imprinting on him because we saw him first and spent time with him the most, so of course we might feel the most attached to him compared to the others. As the game progresses Mr. Crawling doesn't fail to let us know that he cares for us and our safety warning us of the dangers that come and explaining how to navigate our way around danger. He expresses his worries when we disappeared. He seems to have some concept of love (platonic/ or romantic) as he admittedly tells us that he likes us and ask us if we like him. He expresses how he wants to follow and protect us. He also has so many cute scenes! Scenes where he pats our head, scenes where we lay together, chat a lot together. He is devoted and loyal to us, never harming us even once.

We even get a scene where he gets jealous when we called Mr. Chopped cute with the cat headband! So, he also makes an attempt to be cute too! We are always together with him, and that makes us BOTH happy. Although we don't have our traditional romantic dates like shopping, movie night. We get a bed scene and get to take him back home with us.

There are many types of romance. Platonic and romantic. You the reader/player is allowed to view it however you want. The game does not punish you for the lack of interactions with the casts. You just end up missing out on certain scenes/moments with them is all. However, for the sake of this post I will be making attempts to talk about the romantic aspect (but platonic romance can also be put into place).

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:··:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:··:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

Mr. Silvair

lt's apparent that Mr. Silvair keeps us as research material and confines us in his lair. He is interested in our body, and also interested in returning our mind/intellect back to its original state. It is this interest in us that makes him "love" us. Does confinement and research count as love? Well...maybe not in terms of human definition but in the Mr. Silvair way, it's the closest thing you can get to romantic (or platonic). Afterall, the concept of love has become lost in this world.

I believe he still has some attachment to us, because in the ending A Head's Life, he still keeps you as a companion along with Mr. Chopped. He claims that you are no longer useful/capable but that it is okay, as long as danger is no longer here. When you choose to ask him why he did what he did and ask if he likes you, he tells you it was for research and that love is something he cannot understand. He also doesn't understand why you get so angry when he helped you return your intellect back. He still though has some sort of concept of empathy, because in his route when you choose to kill him and hide yourself away. He comes follow you and expresses that he's sorry and tells you a little about himself. He allows you free will, at this point, allowing you to leave him or stay with him.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:··:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:··:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

Mr. Gap

Mr. Gap always wants a piece of us, literally. Why does he? Because it's just for fun. The most interaction we get with him is through the multiple crevices within this world and the short route he gets in chapter 4. He takes but sometimes may give. However, he doesn't fail to be thoughtful. It's hilarious how in chapter 4 when he offers us a crowbar in exchange for your heart, you can just smack him for it with no consequences. He also likes to brag about himself to you which honestly is a little cute. With his ending Return, we only have him left in the 'other world'. Our comfort lies with him, although he may be a little annoying, he is the only one we have left. We maybe have become a little codependent on him, but maybe he likes that?

God his annoyed/disgusted face is so hilarious, do it again Mr. Gap! He seems to stick around with us mainly just for funsies and being nosy, and honestly, he is so real for that. But it seems he likes to stay around with us at least. In the return end he is with us, and continues to stay lurking, perhaps watching over us until he is needed. Quite handy am I right? Haha.

He is depicted as quite the gentleman, but also just as fun and teasing. There are times where he does help you with no charge, such as barging into his hole (the face he makes in that scene is hilarious). Again, when presented with beating him for your crowbar, he gets a little upset but, honestly still helps you out. He probably thinks violence is funny which is why he constantly still teases you by asking to take away your body parts. It's just too fun!

Someone had brought up to my attention that Mr.Gap tends to ask for parts that can be easy to part with as we progress. Asking for our feet, legs, and fingers instead, when he seems to still clearly prefer the heart over the other parts. He adjusts his request when he realizes we won’t give our heart.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:··:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:··:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

Mr. Chopped

Mr. Chopped is just a head; how can he possibly be or have anything romantic? Well, not necessarily to the level of Mr. Crawling but, we get to have a few small moments with him and spend some time with him. Since he is just a head, he can't help but need to rely on others. Of course, he has to be selectively about it because falling in the wrong hands devastates him.

Mr. Chopped when he gets forced into playing with the deer child, he seems happy to see a familiar face and calls us out to help him. Our poor baby was in trouble!

His ending head hunt is tragically sad but also bittersweet. MC cares so much about Mr. Chopped that she spends an eternity as an entity searching for a lost head, searching for Mr. Chopped who she failed to rescue.

During his own special route Mr. Chopped does his best to help us, but there is only so much a head can do. To make up for his lack of body though, he seems to be more expressive with his mouth and emotions. We get to take him to get a haircut and wash his hair. This seems pretty date like to me. Although our time was abrupt and short with Mr. Chopped. It makes me happy that we get this small, cute scene with him, which makes him much more lovable.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:··:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:··:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

Mr. Hood

Mr. Hood protects you from harm, and also heeds your commands. He also carries you around. He means no harm and is there to guide. He cares for your safety and seems to dislike anything dangerous or threatening towards him and others that he protects.

At the end of his route, he states how often you get in danger and takes you with him, telling you that he must protect you since you asked him to (referring to an earlier scenario when you asked him to stay with you, when you reunited with Mr. Crawling and the others, but he leaves). So I would assume he would always be by your side now eternally staying together and protecting you from danger when needed. How cute! Some people are into that. But personally, for me Mr. Hood felt more like a father/brother to me. Maybe it was because he was always willing to guide us? But some people are into the brotherly/fatherly type of men, and hey I don't judge.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:··:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:··:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

Mr. Machete

At first, I did not see the appeal to Mr. Machete, he seemed like a ghost that killed for boredom and most of the time we just followed him around aimlessly...WELL, after playing his route and letting it soak in my brain. That is entirely the whole point of his character. He is a ghost that had become bored because he had too much time on his hands and continues to search for his home. He is our tsundere dummy macho ghost, and honestly, I love that about him. He could've killed us again like how he tried earlier, but after that first attempt, he reluctantly allows us to follow him. It's funny how much he runs away if the odds are against him, and when he mocks us it's even more hilarious. Mr. Machete likes us if we are strong opponent for him, he even expresses that he thinks we are fun and likes us when we defeat Mr. Hugeface on our own.

Not going to lie, I fell for Mr. Machete right here. We were low on blood, and he just slices his hand, FEEDING us HIS BLOOD. Like OMG that was so hot, he opens our mouth forceful, and we drink his blood. He somewhat cares about us, to be doing all of that for us. After that we get a timed choice to stall or follow him. When you choose to stall he pauses with you and asks if you're okay and to catch up with him. For someone who had been reluctant and annoyed at us for following him, took a moment of his time to wait for you. He WANTED you to tag along with him. We then venture on with him aimlessly searching for his and our home. Torturing each other with our presences. But maybe, just maybe, they can slowly become that home together that they were searching for.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:··:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:··:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

Mr. Scarletella

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH. At first, he appears to be just any ghost that wants to attack us. It took me a while to warm up to him because of so little we knew about him. I thought he wanted to take our name for fun/or collection, but then it's revealed that he knows us. That he harbors some sort of love and obsession for us and believes that we love him because of all the blood and bodies we "offered" him. In a twisted way, this situation is a cute and romantic misunderstanding. Mr. Scarletella fell in love with us for providing him many blood and bodies. He wants us to spend an eternity with him. He WANTS to spend an eternity with us. He invites us to this other world because perhaps he wants us to become a ghostly being just like him, or maybe he wants to have easier access to us (since his myth that he only appears on rainy days) to meet us. Although we didn't get to have as many interactions with him, that is what makes this love toxic. It is a parasocial love, he fell in love with us from afar. When you piece everything together with your dictionary the words he proposes to you sound like wedding vows when you give your name to him. Which make it all so more lovely, even if he takes our soul away.

(My translation/interpretation of the scene, where he asks for your name)

Chapter 2, Scene 24

Scarletella: "You found your name...?"

Scarletella: "Teach me your name." (ARF ARF WRARF)

Scarletella: "I want you." (YES PLEASE)

Scarletella: "Will you give your name?" (OF COURSE)

Scarletella: "Your name?" (👁️👄👁️)

*You give him your name here*

Scarletella: "I have your name."

Scarletella: "I have obtained you." (YES YOU DID, COME TAKE ME)

Scarletella: "Let's leave together." (ARF ARF WRARFFFFFFFF)

Scarletella: "I love you"

Scarletella: "And you love me."

Scarletella: "You gave it to me...Thank you" (I'LL GIVE YOU IT ALL)

Scarletella: "Forever/eternally together..." (YES SIR)

Scarletella: "Together." (ARF ARF WRARRF ARFA)

He is quite the romancer hehe. It seems like Mr. Scarletella has some form of concept when it comes to love, which is to be together forever, even if you end up as a blood pool. Together is together.

I find it interesting how his two endings: Scarletella and Scarlet Rain parallels each other so well. In the Scarletella ending, we (mc unknowingly) give our consent to being together forever with Mr. Scarletella, but we are still alive. When MC wakes up, she sees a clear umbrella on the floor and picks it up. I believe that we have now embodied or spirited the umbrella, spending eternity with Mr. Scarletella. He owns us now.

However, in the Scarlet Rain end he becomes ours, the umbrella stays red, and we still, eternally are together forever.

#文字化化 #homicipher #mojibake #mozibake #mr crawling #mr chopped #mr silvair #mr gap #mr machete #mr scarletella #mr hood #homicipher analysis #homicipher thoughts #homicipher opinion #homicipher game

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ms-demeanor · 1 year ago

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Why reblog machine-generated art?

When I was ten years old I took a photography class where we developed black and white photos by projecting light on papers bathed in chemicals. If we wanted to change something in the image, we had to go through a gradual, arduous process called dodging and burning.

When I was fifteen years old I used photoshop for the first time, and I remember clicking on the clone tool or the blur tool and feeling like I was cheating.

When I was twenty eight I got my first smartphone. The phone could edit photos. A few taps with my thumb were enough to apply filters and change contrast and even spot correct. I was holding in my hand something more powerful than the huge light machines I'd first used to edit images.

When I was thirty six, just a few weeks ago, I took a photo class that used Lightroom Classic and again, it felt like cheating. It made me really understand how much the color profiles of popular web images I'd been seeing for years had been pumped and tweaked and layered with local edits to make something that, to my eyes, didn't much resemble photography. To me, photography is light on paper. It's what you capture in the lens. It's not automatic skin smoothing and a local filter to boost the sky. This reminded me a lot more of the photomanipulations my friend used to make on deviantart; layered things with unnatural colors that put wings on buildings or turned an eye into a swimming pool. It didn't remake the images to that extent, obviously, but it tipped into the uncanny valley. More real than real, more saturated more sharp and more present than the actual world my lens saw. And that was before I found the AI assisted filters and the tool that would identify the whole sky for you, picking pieces of it out from between leaves.

You know, it's funny, when people talk about artists who might lose their jobs to AI they don't talk about the people who have already had to move on from their photo editing work because of technology. You used to be able to get paid for basic photo manipulation, you know? If you were quick with a lasso or skilled with masks you could get a pretty decent chunk of change by pulling subjects out of backgrounds for family holiday cards or isolating the pies on the menu for a mom and pop. Not a lot, but enough to help. But, of course, you can just do that on your phone now. There's no need to pay a human for it, even if they might do a better job or be more considerate toward the aesthetic of an image.

And they certainly don't talk about all the development labs that went away, or the way that you could have trained to be a studio photographer if you wanted to take good photos of your family to hang on the walls and that digital photography allowed in a parade of amateurs who can make dozens of iterations of the same bad photo until they hit on a good one by sheer volume and luck; if you want to be a good photographer everyone can do that why didn't you train for it and spend a long time taking photos on film and being okay with bad photography don't you know that digital photography drove thousands of people out of their jobs.

My dad told me that he plays with AI the other day. He hosts a movie podcast and he puts up thumbnails for the downloads. In the past, he'd just take a screengrab from the film. Now he tells the Bing AI to make him little vignettes. A cowboy running away from a rhino, a dragon arm-wrestling a teddy bear. That kind of thing. Usually based on a joke that was made on the show, or about the subject of the film and an interest of the guest.

People talk about "well AI art doesn't allow people to create things, people were already able to create things, if they wanted to create things they should learn to create things." Not everyone wants to make good art that's creative. Even fewer people want to put the effort into making bad art for something that they aren't passionate about. Some people want filler to go on the cover of their youtube video. My dad isn't going to learn to draw, and as the person who he used to ask to photoshop him as Ant-Man because he certainly couldn't pay anyone for that kind of thing, I think this is a great use case for AI art. This senior citizen isn't going to start cartooning and at two recordings a week with a one-day editing turnaround he doesn't even really have the time for something like a Fiverr commission. This is a great use of AI art, actually.

I also know an artist who is going Hog Fucking Wild creating AI art of their blorbos. They're genuinely an incredibly talented artist who happens to want to see their niche interest represented visually without having to draw it all themself. They're posting the funny and good results to a small circle of mutuals on socials with clear information about the source of the images; they aren't trying to sell any of the images, they're basically using them as inserts for custom memes. Who is harmed by this person saying "i would like to see my blorbo lasciviously eating an ice cream cone in the is this a pigeon meme"?

The way I use machine-generated art, as an artist, is to proof things. Can I get an explosion to look like this. What would a wall of dead computer monitors look like. Would a ballerina leaping over the grand canyon look cool? Sometimes I use AI art to generate copyright free objects that I can snip for a collage. A lot of the time I use it to generate ideas. I start naming random things and seeing what it shows me and I start getting inspired. I can ask CrAIon for pose reference, I can ask it to show me the interior of spaces from a specific angle.

I profoundly dislike the antipathy that tumblr has for AI art. I understand if people don't want their art used in training pools. I understand if people don't want AI trained on their art to mimic their style. You should absolutely use those tools that poison datasets if you don't want your art included in AI training. I think that's an incredibly appropriate action to take as an artist who doesn't want AI learning from your work.

However I'm pretty fucking aggressively opposed to copyright and most of the "solid" arguments against AI art come down to "the AIs viewed and learned from people's copyrighted artwork and therefore AI is theft rather than fair use" and that's a losing argument for me. In. Like. A lot of ways. Primarily because it is saying that not only is copying someone's art theft, it is saying that looking at and learning from someone's art can be defined as theft rather than fair use.

Also because it's just patently untrue.

But that doesn't really answer your question. Why reblog machine-generated art? Because I liked that piece of art.

It was made by a machine that had looked at billions of images - some copyrighted, some not, some new, some old, some interesting, many boring - and guided by a human and I liked it. It was pretty. It communicated something to me. I looked at an image a machine made - an artificial picture, a total construct, something with no intrinsic meaning - and I felt a sense of quiet and loss and nostalgia. I looked at a collection of automatically arranged pixels and tasted salt and smelled the humidity in the air.

I liked it.

I don't think that all AI art is ugly. I don't think that AI art is all soulless (i actually think that 'having soul' is a bizarre descriptor for art and that lacking soul is an equally bizarre criticism). I don't think that AI art is bad for artists. I think the problem that people have with AI art is capitalism and I don't think that's a problem that can really be laid at the feet of people curating an aesthetic AI art blog on tumblr.

Machine learning isn't the fucking problem the problem is massive corporations have been trying hard not to pay artists for as long as massive corporations have existed (isn't that a b-plot in the shape of water? the neighbor who draws ads gets pushed out of his job by product photography? did you know that as recently as ten years ago NewEgg had in-house photographers who would take pictures of the products so users wouldn't have to rely on the manufacturer photos? I want you to guess what killed that job and I'll give you a hint: it wasn't AI)

Am I putting a human out of a job because I reblogged an AI-generated "photo" of curtains waving in the pale green waters of an imaginary beach? Who would have taken this photo of a place that doesn't exist? Who would have painted this hypersurrealistic image? What meaning would it have had if they had painted it or would it have just been for the aesthetic? Would someone have paid for it or would it be like so many of the things that artists on this site have spent dozens of hours on only to get no attention or value for their work?

My worst ratio of hours to notes is an 8-page hand-drawn detailed ink comic about getting assaulted at a concert and the complicated feelings that evoked that took me weeks of daily drawing after work with something like 54 notes after 8 years; should I be offended if something generated from a prompt has more notes than me? What does that actually get the blogger? Clout? I believe someone said that popularity on tumblr gets you one thing and that is yelled at.

What do you get out of this? Are you helping artists right now? You're helping me, and I'm an artist. I've wanted to unload this opinion for a while because I'm sick of the argument that all Real Artists think AI is bullshit. I'm a Real Artist. I've been paid for Real Art. I've been commissioned as an artist.

And I find a hell of a lot of AI art a lot more interesting than I find human-generated corporate art or Thomas Kincaid (but then, I repeat myself).

There are plenty of people who don't like AI art and don't want to interact with it. I am not one of those people. I thought the gay sex cats were funny and looked good and that shitposting is the ideal use of a machine image generation: to make uncopyrightable images to laugh at.

I think that tumblr has decided to take a principled stand against something that most people making the argument don't understand. I think tumblr's loathing for AI has, generally speaking, thrown weight behind a bunch of ideas that I think are going to be incredibly harmful *to artists specifically* in the long run.

Anyway. If you hate AI art and you don't want to interact with people who interact with it, block me.

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